#Goes without saying that SR has meant a lot to me.

[dizzblaine]

All I can really say about the studio's closure at this point is that it's a very sad situation which reinforces my beliefs regarding how ridiculous these companies are in the mishandling of developers and the IP's they own. Absolute shitshow.

I know the series is technically "still alive". But I really have no confidence in where it will go at this point in time. Even if there are people still trying to fight for it that have remained employed. I don't know, man.

[mysaldate]

Vil's agency and my worries for the upcoming event

Alright, time for another analysis, once again centered on Vil. Disclaimer to start with because people love to take what I said out of context: This post will have my worries about the upcoming Halloween event (Playfulland) which comes out in two days. It is entirely possible that I am wrong about what I'm going to say here but as I will hopefully explain in this post, there is a disturbing pattern regarding Vil and his agency as a character going on in the game which makes me worried this event will fall into the same routine. I am not claiming this event will absolutely 100% do what I outline here and I am not saying the event is bad before it even came out.

Side note before we delve into this, I already do not like this event visually, I find the style tacky and cheap and all over the place. However, I recognize some people enjoy it. This post is not about that, I will not be trying to make you dislike the event, and I expect the same respect back. Now, onto the analysis.

When seeing the previews and plot synopsis for the new event, something felt off to me, uncomfortably so. As some of you may already know, I am fairly sensitive to loss of agency in canon, especially for characters I relate to, because it reminds me of my own history of abuse. "Turning the characters into puppets" seems like a premise ripe with loss of agency and the wording of the synopsis as well as the promo video did little to elevate these concerns. Specifically when it came to Vil.

Now, I probably don't have to explain why the idea of Vil getting indulgent and forgetting about the real world and ending up a puppet of his desires goes against his entire character. Then again, the event isn't out yet so I can't tell for sure if that is what's going to happen. The synopsis seems to hint at it and given twst's past events, the ones to snap out of it will most likely be the SSRs or, at most, the story sr, which is Floyd. Then I began to think back on other events and cards Vil has and I came to a very disturbing realization: Vil gets punished for showing agency and rewarded for not having any. Allow me to elaborate.

In many of the stories Vil shows up in, we see a strange push to punish Vil for being active and taking charge of events or we see Vil being passive and reactive and getting rewarded for that. In the Sunset Savannah event, Vil doesn't want to go originally but is convinced and dragged along by Leona. He doesn't join the event because he wants to but because he's bribed to. During the event, he shows more agency and begins to be more active – which then results in him getting his ankle twisted. This isn't a one-off situation either. In Beans Day, Vil is very active and shows off his leadership skills as well as his amazing planning and prediction abilities. How does this pay off? Rook shows up out of nowhere and captures him, putting him out of the game. Once again, Vil had agency and then got punished for it. During Vargas Camp, Vil is once again on top of things. He is a leader, he is a wonderful outdoorsman, and he shows lots of agency. How does the game treat this? He is forced to forfeit his agency for weeks to Azul because we are meant to believe Vil and Trey – two of the most competent mages at NRC – would not be able to get by without Azul's help. Azul is the R in this event.

But it's not event SRs either. I have already talked about Vil's labcoat story previously but looking at it from the perspective of Vil's agency reveals something I didn't realize at first. By the time the game came out, Vil's foundation of the Film Research club was one of his biggest acts of agency we were directly confronted with. In Vil's labcoat story, he exercises further agency by going out of his way to prepare for an important shooting. How does the game treat this? He is gaslit and made to feel insecure by Rook to the point where he begins to skip meals. And how does he get out of this state? Does he do an introspection and realize Rook was just trying to manipulate and control him? Does he ask someone for a second opinion? No. He is approached by Trey who then convinces him to eat cake with him. Vil is not only punished for showing agency but also rewarded for giving his agency up and just doing what people tell him to.

Well, maybe that's just his SRs though. Surely in his SSRs where he is meant to be the main star, this isn't the case, right? Well... His dorm uniform story is about a magazine wanting an interview with him. Right off the bat, Vil is the reactive element here. Vil then puts together new schedules and begins to get his dorm in an even better shape – which gets him complaints and grumbles from everyone. He is punished for showing agency even though it is to the other students' benefit. Vil doesn't let up and exercises further agency by adjusting the meal and exercise plans to be personalized – and he gets Rook telling him that nobody cares anyway and he is just wasting his time. Yes, the dorm members quietly change their opinion of Vil but they never tell him. The only feedback Vil has is from Rook who is, once again, punishing him for having agency.

Vil's Scalding Sands SSR card doesn't have a story but that doesn't stop it from taking away any agency Vil might've had. Not only did he not actually visit Scalding Sands, he wasn't even the one to obtain the outfit. Rather, Trey brought it to him as a gift because Kalim's parents just gave it away. Mind you, this note was completely unnecessary. The only purpose it serves for Vil is making sure he doesn't have any agency at all after already taking away what could've been an interesting story.

And then we get to Halloween. The first Halloween event was a huge breath of fresh air for Vil. He is very active and shows tons of agency. Vil is part of the Halloween committee, he oversees costume themes and makeup, he is one of the key pieces of the plan to scare away the Magicamonsters, he shows more agency than he did in the rest of the stories altogether. What is the outcome of all this? Well, he is promptly kidnapped the following night, possessed by a ghost, and made to act shamefully in front of his friends. Wow. Complete mind-control and erasure of any hint of agency specifically for the reason of him having agency in the first event.

But I hear you, all of these are just events or cards, someone else might be writing them. There's no way this is how he's meant to be seen in the main story, right? Well... Not exactly. And to make one thing clear, I am not caught up on every single tweet Yana Toboso makes. I know people have been saying for months now that Vil is Yana's favorite character but I have yet to see any proof of the claim. It started around the time Vil's Scalding Sands SSR dropped and most of it back then read as jealousy. Whether or not that was the case, I cannot tell. If this is the treatment Vil gets as a favorite character, I just hope Yana never takes a liking to me (this is a joke).

The first time we really meet and interact with Vil in the main story in any sort of meaningful way and without him just being lumped up with the rest of the dorm leaders is in Book 2, and he is quickly ridiculed and mocked for showing agency in caring how he will look during the Magift tournament. And yes, I know the novel made tweaks to this set of scenes, the novel isn't canon to the game and it showed so on multiple occasions. So right off the bat, not a great start for Vil's agency as a character.

We barely see him after that up until Book 5. Now, I have a whole post about the meaning of Vil's overblot that you can read here but this time, I want to focus on something else about this chapter. This chapter is a masterclass on how to punish a character for showing agency. Vil is painted as unreasonable and over the top from the start, be it in providing legitimate criticism to the VDC tryouts or in getting upset at his agent for violating his boundaries and signing him up for roles he explicitly doesn't want to play. Both of these are treated by the story as flaws and issues when neither of them really is. Vil being strict with the other VDC group members is for their good as well as his own. And Vil setting up boundaries over which roles he is and isn't willing to take stems from his history of being typecasted and dehumanized for his casting (I go deeper into this in the other Vil analysis post). Both of these are healthy displays of agency, yet the main story frames them in a way that makes Vil seem unreasonable for doing these things.

Vil's agency brings him a temporary reward but that is immediately taken away when during the preliminary tryout performances, he is overtaken by an objectively mediocre performance. All his hard work, all his agency, is immediately thrown out the window for the sole purpose of making him feel miserable. Once again, he is punished for exercising his agency. What he does next and his overblot are exceptions to this as Vil used his agency to do something objectively bad and the resulting overblot is more of a natural consequence than a punishment (albeit I have my gripes with how the overblot was handled as well). The final nail in the coffin in book 5 came after the overblot when Vil, once more, exercised his agency to push through his pain and still perform. Not only was he punished for his efforts by losing the competition but he was then further berated for the overblot yet again (as well as being gaslit once again by Rook, this is nothing new).

I've heard some people say that Book 6 is good in this regard, that it gives characters agency and character development. I disagree with this claim. Vil, together with the other overblotees, is kidnapped and locked up, then used as test subjects. This is about as far removed from them having agency as can be, except perhaps the ghost possession plot earlier. There is some vague talk about having to sign a consent slip but 1) this is already ridiculous after having abducted them with the use of excessive force, and 2) we are never given any reason to believe signing was their choice and not something forced out of them. They are then experimented on and that's a whole mess that removes any and all agency from everyone present. The issue with Vil specifically is that in Vil's case, this has been a pattern for a while at this point. And then we get to the Shroud brothers overblotting... Saving the world because you would be one of the people dying if it ended is not agency and it is not character development. I know the chapter tried to give Vil and everyone else a "reason" to stop the overblot but that doesn't erase the fact that if they didn't, they would die. This isn't agency, this is having a sense of self-preservation. Even if some other version of them would get to live happily and get everything they ever wanted handed to them on a silver platter, it would not be them, and they would still be either dead or erased from existence altogether (this is a side note but how exactly would resetting the universe even work? Nothing else anywhere in the franchise suggests this is even an actual possibility. Even Malleus, one of the top five mages in the world could only lock away one island by using so much magic he overblotted. Book 6's plot breaks the worldbuilding in so many ways- but that's a tangent for another time).

The one and only moment of Vil having agency in book 6 comes when he jumps in to save Idia's life. And while Idia, who has been under the influence of Tartaros for way longer and spent so much more time in it, is perfectly fine, Vil gets "aged up" a hundred years. This is not only bad writing which makes no sense but also a tremendous punishment for Vil as someone who relies on his looks for several of his jobs as well as being someone who puts so much effort into his appearance. Of course, that is not even mentioning that the supposedly older version of him looks nothing at all like Vil, has a completely different body type and face structure, and is a nod to magical transformation and not aging. Vil showcased his agency and immediately got punished for it in the most horrendous way for the character. How does Vil get out of this situation? Does he utilize his vast knowledge of potions and magic to revert himself back? Does he figure out a way to curse himself to turn back to normal? Does he seek council with a powerful or knowledgable mage, perhaps a teacher? No. He cries at the beach and doesn't do anything and then Malleus comes around, snaps his fingers, and returns everything back. Vil is not only punished for showing agency, but he is once again actively rewarded for not having any.

So, why do I believe this event will involve loss of agency for at least some of the characters? Because Vil is involved and twst has made it a pattern to rid Vil of agency. Why am I worried about this event? Because every time Vil becomes active, he gets a slap in the face for his efforts and sometimes is even rewarded for just sitting there and looking pretty. This is not what I want from a character like Vil, or from any character really. At this point, Cinderella and Snow White from the original Disney movies had better agency than Vil because when they showed agency and took active hold of their parts in the story, they were adequately rewarded, not slapped in the face for it.

Now, I am sure this leaves you with some questions, so I will try to answer those I could come up with myself here. Why do I only mention Vil when other overblotees lost their agency in book 6 and had their agency treated as wrong in their books? Because none of them were quite like Vil. None of them got punished in a twist of bad writing for saving someone's life. And their negative agency was things that were actively harmful to others such as Riddle being an unreasonable tyrant kicking people out to sleep outside, Leona trying to murder people, Azul enslaving others, etc. Vil's negative agency throughout the chapter was setting boundaries for himself and expecting people to work for the money they hoped to win.

Why am I not talking about the other characters who got possessed? Because, for the most part, it was a once-and-done deal. Yes, some of them are now showing up in Playfulland (Cater, Jade, etc.) but these characters don't have a pattern of having their agency taken away or punished at nearly every opportunity.

Why do I harp on Rook so much? Because he's the textbook definition of a gaslighter, he constantly puts Vil down, he's often used as a tool to punish Vil's agency, he actively tries to isolate Vil from other people and make him doubt his own perception, and because he thinks it is his place and his place only to judge and punish Vil for whatever he deems incorrect. And just in case I need to stress this, which I shouldn't, I am an abuse victim. I went through literal decades of gaslighting paired with other types of mental and physical abuse. Rook's wording, actions, and general patterns of behavior, are all things that hit so close to what I experienced that he used to be a legitimate trigger for me, and still makes me incredibly uncomfortable. This is, of course, not to say you cannot like the character. But denying what he does and mocking abuse victims for speaking out about their experiences isn't the same as enjoying a problematic character. The way Rook is brings active harm both to Vil as a person and to his agency, which is to be expected of a character like this.

I would like to close this up by saying that I am aware these may be conscious choices to showcase how resilient Vil can be, how he never gives up in the face of adversity, and how he perseveres in spite of all these horrific things happening to him. But at some point, it gets tiring to see your comfort character get beaten down on every turn. It gets depressing to see him never succeeding and always getting hurt or abused for just being active and taking charge of his own life. There are ways to show resilience that don't involve punishing every time a character shows agency. There is also no reason to punish that but then reward loss of agency. When Vil gives up and stops trying, that should not be the moment things start going well. Malleus shouldn't have to swoop in and magically restore Vil's youth when Vil just passively accepted that he is just going to look like this now and, if the accident truly aged him and didn't just transform his body (which would make a lot more sense), possibly die within the next few weeks or months.

Ultimately, I do not like how twst treats Vil. I hope to see this improve but I wouldn't count on it. It's not so bad that I want to leave the game over it but it is a part of what worries me about the stories to come, especially with the new event and book 7 and what they probably have in store. For now, I will remain cautiously optimistic and hope it at the very least won't be as bad as book 6.

If you've read this far, thank you so much, I appreciate you, feel free to let me know your thoughts, preferably in a polite and civilized manner. I'm down to discuss many parts of this but there are also a few that I don't see myself budging on (such as gaslighter Rook). For the most part tho, I am always happy to talk to people about my analyses and takes on things pertaining to my fandoms. Thank you again for your attention and I'll see you next time something gives me this much of a brainrot.

[the-leftist-n-slander-kids]

As a Palestinian, so much of the things on this blog are wrong. It's deeply upsetting.

I'm from Gaza and was there when the bombings began and had to return back to the United States where I had family. I was incredibly lucky to get out.

I see your intentions are good, but extremist "death to Israel" ideas are dangerous and wrong. Israel is a safe haven for many Palestinians, including myself and families. There are many issues there, however, they treat us better than Hamas. All Israelis I've talked to want a better life for Palestinians and most want a ceasefire now. Those that don't (while I disagree with them) still believe what they believe because they think it will harm the fewest people. Israelis are not their awful government. There are bad people everywhere, but Israel is one of the kindest countries I've lived in. Hamas is a terrorist organization terrorizing Gaza. I watched them kill my neighbor because he was accused of gay sex. I watched them steal food and aid (provided by Israel) from children. And as a woman, I have to constantly be aware of the looming threat of rape when I'm there.

Hamas brutalized Israeli civilians. I witnessed their bodies being thrown like garbage. I heard rumors of hostages being held in homes near mine. Hamas wants to kill all Jews and take all of Israel's land. If Israel is abolished, they will commit a massive genocide of all Israeli jews, all LGBT people, and everyone that doesn't comply.

Israel has many problems. These issues affect both Israelis and Palestinians negatively. We all deserve better. I desperately yearn for a 2 state solution where everyone can live at peace without the threat of violence from one side or another. Destroying Israel will not save us. You are furthering the detriment to Palestinians by taking an extremist view that has only ever been used to harm us.

It's obvious no one on this blog has ever spoken an Israeli or Palestinian, and you all have no idea what is actually happening. This blog is a cesspool of wartime propaganda and misinformation. You all are hurting Palestinians by spreading this. You hurt us all when you write justifications for Hamas's atrocities against Israelis and call them Nazis and terrorists.

Please learn that the world is more complicated than one predator and one prey. Two sides can be bad, and both sides deserve justice and protection and nuance. Extremism hurts everyone, even those you think you are protecting.

And again, I'll remind you that I am a Gazan Palestinian. I love Palestine and I love Israel. I love both peoples. But I hate their governments and attacks against each other.

I apologize if my wording is wrong anywhere. English is my 3rd language and I've been writing this with the assistance of Google translate.

First of all thank you for talking to me about it! I’m glad you and your family are safe and out of it. And your wording is great /srs

Second I’m not sure if I said death to Israel or not, if I did it was most likely in tags where I was just trying to spread out reach, I didn’t mean to sound like I was wishing death upon anyone. I meant the state and not the people, like I was trying to say that we shouldn’t colonize the land, not that Israeli people shouldn’t live there at all or we should kill them, that’s my fault and I 100% take accountability for it. My hope for the Palestine and Israel conflict is that in the future either it goes back into the original hands of Palestinians (NOT HAMAS) or they both settle on a two state solution! I have talked to people who are from Israel and support palestine completely and I have seen Jewish people stand against the state of Israel as well. Admittedly it’s a lot harder to talk to people who are Palestinians as a lot of them are still in Palestine, and there’s also 8.1 billion people (according to world meter) which makes it quite difficult. However I do listen to a lot of Palestinian voices on social media even if they won’t interact with me directly!

Third I don’t support Hamas in general, I support the fact they are a resistance group but that’s it. I know that Hamas has committed unfair crimes and I don’t support anything else they do minus resisting. I can acknowledge their resistance but not support their crimes. When I wrote out against someone I was simply pointing out the fact that it’s not JUST Hamas and the fact that the Israel government isn’t just aiming for Hamas, admittedly I’m not always the best at wording things and I may have sounded like I was supporting them 100%. I was very pissed at the time so I wasn’t thinking clearly. Also I didn’t call anyone a Nazi, only having nazi-like or terrorist ideas until I was called one myself and told to fuck off and watch another person get called wrong for rightly calling out that sort of anti-resistance speech. I think it’s fine to point out Hamas crimes and their wrongs but completely saying that it’s all Hamas is wrong too. When looking it up the military the IDF has compared to Hamas is way larger, and their amount of weapons is a lot more too. Israel is number 15 in military expenditures according to wiki. I support resistance of any kind.

But listen. I don’t plan to down play your experiences. You’re Palestinian and I’m not, and since I’m apparently spreading misinformation I’ll stop. I wish you and your family good luck!

[fae-felix]

Okay so it's come to my attention that there's a potential of Jimmy reading fanfic for content and after consulting other writers and general fans it's an idea that's good in theory not in practise.

This is meant to be a thread based on informing not hurting.

It's no big news that the internet doesn't take kindly to fanfiction. We've known this for years. There's a lot to consider when interacting with any bit of a fandom for content. Even a lighthearted idea can bring someone harm. People enjoy taking supposed moral highgrounds.

Not only is it unwise to go into this blindly but it can quickly become dangerous. I can say pretty safely that Jimmy probably has little understanding of fanfic culture. It's not meant to shade but let's say he goes onto ao3 to do this. What possible issues could arise?

Tagging and filtering are staples of ao3. They're what sets it apart. But they're also where new users struggle. Going into that without knowing how the site works or what certain things mean(dead dove do not eat for example) is dangerous. Tags are important. Read them.

That doesn't even mention that it's really dangerous to include usernames in this type of content. You do not know who's behind the account. A child can be put at risk by just having their username shown. The internet can and will be toxic. Don't turn a blind eye to this fact.

All of this to say basically like if he goes through with it a form is wisest. Let the authors consent to having their work read or shown on a way that won't tie any name or alias to them. As an author I'd personally not want my work in content tied to any name alias or not.

(Copied all text to this post for convenience) (Now leave me alone about this/srs)

In honour of the prospect of Jimmy reading fanfic for content I've linked a thread of my thoughts(with friend opinion cameos at the end)

[hewhofightsbythesword]

scotch or irish? tommy shelby x reader

warning/s: underage drinking, swearing, violence, and slight smut

 inspired by disco pigs (2001) 

A/N: I was really high when I came up this idea. Even wrote it while I was high, but I couldn’t find it the next mirning. Wasn’t sure if I really wrote it or if it was a dream. Either way, it’s here lol After like two weeks. Sowwyy 

Tommy and y/n. y/n and Tommy. For as long as the pair can remember, that’s the way it has always been. Born only a few months apart, the two created an instant bond so strong that Aunt Polly said it would transcend through many lifetimes. And of course, Aunt Polly was never wrong in the matters of the heart. This was a friendship full of heart, romantic and platonic love for there was not one without the rest. Tommy’s mother would say to Polly, “That boy... it’s his cleverness that’ll kill him.” Martha found herself confiding in her more, so she continued, “As long as Tommy and y/n have each other... I am not worried.” And everyone knew. Everyone except Tommy and y/n.

The two had very similar minds. What one was thinking, the other was already mentally processing and vice versa. It would be almost adorable if it wasn’t so weird, as Arthur Sr. would call it. It was only weird because they were so smart. Against everybody else (even Polly at times, although she would never admit it), they were always two steps ahead.

From a young age the two understood their natural connection. For example, at the age of seven, Tommy and y/n planned to swear a vow of silence together that was planned to last a total of ten days. At first, y/n was met with slight worry from Tommy.

“We need code names! What should I call you if I need you?”

“You won’t have to need me, silly. That’s the whole point! I will already know, and so will you.” The logic was missing. They were both aware of this but none cared.

The goal was set for ten days. Not a single word was uttered between the kids or anyone else for that matter, aggravating the living hell out of those around them, especially Arthur who would’ve done anything to be a part of the joke. However, by day five, y/n broke the vow, rushing her feet as fast as they allowed a few houses down on Watery Lane.

That day she had heard a few of the older Lee boys, around Arthur’s age, speaking down on the Gypsy Shelby’s. y/n just had to tell Tommy or she was sure she would burst. It was also on day five Tommy came to two realizations: (1) He too would break their vow of silence. There was nothing worth doing if it meant he couldn’t do it with the person who understood him the most. (2) Tommy decided that same day that y/n, in her own right, was a Shelby too.

“Shelby,” he whispers to himself, only for him to hear.

At age 15, y/n was able to convince Tommy to steal a bottle of whiskey from the local pub. Her little hands shoved a piece of a paper with instructions in his direction. “Meet me here,” was all she told him with big eyes before he could even get a word in, running back to whatever held her short attention span. Unfolding the paper, Tommy could see a drawn out map of where to find the only girl who could keep young Tommy on his toes.

If anyone asked him, he would tell them all this was something he had to do. Many nights Arthur and Tommy had to go in all hours of the night looking for their father in pubs. One night in a drunken haze, Arthur Sr. takes his second born by the shoulders, causing him to be dragged onto the floor next to his father. He takes his boy by the face, shaking it a few times to show how serious he was trying to be.

“A man is meant to provide, always. Be a man, Thomas.”

y/n asked and Tommy planned to provide.

Seeing the large “X” marking the destination, it matched the location right before Tommy’s eyes. It was a beautiful far away, empty place from Watery Lane with lots of surrounding nature. It had just finished raining. y/n always did like the way the rain made the earth smell.

She notices her friend right away and runs up to him. y/n takes him by the hand. “I found my favorite tree here. Come on,” she says very nonchalantly.

Tommy shakes his head behind her. “Of course you did, Shelby. Of course you did.”

y/n often thought the world moved too slow for her liking. She always liked to be out and about. Always wild, never to be tamed. She figures that’s why she likes the Shelby’s so much. She was blessed to find a family early in her life that matched her soul. Except, she knows why she likes Tommy so much. He liked to be wild too. He moved just as fast as y/n, and he thought just as fast as her. So there was no doubt in her mind once she tasked her best friend with the alcohol that he'd deliver.

“I just took the first one I saw and ran like hell.” He presents y/n the bottle.

“Scotch whiskey,” y/n reads the label out loud before opening it. Tommy at this point began to see the trouble that she carried within her starting to stir. Confirming this intuitive feeling, y/n goes to make a quick toast like the kind she has seen her father make with Tommy’s. “To your Aunt Pol who would kill you if she ever knew, Thomas Shelby,” she groans out as she takes the first large swing with the most confidence. Even from when they were children, Tommy always wondered how so much confidence could fit in such a small body.

He takes the bottle from her to mimic her actions. “To my Aunt Polly who will find out by the week’s end.” They both laugh before Tommy takes his sip, but when he does, he takes it differently than y/n. “What the fuck, y/n. How can you even drink that shit?” He spits and coughs as he attempts to recover.

“What? I like it.” She shrugs while going for another.

At age 18, Tommy realized he loved y/n. By the time Tommy turned eighteen, it came to no surprise to anyone that he was already turning out to be a ladies man. Girls turning into young women were quick to notice his dark hair and hypnotic blue eyes. He was different than any of the factory worker boys that took after their fathers. He was ambitious. He wanted more to life than what dirty old Birmingham could offer, and the young women knew this so in some way, it even made it seem okay that his last name was Shelby. Almost as if Tommy was being pardoned for being a Shelby. And he hated that feeling.

y/n never made Tommy feel that way. She was always the first and the last one to defend her friend since birth. Crowned by Tommy all those years ago, she was Shelby. What else could have made her break her vow with Tommy all those years ago? Tommy didn’t realize exactly what he was realizing at the time. How could he? They were kids being kids. He couldn’t have known it was loyalty. If it wasn’t clear to Tommy then, it was now.

“You need to get out of here. Go get Arthur and John. This is no place for a woman,” Tommy warns y/n one night out, sensing trouble.

The two found themselves cornered by a group of boys around their age. The Peaky Blinders were gaining respect, notoriety, and fear from those around them. Things were changing for the Shelby’s, but not everyone agreed. Most certainly not the three boys looking for a fight. “Run!”

“No!” She hisses back. She tightens her fist and holds them up.

“There is no fucking way I’m letting you do this.”

“Either I leave to get the boys and we come back to your half-dead body, if we’re lucky or I stay and fight and we may actually win this.” Truth be told, y/n wished she could listen to Tommy and go get his brothers. But more than the fear she felt for herself, it was tenfold for Tommy.

“Damn you, Shelby.” he tells her as the fight breaks out.

No words were exchanged on the walk to The Garrison. It seemed like all of the day’s events were forcing Tommy to think about the vow they made when they were seven. Only this time, Tommy could see the logic she proposed. He did know what she was thinking because he was so sure she was thinking the same as him.

“Whiskey, Harry,” was all Tommy said, not bothering to spare the man a glance. y/n goes to sit at a table like they always do but was stopped by Tommy. He latches onto her hand, careful with the cuts and bruises that were beginning to form. “No,” he tells her, “We’ll be in the snug.” And no one protested. They may have wanted to but at the sight of blood on their clothes and on his razor blade, no one dared to speak out against the Blinder.

Not long after Harry delivers two glasses of whiskey through the snug’s window. “Give the toast, Shelby,” he gives the cup to y/n.

Her eyes never leave his. Even with exhaustion hijacking them, y/n could not name a more beautiful sight. “To you, Tommy. To the best and worst pal in the world.”

In his state of shock, Tommy failed to clink their glasses together, so y/n did it. The sound pulls him out of his own swirling thoughts, and they down their drink in an instant. Like the siamese twins they are, a look of disgust and twinge of horror overtake their faces.

“Scotch.”

“Irish.”

They both spit out like venom but were quick to laugh it off. “You gave me the wrong cup, Thomas!”

“Hey, come on now. I’m still Tommy. I’m just a bloody idiot for not knowing the difference.”

Only a few moments later, the laughing winds down a bit. The atmosphere still remains light only to be shattered. “Why don’t you love me?” He blurts out to y/n. “Like the way I love you?”

y/n’s content smile never falters. “I believe you have been too busy to notice me, Tommy. I’ve been right here. Because if you would have just asked, I would’ve said I loved you too. And I do... love you too.”

He smiles at her. “The best and worst pal in the world.”

y/n could feel her heart begin to hammer against her chest. She no longer felt like she was sitting down but floating. With the adrenaline from the fight gone, she should have been able to feel her wounds mark their place on her skin. But that’s not true. All she could feel was a warm, tight feeling in her chest. The boy she loved, loved her back. And no amount of irish whiskey could ever compare.

“Do you trust me?”

“With my whole heart.”

Tommy’s eyes searched y/n’s for any trace of hesitance or fraud but found none. All he could see were the eyes of the girl he loved the most. And most importantly, the girl loved him back.

He stands up to speak to Harry through the snug’s window and comes back shortly after. “Come here, Shelby.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to kiss the only girl in all of Small Heath that I love.” At that, y/n had no protests.

Their kiss was nothing less of what the two expected. It wasn't awkward. Nerve wracking, sure, but not awkward. Many nights y/n dreamt about this very moment. She dreamt how Tommy’s lips would feel against hers. She often wondered what kind of lover he was. And now she knows, leaving her with no more thoughts to wonder about.

She is the first one to pull away. “I have loved you since we were seven and you called me “Shelby” for the first time.” She places desperate kisses onto his lips, cheeks, and neck. Anywhere they would fall, really, leaving traces of pure love behind.

Tommy feels like he is starting to lose control once her pillow soft lips attack his neck. “Tell me again, y/n. Let me hear you.”

“I love you,” She reminds him in between her kisses.

“Shelby... if you keep doing that, I’m not sure how much gentleman will be left in me.”

She looks up from the spot on his neck she was loving on, having found his sweet spot. “This one? Right here?” She asks, feigning innocence as she lightly bites down. When she hears his soft moan, her tongue laps at the spot relieving it only to finish off with a few kisses.

Before the last one can even land, Tommy’s hand finds her neck to take control once more. He doesn’t squeeze nor does he have a rough hold. He merely wraps his fingers around the neck he will one day dress in the biggest jewels. Tommy guides y/n to the edge of the table and pushes her to lay on it.

“Here, Tommy?” She giggles watching her best friends crawl on top of her

He shushes her with more wet kisses. “No one will come in. It’s just me and you.” His hands caress, squeeze, and tease whatever he can.

“It’s yours, Tommy, my heart. It’s all yours.”

He wraps his hand under her hair that was sprawled over the table into a makeshift ponytail. “Mine,” he proves when he finally feels all of her. His eyes never hers, wanting to sear the memory of the exact moment she became his. Pain overtakes her face but her hands on his lower back right above his ass lets him know she was okay. After a while, y/n signals Tommy to start moving once more and pain starts to transform into a pleasure y/n never thought was possible.

All the sounds the two were making were sure to be drowned out by the ruckus made by the drunk men just outside the snug. Tommy was sure to tell Harry that no one else was allowed in under any circumstances. In his moment of euphoria, Tommy was ready to wet his razor blade for the second time that night should anyone dare barge in and take a look at what belonged to him.

This wasn’t Tommy’s first time but it was the first time he realized all what sex could be. All the men in his life were wrong. He was wrong. It didn’t have to be all what they said it should. All he ever needed was y/n. Now that he had her, he had no intention of ever letting go.

Basking in the momentary afterglow of his best orgasm, he says, “You know what, Shelby? I don’t think I mind scotch whiskey all that much anymore,” his thumb traces y/n lower lip, even getting it slightly moist, “Not when the taste comes from your lips. My lips.”

[lovee-infected]

hi hi!!! i love your vil analysis post!! just wondering though...why does vil force epel to do traditionally “cute, feminine” things. i get that it’s, like, to counter neige for the vdc, but it kind of goes against vil’s ideology? like, how i see it, vil advocates for people to express themselves how they want without being bound by gender roles. i feel like if epel tried forcing his manliness ideology onto other people, he’d be justified in his “forcing epel to do cute things” plan, but i don’t think epel has ever shamed feminine guys? he just wants to be manly himself. could this be an allusion to how the evil queen turned ugly just to fulfill her goals? vil going against his core ideals and becoming “ugly” just to win?

Glad you enjoyed it dear! As for your question, I believe that'll be better if I go into details because I've seen many asking similar questions regarding chapter 5, and I guess that's causing some misunderstandings towards both Vil and Epel. Well, we're soon getting the rest of the Pomefiore Chapter, so I guess it's the best time for an analysis on Epel and Vil's relationship and how Chapter 5 has been going so far

First off, let me state something really really important about the Pomefiore chapter, this arc has got pretty wild spirits that are quite new compared to the previous chapters. We've got Neige, the first RSA character to appear as a real rival of a NRC student, Vil and Epel's rough relationship, Ace and Deuce joining MC on the new adventure once again and finally, the VDC: an event with is potentially important to not only the whole NRC but also Twisted Wonderland!

While all fans are surely excited to see what we'll be going through next, there are quite a few of misunderstandings and wrong interpretations that are considerably important regarding the Pomefiore chapter. In order to avoid possible dramas and more misinterpretions between the fans, let's try to take a better look at this Chapter and important Pomefiore hints that we've got so far:

(1)Epel's feelings; the most important element of chapter 5

One of the quite brilliant facts about Chapter 5, is the unique presence of characters and their roles in the story. This might seem quite unrecognizable, but right now Epel's appearance is effecting the audience way more than Vil's! This arc is mainly focusing on making the audience feel his pain and hard time, and I can say that they're doing it pretty well! We'll talk about how his feelings are being presented in part (6). Now, you may wonder why his feelings are so important in the Pomefiore arc? Isn't it supposed to be mostly about Vil? Well of course, the story is most likely leading us to Vil's overblot so he's the heart of this chapter, but the important thing is too see how crucial Epel's role is here. Watching how Epel is in pain, silenty crying and forced into doing something that he doesn't want to by Vil is savagely effecting this fandom's interpretation of Vil, some are commenting on how he's the worst or how horrible he is or hundreds of not really friendly critiques which is awfully frustrating... We'd continue to talk about this point in part (5)!

