#and she’s mocked every single time she does and none of her solutions come to fruition

[mxtxfanatic]

Hey! So this is not really that serious but it keeps eating me, whenever I read a hogwarts au for mdzs. Why is wwx always in the slytherin???? Like yes he can be called cunning and ambitious but he's also super brave, kind and genius. And I don't think his traits should be completely based on the fact that he was the Yiling Patriach. (Personally I don't see him as neither cunning nor ambitious but anyways). What do you think?

As someone who read and watched the Harry Potter series and has issues with both the morality of the world and what the story has to say about oppression, I have to say that people who believe in slytherin!wwx are probably closer to jkr’s intent for slytherin than anyone who tries to find logic in permanently assigning children to the Brave or Evil Houses at age 11 and telling them that that is their core personality trait.

When your fictional world is built around the idea that the system is inherently good and only a few people need to be replaced to get it to function, any character who challenges the system as wholly corrupt is inherently misguided at best, or evil at worst. Wwx isn’t misguided in his actions, so—

[dex-xe]

if you’re still taking requests i’d love to see “Hey, look at me. Focus on me alright?” with alison and thomas cause u know that lil bitch gets panic attacks/meltdowns and i feel like alison’d be hella good at talking him thru em

Thomas, Alison, Pat & the Captain General #23: “Hey, look at me. Focus on me alright?”

(So this is a fic for these three, I couldn’t decide who to write so here’s all three of them trying to deal with an upset Thomas. Also,, for some reason these are getting no interaction on ao3, yes they’re on there as well, so if anyone wants to go check out some of my stuff on there pls do @/littlemouseinapartyhat :))) Also I know all the fics so far have focussed on a select few characters but the next one will be the Button House women on a sleepover,, spoiler alert Fanny joins in and has fun :P)

Prompt list

Inbox

Far too many times, Pat and the Captain had discovered Thomas buried to his eyes in the murky green water of the lake. It was hardly a surprise to either when Thomas had bolted from the house and dove into the water with the arrival of a new Lord Byron with film crew in tow. As soon as his overwhelming emotional meltdown had begun, Pat and the Captain had shared one single glance across the film set, a knowing glance of full understanding of what they must do later. Their usual nightly patrol was punctuated by a detour to the lake where they, like usual, would sit on the grassy bank beside the water for two hours persuading Thomas to come inside. They’d eventually peacefully appease him and watch as Thomas took the long and silent walk back to the house where he’d dramatically flop into his bed - and remain there for days on end. Pat waited until the Captain had finished gawking after Adam to catch his arm and drag him swiftly towards the lake. They stood on the shoreline watching Thomas huff and puff in the dark water, running his fingers repeatedly through his soft curly hair. “So what do we do exactly?” Someone asked. Unaware they had been followed, both men spun around to find Alison behind them, hands on hips gazing out at Thomas. Pat turned back to face the lake, stepping up the algae ridden waterline. “Thomas!” He called. “Thomas! Are you alright?” Thomas didn’t respond. Instead ducking further below the surface to drop his nose under the water too. “Listen, Thorne!” The Captain shouted out to him. “It’s getting dark, you must come inside at once.” “Does he listen?” Alison asked. “Eventually,” the Captain sighed. “You might care to take a seat, Alison. He can take a little while, whiny child.” Alison perched on the edge of the bank, picking at the grass as she rested her chin on her knees, ready to watch whatever Pat and the Captain had planned for the poet. “Thomas, do you want to talk about it?” Pat shouted. “I get you’re upset, mate. But come out and we can have a chat, yeah? What’s wrong?” Thomas stayed silent, staring blankly back as if not a single thought was running through his mind. “I know you don’t feel well, and I won’t pretend to know what’s happening in that little brain of yours but talking it out will make you feel a thousand times better, I promise,” Pat told him. “Now listen here, Thomas. I demand you listen to Patrick and vacate the water with haste,” the Captain yelled towards him. “The film crew’s left, Tom, nothing left here to worry about,” Pat said. “You can come inside and calm down a touch, yeah? Letting it all out will do you the world of good.” “The sun is setting, Thorne. Whatever this silliness is, you had better push it down deep and come inside!” “Captain, that’s not exactly the best advice at the moment,” Pat told the Captain covering his frustration with a small chuckle. “We’re here to fetch him from the water, not provide a therapy session.” Pat turned fully towards the Captain and held his hands out to try and placate him, hoping he wouldn’t resort to his idea of talking never helping - as he had insisted with Fanny only weeks earlier. “If we find out what is troubling him, we can get him out.” “But-“ Alison stood up abruptly and stepped between the two of them. “Okay, well you guys aren’t helping him in the slightest,” she said. “What? I’m helping?” They said simultaneously, snapping to face each other and shoot incredulous looks. “You’re not doing anything!” “Okay, my turn,” Alison returned to watching Thomas’ morose face above the water. She took her phone from her back pocket and dropped it onto the bank before pulling off her heavy green jumper. She stepped into the lake, muddy water splashing about her ankles and coating the cuffs of her jeans. She sighed at the thought of slaving over laundry the next morning to recover her best jeans. “What the bally hell are you doing?” The Captain questioned. “You can’t seriously be going out there?” Pat said. “Fetch Mike if I start to drown, hey?” She said before wading deeper into the water. She was pleasantly surprised that she could keep her feet planted firmly on the silty bottom of the lake as the freezing winter water pooled around her legs, then hips, all the way up to her shoulders, and to the point where she had to push up onto her tiptoes to keep her head above the surface. Reaching Thomas within a matter of moments, Alison stopped in front of him and dropped ever so slightly so she was eye to eye with him. “Thomas,” she said quietly. “Hey, look at me. Focus on me, alright?” She reached a dripping hand from out of the water and reached as if to cup his cheek, hovering millimetres away. “Can you hear me, Thomas?” Thomas nodded jerkily, trying not to break his eye contact with Alison. “Good, you don’t need people shouting advice at you from the shoreline. You need someone to bring you back down, don’t you?” He nodded again. “You’re floating, aren’t you? Well above the lake and you feel like you can’t come down because everything that’s happening in that head is keeping you up. I’m right, aren’t I?” “Yes,” his voice cracked. “I’ve been there, Thomas,” Alison confessed quietly. “I’ve felt that: where you desperately need someone to catch hold of your leg and just pull you back down. It’s a panic attack, Thomas, or something similar; I’m not sure but it’s nothing to be afraid of. I just need you to focus on me, yeah? And the water. The water? The water! It makes you feel sick, doesn’t it? Can you feel it, can you feel that nauseous feeling like when you touch someone living? It’s there, isn’t it?” A thought overtook Alison, a simple but risky idea. It could bring Thomas straight back to reality, or it could make him feel a thousand times worse. Her hand stayed in position close to Thomas’ face, as she flicked her attention to it slightly. Leaning forward, her hand pressed into his cold form fading through his skin momentarily. Thomas took a deep breath, he had no need to but the overwhelming emotion had stopped his breaths for so very long. “Can you feel it? Does it make you feel, Thomas?” She whispered, trying hard to keep her balance on the lake bed and not fall straight through Thomas. “Fair Alison,” Thomas whispered. “I- I feel sick.” “Good, it’s called ‘grounding’. Using the things around you to bring you back to reality. I’m right here with you, so use my touch, my voice,” Alison said calmly. She couldn’t help but think about the first anxiety attack she’d ever experienced. Year eleven, minutes before a presentation on igneous rocks - Mike had been the one to sit on the corridor floor with her and coach her through it, using the very same techniques she was employing for Thomas. “When there are people in the house, people who work to mock me, it is as if every noise, every colour, every person is simply too vibrant,” he whispered, barely audible to Alison. “It is as if every bone in my body is being accosted by the senses, too many senses.” “I know, I know,” Alison muttered. “I know, Thomas. But you mustn’t drown yourself in the lake! This doesn’t feel particularly pleasant for me, let alone the undead. So, don’t drown yourself, please. One of the best things about my near-death and questionable spiritual abilities is that I can help you.” “None of the others understand this horrific feeling,” Thomas said. “Patrick and the Captain, they do their best. But Captain is rather harsh and Pat insists on talking nonsense and then trying to hug me. I do not feel I need that.” “Then come to me, Thomas,” Alison urged. “Don’t drown yourself, what kind of a solution is that? Find me and we’ll talk.” “I do not wish to disturb when you are-,” Thomas started. “No, you’re not a disturbance. If you need me, I’ll be there.” Thomas nodded gently, trying not to put pressure on the cold spot where Alison was touching his face. “Now, I’m freezing to death out here, and I’m fairly sure there’s a fish in my jeans. Let’s go inside, you can choose a film, yeah?” “Yes please.” The light had dropped quickly, the orangey grey light of the evening had been replaced by darkness. They began the trudge back to the shore where Pat and the Captain were sat side by side on the bank, trying slightly too hard to seem nonchalant a hide their eavesdropping. Pat jumped up as he realised they were coming back, and the Captain uncrossed his legs to stand beside him. “Fantastic work, Alison!” Pat said, reaching out to take Thomas by the arm. He cowered away slightly, only to be guided slowly forward by Alison; more herding him than actually touching his waistcoat. Pat retreated holding his hands up in surrender. “That’s probably a record!” “Whatever did you say to get him away so quickly?” The Captain asked. “Stop being so nosy,” Alison chuckled, ringing the water out of her dark hair. “Thank you for your help, Pat, Cap. But just leave him be for a little while, okay? Come on, back in with you,” she said turning to Thomas. “I could do with a hot shower and some clothes that don’t contain ten gallons of pond water and an aquarium of creatures. Will you be okay sitting with the others for a bit while I get changed, Thomas?” Thomas contemplated and then nodded once at her beginning the long walk to the safety of the house. He was still away with the fairies, still flying high above the lake waiting for his feet to return to solid ground. But concentrating very hard, focusing on Alison in front of him - her voice and her touch, he could almost feel the very tips of his toes skimming the waterline. 

[utterlyinevitable]

17 for Raleigh x MC 👀

17. things you said that i wish you hadn’t

From the things you said prompt list. Send me a pairing and number and I’ll write a mini fic!

---

Master of None

“Just sell your song,” Raleigh insisted, not for the first time that day. 

He and Cadence were finally back at her apartment. Raleigh had spent an hour of their afternoon corralling after her rage-fueled tantrum. She had stormed out of the studio once they received news that the label would not be footing the bill for more than 12 masters. Cadence and her team had currently recorded 14 tracks with three more slated this week. The plug being pulled meant that the other two masters will belong to the producer unless Cadence comes up with the money to buy the rights back. 

“It’s my life! My entire story,” she yelled back. “These songs are who I am!” 

She couldn’t part with her work. Her entire heart was tied up in those songs. Where would she get the money to pay for them?    

“And you’ll write another one,” he said flatly from the kitchen where he was making a snack. 

Raleigh had suggested on selling one of the songs to another artist. In true Cadence Dorian fashion she was vehemently against the idea, even if it would give her the cash flow to buy a few of her tracks back. He even offered to loan her the money; of course she scoffed at that. Frankly, Raleigh was tired of hearing her complain and rejecting simple solutions. It wasn’t a hard decision for him.

“You’ll still be on the copyright, who cares if it’s someone else that records it? Sell the song and you’ll have the opportunity to write others.” 

“You don’t get it, Raleigh,” she shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. “You don’t write your music.” 

He looked up from his sandwich and at her, dumbfounded; “I write my songs.” 

“With topliners, composers and ten other people in the room,” she scoffed.  

“Since when is collaboration fraud?” 

“I write 100% of my music. You wouldn’t understand.”  

For Cadence Dorian having complete ownership of and controlling creative liberties of her IP were of upmost importance. She just couldn’t fathom not having her work publicly tied to her name. Yes, Cadence Dorian’s a snob when it comes to craft. 

“You’re living in a delusion,” Raleigh shook his head more to himself than anything as he took another large bite.

He knew Cadence was new to the business and had a fantastical view of how things worked. He knew she thought that getting signed was a saving grace, a lifeline that let her pursue any and all of her creative endeavors. He realized she, never in her wildest dreams, would have imagined the nightmare that comes with the coveted deal. She was naïve to the bone Ellis dangled over her head; of the suits and 360-contracts and how every single thing she does for the next decade will be in service to the label and maximizing their profits. 

Unfortunately, the glass ceiling shattered today.

Maybe Raleigh Carrera wasn’t the most prolific songwriter, but he sure as hell was a fantastic musician and entertainer. His team is composed of amazing composers and lyricists who preferred to not be in the spotlight. They were the A Team. The industry was full of this type of partnership. Raleigh wished she understood that even the most indie of singer-songwriter’s collaborate. Collabing doesn’t diminish the creative integrity, it enhances it.

His small words fueled the fires already tormenting her hazel eyes; 

“If you spent more time worrying about your career than your ridiculous image, maybe you could empathize an inkling. But no,” she spat. 

“You don’t mean that.”

Her arms flailed wildly as she stomped around the living room; “’I’m Raleigh Carrera and I’d rather destroy things and party than write one goddamn good song. I care more about my ‘bad boy’ image than being respected in the community’,” she mocked in her best, deep voiced Raleigh impression. Hands firmly on her hips she added her most damning assessment of his character, “There’s only so much songs about booze and rebelling can do for you. Such hollow and shitty subjects. Write something real, Raleigh.”  

