#lost elf theme you will always be famous

[felassan]

Spotify Judgement Season 2024: Sad Elf Summer edition

ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ )

[kirkwallsbane]

the effect the lost elf theme has on me years and years later trevor morris you will always be famous to me

[coepiteamare]

you feel like a holiday

pairing: namjoon x female!reader genre: mostly fluff, a tinge of angst, a lot of mishaps, mall workers  warnings: language, mentions of mild burns, not using oven mitts, lapslock, a lot of mentions of falling because we’re clumsy word count: 5.8k

summary: floral fantasy is instagram famous, not only for their delectable desserts and drinks, but also the absurdly good looking staff members who’d make celebrities crumble with a mere flicker of a smile. you can’t help but fall for the one temp worker who’s as clumsy as he is good looking. 

notes: merry belated holidays ellen @joontella​! it’s peppermint, finally delivering your present to you because i am an excellent procrastinator. this was inspired by my friend commenting on how the majority of holiday movie leads seem to be mall elves, so i present to you...a mall elf! in all seriousness, i hope you like it! i also wanted to add your answers to the character (about your favourite and least favourite part of the holidays) so i put those in here. 💕

the moment the clock strikes midnight on december 1st, the mall changes: it shifts from plain decorations and advertisements into a winter wonderland, with fake snow and garlands and tinsel wrapping every square inch of the mall. twinkling snowflakes hang from the ceiling, a cascade of light fragments spinning over the white, mall floor, and the railing are covered in boughs of holly and streams of glitter. it’s absolutely magical. or so every customer thinks. 

in reality, all the mall workers are contractually obligated to work after the mall closing hours, to file in through the glass doors and haul decoration after decoration out of the mall storage room, put in elbow grease to transform the mall into something vaguely resembling the north pole and distinctly looking like a christmas catalogue display, only with more glitter and more snowflakes and too much tinsel. 

you absolutely despise it. 

to be fair, working a graveyard shift to help “build the holiday magic and festive cheer” was written in the job description when you signed on for the job, in fine tiny print you skipped over as you signed your name on the bottom of the paper, forgotten and ignored in the thrill of having a job that pays more than minimum wage. of course there was a catch; there was always a catch. 

you kick a plastic reindeer, watch it clatter on to a pile of fake snow from your annoyance. jungkook, the head mall—santa’s elf, you correct yourself—snaps his head in your direction, before running over and propping up the reindeer. “oh no! are you okay, vixen?” he pats the reindeer gently, brushing off glittery cotton fluff from its body before frowning at you. “please be careful with the props! all of these are essential to the holiday magic we provide to the children and mall patrons! what would they think if they came into the mall and we only had 8 reindeers instead of all 9?” 

you blink twice, trying to bat away the sleep that’s weighing down your eyelashes and mingling with the glitter from all the ornaments. “that we have 8 reindeers.”

there’s another frown on his face, eyebrows pinching together as he opens his mouth when there’s a loud crash on your right. 

there’s a tall, broad man on the floor, tangled in tinsel and lights, next to a ladder, as another tall, broad man and a short, soft looking blonde come rushing out of the floral fantasy cafe doors. the blonde starts cackling immediately—peals of laughter slipping out of his lips as he props himself against the ladder, doubling over at the unfortunate christmas decoration accident—while the tall broad one (the one not tangled up on the floor), sighs and crouches down to try and untangle the other one. 

“i swear, i don’t even know how this happened,” you overhear tinsel boy explaining, “i was up on the ladder trying to unwrap the lights and i guess i pulled too hard? i fell over.” 

blondie cackles even louder as both of the boys give him a look: tinsel boy looks confused, a little apologetic like he’s done this before, while the other tall, broad one sends him an exasperated look. “yoongi, come help me, so we can all leave early.”

ah, to leave early. you’d like that. 

jungkook lets out a tsk and hands you a box of snowflakes to hang from the roof of santa’s workshop, deeming you high risk to the reindeers, and moves on to the next poor, tired santa’s elf who is—heaven forbid—letting the garland hang an extra inch longer than protocol. 

you shift your gaze back to your right and meet eyes with tinsel boy who’s looking right at you. a flicker of heat rushes up to your cheek, as he looks away, back to the tall broad one who’s trying to untangle him. 

“namjoon,” the broad one sighs in relief when his hands finally find the right loop, “maybe you should try the stickers.” 

“absolutely not,” blondie glares, points to the glass window of the cafe, and even from where you are, 2 stores down and 2 across, you can see the abysmal state of the stickers, air bubbles and stuck together where it’s not haphazardly slapped on to glass. “we are two stickers down and tae is going to have my head when he finds out.” his tone softens, eyes as gentle as his smile, when he sees that namjoon has deflated a little, spirit a little squashed like the tinsel around him. “maybe you can decorate the counter namjoon. i think you’d be good at that.”

namjoon brightens up, dimpled smile illuminated by the string lights dancing across his face, and hands yoongi the lights. he gives a mock salute. “yes, sir.”

you bite down your laughter as he skips into the store, nearly tripping over his shoes. at least you’re not alone in your lack of holiday decorating luck, you think as you reach your hand into the box of snowflakes and cough, a storm of dust and glitter puffing up into the air. 

god, you hate your job already. 

in all fairness, after a 5 hour shift and glitter congested lungs, the mall looks lovely, a christmas card come to life with enough lights to rival a hallmark christmas movie or those drive through holiday light tunnels. if you were a customer, you’d stand gaping at the front entrance too, breath caught in your throat at the festivities. but instead, you’re rubbing bleary eyes from the lack of sleep, back at the steps of the mall less than 6 hours after the nightmare of the graveyard shift. lethargy clings to the edges of your thoughts, smudging cohesion into a whirlpool of fatigue, so you collect what little of yourself you can and trudge your way to floral fantasy. 

floral fantasy is instagram famous, not only for their delectable desserts and drinks, but also the absurdly good looking staff members who’d make celebrities crumble with a mere flicker of a smile. there’s a whisper where you live, small talks through the grapevines, about how the requirement to work there is to look like someone who’d make models cry. rumour has it every single worker has been recruited by a talent agency, only to all be turned down for reasons unknown. you believed it when you first stepped foot into the cafe, mouth agape and words lost at the sight of the pretty workers at the register, but the speculations hit you twice as hard right now, when you’re clutching on to the last bit of your sanity. 

tinsel boy is in front of you. you knew he was pretty yesterday, wrapped in twinkle and catching the light, but he’s even prettier up close, skin shimmering in soft pastels, and you wonder for a moment if he’s actually this pretty or if it’s just an optical illusion, a trick of your mind bending the light to create a pretty ringlet around his head. you almost run your mouth, almost let your mouth run without its filter. almost. 

instead, there’s a crash, an angry hiss of steam, and the distinct sound of someone yelping in pain that cuts through the fog of your wonder. blondie rushes out from the back (yoongi, you think his name was), door swinging behind him. “goddamnit namjoon, i leave you alone for thirty seconds! thirty seconds!” 

namjoon shrugs sheepishly. there’s a grimace on his face as he nurses a palm, red and angry. yoongi rushes over with a wet towel and wraps it around namjoon’s palm, another hiss seeping from namjoon’s lips. “i got-fuck-distracted by something,” he looks at you, cheeks tinged pink, and tries to put on a smile, though it resembles more of a grimace. “welcome to floral fantasy.”

yoongi follows his gaze to you too, blinks twice before a smile spreads on his mouth too. “we’re usually a lot more composed than this.”  

“i’ll take your word for it.” you laugh, remembering last night. “the place looks nice. it looks like you’ve done a wonderful job.”

the cafe, normally in theme to its name as an everblooming wonder, is decked with evergreen wreaths and red ribbons, a brilliant fantasy of lights. the wall filled with paper flowers is replaced with white and silver paper snowflakes, just as photo ready as the people inside. 

“thank you,” yoongi smirks, looking over at namjoon before pushing him towards the register. “we tried.”

“i’m sure you must be tired from last night,” you smile at namjoon. 

“you must be too. i know the mall elves had to stay even longer than we did.” he smiles, dimples blooming. “what can i get you?” 

you look at the menu over his head, the words blurring together the longer you look at them, mind too sleep deprived to focus. “i haven’t been here often, so i’m not sure what’s good. what would you recommend?”

he opens his mouth, hesitating for a moment, before letting out a low chuckle, hand rubbing the back of his neck. your eyes follow the movement. “i’m actually new here. my friends own the cafe and i’m just here to help for the holiday rush.” he side eyes yoongi who’s running the coffee machine with precision and ease, grace in each movement as he fixes namjoon’s mistakes. “i feel like more of a nuisance than of help though.” 

“i understand that feeling,” you motion towards your attire, a bright splash of green, red, and white that’s as cheerful as you are tired. “i most definitely am not as perky as my job requires.” 

he laughs at your statement, a genuine bubbling laughter that tickles one out of you. there’s a sparkle in his eyes—a trick of the light, you tell yourself—as types something on to the screen. “i have just the thing for you.”

you start to fish around your bag, trying to find your card in the mess of old receipts and chewing gum, when he speaks again. “it’s on the house. my treat.” 

you furrow your brows, lips quirked. “are you allowed to do that?”

“i get free coffee everyday,” he shrugs, “and i do enough damage without caffeine in my system. consider it a gift from a fellow new mall worker, a comrades in agony.” 

you can’t help the worry that spreads across your face. “will you be making it as well?”

“god no.” “absolutely not.” namjoon and yoongi speak at once, twin looks of pain on their faces. 

namjoon holds up his palm as the printer makes a whirring noise. “i think it’s safer for all of us that yoongi makes your drink.” 

the coffee is good, coats your tongue in mint and just the right amount of bitterness. the caffeine sinks into your bloodstream, wipes the film of sleep from your eyes, and gets you through seven hours at the mall. by the end of it, your cheeks hurt from smiling too hard, voice a little hoarse from the high pitch elf voice, but there’s a warmth from the coffee that lingers, settles into your bones and stays despite the frosty air that blasts a little too hard through the itchy material of your elf dress. 

you find yourself back at the doors of floral fantasy the next day, still in your bell hat and jingling shoes, less tired but sleepy nonetheless. it’s a little before the mall opens, but the doors are unlocked when you push, a little bell chime ringing through the empty store. the smell of baked goods fills the air, a cozy warmth juxtaposing the white winter wonderland theme, and you take in a deep breath, let it fill your lungs. 

“wow.” you whip around to see namjoon holding a tray of scones and muffins. “you look like you fit right into the store.”

you snort as you twirl, the pom poms twirling as your dress swirls with your turn. “i’m a christmas card come to life, the splitting image of cheer and festivities. though i can’t really say i’m quite into the look.”

he opens his mouth to say something, but there’s a ringing that permeates and breaks the moment. “oh shit,” he drops the tray down on the counter, “seokjin told me to watch the macarons. i’ll be right back” he races off, the back door swinging to the tune of his panic. 

you giggle and look at the menu properly this time, at the pretty penmanship curling across the black chalkboards. there’s candy canes and hollies drawn on the borders and tiny wreaths pinned to every corner, ribbon on the bottom, and you try to match the baked goods to the menu names when there’s a muted yelp and crash coming from behind the doors. 

“i swear to god, kim namjoon! the oven mitts are not decoration!” you hear, and you grimace, mind already picturing the damage his clumsiness has caused.  

namjoon and seokjin, you assume, come out of the backroom a few moments later, another wet towel on namjoon, on both hands instead of one this time. 

“oh,” seokjin says. “hello.” 

“hi,” you wave awkwardly. “i’m guessing this is bad timing?”

“no, it’s not,” he pulls out a medical kit and starts applying burn cream on namjoon’s hands, sending daggers every time namjoon inhales sharply in pain. “yoongi should be here in a couple of minutes if you want coffee.”

“did you like the coffee yesterday?” namjoon asks, hope sparkling in his eyes. 

“i did!” you beam back. “it was good, so i came back to see if you had any recs.” you look at the tray behind the two. “and to try a baked goods. a fellow elf told me they’re quite spectacular.”

seokjin brightens at that, perks up and puffs his chest as he finishes the final touches on the bandages on namjoon’s hands. “you heard correctly! just wait a moment!” he rushes off to the back, and it’s just the two of you again.

“you seem to be catching me at my worst, but i swear, i’m more put together than this,” namjoon chuckles, lifting his palms “how was your first shift?” 

you laugh, caressing your elbows to your body. “it was okay. a lot of happy kids, which was nice, but there were also a lot of crying ones. by the end, i was just ready to go home. i did, however, like the coffee from yesterday and figured i would come back to see if you had another recommendation, from a fellow second day-er to another. it was the one thing that got me through the shift.” 

he beams again, and it ignites a warmth in you, much like the coffee from yesterday, that spreads gently across your body, on your cheeks, on your mouth. his smile is pretty, like a warm breeze on a spring day, like cherry blossoms fluttering gently in the wind. the coffee is good, but you think the reason for the lines outside the cafe, the loyal customers, is partly due to the way the smiles here feel like love letters. 

“i have something in mind for you today,” he smiles at you as yoongi walks in, nodding at you in greeting. “just wait a moment.”

you walk out of the cafe, a coffee in one hand, box of baked goods in another, and a heart that feels a little like a snow globe, glitter and snow gently falling down after being shaken by a cute pair of dimples.

it becomes a routine of sorts: almost every shift begins with a visit to floral fantasy, even on the days namjoon isn’t working, and you build up a small friendship with everyone who works there, though it’s mostly seokjin and yoongi and namjoon you see. there always seems to be some mishap with namjoon when you walk into the store—it’s mostly limited to small things like jammed display doors, smooshed pastries as he reaches for another, and misshapen ice cream swirls—although seokjin and yoongi tell you he’s not as clumsy as he presents himself when you’re around.

“he’s actually quite brilliant,” seokjin tells you as he packs in an extra macaron in your gift box, smiling as you light up in glee. you really shouldn’t be spending your paycheck on pastries, but seokjin’s culinary training at le cordon bleu makes them a little too good, a little too addictive, and has you asking for one (or two) on the days when your shifts are a little too long to bear without coffee and sweets. “he’s double majoring in literature and philosophy, minoring in greek and latin to gain deeper understanding of the classical philosophers, and takes french in his free time. he wears himself a little too thin, if you ask me, but he likes what he does. he’s a sweetheart, even when he’s clinging to the last thread of his sanity, muttering on and on about paradoxes and something about beds.” 

“he just needs to get a better understanding of his strength,” yoongi tells you when you come in after your shift one day, over the hiss of the steamer as he makes you a cafe au lait. you don’t have the heart to tell him that you prefer your coffee sweet after remembering how his eyes lit up as he told you about his barista training, raved about coffee done correctly rather than frappes and awful starbucks beans. the resentment on his tongue made you promise yourself to never step foot in a starbucks, lest you find yourself the subject of his bitterness. “sometimes he gets a little too excited and forgets about things, like how fragile objects can be or safety concerns” he and seokjin exchange a knowing glance before he smiles down at the coffee, blank canvas coming to life as he pours in the steamed milk. in the matter of seconds, there’s a cute bear hanging on to the edge of the cup, and you gape in awe at his skills. “he means well though.” 

namjoon presents himself a little differently than his friends do when he catches you on your lunch break, keeping you company as you eat your sandwich in the cafeteria. “i don’t really know how these things keep happening, but they do. i’m a magnet for trouble like bella swan.”

you cackle out loud and, in the process, almost spit out your coffee, courtesy of namjoon. “i’m sure it’s not that bad.” 

“well, i don’t have a creepy, emotionally unhinged vampire that lusts after me, so yes, my situation is a bit better.”

he looks like a kicked puppy, eyes all sad and tugging at heartstrings. you find yourself reaching a hand out, patting his arm. “there, there. i’m sure santa has you on the nice list despite it all. for not interacting with a god-forsaken, toxic vampire.” 

“good. i was awfully worried i was on the naughty list.” he tries to keep a straight face, hold his laughter in, but it seeps and bubbles out and his eyes crinkle into crescents. “do you not like the holidays?” you tilt your head at his question, a silent ask to elaborate. “you seem to not be in the holiday spirit when i ask you about it. unless, i’m reading incorrectly and it’s just your job you despise, which i totally understand. i love kids, but they can be hard to deal with.” 

you chew on your sandwich for a little longer than you have to, feel it go down your esophagus while the sorrow sticks in your throat. “i like christmas. it’s just a bit lonely on my own?” you put your sandwich down gingerly on to your tupperware. “i think the best part of christmas—the holidays in general, really—is spending time with family and loved ones, but i don’t get to see them very often. not since i moved for college and everyone is busy with their own lives. i love christmas dinner and celebrating together, watching the clock strike midnight on new year’s. i still send gifts to them, but it’s not the same as watching them open it, watching eyes light up and twinkle in delight as they see the stockings and rip the wrapping paper.” you stick a grin on your face, as cheerful as the one you put on for your job, but your laughter sounds weak, even to your ears, and you shift your gaze on to the sandwich in your tupperware, trying to hide your tears. there’s a comforting hand on top of yours, gently squeezing like he’s trying to pass his strength on to you. “i mean, it’s fine. post-holiday depression can’t really hit if you don’t feel the holiday cheer to begin with.”

he doesn’t say anything as you blink furiously, trying to clear out the fuzziness in your vision: he rubs his thumb against the back of your hand, a gentle reminder that he’s there and listening to what you’ve holed up and deemed too stupid to tell other people. 