(2) Epel's relationship with Vil

Let's review what we've got through the side stories. To begin with, Epel obviously doesn't really like Vil, (I'm trying to cooperate and not say that he hates him) he didn't appreciate having him as the dorm leader from the very beginning. But he's got some strong reasons to dislike Vil so we can't really blame him:

1)Vil slapped him all of a sudden just because of his poor posture at the dinner table 2)Vil almost crashed Epels head between his hands while teaching him some manners 3)Vil's idealistic are just the opposite of Epel's 4)Vil is trying to change Epel, especially during chaptet 5. It sometimes feels like Vil is treating Epel like his puppet and Epel doesn't appreciate this all.

At the end of his SR lab story Epel stated how he's going to study his hardest in magic and potions, so maybe at some point he'd beat Vil, which goes to prove that he considers Vil a rival.

"Why is it so though? Isn't this pretty risky for Epel to challenge Vil, especially as Vil is a dorm leader and Epel's just a first year who's still an amateur at magic?"

Farewell, let me mention something about Epel, he's got a really strong will to the point of not giving up until proving everyone wrong. He's often looked down on, is called to be useless and dumb, and is sometimes insulted for being innocent and naïve. True, he still has a lot he needs to learn and he's aware, but he won't take being underestimated easily.

Just look at him! He's been raised in a farm and he still found his way to this school filled with stunning students coming from noble families while Epel is a simple country boy! He proved the point to us once again in his lab coat story where Crewel gave him an impossible task just to push him into giving up and coming to apologize afterwards. When Epel realized that he was just tricked by Crewel, he felt quite frustrated and started to cry, yet he didn't give up and used his personal experiments and what he'd learned back in his farm life and paved his road to success and impressing everyone including Crewel!

This is why he isn't backing up now, he doesn't want and isn't going to lose to Vil. Another important reason might be how Vil seems to have control over Epel, his manners, his attitude, the way he looks and basically, the person Epel is. Epel has indirectly said that Vil may be currently bounding his actions and life, but someday this will change. He mentioned similar lines several times and you can see he really has a strong will to prove everyone, especially Vil, that he's not a cute apple boy to sit still and look pretty. And if he's been waiting for the right time to stand against Vil, chapter 5 has got it. In part (7) you'll see why.

(3)What is happening in chapter 5?

Okay before we continue, let's just focus on what we've got in Pomefiore chapter: This year's vocal and dance championship has an unbelievable amount of media focused on it , because two of the world-famous influencers,Vil Schoenheit & Neige Leblanche, are joining. Both are great influencers and talented designers, but recently Neige has been getting really popular through the social media and TV, thus Vil realizes that the time to face his well-known rival, Neige, has come.

The VDC is no joke to him because hundreds of people are coming to watch this competition between two Celebrities, and his career is surely at risk. If the VDC doesn't go as well as he's planned, that'll be an end to his fame and clout, possibly his whole career! Therefore he has to make sure that nothing is going to ruin his plans for the big day, and that's why he is going to use his ultimate weapon, the red poisoned apple. Note that this isn't just about Vil, it's about protecting NRC's clout against RSA as well, so losing the VDC would seriously effect NRC's picture throughout the whole twisted wonderland. So a really important part of NRC's future is relying on Vil's hands right now.

Look, unlike the previous chapters, Vil's story is about nothing fictional or exaggerated; it's something that's pretty normal to see in real life! Two famous fashion designers joining a competition, both are giving in their best, aren't planning to lose, are going to be awfully strict towards training their models and making sure that nothing would be messed up, and are SERIOUS about winning because losing it to the other side would end in losing their clout and having the reports of their unfortunate fall-down spread worldwide.

Unlike the previous overblots, Vil's strictness and seriousness has NOTHING to do with being evil or crazy, he's just doing what he's supposed to be doing, working his hardest to defend his career. Anyone else who were in Vil's shoes would've done the same, and nothing about it chaotic, heartless or mad. His being pretty strict towards Epel because he's his main hope, Epel is the perfect beauty material and is definitely capable of achieving all the best through the VDC, that's why Vil's counting on him. Just as a fashion designer is strict with training their model, Vil is all serious with his way of couching Epel. And it's just about being professional, not being evil!

(4) It's not about Vil, it's about Epel

This is more of a continuation to part (3), but let's talk seriously about how wrong chapter 5 is being interpreted. "Vil is the worst! Can't he see that Epel doesn't want this?" or "Ew gross! People like Vil who use others for their very own benefits are just horrible" are some of the aggressive comments I've recently heard about how Vil is doing in Chapter 5, which is mainly because of Epel. I mentioned that Epel's feelings are most important element of chapter 5 and this is why!! Vil isn't doing anything that savage or mean but his actions seem to be a lot more appealing to fans due to how Epel's frustration and pain is being focused on. It's not because of Vil, it's because of Epel. Vil had been just the same with Leona back in the fairy gala event and most of the fans considered the story to be much of a comedy, but when Vil's treating Epel just the same way it sounds mean, cruel, harsh and heartless. See what I meant? Epel's presence was crucial to give Vil an evil perspective and make him seem just as bad as Azul or Leona.

I'm not defending his action since Epel as well is surely under a serious pressure. He doesn't even want to be joining the VDC, let alone having to follow all these strict rules that Vil's been teaching him so far. But since Epel forcedly made the deal with Vil and promised to help him for the VDC, there's no turning back now. Vil is counting on him as his very last hope and is putting his hardest of work and effort into training Epel, just like any professional fashion designer would've done.

(5)Vil is NOT the Evil Queen!

As for Vil's biggest difference with the Evil Queen, I must say that Vil does really work his hardest for what he desires. Evil Queen simply wanted Snow White dead while we've got Vil, working his ass off preparing everything for the VDC. He isn't just going to get mad and envies of Neige because his becoming popular, he doesn't want Neige dead either. All Vil has been doing so far was working and working and working and getting to be called cruel and heartless in return, I mean can't you just feel the amount of effort and nerve he's giving into work?

See, a considerable majority of the fandom is exaggerating the story of chapter 5 while Vil hasn't even shown a simple sign of having any ill intentions or evil plans in mind! We don't know what is going to happen i the next episodes but let's say that he hasn't done a single evil thing so far.

Just take a look at previous chapters! Leona was openly planning to unfairly harm and injure other students and Azul fooled nearly 200 students, took away their magic and forced them to work for him in Mostrolounge until they graduate from the very beginning. Heartslabyul and Scarabia weren't as severe as these two but they still did have some sort of a visibly unhealthy aura. Vil's current impression as the villain of chapter 5 is high-kay normal and chill compared to the previous chapters as he literally has done nothing evil so far, NOTHING. Most of the fandom is currently giving him the malicious aura that he doesn't have, or at least he doesn't yet have. Look, Vil's just doing his job. This doesn't even have anything to do with the Evil Queen! Also, Vil's rival ship with Neige has nothing to do with beauty, it's about fame, net-worth and popularity.

We don't know if he'd come up with any ill plans or serious intentions to harm Neige or anyone else in the new episodes, but his current impression in nothing more than going hard on Epel as his coach which is just being overly exaggerated by the fandom. A real life fashion designer would've done JUST the same thing! I know that this story is most likely going to end in Vil's overblot and him revealing his inner villain but come on, he hasn't done anything horrible so far!

(6)How Epel is being presented through Chapter 5

This point is the cause of many misunderstandings and confusions regarding Chapter 5, many find the context of Epel being forced to do what he doesn't like so cruel, some on the other hand are confused becaused Vil has clearly stated that his terms of beauty are gender neutral, so why would he force Epel to do these in the first place? As I said before, it's because of Epel, not Vil.

When it comes to perspectives on beauty, Epel's idealistics are just the opposite of Vil's. Look, Epel hates being mistaken with a girl or being considered soft and cute, this is something that has been bothering him for quite a long time. Being misgendered because of his appearance all over his life has had some negative effects on his perspective toward anything cute or feminine, as it just reminds him as how he often gets misunderstood because of his unwanted appearance and cuteness. Epel is awfully similar to Deuce and wants nothing more than getting to reveal the manliness he's holding within, through not only tastes but also abilities.

This is why he's been feeling quite uncomfortable in chapter 5 because Vil's basically pushing him into doing what he hates the most, looking cute and, well, something that Epel would consider feminine. The thing is, Vil does not consider stuff like 'Being able to sing beautifully, performing eye-catching movements voice, wearing stunning clothes and applying makeup' feminine at all, to Vil these are gender neutral terms of beauty and he doesn't get why Epel might consider them girlish or feminine either. Epel's comment on not wanting to do girlish things sounded naïve and low key rude to Vil because beauty isn't bound to being male or female, and he doesn't appreciate the idea of these works being called girlish at all.

This is neither Epel nor Vil's fault, it's just the difference in idealistics.

(7) Vil's on thin ice right now

Let me tell you a secret, 'choosing Epel to become the red poisoned apple wasn't an accidental act AT ALL'. Vil has been watching over Epel ever since he entered NRC and this is why he was so strict about changing this "Mudded potato" into a well-behaved Pomefiore student. Vil knew Epel's name and had discussed his case with Rook right at Epel's first day, and this is why he treated Epel so harshly at the dinner table because his plan to turn Epel into his red poisoned apple had already begun. He was preparing Epel from the very beginning and was just expecting the big day to arrive, the day he'd need Epel to defeat his rival, Neige.

Remember that I said how Epel's been waiting for a chance to stand against Vil and how Chapter 5 would be his BEST opportunity to do this? Before we explain this point, let's have a review on how Vil has been effecting and changing him so far. During his first days in NRC, Epel was more comfortable with shouting, fighting and opposing to other students including Vil. He used to disagree until Vil slapped him but now in Chapter 5, he doesn't even say a word when Vil tells him to do something, he just silently obeys as tears fall from his eyes. He no longer fights back as much as he used to.

But right now, Vil's career, status and future is bound to Epel. Vil has been working harder than ever trying to turn him into the Red poisoned Apple he's been expecting him to become, and if Epel backs up or decides to ruin the show and stop letting Vil have control over him, that'll seriously make Vil explode. And if you think that Vil deserves to be hurt like this, I gotta say that he doesn't, he seriously doesn't deserve this after all he's been going through. Just imagine being on Gil's shoes, how would you feel about having the result of all that hard work and effort you've given into work for YEARS ruined like this? Look, we need to judge this situation nonetheless, even is you don't really like Vil it's important to realize the unfairness of this possible future to the story.

Epel now has the opportunity to BREAK Vil like no one has ever done, after all Vil has been going through to coach Epel, teach him manners, change his nature and prepare him for the VDC this would certainly be the worst thing that may happen to him and it'll make him mad, like really really mad. The Vil we've seen through the story so far was nothing more than Vil's normal calm self so we can't even imagine how it might be to see him mad. At this point he won't be bound to any manners or consderations, and keep this in mind: "We won't like it when Vil is evil, and we can't imagine how evil he can be,"

I'm honestly so excited and terrified at the same time to see what we'll get to see in the rest of the Pomefiore chapter, the atmosphere is so nerve-wrecking right now and I can't help but to pray that the rest of this story doesn't traumatize us as much as it can- “Yana please, have mercy on us”

[ddarker-dreams]

Icebreaker. Giorno x F Reader 🎀

a/n: i wanted to show more of SR reader’s personality here! i had a lot of fun playing around with this scene, i really just wanted to show her she goes about talking with the others. reader and giorno try to understand people in different ways. :’) 

[Scarlet Ribbons description]

There’s only so many times you can count the birds overhead before it becomes a dull affair. 

Still six of them, you think. Fugo had caught onto your fascination of the sky a few minutes prior. He offered some knowledge on the creatures, which admittedly, was rather enlightening. Should you ever be quizzed on random trivia involving birds, you’ll do better than most. Fugo’s wide array of knowledge on various topics never failed to impress you. 

“That brings me to seagulls, which black-tailed gulls are often mistaken for. Seagulls are one of the few animals capable of drinking seawater, possessing special glands that filter out excess salt.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows at the revelation. “We really got handed the short end of the evolution stick.” 

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Fugo sighed, and placed a hand on his hip. “What even goes on in that head of yours?”

“Too much or nothing at all. There’s no in between.”

Truth be told, it’s not really birds that you’re mulling over. 

As subtle as you can manage to, your eyes shift to the latest recruit Bucciarati brought in. Giorno Giovanna. He is currently standing farthest away from the group. Not that you can entirely blame him, as Abbacchio has made a point of shooting him dirty glances on occasion. 

When you had been introduced to the others, you were immediately able to mentally place them. Bruno was someone who commanded respect. Fugo was rough around the edges yet meant well. Narancia brought lots of energy with him. Abbacchio felt prickly, but wouldn’t be antagonistic unless provoked. Mista… well, Mista was just an easy going guy. Within minutes of meeting him you were talking and laughing like old friends. 

So what does that make Giorno? 

You honestly have no idea, and it’s bothering you. He felt like a walking contradiction. There was no getting a read on him, no understanding what he’s thinking. In theory it should be easy enough for you to talk to him. Giorno’s very polite, and doesn’t give the same standoffish vibe you used to get when speaking to Abbacchio. All the methods you utilized to befriend the others feel like they won’t work with him. You're of the inclination that even if your attempts at conversation bothered him, he’d never voice it, for the sole sake of remaining courteous. 

Sitting here and worrying about it won’t do me good, you decide, standing from your seat. Now might be the best time to try and understand Giorno better. Everyone is spaced out on the yacht, doing their own thing. Maybe he’ll feel more inclined to speak his mind without the others lurking around. You find yourself walking towards where he stands, peering over the Tyrrhenian Sea, golden hair illuminated by sunlight. There’s no plan in your mind. Your improvisation rate has at least an 80% success rate, far higher than Mista’s. Hearing your approaching footsteps, Giorno turns, greeting you with a nod of his head.

You stand by his side, looking in the same direction he was. “Are you a fan of the sea, Giorno?” 

“It has its draws,” Giorno responds. He then pauses, as if deliberating for a moment, and poses you the same question. “Do you like it?”

“To be honest, it’s a little nerve wracking. I’ve seen those videos of waves taller than buildings crashing down onto boats before, and I’ve never looked at the ocean the same,” you admit with a shiver. Giorno blinks, and you realize your comment is akin to talking about a plane crashing when you’re on a plane. Whoops. “Not that I think that’ll happen. We’re not far out enough.” 

“That’s a relief.” He replies. 

You’re grateful for the grace he extends to you. “Anyways… I wouldn’t mind seeing the faraglioni while we’re out here. I’ve heard it's quite a sight.” 

An idea had popped into your head. A small benchmark, to get a better understanding of Giorno’s character. You placed the incorrect emphasis on the end of faraglioni. Instead of finishing the word with the short vowel ə, you ended it with the long vowel i: to see if he’d point it out like Fugo or Bucciarati would. The latter in a far more considerate manner. 

Giorno doesn’t acknowledge it, choosing to overlook the minor error. “I’ve never seen it myself, but I’ve heard tourists enjoy it.” 

That small interaction gives you a better feel for who he is as a person. Giorno is a person who is considerate of others. Whether it be for maintaining peace or some other goal, you’re still uncertain, but it feels better having at least some understanding now. For good measure, you place a finger to your cheek in thought. Giorno watches your actions with curiosity. 

“Say, Giorno, did I pronounce that right...?” You wonder aloud in a pensive whisper. 

“It was very close,” he clears his throat. Giorno thinks for a moment, before continuing. “Faraglioni.”

Giorno ends the word with the proper long vowel. His correction is as well-mannered as he is. You nod your head, pleased with this knowledge on the new recruit. Repeating the word as he did, you let it roll off your tongue with ease. Not one of the more difficult Italian words you’ve had to wrestle with, in all honesty. 

He’s trying to get a read on you the same way you are with him. The inquisitive side of you wonders what conclusions he’s drawn from speaking to you, in comparison to the others. Well, at least you’re not as standoffish as they are. It must be a guy thing, you decide. I’ll ask Fugo about it later.

The two of you return to looking over the sea in a comfortable silence, basking in the sight of never-ending blue. Every now and then you’ll throw in a comment, to which he’ll respond in kind, if not a little stiff. It’s still an improvement over earlier. 

You have a gut feeling that you’ll get along with Giorno quite well. 

[camelliacats]

no place for soft hearts

Another random oneshot.

Fic: "no place for soft hearts" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: eventual Theodore Nott/Rabastan Lestrange, Nott Sr., Draco Malfoy, & Daphne Greengrass, with cameos from others

Rating: T

Words: ~12,150

Additional info: romance, slash, cross gen, angst, AU fic, sequential, Harry's era, 2nd person POV

Summary: Theodore Nott takes sides. He doesn't care which one is right, as long as Rabastan is on the same side.

               Father has a bad habit. Ah, well, he has a lot of bad habits, but the one that stands out the most to you is the way he bites the left side of his lower lip so hard sometimes that you think he'll break the skin and bleed to death. He hasn't bled to death yet, but you keep wondering, hoping even, that it'll happen someday.

               But that day won't be today. No, instead he is biting down on his lip because, once again, he is annoyed. He often is, with you around.

               It's not your fault. You don't wish to be at home with him and his—his friends. You would even rather go and play with the Malfoy heir, the sniveling brat that he is. But, no, Father didn't have the time to arrange to send you away tonight, so you wander the house like the house-elf your Father killed last month. (He goes through them almost as quickly as the Black family did.)

               Father coughs and clears his throat, and that's the sign that you're lingering too close. The hushed chatter between him and his comrades fades away into nothing. "Go away," he says harshly.

               No "Be a good boy, Theodore" or even a "Go play with your toys, Theo" (and, really, what toys?). He doesn't use your name because he didn't give it to you. No, that was your mother, whose life you took in order to be born. So you've never meant much of anything to him.

               Lost in your thoughts for a moment, you jolt when you hear him speaking at you again. How rare, twice in one evening! "Didn't you hear me, boy?" he snaps.

               You grip the sleeve of your baggy jumper in your seven-year-old hand. Uh-oh. If he speaks to you again, then you won't be sitting at all tomorrow.

               But, before you scramble away, someone stands up from the table and comes forward, motioning to Father and the others to continue without him. "Go on, then," he says, his voice smooth, not harsh like Father's. "I'll be but a moment, Nott."

               "Don't waste your energy, Rabastan" is all Father says.

               Rabastan turns to you, and you flinch, expecting at the very least the back of his hand. But you flinch again when he smiles at you. Smiles scare you much more. "Hey, there," he says.

               You say nothing. You're a good boy. You know not to speak, at all.

               "Come on," Rabastan says, and he ushers you along gently, away from the small dining hall in the Nott family house. He walks you to the foot of the stairs. "It's 'Theodore,' yes?"

               You nod.

               He crouches down, and you're surprised by the blue of his eyes. They're deep and piercing, a blue a few shades darker than Father's favorite Bluebell Flame Spell (favorite because he loves to throw fireballs at you and see you run away in fear). Rabastan's blue eyes scare you, but you don't know why. It's different from other things that scare you. You suppose you're just not used to such a color.

               You open your mouth to speak—wouldn't it be nice to use your voice for once?—but you recall at the last second your lifelong orders and shut your trap.

               Rabastan looks kindly at you. "It's all right, Theodore. Your father didn't mean to snap at you. We adults will be done and out of here in no time. Do you have a book to read or something? Time will fly that way, I find."

               Your head hangs. You've also been told not to lie. So you can't tell Rabastan that you have things to occupy your time when you don't.

               He frowns for a second and then glances back over his shoulder. It's almost as though he hadn't even been at the table, with how Father and Lucius Malfoy and two of the other men discuss business heatedly. He turns back to you. "Hey, mind showing me around here? Your dad's always liked to keep his secrets… I know Lucius' home pretty well, and my home's boring…"

               He seems genuine, kind. You don't know how to handle kind. But you take him on a tour anyway, because you're a good, obedient boy.

               Besides, he knows and uses your name. And no one's ever done that before.

               "Theodore!"

               Rabastan's face is as young as ever (which makes sense, since he attended school after your father) as it breaks into a mischievous smile. You hold a finger to your lips, motioning for him to be quiet, and he blinks and copies the motion, growing quiet. You both look behind him, and Father doesn't look at you two. He's decided to ignore Rabastan so long as he entertains you.

               But Rabastan's older brother, Rodolphus Lestrange, sneers at you. "Babysitting," he grumbles with a roll of his eyes. When he turns around, Rabastan makes a rude gesture at his back.

               You look up morosely at Rabastan, and he gives you a sad smile and a shake of his head.

               "Don't listen to him," Rabastan mumbles. He ushers you upstairs. Nothing much awaits you there, but it at least dulls the sounds of downstairs. "Roddie's always had a stick up his arse."

               You can't help but snicker, but you try to cover the sound with a cough.

               "Ah, what's this?" Rabastan smirks. "Almost four years of interaction, and this is the first I get a laugh out of you?"

               You give him a sarcastic look and open the door to your room. It's a happier place now, with—as he said—four years of interaction under your belt. There is an old, worn, stuffed hippogriff hiding under your pillow that once belonged to Rabastan in his boyhood. Tucked under your clothes in your drawers are several books Rabastan has snuck in to you. You even possess a dead deck of Exploding Snap cards, and it's good that the enchantment wore off a long time ago, so you can play in silence. If Father found out about any of this, he'd likely finally hit you with those flames…

               "What shall we do this evening?" the older wizard says as he hogs your bed and stretches out as if he's just your fellow eleven-year-old.

               You smile, just a smidge, to yourself. He's like an older brother or a very young uncle who thinks he's still a kid. Honestly, you enjoy his company, so you don't think you have to do something every time he comes to Father's meetings. "Dunno," you say, and Merlin how you cherish the use of your voice. You only get to use it when Rabastan comes over once a month.

               "'Dunno'?" he echoes. "All right, then. Let's be girls and chat, Theodore. After all, I'll be missing my playmate starting…what, next month already? Shite, that pulls up so quickly, that time of year."

               Your shoulders sag. You hadn't exactly wished to talk about this, but on the other hand… "Yeah. September first. To Hogwarts, I go."

               "I remember when I went. Lots of loud, annoying people. But there were a few good ones, too. A few all right ones, in my year or thereabouts. One bloke…" Rabastan's eyes close for a moment. "Well, it was a different time, Theodore. You thought you knew someone, and then—" He pauses and sits up. "Anyway, these days it's easier to know who's on your side."

               "You mean like my father," you say, "or Malfoy or Dolohov."

               Rabastan looks at you, and you hope he doesn't catch the coldness in your eyes. You've never confessed that you're not on Father's side, and you don't think you'll ever 'fess up. Thankfully, Rabastan doesn't press you, or maybe he doesn't read that in you. "So what are you thinking of, concerning Hogwarts?"

               "It'll finally give me something to do," you admit, and you rummage through your clothes until you pull out a flimsy book and toss it to him.

               "House?"

               "I thought Slytherin was the only one."

               There's a pause, and Rabastan clucks his tongue. "…yeah. Yes, you're right." He forces out a chuckle as he picks up the book. "Ah, this one again?"

               "I like it."

               "Do you ever read it on your own?"

               "Of course. The only useful thing you taught me was how to read."

               Rabastan nods, as if giving up. "You'd think you'd get sick of it, then, or at least of the sound of my voice reading it aloud."

               You look away, hiding your growing smile. You could never get sick of his voice, not when it's the only thing that carries you out of here one night per month.

               It doesn't hit you right away, how much you'll miss it once you start school.

               You come into your own, at school, albeit quietly. That makes perfect sense as, outside Slytherin, the biggest talk for the past year has been the Boy-Who-Lived. Inside Slytherin, Draco Malfoy's the hotshot, but you've been putting up with him since you both were in diapers, so that's nothing new.

               Malfoy's nothing special. He's fairly bright, but his obsession with Potter is embarrassing. It's almost as though he's trying to be something as astounding as the Boy-Who-Lived, but, aside from his family's money, there's nothing special about Malfoy.

               Still, just as in the good ol' days, you lend him your ear sometimes (otherwise, Father would hear about it). These days Malfoy likes to muse about this Heir of Slytherin business. He puts up a front around the others: Parkinson, Zabini, Goyle, Crabbe. Daphne Greengrass feigns interest occasionally, but the other three Slytherin girls in your year could care less about any of them; they prefer to keep to themselves.

               "If I were the Heir, I wouldn't pick off everyone immediately," Malfoy drones on. His gray eyes are colder than the castle's stones. "I'd come up with a pattern. The sort of pattern that would take the adults too long to realize is a pattern."

               You look away and roll your eyes. Amongst other things you picked up from Rabastan, you know how to hide your true personality. The only person you've let see you being a prat is Rabastan; anyone else isn't safe.

               Still, Malfoy wants feedback. "Well? What do you think, Nott?"

               You sigh. Great, he's forced your hand. "I'm not sure. I think doing something like that while in school is a risk."

               Malfoy smirks. "You're too cautious, Nott. That's the whole point. Making them fear that they can't find the Heir because it could be one of any dozens of students. They can't force Veritaserum down all our gullets," he finishes.

               Because of Father, you're used to scary. Because of that, you're used to fighting down shivers. Still, the chill that creeps up your spine is akin to someone's icy fingers dragging along it. At least Malfoy's all talk.

               …you hope. Truth is, you fret, and it's enough for you to risk owling Rabastan. You've never done so before, and you hope an owl can make a delivery with just a name.

               It takes a week longer than normal to get a response, but you're sure that's because you didn't have an address for him.

Theodore—

You mustn't write such things in the post, especially if you're using a school owl! These things get checked, you know.

About M: He's not that bright a fellow, is he? Don't worry about him. He doesn't know what he's talking about. He's just a kid.

—Rabastan

               It's nothing much. But it's more than you hoped for. Rabastan's right. There's no reason to believe that Malfoy is anything but talk. It's nice that you have someone in your corner, someone to set your mind at ease.

               (In April, you get an owl for your thirteenth birthday.

               The school year ends with Potter having another victory under his belt, and his fame grows.

               But you could care less. You've got your own owl.)

               (You're hiding many more smiles these days.)

               The summer seems to end in the blink of an eye, or some other cliché. There are more meetings than usual, but now Rabastan is a part of their plans. It's as if the others finally remembered that he's one of them.

               You hole up in your room like usual when they're over, and you try not to think of the next day when you'll be forced to entertain Prince Malfoy over at the Malfoy estate. At least you've got your schoolbooks to keep you company.

               Rabastan tries to deny that for as long as possible, the fact that you cope fine with nothing but the attention of your homework for weeks on end. But, eventually, he gives in, and you wonder if maybe you're more interesting than Father's clandestine get-togethers.

               "Been looking all over for you," Rabastan says by way of greeting.

               You don't look up from your book. "Sorry. There are just so many hiding spots in this house."

               He grunts and crosses his arms in front of his chest, standing in your doorway. "Oh, don't become a moody teenager now, Theodore."

               You frown and glance up. As soon as you do, you know you've lost the game. "I'm not moody."

               "Right," he says with a laugh. He walks over, pushes your feet to the side, and sits at the foot of your bed. "You're selectively emotional."

               You give him a look. Your navy eyes look black when reflected in his ultramarine ones. "What do you want?"

               "Where have your manners gone?" he says offhandedly. "I didn't even get a 'thank you' for the bird."

               Something feels off, and you touch your cheeks without a thought. Huh. They're warm. That's rather embarrassing. Because of that and his reminder, you give him a little glare. "Thank you," you say through gritted teeth.

               He smirks, and it's nice. It's nothing like Malfoy's smirk, which makes you want to leave the room. It's familiar and—hmm—welcoming, you suppose. "Nice to know you haven't forgotten your manners after all." Still, he lets it go. "Name?"

               "'Owl.'"

               "Oh, you've got to be kidding me. You're horrible, Theo."

               It doesn't even occur to you that, for the first time in your life, you've got a nickname. "Well, I'm not creative."

               "Yes, you are. You've managed to stay sane in this house for thirteen years." Rabastan takes in a low, deep breath; he's actually impressed. "That takes creativity."

               You want to ask him a million things at once suddenly: why he's impressed, why he turns so serious sometimes, why he visits you, why he brings you things, what runs through his mind when you two interact, what his place is among your father's compatriots, why he ever bothered to smile at a lowly, lonely seven-year-old you…

               Why it seems as though he understands everything you've ever been through.

               Instead, you ask, "How about 'Jet'?"

               "Well, the bird's fast, but not that fast, to be honest…"

               But you don't explain to him your reasoning. It would just make your cheeks burn hotter anyway. (Because his shiny tresses remind you of the black stone, and you like little reminders that he exists, that he's in your life. After all, he's in your corner, and an ally is a nice thing to have in this lonely world.)

               "So, uh…how has Nott been around the, uh…the bird?"

               You scoff. "Father actually congratulated me when I came home."

               Rabastan's eyes widen. You like that. You like seeing so much blue. "What?"

               "Yes, he thought I stole it from the school or some student. He said that that would make him proud. And then he said not to ruin the moment by telling him the truth." You close your book with a sigh. "I think I'd be Son of the Year if I turned bad."

               To your surprise, Rabastan's eyes soften. "Don't do that, Theo. Bad… You're far from bad." He ruffles your short, choppy hair.

               "Rabastan!" Rodolphus hollers. His voice is like sandpaper on glass.

               "Duty calls," your…(what is he?)…friend states. He stands, pats your stockinged feet, and turns to leave.

               He's at the doorjamb when you pipe up, "You say that, but…what duty?"

               You're curious—to be honest, you always have been, since your first memory of Father's meetings—but your curiosity won't be sated tonight. No, because Rabastan halts, takes in a breath, hangs his head, and…taps the jamb with his fingers. For the first time since you've known him, he leaves without answering your question, even without a "goodbye."

               A little part of you aches at that. You spend your third year trying to keep it from growing.

               Third year was entertaining enough. But the summer before fourth year? It's a freaking party.

               For once you don't mind going over to Malfoy Manor. For once you don't mind having to entertain Prince Malfoy. Because you ping back and forth between your home and his, whenever the adults convene. And you start to take an interest in their on-goings.

               If Father interrogated you, you'd be screwed. Honestly, you're not a very good liar (you're all right with half-truths), and you can't tell him your real reason.

               See, if you flit around the edges of the meetings, you get a little more of Rabastan, a little more of his time. Of course, the others find you a distraction at times, but Lucius Malfoy cares to indulge you. While Rabastan doesn't encourage your interest (fake or not), Lucius Malfoy almost enjoys it.

               "Draco isn't ready for these things yet," he tells the others, rather ashamed. "He…is still a boy. His interests have yet to mature. But Theodore here," he says with a hand on your shoulder and a way of saying your name that makes you want to hear Rabastan's "Theo" every single time to wipe it away, "Theodore perhaps might be the door into…the next generation." Lucius Malfoy meets the eyes of every man in the room.

               "Then let Theodore decide," Rabastan says, his tone clipped.

               "Not today," Father interrupts, and that closes the discussion. For now.

               Rabastan leads you out of the room—not for the first time—and walks you out to the lush gardens. "The Malfoys never spared any Knut," he comments as he gazes upon some purple flowers.

               "I'm not a child," you tell him, and you immediately regret saying it, because that was the top thing to make you sound weak.

               He crosses his arms in front of his chest (he does that more often now) and groans. "Theo…"

               Your stomach flips, and you furrow your brow. "Does this have something to do with your duty?"

               He ruffles your hair until you push him away. You notice his long, black hair is tied back today. For business, you presume. "…it does," he confesses.

               "And that is…?"

               "None of your business."

               You grimace. "I know what you lot talk about. I know that your pro-blood purity leanings are strong and run deep. Why do you think I cracked a joke about Lupin at the end of the year? The school, for letting a half-breed teach us—"

               Rabastan closes his eyes, and it's like having something stolen from you, without his gaze on you. "Don't say such things, Theo. You don't know what you're talking about."

               "I don't? Care to enlighten me, then?" you remark cheekily.

               When he does finally look at you, his eyes smolder. Yes, you learned a new word this past school year after listening to Daphne and Pansy giggle ridiculously over the short stories in that horrendous publication, Witch Weekly. "Listen to me, Theodore," he says lowly. "After you have lived the life I have, after you have seen the prejudices I have, after you have lost—" Rabastan hisses and catches his breath. "Once you have lived, then come talk to me."

               You nod weakly, your obedient nature kicking in. As he backs off, you realize that he'd been hovering over you. In the back of your brain, something clicks that he's taller than you, much taller. You note the difference and tuck it back away.

