#no idea who got axed. ill have to ask later.

[5-pp-man]

i like how me n my brother's reaction to finishing bl vs U20 was to; -immediately make a ryusae yaoi wallpaper for my phone bg -immediately theme his entire (nitro) discord layout around shidou (a gif of the impregnation goal being his banner, ofc)

[afterthegreatunknown]

random moment in mrs. quagmire’s life (before she was mrs. quagmire):

q’s cousin ernest recently told joan that she’s an envious person. joan has no idea why he would bring it up suddenly and randomly. besides, being envious implies joan has the desire to have possession of something she doesn’t have, like an item or a person. being envious implies joan is resentful and bitter towards the person who has what she desires to have possession of.

(”maybe you’re thinking of jealous, ernest,” said joan, taking a small bite of her blueberry muffin. “even then, you’re wrong. i’m not the jealous sorts.”)

but as joan sits down on the wet park bench, joan rethinks on what ernest said. as joan picks up the bottle of brandy besides her that jacques likes and always asked for at meetings and after dinner conversations, she thinks of ernest’s words. ernest’s truthful words that shot through joan’s heart in a way she didn’t think possible.

(”i’m not thinking of jealous, joan,” replied ernest, setting down the coffee cup. “if i thought you were the jealous type, i wouldn’t be having this conversation with you right now to avoid your ire.”)

joan thinks of the day she and jacques got to know each other better. it was their fifth mission together. the mission required them to not communicate with one another, unless it was in code. yet jacques one day talked to her. they spoke to one another not as volunteers, but as two people who bonded on the fact they weren’t hallucinating an english dub of a japanese animation about a vehicle name mach five, and its owner with a punny name.

(“the only ire you get from me is whenever you borrowed something of mine without permission,” asked joan, setting the muffin down. “speaking of borrowing, why do you need my ice axe? you don’t know how to use an ice axe. so you asking for one is quite odd.”)

since then, joan and jacques began talking to one another outside of missions. they hung out with one another, and not as volunteers. in fact, the two were supposed to hang out together today, for a belated birthday party at the agatha shelly’s bowling alley. jacques had missed out on her (and her sisters) birthday on account of a delay train due to a cow and tractor. jacques promised her they would celebrate later, on this date.

(ernest gave her an almost apologetic expression. his eyes, his smile... it’s like he was sorry for something. “i’m not at liberty to tell you. at least not now. all you need to know it’s for a mission i was told of rather recently. i’m not partaking in the mission, so i’m not asking for your ice axe for myself. i’m asking on someone’s else behalf who can’t ask you for...reasons.”)

joan never once had feelings of resentment and bitterness towards miss baudelaire and bertrand b, and r, and jacques own sister and little brother. joan doesn’t think ill to those jacques are close with. they are all wonderful, intelligent people who joan thinks only of in a positive matter of, even if she doesn’t know them as well as she could know them, or knows them far better than she would like too.

(“alright then. can i guess who? it is baudelaire? oh, it is baudelaire, isn’t it! she’s the only one that isn’t my sisters, me, and jacques who likes that particular model of ice axe! we been for friends for years now! does she still think me intimating when it comes to asking me things?”

“it’s associates. you been a volunteer long enough to know this, joan.”)

but joan can’t help feel resentful and bitter towards them right now.

as joan brings the brandy bottle to her lips, she looks upward at the grey clouds still lingering around. joan couldn’t help but hope it rains again. she wants people to think she was soak in the rain for far too long, instead of crying over something she never had to begin with.

[mountswhore]

Hi

I've read pretty much all of your Mason Mount blurbs/one-shots and I absolutely love your writing. Could you write one where Mason looks after you when you're sick. Sorry if I've missed it and it's already been done. Thanks xx

of course, sweet!

𝐝𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — mason mount

summary: you’d gotten sick, and who better to play doctor than mr. mount.

notes: requests are open, ask away!

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you cursed, pushing your fingertips into your temples gently, wondering where this splitting headache has come from, the light in the room was too bright, and the sound of Mason kicking a ball around outside was due to drive you insane. Today wasn’t looking like a good day. You had pushed your head back underneath your pillow, enjoying the warmth of the bed and not wanting to think about anything else.

Mason had been up since 7, his body was used to waking up early now, so he didn’t mind spending the first couple of hours alone. But when it hit 1pm, and he was struggling to find ways to keep himself entertained alone, he’d grown concerned for your absence. Heading upstairs, he could hear your whimpers from the room. You were buried underneath piles of blankets, your head below a pillow, and yet your cries of pain could still be heard.

“Bubs,” Mason spoke softly, lifting the pillow from your head and gazing at your tear-stained cheeks, “what’s up?” He crouched down beside you, dragging his hands over your face to swipe the stray hairs away.

“I’m ill.” You admitted, feeling the worst you’d felt in a long time. If there was anything you hated the most in this world, it was being ill. And Mason knew that. You couldn’t do anything, you just lay there in pain for hours. Mason could usually tell when you were beginning to get ill, as you’d sleep all day, but this came out of nowhere. He thought you were just tired from work last night.

“Oh, bubs.” He whimpered, pouting at you and moving the blankets from your body. He placed a hand on your back, feeling your hot skin under it. Next was your head, skin still hot to the touch. “Are you cold?” All you could do was nod, before your head began pounding again.

Mason had disappeared to the bathroom, and seconds later, the bath was running. He’d helped you from bed, undressing you slowly, and helping you into the tub. You were weak, your limbs shaking from the pressure you put on them from simply walking. He felt awful for you, watching as your body got used to the tepid water. He’d even washed your body and hair, as you just laid there, unable to move without your head thumping or your joints hurting. Mason had helped you out of the bath, drying you and getting you into some thin pyjamas. He knew just what to do, it was very helpful to you.

“Is there a cool setting on this thing?” He asked, pulling your hair dryer from the box beside your vanity. You nodded and pointed to the snowflake button on the side, Mason nodding and pressing a small kiss to your temple. You were sitting, looking at your pale frame in the mirror, as Mason dried your hair behind you. Every few minutes, you’d look up at him and admire the concentration on his face. Thanking God for gifting you with such an amazing boyfriend.

Now that your hair was dry, Mason had led you to the couch, laying you down with a light blanket over your legs. “Stay here, I’ll be back shortly.” You just nodded, not having the energy to ask what he was getting up to. You just laid your head back as he closed the curtains, falling asleep once again. Mason spotted you were out, and smiled to himself, relieved you weren’t going to be in pain for a while.

He had no idea if what he had done was helping, and was unsure of what to do next. So he quietly called his mum, standing outside the living room whilst he waited for the kettle to boil. You had woken up after half an hour, to the feeling of someone axing your head like a coconut. But you could hear Mason’s voice in the other room.

“She’s had a cool bath, I just don’t know what to do next. Do I need to buy anything?” Mason asked frantically, his mum on the other end beaming with pride at her son. You had a faint smile on your face as you listened to him talking to her, figuring out what to do next. Finally, he’d ended the call and entered the living room.

“Bubs,” he murmured close to your face, his hand once again smoothing over your hair, “I’ve got you some things.” You slowly sat up, resting your back against the sofa and pulling the blanket closer to your skin. Mason had given you painkillers and a drink, along with a tea, placed on the coffee table beside you. “I’m gonna run to the store to get some stuff, the TV remote is right there.”

You nodded at his instructions, happily accepting the kiss on your head before he left again. You couldn’t bare the sound of the tv, so you stayed in the dark, hoping for the painkillers to kick in quickly. The shop wasn’t far, it was within walking distance, but you knew Mason would drive, so he’d be even quicker.

“I’m back, bubs,” he called out, voice still gentle as he cared for your headache, “how are you feeling?” He sat beside you, pulling various things from the bag. “I got you some apple juice, some ice cream, some more painkillers, this weird heat pad thing, and I thought you’d like something to eat, so I got you a sandwich.”

“Thank you,” you croaked, reaching your shaky hand out to grab his, squeezing it as tight as you could, “for all of this, and everything you’ve done for me today. I mean it.” Mason blushed and kissed your hand gently, holding it close to his chest.

“Come here,” he whispered, laying beside you and pulling you into his lap, the blanket covering the both of you now, “what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t look after you? A very bad one, and I’d do this for you everyday if I had to. Get some rest.” He rubbed his hand up and down your thigh, making sure you weren’t sweating too much or shivering, even helping to feed you.

You’d started to feel better two days later, springing out of bed and leaping onto the couch beside him as he watched Netflix. “I’m feeling much better now, Mase.”

“Call me, Dr. Mount. I know exactly what I'm doing if football doesn't work out." He exclaimed, squeezing your waist as you sat on his legs. It made you giggle, seeing how happy he was that you were feeling better.

[scribefindegil]

Hello Scribe I would love more info on Protagonist Of Your Own Life and The Ill-Fated GF NaNo Fic Of 2016!

Protagonist Of Your Own Life

Okay SO! This is definitely the weirdest and most meta of my fic premises. Here is the necessary background information:

"You're the protagonist of your own life," is something that Reigen tells Mob early on in MP100. It's really important for him as he begins to consider his own wants and desires and become his own person instead of blending into the crowd. It's a lot. I have many emotions about it.

This fic is not about that.

This fic is about my disaster son Hanazawa Teruki. Teru is another psychic middle school kid who gets introduced as a counterpoint to Mob. He's awful and arrogant at first, but then he gets his entire worldview upended and spends the rest of the series following Mob around like a besotted puppy who loves violating the Geneva Convention. Also he's been fighting off superpowered kidnappers for years and he lives by himself because his parents abandoned him (probably due to the aforementioned superpowered kidnappers, but to my knowledge it's never really explained).

And. He's the only character who acts like he knows he's In A Story. When he's introduced he has a dramatic speech about how he's The Protagonist Of The World, and later he tells Mob that he thinks of him as his rival. So of course as someone who goes feral every time a character interacts with The Narrative, I am obsessed with him.

The concept of the fic is that it's a Teru character study tracking what he feels like his place in the story is, and how that relates to his character development and sense of worth! So the beginning is him deciding that all the messed up things in his life have meaning because he's the Main Character, and how he then twists that into the deeply lonely and deeply egotistical Protagonist Of The World persona we see him with when he's first introduced. And then he meets Mob, and realizes that he isn't the main character! Mob is! And so he switches to feeling like his life has meaning because of how he's connected to Mob, first as a side character and then as a "rival". Which like . . . allows him to undergo some pretty significant character development, but is still not a healthy way to look at the world. He has to come back around to the idea of being the protagonist of his own life, but between his fear of his past actions and his fear of losing his relationship with Mob, he doesn't think he can do it.

The only problem with this idea is that the stories that Teru is modeling himself around are shonen animes, which I have not actually seen any of, so there's a part of me that's afraid that if I actually want to write this fic I'll have to watch Naruto or something.

The Ill-Fated GF NaNo Fic of 2016

You know the backstory on this one! I had a story I was excited about, I had momentum, I was making great progress . . . and then the election happened. But it's a three-years-in-the-future big ensemble Gravity Falls project that I still think has a lot of cool ideas and that I'd really love to get back to! A snippet under the cut:

Wendy adjusted the hat so that the embroidered axe was right over her forehead, then slung an arm around Dipper’s shoulder. Even though he’d grown a full two and three-sixteenths of an inch in the past year, she was still over a head taller than him.

“So how’s it hanging?” she asked.

“You tell me. Hey, do you think it’s weird for me to be hanging around with a college girl?”

Wendy rolled her eyes and jokingly pushed him away. “Ugh, don’t say that yet! I’ve still got almost three months!”

“Wait . . . almost?”

Wendy’s face fell. “Yeah, man. School starts, like, mid-August.”

“You mean you won’t be here for our sixteenth birthday party?”

“Well.” Wendy shrugged. “I didn’t say that. Given all the sci-fi junk you and your uncle and Mr. McGucket get up to, I bet you could find a way to teleport me back. Or project me or something.”

Dipper’s heart sunk. They’d only just gotten there; a week or two out of the whole summer wasn’t that bad, but . . . the party was important. Having everyone there at the send-off was important. Would he have to be the one waving from the bus stop after they swapped hats?

Summer in Gravity Falls was a tradition, but it wasn’t like it was set in stone. Things were going to change, and Dipper wasn’t sure if he was ready.

[edenmemes]

assassin’s creed valhalla starters

words within ‘()’ are additional, optional choices! more maybe to be added at a later date. some n/sfw present. 

