#I would also still go to noble bell and I actually am aware of the horrors I'm going put this yuu through

[pomefioredove]

oh wow hi. anon who asked to transfer here. pierrot is just like me actually. he’s like my self insert lmfao,, but yeah bou de niege guy would also hate me. sorry. and yeah id probably lose my scholarship. actually i wouldnt have one. in the first place. but hypothetically!! and also yeah id get kicked out. keep it up chap. i actually think i’ll stay here…! but love your work im a big fan. none of this is coherent Sorry.

🪶 anon maybe ! if its ok 🌹🌸🌻🌼🌺🌷

thank you for the little garden and AH

YAY I love reading thoughts on my little au. I'm trying to pace myself because I got sick but I've got a rough outline for book 2 already

bou hates everyone right now if it's any consolation. he's kind of stressed because a certain someone has been unusually absent from the student council lately...

luv pierrot <3 he has his issues that we'll get into but he really is just like yuu fr. sad and broke. I've been tweaking his little bio recently. but yes

[riversofmars]

Sometimes 13 just poses as a student and attends rivers lectures.

Hellooo! I’ve been saving this prompt for a long time cause I love it so much and now finally did something exciting with it! This is actually a little collaboration I did with @serawalkerwrites. She keeps getting asked to write for DW and never has, so we decided to do a little thing together! Basically, we took turns writing paragraphs! She's written the River bits and I wrote for 13. Really fun thing to do because our styles are quite different but it worked :D Apart from the fact that she made me write in present tense which I hate lmao! Also, if you like American Horror Story or Ratched, check out her stuff!

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2300

Read on AO3 or below

Like The First Time

“I might be younger and far prettier than the other Professors at this University, but that doesn't mean I don't expect the same level of good behaviour from my students,“ Professor River Song barks up the rows of lecture hall seating, slapping her papers on the desk. She tosses her bouncing curls of hair and brings her hands to her hips, watching the chatting students in the back row and waiting for them to take notice. That blonde girl seems to whispering at some speed, with enthusiastic hand gestures to boot. “That means you in the back row!“ She raises her voice again, finally getting the young blondes attention.

The Doctor hadn’t been able to stop herself. When River had started talking about the Venusian tomb she’d visited not long ago, it had been a perfect opportunity to tell the other students about the time she’d been invited to a funeral service there. It’s an incredibly stupid thing to do, of course. She isn’t meant to interact with anyone - as strictly speaking - she isn’t meant to be here. For a start she isn’t actually a student at Luna University; for another, she could very well be causing some damage to the fabric of space and time. Visiting her wife earlier in her timeline is risky… but she hasn’t been able to stay away. Sometimes, when the Doctor misses her a lot, she sits in on her lectures, right at the back. She knows River won’t recognise her and she never speaks to her… there’s no harm no foul is there? However, a slip up is bound to happen eventually.

Now, as she looks at River, who is shooting her piercing glare from the front of the auditorium, the Doctor realises she’s messed up. The Doctor looks left and right to the other students, hoping it’s one of them River is scolding.

“Yes you, don't act like I cant see you -“ River lifts her eyebrows at the petulant student. “Forget it, I’m not shouting at you from down here, stay behind after class. Then we’ll talk, and believe me you won’t like what I have to say.“ River rolls her eyes away, a taut huff tumbling from her lips to find her inner calm once again, before continuing. “Now where were we…“

The Doctor shrinks back in her seat, her neighbouring students giving her sympathetic smiles. Others just snicker and smirk. River has a reputation for strictness, no-one messes with her…The Doctor’s made a big mistake. She glances to the exit; she can still escape this situation. But if she does, she’ll never be able to come back. Perhaps it’s time to face her wife at last. She gnaws her bottom lip anxiously and tries her best to sit still for the remainder of the lecture.

As a shrill bell rings out, signalling the end of class and an end to the Doctors torture, River watches the troublemaker while she packs her things. Students rise to their feet, stuff their bags with books and file out in an eager swarm, heading into the midday sunshine. But not this student. She’s bouncing down the steps to the front, an epic grey coat and too-short trousers have her piquing River’s interest before they start talking. “Ah, good. At least you decided to be smart this time and not run-off out the doors. I would have found you,“ River informs the girl, whose swinging her arms and looking guilty. If this were any other circumstance, then River might have bought her a drink. But as it is, she's her student, however adorable she is. “Care to tell me what is so pressing you had to take time out of my lecture to talk about it?“

“Ah well, you know, the whole thing about the Venusian tomb, just brought back some memories to when I was learning Venusian aikido. There was this one time when I was invited to a funeral at one, which - you know - is a big deal for any outsider and…“ The Doctor starts rambling, unable to stop herself. A grin spreads across her features, hoping to entertain River with her story, as she had done so many times in the past. River always liked to listen to recounts of her adventures.

“Venusian Aikido?“ River folds her arms, skeptical. “They don’t teach that to just anyone. I happen to be a black belt myself.“

“Oh I know.“ The Doctor grins.

“It’s not on my resumé,“ River parries, her eyebrows lifting into an arch. “So someone told you. Perhaps at this funeral, you supposedly attended?“ River laughs doubting the girls claims. “No-one just gets invited to a Venusian funeral, or a wedding, or any kind of ceremony unless you’re a honoured noble. Which you clearly cannot be, no offence Sweetie but -“ River pauses. She stares at the blonde and her mismatched clothing, then bunches her lips. “What did you say your name was?“

The Doctor doesn’t answer immediately. This is it, the moment of truth. She could just tell her… surely there’s no harm in it. This is River Song after losing her parents in Manhattan, and before Darillium; there is no real reason to keep her identity from her. Apart from the fact that she isn't sure how she will react. They didn’t see each other for so long in between Manhattan and Darillium, enough for River to come to doubt if the Doctor had ever truly loved her. Her words still echo through the back of the Doctor’s mind now. The Doctor doesn’t and has never loved me. - But you are the woman who loves the Doctor. - Yes I am. I never denied it. But whoever said he loved me back? Those words still haunt the Doctor, even after spending 24 years with her in which she’d done everything she could to convince her of just the opposite.

“Jane Smith.“ The Doctor answers at last with a thin smile.

River lets out a loud chortle. “Jane Smith? Of course it is,“ River replies not believing her for a second. Who has the most standard name of all names like that? River postures a little, shuffles her papers around into a neat pile already thinking of the lunch that’s waiting for her in the refectory, because she's not getting any truth from this girl. “I don't recall your name on my student register; so…how about you tell me the truth.“ River hooks her bag over her shoulder and takes a long stride forward, claiming the podium as her space, the lecturer to the student. River examines her, because if she’s not her student, then who is she? All beautiful round eyes and choppy blonde hair, River certainly doesn't recognise her. Should she, recognise her? “Or you can come to my office and explain yourself there.“

“I uhh…“ The Doctor swallows hard. Of course she doesn’t believe her, people rarely do initially; but usually she can use her psychic paper to back up her identity. She knows River would see right through that if she tried it, so that isn’t an option. “Well, I’ve actually got somewhere else to be. A really very important…thing. A thing that can’t wait, so…it was really nice talking to you, brilliant lecture. Slightly exaggerated in some parts but - you know - got to keep the students engaged…“ Her eyes flick to the door. She’s parked her TARDIS in a supply closet, so it’s not far away.

“Are you calling my stories embellished?“ River trails after this Jane Smith towards the door, flabbergasted. She’s a bone fide time traveller, she knows her subject matter better than anyone in the known universe, except  - “It’s not as though you can possible know better? How old are you anyway, twelve?“ She carries on trying to get under the girl’s skin, who is clearly hiding something.  “Where on earth are you going? You realise that’s the closet.“

“Why are you following me?“ The Doctor had hoped to simply shake her but River seems to have different ideas. She doesn’t dare open the supply closet door, River would see the TARDIS and she would be done for. But where else could she possibly go? She looks around anxiously for a way out.

“Mmm it seems you might be trapped…“ River drops her voice to a knowing whisper. She smirks, delighting in watching the girl fret.

“I just… forgot which way I… uhh…“ The Doctor struggles for a response suddenly aware of how close River is getting to her. And that smirk… She knows it all too well. Like a lioness stalking her prey. She can’t even think of a credible lie to get her out of her predicament.

“Which way you meant to go?“ River bobs her finger on her lip pretending to think hard about it. “My office is this way, if you didn't get the hint earlier.“ River ghosts her hands over the girls hips, rubbing into her hipbones with her thumbs and sucking her lips and humming. “Jane Smith. I appreciate the code name. You can slip me your paper later, I’ll be sure to mark it up a grade, well, depending on your performance of course.“ River winks coyly.

“I…“ The Doctor’s mouth suddenly feels really dry, she can’t speak. Flirting and reading innuendo isn’t exactly her forte but River can’t possibly be more obvious with her advances. Is this what River is like when she isn’t around? The Doctor isn’t sure whether to be flattered or hurt. They’re not exactly exclusive but she doesn’t like her nose rubbed in it like this. But at the same time, perhaps this is an opportunity… She could be with River without having to reveal her identity… but is that something she wanted to do under false pretences?

“Good talk, come along!“ River grins and leads the way across the lecture hall to the staff door, and unlocks it with a quick key-twizzle, then presses the door open wide to wave ‚Jane‘ through. River uses the opportunity to loop her arm around Jane’s waist and scoops her in the right direction down the hall towards her office.

The Doctor doesn’t know what to do. Things are moving fast, River doesn’t even give her a chance to protest. Her hearts seem to skip their beats when River pulls her along.

Once inside, River tosses the door shut and wastes no time in pushing Jane against it, roaming her hands up and down her sides and snapping the elastic braces. “These are retro, but I can go with the flow, off they coooome…“ River sings as she yanks them off Jane’s shoulders, then the coat, and where is the edge of this t-shirt? River is keen to feel her hands up Jane’s abdomen, and the flush of her skin. River knows her hands are rough - years of archeological digs will do that to a girl - but Jane is young and sweet enough to need a little roughing up.

“River…“ The Doctor tries to protest, this was moving too fast. Her breath catches when River untucks her t-shirt. The Doctor is still getting used to this new body and she suddenly feels very hot.

“First names already? My my…“ River tosses her mane of hair out the way as she leans in to kiss Jane on the neck, biting her and enjoying teasing her far too much. “Sweetie you do give yourself away, even in this body,“ River tickles her teeth along the Doctor’s collarbone searching for the next spot to bite. “I mean, I like it darling, but give me a heads next time -“ River explores the Doctor’s petite body with enthusiasm. “My apparatus is your apparatus and all that, got to get my head around it.“

“You knew?!“ The Doctor blurts out and pushes her off, holds her at arms length. “And you just played along?!“ She’s breathless from River’s kisses but her outrage overshadows her arousal.

River unbuttons her shirt confidently, tearing the sides apart and presenting her body to the Doctor once again, even if it’s all new for the Doctor, River is still River. “Well what did you think? I do this with all my students, Jane Smith?“ She smiles a broad, proud River smile and holds her hands out for the Doctor to take. “I’m married, remember?“ Mutually exclusive is…a bit of stretch, there might be other husbands here and there, but there is only one Doctor. “So, wife, how about a little ride on the merry-go-round with this new body?“

The Doctor just stares at her for a moment. It’s been a while since Darillium but she still recalls every moment, and River is just as beautiful as she remembers. And just as much of a temptress. She bites her lip, suddenly feeling very insecure. It would be her first time in this body…and it’s her first time being a woman as far as she can remember. That’s a lot to be anxious about.

Softening the come-on, River takes the Doctors hands and steps closer to her, squeezing her hands in reassurance. “I knew it would happen eventually, a wife and not a husband. It’s okay, you know.“ River takes a deep breath, and kisses her wife properly for the first time. Her lips are thinner softer and taste of cinnamon, but she kisses back just like her husband did. Her Doctor. “I love you. This adorable new body is just a bonus,“ she says gently, then kisses her nose for extra effect.

The Doctor can’t help but chuckle as she looks up to her. This was new. She is shorter than her! Though only due to River’s ridiculously high heels.

“I love you, too.“ She whispers nuzzling into her crook of her neck as she wraps her arms around her. River smells exactly the way she remembers, like sunshine on a spring day. “I’ve missed you so much.“ She confesses.

[zimms]

an olliewicks flower shop au to soothe the soul! this is somewhat based on mine and @tingo-tango’s tags on this post. 

fields of flowers, soft beneath my heels

Ollie’s wrist-deep in a pot of soil, sweat rolling down his cheeks and sunlight streaming through the windows of Faber’s Flowers, when the shop’s bell rings and a new customer stumbles through the door. Ollie frowns slightly and hastily wipes the beads of sweat off his chin with the corner of his shirt, before plastering on his best customer service smile to greet whoever needs flowers at 7:30 am on a Tuesday morning. He mentally catalogues the possibilities; maybe they’ve forgotten their spouse’s birthday? Or maybe it’s a gift for someone at work? Maybe it’s an apology present because they accidentally cycled into a fruit stall and ruined a fresh batch of melons? 

(Okay, maybe not, but it would be a refreshing change in the cycle of constant businessmen grovelling for their partner’s forgiveness)

Ollie shakes himself from his thoughts and grins across the counter at the customer, who’s sporting a baseball cap and a t-shirt that sits just right across his broad shoulders. Ollie’s eyes track down the guy’s biceps which are a tad too big for the sleeves. Ollie consciously shut his mouth to stop himself from gaping; this guy was hot. As Ollie’s gaze roams across the customer’s face to meet his eyes, he realises three things. Number one is that he definitely shouldn’t be ogling a customer like he’s a piece of meat. Number two is that he hasn’t said anything to this guy yet. Number three is that at least a minute of awkward silence and staring has passed since the customer entered the shop. 

Ollie rips his eyes away from the customer’s face to stare at a spot slightly behind his left shoulder. “Hi! What can I help you with today?”

The guy shifts on the balls of his feet, scanning the shelves of bouquets and individual flowers. “Erm, I’m looking for a bouquet of flowers for my mom?” His voice raises at the end of his sentence, which is kind of cute, if Ollie does say so. He rubs the back of his neck and his checks flush pink. “I kinda need to apologise to her.”

Ah, a classic apology scenario. Got it. 

“What’s the apology for?” Ollie asks as he turns to the sink behind the counter to wash his hands. “Not that you have to tell me that is; it just might help as we make the bouquet.” He unravels the roll of tissue paper and cuts off a square to package the flowers in. 

Hot Guy winces. “Ah,” he says, “I kinda got into a fight in front of her the other night. She was not happy to say the least, so I figured I might as well get her some flowers to apologise for it.” 

“Cool, cool.” Ollie grins at him. “What kinda flowers do you want for her?” He gestured to the whole shop, where various buckets of flowers lined the walls, each displaying a different species. “We can get her just a plain old bunch that’s all just the same type of flower, or we could mix and match, create a nice piece of artwork that she’ll admire rather than a bunch that’s boring and all the same.”

Hot Guy’s eyes flick up from the counter and meet Ollie’s own, moving slowly up his body. If Ollie was feeling particularly optimistic, he’d say the guy was checking him out, but he pushes that thought to the corner of his mind because he’s made way too many faux-pas in the past by asking out guys that have come into the shop just for all of them to be straight. Hot Guy clears his throat. “Yeah, a mixture sounds good. I know her favourite flowers are hyacinths if that helps?”

“That’s perfect.” Ollie shoots him the most reassuring smile he can think of, eyes softening. He grabs the bucket of blue hyacinths that sit behind him. “These alright?” 

“Yeah, those are great,” Hot Guy says a little hoarsely, squinting at Ollie’s name tag, “Ollie.” Something settles in Hot Guy’s voice and he seems a bit more comfortable. 

“So, why'd you get into a fight in front of your mom?” Ollie reaches for the bucket of Narcissus behind him and waves a bunch at Hot Guy for affirmation. He nods in return. “Doesn’t seem like the best idea to me-” Ollie trails off, hoping that Hot Guy might get the hint and finally introduce himself. 

“Oh, uh, Pacer.” He coughs and the remaining tension leaks out of his posture. “Nah, a guy said something about Ma, and you know, I had to rush to defend her like the rash idiot I am.” 

Ollie laughs. “At least, it’s one of the more noble reasons to get into a fight. There’s a bit more chance of forgiveness, then.”

Pacer nods and his gaze wanders away from where Ollie is deftly making the bouquet to settle on the purple Clematis. 

“You like them?” Ollie makes a ‘gimme’ motion with his hands and Pacer passes the bucket over to him. Their hands briefly brush each other during the exchange and Ollie does everything in his power to ignore the jolt that goes through him at that brief skin to skin contact. “You’ve got a good eye; I was just about to grab them myself.”

“Yeah, my mom loves blue and yello-” Pacer cuts himself off with a sneeze. “Also, aren’t they the colours of the local hockey team around here? The Falcons?” Although he has a completely clueless tone to his voice, Pacer is studying Ollie’s reaction as if it might reveal the secrets of the universe. 

“Yeah, the Falcs! I only get to see them every so often, but they’re great,” Ollie says, doing his level best to ignore Pacer’s sudden intensity. “I was actually on the same team as Jack Zimmermann in college, which was pretty cool.”

“Really?” Pacer’s enigmatic expression becomes even more indecipherable. “That is pretty cool.” He looks slightly over his shoulder towards the street before meeting Ollie’s eyes and flashing a genuine smile at him. “I actually played a bit of hockey myself, you know.”

Ollie tries to convince himself that the bubble of excitement that rushes through him is because Pacer is such a good conversationalist and not for any other reason, like the fact that they have a couple of things in common, or that Pacer is one of the hottest guys he’s ever seen. 

(He fails.)

_X_

Pacer leaves about forty minutes later, with a bouquet and handwritten note in hand and a smile fixed firmly on his face. When Ollie goes to scrub down the counter and start repotting the plant he’d abandoned when Pacer had arrived, he spots a scrap of paper that definitely hadn’t been there before. The note is pretty cute; it’s a string of numbers and a smiley face, accompanied by a couple of lines from Pacer.

Would you like to go I would have asked you out earlier, but my tea friend always says it’s bad form to hit on workers whilst they’re on shift. Anyway, here’s my number if you want to go out some time? Call m Don’t worry if you don’t though!

- Pacer 

Ollie grins as he opens up his phone to add the number to his contacts, but pauses as he sees a Google Alert come through that he’s set up for the Falcs. The text reads, Providence Falconers acquire forward Pacer Wicks from Colorado Avalanche in exchange for a second round pick in the 2022 NHL Draft, and immediately underneath the caption, Pacer’s smiling face stares out at him. 

Pacer’s voice echoes in his mind. “I actually played a bit of hockey myself.”

Played a bit of hockey himself? Ollie cannot believe this guy. He plays in the fucking NHL and all he says is “I actually played a bit of hockey myself.” 

However, Ollie thinks as he opens up the article to see a picture of a bruised Pacer from his last game with the Avs, it would explain why he needed to apologise for fighting in front of his mom. 

_X_

Now that Ollie is aware of Pacer Wicks’ existence, he seems to follow him everywhere. Well, not Pacer exactly, but his name. 

It begins, like many things, at the grocery store. 

“Excuse me?” the cashier asks, as she’s scanning his groceries two days after Pacer first came into the florist’s. “Are you that hockey player? Pacer Wicks?” 

Ollie furrows his eyebrows. He doesn’t think that him and Pacer look that similar, but then again, Pacer’s only been in Providence a couple of days, so people don’t exactly know what he looks like yet. “No, sorry.”

The cashier purses her lips, taking a moment to study him again before ringing him up. “Huh, sorry! You guys just look really alike is all.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Ollie gathers up his groceries. “These things happen sometimes.”

(He almost texts Pacer to tell him about it, but, as Ollie looks at the clock on his phone, he realises that Pacer probably isn’t going to want to receive a message about how someone thought they looked similar mid-way through his game against the Pens.

Also, he’d have to wish him luck and honestly, as much as Ollie loves the Falcs, he wouldn’t wish them too much luck against his hometown team.)

_X_

ollie

hey! i’ve finished off that other apology bouquet for your ma!

let me know when you want to swing by and pick it up!

also i was watching the game tonight; do you need me to make up another identical one for your ma, or do you wanna come into the shop to choose this one?

pacer

thanks ol! i’ll probably swing by to pick it up tomorrow and then help make the next one at the same time?

ollie

sounds like a plan!!

_X_

When he said these things happen sometimes to that cashier in the grocery store, he didn’t expect them to happen all the goddamn time. Be it at his favourite café, on the street, or on the commuter rail, someone always, always, asks if he’s Pacer Wicks. 

_X_

ollie

oof that hit from eriksen looks like it’s gonna leave a mark

pacer

yeah, half my face is swollen

ollie

yikes

pacer

i assume we’re still on for dinner in a couple of days right?

even if my stunning visage has been marred by the fists of a schooner

ollie

that was a very weird way of putting it

but yeah, i still wanna go out with you even if your face looks like a dodgeball

_X_

A girl taps him on the shoulder at Bitty’s Bites downtown. “Excuse me, are you Pacer Wicks?”

Ollie smiles sheepishly at her, brandishing his coffee cup with a scrawled Oily on it as if it might keep the Pacer Wicks fans away. “Sorry, you’ve got the wrong dude.”

He hurries out of there as quickly as his legs can take him after that, hands fumbling for his phone so that he can text Pacer about it.

ollie

jdshjkdsjh a girl just asked if i was you

pacer

oh?

ollie

yeah, i don’t really know why so many people ask if i’m you

especially as they usually ask when you’re on a roadie??

so i don’t get why they know who you are without knowing the falcs’ schedules

pacer

maybe they’re a fan of my dashing good looks rather than my hockey?

isn’t that why you agreed to go out with me after all?

Ollie grins to himself before sending back three words.

don’t push it

_X_

He’s less generous to the guy on the commuter rail, but in fairness that’s mainly because he stole the last seat just before Ollie could get there and it’s 6:30 in the morning. 

“Hey, aren’t you that hockey pl-?”

Ollie barely looks up from his phone before cutting him off with a sharp “No.”

_X_

Today, someone even asks him at the flower shop.

