#this certainly took a wile but i enjoyed doing this a lot!!

[etoilehistoire]

Dancing In the Firelight

The tiefling party. Featuring Xia, female human paladin. I've seen a few versions of the dialogue for this scene, so I picked one and then played fast-and-loose with it. This is furthering my agenda to let an asexual Astarion and asexual Tav romance each other without sex.

Astarion hated parties.

Or, well, no, that wasn’t true. Probably not, anyway. He’d hated Cazador’s parties, the ones he’d been forced to attend as eye candy and bait and spy, all rolled into one. And he hadn’t exactly had many invites since escaping to compare them to. But presumably, parties existed that he would enjoy. He’d almost certainly attended some before Cazador, and if he’d hated them, surely he’d remember that? So he probably didn’t hate all parties.

He hated this one, though.

Too many people, all of them simpering and thanking him for something he hadn’t wanted to do in the first place and still didn’t quite see the point of. Too hot. Too much noise. Terrible wine.

He grimaced and took another sip from the bottle he held. No, the wine was fine. A little dry for his liking – he preferred a touch of sweet – but perfectly serviceable. He was simply in a bad mood, and for reasons which had nothing to do with the wine and very little to do with the heat, the noise, or the people.

No, it was her.

Xia stood off to the side, sipping her own cup of wine and watching the festivities flow around her. Was she even enjoying herself? With that impassive face of hers, she could be judging them all for their frivolity and excess, or she could be having the time of her life, or anything in-between, and he’d never know.

And that was the rub. He was used to being able to read people.  His life had, after all, depended on it for quite some time. He was supposed to be the enigma, the one who hid his true intentions behind a faultless mask. Yet here she was, unreadable, and – worse – often giving the impression that she could see right through him.

The smart thing to do, the easy thing to do, would be to give up and make someone else his mark. Surely someone else in their little group would be more susceptible to his wiles – someone without her piercing stare or unsettling silences. But something in him rebelled. He wanted her.

Part of it was pragmatism. Paladins were the package deal, after all – a little magic, a little healing, and quite a lot of physical prowess. If he was going to go to all the trouble of manipulating someone into protecting him, why not go for the best? Part of it, he knew, stemmed from anger and a dark sort of humor. There would be something deliciously poetic in convincing someone so assured of their own righteousness to sleep with an undead creature like him, or to fight, not for innocence and valor, but for a bloodthirsty monster. But part of it, he wasn’t ashamed to admit to himself, was simply… pride. He’d never met a mortal he couldn’t charm or seduce if he set his mind to it, and it rankled that she’d resisted him for so long. There must be a way in, he was sure of it. Like picking a lock, it was just a question of figuring out where to apply pressure.

Well. No time like the present, perhaps. If she hated the party, maybe she’d be grateful for a distraction; if she was enjoying it, she’d be in a good mood. Either way, a festive atmosphere always lends itself to lowered inhibitions, and that could only help his cause. Taking another swig of (terrible)(fine, but too dry) wine to fortify him, he sauntered over.

“You know,” he said, sidling next to her, “I never pictured myself as a hero.” He glanced sideways to see how she reacted. “Never thought I’d be the one they’d toast for saving so many lives. And now that I’m here… I hate it.” He made an exaggerated moue, aiming for the funnybone he knew she kept buried beneath all that armor. “This is awful.”

She raised one elegant eyebrow, her cool expression never changing. “My poor vampire,” she deadpanned, her tone dry as dust. “Forced to endure the adulation of the masses. Truly, none have suffered as you do.”

Even at his expense, her teasing delighted him – it was more of a reaction than he usually got. “Yes, thank you for your understanding and your boundless sympathy,” he shot back, sketching a florid bow. “I’m just saying. We put forth all that effort, killed all those goblins-"

“Which you enjoyed.”

“-Which I enjoyed, yes, but for what? Some empty words, a little music…” He waved his bottle for emphasis. “And vinegar for wine?”

A second eyebrow rose, joining the first. Oh, yes, that was definitely amusement, and he relished it. “You got vinegar? Pity. I’m enjoying mine.” She took a long, slow sip, her eyes never leaving his, and inwardly he rejoiced. She was flirting back, finally, he was sure of it. “Maybe you should speak to someone about it.”

“Maybe.” He met her stare, brazen and bold. “Or maybe I’m in the mood for something more intoxicating than wine.”

She tilted her head, exposing her neck in a way that could have been accidental but probably wasn’t. “You fed last night.”

He chuckled. “Not that either, you little minx.” He watched her eyes. When she didn’t immediately shut down at the endearment, he considered it tacit permission to keep going. Leaning in, he lowered his voice. “I was thinking… what if you and I made our own entertainment?”

She took another sip, visibly considering the idea. “Intriguing thought, vampire. Our own entertainment. Now, what might that consist of?” Her eyes danced. “Touching, perhaps?”

He tried to keep his glee from showing on his face. “Oh, almost certainly.”

She took a step closer. “And movement, maybe.”

He smirked. “I think we would move together wonderfully.”

Even closer now, invading his space, close enough to feel the heat of her skin. “Exertion. Sweat. The rhythm of two bodies working together.” Leaning in, she breathed into his ear, “Ecstasy.”

Holy shit. He’d been working on a theory that the pretty paladin might be a virgin – it would explain her reticence – but that no longer seemed likely. He didn’t know if it was the wine or the flush of victory loosening her up, but either way, he was going to take advantage of it.  “I believe we understand each other, yes.”

She set her glass down on the nearest available surface, then ran her fingers slowly down his arm. When she reached his hand, she took it gently, her face lightening with a rare, slow smile. “Agreed.”

Then she turned and began to walk away, tugging him gently to follow.

Wait, now? Not that he was opposed, but it was certainly more sudden than he had intended-

Until she stopped in front of the bonfire, just as the musicians struck up a new tune, and began to dance.

He groaned inwardly. Touch. Movement. Rhythm. Of course. She’d been playing him, and he fell for it.

She was… quite good, actually. He’d long noticed her grace in battle, how every movement flowed elegantly into the next. She was, it seemed, just as light on her feet without a sword in her hands, stepping and twirling in perfect time with the beat of the music. Others had noticed too, coming to watch and clapping along.

Well. Two could play at this game. He might not have her innate grace, but he hardly lacked for agility; the next time she extended a hand to him, he gave in and joined her.

It was a challenge at first. It wasn’t a dance he knew; it might not have been an established dance at all, might have simply been her own improvisation. After a few moments, though, he realized she was signaling her moves, if he paid attention. A step here meant a pass there; a pressure on his hand indicated a twirl, and so on. His body found the rhythm of it quickly enough, and soon it felt natural. Moving into each other’s space and back out again. Circling each other, making contact and breaking it off. Watching each other, to the point where no one else existed, to figure out where they would go next. Now and then he tried his own improvisations, using her own signals back at her to indicate what they should do next, and felt a thrill when she immediately responded to his suggestions.

He was, he realized with no small amount of surprise, having fun.

At one point it dawned on him that she was smiling – not just smiling, grinning. At him. That almost shocked him enough to fumble his steps – Xia, of the cold stares and rigid face, looking at him with such open, easy joy. He hadn’t thought of her as beautiful before. He did now.

The music ended with a flourish and so did the dance; she stepped back and dipped a deep, elaborate curtsey, and he responded with an equally overblown bow. As they stepped away someone offered them wine; Xia took a cup and handed the other to him, then wrapped her arm companionably around his waist as they headed back to a quieter part of the gathering.

Emboldened by her arm around him, Astarion smiled at her and was rewarded with another sunny grin, the corners of her dark eyes crinkling with what genuinely looked like affection. “So,” she said, breathless laughter in her voice, and snugged him closer for a moment. “Entertainment enough for you, vampire?”

He grinned back, letting himself enjoy the moment… but then, with a wash of cold, remembered it wasn’t enough. A night of dancing, no matter how fun, wouldn’t net him the loyalty he needed. He had to bind her to himself with something stronger, something she would crave. He had to.

Still… it wasn’t hopeless. She’d had her fun, teased him and won, and now… now her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling, her blood hot. He’d never have a better moment.

“Oh, of course,” he purred. “But was it enough for you? I think you know I was offering a different sort of entertainment.” He leaned in, pitching his voice low and smooth. “And, my dear, that offer still stands.”

Shit. Shit. It was the wrong move. He knows it – knows it as soon as he hears her sigh, so faint that non-vampiric ears would have missed it. Knows it as soon as he feels her arm loosen, snaking its way free from his waist.

What would it take? She liked him, he was sure of it now. It should have been easy. She was ripe for the picking, and yet every time he tried to pluck, she pulled back.

Like now. He watched as the light faded from her eyes, as the bright smile fell back into an exasperated smirk. She took his hand again, raised it to her lips, and kissed it gently.

Her lips were softer than he’d imagined.

“Good night, Star,” she said pointedly, dropping his hand, and turned.  Walked away.

Star. She’d never called him that before.

On the one hand, the evening was a bust. He’d thoroughly failed in his efforts, once again. He’d wasted his time, been beaten at his own game, and been made a fool of.

On the other hand, he was uncomfortably aware that he had enjoyed himself far more than he would have had his plan succeeded.

Watching her walk away, he took a sip of his wine. It was sweeter than  he remembered.

[shoyoes]

content creator: year in review

tagged by @touyax and @mazusu tysm for tagging me guys!!💞

1. First creation and most recent creation of 2020: this hmc edit was the first anime edit of the year (the very first one was red queen edit but it’s lit related so I’m not gonna link it here) and this itachi edit was the most recent one.

2. One of your favorite creations from 2020: probably this noragami edit. I love how it ended up looking especially the coloring since what I had in mind was totally different from the final result

3. A creation you’re really proud of: this team 7 edit and this itachi edit cause I stepped out of my “comfort zone” there and tried out some new styles and techniques so I’m really proud of making something that actually pleased me.

4. New style you tried this year and a gifset that uses it: i tried painting style!! I think i used it a little in each of my edits hehe but this bnha edit and this karasuno edit use it the best:))

5. A creation that took you forever: this bnha edit. I couldn’t get any motivation or inspiration plus i had exams back then. whatever i did i did like in 15 minutes and went to bed thinking i liked it. but the next I ended up hating the whole thing so it took at least 3 weeks (maybe even over a month) to finish it.

6. Your creation from 2020 that received the most notes: this noragami edit. I know this isn’t much but i didn’t even expect it to receive half of that amount lmao.

7. A creation you think deserved more notes: the most underrated of my creations are this fairy tail gifset and this itachi edit. I mean all of the creations deserve more notes and I’m not only talking about mine rn but eh guess this can’t be helped.

8. Creation with a favorite scene/quote: this hmc edit cause i don’t think there’s any other edit i created for a scene/quote hskshsj

9. A new fandom you joined and a creation you made for it: lmao I started watching animes in 2020 so each fandom I’m in rn i joined last year so every edit of mine can be put here gskagsjsh

10. A creation you made that breaks your heart: umm here’s a little problem I don’t think have an edit that “break my heart”. sure some panels can really be put into the category for example in 5th panel of itachis edit the mangacap is from when itachi said goodbye to sasuke during the war and that scene really made me cry but those emotions aren’t put into an edit as whole so I don’t consider it to be “heartbreaking” and the same goes for the other edits.

11. A ‘simple’ creation that you really love: this kageyama & hinata duo edit. It’s really simple and took me like an hour or two to finish it (it usually takes me at least 2-3 days😔) but i really like it!!

12. A creation that was inspired by another one (add both your creation and the one that inspired it!): this noragami edit was inspired by @/dicennio’s incredible edits (yes i mean all of them).

13. A favorite creation created by someone else: this is gonna be long so bear with me please

kuroo | spirited away | dabi by @kiyomie

pm100 | oikawa | samurai champloo by @noxdivina

nanami | oikawa | lois lane by @choutarouootori

snk | dabi | hxh by @mob-psycho

dabi | kurapika | gon freecss @dicennio

kuroo | fma | setter by @celiabowens

shouto | oikawa | matsuoka @runwiththewind

alphonse | yato | bakugou by @elriccs

bakugou | hawks & dabi | mizuno by @svmeragi

psycho pass | dimitri blaiddyd | psycho pass by @zenien

persona 5 | jjk | ping pong by @25th

kurapika | hinata | znt by @emperanas

lucy heartfilia | dabi | killua by @mazusu

nakahara | hange zoe | kageyama by @koujis

mp100 | inumaki | kurapika by @tcmiokas

tomioka | karasuno | bokuto & akaashi by @katsukes

gojo | dabi | jshk by @sukerokus

hanako-kun | edward | tomioka by @gojosattoru

jjk | bloodborne | jjk by @jidai

oikawa & iwaizumi | given | jshk by @feativen

bsd | oikawa | bsd by @bokuroo

spirited away by @rosehathway

bnha (idk who made it tho😔)

(NOTE: I just LOVE all of your creations okay? all of you are amazing creators and I really adore all of your edits/gifs/colorings. and trust me when I say I admire your talent I mean each and every one of you. and the only reason I linked the creations I did was because they were the first I found while searching for my fave edits or else I would have to link your creation’s tag because of my inability to choose from all those incredible and awesome creations you made this year♡)

14. Some of your favorite content creators from the year: ok the list is pretty long and I literally have fish’s memory so I might (and most definitely) will forget to mention someone but here we go

@25th @biscuitwalk @bokuroo @celiabowens @choutarouootori @dicennio @elriccs @emperanas @feativen @gojosattoru @iamyou @inejkaz @jidai @katsukes @kiyomie @koujis @mazusu @mob-psycho @noxdivina @princesskittten @ramenpng @runwiththewind @sukerokus @svmeragi @tcmiokas @zenien

15. And for good measure, another a couple more creations of yours that you love: well I love all of the edits I’ve already linked but from those that I haven’t mentioned yet are this fulmetal alchemist edit and this konoha edit.

tagging everyone I’ve mentioned here!!

[nirikeehan]

Happy Friday! You have a bad things happen bingo and I am here for it! How about "Faux-Affectionate Villain" for Dorian? (Yes I am predictable, gotta pick on my favorite mages)

wkfjnkjgrn this was incredible, thank you. I am combining this with your previous prompt from a non-bingo list: "Black and Blue: Write about a time you’ve been physically hurt." This was my first time writing for Dorian and I had a blast. Enjoy this as of yet untitled whumpfest!

For @dadrunkwriting and @badthingshappenbingo

Series: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Characters: Dorian Pavus, Raleigh Samson, aaaand... Corypheus. Yeah, I really wanted to write Dorian snarking at Corypheus for 2000 words. 🤷‍♀️

Also, sorry in advance to any Samson stans – he is Not Nice in this one.

---

By all accounts, the dungeon was dreadful.

Dorian had never been one for dungeons, especially not the sort people built in the south. Too drafty, too dim, too… stoney and full of chains. On the whole. He was certainly not biased on the subject, being manacled to the wall at present.

“And not even in the fun way,” he lamented, with a tragic sigh.

The sigh proved to be too much: it turned into a cough, which blossomed into a spasm of pain that left him gasping. Well, that wouldn’t do at all. It was a shame Corypheus’s forces hadn’t seen fit to send him a healer, because the torso of his hand-crafted mage robes were stained with a worrying bit of blood. And now breathing was becoming a chore.

This might be the end, you know, said an annoying voice inside his head. It bothered him from time to time, and Dorian hated it because it sounded an awful lot like him. When he wasn’t tempering it with wine, acerbic wit, or outright lies, sometimes it scared him. To his bones.

“Nonsense,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “It’s only a matter of time before the heroic rescue arrives.”

The voice ran through a vast number of practical reasons why a heroic rescue was unlikely: he had been grabbed alone; the enemy had surprised the Inquisition and vastly outnumbered them in this region; the shattering blow from the Red Templar had been the last he saw of his colleagues before he blacked out. It was entirely possible the Inquisition already believed him to be dead. And even if they didn’t, what was the loss of one Tevinter? Wasn’t he barely an improvement over Corypheus and his Venatori to the likes of them?

“Oh, do shut up,” Dorian said cheerfully; it was the only way to deal with self-doubt, he’d learned.

It might be true that the majority of the Inquisition thought him an arrogant worm, representative of the Imperium and all of its slovenly decadence, but he was confident he had the Inquisitor in his corner. He and Thalia often wiled away long nights huddled over thick tomes in Skyhold’s library whilst discussing Tevinter culture, ancient magics, and what a society ruled by mages might look like in the south. Unfortunately, although she was the Inquisitor, Dorian couldn’t be sure whether her insistence alone would cause a rescue to materialize. That much he conceded to the fretting voice in his head.

The door to his cell swung open on creaking hinges. In stepped two guards — the frightful red lyrium sort, with crimson eyes and large crystals sticking out of their shoulders — and between them, a man with dark hair, fancy armor, and a swagger meant to broadcast that he was in charge.

“Ah,” Dorian said brightly, “so nice to finally be greeted by an envoy befitting my importance.” He grinned at the guards and the man they flanked. “It’s you, isn’t it? The other one — the Cullen, but for Corypheus. Stanley, or some such?”

Something dangerous flashed in the man’s eyes; evidently, he took offense to being compared to the Inquisition’s commander. “That’ll be General Samson to you.”

Dorian had heard about Samson — mostly from Cullen over chess games. Cullen’s disdain for his former colleague betrayed some serious bad blood, the cause of which Dorian had not yet been able to wheedle out of the Commander. Although he was certain the tale was a juicy one, he had difficulty squaring the version Cullen vowed to obliterate with the one standing before him.

