#which is one of the many reasons I just think we haven’t gotten there yet

[heyclickadee]

Okay but the thing is, I actually think the Crosshair’s shadow thing works really well, but it’s in this really specific way where CX-2 is Tech and the shadow is Crosshair’s guilt.

[glissadia]

Upon Further Examination

A professor does her best to figure out why her student's ritual circle isn't working, and discovers that the issue may be a bit bigger than she thought. 6k words.

"Three. Two. One. Ignite. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Indicators. Four. Three. Two. One."

"Failed," Selin states in time with my counting, doing a halfway-decent job of masking her frustration and disappointment. I nod approvingly, as I’ve done each attempt, because it’s still important to acknowledge the adherence to procedure.

"Quench," I respond, picking my earlier cadence back up. "One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Release. One. Two. Disengage."

Selin steps back from the now-inert ritual circle and I step forward to check her work. Today I’m acting as her examiner, rather than my usual role as her mentor, so I’m supposed to keep my observations to myself. However, I think we’ve gotten past the point where I need to stick to the standard process.

"Perfect," I speak aloud, and Selin jumps slightly. "Your inscriptions are more than within tolerance for preciseness, you’re following your derived procedures to the letter, your timing would put the carillon tower to shame, and I can’t identify a single fault with your channeling."

"Wait, so I got the ritual right this time?" Selin asks, her voice equally confused and hopeful. "Then why didn’t it work?"

I shake my head.

"You got it right every time," I tell her. "Even the first two attempts, which I intentionally sabotaged without your notice, according to academy procedure. You corrected and compensated without prompting."

I don’t have to look at Selin to anticipate the indignant response that revelation will elicit, so I simply hold up my hand to silence her.

"It’s not the moon, it’s not ambient interference, and it’s sure as hell not my materials. It’s not your procedures, your written report has no problems on paper and I tested it last night in this very room, so it’s not the location either."

Sure enough, when I tested Selin’s ritual myself in preparation for today, the brilliant purple spark had appeared in midair and fragmented into responsive motes, just as she had designed it to do. By her own accounts it had worked just as well while she was developing it, so we should be seeing at least some sort of magical response from the ritual besides the barest, halfhearted ionizing glow coming from the air above the circle, and yet here we were, twenty-two attempts later. I would normally have to penalize her for taking this many attempts, but that part of the rubric was written under the assumption that failure would be due to something on the student’s part. This, however…

"So what is wrong with it, Professor?" Selin asks as she slumps down into one of the armchairs arranged against the wall of my workshop. "I know you’re not supposed to tell me until after the exam, but…"

"Nothing," I say as I sit down next to her, with a bit more grace. "Absolutely nothing at all, besides the fact that it is simply not working. Selin, I genuinely have no idea what to tell you. I’m half-tempted to just award you full marks and some extra credit on top of it and call it a day."

"Well don’t do that," she whines. "How am I supposed to call it a success if it doesn’t work when it’s supposed to?"

"You do realize most students wouldn’t hesitate to accept that offer, right?"

"Well there’s a reason you’re mentoring me and not them," Selin says, and I concede the point with a chuckle. The girl has a work ethic and level of tenacity I haven’t seen in years. What makes her stand out even more is the fact that when she was my student in introductory classes, I had initially assumed she would wash out of the program. It took her almost twice as long as most of the other students to get her fundamental spell weaving up to par, and her magic still has a tendency to try and run away from her in a way that’s amusingly familiar. But what she lacks in control, Selin more than makes up for with her sheer breadth of comprehension of theory. With time and effort, she’s grown to become the most promising student in her year, and I was quite excited to see what she came up with for her end-of-semester project. It was ambitious, sure, but pulling it off should be fully within her capabilities, and yet success has eluded her thus far today. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she refused to leave my quarters until the ritual succeeded, be it hours or until the end of the day or even longer. I myself would be remiss to end before she got it working, but at this point I genuinely have no idea what to do.

"Why don’t you take a break?" I suggest. "Just half an hour. You can ask Ember to make tea. I’ll stay here and work out the problem, then you can come back with a fresh mind and it’ll work this time."

I can tell Selin does not share my optimism, nor does she want to give up even temporarily, but exhaustion wins out and she nods, standing up and removing her apron and protective goggles before exiting the workshop. I remain, close my eyes, and focus my mind the problem at hand.

Fifteen minutes later and I’m only more frustrated. I tested this yesterday and it worked. There should be no effective difference between the two setups. What the hell is going on?

The softest, quietest tink of porcelain interrupts my thoughts, and I open my eyes to see Ember setting down a cup and saucer on the end table next to my chair. My maid’s lips quirk in dissatisfaction when she realizes that she wasn’t quite silent enough to go unnoticed, but quickly return to her usual warm smile.

"You’ll get me one of these days," I assure her, and she stifles an amused snort. "How’s Selin?"

"Antsy, but she’s staying in one place, at least," Ember responds. "I think the failure is getting to her."

"And to I as well," I sigh. "She’s executing the ritual even more precisely than I did, and nothing."

I pick up the cup from the saucer, then pause as I notice the contents and raise one eyebrow at Ember.

"What is hot cocoa if not tea made of chocolate steeped in milk?" she says, with an ever-so-slightly mischievous lilt to her voice. "I thought you both could use the comfort."

I roll my eyes, though there’s no real annoyance behind it. A small sip confirms that it’s been heated well beyond the boiling point, the enchantment on the cup preventing it from evaporating or scalding, and I breathe a sigh of contentment. She knows me too well.

"Would you like me to give it a look, my lady?" Ember asks. "Fresh eyes could spot something new, perhaps?"

"You’re welcome to, if you’d like," I tell her. I don’t honestly expect her to find anything, though not for any lack of faith on my part in my maid’s skill. I just can’t imagine there’s anything to find.

Ember walks around the outside of the ritual circle a few times, staring at it intently as I sip my cocoa. I try to keep thinking, picking apart the problem in different ways, but the answer continues to elude me. When Ember speaks up again, the distraction is very welcome.

"She’s using your mana siphon design. Integrated correctly, but still not standard. Is that a problem?"

"No, it should work just like the standard design for her. A bit more efficiently, even, which I assume is why she’s using it," I say. Ember knows this, of course, but it’s still good to talk things out. Maybe something will spark an epiphany.

"Hmm." She’s quiet for another moment. "And you recreated this last night exactly, including the siphon, correct?"

