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hiraeth-witch-11 · 1 year ago

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The Greed of Men Part 5

Warnings: canon typical shit, Katya being a feisty little shit

Word count: 1600ish

The next morning you are shown to your rooms. They aren’t as opulent as Alina’s, but you prefer them this way. The bed is still too soft, the sheets too smooth, the pillows too plump, but you force yourself to use them anyway. The wardrobe is stocked with functional clothing and 2 black coats that feel suspiciously like corecloth. You’d like to complain about the color, or at least about the assumption in making most of your clothing black, but it really does suit you, so you hold your tongue.

The next few days are relatively monotonous. Alina trains and you follow her around as often as you can. Usually watching from a distance so she doesn’t feel you hovering. She knows you’re there, though, and will wave when she catches your eye. The change in her hasn’t ceased to amaze you. It’s been so long since she seemed truly healthy and now, all of the sudden, she’s grown and strong and powerful in ways you had only ever been able to dream of for her.

Alina’s confidence is yet another thing you are happy to see improve. She is more sure of herself, of her place in the world, more comfortable in her own skin. You’ll never admit it, but you are grateful to the Darkling for keeping her safe and helping her grow. Arguably much of that change has come from Botkin and Baghra, but you catch the General checking in on her every now and then. Offering words of support, constructive criticism, and even praise.

You still think he should at the very least be stabbed for this flirtation he has with your sister. She’s far too young for him. For now, you have decided to let the fragile peace remain between the 3 of you. You’ll save the stabbing for another day. So long as he keeps his hands to himself, you will allow him to keep his hands.

Today, you are observing Alina spar with a particularly skilled squaller, one you’ve noticed scowling in Alina’s direction frequently. You’re nearby this time, making small conversation with Botkin.

“Do you fight?”

“Often,” you reply with a grin. He gestures to the training field and you shake your head. “I couldn’t impose on you like that.”

“You are afraid.” Botkin states and you have the feeling he’s mocking you.

“It wouldn’t be fair for your students.”

“You would deny them the chance to learn?”

You watch the squaller knock your sister on her ass for the 3rd time today and shrug. “When you put it that way, I guess I have to do it now.”

“Who do you choose?”

“Who’s your best?”

“Zoya.” The squaller sparring with Alina looks up at his words.

“Perfect,” you say sincerely.

The two of you enter the circle drawn in the dirt.

“Kick her ass, Kat,” Alina says in your ear as you pass her. You smirk. This should be fun. Saints know you need some stress relief.

“I do have a few years on you, squaller. I’ll go easy on you.” You can’t resist the urge to taunt Zoya.

“From what I’ve heard, you’re a no-name street rat. I don’t expect it to be much of a fight.”

You smile thinly, but you aren’t bothered by her words, and strike first. It’s more of a warning shot than anything, you are unsurprised when she dodges it. Zoya swings a fist towards your jaw and you block it with your left forearm, throwing a punch with your right fist. This one lands and she grimaces, recovering quickly, stepping closer to you and hooking a leg around your own in an attempt to throw you. You let her, but use the momentum of the move to continue rolling the two of you until you land atop her, hand resting on her throat.

“Good match,” you offer your hand out once the two of you are standing.

Zoya ignores it and hisses,” Beginner’s luck.”

“If you wanted a rematch, you only had to ask,” you quip with a shrug.

“Ms. Starkov,” The General calls from Botkin’s side. You and Alina both look towards him. “The elder Ms. Starkov.”

“Saved by your General, princess. Next time I won’t go so easy on you.” The look Zoya gives you might be strong enough to kill a lesser woman.

You join the General and ask, “What do you need? Sir.” You add the ‘sir’ for the sake of appearances and because you know the Darkling will hear its sarcasm.

“Come take a walk with me, Ms. Starkov.”

You wait until the 2 of you are a safe distance away to begin your usual banter. “Are we going to have another one of our ‘chats’ where you ‘don’t’ try to kill me?”

“Baghra is aware of your ability,” the Darkling said, ignoring you.

“You mean you told her,” you say pointedly.

“Yes. She would like to meet you.”

“Oh, excellent,” you say with glee.

The Darkling turns to you with a raised eyebrow. “That is not the reaction I was expecting.”

“I heard she hits students with her cane, swarms them with bees, and other various tortures. I can’t wait to see what she tries with me.” There’s a skip in your step as you turn yourself around so you walk backwards as you speak with the General. “When does she want to meet me?”

“Now,” the Darkling says.

“Today is turning out great!” You exclaim, clapping your hands. “Oh come on, why are you looking at me like that? I like fucking with bullies. It’s one of my favorite, mostly legal, pastimes.”

“I look forward to hearing how it goes, Ms. Starkov,” he says and you swear he’s trying not to smile.

“You aren’t coming with?” You ask as you arrive by Baghra’s hut.

“Your… conversation with Baghra will likely be more productive without my presence. She and I do not see eye to eye on most things.”

“Really? You don’t get along with someone? That’s super surprising.”

“Very amusing, Ms. Starkov,” the General says dryly.

“I try,” you grin and give him a wink before stepping into the hut and closing the door behind you.

The woman in front of you is both ancient and ageless. Her skin is mostly smooth, but her hair is graying, and her eyes have a depth to them that only time can give.

“Have a seat, girl.”

“You wanted to talk with me,” you prompt as you sit across from her.

“Have some tea,” Baghra orders more than offers.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Hm. So you are the woman who claims to be the Sun Summoner’s sister. I must admit, I fail to see the resemblance.”

“We aren’t related by blood, but we are family.”

“I see. You’ve known her for 10 or so years now, and you’ve never told her about your summoning. It sounds like you don’t trust her very much, for family.”

“So this is your angle then?” You roll your eyes. “Trying to drive a wedge between me and Alina, getting into my head. Very original. Do you have any family, Baghra?”

“This conversation is not about me, girl.”

“My name is Katarina, not girl, and this conversation is very much about you. What is it about you that is so broken you want to break everyone else?”

“How dare you?” Baghra spits out sternly.

“Quite easily. If this little chat doesn’t have a real purpose, then I am going to leave.”

Baghra’s posture relaxes slightly. “You aren’t what I expected.”

“Good.”

“The General tells me you are an adequate shadow summoner.”

“Does he really? High praise coming from him.”

“He also tells me you claim to be self taught.”

“I am self taught, unless you know any other shadow summoners besides the Darkling running around Ravka, I didn’t really have any other option.”

“You taught yourself the Cut.”

“Yes.”

“Shadow-walking?”

“Yes.”

“Simultaneous, multi-limbed movement?”

“Yes.”

“Shields, walls, and barriers?”

“I’m still working on those,” you admit.

“Intriguing. I will teach you from now on.”

“No you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t like you and I think you are a duplicitous snake,” you respond cheerfully. While Alina may not have picked up on the depths of Baghra’s manipulative nature, you can tell this woman has about a thousand personal agendas just by looking at her. Much like the General, though you find Baghra to be more off putting.

“You don’t know me, girl.”

“I trust my instincts.”

“Do you truly believe the Darkling to be a superior instructor? That he does not have any ulterior motives for everything he says and does?”

“Oh I’m certain he does.”

“Very well. I will not force you to stay.”

“Good, I don’t do very well with being forced into things.” With that, you get up and leave. You’re surprised to see the General still waiting for you on the other side of the door.

“You’re still here.”

“That was quicker than I expected.”

“Were you expecting me to drink the drugged tea?”

The Darkling looks surprised. “I was not aware you knew about her tea drugging habits.”

“Alina told me. Don’t you think allowing her to beat, terrorize, and drug your soldiers is a bit much?”

“I admit some of her methods may be extreme at times, but they are effective.”

“If you have to harm a child to teach them, then maybe you aren’t a good teacher.”

“The world my Grisha grow up in is not good or fair, Ms. Starkov. They are in danger from the moment their abilities manifest. Sometimes cruel and extreme measures are needed to prepare them for that reality.”

“It shouldn’t be that way. Grishenka are training to be soldiers from the moment they arrive. No one should have to be concerned about war that young.”

“No, they shouldn’t,” the Darkling agrees, solemnly. “One day, Grisha will no longer need to fear the world around them. They will no longer live to be soldiers.”

“I hope I live to see that day,” you say earnestly.

“You will, Ms. Starkov.”

**********

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crqstalite · 1 year ago

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[1] so much (for) stardust —

I feel like something bad has stretched out over and over again Until I'm creased and I'm about to break down the middle Split me right down the middle, right, right down the middle, yeah

In the aftermath of Meridian and the fight against the Archon, the crew of the Tempest finds their footing in Andromeda. Being pathfinder never came with a manual, but with six races depending on the young Talis Ryder to find them all a home, she wishes for one more every day. Not to mention trying to keep them from being at each others throats, a whirlwind romance, a brother who's turning out to be more trouble than he's worth and a plot against the Nexus, something's got to give.

And Talis is afraid it might be her.

A collection of stories about Pathfinder Ryder as she discovers herself and the cluster amid the political upheaval of an adolescent galaxy.

[set post-mass effect andromeda.] [female ryder/jaal ama darav, male ryder/cora harper]

chapter specific warnings: vomit mention, general sickness. whump.

February 25th, 2821 [1 year and 11 months since arrival to Andromeda] - Nexus Wards.

Logs: Mateo Sirius Ryder-Lucero

Mateo has thought about how this conversation would go at least three or four times since he left the Nexus nursery center, and it’s weighing him down more and more the closer he gets to Talis’ apartment. He only really has so many options and so far, the lint in his pockets and the hair product sticking to his fingers do not hold the answers that he needs. She’s pissed at him (rightfully so), as far as he knows, still hasn’t spoken to Cora after she overrode her order back on Voeld (arguably rightfully so), and the lack of having emotional stability through Jaal being gone had everyone on the Tempest walking on eggshells.

(He cannot wait for his future brother-in-law to get back. The sooner he can either get to her or get her to visit Lexi for a psych eval, the sooner everyone would be happy -- Talis included)

Whether he disagreed with her or not (he did) right now he needed to apologize. Just so he didn’t make everything worse than it already was. So after he'd dropped Ahri off with one of the attendants, he'd quickly made the trek out to the Nexus Presidium, considering both exactly what he was apologizing for (probably for insubordination and generally being a bit of a dick), and considering how she'd respond (probably not well). Little fires everywhere that he'd been ignoring for too long, too quick to get off of med-watch to realize his sister was drowning in responsibilities she wasn’t prepared for. Almost two years out from when they'd arrived in Andromeda, and regardless of her titles, Talis was still only twenty four. Same as him. Neither of them with any major 'leading' experience (they'd both held jobs on the Citadel like any other teenager, but. Well. False equivalent), and neither of them had done anything like this. The only other Pathfinder that had the necessary experience to be leading anyone was Raeka (he thinks that was her name), but everyone turned to his sister for help.

Talis only had so much help to give. Only had so much advice lying around before she was forced to say she didn't know, and if there was one thing his incredibly driven sister was horrible at, it was saying she didn't know how to do something.

Her newly discovered short fuse however was likely the direct consequence of this. He remains unsurprised, but her blowing up at him after the Tempest had rescued him from Voeld was new. And he wasn't exactly sure if he liked this new side of her. He was glad she wasn't as shy anymore, probably a good trait to shed as a Pathfinder, but perhaps he was just a smidge afraid of her now.

He probably hadn’t helped adding to her mounds of problems and causing her a shitton of stress on top of it. Who knew most people didn’t enjoy high stakes rescue missions in the middle of blizzards to find their twin brother when he wasn’t ever supposed to leave the station?

(According to Cora, most people knew this already. Go figure.)

When he buzzes the door to her apartment, she doesn’t answer immediately. Unusual for her, she usually came to the door as soon as she was able or would buzz him in at least. Frosty then. Ok. He could work with frosty.

(He should've brought food -- his mother would hit him upside the head with a sandal if she were awake.)

He rocks back and forth on his heels, considering whether he should come back later. She could still be in her meeting with Kandros and Addison from earlier, God knew those usually ran long. But he didn't really want to run all the way back to operations, and he imagines he'd look horribly pathetic waiting for her outside her apartment door like a lost puppy.

Which...is a weird way to refer to himself. Still the mental image works, but if he has to play the part of pathetic younger brother to get back on her good side, then so be it. He wasn't exactly above it at least.

He waits a few more minutes, checking the time, shoving his hands into his jacket pocket. He reaches the end of his hoodie string into his mouth, typing off a message to his sister before his SAM implant buzzes to life in his ear.

“SAM?” He asks around the endcap, “Where’s Talis?”

"Talis' implant has been dysfunctional for some time now. I have been primarily focused upon keeping her both conscious and stable. While my systems did not go dark, I am in a brief moment of human 'clarity'."

"What?" Mateo chews on the fabric, heart stopping and starting again as he processes the information, "Why would her implant be in the fritz? I mean, I know she took a hit or two on Voeld, but --"

"Mateo, we do not have long," SAM continues, and while he's incapable of changing his tone of voice, Mateo does not like the way he's enunciating his words, "Talis has been made gravely ill. Her interior systems are deteriorating as we speak."

"What?" Mateo asks again, this time spitting out the hoodie string, "Injured? Shit, SAM where is she?"

The door slides open before him and he rushes inside. He does a sweeping glance of the apartment, the kitchen empty and almost barren, her bedroom empty with only a few scattered pieces of clothing to even clue him in she may be home somewhere. Not in the bathroom, though the medicine cabinet is strewn open, with a bottle of painkillers left uncapped on the counter. A bucket lies on it’s side on the tile, water spilling out of it. Considering it hasn't dried yet, this was still recent.

His heart is racing as he doubles back, scanning the ground. Tile, tile, tile. He's beginning to hyperventilate almost, calling her name a few times. She doesn't answer, and he runs around a corner into her office fast enough to smack his hand against it. No one. Then he darts into the living room, catching a glimpse of the dirty blonde hair of his sister laid out in the middle, curled in on herself.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit..." Mateo mutters under his breath, pushing the coffee table out of the way, dropping to his knees to roll her over, carefully cradling her in an arm, "SAM--?"

"I have briefly relinquished control of her bodily systems to make contact with yourself and Dr. T'Perro. Most of my primary attention has been diverted onto keeping away the worst symptoms, but her illness is progressing faster than I can keep up," SAM answers in his ear, "She needs help, Mateo."

"I...I can see that, SAM," He says. Okay, as much as he’s panicking right now, he has to do a rudimentary status report. Talis is burning up beneath his fingers, barely clothed in a damp Initiative tank top that clings to her skin and shorts that are stained with what he thinks is vomit. He really hopes the few red stains are old as he brushes the hair that sticks to her face out of the way. She's flushed and somehow shivering under his touch, breathing labored. Her eyes flutter open for a moment, auburn orbs unfocused and glassy. She's not all there, and doesn't answer for a moment if she does recognize he’s here, head lolling to the side into Mateo's abdomen, "Tali, can you hear me? Sis, what happened? Are you okay--?"

She squints her eyes closed again against the light of the Nexus’ day cycle, voice crackling and rough, "Dad?"

Mateo's blood runs cold at that, and his voice creeps up an octave, "SAM, what's her base temp?"

"Her temperature spiked to almost 40 Celsius this morning, though I am working to lower it," SAM reports, "Hallucinations and confusion are not uncommon with fevers this high and consistent."

"Yeah...yeah that definitely sounds about right," Mateo squeaks out, glancing around for water, her freezer, whatever he thinks might cool her down, "What happened SAM? She seemed fine a couple days ago and now she just collapses middle of the day?"

"I am recognizing it as a toxin, though I am unsure of what origin, but it has damaged my reach over her physiological systems. With that, it has begun poisoning her, targeting organs and threatening to shut them down. Regardless, it seems the more I try to take back my control, the more I am pushed out. A virus perhaps, created specifically to target me and fatally wound the pathfinder."

"That--I don't...when did it even happen?"

"I am unsure. I can trace when symptoms began in earnest to about two days ago, but I could not pinpoint when exactly she became ill. Originally her symptoms seemed to have pointed to the common cold or influenza, but as they continued to worsen and become more severe, this became less of the case. If this virus is capable of shutting down the parts of her body I can control, then her body likely will end up in shock without my major involvement.”

Mateo’s head is spinning, and he barely understands what SAM is spitting back at him. He’s not a doctor, never has been, but he does understand that his twin is on the wrong side of ill. Poisoned, he can’t even begin to wrap his head around that one. Four days ago they’d been on Voeld, when the Tempest had come to rescue him. They’d only spent minimal time in one of of the raider camps, convinced they were friendly (or at least neutral) at the time. But…

Talis has been the only person he hadn’t had an eye on the whole time they were there in the ice shelf. But then again, they’d been taking care of something on Kadara prior to that. Elaaden even before that. All places that’d make sense if they’d hurt her with the concentration of exiles and possibly left over Roekaar. He has more than enough questions about that, but he can go over those concerns with Lexi when she gets here. If she gets here in time. He gently lays her back down to scuttle to his feet and rustle through her freezer for ice or water, fingers stinging against the cold shock and pulse throbbing in between his ribs, “SAM, ideas? When’s Lexi going to get here?”

“ETA 12 minutes, she is bringing a small emergency team with her,” He answers, “It is not advised to cool her down too fast, Mateo.”

“I know, I know,” He says. SAM’s right, he needed to cool her down but not shock her. He'd do more damage that way, and the last thing he needed was to put her in any more pain than she already was in. He learned that much in basic. He drops the ice in favor for a cold water bottle, shutting the fridge and quickly walking back to the living room, “Other ideas then? Did she take anything for it before this happened?”

“She had been lucid up until an hour ago. I requested she take a form of acetaminophen for both her fever and bodily aches, she said she would soon. Unfortunately, her fever spiked and she began vomiting again soon after — she had been laying here for almost fifteen minutes before you arrived. I had contacted Dr. T’Perro, you were already on your way,” SAM says. That answered why the pills were on the counter abandoned, and Mateo’s starting to put together a rough chain of events, “I have running theories upon what may be ailing her, but symptoms are not consistent to what I have already been aware of. I have concerns it may be Andromedan in origin or perhaps entirely synthetic.”

Mateo tilts her head up enough to laying against his shoulder when he kneels down again. She groans as he parts her lips, sitting her up to be careful to keep her from choking on the water he’d found, “Is it contagious?”

“The crew aboard the Tempest reports no symptoms, alien and human alike. While I am not directly patched into you, I have not detected any of the same symptoms or changes within you. No reports of endemic level infections on any of the planets she had visited in the past week either. This was likely deliberate, and targeted. Considering the pathfinder’s more recent activities on Kadara, her immune system was already compromised. If I did not still have some extensive control over her and was actively suppressing the worst of this ailment, she would likely already be—“

“Okay, thanks SAM, but I really don’t want to think about that right now,” Mateo cuts off the AI before he can even mention the idea of Talis being dead or dying. Three times was enough in his opinion, and he wasn’t around for those times, but he’d rather not be around for the fourth. Mateo refused to admit to being scared of a lot of things, but losing his sister again was definitely one of them.

