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[abnormalpsychology]

Sometimes this site gives me a much brighter flame of hope for the future and sometimes it makes me a whole lot worse. I think that’s worth being transparent about actually

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty-One

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: as someone who is physically incapable of reading fics and other long tumblr posts line by line and word for word, i think it’s so fucking cool that a bunch of you regularly, excitedly read what i post. i would not blame you at all for skim reading. thank you.

***

The majority of Cassian’s life was spent battling with the fact of his own existence. First he was fatherless, then motherless, then homeless. Being taken in by Rhys’s parents, who bought him nice clothes and nicer gifts, was like putting a bandaid over a stab wound. It couldn’t change the questions that made up Cassian at his core: was he equal to everyone else in this world, or had he been born inherently inferior? Did he deserve the same happinesses that his friends so carelessly reaped, or should he step back and know his place?

The older he grew, the more he grappled with those questions—until the night he learned who his father was, and the truth behind his existence. That he was likely a product of rape. Nearly driving himself drunk off a mountainside in Monte Carlo was enough to make him realize with a startling clarity: he couldn’t keep asking himself the same questions for the rest of his life. At some point, he was going to have to buck the fuck up and make his peace with the world, whether he believed he deserved to be in it or not. And though it might have taken him a while to reach that conclusion, Cassian can proudly say he did it. Not long into his post-college years, Cassian finally grew up.

By twenty-seven, he was secure enough in himself and his place in the world to not have to deal with those doubtful voices every waking minute. His life was figured out, and his ego was unshakeable. Until Nesta Archeron entered the story.

Now at twenty-eight, Cassian is again unsecured—this time in a less tragic but more confusing way. Because everything he thinks he knows about himself, about life, she insists on proving wrong.

Including the issue of celebrating his birthday.

“I feel like I should have asked this earlier,” Cassian mutters to Nesta as they stand in the cozy resort lobby, “but why is Az here?”

Nesta looks both humiliated and resigned when she mutters back, “He wouldn’t pay for the resort unless I let him come with us.”

“At that point you should’ve just let me pay, babe.” He watches Azriel’s back as he chats up the lady at the front desk while getting their room keys.

“On your own birthday? It would have ruined the point,” Nesta says.

Cassian doesn’t retort that having his brother present at their couple’s retreat also ruins the point. He’s sure she already knows.

Nesta’s reaction when Cassian told her that he didn’t celebrate his birthday was unforgettable.

“No one in our inner circle really cares about birthdays,” he had shrugged. “Feyre’s birthday is the exception because she’s sort of the outsider, and Rhys will find any excuse to worship at her feet. But the rest of us? I don’t know, it was never a big deal.”

As someone who’s never skipped a birthday once in her life, even when she was isolated and ignoring her family’s phone calls, Nesta took this as a personal offense. “I need to get you out of this cabin,” she stated.

Which brings them here, to Colorado’s finest ski resort situated high in the Rocky Mountains. The lobby is littered with overstuffed armchairs and a crackling fireplace, and huge windows look out over the blinding white mountains.

Az starts heading their way, key cards in hand, when Cassian suddenly turns to Nesta. “We need to find him a woman,” he whispers.

“What?”

“We can’t let him third wheel with us for the whole weekend. We’ll never get time alone.” Cassian is set on this new plan, already scanning the lobby for women around Azriel’s age.

“I agree, but—”

Azriel reaches the two of them, tossing a room card to Nesta. “You can stop talking about me now. I’ll be spending most of my time hitting the slopes.”

Cassian and Nesta mumble a halfhearted, “We weren’t talking about you.”

He narrows his eyes at them. “Uh-huh. Just remember whose credit card this is going on.” Picking up his ski gear and duffel bag, he turns for the elevator.

Nesta frowns up at Cassian once Az is gone, more adorably than she probably intends. “Do you think he’s upset?”

He scoffs. “We should be upset at him.” He doesn’t want to have to worry about his brother while he’s on vacation, and Az definitely wouldn’t want him to worry either, but it isn’t something that can be helped.

Despite his irritation, he might go skiing with Az later this afternoon. Just to keep him company.

***

Nesta will give it to Azriel—he’s a man of fine taste, and also generous with his spending. She originally wanted a normal room for her and Cassian, preferably the cheapest one, but Az went behind her back and upgraded them to a fully decked out penthouse suite.

“This is too much for just a weekend,” she tells him over the phone while Cassian is in the bathroom. “How am I supposed to pay you back for this?”

“Why would you pay me back?” he says dismissively. “I’m rich.”

When Nesta tries arguing with him, he only replies, “I don’t take money from poor people,” and hangs up on her.

Which leaves Nesta to enjoy the four-spray shower and heated bathroom tiles free of charge. By the time she comes out of the shower, Cassian has already left with Azriel to hit some slopes before dinner, though not before leaving her a note promising to teach her how to ski tomorrow.

Nesta doesn’t even get to unwrap her towel from her body before realizing her phone is ringing incessantly, all the way from the other side of the suite. Jogging over to the living area, Nesta answers Emerie’s call. “What’s up?”

“Where are you?” Emerie greets without introduction.

“At the ski lodge?” Nesta answers, confused. “I already told you, for Cassian’s birthday.”

“I know that,” Emerie hisses. “I mean what room are you in? This place is huge.”

“Wait—you’re here?” Nesta looks quickly around herself, as if Emerie will pop up from behind the couch.

“Not just me. So is Gwyn.” Nesta hears rustling on the other side of the line, and then Emerie saying from a distance, “Answer for your crimes, Gwyneth. Say hi.”

A new, clearer voice comes over the phone. “Hiii, Nesta.” Gwyn sounds weak, like she is not having fun at all.

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?” Nesta demands.

“Well, it’s a long story and I need to see you first. Also, I have to pee. Where is your room?”

Five minutes later, Gwyn and Emerie are sitting obediently before the roaring fireplace in Nesta and Cassian’s suite.

Now fully dressed, Nesta stabs a finger at Emerie. “Explain.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Emerie says indignantly. “Gwyn barged into my place at eight in the morning and dragged me all the way here—”

“It was an emergency!” Gwyn tosses her hands in the air. “It still is an emergency. That’s why we’re here.”

“I’m here because Gwyn is scared of traveling alone,” Emerie interjects. “And driving on highways.”

“Guys!” Nesta snaps.

Gwyn makes a whining sound of defeat and drops her head into her hands. After a long moment, she speaks. “He asked if we could go to dinner together. Like, right to my face. And I panicked and said yes, because I couldn’t think of a reason to say no, but obviously I can’t do that. So this morning I cashed in my sick days and told him I was going on vacation for a whole week.” Gwyn looks up at Nesta with pleading teal eyes. “Please can we stay here the whole week?”

Nesta stares at Gwyn, feeling like her brain was just sucked dry. “First of all, who’s ‘he’?”

“Max!” She stands in her outburst. “The love of my life. The man who works on the fourth floor of the library. Do you pay attention to the groupchat at all?”

Oh yeah, that guy. “You came all the way here,” Nesta drawls out slowly, “so you wouldn’t have to have dinner with your crush?”

“It wasn’t just any dinner.” Gwyn flops back onto the couch. “It was a date. I can’t go on a date with him. First dates lead to second dates, and second dates lead to—sex.” She whispers the last word.

“Really?” Emerie frowns, not missing a beat at the mention of Gwyn’s deepest fear. “What kind of dates have you been having?”

“I haven’t been having any dates,” Gwyn says. “Why, how long do you usually see someone before doing it?”

“First date, at most,” Emerie shrugs.

“No,” Nesta steps in, sending Emerie a bewildered look. “Gwyn, you’ve known this guy for a while now. If he’s half as decent as you think he is, he won’t expect sex by the second date. And even if he does—”

“What does it matter?” Gwyn wails. “It’ll come up eventually. And when it does, he’ll think I’m a freak.”

“He won’t get a chance to think anything before I kill him,” Emerie says, eyes darkening.

Nesta says nothing, knowing this is something she can’t advise Gwyn about. Whether or not Gwyn chooses to share her past and unresolved trauma with another man, and whether or not that man reacts in an unshitty way isn’t something Nesta can determine. So she just states for the record, “You’re not a freak.”

“But it’s what he’ll think.”

“Then you shouldn’t be with him in the first place,” Nesta says firmly. Even though she knows better than anyone that it isn’t always that simple.

Proving her point, Gwyn scoffs and looks away. “You don’t get it.”

“What I really don’t get,” Nesta says, “is why you took your lie so literally. Why did you come all the way out here instead of hiding out at home for the week?”

“Merrill sees and knows everything. I can’t lie to her.” Gwyn cringes. “If I stayed at home, she would sniff me out as soon as she got me on the phone, and then I’d really be screwed.”

Nesta cocks her head at Gwyn, squinting her eyes in something akin to fascination.

“I had the same reaction,” Emerie pipes up. She shakes her head at Gwyn. “I’ve never met a more melodramatic idiot, truly.”

Gwyn curls into herself on the couch, looking ashamed.

Nesta sighs sharply, then whips out a hand. “Give me your wallets. I’ll go downstairs right now and see if I can book a room last minute.”

Emerie sits up at that. “Uh… I’m not sure I can afford a place like this.”

“Neither can I,” Nesta says. “That’s why Azriel paid for all of us.”

Gwyn’s eyes go comically round. “Azriel’s here?”

“Unfortunately.” She snaps her fingers at both girls. “Credit or debit, now.”

“So… I’m assuming we can’t just share this huge suite with you guys, huh?” Gwyn says hesitantly.

There might be actual flames in Nesta’s eyes. This is Cassian’s birthday, goddammit. Cassian, who hasn’t celebrated a birthday since he was eleven. “Please don’t push me.”

Gwyn and Emerie, very reluctantly, hand their cards over to Nesta. Emerie hands over two, just in case.

In the end, Nesta doesn’t use any of their money, but charges the new room to her own account. She’ll work it off by putting extra hours into Night Court, she tells herself.

When she returns to the penthouse suite, she spies tracks outlined in melted snow at the doorway. Shit. She barges inside to find Cassian and Azriel standing in the middle of the living area, with Emerie looking awkward on the couch.

“Uh, we just got back—” Cassian starts.

“I can explain,” Nesta interrupts.

A faucet turns off in the distance, and Gwyn peeks her head out of the bathroom door.

“Oh, shit,” Azriel says in delight. “Freckles is here too?”

Gwyn looks like she’s about to turn right back around to the bathroom. Nesta and Cassian both throw Az a baffled look, but Nesta says, “I can fix this. I’ve already fixed it.” She goes over to Emerie and hands her a key card. “You and Gwyn are going to stay on the first floor, and you won’t bother me or Cassian for the duration of our stay. It’ll be like you’re not even here.” She whips toward Gwyn, who still hovers near the bathroom doorway. “And at the end of this weekend, you’re going back to work like the adult you are and taking care of your shit.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gwyn says quietly, lowering her head.

Cassian comes over to Nesta, whispering, “So, you didn’t invite them to keep Az company or anything, right?”

“I can hear you,” Azriel says.

“Of course not,” Nesta whispers back. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“Really? Because I thought it was kind of convenient—”

“I can still hear you,” Az repeats.

“So can I,” Emerie nods.

“Shut up,” Nesta hisses at the both of them. Grabbing Cassian’s still-gloved hand, she drags him upstairs and away to their bedroom. When the door shuts behind them, she turns to him and blurts, “I’m so sorry.”

Cassian only laughs, taking his ski jacket off and brushing away the wet snow from the back. “I’m not.” He tosses his jacket and gloves over a chair and approaches Nesta, tugging her closer by her oversized turtleneck. “And what did I tell you about wasting your apologies?”

Nesta doesn’t care. “I ruined your birthday.”

“My birthday’s not until tomorrow,” he says with a straight face. “But honestly, I like this a lot more than just you, me, and Az. At least he can’t third wheel anymore, right?”

She shakes her head insistently, frustration boiling in her blood. “Everything’s going wrong.”

“But you solved our problems.” He finds Nesta’s clenched fists and unfurls them with gentle hands. “You got the girls their own room, and now Az can be distracted with those two. We can still be alone. We win.”

Nesta purses her lips, unconvinced, when Cassian adds, “But seriously, though—what the fuck are they doing here?”

She exhales deeply, letting her head drop forward onto Cassian’s chest. “I don’t know,” she mutters. “Gwyn panicked about some personal stuff and thought it was a good idea to come to me. I don’t want to make her leave, though.” Gwyn is being stupid right now, without a doubt, but Nesta won’t abandon her. Neither will Emerie.

God, having friends sucks.

Cassian threads a hand through her loose hair and hums. “Gwyn was smart for coming to you.”

***

Dinner is held outside in the snow and cold, but everyone bundles up and sits down at a table that surrounds one of the multiple fire pits in the courtyard. Cassian convinced Nesta to let Gwyn and Emerie hang out with them for the weekend, because what else are those poor girls supposed to do, and now the women babble over each other as they decide what to drink.

Cassian sits back and takes it in, the sight feeling heartwarmingly familiar and strangely brand new at the same time. Nesta ends up being the one to order everybody’s drinks, and once the waiter scampers back inside, Gwyn releases a terse breath. “Sometimes I still get scared of that tone.”

“I’m always scared of it,” Az mutters, eyeing Nesta from the corner of his eye.

“What tone?” Cassian laughs. He knows Nesta is still a little wound up from her plans going off the rails, but she hasn’t done anything scary.

“I’m used to it,” Emerie says through a mouthful of fries, “but I think that waiter almost cried.”

“That’s how I sound all the time.” Nesta shrugs, sitting back.

“What tone?” Cassian repeats.

Nesta clicks her tongue impatiently. “You know how I talk. I’m straightforward.”

“And harsh,” Azriel adds. “Even aggressive.”

“Watch it.” Gwyn turns stern eyes onto him over the fire pit.

“I have no idea what you all are talking about,” Cassian says. He turns to Nesta. “You sound perfectly normal to me.”

She narrows her perfect brows at him, and Emerie laughs, “I don’t know if that’s romantic or ignorant.”

But now that they’re discussing it, Cassian does distinctly remember Nesta having a sharp edge to her words while they were getting to know each other. Did it disappear over time, or has he really stopped noticing it?

He doesn’t get to think about it before their drinks arrive, followed soon by a dinner of fancy sandwiches.

Cassian cuts his beef sandwich in half and gives the other half to Nesta, and she does the same with her turkey sandwich. They eat and drink around the crackling fire, laughing and talking about tomorrow’s plans (“It’s not your birthday, Azriel,” Nesta says. “Stop asking about gifts.”). Cassian and Emerie talk idly about video games over wine, and even though it isn’t really his thing, he can see her excitement over it and gladly indulges it.

Once everyone is finished eating and is slightly drunk, Gwyn pulls a small sleeve of crackers out of her puffy jacket, followed by a fun-sized Hershey’s bar and a handful of mini marshmallows.

“What are you doing?” Nesta says.

“Making dessert.” Gwyn builds a mini s’more and places it carefully on her fork so she can toast it over the fire pit. When it’s done, she leans forward even more to try to put it on Nesta’s plate. “For you. Thank you for letting me and Emerie stay.”

Nesta jumps, catching the s’more with her plate and batting Gwyn away from the fire pit at the same time. “You’ll set your hair on fire,” she hisses.

Gwyn’s hair remains safe, but now Cassian catches his brother watching Gwyn amusedly from the corner of his eye. “Can I have one?” Az says.

“I’m all out.” Gwyn says while building another s’more, refusing to meet his eyes.

Cassian and Nesta share a look, a hundred words thrown back and forth between them in that glance. She scoots her chair closer to him to slip her cold hands into his warm ones, but while the conversation carries on around the table, she leans in and whispers, “I’m not a busybody but…”

“I am,” he whispers back. “Az is being weird, weirder than usual.”

Nesta nods. “I’ve never seen him so—outgoing.”

Neither has Cassian, but before he can mention anything else, he looks up to find that Gwyn and Azriel’s seats at the table are empty. “How much did those two drink?” he breathes.

Nesta follows his gaze, seeing what he’s seeing: Azriel and Gwyn wandering clumsily around the snowy courtyard. Or rather, Az is trying to chase Gwyn down for a s’more, while she clutches her mini marshmallows to her chest and vehemently yells, “They’re mine!”

Meanwhile, Emerie is half asleep at the table.

Cassian watches as Gwyn nears the towering fir tree at the center of the courtyard and slips. Az shoots out a hand to catch her, but not before her ass hits the stone, hard. He pulls her back up, no longer fooling around, and Gwyn rubs her butt in pain.

Cassian suddenly feels Nesta squeezing the life out of his hands, and he looks over to find fury written across her face. For a heartbeat, he feels worried for Az.

“Go deal with him,” Nesta says lowly. “Before I do.”

Not needing any more words to understand, he stands out of his seat and heads out into the courtyard. He doesn’t know why Nesta thinks Gwyn needs protecting, but it makes him feel protective himself. Approaching the duo, he sees that Azriel finally acquired the leftover s’more ingredients from Gwyn.

“There’s only like half a cracker left,” Az mutters to himself, shaking the baggie.

“Is he bothering you?” Cassian asks Gwyn, who still looks grumpy over losing their skirmish.

Whipping her head to Cassian like he’s her savior, Gwyn nods furiously. “Please make him stop.”

Cassian turns to Azriel with rage in his eyes, a clear What the fuck do you think you’re doing?

But Az shakes his head in denial. “It’s not like that. Look, she’s smirking at me!” He points over Cassian’s shoulder.

When Cassian looks, Gwyn is already walking back to the fire pit, holding her bruised ass.

Az starts, “What a fake little—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Cassian interrupts. “Yesterday you’re crying over Elain and today you’re flirting with Nesta’s friend?”

Azriel goes serious, his face turning colder than the night air. “How do you know about Elain?” he says gruffly.

“Everyone knows, Azriel.” Cassian stares down his brother, wondering if he’ll finally get him to get his head screwed on straight after these past weeks of secretive bullshit.

Azriel sets his jaw, but a muscle there ticks.

“Will you finally at least tell me what’s going on in your head?” Cassian pleads. “Because I can’t keep guessing.”

Azriel glances toward the dinner table, as if checking to see that no one is paying attention to them. Looking back, he inhales a breath. “You want to know why I left Velaris?”

Like Nesta, Azriel is not one to quickly make himself vulnerable. So there’s no blatant emotion in his voice when he says, “I started seeing her at the end of summer, not long after she broke up with her ex. And it was so…nice after every other relationship I’ve been in has gone wrong. We kept it quiet, and because of that, it was peaceful.” Azriel’s eyes meet Cassian’s twin ones, and he smirks without humor. “But you already know what that’s like, don’t you?”

He does. Cassian crosses his arms, waiting for Az to continue.

“Anyway, we had a good run. For a long time, it was mostly just sex, but I liked her. I liked her a lot.” Az kicks at the snow-dusted cobblestones. “Then Christmas came around, and Rhys found out.” His face darkens as he remembers, and Cassian stiffens, knowing what’s next isn’t good. Sometimes Rhys forgets the boundary between boss and brother.

“He didn’t say anything about it to Elain, of course,” Azriel says. “But he dragged my ass aside and gave me this huge lecture about us using each other as rebounds. Said ‘Feyre’s sister’ deserves better or some shit. I told him there was more to it than that, but he wouldn’t listen. Instead he brought Vanserra & Co. into it, like his business matters had anything to do with me and Elain.” Azriel’s eyes crinkle at the corners in a puzzled way. “So I got to thinking, ‘why would he bring the Vanserras up?’ He made it seem like such a big deal.” The toe of his boot digs a hole into the ground.

Sympathy churns alongside anger in Cassian’s chest for Azriel’s situation, anger at Rhysand for crossing that line between brothers. He’s only momentarily grateful that Rhys never tried doing something similar to him and Nesta.

“I thought she was over that other guy, Lucien,” Az continues. “But maybe she’s not, if Rhys is so concerned about what Lucien’s stepfather thinks. Anyway, that’s why I ran. Because I knew she liked me, but I also knew she didn’t love me. I didn’t want us to cause all that trouble with Rhys just to end up backed into a corner one day, having nowhere else to go because she loves someone else and I’m just a rebound. It would be awkward for everyone involved.” He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s mostly my fault, for always chasing after women I can’t have.” He finally looks up at Cassian. “When you talk to Elain, does it sound like she hates me?” The question is quiet, straightforward.

“No,” Cassian answers, voice rough. Even if Azriel wants to hide his feelings, Cassian won’t. “She doesn’t seem like she hates you. I don’t even think she’s mad at you.” Concerned, anxious, upset—that’s Elain as far as he knows.

“She should hate me,” Azriel says. “She should get pissed, burn my old clothes, and swear to never talk to me again. That’s the only way she can move on.” Maybe even move back to Lucien, is what goes unsaid.

Cassian isn’t so sure about that. Even as he feels for Az, he thinks both of his brothers should get slapped upside the head for how they’ve been acting lately. He won’t be the one to do it, but he might get Nesta to relay a message to Elain. It’ll be the same thing. “I’m sorry,” he tells Az instead. “I know I’ve been hard on you lately. When we get home, I’ll start doing better.” He claps Az on the shoulder and squeezes.

Azriel surprises him by scoffing, looking away in disbelief. “Wow, being compassionate is really a full time job for you, huh?” He claps Cassian’s shoulder back, pulling him into a sudden hug. “You’ve already done more than enough,” he says into Cassian’s ear. “Go to your girlfriend and take a rest.”

Taken aback, Cassian nods and pulls away. He’s about to turn around and leave when Az says, “By the way, I wasn’t flirting with Gwyn.”

Cassian raises a brow. “You were definitely doing something.”

Az rolls his eyes. “I’m not giving her anything she can’t handle. But in case you haven’t noticed, I have no interest in other women right now.” He makes a face. “Especially not her.”

Cassian chuckles. “I believe you. It’s Nesta you need to worry about.”

“Whatever. I’m not scared of her.”

That makes Cassian laugh even harder, but he turns around, ready to go back to said girlfriend. As he nears the fire pit, though, he finds that Gwyn is already there and cuddled up to Nesta. On Nesta’s other side, Emerie now sits in Cassian’s chair, asleep on her friend’s shoulder. He stops in his tracks.

Cassian wasn’t lying when he told Nesta that he was happy about their changed vacation plans—he believes the more the merrier, and he loves these people. Yet he can’t help but wish the two of them could be alone for just one day. Only one.

God, sometimes having friends sucks.

***

a/n: this is a two parter so next chapter we’ll finally be getting more nessian alone time

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[wordynerdygurl]

Skin Deep - Part 6

Author’s Note:  Honestly, this story is nearing it’s ending.  Hard to believe that a little idea I couldn’t shake has now grown into this mini-series!  For all my die-hard homies, waiting for the next installment, I hope this is worth your while!  If you’re new here, take a look around, see if you like anything and please, let the management know if you have any questions!! As always, writing like this requires the emotional support of people and pets.  My dogs, Murphy and Winston, get me through a lot of plot bunnies just by being stalwart companions.  My husband, graciously, lets me take these flights of fancy when I probably should be paying better attention to him and his day... and some of my besties here on Tumblr make it possible for me to do this for you guys.  @sammy-jo1977​ , my sister from another mister!  Couldn’t/ Wouldn’t do it without you! To all the folks who follow me... My Minxes!  Love you all!  Stay well, be kind, and remember that Love, really does conquer all!  If you want to be a Minx, send me a note, I’ll happily add you to my tag list! Lastly, be sure to like and share anything that you see on Tumblr that catches your eye.  Creative types, we need the constant validation, you see?  Without it, like an unwatered plant, we wither on the vine and perish!  Be kind to those who help you through the day and reblog! Skin Deep Part 5 - click here for the previous chapter! Pairing:  Loki x Reader, Steve, Valkyrie & Thor all make appearances Summary:  Continued from Part 5, You and Loki put your plan into action, returning to Farmhouse.  When you encounter Steve again, you learn there’s more than two sides to this story. Warnings:  Loki’s POV and perspective, including mentions of his time under Thanos.  I’m re-writing MCU history here, but some of the main beats are the same, so look out for SPOILERS for Dark World, Ragnarok, and a touch of Infinity War.  The SNAP never happened because, reasons.  

Empathy used to seem such a human emotion.  Loki had no time for that on Asgard, not when Odin denied anything as frivolous as feeling.  Hiding in plain sight was the means to survival and if that made the young prince sneaky and sly, so be it.  By placing those parts of himself under lock and key; the parts that hurt, the ones that ached, Loki found it was safer to disconnect from others than subject himself to their suffering too.

Operating under the influence of Thanos and his minions when he held the scepter, Loki had purposefully divorced connection of any kind from his mind.  It was dangerous.  Weak.  And moreover, it allowed Loki to do what Thanos commanded without really experiencing the horror, the havoc, of his actions for himself. 

  Who could hear the screams of women when the voice of Ebony Maw subliminally chanted all the ways that one could be dismembered at Thanos’ hands should Loki fail?  What man would shed a tear after the near constant beatings doled out by Black Order members, just for the fun of it?  How could someone care about a house, a car, a city, when they no longer cared about themself? Losing the Battle for New York had consequences far beyond the destruction of property.  With Thanos’ hold over him vanquished, the walls around his heart, constructed in youth, crashed and burned like the dream of ruling Earth.  Suddenly and completely out of reserves, Loki was powerless.  And he felt everything.  The fresh hurts caused by his manipulated ambitions in the hands of Thanos. The furious feelings of his brother, the inadequacies of his character, the feeble needs that drove his wild ambition washed over him unceasingly.  Anger.  Loss.  Lunacy.  Loki learned a hard truth in that moment.  He was a monster.  A freak.  A creature beyond hope and salvation; proving his adoptive father right and his own hopeful heart wrong.  Bitterness soured the fallen prince. Endless hours in isolation on Earth, which continued in his father's house, had Loki believing he had no chance of seeing the world outside again, and it hardened his heart further.  To feel was so painful, so raw, and so humane.  Why bother anyway?  All that emoting, those high spirits, all they really did was expose you to derision.  What was grief to a goblin?  What was horror to a monster?  What was love to a villain like him?  An evil, conspiring demi-god, with a mind bent toward domination.  A damaged, destroyed, deity alone and in pieces.  Who would ever give someone like Loki Odinson a chance?  Why should they?

Turning to his mother, Loki did everything but ask for forgiveness.  In long rambling talks, her projection to his jailed person, the pair talked around ideas of guilt and innocence, of fate and fortune, of destiny versus desire, yet Loki never heard the words he needed in order to truly find peace.   

If Frigga was aware of her son’s need for absolution, Loki would never know, as their last exchange was harsh and full of anger.  Another stroke of loss, crippling now, because there was nothing Loki could do to change any of it from inside his prison cell.  No illusion could conceal the painful ache that consumed him entirely. 

Those days were dark, even for a soul as dusky hued as his own, and Loki’s thoughts followed a similar path.  If there had been a way for him to shake off this immortal coil, free himself of the burden of living, Loki would have done so and been glad.  Death was welcome compared to all this longing and heartache. But life, even a nearly immortal one, was funny. 

When Thor provided a chance at redemption, Loki snatched at it, in his own detached way.  He played hero, rescuing Jane, aiding his brother.  And if he took a bit more in the form of deposing his arrogant, aging father, who would be surprised?  He was Loki, God of Mischief, after all. Ruling the Nine Realms without the oppressive oversight of his father allowed Loki to prove himself in ways he never imagined.  And Loki wasn’t just good at it.  He was great. Of course, it helped that no one knew he was Loki.  Living disguised as Odin was often unpleasant, frequently frustrating, but entirely necessary.  Being Loki was still too difficult and likely to bring unwanted attention in the form of The God of Thunder, a thing that no one truly wanted, Loki least of all. Return Thor did, along with an unknown sister and the end of Asgard.  When confronted with the insanity of Hela’s bloodlust, Loki’s only thought was of his kingdom, now without a ruler.  He had worked too hard, too long, to see the land he cared for in the hands of an enemy, even if she called herself sister.  Opening the Bi-Frost, panicked, his mind was solely on saving those he had recently held dominion over.  They were his people, after all.  But he never reached Asgard. Swallowing his fear, Loki focused all his energy on staying alive in a new and distracting environment, initially.  What Loki found on Sakaar wasn't a new home base under a flamboyant, ineffective leader that he could control, even if that was his first design.  On Sakaar Loki found his loyalty.  

The proud, deep resonance of being Asgardian, of being an Odinson, of being capable and cool under pressure.  Sure, he had to prove himself to Thor, Valkyrie, Banner and honestly, the rest of the kingdom, but actions speak louder than words.  And through his actions on Sakkar, and by extension rescuing the people of Asgard, Loki had shown everybody his true mettle. It was on the deck of a stolen ship headed for Midgard that  Loki had made a commitment of sorts.  One that was not to the people, so recently saved or for his found family.  This time, the promise Loki intended to keep was for himself.  Loki was going to change. The problem is, a task like that takes time.  Patience.  Motivation.  It was something that Loki had to work at and it was exhausting. They say that the best things come to those who wait.  Loki was learning to wait everyday.  Having earned a place at the side of his brother, he worked tirelessly to win over the heroes of his new home planet.  Was it easy?  Hardly, but Loki wasn’t willing to compromise.  Not anymore. A life like Hela’s was not in his runes.  Loki was simply going to be better.  Not perfect.  No one could be as good hearted as Captain America, nor could one be as tech savvy as Stark.  So Loki was planning on being the best Loki he could possibly be, and that’s how he found himself going to meetings at The Avengers Tower, a mostly welcome addition to the team. Meetings weren’t all that exciting and boredom was an awful temptation for a deity devoted to mayhem.  In fact, Loki spent more time doodling in his notebook than listening to whoever was droning on about whatever part of the world needed the attention of this motley crew.  That was, until Pepper Potts hired her new assistant.  That you were polite, pretty and pert wasn’t lost on the young god.  Sitting outside Mrs. Iron Man’s office, typing away with a phone tucked under your ear, moving faster than anyone he had ever seen was certainly impressive.  You were quick witted, clever and most of all, funny. Everyone else seemed to fall under your spell without much effort on your part, something that Loki found frustratingly fascinating.  Here he was, struggling to get people to say his name without having a traumatic flashback, while you simply smiled and smarted off prettily, and had everyone singing your praises.  But Norns, were you adorable. If he thought about it, and while off planet, Loki definitely had, he could remember the moment he realized that you were the woman he wanted.  You were busy, as always, fielding phone calls and flipping through screens yet every moment your flying fingers weren’t hovering over a keyboard or pushing down telephone buttons they curled around a heart shaped charm at your throat.  Clearly, it was a habit and one that you weren’t even aware of, still - it transfixed him all the same.  Watching you from his side eye, your voice never wavering, your tone always so pleasing, and your nimble digits returning again and again to the small sigil around your neck.  “Loki?” “Huh?”  Dumbfounded at your call, those deep sea eyes blinked wildly at the sound of his name on your lips. “Hi!  Yes, Pepper can see you now.  Go ahead, she’s ready!” He rose on stiff legs, adjusting his tie, about to lie to Tony Stark’s woman all for the chance to see you in passing.  Who had he become? It started out innocent like that, but soon, Loki was having to invent excuses for being in the office so frequently.  Missing files, random visits, even going so far as to buy Tony coffee just for the thrill of seeing you.  Something needed to change, and quickly, or Loki was going to blow. On another made up errand, hanging around the executive’s high rise office, Loki was doing a bad job of pretending not to see you.  His mind was on your pouty lips as you sipped lemonade through a straw and not on the stately woman seated behind the desk. 

“Loki, you’re a man of some… style.”  Pepper said it so casually that he almost didn’t hear, his head lost in thoughts that would shame any other person. “I like to think so.”

Shutting her folder with a snap, Pepper smiled, “And you’d love to help your old friend Pepper out, right?” That got his attention, and quickly.  Loki, shoving his hands in his pockets, turned to face Pepper with a widening grin, “I feel like I’m being baited.”

“Baited?  Never!  It’s just, you’re always here and I have a… project that needs the kind of help that you can provide.”  At those words you entered the office, ready for action with a notebook and pen, eager and excited. Suddenly, it was all clear to Loki, “Pepper, no.”  