"It’s the design I have to grade, so naturally," I confirm. "It worked flawlessly, first try."

"Even with the compensation runes?"

I frown.

"I suppressed them temporarily, like I always do with that design. My magic only needs compensation when I’m reproducing the standard siphon design, you know this," I say, not entirely sure where she’s going with this. The runes hidden in the walls of my workshop and the classrooms I teach in are critical for ensuring rituals designed without my own little custom component actually function properly and don't just immediately fizzle out. My own magic doesn't play nicely with rituals, so any mana siphon attempting to use it to power one finds itself promptly overwhelmed unless it's built to handle that kind of mana (like my design is) or the volatility in my magic is compensated for, like the runes do.

"And they’re on now, because that’s their normal state," Ember hums. "Out of curiosity, what would happen if you tried this ritual with the compensation runes active?"

"Modifying the design to use a standard mana siphon? I can’t see any reason why I wouldn’t be able��"

"No," Ember cuts me off. "As implemented."

"It wouldn’t work, obviously. The siphon’s design is too specific for properly collecting my magic processed to behave like normal magic, it has to be either or. Standard siphons are more forgiving, but less efficient."

"So the siphon would get overloaded and fail relatively quickly?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

"I can see where you’re going with this, but it’s wrong," I say, leaning forward in my chair and placing the now-empty cup back down on the saucer. "To the runes, normal mana might as well not exist. They wouldn’t do anything to Selin’s, she’s the one igniting the ritual, and the ritual isn’t tandem nor does it collect ambient mana. My magic isn’t affecting things at all, I’ve made sure of it."

"What if her magic needs to be compensated for?"

"I—"

The notion is ludicrous. So ludicrous that I start to respond without thinking, but then cut myself off. If I was the one doing the ritual, then yes, I’d need to suppress the runes in order for it to work, just like I did last night. I never designed my improved mana siphon to work with them, because there was absolutely no need to and it would have just complicated the inscription. If I still tried anyway, though… the siphon would eke out the barest amount of mana, then promptly give up. The distribution lines would do their best to convey the mana to the rest of the circle, which would… which wouldn’t even get through the first step of the intended output. No spark. It would try, though, and if I had to guess, that weak, mana-starved attempt would probably look just like a faint purple glow in the air, and nothing else.

It doesn’t make sense. It makes too much sense. It explains everything nicely and raises so many more questions. I desperately want to hang onto any possible evidence it’s not true, because it couldn’t be. I would know. And there’s no way. No way at all. But…

"But she’s human," I say, voice a little weaker and more unsure than I’d like. Ember simply raises an eyebrow again.

"You thought you were."

I sigh. I don’t want to acknowledge even the remotest possibility of Ember being right, but at my core I’m too much of a scientist to not at least attempt to test the possibility.

"It’s been long enough; she’ll be itching to try again," I say, defeated. "You go get her, I’ll turn off the compensation runes."

"Of course, my lady," my maid says, in that way she’s perfected that conveys very little of the deference the title would imply. She exits the workshop, and I get back to my feet, turning around and placing my hand on the wall. A twist of will sees the rune contained within made dormant for a time, and I walk to and repeat the process with the other five walls, finishing just as Selin rushes in with Ember behind her.

"What’d you figure out?" Selin asks excitedly, already throwing her apron back on and pulling her hair back. "Are we good to go?"

"There’s… a chance we are," I hedge. "I don’t want you to get your hopes up, but I’ve tried something and there’s a very remote possibility it should work now, no other modifications necessary."

"Alright!" Selin cheers, tying the apron strings behind her back. "You don’t sound very hopeful, though."

"The lady has a tendency to temper her expectations to an unreasonable degree," Ember says, insolent little creature that she is. "I have faith in your abilities, Selin."

"Aw, thanks!" Selin says, grabbing the materials she needs for another attempt. "Anything I should do differently or just like I designed?"

"Just like you designed," I confirm. "And if this doesn’t work then please don’t feel discouraged."

"No promises!" she declares, working with remarkable efficiency. "Okay, prepped and reset for another go."

I give her work a cursory glance, but I have no doubt it’ll be perfect, just like all the other attempts. Alright. No time like the present.

"On my call," I say, and Selin nods. "Three. Two. One. Ignite."

Selin pours her magic into the circle once again, and the air above the ritual circle blooms, brilliant purple light coalescing into one single, shining point. I allow myself a fraction of a second to process, which is not nearly enough, but I have a job to do.

"Seven. Six. Five. Four," I call, and the spark fragments, much smaller points of light rapidly spreading out to fill the cylindrical space above the ritual circle. There must be thousands of them, and the density Selin has achieved is noticeably greater than what I managed last night with the exact same conditions. "Three. Two. One. Indicators. Four. Three. Two. One."

"Succeeded," Selin declares, voice full of pride. The results are plain to see, stabilizing well before the seven second mark and taking much less than four to interpret.

"Hold," I continue in cadence. "One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Stable."

Selin hesitantly sticks her hand into the field of purple, and the motes in a small radius around it drift towards her. She clenches her hand into a fist, and they rapidly move to coat her hand, before all suddenly jumping back into position when she opens her hand again. She beams at me.

"Well done," I say as I release a bit of the tension in my body, though not all of it, and catch Ember’s eye. She’s grinning at me very smugly, which I suppose is well-deserved. This… complicates things.

"Told you it works," Selin says, self-satisfaction oozing out of every pore. She pulls her hand back and the pinpricks of purple light stay where they are, having done their job in this demonstration.

"If you’ll recall, I never doubted that it should," I respond. Okay, time to start teasing this mystery apart. "Selin, your mana siphon. Why did you use my design over the standard one? It must have been harder to integrate."

"Huh? Oh, the siphon. Because the standard one sucks and yours is better?" Selin says as she pushes her goggles up to her forehead. Somehow I don’t think she means it solely as a compliment.

"It’s harder to inscribe than the standard version, though," I prompt her. "And reproducibility was one of the factors you were instructed to keep in mind when designing your project."

"Well yeah, of course I thought about that," she defends. "And I started with the usual one, like I’m supposed to, but I’m bad at inscribing it and I could never get it right so I just rebuilt the ritual around yours and I actually started getting results."

I freeze. She does not mean what I think she means. She can’t.

"What do you mean you’re bad at inscribing it?" I ask. "Your inscriptions are some of the most precise I’ve ever seen."

