#She’s been a good demure leader trying her best but if that doesn’t work she’s fighting things

[ixtaek]

I know Wind is an amalgamation of Wind Waker, Phantom Hourglass, and Spirit Tracks Link… so why not Tetra too?

She swears she won’t be helpless after PH, and is going with Link next time there’s trouble. And so, after being ripped from her body by a demon, she finds a suit of armor to possess and utterly wreck anyone who gets in their way.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Initiative - aka NMJ and JYL get engaged - ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2

Jiang Yanli’s first engagement had been announced when she was three and a half years old – there had been a big party, festooned in color, exquisitely and meticulously planned out in advance, and she’d been obliged to stand on stage next to a baby in a cradle that had done nothing but cry and spit as all the adults around her congregated and congratulated each other on the excellent match.

She hadn’t enjoyed that at all.

Her second wedding announcement was simultaneously more casual and more noteworthy, and she enjoyed it tremendously. 

Madame Jin had sent several invitations to Jiang Yanli to come visit Lanling in advance of the hunt planned for Phoenix Mountain, speaking of how beautiful it was and how much she looked forward to seeing her good friend’s daughter – talking about she’d always regretted how Jiang Yanli had been obligated by circumstances to take shelter at the Unclean Realm rather than in Lanling City, although she’d been pleased to hear from her son that she was doing well – all the right sort of words. The words might have been more welcome if Jiang Yanli hadn’t known that Madame Jin was still intent on securing the marriage she had arranged.

If she hadn’t been engaged, she would have accepted the invitation, hoping to form an alliance for her sect through a close relationship with Madame Jin even if she didn’t have one with Jin Zixuan (no matter what Madame Jin hoped), but as she was, in fact, engaged to another – even if it hadn’t been formally announced – it would be inappropriate to go. So she instead played ignorant and responded graciously, protesting that she couldn’t possibly impose, that the rebuilding at the Lotus Pier needed her, but that she would of course be happy to attend the hunt alongside the rest of her sect.

She arrived at her brother’s side, smiling all the while.

Her second engagement was announced like this: Sect Leader Jin, using his newly legitimized son as his mouthpiece, had brought forward some ghastly ‘entertainment’ that involved shooting at helpless prisoners, tied up in chains. Jin Zixuan had complied, but Wei Wuxian had marched out and disrupted everything by showing off to a ridiculous extent – Nie Mingjue, who had been watching with a black face full of rage but unable to speak due to propriety, had started applauding very loudly and very enthusiastically – and Sect Leader Jin had ordered the prisoners taken away.

“Well, then,” he said, clapping as if he had impressed himself: as if they hadn’t just been subjected to a powerplay under the guise of hospitality, as if everyone would be over-awed by his might now that they had seen him abuse the helpless while they were all forced by the rules of etiquette to say nothing or else risk carrying the blame for trying to start another war. “Absent anything else, we should proceed to the hunt itself, where await you only the finest of prey and the sharpest competition among your peers.”

For the further display of the power of the Jin sect, he meant.

“Actually,” Nie Mingjue said, interjecting in a moment in which Sect Leader Jin had paused to take a breath so that it was technically not an interruption, “there is one thing. A request, in fact.”

Sect Leader Jin’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he maintained his false smile. “Of course, Sect Leader Nie. What can I do for you?”

“I’m getting married,” Nie Mingjue said. “The bride is Young Mistress Jiang, of Yunmeng Jiang, and I would like –” He raised his voice to overcome the abrupt explosion of talk that had erupted. “– I would like to have her accompany my sect in today’s hunt. I hope that doesn’t interfere with your plans for a competition between the sects?”

There were those who said that Jiang Yanli’s chosen husband was bad at politics, and they might even be right. But it didn’t really matter in the end if he’d thought of the idea on a whim or if it’d been a prearranged plan by Nie Huaisang, who was cleverer than he liked to let on to people, Jiang Yanli’s future husband had still wiped away in a single sentence all memory of the farce they’d all just endured and of the hunt that was yet to come, ensuring that the only thing anyone would remember about today was the shocking news of the engagement of the leader of one Great Sect to the sister of another.

(And if everyone remembered that at the last celebration hosted by Sect Leader Jin, he had proposed to resurrect the marriage between Jiang Yanli and his own son, instead, forcing her to publicly demur on vague terms…well, that just made it all the more satisfying.)

Now it was Sect Leader Jin’s turn to scowl and glare, and Madame Jin’s expression looked no less thunderous, but in the end Jiang Yanli got to go with the Nie sect on the hunt.

“You know I’ll only slow you down,” she said to Nie Mingjue, who snorted.

“No more than Huaisang will,” he said, and if his face was stern and his voice gruff then she still thought she detected fondness and humor beneath it. “Besides, it’ll be a good opportunity to measure you.”

It turned out that he meant that more literally than she might have thought.

Jiang Yanli was promptly whisked away to the back of the Nie retinue by a small cadre of Nie disciples, men and women both. She was presented with a number of training sabers shaped out of wood and made to hold them in a variety of positions as they murmured things about stability and reach and balance as if they really, truly thought that she would actually use the saber they were preparing for her.

“This one,” Nie Jiahui, a steely older woman with silver in her hair and fierce eyes, eventually announced, and the practice saber Jiang Yanli had been waving around was taken away. She was then presented with one that was twice as heavy, for “practice”.

“Do you always practice with something heavier than the actual thing?” she asked, and Nie Jiahui nodded.

“Strengthens the shoulders,” she said, curt but not standoffish. “Have some candy.”

Jiang Yanli blinked, but smiled and accepted the offer. It was licorice, which she liked.

“Do you often carry candy with you on night-hunts?” she asked, listening to the sound of fighting from up ahead. Every so often, a disciple or two would trot by carrying the corpses of larger and larger creatures, slain in the fighting; it seemed that the Nie sect was not, in fact, being slowed down in the slightest by her presence.

Of course, she also wasn’t being tended to as if she were their chosen lady, either, as she might have otherwise expected – all pomp and flowery language, Nie Mingjue by her side at all times to show her around as if they were on a pleasure stroll – but in all honesty that would have been a little bewildering. It was very much not the Nie sect’s character, all practical and straightforward, and she found that she preferred it that way.

“It’s important to have something to replenish energy,” Nie Huaisang said, having dropped back to join them from the front. He looked tired and grumpy, but his saber appeared to have been put to some work; he immediately climbed up into the carriage that people were taking turns riding and started cleaning it. “And licorice candy clears the lungs.”

“Clears the lungs?” Jiang Yanli asked.

“It’s good for more than that,” Nie Jiahui said. “But that’s one of the uses, yes. Do you ever feel like your chest is too tight, especially when you move too much? Leading to coughing, shortness of breath, your lips turning blue?”

Jiang Yanli blinked. “Yes,” she said. “But that’s just because I was born with a weak body.”

Nie Jiahui scoffed and Nie Huaisang laughed. “Good luck with that,” he said cheerfully. “I was born with muscles that didn’t keep their tone: too flexible, incapable of gathering strength, requiring more energy to do less, making me twice as tired twice as fast – even sitting up straight can be a struggle in some extreme cases, though luckily not mine. And do you think that helped me one bit in getting out of saber training? It did not.”

“Early childhood intervention is best,” Nie Jiahui said. “But the next best is starting today. I’ll show you some low-impact exercises that you can start working on to strengthen your shoulders and stomach, as well as some balance movements to center yourself and improve your posture – that way, by the time your actual saber is ready, you’ll be able to take it through one of the basic routines.”

“I’m happy to learn whatever you have to teach,” Jiang Yanli said, ignoring Nie Huaisang’s dramatic cry of ‘And here I thought you’d be on my side!’ “I only regret troubling you.”

“Not at all,” Nie Jiahui said. “It’ll be good to have someone watching the Sect Leader’s back on night-hunts.”

Jiang Yanli felt a surge of terror and excitement in her belly. “He would trust me with that? You would trust me with that?”

“I did tell you that you’d need to keep up with him,” Nie Huaisang said mildly, and it was true, he had, only she’d assumed it was a bit more metaphorical. “You don’t have to fight or even walk too much, if it doesn’t suit you – my grandmother was lame in both her legs from a childhood illness, she rode everywhere, scariest woman I’ve ever met by far – but you do have to be there. Someone needs to be able to tell my brother to stop. Someone he’ll listen to.”

And wasn’t that something of a thrill to think of?

Jiang Yanli wasn’t someone anyone listened to – not her parents, not her brother, not her sect disciples. She’d always been the one who comforted them afterwards, who supported them; she made them food and tried to convince them to be kinder to each other, and sometimes they even tried for a while before getting into another tiff. They would kill for her if she so much as hinted at it, tear down the sky for her, but it was more in the nature of indulging her rather than actually allowing them to guide her.

Yet here was Chifeng-zun, a war hero and a sect leader, one of the most powerful men in the world, a man admired by men and sought after (even if only in their hearts) by women, and his family was telling her that he would listen to her.

“If you say so,” she demurred, but they insisted, and by the time the hunt was over Jiang Yanli was surprised to realize that she hadn’t needed to resort to sitting on the carriage more than twice the entire time.

“We’ll send Auntie Jiahui to the Lotus Pier after today’s hunt is done,” Nie Huaisang chattered cheerfully in her ear as they headed back towards Jinlin Tower. “She’ll work you through your paces, believe you me, and all the supplemental things, too – making sure you eat the right thing, take medicinal baths to improve your meridians, apply massages to loosen your joints…those parts are nice, actually. Take care of your body as you would your saber, take care of your saber as you would your wife! That’s how the saying goes. Trust me, you’ll be regretting the whole thing soon enough.”

Jiang Yanli didn’t think she would. “You seem very confident that A-Cheng will allow you to do as you please, even in the Lotus Pier.”

“I’ll tell him it concerns secret Nie sect marriage rituals,” Nie Jiahui interjected. “When two women are involved, men tend to run away when the words ‘marriage’ and ‘secret’ are combined.”

Sadly, she was probably right.

“Show me those exercises again,” she requested, and Nie Jiahui climbed up on to the carriage to show her the ones she could do even while sitting down.

Jiang Yanli might never have had the opportunity to strengthen herself before, and she was moderately certain that she wouldn’t have too much success now, as the various tricks Nie Jiahui had taught her were largely body refinement, barely reliant on qi, and her cultivation was still as low as ever.

But she was good at devoting herself to learning something when she wanted to, and as soon the hunt at Phoenix Mountain was over and they had shifted over to the various feasts and meetings that Lanling Jin had planned for the rest of the week, she began her efforts at self-improvement in earnest.

The weak body her mother had always despaired of might always be weak – Nie Jiahui had been quite blunt on that subject, making it clear that nothing she was suggesting was some sort of miracle pill, and furthermore that there was nothing wrong with being weak as long as she made an effort (Nie Huaisang had been the recipient of several pointed looks there) – but Jiang Yanli was determined to at least demonstrate that she was trying.

A gesture of good faith, perhaps. Some small show of initiative.

Nie Huaisang had said that Nie Mingjue appreciated her initiative.

“A-Xian,” she called one morning, only a few days later. “A-Xian, are you going out for a walk? Let me come with you.”

“You’ve gone on a lot of walks recently,” Wei Wuxian laughed, but allowed her to take his arm as they walked into the crowd. “Do you like Lanling City so much?”

“It’s the exercise I’m after,” she said, smiling at him. “The Nie sect is a martial sect, remember? I’ll be going on more night-hunts in the future, if all goes well, and I’ll need to keep up.”

“Oh, but surely they’ll bring a carriage..? I don’t know if you really need to go on night-hunts –”

“I want to! It’ll be nice. Don’t worry about me so much, A-Xian –”

Wei Wuxian was shaking his head, smiling, and he wasn’t looking where he was going; perhaps that was why he bumped into the young woman.

But then she looked up at him, and he looked down at her, and he froze.

“Wen Qing?”

[bluerosesburnblue]

Watching a playthrough of Final Fantasy X-2 made me remember just how much I love X-2 Yuna, and subsequently why I hate the “later years” designs that came with the voice drama (which is a disaster on its own so...)

Like... a huge part of Final Fantasy X is the fact that Yuna has been training for years to die. She never planned for a future beyond “sacrifice myself to kill Sin and give everyone a few years of peace.” She spends the entire game saying goodbye to people and places that she’ll never see again, throwing away her own future to give hope to everyone else. And when she learns that it’s a false hope, that they’ll never be free of Sin, that’s when she really shines. She denounces everything she was taught, they learn why Sin exists and use that to destroy it for good

And she loses so much. The Aeons were her friends and guides, but the one that hits hardest is Tidus. She probably feels so much guilt, feeling like the man she loved died in her place

And none of it changes the fact that she still didn’t have any plans for her future. She doesn’t know what she wants to be. She never planned to be alive to need to. And now she’s forced to live with this sadness without even a sense of purpose to keep her going. It’s no wonder that when her cousins come up to her and ask if she wants to go on an adventure, she goes right for it

And that comes into her designs in a really beautiful way. Her FFX design is very proper, spiritual garb. It’s a visual tie to her role as the summoner; you always see her in her summoner’s garb (or her wedding dress). But that outfit isn’t her. It’s the role she plays. Because up to that point, her role was what defined her entire life. She wanted to play it well

This is emphasized by her X-2 outfit. When given the opportunity to reinvent herself, Yuna goes pretty sporty! She fashions herself as a gunner, picks an outfit with a much better range of motion (not restrictive like in FFX!) and it works. The best part is how subtly it draws inspiration from Tidus (the Zanarkand Abes symbol on the chest, the asymmetry of the design, spikes her hair a little bit) without just copying him. She’s not trying to be Tidus, rather, she’s acknowledging what she learned from him, including things she learned about herself from him and incorporating it into parts of her old self (the color scheme) and who she’s decided she wants to become

It’s just such an interesting progression for her to learn to discover herself and try to find a future in a world where she never thought she’d have one, devoid of the one person she’d want to be in it with more than anyone. And you really feel for her loneliness, which makes them bringing Tidus back in the best endings even more impactful

Which is also why it makes me sad that this is the design they went with for even further down the line

It’s... just FFX Yuna with long hair. All that character progression from X-2? Not here. She just went back to how she was before all the development. Except her hair’s longer for... reasons. It just kind of gives the impression of “oh, that outspoken Yuna from X-2 who wasn’t afraid to shoot people down when she thought they were being self-sacrificing idiots because she realized at the end of FFX that it wasn’t worth it? As soon as her boyfriend’s back she goes back to being the demure girl from FFX, pre-character development. It’s fine”

What was the point of having Yuna reinvent herself just to go back to how she was? Is this because people didn’t like X-2 as much as FFX and they were trying to win the crowd back? I hate to say it, but “Tidus and Yuna break up, Sin comes back, and Auron might have had a secret daughter the whole time” was never gonna win anyone back considering it spits on the original FFX, too

Everything about the audio drama is just upsetting, but what it does to Yuna is the worst. The “I’m not taking sides, you’re all being stupid” Yuna from X-2 and the “if my religion’s leaders are corrupt then I’ll save the world myself” Yuna from FFX are just replaced with “welp, guess I’m rejoining Yevon for no reason.” Yuna, my sweet girl, I’m so sorry for how they massacred you

[oneboxofmatches]

Hi!!! May I request a HP romantic and friendship matchup on both eras? (Preferably male), thanks in advance! 💞

𝗕𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗦 + 𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘

19, Libra, Neutral Good, enneagram is 4w5, Ravenclaw, and my patronus spirit is swan. Bi Pan Genderfluid girl using pronouns of She/Her or He/Him. A friend of mine told me that I (kinda) look like Marinette from 𝗠𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝗱𝘆𝗯𝘂𝗴, Musa from 𝗪𝗶𝗻𝘅 𝗖𝗹𝘂𝗯, and Alexandra Trese from 𝗧𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲 (a Netflix animated series), but the exception is I'm short (5'1.2") plus sized Southeast Asian woman with Spanish descent that has messy/wavy brunette medium hair, chocolate brown eyes, oriental skin and a small beauty mark on the forehead. My sense of fashion is in between emo and boyish plus korean glam.

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬

Distant and shy at first cause' I dunno how to initiate a conversation, but a total opposite if I open up---friendly, ambivert, witty, laughing loudly on a daily basis, talkative, awkward, daydreamer (I got embarrassed from knocking at the door even I'm inside the classroom 😂), EXTREMELY clumsy, secretly likes affection, easily overwhelmed, prone to melt over any wholesomeness, flusters on compliments, lightly blushes on cheesy banters, sarcastic person with a lowkey crackhead energy citing meme references, and talented girl who can be your no. 1 supporter and unashamed to be true to myself. In terms of leadership, I only educate and guide than being a prefect (I might take the role seriously), and will lift my group when there's lacking/incompleteness. About doing projects in school, I become too extra and prepared for efforts, but I'll forget the process in the end.

People thought I'm a demure self-effacing woman that looks "idealistic" or "one of a kind," (due to my protective parents, a reason why I've never been in a relationship) but the truth is, I'm eloquent, warm-hearted, willig to help, kind, intelligent, supportive, nice, creative, enthusiastic, determined, tough, competitive, and feisty outside, but a real softie that can be childish and dramatic crybaby filled with doubts, frustrations, and insecurities with fear of failure that pushes off the limits to to please everyone, yet I still managed to be stronger than ever, even it's a slow burn process. I can be intimidating, sassy, and a douchebag if I receive ends. Immature, headstrong, perfectionist, demanding, hesitant, jumpy, very indecisive, overthinker, quick-tempered, sensitive, and anxious (no joke, my nervousness makes me think worse scenario will arrive or I might break a belonging due to my carelessness). Though can be procrastinator and arrogant, I raised as a religious 𝖺𝗇𝖽 diplomatic person, willing to fight what I believe (including my dreams) 𝖺𝗇𝖽 what is right. In addition, I have a habit of staying up late and doing sign of the cross to ease nervousness.

Blunt but the loudest idiotic feeling-brokenhearted and bitter friend in the group who fangirl a lot, swears like sailor, will act like a silent backstabber on people that we loathe, will crack up over your stupid antics before helping, and bring gossips, but a hopeless romantic who tends to banter with sarcasms or pick up lines as an endearment (but gets grumpy if I received sappy or offensive one), still generous and concerned in a subtle way.

𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗕𝗜𝗘𝗦

My hobbies are singing, drawing, roleplaying, listening to music, chatting/browsing on social media, conceptualizing, writing, and reading some stuffs. 𝖨'𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾 making corniest jokes/puns, 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀, and dancing when nobody's around or walking like a model if I feel so bold (even I'm terrible at both xD).

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦

Loves kittens, eating a lot, cartoons, watching YouTube videos (mostly pageants, ASMR, edit audios, and mukbangs), also enjoys playing games on my sister's PSP. Sucker for arts, choir, night sky, makeup, fun/deep/dumb conversations, Christianity, documentaries (about saints, real crime stories, and inspirational people), reading interesting stuffs, talking about social issues, and writings, chilling both indoors and outdoors. Beside that, my music taste are like late 90s-2000s songs (mostly rock, pop, and country) sometimes kpop and ppop, chocoholic, and a sweetooth as well.

𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦

Things that I hate are stereotyping, HUGE creepy crawlies (spiders, toads, snakes, and cockroaches), firecracker sounds, being left out, loneliness, heart break, blackout, and judgemental people. One random fact about me is, I 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 vent out EVERYTHING I despise in my entire existence---from bad soap operas to toxicity and worse scenarios in real life, because it's a big deal for me, and I consider forcing me to do what I'm not into and manipulating me as my major pet peeves.

𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗚𝗘𝗥𝗦

In terms of triggers...I only have two which are ta𝖨king about divorce/annullment/separation because I came from a generational broken family and religion/beliefs discrimination, cause' there are reasonings that doesn't makes sense because some are too hypocritical.

𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗩𝗜𝗔

My best assets are smile, eyes, personality, singing voice, artistic skills, writings, intelligence, and oratorical skills...so I can consider myself as a singer, artist, orator, and a top student who's a former active campus ministry member with three roles (choir leader, psalm singer, and reader). Currently an incoming college freshman, learning how to cook and have so many interests, to the point I don't know what I'm into because of my dreams to become a popular Filipino YouTuber, a novelist, and being part of a successful chorale competing internationally...I also consider joining pageants at school too once the pandemic ends, but maybe.

Thank you so, so much for requesting! I had a lot of fun with this one (as you can tell by some of the really long answers lol) and I hope you enjoy!!

In the Golden Trio era, I romantically pair you with…

CEDRIC DIGGORY

One of the most beautiful things about Cedric is that although he may show some introverted tendencies, he still manages to have a natural gift for connecting to others and allowing them to feel comfortable enough to open up. Really, your initial distance and shyness don't last nearly as long towards Cedric as they would with most other people.

Hearing your laughter brings the widest, cheesiest grin to Cedric’s face. Not only does he adore seeing you happy, but he also recognizes that your anxiety, insecurities, and strong emotions can sometimes cloud up your demeanor. Therefore, it brings him comfort knowing that (for the moment) you’re finding joy. He thrives when you thrive!

However, as much as he loves seeing your more energetic and happier self, it goes without saying that he’s the best comfort for when you’re not having the best day.

Cedric is an excellent listener, so he’ll most likely let you talk without interruption for as long as you need before even saying a word. He wants to make sure he truly understands your current state before acting. He may take a few seconds to process everything after you finish speaking, but then he’ll help you tackle whatever problems you’re facing. He’s especially talented at giving words of affirmation.

Cedric’s listening also comes in handy whenever you talk about your interests! He genuinely loves hearing about the things you’re interested in solely for the fact that you’re interested in them. Side note: you can count on him to be at any music performances, pageants, etc. you may have -- this guy is truly your #1 supporter.

Cedric’s a very good student (though I suspect he’s somewhat of a procrastinator himself), so I can also see you two supporting each other through schoolwork and celebrating each other’s successes.

Like you, Cedric has a strong urge to do the right thing. Talking to him about social issues stirs up a need to help, and I could see you two doing volunteer work together in your spare time.