“I have to say, I’m not impressed.” Dorian cocked his head. “As army generals go, the Inquisition’s is much better looking. The receding hairline does you no favors, Stanley. Might I suggest a full shave of the skull? And perhaps some facial hair? I hear a bald head plus goatee is all the rage amongst nefarious villains this season.”

Samson stepped forward and gave him a swift kick in the ribs, which provided Dorian all the information he needed, and perhaps some internal bleeding as well. Capricious and arbitrarily cruel, this Samson. Perhaps Cullen was right after all.

“Heard he had a mouth on him,” Samson said. “That ought to shut him up for awhile. Let’s go, boys.”

Much to Dorian’s surprise, interrogation and torture were not on the roster. Instead, while he struggled to see past the writhing pain, Samson’s men hauled him up, unchained him from the wall, and shackled his wrists together behind his back. Then they marched him from the cell — well, they marched. Dorian stumbled along, every step agony.

By the time they got him up the steep tower steps, Dorian was certain that if his ribs hadn’t been broken before, they were now. After he had fallen the second time, one of Samson’s thugs had to hold his elbow to keep him upright. Which was probably for the best, because afterward they took him right into Corypheus’s throne room.

It was, in a word, hideous. More damp stonework, laden with blood red tapestries, lyrium deposits jutting out hither and thither. Dorian wanted to blame the terrible decor on primitive southron sensibilities, but Corypheus was Tevinter, for Maker’s sake! Were tastes truly that abysmal a thousand years ago, whenever Corypheus had been mortal?

The throne itself was gold, which clashed with its surroundings, but Dorian was forced to respect the symbolism of it. The golden city, killing gods, golden thrones — he understood the motif. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

He wondered, briefly, if he had gone delirious from the wound. He must have, surely? Because there was Corypheus himself, lounging on the high seat, looking less like a man and more like a thing — a mummified corpse with stunted wings, perpetual scowl, and glowing rocks fused to his face. Yet Dorian’s fear felt quite far away, as if it were happening to someone down the hall. Not him, not as he staggered toward this monstrous creature, bound and helpless.

Corypheus met his gaze, and did something truly horrifying.

He smiled.

“Dorian Pavus,” he said, with a voice like shifting tectonic plates. “We finally meet. Alexius told me so much about you.”

Oh, Dorian thought. This is where I either vomit or faint. How unbecoming. Horror shot through his entire body, down to his toes. Corypheus spoke with the approving tone of a Circle professor — not that Dorian had heard it directed at him overmuch. The thought that Corypheus had spoken to anyone about him personally, let alone Gereon Alexius, was enough to make him wish he’d never been born.

He burst out laughing. Immediately, he was hit with pain so intense he doubled over. The Red Templars kept him aloft with firm grips. Samson stood between him and Corypheus, growing markedly less patient the longer Dorian giggled, which was, to be fair, quite a few minutes.

“He’s gone mad, Your Grace,” Samson growled. He reached for the sword at his side. “Let me put him out of his misery.”

“Stay your hand,” Corypheus commanded, and the room went deathly still. Corypheus’s voice had a sort of booming quality to it that reverberated off the walls and into one’s very soul. “General, take your men and leave us.”

Samson sneered. “But — Your Worship, he could—”

“And remove his shackles before you go,” Corypheus added.

Samson stood for a long moment, clenching his jaw. Dorian thought that perhaps he was regretting his choice of employers. Finally, he nodded to his soldiers. They grabbed Dorian roughly by the arms. After some jostling and twisting, his hands fell free. Dorian braced himself against a stone pillar, rubbing his wrists were the metal had bitten them, and watched the Red Templars file from the throne room.

As the door slammed, he turned back to the man who would be God. “So. This is — shall I say? Unexpected.”

“Is it?” Corypheus held up one skeletal claw-like hand, as if in a gesture of helplessness. “What is so unexpected about one Tevinter wishing to speak to another?”

“As if you were any normal Tevinter,” Dorian spat. “Not the one who destroyed the very heavens.”

“You sound bitter. How narrow-minded, when you could be the one sitting beside me once I usher in a new world order.”

Dorian wanted to blame the pain that pulsed through him with every ragged breath — this must be a hallucination — but Corypheus sat placidly, his tumescent face awaiting a response.

Dorian cleared his throat. “Pretty sure Stanley thinks he’s got that seat reserved.”

“Samson shall fulfill his purpose in due time, as will all my minions. But no, he shall not be entering the Black City at my side.”

“Too bad for him,” Dorian mumbled. Staying upright was becoming difficult. Soon he would slide right down this pillar, and wouldn’t that look pathetic. He shifted his weight, breath catching from a sharp stab somewhere near his kidney. “And why exactly would you want me instead?”

“I spoke at length with Alexius about you, as I mentioned.” Did Dorian detect a fondness in his voice? It was difficult to tell, as it sounded distorted, artificially low — as if he were using some sort of spell to make it more formidable. Wouldn’t that be a scandal? But no, it was probably just the result of being killed and reborn that many times. “From the sound of it, you are every inch the ideal Tevinter man. Pure of blood, sound of mind, fit of body.”

Dorian nearly choked to prevent another laughing fit. Apparently Alexius had never mentioned certain details if Corypheus thought Dorian to be the ideal Tevinter man — but the last thing he wanted to consider right now was how socially progressive this deranged half-zombie might be. “Oh, Corypheus, I am terribly afraid that Alexius did oversell me.”

“Not from what I have observed.” Corypheus paused. “Are you in pain?”

“However did you deduce that?” Dorian asked, who had slipped into more of a crouch than a stand.

Corypheus stood, which was a terrifying experience in itself, as he was at least eight feet tall. He sauntered closer, until Dorian was entirely enveloped in his shadow. Against his will, he shivered.

The towering monster reached out and waved a hand in front of Dorian’s body. The pain melted away, like frost in the morning sun. Dorian inhaled sharply — nothing seemed wrong, no pesky cracked ribs or seeping wounds. He had never seen such powerful healing magic before, not in all his years of study.

He straightened, craning his neck to see up into Corypheus’s atrocious face. “I suppose you’re expecting me to thank you.”

“It would be polite.”

“Well,” Dorian huffed, “you’re about to learn that I am, in fact, an insufferable cad.”

Corypheus’s eyes bore into him. Dorian’s hands flexed at his sides. He estimated he could throw a fire spell or two before he was disintegrated on the spot. “All that nonsense the Venatori believe, about Tevinter supremacy. That comes from you then, does it?”

“Of course not. They simply share my beliefs. They so happen to be the correct ones.”

“Beliefs that declare Tevinter bloodlines superior to all else,” Dorian said breezily.

Corypheus nodded. “Indeed.”

“And you want me for my ‘supreme Tevinter blood.’” Dorian felt a little ill just saying it.

“Of a sort. It is a necessary requirement, but your accomplishments speak for themselves. You are wasted in the pathetic rebellion that calls itself the Inquisition. If you were to cast aside that weak little girl you consider your savior—”

“Oh, I wouldn’t underestimate that ‘weak little girl’ if I were you.” Dorian looked away. These words might be his last, and he didn’t want to squander his final moments looking at the abomination that was the once-Magister’s visage. “This is the part where you try to get me to betray the Inquisition, isn’t it? Well, you can save your breath. If you do still breathe and are not powered entirely by dread necromancy.”

It seemed Corypheus would have cocked an eyebrow, had he possessed one. “You do not even want to banter back and forth about it?”

“Why bother? The answer is ‘no.’ No a hundred thousand times over. I would die before serving you tea, you withered old husk, never mind turning my cloak for you. Not a chance.” Dorian grinned. “So you might as well kill me now and get it over with.”

Corypheus stood silently. Dorian looked beyond him, at the gaudy throne, and waited. He hoped Varric would write an epic chapter about his noble sacrifice and tragic, untimely demise. He damn well better convey how handsome I was, Dorian thought, annoyed that he had never sat the wordsmith down and hammered out the specifics. I want boys and girls swooning over me from the Kocari Wilds to the bloody Anderfels…

The death stroke never arrived. At last Dorian looked up, against his better judgment, because it meant taking in Corypheus’s ruined face again. The undead Magister was staring at him with either a scowl or a neutral expression — it was difficult to tell.

“Very well,” Corypheus said, and sounded almost tired — but surely that was Dorian’s imagination. “It was worth the attempt. Back to the dungeons, then. You are too valuable to kill, my dear Dorian.”

As he was being dragged back downstairs in chains, he smiled. Alive was far preferable to dead. Now he just had to hold out for that rescue, the one that had to be in the works. Positive thinking was half the battle — and at that, Dorian Pavus was a master.

[rwbyvein]

Firen Lhain: Chapter 604: Four:  Part I/III

Dong Han handed out the last of letters-patent and Nora saluted him. The collection of bureaucrats held a round of applause. "You have all fought admirably! You have well earned your status of Huntsmen and Huntresses. Now, before we depart, is there anything we can do to help you?!"

"A lot -" Qrow stated, "of wine."

"You have certainly earned an evening of repose." Dong Han stated, "I would ask your preferences, but since this is your first legal drink..."

"I could provide details of their pallets." Aurora stated.

"Since when?" Yang asked.

"I have watched you all react to the cuisine."

"What, really?" Yang asked.

"Your pallet for cuisine is complimentary to your pallet for wine." Aurora added.

"Sweet." Yang said.

"You don't know how happy I am," Qrow voiced, "to finally be drinking with my nieces."

"I suppose..." Blake voiced, "drinking is important to you."

"That's.... one of of saying it..." Qrow voiced, as Aurora walked up to Dong Han.

* * * Aurora stood in front the table that seemed to have every order of wine, with a bright smile upon her face. "I would ask you all to allow me to be your somelier tonight."

"And?.." Yang asked, "for those who don't know what it is?.."

"Wine stewart." Jaune stated.

"Oh, yeah, you're the boss." Yang said, and then narrowed her eyes, "Maybe not the best way to say that."

A burst of rose petals appeared in front of Yang, and Ruby then walked towards Aurora, "We all know who you want to be the boss." Ruby chided.

Yang instictively tensed up and then breathed out to relax. "In light of the party, I'll overlook you budging in line."

Ruby then turned around to stick her tongue out at Yang.

* * *

Jaune sat on the couch as Yang flopped down beside him. RWB looking at her jealously. "Alright, in light of us finally making it, what with us all back together and finally being Huntsmen and all..." she said, and everyone was paying rapt attention to her. "...I say we come up with new nicknames!"

"Hm?" Weiss asked.

"Or you're saying you like being known as an Ice Queen?" Yang asked her, and she lightly scoffed, turning a light blue hue.

"Snow Angel." Jaune stated.

"Oh, I've got one better." Yang stated, "Guess what he called me?"

"What?" Jaune asked.

"Summer Princess." Yang said with glee. "Eat that, Snow Angel."

"If you are the Summer Princess." Blake voiced, "That should make Weiss the Winter Princess."

"Shit..." Yang voiced, "That's good... But still..."

"Hoping to be his only princess?" Blake asked.

"...maybe?.." Yang asked.

"Fall," Jaune said, pointing at Ruby, "Spring." he said, pointing at Blake.

"Why am I spring?" Blake asked him.

"Because you seem dour and depressive, but are probably the most passionate person here." Jaune added. Blake nervously looked down and blushed and smiled.

"What about me?!" Ruby eagerly asked.

"You are bubbly and adorable, and pretty much hope incarnate." Jaune said, and Ruby swooned. "Aanndd..." Jaune said, causing her to stare at him with bated breath, "your primary weapon is a scythe, which is designed to decapitate giant Grimm in a single swing."

"She is pretty cool like that." Yang added, and Qrow added an affirmative hmph.

Nora raised her hand, "What's my nickname?"

"You can be NORA." Qrow stated, "It's easy to remember because it sounds like your name."

"I like it." Nora added.

"We can't exactly call everyone princess..." Weiss stated.

"We could keep calling you Ice Queen," Yang voiced, "as it seems to melt your heart every time we say it."

Weiss nervously looked about, unsure of what to say. Her light blue tone deepened, however, proving she was at the very least enjoying it.

"Blake can be kitty-cat." Yang stated.

"But, what if I?.." Blake tried to ask.

"No." Jaune stated, "You're not going back to wearing your bow. We just got you to finally accept who you are; you aren't going back."

Yang shuddered as he said this. "I LOVED how he said that."

"Are you saying that Blake can't wear a bow?" Nora asked.

"Well, yes," Jaune said, "she can wear a bow, just not over her ears."

"That makes sense." Nora stated.

"And," Weiss asked, "just because Jaune says it, that's good enough for you?" she asked, and Nora nodded. Weiss sat back, hands together in front of her face, unsure of how to respond to that.

Jaune then looked at Yang, "You can be goldilocks." he stated, and reached for her hair. Her hand caught his and her eyes started to glow. "Are you going to use your Semblance on me for touching your hair?" he asked her, and Yang stared at him, glared at him. Her breathing was haggard as she looked at him, stunned, completely unsure of what to say. She let go of his hand and it slowly started moving towards her hair once again. Her breathing deep, and her eyes still glew, but she made no move to stop it. "It's - so - beautiful..." he said, and she seemed to slip back to normalcy as he delicatedly lifted it.

"She does spend a LOT of time on it." Blake stated.

"Doesn't make it any less beautiful." Jaune said, daintily touching Yang's hair, looking her in the eyes. The two simply stared at each other.

A burst of rose petals stopped in front of Jaune. "Don't fall for her feminine wiles!"

Yang shook her head before turning to look at her sister, "More like babelicious wiles."

"Yeah, whatever!" Ruby shouted.

"Ruby..." Weiss admonished her.

"But..." Ruby said to her, pointing at Jaune.

"We all have our chance." Weiss continued.

"But?" Ruby asked, and then visibly sighed.

"Ruby?" Jaune said to her, and she looked up at him. "I'm not falling for her feminine wiles." he voiced, and then looked at Yang, "Babelicious wiles." He then looked at Ruby.

"But?.." Ruby asked, "Googly eyes!"

"If you've been paying attention," Blake voiced, "he's been making googly eyes at all of us."

"He has?" Ruby asked, and Jaune sighed. He took another sip of his wine and handed it to Yang, whom leaned forward to put it on the coffee table.

"You can't seduce him," Nora stated.

"As he's already seduced." Ren added.

"Is that true?" Ruby asked him.

Jaune breathed in deeply before replying, "If I pick one of you, I'm hurting the other three." A pregnant pause followed, as they all traded deep looks between each other. "That's why it doesn't matter how much you seduce me; I can't hurt the rest of you." Another pregnant pause followed.

"I see what you said..." Oscar whispered to Qrow.

"They need to work this out on their own..." Qrow whispered back, "but I could use some more wine." he said, and stood up, walking over to Aurora.

"But!" Ruby shouted at him, "I - love - you!"

Yang quickly reached over to grab Jaune's hand. "Uh-un." Yang said to her, "No you don't, sis."

"We can't fight over him." Blake stated.

"Then," Ren added, "you will need to resolve this diplomatically."

"You guys are way too important to me," Jaune said to them, "to pick between you."

"Then?" Yang asked, "How about this? He doesn't pick."

Weiss immediately scoffed, Blake made no visible response at all, and Ruby just stared at her sister.

"But?.." Ruby asked, "If he doesn't pick, how do we know who won?!"

"You dolt." Weiss stated, and grabbed Ruby's hand. The two momentarily got lost in each other's eyes. "We'll all be winning." Weiss said to her.

"Wait, what?" Ruby asked.

"We'd be his concubines," Blake stated, "or handmaidens, or something."

Jaune looked around between the four. "I'm... not getting any objections?" he asked, and the four started looking between each other. He then looked to Weiss, "Ice Queen?"

"I thought I was your Snow Angel?" she asked.

"But wait, there's more," Yang said, and stood up, "by doing this, we get each other as well, and I have to say you girls give me a ladyboner. Weiss, I 100% see what Jaune sees in you, and Blake..." Yang said, and the two just locked eyes and stared.

"What about me?" Ruby asked, and Jaune reached forward, pulling her into his lap. He then wrapped his arms around her.

"How do you feel?" he whispered into her ear.

"I really don't know... I mean..."

"I've seen you kiss Weiss..." Jaune voiced, "How did it feel?"

"Like everything I thought it would..." she uttered.

"And how do you feel about Blake?" Jaune voiced.

"I don't know..." Ruby said as she looked at Blake, "I mean, Blake's always been really quiet... and cute... and adorable... and the ears... are even more adorable..."

"I know." Jaune said, which echoed about the dead-silent lounge.

"What about kissing Yang?" Nora asked. Ren reached around her and pulled her into a hug.

"Let's find out." Jaune said, and shifted Ruby to look towards her sister.

"What does that m..." Yang asked, but got lost in Jaune's eyes. Jaune grabbed her hand and pulled her towards them. He pulled Yang in and pushed Ruby towards her, and they stared into each other's eyes and they slowly moved together. When they reached each other the two kissed for a moment before pausing, and paused a moment before pulling away.

"What was that?" Ruby and Yang asked at the same time, still looking in each other's eyes.

* * *

Ren and Nora sat on a bed, looking into each other's eyes. "You are a Huntress," Ren soulfully said to her, "I am a Huntsman... do you know what this means?" he asked, and Nora could not reply, "It means I no longer have to hold back." He then gently leaned into Nora and gently kissed her on the lips.

