#and also go tell the author how hideously emotional you are because i want them to write more really good fic

[laurelnose]

after tedd deireádh...... i started crying after yens talk with triss and then cried the whole way through, including during the sex scenes. how dare you do this to me by recommending this fic. it hits too close to home.

FUCKING SAME ANON, i get to “Lambert...was caught in the cold” and start sniffling and i don’t stop crying until the very end. and oh my god the sex scenes

He tries to remember the way that Geralt looked at her. The light that glowed through him when she walked by, even when she was hurling commands or barely veiled insults.

Eskel can’t be Geralt. But like the fencing student copying his teacher’s movements until they become his own, Eskel can map Geralt’s love. This is how he looked at her—Eskel lets some mimicry of that into his eyes. This is how Geralt turned toward her, on that night ages and worlds ago in Kaer Morhen—Eskel lowers his body onto her body, cups the face with the ivory skin and the tender smile as if she has been his meaning all along. He reaches for the light that shone through Geralt at the sight of her and kisses her as if it’s his, too.

the entire world is buried in ice and it’s geralt who’s the face of this loss too big to even begin to process, yen and eskel orbiting each other around the enormity of one man’s absence, their entire relationship before this has been mediated by geralt and now there is no geralt and there is no anything else either,

and at first they’re just two desperately lonely and grieving people seeking comfort in the only place they can and then it’s not that anymore, it’s love, because even in the face of the apocalypse people will care for each other, they have to care for each other, there is nothing else, this is so important to me

[After Tedd Deireádh link]

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 10 second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Meta)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Unclean Realm

Lan Wangji has a Louis Henry Sullivan moment on seeing the Nie family home, becoming enraptured by its overwrought monumental architecture after a lifetime of restrained good taste and single-story buildings.

He approaches the fortress with the expression of delighted wonder that he usually reserves for when he’s looking at the moon or at Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian is like, yep that’s a building, all right, but he supports Lan Wangji’s kinks.  

Meng Yao tells them about the Wen Clan directive, and has what appears to be a moment of genuine, affectionate amusement at Nie Huaisang’s reaction.

Jiang Cheng kinda blames the Lans for inventing the whole “indoctrination” thing and for encouraging his brother’s disaster bi tendencies. Wei Wuxian responds by complimenting the Lan Clan, almost like someone who met his true love got some real value out of the instruction he received there.  

(more after the cut)

One of the great ironies of this story is that Wei Wuxian sort of becomes a rogue Lan disciple because of his relationship with Lan Wangji. He relies on Lan temperament techniques, uses music as a primary cultivation method, has committed all of the Lan rules to his supposedly terrible memory and cites them on multiple occasions, and is an important mentor for the younger generation Lan disciples. Because Hanguang-Jun is just that good in bed.

Xue Yang in the background of this conversation is channeling OP’s church-enduring, school-enduring inner 10-year-old.

Nie Mingjue, Chifeng-Zun, appears, and couldn’t be more different than his brother. On first watching this episode, I saw him as a grumpy, sexy, very emotional leather daddy man who is quick to anger. Rewatching, I see someone who’s struggling with a growing illness...the resentful energy kind.

Nie Mingjue’s handling of resentful energy is very different from Wei Wuxian’s straightforward interest and acceptance. NMJ has a traditional cultivator’s view of it, regarding it as evil and as something to resist, while he is literally carrying it on his back. He’s like a secret alcoholic who is preaching temperence, and can’t find a way to be reconciled with himself.  

At this point of the story, Nie Mingjue is keeping it together, but is under a hell of a lot of stress, and Baxia’s blood thirst is already maybe a problem.

The Yunmeng bros think that Nie Huaisang’s fear of his brother is hilarious, because they don’t understand the situation. They think he’s just living in a hideously toxic family dynamic like theirs, when actually he’s in a loving, sorta healthy, if parentless, family that is being crushed under a generational curse.

Compliments for the Yunmeng Bros

I’m not the first meta poster to notice how happy Jiang Cheng is to be praised by Nie Mingjue.

He never gets this at home. Jiang Yanli praises him, but in that watery “you tried your best” way that doesn’t really stick.  Nie Mingjue’s praise really means something, because he is a fearsome warrior and stern authority figure. And this is a double compliment, because Nie Mingjue says he heard it from Lan Xichen, and agrees with it.

Let’s Make Terrible Decisions

Keep Xue Yang alive, says Wei Wuxian, and Meng Yao immediately agrees, although I’m pretty sure he would have proposed that even if WWX hadn’t.

So they do, not realizing that “kill him later” is never a good plan for someone who 1. super needs killing 2. has a whole lot of death-dealing skills.

Future clan leader Jiang Cheng notices how smart and talented Meng Yao is.  Xue Yang finds it hilarious when the trio praises Meng Yao, possibly because their evil team up is already underway.

Boss’ Bed Warmer Son of a Ho

The constant insults toward Meng Yao are about his mom, but there’s another level of leering implication, that Meng Yao seems to encourage in his conversation with the soon-to-be-murdered guard captain.

Nie Mingjue elevated him way above his expectations, and he is ridiculously pretty, which has to create rumors. In the Nightless City scenes when he’s fondling Baxia and telling Nie Mingjue’s family secrets there’s definitely a sense of intimacy that’s not just “loyal retainer.”

I feel like maybe this whole exchange is a bit of theater designed to show Xue Yang something without showing it to anyone else. Meng Yao didn’t need to have this conversation in front of his prisoner.

Let’s Do Exactly What We Said We Wouldn’t

Once the younger quartet are alone with Nie Mingjue, Wei Wuxian crosses the room away from his friends and practically into Lan Wangji’s pocket, if Lan Wangji had pockets.

He has no pockets and also has no personal bubble any more, when it comes to Wei Wuxian.

We could make a weapon out of Yin Iron, Wei Wuxian says, completely forgetting his entire conversation with Lan Yi, apparently. Lan Wangji doesn’t argue with this idea.

Nie Mingjue warns Wei Wuxian not to try it.

I stabbed a man in Qinghe just to watch him die

Nie Mingjue is like the Johnny Cash of the cultivation world, carrying the weight of his poor choices and trying to steer the young folk to the path of righteousness. But--like Johnny Cash--his bad choices have made him really fucking cool, so he isn’t very good at deterring anybody.

Meng Yao Didn’t Come Here to Make Friends

Immediately after Meng Yao’s fellow Nie clan people call him “son of a whore” again, Wei Wuxian meets him, is nice to him, addresses him by his military title, bows to him, asks why he’s away from the party, and thanks him for his service.

But Meng Yao has already decided to make friends with Xue Yang, so Wei Wuxian goes onto his list of people that he doesn’t give a crap about except if they can be useful to him.  Then Meng Yao goes to make out hatch a plot with Xue Yang.

I’ll Sleep On Your Roof

Meeting SongXiao seems to have done away with the last of Lan Wangji’s resistance to his connection with Wei Wuxian.

He hears a noise on the roof and, when realizing it’s Wei Wuxian, he smiles one of his tiny reserved smiles before heading outside.

When he sees Wei Wuxian drunkenly sprawled on the roof, limbs akimbo, wine on his chin and neck, mouth full of poetry about the open road, Lan Wangji gives him the most fond look imaginable.

Then he reluctantly leaves, with his signature “say goodbye, but only when he can’t hear you” thing.

They’ve both come a really long way since their first meeting. Wei Wuxian is openly and vocally attaching himself to Lan Wangji...but is not actually entering his space or asking for anything from him; he just wants to be near him, and wants to let him know that. “I’ll sleep on your roof tonight.”

And Lan Wangji just...loves him. Wei Wuxian is drunk, embarrassing, demonstrative, eager to make a hell weapon out of yin iron, touchy feely, and absurdly sexy. And Lan Wangji is pretty okay with all of that.

I Might Have Been Drunk

Wei Wuxian carefully avoids telling Jiang Cheng where he was last night.

Even if he did get blackout drunk, he would have woken up on Lan Wangji’s roof. And I don’t think he was as drunk as that. He just knows Jiang Cheng wouldn’t like the truth.

Wen Fucking Chao, Again

Wen Chao shows up to be annoying and boring.  This leads to a pretty good fight between Nie Mingjue and Wen Zhuliu. Note that when the chips are down, Nie Huaisang stands with his Gege without any cowering. Almost as if he had hidden reserves of bravery, and is not as helpless as he lets on.

Wen Zhuliu isn’t styled to be super hot, although he’s certainly compelling, and in Dance of the Phoenix he looks good with sensitive-guy hair wispies. I wonder what actor Feng Mingjing looks like out of character?

BRB, adding a tag to my follow list

Battle Bros

When the fighting breaks out, the Yunmeng brothers are decisive and united, with Wei Wuxian giving orders to Jiang Cheng and JC following without hesitation.

I feel like if these two could have gone through a few big battles together, instead of being separated during most of the Sunshot campaign, their whole relationship would have improved. On the battlefield, they respect, trust, and understand each other.  

The Pointy End

Nie Mingjue is holding his own against Wen Zhuliu, but he gets distracted by Meng Yao hollering “Xue Yang has escaped” and then shanking the guard captain right in front of him.

Wen Zhuliu takes advantage of the distraction to aim a very slow stab at Nie Huasang, and Meng Yao jumps in front to get stabbed on his behalf.

