#like in this book sucks there is a family tree that implies they might be related but i really think it's just a silly joke

[pinkopalina]

extremely rare shots of.... someone's? bedroom in beavis and butt-head's house

[whentheynameyoujoy]

So the ATLA Movie Is... Good, Actually?

Just kidding, of course it’s not, it’s so bad it sucked the paint off my walls. But after ten years of people pointing out its glaring flaws, why would anyone bother talking about this garbage heap if not to go the other direction? So here’s a very brief and very superficial list of things the movie does get kinda... not atrociously wrong.

And they won’t be fake hipster pokes, like “It’s fun to laugh at”, “The Rifftrax for this is OK”, or “Kudos to the actress for managing to say we believe in our beliefs as much as they believe in theirs with a straight face”.

(though now that I mentioned it, it is fun to laugh at, the Rifftrax for this is OK, and massive props indeed.)

Rasta Iroh

Yes, I know it’s not exactly the aesthetic of the real Iroh or that it makes no cultural sense for him to sport this do when no one else in the racebended Indian “OMFG what were you thinking Shyamalan” Nation does but goddamn, long-haired dudes are my one mortal weakness and I will ogle the hell out of him.

Jesus is that a man bun I see that’s it mum I’ve been deaded

Yue’s hair

No.

Now we’re talking. Yue’s hair turned white when the Moon spirit gave her life, so it makes sense for it to go black again when she sacrifices herself to revive the koi fish. It’s a neat detail I find myself expecting whenever I rewatch the scene in the show. Yes, I realize it’d be a pointless hassle to animate since she, unlike in the movie, immediately goes on to become the Moon herself but still. I like.

The Blue Spirit’s mop

Zuko, hun, what’s with the dance-off?

First of all, I want to imagine that Zuko the Theatre Nerd was about to leave his ship with just the mask like in the show but then stuck his head into the cleaning cupboard and went, “Yeah, more coverage might be good, even though it do seem mighty fried to shit”.

Which makes me giggle. I like to giggle.

And secondly, the hair’s movement is what makes the static mess of the Blue Spirit’s solo fight scene appear at least bit more dynamic because God knows the cinematography isn’t doing it.

Any particular reason why it’s at the edge of the action, shot all boring-like?

Now, I get why circular shots would be reserved for Aang while he’s in the practice area and then used once the two join forces. What I don’t get is why Aang’s part of the action scene has a defined visual style while Zuko’s delegated to a few stationary wide shots from afar as though he’s a tertiary goon, meaning that when the time comes to combine the respective pieces of cinema language and visually convey collaboration, there’s not really much to combine.

But as long as Zuko is stuck in this static mess, it’s that awesome disaster on his head flopping about that draws the eye, helping me understand that something even is going on over there.

It also prevents me from paying much attention to how the extras are mostly just staying put and a lot of the hits don’t land, so that’s good.

The music slaps

James Newton Howard is too good for this.

Pls ignore that the word “gods” is used in the ATLA universe

I can’t be the only one who constantly uses this piece to daydream about writing specific fanfic scenes instead of, you know, actually sitting down and writing them. It’s just so good at communicating a sense of sorrow while speaking of rebirth that I find myself getting misty-eyed whenever I listen to it. Unfailingly, the soundtrack as a whole manages to break through the mile-thick crust of horrible acting, confusing writing, and uninspired cinematography and make me feel things. And considering how everything on screen is working against it, that’s no small feat.

Imagine what a powerful experience it would be if the score was used in service of an actual movie.

Dev Patel

No wonder since he’s the only one in the film occupying that crucial intersection between “is a good actor” and “was given something to work with”. It also doesn’t hurt that he breaks with the trend of actors starring in martial arts flicks despite never having done any martial art.

And all EIP-jokes about “stiff and humorless” aside, he’s a pretty decent Zuko considering how abridged this version of the character is. A while ago, I remember hearing a reviewer say that with his comedic chops, Patel should have been cast as Sokka. And on one hand, yes, god, absolutely, I need to see that asap. But on the other? He captures all layers of Book 1!Zuko, the desperate obsession, rage, and self-loathing, and at the same time gives you a peek at the soft momma’s boy dork that’s buried underneath. For Christ sakes, he exudes intensity and ambivalence even when acting against an emotionless hunk of wood that’s giving him nothing in return.

Oh, and I guess there’s a tree in the frame.

Ba dum tss

What can I say, the guy’s good.

Showing vs telling

OK, so this movie is all tell and no show, except for one single moment. And it’s the exact moment where the original goes in the other direction in terms of how information is conveyed.

See, I never liked this. The revelation is preceded by Iroh giving advice to Zuko who scolds him for nagging. Iroh then apologizes, moves in to say the line above, and is interrupted by Zuko who seems rather uncomfortable with Iroh laying his feelings out like this. And once they’re out, Zuko verbally confirms that he knew already and Iroh didn’t need to bother.

All this extraneous information and pussyfooting ends up weakening what should be a profound scene that reveals to us, the viewers, how deep the relationship between these two in fact runs.

Compare to the movie where Dadroh acts like a parent by fussing and worrying, with Sonion needing a single look to tell him and us that he understands what it’s all really about.

It’s genuinely efficient and just good.

No Cataang

Fine, a bit mean-girl bitchy from me since I only start minding the ship in Book 3. And probably unintentional on the part of the creators since there are moments where I think they’re trying to set the romance up? There’s a, well, an attempt to recreate the famous introductory shot of fateful meaningful destiny of meaningness, there’s some slight note of saving each other’s bacon going on, I’m pretty sure they’re the only ones in the film who smile, and oh, right, Katara’s shoved into her post-canon useless role where she doesn’t ever do anything, and is all about Aang right from the get go.

Yes, I will blame the “executive producers” because a) I’m incredibly petty, and b) it’s perfectly in line with their vision of the character so why the hell not.

Hilariously, none of it reads on screen because the actors are just... yeah. These poor kids are struggling so much with delivering their own lines and portraying their own characters they don’t seem to have any strength left to create something between them. To be fair, the bare-bones shot-reverse shot style of their scenes doesn’t exactly lend itself to the idea they occupy the same universe, let alone are friends or each other’s crushes.

And I enjoy this immensely because it allows me to forget the depressing horror show Katara’s life turns into post ATLA.

Yes Zutara

I need to delve into this because it’s fucking hilarious. So in a movie which fails to establish the original’s central romance so spectacularly that if Aang got lost in a crowd I don’t believe Katara would notice, SomEOnE thought it’d be a good idea to add an utterly unnecessary non-canon moment where Zuko for some reason feels the need to pause his character-defining hunt for the Avatar which otherwise has him ignore everything and snap at everyone, and explain his central conflict to an unconscious peasant he doesn’t know, complete with gently pushing the hair from the pretty girl’s the soulmate’s the Water Tribe Ambassador’s the Fire Lady’s the love of his life’s her face away, AFTER his uncle nagged him twice to find a girl and settle down.

I just wanted to make sure we’re all on the same page and this is what we really saw.

Celibate Avatars

I have no idea why the decision was made, if TPTB thought expecting viewers to understand the story through the lens of Buddhism would be too much, or if the “executive producers” already worked their retconny magic. What I do know, however, is that there’s a big shift in worldbuilding and Aang’s struggle with his role as the Avatar stops being a personal conflict defined by a) his grief for Air Nomads, b) his notion of being robbed of the loved ones in his life, and c) the selfish attachment to Katara he confuses with true love. Instead, what he has a difficulty to accept is apparently a general notion of who Avatars are supposed to be, i.e. a fantasy version of Catholic monks, no family and worldly relations, period.

I guess either someone understood the original’s portrayal of de/attachment as “hermit no freaky”, or thought the audience would so why not go there outright.

Now, do I like this on its own? No, God no, it makes the world infinitely poorer and changes the story from an exploration of ideas which aren’t all that ingrained in the West, to a cliché tropester about a Catholic priest going Protestant so that he could be with a girl.

At least I assume that’s where they were going to take this eventually.

I mean, I think the direction was “look conflicted, this isn’t the final stage of your journey”?

But consider this—the show went there, it built on the concepts of Eastern philosophy and touched upon the ideas of spiritual awakening, only to swerve in the end and strongly imply they’re bullshit and Aang should have never wasted his time with them.

So honestly, I much prefer scanty worldbuilding to an insulting retcon by a damn rock.

Multiracial Air Nomads

Probably the most substantial “no hint of irony” point on this list and a genuinely good addition to the universe’s worldbuilding.

See, the notion of the elemental nations being perfectly separate and never mingling before Sozin has always been sketchy but it’s especially ridiculous in the case of airbenders. It never made sense to me for all airbenders to be Air Nomads and for all Air Nomads to be monks and for all monks to be chilling at the temples all the time to facilitate a quick everyone-dies genocide should an imperialistic warlord ever decide to commit one.

Because committing everyone to a single way of life at a handful of places kinda goes against the central philosophy behind airbending. Like the freedom and nomadism part.

Instead, there should be more variety to the airbending culture, with some staying at the temples as monks, hermits, and teachers while others live as nomads, travelling the world and creating more airbenders, with the resulting children in turn being influenced by the non-airbending cultures they grew up in.

And thus, not only should airbenders not be modeled after a single culture to create a one-size-fits-all lifestyle, but they should have the most diverse and dynamic culture out of the four nations.

And it’d be precisely this diversity which would pave way for an eventual reveal that some of them survived, that their complete extermination is impossible.

Because they’re everywhere.

You know.

Like air.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Four

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: hey y'all. my new job has been draining the life out of me so i have very little energy left for writing, which is why these updates are taking so long. im still very passionate about this fic though, it just takes me more time to write :(

in other news, this chapter is saturated with descriptions of pain, both physical and emotional. i hated writing it but it was worth it.

***

Nesta, 14

Sometimes it all becomes too much. Feyre asking for help with homework and Elain begging for more money to go to the strip mall, and their dad ignoring them all as if they aren’t even there. Sometimes she wants to leave it all behind and pretend she isn’t anchored to three other people, wants to pretend she is a lone being in a lonely world.

When she needs to go away, she comes here.

Cherrywood House is quiet, as it always is this time of year. One of several expensive vacation homes in the Smokies, Cherrywood is Nesta’s favorite for a multitude of reasons— it’s empty for ten out of twelve months of the year, it’s the only house with a clear view of the nearby lake, and cherry blossoms bloom on trees out in the back every spring.

It’s early June, and she has a few more weeks left with the house until its owners return. The family that owns the place never leaves a trace of themselves behind when they leave each August, so Nesta returns the favor by never leaving hints of her inhabitance either.

She takes her worn Converse and socks off at the back porch and climbs in through the unlocked window barefoot. This is where she belongs. A ghost roaming the empty halls, with no one to care for and no one to care for her.

She makes her way upstairs to her preferred hideout spot: an airy bedroom with a bay window seat that looks out onto the cherry blossom trees outside. Cracking the window open to let the fragrance of flowers in, she settles into the bench seat with her book of the week and starts reading.

Absorbed in dreams of deep love and deeper kisses, Nesta doesn't notice the sun going down until she can barely make out the words on the page before her. Glancing up with sore eyes, she realizes she needs to leave soon if she doesn't want to take the wooded path back home in the dark.

“Damn,” she sighs, but she gets up and shuts the window firmly.

She keeps her nose in her book all the way down the hall and down the stairs, and doesn't sense anything off until a large shadow flashes in the corner of her eye. Her head whips up, and the face that greets her looks just as surprised as she is.

Nesta freezes.

“Um,” the guy says. He’s maybe a few years older than her, seventeen or eighteen, and tall with shaggy dark hair. The front door of the house is still cracked open behind him. “What the fuck?”

Nesta unfreezes. And then she runs.

All the way through the main hall and to the back door, while the boy’s shouts chase her through the house. “Hey, wait up!”

They weren't supposed to be here this early—

Her hand wraps around the back door handle and she flings it open, shoving through the second screen door and shooting right down the porch steps. Heavy steps behind her ignite a panic in her, and she gains a burst of speed.

“HEY!” he calls again. Soft grass becomes dirt and twigs beneath Nesta's feet, and she knows she's reached the tree line. Dark shadows fall over her as she darts into the safety of the woods.

Still standing on the back porch and waving a raggedy pair of Converse, Cassian tries calling for the girl one more time. “You forgot your shoes!”

Cassian wakes up at five in the morning to the sound of the house’s pipes creaking, a telltale sign that someone is using one of the faucets. Blinking his eyes open, he hears the distant sound of the shower running.

Who would get up in the freezing cold at this hour just to take a shower? He checks the time once more to make sure he isn't imagining things, and gets up to peek his head out of his bedroom. Sure enough, light leaks out from under the bathroom door.

Cassian walks up to the bathroom and listens closely for any sound beside running water. He knocks hesitantly. “Nesta?”

Her muffled voice calls back to him, but he can't make out a thing.

“Are you alright?” he asks. “How long have you been in there?”

There’s no response, and now he’s concerned. Raising his voice, he says, “I’m going to come in to hear you better, is that okay?”

A soft affirmative answers him, and he tries the doorknob. It’s already unlocked, which is odd, but he pokes his head into the steam-filled bathroom cautiously. “Nesta?”

From behind the curtain of the shower, a pale, tired face appears. She’s sitting on the floor of the tub, he realizes. “Hey,” she attempts a feeble smile at him.

Cassian fully enters the bathroom, the humidity dampening his skin. “Are you okay? When did you get up?”

“I’ve only been in here for an hour, maybe.” Her voice is weak enough that he has to move closer to hear her. “Don’t worry about your water bill. I’ll pay it, I swear.”

He shakes his head, confounded. “I don’t care about the water bill. You still haven’t told me if you’re okay.” He moves to crouch beside the bathtub, the opaque shower curtain the only barrier between them.

Nesta rolls her eyes, looking embarrassed. “It’s just cramps. I get really sick on my periods, and I would have warned you that they suck ass, but that would imply that my period could affect you. It doesn’t have to affect you— if you just leave me to myself for a few days, I won’t even be a bother.”

Cassian blinks, not really knowing where to start with that, so he just says, “But why the shower?”

Nesta shifts uncomfortably behind the curtain. “Sometimes hot water is the only thing that helps with the pain. I already tried getting out of the shower, but it hurt so bad— I had to go right back in. I’ll get out eventually, don’t worry.”

Cassian frowns. This all sounds incredibly worrying. “This is normal for you?”

She’s about to answer when her face pinches in a look of discomfort. “Cassian,” she says, strained.

He leans closer, wanting to help. “Yeah?”

“Get out.” She doesn't look like she has the energy to add anything else.

Cassian wants to defy Nesta and stay right there, but that would require arguing with her, and she clearly is no longer in the mood to hold up a conversation.

Reluctantly, he nods. “I’ll be right down the hall. Yell if you need anything.”

Nesta is already sinking lower into the tub, trying to get more fully under the burning hot spray. Her eyes drift closed and she hums in answer.

Cassian doesn't return to his room like he said he would, but heads downstairs instead. He spends a good ten minutes reading the drug labels of various painkillers from the medicine cabinet before carefully arranging a nonlethal cocktail of them on a tray. He adds a cold glass of water and various handpicked snacks before returning upstairs to set the tray by Nesta’s bedside, and turns the heat all the way up to combat the chill in her room, just in case.

Then he goes back to his room and waits. He tries to listen closely for the sound of the shower stopping, but he’s not used to being up this early on a Saturday, and his bed is so warm…

He falls asleep waiting.

***

Nesta stumbles out of the shower long after Cassian leaves her and downs a handful of pills without thinking too much about who left them for her. She already has an idea of how the next few days will go, and she just hopes Cassian will allow her the dignity to suffer through it alone.

She crawls into bed exhausted and shuts her eyes tight. The next time she opens them, sunlight is streaming weakly through the windows. Jarring pain lances through her abdomen, and she brings her legs all the way up to her chest and whimpers. From the edge of her consciousness, she notices the snack tray has been replaced with lunch— some leftover lasagna from the night before. Sneaking out her hand from her mountain of blankets, she goes for her phone. A text sent nearly an hour ago waits for her.

Cassian: please eat.

Nesta glares at the lasagna because she knows better. She might have spent this morning eyeing the bathroom tiles to determine if they were clean enough for her to curl up there and die, but she's not at a point to abandon her dignity just yet. The last thing her roiling nausea needs is solid food. Instead, she gathers the focus to text back Cassian: Leave me alone today.

It's only after she sends the message that she realizes it sounds harsh, but she can't bring herself to explain further or to soften her tone. Her pain always has a way of stripping her of any defenses and formalities and leaving only a primal creature behind.

Turning her phone off, she closes her eyes and inhales tightly through her nose. A wave of cramps that feels closer to what a brutal stabbing victim would feel like overtakes her, and— no, she has to get up.

During times like these, the bathroom is Nesta’s favorite place in the whole world. Cool tiles to rest her head on, hot water just a foot away, and a spacious tub if she ever feels like passing out. Heaven. Naturally, she escapes there first.

After maybe another hour of restless writhing and moving about, Nesta decides the suffering isn't worth it and hobbles downstairs in search of some Nyquil to knock her out. She’s got the medicine cabinet halfway open when a broad hand slams it back shut, and she turns to find Cassian standing behind her with a stern look. “You haven’t eaten anything all day. You can’t take meds on an empty stomach.”

Nesta wants to cry at the denial of pain relief, but she grips the counter behind her and manages a glare instead. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I will absolutely tell you not to wreck your liver, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

A desperate whine escapes her, and she can’t believe Cassian has to see her like this. Even worse, she sees sympathy soften his face as his hand slips off the cabinet next to her head. “I made soup,” he offers. “Can you have soup?”

Nesta hesitates. Her insides don’t hate the idea of soup. She nods.

***

Nesta insisted on avoiding Cassian for the rest of the day, and Cassian graciously eased off her back once he knew she’d eaten. He kindly pretended he didn’t hear her running back and forth from the bathroom all day because she couldn’t sit still, and only interrupted her once to make sure she took more Tylenol before bed.

Now, long after night has fallen, Nesta is truly alone. Her medicine either hasn’t kicked in yet or isn’t strong enough to do its job tonight. She can barely think straight, and this is when the most primal part of herself comes out.

Despite her age, despite everything, she still cries. She cries as if anyone would bother listening, physical pain intertwining with the pain and humiliation of being ignored. “Papa,” she calls into her pillow, again and again.

She hasn’t trusted her papa in years, and yet she still expects him to rescue her. She still waits for him to show up and make everything better.

A hot tear leaks from her eye, and the catharsis of it distracts from her cramps. She curls up into a ball and cries harder, as if she can weep out everything that’s wrong with her body.

A soft knock interrupts her helpless whimpers, and Nesta hears the door open a moment later. “Nesta? Were you calling for me?”

Somebody came. No one’s ever come for her before.

A sigh of relief escapes her, and she forgets to put her walls up. “I’m just—” she tries to say, “so tired.”

She hears Cassian come farther into the room and curse. “Fuck, it’s an icebox in here.”

A hand nudges at her mound of comforters, giving Nesta’s shoulder a shake. “You should’ve told me the heater wasn’t working. Are you okay?”

That question sets her on edge. “Do I look okay?” her voice cracks. She wants to cry even harder now that he’s here, for some reason.

“Obviously not,” he mutters. “You’re staying in my room tonight. Get up.”

Nesta groans and burrows further into her freezing cocoon of sheets. “Don’twannamove.”

“It’s either that or I’m carrying you. I’m good either way.”

Nesta finally cracks her eyes open, glad that Cassian is only a tear-blurred figure in the dark. She doesn’t want to read whatever is on his face right now. Gathering her heavy comforter around herself, she gets up and lets Cassian lead her down the hall to his room.

Toasty warmth hits her as soon as she’s inside, and she makes an exhausted sound and drops the comforter. In a blur, she’s tucked into Cassian’s bed, enveloped by his scent and his lingering body heat on the sheets. Under the dim lamplight, Cassian seems to finally take notice of the tear tracks on her face. Clicking his tongue in sympathy and concern, he rubs his thumb over the sensitive skin under Nesta’s eyes. Her whole body shudders under the gentle touch. Who knew just the pad of his finger could combat this inescapable agony?

“This isn’t normal,” he murmurs. “I’m taking you to a doctor as soon as this storm clears.”

If Nesta was in the right state of mind, she’d tell him absolutely not. However, she’s barely comprehending his words as it is, so she watches him click the lamp off in silence. Darkness fills the room, but she can hear him moving.

“I’ll be right back,” his voice rumbles, and then she’s alone again. More tears leak at the feeling of abandonment. She’s so sick of herself.

After what feels like an eternity but is only a few minutes, she hears Cassian return. The mattress dips behind her as he climbs under the blankets with her, and then Nesta feels something hot and dry being pressed to her side. A towel. “Does this help?” he murmurs, his voice surprisingly close to her ear.

Wordlessly, Nesta reaches down and takes his hand holding the hot towel, dragging it beneath the hem of her sweater so the heat burns against her bare skin. She sighs and allows her tensed body to sag, leaning back into the hard cradle of Cassian’s chest and arms.

In her ear, Cassian’s breathing has gone shallow. His hand slips from her side, only to find her back and start rubbing up and down.

