#it’s like we’re all supposed to just know the obvious but ignore it to appease feelings

[broannalmao]

Were you always anti trans?

yes and no, i’m not anti-trans, I do believe gender dysphoria is very real and they truly feel like they’re not their gender.

what I’m against is the inconsistencies and problems that come about when you don’t call it what it is, a type of delusion

[hewantshisbrideback]

Jonrya AU: Other Engagements

Summary: The remaining Starks gather some time after the Long Night is won to discuss possible plans for marriages and alliances. With Jon crowned King of the Wall, ruling under Daenerys, High Queen of Westeros, discussion of who will reign by his side as queen over the north is paramount. But Jon is not the only wolf for whom a match must be made.

“Proposals," Rickon groaned and tossed back his head, auburn curls glinting. "My spear is still crusted with blood, and we're already talking of politics?"

"And how long a grace period were you expecting?" Arya snorted, shaking her head. Her dismissive words were born partially of relief. 

She had been speaking with the washer women when Jon found her and pulled her away. He had lead her to a small, stony room, recently rebuilt, containing only two windows, a small side table of wood, and her siblings gathered around in a semi-circle as if for a ritual. 

Her hackles had risen in an instant, but Bran had quickly laid her greatest fears to rest. There was no new tragedy to break their hearts, no new disaster to ravage their land; only the tedious intricacies of a civil society.

“A longer one,” the boy groused. Arya imagined that in his mind, there was likely no tragedy more agonizing than such tedious complexities.

“Oh? Are you inconvenienced?” She tilted her head at him. "Shall we postpone rebuilding the kingdom until the armory's polished nice and new?"

"Can we?" He asked. For a moment it was difficult for her to tell whether he was serious. Maybe the boy didn’t know himself. She cuffed him lightly over the head with a scoff just to be safe, and the grin that broke on his lips was wild.

Still, she had to admit he wasn’t exaggerating. Hardly a moon had past since the last dregs of the Others had been sighted, had been felled, and already there were talks of contracts, engagements, and promises between names she recognized only from war letters and fireside whispers.

During the blight, there had been hurried ceremonies in Great Halls, like that between Princess Val of the Free Folk and the gentle Willas Tyrell. However, there was no need for hushed vows in torch-lit gatherings anymore. What was left of the nobility, and whatever names had been gilded by the Long Winter, would want feasts, balls, parades through the streets.

Arya thought she almost preferred a quiet cloaking in the night. Perhaps that was only natural. After all, she had been present for the wedding of Val and Willas, and no better a pair had been made than they.

She recalled what a sight they’d been: the free woman’s flushed cheeks painted orange with firelight, the lord of the Reach’s nervous brown eyes pinned to his bride’s easy smile, rapt and adoring. They had danced for only a short song, but they had whispered all throughout, and had been whispering to each other ever since whenever she saw them.

The warrior princess and her lord of roses. She could count at least three songs that had been written of them since, the battles the lady fought and the bed of flowers her lord laid down for her, but none of them noted how they made each other laugh, how they sat at each other’s side like old friends.

"Bran is right,” Arya blinked from her thoughts in time to see Sansa grimace and continue, “We may have put aside our differences to face a greater threat, but that won't make for a lasting peace now that the threat is extinguished.”

"Fine," Rickon groused, then pursed his lips, surveying the room sullenly. "So, we're looking to pick up a queen already?"

Arya flinched, eyes snapping to Jon. Perhaps Rickon had been right to moan and whine. She knew her cousin would be married off eventually, now that he'd had a crown foisted onto him, but the idea of helping select his bride settled like shards of ice beneath her ribs. She cursed herself. How selfish she was. Finding a queen for the North was in the best interest of all who inhabited it, and here she was, unable to look at this as of yet faceless woman as anything but another competitor for Jon’s attention.

"A queen for the North?" Sansa contemplated, sounding as equally troubled as Arya felt. Her hopes that Sansa might object in her stead were dashed in an instant. "I suppose it bears discussing--”

"We can't," Arya blurted, panic coursing through her like lightning. Her siblings turned to stare at her. She flushed under their baffled eyes. Swallowing her shame and clearing her throat, she leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms. "Well, we can't. We can't start making decisions yet. Not on our own. The dragons. They have a stake in this, too."

Jon lingered on her for a moment. She held her breath, brow cocked defiantly, but he made a noise of agreement that showed she need not have worried. "That's true. I'm heir, second to Aegon. Daenerys lets me keep my name, but she will want a say in who shares our blood all the same."

"You're right. It may be one day that the children of your union and hers are married themselves," Bran conceded. “It won't do to decide without her.”

Her sister nodded, expression poised and thoughtful. "That’s true. I suppose there should be some talk between us and her, even Aegon perhaps, before we think about who would be a suitable choice.”

The ice in Arya's chest melted, soft like relief, but colder and heavier, and she made an effort to ignore the stab of resentment at her sister’s next words.

“Jon, you can send her a message, invite her to share her thoughts. Of course, you could always visit her in person as well, if she prefers it.”

Jon's jaw ticked as he nodded, eyes flickering towards Arya, only to snap away as if it burned when she returned his gaze. For a moment, she was petrified. Had he noticed? Had he noticed how upset this talk of queens had made her?

"Alright," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. "I'll draft a letter after supper."

His words were disappointing, and his tone was resigned, but it was also familiar. She felt her heart calm. It was no use to fret, over any of it. They were close, and given all that happened, it only made sense for her to be worried. She shouldn’t be afraid for him to see it. 

And at least the decision itself had been delayed some, Arya thought, staring at the ceiling, even if only until Daenerys had enough time to consider the best use of her nephew.

"Great!" Rickon looked around at each of them. "That's that, then, isn't it?” Sansa tutted at him for his impatience, and Bran shook his head, and Rickon threw up his hands. “If we can’t do anything without the queen’s say-so, why stand here brooding over it now? Just wait until she tells you what to do."

“She’s not just going to tell us what to do.” Arya tried not to quibble over semantics with Rickon, as he was still learning the world of kings and courts, but she couldn’t stop herself this time. “Daenerys isn’t a tyrant. No doubt she has prospects in mind, but the choice is ultimately Jon’s.”

“Which is why it’s worth going over the options now,” Sansa added on, “to prepare ourselves for when we do make that decision.”

“And we will,” Bran intercut, "but we can afford to set it aside today. There are still some other arrangements we need to consider.”

“What arrangements?” Jon rumbled, but the stiff set to his jaw and the scowl inching onto his lips made it clear he had some idea and, evidently, disapproved already.

If Bran sensed his ire, he ignored it. “Arrangements for the rest of the Starks."

Arya blinked. She had seen the eyes of visiting nobles and their kin lingering on her brothers and her sister. Even she had received some curious glances. But somehow she’d still managed to overlook the obvious, managed to fool herself into thinking that they had more time.

“Are we really to be parted from each other so soon?” she murmured.

Bran gave her an appreciative glance tinged with grief, and in that glance she felt all those lonely years already spent apart, a splintered pack. After spending this many fighting so hard to reunite, she felt sick imagining any of her family leaving Winterfell. No wonder Jon was on edge.

“I don’t like it,” Rickon grumbled in tandem with her thoughts, and from the looks on everyone else’s faces, they weren't the only ones. 

Sansa had folded in on herself, a brooding edge to her perfect mouth, but with Rickon’s complaint, she moved beside him, tucking his stray red curls behind his ear, a gesture that smacked of their late mother to a degree which hurt.

“Nevertheless,” she muttered after a moment, hand retracting and interlacing with the other, but she could not bring herself to follow through and continue the thought. No one could.

The room was still and heavy with preemptive sorrow, until Arya could bear it no longer. What would they do, sit in silence in this room until the fire dwindled and the sun set? There were meals to be had and men to appease, even just this evening, and waiting wouldn't stall the inevitable. Bran knew that. They all knew that. Sucking in a solemn, silent breath, she asked, “So then which of us is to be married first? And to who?”

Sansa opened her mouth, face wilted with regret, but Bran shook his head dismissing her, and the rest of them mirrored him. There was no need for a defense to be made.

“I’m well aware of the union between you and Sandor Clegane,” Bran assured her. “I would never ask you to break your vows. Aside from this, your first two marriages would have diminished your prospects regardless, one of which still needs to be annulled. Sansa is not an option. I mean you no offense, sister."

Sansa did not look offended. If anything, her expression spoke to some small, secret amusement. Arya was just glad that she wasn't weeping.

“No,” Bran continued, “by now, the attention of our allies has wandered to our other sister, Princess Arya.”

Arya was still beneath her brother’s cool, blue stare. She used to squirm whenever someone referred to her title aloud. By now, she’d nearly grown used to it. After all, she’d answered to far too many ill-fitting names to abandon Arya Stark for her accompanying titles, so she wasn’t left with much choice. 

Now, something in her felt hollow, as though if the wind began to blow, it would whistle through her insides, and she’d be able to hum without using her mouth.

“They intend to offer their sons to Arya." Jon's words were slow and pointed and metered all the way through. “Have they no daughters for you or Rickon?”

“I did not say that they are not looking out for their daughters as well,” Bran reasoned, just as slowly and emphatic as his cousin had. “But of the three of us, Arya is the most attractive option. She cannot give them a royal title, but it’s no secret what she means to you, and the North at large, or that she’s earned the favor of Daenerys. Every wifeless heir on the continent will be interested.”

She must’ve imagined the way his fists clenched. Jon was smart. Men underestimated him, always, but he was smarter than all of them. He should've expected this, even if, somehow, she hadn’t. Of course suitors would seek a princess’s hand. It would not matter to them whether that hand was supple or calloused. Jon knew that. If he didn’t, he should’ve.

If the world had taught her anything, it had taught her that nothing staves the ambition of powerful men. Not even death. Not even ugliness.

“Good.” The word startled her, even more than her sister’s soft hand suddenly pressing to her cheek. But she smiled, albeit with closed lips, as Sansa's furrowed gaze swept over her features like she'd never seen them, like she was trying to absorb all she could for safe keeping. “You’ll have your pick of the lot.”

“Septa Mordane would be quaking to hear such talk of Arya Horseface,” Arya snorted in response, provoking a wry smile from Bran, an expression she sheepishly mirrored.

“Be serious, Arya,” Sansa huffed with a noble frown, hand falling from her face to clutch her wrist in earnest. Arya adjusted her clasp so that they held hands instead, and Sansa's thumb swept the back of her hand in search of comfort. “That silly, old nickname couldn’t be more ill-fitting. You’re quite pretty now.”

Jon made an ill-tempered rumbling noise, and Arya wanted to press him, but refrained in front of the others. He’d been reserved since he was a child, but ever since the Long Night began, he’d been downright secretive. She wouldn’t pry, at least not until she’d gotten him alone.

“It’s true," Rickon cut in, offering a rakish grin. “You should hear the free folk talk of you, sister. They say such things I’ve had to threaten to gut near half of them. They might’ve tried to steal you already, if they weren’t so frightened of Jon. And me, too, of course!”

The others stiffened, but Arya saw his assurance for what it was and spared a moment to thank the old gods for her littlest brother. Though her gratitude didn’t prevent her from rolling her eyes.

“The freefolk have a might different set of standards than the noble lords of Westeros. I can only hope that my reputation is not too far spread. It’s too much harder to see a she-wolf wed than a proper lady,” she drawled, letting go of Sansa as she paused and turned to him with a shrug. “Though I suppose in another world, a marriage with some wily freefolk warrior might've suited, and done well to unite the North.”

Rickon puffed up with pride, though on behalf of whom she had no idea.

“You can’t be serious,” Sansa huffed, then turned an admonishing glare on her brothers. “I know that you have all grown quite fond of the wildlings, having spent so much time with them, but however helpful they’ve been, there is hardly a suitable match for a lady amongst them.”

“A princess, now,” Bran reminded her, and Sansa nodded firmly.

“Suitable how?”  A sneer curved on Rickon's mouth. “I’m not the one who wants to marry her off, but a free man can be good as any lord of Westeros. It wasn’t a wildling who tortured the poor girl in Arya’s stead, was it? And your good Joffrey was a prince. It seems that didn’t stop him from being vile.”

“Rickon!” Arya snapped in warning.

The youngest Stark stared her sister down, burning as remorselessly as the sun, but Sansa’s face was stone and her eyes blue flint.

“That is not what I meant,” she amended calmly. “Of course, the wildlings are no more capable of cruelty than the rest of us. That being said,” her words sharpened to points, like they were her talons, "the lords of Westeros will not stand to see one Stark sister married to a former knight and the other to a wildling. Not when order has just been settled and peace is still in question. If we marry Arya to a wildling, we spit in the faces of our Northern lords and our Southron neighbors both.”

“Aside from that, we don’t need another tie to the free folk,” Bran noted mildly. “With Tormund in our council, Val in the reach, and Jon their chosen king, their loyalty is as guaranteed as we could hope.”

Arya shrugged. “Well, as far as I've heard, if I were to be stolen, I'd hardly be in a position to refuse."

"Perhaps not, but I don't think Jon would be all too pleased to wake up and find you stolen by one of his subjects." Bran was watching Jon as if it were his sole, solemn duty. "I imagine they'd only get so far before he stole you back."

Jon flinched violently and it was a shock, how pale and harrowed he looked. 

"It’s not like anyone could ever steal me away in the first place," Arya reminded him quietly, and when he looked at her, his mouth was pressed into a bitter facsimile of a smile.

“Unfortunately,” Rickon mumbled, and when Sansa and Jon simultaneously turned to glare, he merely scuffed his foot against the ground defiantly. "I mean it. At least then she could've stayed in Winterfell.”

Ridiculous boy. Arya nearly pulled him into a hug, but Bran interrupted her before she could move and his next words kept her still.

"It's not entirely out of the question,” he professed. “It’s possible she’ll find a suitor who will be able to reside in the North."

Arya felt her heart stutter. “You mean, like someone who’s not an heir?”

“No,” Sansa asserted. “If you snub the heir of one house for another’s second son, their entire territory will take it as an offense.”

“No, I was not specifically thinking along those lines,” Bran amended. “There are those with other circumstances under which you may be able to remain.” His eyes slid curiously to one of the windows as he tilted his head. "Ned Dayne, for example. We’ve received word that he intends to act in service to the Queen’s Greater Westerosi Council. You get along well, don't you?"

Jon stepped forward before she could reply, straightened to his full height. His stare was locked on her, stark and unyielding against the pallor of his cheeks, like stones atop snow dunes. "How do you know the Sword of the Morning?"

Arya felt apprehension tighten like a cord around her throat.

This had been the way since they’d reunited.

When Jon introduced her to his allies, she’d beamed like the sun. They had delighted her, despite her jealousy, for all the years she’d spent apart from him, that he’d been with them instead. The jealousy didn’t matter as much as the relief that he’d found friends. She took them as her own. She had been excited for him to do the same with hers. She had been so sure he would, it hadn’t even felt like hope. She’d just known.

But when she brought Jon to Gendry, explained who he’d been to her, he met the smith with suspicious words and a dark glare. When she told him of Hot Pie, or Lommy, or Weasel, or any of the number of sailors and whores from Braavos, he answered only with sarcasm and silence. And the Hound...

Now she’d be the first to point out that Sandor Clegane had not been her friend, or her ally, when they first travelled together. But she would also admit, begrudgingly, that he’d become something close by the time he accompanied her to the Wall with the Brotherhood. Jon had known that. Still, when Sansa brought the Hound into their home as her husband, Arya had heard the King of the Wall bellowing his objections from the other side of Winterfell.

"We travelled together, for a time," she replied carefully. Her tongue suddenly felt too big for her mouth. "Not very long.”

“When?” he prompted impatiently.

“When I was with the Brotherhood,” she confessed, “back when it was still lead by Beric Dondarrion.”

“You didn’t say anything.” In other circumstances, these words might’ve been a mere observation, or even an expression of concern, but here and now, they were an accusation.

He had mentioned the Sword of the Morning to her before in passing, but by that time, around the time poor Morgan Umber started running away whenever she waved in his direction, she had heard just about everything he had to say about her friends. So she had decided not to mention it. That would be easier.

Except now it looked like she’d been keeping secrets. She cursed the gods and all they stood for. “He wasn't the Sword of the Morning then — just a boy."

"Oh, just a boy," Rickon snorted. "Just another boy, you mean?"

Jon glowered but said nothing.

"That's right," Sansa tittered, with a sudden little smile. "You’ve collected so many. The blacksmith, the baker. Even that boy from House Umber. And now, the heir of Starfall."

"Gendry wouldn’t be a bad match either," Rickon piped up, a grin forming. Like Jon, he had been wary of the smith when Arya first introduced them, but unlike Jon, that had since changed. There was a higher degree of respect between the Free Folk and the Brotherhood than between either of them and any of the other factions. They worked together more easily, and more often, and Rickon was always with Osha and the free folk. Between this growing familiarity and Gendry's formidable reputations both as the Bull of the Brotherhood and the Arm of Stoneheart, a friendship had formed.

Her sister, on the other hand, had been entirely lukewarm when it came to the blacksmith. It was clear she saw him as beneath Arya’s station, but he was useful and she’d kept any complaints to herself, likely as recompense for Arya’s support for her and Sandor. This worked in Gendry’s favor as Sansa hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, only saying, "Who knew your habit of collecting strays would come so in handy?"

Arya's cheeks warmed. "They're not strays."

Rickon shrugged. "Not anymore, I suppose.”

"They're allies!” She insisted. “They're vital allies."

This time, Bran shrugged. "They can be both," he suggested innocently.

Arya growled and whacked his shoulder gently, turning to Jon for even a drop of support, but the only thing she found was frustration marring his brow. They were stalling again, wasting time. Arya sobered. She felt a bit like a child, finding Jon so troubled and having been so oblivious.

"Jon?” she ventured. “What are you thinking?"

He was quiet for a moment and she thought he might scold them, but instead he responded, "It's as Sansa said before. A knight is hardly a suitable match for a princess, let alone a smith."

Arya prickled at his words. True as they may be, in the political sense, the insinuation that her friends were somehow beneath her would never sit well with her. She knew that Jon was just being practical, that he had too much sense to hold a man's status against his character. 

But then, he seemed to make many exceptions to sense when it came to those she cared about. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to marry Gendry, but she knew she’d prefer him to most, and she wasn’t about to let Jon discount him without objection.

"Gendry isn't just a smith.” She reminded him stiffly, fighting to remain civil as he huffed and turned away. "He leads the Brotherhood without Banners. He has earned the respect of Westeros.”

"And the smallfolk adore him. He's not just some war hero to them," Rickon added eagerly, looking to her, and she nodded him on. “He means something more. The whole Brotherhood does. They love them.”

"And he may not be a lord, by his own choice," Arya concluded, "but he is a Baratheon. That could mollify at least some of the lords."

"And would it mollify Daenerys? Or Aegon?" Jon snapped. "When it was a Baratheon who killed their family and sent them into exile in the first place? I may be their kin but I can only do so much to protect you."

"I thought that Daenerys granted immunity and legitimacy to Robert's children in exchange for recognizing Targaryen rule?" Sansa asked, hands moving to her hips. "Even Edric Baratheon has bent the knee."

"So how do you think she feels about Gendry, then, the only bastard to refuse her offer of a title and land? And the leader of a band of fools," Jon spat the word like it tasted foul on his tongue, "who reject the authority of anyone who wears a crown?"

Why Jon was suddenly spouting hostility at the Brotherhood he'd vocally appreciated during the war, Arya wasn't sure, but as much as she took issue with his slander, it wasn’t the time to bring it up. "If Daenerys does see the Brotherhood as a threat, then a marriage between us could be a means of establishing peace before a conflict breaks out...”

The look Jon gave her was that of a wounded animal with its prey cornered. She forgot what she had been about to say.

"If you think," he hissed, "that I'm going to risk your life on the premise that it might prevent disputes between that menace and the Crown, then I am going to have to disappoint you."

"And what of Edric Dayne?"

Arya could only watch as Jon turned away to face her sister, whose chin jutted out defiantly at the king. That imperious timbre sent shivers down Arya’s spine. She hadn’t heard her sister take such a lofty tone with Jon in ten years.

Jon, on the other hand, just sounded irritated. "What of him?"

"As a candidate for Arya's husband,” Sansa deadpanned, as unamused with him as he was with her. “Is something wrong with him?"

"Is this not the boy that used to traipse around with the same Brotherhood?" Jon enunciated his words as if he was speaking to someone extraordinarily slow and particularly annoying, and if his goal was to offend, then by the way Sansa bristled, he had succeeded.

"His involvement with the Brotherhood was minimal, contingent on his position as Ser Dondarrion's squire, and has already ended," she pointed out hotly. "It would have to, either way, seeing as he's not just a lord, but the heir to Starfall." 

"And you think as the heir to Starfall, he and his bride will not be obligated to return to Starfall?" Jon replied just as impatiently. "He could afford to pick up the mantle of Sword of the Morning and run around the continent as a knight during the war, but do you truly think he will forfeit his responsibilities at the behest of a girl he knew when he was a squire?"

"But what if he forfeits his claim? If he intends to work for the council, he will."

"Then there is no guarantee he settles here."

“Oh,” Sansa made a cruel, ladylike sound, something like a laugh but not. "Is that all?"

The whites of Jon’s eyes had never been so visible. "Is that all?"

"Is that all, that she may have to leave? Is that your only qualm?"

"He offers her nothing!"

"He's a lord. He's an heir." Sansa lifted a finger with each point she made. "He's a war hero. He's a celebrated ally to the Martells, and to the Targaryens!"

Jon scoffed, loud, and so unlike him at all that Arya's jaw fell a little. "If a king with Targaryen blood is not enough to guarantee peace with the Targaryens, then a marriage to Edric Dayne will do no better! He offers her nothing!"

"He offers her security and kindness!" Sansa roared, calm breaking like the sea against cliffs. "He and Arya are not just familiar with each other — they're friends. Do you understand how rare and precious it is? As far as safety and happiness can go, there's no better assurance than that."

"What of our assurance?" Rickon snapped, stepping into line with his cousin, opposing Sansa. "We can offer her better than that."

"Exactly, Rickon!" Jon crowed, towering above them all even as he leaned in to emphasize his point. "Her family, in Winterfell, is better than that."

Her sister sputtered at his malice, turning to Arya, but she could only stare back, face still slack with surprise. Helpless, Sansa seethed, shaking her head at them all. "And so, what? She will never marry anyone?"

"I don't see why she has to," Rickon grumbled, but Arya barely heard him as Jon crossed over to her, took her by the shoulder, and tucked her into his side. "At least right away.”

"She doesn't," Jon agreed, gaze soft and raw, as if he’d been stripped bare and bleeding before her and didn't mind at all. What was she supposed to do? This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Time? But then he said, “She won’t.”

Sansa shrunk back as if slapped and Arya stilled under his arm. This was a voice she'd only heard him wield on the battlefield, or in court, deep as a wolf and imperious as a dragon. He had never been the king with them, not with his family, no matter how they'd fought or what over. But now, he’d raised his head to look at Sansa with narrowed eyes, and did not seem to see a cousin at all.

He continued steadily, "We have every right to keep her."

Sansa’s teeth were small and peeked out from her mouth like she wanted to run but when she met Arya's gaze, her mouth shut. She straightened her posture, her chin dipped low and humble this time. "You are a Targaryen king, but you're not her head of house. You may have a say, but the final word is Bran's."

Jon’s grip tightened and Arya winced as he positioned himself between the two sisters, almost as if to make sure Sansa wouldn’t reach out and grab her.

"Oh, did you forget?" she asked, so elegantly applying salt in the wound.

"It seems Bran has," Arya interjected. "Surely he has something to add?"

She looked to her brother, silently imploring, but he merely made a contented hum. Part of her wanted to tear her hair out, another wanted a go at his. She did not see what was so amusing about their siblings spitting and hissing at one another over her marriage prospects. Jon and Sansa were volatile enough as it is, some days managing genuine cordiality and others only just barely maintaining a facade of civility. This couldn’t help.

"Bran will do what's best for Arya," Jon spoke on his behalf, drawing her even closer, so her chest was pressed to his ribs. His heat warmed her like a furnace. "I trust him with that much. He loves his sister."

"And I don't," Sansa inhaled, eyes wide and stepping back. "That's what you mean, isn't it? Be honest with us, Jon. Arya and I have made our peace and moved past our childhood quarrels, but clearly, you haven't. You still hold them against me, don't you?"

"It's nothing like that," Arya assured her with a furrowed brow, gesturing for her cousin to corroborate. Jon didn't say a word.

Sansa looked down at her and soon deflated. "What would you know? He's an entirely different person to you.” She turned back to Jon, her voice low and scathing. “You’re making me look like a villain for suggesting she marry at all, but I’m just trying to find her someone who will be good for her before it’s too late. I will not allow her to suffer like I did.”

"No, you would just exile her from her home, to live with strangers.” There was no room for argument. There never had been. “Arya has been away from home long enough without you sending her away once more."

"Away from home, or away from you?”

She might’ve said more, she must’ve said more, and Jon must’ve said more too, but Arya couldn’t stand to hear another a word of it. What was the point of this bickering and bullshit? All the while Bran just sat there with that inscrutable certainty as his eyes trailed after Jon, and what did any of it matter?

“Enough!” she howled, pushing at his chest and ripping out of Jon’s reach.

His arm hung in the air for a moment, expression hurt, but she didn't have the time to be sorry.

"Were either of you going to ask me what I thought? Or are you two happy assuming you know what's best for me, as well as the North, and the rest of the kingdoms?" she snapped. Sansa, Jon, and even Rickon all began speaking at once, but she'd had enough of listening for an entire week. “Shut up! I’m sick of it. I’m sick of all of you.” She sneered. “What a waste of time.”

Sansa objected, and Jon tried to defend himself, but it had been, nothing but a waste of time and a strain on their throats. If this was the way things would go, she was better off being stolen by the free folk. She was half tempted to leave her window open in invitation. They might not even have to bind and carry her.