[queerchoicesblog]

The Understudy

Hiya, folks! So, as previously announced, the wlw writing project continues after a break with a miniseries set back in Vienna, one of the iconic capitals of opera at the time of Mozart. An emerging singer gets the chance to be an understudy in the latest Mozart’s discussed opera Le Nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro), that  premiered at the Burgtheater in Vienna on 1 May 1786, w and play the pants role of the page Cherubino. Preparing for the role doesn’t quite go as planned… .

I took the liberty to add a few Italian words every now and there so here are all the useful translations that might come in handy as you read: cara (dear, female adjective), una meraviglia (a true wonder).

Tagging: @scottishqueer​

Previous wlw miniseries: Ancient Greece, Italian Renaissence, Belle Epoque Paris, Sixties.

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

____________________________

"So...will you do it?" The voice is calm just like the honeyed smile on her lips, but the look in the primadonna's eyes is unmistakable: the great Adriana Ferrarese can't wait to see me out of the door. She's a seasoned professional, she knows how to conceal her displease but I'm not dumb: a jewelled hand rested over Da Ponte's tight and eyes following every single move I make, every single breath I take, she's clearly conveying that my presence is no longer welcome here. It never was, I think: it surely wasn't her idea to invite me here today! Has she tried to dissuade the Maestro from summoning me, I wonder? I'm surprised she failed: you know what they say, feminine wiles can work miracles on men, make them change their minds like a vain girl changes clothes yet...here I am. And she's fuming underneath her well practiced poise. Poor Ferrarese, my blonde curls, my youth must be a threat to her especially in front of him. Ah, I knew that the rumours were true: she's the Italian operatic librettist's mistress! Cunning little devil...of course she gets all the best roles now. Before everyone else.

I join her game and pretend not to notice the subliminal messages she keeps throwing me. I fan myself nonchalantly, pondering the offer I've just received. I am a bit confused: I really don't know what to think of it or how to take it. "Let me get this straight, Maestro" I say, ignoring her and addressing Da Ponte. "You beg me to come here with great haste and ask me to be a last minute understudy for a...page role?" I may not be as famous as his mistress but it's an insult! True, my career hasn't reached its peak yet but I'm not the new girl desperate to get a role: I have adoring admirers throwing flowers and screaming my name whenever I walk into the stage after the grand finale. Who does he think he's talking to? He must understand my disappointment because he's quick to reassure me. "Miss Constanze, Cherubino is not a simple page" he smiles apologetically. "The whole opera revolves around the world of counts and servants, you know Herr Mozart is an innovator, an unconventional spirit...if I remember correctly, you have already worked with him" "Correct" I concede. I'm curious to see where this is going, how he will convince me to accept this. "Well, this new opera has already been a success and trust me: the people of Vienna won't tire of it anytime soon! And the role we kindly asked you to be an understudy for is the most loved by our audience, I assure you. Ask around if you don't believe me: those who attended the opera are head over heels for the Count's page, they recall his scenes, sing his arias underneath their breath...the audience is crazy for him! That's why we couldn't ask just anyone to replace the original singer, but only a refined, talented woman like you, Miss Konstanze" There's a note of pride in his voice. I must give him, it's not surprising that there servant or unconventional roles in Mozart's operas - in The Abduction from the Seraglio I played one of the harem girls - but by the brief description he gave me of the plot I cannot bring myself to understand how the audience can fall in love with a page who doesn't even have an aria for the whole third act and is constantly sidelined. It doesn't make sense: it's a recipe for oblivion to my ears. But he's right: the Wedding is the talk of the town so I should probably say yes anyway, even if no, I don't enjoy the idea of being sidelined. I mean, we all want to glow on stage and bask in the light and audience's adoration. We want their applauses meant for us alone, ringing in our ears when the curtains raise for one last blessed time, we want flowers thrown at us, we want glory. And I am not sure this Cherubino will be my ally on that front if there are two major romances in the main plot already. And even if the audience showed a liking for the page, well I must remember I am not the first singer so my performance will not avoid comparisons. The Maestro speaks again, derailing my line of thoughts. "You see, dear Miss Constanze, Cherubino is not a main character yet he is essential to the plot: without him the whole story wouldn't make sense! One could say that he bears the comedic side of the opera over his young shoulders and even if he doesn't get as many arias as other characters, oh, his are as sweet as cherries, una meraviglia! No wonder the audience loves him...and the restricted number of arias to study might help you prepare properly within such a short notice if you kindly offer your help-" "I would have prepared properly even if I had the double amount of arias within such a short notice, caro Maestro" I interrupt him, just in case he forgot who he is talking to, again. He bows his head, dramatically placing a hand on his heart in display of apology. "But of course, your outstanding professionalism is not questioned here, Miss. To prove it, let me tell you that Herr Mozart was particularly happy when I suggested your name for poor Dorotea's understudy". His mistress' smile is now so tight I have to summon every ounce of professionalism to refrain myself from bursting into a loud insolent laughter. "That's incredibly kind of you, Maestro: I really don't know how to thank you" I purr instead, unable to resist: how could I miss a chance to tease - and piss off! - the primadonna? La Ferrarese throws me a side look I will never forget: I wonder if she has a dagger hidden underneath her skirt and will chase me in the streets in the heat of jealousy when I turn my back at her. Sounds like a scene out of one of those Italian operas, I consider, amused. Do Italians do that offstage too? She only has to dare though: I am younger than her and I have claws too. "Say yes then, Miss" he proposes, radiant. "If you ask me, Herr Mozart thinks you are the best choice and the perfect Cherubino. Say yes, cara Constanze". His face is an expectant plea and I have a feeling that if his mistress wasn't here, he would be begging me on his knees to accept this role. Honestly, I don't know what to make of Herr Mozart's comment about me being just "perfect" to pass for a boy...am I not feminine enough for him in my skirts, tight corset and jewellery a wealthy admirer keeps giving? Whatever. That man is a genius maybe but he's certainly a weirdo. But I think I should accept: it's not the most flattering offer but no one reached the top without taking an understudy role at least once. And so here I am, a week later, in the room of one of Da Ponte's personal friends and composer to help me prepare for the new performance. I don't have much time, not even a month, but his flattery won me. I can do this. I must admit that I'm secretly happy to know that Herr Mozart won't direct the new revivals: he's a brilliant composer and musician but I still remember his wandering hands. I don't think any woman who worked with him - or simply has been around him for more than a bunch of minutes, I wager - got away without a pinch or a breast squeeze. I fail to understand why so many girls fall madly in love with him or at least confess they can't resist his charm. Even his wife still giggle like a child and melt in front of his "Wolfie", despite his endless and well known - and rather squalid, if you ask me - affairs! I mean, not that this Melchiorri is any different: by the so very discreet looks he keeps throwing at my décolleté or by the way his hands linger a bit too much on my hips when he insists to fix my posture, I bet he wouldn't mind me as his mistress. Another lecherous wop, excellent. I've been around so many by now that I know them by heart: honeyed words, usually blabs a lot in a dreamy voice of how they miss Venice or whatever dear hometown they come from and how much you remind them of this or that flower or woman of their childhood. Too many compliments, strong accent hoping you would fall for their exoticism, fine clothing. Just like Mr. Melchiorri. He's from Milan and is a close friend of Salieri. Sometimes I cannot help but wonder if we let too many Italians here in Vienna: sadly, so far they rule the world of the opera and our Emperor is head over heels for them. Ah, better not tell the Empress> she might throw ond hell of a jealousy tantrum! Melchiorri is very gallant, almost regal even if he loses his composure when he speaks of music. He often asks to excuse his passionate temperament with an apologetic smile but I can't shake my mind that this is just a subtle hint to another passionate temperament he would die to show me if the lingering stares he gives me, mesmerised, as I bite the Italian delights he has ready for me - "delivered directly for you, mia cara, from Italy" - every time I visit him for our private sessions are any indication. They're chestnut chocolate truffles with a pinch of brandy, I wager, covered in withe chocolate with a ruby cherry on top. They're called "capezzoli di Venere", that is nipples of Venus, he revealed one day, a mischievous smile on his face: he was probably hoping to shock me or see me blush profusely. Instead, I barked out a laughter and took a generous bite. I regretted it when he bit his lip clearly refraining himself for making another move. But at least he's a good teacher, I make progresses fast. I've been around too many Melchiorris and Herr Mozarts to be bothered. I mean, obviously I'm bothered that most men thinks we opera singers are just harlots in fancier dresses when we broke our backs studying languages, music and singing hard since a very early age. We didn't sacrifice the best years of our lives only to be mistaken for mannequins with a melodious voice when we sing the arias they wrote. But that's what it is and I must focus now. And it's so difficult at times with men like these. Just like when one day the door of his studio slams open out of the blue while I'm rehearsing an aria and a little boy of three, four years maybe runs inside laughing. He's visibly proud of evading whoever was asked to look after him. True to his "passionate temperament", Melchiorri is suddenly furious. He barely looks at the child and shouts out the name of the unfortunate servant before profusely apologise to me. A terrified young maid comes running and soon chaos takes hold of the room: Melchiorri alternates between tight apologetic smiles in my direction and not so gallant curses he thinks I do not understand to the the poor maid who chases the cheeky little boy with great effort but little success. I must admit it's rather amusing even if I'm wasting my time. Suddenly I have an idea. When finally the maestro shuts up to catch breath, I sing an impromptu elaborate thrill at full voice. The little boy freezes and turns towards in awe while the maid wraps her arms around him: caught! Melchiorri needs a moment to process what happened while the girl flashes me a quick, grateful smile. "There, emergency solved" I announce, beaming. "Can we proceed now, Maestro?"

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Married to the Mob

AU-gust Day Twelve: Crime AU Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pairing: Golden Lace

Rated: T

Summary: Crime boss Gold and his moll Lacey celebrate a successful operation against a rival, and Lacey questions where their relationship is going.

Married to the Mob

Everyone knew that Gold was the most dangerous man in Storybrooke. No one knew it more than Lacey, although Lacey was probably the only person in town who wasn’t downright terrified of the man. No, she knew that he was dangerous, but she also knew that she was in no danger at all, and in fact, she was probably one of the safest people around.

There were crime families, and then there was Gold. He wasn’t a one-man operation by any stretch of the imagination, but not having an extended network of relations to have to manage and prevent infighting between, he was certainly the most successful boss in his line of work. Everyone in Storybrooke knew not to cross Gold, and everyone knew that a sure-fire way to cross Gold was to threaten his girl in any way.

Lacey was that girl.

She’d come onto Gold’s radar a few years ago, just a petty thief picking pockets here and there, hanging out in the Rabbit Hole hustling pool and lifting wallets from unsuspecting patrons. She’d recognised Gold in there, of course, and she’d known better than to try him. She had felt his eyes on her all evening, watching her work, and she had wondered which of the men in the bar were his. Was she better off avoiding them or not?

As it turned out, she’d already cleaned out a couple of his guys the previous night, and Gold had come to see the little hustler in action for himself.

She’d be lying if she said that she hadn’t been nervous when he’d called her over, but Lacey was nothing if not full of bravado, and she’d gone over as happy and cocksure as if he’d been any other joe off the street.

“Fancy a game, Mr Gold?”

He’d declined, and instead offered to put her on his payroll. Someone like her was useful to have around, to get things that his usual muscle could not. She’d joked about him needing her feminine wiles, and he’d bought her a drink, and everything had gone from there, really. It had gone from working together to sleeping together in fairly short order afterwards, and it had remained that way ever since.

All the same, Lacey couldn’t help but wonder where the whole thing was going. Where did they stand? What would happen if they were to break up, would she have a massive target on her head, not only from Gold, who knew that she knew far too much about his operation, but from everyone else who’d ever held a grudge against her and now couldn’t touch her because she was under Gold’s protection?

Gold was in his office. He spent most of his time in there; he had enough people to send out into the field to carry out his meticulously planned jobs for him, Lacey included, and he preferred to mastermind his empire from a distance. Plausible deniability was a great asset; the exasperated investigators had never yet been able to make anything stick against him, but he always bailed out any of his underlings who had the misfortune to get themselves caught. They might not work for him again, but their loyalty was always rewarded.

Dove was in there with him. Of all of Gold’s enforcers, the near-silent Dove was definitely the most trusted. Lacey couldn’t tell if this was because of his quietness or if his quietness was a result of that trust. Although huge and intimidating, Dove was the very picture of discretion and was always respectful to Lacey, even when, like now, she ended up barging in on his private meetings with Gold.

He gave her a nod as he left the room, closing the door behind him, and Lacey hung around in the middle of the room, not quite sure where she ought to go from here. The usual bravado that accompanied all her interactions with everyone in Gold’s operation, himself included, had deserted her in his presence. It had been doing that an awful lot lately, and this vulnerability was beginning to get on her nerves. She really needed to know where she stood with Gold. If their relationship was heading in the direction that she thought it was, then she would allow that vulnerability. If it was not, then it was time to toughen up, strengthen her exterior and not let Gold know just how weak she was for him. Gold did not appreciate weakness, not in their line of work where everyone had to be on their toes all the time. That was one of the secrets of his enduring success – he never let his guard down, and he never let anyone get complacent.

“Hello, Lacey.” His smile on seeing her was genuine, not the sneer that he presented to the world so often in his dealings with it. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“No reason.” Lacey shrugged, trying to keep things nonchalant. She made her way over the desk, perching on the edge of it. “What were you and Dove discussing? Or is it top secret?”

“It’ll be common knowledge soon enough.” Gold opened his bottom desk drawer, taking out a bottle of Scotch and two tumblers. “In fact, it’s cause for celebration.” He poured a generous measure into each glass and handed Lacey one, chinking his to hers. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Lacey took a sip of the warming liquor. She had to admit that hugely increased alcohol quality had been a deciding factor in accepting a position within Gold’s organisation. Most of the moonshine she could get at the Rabbit Hole was barely drinkable. Gold had enough connections to get premium-aged Scottish whisky imported. “What are we toasting to?”

“The soon-to-be announced demise of Zelena West’s money-laundering scheme.”

Lacey raised an eyebrow and raised her glass. “I’ll definitely toast to that. Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

Zelena had been persistent thorn in Gold’s side for months, and his and Dove’s hard work in getting her out of town had finally paid off. A large and very selfish part of Lacey hoped that, with Zelena out of the way and no longer occupying any of Gold’s time or thoughts, he would have more time for her now. She didn’t feel any guilt at this hope. Crime was a selfish business, after all. Even those who robbed the rich to feed the poor would be lying if they didn’t feel a certain perverse satisfaction at undermining authority. For Lacey, who had skirted authority all her life and always felt stifled by it, it was easy to admit how much she enjoyed that aspect of her lifestyle.

Whisky drunk, Lacey slipped off the edge of the desk, coming around it to settle on the edge of Gold’s chair and then slide down into his lap. He looked down at her as she swung her legs in the air.

“You’re worse than a lap cat for wanting attention, you know.”

“Ah, but you love me for it really, and you know that I’m so much more fun than a lap cat.” Lacey tugged his tie free of his waistcoat, pulling on the end and giving a pitiful meow. Gold laughed.

“You do have a point there, Kitten.”

He pulled her in for a kiss, long and possessive, and Lacey slipped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. They were just as desperate and needy as each other, in their own ways.  

Lacey sighed as she pulled away. When it was just the two of them like this, it was easy to think that everything was well in the world and that they were the only two people that mattered, and they were the only two things that they cared about. It was easy to forget everything else, even their subtle and precarious position in the underworld hierarchy that could be toppled at the slightest provocation – just a single botched job or one disgruntled former associate.

“Is everything all right, Kitten?” When she didn’t respond, Gold pressed her. “Lacey? What’s that sigh for? I thought that we were celebrating.”

Lacey decided that the easiest thing to do would just be to come out and say it. Best to deal with the consequences head on rather than letting them fester, leaving them as a secret that might come out some other way in some other, less favourable circumstances.

“What are we doing here, Gold?” she asked. “What is this thing between us?”

“What do you mean?” His voice was quiet, but it was not the icy, dangerous quiet that Lacey knew and had come to associate with bloodshed, the quiet that came out when dealing with people like Zelena West. This was a different quiet, a reverent and respectful quiet. This was a question that he genuinely wanted to know the answer to.

“I mean, is this just a bit of fun? Something to pass the time for us both? Or is it something… More? Is…” Lacey took a deep breath and pressed on. “Is it love?”

Love was a dangerous word in their underworld. Deep attachments could prove fatal. Gold already knew that, and Lacey had learned it from her association with him.

“What do you think it is?” Gold asked. This deference and indecision was a new look on him; Lacey had never seen him be anything but completely sure of himself. This nervousness was new, and despite it being strange to her, and strange to think of Gold in such a state having known him so intimately for as long as she had, it gave Lacey hope, because she was feeling the exact same nerves herself.

“I know what I’d like it to be. But I also know that’s a difficult and dangerous path to go down, and it would paint a target on my back as much as it would protect me.” She paused. “I love you. And if you don’t love me back then that’s ok. I can live with that. It was fun whilst it lasted, but I know all about getting in too deep, I know…”

Gold pressed a finger to her lips to silence her, then removed it and kissed her again.

“I love you too,” he said. “In fact, the news of Zelena’s imminent downfall was only incidental to the real reason why Dove was here tonight.”

He reached into his inside jacket pocket, and Lacey could have sworn that her heart stopped as he pulled out a small velvet box.

“I was going to wait a while. I wanted to be sure of your feelings before I said anything; I didn’t want you to feel obligated in any way. There’s still no obligation even now, but after what you said this evening, I have more confidence in asking. Will you marry me, Lacey?”