“No,” he says, heaving the deepest sigh he can whilst still remaining in customer service mode, “I think Pacer Wicks might have other things to do on a Saturday afternoon than work the till at a flower shop.” He shuts the cash drawer on the register with a bang and hands the customer their change and bouquet as quickly as he can. “Thank you for shopping with us! Enjoy your day!” 

He collapses back onto the wooden stool that he keeps behind the counter, taking a breather for approximately five seconds before a laugh echoes through the shop. Ollie jumps half a foot in the air before locating Pacer, who’s stood in the corner of the shop inspecting a piece of sea holly. 

He’s dressed up pretty nicely considering hockey players’ notoriously bad fashion sense, wearing a button-up, a nice pair of jeans that do all the right things for his hockey butt, and his ever-present baseball cap, but this time, unlike his first visit to the shop, it’s sat backwards on his head. He spins around to face the back of the shop, grinning his face off. “I’m impressed by the fact that she asked you that whilst I was standing in the shop and she still didn’t notice me.” He laughs, smirking across at Ollie. “Does that happen often?”

“Yeah, some people are surprisingly oblivious sometimes,” he says, “but also, I don’t look that much like you?” He pauses, trying to work out what Pacer’s face means. He places his hands on his hips and jokingly rounds on Pacer. “Do I?” 

Pacer chuckles, taking a few steps closer so that he’s leaning against the counter. “Not that much, but would it be so bad if you looked like me?” A mock-wounded expression plays across his features as he presses his hand to his chest. 

Ollie takes off his apron and hangs it up behind the counter. “Nope, because you are extremely hot.” He threads his fingers through the hockey player’s belt loops to pull him closer, feeling emboldened by Pacer’s flirting. “And if that means that people are inadvertently calling me hot whilst asking if I’m you?” He shrugs. “I can live with it.”

Pacer has to lower his gaze to meet Ollie’s eyes, the two inch height difference between them clearly obvious, even if Ollie is six foot, thank you very much. “You were right about something though,” Pacer murmurs, “I do have better things to do than stand in a flower shop on a Saturday afternoon.”

“Like what?” Ollie raises an eyebrow.

Pacer smiles softly down at him, taking his hand and interlacing his fingers with Ollie’s. “Like taking the cute florist that works there on a date for starters.” Pacer starts to move them towards the shop’s entrance. “There’s this lit-” He sneezes abruptly.

Ollie tilts Pacer’s head downwards. “That’s like the fourth time you’ve sneezed in the shop.” He rubs his thumb over his cheek, frowning when he sees that Pacer’s eyes are slightly red. “Are you okay?”

Pacer waves him off. “Yeah, it’s fine; my antihistamines just wore off.”

His-? Ollie furrows his eyebrows before leading his date out of the shop. “Pacer, are you allergic to flowers?” 

“No?” Pacer’s sheepish and slightly bunged up reply says everything that Ollie needs to know.

“Fuck, Pace, why have you been coming to the shop so much if you’re allergic? Surely you don’t like the aesthetics of flowers that much that you need to torture your sinuses every spare minute of the day.��� Ollie pinches the bridge of his nose, voice full of exasperation.

Pacer holds his hands up in surrender. “In my defence, the first few times were because I did need to buy Ma flowers, but I didn’t keep coming back because the flowers were pretty.” He pulls Ollie close and frames his face with his hands. “I came back because the florist was.”

_X_

The final time Ollie is mistaken for Pacer is five years later as he’s heading towards the arena for Pacer’s final game of the season. In fairness, dressed in a Wicks jersey and a Falcs snapback, he probably looks more like Pacer now than he has at any time since he first got mistaken for him in the grocery store. 

“Excuse me?” A teenager taps him on the shoulder, their arm slung around a friend. “Are you Pacer Wicks?”

Ollie grins at the kid. “Nope,” he says, trying not to take too much joy in the hope fading from the fan’s eyes before he drops the bombshell, “I am his husband though.”

“Really?” The teenager’s eyes light up. “You’re not kidding, right?”

“Nope.” Ollie holds up his phone screen to show the kid a photo of Pacer kissing his cheek, just so that they know he’s not lying. “D’you wanna meet him after the game?” He smirks at them. “After all, I do know a guy.”

[eggytranslations]

Volume 1, Chapter 1-Ambush

Content warnings: death, ableism, suicidal thoughts, mention of racism?

The whole thing happened so suddenly.

“Thump—”,  a small blue and white porcelain bowl fell to the ground, rolled twice, and fractured into several small pieces. At the same time, the shiny brass bell that had been polished by time also fell from a great height, jingling twice with an especially alarming panic, and then slumped over beside the fragments.

“Shaoye…shaoye, shaoye...somebody help! Shaoye has been bitten by a snake!...”

The shrill voice cut through this early spring afternoon, a rare bright and sunny day. Very quickly, endless bustling footsteps came from the originally tranquil mountain courtyard—kick and clatter—you could even hear the sounds of these panicked footsteps knocking over things. 

Shen Qingxuan widened his eyes to stare ahead, working hard, trying to get a glimpse of the beast that had bit him, but his eyes were blurred, as if they were covered by a layer of thin white gauze, so no matter how hard he tried he could not see clearly. Internally, he could not help but be stunned by the snake’s powerful venom, but also secretly think, man proposes but God disposes. He had thought of countless ways of dying, yet how could he have foreseen that he would ultimately end by a snake’s venomous fangs?

Thinking up to now, in his heart of hearts, he was not shocked, and just closed his eyes. He was vaguely aware that the servants who rushed over had moved him from the chair, and were frantically calling for the physician while yelling for someone to fetch the antidote pills.

And anything after that, he did not know at all.

The eldest young master of the Shen family was bit by a snake in his mountain villa.

This news travelled like the birds in the mountain forest had flapped their wings and carried it out themselves, taking only a cup of tea’s time before sounds of horse feet came from the originally tranquil mountain path. One after another, the horse carriage and silk sedan chair

finally arrived outside the doors of the mountain villa in a rush. 

The rider on the horse and the noble in the sedan hurriedly disembarked, entered through the doors, and without anyone greeting them, burst into Shen Qingxuan’s room. 

The man lay behind green gauze curtains with both eyes shut tight. His forehead was overtaken by an unclear black-purple color, that dense color was even gradually spreading throughout his whole face. His originally light colored lips became strangely flushed red from the contrast of his black-purple face. His refreshing outer appearance was completely gone. At a glance, he actually looked like three parts human and seven parts ghost already.

“Xiao Xuan!” An elder with lightly frosted temples saw Shen Qingxuan’s state and let out a low cry that was sorrowful and grieved to the utmost point. “My son!” He cried, as if he still had words to say, but could only choke.

“Laoye.” The uninvolved steward who stood to the side quickly interrupted his master’s grief, and reminded him, “Laoye should not be grieving now, the proper thing to do is to think of an idea to save shaoye’s life first.”

“Yes, yes.” Under the rush of grief for his son, Master Shen only woke up to his error through that warning, and he quickly got up with a hand over his eyes. Still choking with sobs, he asked the servant beside him: “Did you all remove the toxin yet?”

“There are always snakes, insects, rats, and ants on the mountain, therefore all the regular medicines are supplied. The antidote pills for snake venom have just been given to shaoye, but...the effects are not clear.”

“What kind of snake was it, could you see clearly?” the steward hurriedly asked.

“It was too chaotic then, this lowly servant could not see clearly. It was coiled on the pergola

in the yard, but it was also blocked by the branches. In my quick glance, I only saw a section that was as big as the mouth of a bowl…” the servant spoke and gestured, but once he finished speaking, his forehead was firmly slapped. The steward angrily said, “Glib-tongued servant, you are full of nonsense!” Ignoring the servant’s tearful complaints, the steward simply explained to Master Shen, “Laoye, Lu-mou also lived in the mountain forests as a child, but I have never heard of a snake that could grow that thick and big. Unless it is a python, but big as pythons are, they do not easily bite people, and their toxicity is even less likely to be this fierce. This servant must be speaking rubbish, he is only describing it so dreadfully so that he can be punished less.”

Master Shen was terribly upset, and could not handle this presently. He just angrily told the retainer to scram.

“Where is the bite?” The steward asked again of the servant girl who was shaking by the doorpost. She was Shen Qingxuan’s personal handmaid.

“On the wrist.” The maidservand’s face was pallid, and she anxiously added, “Since the sunshine was good today, shaoye wanted to sunbathe, so I wheeled him into the yard. As usual, shaoye wanted to drink a pot of floral tea at that moment. After making the tea for shaoye, I was going to bring some tea cakes, but just as I turned around and walked a couple steps, I heard the tea cup fall to the ground. When I turned back around, shaoye had already been bitten by the snake...” At this point, the maidservant already had tears in her eyes, and was sobbing.

“You saw that snake?”

“I saw it. That person was not lying. That snake really was as thick as the mouth of a bowl, and perched on the railing. When I saw it, it had just drawn back. I saw it was pitch-black, only its abdomen had a bit of gold. I have been on this mountain serving shaoye all these years, and saw some snakes that were beaten dead, but I have never seen such a large snake...”

“It was really that big?” The steward was still uncertain.

Her knees went soft, the girl kneeled on the ground, crying while vowing: “How would this maidservant lie about such an important matter? If there is a trace of a lie, then this maidservant shall die miserably!”

On this side of the room, the steward checked the testimony. On the other side, Master Shen suppressed his sadness to observe his son’s injuries. When he pulled out his eldest son’s wrist, he saw that the injury bitten by the snake’s fangs had already been crossed through with a knife. This helped him relax a bit, knowing a servant was quick-witted enough to promptly slit an opening and suck out the poisonous blood. But this snake venom is too aggressive; in just a short period, it caused a grown man to lose all his senses. Unfortunately, this toxin may have already entered the bloodstream, and would be difficult to clear!

Master Shen grasped that thin and pale wrist, his heart filling with sorrow. It is said that the eldest son is the pillar of his family. He did not have a son until he was 30, yet he let Shen Qingxuan fall into an ice cave at the age of eight. After the rescue and a high fever, not only did his son become mute, but his lower limbs were also damaged by the frostbite, and could only ever be paralyzed on the daybed. Master Shen originally thought it would be easy to raise and support him. There was no need for him to obtain fame and fortune; with the Shen family fortunes, there was no issue supporting the eldest son for his whole, peaceful life. However, who would have thought that at age 27, he would be bitten by a snake.

“That ruinous beast!” With a low shout, Master Shen even had thoughts to catch that snake and eat its meat raw.

“Laoye, do not worry.” The old steward, who has looked after the Shen family his whole life, yet again consoled. “Shaoye’s health has always been weak. Year in and year out, he has been rehabilitating in the mountain villa, therefore all kinds of precious medicines are more or less prepared. Maybe there is still a means.”

“What kind of means?”

“Does laoye still remember what happened during last year’s Mid-Autumn? Someone from Nanman, who had dealt business with the Shen family, gave a tribute of two pills that were said to be capable of relieving all the world’s strangest poisons?”

“I remember, I remember. I saved that medicine. ...Does it really work?”

“Laoshen does not know either, I am just told that the Nanman wetlands contain poisonous insects and wild beasts in numbers. This pill might really have miraculous effects, perhaps?”

“Then why have you not fetched it?” Master Shen stood up in a hurry.

“Aye.”

The medication was quickly retrieved, dissolved in warm water, and administered. As he was fed the medicine, Shen Qingxuan’s jaw was clenched tight, his facial muscles rigid, seemingly a hair’s breadth away from death.

The whole room was engulfed in a state of panic, and the air felt heavy.

Night fell, and the servants lit the oil lamps. Light and shadow quivered.

Shen Qingxuan’s bedroom door opened sometimes and closed sometimes, people shuffling out and in.

Yet not one person noticed, in the swaying shadow of the oil lamp, there quietly stood a man.

Black hair flowed loosely down to his waist. He was also dressed in a black robe, standing with both hands behind his back. The lapels of his robe were embroidered with gold thread into simple decorative patterns. Expression ice cold and lips pursed, he was standing there for who knows how long.

Not one person noticed, and even the people who brushed past him did not cast a glance at him. If anyone had seen him, they surely would not turn a blind eye to this man that looked like a demon on earth.

But indeed, not a single person knew his presence.

The night grew late, Master Shen was tired in both body and heart. He wanted to keep vigil by his son’s bedside, but old age ruthlessly shackled his parental affections. It was the end of February, and although spring had begun, the nights were still cold. After a few soft coughs, Master Shen faintly felt his head start to hurt. Under the steward’s encouragement, although he was loath to leave, he still went to a room warmed by charcoal fire and lay down on the bed.

In the bedroom, there were only the steward and three servants left still looking after Shen Qingxuan.

After another two double-hours passed, Shen Qingxuan, whose breathing had been shallow, gradually gained a steadier and stronger breathing sound. In the shadows, the unmoved, standing man slightly raised his eyes. His eyes showed a spark of surprise; he did not believe this world had an antidote that could actually detoxify his venom.

As expected, when he concentrated a bit to take a closer look at the gaunt and frail man lying on the bed, it dawned on him: this is the so-called rally before death.

Those antidote drugs, at most, only delayed a few threads of time. Antidote? Pure delusion.

Shen Qingxuan struggled to open his eyes. His heavy eyelids felt like they weighed a ton, no matter how he tried, he could not open them.

However, the servant girl waiting by him saw his movements, and joyfully shouted: “Shaoye, shaoye!"

Her noise had a rash joy, and woke up the small courtyard and mountain forest that just fell asleep.

Very quickly, Master Shen came over dressed in a cloak

and did not even stop to put on his socks and shoes. He frantically ran, and yelled: “Xuan’er, Xuan’er...Have you awakened, Xuan’er? Dad is worried sick...” 

Perhaps the calls of his family gave Shen Qingxuan strength, his quivering eyelids worked to open, and finally they budged. His eyes were slack, taking a moment to focus until the depths of his eyes had some liveliness. 

Shen Qingxuan slightly opened his mouth to speak, yet could not make a sound.

But everyone knew he said, “Dad.”

“Ah, dad is here...” the old man immediately burst into tears. Master Shen did not even care to consider how many years he spent with the stance of an elder, he shakingly grabbed his son’s hand, murmuring, “Qingxuan ah, do you feel better? If you are better, then Dad will be so relieved…”

Shen Qingxuan used all his strength, just to barely pull his rigid face into a small smile. Internally, however, he somehow knew he could not escape death this time. His whole body was entrapped in a sense of paralysis with no ability to move. Whenever he breathed, his nostrils filled with a fishy sweet scent; what’s more, in front of his eyes were bursts of pitch-black with intervals of clarity.

The sensations when one is on the brink of death are probably like this.

Actually, there was nothing to dread. For disabled people like him, death was really not as dreadful as living.

Only, he could not bear to leave his parents and younger brother.

These years, his family was the only pillar he had to support him in continuing to seek happiness in life. Everytime he thought about his parent’s pitiful grief after his passing from this world, he could not bear it in his heart.

He thought about his own death, not because he was abandoning and resigning himself to despair. These years in the wheelchair, he actually grew accustomed to this existence of not being able to take care of himself. Burying his childhood dreams of flourishing a whip and riding a horse was not a very challenging task at all.

He thought about his own death because his health was deteriorating year after year.

Before, he could occasionally bask in the sun, call someone to push him, and go for a stroll in the wooded forest.

But in the last two years, he was getting worse. Catch a little draft, and he would be ill for a period, each time more serious than the last. Eventually, it became so bad he could not get out of bed for a month or two.

This winter, he did not go outside. He barely even opened the windows.

He finally recovered, and wanted to bask a bit in the sun, yet he startled a snake that had just ended its winter hibernation and was out to bask in the sun as well.

Thinking of this, Shen Qingxuan could not help but smile, and think to himself that this sunbathing, it seems, whether for himself or the snake, was not comfortable.

He knew in his heart that the snake was just sunning itself on the railing at first, and he was sitting in his chair—man and snake minding their own business. 

They could have lived harmoniously in peace and returned to their respectives homes after sunbathing.

But somehow a soiled piece of leaf just had to fall into the clear tea water. His natural disposition preferred cleanliness, so he, immediately and without another thought, threw out the bowl of hot tea.

At the time, he did not see that snake. Once he realized it was improper, the tea had already been thrown out, and had drenched those shiny black scales with steaming hot water.

The startled snake turned its head around and took a bite out of the hand he did not retract in time.

In truth though, it was more of his own fault. Such hot water, nevermind a snake, even a mere rabbit would be startled enough to retaliate.

It was a very mighty snake. He only caught one glimpse of it, then got distracted by the pain and had to look away. But Shen Qingxuan still remembered that the snake was gleaming black all over; when crouched with its head erect, its neck and abdomen gleamed golden yellow, which was particularly dazzling in the light of the afternoon sun. Later, he wanted to take a closer look, but could not see clearly anymore. He also was not sure if that snake was scalded or not.

It is said these kinds of apodal animals are completely covered with small scales, and probably are not really easily harmed by a cup of hot tea.

In front of his eyes was another moment of extremely dizzying blackness, to the point that even the sound of his father’s voice by his ear was also drifting away. Shen Qingxuan still wanted to listen hard to what his father was saying, but could only hear the beating thunder in his ears. All the disorderly fragmented sentences came through the thundering, yet were still unable to reach his mind. Shen Qingxuan only knew that his father was speaking, but no matter how hard he exerted himself, he could not hear clearly what exactly his father was saying.

Shen Qingxuan knew well enough that his life was at its limit, internally, he was not sure if he was more melancholic or more relieved. He always knew he was a person not long for this world, but the arrival of this scene still caught him off guard.

The concern in his heart made him want to have one last look at this world that had accompanied him for 20 some years. Even if he barely had the strength to breathe, Shen Qingxuan still worked hard to open his eyes wide—the scattered expression within his eyes was also stubbornly gathered back—to gaze at his family. Focusing for a protracted moment.

His father who was normally healthy and well maintained, appeared old and ragged at this moment. The old steward who had rushed about and busied himself for the Shen family his whole life, the maidservant who had already cried into a mess, all of the familiar people who had been doing their best to take care of him all of these years...his eyes slowly, almost rigidly, moved over everyone’s face, Shen Qingxuan haltingly lifted the corners of his mouth, and showed a shallow smile. As if saying goodbye.

His smile was quite faint, appearing ferocious and crude on his currently three-parts-human-seven-parts-ghost-like face.

Yet, it displayed a profound fondness for and reluctance to let go of living.

Such a despairing fondness, yet it also carried a relief towards death.

Perhaps this smile was too striking for the eyes and too startling for the heart. The cold and still man in the shadows, who had watched this entire scene from beginning to end, raised his eyelids. His pupils, which were as dark as the waters of the deep abyss, rippled from a sudden splash.

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas]

okay first off your writing is SO GOOD!!!!!! but i was wondering, since in most of the works so far some of the other yiga are kinda mean, could we get sooga and/or kohga bonding with a newer recruit? like they’re having a rough time adjusting and it’s just tender and sweet

One, the yiga aren’t exactly mean. It’s levels. See, the foot soldiers are very kind and respectable to Sooga, for his status, and devotion to Kohga. The Blade masters are hard on Sooga because he was once one of them. As such, they’re VERY competitive with one another, and accept nothing less than perfection from one another. The Blade master’s aren’t bad guys, they’re just way more heavy handed. Trust me, if push came to shove, these guys would have Sooga’s back.

And two, there’s actually a mission in aoc that kiiinda has something in those lines. It’s where a yiga member misses home, so you give him veggies to remind him of home (think it gives Kohga an extra heart???), so let’s do it based of that guy!

“Rounds, once more! Let’s go!”

Whenever Sooga wasn’t serving Kohga, he was busy tending towards the soldiers' training. He was busy training the newest recruits, and it was quite a solid lineup so far. Quick, devoted, opportunistic. Just what the clan needed. All but one. The one who seemed to be the most distracted. He was the newest one of the pack, having just joined the clan yesterday. He was slow, he kept tripping over himself, he kept fumbling. It was odd, given the fact that just the day prior, he was near the front of the pack. He tripped up yet again in the course, unable to dodge the obstacles set before him. He was about to get up and try again, when he looked up to see Sooga peering over him.

“Not you. Get up, follow me. Rest of you, follow HIS orders!”

He left the newbies to his own second hand, a man who was close to being Master Kohga’s right hand (long story). The footsoldier stood up, following Sooga. He stayed close to his side, less he got lost in the maze of the base. He then stopped into one of the storage rooms, shutting the door behind them. He looked down at the meager creature before him, and he couldn’t help but scoff. He didn’t look down on him for being on the lower rung of the yiga ladder, but for the fact that he wasn’t giving everything he had to the clan.

“Explain yourself.”

“I don’t, uhm-”

“You will look at me in the face.”

“You mean mask?”

He chuckled, but when Sooga didn’t do the same, he shrunk a bit. He fiddled with his fingers, clearly nervous under such an intense gaze. He went silent. Sooga fought the urge to sigh.

“You are now a member of the Yiga clan. Therefore, your devotion must be unlimited, and unwavering. Unless you are injured, you give all your body has to the clan. Do you understand?”

He messed with his fingers again, and Sooga couldn’t help but notice just how young he was. But a boy, in Sooga’s eyes. 

“I’m sorry. I know I said I wanted to join, and I’ve already sworn devotion to Kohga. But I just...I’m distracted.”

“Explain.”

The soldier hugged himself, clearly going into something uncomfortable.

“I...I dunno. I’m used to having a mom, and a dad, and my sister. I’m used to sitting down and having warm meals in my own bed, I miss playing with my friends. I miss my village, I miss the goats, the horses, even the cherry trees. I even missed being called by my own name, Alfo-”

“You do not speak your former name. You learn to look without a face, and to be silent, even when asking for help. You and your team must be in sync, and you could ruin it in your longing. Do you understand?”

He looked up at him, before nodding. Life in the yiga clan was not easy. He too, joined the clan, and felt the confusion. He too, yearned for his home way back when, and even now, he’d turn if he thought he heard someone speak his name. It was rough, especially at this young age. No one was to know of another member's past, aside from Sooga, but from what he gathered, his parents died, and his sister had gone missing. He needed resources, needed a place to stay as he searched for her. It was a noble dream, that much was certain. Sooga wanted to bark at him once more, before his heart seemed to recall what compassion was.

