#anyway hilariously i find some of the mental tools i have for that part of my work useful in a lot of this

[pynkhues]

I hope you don’t mind my adding an anon message to the no doubt prodigious amount in your inbox, but I think the reason you’ve gotten an influx of anons and readers since the Louis Byronic hero/masculine/vers kerfuffle is that many more people agree with you than they admit, but have become so afraid of harassment and backlash that they keep quiet on their blogs. I found your blog after that incident, I read your post and saw it wasn’t anything like what people said it was, and went on to read your other posts. It’s been a breath of fresh air honestly.

Oh, thank you, anon! This is such a bittersweet ask to get, because it's lovely to know that this blog feels like a breath of fresh air, and that my posts have resonated with people, but it really is sad to me that people have become so afraid of harassment and backlash in this fandom, and to know that my posts have been strawmanned like they have. I don't know, I said it recently, but in terms of the latter, all I can do is know what I mean, clarify where I can, and speak honestly, and ultimately know that the people who do that are saying more about themselves than they are about me, but at the same time, y'know - -

I don't think anyone loves being wilfully misinterpreted, and I obviously don't love being called some of the things I've been called, but at the end of the day, I try to approach things with patience and curiousity, which is all I think I can do, and I hope that comes through with people who follow along with all of this.

[asian-hero]

Too Impatient to Wait Another Lifetime (2/3)

A/N: I’m not going to lie, but the reason I didn't post this for a while is because the last one did so poorly compared to my other fics, so I figured that no one would want to read this anymore :(

But I truly love this story, and this is probably my favorite part that I wrote for this, so I wanted to share it anyways :) Welcome to the medieval/fantasy era

Pairing: Prince!Todoroki/Bard!Reader

Summary: The idea of soulmates is often one that’s heavily debated over. Some believe in the idea that there’s one special person out there for everyone, whereas others believe that it’s near impossible for just one person to be your “perfect match.” While you can’t necessarily see if someone is your soulmate, when you finally find that person, you get a feeling of euphoria that you’ve never experienced before. Unfortunately for you, someone must find it hilarious to constantly separate you from your soulmate every single time, in every single lifetime. So, what happens when you realize that you don’t want to wait any longer for your happily ever after?

Words: 8,367

If there was one thing that Prince Todoroki Shouto hated, more than the weighty title at the beginning of his name, more than the isolation he felt from being the heir to the throne, it would be the seemingly pointless balls his father would insist upon.

In all honesty, he knew why his father would put on these lavish events. Since Shouto was the crown prince, only due to a falling out between his father and his two eldest brothers, the fate of the Todoroki lineage had also rested upon his shoulders, and in order to keep their family tree growing, he needed a wife. However, since he was never allowed outside the walls of the castle, these balls were put in place in order to find the most “suitable” wife for Shouto. 

Suitable for his father, of course.

So, Shouto would hold his tongue, not daring to argue with his father’s wishes, though he wished nothing more than to just lay low for one night, to at least pretend that he was a normal person, one who wouldn’t be forced into a loveless marriage. Instead, he’d quietly submit to the demands of the King, sitting on a throne next to his mother, watching as lord’s and lady’s danced around, mingling with one another. He did his best to keep in the disgust whenever a prominent lord would step up, their daughter standing behind them, and attempt to sell the royal family on one of their own, as if their daughters were simply tools used to gain an entry into a world they desperately wanted to be apart of. Every single time he’d come face to face with a desperate lord, he wished that he could just give them his status, with no charge. After all, they seemed to want it more than he did.

It was safe to say that Todoroki Shouto hated balls. He found them to be tedious and repetitive.

However, tonight was different.

Not fundamentally, no. Shouto still sat upon his throne, doing his best to look somewhat interested as his father droned on and on about some girl from a dukedom not too far from them. As his eyes drifted from person to person on the dance floor, he found himself pausing when his eyes land upon a woman dancing around while playing the lute, singing a lovely tune that carried throughout the entire ballroom. She was accompanied by a few other musicians, who seemed almost as jolly as she was. Shouto wasn’t quite sure what drew him to her. Perhaps it was her melodic voice, or maybe it was the semblance of freedom that her entire person exuded. She both irritated him and intrigued him, and that mix of emotions was what made his feet move towards you, seemingly not caring to hear what his father had to say for his sudden movement. He wasn’t able to make it far, though, for as soon as he entered the dance floor, he was met with a few women, some of which he recognized belonged to powerful dukedoms, who begged him for a dance. Even as he tried to step away politely, trying to get over towards the bard who captured his attention, they still persisted. He did his best to try and escape them without seeming like an asshole, but it was becoming more and more difficult.

Across the dance floor, singing the last note of the last song before intermission, stood you, a slightly goofy smile etched across your face. Coming down from the high of your latest performance, you quickly gave a bow, though you doubted that anyone noticed, and walked over to your group, giving out words of encouragement and praise, as most of them had never preformed at such a large gathering before, let alone a ball for the King. You laughed along with your group, listening to the newer ones ramble on about how grand the ball looks, how lucky you all were to be in the presence of such high ranking people.

As you continued to converse with those around you, you found yourself looking over towards the sea of people, who had now taken a pause in their dancing, opting to talk amongst themselves. Though they never spared even a glance at you or your friends, nor would they ever stoop as low as to talk to the likes of you, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth at the thought that they all had danced to your music. Not some fancy, uptown musicians that the King could’ve easily hired, but you and your traveling group of musicians. Though you tried not to get a big head about it, you found yourself welling up with pride.

You were so absorbed into your own world that you didn’t notice the group of women hounding a man behind you, slowing inching closer and closer to your group. By the time you finally noticed you were just moving to grab your lute, moving to get back into position, but it was too late. As you straightened up, putting on your smiling persona, you felt someone collide with you, pushing you forward and nearly causing you to trip over yourself. The sound of your lute crashing against the floor was drowned out by the chattering of the crowd, but you could practically feel the anger rolling off of you. Whipping around, you were fully prepared to give whoever bumped into you a piece of your mind, telling them that they owed you a new instrument. However, as soon as you eyes locked with the cold, heterochromatic gaze of the Prince, you found your words catching in your throat. 

Rather than giving the long lecture you’d mentally prepared, you instead bowed slightly, doing your best to remember what to do in the event of meeting a royal. “Your Highness, I apologize—“

As you looked up, you found yourself staring at a rather harsh glare from the Prince, one that made shivers go down your spine. Standing back up, you met his gaze, not backing down. In that moment, you could’ve sworn that you saw a hint of surprise flicker in his eyes, but as soon as one of the lady’s beside him spoke, the hint of emotion was gone, and was replaced by the usual cold aura he exuded.

“Oh my goodness, Prince Shouto, are you okay?” One of the women asked, sending you an unamused stare before going back to her mock fretting, “Did she hurt you?”

At the subtle shake of his head, you wanted to snort in response. After all, how the hell could you hurt him? He was the one who bumped into you. Just as you were about to excuse yourself, to escape to your friends who had suddenly disappeared at the sight of the Prince, you heard him clear his throat, signaling that he wanted your attention. Turning back to face him, you gave him a questioning look. 

Strutting up to you, he watched you with detached, emotionless eyes, and, for a moment, you felt your normally bubbly and carefree persona disappear. Now, all you felt like was a child who was getting scolded.

“Make sure you watch where you’re going, next time.” With that, he turned away from you, but you weren’t about to let that sit.

“Watch where I’m going?” You asked, making sure that you heard him right.

When he didn’t respond, you felt yourself growing livid. How dare he blame you when he was the one who bumped into you? Even if that wasn’t the case, in the end he was fine, and you were without your lute. Stomping over to him, you pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“I’ll have you know that you were the one who bumped into me,” You hissed, making sure to keep your voice quiet enough to not cause a scene, “Just because you’re some ‘high and mighty’ Prince doesn’t mean that you’re not above an apology.”

Shoving your broken lute into his face, you gave a mocking smile, doing your best to keep your anger at bay. “You owe me a new lute, and I expect that on top of my pay for tonight,”

Huffing, you stormed off to where the rest of your band were, realization of what you just said not quite hitting you. As you went off, your back turned towards the Prince, you didn’t get to see the absolute shock on his face, nor did you see the way he held off the women beside him, telling them that it was fine, and there was no need to cause a fuss over your outburst. Once you were over to your group, you were greeted with the shocked faces of your friends, some of them were focused on the broken lute in your hand, while the others were more focused on you. 

“Are you,” One of them started, reaching out a hand towards you, “Are you alright?”

You gave a hum of affirmation, easing some of their worries. “Don’t worry about me, my lute broke my fall,”

Once you were able to calm them down, another one piped up. “What did you say to the Prince? You looked pretty agitated,”

You waved your hand, trying to dispel their worries once more. “It wasn’t that bad, all I said was that just because he’s royalty doesn’t mean that he’s absolved from a simple apology. I mean, he’s the one who bumped into me.”

While your friends continued to stare at you incredulously, you couldn’t help but wonder just what they were thinking. 

It took you exactly two minutes to realize what you had just said, and to whom. 

Gasping, you put a hand up to your mouth, ducking your head as if that would hide you from the royals. You honestly don’t know what overcame you, all you know is that you were angry because he had the nerve to say that you were the one in the wrong, and that didn’t sit right with you. But now, oh god, you were surprised that he even let you walk away from him, after that outburst you had. While there weren’t stories about any sort of cruelness the Crown Prince had, there certainly were tales of how cold and dismissive he could be, and you certainly didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that.

Moving to whisper to one of your friends, you told them that you needed to leave, preferably at that moment. Having seen what just occurred, they ushered you to the door, telling you that it was probably for the best. So, as you made through the shadows of the magnificent ballroom, you made sure to stay hidden away from any prying eyes, just in case anyone saw their entertainment run away like prey from predator. Thankfully for you, your group seemed to distract all the nobility, playing another song as you left.

Turning around one last time, you found yourself locking eyes with the Prince once more, and, if you were a betting woman, you’d say that he was looking at you with both curiosity and, a bit of regret? It was a bit unnerving, to be stared down like that. However, remembering all of the times you’ve incorrectly guessed when gambling, you immediately crush that idea. There was no way he was looking at you with anything but contempt. Exiting the room, you made your way out of the castle and into the chilly air of the night, praying that you’d never have to see that Prince again.

Unfortunately for you, fate seemed to enjoy toying with you.

A few days after the royal ball, you found yourself in one of the dingiest taverns in the kingdom. While, of course, it wasn’t necessarily the best looking, you had to admit that both the patrons and the drinks were what kept you coming back for more. The unassuming tavern had become a home of sorts for you, somewhere that you could walk in to and be recognized immediately, greeted with a warm welcome. It was quite possibly your favorite place to preform, if not for the company, then because of the tips you’d receive.

Though you still mourned your dearly departed lute, the instrument that had been with you since you first started out, you were thankful to have backup options in case something awful happened. So, as you moved around the bar, singing some tune that lifted the mood of all the patrons, your fingers danced across your lyre, playing a melodic song that captivated all those around you. It was nice to have a change in pace, and although you would’ve much preferred the instrument you were most comfortable with, it was a pleasant change to hear the soft and angelic plucks of your lyre.

Dancing around the tavern, you gave flirtatious looks at the patrons who seemed to have the most money, giving them a wink as they tucked a few coins into the small bag at your side. Continuing to move around, you could vaguely hear the soft click of the front doors opening, indicating that yet another person had entered. Though you paid no mind, as you were wrapped up in your song, with your voice carrying an alluring tune, one that both put life into the bar, and seemingly had every person in there wrapped around your finger. As you turned around, your fingers still moving across the strings, you found yourself eyeing up a person you’d never seen here before. 

Their figure was cladded in a black cloak, with the hood pulled up, covering most of their face. The clothes they wore beneath were hard to depict, but from what you could make out, it seemed as though this person was either a thief or a well off worker, as they seemed too nice for the typical patron. Eyes trailing up to their face, you couldn’t really see anything above their nose, but one thing that stuck out to you was the marking on the left side of their face, the scarred flesh stopping mid-cheek. For a brief moment, your mind wondered if the person was actually the prince, though the rational side of your brain told you that the idea was ridiculous, it’d be stupid of the prince to come here, of all places. He’d certainly have a death wish coming here, if not for the thieves who would want to either hold him for ransom, then the common folk who’d want to kill him due to their hatred of his father. However, as your song ended, your eyes finally connected with the mysterious stranger.

A mixed match of steel gray and a cool blue eyes had locked with yours.

Feeling your heart freeze in your chest, you quickly gave a bow to the audience, quickly glancing from side to side to see if anyone else had noticed the dumb prince. When you realized that no one had noticed, you quickly walked over to the hooded man, slamming your hand down onto counter beside him. He seemed startled at your sudden aggression, but as you smiled sweetly to the bartender nearby, he allowed himself to relax, though you could tell that he was still on edge. 

“Can I get two pints of ale?” You asked, though it was more of a statement as you threw your coins onto the counter, nodding your head as the bartender went to pour your drinks.

Once you had the two mugs, you looked over at your new companion, nodding your head over to the most secluded area, telling him to follow. Walking towards the table in the corner, you found yourself blocking the prince’s body with your own, making sure that no one else figured out who he was. As you two slid into your seats, you pushed one of the mugs towards him, taking a long sip from yours.

Letting out a long sigh, you put your drink down, crossing your arms across your chest. “What are you doing here?”

He simply looked down at the drink set in front of him, his fingers tapping on the sides of the mug. When he didn’t give you an answer, you leaned in closer, your face certainly too close to be comfortable, especially knowing that the man sat in front of you was royalty. “Not going to answer me? Should I just assume that you were just wandering around town and you happened to stumble into any tavern you could find?”

He shook his head, his eyes finally meeting yours once more. As you continued to look at him with confusion swirling in your eyes, he bit his cheek, figuring out what exactly he should say.

“You said that just because I’m a ‘high and mighty’ prince, it doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t apologize for my actions,”

At that, you could feel your cheeks heating up, the mortification of what you’d said coming back full force. Taking a deep breath, you attempted to calm yourself, putting on a look of pure neutrality.

“So, you’re here to berate me for it? Have me arrested?” You truly shouldn’t have this much confidence, but you couldn’t help yourself. Being in your second home made you feel more comfortable, and you knew that those around you would help you out in a heartbeat. 

However, it didn’t seem to be necessary, as the prince shook his head, and it was then you realized that he seemed to have a rather awkward look on his face.

“No, that’s not it at all,” He started, his hands gripping onto his drink tighter, “I wanted to say that you were right,”

You blinked, not quite sure if you heard him correctly. “Pardon?”

“No one has ever been as straightforward as you. I know that I come off as cold and abrasive, and there are times when I truly mean to be. However, I shouldn’t have been so rude to you that night when I was the one at fault,” Staring at you with an all too sincere look, he continued, “So, I’d like to apologize for my actions,”

You continued to look at him with a blank look on your face. It was still baffling to you that, firstly, the prince came to perhaps one of the shadiest taverns in the kingdom, just to apologize to you, and secondly, the fact that he seemed to be an entirely different person that the last time you saw him, even though it hadn’t been long. The prince you saw at the ball was stuck up and rude, but the man you saw before you looked uncomfortable and unsure of himself. 

Clearing your throat, you averted your eyes from his, taking in the lively seen before you. “How did you even know I’d be here?”

“I asked your bandmates,” He said simply, as if it were the easiest answer in the world.

Your lips quirked downwards, and you made a mental note to scold them afterwards. After all, what would’ve happened if he wasn’t as kind as he was, then they’d be responsible for ether your  banishment or your arrest. 

Leaning back into your chair, your eyes flickered across his form, still unable to truly process the person in front of you. While you thought it was sweet of him to come all this way to formally apologize to you, you couldn’t help but think of how stupid he was, wandering around town all by himself. What would’ve happened if someone else were to have recognized him? 

Deciding to voice your worries, you spoke, “So, what in the world made you think that coming to the shadiest part of the kingdom all by yourself was a good idea?”

He tilted his head, and it took all of your self restraint to not sigh once more. “I’m not alone,” Pointing towards another cloaked figure hanging by the door, he smiled, “I had one of my trusted knights come with me,”

Before you could even breathe, he glanced over to his side, “Besides, I figured that I should give you this in person,”

Eyes following to where the prince had looked, you finally noticed the rather fancy looking lute sitting by his side, and you felt your jaw drop. Snapping back up to look at him, you gasped.

“Your Highness, I can’t—“

“Shouto.”

When you gave him the most incredulous look, he simply shrugged, taking a sip of his beverage, “We’re far from the castle, there’s no need to call me ‘Your Highness,’ and besides,” he started, a small smirk playing on his lips, “Weren’t you the one who said I shouldn’t bring attention to myself?”

You bit your tongue, doing your best to hold in a smart remark. While it may be true that the two of you are far away from his castle walls, it didn’t mean that you were safe from punishment should he see fit. So, you approached the situation cautiously, making sure that you were clear in your response.

“Shouto,” You started, and you were fairly certain that you could see his eyes light up, “You cannot just show up to give me an expensive lute just because your conscious caught up with you. In fact, you shouldn’t even be here at all,”

You could see his face fall for a second, but before you could even try to soften your original statement, his blank mask was put back on, his lips forming a thin line.

“I came here out of my own volition, only to fulfill a request that you made that night,” Leaning in a bit closer, he raised a brow, “Or do you not remember demanding me to give you a new one?”

Though you usually prided yourself on being able to keep calm in some of the most stressful situations, you couldn’t help the nervous feeling situating itself in the pit of your stomach. After all, it wasn’t every day that you were inches away from the prince’s face. 

Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you spoke once more, “I said many things out of anger, but I didn’t expect you to take that part seriously.”

He didn’t answer you with words, instead bringing the instrument over the table and setting it beside you, to which you immediately pushed it back towards him, your eyes unrelenting. For a few more seconds, the two of you found yourselves pushing the lute back and forth, neither of you wanting to give in.

After what had to have been the fifth or sixth time, the prince sighed, pushing it back towards you for the final time. “I don’t understand why you’re so adamant about not taking it, but you may as well just accept it. After all, you’ll be needing it for the next ball,”

Your head jolted up, eyes boring into his, “Can you repeat that?”

The prince’s eyes lit up once again in mischief, though he did his best to mute his facial expressions. “There’s a ball next month, and I’ve already told my father that you’ll be playing once more.”

“Are you serious—“

“So I suggest that you take the lute and start practicing, perhaps learn a few new songs before the ball,” Standing up, he threw one last smirk in your direction, “Oh, and if I see that you don’t have that lute, I’ll be sure to get you an even more costly one.”

With that, the prince made his way over to his knight, and the two of them exited the tavern, leaving you to wonder just what the hell happened.

So, after a month had passed, and, though you detested it, you learned a few more songs, you found yourself coming in contact with Shouto Todoroki once more. Only this time, rather than being able to blend into the crowd, simply singing and dancing your heart out, you felt a pair of mismatched eyes watching your every move, and, if you were lucky, you could make out the slightest hint of a smile on his features whenever you met his eyes.

Similarly to the last ball, Shouto refused to dance with anyone, choosing to sit upon his throne as he watched the lords and lady’s dance to their heart’s content, and, just like last time, he sat through the multitudes of lords offering their daughters to his father with the promises of alliances that he truly didn’t care for, nor did he need. 

However, instead of simply going through the motions, wanting nothing more for the ball to end, Shouto instead focused his sights on you, watching with a small smile on his face as you danced around from person to person. Instead of feeling a sense of resentment towards you like last time, he instead found great joy and entertainment in watching you preform, and he especially enjoyed it whenever the two of you made eye contact, only for you to turn your head, your entire body screaming with embarrassment. Though he wasn’t quite sure why, he could feel his heart speed up whenever you’d give him a subtle wave, a small enough gesture that no one else but him caught. He didn’t know why his face would flush at the sight of you smiling and laughing, or why he wished that he could be the one who made you look like that.

While the prince continued to watch you intently, you found yourself playing your last few songs, your fingers plucking the strings of the lute gifted to you by the stubborn prince. You did have to admit, the instrument he had made for you seemed to be made out of the finest materials, and it had a lovely sound. 

As the night grew longer, and you were on your final song, you found yourself growing more bold in your movements, singing even louder and even dancing alongside some of the nobles in the room, whom seem to have enjoyed the show you put on for them. Singing the last few bars of the song, you twisted your body to face the prince, and, with an unfounded surge of confidence filling your body, you gave him a sly wink before bowing to the crowd, taking your leave.

Since you promptly turned around and walked over to your bandmates, you didn’t notice the surprised look developing on the prince’s face. If you’d waited for just a moment longer, you would’ve seen the dramatic shift in color from his usually pale face to a red that could rival the shade of his hair. You would’ve also noticed, had you waited, that Shouto promptly excused himself, an action that wasn’t too unusual for the party hating prince, walking quickly down the steps and out the door in order to reach you.

Just before you could head back into the carriage the King had sent for you, you felt a hand tug at your wrist, preventing you from moving further. Whipping your head around, you made eye contact with Shouto, who also seemed to be just as shocked as you due to his actions. Raising a brow, you stepped closer to the man, giving him a quizzical look.

“Your Highness,” You started, glancing down at where his hand held you, “Is there something wrong?”

At the sound of your voice, Shouto released you from his grip, moving to rest his hands by his sides, “Ah, no, everything’s fine,”

Nodding your head slowly, you took a cautious step towards the carriage, not quite sure if you were dismissed. When you noticed the downcast look upon the prince’s face, you bit your lip, weighing your options carefully. Deciding that you may as well gamble with fate, you spoke up:

“It was nice to see you again, Shouto,” You started, giggling as the prince looked up at you with shock, “Even though it was entirely your fault for this,”

With that, you stepped one step further, grabbing one of his hands in yours and pressing a soft kiss to the back of his hand before waving goodbye, entering your carriage. As you entered, you watched the prince’s face turn from one of shock to one you couldn’t quite read. Just as the carriage was about to take off, with you wondering if you’d insulted him just now, you watched in surprise as he clambered into the seat beside you, shutting the door quickly behind him.

“What are you doing?” You hissed, looking out the window to see if anyone had seen him. 

Luckily for you, the only person who had seen the prince enter in with you was your coachman, and you supposed you could pay him off to keep his mouth shut. However, that still left you with the confusion as to why the prince jumped in beside you. As you continued to stare at him for an answer, he began to stumble over his words, something so uncharacteristically charming.

“I—“ He started, immediately cutting himself off as he tried to better answer your question, “Well, I’m not really sure what to say. My body was moving on its own,”

You gave him the most dry look you could’ve mustered, though you couldn’t find it in you to be irritated. Sighing, you leaned back into your seat, raising an eyebrow at the man. “You do know that I could be in serious trouble if you come with me, they’d think that I kidnapped you,”

He giggled at that, a sound that you wanted to hear more of. “Ah yes, the bard and serial kidnapper, (Y/N),”

You weren’t sure why, but the way he said your name made your heart flutter. However, you pushed that feeling down immediately, staring at him with a serious look in your eye. He seemed to understand the situation, opting to speak once more.

“I’m truly not sure why I jumped in, all I know is that I wasn’t ready to say goodbye just yet,” He smiled at you, taking your hand into his, “You make me feel so many different emotions that I have yet to feel,”

You scoffed, yet you still let him hold your hand, “Oh really? Like what?”

“Envy,” He stated simply, before his face grew into an even bigger grin, “Amusement, happiness, and perhaps a few more that I can’t quite describe,”

He leaned in closer, and you felt your throat dry, watching as he simply stared at you. You wanted both to kick him out of the carriage to save face, and to pull him even closer, though you weren’t quite sure which urge was stronger. In all honesty, you hoped that he couldn’t hear how quickly your heart was beating, not wanting him to get an even bigger ego boost than before. 