I like to believe one of Cedric’s biggest love languages is quality time. Don’t get me wrong, this guy loves staying involved and busy. But taking a couple hours to be with you in small ways (even if that means just being in the same room while you scroll through social media) gives him a nice balance.

Overall, this kind boy will be there unwaveringly through the bad times and will laugh just as loud as you through the good!

As a friend, I think you’d best be matched with…

LUNA LOVEGOOD

You wanna talk about the best conversations, relentless support, and overall the most wholesome friendship you could ask for? Luna’s your girl.

Being unashamed to be true to yourself is one of the biggest reasons why Luna is so drawn to you. While she’s very friendly and insightful towards everyone she meets, it can get a bit repetitive for her to constantly interact with people who try to shelter their unique characteristics from the world. In her mind, these unique characteristics are what make people so fascinating! Why should anyone hide who they are?

Luna’s creativity is endless, and I can see it blending well with yours. Collaborating on a personal project outside of school (ex: novel, blog, etc.) together is definitely something I could see you two doing.

Speaking of creativity, finding creative solutions to everyday problems (both in school and in life) is your specialty as friends.

Admittedly, Luna isn’t usually drawn to louder individuals. However, the complexity behind your personality makes it easier for her to know you are much more than what meets the eye.

Speaking of, Luna has a difficult time standing up for herself -- whether it’s because she doesn’t feel a need to or she just doesn’t recognize the meaning behind certain phrases. She NEEDS a friend like you to stand up for her sometimes, and I know you wouldn’t hesitate!

Ranting to Luna is therapeutic to say the least. While her aloofness at times may make it seem as if she isn’t fully paying attention, that couldn’t be further from the truth. She’s actually catching every word, and once you’re done she’ll leave you with a philosophical solution that may seem borderline insane/irrelevant when you first hear it, but it strangely makes sense.

Overall, the lack of judgment from either of you is what draws you together. As a result, you build a unique bond that couldn’t be broken even if either of you wanted it to.

In the Marauders era, I romantically pair you with…

REMUS LUPIN

Let’s be honest, it would take you two so long to ask each other out. You were probably already really close friends, but the insecurities and “what if?” questions from both of you delayed an actual relationship.

When you finally started dating, you were both so relieved. You still share a laugh at how almost nothing changed in the way you interacted with each other.

While with mutual friends, Remus sometimes likes to sit back and just watch you, especially when you get really talkative because this is when you become the most expressive. He has the softest smile when you’re actively cracking jokes, discussing something you’re passionate about, or even calling someone out. Sometimes you may be too distracted to notice, but other times you’ll catch him.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” (While that same soft smile never leaves his face.)

You both hold really high standards for yourself in terms of school, so expect late-night study/work sessions to be your best bet for quality time.

Though the occasional instance of walking through/lying on the grounds becomes a favorite for both of you.

Remus listens when you’re particularly struggling through anxiety or strong emotions, but he has to consciously stop himself from interrupting because he can’t stand how he feels knowing you’re going through a tough time.

All he wants to do is soothe you during these moments. If you’re comfortable, he’ll hold you while speaking to you in a soft voice. Remus, the intellectual that he is, is also your best chance at finding a reasonable solution. So if you're not in the mood for calming words, he's also a great person to turn to for answers.

As for your ambitions, no matter what you choose to pursue, you already know Remus is going to be your biggest source of support every step of the way. He’s more than happy to help in any way he can!

Overall, Remus appreciates you, and he’s always going to make sure you know it.

As a friend, I think you’d best be matched with…

LILY EVANS

Lily especially connects to you because you manage to be determined, competitive, and intelligent without sacrificing your kindness, which is something she can relate to.

You and Lily are the C.E.O.s of doing the right thing. Neither of you hesitates to back the other up when it comes to confronting someone because you know it’s justified.

As perceptive as Lily is, you never need to tell her when something is bothering you. All it takes is a quick glance before she puts whatever she’s doing on hold to check in with you.

The reverse works as well. Typically, Lily really doesn’t internally struggle too much, and when she does she tries to hide it. You’re one of the only people who can see right through whatever she tries to pull.

The constant banter between you two is unmatched, but you both know it's because you really care about each other.

Overall, you and Lily have each other’s backs through anything, even when the other isn’t actively asking for help.

[phroyd]

Oh My, what terrible timing, and what a great loss! Rest In Peace Justice Ginsburg, thank you for all you have done for our country! - Phroyd

Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, the demure firebrand who in her 80s became a legal, cultural and feminist icon, died Friday. The Supreme Court announced her death, saying the cause was complications from metastatic cancer of the pancreas.

The court, in a statement, said Ginsburg died at her home in Washington surrounded by family. She was 87.

"Our nation has lost a justice of historic stature," Chief Justice John Roberts said. "We at the Supreme Court have lost a cherished colleague. Today we mourn but with confidence that future generations will remember Ruth Bader Ginsburg as we knew her, a tired and resolute champion of justice."

Architect of the legal fight for women's rights in the 1970s, Ginsburg subsequently served 27 years on the nation's highest court, becoming its most prominent member. Her death will inevitably set in motion what promises to be a nasty and tumultuous political battle over who will succeed her, and it thrusts the Supreme Court vacancy into the spotlight of the presidential campaign.

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Just days before her death, as her strength waned, Ginsburg dictated this statement to her granddaughter Clara Spera: "My most fervent wish is that I will not be replaced until a new president is installed."

She knew what was to come. Ginsburg's death will have profound consequences for the court and the country. Inside the court, not only is the leader of the liberal wing gone, but with the Court about to open a new term, Chief Justice John Roberts no longer holds the controlling vote in closely contested cases.

Though he has a consistently conservative record in most cases, he has split from fellow conservatives in a few important ones, this year casting his vote with liberals, for instance, to at least temporarily protect the so-called Dreamers from deportation by the Trump administration, to uphold a major abortion precedent, and to uphold bans on large church gatherings during the coronavirus pandemic. But with Ginsburg gone, there is no clear court majority for those outcomes.

Indeed, a week after the upcoming presidential election, the court is for the third time scheduled to hear a challenge brought by Republicans to the Affordable Care Act, known as Obamacare. In 2012 the high court upheld the law by a 5-to-4 vote, with Chief Justice Roberts casting the deciding vote and writing the opinion for the majority. But this time the outcome may well be different.

That's because Ginsburg's death gives Republicans the chance to tighten their grip on the court with another Trump appointment that would give conservatives a 6-to-3 majority. And that would mean that even a defection on the right would leave conservatives with enough votes to prevail in the Obamacare case and many others.

At the center of the battle to achieve that will be Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell. In 2016 he took a step unprecedented in modern times: He refused for nearly a year to allow any consideration of President Obama's supreme court nominee.

Back then, McConnell's justification was the upcoming presidential election, which he said would allow voters a chance to weigh in on what kind of justice they wanted. But now, with the tables turned, McConnell has made clear he will not follow the same course. Instead he will try immediately push through a Trump nominee so as to ensure a conservative justice to fill Ginsburg's liberal shoes, even if President Trump were to lose his re-election bid. Asked what he would do in circumstances like these, McConnell said: "Oh, we'd fill it."

So what happens in the coming weeks will be bare-knuckle politics, writ large, on the stage of a presidential election. It will be a fight Ginsburg had hoped to avoid, telling Justice Stevens shortly before his death that she hoped to serve as long as he did--until age 90.

"My dream is that I will stay on the court as long as he did," she said in an interview in 2019.

She didn't quite make it. But Ruth Bader Ginsburg was nonetheless an historic figure. She changed the way the world is for American women. For more than a decade, until her first judicial appointment in 1980, she led the fight in the courts for gender equality. When she began her legal crusade, women were treated, by law, differently from men. Hundreds of state and federal laws restricted what women could do, barring them from jobs, rights and even from jury service. By the time she donned judicial robes, however, Ginsburg had worked a revolution.

That was never more evident than in 1996 when, as a relatively new Supreme Court justice, Ginsburg wrote the court's 7-to-1 opinion declaring that the Virginia Military Institute could no longer remain an all-male institution. True, said Ginsburg, most women — indeed most men — would not want to meet the rigorous demands of VMI. But the state, she said, could not exclude women who could meet those demands.

"Reliance on overbroad generalizations ... estimates about the way most men or most women are, will not suffice to deny opportunity to women whose talent and capacity place them outside the average description," Ginsburg wrote.

She was an unlikely pioneer, a diminutive and shy woman, whose soft voice and large glasses hid an intellect and attitude that, as one colleague put it, was "tough as nails."

By the time she was in her 80s, she had become something of a rock star to women of all ages. She was the subject of a hit documentary, a biopic, an operetta, merchandise galore featuring her "Notorious RBG" moniker, a Time magazine cover, and regular Saturday Night Live sketches.

On one occasion in 2016, Ginsburg got herself into trouble and later publicly apologized for disparaging remarks she made about then-presidential candidate Donald Trump.

But for the most part Ginsburg enjoyed her fame and maintained a sense of humor about herself.

Asked about the fact that she had apparently fallen asleep during the 2015 State of the Union address, Ginsburg did not take the Fifth, admitting that although she had vowed not to drink at dinner with the other justices before the speech, the wine had just been too good to resist. The result, she said, was that she was perhaps not an entirely "sober judge" and kept nodding off.

Born in Brooklyn, N.Y., Ruth Bader went to public schools, where she excelled as a student — and as a baton twirler. By all accounts, it was her mother who was the driving force in her young life, but Celia Bader died of cancer the day before the future Justice would graduate from high school.

Then 17, Ruth Bader went on to Cornell on full scholarship, where she met Martin (aka "Marty") Ginsburg. "What made Marty so overwhelmingly attractive to me was that he cared that I had a brain," she said.

After her graduation, they were married and went off to Fort Sill, Okla., for his military service. There Mrs. Ginsburg, despite scoring high on the civil service exam, could only get a job as a typist, and when she became pregnant, she lost even that job.

Two years later, the couple returned to the East Coast to attend Harvard Law School. She was one of only nine women in a class of over 500 and found the dean asking her why she was taking up a place that "should go to a man."

At Harvard, she was the academic star, not Marty. The couple was busy juggling schedules, and their toddler when Marty was diagnosed with testicular cancer. Surgeries and aggressive radiation followed.

"So that left Ruth with a 3-year-old child, a fairly sick husband, the law review, classes to attend and feeding me," said Marty Ginsburg in a 1993 interview with NPR.

The experience also taught the future justice that sleep was a luxury. During the year of Marty's illness, he was only able to eat late at night; after that he would dictate his senior class paper to Ruth. At about 2 a.m., he would go back to sleep, Ginsburg recalled in an NPR interview. "Then I'd take out the books and start reading what I needed to be prepared for classes the next day."

Marty Ginsburg survived, graduated, and got a job in New York; his wife, a year behind him in school, transferred to Columbia, where she graduated at the top of her law school class. Despite her academic achievements, the doors to law firms were closed to women, and though recommended for a Supreme Court clerkship, she wasn't even interviewed.

It was bad enough that she was a woman, she recalled later, but she was also a mother, and male judges worried that she would be diverted by her "familial obligations."

Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg is pictured in the justice's chambers in Washington, D.C., during an interview with NPR's Nina Totenberg in September 2016.

A mentor, law professor Gerald Gunther, finally got her a clerkship in New York by promising Judge Edmund Palmieri that if she couldn't do the work, he would provide someone who could. That was "the carrot," Ginsburg would say later. "The stick" was that Gunther, who regularly fed his best students to Palmieri, told the judge that if he didn't take Ginsburg, Gunther would never send him a clerk again. The Ginsburg clerkship apparently was a success; Palmieri kept her not for the usual one year, but two, from 1959-61.

Ginsburg's next path is rarely talked about, mainly because it doesn't fit the narrative. She learned Swedish so she could work with Anders Berzelius, a Swedish civil procedure scholar. Through the Columbia Law School Project on International Procedure, Ginsburg and Berzelius co-authored a book.

In 1963, Ginsburg finally landed a teaching job at Rutgers law school, where she at one point hid her second pregnancy by wearing her mother-in-law's clothes. The ruse worked; her contract was renewed before her new baby was born.

While at Rutgers, she began her work fighting gender discrimination.

The 'Mother Brief'

Her first big case was a challenge to a law that barred a Colorado man named Charles Moritz from taking a tax deduction for the care of his 89-year-old mother. The IRS said the deduction, by statute, could only be claimed by women, or widowed or divorced men. But Moritz had never married.

The tax court concluded that the internal revenue code was immune to constitutional challenge, a notion that tax lawyer Marty Ginsburg viewed as "preposterous." The two Ginsburgs took on the case, he from the tax perspective, she from the constitutional perspective.

According to Marty Ginsburg, for his wife, this was the "mother brief." She had to think through all the issues and how to fix the inequity. The solution was to ask the court not to invalidate the statute but to apply it equally to both sexes. She won in the lower courts.

"Amazingly," he recalled in a 1993 NPR interview, the government petitioned the United States Supreme Court, stating that the decision "cast a cloud of unconstitutionality" over literally hundreds of federal statutes, and it attached a list of those statutes, which it compiled with Defense Department computers.

Those laws, Marty Ginsburg added, "were the statutes that my wife then litigated ... to overturn over the next decade."

In 1971, she would write her first Supreme Court brief in the case of Reed v. Reed. Ginsburg represented Sally Reed, who thought she should be the executor of her son's estate instead of her ex-husband.

The constitutional issue was whether a state could automatically prefer men over women as executors of estates. The answer from the all-male supreme court: no.

It was the first time the court had ever struck down a state law because it discriminated based on gender.

And that was just the beginning.

By then Ginsburg was earning quite a reputation. She would become the first female tenured professor at Columbia Law School, and she would found the Women's Rights Project at the ACLU.

As the chief architect of the battle for women's legal rights, Ginsburg devised a strategy that was characteristically cautious, precise and single-mindedly aimed at one goal: winning.

Knowing that she had to persuade male, establishment-oriented judges, she often picked male plaintiffs, and she liked Social Security cases because they illustrated how discrimination against women can harm men. For example, in Weinberger v. Wiesenfeld, she represented a man whose wife, the principal breadwinner, died in childbirth. The husband sought survivor's benefits to care for his child, but under the then-existing Social Security law, only widows, not widowers, were entitled to such benefits.

"This absolute exclusion, based on gender per se, operates to the disadvantage of female workers, their surviving spouses, and their children," Ginsburg told the justices at oral argument. The Supreme Court would ultimately agree, as it did in five of the six cases she argued.

Over the ensuing years, Ginsburg would file dozens of briefs seeking to persuade the courts that the 14th Amendment guarantee of equal protection applies not just to racial and ethnic minorities, but to women as well.

In an interview with NPR, she explained the legal theory that she eventually sold to the Supreme Court.

"The words of the 14th Amendment's equal protection clause — 'nor shall any state deny to any person the equal protection of the laws.' Well that word, 'any person,' covers women as well as men. And the Supreme Court woke up to that reality in 1971," Ginsburg said.

During these pioneering years, Ginsburg would often work through the night as she had during law school. But by this time, she had two children, and she later liked to tell a story about the lesson she learned when her son, in grade school, seemed to have a proclivity for getting into trouble.

The scrapes were hardly major, and Ginsburg grew exasperated by demands from school administrators that she come in to discuss her son's alleged misbehavior. Finally, there came a day when she had had enough. "I had stayed up all night the night before, and I said to the principal, 'This child has two parents. Please alternate calls.'"

After that, she found, the calls were few and far between. It seemed, she said, that most infractions were not worth calling a busy husband about.

The Supreme Court's Second Woman

In 1980 then-President Jimmy Carter named Ginsburg to the U.S. Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia. Over the next 13 years, she would amass a record as something of a centrist liberal, and in 1993 then-President Bill Clinton nominated her to the Supreme Court, the second woman appointed to the position.

She was not first on his list. For months Clinton flirted with other potential nominees, and some women's rights activists withheld their active support because they were worried about Ginsburg's views on abortion. She had been publicly critical of the legal reasoning in Roe v. Wade.

But in the background, Marty Ginsburg was lobbying hard for his wife. And finally Ruth Ginsburg was invited for a meeting with the president. As one White House official put it afterward, Clinton "fell for her--hook, line and sinker." So did the Senate. She was confirmed by a vote of 96 to 3.

Once on the court, Ginsburg was an example of a woman who defied stereotypes. Though she looked tiny and frail, she rode horses well into her 70s and even went parasailing. At home, it was her husband who was the chef, indeed a master chef, while the justice cheerfully acknowledged that she was an awful cook.

Though a liberal, she and the court's conservative icon, Antonin Scalia, now deceased, were the closest of friends. Indeed, an opera called Scalia/Ginsburg is based on their legal disagreements, and their affection for each other.

Over the years, as Ginsburg's place on the court grew in seniority, so did her role. In 2006, as the court veered right after the retirement of Justice Sandra Day O'Connor, Ginsburg dissented more often and more assertively, her most passionate dissents coming in women's rights cases.

Dissenting in Ledbetter v. Goodyear in 2007, she called on Congress to pass legislation that would override a court decision that drastically limited back-pay available for victims of employment discrimination. The resulting legislation was the first bill passed in 2009 after President Barack Obama took office.

In 2014, she dissented fiercely from the court's decision in Burwell v. Hobby Lobby, a decision that allowed some for-profit companies to refuse, on religious grounds, to comply with a federal mandate to cover birth control in health care plans. Such an exemption, she said, would "deny legions of women who do not hold their employers' beliefs, access to contraceptive coverage."

Where, she asked, "is the stopping point?" Suppose it offends an employer's religious belief "to pay the minimum wage" or "to accord women equal pay?"

And in 2013, when the court struck down a key provision of the Voting Rights Act, contending that times had changed and the law was no longer needed, Ginsburg dissented. She said that throwing out the provision "when it has worked and is continuing to work ... is like throwing away your umbrella in a rainstorm because you are not getting wet."

She viewed her dissents as a chance to persuade a future court.

"Some of my favorite opinions are dissenting opinions," Ginsburg told NPR. "I will not live to see what becomes of them, but I remain hopeful."

And yet, Ginsburg still managed some unexpected victories by winning over one or two of the conservative justices in important cases. In 2015, for example, she authored the court's decision upholding independent redistricting commissions established by voter referenda as a way of removing some of the partisanship in drawing legislative district lines.

Ginsburg always kept a backbreaking schedule of public appearances both at home and abroad, even after five bouts with cancer: colon cancer in 1999, pancreatic cancer 10 years later, lung cancer in 2018, and then pancreatic cancer again in 2019 and liver lesions in 2020. During that time, she endured chemotherapy, radiation, and in the last years of her life, terrible pain from shingles that never went away completely. All who knew her admired her grit. In 2009, three weeks after major cancer surgery, she surprised everyone when she showed up for the State of the Union address.

Shortly after that, she was back on the bench; it was her husband Marty who told her she could do it, even when she thought she could not, she told NPR.

A year later her psychological toughness was on full display when her beloved husband of 56 years was mortally ill. As she packed up his things at the hospital before taking him home to die, she found a note he had written to her. "My Dearest Ruth," it began, "You are the only person I have ever loved," setting aside children and family. "I have admired and loved you almost since the day we first met at Cornell....The time has come for me to ... take leave of life because the loss of quality simply overwhelms. I hope you will support where I come out, but I understand you may not. I will not love you a jot less."

Shortly after that, Marty Ginsburg died at home. The next day, his wife, the justice, was on the bench, reading an important opinion she had authored for the court. She was there, she said, because "Marty would have wanted it."

Years later, she would read the letter aloud in an NPR interview, and at the end, choke down the tears.

In the years after Marty's death, she would persevere without him, maintaining a jam-packed schedule when she was not on the bench or working on opinions.

Some liberals criticized her for not retiring while Obama was president, but she was at the top of her game, enjoyed her work enormously, and feared that Republicans might not confirm a successor. She was an avid consumer of opera, literature, and modern art. But in the end, it was her work, she said, that sustained her.

"I do think that I was born under a very bright star," she said in an NPR interview. "Because if you think about my life, I get out of law school. I have top grades. No law firm in the city of New York will hire me. I end up teaching; it gave me time to devote to the movement for evening out the rights of women and men. "

And it was that legal crusade for women's rights that ultimately led to her appointment to the U.S. Supreme Court.

To the end of her tenure, she remained a special kind of feminist, both decorous and dogged.

Phroyd

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic – Haleth/OFC

Summary: As Haleth's people begin their journey to their new home, Haleth makes a discovery of a person she has known all her life.

Wordcount: ~2,000 words; Rating: General audiences

Some keywords: romance, developing relationship      

A/N: This is based on the version where Haleth is only nineteen when her father and brother die in the battle of the Gelion-Ascar stockade and she becomes the leader of her people.

Warning: Very brief description of a dead (hunted) animal.

AO3 link

*

In the sunlight, you

Before the loss of her brother, before all the losses, Haleth didn't spend much time thinking of Aeres.

She is certainly someone she knew, for Aeres has been a healer's apprentice since she was young, and Haleth has always been prone to doing thing that lead scrapes and worse injuries. But Haleth didn't think more of Aeres than that it's fortunate that she's smart enough to be a healer because she's certainly not going to be a warrior or a hunter or a great forager. As long as Haleth can remember Aeres has walked with a limp, something wrong with her left leg probably since birth.

Haleth doesn't know what exactly is wrong with the leg, not because she's too tactful to ask but because she was never interested enough to. Aeres was always going to be a healer and useful to their folk that way, and others were going to help her with things she couldn't do because of her leg; it didn't matter why she limps.

Now Haleth is interested in knowing why she does – as the spring after the winter of grief turns to a glorious summer and they prepare for their journey northwest, she finds herself interested in a great many things about Aeres.

It is very silly, stupidly silly, because Haleth doesn't have time for thinking about one specific person in one specific way she suspects might lead to what her mother called 'the greatest thing in life that you will experience in life, my fox-cub, that washes everything in sunlight'.