“Look. Perhaps you need independent training, until you grow comfortable with the other’s. I will train you myself.”

“Are you...serious? Really?”

The boy looked damn excited, but he stopped bouncing on his feet the second Sooga cleared his throat. This was going to take some work, it seemed, before this foot soldier could properly represent his clan. Still holding a chipper attitude however, he was sure to make the other aware of how important this offer meant to him.

“You will NOT regret this, Sooga! Not for one-”

He seemed to forget the door was closed, causing him to hit his face against the door, and swear under his breath. Sooga sighed. This was going to be a challenge, for certain.

-----------------------------------------------

“Good, good. Again.”

Sooga was surprised how effortless this suddenly seemed to be. The little one started their training with more rants of home, more longing for what was once his life. Sooga, instead of telling him to hush and focus, allowed him to rant. It improved his skills considerably. His feet danced across the floor, his dodge timing was perfect, and although Sooga blocked them, his attacks hit their marks every time. He even managed to dodge one of his attacks, which was rare on someone so low on the yiga clan ladder.

“Right!”

Armed with but a Vicious Sickle, the young one found himself standing toe to toe with Sooga, enough so, that when their weapons locked together, the boy didn’t immediately fall over from his massive weight. Course, Sooga eventually gained the under hand, shoving him, and forcing him to drop his weapon. He looked ready for backlash, cowering as he stood there, when Sooga nodded.

“Nicely done. You lasted far longer than most. Seems as though you just needed to clear your head, young one.”

He bounced a bit on his feet, picking up his weapon and spinning it in his hand, suddenly overflowing with confidence.

“Well I mean...I AM pretty strong when I put my mind to it. Never really got picked on during school. Pretty smart to, I’d sa-ow!”

Not paying attention, he nicked his finger with the blade. He dropped it again, putting his finger in his mouth. Sooga rolled his eyes, leaning down to pick it up, before putting it back in his hand.

“Another rule of the blade. Respect your weapon. It is meant to serve you, but it is useless without the same amount of care. It is a mutual respect. Do you understand?”

He nodded, taking the blade back from his hand, and tucking it back into his belt loop. The boy was young, dumb, and eager to prove himself to his elder. If that didn’t ring any bells. The boy seemed to be done with his finger, and he finally found his voice.

“So, what now? We gonna learn some of the poof stuff? I wanna teleport and stuff!”

“That takes displicine, and concentration. Two things you do not have yet. It’s also why you are not allowed on the field yet.”

“Which is not fair!”

He cried out, following Sooga as they made their way to the dining hall. Most of the clan was happy to survive on mainly bananas, but the boy looked none too interested.

“What’s the matter? You are not hungry?”

“No, I am. I just...I kinda missed the food back from home.”

Sooga scoffed. Figures. Sooga couldn’t blame the poor boy for dwelling so much in the past. Not everyone was like himself, longing to forget his old life.

“Let me guess. You want something like meat stuffed pumpkin.”

Sooga didn’t expect him to gasp, and nudge his arm, clearly excited.

“How did you know!? Can you read minds!? What number am I thinking of!?”

“No, it’s just predictable, given what you told me about your previous life. Bit of a ‘bumpkin’, as I’d put it.”

Sooga chuckled. Maybe it was the fact that he grew up with younger siblings, maybe it was his natural knack for being a caregiver. But regardless, Sooga found himself charmed by this little one, enough to at least not bark and tell him to eat what he was served. Oh, he was soft in the heart, just like Kohga said. Speaking of Kohga-

“Sooga, there you are! Been looking for you!”

The dining hall was abuzz from Master Kohga’s presence. Excitement that the young one hadn’t seemed to fully grasp, like some newbies. Before Kohga could continue, he pointed towards Sooga, as if accusing him of something.

“Did you know he could read minds?!”

Kohga cocked his head to the side, clearly confused.

“What? No he can’t. Love the guy, but he’s stupid.”

“Oh, can YOU read my mind then? What number am I thinking of?”

Kohga folded his arms over his chest, scoffing.

“Easy, 420.”

“....Is this yiga magic? I wanna learn that!!”

Kohga seemed to find him just as amusing, shaking his head.

“This one of the newbies, isn’t he? The one you said you wanted to train personally?”

“Yes, Master Kohga. While his mind races with frivolous things, he does in fact, have some skills. His reflexes are swift, as well as his feet, even amongst the foot soldiers.”

“Am I...skilled enough to get meat stuffed pumpkin?”

Kohga cocked his head to the side, and Sooga had to pull him into a bit of a side huddle.

“He misses his old home, Master Kohga. Not to mention, some variety in their diet COULD do some good in terms or morale.”

Kohga scoffed, arms folded.

“I like this kid, but you can’t sit there and tell me this kid is THAT special, Sooga. I’m not going all the way out there just so he can have special eats.”

“....Please?”

Kohga knew that look in his face. Sooga would NOT let this go, he could tell. He groaned, lightly shaking his head.

“Fine, just. Fine.”

The kid seemed to hear them, and whooped in celebration. Right before his excitement made someone fall over, and drop their bananas everywhere. Kohga sighed.

“I can’t believe I like this kid.”

“Neither can I, Master Kohga.”

They watched him scramble and try to pick everything up, before slipping on one of the peels, starting the mess all over again.

“We’re essentially adopting him, aren’t we?”

“Essentially, Master Kohga.”

“Oh well. Least I can call myself a dilf now.”

[bokuranofandom]

Bokura no Kiseki - chapter 97 quick summary

Date of release: 28th March 2020

Translation is yet to be done.

So this is probably the last chapter of volume 22... and oh boy, it still continue to amaze me. Now we caught up with English scans, it’s only chapter that is not yet available, te-he. We’re still on 6th June, Thursday, continuing Nishina’s interrogation and the magic test of the rest of the class members.

(well, spoilers ahead!)

Part 1: Minami and Nishina secret talk

So last chapter Nishina approached Minami and appealed to his inner Veronica to wiggle out of trouble. It’s still heavy raining, so the others don’t hear what they say, even if they are standing pretty close. Takao warned Nishina not to come closer, so she stands between them. Nishina just dismiss her saying that it’s not her place to act here, acting on her loyalty toward her master. He’s mocking her. Minami also feels provoked by that, and responds they don’t lack actors, so he sees no need to back him up... Nishina knows Minami’s weakness and goes straight ahead to exploit it. He informs Minami, whispering into his ear, that what he said back then, when Minami named himself Eugene, was the truth. The part about betrayers on Zerestria’s side... among servants. A spy working for an unknown party, pretending to work for the Church, but actually not Church’s pawn... and Nishina really doesn’t want to reveal his identity to this person. So he asks Minami to carry the rest of magic test, because there should be a person among servants who can use magic... and it will work for both of their advantage.

Part 2: Let’s continue the magic trial

Hasebe is calling out to them, having enough of standing in the rain, in suspension, watching them secretly talking. She asks Nishina to reveal his name, but Nishina just refuses and... calls upon Glen Schreiber (and Schreiber, not Alphard). Hiroki is surprised and not happy, because she wanted to announce at this meeting, that Glen is here, but she decided not to, because Glen’s reason for staying in the shadows is the same as Nishina’s and it would work out in his favor... but Nishina gives her no choice. So yes, she admits that Glen is here. And of course Nishina asks her then why he won’t come out... there’s no answer, but Nishina doesn’t care, as he uses it to explain it to the rest of class, that as they can see, there are few others who might not want to reveal their identities because they have their reasons, while adding cunningly, that he is actually jealous of those, who can come out in the open with no worries. It spurs Hasebe and others to prove their innocence, and Ootomo is continuing the trial. No one among servants can use magic... Minami thinks to himself that it lower the chances, but they can’t rule it out completely yet too. And here comes last person to check: Zeze. Ootomo is anxious because this magic test checks also some magic that prince Eugene could use... Minami also panics a little, hoping Zeze is not planing to do anything weird... in the end, Zeze could not use any magic. Does it mean the trial can be... cheated? The school bell rings for the end of break, so they head back to the classroom.

Part 3: On way to the classroom

Right before leaving the scene, of course Nishina must provoke Ootomo, mocking him that his mission is still protecting and overlooking over believers. Then we see Abe (silent and hesitant about learning that Watanabe is Ashley) and Nanaura... still in shock. He now clearly remembers stabbing Ashley... and regret it, of course. He can’t face (smiling at him) Watanabe, but at least he admits he feels reassured that Ashley is also there. Hiroki tries to put a little more show with Nanaura, yelling at him to reveal who Nishina is (in front of Nishina, of course). Nanaura thinks there’s still a danger that revealing Nishina’s identity will result in death, but he’s also aware that it’s not only a matter of time until that happens so... right before the class, Minami informs Nishina he’s going to discuss what he told him with a handful of aides. Nishina doesn’t seem to mind that.

Part 4: Minami and company

Minami talks about what Nishina told him with others: Ootomo, Teshimano, Moto (since when Moto is part of his group?), Hiroki and Takao. They of course suspect, that it might’ve been only garbage so Nishina could focus their attention elsewhere, just not on him. Takao seems puzzled... Nishina seemed frantic when he sought the princess’s help, but she can’t tell if this was only an act either. But as they wanted to check everyone anyway, so they decided to just go on with their plan... there’s Kikuchi and Enomoto left to check. And then, Moto remembers... Calvin’s death. He remembers hearing roars of invading Moswick forces. And being assaulted with magic by someone. Someone in servant robe, with Zerestria’s earring. He was shocked and hesitated for a split second and... that cost him his very life. That servant killed him with magic, while blowing an enormous hole in the castle wall. That’s how Calvin died and now Moto can prove Nishina’s words... there was a spy among servants.

Part 5: Nishina under attack

Late in the evening, Nishina is on his way back, when he’s suddenly attacked with magic. And it’s... Zeze. He throws back his hoodie and show his face. And Nishina looks like he want to flee, so Zeze is firing some magic again, aiming for his leg. He grabs him by his t-shirt and nonchalantly says he got tired of waiting this tedious farce. He mocks Nishina, that of course if he asks Minami for help, he won’t say no. He’s not wanting to give up on learning Nishina’s true identity. Nishina’s not backing of yet, so Zeze plays with him... so who am I, what do you think? Prince? Glen? Or servant spy? Then he gives him a clue, and quotes Lucas yelling at Carlo for not helping him out (oh so Eugene WAS there).  Zeze mocks him for toying too much with Ootomo-sensei for that lol. After that, he asks Nishina if he’s Lucas... he admits. At last page, Nishina realizes, that Zeze must’ve been there too, of course. And Zeze is putting “innocent” face and playing it off like... oops, seems like I gave out my identity too. With that kind of face.

The end of chapter.

This chapter was sponsored by hot badass Zeze. I was totally surprised he decided to act all on his own (I doubt he told about this to anyone, honestly). And he didn’t have to mock Nishina or push him so much... but he finds Lucas (and Nishina too) extremely irritating so he couldn’t help it. And he put himself in superior position for sure. A little payback for pushing Zeze around, when he was an innocent boy, and for almost killing his best buddy. Well, he deserved that and it’s hell satisfying to see that haha.

So Nishina talked out his way... and our attention switched to even greater enemy, I guess? There was no way Lucas was “just a bad guy”, and I totally can tell that Kumeta-sensei is doing perfect job into making him gray. He’s not innocent... but he done everything that was necessary to carry out his own mission huh. And now it seems that even Lucas was afraid of someone... 

Just who could be this spy? Judging from what we saw, maybe Cordelia (Enomoto’s past). The one who attacked Calvin looked like a girl. We know not much about Cordelia, aside from that she died before the activation of the pillar of light (Bella and Mimi saw her dead body). My guess is she was Evan’s spy, because she knew precisely when Moswick army attack took place, she was already on her way to find Ishmael’s spy and eliminate him. Or who knows, maybe Aldras’ spy? Or maybe there was more spies... Kikuchi is definitely VERY suspicious too. And that spy... who could it be, occupation-wise? A priest? A noble? That magic was powerful enough to smash experienced, strong knight as Calvin, and make a hole in the wall.

Remember how Ooki was messaging with Enomoto chapter ago? She promised she will tell her in anything happens... Now Ooki feels betrayed by a guy she likes. She’s conflicted and sad, so she will surely quickly tell everything to Enomoto. And if Enomoto is a spy, it’s exactly what Nishina didn’t want. So ultimately, Ooki will bring... a huge distaster on the guy she likes.  Who knows, maybe this time it will be Nishina who will be hunted, and Ootomo will decide to save him this time?

We also see that Zeze was fine on magic test. How? But given his example, we can be almost sure, one can cheat at that test, so it’s not reliable at all.

Why in the first place Zeze decided to approach Nishina? Without a doubt, after today, Zeze was sure he is Lucas. And two chapter ago, they had that conversation they NEED to remember about parts their forget... and only bishop Gale or Lucas knew them. Bishop is not possible, but hey, Lucas is there. And as Eugene, he probably remembers he wasn’t of much a threat to him, so he decided to approach him. After all, for long time, Lucas mission was to guard him, and it was Eugene who betrayed him. I hope we will hear their conversation in next chapter! 

Oh boy, one long-standing question is answered -- but many others still pop up. I love this manga.

[ice-connoisseur]

ten faves

Rules: name ten favorite characters from ten different things (tv, movies, books, etc.)

This came from @thegirlwholied nearly...3 weeks...ago now, but I am slow, and indecisive, and time basically has no meaning at the moment anyway, so. 

1.       Sally Lockhart (the Sally Lockhart quartet)

First name I wrote down.  I met Sally in my early teens and I’ve never quite given up on wanting to grow up to be her. I love each and every member of Garland and Lockhart a ridiculous amount (and my love of the found family trope can probably be traced back to their door), but Sally, with her grit and her stubbornness and her fierce indepenance, captured me in something special from that moment in the first paragraph of the first book when all I knew was her name and that she was about to kill a man. 

2.       Elizabeth Bennet (Pride and Prejudice)

I considered shying away from the stereotypical here, but that would just be lying to myself as well as anyone else.  I relate more to Jane, or Charlotte Lucas, or even Mr Darcy – at least in terms of social awkwardness, not finances, sadly – but, like him, I can’t remember the first time I fell in love with Lizzy Bennet, I was in the middle of it before I even knew I had begun. 

(Jennifer Ehle probably had something to do with it though.)

3.       Hermione Granger (Harry Potter)

Look, I was an introverted, bookish, rule-abiding adolescent, and Hermione was suddenly someone I could recognise myself in.  I wanted to be Ginny (and Sally, and Lizzy, and several others on this list); I already was Hermione, in a lot of ways, and she made that a bit more ok.

4.      Carrot Ironfoundersson (Discworld)

I wanted to put a Discworld character in here, and I’m a little bit sad at myself for not picking a woman – especially since this is inadvertently turning out to be a very female-heavy list.  I even started the process of trying to choose between Sybil Ramkin, Tiffany Aching, Adora Belle Dearheart, and Angua, to name but a few.

But the thing is, I made the fatel error of first trying to read the Discworld in publication order, and it took me years to venture any further than the first 50 pages of Colour of Magic.  Even in later books the Wizards just.  Aren’t my thing.

And then, at some point – and I’m a bit hazy on the when, to be honest – I picked up Guards Guards and spent the entire book blinking at Carrot, reading and re-reading; I kept wanting to turn to someone else and nudge and point, because is this guy for real?! And then, again, a page later, for completely different reasons and in completely different tones, is this guy for real AGAIN?!  Terry Pratchett’s books are richly populated with wonderfully rounded, flawed, individual characters, and at first glance Carrot is comparatively straightforward. I hope I never lose that quiet moment of glee I feel at realising that, of course, he really, really isn’t. 

5.       Titty Walker (Swallows and Amazons)

Consider Titty a bit of a catch-all for the tomboy girls who filled my childhood reading – George Kirrin, Maia Fielding, Kit Russell and the rest – but she’s the one I thought of first.   I was not an adventurous child - I am not an adventurous adult, for that matter – but these were the books that meant I could be.  I think Titty’s adventures always felt the most tangible, somehow, and the image of her tacking up the field home to read her father’s telegram cemented something in me at an impressionable age that I don’t think I’ve ever quite shaken off.

6.       Leslie Knope (Parks and Recreation)

Again, I love each and every character on this show, but Leslie Knope; annoying, overbearing, forthright Leslie Knope, who cares so damn much about everything that she makes everyone else care more too, who never once considers being anyone other than who she is, who makes mistakes and faces up to fixing them, who will always, always use a favour to help other people…Leslie Knope, folks.  I love her and I like her. 

7.       Rose Tyler (Doctor Who)

It’s a pretty close call between Rose and Donna Noble, to be honest, but Rose got there first.   Unapologetically, unashamedly working class Rose, from the council estate, with no A-levels and no prospects and no expectations that anyone will ever give a damn about her, who saves the world in so many different ways, who grows up and laughs and loves and changes but never in the fundamentals of who she is – brilliant, compassionate, brave.   Her life is fantastic because she marches through it punching literal holes in the universe to make it so. 

8.       Lyra Silvertongue (His Dark Materials)

Lyra, who loved her world of Oxford rooftops, and ran from it.  Lyra who loved Roger, and killed him.  Lyra who loved Pan, and left him.  Lyra who loved Will, and lost him.  Lyra who lies.  Lyra who left home and came back different, and that was only just the start of her growing up. I’ve been reading Lyra for 20 years and I read her a little bit different every time, but I never love her any less.

9.       Phil Coulson (Marvel Cinematic Universe)

I’m probably stretching things a bit here, because when I say I love Phil Coulson, I’m referring to Phil Coulson of the MCU up to and including 2012, and the subsequent fanon interpretations of him.  I tried Agents of Shield early on and it didn’t stick.  But I saw Avengers Assemble in the cinema with no prior Marvel knowledge (comic or film) and spent the next three days watching the rest of Phase One (hilariously, at the time, five films felt like a lot).  I was in my very early days on Tumblr when #Coulsonlives was a thing, and I still remember the absolute explosion of joy that was.  Every now and again (like right now, actually) I go through a phase of re-reading an unhealthy volume of Clint/Coulson fic – and I do love Clint, and I love Gamora, I love Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanoff and Pepper Potts - and it’s dry, snarky, utterly unflappable who Coulson hooks me every time. 

10.       Georgiana Lestrade (The Least of All Possible Mistakes)

Look, I have a lot of feelings about every person on this list and quite a few who aren’t, but if I had to pick the one who felt the most…real, I suppose…then Georgiana Lestrade is my easy answer.  She’s the person I would always want fighting my corner.  George has no false ideals, no delusions about either herself or her world; she is completely grounded in herself and her London – which is almost a character in its own right, one of my very favourite things about Pru’s writing.

Competent, practical, fiercely unphased George, who carries a taser and throws stationary at her underlings; who is gloriously, unashamedly pragmatic; nearing forty and glad of it; as honest and self-aware of her own nature as I think a person can be; and above all else who is damn good at her job.  She might give one hoot about what other people think of her, but she’s certainly not going to waste a second.  That she is surrounded by wild, dangerously intelligent men is almost incidental, but she is, and that is a part of her story – though far from the whole of it - and she takes no more shit from them, never doubts her own right or ability to stand beside them, than she does any other person. 

One of the saddest truths of my fandom life is that Pru will never finish the Regency spy AU of this AU, and I mourn this far more often than is healthy XD

***

This was fun and hard in equal measure, and there are so many more I could have listed - Jack Robinson, Violet Baudelaire, Brienne of Tarth, Leia Organa, Theo Hart, to name but a few - but I’m as happy with it as I’ll ever be.

Tagging @firesign23, @kiraziwrites, @angel-deux-writes and @ajoblotofjunk, and also anyone else who wants to give this a go, because I would love to read more of them. 

[light-of-valentia]

Black Eagles Boys + Sylvain Meeting and Greeting a Fan

hello anon!! sorry if this stinks, i had a draft going and tumblr, as usual, deleted it grrrrrr....anyways, i did my best to rework what i lost, and i hope this has as much charm as my original!! i will also use she/her pronouns and assume that the reader is female since you used she/her pronouns in your ask~

-admin belle

Headcanons for Ferdinand, Hubert, Caspar, Linhardt, and Sylvain reacting to a fan asking for a hug/hug headcanons!

Ferdinand von Aegir

When you ask him, he is absolutely ecstatic

He has a fan and they want attention from him???? He isn’t surprised at all, but is incredibly excited nonetheless

His eyes light up, but he quickly recomposes himself and greets you

“Oh! Why, hello madam! I am none other than the famous Ferdinand von Aegir, the oldest legitimate child of the prior Duke Aegir, and it is a pleasure to be your acquaintance.”

With this, he bows to you, folding one arm neatly over his chest, the other taking your palm in his as he places a soft kiss to the top of your hand

He immediately asks you if you have a spare moment to converse, and the subtly hopeful look he gives you makes you feel like “yes” is the only response

He talks with you before/during/after your hug, and he would talk to you all day if he could, but eventually someone pulls him aside and reminds him of something he has to attend to

Before you begin your conversation, though, he takes you in a full-body hug

But unless you’re done with hugs, he isn’t either

As you continue talking, he gives you a hug from behind, folding his hands over each other as they meet at your abdomen, his arms otherwise encircling you

If you’re too short for a normal hug or you just wish you could reach him better, he will offer to pick you up and hold you at his hip/waist, or hell, he isn’t too shy to hold you bridal-style!

His name is Ferdinand von Aegir, and treating women, commoner and noble alike, with the highest standard of respect and care is his game

He does not mind being seen being “personal” with you or any of his fans- he loves the attention, and he genuinely cares for his fans!

If you’re comfortable with it, he’s also game for cheek kisses!

Also, if he has an artist or anyone with a good drawing hand nearby, he will probably ask them to sketch out a few quick drawings of you guys hugging each other and kissing the other’s cheek

He requests that they do so in ink so that it can bleed through a sheet of paper and make two copies, one for each of you! If this is unable to happen, he gives the finished item to you for you to “remember him by”

When it’s time for you to separate, he asks you for your address and he gives you his so that you can be pen-pals!