Talis is at least capable of sipping down a few gulps of water before beginning to cough. And with her coughing comes her retching onto the rug beneath them after turning her head away from him. Barely a glance and he can tell its tinged just enough with red and bile that whatever she’s working with is doing far too much for him to fix on his own right now. He considers going back to her medicine cabinet for an antiemetic, but then again he’s not sure if he’d do more damage that way.

Goddamn it, he was never sure about these things and right now, he really wished he was, “Have you called Jaal yet?”

“Jaal is still out of contact, though I have pushed a message through to his omni tool. Likely he is still on his mission and will be unavailable for some time.”

“Great. That’s just great.” Mateo responds sarcastically, biting down on his lip. He really needed someone who was more resourceful here.

He hates feeling powerless, unable to diagnose and unable to help. He can clean later but right now he holds his sister close as she still mumbles for their father. He wishes someone else was here to tell him what to do, someone tangible. Someone like Suvi might know what plant or whatever might’ve caused this, someone like Cora would have some sort of plan in place already, but Mateo doesn’t know anything. Even Jaal might've been better, it might give some comfort to his sister knowing her partner was at her side.

But no, he was gone for a few more days on a Resistance operation.

He’s been out of the outpatient medcenter for maybe two months at this point and arguably, he’s already been tossed headfirst into the fire. He was barely a private by the time they left Andromeda, and his inexperience is shining like a badge as he leans the cool bottle against Talis’s forehead. She leans into his touch, not unlike a child, and whimpers. He needed someone else here, literally anyone else who might know what his next move should be. Even Talis would likely know what to do, and she was the one who was currently out of commission.

(Oh why didn’t he just go into biotech like his mom wanted him to?)

“Please, please, please, just stay awake Tali,” Mateo begs, moving the water bottle back to her neck when her eyes shut for a moment. That seems to bring some more coherency back to her briefly as she relaxes back into the cool comfort of it, though her eyes are threatening to flutter back closed, “C’mon Tali, at least stay awake until Lexi can get here.”

“Mm, Dad, I’m — still here. Don’ go.” Talis’ voice is small and weak, weaker than he’d heard her in years, “Don’ leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” Mateo answers back. To some extent, he’s curious what she’s seeing, what she’s thinking about. But the other part of him that’s terribly superstitious at times does not like what it implies, "I'm here, I'm here, I'm here."

Lexi arrives sometime later, he isn't sure how much later, the door to the apartment sliding open and Mateo jerking himself and Talis by accident, the latter of whom retches again onto the rug. Lexi’s not alone at least, with two others who carry a stretcher behind them. Her expression is already grim, brow bones furrowed and a deep frown across her face. She kneels down next to the pair, Mateo instinctively holding her closer.

“SAM already filled me in on my way here. We’ll take her to the Garson Memorial facility and contact some of our Angaran ambassadors — her scans don’t make me believe that whatever she ingested was Milky Way made,” The Asari confirms, waving her own scanner over Talis while a human and Turian come around his right, "Talis, can you hear me?"

When she doesn't immediately, instead squeezing her eyes shut against the light of Lexi's scanner, Lexi sighs. The Turian picks up the coffee table and discards it into the kitchen, while the human lays down the stretcher in it’s place. Mateo freezes in place, unsure of what to do next while so much goes on around him. A beam extends from the side of the bed, the human EMT quick to prepare what he thinks is an IV to hook up to Talis. Mateo hesitates to let go of his sister, in his right mind he knows they’re here to help and knows she’ll be fine but the last time he let her out of his sight…

So much has gone wrong. And he wasn't there for any of it to help. And he's about to be again if they take her away.

“Iz that—mom?” Talis warbles, her head turned towards Lexi. Her distress is more evident now, every wheezing breath she takes accompanied with the quivering that’s beginning to shake them both is scaring him more and more. Now that she can’t even differentiate between the ship’s doctor and their own mother, can’t differentiate between himself and their father, he just wants to know what’s happening. Wants SAM to shut her down again and just reboot her good as new, as much as that’s a pipe dream and would just as likely kill her outright, “Mom?”

“Mateo,” Lexi’s voice snaps him out of his panic, her cerulean eyes pinned on him. She seems to ignore Talis calling for her, though her stern look is starting to bleed into concern, “We’ll stabilize her and keep you updated on her condition, but we need to go now if we have any intention of getting her to the med center before she gets any worse.”

He allows himself one more second, cupping the side of her face with his free hand before relinquishing his grasp on his twin. The EMTs are as careful as they can be with her, the IV inserted and a monitor with her vitals appearing on her side when they attach it to her. The rest of the time that Lexi and her team are there blur into mush, as they ask questions and roll her back out of the apartment. Mateo does his best to answer with SAM filling in a lot of the major gaps, and makes a mental note to do his best on cleaning whenever he gets back, make sure to take care of what he can.

He walks alongside them as their brisk pace, an ambulance waiting for them and a small crowd beginning to form in the complex hallway. She’s rolled into the back of the skytruck, and one of the EMTs offers him a hand to pull him up. He takes it, hands shaking as he sits to her right.

Lexi is quick and efficient, attaching monitor after monitor to her. SAM assists her, rattling off reports. The sound of the EKG is what he thinks will haunt him after this, though. Talis had told him once that her prior two deaths were quick, like moments of being unconscious. She couldn't tell that she'd died, that she was dying. SAM had only given her a brief warning beforehand the second time, the third was quick and unable to have been predicted. The first, the first had been what had startled him most when she recounted it to him, her legs pulled up to her chest and almost at a whisper when he'd asked in the medbay.

She had been panicking. Had been terrified out of her mind.

Once the heart monitor is attached, the rapid and erratic beeping fills the back of the truck. Lexi glances at it, knitting her brows and quickly administering more medication after that discovery. He can't quite swallow around the lump in his throat, wondering if she's panicking now in her own mind. Wondering if she was, alone in her apartment and barely able to breathe. Likely hunched over a bucket, incapable of deciphering which was up or down or even who was right in front of her?

Why hadn't she called him? Texted him that she wasn't feeling well?He would've come running, even though he knows that thinking about this now wouldn't change the past. He knows the real answer, and doesn't like it much. Wish Talis stopped believing it.

Only SAM had known about this, and likely Talis had sworn him to some degree of secrecy. Mateo knew better than anyone Talis hated having people worry about her.

"God, you gotta stop doing this, Tali," Mateo whispers, throat scratchy and eyes burning, taking hold of her hand in between two of his own. Lexi diverts her eyes, carefully attaching an oxygen mask to her, "Gotta stop scaring me, gotta stop pulling the shittiest parlor tricks."

She doesn't acknowledge what he says, but her eyes are still open. Still flickering around the truck. They land on him briefly, lidded and dark, but at least he can live with the peace she's alive. She's still alive. And for all it's worth, will stay alive.

Because God knows he doesn't know what he'd do without her.

Rewinding...

[2] October 2nd, 2820

Logs: Talis Meissa Ryder-Lucero (Ark Hyperion Pathfinder)

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thefootballobserver · 7 months ago

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Keep, Loan, Sell: What Lies Ahead for The Current Spurs Squad

Newcomers and outgoers have helped develop the squad for Ange’s vision - so what’s next?

For a squad the size of Spurs, it was still unsurprising to see the team struggle through poor form when injuries and suspensions struck hard after the November home match against Chelsea. Despite being high-flying and unbeaten until that match, it was clear to any Spurs fan looking at what Postecoglou had that the team lacked squad depth to play the way the coach wanted. Although the coach could still put out a strong starting 11, the players on the bench - or even further - were still very much players from the past eras of defensive football under Mourinho and Conte.

Despite some talented players coming in and remaining valuable to Postecoglou, there’s still a fair share of players whose time - for at least next season - might be best spent away from the team, either rebuilding their careers elsewhere or getting valuable game time.

This blog is by no means meant to slander or say that any players in the loan or sell section are bad; however, no player is over the club, and for new players to come in, current players will have to make their way out. For academy players, loans are a chance to get senior football under their belt in hopes of eventually making it into the first team. The list also has to consider homegrown rules, particularly ones concerning UEFA football, as it requires at least four players from the academy in the A team.

Keep

The Spurs captain has the most goal contributions this season.

Guglielmo Vicario: He has arguably been the best goalkeeper transfer in the Premier League this season, although a lack of clean sheets from Spurs’ high (and, at times, exploitable) defensive line has worsened the look of his debut season for the neutrals.

Fraser Forster: If his foot injury isn’t too bad, he remains a valuable number 2 or 3 for the squad, bringing experience to a young side. He signed a contract extension until 2025 this season and has little resale value, but he should be staying regardless of his role next season.

Alfie Whiteman: With UEFA’s stingy rules and another homegrown goalkeeper likely leaving in the summer, Whiteman’s likely here to stay at least until his contract ends next summer. He’s currently 4th choice keeper, though.

Cristian Romero: The World Cup winner isn’t going anywhere, with him receiving vice-captaincy and massively reducing his card collection this season. He brings a lot of experience in an inexperienced backline.

Micky van de Ven: The speedy Dutchman has bailed the team out on multiple occasions this season and is vital when fit, but his hamstring injuries may be something to watch.

Radu Dragusin: A new January signing still adjusting to the Premier League, he was signed as depth in a position that desperately needed someone, and he’s done fine so far. It would be great to see him play at RCB more, as his passing range seems limited in LCB.

Ben Davies: He probably won’t be sold for a meaningful price, and his contract ends in 2025 anyway, so the best option for everyone is for him to stay. He covers depth in two positions, doesn’t complain and can work with the academy for his coaching badges - a win-win scenario for everyone.

Destiny Udogie: It’s only been his first season in the Premier League, yet he is already one of the best left-backs this season - maybe even the best.

Pedro Porro: He has completely changed his reputation for the better. He’s been amazing, and I hope he starts sharing more set pieces with Maddison.

Yves Bissouma: With his inconsistency, it’s unsure whether his long-term future remains here, but at his best, he is unplayable; he just needs to concentrate more, as losing the ball has resulted in goals - or at least very high-quality shots - on more than one occasion.

Rodrigo Bentancur: His best will have to wait until next season, but we’ll all be there! He showed a lot of promise between his ACL and his ankle injury but hasn’t reached those levels yet, and that’s okay.

Pape Matar Sarr: He has easily been our best and most consistent midfielder this season; his work-rate is truly impressive. He’s been an absolute joy to watch, too - it’s hard to believe he’s only 21 sometimes, but he must be among the top 10 most promising U21 players in the Premier League this season. The legs he brings to this team are borderline unbelievable.

Oliver Skipp: This is primarily due to the UEFA rules, as this choice wouldn’t benefit Spurs or Skipp in the long run. He’s our leading academy player and the closest to being a starter, even if he hasn’t been on the bench lately and hasn’t played in months. However, he seemed promising when on, trying his best in an unfamiliar eight role (as a traditional number 6) and putting the legs in. He also had some nice long balls. Ideally, he would get a loan for game time, but that’s not how football works.

James Maddison: Although he hasn’t hit his pre-injury levels this season, he’s a fantastic creator for us on his day. For whatever reason, he’s been dropping deeper lately when he used to operate as almost a 2nd striker at times before, which is severely limiting his attacking output in set pieces, which is a real shame because we don’t have any like-to-like replacement for him. Again, he should be sharing set-piece duties with Porro more often, and his injury record is another thing to keep an eye on.

Son Heungmin: An obvious choice as club captain and a legend at the club. Since he’s not getting any younger, he’ll likely be used more as a striker since his pace will likely decline, but his clinical finishing won’t. He’s not an Ange winger but an upgrade on Richarlison.

Richarlison: Some want to sell him, and some want to keep him. The club invested £60m or so in him, and he should be given the time to repay that through goals unless there’s a massive offer for him. He’s a different profile from Son, which the club needs.

Brennan Johnson: An impressive upturn of form after heavy criticism of his performances. He’s still young and has a very high ceiling. It’s easy to forget that players don’t choose their price tag, and it’s also the fans’ job to keep supporting and backing their players as long as it’s clear they’re putting effort behind the scenes.

Dejan Kulusevski: Despite his poor form in recent games, there’s no real reason to let him go, especially with his work-rate and versatility. While he’s far from an Ange winger, he has the work ethic, and it’s hard to see Spurs selling him - poor form happens with every player; he’s only 23, and patience is necessary.

Loan

Ashley Phillips has impressed on loan this season at Plymouth Argyle.

Ashley Phillips: This decision heavily depends on whether Spurs sign a senior centre-back in the summer. If so, Phillips would benefit from another senior loan, either in a better Championship team or a weaker Premier League team. If not, then Phillips’ development may come with the senior team.

Alfie Dorrington: Impressing with the U21 side, a senior loan would be the best for Dorrington’s development. With Dorrington and Phillips having bright futures ahead of them, Spurs may not have to look for long-term defensive options in the summer, depending on how both of their profiles mature or change with more senior football.

Alfie Devine: He’s impressed with his initial loan at Port Vale, helping the team get to the quarter-finals of the League Cup. His second loan at Argyle with Phillips has been slightly more disappointing. However, he appears to be playing in a somewhat different role than usual - he was recently sent off in his former England coach Ian Forster’s last game in charge of the team for a bad challenge. Given that this is only his first year on loan, another could be useful before he (hopefully) gets a chance on the first team.

Jamie Donley: Another youngster who’s impressed in the academy, becoming an assist machine, mainly shown in the team’s 6-0 win in the club stadium. He’s made a few late-game cameos in the first team during Spurs’ injury and suspension crisis - notable moments include winning an aerial duel against Haaland in that match and pulling Maupay’s shirt in that other match. He’s already one of our own just for that.

Lucas Bergvall: Perhaps this is a shout to the clouds, as many fans want to see him play in the first team as soon as his time in Sweden ends. That said, the Swedish league is another level from the Premier League, and he’s just turned 18. A loan within England would likely be the best option unless Postecoglou decides in pre-season that he’s ready.

Yago Santiago: He’s 20 and needs a loan unless he’s getting sold to another academy. However, academy watchers say he’s been highly promising and could be what Ange needs from his attackers.

Dane Scarlett: It would feel unfair not to give one more shot at a decent loan; he’s been unlucky this season with Ipswich’s unexpected promotion charge, and the team had no reason to play an inexperienced 20-year-old over any of the senior options. His performances for the England youth side also appear to be promising.

Will Lankshear: Much like Donley but switch assists for goals, the two have formed their little Harry-Son pair, with Donley providing the assists for Lankshear. He recently made his name known for his 11-minute hattrick at the Tottenham Stadium, making it the fastest. He said he plays like a traditional, old-school number 9, so should his development go well, the team could have a serious goalscorer on their hands.

Alejo Veliz: His current loan at Sevilla is faltering, despite being given the number 10 shirt and high praise from the coach (don’t forget the Sevilla admins on Twitter constantly Spurs-baiting fans). Rumours say that Spurs will send him out on loan again next season, with Bournemouth being one of the linked names. Though it won’t happen should Solanke remain, Bournemouth would be the perfect club for Veliz’s development if he gets sold.

Sell

Hojbjerg’s future at Spurs is over as long as Ange is at the helm.

Japhet Tanganga: Although his loan at Augsburg could only be described as disastrous, his current time at Millwall couldn’t be any more different as he’s a regular starter and recently scored his 1st and 2nd senior goals there. It’s always a shame when academy players don’t appear to have a future at the club, but it seems like his career will be spent away from Spurs.

Djed Spence: He’s currently on loan at Genoa as part of the Dragusin deal. He’s received praise but hasn’t regularly played 90 minutes, either. Given that Ange already had a good look at him in the pre-season and said, “Nope,” it seems like a sale is inevitable.

Sergio Reguilon: He’s been on so many loans and has struggled with fitness issues, although he’s a starter for Brentford with Henry injured for the season. He was OK for Manchester United early this season but isn’t technical or defensive enough to play as an inverted fullback. Another player that was also looked at in pre-season anyway.

Joe Rodon: With Rodon having a great season as a starter for Leeds as they continue their charge for automatic promotion, he’s the player with the highest value for Spurs, and the club will likely try to maximise profit. Although he’s not bad, he’s not at Spurs’ level but would do fine in any lower team in the Premier League. It would be great to see him continue with Leeds, but without a buy option, it seems unlikely that he’ll stay a second season there, especially if they fail to get promoted to the Premier League.

Emerson Royal: If Spurs will keep Ben Davies, then Royal is an easy shoo-in for this category. With Dragusin in and Royal needing to be more adept to play as an inverted fullback, his time under Ange is likely up, no matter how many (frankly fantastic) rap songs he writes or how many vibes he has. Rumours say Saudis are sniffing around, and Spurs should be looking to sign a better fullback anyway.

Tanguy Ndombele: This probably won’t happen, but his time in Galatasaray has been unsuccessful, and despite his heavy price tag, his work ethic is severely lacking. Regardless of the reasons, his future does not lie at the club, and his contract ends in 2025, so this summer would be the last chance for him to get a fee before he leaves for free.

Giovani Lo Celso: He’s a bit of a fan favourite, and it’s easy to tell why. However, his injury record is poor, and with Maddison not boasting a great one either, it would be in his best interests to cut someone off and bring someone more consistent. He’ll probably want more game time with how he performs internationally.

Pierre-Emile Hojbjerg: He was brought for a different style of play, which he did well at, but he no longer fits the new attacking play Ange has brought to the club, which is a shame because he’s clearly a good character and still puts in the work despite pushing for an exit last summer. He’s still an excellent player under the right coach, and although the period he was here wasn’t the most pleasant, fans can still be proud and thank him for his performances.

Bryan Gil: A player with the right profile for this team but isn’t built for the physicality of the Premier League. He’s very much a Laliga player and will probably go back there. It’s still slightly baffling why he didn’t choose to go on loan in January, especially when he hasn’t made it in the squad in months.

Troy Parrott: His loan at Excelsior has brought the attention of potential suitors. Again, it’s always a shame when academy players don’t work out for the senior team, but it’s for his career and the club's direction.

Release

Despite being 3rd choice goalkeeper ahead of Whiteman, Austin’s contract ends this summer.

Brandon Austin: Our only player whose contract ends this summer. Although he’s ahead of Whiteman in the pecking order, Spurs don’t seem to be preparing him for a contract extension anytime soon and at 25, he needs to kickstart his career away from his boyhood club - for whom he’s never made a senior appearance for (Whiteman has made one).

The Left Winger Conundrum

Timo Werner has made an impact during his loan at Spurs.

