#anyway mass is unexpectedly smart

[abcwordsurge]

Massachusetts: 99.9% of the people I know are stupid

Rhode Island: I'm the 1%

Massachusetts: Are you? Are you really?

[entishramblings]

What Haunts Your Heart [Legolas X Reader]

A.N: helllllo! So first off, WOW thank you for 900 followers!! I can’t believe it enough of you think I’m this interesting to follow hehe. AnYwAyS....here is yet another Legolas one-shot because, as we all know, I’m obsessed with him

Request: @guardianofrivendell - Hi! Can I ask for a Legolas oneshot? I really love your writing and I want to see how you would write this. So you're having nightmares, and Legolas notices. One night he has enough and tries to cuddle you and surprisingly it works. So from then on he does this every night without you knowing he does it. Then one night you wake up before him and tadaaaa... Chaos. Can be romantic (please?) with a bit of angst?

Pairing: Legolas X Reader

Summary: (Y/N) is a member of the fellowship and begins to have nightmares. Legolas notices and is very worried.

Word Count: 2,839

Warnings: fluff, lil bit of angst

(gif not mine)

MASTERLIST

A gentle chilling breeze blew upon the sleeping fellowship, dancing among their unconscious forms. It was quiet and calm—for the most part that is. Legolas was the only one not in a deep slumber. He laid on his back next to (Y/N) for the third night in a row, deep in his thoughts.

Concern began to pool in his mind as the sound of tiny whimpers met his elvish ears, not noticeable to any other. That was the only downside to heightened hearing he supposed—being able to capture the small whispers and cries of those suffering when no one else could. It was saddening; more so, almost always he could not do anything to help....especially now. Though, tonight the sound did not come from a distance village or a nearing war, it came from the woman beside him.

(Y/N) was a strong minded and smart individual; she brought much to the fellowship—skills of healing, fighting, planning. She was strategic and her expertise was valued greatly, despite her intimidating nature. All of these characteristics seemed to make her appear so tough and unconquerable; anything thrown at her she would throw right back. (Y/N) was a woman of war; she could hold her own, that was for sure. So, seeing her haunted in her sleep was....strange for the elf. Legolas knew she had seen many horrors, as he had, but what was so gruesome and troubling that it crept its way into her darkest dreams?

Another small whimper escaped (Y/N)’s throat.

She was on her side facing Legolas, which gave him a clear view. He watched as her expression distorted into one of pain and worry. Her eyebrows furrowed and her lips pulled tight. She began to squirm in her sleep, rotating so her back was towards the elf. Yet he still saw the woman’s small fist clench the fabric of the blanket draped around her.

A third cry flushed from her mouth.

Legolas couldn’t take it anymore. The sounds were so heartbreaking. They pulled harsh aches of agony from his chest, tormenting him with sadness. He couldn’t bear to see her like this any longer. Three nights he had witnessed this, and three night he had done nothing.

The blonde elf scooted closer to her until his chest was pressed against her back. He used his arm to prop himself up in order to see her face. Ever so gently, he brushed away the hairs that had come loose from her braid, revealing her tear stained cheeks.

“Oh, (Y/N).” He whispered sadly.

Legolas wiped the moisture away softly and spoke once more, “I wish I could take away what haunts your heart.”

He begun to smooth her hair and caress her cheek. The tender sensation seemed to calm her unconscious form for the tears stopped falling and her lips ceased quivering.

The elf could not help but stare fondly as he continued the light action. He began to trace the shadows that were created upon her skin. The moonlight accentuated them clearly, showing the sharp curve of her jaw and gentle bends of her features. When (Y/N) wasn’t dreaming of horrors, scowling at maps, or beheading orcs, her expression was calm and tranquil. She was quite beautiful, indeed.

Legolas forced his eyes to pull away and he quietly laid down, curling his body around her. As his warmth radiated into her being she begun to relax against him. A quiet sigh escaped her mouth and she stopped the shaking that previous racked her body; instead, she seemed to push into him further. Legolas smiled at her unconscious action. It was sweet and adorable, really. He draped one of his muscular arms over her waist and pulled her closer—if that was even possible. He buried his head into the softness of her hair and inhaled the lavender and forestry scent that lingered among it. He allowed the sound of her heartbeat and gentle breaths to take the place of the anxieties lingering in his thoughts. Being so close to (Y/N) not only calmed her, but it initiated a peace within Legolas as well. He desperately tried to hide it, but he had craved this closeness with her; he had craved this comfort. Legolas had never met a women so unusual—in a good way that is. (Y/N) cared not for dresses and trinkets. She preferred the outdoors to the safeness of stone walls. She was interested in skills beyond those of a stereotypical maiden. And Legolas adored this.

Slowly, his mind drifted to sleep as he blocked the nightmares from her mind, like a shield would to arrows.

......

Legolas woke the next morning to the light smell of charcoal and burning wood. It was comforting for it reminded him of the warm fires the elves would have in Mirkwood—especially during the winter season. But that comfort instantly turned into panic. His blue orbs flung open and his heart raced.

Oh how he hoped no one had seen the....compromising....position him and (Y/N) were in.

Of course, cuddling wasn’t considered compromising in the most basic definition, but it was reserved to those who were courting or wed—and Legolas and (Y/N) were neither of those. Yet, their bodies were molded together and their position held still all night.

The blonde elf sat up quickly to meet the grey eyes of the Ranger. 

Aragorn looked at him with raised eyebrows, “Are you alright, Mellon Nin (my friend)?”

Legolas’s brows furrowed and he tilted his head slightly before releasing a deep exhale. Maybe the Ranger would not comment on the previous closeness of the two? He focused back on his friend but the look on Aragorn’s face did not falter.

The Elven Prince cleared his throat, “Yes, yes I am alright. I was just—just—“

Aragorn interrupted him, “Cuddling with (Y/N)?”

“Yes—I mean no.....I mean......Aragorn.....” he trailed off.

A smile ghosted across the Ranger’s face as he turned back to tending to the small flames.

Legolas sighed and stood up. He trudged towards his friend and plopped down on a dark textured log next to him.

“She has been having nightmares,” Legolas stated simply.

Aragorn glanced at the elf out of the coroner of his eye. “(Y/N)?” He questioned in surprise.

Legolas nodded, “She never wakes but she suffers greatly. I can see it.”

The Ranger stared into the coals that he was poking. This new information worried him for he had known (Y/N) for a long time—even trained her—and this was something new and out of character. “Do you know of what she dreams?”

Legolas shook his head and glanced down at his hands, “I always thought her so strong. I know not what haunts her.”

A long stretch of silence passed between them before the Ranger spoke once more, a teasing tone upon his voice, “So naturally, you had to cuddle her.”

Legolas sent him a glare, “Well no—I just—I—it...it was the only way to stop her cries.”

Aragorn sighed, the smirk that had previously plastered across his face faded into a serious expression. He dropped the stick and turned his full attention towards Legolas. “Don’t think that it has escaped me, Mellon Nin (my friend).”

The elf frowned, “What do you mean?”

The dark haired man shrugged, “The way you look at her.”

Legolas was clearly takin aback by this comment for he stiffened and drew his eyes away.

A light chuckle left the Ranger’s lips. “You forget I was raised by your kin. I recognize those elvish looks of longing.”

Legolas felt a deep blush creep up his neck and into the tips of his pointed ear. He didn’t know what to say—what could he even try to say? Aragorn had figured him out. But luck seemed to be on his side for the waking groans of Gimli halted their conversation.

.......

The past week had been difficult. The fellowship had trudged through rugged terrain and rough rocky tundra. It was taxing on them all, even the elf. In order for his companions to get the rest they needed, Legolas had offered to take nights watch more often when they were exposed with no cover. He still kept a careful eye on (Y/N) though. When he was not cuddling her he could see the dark dreams take hold. Her brows would scrunch together and the soft cries would return. Therefore, as soon as his watch was over he would wake the next and then nestle his body against the young woman’s. And soon enough, the soft whimpers and heartbreaking cries would end and the shaking and rustling would cease. No longer were her dreams filled with agony and fear.

For some reason, the thought of (Y/N) discovering Legolas’s nightly cuddles never crossed his mind.....not until it actually happened, that is.

It was sometime past midnight when (Y/N) unexpectedly woke up. The reason—she knew not. But she was surprised to feel so.....so warm. The nights had been getting colder as they moved north and the chill did not escape her every morning. So, the puzzlement of the additional heat flooded her foggy thoughts. (Y/N)’s tired brain began to process her surroundings further. She became aware of the extra weight wrapped around her waist—then the smell of pine and honey, then the gentle breaths near her neck. However, it wasn’t until the sound of a content sigh and the motion of being pulled closer into a firm mass, that she realized she was indeed curled against someone.

Alarm instantly fueled her body. (Y/N) immediately launched herself into a sitting position and turned to see just who had been cuddling her. Her wild eyes were met with the sight of a groggy elf who was entirely confused by the sudden movement. (Y/N) watched as Legolas propped himself up on his elbow and peeled his lids open. He slowly looked at the empty spot next to him, then feeling a gaze on his form, turned to look at (Y/N).

“(Y/N)?” He questioned in a disoriented daze, his voice deep and slightly raspy.

She didn’t answer she just stared at him, breathing heavily from the adrenaline.

Legolas casually rubbed his eyes with one hand before speaking again in a heavy whisper, “What is it?”

“Legolas?!” She hissed. Her voice was full of exasperated shock, annoyance, and anger. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

His brows pulled together as he looked at her in surprise, the curse in her sentence heightening his attention slightly.

(Y/N) clarified the question in irritation when he did not respond, “Why were you spooning me?!”

“I...was just...I mean I....”

The young women rolled her eyes before reaching outwards. A loud smack echoed amongst the emptiness of the night—drawing the attention of the uncrowned king on watch.

“LEGOLAS!” She whisper-yelled, “Wake up!”

The elf was cupping his cheek and his expression was filled with bewilderment—lips parted, eyes wide.

Cruel? Maybe, but it worked.

“Why were you cuddling me?” She repeated once more.

“You...you have been having nightmares. Crying in your sleep. This has been the only way to—“

She jabbed a finger at him, “Stop. Just stop.” She glared at him, “I have not been having nightmares.”

Legolas frowned, “Yes, you have.”

(Y/N) narrowed her eyes and stood up, “I don’t know what you are talking about.” She crossed her arms. “I. Don’t. Get. Nightmares.”

The elf sighed, “(Y/N)...”

But she turned on her heal and stomped off.

Legolas let out yet another exasperated sigh. Did she think that he thought less of her for her nightmares? Why is she refusing to admit to them?

“Go after her,” the voice of Aragorn stated plainly.

Legolas snapped his head upwards to look at his friend. He was unaware that Aragorn had been watching and now embarrassment filled his soul. Had Aragorn really witnessed all of that? Even the slap?

The elf pushed those thoughts from his mind for he had more important this to worry about —(Y/N). He grabbed his two long-knives and went after the young woman.

......

Legolas made his way through the large rocks and jagged territory until he found her perched on a particularly large bolder, overlooking the land. He sat down next to her and held out one of the silver weapons.

“It is unwise to go off in your own unarmed.”

(Y/N) pulled her knees to her chest, ignoring him.

The Elven Prince sighed. He gently placed the one knife next to her and let his hands play with the second one. His gaze wandered across the horizon as the two sat in frustrated silence. The sun was just beginning to rise, the assortment of brilliant colors not yet bleeding among the stars. If it wasn’t for the tension between them, the elf would have felt at peace—which was rare during these dark times.

It was a while before anyone spoke.

“(Y/N), please do not lie to me,” Legolas stated gently. “I know dreams have been tormenting you and I do not think any less of you because of it. Tell me what bothers you so.”

A long pause stretched between them before (Y/N) released a shaky breath. Her eyes did not move from the landscape before them. “I have seen life leave so many—brutal, bloody deaths. Strider and I have travelled far across Arda, yet it is all the same—death. And now? Now that the ring has been found, is there to be any hope? I cannot watch another I care for die. Not again.”

Legolas glanced down at the knife in his hand, “At night they come to you, don’t they? You see their faces? That is what haunts your heart?”

(Y/N) slowly drew her gaze towards the elf. “They come for you too?” She whispered quietly.

Legolas looked at her softly, “They used to, many ages ago.”

Trying not to show her desperation she spoke again, “How did you make it stop?”

Legolas cleared his throat and took a moment to collect his thoughts. “I focused on what I could—the happiness in the present. Anchor your heart on what is in front of you—your friends. Aragorn, Gandalf, Boromir, Gimli, the hobbits....me. We are all bonded by this fellowship. Take comfort in it.”

The elf scooted closer to her and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her her ear. His touch lingered on her cheek and jaw. “Do not push your friends from you.”

(Y/N) lowered her gaze as a light blush crept up to her cheeks at the elf’s gentle trace.

“(Y/N),” he whispered. Yet she would not meet his eye. Legolas cautious tucked two fingers under her chin and forced her to look at him. “It hurts my heart to see you in such pain. Why did you not come to me about this?”

She hesitated, “I did not want any of you see me as weak—especially as the only woman here.”

Legolas shook his head, “I do not. You are a warrior and this is something all warriors have to bare.”

(Y/N) nodded slightly and turned her head towards the sunrise. The two watched in silence as orange and pinks stretched across the sky, waking up the earth. It was a beautiful sight really. The soft noises of nature reached their ears, and as (Y/N) listened to the songs of the birds she allowed her mind to drift into thought. The elf’s words did indeed bring her some comfort and, quite frankly, she felt stupid for thinking the others would not understand. They were all warriors, were they not? Except the hobbits that is. They have seen the horrors of war and surely they would be reminded of it daily for it was not something one could easily forget. Though one question, slight unrelated, lingered in her mind.

She glanced at the elf beside her, “Legolas? What did you mean when you said it hurts your heart to see my pain?”

He glanced at his feet which were dangling over the edge of the rock before answering, “Do you not know?”

Her brows pulled together in confusion, clearly not understanding.

Legolas hesitantly leaned in. When (Y/N) did not back away, he gently pressed his lips against hers. Slowly, she responded, moving her mouth with his. The Elven Prince’s hand weaved its way into her locks of hair, feeling the silky strands as if they were ripples in a running river. (Y/N) then cupped his cheek with one hand, and used the other to trail up his muscular chest. The two pulled closer, desperate for the comforting touch of the other. The kiss was tender, soft, and wet. It was something they held onto tightly. It was the consolation from the horrors of the world, and they had found that safety in each other. Eventually, they pulled away, but reluctant to lose the other’s warmth they resting their foreheads together. The blonde elf softly caressed her cheek while they absorbed the comfort of the moment.

“Legolas?” (Y/N) whispered.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry for slapping you.”

A light chuckle bellowed from the elf’s chest and his lips curved into a smile. “To be fair, I somewhat deserved it.”

[diegolabhont]

I didn't mean to fall in love with you

Chapter One

Book: Queen B - Choices (Universe)

Pairing:  Poppy Min-Sinclair x Trans!Male MC  (Beck Hughes)

Genre: None (in this post, al least)

Rating: Anyone can read it, really.

This is me trying to write by and for the Trans community, specially FTM community, meaning, trans guys, but I actually took the liberty to use They/them pronouns for everyone out there who´s interested (Also, the name Beck was the most neutral one I could find, trying to use the cannon Bea Hughes)

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

Can someone explain to her how a person who claims to be so disinterested in the ranking was magically climbing to the top twenty?

Poppy didn’t buy it for a second, she always knew Beck were going to be a pain in her ass ever since the first time she saw them looking at her as if they weren’t impressed, but she wasn’t fully aware of how much.

“You don’t have to worry about them, Poppy” Chloe said while the strawberry blonde retouch her make up in the mirror inside her own room. “Beck is just a dude”

“Transphobia much, Chloe?” Veronica murmured playfully, wanting to start drama among her streaming fans.

“No! What I'm saying is… Beck's brain works as a regular dude, right? How much smart can they be?”

“Ha! That´s rich coming from you” Veronica laughed.

Both girls started a discussion about related shit, Beck’s brain, hormones and else while Poppy put on the mascara. Completely silent, thinking.

She treated Beck as a common enemy, she attacked them just like she would to any other lost lamb trying to be the wolf but it was not enough. Even one of those plans exploded in her own face: ruining and breaking Beck's guitar caused that they not only get a flashy and beautiful new one, but sang side by side with the one and only Jaylen Riaz, making a huge performance. Even better than hers, which was something painful and humiliating at the same time, especially after Veronica told her Beck’s YouTube channel had a followers increase, making them even more popular.

Chloe was right on something: Beck’s brain worked like a dude, and if she had learned something was that men in general were manipulable. Take a look at Michael, he was dumb as hell. Liam was a douchebag. Luis, Ford… well, they… they´re there. The only golden boy among them was Carter, and yet, he wasn´t that hard, she just gave him what he wanted in that party and after that, everything ran smoothly.

And that´s what she needed.

Poppy´s look changed, her eyes sparkled in a very malicious way and a smile crossed her face for a split second. She now had a plan, and unexpectedly, it was a Chloe attribution.

“Maybe if we accused them of cheating…?” Chloe suggested, but Poppy knew better.

“That won´t be necessary, Chlo” Poppy intervened for the first time in a while, making both girls look at her intrigued. They knew Poppy, and the little smile she had on her lips as she applied lipstick was a proof. The blonde was onto something juicy. Veronica ended the live and awaited. “Beck will be mine.”

~~X~~

It was kinda lame to her, but finding Beck completely alone under the football stands playing guitar was at least convenient. They were an eye candy from the start, that was a fact. The way that white t-shirt embraced their body was something else to see, her mind went back to the second time she saw them. The sassy rock star kind of look Beck had, even the haircut was perfect, Poppy knew that was a Zoey Wade signature and she kinda thanked her for it. Beck was damn fine, that fact made easier her plan to be honest.

“You know… You do pass pretty well as a man”

Beck stopped playing, literally frozen in place as a statue.

“What did you just say?” Their tone of voice was cold, almost insulted. Did she just get it wrong? No, she´s never wrong. A Queen can´t be wrong, especially a Min-Sinclair queen.

“It was a compliment, Farmsville” she said, rolling her eyes.