Haleth doesn't have time for reaching for sunlight. She needs to lead her folk to their new land.

'How many are still not in walking shape?' she asks Aeres one evening as she does every night, in their camp near their burned old homes where they gather resources and prepare for the journey.

'Only a few', Aeres says. She looks tired. 'Though not all can walk a full day at first.'

Haleth can't stop her eyes turning to Aeres' own legs. They will have to go slow, Haleth knows. Besides the freshly injured, there are those like Aeres, and the old and the young.

Haleth stifles a sigh of impatience. She wants to leave this land that is in her eyes all burned and blood-spattered and, no matter what the shining-eyed elf-lord says, not a free land anymore.

'You have been working hard to help everyone recover', Haleth says to Aeres.

'We have not many healers left', replies Aeres. 'I do what I can.'

Dorrin, the old healer who took Aeres in after her mother died and taught her, died in the battle between the rivers, trying to help the wounded. Haleth knows that Aeres misses him.

'We all do what we can', Haleth says, rarely one to weave fair words.

But as she leaves Aeres' tent that smells of pungent herbs and salves, Haleth squeezes her shoulder.

*

When they begin their journey, Haleth suddenly sees Aeres all the time. When their people lived in peace, a healer wasn't as important or visible a member of the community as she is now. And besides being a healer Aeres is a friend of Toreth, Haleth's sister-in-law. Aeres often helps Toreth with both her grief and her son, Haleth's nephew.

Haleth has never been as close with Toreth as most sisters-by-marriage tend to be. They both have quick tempers and have found it best to not spend enough time in close proximity for them to spark. After Haldar's death Toreth has been more quiet and drawn, mourning the loss of her husband so young.

Apparently Aeres likes children for she volunteers to help Toreth with Haldan, and soon she does it every day, becoming an everyday fixture at the campfire Haleth makes every evening for her sister-in-law and nephew. There Aeres sits, feeding Haldan and telling him bedtime stories, or boring things about plants make him sleepy when he is too energetic too late and Toreth only stares into the fire, silent and still.

In the evenings, Haleth watches Aeres with Haldan and feels weak in her chest.

Aeres has brown hair that glows in firelight, and dark brown eyes and long lashes, and she smiles at Haldan's babbling commentary and at Haleth's supposedly-witty asides.

Aeres is not strong or lively like some women Haleth has desired, but she is lovely and she is helping take care of Haleth's family and she never complains about having to walk all day every day even though every evening when they make camp she moves with the sort of deliberate carefulness that Haleth knows means pain.

Haleth knows it is hard for her, all the walking, and for many others, yet she must harden her heart and have her people walk a long way almost every day. While winter is not coming yet, it will eventually, and they need to be much farther on their journey by then.

One night Aeres barely moves, just sits by the fire pale, clutching her wool cloak around her while others still bustle around her making camp for the night.

Haleth sits by her side. 'Tomorrow we will rest. No marching', she says, feeding more wood into the fire she just built.

'Not on my account.' Aeres bends to knead her bad leg around the knee. 'I will be better in the morning, I promise.'

'I know', Haleth says. 'I know. But we all could do with a day of rest again. And those who don't need it, we'll hunt, get some meat for the next few nights.'

Aeres nods, the fall of her hair that has escaped its tie obscuring her face as she still rubs at her leg.

'Then I will take another look at Amhar's wounds', she says. 'The one on his arm is still not scarred right. I cannot understand how. It should have either healed by now or…'

'Or killed him', Haleth ends for her.

'Yes.' Aeres nods again. 'There was some strange poison on some of the orcs' spears, I believe, but not all. Not all wounds that our fighters sustained that day were like this. Some were more deadly, many less lingering.'

'I'm sure that you will figure out how to treat Amhar's arm', Haleth says, trying to be reassuring.

'I hope so. I am not sure what to do, to be honest; I'm not sure that what I've been doing is right. I always had Dorrin to ask for confirmation before but now…'

'… but now things are different and you have to make decisions on your own', Haleth says. She never knows how many days she should have her folk march before a day of rest, never knows if she is pushing them too hard or not enough.

'Of course you understand.' Aeres lifts her head. 'Yet you are making good decisions, Haleth. You are leading us well.'

Haleth is never shy but all she can say is, 'I hope so.'

She is confident in her bigger decisions but not always in the small, everyday ones.

She never expected to become the leader of her folk, but she suspects Haldar would not have been sure what to do in this situation either.

*

Aeres is of age with Toreth, a few years older than Haleth's own nineteen summers. Haleth remembers that two summers ago one of the men Aeres' age tried to court her but she refused all his gifts, to the laughter of the other young men. Haleth can't remember seeing Aeres ever grant her favour to any of them.

As they journey northwest across the great plain that the elves call Estolad, and tiredness settles on Aeres' face until it is an everyday sight, Haleth… she doesn't give Aeres those sorts of gifts, little trinkets and bunches of wildflowers tied with pretty ribbon and honey-cakes purchased from the village's best baker. There are no such gifts to give now. 

But when Toreth doesn't see – because Haleth wants to keep the peace in her family now, one more responsibility she doesn't feel all that equipped for – she gives Aeres the best cut of meat; and the warmer blanket, her own, when they settle down to sleep; and some evenings she forces some of her vigilance off her own shoulders and tells her guards to make watch arrangements instead, and fetches water for Aeres and Toreth and Haldan herself, the three people she thinks of as her family now.

Once or twice when she brings a brace of freshly caught rabbits to Aeres to skin, she sets a late-summer flowers on top of them. It is more gruesome than sweet, flowers on top of the dead empty-eyed animals but it makes Aeres smile.

And she accepts them, like she accepts all of Haleth's little not-gifts, with little demurring apart from the first time Haleth gave her something that is hers by right of her leadership.

'This is yours', Aeres said holding Haleth's thick blanket that she'd handed to her, her eyes shadowed and questioning under the sparse trees that serve as their roof for the night.

'Yours for tonight', Haleth answered that night, and the next, and from then on Aeres only smiled when Haleth gave it to her.

*

Aeres has the sometimes-brisk, sometimes-gentling voice of a healer, and Haleth is learning her every tone and nuance.

'Are you well', Aeres asks one night, dark eyes worried as she looks at and speaks to Haleth in a way that she does with her patients, yet not quite.

She has been rubbing salve on a little hurt of Haleth's, but Haleth doesn't feel like her patient.

Still she says, 'I am tired', because there is no one else to hear just then. She has strong limbs and good lungs but sometimes she too grows tired, especially as the days grow cooler and shorter and their stores of food meagre.

'Tomorrow the sun will shine', Aeres says, soft. 'I could tell by the sunset. It will be a warm day, a fair day.'

'Perhaps I will not be so tired tomorrow, then', Haleth says, as comforted as Aeres no doubt intended her to be.

They sleep close to each other that night, close enough to touch if just one of them reached out a hand.

*

'In the sun your hair is spun of gold', Aeres says to Haleth the next day as they are spending the midday break from walking together. Aeres sorts through herbs brought to her by  children eager to help, and Haleth sharpens her knife for her.

And finding poetry somewhere deep within herself where it never was before, Haleth replies, 'In the sun, your eyes are warmer than even the light.'

Aeres blushes and bows her head. She doesn't blush often, Haleth knows, and not just because it doesn't show easily on her light-brown skin.

She looks at Haleth from under her dark lashes. 'If you were a man I would say that you were courting me', she says. 'Giving me the best bits of meat, and making sure I am warm, and doing little errands to make my days easier though you do not need to.'

Haleth is quiet for a moment, her heart heavy in her chest and the knife cold in her hand, and then asks, 'Would you like it better if I were a man?'

Women courting women is rarer.

Aeres lifts her eyes and they are tired as always but warm, still. 'If you were a man I would tell you to stop.'

And she doesn't say anything more, just continues sorting herbs where she sits by Haleth's side.

That night Haleth spreads her bedroll right by Aeres' and as darkness falls around them, quiet and gentle and guarded by others, she holds Aeres close and kisses her the back of her neck where her hair is softest.

Aeres sighs quietly (contently, Haleth imagines; hopes) and turns in Haleth's arms, and tucks her head under her chin.

'Yours for tonight', Aeres whispers, her breath warm on Haleth's collarbones. 'And the next, and the next, and the next.'

*

A/N: Thank you for reading! I would love to hear what you thought of this little fic. And reblogs are always dearly welcome.

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

BTS When Another Idol Flirts With You Backstage (Maknae Line)

Summary: you know the drill

Warnings: insecure bbys, massive amounts of salt, angst and fluff (flangst), alcohol tw ig but not really

Word Count: 2884

Taehyung (V)

Kim Taehyung doesn't have a jealous bone in his body, so when you got mildly tipsy at an award show and begged him to get you backstage so that you could meet you EXO bias, Park Chanyeol, he didn't think twice.

At least, he didn't think he had a jealous bone in his body. He found himself frowning while he watched you blushing as you talked to the tall man, frown deepening when you held your small hand up to his to compare and he closed his hand around yours.

Jin is eating an apple very loudly as he walks up being Taehyung.

"Isn't that the girl you're seeing being seduced by Park Chanyeol?"

Taehyung winces at how loud his voice is. "He's not seducing her. She's a fan."

"I bet she is," Jin drawled. "If I were you, I'd go over there before she climbs him like a tree."

Taehyung frowns at him as he walks away.

When he looks back to you, you're looking up at Chanyeol like he hung the moon while he's leaning down to speak to you.

Taehyung feels a knot in his stomach when you blush and turn away at something he says. He wishes he could hear the conversation but it's loud backstage and he's at the far corner.

It isn't as if Taehyung is a total stranger to feeling jealous, but it's been quite a while since he's felt it for a woman, and he hates how his stomach feels tense and his chest feels tight.

He'd only been dating you for a few weeks, after all, and you're absolutely perfect. He's been in love with you since the third date but he's afraid to say anything so soon. He's always been the type to fall hard and fast, and he doesn't want to chase you away.

That is, if you don't run away with someone else, first. He huffs an exhale through his nose when he sees you take Chanyeol's hand to lead over to sit down near the catering table.

He desperately wants to walk over there, but what would he even say that didn't make him look like an idiot? It wasn't that he didn't trust you but he felt uncertain and nervous.

He didn't know if you cared about him the same way he cared for you, it had been too early to have that conversation. He hadn't doubted that you were interested in making this a serious thing until just this moment.

He tried to avoid looking over at you and your EXO bias but kept sneaking glances, and every time you seemed to sitting closer together and it made his heart seize up.

When the night was finally over and he went to his dressing room, you met him in the hall, cheeks flushed, smiling brightly.

He smiled back at you and you threw your arms around him. You smelled vaguely like cologne and he couldn't help his frown as you pulled away.

"Tae, thank you so much for this, I had the best night, I can't believe-"

You stop talking, seeing the frown on his handsome face.

"What's wrong?"

Taehyung shook his head, giving you a weak smile, and went into his dressing room.

You followed, shutting the door behind you.

"I'm really glad you had fun," he says, but he loosens his tie almost aggressively and plops down in a chair, sighing.

You're quiet for a moment, knowing he has more to say and just waiting.

He isn't looking at you. He pulls at his collar again, as if he was feeling suffocated, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs.

"He sure seemed to like you a lot," he says finally, voice low and soft.

You frown. "I mean, I guess. I'm sure he's used to humoring his fans. He's just friendly."

"Very friendly," Taehyung mumbles, pulling at his collar again and sitting upright.

He sees your frown and tries to give you a reassuring smile. "Don't let me ruin your night, Jagi. I'm just feeling a little...jealous, I guess."

Your eyes widen. "You're feeling what? Kim Taehyung why on Earth would you be jealous?"

He huffs a little. "Oh, I don't know, you're all flushed and happy and smelling like his cologne..." He hates how bitter his voice sounds. "I'm sorry. I know I'm being difficult."

You place your hands on his shoulders and he looks up at you.

"Don't apologize. Everyone feels that way sometimes but it's ridiculous because I just...I'm crazy about you, Tae."

His eyes light up. "You are?"

"Very much so. Chanyeol is nice but I'm just a fan. You're the one I love."

You don't realize you've said it until it's already out of your mouth and you flush.

Taehyung's smile is a mile wide and he stands up and pulls you into his arms. He just holds you for a moment before you pull away.

"I didn't mean to tell you like that," you mumble, embarrassed.

"I'm so glad you did," he says, voice low, stroking your cheek. "I was scared you'd run off with Park Chanyeol because I didn't tell you how much I love you yet."

You laugh at him and he gives you a mock frown but his eyes are bright.

"Guess you better tell me every day so I don't, huh?"

"Just try and stop me," he murmurs, and then he leans down to kiss you.

(From then on, whenever you watched the "Monster" MV and squealed over Chanyeol's deep voice, Taehyung would give you a very serious look and almost growl, "I love you," in your ear over and over until it gave you goosebumps)

Jimin

Park Jimin is not angry when you beg for backstage passes at an award show. In fact, he's kind of flattered that you're interested in what goes on behind the scenes.

Then when you squeal when he gives you the passes and exclaim that you can't believe you'll be backstage with Got7, he frowns and crosses his arms.

You roll your eyes at him. "C'mon, Jimin, I just wanna meet Jackson he's so..."

Jimin narrows his eyes at you and you demur.

"He's...fun. He's my bias and I just think it'll be exciting! There will be plenty of time to hang out with you too, Jiminie..."

He lets you croon over him and finally smiles at you because he knows he's being a little dramatic.

He didn't think much of it at the award show because they were performing and he was all energy and focus, but when he went looking for you and found you sitting thigh to thigh with your bias, he felt his face heat up.

A large part of him wanted to go over and introduce himself but he found himself almost hiding, watching you talk and laugh as if you didn't have a boyfriend waiting on you.

Jackson is flirty with all his fans, Jimin had seen you watching compilations if fan interactions, but he was going overboard with you, brushing your hair back from your face as you talked and once, putting his hand on your thigh to get your attention.

Jimin felt like his skin was on fire when you didn't slap his hand away, just blushed and smiled.

It was Namjoon who finally saw him standing in the shadows and watching you, and Jimin jumped when the leader clapped him on the shoulder.

"You wanna go to the dressing room and talk, Jiminie?" Namjoon said softly, and Jimin nodded, hating the frustrated tears that burned at the backs of his eyes.

As you make your way to the dressing rooms to find Jimin, you hear banging coming from Namjoon's room and Namjoon's low voice.

"Jimin you can't overreact, it'll only push her away."

"Well maybe that's what she wants! She doesn't seem to care one way or the other-"

You knock on the door, not liking the strain you hear in Jimin's voice.

Namjoon opens it and when he sees you, sighs deeply. "Thank God. You two kids work it out. I'll go to Hope's room."

He gives you a look as if he feels sorry for you and touches your shoulder. "He's been through half a bottle of my red wine already so be gentle with him, huh?"

He leaves without further explanation and you stand there a moment, confused.

You and Jimin had been dating for almost six months and you knew he could be moody and dramatic, had seen it firsthand, but you really didn't know what you'd done to set him off this time.

You opened the door slowly and closed it behind you, finding Jimin slumped on the couch, collar stretched, head down.

"Hey, Jiminie, what's going on?" You say gently, approaching him carefully.

"Did you get lost on your way to Jackson's dressing room? It's in the other hall, you know."

He takes a big gulp out of the half empty wine glass on the table and when he lifts his head you see his eye makeup is smudged, hair disheveled from running his hands through it.

"Oh...kay..." You say, taking a deep breath and trying not to get angry.

You knew Jimin's jealous streak intimately, but up until now you'd been able to compliment him until he forgot why he was mad. This seemed more... serious.

You sat down on the couch, close to him but not touching.

"Did you have a good night?" He asks, tone bitter, and he still won't look at you.

"Up until now, I did," you say honestly. "I'm grateful you got me these passes."

"I'll bet you are," he grumbles, running his hand through his hair again.

"But," you continue, "I thought you'd come find me so we could spend some time together after the performance. I wanted to tell you how great you looked."

"I did come find you!" He's not shouting but it's a near thing. "You were busy blushing with Jackson Wang's hands all over you."

You take another deep breath because he's being salty and irrational but you can tell he's genuinely upset.

"That is not what happened, but I can tell you're upset, so why don't we just talk about it?"

He twists toward you, knees up, dark eyes flashing.

"Who's upset? I had a great time watching you fawn all over him. I thought you were gonna faint when he put his hand on your thigh." He's looking at you defiantly but you can see his eyes are wet and shining.

You remembered that but only because you knew he didn't mean anything by it but you'd looked around for Jimin at that very moment, knowing he'd flip out over it.

"Jimin, I swear to you that he didn't mean anything by it. He's just like that, he-"

"Did you want him to mean something by it?"

"No! No, of course not! I mean, six months ago I would've loved it, but-"

Jimin hides his face from you, wiping angrily at his eyes.

"But now I only want you, Park Jimin. You know that, right?"

"I thought I did," he mumbles quietly, and you take the opportunity to stand up and take his face in your hands.

"I like Jackson," you say, and he tries to twist his face away but you won't let him, looking into his eyes. "But I love you."

His eyes light up but he twists around to face you and takes your hands to move them from his face.

"I love you too, but I'm still mad at you."

You can't help but laugh as he pulls you down into his lap, huffing an exasperated breath against your neck.

"You're so mean when you're jealous," you chastise, running your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

"I'm sorry," he says miserably, kissing your bare shoulder. "I can't stand seeing anyone else touch you. I'm selfish that way."

"You know I don't want anyone else, dummy," you say fondly, loving the skinship as he slides his hand under your shirt and rubs your lower back.

"You might someday. I'm nothing special. I'm a mess, really."

You pull back and look at him with a soft smile. "You're my favorite mess in all the world and I won't let you forget it."

You kiss his cheekbone, his jawline, his eyelids, all over his face until he breaks a smile that's like sunshine through a raincloud.

(The next time you interact with Jackson Wang, he and Jimin get along great, as long as Jimin is touching you at all times, but when he gets you home that night Jimin pays special attention to your thighs and you wake up the next morning with marks all over them)

Jungkook

Jeon Jungkook has planned the night out to a T when he surprises you with backstage passes to an award show he’ll be performing at.

You’d been friends for a few weeks, and although you’d been surprised when he kissed you unexpectedly after walking you home from having coffee, you had also been delighted.

Since then, though, there had been no forward motion, and you were beginning to think that maybe he wasn’t interested in that way, that the kiss had just been a fluke.

Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook was crazy about you. He’d been talking to his hyungs about surprising you with backstage passes ever since he kissed you, wanting to confess to you somewhere special.

Jungkook barely talked to you on the ride to the show, his hands in his lap, just smiling at you and nodding in the right places when you mentioned you were excited to see him and the other bands perform up close.

So when you got sidetracked during BTS’s performance by Lim Changkyun from Monsta X, you didn’t think anything of it.

The maknae rapper they called I.M had long been your bias, and so his friendly conversation was appreciated, especially since you didn’t know anyone other than the boys backstage.

When he asked how you came across backstage passes just as the boys came off the stage, he raised a pierced eyebrow when you mentioned Jungkook’s name, you blushed.

“It’s not like that. We’re just friends,” you said, not knowing any different.

When Changkyun winked at you and said “Good for me, then,” you went an alarming shade of red.

You caught Jungkook’s eye just then as he was standing awkwardly near the corner of the stage, fidgeting anxiously, and you smiled and waved to him.

He threw up a hand shortly and then booked it, heading toward the dressing room, and you frowned but didn’t follow, thinking maybe he wanted to change.

An hour later, you’re talking with Changkyun at the catering table when Jungkook appears out of nowhere and doesn’t say a word until you look over at him.

He’s working his tongue against his inner cheek, looking mildly annoyed. 

“Hey, Kook! The performance was amazing, I-”

“Can I borrow you for a second?”

Changkyun raised his eyebrow again and winked at you, shrugging.

You heard Jungkook huff out a breath and then he took your arm, tugging you toward the dressing rooms.

He doesn’t speak until you’re standing outside the door and then he lets go of your arm and takes a deep  breath, shaking his hair out of his face.

“Y/n, do you like me?” He asks bluntly, looking into your eyes, and you feel your face flush.

“Of course I like you, Kook,” you say hesitantly, not knowing what he expects from you and not wanting to get your hopes up.

He huffs out another impatient breath. “No, I mean...just...come here.”

He opens the dressing room door and pulls you inside and you stand in shock while he closes the door.

There’s rose petals strewn around the room and candles lit, a bottle of champagne and two glasses on the table.

“Wh-what is this?” You ask, mouth open.

Jungkook is wringing his hands, all nervous energy. “This is dumb, I know.  planned on waiting until the award show was over, Namjoon helped me with the flowers and stuff, but I got worried you’d run off with that guy before I got a chance to tell you-”

He’s babbling but he cuts off when you don’t speak, looking down at you intently.

“So do you like that guy? Because I can back off, I don’t know what I am to you,  I just-”

You cut him off by throwing your arms around him and kissing him, hard.

He makes a surprised sound in his throat and then kisses you back.

When he pulls away, he groans a little. “Thank GOD. I saw him flirting with you and I thought I was going to explode before I could get everything set up.”

You laugh at him a little. “What if I had said no?”

He gives you a slow smirk. “I guess I would’ve just had to convince you,” he murmurs, and kisses you again and again until you need to catch your breath.

(It’s almost unbearably cute how huffy and pouty he gets when he catches you jamming out to the Alligator MV and when you tease him about it he throws you on the couch and kisses you all over until you’re giggling)

[fellkrieger123]

Prompt #5: Matter of Fact

OR: How my Papa is the best and yours sucks. _____________

“Well, my father is the captain of the ‘Lil Coeurl,” Yvette bragged, tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder. It was lunchtime for the children at Stillglade Fane, and they all bunched together, whispering among themselves as they munched on their snacks provided to them by the teachers. Adele sat next to Etoile quietly, Esther on his other side as she quietly at her sandwich. It was a very yummy sandwich today, packed by her father, who was finally home from long weeks of adventuring. “He’s out right now with his crew, catching lots of fish in the La Noscean sea! Oh, but he’ll be home in time before class ends so he can pick me up~”

“Well, my daddy works with the Leatherworkers’ Guild. He’s like, the best one they have,” another girl bragged. Adele didn’t really know the name of this little girl. She knew she was one of Yvette’s cronies, following her around like a little duck on most days when the small group of children had time to play by themselves.