The noose closed in on the handsome god as Pepper gathered paperwork without looking his way, “Come on, it’s the Stark Homecoming Gala and the two of you will do great!  I have faith in you both.  I can’t wait to see what you come up with!” “Really, Miss Potts, I simply can’t-” Stopping short, the strawberry blonde whipped around, almost nose to nose with Loki.  Shrewd and straightforward, Pepper interrupted, saying, “You’ve been dancing around my office for weeks now.  Clearly you like her and… against all the odds, she likes you too.  I’m doing you a favor and when someone does you a favor, you say “Thank You”.” “Thank you.” Nodding curtly, “You’re welcome.  Now, make yourselves comfortable, order some dinner, my treat.  And do whatever you need to make sure this is one great party!” That’s how Loki found himself sitting at a clear glass table over sweating bottles of iced tea as you discussed color themes and tablecloths.  You were shy, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you reviewed notes from previous gatherings both large and small.  His hands itched with wanting to do that job himself. “So, what do you think?”  It was the first time you had addressed him directly since coming through the door and for a moment Loki couldn’t answer.  You were too… not beautiful, that wasn’t the right word, although you were.  No, you were too open, too easy to read, and the earnestness you offered him was downright frightening. Sitting forward in the uncomfortable, yet fashionable, office furniture, Loki cleared his throat and again tugged his tie, “What I think is that you should let me take you dinner.” Dropping your eyes, your cheeks colored slightly as your fingers found that locket charm once more, “Loki, I… I don’t know-” Grabbing for your hand, suddenly afraid that you would take those shining eyes away, Loki lowered his voice and did something he never thought he would.  He begged.  “Please?  I find that you’re all I can think about.” It rushed out of him in a torrent, the way truth so often does, and he found himself unable to look you in the eye.  Loki was afraid to see rejection on your easy to read face, afraid that wanting you had cracked open the lock box holding his heart, afraid that you would see just how weak you made him.  Your fingers twined with his own as you replied, “You didn’t let me finish.  I don’t know what took you so long.” Sighing with relief, his face melting into a genuine smile, “Me either.” Over the next two months the pair of you worked tirelessly to plan and execute a perfect party.  You were inseparable during the day, heads buried together as you discussed linens and table settings, the quality of cocktail glasses, and debating over a band or a dj.  But at night, at night Loki talked about the things that haunted him in the dark.  And you loved him in spite of the awful things he had seen and done and said. Others took notice.  Loki was more lighthearted, more available.  He listened when people spoke and wasn’t constantly doodling during meetings.   Yes, Loki was learning how to love through your loving him.  If empathy had seemed too humane before, then sharing his life, his love with you, was the kind of immortality that earned someone a place in Valhalla.  It was the bravest thing Loki Odinson had ever done and he didn’t mind one bit.

The first time Loki tasted you was burned into his brain, as bright as a flash of lightning.  A firefly in a memory jar that he kept returning to, time and again.  Loki remembered what you were wearing.  He recalled exactly how the light shone in your eyes.  If he concentrated, he could tap out the rhythm of your racing pulse as he held you in his arms. It was the night of the gala.  Inviting everyone under the Stark Industries banner, up to and including the heroes tasked with saving the world, the event was a way to earn money for one of the many charities Tony supported.  The place was full of beautiful people wearing gorgeous clothes under perfect lights set to the hand crafted soundtrack you had created together.

But, Norns, he could still remember the way your eyes sparkled under the lowlights of that hall.  How your dress, simple but sophisticated, clung to the fullness of your bottom.  Low cut but somehow still modest, Loki couldn’t tear his gaze away from the promise of your curves, willing himself to find anything else as interesting as the idea of you.  

You were across the room hanging onto Tony’s every word, eyes bright and cheerfully glowing as you sipped champagne.  It made Loki want to do something grand, something suave, something that would demand your attention for his own.  Moving towards you, his tuxedo perfectly pressed and fitting better than it had any right to, Loki looked long and lean.  Each of his steps seemed to echo, even though the room was full of sound, and you turned your head as if you also heard.  Breaking away from the cluster of acolytes surrounding Iron Man, you bit into your lip as the crowd parted, moving closer together one step at a time.  It was one of the sexiest things Loki had ever witnessed. Lifting your glass in a toast, taking in the room of mingling millionaires, wealthy hangers on and Avengers, “Well, we did it!” “You did it, my dove, I just hung around and judged everyone.” “Oh stop.  I couldn’t have done it without you and you know it.”  Playfully you pushed against his shoulder and Loki took advantage, using your momentum to pull you to his side, your curvy figure flush against his own. Crooning into the shell of your ear, his lips brushing over that sensitive skin, “Somehow, love, I think you would have managed.”  Before you had time to think, Loki had melded his mouth with your own, stealing your breath along with your heart.  Loki’s feet moved in time with the music as he pulled into a dance, laughing in his arms, your cheeks hot and your head swimming. You laughing was, without question, Loki’s favorite sound.  Nothing in this world or any other came close to matching the joyful, childlike glee of that enchanting noise.  Loki memorized its melody, the rise and fall of your giggle.  He had craved it, being away for so long, and now he wanted… no, needed to hear it.  But you were the furthest thing from happy at the moment.   

"Darling, please.  We have to go."  Loki tapped his watch, shaking himself free from the memories of your previous life together and barely suppressing his irritation.

Tears filled your eyes as you whipped your arms around Thor’s mighty shoulders, his deep voice grumbly with emotion, "Take care of him, would you?  He's a jerk, but Loki is the only brother I have."

"Of course… always.  And Valkyrie, your highness, I can’t thank you enough for-"

"No need.  Loki, and by extension yourself, will always have a safe haven here in my palace."

Looking on, Loki and Thor embraced almost tenderly before crashing their heads together.  

"Stay safe, little brother."

"Be good, Thor."

Eyes on the sky, Val ignored the show of masculine emotion, chastising your plan, "You’re going to start a war, Loki."

Straight backed, Loki turned to the king, "Not on the grass of New Asgard.  I will take the fight to them, that is my vow to you."

As Loki offered his hand, Valkyrie shook it, with parting words, "Work on staying alive.  You have a tendency to worry your brother."

Solemnly nodding, "As the king commands.  Shall we?"  With that Loki laced his fingers with yours, leading you a few paces away from the people who loved him most, before summoning the magic that had you both transcending space and time.

This time when your feet touched down it was on the familiar turf of the orchard, surrounded by the scent of apple blossoms and the buzzing of happy bees.  Morning had broken and the world seemed full of promise, with the exception of that knot in your stomach.

"Are you ready?  Darling?"

"Oh… yes.  I mean, I still don't love this plan, but-"

"But it's going to work."  Only it was no longer the baritone voice of your long, lean Loki speaking.  In his place stood Nick Fury, leather duster and eye patch in place.

"If you say so!"  And you clutched your own throat as Natasha’s bored tones came out of your mouth.  The suit, skin tight but flexible, molded to your modified form.  All in all, you were comfortable, "The boots are a bit much."

"Ya think?  This jacket weighs a ton."  Pulling at his collar, "Why does he wear a turtleneck anyway?"

"Loki, this is so weird.  It feels so weird."

"Agreed, but then, why am I so turned on?"

Laughing, you shook your false red hair, hands resting on Natasha’s waist, "God, I've missed you."

"Same, dearest.  Now… let's get your necklace and some answers!"

---

 Convincing Bucky to head home had taken a lot of work, but sometime around 2 am Steve had finally seen his friend off.  The house was empty.  Steve felt the same way.

Turning the black velvet box in his pocket, fingers crushed against the fragile fabric, Steve struggled to feel anger.  When that didn't materialize he shot for sadness but even tears seemed beyond his ability.  

With a sigh, climbing the same stairs he had trudged up a hundred times before, Steve started going through the motions of bedtime.  Only tonight you weren’t there to tease him about the wildly inappropriate amount of toothpaste on his brush.  He didn’t have your light footsteps to follow to the bedside or your help with stacking all of your extra, yet entirely essential, pillows on the chair.

Someone must have changed the sheets, he thought.  There was no evidence of you and Loki’s adventurous afternoon anymore.  Steve made a mental note to thank Buck for that little piece of kindness in the morning.

Shucking his shirt, Steve sat on the mattress, a hand to his forehead.  He had lost.  Captain America had been bested.  Beaten.  And by Loki, no less.

Moonlight in silver slivers shone through the window panes, squares of light in the deep of night.  Steve was alone.  Utterly and totally alone.

And there was no one to blame but himself.

Sighing hard, Steve stood, pacing the floor to work off some of the unspendable anxiety he kept creating.  The room still had your energy, your vibe, as you liked to call it, and the feeling was a prickling itch Steve couldn’t quite satisfy.  Traces of you were everywhere and something about you leaving all of it, and him, behind was just too big to process. “Damn it.”  Even whispering sounded like thunder in the silence of your recently vacated room.  His hands, so big, so strong, smoothed along the fabric of your hanging clothes.  All that power had done nothing to help Steve get the thing he wanted. Sorting through the baubles and trinkets on your dresser, bottles of perfume he had purchased, necklaces and pins, each with a moment of memory it hurt him to recall.  Your watch ticked away the minutes as he stood, stoic and still, surrounded by the shadow of you.  In the orchard the birds were waking, their song filling the air, as morning broke in low golden rays.  Abandoning his plan for sleep, Steve watched as the light chased away the dark, casting rainbows on the floor.  The sun was reflecting off of your Grandmother’s necklace.  A pretty, ancient, carved cameo,  heart shaped locket.  He recalled his own mother owning one just like it, pictures of loved ones pressed inside, holding them as tight as history would allow. Fisting the filigree chain, winding it around his fingers as if it would somehow undo what he had done, Steve slipped it into his pocket before settling back onto the bed.  ----

At the back door to the home you so recently shared with Steve, Loki hung back, “I think this is where we split up.  You go find your treasure and me… I’m going to find some answers.” Nodding, Natasha’s signature red hair swinging, you squeezed the hand holding your own.  It no longer looked like Loki’s long fingered paw, but that was only a skin deep change.  You felt the undeniable essence of him in the press of his fingers against your own. “Be careful.” “That’s no fun, dove.” “Loki-”  You hated the way your voice broke as you said it, but there just seemed to be so much at stake and you had already lost him once. Sensing your unspoken concerns, Loki flashed you Nick Fury’s best smile, “I will.  I promise.”

“Ten minutes.” “Ten minutes.”  You watched the black coated back of your charmed paramour as he opened the shed door, hoping that he’d find something worth knowing in that place out of sight.  Inhaling deeply you twisted the doorknob as quietly as possible, letting yourself into what was once your kitchen, “What a mess.”  It was impossible not to notice the unwrapped leftovers and empty bottles littering the table.  An overturned trash barrel, crumpled beer cans littering the counter, things that Steve, your Steve, would never have tolerated.  All evidence that the grand evening he’d envisioned had been thwarted by Loki’s arrival and your collective escape.  

You started up the stairs, praising Natasha's footwear for its stealth, when you heard the toilet flush and the unmistakable shuffle of Steve’s feet on the carpet.  There was no place to hide on the wide stairwell.  It was time to see if Loki's plan was going to work.

Voice blurry, eyes rubbed red and raw, you couldn't deny that Steve looked like shit, “Bucky?  That you?  You back?”  Steve’s voice bounced around the brightening room as morning sunlight filtered through the soft sheers you had picked out for exactly this reason. Panicked, you backed into the railing with an over loud “Oof!” “Nat?  What are you doing here?  I thought you and Fury were headed to New Asgard?”  Suddenly wide awake and wondering, Steve rushed to your costumed side, eager for information. The man in front of you now bore little resemblance to the angry Avenger you had escaped from hours before.  This man had hair sticking up in odd angles from near constant finger raking.  This man had a hint of a stuffy nose and red rimmed eyes, all indicators that tears had been shed.  Now those blue eyes were scrutinizing you closely, full of concern.

“Uh… We... We got intel.  Yea, intelligence, that Loki was headed back this way.  Turned around… and uh, here we are.” One of those sandy blonde eyebrows lifted, “Natasha?”

Squaring your shoulders, channeling that cool confidence you’d see Black Widow display over and over, “Steve?”  Something about your tone of voice convinced him in a way your words couldn’t.  He visibly relaxed, those broad shoulders going slack as he asked, “Didn’t make it to Norway, then?"

Nodding a negative, you felt the unfamiliar brush of her red hair at your cheek and had to fight the urge to tuck it away, “No.  Loki’s using some sort of transporting power to move them around.  Fury suggested I keep an eye out here, in case they come back this way.” “She won’t be back, Nat.  There’s nothing for her here.”  To you, Steve sounded so sad, so removed, that you had to will yourself not to comfort the giant before you.  “That’s not true!”  It came out of you forcefully, thoughtlessly, and you saw the shock register on the Captain’s face. “That is, Fury and I… we… have reason to believe that she will come back.  They left with nothing, Steve.  She’ll need clothes… maybe some shoes… and-”  Swallowing hard, you didn’t want to give anything away, “-a necklace from her grandmother.” Steve, patting his pocket, felt the weighted chain and it’s heart shaped locket, “I don’t think-” Stepping up to his bulky form, suddenly aggressive, you started, “Never mind what you think, Captain.  We're here for a necklace...  the necklace.  Our intel suggests that your former flame might return for it and… And, I want it, with me, as a means to subdue her when she arrives." Sounding forceful and official was enough to back Steve down.  Just a touch deflated, you watched him shrug, “If that’s what you want, Nat, here-”  From his pants he pulled out the shining bauble, a trinket really, but full of sentiment and memory. Sitting in his palm, the tiny heart that held the picture of your grandmother and mother looked so small, almost unreal.  Reaching for it with wet eyes, you smiled at Steve as you lifted the charm and chain, “Thank you, Steve.  Thank you.” Nodding deeply, that golden head bobbing, “You’re welcome.”  The large grandfather clock could be heard ticking throughout the house.  The sun was gaining on the day and you, dressed as Natasha stood in silence in front of a somber Steve.  For another long beat nothing was said, then, as if sensing a shift in your conversation, Steve flashed your fake Natasha a weak smile, “I could use some breakfast.  How about you?”

“Um… sure.  Yea, ok.  Breakfast.” 

Steve started moving again, downstairs towards the cluttered kitchen when he paused, "So how did you get back so fast?  Cause that's like a 7 hour flight, even with you in the cockpit." “Steve…”  You could hear it, the whining almost pleading tone that signaled the end of Loki’s well planned charade.  That wasn’t enough to stop Steve.  He broke hard, one of those strong arms stopping you in your tracks before you could reach the lower level. “It’s clever, I have to give you guys that.  Almost perfect, really.” Panic rising, you doubled down on the ruse, struggling to keep your voice even, “I don’t know-”  Blocking you in, his body the perfect unmovable buffer, “Loki’s here too, isn’t he?” Pushing against “Steve, I… I don’t…” “Don’t lie.  You don’t have to…” “But… how-?” “You’re not mean enough to play Natasha, doll.  Not by a long shot.”

--- It was strange to be seated at the table and chairs that you and Steve had picked out together one sunny Saturday when you thought that your future was going to be Loki-less.  Your place, the one that you had imagined filling with children that had golden hair and bright blue eyes, felt like a set.  Something false and fake.  A facade, put together simply for show. Steve must have felt it too because his fingers drummed against the white washed table incessantly.  Clearly he had something on his mind.  “Steve-” “No.  No.  Please, let me just get this out, ok?” Raising an eyebrow, you waved at him to continue, nervous but interested in what the super soldier needed to explain. With a shaky inhale, running his constantly moving fingers through his golden locks, Steve caught your eye and didn’t waiver.  “When I saw you… No, that’s not right.  Let me start at the beginning. “When Loki left Earth, you… you were so sad.  It hurt me to see you so… deflated.” “Steve, I-” “You know it’s true.  When he returned to Asgard, something in you, it dimmed, and I just couldn’t allow that… Not when I felt the way I did about you. “I don’t think you realize just how incredible you are… how full of life!  And since I had already missed one chance to be with you, I knew I needed to prove that I could be the man you needed… If you forgot about Loki along the way, even better. “Only… you never did.  I waited years for you, ya know, doll?  Years.  And just when I thought there was no chance with you, Nat gave me a reason to hope. “She was your friend.  An ally.  Someone you could trust… someone I could trust.  I swear it started out that innocently, at least for me.  I just wanted to make you smile again.  But she had other plans.  Plans that came from higher up the ladder of SHIELD. “Fury, he wanted us to watch you… something about Loki being too powerful.  And-”, grabbing your hand tightly, Steve emphasized his point, “-I promise you that I had no idea about his success, or the messages he had sent to you through Nick.  Like you, I thought that Loki was gone.  Missing.  Never coming back.” “I… I believe you Steve.  I know that you didn’t do all this on your own… but what was Nick hoping you’d find out?  I knew less than nothing about what was going on!” “I think he was worried that Loki would get to you first.  That if… when Loki returned, you would be his first stop.  Then you would know about Loki’s success and, frankly, Fury’s failures.  You would also know… well, everything you know now.  That Fury had you tailed, lied to, and led on in an effort to stop Loki from out flanking him.” Frenzied and frantic, you felt anger boiling up inside of you, “But I thought Loki was gone forever.  There was no hope for him and I… and Natasha, she told me that he was dead.” “All a part of Fury’s plan to keep you neutralized and Loki away.  If Loki thought that you’d ignored his letters, that you no longer loved him, why would he come back here?  And, if that didn’t work… when Loki came back and you were with me, what else could keep him on Earth?”

Whispering with realization, “So, they used you too.” Steve sighed and buried his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, “Don’t feel bad for me.  I let them use my love for you, let them twist it up and shape it as they needed.  Honestly, I wish I could tell you that it was for you, but it wasn’t.  It was for me.  I wanted you, so, so badly.  I didn’t care what strings were attached.  And we built a life together, you and me.  I thought I could outrun the reality of the constant monitoring and daily reports.  Telling Natasha and Nick about every word and each email.  Don’t you see, I love you… and I wanted you, however I could get you.” Shaking your head, Natasha’s red wisps flying, “That’s not love, Steve.  I don’t know what that is… but love isn’t it.” “No?”  With a loud thunk, Steve slammed a small velvet box on the table between you. “Is… Is that what I think it is?”

“Last night.  It was going to happen last night.  Our friends here, under the lights and the stars, I was going to ask you to marry me.  I still would if-” Realization hit you like a ton of bricks, “If Loki hadn’t stepped back into our lives.” “-If Loki hadn’t stepped back into your life.” It made you both laugh in a sad way, how you finished the same thought, and for a fleeting second you could see why you had allowed Captain America to sweep you off your feet.  He was a lot of things to you now, but there was a time when he had been almost everything.  The evidence of that was in the small black square that said nothing but spoke volumes. “Steve, I don’t know if I would have said yes… even without Loki’s… arrival.  I think I have always known that you and I… we are very different people.” Sitting back in his chair, his gaze still locked on your own, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry.  I’m sorry about what I’ve done… what I’ve said… How, shit, how I’ve behaved.  I could say that it was my duty.  I could tell you it was out of love, but the plain truth is that I have always been jealous of what you and Loki share.” “You’ll find it Steve.  You really will.  There’s a person out there waiting for you.  And once you’ve found them, oh Steve, you’ll see that this… what we had, it’s a shadow.  An illusion.  Because love, real love, doesn’t come with caveats and catches.  It is an undeniable force which, in my case, even the boundaries of time and space can not deny.” Something like a sob burst out of Steve, and you were surprised to see tears in his eyes, “I was so wrong.  Could you ever forgive me?” “I want to, Steve.  I really do... “  What more could you say?  Patting his hand you started to rise, “I have to go now.  Loki and I need to keep moving and I don’t want to risk running into Nick and Natasha.  At least, not yet, anyway.” “Where are you planning to go?” “To the Avenger’s Tower.  I believe I know what Mr. Fury has been planning all along.”  Loki’s strong voice entered the conversation as smoothly as his arms wrapped possessively around your waist. Steve took in the protective stance of your returned lover with a raised eyebrow, and without further comment asked Loki, “Really?  And how are you going to breach the building?  They’ll be looking for you, even with disguises…  Fury is no fool.  Plus, there’s little chance that Tony hasn’t activated a million safety and security protocols by now.” Only interested in you, Loki refused to give Steve any of his attention, “Getting in can’t be that hard!  I’ll figure it out when I get there.  Ready pet?” With a gentle push under his broad hands your feet started to move towards the door.  Loki was eager to be off and away, especially after hearing so much of Roger’s confession.  Just knowing what Steve had done, manipulating you while also convinced of his love for you;  it was enough for Loki to commit murder.  He was having quite a difficult time not tearing the good Captain’s limbs off his body. Softening his tone, Steve practically pleaded, “Loki.  Wait.  I… I can help.” Turning his attention fully to your former flame, Loki purred venomously, “You can help?  I’d love to know what entails, Captain.” “I can get you into the place and take you exactly where you need to go.  Fury’s going to hate it, but I’m tired of taking orders that hurt the people that-”  His pause was as lingering as the look he gave you, “- That I love.”  Before Loki could offer a sincerely sassy reply you grabbed his sleeve, tugging, “Um… Excuse us a minute Steve.” Pulling him down the hall of a home that felt like a familiar faced stranger, you waited until you had a bit of distance from Steve before harshly whispering, “How long were you listening?”

Serving you that small, sexy smile, Loki grinned, “Long enough.  How did you know I was there?” “You are sneaky, but even you, God of Mischief, cast a shadow.” Swinging you close enough to catch your mouth with his own, Loki pressed a sweet kiss there before answering, “A mistake I will be careful not to make again!” “The tower, huh?  That’s where you want to go?”  Grabbing you at the swell of your hips, grinding his frame against your own, “Where I want to go, my darling, is to the nearest bed, preferably naked, with you and you alone.” Your hands traced over the lapels of his borrowed leather duster, pausing only to jerk him closer by the supple fabric, “Hmm… is that so?” “Oh yes…”  Loki’s buttery grumble filled your ear as his strong hands dug into the flesh of your bottom.  For a moment you thought he’d give in to temptation, his sweet lips teasingly close to your own upturned mouth, “But-” On your toes, leaning into Loki’s sturdy, leather draped frame, you paused, “Ugh.  But?” Moving you to a safer, less kissable, arms length away, Loki sighed with the same frustration you felt, “-But, where we need to go, as soon as possible, is the Tower.” Moaning grumpily, you stepped out of the arms you longed to linger in, “I was afraid you were going to say that.” “I know it’s less than… ideal, love, but I did find something useful before the good Captain unburdened his soul this morning.” “And that is?” “Fury’s plan.  At first I couldn’t figure out exactly what he was after.  What did Fury want?  How was I involved?” Loki was dragging this out, loving how it kept you hanging onto his every word, and you rolled your eyes, “Well?  What is it?  Weapons?  War?” “All of that, yes… and… yours truly.”  That triumphant smile that filled Loki’s whole face lit up his mischievous eyes.  Tilting your head, struggling to make sense of what Loki had just told you, “What do you mean, you.  Fury wanted you… to do what, exactly?’ “Loki was going to be the patsy.” You both turned toward the sound of Steve’s baritone at the door, suddenly remembering that the Good Captain was still there and that he was waiting to see what you were going to do next.  Leaning his 100 year old bones into the doorframe, Steve crossed his arms, “The fall guy.  An example of what happens if you cross SHIELD.” “I think, my dear Mr. Rogers, that you mean, I am to be used as an example of what happens if one crosses Nick Fury.”  Loki countered, slinging an arm over your shoulder protectively. The idea was frightening.  A man like Fury had too much power, too much at his disposal.  Just knowing the lengths he had gone to in order to keep you and Loki apart was scary enough.  Making enemies of your friends.  Threatening the people you loved.  Selling your affection to Steve in an effort to control Loki.

Now, the knowledge that all of it was done in an effort to ensure that Nick Fury was the toughest guy in the galaxy, it made your stomach clench.  “What do you mean, an example?” “Unless my intelligence is flawed, I believe that Fury was going to kill me.  Is that correct, Captain?” Steve felt the weight of two sets of eyes on him.  Yours, full of fearful love and blind hope that this was all just some misunderstanding.  Innocent and naive and as lovely as he could ever remember.  Loki’s were reflecting a deeper understanding.  The kind of knowledge that only time in the trenches teaches. There was no answer from Captain Rogers.  None was needed.  Honesty, final and resolute, was out in the open.  “Look.  I know I’m not the guy you want on your side.  I’ve… I haven’t been the man I needed to be.  Not for you-”  Steve locked his bright blues onto you, offering a small smile that spoke of sadness before facing Loki, “-Or you, Loki.  But if you let me help you now, I promise that I can get you into the tower and maybe, one day, you won’t think so little of me.” 

Around you the morning gained strength.  Somewhere nearby birds chirped wildly, blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding in the modest little farmhouse and its implications on intergalactic politics.  Without  moving a muscle, Loki plainly asked you, “Do you trust him, dearest?” Squaring your shoulders, you crossed your arms, staring down the man called Captain America.  Nodding decisively, “I do.  I don’t think he’d spill everything like that only to turn on us.  He’s not so bad Loki, really.” “We’ll see about that.  For now, we trust Steve.  Ok, what’s your plan, Rogers?” --- “Hey.  I… I have one other thing to show you.”  Steve was dressed for action in his branded tactical gear, looking every inch the super soldier that Dr. Erskine envisioned. “Steve, we have to get moving.  Loki’s eager and -” “Just open it, ok?”  The envelope was thick with folded paper, the flap tucked under and not sealed.  Clearly it had spent time in and out of pockets, the edges frayed and tattered.  In exasperated curiosity you gingerly pulled the sheets free.

Shaking, your hands trembled holding the once white documents as your voice thickened, “Is this… is this what I think it is?” Cocking his head playfully, that rueful smile pulling at his full mouth, Steve almost seemed cheerful as he teased, “It’s yours.  I think something about this place has always been yours and I want you to have it.” “But-” Folding your small hands in his mighty ones, Steve squeezed gently, “It was a wedding present, or it was supposed to be.” “But we’re not getting married.” “I know.  Still-” “I can’t, Steve.  It’s yours.  Your house, your farm, your dream.” Shaking his head, disagreeing, but feeling lighter than he had in decades, Steve insisted, “Too late, I’m afraid.  It’s done.  Actually, that version of the deed has been signed since our second week here.” As realization sunk in you appraised the man changing right before your eyes, astonished but exhilarated, “Where will you go?” “I dunno.  Think I might need to be alone for a bit.  Maybe see the world… but first-” “First, we have to stop Nick Fury.”

To Be Continued... My Minxes:   @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @iamverity​ @mizfit2​ @sammy-jo1977​ @wolfsmom1​ @jessiejunebug​ @iluvsumbucky​ @unadulteratedwizardlove​ @procrastinatinglikeabitch​ @shxdowofdarkness​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @ahintofkiwistrawberry​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @crystalizedcaramel​ @lokislittlecorner​ @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81​ @caffiend-queen​ @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​ @jenjen8675309​ @that-one-person​ @roguewraith​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @just-random-obsessions​ @brokenthelovely​ @lots-of-loki​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​

[rallamajoop]

The Witcher: The Games vs the Books part 2 – Characters and Accents

So, I've already talked at length about the relationship between the Witcher books and games, but how well they captured individual characters is its whole own subject – and you’d better believe I have enough thoughts on it for a whole extra post.

Andrej Sapkowski's skill for creating vivid and engaging characters really is so much of what brings the books to life, and no matter how much work an adaptation might put into worldbuilding and plot, it's the characters you've really got to nail to get the long-time fans on board. Especially when you’ve done what the games have, framing themselves as a direct continuation of Sapkowski's story. Nothing invites comparison to your source material like basically forcing fans to read the original novels to understand even half the backstory alluded to in-game. 

So how did they do? I can only offer my opinion – characterisation is necessarily going to be a lot more subjective than just telling you what plot points the games contradicted outright – but like any fan, I have opinions in plenty.

Of the main cast, I feel Yennefer is the character they've captured the best. They've done just as well with some supporting players – I have no real complaints about Dijkstra or Phillipa, for example, who are favourites of mine in both games and books. For the main players though, Geralt and Regis seem to be the ones who's differences I'm most inclined to forgive, whereas I don't feel like they've done Ciri justice at all. Book!Geralt is much less of a smartarse, for one thing, whereas Book!Ciri is much more of one. But if we're talking about the differences, I’m afraid we really need to start with Dandelion.

Dandelion

For all the genuinely good work the games do with characters, old and new, I don't think I can overstate what a disservice the they've done Dandelion, who I could not stand in TW3, but is now one of my favourite book!verse characters. Alas, Dandelion is a prime example of something the Witcher games really don't do well: camp. Being the archtypical bard, Dandelion is about as flamboyant as any enthusiastically-heterosexual man can be: you should be able to spot this guy by body language alone, he should be flouncing around and he should talk like a spoiled noble auditioning for Shakespeare. Book!Dandelion is over-the-top and ridiculous and just so much fun, and I loved him well before I'd even really gotten into the rest of the books around him.

Here's just a bit of dialogue from one of his first appearances, to give you a sense of how he and Geralt play off each other.

The  bard  seized  the  fingerboard  of  his  lute  and  plucked  the strings vigorously. ‘How would you prefer it, in verse or in normal speech?’ ‘Normal speech.’ ‘As you please,’ Dandelion said, not putting his lute down. ‘Listen then, noble  gentlemen,  to  what occurred  a  week  ago  near  the  free  town  of Barefield. ‘Twas thus, that at the crack of dawn, when the rising sun had barely tinged pink the shrouds of mist hanging pendent above the meadows—’ ‘It was supposed to be normal speech,’ Geralt reminded him. ‘Isn’t it? Very well, very well. I understand. Concise, without metaphors. A dragon alighted on the pastures outside Barefield.’

Though TW3's Dandelion certainly looks the part, you have to go hunting through art from the Gwent cards to find much that comes close to really capturing his personality (see left pic below – though even there, a Dandelion who'd voluntarily break his treasured lute is a very hard sell). Though a lot of fanart does better (right-below – credit goes to Tatiana Ortaliz).

But as poorly as the games capture his flamboyance, they're not that much better when it comes to taking him seriously. TW3 left me thinking he was all talk and no substance; the books make abundantly clear that he really is renowned enough to be welcome in courts across the continent. Though he often overestimates what he can talk himself out of, he isn’t stupid either: he's lectured at Oxenfurt, spied for Dijkstra, and then there are the moments where the frivolous playboy mask slips and you realise he's sometimes much better at understanding people and relationships than Geralt will ever be (which is honestly kind of funny considering how many of Dandelion’s relationships end with plates being thrown at him from an upper story). He's not at all above mocking Geralt when he deserves it either (and especially his personal and relationship issues) – Geralt will happily mock him right back.

We never do learn how they became friends (I'm pretty sure the incident listed in the wiki is just the date of their first expedition together, not their first meeting), but Geralt just doesn't form lasting friendships or romances with anyone he can't have an intelligent conversation with. And Dandelion is a damn good friend to Geralt – one who, despite being a helpless, squishy little bard, will keep Geralt's secrets under torture, or will follow him into Nilfgaard in the middle of a war simply because you don't let a friend make a trip like that alone. (Seriously, I don’t ship it nearly as much as some, but hot damn there is some material in here if you do.) In short, it's basically inconceivable that he'd leave an amnesic Geralt wandering around Vizima alone, as he does in the first Witcher game – which is the kind of thing I can mostly forgive as a gameplay conceit, only it doesn’t really get better from there.

He’s also supposed to be blond, something I don’t think is technically specified until fairly late in the novels, but 100% what I’d been picturing since his first description as a man in a colourful bonnet with cornflower-blue eyes (let’s face it: Dandelion’s hair isn’t the only thing about him that screams ‘blond’). It’s a shame no-one from the games to the show to the novels’ cover artists seem to have noticed – but at least there are some fanartists out there who were paying attention (credit for these goes to Asphaloth, Ghostcupdraws, Hvit-ravn (tumblr deleted), 94355 and itsmespicaa).

As for the games? Well, I cannot speak to how Dandelion came across in the original Polish, but I think it speaks worlds about the priorities of the English version that they didn’t even bother to cast someone with a halfway-decent singing voice as their master bard. There are isolated moments of dialogue that come close to sounding like book!Dandelion– mostly in Witcher 2, which comes closer to capturing the spirit of the books than either 1 or 3, or his attempts to convince his captor he's a disguised noble when you rescue him TW3 – but his voice actor is just painfully ill-suited to the role.

Geralt

Geralt fares much better than Dandelion, though he’s still a little hard to square with the Geralt of the books. Book!Geralt spends a lot more time sulking, just to begin with: he sulks because his job is complicated and gets him no respect, and because the world is unjust and unfair – and, most of all, he sulks because Yennefer has dumped him again. He also gets mocked for sulking, and usually deserves it. Book!Geralt is generally a lot more taciturn and a less prone to making smart comments just to have something to say – arguably because in book!Geralt's world, making smart comments often ends at the gallows, or at least with some corrupt official making your life much harder. Book!Geralt's world kind of sucks, and he's just got to put up with it.