“maybe this holiday season will be different,” he offers. 

there’s a flicker of hope that burns in your chest. “yeah, maybe it will be.” 

it’s a couple of days later when you step back into the cafe, having been too tired to come by after your shifts, and you’re nursing the desire to knock down every single reindeer and the stupid gingerbread house just to spite the kids. (and maybe see the look on jeon jungkook’s face, savour it slowly. god, his love for christmas cheer and order drives you mad, though you’re sure you do the same for him, every time you slip out of character when there’s a particularly nasty child in line.) you must look as exhausted as you feel because when namjoon turns around at the sound of the bell twinkling, thirty minutes before the cafe closes, he drops the tray and you watch as the pink coffee cups and pretty plates fall to the floor, shatter into pieces. 

“fuck,” namjoon looks at the floor in dismay, crouching down to collect the pieces. 

“be care-“ you start, but his voice cuts through before you can finish. 

“ow, fuck.” he staring at the rose blooming on his thumb, cut quickly filling with red. 

you grab a napkin from the counter and hand it to him, gently pulling him up and aside, out of harms way. “i don’t know if your hands will be okay by the time your stint here ends.”

he snorts at that, heading behind the counter and reaching for the medical kit again. “i’m quite resilient.”

“is it weird that i believe you and don’t at the same time?” you smile at his pout, wincing when it causes your cheeks to twinge in pain. “are you manning the store alone today?”

“i can be responsible! is that so hard to believe?” he laughs and motions to the store. “this is seokjin and yoongi’s baby. seokjin has always wanted to do something with food and yoongi’s always loved coffee, so this is their brainchild. i’m guessing they trust me enough to not burn the place down, or at least try not to.” 

he fumbles as puts a bandage on the cut and you can’t help but smile as you remember the stickers he tried to put on the cafe door. you take the broom from him when he makes his way over. “here, let me help.” he tries to protest but you move the broom out of his reach. “consider it my way of saying thank you for the great coffee recommendations.”  

namjoon’s dimples are back, shining in full force, and you start sweeping, telling yourself you’re focusing on the pieces of china and not averting the warmth of his smile because it does not feel like a sugar rush, like the warmth of the holidays you haven’t felt in a while. you feel something creep up in your throat—loneliness, sorrow, exhaustion—so you force it down and stare at the tiny pieces on the floor, watch the little fragments twinkle as you push them around with your broom. 

“are you okay?” there’s a hand on your arm and pair of warm brown eyes looking at you, concern brimming in the light. you let yourself get lost in them for a moment, let it wash over you before you respond.

“yeah,” you smile, “just tired.” 

he gently takes the broom and dustpan from your hands, and gives you his hand instead, leading you to the behind the counter and to the backroom. “i have just the thing for you.”

“am i allowed to be back here?” you quirk your head in amusement, letting him lead. “better yet, what are we doing?”

it’s strange—to the say the least—to be in a place you’re so accustomed to but have it looks so different than what you’re used to: steel and silver replacing marble and white, ovens and storage racks in place of glass displays case and chalkboards. but there’s still the same magic: the same kind of warmth and care you’re greeted with at the entrance lives in the backroom, with the ovens and fires, with the stand mixers and ingredients, with namjoon flitting around the stove. there’s a tick-tick-tick as the stove flares to life, a clang as it meets pan. 

“yoongi taught me how to make hot chocolate, back in high school, because he was so fed up with how much i loved it, how much i would ask for it.” you can feel the smile on his face, even as his back is to you as you lean against the counter. “it’s one of the few things i know how to make from scratch, albeit a little labour intensive. once you try it, there’s no going back to instant packets.” 

namjoon motions you over, handing you the whisk, and the two of you settle in to a comfortable silence as he scrapes in vanilla, sifts in some spices, adds in heavy cream and milk. it smells heavenly, lingers on the edges of his white shirt. the two of you are so close, you’re scared he can hear the vivace of your heartbeat over the whisking, so you whisk a little faster, let the cream splash on the edges until he gently takes the whisk from you. “wow, maybe you should work here. we could have you as back up if our stand mixers ever break down.” 

he pours the mixture into two orange mugs, topping it with something white and fluffy before handing one to you. “hot chocolate a la namjoon.” 

you close your eyes and let the mixture settle on your tongue, sweet and warm. it settles in your bones, distilling and coating the exhaustion and loneliness until all that’s left is the warmth of spending the moment with a loved one. the effort and time comes through. “colour me impressed.”

the smile on his face is as warm as the drink in your hands. 

the two of you bask in the silence, in the warmth, in the comfort of each other’s presence, as you sip the rest of your hot chocolates. 

there’s an unspoken rule: the closer it gets to your last day of work, the slower time moves, like it’s waiting to prolong your misery. the kids aren’t awful—they get nicer as it inches closer to christmas, too well aware their gifts depend on their behavior—but no matter how many kids you entertain, how many photos you snap, how many smiles you pinch out, nothing makes your shift go by today. you’re so close to throwing down your elf hat and walking out the door, freedom so close yet so far. 

it’s christmas eve and the mall is busier than usual, packed with folxs trying to get their last minute christmas shopping done. you can’t say the same for the santa’s workshop line: there’s a lull like no other, and while you would be grateful, jeon jungkook has been watching over everyone like a hawk, squawking at every elf to “keep up the magic!” just until 10 minutes ago when he left for lunch. you just want to go back to your apartment and settle under your covers and let yourself enjoy the measly number on your paycheck. 

“you look like you’re having the time of your life.” 

a voice comes up from behind you and you startle, relief only settling in when you see who it is. 

namjoon is holding a tray of cupcakes that looks like christmas trees, dusted in powdered sugar and topped with a fondant star, and you “ooh” over them as he laughs. “seokjin was experimenting with flavours and i figured i would bring some over to the north pole.”

you frown in mock anger as you pluck a cupcake off his tray. “it’s santa’s workshop, not the north pole. i don’t even want to think about how much more fake snow we would have to bring to call this the north pole.” you take a bite into the cupcake, moaning as the sugar hits your tongue. “these are so good.”

namjoon blinks at you, looks down at your lips and laughs with pink tinged cheeks. “you have frosting on your lips.”

“oh,” you lick your lips, “is it gone?”

 he brushes his thumb against the corner of your mouth, fingertip lingering a second too long as he drags it down. “all better.” 

there’s a long, awkward silence between the two of you, seconds dragging by as you fumble to string a cohesive sentence together. 

“do you-“

“it’s my-“

“you can go first,” namjoon offers. 

“it’s my last shift today, so i won’t be able to visit as often anymore.” you try to keep the tremble out of your voice, try to dampen the disappointment as you kick at the floor. “so i wanted to say thank you. for everything.”

“oh.” he doesn’t say anything else and anxiety pools in between every beat of the song that’s blasting through the mall speakers. you try to find something to fill in the conversation, anything but what you want to ask him, when you hear your coworker’s voice. 

“jeon’s making his way down!” 

“i have to go. thank you for the cupcake!” you wave the treat in your hand and start to get back into position.

“wait! y/n!” 

as soon as you turn around, there’s a giant weight on top of you, and both you and namjoon come tumbling down, back knocking against the floor. namjoon’s foot, caught on the wire, pulls out the string lights from the socket and brings a snowman to the floor. the poor snowman, in turn, knocks over the reindeers one by one, like a set of dominos, each one falling to the floor with a graceful “thump.”

you let out a groan, crushed by namjoon’s large frame. there’s something wet smudged against your cheek, and the tray that once was in his hands is now uncomfortably sandwiched between your stomachs, digging into your ribcage. 

“fuck, i’m so sorry,” namjoon scrambles to get off of you. “this keeps happening around you. are you okay?”

when you prop up your weight on your hands, you see that your elf costume is smeared with dark green frosting, the white trim matted together with pieces of the chocolate cupcake. you can’t help but laugh: it seems awfully fitting that namjoon’s fall, which marked your first shift, would laso be the highlight of your last one. 

“i’m alright. you?”

he nods, motioning towards your elf costume. “i don’t think your costume is though.”

“i kind of like it better this way,” you laugh as you start to pick up the reindeers, “it feels much more festive.” 

“i feel bad.”

he sends you an apologetic look, puppy eyes and pouty lips, and something in you says fuck it. “you were right about the hot chocolate. i tried to drink instant mix and it didn’t taste the same. you could make it up to me with another cup?”

something flashes in his eyes as he smiles. “i’ll do you one better. what are you doing tomorrow?”

you furrow your brows, trying to figure out what he’s asking. “nothing?”

“i’m off too, if you wanted to go on a date? most of the city is going to be closed, so we could watch a movie, have dinner at my place? and i could make you hot chocolate?” he bites his lip at your silence, at the way your eyes go wide. “or not. i’m sorry; i just thou-” 

you press your lips against his and put your hands on his shoulder when he kisses you back. it’s a short kiss, sweet and gentle like he is, and it’s over all too soon (you are in public after all), but it leaves a trail of butterflies in your stomach and a dazed look in his eye. 

“a date sounds good.” you tell him as he stands up, tray in hand. 

“tomorrow then.”

you nod, the smile on your face as sweet as the frosting on your outfit, as he runs back towards floral fantasy. 

“looks like someone has holiday plans after all,” your coworker nudges you.

the smile on your face refuses to dissipate, even as your cheeks feel the tender ache. “i guess so.” 

“you know, the first time i saw you, you were wrapped in tinsel because you fell off the ladder trying to decorate the outside of floral fantasy.” you tell him on his couch, over hot chocolate. 

he chokes and sputters. “i was distracted.”

the statement sounds vaguely familiar, mind hazy from time. “by what?”

he looks at his mug of hot chocolate intently, like the surface is reflecting his answer to him. “You.”

It’s your turn to choke on your drink. “I’m sorry?”

his ears and cheeks are dusted with pink, a sunset on his face. “You were so pretty that i forgot i was on a ladder, and i fell.” 

it takes all of your willpower to iron out the smile that threatens to slip through, but one look at his face--at his pretty, pouting face--and you burst out laughing, laughing even harder when he joins in.

“I’m clumsy when i get nervous,” he continues, when both your laughters simmer into giggles, “and everytime you came into the cafe, i was so nervous that i made silly mistakes like burning my hands and forgetting oven mitts. The one time you came in and i dropped the tray? The light was hitting you at the right angle and—god—it made you look like an angel.” 

you hide your grin behind your mug, take a sip before you let him know. “the coffee was good, but i mostly came in to see you.” 

his eyes light up at that, brighter than the christmas tree haphazardly wrapped behind him, and you kiss him, mouths moulding together. he tastes like goodness and hot chocolate and the warmth of the holiday season, like the thrill of opening a present that’s been under the tree for so long. 

maybe he was right. maybe this holiday season will be different. 

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Treat Your S(h)elf: The Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker

We’re going to survive - our songs, our stories. They’ll never be able to forget us. Decades after the last man who fought at Troy is dead, their sons will remember the songs their Trojan mothers sang to them. We’ll be in their dreams - and in their worst nightmares too.

- Pat Barker, The Silence of the Girls

“It’s always hard on women, when a city falls.” Briseis, former princess of the Trojan city of Lyrnessus, has been Achilles’s slave for several months when someone she knew in her old life says these words. From the ancient world to our modern world there is this ugly and unspoken line of rape as a weapon of war. History is replete with examples. In the 20th-century where Nazis raped Jewish women despite soldiers' concerns with "race defilement" and raped countless women in their path as they invaded the Soviet Union and then in Berlin 1945 Russians in turn went on a brutal raping spree to punish the Germans. In the bloody Balkan wars in the 1990s, Serbian forces tortured and summarily executed scores of Muslims and Croats. In the Iraq war and the many conflicts in Africa in the 21st Century, rape is systemically used to subdue a defeated enemy. History shows the ugly truth that women’s bodies have always been viewed as the spoils of conflicts waged primarily by men.

The issue of rape in war is something that has always sat uncomfortably with me ever since I did my stint as an army combat helicopter pilot in Afghanistan. From my high vantage point I felt a detachment from the electronic battlefield - for everything was viscerally seen from my helmeted eye patch visor lens and not the naked eye. I couldn’t look people in the eye as as soldier on for patrol would have. The fear and sweat is the same but the risk is different. Soldiers on patrol or on a mission risk the constant threat of ambush, sustained attack under mortar or fire fights as well as the ever present danger of being blown up by an IED by accident. Pilots risk being coming under attack too by being ambushed by RPG rocket fire or coming under fire from below. Worse, was to think if you got hit and you had to bail and you were all alone, survival and evasion from capture becomes fearfully paramount. Of course they train you for this until it hopefully becomes muscle memory in how to survive and take evasive action from being captured and resisting as long as you could under interrogation. But as a female pilot the unspoken fear that dare not speak its name was ever present: the fear of rape.

I’m not sure my brother officers - no matter how sincere and well intentioned they were because we were all fiercely protective of one another - really understood what the word ‘rape’ means for a woman. Indeed a male friend and ex-army colleague said to me in jest don’t ever kid a man about kicking him in the balls because it’s one thing every man can imagine feeling but would find it hard to explain the excruciating pain when a man does get his balls bashed in. I don’t think the two ‘experiences’ are the same obviously but I understand how hard it is to articulate what it might feel like. I never really allowed myself to be consumed by the fear of what might happen if I ever got shot down and was captured but instead I made sure to focus on my job. It never really became pressing issue for me throughout my time in on the battlefield. I was lucky I got out in one piece despite a few close scrapes along the way.

I did hear awful and terrible stories from my oldest brother who served in the Iraq War of the raping of Kurdish women by Iraqi forces. It sickened him and left him hollow the the things he witnessed first hand. Through the charitable work of ex-veterans I have come across refugee woman who shared their harrowing stories of how they were violently and systematically raped as war booty and as primal assertion of victor dominance and control.

I was thinking about all these things as I read Pat Barker’s novel about one of the most famous wars of all, telling the story of the siege of Troy from the point of view of the local Trojan women taken by the Greek forces. It’s The Iliad as seen through the eyes of 19-year-old Briseis, the Queen of Lyrnessus who’s taken as Achilles’s “bed-girl”, his “prize of honour” for mass slaughter.

Barker’s not the first to turn to the classics for inspiration. It’s popular practice these days. Kamila Shamsie’s Home Fire and Michael Hughes’ Country, for example, transpose classical stories onto contemporary settings.  The Silence of the Girls is yet another much welcomed book to offer a fresh perspective on Homeric women, following Madeleine Miller’s brilliant Circe. But while Miller’s reinvention of literature’s first witch brilliantly evoked a world of ancient magic in retelling The Odyssey from the witch’s point of view, not that of the warrior she waylays on his journey home, Barker’s story has its feet very firmly on the ground. Yes, the gods are still there – you can’t tell the story of the Trojan wars without them, after all. The gods remain mostly off stage but they are present in the background, magically restoring the mutilated dead body of Hector. The sea goddess Thetis, Achilles’ mother, is a briny, frightening presence, as are the dark shore and the waves by which the whole horrible story takes place. Apollo still sends a plague, Achilles is the son of a sea goddess who brings him divinely forged armour and Hector’s body is magically restored to freshness after being pulled behind Achilles’s chariot.

But what really stands out are not heavenly allusions but the dirt and filth and disease and sheer brutal physicality of the Greek army marauding everything that stands in their way to Troy - there’s no magic here to ease the pain and trauma of rape or murder or even to help exact revenge. And while Achilles’ divine mother makes an appearance, and Apollo is beckoned by Briseis to bring about a plague, the gods remain on the peripheries of this story. If Circe, which chronicles the life of its titular character, is very much about the gods and their egos, then The Silence of the Girls, however, is very much about humans, their egos and their wars - both personal and political.

In all this Barker gives female characters such as Circe and Briseis the voice they’ve traditionally been denied, readers glean a different version of events behind the Trojan War epic myth. “Great Achilles. Brilliant Achilles, shining Achilles, godlike Achilles…How the epithets pile up,” Briseis begins. “We never called him any of those things; we called him ‘the butcher’.”

