#and while doling out affection may not come to him naturally all the time i think he does warm up to it

[wolfywolfy]

Lots of people keep saying that Astarion wouldn't peel an orange for you, which is objectively hilarious. But is it true? 🤔

For Ascended Astarion I think so, absolutely. There's no way he would peel that fruit for you. He would need to do you a favor that proves his power over the concept of giving you something. There would need to be a servant, somewhere, who would only ever serve peeled fruits to Tav. There would never be a peel seen inside of his house ever again, if he was asked to peel an orange. But don't get it twisted -- he'd peel the skin off of a man just for you, darling, if you wished it (because it proves that he is strong, he is powerful, he is in control, and that you enjoy this sadistic and twisted part of him that he has succumbed to). This is to say, any request you have, he will meet it in whatever the most condescending twist of power he can. He'd shower you with material things just because you mentioned liking 1 particular gemstone or fabric. You like a particular author? He'll "convince" them to write a novel specifically just for you. Anything to prove he "cares", in whatever way he truly does, and anything to secure you to his hip when he wants you there.

But Spawn Astarion? I dunno. I think he would peel an orange for you. Before you ever kill Cazador he says that one of the reasons he's interested in Ascension in the first place is for your safety, not just his (I'm inclined to believe this, as he sounds genuinely terrified of the concept of either of you being "unsafe" at that point). If you're playing The Dark Urge, he literally helps take care of you. In like, a very intimate and caring way??? And he'll stand up for you multiple times throughout the later acts if you've proven yourself to stand up for him when he needs it. I kind of think he would peel the orange. Honestly, with the way he acts during the graveyard scene, I can't really see him as anything less than utterly adoring of Tav.

Now, would it be a well-peeled orange? ..........no, but it's the thought that counts. He hasn't exactly eaten Real Food™ for 200 years, I don't think he knows how to peel any fruit.

Here's the thing though. I know it's all just a metaphor, the orange isn't necessarily an orange. You think this motherfucker wouldn't peel a proverbial orange for you, though? You think he wouldn't see a piece of jewelry or clothing or knick-knack or something and not immediately snag it (illegally or otherwise) just because he thought Tav would like it? He's like a cat. "Oh I know you couldn't get this for yourself 🙄 here you go, I got it for you." All the while he's trying to make it into not a big deal, but he really just wants you to acknowledge that he cares so he can be a leech to your affections.

Maybe this is all OOC garbage and that's fine, but!! Idk after the way he treats Tav at the epilogue party saying things like "we have forever, and I'm not going anywhere", he comes off to me as incredibly sweet and deeply attached. I do think he'd peel the orange. And I think he'd also be upfront and appreciate Tav for all the oranges they've peeled for him, too.

[gingermintpepper]

One of my biggest pet peeves is the assumption that something has to be sad for it to be tragic.

I've always been a big believer of the 'Apollo has an awful love life'/'Apollo is plain unlucky with love' line of thinking but it does bother me that the general reasoning for that statement is given to the concept of 'Apollo is somehow undesireable and thus rejected' (Cassandra/Daphne/Marpessa) or 'his lovers die young and thus their love is unfulfilled' (Cyparissus/Hyacinthus/Coronis). I personally think that's a very unfortunate way of looking at things - not only because it neglects the many perfectly cordial entanglements and affairs Apollo has had, both mortal and divine - but because it presents a very shallow interpretation of the concepts of love and loss and how loss affects people.

Apollo can still grieve lovers that have a long, healthy life. The inherent tragedy of an immortal who knows his lovers and children will die and cannot stop it does not stop being tragic simply because those lovers and children live long, fulfilled lives. The inherent tragedy of loss does not stop being tragic simply because someone knows better than to mourn something that was always going to end.

What is tragic is not that Apollo loves and loses but that loss itself follows him. Apollo does not love with the distance of an immortal, he does not have affairs and then leaves never to listen to their prayers again. He does not have offspring and then abandon them to their trials only to appear when it is time to lead them to their destinies. He raises his young, he protects the mothers of his children, he blesses the households that have his favour and multiplies their flocks that they may never go hungry. He educates his sons, he adorns his daughters and even in wrath he is quick to come to his senses and regret the punishments he doles out.

Apollo loves. And like mortals, there will always be some part of him that wishes to protect the objects of his affections. Apollo, however, is also an emissary of Fate. He knows that the fate of all mortal things is death. He knows that to love a mortal is to accept that eventually he will have to bury them. There is no illusion of forever, there is no fantasy where he fights against the nature of living things and shields his beloveds from death. Apollo loves and because of that love, he also accepts.

And that, while beautiful, is also tragic.

[galeorderbride]

Could I request headcanons for Raphael, Haarlep, Cal, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor with GN Tav who is a martial pacifist please?

Got you anon! I did my best with Haarlep and Dammon, I hope you like them all! Also, I admit I had to google what a martial pacifist was lol, I live under a rock. Pray I did it right!!

More requests are going to be rolling out!! Keep an eye out :)

HC under the cut!

Headcanons for Zevlor, Cal, Rolan, Dammon, Raphael, Haarlep (in that order) with GN!Tav

Zevlor:

This type of person has to be Zevlor’s favourite (or one of them). While calling him a pacifist is a stretch, given he’s a hellrider and sort of a solider at heart, but he isn’t arbitrary with his violence. He leaves it as a last resort. For example, in the grove, his consideration to kill Kagha is not taken lightly and framed as a last resort. While he’s willing to do that to keep his people safe, he seems rather reluctant and even a little worried about things coming to that.

To see Tav in all their peace, prioritising discussion and talking disputes down rather than with force is incredibly admirable to him. He’d strive to be like that every day, and it seems to come naturally to Tav! While his utmost respect would be quiet, he’d never want to make you uncomfortable by overstating how he feels, he’d smile a bit every time he’d hear or see you resolving an issue with words alone. Convincing everyone involved that they all won out in the end.

But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about that punch Tav threw at Aradin, right before the raging adventurer struck Zevlor himself. And even more when you returned with your companions to announce they’d finished off every goblin they could find. Knowing now that Tav could dole out punishment as much as they could peace, if it meant protecting the vulnerable. His affection for Tav would definitely sprout from this practical, moral approach to conflict, as it’s something he’d try to emulate if he could.

Cal:

Cal would feel similarly to Zevlor, maybe even more! He’s always trying to calm the less cool heads of his siblings when they argue, although he definitely isn’t always successful. Cal strikes me as someone who wants to avoid violence and confrontation in general, even if he may be a bit more capable of fighting than some other tieflings at the grove.

He’s gentle at heart, so of course he’d be drawn to Tav with a similar energy! Though, unlike Zevlor, he might feel a bit nervous when he first sees them throw a punch after they see an injustice. Maybe a Druid bullying one of the tieflings, or one of Aradin’s adventurers spewing the word ‘hell spawn’ loud enough for Tav to hear. A panicked heartbeat within Cal as he witnesses Tav socking someone in the face with the fury of Avernus.

After the first time seeing it, he’d come to love it! No longer worried that the pacifism was simply a mask for a bigger darkness, but rather a strong sense of justice that Tav hates to be compromised. Not to mention, the two of you as a team works best when one of you can at least be forceful!

Rolan:

Might see Tav’s pacifism as an ‘act’ initially. Seeing how popular and trustworthy they became to the rest of the tieflings. Rolan, as with everyone he meets, approaches them with a hint of cynical suspicion. Look at them, he’d think, traipsing about like a bloody folk hero! He’d question their reason, see that they had no material benefit to just being…decent. Yet they do, every time. How puzzling. How frustrating.

At least Tav would have some flaw. Their peaceful nature juxtaposed with the lack of a backbone, maybe. Something to make them a little less perfect. Only to find Aradin skulking about with his posse in their little hideaway. Bruised on the side of his face from what appeared to be a rough punch. Lakrissa told him that Tav intervened in a conflict between him and Zevlor, swinging at Aradin before the human could do it himself. No wonder he was packing up quickly, mumbling tiefling slurs under his breath as he declared himself ‘done with this hellhole’. So, not only was Tav a much-too-good Samaritan, they also fashioned themselves a paragon of justice.

He wished, at first, that they didn’t need someone like Tav to stand up for them. But even he isn’t immune to the charms of someone with such natural kindness. Especially at the celebration after the goblins were dealt with. When he performed a small incantation for Cal and Lia, and Tav watched behind them. Waves of lavender weave dotted like fireworks above him, and they clapped with an enthused smile. Rolan joked with his siblings to stave off the tingling warmth in his stomach when Tav applauded, embarrassing little butterflies that told him he’d have no choice but to warm up to this folk hero adventurer.

Dammon:

Excitement, through and through. Of course, Dammon appreciates Tav’s kindness and patience with others, a natural desire to help. What a rare thing to see anywhere, he’d think, especially for Tieflings. But with that appreciation comes a vexing feeling when he sees them in action, standing up for the ‘little guy’ as they say, ready to go in swinging when they’ve been wronged. A heat around his cheeks and chest to rival Avernus. He was never a fighter himself, how odd that he still had a thing for danger.

For Dammon, a moral pacifist is a match made in heaven. Senseless violence and carnage is not only unacceptable, but a reminder of his time in Avernus, no matter how nostalgic he can be for his access to infernal metals down there. Tav isn’t confrontational for the sake of it, but chooses their battles carefully, and always with a moral justification. Dammon enjoys the sight of them in their combative element, knowing he doesn’t have to feel guilty about it because it comes from a good place.

He’d ask Tav for infernal iron where they can find it, hoping they give him a little extra so he can forge a weapon for them. A token of his appreciation, he’d say, to stay coy about the real reason he so affectionately worked on this piece. A growing crush and fascination that comes to a head at the celebration when he presents you with a new sword or dagger forged from the fires of the hells themselves. A gift to ‘slay the unjust’, he says to Tav, as they ponder the future obstacles of their journey. He doesn’t wish to part from them so soon, but he’s glad to remember that they carry something from him the whole way.

Raphael:

Treats Tav’s nature as a game, like with anything. He’d want to see just how deep that peaceful nature runs before it inevitably snaps in two. And he’d relish over the thought of Tav losing themselves to him, to show just how much he could have an impact. More than he’d ever care to admit, Raphael comes up with ways to push Tav’s buttons, strategies for sowing cynicism into their pure, little mind. All the reason for them to draw over to him, become more than a reluctant ally.

The fire that latently crackles within them is like an infinite-act play. He watches them and their companions from afar, waiting to see the next person to suffer the unexpected ire of the golden folk hero, ready to help the next unfortunate sap they come across. Laughing to himself when he sees them let their rage consume them. He wonders where that inner turmoil came from, what tragic event occurred to have them so on guard all the time. If only he knew…the ways he could use that information.

Still, the inimitable kindness is rather…twee. There is something endearing about Tav’s ability to constantly see the good in things. In a sickeningly sweet sort of way. Most mortals break after a day or so with the arrogant musings of their fellow human (or elf or otherwise). Ultimately, Raphael believes mortals are all selfish at heart, even if they spend their limited lives trying to deny that. Tav has a certain resilience he hasn’t seen before, he should give them that.

Haarlep:

Wants more than anything to unlock that less-than-moral side of Tav. Haarlep wishes to lock into the baser desires possessed by all mortals, even the most decent ones. That constant need to settle scores with peaceful dialogue and compromise can only go so far before the desire to ‘let go’ becomes too strong to resist. How irresistible it would be to convince them to lose themselves in him, so he could leave a wicked little piece of himself within them as they go on their moral crusade. Knowing that even in the lightest, most benevolent of deeds, his pointed, forked tongue would still whisper in their ear.

Choosing battles requires strength, the mental fortitude to not fly off the handle when things get too stressful. And Haarlep takes the most enjoyment out of making the strong fall weak to his influence. And he’d shower them in adoration for giving in to that constant ecstasy he could give them if they just say the word.

This isn’t to say he’d want to strip Tav of all their moral righteousness. No, that’s part of the fun, if he can convince them to let him please them. A dangerous, erogenous selfishness left only for him to experience. The idea of being the one creature in the realms Tav doesn’t have to assist with anything, he’s perfectly capable of doing all of that on his own. As long as he can still pepper those little parts of him within their soul, embedded there forevermore.

[nowis-scales]

🔥for Fates? (Hard mode: nothing involving all the bad faith criticism)

🔥 The Xander and Camilla relationship is probably the most interesting relationship between any of the Nohrian royal siblings, but because it interferes with the notion that the Nohrian royal family is always super close-knit and found family-vibed, it goes underexplored.

I mean, in fairness, I get it — lots of FE fans all have their different family situations. There isn’t anything wrong with indulging in the fluffy, soft parts of a family dynamic, particularly if you don’t have a family that does what a family is supposed to do. However, I do think that when you’re looking at the family members as characters, it’s good to acknowledge all parts of their dynamics, because that’s what makes them versatile and fun and honestly, more human. Xander and Camilla’s relationship has a lot of intrigue beyond being just the stand-in parents, and I think that can get overlooked sometimes. Even if their pasts are acknowledged, their connections to each other beyond those roles goes unthought of.

In my opinion, it’s honestly really crucial to their relationship that Camilla thinks Xander isn’t that invested. Not because he actually doesn’t care, but because it speaks to Camilla’s perception of the entire family dynamic, as well as their childhood. I mean, think about it: all of these kids were set against each other in the Concubine Wars. Camilla is implied to have been one of the more brutal ones, because her mother was a fucking bitch especially concerned with being queen, and she would only dole out affection to Camilla if she were to kill her way to the top. We know that Camilla is not a truly vicious, nasty person — but what would Xander be to her, at that time? He’s the firstborn child, the one who holds the position that all of the other children want. He would be a point of envy for his effortlessness at being the “ideal”, but at the same time, he would have to be ruthless enough on his own as well to survive having a target on his back. Did that never build any sort of resentment in Camilla or the other children like her, who couldn’t get a sliver of love from their mothers? Is that what influences their relationship to this day? Xander is distant, yes, but how far does this measure of not caring go? In the core story, we see much of Xander proving himself to be caring. So what about her relationship to Xander speaks of this?

It’s also worth considering that one thing that gets erased from the English version a lot is that Xander and Camilla aren’t just loving older siblings with vaguely more-adult-than-you roles — they’re parentified. The concubines were awful mothers, Katerina died young, Arete died young and distant from them, and Garon’s been forcibly overtaken by a dragon god. This last little remaining sliver of siblings has no one else, and with how young and/or naïve Corrin, Elise, and Leo all come out to be, it’s natural that they would want to pick up on what they didn’t have in hopes that their siblings would come out better for it on the other side. But again, that influences Xander and Camilla’s relationship because they’re not just brother and sister, they’re actively parenting the other kids together. It’s extraordinarily unfair, and while Camilla is doing it out of a desire for no one to feel alone as she did, she might not understand that Xander, too, is hiding a lot of himself and understands the depths of her and everyone else’s pain. She thinks he’s being distant for the kingdom, something she doesn’t care about because she doesn’t want to rule, because that’s the greatest middle finger she can give to her mother — to not care. She might even think of him as being somewhat like Garon, loving them but not really knowing them, and being okay with that despite how damaging it is. There is no doubt in my mind that Xander and Camilla love each other, but I think what’s interesting is that this support shows they may not get each other entirely yet. There’s a lot from their respective childhoods that could still be kicking around, even with that love, and I feel like it could be so interesting to dismantle.

Is it all rosy and joyful like these poor people deserve? No, but it’s worthy of confronting for their power as characters and for the sake of their healing.

[theelvenhaven]

Elves Reacting To Your Periods

Gondolin

Turgon

Oh boy, when you first menstruate around Turgon, the poor King of Gondolin is thoroughly worried and panicking about why you are bleeding from your nethers! He asks if you are okay? What’s the matter? Why are you bleeding? Do you need to see a Healer?

And when you tell him that’s normal, he blushes deeply, trying not to look so undignified (further). Explaining to him that it’s menstruation and what the purpose of it only serves to make him blush embarrassedly. He’s not embarrassed by you, it’s just a conversation about the reproductive system of a menstruating human most certainly catches him off guard.

Turgon doesn’t ask anymore questions, nor does he really talk to you about it. He will try really hard to listen to your period complaints, but they only serve to make him blush and uncomfortable. I cannot promise that he will be making any kind of eye contact of any kind. Unintentionally making you uncomfortable, it takes some time for him to warm up to it, but he does eventually!

Turgon does ask what it is he can do to... make you comfortable. He has a healer ready at your disposal should you need it, gives you plenty of time to rest and definitely tries to work in time to spend with you to be a little more affectionate should you need or ask that of him!

Glorfindel

This warm ball of sunshine isn’t entirely clueless about humans and their menstruation cycles. He has spent little of his time around it or reading about it. While logically he knows you menstruate, it surprises Glorfindel the first time he encounters it with you. Glorfindel is worried he has hurt you somehow or another, even if the placing of blood on your clothes and sheets show that he couldn’t possibly have hurt you.

Glorfindel is quick to try to get you to a healer or a healer to you, wanting to make sure you are in fact okay. Though when you explain to him that partially, you are okay and that the bleeding is normal; he is quick to simmer down. The ease with which you speak of it is what brings him to trust you on it, and he attentively listens to you. Glorfindel also asks you a lot of questions about it, as it is human men he is used to being around, so his knowledge about your reproductive health is not extensive. He is also quick to help you clean up any sheets or clothes that need to be taken care of, or take over gathering the items while you clean and situate yourself.

Glorfindel will do what he can to take some time off during your worst days of menstruation and is unfortunately not exactly tactful about it at first. You will have to tell him if it bothers you, in the event you find it embarrassing, as he has no shame in announcing it. Because he will straightforwardly tell them “Y/N is menstruating I am afraid I am unavailable until further notice.”. Once you tell him, Glorfindel will keep that talk between you, him and the Healers if need be. When he can’t be there with you, he instead sends a healer in to check on you and bring you the things you need.

Ecthelion

Ecthelion is very methodical, so when you menstruate for the first time around him, his first thought is to figure out why and to clean up. Once the notion of normalcy about this has been made, Ecthelion is quick to strip the bed and have the sheets sent off to be cleaned.

In the meantime, he quickly and calmly directs you to clean up while he works on getting tea sent up to the room. When you are finished, he sits you down and asks what you mean by that it’s normal. He listens attentively and only asks what he feels are the important questions- 1. Is this normal? 2. How often does it happen? 3. What all do you need for this occurrence?

Ecthelion will make sure from then on out that your periods are handled like clockwork, as he remembers every little detail about you. So your period will run smoothly without a single kink in the plan. During these times he trusts that if you do need him, that you will tell him you need him or come see him to do so. Ecthelion doesn’t mind your company while he is working if you need him.

Anticipate for him to not be exactly the most receptive about your period complaints that might be extremely detailed. You want to complain about your cramps and how painful they are? He’s happy to listen to it. As for you description of your clots? Ecthelion is completely content never knowing what that may look like. His affection levels stay about the same, though if you seek him out for them, he won’t deny you in the slightest, just preferring things are more privately done. 

Rog

When you first menstruate around Rog and have an accident, when Rog sees the stain he’s a little concern but you are human, so literal bloody mysteries aren’t entirely uncommon. Like the first time you got a nosebleed, so he’s prepared for literal bloody mysteries. 

Rog is also unsure what you need him to do while you are getting up to go get changed and cleaned up. Does he need to send for a healer? Should he take the sheets to be cleaned? Do you need help? Should he clean the sheets himself? He’s going to need a little direction the first go around that this happens, Rog’s a quick learner so don’t worry about this being a constant thing.

Rog is also the type of ellon to talk about your period. While he won’t go running around detailing every bit about it (like Penlod might.) he will still bring it up in conversation or if someone asks why you are so moody today. So if it is something that bothers you, you will have to tell him not to disclose it and he’s happy not too!

Rog will also shower and dote you in extra affection seeing how this is not exactly a pleasant time for you. Sex, cuddles, kisses, embraces and even fun thrown in there. If he sees that you need a hug even while sweaty from being in the forges, he will chase you around to hug you. Rog just wants to try and make your times with him enjoyable especially during such an uncomfortable time.

