#aLSO IT GAVE ME THE EXCUSE TO LOOK UP SOME HISTORICAL EVENTS AND FIGURES AND STUFF OvO I CRAVE THAT KINDA INFO LIKE CRAZY Y'ALL

[arcielee]

Interview With a Writer

It is that blessed time when the wonderful and talented Miss Maggie, @inthedayswhenlandswerefew, gives us some behind-the-scenes insight to her latest brilliant narration. [Feel free to check out the Spotify playlist of all the songs mentioned and let me know if I forgot one!]

Here is masterlist to my Interview With a Writer series and the other talented individuals who allow me to continue this self-indulgent series! 💜 Picture(s) source.

Name: inthedayswhenlandswerefew

Story: 1968

Paring: modern Aemond Targaryen x female!reader, modern Aegon Targaryen x female!reader

Warnings: 18+ mature themes. Be mindful of chapter warnings.

Where did the idea for 1968 come from?

I am a high school social studies teacher by trade, and my absolute favorite class to teach is American History. The 1960s and 70s were actually one of my weak spots when I got my first teaching job back in 2020, so I ended up researching a lot about that period of time and got absolutely obsessed with it. In my American History class, I spend a whole lesson on JUST 1968, because so many important events happened in that year that are emblematic of broader trends and tensions.

One day I was re-reading one of my favorite books, The Other Mrs. Kennedy by Jerry Oppenheimer, which is specifically about Bobby Kennedy’s wife Ethel, but also gives a lot of insight into the Kennedy family generally and what it was like to live through that era. The idea of using this setting as a fic AU occurred to me, and I ruminated on it for a few weeks while finishing up Napoleonville.

Eventually, I had a revelation of the ending of 1968 (true to my usual pattern), and then knew I’d have to write the fic! I was actually really worried about all the political and historical details being too boring and/or confusing (especially for non-U.S. readers), so I was relieved that so many people gave it a chance. 🥰

Honestly, it was brilliant with the similarities to the Kennedys and Targaryens in the story. Were there any historical cameos in 1968 that you enjoyed channeling? Or perhaps struggled with?

I find LBJ super fascinating, and I feel that because of the Vietnam War he really doesn’t get a fair assessment when people look back on his presidency. His work for civil rights and the Great Society (SNAP, Medicaid, Head Start, Job Corps, PBS, etc.) was truly revolutionary, and as someone who grew up in poverty and benefitted from a lot of those programs, I don’t think LBJ’s contributions get the recognition and praise they deserve. I perceive him as a haunted sort of figure, and I really enjoyed his cameos. (To be clear, he was also super problematic and bizarre personally, and I don’t mean to excuse any of that 😂).

As for someone who was difficult to write about…honestly, the George Wallace research I did was super depressing, so while he was necessary to include, I didn’t really enjoy working on those parts!

Was there anything in specific that inspired your Reader portrayal?

Io is a bit of a composite sketch. Ethel Kennedy was known as doggedly committed to her husband’s career above all else (despite eventually being the mother of 11 children!!), and I think that inspired Io’s single-minded determination to help Aemond win the election in the first few chapters. Ethel was traditional in the sense that her husband was the center of her world and made all the important decisions, as was expected of women of her social class in that time period. But Io is also a manifestation of the counterculture of the late-60s. She is young, educated, genuinely progressive politically, and likes to party. She tries to reconcile the expectations of her family/time period and her actual personality by intentionally choosing a husband with whom she can have an equal partnership making the world a better place. And…we all know how that worked out.

[Photo Ethel and Bobby Kennedy, m. 1950]

Can you explain your interpretation of Aegon? How does he compare and contrast to Aemond? What drives them? Why are they the way that they are?

In 1968, Aegon is 40 years old, and so his role in the Targaryen political dynasty is very well-established: once his family realized he couldn’t be weaponized for their purposes, he was largely disposed of, and lives this aimless, uninspired, self-loathing sort of existence. He does have some genuine love for his family—missing Daeron and feeling guilt over him being sent to Vietnam, a vague sort of fondness for Mimi and the kids, distress when Aemond is shot in Palm Beach, an apology of sorts to Alicent by performing “Mama Tried” at her birthday party—but Aegon exists on the periphery, and he knows this, and while he doesn’t want to be a politician the rejection still stings.

At first, he perceives Io as yet another person who makes him feel inadequate and unloved; and in fairness, she is cruel to him, in fact more so than Aegon is to Io in return. It is noteworthy that in Chapter 1, she viciously criticizes Aegon in front of everyone in the waiting room (“if someone had to get killed tonight it should have been you”), but he doesn’t return fire until they are alone (the infamous cow comment), and even then he seems to regret it immediately.

Aegon, fundamentally, is more sad than mean. When in Chapters 2 and 3 Io abruptly reveals herself to be someone who is vulnerable, wounded, abandoned, and kind of a hippie lowkey, Aegon begins to perceive her differently, and she becomes an opportunity for him to be truly understood, protected, and loved for the first time in his life.

I think we would all describe Aemond as ambitious and ruthless, determined to prove that he is the best to compensate for deep, lifelong insecurities. He is a progressive politically because he sees a path to build a winning coalition, and perhaps in small part because of the whole Greeks-being-despised immigrants thing. But in 1968 there is a sense that you never fully understand who he is as a person. This is intentional! 1968 is Io’s story, and she never gets to see the whole Aemond. She sees parts of the picture, but never the full image. As awful as he is to Io, there is also a side of Aemond that truly (even if in an…unorthodox way 😂) loves Alys and their child, and there are clues that Alys understands him like no one else can (that Ouija board message… 👀). He’s by no means a good guy, but he is multifaceted. I think the stress of the presidency, and his long separation from Alys, ends up softening Aemond a bit, hence him defending Io’s reputation and ultimately letting her go.

Did anything inspire your other OCs? Specifically "The Ones Who Married In" club?

I didn’t sit down and plan what sorts of characters would be in the “The Ones Who Married In” club. I was possessed by these random visions of them: a perpetually drunk Mimi, a perhaps not too bright but very sweet Fosco, and Malibu Barbie but make her Polish Ludwika, and I was thinking: “These people are ridiculous, this will never work!” But then when I thought about it more, I realized that Mimi, Fosco, Ludwika, and Io all serve strategic roles to help advance Aemond’s career, and so it would make sense that Otto and Aemond cobbled them together and shoved them into the family portraits. I ended up really loving them, but they weren’t a big part of my original outline for 1968. 🙂

How would Io rate them based on her friendship with each of them?

Fosco is definitely #1; they connect on an emotional level that is deep but also largely unspoken. Ludwika is a close #2; she’s Io’s shopping buddy but also witty, supportive, and very feminist in her own way. And then Mimi is a distant #3. Io pities Mimi and feels loyalty to her as a fellow Targaryen, and goes out of her way to try to protect Mimi from her own self-destructive tendencies. But Io, as a collected and self-reliant person, also has difficulty understanding and dealing with someone as messy as Mimi. And of course, once Io realizes she is super into Aegon, that creates some one-sided resentment of Mimi!

Do you have a feeling of what happened after chapter 12? What is the ending you vaguely see with Aegon and Io? What about Aemond and Alys?

Where I end a fic is really the last clear image I see of the characters, so I sadly don’t have a lot of specifics to offer. What I do feel is that Io and Aegon have children of their own (like, several children, maybe even 5+ children) and Aegon is present for their early years in a way he wasn’t able to be for his kids with Mimi. Io is a stepmom to Aegon’s OG kids and has a good relationship with them, but she’s only really close with Cosmo.

I also sense that Aemond has basically no contact with Io or Aegon, which makes sense considering his abuse of Io and the lifelong fury Aegon would therefore have towards him. Aemond is happy with Alys and their son (as happy as someone like him is capable of being); he does the ex-president thing and settles into a largely ceremonial role and advises Democratic politicians, although he is not very friendly with President Reagan.

And then my wild theory is that a Daeron/John McCain ticket ends up winning the 2000 election and the War On Terror plays out completely differently!

And finally... 1968 seemed to pour from you like a fever dream. Does this mean something else might be coming to continue the Maggie's Suffering Sunday tradition?

1968 did seem to fly by, despite it being a longer fic at 12 chapters! I do have something planned for this Sunday... 😉 All I can say for now is that it is very weird, totally unexpected, and tonally a mashup of Comet Donati and When The World Is Crashing Down.

Does that seem impossible?? Think again 😏 I will be reblogging hints until Sunday! I hope you enjoy this new journey 🥰🐍

[that-ari-blogger]

The Wizard Is Wrong (Wonderful)

Across the story of Wicked, the audience has been introduced to characters with varying relationships to the concept of truth. From Elphaba’s unwavering honesty, to Glinda’s dissonant worldview, to the Wizard, who is an idiot and a liar.

I don’t think either of the observations about the Wizard are particularly groundbreaking. What I think is interesting, is how these two cancel each other out. As in, when the wizard tries to lie, he ends up saying things that are true. But this isn’t as obvious for most of the musical because the Wizard spends the entirety of it lying through his teeth.

But what happens when the Wizard tries to be honest? Well, then you get Wonderful.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD: (Wicked)

The context around this song is that Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs (The Wizard) is trying to convince Elphaba to join him. He has tried deceit and bargaining, but Elphaba is clever, and has called his bluff. So now he is trying a different tactic, honesty. Unfortunately for him, that's not something he's good at.

“Then suddenly I'm here Respected, worshipped, even Just because the folks in Oz Needed someone to believe in Does it surprise you I got hooked, and all too soon? What can I say? I got carried away And not just by balloon”

In other words, Oz was like this when I got here, I can’t possibly be to blame, right? And if we were to use his version of events, things are simple.

But as it happens, the audience has already been told that this is false. It isn’t an accident that Doctor Dillamond taught history, and that provides some more information. Diggs came to Oz after a drought, and people were looking for people to blame.

The Wizard then stepped into this world, and because he fell from the sky, he was handed everything on a platter. Essentially, Diggs is living a power fantasy.

But on an even more basic level, the people looked to the Wizard for help, and he used that need for personal gain and to oppress a specific group. Even from what he said, he is fully culpable for the current state of Oz, because he actively made the problem worse.

“So you lied to them” “Elphaba, where I'm from We believe all sorts of things that aren't true We call it ‘history’”

This is… complicated. It’s a half-truth misremembered and twisted to fit Diggs’ beliefs. The real idea that this is inspired by is historical bias. By which I mean, if you are being pedantic, it is impossible to be 100% accurate about historical events. You can get really close, but because of biases and contexts that weren’t written down and fragmentary evidence, being entirely accurate is impossible.

There is a difference between “not having all the information”, and “believing a lie”.

Voiceplay is an Accapella Band who gave their take on the musical as a whole that I highly recommend, and Geoff Castelucci's bass during Wonderful is really good.

The Wizard exists under the effects of a pretty strong Bandwagon Fallacy. Everyone else is doing it, so that makes it ok. But he’s wrong about everyone else, and he’s wrong about whether other people’s actions justify his. In that way, he is an equal opposite to Elphaba, who seeks to do the right thing despite nobody else wanting to make that choice, while Diggs uses those around him as an excuse.

"A man's called a traitor or liberator A rich man's a thief or philanthropist Is one a crusader or ruthless invader? It's all in which label is able to persist"

This is, again, a misremembered half-truth. Because yes, historical bias does exist. There are historical figures who were less than perfect. But that doesn't mean reality changes to match modern biases.

Also, this doesn't actually answer the question he was asked. Diggs was told to justify his decision to become a cult of personality, and his answer was: "history is made of lies". Again, there is a difference between historians simplifying thigs and a person making up a persona for themself. But again, the Wizard suffers from a Bandwagon Fallacy, and so he thinks that this makes him right.

That there is the key, the Wizard is convinced that he is in the right here. But he isn't. The world doesn't work the way he thinks it does. So when he finally leads into his offering, it is already dubious.

"At long, long last receive your due long overdue Elphaba, the most celebrated are the rehabilitated There'll be such a whoop-de-doo A celebration throughout Oz That's all to do with you"

The Wizard is offering Elphaba what he thinks she wants, because it's what he wants; praise. The Wizard covets attention and is convinced that everyone else is the same, so Elphaba must want that same praise, right?

Not anymore. In The Wizard And I, this is explicitly one of the things Elphaba dreamed of, but now she has learned too much. Diggs is ok with Oz's flaws because they benefit him, Elphaba can't be.

I'm sure The Wizard believes that second bit, but I don't agree. Based just on Oz itself, in what parallel timeline will the people just accept Elphaba after the metric ton of trite that has been talked up about her. The Wizard thinks that prejudice will just go away if you conform, but that isn't how it works at all, and Elphaba knows it.

"If that's love, it comes at much too higher cost."

Different song, but it's a perfect putdown to the entirety of the Wizard's antics. He may believe what he is saying, but he is wrong. The acceptance he offers is fake and means that Elphaba must sacrifice everything she wants to achieve it. That isn't worth it.

Final Thoughts

For all of his posturing, the Wizard is a remarkably simple character. He wants power, and he lies to get it. But if you combine that with his utterly scuffed worldview, you get some really interesting side effects.

He is also narcissistic, which doesn't exactly help his position. The world has bent over backwards to service his needs, and he has never truly known hardship. He is the stereotypical Iseki protagonist that gives the rest of the genre a bad name, the true Mary Sue.

The problem is, he's also bloody charismatic and fun to watch, which means people listen to him. I've heard people in real life agreeing with his line about labels, and it drives me up the wall.

Next week, I will be looking at the reprise of I'm not that girl, and Glinda's self reflection, as well as As Long As You're Mine. So, stick around if that interests you.

Previous - Next

[unalivejournal]

u mentioned only reading kripke era fic do you have a reclist 👀👀👀and if not could you link some of ur faves cuz the stuff that gets circulated the most right now is all like late late seasons fic and kripke era is my favorite too but im having trouble finding that many fics for it or even seasons 6-10 era which im fine with also. its just that like. the last five seasons were so bad that it makes fic generally worse too because people have to jump off of just Thee stupidest plot choices no matter how good their prose skills might be. but anyway yea if u have recs that would be awesome :)

hi anon i was thinking abt making a reclist and u just gave me the perfect excuse thank u

jess adamilligan’s kripke era fic recs

from making this ive learned that i never bookmark ANYTHING. sorry all of these r like….. 10k and under. i DO read longer fic but i don’t have any kripke era longfics bookmarked & tbh i prefer short oneshots

season one gen

disclaimer because it’s unfortunately needed: NONE of these are w*ncest! they’re all completely tagged as gen and i did not read them with the intent of consuming ship content.

Coaster Park by fogsrollingin, 10.4k, G, gen

Coaster Park had been experiencing an unusually high frequency of technical difficulties. Dean wouldn't have pulled a shift treating nauseated, heat-stroked, or dehydrated park-goers for that if he could've helped it, but when 'technical difficulties' were accompanied by rumors of things moving and stopping on their own in front of the operators' eyes, Dean had to throw down.

No historical tragedies or disasters in the area, ectoplasm, or EMF. Dean's only lead was a battered-looking kid that'd been coming to the park every day since it'd all started.

really interesting au fic! slightly ‘it’s a terrible life’. dean winchester is a hunter/EMT and sam wesson is a college kid destined to die on a roller coaster ride.

two basic motivating forces by sahwen, 7.8k, T, gen

He can’t cry, it’s not allowed; even as a child he was hushed into silence, whether his tears were from a long car ride or a late night or a raging fever. It’s never been an option, it’s never been an available outlet, and it’s not about to start being one just because he’s having an emotional breakdown on the bathroom floor.

Sam isn't only afraid of clowns.

BIG emetophobia tw (both for graphic depictions of nausea/vomiting and for the fact that this fic is about sam suffering from emetophobia) for this one but it’s my favorite sickfic. portrays anxiety over getting sick really well and is a fascinating examination of the different ways that sam’s fear of loss of control can manifest itself. also has lovely brothers content <3

Let’s Start at the Very Beginning (Remix of Just as Easy as 123) by nwspaprtaxis, 4k, T, gen

Dean’s functionally illiterate and Sam’s determined to remedy it...

PLEASE READ THIS ONE god it’s so sweet. dean never learned how to read properly due to his nomadic childhood and sam teaches him how.

dean/cas

Broadway Musical by Griftings, 9k, M, m/m

This is the day that marked the Holy and Blessed Union of Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle.

The merging of prominent bloodlines is always a grand occurrence, but breeding pedigree hunter families like Winchester and Harvelle is something to be rejoiced. It is also something to be meticulously planned, which thankfully the Host is very good at.

Or, the romantic comedy where Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle are destined to get married, Castiel is given the task of playing matchmaker and fails terribly, the entire Heavenly Host becomes a sitcom audience, God warns against male pregnancy, and Jimmy Novak is incredibly unimpressed with angels in general.

somewhat of a fandom classic and the humor holds up wonderfully. a very silly fic completed with commentary from angel radio throughout the entire thing.

Sappiest Season by dollsome, 2.7k, G, m/m

In which Dean and Cas have to stop an evil Christmas tree (like you do), and it requires a little fake couple action.

hilarious little s5ish fic. one of the first i read when getting back into spn. i don’t want to spoil anything but this is my favorite pick me up and i still giggle randomly whenever i think about it

The (Mostly Accidental) Courtship of Dean Winchester by tuesday

Angelic marriage rites were never intended to go quite like this.

another fandom classic. ik this one is recced a lot but how could i NOT include it. dean and cas get married (mostly by accident) and they’re huge cunts about it

the one thing in the galaxy god didn't have his eyes on by prufrock, 2.4k, T, gen + m/m

“Wait,” Dean says. “Let me get this right. You can fly, right—you can teleport—but you can’t drive a car?”

or, after the events of S5E03 "Free to Be You and Me," Dean teaches Cas to drive. Cas finds it stressful

im always a sucker for a good ftbyam fic. also i can’t drive so. resonation

So Says The Sword by komodobits, 85k, E, m/m

The briefing was simple: ‘Stand guard over the Michael Sword until the battle is ready to commence. Await further instructions.’

Castiel doesn’t mind working security duty; he was briefed shortly after the initial salvation of the Sword from the pit, and again before taking up his position. He knows what to do. However, it’s easy to forget that the green room isn’t real. Time moves differently there, the space ever-changing to make a prison of mountains, cathedrals, salt flats, orchards, and whatever Castiel was led to believe about Heaven’s greatest weapon—Dean Winchester is something entirely unexpected.

NO introduction neede. i think everyone on spntumblr has read this already but still. if you haven’t then i am demanding that you read it NOW. tbh i’m just adding this one so that i have at least one long fic here 😭

the weight by @myaimistrue, 3.5k, T, gen + m/m

“Do you…” Bobby sighs. “Listen, Dean, do you have something you wanna tell me?”

It’s the conversational equivalent of being punched in the stomach.

Or, Dean works through some things with Bobby's help.

WHEN I SAW THE USERNAME I GASPED I HAD NO IDEA THIS WAS U. anyway i Love coming out fics idk why i just do. the world is ending and dean comes out to bobby

canticles by 2street2car, 10.3k, T, m/m

“But you know something? If I couldn’t get you laid, at least I gave you a good first date.”

feat: footsies at a Ruby Tuesday, stargazing, the recreation of an iconic "Dirty Dancing" scene (no, not that one—the other one), and practicing for When You're With A Girl.

another ftbyam fic that skepticalfrog (i believe?) recommended a while back. made me feel at least 28 new emotions

Epilogue by JayneL, 28k, E, m/m

Bobby is here, swearing somewhere above and behind him; and Dean is here, talking about 2014 like it's a foreign country; and Sam is here, and is not Lucifer. Which means-- Bobby is here, swearing somewhere above and behind him; and Dean is here, talking about 2014 like it's a foreign country; and Sam is here, and is not Lucifer. Which means--

Cas is no longer when he was. Lucifer sent him back.

Coda to 'The End'.