Oh fuck no. Raleigh could handle a slew of shit thrown his way. What he drew the line was his girlfriend calling him a fraud. 

“Say that again when you go double diamond and sell out a worldwide arena tour,” he volleyed right back just as spiteful. The forest fire in his eyes were dangerously close to overtaking hers. “Which you won’t ever get the chance to do if you don’t sell this song. Get your head out of your ass, Cadence.”

She expelled a high pitched huff in frustration.

Neither sad a word. 

Cadence paced over to the expansive windows overlooking the hustle and bustle of New York City. Raleigh watched her every step, waiting for the heat between them to die down enough to cross the distance.

Moments passed and he came to stand beside her, his calloused hand testing the waters at the small of her back. When she didn’t react his thumb began drawing calming circles. 

Ever so softly he broke the harsh silence, “You know I’m right.” 

Cadence stepped from his grasp and turned to look him straight in the eye. “What you are is a thorn in my side,” she huffed out with a breath of air. 

Raleigh’s brows knitted together. Sure she’s mad at the world right now, but what’d this have to do with him? 

“Have you even written a thing in the last six months?” She rose an all-knowing, accusatory brow. “No. You haven’t. Your tour ended last year. Sort out your own damn career before you come after mine.”

The way she said it - with absolutely no feeling and heaps of bitter indifference - struck him to the core. Raleigh Carrera thought Cadence Dorian could be the one he’s be delighted to move mountains for. She was the one that had him falling madly, quickly, deeply in love ever since she materialized in his life. Never would he have guessed she regarded him with contempt. 

“If I’m such a waste why are you with me, huh?” he threw his hands in the air and tried to keep from yelling. “Actually - don’t answer that. I’ll do you one better, Cadence. We’re done.” Raleigh moved through the living space, grabbing his things that were scattered around and shoving them in his leather backpack. 

He was moving too quickly for Cadence to rebuke. She wasn’t fully cognizant with what was happening; her mind was still stuffed with the grief and torment of losing her songs. 

Raleigh was standing at the door when it all clicked together. 

Shit. 

“Lucky for us the world thinks we broke up months ago,” he called before slamming the door.  

Cadence regretted the words the moment the reverberated rattling forced her to realize he had taken her heated rant to heart. Raleigh had been nothing but a wonderful friend and a sweet clandestine lover in the months they’ve been intertwined. She didn’t mean it. She was just pissed that things always seem to work out for him and now she’s stuck.  

But pride would get the best of her and she’d let him walk away for good. 

________________________________________

Masterlist

@choicesficwriterscreations 

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Raleigh: 

@dulceghernandez

[corinthbayrpg]

NAME. Anemos ( Lincoln Donato & Grace Tate-Starling ) AGE & BIRTH DATE. 3000+ & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Nonbinary & He/She/They SPECIES. Oneiroi OCCUPATION. Photographer / Socialite FACE CLAIM. Regé-Jean Page / Phoebe Tonkin

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: servitude, death, murder ) Anemos does not remember the exact time of their creation. Too many years have passed, and too much has happened for it to remain of relevance in their mind. If asked, they might simply shrug their shoulders, and pretend as if the matter was of no consequence. To give off the appearance of youth has always served them well, as to be underestimated by those around them. But in reality, the oneiroi has seen millenniums come and go, the rise and fall of kings and nations alike. Though created by the hands of Nyx, perhaps it is of some humor that the first solid memory they have is of Zeus. Summoned before the mighty God, Anemos was given the order to carry a dream to the Greek king Agamemnon, urging him into battle against the Trojans. They traveled to his tent outside of Troy in the evening, taking the face of the king’s most trusted advisor, and with them they brought the promise of the Gods’ favor from Mount Olympus, spinning it like a web inside of the king’s mind while he slept. It was with this dream that Anemos played a hand in the fall of Troy, giving them a taste of the power that they could wield over the minds of mortals. And yet, once their job was done, the Gods fell silent to the oneiroi. No more instruction came at the time, left to their own devices to wander the world freely without a feeling of true purpose. 

It was fun, for a time. The influence they could hold on others was a source of entertainment, as they shifted through faces and identities as often as it pleased them. But a life alone is a life of loneliness, and Anemos was not immune to those feelings. Even as they enjoyed their revelry, there was still the feeling of being incomplete. So, in the absences of their creator, the Gods, and any others of their kind, Anemos began to look for companionship with the creatures of the earth. They began to make their presence known in the world, and became sought out by many kings and commoners alike for their abilities. Divination in particular was heavily desired, the mortal pull to know a man’s own future all too irresistible, though in seeking for themselves, the answers they received would only lead to a worse outcome as the people tried to escape their fate. The truly clever ones were careful with their questions, worded deliberately and under the promise of facing whatever the future may hold, no matter what answer they were given. It was these people that Anemos liked best, and often spent time in their courts of their own free will and desire.

One such court was that of Ramesses II, later to be known as Ramesses the Great. They came to him early in his reign, already a known oracle in the land, and the pharaoh was quick to extend an invitation to his palace. A bond of mutual respect and friendship was born between the pair, and Anemos stayed in his counsel until the end of his days. They followed him into every one of his Syrian campaigns, and cautioned against waging open war with the Hittites, instead suggesting to form a peace with the other king. And thus the first known peace treaty to exist was drafted, creating a harmony between borders that would last until the end of his reign. Already a great leader in his own right, with Anemos by his side, Ramesses became the greatest known and most widely celebrated pharaoh of all time. When death finally came for him at ninety years of age, Anemos still remained, and saw him through to the next life. It was the first time in their immortal life that Anemos experienced the feelings of grief and loss, an unexpected attachment to mortality that perhaps made them softer to the human species. Unfortunately, not all humans were so deserving.

Indeed, while the wise ones courted the favor of an oneiroi, the greedy ones desired their power for their own use and no one else’s. It was a mistake, a slip of the tongue in the room with the wrong person to hear, where word got out that the talisman Anemos kept was the source of their essence. Staying in Rome at the time, as a guest of the Emperor Septimius Severus, they had been in the area for a while, watching in amusement as the country struggled to regain its footing during the Year of the Five Emperors. They believed themselves to be safe in the Roman court, to wield their influence as they saw fit, and while Septimius held a great respect for the oneiroi’s abilities, his son was not so swayed. Caracalla craved Anemos’s power, saw it as an opportunity for himself to take charge, and sought to control them absolutely. Once he took possession of their talisman, they were bound under his will, forced to carry out his whims. In over a millennium of existence, it was the first true experience of betrayal for the oneiroi, an act that left them filled with rage. 

Though they were incapable of defying the man, that did not mean they were powerless. An angry oneiroi is a dangerous thing, and Anemos was not one to take forced servitude lying down. They began to plant the seeds of doubt and paranoia inside Caracalla’s mind, exacerbated by the death of his father in a military campaign in Caledonia. Forced to share his reign with his brother Geta, he was all too quick to turn to the spirit’s divination for solutions to his problems, which Anemos was happy to provide. This coupled along with every foul idea planted through his head in a dream, Caracalla quickly began a downward spiral into dictatorial behavior. Indeed, it was the spirit who gave him the idea to kill Geta to remove him as an obstacle, along with every single man who supported his brother. A great many people suffered for this, many of them innocent, yet Anemos felt no remorse. If they were trapped and suffering under his thumb, then so should everyone else be as well. 

After the murder of his brother, Caracalla took to the road, never to return to Rome. Though his mother Julia Domna requested for the spirit to stay in the city with her, the emperor refused, and Anemos was forced along with him. And yet it proved to be an unwise decision, for instead of favor, he only brought madness. Each time he pressed upon the oneiroi for knowledge, they would use it to twist his desires, and stroke his cruelty into a man that would become so infamously tyrannical. They encouraged his obsession with becoming the new Alexander the Great, which led to his persecution of Aristotelian philosophers, and also whispered a dream of the massacre and plunder of the city of Alexandria when the citizens mocked him in a satirical play, all the while turning him into someone who the world would not tolerate. When they saw his end at the hands of one of his own soldiers through divination, they pushed him into war with Parthia by presenting it as the only option to escape his fate, but in reality he only sealed it. It was only after that soldier stabbed the emperor to death on the road to Carrhae that Anemos was able to reclaim their talisman, and with it they took off running, never to look back. 

The reality of being forced into servitude for so long shook Anemos, and they became determined to never allow it to happen again. No longer did they exist so openly among mortal men, hiding their talents in fear of losing control of their talisman again. Determined that they would rather die than live through that again, they began to search for a method to ensure it’s security. It was during this time that they finally came into contact with one of their own. Another oneiroi, likewise alone in the world, it had been a bit of a salvation for Anemos. Immediately bonded, the two stuck together like glue for over one hundred years, and fell in love in the time in-between. But fate would not allow them to stay together, as their lover’s tricks came back to haunt them in the form of an aggrieved former lord who had lost everything due to the other oneiroi’s machinations. They were outnumbered with weapons of iron, and though the pair fought back, eventually the man got his hands on their love’s talisman and shattered it to pieces with the swing of a mighty axe. Anemos just barely escaped with their own life, wounded and heartbroken, and went deep into hiding as they mourned for their fallen. 

Nearly a century later, when they emerged from their shell of living, it was with a renewed energy to never let themselves fall victim to their talisman. Though it took time and effort, first to find one strong enough and then to make sure they were trustworthy, eventually Anemos sought the services of a witch to help them. And so the talisman was bound on a chain, and laced around their neck falling halfway to their chest, spelled to never be removed by a forceful hand. The chain is unbreakable, so long as the spell itself stays unbroken, and Anemos has never taken it off in over the five hundred years to follow.

For a while, when the world was still vastly unexplored, it was easy to take the face of others and have none be the wiser. But as the world became more modern, and hiding became more difficult, Anemos began to see the benefit of not only stealing faces, but also lives. They would insert themselves in the social circle of their target, learn what was necessary information to impersonate them, before promptly killing them and taking their entire identity. It’s a system they’ve perfected over the last one hundred years or so, giving them access to things otherwise unobtainable.

The two most recent victims whose lives Anemos has taken up are Grace Tate-Starling and Lincoln Donato. Grace was an Australian socialite, daughter of a former model and a billionaire whose family came from old money. Slipping into her life had been all too easy, and when she disappeared off to a “Greek Vacation” no one even questioned it. Lincoln on the other hand had been a traveling European photographer, not of great renown but considered to be an up-and-comer by the community. A loner in life who had little more than his camera, motorcycle, and website, there’d been hardly a more perfect choice for Anemos to take. With both their new appearances in hand, they made their way to Corinth Bay, to the pull of the veil in search of any others of their kind. For even though they had been burned by their desire for connection before, the feeling of loneliness never truly abated, except for the time when around one of their own species. If they could find any more like themselves, or a way to make more, then perhaps they could finally be happy again.

PERSONALITY

+ convivial, loyal, persevering - vengeful, amoral, shortsighted

PLAYED BY ABBY. CDT. She/Her.

[mobius-prime]

246. Sonic the Hedgehog #177

Home, New Home

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley! Colors: Jason Jensen

As the Egg Fleet approaches New Mobotropolis, Nicole erects a forcefield-like shield around the entire city, protecting it from the bombardment that Snively, leading the fleet, begins dropping on it. With the shield protecting everyone, however, a slightly more immediate concern reveals itself - namely, the many criminals that have been teleported here along with the actual residents of Knothole, who see an opportunity to not only break free of the justice system, but take a few of the citizens with them.

Amazing speech on your part there, Mogul. Really, it's a wonder everyone didn't immediately fall at your feet. Sonic and Sally are impressed at Nicole's foresight, only to become concerned when her hologram begins flickering and she appears to show signs of pain in response to more shells hitting the city's shield. She tells them that she has to devote most of the city's power supply to keeping the shield up, and reassures Sally that she'll always be nearby even when they can't see her before disappearing. Sally and Elias address the crowd of rescued civilians, telling them that right now they can trust Nicole to keep them safe while they come up with a plan and that for now everyone should find their new homes. Sally stops Sonic, however, and orders him to go get medical attention before he does anything else, something he's predictably a bit grumpy about.

Okay, so this is where we address one of the most controversial things Ian ever included in the comic. It's controversial for good reason. We've already established that one of the major things Ian has been doing for the comic since taking over as head writer is bringing the world of the comics more in line with that of the games, and this includes the various characters and their attitudes. Vector is no longer as insufferable as he was under Kenders, Knuckles is one of Sonic's closest allies now rather than a distant rival, and so on, but this is where the age discrepancy between Charmy from the games and Charmy from the comics becomes a problem. If you'll recall, Charmy is six in the games but sixteen in the comics, and obviously a sixteen-year-old is going to act pretty different from a six-year-old. So how exactly does one take a fairly mature teenager, who's a prince of a lost kingdom and literally engaged to someone else his age, and make him act like a child? Well, I don't have any particularly good ideas myself, but Ian's highly controversial solution was to give him brain damage. From this point on, Charmy suffers from some substantial memory loss, and generally has a much more childlike personality than he once did. There's many problems with this, and others have gone into this topic much more in depth than I care to, but suffice it to say that while giving a character brain damage simply as part of their character arc isn't inherently a bad thing, and can even be a positive if handled right, giving a character brain damage purely as a plot device to make them act more like a child feels incredibly insensitive and insulting. From what I understand, this isn't totally Ian's fault; Sega was pressuring him to make these changes, and I suppose at the time this was all he could think of for the Charmy problem, but I know he has stated later on that he wishes he'd handled this particular issue better, so at least he's acknowledged how bad this whole thing seems. Furthermore, he does appear to treat Charmy as a character with as much respect as possible in future issues, so there's that at least.