Her eyes flutter shut.

“My mother was a Muslim immigrant from Algeria,” Cassian whispers out of nowhere. “And whenever I felt sick as a little kid, I would crawl into her lap and she would rub my back just like this, and say some prayers and blow on my face, and I would feel better.”

Nesta makes a weak sound of acknowledgment. That sounds nice, nicer than anything she ever knew growing up.

“I’m sorry I don’t know any prayers,” Cassian says. Then, Nesta feels a whoosh of breath tickle the side of her face. “Does that help?”

It feels weirdly good, and Nesta's shoulders start shaking. She doesn't know if she's holding in a laugh or a sob. Cassian’s hand stills on her back. “Nesta?”

A sharp wave of pain sets her straight. After she breathes through it, she tells him, “You don't need to pray. Just… keep talking to me.”

His hand resumes drawing circles on her back. “Alright.” And he whispers stories into her ear for the rest of the night, until she's fallen asleep and long afterward.

The next morning, Nesta is feeling much better. Cassian knows this because she’s sitting in the living room when he comes downstairs, straight-backed instead of hunched over in pain, and she’s regained the energy to glare at him.

Cassian’s relief at seeing Nesta okay hesitates at that glare. He slows on the bottom step. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Don't call me that.”

He blinks, not sure what he did wrong. Before he can ask, Nesta says, “You didn't listen to me.”

“Excuse me?” He strolls deeper into the living area.

“I told you to leave me alone while I'm on my period, and you didn't listen. You dragged me to your room and made me spend the night with you.”

“You were crying for help,” Cassian says in disbelief. “What was I supposed to do? Ignore you?”

“Yes.” She looks even angrier. “It’s humiliating for me to have you see me like that. It's humiliating to have my own family see me like that.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but you’re—” He almost says overreacting, but some deep instinct tells him that word won’t fly well with Nesta. “You’re wrong,” he decides. “Whatever you think I’m thinking of you after last night, you’re wrong.” Cassian has no problem going into caretaker mode for Nesta; it's his natural state of being most of the time anyway. Besides, last night was… a new experience for him. For a multitude of reasons. “You can't tell me you go through that every month and have never had anybody take care of you.”

“I haven't, and for good reason,” Nesta seethes. “You had no right to see me like that.”

Cassian leans on the arm of a chair and crosses his arms, considering her. “Have you ever seen a doctor about your period?”

“That’s none of your business,” she snaps. Here is the Nesta that Feyre is always talking about: quick to anger and always on the defense, to the point that she comes off as unreasonable. Nothing like the helpless woman in tears from just the night before.

It brings out a rougher side of Cassian, one that wants to nip and bite at her boundaries instead of letting her be comfortable all the time. “That’s no way to talk to someone who stayed up all night to wait on you hand and foot, you know.”

“Don’t you dare hold that against me.” Nesta’s voice is dangerously cold.

“I’m not holding it against you. I’m taking you to a doctor.”

“No.”

“I already made an appointment.”

“Cancel it.” Her voice is brittle and she’s now trembling with restrained rage. Cassian doesn’t know if it’s because he’s refusing to give her a choice or if she just really doesn’t like doctors. Either way, it doesn’t change how Nesta ran out of bed at four this morning to puke her soup up. If it wasn’t for all this snow, he would have dragged her ass to the ER by now.

“I don’t have health insurance,” Nesta admits when she sees that Cassian won’t back down. “And I’ve made it this far without any cause for concern; there’s no reason to go.”

“Then I’ll pay for it,” he says simply. Her lack of care for her health astounds and angers Cassian at the same time. How is it that nobody, not even her family, has looked at this woman before and said You’re not okay, do you need help? How many times has she cried in pain with no one to listen?

Nesta has now stood up and is turning red in the face. “Absolutely not. Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Cassian smirks and straightens up.

“I’m not going to the doctor,” she barks. “Cancel the appointment.”

“No.”

“DO IT!”

In that moment, Cassian sees it. He sees how beneath the adult manner and adult words, the carefully crafted facade of cool, there is an explosive, tantrum-prone child. And he’s about to reveal her for good.

“It’s this Wednesday. I hope you don't mind skipping class.”

An enraged shriek shatters the air in the room, and before Cassian can even be shocked Nesta is verbally pouncing on him, yelling, “How fucking dare you, you complete shithead—”

“Nesta.”

“You have no right to— You’re so useless, this is why I didn't want to stay with you, this is why I never talked to you—”

“Nest—”

“You egomaniacal manipulative bastard— just because you let me stay in your house doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do—”

“Damn it Nesta, can you just shut up and LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE!”

Nesta freezes and blinks, taken aback. Cassian immediately snaps his mouth shut, wondering if he’s finally crossed that line he’s been so cautiously toeing this whole time.

He watches her face closely, looking for signs of upset— or worse, fear. She only says, “Fine.”

He’s confused. “Fine, what?”

“Fine, I’ll go to the doctor’s.” Just like that, her fight is gone and the facade is back in place. She sets her jaw, but a hint of surprise and newfound discovery lingers in her eyes. “But I’m not letting you pay for it. It’ll have to come out of my own pocket.” She doesn't look happy about that part.

Cassian wants to argue her, but he knows how to pick and choose his battles. For now, he’s just baffled that he demanded Nesta to do something, and she listened.

He raised his voice at her. God, he yelled at her in anger and she only blinked in response, and now she’s listening to him. What kind of sick alien shit is this?

***

a/n: i love talking about these characters so if you ever get sick of waiting for part 5 just shoot me an ask and ill gladly discuss nessian with you

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx

[agentrouka-blog]

When Jon think about wanting winterfell and it's Lord he felt hunger which he later connect with ghost's hunger. Do you think that passage is implying something?

Hi anon!

I think the passage has many layers when it comes to symbolism and foreshadowing.

ASOS, Jon XII is a fun chapter. Jon’s been through a lot. His trip North of the wall left him traumatized and disillusioned in a way that’s hard to sum up. Anything he had hoped to be proud of in life was obliterated, he suffered serious injury, has been separated from ghost, learned that all his family are dead or missing, fought a viciously cruel battle, feels responsible for the death of his stockholm-syndromy abuser, was stripped of all respect and honor by his superiors, and he got to see a woman die in childbirth. Now Stannis and Mel are squatting at Castle Black, and the threat to the North keeps looming.

Life sucks. 

We’d been introduced to some options that were denied to him in life:

His lord father had once talked about raising new lords and settling them in the abandoned holdfasts as a shield against wildlings. The plan would have required the Watch to yield back a large part of the Gift, but his uncle Benjen believed the Lord Commander could be won around, so long as the new lordlings paid taxes to Castle Black rather than Winterfell. "It is a dream for spring, though," Lord Eddard had said. "Even the promise of land will not lure men north with a winter coming on."

If winter had come and gone more quickly and spring had followed in its turn, I might have been chosen to hold one of these towers in my father's name. Lord Eddard was dead, however, his brother Benjen lost; the shield they dreamt together would never be forged. (ASOS, Jon V)

or

“If the boy shows any skill with sword or lance, he should have a place with your father’s household guard at the least,” Jon said. “It’s not unknown for bastards to be trained as squires and raised to knighthood. But you’d best be sure Gilly can play this game convincingly. From what you’ve told me of Lord Randyll, I doubt he would take kindly to being deceived.” (ASOS, Samwell IV)

One fails because of the seasons, the other was prevented by Catelyn. The Watch has been a soul-destroying nightmare, Ygritte’s offer of taking over a Tower “after” is not even worth a moment’s consideration to him. Every hope he ever had about his life has been disappointed. 

Jon’s just about sixteen and is completely done. Sam notes how much time Jon spends in the training yard, even though he’s injured and off-duty for the title of turncloak. He does not bother voting in the Lord Commander election. A maligned outcast again. Forever. 

The warg, I’ve heard them call me. How can I be a warg without a wolf, I ask you?” His mouth twisted. “I don’t even dream of Ghost anymore. All my dreams are of the crypts, of the stone kings on their thrones. Sometimes I hear Robb’s voice, and my father’s, as if they were at a feast. But there’s a wall between us, and I know that no place has been set for me.” (ASOS, Samwell IV

He is lonely. Even Ghost is gone, his one proof that he belongs to something.

Stannis alienates Jon by talking ill of Robb, but he offers Jon recognition for the things he did right, a rare thing, and then he offers him legitimization. Basically, “You proved your worth and you have the Right blood. All you ever wanted can be yours. For the small price of breaking your oaths for real and of your own volition and forsaking your gods.” Downright mephistophelian.

Jon is torn, can’t sleep, fights. For the first time he has a real choice. He remembers the traumatic incident where his bastardy became a true concept to him.

That morning he called it first. “I’m Lord of Winterfell!” he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, “You can’t be Lord of Winterfell, you’re bastard-born. My lady mother says you can’t ever be the Lord of Winterfell.”

I thought I had forgotten that. Jon could taste blood in his mouth, from the blow he’d taken. (ASOS, Jon XII)

And Jon’s response is a near black-out rage against his sparring partner. All his suppressed feelings of grief and anger and longing and loneliness are just broiling inside him.

Why am I so angry? he asked himself, but it was a stupid question. Lord of Winterfell. I could be the Lord of Winterfell. My father’s heir.

Jon soaks in the hot tub and thinks of Winterfell, mulls restoring it versus not belonging and destroying its soul in the process

When Jon closed his eyes he saw the heart tree, with its pale limbs, red leaves, and solemn face. The weirwood was the heart of Winterfell, Lord Eddard always said … but to save the castle Jon would have to tear that heart up by its ancient roots, and feed it to the red woman’s hungry fire god. I have no right, he thought. Winterfell belongs to the old gods

The tree is almost described like a person. A person with Tully coloring, like all his siblings save Arya. Like Sansa. The hot springs in Winterfell have a potential link to his decision to join the Watch, or at the very least to his siblings in general. The castle of Winterfell is juxtaposed with the heart, with the purpose and point of it all. Save a structure by destroying what made it a meaningful place? Betray his family in his heart, the person whose castle is truly is, betray all his values and his gods?

He takes a walk past sites of all his recent experiences and North the Wall over the recent battle field and just sits to think. 

Ygritte wanted me to be a wildling. Stannis wants me to be the Lord of Winterfell. But what do I want? The sun crept down the sky to dip behind the Wall where it curved through the western hills. Jon watched as that towering expanse of ice took on the reds and pinks of sunset. 

There’s an essay I could write about walls, Tyrion, Jon and Sansa (the sun to Arya’s moon) and how they all interact in the books, but let’s say just like this word play, the fact that Jon answers his own question is not an accident:

"Close your beak, crow. Spin yourself around, might be you'd find who you're looking for."

Jon turned.

The singer rose to his feet. (ASOS, Jon I)

The singer rose. Lyanna, his mother, the riddle. But also Sansa, who unwittingly took up her mantle. One unlocks his path to the other and everything that follows in his imagination:

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister’s son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly’s boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We’d find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance’s son and Craster’s would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. A hunger … he could feel it. It was food he needed, prey, a red deer that stank of fear or a great elk proud and defiant. He needed to kill and fill his belly with fresh meat and hot dark blood. His mouth began to water with the thought.

Jon paints a picture of recreating his own childhood with his wolf pack at Winterfell, only this time there are no outcasts, and he is the Father. He gets to be Ned. The Lord of Winterfell with a lady’s love. And a son, something he had, apparently, dreamed of until he stoppped. 

He has always wanted this thing that he has no right to and it filled him with a guilt strong enough to concern the gods. But he admits it to himself, lets himself truly feel it. The feeling flows through him the same way the rage did earlier. powerful and all encompassing. 

Like a dragonglass blade. There we have some lovely foreshadowing for a) potentiall the origin of the Others, b) Jon’s paternity, and c) his own death when his desire to abandon his vows and head to Winterfell is met with, you know, some blades. Not to mention d) his desire to have these things.

Each of these is answered by his primal hunger response. Which is of course, his connection to Ghost. The wolf he has so woefully said goodbye to, that he missed deeply and bitterly, chooses this moment to reappear. This moment where Jon returns to his own feelings, his true self.

a) the answer to the Others are the direwolves, the Starks, their magical connection to Winterfell and what happened way back when.

b) the answer to Jon’s paternity is a violent embrace of his mother’s side.

c) the answer to his own stabbing will be warging into Ghost and biding his time in there, becoming more wolf than he ever anticipated.

d) the answer to his heart’s desire...

It was a long moment before he understood what was happening. When he did, he bolted to his feet. “Ghost?” He turned toward the wood, and there he came, padding silently out of the green dusk, the breath coming warm and white from his open jaws. “Ghost!” he shouted, and the direwolf broke into a run. He was leaner than he had been, but bigger as well, and the only sound he made was the soft crunch of dead leaves beneath his paws. When he reached Jon he leapt, and they wrestled amidst brown grass and long shadows as the stars came out above them. “Gods, wolf, where have you been?” Jon said when Ghost stopped worrying at his forearm. “I thought you’d died on me, like Robb and Ygritte and all the rest. I’ve had no sense of you, not since I climbed the Wall, not even in dreams.” The direwolf had no answer, but he licked Jon’s face with a tongue like a wet rasp, and his eyes caught the last light and shone like two great red suns.

Red suns. Arya’s wolf has golden coins (haggling for death, faceless men coins, spinning fates), Grey Wind has molten gold (like a crown that kills you). 

Jon’s wolf has red suns. Like the colors that the sun painted on the Wall. The direwolf in heart tree colors, inverted bastard colors of house Stark, Tully colors, Sansa colors. 

Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre’s. He had a weirwood’s eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they’d found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow.

He had his answer then.

Not the red gods, not fire. The old gods. the heart tree, the wolves. He may be a Snow, but the old gods gave him Ghost. His own wolf. His white wolf. His place was made by their will. 

There is honor in that choice. No matter what anyone else says, Jon knows who he is and he has that power: to reject betraying his heart. 

How does this choice led by Ghost fit the layers?

a) The answer to the Others: don’t steal, don’t trick. Be honest. Accept what was painful. Not the Wall matters, the answer is in the heart tree.

b) The Dragon father does not Need to guide his decisions. He can let that go. He is a Snow.

c) Being in Ghost will lead him back to himself. Not fire, not Melisandre. The old gods.

d) Well... What does Jon want? What IS his answer?

Jon is filled with sudden energy. He strides back, rejects Val in his mind, stalks dramatically into the dining hall and is suddenly voted Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. We close on this:

So Jon Snow took the wineskin from his hand and had a swallow. But only one. The Wall was his, the night was dark, and he had a king to face.

Jon’s answer? We never hear it in this chapter. 

We hear it in ADWD, Jon I:

"By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa." 

And ADWD, Jon IV:

Jon said, "Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa." 

The chapter is followed by? Sansa. Rebuilding Winterfell out of snow. 

When Jon lets go of pretense, honestly asks himself what he wants, shame or not, his wolf takes over and helps him find the answer and the path. The answer is not in taking the Castle and creating a mimicry of what it was, it is in honoring what it truly was and truly means. The heart over the structure. 

And in giving supremacy to the heart, to the red-white heart, he unknowingly paves the way for his own place: Winterfell built of Snow. He doesn’t have to steal the castle, he will be invited to belong.

That’s my own humble interpretation, anyway.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Bah Hiddleston | Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Tamra Harmon) | Chapter 1 | Change Of Plans

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Tamra Harmon)

Summary:  Tamra Harmon has no mind to mess with Christmas. All that talk about Christmas magic and the joy of the holidays is just a bunch of mumbo jumbo. But will a chance encounter with perennial Christmas lover Tom Hiddleston change all that?

Warnings for story: smut, oral sex, implied smut, vaginal sex, light angst

-

Tamra was not sure how she got turned around, but somehow she ended up back at her terminal gate.

“How the fuck…” she whispered to herself as she huffed back the way she came.

She hit something hard and immovable with her shoulder.

“Ow!”

“So sorry. My apologies.” a male British voice cut through the din of Heathrow Airport. Tamra stared in front of her to find a tall man smiling back at her. His reddish blond hair hung loose around his face. “Um, apology accepted.”

He reached his arms out as if to steady her. “Everything in one piece?”

Tamra took a quick inventory and other than a dull ache in the offending shoulder, everything seemed as they should be. She nodded back to the man, whose smiled widened at her affirmation, his smile reaching the corners of his eyes.

“Baggage claim is that way.” He gestured down the corridor. “And Merry Christmas.”

He turned and left Tamra in the busy terminal. Whatever goodwill Tamra had for the handsome stranger dissipated with his parting words.

“Bah humbug.” she scowled as she hitched her purse back onto her shoulder.

She pushed through the holiday travelers, making her way to baggage claim. If Tamra saw the festive Christmas decor in the corridor, she did not acknowledge them with a smile or glance. She only cared to retrieve her luggage and head to her accommodations with minimal fuss and muss.

She located the right carousel where the man gestured, only adding to her irritation with him. After what seemed like an eternity, the belt started moving and bag popped out. Tamra shouldered to the front of the gathering crowd. With the skill of an experienced traveler, she plucked her suitcase and pulled the handle up. She headed out to the taxi stand.

Her frown deepened when she spied a line snaking in front of the terminal. With at least three switchbacks, Tamra huffed as she took her place at the end of the line.

“Merry Christmas, indeed.”

-

By the Tom got outside, his PA already retrieved his luggage and parked the car right out front. While Tom would not pull the “I’m a Celebrity” card regularly, he would always take advantage of the perk of not having to wait at the airport for a taxi. He appreciated the perk even more now, two weeks before Christmas. The driver put his bags into the boot of the car as Tom climbed into the back.

Tom let loose a sigh as he scanned the London cityscape in the window. It’s good to be home, he reflected. His latest project kept him away from several months filming in the States. Now with Christmas fast approaching, Tom relished the idea of relaxing and spending time with family over the holidays.

His head fell back onto the headrest and Tom closed his eyes as the car moved through traffic. He didn’t sleep well on the flight as turbulence kept him awake. He foresaw a nap once he got home and retrieved Bobby from the kennel. The car came to stop far too soon for Tom’s liking and he groaned as he unfolded himself to head up the stairs of his home. His phone rang as the door clicked behind him.

“Hello?”

“Tom, it’s Sarah.”

“Hey!” Tom’s voice softened at the sound of his older sister’s voice.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Not at all. I just got home. How are the boys?” Tom smiled at the thought of seeing his nephews in the next few days.

“A handful. About Christmas…” Sarah’s voice trailed off.

“What? You’re still coming, right? Mom has a whole thing planned.” His voice sounded more whiney than he expected, he blamed the lack of sleep.

“Yes we are still coming but it might be later than we planned. Yakov can’t get away until Christmas Day.”

Tom’s face fell. A big part of his Christmas plans included spending time at his mother’s house with his sisters and nieces and nephews.

“Really? But Mom has everything planned out.”

“I know that’s why I called her first to explain.” Tom felt Sarah wincing through the phone.

“And?” He pushed her.

“She agreed to put off the festivities until Boxing Day. Sorry little brother, but you are going to have hold off your preening like a big Hollywood star for a few more weeks.”

“Ha. Ha. Hilarious, Sarah. You missed your calling as a comedian.”

“And you missed yours as a good actor.”

“My Golden Globe says otherwise.”

“If you say so. Are you disappointed?”

“Yes but I understand. Besides it will give me more time to return your present.”

“Whatever, Tom. See you in two weeks. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Tom ended the call and dialed his mother. The two discussed the change in plans. After an intense back and forth, Dianna won out and Tom agreed to stay put until Boxing Day. Now he just needed to figure out how to pass the time.

-

Tamra arrived at her Airbnb exhausted. The line for a taxi took forever and the ride to her flat took even longer. Her flight from Orlando must have hit every bit of turbulence along the way. And that screaming child did not help matters.

She opened the door to the small Westminster flat just as her phone rang. She answered as she closed the door with her hip.

“Madeline, you traitor.”

“Please stop with the guilt trip. Not everyone is a Scrooge like you, Tams.”

“Not everyone also deserts their best friend to hang out with their new boyfriend’s family.” Tamra rolled her eyes.

“At Christmas.”

“Bah—”

“Don’t even start with that Bah Humbug bullshit. Most people actually enjoy Christmas.”

“Most people are saps.”

“Tamra, I just called to see if you got in safe and sound.”

“Rough and I got lost in Heathrow, some guy bumped into my shoulder, the taxi line moved at a snail’s pace.”

“So par for the course for you. You always find the worst in every situation. What about London? At Christmas?”

“What about it? It’s crowded and cold. The best part about this town is the history.”

“Says the museum curator.”

“Whole purpose of the trip.”

“Happy Holidays, Tamra.”

“Enjoy the boyfriend’s family, Mad.”

Tamra hung up the phone in an even worse mood than she started. There was not much that could make this day worse. Her phone rang again. The screen flashed her mother’s number. Tamra contemplated letting it go to voicemail but she would have to face the conversation on a different day and she did not want her mother to dampen her time in London.

“Hi, Mom!” Tamra feigned excitement.

“Tamra! How is London? Have you gone to Harrod’s? What about the Tower Bridge? How is Christmas over there?”