“That´s not a compliment” Beck chuckled, putting the guitar aside. “I mean, I don´t mind, but if you are going to use that to the trans community… It~ may not end well” Poppy frowned, a little pissed off. She was doing an effort, no-one had ever heard a compliment from her and this little sh… “But thanks.” Beck offered her a sweet smile a second before turn it into a mocking one. “You do pass pretty well as a woman, too”

“Go fuck yourself!”

“And now she gets it!” They started laughing, making her really angry. Poppy walked away fuming, her head up high and a killer look murdering anyone who dare crossing ways with her.

That stupid ASSHOLE. Did they THINK they could disrespect her?! To HER! She was the number ONE, the fucking RULER of the entire school. Beck was lucky enough to be in her radar and they just throw stupid shit like that!

“To be fair… I did say it first”

“I thought it was a COMPLIMENT” She fight against herself. “What am I? Some trans expert?!”

“No… But I can be. I mean, to destroy my enemy…”

“I have to know them...”

Even thought she was still mad about it, Poppy tapped wildly though her phone. She needed to do something, and she knew just the thing.

“It´s ON, jackass”

~~X~~

POV: Beck

Top fifteen. Everyone was losing their shit because they were now top twenty and Beck... Well... They just didn´t want it.

And yeah, sure, that was kinda good. The students in Belvoire had begun to pay attention to their music as well, Beck even caught a few of them listen to songs Beck wrote and some other cover as well. Their art was taking off and that was awesome, don't get it wrong, that was something Beck wanted for so long, but...

They were afraid.

What if it was because of the stupid ranking?

What if Beck just wasn´t that good, and the only thing people would want was that Beck who studded up against Poppy Min-Sinclaire and lived to tell? Even Zoey, she was talking about popularity, Belvoire elite, and some “Person to watch-out” or shit Award which yes, was huge! But… Beck really was afraid that it was Beck who puts the music high and not backwards.

What if…

What if Poppy really messes all up?

“You know… You do pass pretty well as a man”

Poppy´s words in their mind caught Beck off guard. What was her deal anyway? She came and said some weird shit, and...

Actually, everything in that interaction was weird as fuck. And not just that, Beck meet Taylor by accident later that day in the ice cream shop, they both talked a little and they found out she had a big crush onto some random guy Beck didn´t knew before.

Of course Beck was the matchmaker! They even helped her by carrying those stupid anti-diarrheic pills to the lion´s den. Ok, yes, maybe~ Beck should´ve had given them to someone and not just let them in the front door… But it wasn´t their fault that The T found out!! Poppy was losing it, and of course it was them to blame.

Why can´t they just have a normal life… with normal problems… and not… this?

“I´m dead… I´m actually dead…” Beck thought while burying their head on their hands, tired.

“Beck? Hello? I assume you heard the details of the assignment.”

“What?”

“Ehm… Yeah! Totally” Beck said with a “confident” smile that nobody believed in, Professor Roberta even frowned before going back to the lecture, while Beck tried uselessly to catch something about the assignment from their classmates´ laptops. She hated Beck anyway, but it wasn´t good news to be always in her bad side.

“Shit! Shit! Shit! … What did she say?”

“Mass comm is all about reaching people far and wide, so this project is meant to give the voiceless in our own community a voice by…”

A penetrant gaze nailed their nape, giving them chills. Beck immediately looked for that one hawk over them and not to their surprise the person found on the other side was that deadly beauty called Poppy Min-Sinclair, watching Beck as they´re a prey. Feeling really drove up the wall, Beck winked playfully at her, expecting her to look away or some rude expression towards them.

But no.

Scaring the shit out of them, Poppy actually smiled back at Beck. A sweet, flirty smile that left them feeling their heart racing as crazy and their cheeks burning red, her dark eyes so into theirs that all their system collapsed... What was happening?

“Earth to Beck!”

Professor Roberta yelled, making Beck jump a little in their sit, breaking all eye contact between them both. When did Beck turn their body completely to watch Poppy? Of course the professor was mad, Beck was practically giving her their back! As faster as they could, Beck took the right seat, being even more embarrassed now while Poppy let go a chuckle, they could hear her from any other laughter just as clearly as if she were so close.

“Oh, sorry. I… Sorry”

“Find your community service project partner please” Professor said. Beck gathered their things and head into the aisle, looking around, praying to find someone whiling to work with them and, mainly, explain to them what was that project about. The thing was everyone had already a partner. Everyone except for…

The strawberry blonde was gazing Beck as sure as someone who´s waiting for this chance can be. Smiling that same smile that caused them to feel butterflies in their stomach… Beck wasn´t sure if they were aroused… or scared.

“Professor Roberta… I need a new partner” Beck practically begged. “I´m sorry. I just can´t work with Poppy.”

The pretty but odd teacher was about to say something. Something bad based on the expression on her face, but a perfect made-up laughter cut her words, as Beck was feeling how a soft and warm hand hooked to their arm.

“Nonsense, professor! I am pretty sure we´ll be working just fine.” Poppy said, a relaxed expression drawn on her porcelain face. “Let´s go, Hughes.”

Ok, Beck was now scared. As both of them walked out the classroom, Beck´s brain was running wild, thinking about every and each form Poppy could use to disappear them from the face of the earth. Ironic, Beck survived Farmsville but they´ll be totally done in New York. Ha! Life hates them.

“Listen, I know what you are thinking…”

Really?

“... but the last thing I need right now is having my GPA taken away. So I´ve already figured it all out. We´re doing an animal shelter commercial for our project. I can ask daddy to borrow the equipment and crew”

“Didn´t think of you as a daddy person” Beck laughed, a little more repose.

“Shut the fuck up, Farmsville. This will be easy, so all I need you to do is… Oh my god.”

Poppy stared at her phone completely in shock, color draining from her face as it was sucked by a dementor.

“I have to go. We can figure out the deets later, I´ll text you where to meet me”

Then, she just left. Beck took a deep breath and let out a hiss.

“Gosh, this school is going to kill me!”

They said, who would have thought a class could be so much?

-----

Next

[twitchesandstitches]

Tiny Friends in the Dark

“Why is there even a sewer here!?” Sussy cried out, stamping a quarter of her blobby lower section against a catwalk.

The sound echoed against the long corridor; ancient netal seemed to creak faintly, as if in response. Liquid flowed beneath them; fortunately, it was only industrial waste of some kind, produced by the mysterious processes of the hab. It had to be doing something, with all its machinery clicking away to at times unknowable purpose, and after eons without any maintenance, it couldn’t be a terribly efficient process.

Tia looked around, light spreading out from her as if the various glowing patches on her body were mounted flashlights; she’d turned up the bioluminesce of her body to extremely high levels, enough to shed light. It displayed long tunnels, and other ones twisting away upwards and downwards, and walkways over the whole thing. “I’m not sure it is a sewer, y’know?”

Sussy gave her a look from somewhere around Tia’s chubby belly. “It’s way below the other chambers, there’s weird stuff flowing underneath us. It’s a sewer.”

“I don’t think most sewers are designed for people to walk around in ‘em. Like, there’s those walkways EVERYWHERE. I know sewers have maintenance access ways for people to fix junk, but they ain’t designed for people to, you know. Move around in them. This place super looks like it was!”

Sussy gave her a sideways look again, but her bubbling hair eased into a low-grade carbonation. Like a volcano that might erupt in the future, but not right now. “...How do you know about sewer stuff anyway.”

“Oh, I used to live in places like this,” Tia said indifferently as she took the lead, her massive tail rising upwards and beaming a particularly huge light from the tip of her tail to light the way forwards. “I um. You know, what’s the word? Picked up some stuff here and there.”

Sussy stopped. Her whole body became extremely blobby; her embarrassment and mortification so heavy that she lost cohesion. “OH. Um.” She took a long moment to figure out what she could possibly say to that. “Sorry, buddy.”

“It’s alright.” Tia’s tone was mildly reproachful, but she seemed sincere enough. Her hair glistened a brighter shade of pink, and began to glow a bright neon color; her hair tentacles rose up, masses of latex-like jelly swelling up with a solidified form of raw magical power, rapidly converting into a semi-solid substance that looked like liquid light. It shone vibrant colors distinct from her usual fuchsia hair, the blues and purples flickering steadily, but Sussy had seen that before. She had no doubt that if hostiles revealed themselves, those tentacles would be fully capable of firing potent neon beam attacks; independently, at every angle, whether in burst fire or sustained beams.

They also made good flashlights. The glare of them swept the floors, right over a tiny crab-like robot. Unexpectedly, it turned towards them, tiny forelimbs clattering in something like alarm. Tia stopped where she was, surprised. “Uh, hey there?”

Sussy put a hand on Tia’s massive hip. “What is that?”

“I don’t know. Kind of looks like some kind of service bot.” It looked old, or at least like an extremely old design. It was a squat thing, roughly the size of the smallest of the cats that had colonized Tia’s migrating living quarters, and it’s forelimbs only resembled crustacean-type claws, splitting apart into small and very dexterous fingers. It was hard to appreciate this detail; the creature was covered in complex burn marks, careful cuts that closely resembled ancient hieroglyphs, and discolorations of it’s paint job.

It all looked very deliberate, suggestive of a cultural mentality and practices unknown to either of them. And its small optics were blinking up at them with something like awareness.

Tia waved at it.

Sussy hesitated; it looked small, sure. But they had been under constant attack ever since they’d been marooned up here, and pretty much everything they’d met here had been hostile, actively opposed to the continued existence of mortal life as it presently existed, or outright malevolent on an existential level. Most often, all three at once.

Still, there were heroic things you just had to do, and she prided herself on being an ideal heroine. She waved too, doing her best not to look frightening.

After a long moment, tensioned growing thick like a string about to snap, the robot cautiously brought up a little forelimb and waved back.

And then, under the lights, it retreated into the dark.

“Where’d that little guy come from?” Sussy wondered, after the moment passed.

“It looked like it had been here a really long time,” Tia said, mostly to herself. “...Sussy. Do you think it’s been living here all this time?”

“Define ‘all this time’.”

“Since this place was built.”

Sussy glanced up at her, and realized what Tia was getting at. “Honey, you know this hab was commissioned way over a few thousand years, right?”

“Best as we can tell, I know. But think about it. Didn’t that little guy look like a maintenance robot?”

“I guess so. Are you suggesting that they made maintenance bots for this place, and they’re still here?”

“Maybe. Locked up in these lower levels, until we opened it up by messing with stuff? And it's been so long that they might have… woke up. Gotten smart.”

“To achieve their own culture and sapience? It’s not unheard of.” Sussy mused. “Still, the demons and other things have been here for a really long time; they’d be a threat even to the robots. I don’t know how they would have defended themselves.”

Tia moved on. Best to leave them to their own devices. “Well, I’m guessing, long as we don’t antagonize them, we won’t have to find out first hand!”

And in the dark, many small, mechanical forms watch them go.

Ten thousand pairs of optics studied them, curiously.

Strangers, but not mean strangers.

That was new, they reckoned in their fashion. Newness demanded… investigation.

They scurried away, into the secret paths only they knew. An attentive mind might notice that a lot of them had fae teeth, demon bones, and other trophies mounted directly onto their frames.

[mylordshesacactus]

can I go old school and ask for commentary on Priority?

you ABSOLUTELY CAN, I really LIKED writing Priority and I always get excited when people show interest in it!

Priority was--at the time--unusually long for me, as I mostly wrote oneshots, so a seven-chapter plot-centric fic was an accomplishment! It’s also one of only two Mass Effect fics I’ve ever written--it’s not one of my main fandoms, but Jack and Miranda just have such a compelling dynamic and the story was in my head.

It’s a very straightforward plot, obviously--there’s not a whole lot of twists and turns, but then again, I was kind of trying to make it feel like...a loyalty quest, essentially. 

(Hence the title. [weak rimshot] Plot-essential missions are...see, in the in-game interface...”Priority: [Location]” is how the game marks the next piece of...it’s, you know, it’s--listen I’m very funny)

The opening chapter is sort of a vignette--I initially intended to publish it as a oneshot, but when I got the idea for a short plotty missionfic, I realized that anything I opened it with would be SIGNIFICANTLY less effective than what I already had! It’s a bit tonally different than the rest of the fic, but it also does an excellent job of setting up...well, Jack’s priorities. It hits her lingering trauma and fear of Cerberus, the bond between her and her kids, establishes the nature of her relationship with Miranda, reminds us that Eezo the varren exists, and allowed me to place the fic in time--immediately after the war, and we’re just Ignoring The Endings as one does when writing mass effect fic.

A surprising percentage of Jack’s kids don’t actually have names in canon, so I had to give them some! I know at least one person has (with my enthusiastic permission) borrowed those names and I think even Rademaker’s arm, which is super cool. (And anyone else who wants to write anything with the Grissom Academy kids, feel free to do the same).

A few things that I really like about this fic:

I think I nailed Aria...better than a lot of ficauthors in the fandom, even extremely prominent ones whose characterization I generally agree with. I think people tend to default to writing Aria as a sort of [generic dom voice] crossed with [generic femme fatale but she’s unexpectedly crude sometimes]. If you actually...go back, play through her content, LISTEN to her speech patterns? Aria’s very rarely coarse at all, and her rulings actually tend toward mercy unless you’ve actively crossed her and been bad at it. I know, I know, “Don’t Fuck With Aria” but that’s not actually HER phrasing, that’s something that sprang up around her and she adopted it. She has, when she’s not ripping folks a new asshole, a very soft and gentle tone, is generally polite, and actually has a kind of dorky playfulness about her--at least with Shepard, whom she actually likes and respects. She DOESN’T act like either of the stereotypes she’s generally written as, and it’s weird to me how so many writers who otherwise 100% nail voice and dialogue have COMPLETELY missed hers.

(About that “Aria actually tends toward the unexpectedly merciful” thing. In ME2, you get an email from the mother of that girl Samara’s daughter murdered. She just says “Aria gave me this address” which means that either Aria specifically sought her out knowing what the ardat-yakshi leave in their wake, or...this shaky, shy, reclusive woman nevertheless felt comfortable seeking Aria out specifically to ask after the woman who avenged her little girl, knowing she had absolutely nothing of value to offer, and actually received that help. And given Aria isn’t actually inclined toward spontaneous acts of generosity--at least not that early in the series--I heavily suspect it’s the latter. She’s ALWAYS been a lot kinder than she lets on.)

Also--yeah, it only happens in a dream, but. This sequence of events in Jack’s subconscious? I guarantee it’s either pulling from real-life memories of the Grissom Academy attack, or it’s 100% accurate regardless. Because the sequence of events goes:

>Invading Cerberus mook taunts “Subject Zero”>Jack loses her SHIT at him for having the gall to call her that in front of her kids>Another Cerberus mook, a few seconds later, calls her “Zero” casually>Prangley, having no other context for the name, flares his biotics and tells the mook to shut the fuck up

I think Jack’s pretty open with the kids about her history, they know what Cerberus did to her--she’s never been quiet about it before, and it’s important context to what she can do and why she’s here. But she very much does NOT tell folks about what they named her--Shepard finds out about “Subject Zero” as a moniker during Jack’s loyalty mission. That name is clearly a major trigger, and the Academy invasion would in all likelihood have been the first time her kids heard it. They’re smart. They know what the fuck that means, and they don’t appreciate it.

Anyway, yeah! I actually really like this fic and it’s a very short, easy-to-digest little piece. I definitely wish it got more attention! Like I said, I’m really not active in the ME fandom, and it’s not like, a phenomenal epic plot fic OR a solid oneshot, so between those two factors it never got much of an audience. I like it though!

[aotopmha]

Attack On Titan Chapter 115 Thoughts

Yeah, looking at the full chapter, Levi isn't dead.

This is frustrating to me for various reasons.

Levi's face is smashed in and it looks like one of his hands is probably unusable, as it seems like fingers were blown off of it and are stuck on the blade he was using:

Hange also dives into the water with him - with that kind of setup, I think it would feel off if he died here.

He might eventually, but that wouldn't feel as weighty to me anymore because he already survived here.

In addition, if Levi dies or survives without having any effect on the plot from here on out, all this dangling of his fate and the cliffhangers were pointless and just there for shock value to keep the readers coming back.

My least favorite part of the serum fight at the end of the Return to Shiganshina arc was how contrived it was. Both, but particularly Armin, surviving that long felt like a pretty big stretch and I think we see some of that here with Levi, too. I think his survival is a pretty big stretch because he took the Thunder Spear head on.

We know the Ackermans could possibly have healing powers since we had a possible hint like that with Mikasa back in chapter 51, so Levi could end up having this kind of healing and it could somehow save him:

We also now know they are products of Titan science, so it would "make sense", but it all still reeks of character favoratism and flies in the face of one of my favorite thematic ideas of the story: the idea that all of the lives of the characters are equally valuable and each character is treated the same way regardless of how major or minor they are. 

Unlike Levi, Armin, for example, was involved in a choice (so either way, one had to go), while this was an individual moment for only Levi alone, singling him out narrative-wise. Most of the big survival moments (Eren, Ymir, Reiner) were also related to Titan powers, making it all specifically dependant on the narrative element of the Titans and leaving the human aspect fairly grounded, only mostly limiting the impossibilities to the Titans. The serum was there the whole arc and the Titans/shifters have specific established abilities that might be twisted and turned, but are still consistent and related to prior abilities.

Armin surviving wasn't as much of a favoratism-filled of a moment to me because of these aspects (the reach/contrivance came from how the situation was set up to me, rather than the components and content of it because it went against the more grounded way of how regular human characters were treated, and I think the only other time this was stretched to it’s limits was with Erwin in chapter 50), but I also don't think Levi is a nearly as well-developed or potential-filled of a character to merit giving him more chances. I think interesting stuff could still be done with Armin and we see glimpses of that, but I don't see much of that with Levi - I think most of the potential in his character was wringed out in the Uprising arc.

He softened up and became more of a protector figure and we saw the results of that in the Return to Shiganshina arc.

Thematically, the contrast between Zeke and Levi was neat, but it was also the general contrast between the SL and Marley. Levi keeping his promise and killing the Beast Titan is also something that the whole SL (specifically those that aren't in fractions working against them at this point) is fighting for in a general sense - it’s one of the SL’s general principles that they fight to make sure all of the sacrifices made by soldiers that came before could have meaning.

There isn't much going on for Levi *specifically*. Anyone could avenge Erwin or defeat Zeke because it would have the same thematic meaning regardless of who does it.