When the Yunmeng bros show up to help NMJ, Wen Zhuliu immeiately yanks Wen Chao back behind him and points his sword at Wei Wuxian. He absolutely sees these two as a serious threat.  Considering that eventually WWX is going to kill Wen Chao while JC kills Wen Zhuliu, this concern is not misplaced.

Wei Wuxian tells Wen Chao to stop being such a jerk, and Wen Chao menaces Wei Wuxian and gloats about the burning of cloud recesses. The burning, that is, of some part of cloud recesses that doesn’t include the library, the Jingshi, the main cultivation chamber, the rabbit warren, or Lan Qiren’s house, unless the Lan Clan is really really good at rebuilding things to very exact specifications.

In a rare moment of seeing Meng Yao’s internal thoughts, he is worried about Lan Xichen when he hears about cloud recesses.

The Yelling Part

Now we have the particularly nasty breakup between Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao. It’s...got some layers. Meng Yao is cowering on the floor, but is not apologizing.

He never apologizes throughout this encounter.

孟瑤無��  - Meng Yao (has) no regrets

This scene is amazing and excruciating to watch, even more when you know what’s ahead.

What the Fuck is Meng Yao’s Plan

On one level this is Meng Yao, manipulative sociopath, setting up a cover story for his aiding and alliance with Xue Yang.  On another, this is Meng Yao, loving subordinate, being tossed aside by his lord because he dared to stand up for himself.

He uses the same “scout’s honor” gesture we’ve seen Wei Wuxian use to swear he’s telling the truth. Wei Wuxian is always lying when he uses this gesture.

I’m...not sure exactly what Meng Yao’s plan is, with all these chess moves? By stabbing the captain in front of NHS, he created an opportunity to plant a cover story about Xue Yang’s escape. He might be hoping that Nie Mingjue will forgive him and keep him on, while Xue Yang can stay in his back pocket to be used later.

Dry eyes? Try Visene

Or he might be intending to get kicked out, given his non-apology. In any case, Nie Mingjue is weeping during this encounter, and Meng Yao...isn’t. He is signaling distress in his voice, expression, and body language, but his eyes are dry up until the last moment, and even then they just glisten a bit. In a show where every actor is an expert at crying on cue, that’s got to be a deliberate choice.

Which isn’t to say that Meng Yao is faking being full of emotion in this scene. It’s just that the emotion isn’t necessarily sorrow.

What Does Nie Mingjue’s Head Think

Flip the view and this is about Nie Mingjue being betrayed by a subordinate, who has turned out to be a self-serving murderer. And on another level it’s Nie Mingjue being betrayed by his lover, who was just using him for advancement.

I rewatched the later episode where we get the scene as Nie Mingjue’s head perceived it, and he’s particularly brokenhearted and disillusioned from his head’s POV.  In that version there is a telling addition to the conversation.

Nie Mingjue asks about the guys who were roasting Meng Yao behind his back. He asks, if I hadn’t come, would you have murdered all of them?

Um. No, dude. Of course fucking not. That’s what a patriarchal authority does. That’s the way an angry Nie Mingjue/Baxia team might solve a problem.

Meng Yao has to use subterfuge to kill his enemies. And while he super hates being called “son of a whore” it’s absolutely not enough to make him kill someone, with the risk murder brings. Likewise, being treated well isn’t enough to make him spare someone. Nie Mingjue totally doesn’t get this, because he’s been the patriarch of this clan his entire adult life.

And Here’s the Actual Problem

There is a betrayal here, but Nie Mingjue is not simply a victim.  Whether it’s a sexual relationship or a non-sexual bond of affection, there can be nothing solid in Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao’s relationship within a feudal society, because it is fundamentally unequal. Even if they love each other deeply - which I’m not convinced either of them does - every encounter they have is tainted with power dynamics.

Meng Yao has been elevated by Nie Mingjue and quite probably taken into his bed, as well as being told many family secrets, but has not been given a new surname (like, for example, Wen Zhuliu was) or independent power. More importantly, Nie Mingjue has not used his authority to remove or punish the many people who disrespect his subordinate.  Lan Qiren would have had all of those gossipy fuckers kneeling in the snow, and Wen Ruohan would feed them to his mosh pit zombies.

Meng Yao is a murderous little snake, but he is right to be angry with Nie Mingjue about some things, and his pursuit of his own agenda is understandable.

Well, That Was a Slice

Meng Yao leaves, hurt, with a dignified bow; just as he did that one time when his dad kicked him down the Carp Tower steps.

Take note, both patriarchal authorities: that is his way of saying “I’m going to murder you one day.”

Nie Mingjue sits with his broken heart, as we realize that we’ve only spent 20 minutes with this guy and we’ve gone on an entire emotional journey with him. This episode packed in a LOT.

Soundtrack: Johnny Cash, Folsom Prison Blues

[vestigiallegs]

If their roles were swapped: how would Sam fare as a psionic and Ike as a lycomorph? How would their lives, personality and outlook change?

I actually answered this same hypothetical on my old oc blog years ago! However, my answer was pretty general, and with the development PT has had since then I have a better idea of what the specifics would be now, I think. Incoming longpost.

SAM AS A PSIONIC

SITUATION: Growing up in Rietveld would appeal to Sam for some of the same reasons it appealed to Isaac. Baby Sam ABSOLUTELY would have appreciated being stolen from her birth family, taken out of contact with her shitty father, and raised in an environment with some semblance of stability. However, with her general temperament and attitude I don't think she would ever have the same level of emotional attachment to Rietveld that Isaac does. In his most bootlicker moments, Rietveld IS his family, and a genuine savior to people like him.

Sam wouldn't share that take.

She would feel that the Rietveld Academy is more of a necessary evil. An organization with a good mission statement and a bunch of power hungry dirtbags looking to co-opt it into their personal army (a pretty on-the-nose assessment).

Adapting to her new life would be harder for her than it was on Ike, as she is generally allergic to rules and strict schedules and conformity. She would be a lot of trouble as a new recruit, hideously uncooperative and generally looking for problems. Of course, when you deal exclusively with kidnapped children, you see this kind of behavior a lot, so she wouldn’t actually be anything the Academy wasn't prepared to handle. Eventually she would tucker herself out enough to become somewhat system compliant (but she would always be looking for discreet acts of rebellion that she could get away with).

As she got older she would feel torn between wanting to put as much distance between her and Rietveld politics as possible, and feeling an obligation to every other psionic to try and effect change where possible. She would decide the latter was the morally right thing to do, and end up going down a very similar career path to Ike. In general, she would make a lot of his same choices, she'd just be more conscientious about it.

Assuming she was as psychically talented as Ike is, she'd have a similar time rising through ranks, garnering some level of recognition, reaching a sort of smalltime celeb status in certain corners of Rietveld. Eventually, though, her career would come to a ceiling. While this Sam would have learned to hold her tongue now and then, she is terminally pushy and nosy, and there would come a point where her superiors just... didn't want her any closer to sensitive information. Her career would lose steam in a much less dramatic way than Ike’s, and though she would remain respected people’s attention would drift as she settled into the life of a cog.

From here I can see two options.

1. She gets disillusioned and leaves for Verdamt of her own volition, growing even more disgruntled with Rietveld once she’s living outside of the system. She lives her best life but feels bitter that Rietveld stole years of her life from her.

2. She stays in her position for years, becoming one of those “cool middle aged mentor who is in a position of authority but not a jackass about it and looks the other way if you break a rule that hurts nobody” type characters who dies in a story’s inciting incident, either after discovering something they shouldn’t have and/or getting mercilessly betrayed by someone obviously evil who they fully trusted for some reason (fitting for her).

PERSONALITY: Sam as you know her, but with a much larger vocabulary. She has strategically polished her personality to come off as more intentional, charming, and rascal-y in order to balance her innate desire to mouth off and backtalk with her need to function in Rietveld’s existing hierarchy. Unflappably confident. Could function as a D&D party’s face without getting them all killed.

Cuts her hair short, very clean cut style, doesn’t smell sweaty. No tattoos. Still missing an eye.

ISAAC AS A LYCOMORPH

SITUATION: Ike's regular life is already stressful enough, and he is emotionally equipped to deal with psionic problems, he is not emotionally equipped to deal with lycomorph problems like Sam is.

First things first: he spent his entire childhood being raised ("raised”) by Seymour. Seymour is a career lycomorph hunter who has spent years tracking his runaway feral werewolf wife with the intent to kill her. He ABSOLUTELY expects his sons to follow in his footsteps, and when they are older, he makes sure they do. He raises his sons telling them they are obligated to help in the mom hunt and that every person they let her kill is second hand their fault. Terry grows up going “haha sure okay dad (turns to Ike and makes the cuckoo sign at him)”, but Isaac takes this to heart because he is just... really susceptible to guilt tactics.

You can probably already guess how Isaac would get infected and how Seymour would react to this.

Isaac knows his father is an awful, terrible man, even more than usual since he was actually raised (”raised”) by him. He KNOWS it. Even so, he finds himself completely caught off guard. He really for real thought “my dad would never murder me” was really a boundary Seymour wouldn’t cross. Of course, he also knows (”knows”) he shouldn’t feel hurt about this either, because executing the infected just makes sense, you know...