❝ you should see the other man. he got the worst of it. ❞   ❝ and who better to lead us to glory than me? ❞ ❝ i am most at home helping others. ❞       ❝ i’ve waited long enough for you, and you for me. ❞   ❝ thank you for not saying anything about my past. ❞       ❝ know that however far away, you’re always in my thoughts. ❞   ❝ when you see your god, tell them i sent you. ❞   ❝ what you make up in muscles, you’re lacking in spine. ❞   ❝ i almost envy you, to see the world through such a muddy glass and live with such petty concerns. ❞   ❝ i smell the stink of a dozen kingdoms in your beard. ❞   ❝ this feud is not yours, yet you fight it all the same. i find that strange. ❞   ❝ by the look on your face, you have lost your will to live. ❞   ❝ my arms are numb from battle. does it need any dressing?    do you think it is a serious wound? ❞   ❝ oh dear. this is not how i foresaw things. not at all! ❞   ❝ should we take this to your chamber? ❞   ❝ i want this. i want you. ❞   ❝ turn around, walk away, and you keep your insides inside. ❞   ❝ stay back! back! i will fight you! ❞   ❝ you look like reddened shit. what happened? ❞   ❝ i have always wanted to experience the world as you do. ❞   ❝ you come like a valkyrie out of a fog. but i have no dead to give you. ❞   ❝ all right, stay close and do as i do. ❞   ❝ home. or...it was home, once. now it is nothing but bone. ❞   ❝ i’ll have no qualms wiping clean your grin. ❞   ❝ just take care. such hatred can make you careless. ❞   ❝ away from your table for a day and you are already lusting for blood. ❞   ❝ if i did not know any better, i would say you are teasing me. ❞   ❝ the dream of new lands is a powerful lure. ❞   ❝ i love climbing up here. makes me feel as high as a raven. ❞   ❝ if i don’t find your horse, i will steal you a new one. ❞   ❝ i feel somewhat trapped. in this room, in this settlement, in this life. ❞   ❝ you are lost in a sea-storm of your own making. ❞   ❝ the poet in you sings once again. ❞   ❝ tonight, we will eat and drink like gods and wake in a kingdom made new. ❞   ❝ i wish i understood you better. for those i do not understand, i do not trust. (and i cannot stomach a lack of trust.) ❞ ❝ i’ve been called worse. ❞   ❝ you have nothing to fear from me. i bear you no ill will. ❞   ❝ you are a shadow of your father. weak and witless. ❞   ❝ what is this? is this...are we in hell? ❞   ❝ keep company with kings and you will soon have a crown of your own. ❞   ❝ a toothless cub may grow to be a dangerous wolf. ❞   ❝ you are far too young to speak so wise. ❞   ❝ i need clear, sound judgement. i need you. ❞   ❝ kind and courageous people live the best lives, but it can be a difficult path to keep. ❞ ❝ i want to say...i love you. and i have for some time. ❞ ❝ you smell that? the stink of jealousy. (of our budding friendship, i think). ❞   ❝ ah, while i have you, i’m reminded...i have this for you. ❞   ❝ your lies are just like you. big and bold. ❞   ❝ don’t excuse yourself. you enjoy this too much. ❞   ❝ you've come back. why are you wasting your time with me? ❞   ❝ care to sing a song? helps me pass the time. ❞   ❝ that is twice you have earned my admiration. ❞   ❝ you have only the setting sun to tell you when to stop. ❞   ❝ i want to know what you know. name your price. ❞   ❝ people like you deserve something worse than death. ❞   ❝ they called me a lout, a disgrace. they were right. ❞   ❝ i will have to get used to watching the sights of war from afar now. ❞   ❝ there’s no other way. fight or hide. it’s up to you. ❞   ❝ do not think me a coward. i am not afraid of war. ❞   ❝ friendships end. often at the point of a spear. ❞ ❝ i will make you beg as your father begged. ❞   ❝ (until that time,) it would be best to keep all discussions about...    about us to yourself. ❞ ❝ without you i would have lost my way a thousand times. ❞   ❝ you have no other friends. so tread lightly here. ❞   ❝ be it a blessing or a curse, family is always first. ❞   ❝ let’s not walk too far with that idea. i need you right where you are. ❞   ❝ you bested me. yet, i’m the one left standing. ❞   ❝ it’s a pleasure to meet you at least. ❞   ❝ you and your people here have done more for me than i could ever repay. ❞   ❝ you have my highest respect, regard, and trust. ❞   ❝ you’re not shy, are you? ❞   ❝ if we do this, you’ll earn the right to call me friend ten-thousand fold. ❞   ❝ does this have the stench of betrayal to you? ❞ ❝ today has meant so much. we rode, we fought, we drank, we laughed. (you showed me your world.) ❞       ❝ your end was written the moment you came for me. ❞   ❝ i am a sellsword. i ask what i please, and i take what i’m owed. ❞ ❝ you move and i will take your eyes. you hear me? ❞   ❝ i will leap first. on my word, you must follow. ❞   ❝ many times i wished to tell you. wished to say what was in my heart and what i desired. (but duty kept me from it.) ❞   ❝ these wounds will heal quickly. you’re lucky. ❞   ❝ anything to help you feel at home. ❞   ❝ our friendship is the best thing to come from this mess. ❞   ❝ you will be remembered for this, for years to come. ❞   ❝ i thought i had lost you. for good this time. ❞   ❝ you have shown me a great kindness. it is only fitting that i do the same. ❞   ❝ the mess you’re in...you don’t know the half of it. ❞   ❝ you have drawn a dark conclusion about me, haven’t you? (that is all well and good. i’ve drawn some about you as well.) ❞   ❝ you seem...strangely familiar. ❞   ❝ here i am, an upright man who never once learned how to bend the knee. and yet...i shall try. ❞ ❝ that’s a bread knife. do you mean to butter me? ❞   ❝ is that not something you worry over? ❞   ❝ a blind pursuit of vengeance has made you predictable. ❞   ❝ no matter where you are, or how far you travel, i will hunt you down. ❞   ❝ i came for you, looking for a friend and ally. ❞   ❝ people change.    it may be that you change with them, or you go your separate ways. ❞   ❝ i wish you whatever peace you may find in this new life you’ve found. ❞   ❝ i want your word: you will follow my orders. ❞   ❝ the day is new, and the air is bracing. are you ready for the fight ahead? ❞   ❝ er...good to meet you as well? ❞   ❝ what riches are worth so much misery, and the deaths of honorable men and women? ❞   ❝ my destiny is mine to weave. ❞   ❝ my road forward has been a muddy one. slick with blood and tears. (but we can reach its end together.) ❞   ❝ it is a wise leader who considers the needs of others. ❞   ❝ i think my mouth has gotten me in enough trouble today. ❞   ❝ at the end of all things, you will find yourself with nothing but your regrets. ❞   ❝ you saw fit to keep me guessing through your fits of madness. ❞   ❝ by all the gods, what was that? ❞   ❝ i was...restless. a quiet walk alone clears the head. ❞   ❝ when winter is past, summer will come and wind you in a flowered skirt, for you are beauty and shall not wither. ❞   ❝ ...unless you had a more interesting day planned for us? ❞   ❝ i do hope you see it now, for all you have done for me. ❞   ❝ your passion, your strength. i have never met such a burning soul. ❞   ❝ i have no guilt nor regret for what we have done, but we should be careful. ❞   ❝ i see before me a person full of passion, vigor, and a love for their people. ❞   ❝ if i wanted to hear you talk shit, i’d cut out your tongue and shove it up your ass. ❞   ❝ you! you look stronger than most of the others. ❞   ❝ your hatred for me burns bright. i could warm my balls on it. ❞   ❝ you’re quite like your arms: incredibly thick. ❞   ❝ i fought as i do, as hard as i do, to survive. (for i know what awaits us in the end. only darkness.) ❞   ❝ a shameful trick. you are your father’s child. ❞   ❝ you destroyed my life. i will take yours. ❞   ❝ you snore a little, like a wounded bear. ❞   ❝ that’s when i knew i would live and die for you. ❞   ❝ i’m going to pretend your last words were taken by the wind. ❞   ❝ i might still kill you yet, if your prattling doesn’t cease. ❞   ❝ you are weak like your father was weak. (you dance better than you fight.) ❞   ❝ have you ever seen muscles as massive as mine? ❞   ❝ i’m honored by your faith in me. and your confidence. ❞   ❝ after my missteps, i worry what you must think of me. ❞   ❝ with so much blood in the water and death in the air, i’d like to know your name and purpose. ❞ ❝ i have a good feeling about this place. ❞   ❝ you helped me reclaim what i had lost in myself. ❞       ❝ you speak of honor. where’s yours? ❞       ❝ you will throw away all reason to defend what you sworn to. ❞       ❝ you really are like a hero out of folk tales. ❞       ❝ how much would you sacrifice to be freed of fate’s shackles? (would you give your tongue, your hand, your sight?) ❞   ❝ there’s no power strong enough to do what you say. ❞       ❝ please, you must fight for me.    who knows what vile people might come to harm me? ❞   ❝ i have no need to count my kills. they number too many. ❞   ❝ i appreciate you for all of your qualities. ❞ ❝ not even the gods can change fate. ❞       ❝ i think it is time i take my leave. ❞ ❝ you really thought my life was in danger? (and you risked your own life...) ❞ ❝ the path ahead is bright, with glory at its end. ❞ ❝ it is easy to lose one's way on the road to glory. do not let false victories blind you to what is true. ❞ ❝ the act of leaving so beloved a home, there is a sadness to it. ❞       ❝ so there’s nowhere...you call home? ❞   ❝ all things end. ruins are not a warning, they are a testament. ❞   ❝ be nice to sleep in a real bed when this is over. ❞   ❝ in my sleep i dream. and in my dreams i see an end to the doom that will grip the earth once again. ❞   ❝ even when we win, we lose. ❞   ❝ i am as good with my lips, as i am with my tongue. ❞   ❝ is this your idea of a pleasant ride through the country? ❞   ❝ no whispering god brought me here. i brought myself. ❞   ❝ i would like very much to pass some time with you. ❞   ❝ ...and that’s how i got that scar. ❞   ❝ do i now haunt your dreams? ❞   ❝ it was never in their character to lead, it was always within yours. ❞   ❝ so easily wounded by words. imagine the ruin my axe would inflict on your flaccid ego. ❞   ❝ i have felt this way for some time now. i care for you. ❞   ❝ i have not felt safe since then. not really. ❞   ❝ how long have you been chasing me? seventeen winters? eighteen? ❞   ❝ you are not always to be trusted. your passions overcome you. ❞   ❝ i like you. you may help me here or step on me...and by the look of you i’d welcome either. ❞   ❝ it is good to have you in this fight. ❞   ❝ you need only know my impressive scale and flawless build. ❞   ❝ i am better than any man here. ❞   ❝ i can tell by looking at you, you are not a great warrior. (you know it too, there is no reason to deny this.) ❞   ❝ i am looking for honor, and have become lost as a result. ❞   ❝ many apologies. you are no child, simply a frail and fully-grown fool. ❞   ❝ i was stupid, selfish, reckless, blind, boneheaded, and i smell like blood and shit. ❞ ❝ anything to say for the mess you led us to? ❞   ❝ how was your...first kill? ❞   ❝ you squirm like that and my axe will miss your neck! unpleasant for both of us. ❞   ❝ i know you would defy me to the death, fighting for a glorious end.     that i will not allow. ❞   ❝ most men choose to be loud or stupid. impressive, that you managed both. ❞   ❝ you are a great warrior. conquerer of this land and that of your birth. ❞   ❝ you’re chasing shadows like a madman howling at the moon! ❞   ❝ quite a hit you took. how many were lost? ❞   ❝ well fought! even if your wits were somewhat rattled. ❞   ❝ we suffered no losses in this fight, and the men who humiliated us are dead. what is there to say? ❞   ❝ i would like to be close to you. ❞   ❝ if you are a warrior with honor running like sunlight in your veins, then you may help me fulfill my destiny. ❞ ❝ you are a long way from any warm hearth, warrior. Is this where you call home? ❞ ❝ am i to go the rest of my days without love or attention? i think not. ❞   ❝ the gods favor you. they always have. ❞   ❝ the others, they are like clubs. blunt and ungainly, you are nimble, like a knife. ❞   ❝ people with eyes that gleam like yours are always up to something more. ❞   ❝ only a fool stays awake all night worrying. you are tired when you get up, and the problem is still not solved. ❞   ❝ i liked you from the first. i saw something in you that captivated me. (as if a forgotten memory of an old friendship had suddenly resurfaced.) ❞   ❝ you've done nothing but give me your blind word! ❞   ❝ did you bring me any treasure? ❞ ❝ the woodsmoke from your firepit does sting the eyes. but the warmth is welcome. ❞ ❝ it is not something i can speak on. or wish to. ❞ ❝ i'm with you. only say the word. ❞ ❝ until we cut off this serpent's head, it will poison us, day by day, drop by drop. ❞ ❝ get some rest and return here at first light. ❞ ❝ i missed having you at my side. how i wished i could have taken you along on my travels. ❞ ❝ i do not like this, but i will not stop you. ❞ ❝ i have waited too many years for this day. when ___ stands before us, give me the final blow. ❞ ❝ why do you carry such a useless burden? let it go. ❞ ❝ i have waited years for this, but i will not risk losing it through rashness. ❞ ❝ i cannot fathom your game. you are either a young fool...or deceptively wise. ❞ ❝ your confidence blinds you to so much in plain sight. ❞   ❝ it’s good to be here, with you and your people. (i feel my life has found a new road.) ❞   ❝ there has always been war, even among the gods. ❞       ❝ my honor has been stained. until it's wiped clean, i want nothing else. ❞ ❝ i lack the patience for pole fishing. i would have better luck with my bow. ❞   ❝ if we tell all our stories, we’ll be here for a week. ❞ ❝ can you teach me the art of archery? ❞   ❝ bury the past. build the future. ❞       ❝ i missed you. your clear head and your courage. (we have not had enough of both in recent months.)   ❞   ❝ i have a good feeling this war is near its end. ❞ ❝ explain in plain words why you have willfully disobeyed my commands. (do you mock me?) ❞   ❝ the gods favor you. they always have. ❞   ❝ my love for you rises tall and strong, like the tree of life. ❞   ❝ the prize is some of my time. (a walk in nature, maybe more if that is where our conversation takes us.) ❞ ❝ together, we are unstoppable. ❞ ❝ it is natural to fear change. to resist it. (but all things change, and all things end.) ❞ ❝ you said nothing of this to me, not a word. ❞ ❝ so long as men and women fight to secure honor and freedom, their allegiance hardly matters to me. ❞ ❝ i care for you. i do not know how to say it any other way. ❞   ❝ love can burn brighter near death. ❞ ❝ i knew this would be difficult, but sometimes the weight bears down heavily. ❞ ❝ you are young and still foolish, so i will spare you your life. (but cross me again or harm anyone i cherish, and you will join your friends in hell.)   ❞ ❝ if you are as brave as you appear, you will come. ❞ ❝ this is not a natural quiet. it's as if a curse has befallen this place. ❞ ❝ there was a curse here long before i came along. ❞ ❝ we’ll forge a warrior from your softness, hammered on the anvil of war. ❞ ❝ you are different than the kind my flights of fancy attract. burdened, decorated and…delicate. ❞ ❝ i do not know what else to say. m-my memories are faint, hazy. ❞ ❝ how are you doing? you survived a serious blow. ❞   ❝ we’ll weave our sagas together, thread upon thread. ❞ ❝ i try to use my knowledge to help others. i am only a threat to those who fear the unknown. ❞   ❝ slap some moss on that gash and wrap it well. ❞   ❝ a knife to the back is a wound that never heals. ❞       ❝ with me you have wisdom! glory! power! what more do you need? ❞       ❝ if your hell is real, i’m glad you’ll get to see it. ❞   ❝ to fight beside such legends is an honor. (i've only heard tales of your conquests. now i get to live them.) ❞   ❝ i have tried to live well. it is enough that the gods know that. ❞ ❝ a cloud hangs over you. is something wrong? ❞   ❝ you have plunged my city into chaos. ❞   ❝ my sword is gore-greedy. i am ready to fight. ❞   ❝ accept your fate and die a coward, here before your people... and i will spare the rest. ❞   ❝ you would take the rescue for yourself, so the victory song is written about you? ❞   ❝ kneel, and i will spare your life. ❞   ❝ it has been some time. what brings you so far to see me? ❞

[gamergirl-niffler]

Wife’s Touch Part 2 - Male!Eivor x Reader

PART I

I actually really liked the first part... and I guess some people liked it too... I mean it actually got some notes

So! I sat and even when no one asked wrote part two

BIG AND AMAZING THANKS TO MY ONE AND ONLY @arthurbristow​ FOR CHECKING THIS MESS :3 LOVE YA!

It again pokes the main story SO BE WARNED! Just in case if someone didn’t finish the story yet.

Since Sigurd returned home, things changed. He changed. The good Jarl that loved his people dearly changed into a harsh leader.

It was hard to spot him outside his room like before, most of the time he spent away from everyone.

No one could blame him for this. Everyone heard that happen to him. They heard Eivor's story and the missing arm was a harsh reminder of the hard time Sigurd had been through.

Despite all this, people did their best to live their daily lives.

———————————————————————

You sat right outside the long house, enjoying the warm sun on your skin. This was what you needed, your body started to change and it needed rest.

Suddenly, there was a kiss placed on your forehead. Opening your eyes you saw a familiar person. Person you were bonded with in front of the Gods, many winters back.

"Enjoying the weather, I see. How do you feel my love?," Eivor asked, kneeling in front of you to place a kiss on your now bigger belly.

This was why you loved Eivor. Eivor was a ferocious warrior, strong and dangerous. He could split a man in half with one swing of his axe, he killed the whole army barehanded yet his soul was gentle and poet-like. Your husband was easily changing from warrior into loving man.

Your hand moved into his nicely done hair, of course they were nice. You made those braids yourself this morning. "I do enjoy the weather, love. I cannot spend whole days in our room. As much as I love our bed, staying there for too long can get boring."

"You never were the one to sit in place for too long. I remember when we were young, you were running around like a snow hare. It's even harder to forget what was happening once you started to wield the sword and shield," Eivor chuckled and placed one more kiss on your tummy before getting up to sit next to you.

You giggled as your thoughts returned to the times of childhood and the time when King Styrbjorn brought young Eivor to the settlement, announcing that the boy is now his son.

Your mother explained to you what happened and it became your goal to befriend that boy and make him smile again. You two became friends and then warriors, fighting, hand in hand. Later stuff went in an even better direction.

Your state was the proof of it.

"I know and I don't regret the past nor the present. I am more than happy to be by your side and carry your child."

Your husband gave you a smile and leaned in to place a kiss on your lips, which you gladly accepted.

The sweet moment was interrupted by someone clearing his throat.

It was Sigurd, of course he wanted something from his brother. "As much as I don't want to deprive a wife of her husband, I need to talk with Eivor."

You didn't want to let him go, not yet but there was no other choice.

Sigurd knew you for years, you were friends for years but in his current state you didn't want to unnecessarily get under his skin.

"Very well, I think the little one demands a nap. I'll see you soon,” you kissed Eivor's cheek before going back to the longhouse

———————————————————————

You used to be a warrior or just a useful person that liked to help around but since the pregnancy started you slept a lot. Thankfully now Eivor was in settlement on daily bases which made your sleep much calmer.

Your nap again took a few hours out of your life. You woke up to the pair of yellow eyes, watching you.

Of course the wolf was here. Giggling, you sat up and scratched Chewy behind his ears. "Aren't you a great companion?"

After some cuddles with the wolf you got up from bed and walked out of the room. You noticed Eivor standing over the map and talking to Randvi.

Walking closer you could hear their talk.

"It may be time to return to Norway. Sigurd is eager to see his father and... and beyond that, I do not know," Eivor said as he looked at the map.

"I have heard ill news about Styrbjorn in the past year. If you go, go with care," Randvi said.

You watched him nod and pierce the map with the dagger.

"We will leave now. And return as soon as we're able."

Those words made you freeze.

He wanted to go NOW? Back to Norway?! It was to travel for many days and gods know how long they will be there then they need to come back. You didn't want him to leave, you didn't want to be away from him.

Sigurd was mad and he followed him, what if they won't come back this time?

"Eivor...," Your voice already cracked.

He looked at you with those beautiful blue eyes and sighed.

Eivor didn't expect you to hear the talk, he wanted to go to you and explain it himself but here you were.

Your fragile figure shaking a little from the sudden wave or fear, eyes getting more and more shiny.

"My love...," He said quietly, moving closer to wrap his arms around you.

"I am sorry for leaving in such a rush. I wanted to tell you as soon as I was done talking to Randvi."

You nodded and nuzzled him, whimpering quietly.

"Why do you need to leave? I don't want you to go... Please stay with us,"

Honestly you had no idea where those feelings came from.

"Y/N. Listen to me," Eivor said quietly and pressed his forehead to yours.

"Whatever Sigurd is planning, I need to make sure my brother is safe. We will come back as soon as possible. I promise you that."

You looked at him, biting your lips. Of course he would follow Sigurd just... Why now? He was going mad and Eivor still went after him. You always thought that the bond between them was wonderful but this was too much.

"Eivor... I..."

"I know what you are thinking but you know you can trust me. Whatever he wants to do, I will make sure we are both safe," Eivor whispered, gently touching your cheek with his rough fingers.

Closing your eyes you took a deep breath, simply enjoying the touch and closeness.

After your nerves calmed down you opened your eyes and nodded with a soft smile.

"I trust you, Eivor."

"I swear on my honor. I will return to both of you, alive and well," He promised, touching your belly.

"Try not to... And I will pull you out from Valhalla myself," You muttered and Evior chuckled before pulling you into a slow kiss.

You returned the kiss, grabbing the hem of his cloak.

Soon he pulled away to place another kiss on your forehead. "Randvi will keep an eye on you."

"Of course I will. Everyone will. She will be safe Eivor," Randvi nodded, walking closer to the two of you.

"Travel safe and keep each other safe, Eivor. We will be waiting," She said, wrapping arms around your shoulders.

You smiled at Eivor and nodded.

"I will pray to Gods for a safe return. For both, you and Sigurd."

Eivor and you shared the last good bye and he left.

It still felt wrong, you wanted to have him close but you also couldn't keep him in one place for too long.

———————————————————————

Days had passed. Every day was almost the same.

You woke up with white beast in your bed, you prayed, you helped Randvi or anyone who needed help, you prayed, you waited in the docks and then ate and went to sleep.

Every day was full of unshown fear.

All you wanted was to get your husband back with you.

Your every moment was filled with quiet prayer. No matter what you were doing, the prayer was stuck in your head. "Please bring my husband and his brother back safely."

———————————————————————

One evening you decided to visit dear Valka and help her a little. Whatever could keep you busy was just perfect.

Valka smiled as soon as she saw you walking into her hut. "Y/N, how are you? And the little one?"

You returned the smile and nodded, touching your belly. "Everything is fine so far."

"I can feel you are worried. Scared even," She hummed.

You chuckled. Of course she would know, despite your smiles. It was Valka after all. Suddenly you were hugged.

"You don't need to worry. Eivor will come back to you. The night will be filled with happiness. Now come, I could use another pair of hands."

It was a mystery what she meant. She often liked to speak in riddles and you already got used to it.

The work Valka gave you was really easy. Nothing more than just organizing and preparing some of the herbs she collected during the day.

It was relaxing and the nice smell of plants smoothed your nerves.

"Y/N! Y/N! They are back!" Tove said happily as she walked inside the hut all excited.

You gasped and quickly went to the longhouse when Tove went to inform others.

The building was empty and quiet, illuminated by many torches but he was there.

Eivor stood there with Sigurd, he looked just as proud as always.

You thanked all the gods that both returned home happily.

"Eivor!,” You said happily and your feet immediately carried you to your husband.

"My love,” Eivor smiled and wrapped you in a hug as tight as possible of course without hurting you or the little one.

You nuzzled him and just then heard him hiss and groan. Pulling away you noticed some of the blood coating his tunic.

"It's alright my dear. It's nothing serious, we can take care of this later," he said as if he was hearing your thoughts.

Looking around he frowned. "We missed a great feast, it seems."

Then you realized your husband was right.

All the tables looked as if they were right after the feast or prepared for it to start. This was odd, since you did not recall any feast planned for tonight.

"Eivor..." Sigurd said getting your and Eivor's attention.

The older brother gestured to the throne. "Sit a moment... and rest."

"Sigurd." Eivor was unsure of it all. This wasn't his place, he wasn't much of a ruler.

"Go on, love," you said quietly and gently touched his shoulder, trying to encourage him.

Hesitantly Eivor walked to the throne and slowly took a seat on it, getting comfortable in the seat. He looked at his older brother who gave him an approving nod.

You couldn't stop looking at him.

Eivor looked so proud, perfect in this place. Even if he was always saying that he isn't a leader, you simply knew he was made for this. He will be a great jarl.

Randvi joined the three of you and after a brief talk about men's travel Tove brought everyone in.

"Eivor returned! Inside, at the hearth! Come!"

Sigurd decided to walk away and sit down at one of the tables

Few of the people carried torches, adding more light in the long house.

Giving Eivor a sweet smile you stepped aside to let Randvi speak.

"Eivor? Randvi? What is this? Is everything all right?,” Gudmund asked.

Randvi shook her and looked at Wolf Kissed over her shoulder.

"Our Jarl has returned... to lead us forward into an uncertain future. Will you speak to your people?"

Eivor looked at you for any kind of help. He looked nervous, not sure of it all.

You just gave him a sweet smile, assuring him that he can do it. After all, your husband did harder things than that.

"For love and joy, words can jade. Our souls must sound in a heartful song. And when... no, no," shaking his head he got up from the throne and walked closer to all the people he called friends.

"You are less mine than I am yours. And I ask of you only this, keep me honest in the times to come."

The Long House was quiet.

People looked at Eivor and each other.

The sudden change of Jarl was for sure a big surprise for everyone but it for sure wasn't unwelcomed.

Bragi broke the silien with a song and soon everyone joined, so did you.

In just a few minutes this special moment changed into a big feast.

Feast filled with family, friends, joy and singing.

It was hard to remember the last time that the whole settlement was so full of happiness.

Such moments were rare but they were honest, this was the most important.

———————————————————————

You and Eivor returned to your shared bedroom really late at night. Other people stayed up to have more fun but you needed your sleep and Eivor was happy to follow you.

"You didn't tell me about the wound," You frowned, noticing the wound on his belly.

Eivor looked down on the said wound; the souvenir of the fight with Basim.

He nodded and gave you a little smile.

"I did not because there was no need to worry you. This wound is shallow."

Letting out annoyed sighs, you nodded as he sat down on the bed. You immediately moved to sit right behind him.

Your hands moved into his hair, loosening the braids and combing through Eivor's beautiful blond hair with your fingers.

Your husband hummed and quickly relaxed thanks to your touch. It was nice to feel a familiar touch after weeks of fighting.

You worked until his hair were completely loose and than you placed a gently kiss on the scare on the right side of his nape

"My beloved husband."

Eivor smiled and then turned around to lie down with you right by his side.

Watching you he smiled.

"My beautiful wife who is carrying our child. I can't wait for the little one to be here. I hope your days were calm when I wasn't here."

"Yes, the little one was really calm," You chuckled, touching your belly. "I was the worried one."

He nodded and took the big fur to cover both of you. Once this was done Eivor pressed his forehead to your and closed his eyes, you did the same.

"Rest now. No need to worry any longer. I am here and I will protect both of you."

You smiled a little and nuzzled him. He was back home, this was what you both needed. Soon both of you fell asleep.

———————————————————————

Morning was something you loved the most most. Getting ready for the day was always fun.

"You know. Since you are our Jarl now. I think I will braid your hair differently. Something that speaks; Leader," You hummed, looking at Eivor's hair.

He laughed warmly and nodded. "Very well, I put myself and my hair at your mercy, wife."

"Oh don't worry, you will look beautiful as always. I will make sure of it."

Braiding Eivor's hair took you longer than you expected but you were really proud with your hand work.

He looked more handsome than ever, honestly you were surprised that it's even possible.

The two of you walked out of the room, holding hands.

You noticed Eivor frowning a little more than you noticed what he saw.

His brother stood next to the entrance to a map room, his arms crossed over his chest. Sugurd didn't look happy, he looked concerned.

"Sigurd...," Eivor asked, moving closer to his brother gently pulling you behind himself.