2014 cas gets sent back to 2009, feelings ensue etc. i don’t remember all the details of this one bc it’s been a while but it’s really good

bonus

currently reading

Fragile As We Lie by perilously, 11k, E, f/f

Dragging Bela Talbot out of perdition isn't so much a decision as it is a frantic choice based on gut instinct. Her soul is bright, if fractured, and Anna yearns to do good again after the perversion of free will that immediately preceded her death.

Bela's no ordinary human, though; she's prickly and damaged and beautiful, and Anna doesn't want to leave her side. So maybe they can figure out how to navigate post-resurrection, post-Apocalypse-that-wasn't Earth together.

[fascinatingbonanza]

Bonanza chronology

(so far, which is the first 5 seasons)

As someone quite interested in history, I always enjoy stories set in the past and I always like to know when exactly in the past they are set. So recently I found myself trying way to much to figure out when does "Bonanza" actually take place. And It seems to be a far more difficult problem than I initially thought. But here's what I've got so far, after watching 5 seasons.

But then, as I was watching the series episode after episode, I quickly realised, that this 'canonical chronology' is bullshit and that time in "Bonanza" works in mysterious and extremely convoluted ways.

Generally the series takes place roughly somewhere in the 1860s. The first half of the decade to be a bit more precise, somewhere right before and during the American Civil War (something that is occasionally brought up in the episodes). That's literally what wikipedia says. However, as I dived a little into the fanpages and whatnot, I discovered that there seems to be a some sort of a more specific, canonical, chronology that basicly says that the pilot ("A Rose for Lotta") is set in 1859, then the first season is 1860, the second - 1861, the third - 1862 and so on.

(To be honest, that's quite cool actually, because it would mean that the series takes place exactly 100 years before it's premiere)

To realize that the canonical chronology just doesn't apply to the actual show, you only have to watch the first two seasons, where some episodes have literally a written year at the beginning.

We have it in season's one "San Francisco":

And that's ok, I mean, yeah, the first season (supposedly set in 1860) is coming to an end and now we are getting into the next year. It makes sense.

It still makes sense in the second season where we have "The Courtship", again with a date at the beginning:

Don't know why would they say it again, but all right, it's still 1861, no problem here.

And then, just two episodes later, comes "Bank Run" with this audacity:

What on earth happened here??? They just totally skipped 1862 and now we're a year later, with no explanation or a reason. And that's the moment when you realize that there is no such thing as 'linear chronology' in "Bonanza".

Especially when you also take into account all those stories involving real historical figures which were quite often in the first season. Sometimes the show just doesn't really care about historical facts and for example Lotta Crabtree (from "A Rose for Lotta") in 1859 would be only 12 years old. "The Julia Bulette story" is a bit closer to history altrough Bulette's death was changed a lot as in reality she died in 1867. Mark Twain, who appeard in "Enter Mark Twain", in reality visited Virginia City in 1863, so again, why is this a part of the first season which takes place in 1860?

Then you also have episodes which literally bring up real historical events, but they do it in such a clumsy way, that it's just painful. The one episode that strikes me the most with it is propably "A House Divided" which obviously quotes Lincoln's famous speech. Ben Cartwright even reads this speech in a brand new newspaper, but guess what, it's a speech from 1858, which is before the Comstock Lode was even discovered, so how can this whole episode be set around supplying the south with silver?! (But since it is about supplying the south with silver, I assume it must be around 1861, right at the start of the war)

After the first season "Bonanza" slowed down a bit with those 'history lessons', so in the second one there isn't really anything that could suggest any particular date (apart from "The Courtship" and "Bank Run" that I mentioned earlier). And maybe events from the second season do actually happen in 1861, as the canonical chronology would like it to.

But then comes my beloved third season, and boi oh boi, does it make an even greater mess. In "The Frenchman" the title character (apparently a reincarnation of Francois Villion) reads his last poem and starts with:

So we go back in time now? How nice. October 17th 1860, they couldn't be more explicit with it.

Towards the end of the season, we also get a little throw back to Bonanza's history lessons with "Look to the Stars" which tells a story of young Albert Michelson, future physicist and a Nobel Prize winner, who happend to live in Virginia City somewhere in the 1860s. The episode specifically focuses on his efforts to become a student at the Annapolis Naval Academy, which he started in 1869, so we can assume that this episode takes place around 1868-69. That's again a long jump in time.

The fourth season gives us even more specific dates and events to go over. First of all, right at the beginning, we have "The First Born", personally one of my very favourites, but that's not important here. The important thing is that Clay tells Joe that he was fighting in a war in Mexico:

But you know, that war in Mexico was kinda spread over time (from 1861 to 1867) so just mentioning it isn't quite enough to give us a more narrow period of time. Fortunately, Clay later tells just enough detail to do it:

So it's not all over yet, it's just that moment when the royalists won and the French took over Mexico for a while. From my very general knowlege about this I can guess that it's somewhere after 1863 then. Not much though. I like to think it's 1863 or 1864.

But all right, that may be to much guessing. Let's focus on those more obvious hints.

"The War Comes to Washoe" is one of those episodes that mention the Civil War and this time it tells a story of Nevada becoming a state. There's that voting and all, and basically it means that it's 1864, because that is when Nevade became a state (or maby 1863, because from thet voting to actually becoming a state it could've been a longer process). Just like that.

But the one episode that surprised me the most with the fact that it gives us a specific date is "The Last Haircut". And you can miss it, but right at the beginning we see an interesting banner:

So it's February 2nd, 1868... Well, that was easy. But again, a huge jump in time.

The fifth season greets us with another completely nonsensical historical figure appearance in "A Passion for Justice". From what I know, Charles Dickens never went west during his visits to America, but whatever. They wanted Charles Dickens in Virginia City so they put Charles Dickens in Virginia City. For the record, he was in America in 1842 and in 1868, so I guess we can pretend it's his 1868 visit. But still, it's just absurd.

But this season is mostly known for it's Laura and Will subplots, and you know what? We can actually precisely tell when it takes place. At the beggining of "The Waiting Game" we see Laura's husband's grave:

And look! February 20th, 1861! So that's when it all started. Later Adam says that it's been four months since Frank died, so we have June 1861. Then in "The Pressure Game" they celebrate the 4th of July, and in "Triangle" it is said that it had been a year since Adam gave Peggy her pony so now it must be around June 1862. And since at this point it all conects to Will's subplot, then "Return to Honor", "The Roper" and "The Companeros" must've happen somewhere inbetween.

Meanwhile there's also "The Prime of Life" about building the transcontinental railroad, and since we know that it reached Reno in 1868, then I guess the episode must be set somewhere right before that.

And to top it all off, in the season's finale, "Walter and the Outlaws", we get that one useless piece of information that Obie had last seen his sister in 1843, and it's been 16 years since then. So by easy maths we can say that the episode is set in 1859, just like the show's pilot.

And that's all for the first five seasons. What we get form it, is that "Bonanza" diefinietly doesn't have any chronology and that this canonical one is just right out of the blue.

To sum it up I can say that this show is just made out of random Catwright's adventures from several years and in no chronological order whatsoever. It's funny when you start to think about it and for example realise that when the Laura/Will story takes place, many of the adventures from previous seasons hasn't even happen yet.

Of course there's also four prequels that tell the stories about Ben's wives, but I think I'll leave it for some other time, because while talking about it, I would also have to talk about the ages of each Cartwright and generally it's a whole different complicated subject.

Also, if now there are episodes happening as late as 1867 and 1868, then when exactly did Adam leave the Ponderosa? Well that's something I'll have to think about while watching the 6th season. I hope there will be some answers to that.

[English isn't my first language so please excuse any mistakes. And I know there must be some.]

[jwillowwolf]

Magic and Miracles - Chapter 4

Sanders Sides Big Bang fic, Chapter 4!

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Summary: “Are you mocking me?”

“Are you that dense?”

Warning/s: food mention.

Characters: Logan, Remy, OCs, Virgil, Roman, Remus, Patton, Janus, Emile.

Tag List: @theimprobabledreamersworld @remy-please-come-back

Read on AO3

4 | Teamwork Troubles

It was the day after the quest-incident, and Remy had decided they would not be going on any more expeditions for a while. Especially since it was raining like crazy outside. Almost storming but not quite there yet.

Logan liked these kinds of days best because they gave him the perfect excuse to curl up somewhere and read a book. Except, today he couldn’t do that, since they still had lessons, and just like the day before Remy had led them somewhere that wasn’t their classroom.

“Why are we in the kitchens?” Janus asked.

“Because I’ve decided to teach you some more unique magic. Household spells, to be exact.”

Remus cocked his head to the side. “Household spells? Are we learning how to make a home?”

“How to make one tidy, yes. I’m going to teach you everyday spells you can use for cleaning and whatnot.”

“What? But that’s the servant’s job!” Roman complained.

“Not today. I gave the staff the day off, so you’ll all be doing what they usually do.”

The teens all groaned but went to work without much complaining. From most of them anyway. Remy taught them a few easy spells for using water to clean surfaces, air to dust hard to reach places, etc. Logan found that it was a lot easier than normal cleaning but just as boring. His classmates seemed to think so too if their agonised expressions were anything to go by.

“Are we almost done?” Roman asked.

“There’s still a whole third of the house to go,” Virgil informed him.

“This is so lame!” Remus complained. “We’re just casting mopping spells, and dusting spells, and sweeping spells, and shining spells, and nothing interesting!”

“It’s not so bad. We’re getting to see more of the house.” Patton said.

Remus perked up. “Do you think we’ll get to see what’s in the tower?”

“Remy told us on day one we weren’t allowed there,” Willow said.

“Yeah, but he also said we’d be doing what the servants usually do. They must do some kind of maintenance there.”

Logan shrugged. “I highly doubt Remy will allow us to do anything there, even if we’re taking over for the servants.”

“We shouldn’t be doing the servants’ work anyway. It’s for servants!” Roman complained.

Janus groaned. “Can you just shut up? We’re all in the same boat here, so there’s no use complaining the entire time.”

“Well, obviously you’re not standing up for anyone, Mx Dragon.”

“There’s no one to stand up for.”

“We can stand up for ourselves. This is inhumane!”

“Have you never had any repercussions in your life? For anything?”

“What would I need repercussions for? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Oh, of course. Sorry, I forgot you’re Mr Perfect.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“Are you that dense?”

“You b-”

Before Roman could finish, he and Janus were splashed with water. Everyone turned to find that it was Willow who’d cast the water spell.

“You’re both getting on my nerves now. The only reason you even oppose each other is because of some stupid race-rivalry from a thousand years ago. It’s getting old!”

“He started it!”

“Me? It was you who started it!”

They were both doused with water again. “See, this is what I was talking about! It doesn’t matter who started it, because I say it’s finished.”

“That’s not fair,” Janus complained.

“Well, boo hoo to you- eek!” Willow was suddenly soaked. “Remus!”

“What? I wanted to try out the spell,” she said with an innocent smile that was then wiped of by a thin stream of water squirting into his face.

“Sorry Re, I guess I don’t know my own strength,” Patton said, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

Remus just laughed. “No worries Pat, I’ll get you back for that!”

“Eek!” Patton jumped out of the way as Remus sent a stream at him.

Which caused poor Virgil to get drenched from the attack. He glared at both of them and sent water at everyone else, which finally caused things to fall into chaos as all of the students were now wet and trying to shoot each other. It had started out as them all trying to get revenge but quickly turned into a game as the teens dissolved into laughter and just began shooting each other for the fun of it.

The laughter didn’t last long-- or maybe it did? But no one had thought to keep track of the time- but getting back to my point, Remy was not happy when he walked in on his students having a water fight in the library. Especially not when he was shot by all seven of them upon entering the room.

“Okay, since you caused an absolute catastrophe with your first punishment, I have no choice but to make the second one harder.”

“Are you going to make us do more manual labour?” Roman asked.

“No, I don’t think anything of that kind won’t end up the same as-- well this!” He gestured to the soaked library. “What to do, what to do… ah-ha!”

“Oh, I don’t like that look on his face,” Remus whispered.

Indeed, none of them liked the dark grin that was plastered on their teacher’s face. They all shivered with dread from the anticipation of what kind of punishment they were going to face.

“You will all be writing your own independent papers on a historic magical event.”

And then everyone died.

Not really, no one actually died. I’m sorry if I misled you there. I meant that they all died inside, just a little, as one does when told they have to write a school paper. Especially when you realise you’ve just destroyed the library and have no sources to help you write said paper.

Dinner was unbelievably quiet as everyone was wallowing in agony over what to do about their assignment. Logan found himself distracted from such thoughts however as he noticed the minute change in the atmosphere.

Normally, there was tension during mealtimes, especially between Roman and Janus. Tonight however the dragon and elf seemed to be accepting or perhaps ignoring each other’s presence. For once there was complete peace among the teens and Logan came to a realisation.

In the past two days, they’d worked together, somewhat, and managed to do a lot more than they’d done alone. Okay, so technically the things they’d done was collect a bunch of forest ingredients, save Patton from a well, and destroy a library, but with proper coordination and teamwork, they could find ways to put their skills to use. And perhaps that would help them in the long run when it came time for the secondary license test.

Long story short, they needed to work together properly if they wanted to accomplish anything worthwhile. Which meant they needed to get along like this, preferably without wallowing in despair.

That brought Logan back to the problem at hand. The papers. With the library absolutely soaked where were they going to get-

“That’s it!”

Everyone jumped in their seats a little at Logan’s exclamation.

“Uh, did you figure something out?” Willow asked.

“Yes, I’ve come up with a solution to our paper problem to be exact.”

“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Virgil urged.

“We can use the library.”

Roman frowned. “It’s waterlogged, Genius. Remember?”

“Not that library. The one in town. They have an entire section on magical history and I happen to know someone who could help us find whatever we need.”

“If we’re going into town, can we also do some sightseeing?” Patton asked.

Remus grinned. “Yeah, we haven’t gotten to see anything apart from the manor and forest since we got here.”

Logan blinked in surprise. “Wait, what do you guys usually do on weekends when I visit the town?”

“You visit the town? I thought you just stayed in your room.” Janus said.

“Jan and I normally spend the day in the garden,” Willow answered. “I think we all just laze around the manor really.”

Everyone nodded affirmatively.

“Alright then, I suppose we can get some sightseeing done as soon as we find what we need at the library.”

---

“What are you gonna show them? The town well?” Everleigh remarked.

Logan shrugged. “I don’t know. They are the ones who want to do the sightseeing.”

Saturday had come and the entire class had taken a carriage into town. With any tension between them having been absolved since the water incident, they had openly spoken of their excitement at getting to go into town, despite having to do research for their papers at the library.

It was such a strange thing to think that his classmates who grew up in more interesting faraway places, would be so interested in his little hometown. He wondered if they would be disappointed when they realised how simple life here really was.

Roman and Remus had grown up on Lyrecrest Ilse, a well-known destination that many called an island paradise. Patton came from Sweetwater Cove, where the waters were said to be clear as glass. Willow and Janus were from the Evergreen Valley where many other demi-creatures and magical folk lived together in their own private communities. And Virgil… now that Logan thought about it, he didn’t know where Virgil was from, but it had to be somewhere just as exotic, if not more so.

Yet here they all were, eager to see his quiet hometown.

Everleigh had been waiting at the bakery, as always, to greet Logan when he came and was quite shocked to see the others he’d brought along with him. He took her aside and explained what had happened as briefly as possible without losing too much detail, while Emile was handing out breakfast pastries to his classmates.

“Hmm, this is absolutely delicious. Thank you, Mr Picani,” Patton said, and the others echoed their appreciation after him.

“It’s no problem kids. I’m glad you like these. They’re a new recipe I’m perfecting.”

“It tastes pretty perfect to me,” Remus complimented as he licked his fingers.

“Hey, the carriage is leaving,” Roman said, pointing outside.

“Yeah, the driver is taking the horses to be watered. He’ll come back this evening to take us home.” Remy explained.

“But how are we getting to the library?”

Janus snorted. “Ever heard of walking?”

Roman’s face morphed into an expression of mild dread and disbelief.

“The library is only twenty minutes from here,” Everleigh stated. “It’s not a long trek or anything.”

“We could probably get there even faster if we raced,” Remus suggested.

Willow’s ears perked up. “Race?”

Janus smirked. “Hey roman, I bet you couldn’t beat Willow there.”

Roman huffed. “I could beat all of you there.”

“You all don’t even know the way there,” Virgil pointed out.

“Uh, Everleigh and Logan could give us some directions,” Patton suggested.

“I’d be happy to provide directions if I can race too,” Everleigh said.

Willow grinned. “The more the merrier.”

After giving out directions and everyone lining up in what they determined was a fair starting line, the eight teenagers ran through the streets and arrived in front of the grand library in record time. They stood outside arguing for a few minutes, or rather Roman and Janus argued for a few minutes about Janus getting there via a piggy-back ride from Willow.

They came to the resolution that it didn’t matter since Willow had gotten there first, while carrying Janus, making her the winner. Everleigh had complimented Willow’s strength, causing them to blush furiously, and suggest they all went into the library.

“Okay, so you guys need magical history stuff, uh, that will be in the archives under magical research and/or supernatural events. Do you guys have anything specific in mind?” Everleigh asked as they stepped inside of the massive building.

“Woah, how many books are there here?” Janus asked as they looked around in awe.

“I have no idea, but we’ve got something for everyone, from fictional works and poetry to adventurer biographies and cookbooks.”

“What kinds of biographies do you have?” Willow inquired.

“Pretty much anything that’s printed for public distribution, plus a couple of private journals that have been donated from noble families. Do you have something in mind?”

“Um, well, there’s a book I read back home that I was thinking of using. The Quest of Nigel Hawk. there are a bunch of events in there that Nigel witnessed first hand that we could write about.”

“A primary source? That would be the best way to get whatever information we needed.” Logan said.

“What kind of events did Nigel see on this quest?” Patton asked.

“I don’t remember everything, but ze saw stars dancing on the ocean, met the grand phoenix and witnessed the birth of the first pegasus,” Willow recounted.

“Stars dancing on the ocean? Are you sure ze wasn’t just dreaming?” Remus asked.

“If I remember right, they were two spirits. The soul of the north star and her bride, a sailor from days long past. Nigel met them both on the night of their anniversary when they came down to celebrate with a dance, and they told him the story of how they got together.”

“That sounds so romantic! I’ll go see if I can find that book,” Everleigh said before disappearing between the tall bookshelves.

“Uh, do we just wait here for her or...?” Roman asked.

“She does this when she’s excited. We can just wait for her in the reading area,” Logan explained, motioning for everyone to follow him.

He led them to an area where there were several long tables with semi-comfortable chairs where they could sit. Once the group had sat down at one, Everleigh came from gods-know-where and plopped down a pile of thick tomes.

“This guy either lived a long life or an eventful one, but there are like eight different parts of his adventures in chronological order.”

“Why do I feel like this is going to be worse than I’d hoped,” Remus groaned.

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “You expected studying to be easy?”

“You make a good point, but there’s no need to stab me with it.”

“Well, we should probably get started, right?” Roman sighed and they all nodded. “Which is the first volume?”

“Uh, this one. I could read it aloud for you all,” Everleigh offered.

Patton clapped his hands together. “Oh, it’s like a storytime.”

“Yeah, but shh, we don’t want to get kicked out for making too much noise,” Logan warned.

“Oh, sorry.”

“It’s okay. The librarians are pretty lenient, but let’s keep the noise at a minimum.” Everleigh suggested. “And I’ll read this as softly as I can…”

The group listened to Everleigh read the first book of Nigel’s adventures for a while, then she passed the book to Logan who continued from where she left off. Basically, they all became enthralled with knowing what happened next and passed the story around to be read aloud as each reader got tired of reading. They all took turns and before they knew it they’d come to the end of the book.

“Holy Knights, that was a real twist,” Remus exclaimed.

Virgil nodded. “Right? Was anyone else feeling anxious there when Killian got hit by that arrow?”

“I thought he’d have died, honestly. It’s amazing that Gwen was able to heal him,” Patton said.

“I would have never guessed that was where healing magic came from. But it makes me curious about where other magics originated from,” Logan stated.