The counter-argument to this would be that Levi had the most fleshed-out relationship with Erwin, but that doesn't really translate to actually doing anything new or interesting with his character.

Plot-wise I can accept him healing, but not completely regenerating. Again, in comparison, I think the Titan stuff with Zeke is also just fine because he actually is a shifter (and has the Founding Titan power at that, the most special of them all) and the whole point of the story and the Titans is that we don't know much about them - not even the characters that know the most about them don't know everything.

This is why I was okay with Reiner surviving in the Shiganshina arc, too. The characters and, by proxy, we, didn’t know everything about his and the others’ powers, that was the point. Their survivals are, again, dependant on the established rules of the Titan element of the series. You could argue there may have also been some reaching with these cases (Reiner in the Shiganshina arc and Zeke here), too, but it is also backed by smart plotting in a different sense - by the fundemental plot design of the series, which is actually a unexpectedly thoughtful detail when it comes to writing.

Many stories don’t actually make the inherit plot structure of the story as part of the thematic point of the story, and you could still see it as an cheap excuse, but I always appreciate whenever that happens because I feel like it shows the writer’s self-awareness and that they are actually thinking about the story and how it would have as few holes as possible. It might seem cheap on the surface, but it’s also smart in it’s own way.

Moving on, though, technically the Ackermans are related to the Titans, but the connection seems to be intended to be pretty loose, so anything that reveals a bigger similarity than just a vague connection automatically feels like a reach to get the plot where it needs to go to me.

I have that problem with the more magical-leaning abilities of the Titans, too - how did we get from regeneration and creating armour to memory manipulation and rewriting the DNA of a whole race?

If they actually turn out to be the same, this is another huge reach and something I am getting tired of - at this point, every Eldian might as well turn out to be a super soldier because they all have a loose connection to the Titans. I could deal with some of the reaches because they were exceptions and they weren’t as big leaps of logic. If these exceptions grow numerous, I can't believe in any of the established rules of the story anymore, be it the point of the plotting or not. There has to be some rhyme and reason to everything from a storytelling POV. 

On the other hand, though, I love AoT's wierd and grotesque imagery and along with that we got some possible details about the Titans, specifically the “paths” cleared up. The whole scene of Zeke regenerating with the help of the mindless Titan was really interesting, nasty and creepy.

I think it also makes it much more likely that Ymir could actually be alive by the end of the story.

Since not being absorbed into a Titan requires willpower and all Eldians are part of a big Titan "mass", the “paths” could work like Evangelion's LCL where a strong will allows the person to not be absorbed into this giant hivemind and remain their own person - it seems something like an invisible network of all of the Titan Shifters and mindless Titans of the past, present and future, maybe even all Eldians - though that's a less certain possibility to me. We know the matter that appears when the shifter transforms also comes from that network (as we learn from Kruger first and for now have confirmed by Xaver):

(Chapter 114)

How the matter is stored, created or appears at all is another thing entirely, but I feel like that’s how the “paths” thing works in the basics, looking at everything we know as of this chapter. So because they are all technically of the same flesh, the mindless Titan could reform Zeke’s body.

Basically, if her death wasn't a fakeout, Ymir (or any other shifter) might technically be able reform themselves, given a strong enough will and presence of appropriate flesh. The current shifters fighting the wills of the previous ones to be reformed back to their own bodies has always been a interesting idea with a bunch of character development/exploration potential to me - such as Eren fighting with the First King/his father/Frieda/Kruger/Tybur (man, he has like 5 people in there at this point), Armin fighting with Bertholdt, Ymir fighting with Porco and so on.

If it’s not something like this specifically, then I feel like these details would be relevant somehow anyway.

Finally, we have the Eren stuff. While talking with Zeke, he basically goes against everything he believed in prior to the development of his more pragmatic perspective.

It's either his father's memories and the moment in the cave having more of an effect on him than we thought or judging by his calm demeanor, him actually appealing to Zeke and manipulating him. In both cases he needs to be smacked.

In the former case, it's him agreeing with Zeke because of his hyperfocus on the moment he went through in the cave and Eren not really having truly grown past it.

In the latter case, I think his plan might actually be to rewrite the Eldians so they wouldn't have the Titan ability anymore.

One steals even more of the freedom of the Eldian people from them by denying their continued existence. The other takes away their only ability to protect themselves against the much better technology of the rest of the world and lessens their chance of survival even more, even if it removes the Titans from the world.

I think Mikasa, Armin and everyone else have to reach Eren and return the favor he did for them - telling him to fight again.

Also, hi there Pieck, I'm curious what you're planning to do.

This was a pretty alright chapter - I wish Levi died because I think it would've been a much better writing choice in comparison to the options we have now - if he dies later, I feel like it wouldn’t have the same weight, if he miraculously recovers, it's a massive stretch, if he is injured and gets no plot importance from this point on, this was all pointless shock value drama and if he pulls some miracle stunts while injured, it's also a pretty big stretch.

I think a swift death by the hands of Zeke would've been much more thematically powerful and interesting in comparison to the alternatives we seem to have now.

The most optimal option with the current situation I see is Levi mattering in a stealthy way - with a seemingly small action that matters a lot.

I guess prove me wrong and make this good, AoT, you've done it before.

I found everything else pretty interesting, though.

This back and forth between who is manipulating who between Eren and Zeke is the longest, most dragged-out seesaw game ever. It drags, but I still want to know where it eventually goes.

It might be Eren still not having moved past his moment in the cave or it might be him manipulating Zeke. These are the two options I see, but I’m not entirely sure which I lean towards because both have some holes. Maybe slightly more towards the first option because I feel like his talk with Zeke is more consistent with his talk in the cave, but I’m not sure.

The details about the paths through the Zeke scene were nice and actually did possibly tie up some loose ends about how the Titans work, just like all the info in the previous chapter.

This is such a strange chapter to me as a result. Great, interesting stuff and not so great stuff together and much of it's quality also being dependant on how it all pans out in the long run.

We'll see.

[theflashfics]

Steps To Get Over Heartbreak // Ralph Dibny

Pairing: Ralph Dibny x reader

Summary: After four years, your boyfriend has skipped town, and you’re devastated. Who better to take care of you then Ralph Dibny accompanied with icecream and Titanic on DVD?

Warnings: Just fluff, a cute kiss

Word Count: 2286

Requests: Open!

Four years. Four whole years of your life thrown into the wind on the whims of a simple text message. Your dick of an ex had skipped town – no doubt with someone new – and had alerted you so discreetly with a text message that read: Hey Y/N! It’s Jake. I’m leaving Central City. Stay cool. God, you hated that bastard. The text arrived that morning and you couldn’t bear going to STAR Labs where you worked with Team Flash. It would just be painful for everyone, as the team had spent tedious amounts of time warning you against Jake, saying he had a ‘bad energy’, which you dismissed as his demeanour around new people. Ralph, who had joined the team a month or so ago and who you’d become particularly close with, had found him aggravating and, in his words, a ‘massive twat’. Which was absolutely correct, if even you hadn’t seen it then. Which is why you couldn’t turn up to work for him to say, ‘I told you so’. So, in true post-breakup fashion, you were moping in your apartment. There was something poetic about crying and eating copious amounts of icecream. Not. You’d ran out of icecream and tears an hour ago so now you were just an angry puddle on your couch. 

You picked up the tv remote, flipped it in your hands, and ditched it at the wall. You could see why Harry did it – it was rather satisfying. As you picked up a dangerously fragile vase and prepared to throw it when you heard a knock at the door. “Hello? Y/N?” You whipped your head around and put the vase back down. “Who is it?” You asked flatly, trudging to the door and looking through the peephole. It was Ralph, struggling to contain a plethora of icecream and movies in his arms. You rolled your eyes fondly and opened the door. “You know your arms stretch, right?” You remarked, quirking an eyebrow. “This is why you’re the smart one in this friendship,” Ralph groused, stretching his arms to comprise the content he was holding. He walked past you, into your apartment and dumped the icecream and movies onto your marble bench, then turned around to face you. “You look-” he struggled to find the word. “Gross, I know,” you grumbled. You donned a oversized hoodie and sweatpants, and your face was tearstained. “No,” Ralph frowned, “You look sad.” You shot him a dirty look. “No shit, Sherlock. That dickwad of a boyfriend ran off over the rainbow, no doubt with someone else,” You sighed, “And I suppose that’s why you’re here.” 

Ralph gave a sheepish shrug. “I kept tabs on Jake because I knew he was a candle in the wind. A dumbass candle in the wind.” You gave a weak laugh. “And I found out he skipped town, so here I am. I don’t want you to be upset over some twat who doesn’t deserve you,” he said sweetly. You opened your mouth to say something, then closed it again. “Where’s the suit?” You joked, walking up to him and attempting a grin. Ralph was wearing sweatpants and a casual t-shirt, which was a stark contrast to the usual clean cut suit and blazer. “Well, this is all the comfy clothes I have, since someone-“ he looked you up and down playfully –“is wearing my favourite hoodie and sweatpants.” You pouted cutely, “I like them. Plus, that asshole didn’t give me back the clothes that I left at his house. So his ass probably has them in the back of his stupid car. In fact, I bet someone some blondie is wearing my hoodie and sweats! That lying, thieving little-“ “Hey, hey, calm down,” Ralph said, pulling you into a hug. He felt warm and comfortable and smelt of the cologne you liked. “Thanks, Ralphy,” you mumbled against his chest. He pulled away from you and snatched a movie off the bench. 

“I got your favourite,” he grinned, holding up a DVD with Titanic written on it. You groaned in appreciation and seized it off him, gazing at the cover. “Nothing like lusting over young Leonardo to get me over a breakup,” you kissed the plastic case, holding it close to your chest. Ralph frowned. “I thought I was your best man,” he whinged. You looked up at him and smiled. “Leo’s got nothing on you,” you poked his chest, and shuffled over to the couch with the DVD, slipping it into the television and diving back onto the couch, snuggling into the collection of blankets and cushions you had arranged. From the kitchen, you heard Ralph yell out. “What flavour of icecream?” Without a thought, you replied, “Just bring all of them!” You heard Ralph chuckle fondly and bring a selection of icecream tubs and unusually large spoons. He dipped his head down above you and handed you a tub of cookie dough icecream. “You know me so well, Ralphy,” you said approvingly, peeling off the lid as he walked to the television. When he reached the console, he frowned and looked at around the room. 

“Uh, Y/N, why is the remote over there?” He asked confusedly. You just mumbled in response and shovelled in another spoonful of icecream. “Accompanied by the hole in the wall?” He persisted, pointing at the crumbling drywall. You looked over and cringed. “I must have thrown it harder than expected,” you looked at your feet. Feelings began washing over you again and the tears returned. Ralph picked up the remote from the floor and chucked it onto the couch, then taking you by the shoulders and tipping your chin up to look at him. “You really liked this guy, huh,” he said softly. You nodded, bottom lip trembling. A single tear fell down your face, but you wiped it away quickly. “Whatever, he was a dick anyway,” you sighed, “I’ve just gotta get over it.” “Well, luckily,” Ralph said teasingly, running his hand down your arm, “I’ve compiled you your very own Steps To Get Over Heartbreak List.” You dashed into his arms and gave him a quick squeeze, then pulled away. “So, this list. Do tell me the steps,” you smiled warmly. 

Without a warning, Ralph picked you up in his strong arms and threw you onto the couch like a rag doll. You squealed in mid-air but was luckily cushioned by the masses of comfy items you’d piled onto the couch. “Ralph!” You said hysterically, but you didn’t mind at all. “Step one: get comfy.” He grinned at you and threw a fluffy blanket over you. “Step two: movie. Which is Titanic, obviously.” He started the movie, and the familiar beginning of the movie began. “Obviously,” you echoed, snuggling into the cushions, “Even men can appreciate the fact that a large dose of Leonardo DiCaprio is good for any healthy person.” “Step three,” he continued, returning to the couch with you, “Icecream.” You picked your tub off the floor and held it up, showing him. “Check,” you said, eating another chunk off your massive spoon, “And I’ve already got through quite a bit.” “That’s my girl,” Ralph grinned. You felt your heart jolt, which was strange. But you didn’t mind Ralph taking care of you so sweetly. He made you feel… safe. But also confused. What were these feelings? 

“And the next step?” You interrupted your inner dilemma. Ralph cocked his head. “Well, me of course. Your charming, dashing, gorgeous, ruggedly handsome best friend.” He put his hands on his hips and attempted a smouldering gaze. “How modest of you,” you said flatly, but you smiled anyway. He grinned cheekily and jumped onto the side of other couch when the screen displayed Jack boarding the ship. Just as he was making himself comfortable, you pouted and said, “No.” Ralph froze, propping himself up on his elbows. “No?” He quirked an eyebrow. You sat up and patted the space where your head just was. “Come here, Ralphy,” you whined, and he complied. “You’re such a baby,” he grumbled. You held up a finger at him and waggled it. “Be careful, boy. You don’t want to upset the baby,” you said airily. Ralph rolled his eyes, albeit fondly, and flicked his hand at you. You moved over for him and he lay down where you once were. “Better?” He asked, holding his arms out. You nodded in response and yelped when Ralph pulled you down onto him. 

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” you told him begrudgingly. “Oh, be quiet. You love it.” He winked at you. You snorted, then saw the way he was looking at you pointedly. “Shut up,” you stammered, poking his shoulder angrily. “You’re cute,” he stated, poking you back. Your cheeks flushed unexpectedly, and you hid your face in his shirt. “Maybe I am,” you shrugged, narrowing your eyes at him, but snuggled down onto his chest anyway. You felt comfy and safe and warm in his arms and as the movie played on, you put your arms around him. When it arrived at the sex scene, you buried your face in his chest and said, “Leo is so hot.” Ralph laughed and shook his head. The screen showed Rose’s hand slap against the foggy glass of the car and your face heated up. “Damn, that hand always gets me,” said Ralph, engrossed in the movie. “Don’t get a boner,” you grumbled. Ralph snorted. “That won’t be a problem.” You were suddenly acutely aware of how much you were blushing and sat up off his chest, seizing the tub of half melted icecream off the ground. You grinned at the sugary concoction and dug your spoon into it, then shovelling it into your mouth. “Icecream can cure everything, I swear,” you moaned and chewed on a chunk of cookie you found in your spoonful. 

You stole a glance at Ralph and noticed he was staring at you and the icecream. You raised your eyebrows. “Lusting over my icecream, Dibny?” You teased, flicking your tongue on another scoop. “Not just the icecream,” he murmured, putting his hands behind his head. You gazed involuntarily at the way his muscles rippled, and your face grew hot once again. In an attempt to play it off, you took another scoop of the delicious icecream and positioned it over to his face. “Want some?” You said innocently, and as he moved his head towards the spoon you snatched it away and slurped it up with obscene sounds. “You hostile bitch!” Ralph said with mock affront, sitting up and twisting himself around you so you were sitting between his legs. He grasped the spoon off you and took his own scoop of the icecream, moaning at the taste. You scowled, then snatched both the spoon and icecream off Ralph, putting them on a nearby table. “Focus on me, not the icecream!” You complained, pushing on Ralphs chest and pushing him back into his previous position. “You’re insatiable,” he mumbled, pulling you down onto him. You shrugged, then put your head back down onto Ralphs chest, and closed your eyes to feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing. 

His hand began stroking your head absentmindedly and playing with your hair, and you hummed appreciatively. On the television screen, Jack and Rose dived off the boat. You looked up at Ralph and caught him gazing at you. To him, you looked stunning; raw and tired but gorgeous. You raised an eyebrow at him and he winked, eliciting an eye roll from you. “What’s up, handsome?” You teased, propping yourself up by putting your elbows on either side of his torso. “For someone who was just broken up with, you seem pretty happy,” he remarked. “He was a dick anyway. And maybe it’s because I have my extra special super awesome ruggedly handsome best friend with me,” you said softly, smiling at Ralph from above him. “Don’t fall in love with me,” he joked lightly. Seconds passed, and you found your eyes flicking back and forth from his eyes to his lips. You were just broken up with! You chided yourself, but another sneaky thought popped into your head: Well, getting under somebody else is always the best way to get over a breakup. And Ralph is freakin under me. 

“Y’know, Y/N, I never told you the last step on the list,” said Ralph, trailing his finger lazily up your arm. You took a sharp intake of air and flicked your hair out of your eyes. “And what’s that, Ralphy?” You asked, licking your lips. His eyes were drawn to your lips with that simple action, lingered for a hot second, and travelled back up to your eyes. “Well,” he shrugged, not talking his eyes off you, “I’ve heard that the best way to get over a breakup is to move on fast and… onto someone else.” You laughed breathily, hyper aware of his long fingers making their way up and down your arm, creating goosebumps. “Anyone you might recommend?” You inquired teasingly. “Funny you ask,” Ralph chuckled, “I brought my resumé.” Your hand found his cheek and you leaned into him, pressing your lips against his. His reaction was immediate, and he reciprocated softly. You melted into the kiss and put your other hand at the nape of his neck. You could feel him smiling against your lips. His hand snaked into your hair and gave a light tug. You moaned softly, then pulled away, Ralph lingering on your lips but reluctantly pulling back. “That was… awesome,” you breathed out. He placed one last chaste kiss on your lips and looked up at you, grinning. “If I didn’t have a boner then-“ “Ralph!”

[davidmann95]

I haven't been able to tolerate a comics news site since ComicsAlliance shut down so what news out of SDCC is actually worth knowing about?

I’ve gotten so many questions regarding SDCC-related news that I figured I’d just do one big post, and this seems as opportune an ask to build that off of as any. To kick off, in terms of news that’s not for me but is a big deal, there’s a trailer for the next season of Doctor Who, and Star Wars: Clone Wars is shockingly coming back for a final reduced season years after the fact. Congrats to the fans of both franchises! Plus yesterday we got the announcement of Orlando and Foreman’s Electric Warriors for DC (as well as Orlando’s Dead Kings with Matt Smith at Aftershock Comics) and the Wonder Woman/Justice League Dark October crossover.