A small part of Lacey couldn’t believe it. Until their paths had collided, she and Gold had occupied very different social strata. He was completely out of her league, and they both knew it. Well, she had always thought that he was completely out of her league, until tonight, when he had told her that he loved her and proposed marriage.

“Are you serious?” she asked.

“As the grave.”

She batted his arm. “Don’t joke about things like that. Not in your line of work.”

“Sorry. Poor taste. But I am serious. I love you, and I want to marry you.”

Lacey looked at the ring; it must have cost more than she’d ever known in her lifetime. If she accepted it, then things would definitely change. They would both be more vulnerable, but they would be stronger together as well, far stronger than they were apart.

She nodded. “Yes. Yes, I want to marry you.”

[eturni]

Day 30 - Resolution

I’m behind again because D&D took my whole life and I only got this half done by the time I absolutely Had to sleep. For @drawlight’s advent calender prompt list https://drawlight.tumblr.com/post/188869931294/aziraphale-crowley-for-half-an-hour-youve-been and today (yesterday) is/was resolution.

It was absolutely supposed to be increasingly drunk, silly resolutions in the style that a couple of my friends did one year and then it took a hard lean into angst and pining? Suppose that’s what happens when two immortal beings can’t resolve to reach for what they truly want. Enjoy!

It was the second year of the Julian Calendar, Caesar was dead, Rome had devolved into civil war, and an angel and a demon were holed up in a small home with mistletoe tucked into the bottom corner of the window.

For months it had become a safe, neutral, space for the both of them as they monitored the fallout from the assassination and the progression of both the civil wars and little Octavius’ rise. Not a continually shared space, naturally. Each of them had their own quarters in entirely different areas of the empire and each of them had wildly different assignments in the aftermath.

What they also had was a central location where they had met, respectably rarely, to bitch, gripe, moan, and (on one very memorable occasion for Crowley) have what was worryingly close to a full human panic attack.

Aziraphale had of course protested heavily at the initial suggestion and yet by the time Junius was ending Crowley often found the angel at the little house before he turned up; often with a decent wine already unstoppered. It took a little of the edge off of ridiculous orders that had no regard or understanding of how the humans actually operated. They wasted (never wasted, not truly) nights with incredulous stories of their bosses and hyperbole about the good or evil they had seen in those humans they came close to.

The truce had still been tentative, it always was between the both of them. Crowley’s natural urge was to push against boundaries; to wheedle and tempt, where Aziraphale’s fall back was to the comfort of the party line and words that someone else had given him. Crowley always felt it was a shame that Aziraphale hoarded libraries around him and collected all the world’s poetry into his heart and yet, when push came to shove, what came out was always the silted practised words that the archangels had handed down.

Saturnalia that year had helped to change that. The mistletoe in the window declared something that wasn’t quite yet their side but still somehow took a sense of friction away from the space that neither had been truly aware of until it was suddenly gone.

Continue reading on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638803/chapters/52627138 or:

Crowley arranged to have more work to do nearer Rome specifically and spent increasing amounts of time there for more than just shop talk. Aziraphale even returned one day to find that the demon had made himself a bed and was sleeping soundly in a blocked off corner. He was adamant that the demon would never find out how long he had stood there transfixed by both the sight and the whirl of complex emotions it had stirred up like a dust cloud with a good cleaning.

The place became almost like a home with the amount that the two of them frequented it. Not that it could be such a thing when it was a shared space. It was merely a neutral ground and both of them regularly reminded themselves of the fact, just to be sure.

Saturnalia passed with a surprising amount of fanfare. Some of the fighting lulled around the time and tentative celebrations kicked up right across the empire. A certain angel and demon used the tradition of role reversal to pretend to be human for a couple of days.

They were heading for Januarius and Crowley checked almost daily that the sprig was still there and that the peace between them wasn’t ending. In Hell it was always Too Late. As a demon you got used to it, though a mortal soul never could, but this in between uncertainty was somehow worse than the perpetual looming sense of having already lost.

This was living on borrowed time.

It was waking up in that house and knowing that the angel was somewhere nearby and knowing that it couldn’t be that way for much longer. Knowing that he would likely get no say in when that ended, or how, because he could never dare bring it up himself in fear of hurrying that inevitable end to the strange peace they had found amidst the chaos.

There was even the chance that it would be broken by someone from either of their sides turning up in the city. Even with the relative ease between the two of them it was a risk that consistently played at the back of both of their minds.

By the time the sun set on the eve of the new year Crowley was in the very nice loose-but-lucid state of drunkenness that allowed him to think a little bit less about the contingencies he wound into his life and plans. Somewhere far off pockets of civil unrest were still burning hotly and formed bright spots of potential temptation on Crowley’s radar that he shrugged off in favour of the warmth of Aziraphale’s company.

“Y’know, if you think about it. If you considered everything you did, and everything I did, and all this mess… We’d have been just as well not bothering at all really. All the bad, or good, it really did in the end.” Crowley mused, well into the second of the amphorae and desperately close to the beginnings of an idea that he would later claim a spark of genius.

Aziraphale tutted and rolled his eyes at this. “The whole point is that I guide and thwart your wiles and the humans get to make their decisions. It’s all terribly important for the great plan.”

Granted the plan was a little fuzzy after the amount of drink he’d taken but Aziraphale wasn’t about to admit to that particular point.

“Yeah; and they’re trying to make choices for the whole year right now. Future they don’t know if they’ll live to see,” Crowley flopped down onto the bench around their table, perilously close to Aziraphale’s lap, and looked up to the other thoughtfully. “What would you resolve to do?”

What in Heaven’s name do you mean Crowley?” Aziraphale wiggled a little uncomfortably, tips of his ears warming at the too-familiar nearness of the demon.

“Well, this whole thing’s about Janus, right? You look back, you look forward, and you decide what you want to do. We should do it too. What do you want to change next year?” He presses, getting up for just long enough to top up both of their cups before going boneless again.

“Well there’s hardly a point to that. I’ll have my orders I imagine, as will you. What could I even want to change?”

“C’mon though angel, really think about it.”

“I hardly see the point. I follow Janus no more than I follow Saturn. There isn’t any point in this little game for me.”

“I mean I don’t either you daft sod. I know what’s actually there, you don’t just forget that,” he rolled his eyes expressively behind small dark glasses “but it’s a bit of fun isn’t it? Think about all the stuff that happened year before and then decide what you’re gonna do… different.”

“You mean what you’re going to do better?” Aziraphale arched a brow.

Crowley scowled and waved off the idea with one hand while pouring more from the amphora with the other. “S’all relative angel. What’s better for them’s sure to be looked down on by your lot.”

“Well, they’re still trying to improve and that’s admirable.” Aziraphale huffed through his nose.

Crowley only grinned. “Well if you like it so much why don’ you join in?” He needled, a smug little bob of his head punctuating the sip of wine he took.

Aziraphale looked down into his cup with a tight-lined mouth, studying it too closely. “There’s nothing I could want to change.” He said, with all the intensity that he usually did when he wanted to convince himself more than anything.

“Bullshit,” Crowley declared with a grin “I’ll start us off. I’m resolving to try more new stuff than just wine next year. There’s a lot more they can make alcoholic with the right push.”

There was another sigh and a tut but Aziraphale seemed to relax incrementally and Crowley took it as a win. “I think I shall resolve to put up with fewer of your shenanigans.”

“I think you should resolve to put up with less archangel bullshit.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale made a good show of looking scandalised as he sipped his drink. “I think you should resolve to learn how legs work finally.”

Crowley looked at him, mouth falling just slightly open in a way that just shouldn’t be so alluring. The demon looked somewhere between shocked and appreciative. “I’ll get right on that angel; just as soon as you learn how to dress in the right century.”

“Well it’s certainly not something I feel the need to resolve to do.”

They both took another few decent drinks before Crowley piped up again sullenly. “I’d like to resolve to tempt someone who wasn’t going to do something more horrific than anything I suggested.”

Aziraphale hummed distractedly. Some humans did feel like uphill battles at times. “I think I’ll resolve to be a little more active in thwarting those wiles of yours. You do seem to find the ones that do serious harm and I often let you go centuries without dealing with you.”

Crowley very carefully stopped breathing for a few moments to process the words, wondering exactly how bad it was that the resolution sounded appealing to him more than anything else.

“If I’m going to have my own personal angel thwarting me I suppose I’ll have to try a little harder at the tempting. Wouldn’t want you t get bored, angel.”

“I’m sure I won’t with your mischief.” Aziraphale declared, again with more concentration than should be needed going into his disapproving look. “Anyway. It’s almost the new year and I am famished; what say we eat?” He suggested, more for something to do to deflect whatever was happening. A miracle provided them any food that they would need and Crowley, thankfully, backed off for the moment.

By the time they were done with the meal and through another couple of amphorae Aziraphale was feeling far too relaxed and Crowley had, at some point, ended up almost on his chest as they reclined on the bench. He was absently passing up the occasional grape to Aziraphale as they chatted about nothing that made any sense.

Aziraphale was expounding on how hippopotamuses leading chariots would be both terrifying and awe-inspiring when he realised that Crowley had gone quieter than usual. He looked down, half expecting the demon to be asleep but instead finding him staring into his own cup intently, lips moving but voice too quiet to be heard over Aziraphale’s own excited musings.

Now that things were quieter he could hear the faintest murmurs of some of it. “Could resolve to listen to you like this forever. C’n’a resi-seso-thing even be to wile where you are? Resolve to watch you smile more. Make you smile more. Blessed idiot.”

The angel picked up speaking again, trying to pretend he’d never stopped at all, and eventually suggested that Crowley actually go to sleep while he tidied the mess.

Aziraphale knew the exact brand of coward that he was but the moment Crowley was asleep he used the opportunity to slip out of the home and take the sprig of mistletoe with him. His heart thundered and stomach churned the entire time with the feeling that he was doing something wrong. Still, he knew the only truly wrong thing could be in going along with whatever it was that stirred in him whenever Crowley was near.

He resolved, if anything, to be stronger against this thing in his chest that he could not feel for a demon. He didn’t see Crowley again until he was helplessly watching a young man from Galilee be put to death for nothing more than human kindness and a demon provided the only compassion that Aziraphale saw. Every moment between them ground down against a resolution that Aziraphale was increasingly uncertain he ever wanted to make.

[nomadicbug]

Prompt II: Bargain

- Word Count: 1372.  - AU/Canon Divergence He should be, for all intents and purposes, dead. Yet here he lingered, a shade, bound to her aether, to her will, unable to be more than a few yalms away at any given time. He could see her. Speak to her. Touching was… well, touch and go. Sometimes a yes, sometimes a no.

Emet-Selch currently fluctuated between the living and the dead.

There were benefits to this, of course. For a start, he actually liked Celeste's presence, and enjoyed his newfound invisibility, his newfound ability to speak to Celeste, and only Celeste, without being heard by anyone else. That he kept his ability to just float about and observe, too, was nice, in spite of certain spatial inconveniences. As with anything, there was another side to it. He was starving for a start, only able to eat on the rare occasions the stars and planets aligned and the moon was blue and there happened to be food around at the time. Sleep was tricky; he could sleep on the floor - uncomfortable and cold as it was, occasionally he was able to doze on Celeste's bed for brief periods of time before phasing through, but he was never comfortable. He couldn't just sleep like he used to. He could perhaps try sleeping on her, but he doubted that particular avenue would pan out.

That aside, had he been alone in this, he probably would've gone mad about three weeks ago. For her part, the Hero was ever so intent on getting him a corporeal form and had decided that his many clones in the heart of Garlemald were the best way to go about it. Her reasoning was sound; he was likely too weak to possess a body or create a new one. What startled him more was that she was willing to go to this trouble to begin with; it would be simpler for both of them if he just faded.

He stopped that train of thought with a sigh. He didn't really have much of a choice but to go along with her. It was his own fault he was bound to her anyway. Something had gone awry when bequeathing her the shade of Amaurot (a conclusion she, too, had come to). Why he had decided to do such a sentimental, tricky incantation on the brink of death was beyond him - it had saved his life when he’d hoped to die.

In short, Emet-Selch couldn't decide whether to be happy or frustrated and so settled for both. He watched her go about the markets - from the Crystarium, to Eulmore, to markets on the Source, over the past several weeks. She was back in the Crystarium now, disappointed and annoyed. It would be so much simpler if she could just create whatever it was she was after, but even though she was regaining her memories of Amaurot, her creation magic was barely there. It would come to her, in time, but it seemed time was not something either of them had.

He finally spoke, after spending the better part of the past two days silent and grumpy. "What are you searching for, Hero?"

She glanced in his direction with a frown and slowed her pace so he walked next to her. "A weapon." Her voice was not only a low whisper but in the language of the Ancients, something he had discovered she'd just inherently known before she was an adventurer. It was likely a means to keep from looking suspicious in the crowd, but in Emet-Selch’s opinion, it did the opposite.  

Still, it really was painfully obvious what she was - who she was, who she had been. How this had been kept from the Scions was anyone's guess. "If you can't create one, have one created for you." He grumbled, having no choice but to follow her into some dark corner of the marketplace.

Once she was out of the main thoroughfare and on her own, she folded her arms, leaning back against the wall. "The greatsword I broke fighting you was one of a kind. A gift from a dear friend. It took months to be forged."

"I don't have that kind of patience." He spoke through clenched teeth and pursed lips. He wasn't insane yet, but by gods, he was at his wit's end. He so loathed teleporting and actually having to walk about.

"I know. If I have to infiltrate Garlemald without a weapon, I will. But I'd rather not if it's all the same to you." She shook her head, her brow furrowed. Despite the excess light being driven from her thanks to their battle, she still wore the scars. Hair that looked as though it had been dipped in pure aether, scales that were once cream were now a brilliant white - signs that would be forever etched into his mind.

He drooped, and put a hand on his hip, shaking his head. He'd grown attached to his charge - again. He racked his brain for thought, for anything that could help, and finally came up with something. His lips curled, and he suddenly felt a lot more in control than he had in recent memory.

"I might know somewhere you could find a sword. Expertly crafted, of course." He moved to lean on the wall next to her, almost able to feel the heat radiating off her. Almost. Maddening.

She had a look of dubiousness. "And you want something in exchange for this information?"

"Quite." He levelled her with a flat stare. "Stop dragging me between the Source and the First. Pick one. Interdimensional travel is terribly uncomfortable at the best of times, let alone now."

She laughed. Quiet, true, her face contorting in amusement. The last time he had seen her so mirthful was well before the fall of Amaurot. He found it comforting, not that he'd ever admit it aloud.

"Very well. Once I have my sword, I'll return to the Source and stay until I've secured you a body." She spoke between chuckles.

"Good." Emet-Selch ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head to get some of the stray strands out of his face. He certainly wasn't fidgeting.

She was so damn insistent that she'd get him a body. Part of him wanted to fade, the other, larger part wanted her to succeed. His ties to Zodiark had been severed, and he was free to do and feel what he damn well pleased without the Elder Primal pushing back or amplifying the effects.

That, and it seemed like Celeste wanted his help trying to stem the tides of a Garlemald run by his sociopathic great-grandson. Which would be, frankly, a pain, particularly with what was no doubt Elidibus' intervention, and the fact that he as Solus was dead, but he could spin something to make it work. He always did.

Once he realised she had yet to move, his attention returned to her, finding her leaning forward and staring at him. Her gaze was inquisitive, piercing, as though seeing right through him, leaving him exposed and at her mercy. She probably could just banish him, if she were so inclined. She could have done the job properly in the first place, but even then he knew she wouldn't. She couldn't. It had been a cruel thing to force her hand as he did - as they had done. One that would sit heavy with him for an eternity. He had gotten what he wanted; her memories were returning, but somehow the thought was cold comfort.

"What? It's rude to stare, you know." He hid his discomfort beneath wit and wile, as he always did.

"Are you growing senile in your old age, Hades?" She asked, all smirk and play, her hands linked behind her back.

He really was drawing a blank, such as he did when his thoughts had sojourned so far off track. And calling him by his true name was ever an intimate thing, which was certainly not helping in the slightest. He settled for a cold glare, as hard as he could muster.

"The location of this sword of yours. You've yet to tell me." She tutted, straightening and leaning back against the wall.

