#in so many ways the world is built to boost men and hold us back

[butch-reidentified]

MRA's love to claim that if women were in charge the world would go to shit bc we'd "get our periods and declare war," which is obviously a batshit insane, uneducated, and maximally misogynistic belief to begin with. I shouldn't have to tell you that our periods don't actually make us emotionally unstable, that in fact fewer than 20% of college-age women (women who aren't even old enough for the prefrontal cortex to finish developing, and thus are far from old enough to, for example, be eligible to run for US president) even report "severe" psychological symptoms of PMS - and this includes symptoms like depressed mood and anxiety.

in fact, PMS isn't even something all women experience. and of those who do, there's a huge variety of ways it can present. most symptoms women associate with PMS are not emotional: bloating, body soreness, headaches, oversleeping, food cravings, nausea/vomiting, hot flashes, breast tenderness....

from the article linked above: "Definitions of PMS and diagnostic criteria to identify cases have varied substantially over the years and across studies, in large part due to the heterogeneity of women’s menstrual symptom experience. Over 150 symptoms have been associated with PMS."

overwhelmingly, research shows that the effect of PMS on women in the workplace is the same as that of any other medical problem/illness: some people miss some work if it's severe enough. which, considering that symptoms can often include various types of pain that can be quite severe, as well as common illness symptoms like nausea and vomiting, it makes perfect sense that some women would need to take a day off or leave a bit early at times. what the research does NOT say is that PMS causes women to behave in irrational ways that negatively impact the quality of her work.

so let's be truthful. why would female leaders mean more war when women and girls are so overwhelmingly and horrifically sexually victimized as a result?

if most women don't even experience severe mood symptoms with PMS, and having mood symptoms doesn't mean one is unable to control her actions/behaviors (I know this concept of self-control is foreign to most men, but we're pretty good at it!), and there's absolutely zero evidence to suggest that severe PMS mood symptoms would or could ever lead to declaring war, and women old enough to hold office in most countries have many years of experience managing their pre/peri-menstrual symptoms (if they even have any), and most world leaders are past the age women stop even having periods at all, and we see that women in other leadership positions are absolutely crushing it all over the world, and there IS significant evidence showing that women in numerous fields actually outperform male peers (despite feeling significantly less respected in higher-rank positions than males feel, as well as feeling more discouraged and frustrated) and are more emotionally intelligent, there IS evidence that women are less influenced by and better at regulating anger in the workplace, and there IS indisputable evidence that men are more violent than women in general, regardless of the reason, and there IS indisputable evidence that women and girls suffer mass victimization by men during wartime... then maybe, just maybe, women are actually less likely than men to start wars. but there's only one way to find out for sure ����

[geniedocroe]

CLOSE AS STRANGERS

(don malarkey X reader)

angst, potential fluff

wc: 4430+

you were very in love. in fact, you had been for quite a while. since your seventh birthday actually. it was a blur of memories now and you could just barely recognize it. thirteen years passed quickly. soon things began to change and the future you were seeing . . . it wasn’t very bright and happy.

donald malarkey (your best friend, soulmate, the person you were in love with) had always been very perfect in your eyes. there wasn’t much to despise about him. so you simply couldn’t. you couldn’t hate him. of course there were a few things that set you off. these were only little things though. for instance, when the two of you would share a milkshake or something of the sort and he’d accidentally drop it (he was fairly clumsy), or how he’d jokingly trip you (that ticked you off to no end), or when he’d notice everyone else but you . . .

despite these minuscule flaws you loved him. from his toes to the stunning freckles and ginger hair. he was as pretty as a picture. he truly was. you didn’t believe you were as pleasing to be around, but it was always a confidence boost when don politely asked your mother if you come outside for a while. you felt as though he cared when he did little things like that.

today was like any other. you sat on the front porch of the little house you had grown up in, reading a book.

you thought maybe that was why you weren’t as desirable as the other women in town. they all seemed so daft and boring. apparently these “men” didn’t appreciate someone who could use their brain. it frustrated you to no end.

your like any other day was actually very tedious. it was one warm day in june. your mother wouldn’t allow you to work because she encouraged you to attend college first, which you did, but it was summertime. there was not one thing for you to do. so half of your day was spent sitting on the porch, flipping through books you had appeared to have read hundreds of times.

the excitement bubbled throughout your chest when you saw a mess of red hair running your way. it was about time he had shown up. don ran through your front yard and up the steps. he stopped short of you, trying to catch his breath.

“good afternoon, ma’am.” the ginger managed to cough out with a very bad british accent. he never failed to try and turn anything into a joke.

you looked up from your book with a soft smile. you responded in the same accent. “good afternoon, my good sir.”

“the weathers quite alright today, isn’t it?” he questioned, sitting beside you on the swing.

“i guess it is looking rather nice.” you gazed towards the sky. immediately regretting your decision to be blinded by the sun, you blinked at him, seeing colors.

“nice enough for a walk?” don asked, dropping the accent.

you grinned, gently shutting the book before standing to enter the house. “let me ask my mother.”

“you’re twenty years old!” he called after you as the screen door slammed shut. your laugh could be faintly heard.

don gave a soft little chuckle at the sound of your own laughter. he thought it was quite musical. everything about you screamed peace. it was like tiny birds helped you get dressed in the morning, or mice aided you whilst cleaning the house. you were some sort of sweet dream. something that he didn’t even know he wanted, someone he didn’t know he needed.

he may have been smart at times, but he was completely oblivious to your feelings and his own. you hadn’t made it extremely obvious that you were infatuated with your best friend. however, you dropped a subtle hint every now and then. don would just seemingly dance around it, but after some time you realized he didn’t even know how love-struck you were. in fact, you didn’t think he shared that very same feeling. you didn’t think he even had a minuscule bit of that feeling.

don sure felt something, but he thought it was just nerves. his chest felt loose and fuzzy, his stomach seemed to have joined gymnastics, and he just couldn’t seem to stop wringing his hands when you were near. he didn’t hate the way it felt, then again he certainly didn’t appreciate it either.

seconds later you reappeared, slamming the screen door shut behind you. there was a distant yell within the house. don looked up at you with innocent eyes.

“she said yes, of course.”

he stood up with a grin plastered over his freckled face. you bounded down the steps with your dear friend in tow. as the two of you stepped onto the sidewalk, he looped his arm through your own. you appreciated this dearly. it was as close to holding hands that you were gonna get, but it was casual enough where people didn’t ask you too many questions. this action had also made you feel safe. like the two of you were just out of arms reach.

of course you never felt unsafe in don’s presence. you weren’t incapable of protecting yourself, he was just your knight in shining armor. don was there and you would never force him to leave.

“what book were you reading?” don asked, gazing over at you, taking you in as if there was no more time left in the world.

“the wonderful wizard of oz. i cannot tell you how many times i’ve read that book.”

don thought for a moment before replying excitedly. “do you remember when we saw the movie and you dumped that bucket of popcorn on that poor guy? his face is fried into my brain. that was truly one of your best moments.”

“i live to please.” you sighed, throwing up your free arm. “you know what i still can’t get over? how amazing judy garland is. like truly, she is perfect i think.”

“she may be judy garland, but she doesn’t have a thing on you.”

you ducked your head away as your cheeks began to grow warm. a little voice in the back of your brain was screaming at you to just tell him before it was too late. you didn’t know how much time you had left or what girl was going to come and steal him away before you got the chance.

the rest of your walk continued it silence. the empty moments were filled with tranquility. don felt as though he wouldn’t be able to experience times like this for a very long while. all he wanted was to be around his best friend. all he wanted was for you to understand. for you to hug him and tell him that everything would be alright in the end.

approaching “your spot” on this day was unlike any other. it was a beautiful maple tree in the middle of a field with one ancient looking tire swing. not a lot of people knew about this place so it was perfect to get away. to just be the both of you. this was your safe place. you loved it here. you practically grew up here.

you could faintly remember the moment everything changed for the two of you as best friends. the moment you fell in love. you wondered if don remembered it better than you did. you wondered if he even thought about it at all. because to you, it meant the world.

“hey don, can you promise me something?” you asked, hanging upside down from the tire swing. you struggled for a moment before jumping down.

“i’d promise you anything.” he smiled at you as you sat down beside him. the two of you leaned up against the tree, looking out over the field.

“promise we won’t ever be like my parents. that we’ll always be best friends. cause, my parents have no friends and i always want you around.” you wrung your hands together nervously.

“of course we’ll always be best friends. i promise.” he stuck out his pinky to you and you accepted graciously. “oh! i have something for you.”

don pulled his hand away to grab something in his front shirt pocket. the look he had on his face said everything. the excitement had built up at this point. in his hand was held a small chain with a locket hung securely on it. he handed it to you and watched as you inspected it. engraved onto the silver was “forever in my heart” with two tiny roses.

“wow, don!” you gave him a huge grin as he secured the necklace. you threw your arms around him, hugging him tightly. you spoke into his shoulder. “i love it. thank you!”

“happy birthday.” he said fondly as he pulled away. he stared at you for a moment before he made an impulsive decision.

it was quick and it surely caught you off guard, but don pressed his lips to yours in a fleeting motion. you stood their wide eyed as you blinked at your friend with burning cheeks. don’s face was almost as red as his hair. and you were sure you had never felt this way before.

even at seven years old, you fell in love.

you plopped down beneath the tree without a care in the world. dust flew up as you disturbed the spot with your presence. don stood hesitantly beside the tire swing. his hand reached out to hang onto the rope.

looking out over the empty field sent a warm sensation from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. the sky seemed to stretch for years and the grass was as yellow as ever but that never stopped you from adoring it. the soft chirp of birds was music to your ears. how could you ever learn to loathe a place like this?

“i need to tell you something.”

you looked towards don. he fiddled with the rope for a moment before looking up at you. he didn’t expect you to already be gazing at him with puppy dog eyes. the sight of you almost made his eyes well up with tears.

“i’ll always listen. you know that.”

“i know. that’s why this is going to be so hard.”

as he sat down beside you, you began to think. with the war going on you weren’t very confident in what he was meant to tell you. half the men you had gone to school with had already enlisted or been drafted. it was only a matter of time before don would be leaving too.

there was a moment of silence where the both of you gazed out into the open field. you had to remind yourself that this was the place you loved and that don was your best friend. he wouldn’t ever intentionally do anything to hurt you.

“y/n,” don turned to you, placing a hand on your knee. “i’m being drafted.”

you blinked at him once, twice, then a third time. he stared back at you with sincere, innocent eyes. he prayed that you would understand. that this would all be okay and your friendship wouldn’t suffer.

whatever preparation your mind had done was no use. not a single person on earth was ever ready to face war. it didn’t matter how old you were or how many horrors you had seen. don would come out of the other side of the war as someone else. you knew he would. he would barely make it out alive. you didn’t want to know that person.

“i have to go.” you muttered, shoving his hand away from your knee.

immediately you stood with don following suit. he looked so incredibly hurt by your sudden movements. this was not the reaction he had expected.

a part of you was telling you to turn around and hug him one last time as you stalked off. you knew he was following close behind you but you were hard to keep up with. it was like a giant black hole had materialized in your chest and was beginning to consume all of your organs.

a hand grabbed your shoulder and you whipped around at an ungodly speed. the tears in your eyes were visible. you weren’t angry. don took a step back from you. he frowned at your reaction but still managed to choke out a sentence.

“this isn’t my fault, y’know. i wish i didn’t have to go.” he tried to reach for your hand but decided against it at the last moment.

“i just hope you make it home some day. you stay safe wherever you go, kid. good luck.” you gave a small smile before turning once again.

don was quite taken aback. you hadn’t called him kid in years. it was a joke that had died away after being used one too many times. then it became something you only called him when you were hurting deep down. he couldn’t fathom that this was one of those times.

as you quickly walked through the field you saw flashes of your childhood before you. the good, the bad, all of it. you love it here. actually, loved it.

over the next few days, you and don had absolutely no interactions. you strayed away from him and he felt hopeless. any time you saw him approaching you, you ran in the other direction. however, he never seemed to chase after you. neither of you knew what hurt more.

all don wanted to do was say one last goodbye. he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to see you again. there was some part of him that needed to see you but he couldn’t understand why. so, he left.

the day after don left you had begun to regret not going to see him. that black hole in your chest never subsided and you were afraid it was permanent. you had never gone so long without talking to him. the two of you had always been attached at the hip. if he never made it home . . . this silence would become your biggest regret.

your family looked at you with annoyance as you shoved the food around on your plate. you felt selfish to not want to eat but you truly weren’t hungry. you weren’t tired. you weren’t interested in anything. you had no motivation. it was obvious.

“what is the matter, dear?” your mother asked.

“nothing, mother.” you set down your fork, resting your chin in your hand.

“elbows off the table.” your mother instructed. you did as told. “it isn’t nothing, y/n. you haven’t spoke a full sentence in over a week. you haven’t left your bedroom. i haven’t even seen donald around here. are you ill? have the two of you gotten into an quarrel?” your mother questioned you with clear worry on her face. the rest of your family was silent. they looked at you curiously.

“i ain’t ill and there’s nothing wrong with don. he’s gone off to fight in the war. we won’t be seeing him for quite a while. we’ll be lucky to even see him again.” you huffed, studying the table cloth.

your siblings exchanged a glance. they didn’t understand the war. their naive innocent brains couldn’t comprehend why the war was being fought or why some people might not ever come home. you wished you could be as angelic as them.

“are you infatuated with that boy?” your father asked. mother elbowed him sharply in the side as your head shot up.

“infatuated?” you scoffed.

“let me tell you, y/n, military men are no good to marry. i like donald, but he’ll be completely gone after this war. they never come back home with a sane mind.” your father pointed his fork at you with a raised brow. “thought it will be such a same. he had a great future.”

“yes, because you’re such a great judge of character.” your mother dismissed her husbands opinion with a wave of her freshly manicured hand. “when he returns home you will dote on that boy. i’ve seen firsthand how much warfare can change a man, he’ll need all the help you can give him.”

you looked back down at your plate before looking up once more and scanning every face at the table. they stared at you expectantly.

“may i be excused?”

dear y/n,

i know we haven’t been on speaking terms and i’m sorry for that. i miss you so much. you are my best friend. your opinion means everything to me, but i hope you have tried to come to terms with my absence. it’s been over a year and neither of us have reached out to one another. that truly breaks my heart.

i’ve finished my training as a paratrooper. i’m sure you’ve never heard of that before. to put it simply, alongside the men i have trained with, i will be jumping out of airplanes with a parachute. it sounds terrifying, i know it does. however, i have trained with the best. you don’t need to worry.

i have met some amazing people during my training. it’s safe to say i’ve also met some insufferable individuals. there’s this guy named skip. he really became my best friend over the past year (of course no one could take your place). you would love him. he’s a great guy. super funny too.

my company consists of mostly good men. i don’t think i would ever say otherwise. they have to be extremely brave to want to jump out of an airplane. i have really gotten to know these men and i’m sure i’ve made bonds that will never break.

the beginning of my training took place in georgia. we ran up this mountain more times than i could even imagine. it was so painfully hot everyday. i don’t think i’d ever want to live there.

today i’m in a camp in new york. we leave in a couple days. we’re getting on a boat that’s heading over the atlantic ocean. i don’t know where we’re going or how long i’ll be gone. i’ve always wanted to visit europe, but not like this.

i hope you’re doing well. maybe you’ve graduated from school. maybe you have a great job. maybe you’re dating the best man you could find. maybe you have a kid. maybe you don’t have any of that. what a shame that’d be. you’re a real catch. you deserve anything and everything.

even if i don’t ever come home, i want you to live the kind of life that was always meant for you. find a new best friend. move on with your life. show everyone that you can’t be walked all over. don’t think that it’s all over because you won’t be seeing me again. in fifty years you could have everything you’ve ever worked for.

i miss you. i always will.

-don malarkey

dear y/n,

in about two days we will officially be entering the war. i’m terrified and i know i should be. i’m just trying to push through everything so that one day i will be able to come home.

there’s not much i’ll be able to say. i actually don’t know what to say. training has always been rough. they claim they want us to be the best. i secretly think they just want to see us struggle.

there has been a lot of difficulty over the past couple of months. despite all of this, there’s been the usual shenanigan. skip and our other friend alex, have dragged into some odd situations. i’m glad they do though. these are some memories i’ll hold close to my heart forever.

i still miss you. you never responded to my last letter. unless you did . . . perhaps i never got your response. i hope you’re doing great.

is there anything knew happening in your life? did you graduate? have you met any peculiar people? have you met anyone who’s completely changed your life? do you still go to that diner? i know you loved it there. i miss the milkshakes so much. are you working at all? do you miss me?

i pray that you will be able to respond to me. i’ll never know what my last letter will be. this could be it.

i miss you. i always will.

-don malarkey

dear y/n,

i still haven’t gotten a response. i hope you’re okay. i don’t know if you’re even alive. how horrible would it be if i was the one fighting in the war and you’re the one who’s passed?

this war is brutal. it’s horrible actually. i cant even explain how bad it is because those words aren’t even in my vocabulary. i’ve seen some really horrifying things. things that would make your hair curl.

we’ve lost people. good people. men with lives and families back home. people just like me. it just makes me realize that my days are potentially numbered.

i ended up getting into some trouble actually. a friend of mine and i had stolen a motorcycle. we went through the country in england and honestly i haven’t had that much fun in a long time. it was nice to let go and appreciate everything that was happening at the time.

if you are reading this, please respond. i need to know that you don’t hate me. or if you do hate me, i still want to know. i haven’t gotten many letters but every single one i get, i hope it’s you.

how are you? i really want to know. it’s been so long. are you okay? i miss you. i haven’t spoke to you in over two years. i’m sure something has happened in your life. something that has changed you completely. please respond, y/n.

i miss you. i always will.

-don malarkey

“hey mal!” skip called over to his friend who sat beside george luz.

don looked up curiously. skip, alex, john julian, and babe heffron stared back. they all shook furiously from the harsh weather of bastogne. taking the piss of conversations during their sad mealtimes were the only way to get by.

“who’s that girl back home that you’re constantly chattering on about?” skip asked.

“girl back home?” george echoed skip with raised eyebrows. “why have i never heard about this?”

don rolled his eyes as everyone looked at him with curious eyes. he had only ever spoke about you to skip. he hadn’t even told alex about you. i mean, what was there to say? you were only friends.

“i gotta hear this.” joe toye leaned forward to listen in.

“there’s this girl back home and she’s . . . she’s everything. you know, we were best friends. we grew up together. she hasn’t spoken to me since i told her i was leaving though. and – and i used to think i wouldn’t need her to just exist, but now without her . . . i feel like there’s a part of me missing. it’s horrible. she’s my best friend, y’know.” don explained. beside him george burst into uncontrollable laughter. skip and alex shared a look before cracking up as well. julian looked at babe with a confused expression. “why are you laughing at me?”

“sounds like you are in love with her, my friend.” joe nodded. george took a moment to try and regain himself but he burst back into laughter a second later.

“there’s no way. i’ve known her my whole life. i just - i just miss her, that’s all.” don pushed george away. the man was all but laughing in his face.

don felt like he was folding back into himself and pulling away from his friends. he didn’t want to bring you up and then get laughed at for your friendship. you hadn’t even spoken in years.

“you said you haven’t spoken in years?” julian piped up. don nodded. “well, why not?”

“i don’t think she wanted to face the idea that i wouldn’t be around for a while. she was pretty hurt. called me a name i hadn’t heard in years. i don’t blame her.”

“oh, so she’s in love with you too?” joe suggested and don gave him an incredulous look.

“i strongly doubt that.”

“you never know until you tell her that you love her too.” julian said.

“what the hell do you know about love?” babe snorted at the replacement next to him.

“i just think it seems kind of obvious.” julian shrugged. “he can’t realize that he’s in love with her and she could be in love with him and doesn’t realize it either. if the both of them can’t come to terms with it then the other would never know. so, they’ll both be suffering while they watch the other move on with their lives. might as well tell her now.”

everyone blinked at julian. for being so young and virginal, he spoke very wisely about love. he had more of a mind than don did. perhaps he would confess to you . . .

y/n,

i’ve never felt more alone. skip & alex got hit. they’re my best friends. i don’t know what to do. please tell me you’ll still be there when i get home.

-don malarkey

don,

i’m sorry about your friends. i’ll be here.

-y/n

dear y/n,

the past couple of months and years even have been extremely difficult. the war has changed my life drastically. it’s put me through the ringer. i pray it hasn’t done the same for you.

everyday i anxiously await the announcement of the japanese surrender. i cannot tell you how exciting that news was. the war is finally over. after years of all the pain and suffering for millions of people. of course, there’s still tons of rebuilding that will need to be done and there’s still so much that needs to be change. all i want to do is come home.

i hope you’re waiting for me. if you haven’t already met someone and started growing a life for yourself, i’d love to go out with you. you’re always the only thing i can think about. which is not good in a war.

i love you. i have always loved you. you mean everything to me and it’s hurt the both of us knowing that neither of us had said it sooner.

i’m coming home soon. i promise. i’ll be home before you know it. please don’t forget about me.

i miss you. i always have.

-don malarkey

[maybeamiles]

Fanfic WIP (chapter 1 pt. 1)

Okay so I had an idea a while ago that was kinda dumb. Basically, it went, “what if the hero of men from minish cap was actually a woman” and then I began brainstorming ideas for it and it accidentally turned into a big ol’ emotional story with like, ideas on trauma and love and courage and stuff.

So, uh, IDK how to tag this so I’m probably not going to do much, but basically here’s the plot: Link is a woman who is gay and traumatized and avoiding her destiny, and then through forming relationships with other people she’s able to gain the courage to face her destiny. 

It’s basically all original versions of zelda characters / original characters in the zelda universe, so uh, yeah. 

A version of Malon and Talon make an appearance, and this first part is narrated by a Nonbinary picori called Ezle. Have fun I guess???

Oh also Hyrule in this version is hella suspicious of magic and stuff because reasons

I’ll share more info as it becomes relevant I guess

A cursed woodland is home to many strange and unusual things, but the strangest things of all are the people who live there as though it is normal. A witch you could expect. Fairies and monsters flourish in cursed places. Even the mysterious Picori, with their strange magic and tendency for generosity, are normal guides for the few children that wander into their lands. But a Hylian who lived amongst the woods as though they were their home? That was strange.

And yet, that was Link. A Hylian woman who treated the cursed Minish Woods as though they were the coziest mansion to exist. She was a strange one, to be sure. Stranger than the witch who lived in the swamps to the north. Stranger than the fairies who fluttered about their fountains. Stranger than the monsters who stalked the forest at night. Stranger than even the Picori. 

There were many things that would make Link strange to a passerby, not the least of which was the way she dressed. Link rejected traditional Hylian womens-wear in favor of a comfortable green tunic. On her back, instead of a scarf or basket, she carried a sword and shield. Instead of sandals she wore boots, adorned with magical symbols. Her hair was long, straight, and pulled back in a high ponytail, a shocking style for more traditional Hylians. On her wrists were a pair of bracelets that seemed to boost her power. A bow and quiver of arrows hung from her belt, and at her hip was a bag far too small to carry even the simplest of tools necessary for woodland survival. 

But the strangest thing about Link wasn’t her clothes or her hair or her gear. It was her magic. Few Hylians have a natural magic about them. The little they do have is mostly that of a homely nature. The kind that makes a meal taste incredible or gets a song stuck in your head. The few Hylians who can wield magic in a traditional sense are members of the Royal Family, whose princesses can channel their divine ancestry into powerful weapons of light, so long as the tradition is not forgotten. 

Link’s magic was not like those of other Hylians. She did not have the impressive power of the royal family, nor the homely comfort common to other Hylians. It was everywhere about her, from the way she walked, to her speech, to the way she used a sword. It defined everything about her, down to the thoughts she had in her head.

And yet, despite her magic being so innate, not even her closest friends had seen her use it freely. 

Ezle the Picori had known Link since she had, years ago, wandered into the Minish woods by accident. It was Ezle who led a sobbing Link out of the woods and back to civilization. It was Ezle who first sensed Link’s innate magic. It was Ezle who began to teach a young Link all about her destiny, and it was Ezle who gave Link a home when no-one else would. 

Ezle was a master craftsperson and loremaster amongst the Picori. They were among the first to sense the growing darkness in the world, and they were the one who forged a way to stop it. When Ezle met Link, they crafted and enchanted two magical items. The first was a sword, which granted any Hylian the ability to shrink down to the size of a Picori. The second was a box, granted to the royal family. The sword and box were linked, somehow, but Ezle refused to say how.

“The time will come,” they answered when asked by a young Link, “The time will come when you will wield that sword against evil, and your destiny will be fulfilled.”

Only now, Ezle feared that time would never come. 

“Put more spin into your spin attack,” they said as Link swung her sword in a  slow, wide arc for the third time in a row, “The attack is built on momentum, without it you leave yourself vulnerable to enemies.” And you need to put your magic into it.