In The Iliad, a poem about the terrible destruction caused by male aggression, the bodies and pretty faces of women are the objects through which men struggle with each other for status. The women are not entirely silent, and goddesses always have plenty to say, but mortal women speak primarily to lament. They grieve for their dead sons, dead fathers, dead husbands and dead protectors; for the city of Troy, soon to fall, and for their own freedom, taken by the victors of war. Andromache pleads with her Trojan husband Hector not to leave her and their infant son to go back to fight Achilles. She has already endured the sack of her home city by Achilles, and seen the slaughter of her father and seven brothers, and the enslavement of her mother. If Hector dies, their child will be hurled from the city walls, Troy will fall and Andromache will be made the concubine of the son of her husband’s killer. Hector knows this, but he insists that his own need to avoid social humiliation as a battle-shirker trumps it all: “I would be ashamed before the Trojan men and women,” he says. He hopes only to be dead before he has to hear her screams.

Barker’s absorbing prose puts the experience of women like Andromache at the heart of the story: the women who survive in slavery when men destroy their cities and kill their fathers, brothers and children. The central character is Briseis, the woman awarded to Achilles, the greatest Greek fighter, after his army sacks one of the towns neighbouring Troy. Agamemnon, the most powerful, although not the bravest, of the Greek warriors – a character whose downright nastiness comes across beautifully in Barker’s telling – has lost his own most recent female acquisition and seizes Briseis from Achilles. Achilles’ vengeful rage against Agamemnon and his own comrades, and the subsequent vast death toll of the Greeks and Trojans, is the central theme of The Iliad.

Homer’s poem ends by foreshadowing the fall of Troy in the death of its greatest fighter, Hector. Barker’s novel begins with the fall of another town: Lyrnessus, Briseis’ home, destroyed by Achilles and his men. We then see that the fall of a city is the end of a story only for the male warriors: some leave triumphant and others lie there dead. For the women, it is the start of new horrors.

Barker’s subject has long been gender relations during conflict, along with the machinations of trauma and memory, so she’s in her element here. Her blood-drenched battle scenes are up there with the best of them, and she shows a keen understanding of the “never-ending cycle of hatred and revenge” fuelling the violence. Her focus, however, is that which takes place off the battlefield, inflicted on the women in the “rape camps.”

Barker keeps the main bones of the Homeric poem in place, supplementing Homer at the end of the story with Euripides. His heartbreaking play The Trojan Women is, like Barker’s novel, a version of the story that shifts our attention from the angry, destructive, quick-footed, short-lived boys to the raped, enslaved, widowed women, who watch their city burn and, if they are lucky, get a moment to bury their slaughtered children and grandchildren before they are taken far away.

One of Barker’s most tear-jerking sequences is lifted straight from Euripides: the teenage daughter of Priam and Hecuba is gagged and killed as a “sacrifice” on the dead Achilles’ tomb, and then Hecuba is presented with the tiny corpse of her dead grandson, a toddler with his skull cracked open. The girl’s gagged mouth and the child’s gaping brains conjure a gruesome twinned image for the silenced voices that should tell of the horror and pity suffered by the victims of war.

For most of Barker’s novel, Briseis is the first-person narrator, but in the final part, the narrative is intercut with third-person chapters told from the point of view of Achilles. We never get as close to Achilles as we do to Briseis, but he is a compelling figure in his fascinating combination of brutality and civility. Like Siegfried Sassoon in Barker’s 1991 novel Regeneration, this Achilles has the soul of a poet as well as of a killer and hunter: he is a man whose physical courage and compulsion to fight sit uneasily with his clear, articulate awareness of the futility of war.

But Achilles, however fascinating he may be, is not then at the centre of this story. Still, the novel does provide a moving, thought-provoking version of what is perhaps the most famous moment of The Iliad: when the old king Priam makes his way, alone and unarmed, through the enemy camp, to plead with Achilles to give back the mutilated body of his son, Hector. Barker twice quotes Priam’s Homeric words to Achilles: “I do what no man before me has ever done, I kiss the hands of the man who killed my son.” Barker lets us feel the pathos and pity of this moment, as well as the pathos of all the many young men who die violent deaths far from home. We glimpse, too, Achilles’ alienation from his own “terrible, man-killing hands”, which have caused so many deaths.

Briseis has a powerful riposte to Priam’s words, weighing this unique encounter between men against the myriad unremembered horrors suffered by women in war. “I do what countless women before me have been forced to do. I spread my legs for the man who killed my husband and my brothers.”

Reduced to objects, they’re catalysts for conflict – Barker’s Helen inspires ribaldry not worship, “The eyes, the hair, the tits, the lips/ That launched a thousand battleships...” chant the soldiers – blamed for inciting hatred between men. Or they’re regarded as the victor’s spoils, claimed along with cattle and gold.

Briseis is both. Taken as a slave, Achilles and Agamemnon then feud over her: “It doesn’t belong to him; he hasn’t earnt it,” fumes the former. Men - Greek and Trojan alike – are afforded the privilege of vocalising their pain and loss, while women have to repress their suffering. “Silence becomes a woman,” they’re told, even when they’re free.

No longer an issue of decorum, now it’s about staying alive. “I do what no man before me has ever done, I kiss the hands of the man who killed my son,” declares Priam when he prostrates himself before Achilles begging for Hector’s body. “And I do what countless women before me have been forced to do, Briseis thinks bitterly, “I spread my legs for the man who killed my husband and my brothers.”

Barker has a very clear feminist message about the struggle for women to extricate themselves from male-dominated narratives. In the hands of a lesser writer, it could have felt preachy and woke but she masterfully avoids that. The attempt to provide Briseis with a happy ending is thin, and sometimes the female characters’ legitimate outrage seems a bit predictable, as when we hear Helen thinking: “I’m here. Me. A person, not just an object to be looked at and fought over.”

The novel has some annoying anachronisms, such as a “weekend market” (there were no weekends in antiquity), and a reference to “half a crown”, as if we were in the same period as Barker’s first world war novels. One wonders if any woman in archaic Greece, even a former queen, would have quite the self-assurance of Barker’s Briseis. But, of course, there is no way to be sure: no words from women in this period survive but Barker is surely right to paint them as thoughtful, diverse, rounded human beings, whose humanity hardly ever dawns on their captors, owners and husbands. This central historical insight feels entirely truthful.

Barker has a quasi-Homeric gift for similes: “that shining moment, when the din of battle fades and your body’s a rod connecting earth and sky”, or Achilles’ friend Patroclus dying, “thrashing like a fish in a pool that’s drying out”. There is a Homeric simplicity and drive in some of the sentences: “Blood, shit and brains – and there he is, the son of Peleus, half beast, half god, driving on to glory.” She is Homeric, too, in her attentiveness to what happens between people, and to the details of the physical world: the food, the wine, the clothes, the noise and the feel of skin, blood, bones, crackling wounds and screams. Barker, like Homer, understands grief and loss, and sees how alone people can be even when they are crying together. Loneliness in community is one of the major themes of this book, as it is of The Iliad.

Angry, thoughtful, sad, deeply humane and compulsively readable, The Silence of the Girls shows that Barker is a writer at the peak of her literary powers. You sense her only priority is to enlarge the story that we all know and she adds to it magnificently.

I have always enjoyed reading Pat Barker especially her enviable experience of writing about military life in her earlier novels and here in this book it shines through in the depiction of the Greek forces. The men are dehumanised by the wars they have created. This is primarily a book about what war does to women, but Barker examines what it does to men too. I was disturbed by the magnificently poignant final section which can’t help but make you reflect on the cultural underpinnings of male aggression, the women throughout history who have been told, by men, to forget their trauma. When Briseis is told to forget her past life, she immediately knows it is exactly what she must not, can not do: “So there was my duty laid out in front of me, as simple and clear as bowl of water: Remember.”

Briseis knows no one will want to record the reality of what went on during the war: “they won’t want the brutal reality of conquest and slavery. They won’t want to be told about the massacres of men and boys, the enslavement of women and girls. They won’t want to know we were living in a rape camp. No, they’ll go for something altogether softer. A love story, perhaps?” But even so, Briseis, for all that she must bear, understands eventually that the women will leave behind a legacy, though not in the same vocal, violent way the men will.

“We’re going to survive,” she says, “our songs, our stories. They’ll never be able to forget us. Decades after the last man who fought at Troy is dead, their sons will remember the songs their Trojan mothers sang to them. We’ll be in their dreams - and in their worst nightmares too.”

I felt disconcerted reading this and also very moved. As much as I love the Classics and firmly believe in it providing the foundational building blocks of our Western civilisation I also have to pause and remind myself that heroic behaviour, something the greatest of the Greeks are known for, isn’t anything admirable when viewed from the lens of the women they abuse. Heroism can be tainted by the dark side of one’s nature. However pure one soldier’s sacrifice for another can be, so there is the bestial side of us where the chains of civilised moral behaviour are unshackled and left to satiate our primal instinct for cruelty, conflict, and domination. Indeed what Barker does is be a much needed corrective because just as you think her perspective of the Greek heroes may be softening, she pulls back to remind you of Odysseus tossing Hector’s baby from the battlements, or Achilles’s casual butchery. “It’s the girls I remember most,” Briseis says. This then is a story about the very real cost of wars waged by men: “the brutal reality of conquest and slavery”.

In seeing a legend differently, Barker makes us rethink who gets to write history but also to remind us of our tainted human condition. There is no god in the machine to sort out most violent conflicts and situations with a thunderbolt here. There are only mortals, with all their flaws and ferocity and foolishness. And we all have to live with that but not I hope in silence.

[misssunflowersandsangria]

Please Have Snow and Mistletoe- Chapter 3

My deers!  Merry Christmas Eve, eve from my little corner of the world.  Thanks again for going on this journey with me.  I hope you’re enjoying it so far.  Just two more chapters!   Enjoy babes!

Summary:  Sweet treats lead to honest hearts.  

Chapter 3:  Sweeter than a Sugar Plum 

**

The next morning Shikamaru tried to make up for his behavior. It wasn’t fair to keep Temari at a distance just because he might have some confusing feelings for her. So instead of having breakfast altogether, he had it made so they wouldn’t have to leave the warm bed. Now though they were just lying there together enjoying the peaceful morning. 

Temari thoroughly enjoyed being spoiled by him and having more time to talk. She learned more about his past and just what he’d managed to accomplish in just a few years. She was completely impressed by him but he was pretty dazzled by her as well. It was very affirming to have him be in just a bit of awe of her. 

“I just don’t understand how you can stay away from all of this?”  She gestured around the room. Thinking of his parents and his friends who were over the moon to have him home. “Work is important but there’s just so much more.” 

Shikamaru looked up at Temari from where his head was resting on her lap.  “I wanted to prove myself. I’ve lived with the pressure of being the Nara family heir. I wanted to show the world that I was worthy of carrying that name. But also that I could accomplish things without my last name. If that makes sense. I’ve silenced a lot of those naysayers and critics. There’s little else that I need to accomplish. I’ve done what I set out to do.”

Her hand was gently carding through his hair.  “Are you happy?”

He considered his response carefully.  “I think so, but something still feels like it’s missing.” 

“Think you’ll ever figure out what that is?” 

“I might be getting closer to knowing.”  She settled back against the headboard analyzing everything she’d learn about him. 

For Temari, Family had always come first. Moving away had been the first selfish thing that she’d done but it was what was for the best. What she needed to grow. But she always came back to them. 

Shikamaru was just a little lost. It wouldn’t be hard to find his way back. 

“So what’s on the schedule for today?”  She was able to go through the number of clothes he’d ordered for her. It was far too many things for just two more days but he was insistent that she take it home with her.  The uneasiness of the previous evening was long gone and they were back on familiar and comfortable ground. 

“Christmas cookies with the Akimichis” 

An amused grin crossed her face.  “Really?”

“Yup, ever since we were kids we’d have a gingerbread house decorating contests and decorate cookies for Santa.” 

She couldn’t help but think about how sweet of a tradition that was. 

Choji and Karui’s home was incredible. Welcoming and inviting a delicious smell filled the air. The decorations reminded her of a winter wonderland. 

“Temari!” Ino eagerly gathered her into a hug and Temari easily reciprocated the affection. It was easy to love the blonde. 

“Welcome to our place. I’m so happy that you could come.  Shikamaru hasn’t been around to do this with us.  I doubt that he’s going to be very good at it.”   Karui teased giving Temari another welcoming hug. 

“Ya, ya, don’t listen to them Tem. They’re all mean to me.”  Temari just grinned and followed Karui into the kitchen. It was huge, state of the art, and outfitted with the newest technology. On the counter and the island were icing, sprinkles with trays of cookies ready to be decorated. Along with supplies ready for them to make their own batches. 

“Okay team Nara, here’s your aprons.  Feel free to use anything in the kitchen.”  Temari couldn’t help but laugh at the matching cheesy reindeer themed aprons they’d been given.  She still hadn’t quite learned what the obsession was with deer. 

“Let me help you with that.”  Temari felt her skin warm at the casual way he brushed away her hair to tie the apron around her neck.  His fingertips lightly touched the skin there.  His hands grazed along her sides to pull the ties around her waist. 

“Than-thank you.” She stammered flushed and felt a little too warm. He nodded before securing his own apron. 

“You look ridiculous.” 

He chuckled and while that might be true she looked absolutely adorable. 

“I don’t know, I’m pretty sure I’ve never looked better.”  Temari laughed before taking his hand to drag him towards their supplies. 

“Okay Nara, let me see what you can do.”

—

“Those look terrible.”  Ino criticized Shikamaru while holding up a goblin looking elf creature. 

Shikamaru rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry that we can’t all be as artistic as Sai.” 

The named man just grinned showing off another perfectly decorated snowflake-shaped cookie with elaborate icing.

“I’m sure they taste better than they look!” Temari interjected trying to be supportive. 

Temari bravely took a bite before her expression changed into one of horror. She swallowed it down before taking a large drink of cocoa. 

“Yup, delicious.”

The group all began to laugh out loud offering her pats of comfort and refilled her drink.

“She must really love you if she’s willing to eat a cookie you made Shikamaru.”  Chouji grinned, throwing an affectionate arm around her.

“Come on they can’t be that bad.” After taking a bite his expression matched hers as she sent him an amused look.

“Why would you people let me make these things every year?”  That cookie was absolutely disgusting.  

“It’s a tradition. Besides you just usually ended up eating everyone’s cookies while we kindly fed yours to the trash can.” Chouji explained 

“Ugh fine, Tem let me try one of yours then.” She gladly handed one over, and the delicious flavors floored him.

“Is there anything you’re not good at?”  She grinned, flicking her hair over her shoulders. 

“Probably not.” 

The other two couples watched them with delighted eyes. Their teasing jabs, casual touches, and heated looks were signatures of a couple that was in love. 

“How have we never met her before?”  Sai whispered to Ino. His Love was the mother hen of their group. If Shikamaru had been seeing someone she’d have been the first to know. 

“I don’t know. He clearly knew how to keep her a secret and I’ve been busy with work. Oh well. She’s here now and he’s happy.”  Was there much else she could ask for her friend? 

“These are delicious!” Temari groaned happily taking a bite of a snowman shaped cookie. Shikamaru just smiled at the bright and content look across her face.

“Let me get that.” Shikamaru’s thumb moved towards her mouth to rub away some red icing. 

His thumb lightly traced along the soft skin of her bottom lip while Temari held her breath. His hand curved around her chin slowly moving her face towards his. 

Temari’s eyes looked up, meeting his gaze before he dropped his hand in surprise. 

“I got it.” 

“Thanks.”

“Ahem, well all this sexual tension is really hot so why don’t we finish up here so I can go fuck my husband,”  Ino announced shamelessly. Shikamaru rolled his eyes but appreciated that the attention was no longer on him.  

They cleaned up and packed up all the treats they made except Shikamaru’s. Karui gave Temari a full batch of her famous cookies to take home with her. 

After their moment in the kitchen, Temari intentionally tried to keep some distance between herself and Shikamaru. Her feelings toward him were already confusing. Each moment they shared together was only making it worse. She didn’t know how many more almost-kisses she could take. 

“Drinks tonight!”  Ino announced her great idea before everyone left.

“Ino-“

Ino leveled Shikamaru with a look. “No, you’re not invited. Just me Karui and Temari.  You and the boys can stay home.”

“I don’t-“ 

Temari placed a hand on his arm. “Shikamaru, it’s okay. Ino I’d love to.”

“You’re so much more fun than him. Okay, I'll pick you up tonight.”

—

“You know you didn’t have to agree right.”  Drinking with Ino could be classified as an extreme sport. 

Temari rolled her eyes “Come on. I’ve only known her for a few days, it’s obvious that you can’t say no to that girl. Besides, it would look really weird if I didn’t want to hang out with your friends. I promise I won’t say anything that will reveal our secret. I’ll be fine.” 