"Aww, thanks," Selin blushes. "And I mean I’m bad at it! I can only get it to work half the time, usually when you’re helping me. Anything that’s designed by you always works for me. It’s consistent!"

It’s consistent because I always deactivate the compensation runes in my classrooms and workshop when we’re working with rituals I’ve designed, because of the fact that they interfere with each other. And any time she’s tried a ritual with my mana siphon outside of those places, there aren’t runes to worry about. But no, that would mean…

"Selin, have you ever successfully completed a ritual using the standard siphon outside of this room or a classroom?"

"Uh, well… not really?" she admits sheepishly. Oh goddess. "I’ve just kinda taken to modifying the rituals when I’m at home, 'cause there isn’t an instructor there to tell me off for doing it wrong."

"You’re modifying rituals to include my mana siphon?" I ask, flabbergasted. "You can’t just put it in place of the old one; the integrations are completely different!"

"Uh, yeah?" Selin says, sounding confused. "It’s not that difficult to rework the distribution lines around it."

Yes it is. Yes it fucking is. I don’t say that to her, though, instead turning to the room’s other occupant, whose grin is almost too wide for her face at this point.

"Fine. Fine! You win, Ember," I declare, throwing my hands up in the air. "You were right, I was wrong. She can’t do rituals without compensating."

"I’m so glad your humility hasn’t left you, my lady," Ember beams. Selin, meanwhile, just looks confused.

"Sorry, 'compensating?'" she asks. "I’m not doing anything differently, as far as I know. What did you figure out? Why did it work this time?"

I sigh.

"You didn’t do anything different. It was a problem with my workshop, which I apologize for. But, we’re not quite done yet. This is not part of your exam, but I’d appreciate it if you humored me anyway. Light spell, as by-the-book as you can."

Selin’s confused expression only deepens, but she obliges me, holding up a hand and making a simple ball of light appear above it. It roils and shifts, maintaining a loosely spherical shape as it ebbs and flows. Selin’s magic has frequently expressed itself this way, and while I’ve drawn parallels to my own experiences, I never made the conclusion that it’s seeming like I should have.

"Hold it there, don’t lose focus," I instruct her as I walk back towards the wall. With a touch, I draw back out the mana keeping the rune within suppressed, fixing my eyes on the Selin’s light spell as I do so. It flickers, though not by much. I walk to two more walls and do the same thing, then return to my student. With half the runes in effect, the ball of light has calmed itself a bit, still far from static but significantly more under control. Selin looks to be concentrating hard on keeping it stable, her lips pursed, but I don’t offer her any insight, instead walking to the remaining three walls and reactivating the runes contained within. Walking back up, I can see that the little ball of light has become a perfect, static sphere, as textbook as I’ve ever seen. Selin looks up at me questioningly, but I preempt her with a question of my own.

"Are you sure you’re human?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?" she asks incredulously.

"Like I asked earlier, please humor me," I say patiently.

"I… yes?" she says, and I can tell she truly believes it. "There’s some elven blood on my dad’s side if you go back like eight generations, but that’s extremely diluted, I know how this works."

And indeed, it should not have this kind of effect oh her magic. But, what I’m asking about isn’t something brought about by genetics.

"Release and disengage the ritual at your leisure, then you two start cleaning up," I order. "I need to grab something. Ember, don’t bias her while I’m gone."

"Bias me?"

"My lady?"

"I’m doing a test," I state, and Ember’s eyes go wide.

"Hey wh—"

The rest of Selin’s confused exclamation is cut off as I abruptly turn on my heel and yank myself through space, the workshop around me immediately transitioning into a new, much larger space. Cavernous walls of rough-hewn rock, globes of magical light suspended from the very high ceiling, and approximately forty fireballs spontaneously generated and fired towards me by the wards the second I take a step forward. My stride doesn’t falter as they hit and harmlessly wash over me, my robes being enchanted to protect themselves and anything contained within the many pockets from flame. That doesn’t include the wearer, but, well. The day I can’t handle a bit of fire is the day I die.

I was lucky enough to find this cave a couple of centuries back, and promptly sealed it up and warded it to high heaven to prevent anyone else from doing so after me. If anyone else besides me or my staff tried to get in here, they’d be faced with a lot worse than just fireballs. They’re more of a precaution, anyway. Plus, the heat is nice. These mountains don’t have any geothermal activity, so the entire cave system has to be heated magically, which takes a lot of energy.

It doesn’t take me long to reach the cave’s main event, since while this chamber is absolutely massive, so is the pile of treasure it contains. For years, I never really understood the appeal of having a hoard, but the very first time I held a gemstone the size of an apple in my hands, I was hooked. That was a long, long, time ago, though, and now my trove has grown to a size even the most ascetic of my kin would salivate over. Not that they’ll ever get to see it, of course, nor will any humans. Very few people know my true identity, and I like it that way. I doubt my life of tenured pedagogy would be quite so peaceful if the rest of the staff knew there was anything more to me than an experienced noblewoman with a penchant for magical research and a slightly strange magical response to rituals. Anonymity holds power, in this world, which is one of the many reasons why part of me greatly dislikes the idea of potentially revealing myself. But, I’m forced to admit, if I’m correct, the alternative would be worse for Selin, and I like the poor girl far too much for that.

I spend around half an hour searching through the piles, examining each splotch of color poking out from in between pieces of gold from this century and many past. My search criteria is very specific, and it’s not like I can just pull some random ruby out and be done with it. I’m loathe to part with even a single piece from my collection, as any self-respecting dragon would be, but I know that if this test succeeds then there will be no way I’m getting this back. Finally, though, I spot it. A brilliant purple, Selin’s favorite color. Round, roughly cut (though that just adds charm, in my opinion), and large enough that it’s awkward to carry in only one hand. Corundum. It’s perfect. …Now I just have to find something to carry it in.

When I return to my workshop, a large felt bag clasped in my hands, my eyes barely have time to focus before I’m assaulted with a shrill exclamation.

"You can teleport!?" Selin yells, and I wince before schooling my expression.

"Were you waiting the entire time just to ask that?" I say tersely.

"Well yeah, you just disappeared so what else was I supposed to do after cleaning up?" Selin responds, and I am pleased to see the workshop is looking spotless. "Ember won’t even talk to me and I am still very confused as to what is going on."

"I apologize for leaving you in the dark, so to speak, but this is very important," I sigh. "Yes, I can teleport, it’s rather advanced magic and relatively inaccessible to most people, but I will teach you, should you desire. In any case, I think things will very soon become clear. Come."