Link glared at Ezle and put down her sword. Ezle was training her in the Minish woods, a moment of quiet from the bustling everyday that was their home in Picori Town. She was nearly eighteen years old now, and had been avoiding her destiny for years.

“I don’t see the point to this,” She said, “I’ve been practicing the spin attack all day. Isn’t there anything else I can do?” Ezle shook their head.

“You need to master the spin attack,” they scolded, “It’s crucial to facing your destiny!” 

Link sighed.

“I know, I know! But like, maybe if we worked more on my agility or-”

“No!” Ezle answered sharply, “A sword wields no strength unless the hand that holds it has courage. Courage is crucial to your destiny!”

Link rolled her eyes. “I know I know, it’s just- I don’t understand. Isn’t facing monsters and temples courageous enough?” “Courage is not the lack of fear, but continuing despite it,” Ezle reminded her. And you are more unmoving than Death Mountain.

With an angry sigh, Link went back to practicing her swings. Ezle watched her, concerned for their protege. What is blocking your magic? They wondered as Link completed another, lackluster attack, What are you so afraid of?

Ezle’s ears pricked up at the sound of horse hooves. In these woods? They listened harder. Yep, definitely horses. Without a word to Link, they scurried through several bushes to an old, abandoned road. There, they saw a Hylian cart, pulled by a young, strong horse, and leading an old milk cow. Driving the cart was a young redheaded woman with a determined face, and in the back was a young man who could easily have been her twin brother. They were carrying a bunch of crates, bundles, and boxes, as well as several pieces of what looked to be furniture or farm equipment.

However, Ezle’s observations were distracted by Link’s appearance in Picori form. 

“What is it?” Link asked, before noticing the cart and frowning in disgust, “What are they doing here?”

“They, as you put it so disgustingly, are your kind. You’re supposed to be saving them,” Ezle scolded. Link glared at him.

“I know that,” She answered, “But they’re not supposed to come in these woods either, are they?” Link looked back at the cart, and her gaze drifted up to the people driving it. As Link looked, Ezle noticed a change in her expression. Her disgust softened and the faintest hint of a smile grew on her face. As Ezle pondered the change in their pupil, they noticed a faint glow in Link’s eyes. They were, just barely, brighter, more alive, more free. Magic!

A grin spread across Ezle’s face as they recognized the change. Then, their grin widened, as an idea came into their head.

“Come on,” they said, hopping down onto the road the cart was travelling on, “Let’s see what they’re up to.”

Link hesitated, and the magic began to fade from her eyes as fear took hold of her face.

“I- I don’t know,” she said, “I don’t- wouldn’t it be-”

“They don’t have to see us,” Ezle reassured her, recognizing the source of Link’s fear, “Nobody but a child would be able to see you in this form. Besides-” and here Ezle felt the need to fib, “-there are a few settlements of town Picori I’ve been meaning to catch up on. This will give us a chance to do that.” There were no “settlements” of town Picori, as Ezle knew well, but the lie seemed to give Link the motivation she needed to join Ezle on the road.

“Alright,” she said, “Just to see what they’re up to.” 

Ezle smiled, and after some difficulty with catching the moving cart, the two were on their way through the forest and into the wider world of Hyrule.

[astoldbygingersnaps]

#wip wednesday

since the latest chapter of star trek au continues to elude me (i swear to GOD i’ve been working on it; it’s about 2/3 of the way done and should hopefully be posted in a few weeks), i figured i’d go ahead and post a snippet of one my next projects, a fic i very briefly mentioned in my end of the year wrap-up post: the jurassic world au. 

this is an idea i’ve always wanted to work on as a) a HUGE fan of the jurassic park franchise and b) a person who spent years as a dog trainer who was both puzzled and horrified by the raptor training in that movie. while this will probably be The Most Niche Fic of all my Very Niche Fics, i’m super happy with it so far and hope other people will be, too. 

currently this project is sitting at about 18k and i’d like to have it completed, edited, and posted within the next few months. until then, enjoy this preview!

Itachi has never been the kind of person that believes in fate. As a boy his father had drilled the importance of hard work into his head, and it had been a lesson Itachi had carried with him long after he realized the man’s guidance wasn’t actually worth all that much. It wasn’t luck or good fortune that had led to Itachi many successes in life. Truthfully, fate had always seemed like a childish concept to him, an excuse for people to hang their hats on when things went wrong in their lives and they weren’t willing to take responsibility for their own actions. 

That said, it’s hard for Itachi not to feel some sort of cosmic influence is manipulating his course in life when one day Uchiha Fugaku summons his eldest son into his office at the heart of Isla Nublar. Given his position as the puppetmaster of InGen, it isn’t often that his father actually finds himself on the humid and sandy shores of Jurassic World. But every time he does Itachi feels a familiar, childish pull of anxiety, a little voice in his head that drives himself to push himself to succeed, to please. It’s as if the last four years Itachi has spent almost single-handedly managing this glorified amusement park suddenly vanish in a puff as he meets his father’s judgemental black gaze. 

“Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with me,” Fugaku tells him, waving a hand to silently order Itachi to sit. And, as always, Itachi obeys his father’s commands. 

“It’s no trouble, Father,” Itachi assures him as he settles into the immaculate white leather chair that no doubt costs half of his yearly salary. “Was there something you needed?”

“Yes and no,” Fugaku replies, which is fittingly ominous for the man. “I wanted to discuss a recent change that Hiruzen is implementing to the park.” 

It takes an extraordinary amount of restraint on Itachi’s part to keep his comments regarding the CEO of Jurassic World and the sheer effort he spends weekly cleaning up the man’s air-headed messes to himself. For all the years he’s lived on the island--first as a boy while his father built his career, then as an intern after college, and finally as yet another cog in the Jurassic World machine--he’s regarded Sarutobi Hiruzen with an almost bleak sort of awe. It was shocking to Itachi that a man would possess such power and wealth, yet seem almost clueless when it came to maintaining that empire. Then again, he thinks dryly, perhaps all rich and influential men were nothing more than fools in the end.

Unaware of Itachi’s thoughts on the matter, Fugaku continues, “As I’m sure you’re aware, the board has been planning for sometime now to come up with a new attraction to boost both ticket and merchandise sales.” Of course Itachi is aware of it; it had been his idea in the first place. But, like most of his suggestions regarding Jurassic World, it had been thoroughly steamrolled until a man with more money and respect to his name could repackage it as his own brilliant, brand new invention. Which, as it were, is exactly what Hiruzen is planning to do. “The project has been in the works for a while now, but it’s going to be quite controversial. We thought it best to keep it under wraps until we were certain it was viable.”

“I take it you’re certain now?” Itachi asks, and Fugaku nods.

“We’ve had great success with the assets we’ve created so far, but as long as this park has been in construction there’s been one species that we’ve been unable to successfully replicate. Unfortunately, it’s also the one species that every dim-witted tourist that sets foot on this island is looking for.”

A chill works its way down Itachi’s spine as he guesses, “Velociraptors.” 

It’s an idea that’s almost too macabre to even contemplate, let alone execute. For better or worse, the general public’s more than aware of the chaos and bloodshed that led to the destruction of the first park. It’s a shroud that lingers over Itachi’s everyday life, as no matter how hard he tries to maintain order and prioritize safety there will always be someone who looks at him as if he’s a capricious madman. 

Because of Jurassic Park’s spectacular failure, the image of the velociraptor--a brilliant and ruthless predator stalking the shadows, picking men off one by one--has captivated the average person’s interest in a way that no other species has. So, ever since that original park, Jurassic World has been chasing the holy grail of a fully operational, successful, and controlled raptor exhibit--and, considering the way his father is currently speaking, Itachi’s sure the board has finally captured that elusive golden ticket. 

“You’re correct,” Fugaku says, though at this point the admission isn’t necessary, and with careful muscular control Itachi holds back a frown. Perhaps this is the reason why no one decided to share this information with him despite the fact he’s the Operations Manager for this entire establishment; given the way he’s previously spoken about subjects such as animal welfare and reducing employee hazards, perhaps they sensed he wouldn’t exactly be on board with the wild idea of releasing one of the world’s most dangerous beasts onto the Earth again. 

Either way, regardless of his own personal feelings on the decision, Itachi intends to oversee it with the same attention to detail he brings to any other project. “It’s a risky move, but it could prove to be quite lucrative if executed properly,” he eventually replies, evenly as he’s able. “I know in prior years other raptors were bred, but they were culled because they proved to be more trouble than they were worth. What’s changed since then?”

“According to our geneticists, the sequences on the upcoming crop will give them a reduced level of aggression and increased agreeability, though to be honest I’m not convinced that isn’t just smoke and mirrors.” Bleakly, Itachi’s inclined to agree; there was a world of difference between breeding a dog for temperament and trying to strip millions of years of prey drive from a wild--and previously extinct--animal. “Given that I’m not completely sold on their claims, it’s more a question of who has changed than what.”

As if on cue, a knock arrives at his father’s door, and in seconds the visitor’s face appears in the frame. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” the man says--at least, that’s what Itachi thinks the man says, because the sight of him alone causes Itachi’s brain to spontaneously stop functioning. 

“Not at all,” Fugaku responds, completely unaware of his son’s inner turmoil. “As a matter of fact we were just discussing your contract with us.”

“Must have been why my ears were burning,” the man replies, his smile broadening into a full-on grin the moment he catches sight of Itachi positively dying in front of his father’s desk. 

If there was a god in this world, He would open a hole in Fugaku’s freshly steam-cleaned carpet and let Itachi fall to his demise. But clearly there isn’t, as instead of time ceasing entirely it drags on and leads to Fugaku announcing, “Itachi, this is Uchiha Shisui. He’s an expert in the growing field of paleo-behavioral studies, which makes him the ideal candidate for rearing the velociraptors and readying them for the public.”

“We’ve met,” Itachi all but chokes out, clearing his throat to expel the sudden lump that’s formed in it. From the other side of the room he can see Shisui fighting a laugh, and in that moment he wishes Shisui would fall in a hole and die, too. 

“Really?” his father asks curiously. “I didn’t know you two were acquainted. How do you know each other?”

While his positions at Jurassic World and in life have allowed Itachi to conquer a variety of challenges, there’s not a single skill or experience that has prepared him for this moment. Because Itachi has no idea how to explain to his father that the reason he knows this man is that he slept with him four years ago and never returned a single one of his calls or texts.

“It’s a long story.”

[weirdponytail]

Modern Inheritance: Sleeping Arrangements/Hotel Pit Stop

(A/N: Some more traveling Eragon and Co. on their way to the Varden post Gil’ead. If it’s not apparent, the mad rush to the Varden mainly starts after ‘Judge You Not.’

There’s a lot of character interaction in this one, and I used it to build a little of the world, the relationships between characters, and dialogue rhythms. Again, this is an older MIC story {most of the stories posted en masse today are my earlier stories that I’ve built upon}, so I have changed a bit of the lore and tech levels, but I still enjoy the story.)

~~~

"Good evening, ma'am. Are there any rooms available?" Brom smiled at the desk attendant, ignoring her ill concealed disgust at the grime covering himself and the young men behind him. It wasn't the finest hotel in the world, but it was still cleaner than a roadside motel and had a nice touch of class to it for their higher rates.

It was the only place that still had the vacancy sign on, so Brom had grudgingly agreed to see if they had a room that could accommodate them. Everyone needed a boost in morale, and a night in a bed and a hot shower would do the trick to lift their spirits. It was isolated enough that it would take a long time for any soldiers to reach them if anyone recognized them, and Saphira was well hidden in the small forest nearby. She could respond to any danger and was far enough away to be virtually undetectable.

The clerk sighed and clicked a few keys on the bulky computer in front of her. "It's one-thirty-two Crowns for a two queen bedroom. Non-smoking." She glared at the pipe poking out of Brom's upper pocket. "Two hundred for cleaning fees if you smoke inside."

"I understand. Do you have a room with a window, by any chance?"

"It's ten extra Crowns." The woman all but sneered at him.

Behind him Brom heard Eragon shift, obviously upset about the clerk's clear plan of pocketing the extra money. Murtagh didn't react, his eyes constantly scanning the room and marking exits. He surreptitiously tugged the strap holding his holstered rifle a little lower, uneasy in the open lobby.

Brom nodded calmly despite the extra charge. "We'll take it. Do you have any roller beds so my boys don't have to split sheet? The kid kicks like a horse." Grumbling, the woman stood and pulled a folded up rolling cot, complete with a mattress and blankets, from the small room behind the desk. "Thank you."

Brom traded payment for the keys, extra bedding and toiletries and bid the sour attendant a good night. Murtagh grabbed the cot and the trio moved into the elevator, squeezing to one side to fit the roller bed in along with their packs. As the doors slid shut and they began ascending, Eragon leaned over to Brom. "How's Arya going to–"

"Shut up. Not here." Murtagh hissed, keeping his eyes forward. When Eragon shot him an annoyed glare, the older boy subtly gestured to the small camera in the corner. It's little red light was flashing.

The three exited the elevator in silence, quickly making their way to their room while checking as many exits as possible without arousing suspicion. Whenever he found a camera, Murtagh would point it out to Eragon and Brom as inconspicuously as he could. It would be best to keep out of the security tapes in case the soldiers came across the hotel after they left.

Upon finally reaching the room, Brom locked all the available bolts, chains and electronic locks he could as Murtagh unfolded the cot. Eragon checked the bathroom to make sure everything was in order, tested out the small A/C unit, then sat on the bed with a sigh.

"Now will you explain how Arya is going to get in here?" The boy asked, stretching tiredly. "Don't tell me she's going to stay out there with Saphira all night. She deserves a shower more than any of us."

Murtagh snorted, muttering something along the lines of the elf desperately needing one instead of deserving it, and pushed the cot into the corner so he would have a clear line of sight of both the door and the window from the side. Brom gestured to the aforementioned window, which was parallel to the bed Eragon was sitting on, and grunted, "Open that."

Perturbed, Eragon did as he was asked and opened the window fully, the metal frame bumping the outer wall. A humid breeze swept in, lending the room the scent of damp leaves and warm night air. The young Rider braced his hands on the sill and leaned out to breathe it in.

A soft series of scuffing noises were all the warning he had before Arya was suddenly staring him in the eyes, comfortably resting her chin on the sill as she crouched with her feet against the outer wall and sure fingers gripping the windowsill. "Well hello."

Eragon jerked back, startled. They were on the fourth floor. "How the hell did you just–"

"Fun fact, Eragon. On average my species can jump at least ten feet in the air when we put some effort into it." Eragon backed away from the window as the woman 'hopped' into a sitting position on the windowsill and then tumbled backwards into the room. "Don't gape. I parkoured most of it. It's forty bloody feet up, even we can't do that."

Brom tossed his bag on the bed closest to the door and started pulling off his coat. "Did anyone see you?"

Arya shook her head. "No. If they did, it was at a distance."

"Good thing we had you switch clothes." The old man grunted.

Before they had gotten within five leagues of the tiny roadside town, Brom had suggested the elf change out of her fatigues and into something a little less conspicuous.

Arya raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, great. I'll just change back into blood covered prison clothes. I'll be totally inconspicuous. Hell, I'll look like a human, because changing pants definitely changes the shape of my fucking ears. I’m not going to risk appearance magic, not with that damn drug in me still."

Murtagh scratched his stubbled chin, wanting to get back into civilization only long enough to start hating it again. "I might have an idea." He stepped up and put his back to hers, careful not to lean his weight against her covered injuries. With a flat hand the young man compared their heights and nodded in confirmation when he found only a miniscule difference between them. "We're pretty much the same height. I have some old jeans in my bag."

Meanwhile, Eragon was furiously digging in his backpack, searching for the winter clothes he had first set out on their journey wearing. He didn't want Murtagh being the only one to come up with something, not in front of Arya. Saphira snorted, teasing him quietly about it, but he ignored her and triumphantly pulled out what he had been looking for. "Here! This could at least cover your ears. It's not perfect, but it'll be good in a pinch."

Arya took the offered article and examined it before chuckling, "Actually, this is an old trick we used to do with Varden when we went drinking. Ah, the benefits of beanies." And she put it on, pulling the sides of the knit hat down to cover the most obvious marker of her race.

Dressed as she was, Arya looked almost no different from a human woman, if a bit on the angsty side. Dark loose jeans, grey hoodie, black shirt and a dark navy blue beanie tugged low over the tips of her pointed ears certainly gave her a brooding look, especially when leaning against the wall of a hotel and shooting glowering stares at anyone that even glanced at her. As long as no one got close enough to examine her facial structure, she would pass for human.

"Who wants to shower first?" Brom asked, already laying out a fresh shirt and a toothbrush on the bed. "Whoever does will be taking the laundry to the coin washer and gets to guard it once everyone is done."

When Arya shook her head and Eragon just shrugged, Murtagh stepped up. "Ah, I don't care. I'll go first if you don't want it, Brom."

"All yours." The old man gave him one of the extra mini toiletry kits he had bought. "Feel free to shave. There's a razor in there, fuzz face." Murtagh grunted, subconsciously passing a hand over his newly grown ragged stubble of a beard, and locked the door to the bathroom behind him. A few moments later the sound of the shower running drifted through the door.

Brom turned to Arya and tossed her the extra bedding he had picked up. "Here. Bandages. Better than nothing. You can use the comforter for padding the floor. If someone comes in to check it would be best if you're at least out of easy sight."

"Was planning on sleeping there anyway." She grabbed the comforter and gestured to the gap between one of the beds and the wall. "Do you mind if take the space next to your bed, Eragon?"

"Yeah, sure, go ahead." He smiled, happy that the elf had chosen to be closer to him than to Brom. "You can take some of the pillows too, I only need one." She nodded her thanks and threw her makeshift bedding down, padding over it in oblong, looping circles to settle the lumps before adding one of the pillows. "So, um...you said you used beanies when you were with the Varden to go out drinking. Don't they know you're an elf? I mean, they have to, right? Why can't you just go as is?"

Arya shrugged and sat next to him on the bed. Before answering, she unsheathed a mid-sized combat knife from the side of her boot and set about tearing the sheet Brom had given her into palm wide strips. "They know. And plenty of them are unsettled by us. It took a while to get used to the stares and the occasional...remark, I should say. When something is misunderstood, it is often feared, and going out for a drink in one of Farthen Dur's crowded bars with our ears clearly on display could turn the atmosphere from fun to awkward in a hot second." Finished with the sheet, the elf began rolling the makeshift bandages. "So, we started wearing beanies or hoodies to cover our ears. Everyone treated us as just another human unless we did something to tip them off, at which point we would leave."

Eragon frowned. It bothered him that even the Varden had people who were not fond of other races. 'If they don't trust elves, then what are they going to think of me and Saphira?' He subconsciously reached his mind out to Saphira, brushing against her sleeping thoughts to reassure himself. When his mind was calm again and he had confirmed that she was safe, he asked, "Doesn't it bother you, though? You're helping them, and you've fought for them. Don't they respect that? Haven't you at least tried change their minds?"

Arya leveled her gaze with his. "Oh, I tried at first. It led to more trouble than good. Some people already have their minds made up, Eragon. Out of the entire Varden, only a small percentage openly expressed any issue with me and my guards, and I'm sure there are more who keep their thoughts to themselves." She paused to tear the end of a partially rolled strip lengthwise a few inches with her teeth. "Besides, there are still people in the Varden who treated me as just another Vardenite. People have opinions. I can't let it affect how I act. I fight for the Varden as a whole, and if it costs me a night of drowning myself in dwarvish vodka, I'm okay with that."

"Don't give the boy any ideas." Brom chastised from his bed. He had found a current newspaper in one of the nightstand drawers and was scanning it for any information regarding the Varden, Urgals, Gil'ead, or Eragon and Saphira. "And no getting him drunk. Unless I'm there. Then, well...we'll see."

Arya waved him off. "I know, I know."

The shower cut off. Moments later Murtagh emerged from the bathroom, tendrils of steam clinging to his body and trailing him as the door opened. "Alright, who's next?" He was clean-shaven and wore a simple tshirt and a pair of basketball shorts, still rubbing his head of wild, damp hair with a small towel.

"You're up, kid." Arya clapped Eragon on the shoulder. He hopped up and grabbed a set of clothes that were decently clean and his portable music player before slipping inside the steam filled room and locking the door behind him. Seconds later the muffled chords of country music could be heard as the shower turned on.

Brom folded the paper in half and used it to swat Arya's arm. "When are you going to take your turn? You definitely need it. And I'm putting that lightly."

The elf chuckled. "Last. Trust me, I am going to destroy that shower. The closest I've gotten to being clean was splashing water on my face the last few days. It's been well over six months since I actually showered.

"Fair point."

Murtagh fell onto his roller bed with a contented sigh. "Now this is nice. Hot water, a place to clean our clothes, a locked door. And a bed!" He lifted his head slightly. "Do they have a radio? For such a price they should have at least put a telly in the room."

"I doubt it plays anything but official news and propaganda." Brom grunted, but still leaned over and hit the power button on the small radio clock that graced the bedside table. After a few garbled channels of static and scrolling through the entire range of signals, he finally found one that came in crystal clear.

"–nds the economic report. Here's Karl Yorgisson with the day's news."

Brom snorted. "Told you."

Arya waved him away from hitting the off switch. "Shush, I want to hear this."

"Thanks, Jason." Karl Yorgisson accepted the hand off. "Still no concrete news on the attack at the Gil'ead military base. Although it is confirmed by the base commander that the attack was carried out by Varden forces, it is unclear if any were captured after their defeat or if any escaped.

"We again advise that you keep your eyes peeled for any faces you have seen on watch boards. Remember, not only is there a sizable reward for information, there is also the pride that comes with defending your King and country from the insidious terrorists that lurk in our midst.

"In other news, we have a new addition to our team! Rebecca Jayasdaughter is to be joining us for her first broadcast on–"

Brom hit the switch when no other news concerning their activities was forthcoming. "Well, that's good. They're not willing to admit that we slipped past them. That means they can't inform the general public about us or why they're searching for us."

"Attacked Gil'ead my arse." Murtagh grumbled, eyes closed and arms folded behind his head. "I climbed in through the bloody garbage chute. Could have at least called it a hostile intrusion or sabotage. We don't need the attention of being labeled dangerous attackers, period."

"Saphira told me she ripped the entire roof off their state dining hall. They can't cover up that amount of damage quick enough to pass it off as a single man stealth intrusion." Arya pointed out. "Besides, they'll blame it on an elvish raiding party sooner or later. They always do if the town is near Du Weldenvarden."

Murtagh frowned, confused, yet still refused to open his tired eyes. "Wait…. You're telling me that the reports of elvish raiding parties…?"

"Never happened?" The elf looked at him with genuine surprise and what appeared to be a touch of insult, aghast that he thought the stories were true. "Of course they never happened! We don't send out random raiding parties! Glen, Fäolin and I were the only elves to leave the forest since my race retreated there." She shook her head, shocked that he had actually believed the propaganda. "Honestly! It's too risky to send little groups out like that to attack directly, what if one of our fighters were captured!"

The young man cracked open one eye and lifted his head to raise an eyebrow at Arya. "Oh? So, you were just visiting Gil'ead and managed to lock yourself in a cell? The men you were with just fell on their guns, is that it?"

"That is different." Arya snarled. Brom glanced at her, mildly startled by her tone, then turned back to leafing through the phone book and wishing he had brought at least one of his prized lore tomes with him on this harebrained journey. "We weren't attacking, we were in the fringes of Du Weldenvarden. Someone in the Varden betrayed us. That betrayal led to the death of my fyrn breoal. I'd prefer it if you didn't make quips about it."

"I apologize." Murtagh dipped his head in her direction as best he could, his words truly sincere. Losing friends to the King was something he was very familiar with. "It was in bad taste."

Arya rubbed her temples and braced her elbows on her knees, shoulders tense. "Apology accepted. I shouldn't have snapped."

Murtagh shrugged. "Eh. Natural response." The room was quiet for a time, the only sound being the rustle of Brom now flipping through the holy book from the desk, the light patter of the shower, Eragon's off key humming, and country music. Then, "What's a frin br… fyrn bri…."

"Fyrn breoal. Means war family in the Ancient Language." Brom answered gruffly. Despite the no smoking designation, he pulled his pipe from his discarded jacket and clamped it firmly in his teeth. "Elves who fight often use it to describe their battle buddies. Only the closest knit groups use the term." He jerked his chin in Arya's direction. "If I'm not mistaken, that is."

The elf nodded, fiddling with one of the remaining bandages. She was weaving it over and between her fingers, trying to keep her hands busy. "Glen and Faölin were my fyrn darmthrelli, my war brothers. We fought for the Varden together for decades."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Arya's jaw tightened slightly. "Shit happens in war. We all lose people. We fight even harder in their memory." She unwound the bandage and then looped the tail around her thumb again, beginning anew.

Murtagh mulled over the new words he had learned, again letting the atmosphere lapse into silence. It wasn't exactly a comfortable one, a little too heavy to be called that, but it was easy enough to be called content. The three currently inhabiting the room were all comfortable with reflecting on their own thoughts without feeling the urge to shatter the silence. Murtagh respected that of Brom and Arya, and was glad that they, too, seemed to respect his quiet.

'Fyrn breoal. Tornac was my fyrn breoal, then. I guess he would be my war father. Too old to be a war brother.' Murtagh's heavy lidded eyes wandered the room. 'I wonder what he would have thought of all this. Eragon, Saphira, Brom and Arya. Agh, Bloody hell, he'd probably lash me silly for agreeing to go to the Varden and trusting strangers like this.' The thought brought a sleepy grin to his face, and his eyes drifted closed.

"Oi. Don't sleep yet. You have to do laundry." Brom snapped when he saw the young man drifting off.

It didn't even phase Murtagh, who just rolled onto his side and mumbled, "Then wake me up when it's ready to be done." and nuzzled his face deeper into his pillow.

It didn't take long for his breathing to even out and his body to relax. Arya nudged the end of the bed with her foot and shook her head when Murtagh only mumbled and groggily waved her off.

"I can do the laundry. Should probably let the guy sleep." She offered when Brom made an annoyed noise at the young man's reaction.

"Can't have you wandering around out there." Brom shifted his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other. "If you run into someone who have any education from the army, it could get ugly fast."

"So I'm pretty much useless at this point in time?" Arya asked dryly. "Dear me, I'm in a room where I can't leave. Out of one jail and into another."

"Don't get all brooding on me, girl. Once your clothes are washed you can change out of Murtagh's and maybe the angst will wear off." The elf chuckled at that, and Brom flipped the holy book closed with a definitive snap. "Bloody hell, why is Eragon taking so long?"

The old man stood and went over to the bathroom door. He paused, glanced at Arya, and a bit of a mischievous glint came to his eyes. The elf raised an eyebrow. "Oh stars, I know that look. What are you planning?"

Brom only grinned and shoved his pipe into his pocket before raising his fist and banging on the door, yelling, "Eragon! What the HELL is taking so long?! You had better not be doing what I think you're doing in there!"

There was the distinct sound of someone nearly falling on their ass in a wet shower and sputtered curses. "I'll be done in a minute!"

"Cold water works wonders, boy! Hurry up!"

As Brom returned to his bed Arya swatted him on the arm. "He's a teenage boy. He needs his alone time." She, too, was trying to hold back laughter. "Better he do that in there than when he thinks we're all asleep."

"He should have thought of 'alone time' before he left Carvahall." Brom shot back, but was still grinning from ear to ear. "And trust me, you don't get alone time with a bonded dragon in your mind."

"Poor Saphira!"

The shower squeaked off and Eragon came out, his face and the tips of his tapering ears bright red. He was wearing a pair of long pajama pants and a loose t-shirt with the sleeves cut off.

"You could have just told me to hurry up." The boy grumbled, shooting Brom a moody glare.

Brom nodded with a chuckle. "Aye, but then you wouldn't have actually gotten out right when I asked."

"Well, I wasn't–" His face went an even deeper shade of red when he realized Arya was still awake and watching him, bemused. "I wouldn't do that with people in the next…. I just like hot showers, okay?" Pink blotches started appearing on his neck, collarbones and shoulders as he blushed furiously.

"Hey, I'm not saying anything." Arya put her hands up. "What you do in the shower is none of my business."

Brom grabbed his fresh clothes and brushed by the younger Rider. "You can sleep now, boy. No watches tonight. Put your dirty clothes next to Murtagh's."

Still red, Eragon placed his travel clothes next to the small pile Murtagh had made and sat on his bed. Arya was stretched out on the other side, leaning against the headboard, and was flipping through the holy book Brom had abandoned. She didn't seem to be reading it, just turning the pages to give herself something to do.

"You alright with me here until Brom gets out? I can move to his bed if you want me to." She asked as the Eragon wiggled underneath the tightly tucked sheets and blanket.

"No, it's okay. I don't mind." He attempted to adjust the pile of pillows behind his head and, giving up, pulled one out and tossed it at Murtagh. The sleeping man grumbled, kicking the pillow off his legs, and raised a middle finger in Eragon's general direction. "If you...um...if you don't want to sleep on the floor we could...you know, split sheet."

Eragon's ears flared a deep maroon as Arya let out a soft laugh. "Thanks, but I need to be out of general sight if anyone comes in. People would wonder why three people checked in and suddenly a fourth person appeared. Bed blocks the view of my little hideout." The Rider mumbled a 'good point' and tried to ignore the glimmer of amusement in the elf's dark eyes. "Is Saphira doing alright out there?"

"Yeah. She's asleep." Glad for the change in topic, Eragon busied himself with plugging his music player into the complimentary charger on the bedside table and wrapped his headphones around it carefully. "I think she's a little glad for the time alone. She grew up in the woods near my farm after she hatched, and since we started traveling with Murtagh I think she's been missing the solitude, not to mention a chance to sleep for a full night."

A slight smile tilted the corners of Arya's lips as she turned another page. "I think we've all earned a little rest."

Eragon nodded in agreement, punctuated by a wide yawn. The hot shower had made him drowsy on top of being bone tired. Coupled with the soft pillows, warm blankets, Saphira's sleeping thoughts and the safety of the walls around him, the boy found himself already drifting off. "Yeah." He murmured, eyelids drooping closed. "G'night, Arya."

"Good night, kid."

As Eragon dropped off, the elf gently settled the holy book on the bed and slipped down onto her makeshift mattress to begin preparing for her own turn in the shower. She released her braid and combed out the snarls in her hair, wiped off what bits of blood and grime that she could with a scrap of shredded sheet, and put her dirty fatigues on the pile near Murtagh's bed. When Brom stepped out, beard and mustache neatly clipped, he found Arya waiting quietly next to the door with the last package of toiletries and a fresh towel in her lap.

"Take as long as you want." Brom grunted, jerking his head towards the shower and flinging out a few water droplets from his still damp hair. "I'm sending Murtagh to do laundry and then heading to sleep."

"I'll try not to destroy the entire hotel's hot water supply." Arya grinned wryly as she stood. "I'll wake you if anything concerning happens."

