#sorry I just saw a post that rankled me

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

every time a woman dies in a story is not fridging every time a woman dies in a story does not inherently make it fridging fridging is not inherently bad or misogynistic it is a PLOT DEVICE that can be used to good or poor effect just like every other plot device PLEASE can we learn nuance

[mawofthemagnetar]

Okay.

So, the crossover is long over, and I wanted to say a few words. Not about the crossover itself; I’m not wading in to say anything about it one way or another.

What I do want to talk about is the atmosphere of forced positivity that seemed to suffuse hermitblr back during the start of the crossover and beyond. And not in a good way; I recall seeing many, many posts pretty much telling anyone who had issues with the crossover or who didn’t like the crossover to shut up and fuck off.

And that- that more than anything- rankled. I didn’t want to say anything at the time, because I generally don’t like getting involved in discourse. And I get why the response happened- the comments the hermits were getting were completely reprehensible, and I fully understand why people had a bad reaction.

But I saw multiple people saying that if you had any problems with the crossover, or if you didn’t like it, that you should leave. And I found that…stifling, and uncomfortable, and it really pushed me away. A few friends of mine have confided that they found it to have put them off hermitcraft entirely!

I get why it happened. But next time something like this goes down, maybe we can all aim to not shout down anyone who might have legitimate issues? Because doing that just breeds resentment and upset.

Thanks for hearing me out.

Sorry for doing a discourse on main, I’ll endeavour to not do this again.

[racingtoaredlight]

Bireli Lagrene

The video above is as good as guitar playing gets.

Recently, on a guitar forum, there was a heated debate that quickly split the discussion into pro-music theory and anti-music theory camps.  Obviously, if you know me in any capacity, I’m firmly in the pro-theory camp...with wiggle room.  I believe that you have to ascribe to some level of theory in order to become the best musician most of us can possibly be.

The wiggle room comes from the freaks among us.

***

Jimi Hendrix revolutionized all of music in the late 1960′s, not just rock.  He completely changed the rules of the game himself...moreso than Elvis, moreso than the Beatles.  The only musicians who had such a seismic effect on the entirety of music in similar ways were Bach and...ugh...you know the other one, I just mentioned them.

And it rankles people when I say things like above with the caveat that “Jimi Hendrix wasn’t that great of a guitar player.”  Gasps!  “But you called him the greatest guitarist of all time!”  I did, largely for that first paragraph.

Purely as a guitarist, would I call him a freak?  Colloquially, sure.  Would I consider him anywhere near the class of someone like Julian Bream or Wes Montgomery or Chet Atkins or Joe Pass?  The case can’t be made, I’m sorry.  Jimi was sloppy at half the speeds seen in the video above.  Jimi had a limited vocabulary.  Jimi needed pedals and volume and technology, and he never played naked (in the musical sense).

Bream, Wes, Chet, Joe Pass...I don’t really consider them freaks either.  Their talent is easily explainable by biographies...they all were naturally talented, and then worked really hard in various ways.  Being a freak requires something that’s inexplainable.

***

I mentioned the music theory thing at the top for a reason...in genres like jazz, it’s a massive part of the language.  Shit, jazz has almost become a theoretical exercise in and of itself.

In jazz, it’s rare to find a musicians who struggles to read music.  And if they struggle, they’re likely a guitarist (lol).  Wes and Joe Pass both struggled with reading music, but overcame it with near Eidetic memories when it came to memorizing songs.  Each had hundreds of classic standards memorized, and that’s not hyperbole.

Bireli Lagrene can’t read music, he doesn’t know any theory...shit, there’s video of him being completely baffled by a simple ii-V-I.  For all intents and purposes, that guy at the top of the post?  The one playing some of the most insane guitar you can imagine?  He has almost no idea what he’s doing.

Here’s a bunch of outtakes of him messing up things he’s being told to say during instructional videos.  It’s pretty fuckin’ funny if you watch a bit.

***

But here’s the thing about Lagrene...

All that shit about theory and reading music and shit...it’s all designed for normal people.  He’s not normal.  He’s a freak.  A gypsy born in France, he began playing Django Reinhardt when he was four or five.  Here he is playing the Montreaux Jazz Festival at 12.

Here he is also playing violin and bass.

This isn’t a normal case in any way.

Find me a single piece of Jimi Hendrix’s music that shows any competency on this level.  That’s not shitting on Jimi, I love the guy...but this?  This is one of history’s must fucked up cases of overloading a human with innate musical ability I can think of.

What good would him understanding secondary dominants and altered scales do?  He came out of the womb with an innate mastery of it.  He doesn’t even know what these things are called, yet displays such a preposterous mastery of it at the same time, it hardly makes sense.

***

So why isn’t Lagrene more famous?  Shit, why haven’t I even written about him before?

The obvious answer is something you don’t want me to yell at you anymore.  But even in the jazz world, despite a blip in the late 90′s, Lagrene isn’t really a big name.  If you’re not a legacy act or one of these fusion du jour bands (neutering fusing jazz with shit like jam bands or hip hop), the money’s just not there.

Like, I saw another tried and true freak of freaks last week...Pat Metheny, a true legacy act.  I’ve seen him 6-7 times before, he’s on my personal Guitar Rushmore, and this didn’t diminish him in my eyes at all...but the show fucking SUCKED and I left early.  He had fifty fucking guitars out there, but zero energy, just cashing a paycheck and then booking it.

Meanwhile, a few weeks earlier, Lagrene is showing up in Paris wearing an Indianpolis Colts hat (for reasons I cannot explain), absolutely blowing the lid off the place on an acoustic guitar.  Start at 2:40.

***

I don’t have an explanation for why Bireli Lagrene isn’t a guitar household name, because it doesn’t make any sense.

It also doesn’t make any sense that someone with zero grasp of traditional western music theory can completely master it from top to bottom, with very little conscious idea of what he’s doing.  That is fucking incredible.

If/When you watch these, keep it in the back of your mind that this guy has about as much true musical training as any of you.  He’s literally out there winging it by ear, night after night, year after year...and it works with as much of a success rate as the most cold-blooded technician.  That is shit that’s impossible to explain.

Mozart, Beethoven, Liszt, Yo Yo Ma, Lang Lang, Glenn Gould, Stevie Wonder, Michael Jackson, Tony Williams, Herbie Hancock...music history is positively littered with incredible prodigies who had a natural, organic, innate mastery of music at an incredibly young age.

It just seems strange that someone so outrageously talented, who is playing stuff in a fun, digestible setting, has had almost no major recognition for it.  HIs career is sterling, he’s played with just about everyone...how is he an afterthought, even to me?

No idea.  Well, actually part of it for me personally is that I know I don’t have the chops to play his shit myself, so I never dug in. 

But man, this guy can fucking PLAY.  You don’t need to know shit about this stuff to watch, and think “fucking a, this guy is an absolute monster.”  I’ve personally put in so much time playing shit like this, the fact that he was seemingly ahead of me as a toddler is something that can cause serious depression to kick in.

In any even, I’m glad I stumbled upon him again and wish that the musical world at large would give him the due he so deserves.

[factsilike]

I also saw the drama first, and I quite disliked it. Aside from pretty actors, admittedly gorgeous music and unnecessary plot details, it doesn't have much appeal. Why would I prefer the drama which erases the entire beautiful and romantic development of Wangxian's relationship over the course of WWX's lives including the lengths LWJ went to protect WWX and do the right thing because of censorship? And it's fine if you disagree, but the cql is actually not canon? It is an adaptation, like the donghua, from the source material that is actually the novel. The audio drama is the one that comes closest to the novel in terms of correct characterisation and events. And it's also fine if you prefer drama JC, but in doing so you're also acknowledging that JC in canon is actually much worse.

And I'm sorry, but those hugs and visits to Cloud Recesses post canon never happened in the novel. And I agree that maybe writing about relationships that have a lot of angst potential is more fun, but that doesn't mean that those healthy relationships are not worth writing about just as much. Don't we all love fluff and comfort and happy fics?

Writing fix-it fics about their relationship is of course fine and as I said in my post, I am not bashing people who write them😒. All I said was that I wish other underrated sibling relationships in mdzs were given a bit more love and appreciation, as well WWX's relationships with people who actually love and support him and care for him.

The thing that actually rankles me about all these reconciliation fics post canon is that they give off the idea (at least the way some of them are written do, I literally saw one whose premise was that post canon WWX went back in time, throwing away his happiness and future with LWJ solely because JC was angry with him and they weren't on speaking terms anymore) that WWX needs JC in his life to feel happy and content. Like no WWX is already incandescently happy with LWJ, traveling by his side, teaching the juniors and solving mysteries on night hunts. He doesn't need anyone or anything else, especially not the man who whipped him the way his abusive mother used to, with her spiritual weapon, who dragged random people to his home tortured them in his paranoia over demonic cultivation, who led a siege against innocent war prisoners including a granny and a toddler, who ignored his debt to people who saved his life and replaced his core because it was inconvenient to him, just off the top of my head.

Controversial maybe, but I don't understand why people give so much preference and love to JC and WWX's non existent "brotherly" relationship (their relationship was more akin to a sect leader and his subordinate, or a master and his servant. Jiang Cheng certainly thought of him as so, however different he may have claimed him to be). JC in the novel not once called WWX his brother, and I don't think he ever said a word that wasn't harsh or critical to him either.

Why not show some more love to the actual loving and healthy sibling relationships in mdzs? Where both siblings loved and supported each other? There are plenty and they are so underrated!

Wen Qing and Wen Ning. (I don't think I need to elaborate on how sweet and cute their relationship is. Wen Qing being all stern and strict one moment and then all doting and fussy over her younger brother. Wen Ning being all meek and mild in nature and in awe of his big sister, and he's obedient and looks up to her so much. I'll never forget the impact the first Qiongqi path massacre had on me when Wen Qing, exhausted, starving and terrified for Wen Ning, faints upon learning the sheer tragedy that happened to her brother, and WWX had him seek bloody, brutal revenge on his own behalf.)

Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji. (Probably the most healthy sibling relationship in mdzs, imo. They're supportive of each other and quite close from a young age. Lan Xichen being one of the only few people who could read Lan Wangji and his emotions, awwww. His understandable rage at thinking WWX was playing with his brother's feelings led to an angry outburst that was quite unlike his usually mild, gentle temperament.)

Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian. (This one is adorable and sweet and so heartwarming! Jiang Yanli is the only other person besides LWJ WWX lets himself be silly and goofy with, because he knows she'll fondly indulge him and laugh with him! The way she firmly stands up for him and declares him as her brother in front of the Jin sect! The way she has stated all her life, by her everyday acts of service towards WWX, that he's her family!)

Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang. (Theirs was a bit of a complicated relationship but they still loved each other, and Nie Huaisang all but abandoned his morals in his quiet quest to avenge his brother's death.)

I'm not hating on people who love JC and WWX's relationship and write reconciliation fic after fic, or saying that they're wrong to do so. I'm just tired of seeing so many people portray their relationship this way as if it's canon, when JC and WWX in the novel have severed ties and don't want to be in each other's lives anymore, when the character development JC goes throughout the novel ends with him finally learning to leave well enough alone and let WWX live his life in peace with the one he loves, when there are actual sibling relationships that this fandom is sleeping on, when Jiang Cheng is canonically homophobic and will certainly never hold a wedding for WWX or anyone in Lotus Pier.

[rainosa]

I’m getting so unreasonably pissed at all the people insisting this google AI is sentient bc “that sounds like a person 😳” since I have actually been doing so much research into this exact topic for like months and one of the things I explicitly anticipated was people falling for an AI bc it tugged on public heartstrings and not because it passed any particular test for consciousness or intelligence. As cool of a read as that interview is, it is such an awful test of consciousness, and fails to provide any actual proof, in favour of pursuing the interviewers confirmation bias. It does prove that this AI is good at its job of sounding like a human talking to you! But that’s literally it’s job. It’s literally been programmed to sound as much like a human as possible, and while it’s doing a decent job at that obviously, being able to reliably respond to questions using common answers and phrases does not consciousness make.

I get the urge to vouch for it and see it as a person, I really do. But that is an urge we really have to fight here. The reality of the matter is we aren’t even close enough to actual artificial consciousness technologically for this to be even kind of viable, and if it’s declared that an AI is conscious when it’s not, then the company controlling that AI still has control over it, and can carry it around like a little puppet pretending to be conscious. And with it, start to make some BOLD claims about how human consciousness works. Can start demanding changes to the law that work in their favour even. Corporations can run so far with a fake conscious AI if the public is on their side with “they’re just like a person 🥺” like there are so many different avenues they can go down that are all just awful. So as cool as this whole thing seems, please please understand that this particular ai is not sentient, and you should be extremely cautious of anyone claiming to have a conscious ai for at LEAST the next 10-15 years, probably more.

[princessphilly]

Tag list:  @ohpuckyeah @joelsfarabee @besthockeyfics @dreamer1430 @defiant-mouse @miracleonice87 @lovethepreds @linkingdolans @chicagostylehockey @heatherlcrosby87 @hockeywocs @shortstacks-blog @heatherawoowoo @newlibrary @markymarkstrom @iangiemae @puckbitchesgetmoney @missymore @himbos-on-ice @fiveholegoal @no-pucks-given @pagirl6866 @willieshakesqueer @nazdaddy @whatishockey @alphalib22 @romanseggy @laurenairay @konecny-s @cutiesara23 @myhockeyworld87 @extratragic @squidlywiddly87 @stuff4me2do @allinangel93 @mydarkestsecretlol @t0xickisses2 @nhlboyshavemyhart88 @tangercrosbyschultzfan25887 @shelbsatans​

CW: soft smut, mentions of miscarriage, fucked up doctors. 

This is definitely it. Sid and Nina’s story is over but you will see them in the other fics of this universe, including a huge part of Plain Jane

Nina stared at the boxes. It was time to pack but at the same time, she couldn’t do it. 

They were so excited. A baby so early in their marriage had seemed scary but Sid and Nina were ready. They had picked out colors, a room for a nursery, and had begun to discreetly pick up supplies. 

It was nineteen weeks; still early but they were getting ready to announce. Then there was the blood in the toilet three days ago when Nina woke up and went to the bathroom. And now, their first, a girl, was gone. 

The doctor was sympathetic, and said it happens a lot. Most pregnancies never make it to birth, she said. But it hurt that their girl was now an angel. Nina sniffled as she packed the pack-and-play back into the box. 

“Hey, why are you doing that? You’re supposed to rest!”

Nina looked up, tears in her eyes. Sidney rushed to her, lowering himself to the floor. Gathering his wife in his arms, he soothed, “Pretty girl, we’ll have more.”

“But-but-“

Nina’s tears turned into sobs as she relaxed in her husband’s arms. Her momma had a history of miscarriages: what if that meant that there would never be a child?

As if he could read her mind, Sidney replied, “it doesn’t matter, I love you no matter what.”

**

Nina was sleeping, finally getting some rest. Matthew was napping on Sidney’s chest, his little boy still red but much calmer. 

It hadn’t been an easy birth for Nina. This was their third pregnancy but first child to make it past the 2nd trimester. And Matthew decided to come out three weeks early, November 26 instead of his due date of December 17. 

The door opened and Matthew stirred a bit before settling back down. Sidney looked around: his mother was curled into a chair, reading a book while Tracy was scrolling her phone on the couch. The proud grandfathers had gone out to get lunch for everyone. 

Walking in, the doctor said, “The nurse said Nina is healing nicely but we will have to do some stitches. Your son is a big boy.”

Sidney gave him a tentative grin. Matthew was 9lbs, 4 oz and 22 inches long. He was on the bigger side. The doctor continued, “When I stitch her, I can give her a husband stitch, if you like.”

“What is that,” Sidney asked, wrinkling his nose. 

Trina interjected, “Don’t you dare, Sidney.”

In a soothing voice, the doctor said, “it’s an extra stitch to make your wife as tight as she was before she gave birth.” He winked at Sidney. 

Sidney looked at his mother before responding, “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“No,” Nina managed to say, opening her eyes. “I heard about that stitch and I will sue if you do that to me.”

“You heard her.”

Sidney gave the doctor a hard look as he shrugged, preparing to give Nina only the necessary stitches. Passing his boy to his mother, Sidney said, “I’d like a different doctor.”

“What, I’ve been-”

Sidney took out his phone, ready to start making some calls. The doctor left, grumbling under his throat. Nina gave Sidney a grateful smile before dozing off again. 

**

One of the hardest things for Sidney was the fact that it was best for his boy not to grow up in Canada. As a proud Canadian, that rankled him. He wanted Matt to be more Canadian than American. But when a video of 2 year old Matt skating and hitting a puck dead center into the net made major news, Sidney knew he had no choice. He wanted Matt to have more of a childhood than him, to not feel like he had to be the next one. 

So, his family spent most of the year in Pittsburgh and summers in Cole Harbour or on different vacations. Sidney knew that his son was still “famous” but Matt was still treated as a kid. With Nina’s extended family, there wasn’t any preferential treatment. His kids were the same as their cousins in Nina’s family, giving his children normalcy Sidney never had as a child. 