So first and foremost in terms of the reaction it picked up, OH MY GOD:

It’s like the Bat In The Sun team handed over their production to their shitty kids but made them work off a third of the budget. I kept seeing the jokes about it on Twitter, and I kept thinking they were surely hilarious exaggerations, AND NOT A ONE OF THEM EVEN SLIGHTLY WAS. At least it now makes sense why Hawk and Dove is here, given the Liefeld connection: this is 90s as helllllllllllllllllllllll, and while a part of me hopes it swerves unexpectedly in a couple seasons into Fun 90s DC with Starman and Wally West and an Electric Blue Superboy and Titans One Million, I can’t pretend I wouldn’t gleefully hatewatch this if it wasn’t behind a paywall. What it really comes down to is that, as I saw someone mention, the over-the-top content warning at the beginning isn’t actually by any means to get rid of anyone under 18, but specifically to appeal to them over anyone over it: there is nothing about this show not precision-crafted to appeal to teenagers watching something they technically aren’t supposed to, since anyone older than that will just laugh until the stars grow cold. And while it’s one line in particular that’s rightfully drawn all the attention, to me the clear defining moment is Beast Boy taking his big goofy dramatic leap, and you expect him to transform, but that ain’t happening (I fully expect he’ll just have claws and growl and do assorted Wolverine shit instead), because that kind of thing is for STUPID KIDS, whereas this is RAD. 

RAD, dare I say…to the EXTREME.

Also, the pilot Robin’s scene was presumably drawn from was written by Akiva Goldsman, Greg Berlanti, and Geoff Johns. So was it the guy behind Batman & Robin, the guy behind the CWverse, or the recent President of DC Comics who ushered FUCK BATMAN into the world? Because all three of those possibilities are equally hilarious. In any case, the rubicon has been crossed: easily one of the top ten, probably one of the five or so most iconic superheroes of all time said fuck in a piece of mass media. Where we go from here, nobody knows. But at the very least I’ll take the L for my original certainty that this would take place in the CW DCverse, because that clearly isn’t going to be the case. Though boy, imagine if it was. Personally I like to imagine this is a totally normal DCU, and suddenly going full 90s and murdering a bunch of people is their universe’s version of normal teen rebellion.

Additionally, it’s now seemingly set in stone that the fourth DC Universe live-action show alongside Titans, Doom Patrol, and Swamp Thing will be a Stargirl show where Courtney Whitmore learns about her legacy and tries to track down the Justice Society, described as in the flavor of Superman ‘78 and Wonder Woman. Again, if it wasn’t behind a paywall I’d check it out.

And before turning to comics proper, we learned from WB itself that there are no plans to idiotically pour millions into making a functional Justice League Snyder cut a thing, unsurprisingly making some of the worst people on the internet be just the absolute worst (I’m interested myself in it artistically even if I don’t think it would be very good, but at this point it would feel like a validation of some really rotten people’s behavior if this happened). Meanwhile the first trailer for the Dragon Ball Super movie dropped, and yeah, I’m still happy to see Broly. This looks big in a way Dragon Ball for all its action rarely gets, and seeing Paragus suggests Toriyama understood what worked about the original flick, which is a very good sign. Did they swap out Vic Mignogna as Broly though? Wouldn’t blame him, I know he’s said he hates the part, but surprising nonetheless. And the Spider-Man game dropped another trailer, along with a ‘Velocity’ bonus suit designed by Adi Granov.

The big comics news of the day was of course the long-awaited confirmation that Green Lantern is being relaunched - apparently as The Green Lantern - in November by Grant Morrison and Liam Sharp. What’s surprising is that Morrison’s currently insisting that since the last decade or so of the franchise has dealt with constant upheaval and cosmic apocalypse, his run is going to scale back down to a character-focused study of Hal (“He’s a loner and a drifter and he’s an unreconstructed man. It was nice to do that and to go a little bit old-fashioned with it. He doesn’t belong here at all, you know? He’s longing for the heavens, and to be back up as a Green Lantern. We’re doing Hal Jordan where, you know he’s a good cop, but is he really a good guy? And we’re looking into his relationships and how he deals with people. And also the fact that, if you’ve got a job as a space cop, it’s hard to be stuck on the planet Earth. He has other lives on other planets.”) amidst him going about his duties and dealing with weird alien crimes and space threats, such as stopping aliens from ‘parking’ a planet-sized artificial megastructure near a sun and causing damage to nearby worlds, and solving the murder of a gaseous lifeform.

I doubt it’ll necessarily stay there forever - his Batman and Action Comics runs, after all, were both initially marketed as staying on the smaller side by his standards, and the one idea we know of Morrison having once had for the Green Lanterns back in the day was making them a multiversal force. But it’s remarkable how, well, normal this sounds coming from Morrison. Clearly this must be a passion project if he’s doing a monthly again for the first time in 5 years, especially since DiDio mentioned he had to be persuaded (ultimately persuading himself as his attempts to brush off the proposition led to him thinking about the possibilities and rapidly talking himself into it) to make time for this amidst an incredibly busy schedule of surely more profitable and creatively unshackled projects, but on the surface level? This sounds like the closest Morrison has come since his JLA days to writing a regular superhero comic. At this point in his career, I’m very, very curious what that’s going to look like. Just hoping he read the King/Shaner oneshot on whatever reread he surely went through to catch up on current continuity. And also hoping this guy was right that it’ll turn out “the REAL construct that was limited by our willpower and imagination all along was…REALITY.”

On smaller notes:

* Kelly Sue DeConnick and Robson Rocha are taking over Aquaman, with an opening arc that shows him washing up amnesiac on an isle of forgotten sea gods. DeConnick seems to be like the Jeffs Lemire and Parker where my appreciation of their work is limited to very, very specific slivers: none of her Marvel superhero stuff I’ve read did anything for me even if I could see the talent behind it, but her Lois story in the last issue of The Adventures of Superman was pitch-perfect (and also had a great Aquaman bit!). This gets at least an issue from me.

* DC announced new titles for DC Ink and DC Zoom, including Cassandra Cain, Oracle, Dick Grayson, Creeper, and Wonder Woman books, while also announcing some artists for the existing titles.

* Geoff Johns is doing (ugh) Shazam with Dave Eaglesham, who showed off a really great, fun cover suggesting the possibility of a tonal shift away from Johns writing the absolute worst version of that character imaginable. On the likelihood of said possibility though, I think @intergalactic-zoo put it best. I might just check it out in trade if word of mouth is overwhelmingly positive, but then, lots of otherwise rational people liked or at least saw merit in his original crack at it with Gary Frank, and you were all deliriously, impossibly wrong back then, too.

* And finally, speaking of Johns, he’s doing Batman: Three Jokers as a 3-issue mini with Jason Fabok, a smart move given that is precisely as much as I’m willing to invest in this out of morbid curiosity. What’s really baffling though is that it’s being released under Black Label. It would seem to destroy the stated purpose of the line by immediately releasing Very Important Continuity Comics under it, but maybe this means Batman’s gonna follow in his protege’s footsteps and say a fuck. Anyway, I’m mostly just hoping it isn’t revealed Fun Golden Age Joker is actually not the original in order to rub out the prospect that he was ever truly anything but a terrifying sidekick-butchering murder machine at the center of very serious stories, because that feels to be like a real possibility. And absolute no question one of the three is gonna turn out to be the lost child of Marionette and Mime in Doomsday Clock.

[trixyazamatova]

Maybe I can tutor you? -Trixya (1/1)

So I had to write this obviously??

Based off this amazing artwork

“Oh Trixie you’re such a sweet girl! Helping Katya is more than I could have asked for!”

“Of course! Hi Kat.” Trixie smiled sweetly and waved over Katya’s mother’s shoulder at the dark haired girl who just raised an eyebrow and folded her arms across her flat chest. Standing at what seemed about 6ft Trixie was wearing a bright yellow pinafore dress with a little white t-shirt underneath. Her skirt stopped just below her panties and her legs went on for a week ending in the most ridiculous heels Katya had ever seen anyone wear at 10am on a Saturday.

“I don’t need a tutor, I don’t want a tutor and I don’t want to be stuck in a room with that bubblegum haired freak.”

Katya knew she was being petulant but her mother wouldn’t drop this whole ‘tutor’ idea just because she may have failed four math tests consecutively. Math didn’t matter to her anyway, she was going to be a famous artist or gymnast or prostitute. The world was her oyster and she didn’t need to learn about some stuffy old dude called ‘Pythagarus’ or his creepy obsession with triangles.

“Katya, I’ve already asked Trixie to come over and give you a hand. You used to be such good friends! This will be good for you!” The grin plastered across her mother’s face made Katya roll her heavily lined eyes and groan. It was no secret that Mrs Zamolodchikova was disappointed when Katya and Trixie stopped hanging out so much. Trixie dyed her hair pink and started wearing short skirts and tight shirts that emphasized her massive boobs and suddenly their classmates didn’t seem to mind as much that she was insanely smart the way they used to when she was a boring brunette.

Katya stayed brunette and dumb and decided to embrace it by wearing her long, dark hair matted and wild around her face, caking on eyeliner and refusing to wear any shoes that weren’t scuffed up biker boots. It didn’t take long for her to realise that she and Trixie didn’t have anything in common any more, which suited her just fine. They still saw each other at school every now and then but with Trixie being in the year below she managed to avoid her former friend most of the time.

“I don’t need her to help me. I can learn everything I need to from the internet.”

Just as her mother was about to retort the doorbell rang. Katya could see Trixie’s ridiculous silhouette through the frosted glass of the door and her eyes nearly rolled out of her head. “I’ll get that. Be nice and try to learn Kat.”

Katya watched as her mother answered the door with a huge smile and enveloped Trixie in a massive hug, gushing over how much she missed her and how sad she was that she didn’t come over as much anymore. Of course Trixie played along, pulling out a tub of cookies her mom had baked. “I couldn’t come over empty handed!”

“Oh Trixie you’re such a sweet girl! Helping Katya is more than I could have asked for!”

“Of course! Hi Kat.” Trixie smiled sweetly and waved over Katya’s mother’s shoulder at the dark haired girl who just raised an eyebrow and folded her arms across her flat chest. Standing at what seemed about 6ft Trixie was wearing a bright yellow pinafore dress with a little white t-shirt underneath. Her skirt stopped just below her panties and her legs went on for a week ending in the most ridiculous heels Katya had ever seen anyone wear at 10am on a Saturday.

“Trixie.” Katya made sure to keep her voice calm, pursing her nude lips and flicking her hair back over her shoulder. “If you have more important things to do today you don’t have to stay.”

“Don’t be silly!” The pink haired girl giggled and walked over to where Katya was standing a few inches shorter than her. “We’re well overdue a catch up anyway.” Trixie winked at the shorter girl and pulled her absurdly small, bright pink backpack off her shoulder. “Wanna take me upstairs so we can do some math?”

-

It was stupid and NOT because she wanted to impress Trixie that Katya had tidied her room before the younger girl had come over, but only because she knew Trixie’s room was probably an immaculate Barbie fantasy and she might be a bit disgusted by the state of Katya’s hovel. It wasn’t a proper tidy up, just chucking all the dirty clothes that were usually littered all over the floor into the laundry basket and she might have washed and changed her sheets. She had, however, opted to leave the posters of the half-naked women up around her room though because if Trixie was uncomfortable with Katya’s sexuality she could get the hell out of her room.

“Your room looks a bit different to when I was last here a few years ago.” Trixie made herself at home immediately, kicking off her heels and clambering onto Katya’s bed, flashing her pink panties in the process without any shame. In fact if Katya didn’t know better she might have thought it was on purpose.

Katya shrugged and leant back against her dresser, not wanting to get too chummy with her intruder. “You look a bit different too.”

Unexpectedly, Trixie let out a shriek-like laugh at this comment, her head thrown back in mirth the way she always used to when they were 12 and Katya used to make stupid jokes just to hear that laugh. She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks.

“Oh Kat, so much has changed over 5 years. What happened?”

I fell in love with you and you fell in love with being popular? “I don’t know. I thought we were going to do math.”

“Is that what you want to do, Kat?” Trixie’s voice seemed deeper suddenly as she shifted onto her knees. Her top teeth pressed into her bottom lip, bright pink to match her enormous hair. “I know you have a thing for teachers.” She grinned mischievously and looked at Katya over the top of her white-rimmed glasses.

The shorter girl stared back, not quite able to process the comment until Trixie burst into laughter again. “I’m joking babes. Lighten up.”

“God, get the fuck out of my room Trixie I’m not in the mood for this.” Katya turned around to storm out of her own bedroom when she felt a soft hand around her wrist.

Trixie pulled on Katya’s arm and was suddenly closer to the brunette than she had been in years. Her face was stern and serious suddenly, her brown eyes searching Katya’s pale blue ones. “Katya, why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate y-”

“You clearly do! You were my best friend and you just decided one day that you were too cool for me or I wasn’t edgy enough for you or some bullshit. How did this happen?” Her face was so sad and sincere and Katya couldn’t stop herself from closing the distance between them, grabbing the back of Trixie’s head with both hands and crashing their lips together in a messy kiss. If this was going to be the way Trixie finally understood what was going on she might as well just go all out.

It only took a second before Trixie started kissing back, much to Katya’s surprise, and the taller girl’s hands snaked around Katya’s waist to make fists into the sheer, black fabric of Katya’s dress. Trixie bit down on Katya’s lower lip causing the brunette to gasp which only gave Trixie opportunity to lick her way into Katya’s mouth and hug the shorter girl closer to her.

Trixie’s hands travelled down to Katya’s ass, lifting the shorter girl onto the dresser behind her with ease and running her hands up Katya’s body while slotting herself between her legs. Katya moaned into Trixie’s mouth, her hands making fists in the mass of bright pink hair.

“Wait-” Katya pulled away slightly dazed as she looked up at Trixie’s ruined lipstick and flushed pink cheeks from her seat on the dresser. Her dress had ridden up past her hips and she could only imagine what sort of state her face was in. “What is happening?”

“I think we’ve both stopped being idiots.”

“Wow you’ve only been tutoring me for 20 minutes and I’m already smarter.” Katya grinned and cupped Trixie’s face with her hands, thrilled when the taller girl turned her head to press a kiss against her fingers.

“I think I’ve worked out how you can repay me for all of this expert quality tutoring.”

“I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”

[cksmart-world]

The Completely Unnecessary News Analysis

by Christopher Smart

July 30, 2019

A MIRACULOUS MAYOR'S RACE

Do you believe in miracles? Well, the campaign to elect Salt Lake City's next mayor is chock full of great ideas that could solve our most pressing problems. One candidate wants to  move the Inland Port to Wendover. Is that a good idea, or what? Instead of having all those warehouses and trucks and congestion and air pollution, we just put it out in the desert. Another candidate would move the oil refineries on Salt Lake City's north end. Talk about miracles. He hasn't said where they would be moved, but the possibilities are endless. How about Rob Bishop's backyard — he really likes fossil fuels. Not to miss such an opportunity, we assigned the Creativity Department here at Smart Bomb to come up with more great stuff candidates could promise: They could pledge to take the salt out of The Great Salt Lake. Fresh water would be so much better. They could promise to pass an ordinance against ugly, new apartment buildings. That would be grand. And they might even pledge a mass transit system that works for everyone. Oh, wait, that's already been promised —  a bunch of times. Oh well, as Jake Barnes said to Lady Brett Ashley in The Sun Also Rises: “It's pretty to think about.”

Bummer — Utah Gets Medicaid Expansion

It's a dark day for Utah lawmakers: Voters are getting what they asked for. (We are not making this up.) Last year, Utahns, through a voter initiative, told the Grinches on Capital Hill that they wanted to expand Medicaid under provisions outlined in the Affordable Care Act, aka ObamaCare. Not so fast, said Republican legislators, who found the suggestion tantamount to socialism. Just 'cause the voters want something, doesn't mean they get it — well, not in Utah, anyway. The Republican caucus put their heads together — as they often do — to cheap it. So what if a few more thousand people go without health care — the slackers. As luck would or wouldn't have it, the Trump Administration unexpectedly denied the Legislature's proposal because the White House braintrust hopes pending litigation elsewhere in the country will succeed in finding ObamaCare unconstitutional. That would result in loss of coverage for about 20 million Americans — but hey, it's just collateral damage. For now, ObamaCare is still the law of the land and Utah lawmakers and the governor will be forced to fully expand Medicaid as outlined in the ACA. It’s such dumb luck — but in Utah, you gotta take it when you can get it.

What If Republicans Renounced Racism?

What if President Trump didn't call Congressman Elija Cummings a “brutal bully” whose district in Baltimore is a “disgusting, rat and rodent infested mess, [Where] no human being would want to live.” What if President Trump didn't tell four freshmen congresswomen of color to “go back where you came from.” What if President Trump didn't say Mexican immigrants are “rapists.” What if President Trump didn't say there were “good people on both sides” after a white supremacist rally turned violent in Charlottesville. What if President Trump didn't imply that federal Judge Gonzalo Curiel could not fairly hear the case against Trump University because of his Mexican heritage. What if President Trump didn't refuse to renounce white nationalist and former KKK leader David Duke. What if President Trump didn't put an immigration ban on Muslims. What if Mr. Trump, before he was president, didn't posit that Barack Obama could be a muslim from Kenya. What if Utah's political leaders and Republicans in Washington didn't remain silent in the face of Trump's blatant racism, calculated to divide the country for political gain. And what if pigs could fly?

Victimhood by Jason Chaffetz

This is really horrible. Former Republican Congressman Jason “Benghazi” Chaffetz is a victim of meanness and he is coming out with a new book to prove it. You remember Jason, the one-time chairman of the House Oversight Committee who orchestrated a half-dozen probes into Hillary Clinton for killing everyone in the American embassy in Libya. Jason's first book, "The Deep State: How an Army of Bureaucrats Protected Barack Obama and Is Working to Destroy the Trump Agenda,"  is a real eye-opener. Who knew that the Russia investigation was really a ploy to turn America into a place where people get healthcare? As chairman of the Oversight Committee in 2017, it was Jason's job to hold President Trump accountable. Unfortunately, Jason had to spend more time with his family. Now that he's thought things over, Jason realizes that he was targeted by socialists and Democrats. And he has proof: Some people yelled at him in a 2017 town hall meeting and chanted, “Do Your Job.” His new book, “Power Grab: The Liberal Scheme to Undermine Trump, the GOP and Our Republic,” explains the whole thing. And even though the president hates reading stuff, he can get all he needs from the title.