I turn and walk towards the door, navigating down the hall and to the sitting room. As expected, Ember is waiting there, tea already prepared. Cinnamon this time, I can smell, not chocolate. I sit down on one of the chairs, bag in my lap, and motion for the other girls to do the same. Selin picks the chair opposite me, looking at me intently, while Ember picks the couch to the side of us. She always gets squirmy when she’s excited, and that’s quite evident now, despite her attempts to sit still.

"So, first things first," I begin. "Nothing you are about to see or hear is to be discussed outside of my quarters, and never with anyone besides me or my staff. Do you understand?"

"'Staff,' plural?" Selin says, raising an eyebrow and glancing at Ember. "Are there more?"

"Cinder and Tinder tend to the estate while I’m teaching; you’ll be introduced to them eventually," I elaborate, and before she can think too much on the names I continue. "Besides Ember and I, you will not breathe a word of this to anyone else. I repeat, do you understand?"

"Yes," Selin nods, and I can tell she means it. Everything that’s happening is much too intriguing for her to just walk away.

"Good," I say, then reach into the bag and tug it off of the gemstone contained within, watching Selin’s expression carefully. "Secondly, congratulations on passing your practical exam. As I said earlier, I will be awarding you full marks, plus extra credit."

As I reveal the giant purple corundum, I see the spark in Selin’s eyes, and my theory is confirmed. A bittersweet feeling washes over me at that. As much as I was enjoying the relatively solo life (well, as solo as a girl can be with three kobolds), it’s nice to know that I’ll be mentoring my favorite student for a good while longer yet. I stand up, holding the gem in both hands, and walk over to Selin, holding it out to her.

"A gift," I tell her. "And hopefully a fitting start to your collection."

Her eyes grow even wider than they already were, and she reaches up, almost reverently, taking the gemstone from my grasp. I feel a pang in my heart as it leaves my hands, but I push it down. This is necessary. I’m not going to let her wander, lost, like I did.

"I… I don’t know what to say," Selin starts as I walk back to my chair and sit down. "This is… this is too much. What even… what?"

"Purple corundum," I state matter-of-factly. "The same thing that rubies and sapphires are made of, just with a different name and color. Near flawless, as best I can tell. I’ll help you weigh and grade it later. You’ll want to know."

"Professor, this is… how much is this even worth?" Selin nearly whines, most of her sense of decorum leaving her. Which is understandable.

"Oh, I have no idea," I tell her, semi-honestly, then lean forward in my seat. "If it’s too much, then simply give it back. I’ll find you something more appropriate."

She looks at the gemstone for a long while, longer than she thinks, I’m sure. Then, very slowly, she brings it down to her chest, holding and hugging it despite the weight. I nod approvingly. There really was no chance of anything else.

"Then, thirdly, your ritual," I say, and I think I manage to recapture most of her attention. "Like I said, the problem was with my workshop, not you or your execution. I would like to once again apologize for causing that unnecessary stress."

"That’s… alright," Selin nods. "What was the problem, if you don’t mind me asking?"

"The answer is rather complicated, but I’ll do my best to explain," I start. "While my preferences lie in other fields, I do consider myself somewhat of an expert in ritual magic, and I’d hope my teaching position supports that assertion. This is in spite of a rather curious quirk of my magic, which interacts with most modern ritual designs in a way that precludes them from working. Unless, of course, the ritual circle utilizes the mana siphon I designed some two hundred years ago to address this very issue. You, Selin, have this same quirk."

"Okay, wait, slow down," she says. "I’ve seen you use the standard mana siphon before. I’ve used it before. And my ritual used yours, but it wasn’t working. Also, sorry, did you say two hundred years?"

"Young lady, you should know better than to ask about a woman’s age," I admonish her, and savor the wounded expression on her face for the couple of seconds I can manage to prevent my mouth from cracking into a smile. "But yes, I am significantly older than I look. And in regards to your other questions, there is more than one way to mitigate the effects of this quirk, which I had to do before I designed my own ritual components. Built into the walls of my workshop and classrooms are runes that, when activated, compensate for the volatility of my magic, forcing it to behave as normal to standard mana siphons."

Understanding begins to dawn on Selin’s face.

"So when you had me do the light spell and it got less and less chaotic…"

"The runes were processing and calming your magic as I activated them, yes."

"That… makes a surprising amount of sense," she says. "The standard siphon only working for me in the classrooms and your workshop, not at home. Wait, but what was the problem with my ritual, then? I was using your design, that takes care of the issue, you said."

"It does, yes," I nod. "The problem was that I, not knowing about your situation, left the runes activated for your exam. The siphon does not process my magic after it has been affected by the runes, due to the specificity of the design, and neither was it processing yours. When I deactivated the runes, as I do whenever I deal with rituals of my own design, that allowed your natural magic to fuel the ritual as normal, and thus leading to the success. The compensation runes have no effect whatsoever on magic without this quirk, so I did not expect them to have any effect on your performance."

"Huh," Selin responds, thoughtfully. "I assume you’re willing to show me the runes so I can use them myself?"

"I do plan on doing so," I nod affirmatively. "They’re not exactly simple, but I have no doubt you’ll be able to reproduce them with relatively little effort."

"Well, okay then!" she beams. "That’s good to know. Use your siphon when I can, use the runes for the standard version, don’t mix and match. That all seems pretty clear. I don’t really get why this is such a secret, though."

I sigh. Here’s where we get to the more significant part of this conversation.

"Selin, you are the twelfth person I have met in my life besides me with this condition. This is over many centuries, and I know there are a number more I have not met but experience the same thing, since it follows a very clear pattern. I hope you believe me when I tell you how rare this is, and that I am very confident when I say it is indicative of more overall characteristics of the person the volatile magic comes from. I was initially extremely unwilling to believe that the runes were responding to you, for the very simple reason that the runes do not respond to humans, nor most other races. Yet your magic is of the variety they were designed for, which only stems from one source."

"So, what are you saying?" she asks me, pulling the gemstone a little tighter against herself. "That I’m not human? How the hell could I not be?"

"In this case, it’s a matter of the soul," I tell her. "I do not know the exact mechanism behind it, for there are so few of us to be studied, and I am still not entirely sure how similar it is for other races. But, sometimes, very rarely, a person can be born with a soul not befitting of their body, and this leads to a mismatch. One that could potentially go unnoticed for their entire lives, given a lack of the right circumstances. Such a case is certainly a tragedy, which means that it is my responsibility to prevent the same from happening to you."