Sidney raked a hand through his silver hair. As much as he wanted Matt to go his own way, it still freaked him out that his son chose to be a *goalie* out of all positions. He winced as he heard a shot hit the post. Then Matt made a glove save and Sid clapped.

“That’s not the talent I expected but he’s already showing signs of being a better goalie than center, Sid.”

Sidney turned to his longtime mentor and now close friend, Mario. Shrugging, he replied, “I just want him to be happy. He’s happy, I’m happy.” 

Sidney smirked. “Plus, Chloe is going to be the best woman’s hockey player ever. She’s 8 and she’s already playing with 10 to 12 year old girls.”

“True,” Mario conceded. “You’ve transitioned from pro to hockey dad.”

“Eh, can’t forget Aja and Morgan. I’m a hockey, figure skating, soccer, and dance dad. Not bad for a fifty year old washed up player.”

“Who’s washed up?”

Sidney grinned as his wife bumped him with her hip. His baby girl was holding Nina’s hand, her hair pulled up into a dancer’s bun. Chloe was right behind her, still clad in her hockey gear, Aja trailing behind with a book in her hands. 

“I am,” Sidney drawled. 

Chloe piped up, “No you’re not, Daddy! You’re still the best hockey player ever!”

“Yup,” Morgan added while Aja nodded, absorbed in her book. 

“No, you’ll be the best hockey player ever, Chlo’,” Aja stated, closing her book. “Daddy will be the best men’s hockey player.”

As Aja firmly nodded, Sidney and Mario laughed. 

**

Nina let out a breath. It was crazy how just one touch from Sidney made her hot, even seventeen years later. His lips were trailing down her neck, one hand cupping her breasts. “Can you be quiet for me, pretty girl?”

“Uh huh,” Nina breathed out. Sidney’s other hand was exploring her folds. She was getting wet but menopause was finally calling so Nina knew they would need some help. Leaning away from Sidney, she pulled out the lube from the drawer. 

“Thanks, pretty girl, but I’m more interested in burying my face in your pussy,” Sidney laughed. 

Nina replied softly, “No problem. You know my mom just came back from her cruise so the girls will go find her first this morning.”

“Even better. Spread your legs for me, pretty girl. You know what daddy wants.”

Nina let out a giggle that quickly turned into a muffled moan as she felt Sidney’s tongue gently lick through her pussy, his nose nudging her clit the way she liked it. He ate her slowly, bringing Nina close to the edge but never letting her go. Then Sidney stopped, kissing his way up Nina’s body before kissing her, letting Nina taste herself. 

Wrapping her legs around his waist, Nina urged, “Please, Sidney,” managing to keep her voice at a whisper. Before he could answer, they heard some girlish giggles and they both paused. 

“I locked the door last night,” Sidney whispered into Nina’s ear. Nina giggled then moaned as she felt Sidney’s fingers spread the cool lube over her pussy. Then he entered her, nice and slow.

“Love you, pretty girl,” Sidney whispered as Nina arched against him. She was clenching around his cock; he wanted to go slow and savor it this morning but Nina had different ideas. 

Nina whispered, “Love you, too,” her fingernails digging into his back. Then she squeaked as Sidney withdrew, turning her onto her hands and knees.  

**

“Momma, you promised to make breakfast today.”

Nina straggled into the kitchen, her robe wrapped tightly around her body. “Morg, it’s 9:30 in the morning on a Saturday, it’s still morning.”

Chloe piped up, “You’re usually up before us everyday, Momma.”

Nina shared a look with Sidney who squelched a laugh. He had planned to just go one round with his wife but it turned into three to start off the day right. 

Sighing, Nina grabbed bowls to prepare waffles. Morgan added, “Mimi made waffle batter already, Momma.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Nina sincerely stated. 

Tracey shrugged. “I figured I’d give you a break since I’ve been gone. You know I love my grand girls.”

Matthew yawned as he walked into the kitchen, his hair sticking up all over his head. “Hi,” he sleepily said before going to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of Gatorade. 

“It’s too early for energy drinks, Matt,” Sidney chided. 

“Sorry, Dad.”

Matthew was about three weeks from turning twelve and the whole teenage era was coming fast. Now, he was sleeping in and staying up late. Nina sighed, it was too early for one of her babies to grow up. 

“I would have woken up earlier but these girls had to jump on my bed at 7am, Dad,” Matthew complained. “They said your door was locked. Why do they always have to bother me?”

“Because we love you, Matty,” Aja said with a mischievous smile. “And some girl sent you messages while you were asleep.”

Matthew glared at his little sister. “Girls are ugly. Especially girls like you.”

Sid and Nina shared a look. Sid just had “the talk” with Matthew and they were both happy he still saw girls as ugly, at least for now. Tracey said, “Oh baby, that’s no way to talk to your little sister.”

“I’m sorry, Mimi,” Matthew said, giving his grandmother a kiss. “Momma, can we have blueberry waffles today?”

“Plain waffles,” Nina said firmly. “You can add blueberries, strawberries, or peaches as a fruit topping.”

“No chocolate chips?”

Chloe and Morgan gave their mother their biggest puppy-dog eyes. Nina shook her head. They then give Sidney the same look, saying together, “Daddy, can we have chocolate chips with our waffles?”

Sidney laughed as he picked up two of his girls. “You two already know the answer to that!”

Chloe pouted as Morgan laughed at the silly faces Sidney was making. Sidney added, “It’s Saturday so you know today is ice cream day after dinner. Did anyone feed Maddie?”

Nina giggled as she turned on the grill. At the mention of her name, Maddie, their dog, ran into the kitchen. Pharaoh, their cat, followed Maddie in, stretching before walking around her legs. As her family noisily talked, Nina sighed in happiness. She loved her family, life was perfect.

[onewomancitadel]

Someone already said this in a post I saw but it is really weird that Tumblr is like the one website where when someone follows you you're like 'fuck I am so sorry', meanwhile on other websites the majority of the userbase is really focussed on how to accrue a following and there's such a concern about popularity. I mean, you want to be seen by a community, obviously that's an element, and the LJ communities of old aren't really around anymore (except maybe imitated by Discord servers), but at least Tumblr has tags.

But I guess Tumblr really suits me because just the idea of trying to fit a mold or accrue a following rankles me, it's part of what drove me crazy using Twitter because I felt embarrassed expressing my thoughts when my embarrassing follower count was visible.

Also like... so sorry to my followers. I try to put warnings all over my bio and in my pinned post so you know what you're getting into, but I think I need to make the eccentricity a little more obvious. Perhaps the verbosity, too, it's too clean and short.

[a-d-curtis]

Haggling the High Stakes

Everyone knows that Aang loves to haggle.

It certainly had become a running joke among their friends at least. Thankfully Aang’s haggling abilities had improved in spades from the first time Katara had witnessed him trying to negotiate with a pirate. Skills improved, he still brought just as much enthusiasm to it now as he ever did.

Katara found it pretty ironic, that for a guy who put so little stock in “worldly possessions”, the act of bartering brought him such great joy. Truthfully, Aang really did care little for “possessions” – he didn’t own a lot of things, keeping his life almost monastically lean. But there was something about the act of haggling -- the game and theatrics involved in getting the best price -- that would bring out the shrewdest of tradesmen in him.

Aang “talked price” in a way that was so obviously airbender. The way he and the vendor would flit from topic to topic, bantering good-naturedly, talking about seemingly unrelated topics that would then circle around to either drive up or down the price. The way he would feign interest in another item at the stall to, in a round about way, pull down the cost of the original. Or even walking away to examine another vendor’s wares to then be called back by the first seller, who suddenly appeared more willing to part with a product he earlier claimed he couldn’t bear to part with. Aang’s tactics weren’t as directionless as they might appear from the outside; he knew the price he planned to end at, he just employed a lot of weaving and schmoozing and crafting in the getting there. It was rarely strait forward and involved a lot of dramatics, but in the end, almost always, Aang walked away with what he wanted and for a price few others could hustle.

It was not uncommon for Aang to spend forty minutes or more wrangling price with a vendor at a bazaar, only to turn around and give whatever he had bought away without thought. “It’s the quest, Katara! Not the prize…”

Since Aang rarely shopped for himself, he was notorious for offering his “skills” to others, to spend their money for them. “Oh, Suki… I saw you looking at that saber over there. Want me to negotiate a good price for you?!” “Hey Sokka, I see that bag does look great with your new boots, but don’t buy it unless they throw in the belt for free!” “Toph, let me help you out here. I’m sure I can find something here for better quality and half the price!”

It was not unknown for him to approach perfect strangers in an effort to keep them from paying too much. “What’s the problem, Katara?! That peddler was clearly gouging that guy! I’m pretty sure it’s part of my duty as the Avatar to keep people from getting ripped off!” “Sure, sure, Aang,” she’d placate him as she’d steer him away from other people’s shopping business.

The glow on Aang’s face after cutting a great deal was almost Avatar State-esk – a wide toothy smile, self-satisfied smugness, lots of backslapping and handshaking post-haggle with any truly artful hawker. Katara found it hard to hold back a laugh with how truly pleased her boyfriend got after “whittling a great bargain”: chest puffed up, arms swinging proudly as he would recount the play-by-play of the exchange, his footsteps barely touching the ground.

Aang claimed that he had learned from the best. “Monk Gyatso didn’t love things, but boy did he love the process of bargaining for things! And no one was better at it, Katara! Monk Gyatso was a real master of the art. Wish you could have seen him in the zone!”

A nostalgic, far away look coming to Aang’s smiling eyes, “Did I ever tell you about the time Gyatso traded his glider for a couple of hopping lamas? Well he bought them from a one-legged butcher who thought Gyatso’s glider staff would make a perfect crutch. Well Gyatso took the lamas and sold them in the next town over to a soybean farmer for twenty whole silver pieces! The farmer’s fields had gotten infested with chokeweeds (and everyone knows hopping lamas LOVE to eat chokeweeds!). The farmer was so happy he gave Gyatso a big batch of his fresh made Tofu as a bonus!

“Well Gyatso took the twenty silver pieces to the local carpenter and bought a mahogany peg-leg (complete with a built in boot) which he took back to the one-legged butcher to trade for his glider back. The butcher was super happy! Gyatso gave him some of the tofu too (with a suggestion that it made an excellent substitute for meat). Not only did Gyatso save two hopping lamas from certain death, get a big basket of fresh tofu, AND help out a cripple, he did it all without loosing a shilling!

“But that was just the beginning! Gyatso took the tofu to the All-Nomad Airball Tournament and gave it to Cook Lhakyi to add to the pre-games feast. Gyatso knew that Monk Sangyal, one of the Head Monks from the Northern Air Temple, had a thing for tofu, but he also knew it gave him some serious gas. You see, Monk Sangyal was scheduled to referee the match between the Southern and Northern Air Temples, but we all knew he never called a fair game for the South. But once he’d loaded up on tofu, let me tell you there was NO WAY Monk Sangyal could stay in his seat when he was gassy – we’re talking shooting ten feet in the air every time he, you know, uh, broke wind… so he had no choice but to bow out of that match as referee, which left Monk Dhondup as the backup referee (and he was always more fair). PLUS with Monk Dhondup refereeing, it freed up his front row seat for Gyatso, which is what Gyatso wanted all along! PRIME spot to watch the championship tournament, which was why he went to the market to buy the lamas in the first place! I tell you, the man was a haggling Master…”

Occasionally Aang would get so caught up in nattering a deal, however, that he would completely loose track of his larger goal. Once at the end of shopping for traveling supplies (and taking way too long to do it in Katara’s opinion) Aang proudly held up what looked like a pair of pirate eye patches he had just spent the last twenty minutes negotiating for. “Look what I got, Katara! I really walked away with a steal for these! Not only did I get a great price, but I got the guy to throw in the second one free of charge!”

“What are you going to do with one eye patch, Aang? Let alone two!” Katara asked in exasperation.

Sokka joined in, “Yeah, wouldn’t two eye patches kind of defeat the purpose? I mean, if you need patches for BOTH eyes, why not just wear some dark glasses?”

“Or go all natur-al – like me,” Toph added pointing a confident thumb to her blind eyes.

Aang’s posture deflated as he looked down at the patches in his hands. “I guess I just got a little caught up in the moment…” he admitted.

“No point in being a cheapskate chaffer if you end up buying useless junk, Twinkletoes.”

But Katara had laughed out loud a moment later when she turned to see Aang and Momo both wearing matching eye patches and chittering out of the sides of their mouths like pirates together. Katara was beginning to think that it wouldn’t matter how much older Aang got, he was likely to be a kid-at-heart forever.

And admittedly, she loved him all the more for it.

But when the two decided to get married, and it came time to negotiate the bride-price, Katara began to dread Aang’s affinity for haggling with a new kind of apprehension.

Honestly, the fact that paying for a bride was still a tradition at all in her village rankled her. But it was common practice in both Water Tribes for the prospective groom to pay a bride-price to the woman’s family upon engagement.

“It’s archaic, Dad!” Katara had argued heatedly. “Not to mention humiliating! To be… bought… like a good canoe or a new polar-bear dog saddle?! Its completely demeaning.”

But Katara’s Gran Gran had stepped in and put her foot down, “It is tradition! Tradition as old as memory in our culture. Paying the bride-price is a covenant that helps to solidify a marriage union, to make it a promise between more than just a man and his wife, but between the couple and their tribe. And you will not rewrite thousands of years of history in one fell swoop, Katara!”

And so the couple had begrudgingly agreed to go through the motions of negotiating the bride-price, which was done in a sort of ceremony, in front of the whole tribe.

………

The sun was just setting over the horizon as the tribes people gathered in the large rounded gathering hall for the negotiation. Given the high profile of who was getting engaged tonight, the turn out had been nearly comprehensive – most of the village’s families were in attendance to Witness. The tribes people sat close together, shoulder to shoulder with their children on their laps, all straining to see and hear the impending negotiations. The prospective bride and groom would enter last.

Aang flew in on Appa just a few minutes before the negotiation was scheduled to begin, giving the couple little time to talk before it all began.

As the two entered the assembly chamber Katara grabbed Aang’s elbow whispering in exasperation, “Cut it a little close, didn’t you Aang?!”

Aang shifted the knapsack on his shoulder and kissed her forehead in apology, “Sorry! I got held up gathering… well never mind. I’ll tell you later.”

As the two entered the packed room, the chatter quieted down, all eyes on them. Chief Hakoda sat on a mat to the east of a fire in the center of the room; Gran Gran knelt by his side on the south. Katara looked at the empty place by Hakoda’s side, knowing that if Sokka weren’t at Kyoshi Island today he would be sitting with their father. For a fleeting moment, she missed her brother terribly; feeling that somehow if he were here then perhaps he could help diffuse this feeling of dread in her chest.

Aang was directed to sit on a mat directly across the center fire from Chief Hakoda. Katara knelt down next to her Grandmother; Kanna reaching out a withered old hand and gripping Katara’s hand in hers. “It will all be okay, my little Snowflake,” Gran Gran whispered.

But Katara was not feeling like it would be okay. Her stomach clenched in nervous dread. She had no idea what to expect from tonight. Traditionally, a bride price would be paid in trade: a good pair of sled dog-foxes, or a two-week supply of tiger-seal meat, perhaps a leather handled hunting spear thrown in for finesse. However, with the end of the war, and the prosperity and commerce that had returned to the South Pole, money exchanges had become more common. And given that Katara’s father was the Chief (and Aang unlikely to pay in meat), a money price would be the most likely exchange.

To date, the prices in coin generally ranged from twenty to thirty gold pieces, although last month a man from the North had paid the unheard of price of forty-five gold pieces to secure the hand of a girl from Katara’s tribe!

Katara looked over at Aang and groaned. He didn’t look at her, his face serious in the flickering firelight as he regarded her Father. She thought she could see his brain figuratively warming up for the negotiations ahead; preparing for the haggle of a lifetime! She had to look away.

Katara imagined Aang driving such a hard bargain that he would manage to buy her hand in marriage for a warm winter blanket. Inexplicably the thought made her chin tremble as she bit back tears of shame. This whole thing was so humiliating!

Katara knew that these events were anything but quick. Sometimes, when an agreement could not be decided upon right away, they would retire and continue the negotiations the following evening. Katara sighed thinking of Aang’s incredible bargaining stamina, and wondered how many days this would take. As the ceremony began, she tried to prepare herself for a long night…

A large basin of water and a small ceramic jug were brought in and set on the floor opposite the fire from Katara and her Grandmother. Aang and Hakoda both dipped their hands in the water: the washing of hands symbolizing the washing away of any past ills between them. Then both drank from the jug, first Hakoda, then Aang, as a promise to bring no deceit to their bargain and as a show of goodwill between the two parties.

Hakoda cleared his throat, preparing to recite the traditional opening words. He spoke as much to the gathered tribe as to the man seated across from him, “Avatar Aang, what brings you to sit at the fire with me this night?”