Well, that just about does it for July 2019, a time that Americans will one day look back on and say, “What the fuck?” Nonetheless, here in Utah, we do have a lot to be thankful for: It's hotter in London and Paris than it is here. (Think of all the dough we saved not traveling there.) We don't have Boris Johnson. (Wilson and the band say they'd trade Trump for Johnson any day.) Speaking of Trump, he hasn't called us a horrible shit-hole, infested with big rats. We can be thankful for that. And the Olympics aren't coming anytime soon. Rob Bishop isn't running for another term in Congress. And Pat Bagley is still drawing cartoons for The Salt Lake Tribune.

We're now into the Dog Days of Summer and for the staff here at Smart Bomb that means feet in the pool and Mai Tais in the hands. Nothing is really possible between now and Labor Day. That's just the way it is — so you don't have to feel guilty. All right Wilson, tell the guys to put down those stupid, little umbrellas and take us out with a little something that will leave us in the deep chill:

We skipped a light fandango / Turned cartwheels 'cross the floor / I was feeling kinda seasick / The crowd called out for more / The room was humming harder / As the ceiling flew away / When we called out for another drink / The waiter brought a tray...

[tipsycad147]

Witch Trials - Witch Hunts

Grandier, Urbain (d. 1634) Priest framed and executed in the Loudun Possessions of Ursuline nuns in France. Urbain Grandier was brought down by his own arrogant charm and success, Reformation politics, and a spiteful nun he spurned. Burned alive at the stake, he was the only person to be executed in the case. Grandier, son of a lawyer and nephew of Canon Grandier of Saintes, was born to a life of privilege. A bright and eloquent student, he was sent at age 14 to the Jesuit College of Bordeaux. He spent more than 10 years studying there and took his ordination as a Jesuit novice in 1615. A promising career lay ahead of him.

Grandier’s Troubled Rise

At age 27, Grandier had accumulated many influential benefactors and was appointed curé, or parson, at Loudun. He also was made a canon of the collegial church of the Holy Cross. The town was sharply divided between the Protestant Huguenots, who abhorred the church, and Catholics.

Town opinions immediately were divided over Grandier. Women found him appealing and a significant improvement over his aged predecessor. Grandier was young, handsome, sophisticated, and interesting. He was given immediate entree into the highest social circles. He was flattering.

In times past, clerics could get away with quiet sexual escapades and affairs. But in the atmosphere at Loudun, disapproval of scandalous behaviour was increasing. Grandier, a wayward priest, should have paid heed to the social climate, but instead he felt entitled to enjoy women, single and married, an attitude that earned him simmering animosity among Loudun’s menfolk.

Professionally, he excelled in preaching and in performing his religious duties, which earned him resentment among his peers. He was able to stay out of trouble because he had the support and favor of the town’s governor, Jean d’Armagnac.

Grandier, thinking himself to be invulnerable, made arrogant mistakes. He became embroiled in quarrels and did not hesitate to criticise the behaviour of others, especially the Carmelites and Capuchins. He disparaged their relics, a source of income, and caused them a loss of patronage.

One of Grandier’s many amorous affairs was with Philippe Trincant, the daughter of Louis Trincant, the public prosecutor of Loudun, who was one of Grandier’s staunchest allies. That Grandier, who had his choice of women, jeopardised his relationship with the prosecutor in such an unforgivable way reveals his arrogance. Philippe became pregnant and Grandier abandoned her, creating another great enemy in Louis Trincant. The prosecutor led an informal but growing group of citizens who wished to bring Grandier down for one reason or another.

Grandier then set his sights on Madeleine de Brou, 30, the unmarried daughter of René de Brou, a wealthy nobleman. Madeleine had turned away many suitors, preferring a pious life. Unexpectedly, Grandier actually fell in love with her. He persuaded her to marry him, angering her family and Pierre Menuau, the advocate of King Louis XIII, who had been trying to win Madeleine’s hand for years. Grandier’s enemies complained to the bishop, Henry Louis Chasteignier de la Rochepozay, who lived outside Paris, that Grandier was out of control. He was debauching married women and young girls in his precinct, was profane and impious, and did not read his breviary, among other crimes. The bishop, who despised Grandier, ordered him to be arrested and imprisoned. The case was adjourned, however, and Grandier was given time to clear himself with his superiors.

Instead, accusations of his impropriety were heaped upon him as townspeople came forward. He was accused of having sex with women on the floor of his own church. He touched women when talking to them. Grandier decided to appear voluntarily before the bishop rather than be humiliated by arrest. He was arrested anyway and taken to jail on November 15, 1629.

After two weeks in the cold and dank prison, Grandier petitioned the bishop for his release, claiming he had repented. The bishop’s response was to increase his punishment. On January 3, 1630, Grandier was sentenced to fast on bread and water every Friday for three months and was forbidden to perform sacerdotal functions forever in Loudun and for five years in the Diocese of Poitiers. Such a sentence spelled ruin for Grandier, and he announced his intention to appeal the case. He had good odds of winning, for the archbishop was a close friend of Grandier’s key supporter, Governor d’Armagnac.

Grandier’s enemies appealed to the Parliament of Paris, claiming he should be tried by the nonsecular court. A trial date was set for August. Only six years earlier, a person had been burned alive at the stake for committing adultery. Grandier’s enemies hoped he would have the same fate. The case went in Grandier’s favour. Accusations from the townspeople were recanted, and Philippe’s father decided to protect what little remained of his daughter’s reputation by keeping silent about her illegitimate child fathered by Grandier. The archbishop remained supportive of Grandier.

Grandier was reinstated as curé, and he must have thought himself to be invulnerable. Friends advised him to be smart and leave Loudun, but he refused, perhaps to spite his enemies.

Grandier’s Downfall

The event that sealed Grandier’s doom at first seemed trivial. JEANNE DES ANGES, the mother superior of the Ursuline convent at Loudun, invited him to take the vacant post of canon. He declined, citing the press of too many other duties. He had never met Jeanne or been to the convent. Unbeknowst to him, Jeanne was harbouring a secret sexual obsession with him, and he had been the object of salacious gossip among the nuns for some time. Jeanne, a mean and vindictive woman, was stung. The man she appointed to fill the post, Canon Mignon, disliked Grandier. He became privy to the sexual secrets of the nuns, their nervous temperaments, and their ghost pranks in their haunted convent. It was soon easy to let them run out of control and become bewitched and beset by Demons. Mignon conspired with Grandier’s enemies to let it be known that he was responsible for their afflictions. Grandier shrugged off these stories, confident no one would believe them. As fantastic as they were, the stories found an audience not only among his enemies, but in the fertile political territory of Catholics and Protestants trying to sway the faithful with Demonstrations of their spiritual firepower. Nothing played better for the Catholics than Demonic possession.

Soon the nuns were giving hysterical performances for swelling crowds, under the exorcisms of Mignon and a Franciscan, FATHER GABRIEL LACTANCE, and a Capuchin, Father Tranquille. Both Lactance and Tranquille were believers in the Demonic.

Torture and Death

On August 18, Grandier was convicted and sentenced to be tortured and burned alive at the stake, and his ashes scattered to the winds. The sentence also stated that he would be forced to kneel at St. Peter’s Church and the Ursuline convent and ask for forgiveness. A commemorative plaque would be placed in the Ursuline convent at a cost of 150 livres, to be paid for out of Grandier’s confiscated estate. The sentence was to be carried out immediately. Grandier made an eloquent speech of his innocence to the stone-faced judges. So moved were the spectators, however, that many burst into tears, forcing the judges to clear the room. Grandier refused the last services of Lactance and Tranquille and made his final prayers. The exorcists, pushing Grandier’s alleged guilt to the maximum, insisted that when he said the word God he really meant “Satan.”

In anticipation of a guilty verdict and execution, about 30,000 people had flocked to Loudun to witness the spectacle.

Grandier’s body was shaved, but his fingernails were not ripped out because the surgeon refused to obey the court. In the interests of moving matters along, that punishment was forgone. He was then prepared for the question extraordinaire, the confession of his crimes. Lactance and Tranquille exorcized the ropes, boards, and mallets of torture, lest the Demons interfere and relieve Grandier’s suffering. The cure was bound, stretched out on the floor, and tied from his knees to his feet to four oak boards. The outer boards were fixed and the inner boards were movable. Wedges were driven between the pairs so that his legs were crushed. The excruciating crushing took about 45 minutes. At every blow, Grandier was asked to confess, and he refused. The final hammer blows were delivered by Lactance and Tranquille. Grandier’s smashed legs were poked, inducing more pain. The exorcists declared that the Devil had rendered him insensible to pain. For two more hours, Grandier was cajoled to sign the confession prepared for him, but he steadfastly refused, saying it was morally impossible for him to do so. The court finally gave up and sent him off to the stake. Grandier was dressed in a shirt soaked in sulphur and a rope was tied around his neck. He was seated in a muledrawn cart and hauled through the streets, with a procession of the judges behind him. At the door of St. Peter’s Church, the procession halted and a two-pound candle was placed in Grandier’s hands. He was lifted down and urged to beg pardon for his crimes. Grandier could not kneel because of his crushed legs and fell on his face. He was lifted up and held by one of his supporters, Father Grillau, who prayed for him as both of them wept in a piteous scene. The onlookers were ordered not to pray for Grandier, for they would be committing a sin. At the Ursuline convent, the same procedure was repeated, and Grandier was asked to pardon Jeanne and all the nuns. He said he had never done them any harm and could only pray that God would forgive them for what they had done.

Father René Bernier, who had testified against Grandier, came forward to ask for Grandier’s forgiveness and offered to say a mass for him.

The place of execution was the Place Saint-Croix, which was jammed with spectators. Everyone who had a window had rented it out to capacity. More spectators sat on the church’s roof. Guards had to fight a way through the throng to reach the 15-foot stake driven into the ground near the north wall of the church. Faggots were piled at the base of the stake.

Grandier was tied to a small iron seat fastened to the stake, facing the grandstand, where his enemies drank wine in celebration. He had been promised strangulation by the noose around his neck prior to the start of the fire. The Capuchin friars exorcised the site, including the wood, straw, and coals that would start the blaze and the earth, the air, the victim, the executioners, and the spectators. The exorcisms were done again to prevent the interference of Demons to mitigate Grandier’s suffering and pain. His death was to be as excruciating as possible. Grandier made several attempts to speak, but the friars silenced him with douses of holy water and blows to his mouth with an iron crucifix. Lactance still demanded a confession, but Grandier gave none. He asked Lactance for the “kiss of peace,” customarily granted to the condemned. At first, Lactance refused, but the crowd protested, and so he angrily complied, kissing Grandier’s cheek. Grandier said he would soon meet the judgement of God, and so, eventually, would Lactance. At that, Lactance lit the fire, followed by Tranquille and another exorcist, Father Archangel. The executioner moved quickly to strangle Grandier but discovered that the noose had been secretly knotted by the Capuchins so that it could not be tightened. The friars doused some of the flames with holy water to exorcise any remaining Demons. Left to burn alive, Grandier began screaming.

A large black fly appeared, which the exorcists took as a sign of Beelzebub, the Lord of the Flies. Grandier’s body was consumed in flames. Then a flock of pigeons appeared, wheeling around the fire. Grandier’s enemies took this as a sign of Demons, and his supporters took it as a sign of the Holy Ghost.

When the fire burned itself out, the executioner shovelled the ashes to the four cardinal points. Then the crowd surged forward to scavenge grisly souvenirs of teeth, bits of bone, and handfuls of ashes, to be used in Charms and spells. The relics of a sorcerer were considered to be quite powerful. When all were gone, the satisfied crowd dispersed to eat and drink.

Later, back at the Ursuline convent, Jeanne was exorcised again. She said the fly was the Demon Baruch, who had been intent on trying to throw the priests’ exorcism book into the fire. She confirmed that Grandier really had prayed to Satan, not to God. She said he suffered an excruciating death thanks to the exorcisms of the priests, and that he was suffering special torments in Hell. Jeanne and the other nuns were remorseful about Grandier and worried that they had sinned. Soon, however, the priest was forgotten, as the possessions and exorcisms continued. Tranquille and Lactance suffered Demonic problems themselves and died.

FURTHER READING :

Certeau, Michel de. The Possession at Loudun. Translated by Michael B. Smith. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000.

Ferber, Sarah. Demonic Possession and Exorcism in Early Modern France. London: Routledge, 2004.

Huxley, Aldous. The Devils of Loudun. New York: Harper and Brothers, 1952.

The Encyclopedia of Demons and Demonology – Written by Rosemary Ellen Guiley – Copyright © 2009 by Visionary Living, Inc.

http://occult-world.com/witch-trials-witch-hunts/grandier-urbain-d-1634/

Picture https://aminoapps.com

[smartalker]

Magpie Bridge [6/10 - Papissa Joanna]

ENTITLED: Magpie Bridge FANDOM: Mass Effect Andromeda - Reyes/Ryder RATING: M LENGTH: 50k via 10 chapters GENRE: Romance/Sci-Fi/Drama/Humor, in that order SUMMARY: With the Kett subdued and Andromeda’s terraforming system running at full power, Kadara Port swiftly establishes itself as the trade capital of the galaxy. The city’s unique combination of affluence, corruption, and growing power inevitably earns the ire of both the Nexus, and Aya. Under tremendous pressure to disavow a known criminal’s legitimacy, Ryder once again returns to Kadara hoping to broker peace, but the Charlatan wants something very different from her… ALT SUMMARY: Two people fall in love, galaxy breaks. 

No reception.

Ryder poked at her omni-tool again, hopefully. No reception. Damn.

Pathfinder, it seems likely that the canyon walls are interfering with our communications.

Brilliant. Ryder glanced back and around. Reyes had wandered back into the ship, likely doing something nefarious, but his pilots remained busy at the bridge. She cleared her throat. “Hey. Do you know when the signal will be back up?”

One pilot glanced back. She had neat, aqua dreadlocks. “You mean for private calls? We’re cloaked until arrival. Security concerns. We should arrive in about half an hour.”

“Oh. Bummer. Okay, thanks—” Ryder paused suddenly. Reyes had definitely been messaging someone earlier. “What about Reyes?”

The pilot shrugged. “Him? He’s always got some new tech. Loves his gadgets. Not sure where he gets it. Told me he built it himself when I asked once…don’t really buy it. Probably keeps a gang of Salarians locked in a basement somewhere.” She grinned. Her teeth were shiny, bolted with silver. She glanced at her screens, then nodded politely at Ryder before returning to her work.

Ryder scowled. Her omni-tool was top of the market caliber, the best money could buy. She hadn’t paid much attention to tech before, but she had a hunch that if the Collective had better tech than the Initiative, her engineers seriously needed to get their asses in gear.

She marched back into the ship, searching the rooms randomly.

“Need something?”

Ryder spun, grabbing his wrist. “Let me scan your omni-tool.”

“Why, jealous?” He lifted his arm away from her, catching her around the waist and pulling her forwards. “It’s pretty good, one of its kind. But I could make you a copy if you asked me nicely.”

Ryder narrowed her eyes. “Oh, can you?” She tried sneakily scanning his device and was easily blocked.

Reyes shrugged, now pinning her arms. “I like building things. Just a hobby.” He grinned into her seething face. “You’re cute. Very fiery. I like this.”

All Initiative engineers were officially fired. Ryder wriggled around, trying to look fierce. “Is this how you became so successful? This whole time, you’ve secretly been a gadget nerd?”

“Did you think it was all good looks and ruthless deception?”

“Yes.” She perked onto her toes, so their noses were tip-to-tip. His gaze faltered for a moment, surprised by her, and she let her weight sag forward so he was forced to catch her more tightly. She kissed him quickly. “Got you.”

He laughed a little breathlessly. “What’s gotten into you?”

“You. You like me. I make you nervous,” she told him, with glee. Reyes blinked.

“Did I forget to tell you?”

“You told me. I just didn’t really believe you.” She snuggled into him. “Don’t look at me.”

His hand found her ponytail, and tugged. She stayed resolutely hidden, as the pressure increased, as his voice began coaxing her, “Hey. Don’t get all shy now—”

The intercom buzzed suddenly to life, and the pilot from earlier announced over speaker, “Docking at Kadara Port, everyone hold on—”

They were too tangled together. Upon the abrupt docking, they both lurched into the wall, hips banging painfully against the hand rail. Ryder’s eyes smarted, her wrist and hand had both been smashed beneath his shoulder. “Ugh. Ryder down.”

“Sorry,” Reyes laughed, already helping to steady her. “Sorry,” he said again. “Dezzie likes a quick landing. I should have warned you. Where were we?” He reached for her face, and Ryder ducked away, her shyness returning.

“Disembarking.”

He clicked his tongue, following her back towards the bridge. “You’re lucky I’m patient.”

She hit the outer door’s access button. “Are you?” She glanced back at him, and he wrapped an arm over and around her shoulders, catching her jaw so she remained angled towards him. He kissed her deeply, confidently, until she was leaning back into him and dizzy. And then he let her go.

“Not really,” he said. He wasn’t smiling. “Actually, I’m not patient at all.”

Ryder’s lips parted just as the doors slid back, and she was ready for him this time, she was going to answer—

“Hey,” said Scott, and Ryder’s stomach iced over. She swiveled, staring. Her twin waited at the end of the ramp, his arms crossed. She thought she felt Reyes’ arm clench a little. As discreetly as she was able, Ryder slid his arm off of her.

“Hey,” she returned. Casually. “Scott, have you met—? Okay, okay, nevermind, great.” Scott had already stalked away. Ryder glanced apologetically at Reyes.

“He’s very dramatic.” She whispered. “Of my immediate family, I would like to say that you really lucked out with me. Compared to the rest of them, I am extremely low maintenance.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Reyes said, rather pointedly. It wouldn’t have stung if he hadn’t spent the last week saving her ass, a pattern Ryder strongly disapproved of and would be re-evaluating, as opportunities arose.

Ryder suppressed her urge to reveal all the shit her brother had pulled over the course of their lives together. Suffice to say, there was a lot of shit. “I should probably go talk to him.” As though Scott hadn’t made that clear by stopping less than fifty feet away, sulking around some crates. Reyes looked as though he were trying not to laugh.

“I’ll wait for you. Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

Ryder nodded. “Right. Because we’re doing things together now.”

