#my poor 5 followers who are still into fellow travelers I WILL NEVER LEAVE YOU

[part-time-deranged]

[rebeccccccaaa]

𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒, 𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉

________________________________

𝐵𝓊𝒸𝓀𝓎 𝐵𝒶𝓇𝓃𝑒𝓈 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒹: imagine-all-the-fandoms said:

Hey you 💕 I’m so in love with your imagines, you’re a great writer! I hope it’s okay to send smth in as well ☺️ a Bucky one for where you’re crushing each other and head to a mission together in the snowy mountains where you get trapped by a storm in a cute cabin. First he’s all shy around you but in the end it’s all cute as he makes a little fire and shares his clothes to keep you warm which also leads to cuddling and finally sharing a kiss and even some loving smut when you finally admit your feelings ?

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Smut, 18+, Fluff, friends to lovers, shy Bucky, fluff, did I mention fluff? Plant stuff? you’re kinda like that bitch from sky high lol

𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇’𝓈 𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒: this is too cute and I had so much writing this, i feel it radiates like huge cottage core energy but in the snow XD anyways hope you like it bug and thanks for the request!!

____________________________________________

You were walking from the greenhouse/garden room holding a small plant when you bumped into a much larger figure, accidentally dropping said plant.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” the voice said.

“It’s ok. I’m sorr-” you stopped.

The person was Bucky and under his big black boot was your little baby plant that you were taking to your room to nurse. You stared at him with a shocked and upset look on your face and Bucky stepped back to see the poor plant squished on the floor. 

Wanda was a bystander and rushed over to help clean up. She used her powers and mended the plant pot back together but the poor bud was still wilted. 

“Are you guys ok?” Wanda asked, handing you the pot with the wilted plant. 

“You squished my plant,” you said monotonously.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, panicked.

You playfully shook your head in disappointment trying your hardest to burst into giggles. It was ok because it’s what you do. You did… plant stuff. You weren’t exactly sure what your abilities were but you did know that you worked with plants very well.

You looked down at the bud and softly blew. Sage green magic circled the plant and life went back into the little sprout. Bucky’s panicked expression softened as he watched you use your magic. The way you smiled when the plant came back to life. That proud smile you had on made him smile too.

“There. All better,” you looked back Bucky. 

“All better,” he repeated with a smile.

“Hey, Y/n. Bucky,” Steve called you from down the hall.

“What’s up?”

“Fury needs you two in the conference room, says he’s got a mission for you two,” Steve walked away after he informed you both.

“Lead the way darling,” Bucky gestured his hand forward.

“Ah, you’re here. Why do you have a plant in your hand?”

“Bucky squished my flower under his boot,” you said.

“It was an accident,” Bucky mumbled.

“Moving on. I have a mission for you both in the alps. Some thugs are trading alien plant life so I need you,” he pointed to you, “to collect some samples for Tony and Bruce and Bucky will be there to protect you. If any plants die or get frozen you know what to do.”

You were plenty capable to handle yourself but you’ve never had to do so in the snow. You generally stuck to warmer and sunnier places when it came to missions. Bucky was pretty used to the snow so he knows to survive better in case you get stuck; but that won’t happen obviously.

“Wheels up in 30.”

You got to hide out and you were sort of struggling considering you had maybe seven layers of clothes on. You felt like a big puffy marshmallow waddling your way to the crime scene. The mission was somewhat successful, Bucky had really done all the work fighting and you just ran around tying up bad guys with vines and holding little seedlings in your pockets.

All was going until it didn’t. The wind picked up quickly and snow started thrashing around you and the others. You were fighting on the side of a hill, well Bucky was. You were still running around trying not to get shot. There was rumbling and the ground shook under you. You looked at Bucky who had taken down someone and his face held fear and concern. 

“Run!” he yelled.

“Where!” you started running anyhow.

“Follow me, doll!” 

You tried your best to run through heavy snow and with many many layers of clothes on you but it was becoming a struggle. Especially running against the wind made it a challenge on its own. Bucky was far ahead of you but thankfully turned back to grab your hand effectively dragging you alongside him running from the tumbling snow chasing after you. 

“Think you get us above ground? Maybe a tree? Rock platforms?” Bucky shouted, still running with his arm up to prevent snow and ice from getting in his eyes.

“The snow’s too thick and the wind is too strong,” you shouted back.

“I’m sorry,” you shouted shakily.

Before Bucky could respond the snowfall did a hiccup before finally settling within feet of you and Bucky. You two were exhausted and if you had to run any further, you’d probably be consumed by snow because you barely had any energy left in you to keep running.  

The wind was still harsh and the snow fell rapidly making it almost impossible to see even 5 feet in front of you. 

“We should find shelter,” Bucky said close to your face. Your nose was nearly numb from the cold and the warmth from Bucky’s proximity made it almost feel like it was burning. 

“I’m just following you,” you said with tired eyes.

After what felt like hours of walking you were practically dragging your feet and legs across the thick snow. The blankets of snow  glistened beautiful and sparkled under the sun. despite the sun now being out the weather was still almost unbearably cold. Your body still shook from the chill.

“You know, I’ve never liked winter. It was always so plain and boring with all the snow. And it’s so fucking cold; I’d rather be laying in the sun in a meadow. But this,” you circled your arms and twirled, “This is beautiful.”

“You what’s even more beautiful?” Bucky held your hand.

“What?” you said shyly.

“That cabin up ahead,” he smirked, and you smacked his chest.

“Well then, come on. I’m still freezing my butt off, and surely the seedlings in my pocket are frozen too,” you started treading the snow, grunting every step.

You got inside after a few tugs because the lock was practically frozen shut. The cabin was seemingly abandoned, else the hosts would certainly be surprised. Nonetheless, Bucky searched the house for anything to give you warmth. You stood in the living room area of the cabin awaiting instructions from Bucky since he seemed to know what he was doing. 

“Hey, doll. It looks like this place’s got two fireplaces. One here and in the master bedroom. Take your pick.”

“How long will be here?” you asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve hardly got any signal to send an alert.”

“That means we’ll probably spend the night. We should use the bedroom.”

“You can use the bedroom. I set a fire in the fireplace there, and then I’ll set one up out here for me when you’re taken care of,” he said.

“I thought we were sharing the room,” you mumbled, feeling embarrassed. See you had this little, itty, bitty, tiny crush on the fellow. But how could you not? He was perfect! You certainly weren’t going to waste the opportunity to share a bed with the guy if you ‘had to’. 

“Let’s get you taken care of,” he smiled softly.

You walked to the back room where the master bedroom was and it was beautiful. The bed was disassembled, the mattress was leaning to the side on the wall and the bed frame was taken apart. Bucky moved the bedframe to the side and flopped the mattress down to the floor. 

“Let me check for any blankets in this place,” Bucky ran off. 

You looked around and walked into the connected bathroom. To your absolute surprise there were small plants, unfortunately dead, and pots filled with dried out and chalky dirt. You could work with that. 

You picked them up and took them to the bed. You sat on the mattress and placed the pots in front of you on the floor at your feet. You pulled out the frozen seedlings and plants and placed each one in their own pot. 

That same sage green magic circled your hands and traveled to the pots where the dirt grew damp and the seedlings grew into buds. You smiled to yourself before looking up, eyes meeting Bucky’s who watched you with a grin on his face.

“It’s amazing what you do,” he said holding a bunch of blankets.

“It’s nothing.”

“No-” he was interrupted from the branches of the trees right outside the room baniging against the window hard. 

“Oh no. storm’s picking up again,” Bucky mumbled.

“Are we gonna be ok?” you asked.

“”We’ll be fine. Now are you hurt?”

“Just cold,” you whispered.

“Ok if you feel uncomfortable let me know and I’ll leave you ok?” you nodded.

“I need you to take your layers off until you reach your thermal.”

You zipped down your snow jacket that was incredibly wet from all the snow from outside. Next was a layer of your snow pants after you took your snow boots off, which were also wet; both the pants and boots.

Bucky helped you with the rest of your layers under you simply wore a thermal and your undergarments underneath. Your body was shaking still and the fire still wasn’t on yet. 

“Here are all the blankets I could find. Warm yourself up while I turn on the fireplace,” Bucky walked outside to gather some stumps of wood that were conveniently stacked next to the front door. He came back with a rock and banged it against his metal hand to create sparks which thankfully successfully lit the fire. 

“Are you feeling ok?” he asked shyly.

“Sort of, but the fire’s going so I think I’ll feel better very soon,” you responded.

Bucky was about to leave you and make his own fire in the living room when you stopped him.

“Buck, you don’t have to leave,” you said.

“Thought I’d give you some privacy,” he responded.

“I don’t need privacy, besides the fire’s already made. Just stay here,” you scooted on the bed for him to sit.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Come sit,” you smiled and patted the spot next to you.

He sat with you very closely and you feel his body heat radiating off his body like a heater. He asked if it was ok if he got rid of wet clothes too and you let him. When he took his last layer off he accidentally lifted his thermal shirt with it exposing his lower stomach. The muscle of his abdominals surprised you and you couldn’t help but oogle.

Bucky’s cheeks grew red and not from the cold. You two sat in silence. Your body was still trembling slightly and bucky wanted to help you. He just didn’t know if you;d be comfortable with the particular survival tactic. 

“I don’t want to upset you or make you uncomfortable but body heat and skin to skin contact is the most effective way to warm the body.

“Bucky, are you making a move on me?” you giggled.

“Uh no- sorry I, uh I-”

“I’m just teasing,” you smiled.

“I want to help you,” he whispered.

“Ok.”

Bucky moved away slightly and reached for the bottom of your shirt hesitantly looking to you for permission of which you granted. Your arms came up and the thermal slowly peeled off of your cold body. You were simply left in a bra and your arms covered yourself in coldness and also slight insecurity. 

Bucky also took his thermal off and tossed it to the side. Your eyes trained on his torso littered with little scars and bruises that made you want to reach out and hold him. He leaned back on the mattress and lifted his hips to remove his thermal pants and then looked back to you to make sure you were still ok.

You stood up and quickly discarded your pants as well as seeing Bucky turn his away from seeing you undress; which made your heart warm at his manners. When you were done you sat back down much closer to Bucky this time.

His arms wrapped around you and both your legs hitched over his thighs as you curled into him. His body was so hot, figuratively and literally. Your body instantly warmed up against his hardened muscles. You stayed this way while the fire burned and Bucky told you stories about him and Steve back in the 40s before everything happened. 

There was a moment of silence that settled between you and you looked into Bucky’s eyes. His hand came up and softly brushed the air from your face. You leaned into hand and smiled faintly to him and he smiled back. 

Bukcy leaned his forehead down to press against your and you could feel the tip of his equally cold nose on yours. You looked at each other waiting for the other to say something, anything.

“Are you going to kiss me?” you whispered.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” he whispered back.

“Please.”

Bucky lips attached to yours ever so gently. Your body practically melted against him, chills raising on your skin but not from the cold. His hands caressed the skin of your stomach and ribs and you moved straddled his thighs.

You felt growing wet from the way he held you tenderly against him. You started grinding yourself against his crotch feeling his dick getting hard pressing up against your core. Small moans and breathy sighs emitted from you and Bucky and his hands roamed to your ass. 

Bucky’s lips went to neck and you threw your head back for him and threaded your fingers through his hair. Bucky nipped and bit down on the skin before soothing it over with his tongue and dragged it down to your collarbone. 

You reached around and unclipped your bra and Bucky tossed over to the pile of clothes you had discarded beforehand. Bucky looked down at your chest for a second but averted his eyes to prevent you from being uncomfortable. 

His hands however kneaded the flesh of your breasts; insanely warm against your skin. 

“You’re so pretty, darling,” Bucky whispered in your ear making you shudder.

He flipped you over; the blanket fell to the side making your nipples harden from the chilly air. He stood up to remove his boxers and ran his hands up your legs sensually playing with the hem of your panties you still had on. 

He looked at you with gentle eyes before you nodded eagerly for him to take them off. After he did he crawled up body before settling between your hips. His cock was settled against your pussy and it practically throbbed, aching for more. 

He pumped his cock with his hand a few times leaning down to capture your lips with his. When he slid inside, you moaned loudly taking a hold of his shoulders with your hands. Bucky was huge! Nothing like any of your past lovers, not that you really many. 

“Hold on, hold on. I just need a second,” you told Bucky. 

He leaned down and pressed kisses all over your face; your hands cupping his face and jaw giggling. You looked into eyes once again and nodded letting him know that it was alright to move again. 

Bucky was in absolute heaven right now.

Your walls felt so soft and velvety as he easily thrusted in and out of you. A thin layer of sweat formed on his forehead. His hand reached down your arm and he intertwined his fingers with yours resting by your head. 

Bucky had been dreaming of this moment longer than he’d like to admit. He never considered himself to be a shy person; and definitely not jealous either. But when he met you, he always stuttered and stumbled over his feet and words barely getting a working sentence out of his mouth. 

Whenever Steve or Sam spoke to you, and generally flirted a lot of the time, he envied them for being so relaxed around you. He’d wanted to ask you on a proper date and take you home to worship you like you deserve; wake up next to you and make love all over again. But he couldn’t say hi without turning bright red.

But here you were, a dream come true, squirming, whining and moaning beautifully under him. 

“You are so gorgeous, baby. God, I can’t believe you're here,” Bucky kissed you. 

“Oh, Bucky you feel so good,” you moaned.

“Fuck, baby you’re taking me so well,” he praised.

You both moaned feeling your orgasm approaching rapidly. Your legs wrapped around Bucky’s torso driving him deeper in making you practically scream in pleasure. Bucky’s hips snapped in and out of you wildly desperate for that release he knows is going to be the best he’s ever had. 

When the coil in the pit of your stomach burst your back arched into Bucky and his face buried into your neck as he practically growled in pleasure. 

“Fuck that was amazing,” he kissed your neck and chuckled.

“Why are you always so shy around me? We probably could’ve done this way sooner,” you patted his back. 

“I, uh-”

“There you go stuttering again,” you giggled.

“I’m sorry. Y/n, I really like you and I have since I’ve met you. I don’t know why I feel so brain dead whenever I’m around you. I used to have no problem asking a pretty dame on a date, but when I met you, I couldn’t even say hi let alone ‘Hey wanna go on a date because I think you’re the most beautiful angel I’ve ever met in my goddamn life?’ It felt impossible,” Bucky sat up and sat you on his legs still wrapped in the blanket. 

“Bucky, I- oh,” you gasped.

“What?” you pointed to the wooden floor of the cabin. There were small buds and patches of grass coming through the cracks of the floorboards. There were also vines and branches covering the walls coming from the floor as well.

“Oh! Did I do that?” you looked back at him and he nodded.

“Oopsies,” you giggled.

“What if we had sex in the garden?” Bucky asked.

“Oh my gosh, Bucky!” you laughed.

“What?” a smile grew on his face watching you laugh in pure delight.

“You’re so silly,” you shook your head before yawning.

“Come on, doll. Let’s go sleep and we’ll see what’s gonna happen after the storm passes,” Bucky kissed you goodnight and you fell asleep comfortably in his arms.

___________________________________________

@mathletemadison 

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ:

ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴀᴅᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴘᴇʀᴍᴀɴᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ ᴍᴇssᴀɢᴇ ᴍᴇ! ;)

[sheliesshattered]

This Isn’t A Ghost Story extras for Chapter 6: The Future

Chapter 6 of This Isn’t A Ghost Story has been posted! You can find it here on Tumblr, or here on AO3. Spoiler-ish extras under the cut!

With chapter 6 under our belts, we’ve made it through the main portion of this fic! The next two chapters will wrap up a few loose ends -- and possibly create a couple more, of the open-ended variety -- and if I hadn’t gotten quite so deep into the world-building for this, I might have actually ended the story here. All the research I did for the world-building directly inspired the next two chapters, which were both written and finished before I had anything more than a basic sketch in place for chapter 6. 

Egyptology in the 1920s has clearly been a huge part of the world-building for this story from the beginning, and we get a bit more of it in chapter 6. The Doctor mentioned Howard Carter briefly in chapter 5, and here we loop back around to that and find out that Clara and the Doctor knew Carter well. I didn’t want to derail the chapter too much with talking about their friendship in any detail, but large portions of the timeline of when they were in Egypt in the 1920s was built around the historical events of the discovery and documentation of Tutankhamun’s tomb, and there are a few passing allusions to it in the journal entries in chapter 3 as well.

Howard Carter (pictured above in 1924) and his team of excavators found the entrance to Tutankhamun’s tomb in November of 1922, which would have been during the phase when Clara and the Doctor are exchanging letters and falling in love. One little historical detail that I sadly couldn’t quite use was that 23 November 1922 was actually a date of minor significance in the discovery of the tomb. It was the day that Carter’s financier, Lord Carnarvon, arrived at the dig site to witness the opening of the tomb, along with his daughter Lady Evelyn Herbert, who would have been about a year and a half younger than Clara. This picture of the three of them was taken at the entrance of the tomb in late 1922, and is similar to how I imagine Clara and the Doctor’s picture with Carter would have looked:

As the tomb was being excavated, Carter and Carnarvon assembled a team of experts to help with the huge task of cataloging, preserving, and translating all the many items found in the tomb, and though I never called it out specifically in This Isn’t A Ghost Story, I figure the Doctor was part of that team, probably specifically focused on translation work. In late February 1923, there was a short halt in the excavation that lasted a few weeks, which was what led, in our fictionalized version of events, to the Doctor briefly returning to Glasgow, and Clara’s impulsive decision to follow him there. After their wedding in May of ‘23, Clara and the Doctor went directly to Egypt, and the Doctor returned to work on Carter’s team.

Family members, tourists, and the press were all known to visit the dig site during that first year of excavation and the resulting media craze:

Given that, and Clara and the Doctor being ‘disgustingly in love newlyweds’ it seemed reasonable that Clara would have visited the site at least a few times, and been on good terms with Howard Carter. Carter actually got his start in Egyptology when he was hired as a young man to paint reproductions of ancient temple walls and other Egyptian artifacts:

During the excavation of Tutankhamun’s tomb, he made detailed sketches, including careful measurements, of every item removed from the tomb and where it had originally be found in the tomb. Much of what we know about King Tut’s tomb now is down to how methodical Carter was in documenting the original untouched state of the tomb, both with measurements, drawings, and photography. These are both drawings Carter did of the tomb during that period:

Chapter 3 mentions that Clara decided to learn to draw in the summer of 1923, so I liked the little detail that it was Howard Carter, with his meticulous and beautiful art, that suggested she take up the hobby. Modern Clara also notes in passing that she drew all throughout her childhood, particularly her ghost, which all connects back to those early days of their marriage in 1923.

I’ve got more up my sleeve about the world-building elements for the next two chapters, but since chapter 6 was the last chapter I finished, long after chapters 7 and 8 were done, I thought I’d talk a bit about the writing process as well. The final scenes I wrote for the entire story were near the end of chapter 6, and despite knowing what I needed this chapter to do, what needed to be in place to set up chapters 7 and 8, chapter 6 gave me a bit of trouble along the way. 

I imagined this chapter in a lot of different ways as the story was evolving, but I always knew I wanted to emphasize the possibility of future travels for Clara and the Doctor. The theme of ‘101 Places To See’ is so strong in canon that echoing it for 1920s Clara was a big part of my world-building from the beginning, and I felt like any version of a happy ending for Clara and the Doctor had to include travel. An early draft of this chapter ended on Clara’s final line from Mummy On The Orient Express, ‘Then what are you waiting for? Let's go.’ to help emphasize that travel theme -- and because I can never resist borrowing a line from canon whenever I can find an excuse.

Another early sketch for this chapter had Clara and the Doctor venturing out for grocery shopping, with the Doctor complaining up a storm while Clara tried to carry on a conversation with him without any strangers taking note of it. Originally I had planned to include more of Clara’s work week, and had scenes roughed in where her friend and fellow teacher Amy Pond found out that Clara had gotten “engaged” over the weekend, leading Clara to have to make up something on the spot about how she’d been in a long-distance relationship that had only recently turned serious, which was why Amy had never met him. There was a whole thing about how Clara and Amy (who taught ancient world history) were co-directing Coal Hill’s production of Antony And Cleopatra, and Amy wanting to make sure that Clara wasn’t going to run off to see the world with her new fiance before the night of the play. Eventually that all got boiled down to just a single exchange between Clara and the Doctor, as I decided to keep the focus tight in on the two of them and their relationship, and not even include dialogue from any other characters.

One thing that comes up again and again in my writing projects is that when I’m imagining the plotline early in the process, it always takes up a lot more calendar days than the final product does. I imagine events taking place over the course of weeks, but then find that the emotional flow works much better condensed down to a handful of days instead. Despite my stories following that same pattern in development for more than a decade now, it somehow always seems to surprise me, lol.