Anyway, Saffron is relieved when Charmy happily confirms that he remembers who she is and hugs her, and Dr. Quack moves on from Charmy to take a look at Sonic. It doesn't take him long to confirm his suspicions that indeed, all the magical ring energy Sonic's been exposed to have given him a high resistance to injury as well as apparently an accelerated rate of healing, something which is quite fascinating and I wish would have been expanded upon in this universe's worldbuilding at some point. As Dr. Quack heads off to find his own family, we take a quick look at the Chaos Chamber on Angel Island, where Finitevus appears to be doing some kind of weird ritual with the Master Emerald, reciting Tikal's prayer. Scourge runs up and informs him that Dimitri has run - err, floated off, presumably to contact Knuckles and warn him of Finitevus' treachery. Finitevus, however, merely tells him that this was part of his plan all along, and he isn't concerned, as he'll bring back Enerjak one way or another. Sounds quite ominous indeed…

Hey man, someone needs to remind Antoine that bravery isn't a lack of fear, it's standing up to danger even when you are afraid. Sally becomes lost in thought for a moment, remembering all the times she led the Freedom Fighters into danger in the past, long before she was ever thrust into the role of acting ruler or forced into a disastrous arranged marriage. She suddenly stands up and reminds Bunnie of her old hairdressing ambitions, and asks her for one more favor before they begin their defense against Eggman's attack… Meanwhile up in the sky, Snively continues to try to break through New Mobotropolis' shield, only to become startled when a single, tiny aircraft begins firing onto his flagship. His robots prepare to return fire, but he suddenly orders them to stand down with a look of shock, and contacts the plane… having recognized it as the plane that Hope built. Hope yells at him through the comm when he opens a channel, furious that she took his advice and went to Station Square, but when she tried to return to Knothole, which she still considered home, it was in ruins. She blames him for all of it, too ashamed to show her face to the Mobians again after leaving, and begins to sob.

I absolutely love the way that these comics continue to humanize Snively more and more. I feel so bad for Hope here, especially knowing that none of the Mobians would blame her for what happened, but as for Snively, it's clear that despite his nature, he does value family, and does care about Hope. He's gone from being the cowardly, sniveling, silly minion of the evil Dr. Robotnik to an actual human with flaws, feelings, and attachments. From inside the city shield, Tails watches the bombardment continue with his parents and Merlin, and Amadeus expresses that though the destruction of Knothole was a tragedy, all in all this may actually be a good thing for the populace, as he believes that such a major event will prepare them for "the shift in thinking" that he plans for them. Merlin, however, warns him not to push ahead with any reforms he has in mind too soon, as the monarchy will also be very tense from all this chaos. Rosemary expresses her belief in her husband, and Tails excitedly says he'll support his father no matter what, but the sentiment is interrupted by Eggman's furious screaming from outside the city walls, banging on the shield with his battle suit and yelling for the Freedom Fighters to come out and face him, infuriated that his perfect victory has been stolen from him. Sonic cheerfully interrupts his tantrum, suddenly standing outside the shield, and Eggman is initially pleased, mocking Sonic for not learning from his initial defeat mere hours ago. However, it turns out that Sonic has learned, and with the knowledge that the battle suit was created to counter Sonic and Sonic alone, he and Sally have come up with the perfect plan while Eggman wasn't looking.

The entire Freedom Fighter and Chaotix force descends on Eggman's battle suit, and they're all able to locate weaknesses that Eggman hadn't anticipated in its construction. They tear it apart piece by piece while Sonic gleefully reminds his nemesis that there are more heroes on this planet than just himself, and that anything he can't handle on his own, the others definitely can. In the end, Eggman is left with barely half a shell of his precious armor, furious and humiliated, which leads into perhaps one of my favorite pages of this entire era - perhaps even the entire comic.

Eggman, still unwilling to let victory slip away despite his situation, orders his fleet to fire directly on their location, meaning either he was somehow unaware that this would kill him too, or he was aware, and was more concerned with killing his foes than surviving. Honestly, my bet is on the latter - it seems like something he'd do if angry enough and feeling sufficiently cornered. However, he's forgotten that Nicole has full control over the nanites in the city, and since everything in the city is made of nanites, she's able to stretch the city's wall out to create a wall between everyone out on the field and the bombardment from the Egg Fleet. She projects her form to Eggman and urges him to reconsider his decision, as frankly, Sally is showing him more mercy than he deserves by a long shot. And honestly, she's right - it would be a much better decision to either kill him right there, or, if they're feeling too honorable and whatnot, at least arrest him and shove him in a cell next to Mammoth Mogul…

Well hello there, old haircut! I will say, I did enjoy Sally's long hair while she had it - I thought it looked good on her. But hey, cutting one's hair as a show of maturation is a common fictional trope, and in a way, it's nice to go back to seeing Sally rocking her old look. I will actually note here that while I've mentioned before that Tracy's pencils have standardized the design of a lot of characters, I actually don't care much for his redesign of Sally as a whole. While I appreciate her proportions becoming more like those of every other Mobian - the human body that a lot of other artists gave her looked kind of weird, to be honest - her facial features have actually been significantly altered by his style. She always had a distinctive slanted-back eye shape and a more gentle slope to her nose, but by making her eye shape closer to than of characters like Bunnie and Tails, I feel she's lost some of her unique visual charm. That isn't to say that I think Sally is lesser as a character for this change - she's still one of my top favorites in the series - nor that I disapprove of Tracy's art style as a whole. And in the end, her hairstyle change here marks the beginning of a new era - one where she begins to act once more like her old self and once again joins the others on missions just like old times. She's worked through a lot of the trauma and self-doubt that she's been plagued with ever since Sonic's return to Mobius, and now we can look forward to new adventures with her, in a new location. I mean that "new era" thing literally, by the way. Congratulations, we've reached the end of the comic's fifth era - many of the eras beyond this one are significantly shorter than the ones we've seen previously, but that also means we'll be moving through distinctive arcs a little more quickly, and furthermore, the next era holds some pretty exciting new surprises! Shall we now - how do they say - do it to it?

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

Future Looks Good

Ben Barnes x Female Reader

A/N: This week has been really tough on me. I’m bloody submerged with clients’ requests, journalists’ requests, and on top of that everybody seems to think I’ve got a magical solution to all of their problems...  Whatever. All of that to tell @benbarnesescape that i’ve only survived all this shit because I kept reading her Ben Barnes’ stories every night before I went to sleep. Thank you for the inspiration, darling, because I’ve been dealing with some serious writer’s block lately... Go check out her works, you won’t regret it! 

Word count : 1417

Warnings : none

God I’m such a sucker for that Billy Russo look. Goddamn. 

Ben friggin Barnes. Was he ever going to stop leaving you speechless everytime you thought it was a good idea to watch a movie he starred in? In your defense, you’d only seen two : and that’s because you weren’t given much of a choice. As much as you would rather go grab a couple of Spritz’es with your friends on Friday night, movie premiers were an obligation. Especially when your face – and body – took 80% of all the screening time.

Your apartment was glowing on the inside, Annick Goutal candles emanating warmth and woodish smell. Here and there you could spot a pillow, a wool blanket and a couple of soft furs scattered on the carpented floors. Britt had left early tonight – she had an early exposition tomorrow at the gallery, which you were thankful for, to be honest.

Five episodes of the Punisher were frankly a lot more than you could handle.

It all started quite innocently, when you thought about it. Britt came over with a nice bottle of Chardonnay and stories to spill about her ex. Indeed, it has been three weeks since she became single and you both had been enjoying it to the fullest – as a matter of fact, this was so far the only evening you decided to stay in. Once your sushi order had been devoured and the second bottle of wine had been opened – Cabernet d’Anjou this time – you were stupid enough to ask what Britt wanted for dessert.

‘Eye-candy, obviously,’ she smiled at you mischeviously, already switching from some random music channel to Netflix. Your entire body had literally gone cold at her statement.

‘Britt,’ you began warningly. ‘We are not watching the Punisher’.

‘Fuck yes we do’,  she exclaimed, a happy smile blooming on her lips. Seeing you wince slightly, she sighed. ‘Oh come on Y/N. You have no idea what you’ve been missing. This is like the greatest rave you’ve been invited to and for some reason you choose to ignore the invitation!’

Raising your eyebrows at her quite picturesque metaphore, you glanced at the screen, where Netflix offered you to stare at your friend Benjamin Barnes until you couldn’t bear seeing his sinfully handsome face anymore.

‘You know I don’t watch movies with my friends in them,’ you finally said. ‘Especially where my friends play murderers or bastards.’

‘Barnes is a bastard alright. Being that hot should be illegal,’ Britt smirked at you, pushing the red play button. You groaned, serving yourself another glass of wine. This was bound to be a long night.

You weren’t wrong. The clock just struck three in the morning, yet you still stared at your MacBook’s screen massaging your temples.

Just as you predicted, none of this little TV series binging was going to do you any good.

As soon as you met Ben for the first time, you promised yourself you were never going to fall for him. You guys had hit it off right away, getting along like a house on fire. Your chemistry on the screen was indeniable, and since you were extremely comfortable with each other, you accepted to act out a romantic relationship in a couple of steamy movies, including David Robert Mitchell’s new Bonnie and Clyde narrative. If you were going to be honest with yourself, it was right around that time that you realized you might have crossed that dangerous line. Without even noticing at first, you started falling for the man, admiring those beautiful sparks in his chocolate eyes, his easy and heartwarming smile, the way he cared for you in all those little ways, bringing you coffee, running back to his trailer to fetch you a sweater, taking you out for dinner when you learned that you failed an important audition.

Luckily, just when you realized how fucked up your feelings towards your best friend were, he was casted in the next big gig of Patty Jenkins. You had to temporarily part ways and you haven’t seen him for more than five months now.

This was doing your crazed heart so much good you started to think straight like a normal person again.

Until this fucking Punisher movie night.

So now, circling the rim of your glass with your pinky absentmindedly, you stared at Ben’s twitter page. You didn’t even know what brought you here, but you also knew you’d been staring at it for an hour now. Your dizzy mind, filled with flashing images of Billy Russo shagging that beautiful actress, begged for some stupid, irrevocable action.

Exhaling slowly, you clicked tweet. You fingers tapped the words against your better judgement, and it wasn’t long before you hit send.

Staring at the screen, your heart beating double time, you watched your tweet hit a hundreds of likes, retweets and ‘ahhh’ comments per minute, the sentiment of terror growing in your chest.

Scanning the tweet that you wrote, you gulped down the remainders of white wine from your glass. Had you just singlehandedly undermined the future of your friendship with Ben?...

Y/N-Y/L/N @y/n_y/l/n 2 min

I know I’m late to the party and all that but… #holyshit @benbarnes, who is that hot guy named Billy Russo that you’ve been hiding from me for so long? When are you going to introduce us to each other?

By the time you finished re-reading your tweet, it spread like plague, judging from the number of retweets. Your home fell silent, nothing perturbing the heavy atmosphere, but the sound of your computer cooling down.

Biting your bottom lip so hard it hurt, you clicked back to Ben’s twitter page, mentally cursing yourself for being so stupid. Damn Britt and damn her eye-candy cravings…

And then your heart dropped. 1 new tweet, was all it took for you to start sweating profusely. Barely remembering how to breath – God you were pathetic – you clicked on the notification.

Was it his answer to you? If it was, was it as poignant and mocking as you knew Ben could be sometimes?

Sweet baby Jesus, what have you gotten yourself into?

Your lips raw and blood-red by now, you braced yourself for the worst…

Ben Barnes @benbarnes 1 min

Oh thank God, @y/n_y/l/n, the pretty boy has been bragging about you for months now. How does tomorrow sound? He said he’d pick you up around seven-ish. He also says its a date.

You blinked, dumbfounded, re-reading his answer again. And again. And again.

Jesus Holy Christ on a bicycle! Ben friggin Barnes had just asked you out?!

Hold your horses, Y/N, you commanded to yourself, feeling your cheeks turn red. This must be some kind of joke… He wasn’t even in New York these days!

You suddenly felt a pit in your stomach starting to grow, bitterness making its home on your tongue.

You should have known better than to put yourself out there like that. This was worse than any mockery Ben could have come up with, this playing along for the public image thing…

If only he knew how much you ached for him all along…

Your attention switched back to your computer, your screen going alight. Another tweet on Ben’s page. Telling yourself nothing could be worse than what you were going through right now, you clicked on the notification – again.

Ben Barnes @benbarnes 1 min

What do you want me to tell him, @y/n_y/l/n? I ought to say, he’s looking pretty threatening with this gun he’s aimed at me, but I know you can turn him into a kitten just by saying yes. Don’t tell him that though, he’s afraid of showing his soft side.

A lump in your throat was hard to ignore as you laughed quietly, covering your mouth. Was Ben serious? Your best friend Ben, your partner in crime Benito Barnsoia, is actually asking you out on a date, being all nervous and basically telling you you’re the one?!

Excited smile quickly becoming a part of your normal  physique, you typed an answer, short and simple.