Penlod

You are in for a whirlwind of questions all day when Penlod discovers that you menstruate. From the time the stain is discovered is when the questions begin. They do start out with him being concerned; “There’s blood in the bed. Are you alright?” And when you tell him why, oh Eru. 

“You menstruate? What is that? Do all humans menstruate? Why do you menstruate? Why do you need it to reproduce? Why is it blood? Is it always blood? This can happen once a month? You can skip months? You can have more than one in a month? You cramp? What does that feel like? You bleed heavily? Lightly? Does it gush? Is it slow? There are clots?” ANYTHING about your period, you are being asked it by Penlod. Even if you don’t know the answer, he’s still going to ask it.

He has absolutely no shame in who overhears it, and he absolutely wants to write every single bit of it down to be stored in the library. Penlod also asks you many questions about your care for your period and how you handle the pains of period cramps. Noting every remedy he can out of you and adding it to the book. It's an extremely comprehensive book on the menstruating humans reproductive cycle. 

The first few periods you have, you will just have to let Penlod burn himself out of questions as there is no stopping him. He’s determined and eager to learn about you. Afterwards, though, he’s far more considerate to your emotional and physical needs, trying to be more doting on you than full of endless questions.

Galdor

Galdor is the most laid back elf that there is, and there are absolutely no exceptions when you start your period. He is very go with the flow and relaxed, so when there is a stain- sheet or clothes- involved. Galdor is just attentive and ready to do what needs to be done to assist in cleanup.

He figures, if it were life threatening you would’ve told him by now so he makes no push on anything. Galdor just waits for you to explain, happy to take your laundry to get it cleaned, even if he has to do it himself. He does it really with no questions asked. 

Galdor will also listen to any and all of your period complaints completely unphased by what you are saying. No matter how graphic the details might be and he does what he can to console you if you need it. Galdor is really gentle and will take care of not just your physical needs but your mental and emotional ones.

His presence is just so peaceful and safe and his affections are too. Galdor lets you take time off as you need, or lets you even come sit with him even if he’s working (as long as it isn’t a meeting). He just wants to do what he can to try to make you feel better. 

Maeglin

When you start to menstruate, Maeglin absolutely panics about you suddenly bleeding! And you’ve bled enough to stain your clothes and/or sheets of the bed!? He is utterly worried and gets irritable trying to figure out how this could happen to you! Did he do it? Did someone else do it? Did you get hurt?

It takes a bit of calming him down before he finally relents to be able to listen to you talk about what is going on with you. Catching him entirely off guard when you tell him that this is a normal and natural occurrence. You will have to very literally sit him down to calm down while you clean yourself up. In the meantime, it allows him to think about what you said.

When you’ve come back out, he’s blushing as he thinks about the entire ordeal and how he reacted. Ready to ask and listen to questions, he does nervously stammering and trying to think of things sheepishly to ask you about it. Maeglin takes his time wanting to make sure he understands what is going on with you and that you really are okay.

Once he is confident that this new to him thing is safe and you are okay, he relaxes. But is concerned about you and asks you multiple times a day if you are okay or if you need anything? To make sure you really are okay. He doles out even more gentle affections to you, feeling like he needs to treat you so delicately in the process.

* * * 

tags:

@saviorsong​ @lilmelily​ @dicksoutformtl​ @fandomhoe101​ @icarus-fell-in-spring​ @iwenttomordor​ @red-riding​ @miriel-estelwen​​

[faerune]

not to be the nightmare individual who gives you too many to answer, but all of the hearts for diana, please ty!! 💕

um first of all thank you and there is no such thing as too many so jot that down 💗

What gets their heart racing? Steve Harrington. Things that are unexpected. Being flirted with (even cheesy bad flirting unfortunately). Little touches that are meant to make her skin hot. Neck kisses, even chaste, "innocent" ones. Moments that are heavy with emotions that she doesn't know how to put words to.

What traits do they look for in a relationship? Do they believe in love at first sight? Diana does not at all believe in love at first sight. She lives in the real world, thank you very much. Her parents really showed her what to look for in a relationship which while Diana has issues with her parents and the expectations they put on her, she did grow up in a household where she was shown love and healthy relationships. In a partner, she definitely looks for someone who will let her wear the pants in most things. Someone who challenges her (doesn't have to be academic, just someone who gets her out of her shell she's attracted to.) Someone loyal and supportive. Most of all someone who isn't intimidated by her successes and shares in them with her instead of being Weird.

If they have a crush, is it noticable? What changes when they're in love? It's not noticeable to people who don't know her but people who know Diana well can kinda tell something is up. She gets very weirdly defensive about certain things, constantly spends time with that person (which is a huge red flag for someone who is a loner typically), and constantly roasts that person. It's how she shows affection lmao. As for being in love? She's very in her head about it so there's more subtle changes. She stares at the person a lot, might hold the person more at arms length because she's trying to like...Work It Out herself, and is randomly unexpectedly really genuine to that person sometimes in a way that catches them off guard.

What are their love language(s)? Definitely quality time and words of affirmation! Physical touch comes as a close second because I think it's how she naturally shows love as well as quality time. She just wants to be around the person she's dating so much. Words of affirmation are kind of hard for her to regularly dole out but she does on occasion say some really kind, genuine, honest things which kind of makes up for the infrequency of it. Diana isn't the kind of person to blow sunshine up your ass so her compliments really mean something.

Do they miss their s/o easily? How do they act when their s/o isn't around? Diana acts like she doesn't but she does. She's just good at dealing with it and she throws herself into whatever she's working on at the moment to get over it. She tends to get a little distracted when Steve comes to visit her at MIT as a result so she restricts the visits to breaks and weekends lmao. Diana operates pretty independently because she's sort of grown up that way and thinks she has to but being around Steve 'The Clingiest MF Around' Harrington has encouraged her to be a little needy too.

What things make your oc feel comforted? Hugs, kisses, food? Cuddling, a good book, listening to music. But most of all: her mother's cooking. Nothing makes her feel warmer and more at peace than a plate of her mother's food which is an issue since she moves quite a ways a way! Her mom always brings her covered dishes when she visits but I also think that Steve goes out of his way to ask her mom for recipes. Weirdly enough I think Steve becomes a good cook (more out of necessity because Diana is even worse than him initially) and I think he really likes it. So he makes her momma's recipes for her during finals week <3

Are they a subtle or a showy lover? This may surprise you but she's showy. At least once she's secure in the relationship. She's obnoxious and into PDA and doesn't give a fuck what other people think really. She's not like...suuuuper gross about it she's just always hanging on her partners, sitting in their lap, etc. And her and Steve when they meet at the train station for visits? Sprints the rest of the way and throws herself into his arms while he spins her around. GROSS!

Do they like love letters? What kind of messages do they leave for their partner? Oh god, I think she might think they're mad cheesy. She'd think it was a nice gesture but would absolutely tease whoever gave it to her for the rest of their lives. As for her, Diana isn't really one for romantic messages? Beyond maybe the occasional encouraging one if Steve is doing smth major like his first finals when he goes for education she might leave him a little note that just says good luck.

What could their partner do that would absolutely break their heart? Oh god, cheat. Diana is not one to trust easily and she puts her all into a relationship so I think that would just really destroy her.

[hakasims]

The Most In-depth Analysis of Luca Marinelli’s Characters You’ll Ever Need

You’d think I was done with classifications, but I’m not! There’s so much more I can say about Luca Marinelli’s oeuvre and his magnificent roster of characters. And yes, I’ve made this post before where I highlighted specific tropes that show up in a lot of his movies, but that was surface-level shit. This is an actual exploration of what makes a Luca Marinelli character besides being a kinky little whore. And don’t worry, it’s still in that user-friendly question-answer format because I love you.

Here’s the thing: Luca is a chameleon but he also has a type, and this type is:

✨ a (likely) queer repressed addict with daddy issues ✨

That’s the skeleton. Let’s see how many of his major roles possess that skeleton at all and what flavors they add to the picture.

Disclaimer: I excluded characters with little screen time and Joseph from Mary of Nazareth because he doesn’t deserve rights. Also, instead of going in the boring chronological order, I’m gonna start with the least typical character for Luca and end with the crème de la crème. The results may not surprise you.

Nicky (The Old Guard)

Is he queer? Undeniably.

Is he repressed? No.

Does he have an addiction? No.

Does he have daddy issues? I know we’re all deeply affected by our shitty father figures but I would genuinely question Nicky’s sanity if he were still on that shit at the ripe age of 951. A little tip for daddy-hating immortals out there: just do what Angel did and kill your shitty dad. Problem solved.

Is he violent? Despite doling out tons of violence, he doesn’t have a violent nature and seems uninterested in hating his enemy or delivering retribution.

Does he need a good night sleep? I’m sure nothing helps one sleep better than a Joe-shaped big spoon.

Does he need a good cry? Doesn’t seem like it.

Flavors: A perfect immortal warrior bean in a healthy relationship.

Conclusion: Ironically but unsurprisingly, Nicky is the least Luca-like character.

Guido (Tutti i santi giorni)

Is he queer? I don’t believe so but who knows? If someone told me he’s demisexual, I’d believe it.

Is he repressed? The movie may disagree, but I say yes, obviously.

Does he have an addiction? Not unless you count his romantic relationship.

Does he have daddy issues? His family is so supportive and wholesome it’s almost parodic.

Is he violent? He’s the opposite of a toxic macho dude, but then he has a violent outburst out of nowhere because the movie is bad.

Does he need a good night sleep? He doesn’t like sleeping at night.

Does he need a good cry? Naturally.

Flavors: An adorkable awkward nerd with flowery speech.

Conclusion: I can forgive straightness and wholesomeness but I can’t forgive lack of complexity.

Martin (Martin Eden)

Is he queer? I don’t believe so.

Is he repressed? Yes.

Does he have an addiction? No.

Does he have daddy issues? Not to my knowledge.

Is he violent? When he deems it necessary to be.

Does he need a good night sleep? Sure.

Does he need a good cry? Cry your little heart out, Martin!

Flavors: An arrogant, pretentious, politically confused writer.

Conclusion: A little too straight for your typical Luca, but he makes up for it with being complex and complicated.

Loris (Il mondo fino in fondo)

Is he queer? I don’t believe so.

Is he repressed? So fucking repressed!

Does he have an addiction? Nothing beyond his savior complex.

Does he have daddy issues? He has a shitty dad he’s spent his whole life trying to please, and also his mommy left, so like yeah, obviously.

Is he violent? He has his straight dude moments.

Does he need a good night sleep? Definitely.

Does he need a good cry? Oh yeah, let him cry, it’s good for him.

Flavors: A casually homophobic mother hen.

Conclusion: Ruined by heterosexual agenda.

Lui (Ricordi?)

Is he queer? I don’t believe so.

Is he repressed? Very.

Does he have an addiction? No.

Does he have daddy issues? A big sack of them.

Is he violent? No.

Does he need a good night sleep? Oh yes. To sleep, perchance to dream about anything other than his traumatic memories.

Does he need a good cry? So much.

Flavors: Up-his-butt and pensive.

Conclusion: Leave it to Luca to take a guy who would be an absolute nightmare in real life and turn him into someone I actually want to watch for two hours and see happy by the end.

Gabriele (Waves)

Is he queer? There’s evidence he might be gay.

Is he repressed? I’d bet on it.

Does he have an addiction? Doesn’t seem like it.

Does he have daddy issues? Nobody knows.

Is he violent? No.

Does he need a good night sleep? He probably will with how the movie ended.

Does he need a good cry? At least one.

Flavors: A sweet introverted guy who loves boats.

Conclusion: While not particularly complex, Gabriele has layers and nuances. Also give him a big muscular daddy.

Fabrizio (Fabrizio de André - Principe libero)

Is he queer? I don’t believe so.

Is he repressed? He was before music became his only career.

Does he have an addiction? Alcohol, cigarettes, sex, cheating - take your pick.

Does he have daddy issues? Not as bad as some of the other guys here but he’s heard his fair share of “I’m not mad, I’m disappointed” speeches.

Is he violent? He’s soft.

Does he need a good night sleep? He’s an artist, what do you think?

Does he need a good cry? He’s an artist, what do you think?

Flavors: Fabrizio de André is the flavor.

Conclusion: Even though it’s a biopic, there are still many Luca-isms there. He’s just that kind of actor.

Milton (Una questione privata)

Is he queer? It could be argued that he is bisexual.

Is he repressed? Do you even need to ask?

Does he have an addiction? About half of the breaths he takes are filled with cigarette smoke.

Does he have daddy issues? He seems to have a good and loving relationship with both his parents.

Is he violent? Not by nature.

Does he need a good night sleep? Yep.

Does he need a good cry? He certainly does.

Flavors: A repressed bisexual feeling powerless in a horrible world.

Conclusion: This is proof that Luca can carry a whole entire movie on his sexy shoulders, alone. Also Milton needs a safe and loving triad.

Mattia (La solitudine dei numeri primi)

Is he queer? I personally read him as asexual. Though assigning asexuality to characters who are traumatized is a dangerous path so don’t quote me on this, okay?

Is he repressed? Just the most repressed.

Does he have an addiction? It’s debatable whether self-harm and eating disorders can be considered addictions, but they’re part of his character, and I thought you should know.

Does he have daddy issues? His parents played their part in messing him up which then led to the big thing that really messed him up, though other than that his dad is barely a presence.

Is he violent? Not at all.

Does he need a good night sleep? At least 17 hours.

Does he need a good cry? Oh, so much. He needs all the cry.

Flavors: A quiet genius with lots of guilt.

Conclusion: Can you believe this was his first film role? Our boy is talented af!

Fabio (Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot)

Is he queer? Undeniably.

Is he repressed? You could argue that he is repressed by being limited in his place in social hierarchy.

Does he have an addiction? Amazingly enough, no. He has fixations, though.

Does he have daddy issues? Thinking his father was a loser and not wanting to end up like him is textbook stuff.

Is he violent? Very.

Does he need a good night sleep? Yes please.

Does he need a good cry? He needs to purge his soul from all the bottled up stuff.

Flavors: A campy psycho.

Conclusion: Luca’s most iconic character, so of course he scored high on the list.

Paolo (Il padre d’Italia)

Is he queer? Undeniably.

Is he repressed? I can’t even start listing all the ways in which he’s repressed.

Does he have an addiction? He smokes a lot.

Does he have daddy issues? His issues are more of a mommy variety.

Is he violent? Not in the slightest.

Does he need a good night sleep? He’s the poster boy for needing a good night sleep.

Does he need a good cry? A good cry, a good weep, a good sob, a good bawl, *googles more synonyms* a good wail, a good squall...

Flavors: A self-loathing gay orphan in need of some life goodness.

Conclusion: What can I say about Paolo that all of you aren’t already thinking? Decent film, great character, excellent portrayal.

Mickey (Die Pfeiler der Macht)

Is he queer? Undeniably.

Is he repressed? It’s Victorian England, you guys.

Does he have an addiction? He smokes casually but other than that... eh. And don’t tell me he has sex addiction. He uses his body strategically.

Does he have daddy issues? If what he has isn’t daddy issues, I don’t know what is.

Is he violent? He’s got tons of bottled up aggression.

Does he need a good night sleep? It would be great if he could use the day’s darkest hours for sleeping.

Does he need a good cry? Undeniably.

Flavors: A conniving slut extraordinaire.

Conclusion: A major player in the book (says me who managed like 50 pages), Mickey Miranda was turned into such a nothing character in the miniseries that they needed a truly extraordinary actor to make him memorable. And guess what, Luca delivered.

Cesare (Non essere cattivo)

Is he queer? Not explicitly, but come on.

Is he repressed? Lethally.

Does he have an addiction? He’s an addiction textbook.

Does he have daddy issues? *Jake Peralta voice* Yeah, the guy without a daddy is the one with daddy issues. Explain that logic.

Is he violent? Oh yeah, he’s a rabid little trash goblin.

Does he need a good night sleep? So much.

Does he need a good cry? He’s had his fair share of good cries, but he could always use more.

Flavors: A aimless junkie.

Conclusion: The quintessential Luca. Beautiful.

Primo (Trust)

Is he queer? Listen, just because we don’t see him fuck a dude on screen it doesn’t mean he isn’t a motherfluffing queer icon. It’s not subtext; it’s TEXT.

Is he repressed? Where do I even fucking start?

Does he have an addiction? Oh yeah. And a coke nail to prove it.

Does he have daddy issues? I would need a whole separate post to unpack his daddy issues.

Is he violent? So very violent.

Does he need a good night sleep? Yes, please. On an actual bed in an actual bedroom.

Does he need a good cry? You can just tell.

Flavors: A ruthless criminal with a strong mafia boss potential.

Conclusion: The pièce de résistance of the Luca Marinelli filmography. Not only does he tick every box, he gets bonus points for the excellent wardrobe choices that emphasize Luca’s best features. Primo Nizzuto is everything great you want from Luca, except singing. (Though in my headcanon that whole white car in a snowstorm monologue was a musical number.)

[terramythos]

TerraMythos 2021 Reading Challenge - Book 6 of 26

Title: The Killing Moon (Dreamblood #1) (2012)

Author: N. K. Jemisin

Genre/Tags: Fantasy, First-Person, Third-Person, Female Protagonist, LGBT Protagonist, Asexual Protagonist.

Rating: 8/10

Date Began: 2/07/2021

Date Finished: 2/13/2021

Peace is sacred in the walled city-state of Gujaareh, and must be maintained at any cost. The Gatherers are a priesthood tasked with maintaining this goal. In the name of Hananja, Goddess of the moon, they walk the city at night and harvest Dreamblood-- the magic of dreams-- from Gujaareh's denizens. They bring the peace of death to those who need it... and to those judged criminal or corrupt.

But something else haunts Gujaareh's streets. A Reaper, a rogue Gatherer driven to endless madness and hunger from Dreamblood, is preying on the innocent, casting their souls into an eternal nightmare. Ehiru, one of the elder Gatherers, finds himself caught in the middle of a political conspiracy between his priesthood, the holy Prince, and the monstrous Reaper. An insidious corruption runs deeper than Ehiru knows-- and it may be too late to stop. 

The Gatherer’s eyes glittered in her memory, so dark, so cold--but compassionate, too. That had been the truly terrifying thing. A killer with no malice in his heart: it was unnatural. With nothing in his heart, really, except the absolute conviction that murder could be right and true and holy. 

Full review, major spoilers, and content warnings under the cut.

Content warnings for the book: Graphic depictions of violence, gore, death, warfare, and murder-- including death of children and mass murder. Discussions of p*dophilia/grooming (nothing graphic). Brief reference to r*pe. One character is a minor infatuated with a much older character-- not reciprocated. Rigid gender and social roles, including slavery. Magic-induced addiction and withdrawal. Loss of sanity/altered mental states/mind control/gaslighting.

Last year I read N. K. Jemisin's short story collection How Long 'Til Black Future Month?  One of my favorite stories was The Narcomancer, which explored a vibrant, ancient Egypt-inspired world with themes of faith, dreams, violence, and duty. I wanted to read more from the universe, and finally got to do so with The Killing Moon, the first book in the Dreamblood duology.

Jemisin's creativity in worldbuilding is, in my opinion, unmatched in the fantasy genre. I thought Gujaareh was super interesting and fleshed out. While the ancient Egypt inspiration is obvious, it's also clearly an original fantasy culture in its own right. Everything from religious practices to social castes to gender roles to the fucking architecture felt methodical and thought out. The base premise of assassin priests compassionately harvesting magic from people is a fascinating idea and totally gripping. The pacing is a little slow, but I didn't mind so much because learning about the world was so fun.

While there's a hefty amount of worldbuilding exposition in the story, Jemisin doles out information gradually. Bits and pieces of Gujaareen law, etc are introduced at the beginning of each chapter, and usually have a thematic connection to the events of the story. Information is sparing at times, meaning that one doesn't have a full picture of how everything ties together until pretty far into the story. Even something as crucial as the dream-based magic system isn't fully realized until near the end. I like the mystery of this approach, and I can appreciate how difficult it must be to keep the reader invested vs frustrating them with a lack of info. Jemisin consistently does a great job with this in everything I've read by her.