“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I call dibs on Duncan’s coronation for my paper. That was one heck of a rebellion,” Roman declared.

“I think I’ll do my report on Odessa’s garden. That was a true masterpiece of romantic tragedy,” Janus remarked.

Willow snorted and Patton gave her a questioning look. “What’s so funny?”

“It just seems kind of ironic that Roman is doing a report on the first Dragon King and Janus is doing one about an elf heroine.”

Everyone exchanged glances and began laughing, except for Janus and Roman who just looked at their companions in complete confusion. While they were laughing, a librarian walked over to their table.

“Pardon, but I must request you all be quiet or take your merriment elsewhere.”

“Oh, sorry Jana, we’ll just- oh man, is that the time?” Everleigh asked when she noticed the clock in the corner was now at eleven-forty-eight.

“Yes, that’s the right time.” Jana answered.

Everleigh looked at the group. “I think we better get some lunch.”

The group exchanged some agreeing nods and got up from the table.

“Sorry for the trouble, Jana. we’ll head out now, uh, could you check out these books for me and i’ll swing by for them later?”

Jana looked at the books and sighed. “I suppose, but only if you leave now.”

“Sure thing. See ya!” Everleigh said before running off towards the exit with the others following her.

“What are we doing for lunch?” Remus asked the group. “Because I for one am starving.”

“We could check what there is in the market,” Logan suggested. “Remy and my dad won’t be expecting us until dinner time, so we can check out what’s there until then.”

“Oh yeah, we wanted to get some sightseeing in,” Roman remembered.

“Well, there’s no place to start like market street.” Everleigh declared. “Let’s go!”

---

A/N: thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this. I'll be posting two chapters a day until the full fic is up, so if you want to be tagged, you can just ask.

I'd love to hear what you thought about the chapter if you wouldn't mind commenting. Thanks again for reading! Here's hoping you have a magical day 💜

[jeremystrele]

Connecting With The Past + Grappling With History, With Painter Mia Boe

Connecting With The Past + Grappling With History, With Painter Mia Boe

Studio Visit

by Sasha Gattermayr

Mia’s new Brunswick studio is filled with light, and is the perfect space to continue on her growing portfolio of work. Photo  – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

A painting from her recent catalogue sits on the mantle. Photo  – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

Butchalla-Burmese artist Mia Boe in her light-filled studio. Photo  – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

Mia paints full time and volunteers for The Torch in her spare time. Photo  – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

One of Mia’s works in progress.

Mia’s paintings are vibrant and narrative-driven, which means she does a lot of her own historical research. Photo  – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

Left: Mia is inspired by figures in art history like Albert Namatjira, Sidney Nolan and Russell Drysdale; and figures from history such as Eliza Fraser, Ned Kelly and the Queensland Native Police. Photo  – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files. Right: ‘Stripes 3’ by Mia Boe.

A selection of work Mia recently sold in her latest catalogue and has prepared for prize entries. Photo  – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

Her elongated, distended figures are always in the landscape and often accompanied by food, animals or spirits. Photo  – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

You can see the Sidney Nolan influence in this composition! Photo  – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

The historical and contemporaneous imprisonment of First Nations people is a continuous theme in Mia’s work. Patterns and vibrant colour create tension between the political context and the composition.

Watching Mia Boe’s rise to cult status is almost giving me whiplash. The Brisbane-raised, Melbourne-based artist has grown a dedicated following in the 18 months since she’s really begun concentrating on her painting – and it’s only going up. To give you an indication of just how devoted her audience are, her recent catalogue of nine paintings sold out in under two minutes.

Mia studied art history before last year, when Melbourne’s sweeping lockdowns gave her the time (and a good excuse!) to focus on her art. But it’s not just Instagram fans who are hot on her tail. With a residency at the Museum of Brisbane, commissions for Craft Victoria and Brisbane’s Institute of Modern Art, two group shows and a solo exhibition (titled Black Devil) at Open Space Collective under her belt since the beginning of 2020, it’s evident that Mia has well and truly caught the attention of the nation’s arts community.

But the institutions aren’t everything. When she’s not painting, Mia volunteers at The Torch – an organisation that aids First Nations prisoners and ex-prisoners with their art practices.

Art is the past, present and future for Mia – storytelling is her mode of being. Hear it in her own words.

How did you arrive at your current painting style? Has it evolved slowly over time or always been somewhat similar?

One clear continuity in my style has been that I tend to populate my landscapes with strangely elongated figures, whose bodies are also sometimes bloated and distended. I guess also that female figures in my work are representations, approximately, of myself, so a lot of my works could also function as self-portraits. But when I start a painting, I’m not always conscious of who the figure is, though if I’m painting black figures, they’re probably members of my family.

Also, I sometimes add larger figures with little detail, or floating in the landscape — these figures are representations of spirits. They represent family members that have died, and are a marker of the family that I will never get to know because of the repercussions of colonisation. I also try and experiment with colour: inspired by the ubiquitous blues of Robert Owen’s recent exhibition at Heide, I’ve recently been trying to control and limit my palette.

Do you use your art to connect with history or grapple with it?

Probably a bit of both. I’m especially interested in the histories of my family’s cultural heritages. My mum is a descendent of the Butchulla people, but she was only told by my grandmother that she was Aboriginal when she was in her teens (my grandmother was worried she’d have her children taken away from her if she was open about it). My Dad moved to Australia as a refugee from Burma when he was a young child.

My art practice has allowed me to research these twin histories, and to track the consequences of British colonisation in both Australia and Burma. (Burmese historian Thant Myint-U’s recent The Hidden History of Burma is an amazing book for people interested in learning more about Burma.) I hope soon to be able to spend some time looking at concrete connections between the colonial occupations of Australia and Burma. Empire, after all, makes the world smaller — it’s big project, I think, is to remake the margins in the image of the centre — so I’m sure there are some connections to be found (white officers, for instance, might have trained in Burma before coming to Australia, or vice versa).

Anyway, I definitely use my art to think through history: sometimes head-on, sometimes obliquely.

How do you involve historical references in your pieces?

I make sure that I’ve done proper research into a subject before making work about historical events. At the start of the year I showed my first exhibition in Brisbane. It was called Black Devil, and the works responded, from multiple angles, to the history of the Queensland Native Police: an exterminationist outfit which consisted of Aboriginal troopers led by white officers, and which aimed to wipe out resistance to colonisation.

The Native Police was active from 1848 to c. 1905 and were estimated to have killed over 44,000 Murris in those 50+ years. The fact that many of the massacres of Aboriginal people were carried out by Aboriginal troopers, who were themselves often kidnapped as boys, and barracked hundreds of kilometres from their kin and ancestral lands, pointed up for me the ongoing violence and infernal strategies of division which colonialism employs.

During research for this exhibition I found out that my ancestor, my great-great-grand uncle Wonamutta, a Butchulla man from K’gari (Fraser Island), was a trooper in the police force. Apart from his postings around the state, he was also seconded to the Victorian Police, where he helped to track down Ned Kelly (that’s where the exhibition’s title comes from — Kelly called the black trackers on his trail ‘black devils’).

Out of this discovery I got interested in Sidney Nolan. Two of Nolan’s most famous preoccupations were [Fraser Island’s namesake] Eliza Fraser and Ned Kelly. Nolan didn’t see these figures as related, and yet in an eerie way I think they were: Wonamutta, whose country was re-named by Europeans after Eliza Fraser, was also the man who caught Ned Kelly. So through thinking about this personal history, and the random but weird connections it disclosed, I came to envision my exhibition as also responding to Nolan’s own practice. It was a art show about history, but also about the history of art.

Do you have any key references or inspirations?

Some abiding influences for me have been Albert Namatjira and Russell Drysdale. Namatjira looms especially large: because of his tragic life story, his amazing colours. The William Dargie portrait of him which hangs in the Queensland Art Gallery, and the Noel Counihan linocut, which shows Namatjira crucified, are some really important images for me.

Drysdale matters for me because of the colours of his burnt-out backgrounds and those extraordinary gaunt figures idling about in them. His representations of Aboriginal people are very respectful and moving.

Other artists who are key points of departure for me are the contemporary South African artist Marlene Dumas, and Bill Traylor who was a self-taught artist born into slavery.

What does art-making mean to you?

On an individual level, my art allows me to recover and remake the cultural heritages which were stolen from me. And I hope in this process that I remind people (even as I learn myself) about the forgotten pasts which shape everyday life in the present.

Mia is represented by Sunday Salon. Learn more about her practice here. Mia’s next exhibition will be at Milani Gallery from 4th – 25th September.

[thtdamfangirl4]

thanks @pretend-im-normal for this set of questions!

i shall start with a christmas ask game (yes i know it’s january 28th) created by none other than archie’s husband

1. Their favorite Christmas tradition

I think for Archie it has to be baking christmas cookies. He loves doing it even if it’s just him, but especially doing it with the people he loves. He takes the decorating process way too seriously (this may or may not be inspired by my real life) and all the bois pitch in and reginald’s are always disturbing but annoyingly delicious and dorian’s are always a little goth and octavius’s are fabulous and archie keeps telling him that louboutins are not a christmas item but octavius insists that since he asked for them for christmas they should count, and archie loves him so he lets it slide. Eustace very carefully decorates and does his best and every time you eat one you can tell it’s full of love. Jasper wants everything to be as colorful as possible and he covers them in sprinkles. And nathaniel, lovely nathaniel, can’t decorate for shit but he just has fun with it and laughs the whole time and that makes archie’s chest feel tight for reasons he can’t explain until later. And then Archie and Nate finally start dating and during their first Christmas, aside from the bois cookie night, they do one of their own and Archie shows Nate how to decorate the way he does and Nate can’t quite get there but he’s following each direction with fervor and they look pretty good and he’s so proud of himself and Archie sneaks mistletoe into the kitchen and kisses him and now they do it every year, and every year Nate gets a little better. And eventually they have kids and they join the tradition (even the annual cookie decorating night with the bois), and Cam is fantastic at cookie decorating and Ben eats the dough and Archie swats him teasingly with a wooden spoon every time and Evie mixes icing colors cause she’s great at art and Nate washes dishes and makes a valiant effort and they dance around the kitchen and sing christmas music playing from Archie’s phone and he smiles the whole time and every year, he pulls out the mistletoe and kisses his husband and the kids go from thinking it’s cute to thinking it’s gross and embarrassing and all the way back to thinking it’s adorable when they’re old enough and one year Evie snaps a picture of it and it’s on the Christmas card the next year. Christmas is his favorite time of the year, and cookie days just feel like this magic untouchable place where he’s with his family and doing what he loves and to him, it is Christmas personified.

2. Their favorite Christmas song

It’s very hard to narrow down, so I’ll give a top three: All I Want for Christmas Is You by Mariah Carey, Last Christmas by Wham!, and Mary Did You Know by Pentatonix.

3. Their least favorite Christmas song

This will not come as a shock, because well... I’m Archie. It’s Michael Buble’s version of Santa Baby. He loves most of Michael’s Christmas music, but in his words, Michael Buble “needs to man up and be willing to fuck Santa or don’t bother singing the song.” He just made it weird by having it be Santa Buddy and Santa Pally. And Archie loves this song. He tweets Michael Buble about it every Christmas, begging him to erase it from existence.

4. Their general feelings about Christmas

Archie goes feral for Christmas. He loves everything about it. Fun, family, love, festivity, good music, good food, an excuse to bake 24/7, baby Jesus, buying presents, getting presents. Archie prides himself on being the Christmas Bitch. He’s especially fantastic at gift-giving.

5. Their favorite Christmas treat

Octavius’s homemade pizelles dipped in spiked hot chocolate.

6. The best gift they ever received

When Evie is like 20, she gives him a scrapbook for Christmas. It’s filled with pictures of Archie, Nathaniel, the kids, and the other bois over the years. Every page has Taylor Swift lyrics that relate to the images and stories, as well as messages she’s written and cute captions. In addition to pictures, there’s little mementos like ticket stubs or receipts or notes she’s collected from her dad and her aunts and uncles and scattered throughout the book are cutout lines from a printed out version of the poem he wrote for his and Nathaniel’s anniversary. Archie cries for like 3 hours.

7. The worst gift they ever received

One year, Jessica gets him in the PTA secret santa, and she gets him a few workout shirts and an expensive bottle of red wine. He’s so offended. To an outsider, this may seem like a nice gift, but it’s very clear that she got him the shirt because she disapproves of his crop tops. And she knows full well that he doesn’t really like red wine. He’s a white wine bitch. She knows. It’s been discussed.

8. The best gift they ever gave

He likes to joke that the best gift he’s ever given is the supplementary bundle of “free sex” coupons he gave to Nathaniel their first Christmas together (he also got him a fluffy bathrobe, a playlist of songs that remind him of nate, an anthology of queer writing and letters from historical figures, and a trip to color me mine, don’t worry). But the real best gift he ever gave was years later, when they’ve been married for 5 years. He surprises Nathaniel with a trip to New York, where he’s also gotten them tickets to a revival of Hamilton, they go on a tour of diner breakfasts, and then have a shopping and spa day. And then he has them get dressed up but Nathaniel doesn’t know why and after they go to a fancy dinner, he takes Nathaniel to the Woolworth building on Broadway (where the ball scene from Enchanted takes place), and the whole place has been rented out there’s the actual singer from the movie and they slow dance in the romantic lighting to So Close (their wedding song) and it’s endlessly romantic and both of them are crying a lot little.

9. The worst gift they ever gave

No. Archie has never given a bad gift in his life.

10. How they decorate their house

dude. DECK THE FUCKING HALLS. There are two trees. One is picture perfect and looks straight out of a hallmark movie, and the other one is covered in popcorn strings and tacky ornaments from movies and shows and homemade ones by the kids and Ben always puts too much tinsel on it and Cam eats the candy canes so it’s a little wonky and that one is not-so-secretly Archie’s favorite. Beautiful wreaths on the doors and windows outside. Beautiful real-looking garland and berries and red ribbon and little bells decorate the banisters and staircases. There are lights everywhere. Christmas paintings. Outside is decked the fuck out in lights of all colors, he loves the icicles, no blow ups, but he does get a moving reindeer made of lights, and it’s a whole winter wonderland. Lots of seasonal scented candles. White lights on the mantle. Always a fire burning in the fireplace. A beautiful handmade and well-lit nativity scene. Cinnamon scented pinecones everywhere. Santa, reindeer, and snowman figures are in a lot of places. He puts mistletoe above every doorway, molding, entryway, high cabinet, or anywhere he can hang it because the man loves love and he wants as many excuses as he can get to kiss his husband.

11. Their favorite Christmas memory

On Evie’s first Christmas, she gets all fussy and cries a lot while they’re at Octavius and Dorian’s for Christmas Eve and so they go home early and they put her to bed but it’s only like 8pm. So they have their own end to the night and it’s just them in their pajamas, watching The Holiday and Love Actually while drinking tea and they just cuddle up under a blanket. Archie gives Nate forehead kisses and they fall asleep curled up on the couch halfway through The Year Without a Santa Claus. And he wakes up and Nate isn’t there anymore and he finds him holding Evie in her rocking chair humming Christmas songs to her and he just watches from the doorway until Nate finally looks up and smiles at him. And then they get everything ready cause everyone they know is coming to their house for Christmas and Evie wears an adorable Christmas onesie and they all open presents but. Those like 12 hours. Cuddling with Nathaniel and watching christmas romcoms and waking up to see his husband rocking their beautiful baby daughter to christmas songs. Yeah. That one’s his favorite.

12. Their least favorite Christmas memory

When he was like 12 (back in the regency days) he got sick on Christmas and couldn’t go to any of the events or parties and he hated it. But other than that,,, there’s a reason Christmas is his favorite time of year. It’s magic for him.

13. if/Where they travel for the holidays

Nah. He always stays home. He’s the Christmas Hostess With The Mostest. Always home for Christmas. He, Nathaniel, and the kids do go to Disney World for the week before/including New Year’s one year though.

14. Who they spend the holidays with

Obviously: Nathaniel, Octavius, Dorian, Reginald, Jasper, Eustace, Tyler, (and eventually) Evie, Ben, and Cam, and Eustace and Tyler’s kids. Gigi, Chloe, Jackie, and Liza, switch off every year whether they’re with family or the bois. Lynn and Suzanne always come to Christmas Eve and stop by on Christmas day before going to see their families. Every once in a while, Reginald brings a Doug who had nowhere else to go.

15. All of their Christmas traditions (not just their favorite XD)

jesus. well some have been listed. Cookies, decorating, hanging mistletoe fucking everywhere. he starts listening to Christmas music on November 1st. Snowball fight with the whole crew. Snowman contest with the whole crew. Getting drunk and watching Hallmark/Netflix Christmas movies. Making cinnamon rolls for christmas morning. wearing an entire christmas wardrobe in the month of december. Christmas treats at the bakery. Looking hot at Nathaniel’s work Christmas party. Wrapping presents for weeks after the kids go to bed. Making the world’s best hot cocoa. Bugging Octavius for his pizelle recipe (he won’t give it up). tweeting one direction and begging them to reunite for a Christmas album. Rewatching all the holiday seasons of the Great British Bake Off. Making roast for Christmas dinner. Making mulled wine at some point. Game day with the crew the day after Christmas. Writing Nate a poem every Christmas they’re usually really bad . eating one candy cane per season out of obligation and then going back to his hatred of mint. buying a million seasonal items at Bath and Body Works. watching It’s a Wonderful Life with Nathaniel on Christmas Eve Eve. Dressing his kids in christmas pajamas. That’s all I can think of for now.

okay i’m finally done this took me almost two hours oh my god. happy frat boi-ing.

[lovemollywho]

Thoughts of the Past - The Show

Alright everyone, with quarantine and everything going on I've had time to revisit this story. I've finally figured out how to link the other chapters so feel free to catch up on that. Hope you enjoy!

CW: Angst

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Lorcan looked at himself in the mirror one last time before realizing that his outfit wasn’t going to get any better than this. He left his hair down and kept the slight stubble on his face because Elide had once said he looked adorably rugged like this. His button-down white shirt was cleaned and ironed and he threw on a black blazer over that. However, he realized all too late that his black dress jeans had a hole in one of the knees from when he had stumbled home drunk during one of the last benders and hadn’t realized it but it seemed pretty on-brand for him anyway, last he laced up his boots, grabbed his keys, phone and wallet and walked out the door. 

————-

Elide was nervous. She wanted to wipe her palms on her dress but then remembered that it cost more than seven months of her rent. Aelin said she found it at the back of her closet but Elide knew that the dress had been bought specifically for her. Price tag still on, her jaw dropped to the floor when she saw that it was Dolce and Gabbana….and was over 7,000 dollars. Elide protested but Aelin had insisted and if Elide was being honest with herself, she looked good. The dress was black and strapless with a lined boning bustier that exposed the smooth skin of her torso, cinched at the waist with a tea-length tulle skirt that made her feel like a ballerina with four-inch black stilettos that gave her some hight. Her hair was pulled into a low chignon with a few stray strands, red lips and smokey eyes completed her look. She looked hot, and she knew it. She only hoped that it was enough to cover that she felt like vomiting. She glanced at the clock on the back wall, the show would be starting soon, and while this wasn’t her first exhibit there was still this vulnerability of having people see and judge the experiences that she brought to life in her art.

Deep breath in. You can do this, she whispered to herself, but first, she needed to dry heave in the bathroom.

————-

Lorcan had stopped and turned around so many times on the way to the art gallery. There was just so much that could go wrong that he worried nothing would change. Then he remembered that it wasn’t about him - it was about Elide. But he also didn’t want to screw anything up and embarrass her again, but he had to at least apologize. However, she could just through a drink in his face and be done with him, but she might also forgive him, and so his thoughts went. It wasn’t until he turned the corner of Fifth and Main did he see Rowan and Aelin waiting for him. They were laughing together about who knew what and he felt a twinge of jealousy that came and went so quickly Lorcan was ashamed he had even felt it at all.