Manor Solomon: He injured his meniscus in training in October and got minor knee surgery, but hasn’t featured since September after suffering a few setbacks. His most notable feature was the two assists he provided in the Burnley away game for Son’s hattrick, but he didn’t make any real impact in his other appearances. Signed on free from Shakhtar due to the UEFA rules surrounding the Russia-Ukraine war, it would make sense for Spurs to sell him for a fee to free up space for a new left winger touted as “Son’s successor.” It doesn’t seem like Solomon has a long-term future in the team anyway, with Johnson and Werner having more significant impacts on the left wing. Hopefully, he recovers before the summer transfer window ends to help his market value. Of course, geopolitical situations elsewhere may also be playing a role…

Timo Werner: He’s currently on loan from Leipzig with a buy clause of around £15m. Although his finishing still leaves a bit to be desired, he’s pacey and surprisingly good at finding white shirts inside the box. He’s said he’s enjoying playing for Spurs and being in the environment has likely helped his confidence. He’s still not an Ange winger, but he’s the second-closest fit behind Johnson and is a slightly different profile from anyone else the team has. Should Spurs go into the market and purchase an excellent left winger for a respectable price, Werner can provide good cover, rotation, and experience without causing too much of a fuss. However, his wages and age are worth considering, as he’ll likely have to take a wage cut, and he’s closer to 30 than not. If Spurs can keep him and another good winger in around the £60m region, he is worth keeping beyond this season. But fate is more in Werner’s hands than it is in Spurs.

Ultimately, the fate of many players in all the sections depends on Spurs’ actions in the transfer market. Additionally, some of the academy players in the loan section may likely have to stay to satisfy the UEFA requirements should Spurs manage to qualify (which is, at this point of the season, seems unlikely that the team can’t quality for one of the three competitions available), even if it’s worse for their development unless Spurs chose to field a smaller team A squad.

Hopefully, Spurs will back the manager and get players in this summer, as there’s clearly a vision in the team that can be fulfilled next season.

#tottenham hotspur #transfers #son heungmin #james maddison #timo werner #brennan johnson #cristian romero #richarlison #opinion #featured

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bitimdrake · 3 years ago

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Love hearing your thoughts on stuff, and currently annoyed with "Tim doesn't think he's good enough to be Robin to an extreme degree" takes, so (if you'd like to answer) what would you say Tim's insecurities/hang ups/damage are?

Thank you! Yeah, I know what you mean. (And, god, there is a point where fanon!Tim is so insecure that I’m like “well shit this kid shouldn’t be Robin because this much insecurity is a blatant liability.”)

I don’t think I would really use “insecure” to describe Tim’s overall personality, though he certainly does have insecurities. I’d also note that the younger he is, the more uncertain he is. He gets progressively more sure of himself as time goes on.

E.g., most of the moments I can recall of Tim comparing himself negatively to former Robins are from his early days, many of them before he even officially became Robin. And that’s a major arc for him in the story where he gets the mantle: he doubts himself, tries anyway, realizes he is good enough, and becomes confident enough to contravene Bruce’s orders and stand by it. Hooray, arc solved.

When he compares himself to others later--particularly to Dick--it reads as more matter-of-fact to me. Sometimes a little jealous, but not really set on cutting himself down. (I’m thinking, like, Robin #10: Tim meets a time displaced young Dick Grayson and notes he’s better at a lot of stuff, but doesn’t get caught up in the thought or turn to self-pity. Or Nightwing #6: talking about the ways Dick is better than him, not as an expression of insecurity, but to say that Dick is doing great as a solo hero while Tim only feels up to sidekicking.)

I don’t see a lot of insecurity in Tim about his skills either. In his younger years, he is well aware that he’s not the best fighter of the bunch and has no problem admitting when enemies are out of his weight class. Towards the end of his time as Robin, into Red Robin, he’s both gotten better and thinks more highly of himself--if anything, Tim can be a little too sure of his expertise.

Overall, I think Tim really internalizes his role as Robin. He doesn't wonder if he’s good enough to be Robin because, well, he is Robin. That’s half his life.

So imo Tim’s hang ups tend to be more along the lines of "am I, Robin, able to solve this problem.” Especially when said problem is about saving someone. Tim puts a lot of responsibility on himself (absolutely unsurprising for a kid whose major adult influences are Bruce and Dick), and stresses over managing it all.

He also carries a lot of guilt when he fails, or interprets himself as failing. (Once again, much like Bruce and Dick before him.) Expect insecurities to suddenly ratchet up after a failure. And that’s a pretty rational thing to be scared of when your job is life-or-death, but it’s still a lot of stress for a teenager (or anyone!) to be under. You can see him beating himself up to the point of moroseness any time he fails to save someone as Robin.

Outside of life and death dangers, this is also a regular feature of his relationship with his dad. Tim usually prioritizes Robin over his civilian life/dad. (The only real exception I can think of is the big one, quitting Robin--but even then it's arguably not even an exception, considering Tim did it as a negotiation to keep Bruce's identity safe.) And he also sometimes does stupid unnecessary stuff like "fly to another country without telling your dad."

It’s complicated, because some part of Tim is aware that his dad is not always a great parent, and a little piece of him is even angry about that--see this coming to a head just after Jack’s recovery in Robin III. But he also loves his dad and desperately wants their relationship to work, and really believes Jack is trying and changing. Tim puts the blame for it not working on himself regularly. So I’d say Tim has a lot of guilt and damage about (in his eyes) not being a good son.

In an unfortunate parallel, the other thing Tim does remain hung up on for many years is the worry that Bruce will fire him. (Ironic, considering he’s the only Robin who Bruce has never tried to remove as a sidekick.) Despite Tim internalizing that he is Robin, he also very clearly thinks of Bruce as the ultimate arbiter. And considering Bruce’s whole personality, it’s not surprising that he (like every other batkid) worries about living up to Bruce’s expectations.

I think it would be reasonable for Tim to also worry that if he’s not a vigilante, Bruce won’t want him at all. Especially considering the history. They met through the work; Batman is the most important thing to Bruce; and when Tim had to quit, Bruce didn’t talk to him the entire time he was away. However, I can’t think of a point where that’s actually brought up and confirmed (or denied) in canon.

Last thing, where ymmv. After Damian’s introduction (specifically, before Bruce dies and Damian becomes Robin), there’s a serious inconsistency in how Tim takes it. In most books, he’s largely unaffected? He and Bruce are in a great place, having recently become legal father and son, and while Tim doesn’t like Damian, he doesn’t really seem threatened. imo this makes sense, because Tim has been secure as Robin and at that point there is zero inclination from anyone to make Damian Robin, no matter how much Damian himself campaigns for it.

However, in Grant Morrison’s Batman, Tim is portrayed as very insecure over Damian’s arrival and position as Bruce’s “real son,” and desperate to prove himself. And, look, I will fully admit here that I am biased. I hate GM’s writing. I hate the way they slightly warped a bunch of characters to fit their new storylines. So it may well be that bias speaking, and you are welcome to disagree! But personally, I find this extreme, outright insecurity to be out of step with Tim’s usual characterization.

Finally, in his Red Robin era, Tim starts with a whole lotta damage about worrying he may be on a wild goose chase for proof Bruce survived, knowing his grief may be coloring his beliefs. Actually finding that proof does a lot to temper his fear, and he gets more confident and bolder again as the quest continues.

And after that, when Tim comes back to Gotham and the second part of Red Robin hits (or, lbr, when Nicieza takes over), Tim’s problem is uh. Well it’s. It’s sure as fuck not that he’s lacking in confidence. End-of-preboot!Tim is secure with his friends and family, which is great, but honestly he could stand to question his actions a little more. Someone give that boy a kick in the head.

#i'm sorry it's been so long!! i had this 75% done in my drafts for ages thinking 'well i just check one reference and get to that soon...'#ty for asking <3 #dc #tim drake #*#*dc #dc meta #ask #captainragtag

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dwellordream · 2 years ago

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“...It is a certifiable fact that the Islamic world had good medicine on lockdown in the medieval period. One reason for that was the House of Wisdom, or the Great Library of Baghdad, which was established in the eighth century by the Caliph Harun al-Rashid. We’re not sure exactly whether the House of Wisdom was founded as an active learning institution or just a really nice library that had tonnes of good books, but by the reign of Al-Ma’mun it was a public learning institution. We know that in the House of Wisdom they certainly compiled, copied, and disseminated any medical texts they could get their hands on. And here is the thing – they could get their hands on kinda a lot of stuff, actually, because they were positioned between the Eastern Roman Empire, aka Byzantium, and Asia. They were therefore perfectly placed to amalgamate various medical traditions. They worked with the texts of Galen and Hippocrates, which underpinned medieval European ideas of medicine, but also brought in Persian medical tradition including The Vendidad which is one of the world’s earliest medical texts and covers herbal medicine, surgical medicine, and prayer. They were also able to incorporate Indian Ayurvedic traditions. Not only did they have cutting edge medicine, but they also had a range of really great hospitals that you could rock up to and get cared for in. For Islamic rulers endowing a hospital was a big deal, much like supporting monasteries and nunneries (which served the function of hospitals) was for Christian rulers back in Europe. I mean rulers still do this, at least here in the UK.[3] (Yay. Love 2 be a subject.)

This excellent tradition gave birth to one Muhammad ibn Zakariya al-Razi, or al-Razi, or Rahzes if you need the white people version. He, like most of this blog’s important favs (heeeeey Hildegard) was a polymath and wrote something like 200 hundred manuscripts on various topics from medicine to physics, as you do. More to the point for this discussion, he was one of the first people to advocate for experimental medicine, and because he was an alchemist (calm down, it’s like being a chemist, it’s not about making gold) he came up with chemical alcohol and sulfuric acid, very important medical compounds. He was also one of the first people to use humoral theory to differentiate various sicknesses. One of his most famous works specifically did this with measles and smallpox. As if that wasn’t enough, he was also the first person to notice and write about the pupil’s reaction to light. In other words, he was a big fucking medical deal in the early medieval period and doing really serious work. So, yeah this graph is not incorrect there. The early medieval Islamic world was certainly making strides during that extremely specific time period. But here’s a thing that we would call “problematic”: we are here talking about how Islamic medicine was good at the time but for some reason al-Razi, the physician so good that students came from China to learn from him, doesn’t get a mention.[4] Weirdly, and even more appallingly, it also cuts off right before Ibn Sina, aka Avicenna, aka arguably the other most important medieval medical mind is born (c. 980). Ibn Sina was also, you will be unsurprised to learn, a polymath. He worked on everything from astronomy to theology, alchemy and astronomy. What medieval people really lost their minds over were his works The Book of Healing and The Cannon of Medicine two absolutely core texts of medieval medical science. These texts became the standard medical texts even outside of the Islamic world. In European medieval universities like Salerno, and were such important game changers that they remained pretty much the core medical texts into the seventeenth century. As a result, medieval and early modern people would mention him in pretty much the same breath as Galen or Hippocrates. You couldn’t talk about medicine without talking about all of them, which is why the seventeenth-century picture at the top of this post exists.

So yeah, why would this graph do that? Why would it cut off just before introducing one of the biggest medical thinker of the medieval period, and just totally overlook the other? Well, the answer to that is that it is just straight up racist.

You’ll notice that two of the medieval and early-modern big three – Hippocrates and Galen are introduced on this timeline – as is Aristotle’s tiresome woman-hating ass, but when al-Razi and Ibn Sina remix that work and break new ground that’s not enough to get a shout out. These are the most influential medical thinkers of a thousand-year period, and we’re just not gonna talk about it, apparently.

There is absolutely no reason to leave these men off the chart. But they aren’t because the textbook author needs you to believe that “Islamic physicians make scientific progress that goes unnoticed elsewhere” is a thing. If no one else was listening then why bother learning the names of two fathers of medicine? Well one, because they are important in and of themselves, but also you should probably include them because that statement is not true. I suppose the author is trying to say that “elsewhere” means “outside of the Middle East”, but as al-Razi’s Chinese student could have told you, that certainly wasn’t the case. So who do they mean is ignoring it? Europeans. They mean Europeans. And they are wrong.

Islamic medicine absolutely got into Europe because, as I will never tire of pointing out, in the early medieval period a whoooole big piece of Europe was Islamic. You know, pretty much the entire Iberian peninsula? Al Adaluz? Where women were partying, date palms were growing, and I can absolutely assure you they had Islamic medicine? Yeah, there.�� Or how about in Islamic Sicily, where Muslims ruled comfortably from the ninth century until the Normans showed up in the twelfth? (That’s where the term al arrabiata comes from for spicy Sicilian pasta sauces. They are modified Arabic recipes. There you go, your trivia fact of the day.) People were certainly taking notice of Islamic medicine there, but the graph doesn’t want you to consider that because Islamic people were doing it, so it doesn’t count even when it happens in Europe. Even if you are going to go out of your way to ignore the fact that there were whole-ass Islamic European kingdoms indicates, it’s also not like there was no contact between the Islamic and Christian world and that medical tracts didn’t move back and forth. The barriers between Islamic and Christian kingdoms are in flux during this time. Territory and people moved back and forth more or less constantly, and they took things with them when they went. Especially good stuff like advanced medical techniques. Both men’s books show up all over Europe and have even made it as far as back-water England by the late medieval period. Peterborough Abbey alone was bragging about having ten books of al-Razi’s in the fourteenth century.[5] The fact of the matter is that medieval European people were THIRSTY for Islamic medicine and absolutely took notice of what was going on with it. Sure, a lot of that uptake happened after the stated time period, and more generally in the high to late medieval period, but it isn’t like they didn’t know it was happening. Just because not all Europeans had access to Islamic medicine that doesn’t make it an irrelevancy. Not all Americans have access to medicine now, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. (*sips tea*)

So sure this is all racist and wrong, but why does it matter? It matters because a text book leading with the idea that the Early Medieval period was a time of stagnation and ignorance, before casually mentioning the great advances that Islamic medicine made in this period, is staunchly upholding the idea that white people are and always have been the centre of the world. For the author of this text and – one more time – an entire editorial board to write off a whole time period because Europe wasn’t necessarily at the cutting edge of scientific advancement is ridiculous. It is not only European integration of a concept which makes it worth noting.

This mindset is a difficult one to overcome because, fundamentally, it is a belief system that our society perpetuates in order to justify our current world and our own colonial and imperial apologist mindset. And this is how that very specific narrative is perpetuated. It goes unchallenged in peer reviewed textbooks and is passed on to everyone who reads them as an accepted truth that has been rigorously researched. It is no such thing.”

- Eleanor Janega, “On Medical Milestones, Being Racist, and Textbooks, Part I.”

#medieval #history #muslim #education #medicine #eleanor janega

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raayllum · 3 years ago

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3x03 :: ghosts and reality

So I was thinking about 3x03 “Ghost,” an episode that both subverted my expectations and fulfilled them. Back when the the episode titles for Book Three were released before the season came out, I predicted that “Ghost” would have Soren and Claudia confronting their father in prison. I ended up being right with that prediction, and was also unsurprised when Claudia and Soren’s confrontation with their father figure was included the episode.

The way Rayla parallels Soren and Claudia has often reminded me of the way that Katara parallels both Zuko and Azula, and the each character’s relationship with their father is paralleled by one another’s. Which is to say that the confrontations with Viren and Ethari in 3x03 are directly, and poignantly paralleled, and here’s why.

Moonshadow elves are the ones most closely aligned with TDP’s interrogations of truth, illusions, and lies that exists for many of the main characters, particularly for Rayla and Soren, Claudia, and Viren. The three children have returned to their respective homes, finding nothing the way they expected. Rather than having to worry about disappointing their father the way they did in s2, Claudia and Soren find their father in prison, and Rayla finds Ethari imprisoned in his own grief.

And both fathers are concerned and connected, thematically, most strongly with the idea of Reality.

But this is also where they diverge the most strongly.

Both Ethari and Viren erase their children’s reality. Rayla is turned into a Ghost, as Ethari erases Rayla from his reality, even if he can’t quite erase him from hers. Viren, meanwhile, erases Soren’s memory of events by gaslighting him. The differences start even here, however, as Ethari is never able to hide from what he’s done — not with his daughter right there, holding him accountable — whereas Viren sweeps his own actions under the rug.

Ethari and Rayla, for all of their flaws, are emotionally open and honest throughout their initial, half one sided, conversation. Ethari’s main problem is arguably that he is too honest, too consumed by his grief. Viren slips similarly before covering it up again, motivated by his selfish mission rather than by love, however misguided Ethari’s attempts at navigating his feelings are.

Even in the throes of his grief, Ethari acknowledges his and Runaan’s own wrongdoing, while Viren just doubles down on weaponizing Claudia and Soren’s state against his son.

E: Before you left, I told Runaan you were too goodhearted for the work of an assassin, so I know you did not betray them out of malice. But that doesn’t matter. They’re gone. He’s gone. Because you abandoned them.

V: This is disappointing son, even for you.

Don’t get me wrong, what Ethari says is still terribly damaging and shitty, but he’s still operating under an assumption that literally everyone else around him believes, nor is it one he’s constructed. Viren, meanwhile, purposefully crafts himself a way out, even if it means throwing Soren completely under the bus, insulting his son’s intelligence, and sowing seeds of doubt in his reality.

Thus, while Rayla herself is the ghost, Soren’s memory becomes his: a reality that only he can remember and believe in. Something only he can see clearly for what it is as even his sister looks away from him. And by the end of the episode — or even the entire season — that remains true.

But it changes for Rayla, because Ethari comes back around.

Ethari is still operating the same assumption as before when he joins Rayla by the fountain. Nothing about his actual perspective has changed — he is still mourning his husband (and daughter), he still believes that Rayla has abandoned/betrayed them — but he loves her anyway, and shows it by breaking what appears to be the number one rule of the ghosting, and undoes the spell as much as he can on his own.

Ethari refuses to deny Rayla’s reality and does give her a chance to explain herself, and then aids her in her mission, because he trusts that she’s doing the Right Thing even if it still led to dire consequences for their family.

But Viren (and Claudia) only continue to mess when Soren’s understanding of reality as the season wears on, until they all deal the final blow in 3x09 — literally.

Ethari’s illusion was that he didn’t love her still, and in some ways, Viren’s illusion was that he ever loved his son at all.

Other Misc. Notes:

Another interesting thing about this episode is the contrast between Callum and Claudia. Both witness someone they love being terribly mistreated, and while Claudia is initially indignant on her brother’s behalf, she quickly succumbs to her desire to keep both her brother and father in her life, rather than having to choose between them. The way the bars divide her and Soren from each other in various shots is a great reflection of this. Callum, meanwhile, stays indignant and angry on Rayla’s behalf, demanding change, supporting and trying to get through to her.

Where Soren is begging Claudia to believe him, Callum is arguing that Rayla should, and their families respectively follow suit: Claudia sides with Viren, who gets away with his deception, and Ethari sides with Callum and Rayla, encouraging Rayla on her new mission.

There are also arguable parallels to be had, with Rayla, Viren, and Ethari all occupying the position of Explainer, or even defending themselves and their actions. The fact that Rayla and Ethari have to do this for each other shows the closeness they share and a willingness to at least communicate, whereas Viren’s is self contained and wholly in pursuit of convincing his children of what he needs them to do. Other parallels as follows is Viren’s “I’m so glad to see you safe,” Rayla’s “I’m so glad you’re here,” to Ethari, and Ethari’s “I couldn’t bear to let you leave without seeing you one last time.”