               Rabastan deflates, and he beckons to you as he enters the gardens. "Ah, come on, Theo." His voice is gentle once more. "I can't stay mad at you."

               You're glad, and you happily dog his heels. You don't want him to be mad at you, just as you'd never want to be mad at him. No, you'd much rather be mad at whatever traumas made Rabastan such a calculating, nervous, cautious person.

               Of course, in lieu of that, you choose to hate whichever persons caused him those traumas, even though you don't know who they are. Maybe you'll figure it out someday (as if his snarky remarks about Sirius Black's escape aren't clues enough), but maybe that day isn't today. No day this summer is.

               But Malfoy gives you someone to hate when he comments to you one day, "So, what's the deal?"

               "What deal?" you ask with little to no interest.

               "You and Lestrange."

               You halt. You're mid-reach for a book in their family library on another day full of meetings.

               "And don't try, 'Which Lestrange?' Because my uncle and his brother look alike, but they aren't twins."

               You still your tongue. You'd almost been about to say, "They look nothing alike." But you're smart enough to realize that that would only dig your grave this much deeper. "Why do you ask?"

               Malfoy sneers. "It's strange."

               "Hmm."

               "You're strange."

               You nearly smirk. "He's Lestrange."

               "Don't get cute, Nott." Malfoy comes up to you and gets in your face. "It's weird to be bosom buddies with someone twice our age."

               "Not really." You take the tome you wanted and flip through it.

               "What, do you fancy him or something?"

               "Why would you say that?" you say calmly. You check your emotions; you can experience them and question them later.

               He shrugs, and a blond hair falls out of place. He fixes it. "I s'pose because I don't have any other explanation for you two."

               You allow yourself a snort. "Well, I'm a bit of an old soul, Malfoy."

               "Are you saying you're too mature for my company, Nott?" There's a quiet moment, and then he smiles. It's the dangerous smile of a Cornish Pixie. "I like you, Nott. You're fine with being a frank bastard at times."

               Oddly enough, a part of you relaxes. Maybe you'd been wrong about Malfoy. Or maybe he's just finally growing up.

               Either way, his carefree words have gotten to you, and you ponder them alone in your quiet room. Fancy? Rabastan? That's unheard of. It's despicable. You don't feel that way, and you never would, not towards him. He's in your corner, that's all.

               (…the corner of your brain… …the corner of your heart…)

               And then…

               The Quidditch World Cup happens. And you know that recent plans from recent meetings come to fruition.

               You didn't attend (lucky git Malfoy did), but you wish you had. Though, you could care less about the Quidditch and more about the Death Eater attack that ended up with Potter briefly in trouble.

               After the attack, the summer ends without any more meetings. They're lying low, staying off the grid for now. You don't blame them. That's the smart thing to do.

               But you wish you could see him. You wish you could've been there for him, with him. After all, what if he'd been captured? He's a cautious man, but you think on your feet and would be willing to bet you do so better than he (you've had years of practice from dodging punishments here and there).

               You begin to think about their masks and wonder which one is his… If you had one, what would it look like…? You start to design one, halfheartedly, on bits of parchment that you hide under your mattress…

               When the summer ends and you're on the train back to Hogwarts, you don't like the itchy feeling you get from Malfoy being right. There's something about you and Rabastan…but you're not willing to admit it's that.

               The year is horrible, worse than the last.

               The Triwizard Tournament is the most boring thing anyone could've come up with, even if there is the possibility of death for any or all of the competitors.

               Yes, yes, so they get to play host to two other schools.

               And, yes, so there's an uproar because Potter managed to steal the spotlight once more.

               But you could care less. You're too busy in the library when not in class, looking up information on Hogwarts back around the time when Rabastan attended. You're not learning all that much, sad to say. Although he attended at the same time as the Marauders, so that can't be a coincidence (because you've heard some stories—everyone who's ever gone to Hogwarts has).

               For Easter holidays, there's one meeting, held at your home, and you're glad for it. You've not seen Rabastan at all since the summer, and it's bad, for you. It's like withdrawal, which you think you can make sense of, because he was the first to give you so many things—and, if you lost them, you don't know what you'd do.

               Somehow, he manages to be cheery and serious at once. "You'll be fifteen soon," he remarks, and you play a delightfully boring and silent round of Exploding Snap.

               You smile. "And sixteen after that, and seventeen after that, and so on…"

               He whistles quietly. "Look at you, being a smartarse." He chuckles, though; it's a nice sound. "So what, you're growing up? That why you've got your hair like that?"

               Without thinking, you reach up and run your hand through it. You like it. It's still choppy, but you've let it grow a bit, and now, with just a little bit of help, it sticks up in all directions without looking messy. "The style's in," you fib.

               "I'm sure the witches love that sort of thing," he snickers. But he still leans forward and ruffles your hair. "And I love messing with it." He laughs.

               You don't mind one bit. Even if he did mess up your hair, you wouldn't care, as long as he'll still run his hand through it. Even if you're only like a kid brother to him… The thought gets you down, and you find yourself asking, "Hey, Rabastan…"

               "Hmm?" He's about to lose this round.

               "Why me?"

               He doesn't need elaboration. You two communicate well. There's rarely a need for clarifications between you two.

               He's quiet, and you're waiting to hear the "kid brother" comment. You expect it.

               "You…remind me of myself in some ways."

               Oh. That's…different.

               He scoffs and tosses his hand down. "Damn, I've lost. When did you get so good at this, Theo?"

               "You just got so poor at it, Rab." You slip it in there, the endearment. When he says nothing, you feel as though you've gotten away with the biggest heist ever.

               With the end of your game, your night is over. Rabastan (and the others) must leave, and you note the uptick in chatter amongst the men, as if they're women. "Duty calls," he says, and you nod, because you no longer question him. You share his ideals, after all. You want to share more with him.

               "See you," you say, as he's the last to leave.

               He pauses at the front door. He looks at you, as if sizing you up. Then he chuckles darkly and mumbles to himself, "I'm such a narcissist…"

               His words are puzzling, but you don't dwell on them.

               (You just dwell on when you'll next see him.)

               But that won't be anytime soon.

               Sad to say, you probably should've been participating in their meetings. If so, then maybe they wouldn't have almost been caught.

               Good Merlin, it's ridiculous! They almost took care of Potter, and, yes, they did manage to bring the Dark Lord back, but at what cost?

               You don't go over to the Malfoys' much now. Again, everyone is playing it safe.

               (And the Dark Lord is going from house to house to relax. He favors Malfoy Manor.)

               But, while it's fine to play it safe, you wish for a change of scenery, and Rabastan provides you with some when he gives you an announcement right after you come home from school. "Guess what?" He can barely keep the excitement out of his voice.

               "What?" you ask, playing along. You got home yesterday and are still unpacking.

               "Nott actually said you could come over."

               You stop folding your spare trousers and look up at him. You're stunned by his words. "You… I… What?"

               Rabastan scratches his head. "Well, see, with things picking up their pace and the Dark Lord playing favorites at different houses, your dad wants to be cast in a favorable light."

               You smirk. "And you played him like a fiddle, didn't you?" You chuckle, impressed. "Using my father's dislike of me to get me out of the house… Nicely done, Rabastan."

               "Yes, well, we both know how happy you aren't here," he states quietly. He waits until you resume your folding before he continues. "And, look, my place is on the grounds of my family home, so it'll be like being a world away even if the Dark Lord comes to stay."

               You "hmm." "What, you don't think I'd want to meet him?"

               There's a silence that lasts long enough to draw your eyes to him. His face is set rigidly, and you wonder why. Could it be that he doesn't want you involved in that part of his life, at all? That's ridiculous; it's always been a part of your life, ever since your father was Marked. (A stray thought catches you—you wonder what the Mark on Rabastan's arm looks like—and then it releases you just as fast…)

               "Anyway, what about your brother?"

               He eases up. "Oh, him. He lives in the main house, and he'll be too distracted to care."

               "Why's that?"

               "He's making preparations for Bella's homecoming," he lets slip. He freezes, eyes wide, and his gaze darts to you.

               You hold it, also serious. "Oh." Then you clear your throat. "It's fine. I won't tell anyone anything. …it must be nice, getting her back." It feels strange, saying that, knowing that Rabastan's sister-in-law is the most famous insane witch ever known. A killer.

               (Like Rabastan.)

               You wish for another subject change.

               "So, anyway, stop putting your things away," Rabastan finishes. He grabs your tie and sticks it back in your trunk. "Honestly, Theo, if you play your cards right, I'm sure your dad wouldn't even notice if you spent the whole summer with me." There his eyes go again, softening. "What do you say?"

               "I say…I'd have to be Malfoy to refuse such an offer," you reply, and you both snicker at the jab. You don't feel any guilt because, while Slytherin may be a brotherhood, it doesn't guarantee friendship, and Malfoy's not your friend. He can be a like mind, but he's not your friend.

               Rabastan…is a friend. (And, ooh, thinking about that statement and Malfoy at the same time summons unwanted thoughts that you nearly have to beat down with a charm to bring you back to your senses.) That's why he takes you to his home, gives you a room, gets you acclimated—finally gets you to understand what others mean when they say they have a home.

               His house-elf's name is Shunter, and he's a timid little thing. To your surprise, Rabastan doesn't beat him, although he's got no qualms yelling at the creature.

               "He's not the best," Rabastan confesses, "but he gets the job done."

               "How long have you had him?" you ask by the end of your first week at his home.

               "Oh, since my parents let me take over the guesthouse ages ago."

               You gape at him. "You've had him all this time, just the one?"

               "Just the one." He pauses for thought. "Is that so odd?"

               You explain to him about the house-elf situation at home. "I thought it was natural to go through them. After all, there are plenty more where he comes from."

               Rabastan sighs. "Agh… I feel the need to undo everything your father has taught you."

               You duck your head, not sure how you feel about that statement. "It's not that he taught me much… I just…drew conclusions, I suppose."

               He shakes his head. "That won't do, Theo…"

               You're not embarrassed by his remark. If anything, your heart swells. His tone sounds prepared, as if he's ready to breathe life into you, who's been nothing but a clay doll all this time.

               (The godlike analogy doesn't get by you, but you don't mind. You accepted him as your creator a long time ago.)

               "And that's another ten points to Rabastan. Good Merlin, are you half asleep, Theo?"

               You feel silly and annoyed at once. Silly, because a man twenty years your senior who acts like a little kid can fly faster than you (despite the fact that you're equally skinny as he is). Annoyed, because this is the third race you've had flying on brooms inside the house today, and you just can't win.

               "Getting angry?" he queries, a wolfish grin gracing his features. "Well, well. I thought you didn't get angry."

               "I do. Just not at you."

               "Except for now."

               "I'm not angry."

               "Yes, you are."

               "'Buggered' is not 'angry.'"

               Rabastan lets his hair down, and you quell the jolt in your arm that almost made you reach for it. He's very pretty, for a man. "Shall we stop, then? You look as though you need to catch your breath."

               "Git," you curse as you slap him in the arm.

               He laughs, but you hear nothing. You can't as a few inky tresses fall over your hand. But sadly he reties his hair. "Come on. Why don't we go outside and practice some of those spells I showed you the other day?"

               Outside, where the world is your dueling stage, you rather wish you didn't have to go back to school. You could learn everything from him. To live, to survive, to be good, to be bad—you don't care. Even if you do go back to school, you'd like to wish you could come back here again. You don't want to be away from any of this.

               Flying in the house.

               Flinging spells with no care for prying eyes.

               Having a house-elf take care of you every day instead of doing things yourself.

               Talking with Rabastan into the wee hours of the morning and then waking up later with print on your face because you fell asleep reading.

               Not being ashamed to walk around in denims and t-shirts during hot weather in lieu of jumpers and robes (Father's so damned old-fashioned).

               Poking and prodding Rabastan until he finally gives in and shows you his room, with things from his teen years.

               (Ah, you just want to join his collection… You want to be put on his shelf, never to be removed and always to be seen when he wakes first thing in the morning.)

               But, of course, there is school. With its looming presence, reality crawls in, and you recall why Rabastan's been enjoying himself so much. You've been afraid to call him on it, especially with the possibility of ears listening in, but… "Are you scared?" you inquire the morning of your departure.

               The house is quiet. It doesn't feel as welcoming with the two of you dressed to face the world once more. Rabastan lifts his hair gracefully out of his cloak's collar. He doesn't clear his throat. "Don't talk like that." His voice is raspy; it almost sounds like his brother's.

               "Why? You can tell me, you know—"

               "Stop!" He's never snapped at you before. It's like a slap in the face, his tone. "Don't say anything more."

               You sulk, and the few steps to the door seem a mile away. "I'm sorry." Huh. Your first apology—not only does he give you so many firsts, he gets them, as well.

               "That's good," he says. "You still know remorse."

               Again with a puzzling sentiment. You furrow your brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

               He opens the door, and the conversation closes. "It means that we best get you back home."

               Of course, all that does is remind Father that you exist, so Rabastan offers to take you to the station. Well. Look at you. Your first summer without Father. Never thought you'd pull it off, did you?

               "Sorry you're a few hours early for the train," Rabastan says (the first words between you two in about an hour).

               "It's all right. I don't mind," you lie.

               Rabastan's eyes dart everywhere, and you remember that he and the others are still trying to keep a low profile since their success. Still, you think he's being paranoid, because no one's looking his way. Surprisingly, he doesn't stand out (no, only to you, he does).

               "You can go."

               "No, I—" He chokes on his sentence. It's not just paranoia. He really doesn't know what to do in this sort of situation. You wonder if maybe he's ever had anyone to look after or if he's ever been looked after himself.

               Though you're in public and you believe your smile's reserved for him alone, it slowly curves the corners of your mouth upward. "Then stay with me?"

               He takes a deep breath, as if he's working on a phobia. "…for a little while."

               A little while is all you could hope for.

               At last, school holds your attention. It's brilliant, really. Everyone thinks Dumbledore and Potter are nuts. This Umbridge woman is a riot. Useless teachers are sacked left and right. About the only disappointment is Umbridge's belief in magical theory instead of practice. Still, you get by, and you even laugh a little at Malfoy's jokes from time to time.

               Zabini snorts at you. "So you do have a sense of humor enough to chuckle."

               Your eyes slide somewhat coldly to the black boy. "Your point?"

               He shakes his head. "No point. Just didn't realize you had a personality."

               "That's mean, Blaise," Daphne says, and Pansy makes a gagging gesture at her words. Daphne flips her off.

               "That's rude, Daph," Pansy says, mimicking her blond friend's voice.

               "Besides, Theodore has a lovely personality." Daphne's teal eyes flash your way, and, while they catch you off-guard, they do nothing for you. You wish she wouldn't look at you like that.

               "You're too positive for this House," Pansy snarls, and she reclines with her head in Zabini's lap (only because Malfoy isn't around).

               "Shut up," Daphne retorts, but it's weak, and her eyes keep flicking to you.

               You really don't give two shits. She's a nice girl, you suppose, but you're just waiting for Christmas to come, hoping there's a meeting or at least a visit from Rabastan…

               But, before Christmas comes, you stop and wonder why you haven't seen Malfoy around as much. Sure, he likes taunting Potter, but he's begun to spend less and less time with Pansy and his goons. You're tempted to ask him what's up—you wouldn't know since you didn't see him once this summer (again with the firsts, and of course there's a link to Rabastan).

               Once you decide to open your mouth, there's no need. Malfoy's back and king of the castle amongst the snakes. Must've been a fluke or something. Good thing, too. The less you involve yourself with Daphne, with Malfoy, with the others, the more you can let Rabastan occupy your mind.

               The Christmas break is agonizing.

               The holiday has never meant much of anything to you, but perhaps, with this past summer, you got your hopes up for something to happen this year.

               You owl Rabastan, though Jet is reluctant. The bloody bird hates flying when it's cold.

Rabastan—

Think Father or L.M. will be throwing a Christmas party?

—Theo

               His reply comes later in the day.

Theo—

Very funny. No meetings this week. Enjoy your break, and study hard. O.W.L.s are a pain.

—Rab

               Your heart sinks through your stomach. That wasn't the answer you'd hoped for, but perhaps it's a sign. You've been spoiled by him for more than half your life. Maybe it's about time you put some distance between you two.

               (Especially since, every time Daphne looks emphatically at you, your mind always summons Rabastan's face.)

               You spend your Christmas Day sifting through the secret sketches under your bed. It might not be too bad, you muse, becoming one of them. Sure, the Mark might hurt, but you reckon you'd look fairly decent in black and a mask. Rabastan might be one of the Dark Lord's lieutenants, and you could be Rabastan's. Besides, it might be like having a real family.

               (Though Rodolphus sets you on edge, Dolohov creeps you out, and you really wish Lucius Malfoy would set his sights on his own son. You don't want to join under anyone's guidance but Rabastan's.)

               On New Year's, you make a resolution. You want to begin studies of the Dark Arts. You want to learn enough for the others to consider that you might actually join their ranks.

               (You'll just have to practice Occlumency really well, to hide your real intentions.)

               But how to go about this without setting Rabastan off? He's always seemed so resistant to your involvement…

               Aha. The answer's been living with you for almost sixteen years.

               You go and ask your father for a moment of his time. He tells you to make it quick, but you're smart. You know how to get his attention.

               "The Mark…was it painful?"

               And it's as though he's finally seeing that he has a son.

               Months pass, and you're in a much better mood. You've never been close to your father before, but now you stand a chance. Two owls with one spell, you think, as you form a relationship with him and begin your journey to securing your spot beside Rabastan.

               As Malfoy and the others join some squad of Umbridge's to search for "misbehaving" students and the school goes crazy without Dumbledore at the helm, you hide forbidden books in your texts. You outsmart Pince and read, one at a time, books suggested to you by Father.

               "Becoming a Death Eater isn't only about having brute force and knowing how to use it," he chants these days. "You've got to be smart, as well."

               You know. You understand. It's why he and Lucius Malfoy do most of the talking at meetings, and people like Rowle keep their mouths shut. Despite you not really liking him, Father is intelligent. You have to give him that.

               And, while things go well with you, a part of you is gleeful for another reason. You wonder when you'll get a letter—or maybe your first Howler. How long will it be before he hears? Is he distracted by other plans, so that he won't hear a thing? Maybe he's waiting for the summer to yell at you. You wouldn't mind. Not if you get another summer with him. He could yell at you for months on end, and still you wouldn't mind.

               You turn sixteen on April twenty-second, and a letter arrives.

Meet me at the Stone Circle. Now.

—R

               Your pulse quickens. How thrilling and dangerous! He's never come to you before, not like this. As it's halfway through the day, you wonder if there will be trouble. There are still some classes to go, and you're not sure what might happen if he's spotted on campus. Things got a little bumpy in the Wizarding world at the start of 1996, after all, with the mass breakout and the release of people like Bellatrix Lestrange. If anyone recognizes Rabastan and knows his connection to his sister-in-law…there could be trouble.

               Still, you rush as quietly and covertly as you can manage to the Stone Circle. At first your heart drops because it looks empty…but it soars again once you spot a thin silhouette behind one of the stones facing the forest.

               "Theo," Rabastan says curtly. His hands don't stop moving. He can't keep still. If you thought he smoked, he'd likely have a fag hanging out of the corner of his mouth right now, unlit and gnashed between nervous, chattering teeth.

               "Rab," you say, trying to keep your glee out of your voice.

               He shakes his head. "You can't be serious."

               "About what?"

               He narrows his eyes at you. "You know exactly what."

               Your grin fades into a straight line. "Oh, don't get so pissy."

               "Pissy?" he hisses. "Pissy?" He stomps over to you, but it's not as intimidating as it used to be. He hovers over you…but not really. And you realize it when he backs you into one of the stones.

               Two years ago he towered over you. Now you're eye to eye…no. That's not right. You're slightly taller. When did this happen?

               He seems to realize this, too. But he doesn't deflate. "You're an idiot, if you're doing what I think you're doing," he stumbles, flustered and furious.

               "Doing what?" you play along.

               "Stop playing games, Theodore." His eyes are like blue lightning—hot and bright.

               "It's not a game, Rabastan." You wonder what he sees in your eyes.

               "It has to be, because you don't know what you're doing."

               "I know exactly what I'm doing." Maybe it's the height you've gained, maybe it's because you're the only one with a cool, level head right now, but you feel emboldened, empowered. And you don't even have the Mark—yet.

               Rabastan shakes his head. "This is—it's—"

               "Stupid? Ridiculous? Insane? Childish?" You cock your head to one side and sigh. So this is what it feels like when the other person doesn't know what to say and you're left to fill the silence. "It's actually fairly smart. I'd be an asset, you know. We need more thinkers like me. My angle is to become an Unspeakable, eventually. I'd be very useful—"

               "It's not about use!" Rabastan shouts. "You think this will give you a sense of belonging, of family—"

               "No, I don't," you lie.

               "I know you—you're lying." He thinks that gives him a step up. "Theo, turn away from this path now. It might bring you closer to your father right now, but if you mess up—"

               "My father? That's what you think this is all about?" You laugh, darkly, and the noise is alien. It's not you, but you could care less at this moment. "And, excuse you, but I've learned from the best. You've taught me how to be cautious, how to think twelve steps ahead."

               "Then…" His thought terminates on his lips.

               You see it as an opportunity and move forward. But, ah, he's so smart, and the student can never surpass the master as he thinks twelve steps ahead of you and dodges what would've been a botched first kiss, instead bringing you close to him, so close that he hugs you tightly and that way you can't move and can't get anything from him. (Although you relish this contact; you've never experienced this before, either.)

               "Oh, gods…," he murmurs. He turns his head in towards your neck, still embracing you tightly. "What have I done? Sweet Salazar, what have I done…?"

               You don't understand the meaning of his words, but you want him to understand. "But, Rab, I lo—"

               "No, you don't. We're like family. Nothing more. That's all there is too it." Five more minutes of him muttering under his breath, self-deprecating and ending again in that mysterious notion: "I'm such a narcissist…"

               You don't understand any of it. You don't get why he'd turn you away. Haven't you been the same to him that he's been for you: the one person in his corner, the one person who actually cares about him?

               (But you aren't critical of him for very long because, as he once pointed out, neither of you can stay mad at the other. Besides, you have better thoughts to entertain, you perceptive little chit:

               He said you're "like" family.

               "Like" isn't the same as "is."

               And that's when you know there's a door left ajar between you two.)

               …but that door closes.

               It's not through any fault of your own.

               Hell, it's not really Rabastan's fault, either.

               Instead, you blame Potter's gang and that insufferable group calling themselves the Order of the Phoenix.

               Just about everyone is captured after the Department of Mysteries battle. Lucius Malfoy, Dolohov, Father… Bellatrix gets out, Rodolphus is fine, and the Dark Lord still walks free ground.

               But Rabastan?

               No, of course not. That would be too kind for you. And life doesn't like being kind to you.

               You get your marks—more than passing, you're one of the best in your year—but there's no one with which to share them. Rabastan's in Azkaban, and so's Father.

               Your house is empty for once, and it's not the freedom you thought it'd be, being a warden of the Ministry. Due to your age, they're allowing you to live at home by yourself, with periodical visits from your case manager and Aurors. There's nothing else to do since you have no other family.

               Sometimes, you wish you had gone with them, if only to be locked up in the end, with Rabastan. In a cell with him or beside him or whatever—

               Azkaban would be bearable if you had him.

               Sixth year is salt in your un-healing wounds.

               As if it isn't bad enough with Potter prancing around as the "Chosen One," things in your House have taken a sudden, sour turn for the worse.

               Pansy and Zabini don't comment. They're smart enough not to do so. Goyle and Crabbe don't have a leg to stand on between the two of them, because their fathers were caught, too. Daphne tries to smile and engage you in small-talk, but you find it meaningless and worthless, and so you throw yourself into your Dark education.

               And Malfoy? Oh, Malfoy… It's almost as though Lucius' imprisonment never happened. He's happily mouthing off about the things he's going to do, the "grand" things that will scare so many…

               And he hints. Oh, how he hints. He talks up a big game in front of Zabini and Pansy best, the latter of whom enjoys stroking his ego (and who you're fairly sure wants to stroke something else of Malfoy's, as well).

               Still…for all his hinting…Malfoy does seem to cover up well, and you catch him wincing at times when someone brushes his left arm the wrong way.

               Then you see it.

               It's just a glimpse, but you've glimpsed Rabastan's before, so you know without a doubt that Malfoy has been Marked.

               It can't get any better than this.

               It doesn't, of course.

               You turn seventeen—of-age—the day after the Apparition license exam.

               Gods, you couldn't even be born on the right day.

               It takes forever for things…to what? "Get better"? You're not sure there's really a phrase for the change in luck for which you so desperately yearn.

               Dumbledore's killed. Malfoy, as it turns out, is fairly competent, because he sneaks in some of the Death Eaters still on the loose. Parts of the castle are damaged, and the half-giant's hut is set aflame.

               All the while, as the school year draws to a lively close, all you pray for is another breakout from Azkaban. Even if only a few attempt… Even if only a few make it out… Even if only one person comes home.

               (Someone must be listening, because your wish is granted.)

               The year's halfway gone before you come home one night from a walk and discover the house is open. An Auror or your case worker, you think. Maybe things have changed now that you're of-age. Maybe you'll no longer be a warden of the Ministry.

               Instead, you find your father slumped in the doorway, exhausted.

               Your shock shows on your face, but he doesn't have the energy to berate you. He beckons you to come close, and you kneel beside him.

               He brings you into an awkward hug, with one arm mostly around your shoulders. It's as if you've been close since you were little. "We made it out," he breathes, and his breath is ragged.

               There's a dull thud that grows louder in your ears, almost to the point where it's unbearable…then you realize it's the sound of your heart pounding in your chest. You want to ask him who made it out successfully, but you're still far too scared of him to ask. (A part of you wonders if you'll ever stop being scared of him.)

               "All of us," he elaborates.

               Surely your ears play tricks on you.

               Father motions for you to close the door and magically secure the house before he feeds you another tidbit. "Dementors now," he says with raised eyebrows, and you realize he means to say that the Dementors have sided with Lord Voldemort. That explains a lot.

               "You mean…?"

               He bites his lower lip, as you've seen him do countless times, but it's more out of impatience than in annoyance. "All of us," he repeats. And he means every Death Eater on hand.

               He means Rabastan.

               Of course there are others—look at that, Malfoy got lucky again, getting his father back—but you don't care. All you conclude is that Rabastan is free. Maybe not safe, but free.

               You spend the next two weeks looking after your father. He catches you up on a few things. There's no time for any more Marking now, but he's glad you're on his side (Rabastan's side, you mentally correct, but whatever). When you worry about the Ministry showing up at your front door, he assures you that won't be a problem.

               "We've got that covered." There's a frightening glint in his eye. That time that you laughed and intimidated Rabastan…that maniacal side you thought didn't feel like you…maybe this is from where you got it.

               And his words are clear as the year progresses, and the Ministry—and Hogwarts—are absorbed into Voldemort's domain. At last, the world is becoming what you want it to be. You're only missing one piece now.

               Death Eaters may teach at and roam the castle now, but you're still tightlipped about your leanings. You don't want some upstart to surprise you and use your feelings against you.

               On the one hand, the Carrows sort of like you, which scares the hell out of most of the other students and keeps them away, so you're fine with that.

               There's another advantage to being on Alecto and Amycus'…good (do they have a "good" side?) sides. You can ask them a bit about their comrades.

               "Some of them will be cycling through here, checking on our…security," Alecto says.

               You so hope Rabastan will be one of them.

               But, the more you think about it, the less sense that makes. Rabastan's one of the Dark Lord's oldest, closest followers. It wouldn't make sense to send Rabastan when it'd be just as fine to use some disposable underling. So you resign yourself to the idea that you'll have to wait a little longer to see him.

               One April evening, well before your eighteenth birthday, you can't sleep.

               You lie awake in your four-poster, staring at the ceiling. You can hear Crabbe and Goyle snoring and Zabini tossing and turning. No sound comes from Malfoy, but that's because he's not present. He went home last month for some unknown reason. He does that a lot these days, coming and going. You wish you could do the same.

               Well, you can do that within the castle, at least. You sit up, swing your legs over the edge, and fumble for your shoes and a jumper. On nights like this, you can't really sleep. A walk might calm your mind…it hasn't so far, but you keep trying regardless.

               Perhaps, ages ago, you would've been intimidated by the castle's eeriness at night. But, after knowing Rabastan and, recently, coming to know your father, the few things that go bump in the night here are more of a comfort. There are real, worse things to be scared of that hide in the dark.

               Normally the paintings chide anyone carrying a light when they try to sleep, but none of them rebuke you as you take your stroll. You know why. Earlier in the year, Amycus had some paintings removed because of their complaints. Interestingly enough, he's the more merciful sibling. Alecto prefers to blast the images right there on wall.

               Outside the Great Hall, you slow down. Hmph. There's nothing great left about the place.

               In the Entrance Hall, you eye the front door. A fragment of you wonders what would happen if you were to walk right out…

               "I wouldn't do that if I were you" says a familiar voice.

               You jump, out of surprise as well as delight. "Rabastan."

               He holds up his wand's light and squints at you. "Theodore?" He curses bitterly. "Of all the people… I thought you were smart enough not to go wandering. You could get in real trouble, you know."

               "Trouble's the spice of life," you say, and he scowls. It makes you smile.

               "Go back to bed."

               "No."

               "Theodore—"

               "Make me."

               His eyes widen. "Are you actually being this childish right now? I can't believe—"

               Your glee dampens until it fades into nothing. "You never saw me."

               He bites his lip.

               "I know you got out as soon as it happened. I looked after Father." Your slippers slap against the stone floor as you near him. "Why didn't you come see me?"

               "It would've been a bad idea," he answers. He grabs your arm and drags you along, in the direction of the dungeons to send you back to bed.

               You resist, digging your heels in and using your significant strength to yank your arm free. One thin man versus another—the one that puts in some real effort wins, of course. "Rabastan, just be honest with me, for once."

               "I've always been honest with you." But he doesn't look at you.

               "Maybe. But you're so damned cryptic." You gesture at your surroundings. "So maybe this is as far as I go." You lower your voice. "So maybe Malfoy's meant to be Marked and I'm not—"

               "Damn straight you're not—"

               "But," you continue strongly, "if you want to close all the avenues allowing me to get closer to you, at least tell me why." You make your eyes imploring and hope they work. After all, doesn't he have a soft spot for you? Doesn't he? Why else would he waste his breath on you?

               "I—" He closes his mouth, searching for the right words. Likely to confuse you again. "I…" He furrows his brow and grabs your wrist, pulling you 'round the corner into a small, narrow hallway. He pushes you against the wall but keeps himself in check. His eyes beg you to return to your room, to rest your case without getting the answers you demand. "Theo…"

               You're fed up. You've had it. You've become a savage beast—he made you this way. That collectedness is just a mirage; it's just a show to hide the animal that you are. You know, because he's the same way. The only difference is that he's a timid creature, and you're an impatient one.

               His head doesn't crack when you grab him and push him behind you against the wall. It thuds dully and gives you pause. Your eyes search his face and catch his eyes. For the first time ever, you catch a glimmer of fear in those ultramarine orbs. He is scared of you.

               It's the grandest victory and the finishing blow all at once. Your face nears his until you can rest your forehead against his. It takes all your strength not to peck his lips, not to bite into his neck, not to grab at every bit of his pale skin hidden by all that cloth.

               Merlin, Malfoy was right. All you want to do is fancy and fuck the man before you.

               You breathe hard. No, you're better than that, than this. You're calm, levelheaded. You're someone of whom Rabastan's proud. So you stand up straight and release his upper arms. You smooth your robe over your pajamas. You're ready to act as if none of this ever happened.

               Rabastan is a mixture of things: grateful, frightened…regretful? (No, stop being hopeful.) "Theo," he whispers.

               "What?" Your voice is hoarse. Your navy eyes stick to the ground. You wish to melt into the castle now.

               "After all this…" He exhales and comes forward, closing the distance and resting his head on your shoulder for but a moment. "If we survive this, I'll explain it all. I—I swear it."

               Just like that, your heart lifts. You raise your hand gingerly, hesitating. You gently touch where his head hit the wall and rub it, hoping to ease the pain (of his head, and in your heart). "Promise?"

               "Isn't that the same thing as swearing?"

               "Yes, it is, my little narcissist," you say with a chuckle.

               He backs up, quick as lightning. His eyes search yours for something…but, whatever it is, he doesn't find it. He relaxes. "Whatever, my spiky-haired brat."

               You snicker. Then you purse your lips. "Make me another promise?" you ask as you head back to the dungeons.

               He walks you to the door. "Within reason."

               "Survive…this."