Really early on in working on Ghost Story, I knew I wanted to keep Clara’s canonical birthdate of 23 November 1986 and build the rest of the timeline around that, and I picked out November 2014 as the time period for the main part of the story because it corresponds roughly to when the end of s8 of the show originally aired. But in a very early outline of events, Clara didn’t have the nightmare that led to her memories coming back until the night of her birthday, a full week later from what ended up happening in this final version. 

Even as recently as a few weeks ago, I was still planning on ending this chapter on her birthday, and it wasn’t until I started digging into the scene by scene and line by line breakdown of the chapter that I realized that it really wasn’t necessary. And leaving her birthday as an upcoming event folded in nicely with the ‘Future’ theme I wanted for this chapter, so again I decided to keep the focus tight on Clara and the Doctor’s relationship as they unravel the mystery and deal with the fallout of what happened in 1927.

Figuring out what I actually wanted to happen this chapter versus what could be left on the cutting-room floor, as they say, was a huge part of the final phase of writing This Isn’t A Ghost Story. Once I had cut out extraneous scenes and meandering plot tangents (and poor Amy Pond), I was left with a very specific list of scenes and conversations, and I wrote them much the same way I write everything, jumping around to a given scene as dialogue or internal monologue occurs to me. To me it always feels like putting together a large jigsaw puzzle, filling in holes and connecting up pieces as the puzzle comes together.

I find that technique works really well for me when I’m in early and mid development of a story, but once I was down to just a couple of scenes that still needed written, progress slowed way down. I got to the point where I knew the emotional content of a scene and even most of the dialogue, and needed just a little bit of stage direction to stitch the whole thing together. Those of you who have been following along with my #process thoughts posts here may remember me posting about working on that last scene just a couple of weeks ago, trying to wrestle it into shape. 

@tounknowndestinations, @praetyger, and a few others of you have asked about it, and I can now reveal that the very last bit to get written was the sequence with Clara preparing for bed and then the two of them getting into bed. I had the awkward sex conversation and the final scene the next morning already written, I just had to connect the first part of the chapter up with those last scenes. I’m happy with how it eventually came together -- and very curious to hear if any of you could pick out that that was the last bit written? -- but not having the option to work on anything else, just those specific words in that specific place, made it more of a struggle for me than writing most of the rest of Ghost Story.

My husband and beta reader Jack was more involved with the editing of this chapter than he was with any of the other chapters, and in several places helped me rewrite individual lines or conversation beats until we were both happy with how they read. @praetyger asked how I know when writing is ‘done’, and I have to admit it’s mostly a process of reading it over and over again, and then getting Jack to read it and taking his feedback seriously. I tend towards overly long run-on sentences, so if Jack gets lost while reading a sentence, that’s one he’ll call out as needing to be reworded for clarity. 

There’s one sentence in this chapter that we went back and forth over quite a lot: ‘The feeling of what might have been that seeing their wedding photo had elicited in her wasn’t some strange, misplaced jealousy, but rather the knowledge she carried deep in her soul, buried in her subconscious, that their story wasn’t over yet.’ It was originally even more wordy, and Jack would have preferred the final version be a lot more simple, but it just didn’t read right to me without ‘elicited’ so I stuck to my guns on that bit, even as I filed down some of the wordiness in other parts of the sentence.

Both for reworking a sentence and for writing big sections in the first place, my method is generally to write it and edit a little as I go, trying to get the word choice and pacing as close to what I want as I can on a first pass. Then I’ll let it sit, at the very least overnight but often for days or longer at a time, then come back and reread it when it isn’t so fresh in my mind. At that point, sometimes a phrase will jump at me as awkward or something I used just a paragraph or two earlier, so I’ll rewrite it, let it sit, come back and edit it all over again. Sometimes what seemed like plenty of room for an emotional beat when I was writing it will go by way too fast when I reread it, so I’ll add to it, give it space to breathe. Rinse and repeat.

For the record, Jack’s favorite line from this chapter is this bit of dialogue for the Doctor: ‘“Yes,” he allowed warily, clearly not sure where she was going with this.’ I imagine it’s probably for similar reasons as why he liked the ‘she didn’t add again but knew they were both thinking it’ bit from chapter 5. I try not to put my own marriage into my writing too much, but there are some experiences of being married that I think are probably pretty universal.

@ephemeralhologram asked about my writing inspiration, and for me my writing is always driven by a kernel of a what-if idea and a desire to convey a certain emotion. I almost always start out with a ‘plotbunny’ idea, some tiny thing that I daydream about and consider from multiple angles until a plot and emotional tone starts coming into focus. 

For Ghost Story, it was actually a shitpost here on Tumblr about a real estate agent having a conversation with the ghost who haunts the house they’re trying to sell, along with wanting to try telling a Twelve/Clara story in an alternate universe completely separate from the show canon, which I had never done before Ghost Story. The emotional tone started out much sillier, more in line with that Tumblr post, but as I got into the world-building and decided I wanted to have a mystery and mutual pining at the center of this story, the tone shifted quite a lot.

The other major drivers of writing inspiration for me are that I enjoy putting words together into interesting and emotionally evocative combinations, and I enjoy conveying character emotion and eliciting emotion in the reader. No matter what fandom I’m writing in, no matter how close to canon or how AU, how short or long the story is, those two things are always at the center of my writing.

I walk around the house or do chores that I don’t have to focus on too much (dishes are excellent for this) just tossing around bits of dialogue in my head until I find an emotional beat that grabs me or a bit of phrasing that I really like. I jot those down into a googledoc -- most of my DW stories start out in a doc called “Doctor Who Bits” that is in fact just fragments of multiple stories, and then eventually a story will graduate into having its own dedicated googledoc. Figuring out the plot is just as much about deciding on the emotional journey I want to take the characters and/or the readers on as it is deciding on an order of events.

Thank you to @tounknowndestinations​, @ephemeralhologram​, and @praetyger​ for the questions! I am more than happy to answer any questions about my writing process or details about this story, or anything really, so feel free to hit me up in my ask, or in the comments on this post, or in a comment over on AO3. Thank you to everyone who has followed along with this story, and for all the support and encouragement you’ve offered along the way, I couldn’t have written this story without this wonderful little corner of the Whouffaldi fandom! ❤️

--

Extras for Chapter 7: The Museum

[mediaeval-muse]

Important note for early medievalists

In case some of you are unaware, there was a huge upset (for lack of a better word) within the International Society of Anglo-Saxonists a few weeks ago. This organization - the only one dedicated to the study of early medieval England, to my knowledge - is currently in the midst of a huge change. At this point, it’s uncertain if the organization will continue to exist.

So what’s going on?

Trigger warning for racism and white supremacy, including online bullying.

First, some background. Please read this article about racism in the field, as well as this series of tweets about why the term “Anglo-Saxon” is racist, even in an academic context. For the purposes of this post, I’m using “ISAS” and “Anglo-Saxon” for clarity. After this post, I will no longer be using these terms.

The Basics

In 2017, Dr. Adam Miyashiro, a native Hawai’ian, is excluded from a publication put forth by ISAS following the conference in Honolulu. He begins to vocally draw attention to white supremacy and gatekeeping within medieval studies (particularly early medieval studies). He gives a keynote lecture at ISAS 2019 in Albuquerque on this topic.

ISAS 2019: Business Meeting announces the board’s plans to hold a vote regarding a change in the name of the organization. No alternatives have been presented: the vote is only to gauge whether or not the general membership wishes to rename itself. There is also an intention to vote on whether demographic diversity should be a requirement for the advisory board makeup.

September 5-7, 2019: Dr. Mary Rambaran-Olm delivers a talk at the Race Before Race symposium (an academic symposium dedicated to critical race studies in medieval and early modern fields) about white supremacy within early medieval studies

Dr. Rambaran-Olm publicly resigns her position from the ISAS advisory board during her talk, citing the board’s inaction in combating white supremacy within the field as well as its insistence on a hierarchical structure that disadvantages grad students and early career researchers (ECRs)

Dr. Rambaran-Olm tweets a list of demands for change within the organization

The Immediate Aftermath

Dr. Rambaran-Olm’s resignation triggers a series of condemnations against ISAS from other medieval organizations, including Medievalists of Color and Queerdievalists

Dr. Rambaran-Olm receives threats of violence on social media, especially after the Washington Post publishes this article

There was a rumor going around that a notorious sexual predator in the field was being considered for a leadership role in the organization. As far as I know, this is false, but some prominent scholars have not deleted their social media posts about it. (I’m withholding his name not to protect him, but because I don’t know if I could suffer legal consequences for naming him when he hasn’t been formally charged with anything. I’m but a poor grad student.)

ISAS decides to move up the vote for a name change. The advanced timeline does not allow for members to discuss and debate the motion, leading to some people hastily voting then regretting their decision after listening to the conversation about the merits of changing the name.

The ISAS listserv receives some truly tone-deaf and outright racist messages from (senior) scholars trying to influence the vote.

Guy Halsall, the partner of Dr. Helen Foxhall Forbes (the ISAS board member responsible for drafting the harassment policy), begins bullying grad students and ECRs on social media, calling them names and slurs for supporting a more inclusive field and organization. He makes his account private when called out, then deletes it altogether.

Where We’re At Now

Most of the advisory board members of ISAS have resigned. There are a handful left, but they include Dr. Rauer (who sent out a racist email) and Dr. Forbes (whose partner bullied grads and ECRs)

ISAS members voted to change the name (~60% approval) AND to make demographic diversity a requirement for advisory board representation (~78% approval)

Medieval scholars have started using the hashtag #commit2change to document what they are going to do to make the field more open to BIPOC scholars and students

A number of grads and ECRs have left ISAS in solidarity with BIPOC scholars

Some Links

A summary from Inside Higher Ed

About decolonizing your syllabus

My Thoughts

I have been a member of ISAS since 2016 and I attended the conference in Albuquerque, so I have some first-hand experience with the conference events and the listserv.

I voted in favor of the name change and the demographic diversity requirement.

I agree that “Anglo-Saxon” is an exclusionary term that harms BIPOC scholars, and though I have used it in the past in an academic context, I will no longer be using it unless I’m citing previous scholarship. Instead, I will be using “early medieval England/English” unless a better term is put forth. I urge fellow medievalists to do the same.

At this point, I’m planning to stick with ISAS to facilitate the changes I want to see, unless it becomes evident to me that the vote was just a show and people aren’t really committed to change. If that’s the case, I will leave, but I do want to try to make changes first.

This whole thing wasn’t a complete dumpster fire. Some very prominent scholars turned out to be vocal supporters of BIPOC colleagues. The question now is: is it enough?

This field is not about white people or white history, so don’t @ me. It should be open to everyone.

“Anglo-Saxon” isn’t even an appropriate term, since early medieval England contained inhabitants that were neither Angles nor Saxons. There were many, many peoples, including various Celtic groups, Jutes, etc. So, “historical accuracy” is not a good argument for keeping the term.

As far as I know, “Old English” is still ok for describing the vernacular language of early medieval England. If this changes, I will make a post about it.

This problem is not unique to the study of early medieval England. Medieval and Early Modern Studies need to reflect on its own practices and make academia more welcoming to BIPOC students and scholars.

As far as I know, the victims of Notorious Sexual Predator have not sought criminal charges, and he hasn’t been punished by any institution he has worked for. Some scholars have taken it upon themselves to call for his demise. I’m in favor, though I do want to protect victims and prevent people from appropriating their struggle.

Why You Should Care

This isn’t an ISAS problem, it’s a medieval studies problem. ISAS is just where it’s all coming to a head.

BIPOC scholars matter.

ISAS is responsible for a lot of funding of scholarship for research in early medieval England. It’s also the only professional organization (that I know of) that is devoted to this time period/field. Everything else is later medieval or general medieval. ISAS has historically legitimized early medieval studies in academia. Presenting at ISAS can likewise make a scholar’s career. The impact is huge.

What You Can Do

Educate yourself on the struggles of BIPOC scholars (as well as BIPOC people in general). Not sure where to start? Here’s some advice

Support more BIPOC scholars by citing and centering their work, refusing to participate in panels that don’t include diverse voices, and following BIPOC scholars on social media

Refrain from using the term “Anglo-Saxon” in your scholarship (but if you’re quoting and/or providing a bibliographic reference, this is advice is less clear-cut. I’m personally using the term in citations and acknowledging somewhere in my work that the field has a history of racism. I want readers to be able to find the things I cite, while also not erasing the field’s racist history. I don’t think pretending it never existed is the answer.)

Report bullying on social media when you see it

Follow the #commit2change hashtag for some ideas on how to make your classrooms more inclusive

Donate to the Belle De Costa Greene Fund, a travel grant for medievalists of color

You don’t have to join ISAS now, or remain in ISAS if it makes you uncomfortable. You can enact changes at whatever level you’re at without joining the org.

There’s probably more, but I’m tired. If you’re a young medievalist and have questions, you’re welcome to PM me.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Stormlight Archive Epigraphs (7) - The Knights Radiant

These are from WOR Part 3 (excerpts from the in-universe book Words of Radiance) and Oathbringer Part 3 (gemstones used by the ancient Radiants to record their feelings and observations). Epigraphs will be organized by Radiant order or, when applicable, by topic.

I’ve included in the headings for the Radiant orders their associated gemstone, attributes, and Surges. For the non-obvious surges: Abrasion = Friction, Progression = Growth/Regrowth/Healing, Transformation = Soulcasting, Transportation = travelling to Shadesmar. I’m still not clear on Cohesion (Strong Axial Interconnection)  and Tension (Soft Axial Interconnection).

Minor spoilers for the pre-released chapters of Words of Radiance.

This is a very long one!

Radiants Generally 

They also, when they had settled their rulings in the nature of each bond’s placement, called the name of it the Nahel bond, with regard to its effect upon the souls of those caught in its grip; in this description, each was related to the bonds that drive Roshar itself, ten Surges, named in turn and two for each order; in this light, it can be seen that each order would by necessity share one Surge with each of its neighbors. (Chapter 8, page 6)

In short, if any presume Kazilah to be innocent, you must look at the facts and deny them in their entirety; to say that the Radiants were destitute of integrity for this execution of one of their own, one who had obviously fraternized with the unwholesome elements, indicates the most slothful of reasoning; for the enemy’s baleful influence demanded vigilance on all occasions, of war and peace. (Chapter 32, page 17)

Twenty-three cohorts followed behind, that came from the contributions of the King of Makabakam, for though the bond betwen man and spren was at times inexplicable, the ability for bonded spren to manifest in our world rather than their own grew stronger through the course of the oaths given. (Chapter 35, page 9)

Windrunners (Sapphire - Protecting/Leading - Gravitation/Adhesion)

Today, I leaped from the tower for the last time. I felt the wind dance around me as I fell all the way along the eastern side, past the tower, and to the foothills below. I’m going to miss that. (From drawer 10-1, sapphire [Windrunner])

My spren claims that this recording will be good for me, so here I go. Everyone says I will swear the Fourth Ideal soon, and in so doing, earn my armor. I simply don’t think that I can. Am I not supposed to want to help people? (From drawer 10-12, sapphire [Windrunner])

Skybreakers (Smokestone - Just/Confident - Gravitation/Division)

And thus were the disturbances in the Revv toparchy quieted, when, upon their ceasing to prosecute their civil dissensions, Nalan’Elin betook himself to finally accept the Skybreakers who had named him their master, when initially he had spurned their advances and, in his own interests, refused to countenance that which he deemed a pursuit of vanity and annoyance; this was the last of the Heralds to admit such patronage. (Chapter 5, page 17)

There came also sixteen of the order of Windrunners, and with them a considerable number of squires, and finding in that place the Skybreakers dividing the guilty from the innocent, there ensued a great debate. (Chapter 28, page 3)

The considerable abilities of the Skybreakers for making such amounted to an almost divine skill, for which no specific Surge or spren grants capacity, but however the order came to such an aptitude, the fact of it was real and acknowledged even by their rivals. (Chapter 28, page 3)

We can record any secret we wish, and leave it here? How do we know that they’ll be discovered? Well, I don’t care. Record that, then. (From drawer 2-3, smokestone [Skybreaker])

I wish to submit my formal protest at the idea of abandoning the tower. This is an extreme step, taken brashly. (From drawer 2-22, smokestone [Skybreaker])

This generation has had only one Bondsmith, and some blame the divisions among us upon this fact. The true problem is far deeper. I believe that Honor himself is changing. (From drawer 24-18, smokestone [Skybreaker])

Dustbringers (Ruby - Brave/Obedient - Division/Abrasion)

And when they were spoken of by the common folk, the Releasers claimed to be misjudged because of the dreadful nature of their power; and when they dealt with others, always were they firm in their claim that other epithets, notably “Dustbringers,” often heard in the common speech, were unacceptable substitutions, in particular for their similarity to the word “Voidbringers.” They did also exercise anger in great prejudice regarding it, though to many who speak, there was little difference between these two assemblies. (Chapter 17, page 11)

If this is to be permanent, then I wish to leave record of my husband and children. Wzmal, as good a man as any woman could dream of loving. Kmakra and Molinar, the true gemstones of my life. (From drawer 12-15, ruby [Dustbringer])

Good night, dear Urithiru. Good night, sweet Sibling. Good night, Radiants. (From drawer 29-29, ruby [Dustbringer])

The two gems are at variance with the Dustbringers’ dangerous reputation. This could just be intended to indicate that they are people and that excessive generalizations shouldn’t be made, or it could indicate something larger about the order.

Edgedancers (Diamond - Loving/Healing - Abrasion/Progression)

When Simol was informed of the arrival of the Edgedancers, a concealed consternation and terror, as is common in such cases, fell upon him; although they were not the most demanding of orders, their graceful, limber movements hid a deadliness that was, by this time, quite renowned; also, they were the most articulate and refined on the radiants. (Chapter 20, page 12)

“The most articulate and refined.” Again and always - poor Wyndle!

Truthwatchers (Emerald - Learned/Giving - Progression/Illumination)

Now, as the Truthwatchers were esoteric in nature, their order being formed entirely of those who never spoke or wrote of what they did, in this lies frustration for those who would see their unending secrecy from the outside; they were not naturally inclined to explanation; and in the case of Corberon’s disagreements, their silence was not a sign of an exceeding abundance of disdain, but rather an exceeding abundance of tact. (Chapter 11, page 6)

I worry about my fellow Truthwatchers. (From drawer 8-21, second emerald)

[Also see the post section “The Destruction of the Ancient Singers”]

Lightweavers (Garnet - Creative/Honest - Illumination/Transformation)

Yet, were the orders not disheartened by so great a defeat, for the Lightweavers provided spiritual sustenance; they were enticed by those glorious creations to venture on a second assault. (Chapter 21, page 10)

These Lightweavers, by no coincidence, included many who pursued the arts; namely: writers, artists, musicians, painters, sculptors. Considering the order’s general temperament, the tales of their strange and varied mnemonic abilities may have been embellished. (Chapter 21, page 10)

Malchin was stymied, for though he was inferior to none in the arts of war, he was not suitable for the Lightweavers; he wished for his oaths to be elementary and straightforward, and yet their spren were liberal, as to our comprehension, in definitions pertaining to this matter; the process involved speaking truths as an approach to a threshold of self-awareness that Malchin could never attain. (Chapter 12, page 21)

I am worried about the tower’s protections failing. If we are not safe from the Unmade here, then where? (From drawer 3-11, garnet [Lightweaver])

Elsecallers (Zircon - Wise/Careful - Transformation/Transportation)

As to the other orders that were inferior in this visiting of the far realm of spren, the Elsecallers were prodigiously benevolent, allowing others as auxiliary to their visits and interactions; though they did never relinquish their place as prime liaisons with the great ones of the spren; and the Lightweavers and Willshapers both also had a affinity to the same, though neither were the true masters of that realm. (Chapter 6, page 2)

My research into the cognitive reflections of spren at the tower has been deeply illustrative. Some thought that the Sibling had withdrawn from men by intent - but I find counter to that theory. (From drawer 1-1, first zircon [Elsecaller])

The wilting of plants and the general cooling of the air is disagreeable, yes, but some of the tower’s functions remain in place. The increased pressure, for example, persists. (From drawer 1-1, second zircon [Elsecaller])

Something is happening to the Sibling. I agree this is true, but the division among the Knights Radiant is not to blame. Our percieved worthiness is a separate issue. (From drawer 1-1, third zircon [Elsecaller])

As the duly appointed keepers of the perfect gems, we of the Elsecallers have taken the burden of protecting the ruby nicknamed Honor’s Drop. Let it be recorded. (From drawer 20-10, zircon)

Willshapers (Amethyst - Resolute/Builder - Transportation/Cohesion)

And now, if there was an uncut gem among the Radiants, it was the Willshapers; for though enterprising, they were erratic, and Invia wrote of them, “capricious, frustrating, unreliable,” as taking it for granted that others would agree; this may have been an intolerant view, as often Invia expressed, for this order was said to be the most varied, inconsistent in temperament save for a general love of adventure, novelty, or oddity. (Chapter 7, page 1)

I returned to the tower to find squabbling children, instead of proud knights. That’s why I hate this place. I’m going to go chart the hidden undersea caverns of Aimia; find my maps in Akinah. (From drawer 16-16, amethyst [Willshaper])

Now that we abandon the tower, can I finally admit that I hate this place? Too many rules. (From drawer 8-1, amethyst [Willshaper])

Well, the two gemstones certainly support the first text’s description of the Willshapers! An order whose fundamental ideas are about freedom and self-actualization (as seen in Venli’s chaper of ROW, and her project) will inherently be independent-minded and more varied than some of the others.  The “love of adventure, novelty, or oddity” makes me think that Eshonai would have been a Willshaper as well, and now I’m sad about her death again.