The two of you continued to stare at one another, neither of you making a move until the coachman coughed awkwardly.

“Miss,” He started, his voice catching both of you off guard, “Should we be heading off?”

Looking to the source of the voice, then back at the prince in front of you, you watched as he leaned in closer to your ear, whispering, “I’ve already told my guard to cover for me, I’ll be fine,”

Pursing your lips, you didn’t take your eyes off of the man in front of you as you called out, “Yes, let’s go.”

Rather than having him take you back to your home, you instead had the coachman take you to the center of the city, where the festivities never ended and the two of you could blend in without a trace. Before the two of you exited the vehicle, you quickly shoved off any symbols of royalty that cladded Shouto’s figure. He watched in amusement as you hastily took off his cloak and royal broaches, not bothering to help you one bit. As you sat back a bit, trying to see how he looked, you shrugged your shoulders, figuring that it was as good as it was going to get. 

“You just look like a wealthier man,” You sighed, tugging his hand as you exited the carriage, “I suppose that’ll have to do,”

“I am a wealthier man,” He pointed out, waiting for you as you paid a hefty amount to the coachman, hoping that it would buy his silence.

You simply waved your hand, as if dismissing him. Pulling him into the center, you began to show him the many attractions and foods that were in the city. You wanted to show him more of what he never got to see, wanted him to experience more than he ever got to do. Watching him stare in awe of the sheer amount of stalls that were open for the night market made your heart soar, and you couldn’t help but giggle whenever he’d ask you what something was. You allowed yourself to be pulled in every direction, letting him choose where he wanted to go, and what he wanted to try. There was one moment when you lost him in the crowd, being pulled away from his side. You were panicked at first, worrying that someone would’ve recognized him, and then the two of you would be in trouble. However, when you felt a hand intertwine with yours, you felt yourself let out a huge sigh, scolding him gently for leaving your side. He apologized with a cheeky smile, telling you that he got distracted by something.

For the rest of your time in the city, the two of you never disconnected your hands.

As the night began to wind down, you pulled him towards a clearing in the park, finding some space where no one could bother the two of you. Sitting down on the grass, you motioned for him to join you, staring out to watch the river’s current. You could feel his presence beside you, his body emanating a comforting warmth that almost had you leaning into him. Staring out into the horizon, neither of you spoke, instead opting to simply enjoy the moment with one another. 

It was surprising to you, just how well you seemed to get along with the prince. Though your first impressions of one another weren’t exactly something to marvel over, you were surprised by just how well your personalities went together. It felt as though you had known each other in another life, as if you grew to care for one another then, and it was flowing over to the present. Though you weren’t one to believe in myths such as that, you couldn’t help but smile at the idea of having known the prince in a past life, and you wondered what you’d done to be lucky enough to meet him once more. 

Turning your head to the side, you made eye contact with Shouto, whom, once caught, whipped his head to the other side, a steady blush rising from his neck. Throwing your head back, you let out a laugh at his actions, amused with how he responded. Scooting just a bit closer, you bumped his shoulder with your own.

“Enjoying the view?” You teased, giggling harder when his face became a bright red. 

Glancing at you from the corner of his eye, he smiled. “If I was?”

You playfully rolled your eyes, doing your best to keep the heat from rising to your own face. “Can’t blame you, really,”

Shouto let a laugh out at that, tilting his head back at the sound. Once more, the two of you grew silent, with nothing but the far away chatter from the townsfolk filling the night air. As the night grew colder, and the sky turned from a violet shade to a pitch black void, you turned your head to look at Shouto, giving him a sad smile.

“Well, you should probably head back now, wouldn’t want the King to start a war looking for you,”

He scoffed, but nonetheless stood up, extending a hand for you to take. Once the two of you stood up, with you brushing off your lap for any excess debris, Shouto continued to hold your hand in his, not ready to let you go just yet. When you noticed that he was making no effort in leaving, you gave him a quizzical look.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, before deciding to tease him a little, “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to get home,”

Rather than feeding into your teasing like normal, he instead fished for something in his pocket with his free hand, fumbling for a bit before finally pulling out a simple locket, one that you’d been not so secretly eyeing since the two of you got there. 

It was by no means an extravagant necklace, it was just a simple gold locket, the shape of a small oval and a chain that went down to your collarbone. You looked from the necklace in his hand back to his face, confusion taking over your features.

“Didn’t I tell you last time that I didn’t want you to go and buy me things?” You questioned.

He nodded, taking his hand out of yours and putting the necklace on you, his hands brushing the back of your neck for a moment longer than they needed to. “If there’s something you should know about me, it’s that I usually don’t comply,”

You huffed out a laugh, doing your best to disguise your flustered state, though you were sure he could read you like a book. “You know, if you keep buying me things, I’m going to get used to it,”

“Maybe you should,”

Before you could even protest, he moved in closer, pressing a kiss to your cheek. It was so soft and his movements were so unsure that you weren’t quite sure that you hadn’t imagined it. Touching the spot where his lips had rested, you looked up at him in shock, though he refused to make eye contact with you once more. 

“I hope to see you again, (Y/N),” He spoke, clearing his throat as he began to walk away.

You didn’t let him get far, however, as you quickly tug on his wrist, and as he turned to ask what you needed, you pressed your lips onto his, giving him a sweet kiss. At first, you felt him stiffen beneath you, and just as you were about to move away, to apologize immediately, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in closer. 

For a few minutes, the two of you simply stood in the darkness, pressing soft kisses to each other’s faces, basking in the glow of your reciprocated feelings. However, you knew that he needed to be back soon, if not for fear of being found out, then because the night was much too dangerous for a royal like him. Reluctantly, you pulled away from his embrace, giggling at his pout.

“You really need to get going now,” You said, brushing his hair away from his face, “You’re sure to be in trouble if they find you missing,”

He sighed, not wanting to move away, but knew you were right. Resting his forehead on yours, he gave you one last kiss, smiling hopefully at you. “So, can I see you again?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re the prince, you could send your knights to come and collect me at any time,”

When he gave you a flat look you grinned, nuzzling your nose into his neck. “Of course you can, just say the word and I’ll be there,”

Giving you one last bright smile, he finally detached himself from you, his face lit up in pure excitement.

“Then, how about tomorrow?”

Just like that, the two of you ended up spending as much time as you possibly could together, whether it be due to his father hiring you for the balls he hosted, or when Shouto snuck out of the castle to you. Though you couldn’t see each other every day, on the days that you could see each other, it felt as though you’d never even left the others side. 

You’d spend your days together mostly exploring more of the city, as Shouto had mentioned to you that, being the heir to the throne, he wasn’t allowed to be outside much. You made sure to give him all of the experiences he wanted, even the simple, mundane ones like going to the local bakery to buy some desserts. Other times, the two of you would simply lounge around outside, with Shouto’s head resting against your back as you strummed your lute, softly singing a ballad you had learned on the road. 

Of course, the two of you never really defined your relationship, and, in all honesty, you were afraid to even try to. You knew what you were getting yourself into, you knew that you shouldn’t hold such affection for the Crown Prince, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered whenever he looked at you, how you felt as though you were soaring whenever he touched you, or how you felt as though you were unstoppable whenever he kissed you. Deep in your heart, you knew that this wouldn’t last forever, that he’d eventually have his duties to attend, and you’d simply be a distant memory for him. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to worry about that now. Instead, you simply worried about the smaller things, such as making sure Shouto didn’t hurt himself, or making sure that no one would recognize him. 

You didn’t realize just how short your time with him would be.

On a bright, warm, summer day, you waited outside of the castle walls, hidden away from any of the guards patrolling the outside. Today you were supposed to be going on a picnic with Shouto, perhaps just bask in the sun’s rays. It had been a few days since you’d last seen him, since an old friend of the King was coming to visit, and Shouto was to help entertain them. Of course, you’d been understanding of the situation, simply telling him that you’d wait. So, when the day finally came that one of his most trusted knights had shown up at your door to personally deliver a letter from the prince, asking if you’d join him for a picnic, you were quick to agree.

Resting on the wall, you let out a small sigh. He was running a bit late, but you figured that he was probably just trying to find an excuse to leave his father. As you turned around to face the entrance to the castle, you noticed a carriage coming in at the front. You watched as a familiar head of red and white hair popped out of the carriage, making a small smile cross your lips. However, before you could even breathe, you noticed another figure come out beside him:

A rather regal looking woman had stepped out of the carriage beside him, linking her arm in his as she whispered something to him, giggling. As the two were making their way towards the castle, you watched the mysterious woman stare up at him with a look that you knew very well, holding your breath as you saw her pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. You watched as he didn’t push her away, instead allowing her to latch onto him. Humming to yourself, you watched as his eyes wandered around, finally locking with yours, his eyes going comically wide. But you didn’t bother waiting around to see what he’d do. Instead, you simply frowned, making your way back towards the city, deciding that it’d be a lovely day to go and busk in the park. 

For the rest of the day, you found yourself seated on the grassy ground, strumming the lyre that you’d exchanged for your lute at home, singing to your hearts content. You ended up making good tips, and you ended up having an audience by the end of your final song. Once you had finished, you bowed slightly towards the crowd, before moving to head back into town, hoping that you could get a drink before heading home.

However, fate seemed to enjoy playing with your emotions.

Just as you were nearing your favorite tavern, you heard a voice call out to you, followed by a hand catching your wrist. Turning around, you found yourself facing a green haired knight, who looked to be out of breath.

“Sir Midoriya,” You started, turning so you could better face him, “How can I help you?”

He took in a deep gulp of air before shuffling through his belongings, eventually settling on a folded piece of paper, handing it to you. Curiously, you slowly opened the piece of parchment, scoffing as you looked at the location Shouto had wanted you to meet up. Folding the note back up, you handed it back to Midoriya, giving him a smile full of venom.

“Sir Midoriya, please do me a favor and tell His Royal Highness that he can go and fuck himself for all I care,” Giving the man a bow, you entered the tavern, only to quickly turn back and add, “Word for word, please.”

As you slammed the door shut, you thought that would be the end of it, though you supposed that was just wishful thinking. Once the beautiful blue sky of the afternoon had turned into a rosy pink color, you found yourself sitting in one of the more seclusive parts of the tavern, watching the patrons of the bar as you slowly sipped on your drink. You weren’t drunk by any stretch of the word, having not really been in the mood to be throwing up your guts the next day, though as soon as you heard the door open, and your eyes landed on a familiar looking figure, you wished that you had been. 

You watched as mismatched eyes scanned the crowd, eyebrows raising just a hair when his eyes met yours. Figuring that leaving was no longer an option, you waited for the prince to make his way over to you, wanting nothing more than to get this conversation over with. As he finally sat down in front of you, his eyes boring into yours, you took a long swig of your drink, letting out a sigh as you swallowed. 

Setting the mug down, you crossed your arms. “Long way away from home, Your Highness,”

At the sound of his title, he flinched, but he didn’t let that deter him, “(Y/N), let me explain—“

“What’s there to explain?” You questioned, your head tilting in almost a mocking manner, “I get it, you’re a prince. You were going to marry some rich girl eventually, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“(Y/N)—“

“It’s not like we had a chance anyways, it was all just supposed to be fun, right?” You asked, putting on a guarded smile.

He sighed, and you could tell you were getting under his skin. “Would you let me explain?”

When you didn’t say anything, he took it as his chance to go. “I didn’t even know of her until a few days ago. She’s the daughter of one of the most influential Lord’s in the kingdom, and apparently my father made a deal with him, that’s why I’ve been with her,” He reached out to hold your hand, inwardly letting out a breath of relief when you didn’t pull away, “I never wanted this to just be ‘fun,’ and you know that,”

You let out a laugh, though it’s devoid of any humor. “I didn’t think that you were hiding some secret wife, Your Highness, but her being here just reminds me of how different we are. I’m not royalty, and there’s certainly no way that your father would let you be with some random commoner, so is it really worth it to prolong something that’s bound to break?”

“You don’t have to be royalty, I could always,” He trailed off, but you knew what he was getting at.

“Do you really think he’d let you get away that easily?” You asked, and when he didn’t respond you continued, “Besides, you shouldn’t throw away the rest of your life for some random bard, Your Highness. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,”

Pulling your hand away from his, you stood from your seat, giving him a small bow as you walked towards the front door, but not before whispering to his knight to take him back. As you opened the entrance of the tavern, you looked back at the prince you left behind, your heart cracking slightly as you touched the locket on your neck. Smiling, you let the door shut behind you, closing that chapter of your life.

About four months after the last time you saw the Prince, you heard news that he was to marry one of the Lady’s from a dukedom not too far away from the kingdom, one that had a monopoly over some profitable trade routes. Though the King insisted it was a marriage of love, word quickly spread amongst the townsfolk that the Prince was not particularly fond of his bride-to-be, but none of them dared to speak it. 

A year later, the Prince had married his “sweetheart,” and you had found another. While you loved them dearly, you still couldn’t deny the hole in your heart, one that longed to be filled, yet would never be completely whole. 

One night, when your lover had long since gone to bed, you sat out in the night, letting the cool breeze wash over you. As you looked up to the stars, you could faintly make out a constellation of two lovers, and, as your hand went to touch the locket sitting above your heart, you prayed to any deity that would listen to you, pleading with them to bring you back to your prince in the next life, and that next time, the two of you could finally be happy.

Little did you know, that in a castle not too far away from you, a certain prince was looking at the very same stars in the sky, praying for the same thing.

[katsidhe]

Hello as a long time silent lurker with post notifications on, and someone who has been very into the minecraft roleplay for about 9 months, I am oh so incredibly intrigued on your thoughts! I hope you don't mind if I ramble a little. Sam (both minecraft and spn, but in this context the minecraft one) is one of my favourite characters because he's so incredibly complex. The prison story has sparked so much discussion and conflict in this fandom, so I would love to hear your thoughts if you want to share!

oh noooooooooooo don’t enable me. (Jk <3)

I’m putting this under a read more for those of you who don’t want to be inflicted with my minecraft roleplay brain worms. I would apologize but I think we’re well past that.

So, like, full disclosure that I am pretty new to dsmp and am surely missing out on big ol swathes of Essential Character Content, etc etc. But I do know the basics, and I’ve (naturally) watched all the Torture Box Content, because I mean come on, that’s my brand.

k so First of all, THE most essential part of any media: x-coded y girl. Dream is a textbook Cas-coded Sam girl. Sam (Minecraft) is a Cas-coded Dean girl. Quackity is a Dean-coded Sam girl. I’d say Tommy is Dean-Dean. Techno is, hmm, Cas-Cas. Okay, important part done.

Minecraft Sam is very fun! I find it absolutely delightful that he clings to moral high ground while torturing and starving a prisoner. And at least from what I’ve seen, there’s a lot of room for interpretation as to the level of guilt and involvement he actually feels about what’s being done to Dream. He goes back and forth between justifying the treatment as something Dream categorically deserves, and justifying it as a means to an end. Whether that end is the book itself, or whether it’s Quackity’s cooperation/satisfaction, or whether it’s some twisted and bloody sense of justice and duty, seems to vary wildly. On top of that, of course, is the irony that Dream was the one to give him this commission and this job in the first place: in every respect, it’s a duty to Dream (to punish him; to secure him; to uphold his rules) that Sam’s fulfilling. Dream isn’t the only one to suffer from Sam’s inflexibility surrounding the entire concept of Dream: Tommy and Ponk do too.

And yet it’s not the inflexibility that ends up hurting Dream the worst: it’s the gaps in that rigidity. If Sam had kept the prison operating as apparently originally commissioned, it would be inhumane but just about bearable: hardly the level of absurd, over-the-top war crime that it’s reached by now. His choice to begin starving Dream in earnest seems to have been mostly an emotional reaction, after Tommy’s death. (Ironic, too, that Tommy also suffered the result of this choice.) And this is fine, because it’s not active: it’s passive, something that’s happening by inaction. Same with giving Quackity specially made weapons and total carte blanche.

The level of trust that Dream has in Sam’s sense of duty is also fascinating. Even as late as the most recent stream, after the guy’s been permitting him to be tortured for months, Dream appeals to Sam’s need to keep Dream static, in one place as his prisoner, in order to save his life. Incidentally, I do think that convincing Sam to keep Quackity from straight-up murdering him is the only concession Dream was actually hoping to win with that conversation. because like, food and a courtyard visit? after a jail break? Like hell is Sam going to grant that, even before the stunt he and Techno pulled, and Dream knows it. I think that the rest of that conversation was just to deflect, and keep Sam from questioning Dream more sharply about whatever he and Techno have planned. Bringing up Tommy and letting Sam go off on his predictable diatribe about morality and just desserts seemed similarly strategic: Dream knows what Sam thinks about what kind of treatment he deserves. He’s had months to figure it out, and it wasn’t exactly rocket science to begin with.

Anyway, that trust is the same reason Dream appealed (unsuccessfully) to Sam when Quackity first showed up: it devastated him to realize that he’d miscalculated the degree of Sam’s willingness to set aside his duty in this one particular way. Quackity in general represents a HUGE blind spot in Sam’s otherwise completely rigid inflexibility: so huge it’s almost baffling, given what Sam was ready to do to Tommy and Ponk and Ghostbur. But Quackity represents a loophole Sam badly wants. He badly, badly wants some good old-fashioned vengeance, without dressing it up with any pretensions of procedure or justice, but he can’t allow himself to actively act on those impulses—or else he would be Bad, and he can’t have that. He has to believe himself to be Good, and he wants to indulge himself with Dream’s suffering anyway. So he explains that, actually, Dream’s treatment is Dream’s own fault. It’s hilariously deluded.

Which brings me to Quackity, because what makes Quackity fun is that he’s actually NOT hilariously deluded—not about this, at least. Unlike Sam, he’s not laboring under the insane mental acrobatics necessary to convince himself that torture is Good Actually. He knows that what he’s doing is terrible, but he owns it: he’s fine admitting that he enjoys it, that he’s doing this for personal gain and personal vengeance and not for reasons of high-minded civic duty. He’s justifying the torture with brutal simplicity: Dream has hurt him and Dream has something he needs, done and done. He seems to be a firm believer in vengeful and disproportionate retribution, just as with his whole Butcher Army thing. To which I say, neat and fun! I also really really enjoy the power dynamic between him and Dream. Dream is someone who commands respect and fear and power, who could murder Quackity with one hand tied behind his back if they were on equal footing, and who probably barely spared him a thought as a threat. Quackity lives in terror of the thought of Dream escaping and wreaking his vengeance. And Quackity is trying his very best to wrestle that power away from him.

He seems to be pretty unpracticed and ineffective at torture, too—like, yeah, I get this is Minecraft and props are limited, but torturing someone long-term with an ax and a sword is going to be more than a bit unwieldy. and did he even bring in health potions his first day? It’s pretty telling and hilarious that Sam is the one who offers the shears, a far more practical choice of tool. Not to mention that the entire premise of his interrogation gives Dream massive, massive incentive to never give Quackity anything. Quackity straight up admits to Dream that the information he wants is the only reason he’s letting Dream live, which is utterly counterproductive if he wants the book sometime this year. Functionally, he needs to torture Dream not merely into admission, but into suicide. And as the days and weeks and months pass, he’s still got nothing to show for it but growing vindictiveness, paranoia, and frustration. By the time of the latest stream, he’s completely lost the plot—his threats don’t even make sense, his violence is ineffective and unhinged and indiscriminate. He’s lost all leverage and he’s needlessly (re)made a powerful enemy in Technoblade.

So, like, characters like Lucifer are fun because they’re good at torture. Characters like Quackity are fun because they’re bad at torture. But that doesn’t much matter. He doesn’t need to be particularly talented, or strong, or skilled to make Dream’s existence hell: the bare facts of the situation are more than enough for that. What does he learn, over the course of these visits—what skills does he hone, what kinds of violence does he discover that he can stomach? What depths of ruthlessness and creativity and hatred does he discover within himself? What threats does he make that he finds himself following through on before he’s even thought through the implications? It’s a learning curve, for him and Dream both. They’re learning each other, they’re learning the corners of this little hell together. Dream wasn’t expecting him to be capable of this degree of hostility or violence. Quackity is sick of being underestimated.

Which brings me finally to Dream. My general and hastily-gleaned impression of the fandom gives me the distinct impression that there is somehow a school of thought convinced Dream’s earned this treatment? Which baffles me. not only in how its absurd extremity (daily torture in a tiny box for literal months, jesus fucking christ) isn’t something even the most terrible villain could earn, but also in how Dream himself strikes me more as a morally gray fallen/falling antihero type than anything else. I was honestly completely prepared to find him to be a straightforward Bad Guy pre-prison, but that’s not at all my impression. He’s clearly got people and things he cares about and wants to protect, and big picture goals he’ll ruthlessly sacrifice anything to advance (ahem Cas-coded Sam girl). Really, it’s more that roleplays don’t tend to lend themselves easily to those types of narrative classification: nearly every character is a POV character; consuming the content from every perspective is nearly impossible. There aren’t super neat ways to sort antagonists and protagonists in essential terms, only in their relationships to one another. In terms of manipulation, war crimes, power-grabbing, and general destruction, practically everyone on the server is guilty to some degree or another. Dream’s treated Tommy pretty damn terribly, but that hardly makes him unique. What does make Dream unique is that he’s been singled out for near-universally-agreed-upon confinement (which oh so conveniently aligns with him being held as a tool, for information). And that’s neat!

…Look, tldr I just like it when people are in torture boxes. more media should have torture boxes, they are good and fun. 

[jackoshadows]

I read something rather hilarious today and it made me realize that the fundamental issue for a lot of A Song of Ice and Fire fans is that they are not sure what they want Sansa to be. 

Sansa stans proclaim her as being the most intelligent character in the series but then get angry when readers criticize her actions because she is just a naïve, innocent little girl who does not know any better. Any criticism of Sansa in the first book is mainly because Arya and Jon are biased against her due to jealousy and is not in anyway indicative of who Sansa really is. She has no flaws and is perfect as is at the start but also she is a great character because she has tremendous character growth over 5 books and learns and changes so much.

I recall an Arya post I made once about Arya’s traditionally feminine characteristics and mentioned a book canon fact that Arya was better than Sansa at managing a household. This immediately got me a triggered Sansa stan in the comments who claimed that I – and Arya - was wrong about this and that Sansa was the expert in household management since that was her forte. Despite me and several others pointing out that Arya’s extroverted nature and friendliness with the Winterfell working staff meant that she could manage them better, we were accused of ‘demonizing’ Sansa for implying that Sansa did not enjoy interacting with the smallfolk.

This is how the Sansa stan metas about how Arya would have never survived KL came about – from a need for Sansa to excel in an area where Arya could not. So despite Arya having survived Harrenhal by keeping silent and enduring abuse and despite Sansa impulsively trying to push Joffrey off a bridge (only prevented by the Hound), we were constantly told that Arya would have been killed off in KL while Sansa survived using her wits and ladylike demeanor. This school of thought was so widespread that it actually made it’s way into the TV show – a prime example of how Sophie Turner and D&D were basing Sansa off Sansa stan metas on the internet instead of the actual books that GRRM wrote.

Let’s take the most prominent example of this clash of viewpoints regarding Sansa – her being the smartest character in the books. Something that the TV show audience was hit over the head with using a huge hammer and we got basically any character introduced on the show literally looking at the camera and telling us – ‘Sansa is the smartest’

Right at the start of book one Robb, Jon and Arya view Joffrey as a vain, pretentious ‘little shit’ from observing his behavior. Sansa is the lone exception who thinks highly of him. Even after watching Joffrey sadistically mutilate Mycah and attempt to injure/kill Arya, Sansa sides with him over her family. We are told by Sansa stans that a) she is just a naïve, innocent girl and b) she is cleverly siding with her future in laws and also trying to protect Arya from her stupidity of sticking up for a low class butcher’s boy.