As much as he often plays into the expectations of being an uneducated monster hunter, he's also got a more of an intellectual streak than you’d guess. He may prefer to stay out of politics (because damnit, his job is to save people from monsters, not people who are monsters), but he attended school at Nenneke's temple and has even taken classes at Oxenfurt academy, and there's a lot of thoughtful nuance to his opinions – his speech to Ciri about why he can't in good conscience take a stronger stance against the Scoiata'el contains a wealth of historical perspective, just for one example. Even his smart comments tend to be, well, somewhat smarter in the books.

Book!Geralt’s explicitly a lot younger than Yennefer – around 50 is the usual estimate, falling far short of the 100-ish the games suggest (the scandal of having a man fall for – gasp! – an older woman clearly didn’t bother Sapkowski one bit). You don’t see nearly as much "I'm getting too old for this" from book!Geralt, who's really not that old by witcher standards, and is apparently still hunting monsters long into his future. I'm also a little annoyed by the way they play off his hatred of portals like he's a grumpy old man who doesn't like mobile phones, when his distrust originally came from having seen the gruesome deaths that result when portals go wrong. This is not to say Book!Geralt lacks other ordinary human flaws, however – twice in the last two books of the main saga, he gets severely sidetracked after his ego gets the better of him (in the adulation he receives after being knighted, then after arriving in Toussaint), and it's quite some time before he properly gets back on track for that whole rescuing-Ciri thing again. He’s also pretty hopeless when it comes to romance and relationships – breaking things off gracefully is really not in his skillset.

So why does game!Geralt not bother me more? Well, he's the main player character of a game franchise, and one who has to carry the experience largely solo. Some adjustments for genre are pretty much inevitable in that position. He's certainly fared better than Meve, for example, who's been softened far more from her book characterisation for her PC role in Thronebreaker. Then there's the whole amnesia thing – it's easy to believe that sort of experience would change a man – and if he doesn't sulk so much as he used to, maybe he's grown up a bit. Geralt's also in many ways the straight-man of Sapkowski's Witcher universe – there largely as the reliable centre for other, louder personalities to play off. But I expect the real bottom line here is that I do still like game!Geralt enough to forgive him a lot of what he lacks.

The books never do describe Geralt as being very attractive – something book-based fanart often tries to reflect. The point has been made before that the rather-alien-looking Geralt of the first game (left pic above) is probably a lot closer to his book-description. However, the main distinguishing factor you’ll see in book-based fanart is probably the ubiquitous headband, which genuinely is what book!Geralt wears to make his hair behave (the example on the right above comes from Diana Novich).

All that said, if Sapkowski really wants me to believe that nearly so many women are eager to jump into bed with him, I’m going to have to shallowly assume our witnesses are unreliable on this front, and Geralt is at least as attractive as Witcher 3′s take on him. Nothing else makes sense. *g*

Regis

Regis varies mostly in that book!Regis is a lot more smug, sometimes verging on obnoxious – and a lot keener to make fun of Geralt (who generally deserves it). But then, Regis is old and wise and superpowered enough to dance rings around most everyone else – can you blame him? By Blood and Wine, Regis' overconfidence has been recently smacked down hard after his near-death-experience at the hands of Vilgefortz, and that kind of thing could knock some chips off anyone's shoulder. Throw in the fact that with Dettlaff, we have a situation not even Regis could make light of, and the changes to game!Regis make a certain amount of sense.

I do feel it's a bit of a shame that the vocal direction didn't work just a little bit harder to capture some of Regis' smugger side, or emphasise that his long-winded philosophising on human behaviour is supposed to sound a bit pretentious. This is actually something I suspect they were going for a few times in the script, but which didn't come through in the dialogue quite the way it was meant to. Still, again, I'm sure I'm biased by the fact that I like game!Regis far too much to find much fault in what they've done with him. They've done a lovely job capturing his friendship with Geralt too.

Looks-wise, there's a tendency in book-based art to portray Regis with long hair (even some pre-Blood-and-Wine Gwent art did so – see the two pics on the left above, from Gwent and early B&W concepts. The right-most pic is cover art from the books). I couldn't rightly tell you where long-haired-Regis comes from, though – perhaps it's described more explicitly in the original Polish, or perhaps it comes up in passing in some passage I've forgotten, though it may just as well just be a fannish meme.

The books do describe him as looking rather like a tax collector, slim, middle-aged, with an aquiline nose, prone to wearing black, and his hair as 'greying' or 'grey streaked', so presumably somewhat younger-looking than the game would have it. The hammer-horror-esque sideburns are likewise a game-verse addition, though I do like the look they went with – it's distinct from Geralt in a way that making him another long-grey-haired man wouldn't have been, and that's probably the point.

Being the hopeless Regis fan I am, I have quite the folder full of different fanart takes on book!Regis, so have a selection – art here is by gellihana-art, justanor, greysmartwolf, Nastyaskaya, NatalyLanier, beidak, natalliel, ellaine and afternoon63. For what it’s worth, I feel beidak’s (bottom pic, second from the left) comes the closest to what I’d have pictured personally, based on how he’s first described.

Ciri

I find it much harder to rationalise the changes to game!Ciri, who I didn't exactly dislike, but found stuck too close to the role of generic-macguffin-girl-who-just-wants-to-be-normal to be very interesting. Having read the books, not only do I much prefer book!Ciri, I'm not sure I can emphasize enough how much the game did NOT prepare me for utter gauntlet of whump and misery that girl survives in the last four titles. Book!Ciri is a character who works for me mostly because of the same flaws the game mostly strips her free of – TW3 makes some token noise about how you can't tell her what to do, but she’s an utter little royal brat when we first meet book!Ciri, and it’s so much of what brings her to life. She throws herself into her witcher training with the enthusiasm of a kid going completely native, but still revels in getting to be girly for a change when Triss first arrives at Kaer Morhen. She hates Yennefer at first, but soon bonds with her just as strongly as she ever did with Geralt, picking up some of Yennfer’s haughty mannerisms along the way. And then she gets thrown through a portal and lost in the distant wilderness, and the whole world comes down on her head.

The build up to the first time Ciri actually has to kill someone is intense... and things only get worse from there. Steadily. For another couple of novels at a stretch. Seriously, a major caveat that pretty much has to go into any rec for these books (and I will absolutely rec these books) is that Ciri's story gets heavy. So heavy one finds oneself using phrases like, "that time that one guy died of his wounds on top of her while semi-consensually feeling her up was honestly one of the less traumatic incidents in the period."

By the end of the novels, Ciri has nearly died of thirst, been beaten, tied up, dragged around the country as a prisoner, run with bandits and killed innocent people for the fun of it, done fantasy-cocaine and got a tattoo, fought off more than one attempted rape, been drugged, lain for multiple nights next to an impotent elf who completely fails to impregnate her, watched the bodies of her friends and girlfriend being mutilated in front of her, and did I mention where she got that scar? She has survived hell, and it is absolutely a testament to her own strength that she somehow comes through it and puts herself back together at the end. When Geralt finally arrives to rescue her, what matters most isn't that her ordeal is over, but that she finally knows she hasn’t been abandoned by everyone who’d ever loved her after all.

The Ciri of the books is fierce and wild and arrogant, but she's learned her morals from the best, and she holds onto them until she can't, then picks them back up again when she can, and above all she survives. For all that her story turns arguably too much of the last two books into a slog of misery, oh boy does it pay off at the end. And that's probably about as much as I can say about her Big Moment in the last book without spoiling too much, so suffice to say that by the end of the saga, Geralt has pretty much become a supporting character in Ciri's story, not the other way around. (Seriously, you’d be surprised how few chapters of the last two books he’s actually in.)

Finding art which captures the aspects of Ciri’s character and history which are missing from the game has turned out to be pretty hard, though the fanart above from her bandit phase takes a decent crack at it (credit to Loles Romero and NastyaSkaya). I do rather like that one shot of her on horseback beside her girlfriend too, which comes from Denis Gordeev’s illustrations for the novels (below).

How much of this does TW3 get across with her portrayal in the game? Well, she's still pretty headstrong, I guess. And they let you give a 'sorry, I like girls' answer in one bit of dialogue, so they remembered her girlfriend existed. That's nice. But game!Ciri still has a kind of wide-eyed innocence that book!Ciri lost years ago, while book!Ciri is a little force of nature in ways the games hardly even hint at, and that's a really shameful loss.

You'd think, with a character so young, it ought to be easier to imagine she's simply grown up since we saw her last, but so much of what's changed about Ciri feels like a step back rather than forwards. I can shrug off Geralt and Regis' differences and still enjoy their game-verse-selves, but Ciri leaves me genuinely disappointed.

I’d say the official art that comes closest to capturing book!Ciri is that one portrait of her as a very grumpy young child (right above). Some of the early concept art (left above) feels a little more like it has her attitude, though she’s rather too yellow-blonde – not to mention too pretty. I think it also bears pointing out that Ciri isn’t really supposed to be the kind of beauty she is in the game – even before she gets what’s meant to be a seriously ugly and disfiguring scar. (Fanart below by justanor and bobolip)

But of course, the male gamer fanbase can’t be expected to give a fuck about a girl they wouldn’t want to fuck, so game!Ciri must be generically gorgeous. Le sigh.

Triss

I suppose I should at least touch on Triss, too, though she's a very odd case. She's so out of character in the first Witcher game that I am wryly amused that the biggest thing they arguably do get right is that taking advantage of Geralt the moment he showed up with amnesia is... pretty well in-character for her (look, I gotta be honest here, I'm not much of a fan of Triss in any of her incarnations).

The second game does a much better job with her – she actually feels like book!Triss, she has some good dialogue, we're finally dealing with some of her conflicted loyalties to the Lodge and to Geralt – though by the third, her characterisation has been so softened into “the nice one” that none of that potentially meaty conflict is ever resolved, or even really mentioned. Perhaps there's more buried in the Triss-romance path, which I've never bothered with, but the writers seem to have just given up on dealing with anything that might make her look less than wholly sympathetic. Heck, we hardly even get a clear statement about why she and Geralt broke up between Witchers 2 and 3.

Even speaking as such a not-a-fan of Triss, I promise there is more they could've done with the character the books give us. There's her ongoing trauma in from the Battle of Sodden, where she was injured so badly she was memorialised as one the dead: the 14th of the hill. There's her furious impatience with the neutrality of both the witchers and the Lodge: Triss has fought and died for a cause, and is ready to do so again. The second game sort of gets into this, but by and large, the games really aren't up to tackling the moral complexity of having such a theoretically-sympathetic character as Triss, who was still broadly willing to go along with the Lodge's plans to pair Ciri off and get her pregnant as soon as possible – her own wishes be damned. No, instead, Triss has conveniently left the Lodge before the rest of them go spiraling into abject villainy in the second game, clearing all that messy grey stuff out of the conflict.

Of course, the really big unresolved plot point still hanging over book!Triss is how badly she needs to terms with the fact Geralt's just Not That Into Her, and never has been – but since the games want Triss to be a serious romantic option, that's definitely not getting the resolution it could've used.

Book!Triss also pointedly avoids any outfit with a plunging neckline because her chest is covered with the ugly scars she received in the Battle of Sodden, something the games did not have the guts to reproduce. In a more confusing note, the books do consistently describe her hair as 'chestnut', which we'd usually think of as meaning 'brown' – though it turns out the games actually may not have been wrong to make her a redhead, since in Poland 'chestnut hair' apparently mean dark red hair (google some pictures of actual chestnuts, and you'll see why). Still, the firy-red-haired Triss of TW3 who wears nothing but plunging necklines remains a bit of a stretch, however you slice it. Once again, TW2 gets her best (and I must say, gave her the nicest outfit) – though even here she's conspicuously unscarred in all her sex scenes.

(Leftmost pic above is official Witcher 2 art, whereas Triss-with-scars fanart comes to us – once again – from nastyaskaya)

Shani

Shani sort of falls into a similar category as Triss as someone who isn't terribly well-served by any of her appearances, given that both exist in the first game largely to compete for Geralt's attentions. But I can't honestly say I find Shani’s portrayal in the Hearts of Stone expansion to be much better – the degree to which either version exists solely to fall all over Geralt is a bit painful, especially given that their relationship in the books is limited to a single, undramatic hook-up. Book!Shani really only appears in a couple of chapters: we meet her as a medical student friend of Dandelion's, who's been surreptitiously selling pilfered university supplies to fund her degree, then later see her again in the final book, where she proves herself as a battlefield medic during the climactic Battle of Brenna. She's pragmatic to a fault, and I really can't see her as the type who needs Geralt to point out to her that her patient is dead, for example, or who'd subject a guy with Geralt's problems to such an extended feelings-dump as you'll get out of her during the wedding.

Shani is a reasonably logical book-character to bring back, if only because she’s one of those who explicitly survives the ending, but for my money, "serious contender for Geralt's affections" is just not a role she works in.

Anna Henrietta

The duchess of Toussaint, Anna Henrietta, is another case who differs more from her book counterpart than you might think. In the books, the duchess is by far the least competent of the (pleasantly many and) various female leaders and rulers we meet – she comes across as rather young and naive, and every bit as absurd as everyone else in the ridiculous fairy-tale duchy she rules. She is, for example, most displeased to learn that Nilfgaard's war against the north is ongoing (something her courtiers have carefully avoided mentioning in her presence), because she'd long since sent the Emperor a stern note demanding he brought it to an end. She promptly has one of her ministers sent to the tower for misinforming her, and demands the others prepare an even sterner note for the emperor, which will surely do the job.

After Dandelion (inevitably) cheats on her, she has him repeatedly sent to the gallows, only to change her mind and send him a reprieve at the very last minute each time. Picture yourself a much younger and prettier version of the Queen of Hearts from Alice in Wonderland, and you've about got her general vibe.

Blood and Wine sort of waves at this part of her character when she first speaks about Dandelion, and again in suggesting there's a widespread feeling she lacks compassion, and once more as she proves utterly immovable on the subject of her sister. But the generally sensible and insightful woman you deal with for most of the main story is a far cry from her book-verse characterisation. That’s a bit of a shame, because I feel like there's a lot more they could have done to blend the two versions of her. Still, it’s hard to argue the duchess we get suits the story being told around her.

Other characters

Much as I love Yennefer, Dijkstra and Phillipa, I don't really have much more to say about them because I feel the games have done such a good job. The Yennefer of the books gets to show a lot more depth and complexity simply because she has more scenes and more space in which to do so, but when ‘there isn’t more of her’ is your biggest complaint, the game is officially doing pretty well. I could certainly gripe her about how “dresses in black and white” seems to have been taken as “dresses in black with maybe a trace of white trim”, or how Yennefer and Triss seem to be the only sorceresses in the world capable of wearing pants, when Phillipa (just for one) is in sensible men’s clothing the very first time we meet her, but that’s getting into serious nitpicking territory.

(Not that Yen can’t look amazing in outfits with more white – art by Emily Caroll, theclashofqueens, BarbaraRosiak, and cosplay by greatqueenlina)

Vesimir, Lambert and Eskel, Geralt's fellow witchers from the School of the Wolf, fall into a similar category for me – though we spend far less time with them in the books, everything we see of them in the games feels like a fairly logical extension of their book-roles. Vesimir is somewhat over-played as the old fogey, and his death is painfully cliched, but the impact on the characters and Kaer Morhen still hits home – and the games do some especially great work expanding Lambert into a much more complex character. To my mind, the only shame is that more of the book-original characters didn't get the same treatment.

Who have I missed? There's Avallac'h, of course, but I think I've got him pretty well covered by that last post. Zoltan, perhaps inevitably, has had his personality largely flattened into 'generic dwarf', with nothing better to do than hang around Geralt and Dandelion. You wouldn't know Book!Zoltan was apparently incapable of turning away women and children in need, for example – even human women and children with the chronic inability to say thankyou for his help. Or that he eventually admits to Geralt that the luggage he and his friends are carrying comes from a decidedly unsavoury source for such a supposedly charitable, upstanding guy. Yes, even Zoltan gets to be a morally complicated character in the books – who knew?

Speaking of dwarves, pleased as I am that Yarpen Zigren gets remembered in TW2, he's an odd one to talk about, since even in the books, he appears to have had a substantial personality transplant between his two main appearances. Yarpen’s a largely comedic figure in The Bounds of Reason short story, where he cheerfully admits to having considered letting his men knock down a particularly pompous aristocrat and piss all over him to teach him a lesson, but he’s evolved into a studious voice of reason against the scoiata'el by Blood of Elves. TW2 doesn't do a particularly good job of capturing either version, which I suspect probably bothered me more than most people – I liked the later book-incarnation of Yarpen immensely (and not even just because he's one of few ever to really call Triss out on just how much she needs to stop misreading Geralt's friendship as anything more than it is). His chapter in Blood of Elves packs a hell of a punch.

On the subject of accents

I do have to wonder if I'd have warmed up to characters like Triss, Shani and Dandelion (or even Letho) more if they'd only had halfway decent voice actors. It's not just that none are exactly leading the talent at the acting part of the job, it's that their American accents stick out in TW3 like a sore thumb.

Geralt mostly gets away his own US accent by dint of being the very first character we meet, so we've gotten used to the way he talks long before we notice how he stands out – hell, maybe that's just how they talk down in Rivia (hilariously, book!Geralt eventually reveals he's not even from Rivia, but simply picked the place and taught himself the accent so he could feel a bit less like the abandoned foundling he is, which only gives us yet more excuse for why his accent might sound a bit weird). More importantly, Geralt is meant to stand out, to be the outsider wherever he goes, so having him sound like no-one else fits the character.

But neither Triss or Dandelion are "of Rivia", and by the time they show up we've had dozens of hours in a game where literally everyone else sounds British, or Scottish, or Irish, or vaguely-eastern-European in the case of the Nilfgaardians. So why do these weirdos sound like no-one else on the continent?

The short answer seems to be that every character with an American accent in TW3 is someone who had an American accent in at least one of the previous games, which were way looser with their casting and had enough incidental American accents around that they didn't stand out. Clearly, by TW3, consistency with prior games has been prioritised over consistency with literally anything else we’re hearing.

Gaetan is an exception to the rule as the only new character (at least that I caught) with an American accent – presumably because between Geralt, Eskel, Lambert, Berengar, and Letho (and cohorts), some sort of 'witchers have American accents' rule has been pretty well established (another random American-accented witcher shows up in Thronebreaker, just to underline the point). We're going to mostly ignore Jad Karadin here, since his British accent is presumably a recent affectation to go with his new identity, and so makes sense.

This still doesn't really work though, since Letho’s school is all the way down in Nilfgaard (land of the Eastern European accents), while the oldest witcher from Kaer Morhen (Vesimir) is the one guy with a British accent. He sounds nothing like any of his students, despite the fact he's logically the guy they ought to have learned their accents from. So the logic falls in a heap however you slice it, and I'm thrown right out of the game.

With TW3 as your intro to the series, it feels almost as if characters like Triss and Dandelion have been assigned American accents because they're just too important to be saddled with the same pedestrian British accents as everyone else, which did nothing to endear them to me. The only one I eventually warmed up to was Lambert, and then only because he's just such a bitter asshole that he eventually goes full circle and comes out the other side (somewhere around when you've heard his miserable backstory, then gotten drunk together and told him how much you love him, man). Gaetan similarly snuck in under the same clause – American accents clearly work better for me in this series when attached to characters you're supposed to find pretty insufferable on first impressions.

Some final notes

To conclude, it seems only fair to throw in a quick nod to some of the more memorable book-characters who don't appear in the games. Neither Mother Nenneke (Geralt's sort-of-surrogate mother) or Vissena (Geralt's biological mother) ever appear either, alas – Vissena doesn't even merit so much as a Gwent card, which seems quite the wasted opportunity.

Milva, Cahir and Angouleme – the three remaining companions of Geralt’s who died alongside Regis but who were not so easily resurrected – naturally don’t appear. But nor are even really mentioned in all the games, which seems rather less than they deserve after giving their lives to Geralt's cause.

Cahir and Angouleme do at least have pretty badass Gwent cards to their names, though I am properly offended that Milva (who has the dubious honour of being my very favourite book character who doesn't ever appear in the games) is stuck with a card of her freaking death scene – which not only gets the scene wrong (believe me, there was no grimacing and gripping the arrow buried shallowly in her chest for poor Milva), but doesn't even bother to get her hair the right colour, for fuck’s sake. Basically, Milva was a stone cold badass and absolutely deserves better. #justice4milva

One can only guess how I'd have felt about some of these characters had I read the books before playing the games – I am obviously biased towards forgiving changes to characters whom I liked in their game incarnations, regardless of how they compare. Still, I think it does speak wonders that there still all these characters who suddenly made sense only after I'd met them in the books.

Even if only for Dandelion and Ciri, I can only dream of seeing a bit more of the book-original characterisations make it into the collective fannish consciousness. There's nothing wrong with getting into the canon purely based on the show or the games, but having read Sapkowski's novels, it's no longer any mystery how they spawned this massive franchise. That the saga wasn’t even fully available in English until well after Witcher 3 was released – a solid couple of decades late, and long after it had already been translated into Russian, French, German, Spanish and more – is a real shame. For once, it’s us in the anglophone world who’ve been missing out: these books deserve so much more than to be thought of as a footnote to the games or the show.

[yumeka36]

The ending of Frozen 2...a year later

I try to stay away from touchy subjects like this, at least here on Tumblr. But since @greatqueenanna @the-blue-fairie and @vuelie-frost have recently written inspiring posts on this topic (which you can read here, here, and here), I wanted to give my two cents (well, more like a thousand cents because what I thought would just be a few paragraphs ended up becoming a mini-book!)

Just to be clear, my intention here is not to argue with anyone or invalidate their feelings about the end of Frozen 2. It's quite the opposite, actually. In my view, when we're presented with a beloved hobby that has disappointed us, we have a couple of options: one is to simply stop partaking in that hobby and move onto one that brings us more pleasure (no doubt some ex-Frozen fans have done that), or keep sticking around the fandom despite constant negative feelings about it which, I can't imagine, is that enjoyable. But there's another option too: when presented with something we don't like but won't divorce ourselves from and yet have no power to change – in this case, how Frozen 2 ended – what we can change is how we view it. The fact that people who disliked Frozen 2 are still part of the fandom even a year later shows just how strong the Frozen characters and their world are…that despite dissatisfaction, fans are still not willing to give up on the franchise and leave it in favor of another fandom. And if they're not willing to give up, but still can't help feeling let down about it, I'm hoping the reasoning I present in this post can possibly offer a fresh and, hopefully, more appealing perspective. My intention here is to help alleviate hard feelings, not entice arguments.

I also want to mention that I'm only discussing the ending of the movie, specifically the fact that Anna is queen of Arendelle and Elsa is living in the forest. I've addressed most other topics of theorizing and criticism in my Frozen 2 analysis book “Seek the Truth,” which you can read here. While I did discuss the ending in detail in the last chapter, I didn't expand on it nearly as much as I will in this post.

To make things easier, I'm going to address the most common griefs about the ending one at a time and offer my input:

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Anna and Elsa were separated for 13 years so they shouldn't be separated again.

I definitely agree that it would be tragic if they were forced apart again, unable to have a relationship like they did for most of their childhood. But the more times I watch Frozen 2, the more I just don't see that in the ending. To me, a separation is when both sides are split up against their will, unable to get together again. That's not the case for Anna and Elsa. I admit the epilogue of the movie was rushed, but out of the many loose ends it could have touched on, the filmmakers made sure to include Anna's letter to Elsa about charades night, which to me shows that they want us to know that the sisters still get together regularly (that's the feeling I get from the movie; I'm not including the questionable canon of the storybooks/comics in this, which I’ll discuss a little later). We could still infer they get together even if they didn't show the letter, because we know the forest is free again and Elsa can ride Nokk to Arendelle whenever she wants. But the filmmakers chose to show the letter to make it clear that there's nothing keeping them apart.

So then the point becomes "spending only 3 years together isn't enough." What number is enough, then? 5 years? 10 years? Any number is arbitrary for a case like this. But the length of time doesn’t matter because, to me, Frozen 1 showed how strong of a bond Anna and Elsa have despite hardly ever being in physical contact…a bond of love strong enough to thaw a frozen heart. So to think that now they could never be happy unless they're physically together 24/7 does an injustice to that bond that transcends physical boundaries. They suffered because of their separation in Frozen 1 – that was a true separation, because they wanted to have a relationship but were forced apart against their wills – and at the end of the movie, they could finally have the relationship they were yearning for. And at the end of Frozen 2, not only was their love cemented further from the epic adventure they shared, but they can continue to see each other as a family as well as live out the new roles bestowed upon them. Unlike a movie with an actual separation ending, like Toy Story 4 for example, where Woody and Buzz would never be able to see each other again except by some crazy coincidence, there is literally nothing stopping Anna and Elsa from continuing to have adventures together in future stories, while also satisfying their new duties and enjoying their lives both individually and as a family. That sounds like a very fulfilling life to me.

But the "Anna sans Elsa" book proves that they barely see each other and Anna misses Elsa a lot.

This sentiment comes down to whether you want to consider the relatively few post-movie storybooks as true canon or not. I consider them loose canon at best because no one involved with the creation of the canon Frozen movies/shorts had any involvement in their development and probably even knows they exist. There's also the fact that they're having such a minimal release – just one or two European countries have been getting them, and they're not even being released in English, which is arguably Disney's largest market. There're also conflicting implications between the stories, for example, the "Anna sans Elsa" book implies that Elsa hasn't visited for a long time, but the German comic where Elsa visits for charades implies that she does visit regularly (from @bigfrozenfan‘s translation here, she says "I wouldn't have missed an evening of charades with you for anything in the world!"). Then there's the "Explore the North Book" which shows Queen Anna visiting Elsa in the forest. Just because this book isn't a story is no reason to disregard it, especially when you consider the fact that it was the first book released to show the sisters interacting post-movie, plus it was actually released in larger markets, like the US and Japan. Even Anna's letter within the movie canon itself, telling Elsa not to be late for charades, is not written in a way that implies she hasn't seen Elsa for a long time. If anything, it implies the opposite to me…that these visits occur regularly. So what we can conclude from this is that Disney's publishing branch is releasing a few post-movie stories to limited markets to make some extra earnings, but obviously the book/comic authors are restricted with the kinds of stories they can depict; as in, they can't have stories that would affect the lore and canon, like showing Elsa's role in the forest or how Northuldra/Arendelle relationships are progressing. So they're going with safe side-stories like Anna doing familiar things in Arendelle and Elsa visiting for charades – things that can be inferred from the movie's ending but don't continue the narrative past that. This could also be why these books are having such a small release. Perhaps because the English-speaking market is so large, anything brought to that market could be seen as having relevance and clout, and Disney doesn't want that for these stories (because there's really no reason to not bring the books to other markets when children's book sales are soaring thanks to the pandemic). The "Anna sans Elsa" book is even getting a re-release with new pictures, again, only in French, which to me further illustrates the limitations on post-movie stories currently going on. So ultimately, I would not take details from these books/comics that are available to only 0000.1% of Disney's worldwide market as the "word of god," especially when they're inconsistent with each other and canon implies otherwise.

Anna isn't fit to be queen.

I'm not really sure what (canon) examples there are of Anna showing traits that would hinder her ability to be a good queen, or at least not as good a queen as Elsa. Is the reason for this because of her naivete about Hans? There's no evidence that shows she hasn't learned her lesson from that…it's not like she rushed into marrying Kristoff right away. If it's something about her personality being too reckless or something, Elsa has exhibited recklessness too, doing things without forethought like running away to live alone in an ice palace and risking her life to dive into Ahtohallan. But despite having these very human flaws, Elsa still turned out to be a good queen, so why would Anna be the opposite? Anna has proven herself to be brave, noble, and outgoing with people…all of which are great qualities for a ruler. Plus she's lived among royalty her whole life, and no doubt helped Elsa during her reign as queen, so she's not going into the position as a total novice. We barely see Elsa doing queenly activities in the Frozen canon, so how can we assume she's so much more fit to be queen than Anna? Again, I think this is another sentiment that stems from an aversion to something unfamiliar: fans want Elsa to remain queen because we've been familiar with that for years, but that doesn't mean Anna can't be a good queen, too. Canon-wise we haven't yet seen Anna do anything in the way of ruling, so why not give her the benefit of the doubt and a chance to prove herself?

The first Frozen established that Elsa shouldn't live in isolation and yet she's doing it again in Frozen 2.

In the first Frozen, Elsa isolated herself out of fear and refused to even get near anyone. What evidence is there that this is happening at the end of Frozen 2? I've heard assumptions that she's living in Ahtohallan now, but we don't know that for sure. The last scene of the movie shows her heading in that direction, but she could be visiting too. But regardless of where her actual place of dwelling is now, there's no reason to believe she's shutting herself off like she did in the first movie. The epilogue shows that she's happily interacting with the spirits, the Northuldra, and makes visits to Arendelle. Home is more than just a physical place where one dwells and sleeps; even if the forest is where Elsa does this now, Arendelle is still her home in all other regards.

An offshoot notion of Elsa living on her own in the forest is that it's somehow akin to the idea that "people who are different should live outside normal society." I don't understand this because to me it implies the person in question is being shunned; that they want to live in normal society but normal society doesn't want them. That is definitely not what's going on at the end of Frozen 2. As I'll explain in the following paragraphs, Elsa stays in the forest because she feels a newfound sense of freedom and is thrilled to explore this new world she found, but she can freely go back to Arendelle whenever she wants, and there's no indication that anyone there loves her any less (they should love her more actually because they all witnessed her save the kingdom from the tidal wave!) At the end if the movie, no one's being ostracized for being "different." Everyone's doing what makes them happy and can freely come and go as they please.

Why does Elsa need to stay in the forest? Why can't she stay in Arendelle and visit the forest?

A large majority of the hard feelings about Frozen 2's ending comes from the fact that it didn't clearly show what Elsa's role in the forest is. I definitely admit that the ending would have benefited from expanding on this, even just another line or two. But to me, it still leaves enough information for us to make reasonable inferences about what she's doing. We don't see the Northuldra or Arendellians interacting in the epilogue, which makes sense since they hated each other for decades and it'll take time to mend the relationship between them. When Elsa says to Anna "we'll continue to do this together" conveys to me that she knows they still have work to do as far as making amends between the kingdoms…she and Anna can serve as dual queen ambassadors between the two sides, a bridge, so to speak. Then there's also the fact that the spirits were angry for decades and it'll take time for them to return to the peaceful coexistent they had with the Northuldra, something Elsa can certainly help with (again, we don't see the spirits interacting with the Northuldra in the epilogue, only with Elsa).

On top of that, there's the fact that Elsa spent her whole life believing she was the only magical being in the world, and now she's discovered this whole new land of magic just waiting to be explored. As I explained in my analysis book, if we consider Elsa believing for years that her powers were a curse and no one but her possessed magic, and suddenly she's brought to a place where other magical beings exist, as well as a group of people who live in harmony with them, plus the fact that she's somehow a bridge between both magic and humans, it makes sense she'd be ecstatic and want to spend time indulging in this new land. The reason she doesn't just visit the forest while living in Arendelle is because being queen is a full time job that requires her to be present as much as possible. Trying to stay on top of all her queenly responsibilities while going back and forth to the forest all the time wouldn't amount to the kind of quality she wants for Arendelle royalty. But having someone like Anna who's already familiar with royal activities and loves Arendelle with all her heart, would be perfect for the role. Elsa never indicated it was her dream to be queen of Arendelle. She was born into the role and accepted it, and if the events of Frozen 2 never occurred, would have probably lived out her life happily in that position. But happiness isn't necessarily a final destination and sometimes things come along that alter the status quo, but also enhance what we thought was already a good life. What we can infer from Frozen 1 is that she doesn't want to live in fear and have to constantly suppress her powers and that she wants to have a relationship with her sister again. None of this is taken away from her at the end of Frozen 2: she's not living in fear but in freedom, she can use her powers without restraint and in brand new ways with the spirits and Ahtohallan, and she can not only continue to see her sister often and foster their relationship, but she can grow her relationship with herself and this new realization about the origin of her powers. And still another reason, perhaps the true purpose of the fifth spirit is more than a single task and Elsa is trying to discover what it is: what more can she do with her amazing powers now that the forest is free, both for the benefit of the Northuldra, the spirits, Arendelle…maybe even the world? There's a wealth of possibilities for future stories, and I believe this ties back to the fact that the post-movie books/comics can't touch on what her role in the forest is because it's too closely tied to continuing the canon story, and until the heads at Disney decide what direction to take it, all spin-off content will be limited.