Aelin spotted him first and offered him a small smile. She had been a huge help the past few weeks after his meeting with Elide in the coffee shop. At first, she was stubborn and mean, refusing to let him speak and giving him a piece of her mind but eventually Rowan calmed her down and she was willing to listen. Having Aelin on his side was a step in the right direction but she wasn’t Elide. Lorcan took a deep breath as he got closer to the couple and Rowan placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Ready?” Rowan asked, but Lorcan’s mouth felt dry and he could feel the panic rising into the throat. He didn’t want to mess this up, he wanted a drink…or two…or a whole bottle. He swallowed thickly, trying to get some moisture onto his tongue but it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough. He didn’t even know why he was trying. He took a step back away from Rowan, ready to turn around and go home but then he felt a hand squeeze his and looked to find Aelin’s fingers interlacing with his.

“I don’t understand art,” Aelin said loud and clear looking at him straight in the eye. Whatever he had expected her to say, that wasn’t it.

“What?” he asked still so confused. “You go to art opening’s all the time, Ace you’re house is like a goddamn museum.”

She shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly. “I went because I grew a socialite. Going to art openings was good publicity, and I supported so many other forms of the arts that it would have seemed rude not to.” She squeezed his hand again before letting it drop. “Before I met Rowan, I would just pick a piece and stare at it, until eventually, someone came along and state their opinion and I could agree or disagree, or make something up entirely. Point is, art is like literature. You can say that the artist used blue paint to symbolize the ever-persistent sadness and someone is bound to agree with you. Or disagree with you. Lorcan art is subjective. It’s okay to have an opinion even if it’s entirely wrong.”

Lorcan ran a hand through his hair. “You told Ellie all the time that the artwork is amazing, you would sit on our couch and debate the use of color or texture. I can’t - I can’t do - I can’t do shit like that Ace”

“I’ve had years of practice with pretentious rich people.” she deadpanned. “Do you think she’s talented?”

“Of course I do. I love how she gets so into her work, that she’ll come home with new canvases and create something, anything, and that you can see the pieces of her soul into whatever it is she created. I think she’s the most beautiful thing on the planet when she’s in her paint-splattered overalls, with a bandanna keeping back her hair, while she blasts music. Or when she can’s find her paintbrushes because she’s lost them in her hair.” Lorcan fingered Elide’s ribbon hair tie that he’d been wearing for the last couple of weeks after he found it in the bathroom. “I love her.” he sighed.

Rowan had been silent through this whole exchange but offered him an understanding smile. He breathed in deeply and slowly exhaled and Lorcan followed the motion in return.

“Okay,” Lorcan said running his hands through his hair one more time. “Let’s go.”

————-

“Your pieces have always been stunning, but this seems to a first for you Miss. Lochan. Normally you provide us with about four or five pieces in collaborations with other artists but this is a whole new level. You have thirty-five pieces here tonight, all from you, all tying around a singular theme. Would you care to explain what brought about this sudden change?”

Elide smiled at the reporter, she knew that this question was coming but still it was hard to put into words.

“For so long I was afraid of myself. There are so many other great artists in the world, my cousin Manon Blackbeak for instance, and it’s hard to not compare myself to other people. However, the story that I am telling tonight with these pieces needed to be let out. I think one of the best things about being an artist is that we can tell stories in a different way, even if it isn’t our story. I hope that people like it but I also know that this story isn’t going to be for everyone, and that’s also okay.” Elide shrugged. “What’s important is that someone somewhere can relate to it and that they will get to experience it because I decided that it was time for me to create outside of my comfort zone.”

The reported smiled while Elide was talking, the sound of cameras clicking the only signal that an interview was going on and that this wasn’t just a conversation between strangers.

“One last question, the title of the collection,‘Thoughts of the Past’ what do you mean? There aren’t any historical events that are featured so why this title?”

Elide’s smile faltered for a split second before answering. “While there aren’t any historical events there is a history, and I think it’s up to people to find their own answers about what that history is.”

The reported nodding and offered her hand, “Thank you so much for your time, Miss. Lochan, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Same to you, enjoy the rest of the show.”

Elide took this time to briefly look around the room. It was a great turn out, invitation-only but almost everyone had RSVPd yes. Elide walked over to the open bar and the very cute bartender offered her a smile and a wink. “What can I get for you?” He asked, placing open palms on the counter.

“Soda with a lime, please.” She answered, offering him a smile in return.

“Really?” he asked already putting ice in a glass. “It doesn’t seem like your drink.”

“Only on show nights.”

The bartender’s eyes widen a little as he realized that he was speaking to the artist of the hour.

“You made all of this?” He asked placing her drink in front of her with one hand and gestured around with the other.

“Guilty.” She responded, squeezing the lime into her drink before taking a sip. The bartender whistled. “Damn, this is all really good. You must be really happy.” Elide tried to keep her smile in place. Was she happy? She was proud of her work, she was glad for the amazing turnout, but was she happy? Before she had a chance to respond to the bartender she heard her name being called from across the room. Looking over she saw Aelin waving her down with Rowan in tow behind her.

“Excuse me,” she said to the bartender before rushing over to where the couple stood.

“Holy shit El, this is amazing!” Aelin gushed pulling Elide into a hug once she got closer. “Like I knew you were talented but this is a whole new level for you.”

Elide blushed. Hearing praise from strangers was fine but when it came to her close friends and family Elide couldn’t help to be more self-conscience - these were the people who knew her, knew the emotions she hid within the paint or other media.

“You did all this in a month?” Rowan asked, looking around.

“It started as a way for me to get my feeling out, you know? I couldn’t talk to him, it was too much, and I was so tired of fighting. So when things got a little too hard I would sneak away and paint.” Elide shrugged and took a sip of her drink.

Aelin and Rowan shared a look with each other that Elide tried to ignore. She didn’t want their pity, it’s why she had never talked to them about it before.

“I just wish he was here though, you know. Like maybe now that it’s all out in the open.” Aelin opened her mouth and then shut it, looking to Rowan for help.

“What am I missing?” She asked, looking at Rowan. He sighed and pointed. Following his finger, she felt her heart stop and start again as she found the familiar back of the very person she was talking about. She whirled on her two friends a hiss falling from her lips.

“Surprise?” Aelin questioned, placing jazz hands up. Elide let out a groan and turned back to where Lorcan was standing at one of the pieces she did after the breakup. He was just standing there, not moving and Elide felt her heart tighten.

“You don’t have to talk to him E.” Rowan started. “He just wanted to come to support you.” Elide took another sip from her drink suddenly wishing that it was something stronger.

“I mean, he’s here though, so you might as well talk to him,” Aelin suggested. Elide didn’t respond and headed in the opposite direction from where Lorcan stood.

—————————————————-

Let me know if you wanna get tagged <3</a>

@nalgenewhore @safewithintheheart @bibliophileaddict

[winterune]

Dance with Me

A Persona 5 Fanfiction

Something I wrote for @shuannweek Day 5 prompts: Dance/Partners

Word count: 4212

A/N: A historical fantasy AU where Ann is the daughter of famous tailors and Ren is the son of a prominent government figure. 

Also available on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~

What was she doing here?

Ann stifled a yawn and plastered a smile on her face at the person she was talking to—the son of some important government figure. He had the same smile on his face all throughout their lengthy, pointless conversation. All he had talked about were his father’s position, his family’s prominence, his achievements. Not that Ann cared about any of those. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome. The kind of guy that would be the talk of the town and the sole subject of affection of many of the noble young ladies in the kingdom.

Business. That was what her father had said. These social events were the same as business. Meet the right people, make the right connections. “And mind your manners, Ann,” he had said before he sent her off.

Music played in the background and couples were dancing to it at the center of the huge room. Ann had been invited to a ball held by one of her peers for her birthday, Erika. They weren’t close. Not at all. In fact, Ann was probably among the people she had blacklisted. But their families were business acquaintances, and even smug Erika had to get down her high horse because this was as much of a business to her as this was to Ann.

“What’s wrong, Ann?”

The question brought her mind back to the present and like an automatic switch, Ann looked at her partner with a smile and said, “Oh, nothing. What was it you were saying?”

Partner. Ann almost winced at herself for referring to him as her partner. He wasn’t. He was only someone she met at the party, who had gotten up to her the moment she stepped foot in that golden ballroom and asked her to dance. She had indulged him in it—her father’s words kept repeating in her head: mind your manners—and had thought that that would be it, but it had  been over half an hour and still he wouldn’t let her go out of his sight.

Ann hoped her smile wasn’t strained. And this boy—she had even forgotten what his name was—didn’t even seem interested in her as a person.

Business, she had to remind herself. People were doing business here. Either they were trying to sell themselves and their families, or they were trying to grovel. Fake flatteries.

Light spilled from the crystalline chandelier hanging from high above and the countless lamps on the walls all around. It reflected off the marble floors and brass handles on the doors and ceiling-to-floor windows, painting the room in a golden hue. On one end was the door leading to the hallway outside, and on the other was a set of stairs spreading wide at the bottom like a lady’s skirt. A mansion fit for the kings and queens, indeed.

Ann found her eyes straying to the side of the room, where a buffet table stood with all sorts of dishes ranging from chicken dipped in honey, steak with various flavored sauce, creamy pasta, grilled seafood, and a variety kind of salad, juice, and desert.

Mind your manners.

Not that she could eat a lot, what’s with her dress being too tight and she couldn’t even breathe properly.

“Your mind seems to stray quite frequently tonight,” the boy before her said again

“Hm?” Internally shaking herself, she looked up at him with that automatic smile. The music ended, and the couples bowed or curtsied to one another before dispersing in a rustle of clothes.

“Do I bore you?”

Her height was one of the things she prided herself on, and with her high heels, she was easily one of the taller girls present. But still, the top of her head only reached the boy’s cheek. Brown hair framed his face, his eyes a deep shade of ebony. Ann could see how the girls would fall head over heels in love with him.

But now there was a hint of a frown in his eternally charming face and a red warning flashed in her mind.

“Of course not—”

Before she could finish her sentence, however, an elderly man appeared on his side. He looked to be a personal attendant and he murmured the boy’s name quietly. Haruhiko. Right, that was the name she had forgotten. She couldn’t make out what he was saying, but, after a moment or so, Haruhiko frowned, and he turned to her with dejection in his eyes.

“Forgive me, my Lady, I have something I must attend to,” he said.

Ann sighed internally. She had braced herself for something worse, only to stiffen again when he suddenly took her hand and brought her fingers to his lips. A gentle brush that probably should have sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach, but no. No! Ann tried not to jerk her hand back as she gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I hope we will meet again before the night ends.”

Ann nodded stiffly. “I hope we will.”

That winning smile again. She could almost hear the girls around her sigh.

Haruhiko let go of her hand, then with a bow, he turned on his heels and followed his attendant through the throng of finely dressed people in bowtie and suits or dresses and evening gowns.

Ann let out a relieved sigh. Finally, she was free.

She looked around and wondered where she should go when her stomach rumbled, asking for food. She hadn’t had dinner. Her eyes found the buffet table again and those honey-dipped chicken made her mouth water.

As she was heading toward it, however, she could feel the glaring daggers thrown her way. Girls—their animosity as clear as daylight at how much of Haruhiko’s time Ann had monopolized. As though it had been her conscious choice to waste half an hour listening to a narcissist talking about himself.

God, she wanted to get out of here! 

Music had begun to play again and couples had taken the center space to a different waltz.

Maybe she should leave. No one would notice. No one would mind. Right?

She had reached the buffet and instead of filling her plate with chicken and pasta, she moved over to the dessert section and was stacking cake after cake before she caught herself and realized she’d taken too much.

“I saw that,” a voice, quiet and soft, murmured in her ear. Ann jumped in surprise and turned around in instinct, an excuse or another ready in her lips, only to find a snicker on a familiar face—Ren, dressed in a black jacket over a white shirt and bow tie, his deep grey eyes were laughing behind his black-rimmed glasses, his hair still looked unruly even in a social event such as this.

“Ren!” she hissed.

The smirk only grew wider. “I hope we’ll meet again before the night ends,” he copied Haruhiko’s words and brought Ann’s free hand to his lips, only to stop short and grin. “How’s that for an imitation?”

She should have expected to find him here. He came from another important family in the kingdom, one that would never have escaped Erika’s family’s radar. But Ren was not a party-person, and he hadn’t said anything about attending the ball, even though Ann had complained to him countless times how her parents were practically forcing her to go. Her surprise in seeing him, topped with this unexpected gesture of almost kissing her hand, was enough to make her mind go blank, but instead of a repulsion, Ann felt her stomach knotting and her heartbeat growing unnaturally faster, thudding hard against her ribcage. 

It took her a while to realize that Ren was teasing her. She pulled her hand back and looked away, trying to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks.

“You don’t sound like him at all,” she said, and cursed herself for sounding so shaky. She needed...she needed to take a deep breath and calm her heart.

But Ren peered into her eyes and the sudden proximity to his face made her take a step back. “Are you blushing?”

“Of course not.”

A pause, a flicker of emotion passing through his eyes, so quick to disappear before Ann had the chance to register it. He leaned back on his heels. “Were you still too enraptured by Haruhiko’s beauty to form a coherence thought, then?”

“Wha—?” Ann balked. She looked up at him and couldn’t even begin to understand if she wanted to laugh or to scowl. The idea was too stupid, too incredulous that she didn’t know what to say. “Enraptured? Me?” She couldn’t help the scoff.

Ren plucked a strawberry from the cakes on her plate and plopped it into his mouth. Ann frowned at him. “Well, that’s all right then,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

Ren shrugged.

“You’re not making any sense, Ren.” Ren went to pick a cherry from her plate, and she slapped his hand away. “Go grab your own cake!” He grinned at her. Ann looked away and sliced her chocolate cake with a fork and brought it to her mouth. “Anyway, eavesdropping is not very gentlemanly.”

Ren laughed. “I wouldn’t call that eavesdropping when half the floor had their eyes on you,” he said.

She glanced at him at that, wondering if there was any meaning hidden behind it, but she shook her head, because that was preposterous. There was no way Ren would see her like that. 

“I guess,” she began, “every mother with a daughter wants him for a son-in-law.” Social standing and reputation—she never understood why these two mattered so much. “I don’t like him, though,” she muttered, scooping more cake into her mouth.

Another pause, before Ren asked, “Why?”

“All he talked about was himself, as if that’s all that mattered in the world.”

“Well, he is the Prime Minister’s son,” Ren offered. Ann scoffed. “And the most eligible bachelor in the kingdom.”

She looked sideways at him. “What are you trying to say?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “maybe, how that kind of person was captivated by you the entire night?”

Ann frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

But Ren only shrugged and didn’t give any more comments. She watched his eyes stray over to the dancing couples on the floor and Ann didn’t understand why but a strange heaviness lodged itself in her chest. A sort of heaviness that made it hard to breathe. Ann gritted her teeth and set her jaws as she finished her dessert in angry bites and filled her plate with more pudding and cake.

Ren noticed it and snickered. “You’ll get sick eating that much sugar,” he said. She wolfed them down without listening to him. “Slow down or you’ll get indigestion.” Let her get indigestion. Maybe then this heaviness would go away.

An attendant passed by them with a tray full of glasses filled with translucent yellow cocktail and Ren swiped a couple of them. “Here,” he said, offering one to her.

She looked at it, then at his face, and even though she was still upset, the smile he had was so soft, so warm, that her heart couldn’t help but make a little skip. 

Smooth. This boy was too smooth. A mundane, normal gesture he had done countless times. He was her friend. They had known each other for years and she had always felt safe around him. Yet lately, every time she saw that easy smile and the crinkle in his eyes, her stomach would do a little flip-flop and she didn’t know what to do with herself. 

Ann gulped down the cake and cream in her mouth and accepted the drink from him. “Thanks,” she murmured.

As she brought the glass to her lips, she noticed him cocking his head from the corner of her eyes. “You’ve got something there,” he said, before his fingers moved and she felt its warmth against her skin, gently swiping at a stray cream from the corner of her mouth.

Ann’s hands stilled, her heart beating a mile a minute. Heat spread up her neck, her face, and ears. However, Ren only wiped his fingers on a napkin he found on the buffet table, as though he had done nothing out of the ordinary. He noticed her stare and Ann immediately looked away.

“I—I—” Ann cursed herself internally at the stutter. She cleared her throat. “I’m going to get some air.”

It wasn’t an invitation. Not in the least. In fact, she wanted to get away from him for a while. But Ren followed close behind her, easily catching up to take his place by her side.

“What are you doing?”

“It doesn’t bode well for a lady to be seen by herself.”

Ann scoffed. “Since when have you seen me as a lady?”

Again, that small sweet smile that made it impossible for her to look at him.

Ren didn’t seem like it, but he was still popular. Walking through the throng of people, she could still feel the furtive glances thrown at her—not as hostile as before, but still making her feel uncomfortable. She could just imagine how many girls would line up to get him to dance with them. 

And yet here he was, walking beside her. After monopolizing Haruhiko’s time, now she was monopolizing Ren’s time—the two most eligible bachelors in the kingdom. And Ann had to ask why she couldn’t make any friends. 

When they reached the open glass doors, the cool night air hit her face and brushed against the back of her neck beneath her updo hair. Finally, Ann felt like she could breathe. The door led to a wide veranda, with curving flights of stairs on both sides that led down to a flower garden below. It was lit by a myriad of little lights on the ground, like small stars amidst the bright yellows, reds, and whites. Far at the heart of the garden was a fountain; the sound of water trickling soothed her senses.

Ann leaned against the marble railings and looked up to the sky. Stars littered the vast inky blackness. A crescent moon hung in its lonesome, shining down upon them. Ann took a deep breath of the fresh night air. Her mind was finally at ease. She was free. 

Ren rested his elbows on the railing beside her. Taking a sip of his cocktail, he murmured, “Did you pick your own dress for tonight?”

Ann nodded, with a sip of her own drink. It was an off-the-shoulder ivory gown, with beautiful, intricate embroideries on the bodies and small little white jewels inlaid on the skirt. Courtesy of her mother.

“Good taste,” Ren said.

She glanced at him. Was he being sarcastic? Or was he being genuine? Usually, her mother would dictate how she should dress to events such as this, and Ren knew that. But knowing her mother, she would have forced Ann to wear something that would have made a statement—here was the daughter of the most sought-out tailors in the kingdom. Had she gone through with her mother’s wishes, Ann had no doubt she would have inspired Erika’s wrath. There was nothing that girl hated more than seeing someone outshine her. Ann wasn’t exaggerating when she thought it could have negatively impacted the relationship between their families.

“Thanks,” she said. “Though, Mom still had a say in it.” 

Ren chuckled. “Of course.” He raised his glass at her. “Considerate enough of you to think of birthday girl’s feelings.”

Ann frowned at the sarcasm in his tone. “You don’t sound happy with that.”

“Hey, you’re still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met but sometimes, I’d like to see a frown on Erika’s face when her perfect little world crumbles all around her just because you stole her show.”

She was tempted to laugh, because yes, Ann would love to see that too, given how mean Erika could be, but her mind had caught on the nonchalant way he called her beautiful and it made her stomach knot again. Her face threatened to break into a smile.

“Oh, but then again, you did monopolize Haruhiko for half an hour,” Ren went on. “That surely would have ruffled her feathers.”

The smile Ann had tried so hard to hide immediately turned to a frown. Haruhiko again, she thought. She had never met him before this night and yet for some reason, Ren wouldn’t let go of the fact that yes, she did spend some time with him because there was no way she could have refused when someone with a social standing such as him had asked her to dance.

“Why didn’t you come earlier then?” she asked, but her voice was too quiet for him to hear. She glared at him, only to find him drinking from his glass, looking straight at the fountain in the garden, not noticing her at all. Did she matter so little to him? Did thirty minutes of interaction really meant more than the years they had spent together?

“What about you though?” she asked, her voice clipped. That caught his attention.

“What?”

“Shouldn’t you also be forming connections with some important people?”

“What are you talking about?”