"Eivor. Before you say more, I must tell you something. Randvi and I have... Have ended our marriage," He said slowly.

You gasped quietly a bit shocked but on the other hand you understand it.

Everyone knew their marriage was the complete opposite of yours and Eivor's.

Yours came out of love when there was an arrangement.

"I am sorry to hear that," Eivor said softly.

You wanted to add something but Sigurd was quicker than you.

"Ah, do not be. Both of you. We adore one another dearly, but our marriage was not built on love. We were brought together as an act of peace. I was pledged to her well before I knew her. And though we have tried to settle our differences and find love in our faults..." He shook his head. "It has not worked out. And so we have dissolved our bond. Yet as a clan, we will grew together."

"Then I'm glad for you both. And for the rest of us. This place would not be the same without you two," Eivor agreed, nodding.

You also nodded eagerly. "That is the truth, Sigurd. Our settlement would feel empty without both of you."

Sigurd smiled at you. "Y/N. My dear sister in law, I owe you an apology. I haven't been too kind to you lately, it was all because of my clouded mind," he placed hand on your belly.

"Please, forgive me for this behaviour. I can't tell you how happy and thankful I am for everything you do for my brother. I hope your child will be as strong as he is and as beautiful as you are."

You giggled and nodded. "Thank you Sigurd and really. It was nothing, I understood everything."

Man nodded his head and pointed at Eivor.

"And you, little brother. Keep her safe and close, if you ever let her go or hurt her... I will kick your ass." Eivor laughed loudly and nodded. "I promise on my honor and life and all the gods."

You smiled and squeezed his hand. "Oh I know it all, I don't need to promise anything my love."

After this little talk, Sigurd walked away.

You and Eivor decided to go for a walk, just to enjoy each other. You could already tell that better times were here and you couldn't wait for more.

———————————————————————

[space-city-traffic]

yet again im back on my bullshit so... (gazes with mixed feelings at the TV show Firefly) i could fix him.

my extremely long thoughts about my Own Personal Good Version of Firefly (with plenty of spoilers for the show and the movie) under the cut:

things that are getting axed first thing no question:

out with the whole “let’s add in a thin veneer of Chinese cultural aesthetics out of context for ~flavor~” deal. just no.

instead, let’s hire some actors from a bunch of different cultures and work with them to figure out how their characters would bring those cultures into space with them!! and also hopefully bring some experiences with immigration/alienation/travel into it, since the Whole Core of Firefly is about how humanity always brings our doomed and silly and stubborn and unique warmth with us even into the cold void where nothing is familiar or homey in the slightest.

let’s respect our sex worker character shall we?

i do appreciate that Inara’s work as a companion is described as legitimate and well respected in the show. however please stop having your captain and hero call her a wh*re every five seconds against her clearly expressed wishes and portraying this as just a totally acceptable thing

let’s be more respectful of our characters of color and also have some more diversity, shall we?

others have put it better than me but yeah, the way Zoe and Book are treated is very uncomfy, and the rest of the show is depressingly monochromatic. come on let’s do better.

stop the weird confederacy hat tips

again others have pointed these out with much more thoroughness than I could, but the names of some characters and locations, as well as some of the language used to describe the browncoats, has uncomfortably confederate vibes. instead i propose we very Clearly tip our hats to the Alliance equaling space capitalism instead! you can’t go wrong with space capitalism as a villain.

don’t! make! the! psychotic! character! violent!

listen i love River Tam with my whole heart. but you should absolutely not portray your only character with psychosis as violent because of that psychosis!!!!!!! and yeah, a huge part of her character is that her brain got fucked up by the alliance and so she hallucinates and is also a super ninja. but like. she doesn’t need to be a super ninja for her character to work, okay? the crew does not need to be scared of her for her character to work, okay??? more on this later bc it would take a lot of care and nuance to make her character work but i really think it can be done

things we are absolutely keeping:

found family tropes my fucking beloved

this should be self evident. this is why the show is as appealing as it is despite its flaws, at least in my eyes.

malcolm reynolds, the knight in dusty armor

there’s something so appealing to me about what Mal stands for. because at his core is this ridiculous, silly, stubborn, doomed devotion to what he thinks is important and right, a romantic idealism thinly covered by cynical cowboy platitudes that he thinks make his bleeding heart totally invisible. and he is so obvious and entirely incorrect. bless. this is a man who will do anything for his family, who charges into swordfights to defend his friend from a man who wants to turn her into an object despite having no clue how to hold a sword. at his worst, he starts brawls in bars just for the martyr’s thrill of being persecuted for supporting the right; at his best, he inspires downright religious belief from his crew because he represents a romantic and chivalrous and doomed dedication to the right thing over any practical concerns. and then he throws a “selfish” quip over it with 100% confidence that everyone fell for his clever distraction and believes him to be a dirtbag. he’s oblivious and ridiculous and god he makes me want to be a better person because he’s just so goddamned sincere. stupid, but sincere. 10/10 himbo. <3

Mal and Inara ultraslowburn friends to enemies to friends to lovers to enemies to friends to lovers to friends to...

there’s nothing i love more than a ship that’s just two people who know each other way too well, and they’re each the only one who knows the other well enough to call them out on their bullshit. the way Mal and Inara interact in the show sometimes makes me uncomfy but like. the core of their relationship has to stay.

space western aesthetic

i need the cows on a spaceship scene to stay like i need air okay

that sweet sweet religious shit

mal, who lost his faith in gd and a whole lot else during the war. who lost his faith in himself, and now feels he has to hide the part of him that still wants to be good, because he knows he can’t be anymore, and he feels like it’s embarrassing for a guy like him to want something so unattainable. who takes a preacher on board, and the preacher has lost something, too. the preacher has his own past, and his own questions. but not questions like the observant neurodivergent girl, the one who wants to interact with and understand this thing that’s so important to him, but it just doesn’t click with how her brain works and she feels like something needs to be fixed, either the Bible or herself. and Mal takes care of them all, and slowly, he begins to find gd again, not in a prayer but in humanity. humanity doesn’t need to be fixed, like the alliance thinks. the shining imperfect strawberry sweetness of it in his family’s smiles is something to be worshiped and served and devoted to. and he finds he has something to believe in again. (and his crew find that he’s given them someone to believe in, too. and maybe suddenly he’s a saint.)

and finally, my brilliant ideas as to what i would like to add:

TRANS WOMAN KAYLEE RIGHTS

listen her femininity is so important to me okay? it’s so thrilled about everything that’s pretty, from dresses to the spaceship’s electric innards, and it’s so non-traditional and grease stained until it’s not and it’s pink and ruffly and twirly, and she never sees any of it as a contradiction, because none of it contradicts, it’s all just her! her gender is warmth and love and prettiness, feeling pretty and appreciating the pretty and making her friends’ days pretty too.

i want us to find out she’s trans in that episode with the ball, and i want us to find out alongside Mal who just never asked or never realized. Kaylee gasps and squeals at the dress in the shop window and Mal makes an off handed, ill considered comment, and then... someone yanks him aside and hisses a few very significant words in his ear. and suddenly he remembers what the blue white and pink she painted all over the engine room means, and he knows he has something to make right. so he buys her that dress himself and lets her know just how pretty she looks, and when he walks into that ball with her displayed on his arm like something precious, he looks the proudest out of any man there. and she notices. for a few seconds, of course, until there’s chocolate, and ‘nara, and a chandelier—and some horrible girls, but she’s used to that, until—suddenly, she finds her people. a group of old men who light up when she jokes about compression coils and whack presumptuous boys who ask her to dance. they adopt her as a treasured granddaughter, and Mal is beaming at her like a proud dad, and she finds that one of her new elderly friends gazes a little too long at her bracelet, and so she gives it to xem and teaches xem a few new words, and... it’s a good day, huh? it’s a really good day. (of course, then the captain has to go and punch somebody in the face, but it was a real nice party up until then.)

also she and Simon are both transhet t4t im correct and you know it

time for a better River Tam

the first thing we’ve established is that this version of her is not unpredictably violent and the crew is not scared of her!!!! it makes no sense to take a kid who’s primarily brilliant, experiment on her brain, give her telepathic powers....... and tack on the fact that she also has super strength and speed and dexterity and what not, AND say that they programmed her to be super violent. no! no. not only is that extremely harmful rep, that’s also just stupid.

instead!! my version of River is in fact not terrifying to the crew, but is actually the one they feel safest around. River has always been totally blunt, she was one of those kids you could tell realllllly early was autistic, and she doesn’t like being disengenous at all. so you can always trust her to tell the truth and not play weird passive aggressive games or have any hidden agenda, which makes her just a really chill person to be around. also, one of her longtime special interests is music and dance, so whether or not she’s nonverbal on a given day, there will always be some sort of beautiful sound when she’s around. she does have the singing voice of a dying crow unfortunately but that’s ok bc Simon’s is even worse and they’re both incredibly competitive so you’ll at least get free entertainment out of the affair.

my version of River does have psychosis and hallucinations because of the trauma of the experiments, and they are really troubling to her. she and Simon work together to find ways to cope and meds that help, and it’s a process, but there are some things that help.

the only thing she gained from the academy was the ability to hear people’s thoughts and sense the future a little bit. and yeah, that led to her picking up a few spooky secrets at the beginning, which, yikes. and for a while, it was hard to figure out which voices were real and which were hallucinations. but around her friends, she always feels safe to ask “did you just think about triple cheese burritos or was that just a me thing?”, and they’ll always tell her the truth no matter how embarrassing their thoughts are, bc it’s important to all of them to respect her and help her sort accurately through what’s reality and what’s not. and bit by bit, she gets better and better at figuring out what kinds of things tend to be telepathy and what kinds of things tend to be psychosis, and that each one feels a little different. and because of the trust and respect and support of her found family she’s able to do that in a safe environment!!!

trans man Simon rights

listen i wanted to keep him as just a side note on Kaylee’s list but he is my son and he’s important to my heart so here goes

out on the outer rim where Kaylee’s from, gender ain’t much of a big deal, there’s an individualistic quality to life out there, and so if the trail you blaze is the trail of a woman or a man or neither or both, that’s respected even in the rare cases where it’s not outright encouraged. but in the inner planets, where competition and connections and public faces and family names are everything, you have to be what’s expected of you to survive. you can’t change your brand, you can’t be anything other than what your family planned for you since before you were born, it’s incredibly hard to survive in such a hyper competitive environment, and so your very identity becomes just a tool in how to market yourself for better success.

needless to say Simon (just as autistic as his little sister and also very trans) fuckin hated it there. but he was very good at it. correction: he was very good at his very specific field of STEM, good enough to where people stopped talking about how cute he looked in bows and started talking about how impressive his work was from a very young age. and his work had no gender. he could be whatever he wanted to in equations. so that was where he could express himself, and gd, he got so much praise for it, he never wanted to stop.

not until he discovered that his sister needed him, and ran away, and needed a disguise, and realized... suddenly, every stifling rule and prying eye was a million miles away. he was freefloating, freefalling, with none of the charted paths he’d been following all his life... so you know what? fuck it. he’s always enjoyed the name Simon. and since it’s not on any legal records, it’ll make him just that much more untraceable.

and on Serenity, starting over with new people who never knew him before his transition feels like an unbelievable blessing that just dropped right into his lap. he has to keep up the secrecy, he has to make sure they never find out who he used to be, because gd, it’s so nice when they look at him and say his name right, and he doesn’t know if he can handle losing that, not when it’s so new and so important to the person he’s finally becoming. but then one day, the unthinkable happens, the wanted posters for his arrest have an old name on them, they’re looking for the Tam sisters, and... nothing changes. the crew of Serenity could not give even a tenth of a percent of a fuck, and it doesn’t seem like they even know they’re supposed to. huh. that’s new. Simon could get used to that, he thinks.

i’m sure there’s more i could add, but it’s 4:30 in the morning now, so if more occurs to me, ill simply add it in a reblog tomorrow. if you’ve read down this far, i am in love with you. please let me know your Better Firefly ideas, too, bc im always down to yell about this show!!!

[herenortherenearnorfar]

This Tornado Tolerates And Respects You

A little story about Gothmog and orcs that I’ll probably put on other sites later. But for now, a tumblr exclusive! CW for the terrible reproductive politics of evil (implied reproductive coercion, forced childbearing, light eugenics), orc awfulness, disdain for incarnates, radiation poisoning, chemical weapons, Fingon’s fate, mentions of cannibalism, malnourishment, ear cropping, and all of the above with the implied harm to children.

Orcs, Lord Melkor’s special pet project, a blasphemy first and a strategic asset second, didn’t make the best troops. They could swarm over a target in a useful mass of bodies but they lacked skill and drive. For the Captain of Angband’s own force of fire and shadow, spirits sprung free from the tyranny of the Valar, orcs were a sea of troublesome bodies, cluttering up the field of battle. More flesh to whip through, barbed wire quick, more lungs to choke with lime gas. An annoyance, not an ally.

He didn’t have very high expectations of them as a source of soldiers and there were very few individual orcs who he respected. Gorfaunt was one of those rare exceptions.

They’d fought on the same battlefield under the taunting stars, in those blissful days before the heavens changed, and he’d been impressed by the orc commanders ability to marshal troops. Very few in that division ended up trampled beneath Balrog feet. Even the retreat was prompt, almost orderly, without sacrificing that wild spirit which was one of the orcs’ few redeeming qualities.

When it came time to capture the stripling-king of the elves he’d requested Gorfaunt’s orcs in particular. Once again they’d proven their mettle and the commander had become of of the Captain’s favorites. If orcs had to be stationed next to their betters it was preferable that it be Gorfaunt’s orcs, who knew how to comport themselves and could fight near Balrogs without dying in droves.

Now with the latest glorious battle (and another successful collaboration, the Captain still glowed at the memory of the Noldor’s latest king cracking open to spill his red insides over his silver banner) behind them and Lord Melkor demanding Nargothrond and Gondolin, they met once a month to strategize, share intelligence, and complain about everyone else. To an outsider they might have passed as friends. There was less formality between the two of them than another high general of the iron fortress might have demanded, they sat at the same table and spoke freely.

(The Lieutenant still asked commanders to bow before him; that was why even his own troops called him Sauron behind his back. Gothmog was a superior appellation, less insulting, more fearful, but he still didn’t hasten to encourage its use.)

Despite their surface level amicability and the handful of tried-and-true inside jokes—mostly having to do with how enemies had died— they could bat at each other, they knew very little about each other’s lives. Meat and smoke only mixed when making a brisket, trying to relate two such different ways of being seemed impossible.

But when he saw Gorfaunt waddling into their monthly kvetch with a belly round and swollen like a tick’s, the Captain felt driven to say something. He was the marshal of Angband, he couldn’t let his king’s forces go to seed.

“Are you ill? Cursed?”

Gorfaunt managed to pull out a chair, made for a Balrog three times the size of an orc, and hoist themselves into it with rangy arms. “No? Just five months with a baby kicking around in my insides. The little bugger’s finally starting to show itself.”

That took a second to decipher. “You’re having a baby?”

Of course the Captain knew the basics of how incarnates made more of themselves. It was a topic of great fascination in the old days, when Yavanna was first figuring the system out, and of course the Lieutenant would prattle on about warg breeding to anyone who’d listen. They had sex— another thing that did not come naturally to beings of spirits, though some Maiar had made astounding progress in the field, for pleasure was pleasure and even Nienna’s acolytes sought catharsis and comfort—then there was lots of squishy biology on a level invisible to the incarnates themselves, then a little parasite was somehow blessed with Erú’s fire, to be nurtured until it could nurture itself.

He also knew that orcs, like elves and dwarves, had little distinction between men and womenfolk. Useful when it meant you could channel your entire adult population to battle. Startling when you realized that a key ally had been quietly pregnant for months without you, a greater being able to perceive stalactites growing and the scales on insect wings, noticing.

In truth he’d been doing a lot less noticing of late. His senses were dulling. Perhaps it was the light of the cursed gems, which painted everything in blinding, indistinguishable holiness. Or he was just losing his touch.

If he focused now he could see it. It was easiest to sense on the plane of wraiths. There was Gorfaunt, a guttering candle; wheezing, weak. All orcs had that fire, however dim. No one had managed to fully extinguish it though it had been much suppressed. Tucked against her, nearly imperceptible, was a little spark. Not much yet but given tinder and carefully fanned it could grow. “You’re having a baby,” he marveled.

Gorfaunt’s face was… orcs were hard to read at the best of times, bubbling over with noisy pain and anger that obscured their true emotions, prone to skin diseases and horrendous eye infections that muddled their expressions. She didn’t wear her gas mask around him anymore, though most were quick to cover up around any Maia of Morgoth. It helped little, her face was still opaque as the mountain itself. “Yep, Captain.”

“Good?” You congratulated an ally on a new weapon, a new bond, a promotion. Which one was an infant classified as? What was the correct form?

“Hopefully it’ll be over and the little goblin will be in the caves with the old’uns by the time we find either of the cities.” Gorfaunt provided, only barely contextualizing his felicitations. She was chewing on the inside on her cheek; sometimes she would gnaw until she spat black blood. “Terrible time for it. Terrible time. But the high ups are worried about reinforcements down the line, I suppose.”

Orcs came from orcs. It was a fact so simple it barely bore considering. Another department handled it. The new ones just showed up, springy and long limbed, faces still soft and unmarred. “Goblins” he’d heard older orcs call those fresh pale creatures. Barely even monsters, more like stunted, crepuscular versions of the elves and dwarves they fought.

“How much longer?” They had a few good leads on Nargothrond, a promising word about Túrin Turambar. The Captain could not sack that city himself, the honor had already been promised to the sulfurous worm. Apparently they wanted to test the mettle of these dragons. But Gothmog could assign a few good orc commanders to supervise, make sure the worm was not overstepping his bounds.

Dark blood trickled out of the corner of Gorfaunt’s mouth. “Five months, I’m told. Could be more, could be less. Then I have to wait until the thing is independent enough to leave alone, that’s another few months.” She was probably counting months as the orcs had started to, by the moon. Wretched traitor, Tilion, who’d laughed with them at the idea of running away then turned his face when the time came to flee for freedom. They hated it as much as everyone else but in their hatred they were aware of its cycles. They rejoiced when it went dark.

“You’ll still be able to manage your underlings?” Orcs, and freed Maiar, were fractious. They did not respect a leader who lacked the strength to force them to obey. It could be exhausting. And Gorfaunt was already so round. The Captain did not wish to lose her support over one orcling.

“I think so. So far… in old days you’d den up somewhere for a year, avoid everyone prowling for blood, but I don’t want to fight my way up the ranks again. I’ve got an ax and I’m using it.” Despite that she sounded tired.

Long heartbeats stretched between them, that exquisite embarrassment of two coworkers suddenly forced to talk about private affairs.

“This is your first,” the Captain didn’t reach the tone of a question with that one.

“Yes. The recruiters were getting growly so I grabbed a fellow. I’ve been avoiding it for too long.”

“You don’t want a child.” Again, not quite a question. He was feeling it out as he goes along. This is the longest conversation about orc reproduction he’s ever paid attention to, for the Lieutenants diatribes we’re always dull.

It was no matter to him, except that this was the only orc commander he could tolerate working with and she was chewing through her own cheek in discomfort.

“They take something from you,” Gorfaunt admitted. “Dame and sire both, but worse for the dame since she has to carry the clot. You go… stretchy. Bleached like old bone. I’ve seen soldiers and after twenty children they’re not good for anything but shoving onto a line of pikes. Raw meat for the wargs.”

That didn’t make sense to him, but he was never a scholar of flesh or spirit. He knew how a skull split and how a soul fled, how this matter-sprung life withered, how it died. That was all that counted. He also knew how to value a resource.

“There won’t be any after this,” he said firmly. “Not if you don’t want them.” If need be he’d escalate to Lord Melkor, frame it as sapping strength from their command structure and propose making officers off limits from breeding programmes.

“As you command, Captain,” she said with a bowed head, but she looked gratifyingly relieved, and their conversation could finally move on to the latest stories of occupied territories and the search for the hidden cities.

The next few months Gorfaunt somehow managed to get bigger and bigger, until she was no longer able to swing herself into a chair and had to take their meeting standing. Her leather armor no longer fit and with just a thin layer of rags over her distended stomach it was easy to see the squirming creature inside.