"We are not going to make these decisions in a single evening," Bran's voice raised now, cutting through the clamor like a sword through cloth. "I knew that when I brought it up. Although, I had thought we'd at least get the chance to discuss some of the prospects for Rickon and me. But that can wait for now. We have other engagements to attend to.”

"Right," she croaked. Meals and men. Meals and men. She was supposed to meet with Ser Davos and Lord Manderley. Through the window, the sky was orange. She swallowed, but her throat kept dry. "I'm already late. I have to go.”

She moved to leave, and Jon moved to follow, but Bran called out and asked him to wait as the door swung shut behind her, and that was the last she allowed herself to hear before breaking into a sprint.

X

@mysticalmuddle This isn’t the fic I was talking about before, but I thought you might like to be tagged anyway, seeing as you’re basically the sole reason I ever post my fics! Thank you for all your encouragement, you are amazing.

[floralseokjin]

‘Tis the season (for Christmas surprises) 

kim seokjin x reader // slice of life // 1,333 words  

⇢ and beyond timeline (after crystallised)

[saga index] [drabble index]

“Merry Christmas ~” Seokjin sang against your ear. 

His hot breath annoyed you, and you immediately groaned, rolling further onto your side, hiding your face with the covers in the process. “Ugh. What time is it?” 

“7am.” 

“Seokjin!” You shouted, blindly reaching behind you to try and hit at him. You’d only been asleep for 4 hours. Your Zoom Christmas party had run a lot later than expected . What was his problem? Why was he awake so early? Despite the fact it was Christmas day. 

“What?” He asked cluelessly. You could feel him kneeling over you, waiting patiently. Or not so. “I have a raging hard on and you promised me Christmas morning sex.” 

Oh, how stupid past you had been, promising your boyfriend festive morning sex when little had you known that he’d wake you up at the crack of dawn. 

“We still have 5 hours before it’s considered afternoon.” You mumbled into the pillow. 

There was a beat of silence. “Aren’t you even the slightest bit excited for Christmas?” 

You sighed loudly. “I will be in another couple of hours. Wake me up then and you’ll see.” 

You loved Christmas as much as the next person, and actually, this was your first proper Christmas with Seokjin now that you lived together, but you were tired and grouchy, so Christmas could wait. 

“Babyy, come on!” Seokjin whined, shaking your shoulders. “Wake up!” 

God. Was he really that excited to have Christmas day sex? Yes, he’d been going on about it since forever, citing he’d never had sex at Christmas before, (last year you hadn’t been with one another), but he was really taking this so seriously. What was the big rush? You literally had all morning. 

“Fine!” You cried, giving in and rolling onto your back. Your eyes were still closed. “Take off your pyjamas and let’s do this thing.” 

Speaking of pyjamas, you guys were in matching festive ones – red and white fairisle patterned ones that you’d photographed and posted on social media like the lame-o couple you were. You’d been in charge of picking them out because you still hadn’t forgotten that one time eight months ago when Seokjin had brought back matching unicorn onesies when you’d sent him for groceries... He couldn’t be trusted. 

You still couldn’t see Seokjin above you, eyes clamped firmly closed but the judgement in his tone was bitterly obvious. “That is the least sexiest thing I’ve heard in a while.” 

“You have one chance,” you warned, folding your arms across your chest. 

With a long sigh, Seokjin gave in. “Okay, close your eyes.” 

“They are closed.” 

“Keep them closed then.” 

“Why?” If your eyes had been open they’d have been narrowed at this point. You were suspicious. 

“Closed,” he reminded you, and then you felt him retreat from the bed. “I’ll be back in a moment.” 

“Where are you going?” You asked instantly. He was supposed to be fucking you, not disappearing. “Seokjin?” You called only to be met by silence. He was gone. “I swear to God if you come back dressed as Father Christmas we’re breaking up!” 

You were shouting into nothing still, so all you could do was lay there and wait patiently, your arms lightly dropping to your sides. A minute or so later you heard footsteps. 

“Okay,” Seokjin murmured. 

You sat up immediately. “Can I open them?” 

“Wait,” he warned. He sounded closer. 

As the bed dipped with his weight you heard a tiny squeaking noise. You lifted your chin, confused and listening out for something else. “What was that?” What the hell was going on? 

“Nothing, just wait,” Seokjin told you. 

“Waiting.” You were growing impatient. And curious. Very curious. 

You sensed your boyfriend leaning closer, voice gentle as he spoke. “Okay... Open them.” 

Doing just that you were met with the sight of a   fluffy, ginger kitten. You blinked in shock, momentarily speechless. 

“Merry Christmas,” Seokjin grinned behind the fluffball he was holding up, amused by your reaction. 

“It’s a...” You murmured, trying again. “It’s a kitten.” 

“Well done.” 

You ignored his sarcasm. “Where did you get him from?” You were still confused. “Wait, is it a he?” 

Seokjin chuckled. “Yes, it’s a he. Are you going to take him anytime soon or?” 

You didn’t need to be told a second time as you took the kitten in your arms you felt your heart melt. “Ohhhh,” you wailed, holding him to you carefully. He let out a squeaky meow. You took it as a sign of instant bonding. Seokjin had got you a cat for Christmas? What the hell. Your presents would look like shit now. 

Seokjin rested on the back of ankles, giving the kitten a little stroke. “Don’t cry on me.” 

You’d try your very best not to, but you were a sucker for anything feline. You’d spent the whole year scrolling through cat tiktok, so Seokjin was no stranger to walking in on you crying at your phone screen. 

“Where did he come from?” You asked, voice slightly whiney with emotion. 

“Long story!” He whistled . “All you need to know is Sandeul found a stray behind his apartment block last week and somehow said stray is now a part of our family.” 

“A stray?” You repeated, feeling worried. “Has he been taken to the vet?” 

Seokjin laughed as he nodded. “Yes, don’t worry about that. The little guy is healthy as fuck.” Tickling under his chin, Jin looked at you. “He’s already cost me way too much money. You owe me, big time. I’m thinking a steak and blow job once a week.” 

You didn’t even roll your eyes, too emotional, too touched, for any kind of joking around. Instead you stated the obvious. “You surprised me with a kitten for Christmas?” 

“I did,” he replied with a smile. 

You couldn’t help but do the same, reaching in to kiss him softly. “I love you. A lot.” How come you had the best boyfriend in the world? 

“And I love you.” 

“Wait.” You suddenly realised something. “Where have you been hiding him this entire time?” 

“With Uncle Sandeul. I woke up like an hour ago and had him drop him off.” 

Uncle Sandeul? Lame. You looked down at the ginger fluff and couldn’t help but smile when you saw his little round eyes staring up at you. “Damn, your gift game has really stepped up.” 

For your birthday last year he’d bought you a Clone-a-Willy kit. So, think about it... 

Seokjin shrugged in silent agreement, looking happy with himself. You were reminded of something. “So, you forfeited Christmas morning sex for a cat?” He’d been banging on about it for weeks and in the end he’d given up his one chance for a cat. You were impressed. Since you’d moved in together there had been a continuous argument about which pet you’d like to have... Seokjin was more or a dog person. 

“Anything for you.” He laughed, kissing your forehead. “Besides, there’ll be more Christmas day mornings...” 

On the surface he was talking about sex, but deeper than that his words meant a lot. You wanted to spend every Christmas with him... With the hand that wasn’t holding onto your new baby, you stroked Seokjin’s arm. “Your poor morning wood.” 

“He’s used to it by now,” he shrugged. “Besides, cats sleep a lot right? Maybe we can,” he paused to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively, “while the little dude is napping.” 

You laughed. Maybe. But also, maybe you’d be way too distracted for sex today... Your attention was already back on the your kitten, stroking under his chin until he gave you the smallest, quietest purr. Okay, you were five seconds away from crying… 

“Y’know, he’s kinda cute,” Seokjin whispered, petting him too. 

“He’s really cute.” 

“Cuter than me?” He asked and you shrugged in reply, causing Seokjin to look mortified. “Hey!” 

“You’re both cute.” 

Appeased, he let it go, leaning in closer. “So, what are you going to name him?” 

Good question...

Written 2020. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2020

[dearjamesxo]

[drabble under cut]

They’re on their way to wish Bea luck when it happens.

Billy, Spike and Jessie trudge against the midafternoon crowd, Spike boasting a story from his childhood – no doubt exaggerated to the moon to impress Jessie. Billy listens with half an ear, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes on the ground. He doesn’t react when someone bumps into him.

“He’s in a mood,” Jessie teases to Spike when Spike tries, for the fourth time, to include Billy in the conversation.

Spike snorts, “I can see that. Which is why I’m trying to cheer ‘im up.” He sidles into Billy’s space, claps a friendly hand on Billy’s shoulder and asks, “Come on, mate, who shoved that monumental stick up your arse?”

Billy’s jaw twitches. He tucks his chin into his chest and hunches further into himself, hoping to relay how much he doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Is it the whole we’re not good enough tripe?” Spike questions, rolling a hand in the air to encompass the tripe he’s referring to. “Because the way I look at it, we got lucky. Who wants to go to a stuffy old ball anyway?” Spike’s tone suggests he does, but Billy refrains from pointing it out, “Let Bea and the good doctor go and deal with all that crap, while we—” He leans back and grins across the breadth of Billy’s shoulders, winks at Jessie, “—get to enjoy ourselves!”

Billy doesn’t respond, simply shrugs and keeps his pace, his shoulder colliding with another man’s. Again, Billy doesn’t even seem to register that the man told him to, watch where yer goin’!

Yes, Billy’s in a mood, definitely, but it doesn’t have anything to do with Bea or Watson or the ball Spike mentioned. In fact, it was Billy’s idea to go find Bea before Watson collects her at Mrs. Smith’s shoppe.

As usual, Watson’s swanning Bea off to perform for another investigation, some undercover business that apparently, “Only Beatrice has the maturity and patience to pull off,” thanks for the confidence, “the rest of you will merely serve to attract unwanted attention.” As if Bea done up like a gateau de savoie won't attract attention. Although Bea has learned to carry herself less woodenly than she did, she isn't exactly graceful when laced into a gown. Jessie's the better candidate, equipped with supernatural powers to boot, but Watson's mind was made up. Besides, Billy's noticed that he and Bea have some sort of connection; they seem to get each other in a way that leaves everyone else behind.

Howbeit, Watson’s condescending remark isn’t what gets Billy’s dander up either. That honor goes to His Royal Highness, Prince I-Have-To-Escort-Helena. Not that Billy wants to go through the trouble of pampering and primping for a ball he’s sure he’ll hate every minute of. But Leo could’ve at least had the courtesy to pretend he was regretful, since he already has so much experience pretending to be something he isn’t.

Billy scowls at his shoes, kicks a pebble harder than he means to. He ducks his head and picks up his pace when he hears a strangled yelp and sees, from the corner of his eye, a man clasp his ankle and hop on one foot.

Oops.

It’s then that the short hairs at the back of his neck rise, his scalp tingles, the sensation of being watched shivering up Billy's spine. He lifts his chin and, immediately, his gaze is drawn to the end of the street.

“Isn’t that—?” Jessie starts, tugging Billy’s wrist to get his attention. Then, much quieter, under her breath, “Oh,” as if she's figured something out.

Billy yanks his wrist out of her light grasp and squares his shoulders, ignorant of the utterly baffled Spike sends Jessie behind his back. “Wait here,” he gruffs and stalks toward the end of the street. Or more precisely, toward who lingers there.

“We’ll meet you!” Spike calls after him and wraps an arm around Jessie. She tries to resist, head craning, but Spike guides her down the cross street in the direction of Mrs. Smith’s shoppe.

Like a wolf preparing to lunge, Billy stalks toward Leo, expression hard and fists clenched. Leo returns the sentiment with a rigid, neutral set to his features, stare unwavering. Billy inwardly chastises himself for the heat of desire that rushes through him upon seeing Leo. No matter how pissed he is with the prince, Billy can never deny how attractive Leo is like this, all lofty courage and attitude, golden against the smutty backdrop of the Marylebone rookery. God, Billy wants to strip Leo of his finery, fuck him until he remembers who he really belongs to. And it isn't, Billy thinks in a possessive growl, Helena.

Theirs will never be a public romance, a reality Billy understood from the start, only it didn't feel so impossibly cruel until the moment Leo casually mentioned he would be attending the very ball Bea and Watson would with Helena on his arm. As if he wasn't lounging between Billy's legs, his back to Billy's chest, his fingers laced with Billy's. It never ceases to amaze Billy how terrible Leo is at reading a room because Jessie's discomfited expression alone should've been a clue that something wasn't right. Even so, Billy kept his mouth shut because he's supposed to be fine with it, isn't he?

Easier said than done, Billy knows now.

As much as they - Billy and Leo and Leo and Helena - have an agreement, it still cuts deep when Billy has to step aside so Leo can appease his mother by flaunting the person society deems Leo's best match.

“What’re you doing here?” Billy demands to know the instant he’s within earshot.

Leo flinches slightly, then musters the confidence to say, “I’d like to have a word.”

“With your side piece?” Billy mocks disbelief, “I’ll bet.”

“Billy, please, if you would just listen—”

Billy’s in front of Leo now, standing at the closeness he’s grown accustomed to since he and Leo became he and Leo. He didn’t mean to narrow the distance so quickly, wants to hold on to the anger because it’s easier, except that to put himself anywhere else in Leo’s orbit feels intrinsically wrong.

“Better make it quick, your highness,” Billy sneers, “I’m sure your lady doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“For goodness’ sake,” Leo erupts through gritted teeth, though his tone maintains a respectable volume as propriety demands, “I’m not going.”

This stops Billy's mounting rage in its tracks, all at once replaced with a confusion that shows itself on Billy's face. A simple “What?” tumbles out of his mouth as he frowns at Leo as if Leo told him the sky is actually green.

“I’m not going.” Leo repeats.

Billy grabs Leo by the upper arm and drags him out of the middle of the crowded street, into a narrow lane that separates the butcher’s and an Indian-owned tearoom. Leo doesn’t resist, allows Billy to manhandle him, and stops moving altogether when Billy pushes him against the brick wall just inside the lane. Suddenly, Billy’s flooded with concern.

“What happened?” Because it has to be something awful if Leo can shirk his responsibility for the evening. “Is Helena alright?”

Leo’s brows furrow, eyes flickering between Billy’s, down to hover on Billy’s mouth before they slip to the ground where they remain. He huffs a humorless laugh, “Helena’s fine, you massive boor.” and slumps against the wall Billy has him pinned to by the shoulders, defeat obvious in his posture.

“Then what—?”

“It’s you!”

Well, that can't be right. Leo's never missed an engagement his mother's insisted upon for Billy in the weeks they've been, well, them. Billy has to make sure, “Me?”

Gesturing helplessly with one hand, Leo explains, “How can I go and act as though I care about anything my mother’s contemporaries have to say when all I can think about is you, here, upset with me?” A tiny smile curls Billy’s mouth, “I love you, you idiot.” Leo says as though he's said it a thousand times - he hasn't, this is the first and Leo doesn't appear to notice he's shared such an important declaration in the middle of a rant. Billy wants to say it back all the more for it. “Helena made a fuss when I told her, practically pushed me out the window so I would come find you.”

Floating on a wave of giddiness, assuaged by Leo's words, Billy remembers how much he likes Helena. Helena who has her Henrik in Münster and swore not to intrude on Leo's relationship with Billy as long as Leo issues her the same respect.

Billy leans in and places his forehead against Leo’s, hands sliding from Leo’s shoulders to cradle Leo’s jaw, resting the pads of his thumbs gently at the corners of Leo’s mouth. A small chuckle escapes him, unable to contain it, and Billy shuffles forward to press their bodies flush from waist to hips to knees, fondly brushes the tips of their noses, then tilts his head and captures Leo’s lips in a sweet yet hot-hungry kiss.

When he pulls back, he wonders, “Or maybe it’s Helena I should be thanking?” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, smiling playfully, “Should I be kissing her instead?”

Eyes in grumpy, feline slits, Leo protests, “Don’t you dare.”

“Mm, you’re right, she’s really not my type.”

Abruptly, Billy untangles himself from Leo, bends enough to grab Leo by the back of the thighs and lifts. Leo cries out shrilly, startled, the action forcing his legs to wrap around Billy’s waist and his arms to lock around Billy’s neck. Cackling, Billy pins Leo with his body, his fingers kneading the sensitive flesh just below Leo’s arse, eliciting a moan that he swallows greedily.

“Is this really the appropriate time?” Leo pants, throwing his head back when Billy grinds their hips together, making them both groan.

“Not even a little bit.”

As Billy leans in for another kiss, Leo interrupts by putting two fingers to Billy's lips. “Perhaps,” He says, voice pitched suggestively, “We should take this elsewhere,” Here, Leo kitten licks Billy’s parted lips, darts his tongue into Billy's mouth quickly, moves on to dot Billy’s jaw with a trail of dry kisses. He reaches Billy's ear and continues in a whisper, “Somewhere you can spread me open,” A nip to Billy’s earlobe, “And show me what happens when I upset you?”

Billy's cock twitches in interest. He takes in Leo’s pink cheeks and glassy, blown eyes, decides, “Sounds like a marvelous idea.”

In a swift sequence of motions, Billy drops Leo to his feet, carefully repositions him, crouches, and then hoists Leo over his shoulder. Spike was right, Billy grins, patting the swell of one of Leo's arse cheeks in victory, who wants to go to a stuffy old ball, anyway?

[itsclydebitches]

Godddddd I'm so upset that I dislike yen this much, doing main quests in skellige and Freyas ppl were doing stuff and she again disrespected other cultures with Geraly being against, "I may be inhumanly beautiful" I know she's meant to be confident but wowww. She's not confident and worried for Ciri she just comes off arrogant and selfish and vain. Like, fuck.

The ultimate mood, anon. My Witcher fandom life would be so much easier if I enjoyed Yen ... but I just do not lol. Remember how I mentioned that things were going to get even worse than her stealing and using a potentially dangerous artifact? Yeeeaah. She also resurrects Ciri's friend to torture him for information, all while destroying another sacred garden to get the power to do it! It's not even a "She's so evil and I love it 😏" situation for me because the game tries so hard to convince us that she's still The Best. Geralt's sexy soulmate, Ciri's adoring mother, the baddest bitch around who gets things done and does it with an effortless confidence... all while ignoring how horrific her actions and attitude are. Oh sure, other characters speak ill of her at times, but considering how much Geralt is written to adore her, no matter what you choose, that's all undermined. I love morally gray/evil characters, but I've never enjoyed them when the text refuses to appropriately acknowledge that side of them. Nothing is more frustrating to me than a story that frames disliking a character as the unambiguously wrong thing to do, especially when the text is piling up reasons to dislike them and, as a result, ignoring or shrugging them off their actions as not that bad. Yen is a rather extreme example of that for me. Despite her attitude, her choices, and other characters outright going, "Why do you like her?" the story as a whole works under the assumption that it's correct to like her anyway because Geralt loves her. And he loves her for... reasons.

They do meet before the wish, but only just. Major "The Last Wish" spoilers in this paragraph, so feel free to skip. Basically, Geralt and Dandelion run into trouble with a djinn, he goes to Yen for help since she's a sorceress (first time meeting her), he instantly falls for her because she's gorgeous and such (there's an elf there who is also madly in love with Yen. Men just... fall for her, instinctually), she heals Dandelion, Geralt agrees to pay her, but Yen has already decided on the payment she wants. She takes control of Geralt's mind and forces him to attack the town to seek revenge on those who have insulted her, resulting in him waking up in prison awaiting execution for "his" crimes. Meanwhile, Yen has gone after the djinn for herself because power/trying to regain her ability to have a kid. Geralt escapes, finds her failing to master the djinn (an attempt which btw has endangered the whole town) and despite what she's done to him, Geralt tries to get Yen to escape with him. She refuses, set on capturing the djinn even though it's obvious she can't. So as a last resort he uses the final wish to bind their fates together, saving Yen from the djinn in the process. Aaaaaand then they have sex.

So yeah, their rocky relationship is one of the main reasons why I can't enjoy Yen. For some their tumultuous history is evidence of realism, for me it's evidence that they're not actually very compatible and they're only together because a) that's the fantasy trope: protagonist men get together with the hot sorceress and b) because the magic is literally ensuring that they can't escape one another. I mean, canonically their fates are tied together by magic and canonically they spend about 20 years swinging between passionate love and fearsome fights... but there's supposedly no connection between these two things? No chance at all that they keep coming together because magic is drawing them rather than because they actually want/should be together? I wrote a meta a while back about the short story where they meet, which includes a present day scene where Geralt is criticized by another character — Nenneke — for running out on Yen. Thing is, he tries to explain that he left because she was "too possessive" and this is... flat out ignored. By both Nenneke and the fandom. There's a strong trend of ignoring Geralt's words in favor of a pro-Yen interpretation of events. He says he left because she was too possessive and she treated him like ____ — he's not allowed to finish the sentence and say what she treated him like because Nenneke interrupts him, saying she doesn't care about his version of events. Major yikes imo! She turns a claim of being possessive into Geralt not being man enough to stick around. The fandom likewise turns this into a case of Geralt getting cold feet and running out because he's a bastard who hates commitment. Likewise, Nenneke and the fandom claim Geralt is trying to get Yen money as a way of appeasing his guilt for leaving, he claims he's doing it simply because he still cares for her — even if he doesn't want to be with her — and knows she needs it. Geralt's words are frequently dismissed, in the same way others characters' opinions of Yen are dismissed. Any mark against her is treated as either a lie, or a convoluted claim that they don't really know her... never mind that an understanding of why she may act this way doesn't excuse the behavior itself. (Plus, the whole "Yen had a horrible upbringing, so of course she struggles being kind" perspective always fell flat to me when so many, including witchers, had horrendous upbringings too. The whole point is this world is a mess and most everyone suffers). It's supposedly true love, yet if someone came up to me and went, "I magically tied my fate to this woman to keep her from getting herself killed and we've spent the last couple decades having what many would term a rocky relationship, to put it kindly. I left once because she was too controlling. She once cheated on me. I likewise hooked up with others during our frequent breakups. A mutual friend used magic to get me to have sex with her — also while my lover and I were broken up — and though I view it as a dumb decision I'm happy to forgive her for, my lover is ready to commit murder because again: possessive. A lot of the time we're only a family because of our daughter. I once thought she'd horrifically betrayed us both. She didn't, but it says something that I was so ready to believe it, huh? Hmm? Permanently separated? Of course not! I love her. We're destined to be together after all :)" I'd be like, "Uh... you sure about that, dude?"

Not that Geralt doesn't make his fair share of mistakes in the relationship — he absolutely does — but I don't think it helps his case that he's immature in other ways and, frankly, that he's a very strong, badass witcher. It's easy to turn the hints we get about their relationship into a simplistic "emotionally naive man can't give the poor woman the commitment she wants" situation. Given Geralt's status as the badass fighter of the tale, it's likewise easy to dismiss his admissions of her being "possessive" and his general discomfort. He's the man. He's the witcher. If he's making any claims about how Yen isn't treating him well, they must be excuses, or exaggerations, because real men, especially physically powerful men, would do something about that — a something that's not sneaking out in the middle of the night. A lot of people read Geralt leaving as the ultimate proof that he's an immature bastard who doesn't deserve her. I read him leaving and think, "What were you trying to get away from? What was going on that made you think you could only leave by sneaking out without a word?" To me, that doesn't read as someone who felt safe, comfortable, and respected enough to do anything but slip away and try to wash his hands of things. And I'm not just pulling this "Geralt is at least somewhat afraid of Yen and isn't comfortable establishing boundaries with her" reading out of my ass. When Yen wants Geralt to kill the golden dragon for her and he refuses, saying he doesn't care anymore, his thoughts are:

He expected the worst: a cascade of flames, flashes of lightning, blows raining down on his face, insults and curses. There was nothing. He saw, with astonishment, only the subtle trembling of her lips. Yennefer turned around slowly. Geralt regretted his words.

And everyone is like, "See! Yen has improved so much. Geralt nearly made her cry, but she's supposed to be the bad guy here?" Meanwhile, I'm going, "Uh... anyone want to unpack why he expects fire, lightning, insults, curses, and blows to his face for telling her no? Why he's astonished that she wouldn't use her magic against him? Anyone think that Yen refraining from attacking Geralt when he refuses to murder on her command is a pretty low bar? No? Just me?"

Geralt and Yen's relationship makes me uncomfortable and a great deal of that discomfort derives from how much of the Witcher fandom shrugs off the fictional warning signs. I mean, I post primarily about RWBY. We watched a man in that show try to sneak away with his kids when his villainous wife planned to use them for a eugenics plan... and the fandom still blames him for that, refusing to admit that he was in an abusive relationship. Because that doesn't happen to men, right? I'm not saying it's the same for Geralt and Yen, simply because they are written to be soulmates. An abusive relationship was, quite obviously, never the authorial intent. However, I am saying that the a "This isn't a healthy relationship" reading is there, it exists as an interpretation, and both the story and fandom's tendency to dismiss it is something that hasn't helped me enjoy Yen's status as an otherwise well written, complex character. Their equality supposedly stems in part because they're both so flawed, yet each time I see a list of Geralt's supposedly equal faults they're... lacking imo. "Geralt bound himself to Yen without her consent." Yeah, to save her from dying from the djinn she was trying to enslave, after she refused to leave, while her actions threatened a whole town. "Geralt ran off without a word." Mmm hmm, anyone care about why? And my personal favorite is a scene you may not have gotten to yet (or may not get depending on your choices), but suffice to say, Yen is supposedly justified in physically attacking Geralt if he dares to challenge her in any way. That's the main takeaway across the fandom: If Yen is pissed off, you must have done something to deserve it which, in the relationship deliberately written to be "stormy," is something that sets all the alarm bells in my head off. Honestly, it kinda makes my skin crawl to go, "Geralt didn't deserve that" and get responses back of, "Yeah he did because he [insert basic human action here]." The Witcher world is hard and cruel, absolutely, but that doesn't mean I personally enjoy seeing an equally messed up relationship presented as something that's enviable in its flaws. "That's actually true love because the magically bound man who often expresses discomfort with his lover, written by a male author with a very iffy perspective on women, says it's true love." Crazy theory here, but... maybe it's not?