So this sad, wretched dogman is probably just going to let Seymour kill him, but luckily Terry is a voice of reason AS ALWAYS and kills Seymour before he can (something Terry has always wanted to do anyway).

Isaac copes very badly with being a lycomorph. While Sam adapts to her new normal relatively quickly, everything about being a lycomorph repulses Ike. He doesn’t like the transformations, they’re inconvenient and he finds them disproportionately painful. He doesn’t like being a naked wolfman once the change is over with. He hates eating carrion. He develops a psychosomatic weak stomach and struggles to eat enough for a lycomorph because he can’t emotionally bring himself to eat sub-human-grade food because THAT’S GROSS.

Luckily, good ol’ dependable Terry is looking out for him. No, really. Terry looks out for him. Not very well, because this is Terry we’re talking about, but he’s giving it his all and making sure Ike doesn’t die. (What makes you think Terry wouldn’t be there for his only brother?)

PERSONALITY: Absolutely VIBRATING with anxiety. Imagine one of those excruciatingly fearful, huge bite risk dogs. That’s him. Really hung up on and over dramatic about being a monster. Out of touch with what he likes and wants because he repressed like 3/4ths of his personality to get along with dad.

Looks like regular Ike got lost in the woods for a week. Doesn’t wax. Shakes like a chihuahua.

[fanficwriter013]

Drunk on Shadows

Drunk on Shadows

A Winter Soldier Fanfic

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Clint/Bucky eventually

Word Count: 1344

Warnings: Canon divergent, TWS is mostly rewritten for my purposes. 

Synopsis: Clint tries to retire, he really does. He hates to admit it, but he’s A) only human, and B) getting older. But when Nat calls with suspicious activity at SHIELD and an off-books mission for Clint he can’t tell her no.

Author’s Note: Written for the Winterhawk Reverse Big Bang @winterhawkbigbang, art courtesy of @avengerscompound

Chapter 1: The Setup

Clint had gotten quite the payday from the battle of New York, and he might have made a few impulse buys. The biggest of which had been a farm in a highly classified location. He’d wanted to retire, time off felt good on his aging human body. Which Clint really didn’t want to think about.

The farm was huge, a couple of hundred acres. A small flock of chickens, a goat or four, two houses and a shared barn and storage area. He was using this time to be more present in his brother’s life, and he was looking forward to being the cool uncle to his niece and nephew. They were also getting quite the education into animals, and responsibility with taking care of the chickens. It was a good plan, and Nat would sometimes stop by. Or call him to complain about SHIELD stuff. He was living the life.

“Clint, he’s literally a dinosaur. No, no wait. I just thought up a sick burn. How do you think patriotic stickler is going to react when I have my side mission?” Nat asked she was on a video chat with him so that she could sign along while she complained. Apparently, she and Steve were being sent on a mission to some boat, and Nat was not pleased about it. Although, that wasn’t unusual. She wasn’t pleased unless she got to go on a mission by herself, and she got to stab someone.

“Well, you know. Just stab him in the arm. He’ll be fine.” Clint joked, and Nat rolled her eyes at him. Her attention got drawn off the screen, and she quickly signed that she had to go before the chat was ended. She probably didn’t want to show emotion to anyone else, and Clint was fine with that.

Nat called back a few days later and was already in the middle of a story. Clint had to snap a few times to get her attention. She gave him a look, probably because he’d snapped at her like some sort of animal. He knew that, but she could forget to slow down.

“When you get here, I’m slapping you upside the head for that one.” Nat threatened. Clint narrowed his eyes at her, trying to figure out why he was going to DC. “Something’s going on. I want you to do your perchy thing, surveillance bird.” He was trying to read her face, looking for the prank. But apparently, she was serious.

“Okay fine. You owe me, big time.” Clint said, and Nat gave him a huge mischievous grin before she hung up on him again. He’d seen that look before, and he wasn’t sure he liked seeing it in this setting.

He'd been right. He'd been so right. Nat had gotten him a shitty, squatters apartment catty-corner to where Steve was living. The only times he could leave the apartment were when he was sure that Steve wouldn't catch him. Imagine trying to explain to that fucking face why you were caught spying on him. You know the face.

Most of the time it was hideously boring. Steve was such an old man it wasn't even funny. He listened to records and cried himself to sleep at night. And woke screaming like two hours later. Yeah, okay. Everyone had their issues, no one can escape from the vice grips of PTSD.

But then, one night it changed. Fury was in Steve's apartment when Steve wasn't. In fact, Fury had limped into Steve's apartment. And now Clint was on high alert. Something was going on. He didn't like the looks of this.

Fury had just been sitting in the dark, in Steve's apartment for over an hour when Clint caught a faint shiny reflection. Yes, someone might be able to make a joke about his bird name and being attracted to shiny objects. But it led him to see it.  No, Him.

There was a sniper, and if Clint hadn't already suspected something, he sure as hell did now. He couldn't risk his position, and he was sure that Fury was dark. Fury was off-grid dark. There'd be no text warnings to anyone.

It seemed like once the sniper got there, so did Steve. There was probably talking, but they were also spies, smart enough to have background noises or to verbally talk about something else. Then everything happened at once. The sniper fired, Clint couldn't worry about the target or their health. He needed to go after the ghost.

In a flash, Clint was out into the fire escape. Tracking the big bulky shadow, come to think of it. He had some seriously broad shoulders, that might have been a turn on. Clint shook his head, focusing on the task at hand.

The shadow had jumped from one roof to another, and now Clint was running down the street trying to keep up. But suddenly his ghost story put on a huge burst of speed, like seriously thirty miles per hour, and was gone. Clint was so distracted by his eyes failing him that he ran headlong into a wall. That wasn't unusual, nor was it the first time. But he'd have a hell of a time trying to explain this to Nat. Speaking of Nat, she was video calling him right now.

When he turned on the video it looked like she'd been crying, or rather trying not to cry. In Russia, emotions have you. Not the other way around. Sure, she'd agreed to come to SHIELD with him but her range of emotions was seriously stunted. He should know he was a pot here. There were about three minutes where she kind of just looked at him, almost like she wasn't even there before she said anything at all.

"Fury is dead." She said, and now Clint understood. He was her quasi-father, and this loss would affect her deeply. He made sure he caught her eye.

"I'll be at your apartment when you get back." He said, and she gave him a solemn nod. He could do that for her, hold her if she needed to cry. Hold up focus mitts if she just wanted to hit things. They could just drink vodka in silence. Or they could go to one of those shooting ranges. Whatever Natasha needed.

"Can you believe the nerve. Golden Retriever Rogers lied to my very face." Nat was pacing back and forth and ranting with a bottle of vodka in her hand. Occasionally she'd stop to take a swig, or four.

"You saw him right?" Nat asked, stopping dead in her tracks and spinning to point at Clint. Clint held his hands up, he didn't want her to throw anything at him.

"Yes, bulky shadow dude. Hulking dude, some broad ass shoulders. And hot damn those were some broad shoulders." Clint said, and Nat snapped her fingers at him before throwing the vodka cap at him.

"Dammit Clint, stop being a whore. He shot me, remember. And he's just killed Fury. Come on." She snarled at him, and Clint nodded. Okay, not the time. Shadow dude was still built like a tank though. And boy did Clint like his men. Full stop. Clint liked men, he wasn't picky about them.

"Birdboy, cut it out," Nat said sharply, clicking her fingers right in his face. He couldn't pretend to miss that like he'd missed about half of her ranting. Hearing aids can only help so much.

"Okay, so we're dealing with your ghost story. And you don't trust Steve. So how do you want to proceed?" He asked, sure she may be drinking. But she definitely wasn't drunk and she'd have good ideas about what she wanted to do.

"You're going to go back to watch Steve. You're off books, so he shouldn't be expecting you. Text me the second he does anything fishy. I want hourly updates." Nat said. That seemed reasonable. Something was definitely up here. She'd stay inside, he'd stay on the outside. They'd divide and conquer. It'd be okay.

// NEXT

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Honestly, my biggest problem with the Aftran infestation plot is the Natural Morphing resolution to Cassie going Nothlit is uh... weak is the kind word for it.

To quote a writing buddy:

Some fans… approach stories in terms of what would be most ‘logical’ for one character to do in a story… Which not only misunderstands the whole need for characters with different points of view within storytelling, but that getting into these nonsense-logic debates belies the deeper intent and functionality of storytelling itself.

Because there is literally no point to approach the ‘bad logic’ of a given story choice like you think you are fixing flaws of a film. Instead, you are literally erasing conflict from the movie. The obvious problem there is that the entire damn point of a movie is to create conflict. We want stories that get at the heart of strife between two people, and through the dramatization of that conflict, will say something about the human condition. But in the humane desire for an audience member to seek resolution to that same conflict (which I think speaks to the power that stories have upon people), they will often subconsciously try to resolve it with an outside-the-box practical decision that reflects their own brain, over the logic of the drama itself.

I guess what I’m trying to say with that quote: it’s not necessarily logical for the story to function that way, but the goal of the story was never to be logical.