Y/N-Y/L/N @y/n_y/l/n  just now

@benbarnes, I am a sucker for guns. And kittens. But don’t tell him that. Seven sharp. My place. It’s a date.

Your laughter broke the silence of the room, resonating in its walls. Slamming your computer shut, you put your elbows on its surface, staring into the dimness of the room, you heart beating softly.

A date with pretty boy Billy Russo.

If he was your future, than damn it looked good.

[hosseocc]

Accidental Potion || Part One

Summary: Shy and clumsy Minseok is tired of crushing from afar, so he decides to make a move…with magic. I mean, what could go wrong?

Word count: 1834

Pairing: Minseok x reader

Genre: fluff, future angst

Warnings: none

a/n:: clearly i’m better at reading fluff than actually writing it but ..... i wanted to give it a try so here you go x

(Not my gif, credits to owner!)———————————————————————–

‘Come on, you can do this’ Minseok muttered to himself, for what felt like the fifth time in that split second. He was pacing back and forth contemplating if what he was about to do was worth it, whether he could handle the consequences or not. Of course, they could be dire and ruin everything he’s ever wanted in life, but you never know unless you try right? After the same amount of debating it would take for a toddler to choose between candy or veggies, he concluded that there was no more time left to be nervous because the bus had arrived. It was finally time to make his move.

He sat down on the bench behind him and began rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans as he watched the bus slowly come to a halt and stop further down to his left. Moving his right hand down to reach into his right pocket, he slowly pulled out a small glass vial and stared down at it. The contents of the small bottle held something invisible to the human eye, but to him it screamed beauty. Sparks of baby pink and silver swam around inside, reflecting a bright sparkle in his eyes. He felt a warmth pass through him, which only convinced him even more that his was where his happiness would finally begin. He already knew it was made for him, but the smell was just right. An unfamiliar wave of sweetness and comfort surrounded him that he had never felt before, but he never wanted it to leave. When making it, Junmyeon didn’t forget to emphasise the amount of care and effort he had put into getting his hands on the finest roses and jasmines for this potion for him, so he knew it would be perfect.

Looking back up to the bus, he watched as the doors opened, and the passengers started walking out. After the third person exited, he finally saw her. Although her face was painted with a scowl and she looked nothing short of stressed and annoyed, he still thought she was beautiful. Minseok’s mind flashed back to the last time he saw Si-Yeon before summer had started. They were sitting opposite each other at the local hangout with their group of friends, celebrating the end of exams and the start of a long summer. They didn’t really speak much, she was more a friend of a friend but nonetheless treated him with the same respect. He fell for her straight away and cherished every single one of the shy glances they shared from across the table, when it felt like just them two in a room full of loud shouting over drinks and snacks. Being too afraid to make his move, he decided his next best bet was magic. Which brought him to where he is now. 

Just as she was about to reach the last step, Minseok readied himself by fixating his gaze and mind on her and opening the lid to the glass. The scented sparkles that flew out of the tiny potion swirled past him and straight towards her, by the command of his gentle blow into the vial. The colours stood out perfectly against the sunny spring morning, and only he was able to appreciate its beauty. His content and longing didn’t last for more than 10 seconds though because as his crush felt around her pockets for a phone that wasn’t there, she suddenly cursed under her breath and quickly spun back around and ran into the bus.

With the potion still dancing along the cool breeze towards her, he didn’t know what was going to happen. This wasn’t part of the plan. His watchful eyes squinted, and his right leg started tapping against the floor again in a panic, when Si-yeon bumped into the girl behind her, not bothering to say sorry and sprinting back to her seat. If there was anything Minseok expected to happen at this point, it was that the potion would follow her into the bus and hit her. It could have been a possibility. It could have happened. But it didn’t. 

>>>>><<<<<

You felt annoyance rise in you as the girl in front who seemed utterly pissed the entire journey bumped your shoulder and seemed to forget her manners. You scoffed and shook your head as you made your way down the last steps of the bus and your feet touched the ground. The main thing on your mind was coffee and a warm doughnut at this point, so you told yourself to forget the minor inconvenience to your already dreadful morning. As you let the cool breeze awaken you, your mind tried to follow the smells coming from the coffee shop down the road, but your senses were suddenly met with a sweeter, stronger smell. 

Walking to your left when your subconscious knew you should be going right, where the coffee shop was, it felt as if your brain had almost been switched off and someone invisible was tickling your nose with a feather. Completely surrendering to the new smell, you carried on walking until you came to a stop in front of a wall. 

‘A wall?’  you thought, ‘What am I doing standing in front of a wall when I could be drinking a steaming hot coffee right now?’

It all seemed to make sense a couple of seconds later though, as your eyes were drawn towards the vine of roses and jasmines growing up the left side of the wall surrounding a bench. The deep red and bright white colours blended beautifully together against the luscious green growing out in every direction. Never having seen roses and jasmines grow together before, you felt fixated on the creation in front of you as the smell intoxicated you even further, almost driving you mad you swore you could almost taste it. It felt like your head was clearing and the mid may weather was blessing you with the opportunity to throw your thoughts away for once to really appreciate the world around you

But the flowers weren’t the only things you would be appreciating that day. As your eyes trailed left, you met the eyes belonging to somebody sitting on the bench. They were staring at you, messy black hair with strands falling above the lens of his round glasses, protecting his wide eyes. He sat there, mouth agape as you took in his appearance, somehow knowing this situation was the weirdest you have ever been in whilst for some reason trying to convince yourself that it just felt right. To you, his startled posture on the bench was glowing more than the radiant flowers behind him. You were sure this is what it meant to fall in love at first sight. 

Still under the control of the intoxicating smell, you found yourself slowly sat down next to his still silent self. You didn’t know why you were doing this and you were fearing that you looked like an absolute freak right now. But you did it anyway, because all of a sudden, your brain was telling you everything is now right with the world. 

>>>>><<<<<

Minseok was so sure nothing could go wrong with the potion and that Si-Yeon would be in his arms by now. He was so, so sure. Of course, by now he should be used to the fact that life can be a bitch and completely mock you at times. If he didn’t know it before, he sure does now. The feeling of dread he felt as he sat shocked, watching the potion swim around you and not the one it was intended for, sat heavier in his stomach than anything ever has before. He’s known to be sometimes clumsy and nervous with potions, and by now he’s used to cleaning up his mess but the solution to this situation was nowhere in sight.

‘I can’t believe I just used a love potion on the wrong person’ was the only thought circulating his mind. He couldn’t conjure up any words because how could he even begin to explain this situation to the unsuspecting, innocent human in front of him?

When she began speaking, he knew he was in deep, deep trouble. 

>>>>><<<<<

‘Hi, my name’s y/n, what’s yours?’ she introduced herself, with a bright smile.

You felt like a complete idiot right now, with no way to stop what you were doing. You’ve never been the first one to approach a guy so why now? You were literally drawn to him and you didn’t want it to stop. 

Minseok heard her question whilst remembering about Si-Yeon and looking back at the bus only to see her walking off in the opposite direction. He sighed and turned back to face you. 

‘I’m so sorry’ he spluttered, adjusting the glasses on his face, not knowing what else to say.

You simply giggled and replied, ‘Well its nice to meet you, I’m so sorry’.

‘So now I’m giggling like a school girl and attempting dad jokes?’ you asked your mind in disbelief.

Minseok forced himself to avoid cringing at your poor attempt at flirting, clearly the potion had some adverse effects. Wanting to confirm his fears of the potion working a little too well, he asked you a question.

‘What made you come over here?’ 

Not really sure of the answer yourself, you answered with the first thing that came to your mind, ‘I, uh, don’t know how else to say this but…it felt like the roses and jasmines were calling me and leading me to you…’ You almost kicked yourself for saying something that sounded so absurd, you would run away if someone had ever said it to you. But he didn’t run away, he remained in the same position, once again staring at you in silence. 

Minseok was really rendered speechless for the first time in his life. Your response was all the proof he needed to confirm Junmyeon’s potion had really worked. He was really beginning to wish Junmyeon had made a mistake of some kind, but with his skills and perfectionism he knew it could never be a possibility. He figured that going along with it until he informed the others of the problem was the only thing he could at this point.

To your surprise, he smiled back at you, and offered his hand, ‘I’m Minseok’.

You reached your hand out to accept his greeting and your hands almost touched, when you were interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing. Apologising to Minseok with a sheepish smile, you quickly pulled it out of your bag and when you saw who was calling, your entire mood shifted.  You let your extended hand drop in your lap before bringing it up to run through your hair.

‘Shit’ you muttered through a frustrated sigh.

How can you be so infatuated with a complete stranger that you completely forgot you already had a boyfriend?

[the-dao-of-the-zerg]

Lord Volsen’s Grimoire

The acolyte looked over the spell quizzically. “But master, wouldn’t this require you to be dead first?”

I gave him a look, and he fell silent. “I will handle my end of the ritual.”

He nodded quietly. “Yes, master. Sorry.”

The problem, of course, is that he was right. Or rather, the problem was that we only had a single grimoire, and it belonged to Lord Volsen. I suppose you should say rather that the actual problem was that Lord Volsen’s grimoire refused to work for any but its master. Although to be excruciatingly exact, the real crux of the problem was this: Lord Volsen had died some five years earlier.

None the less, the crops needed to be blessed; the river needed to be shaped and quelled from flooding; the cold winter winds must be warded against.

—-

It was my aunt Askel who hit on the solution in the first place. We had tried to convince Lord Volsen to take an apprentice, but each one he rejected in the same way. He would sneer at their pronounciation, he would mock their gestures, and he would nitpick their grammar. “Honestly, child, if you wish to stop the river from flooding in the PAST tense, I have good news to you,” he had said to her before she gave up in tears and refused to take any more of his abuse.

Askel was the town’s medium, and so we called upon Lord Volson’s spirit. And I said to him, “you are dead without an apprentice, so I have come to study upon your grave.”

And of course, he sneered, and looked down upon me. “Show me your best efforts to bless the crops,” said he. I did. His sneer only deepened. “Terrible, my child, simply terrible,” he berated me, and then showed off effortless the words and gestures needed to cast the spell of Spring.

Thus it was that the crops were blessed, by his own words.

—-

Again we called him in the fall.

“Honestly, child,” he growled, “you have no head for this at all – why must you bother my soul so?”

I stared at the ground, at the dirt above his grave, and I gave the only answer I could: “My good sir, the rains must be quelled, or the river shall flood. If I do not do it, who will?”

And once again, his every mannerism was sharp, his every look designed to dehumanize. “DO try to pay attention this time, my child”, and again he showed me the spell of Fall.

And thus it was that the rains were quelled.

—-

Again we called him in the winter.

He but rolled his eyes. “You are truly lucky that this magic does not work for you, peasant girl. If you were to cast even half the spells you ask of me, your life force would be drained to nothingness.”

“Still,” I said, “I must try. Winter comes, and who will ward against the cold if not me?”

He muttered, but also he was bound. “Very well, I shall show you again. Although how your pitiful village has survived your bumblings this long is beyond me.” And thus it was, that he cast the spell of Winter.

—-

Wouldn’t this spell require the caster to be dead? Yes, indeed. Fortunately for us all, Lord Volsen had, in this alone, been an obliging soul.

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Leap of faith

Summary: That time when you wanted to go skydiving and Bucky didn’t love the idea.  Characters: Bucky x Reader Warnings: None, this is absolute fluff

A/N: Needed a bit of happy after a long week at work, so here’s some snarky Bucky with a side of fluff. MASTERLIST

"I’m not kidding, it feels like flying, it's so amazing."

Steve's voice is exuberant, blue eyes bright, while he visualises the experience for you, his enthusiasm painting a colourful verbal picture. The longer he talks, the more he fidgets, his inability to stay still a direct correlation to his excitement, and his eagerness to tell the story puts a smile on your face.

He talks and talks about every jump he’s ever tried, a shocking number in actuality, and you indulge him as the early sunlight slides across the kitchen floor. 

It’s late morning before you hear the slow, quiet steps shuffle behind you, and you feel his arms curl tightly around your waist for a sleepy hug. The minty smell of toothpaste floats under your nose when he presses a light kiss to your neck, nuzzling his face into your hair. 

"Morning," Bucky murmurs, eyes still half-closed when he breathes deep, letting the scent of coffee and your freshly scrubbed skin roll over him. 

"Morning, love." Tilting your head back, you press an upside-down kiss to his chin and he grins down, dropping a sloppy kiss on your nose. 

Veering toward the coffee pot, he stifles a yawn while he reaches for his favourite mug, half listening to the conversation playing around him. 

"So how does it work?" you ask Steve curiously.

"Two different ways, you can go by yourself or you can go tandem, where you're strapped to someone. Most people do that the first time."

His mind is still foggy with sleep, but Bucky feels his ears perk at a few of those words, hackles immediately raising, and he turns slowly. 

"And how high would you go the first time?"

"Maybe 13,000 feet or so. Eventually you’d go higher, but that’s standard for beginners." 

"What are you guys taking about?" Bucky's voice is sharp, interrupting the conversation as he glances suspiciously between the two of you. 

"Skydiving! There's a place outside the city, and Steve already contacted the guys who runs it for me." You see his jaw clench as the words barely leave your mouth, and you pause with a sigh.

"Bucky. Don't look at me like that. Steve said it’s perfectly safe, people do it every day." 

Perhaps that wasn’t the best way to start. Bucky turns to stare at Steve in absolute disbelief. 