To love someone is to bear witness to them, to See them for who they truly are and to love them anyway. To engage in, not erase, their reality. One father learns this and stands by it, as much as he possibly can. The other does not.

#tdp meta #tdp #tdp rayla #the dragon prince #ethari #viren #tdp soren #analysis series #knight sibs #morally ambiguous fam #moon fam #s3 #3x03 #different than my usual meta faire but very fun #analysis #parallels #on the shorter side too which is honestly kind of nice

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cookiepotofchaos · 2 years ago

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Part 1 Here

Part 2 - Getting into the Tags

Tags, tags, tags... Such a key part of AO3 and how many of us navigate finding works we might enjoy (apart from those of us in tiny fandoms who have already read everything. Thrice. Even our own stuff)

Also quite fiddly to match up and combine given differences in spelling, tagging styles, and due to evolving information like learning Surnames! I have a new-found admiration and sympathy for the volunteer tag-wranglers at AO3.

Anyway, onto the character, relationship and freeform tags of The Bletchley Circle works.

Character Stats

Camilla "Millie" Harcourt was the most tagged character, being tagged in 160 (85.11%) of works, followed by Jean McBrian in 127 (67.55%) of works. However, Jean McBrian's popularity only took off after 2018 and the release of The Bletchley Circle: San Fransisco. Prior to this, Jean was the 3rd most tagged character behind Susan Gray.

The four leads of the original series were, unsurprisingly, the most tagged characters before 2018, as follows.

Millie Harcourt - Tagged in 64 works

Susan Gray - Tagged in 44 works

Jean McBrian - Tagged in 31 works

Lucy Davis - Tagged in 30 works.

96 of the 127 works tagged with Jean were written since the San Francisco continuation series came out, whereas Susan has been tagged in 30 works since then and Lucy in 27. As Millie and Jean were the two characters from the original Bletchley Circle who continued onto the San Francisco series, this is unsurprising.

After Millie and Jean, the 8 most tagged characters are: Susan Gray (39.36%), Lucy Davis (30.85%), Hailey Yarner (12.77%), Iris Bearden (9.57%), Alice Merren (6.38%), Claire Gray (3.72%), Timothy Gray (3.72%), and Original Character (3.19%).

All the leads from both series featured in the top ten, which was also unsurprising. The popularity of the original 4 main characters has persisted beyond the release of San Francisco, with both Susan and Lucy being tagged in more works than Hayley and Iris after July 2018.

As 'Original Character' is multiple different characters, this tag is excluded from the demographics information below. Of the remaining 9 characters:

8 are female (Millie, Jean, Susan, Lucy, Hayley, Iris, Alice, Claire)

2 are canonically sapphic (Millie Harcourt - Bisexual; Hayley Yarner - Lesbian)

8 are white (Millie, Jean, Susan, Lucy, Hayley, Alice, Claire, Timothy)

1 is Black (Iris Bearden)

2, arguably 3, are canonically Disabled (Jean - Canonical physical disability; Timothy - Canonical physical disability; Lucy arguably neurodivergent, through portrayal only as language for this was limited in the 50s)

Ships - Platonic and Romantic

There are two Ship tags that are far ahead of the rest, no doubt quite easily guessed from the character tag data and both featuring Millie Harcourt.

Camilla "Millie" Harcourt/Jean McBrian with 53 works.

Camilla "Millie" Harcourt/Susan Gray with 47 works.

In a distant third with 15 works is Jean McBrian/Hailey Yarner

Prior to July 2018, as with the character tags, Jean featured far more rarely in ship tags. In fact, pre-July 2018, there was a single Millie/Jean fic and 27 of Millie/Susan. Post-July 2018, 52 Millie/Jean works were written, overtaking Millie/Susan, though a further 20 were produced in that pairing as well.

The single M/F ship in the top 10 ships (otherwise consisting of F/F or F&F) was Susan/Timothy, and most of these works were also tagged with Millie/Susan.

There were 67 unique ships tagged across all The Bletchley Circle works, including characters from other series in crossovers/challenge combination works.

No Relationships Tagged: 35 works (18.62%) had no ships at all tagged.

Platonic Ships Only Tagged: 10 works tagged 1 - 3 platonic ships.

Romantic/Sexual Ships Only Tagged: 130 works tagged 1 - 4 romantic or sexual ships. 4 works focused on 5+ romantic or sexual ships, these were all crossover fics.

Both Ship Categories Tagged: 9 works tagged both platonic and romantic/sexual relationships.

Considering the 6 main characters again, they appeared in this many works tagged with ships each:

Millie Harcourt - In 149 (62.87%) of ship tags.

Jean McBrian - In 91 (38.40%) of ships.

Susan Gray - In 66 (27.85%) of ships.

Lucy Davis - In 27 (11.39%) of ships.

Hailey Yarner - In 17 (7.17%) of ships.

Iris Bearden - In 1 (0.42%) of ships.

Freeform Tags

There were 609 freeform/additional tags used, covering 404 different tags. After much back-and-forthing (and silent praising of the AO3 tag wranglers once more!) I did my own form of wrangling into 34 distinct categories of tags that I can (hopefully) use as a template going forward with minimal expansion.

In terms of the exact tags, as used on AO3, the top 5 free-form tags were as follows:

Fluff - 19

Femslash - 13

First Kiss - 9

Misses Clause Challenge - 8

Romance - 8

What a fluffy bunch of authors and video creators there are in this fandom 😄 The source material did touch on difficult topics, given its post-war time setting, so Fluff being the most used freeform tag is not a surprise. They dealt with a fair bit in-canon; people just want to see them happy.

There were also 15 Alternate Universe tags (when combined) associated with works, which surprised me because I didn't remember there being that many, though it has been some years since I read a number of the works in the fandom.

When moving onto looking at the top categories in my own tag wrangling, Fluff does fall out of the top five, though it does remain in the top ten.

Commentary - 71

Romance - 59

Sexual - 57

Context Tag - 54

Content Warning - 49

Commentary tags are those the "chatty" sort of tags that are similar to many Tumblr tags. Some of my favourites from The Bletchley Circle included:

"Being a Lesbian is Fucking Beautiful and SOMEONE Needed to Say It" - And the fic this tag is attached to, blood under the bridge, is equally beautiful.

"I am trash for vintage lady loving ladies" - You and me both, dear author.

"Jean is done with their nonsense" - I mean... fair.

Context Tags were tags which broadly "set the scene" (and I may change the name to that later) so for example "Picnics" or "Late Night Conversations" or "Hijinks & Shenanigans". Kind of a catch-all tag, I have to admit.

I also think that Jean's cane should get special mention since it was explicitly tagged in a number of fics, though not enough to break the top ten by any means. When it was tagged, it was being used almost exclusively for Millie's pleasure. I see you and your love for a strict(ish), grumpy Scottish code-breaker, dear fandom.

So that is the broad overview of the tags associated with The Bletchley Circle! I was going to put some recs at the bottom, but decided they would be better served in a post of their own. So I'll get around to that in the next few days.

In the meantime, I will be getting to work on the next fandom.

#the bletchley circle #small fandoms #Cookies Sapphic Fandom Stats #sapphic fandoms #AO3

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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years ago

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Don’t Hesitate (Ensnarled 2)

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort Characters: Colonel Casey, Scott

Well, it turns out that @whumptober-archive’s prompts for day two lent themselves very nicely to a part two for yesterday’s entry, so we have a continuation, using the prompt choking from Talking Is Overrated (and arguably an interpretation of garotte as well). Once again, this fic may continue further depending on if any other whumptober 2021 prompts fit!

(I am using @gumnut-logic’s first name ‘Val’ for Col. Casey)

<< Ensnarled

It had been too good to be true. A chance to capture one half of the Chaos Crew for good. Colonel Casey had known there would be a trap involved; Havoc was too smart, too cunning, not to have something up her sleeve, but there had been no choice. If they let opportunities like this slip through their fingers, the GDF would lose whatever face it had with the public.

Her team had been briefed thoroughly: proceed with caution but don’t hesitate. No matter what Havoc threw at them, they had to catch the woman.

How Scott had ended up involved, how Havoc had captured Scott, she had no idea. That had been lightyears out of the realms of their expectations, but in the end, it couldn’t change anything. Havoc’s demands couldn’t be met, she had to be caught, and the Colonel’s own orders to not hesitate had come back to bite her hard.

With the barbed wire coiled menacing around his neck, which the young man was clearly doing everything in his limited power to evade, Havoc’s threat was clear: she wasn’t playing around.

The GDF didn’t play around, either. Scott was important, both to Val personally and to the world at large, but he was only one man. Only one Tracy.

Her heart shrieked apologies to Jeff as she sacrificed his eldest son.

The noise was sickening, flesh pierced by metal and a choked-off gargle of pain as Scott’s head came down and the barbed wire went in.

A moment was wasted as instincts – the instincts of the godmother, the honorary aunt, not the Colonel she had to be – drove her to cry out his name, but she’d drilled her team well.

No hesitations.

Gunfire rang out, sharp cracks as bullets rushed through the air to the space Havoc occupied, but the woman was crafty and highly skilled in evasion. Her hostage situation failed, she cut and ran.

“Get her!” the Colonel barked, even as Val was moving forwards, towards the rasping, struggling young man.

“Yes, Ma’am!” came the automatic response. She trusted them to do what they could without her; she had a life to save.

Scott was still conscious when her knees hit the ground before him, but the way he was thrashing around, trying to get free but just tearing more and more of his skin apart on both his throat and wrists, told her that rational thinking had fled, leaving little more than the instincts of a snared animal.

He was going to kill himself if he kept this up.

Val felt sick as she reached out and gripped his head, pinning it in place in a cruel mimicry of Havoc’s own actions. Bloodstained metal disappeared into flesh, scrapes and tears criss-crossing his skin at random where the cruel barbs had sunk in and moved against his thrashing. The collar of his flight suit went high, but not high enough to protect him from this.

Scott fought against her grip, still trying to jerk away from the barbs hooked in his skin as alarming choking noises came from his throat.

Val wasn’t a nurturing woman. Not a mother, and never the one to look after distressed little boys – that had always been Lucille’s role. Empty reassurances always fell awkwardly flat and hollow, failing to do their job, if she said them, so she didn’t.

In the military, no-one had time for soft spoken false promises that everything would be okay. She dealt with logic, hard facts, and the laws of the world.

“Scott, stop moving,” she ordered, the exact same tone and sharp expectation she’d used barely seconds earlier on her own team.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t nurturing, or reassuring. But Scott’s military instincts were still strong despite being out of the organisation for years and his obedience was immediate. Blue eyes were hazed over with shock and pain, and she knew he wasn’t seeing her, but as long as he was hearing her, she could do this.

“I’m going to get you out,” she told him – not a promise but a fact. “You need to stay still while I do.” He didn’t acknowledge her words, verbally or otherwise, but when she cautiously released his head from her grip he remained motionless.

A glance over to where her team had been showed them still attempting to capture Havoc. There was a high chance that if they hadn’t caught her by now then she would escape, but that was a problem for the Colonel to address later. One of the men was hanging back, and seemed to be favouring an ankle.

“Corporal!” she barked at him. “Find me wire cutters and a stretcher.”

His acknowledgement was immediate and she returned her attention to Scott. Even though he wasn’t moving, his chest was still heaving with panic, and there was a disgusting gargling noise emitting from his throat as he tried to breathe with limited success.

It sounded horrifically like he was choking on blood.

Val prioritised. The wrist injuries were nasty and blood loss was a major concern, but there was no sign of an arterial bleed. His throat was rapidly approaching fatal.

There was little she could do until the wire cutters arrived, laser cutters worse than useless so close to Scott’s skin, but she gripped slippery wire with her fingers and started easing the outermost coils away, loosening the snarl in an attempt to distance it from his bloody throat and jaw.

The results were negligible at best, but she had to do something while she waited.

Wire cutters were easily located on a flyer as a staple part of an engineer’s kit. Even with a dodgy ankle, the Corporate returned barely a minute later, holding the tool out in shaky fingers while an equally shaky voice caught her attention.

“Colonel.” He was pale, too, face white as his eyes focused on Scott and a sheen of sweat across his skin. He’d been too fast, but at that moment she could feel nothing but gratitude for his determination.

“At ease,” she allowed, snatching up the tool and immediately deploying it on the loosened strands.

The ones furthest from Scott’s skin were easy to cut away, blood spattered rather than coated and falling obediently into a discarded heap by her side. It was the closer ones, more red than the original dull silver of the metal and slippery that gave her trouble, even before she reached the ones still embedded.

Each barb had to be cut out individually, the twisted wire either side being cut as close as possible before she withdrew the metal from skin that was almost reluctant to let it leave. There were more of them than there ought to be for the length of the wire, and in the back of her mind she wondered just how prepared Havoc had been. Blood dribbled free from the exposed punctures, running down his skin and soaking into the collar of his flight suit. Crimson and blue made a dark, bruising purple.

The last barb came out with a sickening suction noise and Scott’s head immediately lolled forwards. She let him for a moment, blood trickling out of his mouth as well as the holes in his throat as he weakly coughed it up, before tilting his head back slightly. Her fingers left bloody streaks across his cheeks and in his hair.

There was no good position for him while he stayed upright, his choices to bleed out externally or choke on blood internally, and she dived straight for the snarl of barbed metal keeping him pinned to the wire fence. Her own hands picked up superficial scratches that were ignored as inconsequential as she hacked away at the wire, disentangling the short scraps until she could pull his hands apart and forwards.

Blood trickled across his wrists, the metal still tangled around them and biting in, but he was choking on blood again, his body wracked with coughs and head bowing forwards in an attempt to expel the liquid before it flooded his lungs.

The Corporal reappeared in her periphery, still too pale but nudging a hoverstretcher in range.

“Do you need assistance, Colonel?” he asked, and he was in no state to be lifting anyone but Scott was tall and the rest of her team had yet to subdue Havoc – or admit defeat and slink back with their tails between their legs. She made a mental note to ensure he got plenty of rest and treatment as soon as circumstances allowed.

“Take his legs,” she instructed as she shifted around enough to grip onto Scott’s torso. Her eldest godson hated being stretchered anywhere and always fought for the right to walk no matter how badly injured he was, but this time he didn’t even begin to resist as they bundled him down onto the stretcher and over onto his side in a bastardised version of the recovery position.

Blood splattered onto the surface by his mouth the moment they had him rolled over. Both his arms were arranged loosely in front of him, wire still tight around his wrists, and with the danger of choking alleviated as much as possible, Val turned the wire cutter’s attention to them.

While the damage was older, it was clear that Scott had had his wits about him up until his throat had been impaled because they bore no more signs of struggle than could be attributed to his shock-induced panic. The wounds were deeper, though, and some barbs Val elected to leave in until he was in the hands of a medical professional. Scott had already lost too much blood.

How he was still conscious – albeit unresponsive and in clear shock – she didn’t know.

With the wires removed and discarded, crimson glistening on the tips of the barbs and stained onto the twisted sections, she looked over to where her team had been and was disappointed yet unsurprised to see Spoiler blinking out of existence as it teared away.

Another failure, and this time all they had to show for it was a badly wounded Scott Tracy. His family were going to be furious when they found out, and once again she wondered how he’d ended up in Havoc’s clutches. No-one had known about this mission; Kayo and Lady Penelope had been investigating another lead and thereby uncontactable, and while she wasn’t naïve enough to think that John couldn’t hack the GDF information, she doubted he did it unless he had a reason. She was also certain that he wouldn’t have informed Scott about this even if he had found out about it.

She straightened up as they approached, the hoverstretcher rising with her. Her heart screamed to ignore Havoc and get Scott to a hospital immediately, but that was Val talking, and she needed to be the Colonel.

“Your orders, Ma’am?”

There were nineteen of them not counting the injured Corporal, and Captain Rigby was standing at the head of the pack looking like he’d bitten into a particularly sour lemon. Behind him, eyes were divided between looking at her and the limp figure on the hoverstretcher, and she knew there were torn instincts in more than just her.

“Back to the flyer,” she ordered. “Captain, I want every part of this analysed. What went wrong, why it went wrong, and any new information about Havoc that it’s brought to light.”

He saluted, still visibly frustrated.

“All injured are to report to the medical officer,” she continued, sending a pointed look at the Corporal before sweeping across the ranks before her, seeing a few others standing stiffy. Havoc had truly lived up to her name. “We’ll return to base and re-strategise there with the information we’ve gained here.”

A sea of salutes acknowledged her and she barked at them to get moving.

Beside her, Scott made another wet choking noise and more blood splattered out onto the stretcher. Base had hospital facilities; depending on why Scott was coughing up blood, it should do. If full hospitalisation was required, that could also be arranged there.

Ignoring her team as they obeyed her orders, she guided the hoverstretcher into the back of the flyer, where painkillers, antiseptics and bandages were waiting in bulk. Scrapes, gouges and punctures alike needed cleaning, and it wasn’t the Colonel’s job but Val needed to do it herself rather than trust the eldest son of her best friend, her godson, to the care of anyone else just yet.

Soft she was not, but when it came to medical treatment she could do precise. Scott remained limp as she poured on the hydrogen peroxide then dabbed at his throat and the tender skin beneath his jaw, not even flinching against the sting of the disinfectant. The same was repeated on both wrists as best she could. The neoprene sleeves had held up against the barbs, and likewise held up against the fabric scissors; blood had seeped through and underneath it, but she couldn’t chase it to clean it up and was forced to leave it as she worked around the deep-set barbs she hadn’t dared remove.

Captain Rigby must have given the order for take-off while she was intent on treating Scott’s injuries, because as she reached for the rolls of bandages the flyer rumbled beneath her feet and she had to steady herself on the stretcher. It was technically insubordination, but she would let it fly given the circumstances. The man knew Kayo, and how deep her fury would run when she found out about this.

The crisp white bandages didn’t make things look better when she wrapped the wounds. It made things look neater, no red smudges and dark wounds ravaging skin, but it highlighted just how pale Scott had become.

Blood loss and shock. Both were dangerous enough to kill and once Val had the blood flow stemmed by the linen strips she located a foil blanket to wrap around her godson. His eyes were somehow still open, but hazy and unfocused enough that she hesitated to consider him conscious any more.

Val was a Colonel, not a medic. She could stop bleeding but little more, and even if she could set up an emergency blood transplant, International Rescue’s uniform didn’t come with a useful dog tag containing blood type information, and off the top of her head she didn’t know Scott’s.

Now the wounds were cleaned and wrapped, there was nothing else she could do for Scott.

Well. Nothing except the one thing she was inwardly dreading.

It was time to call Thunderbird Five.