Other children began chiming in, bragging about the jobs their mothers and fathers did, but Etoile, Adele, and Esther sat quietly, eating their lunches in peace. No one noticed the quiet trio until Yvette spoke up. Her expression was innocent, a hand pressed demurely to her cheek, but her eyes spoke of malice that Adele was quite familiar with, even at her young age.

“Oh, Adele,” she said, a tone of feigned concern in her voice. Adele knew she was going to be made fun of. Yvette always liked to pull her hair and call her dirty names like ‘half-breed’ and ‘bastard,’ but Adele always took it in stride. After all, Papa always said that she should never be ashamed of who she was because she was proof that her mama and he loved each other very much. She was proud of her slightly pointed ears. Let Yvette be mean, she could never understand. “What does your mother do?” There was a moment of silence as Adele lowered her sandwich and looked up at Yvette. Another look of feigned shock came across the Elezen child’s face. “Oh! I forgot! You don’t have a mother, do you?” Yvette’s cronies giggled maliciously as their leader continued.

“It really is such a shame. I’m sure your mother left after you were born. After all, normal people don’t want a half-breed attached to their name. Oh, not that there’s anything wrong with you! I’m sure your father doesn’t see you as too much of a burden!” She sneered, covering her mouth to hide her smirk. “I’m sure he’s just busy, after all. He never picks you up from class, and I never see him around town! I’m sure he’s just working so hard to make sure he gives you SUCH a good life!” Etoile’s face curled in disgust and he put down his food, opening his mouth to say something, but quieted when Adele put a hand on his arm. He looked at the little girl, face twisted in annoyance, but said nothing.

“Yeah, Papa is always busy,” she said cheerfully. “He works really hard in other City-States. He was in Limsa before he came home. He’s always traveling.” Yvette’s sneer deepened. Adele wouldn’t let the older girl know that her words bothered her a lot. She didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. 

“Yes, well,” she simpered, finishing her food. “I’m sure he’ll be far too busy to pick you up again today. You’ll have to walk home ALL alone, again. It’s so sad, really, to have no one there to take you home!” Adele bit her tongue. She’d show this girl. Her papa was coming today to pick her up, and she’d show her just how nice and wonderful her papa was.

Before Yvette could say anything more, the Conjurer in charge of their studies called for them. It seemed lunchtime was over. Adele shoved the rest of her yummy sandwich in her mouth, wiping her lips with the back of her hand before standing, wiping any crumbs off of her nice new shirt. She wanted to look her best for PApa when he picked her and her friends up today, after all.

“Adele,” Esther whispered next to her as they all started to fill the circle around the Conjurer. “Why don’t you say anything? Mr. Fell is the nicest person ever, and you have so many cool stories to tell!” Adele shook her head.

“I don’t need to brag about my Papa,” Adele whispered back. “Because I already know how great he is. I don’t care if other people don’t think so, because I know so.”

“Adele, Esther,” the teacher chided gently, and the two quieted for their lesson. It was about two bells later that class ended, and soon the kids were filing out to the Lotus Stand to wait for their parents. Adele stuck close to Etoile and Esther, holding Etoile’s hand tightly. She really didn’t want Yvette messing with her or her hair today. She wanted to look pretty for Papa when he came to pick her up.

“Yvette, my love!” A voice cried, and Adele looked up to see a well-built Elezen man saunter up to her bully. Yvette seemed pleased, walking up and throwing her arms around the man. “Have you been a good girl today?” “Of course, father,” Yvette said. “Oh, father, I’m so glad you’re here! Will you tell my friends some stories of the sea today?” Yvette’s father’s face darkened slightly, but he smiled all the same, nodding.

“I don’t see why not. In fact, I have quite the story today!” The children still left eagerly surrounded the sailor as he began to weave his tale. “Just a week ago, while I was sailing the ocean blue, our ship was attacked by the Drowned!” The kids gasped, and Adele stood a bit closer to Etoile. Her papa told stories about the tempered, and she didn’t like to hear them. They often ended sadly, and Adele hated unhappy endings. “We fought valiantly against them, but their numbers were great.”

“You scared them off, didn’t you, father?” Yvette asked eagerly, and the sailor shook his head. She looked surprised at that, and then uncomfortable. She had apparently wanted to brag about how wonderful her father was, but if he didn’t have a heroic or cool story to tell...

“I’m afraid it wasn’t me, my dear. But... I was saved by a brave adventurer!” The kids’ faces lit up once more. The group did love stories about adventurers. Even Adele was interested. “He came in, staff glowing and fire spewing from it. I had never seen such a sight! And lo, did I get told that this man was no other than a Warrior of Light! The very one who slew Leviathan himself!”

“Father, that’s wonderful! I doubt anyone else can say they’ve met a Warrior of Light!” Yvette said haughtily. The man chuckled.

“Well, I doubt that, yes, but-”

“Adele.” Her ears perked and Adele turned, smiling brightly. Her Papa walked into the Stand, a bag of groceries tucked under an arm. “Sorry I’m late, little heart, I ran into a bit of trouble on the way here.” He adjusted the bag and Adele let go of Etoile’s hand, rushing up and throwing her arms around her papa’s knees.

“IT’s okay, papa! I’m glad you came!” Adele said cheerfully. The man turned and his eyes widened and he bowed.

“Ah! Ser Krieger! We meet again!” He said eagerly, and her papa looked up at the man, eyes narrowed as he tried to remember who he was. The man cleared his throat. “I am Captain Bouroux Phetonond. We met last week when you valiantly saved my crew and me from the Drowned.” A look of realization came across Papa’s face and he nodded.

“Oh, right. It’s good to see you doing well, Captain,” he said, smiling as he reached down to pat Adele’s head. “So your child comes here for classes, as well?” Yvette looked shocked and looked at her papa, and then Adele, and then her papa again.

“Yes! My dear Yvette is a wonderful student here. I see your own child comes here as well, Warrior of Light!” The kids were in a titter, whispering excitedly at each other as they gazed up at her Papa, Adele couldn’t help but puff with pride as she gripped her papa’s pants, sticking her tongue out at Yvette and she bumbled over her words, trying to say something but not getting the words out.

“Yes. Sadly, I don’t get to come to pick her up as often as I’d like.” He looked down at her and Adele smiled at him.

“It’s okay, Papa. I know you’re always out helping the other Warriors of Light to save the world!” She put an emphasis on ‘save the world,’ looking smugly over at Yvette, who paled. Etoile and Esther walked up to her Papa, and he smiled at them all.

“Well, how about we head home then, you three?” he asked. “I bought a special snack for tonight.”

“Alright, Mr. Fell,” Esther said, reaching up to grip her Papa’s other pants leg. Adele reached up to take his gloved hand, throwing another smug look over her shoulder as they walked away. She did love seeing Yvette’s shocked face.

Her Papa was the best! It was simply a matter of fact that he was the bravest, coolest, most handsome Papa out there! And now, she and the entire class knew! She couldn’t help but feel proud and gripped her Papa’s hand tighter. Maybe things would be a little easier at school now!

[ardenttheories]

Pesterquest Volume 7 notes, all locked under the cut as usual. As a side note, I once a fucking gain didn’t get my achievement for completing the Route, this time Terezi’s, so. Fuck me, I guess.

EQUIUS

Reader’s remembering more without truly remembering it now. The trees, garden, caves, and mall were some of the “most recent” places they’ve been to in Friendsim. 

Oh. Reader’s home is the shitty little crumbling building they stayed in during the events of Friendsim. I don’t know what’s sadder; that they still don’t know who they are enough to know where home is, or that everything they know about themself is centred around Friendsim - the events of which they still don’t remember. 

The bitterness they feel at that is sad. They really don’t have a home outside of that, huh?

“You freeze like an anime protagonist” - hm. HM. I don’t trust like that. 

Equius freaking out at the sight of Reader and actively trying to NOT punch them is sweet. Also, funny as hell.

Oh. That’s. That’s a lot more horse than I was expecting.

AURTHOUR. MY GOD YOU LOOK A LOT BETTER LIKE THIS. Although, nice hint to the theory that Reader is a lusus-like being, with the Reader comparing themself to Aurthour. 

Did Equius just fucking growl? This poor fucking idiot doesn’t know how to react to Reader’s non-apparent bloodcaste. You fucking himbo just relax.

Of course they made the fucking “there are two wolves inside you” meme about horses and Equius wanting to get yelled at/yell at

How to befriend Equius: like milk and horses, because apparently that makes you High Status, and not just a very lonely idiot who’s so stuck up his own ass about the Hemospectrum that he can’t see the people around him through the bullshit.

Equius has a lot of gamer shit? Interesting. 

Two points:

Reader’s typing style is so fucking cute, and this is the first time I think we’ve seen them type proper. This seems significant. Like, they’ve got a voice now, and it’s distinctive and them and not us. Looks like they might be taking control a little?

Additionally, we just got to see Karkat’s Knight of Blood powers at work; essentially enforcing that Equius befriend Reader and complete the Bonds that they’re trying to desperately to set up, while also allowing Equius someone to be “real” with by stating that Reader exists outside of the Hemospectrum. It’s also just really sweet to see Karkat talking about Reader like that. 

Equius really just. Doesn’t know how social interactions work. I think he relies on the Hemospectrum to explain shit for him, because he seems genuinely uncomfortable with the idea that there’s no formula to follow. Especially since he’s giving that power to Reader - that says a lot about how out of his depth he is. Even the dumbass little “I command it” is funny. He’s so out of his depth and he’s trying to pretend that he knows what he’s doing still. 

Equius doesn’t have it in him to actually kill people, which is genuinely sweet but also says a lot about why he’s so conflicted with the Hemospectrum. He’s really not cut out to be a Highblood the way it says he should be. 

Oh. Oh my god, he’s so excited to see Nepeta. He was shaking with excitement at the prospect of being able to see her. 

OH NO HE COULDN’T GO. But how interesting. “Stop trying to skip ahead”. So why did that work with Gamzee (albeit Karkat then chickened out)? Because we never actually saw Gamzee, and it’d probably work with Nepeta? 

The text wasn’t coloured but I’m curious if this is Dirk now. Doc Scratch sure as fuck doesn’t swear like that, and as far as I’m aware he’s the only one with narrative control within the main canon/fanon, besides Alternate Calliope. The fact that the thing is trying to keep everything to a strict plot would definitely suggest it. Though if Dirk is T-Posing in a hallway on the Theseus just to talk to Reader, I’m going to flip off the handle. 

Equius knowing what narrative control is just threw me through a fucking loop, but I’ll play along. Lets pretend that actually makes some sort of sense, because either he figured it out in that short moment without even knowing what Retconning is or why they were being blocked, or he just. Knows. Which, I suppose as an Heir of Void he might? He inherits Secrets and the Unknown - so maybe him knowing isn’t so odd at all.

Confirmation that Equius doesn’t know how to act outside of a society and is, in fact, very uncomfortable with not knowing but envies how the Reader is just somehow capable of that: confirmed. “How do you know where you belong, or if you belong.”

That’s. Some good advice from Reader, honestly, but also sad? They’re defining themself through their relationships again. I hope this means they’re figuring more out about themself this time. Also that this helps Equius - to figure out that he can define himself and not allow other shit he doesn’t really vibe with define him. Especially if he makes his own community. 

Oh. Equius tries to hone his strength in order to figure out why he’s a biological freak. “Reigning in an aberrant traint and defining” himself by it. And he doesn’t know which rules he likes following and which he doesn’t know how to ignore - he’s just as lost about himself as he is about everything else. 

“He looks like he might be about to tell you the story, but somehow you keep not learning the lesson where you should just chill and experience something instead of leap to try to figure it out before it happens” - is it just me, or does this narrator not sound like any of the others. Usually they sound like “Reader”, or like Hussie in the comic, or sometimes like the characters, but this... doesn’t. This is that narrative figure admonishing Reader for the previous timeline. Which is a little more interconnected than the last ones have been, and a whole lot more obvious.

“It’s like there’s narrative precedent for this moment existing in more than one plane of truth”. I actively love how that shows A) that there’s multiple timeline-based reasons for the loss of Equius’ horn and B) that trying to view a Void Player’s past isn’t easy because they’re just that naturally hidden.

TEREZI

Oh my god. Terezi that’s so fucking extra.

I’m assuming that means she’s talking to Vriska? She’s seriously mad. Madder than in the comic. I like the fact that we get to see more of her emotions during this whole phase now that there’s no plot to hinder.

Reader pointing out that the Alternian legal system is brutal in a way that’s just completely fucked up and also not typical of how Terezi seems to be as a person, but also highlighting that she doesn’t seem to see that there’s an issue with the system because of its laws and logistics she knows to a T that perfectly align with what Mind is? HELLA. That’s what a Seer do, babey! She learns her Mind from the law, THAT’S her Benefactor, and then she figures it out for herself!

Terezi being confused about the game, expecting him to ask about team leaders and shit, shows that - potentially - Reader’s actions have irrevocably fucked up her powers as a Seer of Mind. Or at least that she’s not looking at the right Options anymore, because she doesn’t know what they are.

(Also, Karkat not shutting up about Dave? Valid.)

TEREZI KNOWS THE HYPOCRACY AND IS JUST DOING THE SAME THING AS TYZIAS I’M GOING TO DIE. She can’t save everyone but at least she can save them for now, until she gets to a point where she can save everyone.

So that weird ass area is “an ambiguous nexus of metaphysical realities”. Definitely a place that doesn’t really exist yet sort of does. Interesting that they haven’t been thrown out yet, though. Maybe because Reader wasn’t really trying to go anywhere? They just remembered, and aimlessly used their powers. 

Gamzee called Reader a “themster” and I am wheezing.

Terezi realising she blamed Vriska for shit they did together when she knew it was something their fucked up society made them do, and realising she’s not exactly innocent herself, is really fucking sad. Kids shouldn’t have to go through this sort of shit. 

The thing watching them is approving of Reader taking Terezi back to Vriska? I’m wondering if it’s either happy because they’re continuing the plot, or because they’re fixing things. That hulking T-posing figure isn’t there anymore - and it seems a lot more demure. So maybe this entity is something else?

Oh, Terezi admitting she had fun hurting other people and getting upset over it is sad. Shows a lot about how screwed up Alternia is that they make murder fun for kids until it’s just completely normal for them to do. 

Best way to explain a Seer of Mind: behind the person everyone calls the Leader, controlling the spotlight. 

Oh FUCK yes. Vriska and Terezi are Scourge Sisters again, but this time against the people who really goddamn deserve it. I think this was cathartic for both of them. The blame they’ve been placing on themselves isn’t entirely gone, but it is a little better, and they’ve got no reason to go killing innocent trolls anymore against their own desires. 

Hints towards VrisRezi are also back, and I think they both really needed that. They don’t have to be rivals, as fun and as tale-told as it’d be. They can work together and be themselves and go against the shit they’ve been told is normal and that they’ve been justifying their whole lives. And these girls are gonna be healthier and happier for it!!

Not as much external plot in this one, but I get the feeling that Nexus is going to be showing up a lot more and becoming much more important. Interesting, too, that there’s (I think) two entities out there; one trying to stop Reader from skipping ahead, and one that was just watching to see what’d happen. That, or it’s the same entity - but I get the feeling one wants to stop Reader while the other wants Reader to progress in their own way?

On top of that, I really don’t know how to feel about how much of this narrative felt Dirk-esque. I might be paranoid, since a friend of mine pointed out that Friendsim led up to the Epilogues/Hiveswap and onward into Pesterquest, so Pesterquest must be leading into something, too. She thinks it’s Homestuck^2, and I kind of hope so, because if we get ANOTHER game after this I might die... but I wouldn’t be surprised, either. 

[homelanderdsm]

It has been a few years since I became the leader of the Seven. With the face of a movie star and the power of the best God. It goes without saying that he’s the only one who’s qualified for this position despite his young age. Surely, there are other superheroes, some are powerful, others have quite unique powers, but Homelander is unequivocally the strongest and most durable supe the world has ever seen; a walking weapon of mass destruction without any weaknesses.

On the surface, he’s perfect, affable and sincere, the mbodiment of America. Nothing is what it seems, though; terror, trauma and pain lie beneath the surface. Even as a child already, he’s tested how far he can go. He’s always known what he’s capable of and just wants to see how much he can get away with.

And the answer is everything. He can get away with everything. His actions never have consequences.

Occasionally, Vought International tried to control him and his outbursts, but it mostly ended up in another dead person; a small price to pay for having the most powerful superhero alive on their side. There’s no one above him, no one to look up to for guidance, no one that can control him— until he met her, Madelyn Stillwell, the new Senior Vice President of the hero management. She’s different than the superiors before her, he’s noticed it the first time he met her several weeks ago.

To no one’s surprise, today was one of these days again when Homelander lashed out at one of the employees of Vought. The man came to him, dared to say something wrong, thought he could tell him what to do. Within a matter of seconds, he was dead. He honestly just wanted to scare him a bit, play his games, but he choked him a little too firmly and ended up literally crushing his throat. Well, these things just happen. Luckily, there were no witnesses, but he’d left an ugly mess behind.

Usually, Vought would just silently accept it, clean up the mess and act like it was just another accident at work, but today it would be different. He was sent to the Vice President’s office, obviously annoyed already. Without even knocking, he opened the door and walked into her office.

“I honestly have better things to do — and so do you, I assume. So, why am I here?”, he asked.

They say women couldn’t be able to handle a man’s tantrums but boy they were wrong, Madelyn who has worked with many and dare say many men all throughout her entire career even though most of them wanted to bring her down none of them succeeded that’s why she is good no, great at what she does best with of course the help of her ruthless efficiency when it comes to things that she wants to happen and should happen in the future. When the news got to her that Vought International is finding a new Senior Vice President for hero management because one of the Supes is hard to handle or rather no one dared to even level themselves with this one Supe who just causes all kinds of trouble and get away with everything, which in her view maybe that person just did something that he or she thinks is applicable then knowing Vought and what they are capable of, she would have thought about it either wise thus Madelyn Stillwell decided to accept the offer because it seems that it’ll be once in a life time to have, so why the hell not right? Until she met Homelander, the Supe that’s been causing Vought pretty much everything and not wanting their all time American hero that mostly kids looked up too. Sure it intimidates her to be handling America’s favorite group but something about him is different, in that moment Madelyn knew that she can control him or at least use and take advantage of whatever missing piece of someone to him and the brunette could be the replacement, it’ll be easy all it needed is ruthless efficiency. And it is one of those days yet again that Homelander lashed out

at someone and ended up killing them in the process, no press or anyone would get the real and whole story about how it happened, it is usually the accident of a clumsy employee that touched this or that. And this time there’s a task that is needed to be set and that’s the goal for that day and in the following days of her as a Senior Vice President. Watching him waltz into her office without even knocking, a small smile appears on her lips as she walks over to the door, closing it. “You know why you are here, Homelander, and you know what you’ve done; maybe you could get away with it with Vought but not me, so you and I will talk; our better things to do can wait.”

Hearing her words, Homelander grits his teeth and scoffs. This woman is so extremely calm and sure of herself, he doesn’t like it, isn’t used to such a behavior towards him. Usually, people immediately give in whenever he wants something, too frightened of him to confront him with anything.

Nevertheless, he would lie if he said that it wasn’t a quite pleasant change. He isn’t able to sense a hint of fear in Madelyn, and when he casually uses his superhuman hearing to detect her heartbeat, he only finds out that it’s as normal as a heartbeat should be— no anxiety or anything of that sort. This certainly awakens his interest because he hasn’t met many people at Vought before who aren’t scared of him. In fact, there’s only one he could think of now: his creator.

“Look, I know you’re new to this job so you’re overambitious and take this whole ‘managing the supes’ thing a little too serious. You wanna impress Vought, I get that, but there’s absolutely nothing to talk about.”

An amused smile breaks across his smug face, icy-blue eyes remain directly fixed upon her. “Just silently accept it like the rest. There’s not really anything else you can do. Accidents just happen,” he then says and shrugs indifferently.

To say that this is going to be difficult is something that she finds challenging though Madelyn didn’t even bat that sense of fear nor anxiety or even distress that she has to deal with one of America’s favorite Super although there have been talks about how this particular Super would just intimidate people so that they’ll just accept it. Thus she has decided to study Homelander beforehand to at least prepare herself for whatever wrath that she’s going to be able to take from the man himself; a master of being calm on certain situations without actually getting pressed into doing something irrational about it that’s why this is the job for her. Instead of being offended by the man to just asked her face to face to accept it like the rest of the staff and everyone from the company would she laughs it off, more likely it could and would annoy him more. “Homelander, you and I both know that there’s a lot to talk about and if you think I can just accept it like the rest then you’re in for a wrong thing, dear.” Thus the woman approaches him and guides him with her hands to let him sit down on the couch before sitting down beside him; her hands are placed on her lap before she speaks once more. “You might have gotten used to of my past predecessors of silently accepting this fact that you can get away with it but I don’t, people look up to you as a God, someone who has descended from somewhere and they love everything about you.” Making him realize how if that goes out to the public people will look the other way otherwise; without even hesitating Madelyn decided to put her hands on either side of his cheek; almost as

if she’s taking advantage of her own calm demure. “Let’s help each other.”

Homelander was about to protest, to tell her that she was wrong. Gods are cruel, they require blood and dispense suffering without reason. And he, this human creation that is so close to being a god, might as well have ascended from hell. The people of America worship the wrong messiah.