"Alright, let me get this straight Steve. You're encouraging this woman, who is ridiculously accident prone -"

"Hey!" You exclaim.

"Who is ridiculously accident prone and in fact the other day nearly gave herself a concussion trying to open a bottle of champagne -"

"I maintain that was completely not my fault, there were no directions."

"Who is ridiculously accident prone and apparently unable to read very clear directions in front of her face, and who I somehow managed to fall in love with, although god is apparently testing my patience right now -"

"Awww that's sweet. Okay you're forgiven."

"You're telling her she should jump out of an airplane?" 

Steve hesitates, weighing the pros and cons of possible responses, knowing full well his answer will likely result in a sucker punch from Bucky at some point over the next month. He settles for confused hesitation.  

"Yes?"

"You're fucking insane Rogers."

Grinning at the spasm of nervousness that washes over Steve's handsome face, you come to his aid, gearing yourself up for a verbal sparring match with the annoyingly overprotective soldier in front of you. 

"Come on Bucky, it’s not Steve's fault. I've wanted to do this for ages."

"Yes I know, and I've told you I'll take you someday."

"And when is someday?"

"Before never, but sometime after later."

"Helpful, thanks."

You can see Steve out of the corner of your eye, slowly edging out of the room while Bucky is preoccupied with chastising you. It almost works. 

"Stevie, you're not off the hook, I'll deal with you later." Bucky raises his voice, but keeps his eyes trained on you, as if he thinks you’ll fling yourself from the window the moment his back is turned. 

"Traitor." You mumble under your breath as Steve gives you a thumbs up and scurries out of the kitchen. 

Bucky is watching you intently, equal parts frustration and exasperation on his face. You steel yourself for the argument, knowing his debating style will be exhausting. He starts off with a zinger.

"I can't let you do this."

"What I do is not up to you."

"Dammit, listen to me - first of all, you don't get to watch ‘Wonder Woman’ again, I'm getting real tired of you quoting that at me. Second, Steve Rogers genuinely believes jumping off shit is the solution to every single problem he encounters, so his vote doesn't count. Third, were you actually born without the part of your brain that controls logic and impulse control?

Okay, so he was coming out swinging. No problem. 

"I'm taking a class on what to do and I'll be strapped to an instructor who will literally solve every problem if I forget everything."

"Oh, you're taking a class? Well then, excuse me, that's clearly enough training, never mind my silly objections."

"You're a complete smartass."

"True. Answer's still no."

"I wasn't actually asking you, I was more informing you of the process."

His glare at this point was pure ice, so you try switching tactics. 

"Buck, have you ever jumped out of a plane?"

"Many times. First time was 1943, there were people shooting at me, and the parachute got tangled and I nearly killed myself. You can understand why I don't love this idea."

"You realise no one will be shooting at me."

"I'm not making any promises," he mutters. 

"And you realise parachutes these days are a little more high tech than the shit you used then?"

"Don't care."

"Isn't it unfair to deny me an opportunity for such an amazing experience, when you've had the chance to do it so many times? Don't you think that's a wee bit selfish?"

"You're a wee bit insane if you think that argument will work."

"Are you afraid I won't be able to go through with it once I get up there?"

"No, I'm afraid of you plummeting to your death, because for some insane reason I love you. How is this a hard concept to grasp and why in god’s name do you not have a better sense of self-preservation?"

"Well, I've always been a maverick."

"Executive decision, you don't get to hang out with Steve Rogers anymore. The two of you come up with way too much stupid for me to handle."

"Could you please have some faith in my ability to not kill myself?"

"I'm less worried about your ability, and more worried about, you know, gravity."

The rapid fire exchange ends here, because you can't hold back your laughter any longer.

"You're damn adorable Bucky Barnes. I love you and I love that you worry about me, but I'm doing this."

"And there's nothing I can say to change your mind?" 

You shook your head gently. "No. Sorry, love."

He’s squinting at you, while he chews hard on his bottom lip and his mind bounces around, trying to find a bulletproof idea to deter you. You watch him mentally checking every last box, before the resignation settles in his face. 

He sighs heavily. 

"Fucking hell."

*****

There were so many words you didn’t actually understand. Wasn’t ‘terminal velocity’ a movie? Why exactly were they saying it during the class? If the parachute doesn’t open, will you die when you hit the ground, or could you count on a heart attack before then? Why didn’t you bring a notepad to take notes? Was it possible to look at your notes while you were falling through the air at 130mph? Jesus Christ, are you really going to go that fucking fast? 

You’re never admitting it to him, but Bucky was right, the class was a mindbender. You’re extraordinarily glad you’re doing this jump strapped to someone else.

Although that was still the million dollar question. Who was your partner for this little stunt? Scanning the room, everyone seemed to be partnered up. Feeling the nerves kick in, you sidled up to the instructor with a worried question. He looks down at you with a twitch of his lips and shakes his head, before directing you toward the tall man in the corner, who was bent over, busily packing all the gear. You approach him cautiously, and at a nervous hello, he straightens up and turns to you with a grin, blue eyes sparking happily, dark hair swinging around his face. 

"Bucky? What the hell?"

He’s dressed in a black jumpsuit, the tandem harness already settled on his back, and he can’t contain the booming laugh at your shock. You can feel your lips dragging up, and you shake your head with a teasing smile.

"I thought I had to be strapped to a licensed instructor for this.”

He holds out your harness, motioning for you to slide your arms through the thick straps. 

"Yeah, you do. So I got certified. If I couldn't talk you out of this shit, there's no way in hell I'm letting you go up there with anyone else."

“You’re a fucking miracle Bucky Barnes.”

“Don’t I know it.”

*****

The door of the airplane protests with a loud screech when the instructor pulls it open, the blast of cold air rattling your nerves and instantly making your teeth chatter. The wind whips through the cabin, swirling and pulling from every direction when you stand up from the bench, gingerly making your way to the edge. 

The harness you wore was rigged with buckles, clips, and straps, all tightly wound, snapped, and connected to the one Bucky wore. It was certainly secure, although you felt like a toddler stuck in one of those child safety leashes. Bucky was getting far too much enjoyment from the ensemble, his hands continually drifting to places on your body that were less than appropriate in public, and he gave playfully mocking apologies every time you slapped his hands away. 

"Are you ready?" He's shouting over the sound of the wind now, as it roars through the small space. 

Peering out of the door and into the void, you feel nervous prickles of panic sweep across your skin. Suddenly this seems like the stupidest idea you've ever had in your entire life, you have no idea what you were thinking and if you die today, you swear to god, you will haunt Steve Rogers for the rest of his life. 

"Yeah no. No no no. I've changed my mind, you were right. Steve's an idiot, I'm not doing this."

Bracing your feet against the door, you push against him, trying to convince Bucky to move back, but like the brick wall he is, he doesn't budge. Chuckling against your neck, he leans up to press a warm kiss to your temple, tracing his lips down, and you hear him whisper a promise in your ear.

"I've got you, I won't let anything happen."

His voice is soothing, like a drop of hot honey sliding down your throat, sticky fingers spreading from your chest to the tips of your toes, and you feel the wave of calm wash over you. 

"You ready Sergeant Barnes?" The pilot is calling over his shoulder as he nears the drop zone. 

Bucky squeezes your hand and you take three deep breaths, before giving him a final nod. "Yeah, we're ready," he calls back, and he starts the countdown for you.

“In three...two...one...” 

There's a moment of suspended stillness. 

And then you jump. 

It's like nothing you've ever felt in your entire life, the free fall into nothingness. It's liberating and terrifying and beautiful, and you think maybe, just maybe, you should get your license so you can do this every day for the rest of your life. 

Screaming from the sheer exhilaration, you can hear Bucky laughing behind you, as the two of you fly through the air. It barely even feels like falling, when the wind embraces you, gently tumbling you across the sky.

The free fall only lasts for sixty seconds, before you hear him calling your name.

"Ready to pull?" Bucky’s yelling, and you feel yourself try to laugh at the effort it takes to move your lips and answer. 

With a confident jerk, you pull the ripcord, and the parachute unfolds and fills, your legs swinging under you, immediately slowing your descent.

The silence instantly blankets you, the airplane a distant buzz, the only sound the catch and pull of the parachute as it's bracketed in the wind. 

"Here, you’re in the driver’s seat, take the lines, move us around." Bucky holds the pulls tight and you slip your hands into them, and with a smooth tug, you easily change direction, swinging lazily as you spin through the cool air. 

Miles of breathtakingly blue sky stretch in front of you, the horizon a hazy line in the distance. At this height, you can see the slight curvature of the earth, and where the sky kisses the ground, it doesn’t look like an ending, just an infinite beginning. The world below was a patchwork of colours, green and yellow fields carved into neat rectangles by black roads, a shimmering river snaking through the colours, the loops and curls reflecting the sunlight even from this distance. 

Soaring through the skies, weightless and breathless, it fills you with a feeling of serenity that is uncommon when your feet are planted firmly on the ground. Unexpectedly, you feel tears fill your eyes, throat thick with quick emotion. Here you were here, strapped snugly to the man you loved, who had literally followed you into the heavens before leaping from an airplane, simply to keep you safe and happy. 

The moment overwhelms you, and you can feel a few fat tears falling from your eyes, dropping on the fingers Bucky had splayed around your waist.

"Sorry, I’m just – I don't know why I'm crying." Pressing yourself into him, you try to convey your happiness. "Thank you Bucky, for taking the leap with me."

"Everything you thought it would be then? Can’t get any better?" You could hear the smile in his voice. 

Snuffling a wet laugh, you shake your head, trying to wipe away the tears on your sleeve. "No, I don't think this can get any better."

Bucky moves his hand from your waist, reaching back to his harness, and in the wind swept skies, the sound of his breathing is suddenly audible, the rise and fall of his chest accelerating against your back.

Reaching his arm forward again, you can see his fingers trembling before you realise what's in front of you.

In that moment, your heart stops. 

Because in Bucky’s hand, rests a black jewellery box.

"Will you take another leap with me?"

*****

TAGS: @psingh97 @buckyappreciationsociety @stentorian-lore-n @ihavemymomentsstill @badassbaker @interestedbystanderwrites @justreadingfics

[ellanainthetardis]

I missed an update last week, sorry! So you get a longer smutty one today ;)

[FF] or [ao3]

Language Lesson

3 Weeks, 1 Day

Abby is sitting cross-legged on the bed with her back to the wall when Marcus walks into their room, surrounded by various scraps of papers full of scribbles in her painful to the eye tight doctor handwriting. For a second he’s taken more than twenty years in the past when she had just started dating Jake and was still studying for her medical exams and used to drag notes everywhere with her. Then his mind flashed back to those months when she had been Chancellor and her tendency to spread reports around and leave them for him to pick up afterwards.

He never understood how a doctor could be so little organized but there is no doubt as to whom is the ordered one in this relationship – for one thing, the fact that he is the one making the bed every morning and usually cleaning once a week is telling. He doesn’t mind, not really, too used to do it for himself, but it amuses him.

“What are you doing?” he asks, closing the door behind him. He sheds his jacket and tosses it on the small dresser on the furthest wall, wedged between the bed and the bathroom door, before sitting down at the foot of the bed, careful not to disrupt the system she seems to have going on – assuming there is a system at all.

They need bigger quarters, he muses distractedly and immediately feels guilty because at least they have quarters. Everyone else apart from the clan leaders are still camping in the various dormitories. They need to solve the housing problem soon, he knows, the close quarters situation only exacerbates tensions and they’re at risk of illness outbreak. There are enough individual rooms in the lower levels but some are bigger than others, some are meant for single people, others for family and they need to do a census before they can dispatch them and it looks like an astronomical amount of work he would prefer to tackle after he is sure every department essential to their survival works properly. Unless Octavia decides otherwise – and even then – it is still the priority.

“I’m trying to make sense of this damn language.” she sighs, tossing the notepad aside to grab a random piece of paper. “None of it makes sense.”

“You were doing better.” he frowns.

Abby isn’t good with languages. It comes down to that. Give her a math problem, she will solve it. Give her a medical problem, she will find a solution. But languages… He has known her long enough to be certain it has never been her area.

“Not good enough.” She purses her lips in annoyance at her own limitations, her eyes staring at the wall straight ahead rather than at him. “A Grounder’s appendicitis bursts before I understood what he was trying to tell me.”

“Is he…” He lets his voice trail off, not quite willing to say the word dead. He is a bit wary with that word around Abby nowadays. He’s not sure she can bear another failure and he knows with all he has that a patient dying on her will feel that way – even more so if it happens because of a language problem.

“No. I figured it out. He’s alright.” She shrugs but it’s subdued. “I just need the right vocabulary… It is too specific…”

“Why didn’t you ask Niylah?” he probes, reaching for her hand.

She smiles a little when he squeezes her fingers and finally meets his eyes. “She was busy with someone else. Medical is never empty, you know that. I can’t rely on someone else to translate all the time…”

He doesn’t like the bags under her eyes, doesn’t like how pale she always is lately… She’s tired and it’s not all physical, he recognizes the pain that lingers on her face from when he meets his own gaze in the mirror in the mornings.

He’s never thought of her as fragile before.

Abby Griffin isn’t fragile, she is strong and stubborn and fearless…

And now he fears she’s a little bit broken too.