~~~

Arya shut off the water and watched the last dregs slide down the drain. It had taken ten minutes of soap, scrubbing and hot water to get the water flowing off her body to run lighter than dark grey. Another ten minutes saw it finally run clear, and five minutes under shockingly cold spray soothed the vicious burning in her healing wounds and scars. She shook herself and wrung out her hair as much as she could before stepping out and grabbing a towel.

A few brief minutes later she was again clothed in her borrowed jeans and her sports bra, and she stepped out of the bathroom. A quick check confirmed that Murtagh had not yet returned. He slipped inside just as the elf was tying off the last strip of bandage around her leg, the rest of the shredded sheet already wrapped around her torso.

"Heads up." Murtagh grunted, tossing Arya her fatigues. She muttered her thanks, feeling the effects of the hot shower sinking in. "Good night, Arya."

"'Night, Murtagh." The young man hit the last light before tumbling onto his roller bed with the 'whumph' of a relieved sigh. After a quick last look around the room to ensure everyone was accounted for, Arya followed suit.

No one dreamed. They just slept.

~~~

Eragon tore the covers off as a shrill alarm stabbed into his ears. For a confusing moment lights and sound blinded him. He threw his mind out to Saphira to see through her eyes, only to remember that she was a league away, hiding in the woods. He felt her wake and surge to her feet, his panic alarming her.

A swarm of curses in various languages assaulted him as he finally began to register his surroundings.

They were still in the hotel room, but the standard fire alarm on the wall was alive with flashing lights and mind shattering sound. To his right Brom was shoving the small pile of his clean clothes in his travel bag, swearing in a mildly familiar, old tribal dialect of the Spine. To Eragon's left, Arya was already zipping Murtagh's borrowed jacket up to cover the makeshift bandages on her torso, not even bothering with a shirt as she threw her fatigues onto her unzipped combat jacket. She zipped it, wrapped it up and clamped a spare blade harness strap around it before slinging the bundle across her back by the tied together sleeves and tore the window open. Eragon swore he heard her hissing choice words in the Ancient Language, but the intonation and inflections were markedly different.

Of all of them, Murtagh appeared to be the least disturbed by the noise. He sat lacing up his boots, already clothed in his travel gear, and his previously covered rifle was laid out on the bed within arms reach. As he picked the weapon up and chambered the first round Eragon realized the man was swearing in a steady monotone, never once reusing a word. When he seemed to run out of words in the common human language, he switched to what Eragon gathered was a dialect from his local hometown. His vocabulary was impressive to say the least.

"What the bloody hell is happening?" Eragon asked, snatching up his gear. He felt the distinct tickle of Saphira using his ears to hear the answer, her body tensing as she prepared to race to his aid.

Brom shoved the clip on the top of his bag together with a hurried snap. "From what I can gather, the desk clerk told her replacement about us and they checked the front tapes. They recognized at least one of us and they're setting up the local garrison outside the doors as we speak."

Murtagh's muttered swearing filled the brief gap in conversation. "Faigh muin, deoghail am fallus bhàrr duine mharbh siadha tiadhan, cao–"

Eragon ignored him and haphazardly threw his clothing into his backpack, yanking on the zipper when it refused to close all the way. "What's the alarm about then?" He checked that Zar'roc's hilt and pommel were still wrapped, concealing the gem and shining grip, then strapped the blade on his hip.

"They're trying to lure us to the emergency exit." Brom growled. "Tell Saphira to keep out of sight unless absolutely necessary. We still have a chance get out of here without letting them see her."

'There won't be anything to see if I eat them all.' The dragon hissed in response. Eragon's jaw twinged as she snapped her teeth in frustration. 'I'll decide when to be seen. Just hurry up. I can smell a reinforcement company approaching.'

Eragon relayed her message. The speed of Murtagh's swearing increased while even Brom let out a particularly foul word. "How are we getting out?" The younger Rider asked. "We can't go out and we can't go up without having Saphira try to fly us out, and she can't carry four people."

"Theta Rescue." Arya grabbed Eragon's backpack before he could pick it up. "Or as I like to call it unofficially, 'The Reversed Cliché.'" She threw his bag out the window, ignoring his cry of confusion.

"Only if you're up for it." Brom threw his bag to her, and she repeated the process. Murtagh calmly handed his over with a polite nod and a swear that Arya must have recognized, for she snapped back at him with a word of her own. "It's quite a drop, even for you. The added weight won't help."

"No alternative I can see. Unless you want to tie together bed sheets." Her head cocked to the side. "They're sweeping the floor below us."

"Theta it is." Brom set himself up behind the wall near the door. "Lightest first, heaviest last. Eragon, Murtagh, you both are going to do exactly as Arya says, when she says you do it. Order is Eragon, me, then you Murtagh."

"Wait, what's happening?" Eragon asked as Arya grabbed his arm and pulled him to the window. "What are you doing?"

Arya flashed him a grin that didn't reach her now flinty eyes. "Don't worry. All you have to do is trust me. And don't wiggle."

"Wigg–" Eragon was cut off as the elf ducked and suddenly swept him off his feet in a fireman's carry. He only had time to spit out a quick "Oh Sweet Sara–" before Arya jumped out the window.

~~~

Half an hour later found the group galloping past the stand of trees where Saphira had hidden. The dragon leapt over their heads and snapped her wings out, startling the horses. 'On the road again, Little One?' She asked, gaining altitude to circle above them.

'On the road again.' Eragon affirmed, letting their thoughts mingle and intertwine in a way that the distance had previously made difficult. He felt her joy of flight and relief at being reunited, but also her displeasure. The close call had further confirmed her theory that he was a magnet for trouble. 'I'm going to hear about this later, aren't I?'

The dragon chuffed, the odd sound resonating through their mental link. 'You're just lucky Brom has a good head on his shoulders.' With that she drove her wings down, shooting up another hundred feet. 'You will fly with me today.'

'Yes ma'am.' Eragon smiled and Saphira crowed her jubilation to the sky.

Dust billowed from the horse's hooves as they continued on their journey. It was good to be on the road again.

[sabraeal]

Age of Reason, Part 1

Obiyuki AU Bingo Sleeping Beauty AU

The moon hangs swollen in the night sky, a bloated corpse in the river of the heavens. Fitting for a night like this, for the job he’s about to do.

Salt is thick on the air; a strange taste for a path in the middle of a wood, so tangled and choked with briars that he can hardly pass. As it is, they catch on the wool of his shirt, pulling snags in the pile. He huffs, plucking one from the shoulder seam. By the end of this little excursion, he’ll need a new wardrobe.

His mouth curves. Good. With the mountain of dir he’ll get from this job, he can afford an upgrade.

That is, if he ever gets there. The canopy looms, branches criss-crossing in a messy tangle, blotting out the sun. They said the village was only half a day’s walk, barely an hour over the border but--

That’s the thing about borders in these parts: there’s nothing to mark them.

The brush rattles, soft as a snake’s warning. His feet slide beneath him, supporting his crouch, legs coiled tight to pounce--

“Ah! Hail, traveler!” A man slips out from the bush, his hair a sloppy thatch of mouse brown, a basket perched high on his back. “Not many on these roads, of late!”

He straightens, yanking his boot away from where a briar has latched around its brim. “Can’t imagine why.”

The man smiles at that, but it’s a faint, bitter thing. “Ah yes, well, the plant life is certainly aggressive.”

He frowns down, plucking a bramble off his shoulder. “Can you tell me if it is far to Clarines?”

“Clarines?” His lips part in a friendly flash of teeth. “Why, you’re already there. Or at least close.” He hunches, squinting into the undergrowth. “There should be a marker, oh-- ah! There!”

There-- a small statue, nearly swallowed by the forest, shoulder-high. He steps toward it, gloved hand pushing aside the briars.

“What’s this?” He tilts his head. “An angel?”

“To guide us,” the man says, hushed. “Or guard us. I hardly know any longer.”

He lets out a bark of a laugh. “I thought the Clarinese were above superstition.”

The stranger’s smile wears thin. “So did we.”

The man next to him is large, tall and wide as a mountain, dwarfing the stool he sits on. Still, there’s something delicate about him, almost hesitant, holding this breath like he’s taking a plunge off the world’s edge.

“There’s a place,” the man says, his voice a deep rumble, like the way rocks move beneath the mantle of the earth. “In Clarines, just over the border. A manor.”

He leans in, on the hook. A manor means money, whether the people in it are alive or not. “Clarines? I thought they didn’t brook with the supernatural anymore. They’re--” he pauses, for dramatic effect-- “enlightened.”

The man’s mouth rucks into a smirk. “That they are.”

“And you’re telling me this manor is cursed,” he asks, dubious. “In this great land of reason.”

There’s gravel in this man’s laugh, the sorta of rasp that only comes from experience. “A man’s only reasonable if he believes what he sees with his two eyes.”

“And you’ve seen this?” he presses. “A cursed manor right in Clarines?”

“I have.” His teeth flash in the tavern’s dim. “And if you have any sense, you’ll see it too.”

“Where are you headed?” The man bobs along beside him, the mousy haystack of his hair ruffling in the breeze. “Down on to Wistal? I hear it’s nice this time of year. Prince just had a baby too, I heard. Holding a big party just to name the thing.”

He sighs. Clarines might be a land of reason, but they still clung to their royals. “No.”

“Eurikenna isn’t half bad either, if you don’t mind sticking to your own skin,” the man offers amiably. “They’ve got a festival of their own going on, least so they’re saying.”

He knows persistence when he sees it; this man has no intention of letting him walk in companionable silence. “I’m headed to Laxdo. Just across the border.”

The man’s brows hike to his hairline. “That so?” He lets out a huff of a laugh. “Seems as though we’re headed the same way. The name’s Shuuka.”

“Ah.” His mind whirs. “You can call me Kage.”

“Well, Kage--” he hitches the basket higher on his back-- “what brings you out to Laxdo?”

The gate, in theory, shouldn’t be a problem. Those royals like to make them high, make them spiked, make them out of wrought iron to keep the riff-raff out. He’s no stranger to being kept on the outside.

Boosting over a fence is no trouble, no matter how high they make it. But the briars, well-- those are a problem.

It’s the first part of his night to disappoint his expectations, but oh, it’s far from the last.

“Business.” His hands flex at his side, even as he smiles. “And maybe some pleasure.”

Shuuka’s smile stiffens. “Ah, well, there’s not much of either in Laxdo. Though if you’ve got something to trade, there’s always a few itching to buy.”

The man gives his pack a cursory look, but he assures him, “I’m no merchant.”

“Huh.” Shuuka’s mouth purses, thoughtful. “What else might bring you out this way?”

“KUREI!” A band of men raises their tankards as they catch sight of him in the corner, cheeks ruddy with drink. “The savior of Oberwald! You have a drink?”

He raises his own stein, nearly empty, but they’re all too far into their own to notice. With a raucous cheer, they turn back to the bar, wheedling for another pint.

Good. Now when they remembered that name, they would talk of the man who drank drink-for-drink with them, who told them just what they wanted to hear. He wouldn’t, of course-- but this night would be a blur to them, and a conversation with the man of the hour would be a lie that was safe to make. After all, he wouldn’t be around to gainsay them.

The big man is steady as he pours, the bottle comically small in his meaty hand. “Ah, so that’s what you have them call you.”

He watches his cup fill with dismay, smile plastered onto his lips. Now this-- this wouldn’t do. He could drink any of village men under the table, but this stranger--

Well, he knows when he’d be beat. “All the villages between here and Altenrode.”

“Quite a ways,” the giants says, shifting on his stool. “Thought I recognized the name they were shouting when I came in.”

“Many a tavern lifts a glass to me.” And he’s sure more than a few toast his eventual demise too. “But about this manor...”

The man’s mouth slides into a dangerous curve. “Ah, right, the cursed manor. Used to be a royal residence, you know. One of the ones built by the old king.”

A king’s manor. All the more promising. “Never heard of it.”

“You wouldn’t,” he agrees, “it was barely been finished before he died. The prince took up with it though. Kept a mistress of his there.”

He’d never much cared for Clarines-- too learned, and too suspicious in all the wrong ways-- but he did know something of their royals. At least, the younger ones. “The prince?”

“The same.”

His finger taps at the tables. “But none of this explains the curse.”

The man’s mouth splits wide, teeth flashing white in the dim. “Why do you think you’ve never heard of it?”

“I heard a rumor,” he says, casual, “that there’s a manor in Laxdo that used to belong to the royal family.”

Shuuka’s step stutters beside his. “Still does,” he manages after a moment. “On paper.”

Ah, now that was promising. “So it’s true.” He slants a sly look at him. “It was abandoned.”

A blunt-fingered hand ruffles through his mop of hair, anxiety entrenched at the corners of his eyes. “That it was.”

“The prince’s mistress used to live there, did she?” He doesn’t need to wait for Shuuka’s answer, it’s writ across his face. “Some say she still does.”

It’s silent for a moment, only the crunch of their shoes on the path to fill it, until Shuuka croaks, “Who says that?”

“So you mean this is a ghost situation.” He takes a quick sip of his ale and wishes he had more. “A haunting. Maybe a poltergeist.”

“No.” The man’s smile grows thin. “She’s alive, by all accounts.”

Alive. Now that’s a different sort of request. “I’ll admit you’ve got me intrigued, mister, but I exorcise spirits, not ex-mistresses.”

His mouth twists wryly. “Is that what you call it, then?”

“It is.” He settles back into his chair, balancing some of his weight on his toes. His knives dig comfortingly into the arch of his back. “I may make a name for myself for ridding folk of unwelcome guests, but those are the ones who have lingered, and need to pass on. By all accounts, a living mistress, well--” he winks-- “she’s done her job, and I’m not the sort to pry her from her hard-earned reward.”

The man shifts, the light of the lamps skittering over the hard planes of his face, and he grins. “Glad to hear it.”

Ever so slowly, he slides his feet down, so his soles touch the floor. “Still think I should go see this manor?”

“More than ever,” the man admits, and in the light, he swears he can see red glittering among the gray of his hair. “You see, this mistress, she’s not dead--” he hesitates, lingering at the edge of another drop-- “she’s asleep.”

Shuuka lets out a long string of air. “Wouldn’t think they’d talk about all that, even out in Tanbarun.”

“Ah, you know how it is.” He shrugs. “They love a good story. Even better if there’s a pretty girl with a curse.”

Shuuka grunts, casting him a measuring look. “And that’s what brought you here?”

He grins. “Who could resist?

The man shifts next to him, hesitant. “Just what was it that you do again, Kage?”

The brambles wrap tight around the bars, thorns as sharp and thin as needles. He places a hand over it, and-- ah, yes, that’s not smart. Not gonna be able to climb that way.

Not that he has many other options. Forewarned is forearmed, and someone hadn’t seen the need to tell him about the thicket of thorns tangled around the only entrance. Besides what could hang off his belt-- a few of his finer tools and a couple of his favorite knives, and a handful of nuts for good measure-- he’s shown up empty handed to a pruning party.

Still, if she had gotten in, he could too. He’d just have to get creative about it.

He stares down at his hands, leather giving a soft squinch as he flexes them. His teeth clench at the feel of padding against his palm.

Or he might just have to do this the old fashioned way.

His mouth hooks into a smirk. “I didn’t say.”

Shuuka’s eyes narrow. “Is that how you got that bruise on your cheek?”

The salt is rough against his palms, stinging where cuts haven’t yet become calluses. This hasn’t been the easy job he signed up for, but-- it’s fine. All this ends tonight.

He cranes his neck, squinting at the fattening moon in the sky. It’s not as full as he wants it, but that’s par for the course on this misadventure. It’ll do.

Stretching out a toe, he scratches a circle in the dirt. This isn’t how he likes to do this-- most villages have at least cobbled stones at its center, some sort of central pavilion around the town well, but-- not here.

He grimaces, pouring the sand into the trench he’s made. His payment here is more likely to be greens than guilder, but-- he knows better than to turn his nose up at a good meal. Not when he knows there’s no guarantee of his next.

“Kurei,” the mayor hisses from his doorstep, not daring to take a single step from its frame. “Are you sure--?”

“Stand back!” he warns, holding out his hands. Outstretched, they just fit inside the circle. “When I call the curse’s spirit, it will be violent! It longs for a life, and if any living being stands in this square besides myself, they risk becoming its next host!”

The townsfolk murmur worriedly at their doors, and one by one they close, even as shutters peep open. Eyes peer curiously out from slender cracks, all of them fixed on him. As they should be.

“I shall now call out the incantation.” He raises his arms, hands grasping beseechingly at the moon. “Protect me now, O Mysterious Maiden, for I call forth a power both vengeful and unknowable!” He takes a breath, and projects the words, “Veni! Vidi! Vici!”

For a long moment, there is only silence. He glances at sky, frowning as a cloud leisurely passes.

He clears his throat. “Veni. Vidi. Vici!”

A wind picks up, sudden and urgent, blowing at the salt in his circle, and pricking at his hair, but--

The moon shines down, unimpeded, and the circle around him softly begins to glow. Perfect.

A grunt saws from the rooftops, followed by a savage snort and a dangerous growl. He turns, a moment too late--

And catches a beastly elbow to the face.

His lips part in a grin. “Well now,” he drawls, casting his companion a sly look. “If you want to hear about that, you’ll have to buy me a drink.”

[nthngbxtfanfics]

Not her - Jooheon scenario

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | FINAL

“Oppa~ What do you think of this dress?” Kihyun lifted his head after you called out to him. You stepped out of the changing space and revealed one of many outfits you collected together in the store. Kihyuns eyes widened at your sight, his face became hot, his mouth became dry.

��You look gorgeous Y/N-ssi!” he gave you his most beautiful smile. Your smile mirrored the one from the person in front of you. Kihyuns eyes scanned your attire as you spinned around to show off your body. The dress hugged your curves perfectly, the fabric kissed your skin, the neckline rounded your chest into a beautiful heart. The vibrant red enhanced your beauty. 

“Do you think it’s good enough for the event?” Your eyes searched for Kihyuns answer. The male was invaded by you, he didn’t even realized how you flicked your fingers in front of his face to catch his attention.

“Earth to Yoo Kihyun!” a small chuckle escaped your chest and Kihyun came back from his dreamworld.

“Oh Sorry, I got carried away. I didn’t knew that the workout with Hoseok-hyung and Changkyun would improve your body that much.” He was clearly surprised his expression showed no lie. You couldn’t hold back your laugh and took his statement as a compliment.

“Thanks Kihyun. I’ll take that as a compliment. So back to my original question: Do you think I could wear that to the wedding?” 

“Even though you look good in it! It is kinda unfortunate, it’s too revealing and too sexy to be worn at a wedding.” Kihyun was honest, he loved the dress on you, but he knew it was too inappropriate for such event. Your lips formed a small poud, giving in to Kiyhuns words. You loved the dress but it is really too much.