#whumptober2021 #no.2 #choking #garotte #thunderbirds are go #fic #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #colonel casey #scott tracy #havoc #captain rigby #thunderwhump #ensnarled

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lightsaberupmybutt · 4 years ago

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Three’s a Crowd - Reader/Ben Solo/Poe Damerson (Modern AU)

alright so Ben/Kylo is a big ego kid in this, because of course. Also, Rey is ACTUALLY Lukes daughter in this, making them cousins. Ive fiddled with the plot okay sue me.

Summary: Poe, Finn and their roommate have been living in a harmonious tenancy, but when Finn decides to move out for a year of travelling, the two are left with no option but to look elsewhere for their third body. Rey Skywalker, a friend of the group, proposes her cousin for the role. He's in a band, wears all black and all in all is somewhat of a social reject - but he's also all theyve got.

“I think that one was actually somehow worse than last weeks” You tell Poe, as he pours himself a juice and settles down next to you on the sofa. You'd just finished showing around another possible roommate and you felt exhausted in every sense of the word.

“How can he be worse than the neo nazi?” Poe shot you an unbelieving look and rolled his eyes, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table and knocking some of your papers in his wake.

“Alex was a she, and they asked if they could hang their deer head in the front room” you grimaced even thinking about it, weren't all artsy college students supposed to be vegetarians anyway? why did you have to get saddled with the only blood thirsty one on campus.

“Thats not so bad”

“Poe she showed me a picture of her taxidermied cat”

“Oh”

You had tried to find a polite way to stop her from passing you her phone, but you were too nice to make her feel uncomfortable, and now the image of the long dead tabby would remain behind your eyes for god knows how long.

“was she hot?” You shook your head, causing Poe to sigh wistfully.

“Not hot enough to cancel out her obsession with dead bodies anyway” you informed him, the hopeful look from his eyes gone.

“Face it Poe, were doomed” You let your head fall into your hands, Poe letting out a laugh before wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“Hey we’ll get someone! who wouldn't want to live here?” You knew his question was rhetorical but when looking around the cleaner than usual flat, you had to admit it was missing something. Bare spaces on the walls from where Finn had taken down his pictures, the empty side of the kitchen counter that had once houses his overpriced coffees. You even missed picking up his empty cups after him, the room feeling like it had less character without them. It truly hadn't felt the same in the flat since Finn had left, and although Poe concealed it well, you could see it was getting to him too. Poe had, after all, known Finn first; Finn managing to get a very drunk and outspoken Poe out of a sticky situation he had found himself in when running across a local gang in a dive bar. The ‘first order’ as they so called themselves, had an infamous reputation around campus for being trouble makers and general doers of bad deeds. Ever since that night they had been an unstoppable duo, until they met you of course, and their duo became three.

You loved Finn, and you knew told miss him like hell, but you also knew that Poe must be feeling that ten times over.

“You wanna do something tonight?” You asked, changing the subject before his mind drifted to where yours had.

“what kind of something?” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively,

“Gross”

“hey I'm serious!”

“what about Razor Crest, they are open late, we could grab some drinks and meet up with some people”

Razor crest was the only worth while bar in town; it was certainly nothing to write home about, but it played fairly decent music and it had a marginally less sticky floor than others. Additionally, your other friends lived just over from the humble saloon, making it the perfect watering hole for you guys.

It didn't take much convincing before you had Poe out the door and ready to socialise. Upon arrival, he headed to the bar while you were waved over by Rey, who had already found a booth and was already at least a few drinks in.

“Look, i think i have a solution to your roomie problemo” She told you, peeking over her straw, a gleam in her eye that made you feel not all too confident in her yet to be spoken plan.

“Go on” you told her, cautiously.

“My cousins back in town” She told you between gulps.

“The weird one?” You asked,

“Hes not weird, just ...eccentric” the last word was more of a question, but you could tell she was on a roll,

“He's just joined one of the college bands and Auntie Leia says him and Uncle Han are butting heads”

“ah cool, weve always wanted live music in our own flat at 2 am” Poe injected, rejoining the table and placing a drink in front of you before taking a sip of his own.

“hes not BAD at it, he just plays loud i think” She corrected him, “anyway, he's not a total twat, I'm sure he would be considerate of your sleep schedules”

“didn't he try and stab you with a stick when you were five” you asked her, you'd heard stories of this cousin before and none of them were quite savoury,

“that was ages ago! he's like way old now” she was starting to slur her words, but you had a feeling this was something Rey was quite set on. Rey was stubborn, and when she got something in mind she would move hell to make it happen; she was also your best friend, and someone you trusted the judgment off. Had she gotten you into some weird shit in the past? sure.

Did you have any other options; nay on that.

“Fine, get Han or Leia to bring him round at some point next week and one of us will give him a tour” You tell her, and she lets out a little happy shrill at her own personal win. Poe, not so much.

“Speak for yourself, weirdo cousin can see himself around” he crosses his arms and pouts, you give him a little nudge.

“Hey, maybe you'll be best mates” you offer, but when he shoots you a death stare you go back to your drink.

The family turmoil must have been more vicious than Rey had let in on; It was barely the next morning before you had a tall, intimidating male knocking on your door.

“Hey!” you offered him, in as cheery a voice as your hung over self would allow.

He looked down at you from his towering height, but gave no verbal response.

“You must be Ben?...” He offered you the slightest nod you'd had ever seen in response. Okay so, not much of a talker, noted.

You waved him in, shutting the door behind him. God, he looked even bigger inside? is that possible? Rey had failed to mention the sheer height on the boy. You'd seen pictures of her and her aunt and uncle, it seemed like Ben was a scientific and biological mystery. Like how did he get clothes to fit? did he have to shop somewhere special or

you were snapped out of your thoughts by a clearing of a throat.

“So, how much is the rent” so he DID have a voice,

You informed him automatically, still part dazed.

“Ill be in by the weekend” he told you, and with a nod he moved past you, making his way back to the door.

“But wait .. y .. you haven't even seen your room yet?” You stumbled, dumbfound by the lack of foreplay. The previous people you had shown around were full of questions; they wanted to know the ins and outs of the place. Ben had seen all of the door way and the front room and he was already signing the lease.

“See you then” he didn't stop, hand on the door knob as if you hadn't spoken.

“But i don't have your phone number” you don't know why that came to you first, but it was true. At no point had Rey offered you direct contact with Ben, probably assuming he would. It seemed reasonable, that you'd need his number before he moved in, didn't it? Poe was always texting you about random shit in the flat, arguably too much, but it seemed like the norm for people coexisting in such a small space.

He turned back at you and gave you a confused look,

“why would you need my number?”

“erm... to talk to you” your condescending tone not completely masked,

“but ill be living here” he stated, which, he had you there.

Before you could even think of a response he was out the door.

True to his word, Ben had his things over by that very same weekend. Although it was unsurprising considering just how light he packed. In fact, other than his bass and musical equipment, you couldn't really think of anything he had actually brought with him to the flat. You got to meet his parents when they dropped him off, both of whom seemed leaps and bounds more conversational than their son. Ironically, you got Leia’s phone number before her sons; her telling you to message if you ever needed anything. It felt like an indirect jab at Ben, a ‘if he fucks up let me know’, but you digress. The tension between Ben and his dad was blatantly obvious, them sharing no words before he got back into the car and Ben into the house. He did give his mum a small hug goodbye though, and you thought you saw a small tear in her eye before she managed to wipe it away.

Since his move in, Ben had kept painfully to himself. You barely saw him at all in those first days, just heard him through the walls the odd time he dropped something - or saw a plate or cup gone from their places in the kitchen. To be honest , it felt more like a paranormal haunting than a new roommate. Poe was vocal of his apprehension to the situation, sharing glances with you when you would both be in the living room and you'd see ben scurry by or passive aggressively texting you when his favourite cup had been used by someone who wasn't him. it was a relatively small issue, but Poe had blown it so out of proportion that you had ordered a new set of cups from Amazon and sent him the link, shutting him up for a while before he found something else to complain about.

it was the fifth day before you actually bumped into ben again. He was on the sofa with his base set up, twiddling with his amp. The sight surprised you so much you physically jumped back, causing him to look up. crap. act cool. act cool.

“hey” you offered him

“hi” hi replied back, looking back down at his amp.

right, yer. his space, give him his space. Just get your stuff and go back to your room. don't speak to him, leave him alone. he clearly wants to be left alone.

“nice day isn't it” you wanted to cover your mouth, the words coming out against your will. Truthfully, you had no clue why you said it. You hadn't even looked at the weather this morning. Its just what people say right?

“Erm” his eyes shot to the window and then back to yours,”no”

sure enough, it was pissing it down outside. The sky was actually comically grey and you'd have laughed if you werent so angry at yourself. You were unsure of what to do, and he was still looking at you, almost assessing you. His eyes were so serious and dark they felt like they were burning tiny holes into your skin. shit, you had to speak now right?

While regretting every single life decision that had brought you into this kitchen at this time, Poe sauntered into the room like your night in shining armour, ignoring Ben all together and coming straight over to you, placing a big arm around your shoulders. You saw Ben drop his head back down to this bass, and you used all your might to not let out a sigh of relief.

“Tonight, I'm taking you out” He offered, a cheeky gleam in his eye.

“Are you now”

“Razor crest, drinks and dancing, be there or be square” He lists off as if he's a paid promoter, causing you to let out a giggle.

“Whos invited?”

“just the gang” he said, causing you to shoot him an eye roll, knowing full well you ‘gang’ consisted of all of three people, yourself and Poe included in that number.

but then you remembered, there was another person now, whether they liked it or not. Poe’s eyes followed yours to Ben and then back to meet yours again, you saw the realisation change to disgust, as he shook his head silently at you.

you knew this look, the ‘don't you dare’ look, the ‘not in 1000 years’ look. But you couldn't help it, your lips were moving before you could stop them for the second time this morning.

“Are you free tonight, Ben?’

The look of sheer betrayal on Poe's face made you wince, surely he'd understand right? he knew you well enough to know your verbal diarrhoea problem.

Ben didn't even look up, but he did let out a small laugh that felt quite antagonistic.

“i dont go to Razor Crest”

“i don't go to razor crest ugh” Poe mocked, causing Rey to let out a hysterical giggle, and you a sigh.

You'd been out for all of three hours and you were all already feeling the effects of the alcohol. It was late and the bar was jam packed with students all raring to go. Poe had been making eyes at one particular red head almost all night and you were half surprised he hadn't already made his move. Poe put out, it was a fact. You and Finn had at one time made a fridge chart for him, a gold star awarded every time he brought girl home. Whether the goal was to make him feel proud of his conquests or embarrassed, you still weren't 100% sure, but after a month or so you had both lost count and given up. You told yourself it didn't bother you, that he was just a friend, and that he owed you nothing, but every time he left you at the bar for another girl something stung inside; something you pushed deep down but regrettably was still there none the less.

Sure enough, as the night progressed, you and Rey ended up fending for it alone, and instead of feeling sorry for yourself you decided to do the responsible thing and drink more.

After the third round of shots, Rey calls it in.

“I think I'm gonna be sick” she tells you sheepishly, and you can't help but belly laugh in response. She starts to shuffle towards the door and you go to follow.

“Hey don't leave on my behalf” she tells you earnestly, but you wave her off.

“Nah I've had my fill, I'm starting to forget which flat number i live at” you tell her, causing her to giggle this time.

You both stumble out the bar, past the smokers and up the cobbled road towards her flat. She unlocks her door and lets herself in, not before giving you a drunken hug and a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

As you ready yourself to make your way back to your own flat, you come back past the bar entrance; a particularly prominent cobble causes you to trip ever so slightly and gain a whoop from a group of boys who were passing round a box of marlboro straights.

You suddenly realised just how dark it was and just how alone you were. Most nights you wouldn't stay out this late, and if you did, then you'd normally be walking back with finn. You let out a shiver, a mix of both the cold night air finally breaking through your drunken daze and a smidge of fear. The Razor Crests entrance lights were getting progressively further away, and although you know that you only had a maximum of a half mile walk back to your home, it felt like ample distance to get kidnapped or murdered in, most probably both.

How many true crime stories started with a young drunk girl, scantily clad and out alone at night? You could hear the police reports now, which photo would they use? you prayed it would be a hot one, at the very least one after your thin brow phase.

Being literally bumped back into reality, in almost a cruel humorous way, you felt yourself walk head first into a figure, their arms coming out to catch you as the sheer momentum bounced you back.

Oh god, I'm dead. I'm literally going to die.

“Hey, chill out” The voice made your heart beat both slow and race again,

“Ben?!” you shrieked, voice hoarse through pure anticipation of your thought to be demise

“Are you okay” he asked, and only then did you realise you were shaking like a leaf.

“Im fine” you let out in a small voice, looking down at your shoes. You could feel the redness in your cheeks through pure embarrassment alone. This was not an ideal situation for him to see you in, and you kind of started to with that he had been a murderer, at least then you wouldn't have to deal with the second hand embarrassment in the morning.

“What are you doing out here”

“why are you out alone”

you both asked simultaneously,

“I was coming out for a smoke” He told you, flashing his tobacco pouch at you from inside his coat. His very warm looking coat, might you add. Another shiver ran down your body.

“Im coming home from Razor Crest” you tell him, trying to be matter of fact but slurring your words just enough to spoil the show.

“Yes obviously, but why are you alone” he shoots back in some what of a patronising tone, it wouldn't sit well with sober you and it definitely doesn't go down well with drunk you.

“Im a big girl”

“clearly” he makes, making extra sure to look you up and down from his towering distance above you, causing you to huff.

“well i can take care of myself”

“you shouldn't be out alone around here, its not safe” he ignores your response, looking you dead in the eye.

You feel something inside you flutter, a warmth that you can't quite control. Okay, ben might be weird and a bit annoying it would seem, but he was handsome, thats for sure. The limited light danced off his strong features and dark shaggy mop of hair, making him look both dangerous and appealing.

As if you were standing here mentally flirting with the idea of being with Res cousin; you made a mental note to punish yourself for the ludicrous thoughts in the morning.

“Okay well I'm going home now” you tell him, attempting to push past him, but his large hand finds its way to your forearm and pulls you back,

“yes, you are, come on” If what he said before was patronising, he was now speaking to you like you were a dog he was walking.

“go have your nicotine, ive got this one covered” you tell him with a mock salute, causing him to roll his eyes. He lets go of your arm and you take your win, trying to step confidently away without falling. You're proud of yourself for handling the situation when you realise he's following all of 10 steps behind you, rolling a cigarette in his hands while holding a filter between his teeth.

when he catches you looking, he nods down to his hands,

“want one?” he mumbles between his lips, still holding the filter pride of place.

“no thanks” you snap, picking up pace.

Ben smirks at you, but you miss it, too focused on not embarrassing yourself and keeping your feet in line.

#Star Wars #Star Wars imagine #star wars modern au #kylo ren #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #Ben solo #ben solo x reader #ben solo x y/n #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader

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sleep-i-ness · 4 years ago

Text

Tear Stains (Part 5)

Synopsis: Y/N was dumped by James Potter and she doesn’t quite know why. At least she has her friends to keep her company, right? Hogwarts drama is bit messy this year.

Series Masterlist | Harry Potter Masterlist | Full Masterlist

The rest of the students filed out, whispering amongst themselves as they glanced over their shoulders at the remaining group. Y/N was alone at the Gryffindor table. Unsurprising.

Her shoulders hunched as she heard the whispers, biting down on hard on her lip, the tangy taste of blood filled her mouth.

“Don’t know what she’s doing in Gryffindor,” a Ravenclaw whispered to the girl next to her, who nodded vigorously in agreement.

“Clearly just a blood-supremacist like the rest of them.” That, Y/N was pretty sure came from a Gryffindor. There was a reason she’d never truly be a Gryffindor, unlike Purebloods such as Black and Potter. She’d refused to shirk her familial ties and get on the bad side of people like her parents.

Arguably, Y/N had a good reason. Her parents had very traditional and somewhat… unusual forms of punishment that she’d learnt to avoid. But it still made her a coward. She didn’t know what the Sorting Hat had seen in her.

“Pureblood bitch.”

Ouch.

Y/N visibly winced, that one hurt. Especially when, if she had to, she could probably guess who said it.

There were a few scattered Ravenclaws left at their table, and a couple Hufflepuffs, but, Merlin, Y/N had never felt more alone and ostracised from her house. The snide remarks were enough to remind her that she’d probably only been initially accepted because she’d been friends with the famed Marauders. Everyone in Gryffindor loved the Marauders.

Well, now nearly everyone.

Professor McGonagall cast her beady eyed gaze across the hall, disappointment etched into her pursed lips and dour expression. Y/N was frankly terrified of her Head of House, something Potter had found amusing while they were together. He’d taken it upon himself to inform Black who had promptly ribbed her about it – What? You’re afraid of dear old Minnie? But she’s such a sweetheart.

She certainly did not look like a “sweetheart” now.

“I have gathered you all here today due to worrying reports I received about a gathering that took place last night in the Slytherin Common Room, during which there was alcohol and illegal substances present. May I remind you that the use of such substances on school property is strictly forbidden and, due to the severity, suspension and expulsion are on the table for all of you present.”

The Great Hall was silent. No one dared to say a word, or even breathe, for fear of bringing her fiery wrath upon themself.

“We have authority to search all bags and rooms, which was undertaken during breakfast. Mr Talpin, Mr Bovin and Miss Collar, if you would follow Professor Dumbledore to his office please. The rest of you, I am very disappointed in your actions. If anyone would like to admit to possession of illegal substances, now is the time to come forward.”

Y/N thanked Merlin profusely that she hadn’t been so stupid as to have drugs on her or taken any last night. Melvin Talpin was a seventh year Hufflepuff, known for being a stoner; Theodore Bovin, a sixth year Slytherin, whose parents were loyal followers of the Dark Lord; and Evangeline Collar, another sixth year Slytherin, who was known for being ditzy. They all looked like they’d seen a Dementor, faces drawn and pale as they followed Dumbledore out of the Hall. Y/N could only imagine how they were feeling. The panicky, fluttering sensation, like butterflies trapped in her chest, must be amplified a million times for them.

Y/N glanced at Evan who seemed suddenly deep in discussion with Avery and Wilkes, Mulciber hanging onto their every word. The low scraping noise of his chair against the wooden floor caused all heads to snap in his direction as he got to his feet.

“Yes, Mr Rosier?”

“Professor McGonagall, although we admit that we had a gathering last night, there was no alcohol or other illegal substances present. Those students that have been taken out may have had possession of them, but the rest of us would never willingly flaunt school rules in such a way.”

Oh, that was a bold move.

It assumed that everyone in the room would hold their tongue, which was a risky bet to place. And that no other contraband had been found that could be linked to last night. Y/N could see Lucius Malfoy giving Evan an appraising look and she grimaced. Lucius Malfoy was a nasty piece of work; her cousin had told her more than enough about him and he’d always been particularly leery when they’d been forced to converse.

“Indeed?” McGonagall raised an eyebrow, maintaining eye contact with Evan who stared her down. “Are you suggesting that myself and the rest of the faculty were lied to?”