Right. "Akadaemia Anyder." -- @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast - Prompt #2: Bargain

[slasherparty]

Can I get killers (your pick) with a scientist s/o???? :0

OH I LIKE THIS!!! very unique prompt thank you!! the killers i’m picking for this are: leatherface (bubba), jason, harry warden, brahms, and pinhead! (i might also give them each different types of scientist if that’s okay…)

leatherface x (botanist) s/o:

bubba hasn’t had any formal education really, so whenever you talk about scientific subjects he’s very intimidated. you almost always have to rephrase your sentences if he’s listening while you talk about your expertise. 

you try and teach him some different topics, mostly beginner. he’s receptive, even if his focus isn’t the greatest. he appreciates your patience whenever he has a question or doesn’t understand certain things.

expect that you’ll have to repeat a lot of what you say. repetition is the key to learning, but its amplified with bubba.

he likes to demonstrate what he’s learned by pointing things out around his family. they pretend to be impressed at first since its just basic stuff, but begin to really be impressed when bubba starts to learn things they have no idea about. how’d he learn all the steps it takes for a flower to bloom? 

bubba loves sunflowers. they’re his favorite. he wants to know why they get so tall and what makes them love the sun so much.

jason voorhees x (astronomer) s/o:

jason is most active at night. for a long time, his only company during this time were the stars that hung above the dense forestry of camp crystal lake. they’re always very clear to see thanks to the lack of light pollution. 

he’s overjoyed whenever you point out a constellation to him. whether its new or one he’s known for awhile, the information you have on each captures his full attention every time. 

though you have a lot to say about the science behind stars, you know jason enjoys the mythology surrounding them much more. they’re like bedtime stories to him. 

sometimes he’ll take you up to the hilly part of the woods surrounding the lake so you can both be closer to the sky, no distractions in sight. you lie back next to him and tell him how people in ancient times charted stars. these little history lessons would bore just about anyone else but jason is captivated.

you dabble in astrology as well. you love explaining different zodiac charts to jason and the significance surrounding a person’s birth date. 

jason was born on june 13th, so that makes him a gemini. you hold back the smirk on your face when you think about all the zodiac memes you’ve seen about his sign. you think gemini rather fits him, all jokes aside.

harry warden x (engineer) s/o:

harry is often very curious about the things you work on. you don’t mind him hanging over your shoulder while you wile away at various machines, putting pieces together and working your math out on multiple pieces of scrap paper. 

he knows a few tools and tricks of the engineer trade from his experience as a miner. granted, he’s more of a grunt worker and employs physical work more than mental, but you enjoy it when he demonstrates his knowledge. 

harry’s mask intrigues you! it’s a very old model, so you ask about it a lot. he doesn’t really understand why until one day you offer to make some modifications to it. he’s hesitant, not knowing what you’re thinking of changing about such an integral part of his wardrobe, but once you explain you only want to make it more accessible he relents. 

mask mods!!! you fix his mask up a bit, repairing damages and whatnot. you ask for permission to replace the outer tube with a less cumbersome one, but he adamantly refuses. instead, you focus on making the airway clearer and buff out scratches on the plastic eye panes. though it isn’t a part of his mask, you replace the bulb in his headlamp for good measure.

one day you decide to mess around with a mask of your own and build one almost similar to his, if only less weathered and dated. he finds you wearing it and is almost alarmed until he realizes its you under the mask. you don’t wear it often afterwards, but it always gives him a good laugh when you put it on and imitate him with it. 

brahms heelshire x (psychologist) s/o:

being a licensed psychologist certainly gave you a leg up in your side hustle as a sitter. you specialized in child psychology, of course, and knew how to handle children very well. the heelshire’s situation was very interesting to you from the beginning, which is why you took it in stride and didn’t turn the job down when they presented their ‘son’ to you. you could understand their plight from a psychological point of view. 

however, meeting the true brahms presented a case unlike any your years in school could prepare you for. because of your experience with crisis management, you aren’t outwardly phased. as always you remain calm in the face of a threatening situation.

brahms is very perplexed when you don’t so much as whimper upon his unveiling. he was prepared for any amount of distress, but this? what the hell was wrong with you?

you speak to him kindly like you would any of your patients. brahms of course isn’t a patient and you don’t wish to treat him as such without his consent, but you can tell he needs to be handled with strategy before mutual trust can be established. 

after the initial meeting, you are quick to return to a regular everyday schedule. routines ensure stability and you are eager to return to normality as quick as possible.

brahms is hesitant at first, thinking you must be hiding your fear to try and get him to take his guard down. after a week passes without so much as an attempt at escape, brahms settles. 

you let this stasis reinforce brahms and take your time in trying to really communicate with him. you take note of how he usually speaks to you in the voice of a child; the voice he had before he became a recluse. 

when he gets angry or frustrated is when his real voice shows, or rather the secondary voice he uses without a filter. if you purposefully provoke him sometimes just to hear it, that’s your secret. 

brahms doesn’t mind talking with you about his thoughts and feelings, but he is a bit suspicious about why you want to know so bad. he doesn’t give you any response unless you share things about yourself as well, and you oblige after being given the silent treatment on multiple occasions.

pinhead x (sociologist) s/o: 

as a student of anthropology and sociology, you have extensive knowledge of human nature. you often take an aloof stance when talking about such things. despite being human yourself, when you discuss the history of them you sound not unlike an alien looking down upon humanity through a magnifying glass.

pinhead used to find this part of you hypocritical, but now he finds it rather appealing. he knows you realize the irony of your detached intelligence when it comes to your fellow humans, but the fact that you continue to do so despite this is refreshing. he hates when people second guess themselves over simple matters like that. 

he often asks about current cultural conventions and you indulge him with the things you’ve learned. he likes to hear your opinions on religion and ethics most of all. 

being a sociologist also means studying general attitudes about a plethora of different socially involved issues. when talking about the ethics and relationships between humans and sex, pinhead’s curiosity is caught. 

this particular topic is something he ends up discussing a lot with you. he likes to hear what you have to say about sexual dynamics and how bedroom morality greatly differs from what people entertain in their day to day life. you get heated when discussing how preachy humans are about sex but then abandon that logic when ecstasy is proffered to them; how most humans are hypocritical and self-serving in the context of sexual situations. he’s always found this fact very humorous and he’s happy someone finally sympathizes with him. 

(i drafted jason being with a biologist before i decided on giving him an astronomer, so here’s that too if anyone is interested! yay bonus jason content 💛💛)

jason voorhees x (biologist) s/o:

you try very hard not to treat jason like an experiment. lord knows he’s spent enough of his life (and afterlife) being treated as subhuman. however, being an avid fan of the human body, you can’t help yourself when you go a little overboard while inspecting him.

contrary to your beliefs, jason finds it endearing how curious you are about him. he’s glad his biology doesn’t scare you and indulges your study of him when he’s not brooding or off on the hunt for campers.

though jason is your favorite subject, you enjoy animal biology as well. jason often comes home to find you studying small animals and bugs you manage to trap using various tools around the cabin. you always release them afterwards so your animal-loving boyfriend doesn’t fret.

jason will find you as many empty journals as he can, not that the campers ever leave many of this type of belonging behind. they almost always have something else on their mind, but thankfully a few have spare paper and supplies in their packs. you insist you have enough journals of your own, but he doesn’t stop. you end up using the ones he brings you more than your own anyway because you don’t want jason’s efforts to be vain.

sometimes he manages to find cute stationary for you to use, including but not limited to: erasers shaped like food and animals, glitter pens, sticky notes with patterned borders, and on the rare occasion highlighters.

jason has spent a lot of time in the wilderness but he doesn’t have any reference or ways to name the things he’s learned. you help him connect the dots. he becomes more enthusiastic during daytime walks when you tag along to help him put labels to different plants and animals.

[three-houses-text-files]

ferdinand/hilda

c-a support + paired ending

c

Hilda: It just never ends... Oh! Ferdinand! Ferdinand: Hilda! Do you need something? H: I just have a tiny favor to ask. F: I apologize, but I must graciously decline. H: You didn't even let me say what it was! F: I can proffer a guess. F: Instead of relying on others, why not try doing something on your own? F: Nobles should not be lazy or idle. We should accomplish our goals through earnest effort. H: Easy for you to say! You're the very model of a diligent noble. H: Always contemplating the noblest course of action, never stopping to take a break... H: Your chore today was repairing the weapons, right? There are so many weapons here, and yet you're already done. That's pretty impressive. F: It was nothing! Anyone could have done the same. H: I don't think so! I certainly couldn't. F: I do not believe that to be true. H: Look at me. I'm supposed to be organizing these library supplies, but I have no idea where to start. F: What could be difficult about such a task? You simply line them up and count them. H: There are too many! Maybe it doesn't seem difficult to you, but that's just because you're so clever. F: Granted, there might be some creative approaches to completing the task... H: Oh? Please, enlighten me! F: Hm, I can point you in the right direction. To start, divide them up by size. H: Right, right. I'm with you so far. And then what? F: Now, put similar items together. That makes it easier to get a handle on the numbers. H: I see! Then what? F: Now that you have arranged everything, you can begin counting. See how easy it is? H: Wow! You did that in no time! You really saved my neck there. H: Thanks, Ferdinand. Bye! F: It was nothing! I... Oh. I suppose I ended up doing her work after all.

——————————————————————————————

b (i?)

H: Wow I am thirsty. I could really go for something to drink. F: Hilda! There you are. H: Hey, Ferdinand. Thanks for your help earlier. F: I do not desire your gratitude. I have a bone to pick with you. F: At the library, you pawned your job off on me! H: Actually, I never asked you to do the whole thing. You started teaching me how, and got carried away. H: Meanwhile, I was just awestruck by your cleverness and generosity. F: Ah, well... Hey, wait a moment! Your charms won't work this time. You were just using me. H: Aw, that hurts my feelings. I really was awestruck. H: If I had to arrange all the library supplies on my own, I'd have been there past nightfall. F: With a steady pace, you would have finished by twilight at the latest. H: Oh, no. I'm not competent enough, honestly. I don't even know how to make a cup of tea. F: You’re quite a defeatist, Hilda. I... H-hold a moment. Did you just say you cannot make tea? H: That's right. I can't touch things that get hot. I'm always scared of getting burned. F: Trust me, it is not difficult. You just need to be cautious as you are pouring. I can teach you. H: Really? Great! Please teach me, Ferdinand. F: This is a crucial skill for nobles, Hilda. If nothing else, you must learn the art of tea brewing. F: Look here. You bring the water to a boil, and you put the leaves in here... F: All right, that should be enough time steeping. Now we can drain the water, pour the tea, and enjoy. H: That took longer than I expected. Well, thanks. Bottoms up! F: You may have to steep it for more time or less, depending on the leaves. From now on, you can— H: Mm. That really hit the spot! Thanks. I'm a slow learner, so I hope you'll teach me again sometime. F: She…she fooled me again! That was the last time, I swear it!

——————————————————————————————

b (ii?)

H: Ferdinand. There you are! F: Stay back, Hilda! I will no longer entertain your clever little requests. Your wiles will not work this time! H: You shouldn't yell at a noble maiden. It's a no-no, etiquette-wise. H: By way of an apology, you may brew me some tea. F: I am sorry to have offended you, but delightful as it sounds, I will not be brewing any tea at present. F: Besides, I taught you how to do it before. You should be able to do it on your own, so why don't you? H: You did show me how to do it, but I can't do it as well as you. F: And why not? H: You selected just the right leaves, and you boiled them just right. You even considered the room temperature and humidity. H: Then you set out just the right pot, along with just the right cups. You immediately picked out a design that you knew I would like. H: When you poured, the temperature, the timing, and the technique were all impeccable. F: Hm. You seem to know an awful lot about tea, for someone who cannot even pour it. H: Oh, uh, not really! Maybe I picked up a couple things from watching you. H: Even the sound of the liquid pouring into the cups was like music. Taken as a whole, it was an almost spiritual experience. A symphony for the senses. F: I was just making tea in the traditional fashion. H: Oh, I'm so flustered, I'm not getting my point across. I'm trying to say that... H: Your tea is like love. H: You're devoted to bringing happiness to those who drink it. I could taste that from the first drop. F: Well… When serving another, one must put in a little bit of love. F: But I must say, you surprise me. Not many are so attentive to the finer points of tea. F: I made quite the impression on you! Perhaps I ought to pour you another cup. H: Really? Oh thank you, Ferdinand. F: I shall find us a suitable brew. Wait here a moment. H: Haha! Oh, Ferdinand! So simple. And yet...so kind.

——————————————————————————————

a

H: Oh dear, I'm thirsty again. If only I had a drink. F: I have some tea. You are welcome to drink some. H: Oh dear! I forgot to get my— F: I found it. Here it is. H: Oh dear! I didn't return my library book! F: I returned your book a little while ago. H: Oh. Thank you. H: Ferdinand, how did you get so good at doing things for me? It's like you know what I need before I do. F: I have lots of practice fielding your requests. F: All I need to do is think for a bit, and I know what you need. I can practically read your mind. H: Oh, you know what it's like in here, huh? OK. Tell me what I'm thinking about right now. F: Hmm... You want a snack. H: Sorry! Nice try. Actually, I was thinking... H: I've become quite fond of you. F: I suppose that is inevitable. I am rather fond of you as well. I find your laziness endearing. H: Hey, the "fond" thing was just a joke! Really I was thinking about tea. Kinda thirsty. F: I admire you, Hilda. H: You what? F: I said, I admire you. F: You are gifted and accomplished. I used to underestimate you. H: I said I was kidding, didn't I? This is all a bit— F: You feign sloth to obscure the considerable breadth and depth of your talents. F: Such delicate discretion, such noble prudence! If only I could emulate it. H: I've never been called prudent before, but...I like hearing you say it. Thank you. H: You're good at giving compliments. F: In return for all your help, I promise that I'll keep being prudent. F: I appreciate that. Shall we go? H: Huh? Go where? F: I thought you wanted some tea! The dining hall is the place for that. H: Oh, Ferdinand! You're too kind.

——————————————————————————————

paired ending

After becoming the new Duke Aegir, Ferdinand married Hilda, the daughter of Duke Goneril. The marriage was warmly received by the people, with high expectations placed on them as they set about restoring the territory. Hilda rarely took part in politics herself, but she still contributed greatly by recommending exceptional people to influential positions. Her hobby of creating fashionable accessories also bore fruit, as her designs achieved widespread popularity, and she created the first artisan academy in Fódlan. The school produced many talented craftsmen, including Ferdinand himself, who was said to craft handmade trinkets for his wife.

[chrysaliseuro2019]

The Road to Nowhere

Next day we had no need to rush. We had our wheels and also breakfast so a leisurely start. A good sleep also needed after the disrupted one of arrival night. We headed off around 11.30. The bike roared into action and fully helmeted we were pretty upbeat about this new mode of transport. It was taking the years off us. A few jerks and jolts but getting the hang and it was a beautiful day. We headed off to the same end of the island we went to the previous night but this time in search of the more secluded beaches only accessible if you have transport.

View was magnificent everywhere as the road is high up overlooking the sea at times in both directions of the island which is pretty narrow and only about 10 kms long. We had a beach in mind and the navigator spotted a sign to it down a track which was wideish but certainly off road. No prob this bike can handle most things and the 4WD up our sleeve if needed. Pretty soon the track started to narrow the rubble turned to rocks and the little stone wall on either side got uncomfortably close. We were also on a fairly steep incline. Nervous words were exchanged, a sense of déjà vu crept in (another blind alley? - it’s happened again! - could this navigator get lost in a one way street?) Of course these were unexpressed thoughts (by me) and we decided we had to go back the way we came.

This was easier said than done. We had reached a slightly wider little spot but it was not much more than bike width and we were pointing downwards - lets say at 25-30 degrees. Needed to back up a bit and try and do a 180. I hit reverse and the wheels spun as we inched backwards before the bike stalled. And, of course, couldn’t get it going again after several tries. Took it out of reverse into neutral and various other ploys. All 3 brakes on. Hmmm. What now, stuck on a track about 100 metres from the main road but 3-4 kms to nearest town and stinking hot. We tried calling bike HQ but phone reception not good. Then we made contact and they said they would come to the rescue. yeh!

Liz walked back up the track to stand by the main road and wave to the rescuers as it was difficult to describe where we were (eg look for a track about 3kms after town). She stood in the shadow of an old truck which was handy and after a while started to wonder if people driving by were mistaking her purpose. In some European countries ladies of the night (and day) will stand on the open road touting for custom. We mused what the passing drivers might have thought - “what the heck’s going on in that household”. Anyway no one stopped and no sympathetic 5 euro notes flew out of any windows.

Meanwhile I was reading the small print on the hire agreement we had signed. It indicated that if you took the bike down stony tracks and had a prob you could be up for a 130 euro payment. This was a bit odd because they pretty much encourage you to do just that by talking up the 4WD and saying you will have no prob getting to this beach or that off road. But anyway didn’t fancy forking that out.

After 30 mins or so the very friendly guy with his mate from the hire company rolled up, put us at great ease and said no prob we would rather you called us out, it will be easily fixed. They also advised that what we had taken was a walking track. The correct turning was about 200 metres further on.

Of course they started the bike up straight away. Apparently, though looking like it was in neutral, it was stuck in reverse as that’s where it had stalled. Also though all brakes on, one had to be physically held while starting the bike. They whizzed a bit further down the track did a Uey with consummate ease and handed us the bike back. All parties were pleased. We got out of of a pickle and certainly they did the Uey which made life a lot easier and I think they preferred that also as the track was pretty steep and we might have had a prob. No additional charge by the way.

We happily set off again as they waved us goodbye and found the correct turning for our beach which initially at least was a sealed road. So close. (Dis)Honours were probably even. The navigator (who is pretty good at keeping us on the right route the vast majority of the time interspersed by the odd seismic detour) had led us down the road to nowhere though fought a rearguard action that I had agreed to this route. I couldn’t start the bike up but I reckon she was providing advice on possibilities also. So relieved were we though to get out of this schmozzle with relative ease that point scoring and recriminations were put aside (for once). At least to this point (mostly).

The beach we found was small, pleasant and secluded. We did not have a beach umbrella so sat on towels and it really wasn’t too hot. A couple of guys sitting beside us who sounded German though spoke mostly in English were probably up for a chat but we never quite got that going (though were to later). Water was lovely. A really nice cove and we spent perhaps an hour and a half there. Needed lunch and headed back to the nearest town. Found a great little taverna up on the hill with view out to sea and had stuffed peppers with crusty bread for lunch. Bliss.

Back on the bike and we headed for a different beach. Again off sealed road. The road, though steep and gravelly, was pretty good and the bike had no problem handling it. This beach was quite attractive though things had heated up being mid afternoon and we sat under some trees in an area that wasn’t quite as picturesque. Still nice way to wile away the arvo.