Ferocious little animal. It would go so still and then kick out again, as if it could burst free of its creator by force of will alone. The kernel of its mind was forming too, a hazy bubble of sensation and half formed emotion. He could see what had the Lieutenant fascinated. It wasn’t his field but it was morbidly interesting, seeing the shape of something new and moldable come together right in front of you.

But he had not been made a sculptor or a craftsman. He’d been born a wild thing, a tornado, a volcano, every disaster meant to fell cities, and though he had not known the words yet he’d sensed in his core, seen in glimpses in the song, that he was a creature of war. Like many other wild things—Ossë, the simpering coward tied up in Uinen’s tresses, excluded— he’d found his way to Melkor in the end. Oh, he’d idled for a time with Vána, heard Námo’s dolorous call, but it was Melkor who he came back to and Melkor who he picked in the end.

Melkor taught him so many more ways to be. The smoke, the blood, the screaming not in sorrow but in anger. He taught the others who came to him as well. In the Captain’s little squad alone there was one who learned the slaver’s whip and the threat of fire, one who learned the ooze of pus and malodorous air, one who came to appreciate the ravenings of rabid beasts. From the dragons in the treasure-caves to the cat in the kitchen to the vampires in the highest towers, they were all Melkor’s creations.

Gorfaunt, born and raised here in the shadow of his ancient power, was even more Melkor’s than most. This was how the Captain rationalized his continuing fondness for her as she weakened, his interest in her spawn. Works of the same maker might gravitate together. They could see parts of themselves in each other, the way he could once see himself in other Ëalar born of the same bit of song.

When Gorfaunt came in four months after their revelatory meeting with a sagging belly and a bundle nestled against her chest he was excited to finally see what had been made.

It took a bit of coaxing to get her to show him the baby but no orc would outright refuse an order from anyone stronger than them, they knew better than that. The newborn was dutifully unwrapped and presented, though Gorfaunt’s expression suggested that she considered this all a silly waste of time.

It was a rumpled wet creature; mostly skin and bones, with a cranium as big as its rounded torso. Small too, barely bigger than Gorfaunt’s hand, and Gorfaunt was smaller than all elves and many humans; based on overheard complaints failure to grow was an ongoing issue with their kind. When it was unswaddled sticklike limbs flailed out and began batting at the air ineffectually. Despite this wriggling its face remained in a sleepy scowl. It wasn’t until Gothmog moved one cherry-hot finger closer to it that it opened its hazy grey eyes and tried to focus on him. Even then the dismayed frown stayed put.

An unscarred orc was always an interesting sight; for it revealed the scale of their reworking. How much orcishness was self-replicating, as the Lieutenant liked to claim, and how much had to be beaten in? This one had a droopy brow bone and already peeling corpse-grey skin but it did not look much like an orc besides that. It even had hair, which most orcs lacked (aside from a few lank patches). The fine red down covered its whole body, thickest on the head and face and arms.

“It’s supposed to fall out,” Gorfaunt said, “Everyone says it’ll fall out soon. Even the prisoners lose their hair after a while, especially in the deep mines.”

That was probably because of the miasma of decay that emanated from the ores of Angband. Not macro-decay, of skin and bone (that came later) but the infitesimal decay. Every piece of metal— every piece of existence, when you got down to it— was made of little stars. There was a gaseous center of energy and little orbiting specks around that, spinning in probabilistic loops. Like stars some were bigger and some were smaller and some were ready to collapse. Ilmarë loved to speak of supernovas. The yellow and blue metals below the mountain were full of little stars collapsing, reforming, giving off energy in great sums as they did so.

The Captain had noted the negative effects of this energetic output on incarnates some time ago. Elves sickened and humans just died— Lord Melkor had moved the man he hoped would give him the location of Gondolin far from those mines for a reason. A few of the spirits with natures inclined towards metal, salt, and industry had already incorporated the burning energy into their signatures. The Lieutenant doubtless had some wicked little experiment running with it. It was a part of life here, that background hum of a trillion crumbling particles, and the Captain never thought of the effect on orcs, though they were exposed from birth.

Now that he focused he could see the little crumbs of decay glancing off the baby.

Hmm.

It would probably be fine.

It was already rubbing its eyes and going back to sleep, one hand curled next to a crumpled, not-yet-cropped ear.

“Are you recovered?” he asked Gorfaunt.

“I’m fit enough to fight,” she said shortly, defensively, as if afraid he’d snatch her command from her. “I’ll be better soon when this thing is gone.”

The Captain’s huge palm hovered over her infant. He knew better than to touch; his ability to change forms was not what it once was, he could not stop being a bipedal avalanche, to strong, too close, too dangerous. Even just containing the noxious gases— the pustulent yellow and choking green— simmering inside this war shaped body was difficult. If he kept a few feet distance the chaotic heat of his skin faded into the air and the baby wriggled contentedly in the ambient glow, like a little lizard.

“And how long will that be?”

Gorfaunt’s hand twitched. Another few months, till it can manage worm meal and listen to the grands.”

It seemed impossible that anything could be big enough to leave alone in such a short time; but incarnation was not the Captain’s specialty. “And that’s the accepted practice?”

“A little young, but safe now that the master put a stop to the baby eating problem.”

“I wouldn’t want it to be a concern,” the Captain said very seriously, even though his fingers curled slightly around the baby’s limp body. “We can make modifications if the child must stay longer.”

Gorfaunt glanced down at her sprawled offspring. “I don’t— I don’t want this to last any longer. I’d rather have my life go back to normal.”

That, at least, he could understand. It has been a rather troubling experience overall. Revelations are not always useful and though he’s gained some knowledge it’s not very practical stuff.

“One more question, commander, then I’ll drop the matter. What is it named??”

That nascent mind bubble had sharpened with time and experience but was still comprised mostly of sensation. He could not even grasp at a basic sense of self. The child’s mother should know what if calls itself, if anyone did.

(He wanted to remember the name, for forty years from now, when he needed more good orcs. All those rants about the fundamentals of inheritance left him with some ideas about how incarnates develop traits. Another Gorfaunt would be a helpful tool to have on hand.)

The question left Gorfaunt unimpressed. “It doesn’t name itself anything yet, it hasn’t got the common sense. And no one’s given it a name because it hasn’t done anything interesting.”

“It has an interesting look” the Captain pointed out, “Tell them to call it Red Cap,” he slipped into the elf tongue, which had better color words than the one the Lieutenant devised, and in the process accidentally named the child after a former king of the Noldor. “Or something like that.”

Gorfaunt apparently had a better memory for politics than he gave her credit for, or perhaps just a distaste for the elf cant, because she quickly translated it back into Angband’s crackly tongue . “Rotbint.”

“Yes.” A Balrog, even the chief of Balrogs, could not give much to something so soft and incarnadine. A name, incorporeal, existing in the plane the Captain knew best, was the only thing he could offer. “Now, to business?”

Gorfaunt wrapped the little creature away— it woke halfway through the rolling to stare at them once more— then tucked it against her chest.

The Captain was sad to see it go, though he couldn’t say why.

He remembered that he had come to this physical world for a reason once. He had wanted to see all there was to see, to feel and taste everything, chew chunks of Arda up and spit it out new. Disasters hungered as much as anyone. Yet all he’d had lately was war fare; blood-soaked mud and rage-tinged fear.

Deprived of fresh experiences, he clung to the potential, the novelty, of new life.

Perhaps Gondolin would see him out of his funk, he thought. It couldn’t hide forever.

“We’ll find it, Captain,” Gorfaunt assured him stubbornly. “And we’ll tear it down brick by brick, raze their gardens, fill their streets with blood.”

Even with a baby trying to gum her collarbone her firm tone allowed no questions.

Orcs were, as a rule, bothersome, unruly, walking corpses. Fractious, ugly, difficult, bothersome, recklessly stupid. The Maiar serving under the Captain were sometimes stereotyped as simpleminded brutes but at least they were able to perceive the world around them, even if few bothered to use that perception. In comparison orcs were stumbling around in the dark. They were inefficient as well, you needed three of them to take down any decent enemy. But when they were well made they were well made. Those were the ones that made it all worth it.

It had to be worth it. This was freedom, after all.

[writesandfights]

Can you do one where y/n is afraid to smoke but she always puts her hand in his smoke bc she thinks it’s cool. Jj wants to teach her and use it as a way to flirt but she always denies. Later he catches her playing with his zippo lighter and calls her a klypto too. He teaches her to smoke n it’s rly cute !!! Ok sorry I’ll stoppp!! I love ur blog tho🤩🤩

PROMPT # : PERSONAL REQUEST

WORD COUNT: 1660

WARNINGS: SMOKING

PAIRING: JJ X READER

LATIBULE

JJ sat at the edge of the deck when he was smoking, this location seemed to be the most comforting place for him in all reality, he loved the way this felt, his feet dancing through the cold water and his eyes tracing over the setting sun. You walked down the dock in the click of your boots and he turned to see you with a small smirk spreading over his lips, he was happy to see you were home after having gone to the mainland for some time. You were home. That's all that mattered to him, he licked his lips and moved over so you could sit down next to him.

“Hey there beautiful, it's good to see you're home again, I have missed you, let me say, trying to text you without a phone was literally one of the most impossible things - BUT uh.. Would you like to smoke?” he had handed it out to you, hoping you would take the blunt from his hand but you shook your head weakly and only watched him carefully. “ no no.. you know I don’t like to smoke but uh.. I must say I'm flattered you tried to talk to me through your imaginary phone..”

He took a deep breath, watching as the smoke reached his lungs and he took a second to blow out the fog that remained. You put your hand up and ran your fingers through the swirls of light, it was beautiful, you didn;t like smoking but you must admit, when you saw those puffs of smoke you couldn;t help but want to touch it. They were like those old paintings you would see in the chinese fairy tales, small, then they would spread so much bigger than itself, fading away to nothing.

A smile spread over your face when you finally put your hand down and he smirked again, he loved when you did that, you acted like the little things were so damn perfect and you appreciated fire along with the danger that came with it. “ you know.. You seem to be so appreciatitaive of the smoke that comes off of this blunt, I think one day you should just say fuck it and smoke, but anyways, I gotta make sure John B doesnt go to get himself killed by some crazy old woman who loves axes, Ill catch you later beautiful.”

The young man had stood up and kissed your cheek before he left, you turned a deep red and shook your head jokingly, you turned and waved to him. “ wow! You have a great time! Make sure you don’t die in that house or whatever in the hell the two of you are gonna do!!” He rolled his eyes and waved to him while laughing under his breath, your eyes traced down to the dock to see he had left behind his golden zippo lighter, it was beautiful, you had to admit to that, but you knew he would look for it if you didn't tell him you had it.

You shot a message to the younger man, aka John B, telling him that you had the lighter and that JJ could come over to your house and pick it up, he knew better than to come through the front door, your parents were way to strict after all, they were never going to allow you to end up with someone like him but goodness that didn't stop you from falling harder and harder for him. You watched as The Nun was on the screen, probably not the greatest idea to watch a horror movie when you're expecting guests but you did it anyway. The lighter was no bigger than your thumb when you ran your fingers through the small flame and smiled overly proud that you didn’t get burnt. It actually felt good, it felt like heaven to touch the fire.

JJ watched from the window when he saw you playing with what you had in your hand, his lighter, You ran your finger through the flame and stopped when it would hurt, it was like you were enchanted by the flame, the same way he was. It danced through the darkness of your room but he still saw that familiar look in your eyes, the wonder and the amazement, he loved that look, adored it.

He pushed the small window open, letting a little creak noise echo through your room, when you heard it, you instantly jumped into the air and shook your head. Your heart was racing when you turned and held onto the pillow as a weapon, JJ climbed into the room and flicked the lamp on when he got greeted by the pillow right to the face, “ hey hey you need to calm down there, princess.”

When you heard his voice you calmed down but shook your head slowly, you licked your lips and turned away in complete embarrassment, he was laughing and sat down on your bed. He picked up his lighter and opened it, letting the fire dance over the rough palm of his hand, he was still so handsome, in this light or even in the light of day, but you were drawn to the fire. “ you know i saw the way you had been looking at that fire, maybe you're a lot like me, a klepto, right? Do you know what that means beautiful?”

You bit the inside of your lip when you nodded and didn’t want to admit that the good girl was drawn to the feeling of freedom and the heat that fire seemed to give off, that was always gonna be enough for you. JJ stood up and grabbed your hand when he pulled you closer and started to take you towards the window, “ come on.. I know you're scared of smoking but youre gonna be okay when you're with me, I promise you that, just take my hand and trust me..”

“ of course I trust you.. But what happens if we get caught, what happens then?” He chuckled and moved your hair from your face when he knew you were truly worried about something like that, “ then we ran away from the cops.. If we are lucky we will get caught in a tight alleyway and you'll be pressed right into my chest..”

Of course that idea sent goosebumps up your spine but you laughed regardless, his eyes so soft when he had gotten you to agree. You stood up and allowed him to pull you out of the window, he helped you down and held onto your waist, leaning into your chest and turned a deep red because of it. He might have been smooth but when it came down to you, he wasn't that smooth person anymore, he lost all control of that and maybe you knew that, but maybe you didn't.

He had led you back to that dock where he sat down and held onto a small blunt, lighting it between his thumb and pointer finger, he could see you were nervous but he would have comforted you through all of it. “ I know you're scared, but look at me, you're gonna be by my side the whole time and- I know you won't be alone, i'm right here..” He winked and you nodded when you moved closer to his body, he placed the end between his lips when he took a deep breathe and you watched as he let it reach his lungs again, he then exhaled and you reached up to grab the smoke but he took your hand, “ i wanna hold your hand..”

A smile came onto your lips when you let your eyes trace down to his lips and he was doing the same, he knew you were staring and goodness how he was intrigued by you. He held out the little joint and nodded weakly, “ okay baby.. Sorry uh, beautiful, you use your thumb and your pointer finger, pressing it between your lips and taking a deep breath, when you do, suck it all the way in until you feel the smoke hitting your lungs, okay?”

You nodded in agreement and did as told when you pressed the drug between your lips and took a deep breath, allowing it to reach your lungs and soon you were coughing much louder than before, trying to control the burning but you couldn't. JJ laughed with a small smirk and held onto the blunt when you were done with it. He watched you so carefully, you're soft pink lips rising to meet the joint he rolled for this moment, the goosebumps that rose atop your skin when he ran his fingers over yours, he was so enamored and goodness how he just wanted to tell you how he felt in that moment.

“ okay okay, there's my girl, you hit that like you were snoop dogg, look at you go..” he chuckled and soon took another hit himself but this one was different, he moved closer nad pressed his lips into yours, he exhaled into your mouth but kissed you at the same time. It was the most euphoric feeling you have ever had, the running of happiness through your veins, how your eyes closed when you kissed him in return, goodness how you have been wanting to do that. You have always wanted to kiss him and now you have the chance to do so, you pulled back a moment later and leaned your forehead against his, allowing him to breathe when you blew the leftover smoke into his face. He was brave when he saw the red lines coming over your eyes, you were stoned out of your mind and he would take care of your giggly self, but the first thing he wanted to do was ask so softly, “ go out on a date with me.. Tomorrow..”

A/N - awe thank you so much! I am happy you love my account . It’s a mess right now but thank you for the compliment. I hope you enjoy it, i also left it open for a part two ;)

[winter-soldier-vibes]

You saved me (Steve Rogers x reader)

You saved me

Steve Rogers x reader

Summary: Steve Rogers loses you (his girlfriend) in the battle of Wakanda (set in Infinity War) and mourns. Until he finds out he might be able to bring you back

Word count 2146

Warnings: spoilers for one, death/dust, mourning

A/N: THIS CONTAINS INFINITY WAR AND ENDGAME SPOILERS. Also, I know that this isn’t verbatim what happens, but I paraphrased. A lot of the battle is included here, so seriously, if you haven’t watched the movies, don’t read this quite yet. Sorry if I got something wrong. I DON’T OWN ANYTHING MARVEL the battle in Infinity War and Endgame are both mentioned and paraphrased but it is not my ideas.

-----------------------------

It had destroyed Steve so much. You were fighting with him inj Wakanda against Thanos, and had joined him to try and protect Vision and the Mind stone while Wanda was trying to destroy it before he got to it. You were a skilled fighter, and had learned from Natasha years ago. Fighting was your specialty.

You were fighting some of Thanos’ army when you heard a yell from Steve and turned around just in time to see him get punched by Thanos

“STEVE!” you yelled, running over to him. Thanos paid no attention to you, turning back to Vision. You crouched down beside him, checking to make sure he was just unconscious, not dead. You put your ear to his chest to feel his heart still beating. Thank God, you thought. 

You tried waking him up, slapping his face gently. “Come on, Steve. They still need us Cap…” you said. You took a breath before giving him a hard slap across the face.

His eyes opened and he made a move to defend himself. “Hey hey hey, Steve, it’s me, it’s y/n. I’m sorry babe, I just had to wake you up.”

He nodded, sighing in relief. “Where’s Thanos?” he asked.

The two of you looked around to see Thor fly out of the sky and shove his axe into Thanos’ chest and push it further. You sighed in relief. Maybe it was finally over.

You could see the two of them talking, and Thanos raised his left hand. You heard Thor yell “NO!” as he snapped.

Confused, you watched light flash out from the stones and you looked around, trying to figure out what had happened. Nothing seemed to have changed, but then you started getting this weird feeling in your stomach, like you were about to pass out. 

You tried to stand, but stumbled. You looked at your hands to see them turning into dust. “Steve….” you looked up from your dissolving fingertips. “I - I don’t know what’s happening.” you said, starting to panic as your arms vanished.

The last thing you heard was Steve saying your name

Steve watched in horror as you dissolved into thin air. He knelt down in front of where you had been, running his hands through the pile of dust on the ground. He looked up when he heard his name from his friend Bucky

“Steve?”

He looked up just in time to see Bucky dissolve just as you had moments ago.

He went over to where Bucky had just been, seeing the dust fall to the ground just like it had with you.

He found out later that the same thing had happened to trillions across the universe. Thanos had done it. He had annihilated half of the population. 

When they followed Nebula to where Thanos was living to retrieve the stones, he was devastated when he learned that the stones were gone. Along with any chance of saving you.

He spent the next 5 years in despair. He tried to look on the bright side, tried to move on like he told everyone else to. But he was falling apart inside. When he woke up after being frozen for 70 years, he thought he had lost Peggy. A few years later she had really died. On Zola’s train, he thought he had lost Bucky only to find out that he was the Winter Soldier in 2014. When he found you he had finally been moving on from all of that. Starting over. But now you, and his best friend, were really gone.

He would try and replay every memory he had of you, making sure to remember every single detail. He couldn’t let himself forget. It was painful to remember, but he couldn’t bear to think of not being able to remember everything he had with you.

The love you had for each other.

Gone with the snap of the fingers

Literally dissolved into nothing.

He tried to keep it together for everyone, tried to get people to look on the bright side, but he never was able to himself. He couldn;t help but wish it had been him instead.

He didn;t know what to do with himself. There wasn;t a fight anymore, you weren;t there and neither was Bucky, he needed to do something but there wasn;t really anything to do. 

They were the longest years of his life.

Eventually he learned to move forward, but never fully. He couldn’t ever hope to find love again. He still loved you. No, he ran a group to help people cope. He figured if he couldn’t help himself he could help other people.

When Scott Lang showed up at Headquarters rambling about the quantum realm and time travel, he dared to hope again.

Maybe he could actually bring you back.

He went to Tony’s house with Scott and Nat to ask him about Scott’s idea. He tried not to show it, but he was desperate. When he said no, he tried to understand. But once again, he was crushed.

When Tony showed up a few days later having figured out a way to go back in time successfully, he tried to contain his excitement. He didn;t want to get his hopes up too high, but he couldn’t help it rising within him. He might actually be able to save you this time.

The entire time of gathering the stones and time travel, he kept you in mind. He’d do anything to get you back. Whatever it takes.

He stood there as Bruce snapped, and he looked around. Clint looked at his phone that had started ringing, and he could tell by the way he spoke that it was his family. That had died 5 years ago.

“Did we do it?” someone asked.

Steve just stood there in shock. Could it actually have worked?

A missile was shot through the ceiling, blowing everyone back. “What the hell was that?”

More missiles were shot, scattering everyone throughout the compound, and smashing the compound the smithereens. Most of the people fell down into the earth, along with the gauntlet and the stones. The missiles had come from a ship that was making its way down through the atmosphere, and it was apparent that it was Thanos.

How the hell did he get here?