               Rabastan frowns, but he reaches out and ruffles your hair. You might be a few inches taller than him, but it's not awkward. It's comforting. "I'll do my best. You do the same. Goodnight, Theo."

               "Goodnight, Rab."

               (Yes, it's true. Neither of you can stay angry at the other.

               And, when this stalemate is over and a side emerges, you'll tell him that and explain why.)

               When the day comes, you nearly can't breathe.

               It's as though your world is crumbling all around you. In some ways, it is. The castle's being blown to bits, and people and things are being blown up.

               Slytherins tend to run.

               Ravenclaws throw spells and books.

               Hufflepuffs herd the younger ones and lead them out of danger.

               Gryffindors…well, they're bloody idiots, running headfirst into anything.

               Even the teachers and the house-elves and the armor—everything and everyone possible fights.

               You dart around in the shadows. You see Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle fight on their fathers' side. Pansy and the other girls choose to hide. Even Malfoy doesn't look to have his heart really in it.

               Every few minutes when you come across a masked face, your loyalties waver. Do you fight this person, or do you fight alongside them? Luckily, they let you go (most of the time, they don't even look at you).

               Meanwhile, you can only think to hunt for one mask in the crowd.

               (His mask, of course. You memorized it. Every little detail. That summer spent at his home? You stole into his room a few times when he slept elsewhere. You knew where he kept it. You know how polished it is. You know how brand-new it seems.

               You know how unused it seems.)

               The grime you get on you and the dust you breathe in and the hearing loss you experience—they'll be worth it if you can just find him, save him.

               (Because you're beginning to doubt his side, Father's side. Something tells you, smart boy that you are, that this is the battle to end the war, and Father won't be coming out on top.)

               …

               (You don't exactly mind, so long as he's safe.)

               There's the fight, the chance to give Potter up, more of a fight, Potter plays dead, and the battle ends for real. There's a quiet kind of cheer, but, honestly, you tune it all out.

               (In the end, it doesn't register that you chose sides by not fighting against Potter. Honestly, your side isn't good or bad. It's the one where you and Rabastan are both alive.)

               As you didn't participate, you're looked down on by those who did. To them, you could've protected some students.

               To the few Death Eaters who are conscious and being rounded up by the Order, you're scum.

               (You don't even care that Father's dead. His body's outside, half stuck under a fallen giant.)

               All the while, you search the faces—alive and dead—for blue eyes that bother you and long black hair that enthralls you. Half an hour passes, with no luck.

               "Theodore, are you all right?"

               You jolt by the Viaduct.

               Daphne's teal eyes pop out of her head, but only because the whites around them are bright red from crying. "Theodore?"

               You shake your head. You say nothing. You don't want her to be the first to hear your voice post-tumult.

               "…Draco's disappeared," she says. "Same with his parents. Pansy…is quiet now. I think it's Blaise's influence."

               You don't feel bad. And you don't feel bad about not feeling bad. You couldn't care less right now.

               "…Crabbe's dead. Goyle's in shock, and Millicent's like some statue he's resting on…"

               Whatever else Daphne says, you don't know. You tune her out and allow yourself to feel despair.

               What a mistake it was, finding someone to be in your corner, caring for someone…

               (Now it's just time to mourn the dead.)

               Your mourning period leaves you numb.

               It lasts the whole summer, which especially sucks as you're rather tied to your home. With Father gone and Aurors questioning you every couple weeks, you're still a suspected ally of the Dark Lord.

               (Honestly, you gave up those aspirations when Rabastan looked at you that night and swore you'd both live.)

               (Or maybe it was before that…

               Who knows?)

               No one comes around, and that suits you just fine. You read the papers. Malfoy and his family got out with testimonies, though they'll never be a true part of society ever again. Kingsley Shacklebolt is interim Minister, but he's likely to stay on; things are too messy right now.

               Of Father's comrades, you see their names from time to time:

               Most died in the battle. Rodolphus is insane and in Azkaban. Dolohov's dead. That idiot Rowle escaped. Alecto and Amycus are cozy in prison. …the names rather blur at some point.

               By the time September arrives, you snap out of your stupor. It's strange, not going back. The world seems to agree, for it rains on the first of the month, and you sit on the stoop of the back door to your house.

               (These days, some sick part of you wishes for Bluebell Flames once more…)

               With the rain, you don't hear the faint pop of Apparition. A minute later, you see Shunter standing off to the side. He passes you a note and goes inside the house, and you read the formal document. He belongs to you now, and you laugh hollowly. Rabastan likely didn't want you to get any thinner than you already are.

               "I…didn't want you to get any thinner than you already are" a voice from beyond the grave mumbles.

               You freeze, and not because of the rain. You're too scared to look behind you and to the left. If you do, then the illusion will fade. And it's so nice to hear his smooth voice again after all this time, even if it's just your psyche being kind (or cruel?) to you.

               "I'm not an illusion."

               You snort. "Illusions say that."

               Rabastan crosses his arms in front of his chest—you can hear the rustle of cloth—and clears his throat. "I can't stay long."

               "You can stay forever, since you're a figment of my imagination."

               Instead of continuing to bicker with you, he ruffles your hair. But he does it slowly and gently, and he crouches down beside you. "No, I'm not. I'm a wanted man."

               You pause. Then you grab his hand and yank his arm forward, so that his face is near yours. Sweet Salazar, you can even feel, smell, and taste his breath as he exhales. To confirm your sanity, you peck a fresh scar at the corner of his right eyebrow. Ah, his skin. Yes, it really is him.

               "I made a promise, didn't I?" he says, ignoring your gesture and the fact that you won't release his hand. He can't hide the growing color in his cheeks, though.

               "So then explain it all to me."

               "It's a long story."

               "I've got all the time in the world."

               He grins wanly at your cliché, but he takes a deep breath. "Your life… I lived something like it. And then I stupidly followed my brother into…that life. I never got out."

               "You didn't want that for me."

               "No." Rabastan holds on to your left hand and pushes up the sleeve. "Un-Marked skin…is perfect, in my eyes."

               You're smart. Things clicked into place a while ago. "Every time you told me you were a narcissist… I was young, you cradle-robber."

               "Merlin, I know. I couldn't justify what I was coming to feel."

               "Don't feel too bad. I was about fifteen then, nearly an adult."

               He laughs darkly. "Can we make me seem like any less of a pervert?"

               "Maybe if I say that I felt something before you felt something?"

               There's a long pause. "That'll do."

               A long time passes in silence. Then you tell him, "I'm going for it, you know. Becoming an Unspeakable." You glide your eyes to him. "I'm good at keeping secrets."

               "That you are," he compliments. He sighs. "But I can't stick around."

               "For now."

               "Maybe ever." He stands, but you stubbornly refuse to release his right hand. "Theo, don't act like a spoiled brat."

               "You made me this way, Rab."

               He curses, but he can't retort. You're right, after all. After a while: "You really want to know why I didn't want you to join us?"

               "Sure."

               "You would've been chewed up and spit out. I nearly was." He turns his head your way, and you look up at him. It's the longest you two have ever stared at each other, and you wish the moment won't end. "That was no place for soft hearts."

               You frown. "I don't have a soft heart."

               He smiles, and it's enough to make the rain go away. "Yes, you do." He shakes his hand free and disappears into the house.

               Like a worried child, you chase after your beloved toy. You find him at the foot of the staircase, where you first met him over eleven years ago.

               "Shunter's yours now, as I can't really use him and no one should go near the Lestrange estate… Take good care of him for me, will you?"

               "I'll do my best, but the only track-record I know of is Father's, so maybe I won't be very good with—"

               "Oh, you'll be fine. Besides, I taught you lots, didn't I?" He laughs.

               You finally swallow his laugh with an abrupt snog. It's rather anticlimactic, your timing, but it tastes fantastic all the same. And his stunned face is so priceless, you laugh as you trap him in your arms.

               "I don't remember teaching you that," he grumbles by your ear.

               "Don't fret. No one else taught me either. I reckon I just have a vivid imagination."

               "I reckon so…"

               Minutes pass, and neither of you move. But then you hear clinks in the kitchen, and Shunter begins to cook. Reality returns.

               "I should go, in case the Aurors drop by again." He pushes you away.

               Though you don't want to, you get defensive. "Wait, you've been watching?" How long has he been keeping his distance, really?

               He frowns. "Theo, I—" He shakes his head. "You should become an Unspeakable. I do think you'd be good at it. Besides, it's something to occupy your time. Time will fly that way, I find." His eyes are soft and pleading.

               You sigh and run your hand through his hair. After all this time, to do that finally… It's like a birthday wish come true. You look him up and down, your eyes roving all over, memorizing every single detail, every pore, every hair, every thread. "Yeah," you say at last. "Time will fly."

               (And letting him go is easier that way. Because time will fly, and if you know him at all—and you do—then history will repeat itself, and he won't be able to stay away. He'll visit you time and again, because he can't stay away for very long.

               You smile, even as he Disapparates away. Because you know. You're smart.

               One day, you'll make him stay.

               Should it take months, years, or decades—

               Eventually, he'll stay.)

YES. *new crack pairing, anyone?* Gods… I got the idea for them in a dream, and then I finished writing this listening to "Love Lost" by The Temper Trap (which I'm beginning to think is their song…). I mean, these two won't let go of me. I even wrote another 3 fics for them before finishing this! (And "Lyrical" is sort of in the universe of this fic, too, so you might like that if you enjoyed this.) Argh… I'm tempted to explore Rab even more, I gotta say… I know he tortured the Longbottoms, but it kinda makes you wonder if it was more out of some mixture of fear and insanity, as I have him mention here… Alas, these are the things of fanfiction, where it's okay to love an evil bastard (Theo does ;P). And I did include some of my headcanon here, regarding some pairings and Theo's family life and his becoming an Unspeakable. *happy sigh* I accomplished a lot in this fic that makes me quite pleased, ngl. I loved Rab's narcissist comment from the first moment he said it, because he was the second to fall in love but the first to realize it… *babbling now* There are also a few hints of Rab and Regulus, in case you were wondering… (Not exactly romantic, but at least as someone for Rab to have lost.) Lastly, the term "Shunter" comes from Derek Landy's Skulduggery Pleasant series, so credit to him, ayup.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

2017 note: 8D One of my all-time fav Death Eater ships and maybe even Slytherin ships. I quite love Theo Nott, ever since JKR described him as what Draco could've been had Draco been a tad more intelligent regarding his family's dark on-goings, and I've always liked the charrie design I came up with for Rabastan (but, egads, my art for him's old…so it's prolly time to try drawing him anew ;P), so there were just a lot of elements that made writing this (and, 3 yrs later, rereading and editing this) fun. I've always pictured Theo having a rather sardonic way of talking and having a dark sense of humor, but I find it interesting the kind of way he and Rab talk, mainly with each other. There's actually less of a bite there, and *happy sigh*. Sweet Salazar, I rly do love them. :]

[randomnameless]

I don't know if this has been asked before, but I was wondering what your thoughts on Rhea are.

Oh, I don't think someone asked it, but I remember a character meme.

Rhea's in the Julia tier : you're expecting things and the game doesn't give you any.

you asked for thoughts so this is long and rather unorganised even if i tried a bit and i feel like i repeated myself a lot so meh

If Edel and Rhea have one thing in common, it's being shafted by the need to make Billy the most special being every with the monstrous "I was lonely before you player-chan uwu".

Seteth'n'Flayn ? In the same trashcan Hubert went in.

Catherine, Shamir, the randoms living in the monastery? Dgaf but still she's willing to die for them so does she really gaf or not? Rhea's willing to give her blood and crest stone shards (to this day I still don't understand what those are) to trusted randoms who would become cardinals? "uwu player-chan". I know I've written a bit about it with the seirelm anon, but with the Canon-ish info? Post Zanado Rhea told a random dude she could turn in a dragon, gave her blood to the same dude and remained in his empire/fighting by his side for at least 30 years. Still “lonely without U Billy <3″

I've written this in the meme entry, but Rhea has her own net of relationships. They're not as important as Dimitri and his childhood friends, but erasing them for the sake of "player-chan" feels wrong.

Role and goals

Rhea's in an interesting place, being a former "legendary hero" like Athos, Sephiran etc.

Still her fight isn't over, she only defeated Nemesis and couldn't end the mastermind behind (a bit like Seliph if you only kill Arvis or Roy when you forget to pick up every legendary weapon). Also, if Seiros killed Nemesis, she hasn't won. In the current Fodlan, she still has to pretend to be a human, the Nabateans as a culture/population are dead. They're still 5 (ish? I think the apostles are lizards), she's still afraid humans will dice them if they learn the truth. Has she won? Idk. Could she win and make a Fodlan were lizards and humans could live together? I don't think so.

Her role as the Archbishop? Well, the game really liked Rhea as a red herring during white clouds and the way FE16 is built, around the monastery, reinforces it. Rhea's the head of the monastery, so she's the head of your world. Everything wrong with the world is automatically linked to Rhea.

So, when Marianne complains about people wanting to kill/ostracise her because of her crest, thinking it's a curse, we of course wonder "why Rhea can't tell to the randoms that no Marianne shouldn't be killed/shunned because of her crest?". Completely forgetting that, hey, Marianne's from the Alliance and heiress of Edmund, so if some people should intervene, it should be her dad "why the fuck are you trying to kill my daughter" or the Alliance council "Duke Riegan, could you please make a public statement about my daughter and how she isn't some sort of demonic beast so stop throwing rocks at her?".

Same thing with the Empire, why should you blame the church and the crests instead of the people doing shit? Hanneman's brother in law? Like is marriage so absolute that a husband can force multiple pregnancies on his wife to the point of literally killing her? The von Essar aren't as important as the Bergliez, but Hanneman's sister dying like that should have rang some bells? Hanneman's dad didn't care? No one wanted to appeal to the Emperor or something? If Jane the random or Karen the peasant died this way, it’d be usual class nonsense. But a noble woman??

Rhea should have done more to prevent crest abuse. She wrote tenets in her Bible and apparently doesn't discriminate in her monastery. But in the other countries? Idk. Her tenets are interpreted like your shopping list by Gloucester Sr "and add a part where interacting with foreigners goes against Seiros's teachings what yes I know better than those dunces from the eastern/central church".

It's not because Riegan Sr and Ionius aren't doing shit that she should do nothing too, but ultimately it falls on the usual landmine about Rhea's influence and power over Fodlan and if we consider Fodlan isn't just the Monastery we see but a continent made up of 4 autonomous states...

The so-called status quo isn't upheld by the church alone (if it is upheld in the first place!), but also by the empire and the Alliance... Lambert was toasted before making any changes, the Alliance is that weird thing where money is anything and crests/old nobility doesn't matter anymore, and the Empire is... Well. The Empire.

Regarding this, I find it really strange that Rhea went to Goneril and rescued one of their slaves, with how much she cares about protecting her monastery and not antagonising anyone, picking Cyril up, risking the ire of house Goneril, feels really risky from her perspective.

Imo WC doesn't sell me the "church rules over the continent" take.

Ultimately it doesn't matter because Rhea thinks she should have done more, and abused her position as the archbishop to rez her mom - I understand the "abused her position" as regretting her various omissions, like helping more people around etc etc.

I also feel like Rhea’s got a big survivor complex, and tries to fulfill impossible tasks. "leading/guiding the world?" she won't take an active role in it, but still resents the state of current Fodlan and wishes Sothis could restore some order (crest abuse? Or relics popping up right and left meaning more sibs dying). She wants to :

1/ guide the world and make it a better place (why complaining about the wayward Fodlan otherwise?)

2/ protect randoms who live under her protection

3/ make sure no one learns the truth about her appearance and relics at the same time.

I don't think it's possible given her current role and especially not possible on her own.

About 3/, call back to FE9 or not, but Rhea's paranoia is... Actually, not proven to be exaggerated in the game.

Ranulf was lynched in Crimea when he was discovered to be a laguz? In a certain route, Rhea's called a cruel beast due to her appearance, accused of not having "human" feelings and is depicted as a creature masquerading as a human. Hate and attack the woman all you want for things she did or might have done, but getting rid of her because she's not human? Rhea's right about not revealing her true nature, because, relics notwithstanding, humans will try to kill her for being a nabatean. Relic wise, in the DLC, we learn Aubin was recently turned in a relic, so that's even more reason to hide.

On 1/, wanting to promote peace in the land? National bias at play with rewriting history “to promote peace” issue. Rhea also built the officer's academy (if nobles from different states can live and study together surely they won't try to kill each other when they return home because they might have become friends?) and with help from the everyone in Fodlan (even the empire iirc?) built the locket to fend off Almyrian invasions. Not saying this is the best way to protect your borders but at least she tried to help instead of staying holed in her monastery.

Imo if Rhea didn't care about Fodlan, she'd have followed her bros and fortified herself in her monastery without accepting random humans to live with her, wouldn't have written a book about how everyone had to get along "unless it goes against the goddess" and wouldn't basically run what seems to be the biggest orphanage/place for the needy/and whatever is the abyss in the continent.

Not saying she doesn't have a priority, but Rhea tries to care, on her scale, about Fodlan's randoms.

About said randoms (and 2/)...

Well there's this bout with Lonato's rebellion and another herring where Rhea's all "I will destroy anyone who takes arms against the church and its believers" and it's extreme, I can’t deny. But if Lonato took arms and mounted a militia to attack Ositia's castle and its randoms? Hector'd have Armads'd Lonato without a second thought. Elincia had qualms about taking her weapons against her own countrymen who were used by Ludveck, but in the end, she took up her weapons to defend her castle, even if it meant she had to kill militiamen. Rhea's line seemed random and cold in the context, but it's the same general idea, attack her people and she will kill you. Still, if you don't take weapons against her, she won't react violently. Duke Gerth is apparently dick waving with Aubin's relic, but Shamir wasn't sent to recover the thing or to get rid of Gerth.

Ultimately Rhea blows her cover and abandons her dream to reunite with her mother to protect the monastery and its inhabitants in 3 routes (arguably in CF too). Someone once made a post about the differences between Seiros's and Edel's crowns and the symbolism of wings - the IO's wings are meant to protect. The IO is the guardian/protector. Rhea tanks missiles and buys time for the students to escape at the cost of her life.

Relationships

Rhea and Sothis? someone made a post summarizing my thoughts about their relationship, or lack of, and if we can argue Sothis was shafted by the devs like Rhea and Edel, ultimately the only important person to Sothis is Billy.

Billy doesn't warp Sothis's preexisting net of relationships, Sothis doesn't have relationships with anyone save for Billy. Rhea wants to meet her mom more than anything else (save for protecting randoms) but Sothis will never address that plot point. She only does in SS and off screen, and it ends up with Rhea wondering if she should live... so take it as you want, but to me it mustn't have been the "hug and pat on the head" kind of reunion.

Ultimately we see Rhea is able to let go of her dream (rez mom) in several routes, she understands and acknowledges Sothis will never return and Billy has her powers now, so either she dies more or less at peace knowing she can trust Billy with Fodlan's future, or she can return to Zanado and live peacefully with Catherine.

Which leads me to the Billy relationship,

As much as I hate player pandering, it makes some sense that Rhea would support Billy and not, let's say, Caspar. I still hate it though because Billy exclusive support means we were robbed of Rhea's other supports with, idk, her fam, Cyril, Catherine, Shamir, Alois, Hanneman, Manu etc etc.

In the beginning of WC, Rhea's pretty sure Billy's Sothis but without memories. Then in the non-cf chapter 12, she tells Billy they know what they are and thus must guide Fodlan, also telling Seteth Billy's a vector for sothis's powers, but not Sothis herself. In SS's finale she calls them "mother" but in her S-support finally acknowledges Billy's their own thing.

In CF Rhea's vicious in her trash talk but immediately jumps to the conclusion that Billy cannot be or hear Sothis, because, to her, logically, Sothis wouldn't side with Edel and her Agarthian allies (stealing the crest stones, Flayn, etc etc). Billy is something that stole Sothis's crest stone and sword and wants to finish what Nemesis started. I don't think CF Rhea snaps because Billy isn't Sothis, CF Rhea snaps because, again, someone is using her mother to kill her.

Rhea's also supposed to have been fond of Citrus to the point of talking to her remains (something she does with her mom) which could explain her sympathy for Billy regardless of the Sothis project.

Jeralt's a different issue, apparently they worked together for more than 100 years but Rhea never told him the truth about her nature, only about how he was saved. Still, Jeralt betrays when his baby is "weird" and unlike regular human babies so... Would he have ran away if he learnt what rhea was? Dumped Citrus if he knew she was an artificial being? Idk.

Catherine Shamir cyril and pals (Alois)? We don't know bcs the game dgaf about anyone not named Billy. As I said above, It’d have been nice to get more interactions with randoms she is working with, or at least showed some care, but nope. “Player-chan uwu” strikes again.

Seteth'n'Flayn? Rhea's close to them, she gets out of her room to look for Flayn and Cyril and Catherine note how she seems close to Seteth (who's totally her bro), but again, the game hates us. FFS don't think she has a line with Flayn!

Secrets and explosions

Tied to 3/ and 1/ from earlier, Rhea keeps a lot of secrets which could justify her lack of relationships/supports with the others... but this argument falls flat, because she’s not the only one with a secret and if Flayn doesn’t seem to care that much about hers, Seteth does and is still able to support students and staff members. Which leads to tragedies.

The Christophe incident is not well documented, and while we learn Rhea was the target of Christophe’s attempt because Western peeps told him so, it is not very well explained why she didn’t execute him on those grounds instead of falsifying charges about involvement with the Regicide. We are told it was to stabilise the Kingdom, but I still don’t know how the Kingdom would have suffered backlash if Rhea told the truth (maybe it would have led to open conflict between the western church and the central church in the kingdom, when the kingdom needed stability at that point? idk).

Still, Lonato wants revenge for Christophe, not because he was executed on false charges, but because he died ; imo, if Lonato learnt the truth, he’d still be out for Catherine and Rhea’s head.

Aelfie’s gambit is more of a direct result of Rhea’s secrecy, because she had “no words” for him about why Citrus was still in pristine condition, he gave up and tried to rez her. Would it had been different if she told him what Citrus was (and by extent, what she was)? Idk. Maybe, maybe not.

Still, Rhea doesn’t keep secrets from everyone every time - she once trusted Willy and told him about her alternate form and it exploded 1k years later, when Willy’s descendants are out for her head because she’s a creature masquerading as a human (I know mole people also played a part, but I guess it sticked more with Edel and the gang who already knew Rhea was a dragon ; trying to convince a random that “hey, this woman is a dragon !” would be more difficult). CF-wise again, Rhea trusts Billy with the SoC and, again, it explodes. In CF Rhea feels betrayed, she trusted some people and now the very same people (or their descendant in Edel’s case) are trying to kill her.

So it’s not a case of someone never trusting anyone, it’s someone trusting some people and regretting it afterwards (in both routes + CF at least, even if I firmly believe the “evil lizards ruling over the world” spiel doesn’t come from Willy, but from later emperors influenced by mole people).

There can also be a point made for Aelfie, who might have been able to merge with Citrus to create an umbral beast because he had Rhea’s blood and a crest stone shard - Citrus being a fake Nabatean and Aelfie having a crest stone + blood might have produced CS’s final boss? Rhea trusted Aelfie with a crest stone shard and her blood, and he became an umbral beast.

Interestingly, Rhea is hell bent on keeping her secrets regarding her identity, in SS Seteth has to beg her to reveal everything to Billy when Billy is the most important person in the world “uwu” or at least, the only person Rhea supposedly opened to. Even the “uwu” factor isn’t enough, on its own, to make her reveal the truth about her identity.

She gives Claude half-truths, and has to be on death’s door to tell him everything - still occulting Seteth’n’Flayn, to the point where Claude later wonders if there are other children of the goddess around.

Vengeful Rhea?

Rhea isn't a stale piece of bread like Julia. She says mean words to Nemesis but also brutally kills him. Rhea cannot forgive the Elites. I know it's very different, but Julia "dad is the kindest man I ever knew" making a 180° “i must atone for what dad did eff him” will always make me throw up - she doesn’t have to be vengeful or try to stab Seliph with a butter knife, but no acknowledgement of “dad’s the bestest” after his death, or even, of his death is meh.

To Rhea, Nemesis and the Elites are a trigger point, and everything related to Zanado. CF!Billy using her mom’s powers is like Nemesis, CF!Billy + Edel pillaging what remains of her siblings in Nemesis’n’Dudes. Flamey doing his shit with Flayn also parallels that. There’s the usual “vengeance sucks” speech to be given, but also the Tellius verse where Laguz aren’t depicted in a bad light when they want to destroy Izuka or when Tibarn learns Lekain was responsible for Serenes’s massacre.

Still, unlike Tibarn’n’pals, Rhea, unlike Macuil, doesn't seem to hold a grudge against descendants of the Elites. Maybe she had faith in them when she told them not to abuse the power of their crests, but then their descendants forgot or didn’t care and we’re in the so-called crest system.

In SS, Seteth asks the BE students if they want to return home to the Empire and how he won’t hold it against them. Seteth’s being Rhea’s right hand bro in this situation, I doubt he’d have proposed this solution without her approval.

She is vengeful and ready to pursue for more 90 years someone to kill them, but she won’t target that someone’s descendants or potential allies. I’ve read some takes about the Western Church being razed to the ground after Catherine’s paralogue, but iirc, Rhea’s only going to execute the Bishop there ; they appoint a new bishop in hopes to ease the relationships between the central and western church. There’d be no point to appoint someone to rule over a body that doesn’t exist...

Grey waves

Wave 1 : Another parallel with Edel is the will to sink in troubled waters to reach their goals.

However, Rhea stays on the surface.

Aelfie thinks Seiros failed to rez Sothis with the chalice because she didn't take more blood from the apostles. Blood rituals are creepy and gave an umbral beast. Seiros didn't pursue and sought another mean to rez Sothis without killing her bros. Rhea makes homunculi to host Sothis's soul? It fails but the homunculi isn't destroyed asap to make another one, hell, Rhea cares about them (which is all kinds of fucked up on its own).

AM wise, iirc, Seteth and Catherine say Rhea'd never forgive them if they run to save her instead of saving randoms first.

Still, making homunculus to create a vessel for her mom - making artificial lives - is problematic, she’s ashamed of it “i did questionable things” and Seteth berates her on her “questionable” experiments.

CF!Rhea eats babies during the final map. She burns the city to make her last stronghold and refuses to run away. CF!Rhea, at the end of this route, completely abandoned goal 1 2 and 3. She wants to survive, yes, but to recover Sothis, no matter how. She still seems to care about humanity, but takes everything too literally and is persuaded humanity and humans are after her to hurt her and her mother (i’m pretty sure uncle Arry was waiting with his Agarthan tech suitcase for Edel to deal with the beast in the background). Contrary to CF’s chapter 12, Endgame!Rhea doesn’t have lines when Catherine and Cyril fall. She’s still siding with humans, but she’s in this for herself now.

Of course, CF!Rhea is special, because CF!Rhea lives again through her trauma, CF!Rhea lost her home, her bro and niece a few chapters ago, she lost her human allies, apparently some peons from her church are deserting and Uncle is waiting with his portable electric saw to turn her in a shiny sword, because she trusted a corpse with Sothis’s heart and spine and trusted a human 1000 years ago with her secret. And now said corpse follows someone who rings at her door with an army, wishes to obliterate her unless she surrenders (?) and works with Uncle and his dubstep pals.

In the other routes, Billy doesn’t want to killer her with her mother’s spine and tries to defend her home, Seteth’n’Flayn aren’t forced into exile or dead and depending on the route she gets to see Uncle and his dubstep friends being buried under rubble.

Troubled waters to reach her goals also include slowing Fodlan’s technological advancements (but was it really slowing down Fodlan’s R&D’s department or cliking “no” when Mole People offer a free (for now) new technology that makes you advance from bronze age to the industrial era in one go?)

Wave 2 : Rhea’s anchored in the past, she wants to return to happier days with her mom and her family, but also wants to help randoms in Fodlan

She doesn’t seem to mind the present where humans do whatever they want, and yet will protect her people and tries (or tried since it’s history) to keep Fodlan safe.

I think the game wanted to tell us Rhea’s stuck in the past, but she also manages to form bonds (albeit fickle) in the present with Catherine, Shamir and, arguably, Cyril. Seteth’n’Flayn accept the past and try to move forward, Rhea cannot and yet is making baby steps forward, or at least to live in the present. “uwu factor” is supposed to mean Rhea’s stuck in the past and can only see Billy for what they are once she accepts to live in the present, but Rhea’s already fond of Catherine, calls Aelfie her child, was fond of Citrus and Jeralt, makes time for Cyril, etc etc. It’s not as clear cut as drinking tea with them but it’s still something that quashes the “lonely B4 U player-chan uwu”.

Rhea thinks her biggest grey wave is how she didn’t do enough for Fodlan and feels inadequate to walk in Sothis’s shoes as the guardian/protector of Fodlan - she could have done more, but she’s busy juggling with three goals, rez mom, protect fodlan, protect the fam.

I think one of her main issue (but the game was also made this way so) is to try to reach those goals alone, save for the “rez mom” goal, everyone in Fodlan, especially the heads of the three states should be concerned with keeping peace in the continent!

Lambert was BBQ’s, Riegan’s busy shitting on Gloucester and Ionius is... well, Ionius. Add to that Mole People starting up shit all around the continent and you have the recipe for a disaster. I’m not saying Lambert and Ionius should have participated to the “protect her family” goal, but at least not trying to eradicate them to turn them in relics would have been nice, sadly Ionius’s bro in law was an Agarthan.

Even if she is nearly immortal compared to a human, Rhea can’t do everything on her own. That’s why I ultimately think a SS ending is doomed to fail, Billy will try to be Rhea 2.0. and in 1000 years it will fall apart again.

AM ending? Billy will become like Rhea was post War of Heroes, but when Dimitri’s descendants start to do shit, his Kingdom disappears and humans start to return to their usual shitty selves, what will Billy do?

VW ending is kind of the same, Claude wants to open the borders and make everyone able to live regardless of their differences, but what if 940 years later an Almyrian president decides to build a wall between Fodlan and Almyra and make Fodlaneses pay for it? What is immortal Billy, who knew Claude and his ideals, going to do?

Wave 3 (lol i nearly forgot but remembered when i was rambling in the tags) : Rhea and technology !

The DLC book and Word of God said she slowed advance of technology in Fodlan to protect peace etc etc. But there’s a book where a cardinal said “eff to autopsies else people won’t rely on us with faith magic” which is... kind of weird. There’s a reason why Rhea might have approved that ban (Why does Freikugel look like a hip bone?) but it still deprived Fodlan’s randoms from the scientifical advance of autopsies... and made people reliant on faith magic.

Actually, the book goes

“Though it is widely believed that this is medically relevant, such actions upon a corpse are considered desecration of the dead. Since white magic can be used to a similar end, autopsies were deemed taboo. A notable cardinal asserted that if medical science were to excel over faith-based white magic, it would destabilize the foundation of the church “

I already pointed out the WTF between faith and white magic (Seteth doesn’t believe his mom is real so he has no faith boon) but interesting to note “desecrating the dead” is still something of an argument nowadays, not regarding autopsies but other practices like anatomical theaters etc etc. Maybe White Magic isn’t intrusive and yields the same results? idk.

Interesting to note, it’s a cardinal who edicted/justified that ban (Rhea as the head of the Church would have given her approval oc). As pointed out with the Freikugel example, Rhea’d have a personal interest in preventing humans to know more about anatomy (goal 3/). Would people stop looking to the church to be healed if “medical science” progresses too much? Maybe. From what we see in the curren Fodlan, it doesn’t.

Also, French version translated the “foundation of the church” as “stability” of the church - would the church become unstable or challenged if people could heal without using white magic? Again, we ultimately know that it doesn’t, magical science and medical science coexist, Manuela gives a short summary of the two - they have different effects.

As for things Rhea herself banned : Telescopes, Oil exploitation and Printed Press.

Telescopes were banned because Rhea thought it would increase violence during wartimes and would make it too easy to snipe from afar (TFW mages with bolting can do the same without telescopes, but they’re limited by their range and if they have a gloucester’s crest by Rhea’s sister’s femur’s range or whatever is Thyrsus). We know the mole people use (and most likely used before during the Sothis war) this technology. The “lessening the mystery of the goddess” thing is noted by Edel herself who wonders if the Goddess could really have come from space since it’s super far away. Edel doesn’t know the Goddess is an alien dragon-thing though.