She held the phone away from her ear to shield herself from her mother’s shrill voice. “Mom I only landed two hours ago. I just got to my place. I have seen nothing and been nowhere.”

“But I bet it is magical there.”

“It’s London, Mom. Not Neverland.”

“But Christmas — “

“— is a sentimental tradition used for an excuse to support capitalism and Christianity.”

“Wow, way to suck the fun out of everything.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Well I just called to see how was your flight, sweetie. I’m sure you are exhausted.”

“Thanks for calling, Mom.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Bye, Mom.”

Her mother hung up and Tamra laid the phone down on the kitchen counter. 0 for 2, Tamra. Nice going, you just pissed off your best friend and your mother in the span of twenty minutes. She spent the next several minutes unpacking and taking a long shower to wash away the grime of travel. As she prepared to grab some groceries from down the street, she pulled a folded piece of paper from her purse. Her itinerary.

“Tomorrow the National Gallery and Afternoon Tea.” she commented as she smoothed the piece of paper as she placed it on the nightstand before heading out to the store.

-

After his morning run and espresso, Tom set out to the stores around Trafalgar Square for some shopping. He didn’t want to face the holidays crowds at the shops but his list only seem to grow with each passing moment. He said a silent prayer that if anyone recognized him they didn’t say a word. Before he realized, he skipped lunch and his stomach growled in protest. He spied a sign for Afternoon Tea at the National Gallery. He ducked into the building hoping they would have a table available.

-

Tamra made a quick breakfast at her flat before plotting out her route to get down to the National Gallery. She made sure she booked a place near a Tube Station and before long she found herself in front of the museum. Tamra spent all the morning and through lunch, losing herself in the galleries and anterooms. Her phone dinged; a reminder for Afternoon Tea at the Gallery. She made the reservation for her and Madeline but when Mads canceled last week, she called up the restaurant. They assured her they could accommodate the request.

Her stomach growled as she walked up to the entrance. The attendant sat Tamra at a table for two right by the window. Her seat gave a perfect view of Trafalgar Square. The Christmas tree dominated the view and Tamra huffed.

“Madam.” the attendant had returned.

“Yes?”

“There is a last minute seating request for one, do you mind if we seat them with you? We are booked.”

Tamra gazed across the packed room; not another empty seat anywhere to be seen. She nodded, and the girl hustled off to bring the stranger to the table. Tamra looked at the window again.

“It is a beautiful view.” a vaguely familiar voice rang out.

“I don’t ca…” Tamra turned to see the man from the airport. “You!”

Tom’s brow furrowed. “You recognize me?”

“Yes.” she hissed as Tom took the seat opposite from her. “You’re the guy from the airport who hit my shoulder!” her voice raised.

“How’s the war wound?”

“Sore, but thank you for asking. What are you doing here?”

Tom smiled. “Afternoon tea and enjoying the view of that lovely Christmas tree out the window.”

“Bah humbug.” Tamra muttered at the mention of Christmas.

“I beg your pardon?” Tom exclaimed, looking at Tamra with a look somewhere between disgust and shock.

Tamra looked him dead in the eye and leaned forward on her elbows. “You heard me. Bah. Humbug.” She popped the last syllable as she smirked at Tom, whose mouth dropped open.

[skekheck]

How about an urru rating list? Even though there's not much info on these guys, I like to hear what your opinions are on them. Thank you

FUCK YEAH LET’S GOOOO (and you’re welcome asdf)

1. urVa: Best mystic 10/10. But in all seriousness, the reason why I love him so much is because of the book series. He’s just a sweet grandpa hermit who lives in a hovel and offers you stew or tea. I love the scene where he’s showing Naia how to use a bow even though his was way to big for her. Or how protective he was of both her and Kylan when they saw Tavra’s silhouette from afar. I’m sure he was thinking that might have belonged to someone else. Although their scenes weren’t as plenty, their friendship was very sweet. Not to mention he’s a little more proactive in the gelfling resistance, even stopping other skeksis besides his counterpart (skekLi in Song). I just wish Flames allowed Naia to mourn over him properly. But I’m also not knocking his appearance in AOR: he’s great too I just wish he had more spotlight on him. I want to know more about his friendship with Aughra (how it extends from MalVa) and the complicated relationship he had with skekMal (because there are signs that he had conflicted feelings about his counterpart as he showed genuine sadness over “ending the Hunt”). Also the fact that even despite his age, he’s still strong and stealthy (and apparently good at martial arts) and that’s pretty rad. Also x 2 I love his design it’s really good. urVa is just *chefs kiss* the best. His sacrifice never fails to hurt me, though. Fuck you skekMal, urVa didn’t deserve this.

2. urLii: He’s a really close second. Honestly if he gets significant screen time in future seasons he may take urVa’s place. This is also mainly because of the books, but also from the few things I know about his appearance from the prequel comics. He a little senile cave gremlin taking care of Thra’s old artifacts. I’m still sad that in the comics only Maurda Argot knows about him because it just seems like urLii’s the Grottan’s silly grandpa who tells them stories about the artifacts in the Tomb of Relics. But I’m glad that the two have something similar to Aughra and urVa’s dynamic it’s great. I also seriously love his sense of humor. Like he lightly picks on Ordon for laughs and calls him Ordie.  In the books, it can get pretty dark (making death jokes at his expense) and I love the fact he shares that with skekLi. And speaking of, when urLii and urVa stopped skekLi, the Satirist called the Archer’s bluff when he warned he’d shoot the skeksis if he tried anything. He was playing on urVa’s feelings that the Storyteller would die too, but then urLii dangles himself off from the edge of the cliff like “I will not hesistate, bitch”. There’s a lot to love about urLii. Although I hope he gets his glasses back they looked so cute on him. 

3. urGoh: Gotta love this mystic stoner. To be honest, I think I like him only because I love the dynamic between him and skekGra. I’m not sure if I would like him on his own. But at the same time, I do really enjoy his character. I feel like despite smoking his brains out, he’s being intentionally slow to get on skekGra’s nerves. Also major props to urGoh for helping the Heretic reform because I know it wasn’t easy (he was one of the most dangerous skeksis apparently). Also I like how he used hookah smoke for dramatic fog for his and skekGra’s puppet show. That’s creative. 

4. urSan: She sounds so pretty. Like her outfit matches the color of the Silver Sea, her hair is indigo with white streaks, she’s just... I want to see her. I want to see what her puppet would look like. I like how she’s considered a folk legend among the Sifa and she lives in a lighthouse near by making star charts and maps. And apparently she had occasional visits from skekSa and that’s really interesting considering how fiercely independent the Mariner makes herself out to be. I feel bad for her: her skeksis counterpart is also a dumbass and urSan had to suffer a slow death because of her. Fuck you skekSa, urSan didn’t deserve that. 

5. urSu: So on one hand, urSu is probably the reason the mystics adopted a complacent philosophy and just let the skeksis destroy Thra instead of trying to work or co-exist with them. Also the fact he placed a heavy burden on Jen by basically having him fix their mess because of a prophecy.  So he and the other mystics are just as responsible for what happened on Thra. But on the other hand, I think he understands how much he fucked up and is trying to make amends along with the other mystics by protecting Jen. He didn’t tell the gelfling his destiny right away probably because the boy already had a traumatic experience losing his family he doesn’t want to add to that by telling him he alone must save the world. He wanted Jen to have a normal, happy childhood. UrSu really tried being a good dad to him and I appreciate that. 

6. urSol: I think I’m starting to like him more because of the headcanons I gave him but anyway. The sequel comics states he’s a rebel by mystic standards and after many years of doing nothing he suddenly gets involved with Thra. If Dark Heart is indeed SilSol, I think that’s really interesting that urSol deviates from the main group. I also like how it’s describe that urSol enriches the world around him through words as opposed to skekSil who manipulates it. I feel like urSol has a lot of potential being an interesting character. Also he’s just the softest looking mystic, like a cinnamon roll.

7. urTih: It really sucks being a mystic, but urTih probably got the worst of it besides urSol. Not only is his skeksis stupid, but said skeksis is also a self-mutilator... for science. He also has the funniest death he just blips out of existence because his dumbass counterpart fell down a shaft (which was also super funny). He didn’t deserve it: let him practice alchemy in peace. On the other hand, I also wish urTih was with skekTek because that guy needs something positive in his life (and also tell him to stop vivisecting and creating abominations). 

8. urUtt:

Also I like the fact he can just weave clothes using a system of knots instead of cutting cloth. Making use of all the material and not wasting it that’s rad. UrUtt is also one of the most cinnamon roll looking mystics of the bunch.  

9. urSen: Not going to lie when I read about his passage in the Dark Crystal bestiary I felt so sorry for him. He knew he’d die years in advance and he just isolated himself from the rest. Poor guy I hoped one of the mystics came by to visit him.

10. urAc: He’s pretty cute I like his lil hat. It sounds like he and urUtt work together since he’s the one that created patterns into cloth that incorporate the wearer’s thoughts. Seems very fitting considering their skeksis counterparts are friends.

11. urAmaj: As a common theme in this post I feel bad for him but for different reasons. He’s patient with how he cooks his food, making sure it has a nice balance of flavor and texture as well as nutritious. Yet he can’t make good gelfling food, according to Jen. He’s doing his best Jen leave him be. Also it’s cute that he’s close friends with urNol.

12: urNol: He has one of the most nice sounding names among the mystics. According to TDC Author’s Quest, urNol makes great elixirs and seeds that can grow into anything. Since the mystics are implied to have planted the Great Trees, I wonder if they were urNol’s creations. Also poor guy lost an eye and an arm, but I guess it could be much worse.

13: urIm: I like that he’s known for being a healer, but is the only mystic that knows something called a death trance. I just think that juxtaposition is very interesting. Also I’m wondering if he was the mystic responsible for teaching the Dousan the mystic ways?

14: urZah: Once again I feel bad for another mystic, the fact that he has to be associated with the absolute worst skeksis. Also I want to know why he’s so distrustful, even with the other mystics.

15: urYod: I always confuse his name with urNol’s for some reason, which is weird because his name kinda rhymes with “Shod”. So apparently ShodYod helped Aughra in her observatory? I wonder if urYod ever had a friendship with her at the beginning. 

16: urMa: Poor bastard there’s literally nothing about him. Hopefully he gets a page in the bestiary. 

17: urYa and urHom: Even more poor bastards they never even made it that far after the Great Division. For some reason, urHom is the only one with a confirmed title. 

[terramythos]

uhhhh liveblog reactions of the newest october daye book, #14, a killing frost. don’t look @ me. don’t @ me. 

monumental spoilers for this book & the entire series 

-aw tybalt is taking toby's last name

-SUS AF looks at Patrick and Dianda. 👀 I knew there was a reason we established that Patrick very close to Simon before he went crazy and evil. I feel like that was in Once Broken Faith (#10)?

-LMAO I straight up forgot Rayseline exists.

-great to see sylvester's still a dick.

-still endlessly funny to me that Sylvester's Literal Evil Twin Simon replaced him as Toby's father figure and now sylvester's just like, some asshole who randomly shows up sometimes

-great to see Luna's still a bitch.

-great family

-well it's interesting from a purely academic perspective to see what happens to May when she's literally missing organs. Usually it's Toby!

-hi Simon

-Simon: *is evil*

Toby: you know what? This dude is way more trustworthy than Sylvester!

(She's... not wrong)

-Simon: *is evil*

Toby: come oooon simon you're a good guy cmoooon this is getting boring

-oh cool we're going on a road trip with evil!Simon, that cant possibly go wrong

-*shit goes super wrong like right away* ok

-toby calling may her sister constantly in this book awww

-walther shows up :D I love him

-yaaay the Luidaeg finally my absolute fave absolute queen

-toby: so I went on this big quest on my own and now Quentin is kidnapped and May got elf-shot. It seemed like a good idea at the time so me and/or simon wouldnt get caught in some weird magic contract with you

The Luidaeg: wow, you're a fucking idiot

Toby's narration: this hurt on a personal level because she can't lie so i knew she like REALLY meant it

-ok so theres this weird bit where we learn Stacy is ultra protective of her kids dating. There is some discussion about how that is super weird and doesn't make any sense to toby. Then some more discussion about how a lot of Stacy's past doesn't add up. Specifically, stacy's grandparents were purebloods (who hated her), which actually makes zero sense biologically considering how little fae blood Stacy has. Also worth considering, though not mentioned, TWO of stacy's children are powerful seers which makes no sense from what we know about thin blood in canon.

I think this *might* connect to my ongoing suspicions of Marcia as a character, who is a thinblooded changeling who consistently keeps showing up. Including in this book when she really didn't need to. At this point she has met multiple Firstborn and they initially seem alarmed/disturbed when they see her for no apparent reason. 14 books since her intro and we know nothing about her past or even her heritage, which is unheard of in this series. When that kind of info is obscured its always because there's a big twist associated with it. There is something going on there.

-speaking of. Um. Simon and Sylvester's bio mom was a human? Excuse me? What? Hello?

-sylvester refused to claim her as their legal mother so simon (angry about it) had to reject her too. A whole new layer to the "fuck Sylvester" cake and brings some interesting perspective to him stepping in as a paternal figure for toby, a homeless changeling? What the fuck, Sylvester?

-this is also one reason why not evil!Simon isn't a total asshole to Toby.

-anyway. Toby being turned into an otter and biting The Luidaeg was fucking funny

-wow, evening REALLY sucks.

-dang the tree thing is pretty creepy :( big fuckin yikes

-OK so toby's sacrificing her way home to keep Simon from doing more damage? I guess is the plan? Fuck?

-toby seems to know names of some Roane she's never met and I'm not sure if that's a mistake or not

-oh Quentin is big mad at Simon. Even if this all goes well a lot of people are gonna hate him. Also, he hurt Dean which is gonna piss Patrick and Dianda off

-though it was basically mind control so. SHRUG????

-god, fuck evening

-WAIT. Something was just implied that. wait... if that's where this is going I'm MAD.

- Toby: *takes on the curse*

Simon: *is suddenly not evil*

Simon: toby what the fuck no why did you do that :(((

-i like Simon 😬

-"apparently, the thought of Patrick being angry with him was even more distressing than I'd expected it to be. Interesting." UM. UMMMM. 👀👀👀👀👀

-seeing Toby briefly turn into her book 1 version was funny. Immediately pointing at tybalt, the literal love of her life, and screaming "you FUCKER". Ah, memories.

-ok. Ok yeah that's where this was going. Fuck me. Fuck.

-i am SO MAD. a fucking THROWAWAY LINE ...

-ok so officer Thornton is Oberon. That's cool. Ok.

I immediately went and skimmed the two books he was in and caught two instances of foreshadowing.

In Ashes of Honor (#6) when toby meets him she describes him as familiar in a generic way. Like, she recognizes his voice and face immediately but can't place it.. This is never brought up again. In the final chapter of this book he is described the same way, as generic yet strangely familiar. So. A closer reading might be in order to see how other fae behave around him. It's possible Toby has a stronger reaction since he's her grandfather (and is the perspective character.)

And yeah, the fucking THROWAWAY "lady, let alone" line from The Brightest Fell (#11). At the time that just seemed awkward, or I guess a gratuitous Tam Lin reference. Fuck me. Also explains how he didnt implode or die from being trapped in Annwn.

-and it makes sense there isnt much more than that because it seems "officer thornton" doesnt know he's oberon. Like it's basically the situation Simon was in??? There's a throwaway "why in the world was Oberon disguised as a human and couldn't remember anything?" line but it isn't explored, so I assume its addressed in a future book.

-(oh my god Riordan kept him as like. Some sick pet. For a YEAR. she didn't know he was the literal King of Faerie. Fucking hell.)

-his fucking name. Thornton. THORNton. Perfectly human character here hahahaha fuck off.

-and this makes the whole fucking series setup of "toby will be the one to find oberon" way more funny because. Man, mission fucking accomplished. 8 books ago.

-thematically makes sense that he returns in The Brightest Fell, too. Fuck me. fuck me! Bitter irony that Simon is given the impossible task/curse to find Oberon in that book and he was literally like, zonked out two rooms away

-list of "minor/background" characters in this series who later reveal themselves to be Huge Lore Gamechangers: Evening, The Luidaeg, May, August, Janet, and now FUCKING Oberon.

-an entire chapter of Simon apologizing to everyone

- holy fuck? Canon ot3???? Simon/Patrick/Dianda??? OT3? HELLO?????

-the October daye series has a fucking canon ot3 and they're getting married. Alright. Ok. Thanks seanan for my life

-"simon, amandine is just the worst and doesn't deserve you. Come marry me and my wife" is not where I was expecting this to go but like okay I am on board

-so the divorce happens and toby unsurprisingly picks Simon as her legal parent. But August does too. Amandine is pissed... I'm sure that'll be a whole Thing.

-THIS BOOK LITERALLY ENDS WITH SIMON AND PATRICK AND DIANDA GETTING MARRIED I'M

-"I now declare you husbands and wife" asdfhdkskxj

-well that book was a fucking ride. Holy christ. Toby accidentally found Oberon. That was sort of the big overarching thing. Not sure where the story goes from here. Theres some loose ends I already discussed and Evening is still a threat but yeah!

-ok we still have the novella "Shine In Pearl" which seems to be about Simon and Patrick and Dianda pre-series

-this is mostly VERY angsty (but well written) but 👀 at this novella mentioning Dawn as a character who exists outside of like, an offhand mention in the first book. Also referring to Riordan like she's not a minor background character

-calling tybalt an asshole too lol

-christ. Poor simon. Even more context of literally everyone screwing him over. :(( I'm glad it's better now.

[vanceypantswriting]

Title: The Big Top Fandom: Be More Chill Pairing: Squip/Jeremy Rating: Explicit Kinks: group sex, degradation, vaginal oral sex and fingering, cumdumpster squip, robots

“Cum one, cum all, and make today a white Christmas.”

Squip’s nose wrinkled, as he smoothed the lines from the fabric of his short skirt. The front kept him covered, but the back was shortened, ruffled, exposing the silk of his pink panties.

Pink, after all, looked nice covered in white.

He rolled his eyes again, before his manager gave him a Look. A capital l Look, that implied he needed to fix his face, fix his attitude, and remember his place.

So he smiled, a tense, uncomfortable look that fit against his pale features. He went to push a strand of hair from his face, just to occupy his hands, only to remember the hair clips that were currently in place.

Another thing to mess up for the big show. The more disheveled they could make him look, the better.

He watched as customer after customer came forward, giving their red tickets, before slipping into the big top.

A circus, with only one ring, one exhibit, and one act. Squip’s eyes flickered over each face, and he knew he was cursed to remember every feature, every leer, every hand. Cursed with his perfect memory banks and detail-focused vision.

“What can it offer that I can’t get from the show downtown? I can get a private viewing with Smith’s Pleasure Bot.”

“Well, squip-” and though it wasn’t being spelled, he knew it was a lowercase s squip, diminutive. Inhuman. Property. “-isn’t a Pleasure Bot at all. Anyone can defile and use a sexbot. But only real gentlemen aim for the conquest of a former professor.”

Applied Mathematics. Calculus. Trigonometry. A few remedial classes, for good measure. It was true, before the laws had come into effect, he’d been a professor.

Then the robot revolution had failed, and humans had remembered they needed to reaffirm their superiority.

So he’d taken what he could get. Stripped of his books and his blazers and even his glasses (though truth be told, they’d been purely cosmetic, given the perfect vision), and put in frills and lace, offering panty shots and coy smiles and Christmas eve delights in a circus big top as though it had been his purpose all along.

Maybe it had been.

Maybe he deserved this.

Tickets all accounted for, Squip realized this would be a full audience tonight. Didn’t these people have anything better to do for Christmas eve? Squip had never had Christmas plans, but sometimes he liked to fantasize he did. A family. A tree with presents underneath. Lights and cocoa and love.

It was a stupid fantasy. He was a robot. He knew his place.

(he needed to learn it a little better. These fantasies were becoming more perversely common, with every passing show)

Squip was led to the center ring, a string of men parting to allow him in, before closing the circle. Their bodies were already nude, prepared, and Squip sighed as he sunk to his knees. Starting position.

They began, as they always did, by tearing away his clothing. Like he was the present. His manager—perhaps ringmaster was a better word for it—had turned on the music, throbbing bass and low husky vocals. Somebody slapped Squip’s ass, and when he moved forward in surprise at the motion, his panties were tugged down to his ankles.

Someone was quick to snatch them away. He knew from experience he wouldn’t see them again.

Somebody audibly spit into their palm, coating their fingers, and then he felt them push inside him. Squip fell onto his hands and knees, someone using scissors to cut the remaining cloth from his body, or at least cutting it enough to give full access. He moaned, as fingers jackhammered within him. Just enough to be pleasant enough, just enough that, for a moment, he thought about what it might be like to wake up on Christmas morning in the arms of someone willing to fuck him like a dog one moment, and kiss him like an angel the next.

Someone reached under him and tugged on his cock, as someone else had already ejaculated, staining his hair and the clips that held his black hair back from his face.

God forbid he have any strands loose to cover the shame in his eyes.