The bike had to be back at 7.00pm so around 5.30 we got back on retraced our steps up hill and down and determined to go to the other end of the island where the port and several beaches were. A possibility that we would visit them by bus the following day. The beaches that we could get to were fine but probably not better than the first one we had been to today. Apparently the best beach had to be accessed by boat. Final run around on the bike and it was great. A real sense of freedom and fun to drive. The hire team ran us back to our hotel which was handy so we didn’t have to climb the hill.

Dinner that night was quite late by the time we had showered and fossicked around. We sat down around 9.45 and weren’t eating till gone 10.00pm. Liz had stuffed eggplant which she really enjoyed and I somewhat rashly went for the beef stifado. A tender casserole accompanied by roast potatoes Greek style so soft and cooked in the stew. Absolutely fantastic dish but it did sit pretty heavily that night. We saw the same waiter the next day who asked me about it and said they normally eat that around 4.00pm to allow it to settle. Still it was great.

Walking home around 11.30pm we bumped into the two guys from the beach. Turns out one was German and the other Greek. They lived in Oslo and seemed to be partners. Both very dry and amusing particularly the Greek guy who had us in fits describing their visit to Australia which they really loved. He mused about the dangerous animals everywhere you go. “Why are you trying to kill your visitors?” -spiders, dingoes (they had been to Fraser Island), snakes, crocodiles or sharks they even got a shock when they saw the size of the flying foxes. Apparently a huntsman spider had taken residence above their doorway somewhere and they used to look up to see if it was still there and then run through the door. This was all delivered in showman style and he was very engaging. We headed off home chuckling away.

Another eventful day. As my old boss used to say you wouldn’t be dead for quids.

[arcanaaa]

[/puts flower crown on cana's head] c:

Spring sunlight filtered through the trees in their little patch of shade and warmed her tanned skin pleasantly. Her nap was undisturbed for the most part, other than the occasional chirp of a bird or chitter of a native animal that dwelled within the palace gardens. They didn’t seem disturbed by Cana’s presence and as long as she kept any unwanted eyes from her spot beneath the weeping branches, she was all but invisible. A Glamour Card also helped as added insurance so that no one stumbled upon her spot and disturb her. There was only one person who would see through her spell and she had other duties to attend to.

Thus, Cana lay comfortable beneath the shade of the tree in the royal gardens and waited for her companion’s return. The weather helped aid Cana to lull her into a tranquil state, no doubt that when found, she would see the veil of peace drape over her visage. 

It wasn’t quite warm enough where the jobs at the guild would keep her busy-- or more importantly, near Crocus, but no one noticed her fixation on taking missions that were close towards the capital of the Fiore Kingdom-- or if they did, no one said a word to her about it. For that, Cana was grateful for. But as the season changed for the celebration of fertility, growth and kindled beginnings, so did the people: and along with it, the pious maiden of the Fiorean Kingdom.

Spring would bring animals to heat, as instinct demanded by nature and thus driving them to mate; in a not-so-subtle nod to nature, the royal court at the palace in Crocus also conducted the same ritual, though it was dressed in a manner that was ‘civilized’ and pertaining to postering acts. In Cana’s opinion, the animals had a better idea of getting on with hooking up than the fops in the royal court-- but that was probably why Cana avoided attending to any parties at the palace. Politics were far more deadly and more than likely to get anyone killed, no matter if they were a lord or a wizard from the famous Fairy Tail guild. An act of flirting was just another warfare, one that Cana was ill-equipt to dealing with-- and had very little patience for the posterity of it all. The Lords and Ladies of the Crocus Toyal Court were on another playing field after all.

For Hisui, however, Cana would put on a harlequin suit and do a song & jig if she asked. Fortunately, the princess didn’t need to hire any clowns, though she knew several someones that fit the description (the haunting echo of Men...Men... elicited a shiver of disgust), so Cana was saved from filling in that particular job. She would be happy being her invited guest and friend, though there was also a danger in that as well. It worried Hisui, though she didn’t say it in words, but in her gestures and shift in body language, that bringing the card mage into the fold of the royal court would be akin to tossing a lamb to a denn of wolves. Fairies-- which Cana reminded Hisui, with much amusement-- had taken on much more dangerous enemies, that even lords and ladies with sharp smiles and sharper wiles would shirk from. That sort of logic won most arguments, but not all. 

Arranging the decorations for the Crocus Royal Spring Ball required Hisui’s presence-- Cana suspected leaving the arrangements to a hired designer was too much to hope for (and she got a look for offering the suggestion wryly) but Hisui, bound in her duty as she was, merely smiled and approached her and placed a kiss to her cheek. They were alone in her room and weren’t at risk of being disturbed. But they both knew there was always a danger of getting caught: both of them flirted with it, but evenutally their ‘friendly’ acquaintance wouldn’t be overlooked by the disinterested. Eventuallly people would become curious. Eventually, people would start to look closer-- and neither of them, moreso Hisui than Cana, could afford the discovery of their relationship. 

The imprint of her kiss said what words couldn’t. Both women learned to adapt to make their relationship work, which Cana rose to the challenge a lot faster than her gentle princess(and Cana tried to ignore the creeping feeling of possession when refering to Hisui as hers). Still, they adapted and made a game out of their situation.

Hisui looked at Cana and smiled.

Wait for me? 

She didn’t need to tell Cana where and Cana didn’t announce that she would wait for her. They both knew she would.

And she knew the place: it was there’s after all.

She didn’t sense her approach, which told the card mage a few things: that Hisui was trying very hard to be quiet and wanted to let Cana continue napping was the most likely outcome. It also let Cana know that her illusion worked and they would be virtually hidden from world-- until they called Hisui away, but Cana nor Hisui would voice this fact aloud.

Warmed by sunlight-- and by the presence of Hisui-- Cana pulled herself awake with a slow effort. Sleep for the lush was selfishly covetted, so the effort to pull her from the her dreams was immense. It helped that one of her dreams was already made a reality and something tangible for her to hold onto.

Something was placed on top of her head. 

That was another thing that helped wake her up though hearing Hisui coo and giggle certainly helped foster the tender affection that welled inside Cana. At that point, Cana was pretending to sleep and she lie waiting to see what the princess would do. Hisui seemed to fuss a little at her hair and the object placed on top. The tips of her digits lay a gentle sweep against her temple, taking along a wayward strand of hair. At the same time, Cana reacted-- eyes opened, a grin flashing wide and mischievious-- and arms encircled her waist and crushed her against her. 

Form to form, chest to chest, their limbs entangled askew, it was an unelegent position and definitely not something either of them would want to be caught envolved in. More pressingly because their position would likely lead to dangerous questions and a conclusion that would put lives at risk-- hers and Hisui’s specifically. But presently, protected in Hisui’s secret garden and by Cana’s clever glamour, their clumsy intimacy is their’s alone to know and enjoy. 

Both were caught in breathless laughter that they kept at hushed volumn and Cana carefully settled Hisui atop her lap. Her dress made the endeavor hindersome, but not unmanueverable and when the last tinkle of laughter faded, they stared at each other.

It was the fall of petals and the scent of flowers that helped deduce what Hisui had done, but Cana merely raised an eyebrow.

❝So...I take it I’m being made ‘Princess For A Day’?❞

Cana was teasing of course. She mainly hoped to inspire a playful retort or a blush-- or both, which knowing Hisui, the princess held a presdesposition to do both reactions. Both were welcome and adored, to which she listened to Hisui’s reaction with a matching expression of amusement and fondness.

The flower crown may have been an impulse. Or maybe, Hisui had become bespelled by Cana’s sleeping figure. It was hard for the fortune teller to say, when Cana could ready Hisui’s expression well-- her heart and thoughts were her own however, and Cana wouldn’t intrude upon those facets of her loves character. But the gesture of the flower crown was what mattered to Cana and it was what ended up being the activity that encompassed their time together. 

Teaching Cana to make a flower crown like the one Hisui made for her was only one of the many gifts the princess gave. And by the time Cana finished weaving the last stem into a circlet, Cana replaced Hisui’s crown-- an overbearing burden of cold metal --with a living wreath woven with flowers from the secret garden, made by love and trust. 

Cana watched Hisui fuss with her crown of flora. Without a word, Cana took Hisui’s hands gently and brought the back of each to her lips. Her kisses were more for ceremony, like a token parted upon by a suitor, a knight enlisting their service-- or a servant honoring their master. Cana was neither of these things and Hisui knew it. But the intent behind it was different. She placed her honor as a lover would to her own: an offering of devotion, the gift of her heart.

The card mage couldn’t offer Jewels (the currency or the boubles), titles or glory to Hisui any more than Hisui could off her crown and walk away from her duty-- her birthright-- in order to live the life she wanted. But Cana didn’t ask for that wich was impossible anymore than Hisui did, so they gave and accepted what was and could be given and accepted.

Cana’s fingers linked together with Hisui’s, intwining gently, giving the card mage little obsticle when she leaned forward and snared Hisui’s lips in a kiss. It was gentle as the temperament between them was, though that would very well change at either one’s beckoning. They certainly weren’t strangers to each other’s passions, though no doubt Cana would incite further flames between them. Nevertheless, Cana kept things tame between them until Hisui broke the kiss-- a little breathlessly, which Cana couldn’t help feeling smug about-- before the lush let go of her hands to wrap her arms around Hisui in a loose hug. She waited until the other woman settled against her form, heard her sigh with contentment. 

❝I love you Hisui.❞

She didn’t hear her acknowledgement and wasn’t hurt by her silence. The sound of her slow breathing told her that Hisui was exhauted and had fallen asleep the moment her head settled against Cana’s shoulder. She looked to the sky: the sun was still high, meaning Hisui’s people wouldn’t come calling for her for another hour or so. The glamour card would buy her the time to catch the sorely needed rest, but eventually a search part would come looking for Hisui: and her gardens were always the first place they searched.

Cana fought the war of what she wanted and settled for what she held; a quick flick of her wrist summoned a card from her sleeve (another card trick), the front baring an hour glass. A murmur and it glowed before the picture began to move: the sands started falling, signifying the count down of time that remained between them before Hisui was required to go back.

Without a word, Cana sighed. And finally, gave in to the lull of peace they created, just like their crown of flora, and fell asleep along side Hisui.

[esseastri]

Megan Reads Oathbringer (part 1)

Me: okay but I don’t remember the back half of WoR, I should really, really finish the reread before starting... Also me: okay, buuuuuuuuuuut................what if I just..............start

[insert evilkermit.jpeg here]

There are a few relevant points of information:

Tags: Megan reads OB and Oathbringer spoilers. (I’ll also have housekeepers on there, like Brandon Sanderson, Stormlight Archive, and Oathbringer, but those first two are the important ones.)

Everything will be under a readmore.

Above the readmore will be the page numbers covered in that liveblog, so you’ll know how far I’ve gotten (and that way, if you’ve read that far you’ll be okay to read the lb).

There's…going to be a lot of swearing? I have learned that I have no control over my language when I get overly emotional and I feel like I’m going to spend a lot of this book overly emotional. I would like to apologize in advance, and while I promise to try to keep my swearing to a minimum, there might be more than a few bad words.

Shameless self-promotion for the previous two liveblogs: WoK and WoR.

I’m pretty sure that’s all the important bits. Enjoy!!

Part One encompasses pages 1-90 (subsequent parts)

*screams quietly into the ether forever*

PROLOGUE

hoooolly shiiiiiiiittt: Eshonai

Please tell me this means we’ll finally learn why the Parshendi killed Gavilar.......

SHE’S SO EXCITED I’M SO SAD I hate knowing what’s happened to her

...the Parshendi...didn’t know about the parshmen? what? the heck?

I’m....baby Esh is so excitable and curious and I.. love her. and I’m so. so sad. that she loses this.

“an indoor privy with running water, a concept she still didn’t understand.” Who does, babe. Who does.

me, every time amaram appears: “fucking asshole. fuck off fckkkk” I just.... hiss like a cat every time his name appears on a page. I hate him. ARGH.

I spelled his name as “aramaram” and had to go correct it I was so upset he was HERE that I forgot how to spell.

“Traitors who had abandoned their gods to be free.” And they FEARED the return of their gods, before stormform and the Everstorm. They feared it--because they were not free... But...stormform isn’t freedom, and their gods are back and....history repeating itself?

Also, the fact that Gavilar took the time to learn her name is very endearing and like... Gavilar was A Good, guys. He tried so hard.

NOOPE NEVERMIND, BAD, ACTUALLY. THAT’S SO SELFISH WHAT THE HECK

“Bring back your evil, destructive, enslaving gods so that we can have our nice, honorable, fighty ones back please.” NO, THAT’S SO DISGUSTING THAT’S SO SELFISH WTH

GAVIILAARRRR. I BELIEVED IN YOU! I WAS ROOTING FOR YOU!! WE WERE ALL ROOTING FOR YOU

WAIT, so he was getting the visions before Dalinar? Did we know this already? That makes sense... it’s very Boromir/Faramir, tbh, but like... what, one died, and Honor was like “welp. guess we’ll try his bro”

wait, okay, so ...the black sphere that he gives Szeth...........what. Esh knows what it is--so it’s some kind of spren. But it’s not the angerspren/hatespren that they bond with for stormform--those are red. So what’s...this one? Voidspren? Are there voidspren? Voidspren to create voidbringers...presumably more powerful than stormform.

I AM CONCERNED.

PART ONE

okay, that map tho; after reading Edgedancer, I’m VERY CONCERNED that there’s an Oathgate to Aimia... I don’t need any more 200-cremlings-in-a-trenchcoat popping up out of nowhere, but thanks anyway

it makes sense that this book stats with Dalinar, but HOW! IS! MY! BOY! WHERE! IS! KALADIN!

Dalinar is so polite tho. saying ‘thank you’ to the Stormfather

Also ONLY SIX DAYS???? AAHH

“It had been a hardy, stubborn lot who had grown in this place.” This is Kholinar: it highstorms nine months of the year, and weeps the other three. Any food that grows here is tough and tasteless. The people that grow here are even more so. The only upsides are the pets. While other places have...cats or chickens, we have...cremlings.

(Though Lisa made a good point--are there actually cremlings?? or are all cremlings just...bits of Aimians scuttling about like spy bugs?)

“The queen had gone silent.” I...genuinely don’t trust her, and I’m more inclined to believe she’s radio silence out of a need to save her own damn skin than any other reason.

......somehow I never really thought that Odium would be light...

THE WOMAN HE LOVED

YAASS.

(I have priorities)

They’re being cute. It’s been, like, half a page and I’m just over here making big, cooing noises at them being cute. help.

OH SHIT THAT WAS QUICK

THEY FOUND SADEAS ALREADY AND I AM CONCERN

(tho, I mean...it took them six days to find the body, that’s....actually not really quick. but still.)

OH WAIT NO, OKAY, IT TOOK THEM  ONE DAY WELL SHIT

oh god

Adolin, bby. pls. don’t.... LISTEN, THE FIC I WROTE ABOUT GUILTSPREN WAS A FIC

HI TEFT I HAVE MISSED YOU BUT ALSO PLS CALM DOWN AAAHHHH

this is page frikkin 37 and I’m already dying

I’M SO SCARED OF WHAT IALAI WILL DO. SHE’S GONNA PIN THIS ON BRIDGE 4 I KNOW IT. SHE’S GONNA TRY AND I’M GONNA SCREAM

WHY IS ADOLIN HERE. KIDDO PLS. DOn’T COME BACK TO THE SCENE OF THE CRIME I’M

unrelated, but I can’t stop thinking about baby Eshonai basically damning her people to war and revenge to stop their gods from returning and Venli just like...whipping a godling out her pocket like “nvmd, we’re doing this anyway” and like. fuck Venli, tbh.

Back to current events and:

I love Palona.

“steady Adolin and impenetrable Renarin” HE LOVES HIS SONS SO MUCH I’M CRY

“certainly wouldn’t have gone so far as to kill Sadeas themselves” ABOUT THAT

I love that Urithuru has safety railings. like... throwing shade at every big space opera ever.

I still don’t know how I feel about Lopen growing his arm back...

“Our ultimate goal is the preservation of Roshar” Sorry, bud, Preservation is dead...

and also on a different planet.

AAAWWW SNAP! THIRTY-FOUR YEARS AGO! HERE WE GO!!!!

“He didn’t need Shards to intimidate.” Nah, but I bet they help.

tbqh, it’s really, really weird to think of Dalinar fighting not in Shards.

excuse you, that horse did nothing to deserve that.

heheheheh, so much for your nose, bucko

Gooooddddd, Brandon writes battle so cinematically. I want to film this. Gaaaahhh

of...of course punk!Dalinar’s horse is named Fullnight. How deliciously extra of him.

“I tried to kill you!” “from a distance! Which shows remarkably good judgement!” DALINAR, PLEASE. 

Enthusiastic ultra-Gryffindor rambo Dalinar is hilarious

It’s been 50 pages, where’s Kaladin

Sadeas in YELLOW shardplate?? who is he?

Also, ngl, I’m a lil pissed that I still have to deal with Sadeas--even if it’s young, not-quite-so-vile Sadeas. Like......he’s dead! I shouldn’t have to put up with his slimy face anymore!

“What would we do without you?” “Lose.” What an asshole. What a dudebro. I hate how much I love him.

the Thrill concerns me, tbh.

I know that we know it is of Odium, but like. It Concerns me.

THAT WAS QUICK

THE EVERSTORM TURNAROUND??? THAT WAS DISTRESSINGLY QUICK?