Ann’s frown deepened and she looked away, taking a huge gulp of her cocktail. “I mean, that’s probably why you’re here, right?” she said. “Your father probably sent you here to make connections with some important people. You wouldn’t have gone to such a party otherwise.” Because that was true. The only reason Ren was here was probably because his father had forced him to come. Not only once had she seen him being reprimanded by his father for not being more “social”. But, maybe that’s why she felt comfortable around him. Two people who felt out of place in a society that demanded a good standing and good connections.

“What’s gotten you so angry all of a sudden?”

“I’m not angry!” she snapped.

Ren tilted his head to the side, his eyes boring into the side of her head.

Stop it, Ann, her mind seemed to say. Stop it before you say anything you regret.

But she couldn’t stop. Her mouth had gotten a mind of its own.

“I mean, who am I? I’m a nobody. The only good thing I have are parents who make clothes for a living. But you? You’re the son of a minister with a good standing. Shouldn’t you be seeking out some important connections instead of spending time with me? Shouldn’t you be talking with Erika instead?”

The silence that followed her outburst was deafening, filled with tension so thick that it was almost suffocating. It was a moment or two later, when her chest was heaving and she was glaring into the far-off distance, that pain from her nails digging into her palms brought her back to her senses and she realized she hadn’t entirely meant everything that she had said. She almost turned to him, but an inherent fear of what she would find on his face rooted her to the spot.

Light spilled out from inside the ballroom where music still played and couples still danced. The chatters and laughter and giggles sounded so distant when all she could hear was the beating of her heart against her eardrums. She eyed the shadow to her right, Ren’s shadow, and waited for it to leave—for his footsteps to fall and his warmth to fade. But it never did, and instead, came his voice, quiet in the night, carried by the wind.

“You’re important to me, though.”

That made her pause. Did she hear right? Were her ears playing tricks on her again? She didn’t dare look to meet his eyes.

“Look at me, Ann.” She wouldn’t. She didn’t want to. But Ren was touching the crook of her elbow and, softly, he said it again. “Look at me.”

She turned on her heels but kept her eyes trained on the ground. She could feel his stare and she wondered what kind of expression he had on his face.

“Ann—” She jerked at his voice. A pause before he said again, quietly, “Do you wanna go somewhere?”

“What?” The question had taken her off guard that she instinctively looked up at his face, and what she saw wasn’t indignation or hurt. He wore a mischievous grin, the ones she would see every time he came to see her at the park.

He nodded toward the stairs behind him. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s leave this place.”

Ann looked at those stairs. It would lead them down to the garden, and also around the mansion to the gate at the front. They would be able to leave without anyone noticing and asking questions.

Ren was holding out his hand, waiting for her to take it. An invitation. She could refuse him. She could go back. Her parents wouldn’t want her to leave so early anyway. But then she saw the smile in his eyes, and she couldn’t look away.

Ann left her glass at the veranda as she took Ren’s hand and followed him out.

***

They took her carriage and went to the park by the river. It was quiet and deserted at this time of night. The air was so still, occasionally broken by the sounds of crickets in the thickets. Neither of them had spoken since they left Erika’s mansion, lost in their own thoughts, but Ren had kept his hand on hers, holding it tight with no intention of letting go.

She followed him silently, their footsteps matching in rhythm as they walked down the pavement between the trees and the grass, their path lit by the streetlights on either side. In the silence, she spoke:

“Sorry I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“No,” Ren began, his voice too quiet, too hoarse. He cleared his throat. “No, I’m sorry. I guess I went too far with my teasing.”

“Yes, you did.”

His only reply was a quiet derisive laugh. Ren tightened his hold on her hand. “Sorry, I was being petty.”

“Petty?”

She looked up at him at the same moment he glanced down at her. The unexpected meeting of their eyes, added with the proximity of their bodies, the warmth from their linked hands, and the memory of what had led to this sudden moonlit stroll made the heat go into her head and Ann instinctively looked away.

Ren chuckled under his breath. “It honestly perplexes me how you fail to see how I have always felt about you.”

Her ears pricked at that.

“Have you never wondered the reason why I stay by your side?” he went on. “Or why I’d hold your hand in mine?” He opened his palm, only to interlace his fingers with hers. She looked at it—at this new, intimate gesture that was enough to send her pulse racing.

“I’ve always wondered,” she said. “Have always wanted to know. I’ve written countless what-if scenarios in my head, but I never dared to dream.” She looked at him, and found him already staring back, and it made her want to smile. “Maybe I didn’t want to believe what I saw.”

They finally stopped and Ann recognized the place Ren had brought her to. The corridor of trees opened up to a massive clearing with a lit-up fountain at the center. Silver and gold, with the statue of a woman pouring water from a jar. There had been a festival all those years ago, with food stalls and music and dances. It was here where a boy with black unruly hair and smoky grey eyes came up to her and asked her to dance.

“It upset me when I saw someone you don’t even know kissed your hand like it was no big deal, when it took me seven years to even gather the courage to ask you for a stroll.” He brought their linked hands to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her hand.

It felt different—different from the time Haruhiko had kissed her hand. Whereas she had felt repulsed when Haruhiko’s lips had caressed her skin, Ann couldn’t even begin to describe what she was feeling now. The soft bangs that fell over his eyes, the face that had always looked so precious, and when he looked up, that sweet, sweet smile that always made her heart clench tight and soar at the same time. And the way he looked at her. It was that glimmer of emotion she had seen earlier, the ones she had seen countless times before that he always hid before she could make any sense of them.

It made her feel like she was the most precious thing in the world to him.

“Will you dance with me?” he asked.

She could hear it, then, the distant melody, the ghost of music from her far-off memory. It played in her mind and before she knew it, they were humming the same tune.

They smiled at each other and laughed under their breaths. He drew her close, his arm around her waist, as he pulled at her hand and led her into a dance. 

~ END ~

[sweetiepie08]

Rebel Z Chapter 3

Invader Zim fanfic

While analyzing Zim’s PAK for weaknesses, Tak discovers strange coding that sends her on a search for answers. The clues lead her to uncover a conspiracy that governs all of Irken society. When the truth sends her on the run, she has no choice but to return to the one place the Tallest would never willingly go: Urth.

Meanwhile, Dib has noticed odd changes in Zim’s behavior. Has the invader simply grown bored of his mission over the last few years, or is there something more interesting going on?

People who asked to be tagged: @incorrect-invader-zim , @messinwitheddie, @reblogstupids, @cate-r-gunn, @agentpinerulesall​

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list feel free to message me. Also, if you’re on the tag list and you changed your name, please just let me know. 

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5.  Chapter 6.  Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10. 

[-]

Tak activated her Vortian disguise before she even entered the solar system. When dealing with the Meekrob, an Irken could never be too careful, especially after Tenn’s disappearance. Word around the stars was that her life signal suddenly went out one day. No one knew what happened. Apparently, the Tallest hadn’t received ant worrying reports. Her last transmission was a routine observation update. She wasn’t making any risky plans and she didn’t have a near-discovery. She was there one minute and gone the next. Soon afterward, the Meekrob put out a warning declaring that any Irken caught within their planet’s range would be killed on sight. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who was responsible for her disappearance.

It was a shame, really. Tak was a few levels ahead of Tenn in training, but she heard good things. Any invader assigned to Meekrob must be talented. They were, after all, Irk’s most formidable enemies. Safe to assume they had done her in. It was a tragedy that someone so young and bright had been cut down in her prime, but life as an invader was fraught with peril, at least so long as the enemy was intelligent.

Finally, they approached the planet Refirencee and, after going through a check point, she docked her ship in a public hanger. Before exiting her ship, she looked at MiMi. An information retrieval unit would be especially advantageous on this mission, but the engineering was too obviously Irken. “MiMi, cat disguise.” MiMi saluted and her holo-cloaking devise activated. Tak looked her over an nodded her approval. They were lucky an Urth cat looked so similar to a Vortian jelicle.

Satisfied with their cover, they hopped out of their ship and headed for the transport bay. There, they found a digital sign displayed the departure times for bullet trains which took the planet’s patrons to different sections of the massive data base. The trains were broken down by planet and the one for the Irken information section left in only a few minutes.

As they waited for their train, Tak noticed a few patrons looking at her. She tried to keep her eyes on the track before her and ignored their stares as she felt a light pounding in her chest.

One of the patrons approached her. “Um, excuse me,” he said, eyes turning to MiMi.

Tak shot him a glare. “What?”

“I’m not sure they allow pets.”

“She’s an emotional support jelicle,” Tak said. A spark flashed across her eyes and the patron’s face went blank for a second.

“Right,” he answered, almost robotically. “Sorry I bothered you.”

The train arrived and Tak and MiMi boarded. They took a seat and the train took off at break-neck speed. They arrived at the Irken section in a matter of minutes. She stepped off the train to find her self in a large, domed building, surrounded by towers of data cartridges. Sorting droids buzzed about, arranging cartridges to their rightful places. In the center of it all, a librarian sat at a large, circular information desk.

“Excuse me,” Tak said, approaching the desk. “Where can I find information on the cyber age?” It would be a good start. The invention of the PAK kicked off the era.

“That will be section 8792,” the librarian answered. “I’ll call you a browsing cart.”

The librarian pushed a button and a cart zipped up to the desk. It was just a flat, hovering rectangle with a handrail and a control board at the front. Tak and MiMi hopped on and she entered the section number into the control panel.

“By the way,” Tak said, turning to the librarian, “forget I was here.” The spark flashed across her eyes again and the Librarian’s face went blank. Tak hit the start button and her cart zipped off. She arrived at her destination within seconds.

“MiMi, find a data console about PAK invention,” Tak ordered as they stepped off the cart. MiMi saluted and slinked through the aisles. While she waited, Tak sat down at a computer desk. In a few minutes, MiMi returned with a data console marked “Irken Cyber Age Vol. 1”. Tak took and plug it into the computer. She scrolled through the text, skimming over most of it. The information mainly consisted of things any smeet would know. After the control brains were built, they gave the scientists the idea to build the PAKs. These PAKs efficiently distributed Irken knowledge and ushered in a glorious new age of blah, blah, blah…

Yes, every Irken alive knew their basic history. But what about the PAKs themselves? How were they built? How did they work? Tak was beginning to wonder if this was a waste of time. After all, the key to PAK mechanics was Irk’s most guarded secret. She shouldn’t expect to find that information here. In fact, she should be glad that knowledge hadn’t fallen into enemy hands.

She continued to scroll and a picture caught her eye. It showed the five engineers in charge of the PAK project. The face of one particular engineer kept glitching in and out. He was decently tall. Not tall enough to be considered for the upper echelons of tallness, but a good height none the less. His round, purple eyes caught hers and she studied his uneasy grin. The names of each engineer were listed in the caption and one name, Krislotch, glitched in time with the face. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Someone wanted her to pay attention to this guy.

Was it even Krislotch himself? Very well, you have my attention. Now what do you want. She scrolled down a bit further and noticed individual letters glitching as well. A message perhaps? Hidden in the page? What are you trying to tell me, Krislotch?

“MiMi, my tablet.”

MiMi reached into her head and took out a small, metal canister. Tak unfolded it into tablet mode and took out a stylus. She wrote down each letter in order.

A COMPLETE HISTORY OF IRKEN INDUSTRY VOL 13. CHAP 78.

Now this was interesting. It seemed Krislotch left her a little crumb trail. Where it led, she could only guess, but she simply had to follow. She ordered MiMi to find the volume mentioned. When the SIR unit returned, she plugged it into the computer and jumped straight to the designated chapter. Reading through it, she found it was about a factory disaster which resulted in a great number of deaths. Apparently, some worker named Mia, somehow, caused a back up of materials at her station. The machine couldn’t put out new materials, overheated, and caught fire. For some reason, the sprinkler system was disabled, and the fire only spread. Fifty-seven workers, including Mia, died in the accident.

As Tak read the page, she spotted two full sentences glitching. The first gave the number of those dead and the other showed the date. She wasn’t sure why the number of dead was important, but even a smeet a few minutes old knew the significance of the date. This disaster took place exactly 0.1 cycles before Installation Day, the day all Irkens were given their PAKs.

More letters glitched. Put together, they led to a console called “The Irken Cyber Age: a Complete History vol. 1.” They also directed her to a page which, once she read it, confirmed her suspicions. Krislotch did, in fact, want her to know the disaster occurred 0.1 cycles before Installation day. But apart from that, what was the connection?

Yet again, more letter glitched. She’d picked up the trail. Glitching letters led her to a console of Irken History, itself with more glitching letters leading her to the next clue. As she read on, a clear pattern began to emerge. Since the introduction of the PAKs, every major historical event was preceded by a deadly disaster by exactly 0.1 cycles. The historical events mainly revolved around Irken galactic conquest: military campaigns, invasion launches, and the like. The disasters varied widely, but they all had a few things in common. They were all caused by an Irken who then died in the disaster, and they all left fifty-seven dead. Even the names of the Irkens who caused them were similar: Mia, Mib, Mic, Mid, Mie…

The trail stopped before reaching more recent events. The final set of glitching letters gave her the title “An Observatory Study of the Final Days of Ecore,” as well as the coordinates to the console’s location, which rested in a completely different part of Refirencee. She’d waste no time getting there, but something nagged at her.

There must be some current events which fell into the pattern, she thought. Things I would remember. Operation Impending Doom was the obvious answer. It was the most recent invasion launch, but she couldn’t think of any major disasters that preceded it. Then again, the launch date had to be delayed due to… Wait… Was that it? How many died that day? And how long after did Impending Doom II launch? She had to check to be sure.

“MiMi, find information on the original Operation Impending Doom.”

MiMi swept off and quickly returned with a new data console. A quick look confirmed her suspicions. Fifty-seven dead in a rampage caused by disgraced Invader Zim. Impending Doom II launched exactly 0.1 cycles later. It was a close fit, but it wasn’t’ perfect. Zim was alive, for one thing, while the other disaster causers died. Another was the name. It didn’t fit the pattern, unless…

Tak slapped her palm to her forehead. Was the idiot such a complete incompetent that he got his own assigned name wrong?

Surely more answers would be found in the next console.

She and MiMi rode the cart to the closest train station and took the next train to a section called Dead Planets. Once there, they took another cart to the location designated by the glitching letters. As they approached, they found they weren’t looking for a data console at all. The coordinates Tak punched into the cart took them to a section deep in the library. The shelves surrounding them held actual, physical books. Judging by the layers of dust, they were the first lifeforms to enter these aisles in a long time.

They made it to the correct shelf and Tak ordered MiMi to locate the book. The robot found it in matter of seconds and brought it to her. Tak brushed off the cover and opened the book. A small, plastic square fell out and landed on the floor with a clack. She picked it up and turned it over in her hands. It was a data storage device not used in ages. This was old technology, ancient even, but whatever was on it must be important. She pocketed it and sat down on the floor to read. As the book wasn’t in Irken, she couldn’t read it without assistance. She tapped the implant on the side of her head and a universal translator monocle popped out, covering her eye. She began to read.

A Note to the Reader

When I began this journey, I had no intention of chronicling the final days of Ecore. It began as an anthropological study to discern what made this once-thriving civilization drop out of contact with the greater solar system. I set up a hidden shelter on the outskirts of Ecorien society and observed from the outside. My discoveries explain, not only the degradation of Ecorien culture, but the death of the planet itself.

Tak poured through the book, wondering what this weak, primitive culture possibly had to do with Irk. The anthropologist wrote about the Ecorien’s devotion to, what he called, “the Many-Eyed God.” Apparently, this new theology was a sharp deviation from known Ecorien culture. In the past, the Ecoriens revered their planet’s natural resources and energy. This new god was completely unheard of.

He also went on to describe the people’s changed appearance. They looked thin and sickly, and aged rapidly. They’d go to their god for supposed cures, but they didn’t seem to do any good. The people never got better from what plagued them, no matter how devotedly they followed their god.

The most fascinating part was a barbaric ritual referred to as a “blood toll.” When the Ecoriens asked their god for a large favor, such as a bountiful harvest or a cure for a plague, the god would order a blood toll. They brought fifty-seven young, healthy Ecoriens before their god and slaughtered them.

Fifty-seven… Fifty-seven Irkens… Fifty-seven Ecoriens… Was this what Krislotch wanted me to see? She read on.

Soon, she reached the final days of Ecore. An uprising broke out among the younger generations of Ecoriens. The blood toll sacrificed many of them and the elders asked the Many-Eyed God for more and more favors as the species grew weaker. The youths fought back against the elders, refusing to be sacrificed. However, the history of blood tolls had greatly reduced their numbers. Relatively few were young enough to be prime candidates for sacrifice, but old enough to fight. The elders overpowered them. The Many-Eyed God ordered the mass slaughter of the younger generations, promising to restore youth and health to the elders.

Youths died by the thousands, from young adults, to children, to infants. At the end of the bloodbath, the Many-Eyed God detached itself from the planet’s core. It drifted into space, leaving the Ecoriens with nothing but the blood on their hands. With the younger generations wiped out, they were doomed to extinction.

Tak turned the page in horrified awe. The last days of this planet were truly a massacre. The Ecoriens, tricked by this god, turned on their own. Their own god used them, sucked them dry, and abandoned them when they had nothing left to give. This wasn’t just the death of a planet. This was the murder of one.

What this massacre had to do with Irk and PAKs, she still couldn’t say, but the number fifty-seven stuck out in her mind. Fifty-seven died in the Irken disasters. Fifty-seven slaughtered in the Ecorien blood tolls. The connection was obvious, but what it meant escaped her. The Irkens had no gods, not for a few millennia at least. They thrived on science, technology, and conquest. It was said, even before the cyber age, that the Irkens bowed to no laws, but made their own. Nothing calling itself a god could gain this kind of influence on Irk.

But when she turned the page, her vail of denial evaporated. She dropped the book in shock. MiMi swept up to her and peered over Tak’s shoulder. The book lay open on the floor, displaying a two-page spread of images of the Many-Eyed God. Some were sketches. Some were photos taken at a distance. All displayed the same familiar entity. She’d looked into these eyes. This “god” encoded her as an elite trainee. She begged this “god” for the opportunity to prove her worth. This “god” denied her and banished her to Dirt, a husk of wasted potential.

The Control Brain and the Many-Eyed God were one and the same.

She stared down at the book as the truth stared back at her. This thing, whatever it was, had wormed its way into Irken society. It controlled them, fed off them. They even had their own blood toll of sorts. In the end, the Ecoriens withered away to nothing. They were sucked dry and left to rot. It was only a matter of time before the same happened to Irk. This thing, the Control Brain, has to be stopped.

The number 10:00 appeared in the corner of her vision and began ticking down. 9:59… 9:58… “My life clock!” How? Why? Her PAK was still attached. It shouldn’t… Wait, the Control Brain. Her PAK emitted a constant stream of information to the Control Brain and she just had a rebellious thought. There was no time to waste.

“MiMi,” she commanded. Almost as an afterthought, she realized her holo-disguise had gone out. “Take me to the ship. Top speed.”

MiMi stretched out her arms, wrapping them around Tak, and propulsion jets burst from her feet. She flew them out of the library, across the planet, and to the parking bay at such a speed, the world became a nauseating blur. By the time they arrived back at the ship, she had less than 8:00 minutes to save herself.

She plugged her PAK into the ship. “Computer, life-supports error check, immediately.”

After a few seconds of scanning, her computer answered. “Life support systems completely shut down.”

Her insides dropped. “Search for the cause.”

A few more seconds of scanning passed. “Systems shut down after a command initiated by the Control Brain remote feedback program.”

It was as she suspected. “Suggested solutions?”

“Remove feedback chip and manually restart system.”

She felt her guts twist and her body broke into a sweat. Remove feedback chip? Every Irken alive knew it was treason to disconnect from the Control Brain. She’d be an outlaw, a traitor. Returning to Irken-controlled space would be a death sentence for her. But I’m going to die right now if I don’t.

She had no choice. If even thinking about saving her planet from this… this… parasite made her a traitor, then traitor she was. She pulled the plug from her PAK and removed it from her back. She had only a few minutes before her organic brain turned to mush.