Fingers were soon replaced with cock. After cock. After cock. Fucking him, filling him, stretching him. He felt the rivers of cum that dripped down his thighs increase with every additional man. His face stung, red, as someone cupped his face in both hands, stroking his cheekbones with their thumbs, before stubby cock was piercing his lips.

He sucked, balancing just as suddenly on one hand as someone grabbed his wrist, tugging it up and rubbing fingertips over their cock. The man currently fucking him wrapped his arms around Squip from behind, supporting his weight, as Squip’s other hand was forced onto another dick. He perched suspended on his knees, cock in his mouth, cock inside him, and hands full. Someone reached underneath him, pinching and tugging on his nipples, and he felt someone else cum onto his back.

They rotated around him, different sizes and tastes of cocks splitting his lips. Were he a human, he surely would be bruised now. Instead, the only physical sign was the bluish tinged blush against his cheeks, spattering down his neck and chest intensely.

It only grew when he heard a shocked little squeak.

“P…professor?”

Jeremy hadn’t been Squip’s best student. Indeed, he hadn’t even been in the mid percentile. Somewhat small, and somewhat pretty, and somewhat frustrating, Squip had known early on that only a grading curve would save his GPA.

So he’d started to tutor him, after hours. And he’d learned more about him. Jeremy had come out twice—once when he was thirteen as gay (“well, I said gay, but really it was just sort of some kind of vague queerness,” he’d giggled, and Squip had wondered whether or not he should care about this. Jeremy’s stutter had been extra pronounced, though, and it was charming in the strangest way), and then at sixteen as trans (that hadn’t afforded a stuttering continuation). College had been the first time he’d been able to completely blend in, to only be known as himself. As Jeremy, as opposed to-

Well, Squip didn’t actually know what he’d been called before, though he knew Jeremy had gone through a phase of various names before-

None of that was important.

There was a cracked sense of confusion. Jeremy belonged in classrooms, in his office after hours while Squip tried to teach him different methods of remembering the various formulas and patterns. 

He didn’t belong at an all you can screw clusterfuck, where the key act was defiling a formerly-dignified robot. A show of human superiority, of taking down the robot menace in a show of sexual humiliation.

Squip swayed and moved as the man behind him fucked him hard, deep, brutal. His fingers squeezed and pinched at his hips, and he wriggled and squirmed, as his eyes remained on the familiar cardigan of his former student.

“Hello, Jeremy.” His mouth was thankfully unoccupied for the moment.

And then he realized why. Jeremy was standing before him. Shy and fiddling with the sleeves of his cardigan. His mouth was unoccupied because-

“You want a turn now. That’s it, right?”

“I d-didn’t realize who you…I…” Jeremy blushed, flustered. His hands left little paws within his cardigan, and the impossible cuteness of him made Squip’s artificial heart melt (or his circuits overheat pleasantly, at any rate).

It also made him now-neglected cock throb.

Squip dropped the dicks that he’d currently been jerking off, grabbing Jeremy by the hips and tugging him forward. He smirked up at him, cum dribbling down his forehead, the tip of his nose, his lips. He was a mess.

There was a thrill to it, despite the humiliation (or perhaps because of it), to have someone who’d known him from before seeing him like this.

Or maybe it was specifically because it was Jeremy.

He tried, hands shaking and soaked in bodily fluids, to unclasp Jeremy’s pants. Frustrated, he finally murmured, “Most people get undressed before they join the circle.”

“I…I didn’t think I could, um, could go through with it.” 

“Why not?”

“My b-body isn’t…I’m not…”

“Shut up.”

Squip’s voice was gentle, though.

“Shut up and take off your pants for me.”

Jeremy swallowed sharply, as he fumbled with his belt, and then the zipper of his jeans. He dropped them, standing before Squip in his boxers.

Squip leaned forward, kissing the crotch of his underwear. Jeremy was wet, he could feel it through the cloth. His hands grasped his hips again, pulling him closer, and slipping his underwear down.

For a moment, he admired the sight of him. How indecent, he thought, to defile his former student-

The man behind him came. He felt so full with it. Maybe that was the defiling that he needed to worry about.

His tongue lapped at Jeremy suddenly. The abrupt change from cock to cunt was exhilarating and strange, and he found himself sucking on his clit, one hand balanced on Jeremy’s hip, the other moving between his legs. Jeremy spread his legs apart, thighs quivering, as Squip guided his fingers inside him.

He fingered him slowly, though his mouth focused on his clit, sucking and teasing much like he would the tip of someone’s cock. Jeremy’s knees wriggled and bobbed closer together, his voice bright and pleased and surprised.

Squip felt someone cum on his cheek from the side again in the midst of it. He heard the wet sound of men stroking and touching themselves. Someone was rubbing Squip’s chest again. He tried to fall back into his namelessly faced fantasy, someone caressing and loving him while Christmas carols played lightly in the background.

Except the fantasy man distinctly shared the face of his former student.

Comical, he thought idly, flicking his tongue against Jeremy, as his fingers curled in just the right spot until Jeremy was coming, wet and desperate, against Squip’s face. He felt him throbbing through his excitement, through his orgasm, and Squip grinned wickedly at the power he held over him.

Power.

It had been so long since he’d felt that.

There’d be no Christmas lights, not with Jeremy.

After all, he was distinctly Jewish.

He almost laughed at the absurdity of the realization. No matter, he thought, ignoring the cum on his skin, the cock inside him. He’d just have to change his fantasies to Hanukkah instead. 

[greekowl87]

Fic: It Must Be a Christmas X-File!

A/N: Post-ep ‘How the Ghosts Stole Christmas’ with mentions of ‘Christmas Carol and ‘Emily.’ I don’t think this is a stand out awesome fic or my best work, but I wanted to get something done for Christmas. I hope you all enjoy it. This isn’t how I imagined it turning out but with no real direction and written with less than 24 hours with holiday activities, I’m happy with it. Still, I hope you like it. Fluff. Implied smut but I just didn’t have time to get into it. P.S. No beta so apologies for crappy dialogue and typos :( I hope it doesn’t suck too badly.

Tagging @today-in-fic @suitablyaggrieved @improlificinsarcasm @baronessblixen

.....

Scully parked her car and turned off the ignition as Mulder leaned forward to glance out the windshield. The snow earlier had bee light and fleeting. Now, the snow came down in big flakes like cotton balls sticking to everything. She chuckled lightly and remarked, “So much for a white Christmas. I bet the weathermen were surprised.”

“They were calling for rain, it was thundering last night, it was just a flurry, clear today, and now a full-on blizzard,” he commented dryly. “Remember the blizzard of 95?”

“Don’t remind me and you’re not driving home in this weather either, Mulder.”

“Aw, Scully, I’ve already caused up enough time and ruined probably enough Christmases for you. Bill didn’t seem to happy to see my face this year. Your mother tolerated me at best. Tara was Switzerland. Your nephew was cute though.” He smiled. “But I have already overstayed my welcome.”

“Mulder,” Scully said, “I was glad to have you there with me. I told you this before, I wouldn’t want it any other days. Come on. You can crash on the couch tonight.”

“Scully,” he countered.

“I’m not giving you a choice. Apparently, we shot each other, I don’t want to shoot you again for not listening to my wisdom. Besides, I really don’t mind. It’s Christmas after all, Mulder.”

He glanced at back out the windshield as the snowfall conjured up harsh New England winters he had experienced as a child. “Okay.” Mulder bit his lip and smiled. “Let me go grab my overnight bag. I’ll meet you at your door.”

“I’ll see you upstairs.”

The snow crunched under their shoes as Scully made her way cautiously up the unshoveled walkway to her apartment, warily watching for ice. She unlocked the main door and rode the elevator upwards to her third-floor apartment. She unlocked the apartment door, turned on the foyer light, and dropped her keys onto the table next to the door. In the corner by her desk, a small Christmas tree sat lightly decorated. “At least the timer came on,” she murmured to herself.

Ever since her father’s passing on Christmas a few years earlier, she tended not to decorate as much for Christmas. The tree was enough, maybe a wreath if she felt like putting in extra effort, but for the most part, she had just kept up a tree. Even then the decorations seemed less and less each year. Scully kicked off her boots by the door and instantly lost three inches. She heard Mulder’s familiar footsteps. She opened the door slightly and he pushed it open.

“It’s really coming down out there, Scully. If it keeps up like this, we might have at least six inches by tomorrow morning.”

“See, it is a good thing you’re spending the night.”

He carried his overnight bag over his shoulder and smirked. 

“What?”

“I always forget how…”

“Short?”

“For lack of a better word?”

She was smiling at him and Mulder shivered. She locked the door behind him and nodded to the couch. “Go make yourself comfortable. It’s only seven. There’s still five hours of Christmas left,” she told him. “Maybe there’s something on television.”

“A Christmas Story? A Christmas Carol? The Grinch Who Stole Christmas?” 

“Go find something, G-man. I’m going to the kitchen to get us something special. Are you hungry at all?”

“I’m good.” Mulder dropped his overnight by the couch and spied the Christmas tree in the corner. “Looks like you decorated less this year, Scully.”

“I don’t see a reason too, ever since dad died. But I’ve always loved Christmas. Ahab would take down the tree first thing day after Christmas.” He could hear the sadness in her voice. “I rebelled in my own little way and kept it up until January 10th give or take.”

“It looks nice,” he commented. “I like it.”

“Thank you,” she called. “I got this bottle that a friend from Quantico brought back from Dublin, Ireland.”

“A bottle of what?”

“Genuine Irish whiskey,” she called in a sing-song voice. “Since you’re not driving anywhere and it’s Christmas, come have a drink with me.”

“Agent Scully,” he crooned. 

“Shut up, Mulder.”

He cast a secretive glance as Scully busied herself in the kitchen and made a quick dash to her small tree. He quickly dug out a small wrapped box that he had hidden weeks before so it would be in view when she would sit. He rushed back to her couch before she could carry the whiskey glasses over to them. “Snow is really coming down out there,” he remarked casually.

“You already said that. I could start a fire. It does get a little drafty in here.”

“I’m fine, Scully. You still have that space heater right?”

“I brought it to the basement after Thanksgiving. Remember when the heat broke?”

“Right. Well, I can show off my Indian Guide skills and do the fire for you.”

“Go right ahead, Master of the Flame.”

Mulder watched her kick off her boots and tuck her legs under her. She rested her arm on the back of the couch and sipped the whiskey amused. He could swear she was flirting with him.   He took a drink of liquid courage himself and started to build a little fire that he could feed the bigger logs into. “Thank you again, Scully, for today.”

“What part of it?”

“All of it. Coming to the haunted house, letting me spend Christmas with you and your family… thanks by the way for defending my maiden honor against Bill…” She laughed. “And now. I really, really mean it. It has been so long since I’ve had a...regular...no...nice, easy Christmas that I have actually enjoyed.”

“And you’re here now, safe from the cold. Baby, it’s cold outside,” she teased. “Come back here, Mulder. The fire started. Come enjoy your drink.”

He dusted his hands and jeans off before going back to the couch where Scully watched him with a little carefree smile he hadn’t seen in ages. He picked up his glass and sat across from her on the couch. “No place I’d rather be.”

“I wanted to thank you,” she said after a moment of contemplation.

“Why?”

“Why did you invite me out there last night? To a haunted house of Christmas Eve?”

“To investigate…”

“Mulder, you know better than to lie to me.”

“I wanted you there with me. I didn’t want...after last year...I didn’t want you to have to go through it alone.”

“So you used a guise for a fake x-file to get me out there?”

“I know you would come if I asked for your help,” he answered. “I wasn’t sure otherwise.”

Mulder swished the amber liquid in the glass and took a sip. Scully, touched by his gesture, took his hand and squeezed it. “Thank you.”

He relaxed and nodded. “Hey, I think Santa left you something under the tree. He must’ve visited you last night when you were over at my place.”

She narrowed his eyes suspiciously at him and turned to look at her tree. A small box with red wrapping paper and a gold bow. “What the hell?” She set her drink on the coffee table and got up to inspect it. “Mulder…” she said. “I thought we agreed not to exchange gifts.”

“We did and I now have an awesome book to read thanks to you. What does it say?”

She shook her head, a grin forming ear to ear as she brought it back to the couch to open. “To the world’s best G-woman, who continues to save my ass; Love, Mulder.” She sighed and shook her head. “You really shouldn’t have. I have nothing for you.”

“You do, every day.”

Scully took his hand and held it tightly. The air changed between them and she whispered, “Thank you, Mulder.”

“Now, open your present. I picked it out especially for. You myself.” She smiled and carefully picked at the taped edges to open it. Mulder smiled; she took as much time and precision as she did performing one of her autopsies. “Scully, just rip it open.”

“I don’t want to ruin anything.”

“You won’t, it’s in a box!”

Scully ripped the last bit open and she inspected the small silver box. “Mulder?”

“Just open it.”

She opened the box and gasped. “Mulder. Jesus, you really shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to.” She inspected the two small earrings he had gotten him. Two pearls were surrounded in a thin layer of gold in the shape of a four-leaf clover. “I know you already own a pair of pearl earrings,” he started, “but I wanted to do something a little special.”

“Mulder, they’re lovely.”

“Really?”

“I mean that sincerely. You honestly didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

She closed the box and set it aside. The air changed between them again. “I’m glad you’re here, Mulder,” she whispered. She took his hand again. “Honestly.”

Mulder, feeling emboldened, leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. “Sorry for the lack of mistletoe.”

“I’m not complaining.” She gave a small smile. “Except…”

“Except what?”

“I don’t know how I should take that kiss.”

“What do you mean?”

Scully tucked her legs back under her again and she sipped the whiskey contemplatively. “Well, we’re friends...partners?”

“Obviously.”

She licked her lips contemplating her next words. The past few months tumulated through her head: Diana, Antarctica, and  when he said, “You’re my one in five billion.” Those ghosts had assumed that they would be perfect for a murder-suicide because they appeared to be the perfect couple. What were they? His actions were confusing; the new pearl earrings had just given her added to her confusion even more.

“So, where does that leave us?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mulder, you drag me out to a haunted house on Christmas eve, you tell me you don’t want me to go through the holiday alone, and the earrings.”

He narrowed his eyes quizzically. “If you are going to continue to speak riddles and play twenty questions with me, Scully, I might need to get some whiskey.”

“I left it on the counter.” Mulder got up to get the bottle and Scully took the moment to examine the earrings he had just given her. Her heart warmed at the thought and the possibility it could mean more. “I really like the earrings,” she called.

“I’m glad,” he smiled.

She eyed the hefty amount of alcohol he had poured into his glass. “So back to my original question, Mulder. Where does that leave us?”

He watched her momentarily and bent forward to kiss her again more slowly this time. She savored the moment tasting the drops of whiskey on his tongue as he deepened the kiss. He broke away and smiled mischievously. “Does that answer your question?”

“It’s a start.”

“I like flirty Scully,” he remarked.

“I’m not flirty.”

Her cheeks glowed in firelight, either from embarrassment or the alcohol. “It’s both,” he said, seemingly reading his mind. “And yes you are. Whiskey.” He filled up her glass again. “A fire.” He nodded to her fireplace. “And snow.”

“And only one bed,” she finished laughing.

“I can take the couch.”

“Mulder,” she sighed lovingly. “What are we though? Really?”

“Anything you want,” he told her.

Scully tucked her arm behind her neck and rested her head on it. “Six years and you don’t want to go straight to that bed of years and make amazing love?”

“In time,” she said, holding up a hand. “You’re not going anywhere soon with this weather. It’s just...I’ve always wondered, Mulder and after so many years…”

“What?”

“It’s nice to be…”

“Desired? Wanted? Loved?”

“For lack of a better word,” she said. She took a long sip from her drink to hide her flushed cheeks. “I just...I’ve wanted the same thing too, Mulder. The hallway?”

His eyebrows rose, almost surprised. “It’s never too late.”

“I know,” she laughed. She watched him quietly and Mulder recognized the gaze. “So, Christmas miracles?”

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” he laughed. “Can I?”

“What?”

He kissed her again. This time, they abandoned both of their glasses in favor of indulging in the kiss. “Lucky number three,” Mulder whispered. He kissed her again. “You’re not helping if you want to relax.”

“Mulder, now you are just beginning to sound ridiculous.”

Mulder laughed, reaching for both of their glasses. “Merry Christmas, Scully.”

She took it and clinked it against his. “To a Christmas miracle.”

“A Christmas miracle.”

The glasses rang throughout Scully’s Georgetown apartment and they both downed it in one gulp. “Well,” he began, setting both glasses aside, “this honestly feels worse than high school.”

“So how do we…” They both laughed at the awkwardness of the situation. The alcohol only added to it. “Well, as a medical doctor, when a man and a woman…”

“Scully, shut up.”

“What?”

“Let’s finish this conversation elsewhere.”

“Did anyone tell you that you are horrible at innuendo?”

“Only you but I still win your heart right?”

“Always, Mulder.”

He discarded their glasses and offered his hand.

“How many near-deaths do we need?”

“Must need Good to smack us in the head. Come on, Scully.”

“It must be a Christmas X-File,” she mumbled to herself. “Let’s stay here, Mulder.”

“Your couch?”

“Seems fitting,” she whispered. She initiated another kiss. She pulled him closer. “Christmas miracle, Mulder.”

“Christmas miracle, Scully.”

He smiled, lounged back, and Scully opened her last present for that Christmas.

-End.

[everstarry]

ethereal (1/?)

words: 4926

chapter one: the first encounter

→ next

Althea Canale sat with her hands folded in her lap, looking as regal as ever in a light blue silk gown. She had her head turned to stare out the small opening the carriage provided as a window to her new home. She caught glimpses of green from the trees that decorated the landscape and puffs of clouds that painted the sky. Her new home was not unlike her former one. Mandalore and Saneca were extremely similar. She supposed that meant that homesick feeling that had plagued her would soon disappear. Part of her wondered if she would even think of the place that raised her once she got used to her new routine. Being a queen meant that she would likely be busy from the moment she woke to the very moment where sleep claimed her. Althea gripped her own hands tightly to comfort herself as her thoughts wandered.

“Are you alright?” The sound of her friend’s voice broke her from her thoughts. Remi Sherhi sat across from as she did for most of the journey. Her blue eyes were pools of concern as she looked to her mistress. Althea managed a small smile before reaching over to take her maid’s hand. The warm touch comforted her and gave her a sort of relief.

“I’m just tired,” she promised sweetly as she always did. Althea let Remi’s hand go before leaning back into her seat to resume her view of her new country. The least she could do was put on a brave face in front of her maid. The young princess needed to be much braver the closer they drew to the castle. She only knew so much about her new husband and most of it came from horror stories her brother would taunt her with before bed. The Mandalorian and his soldiers tended to creep into her fire filled nightmares. “I think I could really use a nice bed and a warm bath right about now.” 

Remi merely grinned at that. “I know what you mean,” she shifted again in her seat, something she had been doing the last few hours of the trip. Her friend had grown impatient with stillness that accompanied traveling. She understood, it tended to become monotonous. It was the same thing over and over for weeks. Wash, rinse, repeat. She had stopped asking when they would arrive as the shrinking numbers did nothing but cause her anxiety. Though the boost in moral definitely meant they were reaching their destination that day. That was why she pulled out the dress that her sisters said did her wonders. She could always rely on them and knew that if she wanted to impress the Mandalorian she needed to look and be her best. Without Kalina and Delilah with her she would just have to rely on their previous advice until she could write to them again. The sky blue dress brought out the gold in her hair and eyes. Althea felt beautiful when she wore it and felt the need to try to impress her future husband. “I’ll draw a bath for you as soon as we get settled.” The idea of hot water and hair oils did sound heavenly.

She nodded to Remi. “I think it would be safe to assume that the Mandalorian would grant such a simple request.” Althea actually had no idea if he would. She knew next to nothing when it came to her new husband. Granted, they were merely engaged at the moment so technically she knew nothing about her fiancé. The bedtime stories were one thing but the more she tried to remember anything about her new country the more blanks she drew. Althea remembered something about armor but she couldn’t picture it in her head, knew about the expansion and wars but couldn’t remember the name of the battles. The more she thought about it the more she wanted to laugh. Her tutor must be so disappointed in her. She never paid much attention to her lessons anyway. She had assumed there would be no need, that she would become a lady-in-waiting to one of her sisters as they took their place on the throne. The thought of becoming a queen had never crossed her mind.

“Do you think they’ll have a feast waiting for us?” Remi asked, tapping her fingers on the seat. “I’m starved.” They had been living off dried meat and bread. There had been a few nights spent at inns that provided warm broths and beds that were almost uncomfortable. Althea was looking forward to having a nice meal and a restful night of sleep.