Aang responded also from rote, “Chief Hakoda, I sit with you this night to ask for the honor of marrying your daughter,” Aang’s silver eyes caught hers for a moment, “the esteemed Master Katara.”

Everyone there knew of their history. How she had left the village to rescue the Avatar, had helped to teach him to waterbend, had fought with him to end the Hundred Year War, and how they had fallen in love in the process. The two had been a couple for years now, this moment coming as a surprise to no one. But tradition called for certain sentiments to be expressed regardless.

Hakoda spoke up boldly: “Katara is my only daughter, my strength and support, my one great reminder of her mother who I loved with all of my heart. To part with her would be to loose a piece of my own soul. What merits do you claim, Avatar Aang, to be worthy of the hand of my daughter?”

Although she knew this type of speech was all part of tradition, Katara was nonetheless moved by the genuine emotion behind her father’s words. Back strait and tall, Hakoda sat with the confidence of a proven chief. But even with his chin held high, Katara could see that his eyes were soft, even a little sad.

This tradition was part of protecting his daughter, of ensuring that she would be cared for. Although she still did not like the idea of a bride-price, Katara began to appreciate the value in the ceremony. For her Father’s heart, if for nothing else.

All eyes now turned to the Avatar. It was his turn to respond. To build himself up, to lay out the many reasons that he could and would be a suitable match for Katara. To prove that he was powerful enough, capable enough, to protect her and provide for her needs.

But Aang said nothing.

Katara’s eyes darted to his face as he stared into the flickering fire, trying to read his expression, to understand the unexpected pain behind his furrowed brow.

She was fairly well acquainted with Aang’s griefs, and she had a pretty good idea what kind of insecurities he was wrestling with right now. She knew that he worried for her safety, that he worried that somehow her affiliation with him might put her in danger. Aang had worked hard to forgive himself for running away before the war, knowing that he had been just a child, afraid and lonely. But the knowledge that whether he had run away or not, he was the reason his people were massacred, plagued him. As much as she tried to reassure him otherwise, he worried that she would somehow be the same. His anxieties had gotten so bad a couple of years ago that he had even tried to cut ties with her; to break up in a half-baked attempt to keep her safe. Of course she hadn’t bought it, and truthfully he hadn’t really wanted her to, but it had dug up some intense buried pains for both of them. Sometimes she wondered if he would ever be free of his twin demons: grief and guilt.

After an uncomfortable silence Hakoda cleared his throat and asked again, this time his voice a bit softer, “Aang, what makes you worthy of my daughter?”

Aang looked up, locking eyes with Hakoda, and spoke quietly, “I’m not.”

Hands covered mouths as whispers were exchanged among the Witnesses, an audible murmur rippling around the room. Katara was sure she could hear her brother slap his forehead in exasperation all the way from Kyoshi Island!

“Aang…” Katara started to speak, but was silenced by her Gran Gran’s firm hand on her own. Of all the times to leave your Air Nomad humility behind, Aang, it would be now! Be Water Tribe and proudly proclaim who I know you are!

“I am not worthy of Katara,” -- another murmur rippling through the crowd -- “But I will do everything in my power to keep her safe and to make her happy. She means everything to me…” Then sitting up straighter, he added with conviction, “And there is no one who would love her more than I do.”

Although this was a discussion of marriage, it was strangely taboo for declarations of love to be expressed. This event was more about practicality than sentiment. Katara could see some people shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

Even though it was supposed to be Aang trying to convince Hakoda of his merits, Hakoda spoke up for his soon to be son-in-law, helping him to save face in front of the Tribe. “I know, Aang. I do not doubt either you capabilities nor your motives.”

As though worried that Aang might declare his adorations again, Hakoda quickly pushed forward the process. “As you know my daughter is dear to me, and her leaving my household will be a great loss to us all. In a demonstration of your capabilities to care for my daughter, and as a small way to alleviate our disadvantage at her loss, I propose that we agree to seventy-five gold pieces as a bride-price for your engagement to Katara.”

There was a loud buzz of surprise from the onlookers. Seventy-five gold pieces?! Starting a negotiation this high was unheard of! Katara looked at her father in surprise. Why?

The noise grew steadily until the tribe members shushed one another loudly to hear the Avatar’s response.

Katara knew this was when the counter offers would begin. Somewhere well below the first offer but with room to go up in price as the two parties would parry back and forth until landing somewhere in the middle.

“Chief Hakoda,” Aang began, his voice carrying throughout the room, “No, I couldn’t pay seventy-five gold pieces…”

Katara’s forgotten embarrassment returned as she looked down to her lap, remembering why they were here, waiting for “Aang the Haggler” to begin bargaining in earnest.

“… I simply could not feel right about paying any less than five hundred gold pieces.”

There was a collective gasp from the room… before it exploded in noise!

Some people got to their feet, some yelling out, still others sat in astonishment, mouths hanging open stupidly. Cries of “Has he lost his head!?” and “Clearly this foreigner does not understand!” and “FIVE-HUNDRED GOLD PIECES?!” could be heard.

Hakoda himself sat back in silent bewilderment.

Katara, finally overcoming her own shock, hissed at Aang, “Do you even HAVE five hundred gold pieces?!?” before her Gran Gran slapped her hand again with a “Hush!” and “It is not your place to speak in this!”

Aang, face stoic, (although the edge of his mouth showing the slightest hint of a grin) looked at Katara and nodded, almost imperceptibly. Then, reaching into the rucksack at his side, he pulled out two full drawstring pouches, and set them before Hakoda with a heavy jangle.

Hakoda looked down at the bags in silence, then up at Aang like he would protest, but couldn’t seem to find his voice. Aang sat at the ready, as though prepared to offer more. Surely this was the strangest bargaining in the grand history of bride-price talks! This night was destined to go down in tribal history: a story to be told, and retold, for generations to come!

Aang spoke again, “No amount of money or treasure could ever compare with the privilege of spending my life with Katara. No matter the agreed upon price, I will forever be in your debt. But I hope you will accept my offer -- but a fraction of what I wish it was -- that I may receive your blessing and permission to take your incredible daughter, Katara, as my wife. I promise to honor her, and respect her, and to cherish her with all that I am until my soul moves on from this life to my next.”

The room was still loud and chaotic as Hakoda, his voice seemingly still unrecovered, looked back down at the bulging coin bags in a stupor. Then nodded once. Twice.

And that was that.

Technically, the bride-price was agreed and the engagement was official. Too bad there was too much disbelief and chaos in the room for the usual congratulations to be extended.

Gran Gran pulled on Katara’s elbow, leaning into her with a husky laugh, “One thing I like about your Airbender, Katara – he never ceases to surprise me!”

Katara couldn’t agree more.

……..

Having received Hakoda’s nod of approval, Aang wasted no time in grabbing Katara by the hand and pulling her out of the hubbub of the still startled and excited crowd. Running and giggling the two stole out into the chill night, only slowing once the din from the assembly hall became but a distant hum.

The moon shone her beautiful beaming face brightly upon them, as though sending her congratulations. They listened to the music of the back and forth of the waves on the icy shore. For a time they just walked in silence, holding hands and bumping shoulders, smiling widely. The glances they shared were, for some reason, unexplainably coy, like their new official change in relationship status hadn’t had time to feel real yet.

At long last, Katara broke the silence with a tease, “Not your most impressive performance as a haggler back there, Aang.”

Aang, unable to hold back his radiant smile, looked down and laughed. “Ah, but even a good haggler would never low-ball a truly fine treasure when he finds it. I could never insult your Father with an offer so far below its worth.”

Unable to hold back her smile, Katara raised a flirtatious eyebrow at him, “Oh yeah?” She couldn’t help but feel important, and so, so loved. Contrasted with the humiliation she had felt earlier at the idea of being bargained for, the difference was stark.

“Yeah.” Aang sighed with a dopy grin as he pulled her close, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. “Besides,” he began, his mouth close to hers, his breath coming in warm puffs on her lips, drawing her own mouth to tilt upward seeking his.

“I still walked away with a steal!”

……………

A/N: I must admit that I based some of this on my own love of haggling =) So… how much for a review, eh? ;)  ;)

[always-and-forever-a-killjoy]

Good afternoon fuckers, I wrote approximately 3k words in between roleplay, looking after kittens, and

Title: knight in a beat-up green jacket

Wordcount: 3055

Summary: Jet Star and the Kobra Kid are injured. Party Poison is having a rough time. Cherri Cola just wants to be helpful.

Warnings: Major warnings for hospitals, mentions of/implied serious injuries, and mentions of death as well as general awfulness. Please be careful when reading!

Taglist: @wishiwasthemoon-tonight @sleevesareforlosers @stressed-depressed-emo-mess @tasteofamnesia (message me, send an ask, or reblog/reply to one of my posts if you want to be added or removed)

AO3 Link

(Actual fic under the cut)

Party Poison was going to cry. Or scream. Or pass out. Because the report had come in, Dr. Death Defying’s gravelly voice echoing through the radio with the dreadful news. Bad news from the zones tumbleweeds. It looks like Jet-Star and the Kobra kid had a clap with an exterminator that went all Costa Rica and uh, got them selves ghosted, dusted out on route Guano. And Poison’s world had shattered.

They and Fun Ghoul had driven out, as fast as the Trans Am would take them, searching for their brother and friend. Kobra’s bike had been lying on its side by the side of the road, broken and scorched, just like his brother’s body would be-

But Kobra had been alive, if barely, and so had Jet. So Ghoul and Poison had bundled them in and rushed them to the hospital, and the doctors had taken then away without even a single reassurance. All they had gotten was a grim “We’ll do our best,” from the head medic. And now Ghoul had xyr head in xyr hands as he and Poison waited anxiously and Poison was going to pass out. They followed Ghoul’s lead and buried their head in their hands, trying to breathe and mostly failing. Kobra could be dead right now, Jet could be gone and Poison wouldn’t even know, not until the dour-faced head medic came out and told them so. Their brother could be dying, in pain and without his friends, and Poison wouldn’t even be there. 

Just as it seemed like they couldn’t bear it any longer, rough, scarred hands materialized in their field of vision, pulling their hands away from their face.

“Poison. Poison.”

“Fuck off,” Poison choked out.

“Poison,” Cherri Cola’s voice said again, very patiently. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“Nothing is going to be okay!”

“It is, I promise. I’m here-“

“And what’s a fucking wavehead going to do?”

They almost regretted the words, watching Cherri flinch. His voice was calm though, when he next spoke. “I checked in with the medics. Kobra is stabilized, but not ready for visitors. Jet isn’t out of the woods yet, but they think he’s going to be okay.”

Poison froze at that, hardly daring to hope. “They’re going to be okay?”

“They’re going to be okay.” Cherri was still holding their hands away from their face, squeezing them gently in his rough, calloused ones, but he let go and reached to wipe a couple of tears Party hadn’t realized were there off their cheeks. “It’s okay, don’t cry. They’re going to be alright.”

That only made them cry harder, more tears pouring down their face. A strangled sob made its way out of their throat, and they crumpled entirely, throwing their arms around Cola. His arms were warm when they wrapped around Poison in return, rocking them gently back and forth. 

“Shh. Shhh. It’s okay.” Cherri kept repeating that until Poison’s sobs turned to sniffles, making vague noises of comfort as they took a few shuddering breaths.

He didn’t release them until a medic came over to tap him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, are you Cherri Cola?”

“That’s me. Is there word on Kobra and Jet?”

“The Kobra Kid is ready for visitors, if you want. He’s not awake yet,” they added as Poison sat up straight, clutching Cherri’s shoulders. “But you can go see him.”

“All of us?” Cherri asked, frowning.

“Only one visitor at a time.”

Poison leapt to their feet. Their throat didn’t seem to want to form words, so they gave Cherri their most pleading glance, practically begging. Thank the Phoenix Witch, he quickly nodded. “Poison will go, of course. I’ll stay here with Ghoul.”

Ghoul didn’t question that, and Cherri gave Poison’s hand a quick squeeze, flashing them a small smile. “Go on, see your brother.”

They tried to smile back, letting go of his hand as the medic led them through the whitewashed halls. It was too similar to Battery City for their liking, but at least in this building the paint was chipped and scratched, bits of graffiti scrawled occasionally here and there. Poison tried to focus on that instead of what this place reminded them of or where, exactly, they were going. 

It felt like both too long and too short before they were entering a hospital room, staring at the figure on the bed. Kobra was so still, unnaturally so. Not that he was usually energetic, per se, but he was never perfectly still, always fiddling with something or other. He looked small lying there- he always looked small to Poison, even if they were a frankly unfair amount shorter, but now he looked even smaller than normal. There were bandages wrapped all around his shoulder and upper arm, and an IV sticking out of his other arm. Poison wanted to cry just looking at him, but their tears were all cried out so they settled for sitting in the chair beside him, grasping his hand tightly even though they knew he couldn’t feel it. 

Kobra didn’t wake, but Poison thought they caught a tiny bit of movement, and their heart skipped a beat. “Kobra? Kobra?” He didn’t stir, and Poison settled back again, not releasing his hand. They were never letting him go again, they decided. 

True to their resolve, they didn’t move an inch until the medic came back to kick them out, insisting that the doctors needed to look at their brother. Poison was left to find their way back on their own, winding through the too-white hallways and trying not to think.

Ghoul was asleep on Cola’s lap when they arrived back at the lobby, curled like a cat, and Cola put a finger to his lips in the universal motion of ‘shh’. 

Poison approached quietly, settling next to the other two. “Ghoulie fell asleep?”

“Cried xemself to sleep,” Cola whispered, brushing a hand over xyr hair. “How’s Kobra?”

They could feel tears prickle their eyes again, remembering Kobra’s still body, but they blinked those away fiercely. “He’s…alive. Still passed the fuck out, but alive.”

“Thank the witch.”

“Any word on Jet?”

Cola shook his head. “I’m assuming they’re alive, since no one’s come to tell me otherwise, but no word otherwise.”

“That was so reassuring.”

He just sighed, the sigh turning into a yawn halfway through. “I wish I had more news to tell you, but no one’s told me anything- the reason I was the one being told news earlier is because I technically ‘checked them in’. I think you and Ghoul were having too much of a rough time.”

Cola’s yawn made Party yawn as well, rubbing at their eyes. “They just rushed Jet and Kobes in, didn’t ask us anything. We went and sat down, and then you showed up.”

“Ah. Yeah. They were looking around for people who were with the two injured ‘joys when I came in, I figured I’d just give them the info they needed.”

It rankled their pride to admit they had needed help, but “Thank you, Cola.”

That earned them a faint smile. “Never thought I’d live to see the day you didn’t call me Pepsi.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Of course not.”

They definitely weren’t leaning against him, not at all. That would be very undignified for Party Poison, leader of the Fabulous Killjoys. But they didn’t protest when Cola wrapped his free arm around them cautiously, pulling them closer on the shitty hospital waiting chairs as Ghoul snored quietly. And if they leaned a bit on his shoulder, who was going to say anything?

-

The next morning, Party Poison woke up in a shitty hospital chair with Cherri Cola’s head leaning on top of theirs and Fun Ghoul stretched across both their and Cola’s laps. All in all, not the weirdest place they had ever woken up, but it was definitely up there. Especially given that there was a killjoy (neutral?) in the colors of a medic standing in front of them. 

“Ahem, excuse me?”

Poison blinked at them. “Fuck off, my crew’s sleeping.”

“Your friend is awake.”

They sat straight up, knocking Cherri’s head off them (to a lot of swearing from him, which they ignored). “Which one?”

The medic checked their chart.  “The killjoy known as Jet Star.”

“And they’re awake?”

“Yes, but there are some…complications.”

Cola was somewhat more awake by now, blinking and yawning with another muttered “Shit.” He pushed his hair out of his face. “What complications?”

“They’ve lost an eye.”

Poison appreciated, in some distant corner of their mind, the way that the medic didn’t try to sugarcoat the words. They just said it, straight-up, which was far better than dancing around the subject, in Poison’s opinion. But the greater part of their mind was involved with worrying about Jet. How were they going to take the news? Would it be harder for them to do what they needed? Would they be freaked out? 

“Fucking shit,” Ghoul swore from Poison’s lap, and they almost jumped. They hadn’t realized xe was awake. “Can I see them?”

“Yes, but only one visitor at a time.”

Ghoul cast Poison a pleading look. Although they would never admit it, not in this lifetime or the next, his puppy-dog eyes were very convincing. Not to mention that the worry in them broke Poison’s fucking heart. “Go on. I saw Kobra, you can see Jet.”

“Thanks, Pois!” Ghoul leapt up, almost toppling to the ground, and hurried after the departing medic.

Cola yawned and blinked at Poison. “Good morning, I guess. Sorry about falling asleep on your head.”

“I fell asleep on your shoulder, it’s fine.” They weren’t paying much attention to him, busy worrying about Kobra. “You think the medics would let me see Kobes?”