Sansa tattling all of Ned’s plans to Cersei is also blamed on Ned rather than the person who actively made the decision to betray her father just so she could marry Joffrey and become queen. Let’s see what Sansa knows at this point -  Cersei Lannister ordered that Sansa’s pet direwolf Lady be put to death for something that she played no part in. Jaime Lannister has killed Stark men and run off. Ned tells her the following:

Father’s mouth twitched strangely. “Sansa, I’m not sending you away for fighting, though the gods know I’m sick of you two squabbling. I want you back in Winterfell for your own safety. Three of my men were cut down like dogs not a league from where we sit, and what does Robert do? He goes hunting.”

 “Sweet one,” her father said gently, “listen to me. When you’re old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who’s worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. This match with Joffrey was a terrible mistake. That boy is no Prince Aemon, you must believe me.”

 To the girls he said, “I am looking for a fast trading galley to take you home. These days, the sea is safer than the kingsroad. You will sail as soon as I can find a proper ship, with Septa Mordane and a complement of guards... and yes, with Syrio Forel, if he agrees to enter my service. But say nothing of this. It’s better if no one knows of our plans. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

Ned let’s Sansa know that it’s dangerous in KL for both girls, that he was sending them home for their safety and to not let anyone know about their plans. What more should Ned explain to his 11 year old daughter to get her to comply? Should he explain to her the complicated politics of KL before she deigns to obey him? Should she have the basic intelligence to acknowledge that her older, wiser father knows better than her about these things and follow his orders? Or should she go tattle to Cersei despite knowing what the Lannisters have already done against her family?

Oh, but Sansa is just a naïve, innocent little girl. But Sansa is also so intelligent.

When Ned loses his head at the end of book one, Sansa finally realizes that the Lannisters are not the good guys – something that the rest of her siblings figured out in like the second chapter of the books. And Sansa stans are like – wow, Sansa is so smart now! She’s like the smartest Stark. Sansa then proceeds to trust the Tyrells  - because they are good looking and charming and charismatic - while they play her to get power over the Lannisters. But she’s so smart! Sansa then trusts Dontos who is LF’s tool. But she’s so smart! Dany and Jon are so stupid as leaders – look at all their mistakes. But Sansa ­- she thought that one time about how she was going to make the people love her when she becomes queen – surely the best ruler/queen in the books!!

But this is all in the previous 3 books. Let’s look at the most recent Sansa in the Vale. Any growth? Which brings me to the hilarious post I read today and Sansa’s conversation with Maester Coleman.

Maester Coleman clearly tells Sansa that these high doses of Sweetsleep is dangerous for SweetRobin in the long term . No ifs, buts or maybes about it. And it’s clear that Sansa knows this considering it’s right there in the text – “Maester Coleman cares only for the boy though. Father and I have larger concerns” . While Coleman is talking to her about his worry for SR’s health, Sansa is pondering over how much she likes to dance and whether she should give it a try as Alayne. And when Coleman, once again hesitates at the end, Sansa basically threatens him with LF –  take it up with the scary boss man. Nowhere in the text does she herself evince any concern for SR’s health or express doubts about the effects of sweetsleep on SR.

But we are once again informed by asoiaf experts/Sansa stans that Sansa is just a naïve, innocent 13 year old and like they did with Ned, blame Maester Coleman for not explaining it to her in more detail. Sansa does not have google or Wikipedia you guys! – how can she know that Maester Coleman is right? It’s not like his qualifications as Maester is relevant or anything.

I mean, Jon Snow at the wall – the character who is often mocked for being stupid and knowing nothing in contrast to smart Sansa by tumblr – should not have taken any of Maester Aemon’s advice without looking up what ‘kill the boy and let the man be born’ on Wikipedia and only then follow that advice. It’s not like Maesters have trained and learned about these things at the Citadel or anything.

So we are back to excusing Sansa’s actions because she is the innocent, naïve, little 13 year old who is not aware of sweetsleep being dangerous for SweetRobin and it is all the Maester’s fault because he did not explain it to her properly and Sansa should not just take a physician’s word at face value without checking up on it with Wikipedia first and that’s not available to her.

Oh, but also Sansa is super smart now. Smartest Stark, best ruler, most compassionate and maternal etc.

This is basically the dichotomy that we are going to continue to see from Sansa stans as Sansa starts to become more LF like in the books – she is after all currently learning from him, following his orders and thinking that he knows best about all things – even where SweetRobin is concerned.

And Sansa fans want her to be the expert player of the games – from pawn to player – is how they see her endgame. But the expert players of the game – Littlefinger, Varys – are not good people. They betray, backstab, employ treachery, destroy families. If Sansa wants to join their ranks and play the game, then she is going to have to get her hands dirty and do some not so nice things.

And that is not going match up with the Sansa stan viewpoint that Sansa is essentially a very good person who only does bad things because older, wiser people don’t explain things properly enough to nice, innocent naïve little Sansa. It’s going to be fun seeing all the mental gymnastics they do as they try to justify Sansa’s actions as being both super smart and also because she is naïve and innocent. Sansa does not know, she does not have Wikipedia is already one of the most hilarious excuses I have read today. 

And this is why show Sansa was such a mess and there was such a huge dissonance between what we are told by the cast/crew about the character and what is shown on the screen. We are told that she is a compassionate, non-ambitious, non-power hungry character – and yet she is written as LF 2.0. We are told that she is the smartest ever while all the time she is written as being an utter moron deliberately sabotaging her brother when he is trying to save the North from an apocalyptic threat. We are told that she is a super politician/diplomat while she is written as a spoiled child brat needlessly antagonizing a much needed ally. We are told that she loves her family (Lone wolf dies etc.)  but she is written as betraying them for power.

Sansa fans – like D&D and Sophie Turner for ex. – have an image of her which is contradicted by the writing but they are unable to reconcile these halves and so we end up with nonsensical, garbage characters like show Sansa and hilarious justifications of her actions on the internet from her fans. 

[kinetic-elaboration]

February 17: 2x07 Catspaw

It’s not Halloween but it is my mom’s birthday so a very good opportunity to watch Catspaw.

So we start with Sulu and Scotty missing on an away mission but why exactly the Enterprise is here and what the away mission was is not explained...

Also speaking of interesting and unusual combos--Scotty and Sulu!

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

I like Uhura’s nails. They go so well with her communications board. Even her job is stylish.

Oooh, possessed dead mannequin crew member warning the ship that it has been cursed?? Very promising.

Also falling like that was an impressive stunt.

Lol Assistant Chief Engineer Dealle is in charge because the first and second in command are going after the third and fourth in command. What would TNG have to say about that??

According to the Amazon trivia, Uhura was supposed to be the next in command and in charge of the ship in this ep but NBC didn’t want a woman in charge and can I just say that if this is true we were ROBBED.

Oooh mysterious fog.

Chekov and his terrible wig. Should have left him in charge.

Also it’s interesting that this is the first Chekov episode in production order and he’s actually not the navigator. He’s Spock’s backup.

This is like a game of telephone: Chekov tells Desalle to tell Uhura to tell Kirk.

This is a very serious, creepy, mysterious opening in a lot of ways (the dead crewman mystery) but I remember this as more of a goofy, silly episode. (But actually upon having now seen the whole thing... it’s more serious than I remembered in its sci fi concepts! I guess I was just remembering the witches lol.)

Honestly those witches... I guess Macbeth is a pretty big part of Earth Lore lol. I think McCoy is alarmed and unsettled by this while Spock is more intrigued and Kirk just thinks it’s dumb.

I love Kirk’s face when Spock’s only comment is “bad poetry.” Hilarious. Like “I love you but please be more helpful. This is Serious Time not time to play games and fuck with me.”

I really like Kirk in this episode. He’s giving off smart, curious explorer vibes. (Although I will say, with the whole episode down... he is very harsh on the aliens. I mean he lost a man in the opening and so he’s not down to clown but still.. I think he overestimates their hostility some.)

Creepy castle. Trick-or-treating. I want the deleted scene where Kirk explains Trick-or-Treating to Spock.

Kirk looks so frustrated by the cat.

“I’m not that green.” Lol.

What a talented cat actor!! Trot trot trot.

“Bones? I mean...the other Bones?” Maybe a different nickname today. That’s a really underrated joke.

I wish they’d picked up on Spock and put some Vulcan horror in there too. (Although I guess creating horror tropes wasn’t exactly their intention...) I wonder what Vulcan subconscious horror is like.

That was actually a pretty cool transition from the dungeon to the dining room.

Kirk would be more impressed with all this if they hadn’t killed someone. He’s never up for fun and games when someone’s dead. He’s very dubious about all of this, especially the cat.

Hmm, they are not native.

Kirk’s face just screams: “So the cat...is talking...to you?” (Actually you know what, I do think it’s very interesting that Korob can understand Sylvia even when she’s speaking in a different language.)

I bet young Spocks read about wizards and familiars and was super taken with the idea.

I don’t believe for one second that Spock’s thoughts are black and white lol. This decadent bitch? No way.

None of this is Kirk’s interest. Illusions, weird tricks, people who don’t give straight answers. This is not the way to impress him or make him want to help you in any way.

McCoy the jewel expert. These look real!

You like shiny stuff right humans? Pretty crystalline forms for you?? Not in a post-scarcity utopia!

McCoy has just realized this woman IS the cat.

Hmmm, telepathy, like Spock’s?

I want that Enterprise necklace!!

“You do with your minds what we do with tools.”

Lol at Kirk thinking he’s won because he can send another search party. Like... how’d the last search party work out for you?

Mmm, Kirk looking at the necklace. That’s some Acting.

Credits to navy beans.

“An Earthman like yourself...”

These aliens are very interesting. Very, totally alien, as Spock says. This idea that they tried to read the humans’ minds and missed their target is just so cool. Like, they weren’t trying to create a weird Halloween experience, they thought they were creating a familiar home for the aliens. “Oh, a castle, just like home!”

So it sounds like this planet is not that far away from Earth. The aliens are coming closer...

Haha Sylvia says she’s not a puppet but ironically--she is exactly, literally a puppet.

I’m just going to say it: Sylvia is one of the best female characters in TOS. Like should I be insulted that the lady alien went insane and emotional and messed everything up? Probably but I prefer to think of it as her being intrigued and invested in her own power and possibilities and then she goes overboard.

Anyway this is Macbeth whoops

“You torture our specimens.”

So what is their mission??

Hmm, she’s really into Kirk. And he knows just how to manipulate her: telling her she’s not really a woman, she’s not real, then transitioning into Honeypot Mode.

“I can be many women,” she says and just puts on different wigs.

Whoops she found his conscious mind. So much for manipulating her.

And so the familiar becomes the wizard.

This is sad; they could have become friends with the aliens. Korob doesn’t seem so bad.

Big cat!! Really big cat! Not the most terrifying creature at all; the nicest and softest. I'm not convinced that cat is big; I think it's pretty obvious the hallway is just small. However, I like the idea. I wish I had a super big cat to be friends with.

[Cat screams continue]

“Well at least we found them.”

Spock is so unruffled. "Hmmm, this is most unpleasant. If only we had some kind of weapon or something..."

“I got the transmuter. It’s mine now.”

Sylvia is obviously still into him lol.

“Don’t let her touch the wand.” It’s a transmuter Spock have you not been listening?

THE PUPPETS.

Spock wants to study them. Of course he does. And so the specimen becomes the scientist and the scientist the specimen.

...Overall an interesting ep. But I do have some questions. One of those eps that leaves a lot of world bulding unsaid, which leaves room for fun speculation.

So, first, these aliens came from very far away, and now they’re in our galaxy. Mom question if it was an “invasion.” I think so, at least in a neutral sense. But what was their purpose? Why were they traveling to new planets? Do they need something their planet can’t give them? Or are they just exploring for fun/curiosity--as we ourselves do?

Sometimes they’d speak as if they had some greater mission--the references to the old ones, their insistence on getting the humans’ help as if they relied on it, their “tests” like they were looking for something specific--but the actual mission was never stated or even hinted at. So I guess it’s just as possible they were exploring as intelligent beings do, and then found these humans, and came to really like them and just thought the alliance (or possible further study) could be advantageous.

Are these two the only aliens left or are there others back home? I assume there are others but it wasn’t completely clear if the “old ones” were memories or beings with, like, literal oversight.

Also, why were Scotty and Sulu on the planet in the first place? Spock says the planet has never known to have beings on it. So was the Enterprise just like triple checking that or did they have a reason to go down? Did Korob and Sylvia lure them? Because I felt like Kirk's annoyance with them was rather unfounded if his men just invaded their home first. I tend to think that they were in the area and something on the planet attracted them--that the aliens specifically wanted them to come down. That, and the killing of Jackson, would make Kirk’s reaction to them more reasonable.

I’m not saying I don’t have sympathy for the aliens because I definitely do. Like, we would absolutely do the same thing: find the interesting specimens and examine them. These are curious aliens. A lot of what they do seems to be in fun also--providing the humans with a setting they think the humans will like; offering them things; playing around with illusion. Of course then there are hostile actions--like killing Jackson, manipulating Scotty, Sulu, and Bones, and harming the Enterprise. But it’s not entirely clear to me if these are meant to be hostile actions, or if they just don’t see them as that serious--or perhaps, serious but worth it. Also some of it might just be Sylvia going power-mad (like the Enterprise torture, which Korob didn’t like).

I wonder what the aliens were doing on the planet before the Enterprise arrived. Were they in their real forms, or were they creating other illusions? They took these forms (human and cat) from the Enterprise crew’s mind so one would assume they looked different before the Enterprise got there. Were they on their way somewhere else? Could they have already known about Earth, even?

I like these aliens because they really do feel alien. I think that’s very difficult; a lot of sci fi (including Star Trek, often) presents aliens against the bar of humans: how are they different from humans, as opposed to, what are they like? These aliens have some very impressive powers: mind-reading, mental control, shapeshifting, “magic.” But their powers also have limits: they don’t always read minds correctly, for example, and Sylvia is so easily corrupted by her newfound love of sensation. And like I said before, their actions seem erratic and the morality of them hard to parse, perhaps because they’re just operating on a completely different moral plane than people.

Like, why DID they kill Jackson? Did Sylvia do it just because she could? Was it part of the test? Korob says later “you were warned not to come and you came anyway, that shows loyalty,” and the nature of the warning--the curse--was also taken from the horror subconscious. So maybe they thought this is how you communicate with humans, and the idea that killing one of them was so egregious didn’t occur to them, either because they see the humans as specimens, and would no more mourn our deaths than we mourn the deaths of lab rats (or than Kirk et.al. mourned the aliens tbqh), or because they just have a different relationship to death on their planet.

And what was the purpose of taking control of Scotty, Sulu, and Bones? Some of the dialogue implies that control is part of their telepathy--and yet they seem more than capable of reading minds without actually altering what the object of the mind reading does. Do they gain control when they go particularly deep in their interrogations? Why are they interrogating that deeply at all, and what are they STILL looking for after taking control of 3 people?

Another possibility is that they had too many specimens and didn’t know enough about them to feel comfortable letting them all roam free. They were outnumbered 5 to 2. The fewer people who are free, the easier to interrogate them and learn about them--they also use physical restraints at times, and after they try talking to 3 and find it too much, they switch to talking to 1 at a time.

And then finally, as with the killing of Jackson--it might just be something they did because they can. And I have to say, humans would be the same. Like if we had a group of aliens, we’d use the tools at our disposal to corral and restrain them and then learn about them, not necessarily malevolently, but for our own safety and sense of power and control. And some people probably would cross lines. Like, Korob and Sylvia aren’t entirely benevolent OR malevolent. They’re just alien.

The transmuter was very weird. I have to say, it didn’t really make sense. They seemed to use their powers just fine without it most of the time, which is why I’m inclined to think Sylvia wasn’t lying when she said it just magnified their abilities. BUT then why did destroying it destroy all the illusion? It seems pretty obviously just a plot device that would allow the episode to wrap up in an hour.

I’m also confused and intrigued by the line that they used the transmuter to get to the planet. How do you use it to travel?

And...why did they die in the end? If those were their real forms, you’d think being returned to them wouldn’t harm them in any way. And yet they seemed to disintegrate right there. They did seem very delicate and we don’t know what their native planet was like. Perhaps they needed the transmuter/their shape-shifting abilities to survive on this planet at all.

Actually just occurred to me--the transmuter. Maybe their mind reading abilities are inherent but their shape-shifting isn’t. Although that raises the question of how they could have built something so big when they are so small--does the wand itself change shape and size?

One interesting thing about these aliens is that even though they appear as humans without being humans, they are NOT energy beings like a lot of other aliens who shape-shift to human forms. They haven’t transcended to a state beyond teh physical form. Unlike the Organians or the aliens from Return to Tomorrow, there’s no sense that they are purposefully evolving or striving toward being so mentally powerful that they no longer need the body--they do have bodies and they are physical beings, but one of their, imo, inherent powers is this extreme mental capacity, including a version of telepathy and a version of shapeshifting.

The Amazon summary says they are “aliens on a mission of conquest” but I don’t think that’s true.

Anyway idk if I had other thoughts but I’m becoming decreasingly coherent so I think it’s time for bed!

Next up is I, Mudd. I’m not a big Harvery Mudd fan but I seem to remember there were some funny bits in that ep so it should be fun.

[lunamusings]

Gravity Well

A Loki x Lithium Fanfiction (CanonxOC)

Set before the events of Thor, Loki receives as large mysterious crate of alcohol the day before his birthday. What seems like a strange yet benign gift from an anonymous person ends up being more than he, or the woman at the bottom of the crate bargained for.

Chapter Warnings: mild language, the occasional innuendo (because Loki)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At first glance, the crate was nothing particularly unusual or special.  Just a rough-hewn wooden box that had the sharp smell of being made of new boards. It was large but not so much as to cause alarm about what it might contain.

Not like the last time a larger container was in his room. Despite how many years had past, Thor still found it hilarious that he had pranked him with a box of angry water fowl.

So Loki was cautious of this crate that had appeared while he was at dinner. He circled it , head tilted at a quizzical angle, looking for any indication of what this strange delivery could be. The opposite side bore a brand that indicated it was from Binary Star Brewery, whatever that was.  He leaned his long frame over to examine it further and popped back up in surprise. If the brand was to believed, this mysterious delivery was from Midgard.

Who would be sending him anything from a realm so rarely visited anymore?

His curiosity piqued, he circled it once more, finding an envelope attached to the side opposite from brand. The paper was light and flimsy, like something mass produced with little care or attention, with basic black ink addressing it to him, care of the palace.

Loki opened the envelope as he sat down in the chair by his writing desk, leaning the chair on its back legs.

"Dear Customer, Enclosed in this crate is our Imperial Package-“

A smirk spread across his face. “I am already in possession of that, I assure you.”

“- of assorted house brews from our award-winning collection of fine alcohols, ordered for you by an anonymous individual in honor of your up-coming birthday."

He took a moment to consider this, staring back at the crate in question. It was tall enough to reach his knees. How much did this "anonymous individual" think he drank anyway? Hopefully the awards won indicated quality or he was going be quite literally knee-deep in bad fermentation.

"Please accept a bonus gift as our thanks for your business, packaged with the bottles.

Sincerely,

Bartholomew Kranston, Owner and son of the Founder of Binary Star Brewery.

PS: Don't forget to leave positive reviews of our products on social media!"

Loki arched an eyebrow at the canned sign-off. What was this social media and why was this Kranston guy soliciting his opinion on the wares?

He looked up at the crate again, dramatically crumpling and tossing the paper into the small waste bin next to the desk. “May as well see what I’m stuck with for who knows how long.”

The construction of the box was simple enough and the boards as flimsy that he had no need of tools or assistance to remove the lid. He held a spell in reserve in case the contents proved to be more sinister than a ridiculous number of alcohol bottles.

He was not about to be chased through the palace by rabid geese again.

It proved unnecessary as removing the lid revealed a pleasing pattern of brown glass bottles in a stiff  multi-layered paper honey comb of slots to protect them. Another piece of paper sat atop them with a three layered diagram.

The first level contained something called “craft beers”, the former word having no meaning he could understand from the context. What did they do, knit the beer? There were also a line of bottles labeled as ciders of the alcoholic persuasion as well. Those were familiar enough, he figured, even if the names of the individual kinds left him baffled. The beer labeled “Hair of the Dog” was going straight to Thor because the literal visual was completely unappetizing to him.

The second layer sounded more his speed, with a selection of wines of different fruits. Asgard had none of them so those would at least be an interesting experience. There were a few more ciders, including a mix of cider and dark beer which also sounded intriguing. One corner was entirely a variety of rice wine, which from the context was a grain rather than a fruit.

But what was most interesting about that was the name of that layer’s line. All were created by a particular brew master from Binary Star, who called their work “Cute But Deadly”.

“Sounds like a person I could get along with with.”

The last layer was labeled as the bonus gift, and that it was meant to be a surprise. As much as that was intriguing as well, it was late and the next day would be boisterous as it would be busy. Royal birthdays were events for all to share and his was the one being celebrated.

At least in theory.

He placed the paper back in with the bottles and slid the lid back over. He would dig farther into it tomorrow, along side the other surprises the day would hold, probably share the mysterious beverages with his mother.

And not forget to give Thor the “Hair of the Dog”.

No sooner were the lights out and he tucked under the linens and furs did the rattling and thumping start. Loki cast his gaze to the crate, only to watch it jump slightly as another thump followed by the rattle of the bottles floated ominously across the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lithium woke to darkness, the smell of pine wood and the rough feel of burlap against the side she lay on. The only familiar sensation was the smell of her old messenger bag, tucked under her arm, the novelty pins on its flap cool against her skin. Every other smell she discovered was foreign and set off alarm bells in her fog-muddled mind.

She did a mental check of her body. She felt no pain aside from a dull headache, but when she tried to stretch a leg out, it hit a wall with an audible thud. Glass rattled above her.

She kicked the wall near her foot harder, to the same effect. Breath suddenly ragged at the realization there were walls in every direction, she kicked until she heard splintering wood. Low light flooded into whatever held her captive and more scents filled the rush of air.

A person? But not a human…but faint…their place but they aren’t home maybe?

Regardless, Lithium figured shape-shifting into her human disguise was safer than not, before she went inching out of the hole she made. She listened intently, her surroundings were too quiet for comfort.

But what choice do I have? Stay curled up where ever this is and turn into five feet of cramped muscle?

Her feet went out first. Sure, they were easy to grab but kicking was still an option. Part way out, she wished she had not chosen to wear the fancy bra that day instead of her usual sports bra for work.

I just had to have a bad self-esteem day and now I’m not sure I’m going to get out of here because boobs only compress so much in this double-cupped death trap that attempts to defy gravity…

She wiggled around until she was on her stomach, letting gravity deal with the compression she needed. A few more shimmies and she was out, facing a delicate window with little moonlight shining through it.

She whipped her head around, the faintest flicker of movement sending a chill down her spine. Had she been in her normal form, no doubt the fur on her back would be standing on end.

She turned toward the movement, slowly backing away from it. Goosebumps made their way down her arms as she stepped to put the thing she had crawled out of between her and whatever had been moving.

And backed right into the person behind her.

She jumped away and spun, now facing said person’s chest with arms crossed tightly across it. Her head jerked up and kept going for a bit until she found a face.

A face with one hell of an eyebrow game.  

He, as her nose told her that much, stared  back at her one eyebrow raised in the silent question of the moment. Dark hair fell into his face, tousled by sleep if she had to guess, considering he was standing in front of a partially unmade bed.

He held her gaze for a few moments too long, just the right amount to unnerve her. She held up her hands and took a step back, but any words she had were held back by the lump of fear in her throat.