Bonus: In his letters, he doesn’t really discuss himself or political affairs of any sort; rather, he talks briefly about how he feels that day, or he describes to you something that he saw earlier that was beautiful, comical, or noteworthy. Each letter is different from the last, and it’s easy to tell that he puts thought into each one! Sometimes, he encloses a few flower petals, a neat coin or small trinket, or some tea leaves

Hubert von Vestra

If he’s doing a meet-and-greet, it probably wasn’t his choice

Edelgard suggested that the two of them as well as a few other Black Eagles do one to “improve public relations and image”

When you approach him, he gives a weak smile, thinking to himself that “well, this was bound to happen, could I really expect to do this and never be approached?”

He quickly chases this out of his mind and greets you, giving a small bow; “Good day, miss. I am sure you are already aware of who I am, but might I ask you for your name?”

You tell him your name, and he shakes your hand, and this is about the extent of physical contact that you both have for a little while

It isn’t that Hubert is adverse to the idea of hugging someone; he’s just not very used to it, and it takes him a bit to warm up

You both chat for a little while, discussing a common interest you find you have or something more impersonal, and eventually something you say reminds him of something that happened with himself and Edelgard or Ferdinand when they were students back at the Academy

What this story is is up to you to decide! (A/n i know it’s cliche but I had too many ideas to narrow it down to one for this!)

After he opens up to you a bit more with that, you finally ask him for the hug, and he looks confused for a split second, but quickly goes “Ah, well why not.”

He gives you a hug from the side, and if you want something from the front, he either has to bend down or pick you up because he’s super tall and probably taller than you

When you go to depart and thank him, he gives you another short bow and gives you a smile, this one looking a bit more natural and relaxed than his previous ones

Caspar von Bergliez

When you first walk up to talk to him, his face is almost sparkling with awe

He knows that he’s a cool dude and he’s aware of how much he has done to get Fódlan where it is now, but a fan??? of HIM in specific???

that’s just beyond awesome to him

Before you even have to ask for a hug, he stretches his arms out and envelops you in a full-body hug, pulling back quickly once he realized that he forgot to ask first

“Oh, sorry! I got a little carried away there, heh... Well, hi! As you probably already know, I’m Caspar! What’s your name?”

You giggle a little bit at his sudden outburst of enthusiasm, caushing him to blush sheepishly before you tell him that you didn’t mind it

He gets over that little stumble he had there quickly and moves on to conversation with you

He asks you a LOT of questions

He’s never been approached by a fan before, nor had he ever really thought of it someday happening, and he already treasures you!!

You spend a while answering each other’s questions about the other and Caspar is beaming with enthusiasm the entire time

Note that he isn’t wearing his usual suit of armor, not that he was expecting an impromptu meet-and-greet, but because he just wants to look approachable to the public!

After a while of this enthusiastic conversation, you ask him  for another hug, and he gladly obliges

He hugs you a little bit tighter this time, knowing that you want it, and if you’re shorter than he is?? Not problem, he’ll just pick you up

If you’re ok with it, he’ll lift you up to sit on his shoulder(s), with your legs hugging his neck and sides

He absolutely cherishes this moment!! It gives him a less metaphorical feeling of being a protector of his people, and he loves watching you smile and laugh while you guys talk!

After he realizes how long he’s spent with you, he sets you down/lets you go, and tells you that he needs to go find Linhardt, since he promised him that he’d meet up with him

He does, though, offer to take you with him

“I don’t mind at all! I’m not in a rush, and I doubt Linhardt is either...though, he’s never really in a rush for anything except his bed.”

Linhardt von Hevring

You approach him and wave at him, and he gives you a confused look complete with a small head-tilt

He points at himself as if to ask you “Who, me?”

Once you nod to confirm that yes, it is him whose attention you are seeking, his expression softens to a small smile

He takes your hand and holds it up a bit, tilting his head toward the floor but still looking to your eyes

“Good day, milady. I am Linhardt von Hevring, crest scholar to-be. It is most wonderful to meet you, though I fail to see how I drew your interest among my...”flashier” colleagues.

 You have to explain to him that you’re a fan of his, and that you admire him and all that he did to contribute to the war and to bring Fódlan to where it is now

He’s a blushing mess by the end of it

Are his eyes...watering?

He gives you a light chuckle before adding, “For someone who never wished to be a part of that war to begin with, I guess I really did do something wonderful then...”

You give him a smile, and give him a small kiss to his cheek in an attempt to validate him

He feels so blessed

Like he’s only just met you but he just doesn’t understand what he did that was so great to deserve a FAN

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, miss, but I already appreciate you so much; thank you.”

When you ask him for a hug, he is happy to comply

He first gives you a long full-body hug, hugging you tightly but not enough to be uncomfortable

You feel his hands behind you gripping your shirt a little bit

He’s just way too happy and surprised

After you both pull back from that one, he leans in again and tilts his head a little bit, silently asking if another hug is ok, and you nod/giggle as a “yes”

This time, he slips his arms around your waist and hugs you pressing his face slightly into your neck, and you can sort of feel his breath along the hairs at the back of your neck

To complete this hug, you sling your arms around his neck, reciprocating where he placed his head

He smells like a mix of dewdrops on grass and lavender

Right before he pulls back, you feel him grumble and whisper into your ear/shoulder- “you’re cute”

As you’re pulling back from the hug, Caspar approaches the both of you

“Wow, Linhardt. You’re certainly in a better mood than usual.”

Linhardt lets his friend’s comment slide off of him as he rolls his eyes and reaches for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze

“Caspar and I were about to pay a visit to the marketplace- would you care to join us?”

Sylvain Jose Gautier

You don’t approach him. Actually, he approaches you.

You were going to approach him either way, so he’s just making the task easier on your end ;)

“Well,” he began to greet you, relaxing his arms behind his head and swaying his body a bit, “what have we here? Pardon me for intruding on such a breathtaking young woman as yourself, but my name is Sylvain. Pleasure to meet you.”

He takes your hand and presses a kiss on top of it, winking at you

You smile at this, and he gives you a flashy grin in return

His flirtatious attitude is secret to none, and you knew what you were getting into before you even waved hello

 You begin to explain that you were actually going to approach him before he beat you to it

He almost laughs at this, and places a hand on your shoulder/hip

“Why on earth would you ever need to approach someone for their attention? At least from how I’ve experienced things, you draw eyes from anyone who can see you.”

You both chat with each other a bit, you further explaining to him how you are a fan of his and that you admire him and his heroic deeds

He gives you an almost quizzical look, before laughing and shaking his hand a bit

“Well, call me flattered! To be honest, most women only ever approach me to try and get a date with me for my noble status, so thank you for your kind words milady! They mean a lot to me.”

You smile back at him, and ask him for a hug

In response, he throws his whole body a bit, acting shocked

“Woah there, frisky! No need to get hasty with things!”

He winks at you again

Your eyebrows raise in surprise before he dismisses his prior reaction as a joke, and asks you if it’s ok for him to hug you

He may be a flirt, but he’s a flirt with standards- even a hug with a girl in his eyes requires consent

After you approve, he picks you up and hugs you

It’s kind of a sloppy hug, but a great one at that

The way he hugs you is energetic and playful, and after he sets you down, you get up on your tip-toes and throw your arms around his neck for another hug, and he hugs you around the waist to reciprocate

Once you both release from the hug, Sylvain latches his arm in yours

“You know, now that that stupid war is over I have a lot more free time. Are you free this evening, at about...right now?”

Bonus: If you accept his offer for the date, he gives you a piggyback ride the entire way there, and if you’re ok with heights, he seats you on his shoulders while you talk on your way to wherever you want to go

bonus that nobody asked for: how likely each of them are to develop a (lasting) platonic or romantic relationship with you after these interactions

 on a scale of 1 being not likely to 5 being most likely

Ferdinand: 3/5

Hubert: 2/5

Caspar: 4/5

Linhardt: 5/5

Sylvain: 4/5

AAA thank you anon once again for this request!!! it was really fun to write, and you have lowkey turned me on to writing Linhardt...he is so much fun to write!!!

also sorry i’m bad at writing Hubert

~our askbox is still, as always, open to requests, prompts, and ideas- they don’t need to be like this one, either! we/i will write for the girls, too!~

[marril96]

The Distance Between Us

Chapter 15: In Sickness and in Health

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Rowena is a bit under the weather.

Editor: @wonderifshelikesroses

"Whatever you did to the wicked bitch, it worked," Crowley said, tone rich with approval. Proud to the bone. "Keep doing it."

No good morning.

No hello.

Not even a sarcastic remark.

If you didn't love him, you would have shoved him.

"Good morning to you, too," you said, earning you a smug smirk. Jackass. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Sam threw his signature bitchface at Crowley and rolled his eyes. Dean seemed amused, and Castiel looked out of place as usual. As if he'd suddenly found himself surrounded by strangers and was too awkward to get away. Classic him. Meg, clutching his arm to keep warm, was smirking, intrigued by whatever drama (and it most certainly was drama. With Crowley's uninhibited approach, it could hardly be anything else) was happening.

Well, shit.

What had you walked into now?

"Rowena's sick," Sam said.

"Oh." You forced your face to remain neutral. Shoved down the concern that nibbled at you like an army of fire ants crawling over your insides. "I can't take the credit, but I'm sure she'll be fine."

She was Rowena MacLeod.

She survived.

"She picked up some nasty ailment while on your little trip to the cinema ," Crowley said with disturbing joy. "My sincerest gratitude. Granted, it's annoying to listen to her whine at home, but at least I don't have to look at her at school. And she got knocked down a peg. That's always a pleasure."

"I'm so glad I could help," you said dryly.

It wasn't like you intended for her to get sick.

If anything, the purpose of going to the movies was to have fun. To show her there was more to movies than black and white classics.

Wait…

How did Crowley know where you went? Had someone from school seen you and spread the rumor? Or had Rowena told him in a rare moment of sibling bonding?

"You went to the movies with her?" Dean said in the tone that hoped the answer would be negative.

You weren't at all sorry to disappoint. "I did."

"Seriously?"

"Uh-huh."

What did he want you to say? That it wasn't true? That he'd dreamed it?

You were with Rowena Saturday evening. Watching a horror movie. Holding hands.

Your heart swelled up with warmth at the memory. Your hand still tingled where hers held it. Where her tiny fingers squeezed with impeccable strength.

"So, what, she's your friend now?" Dean said, accusation clear in his tone.

Your hands balled into fists at your sides, anger flaring through you like lava in your blood. Why did he care? Why did any of them care? Who you hung out with was none of his business.

"Why do you care?" you snapped.

"Because she's Rowena?" he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You know, bitch, bully, dating the guy who grabbed your ass."

"I'm well aware of who she is, thank you very much," you retorted. "That still doesn't make it any of your business."

"I'm just trying to look out for you."

Noble, but no less annoying.

It was Rowena.

Yes, she hung out with bad people. And yes, she dated a douchebag. But you could handle her. Regardless of the people she was surrounded with, she was harmless.

"I can look out for myself."

Dean sighed. "Look, I'm just saying she's not the best company."

"I can make that decision for myself," you said. "Besides, we aren't even friends. We just hang out sometimes. She's my tutor."

He cocked up an eyebrow. "She tutoring you at the movies?"

"For the last time, none of your business."

He raised his hands up in a placating motion. "Whatever, dude. Just be careful."

You smiled sweetly. Too sweetly. Condescendingly. "I'm always careful."

"She got you good," Crowley commented.

"It's none of your business, either," you told him.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Duly noted," you said sardonically.

"I, for one, am glad you guys are hanging out," Sam said warmly.

"Of course you are," Dean commented.

You ignored him, flashing his brother (who was giving him his signature bitchface) a smile. "Thank you. It's nice to take a break from studying from time to time."

"Right," Sam said, nodding, a conspicuous smile on his mouth. "From studying."

Was that disbelief in his tone? A touch of teasing?

No way.

You and Rowena were just friends.

Not even that.

Whatever Sam was implying (or you thought he was implying) would never come to be.

*****

Ms. Hanscum was going on and on about today's lesson, reminding you with each word why Math was your least favorite subject.

You yawned, exhausted, longing for the warmth of your bed. God, you hated Mondays.

You especially hated Math on Mondays.

As if it wasn't enough that you'd gone to bed late and slept badly and that your friends had all but spat on your budding friendship with a mean girl, you had to listen to numbers and formulas that you didn't understand and Rowena wasn't there to flash you that smile that wasn't as smug as it'd initially looked and give you a look that promised that later on, once she was done with you, you would understand everything. Or at least enough for a D.

You missed her.

You hated yourself for it, but, god, you missed having her in this class.

It was silly; you were well aware of that. It was just one day — one class — without her. She would be back in no time.

You'd spent so much time wishing she would go away and now that it finally came true, you were miserable.

Life was full of irony.

Ten minutes before the end of class, Ms. Hanscum started rambling about the midterm. As if a wave of ice-cold water had suddenly washed over you, you froze, chills making their way down your spine as you watched the white chalk as it scrawled over the board.

There it was — the date of the midterm.

Two weeks from now.

Two measly, lowly weeks.

Shit, shit, shit.

There was no way you could prepare for that. No way you could learn all the lessons, even with Rowena's help.

You were screwed.

When the bell rung, you quickly gathered your things and rushed out. You needed to be away from this class. Away from numbers and dates and midterms. Away from Ms. Hanscum.

Unfortunately, she had other plans.

"Y/N?" she said in her sweet, friendly voice you found yourself resenting. How dare she be so nice after announcing such a difficult exam? "Could you stay a little bit, please?"

You stopped in your tracks. Sighed. Willed yourself to push the turmoil down. "Of course, Ms. Hanscum."

It wasn't like you could say no.

She waited for the last student to leave before saying, "As I'm sure you noticed, your new friend is sick today."

"She's not my friend," you said, more out of habit than actual denial. She was your friend. Or was on her way to becoming it.

"Right," Ms. Hanscum said, not really buying it. Or not caring about the correct terminology. "I was wondering if you'd be willing to take her homework over to her? With the midterm coming, I don't want her to miss anything."

"I, uh, sure," you instantly said. No thinking it through. Instinct taking over.

You wanted to see Rowena. Wanted to see how she was doing. Bringing her homework over would be the perfect excuse.

As an added bonus, maybe she would infect you and you could miss the midterm.

Win-win on both ends.

"Wonderful!" Ms. Hanscum beamed. She handed you two folded up sheets of paper, smile never leaving her mouth. How could she always be so cheery? While teaching Math, no less. Maybe she was an alien. "Tell her I hope she gets better soon!"

"I will," you said with a nod.

You would be wishing the same thing.

*****

The last person you expected to greet you at the door of the MacLeods' house was a surprisingly well groomed old man with snow-white hair and an impressive beard.

He looked like Santa Claus who'd lost a couple pounds and replaced his red suit with a black tuxedo.

You eyed him, surprised. Crowley hadn't mentioned having any visitors this morning at school.

But then, he was Crowley. He spent more time at bars than at home.

"Hello, young lady," the man said politely. It was the kind of politeness that was learned, perfected over years. Professional. Somehow, it put you at ease.

"Um, hi. I'm here to see Rowena."

You clutched your bag to you in emphasis. And also because it was cold. Layers of clothes and boots weren't a huge help in this weather.

Winter sucked.

"Of course! Come on in."

He opened the door and stepped aside to let you in, then closed it gently but firmly behind you.

"I must warn you, young miss is sick," he said. "Seems to be the flu. This year's got it bad."

Ouch.

Lucky for you, you got your shot on time.

"I heard," you said sympathetically. "I won't be long. I'm just here to give her today's Math homework."

"That's very kind of you," the man said. "Are you the one she tutors? Her mother mentioned a girl who often comes around for lessons."

"That'd be me."

You smiled awkwardly and started following after him as he led you up to Rowena's room.

"How rude of me. I haven't introduced myself." He stuck out a hand, a kind smile on his mouth. "I'm Guthrie. The nanny."

Nice.

You'd never seen a nanny such as him.

You shook his hand. "I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

He gently knocked on Rowena's door.

"What?" came her instant response. Annoyed. Scornful. So Rowena.

You had to smile. It felt good to hear her voice.

"You have a visitor," Guthrie told her.

She sighed, purposely loudly. "Send her in."

He opened the door and motioned for you to do as told. Rowena was on her bed, sitting cross-legged, clad in cute red pajamas and woolen socks, and wrapped in a fluffy blanket. Her laptop was open in front of her, the screen bright as the light overhead. She was paler than usual. All color was gone from her face, leaving her skin ashen, white as bone. Her hair was messy, resembling a bird's nest.

It was strange to see her like this. Rid of her glamour. No makeup to hide her features. No shiny clothes to cling to her lithe body.

Just a girl like any other.

And she let you, of all people, in to see it.

It felt like a privilege. Like you'd just been granted a priceless gift.

"Hello, sick girl," you said teasingly.

She allowed a smile to graze her dry mouth. "You're on thin ice, lass."

You put your hands up defensively. "Hey, you're the one who let me in."

"I'm starting to regret it."

You chuckled. She followed suit.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"Who else would be here at this ungodly hour?"

"It's three PM," you pointed out. Your designated studying time.

She smirked. "My point exactly."

"Do you need anything, Rowena?" Guthrie asked in the soft, gentle tone of a father concerned for his child's wellbeing.

"I'm fine," she said, exasperated.

He nodded. "I will leave you girls to it, then."

With a small bow, he closed the door behind him and stalked downstairs, his footsteps echoing in the hall.

You raised an eyebrow. "Grandpa nanny?"

"Mother calls him when Fergus and I aren't home to take care of Gavin," Rowena explained. She rolled her eyes. "And me, apparently. I told her I'm perfectly fine, but apparently being sick makes me unable to take care of my brother. Like I'm a bloody invalid."

"Maybe she's right," you said, shrugging.

She glared at you. "I'm fine."

"You're sick. And she's your mom. She worries."

"She's overbearing, is what she is."

Agree to disagree.

"Why are you doing here?" she asked. "You do know I have the flu, right?"

"You look it," you teased, nodding. She narrowed her eyes, annoyed. You laughed. "I'm here on business. Ms. Hanscum sent me to deliver your homework."

"Of course she did."

You handed her the papers. She looked them over, curious.

"I take it you won't have trouble with it," you said.

"Och, darling, you know I'm a genius."

Your heart fluttered at the pet name. "Yeah, you're Einstein."

She grinned. "Is that all?"

If only.

"There's gonna be a midterm before winter break."

The words tasted foul in your mouth. Bitter. Your stomach turned.

Rowena nodded. "What do you say we start preparing for it this Saturday? I suppose my ailment will pass by then."

"Sure." You turned to her, fear straining your face. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you asked, "You think there's enough time?"

She frowned, confused. "For what?"

"For me to, you know, get everything."

"Och, aye! Don't you worry, dear. By the time the midterm comes, you will be a Maths expert. Second only to me, of course."

You had to give a small chuckle. She knew how to lighten the mood. "You're so humble." She shrugged. Your face fell. "Really, though, I'm scared."

It took a lot of courage to say it, but once it was out of your system, you were relieved. It was out in the open now. No more just your burden to bear.

Rowena's expression softened, sympathy spilling over her face. "Don't worry," she said softly. Soothingly. "You will pass this exam."

It was easy for her to say. She was a genius. One of the best students in the school. Everything came easy to her.

She had no idea what it was like to turn over in bed all night for days on end as thoughts of failure chased your dreams away.

"What if I don't?"

"You will," Rowena said decisively. She reached for your hand and squeezed it. The touch was gentle, comforting. Her skin warm on yours, sending waves of excitement, elation, through you and putting you at ease all at once. "I promise."

A new hope blossomed within you.

If she said it, then so it would be.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @gaysnakess @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @tasyahilker @a-queen-and-her-throne

[izzyovercoffee]

Prompt number: 02. “Just follow me, I know the area.” Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: T Warnings/Tags: not that I’m aware, ask to tag Summary: Captain Janin Sovris has not set foot within Val Royeaux’s walls in a very, very long time. Since before she was exiled from Orlais, in fact. Now that she’s there, she intends to visit someone she has not seen in just as long. Notes: Janin was exiled from Orlais, instead of executed. At the time, it’d been seen as the machinations of the grand game and how it extended beyond Orlais and into the Tevinter Imperium. Though it was a well kept secret where Janin’s roots actually lead, it turns out that exact rumor wasn’t that far off from reality.

##. perhaps in him she saw the prince Janin could not save

  The affectations of full-face masks made Janin’s travels back within Orlesian boundaries easier than she’d ever imagined.

After all, though she had been well and totally barred from re-entering the country, with the aid of a mask, and the accent practiced through memory, of the Inquisitor’s traveling entourage she faced the least scrutiny.

Amusing, if concerning. Surely the nobles’ security, their bards and their spies, could not have simply missed a most-hated criminal whose evasion of the gallows still stung white-hot and sore for even the most socially removed noble of the richest circles. 

And yet there she was. Standing upon a cobblestone road of Val Royeaux, looking up into the perfectly sculpted marble of government buildings, with guards at every corner standing stock still and immovable by even the harshest winds. 

A warm hand found hers, and she looked into the young gaze of the youngest Inquisitor---his eyes wide and bright, his expression not obscured by any hideous mask nor social construction that would have otherwise taught him that emotions were a burden and a weakness to separate himself from.

No. He held the innocence of someone his age, even in spite of the power that burned in his palm and scarred its way up his arm. 

“You look sad,” he said. 

She didn’t know how, really, considering she wore body armor that covered her head-to-toe, and a mask appropriate to the Orlesian tastes of the day. She could thank the Spymaster for that assistance, though Janin still wasn’t quite sure where they stood in regards to one another. It was as much a favor as it was a precaution.

Perhaps Leliana was also to thank for word not getting out about her slips into and out or Orlais. 

“I am,” Janin said, and squeezed his hand gently in hers. “It has been a long, long time since I have come here.” 