Stonewards (Topaz - Dependable/Resourceful - Cohesion/Tension)

Now, as each order was thus matched to the nature and temperament of the Herald it named patron, there were none more archetypal of this than the Stonewards, who followed after Talenelat’Elin, Stonesinew, Herald of War: they thought it a point of virtue to exemplify resolve, strength, and dependability. Alas, they took less care for imprudent practice of their stubbornness, even in the face of proven error. (Chapter 13, page 1)

As a Stoneward, I spent my entire life looking to sacrifice myself. I secretly worry that this is the cowardly way. The easy way out. (From drawer 29-5, topaz)

The disagreements between the Skybreakers and the Windrunners have grown to tragic levels. I plead with any who hear this to recognize you are not so different as you think. (From drawer 27-19, topaz [Stoneward])

The Edgedancers are too busy relocating the tower’s servants and farmers to send a representative to record their thoughts in these gemstones. I’ll do it for them, then. They are the ones who will be most displaced by this decision. The Radiants will be taken in by nations, but what of all these people now without homes? (From drawer 4-17, second topaz [Stoneward])

The enemy makes another push toward Feverstone Keep. I wish we knew what it was that had them so interested in that area. Could they be intent on capturing Rall Elorim? (From drawer 19-2, third topaz [Stoneward])

Bondsmiths (Heliodor - Pious/Guiding - Adhesion/Tension)

But as for Ishi’Elin, his was the part most important at their inception; he readily understood the implication of Surges being granted to men, and caused organization to be thrust upon them; as having too great power, he let it be known that he would destroy each and every one, unless they agreed to be bound by precepts and laws. (Chapter 2, page 4)

But as for the Bondsmiths, they had members only three, which number was not uncommon for them; nor did they seek to increase this by great bounds, for during the times of Madasa, only one of their order was in continual accompaniment of Urithiru and its thrones. Their spren was understood to be specific, and to persuade them to grow to the magnitude of the other orders was seen as seditious. (Chapter 16, page 14)

The Destruction of the Ancient Singers

So Melishi retired to his tent, and resolved to destroy the Voidbringers upon the next day, but that night did present a different stratagem, related to the unique abilities of the Bondsmiths; and being hurried, he could make no specific account of his process; it was related to the very nature of the Heralds and their divine duties, an attribute the Bondsmiths alone could address. (Chapter 30, page 18)

Something must be done about the remnants of Odium’s forces. The parsh, as they are now called, continue their war with zeal, even without their masters from Damnation. (From drawer 30-20, first emerald [Truthwatcher])

A coalition has been formed among scholar Radiants. Our goal is to deny the enemy their supply of Voidlight; this will prevent their continuing transformations, and give us an edge in combat. (From drawer 30-20, second emerald [Truthwatcher])

Our revelation is fueled by the theory that the Unmade can perhaps be captured like ordinary spren. It would require a special prison. And Melishi. (From drawer 30-20, third emerald [Truthwatcher])

Ba-Ado-Mishram has somehow Connected with the parsh people, as Odium once did. She provides Voidlight and facilitates forms of power. Our strike team is going to imprison her. (From drawer 30-20, fourth emerald [Truthwatcher])

We are uncertain of the effect this will have on the parsh. At the very least, it should deny them forms of power. Melishi is confident, but Naze-daughter-Kuzodo warns of unintended side effects.(From drawer 30-20, fifth emerald [Truthwatcher])

Surely this will bring - at long last - the end to war that the Heralds promised us. (From drawer 30-20, final emerald [Truthwatcher])

Don’t tell anyone. I can’t say it. I must whisper. I foresaw this. (From drawer 30-20, a particularly small emerald [Truthwatcher])

The Recreance

Now, as the Windrunners were thus engaged, arose the event which has hitherto been referenced: namely, the discovery of some wicked thing of eminence, though whether it be some rogueries among the Radiants’ adherents or of some external origin, Avena would not suggest. (Chapter 38, page 6)

The “wicked thing of eminence” was the Eila Stele, which told that humans were the original Voidbringers and Singers the original inhabitants of Roshar, and that humans has destroyed their homeworld using the Surges.

That they responded immediately and with great consternation is undeniable, as these were primary among those who would forswear and abandon their oaths. The term Recreance was not then applied, but has since become a popular title by which this event is named. (Chapter 38, page 6)

This act of great villainy went beyond the impudence which had hitherto been ascribed to the orders; as the fighting was particularly intense at this time, many attributed this act to a sense of inherent betrayal; and after they withdrew, about two thousand made assault upon them, destroying much of the membership; but this was only nine of the ten, as one said they would not abandon their arms and flee, but instead entertained great subterfuge at the expense of the other nine. (Chapter 38, page 20)

This refers to the Recreance when the Radiants broke their oaths (while a conflict was ongoing) and abandoned their blades and armour. It sounds like they were subsequently attacked and killed by non-Radiants (some of whom would have had their blades and armour, now Shardblades and Shardplate).  The Skybreakers were the order that continued in secret.

[artemisegeria]

The Picture of The Mind Revives Again (Chapter 5/?)

Title: The Picture of the Mind Revives Again (5/?)

Rating: T

Word count: 2112

Warnings: None

Summary: Sequel to “A Formula, A Phrase Remains.” Title is from “Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey” by William Wordsworth.

Vision has gone missing after Shuri, Bruce, and Helen revived him. Now they must tell Wanda what they did without her knowledge.

Chapter Summary: Vision spends some time with Helen Cho and talks with Wanda for the first time since being revived.

A/N: As I’ve been spending more time writing this story again, I’ve decided to make some slight changes to my original plan. Therefore, I added a final section to the end of the previous chapter (starting “The next three months…”) that ties in with what happens here.

I wasn’t expecting to update this today, but I got a sudden burst of inspiration. So, this chapter is in honor of the first anniversary of Endgame’s release. I remain bitter and determined to correct the fate it handed Wanda and Vision.

  Vision maintained his usual density as walked through the sand of the vast Sahara Desert. After his last trip to Russia, he had wanted a change of scenery and of climate. If he was truly to see what Earth and humanity had to offer, he needed to continue moving over the whole world. He needed to distract himself from the loneliness that gnawed at him and threatened his mission.

A wave of homesickness that had washed over him several weeks ago had caused him to contact Wanda. He had almost flown to New York right away, a desperate plan to meet the team when they returned from Washington forming in his mind. But something was holding him back. He was more than ready to see Wanda and Sam again and meet the new team. He positively ached to be with them at this moment. Though the old compound was destroyed, he had come to learn that home was about the people that one treasured, as opposed to a place of residence. He wanted to go home.

But he knew with every synthetic fiber of his being that he had to remain apart for a while longer. He had to learn himself not only as a superpowered, one-of-a-kind synthezoid or an Avenger or Wanda Maximoff’s lover, but as himself. Those were all parts of himself that he treasured, but it was not enough any longer.

Vision was not ready for all that going home entailed. He was not ready to take up the mantle of an Avenger again. He would always favor fighting for humanity and saving those who needed him, but doing so at need was different from it being his full-time duty. He would be unable to travel except where he had to go for a mission.

Vision had no doubt that the team would allow him to stay with them without the expectation of fully rejoining, but something about that felt wrong to him. It was an all or nothing life, being an Avenger. If he could not devote himself totally to it yet, he should not seek to join them.

He could not go home, but a compromise did occur to him. He prepared a message for Helen Cho. Surprised when she responded almost instantly, he responded with equal alacrity. Within a few exchanges, they planned for him to stay at her lab for a time.

After the business was concluded, Vision felt a sense of purpose and rightness emanate from his neurons and fill his entire self. There was only one thing missing. While he was not ready to go home yet or rejoin Wanda in their new home, he could at least communicate with her. The picture he had sent her a few weeks previously and their subsequent conversation had reminded him of feelings that he had long suppressed. So, he emailed her a story of his recent exploration of Tokyo.

He then embarked on a new journey as he waited for Wanda’s reply.

***

His first few days in Helen’s lab were spent getting acclimated to her new research. After her work on reviving him was finished, she had requested a leave to return to South Korea for a time to help U-GIN and the University of Seoul rebuild. Many of the scientists working with her were the same ones who had been kidnapped by Ultron. Vision was grateful that, after an initial period of nervous silence, they did not appear to hold his connection to Ultron against him, far more interested in the assistance he could offer to their research.

Within two weeks, he was sharing meals and evening activities with his colleagues. They were a tight-knit group, but they were letting him in. They recognized their own keen interest in science and other specialized pursuits in him. It was almost like being back with the Avengers in the early days after his birth.

But one thing still gnawed at him during those long sleepless hours in the middle of the night. He could always enter his resting state, but that time was the only opportunity for him to process his feelings amid the endless research. It was a concern that he had been able to push to the side since his revival, but he knew it would not go away if he ignored it.

He thought back to the first afternoon, when he hovered above Wanda in the forest and could hear nothing of her thoughts. That link had always been their special connection. Part of him wondered if they could even maintain a relationship without it. The rest of Vision’s consciousness rebelled against such a judgment. There was far more to his love for Wanda than their connection through the Stone, but it was important.

She deserved to know. They needed to talk about this shift in their lives. But he did not want to acknowledge the pain and the loss through cold electronic communication. He did not know what to do, so he asked the person he trusted the most in this building.

He approached Dr. Cho one day while she was preparing to go home for the night. “Helen, I have a query for you, if I may.”

“Of course, Vision.” She smiled at him and gestured to the seat across from her. He sat stiffly, folding his hands carefully in his lap.

“If you had something important that you needed to tell a loved one, but it was not immediately pertinent to your relationship, would you tell them right away or would you save the information until the subject arose naturally?”

Helen fell into an expression of deep contemplation. “Well, ideally, I would want more context. A hypothesis is only as good as the information behind it. But whenever I’m struggling with an interpersonal dilemma, I always like to ask myself what I would want the other person to do to me in the same situation. Would you want to know this information as soon as possible, or would you prefer your loved one to wait?”

Vision did not know how to answer that question. With the exception of his regrettable mistake of trying to keep her inside the compound before the break up of the Avengers, he had never kept any secrets from Wanda. She was the only one with whom he felt he could be completely honest. But know that they were apart, he was doubting that telling her about the loss of their connection through the Mind Stone was the best idea.

Vision did not realize how long he had been lost in thought until he noticed Helen was still looking at him in gentle inquiry. “Thank you for your perspective, Helen. I will think on your advice.” He said farewell. On his way back to his room, he passed many of his fellow researchers, but he begged off their requests to join them for dinner.

He truly considered all the changes that had befallen him since he was first attacked Thanos’s followers. Opening himself up to the full range of sadness, anger, and loss, he thought of all that must be done before he would be whole again.

It was around two in the morning when he reached the decision to invite Wanda to South Korea. Helen whole-heartedly approved the plan when he admitted the source of his earlier question, omitting the more private details of their connection.

That afternoon Vision began composing his letter.

Good day, Wanda,

I hope this missive finds you well. I appreciated your response to my last messages, and I am always happy to hear from you.

Today, I would like to ask a favor. I am currently staying in South Korea with Doctor Cho. I have been assisting with her rebuilding efforts. I was wondering if you would come here for a visit. There is an effect of the loss of the Mind Stone that I would like to discuss with you. It should take no more than a day or two to test my hypotheses.

Vision considered how to end the note. He wanted to conclude with “All my love,” but those words seemed strangely out of touch with the rest. There was also the problem of the silence between them. He thought that perhaps he had waited too long to have this conversation with her. He did not know where they stood with each other.

So he simply wrote:

Sincerely,

Vision

Waiting for Wanda’s reply was agonizing. He could not help but reread his message and consider how cold and inadequate the words seemed. Fortunately for his thinning nerves, it did not take more than an hour for Wanda to reply affirmatively.

***

Vision stood in the airport waiting for Wanda. It was quite a reversal from all the times he had visited her. When he saw her moving through the crowd, dodging curious looks and picture-takers, he smiled. “Hey, Vizh!”

“Hello, Wanda.” Lingering doubt kept both of them from embracing, but Vision did dare to take her hand. She smiled up at him. “Is this everything you came with?” He gestured to the small backpack she was wearing.

“Yeah, you know me, good at traveling light.” They started walking toward the parking lot. “Um, are we flying to the lab or do we have a car?”

“Actually, I have a motorcycle. They are rather popular here.” He led her to the motorcycle he had ridden to pick her up. When they reached the vehicle, Vision handed Wanda a helmet and secured his own, despite the fact that no ordinary crash could harm him.

“Is this yours?” She seemed impressed, and he was tempted to prevaricate. But that would be a poor way to start this new stage of their acquaintance.

“No, I am borrowing it from Helen.” She smiled at him as she put on her helmet. Vision mounted the bike. Wanda slid in behind him, wrapping her arms around his torso. He reveled in the touch that he had not felt since his restoration. Though he had become friends with the others, it was not the same as his love for Wanda.

That was a contemplation for another time. It was only a brief ride to Dr. Cho’s lab. He had made the trip to the previous day to ascertain exactly how long it would take. His trial had lasted only 5.4 minutes. But as Wanda hugged him closer to her, he found himself taking the long way. It was a full 12.3 minutes before they arrived at the lab.

Vision gave her a tour of the lab. All the areas he frequented were curiously empty. He had expected Helen to be available to meet with Wanda, but she was not in her office or her chief study areas. Vision eventually resorted to showing Wanda her guest room. Prior to her arrival, he had agonized over how to set up her room and whether he should invite her to share his.

But things were not as they were when they had last been together. They did not have a firm foundation on which to share a bed. So, Vision ushered Wanda into her room. She smiled at the vase of wildflowers on the table and the perfectly made bed. He remained standing in the doorway, not knowing what to do with his hands. He simply watched as she laid down her backpack in the corner and bounced onto the bed. “You can come in, Vizh.”

“Oh, thank you.” She shook her head at him, still smiling gently. Vision stepped inside. This did seem the ideal time to begin their necessary conversation. “May I shut the door?”

“Sure.”

Wanda patted the bed beside her. Vision joined her. When she reached out her hands, he took them gladly. “There is much we need to discuss. Since everyone else here appears to be occupied, I would like to begin if you are ready.”

“I’m ready. I’ve been waiting so long to have a real conversation with you.”

Vision hung his head. “I apologize.” She squeezed one of his hands, and he looked up again to see her gazing at him sympathetically.

“You don’t have to apologize. I spent the first year and more after being brought back feeling lost most of the time. It’s a lot to take in. It made all of us act a little strange.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I do believe talking will help.”

“I think so, too,” she said with equal softness. They stared at each other for a moment, both lost for words. Then, she squeezed his hands and pulled away. “All right! Let’s talk it out, so we can both feel better.”

[mermaidsirennikita]

July 2019 Book Wrap-up

July was actually a really good month for me!  I read a ton of books, and a lot of them were actually pretty good?  It’s been a very transitory month for me; and I’m hoping to keep up the momentum as I start a new job.  The standouts of the month include War, of my beloved Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse series by Laura Thalassa, and Lock Every Door, a creepy, apartment-centric psychological thriller by Riley Sagers.

What the Wind Knows by Amy Harmon.  3/5.  Heartbroken by the death of her grandfather--the only parent she really knew--Anne Gallagher travels to Ireland.  Ireland was her grandfather’s homeland, she she grew up on his stories of a family she has little connection with.  Going out on the lake, she suddenly finds herself thrown back into 1921, in an Ireland on the brink of civil war.  Taken in by Thomas Smith, a friend of her great-grandfather--who himself died young in the conflict--she finds a young boy who is oddly familiar, and a group of people she can’t help but connect with.  As she grows close to Thomas and enveloped in his political struggles, Anne becomes terrified of her lack of control over the time she’s in, or the future she’s facing.  This is a time travel romance, as you’d probably guess.  And it’s really not super amazing or much to complain about.  There is fluff.  There are the necessary “out of time” moments, the tension between the hero and the heroine.  It does seem that Harmon did her research on the Irish political landscape of the 1920s--but I can’t verify the novel’s accuracy.  To be frank, I think that this actually got in the way of the story to an extent.  The amount of time Michael Collins took up in this novel, acting as like...  the best friend character?  Was a bit awkward.  Otherwise, it’s a fluffy, nice read.

The Unhoneymooners by Christina Lauren.  3/5.  Olive and Ethan hate each other, which is awkward as his brother is marrying her sister.  But after the entire wedding party--save Olive and Ethan--end up with food poisoning, they agree to go on the honeymoon trip together, to save it from being completely wasted.  The plan on avoiding each other the entire time; but when Olive encounters her future boss at the resort and tells what seems to be a white lie, they end up having to impersonate newlyweds.  You can probably guess what happens next!  Christina Lauren books usually feature protagonists with a fun, sweet chemistry, and this novel is no exception.  The beach setting and Olive and Ethan’s angsty, unresolved sexual tension makes most of this book a super fun read.  The only reason why I didn’t give it 4/5 is that the last twenty percent or so really annoyed me.  There is a very typical twist, which wasn’t the problem--how our male lead reacted to it was.  It didn’t ruin the book, but it did make me much less likely to give it a wholehearted recommendation.

Lock Every Door by Riley Sager.  5/5.  After losing her job and breaking up with her live-in boyfriend, Jules is desperate for money and a place to stay.  As luck would have it, she stumbles upon an opportunity that offers both.  The Bartholomew is an old building, populated by the wealthy elite; and Jules has long idolized it as the setting of one of her favorite childhood books.  When the apartments are in between owners, their inherent value makes them targets for thieves--which is why the building’s managers employ apartment sitters.  Jules is offered $12,000 to live in an apartment for three months; and despite her wariness, she can’t turn that kind of offer down.  But when her newfound friend and fellow apartment sitter Ingrid goes missing, Jules sets on to a horrifying search for answers, which yield far more than she’s bargained for.  It’s official: I really do love Riley Sager books.  He’s 3/3 so far, and this one just may be my favorite.  Sager isn’t shy about drawing from classic horror tropes, and this novel is no exception--it owes a good bit to Rosemary’s Baby and The Shining.  But of course, another totally out there twist is thrown in, making the story his own.  I can’t say much without spoiling it.  But if you love thrillers and horror, try it.  What pushes the book over the edge for me is that it has a real point about today’s class systems, and the privileges of wealth and the victimization of the poor in America.

The Flatshare by Beth O’Leary.  4/5.  Following a disastrous breakup, Tiffy needs a flat, and badly.  So when she sees the ad posted by Leon, she’s desperate enough to take it.  As Tiffy is an assistant editor and Leon is a night nurse, they have different schedules.  They live in the flat together and even share a bed--though they sleep on opposite sides--but never see each other, communicating through notes left about the apartment.  At first, it’s stiff--but gradually, as they learn more about one another and their separate troubles (from Tiffy’s obsessive ex to Leon’s incarcerated brother) they begin to rely on each other for more than just room and board...  This is a really fucking cute, very sweet romantic comedy that touches on deeper subjects than you might think.  The way through which Tiffy and Leon connect is pretty unique, and I felt for both of them.  They were pleasant without being annoyingly perfect, and I just had a great time with the novel.

War by Laura Thalassa.  4/5.  As the apocalypse rages on, Miriam struggles to live in an Israel ravaged by the literal War--that is, the horseman of the apocalypse.  When the supernatural warlord stumbles across her in the battlefield, he’s taken aback by her own fury, and declares that she was sent by God to be his wife.  Thrown in with War and his followers, Miriam is exposed to the true horror of the battlefield--while also learning that there may be more to War’s purpose, and her connection with him, than she thought.  This is the sequel to Pestilence, and part of a big fat series about women falling in love with the four horsemen of the apocalypse.  And I love them.  War is a surprisingly endearing hero, though Thalassa never shies away from how brutal the horsemen are--which I so appreciate.  You never forget that War isn’t a human, however you may love him.  Miriam is another fun heroine, and one of those lovely characters who is honestly quite softhearted but still aggressive and never weak.  It’s a cheesy romance novel, and it’s exactly what you should read right now, immediately.