“With all due respect, Professor, I wouldn’t put it past some of the people who dislike us to spread such a hurtful rumour with the cruel intent of getting us expelled, or at least in some form of serious punishment.” Evan was loquacious, ever the charmer. She just hoped that McGonagall would buy it, or at least not have enough evidence on the contrary.

“Does anyone have anything to say on the contrary?”

An uneasy silence settled across the awaiting students, so quiet that every exhale could be heard. An icy trickle of fear ran down Y/N’s spy as she shivered under the sharp watch of the teachers.

“Nothing?” McGonagall sighed, “This is not the first time that there have been gatherings of mostly Slytherin students past curfew. In fact, it was just a few weeks ago that your ban on social gatherings was lifted from the last such event. Clearly, your lesson has not been learnt and I am afraid that all here today are banned from all social events, including, but not limited to Hogsmeade trips, Quidditch matches and other trips off school grounds.”

Quidditch matches? This meant that Slytherin was out of the running for the Inter-House Quidditch Cup! Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N spotted the Slytherin Quidditch team was huddled together, angrily muttering about how unfair it was. Their entire team would have to consist of fourth year and below students, which was a sure loss for them. Other than Regulus Black, their seeker, the team was made up completely of fifth year and above students.

Professor McGonagall had an almost gleeful twinkle in her eye at her mention of Quidditch; was she really that desperate for Gryffindor to win?

No wonder Potter had decided to snitch. Gryffindor only had to beat Ravenclaw to win now. And considering Ravenclaw’s last match against Slytherin, it would be an easy victory. Y/N fervently hoped that they wouldn’t feel good about their win because it was morally reprehensible. Yet again, not a surprise though.

“Furthermore, I’m terribly disappointed to see a few recurring faces sitting before me. It seems a few of you are repeat offenders when it comes to being caught disobeying the curfew; those of you who have more than two detentions this year in relation to being out of your dormitories past the curfew will be in detention every Wednesday for the next month.”

Fuck. Y/N was sure she had been given a detention more than twice for this kind of thing. Yes, it was three times this year: once with Potter, who had assured her that no one went into that empty classroom; the second with the rest of the Marauders as well, they were found by Filch whilst attempting to set up a spell that would have caused everyone who walked through the doors of the Great Hall the next morning to have bright yellow hair; and a third time with Evan, Lucinda and Sev in the school grounds, during the gathering which had warranted the aforementioned ban.

“In case you were unsure whether you are one of those people, the list will be outside Mr Filch’s office, Room 234-00. I expect you all to attend otherwise you may find yourself in more severe punishment like suspension. Your parents have all been written to already.”

Oh, Merlin’s saggy left… Y/N slumped, head in hands. Her parents were already disappointed in her ‘liberalism’ as they liked to call it (Y/N preferred to refer to it as decent human emotion). This was just another excuse to ground her during the holidays, ensuring that any breaks would be spent around solely Purebloods trying to indoctrinate her into becoming a blood supremacist. It also meant that she would be under constant watch, so she couldn’t contact anyone with a bit of sense for fear of punishment.

Merlin, she envied Sebastian, her cousin, for having got out once he’d left Hogwarts; if it weren’t for him and Uncle Elza, she doubted she’d ever escape the Pureblood vice-like grip.

At least this time she was in trouble for doing something with Slytherins, or her ‘own kind’. Disgusting, right?

Once when she was around 11 or 12, during Christmas break in her first year, she’d naively questioned to her parents whether being Pureblood meant they were actually better than others who weren’t. Thankfully the Cruciatus Curse left no marks that needed to be covered.

Since then, she’d kept her lips sealed when around family and their friends. She’d learnt her lesson but was still forced to sit through their horrendous conversation, talking as if it was about vermin rather than real human people. Eradicating the Mudbloods. Culling the sullied. The Dark Lord’s great plan.

Y/N shook her head out of her unpleasant thoughts with a shudder. McGonagall was still talking.

“Although you may have been able to pull the wool of your Head of House’s eyes this time, I can assure you that you will not be so lucky as to even be able to think about holding another gathering again. Now, you are all already late to your next lesson, so I expect you to hurry there as fast as you can.”

Y/N felt her shoulders lift, feeling as if she’d had the weight of the world taken off them. Evan and Lucinda walked over to her, deep in conversation.

“Who do you think told?” Lucinda murmured, eyes flitting towards where McGonagall was overseeing everyone’s exit.

“My bet? James Potter and Sirius Black,” Evan spat, mouth twisting into an ugly expression.

Y/N nodded her agreement.

“Their egos were probably bruised from last night. I told them to fuck off,” she added for the benefit of Lucinda, who hadn’t been there.

“Oh, yeah, you never told me what happened after you disappeared. I see you didn’t make it back to your dorm,” Lucinda eyed the jumper Y/N was wearing, distastefully; her pretty face wrinkled in an ugly sneer.

“I swear it’s not what you think,” Y/N’s eyes were wide as she shifted in the clothes, feeling even more uncomfortable.

Evan grinned wickedly, slinging his arms round their shoulders. “What, you didn’t sleep in my bed?”

Lucinda’s eyes narrowed, her features slipping into a glower before settling back into their usual haughty expression.

Y/N laughed at Evan, “As if I’d sleep with you in any way more than just next to you. Basically, I was really drunk so I ended up just falling asleep back at Slytherin. Evan offered to let me borrow his clothes, so I wouldn’t be totally ripped apart for not following the uniform policy.”

“Oh,” Lucinda smiled, more relieved than she should have been and Y/N frowned suspiciously. “You mentioned an interaction with Potter and Black?”

“Oh yes, Merlin, it was a nightmare,” Y/N rolled her eyes dramatically, grimacing as she recounted the events of the night before. It was feeling a bit repetitive, having to repeat herself to different groups of people, but it was ridiculous behaviour.

“Really?” Lucinda’s mouth dropped open. “They really are arrogant pricks.”

“Tell me about it,” Evan groaned, ruffling his hair with one hand.

Wilkes, Mulciber, Avery and Sev strolled over, although Avery was the only one who could really carry off the cocky walk.

“So-” Wilkes began.

McGonagall interrupted them, her quick footsteps loud on the slabs as she walked up behind them. “May I remind all the dawdlers that they do not want to be getting more detentions by being late to their next lesson.”

“Sorry, Professor.” Y/N offered McGonagall a sheepish smile before turning to the rest of the group. “See you in Potions.”

“See ya.”

“Bye.”

“Miss you already.” Evan accompanied that with extravagant air kisses and Y/N giggled, before spinning on her heel.

Y/N sprinted out of the Hall to her dormitories; she was already late to Potions and unlike the rest of her classmates who had had to stay behind, she now needed to run all the way to the Gryffindor Tower to collect her books and homework and then back down to the dungeons. At least Slughorn might be somewhat understanding of the situation.

She darted around the ambling sixth years, who were making it their mission to be in the way of absolutely everybody in the hall, and down the corridor to the Great Staircase. It was mostly deserted; the murmur of a class audible as she ran past door after door, feet pounding on the flagstones.

“Morning Lord Draben,” Y/N panted out at the ghost, who raised a regal hand in response. He was one of those who would be properly miffed if not greeted every time you saw him, and Y/N already had enough people who disliked her to start making enemies now.

As she rounded the corner, she collided straight into a hard chest, falling onto the floor with a thump.

Ouch.

The flagstones were cold, and her arse hurt from landing on it, she complained inwardly. Y/N reached up to grab the hand offered to her, before brushing it aside as she caught sight of his face.

Her lip curled. “Look where you’re going, Black.”

Pushing herself up onto her feet, a wave of dislike rolled over her. What a prick. She tilted her nose up, readjusted “her” robes and stalked off. Well, tried to.

Black’s fingers latched firmly around her wrist, pulling her back. “Wait, Y/N, are you okay?”

Y/N couldn’t keep the derisive laugh escaping from her lips. “Why would you care?”

Black looked as if he’d been slapped. Oh, grow up.

“Because, as little as you might believe it, I do care. I wanted to check that you were okay after last night.”

After last night? Gulping gargoyles, before she’d been tempted to hold her tongue and just give him the silent treatment. But that did it.

“Merlin’s beard, after last night?” She scoffed. “When you decided to try to start a fight with my friends? My friends who are people who actually care for me, may I add? They don’t just drop me when they feel like it and expect to come waltzing back into my life. And, oh, they’d never snitch on someone just because their fucking massive ego got hurt. Thanks for that by the way. Really appreciate you telling on us. Very mature of you.

And you know what, Black, I’m so very sick of you looking like a kicked puppy or getting all righteous when I finally say that I’m done with your bullshit. Like just get over yourself, you fucking deserve it and literally, all I want is you to leave me the fuck alone.

So, please, stop pretending you care. No one’s falling for it. You can soothe whatever conscience you have by knowing that I really don’t give a fuck anymore, just stay out of my life.”

With that, Y/N yanked her wrist out of Black’s grip and stormed off, shoes clomping against the stone floor. Leaving Sirius standing there, biting the inside of his cheek, Y/N’s bookbag hanging forlornly over his shoulder.

Tear Stains Taglist: @blackpinkdolan @greatwombatblaze @peasantview @shydinosaurcreator @clockworkherondale @eastcoasthaven @lullabylike @barikawho @writtenbypics @malecfeelsss @eggingamazinglove @falling-stars-never-cry @theworldisugly-22 @unabashedlygrumpy @summer-writes @scaredofvscogirls @perfecthideoutvixen @vivalakater @eyelash-curler

All HP Taglist: @missmulti @dreamer821 @1marvelavengers1 @samnblack @neymarlionelmessi7

Sirius Black Taglist: @holybatflapexpert @methamphetaminee (if you’d like to be added, fill out the form on my page)

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passionate-reply · 3 years ago

Video

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I don’t often devote entire videos to EPs, but in this case it felt like the thing to do. Futurisk were a synth-punk band from Florida, of all places, and in the span of their incredibly brief career, they only produced a single album: the 1982 EP Player Piano. Find out what makes it tick and why it gave this short-lived group a slice of immortality. (Full transcript below the break!)

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! While I don’t often discuss shorter works like EPs in this format, I’ll be making an exception in the case of Futurisk’s Player Piano, first released in 1982.

The main reason I’ve chosen to highlight Player Piano is that it’s the closest thing to a full-length release that Futurisk ever got to make. They were a remarkably short-lived outfit, defunct by the mid-1980s after releasing only Player Piano in ‘82 and one seven-inch single in 1980.

Music: “What We Have to Have”

The ostensible A-side of Futurisk’s lone single, “What We Have to Have” is perhaps the track that most betrays their obvious influences. Clocking in at exactly two minutes and jumping right into the fray, “What We Have to Have” is a perfect punk song, right down to the way vocalist Jeremy Kolosine skips right over those “H’s” like a smooth stone on a still pond. Despite the perhaps overbearing British influence on their work, Futurisk actually hailed from America--South Florida to be precise. In a lot of ways, it’s perhaps unsurprising that their days numbered so short: both brashly neurotic synth as well as punk *qua* punk were enjoying their brief moments of wider popularity in the early 80s, and those flickers of interest proved even shorter among American audiences. While it’s easy to imagine a more traditional version of “What We Have to Have,” dispensing with the electronics in favour of guitars, the single’s flip side, “Army Now,” is a track that I think really uniquely benefits from its infusion of synthesiser sensibility.

Music: “Army Now”

With a longer runtime and more complex structures and textures, “Army Now” is a work that feels a bit more substantial than “What We Have to Have,” but it retains a lot of the lovably punk aggression and vitriol of the A-side. Though “What We Have to Have” is a bit more bubbly, musically, the two tracks share a certain sense of irony. It’s particularly affecting on “Army Now,” which is almost like a depraved hymn to the horrors of war, sung by a zealous victim of propaganda. As I suggested earlier, I think the use of electronics really pushes this track over the top, reminding us of how increasingly sophisticated technology has resulted in increasingly devastating armed conflicts; its sudden and frightening synth blasts seem to portray missiles whistling in the air and then exploding. But I also can’t neglect the vocals on this track, which seem to grow progressively fractured, almost quavering on later repetitions of its refrain, as though the veil of propaganda is finally shattering for its narrator. With that out of the way, let’s get into how Futurisk expanded upon these ideas for their second and final release, the EP Player Piano.

Music: “Meteoright”

The femme fatale figure at the core of “Meteoright” is implied to be a spy, with her pillow talk overtly compared to “propaganda,” which makes the track feel cut from a similar cloth as “Army Now” in terms of its pervasive Cold War paranoia. But this interpretation is by no means necessary to enjoy “Meteoright.” It, and *Player Piano* as a whole, are arguably geared more towards a synth-pop direction, with less guitar and more emphasis on bright and rather hooky synth lines. While a certain aura of punk attitude still remains here, it’s also quite possible to appreciate “Meteoright” as simply a great minimal synth tune. The “femme fatale” theme seems to have been one Futurisk were somewhat invested in, given that they tackled it once again on another Player Piano track, “Poison Ivy.”

Music: “Poison Ivy”

Despite having a similar theme to “Meteoright,” “Poison Ivy” seems to take it in a fairly different musical direction: where “Meteoright” seeks to dominate our attention with its siren-like synths, “Poison Ivy” is lighter and more playful. While the subject of “Meteoright” comes across as genuinely threatening and ominous, the title character of “Poison Ivy” could be interpreted as simply flirtatious, and only dangerous in a metaphorical and unserious fashion. It’s also worth noting that she’s a named character, albeit with a tongue-in-cheek epithet, whereas the subject of “Meteoright” is never truly given a name. I think this choice makes “Poison Ivy” feel more like ribbing somebody familiar, and “Meteoright” a bit more like describing something eldritch and unknown. While “Poison Ivy” is only a bit over the two-minute mark, it still manages to fit in a rather compelling instrumental bridge, hinting at a level of musicianship in Futurisk that perhaps belies their allegiance to down-and-dirty punk song structures in some of their other work.

Another track that seems to highlight this side of the group is the lone instrumental of Player Piano, and hence their career, “Push Me, Pull You.” With a striking use of ABA form, it feels like the track on the EP with the most ambitions beyond pop.

Music: “Push Me Pull You”

The cover design for Player Piano is fairly minimalistic, featuring a streaking shooting star in a somewhat on-the-nose reference to the aforementioned track “Meteoright.” Above this device, we see the name of the group written in a prototypical “Space Age” typeface, with letters arranged in varying heights against a backdrop of five horizontal lines, perhaps suggestive of musical notation. With its simplistic black-and-orange colour scheme, Player Piano’s cover appropriates Midcentury Modernist graphic design, much like many other underground artists were doing at the time--I’m tempted to compare this one in particular to the iconic art for the Human League’s single “Being Boiled,” which also made heavy use of this lurid, burnished orange colour.

The album’s title is a reference to one of the earliest electro-mechanical musical instruments, the player piano or pianola. Player pianos were essentially pianos that played themselves--they were fed “programming” of music to play on perforated sheets, not unlike early computing punchcards. Peaking in popularity in the 1920s, the player piano was often used as a metaphor for the increasing automation of human life, particularly for the poignancy of how it replaced the creative and interpretive work of a performing musician. I think Futurisk’s use of the term shows a certain self-deprecating sensibility about their use of synthesisers; while music synthesisers of the kind they used are much more complex creative tools than player pianos, there remains a stigma surrounding them as inferior instruments, or tools that remove the human element from the creation of music.

As I mentioned earlier, Futurisk’s career was extremely short, and they never managed to produce any sort of follow-up to Player Piano--not even a 21st Century reunion album, as many rediscovered stars of “minimal synth” would eventually get to do. Futurisk’s musical afterlife began in the year 2010, when an expanded re-release of Player Piano became the twenty-third release on Veronica Vasicka’s influential Minimal Wave record label, which specializes in resurrecting hidden gems of early electronic music. Besides simply being more available and readily accessible, Minimal Wave’s version of the album is essentially a complete compilation of all of Futurisk’s work, including the tracks from their original 7” single as well as some earlier, rougher cuts of the same tracks. Given that this is a band whose entire discography can be taken in in under an hour, I’d recommend listening to this if you’re at all curious about the group. Even though I personally prefer the more polished versions of the songs, the more raw cuts are still extremely interesting for comparison.

Music: “Meteoright” (Early Version)

My personal favourite track on Player Piano is “Lonely Streets.” Earlier, I argued that the EP as a whole seems pushed in more of a synth-pop direction, and I think this track is probably the closest Futurisk ever really came to that ideal. The protagonist of “Lonely Streets” is not quite the femme fatale of “Meteoright” and “Poison Ivy,” but rather a somewhat distant and mysterious figure, admired from afar. That’s everything for today, thanks for listening!

Music: “Lonely Streets”

#music #album review #album reviews #great albums #futurisk #synthpunk #synth-punk #synth punk #minimal wave #minimal synth

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hysterialevi · 4 years ago

Text

Naudr - A Sigurd Styrbjornson Fanfic

Fanfic summary: Eivor finally confesses the romantic feelings he has for Sigurd on the night of his return to Norway. (I was inspired to write this after hearing this song)

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

Author’s note: Welllll, here it is. My Sigurd fanfic. I gotta admit I’m nervous about sharing this since it’s my first time writing anything AC related, and I don’t even know if anyone else ships these two, but I hope you guys enjoy it >.<

FORNBURG

NIGHTTIME

Sigurd froze on the spot and stared silently at the man in front of him, unable to process what just happened.

Did... Eivor just kiss him?

At first, Sigurd simply dismissed the romantic gesture as the actions of someone who had enjoyed too many cups of mead, but the shock on Eivor’s face told him otherwise.

He meant to do it -- at least, part of him did -- and now, it was fairly obvious that the regret was starting to sink in. His cheeks had become tinted with a faint shade of red, and the merry demeanor he once carried had been replaced with a state of panic.

Suddenly realizing what he had done, Eivor quickly glanced at the tankard in his grip and brought his gaze to the floor, doing his absolute best to avoid all eye contact with Sigurd.

“I-- I, um...” he stuttered, desperately trying to offer an explanation, “Oh, Gods, Sigurd... I’m so sorry. I... I shouldn’t have.”

The older man let out a soft chuckle, patting Eivor on the shoulder.

“Do not fear, brother. We all make fools of ourself from time to time. It’s the natural gift of drink. It unwinds the most hardened of men, and opens the hearts of the most reserved. But tonight is a night meant for celebration! Drink all the mead you wish.”

Eivor clearly wasn’t reassured by his brother’s words and simply kept his eyes on the ground, admittedly ashamed of his reckless behavior.

“...You are kind, Sigurd, but...” the man placed his tankard down on a nearby table, hanging his head low in embarrassment, “I think... I need to be alone right now.”

Sigurd furrowed his brow at the response, suddenly concerned about his brother’s well-being.

“Eivor,” he said in a gentler tone, “it’s alright. I mean it. It was a simple mistake, one I’m sure we’ve all made when we had alcohol clouding our minds. Do not fret.”