And yes, it's true that these are just my theories, but they're theories based on many hours of rewatching, analyzing, and thinking critically about the movie, which I think is better than just dismissing the idea that Elsa has a role to play in the forest simply because it wasn't explicitly shown. Just because Elsa's new lot in life isn't spoon-fed to us doesn't mean it doesn't exist, and I think it's much more logical, and imaginative, to assume she's doing the kinds of things I just mentioned as opposed to doing nothing of significance in her life now. I prefer to be logical and imaginative, so I’m going with these reasons unless canon shows otherwise.

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After reading all this, you might think I'm in love with the ending of Frozen 2 and think it's perfect, but that's not the case. While I love Frozen 2 overall, I admit that the ending was rushed and it wasn't my first choice of an ending for the sequel I was anticipating for years. But at the same time, I'm open-minded, especially in regards to the fact that the story and characters I'm invested in are not my personal creations. They’re the products of someone else’s experiences, values, and beliefs, and I have to recognize that this is what makes them interesting even though I may not agree with everything. But who am I to say that my vision and headcanons for Frozen are somehow better than those of the filmmakers? I don't think so highly of myself as being more of an authority on Frozen than the creators themselves or even my fellow hardcore fans. But I have spent many hours of my life these past 7 years examining and analyzing the franchise and its characters, so I'd like to believe my words have at least some weight to them. That's the wonder of fiction…that someone's ideas can be interpreted and appreciated in a variety of ways by a variety of people. But that's also the tragedy of fictional stories that continue on with long gaps in between, like the gap between the two Frozen movies. During that long time, we can't help but build and prop up our headcanons and develop the feeling that we know these characters inside and out, what is and isn't good for them, how they would and wouldn't react in all situations, etc,. But two and a half hours (which is about the length of time of Frozen 1 plus the two shorts) is not enough time to show so much of a characters’ personality that we could really know them as much as we’d like (especially Elsa, who got relatively little screentime in the first movie). So when we're presented with the continuation of the story and find that the creators had a different view, a view that didn't return to the status quo we were familiar with, it can be very jarring. But that's the risk of falling in love with someone else's creations. And thankfully, the beauty of headcanons is that they're all our own and can be adjusted. Even though the outcome of Frozen 2 was not what I was expecting, it was a minimal effort to adjust my headcanons because I don't feel the ending was so outrageous and far removed from everything I loved previously about the franchise, for reasons I hope I explained clearly in this post.

If you still can't feel any better about the end of Frozen 2 despite all I've discussed here, I'm sorry…I really tried my best. All I can say now is that I hope future content will rekindle your appreciation for the franchise. I know it's been over a year since Frozen 2, which seems like a long time to go without any announcements of new material, but we have to remember that that's not a long time at all by Disney standards. The recent Disney investor's meeting proves how long it takes to churn out new content, especially on the animation side of things, as it took years for Princess and the Frog, Zootopia, and Moana to finally get new content. Disney immortalizes all their popular franchises and could go back to them months, years, or even decades later (The Lion Guard series came out over 20 years after The Lion King for example). Unlike other Disney franchises like Marvel and Star Wars that have their own production teams and studios, Frozen has to share resources with all of WDAS's other projects. So a year is still too early for the studio to go back to Frozen again, especially if you consider that it's technically only been a few months since we got new Frozen content in the form of Once Upon a Snowman. Patience is the key now and we don't know what the future holds. But I'm someone whose opinions will change with new information, so maybe tomorrow we could get an announcement about a new Frozen YA novel or Disney+ series that shows Anna and Elsa rarely see each other and Anna misses Elsa and Elsa's doing nothing noteworthy in the forest and everything I've said here can be tossed out the window. I don't think that will be the case though, so as long as we don't know anything for sure, I want to go with a positive outlook because, at the end of the day, your fandoms should lift you up instead of bring you down. Frozen is a juggernaut for Disney so I'd rather they take their time with the next installment for the franchise. It's not so much a question of "if" as much as "when" and "in what form"? So until we have those answers, I wish you all well…don't let the hope die out.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #401

“my love is just waiting to turn your tears to roses”

Do you typically do your makeup the same each time? Or do you like to change it up often? IF I wear makeup, it's essentially always the same. Who is the last person you were in a room with just the two of you? What were you doing? Yesterday with Mom. We were trying to find the best deal on Eco Earth, a substrate we're getting for Venus. What was the last really good book you read, and what was it about? If we're talking REALLY good book, then The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. In short summary, it's a dystopian future novel where women are now basically just objects used only for repopulation, even having their names stripped from them. They follow very strict rules as society has returned to horrible misogyny. As a woman, the "oh my god, this is possible" aspect of it is terrifying, and it causes such a sense of disgust and urge to ensure women rights always continue to be fought for. Do you feel safe in your country? For the most part, I'd say. I guess. There are places I'd feel safer, though. How many meals do you eat a day? Three. Have you ever performed a solo dance in front of a crowd? No, but I was supposed to my senior year in high school; the seniors at my dance studio were always welcome to do a solo in celebration. Mine was a modern dance to "Coma White" by Marilyn Manson, wanting to tell a story about depression and how being medicated could feel, but I eventually decided like halfway through learning the choreography that I was just too nervous to do a solo. Have you ever sung a solo? No. When you go to McDonalds, what drink do you usually get? Coke. Have you ever had to call and complain about a product you bought? No. Do you own a designer purse? Definitely not. I'm not wasting that much money on something like that. What’s the weirdest rumor you’ve ever heard about yourself? Apparently, Jason and I had a baby in high school even though I was obviously never pregnant. To my knowledge, it was started by his ex. Who is now a good friend of mine lmaooo. Life is funny. What was your favorite Saturday morning cartoon growing up? Pokemon, of course. Would you ever have an affair? Nope. Would you ever have a one night stand? Nope. Where you present at any major historical events (e.g. 9/11)? No. What are your opinions on marijuana legalization? Legalize it, but treat it similarly to alcohol in that driving under the influence is illegal and punishable, and I believe you should be of a certain age. How about abortion? I am pro-choice. I was pro-life most of my own life, but now I am very firm about a mother being able to choose if she wants to endure a pregnancy or not. Like, that is a MASSIVE life event that almost inevitably changes - and sometimes traumatizes - people. I do believe a fetus is its own body and not part of the mother's, but rather in the mother's, but the belief that a woman decides what she wants in her body is her choice, too. I'm not very fond of people treating abortion as a simple, regular form of birth control, like it's nothing but an "lol whoops," but I still believe it is ultimately her decision, and she should always be free of judgment for doing what is best for her. Do you wear skirts or dresses more often? Neither. I wouldn't dare wear a skirt more so, though. What do you think about tipping at restaurants? There should always be an expected minimum, imo, unless the person was truly, sincerely, genuinely fucking awful. Waiters do not have an easy job, fight me about it, and they're just trying to survive while putting on a happy, jovial face, all the while dealing with hungry people who can be such assholes. I believe the actual tip should relate to actual service, but again, give them something. Would you ever get back together with any of your exes? One, absolutely. The other would take a shitload of consideration and proper communication on his part. Do you have a preferred coffee brand? No, because I don't like coffee. Do you usually befriend your coworkers, or do you prefer to keep work separate from your personal life? IF I had a job, I'd like to build a friendship with those I have to engage with almost every day. What is something you frequently forget? Dates, ages, names, what I was about to do five seconds before I forgot... Pretty much everything. My memory is frightfully poor. Is there any drama currently going on with your family? No. When you take a nap, do you nap in bed or on the couch? In my bed. Were you raised by both of your parents? If not, then who raised you? Both; my parents split when I was somewhere around 17, though, but I'd say there wasn't much more "raising" to do at that age. Have you ever stolen anything? If so, why? No. Have you ever plagiarized someone else's work? Hell no. What's your most-used mode of transportation? My mom's car. Have you ever taught someone else a useful skill? Not to my recollection. Does seeing everyone else's 'perfect lives' posted on social media ever bring you down or affect how you feel about yourself? It actually does, honestly. Not ALWAYS, but if I'm being honest, it does most of the time. I've contemplated deleting Facebook for that reason, but with is also comes things that make me happy, and I think I'd feel even more isolated without it. What is your favorite Hostess/Little Debbie snack? This is SO impossible for me to answer. I loooove Hostess and Little Debbie treats. I want to say honeybuns, but I also love those chocolate cupcakes with the white swirls on top, as well as Twinkies. Very few exist that I don't like. Do you/your family buy loafs from the bakery or bagged on the shelf? We just buy bagged bread. What’s the best news you’ve gotten lately? My APAP mask is definitively WORKING!!!!! :') Mom got an app that connects to the machine via Bluetooth that monitors the effectiveness of the mask, evaluating many factors of your sleep, and it's detecting a definite decrease in disruptive behaviors or something like that. It is so, SO encouraging to know that. ^And, the worst? Hm. Oh, probably some news on something serious a good friend is going through, but I don't feel it's my right to disclose what. It's just a very worrying and potentially dangerous issue that I wish I could help her with. Would you rather receive (or give) flowers, chocolates or jewelry? I'd appreciate any, but my fat ass is drawn to the chocolate, ha ha. What *I* would give would vary depending on what the person liked. How do you feel about coconut? Smells lovely, but is otherwise gross. ^ Ever cracked one open? No, but omg I've always wanted to, haha. What’s the best thing about being your gender? I guess the fact it's more "normal" and "accepted" to show our emotions. Fuck that generalization, though. I don't give a shit what your gender is, you experiencing emotions is NORMAL and welcomed to be expressed. ^ And the worst thing? The ability to be raped and impregnated by it. Do you do your part to save the earth? I don't do nearly enough. :/ We recycle, but that's about it. Well, none of us DARE to litter either, but I still don't feel like it's as much as the earth deserves from its denizens. Who do you think should have their portrait on a bill? I don't know or care. Why did you last feel exhausted? Yesterday was my niece's birthday, and I spent essentially ALL day playing with her and her brother. I have a very limited battery when it comes to kids, and I was running on empty for hours. My anxiety was SO high and I really needed a break from them, but they're too young to really understand that Aunt Britt can only socially run for so long before I'm completely burnt out, and TRUST ME, I was there for sure. I didn't want them to think they did something wrong, you know? I just had to keep going. I slept like a baby last night though for sure, haha. Have you ever used emotional blackmail to get your own way? Wow, no. Has anybody ever used emotional blackmail on you? No. Who did you last worry about and why? Sara for health reasons. Are you currently looking for a new place to live? Not actively, but Mom and I definitely want to move. We feel very out-of-place here in the suburbs. Which would you prefer as a view; mountains or the sea? Mountains. Do you have a mouse for your laptop? (Assuming you have a laptop) Yes. I canNOT play games with a trackpad. Do you apologize a lot? Extremely excessively. When you get married what do you think you’ll put most of your focus and money into? Do you mean like, for the wedding? In that case, probably the venue. Being a photography buff, I want a place I think is really pretty to have pictures taken. What’s something you complain about frequently? My legs hurting, my weight, and being hot. Do you have anything planned for the summer? Nope, and that's fine with me. I'd rather stay inside away from the heat. Who usually makes dinner in your household? My ma. Do you have a blog? Just on Tumblr. Does anyone in your family snore loudly? My mother does because of gerd, and at least when my father still lived with us, he snored super loud, too. Do you want to fix anything with anyone? Yeah, a few people. What shows do you watch? Right now, only Meerkat Manor: Rise of the Dynasty. Whenever The Edge of Sleep comes out, I will 110% be watching that, too, because Mark is a key actor in it. :') Plus the concept seems super cool. Have you ever broken someone’s heart? I don't know. Who was the last person you had a conversation with on the phone? Me mum. Does the song you’re currently listening to remind you of anyone specific? No, given it has like... one lyric, haha. Do you own any TV show soundtracks? No. Last thing you did that made you feel like an adult? I mean I guess sign myself in at the doctor's. What’s your favorite picture of your mom? Dad? Oh my god, there's a candid one I got of Mom laughing when she was posing as my subject for a photography assignment, and I cherish it with ALL my heart. I want to share it with essentially the whole world, but yeah, I'm not gonna put my mom's picture here. As for my dad, I like this one I took of us at Red Lobster for his birthday a year or two back. Last TV show series you finished? Fullmetal Alchemist with Sara. Favorite flavor of cream cheese? Regular. What US state would you like to visit? Alaska. Last meal you made yourself? I put a chicken pesto thing in the microwave earlier for dinner.

[calenheniel]

Queen of the Ashes, a frozen fanfic | Epilogue

Frozen | Alternate Universe | Hans x Elsa | Romance, Drama | T+

They meet as children, each with a secret. Plagued by tragedy, their paths cross again many years later, and their secrets are unraveled.

Follow updates: #QueenoftheAshesFrozen

Read below, or find links to AO3/FF.Net/Wattpad on my Tumblr.

NEW: Extended author’s notes here. Read after finishing the Epilogue.

Author’s Note: As you can imagine, this story was quite difficult to end in a competent and thoughtful way. I hope I have done it justice, in any case. Thanks again to all of you for your kind support and comments throughout the last few months. Full reflections and notes on this story to follow in the next 1-2 weeks on Tumblr; follow the #QueenoftheAshesFrozen tag for updates.

»»————-　❈　————-««

Epilogue

“Your Majesty! Many hearty congratulations to you!”

The king bites the inside of his cheek to keep from frowning at the interruption; the offending duke is never one for subtlety at public events, and this one is no exception.

He smiles as he turns from his conversation with the Portuguese ambassador, who looks less than thrilled at the intrusion. “Welcome, Sir Alan. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

The duke’s chest puffs out at the acknowledgment. “Indeed. I remember attending many glorious Christmas dinners in the Isles under your father’s reign, God rest his and your brothers’ souls. I hope Arendellian hospitality might improve to match it, under yours.”

The king’s lips twitch as he gestures to the Great Hall, full of laughing guests, music, and light. “I’m sure you can see that it already has.” He nods towards his wife, standing by the throne, for emphasis. “Our queen would want nothing less.”

The duke smiles, though there is the hint of a shadow tugging at his lips—the same shadow that the prince has seen all evening, dancing around the outlines of people’s bows and curtsies and obsequious tittering in his presence.

“And for that we are glad,” the ambassador cuts in, eager to redirect the conversation back to his party. The duke, sensing his imminent snubbing, slinks off in the background with a grumble. “She looks astonishingly beautiful tonight, by the way, Your Majesty. Compliments to her dressmaker.” A keen, sharp light slides across the man’s gaze. “You must feel very lucky.”

The king’s smile widens. “She does, doesn’t she? And yes,” he adds, “I can hardly believe my luck, that she would agree to marry such a poor old wretch as I.”

The ambassador and his party laugh at the king’s self-deprecation, if with a note of discomfort.

“Now, what were you saying about Carnival?” the king says, slipping back into the rhythm of the conversation without missing a beat.

The ambassador’s back straightens. “Ah, yes, well—if you’re both free and able to, we’d love to have you come and visit that time of year…”

The king nods along, appearing attentive even as his actual thoughts lie with the queen.

She stands by the throne as if nailed in place, staring ahead with an unreadable expression, speaking only when approached.

At such times, she is all smiles and grace and beauty, and those that come to her do not see – or do not care to see – anything amiss with her, distracted by the din of the ball.

Her husband, knowing better, notices it. However, drawn to the task of entertaining their guests, all he can do is glance at her in between mindless chatter, echoing their admiration of her long white-blue dress.

It shimmers like stalactites seeing the sun after forming during a long winter’s night, and is made of material so fine and unusual that she cannot explain its construction to anyone, except him. The fractal patterns on the dress, resembling snowflakes, reflect on her bare arms and hands, seeming to turn them into extensions of the glowing fabric.

Her crown of white gold with sapphire insets, newly crafted for the occasion, complements the outfit.

His own is a more standard fare, with fleur-de-lis patterns and pure gold in place of any precious stones. It is the crown her father once wore, and with every dip or nod of his head to the guests, he carries its weight with the appearance of ease and comfort, as if he were always meant to wear it.

The dignitaries and courtiers do not miss the opportunity to mention as much, complimenting his “suitability” to his new position, and flattering him with praise for his “storied” naval career.

He hears the words unspoken by each of them, and the suspicion laying just behind their eyes: that he has bewitched the young queen after escaping his homeland under dubious circumstances, with none left to challenge his claims or rights.

The king knows that his slate will never be fully cleared, regardless of his new title. Even so, it is enough for him to see and relish this sycophancy where there was only contempt before, false as the former might be.

To the conqueror of the elusive and mysterious Queen of Arendelle, after all, go the spoils—though the conquering itself was no easy thing, and he had hardly expected it to be, even from the first moment he stepped foot back in Arendelle, one year ago.

»» —— ««

His embrace with the queen at the docks against a lightning-streaked sky was witnessed by nearly everyone of importance, and soon after, news of it spread like wildfire throughout the kingdom and its neighboring countries. He even received a missive from his mad uncle in the Southern Isles, long and rambling, demanding to know what his deceased brother’s youngest son was doing in Arendelle.

He tore the letter up and burnt the scraps in his hand before he had even finished reading it, knowing that no others would follow.

It was thanks in no small part to the queen’s dogged defense of him in the following weeks that he was able to take up permanent residence in Arendelle, and begin his public courtship of her.

The latter became so controversial that the queen was forced to threaten her council that she would remain unmarried for the duration of her reign, like Elizabeth I, unless they accepted him as a suitor. Although this quickly silenced her opposition, the efforts of protecting him drained her, testing the boundaries of her already limited control over her secret powers.

He made sure to always be on hand to reassure her in such moments, caressing her hair, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, and melting away any overly conspicuous damage with fiery hands until she was calm again.

The princess, on the other hand, was thrilled: she wept with joy when the queen and prince finally disembarked the gangplank, their hands interlocked and clothes soaked through from the rain. Rushing towards them, she enfolded them in a loving, teary embrace, singing her sister’s praises through sobs.

In return, he continued to play the role of the charming, supportive older brother she had never had, keeping the princess as a close ally in his courtship of her sister. She often surprised him with her cunning in plotting ways for the two to be together, alone, out of sight of castle staff; appreciative of her stratagems, he snuck her chocolate as rewards from the kitchen in thanks, befriending the cooks so that they might slip him the choicest selections.

It was with the princess’s help that he became acquainted with the townspeople outside the castle, and, later, with the other provinces of the country. Although the two young women had been isolated from the outside world for most of their lives, the princess’s rambunctious and sociable personality, once fully unleashed, turned out to be a force of nature all its own.

She was keen on exploring everything that had once been forbidden to her, making the acquaintance of anyone she met along the way, commoner and noble alike. He accompanied her on many such trips, making a show of his friendship with the princess to the common people at markets, ports, and fetes.

To this end, whenever she extolled his virtues to them, he looked appropriately demure or humble, shying away from the excessive acclaim.

These events were as much a demonstration of his serious intentions towards the queen as they were his representing her to her people, as she was still often absent. Living in isolation had had the opposite effect on her from the princess, and the queen was slow to adjust, carefully declining most, but not all, of the invitations to meet citizens outside of weekly petitions at court.

His understanding of her reluctance, and protection of her time, helped him to keep the peace between the two sisters. More to the point, it earned him the confidence of the queen, who came to rely on him in an unofficial advisory capacity on various state matters.

Her trust allowed him to finally utilize the skills and information he had absorbed over his twenty-six years in a manner appropriate to his royal title, even if it rankled her council to know that a foreign prince was so closely involved in their affairs.

She refused to acknowledge her dependence on his guidance when concerns were raised, and if his unsavory reputation was ever questioned in association with it, she equally disavowed such claims as unproven and, therefore, slander against her legitimate (and only) suitor.

The citizens, like the council, were slow in warming to him. Knowing the tales and rumors just as well as those at court – though lacking the tact to not mention them to his face – they regarded his courtship with suspicion and skepticism, and showed him politeness only out of respect for their princess or queen when they were in his company.

It was not until the winter after the coronation that he was, at long last, given the chance to prove himself worthy of their affections.

For reasons unknown to anyone (although the prince had his suspicions), an extraordinarily harsh and bitter winter came to pass—worse than any other in recent memory. With the fjord frozen solid and all overland passages blocked by impenetrable walls of snow, foreign and domestic trade came to a standstill, and the inability to export lumber, fur, and fish crippled the economy.

The queen, thinking herself to be the cause of it, shuttered herself inside of the castle; the prince, meanwhile, seizing the opportunity to make a good name for himself, took to the cobblestoned streets with the princess and the servants.

With blankets and bowls of soup in hand, they distributed supplies to the commoners, making sure to mention with every handshake or nod that it was by the queen’s beneficence that the people were provided for in such hard times. The commoners, seeing him acting on her behalf, came to associate her undeniable goodness with him, thanking him and the princess profusely, often through tears, for their kind gestures.

Eventually, he was even able to coax the queen out of her solitude, and escorted her on several rounds of such do-gooding. Seeing the townspeople so grateful for her rare presence lifted the dark pall which had cast itself over the queen since the start of the season, and with its diminishing, so too did the winter ease.

Taking advantage of her higher spirits, he also convinced the queen that it was the perfect time to start working on controlling her powers. After all, he reasoned, the objections of the council had been quieted, and with the tide of public opinion turning in his favor, there was little left to stop them from exploring the extent of her magic.

At first, they conjured small objects together in the privacy of closed meeting rooms, just as she had done in her childhood: figurines of ballerinas, bears, and unicorns, and everyday items around her room. He matched her ice with his fire to encourage her, and after years spent hiding his own powers, he found that he enjoyed the exercises as much as she did.

Later, when the worst of the winter snows and storms had passed, he told the queen that they should venture outside the castle walls to experiment further with larger, more challenging structures.

She initially refused, afraid that creating anything too large might attract unwanted attention, and doubted their ability to travel to the mountains alone without raising suspicions of improper conduct. He persuaded her by reassuring her that the trips would be disguised as mountain retreats with her sister, and that they would only practice together when the latter was out of sight.

Though still unconvinced, she agreed to the arrangement, making sure that all correct precautions were taken and notices sent to her servants and advisers of where and when and for how long they would be gone.

The princess, ever the eager adventurer, tried to lead the first expedition into the mountains, refusing help; when the party became lost after the first hour of hiking, the prince took over, navigating with maps that the queen had insisted they bring with them for backup.

Eventually they reached a small cabin which doubled as a winter goods store, and made it their encampment. They were met there by an ice harvester and his reindeer companion, sent on the recommendation of the castle’s stable master, and in short order, the gruff, awkward young man was enlisted as their guide for the trip. Being unused to any kind of polite conversation in his profession, much less with royalty, his brusque and blunt manners often led him to locking horns with the princess, as he objected to her naïve worldview.

The prince took advantage of one such confrontation to sneak off with the queen into the woods, urging her to make something grand and beautiful. To his shock, she constructed a cottage made of ice, with detailed snowflake patterns on the trimmings inside, a rocking chair, and a fireplace with a sculpture of a flame in the center.

He lost himself in these details, from the book of Aesop’s fables resting on the table by the chair, to the false wooden beams glinting blue under the sun. It was all the more remarkable for not melting by even one drop for the entire time they spent inside of it, though he was afraid to test the limits of the construction by touching anything directly.

It was only when the queen heard the princess call her name that the cottage’s facade began to crack, her fear causing jagged lines to ripple through the ceiling and floor.

Just as he had when they were in the castle, however, the feeling passed as soon as the prince placed his hand on hers, disappearing her anxiety – and her creation – in a single, slow exhale.

Other trips into the mountains followed the first, and the princess, ever eager to find ways to give the prince and her sister more alone time together, began to bait the iceman into quarrels so that he might be distracted from the other two wandering off.

(The tactic worked for the most part, though the prince noticed that the iceman increasingly shot him suspicious looks after the parties were reunited, and seemed to be catching on to the fact that the princess was provoking him for sport.)

With every second they had alone, another opportunity was born for the queen’s imagination to spark and fly, creating objects of ever-growing complexity and beauty. Her heart was light in such moments, and her smile as bright as the sun, bringing an unseasonable warmth to the mountains and valley below.

His only task at such times was to remind her not to get too ambitious with her magic, and risk it being seen.

Her displeasure with these checks was evident, if brief—for while she was getting more accustomed to her power and more enthralled with what she could build, one look at the princess ensured that she never forgot what she could also destroy.

»» —— ««

The king’s eyes drag over his wife’s elegant, iridescent figure across the room as she speaks to the princess, a rare smile flitting across her lips.

They are painted pink for the evening, just as her cheeks are decorated with a light dusting of blush, and he cannot help but marvel at her loveliness.  

»» —— ««

The prince had dared not make any overt advances towards the queen from the previous summer through mid-winter, other than securing her trust and loyalty. In spite of her remarkable gesture of affection on the day of his scheduled departure following her coronation – and the declaration of his courtship shortly after – he had been careful in how he approached the physical part of their growing intimacy.

The caution had also been purposeful insofar as wanting to keep her waiting, and breathlessly anticipating the moment in which they might finally consummate their growing feelings.

He ensured that it progressed naturally, as if they were young lovers who had met by chance at a ball: first, by holding hands when they were alone together; then, kissing her cold fingers; and, finally, her pink lips.

»» —— ««

A spark of heat shoots through the king’s stomach at the recollection of that first kiss, which now seems like a lifetime ago.

»» —— ««

It was in the library, where they had shared so many other of their private moments, just as the snow began to melt at the end of winter.

She was telling him about a palace of ice that she wanted to scale up from a miniature she had constructed in her childhood, to a full-scale building – and the uninhibited excitement shining in her eyes enchanted him so utterly that he took her hands in his, and kissed her without warning.

The connection was so immediate, and so electric, that he momentarily lost control of his powers, scalding her hands. His profuse apologies were waved off by the queen, who merely chilled her own skin, and then continued their kiss as before, pressing her cool hands to his hot neck.

They shared many more moments like this in the weeks that followed, growing closer and closer until they were fully embracing, allowing their hands to roam over each other’s clothed bodies whenever they were alone.

With each step forward, the prince noted a correlating dip in the queen’s abilities. It was as if their bond represented a third kind of power between them: one that inhibited her magic, and made her more pliable to his affections and influence.

He was not sure, at first, as to the extent to which she was aware of this effect their intimacy had on her. Over time, however, she became quieter, and less inclined towards sharing her innermost thoughts and feelings with him, as she once had.

Sometimes, he would catch her glancing at him with doubt, or even with fear, when she thought he was not looking. Thinking he knew what was in her mind, he would look down at his hands, and promise that he would never hurt her, as he had before; the queen would deny each time that this was the cause of her discomfort or odd looks, claiming that she had been lost in thought about the state of the country, or about some meeting on her agenda.

Eventually, she grew adept at deflecting such questions with a reassuring smile of her own, which, even though he could see through it better than anyone else, tended to have the effect of temporarily disarming him anyway.

By the beginning of spring, his concerns had been allayed enough to take the next – and final – step in making their partnership complete, and proposed to the queen. Knowing her aversion to public displays of any kind, he performed the act in the semi-private area of the rose garden where they had first walked together, many months before, bending on one knee in the proper form.

He presented her with a show of his affections in the form of a rose, shaped from flames, suspending it in the air. In accepting his proposal, the queen froze it over until it was made of ice, symbolizing their union, and kissed him.

In the kiss, he felt the traces of an uneasy tremor on her lips.

She insisted on starting the preparations for their wedding soon afterwards, and though he was pleased with the speed of the arrangement, he could not help but wonder at her urgency.

The same fear he had seen before began to return, little by little, and though he tried to pry further and discover the reason for it, the queen became annoyed or even angry with him on each new attempt. She would only bear the concerns of her sister, and even then, she was not always able to hide her growing disquiet.

The princess assured him that it was just premarital “jitters,” and that her sister would return to her “normal” self once the preparations and ceremony were over and done with. She reminded him of how anxious the queen had been in the lead up to her own coronation, and that a royal wedding – being an event of equal, if not higher importance – was bound to upset the young woman’s already fragile constitution.

It became an exhausting endeavor to placate the queen as the date drew nearer, and she took to her old, bad habits in her nervous spells, pacing her room for hours, icing over the walls, and casting snowdrifts over her bed. In trying to explain her behavior to him, she relied on the princess’s excuse of the council putting so much pressure on her over the wedding preparations, disregarding any other theories he might pose.

To his surprise, however, her erratic mood swings and accompanying loss of control came to an abrupt end the week before their wedding. She began to accept everything that was happening, and would happen, without protest, and the blue in her irises grew duller with each passing day.

Whether he asked her what was wrong, or what she would prefer for this or that aspect of the ceremony, or what type of music she would like to be played at the reception, she gave only cursory, short replies to him with a hazy, distracted expression. Likewise, she returned the prince’s physical gestures, whether in the form of embraces or kisses on her cheek or forehead, with the same, empty smile—or no smile at all.

The wedding followed in a similar fashion, with the queen compliant in all regards, save for the dress, which she had insisted from the beginning be of her own making. Though she looked resplendent in it, and was the envy of every young woman in attendance, she approached the altar with a countenance devoid of any feeling approximate to joy, and spoke her vows in a voice so hollow that it caused him to shudder.

When they kissed to seal their union, her lips did not tremble, nor make any movement at all.

She turned to the crowd with a smile convincing enough to make her sister weep, though it did not fool the iceman sitting next to her, who stared quizzically at the newly-married couple.

He was thus crowned king, and, taking his wife’s cold, limp hand in his own, they descended from the altar, the crowd’s cheers little more than faraway echoes.

»» —— ««

The queen trades a few words with the princess and her iceman before the latter have disappeared into the crowd again, the pair no doubt rebuffed in their invitations to join the dance that is about to start.

Her look is as hard as steel, the same as before, though the king can just make out the hint of something more behind it.

He breaks away from his guests to return to her side when the song begins, offering his hand. “My queen,” he says, bowing, “may I have this dance?”

“No, thank you,” she replies. “I’m quite tired.”

He nods. “Of course. I’ll stay here, with you.”

She does not reply as he stands next to her, and places his hand lightly on the small of her back. When he feels no physical response from the gesture, he turns his eyes back to the dance floor, finding the princess.

The younger woman is dragging the iceman onto the floor, ignoring his protests, and her partner is predictably hopeless in following the rhythm. The onlookers, including the king, chuckle at the scene, causing the commoner to blush from his neck up to his blonde hair, and finally to tear himself away from the princess and console himself by the chocolate fondue fountain.

When he glances at the queen, he is pleasantly surprised to see the faint outline of a smile on her face, though this vanishes as soon as she notices him looking at her.

“Are you enjoying the evening?” he asks anyway, smiling. “It seems like Anna is, even if at Master Bjorgman’s expense.”

His wife finally looks at him fully, unblinking, her eyes traveling from the crown atop his head, down to his hands.

“You’re wearing gloves,” she observes, ignoring his question.

He stifles a swallow. “It’s the least I could do, on such an auspicious day,” he replies, struggling to keep his smile in place. “It would look odd to have bare hands for our wedding, after all.”

Suspicion flashes across her gaze at the answer, but she says nothing, looking back at the dance floor. She watches her sister with something between longing and regret, though the emotions are so fleeting that the king cannot be sure if he saw them at all.

Unnerved, he suddenly takes her hand in his, and kisses the top of it. “You look wonderful, dearest,” he tells her, “and you have made me the happiest man in the world, today.”

He presses her hand, repeating his final vow from the ceremony. “I will always be your devoted servant, and love you until my dying day. You know that, don’t you?”

The queen’s lips part, and she pauses.

“I do. But love… isn’t always good.”

He frowns. “What are you talking about, Elsa?”

She turns back on him with a cold and inscrutable stare, withdrawing her hand from his. “You don’t remember?”

At his puzzled expression, she sighs and closes her eyes, reciting her next line with grim irony.

“And so the boy escaped, and went north, and became a King of another land. He never hurt anyone ever again.”

When her eyes reopen, they are tight, and her nose wrinkles. “It seems like the boy got everything he ever wanted,” she says with a pained smile, “but I don’t think that last part is really true.”

The king pales, and he is as silent as the grave.

“Elsa…”

Her smile becomes vacant as she places her hands in front of her, and turns her attention back to the crowd. Without hesitation, she descends the stairs to join her guests on the main floor, and matches the beat of a new song with her fingers, tapping them along the sides of her dress.

With each tap, the air grows a little colder in the room.

[coffeestainsandcashmere]

‘All that’s best of dark and bright’ - a Draco x Hermione x Theo story - Chapter Four

For the 0.5 people following this story on here instead of Ao3...

Chapter One here: Tumblr | Ao3

Chapter Two here: Tumblr | Ao3

Chapter Three here: Tumblr | Ao3

Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table that evening, still mulling over Malfoy’s behaviour in Charms.  