She opened a compartment of tools and then opened a panel on her PAK. With a set of tweezers, she located the feedback chip and, with a tug, marked herself traitor. Using a shocking fork, she restarted the life support systems. She turned around, the PAK reattached, and her life clock disappeared. Already, she could feel her body reinvigorating, but the weight of what she’d just done fell heavy on her.

Right now, the Armada was receiving an automated notification that Tak, the deserter janitor, had gone traitor. Orders would be issued for her capture or killing. Every Irken in the military would know her face. She could never go back.

And she couldn’t linger here. She and MiMi made quite the scene with their exit. People would come after them. Anyone who managed to get a look as they flew past could clearly see she was Irken. They had to get far, far away from Irk and far, far away from here.

She powered up the engines and flew the ship out of the parking bay, still unsure of where to go. Anywhere in Irken-controlled space was out and word that an Irken was spotted on a Meekrobian-protected planet would soon spread. She had to go somewhere remote, a planet uncharted and ignored by most of the known universe, a place the Tallest would never willingly go.

She let out a roaring, agonized groan as her mind landed on the perfect answer. It was both the safest place in the universe to hide and the last place she wanted to be, especially in this state. Still, she had no choice.

“Computer,” she growled, pinching the bridge between her eyes. “Set coordinates to Urth.”

[nicolewrites]

We Stand, Fate-Tested - III

Social distancing? More like stay up super late and write more. Stay safe and take the necessary steps to help out your community everyone.

Rating: T+ Genre: Mystery, Friendship, Romance Characters: [Byleth/My Unit, Dimitri B.], [Byleth/My Unit, Claude R.] Words: 5,488

Claude likes Almyran Pine / A familiar face pays the monastery a visit

AO3 | FFN

III - Tea and Conversation

Garreg Mach University - 16 Horsebow Moon, 732 AU

Byleth arrived before Claude did. She ordered a cup of tea and sat at one of the tables in the corner of the café. She sipped at her tea silently and observed the bustle around her. As the café on campus, Anna’s was busy from its opening hour right up until when it closed. The time Byleth had chosen, 4pm, was right in the middle of lecture slots, but the place still had a line to the door and barely any open seats.

At five minutes past the hour, Byleth checked her watch. Claude had been so interested in meeting with her, but he was late. She wondered if he was standing her up for some reason. She would give him another five minutes before she left, she reasoned. While she waited, she pulled out her laptop and looked at the form on the screen in front of her.

She was currently working at forming the application questions for the undergraduate application to Seteth’s research team. She had the general points hammered out that she wanted to include, but the specifics were bugging her a little. Seteth was supposed to reply to the draft he had sent him that morning, but there was no email in her inbox yet, so Byleth felt stuck.

“Hi Teach,” Claude greeted and Byleth snapped her head up. Claude stood in front of her table, grinning and sounding just the tiniest bit out of breath.

Byleth raised an eyebrow. “You’re late,” she pointed out.

Claude shrugged. “Practice ran long, I’m sorry. I made it though.” He glanced at the teacup on the table in front of her. “Ah, darn, I was going to pay to thank you for doing this.”

Byleth waved him off. “It’s only a few coins, I can handle it.”

Claude sat down and Byleth closed her laptop, sliding it off the table. “Even so, I wanted to be polite. I did ask you here.”

“To talk about archaeology,” Byleth said. “It’s not a date.”

Claude laughed and the corners of his eyes wrinkled. Byleth stared for a moment before she dropped her gaze to the table. Claude was pretty, but he was also her student so she didn’t really want anything to do with his charming face.

“So you just really want to talk about archaeology, do you?” he questioned.

Byleth glanced back up at him and studied him for a moment. He was wearing a yellow t-shirt with the emblem of a deer on it. The shirt stretched across his chest as he reclined in the chair, stretching his arms over his head leisurely. He wrapped his hands behind his head and smirked at her. The action caused his forearms to flex, showing off the wiry, toned muscles in them.

Byleth rolled her eyes. “That’s what you said you wanted to discuss,” she noted, raising an eyebrow.

Claude chuckled. “Alright, I guess I can start then. Why study the Guardian? You could have picked any discipline, so why focus on the Unification Era?”

“It’s the single biggest archaeological field in Fódlan. It has the most funding,” Byleth said shortly.

Claude clicked his tongue. “See, I might have believed that if I didn’t know you weren’t lying. In tutorial, you could have had us categorize any artifact and you chose the Guardian’s Blade. That, to me, indicates a specific interest in her. Plus, your thesis is specifically on her disappearance isn’t it?”

Byleth sighed. “Fine, you’re right. When I started learning about the Unification Era, I looked into the leaders of the time, as most people would. Notably, there was the Saviour King and the Guardian of Order. There were almost no records that survived the Scorch of Garreg Mach in 101 AU, but some of the documentation was preserved after the riots in Fhirdiad the following year. The King’s disappearance is explained a little there: he was killed in battle, presumed to have been in the Sreng region fighting off an invasion. The Guardian, on the other hand, was much more ambiguous. She outlived him, that much is clear, but it doesn’t make sense why she would just up and vanish like she did with very little explanation.”

Claude’s eyes gleamed as he listened to her explain. “You think she left for a reason,” he supplied.

Byleth nodded. “I do. I don’t know if archaeology is the way to prove that, but I’ve been digging into the Royal Collection and the artifacts of that era as much as I can to try and figure out why she would leave so suddenly.”

Claude nodded. “Makes sense to me.” He paused and ran a thumb over his lower lip, thinking, for a moment before he looked Byleth in the eye. “I think you’re looking in all the wrong places though.”

“Excuse me?”

“If you’re so interested in the Guardian, you should know that she was supposedly the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros at the time. Why look in the remains of the Royal Collection when you could look into the Old Church records and such?”

“She was married to the King,” Byleth said simply. “That, and the fact that many of her personal effects were found as a part of the Royal Collection.” She glanced out the café window at the university’s main building. “Plus, the Old Church has never made looking into their records after the Scorch easy to do.”

Claude considered her words. “I suppose so. Still, the GMU used to be the central monastery of the Church, didn’t it? Wouldn’t there be more answers there?”

Byleth shrugged. “Honestly, I hope so, but, as I said, there’s never been a full excavation of the old monastery.”

“But there was an excavation,” Claude said. He tilted his head and the green of his eyes was cuttingly perceptive and Byleth bit her lip. “Everyone tries to keep it all hush-hush, but there was an excavation, wasn’t there? You’ll have to excuse me as I’m not entirely caught up on archaeological news.”

Byleth took a sip of her tea. She had ordered Chamomile because it was her favourite decaf tea and it was too late in the day for caffeine now. Claude clearly knew something about the failed excavation. It felt like he was testing her to see how much she would tell him or how much she knew herself.

“It was supposed to be a full-year endeavour,” Byleth said finally. “It was a professor from the University who received private funding from a benefactor to lead a team below the old monastery. The security coordinator pulled himself from the project and it ended up falling through just shortly after it began. That was five years ago and no one has had approval from the Old Church and the government to be down there since.”

“Privately funded?” Claude questioned. “For an expedition to a historical site of religious and political importance, I’m surprised it was allowed to happen at all.”

Byleth paused. She had never actually considered that point herself, but it explained why Seteth had been jumping through so many hoops with the museum’s board as well as with the university to secure permission and funding.

“What do you think you’d find down there if you went looking?” Claude continued, watching her curiously.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t know the whole story with the last team, so I can only wonder if they really articled everything they found down there, or if something else happened.” She sipped her tea. “Who knows, maybe there’s some kind of written record of the Guardian. That would certainly make my life interesting.”

“You know, Teach, for someone who was so hesitant to meet me, you’ve sure told me an awful lot of stuff,” Claude said teasingly.

Byleth rolled her eyes. “Most of it is common information for someone in our departments. You could have learned all of that yourself, so why did you want to hear it from me?”

“You’re interesting,” Claude admitted. “You have this air of cool and collected around you, but that first day, when I mentioned that you bore a resemblance to the Almyran depictions of her, you got uncomfortable. Then, when I placed the Guardian’s Blade as a Relic without background information, I startled you.”

He was right, of course, and Byleth hated it. “My physical resemblance to an unproven depiction has nothing to do with my studies,” she replied sharply.

Claude held up his hands. “Woah, I didn’t mean that it did. Besides, you’re my TA, so am I not allowed to just be genuinely interested in you as a person?”

“You haven’t asked me anything personal.”

Claude leaned forward onto his elbows and smiled challengingly. “I wasn’t aware I was allowed to.”

Byleth bit down a retort. “You mentioned a practice earlier as the reason why you were late,” she commented instead, swinging the topic to a different place.

He raised an eyebrow. “So you get personal questions and I don’t?” Byleth held his gaze and waited for him to answer the question. Finally, after a good three seconds of eye contact, Claude gave in. “Archery,” he replied. “I’m the team captain.”

She gestured to his shirt. “Does the deer have anything to do with that? It has the university crest on the sleeve.” It wasn’t a detail she had seen immediately, but on the right arm right above the hem on his bicep was the logo for Garreg Mach University.

“You don’t know about the Houses?” Claude asked. He sounded genuinely surprised.

Byleth shrugged. “I guess not.”

“You did your undergrad here, so how did you not know about them?” he asked.

Byleth shrugged again. “I wasn’t the most social person. Especially in my first year.”

“Ah,” Claude noted. “Well, in first year, students can pledge one of the three Houses at the University. You get an upper-year buddy and get invited to specific social events and it’s an integration assistant basically. I’m a part of the Golden Deer House.”

“That explains the deer. And the yellow.”

Claude laughed. “It does, yeah. Some of my best friends are from the Golden Deer, so I can’t really say anything negative about the House system.”

“Are Edelgard and Dimitri in the Golden Deer?”

“Nah. Edel is part of the Black Eagles and Dimitri is part of the Blue Lions. They both followed in their parents’ footsteps in that regard and I just decided to be contrary to them since I didn’t have any previous connections here at the university.”

Byleth nodded and sipped her tea again. It was almost cold now, so she placed the mug down on the counter and spun the teabag through it, studying the ripples it left with interest. Claude didn’t say anything for a moment and Byleth let the silence hang over them.

“I’m going to grab a cup if you’d like a refill,” he offered after a moment.

Byleth blinked and noticed that he had extended his hand to take her cup. She slid it over the table to him. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Claude just picked up the mug and headed for the line in the café. She watched him stand in line and pull out his phone to check something as he waited for a till to free up so he could place his own order. It only took him a few minutes to get a refill of hot water for Byleth as well as his own mug and he made his way back over to her, placing the two steaming mugs between them.

“Thank you,” Byleth said again.

Claude smiled again. “No worries.” He paused to stir his own teabag through the hot water before taking a tiny sip. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed Byleth was staring at him. “Teach?” he questioned.

“What kind of tea?” she asked before she could stop herself. There was something itching in her brain and she felt like it hinged on the type of tea that Claude preferred.

He looked a little surprised at the bluntness of her question. “Almyran Pine,” he answered. “It’s an old favourite of mine.”

“Bitter and very caffeinated,” Byleth supplied.

Claude nodded. “Almost as much caffeine as green tea.” He glanced at her own cup. “It sounds like you’re speaking from experience. Do you usually drink caffeinated teas?”

Byleth curled her hands around her own mug and felt the hot porcelain sting against the sensitive skin of her palms. “I’ve never actually had Almyran Pine,” she admitted. She knew it’s flavour profile, but she’d never actually tried it. She was more partial to the softer floral teas or a black tea like Bergamot.

Claude looked almost offended. “Everyone here seems to be like that. Edelgard and Dimitri think I’m strange for liking this blend. Honestly, Anna’s doesn’t even have a particularly good blend of it.”

“Can I try it?” Byleth asked.

Claude shrugged. “Sure.” He slid the cup across the table to her and she could already smell the fresh, earthy aroma wafting up to her.

She lifted the mug and blew gently across the liquid to cool it. She took a small sip and was instantly struck by the sharpness of the tea. It was bright on her tongue, tasting quite similarly to how she imagined biting a pine needle would taste.

“So?” Claude prompted as she placed the mug down and slid it back to him.

Byleth furrowed her brow, trying to process. “It tastes familiar,” she murmured. It was a strange admission to make, especially since she couldn’t remember ever tasting it before. She had never really been a big tea drinker before university, and she knew that she had definitely never ordered the Almyran Pine blend from Anna’s in the 5 years she had been studying at Garreg Mach.

“I thought you said you’d never had it before,” Claude commented, furrowing his brow.

Byleth bit her lip and took a drink from her own tea, trying to push away her discomfort. “I haven’t.”

Claude was definitely caught off guard by this, as evidenced by his silence. He sipped his tea himself and just watched Byleth curiously. She kept her gaze firmly either on the table or at the bottom of her own mug.

“Dr. Cichol is putting together a team for a dig below Garreg Mach in the new year,” Byleth confessed after the silence had lingered for too long.

Claude’s eyebrows shot up and he almost choked on his tea. “I thought you were saying it was hard to get approval for that.”

“Hard, but not impossible,” she corrected. “Seteth has been working at this for four years now and he’s finally got the clearance. He’s taking on everyone in his lab, including me, and a group of undergraduates.”

Claude straightened. “Wait, this is only the second major expedition to the old monastery ruins below the university and he’s taking undergraduates instead of a full team of professionals? Which students?”

Byleth nodded. “The idea came from the Board of the Fhirdiad National Museum of Unification who is funding him. They want it to be an educational experience too to give students some practical hands-on training.” She paused, pursing her lips. “I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about this until the application is finalized.”

“Application?” Claude inquired, a gleam in his green eyes that was equal parts interest and mischief.

Byleth sighed. “Students in Archaeology 356 class will have the opportunity to apply for the eight spots as student researchers.” She lifted a finger and jabbed it towards Claude. “You are not supposed to know this information yet, so you are absolutely not allowed to say anything to anyone until the application is released.”

Claude grinned. “Won’t tell a soul,” he promised. “Why did you tell me, if I can ask?”

Byleth honestly didn’t know. “You’re passionate,” she said. “You’re interested in history and archaeology and I know you’ll be applying anyways.” She studied his face before adding, “and you remind me of myself when I was in undergrad. I wanted to learn everything that I could and I was just so damn curious that Seteth finally sat down with me and just handed me a brochure for the graduate program and didn’t let me leave until I committed to applying to it. I see the same spark in you.”

Claude’s lips twitched into a half-smirk. “The graduate program, hm? Is this a recruitment speech now?”

Byleth rolled her eyes. “No. This is me answering questions you had about my research and having a conversation with a peer that I share interests with.”

Claude nodded. “Fair enough, although, I will admit, I haven’t asked many questions today.”

Byleth frowned. “You still have questions?”

“Sure, plenty,” Claude answered. He glanced at the watch on his wrist and gave a faint smile. “More than I have time to ask, unfortunately.”

Byleth sighed. “Well, honestly, this wasn’t entirely unpleasant. I’m usually here Wednesdays and Thursdays after 4 doing reading or work.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“It’s an open comment,” she refuted. “I’m still your TA.”

Claude shrugged. “Peers with similar interest,” he parroted her earlier phrase. He drank the last of his tea and set his empty mug on the table. “It’s been a pleasure, Teach. I’ll see you next week.”

Byleth watched him lift his backpack up and walk out of Anna’s, pulling his phone out to make a call as he went. He left her with no context for his farewell. She had no idea whether he meant he would see her Monday in lecture, Tuesday in tutorial, or Wednesday or Thursday in the café. It was a fitting ‘Claude’ reply and Byleth now understood Edelgard and Dimitri’s warnings and apologies about their friend.

Byleth sipped at her tea again, but the chamomile tasted more bitter than it had previously. She could still taste the lingering, strangely-familiar Almyran Pine when she swallowed and she frowned, looking at the door to the café.

- ~ - ~ - ~ -

Garreg Mach Monastery - 7 Ethereal Moon, Unification Year

Byleth was in the garden on the third floor of the monastery when Seteth found her. She heard him coming and turned around as he approached. She gave him a small smile as he bowed respectfully.

“Your Grace, I was hoping I might have a moment of your time,” Seteth said. He gave a cursory glance toward the entrance back to the monastery where Cyril was standing guard.

Byleth gestured for Cyril to head inside. “Give us a few minutes, would you?”

“Of course, Lady Byleth,” he said, immediately turning and heading inside, leaving Byleth and Seteth alone under the moonlight.

“What can I help you with Seteth?” Byleth asked curiously, turning her full attention back to her advisor.

“You have grown into your role beautifully, Your Grace,” Seteth said instead, seemingly disregarding the question.

Byleth pressed her lips together and nodded. Many of the Archbishop’s duties she had already been carrying out before her official ascension to the position, so in reality, she hadn’t really taken upon that much more in the last few weeks. Most notably, it just seemed to limit the amount of time she was able to spend training.

“You’re not here to compliment me on the role I have been groomed for, Seteth,” Byleth pointed out.

He paused, but then he nodded. “Fair enough.” Seteth looked up, squinting at the moon where it hung in the sky. “I assume you remember what I told you that day, back at the monastery.”

Byleth’s eyebrows rose and she bit her tongue. This had not been the direction she had expected Seteth to take this conversation. “I do,” she agreed.

Seteth looked back at her and gestured to one of the benches on the terrace. “I did not tell you everything, nor did I explain the things I did tell you well enough. I gather you have figured out that I am one of the Nabateans, and that Flayn, despite her mortal mother, has taken after me.”

Seteth paused to let her process and things started to slide more concretely into place in her mind. Seteth and Flayn had Nabatean heritage and since Rhea herself was supposedly Seiros–her brain short-circuited. “Seteth,” she breathed. “How old are you?”

He chuckled lightly. “Don’t you know you should never ask people their age?” Byleth levelled him with a stare and she watched his eyes take on a far-off look. “I am from the old era,” Seteth finally admitted. “Flayn and I had been with Rhea for a very long time.”

He fell silent together and Byleth studied his profile. Something clicked in the back of her mind and Byleth put it together. “Cichol. You’re Cichol.”

“And Flayn is Cethleann, yes. Macuil grew disgusted with humans and conflict and he isolated himself away from it all. Indech hid away as well, taking on the mythos of a great protector. Flayn and I changed our names and moved around. After the fire at Garreg Mach where your father left with you when you were a baby, Rhea called us to the monastery. She always believed you were alive, even when Jeralt said you had perished. I supposed she could feel the Crest Stone inside you.”

Byleth held up a hand to get him to stop. “If she knew all this time, why did she let Jeralt take me in the first place. Wasn’t I her means to an end?”

“At first, Rhea searched for you and your father, but Jeralt knew Rhea well enough by this point and he knew how to hide from her. I suppose then that she knew she couldn’t keep looking for your without tipping Jeralt off and causing him to go deeper underground, so she waited for the right opportunity.”

“In Remire Village, when I first met Dimitri and Edelgard and Claude, did she have anything to do with that?”

Seteth shook his head. “As far as I have discovered, the bandit attack that drove them to Remire Village was actually orchestrated by Edelgard in an attempt to remove the heads of the other houses. Your mercenary group being there was probably a happy accident and a massive wrench in her plan.”

Byleth nodded. It made sense. As twisted as it was for Edelgard to attempt to assassinate Dimitri and Claude, it unfortunately aligned with the in-depth plan that Edelgard had created in order to orchestrate the war against the church. “So you and Flayn are Nabateans by blood and Rhea is Seiros, the last surviving child of Sothis. I don’t understand why you’re telling me all of this right now,” Byleth confessed. She touched her engagement ring and bit her lip.

Seteth sighed. “Byleth, I have to admit, Flayn and I have been looking into all of this for some time and I didn’t know when it would be important for you to have this information. Everything that happened with you and merging with Sothis, surely you have noticed something about yourself?”

Byleth touched her hair as Seteth spoke. Sometimes when she woke up in the morning, the green of it was still startling to her. The changes that Sothis’s power had bestowed on her body had made her different, obviously, but the changes had all been sudden: her hair, her eyes, and the spiking power that had coursed through her veins. “What do you mean?” she asked quietly.