I did want a little bit more from the narcomancy aspect of the story, since dream worlds are such a huge part of Gujaareen religion and culture. In The Killing Moon we see just a few dreamscapes, and then only briefly. There's so much potential with narcomancy as a magic system, yet most of what we see is an outside, "real-world" perspective, which isn't terribly unique compared to other kinds of magic. Dreamblood being a narcotic (heh) with some Extra Fantasy Stuff is interesting, but I wanted more. Perhaps The Shadowed Sun expands on this. 

Characterization is the other Big Thing with this book, as it's very much a character-driven story. Overall I'm torn. There's some things I really liked, and others that felt underdeveloped. I'll go over my favorite things first.

Ehiru is probably the strongest of the main cast, and I really enjoyed his character arc. Here's a guy who is completely devoted to his faith, regardless of what others may think of it. Yet he's not a self-righteous dick. He sees Gathering as a loving and holy thing, so when he errs in the line of duty, it totally consumes him. And things just get worse and worse for him as the story progresses. Say what you will about the Gatherers and the belief system of Gujaareh; Ehiru comes off as intensely caring, devoted, and compassionate, and I genuinely felt bad for him throughout the novel. I'm not religious but these kinds of faith narratives are super interesting to me.

Looking at characterization as a whole, I appreciate The Killing Moon's gray morality. No one in the story is wholly good or evil. The Gatherers are an obvious example, considering they murder people in the dead of night in the name of their Goddess-- but do so to help those in need. Despite being a megalomaniacal mass-murderer, the Prince has believable reasons for his horrific actions, and they’re not wholly selfish. Even the Reaper is a clear victim of Dreamblood's addictive and mind-altering nature; it sometimes regresses into the person it used to be, which is sad and disturbing. There's a lot of moral complexity in the characters and the laws and belief systems they follow. This kind of nuanced writing is much more interesting to read than a black and white approach.

Beyond this, though, I struggled to connect with the other leads. Nijiri's utter devotion to Ehiru is basically his whole character, and while the tragedy of that is interesting for its own reasons, I kept wanting more from him. Sunandi is a good "outsider perspective" character but I had a hard time understanding her at times. For example, the two most important people in her life, Kinja and Lin, die in quick succession. Yet besides a brief outburst when Lin dies, this barely seems to affect her. I get people mourn in all kinds of ways but it seems odd. Her sexual tension with Ehiru is also weird and underdeveloped. Perhaps this is meant to be a callback to The Narcomancer, but it doesn't accomplish much in this narrative.

Another issue I had was emotional connection to minor-yet-important characters. Kinja dies offscreen before the story, yet is supposed to be a big part of Sunandi's past (and thus emotional arc). But he's never even in a flashback, so I never felt WHY he mattered to her. Una-une is the big one, though. It's pretty easy to figure out he's the Reaper by process of elimination, but he's barely in the story outside of a few early mentions. There's this part near the end that's clearly meant to be an emotional moment; Ehiru realizes his (apparently beloved) mentor Una-une is the horrific monster, and thus a foil to the situation between himself and Nijiri. But we never saw the relationship between Ehiru and Una-une, and nothing really established this prior... so there's no emotional payoff. It felt at times like this book was part of a much longer story that for whatever reason we never got to see. In some ways that can be useful to make the world and history seem vast, but here it made me feel emotionally distant from several characters. Perhaps flashbacks with these important characters would have helped bridge the gap. 

Credit where it's due, though; it's clear a lot of the dark, often brutal tone and stylistic flair in The Killing Moon was adapted into Jemisin's fantastic Broken Earth trilogy. Probably the most notable are the cryptic interlude chapters told from the perspective of a mysterious character whose identity is unknown until the end. We learn bits and pieces of the beliefs and lore of the world through excerpts of common laws and wisdom. I also liked the occasional stream-of-consciousness writing during tense or surreal moments. The Broken Earth is an improvement overall, but I can appreciate The Killing Moon for establishing some of these techniques early.

I enjoyed this book overall and am planning to read The Shadowed Sun. While I have some criticisms about The Killing Moon, I think it just suffers in comparison to other works I've read by Jemisin. It was still an entertaining and intense read, with a captivating and original world. It's not a story for the faint of heart, though, so please mind the content warnings.  

[gloriousxdarkness]

𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 .

1. what does your muse smell like ?

“Evergreen, and blood, and the air before a storm.” 

“That cemetery bouquet. Like sweet poison…“

she smells earthy and floral, and if you’re close enough (Or have hyper-senses) there’s a lingering, coppery hint of blood. the average person might think the metallic smell is coming from her jewelry, if they notice at all, or subconsciously perceive it and think danger. If she’s been running around she’ll smell like sweat and grime of whatever city she’s in. As for her chosen scents, I rather like Wild Poppy by NEST for her (ty @thatslayer​) which is clean and has a “cloudy-day” kind of feel. But as Elektra is not married to one liquor, or car, or city, I imagine she is not married to a single perfume, either. 

In college she may have played with scents as a way of teasing Matt, or gone without if they bothered him. She likes the way a person naturally smells, anyway.

2. what do your muse’s hands feel like ?

It hurts when one cracks across your face, lol. 

Elektra normally wears gloves when she’s out and about, and she has a particular high sense of physical care for herself. She doesn’t really have a job, so in the daytime it’s easy enough to spend some time and money on private doctors, expensive creams, etc. which helps her stay camouflaged in high society.

Given all that, I’d say her hands feel unexpectedly rough, for how she appears. They are callused from constant use— swordwielding on the reg, grip strength for parkour— and there are marks/shadowing from bloodying her knuckles all her life. She’s scarred her palms from a katana digging into them, specifically. But she rarely touches someone non-violently for them to find out.

3. what does your muse usually eat in a day ?

Elektra doesn’t cook. If she ever does, you can serve it to your enemies. She drinks coffee but not to excess, probably drinks more tea for the calming effect and lower caffeine levels. She probably eats several light meals throughout the day, more of a snacker than a sit down to a meal kinda person. It keeps her energy up while not feeling too heavy. Fighting makes her hungry, though, so she’ll chow down after that. She orders expensive takeout and pre-made meals. She’s indulgent, too, and not especially picky. She’ll munch on special baby pickles and caviar or diner food and cheap coffee with equal appreciation, loves pie, and her favorite snack is knife cheese.

4. does your muse have a good singing voice ?

her voice is quite pleasant to listen to. like warm oil when she’s pleased, and her accent tends to soften even the sharper things she says. there’s no point of reference for her singing voice in the show, though there’s a little bit in the comics— I imagine she can carry a tune but her talents lie elsewhere.

5. does your muse have any bad habits or nervous ticks ?

depends what you call a bad habit. In conversation, her tendency to withdraw into silence can kill. I think she drinks more when she’s uncomfortable with what she’s doing, but committed to doing it anyway. Oh, and yeah, she has a little bad habit of flagrantly breaking the law for fun. She doesn’t kill for fun, even if she sometimes has fun doing it, but she’ll do any number of other crimes for sheer kicks. Stealing cars and breaking & entering being top favorites. Adrenaline chaser. She can be controlling, doling out information as-needed (or as pressed, which I encourage). It’s in part for fun and in part so the other person can’t tell her no. She usually needs someone to tell her no. She isn’t especially trustworthy, because while you can ask her to play by your rules, even if she agrees she will ultimately do whatever she thinks she needs to later, even at the cost of damaging a relationship. While she’s socially graceful in public, she is awful at maintaining relationships and making friends. She is best at being ‘work partners.’

Nervous ticks— she’s in pretty good control of herself, but sometimes she rolls her thumb over her fingers, kinda toys with her hands, avoids your eyes/face, gets unnaturally still and you get the sense she’s holding back. Out on missions she can get panicky and antsy when things aren’t going right. She has this ‘close to death isnt this exciting im not scared’ laugh/smile thing too going on. She would be shaking and trying to keep hold of herself, not show her fear. Resurrecting stripped her of a lot of human-ness, but over time I believe it would come back, to a degree. The longer it’s been since she died, the better.

6. what does your muse usually look like / wear ?

Elektra almost always looks put together. For her “professional/fancy life” - skirt or dress and heels. She favors high necklines, soft blouses, and flatters her legs. She likes leather, gold jewelry, reds and blacks. Elektra has money and you can tell, all her clothes are tailored to her and the material looks expensive and pleasant on the skin, in that ‘dry clean only’ steamed and pressed kind of way. It’s old money— style over flash. Her hair is normally long, straight and often up in a ponytail.

Her wealth is part of a mirage, though— she’s actually not that picky about any of it. She just can have it, so she does. She’ll sleep in the shorts and a tank she just fought in no problem. If she’s not in ‘fancy’ mode she wears jeans, sweaters, button ups.

7. Is your muse affectionate?  How much?  How so?

it depends. Elektra is shown to be quite affectionate with Matt and to a point, with Stick. As much as he allowed her to be. She loves to reach for her partner, hold hands, touch their cheek, forehead press, and it means so much to her to receive the same. A romantic partner gets her affection more readily than a friend. Outside of romance, she adores getting a friend’s love ‘forced’ upon her, even if she’s kind of uncomfortable giving it, because it shows how she feels, especially around others. If she’s holding onto you or touching you, she feels very close to you.

I think she’s affectionate in other ways, though. Like she’s such a doer that she’d see a loved one has a problem or discomfort and just... fix it. Or try. Matt loves her silk sheets? Now he has some. You need money? Okay here. Having trouble with that stubborn witness? I’ll go intimidate him! for you! It’s not always the right response, but if she has the means to ‘help’, she usually will. Like Matt doesn’t take care of himself or let himself indulge and she would just... do what he’s not doing for himself, or make him do it, and kind of... take the blame, in that sense? It’s not his fault he can’t martyr himself if she’s forcing him to take this money or enjoy this essential oil bubble bath and massage. “Wear this beautiful overpriced suit for me, I’m the one who has to look at you.” Andd keep it. That kind of thing.

8. what position does your muse sleep in ?

Usually curled up on her side. She moves around a little in the night and sometimes ends up on her back.

9. could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room ?

Not if she’s trying to be quiet. Elektra can move and fight in total silence. She walked out on Matt in heels and he didn’t even hear her. NINJA.

Tagged by: @murdcck​ Tagging: @thatslayer, @phdinrage, @soulavenged, @timemovesonandon, @xsecondstringslayerx, @enduringlystoic, @iwannadogirlystuff, @wandyrlust, @hepunished, @kinginhismind, @artificiallyimplantedmemories, @lordofsparkles​

[safflora]

SnK Chp 128 Thoughts - Round 2: Yelena and Levi

Two of the most interesting panels in the chapter:

What is Yelena’s purpose in saying this?

Yelena flexes on people by reading them, and she’s good at it. This is just what she does. Her ability to see through people helps her get what she wants out of them, which is sometimes just her own entertainment. She might simply be trying to push Levi’s buttons by letting him know that she sees him. Trying to do that with this particular statement, though, would mean she thinks Levi must have some sort of sensitivity about this aspect of his nature. Either 1.) she’s right about that and the look on his face is him being affected by her words, 2.) she’s wrong and he’s either annoyed at her or pissed off about something else about this situation, or 3.) her intention is not to provoke in the first place.

I’m curious about the doleful look on Yelena’s face here. It seems for the first time that she may actually lament this situation. Yelena, who has been even more ruthless than Levi at times, may just be saying this because she knows Levi understands better than most. He understands that this is not only in his own nature, it’s in the nature of humanity. It’s part of the reason that, while he may have regretted its necessity and hates senseless death, he has never hesitated to use violence as a means to his ends (or even just to express himself). He’s not in the business of fighting nature.

As for Levi’s expression, we could assign all sorts of potential meanings to that. Choose your favorite(s) to project onto him until he finally speaks for himself!

- Annoyed by Yelena

- Who are YOU calling violent?? Why I oughta…

- Groggy after having woken up from his nap

- Pissed off that the plan has fallen apart and/or by his team’s incompetence

- Upset that he can’t go help his team

- Upset at himself for getting himself into a situation that made him unable to help his team

- Resigned to the futility of their situation and/or the human condition in general

- Must. Kill. Zeke.

- Am I actually a part of the problem, being how I am? Do I need to reconsider some things?

- Regret that they didn’t act sooner to prevent things from getting to this point since conflict is inevitable anyway

- This is where all of that pain has gotten us?

- I didn’t want to think about having to kill Eren, but damn maybe that’s what it’s going to take after all

- *Cringe* @ own use of excessive force and taking pleasure in it

- Fuckin Jaegerist scum

I’m a sucker for mystery, so of course I’m wondering what could be going on in this dude’s head.

I don’t read Levi as the most self-reflective of characters. He seems like the kind of person who accepted who he was early in life and didn’t see a reason to think much more about the topic. But so much of his life has been built around his physical capabilities, and now that he is incapacitated, he has nothing but time to sit around and think. It can’t be comfortable for a person who is very much not an in-his-own-head type of guy.

Not that he’s unintelligent by any means, but I think Levi’s strength has always come in part from not having to think, from being able to hold the ambiguity of a situation in his mind without agonizing over it and just acting. He’s a curious case. It’s shown as virtuous whenever the characters struggle to harm others, even when they fully believe in their cause. But even when Levi has admitted when he didn’t know who was wrong or right, he never hesitated for a second. He chose his allies, the people he trusted, and accepted his role as a weapon for the cause of humanity’s survival, free of the burden of having to think about it like some of the others on his team. Now that he can’t do that, I wonder where it will leave him.

[split-n-splice]

you live, you learn / you love, you learn / you cry, you learn / you lose, you learn / you bleed, you learn / you scream, you learn ~ "You Learn" by Alanis Morissette Time for a brief intermission for some backstory. I have my reasons. This may clash with the flow a little bit, but oh well. Regular linear timeline will resume Ch27: Aura Of Others

[Chapter Guide]

26. Intermission: Jagged Little Pill

New Years Eve held promise. A new year, a new start, a new resolution, a new her. The troubled city now knew her not as Shilo Gough, a local nobody, but as a rising superheroine by the alias of Shego.

It had taken a heap of good behavior to get out on probation just to go home in time for the winter holidays, though her siblings had been deemed low-risk and returned officially months ago once the restoration of the neighborhood had been completed. It helped that the grand unveiling of Team Go and her return to Go City had come a month early out of necessity.

At first, she eagerly embraced the new double-lifestyle, even if she wore an anklet at all times to track her whereabouts and the activity level of the new innate gift only Shego was permitted to use. It at least meant getting out of the facility and distancing herself from the research teams which wanted to dissect her under the guise of helping.

She’d thought going home to rejoin her family would mean returning to some normalcy, but December hadn’t gone great, as she’d been called into action no less than three times a week. Overall, it really hadn’t been her year, so it didn’t surprise her that even the season of gift-giving, comfy sweaters, and cookies was put on the back burner in favor of demanding hero duty.

She convinced herself she didn’t mind the distraction from Yuletide festivities. It beat sitting at home looking at gift tags signed From Santa in inelegant print or noticing the distinct lack of music that somehow made the house several degrees colder. Spending time with family was disheartening when it was incomplete anyway, but she’d run herself so far into the ground by Christmas that the best gift she could hope for was to be buried in her blankets – not running through the streets after the criminal of the week. Even with Global Justice’s so-called assistance, she’d hardly had a good night’s rest since coming home.

End of the month meant another refill on her prescription. The narcotic was uniquely formulated for her and came from no ordinary pharmacy.

Shilo – Shego – and her brothers-turned-teammates, Hego and Mego, had just wrapped up the Christmas caper and smiled and waved for the press and wished an early Happy New Year to all of Go City when they were collectively pulled aside by agents in the shadows. A woman with an eye patch congratulated them on a job well done, but a pat on the back was the extent of their reward when it came down to it. Mego sniffed and grinned, happy for the attention from a pretty lady doling out compliments, and Hego proudly announced it was all in a day’s work. Shego sighed and held out her hand in anticipation of the usual delivery she’d received from Betty personally for the past three months.

From there, they dressed back into street clothes in one of the agency’s many secret boltholes found throughout Go City, and Shego shook herself out in relief to be Shilo again. Her brothers wanted to walk home together, her sandwiched between them, so the relief was short-lived.

“There’s safety in numbers,” reminded Hugo, grabbing her arm to tow her along. He was filling out around the shoulders and torso, and lately his idea of a gentle grip had begun leaving bruises.

“Oh, come on!” Shilo whined. She recomposed herself quickly then to tease her older sibling instead, “What do you need me for? You can walk home yourself. You’re a big boy.” It was no exaggeration either. Hugo was little more than seventeen, but over the past year had developed a pair of guns capable of intimidating professional wrestlers. The jocks at their new school, which Hugo had been attending for months now, gave him a wide berth, so she heard.

Milo sprang three steps ahead in the snow suddenly, proclaiming his independence, “I don’t need either of you! Anyone comes after me, I’ll sock it to ‘em.” He boxed at the air with pale bony knuckles, a far cry from Hugo. Affected with the onset of puberty and ganglier than ever, the tween tripped over his own legs and slipped, falling to the icy sidewalk. In a perfect world, he’d be home next to Mom, taking a piano lesson or baking sugar cookies – not out on the streets, excited to pick up the slack for policemen or secret agents.

Shilo’s fist curled in her pocket, palm growing warm around her refilled prescription. Her other hand reached down to grab one of Milo’s as he stuck both of his up in the air, expectantly waiting for a sibling on either side to grab hold. Shilo was glad Hugo released her to take Milo’s other hand, and while she would have been happy to drag her little brother through the slush, her big brother spoiled the fun by lifting him to his feet with ease.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m just going to the mall,” she swore. “I’ll be home by three.”

“That’s what you said last time,” noted Milo, ambling along next to her. At least his tiny body put something between her and Hugo now. “Dad made dinner! Do you know what he made?”

“Fishcakes,” she sighed, nodding. She’d barely choked down the cold leftovers that night when she snuck in at six in the evening. Anyway, 6:00PM wasn’t that late. Back when she still visited her best friend at her house down the street, she used to come home at a quarter to nine, if at all. But that was before Lady Fate came to Go City. Now that she had a superpower and could defend herself better than ever, it made an early curfew pretty silly.

Shilo opened her mouth to argue when a fluttering past her head made her duck and topple into her spindly little brother. A curse nearly escaped her lips as she locked her eyes on the offending – pigeon? – flapping away to join its flock in a skeletal snowy elm at the corner. In the past month, she’d had a lot of things hurled her way, and it was becoming second nature to dodge at the faintest sign of a projectile. So her heart hammering in her chest was justified as Milo shoved her away.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose when a nasally voice behind them called, “Excuse me?”

Hugo turned, even though Shilo grabbed Milo and kept towing him along. “Can I help you, sir?” asked her big brother to the civilian behind them. Shilo clenched her jaw. Didn’t they have a rule? Don’t talk to strangers. Not outside of uniform, anyway. It wasn’t conducive to keeping a secret—

“You’re Team Go. Right?”

Shilo whipped around to lock her eyes on the stranger, freezing on the spot.

Milo on the other hand bounced free of her grip. She grabbed for him again, but he’d bound up to Hugo’s side to proudly announce, “Yes! Yes, we are.”

Hugo cuffed him on the shoulder, and just about threw him into a snowdrift by doing so had he not caught him in his other paw. “I’m – we are not,” corrected Hugo in a practiced statement. “But maybe I can help you?”

The man stood in a grungy old parka trimmed with a collar of white, stained and weathered. He wrung his hands, duct-tape mending the holes in his leather gloves. “I’m Dr. Robinson,” he introduced, and struck out a hand to shake. The grimy man didn’t look like a doctor. He wasn’t one of Global Justice’s anyway.

Hugo didn’t take the hand and he most certainly didn’t give his name. It was probably the smartest thing he’d done all day. “Pleasure,” he said, and repeated once more, firmly, “Can I help you?”