She takes a deep breath.

"Just… out with it. Stop dancing around whatever it is."

Well. Here we go.

"Selin, every single person whose magic behaves like this is a dragon."

To her credit, she doesn’t laugh.

"Bullshit," is her response, soft, too quickly. I say nothing, and simply draw my hand down my face, letting my human visage fall away and the deep blue scales of my true form shine through, though still in a somewhat humanoid shape. Selin gasps at my sudden reveal, then glances over to Ember, whose disguise falls away at the same time mine does, leaving a short orange kobold sitting on the couch instead, tail rapidly wagging. She’s still wearing a smaller version of her maid uniform, though, and waves happily to a stunned Selin.

"I hope you understand why I asked you to keep this a secret," I say, only managing to hide around half of the amusement I’m currently feeling. Not much of my body is visible with the robes, but it should certainly be enough.

"I… yes," Selin responds, finally managing to find her voice again. "But you’re… that’s not… I’m not…"

"Here’s a proposal for you," I say to her, leaning forward to give my folded-up wings some space. "Hand the stone back to me, or fail my class."

The immediate look of shock and betrayal on her face is just what I expected, so I escalate, holding out my scaled palm and summoning a roiling ball of flame above it.

"Hand the stone back to me, or die."

She tenses up, eyes narrowing. I know that look, and while it is what I’m fishing for, I don’t particularly feel like ruining my sitting room with a mage battle, so I extinguish the flame and raise both my palms up deferentially while lowering my head.

"Easy, easy," I placate, letting my human form wash back over me to break her concentration. She blinks, eyes refocusing, so that hopefully did the trick. "I’m not going to take it away, I promise. I’m sorry."

"G-good," Selin says. Then, after a moment, her eyes widen. "Wait, holy shit, I didn’t mean to… fuck, I am so sorry, um—"

I lower my left hand, letting the right one remain up to stop her.

"It’s exactly the reaction I was provoking; there’s no need to apologize," I assure her. "It’s natural to get defensive over items in your hoard."

"My hoard?" she asks incredulously. Then, softly. "Oh. Fuck."

I nod at her.

"Are things starting to make a bit more sense?"

"…Getting there," Selin says, demurely. "There’s still a lot I don’t understand."

"Well, we have all the time in the world to get to remedy that," I assure her. "And as it turns out, all the time is the world is going to be a lot longer for you than either of us thought."

"Aaaa, this is going to be so much fun!" Ember squeaks, and I can’t help but agree with her. Even Selin lets a hint of anticipation show through on her face, which makes my smile grow even wider.

Goodness, I love being a teacher.

[atlabeth]

too sweet

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: a night out makes hotch realize a few too many things.

a/n: me??? writing for criminal minds again out of nowhere??? what is going on. and i do not have an answer i was just in a hotch mood bc he's fine asf and i finally have the confidence to write for him here we are lol. hope u enjoy this short lil thing

wc: 2.4k

warning(s): alcohol consumption, a sexual joke or two, written in one go so might be a mess! aaron is all in his head but this is basically all fluff

Hotch can’t focus. 

Mostly because he can’t stop glancing over at you. Normally it’s not a problem—he’d lost count of how many times he’d distracted himself from mounds of paperwork by meeting your eyes through his office window, often accompanied by a smile that made even his heart beat a little faster—and especially now, it shouldn’t be a problem. 

You and Derek have had some kind of bet going on during the past few nights out—you didn’t believe he was as charming and suave as he claimed, and Morgan was all too happy to prove you wrong.

You bet that he couldn’t get at least five numbers every night, and come last Thursday, Morgan took the win at the end of the evening with a smile on his face. As punishment, the first round of their next night out was on you. 

And that’s nice, sure. Hotch is always thankful that his team can still joke around and have fun with each other despite everything they have to deal with each day. He hopes they keep the light in their eyes as long as possible, especially the younger ones. He’s fine with being the stick in the mud, the one who never smiles, the iron willed chief that scares local uniforms.

Hotch is not so fine with the way he feels right now. 

It’s a busy night at the bar, which is understandable. Hotch is sure half the precinct is out alongside them, celebrating the BAU finally solving the case that had torn them to shreds over the past week. You, Reid, and Garcia put the threads together an hour into scouring through evidence, and the unsub was cuffed before noon. 

Certainly something to celebrate—there’s a reason the whole team agreed to go out tonight and leave tomorrow. Even Rossi decided to join when he learned you would be buying, but he’s already abandoned them in favor of catching up with some old friends. Hotch even thinks they might have another round in their future because of their solve, courtesy of the local chief. They had a long night ahead of them. 

But you haven’t gotten the drinks yet, and Hotch wonders how long it’ll take even after you do. Because some officer is trying to talk you up, and you’re smiling and laughing along and giving him every bit of your attention. 

Hotch recognized him the moment he set eyes upon him, even in plain clothes. He’s some joke of an officer from the station, and he’s been trying to get your number—or even just get your attention—throughout their whole visit. Always sidling up to you during debriefs, specifically giving you any information or evidence he finds—Hotch has overheard him asking for your number more than once. 

Hotch has been so focused on the case he’s not even sure if you’ve rejected him or not, and the mere thought is enough to annoy him. If he wasn’t equally as sure of your ability to defend yourself and afraid of overstepping with you, he would have stepped in. 

But it makes sense. The officer is young and handsome, you’re young and pretty—not to mention you have a way of lighting up any room you step into. Hotch spent the whole first month of your employment wondering why you would want to do a job like this. He’s spent the rest of it thankful that you did. 

You’re sharp as a whip, naturally, but you’ve also done wonders for the team atmosphere. It’s hard to feel down with a smile like yours beaming his way. The job weighs you down like it does everyone, but you still manage to lift everyone’s spirits on the jet ride back before they jump into the next case. It’s impressive. 

It’s also trouble. You’ve been part of the BAU for almost two years now, and Hotch has spent just as much time tearing his eyes away from you as he has working. It’s wrong, and it’s wholly inappropriate in terms of your working relationship—he’s your boss, for god’s sake. 

But sometimes, Hotch will be beating himself up over one thing or another on a case, and you’ll plant yourself in his vicinity and refuse to leave until you’ve helped him work through it. If you ever tire of the FBI, he thinks you have a second calling as an elementary school teacher. 