“Don’t forget,” Reyes called after her, as she jogged down the ramp. Scott pulled a nasty face as she approached, one she couldn’t help but return. They’d been running this routine for about twenty years now. It was hard to break old habits.

“Hey ugly,” Scott greeted.

“Moron,” Ryder returned. “You found me quick.”

“SAM let me know you were headed back to Port before coms were cut.” Scott shrugged. “I guess our link’s still open. Anyway, I’m here to collect you. You’re welcome. You look like shit, by the way.”

Absently, Ryder’s hand drifted up to her face. “Yeah. I kicked some ass.”

“Doesn’t look that way.” Scott glared at her. “SAM also told me you ran your dump of an astrology program again.”

What a fucking snitch. Words would be exchanged about this later. Ryder rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and did he also tell you that his combat program turns me into a God of War? Quit harping.”

“There’s literally like no part of you that isn’t beat to shit.” Scott sniped, before whispering, “God of War,” in an unnecessarily scathing tone. Ryder crossed her arms.

“Well fuck, Scott, sorry not all of us get to be born with perfect reflexes, must be my recessive genes or something.” She was laying on the sarcasm a little thicker than she had planned, but Scott was matching her, step for step. Why did they always fight?

“We have the same genes. We’re twins.”

“Right. Thanks for the biology lesson,” Ryder muttered. She glanced back at the ship. Reyes was turned away from her, discussing something with his crew. She hoped he hadn’t been able to hear her conversation and its exhausting pettiness. Even she was embarrassed. She turned back to Scott, his familiar features. Maybe her only family, if her mother never woke up.

They didn’t look that alike. It didn’t matter. Ryder smiled. “This is dumb. Dad would tell us we were being dumb.”

After a moment, Scott smiled awkwardly back at her. “That was about the extent of his emotional interventions, yeah.”

Ryder wrinkled her nose. “Whatever, you had it way better. You didn’t ever fuck up.”

Scott just stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

Ryder waved an arm, trying to flap away the emotional baggage she’d just dumped into their conversation. “Nothing. You know. You and dad.”

“What about me and dad?”

“Just.” Was he glaring at her? Ryder looked away. Unexpectedly, her throat had begun to close up. She squeaked a little when she said. “You know. You and dad. You were close. And you were, you know, you were a better soldier than I was. Am. If you’d woken up from your coma on schedule, if—maybe if you’d been on the mission—”

“What, dad would still be alive?” Scott snorted. Then he shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t think there was anything you could have done differently. Don’t think like that, you’ll go crazy.”

“No, I meant—I meant, I think he’d have chosen you as Pathfinder. I think you’d have done a better job. I don’t know. I don’t want to make this a big thing. You’re right, what happened, happened.”

She tried to walk away, to just get some distance from a conversation she hadn’t meant to make so emotional, but Scott checked her path, and jabbed an angry finger against her collar. “What kind of stupid shit is that? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my life, and I used to read your diary.”

Ryder bared her teeth, her face flaming. “Okay, I get it! I’ll quit whining!” She took it all back. Brothers were seriously the worst.

Scott was making an extremely unattractive face, in her opinion. “You’re so fucking annoying. I actually, intensely, wish I could just beat you up right now, except you’re already injured everywhere. Pathfinder my ass. You seriously think dad would have picked me? Because I can fight better?”

“Shut up.” She side-stepped him. Note to self: never confide in blood relatives. “Good to see your emotional illiteracy has lived to fight another day.”

“That’s what dad said too,” Scott yelled behind her. “And you’re an idiot for not figuring that one out, Sara! Pathfinders don’t need to shoot guns, they need to find a way forward when everything else is fucked.”

“I hate you!” she screamed back, which was maybe not that mature but also: fuck Scott. Her shriek did not go un-noticed. From across the clearing, Reyes and his crew were watching, with some concern, as she forced her appearance back to calmness. Sibling squabbles should be checked at the door. She took a deep breath, and then about four more. “Okay. I don’t hate you. You’re my brother and I love you. Sorry.”

Scott snorted. “Are you telling me or yourself?”

“Fuck off,” Ryder snapped. Scott grinned. This was officially the worst conversation to have in front of a romantic interest. Ryder squeezed her eyes closed. “Ugh. Ugh. Ignoring you. Tell me my extremely capable and talented crew has made headway. I’m betting at least two new couples?”

“What?” Scott looked taken aback. “New couples?”

Oblivious idiot. “Never mind. Crime scenes, drugs. Our investigation. Did you find anything?” she asked, hoping for at least vindication.

Scott grimaced. “Yes.”

She swung around him, trying to corner his expression into telling her more. “Yeah? And?”

Scott gave a disgusted sigh. “Look. Your drug base.”

“Sure?”

“There’s a lot of them. A lot. It’s not surprising you found one so easily.”

Ryder, now having flashbacks of her very inelegant cliff scramble, wanted to object to his use of the word ‘easily.’ Perhaps later. “And—they’re all on PX9…uh.”

“PX92230. And yes, they are, with some expected variations across strains. Which implies that there’s no branding or organization across sellers which, once we looked into it, turned out to be true.” Scott was rubbing at the early wrinkle developing between his brows. “They’re all small, independent sellers. Like people growing pot in their basements.”

Shit. Ryder strongly preferred the scenario where there was one bad guy. Extra points for clear DNA trails. She watched as Scott continued ironing his face, now wondering if she was growing some wrinkles of her own. “Okay. So. The drugs are a dead end.”

Scott growled a little. “Ugh. Do you get headaches?”

“Like all the time.”

“Me too. We should go to a doctor.”

Ryder huffed a little. “Scott, we don’t have a pre-existing condition. We have annoyingly high-achieving parents who died and dumped all their shit on us.” She winced as Scott punched her viciously in the shoulder. “Ow, alright! I’m an insensitive shrew!”

Scott glared for another moment, sternness emanating from every pore. Nursing her shoulder, Ryder privately thought that Scott might be more accustomed to her way of thinking if he saw how old he looked just then. “The drugs are more than a dead end.” Scott revealed. “This whole thing is bullshit. Unmanageable. It’s like the old war on drugs all over again.”

Ryder blinked. “Fine, so let them have their drugs. I just want to stop whoever’s landscaping with body parts.”

“No,” Scott said, sounding annoyed, “You don’t get it. That won’t solve anything.”

“I seriously beg to differ.”

“Sara, it’s not just one group.” Scott rolled up to his feet. “Listen. The exiles came out of stasis early, right? And then there was a meltdown within command, people didn’t get the psych treatment they needed. So they revolted, came out to Kadara with their manic depression and bi-polar disorder and anxiety and fuck knows what else—things they didn’t even have before stasis, things that happened because it turns out freezing someone for six hundred years isn’t great for their health, who knew. So now we have a bunch of people with mental health stuff that they don’t know how to deal with.”

“We’ve seen that before—Lexi was able to treat them—”

“No. Listen. They already treated themselves.” Scott was growing more agitated as he explained, beginning to pace. “They’ve been treating themselves with PX92230 except, which works fine in theory, expect that it’s got the potential to be crazy addictive, and loses its effect over time. We thought they were inducing a manic state, but actually, they were just trying to get out of bed in the morning.”

Ryder groaned. “Oh. Awesome. So I need a massive rehab program—”

“No. Because this isn’t your issue. I mean it is, but not in the way you think.” Scott abruptly stopped moving. He sort of hung in space, swaying on the point of taking another step, but not committing. Ryder wasn’t sure about the expression he was making – the odd, restrained sadness of it. “Look,” Scott said, finally. “It’s the kids.”

Ryder stared at him. “The dead kids?”

“Yes. I mean, no.” Scott sighed. “Lexi and Suvi went over the coroner’s notes. The victims all have traces of the drug, but…it’s not enough. So Suvi had an idea. When we factor in the chemical imbalances that were already present, the treatment becomes ineffective. For adults, their addictions are just a big secret no one wants to talk about. For kids—well, no one wants to drug up their kids. In fact, the drugs in their system wouldn’t have been nearly enough, if they’d reached a true psychotic state.”

Ryder stared at her brother. She had heard him, the words he was saying, but none of it—none of it made sense to her—

SAM flickered, at the back of her mind, whirling composites and threads and lost tangents into place. The Green Man, the god Dionysus, the circles and the rituals and the savagery, the blood, the missing element she kept returning to, wondering how does sex fit in, where’s the pervert doing this for a release?—and finding none, over and over again. But of course a child wouldn’t kill for a sexual motive, a child had no concept of such things, only a pure and surreal brutality, a fever dream brought about by fairy tales and stories and adventure, a chemical scrambling in a developing mind. Parents too stressed or too distracted or too dead to help them.

Myths were simple. The same story, the same patterns. A thousand Gods of Death. The things that children learned in grade school.

“No.” Ryder said.

“You know it makes sense,” Scott said. He looked almost sorry. “We’ve seen them. All this time. Gangs of kids. It’s likely not all of them need treatment—the Angara children, for one, they never even went through cryo—but they’re impressionable. It wouldn’t be hard to imagine them sucked into a group hallucination.”

She felt like she was having a panic attack. Ryder swallowed, once, then twice—she couldn’t think. She couldn’t shoot children.

“Do we have a plan?”

“Verify it.” Scott shrugged. “I’ve already authorized it. Figured there was no harm in checking. Lexi’s going to start doing diagnostics this afternoon, check blood work against brain scans. We’ll know soon.”

Ryder nodded. She felt worse than useless. She inhaled, held it. “Okay,” she managed, air squeaking against full lungs. She blew out. “Okay. Sorry. It’s just, you now. Jesus.”

“I know.”

“Yeah.” She slapped her hands absently against her thighs. Battery, battery. “Okay. I’ll head back with you. We need to regroup. Let me tell Reyes.”

Scott made a face, ready to argue, and so Ryder walked away a little faster than she might have done otherwise. Fuck. Fuck. Reyes had already seen her return, was motioning for his pilots to take a walk. He smiled at her.

“Bad news?”

“Yeah. Uh, yeah.” Ryder combed her fingers back through her bangs, held them there, yanking against her own scalp. “The worst possible news.” She told him, wrapping up with, “I need to get back to the Tempest. If this turns out to be true—I need to do something. Take emergency measures.” She hesitated. “I’m—I’m sorry. I know you wanted us to stay together. I did, too.”

He was still, arms crossed, gaze lowered. “No worries. We work on different sides of the law.” His gaze shifted for a second. “Your brother and you. You’re similar. Same nasty glare.”

“I don’t glare.”

“Hm,” was his comment. He was still watching Scott, absently rubbing his chin. “Be careful, Sara.”

She flushed a little. He didn’t call her by name often. “I’m always careful.”

“I don’t buy it.” Reyes shrugged. “Okay, sure. Everyone’s getting high on Kadara. We knew that. Cryo messes people up – also knew that. Your entire scenario sounds plausible enough, but I still think there’s something missing. I should have known about this. The fact that I didn’t means someone’s working pretty hard to keep me in the dark.” His gaze shifted back to her, a delicate frown pinching the edges of his eyes, narrowing his focus.

“What?” She’d meant to leave. There was something ugly lurking just beneath the surface now, something that twisted inward and away from her. In an effort to reach it, she flattened one hand against his chest. “What?”

And in less than a second he’d shaken it away. “Nothing. You should get back to your brother before he actually shoots me.”

“Don’t do that,” she protested. “Whatever it is, I can handle it. Please trust me.”

He looked down at her hand. Slowly, his own came to rest over hers. “You know what?” he laughed a little. “I actually do. See you soon.” Before she could say anything else, his face bent towards her and he kissed her again, longer than she’d anticipated.

And then he turned, and walked back on his ship.

She watched him leave, an uneasy clench still kicking nervously though her stomach. A feeling, a fear, as though maybe she wouldn’t see him again. She held herself still, her body poised as though tied to thousands of invisible strings, uncertain what reaction would occur by her hand lifting, her feet moving to take their next step.

And then Scott’s hand fell on her shoulder. And she turned back.

“Come on,” Scott insisted. “We gotta move.”

“Right,” Ryder agreed. The engines engaged on the cargo ship behind her, as Reyes and his crew pushed off. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t want to watch him leave.

Keema had left the Collective’s Base at Kadara Port behind her for a more secure, less obvious facility. She still had an overly dramatic chair to sit in, there were still steps that separated her from the rabble that would kneel in attendance. Reyes climbed the stairs, while she waved her bodyguards out of the room. He briefed her on the Pathfinder’s suspicions, the Initiative’s likely next moves. She listened well, interrupting only once or twice to clarify a detail. When he’d finished, she sat for a long while in contemplative silence.

Finally, she looked at him. “Tell me honestly,” Keema began. “Your best judgment. How many number among those who would use this distraction as a pretext to seize power? You and I both know that curing this sickness won’t be enough. It’s been too elegantly leveraged.”

Reyes paced, tallying the cartels, the murder sites, the supply lines and the guards and the children and the—

“At least a hundred.”

“Not a lot.”

“Up to thousands,” he admitted. He made himself face her. Funny, how much Keema’s approval had begun to matter, at some point. Her bright, gleaming eyes stared back at him, only listening.

“The problem, you realize, is not that they may number in the thousands. The problem is that you have no idea.”

“It’s—catching.” Reyes struggled to explain. “The idea that anyone could be the Charlatan. That no one is the Charlatan. I don’t know, it’s gone past just anarchy, more towards something like madness.” He laughed shortly. “I should have come down on them harder. I should have made an example.”

“It’s done,” Keema cut in. “You aren’t that person. It doesn’t matter now, anyway.” She was looking through him, her eyes glassy. Slowly, her head began to shake, to deny. Somewhere, a gear was turning, a wheel spun. Somewhere, the beast woke up, the star ended. Keema drew in a breath, her body braced, her hand tracing the fresh scar tissue her body had worked so hard to produce, the hole it had closed in her shoulder. “I see,” Keema said, and nothing more. There was something there, some new wall between them. Reyes had never gone so far as to trust Keema with his life, but he’d trusted in her gambling spirit, her flair for opulence, posturing.

Now, she flinched.

“What?” he demanded. “Or are you waiting for me to leave the room before you divulge it all to the cameras?”

Keema’s fingers—her nails—traced light, careful patterns over her injury. “We’re over,” Keema said simply. She faced him. “The Charlatan. It’s over. We need to get out, now.”

“Before it’s too late?” Reyes mocked. He laughed tightly. “I didn’t know you were scared of ghosts.”

“Nothing kills a ghost,” Keema said, flat. “Did you know, the Angara have ghosts too? Human, Asari, Turian…it doesn’t matter. Everyone has a ghost. I think it’s because everyone knows they should be afraid, because there is nothing better at scaring children than something that doesn’t quite exist.” Her dreamy reflection broke, she faced him. “I was your face. The people know me as the Charlatan. Many assume I know who he actually is.”

“Not to sound glib, but you’ve never fled because of an assassination attempt before—”

Keema interrupted him, now rising from her seat, turning, turning. She spun out of orbit, dislodged. “Death is a fact. Fine, I accept death. A ghost doesn’t.”

Reyes frowned, following her from her audience hall, down the narrow passage. She lived and ruled Kadara as a queen might. “You’re getting in the way of your own metaphors.”

“I’m saying we’ve lost.” Keema snapped. “We went about it all wrong. Authority cannot be faceless while remaining illegitimate. We were wrong. We were strong as usurpers, not as rulers. It’s done. This isn’t a scenario where two Charlatans duke it out for the title—that’s over. Now there are three, thirty, a thousand Charlatans. It will never end. Not until the Initiative blows through us, until we’re all dust.” She was stripping off her jewelry, her beautiful clothes. He watched as she pulled on a set of dark, dusty fatigues. Her face seemed to shift, becoming something wary and old. She faced him, a shadow of Keema. “I’m not afraid of dying. But I’m not going out for no reason. When something’s over, you change or you get left behind to die with it.”

He walked her to the door. “So that’s it?”

Keema glanced at him, smiling wryly. Her face became her own again. “Darling, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not the type to stay quiet for long.” She clasped his hand. “Be well, my friend. Let go of your anger, and your Pathfinder. Both of them will kill you.” She turned to leave, her carriage graceful in spite of her ragged attire.

“That’s funny,” Reyes said mildly. “It seems more likely that you will.”

Keema stopped.

“You lied to me,” Reyes said. “You knew the rituals were performed by children. In fact—it’s too much. Theatrical. Someone planted the seed. Someone put the idea in their heads. Someone wanted to make such a spectacle of things that there would be no choice but to investigate it. The only thing I can’t figure out, is why?”

She’d turned to face him now, her expression cool, noncommittal. Reyes breathed a soft laugh, his chest tightening. He felt the stirrings of the sort of fury that could make a person crush a wine glass with their bare hands, and feel nothing. “Was it you? It doesn’t matter, really. You collaborated, either way.”

Still, nothing. An almost beautiful emptiness. Slowly, Keema spoke. “It was never about you, darling. You must realize that.”

“Don’t.” Reyes whispered. He folded his rage, like a blanket. He packed it away. Keema only watched him, waiting.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked.

“Tell me why,” Reyes insisted instead. “Why you went behind my back. Why you destroyed us.” He wasn’t as perfect as he would have liked. He couldn’t stop himself from slamming the door she’d tried to walk through.

Finally, finally, Keema faced him fully, a sort of challenge growing, blossoming across her face. “Because you fell in love with the Pathfinder,” she said. “Because you won’t let her die. And the universe needs her to. She’s too powerful for the Initiative, for Aya, for us. She’s more powerful than all the other Pathfinders put together and nobody can figure out why, or how, but it doesn’t matter because her decisions have written the rules for the entire galaxy.” Keema’s face began to quiver as she spoke, her eyes widening, dilating. “Step back from this, Reyes! You know it’s true!”

The story was locking into place. The trap that Ryder couldn’t resist, the danger she would ignore every time. And he was the bait. And he hadn’t realized, because he’d been stupid enough to believe that the rest of the galaxy was in awe of her as he was. And time was running out. “The Kett are still out there,” Reyes argued, whether to Keema or the universe, he wasn’t sure. “And worse. And everything—we have no idea what’s coming next, but the Pathfinder is our best hope—”

“I could smack you!” Keema hissed. “The Pathfinder is a hero, Reyes. She presides over this galaxy like a God, her decisions become absolute. Eventually, the Initiative and its allies will turn against her. Every hero must die, or else their legends will crush the people who stand near them. This is why I couldn’t tell you. This is why! She has warped you with idealism, when you were never a good man. You lose all objectivity!”