It had been her mention of the snatchers that had prompted his expression to darken and his body to fill with tension, and she still couldn’t shake the way that he’d turned quiet and openly vulnerable under Theo’s gentle touch. Over the years she’d known him at Hogwarts, Malfoy had always seemed to viscerally sharp and prickly, so volatile and yet so cold, that realising he was apparently an extremely tactile person somehow felt like she’d taken a bludger to the head. Yet again she saw a boy who’d been isolated by circumstance, and not by choice, and she resolved to put a little more effort into bridging the gaping canyon that still existed between them.  

At supper that evening, Ginny rather predictably talked the ears off everyone at their end of the table about the Holyhead Harpies and their latest nail-biter of a match against the Wimbourne Wasps. Apparently she and the rest of the Gryffindor team had been glued to the wireless all afternoon during their various free periods.  

“…and then when Helena Abbington swept in at the last minute and stopped a bludger from hitting Wilkins, she and Elcomb only pulled off a bloody Porskoff Ploy so well that the Wasps didn’t even see the quaffle drop until it was too late!” Ginny enthused around a final mouthful of goulash. “Seriously, we were all —” she caught sight of Hermione’s politely bored face midway through taking a swig of pumpkin juice to wash down the clog of goulash, and snorted so hard that juice actually came out of her nose. “I’m sorry, ‘Mione,” she laughed, and Hermione’s chest panged at the unexpected use of Ron’s nickname for her. “I’m so sorry. Oh crap, did I get you with juice?” She dug out her wand. “Oh Godric, I’m sorry - scourgify - but you should have seen your face!”  

“The complexities of quidditch manoeuvres have never failed to entertain me, Ginny,” she said flatly. “I’m sorry.” Dinners in the Weasley household had been interminable on nights when someone got going on the subject.  

“No, it’s totally fine. Just remind me to cancel your subscription to Seeker Weekly that I set up for your birthday.” At the words ‘your birthday’, her eyes went wide and she shrieked, “Oh my Gryffindor! Your birthday! It’s… It’s…”

“This Saturday,” she smiled sadly. Neither Ron nor Harry had mentioned coming down to see her, or meeting up in Hogsmeade, and she rather suspected that they might have forgotten. That stung more than she cared to admit.

From behind her, a male voice drawled, “It’s your birthday, Granger?” 

Ginny’s expression soured immediately and her gaze shifted to a spot behind Hermione as she snarled, “Piss off, Nott. And whatever you’re thinking of doing to spoil it… don’t.”

“Ginny!” Hermione exclaimed. “You’re Head Girl! You should be a little more impartial, don’t you think?”

“Not when it comes to my best friends,” she pouted. Her mistrust of anyone even tangentially associated with Voldemort’s supporters was widely known, and Theodore took a polite half-step back, palms up, dark blue eyes widely innocent. Ginny continued to glare at him, but she did at least let him speak.  

“I’m not putting in a last-minute, bulk order to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes,” he smiled carefully. “I promise. I was just surprised you hadn't mentioned it on our patrols, that’s all. Listen, while we’re on the subject, Granger, I came over to tell you I’m going to be a bit late tonight. Can I meet you at nine up on the third floor?”

Despite his usually abysmal time-keeping, Nott had surprisingly never been late to a patrol before, so she simply nodded. It wasn’t as if anything the students could throw at her would be more dangerous or daunting than everything she’d faced in the past three years. “Sure. Meet you by the painting of the drunk monks?”

Nott’s handsome, slightly wonky smile split wide and white across his face, drawing dimples in his cheeks that made her stomach flutter, and he inclined his head. “Perfect. Thanks, Granger.”

“You can call me Hermione, you know?” she said in a bit of a rush as he turned to leave, fighting another blush.

He paused and then turned to look over his shoulder at her. “Then I insist that you stop calling me ‘Nott’,” he said with a very slight bow of his head. One of the tighter curls at the front of his chestnut brown hair flopped further forewords onto his forehead. “Call me Theo. Never Theodore.” And he shuddered visibly, his freckles standing out a little more as his cheeks paled for just a moment.  

“Right,” she said and then, because she fancied trying it out, she added, “Theo.”  

With one further and final brightening of that already blinding smile, presumably at the sound of his name on her lips, he strode away without explanation as to why he was going to be late, and Hermione turned back to see Ginny with her jaw practically dangling on the table. Even Neville looked a little stunned, as if he still didn’t believe his eyes, even after their conversation earlier that very day.

“What?” she asked, the blush finally spilling across her cheeks, hot and tingling.

“Since when are you so… ‘chummy’ with the Slytherins?” she asked acerbically.  

She blinked. “I didn’t realise it was a crime to be on good terms with one’s peers,” she sniffed defensively as everyone’s eyes seemed to bore into her. God, it reminded her of the courtroom and Malfoy’s trial. “Besides, he’s actually halfway decent, believe it or not.”

Ginny looked like she’d swallowed a bubotuber whole. “Right,” she said. “Look… Hermione, I really don’t mean to be an arse about this, but… you do remember that he’s friends with Draco Malfoy, don’t you? You know, the boy who tried to kill Dumbledore and who let a bloody horde of Death Eaters into the castle who… you know, who ultimately helped to murder my brother…” Tears sparkled in her eyes as she glared at her.

Her heart went out to the younger girl, but she wasn’t about to back down either. “I’m aware of Malfoy’s history, Ginny, and of who we all lost,” she said, trying to keep her voice from rising and quavering. “I’m not… I’m not saying they’re perfect by any means, but… I’d like to give them a chance. Both of them. Theo was cleared of any involvement, and Malfoy was tried and released on probation, remember?”

Ginny’s eyes filled with tears and her lips trembled. “Tell that to Fred!” she hissed, standing from the table and storming away.  

Hermione took a deep breath and glanced around at the audience their little tussle had gathered amongst the Gryffindors. “What?” she snapped, pushing herself to her feet and disentangling her legs from the bench. “You heard McGonagall at the start of term. And we can’t keep treating everyone like criminals.” Her heart was racing, blood pounding in her ears. Why didn’t they understand? Why did they all think it was still ‘us’ and ‘them’? “We just can’t live like that!” she said shrilly, and she stalked from the hall in Ginny’s wake, tears blurring her vision.  

She’d always hated the fact that she wore her heart on her sleeve like this, emotions always boiling right up to the surface at a moment’s notice when she wished she could remain calm and collected instead of going off like a powder keg. It was something she’d always admired about the people who tended to be sorted into Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Then again, she’d almost been sorted into Ravenclaw, so perhaps it had nothing to do with houses at all and everything to do with her own inability to control her emotions. She’d have made a terrible occlumens.

As the arched entrance to the great hall approached, still in a bit of a blur, she crashed headlong into someone who also happened to be leaving the hall at the same time. A flash of white hair registered in her peripheral vision as Malfoy of all people steadied her with one pale and surprisingly strong hand. He then released her and stepped back.  

“Granger?” he asked in a low, softly-articulated purr, taking in the sheen to her eyes and the colour in her cheeks. He shot a glance back over his shoulder at the table where several astounded Gryffindors were still staring after her, and then turned his fierce, silver gaze back to her.  

“I’m sorry, Malfoy,” she hissed, desperate not to prolong the fuss. “I’m fine. Thank you.” And with that, she fled to Gryffindor tower to curl up with a book by the common room fire until it was time for her patrol. She didn’t see Ginny again, and later that evening when she nipped up to their dorm to grab her thicker cloak to ward off the castle’s wandering drafts, the drapes of Ginny’s four-poster were pointedly shut.  

The first half of her solo rounds passed without much incident and she found the solitude strangely grounding as she paced the empty halls. Ginny’s grief at the loss of her older brother was still so raw and close to the surface, and Hermione could certainly see how a friendship - however tentative - with a Slytherin like Theodore Nott would have been anathema to her. Ginny may have been fair and a good choice for a head of school, but when it came to blood ties, the Weasleys were a fiercely loyal family. Hermione had not been present when Molly Weasley had killed Bellatrix, but to hear any of them tell it, Molly had turned into something akin to an avenging banshee to defend her daughter from the deranged Death Eater.  

Near the library she found two first years sneaking about on a dare and deducted a cautionary five points from Hufflepuff to warn them off trying anything again, and moved on towards the third floor. She met Nearly Headless Nick and paused to chat with him at length on one of the few static staircases before spotting Mrs. Norris’ tail disappearing around a corner. The satisfaction she felt at not having to be afraid of that sight boosted her mood somewhat. She moved on through the castle like a stray draft, belonging and yet still disconnected; she knew the place inside out, and yet it still felt strange to her to be back here again after everything, with barely a blast or scorch mark on the stones to speak of what had happened scarcely four months earlier.

Just as she reached the third floor and rounded a corner, she paused. A feminine giggle echoed down the hall, followed by a quickly hushed groan.

Perfect.  

Of all the things she found herself dealing with as a prefect - sleepwalking, sneaking about, dares into the Restricted Section - illicit encounters by moonlight were probably her least favourite. Everyone needed some kind of connection, some kind of… release… but rules were rules after all, and although Hogwarts was probably the safest place in the world once more, it still didn’t do to be wandering the halls at night.  

Inhaling deeply, she stepped out with the intention of interrupting them and sending them packing with twenty points from each house, when a warm, dry palm slid over her mouth from behind her. Before she could squeal or hex her assailant into the middle of last week, Theodore Nott shifted silently into her field of vision, with the finger of his other hand pressed against his smirking lips.  

“Theo,” she hissed like a disgruntled Crookshanks when he released her, and he grinned wider, dimples and all. “Merlin and Morgana! You scared me!”

With a very quiet, earthy chuckle that sent heat rushing right the way through her, he twitched his eyebrows down the corridor. “Who is it then?”

“As if I should know from one breathy little giggle!” she scoffed, still somehow keeping her voice down despite her indigence.  

He actually had extremely nice hands, she thought, trying not to look at them, and that then realisation made her cheeks flush and her heart flutter. While Malfoy had the hands of a potion master, steady and long-fingered, Theo had the hands of a scholar, all ink stained and slightly knuckly. She scolded herself for fixating on her classmates’ hands - now of all times - and rounded on him defensively.  

“Come on,” she said. “Now that you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful. And what were you doing — if I might ask — that was so much more important than your duties as a prefect?”

“Tutoring third years,” he said casually as he turned to face the length of the corridor. “Arithmancy. They’re terrible. An absolute disgrace to Slytherin. Now, come on, let’s have some fun. I reckon they’re behind that tapestry halfway down. You know, the one with that coat of arms and the randy unicorn.”

Theodore Nott tutored students?  

She froze, staring at him with a look of incredulous amusement on her face, trying to imagine him teaching. Actually, that didn’t help her situation at all and she quickly abandoned the image before it took hold. “It’s ‘rampant’, not ‘randy’,” she finally croaked, which only made him snicker softly. Of course he knew that. Flustered at having allowed herself to be goaded by him, she added, “So you’re familiar with that hiding place then, Nott? You’ve been caught there before, have you?”

“A gentleman never tells,” he said and strode off before she could stop gawping like a landed fish.  

He flicked his wand at the huge tapestry and it peeled slowly back like a theatre curtain to expose the two mortified fifth years entangled within the alcove. Mercifully they were mostly dressed, just a little rumpled, and she and Nott sent the pair on their way with only ten points from Ravenclaw and ten from Gryffindor. Hermione would never be able to look the girl in the face again.  

As the fifth years scuttled off like startled beetles, Theo turned to her and let the tapestry fall back into place. The ridiculousness of it caught up with them at the same time, and they both burst out laughing, the sound of it ringing on the cold stone of the corridor. It was a relief to laugh, she realised as her eyes watered and she felt giddy and light for the first time in weeks. She put her hand on the rough stonework of the wall beside the tapestry and let her body shake with it.  

“You’re telling me you’ve never been caught like that, Granger?” Theo said once his own laughter had died down. He still had those delicious dimples though, and his eyes glittered.  

Her face flushed hot and she remembered a few stolen kisses here and there, and once significantly more, with Viktor Krum.

Theo’s eyebrows expressed a very keen interest, and she began examining the needlework of the tapestry with sudden focus.  

“Well, well,” he said. “I’m not going to pry, but that’s a very interesting train of thought you’ve given me, Granger.”

“Oh?” she said archly, half turning to look back at him over her shoulder and daring him to continue that with flashing eyes, despite the colour in her cheeks.

“Mm.”

“And who was it that you were caught sneaking about with then?”

Theo absolutely refused to say with whom he’d been caught, and in what state of undress, and by the time they reached the end of their patrol route, she’d stopped prodding at him for answers. He was a Slytherin after all, and did not divulge secrets willingly.  

“Any plans for your birthday, Granger?” he asked conversationally as they made their way back towards the grand staircase. She didn’t have to accompany him, but hadn’t felt like returning yet. “You’ll be nineteen, right?”

A stray draft tugged at her hair and she shivered. With a shrug and a nod, she said, “No plans really. I’ll see what happens and play it by ear.”

“When is it again?” he asked, pace slowing as his eyebrows drew together into a little frown.

“Saturday.”

“No plans with Potter and Weasley?” he asked and when she shrugged again, his expression soured just a fraction more.  

As they passed by a painting of a wizard, who looked remarkably like Charlie Weasley, wrangling a Hungarian Horntail, the dragon gave a shriek that made her jump. Theo chuckled softly and she felt her insides heat up all over again at the sound of it.  

“Slytherin and Gryffindor quidditch try outs are this Saturday,” he said, sounding a little regretful, though she couldn’t figure out why.  

“You don’t even play quidditch,” she scoffed, happy to have moved away from the topic of Harry and Ron.  

“Draco does. He’s going for seeker, remember?”

“Oh, of course. He’ll probably get it too - he’s apparently quite good.”

“Mm. Prodigious. You should see him now. He trains practically every morning.”

She thought about the lone flyer she’d seen and wondered if that had been Malfoy. It seemed likely, but she didn’t bring it up. “Ginny asked me to come along, but…” she grimaced. “It’s really not my thing.”

“Really?” Theo snorted sarcastically, turning to look at her from one step ahead. He was still taller than her by a long shot, even then. “I had no idea that you didn’t enjoy quidditch, Granger. It’s not as if you’ve ranted extensively and effusively about how ridiculous you think the whole game is on a number of our patrols this term…”

She punched him on the arm and he just laughed and skipped jauntily down the staircase as he headed back to the Slytherin Dungeons for the night.

“See you tomorrow, Granger,” was all he said as he left, waving jauntily over one shoulder without looking back.  

Hermione didn’t watch him go. Instead, she turned and glared at the Horntail in the painting as she passed, and then stumped back up to Gryffindor tower, feeling oddly conflicted. Patrols weren’t supposed to be this much fun. They were supposed to be sensible and practical, like books, but… then again, books could also be a lot of fun. It had been such a long time since she’d really allowed herself to even dream about anything so flippant as her interest in the opposite sex. Theo’s dimples kept drifting back into her thoughts, and even the silver eyes of Theo’s best friend. Once or twice, when they went soft and even gentle, she’d even thought Malfoy startlingly attractive. He still looked haunted and tired, but he had lost a lot of the hard, jagged edges recently.  

With thoughts of a pair of puzzling Slytherins filling her head, she fell into bed and, for the first time in months, it didn’t even cross her mind to think about setting unnecessary wards. Her head hit the pillow and she fell deeply asleep. 

___

Chapter Five

If you enjoyed, please reblog and share! I’m new to the fandom on here and appreciate all the help I can get!

___

writing masterlist | Ao3

[noxstellacaelum]

Female Protagonists Deserve Their Stories

Believe me, I get it.  I am not the target audience for shows like Shadowhunters, Veronica Mars, or GoT.  I am far, far removed from ship wars, cons, and the overall social media craziness that seems to animate fandom culture for shows like these.  These shows -- particularly Shadowunters -- are really just guilty pleasures for me.  With bonus points b/c they are sci fi/supernatural/fantasy/action & adventure genre pieces with strong female protagonists.  That’s all.  Just a genre that I love.  Nothing life-changing.  

So why, months later, am I still so pissed off about GoT S8, Shadowhunters 3B and the &*%& Shadowhunters finale, and basically all of Veronica Mars S4?  Especially when the writers/ show runners behind these projects -- and huge chunks of the fandom -- really, really don’t give a shit about what someone in my demographic thinks.    

Fundamentally, I am pissed off because each of these shows destroyed the narrative arcs of their female characters.  And, because the showrunners -- a bunch of middle-aged dudes -- should have known better.  

This post focuses on Shadowhunters.  And I am writing it just for me.  I appreciate and understand that others may disagree.

Ok, let’s just acknowledge the demographically engineered pulpy charms of Shadowhunters (TV) up front.  The cast were (and still are, obviously) uniformly gorgeous; the casting was racially diverse (YAY!!!); each season features lots of angst-y love triangles, break-ups and make-ups (Oh, the drama :-)); and, the show deliberately centered LGBTQIA relationships, especially Malec (again, YAY!!!)

So, what’s my problem, when there is so much to like about the show’s stated desire to be inclusive and diverse?  Especially when I believe that representation matters, particularly in genre projects like Shadowhunters, which historically have tended to lack diversity with respect to race and sexual/gender identity.

My problem is that somewhere along the line, the Shadowhunters showrunners decided that to tell the story they wanted to tell, they had to eviscerate the narrative arcs of Clary, and by extension, Jace.  

To understand why the decision to sideline Clary (and Jace) is so frustrating, it helps to know a bit about the TV show’s source material.  (Spoilers follow) SHTV is based on The Mortal Instruments, a six-book series written by Cassie Clare.  Clary is the protagonist of TMI:  Clare has described TMI as a “girl power” story, and she has made it clear that in TMI, she wanted to tell a story where a girl saves the world.  She’s even clapped back at those who would question whether Clary is worthy of heroine status.  Last year, in the Thule section of Queen of Air and Darkness, Clare showed us an AU where Clary doesn’t save the world (and is instead killed by Lilith, the mother of demons).  It’s a hellscape:  Clary’s evil brother Jonathan controls everyone and everything; angelic power no longer works; and anyone who tries to resist Jonathan is hunted, killed, “endarked” (turned into a soulless, murderous soldier), or otherwise enspelled.  All of our other heroes are dead or enthralled.  Realizing that he was turning into a demon, Magnus begged Alec to kill him (which Alec does, before committing suicide).  And Clary’s love Jace?  Devastated by Clary’s death, and enspelled by Jonathan, Jace becomes twisted and evil.  

In addition to the Thule AU, Clare has written more generally about right of female creators to own their own work (on a Tumblr blog post).  And, she has used other series in the shadowhunter world to center other characters and relationships (e.g., the Malec series currently underway); to interrogate gender roles (e.g., the Julian and Emma pairing in TDA); and to explore relationships and identities other than the Clary/Jace pairing (e.g. the polyamorous Christina/Mark/Kieran relationship in TDA).  Why does all of this matter for SHTV?  Well, Clare wrote TMI, and she made Clary the protagonist.  So the fact that Clary is the protagonist of TMI was not some ancillary or inconvenient matter for SHTV.  It was and is at the center of the books upon which SHTV is based, and as to which the show has IP rights.    

[NB:  This is not to suggest that Clare prefers Clary and Jace to other characters or other ships, or that other characters aren’t also heroic or ship-worthy -- they are, they are just not the protagonists of TMI.  And, SHTV is still based on TMI.]

[NB2:   And, I absolutely don’t mean to suggest that the show had to be a transcription of the books, or that only Clary and Jace should have gotten screen time.  I am affirmatively HAPPY that the show gave rich story lines to other characters -- especially Simon, Magnus and Alec.]

With that background in mind, why do I think that Season 3B and the finale destroyed the Clary and Jace characters?  Well -- and I know this sounds snarky -- let’s look at the parade of plotholes, the random redistribution of plot points, Clary’s loss of agency, the and general sidelining of the Clary and Jace characters and their heroism.  (Again, spoilers to follow).  I leave the memory wipe to last here, because I still can’t believe that anyone thought destroying three seasons of character development was a good idea.  

1. Evil Clary story line:  In the books, Jace is twinned with Jonathan.  This makes narrative sense:  Jace and Jonathan are “brothers” of a sort, having both been raised by Valentine, and Jace’s vulnerability to Jonathan (and Lilith) is rooted in childhood trauma of abuse and neglect that Jace endured at the hands of Valentine.  

In the show, however, Clary is twinned with Jonathan.  From the start, Clary’s ability to resist the rune is tied to her proximity to Jace.   In fact, as 3B progresses, Clary becomes increasingly unhinged and violent any time she is physically separated from Jace.  Eventually, when she is blasted behind a wall while on mission (and thus physically separated from Jace), she succumbs entirely.   All of a sudden we have dark Clary, taking a walk on the wild side with the murderous brother who kidnapped her and nearly killed Jace just a few short weeks ago in show time.  Dark Clary joining forces to burn down the world that she loved, and that she repeatedly saved.  Really???  And then, when Jace and the others finally manage to free her from twinning rune, we see Clary saying that she WANTED to help Jonathan with his murderous rampage.  And, we hear Jace saying that the call of blood was too hard for Clary to resist.  Again, really??? The girl who killed her father, called upon an angel to bring her boyfriend back to life, survived the death of her mother, and who was nearly killed by her possessed boyfriend is somehow unable to resist the call of her Morgenstern blood?  What about Clary’s agency?  Her strength?  Her love for Jace and her chosen family?  Her identity as a shadowhunter?  Enthralled book Jace at least still loves Clary, and has a scene where he temporarily breaks free of the twinning rune, and makes it clear to Jonathan that he hates him, and that he is being controlled. But Clary says she wanted to help her brother, and that it’s her fault for being unable to resist her “blood.” While team evil might have been fun -- and probably was a blast for the actors to play -- it didn’t make narrative sense to me.  Not the biggest sin, and to each his own.  But not for me.

2.  Heavenly fire storyline:  In the book, Jace is filled w/ heavenly fire.  Clary eventually figures out how to get the heavenly fire from Jace into her weapon (heosphoros), which she uses to kill Jonathan.  In the show, Izzy gets the entire heavenly fire storyline.  Again, why???  For one thing, the scene in which Clary and Izzy fight (and Izzy ends up with the heavenly fire after being struck by shrapnel) -- while cool -- made no sense to me.  Book Izzy is a formidable warrior.  Show Izzy is disarmed by Clary (who has been training to be a shadowhunter for, like, 5 minutes at the time of their battle).  Also, why does Izzy get the heavenly fire from a few bits of shrapnel, but Clary is totally fine after being STABBED by the sword?  More generally, other than giving Izzy more to do, what was the thinking behind taking away this story arc from Clary and Jace?  And, for making Jace basically a potted plant in 3B?   (In contrast to book Jace — who was key to the good guys’ victory— show Jace is made to basically stand there: Show Alec, Izzy, Magnus, and Simon get literally every single heroic plot point in the finale — remember that we’re Lightwoods moment, sans Jace (the adoptive brother)?? — while Jace is relegated to crying or supporting Clary.)

3.  The Jace character:  While this post is principally about Clary, I can’t help but note that the show did everything possible to isolate Jace and make him incompetent and unlikable.  

- Book Jace comes across as arrogant and as a wise ass, but Clary and Alec see the arrogance for what it is -- a coping mechanism/ PTSD following a childhood full of trauma at the hands of Valentine.  Through his relationship with Clary, Jace learns that he is worthy of being loved, and that he can love without destroying.  And, Jace’s parabatai bond is a source of strength and joy for both Alec and Jace.  Show Jace gets none of this.  3B kept Clary and Jace apart from each other much of the time (what w/ Evil Clary preferring to help her murderous brother burn down the world).  3B also effectively eliminated the parabatai bond:  Alec is entirely focused on his relationship with Magnus, and he is impatient with a clearly suicidal Jace.  You can count on one hand the number of minutes that Alec and Jace are on screen together in 3B.  

- Book Jace becomes (with Clary) head of the NY institute, having rejected and fought against bigoted members of the cohort.  I appreciate that this likely could not be shown b/c the show does not have the rights to TDA, but this does not explain why the show made Jace so incompetent as head of the NY institute.  Show Jace gets the job only because of nepotism (Herondale blood).  Show Jace is on board with the downworlder registry.  Show Jace is so incompetent that he abdicates in favor of  Alec after about a day.  None of this made any sense.

- Book Jace is all-in w/ Clary from the beginning.  He has one encounter w. Aline, but that’s presented as being as much about Aline’s confirmation of her sexual identity as it is about Jace in turmoil.  (I know some people object to CC’s writing of Aline, but again, it’s her story.)   But even if the showrunners felt that the Jace/Aline hook-up was “problematic” -- and I get that some fans feel that way -- why did the show choose to do some weird male version of slut-shaming of Jace? There is the Jace encounter with Maia.  (To be clear, this was shitty to the Maia character, too.  She hooks up with a drunk rebounding Jace, whom she had just tried to kill. behind a bar.)  And, the comments about Jace, Kaelie and book club. Everyone keeps talking on the show about how Jace sleeps around, and they judge him for it, when, in reality, Jace is pretty darn faithful to his relationship with Clary from the moment they meet.  Simon, Clary, Alec, Magnus, and Izzy all have more sexual encounters (and in the case of Simon and Izzy, more partners) vs. show Jace.  And no one calls Simon or Clary slutty.  No one decides that Alec is unworthy b/c he lies to Magnus.  And no one decides Magnus is unworthy or slutty or not devoted to Alec because he’s had many sexual partners in the past.

- As noted elsewhere, the show isolated and shamed a clearly depressed and suicidal Jace in 3B.  He’s shown devastated and alone in 3B when he thinks Clary is dead in the “Lost Without You” montage:  Alec (his parabatai) and Magnus are busy comforting each other;  Maia is comforting Simon; Mayrse is nowhere to be found.  Same thing after Jace almost gets himself killed on the mission involving the Seelie:  Alec yells at him and tells him to suck it up; Mayrse once again is absent; and only Izzy checks in.  Then, in the flash forward, Alec, Magnus, Izzy, Luke, Mayrse, and Maia all seem entirely unconcerned with Jace’s state of mind.  Once again, he’s told to suck it up and move on.

4.  Female characters/ sexuality generally on the show:  So much could be written about the show’s treatment of its female characters generally.  Book Izzy is strong and fierce, and yes, body and sex positive.  Show Izzy is all over the map.  S1 captures Izzy’s sass, but she’s treated like slutty eye candy sometimes.  S2 and S3 Izzy has more depth, but less sass.  Tell me again why she had to be a drug addict?  Or, why she gets disarmed by Clary (who had a couple of months of training at that point in show time) in the finale?  Or why she alone (vs. Mayre or Alec) is sent to check on a clearly suicidal Jace?  To be clear, I loved the Jace/ Izzy bond, but why does the show let Alec and Mayrse off the hook w/ regard to Jace’s mental health, and leave Izzy w/ caretaking duties?   And Mayrse, who seems to exist in season 3 solely for the purpose of being punished — and then being redeemed — for her S1 homophobia. She becomes “captain of the Malec ship” after being deruned, and then is shown caring for Alec when Magnus is in Edom, and nurturing the Malec relationship. But, she vacations in Brazil in the finale with zero regard for her grief-stricken, suicidal adoptive son? And then there is Maia. Why does she hook up with Jace against a wall behind a bar? And what’s with the forgiving her abuser storyline?  And Clary.  Believe me, nothing made me happier than the show’s decision to make reasonably short work of the incest story line.  But to have Clary literally jump into bed with Simon, her bff?  Immediately after learning --falsely, as it turns out -- that Jace was her sibling?  Was that Clary’s first sexual encounter?  Was is not weird to suddenly start sleeping with your friend (who you turned into the vampire, and who can walk in the daylight b/c he drank your ex-boyfriend/ now you think your sibling’s  blood)?  I know the books present Jace, Clary and Simon as a love triangle — YA, after all — but book Clary wrestles w/ her feelings for Simon. I get that aging them up on the show — which I liked — would have changed the dynamic around these relationships and the characters’ sex lives, but the handling of the Climon story line was so clumsy. And, in any event, why is S2 Clary snarky about Jace’s sexual past (the book club comments)?  And in 3B, why does dark Clary manipulate — or worse — a basically roofied Jace at the club?

5. The Memory Wipe:  OH.MY.GOD.  I CANNOT EVEN CONVEY THE DEPTHS OF MY DISLIKE FOR THIS TROPE OF A PLOT POINT.  In the book, Simon volunteers to give Asmodeus his memories, thus saving Magnus (and everyone else).  Once again, this makes narrative sense -- Simon never wanted to be a vampire, and he (unlike Magnus) could survive the loss of his memories, and even return to mundane life.  And, after Simon gives up his memories, his friends NEVER give up on him.  Clary, Izzy, and the others watch him, they reach out to him, and eventually, with Magnus’s help, they reconnect with him.   Magnus even says that stealing Simon’s memories was a little bit “fascist.”

Show Clary has it much, much worse.   Let’s remember how it played out in the finale:  

- Jonathan goes on a murderous rampage.  Clary saves the world using her rune power, killing her last living relative, knowing she would be stripped of the Sight and her memories.  

- Notwithstanding Jonathan’s mass slaughter and Clary’s sacrifice, the MOST IMPORTANT THING is that Magnus and Alec have decided to get married at the institute the very next day, after dating for about three months on-and-off in show time.  

- And so we have much of the finale devoted to the wedding.  We see everyone smiling and happy (despite the slaughter of shadowhunters around the world the day before and Jonathan’s death at Clary’s hands).  We see Clary in a very revealing dress sobbing as she dances with her boyfriend and her runes are obviously disappearing -- but no one notices. We see Jace letting a sobbing Clary walk out the door.

- And then we see Clary alone, sobbing on the street in a revealing party dress, in the cold, with no memories, no I.D., no best friend, no love of her life, no money, no home (burned down in season 1), no mother (killed by Alec), no father figure. Nothing.  I get that sacrifice is a shadowhunter virtue, but the trope of a memory wipe (I see you, Chuck) is SO far from canon, and so inconsistent with how Clare wrapped up the Clary (and Jace stories).  Zero emotional logic.

- Then, to make matters worse, we jump ahead one year, and no one gives a shit about Clary or Jace or their sacrifice at all.  Alec and Magnus are living their best life mixing cocktails in Alicante (leaving Alec’s clearly devastated and suicidal parabatai to just figure things out, I guess).  Maryse (Jace’s adoptive mother) and Luke (Clary’s father figure) are vacationing in Brazil, seemingly more concerned about the humidity than they are about Clary or Jace; Izzy and Simon are loving life together at the NY institute (so much for Clary and Izzy as parabatai, or Simon and Clary’s friendship); and Simon tells a grieving, suicidal Jace -- the same Jace who almost killed himself a couple of weeks prior in show time -- to stop checking on Clary and to move on.  Apparently, Simon thought that Maia’s naming a salad after Clary was enough.   So much for Jace’s mental health.  So much for Clary and Simon’s friendship (and in the books, their eventual parabatai bond). 

- But, we we did get closure for the lizard/ Lorenzo; Underhill’s first name; and an update on Raphael.  All of these developments were apparently more important than honoring Clary’s narrative arc, her chosen identify as a shadowhunter, her relationship with Jace, and her chosen family.  

None of it made any sense.

1. Why would the angels strip Clary of the Sight when she used her rune power to SAVE THE DAMN WORLD?  After all, let’s see who gets to keep the Sight/ memories in the showrunners’ telling:  Valentine (insane, imprisoned an angel, killed downworlders and shadowhunters ); Jonathan (murderous, insane); Alec (killed Clary’s mother while possessed); Izzy (also possessed); Jace (killed his grandmother and mundanes while possessed, threw Clary off a roof, almost killed Alec); Jocelyn (almost killed Jace, circle member); Aldertree (despite getting Izzy addicted to drugs and torturing downworlders).  The list goes on.  But Clary’s invention of runes to stop her insane brother from destroying the world incurs the wrath of the angels? 

2.  The showrunners would have us believe that Clary lost the Sight (and her memories) because the angels were spiteful.  How does this fit with Cassie Clare’s conception of angels AT ALL?  They are completely unconcerned with human emotions in the books. And, why would only Clary suffer this fate when, as noted above, there are shadowhunters who did terrible things for entirely selfish or otherwise awful reasons? 

3.  In what world would Jace not notice his girlfriend’s runes disappearing?  In what world would he ever let his sobbing, de-runed girlfriend -- whom he just got back from the twinning rune/possession/killing her last living relative -- walk out the door alone?

4. For a show so concerned about representation, what about Jace’s story as a survivor of childhood abuse and trauma?  What about Jace’s near suicide earlier in 3B?  Why does everyone in Jace’s life (specifically Alec after the Seelie mission and Simon in the finale) tell Jace to suck it up and move on when he is clearly depressed and suicidal?  What about the show’s depiction of the relationship between Jace and his adoptive family? What message does the finale send about who was — and was not — a member of the Lightwood family when Mayrse and Alec either ignore Jace or yell at him when he is grieving and suicidal? So much for family. And, what about Clary’s mental health, after the showrunners stripped her of her friends, family, chosen family, memories, identity, home, and love?  