Mercifully, he spoke first, in a steady soft tone that made him seem more dangerous than he was just staring her down. “Care to explain why you just crawled out of that crate of Midgardian alcohol?”

Lithium looked back at what she now knew was a crate and then back at this stranger whose bedroom she had apparently wandered into via her own brewery’s product packaging.

“I would care to, but I’m not entirely sure myself…I have a guess…but nothing for certain…”

“Guesses are acceptable, given the unusual circumstances.” His tone was no less molten, but the touch of curiosity softened the edge it carried.

Lithium looked back at the crate once more. “I am on the losing side of a hostile brewery take-over, it seems.”

“The papers said it was owned by some Whatshisname Kranston.”

Lithium ran a hand down her face. “Bart…that asshat, he really did it…dammit…”

The man tilted his head. “Am I to believe that you were the mentioned “bonus gift” that came with this Imperial Collection…thing?”

“Oh lord, he’s calling it that again?” She heaved a sigh and shook her head. “I’m not usually the bonus gift of what was supposed to be called the Galaxy Collection. I’m sure you can see I’m not branded drink ware for the different offerings in the collection.”

“Alcohol is not typically what one drinks from a woman.” His eyebrow raised again as she looked down at the floor in hopes he missed her blush at that veiled innuendo. “Galaxy is also a far superior name, given the name of the business.”

Lithium looked back up at him, her eyebrow now raised. “I appreciate that, but this conversation seems far too casual given I don’t know where I am or who you are but I just popped into your room out of a crate of product.”

“Would you rather I yell and demand answers you do not actually have?” He took one smooth step toward her. “Because if that’s your wish, I can oblige, though I would much rather not as the hour is late and the night guards tend to be less amicable than their daytime counterparts.”

She waved her hands and shook her head frantically. “Ah, no no this is fine, please continue as you were, I hate yelling.”

He took another step forward, the beginning of an arc around her. “Well then, I would like the name of the woman I watched get stuck half way out a wooden box for a truly entertaining though brief few minutes.”

“Lithium. Just Lithium.”

His circle narrowed as he went around her again. “Well, Just Lithium, I am afraid that intrepid crate of yours has landed you in the personal chambers of Loki, Prince of Asgard.”

He stopped to give her the most sarcastic shallow bow she had ever witnessed.  “The question, lady, is what do I do with you now that you’re here?”

Lithium made the mistake of meeting his gaze again and quickly looked back down at the floor.

I would land myself with some stranger with a deadly smirk…end me now…

“Well you could direct me to the nearest bathroom because the last thing I remember before waking up in a box was drinking my weight in coffee and it has run right through me.”

He straightened back up with an amused chuckle, gesturing to a door at the opposite end of the room. “It’s over there. When you’ve finished, we can discuss what else should be done with you, my little unintentional intruder.”

Lithium tried not to dwell on that ominous statement as she vaulted the crate to get to the bathroom as fast as she could.  She also tried to ignore the fact that she almost fell three times in her haste.

I am forever without a shred of dignity, I swear…

[scenicpixie]

Looooool my cousin's just got engaged.

This is the one who in Jan 2019 asked me if one of my friends was single, then a month later was trying to get with another one of my best friends. Then got with the best friends and said that he was only asking about the first one because he thought that she was the only one of my friendship group who was "in his league" 🤢🤢🤢. This is a TWENTY FIVE YEAR OLD MAN.

So they went out for like 2 months and he was trying to suggest that she move in with him. And she was like woahhhh dude I'm 21 and this is my first proper relationship slow the fuck down maybe back off a bit. To which he replied OK fine but don't break up with me, and don't say we're having a break because my ex (from 6 years ago who he was in a relationship with for 4 months) said that and we never stopped having a break and I've had really bad mental health ever since but when I'm with you I feel better. Which. Ew. Don't use your mental health as a tool in manipulation. So after she asked him to slow the fuck down he was messaging her sister and her best friend all the time; her sister was going through a breakup so he was So Supportive to the point where he'd finish work for the day on her day off, look on find my friend and drive an hour to meet her for breakfast, only telling her when he was 5 minutes away. And I was away for work loads, and he kept telling them that we were really really close, practically brother and sister, we saw each other *all the time* (until he started trying to get into my friends pants, we saw each other once a year at Christmas) so she felt like she couldn't talk to me about how intense he was being either. Oh! And then he sent her sister a link to an ENGAGEMENT Ring he was looking at. My friend at this point was having almost daily panic attacks, and didn't think that she could talk to anyone about it.

So eventually she managed to fully break up with him, after trying to break up for as much time as they'd been in a relationship. And then he told all MY FRIENDS not to tell me. He said it would sound better coming from him. And they all though that he was basically my brother so they were uncomfortable but said yeah sure. He didn't tell me for 2 months. During which he cried on my shoulder multiple times about how much he was suffering, and how my friend was being up and down with him, how they'd agreed to live together but then she backed out of it. And I was like that doesn't sound like her but OK I haven't been here and no-one else is talking to me so I only have your side. During these crying sessions I basically told him all my insecuritys to try to empathise, and Told Him! That I took a really long time to trust my friends because on several occasions my so called friends had shut me out to the point where I was no longer welcome and I was paranoid that that was going to happen again! And he sat there KNOWING that he was going to do that! Anyway. We didn't figure out how manipulative he'd been until about October, becuase he'd made us all uncomfortable talking to each other. This was about 3 weeks after he'd left a party to cry outside because my friend had moved out of her parents. Which apparently was her spiting him.

But then! Mid October he started talking to one of his ex's friends and they started going out 4 weeks after he'd cried on me because all he wanted was to be a Husband and a Dad and he thought my friend was The One. Apparently his friends were all married by the age of 24, and by the time his sister was his age she had a kid, and some of his friends didn't even WANT their kids, but he deserved it 😖 yeah, then he grabbed onto the next closest single girl.

She was away most of the time because she's in her final year of uni. They probably saw each other 2 days a month. Then lockdown happened. They haven't seen each other since March. She's supposed to be going to Sweden to do a 3 year course there in September. And now! They're engaged!

And the best part is my friends and I were having a picnic earlier and JOKING that this was gonna happen because he'd be so scared and desparate that he'd propose. This is fucking hilarious, I'm gonna take his ex to the wedding as my plus one.

[imdoingthismspaintadventure]

WORM 1.5 : In which we are saved by the bestest of good boys

You don’t properly appreciate what superhuman strength means until you see someone leap from the sidewalk to the second floor of a building on the far side of the street.  He didn’t make it all the way to the roof, but he came to a point maybe three quarters of the way up.  I wasn’t sure just how Lung kept from falling, but I could only guess that he just buried his fingertips into the building’s exterior.

Holy shit.

He just mega jumped to the building where Taylor is and is hanging on the outside wall by his claws!

You better come up with a way to escape or to do something, cause you seem preeetyy dead right now.

I heard scraping and crunching as he ascended, and looked to my only escape route.  I didn’t harbor any delusions as far as my ability to get down the fire escape before Lung came over the top of the roof and deduced where I’d run off to.  Worse, at that point he could probably just beat me to the street level by jumping off the roof, or even just shoot fire at me through the gaps in the metal while I was halfway down.  The irony of the fire escape being anything but didn’t escape me.

Yeah that’s kind of a disadvantage of being in high-up places if you can’t fly or teleport or something. Pretty easy to get trapped.

I wished I could fly.  My school offered the choice between Chemistry, Biology and Physics, with Basic Science for the underachievers.  I hadn’t picked Physics, but I was still pretty sure that no matter how many I could gather together, jumping off the roof with a swarm of flying insects gripping me would be just as ineffective as the 9 year old superhero wannabes you heard about in the news, jumping off ledges with umbrellas and bedsheets.

 I really don’t think they can carry your bodyweight, or even slow down your descent. You would splat on the floor like a, well, bug.

Also holy shit that is kinda dark and probably a likely consecuence of powers in our world. Poor kids.

For the time being, I was stuck where I was.

Home BuildingStuck

Reaching inside the convex armor that covered my spine, I ran my fingers over the things I had buckled in there.  The EpiPens were meant to treat anaphylactic shock from allergic reactions to bee stings and the like, and likely wouldn’t do a thing to Lung, even if I could get close enough and find a point to inject.  Worst case scenario, the injections would supercharge his power by prompting a surge of whatever hormones or endorphins fueled his power.  Not useful, dangerous at best.  I had a pouch of chalk dust that was meant for climbers and gymnasts, I had seen it in the sports store when I was buying the lenses for my mask.  I had gloves and didn’t think I needed the dryness and extra traction, but I had gotten the idea that it could be useful to throw at an invisible enemy, and bought it on a whim.  In retrospect, it had been kind of a dumb purchase, since my power let me find foes like that with my bugs. As a tool against Lung… I wasn’t sure if it would explode like regular dust could when exposed to flame, but fire didn’t hurt him anyways. Scratch that option.

...Fuck yes

I love characters that think about what they could do best in every situation with the resources they have. If Taylor is like this for the rest of the serial....God I’m gonna enjoy this.

The problem is that I don’t think she has many options at all

I tugged the little canister of pepper spray free from my armor.  It was a black tube, three inches long, not much thicker around than a pen, with a trigger and a safety switch.  It had been a gift from my dad, after I had started to go on my morning jogs for training.  He had warned me to vary my route, and had given me the pepper spray for protection, along with a chain to clip it to my belt loop so it couldn’t be taken and used against me by an attacker.  In costume, I had opted not to keep the chain for the sake of moving quietly.  Using my thumb, I flicked the safety off and positioned the tube so I was ready to fire. I crouched to make myself a smaller target, and waited for him to show himself.

Hmmm could pepper spray work? Maybe if he doesn’t have his eyes or face fully armored...

Also I find the mental image of this possibly hilarious.

Lung’s hands, still on fire, were the first thing to show up, gripping the edge of the roof hard enough to bend the material that covered the roof’s raised lip.  His hands were quickly followed by his head and torso as he hauled himself up.  He looked like he was made of overlapping knives or spades, smouldering yellow-orange with the low temperature flame.  There was no skin to be seen, and he was easily seven or eight feet tall, judging by the length of his arms and torso. His shoulders alone were three feet across at the very least.  Even the one eye that he had open looked metallic, a glowing, almond shaped pool of liquid-hot metal.

He probably looks more like a daemon than a dragon now. At least he doesn’t seem to have wings...

Just a veritable inferno of molted metal and flame and a looot of anger

I aimed for the open eye, but the spray fired off at a sharp angle, just glancing off his shoulder.  Where the spray grazed him, it ignited into a short lived fireball.

Taylor used improvised flamethrower against the fire demon! Doesn’t seem very effective...

Hopefully the spray doesn’t ignite before touching his face because I think a pyrokinetic can handle himself otherwise...

I swore under my breath and fumbled with the device.  While he brought his leg over the edge, I adjusted my angle and shot again.  This time – with a small tweak of my aim mid-shot – I hit him in the face.  The ignited spray rolled off of him, but the contents still did the trick. He screamed, letting go of the roof with one hand, clutching the side of his face where his good eye was.

AAGH MY EYE! WHY IS IT ALWAYS THE GODDAMN EYE??!

Taylor could be an excellent markswoman, she seems to have a lot of precission and nuance in aiming.

It had been vain to hope that he would slip and fall.  I just counted myself lucky that however metallic his face looked, there were still parts of it vulnerable to the spray.

At least for now...

Lung hauled himself over the edge of the roof.  I had him hurting… I just couldn’t do anything about it.  My bugs were officially useless, there was nothing left in my utility sheath, and I would hurt myself more than I hurt Lung if I attacked him.  Making a mental note to pick myself up a concealable knife or baton if I managed to live through this, I bolted for the fire escape. 

Time to use the Joestar’s secret technique then!

Also yeah some hand to hand weaponry could be useful for the future. Probably not with this warp-demon, but with regular joes, so that we can be less squishy wizard in our approach

“Muh… Motherfucker!”  Lung screamed.  With my back turned, there was no way to see it, but the roof was briefly illuminated before the wave of flame hit me from behind.  Knocked off balance, I skidded on the gravel and hit the raised lip of the roof, just by the fire escape. Frantically, I patted myself down.  My costume wasn’t on fire, but my hair – I hurriedly ran my hands over it to make sure it hadn’t been ignited.

Oh fuck!

Yeah the fact that the costume is not yet fully complete came back to bite you it seems. Let’s hope we don’t end up with too severe burns in our first night out, christ.

Small mercies, I thought, that there was no tar used on the roof.  I could just imagine the flames igniting the rooftop, and just how little I’d be able to do if it happened.

That... would have been unfortunate. 100% fucked instead of the .... 87% we are at right now.

Lung stood, slowly, still covering part of his face with his hand.  He walked with a slight limp as he approached me.  Blindly, he lashed out with a broad wave of flame that rolled over half the roof.  I covered my head with my hands and brought my knees to my chest as the hot air and flame rushed over me.  My costume seemed to take the brunt of it, but it was still hot enough I had to bite my lip to stop from making a sound.

The costume seems to be fire resistant! Mostly.

Spider silk is fucking badass.

Lung stopped advancing, slowly turning his head from one side to another.

“Cock.  Sucker,” he growled in his heavily accented voice, his cussing interrupted by his panting for breath, “Move.  Give me something to aim for.”

Actual perfect recreation of trying to hunt a fly at 4 am in the morning when you can’t sleep, and aren’t a white hot metal terror.

I held my breath and stayed as still as possible.  What could I do?  I still had the pepper spray in my hand, but even if I got him again, I was running the risk that he would lash out and bake me alive before I could move.  If I moved first, he would hear me and I would get knocked around by another blast of flame, probably before I could get to my feet. 

Eeeh your options are...

1) Spray him in the face, get blasted

2) Stay quiet.... probably get blasted as well.

3)Try to get away, and get... I’m starting to see a pattern here

Lung moved his hand from his face.  He blinked a few times, then looked around, then blinked a few more times.  It was a matter of seconds before he could see well enough to make me out from the shadows.  Wasn’t pepper spray supposed to put someone down for thirty minutes?  How was this monster not an A-Lister?

Well ain’t that a fucking horrible thing to think about.

Either:

1) He’s way stronger than he should be and he’s basically content with being small-time thug, even with the potential he has in the larger world stage

or...

2) He’s a big fish in a small pond and the people out there make him look silly by comparison which is.... holy shit.

He suddenly moved, flames wreathing his hands, and I screwed my eyes shut.

At least he’s not saying feel the heat over and over

And also how the fuck will you get out of this one

When I heard the crackling whoosh of the flame and wasn’t burned alive, I opened my eyes again.  Lung was firing streams of flame, aiming for the edge of the roof of the adjacent building, a three story apartment.  I looked to see what he was aiming at, but couldn’t make anything out in the gloom or in the brief second of light Lung’s flames afforded.

!!!!!

Reinforcements!! Someone has come to help!! Or at least to fight AGAINST Lung!!

Yes!

With no warning, a massive shape landed atop Lung with an impact I could swear people heard at the other end of the street.  The size of a van, the ‘massive object’ was animal rather than vehicle, resembling a cross between a lizard and a tiger, with tangles of muscle and bone where it ought to have skin, scales or fur.  Lung was now on his knees, holding one of the beast’s sizable claws away from his face with his own clawed hand.

OH FUCK

A GIANT FUCKING METAL-LOOKING BONEY FERAL BEAST JUST FELL FROM NOWHERE AND IS FIGHTING AGAINST THE INFERNAL DRAGON MAN

Lung used his free hand to strike the creature across the snout.  Even though he was smaller than the beast, the impact made it rear back.  It took a few short steps back in reaction, and then rhino-charged him off the edge of the roof.  They hit the street with an audible crash.

AND THE TWO BERSERKERS ARE HURLING THEMSELVES OFF OF THE BUILDING TO THE STREET BELOW

This is glorious.

I stood, aware I was shaking like a leaf.  I was so unsteady on my feet, from the mixed relief and fear, that I almost fell over again as two more impacts shook the roof.  Two more creatures, similar to the first in texture, but slightly different in size and shape, had arrived on the rooftop.  These two each had a pair of riders.  I watched as the people slid off the backs of the animals.  There were two girls, a guy, and a fourth I identified as male only because of the height.  The tall one approached me, while the others hurried to the edge of the roof to watch Lung and the creature duke it out.

THEY WERE JUST THE RIDES FOR THESE PEOPLE

What a fucking entrance

“You really saved us a lot of trouble,” he told me.  His voice was deep, masculine, but muffled by the helmet he wore.  He was dressed entirely in black, a costume I realized was basically motorcycle leathers and a motorcycle helmet.  The only thing that made me think it was a costume was the visor of his helmet.  The full-face visor was sculpted to look like a stylized skull, and was as black as the rest of his costume, with only the faint highlights of reflected light on the surface to give a sense of what it was.  It was one of those costumes that people put together out of what they can scrounge up, and it wasn’t half bad if you didn’t look too close.  He reached out a hand towards me, and I leaned away, wary.

Damn he looks cool. He’s giving me ghost rider vibes in his outfit, but without the flaming skull part. Just badass biker energy

I didn’t know what to say, so I stuck to my policy of not saying anything that could get me into a worse situation.

At least you are not on fire, even though mr black leather and his zombie behemoths aren’t really giving me heroic vibes

Withdrawing his hand, the man in black jerked his thumb over one shoulder, “When we got word Lung was aiming to come after us tonight, we were pretty freaked.  We were arguing strategy for the better part of the day.  We eventually decided, fuck it, we’d meet him halfway.  Wing it.  Not my usual way of doing things, but yeah.”

Oh! ooooohhhh.

So the “Killing kids” part wasn’t actually murdering random civilians for the evulz

It was probably a territorial dispute! Cause these are totally villains or anti-heroes/vigilantes. Either/or

Behind him, one of the girls whistled sharply and pointed down at the street.  The two monsters the group had been riding on bounded across the roof and leaped down to the street to join the fight.

Seems like that one is the trainer.

The guy in black kept talking, “Wouldn’t you know, his flunky Lee is there with a half dozen guys, but Lung and the rest of his gang are nowhere to be found,” he laughed, a surprisingly normal sound for someone wearing a mask with a skull on it.

He doesn’t seem to consider us a threat at least so that’s a relief

So they fought his underling while our girl here, on her lonesome, straight up picked a fight with bossman.

“Lee’s no slouch in a fight, but there’s a reason he’s not leader of the ABB.  He got spooked without his boss there and ran.  I guess you’re responsible for that?”  Skull-mask waited for a response from me.  When I didn’t offer one, he ventured towards the edge of the roof and looked down, then spoke without turning to look at me, “Lung is getting creamed.  The fuck you do to him?”

Oh shit the venoms or the eye-injuries are making a difference in helping the hell-mount win!

“Pepper spray, wasp and bee stings, fire ants and spider bites,” the second of the girls said, answering the question for me.  She was dressed in a skintight outfit that combined black with a pale shade of blue or purple – I couldn’t tell in the dark – and her dark blond hair was long and windblown.  The girl grinned as she added, “He’s not holding up too well.  Gonna feel a helluvalot worse tomorrow.”

She can know all that with just a look??

Information-based powers!! Intuition? Clairvoyance? Omniscience? Those always seem crazy OP to me in terms of offering support!

The man in black suddenly turned to look at me, “Introductions.  That’s Tattletale.  I’m Grue.  The girl with the dogs-” he pointed to the other girl, the one who had whistled and directed the monsters.  She wasn’t in costume unless I counted a plaid skirt, army boots, a torn-up sleeveless T-shirt and a hard plastic, dollar-store rottweiler mask as a costume. “-We call her Bitch, her preference, but in the interests of being P.G., the good guys and media decided to call her Hellhound instead.  Last and certainly least, we have Regent.”

Grue? Huh, I can’t really guess what he could do based on that. Isn’t it like an urban legend or fairytale monster?

Tattletale...so her power IS information based! I also like the simpleness of her costume which I hadn’t mentioned

Bitch (Hellhound think of the children! ) looks really butch and badass from what I can hear. She seems to be the one with the beast power, cue the “Bitch” in her name

Regent...hmmm, something nobility-related?

I finally caught up with what he was saying.  Those monsters were dogs?

Abyssal doggos!!

“Fuck you, Grue,” Regent retorted, with a chuckle and a tone of voice that made it clear he wasn’t really that offended.  He was wearing a white mask, not quite as decorative or made up as the ones I associated with the carnivals in Venice, but similar.  He’d placed a silver coronet around his short black curls, and wore a ruffled white shirt with skintight leggings tucked into knee-high boots.  The outfit was very renaissance faire.  He had a build that made me think more of a dancer than a bodybuilder.

He looks really theatrical. I really like his aesthetics. I still wonder what his power is.

Introductions done, Grue looked at me for several long moments.  After a few seconds, he asked me, “Hey, you okay?  You hurt?”

“The reason she’s not introducing herself isn’t because she’s hurt,” Tattletale told him, as she continued to lean over the edge of the roof and watch whatever was going on at the street level, “It’s because she’s shy.”

Damn omniscients and their lack of privacy!!

Her power is actually scary though. No secrets with her around..

Tattletale turned around and it looked like she was going to say something else, but she stopped, turning her head.  The smile she’d been wearing faded, “Heads up.  We’ve gotta scram.”

Bitch nodded in response and whistled, one short whistle followed by two long ones.  After a brief pause, the building was suddenly rattled by impacts.  In just moments, the three creatures of hers leaped from the alleys to either side of the building and onto the roof.

Grue turned towards me.  I was still standing on the opposite end of the roof, by the fire escape. “Hey, want a ride?”

What?? Oh god is someone else coming as well?? What now?

I looked at the creatures – dogs?  They were bloodied, snarling creatures out of a nightmare.  I shook my head.  He shrugged.

The dogs look like something you would see on doom and it is amazing

“Hey,” Tattletale said to me, seating herself just behind Bitch, “What’s your name?”

I stared at her.  My voice caught in my throat before I was able to get the words out, “I don’t… I haven’t picked one yet.”

“Well, Bug, a cape is gonna show up in less than a minute.  You did us a solid by dealing with Lung, so take my advice.  Someone from the Protectorate shows up, finds two bad guys duking it out, they’re not going to let one walk away.  You should get out of here,”  She said. She flashed me a smile.  She had one of those vulpine grins that turned up at the corners.  Behind her simple black domino style mask, her eyes were glittering with mischief.  If she had red hair, she would have made me think of a fox.  She kind of did, anyways.

It’s true she doesn’t have a name yet! I guess bug would suffice for now.

And yuup they were bad guys, I knew it. Seems they have mistaken Taylor for one!

Well when you take into account the possibly too-grimdark edgy-lite costume and what she fucking did to Lung with her bugs in his eyes.... yeah I could see how they can draw that conclusion

With that, they leaped over my head, one of the three beasts hitting or stepping on the fire escape on the way down, eliciting a screech of metal on metal.

When I realized what had just happened, I could have cried.  It was easy enough to pin down Regent, Tattletale and Bitch as teenagers.  It wasn’t much of an intuitive leap to guess that Grue had been one too. The ‘children’ Lung had mentioned, the ones I had gone to so much effort to save tonight, were bad guys.  Not only that, but they had mistaken me for one, too.

Happy first day out as a hero, Taylor! Well done!

And it still might not be over yet, let’s see what happens with this hero arrival. Let’s hope they don’t reach the same conclusions this time.

But we will see that next time! See you in the next update!

[alternativewinxcontinuity]

Don't mind me, just losing my mental sh*t

Has anyone else ever noticed it always seems to be the people who’ve never written/posted anything that leave the most unnecessary (and often meanest) comments?

Or the people who themselves write like they haven’t hit puberty yet but feel like they can comment like a professional editor by giving advice that is exactly the opposite of what they were just saying needs to be fixed?!