“I wish I could buy it, but I can afford only one dress.”

Kihyun noticed the sad tone in your voice and tried to cheer you up.

“Come on Y/N~ We’ll find another dress. This dress can wait, you can buy it later. But now you need a dress where you don’t look like the hottest woman in the world. Who tries to steal the groom and his men of honors!” 

Those words made you giggle and comfortable again. The past months were too frustrating, you had to deal with so much hate towards yourself. It was exhausting and sad. You were happy that Kihyun suggested to go shopping with you. Because of him you were able to love yourself again and boost your self esteem. His words made your body hot, your chest was vibrating. No coldness in your body was left behind, he melted it away.

At this point you must’ve fallen for him, but that wasn’t the case. Your heart belonged to someone else and it wouldn’t let him go so easily.

“Go try my dress on!” Kihyun pushed you into the changing room. He don’t wanted you to see what kind of effect you had on him. He’s a man, a man with needs and you were not helping him. Kihyun would never lay a finger on you, he knew how much your heart was crying for his friend and those thought kept him away from falling into your spell. He wished for your happiness and the greatest things in life. He wanted to support you in any way he could.

You walked out of the changing room again, a dark blue gown falling down from your hips. Another beautiful fitting dress, a dress so elegant and perfectly made for you and only. 

“Well that looks like a dress for a wedding. Now turn around a little.” Kihyun was satisfied, especially since he chose the dress. He approached you and reached his hands to your shoulders, signaling you to turn around. He took a closer look, he knew it was perfect, he choose it by the way.

Kihyun was right, it was the perfect dress. You smiled at your own reflection, the male stood behind you sharing this moment with you. You liked it, but the other dress wouldn’t leave your mind. Your friend noticed your gaze towards the other gown, his heart clenched. Love towards the dress was visible. But you decided against it, you needed to look presentable on this event and the other dress wasn’t helping. 

You both finished and decided for the last dress, paid it and exit the store.

“What time is it?” Kihyun looked at his watch.

“We should head to the cafe, the others might be there now”

“Ok” you both walked your way towards the cafe, it wasn’t really far away and you reached it within 20 minutes.

As you entered through the two giant glass doors, your eyes wandered through the new place. It was a pretty minimalistc cafe. Your eyes landed onto a strong back of a man, those shoulders were too familiar, Kihyun noticed him too and both of you made their way towards the said man.

“Hey!” You greeted and sat down the opposite of Hoseok, while Kihyun sat down next to him.

“Where’s the Maknae?” asked Kihyun.

“He’s at the restroom and will come back soon. We haven’t ordered yet, since we arrived not long ago.” Hoseok looked through the menu and laid it down after he finished his sentence.

His met eyes yours, a smile appeared on his face.

“You look so happy! Found something?” Hoseok was curious about your bright face.

“I found two really nice dresses and bought one for the wedding! I’m so excited to wear it! But I could only afford one.” sadness overtook you as you remembered the red dress and pouted playfully towards the man. A low chuckle escaped his chest and his smile grew.

“Oh, don’t worry maybe later!” his smile washed away the sad emotion.

“Hi there! -” Changkyun came back from his visit to the restroom, greeted you with a smirk and sat down next to you.

“So how was your little shopping trip with Kihyun?”

“It was really good and we found a dress! Wanna see? Kihyun actually found it first.” You took the bag onto your lap, revealing the top of the dress.

“That looks really good, I bet you look really good in it. I can’t imagine, Kihyun having some sense of style!” The Maknae teased his older friend.

“Yah, be careful with your words!” Kihyun got a bit mad at the spoken words from the younger one, but they didn’t stayed for long. They vanished after he heard your small giggle. He couldn’t help himself and chuckle at your reaction, you were trying hard not to laugh and failed after both of you met each others eyes.

The four of you erupted in laughter, amused by that small awkward interaction. Until you ordered and tried many tasteful things on the menu, the time went fast and you didn’t realized that you’ve been sitting for 4 hours at the same spot. Realization hit Hoseok after receiving a message from their Leader, asking where they are.

“Hyunwoo-hyung texted me, asking where we are.”

“What time is it actually?” Kihyun suddenly seemed to be in a rush, fiddling with his phone to check up the time.

“Let me get something real quick. I forgot to pick something up. Give me a few minutes ok?”

“We can go together and than head straight to the dorm.” Hoseok suggested to join the younger one.

“No! I’ll be fast, don’t worry. Take your time and finish the meal, we can meet up at the car.” Kihyun declined Hoseoks offer and walked straight out of the cafe and ran off as he slipped through the doors.

“Strange, he never mentioned to pick something up.” you were confused and wiped off the thought. Sipping on your drink, you noticed how the Maknae was staring intensely on his phone screen. Changkyun noticed your lingering gaze and turned his head to you.

“Is something? Did something happen? You were so quite today. Is something bothering you?” the words slipped through your lips as the feeling of concern washed over your shoulders.

“I’m fine, it’s just -” Changkyun hesitated to answer your questions, but as he saw the worry in your eyes, he gave in. Something has been bothering him for a while now and he couldn’t talk about it, with no one. It slowly started to frustrate him and he knew he had to talk about it.

“I don’t know how to say it or which words to use correctly. I’m just really worried.”

“Changkyun, what’s wrong? You can talk to us about it.” now your worries started to increase and curiosity flashed in your mind.

What is bothering him?

“You’ve been on my mind a lot lately. And-” He started and your thoughts were going wild, your eyes went wide, Hoseok was like a reflection in a mirror of you.

Is he trying to confess?

You and Hoseok shared the same thought, your heart started to race and you became nervous, scared of the outcome. You don’t want to hurt his feelings, but you couldn’t return them.

“Please don’t take it the wrong way, but this whole situation is so messed up! Between you and Jooheon. I mean he’s hurting you and not like a small pinch on your arm kind of pain, but I mean emotional pain. Pain that brought you into depression, pain that drove you so crazy, that you couldn’t even work for weeks. I can’t imagine how much it must’ve hurt to be next to him, yesterday. I feel so sorry, I insisted that Minhyuk should invite you over. I thought you could heal a little and be normal again with Jooheon, especially since his girlfriend wasn’t around.”

You were shocked at Changkyuns confession, he wouldn’t normally talk about his feelings, especially not that open. You also couldn’t understand why he was sorry. The evening went great, you had a lot of fun. Especially with Jooheon, there was no tension at the end. It was as if you went back in time, the time before the relationship with his girlfriend started. Jooheon was you best friend that night, he was back. No mood swings, no jealousy only his cheery and happy self that you fell in love with in the first place. Guilt built up in your guts as you saw Changkyuns sad expression, your arm framed the man automatically.

“Oh Changkyun, don’t be sorry. Last night went great don’t you think? We all had so much fun together.”

“But Y/N, you were so heartbroken, I felt like I was forcing you to hang out with him and I feel so damn guilty. “ he continued.

“First - It was a really amazing night and I had a lot of fun! Second: It was my decision to come over! Minhyuk texted me that I don’t have to come if I’m still to uncomfortable. But I went anyway, cuz I knew there will be people who love me and take good care of me. So please don’t be sorry, all you wanted was the best for me.” you tried your best to push away the guilty feeling within the Maknae and cheer him up with your words. He formed a small smile, staring down onto the table.

“Now, tell me why you’ve been sticking with your phone the whole time.”

“You really started to hate phones don’t you?” Hoseok was amused by your dislike towards phones.

“I don’t hate them, I just don’t like it when I’m in a conversation with someone and we get interrupted by that damn thing.” you reasoned yourself, your dislike towards the device started after Jooheon started to date, what a coincidence, right?

“Jooheon texted me.” Changkyun sighed, should he tell you about Jooheons recent struggles? Changkyun knew both sides, not only about your emotional state, but also the one of his best friend and co rapper. He knew Jooheon has been struggling with his own emotions, they were everywhere. Changkyun knew about his undying love for you and was even more frustrated with the whole situation. The Maknae wanted to scream at both of you, for being too stupid to see through this stupid one sided see-through mirror wall between you. You loved Jooheon and Jooheon loved you. All you both saw were illusions of one another. Too scared to break the surface and to reach out.

Nervousness overtook your system, did something happen? Worry was visible on your face. Changkyun debated with himself, whether to tell you about his friends emotions and concerns or to lie to you. You seemed heald, but he knew you were far away from that state.

“Jooheon asked me if I could help him with his new song, he’s been struggling with it a lot lately.” He choose to lie, Jooheon had to confess to you himself and not through him. Hoseok catched the Maknae lying and he let him, he knew you might get hurt, so he just played along. A small signal from Hoseoks phone broke the conversation, he received a text from Kihyun.

“Let’s head out, Kihyun is waiting for us at the car.”

The three of you stood up and left the place, as you arrived, you spotted Kihyun within the car, sitting in the backseat.

“Why in the back? You had the perfect opportunity to sit in the passenger seat.” Hoseok made fun of the man.

“I wanted to sit in the back, is that bad?”

“Guys let’s hop into the car, or else someone will notice you!” Their Manager made himself visible as Hoseok opened the car door. Your way back to the dorm was fast, you joined the three men, Hoseok suggested a movie night. As you entered the dorm, you noticed two more figures in the living room. Shownu and Hyungwon sat on the couch, watching a show on the TV. They clearly waited for the four of you. Hyungwon noticed your figure and greeted you, Shownu followed his gesture.

“Come here Y/N sit down next to me.” Hyungwon patted the spot next to him signaling you to fill up the space between him and Shownu. Without hesitation, your legs moved towards the couch and sat down, placing a pillow onto your lap and hugging it. In the corner of your eye, you noticed how Kihyun went cautious into one of the rooms, with a questioning bag in his hand. You didn’t paid more attention to it and enjoyed your rest on the couch. You were walking the whole day and now happy to be able to relax your legs.

By the time, the other members arrived to the dorm and planned on joining you  to round this resting day, prepared for the upcoming hard schedule, they have to face in a few hours. Jooheon joined the group gathering, after his isolation in the bedroom.

You noticed how Jooheon was relaxed but also tensed. As if he was able to release himself from something, but was scared of what would come next. He was more open around you, like nothing happened the past months. You thought it was odd, but didn’t mind it at all. The first 15 minutes, his phone would non stop ring, message after message. We all grew annoyed by his phone, until he turned it off himself. He seemed pissed off at the constant spamming.

Kihyun sat next to you, you both were cuddled up in a blanket. You both interacted a lot, giggling, smiling and discussing certain things that happened in the movie. Jooheon noticed the intimacy between you two. His insides started to boil slowly.

The second movie ended and all eight of you decided to take a small break and grab some snacks and drinks.

“Y/N-ssi! I got something for you. Wait here ok?” Kihyun stood up, your source for warmth, now gone. Impatiently waiting, you leaned your head towards the direction he was leaving. He returned, the bag you saw earlier, in his hands.

“Here. I couldn’t help it, but you were so sad about it. I decided to just buy it.”

“No you didn’t -” You were shocked, you’d never expected something like this to happen. The attention went straight to the both of you.

“Is it what I think it is?”

“Open up and you’ll see” Your excitement made Kihyun smile. You took the red gown out of the bag, revealing it to the others.

“Wow Y/N-ssi! Is that the dress you’ve been talking about? I didn’t knew that the dress would be that good!” Changkyun was amazed at the gown and went straight to you, touching the fabric, Minhyuk followed him and did the same.

“Go try it on! I wanna see it on you!” Hoseok was as excited as a small child, eager to see you in the gown.

“Thank you Kihyun!” You stood up immediately, gave Kihyun a big tight hug and rushed into Hoseoks room, since it was the closest. Jealousy took over Jooheons actions, he stood up with full force. The members gazes followed Jooheons figure, eyes wide open. Scared and shocked at the same time, they didn’t knew - follow and stop him or let his emotions be spilled in front of you that would lead to a confession.

Jooheon threw the door open, you got startled. You were about to strip out of the first item that has been on your body. The energy radiating from Jooheon was scaring you, he was extremely mad. He couldn’t hide his emotions anymore, he needed all his thoughts out or he’ll go mad crazy.

“Why?” his word were harsh and strong.

“Why what? Jooheon you’re scaring me!” he paid no attention to your last sentence, stepping closer to your now small figure.

“Why are you with him? I am your best friend! I am!” He hit his chest hard, emphasizing his words that are directed towards him.

“Jooheon! What are you talking about?” Now you fired back, not understanding this whole situation. The others were listening, the wall was too thin. They heard every word, but they didn’t interfere. They knew you both needed to be clear towards each other. You needed him and he needed you.

“What I’m talking about? Stop fucking around with Kihyun in front of my fucking eyes!” he got louder after every word, his voice becoming stronger.

“I’m not fucking around with Kihyun, what makes you think like that?” you were lost, everything seems like a sick joke to you, some kind of prank, that was clearly not funny.

“You are acting with him all lovey dovey! Flirting with him! Touching around! Smiling, laughing! And then tell me you don’t have a thing with him? Do you think I’m too stupid to see that?”

“Am I not allowed to be around others? He’s my friend just like you! I don’t prevent you from touching your stupid girlfriend! I don’t whine like a baby like you do. Do you know why? Because I have no damn business in your relationship and I respect everything! But you make my days even worse! Why can’t I be around people who care about me! Do I have to ask for permission to meet up with other who are not you?” Your fears were now replaced with anger, you wouldn’t hold back anymore, not caring about the outcome of this mess.

“I just want you to stop playing around with him! I repeat I am your best friend! No one should be as close to you as I do!”

“I am not your possession Jooheon! I’m my own person! I can decide for myself!”

“No you can’t!”

“Why not?”

“Because I am here to protect you!” You couldn’t believe your ears how Jooheon was able to become even louder as before. You tried to keep your voice steady, it’s too hard to reach his level.

“Where’s the need to protect me from Kihyun? He’s your Friend you know him for so many years. Don’t you trust your own brother?”

“I’m not protecting you from him. I’m protecting him from you!” Now you were confused. Why does Kihyun need to be protected from you. The frown got deeper as you got more lost in the circle of confusion.

“What are you talking about? Jooheon you are making no sense!”

“Stop acting like a brat! You know what what I’m talking about!”

Frustration mixed with confusion made your body hot, your limbs started to tremble a little. Your mind is flooded with so many questions, but you couldn’t phrase one. You avoided his gaze for a short time, to avoid his dark eyes and clean up your mind, just a little. Looking back at him, for the first time, you noticed how deep his eyes became. You saw how many words, they wanted to say, but couldn’t. Locked away behind a window. But reading his true emotions was too difficult.

“Jooheon I don’t know what you’re talking about, seriously! -” you tried to calm him down, as you lowered your voice. “Explain it to me, please!”

A frustrated groan escaped out of the male, turning around and returning back in front of you. You both were frustrated and Jooheon wouldn’t calm down.

“How do you not know? You are playing with everyones feelings, because of you everyone gets hurt! And you always play innocent!” He pointed his index finger towards your face, coming extremly close. The tears in your eyes screamed for release. Your sight became blurry, your lips trembled.

“Why are you saying those things? I’m playing with no ones feelings! The only person who’s playing with feelings is you! You Jooheon! You’ve been playing with everyones feelings and not me! -” The tears were free, there was no reason to hold them back anymore.

His eyes became more fierce and dark, not believing your words. He chuckled at your remark and took a step back.

“You are the reason everyone is extremely tensed up. No one knows how to approach you. Especially since you’ve been dating your stupid girlfriend that no one can stand! Everyone is worried about you, your mood swings make us go crazy. They make me go crazy!” you tried to catch your breath as the sobbing became stronger. You felt so much smaller. At this point you couldn’t hold back anymore, you wanted to spill everything out of you, out of every cell in your body. You were broken, it hurt, you wanted to leave but couldn’t. It was now or never.

“Y/N-”

“You have no idea how much you effect the people around you!” You interrupted him, you wanted him to know everything and he’ll not stop you.

“Since the day you introduced this woman to us, you’ve been so mean to me. Scolding me non-stop for no reason. For things you normally would never get mad at. You weren’t talking to me for a while until yesterday, when we all gathered together. Do you know how much it hurt, when you ignored me? The worst thing about it was, that I didn’t even knew what I did wrong! Changkyun and Hoseok had to calm me down, they were there to comfort me. You were supposed to be there for me and catch my tears. You were supposed to be my best friend. And all you did was turn your back on me.” You took a small break, catching your breath. Jooheon kept silent, still looking straight at your figure and waited until you continued.

“I needed you, especially after your girlfriend came to the cafe and spilled her whole coffee onto me! She insulted me and your members, laughing into my face, calling me stupid. Telling me I wasn‘t worth it to be called your friend!” those words hit him, his heart shredded, his eyes widened.

“What?” this small question was the only thing that left his lips.

“It hurt Jooheon, I felt so worthless. I thought there was no point in living. But you know what brought back my living force? You! -” You let your last words settle into his mind and continued. “I couldn’t let go of our friendship, because of some woman who doesn’t even love you! I saw her real face, we all knew her real face many times. She was playing with you, she used you so she could become famous and then ditch you! I tried to talk to you about it, but you brushed me off, like some kind of dirt. I should’ve left your side, but I stayed and endured the pain - seeing her playing with you! Playing with your feelings! I endured the pain seeing you happy with her. I endured every f*cking second seeing you giving her loving eyes. I endured every time you gave her your love and her throwing it into trash.” more tears escaped your eyes, not stopping soon. Jooheon now looked at the floor, not lifting his eyes.

“Jooheon.-” said man lifted his eyes, looking at your fragile body. Even if your sight was blurry, you noticed how glassy his eyes have become. “You can be with anyone, but not her! I’ll endure the pain. Because I love you. You derserve so much better and I want you to be happy.“ a heavy silence filled the room. The air became thick, to hard to breath. Tears ran down his cheeks, a small sob escaped his lips together with these words, you never imagined to hear.

“And what if I wanna be with you?”

_____

Here are the following tags:

@lidda

@meiiyue​

@pleasantpeachstudent

[im-fairly-whitty]

Taken - A Frozen Oneshot

Thinking about how messed up it is that Kristoff is literally abducted by trolls as a child and we see only a few seconds addressing it and none of the repercussions. Decided to fix that by showing behind the scenes and shoveling on a big dose of real troll child stealing/changeling lore.

  “Henrick, please, Kristoff isn’t old enough to go out with the ice cutters, what if he’s taken by-”

“Ida, so help me you’d better not say trolls.” Henrick said, his voice getting a little gruff and sharp as he yanked on one of his boots.

He didn’t like arguing with his wife, he wasn’t like some men he knew who always tried to cow their spouses into submission, but they’d had this particular conversation so many times.

“He’s only eight, Henrick.” Ida said pleadingly, one hand on Kristoff’s blonde head as the boy held onto her skirts, watching them both with his big brown eyes, “He doesn’t even have a name that could protect him.”

“He has a proper Christian name.” Henrick said, shoving his foot into his other boot, “If you’d had your way he would have been saddled with some superstitious nonsense like “Hiccup.” I swear it’s like you want to curse the boy yourself, keeping him inside all day, never letting him out of your sight. He’s not a little girl, he’s got to get out with the men and learn his trade, I’m not letting you keep him cooped up indoors learning how to cook and knit and wear dresses.”

“I like cooking, I don’t mind!” Kristoff said brightly.

Henrick looked at his wife flatly.

“He’s nearly old enough to be safe,” Ida said, starting to sound desperate as Henrick packed his ice tools into his rucksack, “Just a couple more years and he’ll be too old to take, the trolls won’t want him when he’s twelve and then you can take him on all the trips you want, he’s a fast learner, he’ll catch up quickly.”

“Trolls. Aren’t. Real.” Henrik said, really starting to feel angry now. He stood, coming over by the fireplace, standing over her, “Kristoff is real. Ice trading is real. Our livelihood is real.” He growled, roughly rubbing his face with a sigh, “Look, I promise I won’t let him out of my sight, alright? We’ll be back before dark and I promise he won’t be taken by trolls. You can’t keep him tangled in your apron strings forever. He’s a strong boy, he’ll be fine. I promise .”

Ida folded her arms, biting her trembling lip as she looked up at him. Henrick’s gruffness turned to guilt as he watched her try not to cry.

He shouldn’t have pushed so hard. Kristoff was their only child and the light of her world, he knew she’d been truly terrified ever since Rikke’s boy had gone missing in the middle of the night a few years back. Henrick and the other men knew it had to have been Edde wandering off but the womenfolk had whispered of fae for months after. It was the downside to living in a small village, every shift of a snowdrift was the fault of some troll or ice mage or wandering spirit that had to be appeased. But Ida was still his wife and he needed to be more gentle with her feelings, even if they were wrong.

Henrick pulled Ida into a hug, wrapping his arms around her. “I’m sorry for pushing.” he said gently, “If it really bothers you I can take him out some other time, I just want him to be prepared for his future.”

She buried her face against his shoulder, “I just don’t want to lose either of you.”

“You won’t.” Henrick said, kissing the top of her head, “I promise.”

“Mama, can I go?” They both looked down at Kristoff, who was still holding onto Ida’s skirt with one hand, his set of tiny metal ice tongs he’d gotten for his last birthday in the other. His eyes were bright, even if his voice was hesitant. “I promise I won’t get taken by trolls. Sven and I want to be the best ice merchants ever, and we gotta practice!”

Henrick looked at his wife, waiting for her to decide. She rubbed the side of her face like she always did when she was hesitant.

“Do you really want to go?” she asked.

“Yes!” Kristoff said excitedly, bouncing up and down a little, “Please? I can take my new sled! I’ll work hard, I promise!”

“I won’t let him out of my sight.” Henrick said, putting a comforting arm around her waist, “We shouldn’t be out too late since we’re getting an early start, but the boys are leaving soon.”

“Alright.” Ida said, looking tired and worried, but forcing on a small smile, “Kristoff you have to promise me you’ll stay right by your father and not wander off. Keep all your snow gear on and don’t fall in the water.”

“I will!” Kristoff shouted with glee, really jumping up and down now, “This is going to be the best day ever! I’ll bring you home so much ice Mama, you’ll be able to build a whole other house!”

“I bet you will.” Ida said, bending down and scooping him into a tight hug, kissing his forehead before letting him go, “You’d better go get ready if you’re going to leave in time with Papa.”

“I’ll go tell Sven!” Kristoff said, tearing off the moment she let him go.

“We’ll be back before you know it.” Henrick said, smiling as he hugged her again, “But don’t get your hopes up about a new house.” he teased.

“Well if he grows up to be half as good as you then we’ll be plenty well off in old age.” Sedsel said, her smile was still small, but it felt real again.

 ***

 “You’ve done a fine job there, boy.” Henrick said, grinning down at the little chunk of ice Kristoff had pulled out of the lake, only about the size of a single brick.

“Thanks!” Kristoff said. His cheeks were flushed and he was panting as he tried to latch his tongs onto the block again, dragging the little block backward across the ice, “I’m gonna load it onto my sled so we can sell it!”

It was far later than Henrick had thought they’d be out, the sun having already dropped below the horizon by the time the men were finally loading the last of the harvested ice up onto the sleigh. Everyone was clearing up by the light of their yellow-green lanterns, making sure all the tools had been gathered up.

Ida would probably be frantically pacing by the front window by now, Henrick already having broken half his promise of being home before dark.

“You sure you don’t want me to load it onto the sleigh with the rest of the ice?” Henrick asked his son, balancing his own massive steel ice tongs on his shoulder, “You and Sven can ride up with us, it’s already getting dark, your mother’s going to tan my hide for having you out this late.”

“No,” Kristoff said, concentrating hard as he continued to struggle with his tongs, the points slipping loose over and over across the ice block’s sides. “Sven wants to pull the sled and the ice by himself.”

Kristoff seemed to have lost his hat at some point and had been enthusiastically “helping” harvest ice all day. He was doubtlessly exhausted, not having built up the dexterity and strength that handling tongs required like the other more experienced boys his age had.

Henrick heard a whistle and a shout from the ice sleigh as the others loaded up. It was time to head back. It would be faster to just scoop up Kristoff, reindeer, sled and ice block all in one armful and carry them to the sleigh, but Henrick couldn’t bring himself to stomp on his son’s independent spark. Even if he couldn’t keep up quite yet he could at least help boost the boy’s confidence.

“Alright, but I think you’ll have better luck just pushing it yourself, I’ll carry your tongs.” Henrick said, stooping to take the metal tool and ruffle his son’s hair, “You and Sven can handle your ice yourself but I’ll be watching you from the sleigh, alright? We’ll be moving much slower than we did on the way here, but be sure to keep up. Maybe after supper we can finish that dog wood carving we’ve been working on together.”

“Okay Papa!” Kristoff said, starting to push the ice block with his mittens, already moving much faster than he’d been managing with the tongs.  

Henrick chuckled, patting Sven as he passed him on the way to the sleigh. Not every child in the village could boast owning their own reindeer calf, but being well off meant that Henrick could afford to treat his son to some of the nicer things.