Steve was one of 3 that hadn’t fallen underground, and Tony stood over him with his shield. He handed it to him, helping him up and walking to where Thor stood at the edge of the wrecked building, where he saw him

Thanos

Sitting on the edge of a rock, just waiting. But for what?

The 3 of them walked over to him. “You could not live with your own failure. And it brought you back to me. I thought that getting rid of half of you would cause those who survived to be grateful. But you’ve proved me wrong” he laughed to himself. “At least now I know what I must do.” he stood and picked up his sword. “I’ll build a new universe.”

“Out of what? S[illed blood?” Steve asked.

“At least they won’t know it.” He replied.

Tony suited up and Thor summoned lightning, helping Tony blast Thanos. He stumbled back, but grabbed Tony just in time to block Thor’s hammer from hitting him. Tony flung back and the impact knocked him out.

Thanos turned to Steve and threw him before throwing his sword at Thor. He battled with him before flinging him to a rock and standing over him with the axe Thor had been using.

Steve got up and focused his concentration, holding his hand out and praying that this would work. He saw the hammer start to move, before it flung past Thanos and into his hand.Hell yeah.

Thor shook his head. “I knew it.”

Steve walked toward Thanos and began fighting him with the hammer, summoning lightning and even surprising himself. He directed it to Thanos, and ran towards him to hit him in the head with the hammer. He missed and Thanos grabbed him and threw the hammer out of reach, before holding his shield up to block the sword. His shield began chipping away until he barely had half of it and was thrown across the battlefield, flat on his back. 

Steve pushed himself off the floor, not listening to what Thanos was saying to him. He watched as his army was beamed down from spaceship after spaceship. He kept trying to stand, trying to figure out a scenario in which this ended well. He finally stood up and heard on his earpiece,

Steve, do you read me?

He stood there, trying to believe what he was hearing. It had sounded like Sam

Steve it’s Sam, do you copy?

He felt the breath leave his lungs.

On your left

He turned around in time to see an orange portal open and T’Challa, Okoye, and Shuri standing there. After having a silent conversation through their stares, Sam flew through the portal, and more portals began opening around him, the people he mourned walking through them. Steven Strange, Peter Parker, Wanda, Bucky…

He looked around, only looking for one person in particular. And then he found them

You. 

You stood there. Suited up and ready to fight. You nodded at Steve, smiling. He wanted nothing more but to run over and hug you, but he knew there was a war to be run first. More people pooled through the portals, all of them ready to fight. An army stood beside and behind him and he held out his hand for Thor’s hammer. “Avengers!”

He caught the hammer whirling at him.

“Assemble.”

Shouts were yelled and everyone began charging, the world vs Thanos and his army. It was brutal. For you it had just been moments ago that this same battle took place, and you didn;t know what had happened in between your arms dissolving and a sorcerer showing up from the sky saying that 5 years had passed and the battle was still happening. For you, a few minutes had passed. For Steve, it was a lifetime.

You fought beside Steve for most of it, like you usually did when you were on a mission. When there was a brief moment, you looked at your boyfriend. “Since when are you able to use that thing?” referring to Thor’s hammer. He looked at it. “About 5 minutes ago.” You nodded, turning back to the incoming aliens and stabbing them.

You kept fighting them as they came, not willing to lose this time around. It happened once, it could happen again. You had never fought so fiercely in your life.  A Few times you were overwhelmed by the sheer number of aliens around you, but a bolt of lightning would save your ass and you’d go back to fighting.

You don’t know how long it lasted, and you were covered in lacerations and blood, but as you were running out of stamina, the aliens around you began turning into dust. You looked around, panting, as Thanos’ army began to disintegrate, eyes landing on Tony laying limp against a pile of buildings. You were about to go check on him, when you felt someone grab your arm.

Steve.

You turned around to meet his eyes that were bloodshot. “Y/n?”

You smiled and let out a breath, bringing your hand to his face. “It’s me Steve. I’m okay.”

He pulled you into a bone crushing hug, and you could feel him trembling. Hell, you were trembling too. The adrenaline was wearing off and the pain was setting in. 

“I missed you so much y/n.”

You hugged him a little tighter. “I know. I missed you too.”

You knew it had been a lot longer for him, but you didn’t want to seem insensitive. You couldn’t imagine living 5 years without Steve, especially if you didn’t know he was coming back.

“I’m here Steve. I’m safe.”

He spoke with a wavering voice. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

You pulled back and shook your head. “No, Steve. You did everything you could. It’s not your fault.”

He cupped your cheeks, shaking his head. “I thought I lost you.”

You smiled. “You didn’t. You saved me, Captain Rogers.”

[dandeli0n29]

Thorquill Kingdom!au

TW- Major Character Death

Peter Quill is a prince who would inherit a throne to the Xandar kingdom in a few weeks. . However, he didn't act like a prince at all- he liked to mess with commoners' life, steal at the market, and break young girls' hearts. Such behavior began when Peter lost his parents- first his mother at the hand of the illness and then his father in the war just a year later. 

One day the council had enough of his shenanigans and ordered Thor Odinson, the head of the guard, to always keep an eye on Peter. Both men weren't happy at first. Peter didn't like that Thor was uptight and brooding, while Thor couldn't stand Quill's foolishness and child-like behavior.

Almost every day they would pick a fight, which always led to Thor eyeing Peter angrily and Quill making snarky remarks at Odinson throughout the day. One day, when Thor was accompanying Peter in the city, the prince managed to run away. The head of the guard was looking for a prince all day, worrying that something might happen to him. However, Thor wasn't worrying as a friend or a guard. He was worrying as someone who lost his love.

As the night was approaching, Thor finally spotted the prince. Peter was sitting at the roof of someone else's house. Quill didn't look at Thor when he got on the roof and sat next to him. When Odinson asked why Quill was sitting here, the prince felt as he can tell Thor everything- what has been bothering him, eating him from the inside. Peter told Thor that he still thinks about his parents, that he should have done something to keep them alive. He told Thor that he never wanted the crown, this kingdom. The life of royalty was suffocating him.

As Thor was listening to his prince, he remembered his family- family that he lost as well. He as well blamed himself that he didn't do anything to save them. Odinson didn't say anything after Quill's confession, he just took his hand as a sign of understanding. They spend the whole night on that roof in comforting silence, never letting go of each other's hand.

Every night they repeated this- just sitting on a roof and talking. During their talks, they learned more about each other. These nights brought Peter and Thor closer together. One night, Peter couldn't lie to himself anymore- he knew he had fallen for the head of the guard, for his protector. That's why he decided to kiss Thor, who kissed Peter back immediately. It was their little promise of something more.

It was coronation day and Thor was already waiting for Peter outside his door. For some reason, Odinson got worried. Quill wasn't coming out of his room for a long time. As Odinson opened Peter's door, his heart broke into pieces. The prince was lying on the floor, goblet of wine lying next to Quill. Thor immediately ran to Peter, checking his pulse- Peter Quill, the only heir to the throne, was dead. Thor couldn't stop the tears that were streaming down his face. With shaky hands, he examined the bottle of wine on the table- the smell of poison coming from it. Same with the goblet of wine next to Peter. Feeling exhausted, Thor fell to the floor and cradled Quill's body. He fought about drinking the wine so he could reunite with his lost love. However, Odinson had a better idea. He was going to avenge Peter, kill every person that had something to do with Quill's death.

It's been 3 years since Peter Quill's death. It's also been 3 years since Thor Odinson started his hunt. Right now, he was coming back to the kingdom with his last victim's head. He finally avenged Peter's death. Even though he did that, he became an outlaw that everyone feared. Now, everyone wasn't addressing him as Thor Odinson but as God of Thunder. The man that struck his victims unexpectedly with his axe and was never merciful towards his enemies.

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Requested by @stars-of-this-reality. Hope you liked it :)

[fleckcmscott]

Another Decade

Summary: Arthur discovers Y/N's fortieth is just around the corner. He hopes to get the occasion right.

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 5,044

A/N: This request comes from @hhandley80​, who is an absolute sweetheart! Funnily enough, I got the request for this story and Another Year within a couple days of each other. Thank you so much for it! It was great to write.

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open! 

This morning's therapy appointment had boosted Arthur's spirit. Left him refreshed instead of worn. Dr. Ludlow had given him a break from discussing his negative thoughts and various neuroses. Rather, she'd asked him what he wanted to talk about. What was foremost on his mind. And he'd spent close to the entire hour diving into what it was like to live with Y/N.

Having a person who cared about him was fulfilling. Beautiful. Challenging. Struggles inevitably happened but she attempted to help him through them. (A stark difference from when he’d been on his own.) The faith she'd placed in him by inviting him into her home was exciting.

Fears he'd never be worthy of that trust or such a good, intelligent woman did tend to eat at him. Especially when he couldn’t sleep or suspected he was slipping. But he was trying. Doing his best to learn every day, every hour, every minute. To alter his view of himself to include intimate partner alongside mentally ill loner. “I- I thought it would fix me,” he’d said. “It’s hard. But I don’t feel so bad all the time anymore.”

The doctor had complimented his resolve. Said he was dealing with all the changes as well as could be expected. If he followed his treatment plan, she anticipated he'd continue to do so. Appreciating the recognition, Arthur had wondered how to keep her praises close.

And now here he was. Experiencing the ordinariness of sitting in a diner with his girlfriend. Talking about their respective mornings. Sharing a meal. The crinkle fry he grabbed from the blue-plate special in the center of the table was soggy. The corner of his mouth quirked up as he dunked it in ketchup, a possible punchline coming to mind. If he could just figure out the right-

An inviting caress to the back of his hand brought him back to the present. He hadn't meant to tune out Y/N. With an apologetic grin, he pressed back into the booth's plastic cushions and took another drag off his cigarette.

“I was saying I need to head back to work,” she told him. A smile slowly spread across her face, until it nearly blinded him. “And that I can’t believe we’ve been shacked up for almost two months. I know it’s been an adjustment-“

“A good one,” he interrupted gently, interlocking their fingers.

"I’m proud of you.” The pink on her cheeks was faint. “I wouldn’t have taken the leap with anyone else. I can’t seem to get enough of your company, Mr. Fleck.” With that, she signaled for the waitress, retrieved her wallet from her purse, and got out some cash. Rising, she turned to Arthur. “Get the change for me,” she said, heading towards the back.

Her suede billfold was open on the table, her Gotham City ID card in view. He tentatively picked it up to examine the photo. Her hair was uncharacteristically flat, shorter than it was now. The flash had turned her lovely eyes red, and her lips were agape, as though she was in the middle of a sentence. A giggle escaped him. Frumpy. She was frumpy.

Reading her details, his brow quirked at her full name: “Y/N M/N L/N.” There was a nice rhythm to it, one that would also work with “Fleck,” if they got as far as he daydreamed. Then he saw her date of birth and stilled.

Her fortieth was in less than two weeks: 4/6/1942. April sixth. Shit.

He’d learned so many facts about her: the names of her nephews and niece; which college she’d attended; her favorite bands. She’d told him her birthday was in the spring. How the hell had he neglected to ask her the specific date? Awash with embarrassment, a hiccup left him and he covered his mouth.

The waitress returned with a dubious look, a receipt, and coins. As he counted out the tip, he calculated what he had in his own wallet and checking account. He’d scrimped and saved to cover the electric and water bills (though he knew he’d have to pay them in secret to avoid Y/N’s finding a way to repay him). Could he afford a decent gift, too?

Arm in arm, they walked back to Y/N’s workplace. She chatted about that afternoon’s court process, and he puffed away as if he was going to Hoyt’s office for an impromptu scolding. When they reached the steps in front of her building, she tugged at him until he stepped closer. “You’re so stiff.”

Putting on a half-grin, he leaned into her. “Don’t worry about me.” He stole a chaste kiss, one she tried to turn into more before he backed off. “I’ll see you later.”

When he got home, he didn’t bother to change into his thermal shirt and pajama bottoms. Relaxing wasn’t an option. Stretching and pacing the kitchen, he breathed in and out, in and out. He needed to focus instead of letting himself be thrown off. Like a good partner would.

Plans. He had to make plans. And not the vagaries floating around in his head of what boyfriends were supposed to do. Special ones. Personal ones. Ones that demonstrated the depths of his love for her. This was important. The start of a new decade. And her first birthday with him.

Unable to conjure other options, he grabbed the phone from the wall and dialed Y/N’s office. His leg bounced harder with every ring. He hadn’t yet spoken with Patricia, Y/N’s friend and co-worker. But he’d heard she was nice. Any suggestions she could offer were welcome.

Thank goodness she answered before he lost his nerve. “Shaw and Associates. Patricia speaking.”

“Hi,” he pushed out, fiddling with the phone cord. “Um, this is Arthur. Arthur Fleck. Y/N’s boyfriend?”

A smile lingered in her professional lilt. “It’s nice to talk to you, finally. But she isn’t here. I can take a message.”

“No, I know.” If he hesitated too long, he'd reveal his awkwardness. So he went for it. “Do you know what Y/N’s favorite cake is?” That question commenced a conversation that gradually became easier. Each sentence soothed. Consoled the irritation he’d aimed at himself.

Y/N liked hummingbird cake, a mix of pineapple, banana, and cinnamon. It sounded intricate and expensive. There was a bakery that sold it by the slice, according to Patricia. Y/N hadn’t disclosed what gifts she would fancy, but had said she didn’t need any knick-knacks, mugs, or other such trifles. As for activities, she was uncomplicated. She liked going to the movies and restaurants. Conversations and walks. The mundanity of domestic life, especially since becoming involved with him.

That lovely sentiment caused his eyelids to shut, an ember to glow in his heart. But it only confirmed what he already knew. “I want to make her happy,” he breathed. “I’m new at this.”

“We all were once,” she said, brushing his concerns off. “Arthur, she’ll love anything you do. Because you’re the one doing it.”

The kindness she was extending to him felt surreal. Not yet used to it, he tried to believe it wasn't a trick. He thanked her quietly, for her ideas and for listening to him. But as he was about to hang up, she gave him one last piece of advice. “Wear your button-up with the blue flowers. And your yellow vest.”

Blinking, he frowned. “But those are for work.”

Patricia laughed softly. “Yeah, well. She likes them. What was it she said? ‘They accentuate his sexy waist?’”

A burn rushed across his face and he rubbed his forehead. “...Oh.”

Well, that was a request he could handle.

~~~~~

It seemed as though newspaper adverts, television commercials, and even the damned billboards plastered around Gotham had an ax to grind. They all declared the same thing. Women needed to “mold their faces back to youth!” “Guard against aging skin!” Learn they could “look young again!” To be someone other than themselves.

Rolling her eyes, Y/N dropped the magazine she’d been reading in the trash can next to her desk. She’d be crossing into the “Fatal Forties” in a week. While she did use lotion before bed to prevent the formation of wrinkles, and the prospect of gray hair wasn’t one she relished, turning the big 4-0 bothered her less than she’d anticipated. Her looks were minor concerns compared to what she’d gained over the years.

The hardships she’d endured had mostly strengthened her. Allowed her, mercifully, to grow into a person who was comfortable with herself. It was said women were supposed to be set in their ways by now. And in many respects, that was true. She enjoyed her routines. She liked her career. She loved participating in life amidst millions of other people.

But meeting Arthur had changed her path. Started her on an adventure she treasured. A journey into actual partnership, rather than her earlier attempts to please and meet other’s expectations. Attempts she had failed at. Miserably.

He hadn’t cared she was five years his senior. Hadn’t hinted that he’d considered her a “spinster.” Never joked that she was an “old maid.” If she stood in front of the cosmetic counter at the pharmacy while he got his prescriptions, he’d slink up behind her and say, “You’re already pretty.” She’d never expected him to make her feel more desirable now than she’d ever felt in her twenties, stretch marks, moderately saggy breasts, and all.

During the past few days, she’d tried to piece together what he could have planned for her birthday. He hadn’t left any clues, though one night he had hurriedly tucked something under a couch cushion. He’d been a bit out of sorts, though. Biting his nails more than usual. Seeking greater reassurance.

She’d had plenty of good birthdays. There’d been parties and games. Presents. Hugs and well wishes. When she’d taken care of her father it had mostly been forgotten, apart from the cards she’d received from her ex-husband and sister. The passage of time had been marked by worsening dementia. And she had been fine with not caring.

In contrast, Arthur had stated he’d never known what it was like to matter to someone. Not until her. He’d told her he’d given Penny a blouse for her birthday once or twice. That had been years ago, however, before his mother’s reactions to him had gradually reduced to requests to send letters. Before her health had declined when he was a child and he’d had to take over every basic task. Before he’d become too exhausted to try.

Would it be fair to expect him to take much notice?

At the end of a long workday, she’d be satisfied with a quiet evening at home. Cooking dinner together. Drinking wine until she felt warm and fuzzy. Kisses exchanged here and there. Maybe some fooling around before she nodded off on the sofa with her feet in his lap. Such basic joys would be plenty.

~~~~~

The page in Arthur’s journal taken up by Y/N’s special day wasn’t atypical. He’d been writing about her since the grocery store. (“I wonder what her name tastes like. Less bitter than mine, I bet.”) Since they’d shared donuts. (“I shud have given Sara my number.”) Since she’d stared at him, then smiled at him, and he’d felt the whole world change. (“I hope Y/N likes the joke I rote for her. I practised it 100 times! Maybe she’ll let me touch her again. Shit. I’m nervos.”)

With it a mere four days away, there wasn’t much time left for gift hunting. So he pulled on his trusty tan jacket and headed out. He was unsatisfied with what his search had turned up so far. Flowers. Candy. Nylons. It had all been mediocre when she was beyond compare.

On the verge of desperation and distress, he finally managed to stumble upon the right shop. The name above the entrance, Nice Twice, was catchy. And there was a sign: “Personalization available!” Following a quick glance through the streaked shop window, he flicked his cigarette to the ground and opened the wooden door.

As he stepped inside a shopkeeper bell rang. The stench of sandalwood incense and mothballs was thick, causing him to wince. The place was overstuffed, filled with circular clothing racks, shelves of home decor and appliances, and furniture from the sixties. He tread along the faded, orange parquet floor. Squeezed between displays of bell bottoms and coats to reach a large jewelry counter by the cash register.

A man Arthur assumed was the owner popped out from behind a nearby shoe rack. He appeared to be what Penny had disdainfully referred to as a “hippie,” with his beaded headband and light blue jeans. When asked if he’d found anything he liked, Arthur answered, “Not yet.”

His shoulders tilted, drew together as he scanned the contents of the glass cabinet. Being able to get Y/N diamond earrings or a bracelet would have been ideal. He’d heard they were supposed to be symbols of commitment. Show her how important she was to him. But they’d never be affordable, even in a thrift store. There were some lovely brooches but they weren’t her style. She didn’t wear pins, anyway.

About fifteen minutes had passed when, at last, he spotted a suitable piece. The owner gave it to him to inspect. The heart, hanging from a long, silver chain, was a tad smaller than the end of his thumb. Purple, blue, and gold flowers, faded with age, were pressed under the pendant’s rounded, glass front. It was lovely, like her. And picturing her wearing it made his chest tighten.

The necklace was twelve dollars. For two dollars more, the heart’s silver back could be engraved. Arthur could definitely swing that. It took only seconds for him to choose what should be etched into it, having had his imagination sparked by a recent fifties sit-com. It would be ready Monday, the day before her birthday.

While Arthur retrieved his wallet, the owner asked, ”Hey, what’s your sign?”

Forehead furrowed, he tried to decipher the man’s meaning. He was sure he’d heard the question on television and in films. “My sign?” The man clarified and Arthur provided both his and Y/N’s birthdays.

The owner laughed. “Woo wee! That’s a powerful match.” He indicated a collection of astrology scrolls next to the register. “Your lady friend might like one of these.”

Waving dismissively, Arthur shook his head. “I don’t believe in that.” Seemingly determined, the hippie held out a rolled-up scroll. It was about the length of a cigarette, its title printed in a faux-ancient font: “Aries & Scorpio: Love & Romance.” Curiosity piqued, he pressed his lips together. “What does it say?”

“Only good things, man.” This was obviously a well-practiced pitch. And it was working The man retrieved a keyring full of unrolled, laminated scrolls. After flipping through the collection, he handed one to Arthur. He wasn’t the fastest reader, having had difficulties with it since he was a kid. But he scanned the page.