K.A. Applegate isn’t writing a rhetoric and rationality manual.  She’s a) trying to tell a complex story about enemies coming to realize they have common ground, b) making a point about the messy nuances of privilege and the fact that lack of privilege doesn’t give one the right to hurt others, c) trying to entertain readers as young as eight, d) building an emotional arc for six main characters and a handful of supporting characters, and e) trying to educate children about animals.  That last one is actually the motivation Applegate herself sites for writing the Animorphs series in the first place and (I’d argue) one of the strongest aspects of the series, that she manages to make nonsensical morphing into these very real-feeling experiences.

Is it “logical” for Rachel to be allergic to crocodile DNA?  Of course not.  Does the scene with Rachel involuntarily turning into an elephant and nearly crushing Sarah to death feel utterly, horrifyingly, nightmare-inducingly real anyway?  At least to me it does.

Sure, I agree with you that authors’ Rules of Applied Phlebotinum should be internally consistent.  That said, I also feel like pushing the envelope a little to achieve a desired effect is perfectly fine, because Charles Dickens constantly gets away with much, much worse.  The ends have to justify the means, but I think that they do in this case.

To explain what I mean: in my utterly uninformed opinion, the moment in #1 where Tobias “hears” Jake’s thoughts while Jake isn’t in morph is kind of a frustrating error.  It doesn’t advance the plot, it doesn’t get an in-universe justification, it doesn’t achieve a character or setting effect, and it’s not cool or otherwise emotionally evocative.

HOWEVER, the moment in MM2 where Tobias tries and fails to morph in order to fix a broken wing is a little annoying but I’m willing to overlook it.  The crisis of Tobias being injured and alone with Rachel achieves several effects:

It forces the decision that Rachel could just morph and fly off in search of the others, but that she is entirely unwilling to leave Tobias mostly-helpless and alone to do so.  It draws attention to the fact that Tobias is new at morphing, and self-conscious about that fact.  It helps set up the Big Honking Character Moment at the end of the book through showing that Tobias is a much tougher person, willing to make much bigger sacrifices, than that soft-skinned starry-eyed kid we saw in the first book.  It causes Rachel and Tobias to confess their feelings for each other, which at that point in the series they’ve yet to do.  It allows Rachel (and by extension the reader) access Tobias’s dinosaur knowledge while denying the rest of the team that knowledge, creating some great moments of dramatic irony.  It highlights Tobias’s dual identity, that he is more willing to navigate a strange environment as an injured bird than as an uninjured human.  It separates the group, thereby setting up the same conflict that each Megamorphs book faces: a reduced team deciding under desperate and unfamiliar circumstances just how far they’re willing to go to survive.  It’s one of the forces that drives Rachel and Tobias together as a couple.

Does that moment still bug me, in that I wish Applegate had found a different way to achieve the same effect?  Yeah, a little.

Anyway, that moment with Cassie not becoming a butterfly forever and ever:

Allows Cassie to demonstrate that she is Committed As Fuck to this deal with Aftran, in that she actually goes through with the nothlit thing.

Justifies Aftran’s own heel-face turn, because it calls BS on Aftran’s “even death is preferable to life without a host” argument.

Keeps Cassie in the narrative in spite of her becoming a nothlit, without resorting to an attempt to explain how she could also do a favor for the Ellimist while stuck as a butterfly and then regain her morphing but be a semi-permanent butterfly…

Presents one of the stranger realities of nature — that little worm-things make shells, crawl into those shells after shedding their skin a quadrillion times, dissolve into goo, and pop out with completely different morphology — in a way that actually incorporates it into the drama of the story, in contrast to all those children’s books with characters droning straight at the reader about The Life Cycle of the Butterfly.

Foreshadows not only Aftran’s eventual fate but that of all the yeerks — Aftran might have been born a little worm-thing, but that doesn’t mean she can’t transform and achieve nearly infinite potential without needing a host to do so.

Grounds Cassie within her team through showing that she and Marco especially might be at odds a lot of the time, but that all five of her friends would be devastated if she could no longer be in their lives.

Affirms Cassie’s connection to her parents as well, amidst the ongoing narrative of her becoming so adult that she views them almost as children she must protect, through forcing her to be separate from them for a few weeks.

Gives the book directly before the David trilogy a happy ending, a much-needed uplift just before the horror to come.

Conveys a really important message about how doing the right thing is often hideously difficult.

And shows that doing the right thing is usually more about making a commitment to something and then following through no matter how difficult it becomes, less about throwing oneself in front of buses to save innocent children.

And gets into the gritty details of there being consequences to doing the right thing, not just adults coming in at the end of the adventure to pat one on the head for a job well done.

And forces the issue of The Right Thing sometimes being the thing that hurts a hell of a lot, when it’s not just a matter of destroying the ring you happen to like also destroying the whole army of orcs.

Does not end the book with Cassie stuck as a bug forever, using an excuse based in nature itself, thereby fitting well with the motif of the series as a whole that nature is disturbingly powerful.

Anywhoo, I’m not sure what K.A. Applegate could have done differently under the circumstances to achieve the desired result.  Maybe it’s “weak” to assume that a naturally-occurring metamorphosis process could derail the limits of a technological reality like morphing.  But this is a book series with shapeshifting, time travel, alien invaders, and New Yorkers still having landlines in 2009, for cryin’ out loud.  I think it’s entitled to a little illogic in order to achieve a desired plot-character-setting-emotional arc effect.

[palemoonpersephone]

60 Question Tag Challenge

So I’ve been tagged by @kaffeinic to answer these questions. Here we go!

1: Selfie.

Gonna have to decline this one as I’m very shy but I’ll describe myself a little to make up for it - very long dark reddish-brown hair, brown eyes, pale skin, fun size.

2: What would you name your future kids?

Can’t say for certain, I feel it would depend on what name felt right for that baby but I like many Italian and Celtic names.

3: Do you miss anyone? 

Yes, definitely. Old friends, old pen-pals/online friends who just seemed to disappear. And I miss my partner and my friends when we’re apart.

4: What are you looking forward to?

the weekend Seeing my partner again, working on my writing projects, starting third year of uni, and unashamedly the new Witcher series on Netflix!

5: Is there anyone who can always make you smile?

The lovely @kaffeinic for a start! My best friend, my partner, my doggy 🐕

6: Is it hard for you to get over someone?

All depends on the context. I’ve had crushes in the past that have been relatively easy to get over but then I’ve lost a couple of close friends and that had a pretty traumatic affect on me. Other times it’s been very easy because it’s been the right thing to do because the person I cut off was very toxic/bad for me.

7: What was your life like last year?

In some aspects very similar, my interests are all pretty much the same, my mental health was still difficult to manage and I was looking forward to my upcoming year of uni. But this time last year I wasn’t in a relationship and hadn’t began a really amazing journey of self-discovery.

8: Have you ever cried because you were so annoyed?

feel so attacked rn yes, I very much have. Crying tends to be my natural response to most high-running emotions.

9: Who did you last see in person? 

Within my household, my mum as I’m currently home for the summer. Outside of that, my partner when he last came down to visit

10: Are you good at hiding your feelings?

I can be. I’ve found it depends on how well other people can see. Over the years I’ve had to hide all sorts of things, especially from my family. For years they didn’t know I was severely ill with anxiety and depression but that might be testament to poor observation and parenting skills, or maybe I just became that good and hiding things. I’m striving now to be more open about how I feel rather than bottling things up because it’s like drinking poison. 

11: Are you listening to music right now?

Not at this minute.

12: What is something you want right now?

a hug a life without crippling mental illness  probably inspiration to work on my novel

13: How do you feel right now?

Quite tired, a bit lonely. Really craving some energy and pizzazz

14: When was the last time someone of the opposite sex hugged you?

Probably the Monday before last at 4-ish in the morning when my partner had to leave for work.

15: Personality description?

Shy, careful, introverted, open, understanding, affectionate, creative

16: Have you ever wanted to tell someone something but you didn’t?

Pretty much the story of my life. For the last 10-12 years I’ve had to keep so many things to myself, especially regarding my family. I could never say what I thought/believed because it would all spiral into a catastrophe, wasn’t a very safe environment emotionally-speaking. There have been so, so many things I’ve wanted to say but haven’t for the risk of rocking the boat.

17:  Opinion on insecurities?

Most people I know have them, including myself but I think people can be misled to think that others don’t have them because of the outward images they display. And from my experience they’re usually there for all the wrong reasons (if there’s such a thing as a right reason to have an insecurity)

18: Do you miss how things were a year ago?

No, I’ve only gained things since then.

19: Have you ever been to New York?

Not so far but I can’t say I have any desire to

20: What is your favourite song at the moment? 

Perhaps Ring of Fire by In This Moment

21: Age and birthday?

21, born 18/09/97

22: Description of crush?

(also my partner) 6″1, dark/black hair, brown eyes, built like a brick shit-house, tan skin. He’s intelligent, considerate, honourable, principled, fierce, indomitable, funny, supportive and respectful. 

23: Fear(s)?

I’m just gonna say most things

24: Height?

5″3

25: Role model?

Not sure I have one. I aspire more to qualities like goodness, kindness and innocence

26: Idol(s)?

see above

27: Things I hate:

Small mindedness, cruel/selfish/narcissistic people, exclusion, organised religion (as more of an abstract concept), people not getting what they deserve, when people aren’t willing to listen and learn, having plans ruined, seeing people upset, people who don’t put in effort/only take and never give back

28: “I’ll love you if...”