Not Winx Related, I just really needed to vent. I got a shit review on a non-Winx Story and as I bitch a little about that I'm finally taking the time to address a review I got on my GOT fic, which turned nasty that I want to pick apart, but not to his face because he is not the kind of reviewer who should be interacted with, so I'mma dump it here. (Rant un-beta'd.)

Like? You really want to leave a comment on chapter 2 of a part 30 chapter fic that you haven’t read saying shit like:

“I don’t see the point its basically a rewrite”

When, had you read even one chapter on, you would have begun to see the divergence that is about to slowly snowball out of control while the universe does its best to stay on track. (yes the 'its' typo is review accurate.)

Like buddy, I get it, you've never written anything in your life and you think this is okay to say to someone because, and this may surprise you: you're an asshole.

"The point" was that it was a fun idea, "the point" was that I was enjoying the crossover and figuring out how everything could go wrong by replacing a single major part, "the point" was many, many other people found it hilarious and so did I. Not "the point" but it was also a version of Harry Potter not written by a fcking TERF.

Or:

'This Character is just really out of character, you're doing a bad job of writing him.'

Okay *goes to check their fics to see how they wrote him to see if she can figure out where reviewer is coming from. they have no fics in the fandom.* 'hey reviewer, you say he's out of character, how would you go about fix him so he's more in character?'

'Oh well, he's just not very *season 1 characterisation despite the fact he's explicitly stated to be season 3 end of his character growth story arc*, you should have him do *a thing that is something he would never have done even in season 1*'

-

Or shit like (and this is a long one from 'Richard' who hid behind the Anon function):

"This is a great fic. It's surprisingly difficult for me to optimize the protagonist. So first,"

Like? excuse you? why would you need to optimize my character?

"I really hope Sansa chooses to mine the metric tonnes of valuable honey and wax from that beehive once she gets her inventory."

So I hate to admit that the honey and wax would be a good idea, and she will be getting a boon of that, but it will be because she'll be getting Bee Hives later, not because she'll think to strip mine a people in dire straights.

"Also, she has valyrian steel claws, which she now knows can dig into the rock very easily. Those crumbling ledges? She can dig new ones, she can dig a staircase. She can widen the entrance so that her soldiers come in to help mine the liquid gold. Especially since she appreciates the difference between currency and goods. Of course, maybe she'll establish diplomatic relations instead."

So I am going to look so fcking petty when I finally get the next chapter out, because I actually addressed this idea with reality. Trust me, I did some research, and while there's almost nothing easily found on how long it would take to do this sort of work by hand, what I found supported the idea that it's stupid. It takes (and I shit you not) literal days with a team of men using hand tools to carve through even a few metres of rock (the exact time depends on how hard the rock is and how large they make the opening/area).

Sansa would be literally clawing at the walls with her nails which, while yes they are Valyrian steel, are still attached to very human fingers and arms. and here's where my first hand knowledge kicks back in: I went on a mock archaeological dig when I was in high school, I spent several hours scrapping layers of compact sand to uncover artefacts, resistance levels aside, the repeated action is hell on your muscles, Sansa would spend as much time recovering as she would digging. to get all the way to the entrance would take her literal years with Richard's suggested method.

PLUS: the point of the adventures is for SANSA (and Arya) to have the spot light, to be forced to think and find ways to use the new Abilities they've been given, or to come up with new ones. It's part of my whole "Power is Earned, or it is Corrupted" mentality, if you don't work for it, you will sooner rather than later abuse it.

AND: of course she's going to use diplomatic solutions, she's Sansa, and that's what the clue of foreshadowing was saying! Literally everything you need to know to solve the Dungeons is in their individual clues!!!

"Secondly, medieval people already had long-lasting torches which burned for hours and hours instead of 5-10 minutes. Each torch looked like a pillar or stupidly elongated torch that was carried with the tip lit and burning down like a candle. They also didn't use candles as those were too expensive. They used rushes soaked in fat which could be made by the dozens to hundreds with a few hours' work. There's a youtube video on this subject entitled medieval misconceptions: torches and candles."

Oh. My. God. Such. Valuable. Information. If . Only. I had. Known. This. When. I wrote. about. reed candles. in this. very fic.

Literally of the four times I used the word candle, twice it was explicitly 'reed candles' (and guess what other name rushes go by?) and once it was a metaphor specifically about the smoke and not the candle.

As for the pillar candles, the ones that burn for hours are too heavy for someone of Sansa's size and arm strength and the hour candles, (if you've ever seen Avatar Last Airbender, the candles they used in the Secret Tunnel) are unwieldy and aren't so good for putting down in a way that doesn't risk them going out. (Putting them far enough into a wall sconce that it won't topple back out makes it very tricky to remove it.)

Which, why even bother with torches that are more effort to obtain when Sansa's powers make the 'advantage' obsolete anyway!? Not to mention: Displayed Content! If a show uses something even in the background, it exists in that world. Wax candles aren't that rare. (Also side note, because I do my fcking research: the majority of hives which supply the honey and wax to Westeros are owned by the Maesters of old town.)

"I don't really care about those things though. The latter is a mistake literally everyone makes and I didn't know was a mistake until a month ago. Which goes into my third point, how Sansa could optimize things."

Then why bring it up, especially since I didn't technically make said mistake??

"At this point she knows she needs people and she's already given her powers to someone trustworthy. She also knows that healing is a power she can give. And she knows they're going to need this at least as much as medics. And there are indeed people she trusts whom she hasn't approached with an offer of power. Ned Stark, Catelyn Stark, Lyra Mormont of Bear Island, and Tyrion Lannister. Tyrion Lannister can wait but not forever. Lyra should be approached as soon as possible."

NO. Arya was the exception, not the rule, Sansa isn't going to just go off and give her god-blessed powers to anyone else. I was hesitant to give it to Arya as it was, and only let myself because I could use the 'Arya's God is Death, there's more stakes than you thought' to fully justify it.

Tyrion as he is can't be trusted, and future Tyrion chose Dany over Sansa, neither Sansa nor Arya know how his story ended, so as far as they are concerned he's a good ally, but not actually trust worthy enough for this.

For those of you confused, Lyra Mormont is one of the daughters of the Lady Maege Mormont, and one of Lyanna's sisters. Lyra got maybe two mentions in the books and nothing in the tv series so I can only assume Richard meant Lyanna, who is currently 2 years old! But we'll come back to this, because Richard sure did!!!

As for the medic thing, I really hope Richard meant he was fcking off for good in his final word, because if he comes back, I really don't want him to think he's responsible for the medic corps that I've been planning and attempting to foreshadow with Sansa approaching Luwin, and Beth and Jeyne following Sansa's lead with archery.

Like, oh hey, guess which unfortunate field medic bride of a Stark might find her way to Winterfell if she hears about young women being trained in some basic healing to help Maester Luwin deal with any cases of over flow of patients. That's right, I'm planning for triage nurses! No magical powers required. 

"I assume she's going to get glass from Lys through the Tapestry of Doors. For that she's going to need tokens. She's going to need tokens for everything, and she already knows it. So collecting and hoarding tokens should be a big priority for her. And that means going places where there are tokens to be got. Places she hasn't gone to yet, like The Wall and Bear Island. Just to get tokens."

No. Again, just NO! Sansa already stated that Tokens and relying on them were a thing that would come back to bite her, she'll horde them as she finds them, but she's not going out of her way to find them because she has things to do! Also: the Tapestry of Doors was a piece of Flavour text for way late in the fic if it ever came back, and like a Stargate, requires one at each end, so someone would have to travel to Lys anyway, which is dumb when Sansa now has a Loom which can copy any 'raw' material, and the ability to convert that 'raw' material' into any object she has the blueprint for, which she can get by 'scanning' with her console.

She just has to put 2 and 2 together!!

"She also knows there are dungeons in each place, and that she needs to get to them. And that it's better if she gets in with people. Like people Lyra trusts to whatever dungeon is in Bear Island."

The thing about the Dungeons is that the whole thing is for Sansa, some of them will have special requirements, but very few of them are crucial, they're just there so Sansa has a place and a trial to obtain Unique Items of game breaking power or ability.

"The last way to optimise her powers is one I don't think she'll take even though it has a lot of benefits. Going with a squad of soldiers into the Dreadfort's dungeon in order to confront the walking dead, with hit and run tactics slowly draining the population there. The main benefit and reason to do this is to harden and blood the soldiers to prepare them for the Long Night, so she should have the soldiers on rotation in order to expose as many as possible to the horrors to come."

Problem is the undead in the Dreadfort Dungeon aren't the same as the Wights and White Walkers, they can just be killed in the same ways. The idea of these kinds of fics is that by the time the Long Night Comes, Sansa and Arya can do most if the heavy lifting. You are right that Sansa wouldn't risk her people for some EXP though.

Sansa will be going back though, there's a pair of Shears and Needle in there.

"Also, the loot should be great. Perhaps another loom. But I would do it even for more bobbins. Or nothing at all."

Literally the Loom is a one off item. It is super powerful with what it can do in the context, so having more than one would ruin the power balance I've been trying to keep between Power Fantasy and OP Bullshit.

-

Someone of course pointed out that (Richard said Lyra, but responder said Lynna) Lyanna was currently literally 2 or 3 years old, she can't do shit. (they also brought up that 2 (actually 3) characters had already declined the super powers, because it included bad timeline memory downloads.) Guess how Richard took that?!

If you guessed "not well" you get a cookie!

Seriously, I was kind of annoyed at his review because^^^ reasons he was wrong about stuff, but also the arrogance of 'telling me how to optimize my character' was just, icky, so I was just going to ignore him.

But then he went (in response to the other reviewer):

"(snort) I think you need to recall what Lyanna Mormont is like at 10 years of age. She is a force and she is in charge. And what exactly is your objection, that Sansa needs consent or is preserving innocence?"

No moron, the objection is that she's literally 2 or 3 years old, what the fck is she going to do in her tiny little body? But yes, now that you mention it, Sansa (was assaulted and lost her bodily autonomy, she) would place a huge amount of importance on consent, it's one of the reasons she was so upset by Arya taking advantage of her sleepy state to get her to agree.

"Lyanna Mormont wouldn't care. Jon and Robb care, that's why their sister cares. Lyanna would never thank Sansa for trying to preserve her innocence, keep her ignorant, or keep her weak. She would be insulted."

Lyanna is literally 2 or 3 years old, she doesn't know enough to care or be insulted by not being told that she's lost the chance to remember several years of horrific shit before being violently murdered.

Also I notice you didn't say anything about the name correction. Got it wrong the first time did you?

"Which leaves only respecting Lyanna's will. Or her mother's will maybe. Or at least informing them of what she's decided to do before she does it so they can prepare. But Sansa gains nothing by not asking."

And what would she gain by asking? also nothing. Lyanna is 2 or 3 years old. Also the fic isn't about her. Why would Sansa even trust her? The child who thought she could judge Sansa for being unable to stab her way out of some horrible places? who scorned Sansa because she was femme? Because Sansa's strength isn't the same as hers so Lynna decided Sansa didn't have any?

Lynna chose Jon to lead the North over Sansa who had a better claim to the throne, Jon, who spent the entire 8th season saying how much he doesn't want to be king, Jon who legit just tried to walk away from the Command of the Nights Watch.

"And this brings up another issue, the fact Sansa never decided FOR Jon and Robb cuts both ways. She informed them of their choice and she let them make it."

"Sansa didn't keep them in the dark without informing them of the decision she was making for them, as you seem to want to do, since that definitely isn't the right thing to do. Mushroom management is a shit heap."

The boys were already aware that something was up, Sansa had nothing to gain by lying, and she made the offer before she realised the memories were a thing.

"The question to ask a toddler is "do you want to grow up?" it's not a difficult question to ask and it does have a meaningful answer. And that's the problem you have, because you already know Lyanna Mormont would say yes and you want her to say no. That's why you want the question never asked."

"You want to pretend that Lyanna Mormont, DEFINITELY in charge of bear island at 10 years of age, is a gormless wimp like 25 year old Jon Snow who refused to be king and refused to even THINK whether or not Daenerys would be a good queen by constantly uttering the refrain "she is my queen"."

Laynna was in charge because she was the last of her family, everyone else was lost fighting someone else's war. More importantly: she's not even part of the equation? Why would Sansa travel to Bear Island to ask a 2 or 3 year old if she wants to become an angry and traumatised 10 year old in a 2 or 3 year old body which will feel like a prison because she's not as tall or fast as she used to be, because she can't lift or climb or jump or ride or fight like she used to.

And for what? a few super powers she has to ask Sansa for? For mental trauma her family and friends cannot comprehend?

But no, have a look at the part where Richard really started to cross the line:

"No, Lyanna Mormont wants power, wants to grow up, that is obvious. And you're an obstacle in her way. She would hurt you for standing in her way, probably smashing a mace in your knees. And you're so weak that yes you would in fact be hurt by a 2 or 3 year old toddler. She killed a giant and she would have no problem killing you for daring to think you're a giant."

"Stand aside little man and let Lyanna Mormont have her glory."

Now I don't know what this guy's obsession is with Lyanna, but that sounded like a threat to me. Like, who tells people that a fiction character would physically maim or murder a real person just for pointing out said fictional character is 2 or 3 years old?

Lyanna doesn't want power? She's not that kind of person, even if she is fictional? More importantly:

Neither I nor the reviewer were 'standing in her way' because she's a fictional character who's not even in this fic!!!

But his behaviour was pretty shit, so I told him to knock it off or I was going to turn the review filters on.

That went about as well as you might expect.

So I was All:

[I don't know what you think you mean by 'optimize the character' but half of your assumptions are wrong, the rest run counter to my pre-existing plans and I don't care for your overall demeanour. I was prepared to leave your post be, but your recent reply is inappropriate and uses language which runs VERY close to sounding like a death threat, which I DO NOT APPRECIATE. I don't want to be 'that bitch', but I am going to ask you to please be respectful, or I will be turning on the comment filters.]

Because I don't Know if you know this but AO3 has three filters in the privacy tab of every story posted:

1] “Only show your work to registered users”

this means that you MUST be logged in to an AO3 account to even find it let alone read it

2] Disable Anonymous Comments

you Must be logged in to leave a comment

3] Enable Comment Moderation

doesn't matter what you say, with out Author OK, your review will not be showing up in the comment section.

(… tumblr just did that thing again where it refreshes in the middle of my thousands of words of text and loses all my stuff, it is literally making me want to kill myself. Because I have to retype all the responses from the next fcking section. It's my own fault for not just using a word document, but also: fck tumblr? For being stupid?)

So, from here Richard had three options:

1- Apologise and move one

2- say nothing and pretend it hadn't happened and move on

3- He went with this:

“Your Sansa Stark is weaker than canon Sansa Stark. It's true your Sansa Stark has a strictly higher level of ambition than Sansa Stark. But what she uses in order to achieve her goals, her resources, is weaker.”

“She uses actions, capabilities and skills. She uses embroidery, archery, learning (archery), she uses the people she already knows but not strangers. She uses and manipulates the people she can interact with, learn from, act upon. The level of people that is directly equal to skills.”“

She doesn't use language, nor does she use strangers. Strangers are the level of people that don't require interaction but DO require language to deal with. And your Sansa Stark's language is too weak. When she manipulates the maid in the Dreadfort, it's entirely accidentally and unintentionally.”

Sansa has seen what power does to people, she's seen what lies ahead for the manipulators of the world, she's been taught at the side of Cersei and Petyr, and she does not want to become them. For all the horrific things she's gone through, Sansa came out the other side with her compassion intact, possibly even stronger than before.

“She talks to Domeric only because she's already interacted with him, she's been healing him for days by that point. She fakes Green Dreaming to her father because she knows her language is inadequate and will achieve nothing. The way her father and mother treat her, they know mere words would be inadequate. And they would dismiss any words she said. "Haven't we told our children dreams can't hurt you?"”

She doesn't want to interact with Domeric, he looks like the man who violated her repeatedly, killed her brother and sacked her home. She wants to be as far away from him as possible. When she does end up interacting with him, despite being so sleep deprived it's a wonder she hadn't started hallucinating, she manages to win him over pretty easily.

She fakes Green Dreaming because “a god made me time travel” is not only a ridiculous concept but a foreign one as well. Why would Sansa tell her parents that when it would mean admitting to going through some horrific shit, to letting her family down and being let down by her family when Green Dreams are a known thing which explains her knowledge. It's not inadequacy, it's efficiency and an attempt to hide horrible things.

I need to point out that “Haven't we told our children that dreams can't hurt you?” is said by Catelyn in self-recrimination afterwards, and is said specifically to reference the reason Sansa might not have felt she could go to them with her problem was because it was based on dreams. Because what parent would take dreams as a serious threat unless they were a Nightmare on Elm Street survivor, especially since Green Seers have become so rare they've been relegated back to myths and stories by the time Jojen and Bran show up.

“Language requires actions such as mouthing, shouting, tonguing, but actions will never add up to language. Actions are necessary but NOT SUFFICIENT for language. This is why you can't write a single damned sentence with only actions. Try it, you won't be able to.”

I can't take this paragraph seriously if only because of the use of the word 'tonguing'. FFS, he sounds like a small child trying to convince people he's got a PhD. 'If I throw out some big words and phrase them right they'll sound 'academic' and I'll look smarter!

'I know this probably isn't what Richard meant but: Sign Language? Is literally all actions?

(Obviously real language requires thoughts and concepts to be communicated to be a language, but even the most primitive of body movements can express something: I'm hot, I'm hungry, I'm angry, etc. It might not be true language, but it is communication, which is the basis of language, the reason we made language in the first place.)

“Canon Sansa Stark had dreams, plans, and designs on what others have. She wanted to wed a prince, she had designs on the princess position. She wanted out of King's Landing. She wanted Winterfell. She wanted the Knights of the Vale to fight ... FOR HER.”

“People who had never met canon Sansa Stark in their entire lives fought and died for canon Sansa Stark's benefit. For the designs of a (her words) stupid girl. And sure, her initial designs were stupid. And they only rose up to being pathetic. But they were designs, they were dreams, they were plans.”

I need to talk about my interpretation of Sansa for a minute, because that's what I've been writing: my interpretation of Sansa.

Sansa was raised with an idea of how the world should be, not how it was. She was raised loved and protected and surrounded by men of honour. Fed stories of heroes, brave knights and valiant princes, where good always triumphed, or was romantically defeated and beautifully tragic.

She wasn't raised to expect dishonourable men and hidden motives, she wasn't raised expecting a (metaphorical) dagger in her back.

She didn't want the crown, she didn't want the throne, she wanted “the prince” from her stories, who would cherish her and care for her and give her a family filled with love. And yes the pretty dresses and the shiny jewels and the adoration and praise. But she never wanted power, that came later.

Later after she'd seen the cracks in the world and the grime beneath the gilding, when she'd learned friend and foe were often the same, that people with power would hurt her, use her, that she was nothing but a trophy to them.

Sansa wanted power because “if I'm the one with the power, then they can't hurt me any more, if I have the power I'll be safe, if I have the power then I can protect people, if I have the power I can stop people like that.”

But Sansa has never had power, it was always borrowed, an illusion that could vanish at one misstep. She had no money of her own, her blood made her valuable to others as a trade commodity, but gave her no personal power.

When people fought for her, it was never really about her.

Petyr gave her armies so he could win favour so he could use her as a proxy for her dead mother. Brienne fought to fulfil an oath to Sansa's dead mother.

The Men of the North fought for Winterfell, to get revenge on the Boltons. The Wildings followed Jon Snow. And when it was over, it was Jon who was crowned king, not Sansa the one who had to talk him into getting back their home in the first place.

Her parents and Robb fought for her, but their armies fought for House Stark, for the insult Sansa and Arya's capture and Ned's death presented.

“Your Sansa Stark has no plans, has no dreams, and certainly has no designs. She doesn't use language, because her language is too weak and has no power. She doesn't use her emotions or feelings because they are brittle and far too weak to be used. Weaker even than the emotions and feelings of a stupid girl. She doesn't use her mind or intellect because she doesn't cogitate. She uses skills and ONLY skills. To try to fake everything else.”

It's odd that he says this when he started off this response by saying my Sansa was more ambitious than canon Sansa.

First of all: I thought I was making it fairly clear that her goals were: save her family, save the North, stop the White Walkers.

Her dreams are to never be beholden to another man ever again.

Sansa wants her family alive, she wants to be safe and she wants to be free of all the political manipulations she had to sit through in the first timeline.

Second of all: Richard has clearly never been assaulted in his life in any way and I am so fcking happy for him. Really.

Look, people who suffer long term trauma, (or short term, it doesn't matter how long really) are not magically okay afterwards. The idea that sexual assault makes femme women strong is disgusting and so toxically prevalent in movies and shows and books these days its... horrific. You'll notice butch women like Arya aren't typically assaulted to be strong, because they're already so 'manly'. It was a genuine surprise when they tried to have Brienne assaulted, but that was more about showing how much of a 'good guy' Jaime was than Brienne.

You can really tell in several places that the tv series had non-con fetishists on staff.

Sansa is so brittle now, because she feels safe enough to let herself feel the fear she wasn't able to earlier, to work through the panic and the anger and all the emotions she couldn't before.

“Your Sansa Stark plans to use skills in order to change the world. And since it's obvious the world isn't run by woodcutters or farmers or archers or anyone else defined by their SKILLS, she will fail. She will fail abysmally, totally and catastrophically. She hasn't got the slightest sliver of a chance.”

Quick tally: Sansa has managed to convince her parents she had knowledge of the future, put them on track to realising Petyr Baelish was stealing from the Crown, got Stannis curious in Dragonstone, came up with a plan to gain favour for the North by helping to pay of part of the Crown's debt and has begun working on a plan to ensure more food is available for the Northerners when Winter arrives.

Not to mention, (and you'd easily miss this): Sansa has begun influencing a shift in the young women of the North who had previously been influenced by the South.

The thing is, Richard seems convinced its about the looting and the grinding, 'kill enough stuff and you become a God!' but it's not.

“So you stacked the deck in her favor. You put a high tier deity on her side. Now Sansa has a slim chance to squeak out a win, using the power she's borrowing. But here's the thing, it will never be HER win because it isn't HER power, it isn't HER plans. Your Sansa Stark has no plans, but her deity does, even if they're stupid plans of puerile amusement-seeking. So IF there is a victory at the end, it will never be Sansa Stark's victory, it will be her deity's. Because she is only a pawn, a tool, a peon, a minion.”

Richard doesn't seem to understand what the introduction of Arya's God means for the lore. The amount of death from the wars is causing Bad Things in the back ground of the original timeline.

Sansa isn't the Being's pawn, she's their start player, the Being is a sponsor who's giving Sansa the chance and resources to be greater than she was. It's not about 'puerile amusement-seeking', but how do you tell a young woman who's gone through what Sansa's gone through that the fate of the entire human race is in her hands, that if she fails it won't just be her family that falls.

If Sansa thinks the Being just wants amusement, then Sansa will act as she pleases and hope it's good enough, which puts her closer in line with saving the world than if she's actually trying to save the world, because that is a much bigger task than 'stop the issues that got my family killed'.

The Being is only victorious if Sansa is, it's their shared victory.

Now up until this point Richard has been an arrogant tool, but it might almost seem like he's being reasonable. This is where he loses the plot and just starts back on his favourite fall back: threatening people with violence.

“Now generally, when an author writes a protagonist who is a pawn, a tool, a peon and a minion of a higher power, when they write a protagonist who is WEAK, it's because they themselves are weak. Generally doesn't mean universally however, so I had to know. And now I do. You are weak Jasper.”

“You want to convince me of something Jasper. You want to convince me that I'm wrong, that my opinion is wrong, that my position is wrong, you want me to change my mind, you want me to know my plans and judgment are wrong. Because they're in conflict with yours. But how do you achieve this? By threatening me with your borrowed power. Exactly like your Sansa Stark.”