According to “the stars,” palpable chemistry existed between Aries and Scorpio. They were fun, passionate, and explosive in the bedroom. Snorting, he brought the scroll closer. “Your attraction to each other defies logic. Aries has a tough demeanor, but Scorpio brings out the compassion and love hiding underneath. Scorpio has an inner strength Aries finds irresistible.” Hm. What it said about Y/N was true. And she’d told him he was strong (which he didn’t really believe). He smiled, pleased this silly tract paid him such compliments.

He kept going. “As a pair, you are inhalation and exhalation in one. Two sides of the same coin. Aries is the sun to Scorpio’s moon.” Y/N was all those things to him. Even on days he wasn’t sure he wanted to feel better. Even on days it was easier to sink into the familiarity of misery than to strive for the unfamiliarity of feeling good.

It was after reading the final line that he nodded and dug into his pocket for two quarters: “You will be together for decades, even into the next life.”

~~~~~

Though she was standing in an overcrowded subway, squished between a man holding a dog and a woman using her as a vertical bed, Y/N felt giddy. Albeit tired. The day had been brimming with paperwork, phone calls, and running around. But it had started off well, and she was certain its upward trajectory would continue the rest of the night.

When she’d awoken, she’d discovered a pink envelope in Arthur’s place, laying haphazardly on his pillow. She’d boosted herself up on her forearm, ran her fingertips over her handwritten name, and taken out the yellow card.

There was a drawing of a man holding a woman by the waist. Lifting her until her hair touched the cheery, red “Happy Birthday.” The couple appeared thrilled. Taken with each other. And straight out of the forties. It wasn’t quite them, but it did reflect Arthur’s old fashioned romanticism.

No preprinted poem was inside. No famous quotes. Arthur had written a message instead. One which made her ache. “What do you get when you cross chocolat with something that goes thump-thump? A sweetheart. (That’s you.) My life is nicer with you in it. Even Gotham. I’m happy you talked to me. I love you a lot. -Arthur.”

He’d returned to the bedroom. Caught her mid-giggle as she’d wiggled out of her nightgown, hidden between the sheets. He was holding a mug. The same one they’d shared after the first of many lovemaking sessions.

Greedily, she’d ogled his damp hair and slender musculature. Light green eyes soft and serene, he’d sat next to her and pecked her cheek. At the flick of his gaze to her mouth, she’d flung her arms around his shoulders. Stubble burned her skin, her kisses to his dimples urgent.

“Wait,” he’d chuckled, putting the drink on the nightstand. “I made pancakes.” Even as he’d protested, he’d splayed his hand on the small of her back.

“To hell with pancakes,” she’d purred, pulling him under the blankets.

Work had been sentimental, which she’d neither expected nor wanted. Her new job would be starting in a week and a half. The small celebration they’d squeezed in served as both a goodbye and “Over the Hill” party, black balloons and grey streamers included.

Matt had been downcast as he’d shoveled red velvet cake into his mouth. “I’m sorry it turned out this way.”

A lame attempt to lighten the atmosphere had been needed. No one was going to start blubbering on her account. “You could come with me. Follow the conscience I know you have hidden somewhere.” He’d looked askance, turned towards his office. Trying to soften her joke, she’d patted his arm. “Don’t feel too bad. You could still lose the case.”

Settled on the windowsill, she’d gazed out at the streets of the city she’d grown to love. The city she called home, despite having spent only five percent of her existence in it. It was fitting to start this phase of her life here. The only period in which she’d felt whole, both professionally and personally.

A sheen had been in Patricia’s eyes when she’d joined her in the tight space, nudging her with her hip. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you here, accelerating Matt’s hair loss.”

“You’ll have to add it to your list of duties.” Elbowing her gently, Y/N continued. “I’ll only be a couple blocks away. We’ll meet for lunch. And you have my phone number.” Before her own eyes could water, she’d gone to her desk to cut another slice.

Patricia raised her hand. “You’re going to ruin your appetite.”

“Oh? Should I be expecting something?”

Finishing her own piece, Patricia crossed her ankles. “Arthur called for tips while you were in court. He decided I was an expert on you.” Y/N’s brows shooting up prompted a chuckle. “I didn’t give away all your secrets. Just some of your favorite sweets.”

The clench of Y/N’s throat was instant. And shame washed over her for assuming he wouldn’t plan much, if anything at all. He’d been considerate, even during tough times. Like at Christmas, which had been hard for him but turned out well in the end. He’d made it clear that what he coveted most, besides love and validation, was to be treated normally. Normal expectations were a part of that. She’d sought to give him a break when the benefit of the doubt had been what he deserved.

Y/N thought a bit. Surveyed the ornate woodwork in the corners of the room. Then she'd met her friend’s gaze. “Patricia, I want to spend the rest of my life with him.”

“Because he’s getting you cake?”

“I’m not that easy.” Laughing, Y/N sat on the corner of her desk. “Do you remember when I said I was almost forty and was going to grab what I want? Well, I’m forty and he’s what I want.”

Caution and kindness had softened Patricia’s concerns. “I don’t mean to be indelicate. But you’re his first relationship. Is he ready for that?”

Y/N sucked the frosting off her fork. “Our sixth month is soon. I’ll drop a hint. When he’s ready - if he’s ready - he’ll know I am, too.”

She’d been floating since that realization. Since admitting her devotion to Arthur aloud and thereby making it concrete. Since getting a supportive hug from Patricia. And reassurance from Matt, of all people, that she hadn’t entered a mid-life crisis.

That headiness continued as she fumbled with her keys. Upon entering their apartment, music reached her ears. Music with a faster tempo than the classics Arthur usually played. Hanging up her coat and slipping off her shoes, she recognized it as one of her “Best of Soul and Disco” LPs. She braced herself on the wall separating the kitchen from the living room, her cheeks breaking wide open.

Arthur had moved the television and its stand to the side of the coffee table. A blanket, folded into a square, lay in front of the windows. Two plates and two wine glasses were on it. As she approached, she saw sandwiches on a platter. There was pasta salad and potato salad, both covered in plastic wrap, from the deli around the corner. In the center of it all sat an empty vase.

When he came out of the bedroom, magic wand in hand, he stilled. “Oh. Hi. You’re back already?”

A giggle. “I ran.” Biting her bottom lip, she admired his tousled brown curls, feathery, light, and attractive as hell. His face was unobscured by make-up, allowing her to revel in his handsomeness. The top button of his white shirt was undone. And his yellow vest outlined his lean frame in all the right ways. He wore his usual trousers. “Did you have a gig today?”

“No.” He smoothed a palm down his chest and stomach, and she noticed he’d rolled up his sleeves. “Um, I heard you like it.”

She felt herself blush and nodded eagerly. Thank you, Patricia.

With a flick of his wrist, flowers sprouted from the end of the wand. “I wanted to do this outside. On the fire escape. But it’s too cold.” He knelt on the blanket to put the flowers in the vase.

Y/N cocked her head. The juxtaposition of him wearing his “Carnival Casual” outfit, the cutesy charm of the picnic he’d arranged with the music that was playing was ridiculous. The song went on repeatedly about miracles, need, and “sexy things.” She snorted.

As Arthur removed the cellophane from the salads, his shoulders tensed. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he breathed. “I got too much.”

“No,” she replied, sitting next to him, laying a hand on his thigh. “This is wonderful.” When their eyes met, she found his look at once bashful and flirtatious.

She served the sandwiches and salads while he poured the wine, following her request to fill the glasses to the top. Mostly potato salad ended up on her plate, the mix of mayonnaise, pepper, and egg just right. A majority of the pasta wound up on his - he liked the vinegary flavor. The red wine did not pair with the turkeys on rye he’d prepared, so she saved most of it for dessert.

When Arthur held out an orange roll of paper, she was dabbing her mouth with a cloth napkin. The title made her laugh. She never would have suspected he put stock in the zodiac; she certainly didn’t. Gingerly, she opened the scroll and squinted down at it.

It described her as determined, confident, and extroverted. And called Arthur a curious, emotional introvert. While mostly true, it wasn’t quite accurate. Arthur was only introverted in personal situations, while having the courage to perform as a clown and a stand-up. Those traits could belong to anyone, depending on the situation.

But the next paragraph clued her in as to why he’d bought the horoscope. And given it to her. “You were made for each other. There are times when it’s hard to know how you both managed to ever exist apart. The bond between you is unbreakable. You have much to learn from one another.” A lump formed in her throat when she read the last line, that they’d be together until the next life. She didn’t believe in that, yet longed for it all the same. “Thank you, Arthur.”

The scroll would have been enough. Dinner would have been enough. He would have been enough. But he placed a pink, velvet necklace box on her lap. She blinked at it, hoping he hadn’t spent too much on her. Then she forced that notion from her brain - he was a grown man who could buy what he chose - and cracked it open. Her breath caught.

The heart with pressed flowers was obviously vintage. The size was demure, like her other, few pieces of jewelry. And it was exactly her style: feminine and practical. She was grateful he hadn’t gotten her diamonds or other flashy gems. Her eyes darted to his as she took it out. “This is...” Gently, he turned it over in her palm, and she saw the engraving on the back: A+S.

A+S. Arthur and Y/N. It was a bold move from him. A welcome one.

“I think that’s usually done on trees,” he said. “But there aren’t that many in Gotham.”

Chuckling, she sniffed back her tears and shoved it at him. “Here.” She turned her back towards him. His fingertips dragged along her collarbone as she lifted her hair and he latched the chain. The kiss he placed above the clasp made her shiver. Wanting him to see how the pendant rested right above her cleavage, she unbuttoned the top of her blouse.

“It’s beautiful.” She pulled him in for a kiss. Traced his crow's feet. Let her thumbs wander to the slight puffiness underneath. The wine, along with her earlier confession to Patricia, was making it easier to open up. “You have my whole heart, Arthur,” she sighed into his mouth.

His palm went to her chest as he tilted his head, his other holding the nape of her neck. The tip of his tongue slipped between her lips and warmth enveloped her. She felt his fingers play with the necklace. Heard his ragged inhalation. Knew that pride and pleasure were emboldening him, because she was wearing what he’d gifted.

Eventually, he broke their connection, told her to close her eyes and pecked her nose. She concentrated on his steps to the kitchen. The clatter of him going through the silverware drawer. And then the chill breeze of the glass door being opened.

When she was allowed to peek, she stood and followed him onto the fire escape. A lit cigarette was already between his lips, and he was lighting a candle on a gigantic slice of cake. “You’re supposed to make a wish,” he said, smoke escaping his nostrils.

She snuggled his side, snaked an arm around him as he slung his across her shoulders. After eyeing the flame a moment, she sucked in a deep breath, pursed her lips, and bent closer...

Just in time for a split-second gust of wind to blow out the candle.

Arthur groaned and started to let go of her but she stopped him. “It counts.” She lifted the fork and fed him a bite, grinning at his pleased hum. “You won’t mind me turning grey, will you?”

“No. I won’t be the only one looking old.”

She nuzzled his temple. “You don’t look old. You’re refined.”

“Sure,” he scoffed. They ate silently for a bit, but then he squeezed her tighter. “What did you...” Trepidation lurked behind his question, even after their steamy picnic. “What did you wish for?”

“That we’ll keep loving each other, even through tough times.” She lowered the fork, already full. “That I’ll like my new job.” Letting go of him, she set the plate on the metal stairs, next to his ashtray. “That you’ll be healthy.”

He huffed. “You shouldn’t have wasted any on me.”

“You’re worth all of them.” She kissed his bicep, laid her head on his shoulder. The record playing in the background turned over, switched to a slower song, and she grinned. “Now,” she said, “may I have this dance?”

Delight in his eyes, he bowed. She giggled as he grabbed her around the middle and pulled her flush against his solid frame. He led beautifully, gazing at her as if she was the only woman in the world, guiding her to the beat she was deaf to. He even dared to raise her hand for a modest twirl, and she trusted him enough for it to work.

As they spun slowly, rotating in the lights of their living room and the city, he kissed her hairline. “Happy birthday. I hope you liked it.”

“I loved it.” She captured his thin lips with her own. “Promise you’ll be here for the next twenty.”

“The next forty.” He bumped their noses and lay his cheek on hers. Y/N cuddled deeper into his embrace, feeling more cherished than she had in years.

~~~~~

Hot Chocolate - You Sexy Thing

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[papermoonloveslucy]

THE WILLS

March 19, 1950

“The Wills” (aka “The Coopers Make Their Wills”) is episode #80 of the radio series MY FAVORITE HUSBAND broadcast on March 19, 1950.

Synopsis ~  After Liz and George make out their wills, Liz is convinced that George intends to do away with her. Liz is startled to find a receipt for some arsenic and rope in his pocket, but is shocked when George suggests a trip to the country - with a one-way ticket for Liz!

Starting with this episode, “My Favorite Husband” moved from Thursday nights, to Sunday nights. 

Note: This program was used as a basis for a scene in “I Love Lucy” episode “Lucy Thinks Ricky Is Trying to Murder Her” (ILL S1;E4) filmed on September 8, 1951 and first aired November 5, 1951. For various reasons, it was the first episode of the series filmed, but the fourth aired. 

“My Favorite Husband” was based on the novels Mr. and Mrs. Cugat, the Record of a Happy Marriage (1940) and Outside Eden (1945) by Isabel Scott Rorick, which had previously been adapted into the film Are Husbands Necessary? (1942). “My Favorite Husband” was first broadcast as a one-time special on July 5, 1948. Lucille Ball and Lee Bowman played the characters of Liz and George Cugat, and a positive response to this broadcast convinced CBS to launch “My Favorite Husband” as a series. Bowman was not available Richard Denning was cast as George. On January 7, 1949, confusion with bandleader Xavier Cugat prompted a name change to Cooper. On this same episode Jell-O became its sponsor. A total of 124 episodes of the program aired from July 23, 1948 through March 31, 1951. After about ten episodes had been written, writers Fox and Davenport departed and three new writers took over – Bob Carroll, Jr., Madelyn Pugh, and head writer/producer Jess Oppenheimer. In March 1949 Gale Gordon took over the existing role of George’s boss, Rudolph Atterbury, and Bea Benadaret was added as his wife, Iris. CBS brought “My Favorite Husband” to television in 1953, starring Joan Caulfield and Barry Nelson as Liz and George Cooper. The television version ran two-and-a-half seasons, from September 1953 through December 1955, running concurrently with “I Love Lucy.” It was produced live at CBS Television City for most of its run, until switching to film for a truncated third season filmed (ironically) at Desilu and recasting Liz Cooper with Vanessa Brown.

MAIN CAST

Lucille Ball (Liz Cooper) was born on August 6, 1911 in Jamestown, New York. She began her screen career in 1933 and was known in Hollywood as ‘Queen of the B’s’ due to her many appearances in ‘B’ movies. With Richard Denning, she starred in a radio program titled “My Favorite Husband” which eventually led to the creation of “I Love Lucy,” a television situation comedy in which she co-starred with her real-life husband, Latin bandleader Desi Arnaz. The program was phenomenally successful, allowing the couple to purchase what was once RKO Studios, re-naming it Desilu. When the show ended in 1960 (in an hour-long format known as “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour”) so did Lucy and Desi’s marriage. In 1962, hoping to keep Desilu financially solvent, Lucy returned to the sitcom format with “The Lucy Show,” which lasted six seasons. She followed that with a similar sitcom “Here’s Lucy” co-starring with her real-life children, Lucie and Desi Jr., as well as Gale Gordon, who had joined the cast of “The Lucy Show” during season two. Before her death in 1989, Lucy made one more attempt at a sitcom with “Life With Lucy,” also with Gordon.

Richard Denning (George Cooper) was born Louis Albert Heindrich Denninger Jr., in Poughkeepsie, New York. When he was 18 months old, his family moved to Los Angeles. Plans called for him to take over his father’s garment manufacturing business, but he developed an interest in acting. Denning enlisted in the US Navy during World War II. He is best known for his  roles in various science fiction and horror films of the 1950s. Although he teamed with Lucille Ball on radio in “My Favorite Husband,” the two never acted together on screen. While “I Love Lucy” was on the air, he was seen on another CBS TV series, “Mr. & Mrs. North.” From 1968 to 1980 he played the Governor on “Hawaii 5-0″, his final role. He died in 1998 at age 84.

Gale Gordon (Rudolph Atterbury) had worked with Lucille Ball on “The Wonder Show” on radio in 1938. One of the front-runners to play Fred Mertz on “I Love Lucy,” he eventually played Alvin Littlefield, owner of the Tropicana, during two episodes in 1952. After playing a Judge in an episode of “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour” in 1958, he would re-team with Lucy for all of her subsequent series’: as Theodore J. Mooney in ”The Lucy Show”; as Harrison Otis Carter in “Here’s Lucy”; and as Curtis McGibbon on “Life with Lucy.” Gordon died in 1995 at the age of 89.

Bea Benadaret (Iris Atterbury) does not appear in this episode. 

Ruth Perrott (Katie, the Maid) was also later seen on “I Love Lucy.” She first played Mrs. Pomerantz (above right), a member of the surprise investigating committee for the Society Matrons League in “Pioneer Women” (ILL S1;E25), as one of the member of the Wednesday Afternoon Fine Arts League in “Lucy and Ethel Buy the Same Dress” (ILL S3;E3), and also played a nurse when “Lucy Goes to the Hospital” (ILL S2;E16). She died in 1996 at the age of 96.

Bob LeMond (Announcer) also served as the announcer for the pilot episode of “I Love Lucy”. When the long-lost pilot was finally discovered in 1990, a few moments of the opening narration were damaged and lost, so LeMond – fifty years later – recreated the narration for the CBS special and subsequent DVD release.

GUEST CAST

Herb Vigran (Doctor Stephens) made several appearances on “My Favorite Husband.” He would later play Jule, Ricky’s music union agent on two episodes of “I Love Lucy”. He would go on to play Joe (and Mrs. Trumbull’s nephew), the washing machine repairman in “Never Do Business With Friends” (S2;E31) and Al Sparks, the publicity man who hires Lucy and Ethel to play Martians on top of the Empire State Building in “Lucy is Envious” (S3;E23). Of his 350 screen roles, he also made six appearances on “The Lucy Show.”

EPISODE

ANNOUNCER: “As we look in on the Coopers tonight, it's just after dinner, and we find Liz and George settling down to a normal evening's conversation.”  

George has something he needs to talk to Liz about. Liz immediately thinks it is something to do with her household budget, but George wants to talk about their wills. The subject immediately upsets Liz. The idea of living without George sends Liz into gales of tears. George wants her to read it, and threatens to leave everything to his mother if she doesn’t. Liz snatches the will from him. George then tells her that he has had her will drawn up as well. 

LIZ: “What for? You're the one who's going! What are you trying to do, push me ahead of you in line?”

George reminds her of the three acres of Florida beachfront property that her father left her, which she calls ‘Sunken Acres.’  George always assumed it was oil land. 

LIZ: “If there's any oil down there, it's still in a whale. Oh! I see it all now, George! You want me to sign a will leaving everything to you, and then you'll bump me off! You want to get your dirty fishhooks on my oil holdings!

Liz agrees to read and sign the will as the scene fades out.  At the bank the next day, Mr. Atterbury notices that George seems tired. George admits he was up late talking to Liz about their wills. Mr. Atterbury proposes that the Coopers join him and Iris at their mountain lodge for the weekend, flying up, and then leaving the girls there for the week while they fly back for work. The following weekend they will drive up to get them in Mr. Atterbury’s new car. 

Mr. Atterbury has already bought the airline tickets and asks George to go to the hardware store for a few items. 

MR. ATTERBERRY: “I need poison for those horrible little gophers up there. And some rope for a clothesline, and a couple of sacks of cement. Iris wants a patio so she can sunbathe. Come to think of it, that ought to keep the gophers away.” GEORGE:  “Let me make a list on the back of this envelope. Now, poison, ropes, cement...” MR. ATTERBERRY: “Oh, and I need an axe, too.”

Mr. Atterbury tells George that they should tell their wives that they are just going for a weekend, so that they don’t rush out to buy a week’s worth of new clothes.

At the Cooper home, Katie the Maid is preparing dinner. George comes home and tells Liz the good news that they’ll be going to the Atterbury’s lodge this weekend, and he’s got the airline tickets in his pocket. As George goes upstairs to prepare for dinner, Katie reminds Liz that she has a beauty shop appointment on Saturday. Liz wonders what time the plane leaves, and fishes in George’s jacket pocket to check the tickets. She notices that one tickets is round trip, and the other is one way!   Liz immediately assumes one of them isn’t coming back, and reminds Katie that George asked her to sign her will!  She notices some writing on the envelope that looks like a shopping list.