However, when he suddenly felt her warm hands against his cheeks, he instantly flinched and pulled away, unfamiliar to such a gentle touch. From one moment to the other, he went from extremely confident to tensed and confused. It was a mere touch, but he acted as if it burned him in some way.

He furrowed his brows and didn’t really know how to react as her touch momentarily took his mind back to childhood memories, to all the women he’d killed (sometimes accidentally, sometimes not) when being locked up in that laboratory, the ones he had frantically wanted to be his mother, to love him and care about him. After all, it’s the mother who loved them first, whom they loved first. If there’s one permanent fixture in a boy’s life, it is his mother. But he never had that and obviously didn’t get over it, even after all these years. Instead of trying to find a way to deal with it, he suppressed his trauma and memories; the lack of a mother in addition to his godlike powers turned him into a monster.

“What is this? What are you doing? Why would you assume that I need your help? You want something from me, not the other way around,” retorted the superhero through clenched teeth.

Madelyn knows that the best way for him to believe her on what she’s doing is something also surprising to her even though she knows in herself that there’s this window time to understand this human creation that has the Godlike ability to do anything he wants; seeing how the warm hands of hers against his cheeks made him flinch because of how gentle it was, because of how comforting it was to someone who has never experienced physical let alone confinement in those touches. ( faking) a wide eyes from the woman as if she also didn’t know what she has done; if he wants a mother? Then she’d be willing to do just that thus Madelyn then gave him a soft yet calmed look; knowing that he can end her right then and there but of course the always optimistic look from her prevails. “Homelander, I didn’t know that you’d react that way, my apologies; perhaps I want something from you but that’s only because I want to help you with this, I know not everyone understands what you’ve been through as a kid but I can. You don’t have to be afraid of me, I promise to be there for you always even give you all my time and attention.” And even her undivided attention towards him if it means to wrap her fingers around him like he’s some puppet. “I’m not afraid of you.” He scoffed at her words and looked away, not wanting her to see the look in his eyes. For her other words struck him, deeper than they should have. He didn’t like to be confronted with his past, preferred to suppress it. So Madelyn mentioning it was certainly a bold move, one others would likely regret. He would briefly lose it, throw a tantrum or end up doing even worse like earlier that day, but right now he seemed rather calm— as calm as could be expected under the circumstances. Maybe it was because of her soothing voice or the promise she’d just made.

Still, Homelander was convinced that her concern was anything but genuine. How could she understand what he’d been going through? She couldn’t, no one could. And she came far too late if she thought she could help him with anything. He was a lost cause.

He then brought his icy blue gaze back to hers, a hint of pain visible in his eyes. “How the fuck could you possibly understand what I’ve been through? You see a few videos, hear some stories, and think you know everything about me. There’s nothing you can help me with. So you can now stop acting like you care.”

Of course he would refuse to talk about his problems at first, he would never admit that he needs help. He himself doesn’t even realize that he has great issues due to the isolation-induced depression he’s never dealt with.

Penetrating someone through words and promises is already harder than actually making it up to them in a sense though she didn’t want to stop rather would want to take that to the advantage as someone would say the ball is in her court or getting there in a sense. It is indeed a bold move yet she didn’t seem to have that apologetic look thus this all seem so easy for her to do; waiting for him to do what he has done to that poor man earlier yet minutes passed and none of that happened slowly she understands that Homelander is just going to trust her one way or another.

“It isn’t because of that, partially but I can read people, you have to trust me for what will I do is for you and I can help you with anything you want.” A small pause before briefly cracking a small smile; ah that kind of care because of the soothing voice.

“I care for you, I really do and you need help and I am here to do that.”

Insisting on doing so which Madelyn just slowly yet tentatively touches his hand once again, soothing it.

His blue gaze dropped to her hand on his gloved one. He didn’t flinch this time nor pull away from her touch, he just sat there silently for a few moments, thinking about her words. No one had ever told him that, and while he partly still believed that this was nothing but a

way to manipulate him into trusting her, he also wanted to believe that it was the truth. He felt something he hadn’t felt in a very long time, something he had searched for ever since he was just a boy. He was about to give in, slowly but surely.

Nevertheless, he refused to admit out loud that he needed help in any way. His jaw clenched, eyes still not directed at her. “Nice fucking speech, really,” he then said ironically. “Vogelbaum’s behind this, isn’t he? All his constant talk about me being too unpredictable. He must be behind this. He told you to do this, didn’t he?” Finally his gaze met hers once more. Homelander was visibly upset. “I refuse to believe this is coming from you”

Why else would someone suddenly care about his problems? The only thing Vought cared about was their reputation and money,

nothing else.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Targets - ao3

- Chapter 3 -

Meng Yao wasn’t supposed to be for sale.

His mother had worked hard her whole life to make sure of it, refusing every offer for him no matter how tempting or how desperate their situation. He was a cultivator’s son, she told him, a sect leader’s; one day, he would return to his father’s side, and if he was going to do that, he couldn’t have his past be marred with scandal. He couldn’t have a slave contract, and he couldn’t have done any work as a whore – it was one thing to do odd jobs in a brothel, but another thing entirely to actually work on your back, and somehow, somehow, someone would find out, and he’d be ruined. They would know.

The only way for him to really make it is if he never did anything like that at all.

So when the cultivator – a real cultivator, from the looks of him, not one of the fakers they often got – walked into their brothel and asked for Meng Yao, his mother said no.

The man frowned, then turned to the owner of the brothel who shrugged, indicating that he was helpless. “The boy doesn’t belong to this establishment,” he said apologetically. “But if the venerated Immortal would prefer something more boyish, I can direct you to some of our more masculine girls, or to a neighboring establishment…”

His voice trailed off when the cultivator pulled out a large chunk of gold, about half the size of Meng Yao’s thumb.

“You can keep it all – if I get the boy, a room, and your word to tell no one else that either of us are here,” the man said.

“No!” Meng Shi exclaimed, but Meng Yao knew from the look on the brothel owner’s eyes that it was too late. This wasn’t a good brothel like the one they’d been in before – the one that had kicked them out when they decided his mother was too old and her health too poor – but a lower tier one, less rich and more desperate. A piece of gold like that was more money than all the girls put together would make in a year.

If they continued to refuse, the owner of the brothel would use force. There were the bully boys at the door – they would grab his mother and drag her away, grab him and throw him into the room, maybe tie him down, rob him of any ability to defend himself…

So Meng Yao put his hand on his mother’s arm. “It’s fine, Mother,” he said to her, hoping to offer comfort where there was none to be had, and then forced himself to smile at the cultivator. “How can this humble one best please the venerated Immortal?”

The man’s eyes flickered between them, and his frown deepened.

“The woman comes with us, same deal,” he told the owner, who nodded, eyes fixed on the gold, and never mind that both Meng Yao and his mother had now frozen in horror. There were women in the brothel who sometimes pretended to be sisters and might even be, it was a popular request by clients, but – his mother… “All right, where’s the room?”

“I’ll give you the best one in the house,” the owner said, tone fawning, and showed them the way.

By the time they were upstairs, Meng Yao was shaking like a leaf and his mother looked on the verge of weeping.

The moment the cultivator closed the door behind them, shooing the owner away, she threw herself onto the floor in front of him. “Venerated Immortal,” she said, begging, and Meng Yao averted his eyes, feeling rage build in the pit of his stomach. “Spare my son, please. I will do anything you wish –”

“You misunderstand,” the cultivator said stiffly. “Your son is safe – as are you. I’m not here for that sort of thing…boy, get her off the floor and seated somewhere, get her something to drink to calm her.”

Meng Yao got his mother into a chair, pressing some wine usually reserved for clients into her hand. By the time he was done with that, he was more puzzled than anything else, even the rage at his mother’s mistreatment fading away into confusion. “What does the venerated Immortal want?” he asked delicately, and the cultivator shrugged.

“I actually have no idea what I’m doing here,” he said frankly. “I received a message from my sect leader that told me to find and secure a ‘Meng Yao, son of Meng Shi’ from Yunping City, and when I asked around it led me to you. I was hoping you could tell me the reason.”

“Your sect leader asked for me?” Meng Yao asked blankly. “By name?”

Could it be – his mother had always said –

“You’re not from Lanling,” his mother said, wiping her eyes, expression back to fierce and calculating. “My boy is the son of the sect leader of Lanling Jin, not…”

She trailed off deliberately.

“Qinghe Nie,” the cultivator said automatically, and even folded his hands in front of him to salute – perfunctorily, but still more than most would bother with for a whore. “The message said only that you were in danger, and that I was to hide you until the sect leader could come pick you up himself.”

So it wasn’t his father, Meng Yao thought, disappointed, but still – a sect leader of a cultivation sect, knowing him by name? Sending a message from far away?

He had no idea what to think of it.

And so they waited, each one sitting awkwardly in their own place, as several shichen passed. It was already evening when there was a knock – at the window.

The window on the third floor.

The cultivator got up and opened it, and a large fierce-looking man carrying three children – one on each hip with an arm around them, and another seated on his shoulders, clutching to his hair like reins – wiggled his way through, shaking all the children off as if his arms were hurting the second his feet were on the ground.

“Is that him?” he asked, nodding at Meng Yao, and the cultivator nodded. “He’s young.”

“Thirteen,” Meng Yao said, and noted that it was probably older than any of the three children who were looking at him in fascination.

“One of Sect Leader Jin’s bastards, Sect Leader,” the cultivator reported, and Meng Yao felt something fall in the pit of his belly at the term one of. There were many like him, then – perhaps his mother’s optimism regarding his reception in Lanling City was as misplaced as her optimism in buying all those pointless cultivation manuals that he slaved over and which accomplished nothing.

“Well, that can’t be the reason, then, or the list would be thrice as long,” the sect leader said, frowning. “I’d even started wondering…no, it still makes no sense. Regardless, no point in waiting around here any longer – I saw two Wen patrols making their way through the city as I flew in, and I have no doubt they’ll find this place soon. We should be gone before they do.”

“If this humble one can ask, what is the honorable Sect Leader’s plans for my son?” Meng Shi asked, ducking her head demurely and looking up at him flirtatiously through her eyelashes, even as she leaned forward a little in a way that set off her shape to its best advantage.

“Oh no,” the sect leader said, and took two full steps backwards. Without the fierce expression on his face, he looked much younger – in fact, Meng Yao thought with wonder and maybe even a little disbelieving amusement, it seemed like this sect leader was most certainly still a teenager, and awkward with it, too. “No, I – I don’t – Gao Jianguo, do something!”

“She’s a whore, Sect Leader,” the cultivator said, rolling his eyes. “They flirt. It happens.”

The sect leader was bright red. The children were all giggling.

“Madame,” he said, bowing to her – an actual bow, respectful, not even the perfunctory dip the cultivator had given earlier, and he didn’t have to call her Madame, either. “Forgive me, I’m not…I don’t have much experience with women. My name is Nie Mingjue, sect leader of Qinghe Nie. I have reason to believe your son is in terrible danger if he remains here, and I intend to take him with me to a safe location.”

“What assurances do I have of his safety?” Meng Shi asked, and Meng Yao knew then that she intended to send him whether he wanted to go or not.

Not that he didn’t intend to go. Such an earnest sect leader, this ‘Nie Mingjue’…even if it was all a mistake or misunderstanding, which had to be what had happened, there were benefits that could be gotten here. If Meng Yao could become a servant there, learn cultivation, he could maybe save up enough to later go to his father’s side – no matter what they asked of him, it would be better than a brothel, especially one where the owner had already seen an indication of Meng Yao’s worth as chattel.

And yet…

“You have my word,” Nie Mingjue assured her.

“I won’t leave without her,” Meng Yao suddenly spoke up, and ignored his mother’s glare. He didn’t want to leave her here. He wouldn’t, not unless he was forced, which seemed likely, but he had to try his best. “If I’m in danger, then so is she. They might want to use her to lure me in.”

“That’s a good point,” Nie Mingjue said, which Meng Yao wasn’t expecting. He even nodded in approval at Meng Yao. “Very well, we’ll take you both with us. Gao Jianguo –”

“The amount I’ve already paid would be sufficient to cover any slave bond,” the cultivator said. His frown suggested he wasn’t happy about his sect leader’s actions. “There will be paperwork –”

“Only for me,” Meng Shi said quickly. “My son is free, and always has been.”

Nie Mingjue looked out the window, clearly calculating – two patrols, Meng Yao thought, this sect leader thought someone was hunting him down for some unknown reason – and then glanced at the two of them. He sighed a little, almost imperceptibly, before firming up his expression once more.

“Take Meng Shi and buy her bond,” he instructed the cultivator. “Collect anything she wants to take with her and take her back to Qinghe through safe routes. I’ll take Meng Yao with me and we’ll meet there.”

“What should I do with the ownership papers? There’s a tax for taking slaves out of the county, and people might notice –”

“Burn them,” Nie Mingjue said, and Meng Yao’s heart gave a sudden thrill of delight. “She can travel as a free woman. Make sure she sees a doctor, if she thinks she would benefit from seeing one, and cover the cost – I want her to arrive at the Unclean Realm alive and well.”

Alive and well, Meng Yao thought, even more delighted. That was a warning, no doubt about it – telling the cultivator not to take advantage of Meng Shi during his trip. And a doctor! With his sect leader ordering it, the cultivator would have to take her to a good one, not some phony sawbones, and she could finally get that cough of hers looked at…

Meng Yao would do whatever this sect leader wanted. Just for that.

(It was more than his father had ever done for them.)

“Can you handle flying with four boys?” the cultivator asked, frowning, and – flying? “Especially if you already came all the way from Qinghe, and through Yunmeng, you must be exhausted –”

“I’ll be fine,” Nie Mingjue said shortly. “He’s thirteen; he can stand on his own and hold onto me, arms around my waist, while I hold on to the others…hey, are you afraid of heights?”

That question was directed at Meng Yao.

“I don’t think so,” he replied, aiming for honest. It seemed to be what this sect leader appreciated, and Meng Yao was good at figuring out and catering to people’s likes. He’d have to exert himself especially this time. “But I’ve never gone higher than the fourth floor.”

“Well, you’re about to,” Nie Mingjue said, and his saber unsheathed itself and floated on the floor. “All right, everyone back on – you can introduce yourself in the air. We still have to make the ride back to the Lotus Pier, and I’m sure your parents are worried sick already, Jiang-gongzi.”

[pocket-anon]

The Long Way Home (1/10)

OMG, it’s finally here!  I started this story in 2015, back when I was writing for pleasure with no intention of ever sharing any of my work publicly.  It fell to the wayside when I finally got around to joining the fandom and began writing fic formally, and it wasn’t until the opportunity to do the Captain Swan Big Bang came around that I remembered I had it and decided to try to flesh it out and turn it into a completed work.  7+ months later (after a LOT of consternation and whining and “Why did I ever agree to do this?”) it’s HERE.  And I’m SO relieved that it’s done, LOL.

Special thanks to my beta, @captainstudmuffin, and the amazing @lifeinahole27 for their help and patience with me, to @clockadile for lending her sword fighting experience, to @ladyciaramiggles for her feedback on early drafts, to @phiralovesloki for heading this year’s CSBB and fielding my questions, and to @kmomof4 for always being my cheerleader.  Thanks also to everyone who took my nerdy little survey on nautical terminology in fic (yes, that was for this project), and those of you that sent me words of support about it.

Lastly, deepest thanks to my wonderful CSBB artists, @waiting-for-autumn and @giraffes-ride-swordfishes for giving feedback on early drafts and providing some gorgeous artwork to accompany this fic!  Links to their illustrations of certain scenes (*) will be in the text - please be sure to go show them some love!

Thanks to you all for reading.  I hope you enjoy.  XOXO

Find it on AO3.  Nautical terms glossary here.

Summary:  After an unnaturally long life fraught with personal tragedy, Killian Jones has become known throughout the realms as the infamous Captain Hook, an opportunistic ne’er-do-well and one of the most formidable pirates to ride the waves.  When he crosses paths with a mysterious young woman with no memory of who she is or how she arrived there, he recognizes the chance to claim a monetary reward that will constitute his biggest score yet.  But a journey across the world to get her home leads to a series of adventures that reveal that her value lies in far more than gold and jewels.  A Captain Swan Anastasia AU - sort of.  (Captain Swan Enchanted Forest AU.  Romance & Adventure.  Rated E.)

Warnings: Brief but graphic depictions of violence, peripheral character death, and smut.

“Captain! Captain!”  

The sound of pounding feet approaching the door to his quarters causes the gentleman in question to lift a heavy, dark eyebrow, even as his gaze remains on the leather-bound inventory log he’s hunched over with the ship’s quartermaster.  The Jolly Roger is preparing to pull into port at Vicarstown, and he always prefers to finalize the list of supplies they need to acquire at a stop prior to docking.  It would go better without interruption.

“Captain!”

He gives a long-suffering sigh and drops his head resignedly, his weight pressed forward on his right hand.  “Yes, Mr. Smee?” he drones.

Having been waiting for permission to enter, his slightly pudgy first mate flings the door open, the bearded man’s features twisted into an anxious grimace.  “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but a ship’s been spotted in port.”

He looks up sharply. “Who?”

Smee swallows and licks his lips nervously.  “Blackbeard.”

A muscle twitches in the Captain’s jaw as he considers this information.  It’s not welcome news, to be sure, but there are worse things. Prominent pirate crews like his and Blackbeard’s do not always do well in close quarters, but while their last encounter just under a year ago was tense, no one died.  There’s no outstanding beef between himself and the other captain (that he’s aware of), and frankly, the Jolly sorely needs this stop to resupply and to refill her coffers with the sale of their most recent spoils.

“Do we continue in, Captain?”

The Captain’s steely blue return stare is resolute, his expression bordering on a scowl as he straightens.  “The Jolly does not turn tail for anyone, Mr. Smee,” he snaps.  “Particularly not for that lout.  But inform the men to remain on guard, and assign extra hands to stay behind on watch. No strangers are to be allowed anywhere near the ship, understood?”

His confidence seems to reassure his first mate, who accepts the orders with a hasty bob of his head. “Yes, Captain.”  

As Smee pulls the door shut behind him, the Captain turns and retrieves a sharpening steel from the drawer of the small desk in the corner, running it in practiced strokes along the tip of the polished metal hook that sits where his left hand once was. He signals the wiry quartermaster to resume their discussion with a curt nod and hums acknowledgement now and then as the other man talks, even while his thoughts remain elsewhere.  A less experienced captain might view the presence of the other ship as an opportunity to poach her best crewmen or plunder her loot, but he knows there’s truly little to be gained by starting a feud with a loose cannon like Blackbeard.  The more prudent course is to simply remain alert and hope, for once, for an uneventful visit to port.  

*             *             *

Maggie, a plump woman with graying red hair, plasters on a smile as a large group of bawdy customers pours into her tavern – pirates, by the look of them.  Her suspicions are confirmed when their leader, a tall man with a curly black mane, matching beard, and a tricorn hat brings up the rear. Maggie winces inwardly at the sight of him.  She doesn’t turn paying customers away unless they get out of hand, but it’s nearly happened with Blackbeard and his crew on more than one occasion.  Pirates, on the whole, tend to be an unruly lot, but Blackbeard and the men he generally chooses to sail with are some of the worst of the bunch; it’s no feat to think of half a dozen other crews she’d rather have at her tables.  

Maggie urgently seeks out her newest serving girl in order to shoot her a look of warning.  She took the young blonde in only six weeks ago, and unless the poor thing is even unluckier than they already know her to be, it’s doubtful she has any experience dealing with Blackbeard or his crew. Not that the girl would recall such an encounter, having mysteriously appeared in the middle of their little port town with no knowledge of her own name, much less any other details of her life.  Dubbed “Swan” by one of the tavern regulars as much for her prickliness when harassed as for her enviable beauty, the girl’s entire past is one enormous blank to her, and it’s anyone’s guess why.

Their eyes meet across the tavern, and Maggie watches Swan survey the new crowd with appropriate apprehension before the girl nods back her understanding.  One thing that’s been fairly clear from the start is that Swan has good instincts that make her quick to read a situation and adept at dealing with aggressive drunks who want her services to include something other than bringing them food and libations.  Maggie prays those instincts serve her well tonight, because between Swan’s physical charms and Blackbeard’s reputation for causing trouble, things could get ugly very quickly.

*             *             *

It seems a small miracle when the first hour passes without too much fuss.  The pirates arrive famished and sober and more focused on addressing both those maladies than stirring up trouble.  Though most of them openly leer and make the usual assortment of lewd comments, no one does more than pat or pinch Swan’s ass, offenses that she does her best to ignore.  

Nevertheless, the tension grows as the hours creep by.  Some of the men depart after eating, no doubt heading for the brothels, but half a dozen remain behind, including their captain, a man with glittering dark eyes whose lingering gaze abrades her skin worse than the rest.  Perhaps it’s simply the obvious authority he wields over his men, but there’s something far more intimidating about him than the others, and she does her best to avoid eye contact and keep out of his reach.  Nevertheless, the rum continues to flow, his stare grows increasingly lustful, and by half past ten, she knows by the lascivious curve of his lip and the increasing harshness of his laugh that it’s only a matter of time before he does something one of them is going to regret.

The shoe finally drops a short while later.  He calls her over and invites her to share a drink with him.  She politely demurs, saying that she has other customers to tend to, but he jovially waves off her excuse and rises partway out of his seat, grabbing her skirts as she moves away and yanking her down on to the bench beside him.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you?” he rumbles gruffly, his kohl-lined eyes slightly glassy.  “There’s only one answer to an invitation from a pirate captain.”

Lips in a thin line, Swan fixes him with a scorching glare that causes some of the men behind him to look nervous.  To her utter frustration, the Captain himself seems unfazed as he continues to gaze up and down at her assets.  “Still pretty sure it’s some version of ‘no,’” she retorts, springing off the bench. She gasps when his fingers close around her wrist.  