Turns out that high altitude and strong drinks were a lethal combination. 

“I really like him!”  Temari complained out loud. She wasn’t sure how many drinks in she was but she was feeling giggly and happy. 

Karui laughed while taking another drink. “Of course you do, he’s your boyfriend!”

“He’s so annoyingly handsome and he’s smart, that's so hot,”  Temari complained with a frown. 

“We need to make this a new tradition! Drinks with the girls on Christmas Eve, eve!” Ino declared and they raised their glasses in agreement. 

Ino threw her arms around Temari.  “I’m glad he met you! There were some real bitches that were trying.” 

Temari’s eyes sharpened “Where are they? Shikamaru is mine! I’ll kill them.” 

Karui’s fist tightened. “Ya let’s go get them!” 

Ino stood up before sitting right back down. “Wait, I can’t drive. Let me call Sai and then we will go get those bitches! “ 

--

“Hello?”  Shikamaru groaned answering his phone. He’d text Temari a few hours ago and she assured him that she was fine. With nothing else to do, he’d gone to bed. 

“Hey, Choji and I are coming to get you. My girl got your girlfriend and Karui drunk. This isn’t a job for one person.” Sai explained on the other line. 

Shikamaru sighed, how did he know this would happen. “Of course she fucking did. Okay, I'll be ready.” 

—

The girls were the loudest in there and would have probably been kicked out if everyone didn’t know who they were. 

Temari stumbled into Shikamaru’s arms with a grin. 

“You okay Tem?”

“Yes! Ino gave me a drink that tasted like a cookie. Now we are going to go after all those bitches that tried to hook up with Shikamaru.” 

He rubbed at his tired face.  In her drunken haze, she didn’t seem to recognize him.  Chouji and Sai both had their hands full too. “We don’t have to do that.” 

“Yes, we do! He’s mine, they need to know.”

“It’s okay Tem. He knows that you are his too.”

An adorable but unsure look crossed her face.  “Shh, that’s a secret. Don’t tell Shikamaru that I think he’s cute.” 

He grinned amusedly. “Okay I won’t, ready to go home?  I’m sure Shikamaru misses you.”

“Yes!”

“Sai! I want to keep drinking.” 

“Beautiful I think it’s time to go.” Sai tried to reason with her. 

Ino stomped her foot. “You never let me do anything I want.” She pouted. They all knew that was a lie. 

Temari intervened and wrapped her arms around Ino. “Ino, stop I want to go home. I miss Shikamaru.” 

The other blonde perked up and nodded. “Okay, let’s go.” 

Chouji already had Karui asleep on his back.

Shikamaru drove Ino’s car back while Sai and Chouji took the other. Temari was sitting content in the passenger side with a grin on her face. 

“Do you think that Shikamaru likes me?”  She wondered out loud. He was still amused that she didn’t realize who he was.  

“You don’t think he does?” 

Temari shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s so fast but he makes me feel special.  I feel all floaty when I’m around him.  He could have anyone though. Why me?”

His hand reached out to hold hers comfortingly. “Because you’re you. That’s enough for him.”

Her loopy grin was far too cute.  “Thank you, stranger. I think I really like him too.” She leaned her head against the window and with that he heard her breathing even out. 

Temari had unknowingly pushed him to face his feelings about her. She was someone different that was for sure. Beautiful, kind, smart, and wonderful. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Their arrangement was only meant to last for a few days, easy and simple.  Sing some carols, eat a few meals together. That was it. Now though, his heart felt tied up in knots. 

This wasn’t realistic. You didn’t just fall for someone after knowing them for a few days. He’d gone his entire life never feeling this way about anyone. And yet Temari had so easily brought these emotions to the surface in such a short amount of time. 

This couldn’t be real? He was just getting caught up in Christmas and being home. In a few days, everything would be back to normal and life could continue on. 

—

“Why are you up?” 

Shikamaru looked up seeing his father standing there. “I just got back. Ino got Temari drunk so she's sleeping it off right now.”  Shikaku just chuckled and took his spot across the Shogi board from his son. 

“It’s been nice having you home Shikamaru.” 

“I, I’m sorry I know I haven’t been home much.” 

“I understand, I don’t particularly like it but I get it. Your mother though.” 

“I know.” 

Shikaku moved his piece before looking out towards the forest. “I haven’t seen her smile as much as she has the last few days. Having the house filled with people and laughter.  You and Temari helped me give her back her smile.” 

“Dad…” Shikamaru struggled with not revealing the truth and just admitting everything. 

“I’m not trying to pressure you. That’s your mother’s domain. I’ll just say that if you can find someone that can make you smile, who pushes you to be better, that inspires and supports you. Well, don’t let them go.  You’re my son, that’s enough. I’m proud of you regardless of what you’ve accomplished not because of them. The Nara name is safe with you.”  

They played well into the night. As busy as his father was when he was younger he was always up for a game of Shogi. For Shikamaru, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d let himself play.  It was a sobering realization. 

Shikamaru made his way back to the room thinking about what his next moves would be. He couldn’t imagine on the 26th returning back to his busy lonely life. The world wouldn’t end if he stepped away from the fast-paced existence he’d built for himself.  The new year would bring with it a new and better way of living. What remained to be seen was who would be standing next to him. 

“Temari?”  He was surprised to see her sitting up holding onto his stuffed deer. 

“I woke up and didn’t find you here. I got worried.”  She admitted.

He nodded and settled under the covers before pulling her in close. His hand rubbed up and down along her back.  Temari sank into his warmth. 

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, I took the medicine and water you left out. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” 

“I didn’t say anything embarrassing did I?” When she drank she knew that she became loud and talkative.

“Nothing too bad, just that you think I’m cute.”  He replied with a cheeky grin. 

Even in the dark, he could make out the blush across her cheeks  “Oh my God.” She ducked her warm face against his chest. 

“You, Ino, and Karui were also planning on going after anyone that tried to date me in the past.” 

“Ahh! Say no more.”  He chuckled pulling her in close. 

There was a little more but he’d keep that information to himself for now.  “Christmas Cookie cocktails will make anyone a little loopy.  Thanks for going out with them.”  He never thought about how important it would be for his significant other to get along with his friends.  

“They’re both great, in another lifetime I’m sure that we would be great friends.”  It could be this lifetime but that wasn’t the case. 

“Get some sleep Tem, it’s Christmas Eve, we'll have a busy day.” 

Christmas Eve, their last day together. Their inevitable end.

Temari reached up to place a soft kiss against his cheek.  Her lips lingered against his skin for just a little longer.  

“Good night Shikamaru.” 

*

**

Please Have Snow and Mistletoe 

Chapter 1:  Flight 4XMAS

Chapter 2: A Scene from a Snowglobe

Chapter 3: Sweeter than a Sugar Plum 

*

**

I want to believe that in the Naruto-verse the InoShikaCho moms all hang out.  I’m working on the last two chapters right now because I want them to be out by Christmas.  Alas, I’m a procrastinator and have gifts to wrap too so :fingers crossed: it all comes out on time.  Again, my sincere thanks for your support my sweet loves.  

[polarishpd]

All Of The Stars Chapter 2: I’d Rather Be Me

Word Count: 4217

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15378726 (HunterWizard, All Of The Stars)

“A diner?"

Lance and Pidge stand in front of the  purple-lit sign reading 'Vrepit Sal's diner'.

"Hope you weren't expecting a club, McClain," Pidge raises an eyebrow, smiling a little as she pushes through the doors. The diner is nearly empty, save for a tall, hulking man standing behind the counter.

"Well, I was hoping to, you know, meet a couple ladies, get on the dance floor, knock back a few-"

"-Katie Holt!" booms the man, completely ignoring Lance's presence and high-fiving Pidge. "Good to see you back here! What's it, the fifth time this week?"

She grins, gesturing behind her back to a booth away from Sal. Lance slips away.

"Not that I'm counting, Sal," she starts, nodding her head towards the happy chef, "but I think it's the sixth."

Sal claps his hands together happily. Lance zones out of the best-friend conversation while the two trade barbs about 'oh, that Hunk!'

"Whaddaya want?" Pidge appears out of nowhere suddenly, slapping a menu in front of him.

"Uh-"

"Two minutes. I've already ordered."

Lance flips feverishly through his menu, which admittedly looked better the more he flipped. Burgers, fries, shakes, waffles, pretty standard diner fare.

"Uh-um, I guess I'll take the garlic knot set?" he stammers, under too much pressure. To his relief, Pidge seems to approve of his choice, nodding and taking back the menu.

"Excellent choice. I'm Italian, did you know?"

She blitzes off, kicking up another storm of conversation with Sal. And no, Lance did not know. She'd always skated for America.

It all seems so...surreal.

Somehow she's everything he expected and completely different at the same time. Definitely a lot more snarky than he expected.

Was it possible that she would have watched him while he was competitive? Adored him, even?

Nah. No way.

But he watched her. A lot. Something about her skating was...curious. Her skating was remarkably different to his. In too many ways to describe.

His eye catches sight of the little dab of smeared black rimming her eyes. It can't help but remind him of the first day he watched her skate.

¬3 YEARS AGO¬

"And that was an excellent start to the senior Ladies' event! Up next, we have a first-year senior, who's done impressively getting into the final at only 16. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, from the United States...Katie Holt!"

Lance stands on the side in the exclusive skaters' area, a glistening silver medal hanging around his neck. Damn Lotor. Whatever.

The first thought he has when Katie Holt skates on the ice is about her dress. Outlandish. Most of her bodice is a sweet, innocent, sparkly white, but wrapping around her left and down her skirt is a stark, shimmering black, swishing around her almost hypnotically.

What song is she skating to?

Suddenly, Lance's heart skips a beat, because for a moment-and just a moment-she looks up, right into his widened eyes.

She nearly falters-but continues skating on, arms open, acknowledging the crowd.

Barely even warming up, Katie Holt settles into place, bowing her head between crossed arms.

Damn.

The music starts, a barely discernible tinkle of bells.

She doesn't move.

Loudly, a famous descending scale of chords rings out, and she leaps into action.

Of course.

Phantom of the Opera.

Katie skates fast, powerfully, cutting across the ice with large crossovers.

"And she's setting up for her first jumping pass..."

Without hesitation, she picks straight up into a triple lutz, swinging back up with a triple loop right after.

Lance gaped. An almost non-existent combo for both men and ladies.

Double axel from difficult entry. Landed. Triple sal. Easy. Even in the air she looks bored.

The music softens, blurring into a lyrical section just as she moves into the step sequence.

Think of me,

Think of me fondly,

When we've said goodbye...

Fast steps, deep edges, plenty of upper body movement. Beautiful. Lance himself was strong in the steps too, but she...was she an ice dancer or something?

Remember me,

Once in a while

Please promise me you'll try...

Her eyes glisten a little. Hmm.

Katie speeds up again, exiting a flying spin and cutting across to the center, gliding backwards, and hitting a triple lutz right on the beat, the music abruptly banging back into the iconic theme.

From here on, she's a majestic blur, jump after jump landed with remarkable ease. Triple flip. Triple flip, half loop, triple sal. Double axel, triple toe. No problem. No underrotation, shaky landings. None.

Finally, as the music builds, she enters a layback spin, pulling into a haircutter, into a beautifully arched Biellman. And as she exits, she reaches her hand upwards, bringing it in to her heart and crumpling to the ice.

Remember me...

Nothing short of amazing.

Lance couldn't tear his eyes away.

She won that day.

~~~

"Lance? Lance?" Pidge waves a hand in front of his face, finally eliciting a startled response. "Good, thought I lost you again."

"No-no, you didn't. Oh wow!"

Pidge proudly beams, holding two plates of food that materialized much faster than Lance had anticipated. One filled with garlic knots, the other with a burger. And damn, did the food look good.

"Do you like peanut butter? I got us a milkshake to share, but I'm perfectly capable of downing a whole one on my own if you like-"

"-I like peanut butter-"

"-great!"

Pidge can only pray that Lance can't see how skittish and nervous she's been acting. Can you blame her?

"Mmm, this is good..." he mutters, hungrily tearing into his garlic knots. Pidge takes this as a cue to dig into her burger, the beefy juices making her sing mental hymns. Ah...good food feels doubly great on an empty stomach.

"Yeah, I got the food free because my pal Hunk helped Sal get a bunch of regulars," she responds, amidst chews.

"Aw man, Pidge, I was going to pay! Make a good first impression on my new colleague!" he jokingly whines, pouting dramatically.  Pidge scoffs.

"Sure, you can just go over there and pay. No problem."

Pidge doesn't like how she goes a little red when he gives her a small, amused smile.

"What brings you to Castle Rink, Lance McClain?" she starts. Okay, admittedly she's pretty crap at small talk, but she should make an effort. It's Lance McClain, for god's sake, its not every day she gets the chance to befriend such a guy. (though admittedly, her impression of him was rapidly...changing.)

He takes in a deep breath, letting it all out in a surprisingly dramatic sigh.

"You know, once you've seen it all, the big cities and the fast life, I just really wanted to settle down-"

"-cut the bullshit, no offense-"

"-okay, Shiro and Allura are two of my biggest skating heros, so of course I was going to take the opportunity," he admits, looking defeated. "I mean, wouldn't you? Plus-"

Suddenly, he cuts himself off, eyes bulging and stuffing a garlic knot in his mouth.

"Plus?" Pidge raises an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Nufin'!"

Hmm.

"They were part of my motivation too," she adds on, still looking skeptical. "I was lucky they took me."

Pidge remembers it solidly. There was no one else that she had even considered when making the switch to singles. It had to be Shiro and Allura. No one else. And they had taken her on faster than she had even hoped for. Back then, it all felt like a dream, to be coached by two skating legends. Now that she's witnessed Shiro falling on a waltz jump and Allura tripping on a backspin, it's...less idolatry.

"Wonder if its too late for me," Lance jokes, looking up wistfully, voice going noticeably softer and quieter.

An awkward pause.

Pidge did hope he would return, but so many seasons of inactivity? She'd lowered her expectations. The men's field hasn't been interesting, with Lotor winning everything unopposed. Ugh.

"Ah, lets cut the serious anime backstory talk," he dismisses, much to her disappointment. "Give me the gossip! Tell me about Castle Rink! Who's the playboy, the emo, the uncle, the mom friend? You got any loooove going around?"

Pidge blinks.

"I'll-I'll let you form your own opinions when you meet them tomorrow," she answers, mentally berating herself for sounding so stiff.

"Fine," he answers, with a mockingly offended tone. "But you owe me the secret gossip after I meet them."

"Deal."

Lance looks up, eyes brightening.

"Is Allura single?"

"LANCE-"

~~~

It's cold outside. But Pidge's face is rapidly getting hotter, and hotter, with her brain neurons firing-

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Is it that bad? Is it a sketchy area? Pidge?"

Pidge glances down at the piece of paper, rubbing her eyes and face, and looking again. Nope. Still the same address.

"What is it?"

She lets out a sigh, slapping the little paper back into Lance's hand and starts to walk.

"Well, Lance," she starts, turning back. "You're living in the same apartment block as me. In fact, you're my neighbour!"

Lance raises an eyebrow.

"Hoo...ray?"

Just her luck. Now she has to live, breathe and literally sleep freaking Lance.

She's not sure how she feels about this.

"C'mon, I usually walk home. Doesn't take long to walk, and I'm too cheap for taxis," Pidge gestures. "You'll learn the way back easily."

"Whatever you say, Pidge."

Lance follows her, just a little ways behind. But he notices her shiver, rubbing her arms, and realises she's wearing oddly little, her shoulders exposed to the biting cold.

"Hey, Pidge-" he calls, tapping her shoulder. She stops and turns around, and Lance is suddenly struck by how tiny she is. Like an elf.

"-yeah?" she breathes out, now unable to hide her cold. He yanks off his jacket, thrusting it to her.

"Here. You're cold."

For a moment, she looks like she's about to protest, but finally gives in and lets him slide the too-large jacket onto her, his fingers just barely brushing the cream skin not covered by her flimsy knit sweater.

Pidge covers her face, a little flushed (from the cold?), burrowing into the jacket.

"T-thanks."

She pauses, turning to Lance.

"You still want to hear that gossip?"