He grunted as he pulled himself up to stand on the side of the sleigh, holding onto the wooden slats as he peered back into the darkness. Kristoff had just managed to get his ice block onto his sled, nearly falling over himself as he did so, but he and Sven got moving right as the sleigh under Henrick did, everyone beginning to move forward across the snow.

Good. They’d all be home safe soon enough, a warm supper and a quiet evening by the fire with Kristoff and Ida sounded like heaven right now.

Henrick looked up at the night sky, gazing up at the northern lights that had begun their silent dance above them, ethereal ribbons of shimmering green twisting across the sky.

 ***

 Being out with Papa all day had made Kristoff tired, but it had been so exciting!

Kristoff rubbed his thick leather mitten against his nose as Sven pulled their sled. He’d lost his hat earlier and the freezing wind was starting to bite his nose and ears, but it was okay, he was basically a grown up now, and grown-ups could ride home all by themselves. He saw Papa up ahead on the big sleigh look back at him, checking on him again before looking ahead. The grown-ups had loaded so much ice on the sleigh that it was super easy for Sven to keep up, Papa didn’t have to keep worrying about him.

Kristoff couldn’t wait to show Mama the block of ice he’d pulled out of the lake all by himself with only a little help from Papa. When she saw how good he’d done maybe she’d let him go out even more so that-

He heard the thundering of horse hooves and turned to see a pair of horses whip past him, carrying their riders through the woods and back into the night.

Kristoff’s eyes got wide, behind one of the horses was a spreading path of ice , a beautiful sparkling trail frosting across the grassy ground.

What kind of horse was that?

Kristoff had to see more.

He quickly unclipped Sven’s harness and jumped on his back, leaving the sled and ice behind and turning them around to follow the ice horse as quickly as they could. The grown-up sleigh was moving so slow that they’d catch up with them again no problem as soon as Kristoff figured out what was going on.  

Papa wouldn’t even notice he was gone.

 ***

 Kristoff was gone.

Henrick had just checked on him, had seen the tiny sled trundling right behind them in the night with its lantern swinging, and now not even ten minutes later he was gone.

Henrick shouted hoarsely for the sleigh to stop, jumping down as quickly as he could. He’d been exhausted from the long day only a minute ago but now he was on fire with panic. He shouted Kristoff’s name as he walked back through the trees, the other men starting to get off the sleigh behind him.

Kristoff must have gotten distracted by something and wandered off for a moment, maybe his sled had gotten caught, or Sven had gotten tired.

As soon as Henrick hiked back around the last bend he’d see Kristoff and he’d have to lecture him about keeping up. The boy had lost his sled privileges was for certain, he’d have to ride on the sleigh from now on.

Which is why the pit of fear in Henrick’s stomach was irrational. Nothing had happened to his son, he’d only lost sight of him for a few minutes. It was just Ida’s old housewife superstitions getting at him was all.

 ***

 Bulda hadn’t expected the human King and Queen to come to the troll glen tonight, she hadn’t expected them to bring the little human princesses to Grand Pabbi for healing and memory rearranging either.

But most of all she hadn’t expected her very own delightful little human boy to wander all the way up to her herself. And with his own little reindeer calf too!

“Well aren’t you just adorable!” Bulda said.

She smiled as she petted the boy’s hair, a beautiful shiny blonde, his outfit was charmingly well made too. Everyone else would be jealous to see what a good looking child she’d found, and she hadn’t even had to break into a human house to get him either.

“Who are you?” the boy asked, looking curiously at her stony hand, “And what was going on with the family? Was the girl sick?”

“Well, I’m a troll silly. You'll have to get used to it now that you're staying here with us.” Bulda chuckled, taking the boy’s hand and turning it over, marveling at the soft smooth skin, “And she’ll be alright, just humans meddling with things they don’t understand. What’s your name?”

“S-stay with you?” the boy said, his eyes getting wide with fear. He tried pulling his hand away and the reindeer calf balked back away from her.

“What kind of a name is that?” Bulda teased, keeping ahold of the boy’s hand. Human children were always jumpy when they were first adopted, but it wasn’t too hard to calm them down as long as she kept him from running off before she could clean up his memories a bit, “Come on, tell us your name.”

“Kristoff,” said Kristoff, his voice squeaking a bit in fear as he kept trying to yank arm away, “Let go please, I want to go back to my Papa, he’ll be worried.”

“Kristoff.” Bulda said with a smile, pulling just a bit at his memories now that she had his name. A good Christian name by the feel of it, “Oh you’ll like it out here, lots of trees and mushrooms and mud for little boys to play with. Come and meet the family, they’ll all be excited to meet you!”

“But...” Kristoff said, his pulling getting weaker as a look of confusion spread over his face, “But Mama...”

“I thought you said you were an orphan?” Bulda asked patiently, “Weren’t you just telling me you don’t have a family?”

“I...yeah. I think so.” Kristoff said slowly, looking around, “Why am I out here?

“Because we’re you’re family!” Bulda smiled, gently pushing him further into the glen as the others started noticing her new human child, pointing excitedly, “Why else would you be out here in the woods all alone? It’s because you belong with us.”

Kristoff smiled hesitantly as he stiffly stepped forward, but quickly loosened up as the others eagerly gathered around him. Changing around human memories was just too easy.

She looked over at the reindeer calf, which still looked nervous and wary, but a gentle pat on the head fixed that, and soon it had happily joined Kristoff.

Bulda wandered off to the side for a moment, cracking her knuckles before picking up a hunk of old wood. Kristoff’s old family would be wondering where he’d gone so she needed to send them something in return to keep them off the trail.

After all, if they’d been careless enough to let a properly named blonde child out of their sight then they probably didn’t really care about their child, now did they?

She concentrated as she carefully poured a strong enchantment onto the wood, it must have been decades since she’d last made a changeling, but she could still manage well enough.

Once she’d finished she shooed it back off into the woods, watching her handiwork shuffle off into the trees. She dusted her stony hands in satisfaction, turning back to the others who were all enthusiastically gathering around her new human.

She smiled and rolled over to join them. Tonight was a night for celebration.

 ***

 “Kristoff!” Henrick shouted, his voice starting to feel hoarse now.

He didn’t know how long he’d been searching now, it might have been an hour, it might have been weeks. Kristoff’s sled was gripped under his arm as he kept swinging the lantern back and forth. He’d found it sitting alone with only the tiny iceblock left on it. No child or reindeer to be seen.

“Henrick,” Orrin said, putting a hand on his shoulder, “we need to get the ice back to the village and packed before it melts, we’ll come back with more men to search.”

“He’s got to be here!” Henrick said, jerking his arm away and crashing through more brush, “I’m not leaving, help me look! Kristoff!”

The pit of fear in his stomach had grown and swallowed him whole, making it feel as if he’d dropped into a nightmare that refused to end.

What if he never found Kristoff? What if he did find Kristoff but something had happened to him? There were wolves in these mountains, there were cliffs and rivers, dozens of places a young child could disappear into in the dead of night and never ever be found again.

And what would Ida say if he really had lost their little boy.

He swung the lantern again, what was left of his heart continuing to drop as he peered uselessly into the all-consuming shadows of the looming trees around them. How had he been so stupid, how had he ever let Kristoff out of his sight long enough to-

He froze as he heard something. Something that sounded like the sniffling of a small child.  

He crashed through another barrier of brush, his lantern light falling on what looked like a little boy wandering by himself through a clearing.

“Kristoff!” Henrick choked, rushing up and falling to his knees, setting the lantern down and scooping his son into a tight hug, “What happened? Where did you go? Are you alright?”

Henrick would have become angry then after having been scared to death, but Kristoff stood stiff in his hug, only continuing to sniffle. Not acting at all like he usually did.

“Son, are you alright?” Henrick asked more gently, taking Kristoff’s face in his hands, “Where’s Sven?”

Kristoff said nothing, only hanging his head miserably as he began to cry.

A heavy chill settled over Henrick that had nothing to do with the dropping temperature. Something was very very wrong.

He stood, scooping up his son as he looked warily at the dark forest around him. They needed to get home. Now.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be back to Mama soon, everything’s okay.” Henrick said, grabbing the lantern and pushing back through the underbrush as quickly as he could.

Something was deeply wrong with these woods and he wanted to get out of them as quickly as possible.

 ***

 “Henrick, that’s not our son.”

“How can you say that?” Henrick whispered back sharply, his arms folded so tightly that it was starting to hurt as they both stood in the doorway of Kristoff’s bedroom, watching him sleep. “He’s just been sick, that’s why he’s been acting like this.”

But he couldn’t pretend anymore that he’d had the same terrifying thought himself.

Over the last few days Kristoff had been acting like a completely different child, always crying without saying why, hardly speaking, usually sitting on his own and sullenly lashing out whenever they tried to coax him out.

Only so much could be attributed to the loss of his reindeer, which is what they’d assumed was wrong at first. But as Kristoff seemed to become more and more ill, despite how much food he kept demanding and voraciously eating, Henrick found himself longing for how his son had been only a week ago.

“What...what if he’s really a-?” Ida started.

“Don’t.” Henrik said, but he pulled her into a tight embrace as they continued watching the child in Kristoff’s bed, a tuft of blonde hair sticking out over the blanket, “Don’t say it.”

“Can we take him to the church tomorrow?” Ida asked, looking up at him, tears in her eyes, “Just, just to have the priest make sure.”

“Alright.” Henrick said, his breath shaking just a bit, “We’ll take him to the church tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Ida said softly.

“Go to bed, I’ll come in a moment.” Henrick said, letting her go.

She nodded, glancing back at Kristoff before leaving.

Henrick stood in the dark quiet of the night, silently watching the boy sleep as the house creaked in the night wind around them, the dim light of a candle flickering around the small room.

They’d take Kristoff to the church tomorrow and get the priest's blessing, they’d pay the doctor to come around again and get him to give them a straight answer about what was wrong with their boy and how to fix it. Henrick would buy Kristoff a new reindeer, he’d let him stay inside with his mother as much as he wanted, he’d do anything he had to to get his son back to the way things had been.

He felt a chill run down his spine as a sharp draft whipped through the room, snuffing out the candle at the bedside and dropping the room into darkness.

Henrick looked over his shoulder, despite knowing no one was there, unable to shake a sudden creeping feeling that had come over him. Where had a draft that strong come from?

He crossed the room, his eyes slowly adjusting in the darkness as he pulled a match from his pocket, striking it and relighting the bedside candle. He picked up the empty ceramic water pitcher as he turned to leave the room for the night, unable to keep from glancing one more time at Kristoff’s bed.

For years afterward the neighbors would tell in hushed whispers about being woken by Henrick and Ida’s screams in the middle of the night, of rushing to their aid with crossbows and axes, expecting to find that a wolf or a bear had broken into their son’s bedroom.

But instead finding them both standing amid the shards of a smashed water pitcher, the wife having fainted dead away at the sight of an old crumbling log rotting in their son’s bed.

[papa-rhys]

New Dawn: Where are they now?

Here are my headcanons for what Hope County folk would be up to in New Dawn (if they all survived). I stuck to main characters (catergory 1 and 2) for this and I didn’t count anyone who died in fc5 canon because there’s 100% no chance they’d be in New Dawn and this is meant to be a “what I expect from X character if they appear in ND” thing. If I missed any important people out, then let me know and I’ll see about adding them in!

Holland Valley

Mary May Fairgrave: Lives in Prosperity, even though she doesn’t enjoy it as she can’t quite shake the thought that John used to live there. She runs a makeshift bar in the kitchen. She tells everyone that it’s because it boosts the morale of the people living there, but really it’s because she misses the connection that the Spread Eagle had to her parents. She grew up behind the bar, so in the first 10 or so years after the bombs fell, when she was kept away from the Spread Eagle, she didn’t feel like herself. Making her own replica of the Spread Eagle in John’s old kitchen makes her feel like she’s a little closer to home.

Jerome Jeffries: In charge of Prosperity. He lead a few people to John’s ranch to look for shelter after they crawled out of their bunkers and as the group has steadily grown in size, they all look to him as the founder/man in charge. He doesn’t like to sit indoors and let people do his bidding though, so if he sends someone out on a supply run or a job, he’ll likely go with them. Otherwise, he feels like a bossy control freak who doesn’t care about his people and just has them running around and working themselves to the bone for him. It makes him feel too much like Joseph and he obviously hates that.

Casey Fixman: Casey still cooks for the people of Prosperity primarily (also sending nice home cooked meals to the Wolf’s Den once a week as a treat for the remaining Whitetails), but he also provides valuable knowledge about combat and the inner workings of human beings. He’s a very knowledgeable guy and Jerome can often be found having hush-hush meetings with him behind the kitchen whenever Jerome needs advice on how to handle a problem.

Nick Rye: Nick looks after the kids of Prosperity. He doesn’t fly much anymore as he’s found happiness in other things, like spending time with his family and looking out for the children that were born into this new world. He finds it incredibly rewarding to give them some kind of normality in the form of reading to them or playing hopscotch with them in the grass – things that he believes all kids should do.

Kim Rye: Kim works with Nick as a duo. Whilst he has fun with the kids, she gives them an education. She teaches them basic things, like reading, writing, maths (the important bits), etc. But she also teaches them basic (and age-appropriate) combat. Among other things, she teaches them how to hold a knife, how to fire a gun, and how to break free if someone grabs them. She loves working with the kids and takes pride in knowing that she’s helping them to stay safe. Nick is also super proud of the work she does and tells her everyday, of course.

Carmina Rye: Much to Kim and Nick’s misery, Carmina is a total brawler and is always desperate to go out on runs with the supply team. She wants to explore the world outside the walls of Prosperity and meet new people, often sneaking out of Prosperity and scaring her parents to death. She gets into trouble with Hudson a lot, mainly for silly teenage pranks or generally causing trouble. She likes Wheaty a whole lot and always finds an excuse to go with the trading team when they deliver things to the Wolf’s Den. She denies that it’s a crush, but it 100% is. Safe to say Nick doesn’t like Wheaty much anymore.

Grace Armstrong: Grace runs an adult combat training program. The kids get basic training from Kim, but once they get to a certain age, they move up to the adult tier, where Grace will give them full training. Including, but not limited to: how to use all types of firearm, how to properly use knives, how to fight without weapons, how to free yourself from restraints, different signals used in combat (and what they mean), and how to stealth kill. She’s basically doing the same job as Jacob, except she does it way better than he ever could.

Joey Hudson: Hudson is still a cop! She’d live in Prosperity and she’d patrol the place and make sure that everyone is getting on okay. She’d handle any arguments and disputes that people had, because even though they’re all on the same side, they’re still bound to fight. So she keeps the peace. She has a shorter fuse these days and has a tendency to get mad at people pretty quickly sometimes, but everyone knows what she went through and they cut her some slack, knowing that she doesn’t mean any harm.

Whitetail Mountains

Tammy Barnes: Tammy lives in the Wolf’s Den and still does the same kind of stuff. She “handles” what’s left of the cultists and still looks after Wheaty (who is now 36 years old and still doesn’t do his own laundry). She’s toned it down with the torture in recent years though, and has more time to do mundane things (like cooking, cleaning, and spending time with Wheaty) which she finds a lot of solace in doing. She also managed to find her true calling – knitting copious amounts of scarfs that Wheaty wouldn’t be caught dead in, although he appreciates the sentiment.

Wheaty: Wheaty now runs what’s left of the Whitetail Militia out of the Wolf’s Den. He went straight to the bunker when the bombs hit and after things had settled, he focused his efforts on rounding up as many of the remaining Whitetails as he could, desperate to hold onto Eli’s legacy. Now he trades with Prosperity and offers the help of his men and women should Prosperity ever need it (and vice-versa). When he’s not swamped with work and making sure his people are safe as they scavenge for supplies, he’s winding down by watching old tapes of Eli’s favourite TV show or home videos of Eli and his family celebrating Christmas or birthdays. He also still enjoys his music; often playing records for Tammy - the same ones that the Deputy collected for him all those years ago.

Hurk Jr: Still resides in Fort Drubman, which he’s built upon and fortified since his dad’s death. He doesn’t really do much outside of shooting at beer bottles and setting off rockets in his backyard, which he claims to have a good reason for beyond “it’s a whole heap of fun, amigo.” He occasionally works as a hired gun, helping out on supply runs for the Whitetail Militia whenever they need someone a little more… “heavy-handed.” In exchange, they give him a fraction of the supplies that were found (which is increased if he sustains an injury on the run). Other than that, he’s all about “kicking back and gettin’ buzzed, man.”

Jess Black: Jess lives in the wilderness, setting up her camp in a different place each night. She makes an effort to stay pretty clear of other people, suspecting that human beings have only gotten more dangerous since the end of the world. Tammy gets in contact with her from time to time, just to make sure she’s okay (after Eli and Dutch died, Tammy took on the responsibility of checking in on Jess), but other than that, Jess rarely has contact with people. She dedicates all of her time to surviving in the wilderness and any spare time that she has is spent on hunting and crafting. I could see her sat in front of a campfire crafting arrows or cooking a rabbit for her dinner. She doesn’t really care for anything else and is more than happy to live a secluded life alone in the forests of Hope County.

Staci Pratt: Pratt needs something calm, easy, and mundane ever since his brains were scrambled by Jacob. He can’t handle stress anymore and isn’t safe enough to be in combat or unsupervised around people. So he assists Casey in the kitchen, cooking food for Prosperity, which he enjoys more than he thought he would. In his spare time, he likes to read – mainly because it helps him to practice focusing his mind. He struggles picking out individual thoughts, often jumbling things together and getting stressed out by it. So reading a book and forcing himself to take time focusing on each individual sentence is really helpful for him. He also enjoys the escapism and seeing characters get happy endings. Other than reading, he likes spending time with friends; especially Hudson, who he feels very connected to after going through similar things.

Henbane River

Earl Whitehorse: He tried to secure the prison after getting out of his bunker, but it was too far gone, so he moved on to Prosperity. For a while, he acted as Sheriff of Prosperity, helping Hudson keep the peace in the ever-growing settlement. But he eventually began thinking of the apocalypse as his second chance. He figured that if he survived the war in Hope County, the Bliss, and then the nukes, then that has to mean something. And he didn’t want to waste his new lease of life on doing the same thing he’d been doing for the previous 30+ years. So now he spends most of his days fishing in the river behind Prosperity, providing fresh (albeit oddly coloured and disproportionate) fish for Casey to cook and providing himself with a taste of the well-deserved retirement that he never got to see.

Tracey Lader: Tracey has a whole lot of anger to share with her enemies (and people in general) so she found her place as a soldier. She acts as one of Jerome’s most trusted lieutenants and is second in command (and sometimes completely in charge, when Jerome isn’t there) of most of the supply run teams that are sent out. She debated going it alone like Jess for a while, but she ultimately likes human contact too much to live like that – no matter how annoying people can be sometimes. She’s pretty busy running the show for Jerome, so she doesn’t get much spare time, but when she does, she spends it in her room, brooding.

Sharky Boshaw: Sharky goes back and forth between locations; sometimes living in Prosperity, and sometimes living in Fort Drubman with Hurk. He still likes fire. A lot. But he contributes a little more to the grouthan he used to, using his “creative genius” (his words) to devise traps for enemies, ideally keeping said enemies as far away from the walls of Prosperity as possible. There’s sharpened branches, there’s tripwires, and most importantly; there’s fire. In his spare time, he messes around with Hurk, getting up to all kinds of trouble and not being inconspicuous in the slightest – much to Jerome’s dismay.

Adelaide Drubman: Adelaide is 83 years old now so it’s a miracle she’s still alive and you best believe she doesn’t let anybody forget it. She’s still rampantly horny, but doesn’t have the energy to keep up with her own needs anymore. So she spends most of her days messing with people around Prosperity; picking on them and getting a kick out of getting adverse reactions from them. She’s quite close with Carmina Rye (unfortunately for Nick and Kim), who keeps her feeling young, and Carmina finds her hilarious. The pair can often be found sat on the front steps of the former ranch, giggling at passers by and enjoying some time away from the destruction and misery.

[korkrunchcereal]

Calm Before the Storm

((Read the previous story here. The events of the Tales of the Gilded Lands concerns World of Warcraft: Legion and can be found here.))

Sunrise in the Crescent Hills was always a beautiful sight. It was becoming increasingly rare for Aurelian to be awake when such occurred, and so he always took some small pleasures when he could witness the dawn. It was no secret that he preferred the quiet solitude of night and the haunting beauty of the moon, but the glimmer of light that crept over the hills of his domain always filled him with some small sense of satisfaction and joy. This was his; everything that the light fell upon was his.

In time, the lands beyond would be his too.

That however would be a time in the future, and even such a future was not guaranteed. The Legion’s tightening grip on the world would ensure such triumph would never occur if they could not be stopped. Thus he awoke at dawn, facing the coming morn with some small hope of what may be and plans to secure his own fate. When he had awoke, he had bid the servants to fetch his meal and, when that was done, to fetch his armor.

So now he stood upon his private balcony, looking over his kingdom as his servants prepared him for war. Two men attended him, strapping in steel and hoisting on padding and mail to sit beneath the alabaster plates he wore so proudly. One had provided him a small platform to place a foot on, the other a glass of wine so he may drink as he was armored.

They worked their way up, affixing plate to pant leg and boot even as he drank deep a crimson. They had done this before, careful to ensure their lord did not spill a single drop of wine. Next came the armored skirt, the plate glimmering like dragon scales in the morning sun. Slowly they worked their way up, affixing every piece of armor with expert patience until at last Aurelian was adorned in the armor of his lineage save his helm. By the time they had finished, Aurelian had finished his glass of wine and so gave the servants the empty glass to be rid of.

“You are up quite early, my lord.”

“Cyvar.” Aurelian craned his neck behind him, already recognizing the voice as his second approached. “Is it not best to meet the morning sun each day?”

“Yes, if you’re not recovering from the night before…” Cyvar moved beside his lordship on the balcony even as the servant slinked away, their duty done. “Are you sure about leaving? You can send another in your place.”

“And miss the glory?” Aurelian scoffed, placing a hand to his chest with the lightest tap. “I am Aurelian Indaris; I cannot hide on my throne whilst others earn honor and renown. No my friend, It is my duty. Besides, the Crescent Hills will be fine. Speaking of, any luck concerning the Arrowmere investigation?”

“No, my lord.”

“Damn. I liked the Arrowmeres. And nothing, truly? I figured Salas was behind this, that deviant.”

“Not so far as we know, my lord. Unfortunately, there has been some delays due to Rivervale’s former bailiff.”

“Rhega?” At that Aurelian sighed, shaking his head. “Ugh; I can’t believe it. I always considered myself a good judge of character and I thought Rhega would at least have the common sense to not take bribes from those outside my circle. What of a new bailiff?”

“Mayor Shana has promoted a Dora Ferus to the position. Apparently, he’s served Rivervale with distinction and good character.”

“With good character hmm? The place is a den of backstabbing so such ‘good character’ I find hard to believe. Still, if Mayor Shana vouches for him, I suppose he will do. Work with him to find anything on the Arrowmere murder. Ugh, it leaves such a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Wine, my lord?”

“What? Oh, no i’ve already had a glass. Thank you though. No, it’s the bitter taste of…well something.”

“Defeat?” Cyvar suggested.

“No. Aurelian Indaris is never defeated.”

“Mhmm…what about-“

“Aurelian Indaris is never defeated.” Aurelian interrupted with annoyance. “Just…set back.”

“Of course, my lord. Defeat or lack there of, I will nonetheless continue investigating the matter. Gods knows it’s riling up the nobility.”

“Have there been any reports from the noble families?”

“Discontent over the murder, my lord. So far however, nothing serious.”

“Yet.” Aurelian corrected with a finger raised. “All it takes is one spark to light the fire, and I worry this could be it. What does it say that I can’t guarantee the safety of those closely allied to me?” He turned, beginning to pace. “What does it say that those who pledge fealty to me are subject to such gruesome murder?”

“You fear they may turn against you?”

“Why not? Many did when my father passed. Oh, how the vultures of court descended to feast. They thought the Indaris family a corpse to devour then; it wouldn’t take much for them to do so again and I fear this time they would succeed in eating us whole. My brother is comatose, my sister remains in a similar situation which leaves me the last Indaris. If I cannot…” Aurelian paused, taking a breath he did not realize he had been holding. “If I cannot guarantee the safety of my people then they will turn to others who will.”

“You helped lead your house through the death of your father, Aurelian. I do not share your fear so readily.”

“Ah, Cyvar. Your words are what I need to hear.” Aurelian stopped his pacing, placing a hand on Cyvar’s shoulder. “My friend; I need you to not fail me in this task. Find who orchestrated the death of the Arrowmere family. I feel in my gut they are related to the Unbidden. And mark my words, the Salas have a hand in this.”

“I will not fail you, my lord.”