For a drunken fool, he still has decent reflexes, and his coarse laugh is menacing as he rises to his feet, staggering only a little, and hauls her over none-to-gently.  One beefy hand clamps tightly around her narrow waist, pinning her shoulder to his chest, and he chuckles lecherously as he buries his face in her neck, his acrid breath surrounding her and the sensation of his tongue on her pulse point tempting her to scream.  “Come now, girl,” he growls in her ear.  “Let me show you a good time. Not everyone is lucky enough to have their pleasure with the legendary pirate Blackbeard.”

He moves to paw at her breast, and Swan lets out an angry snarl and tries to wrench out of his grasp.  Her free hand flails to his chest to push him away and lands on one of a trio of short knives the Captain wears girded to his torso.  With a grunt, she yanks it free, flips it to adjust her grip, and whips the blade up against his neck, nostrils flared and chest heaving.  “I’ll pass,” she hisses through her teeth.(*)

It takes Blackbeard’s rum-soaked brain a moment to catch up with this turn of events, but he stills and slowly pulls his face back from her golden curls, eyes rolling sideways to lock warily onto the blade pressed firmly to his skin.  

“Perhaps you’d best unhand the lady before she gives you a shave, Blackbeard.”

They both look up to see an amused-looking man walking toward them.  He’s rakishly handsome, young and tall with short dark hair, three days of scruff on his chin, and blue eyes.  Clad like a man with money, he wears black leather from head to toe, his long, heavy duster swaying gently as he walks, a heavy silver buckle, clasps, rings, and chains glinting in the firelight.  He holds his head high, his swagger and the hand poised casually at his belt helping to camouflage the threatening square of his shoulders and the deadly weapons on his person, and Swan realizes with a small start that the curved silver hook he appears to hold in his left hand is actually a replacement for the hand itself.  Whoever he is, Blackbeard’s men obviously recognize him and do not attempt to get in his way.  

The interloper stops a sword’s length from them and smirks.  “I’d hate to have to circulate the news that your throat was slit by a tavern girl using your own dagger.”

“Hook.”  Blackbeard sneers, though his eyes remains fixed largely on Swan and the blade.  He reluctantly releases his grip on her waist, exhaling when she pulls away and the steel leaves his skin.  “It’s dangerous to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, boy.”

Hook gives a dark chuckle. “Yes, you’ve demonstrated that quite nicely.”  

With Blackbeard’s attention now occupied elsewhere, Swan silently backs up, her heart drumming furiously against her ribs as she keeps the dagger held at the ready and makes a beeline for safety.

*             *             *

Out of the corner of his eye, Hook watches the barmaid slip away, quick as a shadow, to the far side of the tavern with Blackbeard’s weapon still in hand.  She finds refuge behind the counter in seconds, and he satisfies himself that she seems unhurt even as Maggie rushes to fuss over her.  

“The girl is lovely, but she seems like more trouble than she’s worth,” he remarks to Blackbeard. “Best let sirens be.”

His rival growls, swiping a hand across his neck resentfully and checking his fingers for blood.  “I get what I want, Hook.”

“If you want a knife in your belly rather than a roll in the sheets, I’d say she’s happy to give it to you,” he replies cheerfully, allowing himself an admiring glance toward the bar.  “But no sense risking your neck for something easily got elsewhere.”  He steps closer, arching an appraising eyebrow.  “Unless,” he drawls with a wicked grin, “you can’t afford more willing company?”

“Watch your tongue or lose it.” Blackbeard grunts testily and knocks back one last shot of rum before pointedly tossing a small bag of coins on the table.  “There’s never a day my coffers don’t put yours to shame.”  He barks at his remaining crewmen that the brothels await them and stomps toward the door and out into the night without so much as a look back, his men trailing in his stormy shadow.  

Thankfully, the girl is nowhere to be seen as they make their exit.  The palpable tension in the tavern eases and the din swells back to normal levels when the heavy oak door shuts behind the last of them.  Hook inhales deeply, chin tipped slightly upward, and snags Blackbeard's money before going to the bar to pay his greetings to the tavernkeep.

She meets him with grateful eyes and pushes a full bottle of rum in his direction.  “On the house, Captain.”

He favors her with a wide grin and tosses her the little satchel.  “Think nothing of it, love.  My evening will be much better without having to share space with that bloody fool.”

Maggie chuckles and goes back to draining a cask of ale into tankards.  She cocks her head sideways at him.  “You must be in a generous mood tonight to bother talking him into leaving.  I hear the two of you never hesitate to cross swords.”

He harrumphs.  “The bastard’s no challenge when he’s drunk. Plus I’d hate for you to have to wash blood from your walls when time’s better spent making food and ale.”  He pops the cork on the rum with his thumb and takes a healthy swig, humming appreciatively at the sear of quality liquor down his throat.  “With a little luck he’ll leave your new girl alone now,” he mutters.  

Maggie arches an eyebrow, a discerning glint in her eye.   “I’m sure Swan’ll be glad of it,” she replies coyly.

The corner of his mouth quirks upward at the odd moniker.  “Swan?”

“That’s what we call her. Poor dear appeared in Vicarstown over a month ago without any memories; just woke up in an alley with no idea how she got there.  Doesn’t even know her own name.”

He leans forward, frowning. “Really.  Injured?”

“Or cursed.”  Maggie shakes her red curls with a shrug.  “Nary a trace of what did this to her, but she’s good help, smart as a whip, and easy on the eyes, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, so I took her in.”  She sets another brimming tankard on a tray with five others and wipes her hands on her apron.  “Have a seat, Captain.  I’ll send her along with these presently, and we’ll see if she’ll indulge your curiosity.”  She winks.

Hook gives a courtly bow as he backs away with rum in hand.  “I do so enjoy your hospitality, Maggie.”

True to the older woman’s word, several minutes after sitting down with his men at the corner table he favors, Hook spies the girl’s golden head coming toward them.  To her credit, she no longer looks shaken by earlier events, managing a pleasant, professional smile.  It’s no mystery why Blackbeard wanted her; she’s easily the most enchanting creature he’s seen in months, if not years.  Lustrous blonde hair spills in loose, thick waves around her shoulders, firelight dances across graceful high cheekbones and a perfect nose, and long, dark lashes frame her big, mossy-green eyes.  She’s slender with curves in all the right places, and though not dressed as provocatively as many barmaids he’s met, she cuts quite the figure in her tight-laced russet bodice and dark blue petticoat, with more than one man at his table regarding her (and the swell of her breasts) with interest.  

She navigates her way toward them bearing her tray of drinks and sets it down on the table with a murmured greeting.  “Hello. Here you are.  Now, would you all like food, more drink, or both?”  She listens intently as the men begin ordering, intelligence obvious in those lovely eyes.  Then she turns her gaze fully upon him, her expression going solemn.  “I should thank you for earlier, Captain.”

Something about her sincerity causes him to feel almost shy, but he acknowledges her thanks with a tip of his head.  “Yes, well, I’ll have you know your quick thinking deprived me of a dashing rescue.”

His words cause her to smile – this time a real, gorgeous, self-satisfied smile that reaches her eyes and causes his throat to tighten.  She shrugs, lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks.  “Sorry.  The only one who saves me is me, I guess,” she says with a slight blush.

He chuckles.  “Tough lass.”  He holds out his hand.  “Captain Killian Jones.  They call me Hook.”

“They call me Swan,” she returns.  Her palm is soft as it slides into his rough one, but the handshake she gives him is confident and solid.  

He turns her hand over and presses a gentlemanly kiss to her knuckles before letting go, enjoying the way the color in her face deepens.  “So I hear.”

The next few hours are something of a blur to him as he spends it eating and drinking and playing dice, all the while trying his best to keep from openly staring at the Swan girl as she goes about her work.  She’s a delight to watch – graceful, observant, efficient, and savvy when it comes to handling the rougher clientele.  Her fierceness doesn’t end with her encounter with Blackbeard – a grin tugs at his lips each time she uses a baleful stare or a sharp quip to put a presumptuous man back in his place.  She’s fascinating, this woman – a bright jewel in a dingy setting – and so he passes the evening stealing glances and keeping one ear open for the sound of her voice.

It’s just after midnight when the tavern quiets, most of his men having gone off to the brothels or back to the Jolly to sleep off their well-fed, drunken stupor.  Even Maggie has retired upstairs to her apartments, leaving Swan behind to see to the stragglers, most of whom are dozing at the tables.

“Are you not joining your men, Captain?” she asks while gathering dirty dishes from a nearby table.

Hook looks up at her from the supply purchase list he’s reviewing and smiles.  “Why would I do that when the company here is so much more interesting?”

She rolls her eyes, but even in the firelight he can discern another subtle flush in her cheeks. “‘Interesting’ is hardly the right word. I don’t have any stories to tell.”

He hums noncomittally, seeing her modest comment for what it really is.  “Maggie mentioned that.  You’ve no memories at all?”

Swan appears only half-surprised that he’s been told of her situation.  There’s a split-second before she folds her lips ruefully and shakes her head.  “None.”  With an apologetic smile, she carries the plates back to the kitchen.

Hook stares into the fire crackling in the hearth, all of the nightmarish memories that occasionally still haunt his sleep – memories he’s spent decades trying to drown in cheap drink and loose women – coming to mind.  “What is that like?” he asks quietly when she returns, running a finger around the lip of his rum bottle absently.  “To not have any memories?”

She pauses and turns to survey him, and he gets the sensation that she sees deeper into him than he wants to let her.  Perhaps he shouldn’t have asked.  It feels as though he’s just showed his hand.  But his unease is replaced with elation when she sighs and sits down at his table.

“It’s very strange,” she answers, her face honest.  “Empty. I don’t know who I am or where I come from or how I got here, whether I have a family, what my life was like...” She gives a sardonic laugh.  “It’s unnerving.”

Her sad eyes make his heart twinge, and he studies her thoughtfully.  “Well that’s not true; we know some things about you, Swan.”

“Oh, so you’re a pirate and a fortune-teller?” She tosses him a dry look, a delicate eyebrow raised.  

Hook grins at her sarcasm and shakes his head.  “Just experienced.  I’ve traveled the realms for a long time.”  He reaches across the table and gestures at one of her hands.  “May I?”

She blinks, surprise giving way to dubiousness, and considers him for a long moment before finally acquiescing and gingerly setting one of her hands in his.  He tries to ignore the tingle that shimmers down his spine and the uptick in his heart rate that comes from her touch, pointing at her upturned palm with the tip of his hook.  “Look. You have a few calluses, but not enough to suggest a life of hard labor.  The color of your lovely skin in the heart of this summer suggests that either you came from a northern country or you spent most of your time out of the sun,” he continues, thinking aloud.  “The way you speak also rules out half a dozen lands I can think of.”  He smiles back up at her. “See how this works?”(*)

She’s leaning forward now, the skepticism in her eyes fading as she swallows and nods.  She glances at her hand in his and pulls away, clearing her throat and rubbing her palms together self-consciously with pink in her cheeks.  “That’s, uh, that’s actually pretty clever.”

Hook curls his empty fingers.  “Well, I didn’t get to be a pirate captain on my good looks alone, you know,” he quips, flashing a rapscallion’s grin for effect.

She laughs and chews on her lip in a way he finds endearing.  “Anything else?”

He shrugs.  “Well, I think it’s obvious that you’re not from anywhere near here, or someone would have recognized you by now.  No one could forget a face like yours, I assure you.” He winks, savoring her recurrent blush, and his finger taps the table as he continues to muse.  “Have you tried looking at maps?  Perhaps something might look familiar.”

Her eyes light at the suggestion.  “I hadn’t thought of that, but there are maps over at the bookshop.  I can make a trip there tomorrow afternoon.”

He scratches behind his ear. “You know, I also have a very large assortment of maps on my ship which will cover many more lands than what you’ll find at that shop,” he volunteers.  “Perhaps you’d like to come aboard?”  He lifts his eyebrows hopefully.

This earns him an incredulous sideways glance.

“For the maps, Swan,” he says, feigning innocence with a boyish grin.

“I’m sure.”  

His heart falls when she gets to her feet, but his disappointment is tempered by the way her eyes dance.

“I’ll try the shop first, thanks.  I think there’s one thing I can tell you about myself, Captain.”

He arcs an eyebrow.  “Oh?”

She hums knowingly.  “I don’t think I’m the kind of girl you’re hoping I am.”

He chuckles, letting her words sit between them for a moment before rising and pressing a handful of coins into her palm to cover his bill, marveling again at the softness of her skin.  “Perhaps,” he says softly, dipping his nose so it’s inches from hers, “you don’t know what kind of girl I’m hoping you are.”  He savors the nervous flutter of her long lashes and her failure to pull away this time, and he grins, stepping back and giving her a military-style bow.  “The Jolly Roger will be in port at least until Friday.  I hope to see you again soon, milady.”

Swan watches him retreat with wide eyes.  She licks her lips and swallows.  “Goodnight, Captain.”

“Goodnight, Swan.”

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[beautifulramblingbrains]

Crush - Chapter 3. Condemned.

Pairing: Eric/OC *Abbey* Fandom: Divergent Rating: M

A memory from Eric’s past plays tricks on him. And it’s all about the girl, Abbey Ainsworth.

A/N: Here is the third! Thank you for reading - again - in some cases ;)

Tags: @iammarylastar @badassbaker @pathybo @mimigemrose @frecklefaceb @beltz2016 @ariwolff14 @kenzieam @tigpooh67 Remind me if you want on the list. 

Nothing else brought him as much joy as the demure looks from the Amity folk. The trying to appear chaste and welcoming, when in fact he knew that they were counting down the seconds till he would lift his foot from the Amity turf.

"Good morning to you."

"Good day."

"What great weather we have…"

Rehearsed, fake, pathetically-annoying, and unneeded. Did they actually think he would acknowledge them? Had they really been on the Peace Serum for far too long to realize what hostility was?

Hostility was him practically snarling in their face and staring them down. But at this rate, he was just going to have to tell them to fuck themselves as they seemingly weren't getting the hint.

At least the animals knew. The dogs would scamper and the cats would hiss or jump a tree. He couldn't help but have the sneaking suspicion that the animals were far smarter than the people here, and maybe they ran Amity covertly.

But then again, maybe he was being a bit hasty to label these guys.

Abbey was here after all, and as much as he'd seen to date, she was perfectly clued on. She would have been a fine article at Dauntless. She would perhaps have made it far – or maybe that was wishful thinking on his part because he liked the girl.

His inner asshole echoes out to him that she wouldn't have lasted five minutes – the woman in question was a florist for fuck sake.

Eric finally comes to a stop outside the dark oak open doors of Johanna's barn, waiting somewhat patiently. This time he'd decided he wasn't going in. He couldn't stomach another trip up to the fly-haven loft so instead deciphers to wait it out, perchance on the surroundings in the quiet five minutes.

He squints to the furthest figures in the fields in the distance. Two women, laughing, hair flowing freely. For a minute he thinks he can hear them, but it's just his imagination because although it's a hot and bothersome day, the wind is raucous against his ears.

"Makes a change from Dauntless, doesn't it?"

Johanna appears from behind him. Eric already knew she was there, just preferred to register her as disinteresting.

Johanna roams over his sharp outlook, the bowed eyebrows, and creased forehead. She would almost say he looks confused, lost even. Perhaps, in a way, she liked to think he uncooperatively liked the laid-back few days he was given – he would never admit to that though.

"We are opposite ends of the spectrum, Johanna. We have our jobs. Dauntless offers protection - promoting violence. Amity farms and radiates peace and tranquillity… Both our factions are alien to each other. Change wouldn't be the term I would use."

"What term would you use then, Eric?" He can feel Johanna gaze over her shoulder at him and he finally relents, giving her a flashing cold look, almost rolling his eyes.

"For you Johanna, I'll simplify it by saying: polarity." However, she just chuckles under her breath. "Originally I was going for antithesis. But by the looks of you, you've never touched a book in your life. Mud and insects seem to be your sort of thing."

"You could win awards for your cunning. Have you ever thought about entering Erudite's spelling contest?"

"Don't mock me, woman." Even though the appearance of him is threatening, his tone is not. However, Johanna doesn't say anything, just pushes her view back out to the woman and takes a similar stance to him, letting the silence wash over them. Eventually, Eric sighs, having grown bored with the company and the serene picture in front of him and covers his chest with his arms. "So, are you going to tell me the truth about the factionless reports or are we going to fuck in a minute with our new found bond?"

Johanna purses her lips in distaste and frowns at him which he gleefully smirks to, and she swears the smile this time reaches his eyes as he got the reaction he was looking for. "As you know I can't have disruption among Amity, or panic, that's why I didn't want anything said in front of the men. Word gets around here quickly."

"Funnily enough, I've gathered that."

She ignores his sarcasm and continues anyway. "But there have been a few disturbances if that's what you want to call them these days…"

"Like what… define, please. I'm in no mood for guessing games."

"Break-ins, a few assaults further towards the city and away from Amity. We've had a few livestock taken…"

Eric keeps his poise and seems to lack any emotion on his face as she talks. His two piercings glint from time to time from the concentrated sun capturing her eye. "Your livestock is irretrievable and possibly non-existent, so don't have any hope Daisy the cow will be coming home anytime soon. As for the break-ins, you'll have to take me to the sites and we'll up the watches. But as you know, Amity is pretty wide-spread for cameras and to be fair I don't want my men watching the grass grow."

"I figured as much. The extra watches will have to do. But I want to keep this between us. No one else from Amity is to know. Not even Mark knows."

Eric scoffs hearing his name. "Oh yes, I forgot about your little bitch."

"Mark is a good man. I've never had any problems with him." Her bracelet rattles as she readjusts the long gaping sleeves on her orange and yellow dress.

"Whatever, Johanna. I don't care for him..." But he did care for Abbey. His eyes flick to the floor having slightly hesitated to end the sentence and he has no doubt she's caught the slight betrayal his over-charged body seems to be depicting. For some reason, he feels wholly embarrassed having outed a slight suspicion to the fact he did actually care about someone other than himself and especially to the likes of Johanna.

Johanna keeps her eye-line dead center and the top of her lip ever so slightly curls upwards. "Abbey… Abbey Ainsworth."

"What?" Eric snaps his head over to her, his composure completely spoilt. But he keeps the deadly look in his eye, distrusting of the woman before him.

"I know of your history together. Is that why you are here?"

"How the fuck do you know?"

This strangely gets underneath her skin. An insult to someone as patient and attentive as her. "I'm the spokesperson for Amity. I like the chance to get to know my people, unlike Dauntless." She keeps his eye and doesn't weaken, proving silently that she meant her words.

"You know nothing."

"I know that Abbey was riddled with guilt when she arrived, telling me about her best friend, a name of a boy I had no idea would become a future leader for the warrior faction. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together."

Eric takes a long moment, appearing to roam over her conclusion, fighting internally as to whether or not to say anymore. "Who is she marrying?" He gyrates on his heel a little, clearly uncomfortable with this conversation.

"A very nice young man." Johanna can feel herself softening, because as she said those words, Eric looked anything other than defeated - albeit it was for a split second.

She didn't fool herself, Eric was powerful and could easily handle his own. He was headstrong, determined, but also very much human like the rest of them - and that meant the unfavorable human emotions that came along with it. She was unsure how a man like him would cope with that. But if she believed in anything, it was love, and from Abbey's recent interest in the Dauntless movements and the lack of work she had been doing. Johanna needed to know, needed to help - to stop a possible future mistake. "Go and speak with her. I'm guessing you have already marred the database of Amity, so you know where to find her."

Eric stares straight ahead for a long moment and Johanna steps away from him, heading back towards the shadows of the barn. "I know where to find her. I'm just unsure of what else I may find…"

Johanna laughs, turning a little to peer over her shoulder at the tall, muscular man still frozen just outside the doorway. "… Perhaps reconciliation."

Eric did not want to do this. Didn't want to be anywhere near the nauseating spawn of the devil - flowers. Even worse… an entire shop of the stuff.

The door chimes as he strolls in. He knew of the Amity flower workshop from all the work they did with the other factions; the displays outside Erudite and similar checkpoints between Candor. There were also presentations at Authoritative gatherings and then there were personal exceptions. But it doesn't mean he's ever set foot inside of Amity's natural germination haven and thought he'd never have to – until now.

The women in here basically freeze when they see him, and he's sure he even sees one run out the back in fright.

Eric smiles.

"Afternoon ladies."

"Good afternoon, sir." The roundest, most flush woman speaks first, still sharing inquisitive looks with the others as she's temporarily stuck under his limelight.

Eric walks to the counter that she seems to feel relatively comfortable behind and leans forward on it, peering up to her wide, surprised eyes. "I heard through the grapevine that Abbey Ainsworth works here." He plays with the cuttings scattered from a bouquet sitting to his right.

"She does." The woman nods and her double chin wobbles, eyes flicking to his hands and eyes in caution.

"What's your name?" Anyone else that truly knew him, knew the tone he used was way too overly sweet and charming.

"Sandra."

"Well, Sandra. I'm looking for Abbey, is she here?" He tilts his head, scanning her futilely to see if whether she was going to lie or not.

"You just missed her… You'll have to come back after two thirty." The frightened eyes of Sandra peer to the door and back to him, practically begging him to leave.

"Where is she… Sandra…" He notes the way she also glances to the woman out the back who's popping her head through the doorway to look at him until she finally deflates her restricted chest with a hefty conquered lungful.

"Follow the stream out of Amity. Through the bush towards the small waterfall. You'll hear it before you see it. You're more than likely to find her there."

Eric stands, nodding his head. "Thanks, Sandra." He makes a point to also acknowledge the women ogling him from the back, saluting them exaggeratedly. "Ladies…"

Eric had no idea what he was doing here. His uniform was too black, too hot, too forced against his arm muscles, and he had streams of sweat trickling down the sides of his face. It wasn't as windy now as it was earlier, which made it seem all the more blistering.

The little stream runs on his left and he follows the abandoned dirt path alongside it. Crickets and other insects seem to fly and jump around him as he moves and he can hear his own breath as he pants from the heat like some feckless dog.

He's in two minds to turn back when he all of sudden catches the reverberation of running water just beyond a small parting of worn bushes in front of him, perfectly defined to a small human shape.