In less than a second he had her against the wall with an automatic pistol jammed against her throat, the blood roaring in his ears, deafening him, adrenaline spiking his vision up to its maximum capacity, so that every nervous twitch or shudder that Keema’s face suffered became prolonged, almost indecently slowed. He could kill her. He should kill her, the viper, the—

“She’s going to die. And you made me the reason why,” he said. He was careful, enunciating each word. Almost calm.

“I did nothing,” Keema whispered. “The galaxy is the one who betrayed her. You were the one who made her fall for you. There was always going to be an explosion, one way or the other. All I did, was get out of the way.”

As the seconds ticked hollowly on, and Reyes stared into the face of the Angara he’d trusted, so implicitly, so stupidly—he realized, it was true. It was all true.

He let her go. Keema, massaging where he’d held her neck, took a wary step back. She reached for the door. “For what it’s worth,” she coughed, voice hoarse from abuse and emotion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want this to happen.”

“Just get out.” Reyes said. He went on staring blankly ahead, as she closed the door behind her.

The results were conclusive.

“So,” Suvi began breathlessly, “We were lucky. That victim whose tissue samples you collected was human. My specialty.”

“Mine too,” Lexi chimed in, almost happily. Ryder couldn’t quite contain her puzzled stare. Lexi blushed. “I—that is, I rather like human anatomy.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Suvi said, with the decadent relish most people reserved for describing double chocolate cake. “I’m especially interested in natural mutations. Webbed feet. Very cute.”

God these people were weird. Ryder focused on the projection of an adolescent brain, pieced apart and cleanly labeled. “So? What can you tell me?”

“Oh, right.” Suvi zoomed on the frontal lobe. “Well. Based on our chemical analysis of the victim’s brain tissue, our theory holds ground. Her neurotransmitters were all over the place, highly saturated. Her symptoms were likely similar to someone living with a severe form of schizophrenia – likely with massive audio and visual hallucinations. So, yes, someone with these symptoms, who is young enough to have only a tenuous grasp of morality, and existing in an extremely malleable stage of development—frankly, it’s very hard to imagine another scenario, at this point.”

Ryder blew up her cheeks, and pinched the bridge of her nose. Lexi laid a hand on her arm. “Ryder. None of this is your fault. But we need to act, and we need to act quickly. There is a massive population here that desperately need psychological treatment – we must establish programs from those people struggling with addiction, I would also recommend—”

“Yes.” Ryder interrupted. “All of that. Yes. Write the report, I’ll submit it with my full support. We’re going to need Initiative resources.”

“If they’ll agree to part with them,” Kallo mumbled. He rose from his seat at the bridge and move back to join their conference. Suvi frowned.

“These are children. Children who were essentially dragged in and out of cryo by their families. They haven’t made any decisions that might harm the Initiative—”

“I hope Tann will see it that way,” Kallo murmured. “The political situation on Kadara has grown too unstable. If he agrees he’s going to want a full surrender of authority.”

Ryder’s teeth ground together. The ugly thought that had been lurking at the back of her head. “Maybe we could act as a mediator—”

Lexi’s hand slammed down on the table, and she bolted straight up from her seat. “You cannot possibly think that anything is more important than helping these people! Who cares about the ruler of a stupid little rock when there are lives on the line?”

Ryder cringed. “I know, I’m just—”

But now it was Suvi’s turn to lay a gentle hand across Ryder’s, as she huskily murmured, “Ryder, we cannot ignore this any longer. You know it’s true. The situation is too unstable on Kadara Port in the hands of its acting authorities. I’m not saying that Tann or the Initiative are perfect, but what our people need now is order. And that means an authority figure that can be held accountable.”

“Not some weasel doing whatever they want in the shadows,” Kallo muttered. He looked startled by his own rebellion.

Ryder swallowed again, “Look I hear you, I agree with you, I’m just wondering if this is really the best solution—”

“Probably not,” Scott spoke from the doorway, and Ryder spun around to face her brother. She wanted to order him out, to point out that this meeting was for officers only, but Scott had already taken a seat at their table. He glanced at Ryder, at all of them. “There’s a reason Tann was an accountant, not a leader. He’s not likeable. He inspires no one. But he isn’t evil, and he’s mostly fair, and he has the resources these people need. And realistically, now that we know the cause, it’s only a matter of time until knowledge spreads to the public. We risk appearing incompetent, or heartless. We can afford neither. Sara, you are holding a bomb.”

“Alright!” Ryder yelled. The room fell silent, staring at her. Her heart was pounding unnaturally fast, frighteningly fast. Pathfinder – find the way forward. No matter the cost. Forget everything else.

She grit her teeth. “Okay,” Ryder heard herself speaking, surprised at how calm she sounded. “You’re right. It’s out of my hands, out of control. We need more people. You’re right. You’re right. Get Tann on the line for me.”

Suvi glanced at Kallo, her chin shaking slightly. Kallo blinked, twice. “I—of course, Pathfinder. What are you going to say?”

Ryder sighed. “Don’t you get it? You’ve won. It’s over. I’m calling them in.”

Kallo opened his mouth to say more, but Suvi threw out a long arm, knocking him gently in the stomach. Her bridge crew nodded, their faces solemn, even sympathetic. Ryder allowed herself one long, aching sigh as she headed to the conference room, carefully avoiding thinking about any of the things she was about to admit to the Director.

The light was blinking, ready, screen prepped. Ryder huffed up her chest, squaring her shoulders. She could do this. She was ready. Her fingers, rather than accepting the computer’s prompt, squished into fists.

It was all just fucked.

She hit the call accept command, and Tann’s gaunt face assembled before her eyes. He wasn’t real. He was just a bunch of hyperactive pixels. Ryder cleared her throat. “Director Tann. I won’t waste your time. I need Nexus operatives.”

Tann was silent for a moment, watching her. “I see. Well, nothing’s solved by us blaming one another. I’ve been keeping an eye on reports submitted by Scott Ryder. I think I have a general idea of the situation, but I’ll need you to submit a formal summary of your own activity for my review. If you would include your recommendations for the placement and personnel dispatch you deem most prudent, I will take that into consideration while forming the task force.”

Ryder swallowed once, twice. “I understand. I’m hoping that the Initiative will see this as an opportunity to extend an invitation to our allies on Aya. Perhaps rather than a strict military occupation, we could instead work through trade embassies.”

Tann was silent, long finger steepling. “I understand your point. I will at the very least keep Aya briefed on current intelligence and operatives. But trade embassies…it will be difficult to make that happen, Ryder. I can’t say until I review the paperwork, but my initial answer is no.”

She swallowed her shame, her well-grown desire for punishment in the face of failure. This was about more than her, this was about innocent people. “There are thousands of civilians leading blameless lives here—”

Tann’s eyes suddenly glowed with an old, painful fury. “They are traitors and deserters, the utter antithesis of ‘blameless.’ If it weren’t for the Angara I would have blown up their operations cycles past—”

She ignored his venom, his uncharacteristic emotion. “You just said the Angara will be sympathetic to their own. How will it look if we abandon those deserters?”

“Justified.” Tann snapped. “The Angara are not idiots, for all their obsessive return to emotions. They approved the Roekarr’s executions without an ocean of tears. Don’t hide behind diplomacy when there is no need for it, Pathfinder. Submit your reports. Understand that this operation has been excused from your authority as Pathfinder—you will be expected to provide support to the Initiative as deemed appropriate and necessary. You do not act without my orders.”

There was a long silence. Ryder said, felt, did—nothing. She endured until it was over. Tann, a million miles away, had screwed up his lips, now looking faintly uncomfortable. She could see him coaxing himself into speaking. “Pathfinder,” Tann eventually said. “I was unprofessional. I apologize. I will not minimize your achievements. There is no shame in admitting that you lack the resources to achieve something. I hope we will be able to work together.”

He stopped again. Hollowly, Ryder realized that she was supposed to say something—something obsequious, subservient. She lacked the energy. “Me too, Director,” she managed, and cut the feed.

In the silence that followed Tann’s call, Ryder emptied herself. She let me mind cloud over, filled only with the gentle hum from the Tempest’s distant engines. She bowed her head, and bent at the waist to slump her body over the conference table. There was a strange, almost sharp pain digging into the muscles behind her left shoulder.

She wasn’t going to cry. If she cried, it was because she was frustrated. But she wasn’t going to cry.

“Damn,” Ryder whispered, and forced herself back upright, keying in Reyes’ number. The call she wanted to make even less. The one she would gladly run from forever.

He didn’t turn on his video, but his voice patched in, surrounding her, “Yes?”

Good. She didn’t want to see him. Even more, she didn’t want him see her. Did he sound off? It was probably just her nerves. Ryder wiped at her cheeks. “Hey. I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

Ryder swallowed. Her hands were shaking. All of her, actually. She trembled. “I called the Nexus. I don’t have authority over this investigation anymore. I’ll make recommendations for a limited, discreet operation—maybe the establishment of some trade embassies—but, but I don’t know. I don’t have any confidence that it’s going to fly. Tann hates the deserters, I think he’ll try for a full military operation.” She bit her tongue. If she apologized, she’d cry. She couldn’t cry. She couldn’t tell him.

He didn’t answer her for so long that she began to wonder if he’d hung up on her, if that was it. The end, without apology. “Why?” Reyes asked. He sounded genuinely puzzled, almost innocent. Ryder squeezed her eyes closed. He couldn’t see her. She slid to the floor, her back curling tightly around the conference table’s leg.

“Because—” her voice was shaking. Ryder stopped, swallowing. “Because I can’t do it anymore. I can’t live with myself, knowing how terrible this investigation is, how badly I’ve compromised things. I can’t—I can’t just let things fall apart. I can’t keep letting people be turned into victims. I needed to admit that I couldn’t fix things the day I landed on Kadara, and I didn’t. I tried, but things just got worse, and that’s on me. It’s because I let my feelings for you get in the way of everything else. Even now, I’m still calling you—” she broke off, her heart racing. The water ran from her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words slipping free from her. She loathed herself, her own contemptible weakness. She pressed a hand over her nose and mouth, and held her breath. In the silence, she shook.

She could hear Reyes sigh. His breathing. He listened. “I understand,” he said. His voice was gentle, too gentle. “Okay. I understand.”

She shook her head, not speaking.

He went on, now asking, “Are you leaving?”

“No. I’m supposed to stay on Kadara, support the Initiative’s efforts.”

“Does Tann know how dangerous it is? For you?” his voice got an edge, a lilt of accusation.

“What? I don’t know. Maybe. He said he was reading Scott’s reports.” Ryder wiped her eyes again. She pulled her knees up to her chest. “It doesn’t really matter. Dangerous or not, either way we have to deal with Kadara. Whether it’s dangerous for me or for someone else—well, it’s all the same, right?” A suspicious wiggle of a thought began to take form, then collapsed. She was too tired, too emotionally strained.

“It matters.” Reyes said, beginning to sound dangerously removed. Ryder closed her eyes. Her body sagged. She waited. He was requesting video feed—like hell. She denied, wiping the black smudges of her eye make-up, her stupid, shiny eye shadow turned to glittery muck. “I want to see you,” Reyes insisted.

“My connection stinks,” she lied.

“I mean in person. I want to talk. I have to tell you something.”

Ryder almost giggled. Her shoulders, at least, lurched up. “Are you going to shoot me? Like Sloane?”

“Don’t joke,” Reyes snapped. “Do you really think I’d shoot you?”

“I don’t know,” Ryder mumbled. She wasn’t sure she really cared either, right now. “Where? I’ll come alone. Bring your sniper if you want.”

There was a clicking, sort of snappy sound, teeth snapping together. “I mean it. Don’t joke about that.”

“Okay,” Ryder agreed, now with a wave of fresh despair. “I can do that.”

“I’m not angry,” he said, perhaps in response to her dulled voice. Ryder sniffled.

“You can be angry. I called the cops on your party.”

“It’s fine. It’s over anyway. I’ll explain later, I promise. Just let me see you.”

She was off the clock, anyway. Ryder hauled herself upright. “I can leave in half an hour. Send me the nav-point.” It was rude to break up over the phone, anyway. She at least owed him that. Or a chance on her life, which she also wouldn’t necessarily begrudge.

“Fly safe. And don't worry. It's going to be fine,” he said, and hung up.

[maggiemay67]

THE CASE OF THE NOT SO SECRET VALENTINE- Johnlock fic

February 19th, 2019

Haven’t written in my blog for a while but I felt like now was a good time to start it up again. You see, the strangest thing happened to me.I received a Valentine’s card in the post six days ago. A Valentine’s card from my three year old daughter. A Valentine’s card in a red envelope. It had little love heart stickers dotted all over it and pink glitter spelling out my name.Now Rosie’s pretty smart ( for a three year old). Even Sherlock thinks she has masses of potential. He tells me that all the time. However, she still hasn’t mastered the art of formally posting a letter. She also doesn’t usually address me as John. Someone therefore had to have helped her to make and post the Valentine’s card in question. The list of suspects for me to choose from was very limited.

Mrs Hudson Molly Greg Sherlock

The Pope The Queen Mycroft…

This is the order I questioned them in. Just joking….I never bothered asking Mycroft.

Every one of the real suspects provided good reasons/alibis as to why it wasn’t them. All except one.

Can you guess which one?

When I got round to questioning suspect number four, he ( like the rest of them) was adamant that it simply wasn’t him. He casually suggested that it must have been ‘Hudders’ and she’d just forgotten in her old age. Well, he actually blamed something else entirely but I don’t want to repeat that here! Let’s just say he blamed her pressure point and leave it at that! Anyway, after Sherlock started frantically finger pointing in everyone else’s direction, I knew for definite that it was him.So I lied to him.I lied to the worlds only consulting detective and he fell for it hook, line and sinker. I told him that I had Greg (Lestrade) run the card for fingerprints. His face! His actual face when I said that! He actually asked me if Rosie’s finger prints were in the police system! When I started laughing he didn’t join in. He was being serious.

When I think about it, I don’t know why I asked the others first. It should have been obvious who helped Rosie from the moment the postman handed me the card. Sherlock’s always doing arts and crafts with her. He secretly loves glitter. Mrs Hudson is forever moaning about the amounts of glitter being sucked up into the good Hoover. Sometimes I’ll get in after a long hard shift at the surgery and when I enter Baker Street, there they are, my daughter and the ‘mad man’, lying there on the sofa, sprawled out, their exhausted sleeping faces caked in all the sparkling colours of the rainbow.

The last time Rosie and Sherlock had the paints out, Mycroft had shown up unexpectedly. Rosie accidentally tipped a red paint pot over his fancy shoes and Sherlock gave her a biscuit as a reward. When Rosie toddled over to Mycroft with the splatter painting she had made and offered it to him ( her version of a sincere apology) Sherlock just glared at him until Mycroft reluctantly accepted it. Sherlock took his hesitation as a personal insult to my daughter’s artistic abilities. God help Rosie’s future teachers! I could only laugh as Sherlock demanded that his brother leave, whilst mumbling something under his breath about the painting being better than some of the pretentious rubbish Mycroft had on his walls at home. Funny because it’s actually true!

Anyway, you might still be wondering what happened after my finger print lie forced a confession from Sherlock.He was affronted about the whole situation obviously. Couldn’t look me in the eye. I was (admittedly) being quite wicked about the whole thing.I really enjoyed making him squirm. However, as he gradually became more uncomfortable, I almost felt bad…almost…

I asked him why he had written John on the front of the card. He looked at me with utter confusion before stating that it was in actual fact my name and what else would he possibly have put.When I reminded him that Rosie’s name for me is dad, he looked even more affronted.When I questioned him on his use of pink glitter he became incredulous.These were his actual words…direct quote……

“Really, John! Can you give your daughter no credit for this situation? It was the colour she chose when I asked her to pick one for you. She also helped me sprinkle it. If you don’t believe me then have Gavin dust the glitter tube for fingerprints.Surely, as my willing accomplice, Rosie must take her share of the blame in this!I don’t know why this has grown into such a big issue.Why this card annoys you so much. It was meant to make you smile. You have been so sad recently and I concluded it was because you missed having companionship in your life, as you stopped dating after Mary and it’s been three years.I researched this extensively before deciding on the best course of action.A card on an occasion like this, from ones child, is meant to make the recipient feel valued, appreciated and loved.It is not meant to make them launch a full scale inquiry!Does it disturb you because I made an error and wrote John?I’m sorry for the Freudian slip but perhaps I was trying to remind you that Rosie is not the only person left on this earth that deeply loves and values you.”

Amazing that he can remember what he says word for word really,otherwise I couldn’t have put this in the blog. I was too busy having a complete moment of clarity/internal crisis , to pay full attention to what he was saying.There he was, standing there pleading his case like an accused would to the jury, and all I could think about was that he had just admitted how much he loved and valued me.

It worried me that he actually thought I was viewing the whole situation negatively. He couldn’t see how absolutely moved I was that he’d taken the time to help my daughter do something like that for me. Nobody else had even thought of doing that. For all of their goodness, friendship and humanity, not one of my other friends realised that I was getting to a point were I actually needed to be reminded that I was loved. Not one person except Sherlock Holmes understood that.

Sherlock was standing there giving his big drama queen spiel and all I could think about, was if he knew exactly how much he was loved and valued. Did he know that everything he had done ( particularly in the last three years) was appreciated. The man who stayed up all night and shot holes in the wall, was now ( mostly) going to bed at reasonable hours so he could get up and give Rosie her breakfast in the morning if I had to work a nightshift. The man who had eyeballs in his fridge and forensic slides everywhere, suddenly had spaces full of stuffed toys in his living room and he had willingly put them there.The man who would spend hours on his science of deduction website was now cutting it short to watch YouTube videos about sewing, cooking and how to do braiding, buns and French plaits.I suddenly, in that moment, needed him to know how much he was appreciated for all of that. The only problem with that plan was that there was no time to find the pink glitter and Rosie was down for her afternoon nap. So I had to improvise. I had been moving steadily closer to him during his rant and was mere inches from him when insanity finally took over.

I kissed him.

My lips merged with his, my arms wrapped around his back and I clung on for dear life, fearing that this would be the one and only time I would be permitted to completely open myself up and to show this man exactly what he meant to me. To show him the depth of feeling that he could stir in me at the most unexpected of moments.