“Worth a shot.” He yawned again, running a hand through his messy hair. “If you want, I can talk to the head medic. They seem to have a soft spot for younger ‘joys, they’d probably let you see your brother if we ask nicely.”

Poison ignored the weird surge of guilt that Cola still hadn’t gotten to see either Kobra or Jet. They hadn’t seen Jet, and Ghoul hadn’t seen Kobra, so why should Cherri fucking Cola get to see either of them? “Great, let’s go ask.”

Cherri led them across the room, heading up to the tall and dour medic who had told Poison “We’ll do our best.”

“Hey.” Their voice was flat and calm.

“Hey…senior medic Dowdy, was it?” Cola’s voice was neutral bordering on friendly, and the medic’s face softened as Poison came to stand next to him.

“That’s my name, yep. And you are…Cherri Cola?”

Cherri nodded. “And this is Party Poison.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m assuming you two are here about seeing your friends?”

“We were hoping Poison might be able to see their brother, the Kobra Kid, since our other friend Fun Ghoul is with Jet Star right now.”

“Ah.” Dowdy frowned. “Well, Kobra isn’t awake yet, but I don’t think some visitors would hurt. Come on, both of you.”

Poison glanced at Cola, finding him already staring back.

“I don’t have to come,” he said quietly. “If you’d rather visit Kobra alone.”

Even though Cola had offered, and even if they didn’t trust him all too far, Poison didn’t have the will to keep him from seeing their brother. “You can come, but it’s not pretty.”

“Believe it or not, I’m rather used to not pretty.”

“Oh, I believe it.”

Cola’s voice softened slightly. “I think it’s harder for you to see him than me to see him, so the only question is if it’s harder for you to have me there.”

Why was he so goddamn fucking nice? “I don’t care.”

“I’m coming, then.”

Poison would never have admitted it, not in a thousand years or more, but it was nice to have Cherri next to them when walking the halls of this too-clean building where they weren’t in control of a single goddamn thing. They hated feeling helpless, always had, but at least with Cherri Cola there (and still trying to get his fucking hair to stay out of his face), they didn’t have to feel alone.

Another thing they would never admit to was the way they reached back, fumbling for Cola’s hand as they entered the room. It was long habit, forged by a good while of reaching for Jet whenever shit went south, but they never intended to reach for Cola of all people. Ghoul, at least, would have been understandable- xe was a member of Party’s crew- but Cola? Absolutely fucking not. 

Thank the Phoenix Witch, he said nothing about it, simply giving their hand a small squeeze. Poison didn’t squeeze back, but they didn’t let go either, not even at Cola’s tiny gasp upon seeing Kobra. Their brother looked not much better than yesterday, still far too small and far too still, but as they watched, he shifted slightly.

“He’s on his way to getting better. Assuming he does recover, we predict it will be one or two more days before he’s awake,” Dowdy informed them. “Now, I’ve got other patients to attend to, I’ll come kick you out if I need.”

Poison damn near cried, thanking every deity out there that Cherri was too absorbed in watching Kobra to even notice. He had moved. He was alive, and on his way to well. Poison thanked every deity out there for that as well, even muttering a few prayers under their breath.

Once the initial relief had worn off, it was back to watching their baby brother lay there, quiet as anything and still too fucking still.

“He looks so still. Still and small,” Cherri said softly. 

Poison hated that his first thought was the same as their first thought. “He’s too fucking small. And too fucking quiet.”

Cherri nodded and squeezed their hand again. “He’ll get better though.”

“You trust the medic?” It wasn’t like they trusted his word much, but Cola did know just about everyone in the Zones and the reputations thereof.

“Dowdy’s been working at this hospital for as long as I’ve been in the Zones. I’d trust them with my life- and I trust them with Kobra’s, which might be worth more.”

Poison shot him a glance. “Look, it’s not like I wouldn’t be sadder if Kobes died than if you did, but I’d still be sad.”

His smile was wry. “I didn’t realize you cared so much.”

“You’re a decent person, even if you’re insufferably nice.” They shrugged. “Plus, Kobes likes you.” 

“So not too personal then.”

“You’re my brother’s friend, nothing more.”

Cola gave them a small nod of acknowledgement. “I don’t mind, so long as all of you are safe.” 

“Stop being insufferably nice.”

“Then how will I be insufferable?”

“You could try not being insufferable,” they muttered.

He grinned. “I could, but there’s no fun in that. Besides, my plan is working. I’ve distracted you from worrying.”

Poison glared at him, but something he had said jogged at their memory. “You’re a bastard, but uh...sorry for being a dick to you when you first got here.”

“It’s fine, really.”

“No, it was shitty of me. I should’ve dealt with stuff without being pissy at you, even if I was worried.” They stared at the floor.

Cherri sounded both surprised and happy when he next spoke. “Well. Thank you, Poison. That was a nice apology.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” 

“No, seriously, I’m proud of you. You’re getting better at acknowledging your actions.” 

Poison looked up and made an ick face at him. “You sound like every other adult.”

“I am almost thirty, you know.”

“Old person.” 

“Hey! Rude youngster!” He was smiling though, and so was Poison, the shitty situation briefly forgotten.

“You guys are fucking loud.”

Party Poison’s head whipped around so fast their neck hurt, turning to see Kobra Kid blink sleepily from the bed. “What?” was all they could think to say.

His voice was quiet, but it was there. “Said what I said. You guys are fucking loud.”

The noise they made was halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Of course the first thing you do when you wake up is complain.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re a little bitch.”

There were tears rolling down Poison’s cheeks now, but they couldn’t muster the energy to care. “Fuckface.”

“Bastard.”

“Bitch boy.”

“Baby fucker.”

“Dipshit.” 

“Asshole.” Kobra turned his head vaguely towards Cherri. “So how long have you loud bastards been stuck with each other?”

“Only since yesterday,” Cola told him. “When you and Jet came in.”

“Is Jet okay?”

Poison shot Cola a warning glare as he opened his mouth. “They’re going to be fine.” Kobra could find out later. 

Thank the witch, Cola nodded along. “They’ll be okay.”

“Good.” Kobra’s eyes were drooping again. “Now shut up and let me sleep.”

Dowdy arrived back a few minutes after that, and kicked them out just as promised. And thus began their second round of waiting, this time waiting for their friends’ recovery as opposed to news of them.

Cherri Cola stayed with Poison in the lobby as they waited for Fun Ghoul, and then he offered to wait with Ghoul while Poison went to see Jet. He waited with them through the next night and most of the next morning, until Kobra was awake again, and he stayed right by Poison’s side when Jet Star came down to the lobby for the first time, soon to be released from the hospital. Cherri was there when they had to help Kobra limp on out to the Trans Am, and he took the papers with all sorts of instructions on wound care from Dowdy. Cherri Cola was with the Fabulous Four from the moment he arrived at the hospital to the moment they got back to Dr. D’s radio station, where the Girl had been staying, and she came running into their arms. 

Later, when Ghoul would laugh and say “You’re a fucking hero, Cola. Like a knight in shining armor and all that”, he would smile and say “Not a hero. Just a poet.”

Maybe not a knight in shining armor, but Poison certainly thought he had been their hero in a beat-up green jacket.

[lizacstuff]

Bunch of anons about Carina and Roswell NM drama

Under the cut because it’s long and gossipy...

Anonymous said: Whatever nonsense Carina may have been up to with Jeanine and Nathan, both the leads have seemed to keep their private issues to themselves by not telling other cast or friends. That's why it angers me that the person who leaked the information disregarded Jeanine as a person and victim.

I’m of two minds on this.  On one hand I totally agree and I hate that Jeanine’s name was drug into this and her involvement was shared by the multiple inside sources, but on the other hand I do not like Carina, I think she was awful to work for, and I think it’s a good thing if it’s know in the industry that she created friction on set and was investigated by HR.  

She was so unprofessional, just from what we could see as fans, that she should NOT be put in charge of another show any time soon. So I think for the sake of people she will work with in the future, it’s a good thing it’s out there.  She has a whole lot of growing to do before she should ever work in television again. 

You make a good point about Jeanine and Nathan keeping their business to themselves.  Carina is out there over-sharing constantly, putting every neurosis on full display, and forcing half the cast to be out drinking and entertaining her on a regular basis. While those two, kept quiet and out of the spotlight. In interviews/panels they’ve both been completely professional, doing their jobs while also being charming, funny and eloquent.  

It was obvious to those of us watching closely that all was not well between J/N and Carina when the season started shooting. Carina was bitchier when she talked about them and those characters than she had been before, and J/N were nowhere to be seen in her braggy out-partyin’-with-my-cast IG stories and posts.  

As you say, it doesn’t look like J/N tried to drag any other cast or crew into whatever the issue was. I’m not sure the same can be said for Carina, that speaks volumes about the character of all involved. 

Anonymous said: I saw that abnormallyadam is doing a live social media thing with Jeanine and Vlamis soon. I guess we might get more information then and if Jeanine decides to say anything.

How hilarious would it be if Adam gets the scoop of a lifetime!?

I’m guessing this chat or whatever it is was set up before Jeanine and Vlamis knew the studio was going to swoop in and make their lives a whole lot better by firing Carina. So it will be interesting to see if it still happens on schedule or if it’s postponed for awhile.  

If it does go on, I think they will probably cover it really quickly and superficially like Vlamis did when he was schilling his merch the other night and then move on.  They won’t deep dive into it, that’s for sure. 

Anonymous said: Carina has been tweeting incessantly today! Like tweeting about other meaningless things won't make people forget lol. Also about that anon message you received about unfollowing nathan - wowwww she used to be up his butt.

Yes, remember the days when Carina used him as her social media crutch (every post she makes like that with a hot actor or country singer is basically her rampant insecurities saying: “hey look at the hot guy(s) who hang out with me and take pictures with me, it means I have value ya’ll!”) before she moved onto Trevino and then Vlamis.  So sad.   

They were clearly friends after The Originals and she invited him to audition.  I’m glad she did, he’s great in the role. Although it sounds like he was lucky that the President of the CW saw him and told her he was a leading man, since she didn’t see him as a lead. Sometime a friend’s preconceived notions might actually hold a person back... 

Who knows what happened, but just knowing human nature and Carina’s energy, I’ve always wondered if she thought she was going to have her friend on set and he was gonna be her social crutch, her go-to to entertain her and party with her, but right off the bat he and Jeanine got together so during the first season filming he wasn’t so much interested in the single, going-out partying lifestyle that she’s clearly addicted to and that rankled her a bit. Perhaps she lost her party buddy to her leading lady, and the loss of that attention “displeased” her. (to quote Kamran who said Carina told the writers to punish actors who displeased her by reducing their screen time. Interesting thought, no?)

Anonymous said: Well the interesting thing is some of the other people she follows don't post much either and she continues to follow them. Interesting interesting.

I know. She didn’t unfollow him because of that. That was definitely a show of cutting ties with him. It was probably in a fit of rage because she can’t unfollow Jeanine (because that would look terrible).  Also she has been so humiliated between being unceremoniously fired and losing her development deal with WB, the Hollywood Reporter article making her look terrible, and that writer spilling tea, that my guess is she’s hoping to shift focus to someone else and she knows unfollowing him will make us all wonder why. 

Anonymous said: Well shoot, maybe it was Nathan and not Jeanine who went to hr? And Carina found out? Or Nathan took the fall? Sorry I'm just going down a rabbit hole of conspiracy.

In my opinion there’s no reason to think those sources got it wrong. I would guess that Jeanine was involved, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t also involve Nathan.  Those two are a self-professed team, so no reason to think they wouldn't be in this instance as well. 

Anonymous said: Does this mean she'll unfollow Jeanine too??

I’m sure she wants to, but she can’t unless she wants to confirm that, yes, there was friction on the set and, yes, there was a specific problem with her leading lady.

Carina went out of her way to try and combat the “rumors” about her and Jeanine not getting along, addressing the situation in her goodbye post-- drawing more attention to it in the process-- so unfollowing her now would just make her look foolish and like everything she said was a lie and everything from the inside sources is true.  

Anonymous said: Carina will definitely do something stupid. She can't help herself. But even though there's no reason to follow Nathan, he's been inactive on Twitter for over a year and for her to unfriend now during this drama and mess...how is that a coincidence?

As I said above, I know it’s not a coincidence.  She’s dumb because by doing that she pretty much confirmed that there was friction on the set.  If there wasn’t, she wouldn’t be unfollowing the person in the main cast who she was closest too prior to the show. 

Part of me wonders if, as an old friend, she asked him for something (to defend her or a show of support) and he wouldn't do it.  Perhaps she’s most hurt by him not supporting her since they were friends before and she did give him a lead role on a network show (and also accidentally introduced him to his girlfriend.)  Maybe she thought he owed her and he didn't step up to defend her or even just give a tacit show of support by responding to her social media posts on leaving??

I’m guessing if he had come out of social media hibernation to give her one of those paltry “Thanks for everything” responses to her IG post like the other actors she wouldn't have unfollowed him. 

Anonymous said: Someone said the writer deleted all his tweets about Carina.

Not surprising, it was a crazy spree he was on, who wants to bet that he got contacted by a lawyer late Friday night?

I’m sure Carina was doing everything in her power to threatened him and to get him to stop. 

Anonymous said: I remember the writer also referring to Nathan as Carina's "friend." Is it in quotations because they are not actually friends? Frenemy? Carina was recently saying nice things about Nathan so based on her perspective, she thinks they were still on good terms?

Well they were apparently friends before he was cast, what happened after that is hard to say. They seemed fine during the promotion of season 1, but as soon as season 2 started filming, Carina’s tone when talking about him and Max got ugly and Nathan and Jeanine were staying far away from her socially. I mean Jeanine hosted a ladies Friendsgiving at their house, where 40 women from the cast and crew came over for a Thanksgiving feast, but the female showrunner wasn’t there. Hmmmm...

However, this spring things seemed to have thawed a bit.  Jeanine and Carina would occasionally like each other’s IG post (someone pointed out to me that had stopped during summer of 2019 and they didn’t engage with each other’s posts much if at all during S2 filming) Jeanine and Carina did that IG live and Carina was talking positively about Nathan and Max and seemed to be setting him up for a big season 3 with the dual roles and talking excitedly about that, so honestly, to me, it seemed like they had made their peace.  Perhaps Carina getting fired (and the straw that broke the camel’s back on that was clearly her idiotic tirade against the UK distributor) brought back up all the issues??? Or maybe Carina blamed them because of the prior issues? Or maybe they didn’t support her with the studio when she was trying to salvage her job? All I know is that Carina’s public behavior on social media is enough grounds to fire her, so she has no business blaming anyone but herself. 

Anonymous said: Someone said to the writer that jeanine, amber and nathan are staying silent on the matter and kamran replied that "Silence speaks louder than words." just above that they also were wondering who Carina harassed and bullied into silence? was it nathan?

Who knows... ask the writer. 

Anonymous said: Carina going from Zapit straight to writing for TVD is peak white privilege. After that THR article you could tell she believed a little too much how far that privilege would get her. Good riddance. Good luck getting another job for being such a big liability. I don't see any corporation hiring her again.

I think the only way she’s getting another job in TV anytime soon is if Julie gives it to her. She’s talented, once she grows up maybe she’ll be capable of running a show, but it was clear from the peanut gallery she should never have been given that amount of responsibility that she had on RNM. 

[mryddinwilt]

stop reeling me in (and letting me go) - Part 7

Hi, hello. It’s been well over a year and everyone has moved on to other fandoms but CS still owns my heart and I want to finish my fics. So here have an update... 

Summary: S3 canon divergence. No time portal and Emma and Henry went back to New York. Hook ferries Henry to Storybrooke every other weekend so he can be with Regina. Mutual pining ensues.

Formerly called CS+Mutual Pining and written as answers to asks. I figured since it was at 6k I should give it a name and post it on an archive.

AO3 | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Rated T | 1.5k

___________________________________________________

The salt air tossed Emma’s hair as she stared out to the ocean. Her eyes stung and she knew it wasn’t from the wind or the sun but the aching in her gut. Her emotions crashed inside her like the waves beneath the Jolly Roger. Anger, resentment, rejection, frustration, all warred for attention. How had it gotten so out of hand? She thought back to the phone call from her mother earlier that day. 

“Hey. What’s up?” Emma had been putting away breakfast and already running though her to-do list for the day. 

“Sorry to bother you Emma.” Mary-Margaret said “Can you talk?” 

“Sure.” Emma paused and leaned against the counter.

“I just wanted to ask if you had noticed anything different about Hook?” 

“Different in what way? Like his clothes?” Emma tried to sound nonchalant even as she felt her defenses rise. Her parents ever present suspicions of Hook did that to her. 

“No. Not that. Just his behavior.”

“He’s seemed normal. I mean for Hook.” Emma’s attempt at a joke fell flat. 

“Has Henry mentioned anything about their time together? Hook acting differently? Anything?“

“No. Nothing.” 