Though she did not turn her head, she shifted her gaze so she could hesitate a gaze in the direction of the Alienage. It looked, even from that distance, as dangerous and crowded as it always had. 

Despite the Empress’ repeated attempts to fulfill an eon’s promise of genocide, her people---the city elves---continued to persist in their open air prison. 

Janin turned, this time, towards the rest of their entourage---Madame de Fer, Seeker Pentaghast, Inquisitor Trevelyan---and saw them quite occupied with the local nobility.

There, she sensed a rare opportunity that, perhaps, would not come to her again. 

“Would you like to meet someone dangerous?” Janin asked. 

The youngest Inquisitor, also a Trevelyan though magic ran in his veins long before the sky opened up and burned into his palm, looked up at her with an indiscernible expression. He squeezed her hand, mouth narrow as if he steeled himself for something quite serious, and nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll protect you.”

An ache from a wound never-healed, old and terrible, tore something deep within her heart. She smiled, despite herself. 

“No need, my Inquisitor,” she said. “They are no danger to you. But, we must move quickly, and quietly---it is important we are not seen.” 

“Okay,” he said, and with his free hand pulled his hood up over his head of dark curls. 

She gently released his hand. “Follow me---I know this place.”

He nodded again, and much like they had practiced---much like he had taken, easily, the teachings of Leliana when she guided him into how to get lost in a crowd---he disappeared in the rush of people as the noon bells rang out across the square.

And Janin moved to, easily, do the same. 

  *

  Val Royeaux’s Alienage smelled terrible---of char, from a fire never quite fully put out, and the burdensome scent of suffering. It was something that, often, confused the guards outside---especially so when the Templars came looking to share their violence with the innocent and unarmed.

From what the Spymaster had told her, in what Janin had thought at the time as a simple conversation, she knew that someone in the Alienage still managed the death, and the violence, in the brutally pragmatic way only someone who cared to keep the softest safe would ever be.

And yet, navigating the narrow, crowded, maze-like corridors of the disorganized shanty town that housed ten times more than any safe number should populate the area…

It was enough to both raise Janin’s hackles as it was to unearth an old, bitter calm she’d thought she’d done well away with. 

The city elves paid her no mind---even despite the armor, and the mask, that should have acted as a warning and a threat in presence alone. 

Behind her, the young inquisitor followed with steps so soft she had to turn every so often to be sure he still followed. 

“Who are we going to see?” he asked on her third turn, and slipped his hand in hers once more. 

“The woman who keeps the elves as safe as she can,” Janin said, softly---and yet, the group of elves that gathered in clusters around the end of the corridor still shifted as if they heard her.

No one barred their way, however---and so Janin lead the young Inquisitor through narrow doors, and yet another winding corridor, to a thick and elegantly carved wooden door. A tree, expressed in the brutal style of the Tevinter Imperium, stood out from within the polished oak before them.

Janin did not knock---only waited. After a moment, the heavy thud of locks pulled free, and the door slowly opened on whining hinges. 

An older woman, who looked much like Janin save for long, pointed ears, and an ugly set of scars that carved upwards the right side of her face, peered out of the opening and over them. 

A hush fell over the crowd that had watched them from the shadows navigate the Alienage, and Janin simply waited.

“Hm,” the older woman said, regal in posture and voice even as her curious eyes fell on the boy. “I did not think I would be hosting a prince today.”

“I am not a prince,” the youngest Inquisitor said.

“Perhaps not to the fools outside those walls,” the woman said, sharply and bleeding a bitter anger that had nothing to do with them at all. And yet, Janin still squeezed his hand, and felt pride in her heart as he stood taller, tilting his chin up as if he were not rightfully afraid of her. 

“Captain Sovris said you were dangerous,” he said. “Did she lie?” 

“My daughter only lies to liars, my dear,” the older woman said, and fixed her sharp eyes on Janin’s mask. “But much can change in ten years. Do you lie to the undeserving now?” 

Janin lifted her free hand to her face, and removed the elegantly carved mask from her head. Her braided hair fell down from where it held bunched in place, and over her shoulder.

“I missed you too, maman.”

At her side, the youngest inquisitor gasped softly.

The bitter woman’s face softened, and she sighed as she opened the door wider. With a deep bow at her waist, she swept her arm open. 

“Please,” she said, “Come in. It has been too long.”

“So it has,” Janin said as the Inquisitor moved first, entering with a swiftness that nearly pulled Janin’s arm out of her socket as he also dragged her inside with excitement. 

Janin nearly laughed, though grief choked her throat and blurred her eyes. “So it has.”

[pocket-luv101]

The Winter Sky || LawLicht Fanfic

Fandom: Servamp Pairings: LawLicht Characters: Hyde, Licht, Mahiru

Prequel to “The Forest of Ash” Summary: One day, Licht discovers an injured man in the snow and rescues him. The man is actually the God of the Sky. Hyde pretends to be a human and spend time with Licht.

Hyde tried to apply pressure onto the gash in his shoulder but it was difficult. He felt so weak that he could barely stand, let alone treat his wound. He would look over his shoulder occasionally to see if Tsubaki was still chasing him. Tsubaki and his followers had attacked him earlier. With the blinding blizzard, it was difficult to defend himself against so many people. He was able to escape though.

He cursed when his legs finally gave out and he fell into the snow. Hyde needed to rest but he knew that it was dangerous to do so. Tsubaki was likely close behind him. His hands tightened in the snow and his mind raced. He tried to think of what he could do to save himself but it seemed impossible. He didn’t have enough power to summon his animal servants for help.

Suddenly, an angel appeared before him.

The man’s white cloak billowed in the wind and they resembled dove wings. His dark hair stood out against the snow surrounding them. While his lips moved, Hyde couldn’t hear what he said. He tore off a strip of his cloak and pressed it against Hyde’s shoulder. Then he tried to help him stand but Hyde pushed his hands away. “The God of War is right behind me. Run or else you’ll end up worse than me.”

“An Olympian did this to you?” Licht’s brows furrowed. He was walking home when he spotted blood staining the snow. He rushed to help the man. His determination only grew after he saw the condition he was in and learned why he was hurt. He wrapped the man’s arm around his shoulders and pulled him to his feet. “My home isn’t far from here. I’ll shelter you there.”

“We can’t see two feet in front of us! Tsubaki will find us soon so just run away on your own. I’ll be fine.” Hyde tried to reassure him. Either the man didn’t hear him or ignored him because he dragged his heavy body forward. His strength was beyond a normal human’s and Hyde was too weak to fight him. He decided to save his energy to fight Tsubaki if he found them.

Licht closed his eyes and listened for the song of chimes. He hanged bells in front of his house so he could always find his way home. Its song was soft and the hallowing wind almost drowned it out. But his connection to music pulled him towards it. He was also distinctly aware of the footsteps chasing him and he remembered the man telling him that the God of War was after them.

Finally, they reached his home and Licht struggled to open his door with a heavy weight on his shoulder. He shoved his door open and eased the man to the ground inside.  Hyde wondered why he didn’t have a fire in the cold house but he couldn’t find his voice to ask him. After he hastily closed the door behind him, Licht ran to his mother’s harp.

Licht ran his fingers over the strings and a soft light settled over the house. There were jars of fireflies around the room and they brightened in response to his song. Hyde was spell bounded by his talent. Once he finished playing, Licht stood. He took his blanket from his bed and placed it over Hyde. “We should be safe here. I placed a barrier around my house with that song.”

“Barrier?” Hyde was able to catch his breath and speak with a little difficulty. He was an Olympian so he healed quickly. He looked around the room and the first thing he noticed was the wide array of instruments around the room. The house was a small, one room hut with barely enough room for two people yet Licht filled it with instruments.

Hyde stood up with some difficulty and walked to the fire pit. Most would have a pile of lumber but there was nothing he could use to sustain a flame. He tried to rub warmth into his arm. “It’s freezing in here. We should get a fire going. I don’t see anything we can use for kindling though. Why do you have so many expensive instruments here but nothing else?”

“My father was the God of Music.” He told him and Hyde’s eyes shot to him. He never met the God of Music but he was well known. Years ago, the god had fallen in love with a human and started a family with her. A relationship between a god and human wasn’t uncommon but his father gave up his godhood to be with her. For that, the gods of Olympus began to shun the former God of Music.

“You’re as rebellious as your father. The God of War was chasing me but you still rescued me. What if he was chasing me because he wanted to punish me for something?” Hyde pointed out.

“As if the Gods has a good reason for anything they do. They’re selfish and cruel. I would love an opportunity to fight one of them and kill them.” Licht handed him dry clothes. “Get out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold. I didn’t save you for you to die in my home. You can borrow these clothes and I have a lot of blankets for warmth.”

Hyde guessed that pride was the reason Licht refused to pray for fire. After seeing the anger and bitterness in his blue eyes, Hyde also knew that it was best not to tell him who he truly was. It was a little ironic that the demigod had saved the thing he hated the most: an Olympian. “So, you’re a demigod? I thought that it was strange how strong you were but it makes sense now.”

“I’m not related to those bastards in Olympus. My father and I are something far more powerful than gods.” Licht boasted and Hyde was intrigued by his words. He lifted his arms over his head and declared. “I am an angel.”

“… An angel?” Hyde almost burst into laughter but he was able to hold himself back. Angels were a fairy tale that mothers would tell children. Yet Licht appeared so serious that he must’ve believed in them. He chuckled as he peeled off his wet clothes. “I thought you had wings the first time I saw you. I should’ve known you were an angel.”

“Are you an angel as well?” Most people would make fun of him whenever he told them he was an angel so he was excited to meet someone who accepted that fact so quickly. He took a towel and draped it over his blonde hair. The smile Licht had almost convinced Hyde that he was a pure angel.

“I’m not an angel, just a normal human. My name’s Hyde.” He lied and gave him a false name. In reality, he was the Fifth Olympian: Lawless, God of the Sky.

“Don’t touch that!” Licht screamed when Hyde toyed with his lyre. He took back the lyre and hanged it on the wall. He was debating if he should’ve agreed to let the man stay in his home. Hyde’s wounds seemed to have healed already but he insisted that he needed to rest more. “How many times do I need to tell you that only angels may touch these instruments?”

“Hey, I’m close enough to one.” Hyde plucked a string but the note was rough at best. He knew how to play but he couldn’t compare to the natural talent of the God of Music. Then again, Licht was a demigod so he knew that his angelic song was all his own rather than something he inherited from his father. He listened to him play throughout the night and no one could deny he was talented.

Aside from his song, Licht had the foolish stubbornness of a human and the powers of a god, which was an interesting combination to him. Hyde was curious about the man that saved him and he wanted to know more about him. It was obvious that Licht hated the gods so he continued to pretend to be a human. He sat at the table and watched Licht polish a horn.

Licht took a lute and pulled the strap over his shoulder. He lightly nudged Hyde’s shoulder and gestured for him to follow him. “I need to go into town to get more food and you’re coming with me. I’m not going to leave you here alone with my fragile instruments. Your wounds stopped bleeding and you should be strong enough to walk. Take that basket with you too.”

“Your wish is my command, Lichtan.” Hyde grabbed the straw basket next to the door and walked after Licht. It wasn’t often that he could spend time among humans. He knew the other gods of Olympus would laugh if they saw an Olympian following the orders of a demigod. With the basket, he followed Licht to the back of the house and the small garden he had there.

He took the basket from Hyde and then he slipped on his gloves. Licht knelt in the snow and brushed aside the snow so he could work the dirt. Even with Tsubaki’s cold winter, he was able to grow certain vegetables like cabbages and carrots. He loosened the dirt and checked to see if the carrots were ready to harvest. He pulled one out and placed it in the basket.

“The soil still looks a little stiff. You’ll be able to grow more vegetables if you pray to the God of Harvest, World End.” Hyde suggested and he clicked his tongue in answer. He remembered that he refused to pray for fire so it was likely he wouldn’t ask the gods for anything else. “If you can’t use fire, how do you cook? You’re not a bunny so you can’t survive on carrots.”

“I trade and sell the vegetables I grow in my garden for bread and preservatives. My family learned how to survive without the gods. It’s been hard but I’m a strong angel.” Pride hardened his voice and Hyde had to admire his tenacity. He grabbed the leafy grass to help him pull carrots. It gave way easier than he thought it would and Hyde fell backwards. Licht burst into laughter at the sight.

“Stupid Hyde, that’s just tall grass. These are the carrots.” Licht showed him the differences and pulled out a carrot. He lightly hit him with the vegetable before he threw it into the basket. Hyde went to help him again and he noticed that he was quite strong, able to pull out the carrots from the frozen ground easily. “Most humans knows the difference between grass and carrots.”

Hyde tried to think of a lie quickly. “This is my first time harvesting. I might not look like it but I’m a wealthy noble. Usually, my servants will grow and make my food. Carrots looks the same as grass when it’s in the ground.”

“I’ve never met a noble before.” Licht stood up after his basket was full. “But you should learn how to do things for yourself.”

He was glad that Licht believed his lie. Despite that fact, Licht didn’t ask for money or anything else. He saved his life and housed him even though he didn’t have much himself. Hyde knew that someone like Licht was rare. He jumped to his feet and took the basket. “I’ll carry this for you. A spoiled noble like me can do this much at least.”

“Do you want to check this out, Lichtan?” Hyde skidded over the frozen pond. They were walking back from the town and the pond caught his attention. He thought it would be fun to ice skate despite the fact that he didn’t have ice skates. He stood at the edge of the ice and held out his hand to him. “Will you dance on the ice with me?”

“You’re going to break your neck, Stupid Hyde.” He warned. The ice was thin yet Hyde’s weight didn’t break the ice. Licht hesitantly placed his hand in Hyde’s and stepped onto the ice. His feet slipped slightly but Hyde helped him regained his balance. With a gentle tug, Hyde led him further into the pond. Gliding over the ice felt different from when he would usually ice skate.

It almost felt like there was a constant wind beneath his feet, keeping him from touching the ice.

“I’ve watched people ice skate but I’ve been so busy that I haven’t been able to have fun like this. Especially after Tsubaki started this blasted winter. I have to clear one mess after the other.” Hyde groaned and looked up at the sky. Licht followed his gaze but he couldn’t find anything that would catch his attention.

“Do you hire people to shovel snow?” He asked but Hyde’s answer was vague at best. They had been living together for a week. However, the man he saved was still a mystery to him. He claimed to be a nobleman but he didn’t tell him much more. Licht didn’t sense any evil in him so he let him stay. “Some days, the sky is clear enough for the sun to melt the snow. I like days like that.”

The moment he said the words, a warm breeze cleared the clouds above them. Licht looked up and he could feel the sun on his face again. His attention was pulled away from the sky when Hyde hummed a familiar melody. They skated around the pond in time to the song. Hyde turned him in a circle and made Licht dizzy. He also made him laugh the entire time.

Licht let go of his hands to fix his chlamys that came loose while they were skating. He stepped on the wrong spot and the thin ice cracked beneath them. He stiffened and his eyes shot to Hyde. They were in the middle of the pond he knew moving would make the ice break further. He bit his lip and tried to think of how to move safely to land.

“Don’t move.” Licht ordered. “My flute is in my bag. I can make the ice stronger if I play it— Damn.”

He took the bag off his shoulder but shifting that weight shattered the ice. One of his feet fell through the ice but Hyde saved him from submerging completely. He wrapped his arms around his neck and clung to him to keep himself from falling into the water. The frigid cold bit into his leg even after he was able to pull his feet out of the water. “Can you reach my bag and grab my flute?”

Hyde held him tighter against him and felt him shivering. He could easily reach it if he used his powers to fly but then Licht would discover that he was a god. A cough shook Licht and Hyde knew he couldn’t let him die. He lifted them over the ice enough that Licht wouldn’t notice that he was flying. He helped him walk off the pond.

His leg felt frozen and it was difficult for him to walk. Licht slipped on the ice when they were nearing the bank and he fell into the snow. “Why did I let you talk me into skating on thin ice? It’s a miracle you didn’t fall through the ice while you dragged me here.”

“You can kick me all you want later, Licht. We need to get you home and warm as soon as possible. You’re freezing.” Hyde lifted and carried him in his arms.

Licht woke up to find his home warm and dimly lit. He assumed that it was morning but the view outside his window was dark. He was confused and looked around the room for Hyde. His eyes fell onto the fire pit across the room where Hyde was cooking. Fire? That could only mean an Olympian had been in his home. Anger boiled in his chest and Licht’s hands tightened around his blankets.

“Put out that damn fire!” Licht’s scream was followed by a painful cough. He fought his fever and forced his heavy body out of his bed. He couldn’t take more than a few steps before he collapsed again. Clumsily, he caught himself on the table as he sank to the ground. Food and dishes tumbled to the ground with him and clattered against the floor. Hyde rushed to him and helped him sit up.

“What are you doing out of bed, Lichtan? You caught a fever from the pond and you need to rest. I’m making chicken soup for you and it’s almost finished. Go back to bed and wait for me.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead. Hyde tried to coax him back to bed but Licht pushed his hands away. He could see that there was more than his stubbornness behind his anger. His body was trembling in his arms. “Let me take care of you.”

“How dare you invite an Olympian into my house? I told you that I don’t want their help for anything! I would sooner die.” Licht picked up the water jog and threw it into the fire pit. The fire didn’t go out and that only made Licht angrier. It was as if the dancing flame was mocking him. “I hate every single one of them! Why would you pray for fire? If you were cold, get another blanket like I told you!”

“You must be the most delusional and stubborn person I know. I prayed for fire because you were going to die without enough warmth!” Hyde was glad that Licht hadn’t realized that he was a god yet. He lifted Licht slowly and carried him back to his bed. Licht was too weak to resist Hyde when he set him down and tucked his blanket around him. He sat on the edge of the bed and stroked his hair.

“Licht, I know you hate the gods but I had to. You would’ve died if it wasn’t for their fire. If it really upsets you, think of it this way; The gods weren’t the ones that saved you. They just gave a fellow human the tools to help you. You can yell at me all you want but I’ll do it again in a heartbeat.” He said. Licht was oddly silent as Hyde caress his cheek. At least his laboured breathing told him that he was still alive.

“I’ll finish that soup for you.” Hyde squeezed his hand lightly. He thought that Licht would continue to be stubborn so he stood.

“… They wouldn’t come five years ago.” He muttered and weakly grabbed his sleeve. His fever made him more vulnerable. Hyde’s hand on his cheek was comforting and he leaned into it more. “My parents were sick. Deathly sick. I brought them medicine and took care of them but nothing was working. That night was the first and only time I ever prayed to the gods. Even a tiny fire could help save them.”

Hyde didn’t know what to say. He could easily guess what happened and guilt clutched at his heart. Olympus was thrown into chaos for a short time after the God of Music, Licht’s father, disappeared. None of the other gods could take over his duties at the time. They thought to make him an example by shunning the couple.

Hyde sat on the bed next to him. “Licht, I’m so sorry—”

Licht shook his head. “I knew none of them would come. All my life, I watched my mother pray for fire and each night it was pointless. I had to try though. My parents… I knew Olympus was angry but I never understood why. Father only fell in love. Every day, he told me he didn’t regret his decision. Love isn’t selfish. Our family wasn’t a mistake. I wasn’t a…”

“You’re not a mistake or anything like that, Licht. You’re an Angel of Music.” He kissed the single tear that Licht couldn’t hold back. Hyde wished he could give Licht the world but he didn’t know if that would erase the pain he experienced. An idea came to him and he pressed a kiss onto Licht’s palm. He could give him a whole new world that was full of happiness.

He could give him the sky. “Licht, would you like a pair of angel wings?”

“Wings?” Licht repeated. He was on the edge of sleep but he nodded. “I don’t know how a human can create angel wings. If you do, it’ll be the greatest gift I could ever receive.”

“I’m going to the next town to buy something quickly. I should be back for lunch tomorrow.” Hyde told Licht. He planned to hire an inventor to help him make angel wings for Licht and he wanted it to be a surprise for him. He was excited to give him his gift but waited for Licht to recover from his fever before he left. “Don’t miss me too much.”

“This just means I’ll have one less mouth to feed.” Licht tried to hide how sad he was to see him leave. He had become accustomed to his presence in his hut. He never realized that his home was so lonely after his parents died until Hyde started living with him. Even though he knew he was coming back, Licht frowned at the ground. “I guess most people would say ‘have a safe journey’ right now.”

“Nothing can keep me from returning to an angel.” He tousled his hair with a grin and then he left. Licht sat in front of the window and watched him walk away. He saw Hyde whistle briefly and two birds landed on his window sill. He didn’t think it was strange because birds would visit his home often since Hyde started living with him. Hyde waved to him one last time and then he was gone.  

He pulled his eyes away from the window and told himself to focus. He sat on the bed and picked up his chimes. Rust had grown on them after being in the snow and rain for so long. After growing up with little, he learned to take care of the few things he had. They were a memento of parents as well. He rang it softly and sang a healing song so the chime would repair itself.

There was a knock on the door and Licht wondered if Hyde forgot something for his journey. He rushed to open the door for him. He was both disappointed and happy to see that it was his friend, Mahiru. The deity smiled brightly and said, “It’s great to see you again! I’ve been so busy with Ryusei’s farm that I haven’t been able to visit. But that let me bring a lot of food. Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Licht nodded and let his friend into the house. While Mahiru was a god, they were close friends. He respected him and thought he was more of an angel than a deity. At first, he was distrustful of Mahiru but he proved to be a true friend.

Mahiru thanked him and walked into the tiny hut. The first thing he noticed was the burning fire. He was shocked. Licht had always been vocal about his disdain for the Olympians. He also knew that Licht’s family had a complicated relationship with the gods. “You prayed for fire? They answered you too? This is great, Licht! Your life can be so much simpler now.”

“Actually, Hyde was the one that prayed for fire. There’s a lot we need to catch up on.” Licht told him about Hyde and the night he had a fever. He didn’t know he was smiling while he spoke but Mahiru noticed. He was happy his friend had someone he could rely on for help considering how stubborn Licht was. “He made me warm soup. It tasted terrible though.”