Sometimes the hotel they’re staying at will have truly shitty coffee, worse than they’re used to at the BAU, and you’ll already be in the lobby with a tray full of the team’s orders. Hotch never recalls telling you his order—you just figured it out, and you remembered it. 

Sometimes his gaze will drift your way, and he’ll find you already staring at him. You look away just as quickly as he does, and it makes him wonder. 

Hotch has made a living off of studying the behavior of others. More often than not, he finds himself profiling his co-workers just out of instinct. His job is to know what others are thinking. 

But god. When it comes to you, Hotch doesn’t think he’s ever felt more unsure in his life. Especially when you look at him the same way he wants to for weeks, then act nothing but proper another day; when you fall asleep against his shoulder on the jet one night and entertain some desk jockey another night. 

It makes him feel like a highschooler again, trying to figure out if Haley really liked him or if she was just playing around, and it’s more embarrassing than it should be. Especially when he’s still dealing with the lingering emotions from the divorce. 

“Hotch.” JJ’s voice is enough to break him out of his trance, and he blinks as he turns to her. At least someone paid him the mercy to dispel his thoughts, even if only for a temporary time. 

“What?” 

“Did you hear a single word I said?” she asks, a slight smile curving on her lips. 

“Of course,” he responds. “The chief’s over there talking with the commissioner. He’s the same guy who made your life difficult the last time we were in Milwaukee.” 

JJ’s eyebrows shoot up, and she nods. “I didn’t think you were listening.” 

“I think he just got lucky,” Morgan cuts in, his gaze darting over to you momentarily. “I think you were too focused on our drinks.” 

Reid frowns. “I don’t think he was focused on the drinks. He’s—” 

“Just making sure they’re still coming,” Hotch interrupts, and he straightens his tie. Today really has been a long one—usually, he’s better at covering these things up. “And I wasn’t lucky. I was listening.” 

“Trust me,” Morgan says with a laugh, “I’m watchin’ her until I’ve got a glass in my hand. She’s not getting out of this after the way she bragged this whole month.” 

“The stupidest thing to make a bet on,” Prentiss remarks, “especially with you.” 

“She said she just wanted to prove you wrong,” Reid contributes. “She thinks you’re too cocky.” 

Morgan grins. “It’s not cocky if you can back it up.” 

Hotch’s attention goes back to you, and you’ve finally gotten their drinks. You’re loading them onto a tray like you’re the bartender yourself, and his brows crease. Maybe he should have gone up with you. 

“Do you think she needs help?” he asks. How obvious is too obvious? Why does it feel like his brain only works at half power whenever it comes to you? 

“She’ll be fine,” Prentiss says. “And if she needs it, that guy talking her up can help.” 

“Jason Rodriguez,” Reid remarks. “He hung around her the whole time we were trying to pinpoint a location, and he wasn’t any help, which makes sense because he's practically desk-bound at the precinct. I’m surprised she got any work done.” 

JJ chuckles. “I’m surprised he hasn’t given up yet. He’s been following her around all week, like some lost puppy.” 

Morgan shrugs. “I dunno. She seems pretty into him.” 

“I don’t think ex-frat boys are her type,” Prentiss says wryly. Hotch doesn’t think so either, but he doesn’t say anything. Contributing to this kind of conversation is certainly too obvious.  

“I doubt we’ll be back here for a while. She might as well.” Morgan smiled. “She probably needs a win after such an embarrassing loss.” 

Thankfully, before Hotch has to keep pretending not to care about this topic, you walk over carrying a tray of cocktails—and you’re alone. The subject of their previous conversation seems lost in the crowd, and he feels a dangerous amount of relief. 

“Are you all talking about me?” you drawl. 

“You know we are, sweetheart. Thought you were never gonna get here.” Morgan sits up, smiling at you. “What’d my win get us?” 

“Long Island Iced Teas,” you muse as you set the tray down. “Enjoy it, because I’m gonna be working some overtime to make up for all these.” 

Morgan grins as he takes his drink. “You should’ve never doubted my skills.” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t need any help,” Prentiss says. “You’ve done this before, huh?” 

“Bartended my way through college.” You slide into the booth next to Hotch, just a bit too close for a bit too long, and he hopes that no one can see his chest still for a moment. It’s impressive that he still hasn’t figured out how to lessen the effect you have on him. “I’ve probably got better hands than you, Morgan.” 

“Do we need to make another bet?” he asks. “Because I’d love to clean out your wallet.” 

“Maybe wait another month before you prey on any more poor, defenseless agents,” you croon, and Morgan laughs. 

He pivots the conversation away from you when you pick up your drink and take a sip, and you look at Hotch. Whenever your gaze is on him, you make him feel like he’s the only person in the room. He’s sure you never look at anyone else that way, but Hotch wonders how much of that is his mind trying to justify his imagination. 

“I’m surprised you agreed with this,” you say, mercifully interrupting his thoughts. “I thought you’d want us to go back tonight.” 

“You all earned a night out after the work you did,” Hotch says. He thinks about taking a drink, but he decides against it, at least for now. He can barely trust his sober mind. 

“You’ve earned it too,” you say. “We wouldn’t be anywhere without you, Hotch. You keep us all together.” 

He shakes his head. “I don’t think I ever would’ve connected the dots like you and Reid can with Garcia. I hate unsubs with secret codes.” 

“I’ve always liked puzzles,” you muse. “There’s nothin’ like it when it all finally clicks.” 

Hotch hums, and for a moment, he’s silent. Your gaze remains fully on him, and that might be why he has trouble thinking. It’s too easy to get lost in your eyes. 

“What did that guy say?” Hotch finally manages to ask, because he honestly can’t help it. Morgan’s points actually worried him a bit, and he wonders what that says about him. Ex-frat boy certainly isn’t your type, but someone forgettable for a one night stand isn’t the most absurd thing in the world. 

Your brows knit together as you drink some more. “What guy?”

“The officer you were talking with,” he says. “He seemed to like you.” 

He’d been flirting with you since the moment you stepped into the precinct, actually, desperate for your attention, but Hotch didn’t really want to say that. He’s sure you noticed either way, if the rest of the team did. 

“Oh. Him.” You shrug. “He’s nice, I guess. Definitely a looker. But he’s got nothing beneath that hair.” 