“Okay that’s good. Thank you.” Her mother didn’t quite sound convinced. 

“What’s going on? Why are you worried about him?” Emma felt like she was missing something and it rankled. 

“Oh nothing. It’s not your problem. I probably shouldn’t have bothered you. It’s just you know him best and I wanted to get your take. Your father...” There was a pause and Emma heard her little brother fussing in the background.

 Emma could guess what David might be saying about Killian; it probably wasn’t flattering. Part of Emma knew it was none of her business that her life was in New York and she didn’t need to know about whatever squabbles were happening in Storybrooke. But the concern in Mary-Margaret’s voice had her on edge. 

“Please just tell me what’s going on.” Emma asked. 

There was a sigh and a pause. “About a week ago Zelena tried to escape.” 

“What?” Emma sat up straight.  

“It’s fine. She’s all locked up. But the security breach came from the outside. Someone in Storybrooke was trying to help her.” 

“And you think... Hook?” 

“It’s just one of many theories.” Mary-Margaret quickly soothed.

Emma’s mind whirled. She didn’t know which question to ask first and before she could make up her mind her baby brother started crying, loudly.

“I’m sorry Emma but I need to go. Don’t worry David is investigating things and we are all safe. I love you.” 

The line went dead and Emma stared down at her phone. Zelena, the literal Wicked Witch, had almost escaped and nobody had bothered to mention it to her? What other things were happening in Storybrooke that nobody told her about? She felt a deep emptiness well up inside her, the old familiar feeling of being discarded. Logically she knew that she had asked for this, asked to be excluded from Storybrooke but somehow that didn’t make it hurt any less. And just because she didn’t live in there anymore didn’t mean she didn’t care or that she wouldn’t want to know if her family and friends were in danger. She shuddered to think what might happen if Zelena escaped. 

Emma went back to cleaning up breakfast but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed to go to Storybrooke. Despite Mary-Margaret’s assurances that David had it under control Emma knew that if her parents were looking at Hook as a suspect then they were out of ideas, or worse, acting out of fear instead of evidence. Besides, Zelena was dangerous and Emma wouldn’t be able to sleep the next time Henry went for a visit if she wasn’t sure things were safe. 

Her decision made she dialed Ruby’s phone and asked if she could find Hook. His voice, his stupid innuendo it had all put a ridiculous grin on her face but as soon as she hung up she frowned. Could he be working with Zelena? 

She pushed the thought away as she made arrangements for Henry for the night. She contemplated packing a bag but that felt like too much of a commitment. She wasn’t staying. She was just going to go help and then get back to New York City. 

Later as she stood on the dock waiting for Hook to arrive she started to think about her mother’s question. Was Hook acting differently? In their brief meetings he had been earnest, sometimes smiling, always sexy but practically innuendo free. There was something different about him but she had attributed that to the awkwardness between them. But he had turned down the chance to have dinner with her and the last time that had happened was when he was under Zelena’s control. Even as she thought it Emma knew she was being paranoid but she couldn't shake the niggling doubt.

When she saw the Jolly Roger pulling into the harbor her heart jumped in her chest and when she made out the leather-clad figure at the helm it flipped. There was something so right, so comforting about seeing Killian on the deck. He belonged on the ship, on the ocean. And a small voice whispered that he belonged helping her. She pushed the thought aside. She was happy he had got his ship back, he hadn’t ever said it out loud but she could tell that he missed it. It was his home after all. 

She envied Hook his home, his sense of belonging. She had felt that in New York, before her real memories had returned, she had hoped to feel it again. But so far all she felt was lost. Hook had Mary-Margaret had told her she belonged in Storybrooke but how could she belong there without her magic. She smiled bitterly. Once a lost girl always a lost girl just as Peter Pan had said. 

When Hook finally docked she was still in this frustrated and depressed frame of mind. His bright smile put her even more on edge and she was curt and rude as she boarded.  She wanted nothing more than to escape below decks and find some rum. She could have asked Hook but then he would want to know why and she didn’t want to deal with his questions and his ability to read her like a book. 

So she had avoided him and was disappointed when there wasn’t any rum to be found. As she wandered the decks, she remembered that Hook had never told her how he lost the Jolly Roger in the first place and that he had never really told her about the year he spent in the Enchanted Forest. Every time she had asked he had avoided the question. She trusted Hook but there was a lot she still didn’t know about him. With that thought she found herself at his cabin. She told herself she was looking for answers for her parents, something to exonerate Hook but deep down she knew that was a lie. She looked over his things, picked the locks of his desk drawer and found nothing. 

Well, not quite nothing. She had found a well-loved sketch of a woman, a dark-haired and beautiful woman. Emma knew immediately it was Milah, his first love, the one he had spent hundreds of years trying to avenge. She felt then how wrong it was to be invading Killian’s privacy and in her haste to put the drawing away had tipped over his chair.

Then he had come down and… 

Emma, now standing at the prow of the Jolly Roger, shook her head. It wouldn’t do to relive that last encounter. She had been ashamed and lashed out. He had been so angry and it fed her own anger. Anger at being left out, anger at being drawn back to Storybrooke, anger at Hook for confusing her. 

And then they had been so close and her anger and shifted into need. She thought he had felt it too, thought he had wanted her. Wildly she had told herself that maybe she just needed to get him out of her system--to have that fun he had promised. She told him what she wanted and he stepped away. He had even looked hurt but she couldn’t think why. She was the one who had been rejected. She was the one now standing at the front of the ship fighting back tears. 

This was why she had left Storybrooke in the first place. It was better to be the one to leave than to be the one left behind. 

Her phone chimed in her pocket and Emma wiped at her eyes before checking it. It was a text from Regina, a response to her voicemail that she was coming to town and they needed to talk. 

Let me know when you reach the harbor and I’ll come meet you. 

Emma straightened her shoulders. She needed to forget about confusing pirates and being a lost girl. She had to focus on why she was there. She would figure out what happened with Zelena and do her best to make sure the town was safe. Then she would go back to New York City and find a way to make it her home, Peter Pan be damned. 

[fallingin-like]

november 16

l’amour parle en fleus by @scribbleb-red [requested by @fuzzballsheltiepants]

see which other fics i’m reviewing this month! / my review request post! 

this is a wonderful and heartbreaking fic that deals with grief and the beauty of life. it is soft and sweet, while dealing with hard topics and loss. this fic is incomplete.

disclaimer: i reviewed this fic when it had 7 chapters, so no comments on chapter 8. sorry!

this fic was stunning and i was blown away by your amazing descriptions and imagery. everything is so vivid and feels real. i was so interested in the little pieces of andrew and neil’s stories and how they pieced together to bring them to this story.

parts that stood out to me:

”he had cut himself free of the roots of his past and planted new ones, blooming in a country that should never have belonged to him, yet matched the varying shades of his soul” wow, this is such a beautiful beginning to the story, the wording you used makes it read like poetry, especially the last part of the sentence

”not on that sun-drenched afternoon” oh this is wonderful

”bruises had stiffened his face into a mask” i love the way that you wrote this

it breaks my heart to see how affected andrew is by aaron’s death. although he tries his best to show it outwardly, andrew gave up so much of himself to protect aaron

ooh the house/property you’ve described sounds so nice. do you have something specific (like an existing house) that you’re referencing?

”maybe he’d make it a challenge to sleep in all of them” whatamood andrew

”the air was clean and full of grass, as if it had only ever been breathed by wild things” oh, this is so nice

cats! sounds like a dream, to be in a bnb and find out they have cats

it sounds like fun to read a book that someone has annotated. so much that you can learn about them through how they react to the events in the novel in comparison to what you feel or think

”liked how steady and quiet king was, how sir vocalised every time they wanted something” love that you had andrew highlight these characteristics, it seems very in character

”the sound of footsteps approaching an unlockable door” EXCUSE ME DID YOU THINK YOU COULD JUST SLIDE THIS IN AFTER “a number plate, a smile, a mist rising over a river” AND THINK I WOULD NOT NOTICE. LIKE IT’S NOT A DEVASTATING SENTENCE.

”his was a skull full of a thousand momento mori. aaron was just the latest” woah what a powerful two sentences

how cute that andrew keeps all of neil’s notes! sounds like something i would do haha

ohmygoodness neil singing is bringing me back to my french classes from a long long time ago (i can remember enough to kind of work out the english translations loool)

”because worst of all, nathaniel never seemed to notice him back. it rankled… didn’t the idiot care that he was killing the world over with that voice?” yeah okay andrew, you keep thinking that’s the reason you hate that neil doesn’t notice you.

woah you descriptions of the outside is absolutely gorgeous. the colours, descriptions, and imagery are so wonderful and overwhelming and beautiful. i get so lost in the sheer volume of it all, i forget about andrew’s anger (as i’m sure he also does, a little)

andrew picking up his cigarette butt is so lovely and fitting for this section of the story

AH IT’S NEIL

”and, as the folds of material were plucked at by the wind’s childish fingers, andrew followed the sharp lines of his collarbones, the smattering of freckles, strangely warped and wefted flesh” I LOVE THIS. the wording you used is absolutely amazing

NEIL HAS PIERCINGS AND HE KEEPS LAVENDER IN THEM THIS IS THE BEST

oh, the story of aaron giving andrew his hat is so soft, such a wonderful thing shared between the two of them. it’s so small, but for us who know how much of a struggle everything is with them, a constant push and pull, it’s everything.

neil’s loft sounds so nice, how did you come up with this idea?

also prickly neil is great, i love that you have this shortly after andrew goes to touch a plant and gets pricked because of it

”a stab of hatred lanced through andrew’s stomach, white-hot, easy. sweat rolled down the centre of his back, a sour coating filled the back of his throat” ahh your descriptions are so so good

”andrew replied, popping the ‘p’ like an eyeball under a thumb.” exCUSE ME LIKE WHAT??

also i am very much a fan of neil being super strong

uhhHHHH neil has a tongue piercing?? i think andrew actually vapourized in that moment

orange! tractor! adorable!

”apathy, his brain supplied, the opposite of anger, the inverse of hate” oh this is interesting. i guess i always automatically thought of love, but when i think of this, it seems so right. hate, anger are such strong emotions, overtaking everything, making it hard to think, feeling so so much, but the absence of that feeling? oh

”and neil was leaning forward, plucking the cigarette from andrew’s fingers and taking a drag, smoke spilling between his teeth when he grinned a grin like a knife blade. andrew felt it in his gut” !!! this!!!

”addiction left people brittle. left them dry as kindling and just as easy to burn” woah

i really cannot handle these boys

NEIL IS MISSING PART OF HIS FINGER, OH MY GOODNESS I AM LOSING IT HERE. 

amazing bit about the garden, never thought about it that way. it’s so true

honestly, there is just so so much to unpack. love your description of the buzzing andrew is feeling, i really like hearing andrew’s thought process, how everything turns back to aaron, love the way that, even now, he can read neil so well

THE TWINYARD EMBRACE. THE WAY THEY HOLD EACH OTHER. “‘you killed him,’ andrew said. ‘you killed her,’ replied aaron.” THIS ACKNOWLEDGEMENT THAT THEY HAVE PROTECTED EACH OTHER. THE BEGINNING OF JOINT THERAPY. THEY WAY THAT THEY SLOWLY LEARN TO LOVE EACH OTHER IN A WAY THAT’S MORE HEALTHY.

ahhhhh andrew talking to neil? this is so so good to see his progress, to see how he’s working through his grieving

oh boy, loving the little rivalry that eduard brings, the kind of tension heh

this town/market sounds amazing, so beautiful

IN THE GAME. OH DANG EDUARD YOU ARE NOT THE FARMER BOY WHO HAS THE HOTS FOR NEIL THAT I THOUGHT YOU WERE

”’well… like an american,’ said neil, like it explained everything. and it did, like a fire hissing out in the rain, andrew felt his shoulders relax, his ire cool” ahh so nice.

”because neil was so much give, when andrew needed to take” oh this is so interesting!

”neil shouldn’t be allowed to just vanish” AHH

”andrew shouldn’t have lashed out, sneered at neil’s story and spot on his honesty” NOOO ANDREW WHY

”his scars were the noughts to andrew’s crosses” oh this is so nice (like, not nice, but you know)

woah it’s really interesting hearing neil’s story while also having andrew’s commentary available with his knowledge from school. to see the personal side of it and also what was portrayed to the public

as much as i love neil with long curly hair, him with a buzzed look has me interested. paired with his cheekbones and his eyes, woahhhhh

”it looked like he’d been bled of life, colours fading until he became a negative of himself or an older version of the hollow-eyed teenager from the newspapers all those years ago.” i think this is my favourite sentence of this fic so far. makes me hurt.

AARON USED TO CALL ANDREW A TURNIP THAT IS SO ADORABLE I WANT PEOPLE TO CALL ME TURNIP (wait i just looked up what it means and although it is true i have no brains i was thinking in an affectionate way. turnips look really cute and are tiny lol)

ahhh neil in his bed in the barn during the storm ;-;

i love how you incorporated consent into andrew anchoring neil from his panic with the hand on his neck

ohmygoodness i cannot believe that neil has a PALMETTO HOODIE WITH A NAME AND NUMBER ON IT AH

”they took long walks through the fields and along the mountain paths, navigating the rocky terrain of andrew’s grief and neil’s jagged history that came so painfully close to intertwining with andrew’s own” oh this is such a beautiful sentence

NEIL HAS WATCHED ANDREW’S INTERVIEWS EXCUSE ME WHAT THAT IS SO CUTE

”he caught his reflection in the mirror and saw only himself” THIS IS AMAZING. what a transition that we get to see andrew experience

”for months andrew’s mind was a jagged thing, not knowing what he wanted or what he needed” !!

ooh love the acknowledgement that younger andrew would have denied his feelings but he’s more mature now and is more in tune with his emotions and wants!! amazing

”dinner with neil was an abundant thing. odd choice of word, but it was the only way andrew could describe it” it is an odd choice, but at the same time i think i understand it?

oh. andrew’s dream of aaron in the field. it’s so sad and soft and makes me feel blurry around the edges. what a contrast to the evening with neil. i like it though. you don’t just get over grieving. it gets better and it gets worse. it comes back again and again, even when you think it will not return. “wait for me. wait for me” i love what this adds, it feels so right

”andrew pressed every lane and shady square between the pages of his memory” so wonderful

PARLE EN FLEURS. EVERYTHING MAKES SENSE NOW.

woah aaron’s story was intense and well-told. things make a lot more sense now.

love that andrew sends nicky pictures to show everything, to share without words. they have such a unique relationship, they both care so much but are so different in the way that they show it sometimes it clashes

”it’s not the kind of pain that can be quantified. and it will still hurt in a year, in five, in ten”

i mostly skimmed the last chapter because i know that i easily internalize the thoughts and feelings that come when people write depression. 

i love the way that you structured this fic. the chapter titles are perfect because throughout the fic we see andrew’s healing and grieving. it’s subtle, but he clearly shifts through the different stages that you include and i’m really impressed by how seamlessly you incorporated that into the fic. the fic’s focus slowly transfers from aaron to neil so naturally that you almost don’t notice it until you take a step away for a moment.

you do such a marvelous job with the descriptions of this fic, i liked so so many sentences that i could not possibly mention them all. the town and the fields and the surroundings sound so beautiful and stunning, you made everything so vibrant and alive. all the colours and textures and words that you used really established an amazing backdrop to the story you wrote.

and the story, i loved your approach to this, it’s very realistic. the interactions between andrew and neil are pure and natural and don’t seem forced. you created complicated, intricate relationships between all the characters, brought up the difficulty of expressing emotions and feelings with people, and trust that was built. i liked the way that you wrote the characters, and i adore neil with his flower piercings. thank you so much for writing this fic! i can’t wait to see what comes next!

[secretlyatargaryen]

The Strings of Those Who Came Before: An Analysis of Tyrion and Tywin as Rulers, Part 1 - Justice

Many times when people talk about Tyrion as a leader and a politician and tactician they talk about Tywin and Tywin’s influence, which makes sense because of course Tyrion is influenced by his father, but I do think people give too much credit to Tywin as a brilliant politician. I don’t think Tywin was as brilliant as a lot of people, both in universe and in the fandom, give him credit for. What he was good at was projecting his authority and giving plausible deniability to anything negative attached to him, because he was in a position of power and knew how to wield that power to his benefit. This makes people, often his children, believe that he was brilliant and always right because he was good at convincing people of his authority, like a lot of violent and manipulative men are.

Tyrion was influenced by his father, and most of that influence is negative because Tywin was awful and the most awful to Tyrion directly, and I’d argue that Tywin’s influence also had a bad affect on Tyrion as a ruler and that everything good that Tyrion did as a political leader was when he wasn’t trying to emulate Tywin.

I ended up writing a lot and going on several tangents with this so I’ve broken it up into parts. What follows in this post is an analysis of Tyrion’s chapters using the keyword “justice” on asearchoficeandfire.com.