Sorcery of Thorns by Margaret Rogerson.  3/5.  Elisabeth is a foundling, raised in the Great Library of Austermeer to take care of its magical grimoires.  When the library is attacked and its most powerful grimoire unleashed, Elisabeth is implicated in the crime.  Sent to the capital to be dealt with, she becomes wrapped up in a conspiracy, with only a suspicious sorcerer to rely upon.  I adored Rogerson’s first novel (An Enchantment of Ravens), and I wish I’d loved this one more.  It was well-written, and the characters were interesting, but I just found the story a bit hard to get caught up in.  Honestly, I think this had less to do with the plot itself and more to do with the pacing and length of the book.  It took way too long for things to get started, and things just moved too slowly for my taste.  However, I do think that tons of people will LOVE this book--if sorcery and slow burns are up your alley, go for it!

On the Island by Tracey Garvis Graves.  2/5.  Thirty-year-old Anna is happy to take a dream teaching job--she’s tutoring the nearly-seventeen year old T.J. as his family vacations over the summer in the Maldives.  Flying separately from the rest of the group, Anna and T.J. are thrown off course when their pilot has a heart attack and crashes into the sea, leaving the two of them trapped on an isolated island.  As the years pass and Anna and T.J. survive together, they come to face the reality of a new world--and their changing feelings.  I had to read this for the what the fuck factor, basically?  To clarify, nothing happens between the leads until the guy is almost nineteen, and by then they’ve been alone for so long that it’s honestly pretty understandable.  I feel like this could have been great, trashy fun and it still kind of was, but the writing was so........................................  Not great?  It was really clunky and really awkward, and the characters kept repeating things to each other that didn’t need to be repeated.  The dialogue took me out more than anything else.  But I don’t know, I wasn’t disengaged?  It’s a spectacle of a book.

The Royal Secret by Lucinda Riley.  3/5.  After the death of acting legend Sir James Harrison, reporter Joanna is set to cover his funeral.  There, she meets a mysterious older woman, who sets her on a path to uncover a secret that has been hidden for more than seventy years--connected to the royal family.  I don’t have much to say about this one.  It intrigued me because it was actually published a little over 20 years ago, but due to the timing--it was written when the royal family was at a peak low in terms of popularity, but published right around the time that the popularity took an upswing--it did rather poorly.   It was an interesting enough read, but never grabbed me. The characters felt disconnected and bland, and ultimately the thriller aspects were pretty light, or maybe just not the types that I enjoy.  It’s not a bad book, but it’s also not for me.  

Three Women by Lisa Taddeo.  2/5.  This non-fiction book follows three women throughout the years, focusing on their varied sex lives.  This just wasn’t for me.  Other people will love it, but I was looking for something less...  intentionally poetic.  I wanted it to be more honest and upfront and analytical.  

The Last Leonardo: The Secret Lives of the World’s Most Expensive Painting by Ben Lewis.  4/5.   An account of the history of Salvator Mundi, the allegeded Leonardo da Vinci work sold for $450 million.  Lewis writes in an engaging manner, revealing both the painting’s history and the case for and against it being a Leonardo--and what I really love too is his examination of the questions surrounding its value even if it is a Leonardo, considering the painting’s extensive restoration (which could have arguably taken away from the artist’s original hand) and its general quality compared to other works by Leonardo.  I’m not sure if people who aren’t into art history or at least history would be into this, but I found Lewis’s skepticism and reserve regarding the topic weirdly refreshing.  I have a lot of feelings about Salvator Mundi, and I appreciated the way he communicated his.

The Descendant of the Crane by Joan He.  4/5.  After the death of her father, Hesina is left as the heir to the throne.  The issue?  She thinks that her father was murdered--and in her pursuit of the truth, she seeks help from a sooth, one of the magic-users forbidden by the Eleven, the wise people who restructured the kingdom years ago.  She is then set to work with Akira, a thief who’s meant to represent her in court as she struggles to find the killer--but ends up on a path that will reveal more than she’d bargained for.  It’s hard to not spoil this one?  It has many twists and turns, to the point that it did get kind of convoluted (and the ending is far from resolved, though there’s no guarantee of a sequel). But I admire He’s ambition and the scope of the story.  I hope we do get a follow-up!

[allisondraste]

Convalescence (2/5)

Chapter 2: It’s Poetic

Story Summary: It has been four months since the Blight ended, and four months since Alistair and Lucia have seen each other. Relationships are hard, especially when there is no certainty that one still exists. (Sequel to “Let Me Go”)

Chapter Summary:  It is a lot easier for Lucia to deal with the affairs of the wardens than to deal with the affairs of the heart. It takes a friend to help her care for herself.

Pairings: Alistair x F!Amell, Alistair x F!Non-Warden Cousland, Nathaniel Howe x F!Non-Warden Cousland

[AO3 LINK]

Chapter 1

The crisp morning air tingled against Lucia’s face as she stood atop the battlements overlooking the Keep, her Keep.  Unable to sleep, as was her custom more nights than not, she had wandered outside in only her light linen leggings and tunic, hoping that the biting Fereldan wind would numb her heart and quiet her mind as it numbed her nose and fingertips.  It was a foolish notion, but one that gave her some measure of comfort more than tossing and turning in a bed that was too large for one person. Lucia liked the cold, anyway. It reminded her of her travels, the Frostback Mountains, and campfires with songs and stories over them.  It was the most at home she could feel at Vigil’s Keep.

Warden-Commander Amell. Hero of Ferelden Amell. She still shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her titles and the responsibility that they placed upon her.  The Keep had formerly belonged to the traitorous Rendon Howe and his family, but was seized and gifted to the Grey Wardens to honor their sacrifices for the Fereldan people.  It was a place to rebuild their presence and heal from the Blight that had nearly destroyed them. Since Lucia’s arrival multiple wardens had been successfully joined and those loyal to the wardens’ cause had volunteered their time and funds to insure that the fortress was nearly impenetrable .  And it was. The Keep withstood a siege of sentient darkspawn and allowed Lucia and her fellow wardens to save the city of Amaranthine. Her Keep and her wardens were something of which she should be proud. Yet she felt nothing but guilt.

Lucia had read the tales of Blights past, of noble heroes riding their griffon steeds to slay the Old Gods whose awakening caused the darkspawn to rise to the surface.  Five times in written history had this occurred, and in all but one instance, the Grey Warden who slayed the corrupted creature did so at the cost of their life. It was a hero’s sacrifice, one that Lucia did not make.  No, instead she had allowed two people she loved more than herself to make a sacrifice for her. Everybody lived, but at what cost? It seemed that everything had only worsened since she had slain the dragon. There were days, like this one, when she wondered if the world would have been better off if she had died in the typical Blight Hero fashion.

Then she thought of Alistair.  They had fought tirelessly under this same sky to gain the allegiance of the Dwarves, Dalish, and Circle of Magi.  Together they won the support of the landsmeet, the favor of the queen, and ended a Blight before it really even started.  Just the two of them alone had accomplished what it had taken armies and over a decade to do during the Fourth Blight. They had come to love one another during that hardship, an unwise decision, but one she could not bring herself to regret.  Alistair would have never let her make the sacrifice. At least this way, with Morrigan’s ritual, he had been allowed to live.

Lucia leaned forward against the parapet, elbows resting on the cold, rough stone.  She twirled the shriveled remains of a white rose between her thumb and index finger, and allowed herself a bitter, tearful laugh.  There were more wardens now than there ever had been since her joining, more people who would risk life and limb for her and her cause, yet she had never felt more alone than she did in this moment.  No matter how many bands of talking darkspawn into which she flung herself, nor how many duties she carried, she could not shake the memory of the last conversation she had with him.

She had been in a bad place, they both had.  She knew that they needed time and distance from the pain to heal, and freedom to work through an enormous grief in their own ways.  At the time, she had not been certain there was a future to be had with him. It was difficult to see past the demons in her head with whispers of an escape from the suffering and promises of contentedness.  Whispers and promises that sounded more like screams to her desperate heart.

Without a doubt, her choice to leave had been for the best.  However, the manner in which she left and the choice to not write him, not even once, were not.  She didn’t know how she expected him to react when he found her attempting to sneak away without a goodbye.  She didn’t know why she didn’t tell him she loved him before she left nor why she could not seem to remember how to write every time she picked up a quill and parchment.  What was she to say for herself anyway? That she was sorry for ripping his heart out, stomping on it, and running away because she was scared of what she had done? Knowing Alistair, though, he would have simply appreciated notice that she was alive.  

Hearing footsteps behind her, she wiped away a rogue tear that escaped down her cheek.  She turned to see a dark-haired man approaching her carrying a heavy woolen blanket. She furrowed her brows in confusion, wondering what Nathaniel could possibly want this early in the morning.

“Some of the guards saw you leave your quarters in the middle of the night, and were worried when you didn’t return.  I figured I might find you up here, attempting to freeze to death,” he remarked dryly as he draped the blanket around her shoulders.  “If you want to die, I can think of a hundred more noteworthy ways to go.”

“I’m not trying to freeze to death,” she retorted defensively, “I just… couldn’t sleep.”

“Troubled?”  Nathaniel’s tone changed, suggesting that he understood now was not a great time for banter.  He joined her in resting his elbows on the parapet.

“I’m fine.  Just… restless.” She looked straight ahead, not really focusing on anything in particular. It was a vain attempt to avoid his gaze. “You know, you’re an excellent commander, but a piss poor liar.”  He offered her a knowing look and his eyes flicked to the mummified rose in her hand.  “What’s that?” He nodded toward the flower.

“Its… my latest weapon of choice.”  She said, sarcasm enveloping her as a defensive barrier.

“A withered rose?”  His expression was a mix of amusement and irritation.

Lucia shrugged.  “It’s poetic.”

“Right.”  Nathaniel rolled his eyes in a display of insubordination that would have offended her had he not actually been more friend than fellow warden. “Permission to speak... candidly?”

“Always.”

“You think entirely too much.”

His remark caught her by surprise and she turned her head abruptly to look at him. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that I have seen you thumbing that rose with a sour look on your face every day since I’ve been here.” He was observant, she would grant him that much.  Either that, or she had been indiscreet. “That is a lot of thinking and looking miserable without doing anything about it.”

“It’s unwise to act without thinking things through,” she offered in her defense.  That was how she had always operated: consider all possible outcomes and make the best choice.  It was logical.

“Maybe so,” the other warden conceded, “But it is stupid to waste so much time thinking about the possibilities that you lose something important to you because you were too stubborn to act.”

“I don’t know what to do, Nathaniel!” She threw her hands up in exasperation.

“Well, what does your gut say?”

“My gut? But that’s not how I -” “What does it say,” he interrupted, pressing her to answer.

“I need to go to Denerim, “ she stated definitively, surprised by her own certainty.

“Then we are going to Denerim,” Nathaniel ordered as if he were her commander now. He probably should have been, if she were honest. “Come on.”

“Now?” Panic seized her at the prospect of Denerim and Alistair. As much rumination as she had engaged in about what she could have or should have done, she was wholly unprepared to face him.  She had no idea if he would even want to see her.

“Yes. Now.”  Nathaniel whirled around as he spoke, waving for her to follow. “I’m tired of you moping about.”

True to his word Nathaniel insisted that they leave at that instant, allowing her a half hour or so to pack her things and collect her hounds as she refused to travel without them.  It was morning, and a perfect time to embark, or so he said. It was a full day’s travel to the capital, and it was safer in the daylight. She wanted to resent him for pushing her to make the journey, however, she could be nothing but grateful because she did not think she could bring herself to do it alone.  For all the things she had faced over the past few months, possible rejection from Alistair was the most daunting. What if he wasn’t even there? Would that be worse than him being there and not wanting to see her? She couldn’t be sure.

As they reached the city, Nathaniel rode on inside, but Lucia stalled by the gates as the feeling of dread overwhelmed her.  Rune and Fang whimpered and growled at either side of her, causing the horse to stir anxiously. Mabari were indeed too smart for their own good.  They knew that she was dragging her feet, and they knew that she was sad. She could no longer fool anybody into thinking she was okay. Not even the dogs.

“I know, I know,” she whined, not sure why she should have to explain herself to them, “I’ll talk to him.  I just need to take my time.” Both hounds barked cheerfully, satisfied with her promise.

“Hurry up,” Nathaniel shouted from ahead of her, clearly not as satisfied by her words “I can hear you thinking back there.”

She groaned and urged her horse forward into the expanse of Denerim’s market district.  It looked so much different than the last time she had seen it, although admittedly it had been immediately following the battle.  Everything was burning and Darkspawn corpses littered the ground at every turn. It had taken days for the smell of carrion and smoke to leave her nostrils.  

Now, the district was teeming with the life she had always known it to have.  Children played in the streets and gasped in amazement as the wardens rode by.  Judging from the whispers of “That’s her!” and “The Hero of Ferelden is here!” she knew that there would be little hope of reaching the castle before word did.

As she expected, news of the wardens’ arrival reached the castle ahead of them, as Queen Anora sent servants out to greet them.  Stable workers took their horses as they dismounted, another servant took the dogs, and a young woman, who couldn’t have been more than fifteen stood by the door, a pleasant smile on her face.

“Her majesty is waiting for you in the throne room,” the girl said bowing her head.  

“Thank you,” Lucia said softly and Nathaniel nodded.

The doors to the palace opened into an open vestibule that was attached to the main hall.  Lucia and Nathaniel moved swiftly across the room and through the heavy wooden doors ahead of them.  The hall was just as Lucia remembered it, only there were fewer people and less chatter. Sunlight filtered in through large windows near the ceiling and a contingent of guards stood by the throne.  Queen Anora sat, posture erect and very proper, at the far end of the room. She stood when she noticed the pair of Wardens and began to approach them, leaving her guards behind to grumble.

“Warden-Commander,” she exclaimed, “This is a pleasant, if not unexpected surprise.”  She paused, her eyes darting toward Nathaniel, an amused expression spreading across her face.

“It has been some time, your majesty,” Nathaniel said fondly.

“Indeed it has, my friend.” Anora nodded and examined his armor, “You are a Grey Warden now?”

“Apparently,” he answered sarcastically, “I came home from Starkhaven to nothing but rumors of my father’s atrocities.  The commander saved me from the gallows. I owe her my life.”

“Don’t we all?”  Anora and Nathaniel shared a smile filled sorrow that only the children of the two most infamous traitors in the land could understand. Then, Anora turned her attention to Lucia again, “I presume you did not travel to the capital to exchange pleasantries.”

“No.” She looked down, examining the grey stone floor beneath her, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.  It wasn’t, but she didn’t want to meet Anora’s piercing gaze. “I’m here to see Alistair.”

“Alistair is not in Denerim at the moment,” Anora explained, her eyes expressing sympathy that crackled in her voice.

“Oh.” There was no hiding the disappointment that overwhelmed Lucia. It was foolish of her to assume he would be there waiting for her when she arrived. Time had not frozen in her absence, and she should have known better than to get her hopes up.“Where is he?”

“He left for Highever yesterday morning.  It wasn’t to be a long trip, but he will not be returning for a few days,” Anora answered, quickly adding,“Of course, you and Nathaniel are welcome to stay in the palace in the meantime.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” Nathaniel bowed his head in the first sign of reverence Lucia had seen from him thus far.  They must have known one another as children. There was a long-standing, mutual respect in the air between them that was wonderful to see.

The queen ordered for servants to show the two to their rooms, and Lucia just sighed solemnly. The anxiety of the moment lingered unresolved and buzzing about in her head.Several days of waiting was going to feel like a lifetime.  

“Are you all right,” Nathaniel asked, placing a hand on her shoulder and drawing her to the present.

“No.” She shook her head, releasing tears that clung to her lashes. “No I’m not”. It was the first time she had been truly honest with herself since she left.

Nathaniel gave her a few pats on the shoulder, his typical demonstration of support and sympathy.  In the midst of her emotions Lucia turned and embraced him tightly, both arms around his waist, and sobbed into his chest.  He tensed, shocked by the abrupt contact, but eased and returned the hug. She would later demand that he never tell another soul about this moment, but for now she needed comfort and he was a friend.

[kivaember]

Mor Dhona 99 Ch. 5

So, since tumblr is doing the whole ‘not showing links in the tab’ i’ll be posting my fic chapters wholesale on here. If you want to read on AO3 to leave a kudos or comment there, just follow the link to my AO3 profile on my tumblr, and you’ll find the fic updated there! 

But anyways, enjoy the fic!

Title: Mor Dhona 99 Fic Summary:  A series of oneshots following a new arrival to Eorzea's Public Relations and Animal Control Unit: Aza Lynel, renowned for outstanding service on keeping the peace on the Azim Steppes. He's dealt with monster nests, squabbling tribes and sharing the same house as his sister. Now, he's been transferred to the big city in Mor Dhona - with the realisation that werewolves have it a little more difficult here, than out on the Steppes back home... Chapter Title: The Wolfsbane Case Part 1 Chapter Summary: Aza and Estinien get called up to a farm called the Fogfens on a missing person case that just so happens to be a werewolf who didn’t come home after the full moon. It results in a whole can of dirty worms being dug up...

Estinien being visibly excited was the creepiest thing Aza had ever witnessed.

It didn’t help that they were both crammed in a police car, bouncing and bumping along a narrow, neglected country road towards one of the farms lay on the outskirts of the Gridanian border. Aza actually had to wear his uniform, rather than his biking leathers, and it made him feel deeply uncomfortable and exposed. It was nothing but cheap synthetic cotton, not thick, sturdy leather. A massive oversight on the uniform of a unit that regularly apprehended or fought dangerous monsters and magical creatures.

“I hate that you’re smiling,” Aza said when their vehicle squeaked through a near ninety-degree bend, the scratching of low hanging branches scraping across the roof making him cringe, “It’s freaking me out.”

“We’re finally doing something fun,” Estinien said, checking his sat nav to make sure they were still on the right route, “An actual investigation with promise of an arrest at the end.”

“You arrested someone two days ago,” Aza grumbled, “A shoplifter.”

“Yes, because that was incredibly exciting,” Estinien scoffed, “A bewildered Sylph that didn’t understand the concept of money. Technically, they traded vegetables for their items anyway, so it wasn’t even thieving.”

Right. The ‘Beast Tribes’, as they were derogatorily known as, still lived separate from Eorzean society. Occasionally you had a handful that lived in places like Limsa Lominsa, or Mor Dhona, but in the rest of the city states they were very unwelcome. Aza thought it a shame. They were interesting and knew very obscure and odd magics that most modern mages and witches had forgotten.

“What happened with that anyways?” Aza asked curiously. It was one of the rare times their role as Animal Control/Public Relations overlapped with the Constabulary, and the law tended to get very fuzzy and complicated when misunderstandings with Beast Tribes happened.

“The Adders stuck their noses into it, and I let them have it,” Estinien said, “What do I care about some Sylph? They didn’t harm anyone, so the Adders bailed them.”

Aza leaned back in his seat with a wry huff. He could always count of Estinien being equally dismissive of everyone, no matter their race, species or magical creature status. He didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing, considering Estinien’s job, but it was pleasantly refreshing at times.

“This might not have an arrest,” Aza warned, grunting when their car drove into a ford – there was a concrete bridge, but the waters had swelled enough to come rushing over the surface by a few ilms. White, foamy water splashed everywhere, “It might just be a waste of time.”

“Missing Persons are never a waste of time.”

Aza sighed, but slouched further in his seat. Truth be told, he wasn’t looking forward to this assignment for multiple reasons.

It was a simple one on the surface: it was two days after the last full moon of this month – something Aza was still feeling in his aching joints and stiff muscles – and the owner of Fogfens Farm, Blysslona Doesraelwyn, had filed a Missing Persons report for her son, Alyrloef, who was also a werewolf. Her son was reasonably mild-mannered during full moon, albeit not in full grasp of his mental faculties, but he was registered as a low threat to livestock and people if stumbled across in wolf-form, meaning he wasn’t required to be sedated or restrained. Blysslona, therefore, allowed Alyrloef to roam about her private lands, helping keep lookout for any feral werewolves that might try to steal livestock. He was normally gone for the full three days but came crawling back after the last full moon… except this time.