Lots of possible answers as there lots of sorts of love. In short, if you give back. But then love shouldn’t be conditional, so I guess I should say I couldn’t love someone (in any way) who never gives back. 

29: Favourite film(s)?

Beauty and the Beast, Peter Pan, The Lion King, The Other Boleyn Girl, most Marvel movies

30: Favourite tv show(s)? 

Call the Midwife, Brooklyn 99, QI, The Last Kingdom, Doctor Who

31: 3 random facts.

I’ve been writing for almost 12 years now. I sleep with cuddly toys and make bed forts. I use fantasy to cope with reality.

32: Are your friends mainly girls or guys?

Right now, girls but when I was in secondary school most of my friends were boys.

33: Something you want to learn. 

In a physical/skills sense I’d like to learn how to dance. In an emotional/mental sense I want to learn how to unburden by troubles and let go of things holding me down.

34: Most embarrassing moment?

With an anxiety disorder many, many things feel hideously embarrassing. Don’t think I could pick out one exact moment.

35: Favourite subject? 

History

36: 3 dreams you want to fulfill?

Becoming a successful author. Make lots of money so I can give it to charities. Overcome/beat my mental illnesses. 

37: Favourite actor/actress? 

Probably Tom Hiddleston

38: Favourite comedian(s)? 

Stephen Fry, Dara O’Brian, Sandi Toskvig, Aisling Bea

39: Favourite sport(s)? 

Riding, archery, yoga (still physical activity so I guess it counts), swimming, running

40: Favourite memory?

Right now I think it’s when my partner told me he loved me for the first time

41: Relationship status?

If you haven’t guessed by now I’m concerned 😋

42: Favourite books?

Too many to choose from.

43: Favourite song ever? 

Probably Lithium by Evanescence

44: Age you get mistaken for?

Always younger than I am. I really haven’t changed much since I was about 16. Still get ID’d almost everywhere because I look younger than 18 apparently

45: How you found out about your idol.

Not really applicable.

46: What my last text message says.

That’s no one’s business.

47: Turn-ons?

Maturity, experience, intelligence, someone who knows themselves and is in control, someone who can give care and guidance, someone who can bring my out of my shell.

48: Turn-offs?

Idiocy, lack of self-care/hygiene, someone who isn’t willing to listen, entitlement, intolerance, confidence when it hasn’t been earned. 

49: Where I want to be right now.

The New Forest

50: Favourite picture of your idol?

Kinda need an idol first...

51: Star sign?

Virgo

52: Something I’m talented at.

anxiety? I’m quite good at riding and hopefully my writing isn’t too shabby

53: 5 things that make me happy.

Animals, people I love, random acts of kindness, smells that awaken nice memories, creative passion 

54: Something that’s worrying me at the moment.

Guess at random and you’ll probably be correct.

55: Tumblr friends?

@kaffeinic I feel we clicked really really fast and they are possibly the bravest person I’ve ever met and I hope we stay friends.

@alittleandherdaddysworld they’ve been really kind to me and we seem to have some things in common, I hope we get to know each other better!

@xxdaddyslitttleprincessxx they’ve also been really kind to me when I needed someone to turn to and I hope that we too can turn our acquaintance into a friendship!

@thorkingofasgard I think we’ve known one another for just over a year and have had many lovely talks over that time, they’re always a friend I can turn to.

@mblargh-its-me-loki a friend who I sometimes don’t hear from for long periods at a time and I often miss them and hope they’re doing okay

@c0ffeebee their artwork and dedication is second to none and I like to think we got on well when I commissioned them for some art

56: Favourite food(s)?

Love curries and stir-fry, anything involving noodles, Italian cuisine and I’ll never say no to cake

57: Favourite animal(s)?

Dogs, horses, deer, bunnies, foxes, otters, dolphins, mice (I really could go on so I’ll stop myself)

58: Description of my best friend.

5″5, dark blonde hair, brown eyes, tan skin. She’s lovely, intelligent, determined, hilarious, gorgeous and we know each other back to front

59: Why I joined tumblr?

At first it was to connect with more people and spread my fanfiction work but over time it’s become more about just sharing and interacting with what I like and trying to make more and more lovely friends

60: Ask me anything you want.

Hold nothing back

I’m going to tag my listed tumblr friends so that’s @alittleandherdaddysworld @xxdaddyslitttleprincessxx @thorkingofasgard @mblargh-its-me-loki @c0ffeebee and any of my followers are welcome to take part

[smilinstar]

Fic: I burned so long, so quiet

Fandom: Legends of Tomorrow

Rating: G

Pairing: Rip Hunter/Sara Lance

Summary:

“You’re breaking me out?”

“Why did you think we were here?”

It’s written all over his face. He knows why, and yet there’s a hopeful glint in his eyes that sits horribly in her chest. She decides to stab it in the heart and put him out of his misery.

Author’s Note: Spoilers for 3x05. I couldn’t help myself. Also, this is probably part of a longer story, which I started writing before 3x05 aired, so we’ll see where it goes after this. Title from Annelyse Gelman’s The Pillowcase.

Also tagging @bisexuallaurellance (cos she asked). And also @teruel-a-witch (for the title) and @jeffersonjaxson (because :-))

Can also be read here on AO3

*

“Orange is definitely not your colour.”

He doesn’t even startle at the words. Just cracks one eye open, and swivels his head in her direction as he lies there on his bunk, arms folded across his chest.

It irritates her to think that he’s actually been expecting this. Expecting her. Them. Sooner or later. Expecting that they would come to his rescue, and he’s just been patiently waiting all this time.

She wants to punch him across his smug face. Again.

It’s a face that hasn’t changed a whole lot.

The hair has grown out a little, the beard is back in place, and he looks like the Rip of old and that jolts her heart in its cage and she really, really, hates that he can still do that to her.

“Captain Lance,” he says with a smile in his voice and a smirk on his lips, “this is a surprise.”

Sara fights to keep the flicker of emotion from breaking the blank, cold look on her face. She thinks she’s doing a terrible job, because there’s a grimace now on Rip’s as he pushes himself up to sit. Almost as if he can feel the flames of an anger that’s been burning within her for months on end now.

So much for keeping her cool.

“What can I do for you?” he asks.

“You can shut the hell up and get a move on!” Mick grunts from the doorway, trusty heat gun in hand, as he keeps a lookout.

Sara shoots him a glance before breathing out and turning to face their former captain once more. “What he says.”

It’s Rip who looks away this time, shaking his head, a breath leaving his lips in a huff of disbelief, and maybe, just maybe, she had it wrong. Maybe he’d never believed they were ever coming back for him. That he would wither away sitting in this Bureau cell and never see the glimmering blue and green lights of a timestream ever again.

Maybe this is all a front.

In any case, she feels like she never really knew him at all.

Not any one of them did.

She thinks, that maybe, he doesn’t even know himself.

And the anger softens just a little, and she hates herself for it. Because he’s only going to disappoint her. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s that.

“You’re breaking me out?”

“Why did you think we were here?”

It’s written all over his face. He knows why, and yet there’s a hopeful glint in his eyes that sits horribly in her chest. She decides to stab it in the heart and put him out of his misery;

“Look, Rip, we need your help with Mallus. And don’t you dare say ‘I told you so’ because I have a knife in reach and you know I won’t miss.”

There’s a twitch of an upturn to the corner of his mouth, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say it was his version of a fond smile, which only makes the thump of her heart more painful.

With a raise of a brow, and glittering eyes, he asks, “just one?”

He holds her gaze and she feels like she’s burning alive. And god, she hates him. She hates him. She hates him.

“You know,” he says standing up and edging closer, while she fights the urge to move. Forwards. Backwards. She doesn’t know which way her traitorous heart beats. “You don’t need to break me out for me to help you, I can just tell you whatever you need to know.”

She shakes her head. “You want us to leave you in here?”

“Now, I didn’t say that.”

“The man has a point,” Mick chimes in, head turning in their direction. “We should just take what we need and leave him to rot.”

Sara ignores him. Rip doesn’t.

“It is what I deserve.”

And the self-loathing that reflects back at her is like a battering ram to the twenty feet tall, padlocked door she hides behind.

“Yes it is,” she says quietly, but the words don’t have time to sink and settle as there’s the sudden buzz of the locking mechanism to his cell coming undone just then. A split second of silence follows, before the deafening blare of the security alarms kick in, flashing red, and Jax appears in the doorway.

He’s out of breath, and carrying something painfully familiar in his hands. He throws it over to Sara, and urges them along, “we gotta go, now!”

She nods, her eyes searching Rip’s as she answers back, “we’ll be right behind you.”

She pushes the cell door ajar, and Rip hasn’t moved an inch.

“Here,” she says, holding out what’s now in her hands, “wear this. It’s the best we can do to not draw any attention. We didn’t have time to knock out any guards and steal their uniforms.”

She doesn’t add it’s a poor substitute for his jumpsuit, likely to draw just as much attention, but the want, the need, to see him in it again, is too much for her argue, to deny. It’s the need for something familiar, to feel that maybe she hasn’t been a complete idiot in trusting him over and over; that maybe the Rip she knows, the Rip she feels too much for despite herself, is still there, somewhere.

He looks down at her outstretched hand, and his eyes widen. He swallows, voice thick as he asks, “where did you find it?”