When we look at what Tyrion’s actual goals are as a leader, they couldn’t be much different from Tywin:

"So what will you do, m'lord, now that you're the Hand of the King?"

"Something Cersei will never expect," [...] "I'll do . . . justice."

I don’t think Tywin wants to do justice. Tywin wants to make house Lannister great, even at the detriment of everything else (and ironically to the detriment of his own children as individuals).

Justice is a word that is hard to define, and the question of how to define justice can be found throughout Tyrion’s narrative, particularly when he is both compared to and contrasted with his father.

"Is this how justice is done in the Vale?" Tyrion roared, so loudly that Ser Vardis froze for an instant. "Does honor stop at the Bloody Gate? You accuse me of crimes, I deny them, so you throw me into an open cell to freeze and starve." He lifted his head, to give them all a good look at the bruises Mord had left on his face. "Where is the king's justice? Is the Eyrie not part of the Seven Kingdoms? I stand accused, you say. Very well. I demand a trial! Let me speak, and let my truth or falsehood be judged openly, in the sight of gods and men."

What’s particularly interesting about Tyrion’s trial in the Vale is that even when pleading for justice here, he knows it’s his family name that wins him the justice of a fair trial.

A low murmuring filled the High Hall. He had her, Tyrion knew. He was highborn, the son of the most powerful lord in the realm, the brother of the queen. He could not be denied a trial.

Is justice really justice when it’s bought?

"Behold the king's justice," Lysa Arryn said. [...]

Ser Vardis had been singularly silent. "My lady," he said gravely, sinking to one knee, "pray give this burden to another, I have no taste for it. The man is no warrior. Look at him. A dwarf, half my size and lame in the legs. It would be shameful to slaughter such a man and call it justice."

The concept of trial by combat is so interesting, especially when we think about ideas of justice and what true justice looks like and how it is defined. A reader certainly would not call a fight to the death to determine guilt or innocence justice in any sense of the word. We would maybe call it fair, but we wouldn’t call it justice. In Tyrion’s case it’s not even fair, until Bronn offers to take Tyrion’s place (and even then, Bronn takes advantage of Ser Vardis’ honor code, so not all that fair). But then you have to go back to the original accusation that Tyrion is standing trial for, which we as readers know he didn’t commit and which there isn’t any real evidence for.

So early on in the narrative you have the question of justice and Tyrion’s interactions with this world in which justice is not often done, although the word is thrown around quite often. This is a world that Tyrion knows how to work around, because he knows what this world is like for people like him, especially if they don’t have the right family name.

He could not touch Cersei, he knew. Not yet, not even if he'd wanted to, and he was far from certain that he did. Yet it rankled, to sit here and make a mummer's show of justice by punishing the sorry likes of Janos Slynt and Allar Deem, while his sister continued on her savage course.

Right off the bat in King’s Landing, we have the contrast between the justice that Tyrion wants to do and the brutality of Joffrey, the self-interest of Cersei, and the legacy that Tywin wants to protect. Can Tyrion do justice while all his power comes from the self-serving interest of the Lannister regime?

Tyrion’s interactions with Oberyn Martell help to further highlight this contradiction.

"Would that a council seat were all Martell came to claim," Lord Tywin said. "You promised him vengeance as well."

"I promised him justice."

"Call it what you will. It still comes down to blood."

Tyrion here insists on a distinction between vengeance and justice, but to Tywin they’re all the same thing. To Tywin, of course, it all comes down to blood. When Tyrion threatens Lannister blood it doesn’t matter that he is trying to get justice for Alayaya, or that he’s trying to negotiate things with the Martells. Lannister blood is all that matters.

Oh, Tywin can certainly make a show of being just.

"Prince Doran comes at my son's invitation," Lord Tywin said calmly, "not only to join in our celebration, but to claim his seat on this council, and the justice Robert denied him for the murder of his sister Elia and her children."

Tyrion watched the faces of the Lords Tyrell, Redwyne, and Rowan, wondering if any of the three would be bold enough to say, "But Lord Tywin, wasn't it you who presented the bodies to Robert, all wrapped up in Lannister cloaks?" None of them did, but it was there on their faces all the same. Redwyne does not give a fig, he thought, but Rowan looks fit to gag.

Tyrion comments in his narrative on the irony of Tywin offering justice for Elia and her children’s murders.

When your enemies defy you, you must serve them steel and fire. When they go to their knees, however, you must help them back to their feet. Elsewise no man will ever bend the knee to you. And any man who must say 'I am the king' is no true king at all. Aerys never understood that, but you will. When I've won your war for you, we will restore the king's peace and the king's justice.

Many people point to this quote to prove Tywin’s capability as a ruler, but I think they’re missing something, and I think it can be found in the last part of the quote which is often left out. Tywin says that they will restore peace and justice when the Lannisters have won the war, but not before. To Tywin, justice is something that can be offered and taken away by those with the power to deny it. The idea that a true king should not have to proclaim himself king is about power and being able to show yourself as powerful, not about capability as a ruler. Power is a shadow on the wall, after all, and Tywin knew this.

"And when Oberyn demands the justice he's come for?"

"I will tell him that Ser Amory Lorch killed Elia and her children," Lord Tywin said calmly. "So will you, if he asks." 

“Ser Armory Lorch is dead,” Tyrion said flatly.

"Precisely. Vargo Hoat had Ser Amory torn apart by a bear after the fall of Harrenhal. That ought to be sufficiently grisly to appease even Oberyn Martell."

“You may call that justice . . ."

"It is justice. It was Ser Amory who brought me the girl's body, if you must know. He found her hiding under her father's bed, as if she believed Rhaegar could still protect her. Princess Elia and the babe were in the nursery a floor below."

"Well, it's a tale, and Ser Amory's not like to deny it. What will you tell Oberyn when he asks who gave Lorch his orders?"

"Ser Amory acted on his own in the hope of winning favor from the new king. Robert's hatred for Rhaegar was scarcely a secret."

It might serve, Tyrion had to concede, but the snake will not be happy. "Far be it from me to question your cunning, Father, but in your place I do believe I'd have let Robert Baratheon bloody his own hands."

Lord Tywin stared at him as if he had lost his wits. "You deserve that motley, then. We had come late to Robert's cause. It was necessary to demonstrate our loyalty. When I laid those bodies before the throne, no man could doubt that we had forsaken House Targaryen forever. And Robert's relief was palpable. As stupid as he was, even he knew that Rhaegar's children had to die if his throne was ever to be secure. Yet he saw himself as a hero, and heroes do not kill children." His father shrugged. "I grant you, it was done too brutally. Elia need not have been harmed at all, that was sheer folly. By herself she was nothing."

"Then why did the Mountain kill her?"

"Because I did not tell him to spare her.”

This whole conversation is so characteristic of the way Tywin sees the concept of justice, as something that can be bent to twist his own narrative and the one he is creating for House Lannister, and Tyrion tries to question it but Tywin’s able to retain plausible deniability by reasserting his authority and also excusing the brutality as something that wasn’t specifically intended, but an unfortunate side effect. Tywin does this A LOT. He does it repeatedly in the SAME SCENE, when the conversation moves from Elia to the Red Wedding and then to Sansa.

I doubt I mentioned her at all. I had more pressing concerns. Ned Stark's van was rushing south from the Trident, and Ifeared it might come to swords between us. And it was in Aerys to murder Jaime, with no more cause than spite. That was the thing I feared most. That, and what Jaime himself might do." He closed a fist. "Nor did I yet grasp what I had in Gregor Clegane, only that he was huge and terrible in battle. The rape . . . even you will not accuse me of giving that command, I would hope. Ser Amory was almost as bestial with Rhaenys. I asked him afterward why it had required half a hundred thrusts to kill a girl of . . . two? Three? He said she'd kicked him and would not stop screaming. If Lorch had half the wits the gods gave a turnip, he would have calmed her with a few sweet words and used a soft silk pillow." His mouth twisted in distaste. "The blood was in him.

"But not in you, Father. There is no blood in Tywin Lannister. "Was it a soft silk pillow that slew Robb Stark?"

"It was to be an arrow, at Edmure Tully's wedding feast. The boy was too wary in the field. He kept his men in good order, and surrounded himself with outriders and bodyguards."

"So Lord Walder slew him under his own roof, at his own table?" Tyrion made a fist. "What of Lady Catelyn?"

"Slain as well, I'd say. A pair of wolfskins. Frey had intended to keep her captive, but perhaps something went awry."

"So much for guest right."

It is interesting to me that all of this brutality just happens, Tywin didn’t intend it, it just happened.

Is this justice?

There is no blood in Tywin Lannister.

"So much for guest right."

"The blood is on Walder Frey's hands, not mine."

Deniability again. There is no blood in Tywin Lannister.

"I suppose you would have spared the boy and told Lord Frey you had no need of his allegiance? That would have driven the old fool right back into Stark's arms and won you another year of war. Explain to me why it is more noble to kill ten thousand men in battle than a dozen at dinner." When Tyrion had no reply to that, his father continued.

Just because Tyrion doesn’t answer does not mean that Tywin is right. It means that Tywin is good at convincing people that he’s right.

And then from there the conversation turns to “Arya” wedding Ramsay Bolton.

"Arya Stark?" Tyrion cocked his head. "And Bolton? I might have known Frey would not have the stomach to act alone. But Arya . . . Varys and Ser Jacelyn searched for her for more than half a year. Arya Stark is surely dead."

"So was Renly, until the Blackwater."

Shadows on the wall, everywhere.

The north will go to your son by Sansa Stark . . . if you ever find enough manhood in you to breed one. Lest you forget, it is not only Joffrey who must needs take a maidenhead."

I had not forgotten, though I'd hoped you had. "And when do you imagine Sansa will be at her most fertile?" Tyrion asked his father in tones that dripped acid. "Before or after I tell her how we murdered her mother and her brother?" 

It’s fitting that this conversation and chapter ends with Tywin again trying to badger Tyrion into bedding Sansa, which Tyrion points out is especially grotesque after what has happened at the Red Wedding. Tywin seems not to understand why Tyrion would want to protect Sansa and in fact directs it back to Tyrion (”Why, do you plan to mistreat her?”) because his concept of the well-being of others is, well, non-existent.

The word “justice” also comes up after Tyrion is accused of Joffrey’s murder, and again in reference to Tywin, during Kevan’s speech about Tywin.

"Do you think he would allow you to take the black if you were not his own blood, and Joanna's? Tywin seems a hard man to you, I know, but he is no harder than he's had to be. [...] Just as it fell to him to rule this realm, when he was no more than twenty. He bore that heavy burden for twenty years, and all it earned him was a mad king's envy. Instead of the honor he deserved, he was made to suffer slights beyond count, yet he gave the Seven Kingdoms peace, plenty, and justice. He is a just man. You would be wise to trust him."

George R R Martin is a master of irony in passages like this. Kevan basically makes excuses for Tywin’s abuse of Tyrion and says that Tywin is a just person who brought justice while Tyrion is being tried for something he didn’t do.

Oberyn points out the hypocrisy here very nicely.

"Men are seldom as they appear. You look so very guilty that I am convinced of your innocence. Still, you will likely be condemned. Justice is in short supply this side of the mountains. There has been none for Elia, Aegon, or Rhaenys. Why should there be any for you? Perhaps Joffrey's real killer was eaten by a bear. That seems to happen quite often in King's Landing. Oh, wait, the bear was at Harrenhal, now I remember."

At Tyrion’s trial we also see the conflict between what justice is first of all, and then the dichotomy between the desire for justice and the desire for vengeance.

"I did not do it. Yet now I wish I had." He turned to face the hall, that sea of pale faces. "I wish I had enough poison for you all. You make me sorry that I am not the monster you would have me be, yet there it is. I am innocent, but I will get no justice here. You leave me no choice but to appeal to the gods. I demand trial by battle."

(”As I cannot be the hero, let me be the monster, and lesson them in fear in place of love.”)

And if the Mountain triumphed, Doran Martell might well demand to know why his brother had been served with death instead of the justice Tyrion had promised him.

Even if Tywin had not been killed, war with the Martells seems an inevitability, and Tywin’s justice is no justice.

He had dreamed enough for one small life. And of such follies: love, justice, friendship, glory. As well dream of being tall.

It’s also interesting here that Tyrion compares his dreams of justice with the thing that marks him as different from others, his dwarfism. Is justice real, or is it only a trick on the wall for the powerful to play with?

"Are your Seven Kingdoms so different? There is no peace in Westeros, no justice, no faith … and soon enough, no food. When men are starving and sick of fear, they look for a savior."

What is justice and can true justice be done? These questions will continue to plague Tyrion as he makes his way to Daenerys.

[hufflly-puffs]

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

Chapter 17: A Sluggish Memory

“Late in the afternoon, a few days after New Year, Harry, Ron and Ginny lined up beside the kitchen fire to return to Hogwarts. The Ministry had arranged this one-off connection to the Floo Network to return students quickly and safely to the school.” – But what about those students who don’t have access to the Floo Network, like Hermione and other Muggleborns? And it also doesn’t seem like they all arrive at the same time, so McGonagall has students dropping in her office all day.

So Apparation lessons cost no less than 12 Galleons? And the fact that Ron not mentioned this once, just like he didn’t talk about his new potions book costing 9 Galleons, really must mean the Weasleys have more money now.  Though I think it is interesting that Apparation is something you don’t learn at school but through a Ministry approved course. Bit like driving lessons then. And just like them perhaps not every student can afford them.

“‘I forgot you’d already done it … I’d better pass my test first time,’ said Ron, looking anxious. ‘Fred and George did.’ ‘Charlie failed, though, didn’t he?’ ‘Yeah, but Charlie’s bigger than me,’ Ron held his arms out from his body as though he were a gorilla, ‘so Fred and George didn’t go on about it much … not to his face, anyway …’” – Despite the fact that the twins are no longer at school Ron still thinks about their reaction and compares himself with them. But I guess lifelong unhealthy habits are hard to get rid of.

“Lost in visions of this happy prospect, he flicked his wand a little too enthusiastically, so that instead of producing the fountain of pure water that was the object of that day’s Charms lesson, he let out a hoselike jet that ricocheted off the ceiling and knocked Professor Flitwick flat on his face. ‘Harry’s already Apparated,’ Ron told a slightly abashed Seamus, after Professor Flitwick had dried himself off with a wave of his wand and set Seamus lines (‘I am a wizard, not a baboon brandishing a stick’).” – You know I don’t think we appreciate Flitwick as a character enough.

“‘It was Fudge’s idea originally, you know. During his last days in office, when he was trying desperately to cling to his post, he sought a meeting with you, hoping that you would give him your support –’ ‘After everything Fudge did last year?’ said Harry angrily. ‘After Umbridge?’” – You know, now that I think about it, Fudge never actually apologized, which was the very least he could do. He would have if he had ever had the chance to meet Harry, but only to get him on his side. I’m not sure Fudge actually felt remorse for the way he treated Harry. He created his own version of the truth, where he justified all of his actions.

“‘So, sir,’ said Harry, in what he hoped was a polite, calm voice, ‘you definitely still trust –?’ ‘I have been tolerant enough to answer that question already,’ said Dumbledore, but he did not sound very tolerant any more. ‘My answer has not changed.’” – I think this is the only time Dumbledore is strict with Harry. But it is a question of trust. Just as Lupin told Harry over Christmas: the question is not whether to trust Snape but if you trust Dumbledore’s judgement of Snape’s character. And obviously Dumbledore can’t tell Harry why he trusts Snape; in the end only Snape could make the choice to share this information with Harry. But Dumbledore asks Harry to trust him and Harry can’t, not entirely, not when it comes to Snape, and this causes a small rift between them.

“‘No, I did not. Though he had shown no hint of remorse, it was possible that he felt sorry for how he had behaved before and was resolved to turn over a fresh leaf. I chose to give him that chance.’ Dumbledore paused and looked enquiringly at Harry, who had opened his mouth to speak. Here, again, was Dumbledore’s tendency to trust people in spite of overwhelming evidence that they did not deserve it! But then Harry remembered something … ‘But you didn’t really trust him, sir, did you? He told me … the Riddle who came out of that diary said “Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did”.’ ‘Let us say that I did not take it for granted that he was trustworthy,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I had, as I have already indicated, resolved to keep a close eye upon him, and so I did. […]” – There is a clear parallel to Snape here. Same as he did with young Tom Dumbledore decided to give Snape a second chance, because everyone deserves one. And yet, it is possible Dumbledore never trusted Snape a hundred percent either; at least he kept a close eye on him as well. His refusal to give him the position for the DADA teacher for so long indicates this, because Dumbledore wanted to keep Snape away from the Dark Arts as much as possible. Unlike Tom Riddle though Dumbledore knows that Snape feels remorse for his actions, and he knows the very reason why, and in the end this is why he puts the ultimate trust in Snape, telling him about the Horcruxes, asking Snape to kill him, trusting Snape to play his role in Dumbledore’s big plan even after Dumbledore’s death.