Lance smiles.

~~~

Lance's jacket is warm. Cozy. She likes how its too big, enveloping her small body. And most importantly, it smells really good.  Some kind of musky sandalwood. Shit, did Lance see her face go all red?

"You're telling me that they haven't fixed this lift for how long?!"

"Three years, no less," Pidge responds, casually and nimbly bounding up the stairs. Lance groans.

"This is my off-ice conditioning," he complains. "I thought they were going to fix this."

"If there's one thing I know, Lance, it's to never trust landlords."

She's up to their floor much faster than him. With a tinge of regret, Pidge slides the cozy jacket off her shoulders, slinging it over her arm. Lance appears, panting dramatically.

"How did you skate a near-whole program with this kind of stamina?" Pidge laughs, giving him a hand and yanking him up. Jokingly, Lance keels over, coughing and hacking.

"Oh, stop it-"

"-I'm an old man, Pidge."

Again, she pulls him up, Lance's fingers lingering for a touch too long.

"Goodnight, Lance," she laughs, thrusting the jacket to the panting boy. "Here."

To her surprise, he waves her off, turning and heading to his door.

"You-you can keep it. Think of it as my replacement first impression gift."

Smiling doofishly, he salutes, unlocking his apartment door.  Pidge stands still, eyes open wide and face definitely a little red.

"I-uh-"

"Good night, Pidge. See you tomorrow!"

And just like that, he's gone.

Pidge is left staring at his door, slowly putting the jacket back on.

What is this random smile?

~~~

The Castle Rink bustles with hordes of teenagers, kids and freezing parents.

"And now children, follow me! Push just like I showed you!" crows a redheaded, mustached man, stooping on the ice and gesturing wildly to a bunch of giggling kids.

"Hot dogs! Get your hot dogs!" Lance hears somewhere in the distance, a voice that's very vaguely familiar.

"That's the best you can do? You have to try harder, kids!" scolds a...mulleted guy, leaning on the wall with crossed arms and barking at a bunch of kids doing push ups. "Hockey players need some kind of arm stamina!"

Lance rolls his eyes at the hair, thinking how it could do with some relaxation treatments, or maybe a deep-conditioning? Either way, that boy needed his ass dragged to the salon-

"-I can't believe you beat me here!"

Lance looks in horror as a panting Pidge speeds towards him, her shrill exclamation breaking his train of thought.

"Relax, Pidge-"

Lance gently takes hold of her arms, stopping her in her tracks. Her hair is messy, loose strands flying everywhere, crystal beads of sweat dotting her brow and face painted with a ruby flush.

Pidge stops, bending over and looking up, near to hyperventilation.

"-ah-I told myself-oof-that I would-ah-show you around first," she breathes out. "But you know, it's-oof-okay, totally didn't-"

Suddenly, she cuts herself off, eyes widening and face somehow going even redder.

"What?"

"Nothing!"

"What is it, Pidge..."

"I said-"

"Lance! Welcome!"

It takes Lance every fiber of his being to not immediately scream and faint on the spot when he sees Takashi Shirogane wave, grinning at him. At him. He's got the amazing build, two-tone hair, and most notably the prosthetic arm. As perfect as he looked on a screen.

Instead of that, he settles for a cool nod of acknowledgement, smile, and offered hand.

"Ni-nice to meet you, Mr. Shirogane."

Pidge snickers from behind Shiro.

"Call me Shiro. I see you've met Pidge," he notes, turning around and playfully mussing up her hair even more. "Such a ball of energy, isn't she?"

"Y-yeah," he answers, still a little dazed.

"I was very glad to see your application, Lance. Not only did you have a pretty good resume, Pidge here-"

Pidge's eyes flash angrily-suddenly, she's leaped on Shiro's back and slammed her tiny hands on his mouth with surprising force. Shiro laughs, a muffled sound behind the iron-grip, and all Lance can do is stare with bewilderment at the very odd scene.

Is this what it's like to be friends with your co-workers?

And as if it wasn't enough, watching the demure-sized Pidge grappling on his truck-sized idol, attempting to literally shake Pidge off, Lance's rapidly weakening heart has to take a literal goddess waltzing in the room.

Freaking.

Allura.

The Allura.

She looks like she's glowing, with the great wide smile, bright white hair, and glittering blue eyes. Almost floating on air...

"TAKASHI SHIROGANE! KATIE HOLT!"

And all of a sudden, the goddess metamorphs into a blazing, raging, hellish ball of fire, her mere presence terrifying enough to turn Pidge and Shiro into a cowering pair of whimpering children.

"WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT TUSSLING IN THE ENTRANCE-oh hello, Lance, good to see you here!"

Lance blinks. She's smiling again, speaking in a perfectly pleasant British accent.

Wow.

"Um-uh-yeah, Pidge told me the way, we happen to be living across each other-"

"-LANCE!"

"-oh, is that so?" Allura ignores the outburst, merely sending Pidge a sideways smirk. "Excellent. You've got to meet Hunk, and Keith, and Coran-come on over here!"

Wait.

The redheaded man, mullet, and a guy in an apron-wait-

This was the Hunk of Castle Rink?

Shit.

The three slowly sidle over, Coran literally leaping over in one bounce. The second Hunk sees him, Lance notices the little flash of recognition which soon dissipates; Hunk looks downwards, twiddling his thumbs.

"This is Coran," Allura introduces. "He's our resident expert speed skater, won quite a number of medals in his day. Our most jovial coach."

Coran gives Lance a quick one-over, much more dramatically than most with squinted eyes and multiple moustache twirls, finally offering his hand, apparently satisfied.

"Good to meet you, Lance. I'm Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, and I hope you like our humble rink. Belonged to Allura's father, you know, since-"

Allura's tinkling laugh cuts Coran off.

"Let's save him the exposition, shall we? Okay, this is Keith. He-"

Keith holds up a (very edgily) fingerless-gloved hand.

"Let's save him the exposition, shall we?" Pidge, Shiro and Coran snicker, much to Allura's obvious annoyance. Keith smirks, pleased.  "Hi, I'm Keith, I play hockey, I teach hockey, I don't like small talk."

He doesn't offer his hand, simply tilting his head in acknowledgement. Lance raises his eyebrows.

"And this is Hunk!"

"He already knows who I am, Allura," Hunk waves off, suddenly seeming a bit unsure. "Right?"

Lance couldn't ever forget about Hunk. Who could forget about a happy, kind, friendly middle-school best friend?

"How could I forget you, buddy? I always regretted leaving the Garrison," Lance sighs, moving in for their secret handshake, still remembered after so long. But either Hunk doesn't remember it, or Hunk rejects him completely, because Lance finds his hand floating unrequited in the air. So he slowly brings it back down to his side, feeling the burn in his face.

 "No, no you didn't."  

Hunk doesn't look up at him.

Allura, as if sensing the tension, cuts in with all her British-cheeriness.

"All of you better return to your classes before we get World War Three up in here, Shiro and I will take Lance and get him oriented with our schedule. Pidge, go warm up, class soon!" she trills. Shiro and Allura both grab Lance, pulling him off to the office.

Pidge frowns.

Lance never mentioned knowing Hunk.

¬¬¬

"Long day, huh?"

Pidge laughs as Lance flops back on the couch, long legs and arms dangling everywhere.

"Allura never mentioned my work hours when she hired me," he groans. "I don't think I've ever taught twelve classes in a day before!"

"You probably should have asked," Pidge snarks, yanking at an arm and pulling him back on the ice with her, suddenly smiling. "or were you too tongue-tied?"

"I was-I was not!" Lance flushes bright red. "I was more tongue tied with Shiro, if I'm being honest!"

Pidge chuckles softly, skating a round of the rink effortlessly, clearly enjoying the freedom of an empty rink. Lance couldn't help but notice how pretty her auburn hair looked as it splayed out, trailed behind her. She does a spin, nice and centered, before lazily doing some footwork, a slow but elegant twizzle.

She looks...happy.

So he joins her, enjoys the free ice. Lets the tension of the day go away. Just him, Pidge, and the ice. Soon, what started as a free and easy skating session escalates, Lance absentmindedly transitioning into the step sequence from-

"-is that a short program?" Pidge softly wonders aloud, but it's enough to stop Lance, which Pidge immediately protests.

"Yes it is-was-was," Lance corrects, smacking his head. He'd liked that program. A lot.

He'd always been thinking too far into the future, huh? Came back and bit him on the ass.

"Why didn't-why didn't you use it?" she asks, almost shyly. With a single push, she glides right beside him.

"My injury. I don't know if you know-"

"-trust me, I know-"

"-oh?" So she does know his competitive career. "I just-just couldn't find it in me to go back."

Pidge is a confusing mix of emotions, flitting from sad, disappointed, to confused, annoyed.

"Who choreographed it? It's really good. Suits you."

"I did," Lance answers, a little surprised-and pleased-at the praise. "I was getting into that."

"You should choreograph for the kids," Pidge suggests, starting to skate around again. Lance follows her, the two falling into an easy and surprisingly comfortable pace and rhythm. "It's a waste."

Lance tosses his phone over to Pidge, heart nearly dropping out of his chest when she fumbles the catch.

"Just kidding."

"You're evil. Pick a song. Whatever you like."

Pidge frowns questioningly, but skates off, connecting the phone to the system. It's perfect timing, really, because the song only starts once she's rejoined him.

It's just another night And I'm staring at the moon I saw a shooting star And thought of you  

"Didn't peg you for a cheesy love song girl," he laughs, making Pidge stick out her tongue at him. He holds a hand out, which she reluctantly takes.

"Well, there's a lot you don't know about me, especially my elusive music taste. So why did you ask me to pick a song, again-ah!"

Suddenly, Lance spins her around with alarming speed, breaking into a series of crossovers, her grip tightening with every movement.

I can see the stars From America I wonder, do you see them, too?

"Try and improvise!" he laughs. As the chorus begins, Lance lets go of her, moving into a series of steps, leaping up into a simple delayed axel, perfectly timed to the music. It's alarming to Pidge. How does someone be so free and easy? Just make everything up on the spot?

I can hear your heart On the radio beat They're playing 'Chasing Cars' And I thought of us

 PIdge can only watch in awe. Lance just...dances. A dancer on ice. While she was an ice dancer, everything was planned, every movement, every little step had to be perfect. She won with Matt because of how precise they were, and how she worked so well with him. But figure skating...figure skating is so different, that she cannot be rigid and win.

So I took your hand Back through lamp lit streets I knew Everything led back to you  

Lance reaches out for her again, their fingers nearly missing, fumbling to meet. It's awkward and clumsy, their attempts to skate together. But Lance seems determined, and Pidge actually finds herself enjoying their dance, of sorts.

You're the song my heart is Beating to

The romantic implications of the song are not lost by Pidge, who can't help but wonder...but her thoughts are interrupted when Lance starts twizzling, almost like a challenge; so she joins him, twizzling just as fast, but completely out of sync, making Lance laugh.

Nearly feeling free, letting her mind and body separate...

"Sorry I'm not your brother!"

Something snaps.

Pidge goes and turns the music off.

"Wasn't that fun? C'mon, admit it!" he gives her a shit-eating grin, knocking her on the shoulder.

"Yeah...yeah..."

Pidge forces herself to smile. It was fun. Just...until it wasn't.

"Hey, you haven't got a program yet," he points out, a little breathless. "Shiro was mentioning choreographing you new ones this season?"

Pidge coughs, looking as if she'd rather not answer that question.

"Um-well, I wasn't sure if I was going to compete this season. Coaching-"

"-You're kidding, right?!" Lance interrupts, unable to control the outburst. "You're Katie Holt, you're-"

"-I'm what?" she questions, leaning in, tilting her head.

"-anyway, my point is you're still in competitive shape. You could still compete. Here's an idea, I'll choreograph your program for you! You said it was a waste if I don't choreograph, so this is a win-win situation, isn't it?"

Pidge freezes.

"But..."

"But what?"

It seemed a perfectly sensible idea.

"Well, you see..." Pidge huffs out, stuffing her hands in her jacket pocket, gaze trailing to her skates. "You and I, we're very different skaters, you see...I mean, you're interesting! I skate to friggin' Beethoven! Not even Shostakovich at least! And not to mention-"

"O-Oh-Okay, calm down here," Lance gently takes hold of her hands, flying around in a multitude of directions. "First of all, your skating is not boring. Second of all, it's never too late to try something new! Come on, Pidge, what do you say?"

Pidge pauses, looking down at her small hands in Lance's.

And slowly, she utters a single word.

"No."

She tugs her hands back.

"I'm sorry, Lance. I don't even know if I'll be competing, you know? So I'd rather not waste your time. I meant what I said, you should go choreograph, we've got some talented kids here that I know you'll love."

Lance can only think about how there might be a ton of talented kids rising up in the ranks, but none of them like Pidge. So what if she skated to classical music? He's seen what she can do. She could change it up. She could become a star again, goddamnit, instead of being the fifth place finisher at a random Grand Prix event. He has so much to say, but all he can muster up is:

"Yeah."

~~~

The walk back home is nothing like it was the first day. Awkward, silent. Boring. Towards the end, Pidge seems to warm up a bit.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Pidge apologizes, as they begin their long, long walk up.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I kind of do."

When Lance doesn't respond, rather can't respond, Pidge takes it as a cue to stick in her earphones.

What she doesn't remember is their great height difference. What she doesn't remember is how easily he can see her phone. What she doesn't remember-or maybe, doesn't know yet- is how Lance is the snoopiest person in Castle Rink.

She's listening to Panic At The Disco, of all things. This is Gospel. A favourite of Lance-both of them, it seems.

Lance laughs.

He's going to make her one hell of a program.

Pidge doesn't even hear him.

I hope you enjoyed! Check my blog soon for the next chapter :)

[xpancakecakes]

hey I had a few questions about art submission, I wanted to start selling art but I have no clue where to start could you give me a few pointers on how paying works and all of that?

I’m not an expert, but I can share to you the small things I know. (I wrote a super detailed post and I LOST IT. I’ll try to keep it simple and fast this time).

1) Samples, prices and information.

Have a page or a post where you have your samples, prices and general guidelines. Try to keep it visual, avoid tons of text. You can make cute images with just the prices and samples and add a way to contact you to solve any question or give more information. These are my samples, they’re not perfect and I have a lot to improve but is a good way to start. Twitter format and Tumblr format. You can always use Pinterest to look for design tutorials to make your samples more appealing or have inspiration. I recommend to go to your favorite artists and see how they’re doing it.

2) Payment.

I use PayPal, but there’s a lot of options to choose from. I haven’t tried other services, so I can’t really recommend them. I do want to try other services this year though.

It is important to consider TWO things if you’re going to use PayPal: 

1) PayPal keeps a small percentage of the payments you receive. Please try to make everything legal, if you’re going to use your PayPal account for commissions don’t set it to personal use to avoid these charges. Keep this in mind to set your prices.

2) Make sure your client selects the option ‘not address needed’ when sending the money. I haven’t had any bad experiences, but is important PayPal knows you’re not selling a physical product. You’re selling a service and you’ll send them a digital copy. This is to avoid people taking back their money after you finish the commission because they didn’t get a product shipped to their address. Like I said, it haven’t happened to me but is important to protect yourself to avoid getting scammed. 

3) Costumer service.

I know a lot of god-tier artists in real life, but they’re really bad with communicating with the clients, and most of them prefer to not have direct contact with them at all and let someone else handle it for a small commission. 

Is important you have a good costumer service if you’re starting out or if you are an average artist like me. I’d even dare to say you’ll need it even if you’re famous, costumer service will always be important no matter who you are. A lot of clients will prefer to commission an artist who has good service over a famous artist with shitty attitude. I’ll tell you the basics.

A) Always be sincere. Tell your client sincerely how long it’ll take you to draw their piece. If you need 3-8 hours I recommend to say it’ll take you a whole day. Is better to send a piece early than later. If you can’t finish it in your agreed time always apologize and give a new deadline. Make sure to let your client know if you don’t know how draw something. (Keep in mind sometimes things happen in real life).

B) Good communication and feedback. This is optional, but I always ask the client what are they expecting me to draw. Some of them don’t even have a small idea and others knows exactly what pose and expression they want. I send them the sketch and they can make changes before I finish the piece. Once the drawing is finished I only accept minor changes or fixes before uploading it. Major changes will have an extra cost. I give them this information before they even send the payment.

Always be patient, answer their questions and be respectful. This is a small example of my progress with two of the commissions I had recently.

Example.

The client wanted a cute and sexy Christmas themed outfit, a cute standing pose and one of the hands had to be pointing to a mistletoe above her head. He made a small change in the pose and for the outfit he wanted a combination of option 4 and 6.

He paid extra to make both, a Ginger Cookie and an Elf version. Once the sketch was approved I finished the drawings.

Another example was a girl who wanted me to draw her OC. She sent me photo references and the physical description of her character. She was kind enough to send me the exact colors she wanted her character to have. This personally helps me a lot.

The only changes were to make her hair curlier and change her thighs to fully black. It is better to make these changes in the sketch than in the finished version, it’ll take you less time to fix it :D and the client is happy with their commission.

[setaflow]

Reasons RDR2 should’ve had a Mardi Gras heist and why R* are cowards for not including one:

A lot of this information comes from my own experience, the documentary By Invitation Only, several museum exhibitions, and some minor digging on the internet.

Sorry for the “read more” but I’m telling you this is an interesting read and it’s all super cool information about something so casually thrown about in media

Yep, Mardi Gras parades and their balls existed back then (I’m solely going off of New Orleans history for this post, so forget Carnevale and it’s equivalents). The first formal parade krewe was Comus in the 1850s, but a few that were formed before the game’s official timeline still exist--Krewe of Rex being the most popular example

Saint Denis is based on New Orleans. I know that there’s a general “It’s Always Mardi Gras in New Orleans” trope, but I feel like here it’s actually applicable.

Not only did the Mardi Gras balls exist by 1899, but they were filled with not only the filthy rich, but the filthy racist. If Rockstar thinks I wouldn’t jump at the chance to rob some racist dudes then they truly don’t know me well:

A big reason that Mardi Gras became so popular in New Orleans was because old Southern plantation owners wanted to hold onto an air of exclusivity lost to them during reconstruction. As a result, a lot of these parades had...overtly racist overtones. Like, really overtly racist overtones. To the point were an all-black krewe, Zulu, was formed in the early 20th century to satirize how racist the themes were.

The krewes in general, particularly the super krewes--those who have 500 members riding in the parades per Mardi Gras--were heavily segregated, barring people of color, women, Italians, and Jewish people from joining (I’m paraphrasing filming from the court case about this). The city didn’t force them to integrate until fucking 1992. When the city government set policies to integrate the krewes, two things happened:

The biggest krewes, such as Comus, just sorta refused to integrate and as a result refused to hold parades. They didn’t float for several years until they finally followed through and sought new members.

The policies weren’t heavily enforced for whatever reason, so a lot of krewes said they integrated and just...kinda didn’t. And got away with it.

The outfits:

Mardi Gras krewe outfits are literally the most absurd things. Big, flamboyant outfits with massive sleeves, tights, elf shoes, and cloth masks. If you theoretically tried to rob a Mardi Gras ball, all you’d have to do was steal/make an outfit and ride in the parade. You always covered your face, so people’d be none the wiser. Even the horses wore fucking sheets with holes cut out of them because people are extra and stupid

Rockstar, I would literally give you all my life savings to put Arthur in something that looked as ridiculous as this

The ball:

Okay, so even to this day, Mardi Gras balls are incredibly exclusive. Very little outside photography is allowed, and I’m almost positive that press aren’t allowed to document whatever goes on inside. I’m fortunate enough to have been to one (I was invited by a friend I go to school with who’s family lives in Louisiana) so I have some first hand experience but not a whole ton.

What I can tell you, though, is that they are ludicrous. A lot of fun, but batshit crazy to the naked eye. Each krewe tells it’s own story, usually played out with multiple different young men, women, and children playing the roles of squires, mythical beasts, handmaidens, and queens. The king is usually always an older man, however (or in the case of some of the more famous krewes, celebrities--Jensen Ackles and Anthony Mackie were recent kings of Bacchus).

The themes can range from fun and harmless to outright pull-at-your-collar uncomfortable. Check Wikipedia for a list of parade/ball themes for certain years. Some of them are...weird.

Everyone gets piss drunk by midnight and starts bopping to the live bands.

With that said and done, here’s how the mission should’ve gone down:

Arthur nicks an invitation off of some drunk bar patron in Saint Denis. He takes it to Hosea and they hatch a plan to rob the ball the next week, with Arthur and Trelawny riding in the parade and Mary-Beth and Abigail meeting up as their respective dates later on. 

Hosea forges the group of them another invitation while Arthur breaks into a krewe warehouse and nicks some outfits for himself, Trelawny, and the horses. 

The day of the ball, Arthur, Trelawny, and their horses get all suited up and ride in the parade (would love to have it tie into the main plot of the game with Angelo Bronte being the king of the ball and, as dumb as he is, totally unaware of the gang’s presence). Arthur rides through the city, having to kick drunk guys away from his horse and trying to keep his cool under his ridiculous outfit. Eventually, they meet up with the girls and the ball begins.

Arthur and Trelawny basically just fuck around and try not to blow their covers as the girls start stealing jewelry and coin purses. Arthur can have the optional objectives to participate in the stealing, dance with a bunch of old people a la optional party dances, drink several glasses of champagne, and sarcastically compliment outfits.

The four of them steal outta there when the clock hits midnight and people start to notice that their shit is missing. Total take would probably be around $900

TLDR: Rockstar should’ve given me a fun mission where I got to dress up in a ridiculous costume, ride my horse through the city, dance with random people, get piss-drunk, and rob a bunch of rich confederate racists and the fact that they didn’t give it to me is the biggest slight of my life

[chiakiakito]

Character Profile Meme

I’m feeling nostalgic about the characters I can’t RP anymore, so...

I still haven’t scanned any sketches of him so you get the usual old edit yeah

Full Name: Yunel Embershade Other Names: Yunel of the Hawk and the Dragon, the Ember, Lord Mastrigean, a few other titles

Universe They Exist In: World of Warcraft

Gender and Sexuality: cis pansexual male

Pronouns: He/Him

Ethnicity/Species: Sin’dorei

Birthplace and Birthdate: Born in the outskirts of Fairbreeze village around 130 years ago

Guilty Pleasures: Pandaren ale, singing around the campfire, smoking dreamfoil to unwind (he once was gifted some dreamfoil that came from the actual Emerald Dream. It was awesome.)

Phobias: Anything that has to do with corruption (both fel and Nightmare-induced), or the loss of a soul (he REALLY dislikes warlocks).

What They Would Be Famous For: Earning the respect of the Cenarion Expedition by being an instrumental player in Lady Vashj’s demise, and generally fighting in the front lines during the whole Outland campaign. Being nominated Ranger-General before enlisting in the Farstriders, as well as inheriting the leadership of House Mastrigean in the same fell swoop despite not being a noble- all because he recovered the soul of Lord Nidhogg Mastrigean, who held both positions and was both vey grateful and very tired of politics. Leading the Farstriders in war against a corrupted Watcher together with other armies from all across Azeroth, and risking corruption himself to shield his men from a powerful blast of demonic energy, which he absorbed to lessen the blow. His purification in Moonglade and subsequent turn towards druidic magic.

What Have They / Would They Gotten Arrested For: No actual arrests, but he has a strained relationship with Darnassus (even more than usual, even in times of truce) after repeatedly trespassing on Kaldorei holy grounds, mostly to get to Wild Gods’ shrines around Ashenvale and Hyjal. He also deserted his own army at least once, to chase after a subordinate who was succumbing to fel corruption. He disappeared in the Outlands without leaving traces for around a week or two, came back, and was able to weasel out of punishment somehow. As a bonus, Yunel was very willing to cover the crimes of well-intentioned people (such as turning a blind eye to Molveno robbing a merchant and giving the money to orphans, or making excuses for the actions of Xhaedelth as he tried to help out an investigation with forbidden magic), and that could have been disastrous if discovered.

OC You Ship Them With: Though he had many relationships with a lot of potential (seriously I swear half the server had some chemistry with him OTL) , the final contender was Magmorel Loveweather, which he married and had a child with.

Your Favorite OC Relationships: Ohh, so many to list. First would be @eyepatchforscience​‘s Revan, who became this weird sort of uncle-slash-best-friend after it came out that Revan had been his father’s brother in arms before dying and becoming a Forsaken. Then there was Vindalion, a sort of apprentice to him- Yunel had a great fascination for Vin and his mysterious past, and I would have loved to develop that more. Linnahe, his adorable adoptive daughter, was a delight to play with! The rivalry and hateship he developed with Alariel, the leader of the Sentinels, was also loads of fun. I loved the angle of his relationship with Nidhogg as well- the reverence and adoration mixed with guilt about the whole “lost soul” affair, which wasn’t as clear-cut as Nidhogg made it out to be. Overall, I was lucky to interact with so many amazing characters

OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Probably Alariel, in a fit of rage, though she was much more likely to challenge him to open combat than to attack him dishonestly.

Favorite Book Genre: Old folktales about the forest and nature spirits, or epic poems and adventure novels.

Least Favorite Book Cliche: Arcane magic saving the day, which I imagine to be all too common in Sin’dorei stories.

Talents and/or Powers: Yunel has always had a great battle instinct, which has saved his hide in more than one occasion- he became quite notorious for coming up with desperate plans which always miraculously worked. He is also a skilled archer. But his greatest gift is probably his affinity for Druidic magic, which he was introduced to by his father without even knowing it, and developed much later in life, after a long stay in Moonglade to cleanse his body of the fel magic it had absorbed. He has a particular affinity for plant life, and though he is no gifted caster, speaking to the trees comes almost naturally to him.

Why Someone Might Love Them: He has a very strong pack mentality, which means that as soon as he accepts someone into his family, he is ready to give his life to protect them. He is fierce and brave, and willing to do what he thinks is best for his protegees, no matter the cost.

Why Someone Might Hate Them: He can be brash, cocky and stubborn, and is probably not the best suit for a general, as he tends to prefer personal action over putting his subordinates in danger. He is rude to the people he dislikes, and carries prejudice against mages and warlocks which can make him insufferable in the long run. How They Change: He came such a long way... When I started playing him, he was a good-natured but kind of arrogant travelling adventurer, which acted more like a very scrawny Tauren than an elf. Being suddenly entrusted with a title and an army to look after tempered him, and despite the many hitches in the road he managed to pull through and come out stronger- culminating in his sacrifice. After that, his story took a very sharp turn towards spirituality, and he managed to gain a sort of wisdom which was a nice contrast to his usually brash nature, growing into a disciple of druidism and, later, a teacher.

Why You Love Them: He is one of the first characters I developed so fully and for such a long time. I love the themes surrounding him, the clash of spirit and brawn, freedom and responsibilty. Also his fabulous hair.

Why you Hate Them: I... I can’t hate him, I just can’t.

Tags: Anyone! But especially @eyepatchforscience.

[doctorwer]

Quick and Dirty History of Middle-Earth Part 26 Part C

Part 26 Or So Let’s Play “What Were They Up To Before They Were Famous, Part C”

Names

Aragorn II (Revered King)

Thorongil (Eagle of the Star)

Elessar (Elfstone, given to him in reference to Arwen giving him her Elfstone)

Edhelharn (Sindarin equivalent of Elessar)

Estel (Hope)

Strider (Name used in Bree)

The Dúnadan (Name used by Bilbo)

Longshanks (Another Bree name. Reference to the fact that Bree humans had shorter legs than Aragorn with his Dúnadan heritage).

Arakorno (Quenya form of Aragorn)

Born: Third Age 2931

Age at time of Lord of the Rings: 88

He has too many names. Also, his birthday is March 1st! Anyway, his father was the Chief of the Dúnadan, the Rangers. As was traditional, Aragorn, the future Chef, grew up as a foster child of Elrond. But when he was only 2, his dad, Arathorn, was shot through the eye by an orc. Yikes. Elrond didn’t want it to get out that Aragorn was heir to Gondor and Arnor, so he changed his name to Estel and didn’t tell Aragorn who he really was. Growing up, he would go ranging with Elrohir and Elladan, so he had a good relationship with his future brother-in-laws! That’s good! When Aragorn turned 21, Elrond told him all about Gondor and the throne and his legacy. Normally, books like this would have us see the part where the freak out because they found out they’re royal, but we are able to skip that and pick up at the point where he was cool with it.

Leaving his mom in Rivendell (Oh, yeah. His mom’s still around), Aragorn started going all over the place. Rohan and Gondor and just everywhere. When he was 49, he met Arwen for the 2nd time in Lothlórien on the hill Cerin Amroth and they got engaged. So he’s been engaged since he was 49... and he’s 88 now... So 20 years later, Aragorn helps Gandalf track Gollum down. He does take a brief stop by Rivendell to visit his mother on her death bed. He was 70 at the time she died. After that, he caught Gollum, took him to Mirkwood, and caught up with Frodo!

Names

Théoden (King)

Horsemaster

Ednew

Born: Third Age 2948

Age at time of Lord of the Rings: 70

Théoden was the oldest son of King Thengel of Rohan. He had four sisters. Three have no names, but we learn the name of his favorite, Théodwyn. We only know her because she was also the mother of Éomer and Éowyn. Théoden didn’t speak any Rohirric, since he had been born in Gondor and spent his childhood there. Théoden spoke Common and elvish. Tsk. The elite coming in to rule; he doesn’t even know the language his people speak. After Théodwyn and his brother-in-law died, he adopted Éomer and Éowyn.

Théoden married Elfhild, who got pregnant and had a son, Théodred (they love to name the sons a name that sounds close to the dads. It’s all over the place). Elfhild died giving birth to Théodred. Théoden ruled Rohan for 40 years before Gríma really started to mess Théoden up. Little dick.

Before Gandalf joined the Fellowship, he went to Edoras to warn Théoden about Saruman and to ask for a horse so that he could catch up with the Fellowship. Of course, Théoden was still under Saruman’s control. Théoden told Gandalf to take any horse and GTFO.  Gandalf picked Shadowfax, the bestest best horse in all of Rohan. Shadowfax was descended from legendary horses who could run really fast and really far without stopping. Of course, since Théoden told Gandalf he could take any horse, he couldn’t really say anything.

Names

Gríma (Mask, Visor, Helmet)

Wormtongue 

Born: Whoooooo knoooowwwsssss

Age at time of Lord of the Rings: Probably old. He sounds old.

Gríma is a bit if a mystery. He was the son of Gálmód and a native of Rohan. Pretty simple after that. He became a spy for Saruman because he was promised he could “marry” Éowyn. He used his lies and literal poison and shit to keep Théoden under Saruman’s spell. Gollum had tricked the Ringwraiths into going to the wrong place to find the Shire, but they passed by Wormtounge. The Witch-king questioned Gríma, who was all scared and told the Nazgûl where they could find The Shire and that Gandalf had been through Rohan recently. With Saruman, Gríma’s fate is changed the most from book to film. But we’ll get to that later.