And then, after all of this, the showrunners made things worse by talking up how important the wedding was for them, even as they made it clear they didn’t care about the resolution of the Clary, Jace and Clace story lines.

- The show runners misidentified the supposedly spiteful angel who I guess would have been the big bad in Season 4 in press coverage of the finale.

- They said they didn’t know where the Clary, Jace and Clace story was heading, and that “fan fiction” would figure it out.

- They talked about how difficult and important the seating chart was for the wedding, and about how they had tried to get every character, no matter how minor, back for the “reception” scene.  And they spent precious time in the finale showing us party scenes involving ancillary non-canon characters (Underhill, Lorenzo) vs. coming up with a coherent resolution to the protagonist’s story.

- They engaged only with Malec content on social media, and talked endlessly how the show was a “love letter” to fans, and ignored less favorable fan reaction involving the Clary and Jace characters.

- Same drill for the writers, BTW.  A young female writer for the show (who supposedly was the book stan in the writers’ room) has been on social media explaining how great it was Clary’s story line came “full circle” in finale.  She’s now heading to a con with the show runners, having studiously ignored questions about the show’s treatment of Clary and Jace. (I get why she would do this — work, and all — but still.)

- To the extent the showrunners, producers, and writers have addressed Clary and Jace at all in press coverage of the finale, they have argued that the memory wipe was no harm/no foul b/c the final scene suggests that love conquers all.  First, we knew that -- we are talking about a pulpy YA novel, after all.  Second, if the last scene sends the message that love conquers all, it’s because Kat M. and Dom S., the performers, imbued that scene with more depth and emotion than the writing deserved.  Finally, the love conquers narrative ignores the fact that Clary and Jace earned their character arcs as INDIVIDUALS, not just as half of a ship.  Clary deserved her identity, her chosen family, and her love.  Jace deserved his hard-won happiness with himself, and in his relationship with Clary (and in his relationships with Alec and Izzy).  I personally didn’t want a wedding -- I don’t think anyone should get married after a few months of mostly unsuccessful dating.  I did, however, want to see these characters enjoying their hard-won happiness vs. a dystopian future for two characters only, w/ a rom com meet cute tacked on at the end.

Fundamentally, the showrunners made SHTV into a fan service-, ship war- driven series of plotpoints in 3B and the finale.  There are lots of potential reasons for this:  Maybe they preferred the Malec storyline, and thought that playing to Malec fans might help the show get picked up (or maybe get a Malec spinoff approved); maybe they thought that punishing Jace and sidelining Clary might please some segments of the SHTV fandom; maybe they bought into the idea that the books are “problematic” and need to be fixed, or that dislike of certain performers justifies trashing the character.  Whatever.  The end result is the same:  For me, they lost the narrative thread of the characters, and the emotional logic of the stories.  They fed into a stupid ship war and a stupid book vs. show war.  And, they played into scarcity, as if honoring Malec required tearing down Clace.  

At the end of the day, the show runners’ decision to wipe Clary’s memory broke the show for me.  No matter how much I love Malec, and no matter how amazing the last scene was (and how lovely the performances were in that scene), I will always believe that Clary and Jace deserved better.

And so I want to say to the showrunners and writers:  NEXT TIME, LET YOUR PROTAGONIST HAVE HER STORY.  SHE EARNED IT.  (And FFS be tiny bit humble when there is source material :-).  

[impudentmiscengenation]

The Day Magic Died - A Merlin Oneshot

DISCLAIMER:

I, Impudent Miscegenation, of Tumblr (dot net), do not own or have any affiliation with the creators of Merlin. All rights respectfully go to: Jake Michie, Johnny Capps, Julian Murphy, Julian Jones, and BBC1 Entertainment. I don’t gain material profit from my works featured here, I write for my own amusement.

Full Summary: Merlin realized, too late, that the ephemeral nature of man leads to a blatant disregard of heritage. Further away from magic does humanity slip, and the world is made all the worse for it. (Modern Era)(Canon Compliant)

Author’s Notes: I’ve been thinking about the phrase “when Albion needs him most”, being when Arthur will return. This is the result of that line of thinking; I may continue but let’s just call it a one-shot for now. No beta, we die like men, even if I did try to edit it well myself. If anyone has ideas on how they would want to continue it, and adopt this plot bunny, feel more than free, just credit me and give me a link so I can read it! Also, if it’s in italics, it’s the character’s thoughts!

WARNINGS: Major Character Death, Mentions of Major Character Death, Illness, Petrification (turning to stone)

Story under the cut.

The Day Magic Died

If someone were to ask the warlock Merlin when magic went into decline, he’d probably say that it started with Uther Pendragon and his Great Purge of Magic. He would also likely mention that King Arthur was to have mitigated some of the atrocities committed against magic by his late father had his life not been cut short at Camlann.

The truth of the matter was that the fall of magic happened slowly over the course of a thousand years or so. The Purge was certainly a catalyst but the complete destruction of magic could not be done in just one human lifetime, or even two.

The dragons were the first to die out. They were followed swiftly by the griffins, wyverns, and hippogriffs. Then gone were fairies, dwarves, elves, gnomes and trolls. When creatures of magic became myth alone, the world’s shift from magical to mundane became much more dramatic in a short span of time (at least, short for the immortal Emrys).

Healers were known as doctors, pyromancers became pyrotechnicians, evocationists turned to theology, and history was rewritten by hands that didn’t trust in the magic of the natural world. The druids lost their way, disbanded, and joined the rest of magic as legend. Remnants of their clans scattered and the modern world dubbed the descendants of their gentle souls “hippies”. As the Old Religion grew older and was forgotten, Merlin realized that he may be the only true magic practitioner left in the world.

Humanity, callous and ever-marching forward, favored the development of their technologies, their industry, over the preservation of the natural world. Ambitious fires consumed lands of wonder for the sake of progress. The future was steel and concrete, after all, so who had the need for an enchanted forest, anyway?

Merlin realized, too late, that the ephemeral nature of man leads to a blatant disregard of heritage. Not that evolution as a whole was a bad thing, but did it have to come with such sacrifice? Try as he may to convince the strangers of tomorrow that magic exists, and has existed for all time, his labor yields no result. (“Your sleight of hand is amazing; do you give lessons? I’d love to be a stage magician!”)

Further from magic does humanity slip, and the world is made all the worse for it.

War and famine tear through continents, hate and lack of common ground inciting violence as the answer. Death and destruction rule over peace and prosperity but Merlin knows that he, alone, cannot bring magic back to this world.

He is magic given form, of course, and is well aware that magic is dying.

——————————————————————————————————

Merlin stares at his haggard reflection through a dirty, cracked mirror.

He feels weak, his body like lead and spirit slowly breaking. Despite this, his magic chooses to youthen his appearance. Such a thing has happened previously, in his many centuries, and gives him little pause anymore. The difference is that, this time, it drains him. Utilizing any kind of magic tended to do as such these days, so Merlin made a point to avoid using his gift as often as was feasible.

Before him is a man of thirty or forty-some years. Untamed black waves, flecked with silver towards his ears and wet from a recent shower, are slicked back and reaching the base of his neck. He'd recently shaved his face; the first time he’d done so in perhaps seventy years, mind, and he bore the cuts to substantiate that fact.

Despite being more clean and groomed than he had been for a while, Merlin still looked like death. His complexion was so white it had a nearly translucent quality, blue veins pronouncing themselves starkly where they were close to the surface of his skin. The dark, almost bruise-like color surrounding his eyes wouldn’t go away regardless of the fact that he’d been spending most of the past few weeks doing nothing but sleeping. The deep blue that had once reflected light and happiness had turned a stormy gray that sluggishly pleaded for an ear to listen, a mind to open, a heart passed childhood to believe in magic.

The warlock grimaced at the corpse-like figure reflected back at him. I have studied, I have counselled and been counselled in turn, I have searched realms beyond ours for answers… For all that I have done, what have I wrought?

Over a thousand years of waiting, trying to spare creatures of magic, even those he’d fought against in his youth, if only to prevent the inevitable downfall of his kin. Centuries of searching for hints or whispers, making friends with those who still believed, when there was the occasional kindred spirit. (Merlin had later discovered that many of these ‘kindred spirits’ were also very much addicted to taking LSD, but he liked to think of their discussions more than that fact.)

Merlin had not been idle while awaiting the return of his king, that was for sure. He had been appointed various titles, given different jobs, and even has made himself entirely unknown in the many years of his unending life. Recalling a few brought a smile to his face. He had been a counsellor, a poet, a bard, and a spymaster. He had also been an artist, an author, a bartender, and a professor. All that time, and yet nothing he did seemed to help, or matter really, in the end. Magic was still dying.

He was so tired of being tired all the time. Not for the first time, Merlin cursed his druid name and with it cursed his immortality. What he wouldn’t give for the slumber promised by death’s kiss.

Merlin decided that he needed a walk, a long walk to some heavily forested area. He always seemed to feel better among the towering oaks that could relate, at least somewhat, to the inequities of long life. Perhaps he could shake off his melancholia with some good, old-fashioned isolation. Leaving the dingy motel room he’d decided to call home whilst staying in Inverness, Merlin looked to the dreary, gray clouds looming overhead. There were still no whispers of magic.

Avalon’s lake is still yet again, Merlin thought, crestfallen, as he did so every day, Albion must not need you yet, Arthur… I wish you’d come back; I need you, I don’t want to do this alone anymore.

——————————————————————————————————

Merlin stopped in the Ness Islands, having stepped away from the trail and into the heavily wooded areas around it. A small stream of water cut through the earth at his left, winding carelessly through the trees and stretching beyond view. Merlin cupped fresh water in his hands and used it to clear the sweat and grime from his face, before taking a moment to ponder his reflection again.

He appeared even younger than when he'd left, an adolescent just approaching manhood stared at him from the clear water. He looked younger than his magic had ever made him appear before and Merlin wondered why that was so. He looked as he did when he arrived in Camelot for the first time.

The bone-deep exhaustion had only gotten worse as he walked, and Merlin suspected that this was due in part to his inadvertent age regression. Moving to lean against a large tree, the warlock drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Resting his chin atop his bony knees, Merlin sighed his weariness and his eyes, if not the rest of his face, betrayed his long years.

Merlin knew that he would wait however long he needed to for Arthur's return, would gladly do so, but his heart ached and his mind was now more than ever prone to wandering. Was destiny a lie? Was he doomed to wait an eternity for a day that will never come? He was always poised for the day that King Arthur would return to him, yet every day he would feel nothing from Avalon. The water remained irenic, despite his clever and colorful foul-mouthing of the few remaining Sidhe.

So he continued to wait, to move forward but never move on, and try to make the world a more magical place in the process. He'd failed, of course. Just as he'd failed Arthur, failed Camelot. He had failed everyone in his life, including himself. His most recent years were the most melancholic he had ever truly allowed himself to be, simply because… he was so tired.

He moved, his forehead on his knees, and was the perfect picture of grief.

Under a canopy of shimmering stars, Merlin wept for his years of loneliness, his truest friends long dead. He wept for the withering magic of this world, and for Arthur. He always wept for Arthur, the man who'd once told him never to cry over such loss. But, then, when had Merlin ever listened to Arthur anyway?

It was a while before the tears stopped but, even when they did, Merlin found that he didn't possess the strength to move from his position. He was only able to lift his head, watching the bright colors of the sunrise dance across the sky.

The world was still beautiful, the world still held wonder, and for those reasons alone, Merlin knew that there was some magic there, there just had to be. The warlock smiled to himself, half-delirious with the sudden wave of comfort that overtook him as the birds began to coo in the trees.

He leaned to the side, a leg tucked underneath him and propping his head up with his hand, elbow on his other, raised knee. In the palm that didn't support his head, he produced a small blue butterfly, its wings shimmering with gold as they flapped. Merlin hummed in contentment. Despite the fact that this measly butterfly had likely tapped his magical resources out for the next several hours, Merlin decided in the moment that it was worth it.

His fingers gently closed in on the magic butterfly and it fluttered in his loose fist. If the butterfly didn't dissipate by the time he woke up from a brief nap (thus returning the magic to his body), he would release it in hopes of the butterfly unleashing some magic into the world that so desperately needed it. Sapped of energy, Merlin closed his eyes and allowed himself to succumb to sleep.

The warlock never woke.

Starting with his lost, grieving heart, the immortal Emrys turned to stone.

Merlin’s true age caught up with the stone epitaph he left behind; hundreds of years worth of damage from the elements and plant growth spawned upon the almost unrecognizable statue.

The butterfly fluttered in its stone prison for a few moments more before settling, presumably to wait.

Hundreds of miles away, a lake whose surface had been placid for centuries began to ripple.

[scgdoeswhat]

Contagion – Jake x Cris

Summary:  While a virus ravages the free world and everything goes to shit, Jake and Cris attempt to make it out alive. Contagion AU

Rating: T

Warnings: Character death

Words: 1480

Author’s Notes: A drabble request by @endlessly-searching-for-you. I had this partly written in September but it grew. It grew so much that I made it a fic for Endless Summer Appreciation Week. Jake doesn’t belong to me (unfortunately), but the story does. No Beta used.

Tag List: @mysteli @brightpinkpeppercorn @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @sophie-summer @hellomynameisdeviblaire @endlessly-searching-for-you @mechaspirit

Sorry if the “Read More” link isn’t working. It’s Tumblr’s fault, not mine!

 A charcoal grey filtered the sky, the stench of death suffocating the ground below. Miles and miles of land lay wasted, devoid of humanity. Pockets of survivors were hard to come by; the disease had spread so rapidly, the bioweapon becoming airborne after an accident at one of Rourke's defunct facilities near Northbridge.

The catastrophe happened a few years after Cris graduated from Hartfeld, along with the rest of the group who had survived la Huerta. She and Jake decided to move out to Los Angeles, where the opportunity to start fresh was too good to pass up.

The initial explosion was minor. It ripped a hole in the wall of the derelict building, which was condemned and being prepared for demolition. No one knew that Rourke had stored biochemicals in a plant on the outskirts of the small metropolis. By the time the public knew of the epidemic, it was already too late. The disease had an initial incubation period of 48 hours, with no symptoms until people started dropping dead, only to reanimate minutes later. As more were infected and transmitted through being bitten, the virus rapidly adapted, killing those struck with the most minuscule contact within minutes, or hours if they were fortunate.

There was no way a zombie outbreak could be real... except the survivors from La Huerta knew first hand that truth was stranger than fiction.

Watching everything unfold 3,000 miles away was surreal. Telecommunications were the last to go down, due to the combination of satellites and 8G technologies. Their last contact with anyone on the Eastern Seaboard was Diego, in a frantic video message four months ago. Her best friend showed them footage he had recorded of the streets overrun with rotting, walking corpses. The video had cut, yet the audio was still recording. A loud crash was heard, followed by a bang and screams, until complete silence minutes later.

Jake had to pry the iPad out of the death grip she had as silent tears ran down her face. He held her close, trying to comfort her as much as possible. He knew all too well pain of losing a best friend.

Despite the government's insistence of having the situation under control, the tell-tale signs of chaos were clear. Looting and rioting had taken over almost every street corner in LA, from the cheap goods in Santee Alley, to the luxury boutiques on Rodeo Drive. There were no more safe havens. From Mansions, apartments, and everything in between, nothing was spared from the destruction.

They had received a transmission from Estela to head to the Port of Los Angeles. A ship from Rourke Enterprises was scheduled to dock, sent by Aleister and Grace for survivors, specifically Jake and Cris. The trek to San Pedro under normal circumstances would not have been terrible from their Hollywood Hills bungalow, except that the world was anything but normal.

Nearly the entirety of Southern California’s infrastructure had collapsed in the matter of weeks. Abandoned cars littered the freeways, rendering them useless. The only hope they had was to make their way south to the docks. Before everything went to hell, it would have taken roughly an hour down the 110. Now? It was easily a two or three day journey by foot – if you could avoid the creatures, or even worse, other survivors.

They took a backpack each, carrying only their most important belongings before starting the dangerous trip. Sticking to the shadows in the daytime and moving during the night had proved to be a smart decision as they witnessed the decimation and violence around them.

The Pacific Ocean glittered under the night sky as they approached an empty warehouse near the docks, nearly out of breath. They had just escaped the most harrowing leg of their venture so far, outrunning a zombie hoard to reach Terminal Island. Ducking inside, they found themselves in an isolated corner, complete with easy exit access if needed.

Jake drew out a long, deep breath. “That was a close call but the good news is I can see the ship. I say we should rest right now and then head out in the morning. How you holding up, Cris?”

Cris grimaced, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. “Absolutely perfect.”  She touched the side of her waist gingerly before pulling it back, her fingers coated in blood.

He immediately was by her side, his heart in his throat. “Shit! What happened?” Examining the wound, he saw the extent of the injury. A small chunk of flesh was missing from her body; not enough to kill someone immediately, but large enough for them to know she was living on borrowed time.

“I don’t know; it must’ve been when they almost cornered us. I felt something pull, but we needed to get the hell out of there.”

She looked at him as Jake ran a hand over his face, the realization dawning what their situation meant for them.

Cris turned somber. "You gotta get out of here before they find you.”

"You ain't getting rid of me that easily, Princess." Taking out a clean cloth, he applied pressure to the contact point.

She laughed, grimacing at the pain.

"I can't believe we survived La Huerta just to come back to this," he replied forlornly, while brushing her hair back.

"Maybe I should've gone back with Vaanu after all," she joked.

His expression turned serious. "No, don't you think that. I'd rather have what we did than never have you at all.

She smiled, her eyes starting to well. "Jake, I love you so much, you know that right? I need you to do one thing for me."

"What is it? I'll do anything for you. Just name it." He grabbed her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

"I need you to shoot me after I turn. I don't want to be one of those things."

A single tear betrayed him and escaped his eye.

"Don't say that, Cris. You're going to be fine."

"Now's not the time to bullshit, Top Gun. I need to know you're going to be able to do this."

His brows furrowed while his expression dropped. "I – I don't know if I can. Life ain't worth a damn without you."

"Don't say that. Live for me, damn it. I don't have much time. I can feel it." Her face scrunched up as a sudden pain overtook her body. "Promise me."

"I – I promise."

Her face eased, eyes slowly closing. "You made everything worth it." Her breathing started to shallow, the rise and fall of her chest slowing.

He gathered her in his arms, stroking her hair. “I don't know what I'm going to do without you."

"You're a survivor,” she squeezed his hand, locking eyes with him. “Live for both of us.”

"I'm always going to love you. Just know that." His eyes crinkled at the corners, the side of his mouth raising as he attempted to be strong.

"I do.” A serene smile crossed her face.

Jake leaned down and kissed her as the entire world was falling apart around them.

Feeling her take a final breath, he laid her down gently on the cement, standing up and taking a few steps back. Silent tears streamed down his face as he checked the magazine of the Colt 45.

It seemed like an eternity as he waited and as it unfolded in front of him, everything was in slow motion.

Her once bright eyes were an unearthly, muddied black. Her skin had taken on an ashy pallor, the blood dripping from her now resembling a dark ink. She stood up slowly, snarling, unsure of her movements, until her dead eyes fell on Jake. A rumble escaped her as she took a step towards him, stopping to look with a slight curiosity, which was uncharacteristic of the zombies they had encountered. Cocking her head to the side, she bared her teeth, growling lowly.

He raised the gun, leveling it at her head. They stood facing each other, both not moving. She grunted, which made him slightly lower his gun, before she charged him. On reflex, he raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

The body fell backwards, his aim true. Black orbs stared blankly, straight ahead, the bullet hole hitting the mark on her forehead.

He knelt over, crying, his head bent as he closed her lids.

"I'm sorry, Cris. I'll always love you."

Taking a breath to comport himself, he steeled his gaze before looking at the corpse. He gave a final sweep over the fallen form, a glint catching his eye. Reaching down, he picked her left hand up, looking at the wedding ring he gave her two year ago, before slipping it off and pocketing it as a constant reminder of the life they once had before running off into the night.

[alicezan-ncgred]

Bleeding Red

Preface: I’ve been bitching around the bush of this long enough. So, I’ve been really silent on a bunch of stuff that’s been eating me alive which has made me both inactive and unproductive. I’m going to get straight to the point, starting off with the TL:DR from my post on my main blog. Context: An anon asked me if I was alright because I hadn’t updated in a while.

TL:DR You probably didn’t ask this to hear about all the bad shit of my life so here’s the short of it. No, I’m not doing fine. I will try get next weeks post out on time and I’ll work on making up on the lost posts. Updates will return regularly, ‘ite.

Time for the thick and thin of it.

Insecurity and being shafted: I’m stoic, even at my worst I won’t say anything. I’ll push through regardless of my current condition and since I’ve gone years like this, it’s not hard for me to do. In my real life situation, I’m currently in a place of social isolation. This has lead to a somewhat near reliance on Tumblr to be my social outlet. This present many issues.

The main one is that I’m quite the isolationist. This has only been reinforced by many interactions throughout the entirely of my life. Because of this, I can’t say I’ve ever had anything really more than two friends at a time. While in a way this has helped me express myself so well through writing, it’s come at the cost of social skill. I don’t talk to anyone.

With this kind of issue you could easily imagine that the THREE PEOPLE (four now, but very limited) to ever directly talk ended up in a way shafting me. The first blocked and disconnected with me without warning or reason. At this point we’ve been talking to each for about a month and we hit it off very well and then one day, silence. Never heard from them again. That fucked me up hard when I finally realized what happened.

The second person left during the Tumblr P**n Purge. We were talking about how to contact each other on other platforms and then they stopped responding. I had already given contact to other platforms of which they pinged me in any way. Another person that I trusted massively on here just abandoned me and I’m still hurting from that. Wasn’t fair at all.

Then the third person was someone that I been following for a while. This person is actually the reason that I’ve been putting this off for so long. I don’t want them to see this post but they will. I got an ask from them that ultimately turned out to be misinformation. I said I wasn’t mad but I was. I was so fucking angry about it and I’m still kinda mad, but I didn’t want problems. I still don’t. I just didn’t want them to worry about it. This will come back later.

I try my best to be as inoffensive as possible. The problem with that is that much of the things I believe or enjoy are highly divisive. Hell, even my own identity can be seen as offence. I’m bisexual, non-binary (I’m currently still questioning this. I might actually be gender fluid but in the overall scheme, that’s worse than being non-binary), and nonreligious. I’m in a very religious area so you I’m still “in the closet” about much of this IRL. I though it would better online but with how much people are saying bisexuality doesn’t exist, or that non-binary isn’t a valid gender (or that being gender fluid make you insane and you should be locked up) and all the hate people who say they are this are getting, the very community that’s supposed to accept me, HATES me. I had a bi pride flag icon last year during Pride Month. I never doing that ever again. It was terrible.

I’m trying my best to come out of my shell like I said I would when I made this blog but it seems I’m just crawling further into it. People I think I can trust keep setting me up to fall, people I know in real life won’t ever accept my existence if they knew who I really was, and my own mental health problem and self loathing are eating me alive. But that isn’t the total of it.

Crumbling Pillar: I’ve always ended up in the position where things were thrown onto me. In which no one wanted to do, I was stuck with. Because of this not only do I have a severe distaste being around my family (beyond everything mentioned before hand) but I grew to have a negative out look on everything. This effect is still quite obvious in my writings, especially my poems. Out of the 14 poems on my poem blog @washed-soul​, only one has a happy meaning.

The one happy poem was called dreams. Under a metaphor it talks about how a demon kept me trapped in a dark space. I start to get better and nearly break free before I have a negative relapse back to my old ways. The poems ends with the demon putting a end to itself leaving the nightmare in which it was keeping me in to slowly fade away, letting one crack of light peeking through to become a window to a door until one day I walk free. When writing this poem, I never thought I would find myself rebuilding the nightmare but that’s where I am.

I’m done with holding things together that other people have placed onto me. Because of this, issues have began showing in my private life. Issues that should’ve been solved decades ago are only now being addressed. This change in the status quo of my life has caused many issues in my productive and mood. Between everything else I’m too tired to do anything.

Is that a reason, is that an excuse. No it isn’t but it’s the best thing I got as a reason. I’m doing my damnedest to do the best I can but of course, when it comes to the thing that matter I just fall short. Big fucking whopha my intelligence and capability does me if I can’t use it for anything that means a damn.

Meaningless Triviality: I’m a very emotional person. I’m very strongly bound to my emotions and if everything above hasn’t given it away, my emotions are very negative prone. But it just doesn’t stop there, it goes back into my memories. I can only honestly place 3 happy memories for certain that aren’t either A) a dream or B) me escaping reality through my mind. Besides that, almost all my memories are negative. 

People like to throw around the word Nihilist to describe themselves because today's culture is very, god while I hate to use this word, edgy. For those who don’t know a Nihilist is someone who views the world as being completely  meaningless and reject all religious and moral principles. I very truly struggle with this outlook of life. It’s a daily for me to berate myself saying “just kill yourself” or “I want to die” or just shutting down and crumpling up while say “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” over and over again. Hell, I did that while writing this. 

I take things very hard, even the slightest transgression. I’m so used to trying to make things perfect and because people have the image that I’m the smart one, the mature one, the capable one, I’m left with the over hanging expectation of excellence. Almost no room for margin of error or being human. Since I’m the silent type, I put up no challenge and work to meet it. Only time I get any praise for anything too. 

I guess as a little self promotion to my main blog, for those that have read the very first few updates of my main blog @the-truth-behind-redacted, or read Defiance’s character sheet, while The Machine and Defiance are separate character, they both share the name Machine. That in part is a reflect of said above expectation. How ravenous and inhuman it can be all under the guise of something human. Those characters are the two sides to the same coin. 

Remember how I said I try to be un-problematical and how I try to avoid any potential conflict. In the first segment I told on how I lied about my feelings just so another person didn’t have to worry over something that honestly, in hindsight, wasn’t even really a big deal. But I also said how it consumed me in anger. I just don’t want to bother anyone over anything. It’s part of the reason why I am writing this post, as some way of a self enforced rehab program to get better. 

This absolute consumption of negative emotion has pushed me into a non human state before. I hit a point of absolute mental exhaustion and in such a self enforced bubble of actual hatred I became completely apathetic. I felt numb to everything. I watched and heard of terrible things happening to people, and felt nothing. I watched people lives crumble before them leaving them nowhere to go and LAUGHED. “Just another worthless pathetic worm on this rotting carcass of a planet being hit with the hard reality that life doesn’t care for them. What whimsical pathetic bullshit they deluded themselves with to think otherwise.” This isn’t an exaggeration on how I thought, this is what I actually thought. Which brings me too.

The Mandatory Sob Story: Roll your eyes everyone and get the tiny violin. I guess in order for everyone to exactly understand the place I’m coming from when it comes to mental health I’ll have to detail my experiences. I have a long standing history with mental illness. I have professionally diagnosed OCD, Bipolarism, Anxiety, Chronic Depression, and visual and auditory hallucinations. I take 600 mg of Seroquel a day as well as Amitriptyline when needed. I’m also still currently in therapy to deal with said OCD, Bipolarism, Anxiety, Chronic Depression, the visual and auditory hallucinations, as well as Suicidal thoughts, and my Nihilism. There’s a reason to why I’m so god damn familiar with mental illness and treatment plans.  

OCD and Bipolarism run in my family on my fathers side. My Father’s Father had them, my Sister has them, my brother most likely has them (however he refuses to see a doctor because he uses said possible mental illnesses as a get out of jail free card. He doesn’t want to be treated and he has FUCKING ADMITTED IT), my father has them, and I have them. I, however, have the misfortune of having it real bad. I said yes to well over half of all the total symptoms when I was being tested (I don’t remember exact numbers but I remember there being three pages worth of common symptoms) which was very worrying to the doctor. I was currently in an inpatient hospitalization program at the time for both suicidal thoughts and actions, and severe depression. 

On that, my graze in with suicide. Before I went into my first inpatient program I was contemplating suicide. I was sat in front of a mirror with a bottle of over the counter medication. It was an unopened bottle of ibuprofen, 1000 200mg tables. What I planed to do was down the whole bottle with benadryl and die in my sleep. I had the small box of benadryl got from the Kroger pharmacy and a hand full of ibuprofen poured out looking directly into the mirror. My suicide note was sitting on the desk on my room with an online copy on my laptop open.

I sat there for an hour in the dead of midnight complicating my life. I had lost all hope in the world, filled with hatred, anger, pain, and despair. I had no god or after life to look forward too, part way hoping that a Hell existed for me to burn in. I hated myself that much. I was close to taking the first handful before before I caught a glimpse of my own eyes in the mirror. In what was in a weird sudden epiphany I realized that I truly did become what I hated but not for any reason I told myself. I became the very bastion of negativity I sought to fight and rid of in what little friends I did have. That was what set off my path to recovery in spite of the medical system. I guess if people care I’ll make a separate post on that. 

Before I move on, I feel I should explain my history with the visual and auditory hallucinations. It should be no surprise that with everything else above, I also had extreme paranoia that led to me having very bad insomnia. Insomnia is, just like most other medical disorders like Depression, Self-harm, Anxiety, OCD,  Bipolarism, is romanticized to hell. Insomnia isn’t having one nights bad sleep where you got 5 hours of sleep instead of 8.

You know what Insomnia is? insomnia is being physical incapable of sleeping despite not sleeping in 2 to 3 day while your body suffers massive agony brought on by this. Muscle spasms and seizing, difficulty breathing, your eyes feeling like fire ants are eating them, and of course visual and auditory hallucinations. Now I already had issues with visual and auditory hallucinations even when I could get sleep regularly but the combined effects of my OCD and Bipolarism made this perfect condition of Insomnia, Anxiety, Paranoia, with the already added in disposition to hallucinations and I felt like I was actually losing my mind. 

My hallucinations presented themselves in three forms. Disassociation of reality, night terrors, or alterations of reality. Disassociation of reality often were complete black out moments. I would lose any perceived connect to reality and enter an episode of my mind. I can’t remember what they actually were but I do remember what it felt like. Cold sweats, anxiety to point where if I didn’t lock up I would vomit, actual physical pain, mind numbing fear, and intense fatigue. 

The second were night terrors often in the form of horrific “things.” I do remember these and most of them were as best as I could describe, forms of things that were vaguely human and formations of industrial machinery. The most vivid one I remember was of a long lengthy apparition that was for the most part human but many locations of it’s impossible physiology were rebar beams and mechanical sockets. It began when I was about to fall asleep and it was next to my window. The thing was making week groaning and gasping sounds before it violently slammed against my window breaking it then letting out a horrific howl that I can’t describe as it tossed itself out followed shorty after with the sound of bones breaking against the dirt. 

Now that might not seem so bad, exspecally with everything that is in horror movies or games now, but keep in mind that was fucking real to me. It was as real as the clicking of the keys of my keyboard as I’m writing this. As real as the chair I���m sitting in and as real as the wall in front of me. As far as my mind was concerned that thing, what ever it was, actually existed. It took me physical touching my window to make sure it wasn’t actually broken and checking outside to see if there wasn’t a body there. This isn’t the type of thing I talk about lightly. 

Finally there is the alteration of reality. This is very simply but it’s something that fucked with me hard. For very little meaning or warning, I would have trouble interpreting the world around me. My hearing and sight would be warped and there wasn’t any real way to tell what I was hearing or seeing was real or not until the episode was over. The way I got through these was the ultimate fake it till you make it. Obviously, very often I failed and this created issue in my schooling. 

Ending Message: I’ve been in a very bad state for a while now and as it is now, no signs of getting better. I also strongly believe my medications are being to fail me which I’ve been telling my doctor and therapist for over a year now but nothing’s been done. Mainly it’s my Depression but insomnia episodes are beginning and my own paranoia been on the rise. It’s gotten to the point where I can’t even look at a creepy image or thumbnail without having a very bad episode. 

I’ve managed to eat something today which was nice but my body is cramping hard. And to possible stave of a possible comment, I’m biologically male. Like I said I’m not in the best head space, or living for that matter. If this gets better, only time will tell. 

[tehuti88-art]

9/16/22: r/SketchDaily theme, "Free Draw Friday." Two portraits today.

This week's (first) character from my anthro WWII storyline is Corporal Gold Rat. Hm, can't think of much to say about him here, there'll be some stuff about him later in my art Tumblr and Toyhou.se.

TUMBLR EDIT: Ratdog already has an entry, albeit not nearly as detailed as I've been getting into them lately, but I don't feel like rehashing things; that will end up on Toyhou.se sometime. So, Gold Rat. His story's not nearly as dramatic or developed as some of the others, but here it is anyway.