“Morgan’s surprised you didn’t bring him back,” Hotch says. He wonders if he’s pushing too much, and again, he feels like a highschooler testing the waters. Do you know what you do to him? What you reduce him to? 

You shrug as you take a sip. “If he knows what’s good for him, he knows he doesn’t have a chance. My attention’s on someone else.” 

Prentiss calls your name and you get drawn back into the middle of the team’s conversation, and thankfully, Hotch has a chance to digest your words—and the stunner of a smile you flash at him before you get pulled into their talk. 

His decision to not drink seems even wiser, now. Hotch has to loosen his tie, and he ignores Reid watching him. It’s futile trying to hide anything from Spencer Reid—the kid already knows everything. 

Again, it's dangerous how much satisfaction he gets from it—from knowing you never really paid that officer a second thought. You didn’t smile at him the way you smile at Hotch. You don’t smile at anyone the way you smile at Hotch. He thought he was imagining it at first, or that he was just a bit too stuck up, but it was the honest truth. You paid him special attention, and he couldn’t blame the warmth in his chest from the thought on any alcohol. 

He tunes back into the conversation just to hear Morgan demand you pay for his next drink. 

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous,” you say. 

He puts a hand to his chest. “Generous? You’re just paying what you owe me.” 

You laugh and shake your head. “Pick your poison, pretty boy.” 

“How do you feel about tequila?” 

You make a noise of disgust and shake your head. “As long as I don’t have to drink it.” 

“You’re just paying, sweetheart.” Morgan’s eyes dart to Hotch, and he nods as he grins. “One for me and our fearless leader.” 

Hotch shakes his head. “Someone has to get us back to the hotel.” 

“That’s what cabs are for!” Prentiss exclaims. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Hotchner. You deserve to let a little loose.” 

“It takes most people an hour to process a drink,” Reid contributes, “so you’ll be fine before we leave if you want to drive.” 

“Come on, Hotch,” you say, and you nudge his shoulder. “You might as well—I’m paying.” 

“...Fine,” he says, and the whole team cheers. Even Reid smiles. 

“Y’know, you can smile tonight, Hotch,” you say with one of your own before you down the rest of your drink and stand up.

And one actually tugs at his lips. It feels a lot hotter in this bar with your eyes sparkling and you beaming right at him, and he fights the need to shed his jacket. Your grin somehow grows. 

“That’s what I came out to see,” you remark as you pick your wallet back up from the table. “I expect another when I get back, Hotch. There’s a lot to celebrate tonight.” 

Yeah, he thinks as he watches you go. There just might be. 

[cuppajj]

(OLD) Beast Ancients AU FAQ

I’ve seen a lot of asks in my inbox that are identical to each other, so I decided to put em all in one post and then some. This’ll be updated the more I develop the AU and the more info we get.

As a disclaimer, I am very new to CRK (as of December 2023) and I haven’t gotten to all the game or story modes yet (notably odyssey), so things are definitely bound to change + be elaborated on more! Anyway without further ado:

General

What are the Beast Ancients’ themes?

Vanilla is Penance, Lily is Sovereignty, Dragonberry is Pride, Cacao is Solitude, and Cheese is Conquest. I tried to keep them within the realm of their original meanings

Essentially my philosophy is: Penance is the acknowledgment (truth) that sins such as deceit exist in the world and must be cleansed. Sovereignty is an extreme form of freedom where one can have all the agency they wish, but can be just as silent about their presence/power as well. Pride is a byproduct of passion or sloth, boiling down to the adamancy of the subject. Solitude is a choice made with both resolution and apathy in various degrees, and lastly Conquest promises an abundant future at the cost of untold destruction.

If the ancients are bad, are the beasts good?

No, the old Beasts are still a threat. With a total of ten beasts to worry about, the situation on Earthbread is very dire. However, there is still hope left, and hope can go a long way.

Is there a new set of ancient heroes with soul jams?

No, and there likely won’t be. The Neo Beasts and first Beasts still have their respective soul jam halves, and both want each other’s.

Where’s Gingerbrave and his party?

Likely the Crème Republic, which becomes a refuge for many cookies after the rise of the neo beasts. They’re at the front of the resistance movement, working with Clotted Cream Cookie to plan how the beasts will be taken down.

What do the Neo Beasts think of their past selves?

Generally they see themselves as improved or improving. The only one who doesn’t feel that way is Frigid Cacao, who doesn’t reflect on himself that often.

Did they all corrupt at the same time?

Still working on that part. The timeline for beast ancients is a WIP, but for now, it’s likely that while they didn’t corrupt at once, they corrupted pretty close to one another. Cheese was likely first, followed by Lily. Vanilla was among the last to fall and evidently had it the worst.

Do the Neo Beasts still have kingdoms? How is life like there?

Answered here

What are the cookies of darkness doing?

As of writing (5/31/24) we don’t have a lot of info on the cookies of darkness in beast yeast, but at the very least I can say Dark Enchantress cookie may or may not know about Midnight Lily’s plan to destroy her.

How would legendaries react?

I admittedly don’t know everything about the legendaries to say yet, but they’re all alarmed to some degree. I can flesh them out the more I learn about them

Individual Neo Beast questions under cut!

Saint Vanilla Cookie

How do his powers work?

Answered here

Does he know he’s killing cookies?

Nope, he doesn’t see it as that and it would pain him to. He sees purification as a form of transition or ascension in itself, to put it simply; he might even envy those he turns to stardust, knowing his own tainted soul will be so much harder to liberate.

Why is he constantly crying?

He’s just like that. He’s just that big of an empath.

Has his relationship with Lily changed?

Saint Vanilla still cares very much about Lily, and may even be more open about his feelings towards her; but he admits the only reason why she’s still alive is because she convinced him to leave her for last. Lily very well knows that Vanilla, in his mind, wants to purify her more than anyone else. Vanilla often pities her choice to stew in her tainted soul, but he respects her decision… at least the alternative is that they’ll someday be the only two cookies on Earthbread.

What happened to Black Raisin?

As the very first to witness his rise, she inadvertently became his very first martyr.

Where’s Custard Cookie III?

With his relatives in the Crème Republic, alongside the rest of Gingerbrave’s party. The kid has a hard time wrapping his head around what happened to Pure Vanilla, and it may be a blessing that he’s been largely focused on worrying about the well being of his uncle, Clotted Cream Cookie. As the head of the resistance, he’s been working tirelessly… is this what a king goes through too?