“Maybe I can help.” he offers, gathering her papers to place them on the floor. She won’t learn this way, not when every clan has its own accent and its own dialect. Trigedasleng isn’t something you learn on paper, it needs to be heard and repeated. “Let’s start with an easy one… How do you say pain?”

That seems to him like the obvious first word to learn for a healer.

“Laudness.” she answers, uncurling her legs from under her. “But what sort of pain?”

“Ask me.” he shrugs, lying down on the bed, forcing her to fold her legs to the side again.

An amused smile plays on her lips and even if it’s tired and a bit wistful, it beats the cold politeness from the last couple of weeks. He prefers it when she doesn’t keep him at arms lengths. He prefers it when she screams at him and fights with him. He doesn’t like the apathy, the indifference.

And he’s glad they’re past it.

He’s glad they’re doing better – not great yet but better.  

“Marcus Kane, are you suggesting we play doctor?” she teases.

He lifts innocent eyebrows back at her. Truth be told, he has originally only meant to help her figuring out how to conduct an exam in Trigedasleng but now that she has put that idea in his head…

“I suddenly feel very ill, Doctor Griffin…” he jokes, hoping for a laugh.

She does chuckle. It’s not as joyful or bright as it used to be but he counts his victories where he can get them. Her eyes are still sparkling while she quickly braids her hair like she almost always does when she is in Medical. “Let’s hope it’s not serious. You might need a shot.”

The mention of needles has him wrinkling his nose but he gently tugs on the end of her braid. “You need to practice. I’m willing to be your guinea pig.”

Isn’t that how they used to do it back in the day? He can remember Jake faking illness and injuries for her to figure out when she was still in training. He remembers himself, Thelonious and Callie being forced to play along quite a few times too.

“Thank you.” she smiles, leaning in to press a fleeting kiss on his lips he barely has time to respond to. Her nails scrape his beard lightly before she retreats and he finds himself smiling too, his chest swelling with all the love he sometimes think he can’t bear. It feels like too much on some days, like he is too old for that sort of reckless abandon, too old to feel this way, like he doesn’t deserve her or this, like… “Ha loudness ste?” she hesitates, her lips pursed in concentration, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil.

How is the pain?

Her pronunciation is clumsy and she never stresses the right syllable but he figures it’s understandable enough that Grounders will get the gist of it.

“Kudshap.” he answers without really thinking about it, folding one arm under his head. He keeps his eyes on her, taking the opportunity to study her face, the new wrinkles that appeared at the corners of her eyes in the last couple of months. He wishes he could take them away, erase them with a kiss, not because he thinks it makes her less beautiful but because he knows they’re from worry and stress and guilt.

She has gone to Becca’s lab on his order. She has pushed herself beyond the limits her morals dictate on his order. And he hadn’t understood, not until recently, just what it has done to her.

She has done what needed to be done, they both did, but that doesn’t make it any easier at the end of the day.  

She pauses for a second, thinks the word over… “Sharp, right?”

“Yes.” he confirms with a smile.

His eyes dart to hers and he forces himself to focus again. They can’t let the past cloud the present. They can’t. It’s exactly what has threatened to destroy them in the last few week. He promised her he would show her the way out of the dark and that begins with himself letting go of his demons. For her sake. She needs him and he won’t fail her. He won’t. He can deal with his own faults later. He can keep them from her.

So he focuses, amused by the way her eyebrows furrow in concentration, tempted to run his thumb on her forehead to erase the tension…

“How do you say throb?” she asks. He can’t help the smile turning a bit mocking, he can’t help the direction his thoughts go in. She whacks his stomach lightly, her own lips twitching, her brown eyes twinkling, but her voice still serious. “Are you helping me or not? Take your mind out of the gutter.”

“Kwiva.” he obliges.

“Kwiva.” she repeats, her eyes darting to the notepad. She’s dying to note everything down, he’s ready to bet. “Kwiva. Alright.”

“Are you going to ask what’s throbbing?” he teases innocently – if not a bit hopefully.

She ignores him.

“Weron ste loudness?” she asks next with more confidence. Where does it hurt?

“Hedlo.” he decides after a moment of consideration. “Ai ge ponch raun hedlo koken plan.”  

She frowns, trying to decipher that and clearly missing his complaining about getting hit in the stomach by a crazy woman. “Your chest?”

“Stomach.” he corrects. “Chest is toso.”

She sighs and pushes his shirt up to under his armpits without any sort of warning. He doesn’t complain though. He hardly ever complains when she wants to take his clothes off unless it’s to stick a needle in him.

“Fine. Toso is this area.” she gestures at the upper part of his torso. “But what about specifics like pectoral or collarbone?”

“Collarbone is kolkakla.” he offers after thinking it over a moment. “I don’t think there’s a word for pectoral though.” She rests her palm on his right side and he supplies without her needing to ask. “Rib is ribkakla.”

“What about the ribcage as a whole?” she asks.

“I don’t think there’s a word for it.” He shakes his head. “It’s too specific. Maybe lokakla but you should ask Niyhla to be sure.”

She sighs, dejected. “I will tell you what else is too specific and for which they don’t have words: organs.”

“Heart is tombom.” he informs her helpfully.

“And that’s the only one they know about.” she points out. “They don’t do surgeries.”

“But now they have you.” He covers her hand with his, distractedly running his thumb over her knuckles. “You can teach their healers.”

“Assuming I don’t confuse their stomach with their chest.” she snorts and reaches for his bundled shirt. He obediently lifts his upper body when it becomes obvious she wants him to take it off. He lies back down, sucking in a breath when she straddles his hips, his hands shooting to her thighs. She knows what she is doing to him, he can tell, first because she must have felt it and then because there is this little smug smile on her lips he usually loves to erase with a kiss. She brushes her fingertips on his stomach. “Hedlo.”

Oh, so they’re having an anatomy lesson now…

Her forefinger circles his navel, clearly waiting for him to provide information.

“Pishedlo.” he offers, his voice much deeper than a few seconds ago. Her finger stops circling to head down, following the path of dark hair that disappears in his pants, but when it bumps against his belt she moves it upward again until it retraces the shape of a rib.

“Ribkakla.” she says and he can only nod, her pleased proud smile doing things to him. His fingers flex on her thighs and it only makes her smile harder as her finger moves up. “Toso. Kolkakla.” she names in turn before moving on to his shoulder. “Shod?”

“Yes.” he confirms and she beams.

She wraps her fingers around his biceps next. “Hanholda.”

“Arm.” he translates even if she doesn’t need him to. Her grip is light when it moves down his arm until it encircles his wrist and he closes his eyes under the slow caress. “Hanist.” he says when she remains silent, tacitly admitting ignorance.

Her touch is even lighter when it moves to the back of his hand. “Meika.” She strokes the length of one of the fingers digging in her thigh, amusement clear in her voice. “Finga.” He doesn’t anticipate her next move and so he sucks a breath in surprise when she leans down to nip at his neck. “Kola.”

“Kola.” he repeats, his hands moving from her thighs to her waist, not so subtly trying to pull her down, to create some friction because…

Her chuckles are muffled by his skin when her mouth trails down until her lips close on his right nipple.

“What about this?” she hums, her teeth scraping against the hard bud. His hips buckle up in reflex and his hands travel to her ass, abandoning all pretence of being patient.

“Latchon.” he whispers, straining his neck to get a taste of his own but she escapes before he can do so much as kiss her.

She draws back and he watches, his mouth suddenly parched, as she loses her jacket and slips her shirt and tank top over her head, leaving her half naked on top of him. It’s in moments like this that he thinks he can die happy.

She pries one of his hands off her ass to bring it to her breast and he is only too eager to knead and squeeze the way she likes. He pushes himself up and captures the neglected one in his mouth, sucking and gently nipping until he hears her soft moan of surrender. Her fingers run in his hair, tug a little.

“Tit.” he mumbles, planting a kiss on her breast, in case that’s what she’s after, before going back to torturing her with his tongue.

“Are you talking dirty to me or teaching me Grounder language, Marcus?” she grins.

“Ai gaf yu in.” he mutters. I want you. He flips them over with less care than he maybe should have shown. He forgets, for a second, that this bed is small and not quite designed for this. Her shoulder hits the wall and he immediately tenses only to relax when her giggles fill the air, so girlish and rare that it never fails to bring a smile to his face. “Sorry.” he says sheepishly, pressing a kiss of apology against her shoulder.

“Ai laik… shanen yu gaf ai in… ba nou laksen ai.” she stammers, clearly searching for the right words. I’m happy you want me but don’t hurt me. She wouldn’t have been able to say that much a few weeks ago.

“Nowe.” he promises, nuzzling her neck. Never. “Ai hod yu in.”

“I love you too.” she breathes back, her nails lightly scratching the line of his spine. “Get naked.”

“Is that the doctor’s orders?” he jokes but loses no time in getting rid of the last pieces of clothing he’s wearing. She’s quick with hers too and he can only hiss in pleasure once he’s back between her thighs and there is no barrier of fabric between them. “There’s some areas we didn’t cover yet.”

“I have a feeling we’re about to.” she replies, groping him. She likes to do that in bed. “How do I call this?”

“Yours?” he snorts.

“That’s a given.” she deadpans but immediately kisses him only to arch her back when he moves his mouth back to her breasts. Her skin is delicate there and he knows she will have a small rash from his beard later but he can’t really care at the moment. “Marcus…” she gasps.

He doesn’t know if it’s a plea for more or a reminder that it’s supposed to be educational.

“As.” he answers either way because she’s squeezing his butt.

She lifts her eyebrows, amused. “Short and to the point.”

“Right?” He slides his hands from her knees to her thighs, squeezing to let her know what he’s naming but very much spreading them so he has room to move. “Nila. Sai.” His mouth leaves a trail of kisses down her stomach and he moves down until he reaches the soft hair between her legs. “Trapakipa.”

“Cute.” she comments but that ends up in a breathy moan when he pokes her with his tongue. It’s a few minutes before she pulls him back up to cover her with his body, her hand sneaking between them to wrap her fingers around him, a devilish grin on her lips. “Kwiva.” she observes and he doesn’t even have the heart to protest her mocking because he is throbbing and, at least, it’s a word she will remember. “Mami.”

“Should I be concerned you know the Grounder word for penis?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbows on either side of her head so he can look down at her while she strokes him. “Who have you been talking to?”

“Octavia.” she smirks, the spark in her eyes telling him she’s been planning to use that knowledge just like this.

“Of course.” He’s not even surprised.

He leans in to kiss her, distracting her enough that he manages to pry her fingers away from him and settle between her legs. She moans in pleasure when he enters her and he closes his eyes, her warmth enough to make it hard for him not to embarrass himself.

On a lot of levels, this part of their relationship is still new. They had a few days in Polis – a few days they took every advantage of – but after that…

Well, after that there has been no time and she wasn’t in any mood to humor him like that after Praimfaya and it has only been a week or so since they started fooling around again and…

It’s still too new for him not to be eager. He’s not so young anymore and it has been long enough since he had a woman in his bed before Abby. And damn if he doesn’t want to make sure he pleases her first. It’s too good to be rushed.

“They call sex ses op, in case it’s something you think you should know.” he mumbles after a few minutes, bumping his nose against her cheek in a teasing fashion.

The grip she has on his hair is unforgiving – it hardly ever is, she has a thing for his hair, she likes to pet it, tangle her fingers in it and, from time to time, tug on it – and she has no qualm on using it to bring his mouth back on hers.

All thoughts of learning Trigedasleng fly through the window they don’t have, it seems.

“Harder.” she demands.

And he obliges.

They’re sweaty and out of breath by the time they reach their release and he wonders if everything is alright with oxygen levels because it feels like no matter how deep a breath he takes, his lungs still burn. He rolls off her and onto his back and stares at the ceiling, trying to force his heart to beat at a more regular pace before it beats right out of his chest. He can’t remember if it felt like that on the Ark, not when the memories from Polis are so fresh in his mind. He doesn’t know if it’s sex on Earth that is so much sweeter or if it’s just sex with Abby. He’s leaning toward the latter.

When she snuggles into his side, clearly struggling to find her breath back too, he wraps his arm around her and kicks around until he can get a hold of the blankets. They wriggle under the sheets, mindful of the chill in the air.

He brushes his fingers up and down her arm, sleepy and ready to call it a night. Her own fingers are tracing random patterns on his chest and it’s lulling him straight to slumber.

“Thank you for the lesson.” she murmurs before pressing a kiss against his shoulder.

“Any time.” he chuckles.

“I think we should make them mandatory for everyone.” she suggests and he does wake up a little at that. Sleepy as he is it takes him a second to realize she means the actual language lessons and not the sex-lessons. She drums her fingers on his chest thoughtfully. “We’re outnumbered by Grounders and they don’t all speak English. It would make sense for us to learn. It would make communication easier. Particularly for Department heads.”

It’s the first time she has offered any suggestion as to how they should be doing this since they’ve started living in the bunker and, of course, it’s a really good one. One he should have thought of before. One he may have thought of before if he wasn’t fluent in Trigedasleng.

“I will talk to Octavia.” he promises. “I’m sure we can find a few volunteers amongst the Grounders to teach classes.” Indra might be willing and he’s sure they can count on Niylah too. “You always have the best ideas, Abby.”

“We should see to the Council.” she sighs. “That’s what it’s here for, isn’t it? Advising the Chancellor?”