“A mistake...” Eivor repeated quietly, almost sounding... hurt by the comment. “Yes. A mistake.”

Sigurd gave his brother another hearty pat on the arm, attempting to keep his spirits up.

“Exactly. So, cheer up. The night is still young... and our casks are still far too full. Ha!”

But his jokes did little to comfort the man. Instead of returning to his usual state of sarcasm and humor like Sigurd expected, Eivor’s expression remained sunken with melancholy, and it seemed as if his mood was only deteriorating.

“Thank you, Sigurd,” he said lowly, “but... I think I’ll leave the celebrating to you for now. I... I need fresh air.”

Turning away from his brother, the younger man didn’t even give Sigurd a chance to respond before making a swift exit from the longhouse, eager to remove himself from the thick crowds of people and the boisterous guffaws of excitement that echoed throughout the halls.

It was strange, Sigurd thought, to see Eivor act in such a way. The man had done plenty of other silly things in the past while under the influence of mead -- some of them arguably worse than this -- and yet, one simple kiss was enough to completely sour his mood.

What was going on with him? Did something happen that he had yet to tell Sigurd about? Why was he being so distant?

There was more going on here than the younger man let on, but Sigurd didn’t know if it was the right time to pry.

His brother was clearly going through enough distress at the moment, after all, and the older man didn’t want to push him any further.

Perhaps it was time for the older man to step away from the feast. There was no question that Eivor was preoccupied with something more serious, and Sigurd did not wish to let his brother deal with it alone.

So, with a quick goodbye, Sigurd hurriedly downed the rest of his mead and bid the other guests farewell, rushing after Eivor to see where he had gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

Tearing himself away from the warmth of the longhouse, Sigurd trudged through the thick layers of snow that covered the region as he followed Eivor’s chain of footprints, worriedly searching for his absent brother.

Judging by the direction of the tracks, Sigurd assumed the younger man had retreated to the harbor, and that alone was enough to heighten his sense of concern.

Eivor never went to the harbor unless he was experiencing something profoundly troubling. It was the one place Sigurd would find him whenever he was going through loss, or heartache, or any sort of pain, really.

Something about the vastness of the fjord always seemed to set Eivor’s mind at ease. The sheer scale of the mountains made him feel as if there were stone guardians watching over their village, and the way the lights danced freely in the sky offered him a hypnotic solace.

It was the location of many of the deep conversations the two brothers had shared. The nature of the open view seemed to draw out their thoughts like nothing else, and Sigurd imagined they were about to have another one of those moments today.

He just hoped he’d be able to get Eivor to talk.

Finally reaching the harbor, Sigurd came to a halt and searched for the younger man, only to find him sitting at the end of the wooden pier.

His legs were hanging off the edge, and considering how his head bowed downwards, Sigurd guessed he was fidgeting with something in his hands. Though, he couldn’t see what it was from here.

As for the man himself, his mood appeared to be equally as sullen as when he first took his leave, if not more. There was no joy in his temperament; no motivation. It was as if the kiss from before had sucked the very life out of him, and Sigurd feared that his mere presence would not be enough to help Eivor.

Still, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

“Eivor.” He called out gently, casually approaching him from behind. “There you are.”

The younger man glanced over his shoulder upon hearing his name, seemingly unsurprised that Sigurd had followed him.

“Brother.” He greeted quietly. “I had a feeling you would come looking for me.”

“Of course I would,” Sigurd replied plainly. “You disappeared from the feast so abruptly. I feared something was wrong.”

The older man paused for a moment and took a seat next to his brother, quietly admiring the majestic view as the night carried on.

By now, the Northern Lights had illuminated the dark sky with a radiant turquoise glow, and the way the sea mirrored its wispy movement made Sigurd feel as if they were gazing into the wonders of Valhalla itself.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Sigurd remarked in awe. “They say the Valkyries use the light as a road to escort the honored dead to Valhalla. There are other places in the world that I must show you someday, Eivor, but it brings me great relief to finally be back in Norway.” He turned to his brother, smiling warmly at him. “I missed being here with you.”

Contrary to what Sigurd expected, the comment only seemed to sadden Eivor further.

“...I missed you too, Sigurd.” The man replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Eivor, what’s wrong?” Sigurd asked, picking up on his brother’s despondent tone. “Did something happen today? You’ve been acting strange ever since that kiss.”

Eivor sighed in discontent, reluctant to share his thoughts.

“I do not wish to burden you, brother.”

“You are anything but a burden, Eivor,” Sigurd answered, quick to defend him. “We are family. If there’s something that troubles you, I want to know.”

“...It’s nothing worth mentioning. Really.”

“It clearly is,” he persisted. “Really.”

Despite his eagerness to help Eivor, Sigurd couldn’t help but wonder if he was perhaps being too forceful with the man. Randvi always told him he was too forward with people -- especially in situations that required diplomacy -- and in the past, Sigurd would’ve disagreed with her.

But now... part of him worried that he was just making things worse.

Maybe it would’ve been best to leave Eivor alone with his thoughts. He clearly wasn’t willing to talk about whatever was on his mind, and Sigurd suspected that the more he pushed the man, the more he would simply close him off.

But... still. There was a part of him that refused to leave Eivor’s side. He was his big brother, after all, and the last thing he wanted was to abandon him when he was clearly going through a time of need.

“Eivor.” Sigurd said softly, leaning towards the man. “Talk to me.”

Letting out a deep sigh, Eivor shut his eyes in defeat and gazed downwards at the tranquil movement of the ocean, allowing the icy breeze of the fjord to help him relax.

He feared how his brother would react once he knew the truth, but deep down, he knew he couldn’t hold this feeling in anymore. It was poisoning him from the inside out -- afflicting him like an illness that just wouldn’t go away.

It changed the way he saw the world. The way he interacted with people. There had already been more than a few occasions where Eivor caught himself being unreasonably bitter towards others, and the frustration that came with it only increased his pain.

But he knew he couldn’t carry on like this. He had to find a remedy for his unanswered love, or suffer the consequences of it soon.

He was hurting on the inside, and perhaps... Sigurd would be the key to his recovery.

He just had to take a leap of faith.

“Sigurd,” Eivor finally said, his heart hammering in his chest, “The truth is... I’m in love with you.”

Offering nothing but silence in return, Sigurd simply stared at his brother incredulously upon hearing the confession and sat quietly beside him, completely at a loss for words.

His expression had barely shifted in response to what Eivor said, but the younger man could still tell that he was shocked.

Sigurd’s eyes appeared as if they had been fixated in place, and the way his smile subtly vanished caused Eivor to wonder if he had just made a terrible mistake.

“Brother?” Eivor asked. “Have you nothing to say?”

The older man remained still for a few more moments before finally turning away from Eivor and blinking in confusion, almost as if he were snapping out of his trance-like state. He flicked his eyes around in hopes of trying to appear calm, but both of them knew he was just as conflicted as his brother.

“I...” Sigurd whispered in disbelief, “...I don’t know what to say, Eivor.”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to say anything. It’s a secret I’ve kept to myself for many years now, and I never planned to give it away. Though, it’s clear that Freyja disagreed.”

“But I’m your sibling, Eivor,” the older man stated. “Your family. Does that not hinder your passion?”

Eivor shook his head. “You may be my family, Sigurd, but the truth is I never saw you as a brother. Even after your father adopted me. You were always just my friend. The one person who I could always trust. And as I grew older, that trust turned into something else. I found myself falling in love with you, the same way a man would love his wife... but I knew I couldn’t say anything.”

“You never considered telling me?” Sigurd questioned. “Not even once? Even after all these years? How long have you felt this way?”

“Ever since I was a very young man,” Eivor recalled. “Even before you married Randvi.”

A sudden thought crossed Sigurd’s mind at the mention of Randvi’s name.

“And what of my wife? What are your feelings towards her?”

Eivor’s expression dimmed with shame, and he gazed down at the water beneath his feet.

“...Although I’m not proud to admit it, I have envied her in the past. I bear no ill will towards Randvi, but... it’s always pained me to look at her and realize that I’ll never be in her position. I know it’s selfish to feel that way, but that doesn’t make my thoughts any less real.”

Sigurd nodded in understanding. “Of course.”

The older man shifted in his seat a little, appearing somewhat more relaxed than before.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, Eivor, I must confess that I’ve never experienced true love with Randvi. As terrible as that may sound.”

Eivor quirked a brow in surprise. “But she’s your wife.”

Sigurd chuckled at that. “Yes, and I married her purely for political reasons. Don’t forget that our marriage was an arranged one. I hardly had the chance to say ‘no’ before we were declared husband and wife. We were complete strangers at the time. You could’ve had me wed the barmaid from the local tavern and I wouldn’t have known the difference.”

Eivor cracked a small smile at the humorous response. “But you love her now, don’t you?”

“Ah...” Sigurd sighed, crossing his arms, “Randvi is a fine woman and an even greater friend, but she wasn’t meant for me. To be honest, I don’t think I was meant for her either.”

“...I’m sorry to hear that, Sigurd.” Eivor said sincerely. “It must be hard, being in a marriage that you didn’t choose.”

The older man didn’t seem bothered. “It’s not that I’m not happy with Randvi. Like I said, she’s become a good friend over the years. I just...” Sigurd leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “I feel as though I’m not with the person I should be. As if... they’re still out there somewhere.”

Eivor smirked, scooting closer to Sigurd. “I could recommend a few people, if you’d like.”

The redheaded viking laughed. “Oh? I can’t imagine who you’d pick.”

The younger man returned the chuckle. “Well, I suppose it depends on what you’re interested in. Though, I do know a man who’d be perfect for you.”

Eivor paused for a second, suddenly realizing something. “...Wait, do you even like men, Sigurd?”

Sigurd hesitated to answer, unsure of how to properly express himself.

“I... can’t deny that a few men have caught my eye in the past. But I never fully explored these thoughts, for I did not wish to jeopardize my marriage. Nor did I want to risk being called an ergi everywhere I went.”

Eivor was surprised by the answer. “I... had no idea you felt that way, Sigurd. But why should you care if someone calls you ergi? Those who would scold you in such a manner aren’t worth the dirt on your boots.”

“I wish it were that simple, but being the son of a king, people expect you to meet higher standards. They expect you to bring honor to your family. And besides, you know the consequences of scolding. I have no desire to engage in a holmgang every time someone throws an insult at me.”

Sigurd gave his brother a solemn look, mindlessly reaching for his hand. “There’s also the fact that I did not want to disappoint you.”

Catching himself before their hands could meet, Sigurd’s eyes widened in realization as he saw what he was doing and instantly pulled back his arm, retreating as if he had just touched an open flame.

Much to his embarrassment however, the action did not go unnoticed by Eivor, and the younger man quickly leaned closer to his brother, feeling the need to console him.

“It’s okay, Sigurd.” He reassured gently. “You don’t have to return my feelings for you.”

The older man furrowed his brow in deep thought, clearly conflicted about the situation.

“But... I do.” He blurted out, stumbling over his words. “I mean-- I think I... what I’m trying to say is--”

Sigurd let out a deep sigh, his head drooping in frustration.

“By the gods...” he murmured, dragging a hand down his face, “do you have any idea the effect you have on the minds of men, Eivor?”

The blond man giggled warmly, trying not to laugh too much. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Sigurd turned to face Eivor, his head spinning with a plethora of emotions. He hadn’t even realized it until tonight, but a part of him seemed to share the man’s love for him. He wasn’t entirely certain what type of love it was just yet, or if he would be able to act on it, but even he couldn’t deny that there was definitely a spark between them; a flame that had been stifled for far too long.

And it frightened him to the core to think about it.

“Listen, Eivor,” Sigurd said, his tone more serious now, “...I don’t know what I’m feeling right now, or what this is. I don’t even know if these emotions are genuine, or if they’re just a result of too much mead, but...”

He slowly brought a hand up to Eivor’s cheek, gently holding him in place as he voiced his thoughts. “I think... I could love you, too.”

Eivor’s heart fluttered with happiness upon hearing that, but in spite of the joy it brought him, he could still see that Sigurd wasn’t quite ready to come to terms with his newfound love. So, with a delicate touch, Eivor lowered his brother’s hand from his cheek and held it between them, gazing into the man’s eyes.

“It’s alright if you need more time to think about this, Sigurd. There’s no need to rush into it. I understand it’s... a lot to process.”

Eivor brought his face closer to Sigurd’s, speaking softly in his ear. “But when you’re ready -- if your thoughts bring you back to me -- I’ll be here.”

He placed a small kiss on Sigurd’s cheek, causing the other man to smile warmly as he continued to keep Eivor’s hand in his grasp.

“Thank you, Eivor.” He whispered affectionately. “You were always there for me.”

The younger man reached into his pocket and pulled out the object he had been fidgeting with earlier, revealing the same arm ring that his father instructed him to give Styrbjorn on the night of Kjotve’s attack.

“And I always will be, even if you don’t return my love.”

Taking the arm ring from Eivor, Sigurd held it securely in his grip as the two of them fell into a comforting silence and quietly enjoyed the serenity of the nature around them, leaning against one another on the pier.

At this point in the night, the aurora in the sky had become a series of aqua-colored waves that soared gently across the stars like water on a shore, painting the environment with an icy tint.

There were streaks of magenta fading in and out of view as they elegantly clung onto the ripples of blue light gliding through the air, and the longer Eivor gazed into their radiance, the more he found himself melting into Sigurd’s strong embrace.

Even though there was no guarantee that the man’s feelings for him would be mutual, or that he would be willing to put his thoughts into action, Eivor was still grateful that he finally opened up to him.

For years, the pain of feeling ignored and unloved had rotted his soul, and as the days went by, he found it harder and harder to conceal his true emotions. He had grown careless and ill-tempered from having to constantly suppress his jealousy of Ranvdi, and he nearly got his entire crew killed by Kjotve because of it.

But now that Sigurd was aware of his love, Eivor felt a new sense of peace settling into his heart.

There was still a chance that he wouldn’t get the outcome he wanted -- and he knew not what the Nornir had planned for him -- but even then, he was certain now that he could always trust Sigurd with his thoughts, no matter how daunting they may’ve been.

That man would never judge him, or love him any less because of who he was. He would always be there to help guide him, and offer him sanctuary in a world that was so full of cruelty.

Sigurd was the true love of Eivor’s life, and it would always be that way.

From here to Valhalla.

#sigurd x male eivor #assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #ac valhalla fanfic #sigurd styrbjornson #eivor wolfsmal #eivor wolfkissed

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regrettablewritings · 4 years ago

Note

If youre still doing the fluff meme, can I please request C, g , J, and X for Cassian andor?

Sure, you’re not too late! Stuff’s below the cut!

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?):

In a word, terribly. It’s not as though the man has had plenty of opportunities to perfect the art (“There’s no room for cuddling in a war!” you could imagine him saying). You beat him to the punch, though, and insisted you try to squeeze in some cuddling time during the rare moments he was not on a mission, training, attending meetings, or whatever else his “captainly duties” requires of him. Unfortunately, Cassian wasrather avoidant of it; you dared to even accuse him of purposefully looking for ways to stay busy.

And then the Scarif mission happened.

After the injuries acquired, the remaining members of the “Rogue One” squadron were required to take time off to heal, regain their strength, and acquire more proper training. Cassian, to his dismay, was enforced by Mothma to do the former two. Even once he’d left the infirmary to continue resting in his own quarters, the scowl stuck; a stark contrast to the smugness you tried (and failed) to hide. Now he had no choice but to let you cuddle him.

“Hugs can release oxytocin; it’s good for healing!” you insisted to your mean-mugging boyfriend. The most you got was a bemused raise of a brow. “. . . I promise to be careful.”

“. . . You’re going to keep bringing this up, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

At the sound of his exasperated growl, you knew you had won. The careful positioning of your body against his made for an awkward experience, silently but knowingly worsened by the fact that you had to guide him on where to put his hands or what to do if he felt his arm beginning to fall asleep. It certainly wasn’t ideal, but the man was recovering from a wound; you both were on edge. Once he was further along in the healing process, you could count on the awkwardness decreasing as the two of you became more accustomed to one anothers bodies . . .

You counted wrong: He really is just not very good at it. He always felt tense, like he was trying to control everything down to his breathing, yet wasn’t able to control whatever it was necessary for him to loosen up. You made the occasional poke at this (“For a captain, you sure are more of a cadet at this.” “Shut up.”), but ultimately you knew not to give him such a hard time. Like you considered earlier: Cassian grew up in a war all his life; it wasn’t unsurprising for him to be uncertain -- even possibly uncomfortable with cuddling.

Except he’s not, actually: For as rigid as he can be, Cassian actually loves cuddles. He’s a touch-starved bastard, after all. But given how terrible he is at communicating -- especially communicating what he personally wants -- it’s no surprise he doesn’t outright admit to it. He pretends to go along with what you want, but closer to the surface than he would like to admit is the constant desire for your touch. Specifically, from the position of the little spoon. Sure, for the most part, he’ll be the big spoon; it brings about the least mount of suspicion, after all. But every so often, you’ll make a joke about how he needs to ease up on his arm tensing, or else he’ll cramp up. And that’s his golden opportunity.

“Then why don’t you show me how it’s done, Oh Almighty Cuddle Rat,” he scoffs, eyes rolling. He has to fight the urge to come off too eager when the two of you switch positions, with your chest against his back and your arms about his chest or waist. He’s glad you can’t easily see his face from this position, otherwise you’d be able to tell what sort of bliss he’s in. As the little spoon, he feels warm and safe: Two things he hasn’t felt much of in his life. But for as brilliant as it all feels to him, he’s actually not quite brave enough to admit to it.

But that’s fine: You already figured as much.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?):

Not especially. Cassian is trained more for fighting when not sniping: ginger fingers in the Rebellion more more reserved for mechanics or medics or people who specialized in acquiring fragile materials for varying purposes. As far as Cassian was concerned, the most careful he really needed to be with his hands was to make sure whatever punches he threw would break only his opponent’s nose and not his own fingers. But one could argue that technically, he was capable of gentleness.

Suffice to say, however, you weren’t entirely convinced: Watching the man you had unfortunately fallen in love with flip his sparring partner onto their back into the dirt with relative ease surprisingly doesn’t scream “thoughtful, careful lover with hands that can sew clouds together” to you. Regardless, you continued to love him, even eventually getting together with him romantically. But for as many things as you entered the relationship confident you could have an effect on, you simply left the expectation of gentleness at the door. Certainly, you didn’t expect outright roughness, but you weren’t exactly going to get your hopes up for him to suddenly have the fingers of an angel.

And for the first bit of a while, your expectations (or lack thereof) on that front were met. It wasn’t until you returned from a mission, however, that you found yourself questioning your ability to make assumptions. You had had a run-in with some Stormtroopers but thankfully managed to escape, albeit at the cost of receiving a cut on your forehead. But considering the alternative, you were grateful. Cassian, however, was less optimistic. His brow furrowed at the bleeding line streaking across the upper right bit of your face.