Oil exploitation : “Misuse could result in accidental death” tfw random Faerghus countryman thought it was water and died :’(

Used tactically by those lacking magical abilities - like gambits? Was Rhea thinking that a random human cannot set fire to an entire city (lol) on his own with his limited spell pool/uses, but if he uses oil then he would only be limited by the quatity of oil? So it’d be easier to cause mass fires? Or whatever Robin did in FE13 with the ships and the Valmese army? Also, if Rhea thought oil could replace humans with magic, does it mean humans with magic were supposed to do everything oil can do? Like making a lamp or they still used something else as fuel? “Competition for it could cause strife” Rhea acknowledged that if humans discovered this ressource they’d deem it as essential and try to get their hands on it, even if they had to wage war?

Metal molding Printing Machine : “after careful consideration” Rhea banned it because it’d be useless for illiterate randoms - well yes, but why should this be an argument? You don’t ban something because it’s useless, look, no one banned airpods - risk of mass circulation of false information or rumors : rhea wanted to prevent redshit from existing This is a way to control information, but funnily enough in the game, we see the results or someone deliberately using manifestos spreading misinformation - risk of “increasing disparity between church branches” (fr version has “rivalry” instead of disparity) what does it mean? The central church would have more means to print books than the eastern church so the eastern church would be jealous? Or the Western Church could mass print its doctrine and have more zealots than the central or the easter church?

Ultimately, all those bans were lifted with time, Manuela performs Jeralt’s autopsy, Edel’s imperial science division managed to guess the distance between the Blue sea star and Fodlan, Oil is apparently used in several gambits, Edel’s able to send manifestos around the continent and Seteth can write children books and sell them without difficulties. Hilda can also lose books which would be a big no-no even if you are a noble if books weren’t, kind of, mass printed.

So why those bans? To protect Fodlan and the fam, but since they were lifted with time, I don’t think Rhea abandonned her goals, most likely, she thought humans were making small steps to discover those technologies, slowly learning about them so they won’t have them when they’re not “ready enough” to use them.

The “ready enough” thing sounds paternalistic or what can be expected from a more technologically advanced alien, but technically Rhea’s part alien and she lived through (or not?) an episode where humans received technology and did shit with it (mole people) so maybe she won’t hand them the car with the keys this time, and instead let them figure out how to build the car.

Still, this is HC because, as usual, the game doesn’t let us talk or question Rhea about those things, so we can only infer, read between the lines or between pixels.

****

TBH, I didn’t care a lot about her when I played, but when she had to eat babies in CF I grew more interested. Other bloggers already pointed it out, but Rhea’s a Tiki, but also a “traditional FE lord” in the sense she avenged her mom who was killed by the king of another kingdom, lived in exile and raised an army to fight against the King.

Still, Rhea didn’t end up as the leader of the world, or as the first Empress of United Fodlan, or something like that. She let Willy do his thing. Why? How? Why didn’t she became an integral part of the Empire, if she had been politically important, or a kind of seer/oracle, it would have been difficult for the Empire to go against her!

But nope, Rhea figged away in her mountains to rez her mom, sprout some “doctrine” (she could have done the same as an Emperor/Seer/Oracle) and watched over randoms who made up her “church”. She sometimes tries to intervene in Fodlan’s best interests, but it failed. Because Rhea doesn’t want to rule. She feels like she has to be a guide, but when humans don’t follow her? Well, what can she do? FE16 doesn’t show us Rhea sending her knights against the Empire when the Empire kicked out her Church and basically said “fig” to her face. FE16 doesn’t show us Rhea being angry and punching Gloucester in the face because he doesn’t show “real piety” and sprouts doctrine out of his rear.

Still, when she has to take a more hands-on approach and cannot be a distant figure/guide, she complains about maintaining a certain image as the Archbishop and how she cannot socialise with students or even walk around without Seteth randoms guarding her. She feels her mother would do a better job and tries to act as a proxy. Imo, Rhea’s bound by duty to her mom, to her sibs dead and living, and to Fodlan. She doesn’t reject her role, she accepts it, she doesn’t like it yes, but if going Gandalf in non-CF chapter 12 shows, she will fulfill it.

What’s most saddening though, is how her duty is a self-imposed one. Rez her mom? She personally took the challenge, because she misses Sothis the most and feels ashamed of this feeling to the point of not telling Seteth about it (interesting enough, Indech seems to be aware Billy’s Sothis incarnation and didn’t jump to the “Billy must be one of Nemesis’s kids with the crest of flames” conclusion, as if he knew Sothis could “incarnate” one day, but was he thinking Sothis would incarnate on her own or Rhea would trigger it? Flayn also suspects a thing about Billy being related to them because of Rhea). Rhea personally thinks she has to lead/guide Fodlan and make it a better place, ignoring the heads of the 3 states who should also be concerned with this goal. Rhea will create a false history to protect her living siblings when Macuil and Indech won’t give a fuck and live in their bestial forms somewhere, and when Seteth hides, but made it clear his only wish is to protect Flayn and the apostles, if they were really lizards, disappeared in random villages.

FE16 isn’t interested by Rhea’s story though.

That’s why I’m desperately waiting for a War of Heroes DLC or prequel of BSFE or whatever because I don’t really care about Fodlan in 1180 and who can have a perfect tea time with Billy or not.

I’d like to know why Birdie and Indech figged away, why Rhea thought letting Willy control the entire continent when he knows she’s a dragon was a good idea, why the Apostles didn’t take part in the Nemesis fight, why Fodlan’s humans decided to side with Willy in his brand new Empire instead of staying with King Nemesis, did Sothis have a previous faithful and what happened when she disappeared, were the Nabateans tyrannical rulers over humans which made some with Nemesis’n’pals, what were they supposed to do when they left Zanado, etc, etc.

So just like Julia and the baijilions AU ideas I came up with, Rhea’s a fuel for AUs because her base game dgaf about her.

[jackoshadows]

I read something rather hilarious today and it made me realize that the fundamental issue for a lot of A Song of Ice and Fire fans is that they are not sure what they want Sansa to be. 

Sansa stans proclaim her as being the most intelligent character in the series but then get angry when readers criticize her actions because she is just a naïve, innocent little girl who does not know any better. Any criticism of Sansa in the first book is mainly because Arya and Jon are biased against her due to jealousy and is not in anyway indicative of who Sansa really is. She has no flaws and is perfect as is at the start but also she is a great character because she has tremendous character growth over 5 books and learns and changes so much.

I recall an Arya post I made once about Arya’s traditionally feminine characteristics and mentioned a book canon fact that Arya was better than Sansa at managing a household. This immediately got me a triggered Sansa stan in the comments who claimed that I – and Arya - was wrong about this and that Sansa was the expert in household management since that was her forte. Despite me and several others pointing out that Arya’s extroverted nature and friendliness with the Winterfell working staff meant that she could manage them better, we were accused of ‘demonizing’ Sansa for implying that Sansa did not enjoy interacting with the smallfolk.

This is how the Sansa stan metas about how Arya would have never survived KL came about – from a need for Sansa to excel in an area where Arya could not. So despite Arya having survived Harrenhal by keeping silent and enduring abuse and despite Sansa impulsively trying to push Joffrey off a bridge (only prevented by the Hound), we were constantly told that Arya would have been killed off in KL while Sansa survived using her wits and ladylike demeanor. This school of thought was so widespread that it actually made it’s way into the TV show – a prime example of how Sophie Turner and D&D were basing Sansa off Sansa stan metas on the internet instead of the actual books that GRRM wrote.

Let’s take the most prominent example of this clash of viewpoints regarding Sansa – her being the smartest character in the books. Something that the TV show audience was hit over the head with using a huge hammer and we got basically any character introduced on the show literally looking at the camera and telling us – ‘Sansa is the smartest’

Right at the start of book one Robb, Jon and Arya view Joffrey as a vain, pretentious ‘little shit’ from observing his behavior. Sansa is the lone exception who thinks highly of him. Even after watching Joffrey sadistically mutilate Mycah and attempt to injure/kill Arya, Sansa sides with him over her family. We are told by Sansa stans that a) she is just a naïve, innocent girl and b) she is cleverly siding with her future in laws and also trying to protect Arya from her stupidity of sticking up for a low class butcher’s boy.

Sansa tattling all of Ned’s plans to Cersei is also blamed on Ned rather than the person who actively made the decision to betray her father just so she could marry Joffrey and become queen. Let’s see what Sansa knows at this point -  Cersei Lannister ordered that Sansa’s pet direwolf Lady be put to death for something that she played no part in. Jaime Lannister has killed Stark men and run off. Ned tells her the following:

Father’s mouth twitched strangely. “Sansa, I’m not sending you away for fighting, though the gods know I’m sick of you two squabbling. I want you back in Winterfell for your own safety. Three of my men were cut down like dogs not a league from where we sit, and what does Robert do? He goes hunting.”

 “Sweet one,” her father said gently, “listen to me. When you’re old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who’s worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. This match with Joffrey was a terrible mistake. That boy is no Prince Aemon, you must believe me.”

 To the girls he said, “I am looking for a fast trading galley to take you home. These days, the sea is safer than the kingsroad. You will sail as soon as I can find a proper ship, with Septa Mordane and a complement of guards... and yes, with Syrio Forel, if he agrees to enter my service. But say nothing of this. It’s better if no one knows of our plans. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

Ned let’s Sansa know that it’s dangerous in KL for both girls, that he was sending them home for their safety and to not let anyone know about their plans. What more should Ned explain to his 11 year old daughter to get her to comply? Should he explain to her the complicated politics of KL before she deigns to obey him? Should she have the basic intelligence to acknowledge that her older, wiser father knows better than her about these things and follow his orders? Or should she go tattle to Cersei despite knowing what the Lannisters have already done against her family?

Oh, but Sansa is just a naïve, innocent little girl. But Sansa is also so intelligent.

When Ned loses his head at the end of book one, Sansa finally realizes that the Lannisters are not the good guys – something that the rest of her siblings figured out in like the second chapter of the books. And Sansa stans are like – wow, Sansa is so smart now! She’s like the smartest Stark. Sansa then proceeds to trust the Tyrells  - because they are good looking and charming and charismatic - while they play her to get power over the Lannisters. But she’s so smart! Sansa then trusts Dontos who is LF’s tool. But she’s so smart! Dany and Jon are so stupid as leaders – look at all their mistakes. But Sansa ­- she thought that one time about how she was going to make the people love her when she becomes queen – surely the best ruler/queen in the books!!

But this is all in the previous 3 books. Let’s look at the most recent Sansa in the Vale. Any growth? Which brings me to the hilarious post I read today and Sansa’s conversation with Maester Coleman.

Maester Coleman clearly tells Sansa that these high doses of Sweetsleep is dangerous for SweetRobin in the long term . No ifs, buts or maybes about it. And it’s clear that Sansa knows this considering it’s right there in the text – “Maester Coleman cares only for the boy though. Father and I have larger concerns” . While Coleman is talking to her about his worry for SR’s health, Sansa is pondering over how much she likes to dance and whether she should give it a try as Alayne. And when Coleman, once again hesitates at the end, Sansa basically threatens him with LF –  take it up with the scary boss man. Nowhere in the text does she herself evince any concern for SR’s health or express doubts about the effects of sweetsleep on SR.

But we are once again informed by asoiaf experts/Sansa stans that Sansa is just a naïve, innocent 13 year old and like they did with Ned, blame Maester Coleman for not explaining it to her in more detail. Sansa does not have google or Wikipedia you guys! – how can she know that Maester Coleman is right? It’s not like his qualifications as Maester is relevant or anything.

I mean, Jon Snow at the wall – the character who is often mocked for being stupid and knowing nothing in contrast to smart Sansa by tumblr – should not have taken any of Maester Aemon’s advice without looking up what ‘kill the boy and let the man be born’ on Wikipedia and only then follow that advice. It’s not like Maesters have trained and learned about these things at the Citadel or anything.

So we are back to excusing Sansa’s actions because she is the innocent, naïve, little 13 year old who is not aware of sweetsleep being dangerous for SweetRobin and it is all the Maester’s fault because he did not explain it to her properly and Sansa should not just take a physician’s word at face value without checking up on it with Wikipedia first and that’s not available to her.

Oh, but also Sansa is super smart now. Smartest Stark, best ruler, most compassionate and maternal etc.

This is basically the dichotomy that we are going to continue to see from Sansa stans as Sansa starts to become more LF like in the books – she is after all currently learning from him, following his orders and thinking that he knows best about all things – even where SweetRobin is concerned.

And Sansa fans want her to be the expert player of the games – from pawn to player – is how they see her endgame. But the expert players of the game – Littlefinger, Varys – are not good people. They betray, backstab, employ treachery, destroy families. If Sansa wants to join their ranks and play the game, then she is going to have to get her hands dirty and do some not so nice things.

And that is not going match up with the Sansa stan viewpoint that Sansa is essentially a very good person who only does bad things because older, wiser people don’t explain things properly enough to nice, innocent naïve little Sansa. It’s going to be fun seeing all the mental gymnastics they do as they try to justify Sansa’s actions as being both super smart and also because she is naïve and innocent. Sansa does not know, she does not have Wikipedia is already one of the most hilarious excuses I have read today. 

And this is why show Sansa was such a mess and there was such a huge dissonance between what we are told by the cast/crew about the character and what is shown on the screen. We are told that she is a compassionate, non-ambitious, non-power hungry character – and yet she is written as LF 2.0. We are told that she is the smartest ever while all the time she is written as being an utter moron deliberately sabotaging her brother when he is trying to save the North from an apocalyptic threat. We are told that she is a super politician/diplomat while she is written as a spoiled child brat needlessly antagonizing a much needed ally. We are told that she loves her family (Lone wolf dies etc.)  but she is written as betraying them for power.

Sansa fans – like D&D and Sophie Turner for ex. – have an image of her which is contradicted by the writing but they are unable to reconcile these halves and so we end up with nonsensical, garbage characters like show Sansa and hilarious justifications of her actions on the internet from her fans. 

[popculturebuffet]

Toons For Our Times: The Loud House: Strife of The Party/ Kernel of Truth

Lana plans her and Lola’s party with copius amonts of dirt and garabage while Lola tries sabotaging it and I struggle to figure out which one we’re supposed to be rooting for exactly.  Meanwhile Lincoln and Co find an abandoned news room and attempt to start their own news show with the immediate threat of cancelation hanging over their heads. You know like most shows on nick. Also Rusty gets hurt a lot which automatically makes this a winner. News Team Assemble, under the cut. 

Well this week was a mixed bag.. which granted could apply to this week as a whole but I meant it specifically for this episodes. Like last week one of them is a true classic that uses the series new status quo to create something intresting, and the other... is the worst episode i’ve reviwed so far. Yes not even one week and the show managed to go from having a boring episode to having a truly odious one. Both metaphorcially and literally as there’s a lot of grossout gags this time around. And unfortuantely since i’ts first in the pairing and the airing, I have to talk about it first. Pitter Patter, let’s get this over with. 

Strife of the Party I”m not exaggerating either. I admit I was hard on Schooled! and Family Bonding, but the former sitll had some good content and the latter was .. well it’s still a boring lazy retread with a bonkers ending, but I admitted to having seen worse. But “I’ve seen worse” is never the best defense. I’ll admit usually I avoided the worse episodes of the loud house. I haven’t seen some of the more infamous episodes of the show like “No Such Luck” or “Kings of the Con”.. because as just a viewer I could skip an episode if it sounded like toilet dinner. Sure i’ve still ran into them: “Study Muffin” was just eh when it aired but now both post me too and post chris savino being rightfully fired for being a harassing dickweasel thanks to said movement, it’s realy fucking creepy, has Lori at her worst (Actively trying to cheat on bobby), and .. I have no third thing. All we really got out of it was Lynn Sr’s obsession with the British. And “The Green House”’s reputation proceeds it and there’s a reason I couldn’t finish it. Point is i’ve been lucky to only step in a few cowpies in the field of this show, and now i’m watching it as it comes out i’m accepting the hard truth that with the show’s hit and miss quality, i’m going to have to go panning in shit creek some weeks if I want to find the nuggets of gold.  Now I will grant this episode doesn’t sound NEARLY as bad as “No Such Luck”.. but as opus would say....

Exactly my Pengy pal. Again not being worse than the worst episode of the show, still dosen’t make you a good episode. It just makes you marginally less terrible. It’s like saying Creed isn’t as bad as Nickelback. While tha’ts true they both still sound terrible, it’s just playing Creed isn’t a warcrime in some countries. And yes I just compared two episodes of a children’s show to bands my audience thankfully likely weren’t aware ever existed, I don’t care. If you haven’t left my blog running and screaming your either new here or tolerate me being an obscure weirdo.  

Before we get in proper, I haven’t covered the twins yet so let’s do that quick. I haven’t really watched a ton of Lola and Lana’s episodes, their not bad characters htey just don’t intrest me much as i’ve seen their gimmicks a lot, but I will say lola’s slightly better and I will say I like Lana more when she’s doing animal antics instead of grossout. Not terirble characters and their acted well, just not my cup of tea is all. Okay enough stalling , pitter patter!

We open with Lola planning the twins upcoming birthday and talking to her stuffed animals which is cute and all.. before a POSSUM CHESTBURSTS OUT OF LOLA’S UNICORN DOLL. 

The.. the fuck. Look i’m all for scaring the crap out of kids in children’s entertainment. I loved Courage the Cowardly dog as a kid and as a grown ass man writing about children’s entertainment. I love the lich from adventure time, i’m okay with scaring kids. But this is just.. a bit too realistic. Yes really. While  doll that size probably can’t fit a possum it could sure fit something else and i’ve seen stuffed animals big enough for a posssum, so yeah.. this could actually happen to one of my nieces and that thought terrifies me. It happening to me also terrifies me but I’m a grown man not a small child who’d be scarred for life. Christ.  The episode does get better, for a second I didn’t bitch for a few paragraphs for nothing. Lana comes in, claims the demon possum, and tells Lola she’ll fix the doll. Uh Lana i’m not sure she wants it back.. you’d be better off burning it and setting the possum free in a republican center’s home where it belongs. 

Anyways Lana has a good point, Lola’s been plannig their parties ‘since before they were born”.. literally as the image above shows which is just.. fucking amazing. I cannot belivie they got to go there and it’s glorious they did. I can’t think of many, if any, other chlidren’s cartoons that showed a fetus on screen so kudos. 

But yeah that was the one good moment of the episode. Next our twins go to a party suply store where Lola, clearly knowing the host well because these kids have connections, has her stash all the poop colored stuff away... which backfires as lana instead goes to the garbage for party favors and decorations. It fails to get better: Next they go to a bakery where Lana makes her own literal garbage cake and then go to flips for entertainment i.e. a bull. NOw i’ll grant both stops have good bits: The cake store guy asks if Lana’s a cop when she asks for grime and Flip has them sign a waver for the bull. And the bull being lana’s idea of entertainment makes sense.. but overal it just comes off as gross and mean spirited. I mean yes Lola’s about to do some terrible stuff herself and yes Lola ouvershadowed lana.. but she dosen’t deserve this abuse and none of this is healthy or tolerbale for.. well anyone, and could get the Loud Parents in serious trouble, which also leaves the obvious plot hole of “why don’t they step in in either situation. “ 

The episode would’ve made more snese if Lana went to them to get them to let her host the party and their guilt over letting Lola always do it means they don't’ reign her in despite wanting to. Instead their just.. there at the end for a great bit we’ll get to. It’s always the bad episodes that paint the loud parents as terrible parents honestly. No Suck Luck had them cast their son out into the cold over nonsense, On Thin Ice had Lynn Sr decide forcing his children to embarass themselves was more important than teaching one of them that maybe sometimes you don’t always get to force your family to obey your whims for dumb reasons, and the april fools eps have Lynn Sr so terrified of pranking retribution instead of you know.. GROUNDING Luann for going full joker on their asses. IN most episodes their kind and reasonable but it’s always the bad ones where they instead make Homer Simpson look like a good parent. 

But yeah my rant aside the episode COULD work if Lola, encouraged by one of her other siblings, Luann would be a good bet as she could easily slide into the party setting when appropriate without being too distracting, realizes she’s been selfish and tries to hold her tounge for lana’s sake. Maybe then she tries sabotage.. or better she DOSEN’T, but both of them realize something; Lola realizes she’s been doing this to lana their whole lives by forcing her into a party she doesn’t  like so LOLA can be happy while Lana realizes she’s being no better. Hell even if Lola did complain, which is in character, this plot woudl still work. instead.. Lana is just as bad as Lola while Lola is still pretty terrible.  See the big problem is that NEITHER girl is likeable. As I’ve made clear Lana pushes a gross, dangerous party on her sister she clearly doesn’t like, and Lola, instead of trying tot alk to her parents or get Lana to tone it down.. tries to guide her to what she wants, then when that fails sabotages the party, makes it so Lana has nothing and gets her party. Both sides are being really bad, but instead of them realizing this, lana is treated as the one we should be sympathetic to when she gets mad when she finds out about Lola even though NEITHER of them are sympathetic or likeable and deserve to win 100%. But Lana does, lana gets her way, Lola apologizes and hte paradigm just shifts from one sibling being unhappy to another. We do get that one gag I talked about where when lola goes to make things right she has Lynn Sr stall and he pulls out a cowbell “You thought I wasn’t going to need this”. No bud, Rita HOPE you wouldn’t need this. There’s a difference. Thank god it’s the end. 

Final Thoughts for Strife of the Party: They should be obvious but to be clear this is hippo excrement. i’ts not funny, it makes both it’s leads look bad, the parents look worse by inaction and  just isn’t pleasant ot watch. I do GET the show has a young audience, and they like grossout, I get i’m not the target demographic, so I probably would just be okay with a good version of this episode.. but even with that in mind both twins come off so unlikeable it’s just not fun to watch or to see Lana win as she didn’t feel like she earned it. It’s bad and it should feel bad, and i’ts the first truly odious episode i’ve had for weekly coverage. I’ve had okay or eh ones, but this one is truly bad and belongs in the pantheon of bad loud house episodes.. or at least in the honrable mentions. Good gravy this blew. 

Kernel of Truth

Okay now we’ve panned the gold nugget out of the crap creek, we can get on with the GOOD episode this week. I was excited for this one.. I was excited for both actually, even not being a huge fan of the twins I liked the idea of a loud birthday but as we just saw,.. didn’t work out so good. But this one while I thought it would just be average, promised another lincrew shenanigan and I like most of those i’ve seen, and plus I knew it’d allow me to refrence anchorman a bunch so i was llike :Fuck it let’s go”.. and this one ended up being REALLY damn good and probably one of the best episodes with this group i’ve seen, right up there with “Be Stella My Heart.” I’ts good stuff. But before we get into it you probably noticed my ranting about girl jordan but turns out, while I haven’t watched that episode, she’s in the sand field trip episode from last season hanging out with stella so I have an answer to if they forgot abotu her, they didn’t they just need to use her more, and a new ship so i’m satisfied and I apologize for bitching about it. Next time i’ll just check the wiki and see before I bitch about something. ON with the review. 

We open with our motely crew searching for a hidden Game Room rusty’s cousin claims exists, with Stellas as lookout and the guys.. er all in stacks that make it look like their doing a team up move from donkey kong country 2? 

I mean I have been playing the game a lot since it came to switch online, seriously if you have the service go play it, but i’m not hte only one seeing this right? Right.  So yeah the kid stack fails and Zach doubts Rusty’s story.. because when has rusty ever been right.. well apparently just this one time, but we’ll get to that. They even checked the boiler room. 

And then promptly vowed never to go back to the boiler room while Principal RAmierz just sighed at having to deal with a freddy kruger infestation again. They loose more children that way and the school board JUST got him out of the high school.  Liam also gets the line of the episodes when he calls the group “Fellas and Stellas” Which is just objectively amazing and needs to be used every time this group appares from now o. Luckily= Stella noticed another closed door, this one taped off instead of just with a keep out sign and the Fellas and Stellas make their way inside and find themselves in.. a news room! But it’s nto a fox news room so it actually had news in it once and not Tucker Carlson, the answer to what happens to an 80′s or 90′s yuppie scumbag villian after they fail to get the orphange paved over for condos

Anyway, our heroes alll ohhh and all while Zach thinks this is where children are harvested. Nah Zach they just call them up on the pa system.

So everyone does what’s natural to them: Zach and Liam inspect the cameras, Stella looks at the old mic because she’s a natural for being an on camera personality and Rusty.. oggles an old group shot of the news team. You know I may not hate him with the hatred of a hundred suns, but he’s still objectively the worst. Zach gets mad at him over it because “That’s my mom”. Rusty defends himself by calling her hot and while th. no please god no dont’ talk about women like that you creepy little weatherbeaten Chucky doll that somehow became a real boy, or had dustin diamond transfer his soul into it befrore he died. Either is possible. The point is Ewww. The other point is while Rusty’s being his usual living proof of while he’ll die alone Zach has no right to get upset , AT FIRST because how the hell would Rusty know that’s hsi mom. You two have the combined braincell of a dead feret. Stella is the only one out of all 6 of you evenmy boy liam who has more than one brain cell. This argument is stupid and I hate you both,  just settle things in the most humane way possible.. or at least THIS is what I consider the most humane way possible. 

So while those two are being as stupid as expected, Lincoln suggets fixing the place and becoming the new school news crew. I mean they’d need new equipment since even if the stuff there still works’ it’s all worn out 80′s tech none of you know how to use but given their seen with a modern camera later int he episode, I assume they just sold this off and got new cameras. Even if the show flopped, more on that in a minute, the principal could still use those for other projects so it’s a win win. Stella Zhau agrees.. and FINALLY has a last name. Like holy shit i’ve been waiting a full season for this and it feels like that bit was JUST to give her a last name. Now they just need to do Liam but still, I needed this one more. Plus it also means we can now firmly say she’s chinese. Neat!

So after that blockbuster reveal Stella wonders where Rusty is, because fuck if I know, and they all find him continuing to oggle zach’s mom at their age....

Zach snatches it away and crumples up understandably annoyed. Rusty’s response is about what you’d expect. 

So once Liam’s done throwing that calender into the school furnace, and saying hi to freddy as he passes the boiler on the way, our team heads to the principal to plead their case. They run into Meryl, the identical in personality, plot function and apperance outside of wearing pink instead of yellow to Cheryl, the receptionest at the elementary school who I really liked and it’s a clever way to keep the character at both schools and pays off the runnig gag of Cheryl asking liincoln or clyde who looks better her or her sister by having said sister show up and ask the same. Good stuff. 

Meryl ends up agreeing to let them go see the wizard, I mean Principal Rameriz, because her soap is on. Also clyde’s a fan to his friends blank stares. Come on guys he watches romance movies, of course he’s going to love drama shows, even the non teen ones. I now imagine he joins the loud sisters on their riverdale nights. Riverdale the clusterfuck that has something for all of them: Teen drama and shirtless hunks for Lori and Leni, Music and scantly clad “teens’ of both genders and neither gender for Luna, something to laugh at for Luann who probably loves mst3king stuff, and violence for Lucy.. dosen’t seem like it’d be Lynn’s thing honestly but I rest my case. Also the rest of the sisters are too young but the parents figure Lucy’s desentised enough to violence and blind enough to sex to make an exception. 

Now that fun headcanons out of the way our heroes pitch the principal whose skeptical, as the 80′s news show ended because it was boring, much like why that 80′s show ended. That and it was a bunch of 80′s pop culture refrences strung together. I do have a minor nitpick that it seems odd a school room would be in disuse for this long, but given the Principal has apparently spent years looking for aformetioned game room as we find out in the end, the school blueprints are apparnelty lost to the ages or if they exist are some sort of ancient treasure map buried beneath the school drawn in blood by an old witch. I mean this universe has cherry hating peach loving spies now, i’ not ruling anything out. 

But our heroes beg them: Clyde has journalism experince on the school paper, Stella has the dedication and heart and Rusty .. thinks people need to see his face on camera. Rusty as far as we know your face functions like the vdieo from the ring and everyone in school is going to die 7 days after seeing it on film. That’s my theroy and i’m sticking to it. Thankfully everyone else is just as annoyed with him as me for once, and we get the glorious shot above of everyone just looking.. done with his antics and wondering why they keep him around. Finally for once I agree iwth the characters on something rusty related. Let’s show that agian. 

Poetry. You can just feel the levels of “So done with this crap” seeping from every poor.. except for Poor Lincoln who just wishes his best friends and rusty woudl stop using him as furniture, and Liam whose covered but probably very much on team “Rusty Stop Being Yourself your blowing this for us”. They even have an action news pose.. which is botha dorable and breaks the principal’s bust of herself, so she relucntantly agrees to get them out of there. Plus as I said there’s really no loss for her here. If their sucessful the school gets a new elective, something to put on the tv’s every morning, a way to do announcments so she dosen’t have to, and free good publicity for her next bonus. If not.. then she has somehwere to store her new cameras she can use for other stuff, and come up with something else to do with the media lab. Either way she wins. Plus iwth phones and stuff noawaydays they only need the one new camera.  Okay before we move on confession time: I was on a school tv news show’s crew myself. Not in middle school, we werne’te that lucky but in high school we had video media, an elective where seniors edited news segments and what not for the school’s WhamTV program. I hope i’ts still around honestly. I started on a field crew doing stories but my awkardenss and a blow up at my partner where my awkward rage prone ass threatned him by accident, got me bumped to doing credits.. which I genuinely loved. I got to something fun, creative and unique, I was still part of hte intros every week, and I got plenty of time to goof off and watch videos. It’s how I found channel awesome and first got to watch atop the fourth wall since it wasn’t on youtube back then, back before you know, it turned out Doug was abusing all of them and younger me was just unaware of it. But it was still good times so this episode does feel a bit nostalgic for me. But enough teary eyed reminciings of ten years ago, back to the plot. Our heroes air their newscast. It’s the Middle School Action News with with your Anchors Lincoln Loud and Clyde McBride, Stella Zhao in the field, Rusty Spokes on Sports for.. some reason, Cameraman Liam Wedon’tknowhislastname and Zach Gurdle somewhere out of the way. Middle School Action News, always on, always free.. no wiat tha’ts pluto. Middle School Action News, Taste the rainbow. Middle School Action News.. The Good Guys Always Win, Even in The 80′s. Yeah that’ll do! 

But yeah while our heroes try their best, and to their credit this does feel like a middle school news show. The writers not our heroes. Anyways Lincoln and Clyde banter and we get our first segment Stella trying to interview mr. Bohlmer about his birthday.. which goes about as well as doing anything for him on ron swansons’ birthday. 

Next we have Rusty on sports.. which I questioned when I first say this but as obonxious as Rusty can be.. yeah this is the best place to have him. Stella has the drive and the talent to be their field reporter, Clyde and Lincoln have a lifelong report that does well for the desk, Liam is nice and patient enough for camera work, and Zach is a paranoid weirdo so he probably has experince editing since thats where I assume where he is since htey ddon’t do weather and even if they did Liam’s just not the right shade of oblivoiusly nuts. 

I do however at least get why they keep him around as Rusty needs someone to get fed up with him.. but as the above moment showed Clyde and Stella can do that easily, as can Lincoln, so he really has no functional purpose other than as a B-Grade dale gribble. ANd I know kids don’t know who that is but they frankly deserve better. Seriously Zach...

Okay getting back to the segement. For starters Rusty does a breath spray first.. but suprisingly despite interviewing a lady, specifically Lynn, he DOSEN’T hit on her and is actually professional and manages to get a quote despite her disintrest. LIke I know it’s the bare minimum but you’ve met rusty right? the Bare Minimum is hard for him to grasp. Earlier this episode he was oggling old pictures of his friends mom and saying he should take it as a compliment which, Hard No. So the fact hours later he’s talking to a woman without radiating creep after that is an achivment. For him and him alone mind you, most kids should know better. But still I may be hard on the kid, because DAMN is it fun and damn if he dosen’t give me plenty of joke fodder, but I will give him credit even if it’s the bare minmum. Good job rust you passed the very basic plateau of human decency. 

Stella wraps things up with a look at the cafteria that’s about what you’d expect from a kids cartoon, shoe int he beans etc. Unfortuantley bean shoes, sportz and angry assholes aren’t enough to float the show and the principal is ready to can it.  On hte bright side they have their first lawsuit from Mr. Bohlmer. I mean John Olvier idnd’t start getting sued by dickheads with no real case till he was 30, nicely done kids. And it’s not even why, it’s just boring and the kids aren’t enjoying it. So Stella, being again the one with her own brain cells here, proposes to let them find a big story, and Ramirez reluctantly but graciously agrees. And that’s why I like her so far. Don’t get me wrong having Steven Tobolowsky as principal was great, but I like Rameriz better: she’s smart, weary of the crap she puts up with and tough but fair.. which is a cliche btu fits here: She’ll be honest with her kids but will give them an honest chance and sees our news team really doees want this bad and her giving htem one more day to find something actally intresting is more than fair.  So our heroes spitball about what to do for news. LIam suggests alien because again he has about one character trait, so everyone tells him for hte last time no. I mean it isn’t much worse than his last suggestion. 