“We are unsure of anything right now,” Seteth admitted, “but there is a good chance that your merging with the goddess has changed you, Byleth, from a mortal with a Crest Stone for a heart, to something else entirely.”

Byleth leaned away from Seteth, recoiling in surprise. “Are you saying I am immortal?”

“I have no idea,” Seteth confessed. “It is a possibility. Flayn and I have established two possibilities for what happened to you: either your body accepted Sothis’s power cleanly thanks to the Crest Stone and you will take on her immortality, or,” he paused, grimacing slightly.

“Or what, Seteth,” Byleth prompted, feeling a cold fear creep through her veins.

“Or the Crest Stone has acted as a conduit to Sothis’s power, allowing you to wield it as long as you have strength. There is a chance that the goddess’s power has corrupted your mortality entirely and,” he trailed off, looking almost ill.

Byleth stood up from the bench and took a few steps away, her head spinning. “And it’s consuming me from the inside,” she murmured, completing Seteth’s explanation. She turned to face him and saw the pain in his eyes. “You’re saying that the power could either make me immortal or kill me and we have no way of knowing which one until one or the other happens.”

Byleth buried her face in her hands and shook her head. “I’m getting married tomorrow!” She snapped her head up and glared at Seteth. “Why did you tell me this now?”

Seteth sighed and Byleth noted that for the first time since she’d known him, he looked defeated and completely bone-tired. “Because you deserved to know all of this the moment I discovered it and because your life no longer affects only you now. I wanted you to have this information so that you could make the decision to tell Dimitri. I am sorry, Byleth. I wish I had more answers for you.”

Tears stung in her eyes and she wiped them away angrily. “So I am supposed to just tell my fiancé that I might either die suddenly or outlive him by thousands of years right before we pledge ourselves to each other and expect him to just accept that?”

“You are supposed to decide when and if you tell him,” Seteth corrected gently. “The information is yours now and I promise you that Flayn and I will continue to work on this to try and find more answers.”

Byleth’s shoulders trembled. “I don’t want answers, I just want all of this to stop!” she cried out. Her knees felt dangerously weak and she lowered herself to the stone floor of the terrace and stared up at the sky.

The moon and the stars blurred behind her tears. Byleth twisted her hands together and felt them warm up with white magic. The healing power didn’t sink into her because, of course, she had no physical injuries, so she let the Recover spell fizzle into nothingness. Even after the magic had physically dispelled, Byleth could still feel the lingering warmth of its power in her veins, a feeling similar to that invoked by the Sublime Creator Sword when she wielded it.

“Where is Rhea?” Byleth asked. She wiped away the lingering tears in her eyes and stood back to her feet. She turned back to face Seteth and lifted her chin up with what confidence she could muster. “Would she know?”

“Rhea did not see fit to tell any of us where she would be going once she left the monastery,” Seteth began.

“Seteth,” Byleth cut off sharply. “Would she know?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Rhea spent a long time trying to,” he winced, “create you, but I don’t think anything about how it happened was according to her plan. Implanting the Crest Stone in you was clearly not something she had intended to do, but I don’t know if she knew what it would lead to.”

Byleth nodded slowly and rubbed at her arms nervously. “Okay,” she said softly. The information was still whirring in her brain and she had no idea how she was supposed to be feeling or how she was supposed to react. Mostly, she was still afraid to tell Dimitri. They were supposed to wed tomorrow and she hadn’t the slightest idea what to tell him, if anything at all.

“I am sorry to spring this on you, Byleth,” Seteth said again.

Byleth exhaled slowly. “I know.”

She didn’t know what she would have done next, but Cyril reappeared in the doorway of the monastery and she instead wiped her face quickly and straightened up. This was not the time for the leader of the church to come across as weak or divided on anything.

“Cyril?” she called to him. Seteth turned, noticing their visitor.

“Your Grace, Seteth, there is important news,” Cyril said.

“News?” Byleth frowned, walking towards her friend. “What happened?”

Cyril looked like he was trying to hide a smile. “There’s someone here to see you, Your Grace.”

Now Byleth knew she looked as confused as she felt. “Wait, what? Everyone who was coming to the wedding should have been here yesterday or earlier. Who’s here?”

“You ought to come see for yourself. They’re in the main hall with Dimitri and the others.”

Byleth sighed and stepped past Cyril. She would take up this conversation with Seteth again later, but for now, she was just incredibly curious about who was showing up at the monastery the night before her wedding to the King of Fódlan. She made her way quickly down to the first floor. Seteth followed her a few paces back and Byleth led the charge through the reception hall towards the entrance hall.

She entered the hall and walked towards the main monastery gates. She could hear familiar voices–Flayn, Dimitri, Ingrid, Annette–and she hurried forward so she could see down the stairs. The first person she saw was, of course, the large frame of Dimitri, but then she saw who was beside him and her jaw dropped.

Claude von Riegan stood next to Dimitri, arms folded and a smirk on his face. He was wearing the armour of a wyvern rider and he seemed to have lost all of the regalia he had previously adorned as the leader of the Alliance.

Seteth had stopped next to her at the top of the stairs and Byleth could feel the ripples of surprise coming off of him that were similar to her own shock. Byleth stepped down one stair and then another, still looking between Dimitri and Claude. The last time she had seen Claude had been in Derdriu when he had ceded the Alliance to Dimitri and announced his intentions to leave Fódlan. She had no idea what he was doing here.

Though she hadn’t led the Golden Deer during their time at the Academy, Byleth had always enjoyed Claude’s company. He had been clever and snarky and just distrusting of the church enough that her father had liked him too. He was an excellent shot with a bow and he was a brilliant tactician, skills Byleth definitely commended. She felt almost affronted that he would choose the day before her wedding to miraculously drop out of the sky.

Her shock faded and her annoyance and anger replaced it and she descended the rest of the stairs quickly. She approached the group of her friends and Annette barely had time to notice her before Byleth was cutting in front of Dimitri and grabbing Claude by the collar of his armour.

“Claude von Riegan, what in the goddess’s name are you doing here?” Byleth demanded.

Claude had tensed as soon as she had grabbed him, but he relaxed when he noted that it was Byleth who had assaulted him and that she didn’t truly look angry, more annoyed. Dimitri stepped closer to Byleth and gently tugged her hand away from Claude’s neck. Byleth resisted for a moment before she dropped her hand with a huff. Dimitri let his hand curl around hers, partially out of affection and partially to make sure she didn’t accost Claude again.

Claude chuckled lightly and straightened his armour. “Hey, Teach, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Byleth narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here?” she repeated.

Claude smirked. “Well, when I heard that the King of Fódlan was getting married to the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros, I knew that I couldn’t miss my chance to stop by and give you my best wishes. Surely you’ll be able to find a seat for me at the ceremony tomorrow?”

Byleth pursed her lips. There was something fishy about his explanation–some edge to the words that hid their real meaning. It was a tone of voice she was familiar with from Claude’s time as her student. The wedding was only an excuse for him because he definitely had some sort of ulterior motive.

Dimitri didn’t seem to share her observation because he laughed. “Don’t worry Claude, we won’t turn you back out into the cold. We’ll find you a seat if you tell us where you’ve been this past half-year.”

Claude’s lips twitched. “It’s kind of a long explanation for the night before such a big day.”

Byleth folded her arms and levelled an even stare at the former Alliance leader. “You’re not weaselling out of this one.”

Claude held up his hands. “Alright, alright, but surely we can find somewhere to sit first?”

[shimyereh]

Se non è vero, è ben trovato. [If not true, it’s at least well-conceived.] Chekalinsky says this in the opening scene of Tchaikovsky’s Queen of Spades, in response to Tomsky’s exposition aria about the old countess and the mystery of the three cards.

(In the novella, Chekalinsky does not say this. He is not even in the scene where Tomsky tells the story. And Tomsky tells the story in a different setting.)

I find myself thinking a lot about storytelling lately, in relation to multiple aspects of my project. How was Onegin constructed, what bits of reality are reflected in it, how do the characters in it engage with what they read? And also: what can I learn about Pushkin himself from the stories his contemporaries felt compelled to tell in various memoirs, especially after his death? There are things I’ve read, where my reaction was absolutely: Se non è vero, è ben trovato. (And then I translate my favorite excerpts, and jot down my reservations in the footnotes. Because there’s something satisfying about a tale well-told, and even contradictory accounts give insight into what kind of an impression he made on the people who knew him.)

The Russian operas I’ve been watching over the past few months have me thinking about storytelling in some other ways. Why do I find some stagings so much more effective than others? Why are there some reinterpretations of the material I enthusiastically accept, while others put me off completely?

Every production I’ve watched is a story that has passed through several layers of storytelling. I charted them out on a timeline, and found a range of periods of Russian history represented, from Prince Igor in the late 12th century, to Onegin in the early 1820s. None were composed contemporary to their period, and all are adapted from works of literature.

I definitely have a weakness for seeing things set in the original period: I like to see the original world of the source material explored on its own terms. This is why Stepanyuk’s productions at the Mariinsky (Onegin, Queen of Spades) really appealed to me: original setting, but with details reimagined. (I saw rehearsal footage where he mentioned reading Lotman’s commentary to the cast of his Onegin, to make sure they understood the culture of the time and place they were portraying. YES.)

If you adhere too closely to tradition, there’s a risk of things feeling stiff. “Museum piece” theater can be aesthetically appealing, but emotionally cold. I don’t think I’ve seen anything that properly counts as a “museum piece” here. Maybe the Mariinsky Khovanshchina, but the lead voices were so strong and the setting so rich… and the music is so inherently powerful, it didn’t leave me cold.

I’ve seen a lot more on the “concept production” side of the spectrum. The two Tcherniakov productions I’ve seen (Prince Igor at the Met, Sadko at the Bolshoi) had concepts that really worked for me. His Igor was visually updated to the 20th century, but the setting somehow managed to feel both ancient and modern at the same time, almost an alternate history flavor. The uniforms had very neutral insignia, and Yaroslavna’s dress evoked older styles while still being modern. Tcherniakov used the updated setting to make some powerful commentary on the horrors of war. I can enjoy the spectacle of a more traditional Igor, but this production moved me in surprising ways and changed how I perceive parts of the score. His Sadko added layers of meta to the story that also caught me by surprise. Again, a lot of the traditional spectacle was missing, but the production was visually interesting in new ways, and gave me plenty to think about.

So why do I have such an immediate dislike of nearly every “concept” Onegin I’ve come across? There are always things that read as wrong, and I can’t get past it. My immediate response is always: set it in the 1820s, you cowards! Maybe it’s that I’ve done so much research into this material, and am hyper-aware of all the details that don’t quite line up when you superficially modernize it. I’m sure some of it is personal aesthetics, too: I want an excuse to see the fashions of that period onstage!

Then again, Onegin isn’t the only opera that’s somewhat time-locked for me. I inherently dislike the idea of seeing Prokofiev’s War and Peace modernized, too. (Which is, unfortunately, something I have come across before.) But there are very specific historical events in that one. Napoleon, Kutuzov, and Tsar Aleksandr I are onstage characters, for goodness’ sakes! My local Shakespeare company once put on a (translated) production of Gogol’s Government Inspector, set somewhere in the Soviet era. It was well-acted, but it made no sense. There’s a scene where characters drink a toast to the Tsar! Someone claims to be friends with Pushkin, and other characters believe him! That means we are no later than the 1830s. If you’re going to modernize, you have to look at the text and deal with these kinds of things in intelligent ways.

I guess I’m figuring out some of the limits of where I’m willing to accept something that non è vero as still potentially ben trovato.

[anenglishmansinamorata]

SFW APH England Headcanons (Arthur Kirkland)

Author’s Notes: Another uneeded list of HCs for our beloved England (Arthur Kirkland). I may be posting another list in the near future. Any how, please do enjoy~

Before Arthur decides to pursue a relationship, he takes time to reflect on what he wants considering that he doesn't like to rush into things. After all, getting into a relationship isn't a game.

Arthur is initially the depiction of a classic textbook gentleman who would most likely open doors for you, pay for both your drinks/food/items, brings you flowers (either roses or freesias), and walks/drives you home after a date.

The Englishman doesn't kiss on the first date, or the second, or the third. He claims that its because he respects your personal space and kissing you out of the blue isn't something that a gentleman such as himself would do. You eventually found out that the poor man had been so nervous that he couldn't bring himself to kiss you.

The first date took place in a nearby café and tea shop with both of you being quite awkward but after a few minutes, the conversation began to pick up the pace.Surprisingly, you two chatted about current events, your favourite literature pieces, hobbies and mundane things. In the end, the Brit's dry and sarcastic humour made you laugh and you couldn't help but be charmed by him. 

The following dates would you usually start with meeting each other before walking to a destination like quiet museums, outdoor gardens, or busy street markets. Neither of you would notice how time would fly when the two of you spent time together. When the dates would come to an end, both of you would shyly give each other a wave as you both say your goodbyes.

For the duration of your relationship, Arthur is a bit of a Tsundere and doesn't fully express himself that is until he becomes much more comfortable later on.

Arthur is busy most of the time because of his job and may not look like the part but he is secretly a romantic at heart and puts great effort into planning these dates.

His pet names for you consist of 'Love', 'Poppet', 'Dearest' and 'Darling'. On the other hand, you affectionately also call him the same terms but with the addition of 'Eyebrows'.

The Brit isn't the most vocal nor does he often initiate physical acts of affection in public. The farthest that he would go is giving you a chaste peck in the corner of your lips, wrapping an arm around you with his hand on your waist, and holding your hand.

The most memorable date had been when he brought you to the Greenwich Observatory to stargaze. He had laid down his jacket as a makeshift blanket and you two lied beside each other, silently appreciating the night sky. When he realized that you were feeling chilly he shyly mumbled that you move closer to him to keep warm, all the while turning his head away to hide his blushing visage. When both of you were on the way to his car, you silently slipped your hand into his own only to be reciprocated with a soft squeeze of his calloused hand. When he dropped you off, Arthur had accompanied you to your door and reached over to take hold of your hand. The blonde gave you a faint but charming smile before pressing a chaste kiss against your knuckles and bidding you a good night. You couldn't sleep a wink that night because you kept replaying that magical moment in your mind.

There would be constant meetings between the two of you, some planned and others just accidentally running into each other. It didn't matter when or where you two would meet because, in the end, the two of you would end up having dinner at either yours or his place.

The first time that Arthur had ever tried to cook dinner for the both of you, it had been a disaster. You had arrived at his home and immediately left your things in a hurry when you heard the smoke alarm and saw black smoke coming from the kitchen. Thankfully, the only thing that was damaged that night was the Englishman's wounded pride.

Arthur had been the one to first voice his love for you. At this point, you were both quite comfortable with each other and it just came naturally to him. After a few minutes of trying to persuade the Englishman, the two of you had ended up comfortably cuddling on the couch while reading 'Pride and Prejudice' together. You had invited him to voice the lines of the male characters while you both narrated and voice the female characters. You had been so focused on his soothing voice and finally took your eyes off the novel only to be met with his determined gaze as he spoke."In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire…and love you." You couldn't help but feel a smile from breaking out as you leaned into his figure to whisper a 'Thank you' and an 'I love you too'.

Contrary to popular belief, Arthur was a dreadful cook but he was an exceptional baker. He sometimes uses this excuse to come to visit you at your place but after the second impromptu visit, you handed him a spare key to your flat and told him that he should make himself at home.

Arthur gets up earlier by a few minutes from you but takes a bit longer from him to wake up. He tries to tame his messy hair by running his hand through his blonde tresses but the wind usually messes it back up again.

The first time you went on vacation together was to Cornwall, England. It had been a mild summer day and the two of you took a quaint boat ride whilst admiring the scenic view of the historic homes and landmarks by the river. In the evening, both of you had dinner at a restaurant near the beach docks where you walk hand in hand on your way back to the hotel. 

Arthur tries not to get jealous when you meet or spend time with others too much. Of course, he would give you all the space you need but he can get a little bit lonely. He does cherish your time together and tries not to be too clingy but his furrowed brows and soft grumbling under his breath gives it away.

Gardening is one of Englishman's hobbies and there had been instances where he tried to involve you in it as well--You were eager to learn of course. He gave up after a few times you had overfertilized and overwatered a small patch of geraniums, effectively killing and leaving a bald patch in his garden.

The first kiss you two shared was when you two went to watch a play. You had taken the initiative this time and playfully proposed that if the lights were lowered, you two should kiss. Arthur had looked quite embarrassed but grumbled some sort of compliance to humor you. And when the lights lowered, neither of you knew who kissed who first because both of you bumped noses multiple times before actually finding each other’s lips in the dark.

Arthur's most preferred beverage is a cup of steaming Earl Grey but he is not averse to having the occasional whiskey or beer but rarely a glass of wine. This explains as to why the blond has a rather low tolerance to alcohol and has a tendency to become a melancholic and sentimental drunk.

Fights between the two of you are passionate and both your mouths tend to run until both of you are out of insults. You tend to leave the house to cool off while Arthur tends to sulk in either his study or the living room. It takes a few hours before the two of you acknowledge each other and patch things up with each other.

There are times when the Brit would rope you in some of his antics or pranks when it involved either Francis or Alfred. Seeing how much fun he was having and the bright smile on Arthur's face was worth the trouble.

Both you and Arthur had bought multiple gifts for each other but your most treasured items had been all the romantic handwritten notes that he had sent you so far. On the other hand, Arthur's most prized possession was a set of expensive cufflinks that you had given him on his birthday and he only wears it during important events or when he needs a confidence boost. 

[theliterarywolf]

So... Let's talk about Hetalia. Controversies, Specifically.

Tagging @apply-force-too-begin since they’re the one who was interested.

Hetalia was one of my first big fandoms outside of 'The Big Three' anime (Naruto, Bleach, One Piece) and outside of video games (mostly whatever wee babby weeaboo me could get on the Gamecube).

And, you know what? It's a dumb, silly anime about stereotypes, poking fun at the absurdities of History, and one's relationships with clashing cultures. It's dumb... But, remember, we all need our daily thirty minutes of dumb. And some of the characters are cute.

And, you know what? Most of the most engaging aspects of the fandom were those who used the initial shallow splash of history that the anime gave them to actually research and make engaging, well-written, culturally-sensitive content.

Of course, I'm not going to ignore how... Over-the-top some members of the fandom have been. We've seen how, whenever recent political conflict or natural disaster have occurred, we have to remind younger members of the Hetalia fandom to not cutsiefy it with the Hetalia characters. Examples that come to mind are: when the conflict between Russia and Ukraine was surging up, kids kept trying to draw art of 'Russia just wants his big sister back~!', and the last major earthquake that hit Japan that had people making fanart of the Japan character which, while some was tasteful and was meant to bring awareness and donations for Disaster Relief, not... all of it was...

Hell, that’s not even bringing into account the last time I went to Anime Expo (way back during Hetalia’s hayday), I was walking around and saw a bunch of Russia and Baltic State cosplayers being interviewed by the news and the one dressed up in a USSR uniform was holding up a Communist flag and shouting ‘Whoo! SOVIET TAKEOVER!!’

However, one thing that I have noticed, while researching for this write-up, was this:

Most of the controversies and pieces of fandom-wank that have surrounded Hetalia and its fandom... Aside from one instance... Are the results of the Western-fandom and Western-localization of the anime  via Funimation.

Aside from one... Most of the issues surrounding Hetalia are due to the West and not even the source media in of itself.

So, with that in mind, let's talk about the main controversies of both Hetalia and its fanbase.

Controversy 1 – The South Korea Controversy/Protests

As I recently answered a question about this, so I'll just pull that answer for this segment:

'To summarize it: there’s a Hetalia character meant to represent South Korea. As every Hetalia character has a gag related to them (America gorges himself on fast food and constantly proclaims himself to be the Hero, Italy is cowardly, Germany is constantly angry, China constantly builds Chinatowns wherever he goes and sells bootleg merchandise, etc), so did S. Korea.