Aza, personally, had a bad feeling about it. Werewolves were unfailingly loyal, especially with those they deemed family, so it wasn’t as if Alyrloef would just fuck off for no good reason. The monster populations out in the sticks like this were dangerously high too, so it was highly likely that Alyrloef was dead. Killed by a monster, or a feral werewolf, a hunter or even another farmer by accident. It made his stomach knot up painfully at thinking of finding a corpse and having to present it to the poor boy’s mother.

“You’ve been in a right snit since Aymeric gave us this job,” Estinien finally asked when the silence turned a bit awkward between them, “What’s wrong?”

“Do you actually care?”

“I care if you’re going to be sulky for the whole bloody day.”

Aza groaned, but muttered, “He’s probably gonna be dead.”

“Rather pessimistic,” Estinien drawled, but he didn’t disagree, “Then we’ll offer closure to her. Either way, some sort of foul play has happened, and someone is at fault for it. It’s more exciting than chasing off ogres from Saint Coinach’s Find for the thirtieth fucking time.”

“Exciting’s not the word I’d use…” Aza sighed, but he said no more on the matter. This was why he preferred simple animal control than dealing with people. In fact, this wasn’t even his gig, but Aymeric thought Aza’s werewolf nature would make finding another werewolf easier – which was true, but still.

The bad feeling persisted.

---

Blysslona was a tall, stocky Roegadyn woman in her late forties. Her skin was a pale blue, dusted with navy freckles, and her hair was a thick, dark brown that she had scraped into a tight, no-nonsense bun. She looked rather weathered for her age, probably from working under the sun for hours on end, but her face was warm and welcoming enough when they turned up on her doorstep just before noon.

“You found the place alright, then,” Blysslona said, letting them inside her modest homestead. It was an old building, probably listed, with stone walls and a still thatched roof, held with a very thin metal mesh. It was warm inside though, a wood burner installed in the open fireplace of the living room practically spewing heat throughout the small cottage. Aza and Estinien were bustled onto the squashy sofa, and Blysslona excused herself to grab some tea for them, despite their protests. She was like a tornado of aggressive politeness, and all they could do was be helplessly swept up in it.

“Alyrloef is in a lot of these photos,” Estinien commented as they heard Blysslona bustle loudly in presumably the kitchen. He tilted his head to one large photograph, framed and fitted above the fireplace – a large, strapping Roegadyn lad with a strong resemblance to Blysslona in a Maelstrom uniform, with his name and date of service etched at the bottom. Five years in the Limsan Lominsan navy, left sometime last year.

“His scent is everywhere,” Aza agreed. The lingering smell of a foreign werewolf itched his senses, but he easily ignored it. Clearly, on the surface at least, Alyrloef lived here comfortably with his mother, though he was curious why he had left the Maelstrom to move in with his mother on a farm in the middle of nowhere. Vylbrand was far from here too, so odd…

“Here we are,” Blysslona said, marching in with a tray of teacups and a plate of biscuits. She set them on the coffee table before them and eased into an armchair opposite them. She was smiling, but Aza could see a tightness about her mouth, dark smudges under her eyes that spoke of restless sleep. She smelled stressed too, even though she put up a brave face about it.

“Thank you,” Aza said, because Estinien couldn’t be trusted to be polite. There a brief pause where they took their respective tea cups and tried to figure out a tactful way to begin the not-interrogation. Blysslona was the last person to see Alyrloef, so…

“So,” Blysslona broke the silence, “I guess you’ll be wanting to ask questions?”

Aza felt deeply relieved at her breaking the ice, and Estinien took lead in the conversation from here.

“We’ve read the details in the missing person report you submitted,” Estinien said, “But it’s best we go over the information with you, to ensure everything is correct, or if you have remembered something since then…”

Aza leaned back in his seat, observing as Estinien mildly grilled Blysslona. When did you last see your son? How was he during that time? Has he ever expressed interest in travelling? Was he happy here? Did he have any known enemies? Any disputes or disagreements with anyone? Anyone threaten him recently? Neighbouring farmers knew to recognise him in wolf form? Etcetera, etcetera.

Nothing new was shed. Blysslona said she last saw him before the first full moon and knew she wouldn’t see him until the end of the last one so hadn’t been worried about his disappearance initially. She didn’t know where he went during the days, but over the past year he always came back, so she never thought much about it. Alyrloef was friendly, well known to her fellow farmers and appreciated, as he guarded the livestock here from monsters and feral werewolves during the full moon. He was happy here, ever since quitting the Limsan navy, and had expressed interest in inheriting the farm when Blysslona got too old to mange it herself.

Aza mulled over this.

“Did he ever say why he quit the navy?” he asked curiously, something about that nagging him.

Blysslona looked surprised at the question, “Oh, well, he said it weren’t for him. They’re very accepting of werewolves in Vylbrand, but even then, they don’t have many career options because of the full moon, you see. So, he quit and came back here.”

Interesting. The Limsan Navy was very progressive and open to working around the lunar cycle for werewolves, provided they were controllable and mild like Alyrloef were. He might not have had a clear shot at, say, an admiralty like a normal person would have, but he still had a good chance of at least commanding a ship if he excelled in his job – with some limitations to ensure safety, of course.

“One more thing,” he continued, “The three days he’s gone for the full moon, you genuinely don’t know where he goes?”

“No clue,” Blysslona insisted, “I thought he just went and slept in the woods somewhere, like wolves do.”

Unlikely. Any werewolf during the days of their full moon wouldn’t pass up a chance to crawl into a warm, comfortable bed and be fussed over by family. You felt ill, achy and rotten when you shifted back during the day, the body strained and burnt out from the effort of shifting forms in such an unnatural way. Alyrloef had to go somewhere to wait out the days, because lying out in the woods in a weakened state would just make him monster food.

But that begged the question: why did he go elsewhere, and why didn’t he tell his mother? It was a mystery that piqued his interest.

“We’ll look at his room – if you don’t mind,” Estinien added belatedly, “See if we can turn up any clues there. We will then examine the immediate surroundings. Depending on what we find, we might have to bring up a full search team up here.”

“Knock yourself out,” Blysslona said, “So long as you find my boy, I don’t care if you rip up the floorboards and turn everything out of my house for clues.”

So, with that strong approval, Estinien and Aza took their tea and wandered over to Alyrloef’s room. It was small, large enough for a bed, wardrobe and two dressers. The curtains were open, letting them see the small garden brimming with all kinds of herbs and flowers. There were Limsan Navy paraphernalia hanging on walls, odd, foreign knickknacks on his shelves and dresser tops… it smelled very lived in, even if the man hadn’t visited it in almost a week. Nothing stood out as suspicious, and if anything, looked as if Alyrloef had fully intended to come back.

“What’re you thinking?” Estinien asked him where they stared at his room for a good, long moment, as if expecting Alyrloef to leap out from under the bed.

Aza didn’t immediately reply, because he could smell… something sharp. It almost stung his nose, and he turned, slowly, towards the bedside dresser with a frown. Setting his tea aside on the dresser, and ignoring Estinien’s inquiring noise, he pulled the drawer open – sitting at the bottom of it, wrapped up in thing clingfilm, were the purple flowers of aconitum.

Or, better known as wolfsbane.

“Oh, hello…” Aza mumbled, studying the plant for a long moment before gingerly picking it up by the clingfilm, taking care not to touch it. He’d rather not be rushed to hospital today, “Why does he have this?”

“Wolfsbane?” Estinien loomed over his shoulder to get a good look, “Self-medicating, perhaps?”

“Hmm…” Aza set the plant down on the dresser and dug into the drawer again. He found two more clingfilmed bunches of wolfsbane, as well as a large pot of activated charcoal. Aza wasn’t confused as to how he got these – farmers used activated charcoal as pesticides and disinfectant, and wolfsbane grew thick and fast around the Fogfens due to its proximity to the Tangle, a wet marshland where most of the moisture drained into. It would be easy enough for Alyrloef to gather these, but why?

Wolfsbane was poisonous to everyone, full stop. Normal people would die without medical intervention if they ingested it, but the effect was a little different with werewolves. If applied correctly, wolfsbane could actually delay the transformation, or ensure the wolf was so sluggish and weak that they weren’t a threat to anyone. The sedatives the government issued contained wolfsbane, for example. It was like, a medically approved poisoning that left you with a thumping headache and weeklong diarrhoea but was reasonably safe.

However, you had to fit a specific criterion to be freely given those sedatives and purchasing them outright was obscenely expensive – more expensive than a farmer can afford anyways. So, you ended up with some who wanted the safety of a sedative, but too poor to pay for pills, self-medicating instead. Sometimes it worked, sometimes the werewolf died, but also…

“He doesn’t need to self-medicate,” Aza said slowly, “His file says his wolf form is calm enough without needing sedatives.”

“But maybe he thinks he needs them.”

Aza bit his thumbnail, thinking. Yeah, probably. Something could have happened that made him doubt his control, but surely Blysslona would have mentioned it? Or… maybe not. Eorzea was very strict on werewolves that ‘acted out’, which was… understandable, considering they were superhumanly strong and could easily kill or infect a man with a single bite. Any sign of a violent temperament in wolf form would have their freedoms restricted in a heartbeat to ensure public safety.

It was chafing, but Aza understood such caution. It didn’t mean he liked it.

“Let’s take a look outside,” Estinien said, nudging his shoulder, “Come on, K-9.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Aza huffed, but he obediently followed him out of the bedroom, leaving the wolfsbane behind.

---

Outside was thick with the stink of farm, and it took Aza a good hour before he found Alyrloef’s scent on the very outskirt of a pasture, on an animal trail leading into one of the thick woods that surrounded Fogfens Farm.

“We can follow it for a bit now,” Aza said as they dithered on the edge of the woods, “The scent is a few days old, so I don’t want to leave it any longer before it vanishes completely. It’s meant to rain tonight, after all.”

Estinien said nothing for a moment, clearly thinking it over. The Fogfens had a high density of dangerous monsters – wildlife kept at bay only by the electric fences and ‘anti-monster crystals’ that marked out the inhabited boundaries of the farms. Aza was confident he could deal with anything out here, even in Miqo’te form, but Estinien was a little squishier and lightly armed.

“We’ll follow it for a bit,” Estinien decided, patting his hip to ensure his firearm was there, “I’m not geared up for a proper fight, though, so we’ll… ugh, be cautious.”

Aza coughed over a laugh at Estinien’s open disdain, and they trudged into the wood along the animal path. Alyrloef’s scent was faint, masked by rotting vegetation and blooming flowers, but Aza kept on it, noting that the woods got quieter and quieter the deeper they went, until it became ominously still and silent.

So, Aza stopped.

“Something wrong?” Estinien immediately asked, looking a bit tense himself. He must have picked up on the unnatural silence too.

“Yes,” Aza said slowly, staring at a fallen long lying next to the narrow path. The trees crowded in thick, its dark green canopy sheltering them from the afternoon sun, as stinging nettles and stubborn ferns overgrew the animal trail at their feet. The overhead leaves cast everything into a dark shadow, making it difficult to see more than ten fulms into the woods – which was fine, Aza wasn’t afraid of dark woods, but the silence…

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and a primal instinct reared its head and growled.

“It’s very quiet,” Aza murmured, turning his head this way and that, his nostrils flaring as he took in the surrounding smells. Wet, earthy, rotting… a very faint undercurrent of decay. He assumed it was vegetation, but- no, there was something wrong with it. The silence was downright oppressive now – blanketing everything until his ears almost rang with it. No birdsong, no chattering animal calls, no distant howls of monsters. Nothing.

Alyrloef’s scent was still here, though. Faint.

Aza turned away.

“Let’s go back,” he said in a no-nonsense tone, “Now.”

For once, Estinien decided not to be contrary. He took one look at whatever expression Aza was making and nodded sharply, one hand lingering on his firearm as they quickly backtracked. As they walked, life returned to the woods the further away they went from that dead spot, tentative at first, then more natural. It was warmer too, and Aza belatedly realised that it had been freezing in that too quiet place, biting cold and intensely pressured.

Neither of them spoke until they were on the outskirts of the wood, able to see Blysslona’s cottage with smoke coming out of its chimney, and then lingered on the boundary, warily eyeing the woods behind them with open caution now.

“That was fucked up,” Estinien said mildly, his mouth pinched as he stared back into the trees with his shoulders tensed, “What the hell was that?”

“No idea, but I didn’t like it,” Aza muttered, rubbing his cold hands together, “Alyrloef’s scent led there, though, to… whatever that dead spot was.”

“Okay,” Estinien pinched the bridge of his nose, took in a breath, and let it out, “Shit. This is going to involve Voidsent, isn’t it?”

Aza didn’t say anything. The hairs on the back of his neck were still prickling, like they brought back whatever had been in the dead spot with them. He looked about them, keenly feeling the aether about him, but it was brimming with life and was untouched and pristine. They must’ve caught the attention of what was whatever in those woods though.

“Are there any stories about the Fogfens?” Aza finally asked, “Horror stories or anything?”  

“Just the usual rubbish,” Estinien replied, “There are one or two horror films based on the Fogfens, about some crazed slasher running around terrorising university students camping in there, or something.”

Aza gave Estinien an odd look, wondering why the hell students would go camping in a monster-infested wood. Eorzeans were so weird.  

“Are they based on true stories?”

“They’re based on some idiot getting eaten by a roaming Behemoth or feral werewolves because they thought it’d be a brilliant idea to hike through the woods without even a firearm,” Estinien said shortly, “Happens every year.”

“I see,” Aza frowned, wondering if it really was death by wildlife, or death by Voidsent that made it look like wildlife, “I’m gonna call Aym, see what he has to say about this.”

“Oh, it’s Aym now, is it?” Estinien mocked lightly, but he trudged after Aza as they made their way back to Blysslona’s cottage.

As they walked, Aza mulled over everything. First was Alyrloef and his suspicious circumstances. A werewolf that was low-threat, self-medicating himself with wolfsbane in a dangerous manner, and who also vanished for the entirety of the full moon without telling anyone where he’d be. Then there was the dead spot in the woods, that just made his skin crawl remembering it, and Alyrloef’s scent leading straight to it. If he was in werewolf form, he couldn’t have just bumbled into it. Instincts were sharp then, overwhelming, and everything about that dead spot screamed wrong. No self-respecting werewolf would willingly walk into it.

…

Unless that wolf was very sick, poisoned in fact, and their senses dulled and sluggish…

It was as if Aza had the pieces in his hands, but they wouldn’t fully connect as he tried to understand this whole situation. There were too many questions – why was Alyrloef self-medicating? Where the fuck did he go on full moons? What the hell was that dead spot? Had it always been there? And if it was a Voidsent…

Fuck. He really hoped it wasn’t a Voidsent.

They both piled into their car parked outside Blysslona’s cottage when they reached it, and Estinien turned the heater on full blast when they got in. It helped banish the unnatural chill that lingered over them from their, in retrospect, ill-advised romp through the clearly haunted woods.

“I bet the farm woman knows about it,” Estinien said abruptly as Aza activated his linkpearl.

“What, the haunted woods?” Aza muttered, half-listening as he connected a call to Aymeric.  

“If this was a horror film,” Estinien said, “She would be involved in some way. The killer, or the Voidsent herself, or something.”

Aza rolled his eyes and didn’t bother dignifying that with a response.

“… Aymeric de Borel speaking.”

“Hey, Aym, it’s me,” Aza greeted, “You got a free moment?”

“Not really, but I’ll take any excuse to procrastinate from my castle of paperwork,” Aymeric said dryly, “Do you need something?”

“Kinda. Some spooky shit is happening up here, and…”

Aza relayed everything he and Estinien had learned and experienced, with Estinien occasionally interjecting a comment here and there. By then the car had became sweltering, so Aza flicked off the heater and cranked the window, the noise of livestock filtering through the gap. Overhead, dark, greyish clouds started to gather.

“I see…” Aymeric sounded troubled, “Voidsent require a specialist to deal with. They don’t fall under Public Relations or Animal Control for a lot of reasons.”

“We’ll have to call in the Thaumaturges,” Estinien grumbled, sounding beyond sour about this, “To examine the dead spot, at least. We can’t fully investigate Alyrloef’s disappearance until we’re sure that a Voidsent won’t try to crawl up our asses during it.”

“Thaumaturges?” Aza parroted, “Who’re they?”

“The creepy Lalafels on floor five that take Goth way too far.”

Oh. Them.

“I’ll lodge a request for Cocobuki to go up to Fogfens at the earliest opportunity,” Aymeric said, “Though, that might take a few days to process…”

Which didn’t bode well for Alyrloef’s already dangerously slim chances of being found alive or sound of mind, “Isn’t there an emergency Voidsent response team or something?”

“The Thaumaturges are already stretched thin themselves,” Aymeric sighed, “Considering this Voidsent is dwelling deep in the woods that has no civilian foot traffic, they would deem it low priority.”

“And the missing person?” Estinien asked mildly.

“Has been missing for several days already,” Aymeric sounded almost apologetic now, “You know how they would view it.”

Aza frowned but said nothing, an almost tense silence falling between them. Yeah, no doubt the Thaumaturges would go in under the assumption that they would be searching for a corpse, rather than a living person, and bodies could keep for a bit. It was a very bitter pill to swallow, and despite Aza understanding the reasoning of it all… he wasn’t happy with it.

“Guess it’s back to base,” Estinien said, sounding very put-out that the day had ended on an anti-climactic note, “Can’t do anything until Cocobuki gets his ass out here to take a look.”

“Right,” Aza mumbled.

“I’ll try to inject some urgency into the request,” Aymeric said quietly, “Cocobuki owes me a favour, so we’ll see how it goes.”

“Thanks, Aym,” Aza said, and after a round of goodbyes disconnected the call. He slumped in his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose. That bad feeling was still lingering but, there was nothing he could do now, was there? If this was back home, on the Steppe, a whole bunch of him and his mates would already be charging into the woods to beat the shit out of the Voidsent, but Eorzea was so tangled up in procedure and red tape that it throttled any attempt to do good.

If Aza hadn’t been a werewolf, he might’ve tried to be a loose cannon, do his own thing like Estinien did from time to time. But he was a werewolf, and that meant try as he might, he had to stick with procedure no matter how stifling. Aymeric and Estinien could only protect him so much, and that was when he stayed in his lane.

“I’ll tell the farm woman we have to bring in a specialised team,” Estinien cut into the silence. His voice was gruff, but the offer was oddly kind, “You can drive back.”

“Oh, yay,” Aza said dully, but was internally relieved. He didn’t want to go to Blysslona and break the news that her son might potentially most definitely be dead or in the thrall of a Voidsent. He was a bit of a coward like that, “Fine. Hurry back.”

Estinien grunted but shoved his way out of the vehicle. Aza clambered over the gearbox to sit in the driver’s side, and muttered as he had to adjust the seat so his feet could even reach the pedals. He technically knew how to drive a vehicle, but last time he did was for his driving test last year, in preparation for this job in Eorzea, but, eh, it’ll be fine, he’s sure.

He glanced out of the window, his ear twitching when a few fat drops of water started hitting the windscreen. Here came the rain, and with it, the disappearance of Alyrloef’s scent.

Aza could still vaguely see the treeline of the woods from the car – nothing more than a dark, looming shape beyond the farm’s fence. It looked innocuous, but now that his instincts were attuned to it, there was a pulse of threat emanating from it, something that made him tighten his fingers on the steering wheel and his inner wolf bare its fangs.

Yet, for a moment – his gaze sharpened when he saw sudden movement at the treeline, too big to be a deer. It looked like, was that a werewol-

He almost leapt right out of his seat when the passenger door was wrenched open, and Estinien tumbled back in cussing and blinding. Aza looked away, to see his co-worker get hilariously stuck when he tried to wedge his legs under the dashboard but couldn’t because Aza had the seat draw up close to it.

“What the- you damn midget,” Estinien hissed, contorting into a weird posture as he tried to grab the seat adjuster.

“Heh,” Aza shamelessly sniggered at him, not moving to help in the slightest, “Looking a bit uncomfortable there, Esty.”

“Fuck you.”

Leaving Estinien be as the man finally managed to wrench his seat back enough to properly sit in it, and finally close the door against the wind, Aza glanced back over towards the treeline. The thing he thought he saw was no longer there, and it was just a simple, dark woods once more.

Aza shook it off and turned the engine on.

“Back to base?” he asked lightly.

“Back home, more like,” Estinien grumbled, buckling his seatbelt and leaning back, “Wake me up when we get there.”

“Aye, aye,” Aza muttered, but he put the car in reverse and started the slow, shaky journey back home.

---

And from the dark treeline, nestling in the cold shadows of its low hanging leaves, a large wolf watched them go.

[main-force-patrol]

Autotomy Chapter 5 - One of Them

After a traumatic day, Roop breaks down in front of his mother. She brings up some old memories that could change his life and outlook forever.