Idk, lots of rambling on my end tonight! For me, Geralt/Yen reads as something rather tragic which, in a canon that unironically upholds the relationship, and in a Yen-adoring fandom, doesn't make enjoying her character any easier. I keep coming back to Witcher 3, the comics, the show, even the books going, "Maybe I'll like her this time?" but nope, still trying lol.

[akillysheel]

TENUOUS.  ( 1 )

Summary:  Cthugha explains a little more about who he is and why he’s there--  besides the obvious, of course. Warnings:  N/A. Notes:  Yes, nouns like ‘Balance’ and ‘Universe’ are capitalised on purpose.

    THE  STRANGER  NAVIGATED  the precinct as if he’d been there before.  He wound his way through tables like a snake, ignoring the curious glances that officers shot him as he passed.  As he reached Kuro's office, the Sheriff was almost convinced that he was the one who didn't know his way around the station.

    "Oh,"   the boy mused, head tilted upwards in the direction of his corkboard.  It was littered with different coloured post-it notes and twine, Kuro’s neat block letters bold against their garish backdrop.   "An upgrade for sure."

    "Who are you?"   Kuro asked slowly, enunciating every word as he stared at him intensely.  Part of him felt that he should recognise him.  Perhaps it was the familiarity that he'd been approached with.

    "My name is Cthugha.  I came from the future,"   he replied nonchalantly, arms tucked behind his back as he looked over the board.  He winced slightly upon seeing one of the names on one of the many sticky tabs.   "You never find that one, by the way."

    "Excuse me?"    Now he felt irked.   "That's a real case, y'know.  This girl's really missing.  That's somebody's daughter."

    "Unfortunate,"   Cthugha said, his tone a fraction softer.

    "She ain't fodder fer yer li'l sideshow.  She's a real person 'n' she's Raku-knows-where.  Y'don't have the right to t'be involvin' her in yer stunt."

    The look that Cthugha shot over his shoulder was cold.  After a beat of silence:   "Her name is Olivia Brannon.  She went missing a week ago.  You found her things in a field directly adjacent to the subway tunnel--  her dorm keys, student ID and textbooks--  but you have no further leads.  You think that she's playing hooky with a boyfriend she's keeping a secret from her overbearing parents--  that she threw her belongings as a student away to pursue a life with him in private--  but he's still in town and hasn't seen her either.  You’ve pursued him for questioning but he’s come back clean as a whistle.  He even has an iron-clad alibi under his belt!  You don't know where else to look, so you trawl through town like a dog sniffing for blood, only to find nothing.  The case eventually goes cold."   A thin smile shaped his lips as he took in Kuro's stupefied expression, impatient and derisive.   "How's that for a stunt, Sheriff Braav?"

    "H-How did you--"

    "What part of 'the future' do you not understand?"

    A thick blanket of silence befell them, and Kuro found himself leaning against the wall for balance.  Just five minutes ago, it had been a typical Tuesday morning.  Now, it felt as if his world was teetering to one side, his pulse an electrical current that thrummed in each temple.  It wasn't easy to bewilder him after all that he'd seen, but this curious stranger had achieved it in a matter of minutes.  How else was he supposed to react to being told airtight details about a case that hadn’t been made public knowledge yet?

    How is any of this happening?  What is happening?  None of this is right.     Who is this guy?

     "I won't waste any time,"   Cthugha said soberly, moving away from the board.  He circled Kuro's desk like a vulture, blue eyes scanning the tabletop with apparent interest.  A finger grazed a half-solved rubix cube curiously.   "I've come for one very important thing:  the Balance is at stake.  I need to fix it.  You can help me."

     "What…?"   Kuro blurted stupidly, mind reeling.   "What're y'talkin' about?"

     "Alright."   Cthugha paused to pinch the bridge of his nose.   "I'm gonna need ya to sharpen up, detective.  I came to you because I know you're smart."

    “Surely y’realise how insane this is!”   Kuro bit back, finding a foothold in the conversation.   “This kid materialises out of nowhere--”

    “Not a kid.”

    “-- ‘n’ tells me that he’s from the future, ‘n’ that he’s here t’restore the Universe’s Balance--”

    “In layman's terms.”

    “--’n’ that he needs my help t’do it.  Ten minutes ago, I was enjoyin’ a cup’a coffee ‘n’ finishin’ the paperwork fer an open-’n’-shut robbery!  This shit is  WAY  outta my professional league.”

    There was a lilt in the conversation--  one in which was stolen by the subtle tilt of Cthugha’s head.  There was a strange metaphysical gravity that surrounded him, one that drew in attention like he was sucking it through a straw.

    In a small, hopeful voice:   “... you have coffee?”  

    “That’s what y’take away from everythin’ I just said?!”

    “I haven’t had a good cup of coffee in months,”   murmured Cthugha, scratching his chin pensively.  Whatever peril the world was in, it seemed to be irrelevant to him now.   “I had some at a diner in a pocket dimension a couple weeks ago.  The waitress was lovely but the coffee was…”   His teeth came together in the form of a fierce grimace.   “... sweet.”

    Kuro blinked owlishly, his mind racing.  Everything was happening so quickly.  He'd had no time to process the other's abrasive introduction, nor the deeper meaning of the things he was saying.  The most he knew of the 'Balance' was that it was a cosmic force that even God's wrestled with.  On the handful of occasions that it had come up in conversation, Raku was either struggling to maintain it or finding loopholes to avoid doing unsavoury things to appease it. Hardly an educational display.

    "How about…"   It was a sheepish start, no doubt, the town-hero more than a little out of sorts.  He paused to stand up straight again, trying to strengthen his resolve.  Get it together.  He's scrawny.  But so is Raku.  He owns the very ground that you stand on.   "... I put on a pot of coffee, and we talk more?"

     "See, now it feels like you’re meeting me in the middle."

                                                                ________

    A sense of normalcy returned to him as he took a sip of his coffee.  The Regular Tuesday vibes are back.

    "What's the verdict?"   he asked as he watched Cthugha peer into his cup.  He found it incredibly odd that somebody who looked so… on-the-cusp-of-adulthood-and-no-older had asked for it black, all but turning his nose up at the offer of sugar and milk.

    "Hm..."   He hummed thoughtfully, eyes narrowing at the dark abyss before him.  Then, he took a sip.  Kuro watched as he paused mid-drink, eyes widening slightly.  After a moment, he began to gulp it down, continuing until his mug was empty.  

     After a relieved little exhale:   "Refill?"

    "Sure…?"   the Sheriff said hesitantly, reaching for the pot and filling his mug again.  He seemed to slow down for his second helping, really taking in the taste of it.

    "Ah…  this district gets it.  So much flavour,"   Cthugha praised, looking comfortable in his cross-legged position in Kuro's chair.  It's frame dwarfed him, the black leather suiting his businesslike approach.   “I’ve found that’s a common trend here.   Huros make good food too;  organic produce, and lots of spices and herbs.”

    "Uh, yeah…"   He couldn't focus on the idle chatter.  He had too many questions--  too many burning queries-- to ask for anything other than answers to them.   "So about why you're here--"

    "Well, as you observed, I can tell the future, because I've seen it.  I--"

    "But how?"   Kuro interrupted, unfolding a rickety metal chair and sitting on it.  It creaked angrily beneath his weight, his six-and-a-half-foot frame not built for its meagre services.   "Who are y'?  What are y’?  I-- I've met Raku several times over and not even he can mess with time--"

    "I'm sort of his foil,"   Cthugha answered impatiently, his foot tapping against the arm of the chair.   "Look, do we have to play Guess Who right now?  There're more important things--"

    "I need t'know how y'knew about Olivia.  I ain’t gonna help y’at all ‘til I know that.  How do I know yer trustworthy?  How can I be sure my own officers ain’t leakin’ things t’outside sources?   I don’t know y’.  How could y’know?"

    There was a tense pause between them, one that seemed to reverberate throughout the office.  Suddenly, Kuro felt incredibly claustrophobic--  as if the sound bouncing off of the walls was drawing closer and closer.  He watched as Cthugha sighed, drawing his mug to his lips for a final time before setting it down in his lap.

    "Fine.  I'll tell you.  Once.  So you’d better listen good.  You just remember--  you asked for this,"   he warned, tone anything but ceremonious as he wagged a finger at him.   "God's can't touch time because that's what we rifters are for, dummy.  We govern the fabric of reality. Time's separate to a God's responsibilities, see.  Gods maintain districts and concepts; we maintain things relating to the Universe itself.  Time and space, namely.  Those things're outside of a God's scope."

    "So yer…  above Raku?"

    "I'd argue yes,"   the rifter said pridefully.   "That little chump's only got a district to look after.  I've got this entire timeline, and parallel timelines that're born from this timeline."   He retrieved his coffee, brought it to his mouth.  With his lips against the rim:   "... but it doesn't matter.  We work together.  In tandem.  We help each other.  The basic idea is that Gods keep their people happy;  those happy people are way more likely to stick to their destined paths, which means less problems for rifters.  If there is a threat to the peace of the district, the God quells it;  if it is a threat to the Balance, I do.  We ultimately both serve the same function--  to keep the Universe happy--  but we're at opposite ends of the spectrum."

    "We're…  pre-determined?"

    "Heh.  I forgot you're the existential type,"   Cthugha tittered numbly.   "No.  Not in the way you're thinking anyway.  People live in more of a probability map than they do a script;  they have a list of things they could do in any given situation and can select from most of them without any real consequence to the Balance.  People have free will because the Universe isn’t overly fragile, get it?  The continuum isn’t going to shit itself if you take a detour from your usual lunch order.  Every choice births a parallel universe in which the other was made.  Most of these parallel universes are benign and don't need to be touched.  So basically, you could make any choice and each of them would be as inconsequential to me."   At least, if we’re talking about your average choices.   “No more about this, okay?  It isn’t gonna do you any good.  I’m not really supposed to talk about it, but since you were so stubborn...”

    He wasn't going to get into the ins and outs of his job, especially not with a simple huro.  It wasn’t productive.  It wasted time.  It could have catastrophic consequences for his mortal mind.  And the Balance, above all, was a picky sonuvabitch that Cthugha didn’t understand.  Sometimes a store being out of a person's favourite sandwich led to them becoming an angry, tyrannical politician that eventually ended the world.  Other times, a person could murder seventeen children in cold blood and the Balance remained unchanged, seeing those seventeen lives as pre-determined losses.  He’d stopped asking questions a long time ago--  had learned to accept that, in most instances, what was meant to be was meant to be.

    Not when it concerned the end of all life in the Aphanta Region, though.

    Kuro looked dizzy.  He sank a little further into his seat, his tanky frame looking all but comical in the small fold-up chair.   "... 'n' what can I do about any'a this, huh?  I'm just a police officer.  A damn good one, sure, but I’m no cosmic cop."

     "Mm,"   agreed the time-keeper, a solitary nod offered.   "Sure.  But you're a police officer in a district that contains a Universal Hazard."

    "Universal Hazard…?"

    "Sheriff."   It was the first time that Cthugha had paused to find the correct words during their conversation.  He seemed brazen, largely unconcerned with hurting peoples' feelings, but this appeared to be an exception.  Kuro steeled himself, spine turning rigid.   "... I've seen the death of this district, then its neighbours, then beyond.  It all circles back to one very particular problem:  a case you never solve."

    “Brannon…?”   he asked, feeling his heart leap into his throat.

    “Not her.  Someone whose case’s gotten so cold it’s practically subzero,”   Cthugha murmured, polishing off the last of his coffee with a well-timed swallow.   “Remember Mia Vanton?”

    “... oh shit.”

    Cthugha nodded solemnly.     “Yeah.  Her.”

[umbry-fic]

A Palette Full of You (3)

Summary: Glimpses into Colette and Lloyd’s lives as they grow up together, learn who they are, and fall in love with each other.

(Written for Colloyd Week 2021)

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Colette Brunel, Lloyd Irving, Sheena Fujibayashi, Zelos Wilder Relationships: Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel & Lloyd Irving & Sheena Fujibayashi & Zelos Wilder Rating: G Chapter: 3 of 6 Word Count: 6896 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 11/06/2021

Chapter Title: Race Into the Night

Chapter Summary: Lloyd, Colette, Zelos and Sheena visit the carnival to have a night of fun after the end of exams. Lloyd and Colette end up riding the Ferris wheel alone, where...

(Colloyd Week Day 3: Confession/First Kiss)

Notes: Chapter 3 of my multi chapter Colloyd week fic! Featuring much fluff and sap. Zelos is non-binary in this and uses they/them pronouns.

Chapter title from Yoasobi's song.

Chapter list Full fic Previous chapter Next chapter

~~~

18-years-old

"There is no way I'm ever going on that thing. You can't make me."

"Come on, you promised that if I scored better than you at darts you would ride the Riptide with me! Gonna go back on your word now, Sheena?"

"Stop smirking at me, Zelos! You clearly cheated! That game was rigged!"

"All carnival games are rigged. That's common knowledge."

"I don't care. You still cheated!"

"Cheated how? You were watching me the whole time!"

Colette giggled, watching her two friends have a go at each other as they inched closer to each other with each word they spoke. All three of them were leaning against the cold metal railing, though Colette was careful to keep a safe distance from Zelos and Sheena. When they were engrossed in arguing with each other, there was a safe zone, and a not-safe zone where one was liable to get smacked by a wildly gesturing arm or two.

Surrounding them were various stalls staffed by people who were enthusiastically calling out to potential customers, hoping to receive more coupons in the final hour before the carnival closed. There were pop-up game stalls featuring the classics like ring toss and soccer, food stands selling carnival staples like candy floss and popcorn, and even thrill rides like the aforementioned Riptide, a roller coaster that paled in comparison to USS' coasters but certainly had the most twists and turns of anything offered at the carnival. Adorning everything was bright neon lights and colourful decorations, and noise came from every angle, lending to a cheery atmosphere that could get a tad overwhelming at times.

Despite the late hour of 9 pm, there was still quite a crowd - mostly consisting of young adults like them, the majority of families having gone home for the night. She had bumped into quite a few classmates in the past three hours, who had come here with the same idea of having a fun night out with friends after the end of A-levels. A lot of pictures had been taken, until her cheeks hurt a bit from smiling so much, but it had been great fun.

She, Lloyd, Zelos and Sheena had managed to visit almost every booth, using up all of the coupons that they were sharing amongst each other. But even with their combined efforts, they had only managed to win one prize: the adorable Siberian Husky plush she was currently hugging. Though they'd certainly snacked on their share of popcorn, sharing one large carton between the four of them until their fingers were sticky with kernels.

"Colette, back me up!" Sheena begged, turning to face Colette. Despite the biting words that were leaving her mouth, her true emotions were betrayed by the smile playing at the corner of her lips. Sheena's hair was tied up into her trademark high ponytail, the ends of her hair swaying slightly in the weak wind.

"What, me?" Colette exclaimed, rather surprised she was being pulled into the conversation. Zelos and Sheena tended to retreat into their own world whenever they got into this state, forgetting anyone else existed.

"Uh, well..." Colette muttered, sheepishly smiling. "Sorry to disappoint, Sheena, but I have to give this one to Zelos."

"See? Even Colette agrees!" Zelos placed their elbow on the railing, leaning closer to Sheena, smirking.

Sheena didn't even spare Zelos a look, just shoved their face away with a hand, ignoring Zelos' sputters of protest. "How could you, Colette? How could you side with the idiot?" Sheena cried in mock betrayal.

"Well, I and Lloyd were both there, and we both saw Zelos win fair and square. And a deal's a deal," Colette replied, shrugging. Zelos did seem more insistent than usual, but she couldn't discern why.

"Just think of it as a date!" Zelos waved a nonchalant arm in the air, that smirk never fading as they took hold of Sheena's arm.

"Screaming in abject terror is not my idea of a date," Sheena hissed through gritted teeth, though she didn't free herself from Zelos' hold. "Besides, we're supposed to ride the Ferris wheel together once Lloyd comes back!"

"Eh, we won't make it before the carnival closes if we catch the Ferris wheel. Don't worry, I'll treat you to ice cream afterwards! And if that isn't enough to appease you, surely some Ajisen will." Zelos turned to Colette and winked, leaving Colette utterly confused. Was there an underlying meaning to all of this she was supposed to be catching?

"If you drag me on that damn thing, Zelos Wilder, I swear I will never forgive - GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME! STOP!" Sheena shrieked as Zelos began to drag her by brute force towards the snaking queue of the Riptide. Colette gaped, watching Sheena struggle wildly, digging her feet into the ground and hurling curses that got steadily fouler at Zelos, who didn't seem to be affected at all.

"I'm back with the drinks!" Lloyd's happy voice came from behind her as he walked up to her, holding two cups with steam venting from their tops, hair adorably ruffled from the day's hectic events, woefully unaware of everything that had occurred in the time he was gone. "Wait, what's... Happening...?" he asked, only now spotting the gradually diminishing silhouettes of Zelos and Sheena.

"I... Uh, Zelos and Sheena are going to ride the Riptide," Colette said, explaining the situation as succinctly as she could. How else could she word it, anyway? There was no explaining the antics of those two.

"Alright." Lloyd shrugged, accepted her explanation and passing one cup over to her. She pushed the plushy into the crook of her elbow, freeing up a hand to accept the cup and still managing to almost drop it. She closed her fingers around the plastic cup, soaking in the warmth it emanated.

"It's hot chocolate," Lloyd explained between gulps as he practically downed the whole cup in half a minute. "They're out of hot milo. Sorry."

"It's alright. Any hot drink would have done." Colette finally took a sip, feeling the sting from the heat and sticking out her tongue.

"Should we wait for them to come back or go queue for the Ferris wheel?"

Colette sighed. "We should just go. The queue for the Riptide is really long... They know to meet up back at the MRT at 10."

The original plan was to take a group photo at the peak of the revolution of the Ferris wheel, but that didn't look like it was going to happen now.

So it would just be her and Lloyd riding the Ferris wheel. An activity that could be seen as romantic. The pamphlet for the carnival had even advertised it as a ride of love. When they'd walked past it just now, she'd seen that the Ferris wheel was decked out with a ton of wire hearts that lit up in multiple colours.

It was just ten minutes. It would be over in the blink of an eye! Totally!

"Then, let's go," Lloyd said, grabbing her hand and giving her a minute heart attack, causing her bravado to crumble into dust.

Nope. There was no way this could end well.

The two of them joined the short queue for the Ferris wheel, having thrown their empty cups into a nearby dustbin. Only eight people were waiting for the next empty carriage to descend to ground level and open its doors. Five of them - three children and two adults - belonged to one family, while the rest were a group of three girls, enthusiastically talking to each other. It wouldn't take long for their turn.

A bout of shivers overcame her as the wind picked up, the warmth of the drink already a memory. She wrapped her free arm around herself, gaze dropping to the floor as she once again regretted forgetting to bring out her favourite dog-ear hoodie. It was always hanging on her clothes rack, and it would have been so easy to just reach out a hand and swipe it on her way out. But no, she just had to wake up late and stumble out of the house still half-asleep.

She'd forgotten how cold the nights could get. Especially for her, someone who couldn't even handle the lecture theatre air-conditioning. Forgoing a long-sleeved T-shirt for her kiwi bird-print tee was not helping matters.

"Here." Something warm and soft was draped around her shoulders, and she looked up to find herself draped in Lloyd's familiar jacket, his face hovering close to hers. "You should have told me you were cold," Lloyd muttered, his breath tickling her neck. "I would have given you my jacket earlier."

His jacket smelt like him, a safe, comforting blanket that reached to her thighs. It held his body heat, too, slowly seeping into her.

Colette flushed, turning her face away so she didn't have to look into those russet eyes. For there was concern there, as well as the ever-present kindness, but there was also more. There was no way to hide her blush, not when he was right here, but she still had to resist the urge to hide her face behind the plushy.

Why was she still trying so hard to hide, anyway? It's not like it was of any use. She was so obvious. As Zelos had told her, it had gone far past the point of being funny.

"Though I guess you're always cold," Lloyd said, tearing his gaze away from her and taking a hurried step back. Perhaps the words were meant to be teasing, but they fell flat with the out-of-place laughter attached to the end.

"I - I mean, it - it was my fault for not bringing a jacket in the first place," she stuttered, the words stumbling over each other in her mouth in her hurry to answer. Now Lloyd would know she was nervous too. She was doing really well, wasn't she? “But thank you.”

"The next carriage is here," the attendant called out, voice flat and expression terribly bored. He was staring at them with a barely veiled expression of disinterest, waving his arms to direct them into the next carriage, doors wide open.

"Come on." Lloyd grabbed her hand, the smile returning to his face. The Ferris wheel was lit up to the nines, throwing soft purple light onto everything around her and illuminating half of Lloyd's face. Beautiful. He was always so beautiful, but it was moments like these where it made her heart hurt, wanting so desperately to reach out and touch his face.

Heart pounding in her chest, she took her seat, Lloyd sitting directly on her left, their legs close enough to brush.

She placed the plushy in her lap, resting her chin on it and trying her best to slow her racing heart, knowing it would be of no use. Here, in this carriage that was slowly rising into the sky and gently rocking, it was just the two of them in this little space, cut off from the rest of the world.

It was hard to tell herself she was imagining the intense way Lloyd was staring at her, like she was the only thing worth looking at, even though the beautiful night scenery was right outside the glass. Nor was it possible to imagine the tension, sharp as a knife, that had arisen between them for the past half a year or so. Almost everything was the same: they were still incredibly close, but there was a hesitance there now - in the way Lloyd’s fingers sometimes curled away from hers, in the way she sometimes stopped before throwing an arm around his shoulder to embrace him.

Neither of them had spoken up about that tension, dancing around each other like fools. Even if he did return her feelings… Love wasn’t enough to bridge the impossible distance between them. She could never fully comprehend all that he felt, just as he could never fully comprehend the absence of what she felt. She could never give him what others could, not with her extreme revulsion towards anything sexual in nature. She’d be willing to try, for him, simply because her love for him knew no bounds, but… she couldn't say where her limits would be. Likely not very far from where she would start.

Even though Lloyd had been nothing but supportive of her, that didn’t mean he was willing to take a chance that could very well end in failure and heartbreak. She might not be enough for him when it came to a relationship. If that was the case, she could understand. Neither of them had done anything wrong. If they were incompatible from the start, then she could keep her silence. She’d be perfectly happy to remain as friends, even if these nebulous feelings would never leave her chest. She didn’t want to lose them.

"Um, do you, uh... like the plushy?" Lloyd asked, his voice cutting through her anxious thoughts. Awkwardness radiated off of him in spades as he shifted in the seat, turning his head away to stare down at the floor. At least she wasn't the only one that was nervous. He was repeating the exact question he’d asked her when he’d given her the plushy.

"I love it. It's soft, and it's cute. Thanks for giving it to me." The same answer she’d given him before.

Lloyd had been the one who won a carnival game - the ball toss, to be specific. He'd managed to down all the cans with a single ball and gotten the choice of any of the first-place prizes. Zelos had raised an eyebrow and asked him how he'd gotten past the unfair odds. Lloyd had sheepishly scratched the back of his head and said it was a lucky accident, one that he couldn’t repeat, which proved to be true in his later attempts.

Lloyd had taken one look at the prize pool, pointed out the Siberian Husky plush to the staff, and then stuffed it into her hands the moment he'd gotten it, proclaiming that it was a gift for her. Zelos had been outright snickering, while even Sheena had looked like she was holding back laughter, shoulders shaking.

Lloyd's hand found hers in the little space between them, his thumb rubbing the skin of her palm just below her fingers. It was a repetitive, soothing motion, helping to calm her down.

She hoped that, no matter what, they would always stay together. Whether as friends or more. Just the two of them.

"I'm glad you like it." Lloyd's voice was getting progressively quieter with each syllable his lips formed, slowly shifting right along the seat towards her.

“Can - can I…” Lloyd asked timidly, turning to face her and leaning closer. Her field of vision narrowed to just his face, barely lit by the scant light that reached them from the carnival grounds and the spokes of the Ferris wheel. Everything else was slowly turning into a blur. “Can I kiss you?”

The carriage had reached the top of its revolution. Through the window, she could see the sparkling lights of the high-rises in the distance. Silence suffused the air as no one spoke, the world itself seeming to hold its breath, neither she nor Lloyd moving a single part of their bodies as they stared at each other. His eyes were wide, filled with such incredible emotion, built up over years and spilling over at this very moment.

Her breath caught in her throat, a current of warmth making itself known in her heart at the fact that he’d actually bothered to ask. She’d expected Lloyd to - the kind, considerate soul that she’d come to know and love, but somewhere in the back of her mind was tucked the irrational fear that there would never be anyone who respected her boundaries, simply because she wasn't worth it.

She took a deep breath, preparing her answer. It wouldn’t be “normal”, that was for sure. It wasn’t a simple yes or no, but rather…

“Is it fine if it’s on the cheek?” were the quiet words that left her mouth, shattering the expectant silence as her grip tightened on the plushy. Maybe one day, she wouldn’t mind a kiss on the lips, but not today. She wasn’t up to it yet.

She doesn’t know what answer she expects. Probably a no. It’s perfectly understandable for Lloyd to just step away.

“Of course,” Lloyd replied instantly, the gentle smile on his face once again shattering all the preconceived notions she’d constructed in her head, absolutely terrified of rejection but huddling herself into a corner in the belief that that was all she could possibly receive. There had been no hesitation behind that statement, no hint of reproach or anger or irritation towards her.

“Yes.” The word slipped out without any thought, for she herself had yearned for so terribly long. The desire she had always held to love, and to be loved, despite everything - to experience it all with the boy that had always been part of her life and that she hoped could continue to be there for the rest of it.

She turned her head to the side, and it didn't take another moment longer before Lloyd pressed his lips against her cheek, one hand still holding hers while his other arm wrapped around her shoulder, the plushy trapped between them. He was nothing if not gentle, bringing up her earliest memories of being kissed on the cheek by her mother, before she had left her life forever. It was through that gentleness that the force of his love was truly impressed on her - for there was passion there, in the very act of holding himself back. Love, gentle like a warm flame, but not any lesser for it, for his love was just as impregnable as a brick wall, unyielding and unbreaking.

She could feel his warm breath against her cheek, his lips softer than she could have thought, his hair close enough to run her hands through as she’d always wanted. So she did, letting the strands fall through her fingers like melted chocolate.

Was he… smiling? It sure felt like it.

It wasn't a magical moment like people always said the first kiss would be like. After all, theirs was nowhere close to conventional, but it was an experience that belonged only to them. No sparks were flying in the air, nor did time stop. It was just the two of them, fitting together perfectly like puzzle pieces in the way they always had, and she couldn't ask for anything more.

Lloyd moved away, his arm dropping from her shoulder, hand joining the other to clasp her limp one. His eyes were shining with joy, the same joy that filled her heart and made it feel like it might take flight at any time. Everything had finally fallen into place.

Her whole face was now on fire as she turned away, leaning forward over her legs. Her hair fell by the side of her face like a veil, letting only tiny glimpses of Lloyd through.

“You’re sure?” she asked, knowing that she needed to clarify. Even if his actions had been the shining light that burned away most of her doubts, some still remained. Lloyd really, truly needed to understand what he was getting into. She would not let him mindlessly enter into a relationship with her without knowing about all the ups and downs, all the complications that would come with it. That would only end in them hurting each other, and then they might never be able to stand the sight of each other again. It was the dreaded future she never wanted to come to pass. “It’s not going to be easy."

“I know,” he replied, squeezing her hand, his russet eyes focussed on hers. “But all relationships have challenges, don't they? We'll figure it out together, just like always. And if it doesn’t work out, then we’ll stay as friends, forever. I just want you to know that I love you.”

There is nothing but burning conviction behind his words, and a determination that reached deep into her soul and lit a flame of hope.

There would be many more difficult conversations that needed to be had, candid discussions that would need to take place. But for now, she didn't say anything more, hoping the unspoken “I love you” from her side could be understood, clear as day. She still couldn’t make herself say it, the final lingering doubt that she suspected would never fully go away holding her back: that romantic love had to go hand in hand with sexual attraction, and that one could not exist without the other.

She simply closed her eyes, leaning against him and enjoying the gentle rocking of the carriage for the remainder of their time on the Ferris wheel.