So once agian it’s RUSTY who saves the day, bringing in beet snacks.. which he tries to get them not to stone him over over the fact the popcorn was all gone.. which okay 1) I get the show’s tring to be healthy so maybe ther’es not chips, but I have a hard time buying that there’s no Chez Its, snack packs or other goodies between “Popcorn’ and “something with beetz that only two men would eat” For the record those two men are Dwight Schrute, for obvious reasons, and this guy my boy Tony Chu. 

I highly recommend this comic, Chew for the record, to anyone. Just.. anyone whose not a children it gets voilent, but it is sublime. We’re not here for that, but I thought i’d plug it. It also has a spinoff currently running, Chu, following his criminal sister. Also real good and dosen’t really spoil anything for hte main series thus far so you can hop in there instead. Either way your in for a ride.  Back on topic, while Rusty failed with snacks he actually brings up a good point: The popcorn isn’t just gone because it’s late in the school day, but because as the kids notice, it’s just missing in general despite the trucks arriving. They have their story and head out to investigate.  And suprisingly, unlike last week’s investigation they find something: A mysterious hooded figure bribing the driver for popcorn, and taking it off somewhere. They fail to catch her, as Rusty dives over her telling Liam to “Make sure you get this”.. he instead gets a shrub and video of him attacking a shrub. I’ts a good runner and shows the writers are leanring to use Rusty better.  They take the footage to the principal, who is impresssed, but states they need to find out who dun it for the story to be complete which is fair enough. They stalk out the nexxt delivery time later that night, but find the drivers have been switched and the mystery person has fled to canada. Rusty once again tries catching her and fall sin the water. Liam once again responds with a cheerful “Don’t worry rusty I got it”.. okay this dynamic is honestly better than him and Zach: Cheerful oblivious Liam and scheming dumbass rusty. Why isn’t THIS the “Those Two Guys” dynamic in the group, honestly. 

Anyways Lincoln is dispondent the next day as iwth no leads, they have no programa nd prepares to do a spider-man no more with his anchorsuit.. which okay 1) you can use that for other things man. Peter Parker can’t really use a spider-man suit for anything but spider-manning but you can use that suit for dates and dances and stuff. and 2).. whya re he and the clyde the only ones with outfits? I mean.. it’s clear from this episode there will be more school news stories nad it just looks weird that they get to play dressup in suits but the rest of the crew isn’t. Liam at leat is working the camera and Zach is Zach but rusty and Stella are field reporters. Field reporters, while not always, usually get nice suits too guys. 

ANyways Lincoln finds something in the garbage. And not his sister this time, as Lana oscar the grouched it up lat episode in sadness. Which to be fair will be her future career mark my words. At least I think that’s a career. Anyways, our heros find a ferry ticket meaning whoever fled to Canada is in the building. They trail some popcorn from the ticket to the locked door from earlier, which Rusty, finishing the rule of three, tries knocking it down hwile Liam gets it. Stella, again proving to be the real hero of this tale, uses her hair as a lockpick. Is.. is there anythign this child can’t do? She and Marcy should swap notes sometime damn. 

And the culprit is MERYL! She was using the popcorn for insulation to get a quite room to herself and begs the kids not to tell which. is the weaker part of the episode> We don’t have the investment in Meryl we do in Cheryl, and she did you know.. steal school property.. or at least buy it off under the table. But the kids being the sweet kids they are understandably, schemes or not don’t want her  to loose her job, and agree to not tell on her even if they loose their show. And to their creid and what keeps this from sinking the episode Meryl is genuinely greatful for this gesture, and gives them the scoop.  And as i’ve been mentioning turns out RUSTY WAS RIGHT. Yes Rusty. That Rusty. Was Right about something. The Game Room exists. They find it thorugh a hidden locker entrance and unlock it from the inside, with af lodo of viewers coming in. Granted at first I didn’t know why Meryl didn’t just use this room but then I thought “Oh yeah she’s a full grown adult and can’t fit in the entrance and i’m assuming it was locked from the other side to the rest of the school”. So the kids have a new hangout and as the principal joins them, they havea  show! Turns out she’d been looking for this place for years.. and doesn’t turn it into something else. What a legend. She plays Air Hockey with Meryl, is there something going on there or are my shipping goggles acting up.. probably both. Anyways our heroes have genuine thanks, a fun new hangout at school, their own headquarters and their own news show. It’s a heck of a day but it’s no time to rest as Rusty tells them he has another tip and i’ts off... to pick up a broom to sweep up the gumball machine they knock over.. THEN they can go find the hot tub for the teachers lounge. 

Final Thoughts:  OH me mow, this was a great one. For one the main complaint I had I mentioned at Schooled! of it not feeling like Lincoln’s friends were given enough personality sometimes? Gone enitrely. Everyone except Clyde and Zach get a moment and Clyde is still fully present and has gotten several focus episodes at this point, while Zach again should just leave already. But the rest of them? All on form. Stella continues to prove her competence, energy and adorability, Rusty is not only actually useful for once but was actually really funny his episode. The gag with Zach’s mom was actually pretty hilarious, my jabs at him aside, and the runner of him trying to do some epic stunt, telling Liam to film it and then humiliating himself while his pal cheerfully tells him he got it is just great and Lincoln’s Spider-Man no more moment with his suit was both said and kinda funny and I love him and Clyde’s reporter outfits. It’s why I wanted everyone to have them, especially since this will be a recurring theme and looks to be a fun one. It was fun, creative, and took me back a decade. It was a REALLY damn good one and I’m glad I watched this one first, a true highlight of the series and a true good sign that the season can, even with some hiccups, will apparnetly have some REALLY great episodes on average even with the weaker ones.  That’s it for this week... and somehow for loud house coverage as, for now, their doesn’t’t seem to be any new episodes in October, but that could change. Until then, follow this blog every Monday for regular ducktales coverage and come back in October for more loud house, more the Casagrandes  and some spooky spooky fun Until then, Go team venture. 

[explodingcrayon]

OKAY here are my Critical Thoughts about TLTTK which I still think is a really good, entertaining show and I kind of want to read the original book now... Obviously there are differences between the two as with any adaptation, but it’s a good story all the same!!

Major spoilers under the cut for the netflix series!!

Alright so my biggest issue is with the last two episodes, mainly with the last episode. Pacing was good the entire show until this last episode where they had to wrap everything up and end it. Which left it feeling like... weird? It felt “complete” but also there was so much that was left just empty?

I wish we had seen more Eviellan stuff (the place, characters from there, the actual conflict that they were suffering, etc.) but I guess I also understand why we didn’t, as Tiuri was the focus of the story? But considering the war was uhhh SIGNIFICANT to them, I wish that wasn’t glossed over as it was the more the story progressed. It kind’a makes me angry the more I think about it tbh LOL

His mom was locked up and that was a big thing in the beginning and then last 5 minutes we’re back home and everyone is being knighted and she’s just okay LMAO We don’t see her being released, reuniting with Tiuri, any moments or nods to Tiuri Sr. ... Idk, she was a tertiary character and that’s why IG

Honestly all the tertiary characters felt so empty at the end of the day LMAO The nobles in particular felt so pointless. Alianor gets caught by Viridian and then she just shows up fine in the epilogue. So like what happened to her??? Did he just knock her out or put her to the side or??? Why was she snooping anyway???? She accomplished nothing and was just sort of ~there~ the whole story. It made it seem like the alliance was going to be a bigger deal and then ended up being 100% irrelevant.

(Also with the alliance... this seemed so backwards??? Viridian, the son that was leading Unauwen’s army and fighting directly for it should have been given the throne, while Iridian was shipped off to ally with Dagonaut??? That makes way more sense??? But also seemed like it was going to be a bigger conflict than it was????? As in it didn’t matter at all????)

Likewise Iridian had no real role outside of his relationship to Alianor and his suspicions of his brother. And considering Alianor herself was p irrelevant in the plot, he could have been fine as a character without her. (And even then, his role in the story was minimal and he felt like milquetoast prince trope)

Bury Your Gays 😒

^But also like REALLY SUPER AVOIDABLE???? AND THAT JUST MAKES IT WORSE??? Tiuri survived with a stab wound for like 2 days at LEAST but Jisuppo dies 30 minutes later??? What, my boy’s not worthy of plot armor 10 minutes before the end??? Hate this shit ldksjfa

TBH I understand why they had to kill off all the coolest characters bc then it leaves Tiuri to be the protagonist, but also please stop killing the cool characters I want to see a story with them in it aaaahhh

I LOVED that we think Viridian is just a power-hungry general-prince until the last moment when we realize like. Oh. He was sent to conquer this other nation and being the one of the front lines with them, he’s pissed over how needless and cruel it is to both the Eviellans and his own soldiers. He wants to put a stop to conflict altogether, albeit in a really terrible way. He genuinely thinks he’s the hero of the story when instead he’s putting himself in the prophecy’s role of villain. That’s!! Super interesting!! He’s still not sympathetic as a villain, but I GET him. ...So it’d be nice if the epilogue had some sort of nod from the surviving King / upcoming prince Iridian that like “damn we fucked up with this whole war, maybe we should work harder to not be asshole monarchs and take care of our people + work towards peace and reparations.” Nope! Nothing of the sort.

In general it feels like there’s no real overarching closure with half the subplots? Mostly the background stuff: the nobles, the war, Lavinia’s road & mom, etc.

Where did Jabroot go???? Was he killed?? Did he get to keep hanging out?? Arrested???

The twist at the end of episode 5 is literally explained with a throwaway exposition line at the start of episode 6. Paraphrased, “So the magic works like this bc of this!” ???? I MEAN GREAT BUT COULD WE NOT GET MORE DETAIL ON THAT SINCE IT’S KIND OF A BIG DEAL??????

I LOVED the twist and HATED it. I loved it bc I genuinely did not see it coming and that is so rare tbh... But I also hated it for a lot of reasons which I will detail below:

1. It feels very like. White Savior area. The deuteragonist white character is literally the shining white light to defeat the darkness when my boy Tiuri has been RIGHT THERE,,, THE WHOLE TIME,,, DOIN’ ALL THE HARD WORK,,, Tiuri was a great MC and hero and he should’ve been the one with the magic, tbh

2a. It’s literally not explained. “So the magic is all around us, it’s not in blood!” Except the people who originated and routinely use the magic say otherwise?? So a 10 yo knows more about it than a civilization and culture that essentially founded it as tradition??? (Who, btw, are the POC versus the White country HMMM)

2b. Okay so even given that,, weirdness,, The magic is something everyone can access, you just Gotta. So you still have to answer what makes Lavinia so special??? Has she always had these powers?? Did they first manifest in the abbey (or the fog leading up to the abbey)??? Why did they manifest?? Is it just through high emotions like she said? Did her mother have magic too?? Where did this come from??

2c. Tiuri DOES have SOME connection to magic, because even as they said, he was hearing voices and such from it... So how is his magic different? How does it work? WAS his birth father a Shaman or was the audience just meant to infer/assume that? His mother seemed to know all about this stuff going on, so??????? I’m????? So many questions?????

--

NOW I WILL SAY... I did not read the book, or see if this is a book series or just a standalone or anything like that. So I don’t know how the story goes exactly when compared to this Netflix adaptation — how much they changed, or how much they left out. Maybe the denouement and epilogue were more informative than what they had time for in the show. But after some really great episodes leading up to the final culmination...! It kind of left me feeling, “hm :/“

So I still recommend it as a show and form your own opinion (esp if you read the book and have full context to the story)! But those are my hm >:/ gripes with it

[heartofsnark]

This Is Love (Chapter Three): The Art of Haunting

Notes: Once again I’m late to posting this, though can you be late to posting something when you make your own schedule? Its time to finally see Dahlia at work and her getting to know her new partner as well as some of the citizens in Hope County.

Word Count: 12866

Chapter Warnings: Cursing, Anxiety Attacks, Ms Mable’s problem with Italians, Slut Shaming, Sexism (thanks, Hurk Sr.) 

For chapter one and the warnings about this fics overarching themes, please click here! 

For the previous chapter; click here!

Dahlia huffs out a little breath of air as she looks at herself in the mirror. Trying to look professional and put together, she’s lightened up her eyeliner a little. But it’s the shirt that’s killing her. She doesn’t mind the dark army green and likes it as an overshirt but buttoning it up just feels too put together for her. Dahlia thinks of how she saw Hudson wearing hers, tucked in and half buttoned on, she starts to try it, but just the act of tucking her shirt in feels completely unnatural.

She settles for just leaving it open over a black tank top and rolling her sleeves up to her elbow. If Whitehorse has a problem with it, he’ll call her out on it. Her shirt doesn’t have any messages or graphics on it, which is something. If he knew her better, he’d know that’s reason enough to celebrate. Dahlia ties her hair back in a small ponytail, the most her short hair can manage, with strands still falling out. But, it’s a bit more out of her face.

A deep breath to ease her nerves.

She’s been a cop for around two years, jumped at the chance to join the Academy not long after Lloyd and Caroline took her in,  but at the Reinette station she had Lloyd practically holding her hand every time she was unsure of something. Not to mention, there wasn’t much to do as a cop in Reinette. She probably spent the majority of those two years in the station pelting Chase with spitballs. If Hope County is minor league, Reinette was playing catch in the backyard.

Throwing on her leather jacket, she goes out to the shed and gets her bike out, throwing on her helmet before starting it up.

There’s a flutter of anxiety in her stomach as she walks into the station. A mixture of excitement and fear, she’s not sure which emotion is winning out at the moment.

“Good morning, Junior Deputy,” Nancy greets her with a smile as Dahlia hangs her jacket on a nearby hook. 

“Morning.”

“Earl wants to see you in the bullpen office, through that door right there.” 

In the open office with collections of desks, she sees a few random officers, and the two deputies from her interview. Dahlia’s heart picks up spend when Hudson looks over towards her, flashing a grin. 

“There’s the Rookie.” 

“About time, probie.” 

“Hey…” 

“Not for nothing, you might wanna fix your uniform before the sheriff sees.” 

“Stickler?” 

“Rookie!” The sharp bark of a yell rings out, Whitehorse coming out of his office and making Dahlia snap to attention, “what the hell, sort your uniform out, this is a police station, not high school.” 

“On it,” she responds, buttoning up the shirt to just beneath the neckline of her tank top. 

“Tuck it in too.” 

“Yes, sir,” she grumbles, following orders. Ironically, she feels more like she’s in high school now. Getting barked at about dress code violations. 

“With that settled,” Whitehorse knocks his knuckles against the only desk without anything on it, “this is gonna be your desk, feel free to settle into it when you get a chance. Come back to my office, we got some paperwork and details to take care of, then you’ll be out on patrol with Pratt.” 

Pratt grumbles something she can’t quite hear, and she rolls her eyes, following Whitehorse back into his office. There are a few forms he places before her and she gives her half assed signature on them. Then he starts rummaging through storage in his office, getting a belt out with holsters and pouches. Empty and then he starts to lay out what’s to fill those, each items she recognizes well from her job in Reinette. 

Handcuffs, standard steel and gleaming under the lights of the office. A baton, pepper spray, a walkie talkie style radio,  a taser, a flashlight, and a black Glock 22 sidearm. 

“I’m sure you heard all of this back in Louisiana, but the weight of a loaded gun is a heavy one. It’s a lot of responsibility, it should only be used when absolutely necessary.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Alright then, gear up and get ready for patrol.” 

She nods and loops the utility belt, fastening the buckle then attaching each thing she needs, the weight of it all hanging around her waist as she goes back to the bullpen to meet with Pratt. 

She can’t help but let out a huffy sigh when she sees Pratt standing beside his desk and drinking coffee, chatting with Hudson. Her eyes instinctively drawn to the female deputy, remembering that conversation she had with Whitehorse. A crush. Her heart hurts. How can she have a crush, she knows nothing about Hudson, are they meant to be this superficial? Hudson is beautiful; no one with functioning eyes could debate that fact. Long dark hair and olive-green eyes, there’s a tattoo on her forearm that Dahlia never noticed before. Some sort of eagle with an American flag, maybe she has military in her family? Not that this fact means anything to Dahlia, why would she care about that? 

“Looks like I’m stuck on babysitting duty.” Pratt’s voice cuts through her thoughts like ice water being splashed in her face. She flushes red, realizing how stupid she must have looked just gawking for a moment at a pretty girl. 

“If anyone’s stuck babysitting it’s gonna be Rook,” Hudson tells him, rolling her eyes and flashing another big smile at Dahlia. Everything about her is so warm and comforting. Crushes suck, she’s finally in control of her life and her body decides she can’t control it. Instead of responding or communicating like a functional human being, Dahlia scratches at the back of her neck and avoids eye contact. 

“Whatever, c’mon, probie I ain’t got all day.” 

Dahlia reluctantly follows after Pratt, out to one of the parked patrol cars. He climbs into the driver’s seat and she plops herself in the passenger side. Sheriff gone, she immediately starts to undo the buttons on her uniform shirt. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m not wearing my uniform like this, not if I don’t have to.”

“Well, you have to.”

“Whitehorse isn’t here.” She shrugs and untucks her shirt. 

“I have seniority over you, Rookie. If I say you need to have your uniform on properly, you have to.”

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“You need to respect your higher ups.” 

“You wanna lecture me about respect and my uniform, or do you wanna go do our jobs?” 

“Fine, but you better lose the attitude.” 

“I’ll get right on that.” She rolls her eyes, looking out the window of the patrol car as Pratt starts up the engine. This is going to be a less than fun probationary hire, hopefully it won’t be long until she’s able to patrol on her own. 

The morning rolls by slowly, no calls in or anything needing attention. Dahlia is comfortable in silence for the most part, content to just watch the environment as they drive around. Forcing conversation or small talk isn’t appealing. If she grows close and gets to know people, she’d rather it happen naturally than just desperately trying to fill silence. 

Pratt is less comfortable with silence, she learns quickly. As much as he talked crap about not wanting her to annoy him or be a problem, he’s far more concerned with getting her attention than she is his. 

“So, you came here from Louisiana?” 

“Mmhm.” 

“What made you wanna become a cop?’ 

“…”

She already passed her interview, she doesn’t want to spend her time rambling to someone else about her situation; he just wants to do her job. 

“Not much of a talker, huh?” 

“…”

It isn’t until around noon that something finally happens. It’s nothing major, a red ford driving through a stop sign. No crashes or accidents, but illegal, nonetheless. Pratt flicks on the lights and the siren, rushing after the traffic violator. The truck pulls off on the side of the road and Dahlia goes to unbuckle her seat belt. 

“What are you doing?” Pratt asks, looking at her like she’s lost her damn mind. 

“Getting out to give this guy a ticket.” 

“You’re not going anywhere, you stay right there.” 

“What?” 

“You heard me, I don’t want you getting out of this car,” he tells her one more time as he steps out. She groans, it’s just a ticket, but at least it was something. It’d give her an excuse to stretch her legs. Does he seriously think she can’t handle writing a ticket? She glares as Pratt talks to the man and writes up the ticket, returning to the patrol car without any trouble. 

“I call the next ticket, at least.” 

“Doesn’t work like that.” 

“What do you mean it doesn’t work like that? You have to let me get out of the car at some point.”

“You’re gonna sit and learn by observing.” 

“Observing what?! You walking to a car? I know how to write tickets, that’s basic, you can at least let me do that much.” 

“Don’t ask questions, alright?” 

“I will ask any and every question that I damn well please.” 

Pratt scoffs at her before starting the car back up, the day continues much the same to Dahlia’s absolute chagrin. 

Someone speeds, she’s told to just stay in the car. Someone makes an illegal turn; she’s told to stay in the car. They’ve pulled over the fourth person of the day, someone they caught on their phone driving. Once again, Pratt tells her to sit still as he goes and takes care of it, coming back afterwards. 

“I swear to god if you don’t let me do something, I’m gonna scream.” 

“Don’t be a brat, there’s no need to send you out for traffic violations.” 

“It’s better than just sitting here, my legs are falling asleep.” 

“Deputy Pratt, Hale, this is dispatch,” Nancy’s voice drifts through the radio in the middle of the car. 

“Pratt responding.” 

“We have a call from Ms. Mable, Peaches got out again, you’re our nearest unit.” 

“Ugh, can that old b-,” he pauses for a moment and a grin comes across his face, looking over at Dahlia, “you know what, I think this is perfect for the probie’s first call. Tell her we’re headed that way.” 

“You sure that’s a great idea, Pratt?” 

“Already on our way, over.” 

“Peaches?” Dahlia asks as they start to head up to the northern part of the Henbane River area. 

“It’s Ms. Mable’s cat, she’s always escaping and gets into all kinds of trouble. The F.A.N.G center is the closest thing we have to animal control, but we don’t ask for their help unless absolutely necessary.” 

It makes sense, she guesses, not much is needed to tame a cat. 

“If it means I can get out of the car, I’ll take it.” 

She yawns and leans back in her seat as Pratt starts to take her up a mountain slope, signs for Peaches Taxidermy catching her eye. There are two buildings when they park as well as a large caged in enclosure, with a box. Seems like a lot of space for a cat, maybe she has big dogs as well, though the enclosure appears empty. An older woman with short dark hair is standing nearby, a little toy mouse in her hand. The deputies get out to greet her and when the woman sees them, her expression goes sour. 

“It’s about damn time.”

“Got here as soon as we could, Ms. Mable.” 

“Well, it wasn’t soon enough and who the hell is this?” The woman’s eyes narrow at Dahlia. 

“I’m Deputy-” 

“Junior Deputy,” Pratt cuts her off and she scoffs. He can’t at least give her the deputy title. 

“Are you Italian?” Ms. Mable asks instead, and Dahlia can’t help but give a look of disbelief, what does that matter?

“Uh, like, half, yeah.”

“Oh, just what I need for my jewelry to go missing.” 

“Okay…. not even gonna tell you what the other half is…” 

“Do you have any idea where Peaches might have gone?” Pratt steers the conversation back, thankfully saving Dahlia from anymore conversation about her heritage. 

“Sometimes she goes down to the little camp south of here.” 

“Alright, we’ll get it taken care of. Probie, go grab that bag of treats.”

Dahlia nods and grabs the bag of treats, chicken livers, because animal treats are all weird and gross. She carries it with her as she follows Pratt down the rural little path, over a little bridge that crosses a stream. The woods clears out to a small campsite with tents and an extinguished campfire. 

“Not to be a buzzkill, but isn’t this a little below our paygrade? I mean Mable isn’t decrepit, surely she can get her own cat back.” 

“Don’t worry about it, just get the treats out, Peaches will come running to you.” Pratt is leaning back against a towering tree, arms crossed, relaxed like he’s on vacation. 

“Okie doke…” 

Dahlia rifles through the bag and gets out a treat, squishy and weird under her fingers. Her hands are going to reek like cat food for the rest of the day. She crouches down and holds the treat out; looking around the area, trying to find the housecat, but she can’t see anything. 

“Here Peaches,” she calls out, hoping to entice the cat out. 

Then she’s on her back. 

The wind has gone out of her lungs, heavy paws pin her shoulders down as a mass of golden fur lands on her. She blinks for a minute, stars dazing her vision as shock overwhelms her. Then she takes it in. Sharp feline eyes glaring down at her, one gold and the other blue. 

A cougar. 

She clenches her jaw; she’s pinned and can’t reach her weapons. She’s at the mercy of the animal. Its lips pull back and white fangs shine in the daylight, the sun illuminating the golden cat on top of her. Beautiful, she can’t help but think as she waits for those fangs to sink into the tender flesh of her throat. 

It pushes it maw into her open hand, where the chicken liver is and gobbles it up. She’s next, isn’t she? But once the treat is gone, the cougar licks at her hand, collecting any leftover flavor. Then it turns back to her, the main dish after an appetizer. 

A sandpaper rough tongue rubs over Dahlia’s face. Something is revving like an engine on top of her…the cougar is purring. Pressing and nuzzling its fluffy face against Dahlia before giving another lick. No hint of bite or teeth mingling in the affectionate gesture. What is…

Pratt is laughing, she realizes. 

The cougar’s paws shift so she can lift her arms and she reaches to pet the seemingly docile mountain lion. That’s when she feels, a collar, the creature’s face was too close, and she was unable to see it. As she shifts the collar, she hears a bell jingle. 

“Peaches, meet Rook. Rook, Peaches,” Pratt manages to say through his hyena cackling. 

“Peaches!? Holy shit…holy shit!” 

Dahlia is able to move out from under the cougar, Peaches shifting her weight enough to allow the young deputy to stand up. The big cat watches as Dahlia moves, tail delicately flicking back and forth, mismatching eyes gleaming. A thunderous purr lets out as Dahlia scoops up the bag of treats that fell in the pounce of Peaches landing on her. She offers another and the cat greedily eats it from her hand. Dahlia’s cheeks ache from the big smile stretched across her face, this is incredible. She’s feeding a mountain lion, domesticated mountain lion. 

“You know…” Pratt draws out, laughter having died out as he watches them, “I kinda expected you to freak out.” 

“This is so cool. She just…domesticated a cougar?” 

“Yeah, from what I heard this ain’t the first one either, technically this is Peaches two.” 

“No points for creativity, but fuck, this is, holy shit.” She scratches beneath Peaches’ ear and she leans into it, purring with every rub of Dahlia’s blunt nails. 

“You like animals?” 

“Don’t you?”

“They’re okay,” Pratt walks over and pets Peaches head, “I’ll take you to the F.A.N.G Center, we ever catch a day off.” 

“Yeah,” she catches what he just said and raises an eyebrow at him, “you wanna spend your days off with me?” 

“C’mon we gotta get Peaches back to Ms. Mable.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Use the treats to lure her back, toss ‘em and she’ll run after them.” 

“That seems tedious…” 

“Nothing else we can do; you can’t pack her.” 

“I mean, I could,” Dahlia says with a shrug, Peaches is big, but she’s strong. Wouldn’t be easy, per say; but she could manage it. 

“You can’t lift a cougar, Thumbelina,” Pratt tells her again, ruffling her hair as if to emphasize her diminutive size. She pouts and glares at him. Dahlia digs out a treat and lifts it up. 

“Peachy up,” she says and pats her shoulder. 

To her surprise, the cougar jumps right up. Front paws on Dahlia’s shoulder and hind legs on her stomach. The deputy uses her free hand to wrap around the cougar, feeding her the treat before moving to use both hands to support the cat’s weight. Her legs and arms strain with the strength to lift her, but she doesn’t buckle. 

Pratt scoffs as Peaches nuzzles against Dahlia, sandpaper rough kisses. With a roll of his eyes; the older deputy leads the way back up to Peaches Taxidermy. Dahlia’s trying not to laugh as she carries the cougar, licks and nuzzles that leave her hair sticking up at odd angles, irritating red raised spots on her skin. Peaches might actually be more affectionate than most housecats Dahlia’s been around. 

The walk uphill nearly sends her tumbling, making Pratt snicker as she gets her bearings back. Finally, they return to the cleaning, Ms. Mable seeming to perk up, if only a small amount, at the sight of her cat. 

“There she is, gracing us with her presence,” her tone is meant to be sarcastic, but there’s no genuine malice as Dahlia takes the time to carry Peaches to her enclosure. 

The big cat takes her time getting the message to jump down, but after a moment she leaps off onto the big rubber tire in her enclosure. Dahlia gives her one more scratch behind her ears before stepping out of the enclosure, locking the little latch. 

“How’d she get out?” Dahlia asks, looking for tears in the caging, if need be she can mend it for Ms. Mable. 

“I was feeding her and she went rushing out.” 

Dahlia nods in understanding, at least there’s no more efforts that need to be made. She tries to fiddle with and fix her cat drool covered hair, but without a mirror she gives up. Pratt snickering against the back of his hand as she makes her was back over from the cage. 

“Try to keep a better eye on her, have a great day.” 

“Eh, get out of here, shoo!” 

Her and Pratt go back to the patrol car, Dahlia plopping down into the passenger side with a huff. Pratt turns to look at her, a stupid grin pulling at his lips. Her cheek is irritated, no doubt bright red from Peaches’ scratchy tongue and her hair is falling out of it’s tie, as well as sticking up at weird angles. Little golden hairs are clinging to her clothes. But, she’s grinning.

The laughter erupts, her cheeks ache and her stomach twinges as she can’t contain it. She holds her sides, cackling at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. She just carried a cougar. She’s covered in kitty slobber. 

“You look like you’ve been through a tornado!” 

“I just carried a cougar,” she says amazed, “ there’s nothing you can say to ruin this day!” 

He just rolls his eyes as the laughter dies down; Dahlia pulling down the mirror to fix her hair. After a few moments of her taming slobber coded flyaway hairs the radio crackles to life from the car console. 

“Units, there’s been a call in from Audrey, she said Aaron is back behind her diner and rummaging through trash.” 

“Pratt, responding, we’ll be there shortly,” he starts the car engine back up, “fuckin’ Tweak.” 

“Tweak?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow as she fastens her seatbelt. 

“He’s one of the local methheads, most of ‘em hang out in the abandoned train cars. But not ole Tweak, he’s a big fan of digging through dumpsters and shit.” 

“Is he dangerous?” 

“Nah, just a pain in the ass. We’ll pat him down, if he’s got any of the shit on him, we take him in for a while. If not, all we can do is tell him to scram.” 

She nods in understanding and pulls out her phone, searching for drug treatment facilities in the area that offer affordable or pro-bono help. It’s a long shot. She knows that. But she knows that treatment does more good than locking them away does.  The nearest place is in Missoula; not exactly ideal, but it’s an option. 

Dahlia digs a scrap piece of paper out of the glove department and scribbles down the number, name, and address. If Pratt notices, he says nothing. She settles back in her seat, watching the world pass by as they make their way south bound through the region.

 The lake calm around the island in the middle of the whole county, splashing peacefully against the shores. A deer and it’s baby grazing near the woods. She remembers what she’s been told, about the hiking trails in the mountains. Dahlia has always loved animals and nature, memories of hiding in the woods for days at a time, warming snakes under her jacket or trudging through swamp lands in search of alligators. Then she remembers Pratt mentioning the F.A.N.G Center. She’s read a bit about it, like an animal sanctuary that allows public access. They have some famous bear there. 

“What days do we get off?” 

“Jesus, didn’t you bother talking to the sheriff about that shit?” 

“No.” 

“Fuckin’ Christ…,” he shakes his head,  “Deputies get the best shifts, with weekends off.” 

“So, you wanna go to the F.A.N.G center, Saturday or Sunday?” 

“Oh, um, uh…”  He scratches at the stubble on his chin, his posture stiffening somewhat. 

“You said, you’d take me, right?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take you there… Around like noon, Saturday, good? 

“Sure.” 

Maybe Lloyd was right; Pratt might not be as big of an asshole as she thought. It’s nice of him to offer to show her around places; maybe they can become friends. Even if she’s not the most talkative and he’s not the nicest, who knows, might balance out somehow. 

They pull up to the diner, the same one Whitehorse treated her to the other day. But sure enough in the dumpsters behind the building she can see a man digging through the trash. Pratt parks and shuts off the engine, apparently, he’s okay with her doing this because he doesn’t stop Dahlia from stepping out of the car. Why he’d be more concerned with her at traffic stops than dealing with a drug addict, she wouldn’t know, but she has no intentions of looking a gift horse in the mouth. 

“Hey, officers can you help me?” A voice asks, stopping them before they get to the dumpsters. The voice is noticeably a bit different from what she’s become used to hearing here, it’s a man with a map in his hand, maybe he’s not a local?

“What can we help you with, sir?” 

“I’m trying to find my way to Rock Bass Lake, but I’m having trouble, finding my way.” 

“It’s far east of here, you have to,” Pratt starts to help, being the one of the two who could actually give directions. Dahlia decides she might as well take care of the Tweak issue while he does that. 

His hooded back continues to dig through the trash; muttering things she doesn’t quite catch. The stranger’s foot slips out under him where he’s climbing up to get in the dumpster and Dahlia lurches forward, catching him before he can fall. 

“Oh fuck, uh thanks, man,” he stutters out as she gets him back on his feet, he’s wearing a backwards cap under his hood, tattoos up on his neck and what may be a tattoo or a smudge of dirt by his eye. 

“No problem, you alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” his eyes land on the sheriff department patch on her shirt, “oh shit, uh, officer.” 

“Hey,...?” She tries to prompt him for his name, even if she already knows it. 

“Uh, Tweak, well my name Aaron, but call me Tweak, please.” He shuffles his feet and awkwardly scratches at his face, stumbling over every word. 

“You know you can’t be doing this, right?” 

“I, uh, well I know that legally, I like can’t. But, I gotta, like, uh, prepare and shit, man.” 

“Prepare?” 