As the lustful haze from my wreck less decision cleared, and just before the guilt of my actions began to form, I fully expected to be pushed away and reprimanded for selfishly violating him and his trust.I expected to be looked at indifferently and told in no uncertain terms that he was still married to his work. I did not expect his hands to find their way to my neck, or his tongue to be the one to push itself into my mouth. I imagined the noises from him to be protests rather than the guttural and raw moans of my name filling my ears in bursts of pink glitter. I never expected his body to be completely receptive to my touch and willing to press itself so intimately and tightly against my own. I expected it to be over in 30 seconds, not reaching well over five minutes of nervous fumbling and slow caresses.

When we finally did manage to prise ourselves apart, the room was filled with stunned silence. Neither of us had saw this coming. We spent a good five mins just catching our breaths and staring at one another, trying to work out how we had ended up at this point. It was Sherlock who broke the silence first. He started laughing.He was laughing the way he had done in our very first night together. It felt surreal.It wasn’t the time for laughing, not really.We were the dearest of friends. Our lives together and what we did with them mattered to a great many people. We had just decided to gamble with those lives and things weren’t ever going to be the same again. How could they be? No matter how much we would try and convince ourselves, we had just drew a very final line under the last ten years. What happened from now on would be a new beginning. It had to be. I didn’t feel like laughing was the appropriate response to that. Confusion and being scared shitless was the appropriate response to that. However, Sherlock’s laughter filled the room around us.It was infectious.I began to laugh as well.It was ridiculous.We should have been talking.We should have been working through what just happened.Instead we were standing in the kitchen of 221B Baker Street laughing our heads off.We had nearly ripped the clothes from each other’s backs, that how passionate we had gotten only ten mins before, and now we were standing at a distance with our laughs mingling in the air between us.

We didn’t have the talk that night.

Mrs Hudson appeared to tell us that Lestrade had tried to phone several times but there was no answer. That’s when the laughing quickly stopped. The game was on. We could never discuss this whilst the game was on.

Two days later and the case was solved.We still hadn’t talked about what happened in our kitchen.I went straight to the clinic after we left the crime scene and Sherlock agreed to go home and see to Rosie.It was a further 16 hours before I entered Baker Street again.

A similar and comforting sight met me when I emerged from the entrance of the flat into the living room.There was Sherlock lying sprawled on the couch, cradling Rosie in his arms.Face full of glitter.Faint scratch on his neck from were I had clawed a bit too possessively two nights before. The scene felt normal and abnormal all at the same time.

I made my way into the kitchen and was met with a tea tray of biscuits, a vase with a single red rose and a red envelope with dad/John written on it.Intrigued, I opened it and this is what was inside…

Dear Dad,

Sherlock helped me to make the last card because he felt that it was very important that you know how much I love and appreciate you. I think that you are the most wonderful father and that you have a very fetching name.Thats why I asked him to help me sprinkle it in pink glitter on the card. However, this card is not from me. I am just helping Sherlock write it because he’s useless with feelings. After discussing it with him, I’ve come to the conclusion that he is completely in love with you. Has been for years.He was just too scared to admit it to himself up until now.He wants to spend the rest of his life with you. He doesn’t want to waste anymore time. He knows this changes everything and he’s glad of it.Quite frankly ( if you want my opinion and Hudders opinion regarding this situation) you’ve been living with one another for years anyway, so you both might as well get some sex from this situation. What do you say?

Love Rosie x

P.s if you agree to this then come into the living room and wake Sherlock up with a kiss.

I started laughing again.I started laughing again and then I kissed him.

Why have I bothered to tell you all this? It’s not a real case after all.So why have I chosen this very intimate story about our lives together, to be the first thing I’ve blogged about for years? Well, It’s because I think it’s about time that the world knew the secret that’s been kept for a very long time. The Secret of Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes is so much more than the legend that’s been built up around him by myself and the media.The Valentine’s story is a symbol of who he really is.The heart as well as the brain. Not a freak, not a sociopath. Sherlock Holmes is the man who commands the whole of Scotland Yard one moment and then covers himself in pink glitter the next, all because my daughter demands it. Sherlock Holmes is the man who prides himself on being the smartest person in the room, but will mortify himself at the drop of a hat, all to show me that I am loved.

That’s who he really is.

I am so grateful that is who he really is.

I love him because that is who he really is.

—————————————————————————————-

“What do you think?

Sherlock had been perched on the seat next to John the whole time he was reading his blogger’s newest creation. The only indication of how affected he was came from the roughness of his voice when he finally decided to reply.

“Thank you John.Thank you.Though always remember that I would be nothing without my blogger.”

Sherlock bent down and kissed John on the head before deciding to speak again.

“You know you can’t actually post it though, don’t you.”

John shut the laptop over and sat it next to them on the couch.He turned to Sherlock and worryingly pulled the younger man’s hand into his own.

“Why not?”

Sherlock began to slowly run his fingers up and down John’s wrist as he traced circles on his skin.It reminded him of all the times previously that their hands had touched.In friendship, tragedy, anger and love. He was eventually pulled out of his thoughts by the soldier who was nervously licking his lips whilst impatiently staring at him.

“Mary was right, John .Who we really are, doesn’t matter. Not to them.Not to the ones outside Baker Street that read about our cases and sit in our client’s chairs.The only people it matters to are us, our friends and our Rosie.What you have just written is truly wonderful to me but …”

“it’s private…”

“Yes, John…”

“Okay, Sherlock. Okay.I won’t publish it.”

John lifted his laptop, opened the tab and began typing a sentence before clicking a button on the computer that allowed the draft copy of his blog to start printing. It was now Sherlock’s turn to wait patiently for John to explain what he was doing.

“Before I delete it from existence, I’m firstly going to print it out, frame it and put it in our bedroom. For our eyes only.It’s my valentine’s gift to you.”

Sherlock excitedly pulled the paper from the printer and couldn’t help but notice an obvious change to the piece that he had read only moments before.

“You changed the title, John”

“Yes. Seemed more fitting.”

“The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes.That might be your best case title yet, John!”

John grabbed Sherlock by the hand and began leading him towards their bedroom.

“Let’s go pick a spot for this.”

“Could take a while, Doctor Watson.There are a few positions I would like to test out

‘Oh,believe me, I’m counting on that, Mr.Holmes.”

HAPPY EARLY VALENTINE’S DAY, JOHNLOCKERS! Don’t stop believing!

[thought-ripples]

Make It March - March 13 Crows Part 2

(Part 1) (Part 3)

The second time I saw the crows I was in the same woods.

It had been a couple years; life was good, then hard, then just… endurance. I'd escaped to camp for a while, alone, although I knew it wasn't as safe. I'd get lectured by my friend if she found out I'd gone out again where I'd been mauled, but I'd argue that it wasn't exactly the same spot, anyway, and I wouldn't run from the woods. Not when it was the only place I could really escape, escape the noise and the demands and the incessant burring buzz of technology clogging my ears. So I loaded everything on my back and set out. It was warm; I didn't need a tent, not really. And it was only a couple days.

I'd slid (in a controlled way, thankfully) down the dirty water-cut bank of a stream to cross it when I heard a weak caw. It made me pause, then look around more carefully. It sounded again, of course, up and across the water, out of sight on the raised bank. I slipped my pack off my back and set it on a flat stone, resting it out of the reach of the water, then splashed across. It was only a couple hands deep, and the most irritation I had out of it was that the sticky dirt turned to cement-like mud on my hiking boots and the hems of my pants. Couldn't be bothered to care, though—once I got up on the other side, I only had ears and eyes for the crow.

It took me a couple moments to find it, another weak caw drawing me in the right direction. Bizarrely, what I saw first was the beak, poking out of a hole just coin-sized in the side of a fallen tree. It moved, parting to give another plaintive caw, then was withdrawn, and I heard weak scrabbling noises on the inside of the tree. I stopped, taking it in.

It looked like something, a storm or gust of wind or an animal, had knocked over a rotted-out tree. Somehow, the crow had gotten trapped inside—maybe it was hunting for food or perched there resting, who knows. Any way it happened, it was stuck, and it wasn't getting out on its own. Crows were clever, but a bird couldn't shift that kind of weight. But I could.

"Hey," I said, then stopped. My voice sounded weirdly loud and hoarse after the couple days' silence I'd had. No need to speak to trees and sky and wind and silence, after all. I cleared my throat, then said, "I'll get you out. Crow. Just, hold still in there, okay? I'm gonna…" I trailed off, looking, then decided. "I'm gonna roll the tree over so hopefully you can get out of whatever hole you got into. So, uh. Hang on, or something." I stopped, feeling stupid. Would it even understand me? This was probably a normal crow. It certainly wasn't… I stopped, not approaching the name, not even in thought. "Here goes," I said gruffly, then put my shoulder under the tree and heaved.

It was much lighter than I expected—must have been mostly hollow, white rot eating away at its mass. It splintered into soggy pieces against my shirt, then flipped over neatly and almost rolled too far. I lunged and caught it with my hand, rough edges digging into the heel of my hand. It stopped. "Uh… bird?" The inside of the trunk was mostly empty, with a hole extending upward. I'd seen the beak higher up, and I peered into the dark curve of the trunk, hoping it wasn't hurt. "Are you stuck?" The sound of my own voice made me feel stupid again, but hey, no one was around to hear me. I let go of the trunk in time to see a bedraggled black-feathered mess wiggle its way slowly out of the bole of the tree trunk. It was covered in shreds of tree and rot and who knew what, and looked pathetic. It sounded even more pathetic as it gave a weak caw and started trying to preen itself, not very effectively. I watched it for a moment. It seemed weak, but unafraid, the eye glancing up at me without concern. After a second of deliberation I dusted off my hands and turned to make my way back down the bank.

I made a brief stop at my pack to get my camp mug and some crumbs of jerky from the bottom of the bag. Who knew how long that thing had been in there. Getting up the bank with a full cup of water proved impossible; half of it slopped out, but at least the jerky made it, sticky from being clenched in my hand. The bedraggled thing was still trying to nibble its feathers back into order when I set the cup and jerky down in front of it, then backed away. "Go ahead," I said, figuring hey, I'd been talking to it this long. Couldn't hurt. And it seemed more social than I'd expected. Were crows social? They were smart, anyway. This one immediately stood and took a drink, dipping its beak and tilting its head back over and over, then started pecking enthusiastically at the jerky crumbs. It turned a button-bright eye to me and cawed, sounding stronger and more assured. It made me grin, unexpectedly even to myself. "Yeah, I know the feeling," I said, then shook my head and kept watching.

We sat in companionable silence for about ten minutes. The crow looked glossier and more balanced, more bounce in its movements after being freed. It finally flicked its wings and looked at me with one bright eye, then banged the side of its beak against my mug a few times, making my eyebrows go up. "Hah! You're welcome." It hopped back, and it seemed natural for me to stand and grab my mug, backing away to give the bird plenty of room. "Be more careful now, eh?" I grinned again, feeling startled at how happy I felt helping even an animal like this. "I'm gonna keep hiking. Gotta use daylight to get back." The crow looked at me and cawed once, then stretched its wings and settled back down on the trunk, ostensibly preening while watching me with one bright eye. "Bye," I said after a moment, then dumped my mug and slid back down the bank. I didn't look back as I shouldered my pack and climbed back up the other side, a spring in my step that surprised me adding energy even as my thoughts whirled like circling birds.

Even though I was back in my own bed that night, I dreamt of crows and the sound of wings. When I woke in the morning there were three feathers on my pillow: two black, one white. I collected them carefully and put them in an envelope, my hands shaking. Whatever the message was, I didn't completely understand. But I could understand "thank you".

(Part 1) (Part 3)

[ftb-writes]

Prompt fill is here!

Quick warning, though, there is a person who has never met a trans person and is confused for a minute! He's really chill, though.

---

The collection of toadstools forms a rough circle in Percival's backyard, and he eyes it warily as he goes about his morning chores. It is Sunday, after all, so his parents are at church. Best leave the family disappointment to see to the house while they're gone.

Percival contemplates pulling the fungi, like his father has been doing every few days since the circle first appeared about a month ago. After all, what would the townsfolk say if someone saw a Fae Ring in the pastor's backyard?

Still, Percival sees no harm in leaving it be for now. His parents are not expected home for a few hours at least, and perhaps if he caught one of the Gentry, his parents would forgive him his one sin.

Or perhaps the Fae wish to spy, silent and unseen. Percival does not know. But a few hours here or there should not hurt.

The small, treacherous part of his mind whispers how much easier it would be for everyone if he was stolen away. He ignores it, as usual, but keeps an eye on the fungi all the same.

About halfway through the morning -- still an hour before service ends, and then his parents have a propensity for talking to neighbors over the after-mass brunch for an hour or two -- Percival turns from the kitchen window for just a moment, emptying the dustpan into the trash, and when he turns back around, there is a woman standing in the Faery Ring. She is wearing boys clothes, and her hair is cropped short, and she is staring in at him with a feral, albeit human, grin.

"I'm Faolan," she greets when he goes out into the yard.

"Faolan's a boy's name," Percival tells her, because it is.

"Yeah, because I'm a boy," Faolan chuckles with a snort and an eye roll. "My body's just grown into the wrong shape, is all."

"I'm Percival," he introduces, because Faolan looks as Fae as Percival himself does. "How can you be a boy?"

"Because I say I am," Faolan says, as if Percival has asked a terribly dumb question. "Wanna be my boyfriend?"

Percival frowns at Faolan, struck. "I'm not gay."

"Your dad says you are," Faolan argues, and alright, he does have a point there. Percival is not supposed to be gay, though, and he says as much.

"Who told you that, your dad," Faolan asks, and he is right, and can tell from the sour look on Percival's face. "Humans like him are stupid and toxic. That's why your mum's cheating on him with that dairy guy over on the Gunnery Farm. You didn't hear that from me, though."

Percival squints at him. "Now I'm doubting that you aren't Fae, after all."

"Oh, I'm human alright. Seventh son of a seventh son, yeah? But my adoptive father and his family are, and my adopted daughter is --"

"Wait, you were replaced by a changeling, and you didn't try to go back?"

"My life is better, now," Faolan explains with a shrug. "Yours would be, too."

Percival goes back inside. Faolan is gone by the time his parents return, and his father destroys the Faery Ring, yelling at Percival for not doing it himself.

Not even an hour after his parents have left for next Sunday's mass, there's a knock on Percival's back door.

"What if I wooed you like in the old tales?" Faolan has a fistful of flowering weeds, grasses, and a few dandelions who have lost a few seeds onto Faolan's sleeve. He thrusts the makeshift bouquet excitedly toward Percival, a triumphant smile on his face. "I can cook you garlic herb bread!"

Percival sighs, but let's Faolan in anyway. The other boy -- man, if he really has adopted a child -- is so enthusiastic when he tells Percival he looks nice today that Percival cannot fight the smile that shyly spreads across his face.

"So you can cook garlic herb bread?" Percival prompts, and Faolan starts gushing about all the other foods he can cook, and how he can mend clothes, and he knows woodworking, of all the things for a human raised by Fae to know.

"I'd take care of you," Faolan offers, "and you wouldn't have to worry about anything. You could pursue any interests or hobbies you like, and you'd never want for anything."

"And what if I want to help out and take care of you, too?" Percival means it to be discouraging, he tells himself, but Faolan smiles sweetly.

"Whatever you want, Percival, I won't complain about you wanting to spoil me."

"Oh for --" Percival sighs. "Get out."

The third Sunday, Percival has a black eye from one of the neighbor's boys. His father thought he should deal with the problem himself, to 'build character', so Percival hasn't even left his bed when Faolan taps on his window. The man has brought a salve for Percival's eye, and foul words toward his attackers.

"Just say the word, Percy, and they'll be Underground," Faolan growls, brushing the salve oh-so-tender over Percival's bruises. Neither of them comment on the nickname, but Percival begs Faolan to leave it alone.

"I just want to let it all blow over," Percival sighs. "Thank you, though; my eye feels better already."

"I could kiss it, too?" Faolan sounds half-teasing, but the man does blush when Percival shyly takes him up on the offer.

"Besides, if I do decide to run away with you -- if," Percival interrupts himself at Faolan's hopeful look, "then I won't want them there, they're jerks."

"That they are," Faolan grumbles.

"Kiss me again," Percival asks, telling himself it is just to distract Faolan and has nothing to do with the butterflies in his stomach.

They spend several hours kissing like innocent children on Percival's bed, curtains drawn, until Percival's parents come home and he distracts them while Faolan sneaks out the back. At least the man was smart enough to grow the ring farther out, where the underbrush of the woods encroaching on the back of the property hides the fungi from view.

The next few weeks are filled with thrill as Percival slips out whenever he can -- even in the middle of the night -- to see Faolan in the woods, and after three months Percival admits to himself that he has become Faolan's boyfriend.

He doesn't bring Faolan back home, except on Sundays, but Faolan and Percival are both careful not to be seen. It is quick to become routine, even the nervous Sundays Faolan lays Percival down and takes him apart. Until they make a mistake.

His parents come home unexpectedly early one Sunday to find the two at the table. Faolan had heard them outside, luckily, so the two lovers are an appropriate distance, as if just casual acquaintances. Faolan introduces himself as a new neighbor who had just bought the undeveloped plot to their left, while Percival's pulse beats in his throat. His parents buy the easy lie, and Faolan leaves out the front door for once.

The neighbors young daughter tells his parents she had run home on an errand and seen Percival sneaking Faolan through the back door. Percival comes back from the Monday Market to a raging father. He does not think -- does not have time to -- and bolts out into the backyard, out into the woods.

Percival's father comes face-to-inhuman-face with Faolan's overprotective, Fae father -- who would be introduced to Percival as a 'Prince Gillean' later -- and a half-feral little changeling who seems more than eager to kill for the man who had taken her in as his own and given her everything. Aisling and Gillean put the fear of God, if it could be called that, into the pastor while Faolan cradles Percival close and leads him -- guides him oh-so-gently -- to the Faery Ring.

Percival goes willingly into the earth, and quickly discovers he loves garlic herb bread and woodworked chairs and being pampered on his side of Faolan's bed. He understands, now, that Faolan was right all those months ago. His life is better, with Faolan wrapped so warm around him.