His gag was calling all the other Asian countries ‘big brother’ as well as groping the chests of male characters (China and Japan mostly), proclaiming ‘these mountains belong to South Korea, da ze!’

Of course, people would draw pictures of S. Korea doing his thing but one day during a meeting between a bunch of South Korean politicians and representatives, someone brought out a piece of fanart that depicted S. Korea groping Japan’s chest with the latter looking embarrassed and what not.

They interpreted the character as being an offensive, lecherous stereotype that was somehow belittling S. Korea’s worth as a country.

There were a bunch of small protests until, finally, Himaruya Hidekazu (the creator of Hetalia) just decided to say “you know what? Fine! I’m not getting rid of the character but he’ll never appear in the anime adaptation, okay?!’

So… Yeah! Fun times…'

Magnitude of Controversy – MAJOR

Like... In what universe is 'this meme hurt my feewings, we need to take VALUABLE TIME DURING GOVERNMENT FORUMS to talk about it RATHER THAN OTHER PRESSING ISSUES' a good response? And the fact that people took to the streets to protest? Come on, guys! There's so much more to worry about in this world...

Controversy 2 – Emperor Heliogabalus and Himaruya's 'Transgender Erasure'

There was a section of time where Himaruya Hidekazu, rather than focusing on the nation characters of the series, made chapters and updates about certain historical figures. They were all done for laughs while interspersing various bits of trivia and facts about them.

One of these updates centered around the Roman emperor Heliogabalus (or 'Elagabalus'). And this is where certain portions of this hellsite got soooooo upset...

You see, Himaruya titled the update centered on Heliogabalus as 'The Emperor Who Tried to Live as a Woman... Even Though He Was Really a Guy'.

Almost immediately people were typing up callout posts about how 'transphobic' Himaruya was for the title and 'how dare he misgender my precious trans baby~!' or 'this just goes to show how ignorant Japanese people are to Western history' and so many more, all because Himaruya didn't use out-and-out female pronouns for Heliogabalus.

Now. Mm, two things!

One! This was during the time when Himaruya had an open blog where, not only did he post pictures and updates about where in the world he was traveling and what he was researching, but it also had an inbox that was open for people to send insight to him.

So, if people were really incensed by this, you would think that they would use such a means to let a creator know 'hey, this is kind of problematic; can you edit it to show this information', right?

Right?

NO ONE tried to inform Himaruya of their upset; they literally didn't want an answer, they just wanted to be upset!

But, here's the kicker: the guy that all of these people were stanning for? Emperor Heliogabalus?

WASN'T FUCKING TRANS!!

The real Heliogabalus was a sadistic little shit who was connivingly put on the throne by his mother via a bunch of espionage and assassinations... Who, as thanks, had his own mother murdered once he was emperor. Other wonderful exploits of this 'icon' that tumblr kids decided to stan was:

Getting politicians and countrymen drunk and then, while they were passed out, brought in lions to kill and eat them

Deciding 'fuck Jupiter, Helios is my husbando – We're all going to worship him now!'

Completely wrecking Rome's monetary system

Promising favors to his lovers (whom he called his 'husbands' despite not making anything official) that strictly contradicted favors to his other lovers

And just generally being a hot mess

So... why were tumblr children so insistent on him being a transgender woman?

You ready for this?

Okay.

Because he occaisionally dressed in women's clothing and called his male lovers his 'husbands'.

Yeah.

One of the earliest case of tumblr children trying to ruin someone's life because they didn't follow their headcanons.

Magnitude of Controversy – Honestly, this was just fandom-wank. But it was one of the earlier instances of fandom brats using serious terms (transphobia) to justify being upset at a creator not following their headcanons.

Controversy 3 – The Passover Photoshoot

…

…

I'm sorry, just...

Everytime I remember or have to go over this one, I have to stop and reflect; maybe grab a drink.

…

Okay.

So, pretty early into the Western reaches of the Hetalia fandom, a group of friends and Hetalia fans decided to meet up together at a mall for a cosplay photoshoot.

Okay. Cool. Fine.

They were all dressed up as their favorite characters from the series! Germany, Austria, Hungary, P-Prussia, Holy... Roman Empire...

Ahem. Okay. Cool. Fine.

So, they get to the mall and start taking pictures. But then someone in the group gets the amazing idea for everyone to do certain poses.

I... You know, why did I start this, I could have just not done thi--

Nazi salutes. You had a bunch of dumb kids dressed up as Germanic nations. Performing Nazi salutes and shouting 'Heil Hitler'.

Now, as bad as this was... you could have just drawn it out as shitty edgelord humor; we still have plenty of that going on today.

H-however. There were two factors that made this photoshoot 50 Shades of Tasteless.

Number one. This photoshoot took place during Passover.

And number two. The mall that this photoshoot took place at...

WAS JUST A HOP, SKIP, AND A JUMP FROM THE UNITED STATES HOLOCAUST MUSEUM!!!

This is the one, THE ONE, instance where, anytime someone talks about 'lol, young Hetalia fans are so cringey', this is what pops into my head.

Those of us older members of the fandom can never fucking forget this. Yeah, the perpetrators were called out; yeah, they learned their lessons, yeah it opened up a conversation about appropriate behavior in fandom. But this one event will always remain as the big 'Ooh, baby, nooooo! What are you doing?!' moment in the fandom.

Even moreso than what the current batch of hatedum is about.

Magnitude of Controversy – Huge. The South Korea controversy was discussed on a governmental scale, but the Passover Photoshoot is what remains as the biggest mark on the fandom.

Controversy 4 - FUCKING FUNIMATION!!

Okay, I... 

This one is so infuriating because it’s the result of Funimation just not giving a DAMN.

So, Hetalia got popular enough to be localized! Yay... And it was going to be handled by Funimation. Yay... They do quality work... Sometimes.

*kicks the Black Butler dub into the sun*

So, they dubbed Hetalia. And, you know what? So many questionable decisions went into this fucking dub. 

You have Vic Mignogna! You! *clap* Have! *clap* Vic! *clap* Mignogna! You could have easily put him as one of the Axis characters or the Allied characters and you...

Don’t use him...

Until three seasons down the line...

And then you have him as Greece. 

A character who barely says anything.

... And this was WAY before the clusterfuck of KickVic, so they really had no excuse. 

Oh, also! For China, who is a main character, maybe we should have an actual voice-actor?

Pssh! Fuck that shit, let’s just have some random chick from accounting voice him. 

... They literally had some random-chick from accounting do an overly stereotypical Chinese accent and said ‘yeah, that’s fine; print!’

And she gave us such... wonderful line-reads as: during the Hetalia movie Paint It, White! --

“SUCK BALLS! I knew za fortune cookie today was bad ruck~!”

But as bad as the dub got sometimes (Oh God, I’m having war flashbacks of Russia...), the exchange from the dub that people constantly point to as ‘see! This show was antisemitic all along!’ were these: 

Exchange 1 - 

S. Italy/Romano - ‘Hey asshole, I have a surprise for you~!’

Germany - ‘What is it? Another Jew?’

And, you know what? As asinine and idiotic as that brief exchange was... 

IT WASN’T IN THE ORIGINAL MATERIAL!

Funimation, in their infinite wisdom, wrote that in and thought ‘yeah, that’s fine; print!’

So, there goes another issue of ‘problem that only existed because of the idiocy of a Western presence’.

Magnitude of Controversy - Well, people are still talking about it, despite it literally being because of Funimation’s laziness, so...

'Controversy' 5 – The Civil War fanart

So, this segment will be short because it doesn't even need to exist. But, you may have noticed an upsurge in people hating on the series again; even going so far as to raid Discord servers for fans of the series with gore.

Hell, I even scrolled past one person doing a 'call to arms' for people to spam any server that has to do with Hetalia as a big 'gotcha'.

And you wanna know where this fandom-wank started?

Someone on tumblr re-posted an old piece of... questionable chibi fanart of Confederate!America and Union!America. Union!America is hiding a slave woman behind him while shouting at Confederate!America to 'Pick your own damn cotton!'

(deep breath... okay)

And, while the art in of itself is... not great, the fact that it is an old piece of fanart and that someone posted it onto tumblr for the 'lol, look at this cringe' lolz, is what rallied some people to start shitting on fans of the show and raiding servers.

There also may have been some drama over on picrew by some teenage LGBT user lashing out at the whole 'stop spamming Picrew with gay shit' sentiment and then some edgelord over on this hellsite screencapping their game and talking about 'lol, of course it would be a cringey Hetalian to post some dumb shit like this; get off the site, queer' but, honestly, this last one, while being the reason why people are acting dumber than usual, is the most inconsequential.

Magnitude of the Controversy – It would be minimal at best, especially compared to the other ones in this write-up, but like I said, it does have some trickling into the current hatedumb.

So, yeah, here was my little write-up/mini-dive into the madness. You guys can let me know if you want more insight or if you have any questions, and I love you and buh-bye!

[classicdaisycalico]

For the ship writing thing... 5 with Luigi + Daisy?

send me a ship and one of these and i’ll write a mini fic

Hi I’m sorry about how appallingly late this is??? I had work in the middle of the day and I couldn’t finish it before my shift began so I worked on it some more after I got home and uhhhh here’s the finished product!

I set this a week after the events of “Super Mario Land”. Hope you like this!

5: “Things You Didn’t Say At All”

Flowers.

Daisy had long been used to receiving flowers as gifts of affection from wealthy young men that sought her out as a potential bride, often to the point where she sighed dismissively at the mere sight of a bouquet. More often than not, they contained mostly daisies, accompanied by the occasional folded-up letter hidden inside. Even the letters were annoying; time and again, her eyes glossed over every letter of every meaningless word detailing her “unparalleled beauty” as the Princess of Sarasaland. If she had to read yet another account of how “unabashedly lovestruck” another self-centered wealthy snob was after “seeing such a priceless gem”, she was going to vomit, without a doubt.

Was a pretty maid in a dress all these men...no, BOYS...ever saw her as? Would these chauvinistic CHILDREN only ever equate her to just another woman to parade around like some sort of prize? Most importantly, had it never occurred to them that there was more to a girl than just looks alone? Or had they been driven by other motives related to ruling her kingdom?

Tatanga definitely seemed to think so just last week.

She couldn’t help but laugh at their stupidity. Clearly, they knew nothing of Sarasaland’s matrilineal ruling system, which had been in place for centuries, long before the 4 kingdoms merged into the nation she knew today. It was the QUEEN who was at the helm of governance in her country, particularly due to an old magic that traced back to Easton’s first ruler, Flora. This magic, said to come from the stars themselves, granted its wielder “a deep connection to the earth”, that manifested itself in the creation and manipulation of plant life. It was also the reason why every queen since Flora had been named after a flower. Several historical accounts in the royal archives back home looked upon this ability with great reverence, equating this power with peace and prosperity. Needless to say, they believed it to be nothing short of spectacular.

Conversely, there was nothing spectacular about these people, foolish enough to believe they could subvert such a long-established tradition for their own personal gain. Like her ancestors before her, Daisy also possessed this old magic, making her, firstborn daughter and only child of Queen Rose and King Edward, heir to her mother’s throne. Call it the prideful nature of the Sarasi citizens, but she knew such avarice and arrogance would be the downfall of anyone who sought to usurp her rightful place, especially Tatanga.

So one could imagine her surprise when Peach called her down to the main entrance of the castle early that morning for something left at the gate for her.

“Coming!”

While scurrying down from the guest room, she spotted her best friend at the foot of the staircase, a puzzled look on her face as she carried a strange, multicolored bundle in both of her hands. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

“It doesn’t look that way,” Peach said, violet eyes looking away from her friend, almost uncharacteristically. “One of my guards said someone left these for you. He couldn’t get a good idea on who, though...it must have been too dark to tell!”

The Princess of the Mushroom Kingdom then proceeded to hand the bundle over to Daisy, which the latter could now see as...yet another bouquet of flowers.

Yet, for some strange reason, rather than repulsion, something drew her to these flowers. Maybe it was the fact that it wasn’t a huge assortment of daisies, for once, but a tinier one with smaller flowers, instead. A single oxeye daisy was nestled in the middle of a careful arrangement of lilacs, pansies, primroses, dahlias, forget-me-nots, and one blue rose. Nestled in between the spaces in between were white clovers, and all were tied together with a little orange ribbon. Folded over the ribbon was a little piece of paper that dislodged itself, fluttering clumsily to the floor and opening face up. Bending over to pick it up, Daisy caught only a single word written in green ink that stood out amongst the blank white space of the paper.

Principessa.

A tiny grin made its way across her face. If the Italian word for “Princess” didn’t give it away, then the green ink certainly did a good enough job. It was probably a gift as thanks from a walk-turned-quasi-date from three days prior. She and Luigi had only met that morning, the latter looking to retrieve his lost hat from the castle grounds. After introducing themselves, they had walked through Toad Town together, getting to know one another. Their outing lasted far longer than expected, ending with watching the sun set over the Mushroom City skyline from a cliffside. Not only that, but he had taken it upon himself to walk her back to the castle, mustering up the courage to shyly kiss her hand underneath a starry sky just before they parted ways.

That green-clad, dark-haired plumber, with his warm brown eyes and timid smiles, never left her mind since. It seemed impossible to fall in love with someone upon first meeting, but apparently anything was possible after almost getting forcibly married to a powerful alien explorer. Besides, she recalled Luigi mentioning the same thing happening to his own parents.

Maybe the answer lay in the bouquet...

She peered closer at the flowers; there was definitely a meaning behind them. Nobody like this man could just throw a bunch of flowers together without putting some thought into it. Knowing what she learned about Luigi those three days ago, he was far more intelligent than that, In addition, she was almost certain he’d rather let his actions speak for him any opportunity he saw, seeing firsthand how shy he was.

Racking through her knowledge of plant symbolism, she started with the oxeye, a symbol of patience, and worked her way out from there. The forget-me-nots were obvious. The lilacs were purple, noting the feeling of first love. The pansies represented “lovers’ thoughts”, while the primroses stood for eternal love. The dahlias symbolized elegance and dignity, and the little white clovers held the meaning of “I promise.”

Lastly, her own green eyes focused on the blue rose for a good minute, her breath catching in her throat as she finally recalled its meaning.

Mystery. Attaining the impossible. Love at first sight.

He could have conveyed this all in the note, but instead he left it to the flowers to speak for him: “I will never forget you, if you don’t forget me. I promise to love you forever like I first loved you, no matter how long the wait.”

The princess felt her heart skip a beat. For all his talk of being afraid of most everything, the fact that she lived so far away did not seem to intimidate him at all. No ragamuffin noble of any caliber put such deep meaning into a bouquet the way this gentleman of a plumber did.

“Daisy, are you okay?”

Her head snapped up. She had been so engrossed in the flowers she forgot Peach was even here. “Do you have any idea who could have given these to you?”

The brunette picked the note up off the floor and gave it to her friend. “I think this should help you figure that out.” She giggled, and began making her way back upstairs. “Now excuse me while I find a good vase for these...”

Peach watched as her giddy best friend hurried away, and looked down at the note. Upon seeing the green ink, she smirked, almost knowingly. “I knew it.”

[thewoildis-yaerster]

Abusus Non Tollit Usum

Prologue

Description: David Jacobs finds himself put in a public high school after being homeschooled his entire life. What will happen when his guide just so happens to be a very familiar face? Will he get along with Jack Kelly's group of self-proclaimed "Newsies?" Will they start a revolution against the system?

Warning(s): Light swearing, mentions of transphobia.

i can't believe it's taken me this long to put this on tumblr. it's been on ao3 since last year. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

David Jacobs was sitting against a tree in the midst of a local forest, his phone pointed toward the sky as he searched for a good angle. He liked to take photographs to distract him from whatever was going on in his life. He usually just took photos of nature, but his favorite photos were the ones he took of old buildings and/or historical items. He loved to make up stories about the ones that had no known history. That was his thing. He loved history. He loved reading about events in the past and figuring out how they’ve repeated themselves over time. He loved finding out about people that had been in situations he’s been in. He loved-

“Ah!” David squealed and accidentally threw his phone. He had moved it to a certain angle and saw a boy standing there looking down at him.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!” The boy chuckled. He walked over to David’s phone and picked it up for him. “Woah, these are pretty good. You like taking pictures?” He started scrolling through the photos David had just taken as he walked back over.

“Yeah. You like snooping through other people’s things?” He snatched his phone away, closed out the app, then put his phone in his pocket.

The boy’s eyes widened slightly. “I’m sorry. I-I just saw the photo and-” His smile went away and he cut himself off, then he focused his gaze on the ground.

David huffed. “It’s fine.” They stood in silence until David stuck his hand out in front of him. “I’m David.”

The smile came back as he shook David’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Davey. The name’s Jack Kelly.”

“Nice to meet you as well, Jack. What are you doing here, may I ask? I’ve never really seen anyone else around here before.”

“Oh! I like to paint. It helps me relax and it gives me a distraction from all of the bullshit going on in my life.”

David smiled. “That’s funny. Photography does the same for me.”

“Hey! How about we tell each other about our bullshit and see if we can do anything to help each other?”

“We just met.”

“So? I bet you five bucks you haven’t told anyone about what’s going on.”

“…I’m not giving you five dollars.”

“See! C’mon. I’ll even go first if it makes you feel more comfortable.” Jack sat down and leaned against a tree across from the one David was beside earlier. David sighed and gave in, sitting beside his tree. “Alright! First off, you aren’t a transphobe, are you?”

“Oh, no. Definitely not.”

“Good. So, I’m trans. I haven’t exactly been hiding it, but some asshats at my school found out and they told everyone. All of my friends knew already, but a lot of people apparently didn’t. To make a long story short, people weren’t really nice to me last week. But, hey. It’s summer now. Fuck ‘em, right? Won’t have to see them until next year.”

David waited a few seconds to make sure he was finished. “I’m so sorry, Jack. That should never happen to anyone.”

“Eh, it’s alright. Everyone I trust and care about accepts me, and that’s what really matters. It just…kind of hurts. I don’t know. Anyway, your turn!”

“But-”

“Hey, we had a deal.”

“I know, but you-”

“Ah.”

“Jack-”

“Ah.”

“Would you just-”

“Ah.”

“Fine. I lost a friend earlier.”

“That isn’t good. How?”

“One of my friends moved away a few weeks ago and my boyfriend went with our other friend to go see him. Here, we’ll call them X, Y, and Z. X is the friend that moved away, Y is my boyfriend, and Z is the other friend. Well, we’re all in a group chat together and Y and Z sat there and planned a visit and didn’t even mention me. I would’ve understood if they couldn’t take me or if they didn’t have room or something like that, but no. They didn’t mention me. When I confronted them about it, Y was civilized and apologized. However, Z tried to lie and make up excuses. She tried to claim I was asleep and that Y texted my mother to wake me up. He didn’t. We showed her the proof, and she totally changed the topic, then tried to offer me financial assistance.”

“Hold on. Financial assistance?”

“She basically said that she would’ve given me money if I needed it. We were also supposed to hang out the day after they visited X, but I had too much homework and had to stay home. Of course, Z thought I was just making excuses and tried to accuse me of lying. My mother got involved at that point, and the entire thing was shut down. Next thing I knew, Z had unfriended me and blocked me. But, whatever, you know? She was full of drama and I don’t need that in my life.” David shrugged and picked at the grass.

“That was really shitty of them not to think about you, but you’re right. If she’s nothing but drama, then you don’t need her bringing you down.”

“I know. It still hurts a bit, though.”

“Yeah…hey! How about we become friends? We’ve both shared our issues with each other, we both have an interest in the visual arts, and, well, you need a friend you can trust. So, how about it?”

“I…sure. Why not?”

Jack smiled brightly and pulled a Sharpie out of his pocket. “Can I?” He gestured toward David’s hand.

“Go ahead.” Davey held out his hand. Jack lightly grabbed it and wrote something on David’s hand. When he released his hand, David saw that it was Jack’s number. “You could’ve just put it in my phone.”

“I like Sharpies.” Jack shrugged, still smiling. David returned the smile.