Names

Frodo Baggins (Wise by Experience)

Frodo of the Nine Fingers

Nine-fingered Frodo (What is with named people based on horrible maimings they suffered?)

Frodo Elf-friend

Ring-bearer

Born: Third Age 2968

Age at time of Lord of the Rings: 51 in the book/33-ish in the movie

OK, his age is one of the few things the movies changed that don’t fit well with the rest of cannon. In the books, Gandalf was gone for several years after the party, but Frodo stayed young because of the ring. Not so in the movies, where it looks like Gandalf has been gone a few months. Anyway, Frodo was the only child of Drogo Baggins and Primula Brandybuck. When Frodo was 12, his parents died. They went out boating and some say Drogo’s massive weight sunk the boat, and for some reason they couldn’t swim. Like, why go boating, then? SO, they both drowned. For a long time, Frodo lived with his uncle, Rorimac Brandybuck, Master of Buckland (Remember, that’s one of the three leaders of The Shire). Frodo was a trouble maker. Aw. Adorable. Bilbo adopted Frodo when he was 21. Frodo was 21. Bilbo was 99.

All the hobbits inter-marry to no end, so it’s hard to pin down the exact relationship between Bilbo and Frodo, but it was closer to cousin than uncle. But since Bilbo made Frodo his heir, it probably just seemed proper to call him Uncle Bilbo. Bilbo taught Frodo elvish and a lot of the history of Middle-Earth. The two even had the same birthday. Hobbits came of age at 33. I don’t know why, since they have the same average life spans as humans, 90-100. It seems like they don’t have very long time in the ‘adult’ age bracket. But since their entire lives just seem devoted to eating, drinking, and smoking, I guess they don’t need to be an adult for all that much. It’s not like they can’t drive a car until they come of age or they go away to college when they come of age or something. Anyway, when Frodo turned 33, Bilbo turned 111. Which is the birthday we see in the movie.

Name

Boromir (Steadfast Jewel)

Born: Third Age 2978

Age at time of Lord of the Rings: 41

The oldest son of Denethor II and Finduilas. When Boromir was 10, his mother died. After that, his father was a lot more unpleasant. Even though their father clearly liked Boromir better, Boromir and his brother, Faramir, were very close. Boromir looked after his little brother. So cute. He spent most of his time keeping Team Evil from crossing over into Gondor through Osgiliath. Boromir never cared to marry (make of that what you will). He preferred to fight in battles and shit. And he didn’t care about history, expect the tales of the great battles of old. He was a jock. Faramir and Boromir started having freaking dreams, so Denethor ordered Boromir to go to Rivendell for advice. Faramir really wanted to go. Sad thing is, since Faramir passes on the Ring in the book, if Faramir was the one who went, both brothers might have lived. Boromir lost his horse along the way and had to go the rest of the way on foot, which took 110 days. Ouch.

Name

Théodred

Born: Third Age 2978

Age at time of Lord of the Rings: 41

The only son of Théoden. His mom, Elfhild, died giving birth to him. Théodred was an officer type deal. Second Marshal of the Riddermark. Gríma tried to get Théoden and Éomer in trouble with the king, but they were just too loyal. They always followed Théoden, even if his orders were total crazy balls. Just before we first meet Éomer, Saruman assassinates Théodred. He had his orcs attack with clear orders to definitely kill the prince. There was a huge battle around the river and Saruman’s army that would latter attack Helm’s Deep were trying to get over the river. All this complicated military stuff happened and the strongest orcs charged Théodred at once, which is yesh. He died pretty soon after, but Team Good pushed the orcs back. If you watched the extended movie, you saw Éomer finding his cousin by a river. The regular movie just had Éomer riding up with some guy and then Théodred lying in bed, dying from poison, with Éowyn taking care of him. And then he’s dead. It’s very confusing without that river scene! Like, wait, he’s poisoned??? Why???? Who is he?????

Name

Samwise Gamgee (Simple Minded)

Born: Third Age 2980

Age at time of Lord of the Rings: 39

Ah, Sam. We all know and love Sam. Fun Fact: Tolkien has said that Sam was always intended to be the hero of this piece. Yeah, Frodo carried the Ring. But Sam was the one who saved us all. Mentioned because my sister was all “Blah, Frodo was a horrible hero” and I was all “…No, duh…Kinda the point…” In a letter, Tolkien wrote that Sam was the “chief hero” and he’s the only Ring-bearer to give it up with his own free will, and he ends up saving Frodo over and over again. I almost wonder if it was commentary on typical English ideas at the time? Like, I don’t know what they thought back then in England, but it almost seems like the English expected their heroes to be rich and smart? Like, look at C.S. Lewis’ work? But Sam is even called simple minded, and every character overlooks him and acts like he is less than them. Not in a mean way, but a “I’m from a well-to-do family and you’re a blue collar worker” way. Literally everyone in the Fellowship are nobles in some way except Sam. But, throughout the book, he:

was all sly and did recon re:Frodo to report to Merry

pretended to be asleep so he could listen in on Frodo when he was talking with an elf

was the only one not tricked by Old Man Willow.

he surprises everyone by reciting a poem about Gil-galad from memory

he invents his own song, on the spot

he’s arguably the most level-headed of the hobbits. Nothing much spooks him.

It’s a constant theme that people misjudge him only to be shown up later.

Anyway, Sam is the son of Hamfast “The Gaffer” Gamgee and Bell Goodchild. Sam is the only one of the four hobbits in the Fellowship not even remotely related to them. The rest are all cousins several times over and shit. Like I said. They inter-married out the wazoo. They were all upper class and Sam was lower class. Sam had five brothers and sisters and he lived on Bagshot Row, which was very close to Bag End. Bilbo taught Sam about elves and about the world out there and encouraged Sam’s love of poetry. He also taught Sam to read, which is treated like a big deal, so most of his family probably couldn't. Sam was a gardener, like his father. His father had been the gardener at Bag End, but was retiring and Sam was training to take his place around the time the movie started.

Name

Fredegar “Fatty” Bolger

Born: Third Age 2980

Age at time of Lord of the Rings: 39

Cut from the movie completely. He has a younger sister named Estella who one day marries Merry. He was in on the mission Frodo was on. He helped Marry, Sam, and Pippen secret Frodo out of the Shire. He didn’t want to leave the Shire, which is why he didn’t join them. His job was to stay at Frodo’s new house as a decoy for the Ringwraiths. Eventually, the Ringwraiths showed up, Fatty ran for help, and all of Buckland was woken by the Horn-call of Buckland, which chased the Ringwraiths out.

Names

Meriadoc “Merry” Brandybuck (Great Lord)

Merry the Magnificent

Born: Third Age 2982

Age at time of Lord of the Rings: 37

Merry was the only child of Saradoc Brandybuck and Esmeralda Took. He and Pippin were first cousins. Merry knew something was weird about Bilbo since he was 18, a tween (tween = hobbit culture teenagers. They stay tweens from teen years until they come of age at 33). He saw Bilbo going down the road, when the Sackville-Bagginses came up it. The wife of in this couple would be the hobbit lady that Bilbo mentions in the beginning of The Hobbit and is all “Damn bitch stole all my spoons”. Anyway, Merry saw Bilbo disappear, then reappear on the other side of a hedge. He also saw a glint of gold as Bilbo put something in his pocket. So Merry was pretty suspicious. Little snoop also stole a look in Bilbo’s private journal. Merry didn’t tell anyone what he had seen or learned, though.

He had an important role at the beginning of the book, but that’s cut from the movie. It doesn’t make a huge difference, just made Merry clearly the brightest in the bunch. In the book, Sam, Merry, and Pippin knew that something was wrong with Frodo. Sam was indeed eavesdropping under Frodo’s window that night. It was they were worried about him and Merry came up with a plan to have the three of them go with Frodo. Frodo was planning to move from Bag End to Crickhollow, a house much closer to the edge of The Shire. Frodo, Sam, and Pippen went to Crickhollow where Merry met them. Frodo was all “Dear friends, I cannot stay” and the other hobbits were all “Surprise, Motherfucker! We’re going with you!” Merry was the one who got all their necessary gear and bought their ponies. Then the story continued like normal. We can pretend that Merry did have that plan, but Sam getting caught threw everything off and they had to start before they planned to. Which is why Merry and Pippin were stealing from the field instead of waiting…Just go with it…

Name

Faramir

Born: Third Age 2983

Age at time of Lord of the Rings: 36

My poor baby Faramir. He was the second son of Denethor II and Finduilas. Faramir’s mother died when he was 5. Part of the issue was because she got weak after giving birth to Faramir and never really recovered. That and the fact that Faramir was pretty much a carbon copy of his mom, personality wise, led to Denethor disliking Faramir. Boromir was like their dad, proud and liked to fight. Faramir was more gentle and loved history and music, like their mother. Faramir also became friends with Gandalf, who Denethor hated and was sure was trying to take away his rule of Gondor. Which led to Denethor disliking Faramir even more. He became the Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien, who capture Frodo and Sam. His weird dream is what leads to Boromir going to Rivendell.

Name

Peregrin “Pippin” Took (People who Wandered)

Born: Third Age 2990

Age at time of Lord of the Rings: 29 (omg he’s older than Éomer and Éowyn)

Pippin was the youngest child and only son of Paladin Took II, Thain of the Shire, and Eglantine Banks. Remember that the Thain is the second of three main leaders in The Shire. Pippin and Merry were first cousins. He was also Frodo’s second-cousin, once removed and Bilbo’s first-cousin, twice-removed. Hobbits loved family trees, which is how they can say such detailed relations like this. His older sisters were named Pearl, Pimpernel, and Pervinca. I sense a theme, here. Keep in mind, a hobbit doesn’t come of age until 33, so Pippin was the only minor in the group. That justifies some of his more stupid actions, I guess.

Name

Éomer (Grand War-horse)

Born: Third Age 2991

Age at time of Lord of the Rings: 28

Another one of my babies. Éomer was the son of Éomund and Théodwyn, Théoden’s sister. When Éomer was 11, Éomund was killed chasing a bunch of orcs. After that, Théodwyn became sick and died. Théoden adopted Éomer and his sister and they went to live with their uncle at Meduseld, the Golden Hall. Éomer became good friend with his cousin, Théodred, and the two loved each other like brothers. After that, Éomer became the Third Marshal of Rohan. This means he led the group of defenders of east Rohan. So Éomer lived in Aldburg, a town in east Rohan. He was meeting with his uncle in Edoras when Gríma banished him.

Name

Éowyn (Horse-joy)

Born: Third Age 2995

Age at time of Lord of the Rings: 24

This is my girl, Éowyn. Éowyn’s a BAMF. How many of you can say you’ve killed an unspeakable evil at the tender age of 24. Hell, I’m 22 and the most I’ve done is graduate college. Gotta get my shit together in the next two years. Anyway, this would be the daughter of Éomund and Théodwyn, Théoden’s sister. She was only 7 when her parents died. When Théoden started to fall under Saruman’s spell, Éowyn had to take care of him. What she really wanted to do, of course, was prove herself on the field of battle. 

Part 27 Or So Now Let’s Play ‘Where Are They Now!?’ (FINAL)

Quick and Dirty History of Middle-Earth Pt. 1

Note: Sources for all artwork can be found on the linked pages.

[swipestream]

New Release Roundup, 16 February 2019: Fantasy and Adventure

This week’s roundup of the newest releases in fantasy and adventure features unlikely dark lords, casteless rebels armies, a collector of magic swords, and an assassin collective waging war against the powerful.

The Dark Lord Bert – Chris Fox

How does a 1-hit-point goblin become the Dark Lord?

By accident. Bert is a tiny goblin with big dreams. He follows adventurers, and loots the copper they leave behind when they take the real loot. One day, Bert hopes, he’ll have enough copper to buy a warg, and finally promote from a 1-HP critter to a Warg Rider.

Kit is a typical gamer hoping to enjoy a good story, but her friends are more interested in rules, loot and experience. Kit’s friends Crotchshot, Brakestuff, and the White Necromancer rampage their way across the land desperately seeking the Dark Lord trope, which gives the wielder the power to reshape the world.

When Bert accidentally steals the trope, Kit is forced to make a choice. Should she help her friends, or help a new Dark Lord rise to power?

The world will never be the same. Get ready for The Dark Lord Bert.

Duel Visions – Misha Burnett and Louise Sorensen  

Is Death a dog or a cat? Would it be worse to be turned into a pig or a fish? After we die do we become characters in a movie, or parts for an old truck?

Weird fictioneers Misha Burnett and Louise Sorensen explore the dark depths of the human psyche across ten spine-tingling tales of terror and macabre.

The haunted visions these dueling tale-tellers have conjured find all the horrors that go bump in the night and make them dance for your delight… before drawing you down into the depths to join them.

We cordially invite you to share in our Duel Visions!

Heart of the Forest – Michael DeAngelo

Kelvin has left his country behind. His mentor, the elf Icarus Callatuil, has prepared him for a journey to Draconis, where old allies will be able to better train him for the hardships he is sure to endure in his life. But when he arrives on those distant shores, he discovers that the elves of Cefen’adiel may need him as much as he needs them.

A darkness arises in the forest in southern Daltain, and Tarenda, queen of the elves, decides that a stranger to the lands such as Kelvin can better serve their purposes as an investigator.

What will Kelvin do when he must trade his training exercises for real dangers?

House of Assassins (Saga of the Forgotten Warrior #2)  – Larry Correia

Ashok Vadal was once a member of the highest caste in all of Lok. As a Protector, he devoted his life to upholding the Law, rooting out those who still practiced the old ways and delivering swift justice with his ancestor blade Angruvadal. None was more merciless than he in stamping out the lingering belief in gods and demons among the casteless. His brutality was legendary and celebrated.

But soon Ashok learned that his life to that point had been a lie. He himself, senior member of the Protector Order, was casteless. He had been nothing more than an unwitting pawn in a political game. His world turned upside down and finding himself on the wrong side of the Law, he began a campaign of rebellion, war, and destruction unlike any Lok had ever seen.

Thera had been first daughter of Vane. A member of the Warrior Order, she had spent her life training for combat. Until a strange sight in the heavens appeared one day. Thera was struck by lighting and from that day forward she heard the Voice. A reluctant prophet with the power to see into the future, she fought alongside Ashok Vadal and his company of men known as the Sons of the Black Sword until a shapeshifting wizard with designs on her powers of precognition spirited her away. He holds her prisoner in the House of Assassins.

Ashok Vadal and the Sons of the Black Sword march to rescue Thera. But there is much more at risk in the continent of Lok. Strange forces are working behind the scenes. Ashok Vadal and the Sons of the Black Sword are caught up in a game they do not fully understand, with powerful forces allied against them.

Ashok no longer knows what to believe. He is beginning to think perhaps the gods really do exist.

If so, he’s warned them to stay out of his way.

They would do well to listen.

Into the Light (Axe Druid #1) – Christopher Johns

A tight-knit group of buddy gamers. A relentless galactic conqueror. One big ol’ axe and a whole bag of magic.

Chris and his friends had been hearing voices begging for help, but aren’t dreams supposed to stay dreams? When they finally answer the call, they’re pulled into a fantastic world with themes similar to modern role-playing games. The world of Brindolla. This is what every gamer has always wanted�� right?

There’s one major problem: War. The big baddie of the universe has come to collect another planet for his relentless march. The Brindollan Gods only have the power to hold him back for a short while, which they can only hope will be long enough to give Chris and his buddies a fighting chance. Either this team gets rid of War’s vanguard of minions and generals, giving the Gods a chance to keep him out for good… or War comes for Earth.

The group is ready to dive into combat, magic, and any other obstacles that come their way. No matter what needs to be done, Chris and his buddies will always do it together.

The Killer Collective – Barry Eisler

When a joint FBI–Seattle Police investigation of an international child pornography ring gets too close to certain powerful people, sex-crimes detective Livia Lone becomes the target of a hit that barely goes awry—a hit that had been offered to John Rain, a retired specialist in “natural causes.”

Suspecting the FBI itself was behind the attack, Livia reaches out to former Marine sniper Dox. Together, they assemble an ad hoc group to identify and neutralize the threat. There’s Rain. Rain’s estranged lover, Mossad agent and honeytrap specialist Delilah. And black ops soldiers Ben Treven and Daniel Larison, along with their former commander, SpecOps legend Colonel Scot “Hort” Horton.

Moving from Japan to Seattle to DC to Paris, the group fights a series of interlocking conspiracies, each edging closer and closer to the highest levels of the US government.

With uncertain loyalties, conflicting agendas, and smoldering romantic entanglements, these operators will have a hard time forming a team. But in a match as uneven as this one, a collective of killers might be even better.

Power Forged (Chaos and Retribution #6) – Eric T. Knight

The three young heroes are defeated. The Devourers have the key. All is lost…

Except that something is missing. The key doesn’t work. The Dragon Queen is still trapped.

With help from an unlikely source, Fen, Karliss and Aislin escape. If they can get to the last piece before the Devourers do, they might still stop them. There’s just one problem…

Only Othen, a Shaper unlike any of the others, knows where it is, and he hasn’t been seen in centuries. Pursued relentlessly by demonic creatures summoned from the Abyss, the three heroes set out on a desperate quest to find the final piece and stop the Queen before she devours their world.

Shadows Within the Flame (The Elder Stones Saga #2) – D.K. Holmberg

The Forgers proved to be only part of a greater plan to gain the power of the stones, remnants from powerful beings lost to time. Their power has never been controlled by one person but now someone is close to changing that.

Having survived the last attack, Haern trains, working with the assassin Galen to hone his skills, learning about poisons and how to best use his control over metal. When he becomes the target of another attack, he must discover what the Forgers plan before it’s too late. His father might be the key to Haern’s understanding, but the more he learns about what his father has done, the less Haern wants to follow in his footsteps.

As Lucy struggles to control her new power, she’s asked to help find the depth of the C’than betrayal. It requires her to learn more about her new abilities and exposes her to dangers she had never imagined. She’s not a fighter, but she must find strength within her to ensure the safety of those she cares about.

While staying with Lucy, Daniel hopes she will eventually come to see him the way he sees her. He trains, realizing that despite everything he learned of fighting, he’s still a novice. He needs to improve his skill to protect Lucy, but saving her might require more than his ability with the sword; it will require his mind.

The stones must be protected from those who would use them for their own dark purpose, but another has maneuvered for decades, and it might already be too late to prevent the stones from falling into the wrong hands.

Six Sacred Swords (Weapons and Wielders #1) – Andrew Rowe

It doesn’t take a legendary sword to make a legendary swordsman, but it certainly helps.