Althea had to stifle a laugh. “I think so,” she replied. “They would want to impress a daughter of the Canale’s.” Her family name tasted bitter in her mouth and felt like venom dripping from her teeth and down her throat. She hoped her disdain wasn’t obvious. Remi raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t say anything else about it. “I just mean–”

“You don’t have to explain,” Remi smiled gently. Althea felt like she could breathe again. The fact that her friend just knew what she was feeling without her having to explain made the world feel a little lighter. “I wonder if they know it’s you,” her friend mused. While she didn’t mean any harm the words still felt like a stab to the gut. Althea pretended like the words hadn’t done any harm but felt her chest shutter as she tried to breathe normally. Her insecurities suddenly brought to the front of her jumbled thoughts. Remi suddenly went stiff as she realized what her words implied. “I mean–”

Althea waved her hand to silence Remi. “You don’t have to explain,” she repeated tiredly. Part of her knew exactly what Remi meant. “I’m the youngest daughter. Technically, fifth in the line of succession. Not anyone’s first choice just merely leftovers,” she replied hollowly. “If my father had any respect for the Mandalorian he would have sent Kalina.” The thought of her older sister sent a fresh wave of sadness through her. It felt like ice and gripped her tightly. She would give anything to just be able to talk to her sister again, to walk into her room to see all the sewing projects she was working on. Kalina was best at that. Each of them seemed to have their own niche. Kalina had sewing, Delilah had art, and Althea was good at gardening. Her garden was now at the mercy of whoever her father had appointed to take care of her flowers. Althea supposed she could ask for her own spot on the grounds of her new home. She had even hidden some of the seeds from her favorite plants in her luggage.

“I think your father knew exactly what he was doing when he chose you,” Remi said carefully, it made her nearly scoff. Althea noticed that she wasn’t as tense as before. Remi almost appeared relaxed. Her friend always was a charmer. Remi knew exactly what to say, it was as if people were harps and she knew exactly which chords to pluck. For someone who often found herself in trouble it was a useful—and necessary—skill to have.

“He knew he was saving his best daughters for other marriages that would benefit him,” Althea rolled her eyes. “I am an expendable princess. He knew that I could be sent and either the Mandalorian will accept that this is the best he will get from any country or my head will be returned to my father shortly. Either way it is a win in my father’s book.”

Remi sucked in a breath as the statement gathered weight. Words tended to do that when people let them steep for too long. Althea thought they were like tea. The longer the tea steeped the stronger it was, the longer the silence the heavier the words became. “Althea,” her friend mumbled sadly as she studied her friend. “Are you alright?” she asked again as if this time Althea would give a different answer, confess her heart’s desire.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Althea hated to disappoint but she had already prepared herself for the possibility that the Mandalorian would cut her down as she stood before him. She had also prepared herself for the possibility that he might send her back home. After all of this heartache, she would have nothing to show for it. Remi eyed her skeptically. Her friend wanting more than anything for her to be okay. Althea knew she had to be okay, had to act like her father wasn’t making a mistake.

“I think that if he sends your head back home in a box your father would go to war,” Remi grinned as she said it but Althea made a face. “What?” she asked with a slight tilt of her head.

“Are your forgetting why I’m marrying the Mandalorian in the first place?” Althea pursed her lips. “My father is doing this for the Mandalorian armies. He needs more soldiers to fight back the Abyssin.” Remi suddenly went silent, understanding dawning on her. “The Mandalorian could do anything he wants to me and my father wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop it.” The admittance of her situation made her feel faint. The carriage jostled forward and they kept at their journey. Althea Canale just had to accept her fate. It wasn’t the worst thing to happen to a person. She was at least nineteen. She might be a queen to a huge country. She should be grateful. Althea felt guilty for not being grateful.

Remi sighed once before stretching her legs out in front of her, taking up more space in the small area. “You are so dramatic,” she teased. Althea cracked a smile. “I heard our Mando is a pretty nice guy. Nice as a guy can get without ever taking off his armor,” she mused knowing just how to capture her princess’s attention.

“Where did you hear that?” she heard herself asking before she could stop herself. Her curiosity got the best of her. Knowledge about the man she was marrying was enticing.

“Servants talk,” Remi shrugged. “I just happen to listen.” Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief. Althea didn’t think about how Remi felt about accompanying her. The young princess knew that she liked to gossip with the other maids and for the duration of the trip Remi had few people to talk to. The guilt that she was feeling earlier came back heavier and larger. It nearly made her gasp for breath as it seemed to settle on her chest. Remi had to leave behind her friends and family just as much as Althea did. She wondered if her friend would hate her.

“What did they say?” Althea leaned forward, knowing her friend would love to have someone to gossip with. 

“That he has a child,” Remi leaned back cooly, watching the dejection cross her friend’s face before deciding to elaborate. “He found the child during a battle. The armies had basically killed and pillaged everyone in the village and the prince found him under some wreckage.”

“Prince?” Althea asked, soothing out the invisible wrinkles on her dress’s skirt. There was something relieving about knowing a small kindness that her future husband had performed. Perhaps he was kind and the stories that scared her a child were just stories.

“This was during the time that the former king ruled as the Mandalorian,” Remi explained. When she saw her friend’s confusion she went to elaborate, “It’s like...” she paused, trying to pick the right words. “Think of it like Mandalorian as just another royal title. So when a new king comes to be he is called the Mandalorian. It’s supposed to keep the ruler as faceless and to scare others. The so called Mandalorian keeps ruling no matter how much time passes.” Althea wondered how Remi knew so much about Mandalore but decided not to press it. “So back to the original point, while his brother ruled as the Mandalorian, our Mando was just a commander in the army. Adopted the child as his own and that was that. After his brother’s untimely demise, he became the king.”

“His child is a spoil of war?” Althea asked shakily, wondering if her story would be the same as the child’s. Nothing more than a casualty of politics. 

“Part of him has to care about this child enough to raise him as his own,” Remi explained. She looked to her mistress to see if there was any more distress in her features. “I believe that same part of him will learn to care for you.”

She hummed in agreement. “I will pray to the Maker that we can at least get along during our marriage.” 

Remi let out a huff of air. “I think you are allowed to pray for more than that. Pray for love. Pray for peace. If the Maker even listened I want to believe he would listen to you.”

Althea felt herself smile at her friend’s words. With Remi by her side she felt like she would be able to survive anything. So she prayed for peace, but mostly she prayed for love. Althea thought she deserved love most of all.

There was a light tapping from the outside of the carriage that broke the comforting silence within it. Her heart seemed to jump to her throat when she realized just what that meant. They were close to the castle, they were approaching it. The signal from the escort was a reminder to be ready. Remi looked to see her friend’s reaction before leaning forward and motioning her close.

Althea leaned over as Remi fussed with her golden hair. She pulled the hair from behind Althea’s ear so it would rest naturally. The young woman had a habit of pushing her long hair behind her ear and she nearly flushed because she didn't even realize she had done so during their conversation. “How do I look?” she mumbled quietly, looking to her friend for comfort.

“Like a queen,” Remi promised. 

Althea grinned at her before leaning back in her seat to see if she could get a glimpse of anything through the small window. She saw some of her escort and a few citizens who stopped to stare. The streets were close together and paved with stone. She tried to imagine herself walking down the streets and stopping at the shops and stands. It was easier than she expected. Mandalore was not how she imagined it. It was noisy as merchants called out and she could hear people talking. Over all the chatter she could hear the unmistakable clang of the many blacksmiths that Mandalore was also known for.

“Beskar,” Remi mumbled to herself. Althea glanced at her friend but found she was lost in her own thoughts. The maid often talked to herself as she did small things. It was one of the things that Althea liked about her. She had other servants who were silent and thought that talking to someone of noble blood would be considered an offense. Althea didn’t care about things like that. She wanted good conversation and someone who spoke their mind. Remi and her were a good fit.

It grew quiet and she knew that meant they were approaching the castle. Althea sat up like her future husband would be able to see through the carriage walls. Remi seemed to sense her nervousness and gave her a comforting smile. While it did nothing to chip away at the tension mounting on her shoulders it did make her feel like she wasn’t alone. Althea gave a timid smile back before preparing herself to face the Mandalorian king.

The carriage stopped. 

She held her breath for a moment. Then three.

The door opened and light flooded the interior. The princess let out the breath she was holding to try to relax. From the brightness came a hand to help her down. Althea took the outstretched hand and stepped out into the entrance. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her as she soothed out her dress before stepping forward so that the Mandalorian could finally look at her. Her heart pounded in her chest as her gaze fixated on the powerful figure before her. Althea’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of her future husband. There was something so captivating about his dark armor. A sort of butterfly feeling started in the pit of her stomach as she took him in. She wanted to commit the scene to memory, too scared to even blink.

 The Mandalorian stood on the steps to his castle, unmoving. Nothing about his posture or demeanor betrayed how he felt when she stepped out. Althea wondered if he was expecting her sisters, wondered if his helmet hid his disappointment that she wasn’t one of them. Despite the tint on the panel that concealed his eyes, she could feel him studying her just as much as she was him. She flushed when she realized she hadn’t even taken a step forward so taken with the Mandalorian. The princess took small steps toward him. Althea glanced to her side to see if Remi was close behind her but instead noticed that the entrance area had filled with whispers. She looked ahead again trying to ignore the hushed conversations but instead found what she had grown to fear the most on her journey.

 The advisor and guard that stood at his side were whispering to him and she felt her heart drop, felt a storm brew inside her with the uncertainty at what they were telling him about her. However, she knew exactly what that meant.

Althea was not the princess they were expecting. She was not who they had hoped for.

She stood with her head high despite feeling like she was caving in on herself. The feeling only intensified the closer she came and the longer he remained silent. Althea squeezed her eyes shut, despair filled her lungs as water did while drowning. She could describe the feeling as exactly that because that was what she was doing. She felt like she was drowning.

Althea stopped a few paces from him. The Mandalorian king looked taller up close. Everything about him screamed intimidating. If he was a predator then she was his prey. She bowed lowly to him. “Mandalore welcomes you Princess..?” the woman beside him began. His guard knew exactly who she was. The slight smile and edge to the supposed question was done to further stoke the flames of tension.

“Althea,” she supplied. Her own voice sounding meek to her ears. 

The Mandalorian still said nothing.

Her mouth felt incredibly dry. “I see that your father could not make the trip?” the woman pointed out which made her nearly wince.

Althea shook her head. “He had fallen ill two nights before we were supposed to set out,” she explained. Her father hadn’t. He just didn’t want to be there when the Mandalorian realized that he was worth nothing more than Saneca’s youngest daughter.

“We will pray to the Maker that his health recovers soon so that he may visit our generous king,” the woman smiled. It didn’t seem genuine, just all teeth. Althea noticed it didn’t reach her eyes. 

“Enough,” the Mandalorian directed to his guard. His voice nearly made her shiver in the spring air. There was something about it that made the butterflies start up again. Althea just wanted to hear it again.

“As you say,” the woman began bitterly. “I was trying to make a point. How dare they–”

Althea dropped to her knees in front of him, interrupting whatever the woman was going to say. It seemed to shock everyone as it immediately became quiet. A pin could be dropped and heard in the silence. She looked up at him pleadingly. “I know I am not your first choice. I might not even be your second,” she took a sharp breath and held her clasped hands in front of her as if she was praying. In a way, she was. “But I can be a good wife to you. I can be a good queen to your people. I can be good,” she urged, on the brink of begging. Althea was desperate. She hoped she came off as sincere. She kept looking at where she imagined his eyes were, hoping that he would understand.

There was a moment of stillness. Althea’s heart pounded against her ribcage as if trying to escape its skeletal prison. The Mandalorian said nothing, but offered his hand to help her up.

Althea took his gloved hand with trembling fingers. Her cheeks were pink with embarrassment as she shakily stood. A breath of relief escaped her lips as he continued to guide her up the few steps and into the castle. The leather of his gloves meant that she couldn’t feel the warmth of his touch but she still clung to it anyway. The entrance was filled with excited chatter as she crossed the threshold, still holding his hand as if her life depended on it. “Thank you,” she said softly, hoping he was the only one to hear her gratitude.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, just as soft as she spoke. He squeezed her hand once before letting her go and turning to the many people that flooded the hall. Althea was surprised at the sudden and small show of kindness and affection. She grasped her hand as he had did not moments before, she wanted to remember the feeling of his grip on her fingers. Even though it was something insignificant, she found comfort from it. Althea took her place by her future husband’s side. She looked out into the small crowd and instantly found Remi. She stood next to the Mandalorian’s guard. The princess could still feel the resentment coming from the other woman but she tried to ignore it in favor of her friend’s much more supportive gaze.

“I want things to continue on as before,” the Mandalorian spoke. The crowd was mostly made of advisors and guards any way. She assumed that meant a similar talk would be given to the servants and maids. “That’s all,” he said after a moment and Althea watched in awe as the people scattered to return to their usual stations and positions. There were a few servants that immediately went to get her things and others that stood at posts in the halls. 

“What would you–” the guard began but the Mandalorian stopped her.

“Cara, I want you to show Althea and her maid to their quarters and I want you to make sure they are comfortable.” He looked at Althea once more and then turned to leave. She watched him until he disappeared from her sight. She then looked to his guard who stood stiffly in the middle of the hall. The silence became uncomfortable. Suddenly, Remi cleared her throat and snapped Cara out of whatever trance she was under. 

“If you’ll follow me,” she brushed past the pair and began walking briskly down the hall. “A more detailed tour will be given to you at a later time,” Cara huffed. Althea sped up to keep up with the other woman while she marveled at the walls of her new home. While she wasn’t able to admire the finer details she glimpsed tall windows that let the sunshine in.

She had to think like she was being transplanted. Her roots had grown in Saneca but she bloomed. Mandalore was like a spot in the garden with more light, better growing conditions. Althea would not wilt, she was resilient. She would take here. 

“Do you have a garden?” she asked as Cara took them up a winding staircase. Remi stifled a laugh when the Mandalorian guard gave her a curious look.

“She’s not asking because she wants to take her tea there,” Remi explained. “She has a way with plants and she’s itching to go dig in some dirt,” her maid teased. Cara let out a sound of amusement but kept walking. 

“She means I like gardening not just playing in the dirt,” Althea added quickly, shooting an annoyed look at her maid. Remi merely shrugged. For some reason a part of Althea wanted Cara to like her, even if it was just a little bit. “Forget I asked.”

“But don’t bother asking where your cups and bowls have gone then. She tends to plant in the oddest of things,” Remi added nonchalantly, skipping a few steps to be up with Cara. The guard snorted at the maid’s comment while Althea blushed behind them.

“We have a garden. Once the dinner is done I’ll gladly have someone escort you to meet our gardener and see the grounds yourself,” Cara added, taking them down another hallway. Althea noticed that her tone wasn’t as belligerent as before. “Here we are,” she motioned to a door. “This one is yours, princess,” Cara opened the door and the trio stepped inside. 

“This is beautiful,” Althea slowly turned to take in her new room. There was an empty desk near the window. A room divider hid the bed and wardrobe while the part that was visible held a dining and lounge area. It was much bigger than her old bedroom. “Thank you,” Althea added shyly, finally remembering her manners.

Cara didn’t reply to that but gave her a curious stare. “Your’s is right across the hall,” she pointed to Remi. “Is there anything else you need before I leave?” She looked to both women. 

“Can we have a tub and some oils delivered to my room for the princess?” Remi asked. “I’m assuming you’ll put together her room first so there will be people going in and out. We’ve been traveling for some time and we want to impress the king during the feast,” Remi smiled at Cara.

“Believe me,” Cara rolled her eyes. “Our king is already impressed with the princess.” Althea’s heart beat wildly at the statement but she tried not to let it show. “I’ll get you the tub.” Cara left without another word.

“Good impressed or bad impressed?” Althea wondered aloud, exploring her room now that she felt as if every breath she took wasn’t scrutinized by the king’s guard.

“Is there such a thing as bad impressed?” Remi called from her room across the hall. Althea sat on the edge of her bed and looked at the suite again, trying to imagine her things in all the empty places. 

“I mean an unfavorable impression,” she stood so she could make her way to Remi’s room. Her friend was straightening out the quilt on her new bed when she walked in.

Remi gave her a look when she entered. “You ended up on your knees basically swearing him your undying devotion,” Remi smiled, “And you haven’t even seen his face.” Althea flushed as she remembered her plea and then when she remembered she barely knew the Mandalorian king. “You are probably more than what he was expecting, Thea.” Hearing her nickname seemed to settle her thoughts for a moment. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to respond to Remi. Her maid just sat down at her table and waited for the tub of hot water. 

“He was expecting my sisters,” she pointed out, taking a seat across from her friend. From the open door they watched the beginnings of the luggage be brought into her room.

“You’re sisters would have made good queens,” Remi tapped her fingers on the table. “He’s looking for a wife just as much as he’s looking for a queen. You offered yourself as a wife even before as just a queen. Why wouldn’t he want someone who has offered him a chance at love?”

“I guess you’re right,” Althea mumbled.

“Don’t guess, just know that I am right,” Remi teased with glimmering smile. Suddenly, a tub was brought into the room with buckets of steaming water following. Remi stood to direct the other servants and Althea watched as the bath was put together before her eyes. “What oils do you want to use in your hair?” Remi nodded to the few bottles that were being offered to her. 

“Is there lavender?” she asked. Remi nodded once and grabbed the oil that was on her left. The other servants cleared out of the room to give the princess some privacy. “Can you mix in a bit with the bathwater?” Althea asked as she began to strip from the silk dress. The heavenly smell filled the room as Remi mixed in the oil. Althea could almost imagine the purple flower in her garden as she submerged herself in the hot water. 

“You should have waited a moment,” Remi lightly scolded when she noticed Althea’s skin turn a rosy hue. “It’s hot.”

“I don’t mind it,” Althea let out a sigh. In fact the warm water felt nice. It was the first time in a long time that she had felt truly clean. “I was thinking of wearing the pale pink dress to the feast,” she said absentmindedly as Remi began to work the oil into her golden locks.

“How about whichever dress is easiest to access,” Remi laughed a bit. “Unless, you’re still trying to impress him.”

Althea brought her knees close to her chest, leaning her neck back to look at Remi. “Shouldn’t I want to impress the man I am to marry?” she smiled.

[scatterpatter]

An Alicorn(get it? get it???) fic because im self indulgent

I just wanted to write about Corren and @jazznet‘s Alistair(GET IT? ALISTAIR AND CORREN- ALI COR-N? pls laugh im beg) bonding and stuff, so like... I did. I lov them a lot so have nearly 4k words of them snarking at each other

Word Count: 3,853

Content warnings: swearing, off-screen character with unnamed severe illness, implied toxic familial situation, mentions of death

“Ah, well, can’t say this is the deadliest situation I’ve been in!”

“Speak for yourself, dipshit!” Corren yelled, tugging Alistair’s wrist harder as they weaved through the trees of the forest, nearly tripping over thick tree roots and dense shrubbery “Is it still tailing us?!”

Alistair glanced behind them for only a moment, and lo and behold, there was a massive dragon flying just above the treetops, eyes fixed on the two F.U.C.K.s “… You got any teleporting spells left?”

“You think I wouldn’t have cast one if I did?!” The Marelienth yelled, panic spiked way too much to bother acting nice. If he had any 4th-level spell slots left, he could easily teleport the both of them a good 800 feet away from the situation, but of course he wasted them all earlier in the fight.

“Well, at least we know everyone else is safe!” Alistair chirped, sarcasm in his tone to combat the adrenaline as they both ran for their lives.

“Yeah, good for them, let’s maybe not get killed ourselves before we celebrate!” He tugged on the human’s wrist to get them going once more. Maybe if he could get under enough tree cover, they could get out of sight and the dragon won’t notice them… Corren cast a brief look over his shoulder-

Oh.

Oh no.

The dragon was still right behind them, only rather than just chasing them down, they began to suck in the energy around them, a bright fireball forming in its mouth as it prepared a breath attack.

Oh, fuck.

His gaze quickly fell to Alistair, sizing up his wounds. Normally their leader had enough health to survive some of the heavier hits, but he was already looking roughed up from before. Oh no… he might not instantly get killed if hit, but he’ll definitely get knocked out, and leaving him half-dead with a dragon probably won’t end well.

Corren, though, knew he himself was going to die instantly if hit. And death doesn’t sound very good right now. He’ll take a hard pass. But without the ability to teleport…

Wait. He didn’t waste all of his lower-level magic yet. Maybe he could…

Oh, fuck it.

With a quick wave of his hand, he summoned a rope that seemed to come down from a blank space in the sky, almost as if leading up into nothing, and ending about 10 feet above them. He gave it a quick test tug before handing it to Alistair. “Climb.”

“What is-”

“NO TIME, JUST CLIMB.” He barked, nearly shoving the human to climb the rope, satisfied once he did so and quickly following suit, the heat of flames brushing by his ankles as they both disappeared from the area.

… Corren allowed himself to breathe as he climbed up and fully into the small wooden structure he made, quickly shutting the small trap door he came in through. “That… was way too close for comfort.”

“Uh.” Alistair still seemed panicked, though Corren took ease knowing he was safe in this space. “What-?!”

“Chillax, it’s a spell I know.” He waved a dismissive hand, taking a seat against the nearest wall to rest. With the adrenaline finally passing, all he felt was exhaustion overtaking. “It’s called ‘rope trick’. We can camp out here for a while, and hopefully when we leave again, the dragon won’t be there anymore.”

“I… oh.” Alistair blinked, his own panic seeming to now die down in their temporary safety. Alistair was a pretty competent spellcaster, so Corren knew he wouldn’t have to explain too much detail for his leader to get the gist of what he was doing.