Chapter 5 - One of Them

When I got home that night, Mum asked about my day; I hugged her a little longer than usual, a little tighter. I can’t bear the thought of leaving everyone I know and love. Not for power, not for vengeance, not for justice. If I had to choose between justice and my mum, I’d choose my mum.

When I pulled away, she reached up to cradle my face. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

I looked past her and shook my head. Hold it in; you’re her happiness. Don’t let her know. Don’t be a burden.

But the feelings came crashing through, relentless as the tide against the rocks. No matter how hard I tried to be One of Them, I wasn’t a man that could handle seeing his old friend splayed out across the bitumen and dismiss it as a quirk of fate. I wasn’t the kind of man who could go home and fuck his wife after that. I don’t even have a wife, and if I did, I wouldn’t wanna leave her for revenge. The rest of Them are right - I’m not man enough for this job. I don’t think I want to be.

Looking past her, I broke and told her about the truckie and someone’s kid. I told her about Bubba, and Jessie, alone except for the machines that breathe for her; about Rockatansky and all he threw away. She touched my arm; her warmth seeped into my skin. And I became the crying person. In front of her, there were no pretenses. No being a man to keep up my image. From day one, she’d seen me and loved me through the most vulnerable times in my life; this was no exception. I was lost in a rush of fear and insecurity and anger and regret all crashing down at once and spilling everywhere.

She knew to hold me; she knew not to say don’t cry. Mum has always been the opposite of dad, and for that I’m eternally grateful. Even their blood types didn’t want to mix; mum’s O- and dad’s A+ clashed, and left their first six pregnancies miscarried. He blamed her for it; he said she was killing his children. Then I was born with O- blood like hers. And he blamed her for it; from every cell in my body, I was too much like her. No matter what I did, they fought. I blamed myself.

“Mum?” I couldn’t bear to look her in the eye. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Her calloused hand took mine. “I understand.”

“No, no, you don’t. I’m sorry, you don’t.” I had to take a deep breath before I let it all come spilling out. “I’ve done shit – some real bad shit. I was scared, I though I could fix things. I thought I was protecting us. I thought it was a good idea.”

She furrowed her brow. I knew I’d said too much.

But I just kept barreling through. “But I didn’t know what I was doing, and if I keep this shit up… I’m gonna end up like Max. I’m gonna get us all killed.”

I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. “I was drunk on power. And I fucking liked it.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see her blinking. Unadulterated, awkward silence smoldered beneath the surface.

“Rafael, all I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

My heart sunk. I have failed her by feeling something other than joy.

“I don’t even know what I enjoy anymore.”

“It sounds to me like you enjoy power.” When she said that, I shuddered at how dreadful it sounded. But she continued, “…We need to find you another position where you have power.”

I shook my head. “I’m the tiger that’s tasted human blood. They get a taste, you know? And they can never go back.” I took a moment wallow in the implications of that.

“You know… You can find other ways to express power.”

 What does that even mean?

“Remember that time we went to Aunt Barb’s for Christmas?” Mum asked.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s where you got Tiny Tim!” She said it like it should’ve rung a bell in my mind.

“What does he have to do with any of this?

She laughed. “She tore her kitchen apart over that mouse!”

“Yeah,” I shook my head; couldn’t help but crack a smile. Even though she had a dozen cats, her house was infested with mice. “It was like Armageddon over there, like nuclear launch codes fell into the hands of enemy spies.”

“I swear she’d downed three glasses of wine before lunch.” Mum said, snickering. “She had snap traps everywhere. I was terrified you were gonna lose a finger.”

“See, that’s the part that I remember the most. Just… Death everywhere.” I couldn’t tell you a damn thing about what I got for Christmas. “All the mice in the traps.”

She smiled. “Except for one.”

“Yeah. That was Tim; poor lil’ guy. Chewed through his ankle to escape.”

I can still see the dried, brown blood soaked into the wooden trap and the crumpled little foot caught within it.

“And you’re the one who found him.” She had my hand, but I still couldn’t follow. “Nothing was stopping you from handing him over to Barb - but you didn’t.” She paused. The words sunk in. “Why?”

When I found Tiny Tim, it was the first time I ever remember lying. I really sold it to Aunt Barb, made up some bullshit about feeling sick and throwing up, and that I needed mum’s help. And as soon as I was alone with mum, I showed her what I’d found. From my pocket, I took out a slick, shivering gray bean that bled; it had a limp tail thinner than spaghetti, half-lidded eyes that blinked in a daze, and heartbeat I could feel on my palm. And yeah, he chewed through walls. He ate garbage. But to little me, he was a fellow traveler fighting against the odds in an unfair world; to me, his life held value, no matter what anyone said or thought.

And though he didn’t know it, he repaid me tenfold. It was more than the simple joy of watching him shuck sunflower seeds. With every lopsided step on his wheel, he showed me a life damaged but not broken, a survivor in the face of pain, fear, and uncertainty. He learned to trust and eat from my hand; I felt I was forgiven for the cruelty of my kind.

“I couldn’t let that kind of willpower die in vain.” I rubbed my eyes.

“That’s right. And you didn’t let that happen. You gave him a good life.” She fought to make eye contact, and I relented. “See? That’s power, too.”

Through red, puffy eyes and a runny nose, I smiled.

I could have left him. I could have crushed his body in my fist. I could have been praised for catching the one that got away. But I didn’t. I saw a chance to make things better, to tip the scales away from suffering.

“Great, I’ll find all the three-legged mice in Australia.” I said, chuckling. But I knew she was right. I didn't have to find power in putting someone down; there's strength in lifting others up.

[ladyofmind]

July... Oh, July

Where did you go?

Seems like it was just the other day that I got home from that weekend trip and tried to find my routine again. Yes, I didn’t post much about my Nano camping or victory, but that editing work got done. The book itself isn’t finished, but I need a break!

Where else did July disappear to? Some good things came with my minor query attempt... I am waiting for more answers and managed to find myself an AMAZING editor to help me get this massive series into some shape. (Seriously, message me about her, I will be glad to share!) So yeah, that’s where I’ve been, plus or minus a sugar coma birthday weekend... 32 years old now, and that was way too much food. Well loved and over fed for sure.

As with any of my month end wrap-ups, I do like to keep those hashtag games in one place... For the above-mentioned reasons, I didn’t finish all my games this month so I will try my best next month...

More after the jump...

#wipwordsearch

1- Woods started tuning and testing his guitar before finally deciding on the one he wanted, a wicked little smile of his own forming. Two could play this game.

2- Pulling into the parking lot of Woods' building, Remmy stayed silent again, about what was ahead for Tweet.

3- Malta went in bounding search of Remmy, flying at the man for the second time that day.

4- Unfortunately, Malta took his compliment, despite his eyes traveling Tweet's form as discreetly as he could.

5- "He's certainly got my attention, cute little fishy he is." When both girls gave Tweety a look, she shrugged "You know like plenty of fish in the sea?

6- Tweety wanted to be Woods' muse, his sexy little siren, the thing he didn't take his eyes off of and drew inspiration from.

7- NO TURQUOISE

8- Rounding, she held the giggle at Brandon's confusion, even as the show went on. She felt a bit like those streakers that ran through sporting events, the way she was disrupting things. Though this time it wasn't her fault, but if you're already making a spectacle of yourself, might as well go full on.

9- Grabbing his music player and speakers, she continued on, shirt starting to climb up her back as she walked to the bathroom, tossing it just inside the doorway.

10- Woods wasn’t helping the cause, leaning against the door he held open, a mix of dented pride and cat with the canary.

11- NO BLOSSOM

12- She started to move again, softly swaying to the song.

13- He could tell Bebe was the type to do as Tweety wrote, and now Sly wondered if that was the reason miss Tweety sponged down that particular table so.

14- In Frost's mind, this was what a successful operating business looked like; something he'd been trying to have happen in the years he'd been the manager.

15- He had to think a moment to make sure he hadn't said anything other than a comment on food. He couldn't help but smirk, she looked as if he just said the smartest thing ever, and he knew himself well enough to know that couldn't happen.

16- That left Malta and Tweety to finish attempting to send the men on their way. Of course they were not being forced out, but the party had wound down nicely, and those boys needed to be up early to ship out, so they were trying to be mindful of this.

17- It could be called pretty, even if it sorely needed some updating. She looked past him, down the row of empty spaces, her own history easily meshing here too.

18- NO CHISEL

19- She somehow had bags of stuff again but knew the last stop she needed to make before getting to work; ordering two boxes of assorted cupcakes from her bakery boys, who seemed a bit surprised (she) came back.

20- Tweet just felt it more, the enormous mistake this would be.

21- That didn't quite help because he gripped the edge, and sunk down a little. "Maybe you should take ten first? You don't look so good."

22- Returning her attention to the drinkers, who had abandoned all the empty bottles, moving instead to the couch, swigging from some dented flask.

23- NO ZOOM

24- She'd lost count of them all now, and that probably wasn't a good thing to admit to. Just because she chased after one man, didn't mean she wasn't being tailed by more than enough of her own.

25- "Maybe if I could get another drink? I guess I can't drink through my skin." Deej gave the stink eye to Roger, before shrugging and rubbing the back of his head with a chuckle. "Anyone got an extra shirt?"

26- Woods laughed with a nod to the rest of the group, stepping a little closer to the microphone "I do believe the naughty nurse Trouble just issued another challenge, one we intend to take on."

27- Malta started to sway to the music, causing Tweet to do the same, and then they covered an ear each when the club could hear the way Frost boomed "Lass!"

28- Making a face as he downed the drink, Collar figured partying too hard wasn’t as bad as alliteration. "Good luck sir." He saluted and then wandered off, finding a nice table of random people to bother.

29- She could write a book about how to divert attention from yourself.

30- NO HAPHAZARD

31- Her back ached as if she had jumped into a pool and met with the solid wall of water, stinging her all over.

#CharactersTell

1/7- "Ballentine Rajneesh Siyamak, but you can call me Sly for short." In an old school fashion, Sly bent at the waist. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, and welcome to Soulful. Are you here to see Tweety about the Red Letters series?"

2/7- Sly- "Back in the old country, I slept under the stars, or in a tent a time or two. Now? I suppose one might consider me a hotel camper, if one sees the club's bedrooms as a hotel, even if I hardly use it…"

3/7- Sly- "I know my way around a few things, been around a while. I once managed a spider infestation with a loo brush and pail."

4/7- Sly- "I love the outdoors, big fan of walking around at night, contemplating life in the darkest time of day."

5/7- Sly- "I don't get scared, so I must be telling them? I am not aware I am telling scary stories though, given that I am already often told how terrible I am at noticing flirtatious behavior aimed at me."

6/7- Sly- "Cooking? I am more of a concocter. I make a mean milkshake, and have been known to mix up some drinks and make something new."

7/7- Sly- "I like music, I do, but I don't sing. Not unless it will lighten the mood, and that is a last resort option."

8/7- "Oh? I've never been to camp! Hey fellow campers, I'm Raven, and I'm in a cabin all by my lonesome, stop by for a visit won't you?"

9/7- Raven- "Stargazing? I mean there was this one time, in an outdoor hot tub," *blushes* "We were under the stars but I didn't notice them much…"

10/7- Raven- "Why do we talk about me so much? I want to know about you. What's your favorite activity? I'll try anything once, twice if it's a good time…"

11/7- Raven- "Why ask me something like that? Do you want me to follow you? Because I totally would."

12/7- Raven- "Depends on if I'm taking that dip alone or not. Will you be joining me? I'd do it with you."

13/7- Raven- "Of course I am, anything you want, I'm willing to do, even change for you, so long as you love me."

14/7- Raven- "The bar that was home changed, so that sense of home is gone for a while now. But if you're offering to have me move in with you, of course I will!"

15/7- "Cop" Collar- "Hm, the Intel said that scumbag was here. Better let Nira know Tim's still out there." *texts back and forth* "What do you mean go camping for a while? I wasn't prepared to camp here…."

16/7- "Cop" Collar- *chuckles while unloading car* "Depends on the mountains… More of a poolside camper lately, but apparently I'm stuck in this forest for a few days."

17/7- "Cop" Collar- *finishing pop up tent* "I flirt all the time, ladies love the man thong, men too. Unless you mean a different kind of tent?" *pulls half deflated blowup doll from trunk into tent* "Leftover from a prank, but a good mattress you pervs."

18/7- "Cop" Collar- "I really shouldn't because alcohol starts the party… but I am off duty for a few days before the big bash…" *Chugs a large high proof bottle*

19/7- "Cop" Collar- *bleary eyed* "Always… Where's my thong? WHO TOOK MY THONG?" *spies a guy lost on the path* "You! You must have taken it!" *gives chase to poor guy* (this author spares some details for PG purposes)

20/7- "Cop" Collar- "Oh, great with knots, not so great with shelters."

*finishes hog tying guy with only man thong as rope*

"Collar, dude, it's Nathan Winners. Chef Nathan, you know, your buddy? I never stole your thong! You gotta stop that. Man, Deej owes me for this mess."

21/7-"Cop" Collar-"Usually I'm great at weathering a storm, but in this case, I gotta head back, someone has to help with club security. The big bash is a big deal. If you can get free & bring my man thong, you can get home Wieners." *pats hog tied man & leaves.*

22/7- Chef Nathan Winners- *struggles to get free* "It was a cute joke or pet name the first time. Haha, Chef Wieners. I am never helping Deej by delivering a meal to the woods again. Never stole the stupid thing!"

23/7- Chef Nathan- "I like walking thru the parks and taking the scenic route on my 4am supply runs. It's calm and quiet, plus who doesn't love getting the freshest food to cook with?"

24/7- Chef Nathan- "Did… did you not see what happened this time? That's the worst it's ever been for me. I prefer going alone and wandering the farmer's markets. No danger there, just me and the ingredients."

25/7- Chef Nathan- "I am not adventurous beyond my food. Unless you count navigating the strange people that are my friends, like Collar and Deej."

26/7- Chef Nathan- "I wander and take the long way home on nice days, but never get lost. Probably why a certain cat man calls me whenever he's hungry or lost but not lost."

27/7- Chef Nathan- "Urban legends? Not that I know of. I know a lot of food legends, and there are myths about some of the wilder things that happen in the bar's front of house."

28/7- Chef Nathan- "Is anything weirder than getting hog tied with Collar's man thong? Like seriously… I better get it back to him before he comes back to torture me more."

29/7- Antag Raven- "OMG I SING!!"

MC Sly- "… I suppose that means I shall be forced to play music?"

30/7- Yes! NO!!

SC Collar- "What do you mean no?"

BG Nathan- "You are not someone I want to turn my back on, let alone close my eyes around…" *returns the rope thong*

31/7- Sly- "Tell stories?"

Raven- "Karaoke!!!"

Collar- "Can't we just drink instead…?"

Nathan- "Time to pack, definitely time to leave camp."

#WIPJoy

2- Quick pitch? A women's journey through a life that is 'Cheers' crossed with 'Animaniacs' and surviving mostly sane. That's the Red Letters series!

3- Tweety took a breath before a gorgeously wicked smile spread her face. "Wouldn’t you like to know deary?" Shoulder lifting in a halfhearted shrug, "Probably will have to stick around to find out."

Song- Trouble for me/Britney Spears https://youtu.be/DQNm-P_1VVY

4- Woods started tuning and testing his guitar before finally deciding on the one he wanted, a wicked little smile of his own forming. Two could play this game. #RedLettersTeasers

5- Side char love?

-Malta the Cockney with a bold streak.

-Bebe that crazy friend who makes you do things.

-Roger the lynx cat with an attitude and cupcake addiction.

6- #1randomques Tweet's sorta done this before. But she'd say "It's just a woman's life, full of love, friends, and some legendary stories. It's up to you to believe me or not."

7/8- Tweet's care package includes:

-purple and red pens

-fun notebooks

-new music for her player

-cupcakes

9- Tweet likes pancakes and bacon or chicken fingers with french fries.

10- Tweet's got some food issues, being a picky eater… But Woods, another MC is allergic to cherries.

11- …close enough lol…

"He's certainly got my attention, cute little fishy he is." When both girls gave Tweety a look, she shrugged "You know like plenty of fish in the sea?" #RedLettersTeasers

12- Cupcakes. Thank goodness there is a temperamental cook or two that can make real food too…

13- #1randommques I'm a Gordon Ramsey fan. So, one char would be in trouble for the "herbs" in his brownies. Another might have a distance contest about flinging food, while a third would just be trying to figure out how to frost the chef…

14/15- Tweet has a chef to cook, but left to her own devices, it's candy. Or basics learned as a kid- cereal, quick processed foods, the no cook, doesn't expire for 5 years types of things. So, might be going to the diner to eat.

16- Tweety- "Things were rough growing up, but I always enjoyed chances to be near the water. Pools, oceans, it always called to me.

17- Antag- Brandon- "That's simple. Get off the stage, drink until that night's groupie is ready to play, and pass out around dawn."

18- Collar stepped up to the sink, like he would wash out his shirt, careful to slur his speech as well. "Swell party, til your drink ends up on your gut, not in it." #RedLettersTeasers

19- Tweety- "I can't tell you that. I have a few regrets in my life, but I also try to be a private person, even in the middle of a crowded nightclub."

20- #1randomques - Let's see… My chars are glad that I have managed to overcome bouts of depression, and that I am progressively working on the crippling anxiety. But they are still concerned about what part of the brain "Tim" comes from, and the things he does…

21- Antag- Lady S- "I hired her."

22- Most tech savy- Nira, considering he runs and watching the security system

Least- Deej fries his fur on the jukebox regularly.

[adelmortescryche]

YOI Fantasy Week - Day Two

AN: Okay, this turned out even later than the day one prompt. Apologies for that, @yoifantasyweek! Apparently today’s prompt did not want to be written. *winces* That said, here we go, day two. Filling the prompts Elves and Happiness.

Premise: Mild crossover with LotR, but don’t expect it to hold up to canon, since I didn’t attempt to stick to Tolkien geography and languages. Though I did borrow certain aspects of the canon, as will become obvious. Elf!Victor, Hobbit!Yuuri. Er, love at first sight? Of a sort? Affection and weird longing at first sight, let’s go with that. *laughs wryly*

Fantasy Week Promptfills: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Yuuri wasn’t quite sure what to expect when the deer he’d been stalking darted away, spooked off by a sound, but it hadn’t been the tall fellow in a hooded cloak who appeared on the other side of the clearing from him.

There was a long, still moment in which they continued to stare at each other, blank faced. When the fellow tilted his head forward ever so slightly, Yuuri could see strands of moonlight pale hair slip forward, out of the shadows of the cloak. When he straightened, the half light of the morning sun penetrated the shadows covering his face enough that Yuuri was able to make out an aquiline nose, a sharply cut jaw, fair features that looked altogether too lovely to be of the race of men.

Coupled with the color of the cloak, and the smoothness of the weave…

Yuuri swallowed, and nodded back, immediately withdrawing the arrow that he’d shifted to point at the cloaked figure when he’d first appeared. By the time he’d straightened to his feet and put the arrow away in the quiver hanging from his belt, and unstrung his bow, the fellow had drawn closer, something in his air seeming curious.

“Yes?” Yuuri asked cautiously, once it was obvious that the other being would not be speaking up on his own. Nor would he let Yuuri leave, from the look of it.

It got him a sharp intake of breath; clearly Yuuri hadn’t been expected to speak up. Then, before Yuuri knew what to say, or possibly quip because his brain worked in strange ways when he was unnerved enough, the fellow was pulling down his hood, allowing the light from the sun to fall over his face.

Yuuri felt any words that might have been waiting to burst forth from his chest die away, the beauty of the being’s features robbing him of speech.

For his part, the elf – and he had to be an elf, the ears gave him away – carelessly straightened out his moonlight pale hair, and looked down at Yuuri with a strangely inquisitive gaze.

“We aren’t anywhere near a hobbit settlement, halfling. Is there a reason you’re journeying abroad on your own?”

Yuuri stared up at him, distinctly incredulous, even in the sight of that pretty face. The dissonance in his head was caught between awe and bemusement, enough so to overcome even his usual anxiety when it came to meeting someone new, especially someone as singular as the being before him.

“I… was hunting?” he responded, tone a little dry.

Seeing as the elf spooked the deer Yuuri had been tracking for roughly three days now, you’d think he’d be a little more apologetic about it. The townspeople had always said that elves were lost in their own heads, but he’d never expected to have it confirmed in person. The elf actually seemed surprised at the words too.

“Truly?

“Yes. And I nearly had it, too.” Yuuri sighed heavily, gently running his fingers over the fletching of the arrows in his quiver. Well, you won some, you lost some. Yuuri would just have to grit his teeth and get back to it, if he wanted to take anything back with him.