~~~

25-years-old

"Remember this Ferris wheel?" Lloyd teased Colette, squeezing her hand as they stood in front of the Ferris wheel at the reopened carnival. It wasn't the exact same one they’d ridden at the age of 18, for that one had been deconstructed years ago. But it was a near-perfect replica, down to the purple lights that lit up the spokes, though the hearts were gone. Even the bored attendant who was barely paying attention to her duties was right!

"How could I forget?" Colette laughed, her trademark bright smile on her face. Even after knowing her for twenty years and dating her for seven of those years, the sight of her smile never failed to light a spark in his chest.

At least this time Colette was dressed appropriately for the colder night, in a pencil skirt and a long-sleeved collared blouse with a few frills. She looked a lot more put-together than him, who was just wearing plain old jeans. He had picked her straight up from work before driving them here, after all.

All that was missing was the staff pass that she’d removed from around her neck and left in the car. Her smart-casual image, however, was completely shattered by the pair of grey dog ears poking out of her hair, attached to the headband sitting behind her ears. They even felt furry to the touch, though it wasn’t real dog fur.

A pair of brown ears sat on his own head. Colette hadn’t managed to win a grand prize at the game stalls like he once had out of dumb luck, but she'd managed to do pretty well at the ring toss, scoring almost all of her tosses onto the red-rimmed bottles. That meant she could redeem a few mid-tier prizes, so she'd gotten two headbands with dog ears attached, one for her and one for him that he could wear if he wanted to. He'd put it on immediately. Now they matched! He needed to take a picture of them sometime - Sheena and Zelos would appreciate the cute image.

More like Sheena would strangle him over digital space if he didn't send cute photos.

The carnival had finally returned after four years of absence, and he and Colette had jointly decided to return almost immediately upon hearing the news. It was small and honestly not that impressive compared to other theme parks they’d been to, but it still held precious memories. And it would make for a fun date, which it certainly had so far!

They'd retraced their steps from years ago, though unfortunately, they were lacking Zelos and Sheena. First riding the pirate ship, Colette’s hair going wild in the air as the ship swung from side-to-side, then visiting the game stalls, laughing at each other’s absolutely horrendous attempts, then buying and sharing a stick of cotton candy between them, taking turns biting from the fluffy substance and having their tongues curl from the overload of sweetness, before finally arriving back here at the Ferris wheel.

"I know I've said this already, but thanks for planning this all out," Colette said, linking her arm with his and smiling up at him as they joined the queue. The queue was much longer today, amounting to more than 40 people, by his rough estimate. It was still quite early in the evening, half of the sun still peeking over the horizon, the sky painted in a pink that would soon be darkening to orange. It was just as noisy as in the past, perhaps even noisier, for the families hadn't gone home yet. "There were quite a few kerfuffles with the system at work today, and this really helped."

"That bad?"

"Mm. We had a new intern come in today, and then the old system just decided to crash. Not the intern's fault, she's the sweetest girl. But it was still a headache to deal with."

"Well, I'm glad it helped. Though I'm just happy to spend more time with you."

If everything went according to plan, then he'd be seeing a lot more of her in the future.

He shoved his hand into his pocket, checking that the all-important box was still there. It was the crux of this whole operation, and he could not lose it.

Colette laughed, a sound that inevitably made him smile. "I'm sorry I haven't been free for the past few weeks. It's a busy time for the company."

"It's alright. I'll be starting work soon too, after all. Besides, we still stay two floors apart. There's pretty much no way we don't see each other every week, silly."

"Sorry, sorry. Shouldn't be a downer; you're right. Anyway, since tomorrow’s a public holiday, want to spend it over at my place?”

“Netflix and chill?” Lloyd answered, well aware that he was probably getting some weird looks from people close enough to overhear him. He wasn’t even sure if Colette knew of its double meaning - she was generally completely clueless about the world of euphemisms. Over time, they’d just started co-opting the phrase. After all, their time together at each other’s place was mostly spent… watching shows while curled up together on the couch, creating dishes that were more like unrecognisable disasters in the kitchen while attempting not to set the whole place on fire, or Colette playing video games at the foot of the bed while he tickled her neck with his toes. In terms of risque activities, they so rarely happened - and only after he checked, double-checked and triple-checked that Colette was feeling up to it and not forcing herself for his sake.

“I don’t mind, but we haven’t finished that card game we started last month. The card piles are still sitting untouched on my bay window. Wanna do that instead?”

“Sure!” He replied enthusiastically. Board games or card games always promised a good time, if infuriating when nothing would line up and Lady Luck was decidedly not smiling on him. Colette seemed to get all the luck in these party games. Maybe it was consolation for tripping all the time.

“It’s such a shame that Zelos and Sheena aren’t here,” Colette said, pulling out her phone. “I know they went on the Ferris wheel the year after we did, but we still haven’t gotten that group photo we were supposed to.”

“One’s in Europe and one’s in Australia. There’s no way they could join us on such short notice.” The last he'd heard from them, both were doing well for themselves and very happy in their long-distance relationship.

“True. I guess I can add them to the photo afterwards with the power of Photoshop. Oh, and Zelos sent me this really weird message...” After a few swipes of her finger, Colette shoved the bright phone screen under his nose.

Zelos Wilder: Looking forward to the good news ;)

“Do you have any idea what they mean?” Colette asked, cocking her head to the side in confusion. “They haven’t been replying to my question!”

Lloyd could feel his fingers twitching. Zelos Wilder wasn’t here, but if they were, Lloyd would have strangled them already. Trying to spoil the surprise, were they?

“It’s probably nothing! You know how they are. Always trying to cause chaos.” Lloyd shrugged, hoping he wasn’t being too obvious, as he tended to be.

“I suppose that’s true… What good news?” Lloyd could hear Colette repeating that question to herself under her breath, not quite soft enough for it to escape his notice. She didn’t seem to have noticed that anything was up with him, thankfully.

“It’s our turn! Come on, let’s get on!” Lloyd declared, just loud enough to startle Colette and cause her to nearly drop her phone. She hurriedly stuffed it back into her pocket, following Lloyd to the open carriage. She hadn't realised the space before them had completely cleared.

The attendant lazily waved them onto the open carriage with barely a glance at them, a mumbled: “Have a nice ride” leaving her mouth.

Lloyd was the first to scramble on, turning around to give Colette a helping hand - only to find her falling straight into him, having tripped over the raised step. With a shocked “Oh!” falling from her lips, Colette crashed into him, nearly knocking him flat onto the carriage seat. With a shocked yelp, Lloyd braced himself against the glass window of the carriage, barely maintaining his balance. Years of practice at stopping Colette’s sometimes fantastical falls over obstacles that weren’t visible to him had honed his reaction times to near perfection, giving him ample preparation for this situation.

The attendant continued to ignore them, gaze fixed not so discreetly on the phone sitting in her lap. The doors of the carriage slid smoothly shut, and with a jolt that nearly knocked them off balance again, the carriage set off on its journey.

"Um, sorry..." Colette apologised from her position pressed flush against Lloyd's chest, arms entangled in his. She slowly extricated herself from the mess, stumbling a few times but managing not to fall again, even with the gentle swaying of the carriage floor. He tried his best to steady her without falling over himself. She sheepishly smiled. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Lloyd adjusted her headband, setting the ears that had been knocked crooked back into their rightful place. He’d told her multiple times that she didn’t need to apologise for tripping, but she still did, the habit too ingrained to break. It was endearing, though. “You?”

“I’m fine!” Colette smoothed out her skirt (though there weren’t any noticeable wrinkles in it from the fall,) and sat down to rest her weary feet, giving Lloyd the cue to sit down as well. “Thank goodness I wasn’t wearing heels…”

Lloyd did not want to imagine what would have happened if she was - she might have twisted her ankle, or worse. She rarely wore heels due to her clumsiness, but when she did, all sorts of accidents tended to happen.

He stuffed his hand into his pocket again, fingers feeling the velvet texture again.

It’s still here.

"What's still here?" Colette’s confused voice broke through his relieved thoughts. Her hands were resting in her lap and she was leaning forward, eyes shining with a curious light. The usual white lights of the new condominiums close to the carnival grounds shone, a few glimmers of pink visible as people celebrated Pink Dot. It was at this very moment that the Ferris wheel's lights turned from purple to pink, the spokes emanating soft pink light that washed over Colette, making her hair glisten - almost like an ethereal fairy with imaginary wings that shimmered, having come to visit him on this mortal plane. The dog ears only added to that image, somehow. Even now, the sight of her was enough to make him feel dizzy, both out of love and awe, even if he no longer blushed like an embarrassed schoolboy. Awe that she could get more beautiful every time his gaze landed on her. And awe that such an incredible person had chosen to trust him and stay with him.

He was so enraptured by the angel before him that it took a few seconds for her words to process in his mind, after which he froze in horror.

OH NO, HE’D SAID IT OUT LOUD. A thousand alarm bells were ringing in his head. Some days he was reminded that he was an adult now, and other days he was reminded that he was as much an idiot as he used to be. Some things just never changed.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Colette said, a teasing lilt to her voice as she rested her chin on her palm, an amused smile playing on her lips.

He could just play it off - he knew Colette wouldn’t pursue it any further if he gave off the signals to drop the topic. She was just like that: the most considerate person he knew.

But…

The original plan had been to do it on the Ferris wheel. It even had Zelos' approval. This, right now, was the perfect chance to just let the cat out of the bag. And he would grasp the opportunity in hand before it could escape him.

For he could think of no future happier than one spent Colette’s side.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled the purple box out of his pocket with a shaking hand, dropping to his knees on the surprisingly clean carriage floor, devoid of the usual spilt drinks and crumpled up tissues.

He could tell the exact moment Colette gleaned the true intent behind his actions, the blank, confused expression on her face morphing into one of shocked disbelief, eyes widening and hands flying up to cover her mouth.

Damn it, he’d completely forgotten the script he’d written with Zelos’ assistance in a back-and-forth over messages, Zelos alternating between giving actually good advice and being extremely annoying, though Lloyd had gotten them to shut up by asking them when they planned to propose. The two of them had both struggled to find the right words, since neither of them had done super well in English. But Lloyd had persevered, wanting to get his feelings across eloquently.

But now that he was staring into Colette’s blue eyes, all the words were sprouting wings and flying mockingly out of his head, leaving only blank space for him to reach uselessly for.

The one piece of advice Zelos had given him that continued to stick in his head was this: speak from the heart, and surely she would understand.

He couldn’t keep her waiting forever.

“I… ” He couldn’t help but start off slow, struggling against the block in his mind but determined to push past it. The words then seemed to just come to him, progressively faster as time went on, stumbling out of some unknown part of his mind - or perhaps it would be more accurate to say his heart. Somehow, throughout it all, he didn't drop the box despite his trembling hands. “Colette, you’re the most amazing person I know. Your compassion, your gentleness, even your clumsiness, they’re all vital parts of my life that I wouldn’t give up for anything. You are my shining star in the sky, the one that gives me hope, that inspires me to be the best version of myself. If I had the choice to relieve my life from the start, I wouldn't change a thing, because meeting you on that playground all those years ago was the best thing that has ever happened to me. All my years spent with you have been incredible, and I would like to spend many more by your side. So, just like years ago, Colette, I have something I need to ask you, right here and right now.”

“Will you… Will you marry me?” He finished, voice drifting off into silence as he flipped open the box to reveal the two plain, thin metal rings he’d bought. Colette wasn’t the type to go for flashy diamonds or colourful gems. She’d appreciate something simple like this.

He waited, the few seconds of deafening silence seeming to stretch out into eternity, broken only by the sound of blood rushing past his ears. This wasn’t the first time he’d asked this very question, if in a different and less dramatic form. He’d already received her answer once. But he would respect whatever answer she gave now, and most of all, they would keep the promise they had made at this very place: that they would always remain friends, no matter what.

~~~

Colette still couldn’t quite believe her ears, gaze flitting between Lloyd’s face and the box he was holding up towards her, the two rings housed snugly within reflecting pink light.

Marriage had crossed her mind many times. She had learned over the years that it wasn’t a penultimate goal that had to be reached to prove her relationship successful, and she’d told Lloyd as much when he’d asked her two months ago if she’d be willing to get married.

But still, even if she had managed to break free from most of the notions the fairytales of old had implanted into her head, able to just enjoy them as sweet stories now, she couldn’t quite rid herself of the dream of having a fairytale wedding. One that was perfectly planned, with family and friends present to stand witness to their union.

She’d told him yes. That she would be willing to tie the knot with him, the one she loved. The expectation of a proposal had been simmering in the back of her mind ever since, often going forgotten. She had not expected the time would be now. Lloyd had been more fidgety than normal, constantly checking his pockets while disguising the action as keeping his hands in his pockets. She’d known something was up, but his true intentions had escaped her detection until just moments before, when she’d been taken off guard. All she’d thought when he’d pulled out the box was that it resembled the ring boxes in the dramas Sheena was always recommending to her, the ones that appeared in all the emotional proposal scenes, until the realisation had hit her in the chest like a truck.

Once again, like years ago, they’d reached the top of the revolution. The silence remained unbroken as Lloyd patiently awaited her answer, not pushing her towards one. And so events repeated, mirrored across time.

Colette slowly stretched out her arm, eyes shimmering with unshed tears as a smile graced her face. She nodded, her throat blocked by all the emotions that swirled in her chest, unable to say ‘yes’ out loud even as she screamed it over and over in her mind, the tears finally breaking free of whatever barrier was holding them back to spill down her face.

Lloyd broke out into the most beautiful smile she had ever seen, radiating pure joy as he slid one of the simple, elegant, silver bands onto her ring finger. It fit. Perfectly. When had he even learned her ring size?

She picked up the other ring that was meant for Lloyd, marvelling at how her hand could somehow remain stable as the rest of her body trembled in barely contained emotion. The ring was so tiny, held between her thumb and index finger, and yet it held such significant weight as she slid it onto his ring finger, the skin of his hand rough against hers and the metal cold.

Lloyd jumped to his feet, pulling her into an embrace and pressing a kiss to the top of her head (his nose bumping the dog ears), holding her close, his happy laughter rumbling through his chest. Even now, when he must have been bursting with joy, he was still mindful of her boundaries, refusing to do anything that would cross the line. Heart filled with warmth, she pressed herself impossibly closer, intending to just melt into his arms forever -

"Please get off the carriage."

The deadpan voice that belonged to neither her nor Lloyd broke through the peaceful bubble that had been constructed around the two of them. She froze, feeling Lloyd stiffen around her as well. Looking to the left yielded the view of solid ground, and the same uninterested attendant gesturing towards it.

Ah. They'd reached the bottom without even noticing. This was… embarrassing, to say the least.

Thankfully, no one seemed to be in the queue at the moment, allowing the two of them to escape from the Ferris wheel without much attention. It appeared that only the attendant had borne witness, and she couldn’t seem to care less, having returned to the booth.

Their interlocked hands swung in the air, the matching rings glinting under the bright neon lights of the carnival as she wiped away her happy tears, both of them grinning uncontrollably.

"I love you," Lloyd said, the words leaving his lips with ease, as they always had. "Shall we go home?” he asked.

Home was with friends and family and Lloyd, the one who held her heart.

Colette squeezed Lloyd’s hand. She felt light as a feather, like she could somehow fly with wings that she didn't have.

"I love you," she replied, the words coming so easily now. "Let’s.”

~~~

The attendant shook her head, scoffing as she returned to scrolling through Twitter.