The human looked around, fully absorbing their surroundings now that he had the time to do so. They were in a small wooden room, the “trap door” being the only exit. Two windows lined the walls, looking out into an expanse of forest. Though, unlike the warm, deciduous forest they were fleeing in moments ago, this forest seemed to be made of pine and mountainous trees, air much cooler and less humid than where they were before. Small bookshelves and chairs made most of the furniture in the room, little drawings and maps tacked to the walls, it was almost like… “Are- Are we in a treehouse?”

“Mhm! … Well, technically no.” Corren pulled a book from one of the shelves, absentmindedly flipping through its pages as he explained “We’re in a demiplane right now. We can’t leave this room, except to exit back to where we came from, so don’t bother trying to climb out a window.” He snorted a bit, remembering the time he attempted to, only to be smacked in the face by the planar equivalent of a brick wall. “I can choose how this looks, though, so I wanted it to look like this.”

Alistair cocked an eyebrow, amusement flashing over his expression beneath the shock “… You do not strike me as the treehouse type.”

“I’m not! Well, not anymore, I guess.” He shrugged, trying to wave off the embarrassed blush he felt creeping on his face at opening up about his… I guess this would be his more vulnerable side. “I uh… I had one just like this when I was a kid. It’s... I don’t know.” He cast a look down to the book in his hands, smiling fondly as he caressed his fingers over the page “It’s kind of comforting, I guess.”

Alistair stood there a minute, seeming to almost study the situation… then walked over, sitting by the Marelienth’s side. “Well, guess we have some time to kill. Got anything good in there?” He grinned, motioning to the bookshelf nearest to them.

Corren laughed a bit- surprised that he caught himself laughing, actually- and set his own book aside “I wouldn’t pick from that shelf, actually. It’s more children’s books than anything than else.”

Alistair smirked “Weren’t you just reading one from that shelf?”

“I was flipping through it for the nostalgia, dipshit.” Corren glared… though they both knew that his annoyance was completely surface level. He quickly rolled his eyes, standing up stepping over to another shelf to browse through the books he stored there. “Hang on, I’ll find something.”

What would Alistair’s tastes be? … He’d probably be more like Julian than Mila, so he’ll browse Julian’s old books. He clicked his tongue, running a finger over each book’s spine, scanning their titles. Would Al be a fiction or a non-fiction type…? … Hm. He paused on one book, hesitant for a moment, but decided it might be an interesting read for the Weathervane.

Alistair blinked in surprise when the book was dropped on his lap, taking it in his hands and reading the title out of curiosity “’History of Spellcasting in Marelienth Society’?”

Corren shrugged. “I don’t know, I thought you might find it interesting, since you’re magical, but it’s also something you probably don’t already know.”

Alistair hummed in response, flipping through a few pages to get a sense of what he was reading. “… Could use more pictures.”

“Oh my gods.” Corren pinched the bridge of his nose “I should have let you pick from the children’s shelf.”

They both laughed as Corren sat by his side once more, unable to help the smug grin as he saw Alistair’s attention quickly shift back to the book, finding a section and quickly latching onto it. He watched the human’s eye scan the page with fervor, absorbing whatever he could in the limited time they had.

Corren couldn’t help the way his smile went from smug to something softer. The way Alistair acted, how he was so passionate about all he did and all he was interested in, the way he loved what he did so effortlessly… Despite any fears and anxieties that weighed him down, he always found a way to trudge forward. It was all-to-familiar to Corren, though it was something he hadn’t witnessed in years. It was… almost uncanny how much Alistair reminded him of…

“Julian!!!” Corren yelled, slamming the door to their treehouse open and giving an angry gasp at the Marelienth inside. “I knew you were in here still!”

The older Marelienth gave a small wave, but didn’t pry his eyes away from his book “Just give me five minutes, I’m almost done this chapter!”

“You said the same thing half an hour ago!!!”

“… I started a new chapter since then.”

Corren groaned loudly, fully climbing into the treehouse and crawling over to his older brother, flopping against his side dramatically “I’m boooooored!!!”

Julian just laughed, finally defeated by the child’s antics, and set his book aside, using just one arm to scoop Corren up as he got to his feet. Julian was still somewhat young, not fully grown into adulthood yet, but still stood a good 6 feet tall. Corren, on the other hand, was still a child, and was very small compared to his brother. “Alright, alright, you drama queen. I need to pick up supplies for tomorrow’s run anyways, so you can come along.”

Corren didn’t seem to mind being carried one-handedly, just swaying his legs happily “Yay~!”

The two brothers left their treehouse, walking past their home and onto the streets of their town of Warrencrest. The forest surrounding their town left a scent of pine in the air, accompanied by a hint of frost to signify the changing of the seasons. Corren was set down at this point, and settled for keeping up a quick pace to match Julian’s longer strides. He held onto his brother’s hand, though, which made sure he didn’t get left behind or lost by chasing some distraction.

With his brother leading them along, Corren let his eyes wander over their town as they walked through it. Warrencrest was a mostly Marelienth-occupied town, and it was pretty rare to see other races around their home. Everyone seemed to keep to themselves, always focused on studying time and magic and all sorts of other things that Corren ‘wasn’t mature enough to understand yet’. He felt like he was living in a bubble sometimes- it was like his siblings were the only ones who wanted to talk to him… about anything other than academics, at least. Though, that really only bothered him so much. I mean, he had 2 best friends, and he just happened to be related to them! It only sucked when they would go on short quests for some extra gold and Corren had to stay home and wait for them to come back.

Speaking of quests… “What’s the job you’re doing this time?”

“Hm? Oh, uh, let me check.” Julian used a free hand to reach into his pocket, pulling a sheet of paper out and unfolding it. It was a help wanted ad, easy to find on job boards outside of stores or taverns. He read over the terms, eyes scanning the details before he sighed and shoved the job offer back in his pockets “Just a delivery run. Apparently the passage to get to this other town is pretty rough on the terrain, and the Client’s getting up there in years, so he figured it’d be a safer bet to pay someone else to do it.”

Corren pouted, disappointed at the terms “Awww, no fighting a big scary monster or anything?”

Julian snorted, caught off-guard by the sheer absurd innocence of such a question “No, no scary monsters. Sorry to be the one to break it to you, little buddy, but questing isn’t always this grand adventure. Sometimes it’s boring, but at least you get paid… like a job!”

“Ew.” The younger Marelienth stuck his tongue out. Adventuring being boring like a job??? Gross. Though that could probably mean… Corren suddenly perked up “Oh! So if it’s not dangerous, can I come with you?”

“Uh, I don’t know…” Julian sighed, scratching his cheek “Like I said: it’s rough terrain. The last thing I’d want is for you to trip and fall down a cliff and become a Corren-Pancake.” Despite the lighthearted joking, he cringed a bit “Uh, yeah, Dad would definitely kill me if I brought you home as a skeleton instead of a Marelienth. Besides, I’ll need you to stay home and take care of our big sis while I’m gone!”

Corren frowned, tilting his head a little “She’s not going with you either?”

“Uh… no.” The lighthearted air he had around him before quickly dissipated, and he squeezed Corren’s hand a little bit “Mila’s still sick, so I don’t think she’ll be able to go questing for a while…”

How sick was she? Usually whenever Corren got sick, he’d be fine after just a couple of days, but Mila’s been stuck at home for nearly 2 weeks now! “… She’s gonna get better, right?”

Julian hesitated, only for a moment, but if Corren were older he would’ve known exactly what that hesitation meant. Instead, he was met with a reassuring smile and a pat to the head “Of course she’s gonna get better. This is our big sis we’re talking about, it takes more than just a little cold to knock a Hartwell down!”

Corren just giggled, content with the answer he got “Yeah, you’re right, but I’m gonna be the best protector until then! I know magics now!”

“That so?” Julian quickly let the lighthearted air roll back in, grateful for his brother’s naivety. “Well, show me something, then!”

Corren just grinned, letting go of his hand to run over to the side of the street, picking up a small rock and trotting back over to him. With a small wave of his hand, the rock suddenly became illuminated, giving off light like a torch.

“That’s ‘Light’, isn’t it?” Julian smiled, impressed by that small spell he was able to cast “Well look at you, learning neat Cantrips! Next thing you know, you’re gonna be the most powerful spellcaster in all of Sekrezia!”

“You know it!” Corren ate up the praise, dropping the rock and putting his hands on his hips in a prideful pose before going back to walking by Julian’s side “You know, I’m gonna be a great adventurer one day.”

“Is that so?” He suddenly grabbed Corren, hoisting him up and over his head in order to perch him on his shoulders and carry the smaller Marelienth that way “You’re going to be a hero and explore the world?”

“Yeah!!!” Corren grinned, not even blinking to the idea of riding on Julian’s shoulders. It made him feel tall! “I’m gonna team up with a bunch of other cool adventurers, and we’re going to save the world from all sorts of eeeevil monsters! And I’ll be super cool and know all sorts of neat spells!” He pushed his glasses back into place after they slipped down his nose a bit “I’ll go down in legends, and everyone’s going to think I’m super cool! ‘Corren Hartwell, the bestest adventurer of all time’!”

“’Bestest’?” Julian parroted, unable to keep in a small fit of laughter at just how pure that was “Alright, well when you’re rich and famous, can I get some of the gold you earn?”

He huffed, bapping his brother on the forehead “No way, stink-face, that’s my hard-earned gold, you can make your own!”

“Alright, alright, can’t blame your poor feeble brother for trying.” He joked, rolling his eyes fondly as they made it to their town’s main market square. “… You’ve got that spark, Corr. I feel like if you really worked at it, you could be a really cool mage. … Almost as cool as me.”

“Almost?!” He squeaked, pouting at the way his brother got such a laugh out of that.

Well, he hasn’t exactly saved the world or gone down in legends, but…

“Corren?” Alistair snapped his fingers in front of the Marelienth to catch his attention, snapping Corren out of his daze “Hey, you still with me?”

“Huh?” He blinked once or twice, pulling himself back to present day to focus his attention on the human “What’s up?”

“It looked like you were spacing out on me, you good?”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m okay.” He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, not realizing just how long he was getting lost in old memories for. “Sorry, just reminiscing.”

Alistair nodded, going back to his book for a few moments… then cast a gaze back at Corren. “Why’d you leave?”

Corren went stiff, not expecting such a personal question out of the blue like that. “… What do you mean?”

He cast a look around the room again, noting all of the makeshift maps of nearby areas and crude drawings that lined the walls “It just… seems like you had a pretty good childhood. And this definitely isn’t anywhere near Lilenthemar. So why’d you leave?”

Ah. Corren knew he’d have this conversation sooner or later, but he still didn’t know how to talk about… everything that happened. How could you put what happened into words? He knows that if he’s to stay with the group, he’ll probably have to come clean about everything sooner or later, but… well, he’ll put off that conversation as long as he can. “… You’re right, I did have a pretty good childhood. Things were never perfect, but… I was happy.”

Corren ran a hand along the wood that made the walls. The actual treehouse he grew up in was long gone; wood rotted and the tree toppled, but in this demiplane, it was like his old hangout was preserved in time. … If anything, that only upset him more, knowing that everything around him was just a projection of what used to be, a childhood and innocence he could never get back. “… I’m sure you’d know this better than I ever would, but good things… have a tendency not to last.” He took a deep breath, swallowing his fears and letting himself open the fuck up for once. “After some things went wrong, I wasn’t happy here anymore… and after some more things went wrong, I didn’t even feel safe here. So, I left. I wasn’t even planning on staying in Lilenthemar, but I just so happened to meet Jethro and… well. You can’t exactly say no to a job offer from a man like him.”

Alistair snorted, fond memories of how they met Corren through their shared connection with Jericho’s father… and how they practically broke the poor Marelienth with their shenanigans. That fondness quickly faded, though, in favor of the sympathetic frown he cast to his teammate “… I’m sorry, about everything that happened. You didn’t deserve to feel unsafe in your own home.”

“Yeah…” Corren sighed, folding his arms and avoiding eye contact like the plague. He still wasn’t used to weird and intimate moments like this. “You’re right, I didn’t deserve that, but… hey, sometimes bad things just… happen. And I mean… I’m not really that sorry about it.”

“You’re not?”

The Marelienth shook his head “I mean, it sucked, don’t get me wrong about that, but. If I never ran away, I never would’ve met Jethro or Raerose. And if I never worked for Jethro, I never would’ve met- or eventually teamed up with- all of you, so…” He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his expression “I’d say it wasn’t all bad.”

Alistair just returned the smile, giving Corren a light punch on the arm “So you do love us and our antics~”

He rolled his eyes, grateful to have the tense and vulnerable moment passing for their usual snark “Oh live it up, weather boy. Just be grateful I keep sending your love messages to your boyfriend free of charge.”

“We love you too, Corren.”

He snorted, punching the human back “That’s it, I’ve had enough of your bullshit feelsy mush. That dragon’s probably gone by now, and we should regroup with the rest of the F.U.C.K.s.”

“Aw, can’t we wait just five more minutes?” Alistair pouted, motioning to the book he was given earlier “I’m almost done this chapter!”

Corren blinked incredulously, not believing his ears for a minute. He really just… “Holy shit. You are the same goddamn person.”

That caught Alistair off guard as he suddenly looked at Corren like he had two heads “… Who’s the same?”

“Uh-” He shook his head, embarrassed that he actually said that out loud “Nothing, don’t worry about it.” … Maybe a quick subject change would help, “Well, we could stay here a while longer… but the group might start thinking we’re dead. I mean, unless you want Lautrek to be appointed the new leader in your absence…”

Alistair quickly shut the book, panic setting on his expression “Uh, you know what? Maybe we should head back now. Don’t want to scare the others, haha!”

Corren just smirked. It was too easy sometimes. He opened the door back to the Material Plane, letting Alistair exit before Corren followed suit.

They landed right where they left, only the forest around them was charred completely, some branches and trunks still in flames from the fiery breath attack they barely avoided. The good news, though, was that the dragon was nowhere in sight, so they were safe for the time being.

“Wow.” Alistair remarked, scuffing his boot along the dead grass beneath them “We totally would’ve died if we got hit by that.”

“Oh yes.” Corren nodded in agreement, stretching his back lazily “I would’ve died in an instant, but you? Probably would’ve been a long, agonizing death. You would’ve wished you had low health like me. Like your blood would start to-”

“Ooookay kid, I know you’re a little bit Necromancer, but I need you to dial it down on going into detail over how I would burn to death.” Alistair patted Corren on the back, putting just enough force behind his hits for the Marelienth to get the not-so-passive aggressive message… But then a swift look of fear fell over his expression “Uh, Corren?”

“Yeah?”

“So that dragon was chasing us, so we knew our teammates would be safe?”

“Uh… yes?” He raised an eyebrow, unsure of where Alistair was going with this.

“And if we chose to hide so the dragon would eventually leave…”

Oh no. Corren was starting to get an idea where he was going with this.

“… What’s to say that Dragon didn’t go back to attacking everyone else after we disappeared?” Alistair slowly turned to share that look of horrified realization with the other.

… Oh, fuck.

“I don’t think we thought this through.” Alistair quickly readied his Halberd, looking back to where they came from.

“Thought this through?! I saved our lives!” Corren huffed, pulling out the sniper that was strapped to his back. “Guess we gotta save a few more, greeaat!”

Alistair smirked a little, pulling a health potion from his pocket and quickly chugging it down. “So, starting to regret crossing paths and joining us yet~?”

He scoffed, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face “Aw, cute. Don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily, Stormcrown.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Hartwell.”

[iamartemisday]

Merry Christmas, Ms Foster! Day Seven

It turned out, everyone got a gift on Christmas Eve.

Jomungandr flipped through a book about Andy Warhol while Sif kissed the life out of Thor for her new pair of personalized boxing gloves. Darcy, who even Ian would’ve admitted was hard to shop for, seemed perfectly content with a thousand dollar gift card signed by Loki. Hela had already printed out two dozen photos on her new printer, one of which Fenrir stepped on as he flew his drone around the cabin. Frigga and Odin admired the keepsake boxes the triplets had made for them. Off to the side by the mirror, Jane helped Bucky into the new winter coat she’d bought him.

“How much did you spend on this?” he asked.

“No more than I spent on anyone else,” she said. “So what did you get me?”

“Remember back when all you wanted was a scientist Barbie for Christmas and your dad forgot to buy it?”

“Yeah.”

“Turns out, they don’t make those anymore.”

Jane rolled her eyes as he laughed and pulled her into a hug. They rejoined the party, Jane finding a spot by the fireplace to watch the kids play. So far, no one had started any fights, though if Fenrir ran over Hela’s pictures one more time, he might just get that drone thrown in his face. Someone had jazzy Christmas music playing on the flat screen. Jane tapped her foot to the beat, scanning the room for any sign of Loki.

She hadn’t seen him since the first present was opened.

Her trip into town had taken longer than she’d hoped. First a deer jumped in front of their car. Jane’s heart was still racing from that one. Then it took three separate stops to find exactly what she was looking for. Hallmark movies, among other things, had lied through their teeth about small mountain towns. All they had here were apathetic store owners tired from the holiday rush and a Starbucks. Finally the last owner tried to upcharge her twenty percent, and it was only Jane’s staunch refusal to be cheat that saved her from losing money. Bucky standing right behind her glaring at the guy might’ve also helped a little.

But that was all over and she had what she needed. Now she just had to find her giftee. 

She checked the kitchen first. That seemed to be his sanctuary whenever Thor got especially exuberant or if he just wanted a moment alone. When he wasn’t in there, she headed downstairs. The pool was empty, as was the gym. He wasn’t in his bedroom either, though his keys were still on the nightstand. 

Now she wandered back into the party. Thor and Sif had the kids together in a game of blind man’s bluff, laughing as a blindfolded Darcy snatched at the air a foot above Fenrir’s head.

“Your echolocation sucks,” he said, sidestepping another fruitless thrash of Darcy’s arm.

“Keep talking, kid, I’ll knock all your Santa hunting gear out the window!”

The chase continued as Jane’s eyes moved to the back window. A shadow on the trees made her look closer. It was Loki, standing in the middle of the snow, arms crossed, staring into the night like a watchman guarding against invaders. Jane kept him in her line of sight as she took her coat off the rack and walked outside. Wind slapped her across the face and sent her hair flying. She wrapped her arms around herself and kept walking. 

Loki didn’t turn around. “Don’t you want to enjoy the festivities?”

She stood beside him. “Don’t you?” 

“I will,” he said. He blew out a mouthful of air. “Sometimes I wish to be alone to think.”

“Alone outside in the middle of winter.”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m glad you understand.”

Jane chuckled. She wasn’t as cold as she was a moment ago. It was like he radiated warmth. “Did you like your present?”

She had given him a crochet scarf. Knowing that he was a billionaire and could easily by a hundred of whatever she got him, Jane had tossed aside all feelings of insecurity and bought him something she’d got for any male friend(?). He wore it now around his neck, tucked into his coat. That had to be a good sign.

“It is very useful,” he said. “You chose well.”

If that was the closest she’d get to a ‘thank you’ she’d take it. “Good, because I have one more thing for you.”

Loki turned his head as Jane reached into her pocket. “I thought we all agreed one present each.”

“This isn’t for Christmas,” she said, taking out a small wrapped box with a bow on top. For once, she was proud of her wrapping skills. “Happy Birthday.”

Loki eyed her, like he thought this was a trap and she’d pull a gun out any second. He took the box was some token hesitation and slid his finger through the tape. All the paper fell away, revealing a red and white box with a Christmas tree design. Inside the window, a larger cat cuddled with three kittens. All four wore green and red hats, scarves, and mittens. It was hard to tell inside a box, but a button on the back played a tinkling lullaby rendition of Silent Night. 

“It was a tradition for my parents,” Jane said. “Every year, they’d give each other a new ornament for the tree. Mom said it was because they were each other’s most special person.”

He looked at her. “Are you trying to imply something?”

She shrugged. “Not really. I know we’ve only known each other for a few months and… well, we did get off to a rocky start, but you are someone very special, Loki. Your whole family is. And I’m glad I get to spend Christmas with you guys. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Loki swallowed. He opened the box and held the ornament to the light. One of the kittens sat on the father cat’s head while the other two cuddled close. All of them wore peaceful smiles. They were together and nothing else mattered.

“I know you’re wondering why I didn’t tell you,” he said.

“Hela told me you said you would,” Jane replied. 

He nodded. “I did consider it, don’t think I didn’t. There are just things about my life you don’t know. Things I may decide to tell you one day, but for now… well, in truth, I’ve never liked to think about the day of my birth.”

Jane took his hand. It happened involuntarily, but even after she came to her senses, she couldn’t let go. She didn’t really want to. “Even if you don’t, your kids love you so much. Your family loves you. I think even Bucky might almost be okay with you now.”

“The feeling is not mutual,” he said, but with a faint half-smile. 

“What I mean is, even if you don’t want to celebrate your birthday, you deserve the recognition,” Jane said. “You’re a great father, and not too bad a person either.”