LIZ: “Poison! He's going to take me out in the woods and poison me! Look, at the next item - rope. If the poison doesn't work, he's gonna hang me! Cement. If I live through the poison and the rope, he's gonna put my feet in cement and dump me in the lake! Look what's next - axe! If I able to hold my breath, he's gonna swim in the water and chop me to pieces!” KATIE: “Oh, how can Mr. Cooper do such a thing?” LIZ: “With that list of weapons, how can he miss?“

Liz realizes why George might want to do away with her - they’ve finally struck oil on Sunken Acres!

End of Part One

Announcer Bob LeMond reads a live Jell-O commercial. 

ANNOUNCCER: “As we return to the Coopers, we find Liz in a state of nervous apprehension. After years of having George under her thumb, she's suddenly discovered that he's bout to put the finger on her. Or at least she thinks he is. But right now it's after dinner, and Liz, the intended victim, is in the living room, reading. While George, the killer, is slowly stalking up behind her.”

George kisses Liz on the back of the neck. She screams!  Liz nervously says that she’d rather not go to the Atterbury’s lodge this weekend. 

GEORGE: “What? Why, Liz, you love the lodge. You always say that's your idea of living.”  LIZ: “Well, I want to keep it that way.”

George says that he has a big surprise for her up there. Liz suggests he take his mother and give HER the big surprise!

GEORGE: “Now, don't be silly! You just wait: When you wake up Monday morning, you'll be very pleasantly surprised.”  LIZ: “If I wake up Monday morning, I'll be surprised.”

Liz wonders if George is having money problems. She asks him why he made her sign her will last night. George says that if it bothers her so much, he’ll tear it up - as soon as they get back from the lodge. 

Liz runs to her bedroom and locks the door! George telephones Dr. Stephens (Herb Vigran) to report that Liz is acting peculiar. 

DOCTOR: “Peculiar for Liz, or peculiar for normal people?”

RICKY RICARDO: “Lucy is acting crazy!” FRED MERTZ: “Crazy for Lucy or crazy for ordinary people?”

This joke was adapted for Lucy Ricardo in “Lucy Thinks Ricky Is Trying To Do Murder Her” with Fred Mertz taking the Doctor’s line. 

Doctor Stephens cannot make a house call because he’s got an appointment with his psychoanalyst, but he tells George to give Liz a sedative until he can get there. 

Liz comes in for a glass of water. George tells her that he’s had Katie prepare them some hot milk. In the kitchen, Katie tells Liz that she saw Mr. Cooper pour a powder into one of the glasses. Liz says she’ll just switch the glasses so that George drinks the one with the powder in it. 

In the living room she distracts George just long enough to switch the glasses. But when George lifts his glass to drink, Liz dashes it from his hand. She says she couldn’t do it to him, even if he could do it to her. 

LIZ: “You put something in my glass, didn't you, George? Well, I fooled you! I switched glasses!”  GEORGE: “I had a hunch that's why Katie called you, so I switched them again while you were out of the room.”

Liz starts to gag as if she’s been poisoned! Liz falls to the floor, convinced she is going to die, trying to make peace with George in her final moments.

LIZ: “If I had my life to live over again, I want you to know I'd do better. I could stay within the budget, if I tried. (coughs) And I'd never buy clothes I need. (coughs) I'd throw away my charge-a-plate.”

The doorbell rings. It is Mr. Atterbury, come to make the ‘final arrangements.’  Liz tells George that she saw the one way ticket, and the shopping list for poison and the axe.  The men dissolve in laughter.  Mr. Atterbury explains that those were supplies for the lodge.  Liz is angry that she’s been tricked, and refuses to keep the promises she made in her ‘final moments’.

LIZ: "I didn't know what I was saying! I was under the influence of warm milk!”

End of Episode

In the live Jell-O commercial, Lucille Ball plays a Mexican spy, and Bob LeMond is interviewing her for a job. 

In the bedtime tag, it is five in the morning and George is reading a suspenseful magazine story. Liz begs him to turn out the light, but then can’t sleep until he knows the outcome of the story. Liz grabs the magazine and reads the last lines.

LIZ: “The huge, shapeless thing crept slowly up behind Mildred, and before she could scream it slipped its bony hands around her - Oh, no!!!” GEORGE: “What does it say, Liz? Around her what?” LIZ: “Around her continued next week! Good night!”

ANNOUNCER: “You have been listening to ‘My Favorite Husband’ starring Lucille Ball, with Richard Denning, and based on characters created by Isobel Scott Rorick. Tonight's transcribed program was produced and directed by Jess Oppenheimer, who wrote the script with Madelyn Pugh and Bob Carroll, Jr. Be sure to get the April Issue of ‘Radio Mirror Magazine’ with the big picture of Lucille Ball on the cover. That's the April issue of ‘Radio Mirror Magazine.’ Original music was composed by Marlin Skyles and conducted by Wilbur Hatch. Bob LeMond speaking.”

[diddlesanddoodles]

DEAD WALLS RISE - CONNAR

PART THREE

His father was grim faced and his mother clutched her children’s hands hard enough to hurt but neither Connar or Penny pulled away. Gen stood near the small hearth, watching the flames dance.

“What...what does that mean for us, then?” Arthur asked. “Now that he’s dead.”

“The war’s over,” the captain explained, cleaning the inside of his pipe’s bowl with his pinky finger. “But don’t get too excited just yet. King Warren’s mandate will take time to reach the ends of Vhasshal and still there’s no guarantee all folks will honor it. Smuggling and selling humans has become quite profitable for some. Best keep on as you have for a while.”

Gen pushed back from the hearth and turned to regard the blue coated giant. “Should I keep sending in the reports?”

“Yes. They may be more valuable now than ever. Now that the trade’s illegal, information’s going to start drying up. People will be less likely to tell you all that they have. So whatever you have, keep sending it to me.”

“But still,” Penny said, surprising most of them as she never spoke whenever Keral visited. The large man outright terrified her and she always made it a point to make herself scarce around him. “The Blood King is dead. Things will get better right? They have to...”

Keral took a moment to regard the girl. “Doesn’t always work out that way, lass. Nethrin’s dead. His last son’s King now. He’s gonna have to work hard and smart and very quickly to secure his power. The time between transitions of power is precarious and if not done right, will make more of a mess than what we had to begin with. For now, all we can do it wait and see.”

…………………………………..

Connar and his family stayed with Gen in his home for another five years. In that time, Gen continued to supply the blue coats with as much information as he was able to garner, but as Keral predicted, most of it dried it very quickly.  Connar’s skill with leather continued to grow and he branched off into metal works. For almost a year, he worked on nothing but knives. Pocket knives, axe blades, kitchen knives, etc. Gen was beyond pleased with his progress and continued to challenge the boy as his teenage years began to slip into young adulthood.

Gen’s gray hair began to turn white and his strength was not what it had been until one day he gathered them all to tell them something.

“I have been playing with the idea of perhaps moving in with my sister,” he said. “She’s already assured me you all would be welcome.”

“Doesn’t she live in the village outside the castle, though?” Maria asked. “Would it be safe?”

“With the King so near, I’d imagine the village might very well be the safest place of all,” Gen replied. “And there is also the option of the Hill Tribe if you wish to live with your own people.”

Maria suddenly sent her daughter an amused side eyed glance. “We might be able to find you a nice beau, Penny. And you can start giving me some grandchildren.”

Penny flushed red and pointed to Connar as he took a large bite of an apple. “What about Connar?”

Arthur laughed. “Oh, he’s hopeless. He’d scare any girl off.”

Connar made a muffled whine of offense at the accusation as they all had a good laugh.

In the end, they did make the move the Gen’s sister’s home. Beth was a pleasant woman, fifteen years Gen’s junior, and like her brother, was a widow with all four of her children grown and having moved away. She and Maria became fast friends and both immediately began a crusade to find Penny a nice young man, despite her protestations. Connar was simply happy that they had not began to do the same to him and he was free to continue on learning whatever Gen still had left to teach him.

A little over a year later, Penny was married and moved to the Hill tribe with her new husband and soon after, they welcomed their first child into the world and both Connar’s parents moved in to help with the baby. Connar stayed behind in Beth’s house with Gen, still eager to learn and hone his skills.  

Gen passed away in his sleep two months later.

Looking back, Connar would remember very little of that time. In many ways it felt as though he had lost a father. He and his family owed so much to Gen and with him gone, Connar felt adrift and without a moor like a boat being carried away by the current. Too tired to try and steer himself back on coarse and too numb to understand why he should even try.

His family had a new baby to help distract from the pain and as much as he tried to throw himself into his work, he just could not bare to even look at his tools. The same ones Gen had made for Connar himself. With his hands.

Gen’s funeral was attended by more people than Connar would have thought and he stayed very close to Beth and her eldest son during the whole affair. Trying very hard not to see the way some of the attending giants sneered at him. Unlike Silvaaran funerals, Vhasshals buried their dead rather than burn them on pyres. They were placed in family tombs built far into the ground and the flesh of the dead would be returned to the earth and once there was nothing but bones left, they were pushed back into the far chamber with the bones of their ancestors to make room for the next body. So a single family tomb could hold hundreds of individuals.

Connar’s family were forced to leave early as the baby began to make a fuss and Penny was worried he might catch a cold in the chilly air. Connar thought it was more to do with being nervous around so many giants and he did not blame them. But he petitioned to stay.

He couldn’t leave.

Connar stared at the large opening to the Taversh family tomb as six Vhasshalans carried Gen’s shrouded body down, feeling numb. Flowers and wreaths and ribbons were places all around the opening as well as food and gifts that would be collected after by the family. When the giant emerged from the tomb without Gen, Connar felt the tears fall heavily down his face.

We can’t just leave him down there...

“I’m so sorry, Beth,” said one of the giants, voice thick with emotion. He was very tall for a giant and his arms were thicker than tree trunks. He lowered himself to hug the much smaller woman.

“Oh, Hevian. You’re so much taller then I remember,” Beth said, smiling through tears. She patted his shoulders. “And thicker! By the Gods, you’ve grown.”

The giant smiled, but it looked hollow as grief was painted thickly upon his features. He turned to Gen’s son and shook his hand, muttering a small greeting and condolence. But his eyes dipped lower to spy Connar. Beth caught the giant’s questioning look.

“Hevian, this is Connar,” she said. “Gendril took him and his folks in during the war. The human lass with the wee babe that left earlier? That was them.”

Hevian crouched down and extended a hand towards Connar and stuck his finger out. “It’s nice to meet ye, Connar.”

He looked up at the giant and reached out to grip the tip of the large finger.

“You too,” he mumbled.

“You know,” Beth said. “Gen was teaching Connar here. You should see some of his leather work, Hevian. It’s beautiful. A wee small, but beautiful.”

Hevian’s face lightened with intrigue and he spared the human a smile. “Well, I might need to come visit ye some day and take a gander myself.”

Beth looked down at Connar. “Hevian here was Gendril’s apprentice. Took over the royal smithy when Gen retired.”

And then Connar’s brain kicked him as he suddenly connected the dots and he blurted, “Oh! So you’re Hev.”

The giant grinned. “Aye, that’s me.”

“Gen told me a lot about you,” Connar replied.

“Good things I hope.”

“Mostly he said your leather work was crap,” Connar replied and then cursed at himself. But much to his relief, Hevian just threw his head back and laughed.

“Aye, that sounds ‘bout right to me. Never was much good with all that stuff. Was always more interested in playing with fire and sharp metal.”

…………………….

The funeral came and went and Connar returned to Beth’s house. That night at dinner, she pulled him aside.

“You’re always welcome here, dear,” she told him. “But I can’t help but wonder if you might feel better with your folks.”

“I thought about it,” he replied. “And it makes the most sense. I don’t want to impose on you. I know it’s a pain having me here. Your neighbors would be happy, I guess.”

“Oh, who gives a right hooey what they think,” she spat. “Gen loved you, Connar. And until the day they lay be beside him, you will have a place here. Same as your folks and sister.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do,” he said finally.

“Well, however long you need to decide take it.”

“Thank you, Beth.”

………………………………………..

His father had gotten him a job as a field hand working one of the wheat fields in the Hill Tribe. In all honesty, Connar did not even know anyone in the Hill Tribe farmed at all. But it sounded like a good way to start off on his own and long hard labor might just be what his idle brain needed to snap out of his rut.

He refused Beth’s offer to escort him there, promising her he would be fine. “Besides, if anyone give me trouble, I’ve got this,” he said, pulling out a large hunting knife. Beth was very reluctant to let him go on his own, but finally convinced her by promising he would go through the woods instead of using the roads.

“Please be careful,” she begged.

“I will,” he laughed, waving back at her as he began to walk. “I’ll see you soon.”

The Vhasshal castle was an imposing looking structure set at the top of a large gentle sloping hill with the village just below. The Hill tribe was a few miles away on the other side of the castle where the hills were more pronounced. In order for Connar to get there, he traveled through the forest that made a half moon shape around the castle and since it was strictly part of the castle grounds, it was considered trespassing for anyone to use it without permission from the Crown. Which made it the perfect path for Connar to get to his destination without being spotted by anyone with ill intentions.

He was almost through the thicket part of the forest when his foot caught on something and he fell forward just as metal teeth sprung up from the earth and clamped down onto his left leg. He fell to the ground and drew in a shocked and rattling breath as the worst pain he had ever felt radiated from his leg. He gave a breathless cry and he rolled over to see what had snagged him and he felt his heart drop at the sight. A spring loaded metal snap trap was clamped onto his leg, the sharp metal teeth digging and cutting into his flesh and passed the exposed meat of leg and the seeping blood, he could see the pale white bone.

His head spun as he gave his first real scream of pain. There was so much blood. Already he felt his backside was damp with it. He reached for his hunting knife and tried to pry the teeth apart, but his strength was quickly waning.

“F-fuck!” he screamed. “Augh!”

He quickly pulled his tunic off and used his knife to cut long ribbons out of it, wrapping them around his leg just under his knee and prayed desperately that it would stop the bleeding. Oh Gods, it hurt so much…

He pulled the ends of his makeshift tourniquet with a muffled cry of pain and fell back onto the ground. With every wave of pain, he screamed; fingernails digging into the ground and racking up the earth. All sound around him became muted as every piece of his waking mind was dedicated to feeling the pain from his leg.

He felt more than heard someone approach and the ground shook as a very large someone dropped to the knees beside him. He barely registered that they were speaking to him and through the tears clouding his eyes, he could not make out a face. The end of a stick was pressed against his lips and the voice above began to speak with a little more clarity.  

“...gonna hurt like hell. Bit down on this,” the giant commanded. “Better a stick than your tongue.”

A soon as his teeth were around the stick, there was an abrupt and wholly unwelcomed pressure on his leg as the metal teeth were pulled from his flesh and he heard the shriek of springs. His whole body was shaking from the pain and he sobbed, hands reaching out blindly until they found the warm flesh of a giant hand.

“You’re gonna be fine, Connar,” said the giant. “Keep biting down, lad. Keep breathing. I’m gonna pick ye up, now. Ready? One...two...”

He didn’t wait for the count of three before picking the injured boy up and Connar screamed through his teeth. The trees above him rushed by at an incredible speed before disappearing and were the replaced by stone walls and ceilings. Unfamiliar smells and sounds passed by and he got his first real proper look at the giant.

“...Hev?” he asked just as the darkness around his vision became absolute and he passed out.

………………………….

When he woke up, his head felt thick with fog and his limbs were heavy and sore.

But he couldn’t feel his leg. Weak as he was, he lifted his head up as high as he could and looked down at himself. He lay in a human sized bed in a room that was anything but human sized. There was a collection of bottles and rolls of bandages on a small table next to his bed, but the one thing that struck him was the tell tale lack of shape next to his right leg. Just below his left knee, there was nothing. A wave of emotion roiled up from inside him and he fell back against his pillow, tears already falling.

The second time he awoke, Keral was there and was speaking to a human who he initially thought was a man, but their voice revealed themselves as a woman.

“...he’s on some pretty heavy sedatives and pain tonics,” said the woman. “But he made it through the fever just fine. He’ll be bed ridden for a while yet while he heals.”

“Beth’s all outta sorts,” Keral said. “Blamin’ herself fer lettin’ him go on his own. His folks are wonderin’ when they came come see ‘im.”

“They’re welcome to come and see him, but don’t give them the impression he’ll be awake at all. I’m trying to keep him sedated as much as I can so I don’t need to bottle feed him pain tonic. I’m not trying to make him into an addict and with the dosage he would need at this stage, he surely would be.”

Time became inconsequential as he slipped in and out of consciousness. He vaguely remembered his mother and father visiting and Beth as well, but he was unable to speak or if he did, he could not recall what he said.

And for three weeks, that was Connar’s existence.

………………………….

Sawyer handed him a small book. “Barnaby said you might enjoy this one. Funny poems and such.”

“Thank you,” he said, idly flipping through the pages.

“So,” she said, “Give any thought to what you might do?”

“I guess go back to Beth’s place for a while. Teach myself to walk again with a crutch and be the local cripple. Beg for coins at the street corner.”

“Well, what were you doing before?”

“...honestly? Mooching off Beth. Gen before her. I was going to go be a field hand, but...well.”

“I though Hev said you were a craftsman.”

Connar blinked. “He said that?”

“Yeah. That you worked with leather and such.”

“Well, yeah. I do. Gen taught me. I wasn’t his apprentice or nothing. He just showed me some stuff.”

Sawyer gave him a look. “So, why aren’t you working with the skills you already have? You’re a skilled craftsman. Go craft. You don’t need both legs to do that, do you?”

“No, but what could I make that a giant would want to buy?”

Sawyer rolled her eyes. “Just because you lost your leg doesn’t mean your life and dignity went with it.”

………………..

He had just finished the book of poems when Hev came to visit him. Even among giants, Hev was tall and broad shouldered. His black hair was pulled back into a braid and though his tunic was clean, he still smelled like the forge; ash and metal and smoke. It reminded him a lot of Gen.

When Hev entered the infirmary, he gave Connar a wide white tooth grin and grabbed a chair. “How’re ye feeling, lad?”

“Better now that I can think straight,” he replied, setting the book aside. “But I think I’m done spending all my time in bed.”

Sitting into the chair, Hev gave Connar a nod. “Aye, suppose there’s only so much peace and quiet ye can take. Manage to get around on them at all?” He pointed to crutches leaning against his bed posts.

“A bit,” Connar shrugged. “Not that hard. Just tires me out. Not use to walking with my arms.”

Hev chortled at that. “Well, reason why I wanted to come see ye was I had an interestin’ talk with Sawyer. About yer future.”

Connar furrowed his brow. “Yeah, she was talking to me about that. Thinks I should try and use the skills Gen taught me. Since I’m useless like this for any job in the fields.”

“Aye,” Hev said. “And I agree with her. Last time Beth visited ye, she came by the shop and gave me this.”

From his pocket, he pulled out a knife sheath. He had made it for Gen for a new knife he’d made. It was not long after they had first moved into Beth’s home and Connar had decorated the flat sides of the sheath with depictions of the village with the Vhasshalan castle up on the hill.

“Ye made this?” Hev asked, his tone oddly serious.

Connar nodded and stared at the sheath in Hev’s hands. “Yeah. For Gen.”

“Ye want a job?”

Connar blinked at him. “Wait...what?”

Hev grinned and held up the sheath. “This is amazing work, Connar. I showed it to Master Donal and he showed it to the King.”

Connar blanched. “You...he did... wait, what?”

But Hev just grinned wider. “Aye. He was might impressed too. Told me I should offer ye a job in the smithy. And I agree. Ye’d be a great help.”

Connar did his best impression of a fish as he gaped open mouthed at him. “You...you’re offering me a job?”

“I am.”

“Oh...well,” Connar shrugged as a wide and elated smile crossed his face. “Fuck yeah I will!”

“Don’t ye wanna know the wages?” Hev laughed.  

“Doesn’t matter,” Connar replied excitedly. “You could pay me in fucking paper coins and I’d still do it.”

“Oi, careful now, lad. If Donal ever hears ye say that he might take ye up on that offer.”

[the-overgrowth]

Retrospective: “Faybane” #1

This is where it all started, on July 8th, 2016. Although probably a bit earlier than that, but this is the earliest thing I can find that’s actually written down, so that’s what counts. And back in the day I didn’t let ideas marinate the way I do now, I just started writing pretty much as soon as I got the idea.

Anyway, the document was created at this point in time according to Google Docs, and was last modified in October 3rd, 2016. It’s only 3 chapters long, plus one incomplete fourth chapter, and the whole thing is about 17k words.