She grasps for a foothold and steadies herself with a familiar smirk, “wouldn’t you like to know?”

There’s a genuine smile on his lips now as he takes it from her. Fingers brushing against hers and she wonders if he does it on purpose. That maybe he’s missed her just as much as she has him, but can’t put it into words.

He pulls on his old brown trench coat, and though he still looks ridiculous – the coat not hiding away all of the hideously bright orange, colours clashing horrendously – it’s a fight to keep her voice even. “Now that, that is much more your colour.”

“Thank you,” he says, the emotion weighing the words down enough to tell her it’s for so much more, but she says nothing. Just turns to the doorway and swallows down the lump in her throat. Mick and Jax are already halfway down the corridor, and they really need to hurry. The Bureau will be on them any minute now.

And it’s not something she needs to explain to him; a stark reminder of just how well they work together.

He steps up behind her, ready to go, and yet.

And yet, something holds him back. It’s a war that plays out, and it’s the enemy that fires first.

The soft “Sara” from his lips stops her still. And it’s anger that burns again. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

“Sara, I really am-”

She turns to face him, and he’s closer than she’d expected.

And this time she does take a step back, and his face falls with it.

No, she says, but doesn’t. No, you don’t just get to throw the word around. You need to mean it. You need to earn it.

And somehow, he hears it all.

He lets the sentence remain unfinished, holds her gaze and nods.

You lead, I follow, is what he says, but doesn’t.

It’s a start.

And she’ll take it.

End.

[royaltyjunk]

Candlelight in the Shadows [T, Fire Emblem: New/Mystery of the Emblem]

Summary: Only when Minerva shuts the door does she realize that Michalis had been hiding from the slanting sunlight pouring through his window. Written for the FE: Community Design challenge on Tumblr.

@fe-communitydesign

Author’s Ideas: The theme was light/dark. I love me some FE1/11/3/12. Also, Minerva’s great, I would die for her. So have both. Bonus of a family/sibling theme. [Minerva was my first five-star in Heroes and I’m so glad she was she’s great and you bet your ass I was on Team Minerva] I may or may not have been so busy writing this I forgot to memorize my lines for an upcoming show… let’s pretend that never happened :^)

As always, readable on FanFiction.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Fire Emblem - obviously.

Minerva knocks gently on the wooden door in front of her, the sound reverberating through the empty hallways.

“Michalis?”

The clock in the hallway ticks away furiously as she waits for a response from her brother. His gruff voice doesn’t respond from the other side of the door, and she knocks again.

“Michalis? Are you in there?”

Still, silence. She’s knocking desperately now.

“Michalis!?”

There’s a soft noise from the other side of the door, and Minerva leans against the door, calling loudly, “Michalis!? What’s happening? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Go away.”

“Michalis…!”

When she hears her brother’s voice, she’s filled with relief, but it dies down as soon as he tells her to leave. With a huff of impatience and annoyance, she shoves open the door. “Michalis, you can’t just-”

“I said go away!” Michalis screams.

Minerva squints, spotting her brother squished up against the wall. “What are you-”

She pushes the door shut behind him and rushes to Michalis, but stops halfway there, catching a glance of her brother.

“Stay away, Minerva… go away… I don’t want to hurt. I don’t know what I could do like this, but… I don’t want you to suffer because of it.”

There was something majorly wrong with Michalis ever since the war ended - Minerva could tell, but she didn’t know it could amount to this - to this hideousness that’s crawling up along the left side of Michalis’s body.

His entire left side is a splotch of purple darkness, a mess of violet, lavender, magenta. His left hand is no different, and his entire hand has warped, now only a wrinkled palm with gnarly fingers and long, curly nails. His sclera is black, and he stares at her with a pleading red iris, a clear contrast to his remaining brown eye. His hair is dotted with black, red, and purple, like strands of the shadows themselves.

“It’s been seven years… I don’t understand. It was only supposed to last for that first war,” Michalis gasps, his form trembling violently.

“What was?” Minerva asks, her blood growing cold.

“Medeus’s darkness…” he whispers, “was his powers. He gave me some… he said he would take it away when I was defeated.”

“But… I defeated you,” Minerva says. “I defeated you… I know I did!”

“I know you did!” Michalis cries. “Something is wrong!”

She takes a step back shakily, a hand ghosting over her lips in shock.

“I have to tell Sister Lena… and Maria…” Minerva murmurs. “They’ll know what to do, they-”

“Just leave me alone,” he hisses, glaring at her from his position, pressed up against the wall. “Leave me alone!”

Only when Minerva shuts the door does she realize that Michalis had been hiding from the slanting sunlight pouring through his window.

~ / . / . / ~

The sunlight grows stronger the next day, when Michalis refuses to leave the shadows, and Maria spends the morning helping Sister Lena.

“Maria?” Minerva calls into the sanctuary tentatively.

“In here!” Her sister responds from the inside, and she follows Maria’s voice.

Minerva walks in on Lena, Julian and Maria, measuring a white dress.

“Who is that for?” Minerva asks, watching Maria collect a few pieces of ceremonial wear off the floor.

“We made it for you!” Maria says, rushing out the sanctuary and down the hallway, her ceremonial robes in her arms.

“But you didn’t have to-”

“Oh, come on, Minerva. Let us pamper you for a bit,” Julian grins, and Lena elbows him gently. With an “oof”, Julian leaves the room, a playful expression on his face. His wife sighs before holding out the white dress in front of Minerva.

“It looks wonderful. Why don’t you try it on?”

Minerva sighs in defeat before trudging off to her room, and Lena stifles a laugh behind her hand.

She emerges back into the sanctuary a few minutes later, a gentle expression on her face.

“It’s a very nice dress,” Minerva murmurs, spinning. “I couldn’t tie the strings on my back. There were too many.”

The red-haired bishop reaches forward, grasping at the strings and tightening them. “How is it?” Lena asks, gently tugging at the fabric strings along Minerva’s back.

“It’s fine. You can tie it.”

The strings are fastened along Minerva’s back, and she reaches for her red coat, slinging it on. Lena stands back, looking her over before smiling warmly.

“You look wonderful.”

“Sister Lena!”

Maria rushes up the sanctuary’s halls, her ceremonial bishop robes flowing behind her. There’s a veil in her arms and her bishop’s pendant is clutched in her hand.

Lena takes the veil from Maria and fastens it onto Maria’s head with a smile. Maria clips on her pendant and smiles back. Lena gives her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “There you go. Go on, now.”

“We’ll be back before you know it!” Maria grins and pushes open the doors. Lena watches Maria go before turning to Minerva, helping her button up her coat.

“It’s been awhile since we’ve had some orphans to care for. Keep an eye out for some, will you?” Lena asks, smoothing out Minerva’s coat when the last buttons click together.

“Alright,” Minerva gives Lena a slight curtsy, and the bishop smiles before leaning in.

“Keep an eye on Maria, too. I don’t know if it’s best for her to be outside after yesterday’s occurrences.”

Minerva nods, a wave of fear crashing over her. Shaking off the strong emotions, she follows Maria out of the church and down the streets that are crowded with people and vendors.

“The princesses of Macedon!”

“Over here, lovelies! I’ve got just the thing for you both!”

They ignore the calls of alluring shopkeepers and curious shoppers, looking upon the bustling city.

“Here you are!”

A light voice drifts from a certain stall along the edges of the city, and the sisters glance over. There, behind the makeshift open tavern, is a young brown-haired girl, her hair tied into a high ponytail with a pink hairband, a similar shade to the pink dress she wore. She hands off a red book to a customer, and looks up. Surprise lights in her eyes, but melts to happiness, and she waves, a great laugh bubbling from her lips.

“Princess Minerva! Princess Maria! Hello there!”

“Lady Linde? Why are you here?” Maria asks.

“Don’t call me ‘Lady Linde’! It makes you sound so formal, Maria. We’re friends!”

“Yes… yes, you’re right, Linde,” Maria beams. “But why are you here?”

“Selling tomes. Merric had way too many in his dusty academy in Altea, and I needed to raise some money to help rebuild Pales. It all worked out with this festival coming up, anyways.”

“Why come here? Surely there are better places to sell, where there are more purchasers?” Minerva asks.

“Oh, of course. I’m just covering as much ground and meeting as many old allies as I can in these few festival days.”

“Where have you been so far?” Behind her, Maria scuffles away, flipping through the pages of the tomes Linde has on sale.

“Altea, to visit Merric, Marth, and Caeda… Archanea, if you can still it that, to visit Jeorge, Midia, and Astram… I bumped into Sheena in Pales, with that mercenary friend of hers. Samson, I think? They were selling flowers and baskets, so if you need some, head on down there!” Linde winks, holding up a finger.

“It sounds nice. We’ll probably visit soon. Maria-” Minerva turns over her shoulder to speak to her sister, only to realize that the tavern is empty aside from her and Linde.

“Huh? Where’d Maria go?” Linde asks, tilting her head.

A pit of despair opens in Minerva’s stomach, and she excuses herself quickly, bursting from the small store Linde has set up and glancing around the stands. There’s not a sign of her sister, and Minerva rushes down the streets.