“I suppose love does make the world go round.”

~~~

Next chapter

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP Meme from "Chapter Two: The Hurricane’s Eye" in the Shadow Lords Tribebook from "Werewolf: The Apocalypse" Part Two of Two

Some of it is true, but most is not.

The details vary from place to place, but any you hear which are “true” most likely are not.

Be aware that the invitation itself is a great honor, and conduct yourself accordingly.

Renown is not important, and neither is rank.

Only ideas count, along with the will to act on them when need be.

While most of us are aware of that purpose to a greater or lesser extent, the hard truth of the matter is that we are more interested in our personal agendas than we are in any

higher goal.

All of us lust for power, but most have forgotten the reasons why we pursue such ends, and why the ends we seek most certainly justify any means we might employ to achieve them.

All pursue the path to power in different fashions.

Competition makes us stronger, and divergent philosophies yield opportunities missed by other, simpler credos.

They are not interested in personal power for its own sake, nor in leadership of any sort.

They are more than willing to debase themselves for the sake of others, and their actions free many of us to bring other, more potent schemes to fruition.

Though they will not (usually) use this information for personal gain, they have no compunctions against destroying an unfit leader so that others might take his place.

They are pitiless and remorseless, and cloaked in an aura of mystery that only adds to their fearsome reputations.

They have eyes everywhere, and they are watching.

The lure of power intoxicates them, and they will do anything in their power to bring it within their grasp.

Power is the end for them, not merely a means to an end, and as such dominance and control are their meat and drink.

Few of its members come to healthy ends.

Pity so few of them make good on their rhetoric.

Circles within circles. It’s how we work.

They are, for the most part, fairly deluded individuals, pretending they are responsible for the sins of their forefathers and letting their sense of guilt guide their actions in the here and now.

It should be obvious that the time has come to put the past behind us and move forward, even as we learn from our mistakes to tread more carefully in the future.

But these fools wallow in the pain they feel they’ve caused, and hope to undo it and make things right again.

What they fail to understand is that, even if they’re successful, it won’t help us in the here and now – at best it will appease the souls of the dead, and we don’t have time for that now.

Their hearts might be noble, but their intentions are misplaced, and that might cost us dearly when all is said and done.

From time to time we hear that someone or other has started practicing those dark rituals once again, but none of these reports ever proves to be substantial.

None are immune to this, no matter their station.

They’re a by-product, the proof that we’ve fouled things up, nothing more.

Any fighting force needs strategists as well as warriors to be effective, and you must always remember fall into the former camp.

If you are foolish, however, you will only be consumed by your own ambition. Tread carefully.

You should always remember that it is only overt displays of aggression which are typically frowned upon.

It is mostly a matter of courtesy and ceremony, which means observing it is no great bother.

Accepting an honorable surrender leaves your opponent beholden to you, which gives you a tremendous advantage over that individual and all that are allied with him.

An opponent who surrenders in this instance is either attempting to trick you, or not very honorable to begin with.

Always bow to your betters, but do not let them cow you into submission unless they truly are your betters.

Humans have always feared us, and with the advent of an industrialized civilization they now have the tools to turn that fear into hatred and persecution.

If a warrior, to say nothing of a leader, is not fit to pull his own weight within a sept, then he is not fit to live.

Even an old and frail leader can prove to be surprisingly fit in mind and spirit, and if he is capable of performing his duties you damn well better mind your business and leave him be.

Our leaders must be continually tested to keep them in fighting trim, and that means making power plays when you can get away with it.

Don’t be a fucking asshole.

This isn’t about you, you little shit.

We’re fighting for a cause, and that comes first.

Stay on target, get your tasks done, and deal with any problems in leadership only after your immediate task is completed.

Violate this law, and you will not merely be punished. You will die. Painfully.

In many ways, it seems as though we have passed a turning point.

He’s going to change the world, if he has to kill every man, woman and child on Earth to do it.

You can make these people do just about anything, provided you can make it a point of honor for them to go along with your plans.

Do your homework before coming here, though, because you’ll be skinned alive if you don’t.

We have no business being there, and it has little to offer us in any event.

The ruthless politicking would be worth the trouble if the opponents were worth our time.

I wouldn’t say they’re making nice with us, but their kind and ours are becoming more and more interdependent, and that means the opportunities here are staggering.

We all have the same goal, and that means there are many opportunities for personal glory and consolidation of power if one plays his cards right.

This place is a gold mine, so don’t ignore it.

They are, of course, social outcasts, but that only enhances their utility in many respects. They see all that happens around them, and no one notices them as they scurry about their business. They are so eager to please, and so willing to talk to people who take the time to notice them and treat them like human beings — or even simple dogs. Call them mongrels if you will, but do not discount the wisdom they have to offer.

You should not ignore them, but do not expect much from them, either.

Some of them fancy themselves canny politicians, but this is a delusion. Be sure to indulge them, however, as they do not take insults lightly.

That makes them available, gullible, and effective, three fine traits in any tool.

Just be sure to cover your tracks whenever you make them suffer — they do not take kindly to being manipulated, and they have a longer reach than you might think.

You can manipulate them, if you approach them with care.

You must continue to humor them, of course, but they are no longer your masters.

Valuable allies, if you ask me.

They are stupid and hateful, and do not act on their convictions. I do not even think they have convictions.

We’re better off without them.

Bah! I don’t care how useful the little beasts are!

And do I need to reinforce the importance of dealing through intermediaries? I thought not.

We need no more enemies, particularly those that can rise from the dead.

They are wondrous sources of information, and ultimately disposable. They are ideal tools.

I say they’re vermin, and deserve to be stepped on accordingly.

They are of no concern to you.

While this may not seem like a critical project, it nonetheless deserves our attention.

Most of the others are both dangerous and more numerous than we are, so you must exercise extreme caution when dealing with them.

Do not assume they think like you do, or that they are motivated by the same sorts of goals.

These are alien beings, and you must treat them accordingly.

This disgusts me.

You don’t want to make them angry, but if you can get one in your pocket they can prove to be a terrific ace up your sleeve.

Your humanity is showing.

These beings hold secrets, and secrets hold power.

It is typically not our way to truck with the dead, but they are a resource, which is easily exploited if you know what they seek, and how to get it.

I’ve encountered ghosts in a number of places, typically sites of horrific acts or great battles.

Their time is gone, it seems.

It is a sad thing, I suppose, but they are ultimately of no consequence to us.

I’ve never understood why it is they’re here to begin with.

Unfortunately for them, they are clumsy, disorganized, and more often than not incompetent.

They have no real community to speak of, no formal training to fall back on, and no coherent agenda.

This makes them fantastic tools, since they never know what to expect from us and are just looking for targets which often coincide with our own.

So, a little push here, a little nudge there, and they do our work for us, all without us dirtying our hands or wasting other, more valuable resources on the job.

Great opportunities, there, so long as we can keep their attention far away from us.

They are uninformed, disorganized, misguided, and utterly ineffectual without aid from other sources.

This makes them fine pawns, I suppose, but don’t count on them for too much.

[trustsalvatorewriting]

wasteland, baby! || kol mikaelson - chapter four

Summary: Kol makes a deal with a deal with the Hollow to revive the first woman he ever loved. Unfortunately, things don’t turn out the way he expects them to.

Word Count: 2,249]

Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten

_________

❝ you love him despite the burden of atlas resting on his shoulders, and he still loves you despite the death still clinging to your lips, and the blood drying at its corners. what a pair you make ❞

To love young Kol Mikaelson would have been to love the Sun God himself. To love a wildfire -- not quite raging, but refractory; the way martyrs always were. To love the way he held you, provided you with a warmth reminiscent of a winter fire; and to love the way he burned even warmer in the summer months. And gods, you loved the summer months.

To love the young Mikaelson was to love the way his kisses tore the breath from your lungs. Your heart burned when you pulled away, for you knew the smile on his face belonged to you; but it wouldn't be for long. You knew he was never meant to be yours.

To love Kol Mikaelson was to love the burnt embers at the end of the night. Once the bonfire has ended, and everyone has returned home. It was to sit and watch the faint flickering in the dead of night, a bittersweet lingering on the tip of your tongue as you watch the fire that had kept you warm for so many years. You watched it burn out.

"Close your eyes," He'd whispered, hands on Aniya's shoulders as he guided her. He lifted his hands for a moment, waving them in front of her face. "Are they closed?"

"Yes, Kol," She laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Am I to assume you're not going to murder me?"

"I could never murder that beautiful face." He brushed his finger along her face. He smiled gently, and took her hands, leading her once more. "Tell me, darling, do you know what today is?"

"No..." Aniya frowned, trailing off. Her hands gripped Kol's gently. "What day is it, my love?"

She grinned as he placed his hands on her face, fingers coaxing for her to open her eyes. They met eyes, and she swore she could feel her heart leap from her chest. There was no happiness quite like this.

"Sweet Aniya," He whispered, pressing a kiss to her sweet lips. The eighteen-year-old boy rested his forehead against his lover's, mischief flashing in his hazel eyes. "Two years ago today, you agreed to court the most powerful witch in the village."

"Forgive me, but I don't remember ever choosing to court myself."

"Darling, don't fool yourself. I could best you in a duel with my eyes shut."

"I could best you in a duel while in a slumber, Kol."

He smiled happily. If there was one thing Kol Mikaelson adored more than his magic, it was a challenge. "And it is reasons such as that, that are the reason I have fallen so deeply in love with you, Ms. Grover."

She threaded her hands through his dark auburn hair, holding him close to her body. Kol had never made a secret of how much he'd cared for her these past two years. Despite the fact that they were very much a secret in the eyes of the villagers, he'd made sure that no woman or girl had her eyes on him. He belonged to her, and her alone. How wonderful it was to have something that was truly hers -- even if it was just for the time being.

Even as they stood in the middle of the forest, even as Kol whispered sweet nothings in her ears, she knew that she would love him until his face was fogged by distant memory. Yes, she would love him five centuries from now, when his body had returned to ash and she would be standing in a ballroom, surrounded by foolish bastards. Kol wouldn't learn of the rituals she would have to participate in one year from now.

If she was lucky, he would never have to. But then, what were the chances of that?

"Now, I suppose we should focus on the issue at hand. Though, if you were to expose the skin beneath your dress, I wouldn't so much as complain." Kol pulled away, using his thumb to brush away the thin sleeve of Aniya's dress. It exposed her collarbone, and she shuddered a bit at his touch.

She lightly pushed him off, rolling her eyes. "Kol, we haven't even married. It would be sinful."

"Darling, there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin," He responded smoothly. "And that is why I've brought you here."

"To the middle of a forest?"

"Would you let me finish?" Aniya snorted and motioned for him to continue. "Two years ago today, you agreed to court the most powerful male witch in the village, and it was perhaps the best day of my existence. Now, we've reached an age where I think..."

He took a knee, and held Aniya's hand between his fingers.

"I think it's time we get married. Don't you?" Kol placed a kiss to her knuckles, his hazel irises never once leaving Aniya's brown ones.

"Kol, my father..." She trailed off, looking behind her as though she were afraid they'd been followed. Afraid they would be seen. A marriage to a foreigner had never been apart of the rituals.

"Damn your father, and damn mine. All that matters to me is that you become my wife one day. That one day we will grow old together, and have beautiful children we can call our own." Kol stood, arms wrapping around his girlfriend's waist as he held her close. "We could run away together, you and I.

"To a new village, where we could start our own coven and practice magic with our children by our sides." He leaned forward, and Aniya swore she had never seen him so vulnerable. "Don't you want that?"

"Of course I do," She whispered mindlessly, lost in the color in his cheeks and the fire in his eyes. He was always his most beautiful in moments like this.

Kol pulled away, placing his hands on her face as he looked deeply into her eyes. He searched for any trace of regret, or fear. "Marry me."

"Darling, we can't we enjoy life as it is?" She pleaded. She knew in her heart she would never be able to leave the village -- at least, not in her lifetime. "Don't you enjoy this? Courting me? Why ask for a change?"

He sighed, taking a step back. "Will nothing change your mind?" When Aniya shrugged, he smiled, taking her hand in his and running into the nearby lake.

"It's freezing!" She yelped as Kol dragged her beneath the water. Her eyes were sewn shut, terrified that something would crawl into her eyes and she would go blind. Kol only laughed and brushed his thumb over her eyelids, coaxing them open from beneath the water.

A smile formed on his face as he looked into her warm brown eyes. Her usually neatly braided plaits floated in the green waters, and she playfully glared at him, pushing him away. Kol would have sworn she was a goddess right then and there, for the only heaven he'd ever known was the one he'd found in her presence. Their gentle sin had always been his favorite form of mischief.

He pulled on her wrist and placed a soft peck on his lover's lips. Her hand flew to his cheek, and she deepened the kiss, her legs wrapping around his waist despite the wet fabric clinging to her body.

After a few moments, the two teenagers came up for air. They were met with sunlight and songbirds, and a blush creeped onto Aniya's face. Of all the places Kol had brought her two in their two years of courtship, this might have been the most beautiful.

"I found it when Mikael took me hunting," Kol explained, as if reading her thoughts. He wrapped his arms around her body and smiled. "Do you like it?"

"Of course I love it." Aniya laughed, turning her face to the beautiful boy she'd managed to snatch from the girls in the village. His angled jaw and godlike features had never been easy to ignore. "मैं आप से बेहद प्यार करता / करती हूँ. I love you ahead of everything else."

"मैं भी आप से प्यार करता / करती हूँ," He responded. "I love you, too."

Aniya grinned. "Oh? Trying to learn from Vihaan, I see."

"Our children will know every language the world has to offer," Kol boasted. He placed a kiss to Aniya's jaw. "All you'll have to do is say 'yes.'"

"Hmm," Aniya hummed. She pretended to think for a moment, then pushed her lover's head beneath the waters. A laugh left her lips, but she was cut off when a hand grasped her ankle and pulled her under.

Truthfully, she would have given anything to have a future with Kol Mikaelson. As far as she was concerned, he was the love of her life; but it would be one year until the final ritual. One year until she would be resurrected into a new life, with magic she wasn't even sure she could bare to pass onto her children.

And Gods knew she would give birth to witch twins one day. Kol had told her she was being ridiculous -- but in truth, what if she wasn't? Her mother had barely survived giving birth to herself and Vihaan. Her father had to swear a vow to the gods that they would follow the rituals so long as they kept their mother alive. Baba had always been too fearful to see what would happen if he so much as changed his mind.

On the walk back to the village, Kol had given her his shirt to dry herself off. He hadn't wanted her to get sick, so he returned to his home wearing only a pair of pants and a belt. It was ten paces from her doorstep that Aniya had been met with a fuming Vihaan.

"Where have you been all evening? Ae were meant to practice spells with Baba," Vihaan hissed at his younger sister.

"With Kol. You knew that," Aniya responded, as if the answer had been obvious.

"No, Aniya. I don't know that. You've been sneaking off so often that I'm kot even sure how to keep track of you anymore." He let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "I'm meant to protect you."

"I understand that."

"No, you don't," Vihaan snapped. "Do you understand what the next ritual is? Baba wishes to have it on the next full moon."

Aniya froze, her breath getting caught in her lungs. "We're not meant to perform that ritual for another few months."

"He wishes to appease the gods. It's a major astrological event. The Gemini moon cycle will begin soon. Mama agrees."

According to the Book of Spells, the witch twins must complete twelve tasks before their eighteenth name day in order to be reborn. Aniya and Vihaan had completed fourteen. The fifteenth through seventeenth had been saved for when the twins were much older. Baba had mentioned it so rarely that Aniya might have forgotten it if she tried. Still, the task was burnt into her memory so deeply that even now she couldn't go into shock.

Task Fifteen: In order to prove that the Witch Twins are worthy of a life among the reborn -- that they share the same passion, drive, and desperation to be blessed with immortality -- the spawns must consummate their love for one another, both physically and spiritually. This act will bind their souls into one. When one child is rebirthed, the other one must be as well.

Aniya shuddered at the passage, and pulled away from Vihaan's touch. He'd always been her brother. The person that looked out for her when no one did. Their souls had always been connected spiritually. They had been brought into the world together, and they would be taken from it together. What was the use in trying to prove it to the gods?

"I'm so sorry," had been the first thing to come out of Vihaan's mouth. The taller boy reached out to his sister, only to be met with air as she pushed him away.

"Our parents wish to wed us into an unhappy marriage and that is all you have to say? I wish to marry for love, brother, not for magic. It's incestuous--"

"And it is the law." Baba pushed open the door to their hovel, and Aniya shrunk back at the sight of their father. "You will marry, and you will be reborn into a new life. You will fulfill the rituals that your mother and I have laid out for you since before your hands knew the feeling of dirt, and you will not fail me. Do you understand?"

Aniya nodded, and followed her brother into the tiny hovel they once called 'home.' Baba would be right, she had told herself. She would marry, and she would know the feeling of rebirth in the arms of the man that loved her the most.

Kol Mikaelson's.

_______________

author's note: for anyone that's confused, basically, one of the rituals that vihaan and aniya had to do in order to be reborn as immortal witches, is they have to marry each other and ensure that the marriage is consumated. trigger warning for future chapters.

[ofgoodmenarchive]

The third in a series of drabbles exploring my Blood Mage!Dorian.

Seasonal/Festive edition with gift-giving and psuedo-ice-skating.

Deathly Courtship

Another restless night spent in a grimy hovel- an especially restless one this time. Dorian was at least thankful his cave was uncharacteristically dry for Ferelden. It would have made the hours of tossing around in his bedding even more insufferable.

He couldn't sleep- painfully alert. Every subtle sound from the wilderness scratched at his insides and the darkness felt not dark enough- agitated by the mildest light.

Whenever he did lose consciousness- or something close- he caught glimpses of the Inquisition camp, as if projected upon his eyelids. He surveyed from above but also lurked its fringes- much closer than he'd dare approach.

The culprit was obvious.

Daylight slivered into his den and Dorian strode outside, unsurprised by what he witnessed.

His shadow was slumped along a rock, boneless-seeming, staring at the Inquisition camp.

  “You've been here all night.” Dorian admonished, flopping to tend the fire. “It kept me awake, you know! And what are you doing lurking around camp? He has his own Spirit, remember?! It might see you!”

It grunted passively, not looking at him.

He rolled his eyes, sparked kindling.

  “You need to learn some patience, is what you need to do.” Leaning back from the flames, Dorian rooted around in his bag. He didn't have anything to really appease his demon but there was salted meat. Not a fantastic breakfast- he was probably still better fed than the refugees.

This time his shadow didn't offer so much as a grunt, intent on watching

Dorian sighed and craned his neck around- below, Lavellan also prepared for the day.

  “There's a way we have to do this, you realise that?” He lectured, cutting meat into chunks. “That's the Southern Chantry down there, or have you forgotten?”

Huffing, Dorian chewed raw flesh and inspected his companion- never moving from it's spot.

  “...If it was up to you,” He considered, shaking his head. “We'd just skulk into his camp one night, sneak into his tent and...”

Trailing off, he furrowed his brow at the creature.

  “Stop that. Stop putting thoughts in my head. We're not doing that.”

His shadow seethed as if in agony, somehow becoming more limp.

  “You're so stupid.” He grumbled, standing. “You saw how he reacted to us. He'll say yes in the moment then be terrified later- as they all are! Because you, my friend...”

He leaned sideways upon the same rock as his demon, frowning at Lavellan and gnashing bloody meat.

  “...come on far too strong.”

It exhaled in dramatic anguish, one with it's perch.

Dorian rolled his eyes again.

  "If I didn't know any better...I'd almost say you're lovesick."

The demon had no comment but it's offense was palpable through their bond. Dorian snickered, continuing to mull over;

  “What we need...is to provide something- a gift, something useful! That's how everyone else slinks into his good graces, no?”

It harrumphed, unconvinced. Dorian ignored this, retrieving his staff.

  “Well we're not doing things your way! You forget we're also betraying the Venatori. They're not going to be happy about that, are they? We're going to need a place in the Inquisition to survive- which we won't get if you can't pace yourself!”

Muttering to himself, Dorian sauntered down the slope, knowing his demon would have no choice but to follow.

  “You're going to have to get used to looking in my mind, too. I can't be talking to myself so bloody much! The Venatori don't care, they just think I'm mad. The Inquisition however, might have something to say about-”

Interrupted by an abrupt crash of bristling fur- a wild wolf. Dorian was tackled and with a snarl, kicked the beast over his head. Positively annoyed, he spun around and crushed its skull with the one upon his staff, spitting-

  “Wolves! Bloody wolves everywhere- I can't even finish a blasted sentence!” He licked red from his weapon without thought. “...Don't the Dalish have some superstitions about wolves? Sort of a whole...guardians of the Beyond, sentinels of death- that sort of thing?”

He blinked towards his shadow- observing neutrally. It shrugged.

  “You know- the Dread Wolf and all that! Fenharel, or whatever!”

It's head tilted, clueless.

  “This is why I make the decisions around here, you know...” Dorian scoffed, peering down at the fallen creature. “In fact...I think I have an idea.”

--

Crisp, morning air welcomed Evallan when he opened his eyes. His room in Haven was warm- intolerably so, for someone acclimatised to sleeping in the cold outdoors. Therefore a window near his bed was always ajar, mountain chill guiding him awake before anyone else.

They'd returned to restock supplies, rest and exchange personnel. Already he craved wilderness- while they traipsed over hills and through caves, it was easy to distract himself.

Suffocating in luxurious sheets, Evallan was acutely aware of how far from home he lay.

He wondered if his brothers were rising for the day- or if they'd become slothful without him to direct. After all, he was the 'Eldest' Lavellan- a title that meant nothing here but that appointed him some vague authority among his people.

Perhaps Villyen- being younger and less focused- would whine to Amrallan for them to sleep in. They might finally climb from their aravel bunks for lunch, then perhaps Amrallan would suggest they adventure somewhere, rather than attend chores...

By this description it was easy to forget Amrallan was actually older than him- Evallan had always been more responsible. He thought of how his brother might handle this 'Herald' predicament, laughing at the idea.

  I will write them again- soon.

For now, he needed to stave off homesickness.

It was too early for serving hands- breakfast wouldn't be prepared yet. That was fine by Evallan- he could only be himself in solitude, and food would do nothing to satiate his cravings.

He craved the freedom of home. Of travelling with his clan, camping in lands too untamed for the shem. Answering to the Creators, and to the wilderness, and nothing else.

This need brought him to the frozen lake, staring wistfully from its edge.

An uncanny sense bothered him- of being observed. This wasn't an unfamiliar feeling- it occurred erratically throughout their time in the Hinterlands. Easily attributed to the Maleficar they'd encountered, he'd become accustomed to dismissing it.

Though he saw no sign of him now- and they were quite a ways from the Hinterlands. Evallan couldn't imagine a purpose in stalking him so far.

  A trick of the mind this time, I think...

He had to confess, a part of him wished otherwise. Evallan found little point of relation between himself and the humans. Therefore, couldn't help but admire a shem mage who lived so wilfully as an outcast. Perhaps he would find common ground with such a man?

On the other hand, Evallan had no guess as to his thoughts. He should be more suspicious. Yet it was difficult not to be sympathetic towards someone who constantly skirted shadows, clearly not wishing to be seen.

Additionally, he tended to discern threats through his Spirit-bond. Lightbringer had voiced no concerns towards the shem's intent, so it was likely not malicious. Evallan trusted her to caution him if that happened to change.

  I see no real sign of him now, in any case...

Indeed the grounds were entirely unpopulated, sky still more dark than light. Glancing around himself to make certain, he then gazed over the ice and considered...

Before hopping from the brittle harbour, skidding upon a smooth surface. He'd been provided heavy, polished boots suitable for a Herald- definitely not meant for this. Evallan wondered if someone would scold him, then reflected how ludicrous it would be if he arrived for breakfast half-drowned.

Deciding to risk these consequences, he slid, kicking feet to gain momentum then straightening, propelled onwards with a giddy laugh. Cool winds lashed at him and he grinned at the wintery invitation, remembering such escapades with his brothers.

Spinning around, he repeated the motion, running until he could simply careen forwards. This time he intended to leap and catch himself- but it had been some time since he'd partaken in something so juvenile. Instead of landing on his feet he met frost on elbows and knees, snorting at his own foolishness. He was lucky the ice held- merely creaking.

Evallan stood and dusted himself off, preparing for another attempt...

Hasty scratches echoed along the ice, gaining his attention. Half-turning, he was assaulted by a pair of large paws and what looked like- veilfire?

His instinct would have been to attack- except the creature wasn't really attacking him. It bounced off and ran a mad circle, panting.

Or at least- it made a sound akin to panting.

Closer examination told him this thing- a wolf- was headless, its neck stitched shut. In place of a skull was a puff of veilfire and it was this that 'panted', billowing with the same cadence as an excited dogs breath.

From what he knew of canine behaviour- which was quite a bit, he was Ferelden- it displayed no aggression. If anything, it was pleased to see him.

  “...Hello, strange friend.” He greeted respectfully, bending to its level. “And where is your master? I do not suppose something as elaborate as you are, comes to be through happy accident.”

The minions 'head' formed a comically large tongue, lolling stupidly.

Evallan rang with mirth.

  “Yes, you are very charming.” He flattered, petting its shoulders. “But that is not what I asked.”

  “Oh, good- he found you!”

A somewhat familiar voice- mostly by the accent. There were not exactly a wealth of Tevinter men among the Inquisition.

Turning, he spied the Maleficar- Dorian Pavus- stood where snow met ice, beaming unreservedly.

Evallan hesitated, voice lost.

Perusing the frozen lake, Dorian inched forward, testing each step. Once confident enough he pushed towards Evallan, in such a way to suggest he'd observed some of the elf's frolicking. There was no time to be embarrassed- the man lost his balance and Evallan instinctively reached out, offering support.

The shem slumped into him with an 'oof', slinging an arm around. Evallan stiffened but allowed it- Dorian was warm, and had a scent like earth and blood. Neither of which he found displeasing.

He grinned upwards, exposing several pairs of sharp teeth;

  “My dear Herald,” Said with exaggerated familiarity. “You left the Hinterlands without saying goodbye- I was absolutely beside myself.”

Evallan blinked at this, not comprehending, awkwardly blushing. He had observed humans to have an odd sense of humour, so attempted to respond in kind.

  “I was...to leave a note on a tree?” He chuckled, tense. “You do not exactly make yourself known.”

  “I do apologise,” Dorian sighed, balancing enough to cling less. “It's not because of you, my Herald- just the company you keep.”

  “They would be suspicious of you, that is true.” He tentatively released the man, seeing him secure on his feet. “But as long as you mean no harm, I would allow none on you.”

The Maleficar roared with laughter, leaving Evallan confused.

  “How awfully noble of you, Herald!”

Slumping to meet his gaze, Evallan still couldn't understand what had amused him.

  “I would assume this is your minion?” He inquired, looking towards the undead wolf- it had been watching in dutiful silence but was quick to roll onto its back, panting again. Chuckling, Evallan crouched to deliver belly-rubs.

  “Do you like it?” Dorian asked, something hopeful in his tone.

Glancing his way, Evallan flashed a smile.

  “Some of the humans would call it unseemly,” He shrugged, continued patting. “But I can tell he is a sweet creature.”

  “He's yours- if you want him.”

Evallan perked a brow, curious.

  “Another method of tracking me, I assume?”

Surprising him- Dorian grinned shamelessly, answering the same way-

  “But of course, my darling Herald, whatever else for?” A laugh rumbled in his chest- it was a pleasing sound. “And to protect you, of course! A loyal companion, who will follow only your order, and be compelled to protect you against any threat.”

Evallan smirked mostly to himself, unfurling but not to his full height- stooping around Dorian's. The creature sat by his heels, leaning into him.

  “Does he have a name?”

  “Fenharel.”

Compelled to splutter in laughter- unable to restrain it- Evallan shook his head.

  “Maker, no! I will not curse the poor beast in such a way.”

Dorian paused, smiling in slow disbelief.

  “So you're going to take him? Did you entirely understand what I just said?”