“Oh no! That cannot do!”

The tone the words were delivered in were pained enough that Yuuri actually started in place, eyes darting back to the elf, who now looking terribly upset. The expression was nearly enough by itself to make Yuuri feel better – an elf was apologizing to him! About something he could have bungled all on his own! How… weird. And weirdly wonderful, since nearly anyone who’d mentioned elves to him also mentioned that they were massive assholes with sticks up their asses. Which really hadn’t been the most pleasant of mental images to have been left with.

This elf in particular looked earnest enough that Yuuri was willing to give him a chance. So he smiled softly, and shook his head.

“No, it’s fine. Honestly, I might have missed, or the deer might have moved just as my arrow left the bow. And anyway, it’s not like you could have known I was hunting here, right? It’s on me that I wasn’t skilled enough to make up for your appearance.”

He got a suspicious stare, the elf clearly unwilling to take him at his word. The expression seemed so incongruous on the being’s face that Yuuri couldn’t hold back the giggle that erupted out of him. The giggle erupted into full-blown laughter when the elf continued to stare at him, flabbergasted.

“Oh, oh. Really, its fine, you don’t have to worry yourself-” Yuuri said finally when he came back to himself, lifting a hand to brush away the tears that had appeared in his eyes. He broke off midway through, because the elf abruptly stepped forward to curl the fingers of one hand around Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Break your fast with me. Please. It’s the least I could offer, hunter, before you needs must leave to hunt again.”

…that earnestness was a lot more compelling from up close. Especially so when one had to crane one’s neck so far to see it. Yuuri’s breath caught in his throat.

The elf’s eyes were so blue. It was like looking up into a sliver of the sky caught in ice.

“Yes,” he found himself whispering, without any real choice on his part. How could he say no to that face?

*

It had to be said. Elf bread was wonderful, filling and somehow tasted amazing and bland all at once. Yuuri wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to react to it. The elf had plenty of other options to eat, fresh fruit for one, but all of it was traveler’s fare and not one bit of meat to be found. Sure, he remembered that elves didn’t eat meat, but it was all the stranger to be presented with the reality of that at meal time.

Yuuri just buckled down and tried to finish the meal he’d been graciously offered. Because for all that the moonlight haired elf seemed rather sweet, and very kind, his companions weren’t anywhere near as congenial about Yuuri’s presence.

Case in point: the little blond one with his hair pulled back in dizzyingly complicated braids was still scowling at him.

“I don’t see why we should have to pander to this- this halfling’s presence!” he burst out suddenly, making everyone jerk in place, Yuuri for his part almost dropping the bread, which would have been a damn shame.

“Yura-” Yuuri’s elf hissed, a tight smile in place as he segued into that fast, musical speech he’d used earlier, when they had returned to the elven camp. It wasn’t too far away from where Yuuri had been hunting, which explained how they’d stumbled upon each other at all.

The little one just looked sullen now, chewing on his bread with a scowl. It almost made Yuuri want to laugh at him. The quiet ranger that had been traveling with the elves certainly wasn’t holding back the small smile on his face, though he took the pains to hide the faint curl of his lips whenever the little one glanced around at him.

“Don’t mind Yuri, he’s been irritable for the last few days. We’re all glad to have you here.” The elf said after a long moment, settling down at Yuuri’s side again. The words made him glance up in surprise.

“Yuri? His name is Yuri?” Yuuri asked incredulously. It gets him a bemused look from his elf, and a dirty look from the little one, Yuri. The other elves at the camp simply met the words with more dismissal – which was how they’d been treating Yuuri since his elf had brought him back to the camp.

“Yes, is there something odd about that?”

The words drew another involuntary laugh from Yuuri. How was he supposed to react to these facial expressions, really. The poor elf just looked more confused at his reaction, his head tilting to the side enough that his long and lovely hair slipped down over his shoulder. For all that it was tightly bound in place at strategic points to keep it off of his face, the majority of it was long and loose, much longer than anyone else’s in the camp, except maybe for the one female elf Yuuri had seen.

It was also very distracting to look at. Yuuri was probably biased, especially since this was the first elf he’d met, but really, he didn’t think anyone else in the camp could compare to his elf.

“Oh, no, it’s just that my name is Yuuri too. I’m Yuuri, son of Toshiya, of House Katsuki.” Yuuri offered up, once his mirth cleared enough to speak. His elf’s eyes lit up immediately, while Yuri snarled, holding back his words only after the ranger murmured something to him in an undertone.

Really, Yuuri hadn’t known that it was possible for any elf to be as angry as this one. No one had said elves could be quick to temper.

“And I am Victor, son of Vasiliy. Well met, Yuuri Katsuki, son of Toshiya.” His elf said suddenly, voice soft. It made Yuuri’s gaze dart back around to him, surprised.

His elf’s, Victor’s, eyes were filled with some strange emotion. Yuuri couldn’t put a name to it. But whatever it was, it softened his face a great deal, and coupled with the faint smile tugging at his lips, left the inhumanly beautiful features far more approachable than before.

Yuuri could only smile back helplessly in response, nodding when Victor offered him more bread.

*

“Are you sure you should be following me out like this? It seemed like all of you had a long day ahead of you.” Yuuri said uncertainly, later, once they were done with their meal.

“Yes, I insist. We can afford another day’s wait,” Victor responded easily, walking calmly by his side. The words were just as careless now as they had been earlier, when he’d told Yuri that he would be taking a walk with Yuuri out in the woods. It had taken all of the ranger’s, whom Yuuri had learnt was named Otabek, strength to hold the little blond elf back. The other elves in their party seemed exasperated, but they hadn’t seemed angry. Only a little sad.

The sadness was what made Yuuri wary. Against his better judgement, his gaze drew again to the weave of Victor’s cloak, and its color. For all that his people didn’t interact with the elves all that much, they did trade with towns that did.

Yuuri knew all too well what that specific shade meant, when worn by an elf. Even if he’d never actually seen it in person until now.

Victor glanced back at him, expression curious. Yuuri shook away his unease, and stepped forward with a smile pasted in place.

*

They spent most of the morning simply wandering about the woods. For all that Victor had offered to help Yuuri find another deer to take back with him, Yuuri found that he didn’t care much about the deer. Not anymore. And, anyway, Victor seemed distracted as well. They’d spent the earlier moments of their walk conversing quickly, jumping from topic to topic like a pair of children, delighting in each other’s company, but the conversation had worn away to silence, over time. Not strained, no – just quiet, but for the sound their footsteps made against the ground as they walked.

Yuuri’s chest felt strangely full, in a way he hadn’t ever felt before.

“I don’t want to leave,” Victor said, apropos of nothing, voice uncomfortably loud.

It made Yuuri stumble, startled, but Victor was there to steady him with a hand to his shoulder. When he looked up at the elf, wide-eyed, it was to find Victor staring back at him, lips pursed, the corners of his eyes drawn tight. He didn’t remove his hand from Yuuri’s shoulder, and Yuuri found that he didn’t want to shake it away either. Instead, he reached up with his free hand to run the tips of his fingers along the edge of Victor’s jawline, mouth going dry when Victor leaned forward into his touch, properly allowing Yuuri to cup his face and his eyes slipping shut.

“You’re journeying to the Undying Lands,” Yuuri whispered, voice hushed, biting his lower lip when Victor gave a single nod.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t guessed it, honestly. The solemnity of the elves at the camp, their lack of interest in Yuuri being there, and in the little blond elf’s aggression – it spoke of a greater detachment with the world than even what most people said was common to elves.

But Victor wasn’t like that. Victor had laughed freely when they spoke, sharing tales of friends he’d made in his travels, particularly this one bard and his propensity to have lovers waiting for him no matter where they went – the stories of his and Victor’s shenanigans over the years reminding Yuuri all too well of his own hair raising experiences with Phichit, whenever the long-legged merchant had stopped by his home. Had darted after the shadows of what he called deer in the distance, ignoring Yuuri’s taunts about Victor just wanting to lead them on a wild goose chase for the fun of it, had sung along with birdsong, quick and bright. All the while Yuuri had followed after him with a dazed smile, laughing whenever the elf had glanced back at him with a grin.

“I don’t want to leave.” Victor repeated, voice softer, and Yuuri couldn’t have stopped himself from dragging the taller being down into a tight hug even if he’d tried.

*

“Your Yura is going to be very angry with me,” Yuuri murmured, much later, leaning back into the solidity of the tree trunk behind him.

Victor hummed in response, not shifting from where his head was pillowed on Yuuri’s lap. It made Yuuri chuckle to himself, running his fingers through the long hair that pooled partially behind Victor, and also spilt over his shoulders. It felt as soft and light to the touch as Yuuri had imagined it to be, earlier.

“You could come with me. I travel a lot – I’ve been traveling from town to town and to the larger cities for years. You’ve probably seen all of it, you seem to be so much wiser than me, but maybe it could be interesting?”

“Anything would be interesting if you were there. I should have met you sooner, Yuuri.” Victor murmured back, making Yuuri laugh softly, leaning forward to press a light kiss to the elf’s temple.

Victor turned around, gazing up at him in surprise, the expression quickly waylaid by the flush that colored his cheeks, and the tips of his ears. Yuuri, for his part, grinned down at him awkwardly.

“Well. You’ve met me now. Let’s travel together, Victor.”

His words were met with wide eyes that all but sparkled in the pale light filtering down on them through the leaves, Victor’s mouth rounding out into a lovely heart-shaped grin that had Yuuri laughing with delight.

*

There might come a day when Victor would want to follow that call, like others of his race. Until then, though, Yuuri supposed they could spend their days together. Traveling far and wide. And maybe laughing from time to time, just like this.

[dfroza]

to start over as a child

this is the very Heart of our Creator who is illuminated in the Son and His living Words:

Learn this well: Unless you dramatically change your way of thinking and become teachable, and learn about heaven’s kingdom realm with the wide-eyed wonder of a child, you will never be able to enter in. Whoever continually humbles himself to become like this gentle child is the greatest one in heaven’s kingdom realm.

The Book of Matthew, Chapter 18:3-4 (The Passion Translation)

the complete chapter in The Message:

[Whoever Becomes Simple Again]

At about the same time, the disciples came to Jesus asking, “Who gets the highest rank in God’s kingdom?”

For an answer Jesus called over a child, whom he stood in the middle of the room, and said, “I’m telling you, once and for all, that unless you return to square one and start over like children, you’re not even going to get a look at the kingdom, let alone get in. Whoever becomes simple and elemental again, like this child, will rank high in God’s kingdom. What’s more, when you receive the childlike on my account, it’s the same as receiving me.

“But if you give them a hard time, bullying or taking advantage of their simple trust, you’ll soon wish you hadn’t. You’d be better off dropped in the middle of the lake with a millstone around your neck. Doom to the world for giving these God-believing children a hard time! Hard times are inevitable, but you don’t have to make it worse—and it’s doomsday to you if you do.

“If your hand or your foot gets in the way of God, chop it off and throw it away. You’re better off maimed or lame and alive than the proud owners of two hands and two feet, godless in a furnace of eternal fire. And if your eye distracts you from God, pull it out and throw it away. You’re better off one-eyed and alive than exercising your twenty-twenty vision from inside the fire of hell.

“Watch that you don’t treat a single one of these childlike believers arrogantly. You realize, don’t you, that their personal angels are constantly in touch with my Father in heaven?

[Work It Out Between You]

“Look at it this way. If someone has a hundred sheep and one of them wanders off, doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine and go after the one? And if he finds it, doesn’t he make far more over it than over the ninety-nine who stay put? Your Father in heaven feels the same way. He doesn’t want to lose even one of these simple believers.

“If a fellow believer hurts you, go and tell him—work it out between the two of you. If he listens, you’ve made a friend. If he won’t listen, take one or two others along so that the presence of witnesses will keep things honest, and try again. If he still won’t listen, tell the church. If he won’t listen to the church, you’ll have to start over from scratch, confront him with the need for repentance, and offer again God’s forgiving love.

“Take this most seriously: A yes on earth is yes in heaven; a no on earth is no in heaven. What you say to one another is eternal. I mean this. When two of you get together on anything at all on earth and make a prayer of it, my Father in heaven goes into action. And when two or three of you are together because of me, you can be sure that I’ll be there.”

[A Story About Forgiveness]

At that point Peter got up the nerve to ask, “Master, how many times do I forgive a brother or sister who hurts me? Seven?”

Jesus replied, “Seven! Hardly. Try seventy times seven.

“The kingdom of God is like a king who decided to square accounts with his servants. As he got under way, one servant was brought before him who had run up a debt of a hundred thousand dollars. He couldn’t pay up, so the king ordered the man, along with his wife, children, and goods, to be auctioned off at the slave market.

“The poor wretch threw himself at the king’s feet and begged, ‘Give me a chance and I’ll pay it all back.’ Touched by his plea, the king let him off, erasing the debt.

“The servant was no sooner out of the room when he came upon one of his fellow servants who owed him ten dollars. He seized him by the throat and demanded, ‘Pay up. Now!’

“The poor wretch threw himself down and begged, ‘Give me a chance and I’ll pay it all back.’ But he wouldn’t do it. He had him arrested and put in jail until the debt was paid. When the other servants saw this going on, they were outraged and brought a detailed report to the king.

“The king summoned the man and said, ‘You evil servant! I forgave your entire debt when you begged me for mercy. Shouldn’t you be compelled to be merciful to your fellow servant who asked for mercy?’ The king was furious and put the screws to the man until he paid back his entire debt. And that’s exactly what my Father in heaven is going to do to each one of you who doesn’t forgive unconditionally anyone who asks for mercy.”

The Book of Matthew, Chapter 18 (The Message)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is chapter #5 in the book of Deuteronomy where Moses addresses Israel with these words:

Moses: Listen, Israel, as I proclaim these rules and decrees directly to you today! Learn them, and put them into practice. The Eternal our God made a covenant with us at Horeb. The Eternal didn’t make that covenant just with our parents; He also made it with all of us who are alive here today, because we were included in the covenant when He made it with them. The Eternal tried to talk to you directly at that mountain from inside the fire that rose up into the sky. But you were afraid of the fire and wouldn’t go up the mountain, so I stood between you and the Eternal and told you what He was saying.

Eternal One (speaking to the people of Israel through Moses): I am the Eternal. I am your True God. I led you out of Egypt where you were slaves.

You are to worship no other gods before me—My presence is enough.

You are not to make idols of anything in the sky above or on the earth below or down in the sea. You are not to bow down in worship of any images of other gods, for I am the Eternal your God. I am jealous for worship, bringing punishment on you and your children to come, even down to your great-grandchildren, to whoever hates Me. Instead, those who obey My commands and truly love Me will receive My loyal love endlessly, even for a thousand generations.

You are to not use My name lightly or flippantly or as a curse. I will punish anyone who treats My name as anything less than sacred.

You and your family are to honor the Sabbath by setting it aside for the Lord your God. Make sure it remains holy, just as I commanded you. You should do all of your work in six days, and on the seventh—the Sabbath—do not do any work. This goes for you, your sons, your daughters, your male and female servants, your oxen and donkeys and cattle, and foreign travelers staying at your house. My Sabbath rest is for all to enjoy. Remember what it was like when you were a slave in Egypt. Then with overwhelming power I brought you out of there. That’s why I have commanded you to observe the Sabbath each week.

Honor your father and mother, as I have commanded you. If you do, you will be blessed with long life and all will go well for you as you live on the ground I am giving you.

You must never murder anyone.

You must never commit adultery.

You must never steal.

You must never lie when you’re called to give testimony about another person.

Never look at someone else’s wife and wish you could have her. Never look at anything that belongs to someone else and wish it was yours—his house, field, male or female slave, ox, donkey, or anything else he owns.

Moses (summarizing): When all of you were gathered at the mountain, the Eternal told you these things in a loud voice, speaking from inside the fire while dark clouds and mist obscured your view, and He added nothing more. He engraved two copies of them on two stone tablets and gave them to me. Then all of your tribal representatives and elders approached me because you were so afraid when you heard His voice coming from the darkness, as the mountain blazed with fire. They told me what you were saying: “Today the Eternal our God has displayed His glory and power, and we’ve heard His voice from inside that fire. We see that God can speak to mortals, and they can survive! But if we keep listening to the voice of the Eternal, our True God, that huge fire is going to burn us up, and we’ll die! Why should we let that happen? Who on earth has ever heard the voice of the living God speaking from inside a flame, as we just did, and survived? You, go up and listen to everything the Eternal our God is saying, and then come tell us everything He tells you. We’ll listen, and we’ll obey.”

The Eternal heard everything you said when you told me this. He responded to me, “I’ve heard what the people told you. They have a good idea! I wish they would always think this way—that they would fear Me and keep all My commands. Then everything would go well for them and their children forever. Tell them they can return to their tents, and I will speak solely through you. But you are to stand here by Me; and I’ll tell you all the commands, rules, and judgments I want you to teach them to follow in the land I’m giving them to live in.”

Moses: So be very careful to do what the Eternal your God commanded you! Don’t turn to the right or to the left; stay on the path the Eternal your God has marked out for you. That way you won’t die, everything will go well for you, and you’ll live a long time in the land that’s going to be your territory.

The Book of Deuteronomy, Chapter 5 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for friday, july 3 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A post by John Parsons to accompany Today’s reading:

Every one of us is a teacher of sorts, proclaiming through our personal choices what we believe to be true. False teachers are those whose choices “teach” that there is no God, no eternal life, no meaning to life, and ultimately, no real hope... It cannot be any other way, for we all teach by our choices; we communicate by our assumptions of what we regard is of “ultimate concern.” Postmodern philosophy never answered any of the haunting existential questions of life, such as: What is reality? Why is there something rather than nothing? What is the purpose of life? What happens when we die? Who am I? Do moral choices matter? and so on, but instead merely reinterpreted the hunger for meaning to be about power and control... Nonsense! People may evade the great questions of life by pretending they are unknowable, but Scripture attests that all people are created in God’s image and are intuitively aware of God’s reality and power: “For His invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made; so they are without excuse” (Rom. 1:20). We have a sacred duty to honor God’s truth and that implies we bear a sacred animosity toward lies and false teaching. “Do not be deceived: associating with false teaching corrupts good character” (1 Cor. 15:33). We hate sin because it wounds and kills the soul. Think straight; awaken to the holiness of life; turn away from vain thoughts and lies; embrace the truth of God's salvation. [Hebrew for Christians]

7.3.20 • Facebook

[ruffoverthinksthings]

Alysane-Mormont’s Questions About The Isle, Answered

@alysane-mormont

tumblr is being stupid and won’t let me reblog. Anyway, *cracks knuckles* let’s do this.

1. The involvement of Auradon in the Isle.  How much do they have? Are the housing and money controlled?  Do the villains have to pay for to live on the isle?  Are they assigned jobs and such?

Auradon was involved in the construction of the initial buildings, the creation of the islands it stands on (presumably using the leftover land from the moving of the original states, like dead zones used as buffers while they fused them together), and of course, imprisoning/resurrecting all the villains, their minions, and other criminals there.

They have no control AGU (After Great Uniting), nor do they want to; all of the Islanders are basically left to their own devices.

No, the Villains don’t need to pay. It’s a prison, you don’t pay for your own accommodations. Whatever Auradon Silver Dollars are currently circulating among them are the same Auradon Silver Dollars they were given 20 years ago, save a couple hundred lost to damage or carelessness, so at least inflation is non-existent and steadily dropping.

They might have been once upon a time, but whatever infrastructure Auradon left them behind has long been destroyed, abused, or stolen and broken beyond use.

2. Food.  Where are they getting their food on the island? The Isle doesn’t seem to be big enough to grow enough food for the entire island.  Are they getting food delivered from the island?

They get most of their food from the trash barges that Auradon sends over. The Isle of the Lost is literally their dump, and because Auradonians are so wasteful, they throw almost to entire packs of perfectly good food in there, or toss bread as soon as it gets a day old, or stale.

They ARE growing, hunting, and catching food, but just barely. You can see in Descendants 2 that Harry collects /steals some fish from a girl fishing by the dock, and delivers it to one of Ursula’s staff at the Fish and Chips.

Aside from fish and shellfish, they eat rats, wild dogs, insects like cockroaches, and the occasional alligator if the population gets too big and starts crawling up off the beach and snacking on them.

3. Government.  Maleficent is in charge, but what does that mean?  That she chuckles evilly, and says she is? Does she have a council, is it EQ, Jafar, and Cruella?  A lot of the problems on the Isle could be solved by a good government not run by a fairy made of ham and anger, a former vizar not giving advice, a woman who probably spent all my kingdoms money on botax, and a clearly unhinged puppy killer.