The man’s beak-like nose pointed at them all in turn. Shilo’s stomach twisted as it was aimed in her direction for a millisecond too long, and she stepped forward to take her place between her brothers. The thin lips of the down-on-his-luck doctor, if he was even a doctor at all, split into a wide grin he quickly smothered. That was enough of a clue there was a screw loose. “Actually, I was thinking I could help you.”

“We’re good,” said Shilo, grabbing her brothers by the arms.

Hugo was unmovable. He crossed his arms over his chest and scoffed. “You. Help us? Do we look lost to you?”

“They might need help,” mumbled Milo. Shilo elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

“I can – I have – you are Team Go!” Robinson insisted. “Aren’t you?” He sounded a little desperate.

Hugo had been about to steer them away when he shot a look back at the sketchy figure. “I told you, if you need help—”

“I don’t need help,” swore the prideful shivering man, his laugh wavering as he flapped his hands about and lurched forward. “I don’t need you. But you could really use me. I can – I’m like you, see?” He stuck out his hands as if to flip them the bird or show them his fingers. All ten digits were accounted for, but by the wild flick of his eyes as he waited for them to react, he had lost his marbles.

Eyebrows rose at Dr. Robinson. An exchange of glances, and Hugo and Milo burst into laughter. Dr. Robinson looked to his hands, all over himself, and up at them as something strange crossed his face. Disbelief, maybe. Disbelief that two young heroes were laughing at him.

“You can’t see it,” he muttered, sounding halfway out of his mind. “I-I have a gift like you!” he defended as the boys doubled over in infectious laughter. “You just can’t see it! You don’t have the eyes for it,” he squawked, voice shrill with desperation.

“Someone needs to come take Dr. Cuckoo back to the funny farm,” chortled Milo.

Hugo had a hard time reining it in. He thumped Milo so hard on the back that the boy fell into the snow again. “Get me a phonebook!” he guffawed. “We need to find this guy a shrink.”

Milo looked up at Hugo from where he lay, beaming ear to ear, and a new wave of laughter shook him and brought him to tears.

Shilo shoved her big brother, but he didn’t budge. “Leave him alone, you guys.”

The balking man shrank back from them. “I’ll show you!” he squawked, as if it were a threat. He looked beyond them, a hand outstretched and fingers clawing the air in a vaguely come-hither motion, but nothing at all happened. He paled. He shook his head like a wet dog, greasy ginger hair splattering droplets of melted snow. Shilo backed out of range as the man ground out something animalistic she couldn’t decipher. His face twisted and he clawed at his features.

He looked undoubtedly crazy in that moment. He was probably on something, she decided.

She couldn’t complain when Hugo took her by the shoulders, pulling her back from the sketchy derelict tripping out. She caught Milo by the hood of his jacket as the three of them left the questionable individual to have a meltdown there on the snowy sidewalk.

++X++

By the time Shilo reached the mall, the cuckoo lunatic had been left behind along with the worries of Shego’s hero duties, if only for a little while. She peeked over her shoulder, casting a quick glance about for signs of her brothers she’d barely escaped from, before ducking behind the hedge and around the wall to the side of the shopping center where the average civilian had no business loitering.

She smelled her before she saw her. Debatably cooler than the snow around her and seemingly indifferent to the winter chill, a fair blonde leaned against the brick and mortar wall, pink mini skirt daringly short and snow-white stockings spotless. As Shilo sauntered up to the pink-clad girl, striving to match her flippant air, a cigarette was offered to her. She took a drag – she couldn’t not with Priscilla’s critical eyes surveying her – and licked her lips to taste the trace of Priscilla’s cherry lip gloss left on the filter.

Shilo fought against the urge to choke. She swallowed and kept her cool. “So. The usual?”

“Yeah. Why not,” said Priscilla between drags, and patted a fanny pack on her hip to jingle the change inside. “I won a bet with Mickey, so it’s on me.”

“What was the bet?” Shilo was handed the smoke again too soon, Prissy’s smirk egging her on. Unenthused but compliant, she took another puff as the mischievous girl grinned at her. She couldn’t help laughing back and coughing as she did so. It was a good excuse to drop the spent butt on the ground. “What?” she snickered in demand and shook the girl’s shoulder. “Priss, what did you do?”

When her best friend since daycare made a sly gesture with hand and cheek, Shilo shoved her and stumbled away, an awkward bark of laughter erupting from her.

“That’s disgusting!” Shilo declared through her laugh. She wove her fingers behind her back to hide the unsettled burning in her palms as they walked back around toward the front. She grinned nonetheless, cheeks pinched as she failed to fight off a blush. “Don’t even joke like that.”

“Call it what you want, Shi. I call it easy money. It got me ten bucks.”

Priscilla was as proud and smug and comfortable in her own skin as ever. After the hectic year she’d had, Shilo’s gut twisted as she doubted she’d find that level of confidence. The extent of her experience on that front had been Seven Minutes in Heaven with Mickey at Priscilla’s thirteenth birthday party a few years back, and given the resulting locked braces, it wasn’t such a fond memory. And now with her new looks, boyishly short hair, and sickly pasty-pale skin, she was in no hurry to expand on that experience.

“Jeez,” muttered Shilo with a shake of her head. She got a grip on herself and glanced back to the cigarette butt smoldering in the snow. She stopped herself from wiping her mouth before she could smudge Shego’s makeup, and kept her disbelief or disgust or whatever it was she felt to herself as they made for the mall arcade.

As per usual, ten dollars split between two players went quick. Just to extend their stay a little longer, Shilo forfeited some of her own hard-earned babysitting money to the machines.

She wasn’t complaining though. It was a scrap of normalcy she couldn’t find back home. Back home, there was no Mom, no cookies, no music, no joy – only phone calls for appointments with doctors and for interviews, toddlers who never stopped crying, and a father who drank too much these days. It was hardly home at all, and she was hardly even Shilo there anymore. She was just Shego, waiting on standby to be called upon for a hero emergency. Even her prohibited rendezvous with Priscilla felt too much like just going through the motions, but she refused to think of that.

Tickets were redeemed for a handful of cheap toys. Fake spiders and bouncy balls were thrown off the second-story to the level below, landing in the hair of unsuspecting passerby, or bounce-bounce-bouncing across the plaza to inevitably bounce out of sight, disappearing either into a shop or into the expensive indoor garden sporting a water feature at the heart of the mall.

Eventually a beer-bellied security guard walking toward them was their cue to scram.

The small rush paled in comparison to the adrenaline surges she’d have in the heat of battle over the past month, but it was enough to bring a smile to her face and feel normal. Shilo laughed along with Priscilla as they held each other’s hands, taking turns practically dragging the other as they made the dash for the far end of the mall.

Suddenly she was tugged aside and into a parlor. The parlor Shilo had her sights on was still several shops away and involved pizza, not piercings, but she humored Priscilla as the girl sought out the gaudiest hoops and filled her in on a spiel of flimflam about what was trendy at the school they once attended together.

It was a blow she wasn’t ready for, but Shilo tried to keep the smile on her face. They didn’t go to school together anymore. There had been years they didn’t share the same classes, but they’d always shared the same school – until now. Shilo was due to start private school clear on the other end of town soon, and Priscilla would go on attending in the local district. That alone was enough to feel like a guillotine had separated them – but Shilo shook her head and smiled at her reflection as Priscilla held up earrings featuring the eyes of peacock feathers to her ears, still pressing she should have them re-pierced.

With no extra cash for earrings, let alone even considering paying for piercings, Shilo wasn’t so sure about trying the old ice and needle trick again.

Her mouth stayed shut as Priscilla fidgeted with the rack of earrings, taking a nicer pair to hide in her sleeve. Shilo said nothing still as a hand smacked her on the butt, earrings slipped into her back pocket with a sleight of hand. She shot her friend an unhappy look through the mirror.

Priscilla coughed into her fist, “Wet blanket.”

Shilo was soon casting a glance back as they left the parlor. A few shops away, Priscilla retrieved the earrings from Shilo’s back pocket. “These will look good on you,” she said decisively, brandishing the stolen item. “Don’t you think?”

The tag sporting a pair of green rhinestone earrings was deposited in her hand. “Yeah,” said Shilo, pushing the evidence back out of sight into her pocket. She scanned the crowd of shoppers, seeking out anyone in uniform, but even when her search came up empty, she couldn’t relax. The best of GJ’s spies didn’t stand out anyway.

They finally made it to the food court. Shilo pulled out her change and counted nickels and dimes for a slice of pizza that once tasted like greasy cardboard but was now a delectable slice of heaven after the diet she’d been restricted to at the research center for the better half of the year.

Priscilla, with her bowl of chili cheese fries, criticized her for her choice in grub as she joined Shilo at a table. She showily unzipped her jacket, letting her crop top show for all to see, like she was really all that. Still, Shilo pulled into herself just a little, fixing her eyes down on the pizza that had gone cold while waiting for her friend. She was sweltering hot, but she zipped her own coat up a little tighter. She couldn’t go around showing off her skin like that anymore. Her sickly complexion attracted enough stares, and she didn’t need to be recognized as Shego for her pallid green skin alone.

Shilo had taken all of two bites, more focused on digesting the gossip around school and the neighborhood than she was on eating, when Priscilla licked her fingers suggestively and Shilo had to look back down again.

“Eleven o’clock,” said Priscilla, plucking up another chili-saturated crimp-cut fry. Shilo raised her brow in question, and Priscilla rolled her eyes. “My eleven,” reiterated her friend, and a chili cheese fry was used as a pointer before being scarfed down. “Don’t look now, but there’s a total creep checking you out.” If anyone was looking their way, it sure wasn’t because of Shilo.

“What?” she blurted and looked anyway. She didn’t find anyone staring at her, but she did see something just familiar enough to catch her eye: a raggedy parka and a head of dirty red hair.

It was the raving lunatic from earlier. He was counting change in the palm of his hand. Looking to menus. Checking his pockets and finding a hole.

The mall food court wasn’t the best place to find a meal on a budget, but Shilo turned back to her pizza, choosing not to think too hard on it. Where the beak-nosed man chose to scrounge a meal was none of her concern.

Except, now it sort of was. It was Shego’s concern. An oath to protect and aid the citizens of Go City and adjacent towns had been sworn on live television for thousands to see just a few short weeks ago. She’d been given a crash course on emergency aid, combat, and etiquette in preparation for her introduction as a guardian of the public.

She hadn’t needed a whole lot drilling to be told to be a Good Samaritan, even if she’d protested the extremes the supervising agency wanted her to go to. Shego had a reputation, but she wasn’t Shego right now. She was Shilo, and Shilo’s best friend was giving her a funny look at she stood.

It was no big deal. She had some leftover change in her pocket. Enough for something more substantial than an overpriced plain corndog she could see Robinson settling for as he stepped toward a counter.

++X++

By the time the sketchy man sat down at their table, he’d already blathered a bit about himself, as if in an attempt to put her at ease and make up for the poor first impression. He dealt with exotics, namely wildlife, so he claimed. The winged world was Dr. Robinson’s specialty, and he’d devoted his life to rescuing and rehabilitating birds of all kinds, from condors to hummingbirds. A glimpse at scars decorating his arms stood testimony, carved into him from beaks and claws of every size, worn like badges of honor.

“So…you’re a veterinarian?”

“Was,” corrected Dr. Robinson, and corrected himself again. “I-I mean. I’m qualified! I just…don’t have my office anymore.”

Across from Shilo, Prissy Priscilla heaved a sigh and leaned heavily on her fist. For the first time since the scruffy panhandler sat down at their table, she spoke, wondering, “Now what do you do?” Shilo knew better than to believe her friend was genuinely interested. It was merely a dig at an exposed sore spot.

Dr. Robinson was quiet for a moment before answering, “I’m in between jobs,” in between bites of chili cheese fries. Prissy had forfeited the snack to him after claiming she was on a diet anyway.

Shilo relaxed only slightly. He was just a veterinarian. There was a distinction between a mere animal vet and the doctors that had poked and probed her and studied her for weeks – months – on end in the name of science and the greater good.

It was no surprise Priscilla didn’t share the same concerns. After all, she hadn’t been quarantined after the incident back in April. She was eyeballing the man, relaxed and critical, not leery or suspicious as Shilo was, and not even a crowd of shoppers to eavesdrop deterred her from asking aloud, “You got bud? You stink like it.”

Before Shilo could kick her under the table to silently reprimand her for going around saying rude things or inquiring on illegal substances so openly, Dr. Robinson scooted his chair back. His eyes flickered from Prissy to Shilo and back. He was in no rush to voice a reply.

“She can keep a secret,” promised Priscilla on Shilo’s behalf, lowering her voice. “Right, Shi?”

“I…I do not have any on hand,” said the man carefully, withdrawing the tray of fries with him.

Priscilla puffed. “Well, you’re old, right?” she said. Shilo almost kicked her again, but she must have known it was coming, because her boot met open air.

Robinson frowned. “I’m only thirty—,” he began indignantly.

“Perfect,” said Priscilla with a smile.

Shilo couldn’t say she agreed with Priscilla’s newfound interest in the man or the ploy she was weaving. If she had a choice, she’d choose not to be part of it, but as things were, she didn’t have much of a say in the matter – because Prissy would do what Prissy pleased, and whether Shilo tagged along was up to her own moral code, which at the moment was a grey area. She couldn’t just leave her best friend to venture off with a strange man alone without someone to back her up.

Dark snow clouds made it impossible to see the sun setting, but it was growing ever darker by the minute as they left the mall, a clear indicator it was past curfew and high time she head home to fix dinner and prepare for a grand countdown on live television tonight – but Priscilla was pushy and always got her way, grabbing Shilo by the hand to insist she not be a spoilsport. The thought of leaving her alone with the shifty man made her stomach twist, so she yielded easily to the pressure and let Prissy pull her after the guy.

A tobacco store was soon located, and while Prissy was getting her latest nicotine fix, unabashedly chain-smoking away as they waited around the corner of yet another shop they legally had no business with, Shilo had to whisper over to wonder why they were still following Dr. Robinson. The man had just left them a second time to run inside the liquor store to make another purchase with Priscilla’s cash.

“Psh. Because he’s cool?” answered Prissy under her breath. She held up the cigarette as though it were proof, and passed it over.

Shilo took a hesitant drag, but couldn’t help shuddering to think of where Prissy’s lips may have been just hours ago. Whispered chatter and answers to questions she wasn’t sure she wanted to ask in the first place were interrupted soon enough by Dr. Robinson’s return.

“Cool,” praised Prissy, inspecting the label on the bottle she was presented with. Shilo recognized the brand as something her own father drank. The sight of hard liquor in her friend’s hands made her insides writhe.

“Well. I’ll see you girls around,” said the nervous man as he began to retreat into the shadows of the alleyway. It had begun to snow again, and it seemed to concern him as he glanced skyward. “I really must be getting home.”

“I thought you were homeless?” blurted Priscilla, already following him before Shilo could make a grab for her. “I’ve got a garage you can crash in if you need it.” Surely she just wanted to squeeze more favors out of him in return for her pocket change.

“Oh, no. I have an apartment. Not far from here.” Nerves flashed in his eyes as Priscilla sauntered toward him. “There’s no – it’s – it’s really no place for girls like you. It’s condemned, you see—”

Prissy sounded giddy as she grinned and giggled, “Sounds creepy. That where you keep the goods, Robby?”

“Priss!” Shilo called, still standing cemented to the spot where she’d been left.

Her best friend shadowing the scruffy man paused and glanced back just as she’d been about to grab his arm. “What?” she asked back, smiling innocently. “Too good for a little fun now? Is that it? Don’t be a drag, Shi.”

Shilo glanced back toward the street, and back to Priscilla slowly backing away toward Robinson as the man retreated. “We need to head home,” she insisted.

“I don’t have a curfew,” scoffed Priss. “You can go home if you’re so afraid of the dark.”

It wasn’t the dark she was afraid of. Most of the criminals she’d dealt with so far didn’t care what time it was. But leaving Priscilla alone with a strange man wasn’t happening. Shilo at least had a means of defending herself and others too, and if anything bad happened because she left Prissy alone with some creepy exiled veterinarian, she’d never be able to live with herself.

So for the sake of her best friend, she followed.

Shilo knew they didn’t belong there the moment they entered Robinson’s neck of the woods. She had a hunch Priscilla knew as well. Her best friend began to look nervous for a change as they ventured deeper into the sketchy neighborhood.

The uneasy girl even reached across in an attempt to hold Shilo’s hand, as she used to when they were in a rough area – but after an accidental zap, kept them to herself. Alienated by her own alien fire, Shilo did the same, keeping her fingers safely tucked in her armpits and accepting the chill in the gap between her and her best friend. If she didn’t get a grip on Lady Fate’s gift soon, the organization overseeing her underaged superhero team might insist she wear “fire-proof” gloves full time, for the safety of those around her, like Priscilla.

Priscilla didn’t seem terribly concerned for her own safety though, considering how willing she was to follow the strange man through the driving snow. They were led further from home with each step they took, and it was indisputably past sundown when Robinson cut into a dead-end alley.

He waved for them to follow him into the dark niche, out of view of potential witnesses. If it weren’t for the blanket of white snow, it might have been too dark to see anything at all. It didn’t make the rickety old fire escape the man gestured to any more welcoming though.

“It’s. Up here,” he said through chattering teeth, and breathed on his hands, still bound up in soggy worn gloves. He strained to smile, barely visible in the dark, and tried to jokily add, “This would be so much easier if one could fly.”

Shilo unfolded her arms and cast a glance up and down the street. There was no one coming from either direction. This man and her best friend already knew her secret. There was no harm in lighting up a hand to let some of the energy burn off. If anything, it served as a warning for Robinson, and might cause the ankle bracelet to ping for Global Justice to send out an agent to investigate or collect her for the unauthorized use.

She didn’t expect Priscilla to scoff at the sight of her green luminescence. Lip raised and eyes rolling, the girl turned her back to Shilo’s glow. Shilo recalled it, snuffing out the lantern-like plasma radiating and bubbling from her hand. She at least used the residual warmth in her palm to rub her other hand and return some feeling to her frozen fingers.

Her stomach twisted into a knot as she watched the tall man lift Priscilla up by the waist to aid in getting her footing on the hanging ladder above.

“You should wait down there, Shi,” called Priscilla through her exertion as she meticulously scaled her way up to the first landing. “Don’t think it’ll hold ya.”

Shilo said nothing. It was a dig at her feather-light weight. It wasn’t hard to see she was still on the scrawny side, still recovering from her bad experience at a research facility that had allegedly been shut down. Knobby bones, gaunt features barely filling out, and pants that needed help staying up on her hips wasn’t a good feeling, but she was making progress day by day. Personal trainers had been helping her recondition with diet and exercise, but she still felt like a shadow of her past self. She really wasn’t fit yet to be out fighting criminals of any degree – not that any minor should be out doing such risky work in the first place.

Eyeing the man extending his grubby paws out toward her, she knew without a doubt she could at least take him on, glow or no glow. Before he could assist her, with or without asking, she leapt up as high as she could, catching a grip on the slippery bars and scrabbling with her feet as her hands melted the ice coating the metal. She climbed and clawed her way up after Priscilla as her friend stepped back, clapping slowly.

“Me-ow,” jibbed Prissy. “Where’s the catsuit?”

“It’s not a catsuit,” Shilo hissed. At least she hadn’t called her Team Go uniform a onesie again.

She felt the shake of the metal platform underfoot then, and shot a glance down to Robinson hefting himself up. He was tall enough he didn’t have to jump, but his upper body strength was unexpected as he hoisted himself up. Being cornered on a fire escape wouldn’t concern Shilo so much if she was alone, but Priscilla was already climbing precariously higher.

Several stories up was a broken window, fully kicked in to allow safe entry. Snow blew in after them as they trespassed into the condemned building. The man’s so-called apartment exceeded expectations – at least in terms of how decrepit and dilapidated it was. Robinson might have known his way around in the dark, and Priscilla might have made a show of rolling her eyes about it, but Shilo lit the way with her radium-green plasma as there were no working utilities. Still, water could be heard dripping as if they were walking through a cave system, and filthy icicles hanging like stalactites in places didn’t bode well. Graffiti decorated the walls, some partly obscured by the mold and stains. Rats could be heard squeaking and scurrying about out of sight.