I’m sad Dalinar doesn’t get a little spren buddy wandering around with him at all times, because, like. Stormfather. But like. spren buddy.

Now I’m trying to picture the vast and infinite Stormfather just flitting around Dalinar’s head in meetings and making faces at Syl across the table and laughing my ass off.

oh NO not her SAFEHAND

seriously, they. are. so. cute.

“Your stubborn refusal to get seduced is making me question my feminine wiles.” HAAAAHAHA OMG, DARLINGS PLEASE

also, Dalinar, omg, give it up already, bro.

I realize there are like...ecological and climatology implications of the Weepings stopping before they are supposed to, but I can’t help but be glad that Kaladin won’t be suffering for as long as he normally would with the seasonal depression...

WHAT! WAS! THE! BOON! ...unless this is the boon. Unless Dalinar asked for the Nightwatcher to take away the pain of losing his wife and instead she took away his wife... and his punishment is something else.

in which case WHAT! WAS! THE! PUNISHMENT!

“I’d let a confused dishwasher marry us.” I realized belatedly that she meant, like...a person who washes dishes. And not a machine that washes dishes that most people on earth have in their kitchens.

Also, Dalinar and Navani really need to please stop being so adorable, I’m SO HAPPY THEY’RE GETTIN MARRIED AND THE FRIKKIN STORMFATHER IS GONNA OFFICIATE THAT’S HILARIOUS I LOVE THEM

I LOVE THAT THE WEDDING IS LIKE... HIM AND NAVANI AND THE BOYS AND SHALLAN AND A FEW OTHER MINIONS. THIS IS DELIGHTFUL. I LOVE THIS

THERE IS NOTHING ABOUT THIS I DISLIKE

Bridge Four is too important for guard duty! They’re so important! They’ve come so far!!!! I LOVE THEM!!??

she just had a wedding dress just... lying around.

god I LOVE HER SO MUCH!!!

...poor Elhokar. “if only we could keep up.” boy has no confidence and no chance to learn it.

NAVANI’S FRIKKIN GLORYSPREN OMG

“What does he remember that I cannot?” Uh...your other wife, my dude. I’m sure this has something to do with how your wife died.

AAHH. HERE HE IS!!!! THE BOY!!!!! MY BOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

nooooo. no, kaladin please. you didn’t fail. oh god, no, come on. don’t think like that.

I’m

aaahhhhh

“It felt wrong not to bear the symbol of Bridge Four.” AAAHHHHHHH

I’M

!!!!!!!!!

I’m JUST NOT OKAY

aahh, at least he was properly concerned about the Everstorm filling his spheres with...bad stuff? of some kind? I’m super glad that it didn’t, that it doesn’t, but like. At least he was concerned about it!

hello fronds, I love Syl a LOT

also: covered safehand, that’s hilarious. She’s a real grown up, now!

nooooooooooo

it can’t be all dead

they have to have

someone has to have been smart enough to get a large part of the town into shelter

Kaladin, your dad isn’t stupid, he would have. he would have tried.

(this would be way, way more distressing if I hadn’t been spoiled for the fact that Lirin and Hesina are alive...like...I’d probably be crying right now.)

“How often are you going to make me apologize for that?” Pfffft I mean.

HE GREW UP AND THEY DON’T RECOGNIZE HIM AND I’M

AAAHHH

“Are there wounded” and he just GOES because that’s where his dad would be and he just . goes. to his dad.

I’m crying?

THEY’RE CRYING I’M CRYING EVERYONE IS CRYING

THEY THOUGHT HE WAS DEAD AMARAM FUCKING TOLD THEM HE WAS DEAD AND I’M

THEY’RE

“MY SON IS ALIVE” YEAH HE IS AND HE’S AMAZING AND YOU’RE GONNA BE PROUD OF HIM OH

I’M

AAHHHHHH

I really hate Amaram. A lot.

his mom is a good. and she just keeps her hand on his shoulder like protectiveness and like reassurance that he’s still there and I’m. aaaAAAHH

“For now, he just wanted to be here with them.” GOOD. LET THE BOY REST. LET HIM EAT SOUP AND REST.

“The wrong-way highstorm” I mean...not wrong

“They never got to meet Captain Kaladin” aaAAHHH

I HAVE A LOT OF EMOTIONS ABOUT INCARNATIONS OF HUMANS AND I’M

this is a lot

LIRIN OFFERING TO BUY THE WRIT OF SLAVERY IS A LOT I’M JUST

crying

“Perhaps it was time to stop letting the rain dictate his mood. He couldn’t banish the seed of darkness inside him, but Stormfather, he didn’t need to let it rule him either.”

I...have a lot of feelings about Kaladin.

And I have a lot of feelings about how Kaladin and his depression interact and about how he deals with it. And how he’s seen the worst in himself and promised to never let it get that bad again. And how he’s seen that even though it’s a part of himself that he has to keep fighting, keep dealing with, keep understanding, it doesn’t have to be the only thing in him, the only thing in his life, the only part of him that matters. He can have other parts, other important bits of him and his personality. He might always have bad days, but that doesn’t have to be the majority of them. Not if he chooses to be stronger, to try to get better. There’s always going to be depression, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be other things.

It took me a longass time to come to that same realization and I just...am really, really... proud of him? and of myself? and of anyone who has depression who thinks the same way we do? and though I’ve found it to be a smidge disconcerting to have your own personal thought processes spelled out on paper by someone who isn’t you, there’s a comfort in that...I’m not the only one who feels like this, who has these ideas, who makes these decisions about my depression.

Anyway, I really, really love Kaladin and I’m. emotional . and I’m. “He didn’t need to let it rule him either.” No. We don’t. We can deal.

ANYWAY I’M EMOTIONAL ABOUT KALADIN AND IN OTHER NEWS WATER IS WET, FIRE IS HOT, AND THE WORLD IS ROUND.

WAIT. Did Syl.....was she aiming for someone else? “distant yet demanding”. Who else...was she gonna bond with. before Kaladin? My first instinct is Tien, but that...doesn’t fit. One of his men? in his squad? Or before that, Hesina maybe? I’m? ...surely not Lirin...... he’s not. enough.

god, his first thought is that Adolin would be disappointed in fashion heheheheh I love these boys. becoming friends. maybe. hopefully.

KAL PUNCHING ROSHONE IS A++ 100% GRADE A GOOD SHIT

GOD BLESS

AAAAAAHHHHHHH

“That was for my friend Moash” I’M!!!!!!!!!!!! EMOTIONAL!!!! ABOUT MY BOYS!!! AND THEIR FRIENDSHIP!!!!! PERSISTING EVEN THOUGH BAD DECISIONS!!!!

Kaladin’s stubborn refusal to give up on people is. A Lot. EVeRYTHING IS A LOT. THIS IS A LOT

“and for the first time in a long, long while, he was happy with that person.” THAT’S CAUSE YOU’RE A GOOD PERSON THE BEST PERSON AAAHHH

SUMMONING SYL AND “ANY QUESTIONS” AND OHHH MY GOD. that shit’s hot. I’m. hhnnnggggggg

“until he had enough stormlight to fly home.” home. I mean, we knew that “home” wasn’t Hearthstone anymore, but. Dalinar is home. The warcamps, Urithuru. Bridge Four. I...I am so proud of how far Kaladin has come.

“I don’t like the idea of swinging you around, smashing you into things.” “Firstly, I don’t smash into things. I am an elegant and graceful weapon.” HI, I LOVE SYL A LOT

GET IT, LARAL

HECK YE

“That’s a girl I was never going to marry, no matter what happened.” “I like her.” “You would.” I LIKE HER TOO SHE’S STRONG AND CAPABEL AND DON’T NEED NO MAN. GET IT, GIIIRRLL!!!!

I love that Roshar has a Hippocratic oath equivalent. I also have mixed feelings on Lirin’s incredibly strict adherence to his Hippocratic oath equivalent. like..yeah, Do No Harm is one thing. But being self-righteous about it to the point of not wanting your son to fight evil monsters from the void? Take a chill pill, my dude.

NAVANI SPANREEDING HIM PERSONALLY IS A LOT

also, I really have strong feelings about Dalinar generally addressing Kaladin as “soldier” and the responding “Sir.” I know they had a long talk about chain of command, but it’s just. so satisfying that it’s still going.

“Send us a glyph each evening to know you are safe.” GOOD DAD IS WORRIED ABOUT HIS SON AND I’M EMOTIONAL

AAAHHHHH HIS VERY FIRST INSTINCT IS TO HOLD HIS BABY BROTHER I’M!!! KALADIN IS SO GOOD AND LOVING AND WONDERFUL!!!

guys, I don’t know if you know this about me, but I really love Kaladin.

guys, I don’t know if you know this about me, bUT I REALLY LOVE KALADIN.

[soysaucevictim]

Week 4 + SNOWFIGHT 2019 shenanigans, in this one.

-

Dec. 14

Again, I woke up a bit before 1PM. :P

Did a bit of the former usual (I had been participating in the YouTube Walkout, the past few days), before getting in some exercise.

First, today’s DD. 20 superman stretches with EC. Wasn't sure about my clothing choices while doing it, but this wasn't an issue. This was pretty doable, all around.

Second, Day 14 of the ‘19AC. 30″ alt arm/leg raise hold. It was a bit sloppy and I took at least one false start before doing “good enough“, to do it in one go.

Third, Day 7 of the FCP. Endurance, Level 3. I wasn’t sure if this workout meant to specify any rest times in between exercises, so I decided to spend the allotted 12′ keeping the arms lifted. That was certainly tough, but I felt I was capable of doing it!

(After moving in the new recliner, which may or may not be counted as “planned exercise”, and laundry and cleaning... part of which was because bro was clearly unhappy about some stuff and I kind of wanted to take some slack for him. I got this all done rather late.)

Fourth, and intermittently, as mentioned - SNOWFIGHT 2019. This time, it’s squats, not burpees, so I think I may be able to properly stick this one out (if I can manage my time well). This day, I had 8 snowballs thrown at me, and I dodged all of them (before midnight rolled around).

Fifth, Day 18 of the KMC. 160 side kicks, switch legs halfway. My right hip has been acting up the past few days (possibly aggravated by ill-fitting PJs), so I think this was reasonably helpful. Was a bit challenging to get in in one go - but still very doable.

Sixth, Day 18 of the DHC. 1′ dead hang. Hit failure at about 50" again. Did make up the time, very soon after. But I'll keep trying my best. If I can improve my first set times much before the challenge is done, I’ll be happy enough, at this point.

Last, Day 18 of the DGC. I’m grateful:

That Dad seems to be happy about the recliner.

That my plan for furniture placements worked out.

For these fun Fitstivities from DAREBEE.

One of the last things I did today was drafting this post and watching my bro game, before turning in too late again.

-

Dec. 15

I woke up closer to noon today.

I got started on exercise pretty early, today.

First, and intermittently, SF‘19. This day, I had 79 snowballs thrown at me, and I dodged 74 of them (before midnight rolled around).  After the first 15, I also started to do the rest of the event’s squats with 3.5 lbs wrist weights for ech hand. That was a pretty enjoyable decision!

Second, today’s DD. 10 circle push-ups without EC. I just felt my form was too sloppy - a bit too sore and tired.

Third, Day 15 of the ‘19AC. 1′ O-pose. I still very much enjoy this exercise - it’s very meditative.

Fourth, Day 8 of the FCP. Cardio, Level 3. I rested a bit under 1′ in between sets to make it a bit more challenging. Did get a bit winded, but I think my feet didn’t appreciate the slight abrasion built up during it all. Still, it was quite fun!

Fifth, Day 19 of the KMC.120 turning kicks + 120 turning kicks. Did it in one go on 60/60 + 60/60. Pretty doable work.

Sixth, Day 19 of the DHC. 2x10″ dead hangs. I didn’t do a separate warmup this time, since those jacks did p good to accomplish that. This was pretty manageable - as expected.

Last, Day 19 of the DGC. I’m grateful:

That the Impossible Whopper is so good? I know it’s got a lot of salt in it, but as long as BK offers it, my enthusiasm for that restaurant would remain relatively warm. (Other offerings are p underwhelming.)

That Grandma will be able to get me to my appointment tomorrow.

For how useful applications like Excel are (it makes tracking stuff like SF’19 manageable.)

(I realize a lot of these items have been food-related... but they’re pretty easy to think of. :P )

After showering, more SF’19, and YouTube - I went to bed. In the red zone, which was not the best decision - since I had to be up early.

-

Dec. 16

Because I had appointments, I got up around 8AM. And it definitely could’ve been a far smoother experience. My alarm either didn’t go off or I didn’t hear it or whatever - but I woke up to some honking outside.

I didn’t expect the county transport to come get me to the facility - having arranged to get picked up by Grandma. So I opted not to get into the van and started scrambling to get ready. I then buzzed her phone a few times, getting increasingly distressed about if she forgot or was held up.

Thankfully, she did get me to the facility on time, and I regret frustrating and waking up my brother from all my pacing and loudness. I had to spend a few hours getting an assessment and service plan done with the therapist - which was pretty productive work.

Got home, I noted feeling unsettled at some point when home. I think it was because of feeling some sympathy for my brother and what’s going on with him. Other than that, YouTube, and Twitter, I did my exercise.

First, and intermittently, SF‘19. This day, I had 164 snowballs thrown at me, and I dodged 149 of them (before midnight rolled around).

Second, today’s DD. 10 jump squats with EC. This, plus some dodged snowballs, helped some of my frayed nerves, today. :P

Third, Day 16 of the ‘19AC. 2′ side splits. This was a pretty fun challenge.

Fourth, Day 9 of the FCP. Challenge, 100 climbers. Done in 1 set. This was also doable.

Fifth, Day 20 of the KMC. “12 balance kicks side & turning both each leg, no putting your foot down.“ I just remembered that I was able to meet this requirement.

Last, Day 20 of the DHC. 1′10″ dead hang. I managed it in ~55"+15". My first failure time is definitely improving - so I know I'm making progress! :D

Despite needing to get up early again tomorrow, hit the red zone again. orz

-

Dec. 17

I woke up a bit after 8AM, today.

First, and intermittently the last day of the SNOWFIGHT ‘19. This day, I had 149 snowballs thrown at me, and I dodged 169 of them (including some catch-up from older posts).

I dodged all 400 snowballs thrown at me, for this event (if it were burpees, I might’ve dropped out earlier!) I let a lot of my stock melt by the end... but, I managed to spend more than half of the ammunition I had on other Bees (434/802)! Yay for spreadsheets, my dudes.

Second, today’s DD. 1′ plank punches with EC. I counted 44 punches thrown in the time given and enjoyed that punching part the most. I definitely could've used some more sleep, though! :,D

Third, Day 17 of the ‘19AC. 1′ knee balance hold  (back arch balance hold). Not much to say other than I love this exercise!

Fourth, Day 10 of the FCP. Abs & Core, Level 3. I think “keep the plank throughout” was a typo, since there was only one plank in the whole sequence. But overall, it was pretty fun.

Fifth, Day 21 of the KMC. 100 double side kicks. Did it in 50/50, in one go... more or less, a computer alarm did go off and interrupt it for a few seconds. But that was largely a consequence of doing it way too damn late.

Last, Day 21 of the DHC. 2x10″ dead hangs. Pretty manageable work. Even though I don’t like disrupting my schedule so badly - this was merciful given my energy levels.

I was so exhausted by the end of it, that I didn’t get around to DGC but did get to bed in the yellow zone again.

-

Dec. 18

I woke up proper about 1PM, today. :P

Mostly wound up  on the unusual business... and getting back on Steam. So I wound up not getting around to making dinner and exercising very late. Maybe it’s from some jet lag from having to run on too little sleep 2 days in a row. T_T

First, today’s DD. 15 diamond push-ups with EC. Still think my form for this variation is consistently better than standard grip. Have no idea why, but I'm not complaining! :P

Second, Day 18 of the ‘19AC. 1′ one arm plank, 30″/30″ in one go. Tough, but largely because I chose not to put the timer on the floor. :/

Third, Day 11 of the FCP. Tendon Strength. This was pretty challenging too, but that’s tendon strength work for you. Did feel pretty nice afterwards, though.

Fourth, Day 22 of the KMC. 140 turning kicks + 140 turning kicks. Split the kick types into 2 sets, with a pretty short rest (probably about ~20″.)

Fifth, Day 22 of the DHC. 1′20″ dead hang. I'm at a point where I know I can't expect to keep one-shotting things. But I am noticing progress. My first set was a full 1'! Those last seconds were pretty tense - as my left hand was failing before my right - I managed to beat my PB!

Last, Day 20 of the DGC. I’m grateful:

That Grandma got me to that appointment in time, earlier this week.

That my therapist managed to take a bit of time to check-in before we went into the assessment and service plan work.

[Retroactively, from Jan. 1 - ] for how good peppermint is in coffee.

After jotting most of this down, I went to bed, a bit late.

-

Dec. 19

I woke up around 8AM, today.

Got to the facility, socialized and worked on some more art before going to WRAP and Grounding Grps. Also while there, I did today’s DD. 50 squat hold side bends with EC. Did this one wile I was out at the facility, today. I had fun with it! 

Got home, did a lot of the usual for some hours until getting the rest of my exercise taken care of.

Second, Day 19 of the ‘19AC. 2′ side leg raise hold. This took some doing, but I’m just glad I got through it.

Third, Day 12 of the Fit Christmas Program. Challenge, 200 high knees. I split this into 2 sets of 100, after a warm-up of a few march steps. Manageable, if a bit winding.