“Good.” Aurelian squeezed Cyvar’s shoulder before removing his hand, turning back to face the horizon. “Light, isn’t it beautiful?” He walked to the balcony, leaning against the stone railing.

“It is, my lord.”

“Look at all we have built. My lands are vast and wealthy, my people fed; whatever is causing this disruption to the order of things here is certainly not of the Hills.”

“Mm…that reminds me. The annual inspection of the Hills’ towns is in a few week’s time, if I recall. Will you be there to attend?”

“Ugh; I nearly forgot about that.” Aurelian curled his lip as he waved a hand dismissively. “It is likely I will be away at war. I can’t have it cancelled though, for it does much to boost the people’s spirits when the Indaris family rides through. Besides, there are debts incurred each year that need collecting. Hmm…Have Calithiel go.”

“Do you think she will enjoy it?”

“I think so but even if she doesn’t, she has to. If she is to be the lady Indaris there is much she will have to learn and do.” At that Cyvar chuckled, drawing Aurelian’s attention to him in confusion. “What?”

“Ah, it is nothing my lord. Fate is strange, that is all.”

“Mhmm.” Aurelian’s skepticism was clear, but he did not press the matter. “You will protect her, yes?”

“With my life.”

“Well hopefully it does not come to that. Speaking of however I do need to speak with her before I leave. Did you see her on your way up, by chance?”

“I believe she is in the gardens, my lord.”

“The gardens? Interesting. I wasn’t sure she was awake considering…well never mind it’s not important. I trust that is all you have for me, Cyvar?”

“Aye my lord. Actually, one more thing.”

“Yes?” Aurelian turned fully, arms crossing.

“Be safe.”

“Oh please,” Aurelian waved a hand dismissively once more as he left the balcony. “Aren’t I always?”

“Safer than a newborn babe, my lord.” Aurelian moved across his quarters to the door, turning to call out behind him.

“Besides. If I die, the Crescent Hills will collapse, and I certainly can’t have that as my legacy. So long, Cyvar.”

 “So, what did you discuss with Cyvar and your betrothed?” Balasar leaned forward on the table, hands clenched together.

“With Cyvar I told him to continue his investigations whilst my betrothed I merely bid a goodbye kiss.” Aurelian raised the corner of his lip ever so as he spotted Balasar’s elbows upon the table but said nothing of it.

“A goodbye kiss…”

“I also might have told her to be careful. Oh, and the inspection, of course.”

“Yes, the inspection. Where everything went to hell in a handbasket. Tell me about it.”

“Ah ah ah; you said you wanted the whole story, yes? There is a couple details to go over. I’ll skip over our heroic defense of Azshara for such tales of my valor would undoubtedly bore you, and instead go to when the Legion invaded Lord Truefeather’s domain.”

“Ah yes. If I recall from my reports, that is where you nearly died, no?”

“Indeed; a grisly affair but one I feel needs explaining. You see, it happened at the Evergrove…”

[kpopchangedme]

The Intervention | Choi Youngjae

To his best friends’ total amazement, you decide to drastically intervene when a shy man is being played by a mean client at your bar

|| M.List || GOT7 ||

Protagonists: Choi Youngjae & You (Ft. Jackson, Jaebum & Mark.)

Word Count: 3.6k

Genre: SFW – Strangers – Humour – Making out – Romance –  **WARNING: SEXY SHY YOUNGJAE AHEAD** – One Shot

Lys’ note: CHOI YOUNGJAE IS HOT. FIGHT ME.

Your eyes followed the young man with interest and you cringed when he knocked a waitress with his elbow, nearly sending all the content of her tray on the floor. Thankfully your staff's awesome and his three friends sitting at the bar in front of you all sighed simultaneously, glad nothing bad happened. You had been observing their circus for a while, highly entertained by their whole team dynamic.

“I told him the secret was to be chill...” The handsome built one grimaced, also staring at the scene. “This isn’t chill.”

“Sorry to inform you of that Jackson, but I think that’s about as chill as he can get…” The second one shrugged, sipping at his pint of beer. He wasn’t as invested and kept his eyes on his phone instead of living the moment. He was a pretty man with electric purple hair, the kind that all hometown girls go crazy for, with soft and almost too symmetrical features. “How many shots did he have?”

“Two… And a pint.” The darker and last one leaned his back against the bar, not tearing his eyes away from his helpless friend. You could also easily figure him out; tall, straight eyes, bewitching cologne, very handsome, probably rich and falsely cocky.

“That’s clearly not enough shots…” The man named Jackson shook his head from side to side, sending his brown locks flying around, he sounded sorry. He looked the kindest of the bunch, he was the one who hyped up his shy friend, reassured him before unfortunately sending him to the slaughterhouse.

“He needs help,” The texting-guy pointed to the scene just as the girl was sitting back, glancing away from their pitiful friend, “Jaebum?”

“Already on it.” The dark blueberry-haired one turned to the bar, waving you to come over. “Can we get four shots of something strong for that table over there?”

“Four Whiskeys incoming…” He nearly dropped his credit card when you blinked his way and it boosted your confidence. There's nothing quite as gratifying as having an obvious effect on a gorgeous man like that. “Should I make it six? From what I gathered, your friend will probably spill at least two.” Jackson chuckled, and you tore your gaze away to grin at him dangerously while the one named Jaebum remained silent, suddenly intimidated. “What’s the sad story?” You poured the shots and pointed your chin to the scene, the poor boy was still trying to make conversation, wiping his probably sweaty palms on his pants repeatedly.

“Youngjae was born like that…” The phone-addicted guy’s tone was gloomy, but you still laughed. “You should see his older brother, it’s even worse.”

“He’s actually very gifted…” You defended their friend and smiled, looking at his circus on the other side of the lounge. He was now talking and moving his hands around like he was chasing a fly or something.

He was handsome, perhaps a bit younger than his friends, but his face was rounder and cuter. His dark brown hair was parted messily on his forehead, but it still looked neat and calculated. His soft features, evident shyness and clumsy actions screamed good guy type. He was an interesting mix of boyish charm and manliness, that’s why you listened when his friends hyped him to start flirting.

Sadly, your years running this place were enough experience to know he had absolutely no chance of getting that girl. She was a regular, Michelle, often looking for hot hook-ups and cute shy boys never won with her kind.

“He should learn how to use that face, it’s a shame.” You sighed, sorry.

“What face?” Jackson tilted his head, instantly captivated and his blue-haired friend shifted on his stool. 

“The kind that makes me want to bring him back home and shield him from the world forever… He looks vulnerable and sensitive, so I’d build a fort with my bedsheets to protect and keep him a secret.” You shrugged like it was no big deal, aware that the three men were hanging on your every word. “He has a face that you date, cook for and go back to bed with every weeknight.”

The guys' jaws dropped, and you laughed, throwing your head back. A simple move of your wrist was enough for a waitress to come to take the filled shooters away, she clearly knew who they were meant for.

“It’s definitely not wild hook-up material face, I’m pretty good at figuring these things out by now!”

“And who might you be, dearest physiognomy expert?” Jackson asked, leaning in and clearly trying to flirt. Underneath the bar, Jaebum kicked his tibia without any subtlety, claiming dibs.

“Y/n, you’re standing in my bar.”

“Mmm… I must admit this does bestow you authority somehow…” He nodded, ignoring his friend and you laughed, entertained. This Jackson seemed like a fun character, his eyes studied yours, curious. “So, what’s my face telling you?”

“Your face is trustworthy and warm,” The one-without-a-name cooed at your reply, but your gaze went back to your waitress carrying the shooters, unperturbed, “you look responsible, the type of guy I’d introduced to my parents.”

Jackson smiled widely and turned to Jaebum like he just won the lotto. “JB, my face says all that! I’m that good!”

“Yes and no…” You smiled, bursting his bubble and sliding back the card on the bar to its owner without charging it. The shots were on you this time, that shy boy needed them. “You seem like a perfect guy, but–”

“–But what?” Jackson laughed nervously and Jaebum stayed silent, probably mentally cursing him for not getting his cues to stop flirting. “I’ve never once slept with a guy because I wanted to introduce him to my parents.” Their third friend bursted out laughing at Jackson’s rout, while Jaebum let out an audible breath of relief.

“What about mine?” The purple-haired one had stopped staring at his phone and he asked his question leaning in, holding your gaze for the first time, testing you.

“You have a girlfriend and you're a keeper. Why do you even ask?”

Both other men gasped, impressed by your skills and he simply grinned, sitting back.

“You’re good. What gave it away?”

You narrowed your eyes at the cursed table when their friend’s shooters arrived.

“You’re the only one who hasn’t directly peered at my boobs in the last three minutes.” They seemed to have forgotten all about their cute hopeless friend, but you hadn’t.

“Awesome!” He laughed once more at your reply. “Could you call my girlfriend and repeat those exact words to her, just so she’ll stop freaking out?”

“Mark, focus on Youngjae!” Jackson cut him off, merciless. He was already over your smooth rejection and back to his matchmaking plans.

Their silly friend was currently letting the girl’ entourage take his shooters away, they didn’t even have the decency of letting him offer them first. It would be fine any other night, but you knew they were just using him to freely get drunk, Michelle had no interest in him and you felt kind of involved now.

“I think your friend needs more help.” That Youngjae looked like an easy target to take advantage of and it made you sad.

“Why? The shooters are ice breakers…” Jaebum turned to you again, eyes roaming your features hungrily.

He clearly didn’t have a girlfriend to text, nor a face to introduce to your parents. He had one to lock in your room away, to press between your thighs. He was the type you were used to, the type you’d be in bed with several days, ordering take out and drinking beer while watching dumb movies on Netflix. The type you already knew by heart, and that you would either hurt or get hurt by.

“What’s my face like?” He asked, grinning with all the fake confidence alcohol could allow him to muster. You gulped, seeing clear through his attitude and trying to make a sensible choice.

“I don’t feel like telling you.”

“What?!” His brows shoot up at that and the other two pressed on, begging for more.

You ignored them when Michelle touched their awkward friend’s chest, it made you see red. Talking to the poor boy was one thing but leading him on for fun without even considering his feelings was straight up nasty. You hated women like that.

“Youngjae, that’s his name, right?”

“Yes!” Jackson, the only other one really interested, replied before anyone else could. “WOW! Look at that, she’s all over the lucky bastard!” Jaebum and Mark also turned to see, skeptical.

“She’s building him up, but she’s about to reject him.” All their heads snapped back at you. “I see her often, she’s not even interested. Michelle’s a seducer who loves a challenge and he’s acting way too easy for her right now.”

“Well, he’s already hooked.” Jackson grimaced, unsure if you were being serious.

“She’s toying with him”, you insisted.

“Jeez, he’s gonna be crazy mad you sent him there Jackson…” Mark mumbled but his gaze fell back to his phone and something told you he wasn’t going to be the one minding.

You sighed watching the girl picked up her purse with her left hand while her right still traced invisible patterns on the beaming man’s chest. You always disliked her and for an obscure reason, you wanted to protect him, you weren’t kidding earlier. He had a face that pulled that string in you.

“I’m gonna go save him.”

“What!?” Jaebum frowned, confused.

Before the boys could ask anything, you were gone from behind the counter. You felt the trio’ eyes following as you made your way to their helpless friend at the back of the lounge.

“Woah, what can she do that we haven’t tried already?” Jackson naively chuckled above the music and this time even Mark was observing the scene expectedly. You slowed down when you reached the table, puffing your cheeks to gather a bit of courage.

That Youngjae guy lacked confidence and she needed to believe he was harder to get or at least covetable.

Gently, you tapped his shoulder with your index and middle finger trying to get his attention. The solution was simple, she needed to see you as competition, feel threatened. Unfortunately, his eyes remained glued on the seductive girl and you rolled yours back, she clearly had him in her pocket.

___

“He’s not looking!” At the bar, Jackson squealed, worried.

“Youngjae’s a fool.” Jaebum was grinning awkwardly, wondering what the barmaid's genius plan was.

“Hey, isn’t the barmaid way hotter than that girl? I hadn’t noticed.” Mark winced over his phone when Jaebum elbowed his ribs, he saw her first. “Don’t worry, they’re both out of Youngjae’s league anyway.”

“Hey, a lil’ support would be appreciated.” Jackson glared at his friends. “Once Youngjae gets the hang of this, he’ll be able to get any girl he wants!”

Mark and Jaebum exchanged a heavy look.

“Of course.” The purple-haired man said, sardonic. “He’s the Alpha male.”

“Better”, Jackson nodded, pleased.

___

You loudly cleared your throat and the young man moved his chair a little closer to the girl as if to make space for you between the tables. Youngjae didn’t even peek, just assumed you wanted to walk by. You cleared your throat forcefully once more, hoping the clueless man would look up like most people would, but he didn’t. He kept trying to talk to the indifferent girl, not realizing you were waiting for him to notice you.

Somehow, his accidental unawareness vexed you and that was it. It’s like something clicked in your mind and you decided the gentle way wouldn’t be enough. Clearly, you’d have to do something a little bit more drastic.

It was the first time you were doing something like this, but it was exciting, like you were doing a good deed, for the greater good. That Youngjae guy was a hottie, he just needed to feel like one, needed a confidence boost, since he wasn’t the type to fake it ‘till you make it like his friend Jaebum. You were going to be that boost, give him the self-assurance he missed.

You had tried to catch his attention to play out your schemed, but you could just go for it too. With no hesitation, you reached for his cheek, turning his face upwards.

You didn’t wait for the young man to realise what was happening.

___

“What the actual fu–”

“She’s kissing him!” Jackson yelled excitedly, cutting Mark’s swear off. “I didn’t think she fancied him too!”

“Are we in a parallel universe where Youngjae gets the girls and JB goes home alone?” Mark joked, highly doubtful.

“Shut up.” The one in question warned, hardly remembering to close his mouth, stunned by the show in front of them.

“Why? You can’t handle a little healthy competition for once?”

___

Unaware he was making his friend envious, Youngjae stiffened but didn’t pulled back, probably too shocked. You pressed closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and sat on his knees without removing your mouth from his. Your back hit the table, causing the empty shooter glasses to cling and roll away, but you didn’t mind.

Finally, his lips started to move, and he tilted his head, reacting to your kiss several seconds later. You used the opportunity to push harder, hands ruffling his hair with feigned passion. His cheek smelled like mahogany aftershave and he tasted salty of alcohol; that kiss didn’t feel half bad. You intended to put on a show and it seemed to be working because, behind you, Michelle loudly scoffed insulted by your interruption.

You were about to pull back, satisfied, when one of the boy’s hand found the small of your back and the other cupped your face.

___

 “Oh my god,” Jackson loudly screamed, “Youngjae’s kissing her back!”

“Two shots might be enough after all, look at him go!” Mark laughed, abashed.

Meanwhile, Jaebum turned away, ordering another pint and round of shooters to a waitress who was also staring at the scene, completely out of it. He was going to need a lot of booze if Youngjae managed to get the girl he wanted for himself.

What a crazy time to be alive!

___

Just like you would’ve guessed, shy-boy’s kiss was sweet. His lips opened against yours, moist and strong. He didn’t even try to use his tongue, although to be honest, you wouldn’t have complained. He continued to kiss you simply and you pressed your chest against him, forgetting what you were there for, to begin with. His hands encouraged you, like they had a will of their own, caressing your back up and down. Youngjae certainly didn’t feel so timid from this close and if he was a bit slow at first, his newfound audacity was making up for it. He kept kissing you hungrily and you gave back just as much, not having to fake anything in the end; not the wandering hands, pants or back and forth. You had always hated public make out sessions, but you made an exception and you had to admit it was worth it.

Finally done, he pulled away, blinking like dazzled by the lights of the dim-lit lounge. When you met his soft brown eyes, after all that craziness, your mind was blank.

“Hi.” He said, saving the day, and his mouth remained open, the crack hardly noticeable, but you stared at it a second too long.

“Hi.” You breathe out, caught up in your own game.

His hands were still on your body, one on your thigh and the other in your back. It felt highly intimate, natural. You remembered you had no clue who that man under you actually was and that’s what brought you back down on Earth. That, and the girl who cleared her throat aggressively behind you, demanding his immediate attention.

“Who are y–”

He started but you cut him off in a panic, leaning in to whisper only for him; “I’m the intervention.”

Your nose brushed his ear at that and you pulled back, noticing its dark shade of red. The man that just shamelessly made out with a stranger was now blushing like crazy under you. You smiled, he was too precious.

“Excuse you?!” The woman in your back finally lost it and Youngjae stretched his neck, evidently having forgotten all about Michelle. You turned to look at her, innocently fixing your lipstick with your thumb in the process. She was practically scowling, you immediately knew your mission was a success.

She was jealous and suddenly wanted him.

“Hey, Mich.” Her face twitched when her name left your mouth like a cuss word and you turned back to the young man. You were still sitting side saddle on his knees, forearms resting on his shoulders. “Youngjae, you said you came tonight to see me.” You pouted and paused dramatically, glancing over your shoulder, ignoring his confusion. “I got bored waiting for you.”

The poor guy had turned to stone and you wondered how the hell he was able to kiss you back seconds ago. It’s like he was a completely different person, possessed. Right now, back to himself, he was barely able to hold your gaze, frozen still. You rounded your eyes with intent, conscious the girl behind couldn’t see the silent exchange. Youngjae took a short inhale to answer, but you cut him off, knowing he was still clueless and that he’d ruin his chances.

“I’ll be with Jaebum, Mark and Jackson at the bar.” He only seemed more confused when you named all his friends and you got up.

That boy truly was clueless, perhaps you should’ve let him get rejected.  

He suddenly grabbed your wrist to keep you from leaving and you looked at his hand like something foreign. Youngjae then peeked at the bar to see your spectators, he released you, mouth opening in awe. You bit your lips to refrain from laughing at his illumination on who you were. It was like a literal lightbulb lit up above his head.

“I’ll let you finish…” You sneaked a last dirty look Michelle’s way, just to tick her off. You wanted to act the part until the end. “... Whatever you were doing here.”

Then you were gone. You didn’t wait to see her reaction, you knew her type well enough to be assured of your success. When you slipped behind your bar, two waitresses and Jackson cheered. You had to actively hush them to keep from blowing the cover.

“Wow y/n!” Chloe, one of your employees, laughed, slapping your ass playfully with a cloth. “That was an unusual sight! The boss sexually harassing a customer!”

“Just a friendly intervention.” You rolled your eyes, hoping your blush wasn’t too noticeable. “Now, could you go take care of your end of the bar?” She obeyed with a knowing smile and you puffed your cheeks before facing the three men again.

“I thought you said you would save him.”

Jaebum took a sip of his beer, avoiding your eyes and you smirked to yourself. Clearly, his ego was bruised. Yeah, he would’ve been fine for a little while, but your little stunt avoided one of you two an inevitable heartbreak.

“I think she did…” Jackson pointed at the table where Michelle was now typing her info on their friend’s phone.

She was laughing and leaning into him, non-verbal entirely different from before. Youngjae didn’t seem half as interested though, and he kept glancing at the bar for you. When he caught your gaze, you turned away, abnormally timid.

“How did that even work?!” Jackson considered you anew, eyes glowing. “Teach me Sensei!”

Mark snorted, “She said the girl needed a challenge, so she made sure to make Youngjae appear desirable.”

“I made him into a player.” You shrugged, acting like this was something you did regularly and like you weren’t even affected by it.

After all, Jackson was right earlier when he said the key to flirting was playing chill.

“That’s some reverse psychology voodoo shit!” The bubbly man tilted his head, pouting. “Admit it… You just couldn’t help throwing yourself at Youngjae because of his animal magnetism.”

Mark choked on his beer, unable to tell if his friend was being serious or not. His phone was now surprisingly gone, abandoned in his back pocket to enjoy the rest of the night.

“Jackson, don’t embarrass y/n.” The blue-haired man finally opened his mouth again, feigning indifference by glancing around the lounge for a woman to talk to. “She just took a bullet for the team.”

“I didn’t though.” You smirked mysteriously, wiping off the hem of a glass and the three friends’ heads turned to you, astounded.

Over their shoulders, Youngjae fumblingly got up, almost knocking another one of your waitresses in the process. He simpered, embarrassed and started to make his way back to the bar, almost trotting. As he got closer, he locked eyes with you and then looked away too intimidated to hold your stare.

You most definitely weren’t chill; your cheeks were flushed, and your heart wanted to jump out of your chest. The men were still waiting for you to elaborate and you obliged, smiling like a dumb smitten teenager as you told the truth.

“That kiss was truly magical.”

|| M.List || GOT7 ||

[olive-wood]

Natural Birth. VBAC.

It's taken me longer than expected to write this post. Partly because having two, under twos is much harder than my original over active ego allowed me to think it would be. But also, because i needed to take the time to reflect over parts of my birth experience that i originally felt disappointed with.

Firstly though, some context or my previous birth experience with our little girl Ethel. In May of 2017 I was deeply under the allusion that birth would come easy to me. I felt I had a strong pain threshold having taken many equestrian blows, i believed that as my body was built for birthing children it would be an (albeit painful) doddle, after all "women have been doing it for 1000s of years". No preparation necessary.

However, a word of advice to all pregnant ladies falling for the tight lipped, patriarchally driven society view of child birth.... the above couldn't be further from the reality you will face, if you don't prepare for the greatest and hardest job you're likely to ever experience.

With Ethel I couldn't cope with even the first contraction. The power felt as my uterus worked hard to bring our girl into the world overwhelmed me and I wanted it taken away at only 2cm of dilation. I exhausted myself, mind and body, and stopped progressing at 8cm after 22hours of hard labour, copious amounts of drugs and many, many hands checking position and progress. The end result: emergency c.section. Though Ethel was not stressed and remained safe and content inside me... I had given up. I didn't understand what happening. Why I wasn't sneezing her out as I had hoped. Why the pain was all too much even with ALL the drugs the NHS had to offer. On May the 25th 2017 jumping the queue of the planned c.sections booked in that day, Ethel was born via the sunroof. By a wonderful surgeon whose humour and skill kept me calm and with very little to recover from afterwards.

Fast forward, to 16 months later. Arthur's arrival. How time changes people, how experience can empower and guide you. I had learnt ALOT from how I reacted during Ethel's birth and i was determined to ensure a different outcome this time. I read a great book by Juju Sundin and would suggest everyone who is involved in birth give it a read. It predates the current hypnobirthing trend, though follows a similar respect for the power of your mind but provides more physical exercises in order to control your reaction to labour. I also, followed birth bloggers on Insta that promote and advocate a more open understanding of birth. Showing full uncensored videos of labour. Something of which I think should be shared with all women, men and children alike, allowing for a gentle, natural appreciation of the powerful experience that is child birth.

I also prepped my husband with how best he could actively support me, forwarned him of how I intended to become vocal and not hold back this time round and my wishes for a natural unmedicated birth.

On the 5th of November, a week before my due date at 10am whilst playing with Ethel I felt the first uncomfortable twinge. I called my midwifery friend, who was to act as my doula. Unfortunately she was enjoying a wedding in Portugal at the time. She confirmed for me that labor had started.. boosted my confidence and encouraged my excitement whilst reminding me to eat and rest whilst I could. My last labor having been such a long one, I knew I needed to reserve my energy.

However, a long labor wasn't to be. By 1030am, having managed to put a jumper and wellies on Ethel (trousers were proving too difficult), I decided walk the collies to find my husband Mark who was mucking out the cow shed. I found the fresh air and repetitive movement of a swaying walk distracted me from each growing contraction. Having Ethel to concern myself over was also a great help and I soon found I was singing "Swing Low Sweet Chariot" whilst rocking her on my hip as we walked... (song choice is still a mystery to me?!)

By the time we reached the back of the shed I could see my husband had moved to the front and I began to grow weary of holding Ethel. Knowing I couldn't cross through the cows with dogs I began to wander back... toddler, reluctantly doddering along side. During what should have been a mere 2min walk i felt that my contractions had ramped up a notch and I was grateful to see my father in law driving up the track. I explained that Arthur was on route and asked if he'd mind taking Ethel whilst i organised child care and informed Mark. By this time I needed to keep reminding myself that the pain i was feeling was a "good pain" a "healthy pain" it was my uterus muscle, a muscle rarely in use, aching at its efforts at bringing my 2nd born into the world.

I finally managed to reach Mark who (in true farmer style) informed me he'd be in at brew time and if he thought we'd have time to finish off the rest of the mornings jobs. By this point I was struggling to stay standing and knew I needed to rest and time my contractions. So I headed back to the house and put in a phone call to my parents.

It took my parents 45 minutes to get to our farm, by that time I was sat on a hard back dining chair at the front of our farm house wearing only my jogging shorts and a bikini top keeping cool from the overwhelming heat my body was producing. The songs of Mr Tumble keeping my toddler from breaking my concentration on my guttural moans and the repetitive (though admittedly not for everyone) comfort of one of our dogs licking my leg. I swear our usually quiet lane was busiest in that hour of me sat there.