“I wish I knew that you had a fever so I could’ve come to help you. At least you had Hyde to take care of you. I would like to meet him and thank him. I don’t want to think about what would’ve happened if he wasn’t there to pray for fire.” Mahiru shivered slightly. He stared at the fire and mused, “If only humans could summon fire on their own. They wouldn’t have to rely on fickle gods for one of the most essential things in life.”

“I doubt any of the Olympians will ever gift fire to humans.” Licht scoffed.

“That’s it!” Mahiru jumped to his feet so quickly that he surprised both of them. “What if I go speak with the Olympians and ask them to give fire to humans?”

“I doubt simply asking would convince them to do anything.” As optimistic as Mahiru was, he knew that Licht as right. He sighed and sat back down. “You’re only the Deity of Noon so the Olympians might not give you an audience. Maybe you can ambush one in the streets. Then again, we don’t know what the Olympians looks like.”

“Each god has a unique appearance so most people can recognize them easily. You never bother to learn about the gods though. Only the Olympians have red eyes and—” The chimes in Licht’s hands dropped to the ground and rang loudly.

“Does any of the Olympians have gold hair?” Licht asked and his voice.

“I think Lawless, the God of the Sky, fits that description. Licht, are you okay? Your face is really pale. Do you still feel weak from your fever?” Mahiru was worried about his friend but then Licht stood up.

“I’m fine. I know the truth now.”

Hyde looked over the design Daedalus drew of angel wings. He flew back to Licht as quickly as he could to show him. He was excited to see his reactions. A part of him was also worried because he had decided to tell him the truth. He knew Licht hated gods but Hyde couldn’t continue to lie to him. Hopefully, he would understand and accept him. No matter how Licht reacted, he would give him the wings.

When he was closer to his hut, Hyde landed on the ground and walked the rest of the way. He was prepared to tell Licht everything but he wanted to put it off for a few minutes. He imagined Licht’s smile and he quickened his steps. It had been a long time since he found someone that made him so happy. As he got closer to their home, he could see Licht walking down the road.

“Angel Cakes!” He waved to him. He didn’t respond immediately, which he found odd. Finally, Licht took a step towards him. Hyde could barely react fast enough to dodge the kick he aimed at him because he was so shocked. Licht was smiling and happy the day he left but there was no hint of either things when he faced him now. “What the hell, Lichtan?”

“You’re damn lucky you’re immortal and I can’t kill you. I really want to.” Anger and betrayal mixed in Licht’s voice. “Hyde… The very first thing you told me was a fucking lie. This is why I hate Olympians like you, Lawless. God of the Sky? I should’ve figured it out sooner. You almost tricked me too.”

“Wait, Lichtan. I’m so sorry,” He grabbed his arm and rushed to apologize. He didn’t know how he discovered the truth but he could feel his world falling around him. Licht shoved him away and took out his pan flute. A painful note echoed around them and Hyde winced as his ears rang. He covered his ears and sank to his knees.

Licht almost reached out to him when he saw him in pain. He steeled himself against that feeling and turned away from him. He marched back to his home, letting the distance grow between them. In the back of his mind, he remembered the day Mahiru told him he was a god. He was angry then. Now, with Hyde, he felt so many intense feelings. He was mad, hurt, and betrayed.

Most of all, he was heartbroken without knowing it.

He turned back to Hyde despite his better judgement. Licht’s song faded and he was able to stand. Their eyes met and held until Licht turned away from him. “Don’t bother following me, Shitty Olympian. I won’t be tricked by you again.”

“I never wanted to hurt you.” Hyde said but Licht was too far to hear him.

When I was first outlining The Forest of Ash, I wanted to have a prologue chapter that touched on Licht and Hyde's time together before he knew he was a god and Mahiru deciding to steal fire. I decided against it because it didn't have much KuroMahi (The Forest of Ash is a KuroMahi centered fanfic).

[theonceoverthinker]

OUAT 2X13 - Tiny

Hey, reader! Your TINY-ing couldn’t be better to check out my latest review! XD

Yeah, not my best pun, but it’s not too GIANT of a misstep! XD

COMEBACK!

Now go under the cut and read my review!

Press Release

Kidnapped and brought to Storybrooke by Cora, the Giant unleashes his vengeance on the town when a case of mistaken identity leads him to try and settle an old score with David; Mr. Gold, accompanied by Emma and Henry, attempts to depart Storybrooke - hoping to keep his memory intact when he crosses the town line – and heads to the airport in search of his son Bae; and Greg (Ethan Embry) questions Belle as to what she saw on the night of his car accident. Meanwhile, in the fairytale land that was and against his brothers’ wishes, Anton, the Giant, climbs down the beanstalk and attempts to befriend some humans - whose intentions may not be so noble. General Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness Past I really like the conflict in this episode and how it relates to the present later on. We clearly know the outcome of Anton’s voyage to the human world, but Anton never feels like he’s being foolish in this flashback. Anton’s research, kind heart, and inquisitive nature are not being satisfied (And as often implied, even mocked and bullied) by his siblings. But, in that same token, they are not completely cast as bad either. Anton clearly cares for them, and his oldest sibling is shown to be wise in many ways and it’s his lesson of seeking another land that proves to be the key to Anton’s eventual happiness and livelihood in the present.

James’ and Jack’s plan is a great one. That plotting is devious. The staging of it all was well done enough that it doesn’t feel contrived, but understanding of the kind of person Anton is and malleable enough account for missteps. Just go back and watch the bar scene. James has his outburst at the guard just loud enough so that Anton hears him, and of course, Anton, the curious guy that he is, would ask about why. Jack just happens to bring up the subject of beans and while Anton can’t help her in that regard, what else are giants known for? Their treasure, something Anton can be far more generous with. And give him enough motivation and he’ll go right over there with the bare minimum security. It’s honestly one of the best and most underrated evil plans on the show. It’s simple, but intelligently suited to its victim. Present I love the Storybrooke section of this episode! Anton, while the antagonist in this segment to David’s protagonist story, is never made to be a bad guy because the entire time we’re with him attacking, we’re aware of his plight. Because of that, we want him to pull through and get along with everyone and the episode gives that emotional payoff while still ensuring that Anton does learn his lesson about humans. David is in his best form throughout the episode, kind and compassionate but not without his limits and Snow acts as a great source of support and friendship while Leroy rounds out the trio with his comedy and everyman presence in town (And later on, surprising amount of heart).

It’s so great to see the people of Storybrooke acting as a unit again during the rescue and aftermath of Anton. It reminds me of the efforts made in episodes like “A Still Small Voice” and it fits into the story well as a bulk of humans are able to prove themselves to Anton at once.

Also, let’s talk about the airport scenes, but it helps make this episode so memorable. The security scene is both so hysterical at first and so tense and terrifying once the shawl comes off, even after the safe resolution. That having been said, I will say, I wish things were a little bit clearer as to why Rumple was freaking out even after he retained his memories. I can’t help but feel like they were almost going to go for a different angle like actually having Rumple at one point revert to his cursed self (Note how Rumple places so much emphasis on how important it was for him to keep his true identity), but it was abandoned. Otherwise, what was the purpose of the freakouts because we only got a few seconds of waviness as he was crossing through security before getting the shawl back? I like the idea of Rumple freaking out over not having his magic for the first time since the curse broke and realizing that his mortality is back, but what brought it on and how it was handled was weird. All Encompassing This segment is also notable in the fact that not only is it Anton’s first and only centric, but it is the first time that we really see the distinctions between David and James. Before, we saw a bit of James before his death, but while bits of him can be understood with the aid of hindsight, but this is where the character was truly defined for the first time. Whereas David so often acts for the betterment of his people and even those who oppose him (to the point where he attempts to sacrifice himself for Storybrooke’s safety and then later endangers himself for Anton’s sake), James is only interested in himself and won’t lift so much as a finger to help someone if it puts him in danger. Insights - Stream of Consciousness -”I think layers are always a good idea!” Nice subtle showing of Mama Swan! -I don’t know why, but it cracks me up how Rumple’s covering the expenses of their trip! XD Charming summed it up best: “You’re a real gentleman, aren’t you?” -”This isn’t a threat, it’s a request. Take care of them.” Aww! I love that extra bit of Sheep Bros! And Rumple actually responds to it! -I like also how Rumple’s being much more overt to Emma and co about who it is he’s looking for. I’m going to call that a slight development in his emotional honesty. -David, I am with Snow. That holster looks great on you! -Regina needs to join the Storybrooke acting troupe alongside Killian, Cora, and Rumple. Actually, someone make a fic out of this! Please? -”And we’re sorry.” I love how Snow completely follows through on her resolve from the previous episode. -First Captain Charming scene! Yayyyyy!! Honestly, it’s just as perfect as I’d hoped it would be! -Not gonna lie, I don’t even think it’s a shipping thing, but seeing Killian flirt with Snow like he does by the cops doesn’t flow with me at all. It’s just creepy, and I feel bad saying that, but it just is for me. -I never realized before that The Jolly Roger is made from Enchanted Wood. That’s pretty cool! -Anton is an adorable little bean! -I just realized: Now that the realms are merged, is Anton essentially out of a job, or are the beans the equivalent of teleportation now? Like, if I want to visit Elsa from Granny’s, can I just throw a bean and be right there? And if so, then Anton is now a multi-millionaire and I just couldn’t be happier for the guy! -Watching this flashback makes me hate the flashback in “Flower Child” so forking much. Everything that is done wrong there is done right here. -Holy shirt! Anton can punch! Like, get him on the main team! -The set up of the mystery of why Anton hates David is a very well done one for as brief as it is. It gives the audience a moment to establish how Emma’s actions have shown Anton that some humans aren’t evil as well as the fact that Anton isn’t a bad guy, but showing a clear snapping point for him. -Red Beauty! Yayyyyyy! -Hospital staff: It’s probably not a great idea to have “Good Morning Storybrooke” playing when you have two patients who aren’t supposed to know about magic. -Awww! Ruby loves books too, and reads from Belle’s favorite author! She’s just too sweet! -”Why does everyone keep calling me that?” ...Because it’s your name and you haven’t said anything along the lines of “my name is Lacey.” Introduce yourself! -James just has no shame! He’s about to have sex, his dad comes in, and he’s practically about to continue on! -I feel so bad for Anton! He so has a crush on Jack, and Jack’s just...well, not the worst, but definitely in the top 50 worst. -”How terribly uncivilized.” Rumple, you used to live in a world without indoor plumbing. You’re one to talk! -”Have you ever been on a plane before?” Have you ever been impaled upon a cane before?” That is forking hysterical and will never not be! XD -”You father?” Rumple, you are close to a century older than Emma! Yeah, you could be her dad! XD -Has anyone ever commented on how there’s literally no reason for the shawl to go into the bin. It’s not metal. Am I missing something here? -I want that roasted pig so badly! -”You’re human. I hate humans.” Part of me is thrown a little off base with this line. On one hand, Anton does what humans, but when David, Snow, and Leroy found him, he was more relaxed. However, I’m willing to waive it off to him getting his bearings upon waking up in a strange land. -Oh, shirt! Rumple can’t heal himself! BLOODY HELL! XD -That light is so unflattering for Robert right in the bathroom scene. -The entire conversation between Anton, David, and Snow concerning Emma and James is hysterical. As far as miscommunication scenarios go on this show, this is one of the best. And the follow up conversation between David, Snow, and Leroy over David’s name is equally so! XD -Don’t worry, Anton! Just HOLE-d on! XD -Awww! Look at Anton learning how to use a pickaxe! Anton, never change! Arcs - How are These Storylines Progressing? Regina’s Redemption - It is so hard to watch as Regina double crosses everyone in this episode. I don’t think it’s poorly done, and MM and David’s lines about not needing Regina’s say about Henry make the betrayal a well set up ad effective one. It builds well off of the last couple of episodes and while a touch accelerated around this part, I do think that the overall pacing works here. The People of Storybrooke Going Home - So this arc was really introduced during “The Cricket Game,” I believe. So far, I’m not sure how well it’s being set up, but I will say that this is the clearest the the arc itself has been defined since its inception. Favorite Dynamic David and Anton - David’s interactions with Anton are a true testament to his kindness and leadership abilities. Anton punches him in the face and refuses to cooperate with any attempts David makes to reason with him and yet David simply doesn’t give up on helping him the right way because of who he is. Additionally, how he rallies the entire town together for that same cause is inspiring. He knows the damage his “father” did and he wants those affected by him in any way (even through his progeny) to be helped, no matter what it takes. And on Anton’s side, just like with Emma, he’s receptive to that kindness and the belief in David doesn’t come from just simple information or evidence, but from David’s straight-up actions of offering himself up as a sacrifice and later saving him, and that’s so amazing! Writer Christine Boylan and Kalinda Vazquez are “Tiny’s” writers, and this is a great team up. The pacing of this episode feels very good, moving so that things aren’t rushed, but the stories remain flowing. Additionally, the framing of the writing is quite intricate, careful to not make anyone a bad guy but to also direct the sympathy where it is deserved. Additionally, the manner of Anton’s forgiveness (Both to him and from him) is expertly handled through the actions of the entire town saving Anton from the hole and him helping everyone grow beans. Rating 10/10. I love this episode’s story. Anton is a likable and layered character to follow and his journey with Ruth’s twins across the two timelines is equally layered. The story itself is very lowkey in comparison to some of our previous episodes, and it’s a welcome change of pace! It’s a super simple, yet quite detailed character story that allows for a lot to be done with James, Snow, Charming, and Leroy’s characters. Seeing all of these characters build off one another is what Once Upon a Time does best and the hearty story makes it all the better. While I didn’t find the storytelling at the airport to be as airtight (pun always intended) as the other segments (Ergo, why this isn’t a Golden Apple), the scenes on their own can be super entertaining (Especially EVERYTHING with Rumple in the first half of the security scene). Flip My Ship - Home of All Things “Shippy Goodness” Snowing - It’s just really nice seeing Snow and David working together! They’re so supportive and protective of each other, ranging from hugs to verbally helping each other during discussions with Anton, Hook, and each other over the differences between David and James. Snow and Charming are always expressing their love in some way, and it’s so subtly heartwarming. And hearing Snow talk about how she had fun today and missed their little adventures as she dances around him and the sidewalk is just great! Grumpy Giant - Freakin’ hollythecurious got me into the swing of this ship, and I love it and her for introducing it to me! XD Look at Grumpy’s adoring looks as he helps Anton get settled in to life in Storybrooke and how forward he is with his assistance. This is Grumpy we’re talking about and he’s rarely as likely to take the initiative in regards to introducing people to the town. And dammit, it’s so cute! Hell, he even moves the dwarves’ entire workforce to help Anton grow beans and calls them “our crop!” ()()()()()()()()() Thanks for reading and to the fine and fantastic folks at @watchingfairytales for their continued support and the project!

Wow! this season’s going great, but wow am I tired! Writing these long ash reviews is exhausting! You know what I could use? A drink. How about a Manhattan? ;)

See you next time.

Season 2 Tally (114/220) Writer Tally for Season 2: Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis: (29/60) Jane Espenson (25/50) Andrew Chambliss and Ian Goldberg (24/50) David Goodman (16/30) Robert Hull (16/30) Christine Boylan (17/30) Kalinda Vazquez (20/30) Daniel Thomsen (10/20)

Operation Rewatch Archives

[flowerflamestars]