Keras Selyrian is already well on the way to cutting his name into the annals of legend. He’s fought false divinities, thieving sorcerers, and corrupt demigods — and left them defeated in his wake. But he’s a long way from home, and Kaldwyn offers a different brand of danger than he’s used to.

He’s already got a sword of unfathomable power, but it’s damaged and leaking world-annihilating mana, so he’s in the market for a new one.

Possibly six. The more the better, really.

The Six Sacred Swords are Kaldwyn’s most famous artifacts, forged as the only means to defeat the god beasts. Each sword must be earned by a worthy champion, and no single person has ever managed to collect them all.

Not yet, at least.

Keras is just getting started.

Shield Knight: Rhodruthain – Jonathan Moeller

For fifteen thousand years, the Guardian Rhodruthain has protected the world from the power of the Well of Storms.

But the quest of the Seven Swords threatens to unlock the destructive power of the Well.

And unless Rhodruthain can defeat the shadows in his own mind, not even the Shield Knight and the Keeper will be able to save him…

New Release Roundup, 16 February 2019: Fantasy and Adventure published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames

[stopkingobama]

Mel Brooks: Political Correctness is Stupid and Killing Comedy

Photo credit: Pixabay, philm1310, CC0 Public Domain, https://pixabay.com/en/secret-lips-woman-female-girl-2725302/

There’s a lot of things that have changed since a little thing called “political correctness” pervaded our culture. What you can wear, what you can eat, what you can celebrate… even the history that we teach in school has been influenced by the culture of political correctness.

But it’s also hampering another aspect of life important to society: laughter. Or to be more specific, the comedy which drives that laughter.

Such is the observation of one of society’s foremost comedians, Mel Brooks.

In an interview with the BBC, Brooks called the PC culture a “stupid” element sounding the death knell of comedy. Reporting on the interview, The Telegraph declared:

“Brooks, known for his plethora of acclaimed comedy movies, said political correctness was becoming a stranglehold on comedians.

‘It’s not good for comedy. Comedy has to walk a thin line, take risks,’ he said.

‘Comedy is the lecherous little elf whispering in the king’s ear, always telling the truth about human behavior.’”

The Telegraph goes on to explain that Brooks’ famous film, Blazing Saddles, would not have made it in today’s culture, for it drew on the unpopular theme of racial prejudice to create its laughs. Brooks concedes that sensitivity to the feelings of others is a good thing; however, he also hints that obliterating humor due to oversensitivity is unhealthy.

Which brings up a important point. America is a melting pot of cultures and ideas. We come from African, Anglo-Saxon, Asian, Hispanic, and many other heritages. We reflect various religious backgrounds and political ideologies. Naturally, we also reflect the traits and tendencies of those cultures, beliefs, and groups. If we have eyes to see these “stereotypes,” they really are quite amusing.

The trouble is, we seem to have lost the ability to be mutually self-deprecating. When we lose that and can’t laugh at ourselves and appreciate our differences, are we not in a bit of trouble? Is it healthy to walk around on eggshells, live with a chip on our shoulder, and constantly live on edge?

This PC rut also inhibits us from thinking creatively, a fact which another entertainer, Carol Burnett, raised not long ago. According to Burnett, when PC culture abolishes creative humor, locker room jokes of the teenage boy genre take its place, making comedy crude and downright boring.

Whether one likes the humor of Brooks and Burnett or not, the concerns of these entertainers seem legitimate. In making political correctness the all-encompassing trait of society, are we also making ourselves mentally weaker, less creative, and less able to embrace, enjoy, and be amused by the differences that exist in society? Is it time to lighten up and recognize political correctness for the joke it is?

[Image Credit:Flickr-Angela George (CC BY-SA 3.0)]

This post Mel Brooks: Political Correctness is Stupid and Killing Comedy was originally published on Intellectual Takeout by Annie Holmquist.

[americanlibertypac]

Mel Brooks: Political Correctness is Stupid and Killing Comedy

Photo credit: Pixabay, philm1310, CC0 Public Domain, https://pixabay.com/en/secret-lips-woman-female-girl-2725302/

There’s a lot of things that have changed since a little thing called “political correctness” pervaded our culture. What you can wear, what you can eat, what you can celebrate… even the history that we teach in school has been influenced by the culture of political correctness.

But it’s also hampering another aspect of life important to society: laughter. Or to be more specific, the comedy which drives that laughter.

Such is the observation of one of society’s foremost comedians, Mel Brooks.

In an interview with the BBC, Brooks called the PC culture a “stupid” element sounding the death knell of comedy. Reporting on the interview, The Telegraph declared:

“Brooks, known for his plethora of acclaimed comedy movies, said political correctness was becoming a stranglehold on comedians.

‘It’s not good for comedy. Comedy has to walk a thin line, take risks,’ he said.

‘Comedy is the lecherous little elf whispering in the king’s ear, always telling the truth about human behavior.’”

The Telegraph goes on to explain that Brooks’ famous film, Blazing Saddles, would not have made it in today’s culture, for it drew on the unpopular theme of racial prejudice to create its laughs. Brooks concedes that sensitivity to the feelings of others is a good thing; however, he also hints that obliterating humor due to oversensitivity is unhealthy.

Which brings up a important point. America is a melting pot of cultures and ideas. We come from African, Anglo-Saxon, Asian, Hispanic, and many other heritages. We reflect various religious backgrounds and political ideologies. Naturally, we also reflect the traits and tendencies of those cultures, beliefs, and groups. If we have eyes to see these “stereotypes,” they really are quite amusing.

The trouble is, we seem to have lost the ability to be mutually self-deprecating. When we lose that and can’t laugh at ourselves and appreciate our differences, are we not in a bit of trouble? Is it healthy to walk around on eggshells, live with a chip on our shoulder, and constantly live on edge?

This PC rut also inhibits us from thinking creatively, a fact which another entertainer, Carol Burnett, raised not long ago. According to Burnett, when PC culture abolishes creative humor, locker room jokes of the teenage boy genre take its place, making comedy crude and downright boring.

Whether one likes the humor of Brooks and Burnett or not, the concerns of these entertainers seem legitimate. In making political correctness the all-encompassing trait of society, are we also making ourselves mentally weaker, less creative, and less able to embrace, enjoy, and be amused by the differences that exist in society? Is it time to lighten up and recognize political correctness for the joke it is?

[Image Credit:Flickr-Angela George (CC BY-SA 3.0)]

This post Mel Brooks: Political Correctness is Stupid and Killing Comedy was originally published on Intellectual Takeout by Annie Holmquist.

[imthescapman-blog]

Session 1: January 19, 2017

This first meeting was going to be a session 0 type game, where the focus was to create characters, talk about character backgrounds and hooks into the adventure, and discuss the setting. Once character creation was out of the way, we were all itching to play, so we got right into the campaign.

Setting Info

This campaign is going to be the Shackled City Adventure Path converted for play in 5th edition D&D. SCAP was the first adventure path written by Paizo, originally published back in March 2003 in Dungeon magazine, and it’s a lot of fun. Each Chapter features a good mix of roleplay and dungeon exploration. The campaign assumes Greyhawk as a setting, with that pantheon featured in the city of Cauldron, which is the main hub of the campaign. Cauldron is set in the bowl of an extinct volcano. A lot of information on Cauldron is in the hardcover edition that I’m using as my sourcebook for this campaign. A major benefit of running a pre-published adventure with such a firmament of history behind is that there are many community resources available to aid in the campaign. I drew heavily from theRPGenius Adventure Path Repository, which has resources broken down chapter by chapter. (Link). Specifically, I used the following resources:

·         The Cauldron Herald – This campaign is centered on the city of Cauldron. A newspaper gives a sense of life to that community and also creates an opportunity for character investment.

·         Tax Notices – I include several tax notices in the newspaper as the political situation in Cauldron becomes increasingly tense.

·         The Cauldron Campaign Guide – I cleaned this up a bit and shaved off all of the crunchy bits that don’t apply to this edition of the campaign. This was easily the most appreciated document, as it gave the characters background information that they used to build their characters. They came into the campaign familiar with Cauldron and some of its more popular personas.

Characters

Tiny Shalhoub

Tiny is a female human monk, a student of a hermit master who lives in the wild, an old man named Sheeba. Tiny has been haunted by strange dreams her entire life. These dreams tend to focus on themes of imprisonment and symbolism involving a smoking eye.

Discipline is a struggle for Tiny. She fidgets constantly and has a habit of picking things up and toying with them until they break. She is impulsive, and finds an outlet through violence. Despite this chaotic disposition, she has a pure heart and seeks to direct her energy toward positive goals.

Fogo Fumar

Fogo Fumar is a male fire genasi fighter who was adopted from the Lantern Street Orphanage as a baby. He was left in a flaming heap on the orphanage’s doorstep, and word spread quickly about the Orphanage’s new addition. Seymour Xavius Fumar, a scholar and staff member of Bluecrater Academy, was the first to declare his intent to adopt. Unfortunately, Seymour’s motivations were less than altruistic. Fogo was an interesting thing that Seymour wanted to possess, and the scholar had no interest in parenting.

Fogo is loud and boisterous. His favorite topic of conversation is himself and he never passes an opportunity to wax on about his exploits and wild romps. He studied swordplay mainly out of rebellion against his father’s wishes that he become a wizard. Secretly, he finds magic fascinating and useful, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge any common ground with his adoptive caretaker.

Amria

Amria is a mysterious woman, a female half-elf from parts unknown. She is possessed of psychic abilities, able to speak directly to the minds of her companions and able to see without the use of her damaged eyes. Long ago, Amria was lynched by a village mob, which fixed a burning iron mask to her face and tried to burn her at the stake. She managed to escape, but she still bears the scars of that day.

Amria is strong and independent, but slow to trust. She hides her true identity behind the disguise of Madame Zola, a blind card-reader who lives on the streets of Cauldron. She carries a book with her, a tome of dubious origin, though she can’t recall where exactly she obtained it, or why she even keeps it with her.

Ris Thistleleaf

Ris is the youngest gnome of a large family. He grew up in poverty, in a cold family permeated with an unexplained bitterness. The children grew up on fairy tales of Jzadirune, a gnomish enclave dedicated to magical innovation and the creation of arcane implements. Ris encountered Alek Tercival early in life, and developed a relationship with the famous paladin. He eventually joined the Church of St. Cuthbert and trained to be a paladin himself.

Ris is an idealistic gnome. He sees himself as a champion of the downtrodden, a gnome always ready to stand up for those not strong enough to stand up for themselves. He is very much the conscience of the group.

Hugo Vanderboren

Hugo is a rakish human, a son of the most recent additions to the Cauldron region’s nobility, the Vanderborens. The Vanderborens are very easy-going and still humble despite their gain in fortune, but they still find Hugo’s constant indulgences into vice to be unbearable, and they have all but washed their hands of their roguish son. Instead, they focus on investing their energies into their daughter, Selma, and their adopted son, Todd.

A performing wanderer by the name of Ekaym Smallcask took to Hugo during a stay in Cauldron, and he taught Hugo the finer arts of carousing and gambling. Hugo learned the art of story-telling and music from Ekaym as well, but before the two could get very close, Ekaym disappeared, presumably having lost interest in the small city and deciding to wander onward.

Roundtable backgrounds

An idea that I borrowed from Tribality.com is the concept of roundtable backgrounds. This is a method whereby a player talks about their background out loud, then we go around the table and the next player describes their background, but also must include a tie to the previous player’s background or situation in some way.

In this case, Tiny went first, describing her history. Fogo went next, and the players worked together to decide that Fogo knew Tiny from Tiny’s forays into Bluecrater Academy’s library. Old Sheeba, Tiny’s mentor, frequently sent his apprentice to the Academy to acquire new reading material, and she and Fogo became fast friends, since Fogo was often in the library, his services volunteered by his inattentive father. The next character was Amria. The players decided that Amria met Fogo also in the library, as she brought in this strange tome for translation. Fogo was unable to help with the book, but he liked “Madame Zola,” who became a mother figure that was missing from his life. Hugo went next, a frequent traveler of Cauldron’s streets and a participant in the city’s night life, so he was familiar with the charlatan who made her living out of a small stand, offering readings to passersby.

Ris went next. He is another one who frequented the streets of Cauldron, ‘patrolling’ and offering his presence to the city. He met Hugo, who was a presence of a different kind. Hugo was always free with his coin, and Ris, though not materialistic, enjoys a friend who is willing to treat him to the finer things in life. Finally, it went back to Tiny, who offered that Ris lived with Old Sheba for a time during his paladin training, for a deeper understanding of spiritualism and meditation techniques. He and Tiny didn’t get along very well, and she broke something dear to Ris, but he does his best to offer guidance against her chaotic impulses.

Chapter 1: Life’s Bazaar

With characters all made, we began. The adventure began on a breezy autumn night, the players all deciding on various activities that had them out and about tonight. Their peaceful nights were interrupted by a plaintive cry for help coming from a nearby alleyway. Everyone but Amria ran to investigate. Amria, in her guise as Madame Zola, decided that this was something she would do better to avoid, and began packing up her table and cards.

The others investigated the cry and found a man in a purple robe being accosted by a handful of thugs with half their faces painted black and the other half painted white. These were recognizable as members of the Last Laugh, Cauldron’s most notorious thieves’ guild. They saw the man, bloody and bruised, being held up against a wall by one rogue while the other snarled into his face, “Stay away from the Orphanage, you got it?” Then he sank a fist into the man’s gut. Before the party could think to intervene, another thug pointed a meaty finger at them and loudly ordered them to “Piss off!”

Hugo tried to intimidate the criminals, drawing his crossbow and telling them to stand down. Unfortunately, Hugo wasn’t very intimidating, and the criminals ignored him, telling him once again to mind his own business. Hugo’s companions drew their weapons and launched themselves into combat, ready to disarm the situation by force. Even Amria got involved at this point, using her psychic abilities to assail the minds of her opponents. Tiny interposed herself between the attackers and their victim, and was rewarded for her heroism with a long sword rammed into her gut all the way to its hilt. As she was ready to fall, she felt a hand behind her fill her with healing energy. The thugs’ victim was apparently a healer.

After this brief surge of violence, the thugs were soundly defeated. The man in purple identified himself as Ruphus Laro, an acolyte of St. Cuthbert. He was returning to the Church of St. Cuthbert after visiting the Lantern Street Orphanage and was jumped and dragged into the alley by these criminals before the party rescued him. Ruphus did what he could to save the lives of the thieves, noting that they weren’t going to kill him, and so they may deserve to be arrested, but don’t deserve death. Questioning the sole survivor of the assault, the party learned that the rogues were ordered to deliver a beating and a message to the priest, dissuading him from investigating kidnappings at the Lantern Street Orphanage. No more information was forthcoming beyond this, so they released the thieves, the party not wanting to deal with the nebulous legalities of having killed one of the thieves in an alleyway.

Ruphus offered to bring the party to his temple where he was sure they would be rewarded for their assistance. This proved to be true, as the party met with Jenya Urikas, the acting high priestess, who thanked the party with a complimentary healing potion for each of them. She then mentioned again the kidnappings at the orphanage, and asked if the party would be interested in investigating on behalf of the Church of St. Cuthbert. The group agreed readily and began to question Jenya for more information on the kidnappings. The information she offered was as follows:

·         Four children were kidnapped from the local orphanage three nights ago. Their names were Deakon, Evelyn, Lucinda, and Terrem. The children are the most recent victims in a series of strange disappearance and robberies.

·         The orphanage has two common bedchambers on the second floor - one for girls, the other for boys. Two children were taken from each room. None of the other children and none of the resident staff heard or saw anything.

·         The orphanage has barred windows and excellent locks protecting its doors. The children are locked into their rooms at night to prevent any midnight mischief.

·         In the wake of the kidnappings, the Church of St. Cuthbert has publicly vowed to locate the missing children and bring the kidnappers to justice.

·         Jenya borrowed an item from the church’s vault: the Star of Justice. It has the power to cast divination once per week. Only the church’s high priest is supposed to use it, but in his absence Jenya felt justified.

·         Jenya asked the mace “Where are the children who were abducted from the Lantern Street Orphanage?” The response: “The locks are key to finding them. Look beyond the curtain, below the cauldron. Beware the doors with teeth. Descend into the malachite ‘hold where precious life is bought with gold. Half a dwarf binds them, but not for long.”

Chewing on this mysterious clue, the group decided that they should visit the Lantern Street Orphanage immediately, in case the Last Laugh is interested in creating further discord there. Arriving in the middle of the night, the group was greeted by a one-eyed half-orc. Fogo identified himself as a former orphan housed by the facility, and explained the situation. Hugo called the doorman ‘the monster that lives under the bed.’ With a glower, the half-orc growled, “Wait here” and slammed the door in the group’s faces.

After a few tense seconds where the party debated whether or not they should just bust in, the door swung open again, this time opened by an elderly Halfling woman. Fogo introduced himself once again, and the old Halfling seemed delighted. “It’s alright Patch,” she told the half-orc. She then invited the group in and spoke to them frankly, giving them as much information as she can. This information is unfortunately redundant, and a repeat of what the party already knew up that point.

The group discussed possibilities and leads, and they resolved to visit the Bluecrater Academy library to investigate the ‘malachite hold’ in the morning. They also decided that they should perhaps visit the lockmaker, a gnome named Keygan Ghelve, who made the high-quality locks for the orphanage and who also provides locks for most of the city. The party is allowed to sleep in the children’s rooms, not the most accommodating conditions, but all parties felt safer with the heroes present and keeping vigil.

Between sessions, one of the party members is haunted by a surreal nightmare and another recalls an odd memory from his childhood.