The contractions were powerful to say the least, but I felt I had good control over my perspective of what my body was doing. Staying positive is key. I knew panic founded on negativity must be avoided at all costs.

Mark was with me at this stage and I found I could only shout the word TIME at the beginning and end of each contraction whilst concentrating on staying in control. Fortunately, Mark understood and would take note of how far apart they were and most importantly let me know when I was around half way through each one. Contractions generally last around 60 seconds, and begin to peak as you come around the 30 second mark... having someone tell you at this point you've broken the back of that particular contraction can really help you keep focus for its descent. Humorously, my parents didn't quite understand my one word language and kept telling me minute by minute the actual time of day- believing it to be something i was determined to focus on.

By around 11.45, after only 15 miniutes of my parents arriving it was time to leave. I was concerned that it was too soon and id be in for a long hospital stay, but my contractions were now less that 2 minutes apart and I was struggling to distinguish between each one.

The car journey was an ordeal that required alot of LOUD singing to help me focus on something other than painful surges that were being amplified by each pothole and tight country lane turn. I surprised myself at my own vocal range and began what i can only describe as an attempt at Opera. I quivered each note for as long as I could: matching the noise level to the strength of each contraction.

By the time we reached the hospital just after 1230 I new things were progressing well as I struggled to move from the uncomfortable position within the car to the doors of the birth centre. I took comfort in this though. I knew that with each increase in pain and discomfort, I was closer to meeting our little boy. I also clung to the knowledge that once he reached my birth canal this pain would ease, and that many women who are aware of the change at that stage of labor would be afforded a rest bite before the big push.

Mark went to the doors before me and left me in the car. We hadn't been able to get through to birth centre to inform them we were coming (I know now that Mark had been dialing the community midwife number which was written next to the Labour ward number!) and I didn't fancy standing with my bags before I could see those doors were open. On arrival we were greeted by a number of midwives and various questions of which I was so grateful to Mark for answering, as by this point I was enjoying sharing my new found operatic skills to every other birthing mother at the centre that day.

We were shown into a large, airy room with a birthing pool. I knew I wouldnt be using the pool after my experience with Ethel. I'd never been comfortable being in a bath for too long and I enjoy my bathing water hotter than is safe for birthing in. One of the midwives kindly removed the bed that was in the room and replaced it with a birth bed. Something I thought I wouldnt have felt comfortable with after reading so many hard opinions about how unnatural lying on your back is as a birthing position. But I wanted to sit, I needed to sit. I needed to focus. Not march on the spot, bounce on a ball or dance around the room like I assumed I would.

After what I believe to be around 1pm my midwife introduced herself to me. Other than the rearrangement of furniture I hadn't noticed her presence. Her name was Helen. And I hope that she doesn't mind me sharing her name and her part in my story... but without her and her perfectly instinctive ways I believe this blog wouldn't be about the postive and enjoyable birth that I can now reflect on.

I purposefully mention how I never noticed her until her gentle introduction as this was key, I believe, to our success as a team in my labor. She knew instinctively, even without the help of my notes (that on account of us not calling before arriving hadnt been sent yet) what my birth plan hopes were. She knew her role would be best served as unobtrusive as possible. I felt her trust in me and my abilities every time I broke from my focus, which had become a form of unintended mediation (Mark told me later: I looked like I was "off my face of Spice" and "groaning like an animal") to see her smiling at me, letting me know she was there if I needed her.

After sometime Helen asked if I wanted her to check my dilation. This level of respect for the autonomy over my own body secured my belief that I was in the right place. That unassisted birth doesn't have to be at home alone. Having your cervix checked is an uncomfortable feeling, ive heard some women describe it as painful, but a good tip during labor is to take these moments as more positive distractions. Its a discomfort you can confidently understand, it brings you knowledge of progress, it allows you to make decisions and be better informed (should you so wish to be). Helen announced I was 8cm, the stage I reached with Ethel after almost 7 times the length of time. 8cm the magical number of transition. 8cm... only 2cm to go. At this point my confidence began to grow beyond anything the pain my body was feeling could touch. I began to chant in my head "I can do this".

Not long after I requested fluids. The need for these (as well as a safety precaution after my first birth) was the reason why I wouldn't feel comfortable birthing at home. I know my body, and I know I dehydrate quickly. Mark had been consistently feeding me sips of water throughout my contractions but I knew if I didn't boost my fluids my energy levels could dip before then end. Something of which was noted when labouring Ethel. Mark stepped up again and convinced a senior midwife that fluids were needed and she checked my urine by placing a catheter at my request as I was beyond relaxing enough to pee. The results showed a high number ketones and fluids were given.

Around this time my notes must have come through. As I was paid a visit by a consultant. Non other than the same consultant whom was the surgeon to my c.section the previous year. It is at this part of my birth journey that I have found most worth learning. Learning about how easily birth experiences can change, how important it is to be clear about your wishes before labour takes over and you are unable to do so for yourself, a need for better awareness on how common intervention can take labour in a new direction and also why these intervention of take place.

My consultant didn't have the same knowledgeable approach as my midwife Helen, as to the importance of unassisted, natural birthing means to a birthing mother. I recall him asking what pain relief i had taken, his need for me to focus on his questions, forcing me to loose focus on my concentration as he was concerned my relaxed exterior was a sign of me weakening. He then, albeit politely, told me he was going to check my progress and announced the crushing news he believed me to be 6cm dilated not the magical 8cm and that he was going to brake my waters. My plans for a unassisted birth was slipping out of my reach, I could feel the panic rising in me, the amount of people in the room came to light. I began to feel less of a simple mother birthing her miracle and more of person in need of medical aid.

The feeling of my waters breaking was more than intense. The contractions that came soon after did exactly as the consultant, with all his best intentions, had intended. I was catapulted forward into my labor and my mind had no chance to catch up. My meditational skills had gone... no amount of opera could bring it back. My body wanted Arthur out. My mind and body were separated. My body began to push as my mind along side my husband and Helen tried to command it stop. I won't lie to anyone reading this looking for a positive birth read: this stage of being so quickly advancing in labor was too much for me. I lost all control. The pain was sickening. The contractions all consuming. I had hit transition with no real build up to it. I wasn't prepared and I needed help.

As each contraction came my body would lurch forward and begin to push. I remember my husband pinning back to the bed nose to nose telling me to breath with him. I could see the concern in his face and I could hear it in Helen's voice. I needed to relax, baby wasn't ready. My body wasn't ready. My old scar certainly wasn't ready. I had been labouring well from the very first twinge for only 5 hours, yet on seeing the gentleman that had performed my c.section and coping so abysmally with this new direction my birth had taken I wanted rest bite. The rest bite i had forgotten comes soon after transition. Your whole labor is very much like one contraction: it reaches a peak (at transition) but once you've reached that peak it settles down and you can some what rest (When your baby reaches your canal). I wish I had remembered that. But I never... and demanded an epidural. I remember the words leaving my mouth. I remember more so Mark's quick reaction at telling me I didn't mean it... and how even quicker i retorted I did. I remember how Helen tried to buy some time in the hope I'd change my mind. And I remember how inside I knew how much I didn't want that type of help. But I was desperate and it was my wishes that were acted upon. If only I had been so confident in requesting to having no intervention then perhaps I wouldn't have had one.

At around 430pm the anesthetist arrived with my epidural. He had to wait for my contractions to pass before he could set up the injection. During this time Helen had sat me up on the bed and was allowing me to squeeze the life out of her arms whilst guiding me in my breathing. I was transfixed on the movement of her mouth as she spoke words of confidence to me... I felt the control I lost returning and the disappointment of what I had asked for.

My characters greatest failing is my fear of upsetting people. I had asked for an epidural... I had demanded one. This man had taken the time to come to the birth centre from his own ward to give me it. The package was open.. the drug would be wasted, as well as everyone involveds time. So, just like staying in the warm birthing bath with Ethel, when I all I wanted to do was get out after only 5 minutes of being in... I didn't say anything.

At this point i must say I'm not against expectant mothers taking any form of pain relief during birth. Birth is as unique as the individual going through it. But birth control is something that wasn't on my dream plan. After feeling a remembering very little of my daughter's birth, I wanted to feel and remember every second of my son entering into the world. And fortunately...by the grace of God I did.

An epidural can take anywhere between 15-30mins to take effect and soon after the doctors had left and the room was clear of anyone other than my supreme birth team, I felt then sensation I had hoped to experience.... a drop. The passage of my baby boy from my uterus into my birth canal. Helen had told Mark I was ready, though I heard him say to give me a moment before telling me. He knows me so well I thought. He knew how important this part was for me. He knew how upset I was inside after the inventions. I needed to take this slow. I needed this to be a calm moment. Not the drama of tv births. I wanted to enjoy this.

And I did.

Helen told me it was time whenever i was ready. I remember her smiling and I knew I was back where I wanted to be. My epidural hadn't kicked yet I still had all feeling and the urge came to push and I followed it. Not like before-this felt powerful but not painful. My pushing at first was feeble to say the least. I remember reading about people breathing out their babies. I wanted that experience... but I still needed to push hard to help move Arthur down. At first my efforts were accompanied by grunts that would escalate into shouts.. not of pain but of release. But Helen instructed me that this was wasting much needed energy. I needed to focus in pushing down and out from below. No vocals needed. Just concentrate on what my body was already doing. Her words were so clear and calm I couldn't help but fall into them. And I felt my mind become perfectly one with the physical aspects of my body. With in what felt like only moments he was crowning. It was amazing. I knew soon I'd be meeting my little boy and I wanted this moment to last. With every push I'd allow him to hover almost between world's. The only pain i felt was a hot sensation as my skin stretched to accommodate my progress as I was close to the end. I knew if I wanted to avoid any tears I had to take my time and allow my body to bring Arthur into the world. So I began to breath deeply and slowly. Enjoying every second. His head appeared to my husband with one deep outward breath....followed by his perfect 7.9lb and into my waiting arms.

We had done it. And it was all and more than I could have hoped for.

My beautiful boy was taking sustenance from my breast as we waited for the placenta to pulsate the final drops of goodness that had allowed him to thrive inside me those past 9 months. After only 6.5 hours from start to finish...to the lights and sounds of fireworks he arrived.

The End.

To my husband Mark I thank you for being my rock. For understanding my needs and not leaving my side (even in the face of off key opera). You are my world and the children you have given me our the stars.

To Helen: there arent words to fully describe the appreciation and gratitude to you for being my midwife and my unintentional doula. And if I can ask one favour from you, after all you have done, is that you are there for next children I bring into this world.

[whydidireadthis]

Dark Reign...a brief look.

Events.

The word alone is enough to make a superhero comic reader fight their understandable gag reflex.

In the 80s, confronted with a capricious market, the genre powerhouses Marvel and DC experimented with “events” -- limited crossovers of numerous characters for a singular storyline. DC had been doing this annually as a tradition, typically between the Justice League and the Justice Society. However, their company crossovers were cranked up to eleven around the mid-80s, and Marvel decided to give it a try.

Both companies decided that events were the thing of the future. The main reason for this is because they could very easily make series seem to tie into the main crossover’s storyline and, thus, wring out a few more bucks from hapless readers who didn’t know any better. It’s also worthy of note that this same initial period is the period where the expression “red-sky crossover” comes from.

If you didn’t know what that meant, it means “a book advertised as being a part of an event that only includes some superficial aspect of it”, which specifically refers in its name to the many “crossovers” of Crisis on Infinite Earths. Many had nothing really to do with the main story, which was ridiculously dense and a massive clusterfuck that could have used decompression into other books; instead, the labeled “crossover” would feature something like the red sky from the main Crisis books and have someone comment on it, then the rest of the story continued on as normal.

Classy.

But after that little bit of setup, let me just segue into saying that Civil War was the event to end all events. And by that, I mean it was the absolute nadir for the superhero genre and unequivocally the worst “event” ever conceived, figuratively and literally destroying countless characters and making it impossible to repair the genre into what it should be: super-powered champions in iconic costumes fighting back against evil, villainy, and oppression.

Days of Future Crap

Civil War took an old, tired X-Men plot (which was probably why the X-Men were largely absent from it) and decided to rehash it one more time, except worse somehow. And as much as I hate the “Marvel cinematic universe”, I have to admit -- without it coming along to build some characters back up, they would have been completely and utterly unusable after Civil War made them into nasty little fascists...the exact thing most superheroes love to punch right in the face, for good reason.

But after Civil War tore the real Marvel Universe apart, alienated longtime readers in droves, and brought extremely short-lived sales boosts that petered off almost instantly, Marvel found themselves stuck for what to do. Eventually, they went with the sure bet of Skrull fuckery, because Skrulls could change shape. That worked, right? Sure! Even if it did completely ignore or contradict decades of established continuity in so doing, as with garbage -- which you would rightly clock as garbage from the title alone -- like Skrull Kill Krew.

And after the yawn that was Secret Invasion, which was basically just an excuse for more graphic violence and “shocking” twists, then came the brusque push into Dark Reign.

In many ways, Dark Reign kind of exemplifies the worst tendencies of the superhero genre since 2000, that period of over-the-top violence and flagrant disrespect for beloved characters and teams, but also tries to include some genuinely good ideas and concepts. There’s good stuff in there, which is far more than anyone could say about, for example, Civil War or Secret Invasion.

Unfortunately for Dark Reign, it also stuck around just short of for-fucking-ever, and it gave us remarkably little in return for our investment of time. And money, because over 200 issues, at a very reserved estimate, carried the Dark Reign tie-in label.

And that’s really its biggest problem: it was an idea that was conceived with no scope in mind. Marvel editorial wanted, they claimed, to get away from the concept of “events” as essentially limited series storylines with tie-ins, which came and went relatively quickly.

Well cry me a fucking river, since they started that shit in the mid-80s and rode it for over twenty years while readers complained every god damn time an “event” came along and derailed the story and characters to tell its comparatively stupid one.

Ahem. But I digress. The main problem was that Dark Reign was an event, without actually being an event. It’s a lot like my feelings about superhero stories that are totally superhero stories, they know they’re superhero stories, but they act like they’re too good to admit that and look down on superhero stories, constantly sniping at and avoiding genre staples out of contempt. Fuck you. Call a spade a spade. You’re not some amazing auteur because you wrote Superman without a costume.

And that’s really the big problem here: in trying to avoid making Dark Reign seem like the usual type of event, it’s a vague, nebulous mass of barely-related issues where the villains of the piece may only pop in at one point to twirl their moustaches, and nothing can actually be accomplished because, at the end of the day, it is an event and its plot will not advance until the event is resolving. It’s virtually impossible to figure out where the story starts, where it advances, and there’s no real order to it. Multiple would-be authorities on the subject have put forth their proposed reading orders, but it’s all conjecture at this point. The only order you have is when there is a limited series specifically tied in to the event (and there were several) or when an already-running series has tie-in issues that go in sequential order.

What makes it even more complicated and frustrating is when you have tie-ins only sometimes. For example, with the then-running series of War Machine, issues 1-5 and then 10-12 are the only ones considered part of Dark Reign. They’re the ones that directly pertain to the Dark Reign plot. But there are a lot of times in the various series where the issues with the Dark Reign label cut off before any real resolution...making it either poor organization or just poor planning. Some series, like War Machine, just abruptly end with the end of that tie-in, as if that was the only thing keeping them going. In War Machine’s case, that may have been true.

But it’s a huge mess. Even if you were to decide “oh hey, I’ll just grab the trade paperbacks, that’ll be easier to read them in order”...not really. Sure, it’s all collected, and in order. But not always a coherent order, and not always including all of the parts of the story that you need to have it actually make sense.

For example, one of the high points of Dark Reign is the X-Men leaving San Francisco and establishing an independent sovereign island nation of Utopia. However, for whatever reason, it’s ridiculously difficult to find any of those issues included in any collection. Maybe it’s Marvel’s stupid rights mismanagement with the X-Men and Fantastic Four, but it’s just as likely to be a really tremendous lack of organization with regards to the event.

And I’m not giving them a free pass on this, either; the Utopia storyline suffers from terrible inconsistent characterization and oftentimes, just painfully bad writing, like Daken’s inexplicable voiced contempt for female fighters...which had not previously appeared and never popped up again afterwards. It had some great moments too, though, like Emma making a strong showing but still remembering that she had a heart and feelings, as well as being an excellent strategist and tactician. It was also nice to see that Sentry, for all his overblown bullshit, wasn’t a match for Namor and Rogue, on the rare occasion she’s written well, is able to hold her own against serious heavy hitters.

But I’ll come back to the Sentry later. Oh yes. He’s not getting out of this unscathed.

The Un-Crossovers for the Un-Event

The thing is, everything feels adrift in a sea of crossover labels. Oh, this book’s part of Dark Reign! Well that’s cool...too bad it doesn’t have much context beyond the basic premise of the event, and almost nothing in any story ever seems to have any consequences or repercussions beyond that individual story! It’s this feeling of futility that really makes it hard to enjoy Dark Reign, especially since it was conceived with no scope in mind. They really wanted it to feel less like an event, and more like just something happening in the world of the characters. And that’s cool and everything, but...

It doesn’t work.

The reason why events even work at all is because, love it or hate it, once it’s over, things are going to continue on without having to tie into it. People will be relieved, they’ll pick their series back up, and they won’t be constantly bothered with some extraneous story that doesn’t focus on the character or team they really care about. Plus, the company can compile the event into a couple of trade paperbacks and wring a little more profit from them, since that’s why they did the event in the first place anyway.

When you have an event so nebulous and yet so ubiquitous, it really shows the weakness of the event mindset. Stories function better when the villains, who are built up as being detestable -- you want to see the heroes get one up on them, you want to see the big bad guy punched in the gut and brought low -- are defeated before they become too much and it just becomes depressing and miserable.

When a story drags on for over a year, readers become used to it. It becomes a new normal, and that’s a depressing reality, especially when the villains are constantly being built up for readers to hate them. You have to give readers something, and that something increases in scope with every evil, detestable act the villains commit. You have to balance it out with victories, even small ones, so that hope can be maintained and it doesn’t become a drudgy slog.

And I’ll say this too: Alan Moore was right in the fundamental message of Watchmen. Which I will also say I hated as a story, I think it’s overrated miserable crap, and it’s fodder for the endlessly pretentious to harp on when they think they’re too good for superhero comics. Like I said before: fuck you. Call a spade a spade and be done with it.

But the fundamental message was this: it’s better for superheroes to fight supervillains than it is for there to be no superheroes or villains, because then all you’ve got are politicians and shitty regular humans constantly trying for a pathetic little bit of what they think is power over each other.

And fundamentally, we read superhero comics not to see bureaucracy, politics, or the inherent shittiness of people. We read them because they are a modern mythology, of heroes we vicariously identify with, whom we join on their adventures through the medium of comics. We see them at their high and low points. We join them in their moments of tragedy and triumph both, and we delight in those highs and understand those lows.

When we are enjoying superhero comics, we can fly above any unhappiness or inadequacy that our real lives give us, and in those moments, we are invincible. It is because of this that superhero fans are so passionate about their heroes.

There has always been some element of things like government and military shit in superhero comics. The fact that they really kindled as a genre during World War II is not lost on me. But since shortly after 2000, Marvel tried really hard to militarize superheroes and brought in a heavy governmental angle too. SHIELD was promoted and became more overblown than it was in the age of the superspy. Suddenly, everything had to revolve around one or the other, and it was not a wise or welcome turn.

So I will say this for Dark Reign: it illustrated very well, especially in tie-in storylines like Avengers: The Initiative, why militarized superheroes and government lies are not a good thing to have around. Sure, we shouldn’t need to have it spelled out for us, but it’s nice to have that precedent set that no, superheroes shouldn’t be government-controlled, no matter who is in power, because even if we have an administration that isn’t overtly malevolent, that won’t last. Inevitably, someone will get power that doesn’t deserve it, which is something especially painful to say in this day and age.

But having Norman Osborn be constantly, repeatedly built up to be even more of a piece of total shit than we already knew him to be...was a huge mistake. Because we knew that, despite everything, despite Marvel’s tendency for that 2000s “kill-’em-all” attitude and despite their unending contempt for readers, shown very well with Civil War alone...

We knew nothing was going to come of it.

We knew Norman Osborn was going to get the easy way out, survive the whole ordeal, and be locked away somewhere until someone wanted to bring him back as the Green Goblin or something.

And you can’t do that with this kind of storyline.

You can’t make it a shitty, real world-feeling storyline like this, mired in politics, bureaucracy, militaristic bullshit, and the bad guys winning, not to mention taking things way too far in tone with everything from rape to cannibalism, and not have the big bad guy die to resolve it.

You cannot, with the unlimited scope of superhero comics, leave someone like that alive. They have caused, directly or indirectly, horrific things to happen, and they committed crimes that are completely inexcusable; if you want them to stick around, if they’re the kind of “love to hate them” villain, then you have to do less to make them the kind of person that even the best and most heroic would say “yeah, nothing of value would be lost if you just offed that guy.”

Because it’s pretty fucking unsatisfying and pretty god damn smug when you try to have the good guys act like they’re the better people for not just ending evil -- and this is a fictional evil, so it’s absolutely, completely, and objectively evil -- but every reader of every age knows that doesn’t do anything at all to fix the things that person did. It doesn’t bring back people from the dead, it doesn’t undo their trauma, it doesn’t heal their injuries. It doesn’t repair the damage done to the world at large.

When you have someone who essentially steals a position of great power and influence, they must have absolute accountability. Which...is also pretty relevant to modern life, but painful to have to spell out.

The thing is, with Dark Avengers, they could have balanced this out a bit. The characters in that series (who were almost invariably as written completely different people in any other series) were pretty fucked-up, but they were often treated as more nuanced, three-dimensional people, with only a couple of exceptions. I’m looking at you, Sentry.

In Dark Avengers, even the team of villains and grey area antihero types didn’t know how to deal with Norman. Which was a bit stupid, since any one of them probably could have destroyed him effortlessly, but it made for a more psychological conflict. Unfortunately, the glue holding it together was the Sentry...one of Marvel’s worst characters and worst character ideas, who comes off as a bad idea somebody had while stoned, but who became a high-profile character anyway.

He’s not altogether the worst idea ever, but he’s up there. Conceptually, it’s pretty interesting to examine a high-powered superhero everyone somehow forgot about, but in actual execution, the Sentry is just a crazy twat. He’s impossible to like, he’s uninteresting because he’s overpowered, and nobody knows how to write him well, because his fundamental premise is one of not understanding his character. It’s obvious that whoever thought up the Sentry was someone who didn’t understand how to write Superman, didn’t know what made Superman great as a character, and thought it was ludicrous that such a character could exist in the Marvel Universe.

But it’s not. There are cosmic-level characters all over Marvel’s whole cosmos. And while superheroes are all about the action, that’s not all there is to them. How hard a character can punch something isn’t really what the character should be about, despite superheroics tending to revolve around resolving problems with fighting and powers. If you don’t have a context for those fights, it’s just meaningless, hollow visuals. If a character doesn’t have a motivation to do something that tells you something about that character, you probably won’t care about that character.

How hard does Superman punch? As hard as he needs to. How much can he lift? As much as he needs to. What can he do? As much as he needs to. That’s why Superman is an excellent character who has stood the test of time, and the Sentry is a terrible character who only pops up when people think they have something clever they can do with him.

His function in Dark Avengers, as in Dark Reign, is Norman’s imagined ace in the hole. He uses Sentry as a bully, to just casually destroy anyone or anything that gets in his way, and he constantly holds that threat over everyone...except when the story needs him not to do that, which it does often. Sentry is fairly easy to take out, but when it matters, he’s impossible to get rid of, and for no reason that really develops him as a character or makes him more interesting. He’s a schizophrenic idiot and contributes essentially nothing to the story. He is a placeholder until or unless he’s used as a deus ex machina, when he becomes insufferable because he’s nothing but a crutch for weak writing.

The worst and most glaring part of it is that Norman is batshit crazy, and it’s frankly unbelievable that he is somehow able to handle the Sentry, by using Sentry’s crazy against him. It’s just unbelievable, and it’s ridiculous that it goes on as long as it does -- a year, which in superhero comics is an eternity.

Sentry has no pathos and no real levels to him. All the depth he has is manufactured, artificial, and wholly “who cares” at every point. The one series that ever managed to make me care about him was the whimsical series The Age of the Sentry, done in a spirit of fun and real, palpable love for bygone eras of comics, and that was a series of stories told about the character and of dubious veracity.

In Dark Reign, he’s written like Superman when Superman is badly written: a crutch to quickly resolve stories the writer has no idea how to get himself out of, or alternatively the one that has to be taken out as soon as possible because the writer can’t write, usually because he wants to show that the person doing it is a serious threat. Either way, it doesn’t work.

Cul-de-Sac Reign

In a similarly dead-end sort of way, most of the tie-in stories are nothing but plot cul-de-sacs. They can’t actually advance the plot appreciably until editorial wants it to advance...so instead, they just end up being prolonged exercises in futility.