Did he have to google the list of synonyms there?

I don't know what it is about being referred to by name, but it bugs me that he chose to use only a portion of my pen-name like we were somehow familiar, rather than not using my name or referring to me as OP or something along those lines.

Also I really have to disagree that only weak people write about people being weak, but I don't think his opinions of weak and strong match with mine either. 

He is wrong, but more importantly: he threatened someone with violence for daring to correct him.

I wasn't threatening him, I was warning him to stop being an asshole or I would disable anonymous commenting.

“You do this because you're weak. And what do we call weak people who complain about strong people's actions when they are the bitches of higher powers? We call them exactly what you "don't want to be", we call them bitches. You are a bitch to higher powers and you bitch about higher powers like me. You bitch about people who can use their intellects. And for a good reason too.”

“You fear my attitude because I am the bitch slapper. I slap little bitches like you all fucking day long every single day. It doesn't matter to me who it is, whether it's my own friends who are bitching, I slap them for it. And you will never ever convince me that you're right. Because you're weak. And because I don't respect bitches.”

Look, I've seen enough therapists of different varieties to pull off some impressive psych 101 bullshit so I can tell you right now: Richard is a man who has never held any real authority in his life, he has mediocre skills at best and often feels talked down to because he feels more entitled than he is and no one treats him like a god for breathing. He refuses to back down when wrong even in the face of evidence and then he pouts because the world didn't shift to match his delusions.

The worst part is I know this, and I know I shouldn't let this bother me. But it does. But it shouldn't and I can tell him to his 'face' via review reply why he's wrong, or he'll know it bothers me, then he'll feel validated, even though he's wrong. And he'll probably threaten someone with more violence and then I really will have to disable anon comments and effectively punish some readers who did nothing wrong.

“So what are you going to do to me that I care about? Stop me from reading your fic? You don't have that power. Stop writing it so that I can no longer learn how your mind works, my ulterior motive? That would be cutting your nose to spite your face. You would suffer far out of proportion to me. I would just move on to some other author. Report me? Go ahead, I don't care. Really, we're done here, so have a nice life.”

Yes I do, literally the first of the privacy filters would stop you from reading, but that would hurt my other readers who don't have an account.

'Ulterior motive'? Buddy, you apparently don't understand how any mind works.

Again: if you don't care why bring it up?

Are you really leaving though? Do you promise?!

“The only thing you could ever do to me is surprise me by ceasing to be a weak little bitch. Or even resolving to not be one. This would invalidate all of my predictions by rising to my implied challenge. That's what I like, win-win. (lol) I'm not holding my breath though.”

I don't have anything to prove to this douche tool and it bothers me that this is bothering me so much!!!! The worst part is, this review came at a time when my attention for the fic was flagging, so I'll never know if it was really this review or not that made me stop writing for the past few months?

Those of you with an AO3 account who drop by my profile to see if I wrote anything interesting may have noticed my recent 'for archive users only' locked fic. I can confirm that yes: to mental detox this review I went and watched a Chinese Xianxia drama that has become my new hyper-focus. Almost 100 plot bunnies are being posted into the locked fic in an effort to purge it rom my brain so I can get back to what I was doing. It seems to be working. I wrote about 1000 words for Episode: Sisterhood this week, so the chapter is almost done. At last!

[robininthelabyrinth]

Eyestealer 11 - ao3 link

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Senju Hashirama & Senju Tobirama (mostly gen, hints of other relationships)

Summary: Hashirama really doesn’t approve of the thoughtful way his father looks at his younger brother’s bright red eyes. He’s sure it doesn’t mean anything good for anyone.

He’s right.

——————————————————————————————

“Captured by fake plants,” Hashirama says mournfully, looking with very real dismay at the sickly white vines with chakra suppressing seals drawn all over them wrapped around his wrists and elbows and shoulders and all the way down the rest of his body at approximately equivalent interludes. The underground cavern he fell into (was carried into? hard to tell if it's the same cavern at this point) is lined with the white not-plants, giving it a deceptively bright and open feeling. “Fake plants. Tobirama is never going to let me live this down.”

The black-void-vaguely-humanoid-thing that appears to be his captor suddenly gives a whole-body shiver and the blackness twists, transforming until it’s his own face looking back at him.

It's a pretty good imitation, actually; you can't see anything left over from the black-thing it was before.

“You assume you’re going to live, then?” it asks with Hashirama’s own voice. It sounds amused.

“Of course,” Hashirama says, like the contrary asshole he turns into any time he’s being condescended to. There’s a reason he’s given very strict scripts to recite verbatim anytime he’s in the presence of daimyo, accompanied by many, many threats, and he sometimes even listens and sticks to what he's been told to recite. Sometimes. “You don’t actually think that you can pretend to be me for very long, do you?”

Not-Hashirama smiles a nice big old smile that looks an awful lot like what Hashirama sees in the mirror. “I’ve replicated you down to the bones,” it says. “Every scar, every birthmark – even your chakra. Even your Mokuton.”

“Sure, sure,” Hashirama says dismissively, even though a chill runs up his back at the thought of some weird plant-thing having access to the full, deadly extent of his Mokuton. With any luck, it’s neither as creative nor as powerful as he is. “But what about my winning personality?”

Not-Hashirama continues to smile.

Hashirama smiles back.

They might have stayed at an impasse if there wasn’t a groan from the other corner of the cavern, and honestly Hashirama’s never been great at staring contests anyway so he turns to look.

“Izuna, you’re here too,” he says, puzzled.

“No shit,” Izuna says. He’s trussed up just like Hashirama is, except he looks worse: circles under his eyes, unhealthy tinge to the skin. He’s clearly been here a few days. “Be careful. That thing is tricky.”

The creature laughs, drawing Hashirama’s attention back to him, and then bisects itself down the middle – while still wearing Hashirama’s face, no less – until there are two Hashiramas, just like with Tobirama’s shadow clone technique.

“Mitosis!” Hashirama shouts.

The creature stops smiling and starts looking confused.

“What the fuck, Hashirama,” Izuna says pleasantly.

“Tobirama had a microbiological science phase,” Hashirama explains. “While we were working on improving healing techniques. I know most of what’s happening, but I usually forget what words go with what thing, but I remember that one!”

“How are you this much of an idiot?” Izuna moans. “You’re the Hokage of the village, the God of Shinobi, and you’re just – you’re so unbelievably dumb –”

Actually, Hashirama is just easily distracted, bad at starting things, tends to think of too many things at once, and has no verbal filter whatsoever, none of which have anything to do with how smart he is or isn’t, but since Hashirama does in fact consider himself to be something of an idiot (his brother is Tobirama, obviously he’s outclassed in the mental department) and also it pays to be underestimated in front of something that’s planning on imitating you to your closest family and friends, he just shrugs.

Also –

“I had nothing to do with the God of Shinobi nickname,” he says. “I just want to be clear on that. I don’t even know where it came from. It seems excessive.”

The not-Hashiramas snort, and one of them shivers and turns into a perfect copy of Izuna. “If it makes you feel better,” he drawls in Izuna’s snide tones, “I suspect you’ll have a different nickname after I’m done.”

Ooooh, is this the part where they get to find out the evil plan? Will there be monologuing?

“You’re going to stage a fight between Hashirama and me, resulting in one of our deaths,” Izuna says flatly. “Probably me, which will make Madara succumb to the family curse and go absolutely insane, making him kill you – or rather, kill Hashirama, that is, I assume you’ll sub out for the real thing at the last possible moment to leave the real Hashirama helpless – and that, in turn, will get Tobirama to kill Madara. Something like that?”

Izuna is such a spoilsport sometimes.

The not-Hashirama laughs and the not-Izuna smirks.

“Close,” not-Hashirama says cheerfully. “Your peace came too quickly, and despite my best efforts has not yet faltered, but I will make it fail. It will be just as you say, except Tobirama won’t succeed in killing your brother, of course, not even with that stolen Sharingan of his.”

Hashirama frowns.

“Oh, yes, I know all about that. I’d been wondering how you’d managed to make peace so quickly, even over my best efforts, but this…this is better than I could have hoped! A Sharingan among the Senju – that fits perfectly into my plans. All that’ll do is make him more susceptible to the Uchiha curse as well: a perfect tool. Two sides, both consumed with hatred…!”

Yeah, that sounds pretty bad.

“This will restart the war even better than before,” not-Hashirama says with a pretty good approximation of Hashirama’s own glee, except he’s never actually seen his face screwed up in evil laughter quite like that before. “And once I produce Izuna – his body, at least – to prove that it was all a set-up, all the clans of Konoha will unite against the Uchiha, forcing your brother to turn to…let’s say…drastic measures.”

The not-Izuna taps the corner of his left eye, smirking in a way that means nothing to Hashirama but judging by Izuna’s horrified expression means something to him, then adds, “Also, who says we’re going to kill you? Possession is much more effective – and we might need a replenishing source of Hashirama’s DNA if his brother proves insufficient.”

Hashirama really hopes they mean his blood or flesh, not, uh, other replenishing sources because, well, ew.

“You won’t get away with this,” Izuna says flatly.

“Why not?” not-Hashirama asks. “I have before. More times than you can imagine. I’ve infiltrated both clans time and time again, taking on multiple identities, lying in wait until the time is right –”

“Wait,” Hashirama says, unable to resist. “Are you saying – are you really saying –”

The not-Hashirama and not-Izuna smirk at him, smug and condescending and triumphant.

“- that you’re a plant?”

The way their faces fall is hilarious.

Izuna looks like he’s seriously considering bashing his head against a cavern wall right now.

In Hashirama’s defense, as a self-respecting Mokuton user, he had no choice but to go for the pun. There’s a saying, after all, about low-hanging fruit…

Heh.

The not-them recover quickly, though, glaring at Hashirama, and then head out, presumably to set up the utter destruction of everything Hashirama holds dear.

“So,” Hashirama says, a while after when he’s fairly sure they’re alone. “Is that eye-tapping thing some sort of implicit threat or something? I don’t know Uchiha sign language.”

“What? No, that – it’s not sign language. It’s a reference. To the stone tablet, the part about the Infinite Tsukuyomi.”

“The what now?”

Izuna slams his head backwards against the wall of the cave.

“Hey, I didn’t get to see your super special tablet! Your elders said I wasn’t allowed!”

“It’s not a��you wouldn’t have even be able to see…ugh. Never mind. It’s a bullshit legend anyway and Madara would never.”

Hashirama arches his eyebrows.

“…Madara would probably not.”

Hashirama waits. He loves Madara, he really does, but…

“Oh shit we really need to get out of here,” Izuna says with a groan.

“I’m open to suggestions on how,” Hashirama says dryly. “Ideally before we get embarrassingly rescued by my baby brother.”

“I’ve been here for three days and nobody noticed that I wasn’t the one who ‘left’,” Izuna says flatly. He sounds a little hurt by that. “What makes you think anyone will notice when he goes back as you?”

“To start with, leaving a note on Madara’s desk that says ‘gone on mission for interesting stuff don’t wait up’ is a lot more characteristic of you than me –”

“I think I actually did write that note,” Izuna groans. “Did he actually just re-use one of my old notes? This is terrible. I'm so ashamed.”

“– and anyway half the village reported someone sneaking out fairly ostentatiously, and there was obviously no henge involved, so we just assumed it was you. Clearly that’s a mistake and we’ll need to set up more official check-in and check-outs to avoid particularly sneaky infiltrators.”

“Oh, if we get back, I have plans,” Izuna says with all the savagery of a very offended head of village security that has identified a giant gap in his defenses. “But again, that still assumes we get back at all. Why do you think Tobirama will notice?”

“Because that thingamajig –”

“It calls itself Zetsu. Please use that. Have some dignity.”

“You Uchiha care too much about dignity,” Hashirama complains. “Who even cares?”

“Me,” Izuna says. “I care.”

(His lips are twitching, though. Uchiha love to look down their noses at ridiculous people, but they also tremendously enjoy watching their antics. And anyway, Izuna’s been stuck here for three days; he deserves to have a smile put on his face.)

“Fine, fine. Because Zetsu’s imitation of me is all wrong.”

Izuna arches his eyebrows. “It seemed pretty good to me. What was wrong with it?”

“He was happy.”

Izuna blinks. “…and?”

“I’m also happy,” Hashirama explains. “But it takes effort. There’s a difference. Tobirama’s a sensor; he’ll notice.”

That’s not quite the truth, or at least not all of it. Tobirama is indeed an amazing sensor and Hashirama hopes he’d notice just on that basis – he always notices when Hashirama’s doubling down on smiling, so it makes sense he’d notice it when it's an imposter – but regardless he has a trump card. Hashirama always briefly merges his chakra with Tobirama’s every time they’re in the same room together – an old holdover habit from when Tobirama was young and sickly and Hashirama was always trying to sneak him extra with nobody noticing.

Zetsu won’t know to do that, and if he does, it probably won’t have the same effect or feeling.

“And if he does notice, then what’s to stop Zetsu from coming back here and just murdering us both outright?” Izuna says.

“Mmm. An excellent point. We should definitely try to escape first.”

Izuna sighs. “Well, master of the Moktuon, can you do something about these vines?”

“They’re not real vines,” Hashirama says. “They’re fake plants. Plants would be ashamed to be associated with something like this. This is worse than a lawn, and I don’t say that lightly.”

Izuna gives him a strange look. “I thought Madara was joking when he said you had a thing about lawns. Apparently not.”

Hashirama decides to ignore him – clearly, no Uchiha will ever understand his pain in this matter – and tries reaching mentally for the forest.

For a few minutes there’s a lot of nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing –

“Wait, I think I’m feeling something,” he says.

Izuna sits up straight. “You are? What?”

“I don’t – I'm not sure. It doesn’t feel like plants – it feels more like –” He frowns. “Lightning?”

The entire cavern is lit up by a bright flash – not unlike the hiraishin, for that matter – and then something heavy lands on Hashirama.

It lands fairly badly.

“Owwwwww,” Hashirama moans, trying to curl up into a ball. At least he won’t have to worry about Zetsu getting his genetic material out that way, at least not until the bruises heal….

The source of the weight, a tall man with tricolored hair – black and white growing out of his skull, and plaits of bright red woven into them as they form a series of intricate braids – blinks down at him and frowns. “You’re not Tobirama.”

“No, he’s my brother. Who’re you?”

“Your – wait. Hashirama? You got tall! I mean, really tall; I thought Tobirama was joking!”

Hashirama blinks. While it’s true he was rather embarrassingly short for a while there in his childhood – Tobirama was nearly the same height as him for a while despite being three years younger – his teenage years had paid that back with interest. But only someone who knew him as a child would know to say that, and Hashirama doesn’t know anyone with black-white-red hair and braids; those are pretty distinctive, he’s sure he’d remember that.

In fact, the only person he knows who ever had both black and white hair was –

Wait.

No.

“Itama?!”

“Hold up,” Izuna says. “Senju Itama? I thought you said all your other brothers were dead – wait, no, don’t tell me Tobirama’s perfected that stupid bring-back-the-dead jutsu Madara has nightmares about –”

“It’s called Edo Tensei,” Itama says. “And it’s not stupid, just – probably unwise.”

Izuna makes a face. “Whatever. Just…tell me you’re not dead.”

“I’m not dead,” Itama says obediently.

“I said all my other brothers were gone,” Hashirama corrects. He feels slightly smug about being right that his baby brother would rescue them, though he concedes he was thinking of a different one. “Not dead. And officially it’s Uzumaki Itama now, not Senju…wait. Itama, aren’t you supposed to be in Uzushio right now? I’m pretty sure there’s another few years left on that fostering contract of yours before you’re allowed to come home.”

“Yeah, well, I saved Uzushio from being eaten by a giant whale – long story, don’t ask –”

“I’m asking,” Hashirama says immediately, fascinated. He wants to see a giant whale. That sounds awesome.

 “– and anyway to cut to the chase I got permission to go out wherever I wanted,” Itama concludes, ignoring him. Why do Hashirama’s brothers always ignore him? So not fair. “So obviously the first thing I did was come to see Tobirama.” He frowns. “And got you instead. Are you wearing his clothing?”

Hashirama wiggles around to look at his back. That shade of dark blue suggested it probably wasn’t his. “…apparently so? I wasn’t paying attention to what I pulled out of the closet this morning.”

“Are you two still sharing a closet?” Itama says, exasperated. “You’re adults! What will you do when one of you gets married?”

“Get a bigger closet and try to avoid grabbing any kimonos?”

“Not to interrupt this beautiful sibling bonding moment and, might I say, truly wonderful opportunity for future blackmail,” Izuna says, his voice dry as dust, “but maybe you could get us out of these vines and then out of this cave before Zetsu destroys the entire village we’ve been working so hard on? Any time now?”

[jainarden-blog]

A Little Bit Of Organization Wouldn’t Hurt A Bit

Today is a searching and researching online day for an end to the endless clutter I have lived with FOREVER! I am so ready to clear the decks both physically/mentally and offline/online and get to some #extremeproductivity.

This is going to involve a lot of thinking and a lot of trying out things to streamline it into this no-fluff ecosystem I am dreaming about, even as I am typing this. A big part of this is to go paperless and also to start using my IOS phone a lot more. The below may seem like a lot of places but the object of my game is to have places to put things where I can go back and retrieve them. My mind and life goes so fast a lot of the time that the clutter, even when it is just mental has a tendency to pile up and to overwhelm me. By clearing physical mess (most importantly paper) and mental overflow, I can create the space I need to be the best me. Two big goals are time to do online study and being fit mind and body.

Read on for tools and thoughts about them:

Tumblr - Reasons for Tumblr: braindumps, writing habit, connection my introvert heart desires at times, and ease of use. Tumblr is good just to write or to spend time reading. I find a lot of the people on Tumblr are pretty deep, creative and wildly entertaining. Tumblr is a good place for introverts.

Saved.io - to try and curb the worthless habit of saving fifty trillion bookmarks and adding to them daily without ever really delving into those websites or using them. No extensions for this. You just add saved.io after the http:// or https:// and to make folder (tags/labels) put a name in front of .saved.io. Super easy. Sign up for an account and have an online spot for bookmarking your heart out

Google Keep - I need something to take down my own thoughts in a browser as I am surfing/researching and do not want to make a big deal out of it. There is a Chrome extension or you can right-click to add notes with tags. Braindumps and a place to satisfy data pack-rat urges. Follows the line of thinking that I am using Google for a lot of things and it’s already there anyway.

Google Calendar - I have multiple Google accounts but one where all my emails and appointments go. I synced this as my main calendar on IOS instead of the default calendar. One calendar to rule them all! Same for the one gmail. There is also an extension to add events quickly, along with the right click option.

Feedbro - RSS feed reader - too bad Google did away with theirs. This takes away some bookmarks for favorite sites/blogs and gives me an easy and fast way to know that I am keeping up with things that are important to me. Clicking the extension lets you “Find feeds on this page,” save feeds and also to open up your feedreader. Feeds can be categorized into folders.

LastPass - I have used this for years on my computers. It is the best password keeper as far as I am concerned. AND FREE! Today, I put it on my phone. I cannot say enough about how great this tool is for your information.

Scanbot - app for scanning in documents by taking a pic of them. This will definitely come in handy for those on-the-go document situations. Things like bills, manuals, purchase papers, etc. I have at home will, most of the time, be scanned in using my printer’s scanner.

Bullet Journal (BuJo) - my offline to-do / to-did and short journal things. I have one for me and one for my computer. The one for my computer has already saved me this year when I was trying to figure out what program was conflicting with another. My memory was helped by my documentation on what programs I had downloaded and when. I also document computer problems: what happened and what helped. Everything in one book - I think everyone should have one of these and I am surprised I never thought of it before this year. My personal BuJo is not one of internet proportions. I tried that and failed miserably and lost all site of what the book was supposed to be for to begin with. I ditched the trying to make it pretty and doing weekly/monthly spreads. I am back to the original version that Carroll Ryder set forth with his inspiration and am a thousand times better for it. This is something I can hold in my hands and look back on from time to time to see exactly how my time on earth went.

SimpleNote - I have a Reminder label in this for to-do’s, but I mostly just write to-do’s on the calendar or on a post-it/index card to throw away. I also document to-do/to-did’s in my personal BuJo. No this program is going to be something I use for some time, I do believe. I decided I am going to document work with this, especially conversations. I never remember the specifics in time so this will be my second work brain. Tags will be people (initials, first name, or my nickname for them). I can then go back to specific conversations that I want to refresh myself on and also for people notes such as date of birth, family (kid/husband/wife name), and/or specific things about them. Also, dates of meetings, project dates,etc. This is in its infancy - I have high hopes for this going forward.

AirTable - This website/app has high potential. I really like that it is set up like an Excel spreadsheet. I have projects set up in it for tracking daily spending, pantry inventory, gifts, etc. etc. etc. This is so customizable!!!! In my pantry list, I can add columns to be able to know what my lowest price on an item was - so in essence, a pantry checker with a price book included. I figure the way I use it will grow as I get used to it and find its value.

mySymptoms -  $$ App for tracking your health. This is the one thing I paid for. I can’t wait to get enough stuff in it for a good PDF download. It is customizable to you, just like the AirTable. You can add/delete the things you want to track and there is a big list of them: drinks, food, medications, supplements, mood, symptoms, bowel, energy, sleep, stress, exercise, environment, and other. Some of these can be extra helpful for people who struggle with certain diseases or triggers. This is certainly a make-it-all-about-you app that can show correlations between a factor(s) causing another factor(s). Or even for people who forget when or how long they took medications or supplements. In my new found goal of creating a life that serves my health - this one is a winning part of it. I will be a participant in my healthcare.

Instagram - because, at times, I like to take photos of food and things I see that I like. And because, I hate Facebook. IG also gives me an easy way to change the way the photos look and share back to myself for other uses and ways to share my account online with my online people-ha. Braindump for photos.

Twitter - because it’s fun... and sometimes informative. Twitter is the quick connection to the rest of the world and let’s anyone fit into it. My favorite parts of the twit are hashtag and whatever “new episode” tv show I am watching. It’s fun to join in with whatever other people think of an episode and throw your two cents in too. I never feel like I am sitting at my house alone on Friday & Saturday nights with #livepd. With the added gifs on posts, it can get quite hilarious.

GoodReads - This is hooked up to my Amazon account and my Amazon account is hooked up to my local library account through Overdrive. So... free books. I read every night on my Kindle app (you can read in your browser too). The books are automatically added to my GoodReads account. At this time, I am 8 books ahead on my goal to read 100 books this year. 

Listal - As for movies, the best site I have found is Listal. You can tag, star and make lists for the movies/tv you watch (along with books, products, people, dvds, and games, if you wish). Many members do a Halloween movie list each year.

Pinterest - this place fulfills my yearnings to save a million quotes, presented in a pretty way and is the easiest way to make kick ass vision boards. I have multiple boards for this very thing: HouseVB, ClothesVB, ThingsVB and so on.

This is the big starting out list. I didn’t want to leave anything out because I need to be clear on what I am really using and be consistent on what accounts I use for what services. Pinterest may be a big black hole, but once set up with mostly productive boards, I can relax knowing that they are helping me visualize the things I want while also letting me do something that is fun (even if sometimes just losing time surfing the internet).The same with Twitter and Instagram. They are black holes for time. But this way they are serving a purpose of entertainment and braindumps to clear the way for good space in my life. I will follow up with this as being productive online is both an important topic for me and also a much needed topic discussion. In my research, I wish more people would post about their systems to help the rest of us out :D

[theolddarkmachine]

baby, it’s cold inside

“Voltron Heating & AC, what can we do for you?” A smoke filled voice answers. There’s a pleasant rasp to it that reminds Shiro of a crackling fire.