“We have a Council.” he argues. An unofficial one, true, but he dreads organizing elections the way things are right now. In a few months maybe. But for now… For now they can’t afford another Pike fiasco.

If they reach a lasting peace…

If he’s sure it’s in the best interest of everyone…

“We have me and Jaha.” she points out. “I haven’t been really useful and Thelonious…”

She lets her sentence trail off but he hears what she’s not quite willing to say. Thelonious is eager to get back in charge. He hasn’t really been invited back on the Council either. It has just… sort of happened.

“Yes.” he admits.

“We should bring more people in.” she insists. “Younger ones.”

“Octavia?” he suggests.

“Octavia is your boss.” she refutes. “And the Council is beneath the Chancellor. She can’t be both. I was thinking… Maybe Jackson.”

Jackson isn’t much of a politician and he’s very much in Abby’s pocket but he doesn’t point that out. The obvious choices, the ones who have been more or less officially acting as Councilors are now all in space. He will think about it, come up with a list of candidates… Then, they can go over it.

She makes sure the alarm is set before switching the light off and snuggling more comfortably against him. It’s so dark in there without any light… It reminds him of the Ark after Diana stole the dropship sometimes. They’re not good memories.

He rests his cheek against the top of her head and closes his eyes.

“Reshop.” he murmurs, a little teasingly because he knows it will take her a moment to translate.

“Good night.” she echoes eventually, a little annoyed because she knows what he’s playing at.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

[okimargarvez]

METEOROLOGY- Cloudless

Original title: Meteorology.

Prompt: climatic metaphors, phases of love.

Warning: none.

Genre: drama, romantic, comedy, angst, family, friendship.

Characters: Luke Alvez, Penelope Garcia, BAU team, Phil (Luke’s partner), Phil’s wife, Roxy, Derek Morgan.

Pairing: Garvez, Phil x Lucille.

Note: Multichapter.

Legend: 💏😘😈👓🔦🐶❗👨‍👩‍👧‍👦💍🎈.

Song mentioned: Via con me, Paolo Conte.

Meteorology- Masterlist

MY OTHER GARVEZ STORIES

CLOUDLESS

 Turbulence is at the center of calm, just as calm is at the center of the hurricane. (Raul Aceves)

 -I'm sorry to give you this news, Mrs. Alvez. Her husband was missing on a mission. We're still looking for him, but the chances of finding him alive are ... very scarce. Virtually nil.- you bring your hands to the face, but no tears flow from the cheeks to the chin. -Is there anything the United States Army can do for her? - you nod, spreading your arms and the man immediately receives the message, holding you tight to his chest. Your breasts rub on him chest. You feel the change of mood in that one particular.

-I'm feel so lonely ...- you whisper, the tone between a whimper and a real lament. The man comes off to take your face in his big hands. -Would you console me, Major?- a flicker shines in his eyes, hearing that definition. -I'm sure that's what him would have liked- he smiles mischievously, but instead of kissing you, he moves the grip on your shoulders and bangs you on the wall.

-It would be a real pleasure ...- he exclaims in a low voice, before concentrating completely on your breast, exposing it better to his contemplation. Then kiss your hand with the ring and he look at you, send a telepathic message. You nod. He takes you inside the bed and makes you his.

An hour later Luke enters the bathroom, worried that he not sees you come out. -Love, are you all right?- you're sitting on the ground and contemplating the stick in your hands, your eyes wet, but you're not crying. He lowers himself, putting himself next to you and passing his arm over your shoulders. -Nothing?- he asks in a sad tone. Shake your head. -I'm sorry ...- you hear him start sobbing and at the end you are both in tears, on the cold floor of the bathroom. He intervalvular his own outbursts to repeat -I'm sorry...- and hearing him takes the blame makes you feel even worse.

-It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter. Stop it, Luke.- you dry his face with your hands. You put his head on your chest, like a child. You caress him until he calms down. You both pull yourself up and look at your image in the mirror. You look like people just out of a storm. -I have the solution.- you start to undress him and do the same with yourself, open the water in the tub and insert a little 'foam bath. -Do you remember? Like the first evening.- he nods.

-I ... I love you, Penelope.- his voice still broken, he touches your cheek.

-I know. I love you too, Luke. Now let's have a nice hot bath. Once a charming man told me that there is nothing better than to hugged in the water.- you managed to snatch a smile from him.

Afterwards, you're both more relaxed, but the problems haven't been washed away like the signs left by the tears. -I'd hoped was working, I ... really...- he keeps thinking about it, even inside the bed. Staged that absurd fantasy where he had died on the front and you, as a widow you were "comforted" by the guy who brought you the news, had been a way both to exorcise your eternal fear of losing him during a case, which still sometimes it makes you crazy, both to push accelerators to the spermatozoa. But it didn't work, and he feels the only responsible person. Although theoretically you have the dysfunction that makes it very difficult to have children.

-We don't start all over again, please, ok?- his victimization at the beginning was a sweet gesture, to whole burden on his shoulders so that you didn't feel the slightest annoyance; but gradually it has become unbearable and you struggling more and more to bear it when he does so. An unimaginable rage pervades you. But you know very well that you're not really angry with him, but with the situation.

You spend almost the whole time comparing how you were before getting married and how you're now. In the morning you had the habit of making the alarm sound a little earlier, to avoid being late, being unable to remove your hands from each other. At work you both there keeping tight, not leaving the grip until you came to your bunker, then, up to half the time, pressed against the wall for a last kiss, forbidden and outrageous. If there were no cases to discuss in the round room, he would come to visit you for lunch time and at least another time before it was time to go home. Any operation conducted in this last place ended up having the same romantic conclusion. Today, however, the times when you hold hands are very rare; once you get off the elevator you both go for your direction, without even needing a kiss as a greeting. You eat together again, but only that. And even at home, there're always so many things to do that the rest often ends up, too often, in the background. But this does not mean you two love each other less.

On the contrary. You no longer need to prove it all the time, because it's now a definite certainty. It doesn't mean that you no longer experience the same burning desire or that the relationship has become just a habit. Your relationship has matured, has reached a higher level, has approached that between JJ and Will.

But still, there is always that problem that tries in every way to obscure your serenity, which consists simply in being there for each other.

It has become practically your only topic of conversation. Although you have tried to convince him that Roxy is like the son you'll never have, that you're so lucky in having found him, that many people live your own problem. But for Luke it seems to have become a matter of principle. It's something that goes against his image of manly, strong man and then comes the day when everything becomes much clearer.

-My mother.- he exclaims from nowhere, while you're washing dishes. You Close the tap and you turn to look at him. -I promised my mother that I would give her grandchildren. I couldn't fulfill her wish when she was here, but I hoped ... - he stops, unable to move on. The grip on the ceramic object loosens and it falls to the ground. You lower yourself to collect the pieces, you still in a daze. You don't even notice that you hurt your knee, until he forces you to pull yourself up again and your eyes fall down, to avoid contact with his, and then you see the red stain on the floor. -Penelope? - he asks, fearing to have combined a disaster and worried about the strange expression you have printed in the face.

-I'll clean it ... - you try to say, also trying to keep cleaning. -I’ll clean ... leave me ... let me go! - you go off from his grip by tearing your arm.

 You look at the woman you love sitting next to you in that waiting room. Your hands are not intertwined; not even your legs are close. She holds hers both tight in a protective position. The numbers scroll on the luminous display and your turn never seems to come. You haven't said a single word since you got into the car until you arrive in the emergency room. She wanted to finish picking up all the pieces of the plate she had dropped onto the floor when you'd confessed you wanted a child just because you had promised her to your mother. She must have felt used, mocked. But you never said that "just". You don't want to have children with Penelope for that one reason. The most important, of which you should talk with her, but you haven't yet done it, concerns exclusively her, the woman you married.

From the first moment you saw her interacting with others, you thought she had an innate motherly spirit. The belief was strengthened when you later met the sons of JJ, her protects, and even worse when you went to visit Derek, Savannah and little Hank. All children love her, and you can't give they wrong. With them she's even sweeter than normal: her tone becomes soft, velvety.

Enough, it's better that you don't think about it. And in the meantime, flashes the number before yours. You turn to look at her, but she keeps ignoring you. Technically she hurt herself alone, she pulled her arm away from your normal grip, too abruptly. But you can't help but feel guilty. And it soon become clear that this isn't just about this stupid domestic accident. Otherwise her stubbornness wouldn't be explained just that she wants to fix everything, even crying and holding salty drops biting her lips until they bleed. Only when the floor was clean again, only after having forced her to accept your help in putting the remaining dishes, cutlery and glassware in the dishwasher, only then had she been ready to go to the hospital and be seen.

One snap and she stand up. She doesn't tell you anything, she just reaches the nurse who holds the door open to let her in. You're not anxious about her arm, not too much, at least. What really worries you is her absent gaze, her apparent disinterestedness for herself, the desire to show strong at all costs. You thought that this phase had already been over for some time. You imagine everything, while she's not there. And when she goes out she's forced to let her eyes fall into yours, after hours that didn't happen, but only because she's aware that you have to get back together in the car.

Her right arm is bandaged and stuck on the neck. Seeing her like this makes a certain impression. You wonder how she'll be able to digit with just her left hand, but you're sure that she'll be great, because she's super ingenious, but above all because if there's a person in the world capable of completely sacrificing herself for others, to totally devote herself to a cause, to renounce even for the people she loves most ... to put duty before pleasure, that's Penelope. Your wife. You realize that you almost didn't think of her that way all day.

Until you see that written on the sheet that tightens between the fingers of the healthy hand. Mrs. Alvez.

You open the door and fasten the seat belt at her. She accepts, but not because she wants it. You insert the key in the ignition, but then you don't turn it. Instead, turn your head in her direction, but you're afraid to touch her, to do more damage, seeing how it went the last time you did it. And above all, you're terrified of the idea that she can reject you

-Penelope ...- you say her name, but she does't seem to hear you. You can't understand if she's really ignoring you or she has fallen into a kind of catatonia.

-Go.- she whisperers only, in a very low voice. If you hadn't been completely leaning towards her, you could never have heard her. Anyway, you remain stuck, waiting for more. -Please, go.- she repeats, then, and you execute her plea. You try to open your mouth, explain what you thought while she wasn't there, ask what they said at her, how serious it's ... but she anticipates you. Even if you're suffering, your telepathic connection remains active. -No, don't talk. Just take me home.- you nod, turning at the windshield and part. From the corner of your eye you notice that she has closed her eyes, but she isn't resting.

A few minutes after you parking you help her to get off. You feel a thousand vibrations in the slightest gesture of touching her shoulder for a few seconds, she probably not, because she continues in her muteness. You open the door, closing it behind you. There is no need to warn Roxy, she's super perceptive and instead of jumping on her as she always does, she just shakes her tail, showing her joy of seeing you both already return. You think she'll ignore her too, instead she bends down and caresses her, sinking her face into her fur, as you did when you were alone, before you knew her. When you were dead inside.

And at that moment you understand that what she's about to say you'll not like it. She gets up slowly, almost in slow motion. Without realizing it, you step back. -Luke- you believed that she has forgotten your name. You feel the faith pulsing on the finger and tighten it in a sweet grip, but it's all in your head. -I need a break.- you had already guessed it. Damn it, you're a fucking profiler! What do you have to keep it a psychoanalysis the bad guys if this don't help you in your everyday life? You knew this was what she had been thinking about since the first wave of annoyance she showed when you tried to stop her, to disinfect her hurt knee. But you tried to deny it, as you denied having been dead with your mother, or having suffered the same traumas of Phil, psychological rather than physical. And now continue to deny the fact that she's leaving. -Do you understand?- you burst into hysterical laughter.

-I imagine that I should understand it.- you assert with a lucid and rational tone. -But I really can't.- that hug to Roxy was her gesture of farewell. She'll not do the same with you. And you stay there, standing, for as long as she need to make an emergency bag. You don't help her. You do absolutely nothing.

Not even when the door opens and closes for the last time.

But then you let yourself fall to the ground and stay on the cold floor, in a fetal position, for hours, maybe just a few minutes. Sometimes you laugh, because outside the heaven promises a serene tomorrow, but inside you there's a tornado is unleashing worthy of the chronicles of the Apocalypse of St. John.

[mrs-sexy-curls]

“While I’m gone,” Gansey said, pausing, “dream me the world. Something new for every night.”

A dark and eeriee novel about a spark light personality who lit the world on fire. Delicious and dangerous, Ronan Lynch’s character intensity is filled with beauty, fueled by fear and filtered by none. A beautiful, tormented novel that doubles up on its predecessor and warns on the dangers of letting ourselves fall to deep into our dreams, as they start creeping closer into our reality instead.

5/5 Stars Recommendation: If the Raven Boys was a must read, the Dream Thieves is the installment in the Raven Cycle serious that you can not miss! It is exciting, thrilling, broodingly dark and nightmarish, for the heavy character development enthusiasts and danger seeking readers !

Picking up where The Raven Boys left off, we follow the 3rd person POV novel focusing on the eyes of Ronan Lynch, the group’s rage filled and broken seventeen year old. The group’s quest for the Welsh King of myths is going stronger than ever, now favored and driven by an odd, magical forests that spurted in the Virginia Valley, known as Cabeswater. Now tied to Adam— through a bargain where he sacrificed himself and promised to be its hands and its eyes, and to Ronan Who appears to be long acquainted with the forest through the messages he has left for himself scattered around it, in more than one deep and mysterious way.