Shilo was barely glad Robinson led the way because the last thing she needed was his malodorous breath on the back of her neck to urge her onward. She had to continuously remind herself that the only reason she was following him at all was to keep herself between him and her friend.

Up a multitude of staircases and finally through a door that had been busted off its hinges, and Dr. Robinson sighed hugely and spread his arms abruptly, making Shilo jump back and snap out an arm to stop Priscilla in her tracks.

“Home sweet home!” he announced. “Mi casa es su casa.” He ducked around the wall, and a dim orange light flickered on with the hiss of propane, and then he was popping back into view, shuffling away into the dark depths of the cluttered room. “Top floor. You’re welcome to come meet my friends up on the roof, if you’d like. If you’ll excuse me, I’m late with dinner.”

Robinson was already heading for another staircase, grabbing a sack of birdseed off a shelf as he went. A door opened at the top, a gust of freezing air and a few snowflakes blew in, and then he was gone.

The moment they were left alone, Shilo shook her hand as if to put out a match, and she turned to Priscilla. “We shouldn’t be here,” she stated. It was true. It had to be true – because what teenage girl should be hanging around with some creepy thirty-whatever year old homeless man squatting in a condemned building?

“No way,” Priscilla protested, holding up the bottle of booze and cracking it open. “This guy’s cool.”

Their definitions of cool had seriously diverged over the past year. Shilo grabbed the neck of the bottle and pulled it down before Prissy could take a gulp. “You can get high at home. This isn’t worth it,” she pressed. She shouldn’t have even had to say so.

Prissy cracked a grin then and jerked the bottle away, taking a defiant swig anyway. The alcohol looked like it tasted bitter. “I’m exploring my options,” she said nonchalantly. “This guy might be able to hook me up with a little more. Y’never know.” She shrugged. “If he can, you’ll try it with me, won’t you?”

Shilo gawped, rendered just short of speechless. “No!” she blurted, the answer one of pure reflex.

The bleached-blonde’s mischievous smile vanished, replaced by a frown. “God, Shi. Don’t be a prude,” she hissed, shoving Shilo’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me that goodie-two-shoes shit has gotten to you?”

It had and it hadn’t. She was being pressured into the lifestyle with ultimatums, and there was a new code of conduct she had to follow, but even if she didn’t have to save face as an up-and-coming superhero, what Prissy was asking was still out of the question. Otherworldly gifts and an outrageous double-life had nothing to do with her resolve to get out of Robinson’s shabby niche of the city.

“That’s not it,” Shilo argued. “I have responsibilities! I have to get home for dinner, and get ready to go on air tonight for the countdown, and—,” she was interrupted before she could go over the entire list of reasons she couldn’t stay – why they shouldn’t stay.

“If you’re too busy to be my friend anymore, just say so, Shilo.” The words stung, but they were second to Priscilla’s dark eyes boring into her like a stake to the heart.

She reeled then, but Priscilla caught her wrist before she could step back. She was drawn into a sudden hug, Prissy’s arms nearly crushing the breath out of her in a hold that didn’t feel so great. It was a far cry from the buoyant girlish embraces they used to bounce and crash into when they were seven, ten, twelve, a year ago – and Shilo’s stomach twisted into a knot now as newfound reservations made her pause to peer over her best friend’s shoulder to check her hands for warning signs of igniting before letting her own arms loop around the girl to squeeze her back. Prissy didn’t stay long enough.

Cold sticky lips pressed to Shilo’s cheek, the ginger kiss devoid of affection. “If you need me to disappear from your life, I can do that for ya,” was not what she needed her best friend to whisper in her ear.

The arms around her slipped away, leaving Shilo bewildered and cold and hugging herself as she reluctantly let the girl withdraw from the hug. Priscilla spun around on her heel then to trot off after the shabby creep up the creaky staircase and onto the roof. A momentary cold gust blew in again, chilling Shilo to the bone.

Her throat was too thick to swallow, much less call after her friend to tell Priscilla she was being too melodramatic. The girl was the sort for theatrics – but the past month since Shilo had been home, things had been indisputably different. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t noticed. She knew Priscilla’s fake smiles when she saw them, knew when Prissy was kidding around, knew when she was overreacting. She knew her best friend. And she knew her well enough to know she’d just made neither an offer nor a threat.

It was a promise.

Shilo didn’t even feel her legs move when she lurched forward suddenly. She flew up the steps and just about kicked the door open, her heart hammering as she burst out onto the snowy rooftop. She whirled around, scanning the white-blanketed surroundings as icy wind blew through her, a flurry of snowflakes breezing past the hems of her jacket to sting her burning skin.

Dr. Robinson was spotted beside a shack-like structure, chattering and gesticulating to himself. The bottle of liquor in his hand made her stomach churn and she scanned the snow for signs of tracks that lead to the parapet, but there were none, as far as she could see. He cocked an eyebrow as she stalked toward him, fists glowing.

“Where’s Priss?” she demanded, stepping past him to take a look inside the stinking little rooftop shed. There was nothing but racks and cubby holes to be found inside, filled with dozens of sleeping and cooing pigeons.

“Your friend? I haven’t seen her,” said Robinson. “But I can help you look.”

“Bullshit.” Shilo whipped around to face him, her eyes drawn to the liquor in his grip. “She just came up here. Who were you talking to?” Her voice was rising. Frantic sparks of green energy were jumping from her fingers. She clenched her fists tight again.

“My pigeon,” Robinson answered, sweeping a small white dove off the nearest roost outside the coop. The symbol of peace, white as the falling snow, perched serenely on his finger. His smile was less white, less peaceful, as he offered a reasonable explanation, “It’s dark inside. Maybe your friend slipped past you.”

Shilo was backing away now, blinking and reeling, if not a little dazed. She scanned the rooftop once more, hardly hearing his offer again to help her look as she circled the one and only thing her best friend could possibly be hiding behind, but the girl was nowhere to be found. No tracks in the snow lead to the edge to indicate foul play.

With the cold of desertion sinking in, Shilo didn’t waste her breath calling for a friend who clearly didn’t want to hold a friendship any longer. At what point her shoulders fell in defeat and she traced the path back through the dark condemned high-rise, she wasn’t sure, but it came shortly after the threat of tears welled up.

She was freezing and soaked from head to toe by the time she trudged home to her own neighborhood, crushed and hours past curfew. She was already late, but stopping by her best friend’s house on the way to ask if she was home hadn’t helped anything. She’d worn a fake smile and everything – but as promised, the girl had vanished. It felt that way anyway, when the girl’s parents refused to answer the door. Unsurprising, as they’d made it clear weeks ago that they didn’t want her around once they’d learned of her tracking anklet and supposed probation, as if she was the bad influence or some kind of criminal now.

Given everything that had turned her life upside down the past year, questioning if the girl ever existed at all really was the last thing she needed.

What she needed was to forget about the empty space left by the stake yanked out of her heart like a massive thorn, and her numb fingers and toes, and her stuffy nose, and the scolding she’d received the second she came walking through her front door.

Discarding sodden slush-covered clothes to the hamper, Shilo reached into every pocket, as per habit, to empty them. A few pennies, a soggy receipt, a plastic spider, shoplifted rhinestone earrings – something was missing. Heart beginning to thud a desperate beat as her hands grew warm, Shilo turned each pocket inside out to be sure.

Shego’s suppressant medication had gone missing.

[themockingcrows]

Doors Of Fate Ch. 6: Breach of Trust

Unrelated BroDave Matchmaking AU This chapter is mildly Not SFW. AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10126478/chapters/41583635 (Sorry for not making it a link, but with tumblr affecting things with links in them, I wanted this to be able to reach tags easier.)

Wedded bliss is the norm, but in a house full of magic and secrets how long can that balance hold fairly? Dave continues to make progress by leaps and bounds, but it doesn't seem to be enough to surpass Ambrose's undeclared measurement of sufficiency to no longer be at risk. Is it just the impatience of youth driving Dave's choices to bend and breach the trust placed in him, or is the mage failing to understand just how much secrets affect those who've already lived their entire lives being dictated to?

    The night held them close till the first stretching notes of morning came, when Dave opened his eyes and took in the light streaming in from the window. He woke warm and cozy, but still tired in the back of his mind from thee previous night, limbs bearing the weight of fatigue that only magic and restraint could cause. He woke with his groin faintly tingling as if Ambrose's hand was still on him, rubbing, teaching him restraint even as he helped him fall to pieces. He woke alone, and felt an unexpected level of sting till he heard noises from the kitchen and could make out the smell of breakfast cooking. ...Okay, that could get a pass, he supposed. Breakfast was a good reason to leave his bed THIS time, but eventually he'd wake up in Ambrose's arms after a full night in bed and relish it like a rare treasured candy.

    Shaky limbed, Dave slowly sat up under the quilt and rubbed his face and the back of his neck, trying to rouse himself more before he swung his legs over the side of the mattress and rose to his feet while adjusting his clothing. The floor was chilly and he hopped briefly, landing atop slippers that he soon stuffed himself into before padding out to the hall and the more welcoming kitchen beyond. Ambrose was already fully dressed, half minding a pan that was sizzling patties of sausage and some eggs over a cup of tea, a book cracked open resting on a prop holding most of his attention. When Dave stepped closer he could just barely make out the shapes of a map before the book closed itself and the paper was tucked out of sight like a large bookmark, with Ambrose setting his cup down on the same beat.

    “Ah, awake already? I was about to come get you, if this had finished cooking,” he said. “Was it the sausage that did it? This portion was quite aromatic, if I do say so myself. Was very worth the price for picking it up.”

    Dave continued walking till he was up behind him, embracing his waist and pressing his face to the warmest spot he could reach. It was like a ritual now, a backwards hug and just savoring the warmth and pressure and scent of his spouse before it was returned, or continuing to enjoy it while peering around Ambrose's side to see whatever he was up to. This was a time when it was returned as a side hug, Ambrose reaching back to hold on around Dave's shoulders till he loosened his grip and stepped forward to see if there was any portion of breakfast he could sample a bite or two of early and hot off the griddle.

    “It felt strange having you gone when I woke up,” admitted Dave, reaching out to snatch a piece of sausage only to have the pan tip itself away from his eager fingers. “...Rude.”

    “It's right, be patient,” Ambrose snorted, nuzzling the side of his head fondly. “But you don't need to worry. If I'm not beside you, I'm not far.”

    “Unless you're in your room,” Dave said. “Apparently, I mean. You may as well be on the moon then.”

    “If anything was ever going wrong, I'd come back out soon as I realized it,” he chuckled. “Trust me on this, Dave, and then drop it. I'm not going anywhere, and your fixation isn't going to be appeased for a while.”

    The pan shifted a few more times before drifting upwards and away towards waiting plates, doling the portion out on its own with a few well timed flipping motions. They started to drift to the table once some bread had joined the servings, the plates drifting beneath a jug of milk's path as it made its own way with two glasses and a set of knives and forks. A napkin plopped down to the left of the plates, lazily folding itself in half before the magic swayed out of place and freed them.

    “Well. ...Alright, fine, you get a pass. THIS time,” Dave said, leaning up on his toes to reach Ambrose's cheek for a firm kiss before pulling away to take his seat. “But next time you do things like that to me, I'd appreciate seeing you beside me in the morning.”

    Ambrose took his seat and unfolded his napkin, setting it on his lap before pouring himself a glass of milk. “I'll remember that for next time. And the time after that. And the time after that as well.”

    “Already planning ahead I see?”

    “Can you blame me?” Ambrose said. “You've a lot of lessons on harnessing your power to go till you do it as a second nature without needing to really think on it, and the quickest way to stir you up and get the magic going seems to be not only straight forward but extremely entertaining for both of us.” He speared a piece of sausage and brought it towards his lips, grinning. “I look forward to hearing the sounds you make most of all, though. Desperate and flushed with my name on your lips while I lay my hands all over you is a good look.”

    Dave's own breakfast was briefly interrupted by a small flame appearing on the end of the piece of bread he'd picked up and frozen in place with, face red to the ears and fire burning the soft bread's interior at a rapid pace.

    Oh. Whoops. Clearing his throat, Ambrose gestured with his sausage laden fork.

    “Er. Dave? Dave. ….Dave.”

    “What?” he asked in a daze, only snapping out of it when he felt the heat and smelled the distinct odor of burnt bread more clearly. “Shit,” he hissed, turning on instinct to lob the burning bread towards the sink instead of trying to qualm any of the power that had started to affect his surroundings. The bread bounced and landed on the counter top instead, flames licking at the counter cloth and beginning to spread quickly the second he realized he'd missed and started to make it worse.

    “Shit!” Dave said once more as he jumped out of his chair to go and tame the fire, the bread being swept into the sink and the non-fire laden part of the cloth being yanked with careful gestures to the same watery fate. Other items on the counter top had begun to turn and face him eerily as one unit, both sharp and blunt, occasionally quaking as he flustered his hands to deal with the problem. “Shit, fuck, forget that happened. Okay? There. No more fire, all good. Fire's all out.”

    Ambrose hadn't followed him to assist, but he was watching closely from a distance, keeping an eye on the counter's objects and their potential paths. There were no other fires once those two had been taken care of, but any portion of the house could be dangerous if objects began to move again, not just the kitchen with its bounty of knives and heavy objects and glass.

    “You good?” he asked softly, not wanting to come across as patronizing.

    Dave rinsed his hands and frowned at the half blackened piece of his breakfast melted in the water into a pile of brownish mush. “Yep. Just peachy.”

    “I may have been fibbing a bit earlier,” Ambrose admitted as he finally took his bite, speaking while his mouth was full to help return the relaxed atmosphere. Nothing in the kitchen was attacking like he'd feared it might and Dave was already heading back now with some fresh bread in hand, buttering it hastily so he could stuff it in his mouth like a prize for the taking. “I think I look forward to your more intense lessons most of all. Not that getting to fondle you isn't its own reward, but I need you to be able to do these kinds of things on your own, preferably without your cock in hand. It'll be similar to the magic lessons, just with a different focus.”

    Dave groaned and set his bread down, cutting some of his breakfast to smaller pieces with his fork and shoveling in mixed bites. “You say that like lessons centered around me fucking up will be fun.”

    “They can be, if you let them be,” Ambrose pointed out. “I'll figure something out to keep your interest, don't fret. Besides, how else can I take you to those cities I talked about before if you're liable to set buildings ablaze any time I so much as flirt with my own husband a single time? I'll never be able to cop a playful feel, it'll be torture. But mostly it would be another length of time neither of us could fully relax, which kind of defeats the purpose of a vacation.”

    “I mean, you could keep your hands to yourself and we could still go probably?”

    “My hands were entirely to myself when your bread decided to toast itself to death, Dave. You've more power than you know, and you know how to sap from surroundings. Nope. Too risky. We can start today if you'd like?”

    "...I mean. How hard can it be?” Dave asked, leaning back while playing with his fork, wiggling it gently between two fingers so it gave the illusion of being made of rubber when looked at just right. “Compared to everything else, I took to that the fastest right? One lesson.”

    “You're right. One hand job and you learned the basics, but with how bright you are it's not too big of a surprise. You've a voracious appetite for things Dave. Eventually we should be able to keep the mattress from bursting into flame around us when we go even further without even having to try.”

    Dave squinted at him, unable to dispel the sensation of being teased.

    “I understand what you mean entirely, but you're somehow being a dick about it, and it's bothering me that I can't tell how,” he finally said after a few moments of thought. With his peace said Dave sighed, shook his head, and fell upon his breakfast with renewed vigor to savor it while it was hot.

    “Why, Dave. I would never. I'm absolutely scandalized. Me, teasing my dear husband? My beloved firebrand? Light of my life? Perish the thought.”

    The squint returned to Dave's eyes, his slightly sour expression met only by a mage's curling smirk. Ah. Wedded bliss.

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

    Controlling magic was to become a daily practice in the household. Mornings were spent waking together more often than not, eating breakfast, doing chores and tending to whatever odds and ends had been talked about the day before. Ambrose assisted with guided practice for direct spell work in increasing degrees of difficulty, helping Dave learn to light candles and move objects on his own with enough focus. His tutelage and Dave's own stubbornness unlocked ever more difficult books and theories to his insatiable appetite for learning the unknown, each day bringing with it new experiments and surprises in their warm home.

    However, things were not all perfect. Ambrose was finding himself needing to pull away for his own work more often, either in rooms where Dave could keep him quiet company as he mixed potions and powders, or shut away within the room that held no true door in but passageways to who knew where out by its many doorways. Dave had some regrets about not managing more than his brief peeking, namely that he didn't have a specific thing to be angry or frustrated at for stealing his spouse away from him. This wasn't merely jealousy or frustration at suddenly not having his spouse's time focused mostly on himself. If only it were that simple. Instead, Dave's reactions were stemming from the effects this repeated isolation seemed to be having on his husband.

    Today, for instance, was day eight of Ambrose being mostly gone as opposed to just very busy. He'd come before dawn to Dave's chambers and crawled into bed with him, form chilled and very still, smelling of ozone and scrubbed off traces of sulfur. Dave had barely seen him the day prior, had hardly heard his voice, and he couldn't help but turn to gently stroke at his hair while he slept what precious little he seemed to be sleeping. Whatever work his husband was doing, it looked like it was eating him alive from the inside out. He snored softly, lips parted and brows drawn in concern even in sleep, hair wild at his temples. Ambrose looked old. He looked sick. He looked like he'd lost weight if Dave was looking at him right in the darkness and feeling him properly beneath the blanket.

    This was what he hated.

    Ambrose peeled himself out of bed after about three or four hours max, Dave hot on his heels, afraid something would happen if he didn't. That the mage would fall and be injured, collapse on himself or start casting a spell and perhaps be too exhausted to control it properly. There might not be as much Dave could do to help and Ambrose normally could when it came to runaway magic, but with the things he'd been learning lately it was more help than nothing.

    “I think some oatmeal today,” said Ambrose, stifling a yawn with one hand. Dave realized he was wearing the same clothing as he had been the day prior, rumpled and worn in. Even the colors looked faded when taken in as a whole, the usual decorative nature lessened. “Something simple and warm.”

    “Will you be back before night?”

    “I'll try.”

    He'd been saying he'd try since day one, so no surprise to hear it once more, but the knowledge that it was a promise being made simply to be broken was upsetting even if none of it was purposeful. Dave watched the kettle fill itself and go to the fire slower than normal as Ambrose shuffled along to get a look over the other items that sounded good, and decided to warm up for the morning by trying to lift the tea container from a distance with a spell he'd memorized. Not perfect form, but he still wound up with the strainer full of loose leaf enough that he'd be savoring the milk and sugar in his cup by the end.

    “You're improving all the time, Dave.” Even tired, the pride was easy to catch in Ambrose's tone and the warmth of the arms that soon encircled him to squeeze tight around his middle. “Try not to strain yourself too hard while I'm busy today. I've seen some of the things you've been peering into.. no doubt you'll get them running on your own, but you already know the costs. Right?”

    “Yes, yes, better safe than sorry,” Dave recited out of memory, leaning into the hug to savor it while he could. The oatmeal was starting to cook on the stove now, tea kettle a ways off from screaming yet but starting to show signs of steam. “I won't do anything stupid while you're busy, I know better.”

    “Good.”

    He knew better, but it didn't stop Dave from attempting anything and everything he felt he could reasonably get away with. This long string of suddenly being left mostly to his own devices had proven to be effective at expanding his risk levels considerably if the occasionally located scorch marks and missing materials were any indication. In fact, he found himself wondering just what his husband would think of the things he'd been trying to infer from things located in his library crawls. The kettle's screams broke their embrace, Ambrose pressing a kiss to the corner of Dave's lips before going to mind the oatmeal's preparation.