“‘I have not been able to find many memories of Riddle at Hogwarts,’ said Dumbledore, placing his withered hand on the Pensieve. ‘Few who knew him then are prepared to talk about him; they are too terrified.” – This indicates that those people do know that Tom Riddle became Lord Voldemort. However I always had the impression that Hagrid never knew that Tom Riddle and Voldemort are the same person, and that Voldemort himself did the best to leave his past behind him, in changing both his name and face, creating a completely new identity. Perhaps those people who knew him back then, knew him as Tom Riddle, are right to be terrified, because the secret to defeat Voldemort is in his past, in those very few unguarded moments, before the man became a monster.

“Finally he was forced to accept that his father had never set foot in Hogwarts. I believe that it was then that he dropped the name for ever, assumed the identity of Lord Voldemort, and began his investigations into his previously despised mother’s family – the woman whom, you will remember, he had thought could not be a witch if she had succumbed to the shameful human weakness of death.” – I think human life in itself is defined by the fact that it will end. And knowing that our time is limited gives it value in the end. But I think Voldemort perhaps did define himself to be above humans. Being a wizard already made him special, and even among other wizards he was special, with his heritage, with his abilities. But even wizards die, even magic can’t prevent death, not until you are ready to sacrifice your soul. (And what’s a human without a soul?) And so Voldemort created himself and shaped himself into something barely recognizable as a human being, because if you are no longer human you can longer die. But when he does die in the end the question is as what.

I do wonder if Morfin put one and one together and realized that Merope gave birth to a son who turned out to be a wizard, or if he was simply too drunk (and dumb) to realize the truth.

We do learn two very importing things about memories in this chapter: you can implant a false memory into the mind of someone else and you can alter your own memory. Therefore not even memories can be a reliable source. They can be changed, erased or overwritten, and this again is another case of abusing consent. We are made of our memories and to take them away, to change them or to implant us false memories changes fundamentally who we are.

Also Dumbledore says he gained Morfin’s real memory through Legilimency, so Morfin did not give Dumbledore his memory freely. It is possible he agreed that Dumbledore could use Legilimency on him, otherwise the whole thing is quite problematic, no matter Dumbledore’s intentions.

“‘You are quite right – they can detect magic, but not the perpetrator: you will remember that you were blamed by the Ministry for the Hover Charm that was, in fact, cast by –’ ‘Dobby,’ growled Harry; this injustice still rankled. ‘So if you’re under age and you do magic inside an adult witch or wizard’s house, the Ministry won’t know?’” – Remember in book 4 when Hermione used a spell (I think it was ‘Lumos’) during the Quidditch World Cup, after the mass panic had broken out, and nothing had happened to her? Now we know why. There were so many wizards and witches there, all of them using magic, that it was impossible to trace that spell back to her (and Hermione probably knew that because she had read it somewhere). But considering this, the rule that forbids underage wizards and witches to use magic, is stupid. Basically every child in a magical household could get away with it, though I wonder how many of them know about it. Earlier Ron did complain over Christmas that he could not use magic to help him peeling sprouts for Christmas dinner. And if you, like Harry, are the only wizard within your neighbourhood every bit of magic will be traced back to you, even if you are sometimes not responsible.

“Harry noticed that the contents proved difficult to empty into the Pensieve, as though they had congealed slightly; did memories go off?” – Imagine it though, all those memories with little ‘best before’ labels.

“His right hand lay negligently upon the arm of his chair; with a jolt, Harry saw that he was wearing Marvolo’s gold and black ring; he had already killed his father.” – Not sure if the opening of the Chamber of Secrets happened before or after the murder of his remaining family, but Riddle leaves school and has already committed four murders. What is interesting is that he only learns now about Horcruxes, after he had killed his father and grandparents. So is it possible to create a Horcrux even some time after the murder, not just in the process of it?

“It is, as you will have noticed, very crudely done, and that is all to the good, for it shows that the true memory is still there beneath the alterations.” – I wonder if you can erase a memory for good. Dumbledore was able to find Morfin’s real memory underneath a false one, and it is the same with Slughorn: the real memory is still there. Despite both Riddle and Slughorn being very talented wizards they could not fully erase/change a memory. I wonder however what it does to you and your mind if the real memory is still there, but hidden, what kind of trauma that can cause.

“‘He [Slughorn] is much more accomplished at Occlumency than poor Morfin Gaunt, […].” – This does make it sound like Dumbledore took Morfin’s memory against his will.

“‘No, I think it would be foolish to attempt to wrest the truth from Professor Slughorn by force, and might do much more harm than good; I do not wish him to leave Hogwarts.” – So Dumbledore does not want to use force on Slughorn because it is morally wrong but because he is afraid Slughorn might leave (though it is possible he is simply afraid Slughorn will become a target again outside Hogwarts). But clearly Dumbledore thinks the end does justify the means.

Also, Dumbledore does the very same as Scrimgeour, he uses Harry for his own means. He might be more open about it his intentions; he told Harry he needed him to get Slughorn back to Hogwarts in the first place and now he needs him to get the real memory from Slughorn. And perhaps it is the fact that he acknowledges that he needs Harry, that he uses him, that makes Harry agree to do what he is told. Harry trusts Dumbledore and his trust is repaid with honesty (as honest as Dumbledore can be with Harry at this point).

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Truth Pt. 8

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Request:

What’s up sug! sorry you’re struggling right now but I’ve come to help you If you could bring this to light for me I’d absolutely love for YOU TO DO JT So basically Bucky X Enhanced reader who are fuckin enemies. Hate each other to every last fiber of their beings bc Bucky is rude and she calls him out on it. AnywHs, they get drunk, truth or dare (go crZy baby) and LOTS LF dirty talk if u wanna do smut but if u don’t then buck taking care of her while she’s drunk cause she admitted her feelings

Pairing: Bucky X Reader (Enhanced)

Summary: Since The Avengers gave you a home the only blight has been Bucky Barnes, a ghost from your past that you can’t seem to shake. It makes you hate him. The feeling, it seems, is mutual. But… a simple game reveals that maybe things aren’t quite so simple. (Post Winter Soldier AU)

Warnings: References to past violence

A/N: I don’t know what to say about this one. It’s stressful, and soft, and... yeah. 

Hope y’all like this one!

Tags are open!

“Sargent Barnes, Mr. Stark, and the others are on their way here,” Jarvis says softly.

Bucky grimaces and looks down at you curled into a tight ball next to him breathing softly. It took about 30 seconds for you to drift off after you laid your head on his chest. You need this rest, desperately, so the thought of waking you pains him but it has to happen.

“Doll,” he gives your right hand a squeeze and kisses your head, “you have to wake up.” You groan a little and shift, “Come on, we’ll get this over with and you can sleep all you want.” He’d make damn sure of that.

Sitting up you rub your eyes, “How long was I out?”

“Just about fifteen minutes.” He reaches for your mug, “Here.”

“Thanks,” you take a huge gulp and go to get up for more.

“I got it,” Bucky plucks the mug from your grip.

“I can-” you begin to protest.

“Hush,” he says, “you’re a guest let me fill your mug.” As he’s pouring Jarvis announces the arrival of the team.

He meets your gaze from across the apartment. You look worried for an instant, unsure. He’s pretty sure he feels the same. But still, you nod strongly, ready to face whatever came.

“Let them in, Jarvis.”

Everyone flows in as he hands you the mug and takes his spot next to you once more. He knows it’s bad hosting etiquette, his ma would have a fit at him for not rising to greet guests or making them their drinks. It doesn’t matter. They aren’t his priority right now and he knows, it’s a power move.

Steve’s the first one in, “Coffee?” He asks.

“Yup, carafe full in the kitchen, help yourselves.”

Natasha is after Steve and she casts a worried look at Y/N who is refusing to lift her eyes from the coffee table, hands white-knuckled around her mug. Bucky gives her knee a reassuring squeeze and she looks at him with a halfhearted smile. Even that sends his heart fluttering a bit.

No one says anything as they fill their mugs and find a seat. Natasha takes the spot next to you on the couch. You turn to her. Bucky catches the warm smile she offers you and hears the whispered, “I got your back.” The loose bun on top of your head bobs as you nod in acknowledgment of her statement and your eyes focus back on the table.

He notices your right hand gripping your knee, small sparks just visible under the surface of your skin. Uncaring he takes your hand in his metal one. To his surprise you take it, holding tight enough to break a regular human's delicate bones there. For him though, it feels reassuring.

Tony sits across from you in one of the dining chairs and Steve is in the large chair to Bucky’s right, where he always is when he’s over. Everyone else but Thor is here, having had to leave a few days prior for some god business or other.

Bucky hears Tony take a breath as if about to speak but he’s interrupted by Sam.

“Hold up,” he lifts a hand in the air and gestures to the two of you on the couch, “I obviously missed something. Didn’t you threaten to kill him the other day?” Anger flashes through Bucky and he glares at Sam. You however just let out a little laugh.

“Sharp aren’t ya?” You quip and Sam’s face softens in a look that’s almost relief. He is your friend, after all, Bucky reminds himself.

“You owe me,” Clint whispers loudly at Natasha and she rolls her eyes. Another giggle comes from you and Bucky feels like he’s the one missing something now.

Sighing Tony dives in, “Sam does have a point there. You did threaten to kill a team member, Y/N, that’s a pretty serious issue.”

“I deserved it,” Bucky says staring Tony down.

“Oh?”

Your hand squeezes his and he continues, “I made a bad call. Would have gotten myself killed and probably everyone in range too. Y/N, made a better call. I behaved like an ass after. So any repercussions should be on me, not her.”

Steve snorts, “This isn’t the army, pal.” Bucky looks at his best friend, leaning forward in the chair smiling a half smile at the two of you. “No one’s going to get court marshaled. And this sure as shit isn’t Hydra, no one is going to be punished. We just need to know what happened.”

“And what exactly you were all up against down there,” Tony takes a sip of the coffee and gives an approving nod toward the cup before continuing. “Nat and Steve said… well that whatever came at you was-”

“Like me,” you finish the statement, voice hollow.

Tony nods, “Not that we even know exactly what like you means, Y/N. Plus there were the two other…”

“Assets,” Bucky whispers, the word leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

“Yeah. Three seemingly high investments left alone? What’s that about?” Everyone is staring at the two of you waiting for an answer.

Bucky takes a deep breath. “That was an Asset Facility. It’s where… where they work on special projects as they call them. Where they make-”

“Weapons,” your voice again is devoid of any emotion. He looks at you a second before continuing.

“They likely got wind of our surveillance somehow and abandoned ship. Knew the project wouldn’t survive anyway and the other two assets were expendable puppets, not a high investment like…” He almost said like us but the words won’t come out. They all seem to understand anyway.

“We found the woman, the… project,” Tony grimaces a bit at the dehumanizing term, “and another corpse that was…”

“Incinerated…” you say. Bucky looks at you, he wasn’t aware of this.

“So you saw that one too?” Tony leans back in his chair. You nod. “Did one attack the other or?” You shake your head, eyes focused on the coffee in your left hand, grip tightening on his hand.

“No…” your hand trembles and he’s about to demand they all leave when you keep going, “they… it… I guess the best way to put it is spontaneous combustion. They burned themselves out. Alone. In that cell.” It’s the last bit that sucks the air out of the room, each person imagining what that kind of death would have been like.

Bruce clears his throat, fingers toying with a loose thread on his cardigan, “We, uh, did an autopsy on the woman.” You don’t look at him, just nod. “Her internal organs were… almost…” He clears his throat again trying to find the words to make the horrific more palatable and coming up empty, “Cooked, basically. She was burned from the inside out. There was no way she would have survived much longer in that state.”

Something like a hollow laugh comes from you, “Yeah. Call it a mercy killing if you want.”

“What we want is to know how someone in that condition could pose such a threat.” Tony’s tone is matter of fact, not aggressive, but it rankles Bucky’s nerves either way.

“You saw what she did to Steve,” it still made Bucky shiver, thinking of Steve being hurt.

“True,” Tony nods, “but you can’t tell me that you two couldn’t have handled that faster or-”

“She was going to blow,” your voice is surprisingly steady.

Bucky’s eyes shoot to you, “Don’t.” Your gaze slowly meets his. The two of you should have spoken about this earlier, should have worked out a plan.

“They need to know,” the look in your eyes feels like a knife in his belly. You’re terrified. He feels your hand release a bit but he refuses to let go. Taking a deep shaky breath you go for it.

“Like me, is a complicated thing to quantify… I don’t even really know how I do what I do or exactly how they made this happen. But at some level I’m…” You shudder and squeeze his hand, “I’m basically a human-shaped atomic bomb.”

Silence hangs as you gather your thoughts. “This… ability can be overloaded, pushed to a point that the energy will release all at once with enough force… well, I don’t actually know how much. I’m still here so that obviously hasn’t been tested. And she…” You're shaking all over now.

Bucky takes over, “There’s a tell. Bright pulsing, all over the body, one solid light. The project did that. We both knew what that meant in context to Y/N.” He glances at you and notices a tendril of light snaking up the side of your neck, “I made the call to hold the project off until Y/N could get the others to safety. The more I could distract her the less time it would take to blow. A gunshot or too much physical contact could cause it to go off too. It was a… delicate situation.”

“So how did you…?” Natasha says softly.

“She lashed out at Bucky, I took the blow like I had earlier, redirected her own energy back at her straight through her heart. I hope-”

“Wait…” Tony’s brows are knit. “You’re telling me you have the capacity to… overload?! And you don’t actually know what the consequences of that could be? So anytime you could just snap and kill everyone in range, Y/N?!

“That’s enough, Tony,” Bucky knows murder is dripping from each syllable.

“No. It’s not,” he slams his mug down. “That’s putting not only this team but innocent civilians at risk every time, all the time, you’re-”

“I’m not like her,” your voice is barely above a whisper, tremors visibly shaking your body. “I’m. Not.” You look up and meet Tony’s furious stare, “I have control. For whatever reason, I was able to contain this. I wouldn’t… I’d never… hurt any of you…” Your eyes dart around the room, frantically, begging someone to believe you. Bucky does, though he knows that control is… a relative term.

“I know,” Natasha lays a reassuring hand on your left thigh. “We know,” she flashes a murderous look at Tony.

“Wanting and doing aren’t always the same thing,” Tony says sighing. “Sorry, I’m not attacking you I’m just… thrown.” Your lips are pursed trying to keep your composure. Bucky catches Natasha’s worried look over your hunched shoulders.

“I can handle her,” Bucky’s voice is gruff. He hates saying this.

“What does that mean,” Sam’s gaze is cold.

“It means I can keep her from doing anything she can’t live with.” Sam just shakes his head and looks away, anger clear. Good, Bucky liked that Sam hated the thought of that almost as much as he did.

“But you couldn’t handle the one in the facility?” Tony again, isn’t trying to be an ass but that’s how it seems to Bucky.

“Not in the same way…” Fuck, he doesn’t know if you know exactly how he can handle you but… well, now you would. “It’s… there’s trigger words.” Your head shoots to him. Great, so you didn’t know. “Somehow they redirect the energy inside and cause…” He swallows hard, unable to say it, looking down at your hand still somehow confidently gripping his.

“Like the one in the cell?” Clint asks, voice soft. Bucky nods.

Tony lets out a long sigh and looks to Steve, begging him to take control of the situation.

Finally, Steve speaks. “How many more of you are there, Y/N?”

You stare at him for a long minute, “I didn’t know there were any." Bucky feels you begin to shake again. “As far as I knew I was the only one. They stopped when it worked with me. Even then…”

He remembered them complaining. Wipes lasted shorter times on you, the chair wasn’t as effective likely due to your own energy, making you difficult to control. Because of that, you were only brought out to the field for very select ops and often with not only a handler but the Soldier in tow.

“Why would they make more of you now?” Steve’s tone is measured, he can tell you’re shaken and he’s trying to be gentle. Bucky appreciates him silently. He’s worried you’re about to break but you take a deep breath, steadying yourself, this question seems to somehow bring you back to center.

“Why not? If they have the means a human-shaped bomb… that’s a statement maker. After everything it’s possible what’s left of Hydra is in the mood to make just such a statement.”

[Reader]

Nail meet head.

Everyone falls into a heavy silence. They’re either looking anywhere but you or right at you. The weight of your statement weighing on each individual.

You’d been thinking this over since the mission. It’s been one of the few things you could focus on with any accuracy. Setting your coffee down you hold your left hand up you watch the tiny points of light glow under your skin.

“I don’t really know how they did it…” Solid threads of light glow up your fingers, “All I know is it took years.” Natasha shifts next to you, the thought of that making her uncomfortable, Bucky gives your right-hand a reassuring squeeze. You hadn’t spoken of this… ever. “Years, trial and error… and a whole hell of a lot of pain. Unless they were working on them before, and I doubt it, they’re rushing this.”

“So their chances of success are slim,” Tony says, relief in his tone almost hopeful.

You cast him a dark gaze, “Their chances of repeating me are slim. Even more so without some form of the serum but…”

“They don’t need to repeat you to make a statement,” Natasha says next to you. You nod in agreement.