Despite Adam’s sacrifice to awaken the magical energy line than runs through their town, the Ley line, magic seems to be fluctuating and acting in unstable and unstoppable manners; affecting the psychics of Fox Way, the decaying Noah and whatever curse lays dormant under the ground of Henrietta, Virginia. All while Gansey and Adam must their puzzled gang and Ronan can’t be bothered to act as a decent human being because of the nightmares he keeps bringing to reality with him when he wakes up—

That’s right, just like chainsaw, Ronan is capable of bringing objects, things and people back with him every time he wakes up from a dream. With Gansey gone, he befriends another dangerous Aglionby student Kavinsky who shares his gift and must now face with the consequences of his recklessness, the nightmares of his past, the present that fades between his fingers and the broken future he must fix back together.

Despite the magic of The Raven Boys and its original greatness, The Dream Thieves did not fall in its face in comparison. In fact, because of the engaging story and powerful character portrayal, I wouldn’t feel shy about calling it an improvement from its predecessor. It’s just that good ! This book is heavily character driven, whereas regular YA characters are guided and controlled by the plot and development is based around that, but every single moment with Ronan is worth it. This book is probably one  of Stiefvater’s fever dreams about Ronan, drugs and expensive cars and that’s probably what makes it the best thing out there.

Click Read More for the spoilers, kiddos !

The Dream Thieves Summary:

Everyone: Ronan no Ronan: Ronan yes

I love Ronan.

Thoughts on Gansey & Blue:

But the sensible part of Blue, which was usually the only part of her, thought that had more to do with Richard Campbell Gansey III having a nice mouth than with any blossoming romance. Anyway, if fate thought it would tell her who to fall for, fate had another thing coming.

Gansey added, “I would’ve thought you had more muscles. Don’t feminists have big muscles?” Decidedly not in love with him.

Let me explain something I’ve mentioned in the past. I’m a slow burner when it comes to romance. And if there is one thing I sincerely appreciated about this book series is the fact that its romance wasn’t driving the plot—despite the UK cover advertisement—, or even playing a major role in it, so I was expecting feelings to be developed throughout the course of four books.

In fact, while the entire Adam and Blue dynamic developed in this book and the previous book, I was sort of waiting situations where Gansey and Blue found themselves interacting alone and to find a slow connection brewing between them. Because its there, and it exists, but it bothered me the fact I barely got any sort of interaction between them on that regard until After Blue broke up with Adam, supposedly because she at last acknowledged her feelings for Gansey but I had no reason to believe she suddenly had a crush on this man she’s barely interacted with. I found the aforementioned quote to be adorable and endeering, and specially believable. While I know this paragraph doesn’t actually mean Blue dislikes Gansey, there is nothing that would make me thing this girl has anything remotely close to a crush when in the next paragraphs go something like this:

Adam allowed Blue into their circle as well, his eyes meeting hers for a moment.

I’m picking this one, Fate, she thought ferociously. Not Richard Gansey III. You can’t tell me what to do.

I’m sorry, but to then be met with this halfway through the book:

“As they baked in the sunlight, she let herself think it: I have a crush on Richard Gansey.”

Bothered me. For a book that did such a great time expression Ronan’s every thought and emotion so subtly yet clearly, I don’t understand why we couldn’t have had a moment extra to dwelve further into Blue’s state of mind regarding her feelings with Adam and Gansey. Everything was going great in the last book— And while I also did express in the Raven Boys review that I didn’t like Blue and Adam together, it doesn’t mean I don’t want a coherent progressive line from one boy to the other. I’d hate to call it insta-love, but it was rather close. I could say the same from Gansey as well— Since we were treated to the moment Blue realized she was into this boy, I hate not to be able to say the same thing about Gansey. He didn’t seem to like her romantically in the last book, much specially when he did try to set Blue up with Adam, he only seems to mindlessly be following Blue’s feeling because the plot said so.

Nice.

Still, after that entire “How did we even get to their romance”  fiasco Blue and Gansey had some absolutely endearing moments. The rest of their interactions were so pure and real, and never failed to tug at my heart. Expecting the silly calls in the middle of the night were nothing but #goals, taking Blue out for a ride at her beck and call when she was upset killed me on the inside, and not to mention the mock kissing they were forced to do. It was lovely and you could feel the pain and need in every sentence.

“Blue wore a dress Ronan thought looked like a lampshade. Whatever sort of lamp it belonged on, Gansey clearly wished he had one. Ronan wasn’t a fan of lamps.”

Not to mention Maggie’s prose. Always great, meaningful, and hilarious. Extra points just for these quotes scattered all around the book.

Thoughts on Kavinski:

Boy did Maggie get him right. One of my number one complaints with antagonists, is their general YA formula, empty and pure evil and somehow… That’s what Kavisnky is, but that is his entire character and its performed so well.

Kavinski appears as he harasses Ronan, taunts him into car racing until everything goes fatally wrong and he crashes, wounding himself and wrecking Gansey’s Camaro to the point of no come back. It is then when Kavisnki drags him down deep into his world of dreams, admitting he too can pull out objects from his dreams, and teaches him how to steal from his own dreams with the help of designer drugs.

Roll credits.

Kavisnki is there as a representation of everything Ronan is, and as an offer to be a companion in his fucked up, angry existence. This is where it should get good, right? An offer to be himself, without Gansey to force him into the path of righteousness that Ronan obviously no longer cared for, a friend in his state of self loathing and hatred… And this is perhaps were Ronan’s biggest proof of character development occurs:

The realization he wasn’t like that, and most importantly, that he did not want to be like that. Empty, careless, living a selfish existence to make up for the hole that was carved inside of him and that would eventually lead to his self loathing. Kavinski on the other hand, embraced that fully. He had money, popularity, the best parties and a reputation that reached the other side of the state and anything he could’ve ever wanted at the beck and call of a dream. Kavinski had it all… And that made him empty.

Kavinski’s solution to this could have presumably been reaching out friendships to try reckless and dangerous things like he does with Ronan with someone like Prokopenko, to the point that we eventually learned led to Prokopenko’s death. It didn’t work out, and instead he’s been reaching out to Ronan as he’s finally found someone he can call an equal to him. He wanted to be empty with someone else and after Ronan finally rejects him— rejects the entire lifestyle, rejects the hate he no longer felt for himself— he gives up, deciding to end his meaningless existence. And just like that, lets himself be killed by his own creation in the same way he came into the world: Empty.

Thoughts on Adam:

Hello yes, I need to address him again.

Adam was… Weird, again in this book. Maggie foreshadowed pretty well he was no longer the same person, after all, he just sacrificed a part of himself during the Raven Boys and honestly, it was great. It was a good weird, it was well done and very interesting seeing Adam coping and slowly changing as Cabeswater lived inside of him.

Now here’s the thing though— I really thought Adam was going to become a bad guy. Like I said, I could recognize his struggle and his change, his obvious moodiness and the constant fights with Gansey were at least deeper and complex (added to the ones I absolutely loathed where he’d reproach Gansey trying to be a good friend, even when it turned out it wasn’t even Gansey’s doing)… But I thought he was changing for the worst. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, I was enjoying it nonetheless, but I’ll have to charge myself guilty for actually thinking this was going to be the way Maggie pushed Adam out of the way to make way for King Gansey of all things good for Blue.

I was so pleasantly surprised she didn’t and that instead it was simply a complex battle inside of Adam to figure out who he is, like identity is a recurring theme in TCR books, and what Cabeswater and the Raven boys now meant to him, finally independent, finally his own person, finally away from his abusers. For someone who complains about being spoonfed my feelings so much in your average YA formula, I am sadly guilty of really thinking —and kind of looking forwards— Maggie was heading down this path. In the end, I’m just blessed she changed my mind.

One more time though, I had to find myself enjoying Adam more through the eyes of Ronan. Their interactions bless me.

Religious list of amazing things because holy shit:

The Gray Man having a mental debate whether he was capable or not to weave a flower crown for Maura. This is a cold, season hit man guys.

I love the Gray Man so much guys,

Just think about it, Maggie did this great job making a believable antagonist that felt good for her novel and instead made us fall in love in him and root for this man

He even goes through entire life crisis were he can’t get up from bed days at a time, thank you for making him real Maggie??

The Lynch brothers attend church together every Sunday and that is simply beautiful, like its really their last attempt at having a proper family.

Ronan, all of the amount of Ronan. 

Adam discovering it wasn’t Gansey who had payed the extra 2.4K of his apartment but instead Ronan and keeping quiet about it, like it had left him confused and speechless. Every mention of Ronan being a ball of sun feels so good and deserved, my heart was pleased every time.

Kavinski’s constantly fucking around with Ronan about being Gansey’s bottom

Kavinski practically confessing to Ronan and killing himself after his rejection, because that was so powerful holy christ-

What are Adam’s interesting thoughts on traveler’s rights?

[Review] The Dream Thieves – Maggie Stiefvater “While I’m gone,” Gansey said, pausing, “dream me the world. Something new for every night.” A dark and eeriee novel about a spark light personality who lit the world on fire.

[newstfionline]

‘America First’ is a hard sell in Davos

By Ishaan Tharoor, Washington Post, January 25, 2018

President Trump’s hotly anticipated speech may have been two days away, but his administration was already out in force in Davos on Wednesday. Throughout the day, various U.S. officials and Republican politicians could be seen yucking it up with the globalist elites so reviled by Trump on the campaign trail.

At a panel, Energy Secretary Rick Perry furrowed brows when he equated the export of oil to the export of “freedom.” Trump’s son-in-law, Jared Kushner, appeared somewhat lost amid the larger entourages of world leaders and high-flying business executives.

There is no bigger story at the World Economic Forum than the first appearance of an American leader since 2000. Trump is expected to talk once more about the glories of his “America First” domestic and foreign policy, touting the supposed roaring success of the U.S. economy under his watch and reaffirming the nativist tenets that underline his worldview. He is also expected to extend a hand to a probably wary audience, pitching America as open for business and investment.

“This is about an America First agenda. But America First does mean working with the rest of the world,” said Treasury Secretary Steve Mnuchin at a morning press conference. “It just means that President Trump is looking out for American workers and American interests no different than he expects other leaders would look out for their own.”

Mnuchin’s counterpart at the Commerce Department, Wilbur Ross, was more hawkish, gesturing to China’s supposedly unfair trade practices. “Trade wars are fought every single day,” Ross said when asked about the Trump administration’s apparent protectionism. “A trade war has been in place for quite a while. The difference is, the U.S. troops are now coming to the ramparts.”

But at Davos, it’s not just the United States that’s manning the barricades. On Wednesday, both French President Emmanuel Macron and German Chancellor Angela Merkel launched thinly veiled attacks on Trump’s agenda and used their platforms to hail the potential emergence of a more independent and more integrated Europe.

“We need to take more responsibility; we need to take our destiny into our own hands,” Merkel said, issuing what’s now become a familiar refrain in the age of Trump. She also said “protectionism was not the answer” and lamented the “poison” of right-wing populism, which, among other things, threatens her own hold on power as Germany struggles to form a new government.

“We think that shutting ourselves off, isolating ourselves, will not lead us into a good future,” Merkel said, echoing what a number of other world leaders have already voiced in Davos. Like them, she argued that collaboration, cooperation and multilateral solutions--instead of, say, the unilateral bluster of Trump--are what’s needed.

That was a call explicitly made by Macron, as well. His remarks would be familiar to anyone who has listened to his earlier major speeches, bullish on France’s role at the “core” of the European Union and rife with calls for “innovation” and huge investments in education and research to revitalize the French economy. He also used the occasion to mock Trump’s climate denial.

“With this snow, it’s hard to believe in global warming,” Macron joked, referring to the walls of ice and slush built up around the forum’s venues. “Obviously and thankfully, you didn’t invite anyone skeptical about global warming this year.”

Jokes aside, the attendees at Davos are genuinely curious about what Trump might say. There’s nothing unusual about a nation prioritizing its own interests--indeed, that’s how every nation-state functions. The “main difference” with Trump, suggested Luis Almagro, the secretary general of the Organization of American States, is that of “rhetoric,” not necessarily policy. He pointed out that former president Barack Obama employed none of the racially charged anti-immigration tactics of the Trump administration, yet huge numbers of deportations still took place under Obama’s watch.

“The real question is, do America First policies really put America First?” said Keyu Jin, a professor at the London School of Economics, speaking at the same event. “We blame a lot on globalization and trade, where in fact job losses are known to be much more associated with technology.”

Sen. Bob Corker (R-Tenn.), who clashed with Trump a few times over the course of 2017, urged the president to make “a very positive statement about America’s role in the world” and offer “an explanation of America First in a way that doesn’t make it look that it’s about America being alone.”

Despite the entreaties of administration officials, though, “America alone” is the conclusion drawn by many analysts of Trump’s foreign policy. Trump, through his tweeted attacks on allies and oft-muddled messaging, has “burnt some goodwill that built up over many years” overseas, argued Corker, “and it’s going to take some time rebuild that.”

Ultimately, despite the skepticism, Trump may find in Davos a global community that would prefer to be his friend.

“It’s great that the American president is coming here and facing people who might differ with his views,” said Erna Solberg, the prime minister of Norway and a co-chair of the forum. “I don’t think there’s a place to hide in this world. Global problems are also American problems.”