    “What plans do you have for the day?” Ambrose asked. “You can't live in the library all the time, Dave. Spring is almost here, you'll be too weak to wander the cities if you let your leg muscles shrivel up like raisins,” he tsked. The oatmeal briskly mixed itself with some cream, cinnamon and sugar, adding a hint of sweetness and spice to the comforting hot oat smells already in the air. Dave rolled his eyes and got his tea brewing, dunking the strainer a few times impatiently before leaving it to steep properly.

    “Oh, you know. Nothing much. Practice some things I've been reading most likely, maybe spend some time in the horse pen. Might take a walk around the house a few times, build a snowman if I'm feeling ambitious. Be lazy otherwise though, enjoy it while I can before we're even busier with the garden and everything in Spring even if it's not near as busy as it was on the farm.”

    Dave could practically feel the sensation of Ambrose deflating a the very idea of being somehow even more busy than he already was, the notion poisonous. The mage kept his composure and studiously cleared his expression as the oatmeal dished up and went to their waiting seats, plopping down in front of his bowl and scooping up a mouthful worth of oatmeal to puff cool air at.

    “That's right, I keep forgetting you're a farm boy somehow. You've taken so quickly to finer things that suit you, you'd blend in nearly anywhere.”

    “If by finer things you meal the things you keep slippin' in my closet, some of those are so stiff you couldn't pay me to wear them,” Dave said as he finished with his tea prep and took a seat. He stirred his oatmeal instead of starting to eat immediately, eyes trailing over Ambrose's gaunt looking face as he took the bit of pleasure he could from company and comfort food. If there was some way to reach a level of skill that, perhaps, he could just help him with whatever was draining him so badly. He'd help in a second, no hesitation.

    But no. The most he could do was peek and sneak. Or, well, he'd be peeking and sneaking more intently if his practice later went well as anticipated. Dave could feel the weight of his ambition weighing his stomach down, edged with the guilt of lying even if only by omission. Oh, yes, he was going to be practicing some magic today once Ambrose was gone. Familiar magic if it all turned out alright. In his digging around, Dave had stumbled on a book that seemed a bit out of place compared to the rest of the collection on the shelf. Old and worn, the book was ragged at the edges and bore handwriting in several different types of ink inside along with a multitude of painstakingly rendered diagrams and formulas. He couldn't read it yet, could barely decipher the symbols and tables in fact, but something in the margins had caught his eye so intensely that he'd made certain to tuck the book out of the way in case Ambrose spotted it and decided it was one of the things that should reside in his room instead. Compared to the runic looking symbols of the main page, the margins held scratch notes in Ambrose's handwriting, small asides and comments about what was wrong with something or what needed changing in the future. Clues to the meaning of the whole for someone like Dave who was trying to decipher it as an outsider. It didn't take a genius to interpret that the confusing looking information seemed to be talking about his husband's ability to draw doors, but there were still many mysteries to sort through with some good old fashioned trial and error.

    It was shameful how intensely focused he felt about Ambrose's room when he had the entire house at his disposal, but Dave just couldn't help it. Knowing there was a secret being kept from him, having the secret not only dangled in his face but held out at arm's length afterwards to taunt him was obnoxious. Just knowing, maybe getting a hint at what kind of work Ambrose was doing while he was away... that would be enough for him for now, surely. What more could he want than another peek? He'd have probably hours if he could open the door up instead of scant seconds. Maybe he could even get one of the other doors inside open if he could jus-

    “-ve?”

    “Mm?”

    “I wanted to ask you what you wanted to practice today, before I have to leave. Anything in particular? I already saw you making your tea, but I think you can stand to try something harder. Move outside your comfort zone even more, really make you sweat.”

    “Are you sure you can handle it if I'm messing up something meant to make me sweat?” Dave asked, almost immediately regretting the snark intermingled with his words when he caught sight of golden eyes.

    “Of course I could handle it, Dave. I'm mentoring you and I've got far much more experience than you in magic. It'd take quite a lot to overpower me, and even with your innate talents I don't think you're quite at that level yet.” Ambrose picked up his bowl to scoop the contents out easier without needing to scrape as hard. “It's not like you're remaking materials into other materials, or passing through doorways or trying to raise old gods or anything.”

    “Well. Obviously,” he said, taking a hard swig of his tea. Nope. Totally calm here, he didn't just say that. “But I mean.. Ambrose, look at you. You're exhausted all the time, this can't go on.”

    “I worked myself harder than this before you came into my life, Dave. This isn't the first time I've been tired, nor will it be the last time I'm tired because of the work I take on. It shouldn't be much longer till I'm done though, just be patient.”

    “Are you sure I can't just. Help you?”

    “Dave, you're no-”

    “I know I'm not advanced enough yet, believe me I know, but I will be soon! If I got better, would you let me help you with whatever it is that your work is? I'd be able to handle whatever it is, even if it's from the side lines and just handing you things or being... Shit, I don't know. Moral support?”

    “I can't ask you to help me with jobs like mine, Dave. It's just not safe.”

    “And now it's something dangerous you do?” Dave asked, frowning. “How worried do I need to really be when you're gone?”

    “Not worried at all,” Ambrose insisted, finishing off his breakfast. “I promise I'll always return to you, and I don't intend to break that promise. Now. What do you want for your lesson today.”

    “Teach me to draw doors.”

    “Too advanced for you still. What else has your interest, surely you've come across something interesting in that library by now.”

    “...I don't think I want a magic lesson today,” Dave said, sulking into his oatmeal, stirring it slowly counterclockwise as he rested his fist against his cheek.

    “...Dave, don't be like that. I'm sorry that options aren't what you'd like them to be, but that's just how it is sometimes. You'll be doing all kinds of things soon enough and look back at yourself now and laugh at how impatient you're being.”

    “I'm not being impatient, you're being stubborn.”

    “Pot calling the kettle black.”

    “Ugh, don't treat me like a child Ambrose! You're doing it again!” Dave snapped, agitated all over again. It hadn't been an issue since they'd discussed the treatment before, yet in this moment he once more felt like all the power was in his husband's hands in more ways than one.

    “I'm not! I'm just. ...I'm not trying to,” Ambrose said instead, taking a slow breath and letting it out to keep calm. “It's not my intention to treat you like a child. If you'd like to skip a day of lessons I understand.”

    “I'll pick up lessons again when you're home for more than four hours at a time,” Dave said finally, lowering his eyes to his bowl and stirring the remaining oatmeal around with the back of his spoon. “I don't think I'll be able to push as hard as I can if I'm worried about you being so tired.”

    “Dave I promise you, I can handle anything you can throw at me, this isn't an issue.”

    “Maybe it's not an issue for you, but it is for me,” he said with a tone of finality. “You finish your job, and we'll pick up the lessons again. I'll just keep practicing the things we already know I can control, and keep studying. You said it wouldn't be too much longer for this job, right? It won't be forever.”

    Not seeming as satisfied with the decision, Ambrose grimaced. Was this him being refused because Dave was upset with him? Was there anything he could do to replace the time they'd normally spend together doing the lessons? Did he even want him near him right now? Normally he had all the answers, or.. at least he thought he did. Dave's mood was a mystery, and he had no idea how to proceed.

    “Well. ..If you're sure.”

    “I'm sure.”

    “...Alright then. We'll return to lessons once I'm done with this job,” Ambrose said, slowly standing up. His bowl lifted and made its way to the sink as he instead went to Dave's side to rest a hand on his upper back. He stroked the expanse of warm fabric covered skin for a moment before leaning down to press a warm kiss to his small husband's temple. “If you need me, merely yell and I'll try to come fast as I can.”

    “Are you just going to be crouched working in your room, then? I could keep you company,” Dave mumbled. He didn't seem happy, and it made Ambrose's chest hurt that he couldn't figure out how to fulfill his obligations as well as keep his spouse happy. If he worked faster, worked harder, he hoped he could perhaps finish the stupid job even quicker and be free to return to the low tension work and needs of more common people for a length of time. He'd be able to make Dave smile again.

    “No, love. I won't be in my room the entire time. ...But like I said. I promise to be back quick as I can. This won't be forever.”

    “Soon, right.”

    “Soon,” he confirmed. Part of Ambrose hoped that Dave would turn his way and kiss him back, or cling to him in a hug like he usually did, or anything more familiar. The air was awkward between them, uncomfortable, and for the second time that day Ambrose was at a loss for words. “..Well. I'll ah. I'll go ahead and get going early, then. Perhaps I'll be able to come home even earlier that way.”

    “Please be careful,” Dave said, finally looking up. His eyes looked sad, obviously still not over what'd just happened, but he seemed sincere in his concern. Ambrose pulled up a smile best he could.

    “Always,” he promised as he stepped away and headed to the hallway that led to his room's general location. A pause in the doorway and they met eyes once more, words on their lips but not coming out loud enough to be heard by anyone but their own thoughts. The mage finally turned and left, Dave able to hear the soft whoosh of magic and the eventual click of the door closing shut behind him before it faded away into the wall once more.

    Dave wasn't hungry anymore. He pushed away from the table and coaxed his dishes to join the others, waste or not. He'd worry about it later if it became an issue. What even was he now? Angry, sad, stressed out from wanting to say so much more than he had. He stalked off to the library like he had something to prove to the world, pausing only to land a punch solid enough it made his hand ache on the door frame of the library itself, satisfied when he left the faint outline of a scorch behind.

    Good. Everything felt how upset he was now.

    “Stupid Ambrose. Stupid room. Stupid.... stupid job, what the fuck's so important and dangerous and busy that I can't even hear what the fuck it is!” he growled, shaking his hand a few times before rooting around for the book he'd set aside. Okay, maybe punching the door frame had been a stupid idea but shit had it felt good to get that out of his system at the time. “Wants to treat me like a kid again. The fuck does he think I am, a baby? I'm his fucking husband! You'd think he'd be willin' to tell his fucking husband what was straining him so much, what is it, some stupid royal secret?”

    Ranting out loud was helping as much as punching the door had. Dave already felt a bit better as he flipped through the book to find the pages he felt he needed most. Much of the things in Ambrose's handwriting seemed to indicate that the incantations and formulas involved weren't nearly as important as they made themselves out to be, and that instead the destination and a good deal of power were more important. A clear mind and a clear exit goal. Angry or not, Dave couldn't forget the room he'd seen before, so no matter if Ambrose's bedroom was behind a simple wall or somewhere off in some special space, it should be possible to open it up on his own so long as he held the image and the desire in his mind strong enough on top of the pieced together portions of the spell.

    If he'd learned anything in his time of study, it was that magic had to be controlled but could often be sewn together into whole new shapes and formats from its original intentions. The idea of magic being made into a quilt was a lovely mental image, sewing spells together to make an entire blanket shaped just right for his purposes, but it wasn't helpful right now. No, right now there were bigger fish to fry. Dave tucked his thumb into the appropriate page to hold his place and left the room for the hallway, not stopping till he'd come to a halt where he knew he'd seen Ambrose disappear into before. He pressed a hand against the wall, stroking at it with force as if testing to see if the material would suddenly bend beneath his fingertips or give way in strands like an optical illusion, but it held firm as ever.

    Could he do this? Should he do this? Would he just made the argument worse by doing this? Perhaps, if he was caught. But in Dave's mind managing to get this bit or proof under his belt that he could do it would be beneficial to himself in the long run. He'd have more time to peek in that room, the curiosity would abate, and perhaps then the resentment he'd begun to harbor would dissipate. Things would feel better. He'd have some comfort, and then Ambrose would finish the job, and they'd make up properly and he'd be more insistent on trying to help with whatever job came next because he'd be at a much higher level of competency.

    After another few strokes at the wall, Dave chickened out and took off to the kitchen once more, deciding to waste a bit of time making sure his remnants of breakfast were being washed and put away just like everything else had been. The last thing he wanted to do was to risk running into Ambrose face to face, if he'd remained in his quarters for a while instead of immediately leaving like he said he was. Not being able to listen in ahead of time really made this a whole new level of risky for him, and the fact he wasn't supposed to break and enter to begin with was not lost on him.

    Much to his satisfaction, the dishes had washed and scrubbed properly and been put away, as had the other items from the breakfast table. Still clutching his book close, Dave padded to the cold door that led to the horse pen and spent some time stroking and speaking to a rapt audience. Every time he felt it was time to go, to start, to draw that door and be done with it, he found himself hesitating. Twice more Dave passed by the hallway over the course of a few hours, paranoid that if he managed to get the door to form and open to the right place, that he'd just be face to face with his husband while breaking the only rule he had in place. The one thing he'd asked of him to not do. The third time was when Dave finally stopped and faced the wall once more, holding his breath.

    “...Right. Let's do this.”

    The anger was gone. Fueling Dave now was the curiosity and anxiety of before, making his heart hammer in his ears as he looked over the page he'd spent a good deal of time already staring at before closing it and setting the book down by his feet to free his hands back up. He started to hum softly before starting to whisper words that he hoped, he prayed, would fill in the gaps of the unknown tongue he couldn't decipher. The sensation of magic lit in his blood, and the power tried to trail down his hands prematurely, having to be forcefully pulled back. Strands of blonde hair lifted from the back of Dave's neck as the intensity grew, thoughts straining to focus only on his memory of the room he was seeking. Never in his life would he have guessed just how difficult it was to think of only one thing when his mind buzzed with a thousand thoughts, but the steady tracing light of not only a door but a familiar shaped handle beginning to form were indicators that this may be working the right way.

    It wasn't a clean door. Though the line and handle had started to form a perfect outline, the formal details were lost and an outline that followed the dimensions of bricks appeared instead, bits of plaster popping off as the opening settled into place. Dave winced as traces of rubble and dust hit his feet and the ground around him, not dropping the spell till the magic had finished running its course, only then slipping down to his knees for a moment. Exhaustion gripped him, head throbbing and the taste of a future nose bleed running over his tongue as he allowed his eyes to close. The very idea of moving, much less standing, seemed not only suddenly foreign but absolutely horrible. Breathing was tiring, leaving him winded just from trying not to suffocate.

    Yet, drained as he felt, nothing had exploded. The mess was.. an issue. But he also had hours to close the door and fix it, right? Plenty of time to recover, clean up, and go take a long nap. Closing his mouth to fight back drool, Dave lifted his head and took a painstakingly slow crawl forward to touch the awkwardly made door to see if it would give. No luck, not without turning the strange looking handle that lay just out of his reach.

    “Oh come the fuck on, I just made you, the least you could do is open for me how I want,” Dave groaned, trying to collect himself enough before trying to push himself off the ground and up to his feet. The world swam before his eyes and he staggered a step backwards before redirecting forwards to the dusty exposed brick of the newly formed door, hand groping for the handle and giving it a crank in the right direction. With a click it gave way and started to swing open thanks to his weight resting against it, granting Dave entrance.

    He'd done it. He'd absolutely done it, this was the same room, the same sights as before greeting him. ...Perhaps things looked a bit worse than before, on second thought, and not from Dave's doing. The destroyed bed and scratched up walls had new gouges, and the strange black material was slapped here and there with an even heavier hand. He could see where globs of the liquid had splattered to the backs of several stacked books whose covers Dave could appreciate even more now. His hands itched to take one, any one at random, curious as to what inside was so intense that his husband deemed important enough to keep tucked away from his reach. There was a sensation near them as if they were poisonous snakes coiled in their neat stacks and rows instead of merely books, but the curiosity remained. A shelf had been ripped apart, crumbled poppets and trinkets scattered across the floor. The damage to the wall he'd made by opening the door didn't seem very out of place at all in this messy environment, such a stark contrast to how neat the rest of the cozy lived in house was kept. It was doubtful that a single self cleaning spell had ever been cast in here.

    Minding that he didn't trip on anything, Dave slowly stepped inside and over some debris to get a better look at anything he'd spotted before and didn't get to savor. He ran a hand on the ruined linen of the bed with its intertwined patterns of vines and birds, touched along the spines of books that didn't feel too dangerous, uncapped and cautiously sniffed alchemy ingredients in their jugs and jars, and poked what he swore up and down to be honest to God gemstones cut into small identically shaped chips that reflected the low light of the room from a blown glass bowl. There was so much to look at and see for the first time so close that Dave found himself feeling more alert and lively, he could feel the color coming back to his cheeks.

    He did this. He'd gotten himself here. He'd taught himself to draw a door just like Ambrose could, even if it was only a door to a single room and even if it'd opened up kind of janky. This was all his own doing. Pride swelled in Dave's chest and hastened his steps as he remembered what else he'd wanted to see. Precisely where they'd been before were the other doors in their lone offshoot of a hallway, each a different color and each firmly closed. The one at the far end that had held his husband before, judging from how it had opened, didn't catch Dave's interest for now. It was hard for Dave to imaging what so many doors would be needed for, however. Were they to closets? There was no way that Ambrose would leave fully formed doorways in position, right? Grasping the handle of the nearest door, Dave pulled it open.

    He was wrong.

    The door Dave opened gave way to what appeared to be a running stream somewhere in the mountains. The place he was seeing wasn't locked deep in winter, however, but lush with spring or summer growth. Insects buzzed through the air and lit upon plants that Dave realized he'd never seen before in his life, flowers large as his palm and leaves that looked sharp as blades. A path headed away from the doorway, and after a cautious walk outside to get a better look, the door was the only standing thing in a dilapidated hut whose walls had long fallen in. Panicked, Dave darted back to the doorway which held the familiar home within, ghostly in its isolation.

    Dave was curious about that place, but didn't like the misalignment of what was there and what was not one bit. He closed it in a hurry before reaching for the second door. This one gave way to snow, but not nearly as deep. The view was lovely, a hill near a steep drop off into what looked like water. ...Was this the ocean? Or just a very large lake? Though Dave squinted, he couldn't see the other side, though he was able to see a single boat in the distance with fishermen struggling with a shimmering silver catch in a massive loose net on one side. His breath hung in the air as he watched, mystified.

    How far from home was he here? How far was the other one? If each of these doors were to such different places, why were the doors there permanently instead of drawn as needed like usual? Which door had Ambrose gone through for this job of his? Which door was apparently so dangerous.. and with the doors being permanently in place, were other people or things able to just come waltzing into this space? A sudden terrifying thought filled Dave's mind: what if the thing that had destroyed Ambrose's room just came and went? What if the reason his husband didn't want him in his room in general was in case something capable of all this destruction ran face first into him, when he was supposed to be safe in the house?

    No, no, focus Dave, that couldn't be right. Dave slammed the door and stared at the remaining few. Curiosity ate at him for the last door, the one he knew Ambrose had been within last time despite the fact that each door here must serve some special purpose. Licking his lips, Dave stood before the final door and turned the handle, bracing himself to swing it wide.

    Void. Absolutely devoid of light, the darkness in front of Dave's eyes looked solid enough to touch, yet a cautious outstretched hand felt only a worrying coolness and nothing more. There was something familiar about the darkness in the way it smelled, somewhat similar to the strange black substance in the main room that had been spattered around. Toxic. Drained. Wrong. Sickly. He heard a sound when he listened closely to the darkness, a sound like voices whispering in a language he could only partially understand. It sounded familiar and haunting, like what Dave assumed a chorus of ghosts would sound like on the breeze, but he couldn't figure out the specific source. The darkness seemed to go on forever with no end in sight, and though he stuck a foot out, he was too alarmed to try setting it down where ground might be. The idea of there being no ground was just as alarming as the doors existences were proving to be in general, twisting his thoughts.

    ...What was Ambrose doing in there before? Was he in there now, somewhere lost in the inky darkness? It was easy to believe danger could be there just out of sight, staring right back at him without his being able to tell. He didn't want to imagine it, but his mind was already filling in the gaps of the unknown, an image of his husband walking face first into that void and being drowned within it. Dave staggered back and closed the door, suddenly realizing how badly he wanted out of that room. No, he didn't just want to leave the room, he wanted to forget the room existed for a while. This room felt so devoid of all the things that were familiar about his husband that it was like trespassing in a stranger's space. This had all been a terrible idea. If the mage found out, Dave would do his best to apologize and make up for it, keep his new talent as something for an emergency until it took less energy to use properly and had less chance of fucking up.