“I need help,” he says, mentally kicking himself before he’s even finished speaking when he realizes how stupid he must sound. There’s a pause, filled only with a quiet huffing sound that he’s certain is the technician swallowing a laugh.

“What’s your name?” The man asks, key clicks providing a quiet backdrop for his question.

“Shiro,” he answers quickly, biting his tongue when he thinks that the man is probably looking for a full name.

“Takashi Shirogane,” he rectifies, noting the pause in the typing as he speaks. “My friends call me Shiro.”

Because that’s helpful, he thinks to himself, sharpening his glare at his heater. This is all your fault.

“Alright, Shiro,” the man says, and Shiro wonders if he’s imagining the way his name sounds like silk the way it’s wrapped in his voice. “How can I help you?”

Tags: Christmas Meet Cute, Fluff, Duel Flustered Disasters

AO3

A/N: It’s the holidays, and ya know what, we deserve some fluff. Shoutout to @smartcookie727 who saved me from just naming this Pilot Light XD also let’s pretend that this sounds like i know anything about heaters

************************

It’s Christmas day, and Keith is cold.

Really fucking cold.

Which is just cosmically hilarious given he’s a heating repairman working in a shop without heating. Keith is certain he’d laugh about it if his teeth weren’t chattering violently enough to chip them.

“You should go home, Pidge. Go hang out with your family,” he says through the click, praying he doesn’t catch his tongue between them.

“And leave my favorite Grinch alone on this sacred day?” Pidge says, popping her gum for dramatic effect as she flashes her bright stare up over the top of her computer. “Never.”

“I’m not a Grinch,” Keith replies, almost defiantly as he pulls a foot up into his seat and tucks his knee against his chest.

He really isn’t. It’s a common misconception that he doesn’t like Christmas. He likes it well enough.

In fact, he finds a sort of solace in it. The holidays slowed the town down, and allowed him to breathe.

They were just quiet, and always had been.

For him, at least.

I can take this Christmas off, honey, his mother had offered the week prior, as she always did.

No, the station can’t function without you, Keith had laughed, waving her off, as he always did.

Fires didn’t take holidays, and as the captain of the Garrison Fire Department, Krolia knew that better than anyone. They were used to it by now, and always celebrated their Christmas the night before. It was tradition by now, just like Pidge and her show of holiday solidarity.

And if that wasn’t enough, it also meant he got to make a monopoly on any heating disasters that might come up while everyone else was off.

Of course, it’s a decision he’s deeply regretting this Christmas with it’s record lows. He really needed to speak with whoever decided the cheaper warehouse price was worth the lack of heating.

“You have no one to blame but yourself, you know,” Pidge hums, breaking through his train of thought as she continues to click away at her keyboard. He isn’t sure if she means his reputation or the frostbite he’s certain is turning his toes black, but he elects to ignore her since he doesn’t really have an argument either way.

Solidarity be damned, he thinks as he breathes a hot puff of air between his palms. Pidge is Jewish anyways.

Quiet settles over the room, only disrupted by Pidge’s quick keystrokes and the ivory click of his teeth for what seems like an eternity before the phone rings.

Sharp and shrill, it makes him jump, the sudden motion of it shoving his shin into his desk hard enough to make him yipe.

This had been their fifth Christmas with the business, and the first time anyone had actually called during it.

“Are you going to answer that?” Pidge asks, tone curious as she flicks her look between him and the phone that’s still ringing at the edge of his desk as if he needs help finding where the sound is coming from.

Which, is valid given the way he’s gaping over to her, but she didn’t need to know that.

Nodding curtly, Keith reaches for it, pressing the answer button before he has it halfway to his ear as he rubs at his throbbing shin.

“Voltron Heating & AC,” he says, trying his best to not chop up his words through his chatter, “what can we do for you?”

***

It’s Christmas day, and Shiro is cold.

Really fucking cold.

He’d known he had bad luck, what with the career ending accident and the semi-newness of singledom that had left a little dark rain cloud over his holidays, but he hadn’t thought he’d be so unlucky for his heat to crap out on him on Christmas.

Ho ho freaking ho, he thinks bitterly as he stares at his lifeless heating system. The large metal rectangle didn’t even have enough in it to give one last death rattle as it just sat silently before him.

It looks more like a gravestone than a heater.

To make matters worse, Shiro doesn’t even know where to start with the damn thing to try and fix it himself.

He knew all the intricacies of various space crafts, and yet in the face of a heating system, he was rendered useless. Which, honestly just felt like the cherry on top of the shit sundae that had been his year.

Typical.

Heaving a sigh, Shiro kicks halfheartedly at the heating system before pulling his phone from his front pocket.

Pulling up Google, he searches ‘heating repair open christmas day,’ accepting Google’s oh so helpful suggestion of tacking on ‘near me’ at the end before pressing enter. There seems to be a momentary pause that’s just long enough for Shiro to imagine the search engine returning his inquiry with a big middle finger before it brings up a list of all the HVAC technicians in the area.

All in which have CLOSED plastered right beside their names in bold.

All, except one.

Boasting five stars from enough reviewers to make the rating seem legit, Shiro clicks the number beneath the name, not bothering to check their website for pricing.

Desperate times called for desperate measures and he was willing to pay what he needed to to regain feeling in his toes.

“Voltron Heating & AC, what can we do for you?” A smoke filled voice answers. There’s a pleasant rasp to it that reminds Shiro of a crackling fire.

“I need help,” he says, mentally kicking himself before he’s even finished speaking when he realizes how stupid he must sound. There’s a pause, filled only with a quiet huffing sound that he’s certain is the technician swallowing a laugh.

“What’s your name?” The man asks, key clicks providing a quiet backdrop for his question.

“Shiro,” he answers quickly, biting his tongue when he thinks that the man is probably looking for a full name.

“Takashi Shirogane,” he rectifies, noting the pause in the typing as he speaks. “My friends call me Shiro.”

Because that’s helpful, he thinks to himself, sharpening his glare at his heater. This is all your fault.

“Alright, Shiro,” the man says, and Shiro wonders if he’s imagining the way his name sounds like silk the way it’s wrapped in his voice. “How can I help you?”

***

Standing in front of the crimson door, Keith thinks he knows what to expect.

While their town isn’t necessarily small, it is small enough for him to know about the the newcomer that had moved there in the past month.

He’s a veteran, so they say, fresh out of rehab from an accident and taking up a position at Allura’s family practice. Kind, even though life has given him enough reason not to be, Takashi Shirogane— My friends call me Shiro— unwittingly became the talk of the town.

Well, the talk of the housewives who had happened by the clinic since he’d started there.

It gave him a certain allure, one that’s left Keith’s heart racing as he raps his knuckles against the door.

He’s also supposed to be very handsome, he thinks as he hears the shuffle of footsteps on the other side.

So they say.

With that in mind, he thinks he knows what to expect up until the exact moment that the door swings open.

Shiro’s eyes catch the sunlight, sparking like a sterling flare, as his lips part around a welcoming smile. He’s younger than he’d been led to believe from the whispers of his achievements and white hair.

“Hey, Keith?” He asks, or at least, Keith thinks he asks. Caught tracking the strong straight of his jaw, it’s honestly lost on him.

Handsome, as it turned out, was an understatement.

“Hi,” Keith manages, shifting his gaze over the soft grey hoodie that is pulled taut across Shiro’s chest. Moving further still, he notes the way it’s tied just above where the elbow of his right arm should be.

“Hi,” he says again, snapping his attention back up to his face. “I’m Keith. From Voltron.”

It earns him a laugh, boastful and saccharine as Shiro leans against the doorframe and pushes his hand into the pocket of his sweats.

A stronger man might have been able to stop his gaze from watching the movement or letting his eyes linger on the comfortable black fabric.

Apparently, Keith is not a stronger man.

“I worked that out,” Shiro says around a smile.

Ever the eloquent type, Keith nods and offers a small, “right.”

Quiet, thick with warm anticipation drags a shiver down his spine that’s altogether different from the one brought on by the angry winter wind that’s been nipping at his skin. It’s weighted with the heavy metal of Shiro’s stare as he keeps it trained on him, as if expecting something more from him.

Which, right.

“So, where’s this heating unit?” Keith asks quickly, unhelpfully holding up his tool box as if there was anymore doubt as to why he was there.

Shifting slightly against the doorframe, Shiro cocks his head back towards his entryway.

“This way,” he says as he stands at his full height and turns toward the innards of his home.

Ignoring the heated twist in his gut that greedily curls around the knowledge that Shiro is a full head taller than him, Keith follows, letting the door shut quietly behind him.

It leads to an open living space, sparse and almost utilitarian with its couch, coffee table and TV set over the fireplace. The only excess comes in the form of three photos standing proud on the mantle. One, in a rich wood frame that features Shiro and a white haired woman that looks a lot like Allura from this distance, in black graduation caps.

Another boasts a group of men, dressed in uniform and posing in front of a jet.

The last, is older, and faded. Set in a golden frame, it stands out from the rest of the room if only because it has the presence of something sacred. In it, is a smiling child, held in the arms of what Keith can only assume is his grandfather.

“It’s just in here,” Shiro calls from ahead in the kitchen, the sound of his voice joined by the creak of another door opening.

Making his way through the kitchen, Keith follows Shiro out into the garage, his eyes zeroing in on the heating system that’s tucked in the corner.

It’s old.

Very, very old.

And covered in enough dust that he’s surprised Shiro hasn’t already started to display signs of black lung.

But most importantly, it’s really fucking old.

The silent assessment must play across his face, because as he’s searching his mental catalogue of heaters for the last time this style had even been made, he hears Shiro make a small, pained sound.

“That’s not a good look,” he says lowly, voice sounding dismayed. Keith shakes his head as he keeps his gaze on the silent metallic box.

“No, it’s okay.”

It’s a lie. From the looks of it, the unit is at least ten years past its replacement date. He honestly can’t even fathom how it’s made it this far, or at the very least, not set the place on fire.

“I should have known the price of this place was too good for there to not be some major fixes needed,” Shiro soliloquizes with a sigh as Keith kneels down, pulling his favorite screwdriver from his back pocket. Making quick work of the siding, it falls away with a sharp clang and a huff of dust to reveal—

Even more dust.

A small wheeze escapes him as he inhales some.

“It’s bad,” Shiro surmises from the sound, voice straining further as Keith pushes back on his haunches and shakes his head. Both at Shiro’s words, but also to clear it of dust.

“It’s not too bad,” he croaks, looking up over his shoulder and offering as much of a smile as he can with his lungs heaving and eyes watering.

“I can fix this.”

It’s another lie. He isn’t actually sure it’s fixable, but he can’t bring himself to say it. Not when Shiro is looking at him with that desperate shine in his eyes, and that jaw set by the gods themselves.

Sighing with relief, he watches as Shiro visibly deflates, his worried look softening into a mix of sheepish and thankful.

Given the circumstance, Keith is certain the first comparison his mind draws for the man shouldn’t be warmth, and yet it does as he watches him nod slowly.  

“Okay,” Shiro says finally. “I’ll leave it to you, then.”

Then, he smiles. A true smile that reaches his eyes and hits Keith with all the force of an 18-wheeler. It smashes his sternum and stops his heart for long enough that he has the time to worry it won’t start again before it kicks back to life in triple time.

“Yeah, leave it to me,” Keith sputters, mouth moving without the help of his still rebooting brain.

Which, is when tragedy strikes.

“I’ll get you warm.”

It’s not what he means to say. Is never what he would mean to say. Yet, he says it anyway.

Silence falls like heavy lead around them as red floods Shiro’s cheeks. Eyes widening, Keith opens his mouth then closes it again with a click, deciding instead to turn back to the heating unit.

Staring into the thick blanket of dust, he wonders for just a moment if he could possibly suffocate himself in it before he starts to get to work.

***

He isn’t checking Keith out.

That feels like a breach in some kind of unsigned contract between him and the white knight of a heating technician that had showed up at his doorstep hours ago.

So no, Shiro isn’t checking him out as he’s on his hands and knees, half shoved into the depths of his apparently unending heating unit.

What he’s doing, is appreciating him.

Appreciating him and his lean form, with his very capable hands and sense of dry humor that played perfectly against his own.

Even after he’d worn out small talk a little over an hour in, Shiro still found himself comfortable as he sat there filling the role of silent moral support.

Shiro would even argue that he was making himself useful, after the second hour when he’d picked up on the small grunt that Keith would make before extricating himself from the bowels of the unit to switch out tools. So now, he’s also filling the role of pseudo assistant.

One who is definitely not checking him out.

He repeats it like a mantra as Keith wiggles his hips, apparently having a tough time with whatever it is in there that he’s been wrestling with.

Soft sounds escape the heating unit as he continues to struggle with the innards of it, moving this way and that, unaware of the pink flush that is sweeping over Shiro’s skin. It makes him run hot in a way that makes him wonder if the heater was already back up and running.

When he’d opened the door, he hadn’t expected to find himself pinned beneath the weight of a stare painted the most intriguing mix of jeweled purple and steely blue. At most, he’d expected the usual, stock variety of heating technicians.

A little bit older, a little bit bigger, and with a little more facial hair.

Instead, Keith turned out to be the human incarnate of a firestorm. With a voice like smoke, and presence that had him filled with an aching burn, Keith seemed to be something other that couldn’t be contained.

Lost deep in the trenches of his thoughts, Shiro misses the Keith slowly pulls back out of the unit and begins reattaching the panel he’d removed. It isn’t until he hears the sharp sound of a palm against metal that he focuses back on the technician, who is looking up at him with a smile as the soft purr of life rolls through the heater.

For one, longstanding moment, Shiro wonders if it’d be too cheesy to consider this a Christmas miracle.

“I told you I could fix it,” Keith says, relief making his smile soft as he uses a hand to push himself up onto his feet before brushing off his knees.

With his hair disheveled, and a dark streak of dust that bridges his nose, he looks like he just returned from battle.

Beautiful, a stray thought says, sending his heart ricocheting through his chest and up into his throat.

“You did,” he replies, far softer than he’d intended and he feels the ever present flush deepen beneath his scar. The comfortable silence falls once more as Keith

“So,” he continues, scratching at the back of his neck as he laughs sheepishly, “what’s the damage?”

It’s a simple enough question. A joke, even, as Keith regards him closely. His look is thoughtful, like he’s searching for something as he cocks his head.

And then he smiles.

The arch of it is a curved blade that sinks deep into his chest as Keith finally looks away and starts to rummage through his toolbox, pulling out a receipt book just moments later.

“How about a hundred bucks?” He asks, flipping through the pages in search of an unused one. Making a small sound of triumph, he pulls a pen from his pocket and pulls the cap off with his teeth.

Shiro tries not to focus too hard on the way the blue cap presses against the full of his bottom lip.

He must fail, because then Keith looks up with a questioning brow pulled high at the strangled sound that apparently comes from deep in his own throat.

“Are you sure that’s all you want?” Shiro can’t help but ask. It’s an obscenely low price, he doesn’t need to know anything about heaters to know that, and he can’t quite wrap his mind around it. Mouth caught open, he watches as Keith just nods and starts writing on the pad, shifting the pen cap to the side.

This, Shiro thinks, is also obscene but for a whole other reason.

“Really?” It comes out choked as he reaches for the wallet in his pocket, pulling it open and eyeing the credit cards he no longer needs to ensure he can pay.

The weight of expectation sits on his shoulders as he pulls his debit card free from its pocket, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It never does, as Keith just shrugs and holds out a hand, eyes still trained downward on the receipt book. Gently, Shiro presses the card to his waiting palm. Lightning buzzes in his fingertips where they brush against Keith’s skin. The feeling pulls a small, shuddering sound from his lips that pulls Keith’s strange grey amethyst gaze up to look at him as he pulls his hand quickly back.

The buzzing feeling remains as he flexes his hand, opening and closing it to see if it would fade.

It doesn’t.

Turning his attention back down, Keith places the card beneath the carbon paper and rubs the side of his pen against it, pressing the numbers into the yellow page. The sudden tear of the paper makes Shiro jump, its sound hanging in the air as Keith folds his copy around the card and hands it back to him.

His smile, seems to grow wider, and cuts deeper.

Shiro wonders if Keith knows just how close to his heart it’s cutting.

“Merry Christmas, Shiro,” he says smoothly as Shiro takes it.

“Yeah, you too.” Shiro wants to kick himself immediately for the stuttering breathlessness of his own voice.

Get it together, Shirogane, he chides silently as Keith dips his head and grabs his toolbox. Heat is already starting to spread through him as he tries to find anything else to say, though he isn’t even sure what he could say.

Want to stay for dinner, maybe?

Want to stay forever, a very unhelpful voice supplies.

It isn’t until he’s decided on maybe thanks, that he realizes Keith has already seen himself out. The sound of his front door clicking shut rocks down his spine, landing at the base of his stomach in the form of heavy disappointment.

Beside him, his heater continues to purr, and it almost sounds like a hissing laugh.

“Shut up,” he whispers as he unfolds the receipt, grabbing his card and immediately dropping it as if its shocked him.

It hasn’t, but the handwriting beneath it had.

Swallowing down the thrumming heart in his throat, Shiro rereads it.

It’s ten digits, and a whole name.

Keith Kogane, his Christmas miracle, had left his number.

***

“A hundred dollars, Keith,” Pidge mutters under her breath for the thousandth time as she presses her forehead down into her palms. “A hundred dollars.”

Admittedly, Keith knows that it’s a low price.

Even triple that would have been an obscenely low price for the miracle he had managed. There was no reason for the fix to work, and even now, near two hours after the fact, he still isn’t quite sure how he’d done it. Nor, was he planning on questioning it.

It’s a Christmas miracle, a small voice cooed at the back of his mind as he just shrugs at Pidge yet again.

On any other day, he’d try to explain himself.

Of course, on any other day, he wouldn’t charge a customer a tenth of the price for a fix. More importantly, he wouldn’t leave his phone number either.

God, he’d left his number.

Dropping his head down on his desk with a soft thunk!, he tries to pinpoint the exact moment his life had devolved into a Hallmark Christmas movie.

As if he could actually pass as some protagonist. Or love interest.

Groaning into the fake wood grain, Keith rubbed his forehead against its cool surface.

Was he the love interest?

“A hundred dollars, Keith,” Pidge moans again in reply.

A hundred dollars, and a phone number, he silently bites back.

Falling into a shared silence, the room goes almost painfully quiet as Keith considers the many ways he could possibly explain away the temporary lapse in his own judgement.

Maybe he could blame the amount of dust he’d inhaled, claiming momentary insanity. Maybe he could claim it was nothing more than a friendly offer for Shiro to reach out to him when his heater inevitably bit it again. Or maybe, he could blame it on a deranged twin.

Yorak, Keith thinks with a mental nod when he feels the sudden buzz of a text alert skitter across his desktop and against his forehead. It freezes him, stalling his breath as his eyes fly open to be filled with the light brown of the fake wood.

Rolling his head to the side, he presses his cheek flush to the desk as he eyes his phone. At this angle, all he can see is the light of his screen as it stays lit with its message.

It’s a coincidence, he’s sure, as he continues to hold his breath and lifts a hesitant hand toward the offending piece of technology that has lodges his heart in his throat. Just a coincidence.

With a gentle press of his fingers, Keith flips the phone onto his side, his eyes widening at the bold, unsaved number, and the single line of text that accompanies it.

How about coffee sometime?

And then, it buzzes against his palm as another joins it.

It’s Shiro btw.

The obviousness of it startles a snorting sound from him as he sits up.

yeah i kinda figured

Keith breathes, the air expanding his chest and grounding him as he continues to type, letting his fingers press the words into the screen before his mind can catch up.

coffee would be great

Cutting his gaze up from the screen, he finds Pidge still at her desk with her head in her hands. By the way her shoulders move, he wonders quietly if she’s fallen asleep as he waits for a reply.

Several minutes pass before it comes in the form of a tickling vibration in his palm.

How about today?

He must make a sound, because out of the corner of his eye, he sees the bounce of her tawny hair as she flicks her head upward. Worst of all, he can feel her stare cutting into him as he taps out his response.

something tells me it might be tough finding a place open today

Shiro’s next text comes in, almost instantaneous.

You could always come back to mine. I make a mean latte :)

Forty-seven seconds pass before Keith gets the next text. He knows, because he counts them in some vague attempt to slow the rapid fire stutter of his heart as he tries to come up with what to say.

Too forward. Ignore that.

Keith has only known Shiro for the three and a half hours that it took to fix his heater, but he can already imagine the pink that is probably spilling across his cheeks as he rubs a palm against the back of his neck. It makes him laugh. A real laugh that makes Pidge’s stare burn hotter against his skin.

no i think id like that

He sends the message, all too aware of the way his lips are stuck in an upward curl when Pidge clears her throat pointedly. Looking up, he catches the way her gaze shifts between the phone and his face, and the way her mouth opens around a comment.

Keith beats her to it.

“Pidge?” He says, smile growing wider as the phone buzzes in his hand again.

“Yes?” She replies, curiosity and confusion filling the word as she looks down at the phone again.

Excitement flutters through him as the buzz tickles his palm once more.

“Let’s close up for Christmas.”

*************************

[arcanalogue]

So an odd thing happened to me several times now and i do not believe in coincidences. When i have asked the cards a question, i had a certain card in my mind that could answer it. I haven’t thought about, but it was more like an intuitive answer: it just popped out in my mind. When i have picked the card, the exact same card i have thought about came out! What can it mean??

The Querent goes on to write: “I even asked the cards one time what card could describe them the best and The Hermit came in my mind and when i picked the card it was The Hermit… it’s odd, my significator card is 8 Strength and they chose to be 9 The Hermit… Anyway this thing happened to basic spreads too. Many times… Thank you so for your time and knowledge!“

[I keep forgetting there’s a character limit on inbox questions. If you need more space to ask your question, email me at arcanalogue@gmail.com, I’ll make sure the whole thing gets posted!]

Hi Querent! Congrats on discovering your very own Spooky Tarot Mystery! I’m glad to hear you are vibing with your deck to this extent. 

First and foremost, what it means is that your practice has evolved. When we’re first setting out, we encounter all kinds of readings and card-drawings that seem strangely loaded, and we rarely have an inkling of what they mean – or can be certain they mean anything at all. 

As one’s practice advances, their relationship with the cards becomes more like… well, any relationship, really! There is a kind of dance to it, in which you’re reaching out into the unknown in order to have these conversations, and sometimes you can feel something reaching back. 

But what is it? And can we trust it? Is it safe? Is it real, or are we like Narcissus, being seduced by our own reflection?

Questions like these are why I tend to describe the source as divined wisdom as “the unknown,” instead of attributing it to a specific entity or deity. People are welcome to draw their own conclusions, but as a teacher I think this is the most responsible answer, as well as the most honest. 

I’ll never forget my own first Spooky Tarot Mystery, though I’ll spare you the details. Suffice to say I did the same thing you did: I reached out to a tarot teacher/practitioner whose opinion I trusted and asked whether they thought it meant anything significant. 

The answer I got was a bit more gruff, along the lines of “Don’t be silly, that’s preposterous!” At the time I found the vehemence of that response sort of hilariously inappropriate, but I have to admit that it broke the spell of mystery that had been winding me in its tentacles, and allowed me to laugh at myself.

And that brings me to the other part of my answer: past a certain level of attainment in the Spooky Arts, you have to continually include these kinds checks and balances. You need to be able to remain sensitive enough to vibe with the spooky and numinous, but you also have to be able to stand outside that experience and appreciate how absurd and potentially meaningless it is to anyone but us.

This is how we maintain our tether to the human world, planting our flag at the crossroads of intersecting realities, keeping ourselves accessible to others walking the same path. As readers, I think this it’s extremely important to protect this faculty of our wisdom. 