He closes the distance quickly and holds a hand out in front of him as he pushes his way through the shaded leafed alcove. He immediately stops dead in his tracks. The small 'waterfall' is only about two people high surrounded by boulders of some sort that catch the water into a natural pool. The place is wild and alive with adjacent trees and weird flowers that remind him of cauliflowers.

There she sits, her back to him on a small boulder just by the water, her hair pulled into some messy bun, and he's pleasantly enthralled to see her sporting some mint green dress sitting snuggly against her body. She's totally unaware of him in the early afternoon sun and for a minute he smirks incredulously to himself over the situation.

What does he say now? Does he say that he was looking for her? Did he stumble randomly to this place? Did he see her walk up here? … his evil side kind of wants to push her into the water, mid-thought.

Eric doesn't know what he's going to say, but he was going to approach and figure it out quickly on the spot. He was good with on the spot pressure and that's what he was going to work with.

"Abbey?" He places his hands in his pockets and peers to the floor, biting his cheek, before fixing himself steadily and confidently back onto her having found his steel backbone before she would turn around and see.

For her unsuspecting form, she still turns her head relatively slowly over her shoulder. "Eric?... Oh my god… What are you-"

"I came to… find you…" He's really just lying out his ass now. "And I lost you further back there and was about to turn back – good thing I didn't."

Abbey's face rests in suspicion, then she smiles. "You were looking for me?"

"Yeah…"

She chuckles and pushes her side-swept bangs out of her face that had fallen from her messy bun. "You wanna… sit… or something with me for a bit? Only until I have to go back to work... I'm sure you're really busy, too."

"Okay." He cuts her off quickly. Eric sits next to her on the same boulder and pulls his knees up, looping his arms over the top of them as much as he could from his strained uniform. Suddenly, he feels like he's thirteen again.

"You look hot…"

"You don't look so bad yourself…"

"Eric…" she giggles softly. "I'm saying you look like, really sweaty. You're wearing black for goodness sake." But he smirks back at her and she finally realizes that he was joking. "Wow. So, Dauntless really suits you." She studies him as he slips off his jacket. "Look at those tatts!" She grabs his arm without thinking and he watches her eyes as they roam over the skin. "I'm so jealous."

"You want a tattoo?"

"Yes, why? I think a tattoo would suit me, don't you think?"

"Amity aren't allowed tattoos. And no."

She sighs. "Yeah, like I don't know that already…" and smiles sweetly at him. "I see you still like to try and boss me around."

"I don't think you should get one. It wouldn't look like…." He trails off, not quite wanting to finish, or not even really knowing how to. Eric had wanted to say: you.

"Okay, so you're allowed and I'm not allowed..." She runs her hand down a crack in the boulder and pulls moss, lobbing it at him. "Still such a chicken shit."

"Careful, Ab's. I'll chuck you in if you keep talking like that. Especially to a big, bad Dauntless Leader." He motions with his head to the water.

Abbey gives him a blank look for about a second. "Ohhhh, you were talking about yourself?" And then begins laughing. "I'm terribly mistaken."

Eric grips her ankle and tugs it harshly, causing her to hit him away and eventually landing on her elbows, lying further back. He copies her, just so that they were on the same level.

Abbey's finger traces the indents in the rock but his eyes never lift from her. "I'm sorry I just like, outed I was getting married, out of the blue, not having seen you for so long. I was just really shocked and couldn't find the words to say what I wanted." She blinks a few times before finally lifting her head, meeting the gray-colored haze that stares back at her. "When I saw you, it bought a lot of things back."

"I understand."

"No… no, you don't." She sits up now, throwing something out to the water. "I thought I'd never see you again." She grows quiet, picking at something else instead of looking back at him - and it's utterly annoying.

Eric's really not used to this kind of behavior or emotional put-out. He really doesn't like explaining how he feels, or what's on his mind. It's been a long time since he's seen a woman so conflicted, or even given them enough time to be. Usually, they were in and out and he would barely speak to them again. Abbey was the only woman he could bring himself to actually be pleasant to.

"Well, you're rather depressing me." Eric holds himself on one elbow, lying back casually as he peers out to the small holding of water. Abbey's jaw drops and she shuffles forwards, nearer to the water, and splashes him. For a minute, there is a deadly silence, and he watches the droplets dripping down his crisp vest.

"Shit… I didn't think… sorry…" She begins rambling off, crawling over to him to pat at the water stains on his chest.

"You know; I'd hang you over the chasm if you were an initiate, right…"

"Still find pleasure in pain, Eric?"

"Oh, that's only the start…" She stops patting and evades his gaze, watching his hand as it slides onto the top of hers, swamping them. However, she doesn't pull away, rather plays with his larger fingers, anything to avoid him. She pushes until they are palm to palm and Eric instinctively closes his fingers interlocked with his hers.

"Don't marry him…" The words are out before he even realized he'd thought them. And right now, his heart pulses in his ears, his breathing quickening. It was a long shot, but it was worth the try.

"Eric… I…" His free hand grips onto the back of her bent knees and pulls her further towards him. He doesn't care about her pretty dress, the miniscule distance between them if they were caught, or her fiancée.

"Cancel the wedding. Say you need time."

"Time for what? You'll be back to Dauntless and I'll be back to what I was doing before, alone, giving up the chance someone took on me. Do you know how long it's been since someone took a chance at me? To even ask me out? Men were scared of me, Eric, for years… I was too intelligent, too mischievous, too vivacious."

"Perfect… and every other fucker was stupid – including me, for not seeing it sooner." He sits up, pushing back the sticky hair on her face, trailing the outline of her jaw he knew so perfectly well. His other hand still remained strictly entwined with hers.

"I'm sorry, Eric… I can't, do this, again." She motions with her free hand to the small absent space they had between them. He could feel her words breezily feather against his skin, meaning absolutely nothing to him as he could sense they meant absolutely nothing to her either.

"Fine…"

She peers up as Eric stands. Green flecked orbs wide-eyed and wistful before him, yelping as he picks her up fluidly from the ground in one motion and hurls her into the water. She splutters when she resurfaces and her hair lies flat against her head, strands feathered across her bronzed cheeks.

"You asshole!"

"Don't be like that, it was a bit of fun." He's trying his hardest to stifle the laugh clawing its way up his throat.

"At least help me out, the rocks slippery. I've fallen in before."

"Should I ask?" Valiantly, he holds his hand out, unthinking.

"No, just help me out, shit head." Her cold wet hands grip his, but she's anchored to the water and when he finally looks her in the eye, she's smiling, and now he knows his mistake.

He desperately tries to keep his balance but it's impossible. The angle, the unexpected, her unwomanly strong grip, but mostly her smile.

The water splashes harshly from his militantly dressed body and baulk. Abbey goes under for a few seconds from the momentum but she's laughing when his head finally comes back up.

Strangely, for once, he lets himself laugh with her at his own undoing. Droplet sprinkled faces, flat unkempt hair, and full dazzling wide smiles. The water is actually a relief, and it's deeper than he thought.

To his shock, and his smile faltering, Abbey wraps her legs around his waist. The tips of his feet just touch the bottom to keep them upright as his arms pull her closer, that distinct slippery feeling forming in the base of his stomach in anticipation.

Fuck his now broken phone.

Fuck his sodden unusable gun.

There are goosebumps on her skin, but she's never looked more beautiful, naturally beautiful compared to most of the women he's shared a bed with over the years. Almost hesitantly, she loops each arm over his neck as he wades backward trying to find steadier footing, their eyes never wavering – until she clears her throat.

"Remember that song that I used to sing you, that you absolutely hated…" She keeps her grip firm and his arms reposition till they are sat neatly underneath her ass.

"Please don't, you sound like a squealing pig."

"Okay, okay, I won't sing. But you remember, right?"

"I had nightmares consecutively after every incident." She hits him, splashing water into his face "Yes, I remember."

"At least you remember that." Her eyes drop and she finger-walks down the blocks of his tattoo's, he lifts his head so she can get to the base of his neck.

"I remember everything." She seems too busy checking out his tattoo's rather than listening. "I remember what you taste like..."

That stops her.

Eric audibly hears her swallow, smirking to himself. "I remember what you sound like…"

"Oh, stop it…" She's blushing, but her thighs tighten on his hips.

"I also remember what you feel like…" He watches as her lips part again. Was this some unique cue that she wanted him to kiss her? He's never noticed that before, not even when they were younger. Perhaps it was just something he'd learned with age and he was a little more observant now. "Does your fiancée say these things to you?"

"Does that matter?"

"You don't love him. If you did you wouldn't be here like this, with me." Eric pulls one of his arms from the water and wipes the droplets on the side of her cheek. "You said you loved me once. I know that hasn't changed." He watches as her lips purse themselves into a fine line. Without a push, he knew Abbey wouldn't productively sort her life out. "I'm going to give you an option. You call off the wedding amicably, or, I'll stop the wedding myself."

"Don't be stupid. I'll be hated, they'll gossip. I can't-"

"Okay, don't see it as an option then. It's going to happen, one way or another." Eric feels her wriggling, fighting the conflicted emotions.

"You can't just waltz into my life after all these years and call the shots."

"I think it's about time I did. So, I am now." Abbey sighs against him, closing her eyes and tilting her head back. He makes a point of grabbing her attention by gripping the back of her legs harder, pressing her against him.

"Just give me a few days." She's peering down at him while he watches her lips, and it's positively mesmerizing. Eric comes to the conclusion he could spend the rest of the day in this position – and also that he wants to bite her. "What are people going to say?"

"Fuck everyone."

"That's such an Eric thing to say, I'm not like you." He lets her fingers adventure around the piercings of his ears, the nape of his neck, slipping themselves underneath the shoulders of his vest. Eventually, she leans forwards and brushes her nose against his and he lets out a small suspended breath. "My moon came back…" Abbey whispers, almost agonizingly-defeated, clamping her eyes closed.

Eric can't think of anything reasonable to reply with, so instead, he settles for:

"I did."

It's those damn crickets and shitting frogs keeping him up in the night. But not only them, Abbey. Eric wonders if she's with her fiancée right now and the thought makes him feel sick, gripping at the base of his stomach and tightening his chest. He turns over for the billionth time.

Just as his eyes start to slowly close, someone begins pelting on his door. "Sir! There's been an incident!" Eric responds instantly on auto-pilot, throwing himself out of the covers and grabbing his pants. He's dressed within a matter of seconds and yanking the door open to the young Dauntless member scared shitless before him.

"What is it?!" Eric pushes past him without giving the young lad a second thought, heading for Johanna's office in the first instance, unsure as to whether that was particularly where he was meant to go but the young Dauntless follows him so it was a good a guess as any.

"The factionless have taken two Amity trucks. One of the drivers is fatal." The boy pants from behind him.

"Was it a night-run?"

"Yes, just the two. The drivers were left out by the road."

"Where?" Eric's voice has taken on a darker tone, viciously snapping at the youngster having grown impatient.

"That's the thing, it was literally just outside Amity."

Eric storms through the already open barn doors in the blackened night and marches the twirled steps. Johanna's already here, looking like she just rolled out of bed herself, her face twisted under the pale lighting. "What are you not telling me, Johanna? And think very carefully before you lie to me." He comes to a stop as his legs hit her desk, using it as some form of restraint on himself before he automatically throttles the woman.

"I-I, I thought it was under control."

"I'm guessing it was food or mechanical support you were offering them. Which is it?"

"They said if we fed them then they would leave Amity alone…" Johanna trails off, turning her head away from the burning hate in front of her.

Eric slams his fist on the desk. "You'll be prosecuted for this - aiding the factionless! You know that right?" He huffs, heaving his chest painfully, the adrenaline and annoyance on full flow. "Why did they attack? Food payment not on time? Or something else?"

"We didn't have enough to cover them, it's been hot, the crops are dry and there are many mouths to feed. I thought they wouldn't miss one delivery."

"You've painted a fucking target on Amity, you know that? You stupid cunt!" Eric says the words with utter venom. "If you have any self-respect left, you'll let me guide the movements from Amity, without question, from here on." Eric motions for a phone from the boy behind him, leaving Johanna in her guilt-ridden position as he can't bear to look at her.

"What are you doing? Who are you calling?" Johanna speaks to his large, shadow-covered frame - predominately to the back of his head.

"Someone's got to sort this shit out."

Eric stands in the early hours, hands in his pockets, roaming over the small wooden hut standing in front of him.

Abbey lives here.

He's not stalking her – he tells himself. He's just checking to make sure she was okay, make sure there was no factionless hanging around. And with that in mind, he brings himself to the door and knocks timidly.

A light flicks on outback and he can hear the sleepy occupants footsteps tread towards the door.

Abbey opens the door a crack, her eyes puffy and tired, a light robe pulled around her. "Eric? Are you okay? Has something happened?" She lets the door swing wide open and gleefully he watches the way she checks him out in complete worry.

"I'm fine. Are you alone?"

She nods, then smiles. "I am. My fiancée is not here if that's what you're asking? He respects my need for my timed independence."

"Let's not go over this again," Eric shakes his head.

Abbey takes a step back, chewing her lip, looking behind her briefly. "You want to come in?"

"I just came to see if you were okay. You should really go back to bed, it's late and you must have plenty of flowers to pick first thing..." He smiles, but it's forced. He's more tired than he's letting on.

"Oh, right… You, er… wanna sleep here?" She shifts nervously, and he quirks a brow at the unexpected. "Just sleep… nothing else, you idiot."

"Okaayyy." Eric suddenly feels sixteen again and stuck under the oak tree of where she first kissed him.

She holds her hand out, an elegant but working hand with finely cut nails. He hesitates for a split second in a natural second instinct, a trick, or a game that he wouldn't put past her. He gazes at her palm before meeting her green and accustomed eyes that are smiling at him, crumbling every defense he has ever built towards her.

Eric is a condemned man – when he slips his hand in hers.

[vaalkyrja-blog]

// Meta ! Talk about sexism that may or may not exist within the Zofian knights, or Zofia as a whole, and how Mathilda handles it.

meta requests

the game says it better than i can. ( also this is long [ who’s surprised ] so under a read more it goes )

fernand & clair memory prism

fernand: “you know, it still confounds me that you decided to enlist with the knights. your father is too lenient with you. always has been.”

clair: “and why shouldn’t i be a knight!? i wield a lance and ride a horse as well as the best of you. perhaps even better. why else would they allow me to join? heavens, you and my brother were the ones who TAUGHT me to fight and ride.”

fernand: “because you harangued us without end. you always were keen on following clive. honestly, we assumed it was a phase you would grow out of. you should be looking for a husband, not brandishing a weapon. unless to expect to meet your soulmate on the battlefield?

clair: […] pursuing a warrior’s path does not doom me to a life of spinsterhood.

fernand & clive memory prism

clive: “i fear my mother has about given up on my dear sister. she worries she’ll never marry her off into a proper family. if clair hears you’ve joined the knights, shes liable to try and follow. she does abhor being left behind…”

fernand: “ha ha ha! i’ve no doubt clair will come to her senses. she’s at the age where girls learn to embroider and be demure. she’ll soon realize it best to leave the kingdom to us men.”

clive: “embroidery needles are just weapons to her.”

zofia is very sexist. very. and the knights are likely even more so, given that it’s a community of entirely ( or at least mostly ) men who are more concerned than the average with displaying martial strength, which is viewed as a strictly masculine trait. as we see from fernand’s commentary, noblewomen in zofia are expected to be “demure”, and to leave matters of leadership ( meaning state, in his dialogue, but also clearly military leadership ) to men. they are expected to learn to defer to men’s desires, and if they continue to exhibit a strong will as clair does, they are seen as being maladjusted. 

it’s clear that a noblewoman’s primary goal in life, after learning traditionally feminine trades such as “embroidery”, as mentioned here and, we can assume, everything else that has typically been associated with femininity, should be to secure a suitable marriage. in such a patriarchal society, women are tokens to be “married off”, as clive puts it. given that, in his a support with mathilda, clive also mentions that the husband being his wife’s “lord” is — in his view — an “old-fashioned notion”, we can also assume that men are seen to be socially superior to women as well, in any context.

we see more examples of women being traditionally viewed as beings of service or decoration elsewhere in SoV. slayde, for example, asks a young tobin if he has any older sisters, and states that they can serve him the food and drink when he arrives at the village. in her memory prism with clive, mathilda also remarks that she “abhors walking the castle like some pretty bauble”, implying that noble women are commonly objects to be admired aesthetically as ornamentation at gatherings.

given this, it seems interesting that women should be allowed to pursue a knighthood at all, and yet clair doesn’t appear to have had much difficulty getting a position as a knight. i don’t believe that mathilda was likely the first lady to have been made a knight, but considering that her character endings emphasize how she is remembered as the “famous female knight”, it does seem that the occurrence is very rare, and i am willing to bet that mathilda is the first lady knight in a very long time, especially given that she exhibits such extraordinary skill, greatly surpassing the men around her.

this brings me to my next aspect of sexism within the knighthood: that lady knights, even if they should make it into the knighthood on merit, are frequently underestimated and dismissed by their compatriots. this doesn’t come as much of a surprise, and i imagine that mathilda has heard her fair share of “oh you’re pretty good for a girl” or “you only beat me because i wasn’t prepared to fight a girl” and other such sexist remarks thinly disguised as sideways compliments. these are probably what make her the most angry because it’s difficult to take offense at them without inciting some self-righteous “i was complimenting you!” reply, usually accompanied by some implication that women are super emotional and quick to fly off the handle. 

( this latter stereotype is, in my hc, what’s also contributed to her expressly developing — and putting forward — a calm, rational demeanor, being known as the ‘voice of reason’, which is something else, as clive tells us, that is celebrated in men but not expected of women. as soon as she displays too much emotion, men are quick to take her far less seriously. )

mathilda herself remarks on how, even as a knight, she is still largely only admired and objectified for her appearance. clive says “what do you think lights the fires of a boy’s heart? a stoic old man… or a beautiful woman?”, to which mathilda replies “ha ha! the fires would sputter out if the lads actually saw me in combat.” i talked about this line before, but we can see that she’s accustomed to being objectified even as a martial figure — kind of like the “hot female knight” trope — but as soon as she actually shows a guy up in battle, he feels emasculated and vulnerable. 

i think that, when mathilda was younger, she was a lot more sensitive to sexism from those around her — it was probably just near constant for her, and she naturally developed a defensive reaction to it in her youth and early years in the knighthood. however, i think compared to life at home and at courtly functions, she still vastly preferred being with the knights in the castle, because even if some of the men were pigs, there was no denying her skill. she did prove herself on merit alone, even if it took a long time and she received a lot of backlash for it. clive does talk about how she’s sung about as “the finest knight in zofia”, so eventually, hard work paid off. 

by the time she meets clive in the knighthood, she’s still quick to perceive sexist undertones, such as her comment discussed above. by this memory prism, though, she’s already fairly well-established in her position, and as we see from just the opening line of the prism, is clearly clive’s superior officer in both rank and experience. i do think that spending more time with clive and being with him mellows her even more with time, though. by SoV, she’s the self-assured woman we see who barely has a regard for others’ remarks unless they’re blatantly in her face, because she’s already been acknowledged and has found her place, and really just doesn’t need anyone else’s bullshit.

one thing i do headcanon though is that sexism is the direct reason why mathilda was not made the leader of the deliverance. despite being clearly a better fighter than clive, and his superior among the knights, and being the one who came up with the idea in the first place, it is clive who takes up the mantle of leadership, and him who everyone defers to foremost. i imagine that they discussed this, and originally, he had wanted her to lead, but there was likely a lot of backlash against the idea from a theoretical perspective. 

seeing as the deliverance’s purpose was to restore the old, traditional order, they couldn’t easily do something as radical as have a woman lead and expect to uphold traditional values at the same time. secondly, it was also just a matter of cohesion. more people were likely to rally under a banner led by a man. in patriarchal zofia, that’s just the way it is. and there would be less dissension in the ranks, as well. overall, it was just easier this way. given fernand’s prejudiced ideals and the fact that he was one of the first members of the deliverance, i also don’t imagine he would have been okay with mathilda leading, which was probably a big factor in why she passed the mantle onto clive. 

was she disappointed? i don’t think she was angry that she had to give up the command. she’s not an ambitious person for her own gain, and as long as the cause was something she supported, she found the liberation of zofia to be the most important thing here, not whether she was in charge of it. was she annoyed by the fact that this had to be the case because of established social norms? yeah, probably. but they had bigger fish to fry at the time, and she was content to do what she could. ( besides, it’s not like clive didn’t still kind of defer to her anyway, probably, at least in the beginning. )

[quickspinner]

Let Me Forget the Sky, CH 1

A DA:I Fanfic

The differences between them seem as large as the riven sky, but the cause that unites them turns out to be the least of the bonds between them. The Inquisitor and the Commander’s romance, told in the moments between, with as little game recap as I can manage.

Prologue ** Chapter 2 ** Fiction Master Post

Chapter 1: A New Idea

He was certain there must have been a time when life was “normal” but he wasn’t sure there was anyone in Thedas who remembered what it was like. First the Blight and the years of upheaval it caused, then the chaos of the mage-templar war, and now…that.

Cullen stood outside of his command tent and stared up at the rift in the sky, glowing a sickly green. Solas said that spirits were being drawn through the rift against their will, the trauma turning them into demons. Cullen respected Solas’ efforts to help, though the mage’s attitude sometimes grated, but it had been difficult enough for Cullen to make some kind of peace with his feelings about mages. It was still too much to ask him to feel sorry for demons, whether they had any choice in the matter or not. A cold, clammy feeling mixed oddly with the perpetual lyrium ache in his gut. He wondered if the demons he’d fought during the battle knew. Could they sense those who had been touched before? Was it a weakness they were drawn to or a warning that he would not be taken easily?