  “I understood.” He shuffled, somewhat defensive. “But you have saved my people and myself at least once. Therefore, I seem to benefit.”

  “How...pragmatic.” Dorian bore his teeth in another sly grin and Evallan felt incredibly awkward.

Appearing to sense this, the Blood Mage redirected their conversation;

  “So what will you call him, if not Fenharel?”

Evallan regarded the beast for a moment, lowered to stroke its back.

  “Lunis, I think.”

  “Lunis...” Dorian stroked his beard thoughtfully. “That's some...minor Elven god? Something to do with the moon?”

  “Mhm.”

  “Huh...” He tilted his head, feigned a scoff. “Hardly more imposing than 'Fenharel', is it?”

  “If I call him Fenharel-” Evallan choked through mirth. “Any Dalish we encounter will shoot the poor thing on sight!”

  “Well, maybe- but they'll regret it!” Dorian quipped, earning more laughter.

  “Other than to track me...” He questioned- once restraining himself. “Is there a reason you are offering such a generous gift?”

  “Why not?” Dorian shrugged. “From where I'm standing, the Inquisition is the winning horse. I'm just trying to ensure I'm not trampled in the race.”

  “Pragmatic.” He echoed the previous sentiment- then faltered on what to say.

Again catching to his social ineptitude, Dorian bantered;

  “I can't help but notice that sliding around a frozen lake isn't very Herald-like.”

Perhaps he hadn't expected this to fluster him so intensely. Colour burnt his cheeks and a nervous cough erupted from him. Dorian simply observed, smiling in bemusement while Evallan struggled for composure.

  “I, well...” He spewed helplessly for a moment. “I...miss my home, that is all. We tended towards such climates, and would entertain ourselves in foolish ways...”

Dorian nodded, attentive.

  “I have to confess to you, my Herald...it was quite entertaining.” He chortled, teasing and warm. “But I do think I understand.”

  “Yes, of course-” Evallan tried to speak over his unease. “You also find yourself far from home.”

He nodded again but seemed averse to that topic- eyes shifting from Evallan's for the first time.

  “Well, everything always works out...” He said vaguely. “But I should be heading off, I think- I see your fellows beginning to stir...”

It was unfortunate he couldn't invite the Blood Mage to stay, Evallan thought. He might be able to guarantee the man's safety but judging by his skittishness, Dorian wouldn't trust that enough to be comfortable.

  “I do hope you enjoy the gift,” He said in a chipper tone. “Who knows...perhaps you'll give me something in return someday.”

Dragged from his pondering, Evallan lofted a brow, not really thinking of his response;

  “Gifts are not typically given with an expectation.”

  “Aren't they?” Dorian mused, chortling as if to himself. “Well...some of them are in a way, no? Dowries, for example.”

  “I...” He struggled to process what had been said. “...Pardon?”

Which inspired a chuckle from the Tevinter, shaking his head.

  “Just thinking out loud, my darling Herald.” He bowed lowly, with a mock-level of respect. “I must be off- you will take care of our Lunis, I trust.”

  “I will- of course.” He stumbled verbally, not comprehending the exchange.

Dorian just smiled and sauntered back into the shadows, leaving Evallan's heart in his throat.

--

  “I do not know if you should be accepting such...'gifts' from...renegade Blood Mages.” The Seeker admonished, watching as Lunis sped around the Chantry hall- chasing a moth.

  “I sense no ill intent from the man.” Evallan assured, fighting to keep a straight face. “And it is a fine creature.”

  “Does it have a name?” Solas asked from behind his tea-cup, observing warily.

  “The Blood Mage addressed him as 'Fenharel'.”

Solas instantly began choking, spittle flying everywhere. Unable to maintain his facade any longer, Evallan burst into laughter.

  “I know, I know! Do not worry, I told him I would not curse him with such a name. I have called him Lunis.”

  “Yes, far...that is a far more appropriate name, Herald.” The other elf muttered, dabbing tea from his face.

  “I truly cannot fathom...” Cassandra grumbled, leering. “...How you survived the wilderness as a mage child.”

Evallan snorted, genuinely tickled.

  “I had my clan to protect me- and now I have all of you!”

  “A task that will increase in complexity as the days progress, I am certain.” She sighed, not matching his cheer.

[brattydoctorcrane]

Light Yagami is a Fucking Moron: An Analysis of Light Yagami’s Actions and Their Consequences According to Current Psychological Research

Let me begin by saying that this is going to be long, and I’m going to be writing this more in the style of a lecture as opposed to a straight through scientific paper. I enjoy humor and don’t want to completely bore you with heavy talk, so I will have moments that are biased, sarcastic, and intended for entertainment. The research itself, however, does not have my same biases and will be condemning Light for not actually researching what the hell he was doing, at least in the United States. On top of all of this, please feel free to message me if you want one of the articles/books, and I will do my best to get you a copy! With that being said, let’s jump on in.

DISCLAIMER: This is all based on the United States. I’m not here to argue, I just like talking about psych and law and DN. This is purely for fun and it’s meant to be a little silly. I am not writing this to be a scientific paper by any means. If you’d like me to expand on anything, feel free to ask me! Thank you!

Light is hailed all through out Death Note as being this extremely intelligent, well thought out person. We’re told he is smart, cool, and charming, but what if I were to say he’s actually not these things? Well, maybe he’s charming, but that’s for another discussion. When he picks up the notebook, he seems somewhat altruistic in saying he will kill criminals to deter other criminals to make the world safer. Except there’s a problem. A big one.

The death penalty… Doesn’t conclusively deter crime (Nagin et. al, 2012).

Currently, within the psychological community, there is large debate as to the effectiveness of the death penalty and whether it is therefore even useful. Some studies say yes, some say no, and some say that they have no idea. Nagin et. al breaks down the issues and problems inherent in many of the studies and why we can’t conclusively say anything. Not only is it extremely difficult to extract out variables (do noncapital punishments deter crime? What about home factors? Social supports?), but many studies only look at specific geographic areas (Nagin et. al, 2012). This is based on the research of approximately the last thirty years! Thirty! And yet, we can’t say one way or the other whether it actually affects the amount of crime committed.

So, 0 for Light, 1 for research.

But at least he’s killing criminals, right? Er. Sure. I suppose, as a whole, he kills many more criminals. Unfortunately, though, I would say he’s probably killing many more innocents than he cares to believe. The conservative estimate from the Innocence Project is that it’s 1% of the US Prison Population. Now, I think it’s fair to use the US here, since given how involved the US is in Death Note, and our high as hell incarceration rate, Light likely kills many US criminals. Within the US, however, 1% of our prison population means 20,000 people, and this is the conservative estimate (Innocence Project, 2011)! Fucking conservative! This means Light likely killed many more innocents than he truly believed, especially considering how he didn’t, y’know, have the circumstances surrounding arrests, confessions, etc. He would have no way of determining for himself if he truly believed someone deserved punishment or not, and I just don’t see that as moral or altruistic myself.

To dive a little further in on this point and why I harp on it, it’s very important to consider evidence. I’ll talk about confessions in a minute, when I also talk about Misa (you can see where that one’s going), but let’s hone in on evidence. For specifically sexual assault charges, which we know Light abhors, DNA exoneration makes up 63% of all their exonerations (Gross et. al, 2012). Hell, DNA makes up 37% of all exonerations, and we cannot ignore that half of all exonerees are black (Gross et. al, 2012). Eyewitnesses are also nowhere near as reliable as we like to believe, and can be influenced in several ways (Loftus, 2019). (Please note the Loftus paper is a summation of findings from many studies of hers and others. I highly recommend reading her research as it’s so important to the law.) Light has no way of knowing why and how the criminal was convicted. At all. So, he just doesn’t bother. The type of evidence and amount of evidence is so important to a crime, as well as the criminal’s race, since there have been and will continue to be cases that are decided based on shoestring amounts of it.

Light, my man. You’re 0 for 2.

After this declaration of altruism, he then tries to evade capture. Which, I don’t know about y’all, but that doesn’t exactly scream altruism (though by this point he also wants to be GOD so, grain of salt I suppose). However, what Light doesn’t realize as he does supremely convoluted things to avoid other supremely convoluted things is that… Dude. They wouldn’t fucking. Accept any of the evidence they would supposedly have against you. Illegally obtained video of the house is just that. ILLEGAL. It’d be inadmissible in court (at least, of course, in the United States). If L can show me his fucking warrant, then we’ll talk, but otherwise that’s inadmissible evidence. As well as Misa’s potential confession.

Oh, Misa. You have such scary tendencies towards stalking behaviors. But at least your confession would’ve been entirely inadmissible.

Let’s talk about torture and coerced confessions!

First let me define a coerced confession for everyone, just to be on the same page (though y’all probably know what it is). A coerced confession is a confession that was made against one’s free will or involuntarily. To be honest, I Googled the definition, because I needed something short and succinct. This means that a coerced confession isn’t always through obvious brute force, and in fact means so long as it wasn’t voluntary in any way, shape, or form, the confession is useless. The legal definition of torture (again, also Googled for something succinct) is “any act by which severe pain or suffering, whether physical or mental, is intentionally inflicted on a person for such purposes as obtaining from him or a third person information or a confession.” Thank you, Association for the Prevention of Torture. For obvious reasons, both torture and coerced confessions are very much illegal.

Whew, lets break up this huge paragraph. Torture, on top of being illegal, also doesn’t yield accurate information from the person being tortured (Costanzo et. al, 2009). “The goal was to appease the torturer, not to reveal the truth,” Costanzo et. al writes (2009). Sure, some truthful information is revealed, but as a whole it is ineffective. I think it’s safe to say Misa was tortured (that straight jacket and not giving her water for several days gave it away), so immediately I would question the accuracy of anything she says. Especially as she offers to do whatever Mr. Stalker wants if she can just leave.

Her confession, had she confessed, would’ve been very blatantly coerced, too. Interestingly enough, L is actually using a less effective method of interrogation than he could be. L appears to use what is called an accusatorial method of interrogation. Accusatorial methods are based on control, psychological manipulation, and the primary goal is confession (Meissner et. al, 2014). Sound familiar? What he should have been using is an information-gathering method. Information-gathering methods are based on establishing rapport, using direct and positive confrontation, and the primary goal is elicitation (Meissner et. al, 2014). The information-gathering method is shown to be nearly as good at eliciting a confession, but it does not elicit as many false confessions as the accusatorial method (Meissner et. al, 2014).

So, Misa here is being tortured, and then even if you say she wasn’t, then she’s clearly being coerced. If you somehow still say she wasn’t coerced, then L’s use of the accusatorial method still makes me say double check her confession. So really, that confession is fucked. Light didn’t have to go through the entire thing of confinement, when his ass was in the clear all along.

Light is now 0 for 3, and L is 0 for 1.

Considering I’ve already got Light at 0 for 3, I’m going to lay off him a little. He makes so many of these same mistakes over, and over, and over again throughout the entire manga, even pulling more people into it (hi, Takada and Mikami, who would’ve also been coerced confessions). I’ll go more into detail about the second half later, but for now I’ll pause, and ask what should Light have done instead? What should he have done that would’ve been more effective? What about L and Misa?

The answer is, of course, not whatever the fuck he did do.

I suppose I should start with a caveat. The DN Universe may be fundamentally different than our own outside of shinigamis and such. Perhaps these are admissible confessions in the DN world, maybe killing people did deter crime (as is stated at one point, actually), and maybe L’s interrogation methods aren’t highly questionable. Who knows. This is a fictional world after all.

But if we assume the DN Universe is like our own and isn’t a hellscape, then I would’ve recommended a few things. Personally, I think Light should’ve focused more on supports for criminals instead. Unfortunately, a large part of the research is focused more on if something deters crime rather than how, especially given the issues in trying to even determine what variables are at play. But it feels personally more humanitarian to offer supports, and I feel as if that would be of more help than a death penalty that views itself above the law.

Secondly, Light needed to at the very goddamn least have seen the evidence himself. He prides himself so much on being so smart an yet… He’s so dumb, y’all. He relied on others’ judgements when he should’ve only relied on his own. This way, he stays on top of who in the fuck he’s actually killing, why he’s actually killing them, and if they were innocent (in his view) or not. It’s just almost common sense.

Finally, Light should’ve just let it play out. Seriously. He needed to just sit on his ass and watch as L made himself out to be unfit and coercive. Because L is not fit for his job and needs to be removed from it. Torture is disallowed by even the fucking Geneva Conventions, L. The argument would be that Light wanted to maintain his status with the others though, too, but I think that L being declared unfit would’ve solved that. You can’t trust a single fucking thing coming out of L’s mouth, period. Especially not when he’s so aggressive and horrific to his suspects.

And so, with the evidence stacked before us I have to say… Light Yagami is a moron. He should’ve done some research (I know I cite things that would’ve been post Kira, but these debates have been going on for years, y’all) before he did his Kira thing.

Below I’m putting my references for the articles/books, but not in APA format and in the order they appear. That would take a bit of time, and I’m doing this for free and on my own time. If you want more information on them, you can message me. Thanks!

Daniel S. Nagin and John V. Peppers, Deterrence and the Death Penalty. 2012. They’re actually the editors, just an FYI, and this book is available online!

Innocence Project (link) in 2011!

Samuel R. Gross and Michael Shaffer, Exonerations in the United States. 2012. This one is also available online at the Social Science Research Network!

Elizabeth Loftus, Eyewitness Testimony. 2019. (link)

Christian A. Meissner and many others, Accusatorial and information-gathering interrogation methods and their effects on true and false confessions: a meta-analytic review. 2014.

Mark A. Costanzo and Ellen Gerrity, The Effects and Effectiveness of Using Torture as an Interrogation Device: Using Research to Inform the Policy Debate. 2009.

[aimeeblake]

OPERATION LIFE RAFT→ BEAUMEE

TAGGING → Aimee Blake & Beau Odie ( @beauodie )

TIMELINE → November 28, 2020

SETTING → Aimee and DJ’s apartment

SUMMARY → Aimee invites Beau over to Crownflix and Chill, and chilling ensues.

Thanskgiving had been strange, to the point that Beau was kind of relieved when he got to go home. It felt like breaks from school from now on were just meant to be assosciated with feeling ignored, and he didn't ask for much, he didn't think. Just acknowledgement. That's why when Aimee texted him asking him to hang out when break was over, it hadn't even taken two seconds to text back a big yes. Someone actually making time for him, especially someone as fun as Aimee, was impossible to resist. With a quick stop by a grocery store for some ice cream, he hurried over to her dorm that afternoon. She'd mentioned something about a Christmas movie or a board game or something and honestly, the specifics of it didn't matter to him so he hasnt asked for elaboration. Quality time, no matter what they were doing, was more than enough. He knocked on the door and waited for it to open, waving the ice cream at her like it was his hand as soon as it did. "Hey," Beau greeted, doing a quick sweep of the room to see if her roomie was there. "Thanks for inviting me. Is DJ going to be here or is it just us for now?"

Aimee was really starting to have second thoughts as she waited for Beau to come over. She didn't know anything about actually trying to seduce a boy! Sure, she'd read about it over and over again in all her favorite books but she couldn't even get the boy that she knew wanted her in that way to so much as kiss her! Straight up trying to hook up with a guy that had really only just called her "hot" was in a different universe of impossibly hard! Aimee was just about to bitch out on her plan and change out of her red booty shorts and "ho ho ho" hoodie in favor of less suggestive hang out clothes when there was a knock on the door signaling that it was too late to back out now. "Sup! Thanks for coming!" She cheerfully replied, backing up to let him in the door and figure out what flavor ice cream he'd been waving at her at the same time. " It's just us, I don't think DJ's supposed to be back for awhile.

"Alright, sounds good," Beau smiled, not quite sure what to do with the chocolate ice cream he'd brought so he awkwardly handed it to Aimee. "Since my Grandmama says I'm not allowed to go anywhere without bringing a gift, this is for you. So, uh, what are we doing exactly?" he asked, taking off his coat and just holding it. He liked Aimee and really wanted to hang out with her but he felt like he was doing this all wrong already. He hadn't hung out with someone new one on one in a long time and even though this wasn't a date or anything, it did leave him feeling like he had forgotten to study for this social interaction.

"That's cool, I like ice cream and I didn't really think to buy a bunch of hang out snacks either sooo I guess this will be useful?" Aimee shrugged, before taking Beau's coat in addition to the ice cream and hanging it up on their coat rack. "I'm not really sure what we're doing yet, I was waiting on you to get here." Aimee said leading Beau to the living room area and setting the ice cream on the coffee table, "subtly" bending over to show off her shorts as she did so. "So we can watch The Grinch, Polar Express or Moulin Rouge. OR we can play Board Games, we have way too many so if you name one I bet we've got it."

"We can always order something in later if we get hungry," Beau suggested, letting Aimee take his coat as he started making himself comfortable and following her into the living room. His eyes kind of found their way to her shorts when she bent over and he gulped, looking away as fast as he could. It was a great view but it wasn't his to stare at. "Uh, sounds good. Either one. The only board games I'm really good at are trivia games or Twister and those aren't as fun with just two people. We could watch The Grinch?" he suggested, getting onto the couch.

"Yeah totally!" Aimee agreed. She tried to sneakily see if Beau had been looking at her butt when she bent over but was disappointed to see he was looking away. Well only partially disappointed, after all Beau being respectful and not ogling her like she was a piece of meat was definitely not a bad thing and the kind of quality she'd ordinarily like in a potential virginity taker. But respectfulness wasn't going to get her railed, so Aimee made a mental note that she was probably going to have to be a little more direct to get what she wanted. "The Grinch works!" She replied, flitting off to the kitchen to grab spoons and coming back just as fast. "You're right about Twister and the only trivia game we own is Scene it? Twilight and it's rude to invite a guy over just to kick his butt at a game like that." She laughed and picked up the remote before joining Beau on the couch, sitting much closer next to him than she ever would under normal circumstances.

Beau laughed, the idea of going head to head with Aimee on a Twilight trivia game downright funny. "The only thing I know about Twilight is that the baseball scene is supposedly the coolest scene in all of the movies," he admitted. "You'd kick my butt so hard. Not that I'd mind, but you know." He shrugged, trying to relax onto the couch as the movie started. The key word there was 'trying' -- something about how close Aimee had decided to sit to him made it hard to totally loosen up. She was probably just one of those people who had no physical barriers with anyone, it probably didn't mean anything, but it made his body feel kind of warm all the same. Damn, he really needed to get out more; if he hung out with more people more often, he wouldn't get flustered by a simple hang out. Thinking that she'd maybe back up if he scooted in, Beau tried to subtly close the gap between them.

Aimee's jaw dropped in exaggerated surprise that Beau had never seen the Twilight movies before. "That's it? I mean you're not wrong but oh my god, that's like knowing the vampires sparkle at this point! It's too bad I didn't know you were so deprived, I definitely wouldn't have picked a bunch of Christmas movies to watch.

Aimee briefly glanced over at Beau as he scooted in closer on the couch, wondering if he was onto her scheme. It would definitely make her job a lot easier if he was. So Aimee didn't really react otherwise to the new lack of space between them, at least for a couple minutes as she waited to see if he would do anything more. When he didn't, Aimee decided to pull what seemed like a very obvious pick up move on him, the good old fashioned "pretend to yawn and put her arm around him move". Sure, Aimee had no idea what the move was really supposed to do seduction wise, but there had to be a reason it was so universally beloved right?

Beau chuckled at Aimee's reaction. "I like Christmas movies but hey, maybe we can watch Twilight next time," he suggested. He hoped it wasn't too forward to suggest they'd do this kind of thing again but he really hoped they would. Speaking of forward... Aimee wasn't scooting away. Beau had fully expected her to reestablish the space between them but she didn't and so there was none and that was weirdly distracting. He tried to refocus on the movie and let his overthinking go away but then Aimee did something he never expected. She yawned and put her arm around his shoulders, like a horny guy in a movie theater. He bit his lip so that he didn't laugh at the move, but he had to admit that it did kind of work in that it made his heart beat faster. Their faces were closer than he'd been to anyone's in a bit as he turned to her and asked, amusement evident in his tone, "Aimee, are you trying to Crownflix and chill right now?" The question would've felt crazy presumptuous, especially knowing how Aimee felt about DJ and that she hadn't even kissed anyone, but her arm was around his shoulder, she'd invited him over to watch movies, she was wearing tiny shorts. All of those things seemed to be adding up in one way he couldn't ignore.

Aimee's nose wrinkled slightly at Beau's question. She hadn't thought of what she was doing as an attempt to Crownflix and Chill. Like now that Beau said it out loud, that's clearly what it was, but in her mind it was definitely not something so memeable. "I don't know, is it working?" She asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. She would've tried to bat her eyelashes as well but she wasn't trying to completely over kill it and make Beau ACTUALLY laugh at her.

Okay, so a nose-wrinkling in response to that question felt like a no and Beau's stomach sank. There probably wasn't anything more embarrassing than accusing a girl of trying to seduce you when she was just hanging out. But then Aimee kept going and something about the way she looked up at him made his throat dry. "You know the crazy thing? It kind of is," he admitted, looking down at her face, and her mouth in particular. But while that might've been a good moment to go for it, he still wasn't sure of her intentions and his thing with Aspen had been so lacking in communication by the end that he couldn't stand not knowing. "But why though? I know I'm not who you want," he reminded her as if Aimee could forget that she'd confessed her love of DJ to him.

Aimee's face lit up with a smug grin when Beau admitted that her seduction attempt was kind of working for him. Aimee was insecure about a lot of things about herself but her looks had never been one of them so she was kind of living for the validation Beau was giving her. She did however cringe when Beau started asking questions. Not that she didn't think he WOULDN'T have any questions about the situation, but the mere mention of "who she did want" Reminded her of how perfectly matched and coupley DJ and Karmen had been over Thanksgiving in order to appease his crazy grandmother. "I don't want to want him anymore. Remember when when we were talking about basically being in the same boat of loving someone we really shouldn't and you said that if one of us was going to find a life raft, it was going to be me? I think I figured it out." To make her point clear, Aimee closed the already minimal space between the two of them and pressed her lips onto Beau's. Only for a few seconds though since Aimee's newfound boldness was just about at it's about limit and she still had more to say. "To be clear, I think we should hook up and be each other's rebounds. I think we could be really good at it, is that okay??"

Beau listened, nodding as she spoke. He really did understand what it felt like to want someone he shouldn't, and Thanksgiving break had only really served to make him feel lonelier. He wondered if it had had the same effect on her and realized that it probably had; after all, like she'd said before, they were in the same boat, the same sinking boat. And when Aimee leaned in and kissed him, for a brief moment, it felt like the holes in his heart that had been leaking love since he and Aspen ended were plugged and his chest felt lighter than it had in so long. Maybe Aimee was right, maybe this was their life raft moment that would get them through the hardest parts of getting over someone. He found himself nodding in agreement before the words reached his mouth. "I think we'd be really good at it too," he agreed. "Okay, I'm in. Operation Life Raft is a go, so long as we stay open and honest with each other. And honestly? I wanna kiss you again more than a firefly wants to shine."

As cliche as it was, when Beau began to verbally agree with what she was saying, Aimee let out a breath she hadn't even noticed she'd been holding. As nice as it had been for her to kiss Beau, she was 75% certain it wouldn't be worth the humiliation she'd feel from even the kindest rejection. After all, she'd just used her first kiss on him, that was a pretty big deal in itself! "Operation Life Raft, I like that!" She chirped, trying to seem like her heart hadn't practically tried to bounce out of her chest when he admitted he wanted to kiss her again. "The open and honest part, especially. Since honestly, I wanna kiss you again too." Which she did. This time practically mounting him like a horse as she pushed her way onto his lap to comfortably deepen the kiss.

One of Beau's favorite things about Aimee so far was how she said what she meant and she meant what she said, and so when she said she wanted to kiss him again, it wasn't a surprise at all that she did. What was a little bit of a surprise was that she got onto his lap on their second kiss. He and Aspen hadn't moved that quickly, had they? Not that it mattered. Not that he should even be thinking about Aspen. Wasn't that the point of this? To forget? And man, did he want to forget. His hands slid up Aimee's mostly exposed thighs before settling on her butt, pulling her in just a little bit closer as the kiss deepened. It then occurred to him that maybe that was Too Much and he pulled back from the kiss. "Sorry, is that okay? I'm not sure how much is too much too fast now. I feel like we're going to need a safe word," Beau laughed.

As new as she was to this whole kissing thing, Aimee felt like she was really taking to it like a fish to water. Especially once Beau's hands started to move up her thighs, that seemed like a pretty good indicator that she was doing something right. But then he was suddenly pulling back, which probably would've made her second guess herself but Beau had been too quick with his apology. "Huh?" Aimee laughed breathlessly, already a little too drunk on the excitement of kissing him to even begin to guess what he was sorry about right away. But when she finally did, she couldn't help but laugh more. Didn't he know by now what she was trying to do? "That was great. I'm not sure either but I'm down to go whatever speed you want to go. But just in case, we can make our safe word um...Puffin?"

Aimee's laughing made it easy for Beau to laugh too, and his body felt light all over; there really was something different about doing this sort of thing with someone that was just a friend. It immediately felt like it had way lower emotional stakes than any relationship where feelings were involved; it was more about just doing it to have fun, and it honestly felt like he could afford to have mindless fun more often. "Puffin," he repeated, committing it to memory with a smile and a nod. "Got it, got it. Sorry if a safe word's a weird request when we're just making out but its honestly kinda hard not to wanna go a little overboard with you right now. You're really hot," he laughed, "like, really really hot. Like 'I think I'd die if I got to see you naked' hot and I just, don't know, don't wanna rush you." She had just had her first kiss, after all. People didn't generally jump from that to their first time, especially not in the amount of time that it took for the movie to start to when the Grinch finally left his cave.

Aimee couldn't help but laugh again as Beau clarified why he'd asked for a safe word, this time mostly out of slight embarrassment at how hot he said he found her. Aimee rarely doubted that she was what most people would find conventionally "hot" but being called so hot that he "thought he'd die if he got to see her naked"? That was brand new territory. "You don't want to rush me? The girl sitting on your lap...wearing this?" Aimee asked, cheeks burning pink as she unzipped her hoodie to reveal a generous view of her cleavage just barely not spilling from the bra that was the only clothing item underneath the jacket. "Do you really think you'd be rushing me? If anything, I'm trying to rush you ."

Beau was the kind of guy who always tried not to stare too hard at pretty girls -- it wasn't polite. But if Aimee's boobs were distracting under a hoodie, they were even more distracting when they were right there in front of him. "Fuck," he cursed under his breath, taking in the view. He was sure Aimee could feel him getting harder under her, but he was even more sure that that was exactly her intention; in fact, Beau felt kind of oblivious for not 100% realizing, up until this moment, that this entire thing had been part of her plan. He felt weirdly flattered to have clearly been so carefully chosen for Operation Life Raft, and it just made him want to get closer to her as soon as possible. "Believe me, if I was the kind of guy who walked around with condoms in his pocket, I'd be rushing into this like a frog rushes after a fly," Beau chuckled, leaning in closer to her. "If you have one though," he said, kissing her jaw, "well, then I'm honestly down to go as far as want," he finished as he kissed her neck.

Aimee bit her lip as she watched Beau's reaction to seeing her chest upclose, it was both flattering and arousing, especially once she could feel her effect on him. She would've kissed him again if he hadn't started talking and kissing down her neck and jaw in a way that made a sharp warmth shoot from her belly all the way down to her toes. Rocking her hips forward into his, a move that was more grinding than functional, Aimee dug a hand into her pocket and pulled out a short strip of condoms. "Well lucky for you, a girl scout is always prepared and I just so happen to have more than one."

Beau groaned a little against her neck at the feel of her hips against his. It'd been so long since he'd been this turned on -- he'd been single for so long now, and in his last relationship, they'd never gone as far as to have condoms be part of the equation. It felt almost too good to be true that a super cool, super hot girl was into the idea of being sex friends, but he didn't want to question it too much, not when he was rearing to go. "Perfect," Beau praised at the sight of the condoms before taking her mouth in a kiss again and grinding up against her, holding her tight against him as he did, like she was a life raft and he was lost at sea. Whatever happened next, this was definitely the start of something awesome.