Which is a lot for 3 chapters. I would say something about how I’m less wordy now, but the latest draft is like 107k words long, so, like, I will always struggle with shutting the fuck up, methinks.

Also, the reason this is called “Faybane” is because that was the working title I used, and the name of this document. I thought it’d be the proper title but like. It’s bad lmao.

Anywhomst, let’s get into it!

Some background info for those who are new or need a refresher: this WIP became a thing after I read and was disappointed by A Court of Thorns and Roses by SJM, as well as The Iron King by Julie Kagawa and some book by Holly Black, was it Tithe?

ACOTAR was the biggest culprit. I feel that this is important to keep in mind as we go through this mess.

We open on Sidra in the forest with a bunch of men she calls a hunting party. It’s clear she doesn’t want to be there, but since she’s the only decent hunter among them and it’s her sister’s wedding today, she has to make the kill to feed the people attending said wedding.

This is, as the kids say, big stupid, and seems like a very ill-prepared celebration? I guess it makes some sense for them to want fresh meat, but this fresh? What if they didn’t find anything? What if they didn’t manage to kill anything? Is the whole thing cancelled? Stupid.

We find out they’ve been hunting a boar and that this dude named Liam, our Gaston replacement, previously wounded the animal but didn’t kill it, causing it to flee and force the hunting party to follow. It’s up to Sidra to make the killing blow, which she does with an arrow straight into its head. This was back when Sidra was still YA Heroine Extraordinaire and the time period was Vaguely Medieval, I guess.

They begin taking their quarry back home and Sidra thinks about how she normally doesn’t hunt this close to the “Faewilds” because animals closer to the border are said to be bigger and more violent. There isn’t an actual border, people just had to rely on intuition and not wander too far into the forest.

She also mentions a girl named Wilda, who disappeared fairly recently and everyone suspects it was the fae. This isn’t relevant now, but Wilda will return in later drafts, I think.

Everybody, especially my family, knew that I was one of the best archers in town, whether I used a bow or a crossbow.

Shut up, Not!Feyre. Nobody likes you.

I should mention that at this point I didn’t bother googling how big wild boars get and just assumed they were the size of like, a thick medium dog. Which is, if you know how big boars are, very incorrect. Four men pulling the animal seems realistic enough, but then Liam just lifts it up on his own? Not buying it.

Sidra laments how much she hates Liam and we find out that he apparently tried to assault her and she stabbed him? And apparently she’s not happy about his marriage to Sinéad but can’t do anything about it because “Father’s word is law” and Sinéad herself laughed it off when Sidra tried to warn her?

Yeah, gonna call bullshit on that one. No idea why this was here or what purpose it serves, the reason Liam doesn’t exist in the latest draft is because I never figured out what his purpose was so I axed him entirely. 

Current!Sidra would just kill him the moment he showed an interest in Sinéad, and Current!Sinéad would 100% believe her sister about something like that.

Some bloke named Connor strikes up a conversation with Sidra, seemingly worried about being this far away from human civilization. Liam teases him about it and calls the fae “knife-ears”, because I still had brainrot back then and liked Dragon Age and had zero original ideas in my head.

The men make jokes about having sex with fae women and Sidra seems so disturbed by this that she nocks an arrow. This isn’t the first time she makes references to feeling unsafe around these men, I have no idea why I wrote it this way aside from being edgy, I guess.

My village was mostly populated by men, and even though I wasn’t one of the pretty girls there, I knew these men weren’t picky, even with all their talk about beautiful fae women. I’d heard that fae women would kill their men after sleeping with them. I had no way of know it was true, but a part of me hoped it was and that Liam would some day soon get “lucky” and encounter a female fae, so she could end his misery.

Edgy, dude.

They eventually arrive and Sidra goes inside her house, which is a simple cottage with three rooms. I think her family are all farmers? It’s kind of confusing. She goes into her and Sinéad’s bedroom, where Sinéad is preparing for her wedding. Also, she’s blonde.

“Sid! There you are!” she said cheerily. “Killed a boar, huh? Good on Liam for taking all the credit.”

If you know your man is trash, why are you marrying him?

Apparently Liam seduced Sinéad with sweets and baked goods. I mean ... fair enough. Considering how Sidra complains about being hungry and skinny and going without food if she doesn’t kill the boar because this year’s harvest was minimal, I’m assuming y’all are starving.

We find out Sinéad’s mother doesn’t let her do anything around the house or farm, to preserve her “soft and white” hands and pale complexion so she could be married off easily. This makes zero sense, you’d think these medieval men wouldn’t have the same beauty standards as Victorian England, plus having a mouth to feed that doesn’t even help feeding itself is just nuts. 

But remember, this isn’t Sidra, this is Not!Feyre. She needs to be sad and put-upon and a victim. She explains how she was never pretty to begin with and thus nobody considered her to be worthy of marrying off, which then meant she was put to work and became even less attractive because now she was so cool and badass that all the men were intimidated by her.

Yeah, in a village that already doesn’t have a lot of young women? I’m not buying this, lmao. But go off, Not!Feyre.

I’d been the one helping around, instead. Hunting, mostly. Sometimes I’d chop wood or work the farm. Marrying out of the house seemed impossible. Marrying up was practically a dream you forgot upon waking. Had I been pretty from the start there would’ve been a foundation to work from, but I was a lost cause even before my skin became tan and my hands grew veined and calloused. I had freckles which people mistook for mud and dull brown eyes, a long nose that had been broken one time too many and a mouth that made it look like I constantly felt a bad smell no matter what facial expression I made. I’d always been of rather short stature and had brown hair and thick eyebrows, which in combination with everything else made my parents call me their “little goblin”. The scar on my face didn’t help me either: men didn’t like it when their women were more battle-hardened than they were.

Oh god please, don’t go off! We don’t care! Stop going off!

Also what fucking parents call their poor kid a goblin? Yikes.

Sinéad convinces Sidra to get prettied up and Sidra is all “oh I bet all the men will just fall over themselves for my favor now huh” which is just the most annoying fucking thing, prompting Sinéad to respond:

“Well, winter is coming and game is scarce. If they want to survive, marrying the best hunter in the village might be a good bet.”

Yeah! This is correct! I refuse to believe people wouldn’t be into Sidra! Not only does everyone apparently know she’s the best hunter in town, but Sidra herself confirmed the men here outnumber the women and aren’t very picky.

This is fucking stupid. I’m glad I axed it. In my defense, I was very much trying to emulate the YA shit I’d read so far.

Sidra’s grandmother enters the stage. She’s very old in this draft, but otherwise unchanged.

She was a short and wrinkled old lady with extremely bad vision and an even worse grasp on reality. Or maybe an extremely acute grasp on reality, depending on whether you believed her stories or not.

Sidra changes out of the dress again to go out and help her father prepare the boar, all while sulking.

I didn’t envy Sinead, nor any other bride. Despite what most people thought of me, I wasn’t some poor ugly girl longing for the love of a man and the security of marriage. Did I enjoy the idea of having somebody care for me? Sure. But it wasn’t on my list of priorities. I was still trying to figure out what actually was on that list. Not that it mattered. The prospects for a poor village girl were very finite.

Womp womp.

We get some confusing and barely related stuff about Sidra possibly becoming a royal hunter for the king and also about where the village is located in relation to the Faewilds. She speculates that maybe the fae aren’t real, but the way she and everyone else talks about them makes it pretty obvious that they are? This was supposed to build mystery, I guess.

We skip forward to the wedding and Sidra is moping again.

“How are you feeling?” Father asked and squeezed my shoulder. 

I wasn’t sure why he was doing that. I assumed it had something to do with the wedding and the fact that despite there being fewer women than men here, I was still not asked to dance. Though this didn’t really bother me, so I just shrugged.

“It doesn’t bother me. Anyway I will continue to mope and feel bitter about this thing that doesn’t bother me.” Hunny ...

At least Current!Sidra has the self-awareness to admit she’s sad and lonely.

 [Father’s] marriage to Sinead’s mother was never out of love, more out of necessity. It was easier when you had a big family.

Except for when this “big family” is 3 people who work and 2 people who are just being fed, right? See, I knew back then that having a big family helps when you have a farm, but I also needed to make Sidra Special so Sinéad had to sit on her ass to highlight how pretty and feminine she was or whatnot.

Bleh.

They talk a bit about Sidra’s mother, who passed away five years ago, and Sidra reminisces about how she used to tell amazing stories. It’s all very ... whatever, and serves only to make this point for the hundredth time:

I wasn’t like Mother. I wasn’t full of life and spirit like her. I wasn’t loved and respected by the entire village like her. I was just her disappointing child whose existence they’d rather forget except when they wanted something killed.

Right after this there’s a really abrupt scene transition. Nothing about the wedding coming to an end, nothing about her going to bed, it’s just ... some while later?

Sidra’s father comes back home from ??? and tells Sidra he saw a stag somewhere, but it was hours ago so she better get a move on.

I’m not sure what either of them thinks this will accomplish? Like ... what is she gonna do with it when she kills it ... Carry it home? On her little boney ass? Hmm? I guess I didn’t think of that because I had meta knowledge that she wouldn’t get it home either way, so who cares about logic, right?

Sidra kills two rabbits while stalking the deer, and despite telling us earlier that she doesn’t venture far away from human civilization and the boar hunting being the farthest she’d been and that she wouldn’t go this far alone, she has no issue dwelling very deep into the forest this time.

Like. Henlo? Can we have one logic please and thanks you? Granted, she keeps stopping every now and then to Feel Things Out, but this really goes against how careful she was before and at no point do we get an explanation to her sudden boldness. Plot reasons, I guess.

She nearly stumbles into fae territories and finally decides to head back, except when she starts returning, she sees the stag she’s been tracking. It’s abnormally huge and has a “dark brown” coat that she finds odd, but of course she’s too stupid to connect the dots.

She sneaks up on it and honestly? This chapter ending still slaps.

A scream of pain left the creature and I saw it topple. But though my arrow hit a deer, a man fell to the ground.

DUN DUN DUN.

And yeah, the ACOTAR roots rear their ugly heads again. I liked the idea of the protagonist shooting a fae disguised as an animal, but I decided to cut out the middleman and just have her obliterate Val right in chapter one. Don’t worry, he doesn’t die.

[indifferent-century]

Ringing in the New Year, 1842 

(Illustration: painting of the same name by John Edward Davis ) Holidays at sea in the nineteenth century Royal Navy were generally a cause for merriment, marked at the very least by the distribution of an extra round of grog - “Splicing the mainbrace,” as the practice was called. Officers might hold special dinners amongst themselves, and sailors might organize games, music, or other festivities.

In the discovery service, being ice-locked on a holiday could lead to some particular amusements.  

The precedent for grand celebrations in the polar regions can be traced back to the voyages of Sir Edward Parry, who spent numerous winters in the Arctic and was adamant that his crews remain busy and entertained, to combat the dreaded melancholia (often referred to as ”debility”) that could come while frozen in during a season wherein the sun never rose. Parry and his men created the Royal Arctic Theatre, holding full costumed performances on board their ships, and also organized masquerade balls around the New Year and in the depths of winter. These were events where social standards were broken down a bit, with both officers and sailors participating, and men in many cases dressing in women’s clothing (a necessity when casting a play of course, but also a sort of understanding that so far from English “society,” norms could be flexible for the sake of men’s morale.) James Clark Ross served as a midshipman and later a lieutenant on no fewer than four of Parry’s voyages of exploration. In three of those instances he was serving alongside his closest friend and future second-in-command, Francis Crozier. Although December marks the height of the summer, not winter, in the Antarctic, and the sun, rather than never rising, does not set, it is not surprising that Ross and Crozier would follow Parry’s example on their Antarctic expedition of 1839-43. Journals from the expedition recount that New Years celebrations were standard through the four-year voyage, but the turn of 1841 into 1842 was the most notable. With the ships Erebus and Terror trapped in pack ice near the Antarctic Circle, the officers had a unique opportunity to hold a grand party on the ice itself. A sort of ballroom was carved in the ice, complete with ice statues and decorated with flags and improvised tavern signs. There were four days of dancing and games, highlighted by a “fancy ball” (masquerade/costume party) which featured Captain Ross in the guise of a woman opening the dance floor as Crozier’s partner in a quadrille.

Some written accounts of the festivities below the cut!

From a letter written by John Edward Davis to his sister. Davis was  Second Master HMS Terror, and also the artist who painted the watercolor above:

... On the 30th we got no farther than the Circle, and the ice was so close and thick that we could not proceed; the weather was thick and foggy, and the mist on the rigging froze as it fell, and as their was danger of fouling or losing each other, there not being room to work, we made fast to the same piece of ice, and of course being only about 50 yards apart there was a great deal of visiting, for we had but to walk across the ice to get to the Erebus. So we proposed to see the Old Year out and the New Year in in style on the 31st. I dined on board the Erebus, and after dinner Hooker (the assistant surgeon of the Erebus) and myself went on the ice and cut out in the hard snow the figure of a woman, which we called our “Venus de Medici.” She was made sitting down and about eight feet long, and as the snow froze very hard she remained perfect till we left the flow. I assure you that (although I says it as shouldn’t) it was not badly executed, and was the cause of a good deal of fun, and was much criticised; after that we cleared away a room by cutting down to the solid ice, and built a table in it, on which to drink the Old Year out and the New Year in. At a few minutes before twelve you would have been stunned with the noise that was made, each ship trying to beat the other--blowing of horns, beating of gongs, squealing of pigs (for the men took the latter under their arms to make them make a noise), and all kinds of diabolical music--and at twelve it was increased by each ship ringing forty-two bells, which is called ringing the New Year in. We then all (I mean the officers of course) assembled at our refreshment room on the ice between the ships where the two captains soon joined us. Captain Ross was in high spirits, shaking hands with everybody and wishing them a Happy New Year. He then drank the health of all our men (for they were all up), the hands having been turned up to “Splice the main brace.” They then cheered him, and the same thing was done by Captain Crozier to the Erebus, and after some more drinking and cheering we separated for the night, or morning.

On New Year’s Day I wished you all many happy returns of it; and my dear mother, I hope she will see many more, and may she never have cause to complain of any of ther children, and may they (myself included) never fail in their duty and love towards her... We all dined together in the gun-rom, and after dinner, at about eight in the evening, we all went to a ball on the ice, a ball-room having been previously cut, with sofas all around, of course all made of snow. Flag-staffs were planted with the Royal Standard; two or three silk Union Jacks, besides other flags, presenting, I assure you, a very gay appearance. I must mention the sign-boards (for it was supposed to be an inn): one was “The Erebus and Terror,” and the other, rigged on a boat-hook staff and an ice-axe, presented the figure of Bacchus in one corner and Britannia in another, and something else equally fine in the others, but it puzzled my powers of discernment to decipher what they were intended to represent. But in the centre was painted “The Pilgrims of the Ocean,” and on the reverse (but I ought not to mention that as it was rather egotistical, but was copied from the ‘Quarterly Review’), “The Pioneers of Science,” at which Captain Ross was greatly amused. On the signal being given (a gun from the Erebus), the two captains made their appearance (under a rather irregular salute of musketry from a party of the men rigged as a guard of honour) and took their seats on a raised snow sofa, and soon after the ball commenced. Of course Captain Crozier and Miss Ross opened the ball with a quadrille; after that we had reels and country dances. Ices and refreshments were handed round, the former in the greatest profusion (the boatswain of the Erebus performing the part of host under the title of Mr. Boniface). You would have laughed to see the whole of us, with thick overall boots on, dancing, waltzing and slipping about, and all the fun imaginable going on. Ladies fainting with cigars in their mouths, to cure which the gentlemen would politely thrust a piece of ice down her back. But it would require a “Boz” [Charles Dickens] to give any idea of the ridiculous scene; it was beyond all description, and the best of it was not an ill word the whole time, although there were some very heavy falls and many a sore face from the blows of the snowballs. All was taken in good part, and, as the Vicar of Wakefield says, “What was wanting in wit was made up in laughter.” No accident occurred to me, without I may mention that a lady burnt the back of my hand with a cigar. In the next room some of the men were playing “Bell the cat.” At about one o’clock as the captains left we first pelted them with snowballs and then cheered them, both of which honours they took with equally good humour... I afterwards did a bit of a picture of the scene which has been greatly praised, and I have been asked to get it engraved and so ensured against lost, but there are two people to give their consent to that; but I shall wait till we get to England before I say anything about it, and then I might get two or three things lithographed if they are worth it...

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From James Clark Ross’s published account of the voyage. He is expectedly very formal and mostly scientific about his descriptions, since he was writing for a more official audience and not a family member, but does manage to mention the party: 

Notwithstanding the inauspicious circumstances in which we were placed, the arrival of the new year was hailed by us all with the same feelings of confident hope and cheerfulness which had animated our exertions throughout the last season’s operations in these regions: and although we had found the pack to extend much farther to the northward than o the former occasion, and were at this time beset in so dense a portion of it, that not the least hole of water could be seen amongst it, presenting to our view an apparently impenetrable mass, as far as the eye could discern from the mastheads of our ships, yet we were encouraged to hope that the clear water was at no great distance to the southward of us; for we found the ice in which we were enclosed continue to move to the northward before every southerly breeze: it must therefore have left clear water at the place it originally occupied, and from which it was drifting. We had already advanced two hundred and fifty miles through the pack; and from its breadth last season, not much exceeding two hundred miles, we could not but expect to be soon released, and enabled to renew our exploration at the point of the barrier where we had left off last year. Our observations to-day at noon placed us in latitude 66º 32′ S., longitude 156º 28′ W., we therefore crossed the Antarctic circle this season the same day that we did last year, and forty degrees of longitude, or about fourteen hundred miles to the eastward. 

A complete suit of warm clothing was issued to our crews, as a new year’s gift, and the customary double allowance of provisions and spirits was served out to them. As the state of the ice prevented our making any attempt to proceed, we remained moored to the large floe piece we had hold of, and the day was spent by our people in the enjoyment of various amusing games on the ice, which their ingenuity invented, and which was finally wound up by a grand fancy ball, of a novel and original character, in which all the officers bore a part, and added much to the merriment and fun which all seemed greatly to enjoy; indeed, if our friends in England could have witnessed the scene, they would have thought, what I am sure was truly the case, that we were a very happy party. 

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From the Memorandum Book of Sergeant W. K. Cunningham, Royal Marines, HMS Terror. Spelling, punctuation, and other quirks of grammar are his:  31st Friday New years eve: still fast: ice closed entirely round us: weather beautifull. In the course of the day built a nice appartment on the ice and put up a Sign of the “Pilgrim of hte Ocean” on one Side, with the “Pioneers of Science on the other. At 12 PM hoisted the Union and welcomed 1842 with three hearty cheers and “hands” splice the “Main brace.” Drank her Majesties health after which the Officers had a jubilee in the Pilgrim of the Ocean and both Ships companies repaired on board the Erebus and commenced dancing which was Kept up until an early hour and every thing went of with the best of good fellowship. 

It was a beautifull yet dreary Sight, to See the two Ships joined on the bosom of the deep with nothing in Sight only ice and snow and the Solitary Peterel or other Sea bird -- it reminded me of Scotts “Diamond of the Desert” in the Talisman. 

1st Saturday Was ushered in with joviality and hilarity; I hope it will go out so. Day very fine and a perfect Calm: no opening in the ice. During the day cleared away a four corner Ground and Skittle Alley on the ice also a ring for a jingling match and a ball room for the Officers. 

At 9 PM, on a gun being fired from the “Erebus” a Silk Union jack Royal Standard & Ensin was hoisted on the ice and a Royal Salute was fired by a party of Seamen with Muskets who were acting “soldiers” headed by Mr Oakly and presented a most Ludicruous and Laughable appearance. The Officers drunk H Majesties health in Champagne and the Ships Company spliced the Main brace and drank her health with I dont Know how many cheers. After which dancing commenced and was Kept until midnight when Sunday morning walked in and hauled down the colors, and dispersed the Company. The jingling match afforded a deal of amusement: we in all spent a very happy New Years day Considering where we were and every officer deserves credit for endevouring to make every one comfortable...

... 3rd Monday Fine: light breeze which increased at night with snow: ice opening a little to the eastward. The Evenings amusement on the ice commenced with jumping in Sacks: A Pig hunt and climbing a greasy pole for rum also a bear beat and other laughable &cs. A number of snow birds and several gigantic Peterel about: snowing all night.