I’m pretty happy with my foray with this short and sweet program. It was nice to be able to Level 3 (for the relevant days), one-going the Tendon Strength, and doing most of the Challenge Days in no more than 2 sets (jumping jacks and high knees).

Fourth, Day 23 of the KMC. 3x 20 slow side kicks + 20 fast side kicks. Also doable work - takes a bit more focus to deliberately do slow kicks.

Last, Day 23 of the DHC. 2x10″ dead hangs. Given lack of sleep, I liked the timing for an easier day. Not much else to really say other than that.

I think because tired and distracted... didn’t do the DGC stuff. Again. And I STILL got to bed too damn late again. :I

-

Dec. 20

I got up  about 2PM, today. Oops.

Did a bit of the usual as well as some errands, trying on a binder, and doing a bit of impromptu sewing, before exercising.

First, today’s DD. 1′ flutter kicks with EC. I'm pretty sure I managed to hit 100 reps by the time was up. I made the effort to keep lower back flush against floor - so that engaged my abs so much more and took some willpower by the end.

Second, Day 20 of the ‘19AC. 1′ get-up hold. Did the 30″/30″ in one go. Definitely a challenge, I did get to trembling and had to be mindful of how much tension occurred in my hamstrings. But I got through it, without leg cramps or anything.

Third, Day 24 of the KMC. “14 balance kicks side & turning both each leg, no putting your foot down.“ This took a bit of focus, but I’m still doing pretty well for these days of the challenge.

Fourth, Day 24 of the DHC. 1′30″ dead hang. I managed it in ~4 sets (55"+20"+10"+5"; give/take a couple seconds.) That was pretty intense! Though I didn't meet my PB, I'm just happy I was able to hold on for at least 50" in the first set. Left hand keeps failing a bit faster than the right and my forearms felt like jelly afterwards. Pffft!

Last, Day 21 of the DGC. I’m grateful:

For the recent days my bro has been doing the dishes for me - I have been more distractable lately.

For iced coffee drinks, like those from Dutch Bros.

For guacamole. Because that is the shit in burritos and sandwiches. :U

I’m going to go ahead and post this now, draft the next week’s post, and attempt to wind down. It’s almost 5AM. 8I

[raisingsupergirl]

Feast or Famine: The Burden of a Working Father

Any time I work a fifty-hour week, I'm left wondering if it was the right choice—If I'm giving my life to a paycheck instead of to my family. It’s a very real struggle, and the answers aren’t always clear. But I watched this zombie (yes, zombie) movie recently that really helped remind me what it means to be a dad. And before you decide to get clever, no, I'm not saying all men are mindless monsters with insatiable appetites.

In this particular zombie flick, titled Train to Busan (currently streaming on Netflix), the main character is framed as a self-centered, white-collar, workaholic parent who neglects his daughter and even goes so far as to sacrifice a pregnant woman to save his own skin (and presumably that of his daughter). But as the movie progresses, we begin to understand the man and his motives. At one point, the husband of the pregnant woman says something painfully enlightening to the father:

"I bet you never get to play with your daughter. When she gets older, she'll understand why you worked so hard. Dads get all the [crap], and no praise. But it's all about sacrifice, right?"

Now, I won't give away too much, but while the film certainly doesn't condone the absent father's choices, it does sympathize with them. Which is a lot different that most of what you'll see these days. Popular media almost always condemns the working father. He uses his job as an excuse to escape his family. He uses it as an excuse to "blow off steam" in the evenings and the weekends. He uses his "noble sacrifices" as leverage to oppress the "lesser" sex. Seems horribly unfair, right? The thing is, I've been guilty of all of these things at one time or another.

Before we go any farther, let's clarify something. In my title, I used the term "working father." I almost wrote "working parent," but I felt that it would be disingenuous (word of the day!). For one, stay at home dads, while certainly a thing, are definitely not the majority. Secondly, the majority of two-parent households these days (I don't know if it's actually a majority, but it seems likely) have both parents working close to full-time jobs, but mine does not. My wife works part-time while keeping both of our daughters full-time. So in our house, at least, gender roles are a lot more traditionally defined. Yes, I cook on the weekends. Yes, my wife teaches exercise classes outside of the home throughout the week. There are several areas where we're not quite a perfect 1950s family, but for the most part, I mow the grass and my wife folds the laundry. It’s possible (likely, even) that those roles will change with time, but it's where we are right now. So I can only write about what I know.

Anyway, I had an interesting conversation with an older man recently. We were talking work and family, and when I told him I generally work four ten-hour days with a three-day weekend, he praised my decision with more than a little remorse and jealousy in his eyes. Apparently when his children were growing up, he felt the need to consistently put in seventy-hour workweeks to "provide" for his family. Now, I don't know this man's motivations, but I do know seventy hours per week is too much.

I mean, I guess I could see a scenario where working a second job for a season to cover a medical expense or to find something above minimum wage was necessary, but it's not sustainable, and it's certainly not healthy. Now, as I said, I occasionally work a fifty-hour week, which helps stabilize our modest lifestyle. But some weeks, even forty hours seems like too much. And it's then that I feel most like my father.

I met someone who knew Dad the other day. Apparently he worked with him at the prison (don't worry, my dad wasn't an inmate. He retired as a sergeant). This guy spoke fondly of Larry John Winch, and he did so with a half-smile, as people always do when talking about those who have passed away. But something he said stood out to me. He said my dad really liked working at the prison. Geez, either this guy was just trying to be nice, or he was completely clueless.

You see, Dad loved life. He loved his family. He loved camping and fishing and hunting. He loved joking around and watching movies. But there were two things he most certainly didn't like: fake people, and his job.

He worked nights. He worked with fake people (not all of them, mind you. But one or two was enough to spoil the whole pot). And, most obviously, he worked around murderers and sex offenders every single day. Why? To support his family and still have time to spend with us. Sure, he could have worked an easier job, but without a college education, he would have had to work double the hours. My mom already worked full-time, and we lived paycheck-to-paycheck as it was. It wasn't that we were starving. But we were certainly a canned ravioli and hot dogs family. So working at the prison was the best my dad could hope for. It offered a good retirement (which he took the second it was available), and he was able to call in sick anytime he wanted so he could take his sons fishing (seriously).

So, when I think back on it, I guess it's a little unfair to compare myself to my father. Unlike him, I actually do love my career. There are very few things I could imagine doing full-time that I would enjoy more. But, as with all jobs, there are days and weeks where I start to feel sorry for myself. I start to covet others or chase daydreams. And in doing so, I lose sight of why I work at all. And then I think back to my dad, and to that man on the zombie-infested train, and to the old guy who worked seventy-hour weeks. And I start to remember: it's not about how much I work. It's about why I work.

When I come home after an exhausting day, I have two choices. I can sigh and grumble at the screaming kids and frantic wife, or I can smile and take them all up in a giant bear hug. We all have our things. No one has it easy. So the second we forget why we do what we do, we drown. We drown in our own self-pity and self-importance. As a working husband and father, I don't work because I have to. I work because I chose to marry, and my wife and I chose to have children. I get to work for them. I get to be the provider. That way my wife gets to haul around screaming, biting, pooping daughters all day. We could have easily chosen to stay single. To pursue fame and fortune, fulfilling every desire the wind provided us. But instead, we have chosen to live for something larger than ourselves. My role as the primary breadwinner is only one part of that picture. It makes me no more or less important than the other parts, but it is the part I get to fulfill.

And at the end of every day—no matter how perfect or stressful—I get to come home and see those three beautiful faces that make it all worth wile. Feast or famine, we're doing it together. And occasionally, it just takes a zombie movie for me to remember that.

[thescholarlystrumpet]

Or You Wouldn’t Have Come Here Unrated

Storybrooke is cursed by the Black Fairy. Gideon Gold knows his father is a man of many secrets but he has no memory of his mother except that she left. Gideon has no idea that she, too, lives in Storybrooke without memories of him. 

On AO3 HERE

***

There was a young woman who lived in a shabby little house at the edge of town named Belle French. She was said to be very pretty, though few had ever seen her except in glimpses through her window. She never left her house, getting her groceries and all other supplies delivered weekly.

The only thing Gideon really knew about her was that she had a standing order at Gold and Son. Any time they got a new shipment of antique books, Papa would crate them over, personally. Gideon always offered to help – it seemed ridiculous to have a man his age carting around heavy boxes by himself. He’d already had one heart attack; he didn’t need another. Gideon, for all his contentious relationship with his father, couldn’t take seeing him in any kind of pain. But Gold Sr. always insisted on going alone, telling Gideon to mind the shop while he was away.

Gideon would wile away the hours cleaning, fixing gadgets, or keeping the books. For a small shop that barely stayed in business, they always seemed to have a lot of records to keep. Not that Papa ever needed them. He seemed to know every customer by heart. Years of being in the business, Gideon supposed.

It was not at all rare for Gideon to run the shop by himself. Papa got called away for other things besides book deliveries. He had some strange sort of business dealings with the Mayor, a dark-haired woman who always made Gideon uneasy. Just being in the room with her made his hackles rise, like an angry cat. He couldn’t explain it except to think that it was the way she always seemed to stop by at the oddest times, with cryptic requests for his father. She was nice to both Gold men but in an oily, scheming sort of way. Gideon didn’t trust her for a second and he wished his father wouldn’t do her bidding.

Papa clearly felt the same but he went when she called, anyway.  It confused the hell out of Gideon. His father was possibly the most feared man in town, people scrambled out of his way when he walked down the street. Townsfolk only sought out Mr. Gold when they were desperate to make a deal. It was a lonely life, at times, but Gideon was used to it by now. He just wished there wasn’t the long shadow of the Mayor, and whatever power she held, hanging over them all the time.

Papa wouldn’t tell him no matter how he asked. It had been cause for more than one raging row between them.

It was the day after one such fight that Papa was called away again by that horrible woman. Gideon was sulking and stomping around the shop when several large boxes were delivered. He signed for them quickly and took them to the back to tear them open. Estate sale – tons of gems hidden in piles of trash. Most of the clothes were decent quality and the fine china set was complete so it would fetch a good price. He’d filled a garbage bag and a half with the rest when he spotted a collection of books at the bottom. Old, weathered covers with the gilded letters partly faded or worn away. Not much for selling but, he thought, the mysterious Miss French might still be interested.

It was getting late and there was no sign of Papa so Gideon decided to close the shop early and head to the edge of town. Papa had the car but it wasn’t far to walk. There really wasn’t very much town to Storybrooke. He arrived as the sun was setting, books in a bag slung over his shoulder.

The house was more run down than he remembered, paint peeling and siding weather-beaten. The shutters were tightly closed but there was a glimmer of light from under the door.

When he knocked, he heard a shuffling sound, then a pause.

“Who is it?” asked a timid voice.

“My name is Gideon.”

No response.

“Delivery from Gold and Son?” he tried again.

A corner of shutter peeled back and a pair of very blue eyes appeared, darting toward him. “Do I know you?”

“I, uh, I have your books.” He hefted the bag toward the window.

The eyes narrowed slightly until Gideon slowly reached into the bag and pulled out a dog-eared copy of Oliver Twist. Then they lit with recognition before disappearing again. He heard latches being pulled and locks clicking apart. The door opened slightly to reveal a very petite woman in a floral dress. She looked about ten years his senior and very pretty despite the tenseness in her shoulders and jaw, the obvious mistrust in her gaze.

“He didn’t call.”

“Sorry?” Gideon asked.

Belle frowned, looking him over and blinking rapidly. “Gold, your… I suppose he’d be your father, right?”

Gideon nodded.

“He usually calls when you’ve gotten more books in. I don’t even know how he got my number. But he’s been calling since…” her expression turned hazy and faraway for a moment. “He always calls first.” Her brow furrowed as her gaze snapped back into the present. “Where is Mr. Gold? He’s always brought them by, himself, in the past.” Those blue eyes went wide, her fingers twining together in front of her. “Is he alright?”

So, this explained why Belle French didn’t leave her house; she was clearly not ‘all there’ as the idiom went. Gideon wondered briefly if she might be dangerous but the very thought was absurd. In fact, he instinctively felt that if there was any danger lurking about, he’d be very tempted to protect tiny Miss Belle from it. There was something so nakedly vulnerable about her, something sweetly yearning in the way she asked about his father.

“He’s fine,” Gideon assured her, though with the Mayor, he couldn’t be sure he was telling the whole truth. Feeling the need to distract Belle with more pleasant topics, he handed her the bag. “I don’t know what he usually charges you but… here. We wouldn’t get much for them in the shop. So, they’re yours if you want them.”

Belle’s demeanor relaxed as she sifted through the contents of the bag. “Oh, these are lovely.” She smiled shyly as she looked up. “You are your father’s son. Only a Gold could be this kind.”

Gideon bit back a snort of surprise. Kind was not a word usually associated with the Gold name. If she’d been any other citizen of Storybrooke, he’d have assumed she was being sarcastic but there wasn’t even a hint of cynicism in the warm smile she gave him.

It woke something in him, something deep down and buried. For just a moment, he had the absurd notion that he wanted to hug her. Gideon Gold was not a man given to hugging strangers. He barely hugged his own father. He suddenly thought he understood why his father enjoyed visiting with this odd but decidedly pleasant lady. Typical that Gold Sr. would keep her to himself, just another in a million unshared secrets that built the wall between.

“Gid?” said a familiar, low voice behind him.

Before Gideon could even turn, he saw Belle look past him, her whole face seeming to bloom like a flower.

“Mr. Gold,” she breathed.

Gideon turned to the side and crossed his arms, looking down his nose at his father. “Father,” he said, curtly.

The expressions flitting over his father’s face were going too fast to read, confusion shifting into something akin to fear before melting into a grim smile. “Son, you were supposed to be at the shop until 6, today.” It was an admonishment in word only, lip service to his loosely held position of authority.  

Gideon’s nostrils flared, hip jutting in a rebellious posture, but he said nothing.

Papa’s eyes were flicking back and forth between him and Belle so fast it was almost dizzying to observe. They finally settled on Belle, whose smile only grew, her eyes brighter than before. Papa’s face softened to a kind of tenderness Gideon couldn’t remember ever seeing, except perhaps in faded memories of his childhood.

“Hey Belle,” Gold greeted her, hands at his sides, his fingers closing and unclosing, like he was fighting the urge to reach for her.

“You came to see me,” Belle leaned against the doorframe, bag of books still in one hand.

“I did. I promised I would, didn’t I?” Papa spoke in a gentle tone, as though they were the only two people in the world. His eyes never left hers, hands still flexing at his sides. 

Gideon shifted uncomfortably and he finally realized what he was seeing. Papa was in love with the mad hermit woman. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or be even angrier that this was yet another thing his father has chosen not to share with him.

Belle seemed to become aware of Gideon beside his father, again, as she raised the bag of books. “Your son is such a darling. He brought me more to read! There are some of my favorites in here, too. He has a good eye.” She beamed up at him.

Gideon felt that odd pull again, an urge to rest his head on her knee as she read one of those books aloud in her clear, sweet voice. He grudgingly allowed himself to recognize that Papa certainly couldn’t have chosen a more likable madwoman to love. He shrugged. “You, uh, you enjoy them. Papa, I’m gonna head back to the shop. I still have some inventory to do.”

His father eyed him searchingly, mouth a thin line. Slowly, Papa nodded, “Of course, my boy. I’ll drive you.”

“You don’t have to. It’s not a long walk and you just got here. I’m sure you guys want to…. talk or...” Gideon tried not to think about whatever else the two of them might do when he wasn’t around. 

Papa’s smile faded completely then, that deep sadness that always seemed to plague him settling into his gaze. His voice was slightly hoarse when he spoke. “Actually, it’s getting late and I know Miss Belle must be exhausted by now.”

As if on cue, Belle yawned widely. “You’re right, Mr. Gold. I’m so sorry, gentlemen. This was an awful lot of excitement for me in just one day.” She blushed, embarrassed, as she looked at Gideon and then his father. “I don’t talk to many people these days,” she explained to the former, the latter already nodding in understanding. A similar sadness in her eyes echoed his father’s gaze but it was murkier, buried even deeper and mixed with something else he couldn’t quite read. It hurt his head to try and understand.

“Good night, Belle,” Gold said, inclining his head in what almost looked like a bow.

Belle rallied one last smile, and offered a little curtsy. “Good night, Mr. Gold. And Gideon. Don’t be a stranger, alright?”

Gideon found a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “I won’t, Miss Belle.”

She shut the door and clicked all the locks back into place. Gideon led the way to the car lost in thought, his father trailing behind him. When they were buckled into their seats, Gold’s hand on the gear shift, he turned to his son.

“You… must have questions.”

Gideon turned to look at his father, the familiar worry lines of his face drawn and tense, the knuckles of his hand white as they gripped the gear shift. And for just a moment, it felt like everything was falling into place, like pieces of a puzzle he carried at the back of his mind were shifting to fit exactly where they should. Then the moment passed and they were just a father and son discussing the woman his father loved. 

Gideon knew nothing of his birth mother, only that she’d left when he was a baby and his father – though he never spoke ill of the woman - had been a broken man ever since.  But around Belle, Gold Sr. didn’t seem so broken. In fact, he looked happier than Gideon could ever remember seeing him.

Who was Gideon to deny him that?

He shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t think I do. Not this time.” He put a hand over his father’s. “She’s really very sweet, isn’t she?”

Papa took a sharp breath, a tremulous smile shaping his lips, a glint of silver at the corners of his eyes. “Aye son, that she is.”

They drove home in companionable silence.