[cami-chats]

Gotta be damned because I want it all

Fandom: Check Please

Pairing: Kent Parson/Connor “Whiskey” Whisk

Warnings: In later chapters, some homophobia and involuntary outing, falling out with family

Chapter 1 (Haven’t come out of my cage and I’ve been doing just fine) of 5 Read below or on AO3

Whiskey knew about pressure and expectations. When he got to the Aces, everyone acted like he was just starting to feel it. 

When he told his parents he wanted to play pro hockey, they'd... tried. They'd tried to be supportive. There had been a month long period between him telling them and them agreeing to it, when they tried to change his mind. 'We live so far west, Connor. Any chance you have will be if you claw your way up, fighting tooth and nail for every inch. You'll have to prove that you're twice as good as they're expecting.' He knew it was because they wanted him to be sure. It wasn't going to be easy, like taking P.E. or joining the baseball team at school. He was going to have to travel, practice every free moment; he was going to be tired year round. 

'Hockey is expensive. If you change your mind, we won't be able to pay for a different extracurricular for you,' Mom said, and she was so worried about the possibility of him changing his mind that she didn't stop to think about how Connor knew what he wanted-- he wasn't exactly what someone would call fickle. His parents made sure, right from the start, that he knew the kind of commitment he was getting into, and he dove into it headfirst. He couldn't explain the exhilaration that came from being on ice, from racing around on his skates and keeping an eye on the puck and other players. 

To be fair, it didn't start to feel like pressure until he was sixteen and everyone was talking about him. Who was his high school sweetheart? How good were his chances in the draft? Would he crack under the pressure like Jack Zimmermann had? (Zimmermann, who everyone constantly compared him to. Apparently the way they moved on the ice was similar; their focus on the ice was similar, and Connor didn't give two shits.) Was he at a disadvantage living where he was instead of in Canada or along the east coast? He'd talked to reporters before and watched what was said about him to see how it was coming along, but now it felt like it was everywhere. Reporters fucking everywhere, picking him apart. He was struggling to keep his grades up as it was without worrying about the latest article that said they didn't think he was going to make it to the next draft. His parents told him how proud they were of him, his friends said they expected for him to be the best, and more than all of that was the burning need inside to prove himself. 

He'd started pushing himself when he was twelve and telling his parents that he wanted to play hockey for the rest of his life, and he was still pushing himself when he made it first in the draft and got to be with the Aces. Las Vegas Aces. It was like the name was hovering in bold at the forefront of his mind, occasionally giving itself a shake when it thought he hadn't freaked out about it recently enough. 

Las Vegas Aces, Captain Kent Parson. 

This... was a dream come true. Nothing less. Kent Parson had won a Cup his rookie year. Kent Parson was his Captain, and Whiskey had always loved watching the way he moved on his skates-- like he'd been born to it. 

Scraps was housing him for this first year, and apparently him and Kent were tight. So Kent Parson, living legend, was there when Whiskey was moving in. Not that he had much to move in. His parents had been reluctant to admit that this was a permanent move (hopefully he wouldn't get traded, the Aces were exactly where he wanted to be), so he didn't bring much with him. But he didn't want to bring much anyways. He didn't need school shit; he didn't want to poke holes in Scraps's wall with posters, and he didn't have any books or movies that he couldn't bear to part with. He brought clothes. Music. One framed picture of him and Jenny because she'd given it to him as a going away present, and she was his best friend. 

All of this was to say that his first conversation with Kent was about pressure. That wasn't what he'd been hoping for, but maybe it was better than a nondescript 'welcome to the team, don't party too hard' speech. Kent was leaning against the doorway to his room, watching nonjudgmentally as he unpacked. There was a backwards snapback atop golden curls, and Whiskey had plenty of practice in not staring. "How do you like Vegas?" he asked as an opener. 

Whiskey shrugged. The climate was familiar, but he didn't care to explore the city. He was here for hockey, not to get wasted and gamble his signing bonus away (he'd paid for Jenny's meal plan at college, because they had both been planning to go to Samwell if the draft didn't work out). 

"Look kid-" 

"I'm not a kid." He knew that he was compared to everyone else, but he didn't want for them to think of him that way. He was younger, yes, but not a kid. 

"Sure," Kent said with an easy going smirk that, while appearing sincere, Whiskey thought was appeasing. "What I mean is, there's a lot of eyes on you for getting first in the draft and picking a team out here." 'Out here'. So far west. Whiskey didn't get why everyone had such a stick up their ass about it. 

All he said about it was, "You did it." 

"Yeah, and it felt like everyone was waiting for me to fail. You're gonna get a lot of questions about how you're dealing with the pressure dude, and I want you to know that it's not big deal. We're not dropping you if we don't win a Stanley Cup this year." 

"You won the Cup your first year," Whiskey said. 

The smirk was back. "See? Shit like that is why I don't want you to worry. It's no big deal, man. If we get it this year, awesome. If not, whatever, there's always next year. Especially for you, there's always next year." 

It was obvious that Kent was waiting for a response, so Whiskey nodded. He didn't agree, but he nodded. 

"Now that that shit's outta the way, I'm looking forward to having you on the team. Like the way you shred the ice, man." He pushed himself off from the door frame. "See you at practice." 

Whiskey nodded, and Kent left. He didn't realize that he'd been holding his breath until he was alone again. Kent could say all day long that it would be fine if he fucked up, but Whiskey knew the truth of the matter: you get one shot. Maybe not one shot at the Cup, but one shot at the big leagues to prove yourself. 

*

Whiskey didn't know how rookie years were supposed to go, but he was pretty sure you didn't get bumped up to first line after a week and a half of practice. He was pretty sure the coaches didn't tell the captain that they should take an extra hour after practice for the next few days, just the two of them. He was more than sure that the captain of the team didn't usually have the extra time to spend an hour with every rookie. The coaches said it was going to be a few days, but Whiskey knew that that was a first estimate, not a solid timeline. They wanted to see how well this practices went-- wanted to see if the way they clicked would turn into them being a pair. If it didn't work out, Whiskey might stay on first line, but the extra practices would stop. If they started to do well, they'd probably be encouraged-- that's the way they always phrased it; 'you're encouraged to take these extra practices and push yourself harder but you don't have to'-- to spend as much time on the ice as they needed until they had a sixth sense for where the other one was on the ice. They'd get the second option, that much was obvious from how they started performing during practice. 

He didn't need anyone to say the words to his face for him to know that they were thinking about Zimmermann when they saw him and Parse skating together. Parse and Zimms, that's the dynamic everyone wanted. And they always said it together, like it was one word. Whiskey didn't give a shit because he was here and Zimmermann was at college. It would be another two years before he signed on with anyone, and by that point, Whiskey wouldn't be dispensable; he'd make sure of it. 

And all the while, Parse was telling him not to stress. Focus, but don't worry. Take it one practice at a time, don't worry about playoffs because they didn't even know if they'd be in them yet. (The Aces had gotten to the playoffs every years since Parse signed on, but sure, this year-- the year that Parse and Whiskey were tearing up the ice together-- was going to be the year that they didn't make it.) 

They were in the middle of one of those hour-after practices when Whiskey got a phone call. He'd dragged his bag out of the locker room after official practice, so he skated over, peeled off a glove, and fished his phone out. Jenny. He couldn't just ignore a call from her. "One second," he told Parse, who nodded, seemingly unbothered by the interruption. He slid it to answer and held it up to his ear. "What's up?" 

"Uh, we had plans to watch Resident Evil, remember? You weren't online. And really? Ignoring my texts is a dick move, Whisk." On anyone else, those words would've sounded frustrated, but Jenny was just teasing. 

"I forgot." 

"Dude, it was your pick for movie night." He never forgot movie night. If he needed to cancel, he always told her as soon as he knew he wouldn't make it. "You okay?" 

"I'm at practice." 

"I thought practice ended at four for you. Did I mess up time zones? I googled it, I can't believe I messed it up. Shit dude, hang up before your team gets mad at you!" 

"You're fine, it's an extra practice, just me and Parse." 

"Parse. Parson? Like Kent Parson??" she asked, voice climbing higher. Everything that came out after that sounded like it had been said with a single breath. "Dude! Connor! Oh my god!!! Woah woah, wait this isn't, like, a remedial thing, is it? I know you like to be all stoic, but if you're having a breakdown and it's fucking up your playing, it's okay to tell me. I won't tell your parents, and I can try to skype you more often if you think it'll help. Or- god, I should let you get back to practice and you can tell me about it later if you want to." Jenny was the best. Nervous at times, but the best. 

"I'm fine. Sorry I forgot. I should be home in an hour, I'll text you." 

"Okay. Love you! Kick ass out there, Whiskey." 

"Love you." He hung up and tossed his phone back on top of the bag. "Sorry," he said, skating back towards Parse-- who was doing slow circles near the middle of the rink to give Whiskey some privacy. 

"It's fine. Who was it?" 

"Girlfriend," he said, because that was the story they were going with. 

People normally pushed. Not a lot, but they always wanted to know her name or ask how long they'd been together and what she thought about hockey. At the very least, they said some sort of joke to let Whiskey know they were cool with it-- or something like that. But Parse just nodded and said, "Ready for more dumbass drills that we don't need?" 

*

Jenny sent him a well wishes text before his game. So did both of his parents. So did each of his four siblings. So did all of his friends from high school. Whiskey didn't bother reading all of them. He barely even read Jenny's. 

Parse was a good captain when he wasn't trying to convince Whiskey not to worry. The pre-game talk boiled down to: we're awesome and they suck so let's kick ass. 

Whiskey knew what kind of attention was on him as he skated onto the ice: is he going to live up to the hype? did he deserve this? He was going to make them regret even thinking those questions. As Jenny liked to say, he was worth all this and more, and it was about time the rest of the world saw that too. 

One goal and one assist when they won the game 2-1. Not bad. He could've done better, but apparently that wasn't a universal opinion based on all the knocks to the helmet and pats on the back the team gave him. 

He checked his phone by rote at the end of the press and showers, but it was more of the same. All the people that sent him well wishes for a good game sent him congratulations. Jenny's text in particular was exuberant, lots of keysmashing, exclamation points, and all caps messages. 

Most of the guys congratulated him on the goal before they left for the night, but fucking Parse had to make it awkward. "Nice game." 

Whiskey nodded, digging his thumb into the arch of his left foot so it wouldn't cramp up on him in the middle of the night. It was always the left foot, and it was always directly after a game and never practice; he didn't know why, but it was annoying. When Parse didn't immediately keep moving, Whiskey said, "That was a sweet shot you made." 

Kent snorted. "Thanks. Looks like it was a damn good decision to put us on a line together." 

"Yeah." 

It was silent for a minute as they went about getting dressed. Their stalls were right next to each other, which meant that Whiskey caught glimpses of tan, muscled skin even though he wasn't looking. His foot was really pissing him off right now because it still didn't feel better. "It's not a big deal if you fuck up at the next game, y'know." 

Whiskey's hands stuttered over his shoelace for a moment, but Parse probably didn't notice. 

"I know it feels like the end of the fucking world if you don't do well, but it's not a big deal. Most rookies don't make it on the team of their choice or make a goal in the first half of the season let alone their first game. Even if you start sucking, no one here's going to care." 

Whiskey got the feeling that Parse was going to keep going unless he agreed with him, so he said, "Yeah." He could feel Parse's eyes on him, and it was clear that he didn't believe Whiskey. It would've been annoying, but he dropped it instead of pushing, and it felt like Whiskey could breathe again. 

*

He had a point streak going. No one that he only heard from over the phone noticed. After his first game, the supportive texts had tapered off. His parents still sent them, when they remembered when his games were. They tried, but they didn't follow hockey-- they followed their son. Jenny, on the other hand, knew about all of his games and watched them when she could. Between her school work and getting used to a new state though, Whiskey didn't expect for her to be on top of it. Besides, he didn't need people telling him 'good luck' like it would actually help how he played. 

The other Aces knew about the point streak, and they joked that they'd be making him take vodka shots after each game that he kept it going if he were legal. Parse knew about the point streak, and he was still worried about the stress that Whiskey was supposedly going to crack under. No matter how many times he told Parse that he was fine, he didn't look convinced. He just... he would always fucking smirk and knock his knuckles against Connor's shoulder and say something like, "Whatever you say, man. Wanna grab some coffee?" And Whiskey always wanted to even though he kind of didn't like coffee, but he declined. Parse didn't mean anything by it other than they were becoming a popular duo on the ice and he was Whiskey's captain, but Whiskey didn't do one-on-one outings unless it was with Jenny. 

He shouldn't have been surprised that Kent would keep offering when his streak inevitably ended. The only reason he said yes this time, was because he didn't open with sympathy. They were getting dressed after showers, and he said, "Wanna grab some coffee? We're gonna be on the red-eye flying back, and I don't think I've ever seen you sleep on the plane. Don't worry about it, dude, you'll get used to it after a year or two." 

Whiskey should say no. He didn't want to. Not making a goal this game wasn't a tragedy. They still won the game, and he'd gotten two assists. He'd played his best game, and that was what mattered. "Yeah." He'd figure out what to get once they actually got there. 

It was pretty damn obvious Parse was surprised by him agreeing, but he didn't let it show other than an extra smug smirk on his face as they left. Parse kept up a bit of chatter as they took a cab to the coffeehouse he recommended, but it was about the game they'd just finished, so Whiskey didn't have to pay too much attention. Mostly he looked out the window and didn't shift to accommodate the restlessness his body kept insisting on feeling. 

Whiskey felt like a kid trailing after Parse as they got out of the cab and walked into the coffee shop. He looked at the menu and felt his stomach curl at the idea of drinking anything with espresso in it. There were blended drinks, and those were basically milkshakes, right? Not that he'd had a lot of milkshakes that he could remember since he'd been trying so hard to stay in shape for hockey, but he had vaguely good memories of them. And then he remembered that it wasn't allowed in the current diet plan. 

Parse ordered, then looked over at him expectantly. 

"What?" 

"C'mon and order." 

"I can pay for myself." 

Parse raised an eyebrow-- with that fucking smirk on his face-- and nodded towards the register. 

Whiskey could either deny it again and get embarrassed when Parse insisted, or he could give in. He grit his teeth, then muttered, "Small lemonade, please," to the cashier. He knew that Parse thought he was overreacting. It was a lemonade. It cost, at most, three dollars. Even before Whiskey had gotten his signing bonus, he would've been able to pay for someone else's drink at that price, and Parse had been in the NHL for years now. It wasn't a big deal. He couldn't unclench his jaw. 

Parse didn't make it A Thing, and Whiskey let himself be grateful that he didn't always push. Parse commented on the song playing over the speakers as they waited for their drinks. Something inane about coffee shops playing indie songs instead of pop. "Want to walk back to the hotel?" 

"Sure." 

Parse didn't say anything for a while, and Whiskey hoped that he knew where their hotel was, because he had no idea. You'd think that cities would be the same no matter which side of the country you're from, but apparently not. He might as well have been walking around in Britain for how little he knew what was going on. When he did start talking, Whiskey wished he would've kept his damn mouth shut. "I know this isn't something you want to hear, but you remind me of Jack." 

Whiskey was about to take his chances finding the way back to the hotel by himself, but Kent continued before he could turn the other direction and leave. 

"Not the way you play, but you have this look like you're one bad game away from freaking the fuck out. He nearly died when it got to be too much for him, and I don't want that to happen to you." 

This was not a conversation he ever wanted to have. Pressure wasn't new. He'd lost games before, and he'd been fine. He figured out what he needed to work on, and then he practiced until it wasn't a problem anymore. The stakes were higher now that he was playing pro, but he knew how to deal with it. Some of the guys out there had been playing almost as long as he'd been alive, and he was supposed to be able to match that. If he let himself get too comfortable, he wouldn't be game-ready. He wasn't pushing himself more than he could take and all he wanted was for everyone to shut the fuck up about it. "I'm not suicidal," he said, having to shove the words past his teeth. His jaw felt like it had been welded shut, and he couldn't figure out how to unstick it. 

"Zimms wasn't either. He OD'd on his fucking anxiety meds that he got from the doctor his parents sent him to. It was all legit and that didn't do him any fucking good. He was so out of it that he couldn't think through taking twenty of them wouldn't make him twenty times less anxious. You're doing great out there. You don't need to win every single game to be worth something." It made him feel a little better to see that Kent didn't want to be having this conversation either. It also helped to know that this wasn't about Whiskey. It was about Parse feeling guilty for not helping his friend earlier. One little glimmer from Whiskey made him think of Zimms, and now he was wigging out over it. 

"I don't have anxiety." 

Parse snorted. "Yeah okay." 

It would sound defensive if he repeated it, so he took a sip of the lemonade. He didn't know if it was supposed to taste this sugary or if it was a bad choice by that shop. 

"Look, you don't want to talk about it, and I'm tired of feeling like I'm looking over your shoulder all the damn time." 

"Is there a trick to telling you how to drop it?" Whiskey asked, mostly not joking, but if Parse got upset, he was going to pretend that it was. 

"Just promise me that if it ever gets bad, you'll ask for help. Me, one of the guys, a friend, your parents, I don't care. Just- someone." 

Whiskey could've insisted that he wasn't in a position of needing help-- not now or anytime soon-- but that would've taken longer and Parse would've kept worrying about him to the point that he wanted to avoid him. Avoiding Parse wasn't anything he ever wanted to try and do, so he said, "Fine." Then, when that sounded insincere, he added, "I will." 

Parse nodded, then took a drink of his coffee. "Now that that bullshit's out of the way, do you think that Harvey can keep up with..." he continued on, and they fell back on the safe topic: the other team's stats. They weren't on the home stretch for a playoff's spot yet, but Whiskey had to think ahead to make sure the timeline was solid in his head. 

*

They made it to the playoffs, but all Whiskey could think about was the fucking stupid mistake he'd made in the last game. He hadn't missed a good pass that completely since he was fourteen fucking years old. And he'd missed it from Parse of all people. 

The media scrum after that felt like so many layers of bullshit, but he kept on his media smile and answered all of the questions like he was supposed to. 

Parse didn't ask him how he was afterwards, and Whiskey almost wished that he drank alcohol because that would make getting to sleep easier. Parse clapped him on the back like he did every time they parted ways, and that was that. 

He'd fucked up at a game-- over something so goddamn simple he felt like clawing his hair out-- and other than two questions from the media, there hadn't been a reaction. The coaches might ask if he and Parse needed more one-on-one time, but that was going to be the extent of it. 

Jenny didn't even mention it when she said that he had a great game. He didn't know if that's because she hadn't noticed or if it was a conscious decision on her part not to bring it up. Either way, he was happy not to talk about it. 

*

For all that Whiskey and Parse had talked about playoffs and the Cup, he was still shocked when they made it to the final round. Aces versus Penguins. It felt like his mind was a static screen on an old television. Crackling loud enough to be annoying but nonsensical enough that it could be tuned out if you tried. There was the occasional jump like a mental exclamation point just to keep things interesting. 

This didn't happen. Rookies didn't win the Cup their first year when they were playing on first line unless they were Kent goddamn Parson. Whiskey knew himself; he was no Kent Parson. He felt like he couldn't breathe. Jesus christ this was a bad time to have that mental break Kent had been worried about. It was the first game, he needed to be in the right head space to bring his A game because anything else wouldn't cut it, not at this point in the finals. 

As fate would have it, Kent was the one to get him out of his head. He kicked Whiskey's leg as they were getting suited up, more of a nudge than anything else. 

Whiskey looked over at him. Any hope he had that nobody noticed how much he was freaking out was dashed when he saw the expression on Kent's face. Always smiling, the bastard, but it was less teasing than usual. "If we lose, we lose." 

Whiskey snorted. "You don't tell anyone else on the team that." 

"Nobody else on the team needs to hear it. Getting this far your rookie year? That's some gold star level shit. You've got the rest of your career made, whether we lose or not. We've got at least four games before it's all down the gutter anyways. Have you ever had four piss poor games in a row?" 

"There's a first time for everything," Whiskey muttered. 

"Win or lose, you and me are going to celebrate. You'll finally get a proper introduction to the queen of my life, Kit Purrson." 

"Did you name her that yourself?" 

"I am my own biggest fan," he said with a wink. 

"Not true," Whiskey said, shaking head. The words slipped out before he could stop them, but Kent wouldn't think anything of it, right? He was one of the most popular players in the entire league, plenty of people admired him. 

"Does that mean that if we win, you'll be my biggest fan?" Kent said, and there was a lilt there, almost flirtatious. But no, that was just in Whiskey's head. 

"If we win, I'll be your new best friend." 

"That makes it sound like we're not best friends already." 

Whiskey was about to refute that, but he paused before anything came out. Shit. When did that happen? "I'll fight Kit for the position." 

"Saying that my best friend is my cat?" Kent let out a low whistle. "Harsh, Whisk. Real harsh." 

Inexplicably, the tightness in his chest was gone. 

*

They won. They won. Holy shit, they won. Connor was smiling so widely it felt like his face was going to get split in half. When the Cup made it around to him, he felt like he was fucking glowing as he lifted it over his head and cheered. Kent and Connor had both gotten a goal in the final game, and the one before this, the Aces had gotten a shut-out. The time before last, they'd won in overtime. They'd lost two games, but he'd felt pretty good about it, and now they had won. 

Whiskey was feeling the high of victory, and he'd like to be able to say that it was an impulse decision after the dust settled, but it wasn't. The reason he'd had the courage for it was because he was a fucking rookie and he'd gotten a goal in the game that won them the Stanley Cup, but no, it wasn't an impulse. If it had been an impulse, he wouldn't have waited until after the game when it was just the two of them heading back to the hotel so they could change for the team's victory outing. (Scraps had decided that the second best player on their team didn't need a babysitter. "If you can get a hattie, you can find your way back to the hotel," he'd said with a snort, knocking a fist on Whiskey's helmet after he'd brought it up after a game.) 

Kent watched Whiskey rummage through his bag, amused. "I know you packed victory clothes." 

"Scraps made me," he muttered. This was a pretty small bag, he didn't understand how he was missing it. 

"That's how I know you packed 'em." 

He finally found the button-down-- dark red and tighter than he normally would have have gotten for himself because Jenny had bought it for him and said it made him look hot-- and yanked it out victoriously. And, of course, dark jeans for the other half of his outfit, but he'd found those as soon as he opened the bag. 

"That's what you're wearing?" 

Whiskey gave him a flat look-- or as flat a look as he could managed when he was still smiling from the win. "Are you doing more plaid?" 

"Hey, I wasn't judging," Kent said, holding his hands up in surrender. "I was surprised you even have a shirt with buttons." 

Connor flipped him off, but he was grinning. 

"All my plaid has buttons, don't give me that. All you ever wear is t-shirts." 

"They're comfortable," he defended, getting to his feet. He pulled off the compression shirt he'd been wearing after the game and slid his arms through the sleeves of the button-down. 

Kent snorted. "You say that like my clothes aren't comfortable." 

"How would I know?" Connor asked, starting at the bottom and working his way up as he fastened the buttons. "I don't get why you're all dragging me out, anyways." 

"You don't know?" Kent repeated incredulously. "Dude! We just won the Stanley Cup! This is a once in your career sort of event, you need to get wasted and play shitty drinking games." 

"I'm underage, I won't be able to drink anywhere we go." 

"Connor," Kent said, laying his hands on his shoulders and affecting severity. Connor's hands froze halfway up his shirt to look Kent in the eye. He had this fucking gleam like they owned the goddamn world and they were going to make the most of it. "We won the Cup. Nobody's going to fucking card you. And even if they want to, you don't question the guy that comes in with a bunch of obviously over-age professional hockey players." He started to get his normal smirk back, and all Connor could think was that he wanted to kiss it off of him. So he did. 

He leaned forward, hands going from his own shirt to fist in Kent's. 

It was only a fraction of a second before Kent was kissing him back, hands sliding up to his neck as they both shifted closer to get to a better angle. Kent met him for every kiss, both of them pressing harder and harder until both their lips were swollen and Connor was about to have to move his hands so he could see if Kent was as effected by this as he was, but a loud knock on the door stopped them. 

"Yo, Whiskey! Stop primping we gotta go celebrate!" Swoops shouted. 

Connor cleared his throat quietly, then yelled back, "I'm almost done!" 

"You seen Parse? Bro's not in his room!" 

"We were talking shit about all of you that didn't win the Cup your rookie year," Kent called in the direction of the door. He took half a step back, and Connor reluctantly let go of his shirt; there were wrinkles where he'd gripped the fabric so tightly that it wasn't bouncing like it normally would have. 

"We're all champions today, asshole!" There was a loud thump that sounded like he'd kicked the door. "Get downstairs in the next five minutes or we're not waiting for you!" Swoops was never one for keeping his mouth shut, so when nothing else was forthcoming, it was obvious that he'd left to go wait downstairs like he said. 

"We should probably go," Kent said, ruffling his hair. It's not like Connor had had his hands in it, but it looked a little messy, regardless. 

"We could stay here," Connor offered tentatively. 

Kent's eyes shot to the side, and Connor's stomach dropped. "That's uh-" The hand that was in his hair clenched, and it looked painful. He let go after a second. "I'm your captain," he said quietly. "If anyone found out, I could get kicked off the team. Nobody else would sign me, and-" 

"It's fine," Whiskey said, offering a lopsided smile. He combed his fingers through his hair then buttoned his shirt the rest of the way. "I wasn't thinking about any of that, you know? Felt good, so I just kinda..." he trailed off, not knowing where he was going with it. Anything he said would be a lie, anyways. Kent would probably be able to tell. 

"Yeah, it's fine," Kent said with a responding smile that looked a little less awkward than Whiskey's own. "I don't wanna- um-" he cut off, messing with his hair reflexively. "It probably wouldn't be a good idea to hook up with any guys unless you're planning on coming out." 

Whiskey shook his head, because that was something he never planned on doing, right alongside this conversation that he never wanted to have. All the guys-- Parse included-- thought that he had a girlfriend, and it would be for the best if he continued to let everyone think that; it's why him and Jenny had gotten together in the first place. "Go on," he said, slapping Parse companionably on the shoulder, "you should get changed before Swoops follows up on his threat." 

Parse snorted. "He wouldn't do that." 

Whiskey raised an eyebrow. 

"The captain pays for the first round," he explained, and Whiskey laughed, shaking his head.

[kenobios]

rotj: my thoughts

positives and negatives. spoilers ahead

so, i wasn’t gonna write one of these but i felt i needed to get some stuff off my chest so i can move on. i was just gonna pretend this movie didn’t happen but i think i can come to eventually accept that it did now that i’ve had time to digest everything.

POSITIVES:

- honestly... from my first viewing there isn’t a lot i like. but i’m sure this will improve the more i watch the film and actually have the chance to form an opinion on more things within such a hectic onslaught of information. - i laughed. c3po and that little fixer dude were genuinely funny (to me). dio (sp?) was super cute too. tbh i never cared much for droids (my obi-wan is coming thru here) but i actually enjoyed them so that’s a win for me - very pretty film. visually spectacular.  - fast-paced. not boring for a second (to me). kept me entertained. - rey’s yellow lightsaber. i actually liked this even tho it doesn’t match up with current canon (yellow being for temple guards). it reminded me of bastila and i was just waiting for her to show it off as a double-sided saber... which i didn’t get but it still looked like it was built for it so i’ll take the win. - the idea of palpatine being powerful again but it would have been cool to see a younger version of himself - rey and ben teaming up and the intimate moment they shared which felt genuinely beautiful and was one of the highlights for me

now here’s the ISSUES i have off the top of my head, some of them having been mentioned on this blog before:

- the trio. everyone else has already said it. forced and uncomfortable. it felt like they were setting up a love triangle for the first half of the movie as well, which was weird. when they had poe and rey have those ‘moments’ or when they bickered with each other i was like ‘they better not be tryna spring up some hanleia dynamic on us for the last film between these two’ especially while also baiting finnrey (which is never touched upon again after the first half of the movie, yikes)