For the same reason I hated The X-Files, in which the protagonists were constantly prevented from accomplishing anything by increasingly ridiculous plot devices, I hate pointless stories. The Young Avengers miniseries is pointless, for introducing characters who all but came from nowhere and vanished back there, in a worthless plot where characters were inspired into complete inaction despite having a resolution to the entire event available. Similarly, the Elektra miniseries takes the widely-hated horrible joke of a character, makes her somehow more unlikable, and wastes everyone’s time with a story that goes nowhere and accomplishes nothing but character destruction, mainly of Elektra and Wolverine.

Who is, by the way, now absolutely complicit in multiple premeditated murders of people justifiably pissed off at Elektra being a complete piece of shit. Not that they bring this up with any of the gravity it should have -- just look at any time Rick Remender writes Wolverine or, for that matter, anyone in any series. Or don’t. No one should have to read Remender’s pretentious garbage.

Even the Punisher, whom I can’t stand, is dicked around by Dark Reign’s insistence to avoid having things happen. It’s pretty shitty when multiple issues of his title advertised him going after various members of the Dark Avengers to take them down, and he wasn’t even able to make any significant impact with anything he did. He couldn’t even take down Norman, who had no believable excuse for being able to escape mortal danger! You know, for all I give superhero comics shit for killing off characters needlessly, having the Punisher actually take out Norman -- or Sentry -- would have actually been shocking, and that could have led to so much more interesting conflicts and storylines about what this means, if it was right if the other heroes were thinking about it (and they were), and they could have had the Dark Avengers scrambling to try and hold onto their legitimacy and almost make it...but be defeated by the good guys, who prove their goodness and show the public what they bought into.

And can we just talk about the animal cruelty that popped up from time to time? It seemed really overt and conspicuous, and it’s absolutely not okay. Extreme violence is never okay, even in superhero comics (or maybe especially in superhero comics), but animal cruelty is really going a step past a step past too far.

Get your shit together, Marvel.

To say nothing of the inherent lameness of the Hood, probably the absolute worst character to be introduced and featured prominently in these past couple of decades of superhero disaster. It’s some lame whiner of a shit garbage character that dresses in everyday clothes but wears a red cloak over it and, of course, dual wields guns. Because that doesn’t look stupid or anything. And of course his background is basically the one thing I despise more than almost anything else in tired-ass writing cliches: straight people baby daddy issues. Please go fuck yourself. Nobody cares about the asshole who knocked up some bint who shit out a kid and became a by-the-numbers deadbeat dad. Because they’re lame.

The underlying basic concept, that of someone finding a magical cloak that gives them powers, is wondrous and fun. It’s just that the Hood himself is the exact opposite of wondrous and fun. He comes off, every time, like some asinine mary sue author insertion character you hate the moment they’re introduced. It’s cool when Doctor Doom shows that he’s not only a scientific genius, he’s also a skilled sorceror. It’s not so cool when some asshole dumbasses his way through magical power because of some cape he found randomly that anyone could have found.

It makes him seem even worse, and even more of a character almost metaplot levels of desperate to intimidate that he keeps trying to spook the people around him because they don’t take him seriously. Here’s an idea: create an imposing costume. If you can’t do that, you really can’t expect to be taken seriously. If you can’t even make imposing fashion choices or bring together an ensemble that will impact others, you have no business expecting them to just take you at face value because you’re wearing a red cape that you have matched with literally nothing else you’re wearing.

Plot, Unmoving

But none of it really adds anything to Dark Reign, and it really pisses me off to see stories where direct resolution was available, but heroes couldn’t actually do what they would logically or reasonably do...because editorial wanted to stretch out the event to make it seem like it wasn’t an event.

The whole concept of “Dark Avengers” is made even more stupid by the fact that they’re wearing obviously outdated costumes. As cool as Moonstone looks in Ms. Marvel’s old outfit, she also looks like she just stepped out of a disco. And while the different lineups of Avengers have sometimes been really strange and seemingly random over the years, you can’t expect me to believe that literally nobody noticed how awkward this one was, and how their costumes were almost all completely out of date and out of touch with the figures who are well-known public figures.

There’s also this weird aversion to the actual heroes confronting the people masquerading as them, because Norman’s good at PR spin. I’m sorry?! This just doesn’t make sense, and it keeps making less sense when some of the heroes are actually willing to strike out on their own to kill Norman, rather than to actually make it public that they are being impersonated...which makes it even more ridiculous when you consider that some of the people being impersonated have public identities.

The Dark X-Men team was actually was more plausible, in large part because much of the public didn’t know the X-Men well, and also because there actually was an actual X-Man in the group. Wouldn’t it have been more interesting to have Wolverine really in the Dark Avengers, and maybe have the X-Men or some other group have to work with his dangerous and unpredictable son Daken to get one over on him and take him out, thereby reducing the power level of the team significantly?

But no, they couldn’t have that. The X-Men had to have their own inane events, and Wolverine, despite being a dumpster fire of a character at this point, is somehow sacrosanct for vicarious dick-waggling of insecure writers who live through him just like the same pack of wankers do for Batman.

There’s also this bizarre insistence that somehow, despite people overtly getting plenty of proof that the “Dark Avengers” aren’t who they say they are, and some of them are committing pretty serious crimes in costume, in a day and age where everyone has a camera and a microphone and there’s recording everywhere...nobody gets any real dirt on them until they write it into Spider-Man for Peter Parker to do it.

I think it’s great Peter does it. But at the same time...how exactly is it that a top-level investigative journalist isn’t able to do it for a small eternity, and how exactly is it that it doesn’t have more serious repercussions in the public eye? It may just be the chaotic nature of the incoherent narrative, and I’m just not seeing it in any sort of cohesive order, but it sure seems like one of the many plot elements that doesn’t really matter until editorial decides it suddenly has any bearing on anything.

And I’ll just address the elephant in the room: the Dark Avengers lineup is not, to be totally honest, the most powerful or able he could have assembled. Most of them being mentally unstable doesn’t exactly help the plausibility. Given, the Marvel Universe tends towards more street power level and less cosmic, but there are plenty of real hard hitters that have been in the Avengers’ membership over the years, not to mention their foes that a villain supposedly so resourceful should have been able to recruit.

It’s basically just a sort of take on the Masters of Evil or the Sinister Six or something. And I have to say again that having an actual hero, or even a fallen hero desperate for redemption, would be a vast improvement. Instead, we only have elements like that in side stories or tie-ins that go nowhere and are easily missed by the central narrative.

Additionally, Norman Osborn is not the most believable as a long-term leader, even if he does use strongarm tactics, blackmail, and manipulation to get his way. He’s just not that smart, certainly not as much as he’d have to be in order to keep his team of people together and not killing him, and incidentally avoiding anyone else outside the team and thus his control similarly killing him. This is where I’ll bring Doctor Doom up again, since when he gathered a group of people together, he had a damn good reason and, as a reader, you could believe he could actually control them...or at the very least, keep them from posing a serious mortal threat to him.

Members of the Dark Avengers fight other teams and heroes, but rarely do they ever bother to clash en masse with any other group to any narrative end. There’s such a feeling of futility that pervades it all, that if you read any story supposedly tying into it, you start to expect it to go nowhere and accomplish nothing. Because even if it seems to actually make a difference, everything it does is either handwaved, ignored, or somehow doesn’t work into the next story you read under the Dark Reign banner.

Dark Reign is an event, make no mistake. It has a central storyline that we should be seeing unfold with every tie-in and every crossover. Instead, Marvel’s complete aversion to admitting what it is leaves us with a meandering, disjointed tale that promises something unique and superior and instead leaves us thinking of what it could have been, and probably should have been, instead.

[nooneimportant6886-blog]

Interview part 3

"The object of war is not to die for your country, but to make the other man die for his." - Patton

   "So where was the Missouri in this formation?" Asked Zorkenda.

   "Due us never expecting to be in combat and having the most experienced captain, we were stationed in the back and middle of the formation. We had the best communication range of the defense ships as well as the most advanced tracking equipment. We were meant to be the command ship."

   "So what happened when the Orgass came into view?"

   "Well we had all heard about the Orgassian ships. They were massive blocky ships with massive engines taking up the entire aft section of the ship. Crude drawings of what I interpreted to be death and destruction marred the hull both fore and aft. Captain Phillipps immediately called out across the comms. 'Battle stations all hands on deck and prepare for battle!' The crew broke from their trance and each ran to there station. I took my place in the forward heavy plasma turret on the deck. Hobbes tool his place on the other side. He quickly called over the targeting comm, 'Micheal.... are you there?' I called back with more confidence than I felt, 'loud and clear big man. You ready for war?' He responded quietly, 'are we ever truly ready?' He then proceeded to pray as he shutoff the comm. As more and more ships came into the system the captain sent a warning message to home. It was simple and to the point. 'The Orgass are here, we will hold as much as we can. Prepare for defence.'"

   "Did he not believe in your ability to protect Earth?" Interrupted Zorkenda.

   Micheal stared at him for a minute before responding. "Given what we had I think he was covering his bases. Very few of the men in this defense fleet had ever seen combat and those that had were on their way to retirement. But even if he did it was his job to tell home to prepare just in case." Zorkenda made a note and looked up waiting for him to continue.

   "Along with the message home he also sent a message to the nearest fleet telling them of the situation as well as his plan. They responded saying they were on there way and to hold out as long as possible. While all of this was going on more and more of this Orgassian fleet came into sensor range. It was larger than any of the fleets our scouts had seen deep in Orgassian space. The combined mass of the fleet generated it's own gravity distortion. As cause started reigning among the intership communication. Each had their own tactic and were trying to command the others to do as the said. It wasn't until Captain Phillipps sounded off that everyone went silent. Many had panicked in the heat of the moment and once someone spoke with authority the fell in line. Immediately he started giving commands, 'Fighters forward harass those battlecruiser! Cruisers back them up and give them anti-fighter support fire! Carriers fall back and launch all fighter bombers! Battleships, give them all we got! Full broadsides! Today we show them what we are!' Each ship gave responded with a 'YES SIR!' And into the breach we went. It felt like the world exploded around me as the defense fleet opened fire. I got caught up in the vigor of the fleet and started shooting even though I knew I was to far away to do any damage as of yet. The first Orgass to receive the full brunt of humanities defense rocked backwards and started pulling off to the sides to return fire. Their assault craft met our fighters in a blaze of plasma and cannon fire. Even from the back of the fleet we were able to see the dogfights. The cruisers had modified plasma cannons, some sere built for rapid fire while other launched modified flak bombs into the fray. Blue and green and orange explosions lit space like fireworks and as we listened to the comms we knew we were giving as good as we got. The railguns kept up a continuous fire over my right shoulder, the rounds broke the sound barrier instantaneously and rocketed into the Orgassians. Still they kept coming and once they reached their optimal range the returned fire. Their photon cannons roared to life and there cruisers took the brunt of the first battery. The comms roared to life as the cruisers started reporting damage. 'Fleet take evasive action! Cruisers with heavy damage fall back! Battleships focus fire in those guns!' Captain Phillipps barked as we started to turn and present all possible railguns towards the enemy. The deck rumbled and vibrated as the turrets swung around and continued to fire. The cruisers that needed to fell back while the rest continued firing. When the second battery of photon cannons fire hit our fleet it cut deep. Our cruisers started dropping like flies. The fire reached our battleships and they visible moved from the impact. 'Cruisers fall back and regroup at the secondary firing point, battleships forward into the fray!' We will hold here and cover the cruisers retreat!' I watched as the majority our cruisers pulled back burning from holes in the hills where the shields has failed. I felt the ship shudder as a photon blast grazed our shields. 'Gunners! Open fire on those incoming fighters! Protect the Cruisers!' My targeting computer let up like a Christmas tree as I opened fire. Targets filled my view as the turret bucked around me. I tried my best to coordinate fire with other gunners but it was almost impossible in the chaos. The only one I heard coming through clearly was Hobbes. I don't know if it was because I knew his voice or because of his proximity to me boosting his signal but I zeroed in on his voice.

   'Micheal you still with us over there?'

   'Reading you loud and clear Hobbes! How is your shield holding up?'

   'It's holding Micheal its holding.'

   'Be ready to get out of there if it falls Hobbes.'

   'Yes sir!' More explosions. Bright neon colors from our battleships and their warships streaked across the the endless expanse as the exchanged fire. Suddenly another ship shaking near miss brought me out of my stupor. I looked up and saw another photon blast rip apart a nearby cruiser. 'Get us between our cruisers and those cannons!' Came the captain over the comms. The ship pitched as we turned and rotated. My side was the side facing the oncoming blasts. Our battleships that had advanced to cover the cruisers were starting to falter. Through the carnage I saw we had stopped them in their tracks. Their burning wrecks being sucked towards the nearest planet Pluto. Their photon cannons were starting to decrease in number but our ships were taking heavy damage. Suddenly the comms came back to life as a ship broadcast across the entire fleet. 'Captain Phillipps my ship is to heavily damaged to retreat. My engines are going critical and my shields and weapons are all offline. We aren't going to make it to the regroup sir. I'm sorry.'

   Captain Phillipps responded, 'Don't you give up on me Asim! We will tow you out of we have to!'

   'It's no use sir. We are about to go nuclear... Tell them back home that the men of the United African Nation died like men! I enjoyed our our little talks.' Then you could hear him yell to his sailors, 'come in men! Forward into the breach!'

   The U.A.N. Krag accelerated head long into the enemy before her engine went critical. I saw the explosion rock the Orgassian fleet. I heard Hobbes through our line, 'Godspeed men.' The captain came over fleet wide communication, 'Stand aside! I'm coming through!' Then over the ship comm, 'Helm max battle speed! I refuse to be a sideline leader any longer!' I felt the engine rumble underneath my feet and steeled myself as we moved forward into the oncoming fire. As photon blasts skidded off of our shields the guns kept roaring and we kept accelerating. Assault craft kept hammering us with all the had and the photon cannons roared as they battered at our shield. My plasma cannon became like a fire breathing dragon as I kept unleashing plasma at the enemy craft around us. Explosions rocked out port side as are shields buckled under intense enemy fire. Another craft that I had never seen before suddenly flew through the hail of fire the secondaries were spitting into the abyss and kept right over my turret. Moments later the captain came back over the comms. 'Intruder alert! We are being boarded! All available hands to outer section 5. Let's show them what who we are!'"

Hey guys the next part will be out later in a few days. Any feedback is appreciated. Have a good day!

[genderinequality]

Reflection

I want to start off by saying how much I have learned and grew throughout this short summer class. There were many topics that I had perceived one way but learned and now understand to see them in a different way after the assignments we have had. We have talked about many different topics that were not only hard to read, see, and talk about but relevant to many cultures, areas, and people around the world. I really wanted to focus in on how women are affected in the workplace. I took a deeper dive into this topic because it is something that has interested me from the beginning. I used what we have learned so far and I searched and grew my knowledge with not only women in the workplace in the U.S. but how women in other countries are being affected as well. When this class first started, I thought that women were almost equal to men in the workforce. I thought we had almost closed the gap not only in the U.S. but around the world. After looking deeper, I know understand we are still far from that in many areas.

There are many different factors that can affect women in the workplace. One major leading factor to gender inequality in the workplace is social gender role norms for women. In so many different cultures we grow up with this idea and stigma that women are meant to stay home and do all the housework while taking care of their children. While this idea is still ingrained in many cultures it has slightly changed for some. Women are expected to work a paying job then come home and do all the housework in addition. On average women will spend an extra two to three hours working at home after their paying job. I had thought that many areas had gotten slightly away from this type of thinking however we have not at all. Many cultures still frown upon women working a paying job and do not receive support from their families, communities, and cultures.

In the one article “Women in the Workplace 2020,” it shows how many women were required to stop working and stay home to take care of their children. When the pandemic hit daycares and schools shut down leading the mothers no option but to stop working their paid job. Women were essentially on the clock twenty-four seven due to a nationwide shut down and everything converting to online which led to some burning out. With so many women considering leaving the workplace it could set us right back where we started six years ago because we will now have fewer women in leadership and fewer on track to become a leader.

In a website I found, “The gender gap in employment: What’s holding women back?” explains well some of the issues in the workforce. On this website it poses a question that states, “Why does the gender gap matter?” I think this is a good question because not everyone realizes why it is such a big problem. The answer is simple because we all have a freedom to work in safe and fair jobs. It also states how decreasing the gap could boost GDP globally. GDP stands for gross domestic product, what it essentially does is track the health of a nation’s economy. Women prefer to work in paying jobs than nonpaying.

In one video I found, titled “More Women in the Turkish Workplace,” there is data that shows the higher the education the more likely they are to work a paying job. However, in Turkey the gender social norms are very hard to go against. Many struggles with support from family and community and often leads them to dropping out of the workforce. One quote I found interesting was, “We try to give them the message that they’re not just producing children. They should be more active in the economy.” I find this intriguing because they are trying to tell the women that they should be working a paying job but also a nonpaying job of taking care of the children and housework. Putting many demands on women can be very exhausting which may lead them to choosing between the two.

I wanted to focus in more on women in India’s workforce as well since we talked some about India during this class. I found an article titled, “As India Advances, Women’s Workforce Participation Plumets.” India is currently in the bottom ten countries in the world in terms of women in the workforce. Although they have made some progress with the women’s rights movement, they still struggle with deep seeded gender norms. These gender social norms are in movies, social media, and built into the school’s curriculum. If we want to change the gap between genders in the workplace, we must change the way we think about gender roles and social norms. Along with gender roles there is also a mindset that women can only do certain jobs in the workforce. With this it limits women even more to what they can do. In India the women are not only expected to work in the labor field but then come home and do all the housework, take care of the children as well as the elderly.

The last area I took a deeper look into was the middle eastern. In the Middle east the level of education for women is about the same as men. This increases women’s chances to work in the paid labor field significantly. It even states that girls tend to outperform boys in school. People in the middle eastern found that the key to empowering women is to not only equip them with access but to ensure they have support, experience, and opportunities. Self-empowerment and grit by the women are key to continue succeeding and making a change.

In my blog post I have a few images that I think help demonstrate women in the workforce. The one shows the different percentages of women around the world who are in a paying job. Most of the areas are close to fifty percent however there is still a good portion that is not. I took this image as fifty percent is the highest. I included another image that looks at women’s protection in the workplace. As this is like the one above where the majority is in green there is still a good portion that is not. I thought it was less than what this image shows. The next two images I want to talk about I found to be very unsettling. The image with the differences in salaries was really eye opening. I thought that we have made good progress with differences between genders in the workplace. We probably have but for there to continue to be this much of a difference is completely unfair to women and setting them up to fail. The last image I want to comment on is the tweet like image. It is so difficult to digest that we constantly put women down who are intelligent, direct, and confident. We should be encouraging women to be bold and use their abilities, not making them hide them or feel ashamed. As it says we are in 2021, when will it stop?

There are many different small tips and ideas that can be used to help close the gender gap difference between men and women in the workplace. One of the first steps that should be taken is accepting and identifying that there is gender diversity. This will help others realize the issue and act on it. Closing the pay gap is another big step to making women feel appreciated and wanted in the workplace. Accepting that not everyone is the same will not only help with gender inequality but can help with equality in general. How can we change the ingrained gender norms? What can we do to empower more women to work in paid labor?

[unabashedtastemakersublime]

Some Responses to Your Questions About Gambling Addiction

A mom had completed dressing up her 2 children for college by 5 in the morning. Next, she'll head for the casino for an amount of some gambling activity.Does it noise such as a also ludicrous to be actual situation? Believe againToday, gambling seems like a everyday task that individuals overlook also easily. But, they don't understand the potential damage being triggered with their lives because of gambling.Usually, gambling also referred to as betting is a type of game that involves valuables and money being put at risk. Most of the valuables or money have reached a risk while the chances of wining is truly minimal or is completely dependent on chance. But, you are able to generally use some sort of wicked approaches to win, but still you are able to never be fully positive of earning the game.

Gambling are of many forms: hands down the forms is beatable while another is unbeatable.The games that could simply be trampled hence developing a exact good possibility through usage of strategy are called as beatable games. Some of them are poker, though it could be classified as game requiring talent; Pai Gow poker, Tiles, video poker, position devices, horse racing, sports bets.

If none of the strategies in the overall game helps the ball player to win the overall game, then it becomes an irresistible game. Some typically common cases on this type are baccarat, roulette, keno, position devices, craps, casino conflict, pachinko, faro, 3card poker, 4 card poker, pyramid poker, red dog, Spanish 21, Caribbean stud poker.

Equally irresistible gambling and beatable gambling can be found at the casinos. There are still a lot more gambling games that aren't being performed in the casinos like mahjong, backgammon, lottery, coin throwing games like head and trail, a few carnival games such as for example Hanky Pank and The Razzle.Another kind of gambling game may be the set odds gambling which is often observed in functions such as for example football, hors racing, tennis, baseball, tennis and many other sports that encourage thousands of men and women on betting on the earning team.

However the same, these are all several types of gambling which does not need the opportunity of experiencing constant wins.In gambling, individuals generally decide to try to get straight back what and all they missing during the course of the game. Some people continue steadily to perform the overall game having a opinion they shouldn't slice the indifference of these luck. Using this method, they hold betting and find yourself putting themselves at a danger of having a loss rather than a gain.

Several those who perform gambling state they perform simply for joy and for a recreation. Many more claim they perform it to generate some cash and gambling is just a really easy way to complete generate money.Since gambling involves plenty of forms of mental task, along with pressure and mindset of champion, it's probable to become hooked on the game. As time goes by, it may influence the one who is mixed up in game of gambling.

With each one of these psychedelic results because of gambling, some individuals also take part in betting whether a record is false or correct, or whether an occasion will require position at a specific time with yet another person. That occurs generally on scenarios wherever 2 people debate against each other with solid views against each other. Usually, The two people position bets for cash and for enjoyment just to make their point on a certain issue.

As a result of poor effects of gambling, several legitimate jurisdictions decide to not legalize the gambling activities. As a result of this, all agreements which have led to debts due to any gambling task are taken as unenforceable by law.This is the main reason gambling is just a risky activity. People who risk merely do not understand the damage of gambling to them.As informed, never put good money just after poor money. If by any opportunity you are involved in gambling, end instantly to enthusiastic any loss in your side.

If you are one who thinks gambling is just a new task that blossomed in Las Vegas in the 20th century, you may need to comb through to your gambling facts. To get a good idea of what size the gambling story is, decide to try going back a couple of thousand years. You'll observe that games centered on opportunity and the move of cube have already been been part of human history.

Not only did the Asian and other populations enjoy gambling and games of opportunity, several Native National teams employed such actions long before the current casino. Add to this the kinds of gambling carried all over the world by European explorers and you've a global trend of problem and excitement. Here's a beginner truth - lotteries have also been applied to boost resources for public construction projects.

e In the event that you see 100 people on the road in one day, it's a quite secure guess that about 65 of these have placed a guess or built a wager before year.o By several counts, profits in gambling casinos world wide add up to $30 billion annually. Various studies record that Native National reservations sponsor nearly 300 casinos.History of gambling details: The state of Nevada legalized gambling in 1931. New Jersey was the next state to make gambling legitimate (1976). South Dakota and Iowa used in 1989.o While casinos have operated in Nevada because the 1940s, their state created its Gaming Commission in 1959.

One myth that seems unwilling to die is that on line gambling isn't good to people, due to casino get a handle on, less-than-random figures and so on. Primarily, this is false. Safe-gaming computer software, eCommerce On line Regulation and Guarantee (eCOGRA) and different certification places have removed much of the insecurity and unfair play. The myth may shortly become one of the many Net gambling facts.o Casino fashion games are by far typically the most popular task on line, outnumbering sports betting 2 to 1. Lotteries and pari-mutuel betting are much down the record in percentage of on line gambling task, as are real-time on line poker rooms.o The Interstate Cable Act, passed in 1961, is just a federal legislation that had the target of reducing gambling activity. The law states it is illegal in the United States to use wire conversation (such as telephone) to place bets or reveal gambling information.

Fascinating Gambling Facts: Sixty per cent of on line gamblers use English as their principal language. Next in point is Russian. Germany occupies position number 3, in accordance with a review by Inland Entertainment Corporation. As for age, the figures are close, but those between 26 and 34 perform much more than others. One out of each five people is over the age of 45.o As well as on line casinos, some of typically the most popular kinds of Web/Internet gambling are lotteries, sports publications (wager on football, rugby, baseball etc.). บาคาร่า

e According to a 2007 story in USA Nowadays, the Venetian Macao casino was the greatest on the planet (on the southern idea of China). Foxwoods in Connecticut can be advertised while the world's largest casino.Very Fascinating Gambling Facts: Movie slots are often considered typically the most popular on line casino game. Roulette is among the toughest games to win, while casino poker is frequently considered among the best (with a little skill). When you can learn how to rely cards, you are able to transfer blackjack to the the top of "simpler" list.