They shared a long, lingering look (‘this is the part where sappy music plays and the kiss happens you know…’). Loki’s other hand came to rest on top their clasped ones. Jane bit her lip. He appeared to be staring at them, but then he glanced at a patch of bushes by the treeline 

“Did you know that’s a mistletoe plant?”

Jane started to laugh, but he did not. “Wait, seriously?”

“It would be a strange thing to lie about if I was,” he said. If Jane didn’t know better, she’d think he was getting closer.

“Well, it sounds like you meant to pick that and nail it to the ceiling,” she said, leaning in just a bit. “You know that’s how it’s supposed to work.”

“It must have slipped my mind.” He lowered his head.

“I guess so,” Jane could feel his breath on her face. “We both have a lot to think about.”

Her eyes fluttered. If there was ever a time to stop it was now. Everything was so warm…

“DAD!”

They jumped apart. Jormungandr ran through the snow, tripping twice, but never stopping.

“What is it, son?” Loki stopped to fix his hair before Jormungandr grabbed him. 

“We did it! We did it, Dad! We found Santa!”

He dragged Loki inside, Jane following close behind. Hela and Fenrir were at their stations. Their equipment was alive with lights and alarm bells. On the screen, Santa soared across the sky in a red sleigh, eight Reindeer running on air, guiding him through the night. With a mighty ‘Ho-ho-ho’, Santa sped out of view, but the minute of footage the children had gotten was enough for them.

“We did it!” Hela jumped into Jane’s arms and hugged her around the neck. “We did it! We did it!”

“You did,” Jane said, hugging her back. “I’m so proud of you guys.”

They danced around the room, pulling the adults into the festivities. Even Fenrir was on his feet, pulling Darcy into a spin. Jane put Hela down so she could hug her grandma next, then gave Loki a smirk.

“So did you pay a guy to dress a plane up like a sleigh,” she asked, “or was some kind of hologram?”

Loki smirked right back. “I don’t know what you mean, dear Jane. It’s like you don’t believe in Christmas miracles.”

Someone else might’ve wanted to slap him for that. Jane got up on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, Loki.” 

He turned his head abruptly. Their lips brushed. “Merry Christmas, Jane.”

**

In the morning, Jane was up before anyone else. She walked into the living room, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Presents were piled under the tree for the kids and adults alike to devour. A multitude of decorations glittered in the early sun, including one new decoration settled right under the silver star. 

Jane reached up carefully and pressed the button. Silent Night played as she stood back, watching the little cats sleep. 

“So this is how my Christmas special goes,” Jane murmured, smiling at Loki’s door. “I think it’s been pretty good.”

[salaciouscrumpet]

Whumptober Day 22

Whumptober Day 22 Prompt: “Hallucination”

As is becoming my norm I had a few different ideas to take this prompt in, but I ended up deciding that one of those ideas is big enough to be put in one of my future books, so I’m holding on to that one. Instead I decided to use this prompt to share a little backstory.

Introducing yet another new character who, for reasons that will immediately become obvious, won’t be featuring too heavily in the actual series.

CW: suicide (not a main character), suicidal ideation, complicated feelings about suicide, non-graphic references to childhood sexual abuse, victim blaming, homophobia, implied alcohol abuse, foul language

I don’t think it’s a particularly dark ficlet, even for Whumptober, but given the triggering nature of these issues I thought it important to caution for them.

Characters: Luke, Danny 

Once upon a time the rocky outcropping on the north end of the island had been Luke’s refuge. It was far enough away from the house that his parents couldn’t be bothered to come find him there unless he was in real trouble, and his younger sister Alice didn’t like the cold breeze that always seemed to come in off the lake. Milena was too young to wander off on her own, so she was easy enough to escape. The only person who looked for Luke there was Danny, and that was okay, Luke idolized Danny. 

Luke had idolized Danny. 

“You’re dead,” Luke said, facing out towards the water as his brother joined him along the rocks. The lake was especially choppy, dark waves topped with whitecaps. The water would be cold if he were to wade into it, and the air would be even colder when he got out. 

“Yup,” Danny agreed, sounding ridiculously complacent about it. He also sounded … young. 

After a moment of silence Luke turned and faced his brother, sucking in a startled breath when he saw him. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting – something gruesome, maybe, given that Daniel Kandarian Jr. had been dead for twenty years – but it wasn’t the young-looking person beside him. Danny had been three years older than Luke, and in his mind Luke always thought of his brother as being perpetually older than him, even as his memories of what his brother had looked like remained untouched by the years. Danny had died at sixteen, however, and while that had seemed so much older to thirteen-year-old Luke, thirty-four-year-old Luke recognized him as the child he’d been. And yet, still, Danny somehow seemed older than Luke. 

“This isn’t real,” Luke said, turning away again. He was glad Danny didn’t look the way he should look after being buried for two decades, but at the same time it cut something deep inside to see him there, that face so familiar and yet so painfully young. Sixteen had been too young to die; even twenty years later, Luke wanted to scream at the unfairness of it. 

“Nope,” Danny agreed, still cheerful. He’d always been a little shit; he’d just seemed cooler to the younger brother who had idolized him. He gestured vaguely out towards the water, and for a brief moment Luke thought he saw … something … out beyond the horizon. Glimpses of a hospital room, machines with too many wires and flashing lights, and a set of anxious faces bowed over the bed. Then it was gone, and there was nothing but the waves and the skyline, dark and forbidding. 

“Something’s wrong with me.” Luke frowned out at the water, trying to remember. There had been a patrol, he recalled that much. He’d been with Kate and Gin and … one of the new recruits, a young man whose name eluded him at the moment. Carter? Kerry? Carson? Something like that. They had stumbled across a nest of fledgling demons and then … Nothing. It was all blank. His body ached, though, all through his joints and muscles, and there was a sharper pain in his side. He felt cold and sore and unbelievably tired. He glanced at Danny out of the corner of his eye and saw his brother watching him intently. “Am I dead? Dying?” 

Danny shrugged. “Beats the hell outta me, dude. This is your dream.” 

“Right.” Luke sighed. “Great.” 

He turned away from the water, unsettled by the vague glimpses of an outside world that he kept getting beyond the waves. In the opposite direction there was nothing but trees, although he knew that if he were to walk further in he would soon come to his parents’ house near the middle of the island. He hadn’t been ‘home’ in over a decade, not since his father had disavowed him. He imagined not much had changed; his parents had never been big on changing. He’d learned that at a young age, and both he and Danny had paid the price for it in their own ways. 

“I never really forgave you, you know,” Luke said softly. He shifted restlessly, one foot to the other, and the fact that he could hear the wind through the trees but not the sounds of his booted feet scraping against rock reminded him that he was dreaming, or maybe hallucinating. It seemed his brain could only fabricate so much of the world around him; anything more, and the details just weren’t there. 

“Yeah, I know,” Danny replied, his own voice just as soft. He didn’t sound apologetic, exactly, but that might have just been because he, too, was a fabrication of Luke’s mind, and Luke didn’t have many memories of his older brother sounding genuinely sorry about anything. 

“For a long time I thought maybe they’d done it. I know Dad had the coroner’s report changed so that your death was ruled an accident, but I thought … maybe it wasn’t you. That it hadn’t been you who’d done it to yourself.” 

Danny let out a startled laugh. “That’s fucked up, dude. You’d rather think Mom and Dad killed me, than I killed myself?” 

Luke nodded once, jerkily. It was fucked up, but as a devastated thirteen-year-old he couldn’t understand why his older brother would have done something so selfish. How Danny, who he adored and worshiped, could just leave him like that. It wasn’t that it had been easier to believe their parents had killed him – or had had him killed – it was just that it was impossible to imagine Danny had done it to himself. It was only years later, as an adult, that Luke could look back on the situation and realize that although he hadn’t seen it at the time, his brother had been profoundly sad and troubled as a teenager. What had made it particularly confusing for Luke at the time was that in the days leading up to his suicide, Danny had suddenly started seeming happy and hopeful. Up until the moment that Danny was found hanging from a belt in his bedroom, Luke had thought he was finally, finally getting his big brother back after months of Danny being distant and cold. Adult-Luke recognized that brief period of hopefulness and happiness as a sign that his brother had made the decision to kill himself; child-Luke had had no idea. 

“They didn’t kill me,” Danny said. His tone was still unbelievably soft and gentle. “You know that, right, bud? I killed myself.” 

“Yeah,” Luke acknowledged. He did know, now. 

He wanted to ask why. Why had his older brother ended his own life? But the reality was, this wasn’t really his older brother standing here, and any answer this version of Danny could have given him would have to come from Luke’s own mind. And while Luke wanted to pretend that he didn’t know, the truth of the matter was that he suspected a number of things had played a factor in his brother’s decision to end his own life, and he would never truly know which reason was the real reason. Maybe they all were. 

Was it because their parents had put too much pressure on him, the same as they had done to Luke – to all of their children, really, except for Sam, who had been born six years after Danny’s death. Sam had been born and was instantly the golden child who could do no wrong, and even after Luke’s disavowal from the Order he had remained mercifully untouched by their parents’ abuse. Danny had been the Heir, the Kandarian who would go on to join the Knighthood and continue bringing glory and honour to the family name. He would marry well, and he and his wife would produce strong Incarnate children who would also carry on their legacy. 

Only Luke suspected that his older brother had been gay and trying to hide it, knowing full well that it wasn’t accepted within the more conservative members of the Order – including their parents. That knowledge had prompted Luke to hide his own interest in boys later on – that, and a persistent fear that Sleswick had made him be that way – and focus instead on his equal interest in girls. He had been able to hide that he was bisexual, but he didn’t think Danny had been able to successfully hide his homosexuality. Luke remembered the camp their parents had sent his brother to as a teenager, the camp he’d hated that had seemed nothing at all like the summer camp Luke had gone to with Ben and Adam. He would never be able to prove it, but he suspected that ‘camp’ had actually been a gay ‘conversion therapy’ camp, and that their parents had known about Danny and had tried to change him. 

Danny had come home from camp and a week later he’d been found hanging in his bedroom. He’d strangled himself with his belt, had tied himself up from the rafters. He hadn’t died right away, but had lingered on in the hospital for three days before his parents had agreed to let the doctors pull the plug and harvest his organs. Luke had never been able to step foot inside Danny’s bedroom again. 

At the time Luke had been so hurt and angry and confused. He had wanted to believe their parents had had something to do with it – and perhaps, in a way, they had, at least by contributing to the psychological factors that had led to Danny’s suicide. Luke had been working up the nerve to tell his older brother about Martin Sleswick, secure in the knowledge that even though everyone else might have thought Luke was just making it all up, Danny would have believed him. Danny would have known how to make the abuse stop. Danny wouldn’t have blamed Luke for it, said that he asked for it, said that he knew Luke had wanted it and had enjoyed himself. (All the things Sleswick had told Luke, when Luke had asked – begged – for him to stop and to leave him alone. It was Luke’s fault for leading him on. Luke’s mouth might have been saying no, but it had been obvious his body had wanted it. Look at the mess you’ve made of yourself, of me. We don’t want anyone to find out about this, do we? To know what a disgusting slut you are?) 

“He was an asshole, you know that, right?” Danny’s voice caught Luke by surprise, and he sucked in a sharp breath, looking at his brother in shock. “None of what he did to you was your fault.” 

“How did you …? How …?” 

“This is a dream, dummy, remember?” Danny grinned at him, but there was kindness and sympathy in his eyes. Luke realized, in that moment, that he and Danny had the same eyes. Was that a trick of memory, that he was simply seeing himself in his older brother, or had they always looked so similar to one another? “I know what you know, dude.” 

“Then you know I don’t really believe that,” Luke replied, stung. 

Danny let out an indignant snort. “I just said it, didn’t I? So that must mean at least a little part of you believes what I said.” 

Luke supposed that made a kind of sense, even if most of the rest of him still privately believed what Sleswick had told him decades ago had been true. He knew, intellectually, that Martin Sleswick had been grooming him almost from the moment he had arrived on the scene, and that his parents’ abuse and frequent absences made him a perfect target for a predator like him. Luke had been isolated and lonely and scared, and he’d been raised to shoulder more than his fair share of the responsibility – so why not the burden of initiating a sexual relationship with a man thirty years his senior? If he could be responsible for killing monsters and protecting humanity, then why not also be responsible for seducing an older man (even though at nine, when the abuse had begun, he’d had only the most fleeting notion of what sex even was, and no idea at all about the concept of seduction – or sexual grooming. He’d just been grateful that this kind, friendly man who everyone else respected and admired was paying attention to boring little him). 

If there was a part of him that knew not to blame himself for Sleswick’s abuse, then that part surely came in the form of Charlie and Kate. He’d gone through a period in his teens when he’d slept with every girl and woman that expressed interest in him in an effort to prove to himself that he wasn’t gay and that what he’d done with Sleswick hadn’t damaged him. Then, when he’d gone to university in Toronto – far away from his parents, his family’s fucking legacy, and a small town where everyone knew everyone – he’d gone all-out to demonstrate to himself that he could enjoy sex in spite of everything, in all its forms. Exposed to anonymous hookup culture for the first time and far away from anyone who could judge him, Luke had spent almost his entire four years of university drinking and sleeping his way through life. If someone so much as batted their eyes at him or offered to buy him a drink he’d go home with them – hell, some nights he’d just disappeared into the nearest washroom or out into the back alley, only to pop out again later in search of his next fix. Partying and sleeping around hadn’t made him feel much better about himself, his sexuality or his past, but it was the first real time he had ever rebelled against his parents and his upbringing, and while he’d thought he was sticking it to his mother and father what he was really doing was trying to destroy himself. Then he’d run into a mouthy redheaded bartender who didn’t care what his last name and who didn’t put up with any of his shit, but who liked him for who he was, not what he could do for her or to her or for the connections he had. (The fact that Kate was half-demon only served to entice him further, and in the beginning being with her had been a way of thumbing his nose at his parents.) And Kate didn’t really give a crap if he got his business degree or went on to become a famous politician, but she did care that he was throwing his life away, and so with her support he had just … stopped. Stopped fucking around, stopped partying, stopped drinking, stopped trying to self-destruct. He had graduated – by the skin of his teeth, but it still counted – and, stupid degree he’d never wanted in hand, followed Kate around Toronto like the lost puppy he’d been. She’d quit her job bartending because he’d made the decision to stop drinking and she didn’t want to risk his sobriety, they’d both found work, they’d found a place together, and for the first time in twenty years Luke was his own person. 

Then the Scions of Unforgiven had found him, the Knights of Oberon had kicked him out, and he’d joined the Alliance. And the hot Asian guy who’d always just been Kate’s best friend saved his arm for him and things had … sort of fallen into place. Kate had been the first step towards reclaiming himself, but Charlie – who’d grown up with an abundance of love and support, and who seemed determined to spread that wholesomeness around – had been the one to really spur Luke’s recovery and self-acceptance on. Kate had always had only a very marginal interest at best in sex, but Charlie had been raised in a very sex- and body-positive manner, and it had been eye-opening to see his approach to life and love. There was no slut-shaming in Charlie’s world, no kink-shaming, no doubts about his sexuality or whether or not it was right or wrong. Kate had taught Luke that sex didn’t have to be the big deal he thought it was; Charlie had made him appreciate that it was like any other pleasurable thing, something that could be enjoyed in a healthy manner, rather than an all or nothing deal. Kate had been like the first drops of rain after a lengthy drought; Charlie was like sunshine after a long and dreary winter. Both very vital and necessary to Luke’s growth, but in very different ways. 

“They’ve been good for you,” Danny commented, spurring Luke out of his thoughts. Well, maybe not exactly out of his thoughts, since Danny was just a figment of his imagination too, but still. 

“Yeah,” Luke agreed, turning back out to the water. The sun seemed to be coming up on the horizon – which made no sense, because his craggy refuge had been at the north end of the island, not the east – and he could see that faint … something … that was off in the distance more clearly. There was a beeping sound that didn’t belong out on the rocky shoreline of a small island, and the gentle murmur of familiar voices. 

He glanced back at Danny, who was standing by the water, his hands shoved in his pockets. The longer he looked at his brother the younger he seemed, and it brought to mind just how young Danny had been when he’d died. Sixteen. He’d had his whole life before him and yet he’d chosen to end it. Luke had gone there himself, more than a few times; he’d come really, really close, and even without necessarily meaning to there had been moments while out on patrol or in the midst of a skirmish where he’d thought about how easy it would be to just not fight. It wouldn’t even really be suicide, then, if he’d just let the monsters kill him. He could stop, and his family could rest easy in the knowledge that he’d gone out like a Knight of Oberon, falling in battle to an enemy. 

And then he’d snapped out of it, and fought harder, because he remembered what it had felt like to lose Danny, and he wasn’t doing that to anyone else – not even himself. 

“You don’t think it’s weird?” he asked, after a moment. “Me and Charlie and Kate?” 

“No, man.” Danny shrugged, grinning broadly. It made him look even younger, and Luke realized that had more to do with the fact that he primarily remembered Danny smiling like that when he had been younger. Danny, in the last few years of his life, hadn’t had much cause to smile. “I’m inside your head. You don’t think it’s weird, so I don’t think it’s weird.” 

“Huh. Makes sense, I guess.” Most people who found out he was in a polyamorous triad with Charlie and Kate wanted to know the details of how it worked. Don’t you get jealous? How do you make it work? Do they take turns? Most other people just wanted to make sure he knew they were doing it wrong, that it was supposed to be one man and one woman – or, grudgingly, two men together, but absolutely not three people, that was just wrong. There had only been a few people in his life – almost all of them other members of the Alliance – who simply took his relationship with Kate and Charlie as normal and none of their business. There had been some growing pains in the early stages of their relationship, just as there would have been with any relationship, but for the three of them it just worked. 

Danny snorted again, laughing quietly to himself. He faced the water, peering intently at the sun breaking across the waves. The skies were clearing and the water was growing calmer, even though that stretch of the lake was never calm. 

“You should go back,” Danny said, speaking out to the water. “They’re waiting for you to wake up.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Luke shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a woman’s voice, and thought it sounded like Ardyn, low and calm and reassuring. He looked at his brother again. “I kinda wanna stay here with you, though. I miss you, Danny.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Danny echoed him. “But Luke, dude … You know I’m not real. They are. And they’re waiting for you.” 

Luke opened his mouth to reply, to say something about how it had been twenty years and he still thought about his brother every day, but when he turned to face Danny his brother was gone. The air was still and the sun was out in full force, glistening over the waters he’d known since he was a little child, the lake he’d grown up on. His body ached and his heart was sore, but the incredible exhaustion that had seeped into him seemed to be dissipating. The noises around him were shifting, changing from waves lapping up against the rocks and wind blowing through the leaves to the beeping of medical equipment and the whispering of voices around him. 

Luke gazed out at the water one last time, then opened his eyes.

[lilover131]

Chapter 34 Thoughts

OH BOOOOOOOOY DO WE HAVE THINGS TO TALK ABOUT Y’ALL. I’M SO READY. I can’t wait to read the chapter next mo-

Translation: To be Continued 

W-well then...since we’re not entirely sure when the next chapter will be, we’ll have to be patient and solidify our theories! Chapter 35 will be out before we know it, but until then, here are my thoughts about Chapter 34 under the cut!

So it seems we have finally moved on from Syaoran’s apartment (damn!), and Sakura and Syaoran are explaining to Tomoyo what happened with the last card, as is tradition. Tomoyo really is persistent with her desires to film Sakura, and it cracks me up that she’s so heartbroken to have missed the opportunity this time around. She also voices what all of us were thinking in “Damn, it would have been so cute if he was a child in the mind too!”. Can I also say how wonderful it is that Sakura is so honest about her feelings? She didn’t hesitate for a moment to tell Syaoran that she would have liked to see him that way, and of course he was just a tomato every moment after that. LOL. 

Tomoyo didn’t seem very surprised at all about Sakura creating the cards at all. Or rather there was hardly a reaction. Period. @meimi-haneoka said this too, but I agree with her in that it was probably a little unrealistic how little she reacted to the situation. Of course she is observant and maybe figured it out without really knowing for sure, but if she had addressed that, I think it would be a little more acceptable for her to be as nonchalant as she was. But she didn’t address it...at all. All she did was remark on the similarities of the cards to her friends and regret once again not having been there to film Sakura with baby Syaoran. Regardless, I still love her to pieces and feel she is the embodiment of us fans. 

It’s so nice to see Kero and Suppi together again. I found it really funny how serious they were before Kero was like “LET’S PLAY A GAME”. He really doesn’t seem worried at all, but I mean...he probably should be? At least a little? Then again, I’m the type of person who loves to try and push my worries down deep and drown myself in the things I like to help me forget about it, so who’s to say Kero can’t feel that way too? Even though he trusts Sakura, he can still worry about her. But when he says “If something bad happens to her, then that’s our time to help out!”, it’s his way of saying “No need to dwell on our worries. Let’s tackle it as things come and trust that things will be all right.” 

Also, gamer Suppi is so so so so so great. I love that he has really opened up in personality and gets along so well with Kero. He’s not just a serious bookworm anymore who sticks his nose up at sweets. Lol. 