“Shit’s about to hit the fan and I gotta be ready to try to help, ya know?” He scratches at the back of his neck, hard enough for smears of red to stain his fingers. 

“That’s a nice thought, but I think the diner owners would prefer to find other ways to prepare…” she chews her lip, knowing what she needs to check, “do you have anything on you, right now, like substance wise?” 

“Um, oh, uhh, well, I, no, definitely not, I’m clean, m-man, I promise.” 

“You know I gotta check, right?” 

“Yeah…” 

With the ease of someone completely use to pat downs, he place his hands on the dumpster. She sighs; drug cases just aren’t fun, especially when it’s just possession cases, not sellers. It’s one thing to arrest someone for doing something awful and ruining someone’s life. But, when you know what they need more than anything is help, it bugs her to treat them like criminals. She pats him down with a heavy heart, her jaw clenching when she finds a baggie of crystal meth in his pocket.  Enough that could warrant at least three years in prison. 

“I swear, I uh, I really don’t know how that got there, I-“ He stutters to explain it away as he turns to face her. 

“Look, dude,” she speaks low, double checking that Pratt is still talking to the non-local, “I know this is rich coming from someone who just met you, but I don’t wanna see you die from this shit. Legal, illegal is whatever, I don’t want someone getting the call and finding you dead in your own sick.” 

“I, uh, I, appreciate that, it’s just, ya know...” 

“It ain’t easy, I get that. I don’t know if you can read this,” she pulls out what she wrote down, then realizes how that might have sounded, “not like I don’t know if you can read, but ‘cause my handwriting is shit, I, you know what I mean.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I uh, can see the number clear, yeah.” 

“But, it’s a place in Missoula that offers treatment and they work with your income, so you can afford it. You agree to call this place and try to get clean and  I’ll ‘accidentally’ flush this stuff and forget I found it on you, sound fair?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s yeah, absolutely, fuck, yeah,” He’s nodding his head furiously to agree. She wants to hope it’s excitement for treatment and not just getting by with having meth on him. 

“Now, if I find out you didn’t, and you get busted again. I will arrest you. And, uh, if you have any trouble getting to Missoula for treatment, you just call down to the station, ask for me and I’ll try to get you taken care of, alright?” 

“That’s yeah, thank you so much, I, thank you,” he gushes and takes the little card from her hand, while she tucks the baggie discreetly into her pocket.

“Okay, now get out of here and leave their dumpster alone.” 

Tweak goes running off; no doubt eager to take his victory and consider it done. Conveniently, right as Pratt manages to break away from the man asking directions. 

“Swear to fuck, that dude didn’t understand a damn thing I said,” he raises an eyebrow, “Tweak didn’t have anything on him?” 

“Nah, he must have smoked the last of it.” 

“Eh, well, you got him to buzz off. All we can do.” 

“Yeah, but, I gotta go to the bathroom, real quick.” 

“Gotcha, we’ll grab a bite to eat while we’re here too.” 

She nods in understanding, the two of them heading into the diner. Cassie the waitress from yesterday is nowhere to be found today, she notes before she heads to the bathroom. Guilt that what she’s doing is indeed illegal and could get her fired eats at the back of her head, but she flushes the drugs away anyway. In a couple weeks, she’ll call the treatment facility and see if he's called in.  As she’s buttoning the uniform shirt up, she notices something she hasn’t seen before. What appears to be a helicopter parked at a clearing behind the station, a helipad is the word she thinks?

“The station has helicopters?” 

“Yeah, there’s a lot of woods and fields here, so when we have missing people…helps to get a bird’s eye view.

“That’s really cool,” she admits as they step out of the patrol car. 

“Yeah, I’m our station’s pilot,” Pratt tells her with an arrogant smirk that makes her immediately regret deciding to bring it up. She gives a nod in response, not wanting this to drag on into an excuse for Pratt to stroke his own ego.

Pratt and Hale make their way back into the station bullpen, Hudson is at her desk and working over some paperwork. Little pieces of dark hair falling into her face, the strands that can’t be pulled back into her braid. Dahlia’s heart picks up a strange pace at the way the light catches in Hudson’s green eyes. Ignoring it and swallowing the lump in her throat, Dahlia sits down at her own, bare desk, still needing her to add her own touches.

“Heard you guys had to get Peaches back for Ms Mable,” Hudson comments as Hale and Pratt settle in.

“Yeah, the big old cat got out again. Probie packed her all the way back from that campsite.”

Hudson lets out a breathy little laugh and heat shoots up Dahlia’s face, she leans back as far as she can in her chair without toppling over, nearly upside down and staring at the wall so the other two deputies won’t see what she’s sure is a beet red face. She’s not sure if it’s the sound of Hudson’s laugh or possibility of embarrassment. Carrying a cougar seemed really cool to her, but what if Hudson thinks it’s stupid?

“You seriously carried that giant cougar?”

“I mean, we had to get it back,” Dahlia says, doing her best to shrug nonchalantly as she leans so far back. At least when she sits back up, she can blame the red color on blood rushing to her head.

“Rookie, you’re gonna fall and split your head open.” Whitehorse yells out, making Dahlia jump and nearly make his prediction a reality. She didn’t even hear his office door open, she slides back into place, glaring in his direction as she sinks almost all the way down out of spite.

Another rustle catches her attention and she realizes the two senior deputies are packing up, the shift coming to a close.

“Well, we’re headed to the Spread Eagle for a drink,” Pratt says. She remembers the image of Whitehorse and Lloyd blowing off steam at the bar after a shift, how good of friends they must be. Seems, Hudson and Pratt are that good of friends as well. Then she remembers the F.A.N.G Center invitation.

“Oh, uh, Hudson?”

“Yeah?”

“Pratt offered to take me to the F.A.N.G Center Saturday,  you wanna come along?”

Pratt’s jaw clenches and she sees what looks like a faint red color brushing over the apples of his cheeks. Hudson is grinning a bright smile though.

“Did he?” she raises an eyebrow at him and Pratt avoids eye contact, “sure, that sounds fun.”

“Yeah...fun,” Pratt grumbles as the pair leave the station, saying goodbyes to Dahlia and Whitehorse.

“So, how was the first day, Rookie?” Whitehorse asks her once the other deputies have left.

“Decent, Peaches was cool, but…”

“But?”

“Pratt wouldn’t let me hand out any tickets or citations, up until Peaches, he was making me sit in the car.”

“Yeah, that figures,” Whitehorse says in a low voice, as if that makes complete sense and maybe to him it does.

“It figures?”

“That what happened to Danny hit him harder than he lets on, Hudson’s been taking it the worst, but it hurt everyone.”

“Danny?”

Whitehorse pulls up a chair to her desk, sitting himself down and taking a sigh as he pulls his hat off his head. There’s a far off look in his blue gray eyes as he collects himself. She moves herself up properly to sit, clenching her jaw as the mood shifts in the office.

“He was the deputy here before you, he was here longer than Hudson or Pratt.”

She nods, not wanting to interrupt, just letting him know she’s listening. He takes another sighing breath, voice rasping from the difficulty of talking about this.

“He was Hudson’s partner, during a routine traffic stop, he was shot and died on the scene. He was a good man and his death has...left an impact on us all.”

“I’m sure, thanks for telling me.” She’s not sure how she’d feel about it, having never lost a coworker in the line of duty.

“No problem,” he rises from his chair and plops his hat back on his head.

A warm heavy hand lands on the top of her hair and he ruffles it, she laughs. The little gesture makes warmth flood her heart, he really does remind her so much of Lloyd every now and again. It helps make this entire thing a bit easier and maybe that’s part of why he wanted her to take this job so bad, maybe he knew his old friend would make this process a less painful one.

She grabs her jacket from the little hook, throwing it on as she follows the sheriff out of the station. The cool night air chills her skin, a breeze blowing her hair back. There’s a beautiful night sky hanging overhead, the stars are brilliant and vibrant. Nothing blocking out their radiance. A soft gasp escapes her lips. 

“You won’t see a night sky like that anywhere else,” Whitehorse tells her, squeezing her shoulder; warmth seeping into her bones even as the night tries to chill her. 

“It’s beautiful.” 

“Do you know any constellations, Rookie?” 

She shakes her head no, feeling Whitehorse squeezing her shoulder, the warmth and kindness of it grounding in a way. 

“That one right there is Andromeda,” he points out a collection of stars that are meant to create some image, not that she can see it, “you know her story?”

“No.”

“Her mother, Cassiopeia, pissed off a bunch of nymphs and when they sent monsters after them. She chained Andromeda up and offered her as a sacrifice to save herself.”

Dahlia clenches her jaw; a mother offering her child up to a monster. She wishes that didn’t resonate so deeply in her heart. Constellations have never been something that interested her, she thinks stars are beautiful, but every time someone tries to show her a constellation she can’t seem to see the picture in her head. They’re just specks of light, pinpricks of vibrancy in a black void. But… she makes a note of these ones, hoping she can find them again later. 

The rumble of an engine and tires screeching ends the peaceful moment, a white truck coming to a rubber burning. She tenses, the frantic driving setting her on edge immediately.  A man jumps out of the driver seat, about six feet tall with a beard and snakes tattooed down his forearms. The word WRATH tattooed and crossed out on his chest; she immediately is reminded of the worker at the hotel. She was told it was now in Eden’s Gates hands, those sins seem to be standard within the religion.

“Lonny, was expecting to see you sooner,” Whitehorse greets him.

“Just now got word, you had some of our men locked up.”

“Your men?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow, the wording throwing her off. His narrowed eyes land on her and he smiles. It doesn’t reach her eyes and images of wolves baring their teeth flash through her mind.

“Members of the Father’s flock; Nathaniel and Theodore. You wouldn’t happen to be the new deputy who arrested them, would you?”

“You already know about me?”

“Well,  when brother Theodore called he mentioned a little girl trying to play cop.” The man inches closer, into her personal space.

“I’m not playing anything and your ‘brothers’ were robbing the bar.”

“Confiscating deputy, cleaning up filth within the county, you should be thankful we’re trying to do your job for you and actually help the people here.”

“Your ‘help’-”

“We’re clocking out for the night Lonny, our night shift officers have all reported in, you can talk to the dispatch about bailing them out.” Whitehorse interjects, sticking a hand between them.

“Will do… that your bike?” He asks, nodding towards her motorcycle, barely acknowledging Whitehorse.

“Yeah, what’s it to you?”

“Just making small talk.  You two have a good night, I’ll be seeing you around deputy.” Lonny tells her as he starts to walk back into the station, giving her a clap on the back that’s meant to look friendly, but there is nothing gentle in the harsh smack.

Once he’s out of earshot, Dahlia turns to look at Whitehorse, her expression must be making it clear what’s on her mind.

“You don’t wanna be making enemies your first day on the job.”

“I wasn’t doing anything, you saw the way he acted.”

“Just try to place nice, Rookie.”

“I do play nice, but I’m not taking anyone’s crap. He wants to pick a fight with me, I’ll pick one right back.”

“Try to stay on Eden’s Gate’s good side, they’re not dangerous, but they’re not people to be fucked with.”

“I’m not fucking with anyone, but if they break the law, I will arrest them same as I would anyone.”

“I’m not saying not to,” he puts a hand on her shoulder and looks into her eyes, trying to calm her, “I’m just saying try not to fuel any fires.”

“I ain’t fueling shit,” she grumbles, fingers clenching around her helmet.

“Stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting...I’m scowling.”

“Well stop that too, head your ass home and stay safe, Rook.”

“Okay, dad,” she says with a roll of her eyes, earning another hair ruffle from Whitehorse. She waves a quick bye and pulls on her helmet before heading home.

The alarm clock buzzes her awake the next morning and she groans, half dressed, and her blanket tossed across the room. Sweat has built on her skin over the night. Reinette was worse with heat, but it’s hot enough to annoy. Then again, maybe she’s just being a baby. She’s always been finicky with temperatures.

Fresh from the shower, she’s trying to figure out what to do about her uniform. She knows already she’s going to blatantly disobey uniform policies when Whitehorse isn’t around. But she can’t exactly get away with wearing shorts. Ripped jeans and a cropped top are all she can manage, buttoning the green shirt up before going into the station.

“What are you wearing?” Pratt asks when she starts unbuttoning her uniform shirt in the patrol car. 

“Clothes.” 

“Barely. No ones going to take you seriously dressed like that.”  

She shakes her head, it’s not that bad. Black velvet and lace, with a laced up ribbon tie. There’s some stomach showing where it cuts off, peeks of it through the lacey section of the fabric, and maybe through where it’s laced together. 

“Skin is skin, everyone has it, who cares?” 

“People around here will care.”

“Oh please, no one worries about shit like that anymore.” 

Pratt rolls his eyes before he starts up the patrol car engine. They’re barely thirty minutes into patrolling the Holland Valley when dispatch comes through the radio. 

“We got a call from Hurk Drubman Sr., says someone’s messing with his campaign again,” the dispatcher Nancy tells them.

“This should be interesting,” Pratt murmurs under his breath before picking up the radio to answer, “Pratt and Hale, responding.”

Dahlia can’t help but let out a little sigh, only a day in and she’s caught on that ‘interesting’ to Pratt more than likely means it will be something meant to annoy or embarass her. But then again last time, he thought introducing her to Peaches would scare her and that was just plain cool. As soon as she talks to Lloyd and Caroline she just knows ‘I cuddled a cougar’ is going to be the first thing she tells them. So, what’s truly the worst that could happen?

They travel through the Henbane River region and around; Drubman Sr.’s home is apparently not far from where the Whitetail Mountain area meets Henbane, north of the entire county. It’s a nice area, with a large house, a giant garage with a Jeep parked inside of it, and it’s right on the water; white steps leading to a dock. It’s beautiful place to live, that’s for sure. As they pull in, she sees an older man with a dark mustache and a cap pulled over his head, he sits in a chair on the porch with a shotgun in his lap.

She shoots a glance over to Pratt, the sight of a weapon setting a bit on edge, but he seems unaffected. Guns weren’t uncommon in Louisiana, southern state and all. But, the people in Reinette tended to be less…blasé about their gun ownership she supposes. Only using them for farming purposes; dealing with pests, wild animals, and on one of two sorrowful occasions having to put down a beloved animal who had no hope of recovering. She can’t say she knew anyone who’d just have it out like a lap puppy.

Dahlia follows Pratt out of the car and she immediately feels the old man’s eyes land on her, her skin crawls, he doesn’t like her. She knows what it’s like for someone to despise her and this man is already about there.

“About damn time!” He immediately bellows out as they come up to the porch.

“Is every old person in this county an ungrateful dick?” Dahlia grumbles under her breath, earning an elbow in her ribs from Pratt that almost hurts, she sticks her tongue out at him.

“And who the hell is this? Bad enough you even let women on the force, but now they’re dressing up like whores!”

“Rude.”

“Don’t worry about her, why did you call?”

“Some liberal fuckhead broke onto my damn property and vandalized my signs!”

Dahlia cranes her neck a bit, there’s a stack of signs just behind the old jackass, red and white Vote Drubman signs that have been covered in various curse words, all written in dark black marker. Apparently, someone doesn’t like him, she can’t possibly imagine why. 

“Alright, we’ll file a report for vandalism and see what we can do.”

“Which is code for doing a fat load of nothing, that’s the problem with cops nowadays, too scared to take any action. Too pussified to put a bullet in anyone anymore.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s actually the exact opposite, but go off, I guess.” 

“Probie, get the report forms from the car.”

She groans and makes her walk back to the patrol car, digging out the forms to file a report before bringing them back. Pratt is asking questions and jotting things down as the old man prattles them off. Despite never seeing who did it, he’s convinced it must be some ‘libtard’ and probably a ‘minority’, desperate to sink his campaign.  She leans against one of the pillars of the house, staring off into space as Pratt starts filling out the small detail crap. 

“You a registered voter?” Hurk Sr. suddenly asks her.

“You called me a whore, five seconds ago.”

“I said you were dressed like one, get it right.”

“Jesus fucking christ.” 

“Hey, daddy!” A masculine voice suddenly calls out, there’s a man walking onto the property. Portly and tall with short dark hair.

“Oh god, he’s back.” Hurk Sr. grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Now, I’m not gonna lie, I’m a little sad you couldn’t come get me from the airport and made me walk all the way out here. But no hard feelings between family, and,” his blue eyes land on Dahlia and she raises an eyebrow at him, “oh, you didn’t have to hire a stripper just to welcome me home, not that I mind.”

“Excuse you?” Dahlia says low and stern, indignation making heat floods up her cheeks, what is wrong with him? It’s a crop top and jeans, not pasties and a g-string, who the hell would even look at her and think stripper? How desperate do you have to be? Her hand is hovering over her taser as the man comes closer, if he does anything weird, he’s getting it.

Pratt sputters and bursts into laughter, holding his stomach as he cracks up. She kicks him firmly in the shin and again when he just laughs louder. This isn’t funny,  she’s about to murder every man here. 

“God damn it Junior, I am in the middle of discussing a serious matter, I told you not to come back here!”

“Oh, don’t be like that daddy.  You know mama doesn’t want me at the Marina since she had Xander move in, says she can’t have too much stupid in one place, same reason she doesn’t like when Sharky visits.”

“So why the hell should I have to put up with it?!”

“Ah, come on.”

“Hey, if we’re done with the report can we go?’ She looks over at Pratt, between stripper comments and family bickering, she’d rather be elsewhere.

“I don’t know I’m having fun,” he says pressing a hand to his mouth, nearly out of breath from laughing.

“You left the keys in the car and I will leave your ass out here.”

“Well, we’ll be going now.”

“Oh, you’re already leaving,” Junior as his dad called him, starts to say, looking directly at her chest and the meager amount of cleavage she’s showing. Her fingers wrap around her taser.

“You can’t tase him for that.”

“Bullshit,” she grumbles as she yanks open the car door. 

Dahlia plops down into the passenger side with a heavy sigh, disgusted by the interaction. Why would anyone ever look at her sexually? She doesn’t like that; she has the sex appeal of a twig and she likes it that way. It’s ridiculous. She hears Pratt start snickering again as she starts to button up her uniform shirt, even when she glares, he just keeps laughing, each cackle earning a strong “Fuck off,” from her. 

“You should let me drive,” Dahlia says after boring hours of traffic stops pass by, landing themselves back in the valley.

“What?”

“If you’re not going to let me hand out tickets, at least let me drive so I don’t go crazy from boredom.”

“You need to find a hobby or something, you’re bored every second.”

“I’d be less bored if you let me drive.”

“I’ve seen how you ride your motorcycle.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“How you haven’t been pulled over, you drive like a maniac.”

“I don’t go that fast and I’m smart about it.”

“You aren’t smart about anything.”

“I’m smart about noticing the people trying to steal copper from the railyard,” she comments as she spots three men grabbing copper in broad daylight to shove in duffle bags so they can sell it.

“God damn it,” Pratt grumbles and flashes on the sirens, she grabs the spare set of cuffs, they skid to a stop in the railyard.. The three men scramble to escape, but Pratt and Hale are already out of the patrol car and nearly on top of them.

Dahlia manages to grab the back of two of their shirts, pulling them back towards her before they can get to the woods. Judging by the groan, Pratt nabbed the other guy.

“You’re under arrest for trespassing and theft, you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you. You have the right to an attorney if you do not have one will be appointed to you, do you understand?”  She reads them their rights as she quickly manages to slap handcuffs on them both before either can run away.

When she turns to get a good look at their face, she recognizes them. Two young boys she’s seen around the trailer park, probably around her age, from what she’s seen they still live with their parents and seem to have no plans of working or going to school.

“Aren’t you kinda old to be helping kids steal shit, Boshaw?” Pratt asks as she’s putting the two younger boys into the back of the car. They’ll be a little jammed in, but not her problem.

“C’mon man, this shit is just left out here, no one does nothing with it,” he grumbles, she recognizes him as the guy from the trailer park who technically doesn’t live there, Sharky, at least she thinks that’s his name. 

“Doesn’t mean you can just take it, dumbass,” she says, rolling her eyes. He can’t be this dumb. It’s not like any of them are going hungry or don’t have the necessities.

“Who the hell are you?”

“The deputy currently arresting you.”

“Junior Deputy,” Pratt corrects in his never-ending quest to be an asshole.

“Junior deputy, like the cop crap they tried to make us do in high school?”  Sharky says, raising an eyebrow at Dahlia. 

“I’m twenty.” 

“Jesus, I thought I was dumb, shouldn’t you have graduated by now?”

“Get in the car, now”

They put the cuffed Sharky in the backseat of the cruiser along with his two partners in literal crime. Dahlia wonders for a moment if this will make things worse in the trailer park, they’re already not fantastic. But things haven’t gotten worse after that initial night, a beer can being thrown at her head is still the worst thing to happen. No one is friendly with her, but nothing has escalated. A part of her worries if arresting three trailer park residents, well two residents and one trailer park adjacent will make things escalate. Though, Boshaw didn’t seem to even recognize her. So, she’ll take that as her saving grace. 

There’s a large jail in the Hebane river area but she’s learned quickly that it’s no longer functional. Offenders now held in the small collection of cells in the back of the station and if the crime is bad enough, they’re shipped off out of county to the nearest big city prison. Apparently, there just wasn’t enough criminals getting caught to justify the cost of maintenance for the huge building. 

They pull into the station parking lot, dragging the three offenders out from the back of the cruiser. They start the booking process, filing the paperwork as the three stooges sit handcuffed on a bench.  She catches them making faces a few times before they’re being taken back to the cells. 

“You son of a bitch!”  A sharp gruff yell comes barreling through the front of the station. The sheriff holding back a man’s cuffed hands as he twists and tries to evade him. It’s an older man, maybe older than Whitehorse, with a bald head and glasses. 

“Screaming at me won’t help you, Dutch.” 

“Fuck off, I didn’t do nothing wrong.”

“You can’t trespass.”

“Those peggies have trespassed and taken everything from us, yet I don’t see any of them here.”

“We literally had two Eden’s Gate members here, yesterday,” Dahlia answers with a roll of her eyes. Some people try to act like things are unfair just because they’ve been caught. She’s not ignorant to flaws or failures in the law, police brutality against black people, profiling, and the like. But this isn’t that type of situation. A peggie breaks the law, they get arrested, a non-peggie breaks the law, they get arrested. Plain and simple. 

“Who the fuck asked you!?” 

“Enough,” Whitehorse says as he makes his way towards where Dahlia is, voice lowering so the man can’t hear him, “it’s not worth the fight, Rook.”

She rolls her eyes; nothing is ever worth the fight it seems. First it was that Lonny guy and now this guy. Maybe she’s too quick to argue, but that’s the reason she wanted to be a cop. Fighting for justice and all that, doing what’s right and not letting people push her around. When the hell is, she going to find a fight that’s worth it?

The older man, Dutch, gets settled away in his jail. Whitehorse walking back from the cells once he’s secured it. 

“That guy had an attitude problem,” Dahlia grumbles. 

“That’s Dutch, one of our prepper doomsday guys, anti-government, anti-law, he’s a regular at this point.” 

“He doesn’t think very highly of Eden’s Gate.” 

“Not many do,” Pratt tells her. 

“Dutch is the kind to assume the worst of, well, anyone. You’d be smart to avoid him, Rook.” A warm hand on her head, ruffling her hair punctuates that sentence. 

The day drags on calmly and boringly after that, the end of the shift once again ending with Hudson and Pratt going to the Spread Eagle. And she goes home alone to her empty trailer...to eat dinner from a tupperware container. 

And the next day isn’t much different; a report filled out for some petty theft from the Golden Valley Gas Station, more patrol of her begging Pratt to just let her drive, let her write a ticket, anything. By noon she was just adjusting her seat up and down to keep herself moderately entertained. Pratt was far from amused, but he only has himself to blame. And that evening, Pratt and Hudson go to the Spread Eagle to relax after work. She goes home alone, trying to ignore the melancholic ache when her footsteps echo in the empty trailer; the only sound that greets her. 

Thursday, nearly the end of the work week, she gets a break in the form of cows busting through the fences of the Davenport farm.  Sun high in the sky, she and Pratt led them back home, with her patching the fence once all was taken care of. A cow licked her, and Pratt stepped in shit, the ideal day. Then the end of the day rolls around and she finds herself watching the two older deputies leave for drinks again. 

She’d be lying if she said the end of each workday doesn’t leave her a little melancholy. Watching Pratt and Hudson go hang out, while she makes the trip back to her sparsely decorated trailer surrounded by people who hate her. 

Asking to come along would be pointless. She’s not old enough to drink and wouldn’t want to make anyone feel awkward about it, or at least would feel awkward herself. It’s just one of those things where trying to be included would make it that much more apparent how she doesn’t fit in. 

 It’s not Pratt or Hudson’s job to include her, to make her feel better. She can’t be upset with them because she feels out of place no matter where she goes. 

And when the end of Friday comes along and she’s watching them go off to have fun without her, the way longtime friends only can. She reminds herself of the planned trip to the F.A.N.G Center, holding out hope that it will be a positive step to feeling a little less like a fish out of water.

Dahlia has survived her first week of work;. she hasn’t been fired and she hasn’t been maimed at this point. There’s a long way to go in terms of, well, everything. But she has yet to fail spectacularly. Small blessings, she supposes. 

The sun is out bright and shining Saturday, and she wonders if her good mood shows on her face. She’s waiting a distance from the trailer park entrance, not wanting him to have to deal with the residents who may not be a big fan of cops. Which is all of them from the looks of it. Dirty looks thrown her way only increasing since the railyard arrest, one of the younger boy’s mom muttering something that rhymes with witch, when Dahlia walked past. 

She takes a deep inhale of fresh air, feeling the early day sun warming her skin where her tank top doesn’t cover. A breeze blowing by through the field of white blossoms, the faint scent tickling her nose. The young deputy only knows a bit about the F.A.N.G Center it’s like a mixture of a zoo and an animal sanctuary; with a super domesticated bear as their mascot. She has three goals going into today; become better friends with her fellow deputies, not make an idiot of herself in front of Hudson, and pet a bear. 

A small black car comes pulling up; it seems as if trucks are much more common in Hope County, Pratt is driving, and Hudson is in the passenger seat. Bugs are crawling in her stomach, butterflies or whatever, just at seeing Hudson through the windshield; her hair is out of its usual braid, long dark hair brushing just above her chest. Getting worked up over seeing loose hair, what is wrong with her? Hudson is just a person, an unbelievably attractive and seemingly really cool person, but a person. The car comes to a stop as Dahlia berates herself internally.

Dahlia stretches her arms out, listening to the pop of her joints before she pulls open the backseat door behind Hudson; her desire for leg room outweighs her desire to have a better view of the older deputy. Besides, knowing her luck she’d have a heart attack at the sight.

“Joey,” Pratt says, looking at Hudson, “switch seats with Rook.”

The sound of him using Hudson’s first name just sounds strange to Dahlia’s ears, but she supposes they’re close while she’s still just the rookie.

“And why would I do that?” There’s a hint of mischief in Hudson’s voice as she asks and Dahlia catches her cheeky smile in the rearview mirror, heat pricking up under her skin at the sight.

“Because…,” Pratt chews on his lip, stumped to find one, “shut up.”

“I’m fine in the backseat,” Dahlia says, shrugging, she’s not so immature that she’d fight over who rides shotgun. Okay, maybe if it was Pratt or Chase, she’d be that immature. But, not with Hudson.

One issue with getting closer to her coworkers that becomes glaringly obvious during the drive is that developing friendships requires talking. Dahlia isn’t great, good, or even okay at talking. She has the verbal skills of a cavewoman raised by wolves. Everytime she strings together a complete sentence, she’s impressed. Bonus points if it actually makes sense. 

As Pratt drives them through the area, idly chatting with Hudson as the radio plays, she finds herself constantly wanting to talk. But it never happens. The words constantly stuck in her throat, bubbling beneath the surface, but never escaping her mouth. It always feels wrong. The subject changes before she has a chance to chime in, the conversation about things and places she knows nothing about, and each time Hudson so much as glances her way it feels like her entire body is shutting down. 

She ends up just settling back into her seat, gazing out the window as the scenery passes by. Maybe it will be easier at the F.A.N.G Center, animals and stimuli all around; things they can all talk about. 

That hope shifts into dread when she sees the busy parking lot outside of the center. Families carrying around kids into the small zoo. She doesn’t hate crowds, per say. She’s been to dance clubs and stuff; traveling up to the bigger city in Louisiana to dance and blow off steam. But, she doesn’t like certain crowds. There's a difference when music is pumping into the room; a different energy to everything. But, maybe it won’t be that bad.  It's realistically probably not that many people, the place isn’t a huge zoo, so it likely looks more packed than it actually is. Maybe it won’t be as bad inside. 

Pratt finds a parking spot, relatively far out, unable to get anything closer. Dahlia steps out of his car, kicking up dirt as the two other deputies get out. She gets the best look at Hudson she’s gotten since the day started. Hudson’s hair is out of it’s usual plait, blowing around in the breeze. The pale yellow of her top contrasts beautifully against her dark skin; the tank top also allows Dahlia to get a better look at Hudson’s tattoo. As she suspected an eagle design with the American flag that makes Dahlia suspect some sort of military background in at least Hudson’s family. 

“Come on.” Pratt slaps a friendly hand on Dahlia’s back, making her jump, how long has she been staring at Hudson? Oh god, she’s already made an idiot out of herself. She lets him usher her a bit towards the entrance, trailing after the pair of older deputies after a second. 

“There’s a lot of people,” she comments when they step into a long line, filled predominantly with families and kids. 

“Yeah, there’s not much to do in the county, so this is where almost everyone goes.”

“Options around here are basically; drinking, hunting, fishing, the F.A.N.G center and the arcade.” 

“I saw stuff about uhhh, god, Clutch something? Looks fun…”” Little memorial spots for some stunt guy who’s from Hope County. Maybe she’ll take her motorcycle through one of the little stunts. Some seem fine, probably avoid the planes and she thinks there's one where the guy just set himself on fire and called it a stunt. She’s reckless, but even that seems dumb and also she can’t fly. 

“I don’t even know why they still have that shit up; no one is dumb enough to try that crap,” Hudson says, rolling her eyes. 

“Its an old daredevil guy; someone thought it’d be a smart idea to mark his stunts for other people to try, all its done is lead to lots of drunk idiots crashing and getting themselves hurt.” 

“Yeah...dumb.” Dahlia shoves her hands in her pockets, staring at her feet, now she looks stupid. So, that’s fun. 

“Huha, you smell...like a cheeseburger!” A loud goofy voice comes from the giant waving version of their famous bear; a statue perched high in the air that greets you when you come in. That’s a voice that will...get old quickly. 

They get inside and Dahlia immediately realizes that no, it does feel just as packed inside as it does outside. In fact, it feels worse. The small zoo, sort of animal sanctuary, is largely composed of it’s animal enclosures. Wolves, cougars, bears an eagle sanctuary, and she sees some skunk and wolverine enclosures. This leaves less area for the visitors to wander around and given how many people are here; that’s not pleasant. 

People move, bump, and shuffle around; someone nearly sending Dahlia directly into Pratt’s back. Kids shriek and yell, excitedly running to look at each and every animal, not caring when they slam against someone on their way through. The heat of the day isn’t bad, but when packed in with every family in the county it feels unbearable, people brush past her and she feels their body heat. 

“Everyones crowding around Cheeseburger; wanna go see the other bears?” Pratt offers, looking back at Dahlia for confirmation. 

“Yeah, sounds good.” Maybe that means it will be a little less packed over there. They shuffle through the area, some kid running by and smearing sticky cotton candy fingers over her jeans. She keeps hearing the annoying cartoon voice; both from the overhead statue and people packing around little bobbleheads that say the same lines over and over again. 

She’s not a germaphobe, she’s not claustrophobic, she doesn’t have misophonia, or any of those things; at least she’s never considered herself any of those things. But she doesn’t like this. It’s too much. When she’s gone places to dance; it’s one overwhelming stimulus. The music is so loud it overwhelms everything else. The closeness to people not bothering her because she’s preoccupied with the energy of it all. This...is clumsy, gross. Instead of one overwhelming stimulus it’s several stimuli all clashing about and banging together. Instead of losing herself in fun and feeling a part of something; she feels awkward, clunky, out of place. Happy families, messy children, the two older deputies talking breezily as they weave through it all; occasionally stopped by someone who knows them. 

“Oh Joey, I haven’t seen you in so long-”

“Hey, Pratt, how have you been?” 

And Dahlia stands, pressing herself as close to the nearest wall as she can, so people can push past her with the littlest chance of touching her. She curses under her breath when a kid steps on her toe and their mother glares at her. Everyone in this county seems to glare at her, it seems like. Her toes and head are throbbing when she hears the statue tell people they smell like a cheeseburger for the billionth time. 