Petals and Rain

Elucien, Post ACOTAR & Pre ACOMAF, Part One here

His hair was the color of old blood when wet- she couldn’t look away from the muted vibrancy, the water he didn’t even seem to notice racing down his bright skin. In the daytime dark of the storm, his remaining eye gleamed like a predators, the lack of light destroying any pleasantry that might mute how otherworldly he was.  To Elain’s eyes, Lucien was a creature of the forest. The beautiful clothes, the fine knives, the articulate speech- seeing him like this made it very clear those were things he would take on and off, as easily as she might change dresses. Not human, not human, her rapid pulse seemed to be saying. Soaked to the bone, she could see every defined muscle, even the faint shine of immortal skin, through the wreckage of his fine lawn shirt. Beautiful, her brain answered her heart, more beautiful than anything she’d ever seen.  “Elain,” Lucien said again, his voice rougher than she’d ever heard. “Tell me you’re alright.”  Of course she was alright- was her blush so hard he thought she were ill? That would be just her luck, to go along with her inability to speak properly at the sight of him. Before Elain could open her mouth, before she could even try to speak, he’d gripped her shoulders.  Not hard, so gentle, the way Elain touched flower blossoms. She was frozen, entranced as he traced her arms, his soaked sleeves leaving trails of water on her skin. Finally, he came to her hands and flipped them, palm up, searching. She wondered if his golden eye was magic, if that was the force that held her pinned in place. Or if it was simply the electricity of his skin on hers, the spark she’d never felt before.  “You’ve okay,” He breathed, like a prayer.  That, finally, broke her spell. “Of course I am,” she said, making her voice bright. “But you’re not, you must be frozen.” He didn’t respond at all when she pulled on his hands, tried to bring him deeper into the room. Lucien was as otherworldly still as he’d been the day she found him in her garden, still in that way human bodies weren’t strong enough to become.  “You’re okay.” He repeated, at normal volume now, voice still rough. “But you used the acorn.”  The tiny golden perfect acorn, always warm to the touch. Magic, Elain, assumed. She’d found it tucked in her garden with a note the day after she’d seen him last. Careful instructions in what she had to assume was his own hand, telling her that is she ever needed him, all she needed to do was twist the top three times and speak his name.  She’d hidden it away among her ribbons for a full month before giving into the curiosity to use it, giving into the pull of wanting to see him again. The magic had tingled her hand, made the air smell strange and smoky. Elain had no idea if it had actually worked, until he’d strode in from the storm.  She fought the urge to squirm under his gaze, instead fixing her eyes on the growing puddle his long hair was leaving on her floor.  “I wanted to continue our acquaintance,” Elain said, feeling more human and more ridiculous by the moment, “I’m alone here again, it seemed like a good time to invite you to tea.”  Finally she met his eyes, both gold and russet were steady on her, unblinking. The attention should have been terrifying, but it only made her curious. What could he see that she couldn’t? Why did he use to magic to call over distances but not to keep dry?  Lucien began to smile, stillness slowly melting away. “You wanted to see me?” He inclined his head, long hair falling forward, “then I am at your service, my lady.”  All at once he seemed to notice he was still holding her hands, that the courteous motion had sent more rainwater over them both from his sodden hair. He was gentle with her hands, but the motion of him snapping back was too fast for her eyes to follow. “Apologies,” Lucien began, “I wasn’t paying attention to the storm.”  What had he been paying attention to then? He was soaked through, his skin icy to the touch.  “I’ll get you a towel,” Elain replied, brushing away his apology. She smoothed her skirt, righted her posture. “And a shirt, maybe?” The step back he’d taken helped her not at all, giving her a more complete view of the fine cloth stuck to his skin with water. Elain could see the hair on his stomach, the defined divots of his abdominal muscles that made her throat go dry. “Be right back!” She sang, fluttering her way to the door.  Elain had grown up seeing the men coming in from the fields in summer. Their skin tanned deep, muscles built from hard work shining with sweat. She could remember seeing the young dandies and noble sons learning to fight, strong in their finery. She understood perfectly well attraction, how easy it was to bury in manners and sweet charm, so that no one noticed if she looked too long.  It was like comparing a campfire to the sun.  She bustled off to find a towel, thankful she’d thought to dismiss the maids before she’d tried the acorn. Gifted them paid time off, sent them merrily on their way on the off chance that the magic would have visible effects.  So there was no one to charm, no one to ask question as she slipped into the scullery and plucked up a clean shirt belonging to a house guard. It was cotton, nothing so lovely as the lawn fabric sticking to Lucien’s skin at this exact moment, but she couldn’t think of anything else that would fit him. As it was, Elain suspected the breadth of his shoulders would be a challenge.  Necessities clutched in her hands, she gave herself a moment to lean against the wall and breathe.  Beauty was a faery weapon, she’d always been told that. To ensnare and entrance, to spell human victims happily into their doom. But she’d also always been told faeries couldn’t touch pure gold, or iron. That the wall really kept them out. If none of the stories were true, what was she supposed to do with how beautiful Lucien was? How his savage loveliness stalking in from the storm like a nightmare hadn’t lit her pulse with fear, but with longing?  No, Elain thought. No. She squared her shoulders. She was going to give him a fresh shirt and go make that spicy, dark hot chocolate Nesta had bought her. She’d serve it in blossom china cups, some brightness on the stormy day. Croissants for refreshment, spring water to cut the sweetness.  She’d find out more about her sister’s life over the wall, if she’d found her love after all. She’d learn more about magic if she could get Lucien to tell her. A friend- she could cultivate a faery friend. A source of knowledge, a tangible, precious connection to Feyre, and strangely good company.  It would be perfectly fine. — Lucien needed to take a damn breath.  Why had he panicked? He’d been alone when the summons reached him, for once having a quiet moment where he didn’t need to mollify Tamlin or hide from Inathe. Elain’s voice had echoed in his head like a bell, the call scaring him down to his bones. He’d assumed she was in trouble, armed himself and winnowed straight to the Wall without another thought.  He couldn’t really feel the cold, the frozen day and vicious storm once he crossed out of the artificial bubble of Spring Court magic. It had only deepened his panic, his rage. That someone had come for Elain on a day like this- humans couldn’t even be out in weather like this for long. He couldn’t stop seeing it- her cold, afraid, bloody.  If they were Fae, he was going to remind them why he’d been thought to be a contender for his father’s throne, even long after his banishment. If they were human, he was going to take them deep into the forest, far from Elain’s beautiful eyes, and feed them to the monsters on the other side of the Wall.  The magic in his veins was burning hotter than it had in decades, heat so close to the surface half a thought would have turned the rain on his skin to steam, to mist.  This beautiful, confounding, human girl- she’d spoken his name and relit the fire he’d nearly forgotten, hadn’t burned and set free in longer than he could remember.  And then- and then she’d been fine. Perfectly okay, brown eyes wide with confusion, still as terror beneath his hands. He’d scared her, that much was obvious. Brave as she was, Elain hadn’t shied from his touch, from his words, but she’d been unable to look at him for much of their conversation.  Lucien had never been more aware of how different faery reactions might be. In the land of his youth, in his viper filled current home, a knife in one hand and magic wreathing the other was tame, understandable. To Elain, he might as well have been the face of a horror story, a monster coming in from the rain.  When Elain returned, that startled flush was still on her cheeks, but her eyes were bright and clear. She took his sodden coat from his hands without any reaction, turning from him to reach over her head, to hang it on a metal hook clearly intended for a flower pot. It dripped steadily down onto a basin of potted flowers.  With a polite smile, lacking the dimples he saw when he was trying to sleep, Elain passed him a thick towel and a soft shirt. She inclined her head to the door, “I’ll give you a moment.”  Before he could summon a reply she was gone again, the only sound the rain on the glass walls. Cauldron boil him, had he scared her that badly? He’d been forging deals and playing courtier to immortals for longer than she’d been alive, surely he could figure out how to talk to her? To speak to this one beautiful, brilliant girl. Who’d wanted to see him, for no reason but his company, after all. Surely he could make this right.  Thinking hard about what he knew of her, Lucien dried and braided away his hair. Remembering her shiver as she’d opened the door he sent just a whisper of his magic into the air, warming the room until the plants smelled like joy again, until it was a temperature he thought would make her comfortable.  He was wringing out his shirt over a potted palm when the door opened. Her merry mask and quick dancing steps stopped dead when she saw him, the motion so abrupt china cups on the tray she carried slid, threatening to fall. Like an idiot, like a youth with no control, Lucien flashed to right in front of her, catching a teacup in each nimble hand.  He’d moved faster than mortal eyes could track, had to bite down a vicious curse at her horrified eyes, her scarlet face.  So close to her, Elain breathing hard, her heart racing, the air was filled with the scent of honeysuckle. Embers and crisp sweet flowers. She smelled like- she smelled like longing, like warm darkness to fall into.  But she was blinking those wide eyes at him, confused. Lucien realized he’d been stopped in front of her for minutes, uncounted heartbeats, breathing in the smell of her skin.  Gods and hells and immortal honey, what was wrong with him?  Carefully, slowly, to keep from startling her all over again, Lucien placed the cups back on her tray. He fought the urge to clear his throat in the growing silence, instead striding away at careful mortal speed to pull on the shirt she’d given him, to get some damned control over himself.  When he turned again, courtiers smile on his face, Elain had set down the tray and arranged the low table they’d sat at before. Primly, she waited for him to sit to pour, the only sound rain pounding down.  Lucien wanted to close his eyes as the steam drifted to him. Warm cinnamon, the bite of something spicy, and chocolate-deep and rich as love. He’d not had hot chocolate since he’d left Autumn. In the Winter court is was too rich, too filled with vanilla and cream. But this, Lucien was sure, would taste like pure warmth on his tongue.  He became very focused on the pink flower motif of the cups. Was there no part of Elain Acheron that didn’t disarm him?  She was the one to break the awkwardness. “Do the markings on your back mean something?” Her tone was light, bright as charm. “Tattoo’s are very rare on this side of the Wall.”  It was an idle question, he was very sure. Bramble and hawthorne, rowan and oak. Lucien had carried their leaves stark on his skin for so long he sometimes forgot they were there, his home in ink. From behind, he might still be a son of the forest, wild as the hunt. It was only when he saw his own face that the toll the world had took became clear; the monstrous scars, the magic eye, the false smile.  Honesty, Lucien realized. With this one mortal girl, who was so stupidly brave, unflinching even when she feared him, he could be honest. Elain had sought him out, after all. He’d try hard to charm her, to make her feel comfortable, but what did he gain from lying?  It was all he did in Spring, in his work and life. She’d been audacious enough to try to poison him, perhaps he could learn from her boldness. “I wasn’t born in Spring,” he told her, meeting curious brown eyes. “I am,” The words didn’t want to come out, “I am the son of the Lady of Autumn. I can’t return home, but those are the plants we hold sacred. From the stories of my childhood.”  “They’re very beautiful,” Elain said, riotous curls snagging on the embroidery of her gown as she shivered, the motion involuntary.  “You’re still cold,” Lucien murmured. Slowly, unwilling to make another mistake in front of her, he raised the temperature of the room.  “No, I’m perfectly”- her polite protest cut off as she felt the spring warm air. “Are you doing that?”  Lucien merely inclined his head. There, she didn’t sound afraid.  Elain set down her cup with a gentle clink and drew up her legs, tucking them to the side, under her skirt. She was looking at the empty air, hand drawn to her full lips like wonder. When she turned her eyes back to him, it finally the face of the girl who’d hit him with a shovel. “Does all magic smell like fire? The acorn did too, when I called to you.”  Lucien almost choked on the chocolate he was finally letting himself drink, cinnamon smothering him. “No,” he replied, too quickly. How could she smell that? Surely human senses weren’t all that sharp? “You’re smelling me, I suppose.” Lucien tried to keep his voice detached, but he was certainly throwing her mortal conventions all to hell again. Gods. “Much of my magic is fire, you’re probably just sensing that I made it.”  “You made the acorn?” Elain asked, tone something he couldn’t read, eyes thoughtful.  He nodded, looking past her to a lemon tree, letting the smell anchor him. No lie would pass his lips with this girl. It felt wrong, impossible. “I had to learn to work metal,” he gestured to his face, mouth twisting ruefully, “to keep the eye working right.”  “Do you know,” she replied, “that human stories say faeries can’t touch gold? Any pure metals?”  Luciens laugh surprised him, wrung from his chest. She smiled in return, heart-stoppingly beautiful. He was so glad to not have her pity, to not sense a bit of sadness in the air.  It was odd, to look at her and see the features she shared with Feyre so clearly. But they were so different- both brave to a fault, but when Lucien looked at Elain he felt nothing of Feyre, glimpsed nothing of the singularly gentle sister she’d portrayed.  Were Elain fae, Lucien was sure she’d have been brilliant opponent. With centuries, that charm and curiosity would only grow more lethal. It twisted his long dead heart.But he smiled instead. “High fae love finery more than you can imagine.”  Shockingly, her smile grew even brighter, cheeks dimpling. “I can perhaps imagine.” Elain tilted her head to the right, indicating a sturdy cabinet he’d have imagined was full of gardening tools. “Your weapons are in there.”  Her laughing tone made him feel awkward, the ache of it more foreign than the sound of her slow human heartbeat. Lucien didn’t know what to do with his hands now that his cup was empty, found himself smoothing back his hair. He was too tall for her silk divan, legs trapped up against the delicate wrought iron table. “The Spring Court values ornamentation,” he told her, voice stiff to his own ears.  Like crackling embers, like roses opening, Elain laughed.  The sound was relief enough that he rose, strode to open the cabinet she’d indicated. There it all was- his gold bracketed bow, his horn quiver, the veritable pile of jeweled daggers she’d wrapped in soft cloth. It was ridiculous, but carrying his allegiance openly had been important in the last century.  Frippery, the truest part of his mind answered. But he strapped on the bow, the quiver. Slid the long knives into his boots. But it was on the smallest daggers that Lucien paused.  He was already armed to the teeth, had come to Elain’s call with his own practical steel and fire as defense. The daggers were beautiful- carved emerald leaves climbing the hilts, cross guards the shape of rosebuds. Despite the decoration, they were well made, light by any standard.  Lucien turned back to Elain. She was watching him, eyes dark and steady. Too tall, too large for this room, looming over her, Lucien knelt at her side. Even on the ground he found their eyes were nearly level.  “Perhaps,” he began, holding out the smallest of knives piled in his hands, “You might keep these yourself.” Let this brave girl have even the smallest protection, let him actually be useful to her in some real way. The fear of earlier in the day rose in him all at once, the horror of her meeting faery violence.  With a single pale, freckled hand, Elain traced an emerald leaf and met his eyes head on. “How do I hold one?” Her voice was quiet, almost lost beneath the rain. — Fire magic, Elain was thinking. Did that mean all faeries looked like that? Like whatever element they wielded lived under their skin?  He’d caught her staring again, but he didn’t seem offended in the least. Who knew what faery manners were anyway? She felt a little giddy with it, the calm she’d forced on herself evaporated from the instant she’d walked in and found him half dressed.  Did her sisters Spring lord have eyes that bloomed? Lucien’s burned.  It was a mad thought, made madder still when he knelt beside her. Her faery friend, Elain reminded herself. For Feyre, for her own curiosity. Even for Lucien himself, maybe, for the protection he seemed to want to offer her.  “Perhaps,” he said, voice deep and smooth, “You might keep these yourself.” There were endless stories about the fell things that happened to humans who accepted faeries gifts. Who’d let themselves become trapped, lost years or souls because of the temptation of faery food, faery riches. Faeries torment, she’d been told, they give you what you want only to take it away and demand twice as much from you. Faery bargains were binding and deadly. But deep down, somehow, Elain was completely sure Lucien offered her no harm.

“How do I hold one?” She asked, touching the shocking gemstones, real and perfect. She’d hustled them to the cabinets out here at dawn one day, wrapped them in cloth to stop looking at the incredible finery of them.  The curiosity had tangled inside her. Humans got emeralds from a far northern continent, they were worth more to a merchant than their weight in gold, in diamonds. Were faeries simply richer with their centuries to accumulate whatever they prized, or was trade completely different over the Wall?  “Here,” Lucien said, carelessly dumping the pile of daggers beside her chair before plucking up one of the smallest. He held it out to her, balanced across his palm. Gentle, he rearranged her grip on the pommel, pressed her fingers to the steel, warm from his skin. Elain made an abbreviated slashing motion that brought a crack of laughter from Lucien’s mouth. “Perfect,” he said, approvingly. “Keep your wrist steady and you’ll do a lot more damage than with a shovel.”  Were all faeries this charming?  “You mean I shouldn’t just invite them to tea and feed the them the burnt remains of ash trees?” She’d said it before she could stop herself, discourteous and sharp. Elain could feel herself blushing again.  “I’m sure they’d take anything you gave them,” Lucien said, eyes serious as his voice danced. “But stabbing and running might be more practical. You have the element of surprise.”  It was impossible not to smile at that. Elain straightened back up, squared her posture back to formality. But whatever she’d been about to grasp for, to say, was stopped by Lucien wrapping his hand over hers again.

Not to correct her grip, but holding on, soft and warm. “I would be honored if you kept them near you,” he said, voice a more serious thing.  Helplessly, she nodded back, his skin deeper than gold next to hers.  Lucien inclined his head in return, elegant as any lord. He rose, taller than any man she knew, and plucked the coat she’d hung from the wall. While she watched, it grew dry under his hands, fabric lightening.  He bowed to her silkily. “Thank you again for your hospitality, Elain Acheron.” Lucien’s smile was sharp as he straightened. “The acorn will work again, whenever you have need.”  And then he was simply gone, magic making her blink, making her heart race. Elain jumped to her feet, but the room was empty, truly. It took her a long time to realize that whatever he’d done to the temperature for her remained, the room warm.  Longer still, the fire lingered, thick in the air of her favorite haven. 

@mywritingbox @illyrianinterrasen @flxwer-petals @missanniewhimsy @tntwme 

[chasholidays]

Bellarke version of the princess diaries 2 with one of them attempting to prevent the royal wedding (to third party), whilst falling in love with the prince/princess. Thank you, and you are truly incredible!

Clarke thought she knew exactly how stupid it would be to see Bellamy before her wedding. She knew all the reasons she shouldn’t have seen the person she isn’t marrying, the one she’s actually in love with, the one whose sister has a claim to her throne if anything goes wrong with this wedding. She thought she had assessed all the risks and decided it was worth it anyway.

But she hadn’t known all the risks. She hadn’t thought he’d betray her.

“We can spin this,” her mother is saying. “It’s not great, but it’s not–”

“It’s not royal behavior,” says Queen Katherine, her voice icy. No one can disapprove like a queen, especially a queen who’s also your grandmother.

“I was talking to a friend,” Clarke protests. “That’s not spin. That’s the truth. Just because it turned out I was wrong about our friendship doesn’t mean–”

“Don’t act like you went out there that night to be with your friend, Clarke,” says Abby. “You’re getting married, and–”

“And that’s bullshit!” She doesn’t mean to say it, but it’s the truth too, as important a truth. “It’s bullshit that getting married is supposed to magically make me a ruler. If he died tomorrow, I could still be queen, as long as I was married once.”

“Don’t say that,” says Indra, mild. “It makes it sound like you’re planning to assassinate your own husband.”

“You know what I mean. I can be just as good a ruler with or without a husband.”

“I specifically told you to stop seeing that boy,” says her grandmother. Given she and Abby aren’t actually related, it’s amazing how similar they are. Clarke honestly can’t believe that Katherine disapproved of the marriage.

But there were strict rules about what her father’s marriage could look like.

“I wanted to see him,” she snaps, reflexively, and it’s the wrong thing to say for a thousand reasons.

“Which doesn’t speak well to your judgement. A friend who betrays you–”

“From everything I’ve seen, he didn’t betray her,” Indra interjects, and this time all three of them whirl on her. “I looked into it.”

“And you’re only telling me this now?” Clarke adds.

She shrugs. “I don’t know how much it matters. After all, the main issue remains.”

“Main issue?” asks Clarke.

“The footage is damning, regardless of anything else. Just because Bellamy wasn’t aware of the deception, that doesn’t mean it’s not a problem. But he does seem to have been innocent of all wrong-doing.”

“If he wasn’t doing anything wrong then what was he doing?” Katherine demands.

“Saying goodbye,” Clarke says, less to them than just in their presence. It’s for her. But since they’re there, she adds, “He just–he wanted to say goodbye. That’s what he told me.”

“You’re getting married, not dying.”

She feels exhausted, suddenly. “I stopped my flirtation with him, like you told me I had to. That doesn’t mean I stopped having feelings for him. You know as well as I do what my getting married will do to our friendship.” She exhales, getting her feelings under control. “But it doesn’t matter. Like Indra said, all that matters is how we deal with the fallout of the video. It doesn’t affect anything else. Wells and I are getting married this afternoon. And Bellamy and I are–nothing.”

Her grandmother watches her, a small frown on her face. “I am sorry,” she finally says. “I know this is not–the life of a princess is not an easy one, and I did you no favors when I told you this was your future. It isn’t all balls and true love’s kiss, in real life.”

“No,” she agrees. “But I know my duty. I’ll do what has to be done.”

*

“So,” says Wells. It’s bad luck to see him before the wedding, but they have fallout to deal with. He deserves an explanation. “That guy. Bellamy?”

“Yeah, Bellamy.”

“Why aren’t you marrying him? I remember seeing you two dancing at the ball. He seems like a good prospect.”

“He’s not royal. Not even noble. He was there with his sister. Who’s apparently my heir, until I produce another one. So it’s this whole–” She sighs. “His family was working to dethrone me, because I’m not a good ruler.”

“You know that’s bullshit, right?” he asks. “You’re going to be a great queen, Clarke.”

“I hope so.” She bites the corner of her mouth. “But I don’t think I can marry you.”

“I was thinking that too.”

Her smile aches a little. “You were?”

“I want to do what’s best for my home, my country, my people. But I want to do what’s best for myself too.”

“I get that. But–I think this might be easy for me.”

“Which part?”

“What’s best for all of those is the same thing, I’m pretty sure.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

This time, her smile is sure. “I need a really good speech.”

*

As Wells said, Clarke did meet Bellamy first at a ball. He was hard to miss, handsome and charming, but more importantly just a little bit lost. A little like Clarke herself felt, honestly.

When she asked what he was doing there, he answered honestly: he was escorting his sister. In fact, he basically always told her the truth, or at least most of it. He’d been honest about the fact that he thought monarchy was an outdated practice, that he thought the country would be better off with someone who understood the perspective of the common citizen. He and Clarke had bickered about it, her pointing out that she had lived most of her life as a common citizen and Bellamy shooting back that she hadn’t been an Arcadian citizen.

She’d thought that if he was one of the choices for marriage, it wouldn’t be so bad.

Now, though, she knows he isn’t. Even if he didn’t ask to see her the other night because he wanted to see her, he’s still not someone she can marry. She’s a princess, and she needs to marry a prince, not a man whose mother married into the nobility after he was born.

But if he isn’t trying to keep her from being queen, she assumes that means he wants to help.

“Clarke!” he says, when he picks up his phone. “Fuck, I’ve been calling all morning, I wanted to apologize, O’s uncle, he–”

“It’s okay,” she says. “I know it wasn’t your idea. My head of security filled me in. That’s not why I called.”

There’s a pause. “Uh, okay. Then why are you calling?”

“You’re a speechwriter.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m writing a speech to give about why I’m not getting married today that’s hopefully going to convince parliament to change the law about my not being able to be queen. I’ve got most of it done, but I could use another set of ears.”

Another pause. “So, I don’t need to come to your wedding and try to talk you out of it? Because these YouTube videos about how I’m supposed to tie this tie aren’t really helping much, so it would be good if you already changed your mind.”

“I’ve never been the one who needs to be convinced this is a shitty idea,” she points out. Her smile is so big it almost hurts. “I always thought it was a bad law. I’ve been trying to change it, and this is my last chance. So I need to bring my A-game.”

“You came to the right guy,” he says. “After we got O on the throne, the next step was taking out that law.”

Clarke smiles. “So, your plan was to use a shitty law to dethrone me and then immediately get the law overturned so she wouldn’t have to marry some random guy?”

“Like you said, it’s a shitty law. So tell me what you’ve got and I’ll tell you if you’re missing anything.”

“This isn’t getting you out of coming the wedding, by the way.”

“No?” he asks, sounding surprised.

“I’m hoping I’m going to have something to celebrate after. And I want you to be there.”

“You do?”

“I kind of like you,” she says, and there’s another pause.

“Okay, well. Let’s get this thing done,” he says, voice thick. “And then I’ll figure out how bow ties work.”

“It’s not really going to be a wedding. You don’t have to dress up.”

“I still want to look nice,” he says. “Read me your speech.”

*

It’s not hard to come up with a whole list of reasons the Arcadian tradition is archaic and unfair, including its inherent misogyny and homophobia, and apparently her parliament likes her well enough that their response to an ultimatum about changing the job or losing her as the heir is changing the law.

So she doesn’t get married, but they’re still set up for a big party, and as far as Clarke’s concerned, they have a lot to be grateful for.

Unfortunately, everyone else seems to feel the same, because they all want to talk to her, tell her how happy they are, how they always supported her, and it feels like hours before she disentangles herself from the politicians and finds enough space to breathe.

“To your left, in the corner,” Indra says, low, and Clarke follows her gaze to spot Bellamy, looking slightly awkward in the corner with his sister. He’s more dressed up than she’s seen him since the first time he met, but this time he didn’t slick his hair back or put in his contacts. His glasses are sliding down his nose and his hair is a riot of curls.

She told him she liked him better like this, and he listened.

“Can you watch but not stay that close?” she asks Indra. “There’s security everywhere. I just want to pretend I have some privacy.”

“I do love pretending I’m not here,” she says. “Good luck.”

Octavia notices her first, raises her flute of champagne in Clarke’s direction with a wry smile. “Congratulations on getting the law changed. Honestly, I’m relieved.”

“Really?” Clarke asks.

“I know Bell was convinced I’d be a good queen, but I think I can do more good outside the monarchy. Plus, if they didn’t change the law I would have had to marry some noble I’d never met. That would have sucked.”

“Glad I could help. I did it for you, obviously.”

She smirks. “Yeah, for me. Which reminds me, I have to go talk to–” She casts around, clearly trying to find someone whose name she can use. “Lord Kane. Good to see you!”

“Subtle,” Clarke tells Bellamy, and he rubs the back of his neck, flushing slightly.

“I told her she needed to come so I’d have backup.”

“You need backup?”

“I wasn’t sure.” He clears his throat. “Not that I’m not glad you’re not married, but that means you’re going to be the queen. I assume you’ll be–busy.”

“I will be. But I could use someone I trusted to talk to. Give me feedback on my speeches. Consult about important issues.”

He looks her up and down, dubious. “You want to hire me?”

“No, that’s not–if you want a job writing speeches for me, you can have it, but that’s not really what I was thinking.”

“Which was?”

He’s smiling, so she can too. “I’m not really ready to get married yet, honestly. But I wouldn’t mind dating. You, specifically.”

“I didn’t think queens dated.”

“I think we can do what we want.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s not true. If the last few weeks of trying to derail your coronation taught me anything, it’s that you really can’t. You technically couldn’t marry me if you wanted to. Not that I’m, uh–”

“I bet that’s a law we could get changed if we wanted to. And it’s not like we’re in a hurry, right? We can figure it out later. When it comes up. But maybe we should start with dinner.”

He offers his hand. “How about starting with a dance?”

She takes it, feeling his fingers close around hers, rough and warm. “I’d love to.”

*

A year later, he puts a draft of an amendment to the law about female members of the royal family having to marry titled nobles to retain their own status and property.

“It’s not homophobic, but it is misogynistic,” he says. “I think you should be able to get it changed.”

She smiles, scanning over the papers. “Thanks. Any particular reason you want me to look into it?”

“I figure you might want to get married someday. You want to have your options open. In case there’s a commoner who’s planning to make you dinner and propose soon. Just for example.”

“Soon?”

“As soon as the law changes, probably.”

“So I should work on it now, is what you’re telling me.”

“Just if you want to get married soon. I know royal weddings can take a while, so–”

“So let’s get the law changed and see if we can find a commoner to propose to me.”

He grins. “Yeah. I don’t think it’ll be too hard.”

[kisskissrommie]

➥ What is your character’s full name? Andromeda Gloria Dulaque

➥ Do they have any brothers or sisters? None she is aware of.

➥ What kind of eyes do they have? Rommie’s eyes are a brilliant green and highly expressive.  

➥ What kind of hair do they have? She has purple hair, usually short and designed to look intentionally unkempt. It’s very fluffy and feathered, and she spends ample time making it look just right. Sometimes she dyes it black and red, but with increasingly low frequency. 

➥ What is their complexion like? She is exceptionally pale, having grown up in the mountains of Coerthas. Her skin is immaculate, the result of a probably unhealthy neurosis that give her a minor dependency on magical healing and a laborious morning routine that involves bells of grooming. 