    Sidestepping the worst of the mess, Dave was halfway through the room when he heard a door slowly start to creak open behind him. The scent of wrongness from the final door filled his nose anew, and his ears were assaulted by the wet, squelching sounds of what he assumed were footfalls touching down on ground in slow, lumbering steps. He turned to look over his shoulder and caught sight of a massive, black thing trying to fit its way inside, moving slow and unsteadily. It appeared to be coated in the black material that speckled the main room, oozing and dripping it in thick sludgy strings to the ground. He could almost make out edges of wings, but the face looked mammalian, golden eyes shining like twin stars set deep into the mass of its body. Whatever the fuck it was, it didn't seem to see Dave while it busied itself with coming through the doorway and crowding into the hall.

    Heart in his throat Dave ran faster than he thought he was capable of, fast enough he swore he blinked in and out of sight a few feet at a time. He needed to close the door. With as soft a sound as he could manage, not wanting to draw attention, Dave turned the knob and closed the strangely formed door he'd created. With heavy breaths he planted his hands on the brick and plaster, trying to remember what he needed to do to reverse the spell. How the fuck did he dispel doors? How did he undo that? He could hear the faint sounds of something moving inside, and his blood ran cold.

    “No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” he whispered under his breath.

    Needed to close it. Needed to close it right. Dave grappled for whatever magic he could feel and dragged it up as if fighting to free it from beneath his own feet, needing to dig low for whatever strength he could get while still tired from earlier. He chanced a glance down at his feet when the magic started to flow out of his hands in time with his frantic whispering, and felt everything go cold. The book might have had the answer. The book was right there, right in range, but there was no time, and now that the magic was flowing there was no going back.

    The magic wasn't flowing so much as flooding, Dave started to realize with growing horror. An attempt at slowing it, at tugging it back or guiding it was unsuccessful and the panic he was feeling only made things worse. Plaster dust recollected itself as if flowing in slow motion, time reversing itself to reform the pieces into bigger chunks and drift back into place in the wall till it was smooth and untouched once more. Dave's legs quaked and he lost feeling in his feet and hands, his vision blurred black at the edges as the afterimage of the door faded away. The magic was running itself, fixing the wall perfectly but continuing to flee him, expanding down the hallway in unfocused arcs. He watched smoke rise from the floorboards here and there, tiny fires trying and failing to start until Dave grit his teeth and yanked his arms back from the wall with a grunt of pain. Lightning running down his arms might have hurt less, stabbing and hot as the steam leaving his skin, but the magic had stopped.

    He did it. He'd closed the door, that thing was stuck in there now far away from him and the rest of the house he was essentially guarding. Amazed he was still on his feet, likely only thanks to adrenaline, Dave wiped his running nose with his forearm and glanced down absently when he realized it felt far wetter than it should have. Bright red streaked over his pale skin and dripped down to the tops of his feet, still more drops falling to the newly cleaned ground when he shifted position. Dave stuffed his hands against his nose to try stemming the flow as nausea rose in his throat, vision starting to sparkle at the edges.

    It was difficult to ignore the shimmery lines that crossed in front of his eyes this way and that like slow moving fish, but any attempt to trace their path just made them glide quicker and made his head throb more. Dave felt his legs starting to give way and shoved himself against the wall to try bracing himself, gasping through his mouth to keep a flow of air going despite the sensation and taste of blood going down the back of his throat. Nothing was making it slow down, nothing was making it stop, everything was red and wet and reeked of copper.

    Unable to stand up under the heavy flow when the magic had already drained him so thoroughly just before, Dave eventually fell to the floor, body resting over top of the book he'd carried earlier and blood streaked arms curled loosely in front of himself. His breathing was slow, but at least steady for now as he drifted in a dreamlike state behind his own eyes. It didn't hurt to be asleep, the sick feeling and weakness couldn't touch him here.

    He just wished he'd managed to yell first.

[ohprettyweeper-moved]

The Last Bandito

Part Two: Dream a Little Dream

Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Quinn, Faylinn, and Josh all have dreams that affect them. Tyler adjusts to his new life, and Ildri encourages her cousin not to continue with her novel. Warnings: Mentions of smearing and brainwashing, mentions of murder. Word Count: 1550 A/N: This series was borne of this picture; it started small and the idea just grew from there. It’s way outside of my usual fic box, so I am crossing my fingers that everyone who reads it can enjoy it. @adversaryproject, thank you for always having my back, and for believing that I could do something like this and do it justice. I hope I live up to your hopes! Oh - the bolded bits are for prompts from a board I have on Pinterest specifically for this series. 

Quinn Walsh shot up in bed, sweating and trying to catch her breath. The nightmares came often, but this one had been filled with so much blood and gore, it shook her to the bone. 

Throwing the blankets back, she threw her legs to the side and went for a glass of water and the pills that would erase the nightmare from her memories for the rest of the night. Looking out the window over the kitchen sink, she caught her reflection; even in the dim echo of her appearance, Quinn could see that the lack of sleep was catching up with her. 

Although she didn’t want to re-live the nightmare, and had already taken her sleeping pill, she decided to do what her therapist had suggested and jot down the major points of the nightmare before going back to bed. As Quinn wrote, she remembered more and more, until a desk calendar in the background of her dream screamed out the date from her memories. 

“My birthday,” she sighed, shoving the journal away and running a hand through the sweaty strands of her thick, strawberry blonde hair. 

This had been going on for close to eight years now and, try as she might to quell the thirst, nothing Quinn had done could sate the monster within her; that creature still showed her ugly, murderous face once every season. 

She tried for another hour to fall back asleep, but it was to no avail. As the sun peeked over the horizon and shed light on New Dema, Quinn threw back the covers and began to prepare for her day. 

When he woke up on that stone slab, the sanctuary was empty. His blood had been collected and cleaned from the floor, and not even one Bishop stood by to guide him into this new life. 

He sat up slow, trying to manage the rushing sensation in his brain. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the clearer vision that let him see every minute detail in his surroundings. The age of the temple became all the more clear with dust and cracks and crevices now apparent. 

The rushing sensation subsided, so he stepped onto the ground, feeling more stable, than he remembered feeling before — physically, anyway. With his newfound balance, he stepped away from the altar and took some tentative steps toward the door. The door opened, and a familiar face stood on the steps. 

“What happened to me?” he asked his friend when they both stood on the steps outside of the temple. 

His friend didn’t hesitate or hold back. “The Bishops smeared you, killed you, then changed you.”

It all made sense now. The clear vision, the stable balance. The overwhelming sense of being. 

“I’m a Heathen.” He said it out loud, as though he had never spoken the word before. 

Josh nodded. “Yeah, Tyler. You’re a Heathen. C’mon, I’ll help you move your stuff to where the rest of us stay.”

Faylinn was more than pleased with how her novel was coming along. She worked on it day and night, took a personal day from work and kept at it into the next day. Ildri had come and gone but Faylinn hardly noticed. 

Sometime after lunch, she decided it was time to take a break. She fixed herself a light salad, then settled on the couch. She stared out the bay window, willing the view of Old Dema to continue feeding her ideas and words and pages. 

When she woke, she was in Old Dema. Her hands were tied behind her back and she was blindfolded. Horse hooves hit the concrete ground around here; they weren’t galloping but walking at an easy pace. Faylinn wanted to stop and take the blindfold off, get her bearings, but a hand gripping her arm kept her moving forward. 

A door creaked open, and Faylinn was led through it. The hand holding her arm seated her on a hard bench, then removed the blindfold. She saw now nine figures walking in a line toward the front of what appeared to be some kind of temple. They were wearing red, hooded capes, and their faces were painted white and black underneath thin veils of some mesh-like material. 

The Bishops, Faylinn thought to herself. 

She looked around the temple to see eight others sitting on the wooden benches, just as she was. All of them looked as confused and scared as Faylinn felt. 

The Bishops assembled in a semi-circle at the altar; for half of a second, silence reigned and time stood still. Then, the timeless men moved in unison, chanting words Faylinn did not understand. 

Tse spohady, yaki vy budget trymaty. 

The phrase was repeated nine times before the Bishops once again formed a line down the aisle that separated the two sections of benches. Each Bishop approached the human he had brought here until the Bishop was within arm’s reach of Old Dema’s new citizen. 

Cold fear gripped every fiber of Faylinn’s being. Her nerves fired off, telling her to run or scream or do something. But the stare of the Bishop’s eyes into hers held her in place, willing her to stay put. His hands reached out to her, relaxed but purposeful. The Bishop placed one hand on either side of her neck; Faylinn stopped breathing. His thick fingers pulled black lines over her skin, and the fear began to slip away. 

Josh woke with a start. The most real dream he had experienced in quiet some time, a memory of the day he had been brought to Old Dema. Of the Bishops doling out that first smearing and so easily convincing him of everything they wanted him to believe. He had not experienced this memory before, even when he tried. 

But instead of himself sitting there on that bench, it was a woman. He did not know her, but the moment the dream brought her image into his mind, he wanted to know her. How had she appeared in his dream? If anyone ever came to him while he slept, it was the inhabitants of Old Dema, Bishops included. 

He threw his legs over the one-person cot that served as his bed, set his elbows on his knees, and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. He worried that this may be some strange side effect of the serum, and for fear of what the Bishops would do with him if that were the case, Josh decided then and there to keep this dream to himself. 

Ildri read over the words on the screen while Faylinn paced nervously behind her. This was some of the best work of her cousin’s Ildri had read, but Faylinn was treading dangerous ground with this novel. 

“It’s amazing, Fay. Really.”

Faylinn clapped her hands excitedly and dropped to the couch. “You really think so?”

“It is. The smearing, the way the come for people in the middle of the night … it’s like you’ve seen it before.”

“I have,” Faylinn sighed. “I dreamed about it this afternoon. When I woke up, I put it into words. I feel so good about this, Ildri. I’ve been waiting for months for the perfect idea for my novel and now I’ve found it and it’s flowing so easily, it’s almost effortless.”

Ildri stood from the desk chair and waited a few seconds before delivering her next statement. She didn’t want to hurt Faylinn, but her cousin’s safety was important to her. 

“I don’t think you should keep writing it.” 

Faylinn’s happy expression fell. “What? But I thought …”

“It’s amazing work, but you’re playing with fire, writing about Old Dema. The Bishops — they have weird ways about knowing about these things. We know the basics about the old ways so that we can avoid being taken, but you’re revealing details here that, true or not, were never meant to be revealed.”

“Oh please,” Faylinn said, rolling her eyes. 

“Faylinn,” Ildri said sternly, “No good can come from this.”

“Maybe from your perspective. But for me, this is my big break. I know it is. I’m sorry that you can’t see it. You’ve got to stop living in the past — we all do — or the Bishops will control us forever, and the purpose of New Dema won’t be realized. We’ve been outside of the wall for centuries, but here we are, still governing our lives but what they do. Not me, not anymore.”

Ildri watched her cousin storm away to her part of the apartment, leaving Ildri at the computer, trying to figure out how she was going to make Faylinn understand the hazards in publishing a book of this nature. 

As she meandered to the opposite part of the apartment, the part that was hers and only hers, Ildri thought over this conundrum. There was only so much about her job that she could share; her position as an assistant for New Dema’s highest government officials kept her in the know more than most but also kept her in high confidence. 

Without a solution to convince Faylinn of the importance of not continuing on and publishing her novel, Ildri got up to begin cooking dinner for the both of them, instead focusing on apologizing for perhaps making Faylinn feel Ildri did not support her. 

[theonceoverthinker]

OUAT 2X19 - Lacey

I don’t know what this episode LACED itself with, but I’m tripping over how good it is!

Read below the cut and find out why!

Press Release

Mr. Gold enlists the aid of David to help him try to jog Belle’s now cursed memories and get her to love him again; and when it is revealed that the magic beans Anton and the dwarves have been harvesting have begun to grow and could possibly transport everybody home, Emma is torn over whether she would want to live in fairytale land or stay in our world. Meanwhile, in the fairytale land that was, Rumplestiltskin forces Belle to accompany him on a hunt to kill a thief, whom she had freed in the name of mercy. General Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness Past I love this flashback. We get to see the first chronological bit of good that Belle sees in Rumple, and it feels pretty earned. The structure here is good, showing Rumple reveal more and more of his goodness as it progresses while still not shying away from the more monstrous aspects of his personality. I’ll talk about that shortly, but that is so important to do when making a Rumple centric. And Belle is fantastic here too! While believing that Rumple can change, she’s true to her desire to be a hero and isn’t afraid to dole out vigilante kindness, something she does later on in the series! Present LACEY IS MY QUEEN! Look, I know that she’s little more than a one off in a lot of respects, but fuck it. I love this character. She’s part Valkyrie and part Cruella, a total boozer, but a wickedly fun time, too! Lacey is not just the anti-Belle, but she’s someone so fun and distinct. She drinks and plays pool and listens to rock music and is okay with beating the crap out of people! But what makes her so great in my eyes is how strong she is in her convictions that she’s not Belle and that Rumple has to respect her identity. I just love how she refuses to be projected on!

For as much as I like Emma, I feel because barely any time was dedicated to her subplot regarding returning home (Apart from giving Regina her first inklings of suspicion about the beans, which she could’ve learned through other means, honestly), it would’ve been better off being cut in favor of some DESPERATELY needed Rumple/Neal screen time. That having been said, I liked two and a half of the three scenes that the subplot revolved around for the stellar character interactions. All Encompassing More than anything, I appreciate this episode for how it handles Rumple’s character in both realms. Rumple is a difficult character to do because he cannot nor should be Woobie-fied. Here is a great example: Rumple has a monstrous nature. It’s not one that can’t be overcome and the narrative sets out to show that much, but it, even more than his cane, is his crutch for when he feels like the people in his life let him down. When outside influences of good can’t be depended on for a moral dessert, Rumple will default back to that nature. And when they can (Or at least give him a good ole pep talk), he proves himself capable of taking it down. What works about this episode for me is how that mindset is not framed as a good thing. Rumple’s reliance on his more monstrous nature as a crutch may have earned Lacey’s affections, but that aspect of the ending is not framed positively (Everything from the music to the lighting to the parallels to the past says as much), nor should it. Insights - Stream of Consciousness -The most unrealistic thing about this dream sequence is the fact that Rumple would ever hold a birthday party in his shop. I mean, look at that cake! He wouldn’t be smiling! He’d be grumbling about how frosting was getting all over the counter the whole time! -So Rumple CAN sleep! His bed is comfy! I’m just going to HC that one can either imbue sleep upon themselves with magic or that as one gets more seasoned with the Dark One curse, they can sleep. -This entire bit with Regina and Rumple realizing they’re family just cracks me up! -I really love the set that Regina and Rumple walk through during their conversation. I wish we got to see it more often. The windy path and the red fences make it damn memorable! -I like how Belle has finally accepted that Belle is her name! About time! -”You’ve been locked up long enough.” True dat. -Rumple, that pillow is gonna do fuck all to drown out Belle’s sobbing. She can’t press her head into that! -Rumple, that was a very un-you like way of poofing! -I love Rumple’s flair for the dramatics with that fucking arrow! I love you, you little shit! -”All magic comes with a price, and in your case, dearie, that’s me.” Is it just me, or does that sound like the opening to a Rumple/Robin Hood porno? XD -”I’m sure Mr. Gold will be thrilled.” He will by the end of the episode! XD -”The package.” Well, he certainly does have that, but just call him Hook! -Yes! Whoever is dangerous will matter if you go back to your land! Stop them here first! -Awww! I love seeing Anton! And he’s good at darts! Now I want him to play with Killian! FIC IDEA!!! -Grumpy! Why are you being so mean to Anton! Did you two have a domestic? -Anton is just the sweetest!!!! I just want to give him a huuuuggg! -”After what I did to Cora, I think restoring our land is the best way to mend it.” HOW?! Like, how would that work? Cora would still be dead (not that I believe for a second what you did was wrong, but I get it: guilt) and as Emma pointed out: “DANGER.” -Unngghh. I hate the latter half of this Charming family scene. Snow and David are offering Emma nothing but platitudes (And empty ones) in the face of her very real concerns. -I love Rumple’s pissed off face in the hospital. He looks like he sucked on a lemon. -I love the bartender at the Rabbit Hole! He’s so nice and proud of the joint, but still smart enough to be afraid of Rumple! -Lacey in that blue sleeveless top makes me...feel things. Very gay things. By the way, does Red Lace (Ruby/Lacey) exist? And if not, why not? -Rumple’s biggest act of cruelty is making Belle wear a fucking ball gown for however long it was between when Belle and Rumple first made their deal and when Rumple finally got her another dress. -Belle is such a BAMF with how she saves Robin Hood? -”I’m sorry. Do I look like a one-handed pirate with a pistol?” No, but you would ROCK that look! -Okay, the more I hear Regina talk about Neal, the more I want Rumple and Neal to CONVERSE! Like seriously! It’s been three episodes at this point! -SHEEP BROOOOOOOOSSSS!!! -I gotta say, I don’t appreciate the Lacey shaming, Rumple. -”David Nolan still won Mary Margaret’s heart.” No, he didn’t! -”Overpraised lasagna.” I take back what I said earlier: THIS is your biggest act of cruelty, Rumple! -”Someone who’d have killed all of you.” THANK YOU, RUMPLE! -”If you do, for the first time ever, I’m gonna owe you a favor.” DO IT!!! Like, pun intended, that is an offer good as Gold! XD -Gotta admire Belle’s poker face as Rumple prepares to torture Robin! XD -Jeez! Way to make Rumple sound like Gaston with her schtick about books! -”People who steal magic never have good intentions.” Speaking from experience or something, Rum Rum? -Rumple, you’re at a 10 and you need to come down to like an 8, okay? Cool. -I love Lacey listing off all of these bands and I completely HC that Weaver rocks out to ALL of them! -You can just see the cogs in Lacey’s brain twirl as she decides to give his suit-claden square a chance! XD -”Don Juan was nothing before he made a deal with me.” Rumple is basically the Hitch of the OUAT world! XD - I love how Emma is trying so damned hard to get along with Regina while also not losing the bite in her that someone would have after Regina and Cora tried killing her family. -I fucking love Lacey! She knows she on a date with the richest guy in town and she is gonna string him along for every fucking cent! XD Chicken parm and white wine? Hell yeah! -Lacey, stay forever! Like, I want Belle to take that serum so we can keep Lacey because she is just amazing! What a personality! What a funny and dark woman! -”I see a man who wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Rumple...you are something special, man. Warped, but special. -Lacey, I know you’re about to ditch, but at least glug some of that GIANT ASS glass of free wine you just got! Like, for fucking real! -Thank you, Rumple for finally giving Belle a dress she can conceivably move in! -”What would people think if I spared the life of someone who stole from me?” Considering you tortured him for a short while and the only reason he escaped was because of a third party, they’d probably still be pretty scared! -Belle ROCKS those gloves! -Sheriff, quit while you’re ahead! -Marian!!!! Hi!!!! -Honestly, Rumple, you’d be better off if Robin didn’t die. Then TWO people could ward off people from breaking deals with you. -”You are not the kind of man to leave a child fatherless.” As @onceuponatimeihadalife pointed out, you can see how these words affect Rumple. He’s reminded of both the prophecy he got from the Seer AND how Bae was left fatherless by his and Milah’s actions. It’s such a cleverly written show of Rumple’s other soft spot and how Belle on some level gets Rumple, even this early in their time together. -”She may have loved you, but I am not her.” LACEY FUCKING ROCKS MY SOCKS! I love how adamant Lacey is about her own identity! She forces Rumple to understand that she won’t be pushed into being someone she isn’t just to be his manic pixie dream girl, and that loudness is just fantastic. -”New guy always buys.” With what money?! -Ooh! I love that tracing magic Regina uses! It not only looks pretty, but is such a smart move on her part! -I feel bad for Keith. The one time he’s not the worst, he gets beat up for it. -Seeing Neal carry Henry is both funny and adorable! -Awwww! August and Henry are buddies!!! -Killian’s baccccck!!! And in fully bondage (I’m willing to bet @killian-whump appreciates that)!!! Arcs - How are These Storylines Progressing? The Storybrooke Citizens Going Home - This arc honestly hasn’t left much of an impression on me. I’d say it was due to lack of suspense, but even on this go around, I’ve found arcs that I knew the ending of to still be thrilling. This one, less so. It’s barely been brought up, and in this episode, we’ve barely seen Emma take the time to really go into greater details about her...dil-EMMA! And I don’t get everyone’s hurry to get out of town because there’s just as much danger back in the Enchanted Forest, even without Rumple and Regina (And even still, they could totally get there, let’s not fool ourselves). Rumple getting back to his son - I’m kind of frustrated that it’s been THREE episodes since Rumple and Neal spoke to each other in a scene. THREE. Rumple spent a century trying to get back to his son. I feel like he should be all but hounding Neal to spend time together. I want to see the payoff to this passion that drove Rumple to create (or at the very least steal) a curse that would screw over an entire land! Even just a one off acknowledgement of him trying to see Neal would be great! But no! Favorite Dynamic Sheep Bros. Not much to say here, but David and Rumple have a great rapport and seeing David help Rumple woo (or seemingly woo) Lacey is just funny! Josh and Robert have great chemistry and seeing Rumple and David’s personalities clash is a real treat! Writer Adam and Eddy have really had a terrific season! They’ve landed several astounding episodes, and I’m happy to say that this is another! There’s a very careful balance with character depiction and storytelling balance on display in this episode. Rumple and Lacey’s characters are handled so delicately. With Rumple, I like how there is no ambiguity of the fact that his morality can change on a dime. He has the power over how he conducts himself, and he very much values gratification for his efforts and will change his tune should things not work out in his favor. With Lacey, A&E went a long way to ensure that Lacey was someone who was annoying to Rumple, but not to the audience. She’s funny and the sheer fact of how much of an opposite to Belle she is just makes for an engaging ride! I did however not enjoy some of the dialogue. To me, some of the lines were either deceptive of character traits or a little heavy on platitudes. Culture I have thoughts on exactly who Lacey is as a character, mostly in regard to whether or not she is Belle’s true cursed form. I personally don’t think Lacey is Belle’s true cursed form, and I come to that conclusion based on not only pre-Regina instances of her cursed self, but the cursed selves of others. First, let’s talk about Belle post-memory wipe. If you recall, Sneezy had a memory wipe too, but he strictly reverted to his original cursed version. In the same manner, so did Belle. And when we finally got some extended scenes with her, we see she’s nothing like Lacey. While pretty panicked due to all the magical stuff and the car accident and all, she’s more or less pretty similar to her real self. Just listen to Belle’s kindness when Rumple talks to her early on in this episode at the hospital. Those words could’ve so come out of Belle’s mouth just as easily. She’s all set out to help Rumple aspire to be good and even shows him some real kindness again!