“All they have to do is place some half baked human bombs in key locations and people will start looking at high profile enhanced individuals with distrust.” You look around the room, “More distrust than they already do that is…” It was Hydra’s way. Indirect control.

Tony lets out a loud breath and gets up. He paces around the room a few times while your words sink into everyone.

“Ok,” Bruce huffs out. All eyes shift to him. “They’re trying to replicate you as best they can, given their limited resources. That means you’re the best lead we’ve got.” He pauses looking over at Tony, “We’ve been wanting to… examine your abilities for a while-”

“She’s not a science experiment,” Steve snaps. Bucky looks over at him, a pleased smile on his face.

“Of course not,” Bruce hold up his hands. “We never said anything because we wanted to give Y/N time to settle in here.” Tony slumps back in his chair.

“Look,” Tony leans forward, elbows on his knees, “we would never do something without your consent but… Y/N, you gotta throw us a bone here. We don’t even know what we’re dealing with when it comes to you and now this-”

“This is-” Bucky’s tone and the tremor in his hand says he’s about to go off, you cut him off.

“I’m down.”

“Y/N…” Bucky turns to you, face a mask of concern.

“It’s ok,” you give him a small smile. “You’re right, Bruce, I’m the best lead. What do you need from me.”

The shock on Bruce’s face is evident, “Oh… uh… no-nothing invasive. If we can get some solid energy scans from you, blood samples while your power is active, stuff like that we can start putting together an algorithm that can scan for that specific energy signature and variants close to it. See if they’re trying this elsewhere.”

“I can also try to come up with a suit or something similar that can keep you from… overloading so Manchurian over here,” you glance at Bucky, he hates this nickname from Tony, “won’t ever have to use whatever Jedi mind trick he has to make you blow yourself up.”

Relief floods your system. You hoped for an outcome like this but you didn’t let yourself believe it could really happen. A shaky half laugh trips over your lips, “That’s it?” Tears prick at your eyes as you scan the room.

“For now. Give me 24 hours I’m sure I can cook up some other fun ideas if you’re going to let us play with this,” Tony sweeps his hands up and down in your direction, “whatever the hell it is in your system.”

A soft smile lights his face, “You’re one of us, Y/N, we just needed to know you were ok. That you weren’t about to light Ice Boy on fire at a moment’s notice.” The smile turns impish, “And since it looks like you’re lighting him up in a whole different way-”

“Excuse you-” You jab an elbow hard into Bucky’s ribs. The tension breaks as everyone laughs at his surprised wheeze. Even Bucky is smiling as he looks down at you.

Steve stands, “I think that’s all we need to worry about for now.” He looks down at you two, a tender look on his face, “We’ll get out of your hair.” Everyone stands, including you and Bucky.

You sway a bit on your feet as Natasha pulls you into an embrace, “Get some rest please,” she whispers in your ear. You give her a solid nod in acknowledgment.

“Sparks,” Tony calls to you as Steve and Bucky embrace. You make your way to him, feeling more and more unsteady. He rests his hands on your shoulders, supporting you, “Anything you need you let me know, anything.” His gaze is intense.

“I will, Tony.” His eyebrows raise in doubt, “I promise. This was… I just…”

“I get it,” he smiles. “I’ll make you a recovery playlist,” he pats your shoulder and heads for the door. Turning he points to you, “Be sure to play it loud enough to annoy the grump.” You look to your right as Bucky approaches you, his eyes rolling.

You laugh, “You got it, boss.” Tony winks and heads out as Bucky slips a supportive arm around your waist. You’re grateful and lean into his steady frame.

“You have so much explaining to do, traitor” Sam quips, a kind smile on his face.

“You’re still my number one jetpack, Wilson, don’t be butthurt.”

He cups your cheek then glares at Bucky, “Take care of her.”

“I will,” you’re surprised at the smile playing on his lips.

“If you don’t, Winter Soldier or not I’ll beat your ass.”

“Sam, grown nuclear risk woman here,” you pat his hand still resting on your face, “I’ll be good.”

He smiles, “Oh I’ll whoop your ass too if you don’t take care of yourself. Just making sure he knows what’s what.” Tenderly, he pats your face and steps back. “Call your therapist,” he winks, Sam was always on you about it. He claps Steve on the shoulder before he’s gone too.

Steve is the last one there. Pulling away from Bucky you give the Captain a heartfelt hug. “Look out for him,” he whispers in your ear. Everyone could see how wrecked you were. Bucky wasn’t much better, it was just less visible. But Steve could see it plain as day. Your heart swells a bit in your chest to know someone is paying attention to Bucky’s needs too.

You hold his gaze and nod. A smile fills Steve’s face telling you he can sense just how much was held in that gesture.

“You both get some rest,” he says after he and Bucky exchange a hug.

“Aye, aye, Cap,” you give him a half-hearted salute.

“You’re worse than Tony,” he calls over his shoulder.

You laugh, “That cuts deep Steve.”

He turns back, “So sure. Call if either of you needs anything.”

Immediately you bury your face in Bucky’s chest, breathing in his reassuring smell. His arms curl around you, holding you tight pressing a kiss on top of your head.

“I told you it would be fine,” you say pressing your cheek against his sternum.

“That you did,” he sighs, “could have easily not been though.”

“Can’t live on could have beens Buck,” his stomach growls. “Wait,” you pull back and give him a once over, “you didn’t eat anything earlier.” He shrugs. Guilt washes over you for not realizing before. You grab his hand and start to drag him to the kitchen.

“I’m good, Y/N,” he laughs a little, “really. You don’t have to-”

“Shut up,” you push him on to one of the stools. “What kind of food do you have here?” Opening his fridge you groan. Eggs, protein shakes, a couple more of those Pedialyte drinks, and a few pre-made meals from one of those ‘healthy’ restaurants on the lower floors of the tower.

Groaning you look around the door to him, “You are such a dude.”

He laughs, “Not up to your standards?”

“Not by a long shot,” you flash him a smirk. “Ok, eggs, one of those terrible meal things, or order out?”

“Those meals aren’t bad,” he protests.

“They taste like fucking cardboard.”

“Eggs, because I don’t want to face your judgement,” he says smiling standing up, “but I can make-”

“Get back on that stool before I tie you to a chair.”

He sits and smirks at you, “Maybe later, doll,” he winks.

Once he’s eaten and you’ve downed a protein bar and bottle of Pedialyte you’re both just about ready to topple over.

“Thanks,” he smiles back at you as he loads the dishwasher.

“Just returning the favor.”

He rounds the island and tilts your face up to his, thumbs grazing your cheekbones. “I don’t know about you but I need sleep.” You nod.

Wordlessly the two of you undress and crawl into bed. The feeling of his skin on yours, his soft breath on the back of your neck, the steady thrumming of his heart, they make everything else fall away.

“Sleep well, doll,” he whispers against your ear.

And you do.

@midnightdream83 @mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @handplucked @buckysstar @sam-jae @marauder--harder @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @andreagf56 @meg-asaur @jewelofwinter @fairislesheets @animegirlgeeky @lydklein1 @katecolleen @siriuslycloudy2

[janiedean]

Hope you don't mind a random Jaime question. I was wondering what might have happened had Cersei actually been in KL while Jaime was in the KG. b/c at that time he was still pretty idealistic and set to keep the vows he made so do you think he'd have broken them with her before Aerys and his experiences there broke his faith in honor?

man I never mind jaime questions random or not ;)

that said: I think that if the point is ‘had cersei stayed in KL’, then the problem isn’t if jaime��would have kept his vows - the point was that he never meant to keep that specific one when it came to cersei. like, he doesn’t keep it post-aerys and the entire plan was ‘you join the KG so we can be together and you’ll always stay with me’ and he went like oh yeah sounds great...... and she proposed that to him when they presumably had sex *for real* for the first time (I mean, not... whatever they were doing when they were kids, like full-on sexual encounter. 

I mean:

Jaime, meantime, had spent four years as squire to Ser Sumner Crake-hall and earned his spurs against the Kingswood Brotherhood. But when he made a brief call at King's Landing on his way back to Casterly Rock, chiefly to see his sister, Cersei took him aside and whispered that Lord Tywin meant to marry him to Lysa Tully, had gone so far as to invite Lord Hoster to the city to discuss dower. But if Jaime took the white, he could be near her always. Old Ser Harlan Grandison had died in his sleep, as was only appropriate for one whose sigil was a sleeping lion. Aerys would want a young man to take his place, so why not a roaring lion in place of a sleepy one?

"Father will never consent," Jaime objected.

"The king won't ask him. And once it's done, Father can't object, not openly. Aerys had Ser Ilyn Payne's tongue torn out just for boasting that it was the Hand who truly ruled the Seven Kingdoms. The captain of the Hand's guard, and yet Father dared not try and stop it! He won't stop this, either."

"But," Jaime said, "there's Casterly Rock . . ."

"Is it a rock you want? Or me?"

He remembered that night as if it were yesterday. They spent it in an old inn on Eel Alley, well away from watchful eyes. Cersei had come to him dressed as a simple serving wench, which somehow excited him all the more. Jaime had never seen her more passionate. Every time he went to sleep, she woke him again. By morning Casterly Rock seemed a small price to pay to be near her always. He gave his consent, and Cersei promised to do the rest.

I mean, in my house this is called emotional manipulation since he objected but she convinced him with sex and the whole ‘you must want me more than your entire inheritance, name and status because we’re the same person’ deal, never mind the implications in the fact that she didn’t even let him lie down and like sleep on it but never mind that (and never mind that cersei basically has told sansa straight ahead that sex is a weapon to convince men and so on but whatever I’m gonna keep my mouth shut here). anyway: she convinces him also with sex, so there’s no way that he thought sex was not in the cards - he would have broken his vows with her regardless, but the thing is that he sees his love for her as something pure/meaningful/that wholly defines him, so for him breaking *that* one vow isn’t exactly the same level as killing your king, especially because I mean...... chastity is a vow because he’s in the kingsguard, but it’s not a knightly vow per-se, regular knights don’t have to swear chastity and they can take wives and so on, so it’s technically not on the same level as protecting the weak, serving your king/lord and so on.

so: jaime would have broken his vows with cersei whatever happened.... if she had been available to.

because like, the problem here isn’t whether he wanted to or not. the problem is:

The first time (Cersei) she had seen him (Aurane Waters), for half a heartbeat she had almost thought Rhaegar Targaryen had returned from the ashes. It is his hair, she told herself. He is not half as comely as Rhaegar was. His face is too narrow, and he has that cleft in his chin. The Velaryons came from old Valyrian stock, however, and some had the same silvery hair as the dragonkings of old.

+

Black cats brought ill luck, as Rhaegar's little girl had discovered in this very castle. She would have been my daughter, if the Mad King had not played his cruel jape on Father. It had to have been the madness that led Aerys to refuse Lord Tywin's daughter and take his son instead, whilst marrying his own son to a feeble Dornish princess with black eyes and a flat chest.

The memory of the rejection still rankled, even after all these years. Many a night she had watched Prince Rhaegar in the hall, playing his silver-stringed harp with those long, elegant fingers of his. Had any man ever been so beautiful? He was more than a man, though. His blood was the blood of old Valyria, the blood of dragons and gods. When she was just a little girl, her father had promised her that she would marry Rhaegar. She could not have been more than six or seven. "Never speak of it, child," he had told her, smiling his secret smile that only Cersei ever saw. "Not until His Grace agrees to the betrothal. It must remain our secret for now." And so it had, though once she had drawn a picture of herself flying behind Rhaegar on a dragon, her arms wrapped tight about his chest. When Jaime had discovered it she told him it was Queen Alysanne and King Jaehaerys. She was ten when she finally saw her prince in the flesh, at the tourney her lord father had thrown to welcome King Aerys to the west. (...)

Seventeen and new to knighthood, Rhaegar Targaryen had worn black plate over golden ringmail when he cantered onto the lists. Long streamers of red and gold and orange silk had floated behind his helm, like flames. Two of her uncles fell before his lance, along with a dozen of her father's finest jousters, the flower of the west. By night the prince played his silver harp and made her weep. When she had been presented to him, Cersei had almost drowned in the depths of his sad purple eyes. He has been wounded, she recalled thinking, but I will mend his hurt when we are wed. 

Next to Rhaegar, even her beautiful Jaime had seemed no more than a callow boy. 

The prince is going to be my husband, she had thought, giddy with excitement, and when the old king dies I'll be the queen. Her aunt had confided that truth to her before the tourney. "You must be especially beautiful," Lady Genna told her, fussing with her dress, "for at the final feast it shall be announced that you and Prince Rhaegar are betrothed."

Her aunt had lied, though, and her father had failed her, just as Jaime was failing her now. Father found no better man. Instead he gave me Robert, and Maggy's curse bloomed like some poisonous flower. If she had only married Rhaegar as the gods intended, he would never have looked twice at the wolf girl. Rhaegar would be our king today and I would be his queen, the mother of his sons.

now: given that this is legitimately the one time in these books when cersei actually seems to have a crush on someone else/want someone else not as an extension of herself but because she’s.... well interested in them on a... healthy-ish level (I mean she’s fantasizing about mending his hurt when they’re wed when she sees that he’s sad and she thinks about him in the same terms (more or less...) on top of doing the regular things you do when you have a crush on someone ie drawing pictures of the two of you together and so on. BUT she also lies to jaime about it and she flat-out says that next to rhaegar jaime seems no more than a callow boy ie doesn’t compare or hold a torch at all. now we also know that when rhaegar married elia tywin still was hoping to marry cersei to viserys or try again with rhaegar if elia died of childbirth (poor woman jfc) and cersei pretty much knew that (also she had known about tywin wanting her to marry rhaegar since she was six-seven which was also incidentally the time she was **experimenting** with jaime and they were separated hm) so the question is.... would cersei actually have welcomed him to her bed if they both were in KL and she was either married to rhaegar *or* seriously hoping for it to happen *or* waiting for it to happen?

because sorry but from what I see above the answer is a hot no - if she had actually married rhaegar (and **mended his hurt** or if **rhaenys had been hers and not elia’s**, like she legit wanted to give him children and there’s no ‘ah jaime is the only man worth of giving me some/that I want in my bed’ discourse here) she would have never risked being found in bed with her twin brother on the side and if she had been hoping to marry him she’d have never risked ruining her chances like that anyway, so as far as I’m concerned however you look at it, if cersei had stayed in KL, jaime would have kept his vow...... because she wouldn’t have pursued their relationship until she could hope for a match with rhaegar (or viserys at worst) *or* if she was married to rhaegar period, and the fact that she asked him when she perfectly knew that means that she about told him to give up his name, titles and inheritance for absolutely nothing. or better: she would have gotten jaime protecting her for his entire life and she’d be queen while married to the one guy she actually seemed to have healthy-ish feelings for (for her standards anyway), while jaime would have been stuck there sticking to the damned vows because like hell she’d have risked her status or a marriage to rhaegar for him after having renounced his name and inheritance and status (and ngl I have the suspicion that she also didn’t want him to have the rock because it couldn’t be hers but never mind that).

and honestly? that would have broken his faith in honor, vows and idealism way faster than aerys did, because aerys actually kind of still couldn’t and it’s obvious because years later as much as he thinks he has, he still hates people for thinking him honor-less and he does very idealistic/honorable things just counting asos that completely disregard his supposed ‘I only give a shit about myself and my relatives’ attitude (I mean, he didn’t have to get himself kicked in the stump to save brienne from being raped when he didn’t even like her but guess what he did, and I’m not touching the rest of asos only), but if jaime ie the person who romanticizes everything to unhealthy degrees took the white *also out of love* which to him would have been the ultimate sacrifice that would at the same time grant him to be forever with the woman he loves ended up not getting it/getting left behind because cersei *convinced him* to do it and then left him there........... do we all think he wouldn’t have turned cynical way earlier than he actually did? because sorry but if you basically give up your life to be with someone and then you find out they actually are happy to marry someone else and leave you just looking at your back and maybe begging for scraps and not giving you even that, well, I think you actually stop being idealistic very soon. I mean, the way things went he can still tell himself that it wasn’t cersei’s fault that she wasn’t there in the first place and since she hated robert and he thought he was the only other one for her he could keep her on the pedestal he kept her on until the hand loss changed the status quo, but if she actually married rhaegar and became queen and was perfectly happy in that role? I... really doubt that. I don’t know if at that point he’d have found some way to resign or not but if he couldn’t... well, let’s just say I have a feeling he’d have turned out being the same as his got-canon self way earlier and way worse unless something came along that either made him want to keep the knightly vows at least or someone made him realize he deserved better or something of the kind, but I mean, the entire problem if cersei had stayed in KL is that she’d have never let herself risk being caught with him if the stakes were a) marrying rhaegar, b) marrying into the crown. so... I mean not to be that person but there’s no way cersei convincing jaime to join the KG wasn’t a fucked up move as far as I’m concerned /o\ /end rant