➥ What body type are they? Rommie has a rather lithe figure. She’s not athletic, precisely, but she is agile with the strong legs of a runner and slight of bosom. 

➥ What is listening to their voice like? Rommie’s accent is strange, not quite Noble Ishgardian, but close. She grew up with the Brumer manner of speech but trained herself in more refined speech, leaving her voice with a different sound than either. She sings in a high alto typically.

➥ What do they hate most about themselves? A lot. Rommie doesn’t believe she’s a good person, and judges herself harshly for that. She tries to be more moral than she is, but her nature and her upbringing leave her unable to meet her expectations of herself, which may be unrealistic. 

➥ Do they have a favorite quote? "I am a thief. I steal the precious from the wicked.”

➥ What sort of music do they enjoy? Rommie likes to sing songs with upbeat tones and vaguely sensual themes or the kind of dance fare that would be at home at Crescent, but enjoys singing a wide range of things. 

➥ Have/would they ever cheat(ed) on a partner? That depends who you ask. Rommie is typically engaged in open or polyamorous relationships, and is a career courtesan and madame. Typically this means a lot of planning rules and a bit of trial and error in finding their proper applications.  

➥ Have they been cheated on by a partner? Again, that probably depends who you ask for the same reasons. 

➥ Have they ever lost someone close to them? A few moons ago, Rommie’s adoptive daughter Andy died. She hadn’t known the girl very long, but the pain of her loss has been something that’s deeply damaged her. She’s not quite sure she has the right to be as wounded by this as she was. 

➥ What is their favorite sound? Fire. She wants to always have a fireplace to sit by, because the sound of burning wood is appealing to her. It meant safety as a child. 

➥ Are they judgmental of others? Yes and no. Rommie is proud of how she tends to embrace others’ eccentricities. That said, when she decides someone has broken a line she considers important or meaningful, she does not easily let that go, and often will seek to exact some kind of penance.  

➥ Have they ever been drunk? Only when not working or casing a mark.

➥ What are they like when they stay up all night? The sleepier she is, the more sentimental she gets. If she starts waxing on about how important people are to her and how her life’s improved, if she talks about the family she has at the Pakshee, if she runs on and on about love of living life to its fullest, it might be wise to usher her to bed. 

➥ Have they ever been arrested? Arresting would mean she got caught.

➥ What evokes strong memories for them? The Brume. Just walking it’s streets makes her well up with pride, sadness and nostalgia. She loves and hates her old home. 

➥ What do they do on rainy days? Sit under an awning and listen.

➥ What religion are they? If she was religious in any way, she’d probably be a Follower of Shiva like many of her friends growing up. She typically takes the standpoint that she won’t bother gods and they won’t bother her. This has, recently, been provably untrue, as both have happened. Still, it’s her attitude.

➥ What word do they overuse the most? Some manner of “darling” or “dear”, probably?

➥ What do they wear to bed? Outside of Coerthas, nothing. In Coerthas, a long nightgown.  

➥ Do they have any tattoos or piercings? Just ear piercings. 

➥ What type of clothing are they most comfortable in? Rommie loves to wear feminine cuts of typically masculine fashions. Not as an attempt to be ‘butch’ or anything, she wears them in an intense embrace of femininity and not in spite of it. Instead, it is a way to make ‘dashing’ a feminine trait. 

➥ What is their most disliked food? She’s not fond of most bitters, but she’s specifically not a fan of sandworm. Really? Desert folk like that stuff?

➥ Do they have any enemies? A fair few. Mostly people she robbed in the past who haven’t let go the history between them, but also some people she considers herself to be opposed to on some broad and nebulous social sense. 

➥ What does their writing look like? Very formal, very practiced, very elegant. She’ll put so many flourishes and loops and broad strokes in her writing that it can actually suffer from its elegance and become less readable for its ostentatious. 

➥ What disgusts them? Selfishness. The kind that is born from the station and wealth of aristocracy and that victimizes those whose only crime was to be low born. 

Tagged by @dmlynx and @milady-momo

Tagging: @momoechishiro @rheyatayuun @nightswithasharah @bride-and-bride @rexnorh @rokachan @jade-ivy @pink-heartstopper @paradymeshift @teirra-lihzeh and whomever else wants to do it.

[emma-what-son]

Cover Story: Emma Watson, Rebel Belle

From Vanity Fair Feb.2017: Since her years as Hermione ended, Emma Watson has fought to assert her own identity. Now that she has found her voice—most notably as a U.N. ambassador—she’s revamping a classic stereotype, the Disney princess, in Beauty and the Beast, the live-action musical coming out in March. Watson talks to Vanity Fair about her metamorphosis from child star to leading woman.

by Derek Blasberg

Photographs by Tim Walker

Styled by Jessica Diehl

Omg this is so LONG! I’m gonna take a Sam approach with this one and pepper comments all through the interview.

Emma Watson and I are standing on the 23rd Street platform of an uptown-bound E train in New York City and we’re littering. Literally. And literature-ly. The 26-year-old actress is scattering hardcover copies of Maya Angelou’s book Mom & Me & Mom throughout the station—tucking them between pipes, placing them on benches, atop the emergency call box—in hopes that New York commuters will pick them up and put down their smartphones. This display of civil disobedience was conceived by Books on the Underground, a London-based organization that plants books on public transportation for travelers to discover. “We’re being ninjas,” she says with a conspiratorial grin as she digs in a big black rucksack of books. “If there were anyone to be a ninja for, it’d be Maya Angelou.”

Watson is one of the most famous women in the world, the child star who skyrocketed to global fame at the age of 11 playing brainy Hermione Granger in the Harry Potter movies. Next month, she’s back on the big screen as Belle in Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, the big-budget live-action musical—she sings too!—which broke the record for most viewed new movie trailer. (That’s 127 million views in its first 24 hours, beating Fifty Shades Darker’s record.) But today she’s makeup-free, her hair shoved into a bun, and she’s wearing a nondescript dark wool coat over a baggy black sweater, completely blending in with New York’s distracted mass-transit masses.

“It’s good that we’re spreading a little bit of love,” she says. As she removes the last book, a train pulls into the station. She hops in, places it on a seat, hops out, and watches from the platform as the doors close and a young man inquisitively picks it up.

Yes and get some good publicity along the way. Don’t forget to mention this in my Vanity Fair interview Derek.

Aboveground, over coffee at a nearby café, Watson explains why she thinks reading is “sacred.” There’s the obvious, professional reason: Harry Potter was a literary sensation before becoming the blockbuster franchise that made her famous and a millionaire many times over. But books are also rooted in her deepest personal experiences. “Books gave me a way to connect with my father,” she says. “Some of my most precious and treasured moments . . .” She trails off and, unexpectedly for someone who is known for her composure, tears up. Her parents divorced when she was young. “I just remember him reading to me before bed and how he used to do all the different voices. I grew up on film sets, and books were my connection to the outside world. They were my connection to my friends back at school because if I was reading what they were reading we’d have something in common. Later in life, they became an escape, a means of empowerment, a friend I could rely on.”

All this would be nice if it didn’t reek of pretentiousness.

I first met Watson, Hollywood’s latest exception to the rule that all child stars inevitably flame out, during Paris Fashion Week more than a decade ago, when she was still a teenager and filming the fourth of the eight Harry Potter films. It was both a homecoming for the actress—she was born in Paris to British parents, both lawyers, and lived there until she was five—and a symbol of her maturity on-screen. She was there to attend her first-ever fashion show, at Chanel, which was a big deal considering that up until then she had shopped in the bridesmaid section at Harrods or borrowed dresses from her stepmother for movie premieres.

She was a shy teenager, but friendly, intelligent, and down to earth. Watson is described as much the same today: “She’s way more like a real person than a movie star,” according to Gloria Steinem, who became a friend when Watson reached out to discuss the changing face of feminist activism. (More on that later.) Hamilton creator Lin-Manuel Miranda, who met Watson backstage at a performance of the musical, sums it up: “She played this very smart, conscious, noble wizard—and then somehow we had the good fortune that she became a smart, conscious, noble woman.” (They did a video together—Miranda freestyling, Watson beatboxing—to raise awareness for International Women’s Day. It got more than six million views.)

Of course they asked Lin Manuel Miranda questions for this interview. He can’t really say anything about her personality, but you know... Hamilton.

Emma and I got to know each other, and I visited her on the sets of the last two Harry Potter films. But as the Potter train pulled into its last station, I noticed the clouds of melancholy forming over her fairy-tale life. “I’d walk down the red carpet and go into the bathroom,” she remembers of the last few premieres. “I had on so much makeup and these big, fluffy, full-on dresses. I’d put my hands on the sink and look at myself in the mirror and say, ‘Who is this?’ I didn’t connect with the person who was looking back at me, and that was a very unsettling feeling.”

I’m sure I remember her a few years after HP saying that she was still figuring out who she was and that in Oct 2011 she said in her Elle UK interview: "I'm going to go travelling – a sort of gap year, condensed into a few months. Don't think I'm going off to find myself, though. I already know who I am," she told Elle. And that was a few months after the last HP movie released.

What few people knew when she enrolled at Brown University in 2009 was that she had a desire to give up acting and walk away from Hollywood altogether. “I was finding this fame thing was getting to a point of no return,” she remembers. “I sensed if this was something I was ever going to step away from it was now or never.” She loved performance and telling stories, but she had to reckon with the consequences of “winning the lottery,” as she calls getting the part of Hermione, when she was nine years old and literally still losing baby teeth. As an adult, “it dawned on me that this is what you’re really signing up for.”

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So she’s saying that she wanted to stop acting, right? That was the decision she made when enrolling? And yet in 2009 (a few months before she eent to Brown):                        

Paste: And studying will mean that a film career is put on the back burner for a while?                 

Watson: Not entirely, no, there are end of term breaks where I could do something if someone asks me, and I liked the idea. It all depends, doesn’t it? Acting and studying are in no way mutually exclusive, are they? Going there will mean a bit of “normality” for a while. It certainly doesn’t mean that I will never act again, that’s not true. There’s been a lot of confusion in the media about that, and most of it is ill informed—I seem to have managed pretty well up to this point! And also don’t forget that I’m also very interested in fashion, and in modeling, which I enjoy. I enjoy photo shoots, because there it seems that the cameramen (or camerawomen) look at me very differently. X

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The question most people ask when a celebrity moans about being famous: If you hate the fanfare so much, why keep making movies? Watson asked herself that all the time. “I’ve been doing this since I was 10 or 11, and I’ve often thought, I’m so wrong for this job because I’m too serious; I’m a pain in the ass; I’m difficult; I don’t fit,” she says. “But as I’ve got older, I’ve realized, No! Taking on those battles, the smaller ones and the bigger ones, is who I am.”

Well at least she openly admitted that she’s difficult. Whether her fans take it that way or not.

She recently found the courage to say no to selfie-seekers. “For me, it’s the difference between being able to have a life and not. If someone takes a photograph of me and posts it, within two seconds they’ve created a marker of exactly where I am within 10 meters. They can see what I’m wearing and who I’m with. I just can’t give that tracking data.” Sometimes, she’ll decline a photo but offer up an autograph or even a chat—“I’ll say, ‘I will sit here and answer every single Harry Potter fandom question you have but I just can’t do a picture’ ”—and much of the time people don’t bother. “I have to carefully pick and choose my moment to interact,” she says. “When am I a celebrity sighting versus when am I going to make someone’s freakin’ week? Children I don’t say no to, for example.”

I’m sure she’ll regret saying that when fans will actually start asking HP questions.

I tell Watson I’ve watched other actors, like Reese Witherspoon, walk down the street and happily pose with fans—and suddenly it becomes clear that the fans of Sweet Home Alabama are different from Harry Potter fans. For mostly better and occasionally worse, the Potter books and films not only captured the imagination of millions of people but, for many of them, changed their lives. It’s something Watson is deeply aware of. “I have met fans that have my face tattooed on their body. I’ve met people who used the Harry Potter books to get through cancer. I don’t know how to explain it, but the Harry Potter phenomenon steps into a different zone. It crosses into obsession. A big part of me coming to terms with it was accepting that this is not your average circumstances.” (Since the first movie premiered, in 2001, when Watson was 11, there have been numerous incidents with stalkers.) “People will say to me, ‘Have you spoken to Jodie Foster or Natalie Portman? They would have great advice for you on how to grow up in the limelight.’ I’m not saying it was in any way easy on them, but with social media it’s a whole new world. They’ve both said technology has changed the game.” When she was at Brown, Watson went to a Harvard football game and The Harvard Voice, a student magazine, live-tweeted as its staff stalked her at the stadium. I remember at Watson’s 18th-birthday party in London, the photographers outside had a bounty on who could get a picture taken up her skirt. She’s not exaggerating her security concerns, either. She purchased her house sight unseen over a Skype call with a real-estate agent because it had a paparazzi-proof entrance. “Privacy for me is not an abstract idea,” she says.

The stalking thing is a serious subject and I sympathize, but do we really need a play by play about HP, Brown and her quitting acting in interviews every few years?

Watson has a boyfriend, though she adamantly, vehemently refuses to expound on him. (The Internet says he’s called Mack, he’s handsome, and he works in tech in Silicon Valley.) “I want to be consistent: I can’t talk about my boyfriend in an interview and then expect people not to take paparazzi pictures of me walking around outside my home. You can’t have it both ways.” She sits back and wonders if she should finish this thought, and eventually she does: “I’ve noticed, in Hollywood, who you’re dating gets tied up into your film promotion and becomes part of the performance and the circus. I would hate anyone that I were with to feel like they were in any way part of a show or an act.”

Don’t get me started on the PR pics when she first started dating Matt.

Back in college, Watson was like most 20-year-olds, struggling to carve out her own identity, only she did it in front of a rabid fan base and a never-ending celebrity-news cycle. She made international headlines when she chopped Hermione’s long locks into a closely shorn pixie. We don’t need Sigmund Freud to read into the symbolism of that haircut, and to this day Watson declares, “It’s the sexiest I’ve ever felt.”

Ah the haircut talk makes a comeback. I didn’t think it was possible, but they managed it.

She got into yoga and meditation; being the Type A person she is, though, she wasn’t content just doing it. “Typical Emma,” says Harry Potter producer David Heyman, who has remained a close friend. “She had to become a certified meditation teacher.”

Watson shied away from doing additional big-budget studio films and instead focused on smaller movies, like Stephen Chbosky’s The Perks of Being a Wallflower (2012), and sought out auteur directors, like Sofia Coppola with The Bling Ring (2013) and Darren Aronofsky with Noah (2014). She turned down big offers: from lucrative cosmetics deals to critically acclaimed scripts. (Emma Stone’s role in La La Land was reportedly developed for Watson.) “There have been hard moments in my career when I’ve had an agent or a movie producer say, ‘You are making a big mistake,’ ” Watson says. “But what’s the point of achieving great success if you feel like you’re losing your freakin’ mind? I’ve had to say, ‘Guys, I need to go back to school,’ or ‘I just need to go home and hang out with my cats.’ People have looked at me and been like, ‘Is she insane?’ But, actually, it’s the opposite of insane.”

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Really? REALLY? The role was made for Watson? REALLY?

Damien Chazelle: When I was first writing it back in 2011, I guess Ryan and Emma (Stone) were these pie in the sky ideas that I actually had for the casting, but it just didn’t seem like it would ever happen. And years passed where we were trying to get the movie off the ground with no success. And during those years there were actually many casting permutations, it was Miles and Emma Watson for a moment. It was other people in other moments, and what wound up happening was the movie kept falling apart. X

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What ultimately helped clarify her purpose was—you guessed it—reading. Last January, Watson started Our Shared Shelf, her bi-monthly online book club. She used Twitter (more than 23 million followers) to crowd-source the name, and chose Gloria Steinem’s book My Life on the Road as her first selection. All About Love: New Visions, by Bell Hooks, was Watson’s March 2016 book-club selection. Watson traveled to Berea, Kentucky, near the Appalachian Mountains, to meet Hooks, and the two quickly struck up a friendship based on, in the words of the writer, “the belief in the primacy of a spiritual foundation for life.”

“In so many ways she’s not like we think of movie stars,” Hooks told me. “She’s [part of] a very different, new breed who are interested in being whole and having a holistic life, as opposed to being identified with just wealth and fame.” In early 2014, U.N. Women, the United Nations’ department of gender equality, contacted Watson about becoming an ambassador. Everything clicked: she could focus the prying eyes of the world onto causes that she was passionate about, namely a new initiative called HeForShe, which aims to get men to co-sign on feminist issues. I was in the audience at the General Assembly on September 20, 2014, when Watson, elegantly and discreetly wrapped in a simple silver-gray Dior coatdress, stepped onto the podium and spoke passionately about women’s rights for a little more than 10 minutes. Her battle cry ended with: “I am inviting you to step forward, to be seen, and to ask yourself, If not me, who? If not now, when?”

Which was first said by Rabbi Hillel the Elder. Aren’t we giving credit anymore?

“I used to be scared of words like ‘feminism,’ ‘patriarchy,’ ‘imperialist.’ But I’m not anymore,” Watson says. “It was not typical for U.N. Women to have a celebrity give a keynote address,” says Phumzile Mlambo-Ngcuka, the executive director of U.N. Women. “We needed a new messenger to break new ground for us. We didn’t want to just speak to the converted.” Watson blushed at the standing ovation and beamed as then secretary-general Ban Ki-moon became the first person to officially sign on to HeForShe. The U.N. Women Web site crashed in the aftermath of the media blitz that followed—“A good problem to have!,” Mlambo-Ngcuka says—and her speech made headline news around the world, from CNN to fashion blogs. Men like Hugh Jackman, Jared Leto, Harry Styles, Russell Crowe, and Eddie Redmayne aligned themselves with HeForShe. Feminists worldwide heralded their newest spokesperson: “For a time, there was a conversation about whether ‘feminism’ was a good thing or a bad thing,” Mlambo-Ngcuka says. Watson’s speech “gave us the word back.”

The first time Watson saw the final cut of Beauty and the Beast she took along her mother, Jacqueline, and Gloria Steinem to a screening in London. She wanted her mother’s approval, but she needed Steinem’s. “I couldn’t care less if I won an Oscar or not if the movie didn’t say something that I felt was important for people to hear,” Watson says.

Who is she fooling?

Specifically, she must have wanted assurance that her portrayal of a Disney princess, in the Bill Condon-directed film, didn’t conflict with the ideals of a feminist, and who better than Steinem to give that stamp of approval? She got it.

“It was fascinating that her activism could be so well mirrored by the film,” Steinem says, noting that Belle uses—you guessed it, again—reading as a way to expand her world. “It’s this love of literature that first bonds the Beauty to the Beast, and also what develops the entire story.”

This is a new Belle, much of it by Watson’s design. “I was like, ‘The first shot of the movie cannot be Belle walking out of this quiet little town carrying a basket with a white napkin in it,’ ” she says. “ ‘We need to rev things up!’

Why not? Why can’t she carry a basket? I don’t get it!

” In the original Disney movie, Belle is an assistant to her inventor father, but here she’s a creator in her own right, developing a “modern washing machine that allows her to sit and read.” Watson worked with costume designer Jacqueline Durran to incorporate pockets in her costume that are “kind of like a tool belt.” Another thing: in the animated version, Belle is on and off horses yet wearing a long dress and silk slippers, which didn’t sit well with Watson. Bloomers were created and Belle’s first pair of riding boots. “The original sketches had her in her ballet shoes,” Watson says, “which are lovely—don’t get me wrong—but she’s not going to be able to do anything terribly useful in ballet shoes in the middle of a French provincial village.”

The original Belle may have been an assistant inventor, but Emma was an assistant costume designer for this movie it seems.

Maturing from Hermione to Belle is a true coming-of-age story for her. “When I finished the film, it kind of felt like I had made that transition into being a woman on-screen,” she says. Belle is “absolutely a Disney princess, but she’s not a passive character—she’s in charge of her own destiny.” What’s more intriguing, however, is how Watson observed a similarly strict code in her real life, too, from what parts she plays to what she reads in bed at night and what clothes she puts on in the morning.

“Emma has an incredible sense of integrity,” says Livia Firth, the founder of Eco-Age, a sustainable-fashion consulting firm. “You can’t marry activism and then do something in your life that is not in agreement.” Firth praises Watson’s choice of dress for last year’s Met Gala: it was designed by Calvin Klein and made almost entirely from recycled plastic bottles. For her Beauty and the Beast press tour, Watson created a PowerPoint presentation that her stylist sent fashion designers. It included a questionnaire about how their garments are produced, what their impact is on the environment, and the moral reason why she should wear one on the red carpet.

Wow.

As Steinem honors Watson’s high moral standards and relentless activism, I ask her if there’s a risk of becoming, well, annoying to the general public. Is she too much of an ethical Goody Two-Shoes? After all, what other starlet assigns fashion designers homework before she wears their clothes? Steinem is not amused. “Let me ask you something: If you did a story on a young male actor who was very private and involved in activism, would you think he was too severe or serious? Why do women always have to be listeners? Emma is interested in the world, she is caring, and though she is active she is also joyous and informed.” At this point I’m backpedaling—“I think she’s wonderful!”—but Steinem still digs in. “It’s possible to be both serious and fun, you know. That response is why men will ask a woman, ‘Why don’t you just smile, honey?’ ”

The actor Kevin Kline, who plays Belle’s father in Beauty and the Beast, agrees with Steinem. “When someone has a feminist point of view, we tend to think she’s no fun at all,” he says. “But a feminist can be feminine, delicate, vulnerable, sweet—and still demand to be taken seriously. Emma fits the bill perfectly.” A big grin forms on his face as he asks, “Has anyone told you about the dancing scene yet?” In the film, there’s an over-the-top ball, which required the entire cast and scores of extras to waltz in period costumes for hours and hours. “Ater a long, long day, suddenly Pharrell Williams’s song ‘Happy’ comes on, blasting, and everyone just starts jumping around,” Kline recalls. “It became kind of a wrap party, really celebratory. And I asked, ‘Who did that?’ It was Emma.”