Panicked, Minerva opens the door to a nearby makeshift shop, and the bells on the door chime as she looks inside. In the corner of the store is a head of red, veiled by white. She rushes to the redhead, ignoring the smell of medicine and herbs, something that would have normally disturbed her greatly.

“Maria!”

Her sister slams a box in her hands shut and whips around. She stands abruptly, a guilty look on her face. “Minerva?”

“Why did you run off like that?” She notices Maria’s expression and reaches out, readjusting the veil around Maria’s head. “Is something wrong? What were you looking at?”

“…Herbs. Healing herbs,” Maria murmurs, clasping her fingers around her bishop’s pendant. “I wanted to see if there was anything that could help him.”

“Oh, Maria…” Minerva hugs her sister tight, and Maria tenses up before relaxing, squeezing Minerva back.

“He’ll be fine,” the older sibling whispers. “He’ll be fine, he’ll be okay.”

“I wish he would be,” Maria murmurs, and Minerva starts, pulling away.

“What do you mean?” She demands.

“Not knowing his symptoms doesn’t help,” Maria rambles on. “What caused that darkness? Why on him? I don’t know how to cure shadows. Even if staves use magical power, they can’t dispel the darkness. And herbs don’t help either. Michalis isn’t hurt physically, internally, or mentally - at least, it doesn’t seem like it.”

“Maria-”

“And I know, there’s no way to cure darkness. Darkness can only be slain by light, and to use light magic against Michalis wouldn’t just purify him, it’d remove him from the world along with the darkness in him, and I don’t want that to happen, I don’t!” Maria’s voice pitches to a breathy and high whisper, her words barely comprehensible with the multiple wavering in her voice.

“Maria… you need to rest. We’ll talk about this later. Let’s go back to the church for now,” Minerva murmurs. Thankfully, Maria just nods mutely, biting her lip. Her eyes are moist, but there are no tears - at least, not yet.

The bell above their heads chime as they open the door and walk down the cobblestone street that leads to the entrance of the wooden church. Lena is out front, washing a set of white dresses that belong to Maria. She glances up, surprise reflected on her face when she sees the Macedonian siblings.

“What are you two doing here?” She asks, standing and smoothing out her skirts. “I thought you were going to stay in the town square until night. There are many more shops this year than last year, aren’t there?”

“Maria needed a breather. Most of them were selling the same thing,” Minerva responded, lifting her white skirt to avoid trailing it in the mud around the stone path.

“What sorts of things?”

“Clothing, herbs and medicines, crops, weaponry, products like that. Although, we did run into Lady Linde. She was selling tomes on behalf of the people in Pales.”

“Linde? That’s interesting. I’ll have to stop by and give her my greetings.”

“I do believe Naverre was there,” Maria pipes up. “He was with another mercenary who looked much like him.”

“Samuel and Naverre?” Minerva asks, frowning. “They were here?”

Maria ponders on the thought, and responds, “I think they just came to look at the swords, though. They didn’t hear me calling out to them.”

Lena smiles, a nostalgic look in her eyes. “I’ll leave once I finish washing these, then. Can you two make sure you take them in at sundown if I’m not back by then?”

“Of course, Sister Lena,” Minerva nods before pushing open the large church doors, greeted by multi-colored light that pours in from the stained glass windows of the church sanctuary..

Julian is sitting in the back pews of the sanctuary, and looks behind him when he hears the door crack open. He smiles, standing and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Back already?”

“Maria needed a breather,” Minerva repeats, shedding her red coat and hanging it up on the coat hanger beside the doors. The strong smell of herbs and flowers tells her that incense was recently burned. “Lena’s going out soon. You should join her.”

“Maybe I will,” Julian responds, brushing past them as he exits, whistling a soft tune.

The sisters share a knowing glance before exiting the sanctuary through a side door that leads into a carpeted hallway. The hallway is lit with small candles and sunlight streaming through the small windows. Minerva wrenches her gaze from the door on the far side of the hallway, a room too recently flooded with bitter darkness.

Maria opens the door to her room, and Minerva makes to leave, but her sister catches her hand. Minerva turns and Maria lets go of her hand.

“I’m tired of this, Minerva,” her sister murmurs, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m tired of these wars. Even if it’s over, the consequences still affect us and I dislike it so much.”

“I know, Maria,” Minerva coaxes. “I dislike it too. But we have to endure it.”

“Why us?” Maria cries loudly. “We fought hard and experienced heartbreak! We were just like the soldiers that fought alongside us! And yet… we have the worst consequence upon us! That we will lose-”

“Hush!” Minerva yells over her sister, and Maria stares at her, wide-eyed and mouth shut. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. It’s just… Michalis…”

“I know, Minerva. I’m sorry for raising my voice too.”

Maria glances up at her sister anxiously, and Minerva smiles.

“Make sure you get some rest, Maria,” Minerva commands, stroking her hair.

“I want to see him,” Maria says. “Can I go with you tonight?”

“Maria…” One look at her sister tells Minerva that Maria is not going to be swayed. “Alright. I suppose. I’ll stop by your room when I go to visit him, at moonrise. Get some sleep by then, okay?”

Maria gives her a soft smile, but the light in her younger sister has disappeared somehow, and before Minerva can question her, the princess-turned-bishop closes the door on her.

~ / . / . ~

Her sister’s white dress glows under the candlelight, and Minerva huddles into her red coat self-consciously.

“Do you really want to come along?” Minerva whispers hushedly. Maria nods firmly, but doesn’t say anything. Minerva sighs. “Listen, Maria-”

“What are you girls doing up so late?” Julian’s voice rings from above them, and the sisters glance up to see the former thief leaning over the wooden railing of the staircase. “It’s almost night, and you know how active the little critters are around here.”

“We were just going to see Michalis,” Minerva calls back. “We’ll get to bed as soon as we finish.”

“Alright. Just don’t make Lena fret again, you hear?”

“Yes, Julian. Good night,” Minerva says, and Maria reiterates her sister’s words before hurrying down the hallway.

The candle in Maria’s hand glows, leading them past the corridors and the door to the sanctuary, where the smell of incense floats from. They stop at a door at the far end of the hallway, Michalis’s room, where Minerva takes a deep breath.

“Listen, Maria… I don’t know if it’s good for you to be here. Michalis didn’t want to see anyone last time I came by, but… if anyone, you deserve to see him. Don’t step out of line, alright?”

Maria squeezes Minerva’s hand, and she smiles before opening the door.

Michalis hisses as soon as he sees the door open, and presses himself closer to the smooth stone wall. His eyes soften for a moment when he realizes who had stepped into his room before hardening again, an angry look in his remaining brown eye.

“Michalis?” Minerva asks cautiously. Maria blows out the candle in the holder, and sets it down on the small table in the middle of the room before following Minerva closely, an unidentifiable look in her eyes.

“Why are you two here?” Michalis narrows his eyes, pulling his black cloak around himself and blending into the shadows, his head, half full of red hair and one brown eye the only things that stand out in the blackness. “I told you to stay away.”

“I-”

Minerva’s cut off by Maria, who lets out a noise, akin to the sound of choking. Minerva turns to her sister just before Maria collapses to her knees in front of Michalis. Minerva catches a glimpse of Maria’s face, and knows the look on her sister’s face - her eyes rimmed red and familiar hiccuping movement in her throat tells Minerva that she’s been crying, or is about to start.

“Maria!?” Michalis cries out, his eyes filled with worry and voice pitched with emotion. Yet, he only reaches out his unaffected hand from the shadows, but Maria takes his outstretched fingers, holding his hand tight as she cries into her other one.

“Maria…” Minerva sits beside her sister, tucking Maria’s stray hairs behind her ear.

Her breath is inconsistent from her, trying to hold back her tears.

“Maria, it’s okay. You can cry.”

“But-”

“We’re your siblings,” Minerva and Michalis both respond immediately.

Maria glances at them both, a lost look in her eyes before tears spring up, tears that fall too fast for her to stop, and soon she’s crying and crying, like she’s never cried before.

Stroking her sister’s hair, Minerva embraces her as Maria cries. Michalis squeezes her hand, and Maria gives him a gentle smile through the tears welling up in her eyes.

“What happened?” Michalis coaxes his sister, in a hushed voice.

Maria glances at Minerva pleadingly, and she nods to Maria, tightening their embrace for a second. Her younger sister lets out a gentle breath, nodding to Minerva.

The former Dragon Lord looks Michalis in the eyes, swallowing down the lump of fear and hesitation in her throat. Maria had entrusted her with this task.

“Maria… she was looking for ways to cure you.”

“You didn’t-”

“She couldn’t find one,” she says bluntly, and turns her head away, not bothering to hide the pained expression she knows is being displayed on her face.

“I can’t cure you. I can’t cure you,” the youngest of the siblings repeats softly to herself like a mantra, and then silences herself with another half-stifled sob. Michalis scoots forward a little bit.

“It’s just like that time,” Minerva murmurs under her breath.

“What time?” Michalis asks, looking at his sister.

“She’d stay up all night, just to make sure you were okay,” Minerva ignores his question, “and she’d work herself sick. It came to the point where I had to stay in her room to make sure she didn’t sneak off during the night to your room. She’d hug you and pray with tears streaming down her face. I remember it so vividly, like it was yesterday.”

“Maria… I know you saved me, but… you tried that hard? You were just…” he trails off, turning his gaze to the black cloak draped around him.