It’s not just for others – the secrets you uncover as a mystical explorer give you all the tools and incentive you need to crawl MILES up your own ass, perhaps never to return. With alarming speed, everything you read, see, feel, or think begins to seem like THE ULTIMATE TRUTH manifesting before you, pointing toward an ultimate reality, a purity of practice, as well as one true understanding of the universe. 

I can’t tell you how many magicians, artists, witches, and religious types I’ve watched this happen to. Some of them drift back down to earth eventually, especially in the face of hardships resulting from these delusions, which can be indistinguishable from (or aggravated by) mental illness. Others need their attainments be real SO BADLY that they just never come back down, and they end up surrounding themselves with the kind of folks who’ll buy into them unquestioningly, usually in exchange for mutual support in their own preposterous delusions. 

I try to stay clear of judgment in such cases. This is just one kind of path humans tread, one kind of story, but it’s not the one for me, and I’d prefer not to encourage these tendencies in others. 

There may come a time in your life when you can dwell with the numinous 24/7, when that umbilicus anchoring you to Earth finally snaps and falls away on its own. As a teacher, I don’t think anything good can come from hastening that process, and it’s problematic that we end up aggrandizing those whose awareness sets them the furthest apart from earthly consensual reality, who can no longer meaningfully connect with others. 

Because you have to be able to connect with someone in order to serve them, otherwise you just end up expecting everyone to serve you.  

This is why holy people occupy the top and the bottom of that spectrum I created a while back that helps gauge the usefulness of uncanny advice. Everyone wants to find the fastest, most authentic, most direct path to this level of attainment, to harness these powers (or at least appear to) as early in life as possible. Their reasons may be completely altruistic: they want to alleviate suffering, help others find peace, cure themselves of dysfunction, face death with no fears. Or perhaps they feel like an outsider in this world, and are looking for a sense of peace and acceptance in the vast unknown.

Well, the unknown isn’t an inherently dangerous place, but nor is it inherently safe. So when you’re exploring the back-alleys of your own consciousness, or cultivating practices that help you peek behind the veil that hangs between worlds, you have to build in the kinds of protections and fail-safes that keep you from falling further down the rabbit-hole than you’re altogether ready for. 

Along the way, we are thrown nuggets that really do serve a purpose for others, as well as ourselves. The fact that The Hermit came up in a question asking the deck about its own nature is fascinating to me, Querent. I’m glad that spark of wisdom managed to leap all the way over to me, by way of your question. 

There’s a fascinating precedent for asking the oracle questions about itself. Carl Jung once famously performed an I Ching reading asking the oracle to reveal itself to him in a similar way, and the reply was really interesting  – it’s included in the edition of the I Ching that he wrote an introduction for). 

The Hermit embodies the very idea of lifelong spiritual practice, in a way that underscores the importance of sharing wisdom, leaving markers for other aspirants to follow – “For the gate is narrow and the way is hard, that leads to life, and those who find it are few.”

That quote from the Book of Matthew kicks off the chapter about The Hermit in a book called Meditations on the Tarot: A Journey into Christian Hermeticism. The author (who published the book anonymously) has this to say about our lantern-swinging hero:  

“For it is the venerable and mysterious Hermit who was master of the most intimate and most cherished dreams of my youth, as moreover he is the master of dreams for all youth in every country, who are enamoured by the call to seek the narrow gate and the hard way to the Divine.”

Everything the Hermit symbolizes, we work toward in our relationship with the cards. We pursue the unknown, and wherever we find ourselves, we put up a lantern that lets others know how far we made it. Thus, even the most dedicated Hermit never becomes absorbed enough in his own Spooky Mysteries to become truly solipsistic. Nor does he mistake his tiny light for that of The Sun. He is simply one data point – one Hermit out of many, all of whom set out on their own journeys, reaching vastly different conclusions. 

Ultimately, your mind is the only tool you have to work with, Querent. By engaging with the unknown, you sharpen it. Whatever you do with that keen edge remains entirely up to you – no one else can help you tend it… or protect you from it. 

Meanwhile, whatever sparks may be struck in the process of that sharpening, I hope you’ll keep sharing them with querents of your own, and with the rest of us. 

Thanks for your question!

Have a tarot reading request or tarot-related question for Arcanalogue? Ask here. Tips accepted (but not required) via Venmo, @arcanalogue. Or support my Patreon? I’d love that.

[teagrl]

You knew it. Cranky listing of thoughts on Allegiance. Extremely long.

-Why fanfic has not referred to that that inflatable mannequin thing Mara used in Allegiance is beyond me. That shit is hilarious.

-Mara is 18 in Allegiance which is several months after Yavin. The text says her tenure as Hand has been short, the first chapter at least makes a point of Mara being inexperienced (but practiced). This is good fodder for extrapolation. 

-There’s a mention of being taught by professional thieves. Obviously the Emperor had them executed after they taught Mara the text doesn’t say this, but it’s canon in my head.

-Another good moment for extrapolating:

-”Thank you,” Mara said, feeling the warmth of his approval flow through her

[...]

”The Emperor held out his hand to her. “Go,” he said

Mara stepped forward and took his outstretched had, feeling a fresh wave of warmth and strength flow into her, then stepped back again.”

Reminds me of this moment in Sleight of Hand:

The eyes glittered again, and Mara felt the warmth of his approval fill her mind. 

Speaking of Sleight of Hand, the absolutely most interesting part of that story for me is this one line:

Frowning slightly with concentration, trying to ignore the noisy clutter of all the other minds in the room, she drew on the Emperor’s power within her and focused on the figure in the armored suit. 

I have basically around 30K based on this line as it stands. 

Sleight of Hand also has this intro of Mara:

She was the Emperor’s Hand, with powers in the Force that had been trained, nurtured, and strengthened by the Emperor himself...

Which takes us back to Allegiance with:

But Mara was the Emperor’s Hand, recruited and trained personally by him [...]

-After so much reading about the Imperial Palace and the Jedi Temple, I like thinking that the Emperor’s library is actually the Jedi Archives. Cue scream. Awesome.

-On this reread I kind of loved Mara thinking *sigh* why can’t I get the message through to Vader that we’re on the same side and like would kind of appreciate reading about them doing a mission together where (a)Mara finds how uh blunt force Vader can be firsthand  and (b) they end up with a grudging respect for one another or rather Vader ends up thinking Mara isn’t a TOTAL waste of space. Totally cliche, but I want it. We kind of end like that here, but ehhh they don’t interact meaningfully.

-”Loyalty was, after all, one of the Emperor’s greatest qualities; loyalty to all that were loyal to him.” Cue scream. This is good. I like this.

-”That would be an extremely bad idea,” she warned Birtraub. “The penalties for assaulting an Imperial agent are fairly gruesome.” Not that we know in Allegiance, but thanks to other EU works, AND HOW.

-”Mara felt her lip twist. The Emperor had often warned her that she was far too young for most people to take her threats seriously.”

-”Mara wrinkled her nose in disgust. ISB was a necessary evil, she knew, though to her mind there was too much evil and not enough necessity in the mix. Her own limited experience had found them to be generally arrogant, heavy-handed, and overly proud of their elite status.”

Omg lolololololololforever.

But yeah, I think everyone hates ISB. (About the stormtroopers given to her --”Knowing ISB, it was more likely Somoril had picked a pair of expendables.”)

-I am annoyed at Mara offering the pirate a blanket pardon in exchange for his cooperation. BLANKET PARDON. The true Imperial thing to do would be to offer it, get what you want, and betray him in the end. Because he’s a pirate. End of story. It’s ridiculously ooc for a high ranking Imperial to not to do that. In the end Tannis gets killed so the narrative never goes there. But that’s one of the milquetoast moments in Allegiance. Know your fucking Empire, man.

-”A girl who gets those orders,” Somoril corrected. “She’s barely had time to finish her training, let along build up any field experience.” 

-”Mara’s training had included a basic overview of starship operation, but most of that had been geared to military craft.”

-Oh hey, I guess either Mara always found the name Celina striking or Zahn fucked up his own continuity again, because she uses that a year before the Jabba’s thing where Melina Carniss stops her (she will later go by Celina Marniss).

-”The result was a dinner conversation made up almost entirely of chitchat, the sort Mara had heard at formal and informal dinners all across the galaxy. It made for an interesting contrast with the pirates’ casually blistering language.”

I think of Mara’s own potty mouth later on. 

-Ohhhh:

“Mara could remember the first time she’d done something like this, discussing matters that weren’t real with someone who was firmly convinced they were. In those early days the procedure had felt eerie and surrealistic, almost as if Mara herself were the one with the warped sense of reality. Now it was simply one more tool in her arsenal.”

DING. Spectacular. It’s too bad we’re never truly shown this. I think of that marvelous scene in Vader and the Ghost Prison, where Moff Tratcha tells the inmates the Empire offers clean deaths, right after we know he just beat a prisoner to death.

-”The Force was Mara’s servant and no matter how twisty or tangled the tunnels might be, she would have no trouble tracking Caldra through them.”

I don’t need to point to the inversion, do I?

-It makes 0 sense that people would know “the Emperor’s Hand,” in the Fringes/Outer Rim given how inexperienced Mara is at this stage. The only thing that makes it plausible is the existence of other agents going by that moniker before Mara herself took the post.

-Mara trying to save the pirate is some bullshit. Her carrying him through the Force is bullshit. Aaaaaaa it makes no sense with her training at all. It’s just there because Zahn wants her to be a good guy. Drives me craaaaazy. You can find other ways of highlighting “goodness” but saving a bloodsucking, civilian-killing pirate JUST BECAUSE is not it, considering she straight up murders all his other comrades, and he’s only cooperating with her because SHE MADE HIM, and she’s known him for like A FUCKING DAY. There is seriously no fucking in-universe reason in any universe she should bust her ass trying to save him. NONE.

-”It was impossible-- the Empire;s attention was completely absorbed with the Rebellion and domestic instability and alien unrest. By direct order from the Emperor himself, pirates and other raiders had been reclassified as a local and system enforcement problem.”

-”The Emperor had little patience with memorials, Mara knew, with extra contempt for the practice of saying words over the fallen. Mara said a few words anyway, half remembered ones from her childhood, before consigning Tannis’ body to the emptiness of space.”

Where the fuck do I even begin with this clusterfuck? 1) TANNIS IS A NOBODY. He and Mara have no connection and given Mara’s attitude towards criminals that connection doesn’t make sense. Not to mention there is no TIME to develop rapport between them. Every time she dealt with him it has been to pump him for information or to use him strategically. So her mourning him as a person seems unrealistic and has no basis in what we saw.

2) Furthermore, I call bullshit on memorials. The Emperor might tell her on the sly as a “between you and I” thing, but a regime supports itself also honoring its martyrs (those who fall to safeguard Order and peace). This is part of the propaganda machine and at this stage of her life given how much Mara believes in the Empire, it simply doesn’t make sense for the Emperor to let her in on it how empty memorials are, ultimately. 

Also Tannis is a motherfucking PIRATE. AAAAAAAAAARGHHHHH. Don’t conflate this. It’s not conflatable! It makes no senseeeeeee. There needs to be a HUGE difference between memorials for the honored fallen and the death a criminal ultimately deserves (in accordance to the either with or against us mentality of the Empire) for disrupting society!!!!

Also Mara was what? 4-5 at the time she came to the palace? What is she recalling? Earlier stuff from palace caretakers? I mean in theory you can make this work. But you have to go through gymnastics because on the face of it, it doesn’t match up with imperial culture.

-I’m not even going to say anything about Mara doing a healing trance at this stage in her life other than Did Not Do the Reading.

Fic writers, there you go if you forgot something five chapters ago. You didn’t forget something you wrote a published trilogy ago.

-After reading much more on Vader, the “confrontation” with Mara seems utterly ridiculous “see my fave” fan service. I don’t mind fan service, but it’s kind of low hanging fruit.

-Mara crash lands quite a bit, huh.

-This is how you fanservice:

-”I’m an Imperial agent,” she snapped back. “Level K012; recognition code Hapspir Barrini. We’ve got a bandit in that AT-ST.”

LaRone felt his mouth drop open. But years of training instantly took over. “Understood, ma’am,” he said. “Orders?”

-But then it gets ruined by underscoring how Mara is Not Like Other Imperials. How she values the lives of stormtroopers and the narrative belabors the point until it’s tiresome (she prefers using names, which is kind of dumb considering how attached she is to her own designation of Emperor’s Hand -- again, it doesn’t add up). How she thinks to fill the stormtroopers in about the mission past directives. If you think it through it becomes clear this is a doylist/out of universe add on, it doesn’t really hold water with consistency in-universe. Zahn just wants to have it both ways. It’s an ethically dubious thing because it leads to that kind of the Empire Was Not All Bad apologia. Get the fuck out with that shit. 

You can write good people serving in the Empire without taking a right into Empire apologia. Claudia Gray did it in Lost Stars!

-”Ordering the slaughter of civilians is against everything the Empire stands for. If it’s true, I promise you someone is going to suffer for it.”

LaRone looked sideways at Marcross. The other grimaced in silent agreement. For all her strength and competence, this Emperor’s Hand had an awfully naive view of what the Empire actually stood for. 

But she would learn.

Actually she doesn’t. Mara’s history with the empire is relegated to personal tragedy. The actual systematic horror of the Empire isn’t explored anywhere with relation to her and her awareness of it. Yes, the personal is political, but Zahn never writes Mara confronting herself as an agent of that in any meaningful manner. In Survivor’s Quest, it’s particularly appalling that Mara sees herself as a survivor of the Empire, as in a victim of it. There’s no doubting that, but to overemphasize that as the EU has done in order to whitewash Mara into Luke’s dream girl that has the problematic effect of clouding that she was COMPLICIT however ignorant her complicity was.

We like our women being victims of their circumstance, more than we can bear witnessing their complicity in toxic frameworks.

That idea makes me so mad, it resulted in 100K+ of fic.

-”Besides a few days ago I was ready to offer a complete pardon to a man who’d done more against the Empire and its citizens than any of you could possibly do.”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THIS MAKES NO SENSE IT’S SO STUPID AND POORLY THOUGHT OUT AND CLEARLY ALL ABOUT WHAT THE WRITER WANTS AND NOT WHAT A CHARACTER WOULD DO IN THE CONTEXT OF THEIR ENVIRONMENT WITHIN THEIR UNIVERSE.

It’s safe. It’s trite. 

Consistency. What the fuck is it even.

[kickingupdust]

Virtual Diary Entry #5

Virtual Diary Entry #5 

July 17, 2022

I have never known love to last. 

Here’s where I blame it on astrology. Just kidding. However, I do have an Aries Venus and way too many planets in the 5th house.

I feel that maybe I am experiencing a moment of clarity right now. Though, if I were, I doubt I’d use a word like ‘maybe’ to describe my state of mind, so maybe not.

I feel many things right now that I can’t exactly identify, but I am going to try.

Like an idiot, I guess. Even though I know I am not one in the slightest. I simply allow things to happen to me. Oftentimes, I even encourage these things. I think I do, anyway. As a form of self harm. 

However, I also think as a human being I always have a contribution. In whatever I am present for, whether it be a conversation or anything else. I contribute to my own suffering quite often through the choices I make. I need another adjective to describe how life is other than ‘hard’. 

I need to make it a point to read more so that my writing may become better. It is very disappointing to reread entries and see how frivolous I allow my thoughts to be. Genuinely, I need more control over my own brain. And humans are amazing in the way that they can be conditioned. 

It is going to be very difficult to condition myself again but I have done it before and seen it begin to work. I have just never been consistent enough to where it would reflect in my behavior or mindset long term. 

July 18, 2022 10:12

God why does this always happen. Guys are so good at not being assholes for like two months, that’s about the max. Then once you’re dating and you call them out on their BS they’ll get it together for 3 months max. I’m hoping that this is just part of this week, and he catches on after small incidents such as these two, I seriously do not tolerate unkindness. I’m not going to detail what happened as it was mostly insignificant. However, both small incidents made me go Not CoolTM   (You could have said that a different way!!!!!!!!!!!) 

It's hilarious how I allow myself to be unkind and allow some unkindness around me, but not all. I find it hypocritical. I would like for there to be as little of it as possible, and from here on it I am going to make a point of it. I need to be patient. There are people I need to be thinking of and emulating right now. All my role models are dead but who cares?

I can still think of them, emulate them, and try to make them proud of who I become even though they aren’t here to experience it with me. It does suck but I need to grow up in that regard. People die. I know they do but still, isn’t it odd how sometimes it feels like they’re still around, maybe just took a really long trip to see family, or went off to college. They’ll be back. 

It's funny how the brain does that. Makes you feel like someone is still around. Like when a certain song comes on when you first turn on your car, and you tell yourself that it was them that made the radio play that song first.

Maybe that’s just a me thing. I do not know. Who does. 

I am really mentally exhausted lately, hence why I have not been journaling. When I am feeling especially burnt out, I try to take breaks from things that may be too mentally stimulating, like journaling. Journaling is more of a self-discovery and venting tool for me. When I’m tired, sitting down and recalling recent events and/or dedicating time to introspection can oftentimes just tire me more. So I try to avoid it. Especially when I am feeling really really bad, because spewing all that negativity does not make me feel any better. 

 I should try writing prompts, or drawing when I feel myself getting overwhelmed. 

July 23, 2022 

Okay cool, learned a new function. Clear text formatting. It’s odd how I lose and regain muscle memory so quickly. And even weirder how it depends on my level of focus and effort. I can turn it on or off almost instantly. Just makes me feel crazy when I do, and if I do it too often it becomes draining. 

I am beginning to realize just how hypocritical a lot of people are, myself included, and how it is acceptable so long as you are ready and willing to defend yourself. You can be totally wrong, but if you’re confident, you’re right. People tell you what to feel and think, and then turn around and say that you aren’t supposed to do that to people. We all do it. It's weird and gross. I’ve started adopting silence. Sitting back, engaging in silence, and simply, solely observing has been teaching me quite a lot. It has been both good and bad for me, as it has confirmed a lot of my suspicions about the human population as a whole. It’s a good thing my suspicions be confirmed so that I may be closer to living in truth, but bad because my suspicions aren’t reflective of a society I would enjoy being a part of.

I really wish I had the time and energy to put into a creative art or something that actually yielded a concrete or physical result. I do absolutely have the time. I just don’t want to put it into those things because then I feel guilty. For spending too much time on myself, with myself? By myself? I really do not know nor do I have the time to care about that shit anymore. I haven’t wanted to create anything for monetary gain because I felt it would make my creations inauthentic somehow, if I wasn’t creating solely to create or produce and instead was doing it for gain. Something about it just doesn’t bode well with me but literally everyone sells their craft. How else are you supposed to make a living? 

I need to get something off the ground, and quick. I have plenty of talents and capabilities, I am just a lazy sack of shit sometimes. I just absolutely can and will not produce and monetize something I wouldn’t pay for myself. And I am a stingy bastard. So. I’m actually lying, I’m not stingy at all. I just don’t want to let anyone down. 

Anyway, dear imaginary audience, please grace me with ideas. I may just start some kind of work from home job and hate my life for a few months while I make some money. That sounds like a good idea. I’m just horrible at customer service and don’t really have any tech related skills that could be useful at all so…. Maybe I can’t work from home…. We’ll see, though. I’m tired of being broke.

[bluboothalassophile]

Where’s Francis!?

Jason had settled into his usual routine with his safehouses. Once he had the one in San Fran set up he’d left and was currently hiding out in the middle of nowhere Arkansas because it was a good place to recoup and get his head back in the game.

The cabin he owned with the twenty-five acres of forest, was all set up for his safety and to be sparse. There was a bed (one of the only things he’d indulge in, safehouse to safehouse, mostly because he didn’t sleep as it was so he might as well be comfortable when he tried; not that it helped as he’d end up on the floor for sleep), a table, two rickety chairs, a fourth-hand fire hazard couch which was comfier than most the shit he’d ever buy for safe houses, a barstool, and a few of his essential books. Oh, there was also the essential tools, a heft storage of part of an armory he had in this part of the country, and four vehicles he had tucked away here for work, repair, and relocation. Not to mention he had the essential kitchen supplies.

Currently, his routine for attempting to sleep, had his head buried under a pillow as he cursed the fucking empath for getting him addicted to sleep in the first place, as his sheets were a tangled mess around his bare legs. He normally slept either in his boxers or in the nude because of nightmare sweats, right now, he was just hot, and sticky, and he was thinking of quitting his attempts at sleep in favor of a cold shower. Grumbling he keep vainly trying for sleep, but gave up when an owl decided to make it’s presence known this fine summer’s night.

Fuck it. Who needed sleep anyway!?

Standing up he dragged a hand through his hair, feeling the curls and made a mental note to trim it. It wouldn’t do if he stood out more than he already did. Also, it annoyed the hell out of him when it was long, and those fucking curls went wild. Walking into his kitchen area he made some coffee; hating it, and thought about going for tea to try to put himself to sleep, then there was a beep on one of his computers which had him deciding against the tea.

Going to his kitchen table, he looked at the screen and scowled as he sat down to type, reworking the tracking program he’d had running. He hated the computer work, he hated having to do this part of his work. Mostly because it meant he had to think of how to avoid Overwatch and Oracle and that was damn near fucking impossible. However, Jason liked piggybacking off the Assassin’s networks, and the other crime organizations he ran.

His stomach snarled and Jason made a mental note to restock some of his snacks in this safehouse. Then again, he might not be here tomorrow. Rubbing a hand over his face he took a sip of his coffee as he leaned back in his seat.

Finding Talia wasn’t going to be easy, he knew that, however, he was also very aware of the fact he could find her.

‘Where’s Francis!?’ popped into his head then which had him snickering. Sometimes Jason knew exactly how Deadpool felt when it came to this part of the work; and the action. And the dive bars. And the sex. Okay, fine, he could relate to Deadpool, a lot, it was probably why that was his favorite fucking movie ever. Leaning back, he propped his feet on table as he watched the burning glow of his computer as it worked and sipped his coffee.

The damn phone materialized on his table, in the case he’d bought for it so the damn thing didn’t break. If he was stuck with it, he’d take care of it to the best of his abilities.

Picking it up he opened the screen to see the messages from Raven which had him contemplating if he should open that particular can of worms or not.

He opened the messages to see she’d kept up a steady stream of conversation, even without his answering. Part of him was tempted to reach back out to what she was offering. Raven had proven herself to be good company, and she was easy to hang around with. He kind of liked having someone to talk to who didn’t judge him on his tendency to kill, or what he was capable of and willing to do. Also, Raven, even if she was an empath, had this silent, non-judging, understanding which most didn’t; even if she wasn’t an empath he’d bet she’d have that quality.

And the other part f him pointed out that attachments were a hazard, and friends could betray him; she had enchanted the fucking phone after all.

Making up his mind, Jason furiously texted her.

-Knock it off!

Setting the phone aside he continued to look at the screen as he watched the program work. Not even a minute later there was a buzz from his phone. Internally he debated answering that, before he picked it up, peeking at the screen and blinking at the prim response.

-I am the Queen, it’s my job to make sure you’re alright.

Jason snickered at that, then set his coffee on the table as he texted back. The replies were immediate and amusing.

-Fine, what’s up?

-Deadpool, you?

-Where’s Francis!?

-This shit’s going to have nuts in it.

Jason’s head fell back as he laughed. He kind of remembered why he liked Raven so much, he could hear her monotone deliver these lines, and fuck it was hilarious. For about the next hour he didn’t notice how the codes were going as he texted Raven.

Perhaps a friend wasn’t all bad.

Getting up he grabbed a hoodie as he got more coffee to sit and resume his conversation with Raven as Jason tracked the Assassins. Specifically he was hunting down Talia.