“C’mon, Cassian, it’s not that bad,” you insisted, trying to walk around him and to the infirmary. He didn’t seem convinced, judging by how he reflected your every side step. Eventually you grew tired of it.

“Seriously, I need to get to the infirmary, I just need stitches, that’s all --”

Calloused. His fingers were calloused. You already knew this, actually, given the few times you had held his hands in private, but feeling them on your face somehow seemed to really get that across to your brain. But in spite of their roughness in texture, the strength with which they held your face in place actually wasn’t especially firm at all. If anything, it was Cassian’s stare that was firm. It studied your every feature intently, their dark color managing to tell you one message from their murky depths: “Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Every few seconds, they applied only the slightest bit more pressure to turn your head to a new angle. The inspection only stopped when you felt a new pearl of blood oozing down the side of your face, forcing you to bring about the end with a small cough. To his credit, Cassian did finally listen to you and let you go. You found yourself following the departure of his rough, careful fingers.

He exhaled with acceptance: “Go to the infirmary then; it’s not as bad as it could be.”

You blinked. That was all he had to say?! After all that?!

“Uh . . . But what --”

“I’ll check up on you this evening; I have a council to attend.” He gave you a nod and took his leave before you could even carry on, leaving you to your orders. The entire while the gentle and caring fingers of the medics touched your face, all you were craving were Cassian’s.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?):

Most wouldn’t consider Cassian a catch to your absolute surprise. That still doesn’t mean you don’t get a little nervous now and then.You know how sophomoric and primeval it is, but you can’t help but narrow your eyes whenever you feel Jyn gets a little too close and personal with your boyfriend. You want to boot yourself up the ass whenever you witness Cassian attempt (and shockingly succeed) at seducing somebody to help him while on an assignment. There’s just no reason for you to distrust Cassian’s loyalty to you. Once he’s committed himself to something or someone, there simply is no other for him!

As for Cassian . . .

No, according to him. It’s so frivolous to worry over things like that; there’s a war going on, he has far better things to do than worry if somebody’s eyeballing you!

. . . Is what he would say if one were to ask him. But if one were to ask K2? It becomes a totally different story.

“Cassian has assigned Corporal Gregginor to lavatory cleanup duty 30% more often than previous chore rotations, ever since he saw him trying to teach you how to improve your aim,” the towering droid reveals to you one day.

You blink before raising a brow. “But . . . He was trying to teach me how to better aim my blaster.” Even without facial expression, you could tell K2 was emoting mischievous intent.

“That’s not what Cassian saw; he saw Gregginor putting his hands on your waist and making you bend over ever so slightly --”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Your face burned (at the droid’s words, at what you realized in hindsight, at the fact Cassian saw), but decided to think nothing of it. Bathroom cleanup duty was a pain in the ass, certainly, but usually the task was reserved for those who had earned a higher ranking officer’s ire through use of inappropriate behavior or disobedience on a mission. There was just no way a captain like Cassian would use it as punishment for touching all over his woman . . . right?

Maybe not. But as the week wore on, you became less and less certain. For one, you barely saw Gregginor due to Cassian sending him all around base to deliver messages that arguably could’ve waited or been passed on to an even lower-ranking officer -- things like lunch orders or minute responses to words exchanged in earlier counsels. For another, when you did see Gregginor, it was usually at training -- and if he didn’t already look worse for wear, he would most definitely look that way by the end of it.

While it wasn’t unusual for a drill sergeant to call everyone to gather and watch him exhibit a move or attack with a sparring partner, Cassian deciding to fill in nearly every day was quite unusual. He insisted he had new tactics to show when questioned about his sudden decision to grace the group every day. And when questioned as to why he kept picking Gregginor as his sparring partner, he simply answered that he knew Gregginor could take whatever he threw at him.

“Besides,” Cassian would say just before wiping the ground with his opponent, “I’m going easy on him.” For the rest of every session, if your boyfriend wasn’t busy absolutely wasting Corporal Gregginor on the field, he was having him run laps or do an absurd amount of pushups. Finally, you had had enough.

“Okay, Cass,” you lightly glared following a particularly grueling session. “Is there any particular reason that you’ve been trying to make Greggi’s week an entire life’s worth of living Hell?”

Cassian, ever bemused by both unpleasant nicknames provided, responded with equal neutrality: “It builds character. He’s been slacking off, this is to make sure he stays on his toes.” You hummed a note that lacked conviction.

“Oh, really? You sure it has nothing to do with the fact that, in the process of helping me learn to better aim my blaster, he happened to place his hands on me hips to reposition my weight? Nothing at all?”

At the mentioning of the suggestive positioning that supposedly hadn’t gotten Gregginor into Cassian’s shit list, the latter’s eye dared to twitch. You caught it just enough and it gave you enough confidence to believe that maybe you had caught him as well. But, to your dismay, the captain didn’t come pouring out his confessions and regrets and apologies.

“Your aim needed work; who am I to get in the way of that?” he confirmed instead. Your mouth dropped in disbelief; was he really going to play like this?!

“And anyway,” Cassian continued, “stop being so ridiculous. Do you recognize how absolutely juvenile it would be to use my position for something so petty?” As much as you wanted to respond, you honestly weren’t sure how to. If you kept insisting, he’d probably just keep dodging. But if you left it alone, who knows how long he’d keep pulling this shit?

In the middle of your inner debate, Cassian flung his sweat-drenched towel over his shoulder. “Hit the showers,” he demanded. “Clearly, training’s done a number on you.” And with that, he turned to clean himself, leaving you to glare at his retreating figure. You swore you could sense him smirking the entire while.

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?):

Two come to mind:

First and foremost is “See the World” by Gomez, though it’s mainly directed at Cassian. It’s soft and simple, just as Cassian can be unassuming in his desire to not be showy or processed. Plus, the lyrics simply fit:

Day to day, Where do you want to be? ‘Cause now you’re trying to pick a fight With everyone you need

You seem like a soldier Who’s lost his composure You’re wounded and playing a waiting game In no man’s land, no one’s to blame

See the world: Find an old-fashioned girl And when all’s been said and done, It’s the things that are given, not won Are the things that you’ve earned

Cassian has dedicated so much of his life wrapping it around the Rebellion: It’s practically a part of him at this point. The problem is, he doesn’t seem to recognize what a problem this can actually be. He doesn’t think about what this means when the war is over, who he’ll be, who he wants to be. He’s just spent so much of his time composing himself in a specific manner, even at the cost of having very few close relationships or making the ones he does get a bit difficult to navigate. With a song like this, he’s being reminded to reevaluate his stances, to remember that Rebellions aren’t just about fighting: It’s also about fighting for what you want in the future.

He needs to see the world, not just what he’s been assigned to see for recon. He needs to explore who he is or who he may want to be without the Rebellion. He needs to find a non-K2 companion to love and go off exploring with -- Actually . . .

He snaps out of his reverie and glances at you, huddled up beside him. The cot is far from roomy or comfortable, yet you don’t seem to mind it. And, when he thinks about it, neither does he . . .

The runner up: “Cold Cold Man” by Saint Motel. This song doesn’t exactly scream Cassian at first because what you initially hear being screamed is overly bouncy music you can easily dance to. Picture you flailing and jumping and twirling around with a stone-cold Cassian standing in the middle of it all. That’s this song in a nutshell. No, really:

Oh, my love I know I am a cold, cold man Quite slow to pay you compliments Or public displayed affections

But baby, don’t you go over analyze No need to theorize, I can put your doubts to rest:

You’re the only one worth seeing, The only place worth being, The only bed worth sleeping is the one right next to you

Cassian isn’t exactly the most openly affectionate person. He knows it, K2 knows it, everyone knows it. Even his friends poke fun at him about it. And even though you know it yourself, you can’t help but sometimes lapse into moments of doubt: Is he happy with you? Does he intend on actually being with you for as long as possible, or is it more like any port in the storm with you?

Of course, you feel awful for thinking these things: It’s not as though Cassian is purposefully withholding certain affections from you; it just isn’t really a part of who he is as a person to be as forward as the average lover. Repetitive as it might seem, growing up the way he did just doesn’t tend to fair well for one’s ability to properly emote. But he knows this isn’t fair to you. He can’t keep using his past as a crutch.

Hence why once, every bluest of blue moons, you’ll receive a reminder. He’ll awkwardly sway with you, even dare to smile as you dance goofily in your quarters. He’ll initiate the hand holding in a corridor, even if he knows there’s definitely other personnel around. He’ll join you at night to just watch the stars, even if they don’t especially astound him (why would they? You can usually see them on any given planet, especially if you’ve traveled as often he has). He doesn’t make any suggestion that he’s uncomfortable with you shitting between his legs, or that he has an issue with you playing with his fingers. You could’ve honestly called it a great night if it had ended there, with you leaning back against his chest, letting the nice, balmy night air soothe you to sleep.

But it’s the unexpected kiss you feel on your temple that yanks you back. You’re afraid to move, certain that if you do, the mood will be lost and your normally gruff boyfriend will no longer want to keep letting you sit there. It’s only when you feel his arms wrap around you with more certainty that you know there’s nothing to can do in this moment that will make him want to let go. There’s nothing in this galaxy that would make him want another.

You’re the only one worth it all to him.

Thank you very much for asking and for being patient!

#cassian andor #cassian andor x reader #cassian andor imagine #rogue one imagines #rogue one x reader #cassian andor imagines #fluff alphabet #fluff headcanons #regrettablewritings #lemme see if I can post this first and add the song link after so it still shows up...#fingers crossed y'all

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pastthebutterflies · 4 years ago

Text

It’s For You (Little Lady)

As it turns out, running away to a magical alternate dimension to avoid her problems ended just as badly as Luz thought it would.

Part two of what’s now my “Camila Comes Through the Door” series! I’m posting this late, so feel free to point out any glaring mistakes. Otherwise enjoy!

Ao3 link in the reblogs!

So, fun fact!

As it turns out, running away to a magical alternate dimension to avoid her problems ended just as badly as Luz thought it would.

In her defense, Luz really hadn’t expected her mom to actually find a way into said dimension (thanks, Owlbert). The plan had always been to stick around until the end of the summer, then head back home acting as if yes mom, camp was very educational and yes mom, she really did feel much more like everyone else now. Then, in theory, continue jumping back and forth with the door to continue her training and see her friends. Without Camila ever finding out about said secret double life.

Needless to say, those plans all went out the window the moment Camila stepped through the portal, right into Eda’s booth, where she had spotted Luz immediately and tried to all but drag her back home.

Fortunately- or unfortunately, depending on who she asked- King had been so surprised by the sudden arrival that he had shot straight from Luz’s arms and into the air, shocking them all enough for Eda to suggest they head back to the Owl House before they drew too much attention to themselves.

Which was what led to Luz hiding in the kitchen with Eda as King and Hooty chattered endlessly to Camila about who knew what and most definitely did not help the situation.

Eda leaned against the counter, staring boredly as her eyes tracked Luz’s movements back and forth across the floor with one hand in her hair while the other gestured wildly in the air.

“-And how did she even get here? Owlbert is so good at staying out of sight, how did he get caught?” She groaned. “And why did he have to find Mom of all people?”

“Kid, he’s an owl. Even your world has those, of course he was out in the open. She said he took her keys, which are shiny, not to mention strange and unusual compared to the ones we use on the Isles, they would have sold like wildfire. Obviously he was going to take them.”

“But why my mom? Of all the people-” she glanced through the door, where Camila is staring slack jawed at King, who was pointing intensely at a drawing in one of his demon books, animatedly speaking over Hooty, who seemed to have made a home around her shoulders. Surprisingly, Camila seemed less concerned with this part, or maybe she was trying to ignore it, the same way she did sometimes when Luz would say something a little too out there. At this point, she really couldn’t tell.

Maybe that was a good thing.

“So you smudged the truth a little bit, we’ve all done it. Heck, I do it all the time,” Eda snorted. “Look, you’ve got two options. Either you can run off again, maybe to one of your friends’ houses for the night and let King and I keep her busy.” She pictured slipping away to Willow’s for the night and letting Eda deal with this in the meantime. A wave of guilt washed over her almost immediately at the thought. Stupid conscience.

“Or,” Eda continued. “You can go out there and talk to her. Lady just found out her daughter lied to her for a month and spent the last twenty four hours thinking you were- poof! Gone. The least you can do is let her know you’re alright.” She pushed off the counter and shrugged, turning toward the door. “But hey, do what you need to. You know I’ll help out either way.”

With that, Eda headed into the living room to slump next to Camila and finally pull King away. She watched Camila’s shoulders relax just a bit at something Eda said. The look makes the lump that had been forming in Luz’s throat for the past hour begin to harden. She had always wanted to tell her mom, eventually. Preferably after she came home, safe and sound, and could prove that no, actually, it wasn’t dangerous at all Mom and that she arguably learned ten times as much on the Boiling Isles than she would have at camp.

Now-

Life was never supposed to go this way.

With a heavy sigh, Luz took a final glance toward the open door- if she ran, she could get to Willow’s by dark- and took the first step into the living room.

“You discover a magic door in the one place that I’ve spent years telling you not to go to, chasing after an owl that stole the book you just threw away, and decided that staying with the strange witch you just met- no offense, ma’am- all because you thought it sounded slightly better than camp? Not to mention giving me a heart attack in the process.”

She was taking this...far better than Luz thought she would. Her mom had never been one prone to yelling. Still, Luz had expected at least a small outburst this time. Yet, Camila had sat patiently through her explanation, waiting until the end to say much of anything. Eda had interjected a few times- the two of them got along surprisingly well, she was noticing- but for the most part, Luz had filled the silence for the past hour, catching Camila up on everything she had missed, or in some cases, adding new context to some of the messages she had sent over the course of the summer.

“Didn’t you kind of do the same thing just now? Same owl, same door…”

Over Camila’s shoulder, King cut a frantic hand over his throat, abort, abort, he tried to say, too little too late. If Luz wanted to back out, she should have done that weeks ago. Now that she was in, she may as well go all the way.

Camila blanched at that, “To find you. You’re the only kid I know that would leap through magic portals at the first opportunity. I should have figured sooner. Those messages were so vague, and the letters-”

Letters?

She could come back to that one later. For now-

“I’d do it again,” she said quietly.

Across from her, Camila stops in her tracks, brows burrowing deep into her eye line. “What?”

Even Eda glanced up at that, unsurprised, while an odd expression played on her face. Both of them remained quiet, waiting for her to continue. King however, took the chance to run across the floor and clamber into her lap. One hand lifted to scratch between his ears as she continued.

“I’d do it again,” she repeated. “Mom, I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you wanted, but- I can’t be the person you want me to be. Not then, not now. I’m happy here, happier than I ever was at school or camp. I can’t go back to feeling like that all the time, like I don’t belong or knowing that no one understands. I won’t. The people here,” she thinks of Willow and Gus and Amity. King and Eda. “They understand. They all know what it’s like not to fit in. I can’t want to lose that.”

King burrows deeper into her lap, sending a wave of comfort through her skin. He’ll want to talk about it later tonight, before bed, the way they usually do when things go wrong during the day. Assuming she was still here tonight, that is.

Her mom was frowning, then suddenly, she was crossing the space between them and wrapping her arms around Luz, tight as can be and whispering under her breath, “Te quiero,” to Luz or herself, she isn’t sure.

After a moment, she draws back, hands still on Luz’s shoulders, the telltale flood of tears in her eyes. “When I realized you never made it to camp, the only thing I could think of was that I wished I had never let you leave. You were so far away and I couldn’t find you. I would have searched everywhere for you- even another dimension.” She hugs her again, hard. “I can’t lose you, not again.”

Luz’s heart stuttered in her chest, the same way it did every time they had spoken in the past weeks. Only this time, she didn’t hold back. Her arms wrapped tight around her mom’s middle to squeeze as hard as she could muster. Between them, King squeaks indignantly and bolts back toward Eda. Her nose was buried deep into the scrubs Camila must never have changed out of before stumbling upon the door. She smelled like chemicals and antiseptic and home. Her other home, now.

When they finally pulled back, tears are tracking down Camila’s cheeks, mirroring the ones Luz can feel on her own face.

“You’re happy here, aren’t you?” Camila glanced around. She takes in King and Eda, Hooty still twisting nervously in the corner. The odds and ends stacked along the walls. Luz.

She nodded once to herself, seemed to reach a decision. She stood. “Okay.”

“...Okay?”

Camila glanced to Luz, to Eda, then back to Luz. “You can stay,” she said, finally. “For the summer. But it’s back to school in the fall. If Miss Eda is okay with it, that is.”

Eda shrugs, “Meh, kid’s kind of grown on me.”

“And,” Camila added. “I’m staying, too.”

Luz’s feet send her shooting up before she entirely realized what was happening. “You’re what?”

“When I can, of course. I’ll still have work during the day and a house to look after. But I’ll be around, as often as I can.” Camila glanced around again. This time, Luz couldn’t tell if she was judging the place or mentally mapping out where she could fit herself into both the house and the dynamic. When she spoke again, her voice was softer than Luz expected to hear it today. “If this is important to you, I want it to be important to me, too.”

The words alone are enough to send Luz flying if she let them. She hadn’t expected it to go this well, much less be able to stay. And having her around? Able to finally see the things Luz loved, in a setting where her interests were encouraged- the norm, even. The lump from before had finally begun to dissolve, trickling down her throat and rising up again in the form of a happy shout.

She leaned forward to wrap her arms around Camila again, this time dragging Eda forward as well as she muttered confusedly under her breath. At their feet, she felt King’s claws tap against her ankles as he followed suit.

“Thank-you-thank-you-thank-you.”

When they pulled away, Camila turned to her, eyes serious. “From now on, I need you to be honest with me. No matter what, do you understand? No more running off without telling me, no more secret magic shows; honesty from here on out. And I’ll do my best to understand all... this.”

A laugh bubbled up from deep in her stomach, “deal.”

In the end, Camila wound up spending the night and calling in to work the next morning. Luz spent most of the evening and a good portion of the night delving into what she had seen so far on the Isles, including Willow and Gus, the Blights, Hexside. She activated the few spells she knew, as well, sending bursts of light into the air while Eda sits back, demonstrating the way they were typically cast.

It was odd, seeing her mom so relaxed. She had changed from her scrubs to one of Eda’s old shirts that read fabulous and flawless in sprawling pink font across the front and a pair of her old sweats. In the future, they were hoping to have a more long term setup for the times she stayed over. Which made Luz question why she had gotten the upstairs closet the whole time- but she would deal with that later.

Right now, she was willing to keep drawing up her spells and finally getting to show off to someone as amazed as her at the process. There was still more to talk about, like going to Hexside and Eda’s curse. Both of which were likely to cause ripples in the future, but for now, Luz was content to share the world she had fallen in love with, with the only person from home that mattered.

For now, Luz dragged her pencil across the page and let the light rise up between them.

#the owl house #lydsfics #luz noceda #camila noceda #did not expect two crank out 2k words tonight but here we are #I'm having a lot of fun with this though

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