The bears are beautiful; two large black bears playing within their pen. Both having been injured in some way, one has it’s leg bandaged, and in the process of rehabilitation. But Dahlia can’t see much more of the bears, before someone shoves past her to get a better look, immediately blocking her view. 

She shouldn’t be here, she doesn’t belong here, she wants to leave, but she doesn’t want to be a buzzkill since neither Hudson or Pratt seem to mind any of this. But her head hurts, her toe hurts, everything is too much and it’s getting hard to breathe. 

“After we grab something to eat, I wanna look at the eagles,” Hudson says, and Dahlia sees her chance. 

“I’m gonna smoke real quick, I’ll be right behind ya,” Dahlia tells them with a wave before she makes a beeline towards the exit. She nearly barrels through a few people as she moves, her throat getting tighter and tighter with every step; heart pounding to escape her ribcage.  She needs out, she needs to get away. 

She breaks through the crowd and into the parking lot; jogging past the people just pulling into the parking lot. Dahlia finds herself in the woods around the center, far enough out that she can no longer hear that insipid statue and she sits down in the grass. She curls up for a moment, knees to her chest as she takes some deep breaths. Slowly feeling her body start to calm down; her heart rate slowing and each breath coming a little easier. It’s been a while since she had a moment like that; though last time it was much worse, and she understood why it happened. This time the cause is a little less certain. 

Maybe it was too much going on, maybe it was stares and odd looks, maybe she put too much emphasis and pressure on this day going well. Maybe she’s just a mess. 

She scrambles her brain to make sense of it; she vaguely remembers a school trip to an amusement park that didn’t go well. But, she’s not sure if that’s enough to warrant this kind of reaction. Hell, if she had this strong a reaction to something that ended badly for her; she wouldn’t be functional. 

The young deputy stands to her feet, lighting a cigarette and letting the nicotine flood her lungs, easing her nerves for a moment before she breathes the smoke back out into the air. She has no intentions of heading back to the center. All that’d happen is her having another freakout, maybe she can revisit the F.A.N.G Center during a weekday after work when it’d be less crowded or once she’s on permanently take a day off for it. 

She doesn’t imagine it matters much; she’s an adult and if she wants to leave she can. But, she doesn’t want Pratt or Hudson looking all over for her when they’re getting ready to leave. During the week, she had managed to exchange numbers with Hudson and Pratt. The exchange with Hudson involved her flushing red and nearly having an aneurysm, but it occured. She sends Pratt a quick text

i left sorry

Hopefully, he won’t be too aggravated with her and Hudson won’t think she’s a total loser. Dahlia slips in earbuds; time to find out how to get home. She heads south, she’ll head that way, then go through the valley. It shouldn’t take more than a couple...hours...she’ll be home by morning...at least.

She weaves and walks through the woods, following along the side of the road as much as she can. Large wooden homes occasionally spring up, residents in their yards talking with friends. Trucks and car passing by on the road. 

A restaurant called The Grill Steak with a brightly lit sign catches her eye as she walks past, family at picnic tables eating burgers and laughing. The smell of the cooking deer and bison making her stomach growl; if she did not have such a long walk home, she would stop to eat. 

She’s tip toeing her way around shallow divots of water, jumping over stumps and fallen trees; crushing grass and plants beneath her feet as she goes. Elks and deer occasionally catching her eye as they wander through; darting away when they see her.  Little pronghorns snorting somewhere in the distance. 

Dahlia isn’t sure where she is, as the moon starts to shine bright and luminescent in the sky. But she’s following along the side of a road and will eventually see something that she recognizes, probably. The activity of the day has seemed to die down, no longer a steady thrum of people and animals milling about as she moves. All of Hope County must be asleep it seems, no cars are even coming down the road. The moon and stars the only light to guide her; music from her phone the only sound to comfort her. 

I’ve been ghosting...I’ve been ghosting along….

Her eyes scan the night scan; taking in the bright pinpricks of light that break through the black void, trying to find Andromeda.  She’s scared for a moment that she’s lost the pattern; unable to track it down and decipher it from every other star. Then she finds it, she believes she has at least;  the collection of stars meant to show the woman chained in place, sacrificed by her own mother. 

Ghost in the world...Ghost with no home…

Bright headlights flash up, a car coming over the hill behind her, light pollution drowning out the stars; followed by sharp honking of the horn. The car; a familiar small black vehicle pulls off to the side of the road, just near her. She turns off the music on her phone, eye widening at the amount of notifications that came in while she was walking. Around eight missed calls between Pratt and Hudson. Text after text from Pratt; a few from Hudson. He’s the majority of the calls as well. Is something wrong?

Pratt swings the driver side door open, slamming it shut as he climbs out. She can practically see the car shaking from the force of it. The passenger side window rolls down; Hudson popping her face out. 

“What the fuck, Rookie!” She yells out. 

“Hi…?” 

“Hi, what the fuck?!” Pratt’s face is tense, his eyes angry as he storms towards her.

“What?” 

“What, what? You just vanished!”

“I texted you.” 

“Barely and then what, you threw your phone in the god damn lake?” 

“I have my ringtone and message crap turned off.” 

“Why?!”

“I don’t like when it rings.”

“Do, do you even know where you are right now?!” 

“...Montana…” 

“Get in the car.” 

He grabs her up by the back of the shirt; dragging her towards the car. She lets him; as much as she wants to wrestle herself away if only to prove a point, her feet hurt and she wouldn’t mind a car ride. She slides into the backseat, Pratt taking his place behind the wheel and Hudson looks back at her. The intensity of the green gaze, or perhaps just the person it’s coming from, makes Dahlia shrink back against the leather. 

“Not cool, Rook.” 

“I...don’t see the big deal…” Dahlia grumbles under her breath, feeling like a child scolded on a family trip. 

“The big deal is you, you had no way to get home, no idea w-where you were going, and god knows what could have happened to you!?” Pratt is stuttering and stumbling over his words, as he rushes to yell at her. 

“I don’t get why you’re so angry, I’m a grown adult, if I wanna leave I can leave.”

“It would, would have taken you five minutes to just find us and we could have all left.” 

“I didn’t wanna ruin everyone else’s fun.” 

“Well, you did.” 

Dahlia sighs and flops back against the seat; tension leaving her as her heart sinks. The one thing she didn’t want to do. What was she supposed to do? She ruined their day this way, she would have ruined it by demanding they take her home. Was she supposed to sit and suffer? Maybe just be normal and not freak out, but that’s kind of a lost cause at this point, isn’t it? 

“Pratt was scared,” Hudson tells her, making eye contact through the rearview window, as the car starts up. 

“Shut up,” Pratt tells her. 

“Why would he be scared?”

“Yeah, Pratt, why would you be scared?” 

“Everybody is shutting up, now.” 

“…,” Dahlia pouts, chewing on her lip, before looking towards Hudson, “did you get to see the eagles?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Good…” The younger deputy darts her eyes out towards the window, cheeks puffing out and staining red; why does Hudson do this to her? 

The car ride back is awkward, to say the least. Music drifting through the radio is the only sound to disrupt the silence. Dahlia stares out the window and fiddles with the hem of her shirt; wanting to sink into the seat. 

Each second drags on agonizingly long, each moment filled with fidgeting and shame, wishing more than anything she hadn’t asked to do this. 

Before she decides to fling herself out of the car, they manage to make it back to just outside of the trailer park. The moment the car comes to a stop she’s wrenching the door open and climbing out. 

“Wait a second, I’ll walk you to your trailer,” Pratt offers and the idea of spending anymore time with someone who kinda wants to strangle her at the moment. 

“I’m good, see ya, Monday.” 

“Just-“ 

She’s gone, out of earshot before Pratt finishes his sentence; nearly tripping over herself to avoid the awkward situation. Why he’d want to walk her to her trailer is beyond her, maybe he just wanted more chances to be angry, who knows…. She just wants to go to sleep and forget this day happened, she kicks up some dirt and head hanging low, she makes her way through the trailer park. 

“Deputy…been waiting for you.” 

[bpro-cardstories]

Ryuji Korekuni SR

2019 ー Foot Care [フットケア]

“....Haha, today’s Ryuji quite looked like the emerging prince of Cinderella.”

『 Event: THE SHOW MUST GO ON (26nd November - 03rd December 2019) 』

Part 1

Ryuji: ‘ーーAlthough these are activities as official supporters for the first entertainment show in Japan, the rehearsal can be watched so closely.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘It is impressive, isn’t it. It seems like you could unintentionally forget that you are on work…’ 

Ryuji: ‘Wait, Tsubasa, what do you mean by that?’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Ah...I-I am sorry!’ 

Ryuji: ‘Heh… Just kidding.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Eh?’ 

Ryuji: ‘Though I’m always saying this. However, if I lose focus I will also just turn into a common spectator. Here too, the power this circus troupe brings with them… I wonder what that is.’ 

Ryuji: ‘It’s not just the cast’s skills, the production and the costumes too are all elaborated. Just being at this place is like it became part of the worldview that I formed.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘It certainly feels mysterious.’ 

Ryuji: ‘Yep…. The heels of the male cast are really cool too.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘They are beautiful, aren’t they. Does it not say beauty knows no gender? They are very sophisticated…. But, it looks a bit painful.’ 

Ryuji: ‘Isn’t that reality? Since they’re almost resembling the shape of pointe shoes. Of course, the members are probably used to them. Still, they can move around to such extent… They surely went through considerable practice many times.’ 

Staff: ‘Excuse me, this is Korekuni-san’s costume for the collaboration stage. These are your shoes, may I ask you to try them on?’

Tsubasa: ‘Thank you very much. Ryuji-kun, can I ask you to do so?’ 

Ryuji: ‘Of course. Ehm…’ 

Ryuji: ‘Amazing, mine are stilettos. But about 10 cm….?’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Waah… how beautiful, but it seems to be hard to perform in them.’ 

Ryuji: ‘As expected, despite the costume, you can’t not wear such high heels, right. But, since these are high laced boots, I should tie them tightly and then…. one, two.’ 

Ryuji: ‘Waah, suddenly, the view is different. As I thought, because the heels are so high, the world I see changes as well.’ 

Ryuji: ‘.....I wonder if Tomo always sees this scenery.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Fufu, somehow I am not used to looking up to Ryuji-kun like this.’ 

Ryuji: ‘Ah, why you say that.’ 

To get back at her, Ryuji goes close up to her to show the momentary difference in height between them.

Ryuji: ‘I’m still growing, so maybe I’ll grow taller than Tomo and look down on Tsubasa from above, you know?’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Ah, I-I am sorry…. I did not mean it like that….!’ 

Ryuji: ‘Fufu, I know. I was just joking.’ 

Ryuji: ‘The size of the shoes seems to be fine. If the cord won’t come loose, then it’s going to be perfect. However… Walking and talking are different things. It’s unstable and feels like with each move my toes are squeezed tightly together. Doing a performance with this. Again, my respect for them.’  

Ryuji: ‘I also will work hard, I have to make my legs used to the shoesーー’ 

Part 2

Ryuji: ‘ーーTsubasa, thanks. After all, can we put off tomorrow’s night recording?’ 

Tsubasa: ���Yes. If it is possible, please take a bit of a break from the practice for the collaboration performance and let your body rest.’ 

Ryuji: ‘Understood, I will do so.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Thank you. Well then, have a good night.’ 

Before she leaves, Ryuji calls out to her. Little does she know about the small surprise(s) Ryuji has in mind for her. Though, Tomohisa too enjoys the time they spend together and both boys are visibly amused about Tsubasa’s confusion.   

Ryuji: ‘Ah…..’ 

Tsubasa: ‘....? What is wrong?’ 

Ryuji: ‘It’s just. Tsubasa, you’re finished with work for today, right?’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Yes, I am.’ 

Ryuji: ‘Then, I have something good for you so come in.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Eh? Is that fine….?’ _________

Tomohisa: ‘Welcome back, Ryuji. Oh, together with Tsubasa?’ 

Ryuji: ‘Exactly. Wait a moment, I let Tsubasa use「That」.’ 

Tomohisa: ‘「That」.... Aah, if so I prepared it beforehand for Ryuji because I thought you will use it, what great timing.’ 

Ryuji: ‘Glad to hear that. Thanks, Tomo.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Ehm, you said「That」...?’ 

Ryuji: ‘Fufu, come here, Tsubasa.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Y-Yes….’ 

Tomohisa: ‘Please, sit down on the sofa inside.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Thank you very much.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘....Oh, that at my feet.’ 

Ryuji: ‘It’s a foot bath. That’s what we meant with 「That」.’ 

Ryuji: ‘Tsubasa, you’re always wearing pumps and have it hard, it seems. Even if it’s a little, I want to heal this fatigue.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Ryuji-kun….’ 

Ryuji: ‘I started to wear high heels for the performance, and thought it over about all kind of things. Shoes with heels are cute, and they show off your legs in a beautiful way. They are most beautiful, aren’t they. That’s why I can certainly understand why one wants to wear them for aesthetic reasons…..’ 

Ryuji: ‘With this, to live for one day without them, isn’t it something wonderful? Your toes and sole of foot are hurt, your heel is scraped as well. I considered it to be natural to wear in your daily life. Girls really do have it hard.’

Tomohisa: ‘Because I almost have no relation to high heels, I wasn’t conscious of the difficulties until now. I saw Ryuji’s blood blisters on his feet and when he was about to faint. Thanks to those incidents, I finally became aware of the girls’ hardships.’

Tomohisa: ‘Tsubasa, you too are wearing pumps a lot..…’ 

Ryuji: ‘So we talked about how we want to take care of your feet. Of course, this doesn’t resolve your daily difficulties.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Thank you very much, Ryuji-kun, Kitakado-san. To worry about it in such a manner…. Even just the thought makes me really happy.’ 

Ryuji: ‘So…. In other words, are you holding back?’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Ehm…. That is right. More than me, the two of you that have it harder to do this foot care for me….’ 

Ryuji: ‘If we talk about hard, then it’s the same for Tsubasa, isn’t it.’

Ryuji: ‘Wait…. I see. Aren’t you wearing stockings.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Eh?’ 

Ryuji: ‘Sorry, I of all people didn’t notice. Rest assured, I will buy you spare ones.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘T-That is not….! Moreover, for the times when I have a run, I always have spare ones with me, so buying them is….’ 

Ryuji: ‘What. Then, there’s no problem, right.’ 

Ryuji: ‘..... But, to carry all that with you. Girls have it hard, after all.’ 

Tomohisa: ‘That’s true. As it is now, we can’t let you go home.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘B-But….!’ 

Ryuji: ‘It’s fine, we’ll bring some black tea and Tsubasa gets ready to put your feet into the hot water. Let’s go, Tomo.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Ah…..’ 

Tsubasa: ‘......They are gone.’

Part 3

(ーーIn the end, they let me use the foot bath and they even made me black tea….) 

Ryuji: ‘The timer is ringing. You did well, Tsubasa. The footbath feels splendid, right.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Yes, it was amazing….! Really, thank you very much, both the tea and sweets were very delicious.’ 

Ryuji: ‘Fufu, that’s good. It was a bit forced but…. If we didn’t do that, Tsubasa would have definitely refrained.’ 

(To think this much about me…. I’m sorry but, I’m somehow feeling incredibly happy.) 

Tsubasa: ‘Ah, I am sorry, I will borrow one of your towels. I will wash it properly and give it backーー’ 

Ryuji: ‘You don’t need to. Here, give me your feet. I’ll dry them for you.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Eh…. A-As I thought, I can not let you do that. I will dry them myself!’ 

Ryuji: ‘I said it’s fine, I want to do it!’ 

Tsubasa: ‘B-But….’ 

Ryuji: ‘Because the hot water splashes around, stay still. Look, doesn’t this towel feel all soft and fluffy? Next I will give you a massage.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘.....T-That…. I am really sorry to bother you….’ 

Ryuji: ‘It’s okay. How is it? Around here…. When you push a bit stronger, it feels good, doesn’t it. Are you fine? Does it hurt?’ 

Tsubasa: ‘No…. It feels good….’ 

Ryuji: ‘Right? Fuuh, I’m happy to hear that. Then, let yourself be spoiled now.’

Ryuji: ‘Apply the cream, and let it blend in well with the skin, like this…. From the ankle to the calf and the back of the knee, when you massage here the swelling will be easily removed.’ 

Tomohisa: ‘That massage is the secret behind Ryuji’s beautiful legs.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘That…. I will study it.’ 

Ryuji: ‘Ahaha, what’s there to study about.’ 

Tomohisa: ‘....Haha, today’s Ryuji quite looked like the emerging prince of Cinderella.’

Ryuji: ‘What are you saying, Tomo?’ 

Ryuji: ‘But…. Well, if I’m Tsubasa’s prince, then it’s not that bad.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Eh…?’ 

Ryuji: ‘Ah, right. I wonder if he’s finished with the pedicure. Kento is studying the nails now, isn’t he? It seems that he’s collecting nail polish from various manufacturers…’ 

Ryuji: ‘This lavender one, isn’t it a wonderful colour? The moment he showed it to me, I went to buy it.’ 

Tomohisa: ‘If that’s the case, then shall I brew some tea? There still seems to be a bit of time left until Cinderella’s magic dissolves.’ 

Ryuji: ‘Yes, please, Tomo.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘U-Uhm…. Ryuji-kun.’ 

Ryuji: ‘Hm?’ 

Tsubasa: ‘I am sorry, doing anything and everything….’ 

Ryuji: ‘Geez… I wanted to do it, didn’t I say so.’ 

Ryuji: ‘Look. This colour here, I think it will suit Tsubasa pretty well. So, Cinderella…. Won’t you keep me company for just a bit longer?’ 

END    

[devinstonerpg]

INTRODUCING,

NAME: Taylor Jonathan Christensen..

AGE: Thirty.

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis male, he/him.

ORIGINALLY FROM: Charleston, SC.

OCCUPATION: Guest Lecturer at Harvard Law.

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Ellington.

“Light is easy to love. Show me your darkness.”

BIOGRAPHY,

“ The Christensen family is an American business and political family from South Carolina and Georgia, whose members have included multiple congressmen, governors, and senators, as well as lawyers and socialites. The majority of their wealth derives from the heritage of Erik Christensen, who founded the trading company Christensen Enterprises in 1953. It is now managed by the former Governor of South Carolina, Alexander Christensen sr. and his two sons, among other family members. ” It is only the opening paragraph of a Wikipedia page, that goes on to claim to know so much about Taylor and his entire family. The truth is, while the historicity may be accurate, what they and the general public truly know about the family and people mentioned is very little.

Taylor Jonathan grew up in an upper class, lavish but stealth environment based in and around the Christensen family estate in Charleston. Although he was the younger brother of two, he was never the baby of the family – nobody has ever been. It was clear from the very start that his brother and he were prepared to one day step up to their father’s place and could not use nor indulge in childish behavior. On the contrary, they were brought up like little adults, meant not to survive in the cutthroat, fast-paced life of international business but to be on top of it and lead it. Taylor did sit atop of his limited world of school, sports, and Country clubs whereas his older brother rebelled against their parents’ tight reign once or twice during their teenage years, costing a lot of money but ending in no consequences for him at all. Unlike him, Taylor has always been compliant as a big picture thinker. Perfect son, perfect student and, presumably, what could only be thought of as nothing less than a perfect guy, even to the people closest to him and behind closed doors.

Naturally, as his brother moved on to college to study economics and business, the general question of ‘What will Taylor do?’ arose with his free reign over his own fate. He had not immediately been pushed into a specific direction to take, but consciously chose to comply with the life of his family and their ever-growing business. First politics at Georgetown University to appease his father, then law for his mother and the company at the Gallard family’s alma mater Yale Law, both of which he graduated with flying colors but unremarkable enough to not draw too much attention to himself. Hearing this, one would – understandably – think of Taylor as a boring person… the no-fun guy who always did as he was told. However, he did not go through life without having an ounce of fun, just made sure the public would never hear of any of it. And it was in one of these very secret objectives during his Yale college times that he met his future fianceé. By no means a player, he enjoyed having her around and had her sticking around without much of an afterthought…. until there was.

Graduation from law school marked a new chapter in Taylor’s life; he was finally free to enter the life that he had been prepared for and like his brother before him could engage in the family business. He had planned to embark on this journey on his own, cutting the girl from college lose the minute he would receive his diploma and leave Connecticut but alas, his parents had another plan for him. They approved too much of her, her family, and their status to just have this opportunity slip away and, yet again, Taylor complied. It was “Oh so surprising” that there was a giant engagement ring on her finger not too soon and he, instead of living on planes around the world moved to the Christensen Enterprises office in her home state of Massachusetts. It worked fine though: she was happy, he was not (with her) but it had gotten him the Chief Legal Officer position of Christensen Enterprises earlier than ever expected.

People say to not mix business and pleasure for good reason, but not employing his fiancée in the family business when they were set on marrying the next fall would have given off a bad look. But as part of his legal team or not, she tried to push and pull at his every decision and second-guessed everything like everyone in his family did, to his annoyance. He could never make himself cut off family, not really, but he could her. And he did, quite coldly so after almost four and a half years of enduring by calling off their engagement and firing her from her position in the company five months ago. It was the first time that the public got to see a glimpse of the actual Taylor, imperfect and fed up by being a puppet of everyone else when he was very much capable himself. Needless to say, his family disapproved. His engagement had turned into a family matter over the years and now a scandal for them. Of course, repercussions were to be instated for this insensible breach of conduct but his father couldn’t just fire his own son: one front-page story would chase the next, but strongly advised him to get a little space to take the heat off of things. And once again Taylor begrudgingly complied for the greater good.

He accepted the guest lecturer position for Corporate Law that Harvard Law offered to him and signed the lease of his new home on almost the same day, following his father’s advice but not relieving any of the heat that had built up with this whole ordeal. The hurt that his family would ultimately take the same position as his ex-fiancée was the smallest of problems; it was rather that they thought they could get away with everything with him. Taylor had worked the hardest, much harder than his father or brother, for their family and business: avoiding every kind of trouble, shying away from public life, and continuously accepting the image of the harmonious youngster; he would have married a woman he had never truly loved for family and business. It ripped away so much of what he had actually wanted in life, yet improvident and ungrateful was how they wanted to play. If that was the path to go, Taylor was going to show them just how damn disagreeable really looked on him.

+ Determined, Charming, Analytical. - Restrained, Manipulative, Resentful.

PLAYED BY: Juli.

FACE CLAIM: Hunter Parrish.

[longsightmyth]

So no review per se but here are a hella lot of status updates under the cut:

March 16, 2016 –  3.0% "I'm not sure how I feel about this season divide country thing but we'll see"

March 18, 2016 –  24.0% "See, I thought they were meeting in a town or city, which would be hard enough to find someone in, but the instructions were apparently 'meet me in a country'"

March 18, 2016 –  25.0% "Yes it DOES explain the oath. You don't need to explain that to us, we get it."

March 22, 2016 –  28.0% "Idk if the book wanted me to think that the government is terrible and everything with the question about whether the maids always obey the king's orders (which... Yes? That is actually their job?) but when a pretty low-ranking guest's lady's maid talks like Rose is talking like she is, it isn't successful."

March 22, 2016 –  29.0% "Not that outspoken servants cannot still be oppressed servants, but the general attitude does not point in that direction (also, still am not fond of New Meira)"

March 25, 2016 –  29.0% "Bets on Meira being a swapped out baby queen."

March 25, 2016 –  31.0% "MORE instalove? Isn't one a book enough?"

March 25, 2016 –  33.0% "Oh no a king is thinking of politics and the wellbeing of his kingdom. What calumny. What horror. (I can understand MEIRA being upset, I can, she had no warning whatsoever, but the book is trying to make me think Noam is evil, and so far I have evidence only of the opposite.)"

March 25, 2016 –  34.0% "A king just doesn't want to throw his kingdom into a war and you automatically assume he had something to do with the death of his wife. Because that totally makes sense...?"

March 25, 2016 –  34.0% "Okay maybe Meira isn't the Secret Queen. Which begs the question of WHY she's important enough to hand off in a political alliance marriage. I mean, king's foster sister is a perfectly respectable and important relation usually, but since literally nobody knows anything about her parentage or if she'd be a reasonably competent queen it makes no sense that Noam wants her to marry his son so badly."

March 30, 2016 –  34.0% "Okay book I just finished The Winner's Kiss so you had better up your game, this bullshit threatening of kings with nothing to back it up isn't going to fly."

March 30, 2016 –  35.0% "Also you appear to have used a name I gave one of my ocs in my lotr fanfic. Obviously only to hurt me."

March 30, 2016 –  38.0% "Seriously wtf is with the complete personality swap I cannot get over it"

March 30, 2016 –  39.0% "Book, you tried hard to tell me that women who like pretty things are just as cool as women who like sharp pointy stabby things, but every time Meira talks about ladies or pretty things she is SUPER scornful and I don't see anything to contradict her. You realize noble ladies find power even when they aren't given it overtly right?"

March 31, 2016 –  44.0% "There's nothing INCREDIBLY wrong with this section - at least nothing I can pin down - but all of this seems really overdramatic, and the love interests don't have enough character for me to say whether or not the supremely stupid display of toxic masculinity was in character or not. Also that fight was particularly silly."

March 31, 2016 –  45.0% "Hang on, still confused about magic access. The only places to get magic are the season kingdoms, but the rhythm kingdoms have magic conduits too? Do they have to pay a fee to go recharge them or something, or have I missed some key point of magic use?"

March 31, 2016 –  46.0% "Wait, how did Winter have food if it was always winter? Did everyone live off evergreens? What about the animals? Was there a thriving greenhouse agricultural system? These are things I want answered."

March 31, 2016 –  46.0% "In the words of Meira herself: Sweet snow! Is she going to learn that protocol isn't useless and being in a position of power might actually help?!"

March 31, 2016 –  46.0% "What, Cordell can't spring for a tutor for their queen-to-be, she has to go to a classroom?"

March 31, 2016 –  47.0% "Wait wait wait you can MINE magic? Why the fuck hang everyone been doing it?!"

March 31, 2016 –  47.0% "Like, I get that it's apparently super deep down, but guys. Magic. Everybody wants more of it, and even if it's hard to get to you have the means to do it. And I haven't seen that this is a Balrog situation either."

March 31, 2016 –  50.0% "Honestly I think the dialogue wouldn't bother me so much if there weren't so many dramatic whispers and things. 'Said' is not a bad word, no matter how many creative writing teachers try to tell you otherwise."

April 1, 2016 –  51.0% "Are. Are there no guards on a king's study? The king's chambers? Even I he isn't there important shit is, as evidenced by what Meira just found! WHAT IS WITH GUARDS IN YA LITERATURE?!"

April 1, 2016 –  51.0% "Do all YA guards go to the same crappy guard school or something?!"

April 1, 2016 –  52.0% "Oh for heaven's sake. A king's foster sister without titles of her own would be a powerful political asset in that the King would (theoretically) care for her, or at least care for his reputation as a person who takes care of those close to him, so you forge an alliance based on that. She wouldn't give anyone any rights over her foster sibling's country, because she's a foster sibling with no title."

April 1, 2016 –  52.0% "There is no way that having Theron marry her would give anyone any sort of authority."

April 1, 2016 –  52.0% "Aside from that, Noam playing all sides of the board is pretty clever and sometimes what rulers have to do to keep their people safe from an apparently magical apparently tyrannical dickface."

April 1, 2016 –  53.0% "For a bunch of people convinced that Noam acts in whatever way is politically expedient for the wellbeing of his country (and also that doing so makes him evil) these people seem awfully surprised that Noam is acting in whatever way is politically expedient for the wellbeing of his country."

April 1, 2016 –  53.0% ""Spring is here. In Cordell." (Meaning spring the country). Well gosh. Would've been great if somebody had FORGED AN ALLIANCE WITH THEM. (Though actually, Noam, you made copies of your top secret correspondence? Really?)"

April 1, 2016 –  54.0% "Sure, six folks against an army, why not. If the soldiers are trained as shoddily as all the guards it makes total sense."

April 1, 2016 –  54.0% ""Let's go jeopardize our entire planned alliance by getting the principle members killed! Sound good? Cool." WHAT IS WITH THESE PEOPLE."

April 1, 2016 –  55.0% "Oh look our evil king puts all his magic into agriculture, otherwise known as HELPING HIS PEOPLE EAT. What true tyranny! (Seriously though how did Winterians get food if their queen put all her magic into mining I need to know. Did they adapt to eat rocks or something? Eating is srs bsns, book)"

April 1, 2016 –  56.0% ""Noam truly believes he was doing us a favor?" I mean. He kind of was. It's not everybody who looks at a group of eight refugees and goes 'sure, let my son marry the king's untitled foster sister and I'll help you reclaim your kingdom'."

April 1, 2016 –  56.0% ""You brought them here! When you started writing that letter..." Y'all do realize that there was a public announcement and ball for the engagement of the heir to the throne and a Winterian, right. Like, Mather was announced as the King of Winter. Does. Does nobody but me remember this? Did you think nobody heard about it?"

April 1, 2016 –  57.0% "Did you just send the heirless King of your exiled country into battle. Did you. Yes you did, because everyone in this book except Noam is completely incompetent when it comes to strategy, and even he has his moments."

April 1, 2016 –  58.0% "How are those cannons moving so quickly?"

April 1, 2016 –  58.0% "HELMETS ARE NOT JUST FOR DISGUISE THEY SERVE A VITAL PROTECTIVE FUNCTION IN THAT THEY PROTECT YOUR HEAD OH MY GOD WHY WOULD YOU JUST TAKE THE HELMET OFF JUST BECAUSE HE KNOWS WHO YOU ARE JESUS CHRIST WHY WOULDN'T HE TELL YOU TO PUT IT BACK ON I HATE EVERYTHING YOU ARE IN THE MIDST OF MEDIEVAL ISH MAGIC BATTLE JUST BECAUSE THERE ARE CANONS DOESN'T MEAN YOU CANT PROTECT YOURSELF AGAINST THE ARROWS OH MY GOD"

April 1, 2016 –  64.0% "That part (with Meira actually appearing to care about the enslaved Winterians when she sees them, and not just us being told she cares) was actually pretty good."

April 1, 2016 –  72.0% "Credit where credit is due - this just improved by leaps and bounds, not least by Meira starting to wonder if she has in fact been something of a brat."

April 1, 2016 –  74.0% "EXPONENTIALLY better"

April 1, 2016 –  76.0% "Okay book, you're getting better and all, and this isn't exclusive to you, but where did this idea that not screaming meant strength come from? Like, not screaming while in pain can be a statement or a way to not bother other people in dire situations, but not screaming when you're being whipped doesn't automatically mean strength okay."

April 1, 2016 –  76.0% "Okay book she has to get water eventually or she's going to literally die unless Winterian body processes are different from other humans. Which, I guess, would explain how they didn't need to grow food in a land of eternal ice and snow. But if she's human like the rest of us she's going to die if she constantly does heavy lifting and carrying without any water except breakfast and dinner. She's going to die QUICKLY."

April 1, 2016 –  78.0% "I admit that I am not an expert on metal, but I'm almost positive that an old belt buckle is not even serviceable knife material without a forge and some tempering."

April 1, 2016 –  80.0% "Dammit Meira."

April 1, 2016 –  80.0% "I'd like to refer you to my status at 29 percent and note for the record that I'm only refraining from gloating because it was so obvious."

April 1, 2016 –  87.0% ""The only thing that saved us was our magically exhaustible magical conduit that has to recharge, so my father didn't retaliate against the giant magical army that nearly killed us all. Obviously this means he's terrible." Book, do you ducking hear yourself."

April 1, 2016 –  88.0% "Book. Are you putting in a rape attempt in front of her love interest. Is this a thing I am reading in the year of our lord 2016."

April 1, 2016 –  88.0% "Book. Are you putting in a rape attempt in front of her love interest. Is this a thing I am reading in the year of our lord 2016."

April 1, 2016 –  88.0% ""There are no other weapons near me, no chairs I am break or vases I can throw" you know what, book, I am tired of theoretically weapon-and-fighting-competent chicks being like 'whoa is me there are no weapons' this is when your feet and fists and teeth and head come into play, you have been literally trained to murder people come on now. (Don't get me started on fixations on fancy weaponry)"

April 1, 2016 –  93.0% "'Exotic grace' when referring to the only people of color so far? Come on, book, get your shit together."

April 1, 2016 –  96.0% ""We'll need to barter rations from Cordell." Have you always done that or is this only because of the defeat of Angra? TELL ME."

April 1, 2016 –  97.0% "Really Noam you AND your heir rode into an unknown situation in a different country? I expected better of you, sir."

April 1, 2016 –  98.0% "Is Meira going to be forever follows by the ghost of her mom in a literal sense? Why have we seen no other ghosts? (Also, please stop with the gasping)"