Gold's real name is Arthur! He's one of the very few codenamed characters whose actual name I bothered to find out. (The other one I can think of is, incidentally, Ratdog, whose first name is Adel, though he frustratingly never gives his last name--Klemper is the one who asks his real name, and Ratdog replies, "Doesn't matter. I'm the last, it dies with me"--indicating that it's an unusual/very rare surname, so I'll probably never know what it is. Ironically, he's here making reference to his deceased son, and assuming he'll never have any other children, because he's unmarried and mostly interested in men rather than women (yep, his son was a drunken oopsie)...when in fact he does end up fathering two more children by Didrika. So, his name doesn't die with him after all. Anyway, after he refuses to give his surname, Klemper asks for his first name, and Ratdog tells him it's Adel. Klemper refers to him by his real name throughout the rest of the story, and is the only one to consistently do so.)

Gold's mother must die when he's relatively young because his childhood is spent in just his father's company (I guess divorce is possible, though unlikely). His father isn't really father material, in fact he has a lot in common with Klemper's dad. He's frequently drunk, and when he's drunk, he gets mean. Klemper's father targeted him for being rather effeminate and for kissing a boy; Gold's father targets him because he's angry about Gold being "stupid." No, Gold isn't "stupid" the way Kolten Himmel is, but there's definitely something wrong. He's bright and friendly and sociable, but the grades he gets in school are just miserable. No matter how hard he tries to study, he keeps failing lessons and tests. Teachers express concern. Maybe he needs to see a doctor. Gold's father is just pissed. He has a low-paying job (Gold is basically a latchkey kid and sees him only in the evenings, when he's usually busy getting drunk) and so of course he can't afford any frivolities like taking his stupid kid to a fancy doctor. (He'd also never be caught dead using a word like "frivolities.") So he does the only other thing he can think of to fix the problem: beats his son to convince him to try harder.

Gold does try harder. But it doesn't help. In fact his grades slip even further, and not only that, but he slowly becomes more withdrawn, isolated, and anxious, too. Not so chatty and sociable anymore, he keeps to himself, and goes out of his way to avoid connecting with others lest they see just how stupid he is. Because his father has yelled the words at him so many times--stupid--slow--dumb--lazy--idiot--that by now he fully believes himself to be so. Surely he should be getting good grades if only he wasn't so stupid. And surely he's lazy for his efforts to try harder to not be working. It can't be anyone's fault but his own. His father's voice is the only one he has to listen to on a daily basis; none of the teachers bother to take him aside and really talk to him (he would lie to them by now anyway, and say everything is fine), and he has no more friends. Of course he'd take these words--stupid--lazy--idiot--to heart; there's nobody else in his life to contradict them.

A terrible incident is actually what leads to a silver lining. Gold's father gets especially infuriated one night and forgets, or doesn't care, to beat him and leave bruises only where nobody can see. Gold shows up at school with his eyes blackened. He insists everything is fine, but the school calls the authorities, and Gold is removed from his father's custody. It would probably be easy, considering the time period (children had very few rights) and the fact that Gold has no other family, for his father to merely raise a fuss and be given him back; but he doesn't. The way he sees it it's one less mouth to feed, one less hassle to deal with; he effectively abandons Gold to the custody of the state. Gold ends up in a sort of group home; he's not beaten anymore (maybe just a smack or a paddling now and then), but knowing that the father he tried so hard to appease no longer wants him doesn't encourage him any. He withdraws even more, becoming nearly mute. His grades don't improve, either, so now he KNOWS he's just an idiot.

He barely ever notices the affluent, smart-dressed woman who often visits the home, looking over the kids and their work with great interest. Takes her a while to notice him as well, he keeps to himself so effectively. When she finally sees him, she approaches and asks what he's making; he'd been writing and doodling on a piece of paper, but he covers it with his hands when she tries to look. She wheedles him into showing it to her and his ears burn with shame as she examines it because he knows it isn't good. Perplexingly, the woman asks if she can have it. He nudges the paper toward her and she takes it and puts it carefully in her purse. Asks him his name, then says, "I'll be stopping by again the day after tomorrow. Do you think you could make another little story and drawing especially for me, Arthur? Pretty please?" He's mystified by the request, but whispers, okay. She offers a big bright smile and thanks and says, "It's been a pleasure, Arthur. I'll see you soon," and departs. He can't quite get over being called by his name rather than being called "stupid," but it sure is a nice feeling.

He works extra hard to write the rich lady with the wide-brimmed hat and fur stole an especially good story and make good drawings to go with it. Just looking at his own work, though, he feels crushed inside. He knows it's awful because when he makes similar things in school, the teachers cluck and shake their heads disapprovingly. He tears it up and hides it away. When the lady visits again, though, she insists on seeing it, so he pulls out the torn pieces and meekly hands them over. She pieces it back together to look it over. He waits, head down, for her to criticize it. Instead, she smiles at him and says, "Oh, I love your little story SO much, Arthur. It's exactly what I hoped for. Could I keep it? Do you think?" Again he agrees and she takes the torn pieces. She won't be visiting again for a little while, but in the meantime, "I do hope you keep making these lovely little stories! I look forward to seeing some more when I return."

Although Gold knows something is wrong with all the work he produces--the teachers always react with disapproval to the same sort of things the woman praises--he keeps at it. Because her words are just so kind, and it's the only sort of encouragement, positivity, and acceptance he's gotten...ever, really. He doesn't want to let her down. She's equally delighted with the new work he shows her, then says in a confidential tone, "Arthur, can I tell you a secret...?" He nods. She tells him that she showed his work to a friend; he cringes, but she hurriedly reassures him it's all right. She then explains what she's been doing.

She noticed something in Gold's work that was familiar to her, had him make a few more pieces to be sure, then took them to her friend, a specialist. The long story short is that he isn't stupid or lazy, he just sees the words differently from other people. She can help him learn to adapt, but he'll have to come stay at her place to do so. Of course he agrees. This woman is well known for fostering "problem children" and works wonders with them, plus she has lots of money to donate, so the process for taking Gold in is significantly smoothed out. He's given various tests to rule out visual and memory problems before the specialist tells him what the woman did, that he isn't slow--he's actually quite smart, with non-reading-related tasks--he merely sees words a way others don't. No, he can't be cured or fixed. But yes, he can be taught how to deal with it and cope better. Gold still isn't convinced he isn't an idiot but he's desperate to do better, so he settles in to an entirely different mode of teaching. It isn't long before his marks on the mock tests they give him start to improve, and then his grades in school begin to go up, as well. The teachers in school are impressed because they don't know or understand these progressive teaching techniques Gold's tutor is using but it hardly matters--they work, and he gradually realizes that no, he isn't stupid after all. He finds his voice again, though it's a bit of a struggle. And when the woman asks if he'd like to stay with her, permanently, he again agrees.

(Unknown to him, she'd asked the authorities if Gold hadn't any other family who might want to take him in. Nope, there was only his father, who liked to beat him--they were willing to return the child to him despite this, which she finds horrifying, but he never came asking for him. She decides to double-check that he's genuinely relinquished custody of his son to the state, and pays him a visit. Suspicion toward this well-off woman quickly turns to outright hostility as Gold's father believes she's criticizing and looking down on him. He doubles down on Gold being a "stupid little ingrate" he'd never even wanted. When she outright asks if he's truly abandoned Gold and won't be coming back for him, he says, "You know what, lady? F**k you," and slams the door in her face. So...that answers that question.)

Well, long story short, this lady officially takes Gold in and raises him. He grows up socializing with the other children she fosters (most of whom go on to other family after she's worked her magic), and regains his former chatty, outgoing attitude, though he can never quite eliminate the thread of intense insecurity that winds through his interactions with others; as a result he tends to overcompensate at times, coming across as a little TOO chatty and friendly. He's especially sensitive to the word "stupid" being used as a casual insult, even if no malice is intended; it's like a mental slap in the face and he always has to pause and recover himself whenever and in whatever context he hears it. He makes sure to never, ever refer to anyone else by any derogatory or minimizing terms, because he knows just how small that can make a person feel. And he does still struggle occasionally with writing and especially reading, but he manages, and has his other skills to fall back on as well.

He enlists in the military, and when rumors of war in Europe start rumbling, he prepares to ship out. An experimental battalion called the Trench Rats has recently suffered devastating losses and is recruiting new members; Gold obtains the position of corporal, or second in command. (This is a rather weird battalion composed of low-ranking NCOs and enlisted men, I'm assuming because the people in charge originally assumed they'd all end up as cannon fodder. They weren't entirely wrong. This is the retcon I'm going with to explain away my ongoing difficulty understanding military ranks and duties. *shrug*) He decides to pay his father a visit before he leaves. He runs into him on the street before he can reach his old home, which means he doesn't have to knock and introduce himself. The two haven't seen or communicated with each other since Gold was taken out of his custody; it's obvious his father doesn't recognize him, and Gold decides not to inform him. They share a few words of smalltalk (something Gold has gotten skilled at). Gold realizes just how small and empty and miserable his father is, and rather than the anger or anxiety or hurt he'd expected to feel, he just feels sad. They part ways and he returns to his foster mother to tell her how the meeting went and wish her farewell. She makes him promise to write her (he rolls his eyes and gives an exaggerated sigh), and he heads out.

(Gold's father, BTW, belatedly realizes who was the young soldier he was talking to. And like Gold, all he has left in him is to feel sad.)

Gold receives his new nickname and an odd Prussian-style uniform (this has been explained in previous entries). He's introduced to Sergeant Black Rat, who'll be in charge. Like the previous sergeant and corporal, the two are quite different, with Black being introverted, serious, and taciturn, meaning the two of them often disagree over how to do things, yet this also means they often compromise and agree on a middle road which is more suitable. The main difficulty they have to deal with is the distrust of the "first generation" Trench Rats who survived the German attack on Headquarters; they're used to the previous sergeant and corporal. Plus there's remaining resentment on the part of one of their more well-known members, Lance Corporal Silver; when the Trench Rats originally formed, Silver and LC Indigo were the two with the combined highest rank and time served in the military, meaning they felt they should be in charge rather than newcomers. Indigo was satisfied taking a medic position, but Silver is still rankled, especially when ANOTHER two newcomers assume the lead ranks. So while he grudgingly tolerates and obeys Black, he never really gets along with Gold, especially since he, like Black, isn't the terribly chatty sort.

One odd task Gold acquires is "coaching" his sergeant on how to properly interact with others, since something about Black strikes him as being "off." Though Black isn't malicious or outright rude, he does occasionally come across as inappropriately unconcerned or disinterested during situations that require the opposite, and as distrustful and borderline hostile during situations that shouldn't elicit such a response. (One example is when he draws his gun on a target who turns out to be a young child, yet even after this is revealed, he keeps his weapon drawn. Gold coaxes the child out and picks him up, then says to Black, "What're you doing?--he's just a kid." "They let kids fight for them, you should know," Black says, to which Gold replies, "Yeah, well, obviously that's not the case here, so cool off.") He's good at giving orders and commanding obedience, but he's not good at the whole camaraderie and inspiration thing. Gold knows diplomacy and mentally disarming people is a far more effective approach than accusatory confrontation, so he manages to gradually figure out that Black's odd behavior isn't him just being an a-hole, like 2nd Lt. Burgundy (the surgeon) often is. Black genuinely seems to not know how to act toward others. Gold usually ends up taking charge of such things in the hopes that Black will pick up some pointers, and it seems to help somewhat, as well as leaving the sergeant more opportunity to act behind the scenes, something he's MUCH better equipped for. So Gold effectively becomes the public face of the Trench Rats and engages in most of the diplomatic measures they need to secure the assistance of the various resistance groups.

(What exactly is going on with Black? He's a high-functioning sociopath. He literally doesn't "get" most of the emotions and experiences of other people because he can't put himself in their shoes. His lack of empathy is why he often comes across as unconcerned or reacts with unwarranted distrust. Unlike the common stereotype of sociopaths, he's not interested in taking advantage of others--not out of any innate sense of decency, but because he's just not interested--though he does get easily bored and lacks the ability to experience most strong emotions, including fear. He knows he needs to blend in with others, especially in his role as sergeant, so he learns how to fake emotional responses by observing others, such as Gold, though he never quite masters this skill. So he's content to let Gold deal with this business.)

I already mentioned Gold's tendency to overcompensate. One aspect of this is being overly flirty with women, in a manner that nowadays would at least border on sexual harassment. The only female Trench Rat, a relatively new recruit, is a British nurse named Lyndsey Skye. She works alongside Burgundy, and the two secretly crush on each other, but since she's the only woman, she bears the brunt of Gold's obnoxious attention. Fortunately for him, she puts up with it and knows how to put him in his place without offending him (Gold has a thick skin for any insults other than being insinuated to be stupid or slow), but hers is a rare case. He oversteps his bounds with other women a few times, though he does know how to back off, even if it takes him a bit to figure it out. For example, he flirts with Mirela, a rescued Roma woman, which she REALLY despises; he pushes his luck one too many times until she explodes at him and then he lets her be, genuinely sorry for making her uncomfortable. He also tries bantering with Didrika, the Roma leader of a resistance group; this is especially awkward, as Didrika has a habit of "testing" the men she comes into contact with by propositioning them. Men who accept, she may follow through or not, but she regards them as weak willed and loses respect for them. Men who decline, she treats respectfully. When Gold flirts with her, and she actually flirts back...he has NO IDEA what to do. He's literally struck dumb for a moment, before hemming and hawing and REALLY backing off. The truth is, he's not that interested in actually hooking up with any of these poor women he hassles, he's just overdoing the whole friendly thing. So of course when one of them takes him up on it, it just confuses the hell out of him. (Didrika can read men pretty well, and she'd already quickly figured this out about Gold. So her flirting back was more of a prank than anything.)

Gold makes a few efforts to get along with Silver, but is constantly rebuffed; Silver's attitude rubs him the wrong way, so he decides to mostly avoid him. Burgundy grudgingly tolerates him though Gold's chattiness and tendency toward jokes exasperate him. He ends up working alongside LC Mahogany Rat more than once; Mahogany is rather socially awkward, tending to think of people more as names or numbers, which sometimes doesn't sit well with the rescued prisoners and refugees who pass through Trench Rat custody, since the Nazis tend to think of them as numbers, too. Mahogany means no harm by this, and often misses social cues expressing disapproval, so he feels awful sometimes; Gold takes it upon himself to "translate" Mahogany's tone-deaf actions and others' offended reactions to try to help him minimize his embarrassment, since he knows how it feels. They don't exactly become fast friends, but they get along pretty well.

The Trench Rats' primary function is to gather intel on the Nazis' "Project Doomsday," a medical experiment focused on increasing the subjects' intelligence, strength, stamina, and endurance, in hopes of creating a race of super soldiers. The Trench Rat Doomsday, or D-Day, underwent this treatment and displays various signs of the serum having worked, but it's successful on only a very rare blood type, and the people it's worked on can literally be counted on the fingers of one hand with room to spare. The Trench Rats succeed in capturing another test subject, Kolten, who is greatly feared even by the Nazis for his hulking size and hair-trigger temper, not even mentioning what the serum has done to him. The circumstances of his capture, however, are odd. D-Day was involved in keeping watch over him, as it was thought he might be the only one who could subdue him if need be; when the Nazis arrived, they showed signs of wanting to kill Kolten themselves. D-Day threw himself in front of Kolten just as they fired their guns and was grievously wounded. Kolten reacted...by turning on the Nazis, hurling them around like toys and bellowing in a fury. The other Trench Rats returned to the alarming scene and aimed their own guns at Kolten, who was standing in an old trench with the unconscious D-Day at his feet; when they started discussing how best to retrieve D-Day for medical treatment, Kolten picked him up and handed him to them. He didn't protest being put in restraints, even though they broke--twice--when placed on him, and placidly followed the Rats back to Headquarters, where he was placed in a cell and kept under strict watch since the Rats weren't sure if the bars would hold. Anyway, Burgundy informs Black that he can't do much to help D-Day without a blood transfusion--and D-Day has like the rarest blood type there is. They reason that Kolten should be a match, so Black goes to ask him if he'll help. Kolten speaks simple, stilted English; when Black starts to mention D-Day, he asks if the "little Rat" is all right, seeming genuinely concerned about him. Black explains that D-Day needs blood in order to live, at which Kolten sticks his arms through the bars and announces that his "magic blood" can help. He's brought to the medical ward and hooked up to an IV along with D-Day for a direct transfusion. (Oh neat, I Googled to see what this is called and it turns out it's called direct blood transfusion, haha. Well then.) D-Day begins to recover, and after a while Kolten is returned to his cell.

Gold goes to visit him there. He'd been quite wary of Kolten when he was first brought in, even expressing alarm when Black decided to speak with him. Something about Kolten's oddly passive demeanor has piqued his interest, especially considering how fearsome he was believed to be, that even the Nazis would rather kill him than bring him back with them. And there's what he did to the Nazis themselves--obviously, the stories about his massive strength haven't been exaggerated, but he's directing it at the wrong people. Gold finds him huddled back in the corner of his cell; he asks if the little Rat is doing better, and Gold says yes. He doesn't say anything more, so Gold rolls an apple into the cell, repeating what Black had done when visiting earlier; Kolten grabs it and eats it in two bites, core and all. Gold introduces himself--Kolten slowly repeats his name as if to remember it, offers his own, and Gold repeats it in return. He then notices the prisoner ID badge Kolten has sewn onto his striped shirt, which Burgundy had attempted to remove earlier, only for Kolten to protest so stridently--"Nein! Mein Winkel!--mein!"--he had to give up. (Holy Jeez you wouldn't believe the twists and turns I just had to take to figure out what the Germans called those things. Thanks, German Wikipedia...and Google Translate.) He asks what it is and Kolten says, "It tells what I am." "What are you?" Gold asks, and Kolten points out the word on the badge, Blöd, sounding it out a few times until Gold gets it. "What's it mean?" Gold asks, to which Kolten proudly replies, "It means I am stupid."

This hits Gold like a slap in the face, and he actually cringes back a little. Not just the word itself, or the fact that Kolten is being made to wear it like it's a crime just to be stupid (to the Nazis, it is), but Kolten's own reaction when announcing the meaning of the word, like it's something to be proud of. He's obviously had it instilled in him so deeply that by now he doesn't even question it, it's just a fact that he's stupid, it's literally his identity. All of this is just a little too familiar. After attempting to convince Kolten he doesn't have to believe that he's stupid, Gold goes to Skye and asks for a favor. ("Not THAT kind of favor," he grouses when she raises an eyebrow.) He returns to Kolten with a new embroidered patch and offers to trade it for Kolten's triangle. "What does it say?" Kolten asks curiously, and realizing that he can't read, Gold points to and sounds out the letters: "K-O-L-T-E-N." "It says what you are," he explains. "Now how about you give me your 'stupid' badge and I give you this? Even trade?" Kolten mulls this over a moment before tearing the triangle off his shirt and handing it through the bars, taking the KOLTEN patch in return. Gold leaves him looking over the little piece of cloth admiringly while quietly sounding out his name, and stashes the STUPID badge away out of sight. (Much later, he gives this patch to Kolten's father.)

After Kolten is determined to not be the threat to the Allies that they'd assumed he was--Burgundy estimates that, despite his savantlike abilities and the influence of the serum, he basically has the intelligence and mentality of a child around five or seven years of age, and far from being a killing machine, he just wants to make drawings, look at picture books, and build things with blocks--the Trench Rats arrange for him to live with a couple out in the country for the time being. Gold is glad he won't be in a cage anymore. Not long after, however, while attempting to confiscate documents from Project Doomsday headquarters, Silver Rat is captured and tortured for information (which he doesn't provide). Another subject of Project Doomsday (though the Rats don't know this yet), Jakob Wolfstein, assists in Silver's escape, and they miraculously make it out of the city and into the countryside, where Didrika's men come across them and take them back to their camp. The Trench Rats are contacted and send a small contingent to retrieve Silver. Despite being allies, relations between the different groups are always strained and fraught with suspicion, so the Rats try to be on their best behavior to avoid triggering any unpleasant reactions. (There IS one awkward moment, when LC Skye warns Didrika not to dare hit on Burgundy when he arrives; not used to being warned, Didrika makes a risqué quip, and Skye responds by slapping her across the face. EVERYONE freezes, eyes wide; even Didrika's right-hand man, a hulking Red Army deserter named Boris (who really dislikes the Rats, and is involved with Didrika), doesn't dare say a word. Skye and Didrika stare each other down for a moment before Didrika storms off (Boris quickly steps out of her way).) Didrika refuses to let Silver leave with them until he's well enough to get around on his own; Burgundy (whom no one ever informs of the incident between Didrika and Skye) arrives and confirms Silver is in pretty rough shape and shouldn't be moved just yet. Gold walks on eggshells to keep on good terms with Didrika. Silver finally insists on leaving himself, and Wolfstein insists on accompanying them. Gold attempts to express concern for the other Trench Rat's wellbeing, but as usual Silver brushes him off; he can't really take offense this time, as it's obvious Silver is preoccupied with what just happened. Everyone heads back to HQ.

(Sort of an aside, this is described in an out-of-date adult scene I wrote--the exact circumstances will be changed but this detail still holds, I believe. Gold accidentally learns that Silver has gotten involved in a relationship with another Trench Rat in his company, LC Reseda--a male Rat, of course. Gold finds this weird but decides not to out the two.)

Well, I'm sure there are various incidents I will remember later. (For example, I just remembered an EARLIER incident, how Black Rat loses his eye to General Schavitz and sustains other injuries. In an older version of the story, it was basically Gold who was to blame for Black losing his eye, getting his ear torn up, and being partially crippled in one leg (um, yeah...I kinda overdid it on beating the crap out of poor Black); I think Schavitz did still shoot out his eye, but the rest of it was from Gold recklessly driving his motorcycle and sidecar into a pile of wood which weirdly exploded (hahaha, yeah, I had fun pretending this scene by the brushpile behind our garage when I was a kid), and Gold felt immense guilt over this. This has since been modified; I think Gold bears no responsibility for Black losing his eye, though I'm unsure. Black still ends up with at least one slash to one ear (this is in his artwork, though recall the ear markings in my art are conjectural in most cases); he does NOT suffer permanent injury to his leg, though he might still suffer a temporary injury, and I think in fact Gold is connected to this, again, possibly a motorcycle accident. Gold is torn up (metaphorically) over it but Black shrugs it off. Oh, regarding this motorcycle--which Gold jokingly calls a Goldsmobile, mwaha, mwaha, mwahahaha--it plays an indirect role in endangering the Trench Rats, so maybe this is how Black gets injured and Gold feels responsible. It turns out German sniper Lt. Ratdog has been informed--i. e., lied to--by Gen. Schavitz (actually his chauffeur/fixer, Sgt. Eisen, but Schavitz makes great use of the lie) that a pair of Trench Rats in a motorcycle with sidecar were responsible for running down and killing his toddler son, when in truth it was Schavitz and Eisen themselves who did this. Whenever Gold and Black go out with this particular vehicle, they're effectively wearing a giant target on their backs, and Ratdog fires at them whenever he sees them. So it's safe to say this is how they get into an accident. Takes them a while to figure out why Ratdog holds such a grudge against them.) But let's get going.

Further along in the storyline, Black and Schavitz confront each other, and after Black ends up disarmed, Schavitz shoots him in the forehead at point-blank range. (In a possibly related incident, Gold is injured and loses sight in his eye--similar to both Black and Schavitz.) Gold witnesses this from too far away to help; he attempts to chase Schavitz, but Schavitz escapes. Black is brought to the medical ward but Burgundy can do nothing for him, and he dies soon after. Gold is racked with guilt but doesn't have any time to process what happened; as the former second in command, he's promoted to sergeant and abruptly thrust into a position of authority for which he's not entirely prepared, and it almost overwhelms him. (Mahogany prods him along a few times.) He has to drop his former cheery, chatty attitude--and at the same time, shove down his grief and desire to withdraw--and become responsible for some very important tactical decisions, since by now the war is coming to a head. He's asked to appoint a new corporal and after a little thought he names Silver. Silver is especially caught offguard by this, he's so used to being overlooked for promotion and figures by now that Gold hates him, but accordingly steps up. Not long after, Gold, Ratdog, and Schavitz confront each other atop a train (don't ask me why, I haven't figured it out yet); Ratdog aims at Gold, but Gold deliberately drops his rifle--the Rats have figured out that (to Schavitz's annoyance) he has a particular code of honor and follows certain self-imposed rules that include not shooting unarmed people. "Pick it up," Ratdog orders, then yells, "Pick it up! Pick it up!" Gold refuses, saying, "We didn't have anything to do with that (his son's death)." Ratdog refuses to believe him until something (maybe a noise from the train) jars his memory: Although he never saw the motorcycle and sidecar that ran down his son, he did hear the distinctive sputter of its engine as it sped past. He's seen (and heard) the "Goldsmobile" and it has a relatively smooth-sounding engine. A bit earlier in the story, he'd heard Eisen start up Schavitz's motorcycle, and it had let out a distinctive sputter--Ratdog had a startle response, glancing at it but not quite able to figure out why the sound had that effect on him, or why Eisen reacted by widening his eyes and hurrying off. Now, he remembers. He looks at Schavitz. Schavitz gets fed up and snaps, "Oh, move on! What sort of father lets his stupid kid run around in the road, unless he doesn't want him? I probably did you a favor getting rid of the brat." He then abruptly kicks Gold's rifle out of his reach and takes aim at Ratdog right as Ratdog takes aim at him. After a tense moment Schavitz smirks and lowers his gun, holding up his hands and saying, "You won't even shoot an unarmed man, will you?" Ratdog hesitates, when a shot suddenly strikes Schavitz through the head; he topples and Gold, who had managed to pull out his pistol unnoticed, says, "I would...stupid." He and Ratdog shove Schavitz's body from the train and Ratdog returns Gold's rifle. They disembark the train to go their separate ways but one thing is obvious now, Ratdog will no longer be taking potshots at the Trench Rats.

Then comes the Trench Rats' raid on Project Doomsday headquarters. This time, they're armed with knowledge of the layout of the complex, gleaned from Kolten, Wolfstein, and Silver, and the assault is successful, the Trench Rats taking over command of the complex, capturing its lead doctor (Kammler) and the SS officer overseeing the project (Capt. Himmel), and freeing the remaining test subjects, which include PFC Teal Rat and the Trench Rat whose place Gold had taken, Corporal Drake Rat. Dr. Kammler doesn't last long--while he, Himmel, and Teal are waiting in a study for the raid to complete, Teal stabs him to death in a rage. Himmel is brought back to Trench Rat Headquarters and placed in a cell like Kolten had once been while Drake and Teal--Teal's striped shirt still covered in Kammler's blood--are taken to the medical ward. Teal himself doesn't last long, either; he's had the Trench Rats' suspicion on him for years, as the possible leak which revealed the location of HQ to the Nazis (leading to the raid which killed a third of their number and got Sgt. Camo and Cpl. Drake captured), but he insists he wasn't responsible for this. He DOES, however, assume blame for Silver's capture (his reasoning for ratting out Silver, no pun intended, to the Nazis is simply "Better him than me," hinting that he'd undergone much the same sort of torture Silver did), asking Burgundy to give an apology on his behalf before jamming a scalpel in his neck. He bleeds out before Burgundy and Skye can save him; Drake, who witnessed this from the neighboring bed, has to promise the rattled surgeon that he won't attempt the same thing himself.

While Gold and Mahogany are transporting Teal's body through the woods to find him a resting place, a mysterious figure in a gas mask and German uniform--whom they've come across earlier, and despite his appearance seems to be assisting the Allies--confronts them, looks at Teal, then leads them to a suitable location. He reveals that he's Camo Rat, who escaped the Nazis not long after his capture and has been aiding the resistance effort since. He returns with them to Trench Rat Headquarters. They go to question Himmel about the project. After it becomes clear he's long had a hand in attempting to sabotage the project from the inside, Himmel promises to tell them everything he knows, but only if they let him see Kolten, first; they reluctantly agree and take him to where Kolten has been staying. They're startled to learn that Kolten and Himmel are very familiar with each other, not just from the project--Kolten is Himmel's son, whom Himmel's been attempting to protect from the other Nazis, who often kill off the mentally disabled. Once he's sure Kolten is safe and well cared for, Himmel bids him goodbye and returns with the Rats to Headquarters. Here he explains not only the project but his role in it and how it stalled after Kammler was unable to modify the serum for use on more blood types (a direct result of Himmel's sabotage); the Trench Rats' raid, and the approach of the Allied forces, will surely spell the complete demise of the project. He claims his own work is done and all that's left is for him to stand trial and accept his sentence.

Gold and Camo effectively assume joint command of the battalion in the war's final days and afterward. As the camps are being liberated Gold comes across a familiar face--Mirela. She'd joined Didrika's partisans for training and is by now quite skilled at defending herself, but she never had any luck locating her missing father, who was captured by the Nazis while both of them were attempting to flee, and she's more desperate than ever to find him. Mirela, remembering Gold's overly flirtatious attitude, isn't thrilled to see him again, but he's changed quite a lot--new rank, new uniform, new appearance (his blinded eye), and especially a new, much more subdued personality. He's glad to see her again but he doesn't flirt, doesn't joke around or banter (even when Mirela herself makes a slight sarcastic comment that leaves the door wide open for a joke response, his reply is quite toned down). She's rather surprised by all the changes. When he finds out she's still looking for her father Nikolas, he offers to help. He and Mahogany do a little sleuthing and manage to track down Nikolas's last location to the nearest camp, which has just recently been liberated, most of the SS guards having fled; the commandant, however, is in the Trench Rats' custody, in rather rough shape but alive. Wolfstein, who earlier spent time in his camp, informs them that he has a tendency to make bargains when it suits him, so he may be willing to help them locate Nikolas.

Gold visits the commandant, Maj. Konstantin Klaus, in the cell where they're keeping him. His eyes are blackened and swollen, a rib broken, and his knee smashed--his inmates beat the s**t out of him before the Americans intervened--but he listens attentively when Gold outlines the situation; the guards took most of the camp records with them when they fled, so the Allies have no way to determine who passed through or even still is in the camp, without it possibly taking a very long time, and many of the inmates remaining aren't physically well off, themselves. Gold promises to help Klaus avoid execution and serve a prison sentence instead if he helps them. Klaus has a wife and two little boys, so he agrees to help. It turns out he has a lot in common with Mahogany and while he's no good at remembering his "sticks" (prisoners) by their names (a note, I know I read somewhere that the Nazis sometimes referred to the Jews as sticks or bundles of wood--as in something nonhuman, which you stack up and burn--morbid I know, sorry--but after a quick Google search I can't locate this at the moment), he's VERY good at remembering numbers, dates, and locations, and he manages to narrow things down to Nikolas's most likely location still within the camp. As Gold turns to go, though, Klaus advises him to hurry, as his Zigeuner (Roma and Sinti) inmates weren't in very good shape last he saw of them; he adds that killing them off would have probably been for the best. Gold bites down his anger at this callous comment and leaves.

Klaus's flagrant racism notwithstanding, his memory is flawless, and Gold, Mahogany, and Mirela manage to quickly locate her father in the camp, very ill with tuberculosis and infected feet but overjoyed to be reunited with his daughter, whom he'd feared was dead. Gold and Mahogany force an opening through the fence to get at him more easily, and Gold orders a stretcher to be brought to transport him to their medical ward for treatment. As Burgundy gives him antibiotics and prepares to work on his feet (one needs to be amputated), Nikolas notices the way Mirela keeps looking at Gold, immense gratitude--and something else--in her eyes. He hints to Mirela that he doesn't mind if she's interested in a gadjo (non-Roma); Mirela denies it at first, but it's true, Gold's interest in her in the past piqued her own interest a little and now that he's gone to such lengths to help her and her father, she finds that she's developed feelings for him. She assumes he isn't interested anymore, though. She decides to directly confront him about it, asking him if he likes her. Gold is caught offguard; he hasn't thought about it much, assuming as well that it wouldn't be reciprocated, but he realizes he feels the same way. When Mirela accuses him of never saying anything about this, Gold exclaims, "You never asked!"