“A child…” Maria murmurs, squeezing Michalis’s hand. “Still… they wouldn’t let anyone treat you… they wanted to leave you for dead. Then, and even now… I don’t understand why. But…! I wanted to save you, I really did! That’s why I tried so hard! Minerva never said it, but I knew it was all up to me to save you. So I tried! I really did! I wanted you to get better, just like now! But now… I don’t know…” Maria breaks off with a sob.

“Maria…” He clenches his shadowed hand, and then Michalis looks up at Maria, a determined look in his eyes.

“I’ll go tomorrow. I’ll go with you two, and we can look together. Just us, as siblings. Like before that war…”

“Brother…! Thank you!” Maria wipes her tears from her eyes, and pulls Michalis to his feet, taking his other hand. The moonlight pours through the window at the moment, and in a grand moment of light and dark, Michalis, with a body half afflicted with shadows, is standing under white brightness, and Maria is covered in shadows.

Yet, Michalis doesn’t flinch, and neither does Maria. They embrace, and Minerva slips from the room then, feeling the silence around her drag on as she exits the room.

When she leaves, she takes the candle with her. As she relights the candlestick, the red of her cloak and hair is reflected against the bright white moonlight and the dark patchy shadows of the church walls, like Maria and Michalis themselves.

[preserving-ferretbrain]

Who Gives a F**k About Charlie Keeper

by Wardog

Tuesday, 09 June 2009

Wardog painfully reviews the self-published Who Is Charlie Keeper.~

I’ve had a busy few weeks. I’ve alphabetised all my socks, de-weeded the back garden and taken a vacation in Vienna but it’s finally got to the point of no return: I think I’m going to have to bring myself to review Who Is Charlie Keeper. I really don’t want Ferretbrain to become the place self-published books come to die, but thus far every self-published book I've read has only renewed my faith in the publishing industry. WICK, as you may have gathered, is a self-published young adult fantasy novel, and it’s, uhh, well...

Come back Jim. All is forgiven.

WICK is borderline unreadable and almost uncertainly unreviewable. Basically, imagine someone came up to you and said “Hey there, I’ve got you a car, come check it out.” And then it turned out the car had no wheels. Yes, maybe, the colour is rather nice, and its fitted with a CD player and sunroof, and the engine might be basically functional but ultimately what you’ve still got there is a car with no wheels.

So, Charlie Keeper is a

mysterious

sassy 12 year old girl who lives in a mysterious house with her amnesiac grandmother because her parents have mysteriously disappeared. Between having her inheritance stolen by the evil lawyer Mr Crow and buying a puppy with her best friend, she is chased into the alternative world of Bellania by the malignant Lord Bane. In which it becomes quickly apparent that Bad Shit Is Going Down and the fate of the world rests upon Charlie Keeper’s reluctant, 12 year old shoulders. There are good guys, bad guys, dragons, adventures,

Quidditch

K’changa, etc etc.

Putting aside for the moment, the fact that WICK is a car without wheels (and I will contextualise this metaphor in a moment), let me try to come up with something positive to say about it. Well, the original artwork that accompanies it is genuinely fabulous. In fact, if the book was even half as good as the art, we’d be laughing. Also Marcus Alexander has a remarkably good ear for dialogue, somehow navigating the spiked pit of accent and dialect without looking like a fool or reducing his characters to offensive stereotype. He’s a sample from Jensen the (Jamaican?) Treman: “Ah’s a Treman. Sweetheart, Ah’ can see yer education is sorely lacking. Who’s yer teacher? Whoever he is, he ain’t doing a proper job. Tell me, little Hippotomai, an’ don’t stomp yer feetsies at me, do ya know wot a Stoman is, or a Human? Eh?” You’d think it would get grating but, somehow, it never does. Overall, WICK romps along at a reasonable pace, and there’s lot of incident, danger and adventure. It’s certainly a colourful book, and it seems to be revelling in its own over-the-top exuberance. You know you’re dealing with a Proper villain when he massacres his own minions and gets all caps-locky about setbacks.

Unfortunately, all this counts for absolutely nothing because there are too many basic problems with the book. Firstly the style itself. I don’t know to what extent we’re dealing with a major slew of typos or if Marcus Alexander genuinely hates commas and wants them to suffer and die at his hands, but the grammar and the syntax through WICK are irregular at best and downright wrong at worst. I’ve skimmed about the internet looking for other responses to it and most of them are positive: “The author's odd use of justification adds extra weight and punctuation on actions, emotive points and speech patterns bringing not just the story but also the characters very much to life. Indeed the book is quite unusual as a whole entity but I would be the first to point out that it connects with today's ambience, fashion and prosetic style.” Hmmmm. Possibly I’m just hideously hidebound but the style is simply neither controlled nor consistent enough to support this interpretation. Here’s a sample:

Powerful muscles bunched and tensed. With long smooth bounds the creature took off. As it ran past the eerily silent columns it realized, with a sinking feeling that it would never reach this mysterious family member in time, the distance was too great. It sensed days of travels lay between the two and it could sense that whatever danger threatened it’s [sic] sibling, was already perilously close.

Or another:

Charlie answering his call, hurried to the lawyer’s study, she knew better than to keep him waiting. Walking straight up to the large leather bound desk she took up a pen and without needing to be asked signed the papers offered by Mr. Crow. She knew she should at least ask what she was signing but she remembered the first time she had plucked up courage to query him; Crow had fallen into such rage, striking her and screaming, that now she dared not question.

And the punctuation lightly and seemingly randomly scattered around the dialogue is enough to bring tears to my eyes:

“Fool! Grab her!” roared the giant, Crow made a lunge for her but tripped over his braces, “Idiot! Dogs come to me, come, your Master commands it.”

It’s more than commas where they shouldn’t be and conspicuous by their absence where they should. Although Alexander occasionally gets off a vivid description or a well-turned phrase, it seems more by luck than judgement a lot of the time and his writing often bogs down in repetition, cliché and an over-reliance on adjectives. Seriously, no noun connected to Mr Crow is allowed out of doors unprefaced by a “skinny”. So Mr Crow is thin, right? I get it. I get it. Please have mercy on me.

I’m no editor but there are equally fundamental issues with the structure of the book itself. The pacing is wobbly to say the least with the narrative either practically thrown into reverse while Charlie eats some spiced bread or we are forced to witness yet another interminable game of K’changa (I hate you JK Rowling, I hate you so much. I yearn for those halcyon days in which children’s books were allowed to exist that did not contain detailed descriptions of spurious sporting activities) and then speeding so rapidly through a succession of incidents that it’s enough to make you get motion sickness. The POV, equally, veers around all over the place and, dialogue aside, the characterisation – especially of Charlie – wavers too. She seems to be scared when the narrative prefers that she’s scared, and feisty when it’s time for her to be feisty. Furthermore, her famed “big mouth” barely lives up to its reputation for causing trouble. Maybe it’s just because she doesn’t have an accent but she seems like a complete void for most of the narrative. We’re told about her qualities (and, of course, her undeniable specialness) but we rarely seem them in action in a way that could make us care about her, or even be remotely interested in her. Alexander’s descriptions of scenery and action are at least nudging towards competence, but the emotional side of it all is completely flat:

Charlie, cheeks blushing uncontrollably, stared into the eyes of the woman who was supposed to be her guardian. Never had she felt such a hate so complete, never had such an anger awoken within her heart. Charlie, that very instant felt something deep within her move and change, something within her soul sickened and died and in its place something darker was born. This was a moment that would be etched eternally into her mind.

She gets over it. She kind of like de Sade’s Justine that way – ill-defined, unchanging and unaffected.

I can’t even in good conscience say that WICK has promise: until it gets some wheels, it ain’t going nowhere. I found it a real struggle to read, partially because I was mourning every tortured comma but also because whatever is good about it is completely eclipsed by its major and fundamental problems.Themes:

Books

,

Sci-fi / Fantasy

,

Young Adult / Children

,

Self-Published

~

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Rami

at 12:51 on 2009-06-09Ouch. From those excerpts, it seems like a pretty painful read -- but then, I like my grammar to be in more or less the right place. There's a place for bending the rules, but ignoring them like that just makes me wonder if they know the rules in the first place. And looking like you don't know how to write is not, IMHO, a good way to be taken seriously as a writer.

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Arthur B

at 13:12 on 2009-06-09Not only does the author have a strange way with commas, he also seems to urgently need to be introduced to a semicolon or two. Harsh as I was about Jim Bernheimer, but for the most part (aside from the odd "victim's fund" gaffe) his prose was readable, at least in the sense that it was capable of being read without getting a headache.

Maybe it's just because I'm a lawgeek, but does anyone else find it odd that Charlie is asked to sign contract when she's well below the age where she can actually enter binding agreements in the first place, and when there's a grandmother handy who is presumably legally capable of doing all that for her? Mr Crow seems to be as incompetent as he is corrupt.

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Sonia Mitchell

at 23:15 on 2009-06-09I love this review. And feel pity for everyone involved.

It actually sounds a bit Neil Gaiman-ey in intention, though I'm obviously not going to read it and see.

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Wardog

at 14:52 on 2009-06-18Actually this review makes me feel guilty as hell - panning something is never fun, but really, it was all in good conscience I could do.