Maleficent has an army of thugs that keep her fed, in the lap of Isle luxury, and from anyone trying to rise up and overthrow her. Otherwise, she leaves everyone to their own devices unless she needs someone specifically for whatever reason, and has lieutenants doing the business of keeping things in some semblance of order to try and minimize violent revolts.

As the saying goes, “I have minions for that.”

Evil Queen, Jafar, and Cruella are her fellow power players, or more likely, enemies she tolerates keeping closer than others.

Yes, a lot of their problems CAN be solved by Good Government, but like any IRL government, there needs to be support from the people, the administration, and someone willing to pay for it. It is NOT in Maleficent’s interest to have a fair, egalitarian government where she isn’t getting the lion’s share, nor will she dedicate precious resources towards creating one, nor do the majority of the population have the capability or the desire of working together to overthrow her and make something better.

The issue is, even if they hypothetically defeat Maleficent, they start fighting among themselves for who gets to sit at the highest seat and lord over everyone else and get the lion’s share, and unlike majority of the population, Maleficent is immortal, immune to sickness, does not need to eat, sleep, nor go to the bathroom.

There were a LOT of rebellions and their members who were done in by poison and sickness through the abuse of the Isle’s unsanitary conditions, starved or dehydrated to death or submission, or quite literally went down the toilet, along with the bodies of the rebels themselves.

4.  Business.  How does any, non food, business stay in business?  No one pays for anything.  They probably only pay for food cause that shit would be a lot harder to steal cause see #2.

They fish, they try to farm, they get their ingredients from the trash barges. People frequently steal, yes, but the proprietors ALSO rip off and steal from their customers, which gives new meaning to the sign “Please don’t leave your valuables unattended.” That aside, certain establishments like Ursula’s Fish and Chips are a reliable enough source of food that people will pay for the convenience—better lighter several silver dollars, than with several new bumps on your head and lacerations beside.

That aside, Harry Hook makes a real killing as security, alongside being a “tax” collector.

5. Why was Mal and the others in charge?  This one is probably due to me not yet reading the prequels, but they never seem to go beyond bullies.

Like Ben or the other royals: birth. In Descendants, who your parents or ancestors were is EVERYTHING.

6. Population.  Auradon is clearly okay with the Villains reproducing, so what happens in a generation or two when they grow to big for the Isle?  Leave them and let the Isle fall farther into poverty then it already is?

They let them overcrowd and deal with it themselves, and will probably not care about the hell that happens, the food riots, and the more… drastic measures they take once space and resources get non-existent.

7.  Who gets put on the isle? The major villains, sure obviously.  But what about their henchmen?  Are they guilty by association, and for doing their jobs?

All criminals, from highwaymen, buccaneers, thieving traveling showmen and women, evil sorcerers, larcenous prostitutes, corrupt businessmen, shady tax collectors, gang enforcers and extortionists, you name it.

They’re guilty by association, though I assume some have been given consideration, like Robin Hood and his Merry Men.

8. How canon are the sequels?  Are they ALL noncanon, some? Peter Pan 2 and Rescuers 2 were in theaters, so do they count? I like to think based on D2, that Cinderella III is canon.

All sequels are non-canon, as are the animated series. I don’t consider this true for my headcanons, as all the sequels and animated series’ add so much more to the series.

9. Which actual non-sequel Disney princess movies count?  The Black Cauldron obviously, but what about like Lilo and Stitch or Atlantis?

Lilo and Stitch and Atlantis are presumed not included, until further notice. This can be evidenced by the lack of aliens, or that of flying vehicles.

10.  Why didn’t any of the Villains hook up.  TV Tropes taught me that Frollo x Gothel have a following. and Maleficent and Evil Queen might be a thing.  Why don’t they have more inter-dating, why are they all single parents?

Because the power of Shipping is one thing, actually compatible personalities for a long-term relationship that lasts enough for procreation is another. Generally speaking, you’re asking TWO paranoid, selfish, violent, and narcissistic beings to try and compromise, have empathy for another person, and show some semblance of love or care for them to be willing to have sex with them, among other things.

Even if ONE of them is willing to make it work, go google see “I Dated A Narcissist” to see how well that goes.

All of the VKs parents are presumed minor henchmen and non-notable villains, dead, or purposefully forgotten after they got the known parent pregnant/bore them children, such as Mal’s dad, “He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-In-Front-Of-Maleficent” or “Nameless,” for short.

11.  Poor Claudine.  Who the hell let Frollo have a kid, a daughter no less.  If HoND taught us anything it’s you don’t need love to be happy, but another thing was don’t allow Frollo need woman or children.  And he has one.  Someone tell me Claudine is living with someone better like the Horned King or something.

Auradon did, by virtue of not caring in the slightest, and the Islanders did also, by not caring what the fuck the crazy, lecherous, delusional, self-righteous preacher does, and what poor unfortunate soul lets themselves be taken in by his silver words, or finds themselves in such desperate conditions he’s the better option.

No, Claudine is living in Frollo’s decrepit church. She rings Dragon Hall’s bell-tower, as well as that of her father’s church/her home.

12. What do you lose when you go to the Isle?  Jafar isn’t in genie form anymore, but Ursula has tentacles.  Is the Horned King still the master of my nightmares?

Everything, basically, except for the clothes on your back—even your family name and all associations are removed, as a character like Dizzy Tremaine is referred to as “Dizzy of the Isle.”

Ursula still has tentacles because she was born that way. It’s an inherent part of her being, while Jafar was changed from a human into a genie. The Horned King has presumably lost that job, or someone much kinder has taken care of it.

13. Why weren’t the children removed at birth?  Disregarding the fact that they were all growing up in abusive situations, why would you allow Villains to bred a future generation of children to be villains?

BECAUSE AURADON DOES NOT GIVE A FUCK ABOUT VILLAINS, OTHER THAN THEM BEING IMPRISONED AND FAR AWAY FROM THEM, OUT OF SIGHT, AND OUT OF MIND. Think of Auradon as basically every ass-backwards, heavily conservative Southern USA state you can think of that still thinks flying the Confederate flag is a good idea, and a thing of pride.

14.  Who they hell thought this was a good idea?  Lock all the villains on isle, bring them back to life if you have to? They should hope they barrier doesn’t fall cause you have a whole lot of people who can use magic and are angry at you. Chernabog is probably in there, Hades and the Titans, the Horned King, all people who can destroy everything. If you wanted to make the villains suffer, they should have been put in custom made prison, like the Red Lotus in Legend of Korra. The entire Isle is a ticking time bomb that could destroy Auradon.

Majority of the population and a good deal of the Royals. Please remember: most of these states came from Western Europe in the Medieval Ages, where the public beheading of criminals was an event that parents willingly brought their kids to see. They are from cruel, vicious, vengeful times where the Miranda Rights, the Geneva Convention, or what we know as the right way to deal with criminals—treat them humanely, then reintegrate them into society—has yet to even be considered an idea, or worse yet, treated as blasphemy of the highest order.

To them, if you do “evil,” you deserve evil in return, and kindness is reserved for those that “deserve” kindness.

The Auradonians are also very vengeful people who hold serious grudges. They like to think of themselves as the “absolute Good” people which is how they justify their evil actions—they wouldn’t be in Auradon if they were capable of doing “bad” things, now, wouldn’t they?

Think of it as how Frollo justified setting the entire city of London on fire and murdering countless Romani people in cold blood—he is the Judge, he is the Symbol of Good, therefore all his actions are Justified and Right.

Yes, they better hope that barrier stays up, as Maleficent damn near screwed over the entire kingdom if Mal and the others hadn’t fought her.

All those deities are there, but they’re severely depowered. It’ll take a while or an explicitly magical artifact like Maleficent’s staff, which hasn’t been drained entirely, for them to be able to wreak havoc again. It’s why Fairy Godmother’s wand is so highly sought after.

This entire realm is a ticking time bomb. On the one hand, you have the Isle, on the other, you have the systematic oppression of minority classes like the Fae with the magic ban, the dwarves being used as slave labour, and “animal rights” being limited to “you do all our household chores for us, and you get nothing in compensation.”

Not even Pongo and Perdita are given a scholarship or any sort of support for their 101 children, now ready to go to college, and Ben is only beginning to redress their grievances.

Beast ran this country by yelling, stomping his feet, and bullying everyone into following whatever HE wanted to do, damn principles like compromise, empathy, or sanity, and only now are we seeing how bad of an idea that is, and the majority of the Royals are too busy having tea parties and the commoners fawning over 24 hours news coverage of how pretty they are and the dresses they are wearing to even care about the impending collapse of their unsustainable and unjust society.

In case it wasn’t obvious, Disney’s attempt to make a series that shows that there is no Pure Evil or Pure Good made their most horrifying Dystopia yet.

[stevedonnellyfaith-blog]

Walking For Life (Post 73) 1-28-15

This weekend I had hoped to participate in the Walk For Life with Stephen, Abby and Nick, but work prevented me.  It is an important event, a chance to stand up and be counted as a Catholic within a secular society that seems to face tattoo itself with disfiguring shame at each and every opportunity.  For me the peaceful passage of the large walking group by the small number of howling counter-protesters is a metaphor for our daily spiritual walk though American culture and it’s blaring but impotent messages of death and iniquity. We do well to walk with Christian brothers and sisters to our right and left so that our path remains straight and the conversation pleasant.

Although, I did not make this year’s walk, here are my impressions from my experience last year:

Walk About

                        I decided to do the West Coast Walk for Life with Natalie, Nick and Abby this year, but circumstances weren’t turning out favorably.  Nick and I needed to work and Natalie had complained about walking from the parking lot of the Exploratorium on her birthday trip on Thursday, which meant that a three mile trek was beyond the forbearance of my now ten year old daughter. It looked like it would be down to Abby to represent clan Donnelly at the march on Saturday.  I was disappointed not to be able to accompany her.  

Abby had attended the March two years ago, but she and I had been tied up with work and care for Pam last year.  Stephen and Nick had gone instead and said they enjoyed it.  Abby, Nick and I attend the Men of St Joseph and Daughters of Mary meetings on Monday nights and both groups planned to travel on BART together to march platoon style under the leadership of drill instructor Joe Juarez, former Marine and one of San Francisco’s finest.  The Walk looked to be a good chance to participate in a cause in which I strongly believe and to take care of my Saturday exercise as a body and soul two-fer.

The holiday schedule and the Ministry Fair seemed to be colluding to prevent my participation for yet another year.  Holidays are a mixed blessing when you work in a factory that assembles mattresses. Often a Monday off is followed by a production Saturday to restock our customers after their holiday weekend sales.  Joe told me that I would be able to hustle back and still make the Ministry Fair after the walk.  He says that usually Father Jerry is able to sprint in from the parking lot, vest himself and say Mass on time each year.  Then we discovered that Natalie had Youth Choir pictures at 3:30 as well. Although I ceased and desisted from consulting my Lucky Eight Ball after joining the One True Church, the mortal sin of divinization was not required to see that I would need to wait until next year to march for babies.

But sometimes God smiles on the Irish and we got things buttoned up at the plant much earlier than I expected – it helped that all the hourly requested to start production at 5 AM. I was OK to leave the plant at about 10:30.  As I was in Richmond already, I called Abby to see if we could coordinate a rendezvous. As happens she was running late herself and had missed the Men of St Joe caravan leaving IHM.  As Father Jerry often reminds us, cell phones can be a distraction, but in this case, texting and GPS allowed us to make arrangements for Nick to drop off Natalie at choir and for us to organize a meet-up on the steps of the library where we almost immediately stumbled across Major Joe (ret) and his merry band of walkers.

It was motley bunch of close to forty good folks to which we were happy to belong.  2014 was the tenth anniversary of the West Coast version of the march, but I don’t think many in our group had participated in all of them. Truth be told, many of us had not been Catholics ten years ago and fewer still would have been considered devout Catholics in 2003.  To paraphrase a great priest, if I had been accused of being a Christian in 2003, I don’t know that there would have been enough evidence to convict me.

Anyway our group made it to the starting line and was awed at the size of the throng to which we had merged ourselves.  Demographically there was a mix of ages, sexes and ethnic backgrounds.  Curiously, I did not see many African American participants even though minorities are by far the largest victims of the abortion mills. Although even Margaret Sanger thought abortion was a disgusting abomination, she and her eugenic minions were definitely in favor of keeping minorities as minorities by any means. She once addressed a KKK assembly and overall considered them to be fellow travelers.

At least fifty percent of the marchers were women, which made demographic sense.  Logically speaking – I am a mathematician after all – you would have expected women to be underrepresented, if the Pro-Life movement was really intended to harm the fairer sex.  Instead there seemed to be an absence of the immature, the angry and the deceitful.  Men and women, young and old, all seemed to act politely and pleasantly.  It was as if the Holy Spirit was present in overall change of the shindig.

Anyway the march itself went very well.  Abby and I walked together in solidarity with hopes for a better future for troubled mothers. Ironically Pam and I were offered an abortion during her pregnancy with Abby.  All Pam’s pregnancies were difficult, but we were never really tempted to abort despite some pretty challenging circumstances. I have a lot of empathy for moms who end up in situations where they feel they have no other option.  

There were maybe a hundred counter protesters at the march who largely wasted their breath.  I hoped they were being compensated monetarily by the abortion industry; otherwise they are seriously deluded people.  Showing up to counter-protest at an event that has been blacked out by the media seems more like a reflex reaction rather than a true protest.  

One poor young woman walked along the side of the peaceful column shouting something incoherent, repetitive and probably unconvincing for what seemed like half of the march.  I understand that she intended to “speak truth to power,” but she wasn’t really speaking.  Also her cause generally avoids truth like Superman avoids kryptonite and the powerful people are the ones who embedded massive abortion subsidies into Obamacare.  

Jesus loves the poor young woman, I’m sure, but Abby and I were happy when she left us to uselessly harangue other members of the available thousands of marchers.   None of peaceful walkers would be likely to see the logic of her shouted slogan or whatever was scribbled on her poorly crafted signboard. To me she seemed like as impotent as a tiger pacing behind 6 inch thick display glass. Her socially liberal colleagues and the news media would have appreciated her obligatory hissy fit as high theater, but they had ambivalently decided to give the whole performance a miss. Maybe there was a better turnout of cameras and crazies during the early years of the march. On Saturday nobody cared to hear her.  I pitied the young woman, an emotion that would have enraged her all the more.

Abby and I had a nice walk together with our friends and saw many other IHM parishioners at the march, most of whom we would encounter again and again throughout this last year.  In reality the Walk For Life is not an activity that lasts a couple of hours only; it is continuous.  The faithful walk for life, whether they were present on Saturday or not, by doing God’s will.  Whether you sacrifice an afternoon that you could have spent relaxing, or whether you fill up a baby bottle with change for Birthright, opportunities to support life occur in our conversations and when we pray.  I encourage all parishioners to participate in some way, however they think best.  As the foundational human right, we must all embrace the cause of life to truly do God’s work.

[oneweekoneband]

But it’s the only thing that I can call my own.

Titus Andronicus, Growing Up and The Last Stand of Maxwell’s

I’m never one to rag on my fellow music writers, but one of my least favorite pieces of all time has always been Pitchfork’s review of Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks’ Wig Out at Jagbags, written by Mike Powell. It’s not even the writing I don’t like, most of that’s perfectly fine. It’s just one particular passage.

This (the fact that Malkmus has released more music as a solo artist than he has with his former band, Pavement), might surprise people like me, who given a few beers and a tolerant audience will still lapse into vague, sentimental reminiscences about seeing Pavement in late 1999, a few weeks before Malkmus got onstage in Brixton with handcuffs around his mic stand, telling the audience—in a rare moment of disclosure—that the cuffs were a symbol.

God help me, I’ve always thought, if I ever start waxing nostalgic about seeing a bunch of my axe-wielding heroes in the days o’ my youth like that for any particular length of time to a decent-sized audience.

And yet here I am, primed to regale you poor souls with the tale of my final (to date) outing to a Titus Andronicus concert. For the purposes of full disclosure, the show in question, the first night of the band’s final three-night stand at the legendary (may it rest in peace) Hoboken, NJ indie venue, Maxwell’s, has little if any significance in the history of the band. It had everything to do though, with my relationship with them, and my own coming of age.

Maxwell’s, for those who never had the pleasure, was a bastion of indie rock for 35 years, hosting boundary pushers like Yo La Tengo, Sonic Youth and The Feelies (and god knows how many others) when no one else would. When I first saw a show there, a week shy of my 15th birthday, I had never seen a venue with so little separation between stage and audience. It was the first venue my friends and I were allowed to travel to without parental supervision, a remarkable place where I took in intimate performances not just by Titus, but Atlas Sound, Real Estate and Spook Houses.

In June 2013, my friends and I were in the midst of our final days of high school, and all of the excitement, drama and ridiculousness – every bit of which seemed like such a big deal at the time – that comes with them. We had just seen Titus at Maxwell’s the previous December, and though the band played a furious set as always, we had been knocked around like tennis balls the entire evening. Lacking an appetite for another set of beer-stained bruises, we initially greeted the surprising announcement of a Titus three-night stand at Maxwell’s the following month with a collective shrug. Local Business had lacked staying power, and with college on the horizon, my friends and I felt little desire to get pummeled in order to scream a little more about Bergen County and New Jersey. Hadn’t we done enough of that already?

But then we discovered why the band had announced this seemingly random set of shows. The owner of Maxwell’s felt that the venue as it stood was unsustainable, and decided to close up shop at the end of July. Just as we ourselves were finally leaving New Jersey, its greatest venue, one where we had shared so many memories, was shutting its doors. We sure as hell weren’t going to say goodbye to it with any other band.

Though their three-night stand was relegated to the middle of the venue’s final month, only a band with as much self-awareness as Titus could’ve given it the goodbye it really deserved. That show, the first night of the band’s final three-night stand, was truly one for the ages; the sort of “you had to be there, man” show that seems to only appear in reverential tales, told years later.

The setlist was nothing short of a dream. Opening with Local Business’ three best tracks (“In A Big City,” “Upon Viewing…,” and “Still Life With Hot Deuce on Silver Platter”), the band played all three (!!) “No Future”s, and the entire second half of The Monitor in order. We didn’t have to hear Stickles tell us that he was dragging himself through “Theme From ‘Cheers’” for the final time to know that we were witnessing something remarkable; a heartfelt, simultaneous farewell to the soundtrack and the clubhouse of our youth.

The front of the venue, during the biggest choruses of the night, became a disorienting storm of bodies. With the air of conclusiveness that everything that night had though, I figured that for every push I took I’d give one right back. Even then I could sense that finality. Maxwell’s, Titus, high school, moshing: it was all going to fade quickly into the rearview mirror after that night, so I figured I might as well not let anyone prevent me from soaking in every last second of it.

Eventually it came down to “Titus Andronicus,” the inevitable finale. Roadies had to sprint onstage mid-song to remove the band’s pedalboards, for fear of their destruction. A videographer who had been braving the crowds to document the show wasn’t even on his feet anymore, having been sent crowdsurfing. Stickles was shirtless, tearing his vocal chords to shreds centerstage. And in a strange twist of fate, as he bent down over the throngs, I ended up right in front of him.

Everyone wanted a piece of Stickles, who eventually joined us on the floor, trying to get as close to the great frontman as possible. Being as close to him as I was, I got it from all directions, slamming unwittingly into him over and over again as everyone tried to use me as a projectile to move him somehow closer to themselves. Used to this as he was, Stickles was unfazed, but, after I got thrown into him for the umpteenth time, he fixed his intense gaze directly at me.

I had talked to Stickles before, having bought my Titus shirt directly from him at the merch table a year earlier. I had shaken his hand after every show. But still, as his gaze met mine in the middle of that hurricane, I was horrified, preparing to mouth a nervous but emphatic apology.  

Before I could do that though, he reached out and grabbed me. Turning me towards the crowd, and putting his arm around me, he moved over a little to give me some space on the mic with him. For the 5 seconds or so that this was the case, I was too stunned to do much other than incoherently scream the lyrics I knew by heart, even then being sure not to drown out his voice. And a minute or so later, the show was over. 

Slowly, Stickles made his way down from the stage, shaking a few hands here and there, clearly exhausted. I reached out myself for a handshake, but when he saw me, he instead gave me a hug, the only one I saw him to give anyone.

In a daze, I walked out of Maxwell’s for the final time. My idol and I, both celebrating the life of a venue that had helped form our identities and memories, had shared an improbable moment. Where do you, as a fan, go from there? I didn’t know then. I still don’t know now. 

Thanks again for reading! I’ll finish up tomorrow with The Most Lamentable Tragedy.