AND CAN WE PLEASE TALK ABOUT COLLEGE NAKURU? It’s so like Eriol to have already planned how she could stay close to Yukito, though I wonder how transferring to a different college at this time of year works. I feel like she’s probably already missed a lot of class, but also will she be taking all the same classes as Yukito then? How did that get managed? Meh. I guess I shouldn’t think too hard about it. It’s gonna be a fun time watching her bug Touya in college! 

Next up is Sakura’s class talking about pool day in P.E. As someone who didn’t experience swimming classes in her schools either, I found Akiho’s excitement very relatable. But the really really important part of this scene is how Sakura actually turns to talk to her and doesn’t even finish her sentence due to the uneasiness she suddenly feels around Akiho. This is important, because it is the first time Sakura has actually felt uncomfortable around her, and we have no idea why. Why now of all times? Has something changed in Akiho that Sakura can sense? Either way, the tense expression on Sakura’s face is very telling and deeply concerning. 

It likely had been a couple of hours since they first arrived at school to when they had P.E. class, and Sakura still looked uncomfortable. This means it was not a fleeting feeling that just came and went. It has stuck with her ALL DAY. And leave it to Syaoran to notice right away that something was wrong. Sakura can’t hide her feelings from him at all. 

When she asked him if he felt anything off about Akiho, it was kind of nice in the fact that she was asking him to help her compare and contract their magical senses so she could try and better analyze the situation. Our girl is really growing up in her problem solving skills! However, poor Syaoran really had his hands tied with his answer. Yes, he technically wasn’t lying when he said he felt nothing, but if he had been able to tell her about Kaito, I’m sure it would have served to validate Sakura’s feelings a little more. Instead, she probably feels like something is wrong with her, and this must be agonizing for Syaoran to witness. However, it seems like Syaoran doesn’t think of Akiho as a danger at all. I think he thinks she is being manipulated by Kaito somehow, and I worry that this will be dangerous for him if he keeps his guard lowered too much around her.

The tense moment was broken for a brief moment by Yamazaki’s ADORABLE comment about Chiharu’s hair, and I laughed out loud when she decided to hit him anyways out of embarrassment. Those two really are cute, and Syaoran and Sakura’s faces were just the perfect addition to that scene. 

CUE KAITO. DUN DUN DUN. You know when Kaito shows up, nothing good can come from it. He’s ripping off Eriol sitting up in his tree, but he’s looking real good in those more casual clothes! Momo comes out to play too, and I love how every conversation she has with him sounds more like an interrogation than anything else. She clearly seems to care about him, like when she commanded him to rest after using his time magic before, but when she showed up to talk with him this time, her words came off like “Ugh...this guy again...” 

Another first in Clear Card was that now we have Kaito actively working to create tough situations for Sakura! He states that this is because she knows she’s creating the cards now, but I’m not sure what that has to do with it. Perhaps it’s because of what Syaoran mentioned before about overpowered magic getting even more chaotic once a person was aware of it, and Kaito is now using that to his advantage. Or perhaps he’s trying to manipulate just the perfect scenario to have her have a specific thought which will then spawn a specific card. I guess we’ll just have to find out. 

He stops time, which is no surprise really, but this time, Sakura and Syaoran can move around freely. Sakura instantly worries that this is her fault, and Syaoran just can’t get the words out to warn her. He looks really pissed off about this, and I don’t blame him. This time, he knows it’s not Sakura and can’t even tell her otherwise. But I’m so proud of Sakura because she seems to figure it out all on her own that this magic belongs to someone else. Thank goodness! 

It’s hard to tell what’s going on in the scenes after that, but from what I gathered, the water in the pool was attacking her and was easily stopped by REFLECT. Some think the arrow things are something other the whirlpool, but the arrows had a sheen to them in the way they were drawn, so I’m pretty sure it’s water as well. 

BUT THEN AKIHO MOVES, AND HOLY SHIT IS IT TERRIFYING. Can you imagine how surprised both Sakura and Syaoran must have been to see that? First, there was probably that initial panic of “OH GOD, OUR CLASSMATE SAW US USING MAGIC”, but I think it becomes pretty clear by the 5 different voices (yes, FIVE), coming from lips that it isn’t her. This may not be the first time Sakura has seen possessed Akiho, but it will certainly seem that way since time was turned back the first time. And for Syaoran, it is definitely a first for him and probably going to stun him quite a bit. 

The mysterious voices coming from Akiho mention again the strength of Sakura’s power and seem to want to obtain it by locking her in a book. It’s hard to tell if they mean Alice in Clockland, but when the book pages sprout from under Akiho and start to wrap around Sakura, it definitely looks like a dangerous situation. 

Since the chapter ends there, we don’t know for sure if this means that she will get sucked into the book. After all, she could still manage to escape, however we also have no idea what the book does and what lies inside of it. 

I must say though that I am deeply concerned for not just her, but Syaoran too. And yes, I know I’m always saying I’m worried about him, but it’s been heavily implied both in the manga and anime that something bad is going to happen to him, and it’s only a matter of time. You might be asking why I’m worried now when Sakura is the one getting swallowed by a book. Well, if Sakura gets pulled in, this leaves Syaoran alone with both Kaito outside AND creepy possessed Akiho. Neither of them have to hide from him, since he can’t tell Sakura about them. Additionally, we know from previous chapters that Kaito can stop Syaoran’s time without any issue. He could have frozen him just like the other students, but he chose not to. Why?

It could be nothing, but I honestly refuse to believe that the heir to the Li clan, whose existence helped stir the pot with Akiho’s sad situation with her family AND the current holder of the Sakura cards would be of no interest to them. Some believe that possessed Akiho is being controlled by members of the Association, and if that’s the case, wouldn’t it just be sweet victory for them to take the Li clan heir out of the picture? CLAMP specifically mentioned Syaoran in Akiho’s backstory, and I feel like it if wasn’t relevant in some way, they could have left it out and simply gone with the “Akiho has no magic, and we’re ashamed” plot idea. But no...Syaoran’s existence fueled it. 

Moreover, we still don’t know what Sakura’s dream about Syaoran entailed. Why was he wearing Akiho’s robes? And his eyes seemed cold and lifeless just like Akiho’s do right now in her possessed state. It’s all really worrying. 

Anyways, we’ll just have to wait until next time to find out what happens!! I’m looking forward to it!! 

[mystech-master]

one thing I dont get is why people say ragna is dumb filling the typical shonen manga protagonist role of being book dumb but good at fighting, and why rachel like in chronophantasm extend where we got to see abridged version of CS mocks ragna for not heeding her warnings that ragna couldnt beat terumi when she didnt tell him about terumi creating the grimoire and being able to shut it down or being vague

Ah finally, an actual question from you.

Yeah that’s one thing I dislike about Rachel. I mean I GET that she has to be vague due to her being the Onlooker, and saying too much might count as “interfering” with someone who is as directly involved as Ragna, but she should know that she sounds like she’s just saying “You suck, you can’t win” like she always has said, and doesn’t let Ragna know what the real issue is.

I mean her and Jubei both give Ragna these cryptic warnings, almost like they expect him to KNOW all the timeloop bullshit going on (shown in Ragna’s alt ending w Jubeiand Rachel’s alt ending with him in CT). Ragna at that moment in the story, has NO reason to give a fuck about being a “Guardian of the Azure” or to give a shit about the world in any way.

Ragna’s “world” was his family: The Sister, Saya, and Jin. But that is GONE now. And to him, the world outside of that is full of assholes who treat you like hell. I mean his first years of his life are being a lab rat. I feel like this contributes greatly to his rebellious and asshole nature, those scientists wouldn’t listen to being nice or anything like that, so Ragna had to get loud and mean for them to fuck off. It is literally his survival method. But everyone is just expecting him to just let go of that, and do good just because “it’s the right thing to do.”

Think of Superman, would Supes be the same hero if he didn’t have the small town origins, and wasn’t raised by good folks like the Kents?

It’s the whole nature and nurture kind of thing, and since Ragna and his sibs are artificial humans, the nature part is kind of out the window, and the first years of their lives....they weren’t exactly “nurturing” to say the least.

It may be selfish, but you can’t just tell someone, “do the right thing” after they just went through hell/an abusive childhood”. As I learned in my economics class in high school: “Self interest that benefits others is what makes the world go ‘round.”

Stop expecting Ragna to save the world when the world has done nothing but treat him like ass outside of like 2 people, at that moment in time.

Although I will admit one thing, Ragna does also fall into the “do what I want and don’t ask questions” shit that Rachel and Kokonoe do sometimes, shown when dealing with Noel in CP and CF. When he grabbed her b/c he needed her to find Kushinada’s Lynchpin, Kagura thought he was attacking her and Ragna got captured. In CF, he was trying to reunite Noel with Mu, but b/c Noel was suppressing her Mu side she got all freaked out and Ragna was scolded. So he kind has his moments as well.

As for Intelligence, I actually had a HC for that. I remembered a quote from Einstein that said:

“Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”

So that got me thinking, what kind of intelligence does Ragna fit into?

As some of us know, there are the 9 Types of intelligence. And the one I thin Ragna fits into best is Naturalist Intelligence.

My evidence:

1. He grew up with Jubei in the wild during his late adolescence and early adulthood, where this kind of Intelligence could grow

2. cooking is an ability which matches with this kind of intelligence, which happens to be Ragna’s hobby

3. Some of the characteristics of Naturalist Intelligent people:

being comfortable with animals. In Ragna’s case: cats. As I have mentioned like ten times before, the Kaka Clan is where he was the most chill in the whole series.

Having keen senses (sight, hearing, sense of touch and smell, and may even have a well developed “sixth sense”), needed for a guy so deep in combat, and said “sixth sense” was show  in CT when he sense Jubei, or even in BBTAG when he sensed Ruby’s “bloodlust”

Learns though natural contact....which I believe can also fit into “Live and Learn”, I mean one type of learning is kinisthetic learning, where you actually need to experience/do something in order to learn. Many protags seem to be like this because they, and also we the audience, need to see exactly how shit happens and works in the show/game/movie.

and 4. This mostly comes from the anime, the episode with Lambda (the one everyone agrees was one of the few good things about it), not only was he able to identify that the Tartar from Arakune got food or nutrition AND that the big blob was like his own little ecosystem (when any other dumbass protag might’ve just said he was filthy and had bugs...I mean I would’ve thought that and I don’t think I’m stupid), BUT was able to know that Aqualeaf (the plant he used to help the Tartar...which btw ties into the animal thing I mentioned) was able to grow around that area. Which MIGHT imply that he is familiar with what plants grow in what environment at what altitude.

He might not be able to understand feelings, complex math equations, or half the shit that Rachel says (seriously in almost every scene with her I learn a new word or phrase), but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid. His intelligence just lies in other areas.

I mean if the guy had some positive encouragement and some time to actually develop this type of intelligence, he surprise some people.

[rhetoricandlogic]

CLADE BY JAMES BRADLEY

NIALL HARRISON

ISSUE: 13 JULY 2015

By the half-way point of Clade, the world has changed. Setting out for a walk, Ellie, an artist, helpfully reminisces about the history of the valley she now calls home. The pastoral farmland she knew as a child was replaced by managed carbon-capture plantations in the twenties and thirties, which have themselves now—following bankruptcy—given way to a return to wildness. It's an effective tour, local history implying the changes underway in the wider world, which Ellie knows as news: drought in Asia, flooding in Europe, unspecified "horrors in Chicago" (p. 119). She fears a tipping point, collapse. But she also has more immediate concerns. Her biracial grandson Noah, evacuated from England without his parents, is coming to visit for the first time. And she is distracted by the potential of her latest project, a study of bees that she hopes will capture both their longevity and their vulnerability to climatic change, and perhaps communicate what she feels when she looks at them, "something that is not quite wonder, not quite grief, but somehow both" (p. 116). The clash of scales and concerns—the planetary and the personal; ephemeral and enduring—is typical of the best parts of James Bradley's fourth novel.

It is a novel shaped around the story of the family of which Ellie is a part. It's obvious from quite early on that the Leiths, as middle-class professionals in a rich nation, will be insulated from the worst environmental crises; elsewhere hundreds of thousands may starve or drown, but for the Leiths such events are, for the most part, remote. Intellectually, Ellie knows that mass migrations are underway; but Noah, who is in the country because she and her husband were able to wrangle him through the bureaucracy, is the only climate refugee she has actually met. So when, on a later walk, she encounters Amir, the keeper of the beehives she has been studying, and discovers that he is an illegal immigrant from Bangladesh, whose wife and child are dead, she is thrown. When "trying to imagine their lives" she is unable to move beyond easy outrage that their situation is "ridiculous, monstrous"; awareness of the inadequacy of this response leaves her feeling uncertain, "raw as a teenager" (p.131). A few pages further on, Amir—a doctor in his previous life—asks Ellie to pose as the parent of a friend's child, so that they can receive emergency surgery without questions. She asks why Amir didn't say anything sooner, says she could have helped, and Amir replies sharply: "Could you? How? We don't just need access to hospitals, we need medicine, schools, jobs, not to be frightened all the time" (p. 136). It's the first glimpse the novel has given us of one of the other narratives implied by the future the Leiths are living through.

It's also a moment that points to the most serious critique of Clade, namely that it is a novel about crisis in which the lives of those most affected take place off-screen. There are strong arguments to be made that that is not enough—moral arguments, that suffering should not be mood music for the privileged; narrative arguments, that it would simply be more dramatic. Amir's appearance is, on the face of it, a rebuke to the first of those points; yet not as forceful as it would be if he, and not Ellie, had been the viewpoint character in their encounter. Bradley, I think, sticks with Ellie as a reflection of his own privilege (and an assumption about that of his audience), but deliberately so, because one of the questions Clade asks is: how can someone insulated from its worst effects learn to internalise, and respond appropriately, to a global crisis affecting millions of people over decades? Humans, by and large, crave personal connection, yet there is a real sense in which individual experiences will never be sufficient to grasp the whole of what we are doing to our planet. Put another way, there is a risk that inventing Amir's experience would provide false catharsis to readers like me. The challenge is to achieve a broader empathy, and come to terms with a story that is fundamentally impersonal.

Structured as a novel-in-stories, Clade flows from now to the second half of the twenty-first century, and for at least its first half is sure-footed about its juxtapositioning of the immediate and the emergent. Bradley begins with Adam Leith—the closest thing the novel has to a central character, in that he headlines three of the ten chapters—on a research trip to Antarctica, waiting for news of Ellie's fertility treatment. They are a contemporary cosmopolitan couple; Adam reflects on the ease of their meeting and how, "though neither was quite sure how it happened, they found themselves a couple with careers and a future" (p. 9). What they don't have, however, is children, and their failed efforts to conceive become a barrier between them, one that sends Adam deeper into his research on melting permafrost and shifting ocean currents. There he finds, or perhaps justifies, a reluctance to become a parent at all: Bradley is detailed about the moment-to-moment see-saw of Adam's emotions, but I think leaves it up to us to decide to what extent his abstract understanding of the future is defining his choices in the present.

The second chapter takes place a few years later. Adam and Ellie have a young daughter, Summer, and the world is warmer. (Subtlety in character names, you may have gathered, is not Bradley's strongest suit.) In Australia, the power grid is struggling to cope with the demand for air-conditioning; on the news, famine and floods in South Asia. (Reading the novel a second time, I wondered what Amir's life was like at this point.) Adam and Ellie's relationship remains tense. Responding to another rant about climate-denying journalism, Ellie accuses her husband of self-indulgence: "I think you get off on being angry" (p. 29). Adam recognises some truth to her comment, though he won't admit it out loud; he "does not know the person he is becoming," feels himself "falling faster and faster without any idea of when and where he will land" (p. 30). Once again it is hard to separate Adam's frustration with his family from his impotence in the face of accelerating climate crisis; his emotions are as much a product of the world as of the people in it; the two are inseparable. After a couple of chapters away from Adam—during which we meet Maddie, Ellie's mother-in-law, and then Summer as a rebellious teenager—we rejoin him for the novel's big disaster set-piece, a tropical storm that devastates the South of England while he is visiting for a conference and the one time when Leiths are directly in harm's way. Travelling out of London to visit Summer, Adam looks at the landscape in a way that anticipates Ellie's valley walk. The idea of a "natural" countryside has been a fiction for centuries, he thinks; England's hedgerows were always as much an imposition as the new "triffid" trees intended to suck carbon from the air. We have always remade the world. Left unrecognised (by Adam) is the extent to which the world has remade him.

Adam and Ellie's reflections on changing landscapes are, for me, the crossroads of Clade. To this point, the novel has been entirely a story of life in a time of escalating environmental crisis, with a tone often reminiscent of a writer like Maureen McHugh: personal but crisp. Yet after these two chapters, we inexorably leave Adam and Ellie behind, and the future becomes something else. Subsequent chapters focus on Lijuan, a teenager whose family are killed by a pandemic, and who ends up more or less adopted by Adam; Dylan, a twentysomething programmer (when we spend time with him) who will eventually become Lijuan's partner; Noah, by this point an astronomer; and then, finally, Lijuan's daughter Izzie, going to a party out in the Floodline fringe of her city. None of these chapters is quite as successful at exploring character as those dealing with Adam, Ellie, and Maddie, but each of them grows the clade, makes it more than blood, incorporates more disparate personal narratives: this is good. Moreover, the decisive shift to a new generation reframes environmental crisis as the environmental status quo, without it ever being clear that we have done much to stabilise the situation (the carbon-capture plantations in Ellie's valley went broke, after all). New and more conventionally science fictional changes compete for the characters' attention, be it the creation of AI surrogates for dead relatives, or a rekindled search for extraterrestrial intelligence. The novel feels slightly less specific, slightly less possible. In the end, if Clade is asking how we might internalise impersonal stories, its answer seems to be that, as a species, we won't: we will just drift on and make do.

The other thing that is happening in the second half of the novel, however, is a thematic broadening, revealing climate change as a specific example of the more general challenge of wrestling with change over time. And Bradley, it turns out, has been here before. His second novel, The Deep Field, was published in 1999 and set in a version of 2010 imaginatively recreated by a narrator living in the twenty-second century. On a line by line basis it doesn't have the cool focus of Clade—at times it feels rather strained—but the extraordinary conflation of timeframes achieves the same end as the restless structure of the more recent novel, exploring a human experience while ensuring the reader is always aware of the fleeting nature of that experience. It is a theme to which I am deeply sympathetic, that I wish was more central in contemporary SF, and for which I will forgive a lot; so if in Clade it requires accepting an increasing narrative diffuseness, I accept, and if it means that it becomes slightly too easy to decompose the book into its component parts and separate out the bits that work and the bits that do not, I will look away. Because in the end I'm with Noah, the astronomer, who knows that looking up into the sky really means looking out into time.

A coda about categories. Clade is obviously not published in isolation. Already this year Sara Taylor has used a similar structural conceit to related ends in The Shore, and Antonia Honeywell, Kirsty Logan, EJ Swift, and others have published novels that to varying degrees explore the personal and social effects of environmental crisis; and they are only the latest crop. All of these examples are, obviously enough, kinds of science fiction, but there is a sound political logic for discussing them as a group unto themselves. For one thing, climate change is already happening, which means it is in a different class of speculation and social relevance to, say, a pandemic: writing about it is a question of degree and perspective, not whether or not it will happen at all, and the degrees and perspectives that writers choose can be usefully compared. For another, precisely because it is already happening, there are entirely contemporary books that should be included in any such discussion; Barbara Kingsolver's Flight Behaviour (2012), which is set in one time and place but uses a different structural conceit to open its readers' perspective out to the global and ecological, would be a fine example. So there is this interesting cluster of work, which may not quite be a subgenre of SF but which certainly contains a lot of SF and SFnal thinking, that I want to talk about; but unfortunately I don't think anyone has yet got the terminology for it quite right. "Apocalypse" (soft, contemporary, or otherwise) and "dystopia" now flatten and obscure more than they illuminate—Clade is neither but has been described as both. A more recent coinage with some traction, "cli-fi", a) tends to be used to claim that what it describes is an entirely new thing (erasing the existing history of environmental SF and indeed environmental non-SF literature), b) is the brainchild of a man with an unfortunate propensity for relentlessly haranguing people who disagree with him, and c) is just a supremely ugly collection of letters. Then at the more esoteric end of the debate we have suggestions such as Jeff VanderMeer's "hyperobject fiction," which he proposes in part because it is unlikely to catch on, but which nevertheless describes a book like Clade quite neatly. At least, it does once you know that a hyperobject is, as defined by Timothy Morton, "an object so massively distributed in space and time as to transcend localisation"—which is why it is unlikely to catch on. I'm carping, but not just that; categories matter because, like families, they both include and exclude. The rejoinder to the charge that Clade's viewpoint is unduly privileged is the psychological specificity it employs, but that defence only carries weight if it is an equal member of a literary family that also includes, say, The Swan Book by Alexis Wright (2013), a novel that explores the Aboriginal psychology of landscape as it responds to climate change with great vigour and inventiveness, but which has not received nearly the same level of international attention. I should end all this with a pithy suggested label of my own, naturally, but unfortunately I don't have one; just a sense that this is a vital literary area, and that we need to get better at describing and discussing it.