- towards the end of the film, i turned to the person next to me and said “this reminds me of a video game plot” - i couldn’t pinpoint exactly why that was, but it was just a feeling. and not a deep, thorough video game plot either. another reviewer said something similar. it’s just... very shallow, expository and it feels like it’s dragging you and the characters through very railroaded and forced missions/battles. i mean at the start they’re really just looking for something, going to someone, that person says they need to talk to someone else for the thing, they go to another person, etc. which is a type of mission device used in games as well. it also felt to me like one of those japanese otome games where rey is the bland female character that all the male characters fall for (poe, finn, kylo) and she gets her pick of which one she wants to romance, which was cringe.

- i didn’t hear the characters. i only heard what they were forcing the characters to say in order to progress the plot or explain the plot. the characters themselves became faceless inserts for exposition. so many times i heard a character say something and thought... that was a jarring piece of dialogue that seems both out of character and unnatural to say at that point in time.

- although i said being fast-paced could be a positive, it was largely a negative for me. at one point it felt like slide transitions were happening at minute intervals. a major plot point would be revealed and then no time is given to process, it’s onto the next major scene. this left everything feeling very rushed and messy, which i believe is due to half the film being cut for time constraints.

- each character is either twisted into an unrecognisable character, or ignored/not given the time they deserve. rey? blank slate female protag with a famous bloodline and who barely reacts to the things going on around her (leia dying, ben dying, she disregards her ‘friends’ on multiple occasions). like others, i always defended rey’s abilities, but this film is too much. she has been made a mary sue. finn? rendered nothing but the ‘friend’ pining after a girl and only briefly gets time with his own story which is never fully explored in this film by any means. poe? turned into a grumpy, seemingly jealous ‘friend’ with a shady past that felt like they were trying to make him the ‘han solo’ of the trio rather than going with what we already know about his character. leia? now this is hard, and i respect what they tried to do, but i still felt like her death could have been done a bit better rather than the quick ‘shock’ moment it was. also the stuff with luke training her is a no for me. way too shoe-horned and part of what made leia cool to me was that she was a skywalker but didn’t need to be a jedi. her powers were elsewhere. kylo? don’t get me started. rose? who? she may as well not have been in this movie with the way they ignored her character and showed how little the other characters care about her. it broke my heart.

- rey palpatine? though i’m a rey kenobi fan, i was happy with rey nobody. i liked what it stood for. i didn’t mind the idea of rey palpatine in theory, but the way they force-fed this to us in the film rather than building it up left a bad taste in my mouth and i’m going to have to pass on it. if they wanted to have her related to palpatine, they should have just made her a clone imo. it would have matched with what was being built up prior (in tlj with the clones in the cave), it would have explained her ties to the dark side, it would have completed the palpatine/skywalker poetry, and it would have still been congruent with her being a ‘nobody’ since that’s essentially what clones are seen as in star wars. also we wouldn’t have to think about the fact palpatine got laid. laboratories were already set up in jakku by palpatine. cloning itself was shown in rots anyway (snoke) so? 

- although i’ve wanted ben to be redeemed... it still felt too rushed in this film. also, he does display some toxic tendencies as kylo ren towards rey (trying to manipulate her to go with him) which didn’t sit well with me but i didn’t really see ben/kylo ren in his scenes sometimes anyway, since he was also forcibly used to give exposition to us/rey. i did like his scene with his mother and father in the film but i just needed more than that to really feel his redemption rather than the quick switch we got. 

- i originally wasn’t okay with the whole ‘bringing someone back to life through the force’ thing since i always liked the idea palpatine was just saying that to honeypot anakin, but decided i’m willing to accept it as a unique ability they had for each other due to their force bond. but then... ben dies anyway. and it’s done in such a way that leaves you feeling ‘wtf just happened?’. it was random, forced, didn’t feel necessary and it just... happened. no one reacted to it. he wasn’t referred to or mentioned after this. the last skywalker goes out just like that. poof. okay. so was this a shock death or was jj genuinely trying to appease people who didn’t think ben deserved redemption or to live? either way ben lived such a sad, cruel, manipulated life that his death seemed unfair and we’re all supposed to think this movie is hopeful and celebrate a few minutes later? i don’t think so. in fact, everything that happens after that scene feels incredibly uncomfortable because of the massive tonal shift.

- the kiss. ok don’t hate me. i enjoy reylo. but i honestly think the kiss wasn’t exactly... needed? maybe it was just because everything else felt so forced but it felt a little forced in this scene for me. for me, the hug ben gave rey just beforehand spoke more volumes of their intimacy. i did mention their intimate moments above as a positive, so i still like this overall moment (in addition to the moment rey heals him). but the hug spoke enough to me that it would have been nice to keep it more subtle yet obvious enough (thanks to their acting) that they cared deeply for one another. but then again, this is what i felt before i knew ben died, so. idk. i guess it would suck for ben to die without having kissed rey? how about just don’t kill ben off. have them hug instead of kiss and then leave us to fill in the gaps as they both live. how about that.

- the rey skywalker thing is embarrassing. and rey ended up alone in the desert... just how she started. i just can’t. by the time this came on the screen i was ready to leave. i only stayed because i HOPED there would be an after credits showing her on the falcon, or her training finn to be a jedi, or her speaking with any of the force ghosts (luke or ben or anakin).

- speaking of which. why were there no force ghosts in the scene where she fights palpatine? we just get voices? that scene really lacked impact and the whole fight sequence just felt blah. palpatine came back super strong and then he was gone in moments. there should have a) been force ghosts or some kind of visual presence of the jedi to help rey whether physically or just boosting morale and b) ben should have fought palpatine with her.

- why is rey alone in the desert? i honestly didn’t think this meant she was going to be a hermit until i came online and saw that’s what everyone else thought. but just... why? why is she not passing on the jedi ways she fought to keep alive? or the knowledge she has gained/kept in the sacred jedi texts she stole? surely not. surely that is her plan. surely ben saved her not just because he loved her but also because she can carry on the skywalker legacy NOT by dying alone in a desert but by training new jedi. (which, again, SHOULD HAVE BEEN FINN AS THE FIRST NEW JEDI!) or better yet, a new type of jedi that don’t follow toxic ways but that incorporate both the light and dark side of the force like she does? and calling THEM skywalkers? but nope. instead she ended up back where she started. except with less personality this time.

- i can’t talk enough about how cool it would have been to have jedi!finn at the end. talk about coming full circle from the promo baits they had for TFA of finn with the lightsaber. AT LEAST GIVE US THIS.

- the whole movie just felt like a massive disrespect to the previous film. everything rian built was trampled on, retconned or ignored. say what you want about tlj and rian, but this is what happens when you ignore or try to retcon the preceding film whether you like it or not. everything feels messy and the plots get screwed up. this movie would have been largely different (better) had they not tried so hard to pretend tlj didn’t exist. even if you didn’t like it, take the plot and mould it into something you do like. don’t just toss it aside and lose all sense of continuity between the films. i don’t blame jj for this exactly, but rather the disney committee that were too afraid to acknowledge tlj’s existence due to the reception it got from fans and thus felt the need to have jj ‘fix/retcon’ things rather than build upon/improve things.

- oh yeah hux. that happened, i guess. i thought it was weird and it kinda sucked that they did that. who cares about the new guy? general pride or whatever? no one. surely making general hux more menacing couldn’t have been THAT hard. but no. we get a rather silly death instead. alright. at least he can forever be known as the petty king of star wars.

- there’s probably more. i could write an essay but i’m getting tired of complaining already so i’m leaving it here. if you happened to read this far and want to talk about it with me some more, my DMs are open!

overall, i just hope some canon content is going to be released, either in the form of a book or a comic, that explores more of this following the movie. i want to know more about finn’s story. i want to see whether rey does stay on tatooine or whether she trains jedi. i want to see whether she communicates with ben through the force, or just, y’know, any closure on that would be nice. i want to see the director’s cut with the other half of the movie. then, perhaps, i will know peace.

[nyangibun]

GoT S08E02 Thoughts

So due to packing and getting my life sorted, I haven’t had time to watch the latest episode until today. Anyway, here are my thoughts on the episode!

Disclaimer: This is a Jonsa/Pol!Jon-goggled review so please just ignore this if you don’t like that stuff. It’s truly easy to just scroll past. 

Even though I expected it, I can’t help but feel so disappointed and annoyed by Dani. How can she lack such self-awareness? She’s sitting there condemning Jaime, a man she doesn’t even know, for the crime of killing her father when said father also murdered Rickard and Brandon Stark. She is acting as if she has undergone some tragic loss when she never met her father and Dani’s circumstances were entirely caused by her own family (although being hunted was Robert Baratheon’s). Jaime is not innocent by any means. There are plenty of crimes he committed he could be tried for; however, killing Aerys the Mad King was not one of them.

Dani also can’t just condemn a man for killing her father when her father was out there murdering innocent people, while a season ago asked Jon to not hold the crimes of her father against her. But then she also can’t say that and still go after the Iron Throne. Basically, her logic is all kinds of messed up. What it boils down to is what Dani wants she gets by fire and blood.

Brienne vouching for Jaime was also pretty unsurprising. I expected this too but damnit it still gave me all the Braime feels and I was loving it! 

Two things struck me about this scene though and one was that Brienne doesn’t address Dani, their supposed queen, but Sansa. It makes sense because Brienne is loyal to only Sansa and it’s her authority/leadership she follows. And the second was as Brienne was vouching for Jaime, Sansa’s face changes from being angry to immediately compassion and understanding, even to the point where it looked like she was holding back tears. Sansa doesn’t trust easily, with good reason, but the people she does trust, she does so wholeheartedly and with unwavering faith. If Brienne says Jaime is to be trusted, that he is an honourable man who helped save Sansa because of his promise to Catelyn, then there is no reason for Sansa to doubt that. All is not forgiven, I imagine, but if he has protected Brienne and stayed honourable to her mother, that’s all Sansa needs. 

I also like that Jon takes Sansa’s side. Although I think another factor of it was also simply what he said: they need all the men they could get. But Jon trusts Sansa’s judgment and if she is willing to pardon him then he will to, and that’s the nature of their partnership/relationship. This dynamic has come up so many times in the past 3 seasons. They fight and bicker but at the end of the day, no matter what, they’re a team.  

I wonder if Dani notices this too. Their dynamic is very much Lord and Lady of Winterfell, not in just the way they compliment each other as leaders but also visually. Additionally, this dynamic is also emphasised by the way others address both of them. They look to Sansa first, Jon second and Dani as an afterthought. For instance, after Jaime is pardoned, Sansa ups and leaves right away without excusing herself to Dani. Immediately after she does, Jon leaves. It could be said Jon is avoiding Dani so he leaves right away to avoid her but why have Sansa leave first and him right after? It looks like he is following after her so they can speak in private. The timing of it feels very pointed. If they wanted to point out that Jon was avoiding Dani, there was no need to have Sansa leave first, before everyone else.  

The scene with Tyrion and Dani feels very telling. I have always been of the opinion that sometime soon both Varys and Tyrion will become disillusioned by Dani and see her for who she is (Varys is already beginning to, probably). But what happens here is interesting: Dani basically asks Tyrion if he is a “traitor or fool?” He responds that he’s made mistakes, ie. suggesting he is the ‘fool’ and not a traitor. Throughout the rest of the episode, after Dani’s heart to heart with Jorah, she begins to ease off of Tyrion and tentatively trust him again to lead her to the Iron Throne. I feel like this emphasis and the initial question -- all of it is suggesting that Tyrion may, in fact, become a traitor to Dani. 

What makes me believe this, even more, is Tyrion’s conversation with Jaime. Although Jaime doesn’t say anything particularly negative about Dani, it is what he’s not saying that’s telling about how he truly feels about her and who she would become as queen. This isn’t the first time speculations over how good of a queen she would be have been brought up around Tyrion. In general, the topic of Dani as queen is a contentious one in any case for many characters in GoT but the fact that it is consistently brought up to Tyrion and he has to consistently defend her feels like it’s leading to a point where Tyrion won’t be able to defend her actions. He has thus far been justifying her decisions, making excuses and trying to convince others (and himself) that she will be a good and just queen, but Dani is going to do something soon that he won’t be able to explain away and that will be when he will have to reevaluate exactly what kind of world he is helping her build. 

But moving on... GENDRYA!! I did not expect this and I have doubts this will happen in the books, but shit, we still got Gendry and Arya getting down and dirty and I am here for it! Although with that said, this makes me worry about the fate of Gendry. I saw a post where someone mentioned this episode was the Starks saying goodbye to the people in their past (separate) lives. If such is the case, would Gendry live to see the end of this? I don’t know if Gendrya was ever a part of GRRM’s plans but I do feel that Gendry has a larger role to play. The fact that he is Robert Baratheon’s bastard hasn’t come up as a plot point at all since the Melissandre. He was supposed to keep his parentage a secret but he has willingly blabbed it to both Jon and Arya. There has to be something bigger that will involve Gendry so I don’t believe he’ll die in this battle. I do however think he might die for his parentage. A foil, perhaps, to Jon’s parentage reveal. 

Slight brief moment to squee at Proud Mama Brienne watching her son Podrick teaching someone how to fight. The duo I never knew I needed! 

I have to say that this episode has been Braime GOLD. Everything about their interactions have just hit my shippy heart in all the right way. Jaime telling Brienne that he came all the way here to “serve under her command” was basically a love confession. Am I wrong? I mean... please. 

Maybe it’s my Jonsa goggles, but I can’t help feeling like Dani and Jorah’s scene serves as a direct contrast to Jon and Dani later. Even in Season 7, they highlighted how Jorah and Dani say goodbye versus the lacklustre dismissive way Jon said goodbye to Dani. Here, they show the way Jorah looks at Dani and attempts to get her to listen to him, but you don’t have that with Jon and Dani at all. Their interactions are physical. There is no scene where they sit and talk about their problems, try to help each other/give advice. There is no sense that they are a team, whereas Jorah and Dani are (granted he is her subordinate but so is Jon) and Jon and Sansa are (an equal partnership). It’s just different and it’s obvious it is. 

Anyway, speaking of Sansa and Dani. There is a lot to unpack in their scene together. I feel like everything Sansa has had to learn about appeasing her captors has led her directly to Dani. Although Dani is not more intelligent than Cersei or Petyr or even Ramsay, she is volatile and unpredictable, which makes her more dangerous, especially considering the sheer power she wields. Sansa isn’t dumb enough to underestimate her. 

When she tells Dani that Jon loves her and men do stupid things for love, it’s actually the opposite. If we’re going by what Sansa has experienced, it hasn’t really been under the vein of “men doing stupid, terrible things for love”, it has been “women doing stupid, terrible things for love”. Cersei, for instance, has done horrible things in the name of love (for her children) and Sansa has seen this firsthand and had to endure those horrible things from her and her children (or rather Joffrey). Then you have Aunt Lysa who has done and would’ve done terrible things to Sansa in the name of love (for Petyr). And who else has Sansa encountered? Myranda. Her love for Ramsay has made her do seriously evil things and Sansa has witnessed and experienced all of this. The only time she has witnessed a man in love is Petyr (and his ‘love’ is questionable at best) but he hasn’t done terrible, horrible things for love. He has done terrible things for himself under the guise of love. Sansa knows this too. So when she is saying this to Dani, I don’t believe that she is actually talking about Jon at all. She is talking about Dani and she is worried for Jon, worried he is being manipulated by Dani and will pay the consequences for her love. Among that worry is also what I believe is jealousy. 

Look at the framing of the question. Dani is trying to make peace with Sansa; she is asking why exactly aren’t they seeing eye to eye as women (which is another thing that annoyed me because this idea that women must support all women is dumb and not feminist; women aren’t infallible to being evil or even just disagreeing on fundamental principles & future goals and that’s what you have here with Sansa and Dani). When Sansa doesn’t answer, there is a pause where the camera is focused on Sansa. She is clearly restraining herself. There is anguish there, so when Dani asks “your brother?”, it’s framed in a way that makes it sound like Dani is confronting Sansa about her feelings about her brother. While Sansa diverts the conversation, Dani does nail it on the head. There is tension between them because of Jon. Another point where they seem to be setting up a love triangle. 

There are actually quite a few lines from this scene that feels like misdirection and/or hints towards something else. Sansa saying “families are complicated” feels pointed considering how utterly complicated it really is and how clueless they both are to the extent of their complicated families entangled with each other. Then Dani saying “tell me who manipulated whom?” to emphasise her love for Jon felt like one of those tv trope moments like you never say “it can’t possibly get any worse than this” and in the next moment, it clearly does for the main characters. That line felt like that. As does Dani’s whole spiel about trusting Jon wholeheartedly and him being the second man for whom she does trust that way. Saying “he’s true to his word”. It all feels like an ominous foreshadowing. So imo, Pol!Jon is still well and truly alive. 

The ending between Sansa and Dani felt perfect to illustrate what I said above about women not needing to support each other to be considered ‘feminists’. Sansa and Dani are both truly strong and fearless leaders who have risen above the men who deemed them unfit for their gender. That is certainly something worth celebrating, but this is where the similarity ends. Fundamentally, Sansa and Dani have two completely, opposing goals and principles. Dani wants the Iron Throne, by all means, necessary and that includes total and complete control over the Seven Kingdoms. Sansa wants independence for her people and the North; for them to never have to bend the knee to a foreign ruler and go fight in someone else’s war. These two objectives conflict and Sansa is smart to remind Dani definitively that this is something she won’t budge on. Perhaps it will invite Dani’s ire in later episodes so maybe not too smart but as a leader, Sansa is making sure her people’s voices are heard.  

Moving forward to the next scene, I first have to say that the Theon and Sansa reunion hug was everything I ever wanted from this!! Their friendship has been something I’ve loved in GoT and I’ve been waiting for this for so long. I could feel the emotion between them and I have to applaud both Sophie and Alfie for their performances. 

But speaking of the scene itself, there is only one thing I’d like to point out, which is something I already touched upon. When it comes to authority in the North, Dani may have it in title but it’s Sansa who has the true power and authority. Theon greets Dani but he looks to only Sansa for permission to fight and defend Winterfell. 

Okay, so the reveal... I saw a lot of people saying that Jenny’s Song being sung in this episode suggests that Jon will give up his throne for Dani. But... no?? That’s not it. There is a beautiful meta somewhere out here about Jenny of Oldstones and her relation to Sansa Stark, so I suggest finding it if you can (or linking it if you have it). But essentially, this is my opinion: Jenny of Oldstones was from the Riverlands and Duncan Targaryen renounced his throne for her. All of the Stark children have a connection to the Riverlands through their Tully blood on Catelyn’s side, but Sansa has always been the Stark child that had the most connection to her Tully side. Visually, she has the Tully look (as did Robb, Bran, and Rickon) but she is also most visually paralleled to Catelyn (as well as quite literally being said to look similar to Catelyn). House Tully’s words “Family, Duty, Honour” are also most embodied through Sansa’s narrative arc. Therefore, this song could suggest instead that Jon, a Targaryen like Duncan, will renounce his throne for a non-Targaryen girl from the Riverlands, Sansa. 

I personally don’t think it means he’d renounced his throne for Dani. It doesn’t make sense for a Targaryen to renounce his throne for a Targaryen. Not to mention that Jenny’s Song and the history surrounding it is more than likely a song about the Prince That Was Promised, which we now know is Jon and not Dani. That difference will become a point of conflict between both Jon and Dani, as we are already given a glimpse of when Jon reveals his parentage to her. Dani’s whole identity has been founded on this idea that she was the last living Targaryen, the true heir to the Iron Throne, and when Melissandre came to see her, she also adopted the title of Prince(ss) That Was Promised in her mind. Dani’s foundation relies on being the ‘most special’ but here comes Jon, who is destroying every wall she had built around herself and not in the good way. It is telling after all that after the reveal the thing Dani focuses on isn’t that they are related but rather that Jon now has a claim to the Iron Throne. She is immediately suspicious and paranoid. Remember, Aerys the Mad King was not always mad. He was actually once generous and wise (had a ‘good heart’) but he began succumbing to his paranoia, believing those around him were out for his power and that led to his ultimate insanity. Dani instantly focusing on Jon’s claim to the throne rather than their relation or that she is no longer alone and has family is evidence of her growing paranoia. It had been building over the past seasons.  

That is mainly all I have to say but I do want to just point out some stuff I loved: 

- The Group Pow Wow!!! Yeah, that was adorable. I love every single character in that room and them all being there together was great.

- Brienne is finally knighted!! Tormund’s proud dumb face and Jaime knighting made my shippy heart cry happily!

- Lyanna Mormont, may I adopt you?? 

- The Bromance That Was Promised!! Looooove Ed, Jon and Sam so much!

- WE FINALLY SAW GHOST BUT JFC WHAT A SHITTY CAMEO. GIVE ME MORE GHOST!!!!  

- Overall, it was not bad. It’s just... we have 6 episodes and for 2 episodes, nothing really has happened except for the reveal. It’s a lot of moving parts which I know is needed but does that mean the next 4 will be super rushed?? 

[fire-fira]

I-I need more Lab Escape AU ;-;

I have another fic in the works (not yet done unfortunately), but! Since you asked I’ll give you a small preview of the newest fic and some information on the boys and their reality. I hope you enjoy, and I will gladly talk about them and this AU at length– so feel free to send in whatever questions or thoughts about them that you care to. n.n

(Getting and editing this screenshot took way longer than I want to admit. lol)

————————————————————————

PREVIEW:

The eldest winced, but otherwise chose to ignore the parts of the comment he didn’t approve of. “The point is, it’s dangerous. I know we want to get out, I know we want to leave and never come back, but there are a lot of ways it can gowrong.”

The youngest snorted. “We already have their shifts memorized. We know where the cameras are in here. So we time things right. We get out. We leave and don’t look back.”

“We don’t know outside of this room. Not well enough,” the eldest insisted. “All it would take is one misstep and then it would all be over. I don’t want to lose any of you.”

Claws dug into the nest, faintly scraping against the hard floor underneath as the second-eldest reined in a frustrated sigh with an effort. “Lenox. We don’t have a choice. If we leave we might lose one of us, but if we stay we’re not lookin’ at a ‘might be’—we’re lookin’ at a damn near guarantee. We can’t stay. If they’re gonna cut any of us open, then we need ta get out before that can happen.”

“And where will we go?” His panic was almost a choking thing, the sort of thing that made the eldest want to curl into a ball after huddling down for his own safety. Maybe if he’d been a different type of turtle he would have already withdrawn into his shell most of the way. Unfortunately that wasn’t something he was physically capable of. Even if he had been, with the wide gouge in his shell behind his left shoulder, how much physical safety it would have offered was questionable. And it wasn’t like trying to disappear into his shell would have kept the others safe the way he wanted them to be.

The third-eldest reached out to gently squeeze the eldest’s arm, reassuring. “None of us know. There’s no way to know, not while we’re here. But out there we have a better chance than we do in here.” He knew better than the other three what might happen if they didn’t leave, had a better understanding of what might be done to them in terms of the specifics— he was, after all, the one who had figured out how to read first before turning around and secretly teaching the others and had used his skills to skim through and piece together whatever he could whenever he got the opportunity. He was also the one who had figured out how to open the ventilation shaft and had crept around the facility more than once after the staff had left for the day.

The eldest choked back a worried whine. If only… If only they could go back to the way things used to be, before they had any idea… If only there was no risk of any of them being killed by the very people who claimed they wanted to protect them. They were the only four of their species that had been found, the only ones… When the eldest spoke, it was a choked whisper, forced out past the rapidly forming knot in his chest. They had been frozen long enough; their choices were to either move… or die. “Soon. I- I don’t know when. But soon.”

———————————————————————— 

WORLD/CHARACTER INFO:

For those not acquainted with this AU of mine, these are their names before Yoshi helps them change their names:

Leo – Lenox

Raph – Corsa

Donnie – Forsyth

Mikey – Verdi

Now then!The boys were found in an out-of-the-way corner of Central Park in this reality, soon after they were mutated and were still babies. They were kept together because it was pretty quickly obvious that they were social because they kept making noises at each other and expecting a response.

The scar/gouge on Leo’s shell is thanks to an incident when the boys were 6. One of the keepers was being a little too rough with one of his brothers and Leo’s knee-jerk reaction was to bite the guy’s arm as hard as he could, which wound up with him getting thrown against a wall way too hard in the guy’s efforts to get him to let go– and ultimately resulted in a severely cracked shell that lost a chunk in the course of healing. Leo has it in his head that he has to be the appeasing one and has to watch out for his brothers and their well-being, because he’s the one to regularly think of multiple scenarios and the ways they could go wrong, with various contingency plans just in case. The poor kid probably has anxiety.

Before they escaped, Raph took advantage of the fact that the staff assumed there was only so much language they could understand and thoroughly abused that fact as an excuse for having an absolutely horrendous mouth (with loads of ‘seemingly random’ strung-together vulgar phrases to make sure they wouldn’t clue in that he wasn’t just parroting). Like other versions, this Raph is one who likes/prefers to stand his ground and fight back– but he’s also highly aware of his weaknesses and so will do what he can to avoid a situation where he feels powerless. He keeps people at a distance with a lot of snapping, snarling, and bravado while also having the tendency to try to charge head-first at a problem (and damn the consequences), yet he’s got a gentle protective side that makes him want to push back against Leo’s worrying (even if he can’t see a way for things to play out that doesn’t match up with what Leo thinks might happen).

Donnie is an information SPONGE. He was the first to learn how to read (through lots of sneaky observation and carefully picking things apart in his mind) before turning around and teaching the other three, has trained himself to have a near-photographic memory (it was the easiest way for him to absorb any text he got access to when he usually only had a few moments to look), and was very easily bored out of his skull in their enclosure. There was one point where he was bored enough that he tried to climb to the top of their enclosure to get a better look at some of the detail on the ceiling and ended up slipping and breaking his left arm when he landed. He’s also the one who figured out how to open the ventilation shaft without being found out, which led the four of them to be more familiar with the complex as a whole than they otherwise would be (and was actually the source of him getting access to a lot more information). For Donnie knowledge is both power and something he’s felt starved for, so if he’s not careful and if someone doesn’t put the brakes on it fast enough, he could easily become obsessive and so absorbed in learning and information-gathering that he could completely neglect eating or sleeping, along with anything else.

Mikey is the bright ball of sunshine who manages to keep the other three from retreating and hiding or pushing themselves too far. He’s also leading the way in his hope that things will get better, and has been more willing than the other three to trust and take risks that the right people won’t harm them (like Yoshi). Because of his deliberately cheerful disposition he tends to be better equipped not to freeze in a given moment when it might be dangerous to, but he’s also extremely prone to nightmares and when he gets upset he’s prone to hiding. He’s also got a bad habit of trying to deny that anything is wrong with him because he feels like if he gives into his bad moods too much that he won’t be there for his brothers when they need him.

All four of them pushed the ultimate dad-button on Yoshi, and he gladly took them in the night he realized four terrified teenagers were hiding in the alley behind his home. He’s blind and lost his sight during the same incident that killed Tang Shen, though he can still see light and vague shapes of color. Part of his going to America in the first place was due to a falling out with his grandfather (both over who he married and that he refused to be an ‘appropriate’ heir to the clan). He runs a Shinto shrine and allows visitors to spend time in his gardens, and he’s often sought out for advice– all of which makes it easier for him to maintain the privacy of the non-public portion of his home. He rarely makes mention of his knowledge of martial arts or the fact that he was supposed to be his grandfather’s heir for the Hamato clan, unless he feels it’s worth mentioning.

April and Casey both will eventually meet the boys, but I haven’t figured out specifics yet.