He shook himself from dark thoughts and scolded himself to focus on the things he could change. The Inquisition had been declared and denounced. They were on their own now, the only ones willing to do what must be done. Cullen had made great progress in trying to put his past behind him, and he could not allow himself to fall back into that place now. Especially not when they might need the rebel mages to close the Breach.

The thought of an entire horde of mages descending on the camp made his skin crawl despite his efforts to be neutral. Many of those mages had been out of the Circle’s control for some time. There was no knowing how many of them were corrupt. It was easier dealing with individual mages like Solas, Vivienne, and Lavellan, people he could look in the eye and know as more than mages. It was work to control the paranoia that whispered to him in Meredith’s voice when the mages were a faceless group of which he knew little.

He went his rounds through the soldier’s camp, speaking individually to his lieutenants and making sure to check on the newest set of recruits. They had come trickling in as word of the Inquisition spread, giving various reasons for joining up but all sweeping the camp for a glimpse of the Herald of Andraste as they spoke to him. He answered a few questions–yes, she was Dalish, yes, she was a mage–and deflected others–was she really the Herald, was she as beautiful as Andraste–and wondered what they would think when they met her.

He listened patiently to Rylen’s blistering opinion of Havens logistical disadvantages, an opinion which he shared but, as Commander, couldn’t properly voice in such terms. “Threnn is working on it,” he told his second, knowing it would do little to soothe Rylen.

“Threnn is useless,” Rylen snorted. “And that merchant, Segrit or whatever his name is, he’s a crook. Half the soldiers are in debt to him already. The only one doing anything about this mess is the Herald. Seems like a little bit of a thing, but I guess she knows how to get things done. Maybe we should’ve hired a Dalish quartermaster if they all work this fast.”

“Has the Herald spoken to you?” Cullen asked, a little surprised at Rylen’s praise. Generally the Knight-Captain was stingy with it.

“Not directly, no,” Rylen admitted. “But every time she comes back to camp she delivers another batch of supplies. If we have to have a Herald of Andraste, I’m glad we got one that doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty.” Rylen seemed to hesitate, and Cullen raised his eyebrows. It wasn’t like Rylen to hold back.

“How do you want me to handle the camp talk, Ser?” Rylen asked. “The slurs–knife-ear and such, and rumors about the Dalish.”

Cullen frowned. “You’ve been hearing such things?”

“Mostly from the career soldiers,” Rylen told him. “The recruits coming in from the country, they mostly come because of the rumors of the Herald, but the others, the ones who aren’t so starry-eyed, they talk like they always do about women and elves.”

“Make sure you keep me informed about what they’re saying,” Cullen said after a moment of thought. “If there’s any true danger to the Herald, we’ll need to know. On second thought, I’ll speak to Leliana about it, her people are better equipped to follow up on rumors. In the meantime, we’ll make some public examples.”

“Got it,” Rylen grinned. “Knock some heads, do some shouting.”

“Make it clear that kind of talk won’t be tolerated anymore,” Cullen nodded. “I’ll do the same if I hear it. It probably won’t change their minds, but…”

“Don’t care what they think as long as they keep it in their heads,” Rylen shrugged. “As you say, Commander. I’ll take care of it, best I can.”

Cullen nodded and glanced up at the sun. “Carry on, Captain,” he said, shifting his sword to rest more more comfortably on his hip, and turned away, heading into the Chantry for the war council. He was early and therefore a little surprised to find everyone except Lavellan already gathered. He hesitated slightly at the door, but Cassandra tipped her head in invitation and he joined them, closing the door behind him.

“Commander. I’m glad you’re here. Before the Herald arrives, I would like to have a brief discussion regarding appointing an Inquisitor to lead us.”

“Ah–” Cullen looked at Leliana and Josephine for help, but both might as well be wearing Orlesian masks for all the expression they displayed. “I’m sorry, I just assumed…”

“I would not have spent months scouring half of Thedas for the Hero of Ferelden or the Champion of Kirkwall if Most Holy had wanted me to lead this Inquisition,” Cassandra said with a shrug.

“I understand, but surely the situation is different now,” Cullen replied, advancing to his accustomed place at the table. “There is no more time to find someone else.”

“That is not entirely true. For the moment, this council will suffice. What must be done now can be done without an Inquisitor,” Cassandra replied. “There is still time to see if there is someone else more capable.”

“Someone else–” Abruptly Cullen understood. “You can’t mean Lavellan?”

“You disagree?” Leliana asked, her voice, as always, deceptively soft and smooth, giving nothing of her own thoughts away.

Cullen hesitated. “I’m…not sure exactly. She’s not–” he paused, collecting his thoughts. “I knew both the Hero of Ferelden and the Champion of Kirkwall, as did you, I know.”

“I met Hawke only briefly,” Leliana demurred.

Cullen gestured acknowledgement. “Even before she was taken by the Wardens, Seriana was a presence. She was only an apprentice but when she walked through the halls, people - mages and templars alike - made room for her without even thinking about it. And Hawke was,” he shook his head, “Hawke was like a force of nature. She barely made an effort to hide what she was, but it hardly mattered because even the Knight-Commander was reluctant to take her on, with good reason as it turned out. The Herald is different, she doesn’t have that overpowering charisma. She’s quieter, less noticeable. And she seems…uncertain. Or perhaps just uncommitted.”

“Perhaps a little of both,” Leliana mused. “It’s true that she doesn’t have the same confidence or presence as our first choices. But consider the position she is in. I have been doing some checking and the Lavellan clan interacted with humans far more than most Dalish, but she has still found herself in a world - in a religion, even, that is not her own. Perhaps it is well that she is an…unconventional hero. Proof that the Maker can use anyone to his good purposes, as long as the vessel is willing. Perhaps she will stand as a reminder that we are all the Maker’s children, and the differences we draw between us are nothing in His eyes.”

Cullen grunted. “Now you’re talking publicity and politics. Not my area.”

“Have you so low an opinion of my faith?” Leliana asked, a teasing smile tugging her lips beneath her hood.

“No, of course not,” Cullen said immediately. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to imply–”

Leliana waved away his apology. “At any rate, there is nothing for us to do but wait and see. I think there is more to her than what we have seen. When she has gotten her footing a little, seen for herself what is at stake here, then we can judge the truth.”

“I believe Leliana is right,” Josephine put in. “There is also this: because the Dalish are so insular, she is without many of the biases that most of us are burdened with. Mage, templar, Orlesian, Ferelden, these distinctions mean less to her than they do to us.”

“That is true,” Cassandra said drily. “For the most part, the Dalish hate all humans equally.”

“Many of them with good reason,” Leliana put in.

Josephine shrugged. “Yet she has not rejected this whole operation out of hand. She handled her first brush with nobility rather well, if a bit more sarcastically than I would prefer. But then, she is not the only one among us with that problem.” She raised an eyebrow at Cullen, who merely rolled his eyes back at her. Josephine smiled and continued thoughtfully, “Of course we know very little about the Dalish and there is so much variation between clans, it is hard to say anything with certainty, but commonly there are very few mages permitted in any single clan. I do think she is too young to be the clan’s Keeper, nor do I think they would send their leader into such danger. However, from speaking to her, I believe it is very likely that she was apprenticed to the Keeper, and next in line to lead the clan. If so, she is no stranger to responsibility or leadership, which is promising.”

“Hopefully that means she will be comfortable leading a team in the field,” Cullen said thoughtfully. “The Dalish must field small units by necessity, so surely she has experience in that area, though she may not be used to coordinating with larger forces.”

“She is a capable enough fighter, I will grant her that,” Cassandra observed. “Though she may yet prove too difficult to work with. She was even prickly with Solas.”

“The Dalish don’t have a high opinion of city elves,” Leliana pointed out. “And Solas can be a bit…prickly himself.”

“Very true,” Cassandra conceded with a small nod. “And I must say that her interactions with civilians so far have been considerably less antagonistic than her responses to us.”

Leliana’s soft tone was sober, almost sad. “Consider, also, that the first thing we did was clap her in irons and accuse her of the murder of hundreds. She is a mage, and an elf - a Dalish elf at that. I doubt she believes there is any justice to be found for her in a Chantry trial. She has no choice but to remain with us and do as we ask, for now. If she tries to leave Chancellor Roderick will have whatever remaining Chantry forces he can gather hunting her. But we must win her to our cause if she is to lead us, even as a figurehead.”

Cassandra sighed impatiently. “It is useless to speculate more. We will do what we must, and we will all have to adapt as the situation evolves. We simply don’t know enough - about anything. What happened at the Conclave, the Breach, the Herald. We can do little until we have more information. All I ask is that you all observe her and consider whether she may be fit for the role of Inquisitor.”

“Is that really our plan?” Cullen asked incredulously. “Wait and see?”

“We will not sit idly by,” Cassandra said, a bit tartly. “There is more than enough to be done before we are secure enough to make any major moves.”

“True enough,” Josephine said, and at that moment, the door opened, and Lavellan stepped inside. “Ah, Herald. Welcome,” Josephine smiled and bobbed her head slightly, as if they hadn’t just all been discussing Lavellan behind her back. “Shall we begin?”

With this new idea in mind, Cullen studied Lavellan as the meeting went on, as covertly as he could manage. She was serious and thoughtful, soft-spoken but decisive. Capable, he thought, but hardly inspiring. He remembered that flash of humor from her that had caught him so off guard the last time they’d spoken, the lopsided smile that had completely disarmed him, and wondered if that momentary connection was a sign of something more. Eventually Josephine caught him distracted, and he put the matter aside to focus on what was in front of him. All in all, he thought as the meeting ended and he moved toward the door, they’d gotten a surprising amount of work done. His mind flew back to the thousand other concerns he had to manage, and he was already a million miles away when a quiet question stopped him in his tracks.

“Commander, may I speak with you?”

Cullen halted, jolted back to reality. “Yes?” he said rather stupidly, trying to bring his focus down to the elven woman in front of him.

“I don’t want to keep you,” she said, gesturing to the door. “Shall we walk while we talk?”

“Of course,” Cullen said, resuming his step but pausing to allow Lavellan through the door first with a slight, habitual bow. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“That is actually what I wanted to ask you,” said Lavellan, pausing just a breath to let him come along side her as they moved into the hallway. “I understand we’re having trouble getting the wounded tended to. Is there anything we can do about it?”

“Not unless you have a bevvy of healing mages secreted away somewhere,” Cullen replied grimly. “The healers we have on hand are doing their best, magical and otherwise, but there simply aren’t enough of them to deal with the refugees and our soldiers.”

“I don’t, sadly,” Lavellan sighed through her nose. “My clan would not part with our healers even temporarily, and my talents don’t lie in that direction. Our Second was a much more talented healer so I didn’t pursue it, and while I know some of the herbalist healers’ crafts by necessity, what I know is more about supplies and preparation than application. But perhaps I can review the poultices and brews your healers are using and see if I know anything that can help. Is there nowhere we can send for aid?”

He glanced at her and saw that she knew there wasn’t, but shook his head anyway, since she’d felt the need to ask the question. “We may get a few people trickling in who can help, but it’s not as if we can petition the Circle to send us some healers.”

“Magic isn’t the only way to heal, just the fastest,” replied Lavellan. “What about other sources? Are there schools for other kinds of healers we can apply to? Even apprentices would be something, and could ease the load on Adan and whatever mages we have.”

Cullen shook his head again, pausing to hold open the big chantry door for her. “If we had more influence, we might be able to recruit at such places in Denerim or Val Royeaux, but as it stands most of our influence is among the country folk we’ve been protecting from demons, rogue mages, and templars. The healers there seldom have more than one or two students at a time, like Adan.”

“And they’re badly needed where they are,” Lavellan muttered thoughtfully.

“You seem very concerned,” Cullen observed. He hadn’t thought her so invested in their cause.

“The Dalish do not send our hunters out without support, nor leave them to languish from their wounds,” Lavellan said tersely. “And I am not one who can watch suffering without action. Where will your army be, Commander, if your men die from lack of care? What good will the Inquisition do if it cannot even look after its own?”

“I do not need you to lecture me on what my men suffer,” Cullen retorted. “I know it well, I assure you.”

Lavellan opened her mouth to respond and then stopped, taking a deep breath. “Of course,” she said after a moment. “Forgive my harsh words, Commander. I know well the frustration of trying to do much with little and I don’t mean to lecture you.”

“Well,” Cullen said, finding he couldn’t be really angry with her when she seemed so honestly concerned, “I suppose it is your turn.”

She laughed at that, short and sharp but it made him smile. “Well. Now we’re even, aren’t we? Perhaps we can discuss a solution more amicably.”

“I welcome any advice you can give us,” Cullen told her. “But I fear that the best thing we can do is spread the Inquisition’s influence and deal with that.” He waved a hand at the Breach. “If that doesn’t bring the support we need to get a full complement of healers then nothing will. In the meantime, keeping the healers we have well supplied must be a priority. Trade lines have been a problem. Haven is very isolated. The roads have improved significantly since the temple was discovered, but between the explosion and the chaos of the war, finding people willing to bring trade up here is difficult.” He sighed, his frustration showing on his face. “We haven’t so many soldiers that I can afford to send them out shopping, nor to guard servants who go out to gather supplies.”

Lavellan chuckled a little and he raised his eyebrows. “Sorry,” she shrugged, still grinning. “It’s just–welcome to the life of the outcast, Commander. These are problems the Dalish face every day, but hopefully that means I can help there. I’ll stop by your tent later, we can discuss strategies for getting what you need. In the meantime, I’ll bring in what I can myself.”

“That would be appreciated, Herald.” Remembering his conversation with Rylen, he added, “I understand you’ve already been a great help with the supplies. Thank you for taking the time.”

“Thank you for speaking with me, Commander,” Lavellan said, putting a hand on his arm. He tried not to flinch. “I know you’re very busy and I appreciate you taking the time to discuss the problem with me, even if there is nothing more that can be done.”

“Of course,” Cullen said, and Lavellan turned away. Cullen lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck as he watched her go, feeling vaguely unsettled. For a mage to so casually touch a templar–former templar–was rather unusual.

“A copper for your thoughts, Commander.”

Cullen jumped. “Maker’s breath, Leliana!”

“My apologies,” she said, but he could hear the laughter in her voice. “I was just wondering what you thought of that little encounter.”

He didn’t bother to question why she’d been listening. “I hardly know,” he admitted. “I’ll admit I haven’t known her for very long, but she just–never seems to be what I expect.”

“Perhaps that is because she isn’t what you expect,” Leliana suggested, folding her arms as she looked towards where Lavellan had paused to speak with Threnn. “I understand your concerns. But you must remember, Seriana was a circle mage. She learned early on that the Circle could be an ugly place and so she wore her power as openly as she could. It gained her respect and safety but it also isolated her. I didn’t know Hawke as well, but my instinct is that she may have had an innate tendency towards aggressiveness, but she cultivated it once she realized it kept people at a distance. As an apostate, and as powerful as she was, people were probably already uneasy around her without realizing why. Being so pushy gave people a reason for their uneasiness, so that they were less likely to look too closely. But our Herald is different. She had no need to hide, but neither was she surrounded by those who were her equal in power. An entirely different approach was required, and that is why she seems so surprising to us.”

“What you’re saying,” Cullen said, shifting his weight back and resting his hand on his sword hilt as he considered, “Is that she’s learned not to show too openly what she is, so that she doesn’t frighten people.”

“Yes and no.” Leliana shook her head slightly. “You’re still thinking like a templar. You say that as if her intention is to deceive, to convince people she is not dangerous when she really is. Yet she is accomplished, in control of her power, and she is not a maleficar. She is in fact, not dangerous, any more than any other warrior in perfect control of their weapon. Perhaps if you stop looking for the double motives behind her action, you will stop being surprised at them.”

“Strange advice to come from you of all people,” Cullen said, and then regretted it as unkind. “But thank you. I will think on what you’ve said.”

“I know you will,” Leliana said with a smile, as she passed by towards her own pavilion. “Consider also if more mages might be like her if they weren’t raised to fear both themselves and the world.”

Cullen rolled his eyes as he turned away. He and Leliana had gone over their differences of opinion on mage rights many times by now but she remained steadfast in her belief that mages should be free. She had been there when the Wardens took back Kinloch Hold. She had seen the aftermath of the chaos in Kirkwall. If that wasn’t enough to convince her, he doubted any words of his would do so.

As he continued back towards his command tent he glanced once more back at Lavellan, thinking again of Cassandra’s words. He wondered what Cassandra had seen out in the field with the Herald, what made her think Lavellan could walk in the steps of heroes.

Well. Time would show. For now, he had work to do.

Chapter 2 ** Fiction Master Post

Author’s Note: This setup chapter was a little difficult for me, and I hope it doesn’t drag too much, but the next section is mostly complete and will pick things up a little bit. Thanks for reading!

[sobdasha]

so apparently back in 2016

I started writing up a YYH pokemon AU which I didn't finish and entirely forgot about and only accidentally rediscovered in my email drafts??? At first I was like "I don't remember this at all" but then as I read I was like "okay no this does sound like something I would have done" so

it starts off like,

i put ten zillion times more thought into Kurama than anyone else lol (for any AU really)

I expect what happened was I was thinking about Pokemon AUs and I was trying to decide like, does Kurama stick with the fox theme and have vulpix and ninetails??? (all Pokemon to me are first gen sorry I never played any other games I don't care about these not the original Pokemon) Or like does Kurama have all grass-types???? I mean a sensible person would do a mix of both plus some other types to round out your weaknesses but like, generally Pokemon trainers in-verse do not think like that so.

The solution I came up with, which I'm pretty sure was to fix this problem, was,

anyway for purposes of pokemon au Kurama is Erica, aka gym leader of the grass-type gym in Celadon City

(and you should definitely be thinking about that episode of the anime, because I apparently was)

It's like this:

Yomi is the Gym Leader at Celadon. Yomi would like to retire to spend more of his time raising his bitty son, but he would also like to retain control of the Celadon Gym (and its extensive greenhouses, and its extensive and profitable research labs) so that Shura can readily inherit all this privilege.

Shuuichi is a trainer who has been sticking closer to home these days because of his mom's cancer. And he's got a theory he'd really like to test out. You see, herbal things are medicinal, right? So maybe grass-type Pokemon are also herbal and medicinal, right? Shuuichi was always very good at school and standardized tests and so teachers always said the sort of things that teachers say, mainly, "One day you're going to find the cure for cancer." He has decided, for the sake of his mom, to actually prove them right.

The only problem with his theory, though, is that there aren't really any scientific studies relating to this. On account of most of the research has been by Team Rocket, who are a bunch of assholes who do not share their findings and who do not do Pokemon-testing, or any other testing, humanely and legally and Shuuichi 100% does not approve. Shuuichi can do better.

Shuuichi will do better.

Shuuichi needs access to some labs, though.

And so it's like this:

Shuuichi probably lives in or near Celadon in the first place. I didn't mention that in the original notes but I feel like that works out best re: staying close to home to mom and all that, so I'm making that a thing now. This kind of interrupted the flow but whatever.

Anyway Yomi strikes a bargain with Shuuichi: Shuuichi will have custodial control of the Celadon Gym, under a few conditions. One is that Shuuichi only use his grass-type Pokemon (see this sounds like I would have originally had him have some Vulpix/Ninetails and also some other varieties for strategy). This is the Celadon City Gym, after all. There's an ~aesthetic~ to be upheld. The other is that Yomi, who has apparently watched far too much reality TV, demands that Shuuichi run the gym under the persona of Denise, the mysterious demure elegant flower of Celadon. (See this is why I said I must have been thinking about the cartoon episode, because that one was all about crossdressing for lulz as I recall. Also never forget the Filipino dub never forget Denise)

Kurama in this AU is gender-ambivalent and doesn't particularly care about the crossdressing??? Or else like, saving Mom trumps his repeated absolute rage at ever being mistaken for a girl, and he's able to tone down his murder reflexes long enough to suck it up for Mom's sake. Just pretend with me here that it's not completely OOC, okay?? Anyway Shuuichi is already considered mysterious and elegant and polite, so the Denise persona will be easy enough. He has some suspicions that Yomi is an eccentric pervert BUT he hasn't tried to touch Shuuichi yet and anyway Shuuichi feels pretty confident he could break his wrist if he tried. So Shuuichi feels like he's getting a pretty decent bargain out of this even if Yomi has handpicked a wardrobe of furisode for "Denise" to wear.

And then it just petered out into,

On the side Shuuichi and Hiei pretend to be Rocket members Kurama and…………..also Hiei……..and break into places and sabotage things. Ironically they happen to be the ONLY TWO caught in Botan and Yusuke's sting operation haha so Office Botan drafts them as well.

I don't necessarily know why this was other than my tendency to make all AUs as "it's just like canon….but with a different scenery" as possible. I assume Shuuichi and Hiei meet because they're both infiltrating Team Rocket separately. Hiei's definitely doing it for Yukina. Having gotten to the end of reading it, I remember Yukina was a thing but I never wrote down the specifics. Knowing myself, having to guess, it'd be "because Yukina is a captive of Team Rocket" so I'm assuming I meant to have her working in a research lab somewhere that Team Rocket took over and she's having to do some of that inhumane and illegal testing and it makes her sad and so Hiei is trying to take the organization down and get her out.

"drafts them as well" means Yusuke was ALSO drafted which makes sense because that is basically the canon dynamics too but I have no idea what Yusuke did. Oh wait suddenly I feel like he probably stole a bike. Like Ash stole Misty's bike only it was Officer Botan's bike probably. When she caught up with him, absolutely furious, she made him a deputy as punishment and has been dragging him around since.

There is no mention at all of Kuwabara???? I know I meant to include Kuwabara, the only one who actually volunteered for this stuff. He really ought to be Botan's partner, he should be Officer Kuwabara. But I would have wanted to make it as close to how things happen in canon as possible, because that's how my mind works, because I'm lazy and hate having to be creative and think. I bet what I would have done is have him be an Officer but in another city? And he transfers over to the team to be Officer Botan's partner after the sting operation.

My idea of how to write an AU is to set the scene and work up some background details and then stop right before the proper action actually starts.