That brings me to my second point. When we look at the cursed Storybrooke characters like Snow, Charming, Ruby, and Grumpy in comparison to their real selves, there’s so such dramatic deviation the likes of Belle and Lacey. Their personalities chime much closer to home with maybe one or two differing qualities (Ex. Snow’s missing her bravery as MM, Charming’s missing his sense of honor as cursed David). This holds true for Belle’s memory wiped self pre-Regina far more than post-Regina.

So what does that make Lacey? IMHO, a corruption -- possibly even a reset. Regina clearly magicifies that matchbox to give Belle false memories, and the ensuing personality is something that is only made to screw over Rumple. In the past, Regina didn’t put much effort into Belle’s cursed form because as far as she knew, Rumple would never discover her. However, now that she’s about to be a player in Rumple’s life, Regina decides to stop her influence. I mean, I know Rumple claims they’re her “cursed” memories, but I don’t know, it just doesn’t seem right to me.

At the same time though, as I was writing this, I had a great conversation with @mrs-stiltskin where she pointed out that Belle’s relatively tamer pre-Regina cursed personality was more of a result of being a blank slate and Lacey was the actual creation of a personality, and that’s an interpretation that I also readily accept, AND it supports Rumple and Regina’s words too! Rating Golden Apple. What more can I even say? The story and its execution are fantastic. A&E balanced Rumple and Lacey like fucking katana swords. It’s a charming story (pun always intended) that’s pretty freakin’ funny when it needs to be while also being emotionally satisfying. Even the stuff I didn’t like gave way to some good scenes and I only disliked them because there was more that I wanted to see (*cough* RUMPLE AND NEAL *cough*). Flip My Ship - Home of All Things “Shippy Goodness” Rumbelle - The past has some pretty good Rumbelle. For one thing, I love how Rumple stumbles over trying to explain why he didn’t kill Belle. Suuuuuure, Rumple. Also, you gotta love how Rumple gives the Sheriff of Nottingham the most well deserved punishment ever for attempting to trade Belle like cattle! XD Also, that hug post-sparing was just ADORABLE!!! Finally, the library scene shows the first inklings of Rumple falling in love with Belle as their themes merge and the thematically binding line of the episode is spoken. AND before we go into Golden Lace territory, let’s talk about some present Rumbelle. Just look at Belle’s face and voice when Rumple appears in the hospital alive! She’s so happy!!! And it’s so nice how now that they’re able to talk, Belle can connect with Rumple so much more easily. Finally, I really like how angry Rumple gets at Regina for forcing Belle to revert to her cursed self. Golden Lace - Rumple is trying so freakin’ hard to impress Lacey and it’s adorable! Look at him tripping over himself as he tries to hold the menu at Granny’s! It’s honestly adorable! And Lacey couldn’t be more thirsty for Rumple’s darkness if she was locked in fucking Care-a-lot for a year beforehand! I love this bit of ANOTHER villain ship!!! Swanfire - Emma and Neal only get two minutes together, but they take full advantage of it! I like how Emma and Neal, while not fully knowledgeable of the other’s situation, are able to understand each other. And they have some nice chemistry! Aww! And Neal believes in Emma’s ability to figure the truth of August’s message out! ()()()()()()()()() What a great episode!!!! Thank you for reading my review and to the fabulous folks at @watchingfairytales! Btw, after exactly one vote (Thanks, Sarah!), I have decided to combine the finale review! It’s gonna be a LONG one!

Next time, while Lacey may be my queen, there’s another one just waiting to be in the spotlight once more. See you guys then! Season 2 Tally (157/220) Writer Tally for Season 2: Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis: (50/60) Jane Espenson (35/50) Andrew Chambliss and Ian Goldberg (31/50) David Goodman (24/30)* Robert Hull (24/30)* Christine Boylan (17/30) Kalinda Vazquez (28/30)* Daniel Thomsen (18/20)* * Indicates that their work for the season is complete

Operation Rewatch Archives

[machetelanding]

On Monday, Amanda Prestigiacomo wrote a piece for The Daily Wire highlighting the fact that the vast majority of mass shooters and school shooters come from fatherless homes. The trend is undeniable. And, sadly, it's just the tip of the iceberg. The problem runs much, much deeper.

Over 60% of youth suicides are from fatherless homes. Over 80% of youths in prison are from fatherless homes. Over 70% of high school dropouts are from fatherless homes. Over 70% of kids in drug abuse treatment centers are from fatherless homes. The fatherless home epidemic is a verified national emergency, and should be treated as such.

But the fatherless factor is just one part of the equation. The other part is that nearly all of the kids who fall into these statistics are boys. Pretty much every mass shooter in American history, with very rare exception, has been male. 93% of the inmates in federal prison are men. 90% of murders are committed by men. The vast majority of rapists and child molesters are male. Men are three times more likely to kill themselves.

Our culture looks at the picture as I've painted it and concludes that masculinity is a blight on the Earth. It then proceeds to fix the Boy Problem the way you fix a dog. It sees that boys are inclined to be aggressive, so it forces them to be mild. It sees that boys are likely to take dangerous risks, so it encourages them to take no risks at all. It sees that boys are wild, so it tames them. It sees that boys are boys, so it turns them into girls. The strategy has been a disaster. As we work to feminize boys, all of the problems listed above have only gotten worse. They are indeed enlightened problems for an enlightened age.

So, what can we do about it?

The solution brings us back to the beginning: fathers. Boys need to be taught how to be boys, and they need fathers to do the teaching. A mother can't teach her son how to be a man any more than I can teach my daughter how to be a woman. I can teach her how a woman ought to be treated, but I cannot shape her in her femininity the way my wife can. Likewise, my wife cannot form and harness our sons' masculinity the way that I can. Neither can we rely on TV or pop culture or the schools to do the job. They will not mold your son; they will simply obliterate him. Everywhere he turns, if he cannot turn to his father, he will find powerful forces trying desperately to drag him into despair, confusion, and self-loathing.

The feminists say that masculinity is "fragile," and they're sort of right. A boy's identity is a fragile thing. It needs to be protected, or it will be consumed. A boy is bursting with energy, dreams, and ambitions. He feels a deep longing to use that energy and take those ambitions and do something with it. He needs someone — his father, namely — to show him what that thing ought to be. Or else he will figure it out on his own, finding no help anywhere else, and the result may literally kill him — and dozens more, perhaps.

A girl needs guidance, too, but she has some advantages. For one, almost every home in America features a mom. For another, most schools are staffed and run by women. For another, our culture is extraordinarily focused on empowering and encouraging girls, and telling them how beautiful they are, how valuable and important and strong and wonderful, etc. For still another, the female instinct is (whether the feminists admit it or not) calmer, more relational, more domestic.

A girl looks for fulfillment in her home and in her relationships. A boy feels the indescribable, uncontainable urge to go out into the wild and find fulfillment in something, but he doesn't know precisely what. However far we have come (or fallen) as a society, we still have not escaped the simple truth: women want to make a home, and men want to go into the woods and hunt. The only question is what exactly they will hunt, and how.

To that end, I have a few ideas as to the kinds of things we fathers need to teach our little hunters. Obviously this is not a comprehensive list, but it's a good start:

1) We need to teach them to take healthy risks.

Boys will take risks. Now, will it involve drag racing at 2 a.m. or something more fruitful and less fatal? This is why the generally cautious voice of the mother needs to be balanced by a father who knows that a scraped knee and a busted lip can do a young man a lot of good. A boy needs his dad to say: "Go climb that tree." "Go hit that ball." "It's just a scratch." "It's okay to punch back." Even if his mom also says these things, he still needs to hear it from his dad.

These are the risks of early boyhood. But as a boy grows, he needs his dad there to teach him how to take different kinds of risks, fraught with a different kind of peril. He must learn to take intellectual risks by forming his ideas and principles and defending them. He must learn to take emotional risks by forging intimate bonds and friendships. And these will lead to the final risk of boyhood, which becomes the first risk of manhood: moving out of the house and entering the world.

If a boy is raised only by women, and his risk-taking nature is stifled by motherly caution, he will eventually break free and find the danger and adventure he craves. But it probably won't lead to a career and a wife and a fulfilling life. It will much more likely lead to prison or the morgue.

2) We need to teach them to protect the weak.

Boys are fascinated by violence. There's no use fighting it. The idea of a man using his physical strength to defeat and conquer another man is innately appealing to most every boy. The average progressive mother in today's society is scared of this instinct, so she smothers it. She forbids her son from playing with toy guns, and she keeps him away from any TV show that has a hint of violence, and she panics if he ever gets into a fight. She tries to redirect his energies into art classes or gymnastics or dance or whatever else. She tries to make a girl out of her boy.

A father must be there to say, "It's good to be strong. It's good to fight for the right reason. But if you want to be a cool, strong man like me, you should only use your strength to protect people who are weaker than you — never to hurt them."

I noticed that when my son was first introduced to the world of superheroes, he was just as fascinated by the villains as the good guys. I had to tell him that the good guys are the ones we root for, and the ones we like, because they help and protect people. I didn't teach him that violence is wrong. I taught him that violence against the innocent is wrong, and lame and bad and uncool. Now, while his twin sister draws pictures and brushes her doll's hair, he runs around the house pretending to fight off all manner of villains and monsters who, if not for his efforts, would surely destroy us all.

3) We need to teach them to worship God.

There are two things that every boy needs to see his father do: show affection to his wife, and pray. There are few images more powerful, more formational, for a young boy than the image of his father kneeling with his hands clasped. From the boy's perspective, his father spends all day telling people what to do, running the show, doling out discipline, and leading with firmness and purpose. But now here he is, on his knees, humbling himself, submitting himself, reaching out to some greater force; a force he even calls "Father."

The boys sees humility and obedience demonstrated by the same person who demands it of him. He is given, in microcosm, the same lesson Christ gave all of us when He came to Earth. And this is a scary thing for us dads. Our children learn about God through us. The image of God that they form in their heads will be shaped by our example. If we are cruel and distant, they will think that God is cruel and distant. If we are permissive and weak, they will think that God is permissive and weak. If we do not love them, they will think that God does not love them.

So, our job — an impossible job, if we are not praying constantly for God to help us accomplish it — is to give our sons (and our daughters) a window into the world beyond our own. We have to ground them in faith. We have to help them understand their vocation. We have to help them hear the voice of God. And, if we are successful, they will begin to comprehend that the restlessness they feel, the wildness, the longing, is really a thirst for the eternal. They are being called into the wild, and beyond it, to Home.

[stephenmccull]

What the Slowing Vaccine Rates Mean for One Rural Montana County

KALISPELL, Mont. — The covid vaccination operation at the Flathead County fairgrounds can dole out 1,000 doses in seven hours. But demand has plummeted recently, down to fewer than 70 requests for the shots a day.

This story also ran on NPR. It can be republished for free.

So, at the start of May, the northwestern Montana county dropped its mass vaccination offerings from three to two clinics a week. Though most of those eligible in the county haven’t yet gotten a dose, during the final Thursday clinic on April 29, few cars pulled up and nurses had time to chat between patients.

“It’s a trickle,” said Flathead City-County Health Officer Joe Russell. “Not enough people will get vaccinated to reach herd immunity, not in Flathead County and maybe not in Montana.”

Daily covid vaccination rates are falling nationwide. Gaps in vaccine uptake are starting to show, especially in rural America. That leaves many communities grappling with an imperfect pandemic endgame.

Flathead stands out as one of Montana’s most populated counties to fall behind. There, 25% of people had been fully vaccinated by May 10. To compare, nearly 33% of Montanans were fully vaccinated, and that figure is closer to 35% nationwide.

Flathead County is a medical destination for the top corner of the state, a gateway to Glacier National Park and neighbor to two tribal nations. It’s Montana’s fourth-largest county by population with more than 103,000 people, yet it’s rural — 18 people per square mile. It’s also conservative, with the majority of residents voting for former President Donald Trump last year. National polling has shown rural Americans and Republicans to be among the most resistant to getting vaccines.

Russell said he hopes at least 40% of Flathead County residents eventually get the shots. That’s well below the 70% to 80% believed to be needed to create widespread protection from the pathogen that has stalled normal life.

Public health experts worry about reservoirs of the virus fueling outbreaks. That possibility further strains year-old tensions in places such as Flathead County, where strangers and family members alike can be split on whether the virus is a threat and the decision to wear a mask marks where people stand. Covid vaccines are the latest phase of that divide.

Cameron Gibbons, who lives outside Kalispell, has worried about how covid could affect her 13-year-old son. He’s had coughs turn into lung infections that landed him in the emergency room for trouble breathing, so the family has played it safe during the pandemic.

“We haven’t seen family in a long time because they haven’t chosen to be careful, which is OK, as long as when we get back to normal we can all set our differences aside,” Gibbons said. “Now there’s this judgment of ‘Oh, you got the vaccine.’”

Some of Montana’s most vaccinated places overlap with tribal nations. Chelsea Kleinmeyer, the health director of the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes, said the tribes’ members seemed to largely accept vaccines after the pandemic disproportionately sickened and killed Native Americans. But the reservation crosses four counties, including Flathead.

“We travel to those counties every single day,” Kleinmeyer said. “It goes back to: Are we really protected against this virus, these variants, if we don’t achieve herd immunity?”

States are shifting from mass clinics to bringing shots to where people are, but that strategy, too, can be unpredictable. The same day of the county’s final Thursday clinic, the local health system hosted a walk-in clinic in the middle of the Flathead Valley Community College campus in Kalispell. Most of the chairs for people to wait 15 minutes post-shot remained empty and, by early afternoon, the clinic had to send 200 doses to the county health department to avoid wastage.

Although organizers had hoped to vaccinate at least 100 people that day, Audra Saranto, a registered nurse who heads Kalispell Regional Healthcare’s vaccination team, said she counts the college event as a success — 50 people got vaccines who might otherwise not have.

The health system may host similar clinics at major job sites, like for a lumber company. A mobile team will offer shots in busy places like farmers markets, even if it means risking people not following up for a second dose.

It’s not surprising that covid vaccinations aren’t universally accepted yet in this divided county. Flathead’s board of health deadlocked over mask rules and crowd size limits amid the area’s worst covid outbreaks. Two top county health officials resigned in the past year. Thousands of people have signed dueling petitions to remove or keep one board of health member who had stirred doubt over covid-19 cases and opposed mask rules.

And the city of Kalispell is home to state Sen. Keith Regier, a Republican who repeated false claims on the Senate floor last month that covid vaccines may contain microchips to track people. Regier said in an interview he was “offering caution in how we progress with this vaccination.”

Meanwhile, Whitefish, roughly a 20-minute drive from Kalispell, has maintained a mask ordinance that has outlasted the statewide mandate. Banners downtown show local leaders asking people to mask up so people can pray together and keep schools open. Even so, the rule isn’t always followed there.

At the county’s final Thursday clinic, John Calhoun, 67, undid his pearl snap shirt to get his second shot and joked with the nurse, “I’m doing this so Joe Biden doesn’t throw me in jail.”

Calhoun said he hopes being vaccinated will help him ease tensions the next time someone tells him to wear a mask. He believes covid-19 is real but doesn’t think it’s as serious as health officials claim, even though he has diabetes, a risk factor for covid complications.

“Nothing seems to bother me all that bad,” Calhoun said. “I had a horse fall on me, broke my hip, and once stabbed myself with a hunting knife. All that caused me a bit of a problem, but other stuff just doesn’t bother me.”

He decided to get the shot after an old high school friend with a degree in biochemistry told him it was important — an opinion Calhoun trusted over those of government-paid experts and liberal politicians who he said have used the pandemic to grab more power.

Calhoun said he’s still trying to talk his wife, Lola, into getting vaccinated to play it safe: “She’s one of those ladies that you don’t talk her into much.”

Lola Calhoun, 59, said she got her shingles vaccine within the past year because she trusts the protection it offers. When it comes to covid, she said she’d rather risk the virus than be injected with vaccines that feel too new, despite decades of research underpinning their unprecedented development.

“The covid vaccine to me is experimental and we are the case studies,” she said. “Maybe a year from now, I’ll see what happens to these people who got the vaccine.”

On a recent evening, Ray Sederdahl, 63, sat on his girlfriend’s Kalispell porch while his grandkids picked dandelions. The Air Force veteran said even if he wasn’t skeptical of the vaccines, he thinks of covid as an illness that’s much like the flu.

“The VA keeps trying to get me to schedule an appointment and I just say, ‘At this time, I’ll pass,’” Sederdahl said. “A lot of the older vets I talk to, they didn’t get it either, and they’re not gonna get it.”

To Sederdahl, things feel normal enough. Businesses are open and he doesn’t have to wear a mask most places.

Erica Lengacher, an intensive care unit nurse in Kalispell who has worked covid units and vaccine clinics, said she’s sad but not surprised that vaccine rates are slowing. But, she said, the overall feeling at the county’s vaccine clinics is hopefulness — people are still showing up, even if the crowds are smaller.

Lengacher said Flathead was hit so hard this winter, she hopes some natural immunity from those already infected, along with the growing vaccination levels, will be enough to hold off further outbreaks over the next few months.

“Just given our lifestyle — single-family homes, no public transportation, a few people per square mile — we may get away with it,” Lengacher said. “But there’s a big question mark of how variants show up here. There are just a lot of big question marks.”

As of May 10, the county had 116 confirmed active cases of covid, up from 71 on April 23.

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

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