Gold decides, along with a handful of other Trench Rats, to remain in Germany following the war and help with sorting out the records the Nazis left behind. He's dismayed to learn that several of them are still alive and free, apparently continuing work on Project Doomsday under a new name, Ultima Thule. He and Camo call for those still remaining in the area to report in to discuss the matter. Himmel, who was stripped of his military rank at trial but then set free to go live near Kolten, identifies one of the missing Nazis as his former boss, Maj. Jäger, to whom he reported on Project Doomsday; although Jäger was good to him, despised the camps, and even called for the punishment of an Einsatzgruppen unit which committed an unauthorized massacre in his jurisdiction, Himmel believes that, being slavishly devoted to the SS, he's the one most likely to have stolen Project Doomsday records to use in the rebooted project. The Allies determine the project has been relocated to the Alpine Fortress, which was supposedly just a creation of the Propaganda Minister but turns out to be genuine. Camo and the women remain behind to man the radios and keep in touch with Gold, Himmel, Ratdog, D-Day, and the others who go up into the mountains; they find that the focus of the project has shifted from creating a super soldier to conferring immortality, with Jäger himself having taken the serum and now taking up the mantle of project leader. The Allies again manage to crush the project and miraculously reclaim one of their own (Lance Corporal Indigo Rat, who had been killed by shrapnel near the end of the war and his body then confiscated by the Nazis, was resurrected by the project, yet then rehabilitated by the Rats), though at great cost: After Jäger's likely death ("immortality" lasts only so long as the brain remains intact, and Jäger is presumed crushed to death in an ice collapse), his wife Magda, devoted to the last, murders their nine children and then kills herself (she's pregnant at the time, making this eleven deaths in addition to Jäger's). Himmel, who had been fond of the Jäger children, is particularly devastated--"Why did they do this?" he weeps at the sight of the dead family, "I would have taken them."

Everyone heads back down out of the mountains, victorious yet heart heavy, and returns to their respective homes, though most of them do keep in touch. Gold and Mirela live together and help care for Nikolas, often going to visit Himmel and the Wolfsteins (along with Kolten and the various children Himmel has adopted), and Ratdog and Didrika, at Himmel's home; they have no children of their own, but are content.

[Gold Rat 2022 [Friday, ‎September ‎16, ‎2022, ‏‎4:00:08 AM]]

[ask-de-writer]

GONE TO SEA : World of Sea : Science Fiction : Part 6

GONE TO SEA

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

WORK IN PROGRESS (Word count unknown at this time)

copyright 2018

Writing started 2005

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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Chapter 03. The Search

Mr. Torres had the meeting chair.  “It is now six months since the ESA 14 left us here.  It is time for public progress reports.

“The first order of business is, unfortunately not a matter of progress. As many of you know, Mister Marcus Angerson has been removed from his post as the Station's School Master.  He was caught violating the Colony Charter's Freedom of Religion and Conscience clause.  The jury in his trial, only hours ago, returned a verdict of guilty of Charter violation.  Along with that he was also found guilty of physical and mental child abuse.

“As we hear the various committee reports, I also want you all to think of persons to nominate for the post of School Master.  That out of the way, let us get on to better things.

“We know that what we need to survive is here on Sea somewhere.  The documentation is clear.  This biosphere can support us, if we can isolate the particular organic compounds that we need.  We have been testing everything, including the coral stones in the shallows.

“Search committee one, free swimming marine animals.  What is your report?”

Tall, lanky and very Polynesian, Hugh Barant stood and consulted his data files.  “The long and short of it is simple.  We haven’t found everything that we need for survival.  

“In the liver of Strong’s shark, that multi-tonne monster with the doubled dorsal fins with a leading edge slashing spine, we have located the entire B complex of vitamins along with so much vitamin A that the liver is toxic.  The meat has enough of most of the vitamins and many minerals that it is a significant source for them.  It tastes good, cooks and even preserves well.  

“We have found one and one source only, so far, for Vitamin C.  The red colored floating weed in the big mats, where all the birds nest, has slightly less than five grams per dried ton.  The problem there is that the mass difference between a fresh batch and a dried one is over fifty to one.  Too much work for too little gain.  We hope to find something with better yields.

“Vitamin D can be produced in sufficient quantities by simply sunbathing.

“Vitamins E and K remain a problem.  They have been found in trace amounts in various organisms.  We have good hope for finding them in significant quantities if we simply keep looking.

“We found significant portions of nearly all of the minerals we need in an assortment of fish as well.  The Skelton’s Sardine has a calcium carbonate/calcium phosphate skeleton and possesses significant amounts of other necessary minerals.  It is another one that tastes reasonably good and packs and stores well.

“The amino acids are the real stumbling block.  We haven’t found any organism that uses either thymine or lysine.  The signatures were spotted from orbit but only erratically.  We know that they’re here, probably in organisms that only surface occasionally.  

“What I can say with some confidence is, they are not coded for in the genetic makeup of any mobile organism tested so far.  The local DNA type of molecule uses a different setup from ours altogether.  The result is proteins that use some different amino acids.  We can eat most of the local animals and plants safely enough, you all know that.  They just won't support us for long.  If we relied only on local resources, we would die of malnutrition with full bellies.

“On a more somber note, Miles Ordman was killed by simply touching a specimen that has since been named the Ordman cod, in his honor.  I am projecting a picture on the screen for you now.  This fish is the single most toxic thing that anyone on my team has ever heard of. Careful remote dissection and sampling has revealed that it is totally infused with a fast acting neurotoxin.  It causes a total collapse of the nervous system, both autonomic and sensory.  The nerves lose the ability to transmit and the patient dies from any of the multiple failures that result.  We have not found an antidote.

“To balance that, we have found something amusing, if not of much value. A genetic analysis of every bird that we have been able to catch verifies that they are fish.  That's right, greatly modified but still fish.  In fact, if our testing methods apply to so different a DNA, it appears that they changed from swimming to flying only a few thousand years ago.  Our best estimate is roughly five to ten thousand years.”  He sat.

Pele Barant, Hugh's wife, represented the Mechanical and Structural Engineering department.  She told the assembled Station management, “First, and most important, my department, working alongside the Organic Chemistry department, has succeeded in repairing the reverse osmosis desalination plant.  We now believe from analysis of the damage to it that it was sabotaged  by a person or persons unknown.  

“As a backup plan, we have built test units for solar distillation.  It appears that solar stills will be able to support the Station's fresh water needs if the desalination plant gets damaged beyond repair in a future event.

“On a better note, we are getting useful amounts of lighter metals directly from the sea water.  The only difficulty lies in the old problem of corrosion.  Aluminum, magnesium and their various alloys will only last for a few years as structural materials, long enough to be useful but not really a good result.  

“We can use replaceable magnesium tabs attached to aluminum structures to protect them from corrosion but the tabs have to be inspected and replaced regularly.  It is also possible to coat structures with resin paints made from local materials.  Like the magnesium tabs, the paints need to be inspected and replaced or touched up an a regular basis.  If they are exposed to sunlight, ultraviolet will degrade most of the coatings fairly swiftly.  It looks like a few years is the best protective life that we can expect, whichever system we use.

“Of the metals that we can extract locally, Titanium is still the only one that is durable.  Besides being available in only small amounts, its high flammability when improperly heated or melted and the near impossibility of extinguishing a titanium fire presents uniquely dangerous working characteristics in the environment of Sea.

“Of local materials, one of the most useful has been the Strong's shark. If the skin is properly dried, it takes a micro-porous structure that is very useful for filters in many applications.  Once cured, it will filter seawater prior to reverse osmosis purification and desalination.  It has another widely useful application as air filters to keep out all of that pesky airborne plankton.  The air that you are breathing now has been filtered by Strong's shark skin.

“We can make a pretty good Concrete in very useful quantities out of the abundant coral sand.  It only has one drawback.  Many organisms on the reefs appear to think that it is a fine snack.  Constant vigilance and repair is necessary for any submerged structure made of it.  

“Paradoxically, the concrete makes fine small boats for many applications.  We can use aluminum alloy mesh for reinforcing and trowel the concrete into the mesh.  Once it sets we can remove it from the form and make another boat just as easily.  We only have to haul them out and dry them off about once a week to prevent the local organisms from damaging the boats.  That does limit the application to smaller boats but we do need a lot of small boats.

“I am sort of walking on the Organic Chemistry team's report with the next item.  The plastic resins that they have figured out work really well in many applications.  Fiberglass is our biggest success story.  We have both small and large boats under construction.  Two of them are planned to be small ships twenty meters long with two masts.  They will all have to be sailing vessels for now.  We still have no access to oil or other materials that we can process for reasonably safe portable fuels.

“If the sailing boats perform as well as we hope, many more can be built.  A mold has already been made for the production of hulls for a twenty five foot, uh, pardon that, 7.62 meter boat.  It is to be equipped for both rowing and sailing.

“The major limit to fiberglass is that all available silicates to make the glass fibers from have to be imported from the moons.  Wotan in particular is a good source.  Every time that the Slowpoke shuttle can be charged for a flight, besides the metal ores that are our primary goal, it brings us a few more tonnes of silicate rocks that will process to glass with better than 90% efficiency.  Some of the volcanic stone that has been found already is glass.  We only have to melt and process it for our needs.”  Pele Barant sat.

Gunther Halin stood to give the report of the Organic Chemistry Department's Bio-safety and Nutrition section.

“Like most of you, we have had mostly good fortune.  Nothing else as deadly as the Ordman cod has turned up.  The majority of the seaweeds are to some degree edible.  We have not found any of them that are poisonous.  The majority of edible seaweed species are not of much use.  Nutritionally they are basically useless.  A few have proved to be quite tasty and some have an assortment of medicinal values.  A table of those properties has been posted to the station's net and will be updated as we get new information.

“In particular, the one that has got the common name of gray weed is not only tasty in salads, it forms a somewhat stiff gelatin-like binder for loose foods if mixed in, pressed and heated gently.  Some few will have a religious objection to its use, so we advise labeling to identify any such products.  

“The medicinal use of the raw gray weed is simple.  It harmlessly and reversibly shuts down the production of eggs in female humans and sperm production in male humans.  It is a great contraceptive.

“Another thing that was a mild disappointment is the common Haggers ammonite. All species have a copper based blood and bodily fluids that have proved to be mildly toxic.  They also possess some fairly toxic venoms that anesthetize the bite or sting location.  As a result, they need careful handling.  Some species have hard, nacreous shells that are pretty and there are some free-swimming ones that have been observed in the multi-tonne size range that have a shell that appears to be a form of cartilage.

“On the plus side, all of the forms of mussel-like shellfish are not only edible, many are quite tasty.  They are easily found and even raised.

“We also have a mildly humorous tale.  The Moreson's eel, a common fish averaging twenty to sixty centimeters long, tested as marginally edible with some useful lipids.  

“The attempt to cook it was, for practical purposes, a disaster.  On frying in a pan, the fish simply came apart into two layers that set on cooling.  The upper layer was stiff oily goo and the lower layer was a hard junk that had all of the bones and those parts of the fins and skin that didn't melt.  We couldn't even scrape or chip it out of the pan.   Trying to boil the fish gave a similar result, with hot water between the layers.  We wound up putting the whole works into recycle.  On a side note, it all tastes ghastly.  We haven't found any use for the fish at all.  Except for ruining pans and pots.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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[zologe]

This makes my skin crawl

Hello there, fellow tumblrs!

I’m just gonna go out there and say this right now: I’m gonna rant about Cultural Appropriation and how stupid it is to think that it’s a hatecrime. So if you’re an SJW, just go ahead and read this, I don’t care what you think.

For starters, let’s get into who I am. I’m a white, cishet male from Sweden, with finnish and russian roots (The latter’s pretty far back though). With that out of the way, let’s get into why I think people going out and saying X Race can’t go wear Y Race’s Clothing and so on is a stupid and childish idea that should’ve been abolished long ago.

For those of you fortunate souls who have not heard of what Cultural Appropriation is, let me tell you what it means. It’s basically when members of one culture steals the traditions, foods and art from another culture and “Appropriates” it into their own. Pretty simple, yes? Well, not exactly. Because the SJW party, and anyone who really supports this idea of making it illegal is using the term wrongly, for starters. Just because I, a swedish, white man decide to dress up like a native american doesn’t mean I’m appropriating their culture. I’m not physically preventing them from wearing their clothing or practicing their beliefs. But that’s what the SJW’s want you to believe that you’re doing. In a sense, they want a sort of “Copyright” system for cultures and traditions, which is very hard to enforce.

Okay! Now you know what it is, and what it affects, let's take a look at how this would affect EVERYONE! And of course, why I think branding it as racist is the stupidest and most (ironically enough) racist fucking idea to ever grace tumblr, or whatever other places you may go to.

Let's play with the thought that for some reason this idea was accepted into an international sociey. Consuming basic things like Beer, Pasta, Thai Food and Saké  etc. would be considered to be xenophobic by SJW standards, which to me is a preposterous idea. I’m not taking these away from you by eating or drinking any of it, ye? I mean, you can drink just as much Saké as I can. Now taking or placing the credit on some other culture entirely can cause problems, that I will admit. Like saying for instance that Vodka comes from Germany, when it is in fact a Russian drink, to make a ludicrus example. THAT is actual appropriation. But if I sit down, and wear something non-religious, like say a kimono or get myself some sick dreadlocks or cornrows, that’s not appropriation, as I’m not claiming or taking it away from the culture it comes from. That’s me appreciating that culture, unless I’m really making a mockery out of it, I.E Making something similiar to that of a blackface about it. Then it’s racist.

Calling cultural sharing racist is a silly notion. We’re all humans, in the end. We are all the same, regardless of where we are from, or where we go. If I wanna go dress like an ancient egyptian pharaoh for halloween, let me do so without screeching like a god damn harpy. I’m not doing it to be mean. I’m doing so because it’s a cool and creepy aesthetic which works very well for a halloween atmosphere. An ancient, mummified royal sounds pretty interesting and cool to me. I love the egyptian history, as it’s so rich and different from the culture of Surströmming (which is fucking disgusting, may I add) Kräftskivor and so on that I grew up with. Is it so wrong to reach out and try new things, if only for just a little bit? I love Thai food, I love Pasta and Babootie (That’s a south-african dish, by the way. Freaking amazing stuff. Try it out.) I’m not gonna throw a hissyfit because people wanna dress up as Vikings for some holiday or wear Thor’s hammer as a piece of Jewelry.  

And don't come and say that Whites have no culture. We have a very rich culture spread across multiple countries in Europe. I've already stated a bunch of examples of white culture above. Scottish garb, beer, wine, rum, vodka, knighthood, classic fantasy, sci-fi, the foundations of your liberalist ideas come from France even for christ’s sake. The list goes on and on! And before you say that white cultures can't be appropriated, you blatantly stand by that disgusting double standard that it only applies when whites does it, and no one else. White cultures have been oppressed in the past (Sure, by other whites, but oppressed nontheless) but that doesn't mean that it doesn't exist or hasn't existed in the past. Want a current day example? Look at Ireland. It's arguably one of the most oppressed white societies in modern day. Want something less recent? Look at the Nazi Holocaust. Jews were being hunted like animals and put into slave camps. I am pretty sure that whatever oppression your race has been through, it's not been NEARLY as bad as what the jews have gone through over the millenia. And they are white... for the most part anyway. Now, if some of you out there want to adopt some scandinavian viking culture, go ahead. I'm not gonna be offended if you wanna drink mead or dress up like a lanky, black viking, or what have you. And you shouldn't be offended either when someone respectfully dresses up in your culture's clothing, or eats traditional food which has it's origins from wherever else. It's childish and stupid. You're getting angry over something that should be positive. Making the world more aware of what other cultures bring only makes us less racist. By separating cultures from oneanother, we’ll only breed more xenophobia. The less we have to do with eachother, the more we’ll start to resent oneanother. Of course, there are other causes for racist and fascist behaviours than just being separated from another culture.

But here’s a good example of how a racist mind could be born. Let’s say for instance that you live in a society where just recently some green-skinned humanoids immigrate. You’ve had absolutely zero interaction or experience with them before. And the first thing you see is one of them robbing and stabbing one of your own before running away. The Human brain likes to put things into categories, or stereotypes for easier management. That way, when you see something new, you make a new “file” which you can easily access later with information you’ve gathered regarding this paticular subject. This very fact has been proven several times in psychological studies. So after seeing this man commit this crime, you, subconsciously, start to think that perhaps all green-skinned men are somewhat into crimminal behaviour. This isn’t necessarily true, but since you have only this bit of experience with this alien race, you of course start treating them according to your experience. It’s not that hard to grasp, really.

So, the main cause for racism is indeed ignorance. Ignorance we would breed by separating us from oneanother, and only hanging out with our own. Why do you think the whites saw themselves as superior to the other races when we first met? Because our culture at that stage was more advanced and perhaps civilized due to the opportunities we’ve had, that others may have lacked. We didn’t know much about these new people and as such, we began to think that we were superior, and started bossing around with the poor blacks, which was a horrible thing to do.

If any form of Cultural Appropriation became a punishable crime worldwide, it would have the REVERSE effect of what you self-proclaimed ”Social Justice Warriors” want. Because with that, you would create “Culturally Isolated” societies, where eventually people would get racist. I get it, I get where you want this to go. A Racist-free society, yeah? Well, Racial and Cultural segregation is not the way to go. As I discussed earlier, racism is grounded in ignorance and fear of another race, which gives birth to the hate and what have you. If we shut cultures away from eachother, it would only reinforce that fear and ignorance, which is not what we want, yes? So why not open our doors instead, let people in and allow them to understand why your culture dresses up the way they do, why it's food is so significant... Our international society would be so much healthier if we could all just embrace our differences and allow anyone to partake in whatever they want, so long as it's not Physically or economically hurting someone else. I'm sorry if your feelings are hurt, but this bullshit makes my skin crawl. I hate having people tell me what I can and cannot do because of my skin color, sexual orientation or gender. And so should you.

And that's why I think treating Cultural Appropriation as racism is stupid. I don’t see any racists indulging in other cultures. Do you? Did the KKK have dreadlocks? Do white supremacists wear Burkas? NO! They pushed away that, because it belonged to a culture they hated and believed themselves to be superior to. Appropriating another culture isn’t racism. It’s preventing that racism.

[quietlyhereshhh]

Gravity (Chapter 5: Believe)

Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke Pairing: AkaFuri Rating: T Warnings: Language Other: Figure Skating AU (AKA I’ve been watching a certain figure skating anime…); probably some OoCness too. Cheesiness probably. Chapters on Tumblr: [Previous] [Next] AO3

Kouki didn’t go on the ice after his first tournament.

He was afraid of the ice. Knew how cold it could really get and how isolated he was when he was standing in the center by himself. People watched him with expectations. Judges were ready to criticize the wrong moves and ready to zone in on them.

He was twelve when he entered his first official tournament. Too late for many, but too early for him.

His family was concerned. He could see the way they looked at him when he never touched the ice. Hikaru had tried to get him back, lifting him up in the air and walking over, but Kouki always struggled. He stared at the white surface with agony inside of him.

It wasn’t easy for him to recover.

“Kouki, sweetie,” His mother walked up to him a month after the tournament, concern lacing her features. He was working at the rental shop with her while his father and Hikaru were dealing with sales. “Are you…happy?”

Kouki didn’t know what to think about the question.

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?” His mother didn’t look satisfied with the answer. A hand was on her hip and her kind brown eyes were lonely. He didn’t know what had happened to make them that way.

“Hmm, nothing,” She said as she reached over to him. She placed a hand on his shoulder blade, bringing her close to him. He barely reached her height. It didn’t feel like he grew the past month since the tournament. He was still a kid that needed his mother’s warm touch. “It’s getting a bit tough in school now, right? Do you want to take a break from working at the rink?”

He turned to her with confusion. Her eyes showed him she knew. She always knew. Her hand went up to his hair, rubbing his tresses in a comforting manner.

“Yeah,” He breathed out quietly. He looked down at the floor feeling the shame and guilt inside. “I think that’d be good.”

“It feels like I haven’t seen you in here in forever,” Momoi’s voice entered in his ears as his muscles stretched. His curved arm rose to the ceiling, his back elongating as much as possible while keeping his belly straight. The woman stood in front of him as he examined his reflection against the wall-length mirror. “At least ten years.”

“Yeah,” Kouki huffed as he settled back into first position and lowering his arms in front of him. “I’m out of practice.”

“Well, you’re not training to be a ballerina,” Momoi smiled softly as Kouki raised his arms to the side. “Your right arm is too low.”

He adjusted it.

“I’m glad that you’re here though,” She said as she walked over to him to adjust the right arm a little higher. He burned the position in his brain. “It’s nice to see.”

“What?”

“Your passion,” Momoi smiled so brightly that she looked like she was going to cry. “It looks like you’re having fun.”

Kouki never thought about it before. He was just happy that Akashi was here with him. He was going to stay with him for this season and then get him to win the Grand Prix for the next. He had two years with the man which was more than enough. More than dream.

Even with the harsh practices and constant exercise (and sometimes, the strict dieting that he almost cried over), he supposed he was having fun.

“I always have fun when I skate.” Kouki said as he took a step and leaped to the side like Momoi had showed him earlier. “It is in my blood after all.”

Momoi laughed. Her eyes were tender. Kouki recognized that look. “I can’t deny that.”

They worked on more positioning and jumps; more stretching and Momoi nearly killed him when his core kept slacking. He didn’t have skating practice until the evening so he had to make do at Momoi’s family’s studio and it seemed like no matter where he was, he would be put to work to the point of exhaustion.

“Where’s Akashi-kun by the way?” Momoi asked at the absence of his coach.

She had pitied him enough to allow a break. Kouki squirted some water in his mouth before answering.

“Doing some advertising,” Kouki nearly laughed when he recalled the town begging him to do some promotional stuff for them. Of course, being the man of courtesy, Akashi didn’t refuse and was probably fending against media outlets like mad. “It was only so long until someone found that he was staying at our place. Ever since, the media has been hounding us and it looks like we have more tourists in the area. He’s just playing his role as a famous international figure skater.”

They continued for a few more hours after and bid his friend bye when they finished. He walked down the streets normally – there was no media attacking him and he was worried about how his coach was faring. Kouki was glad that he was blessed with a plain appearance that no one would come up and bother him. He never did watch Kuroko’s viral video of him and figured with the lack of people approaching him, they couldn’t tell that he was the one who skated in it.

He never looked at the videos of him Kuroko has recorded. He has considered it. His friend had always been there to record whatever attempts he made to skate Akashi’s routines or work on a new move. He always gave him the file to take a look and to analyze but part of him inside didn’t want to. Just like anyone else, he was embarrassed to look at himself on the screen – is that me? Was I always that small? Are my eyes really that big? – but it was more than that.

It was proof that he was trying to be something he’s not.

He arrived at the rink around three; the air feeling warmer than the winter bite. He took off his coat in the staff locker room and met his mother and Aida who were also getting ready for the day.

“Where’s Akashi-kun?” Aida asked curiously as she looked around.

“Busy with the media.”

“And you’re not with him?” Aida asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Why would I be?” Kouki asked incredulously.

“You are his protégé after all,” Aida said with a grin, elbowing his side. “You’ve been with him at all times since he came here!”

“I haven’t!” Kouki blurted out even though he knew it was far from the truth. He denied her out of reflex and he couldn’t go ahead and back out now. “It’s not like I take a bath with him or anything—”

“Oh, but you have thought about it, haven’t you?”

“No!”

Kouki walked on the ice with a flushed face and his students asking questions. He tried to answer them as best he could while thinking of excuses. He could hear Aida laughing wherever she was on the ice.

The lessons proceeded without any other problems and Kouki felt himself relax, lost in his normal routine. It was easy with lively children rushing forward or racing ahead around the rink during warm ups and cool downs; small ones falling and almost crying and Kouki needed to comfort them before their mothers could worry about their injuries.

He got off when his classes were over and Hikaru took over for the younger group. His workload at the rink had been greatly reduced since Akashi started training him. On one hand, he was glad because that meant he had time to rest and practice accordingly. He couldn’t have asked for a more understanding family, even if his brother was always muttering about taking over his shifts.

However…

Kouki leaned forward against the half-wall from the side as Hikaru was working with his regular class.

Madoka had just conquered her fear of skating backwards. Sayaka had finally started breaking using the snowplough technique instead of crashing into the wall to stop. Homura finally stopped holding onto the side and was willing to skate on her own, even with shaky legs, as long as her friends were with her.

He sighed, staring longingly on the ice; longingly at the joy on the students’ faces.

They were eventually going to get stronger without him.

Akashi came back to the house all composed but as soon as he entered Kouki’s room while he was doing sit-ups on the floor, he collapsed on the bed. Kouki had just sat up and paused to look at him before giggling to himself and continued with his set.

Music played in his ears as he did his last stretches, sitting with his legs split apart, elbows touching the floor in front of him. He didn’t hear anything except the steady rhythm in his ears as he walked his hands forward to reach as far as he could.

A warm finger traced along the top of his spine. Goosebumps rippled on his skin in surprise but he didn’t react other than that.

“Are you a bit more rested, Akashi-kun?” Kouki took out the right earbud so he could hear the response.  “I would expect you to be used to it.”

“Doesn’t make it any less exhausting.” Akashi was quiet. Kouki paused mid-stretch as he felt Akashi stroke the skin of his neck.

His movements were languid and less assertive. Soft and uncertain, less confident than usual. Tame. Unsure.

Kouki didn’t know how to respond.

When it came to this man, he was a surprise. He could be a harsh coach one minute then a person ready for cameras and strangers the next. He could appear ridiculously innocent or ridiculously seductive in split seconds – way too short of a time for Kouki to react.

But he never appeared unconfident in any of those expressions. He always had an assuring aura that drew people in and make him believe in his words and actions; make them believe that he would win.

This was a different Akashi than Kouki knew.

After dinner, they headed to the rink for practice. Akashi was normal throughout the warm up, completed concentrated on the task. Kouki watched him from the corner of his eyes.

They went through the first hour going over some of his faulty jumps. He was particularly weak at doing the salchow and lutz. After the break, they were going to work on his short program a bit more and discuss his free skate.

“Do you have any music in mind for your free?” Akashi asked as he leaned against the wall.

Kouki stared.

“You’re not choosing the music for it?”

“Well, if you don’t want to, I can.” Akashi shrugged. “However, it is a free skate. You do have a bit more freedom to do what you please.”

“I…” Kouki paused. He didn’t know any good songs or what constituted as a good song for skating. He never really thought about it or examined the music. He only studied how Akashi skated with it, the expressions he showed, and how the music ascended with the jumps and spins.

It was a big responsibility. The free skate would be long and tiring, accumulating from the entire season and accenting his strengths – what he could do as a skater. It would follow him for the rest of the season, no matter how long or short it was. He wasn’t a professional and didn’t know any better. How could he possibly choose?

“Could you do that, please? Choose the music?”

Akashi looked at him silently. “Sure.”

The rest of practice went as painlessly as it could. The air was a lot more subdued than usual. Akashi was watching but there wasn’t his usual critique and Kouki knew he didn’t deserve such silence. He was far from perfect so it unnerved him to get nothing.

At the end of practice, Akashi walked to where his MP3 player was plugged in. Kouki peered over curiously when he didn’t immediately take it out and began to fiddle with it instead.

“This is the song I’m think of for your free skate.” Akashi said before playing it.

He let the music sink through the speakers. Kouki closed his eyes, trying to get it etched in his ears and seeped into his skin, letting his body feel it.

It started quietly, trickling and filtering out louder. It was simple at first – a single melody that was easy to hum. It seemed incredibly plain for Akashi to consider for a free skate.

And then the middle came.

Unexpectedly, there was a surge of instruments that flowed through, blooming and exploding all at once. It was as if the wind blasted at him, sending him on a hurricane of emotions. There was a rising moment of hope by the trumpets that was forfeited to the lower brass; the flutes tried to keep up but ended losing to the drums. The sweet and tame melody had disappeared and was overpowered by the timpani’s roll.

It was chaotic.

“Impossible!” Kouki shook his head frantically. He felt the shiver down his spine at the complexity; the image of a losing battle in his mind as he heard the music. “Impossible!”

“Furihata-kun,” Akashi reached out to his cheek with his gloved hand. When he pulled back, he could see that there was a dark patch in one small spot. “You’re crying.”

He instinctively raised his own gloved hand to his cheeks and wiped away the tears but his eyes were focused on Akashi.

“In what situation could I ever skate to…to this?” Kouki protested, feeling the chaos in him. “It’s way too strong and complicated for someone like me.”

“‘Someone like me’?” Akashi implored. The tone of his voice changed and Kouki could feel a sudden darkness. “Please explain.”

He hesitated but clenched his fists at his side, organizing his thoughts.

He wasn’t going to be thrown off by Akashi’s voice.

“This song doesn’t signify who I am as a skater,” Kouki was surprised at how steady his voice was and pushed forward in case it faltered. “That’s what the free skate is about. I wouldn’t be able to utilize it to the best of my abilities and make it my own. It’s the complete opposite of what I am as a skater.”

“Then please tell me: what do you think you are as a skater?” Akashi inquired, his voice growing softer. It eased to something Kouki was familiar with and he felt himself relax at it, even though he didn’t have a ready answer for the other man. “What do you hope to accomplish?”

“I am a novice,” Kouki admitted. He wasn’t doing it out of shame though and was looking at it through a rational, truthful point of view. “What right do I have to perform to such grandiose music when I barely have any history? What right do I have to march in as an equal to everyone on a higher pedestal than me?”

Akashi didn’t say anything but was analyzing him quietly. His piercing eyes were trying to pinpoint everything about Kouki that he didn’t know.

And that was a lot.

“‘Right’?” Akashi’s voice was dangerously calm. Music from his MP3 player continued and Kouki recognized it as The Village of the Lonely – a masterful tango routine that had people screaming and squealing at how seductive it was when Akashi performed it.

The masterful skater stepped on the ice towards Kouki.

“Everyone has this so-called ‘right’ to stand amongst the best,” Kouki skated backwards when the man got too close. Of course, Akashi kept up with his steps. “Everyone has the ‘right’ to be up on that high pedestal and perform something so grand that it’ll make the audience look at you in awe. Everyone.”

Akashi skated to his side but Kouki twisted and went the opposite way. The figure skater didn’t give up, pressing forward causing Kouki to swivel and coil, his feet in familiar step sequences to try and void the man.

But he didn’t stop.

“If you want to select a song, I am willing to listen to you and let you choose what is appropriate,” Akashi pushed forward until his face was up in Kouki’s. He panicked, feeling his breath way too close to him as the guitar played rapidly. “But first, you need to listen to it and consider why I think it’s appropriate for you; the person I chose to reach the impossible pedestal amongst the top in the world. To me, there is nothing impossible about it.”

“I’m just some guy that can’t carry burden and pressure, satisfied with the life I currently have,” Kouki growled. He didn’t know why he was so angry. Was Akashi just so blind that he can’t see the truth? “There’s no reason for me to reach that high.”

“But you chose to do this,” Akashi explained and suddenly, Kouki felt himself backed against the wall. Akashi had both hands on either side of him, standing a little too closely and trapping him there. “It was your conscious decision to let me coach you. It was your conscious decision while knowing what my goal was for you. Are you telling me that this entire month that I’ve been training you has been a complete waste of time?”

“No!”

“Then what is it?” Akashi demanded. His voice was still calm but held an edge of frustration. “Why do you think you’re not good enough for this song? To stand where others stand?”

“Because,” Kouki cried out. He could feel the tears forming this time and gripped the wall tightly, “I don’t want to lose this!”

“Lose what?”

“Everything,” Kouki croaked under Akashi’s scrutiny. “If I fall and fail, I’m going to lose everything.”

The fear overwhelmed him and he was afraid of losing it in front of the man. His arms were shaking as they tried to keep him up and he was surprised he wasn’t slipping on the ice. It was getting difficult to breathe with his heart beating so quickly and the dread overshadowing him.

The rink was too cold now.

He wanted to leave.

“Then hold onto it,” Akashi said plainly. Kouki looked up at him. His face was sombre, eyes reflecting a certain vulnerability he had never seen in any of his routines before. Only late at night when Akashi didn’t know he was looking, staring at light of his cell phone. “Hold onto it and don’t let go. If you lose it, go for it once more until you hold on even tighter than before.

“And if you fall and fail, I’ll be there to pick you back up.” Kouki’s eyes widened at the declaration. “I will drag you off the cold ground so you can try again.”

“What if I can’t get up?” Kouki whispered. “What if I decide to stay?”

“Then I’ll join you,” Akashi replied back quietly. He leaned in, his face inching closer but Kouki felt no need to blush and hide this time. He didn’t touch him, however. “I’ll be there until you’re ready to dust off the ice. I’ll be there until you’re ready to stand on your own.”

He could feel the assuredness in his voice even though his voice was tender. The assertive in his eyes didn’t waver and Kouki felt himself being drawn in more.

He felt himself hoping and believing in Akashi’s confident words.

Note: I wanted to highlight some of Kouki’s fears in this chapter. Akashi coming into his life with this grand declaration is sort of a big step for it, despite how much he enjoys him being there.