Shadow Milk’s opinion on Saint?

To put it simply, he starts out thinking that a confused Vanilla will be easy to manipulate, but he soon finds out that Saint Vanilla is way smarter and more aware than made out to be. He knows Shadow Milk is with him, and he wants to purge him from his soul; but that is a process that may be harder than anything else. So in the meantime, Shadow Milk can watch as he continues on his path of Penance towards ascension, fighting back the resistance he creates before it can truly harm him. Essentially, Saint Vanilla isn’t trapped with Shadow Milk, Shadow Milk is trapped with Saint Vanilla.

Dragonberry Cookie

Is the skull on her head real?

Yes! It comes from a nondescript monster.

If Pitaya is imprisoned, where is Snapdragon?

With Tarte Tatin and/or Royal Margarine. Dragon City likely got taken over by Dragonberry’s kingdom, but they noped out of there as it happened. The two of them might’ve been the first few to recognize Hollyberry’s spiral into corruption and where it was headed

How is her family doing?

Alright for the most part, but they can feel Dragonberry’s influence in every aspect of their life now. While Royal and Jungleberry are technically still the king and queen, it’s only a figurehead role as Dragonberry is the true ruler. She still cares about her family very much, but she’s controlling and good at keeping them under her thumb. Dragonberry’s granddaughter Princess Cookie is the only one who objects this new way of life, and runs away from the palace.

How would the other dragons react?

The other dragons aren’t canon to CRK so they’re not canon to the au by extension, but just for this question, they’d be different levels of alarmed or concerned save for maybe Longan. I could see Ananas wanting a word with Dragonberry in particular esp since they’re both prideful cookies

Frigid Cacao Cookie

Does he ever go outside?

Very rarely, but it’s usually to observe the licorice sea or meet with the few denizens he has left.

Where is Dark Choco?

Still working on this part (waiting for Apathy pt 2 to come out so I have a better idea), but he’s likely alone by himself. He heard wind of his father’s corruption though and took it less well than he thought he would. Perhaps he’ll run into someone who feels the same?

Is his permafrost truly permanent or can the frozen citizens be thawed?

Technically yes, the permafrost can be thawed, but it’s a meticulous process since Cacao’s ice isn’t normal ice. It’s a cure that Crunchy Chip is looking for to save Caramel Arrow.

How does the licorice sea work for him and how did he come to tame it?

I can’t say how yet outside of the fact that it was a definitely cool and heroic thing for Dark Cacao to do, on the scale of taming the Black and White dragons. The sea, arguably a sentient monster in itself, and all of the creatures within it came to follow Cacao and Cacao only. Now it almost acts like an extension of himself: the beast can make the sea do whatever he wants, like acting as his shield, arms, or barrier, and the licorice horrors will vehemently defend him. There are tons of monsters roaming his frozen kingdom now.

Mystic Flour’s opinion on Cacao?

Working on it, but to some degree she knows Cacao is much stronger than he looks. She might see his apparent apathy for his frozen kingdom with fondness though.

Celestial Cheese Cookie

Is the Golden City still running or did she leave it to die?

It may still be running but in a scaled-down beta form. Cheese learned to accept the fact that what she’d built was entirely fake, but she didn’t move on from regaining what was lost. Her virtual Golden City serves as a blueprint for the kingdom she wants on Earthbread, and then some; with nothing in the barren desert to grow her kingdom, her brightened eyes turn elsewhere towards civilizations that could be brought into the fold. Such is the beginning of the Beast of Conquest’s terror.

She does sometimes visit her golden city, only sometimes. It doesn’t look the same; it’s not a paradise for her to escape to, but it is a promise of what she will have someday. This time, it will be no mirage, and there will be no one to threaten its destruction ever again.

Midnight Lily Cookie

What is her opinion on dark enchantress cookie?

DE is the source of insecurity for Lily, who regards herself as the weakest among all the beasts. Because she’s half of a complete whole, who was already half of another whole, she is passionate about reuniting her souls. While she is focused on expanding the influence of the faerie kingdom, her true goal is to track down Dark Enchantress Cookie and destroy her; but she knows she will need more help than just herself, and has considered asking for help from other vengeful allies.

Does she still guard the silver tree?

Yes, she still fiercely honors Elder Faerie’s wishes.

Have her relationships with the other neo beasts changed?

Ish, most notably her and Celestial Cheese are a little more on speaking terms; but they’re connecting through their potential partnership as Lily hopes she can help her take down Dark Enchantress. In return, she might help her expand her kingdom and take down Burning Spice.

If more FAQs come up, I will make a part two. Thank you for your interest!

[readerstories]

When You Touch Me - Wolverine x male reader x Deadpool 8/?

A little shorter one, but it felt right. Next one is definitely going to be longer. Still on vacation, so I got no idea when the next chapter will be, but it will be longer. Hope y'all are having a good time! (AO3) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 9) (Part 10)

Warnings/tags: male reader, canon-typical violence, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn

Wordcount: 813

Summary: You’ve heard many stories about how people met their soulmates. Everyone crazier than the last, ranging from typical meet cutes, meeting with one of them at death's door, in war, meeting at your soulmate's wedding to another, and everything in between and outside of that. You had just never expected to add yours to the crazy list, meeting yours in a fight, only realizing after trying to kill each other for at least half an hour. And you certainly don’t expect to have another.

This time you get two weeks of what is blessed silence to your mind, but torture on your body before you see either of them again.

Yet again it's an unexpected location, though a slightly less strange one. You are finally back in the gym, after Evelyn giving you the go ahead. Dave had agreed to spar with you after calling her, just being a good friend, but you are working out frustration of not being able to do much training for weeks. 

Your body hurts and aches, but you hope getting to move and use it will soften it up somehow. 

It can’t hurt too much to at least try.

You need to keep yourself strong and able. You steadfastly ignore the hurt in your shoulders and upper back, the pain so constant now that you have gotten used to it.

You are just done with warming up, slowly and carefully, and manage to get your boxing gloves on and hit Dave’s sparring gloves all of three times before you are interrupted.

“You put on a show like this for anyone pookie?” You freeze mid-punch as you hear a familiar voice. Turning around, standing just outside the mats you are currently occupying, is Wade. He’s dressed in his full Deadpool suit, weapons and all.

“Dave, let's take a break, give me like ten minutes.” You address your sparring partner as you glare at Wade.

“Uh sure. You going to be okay?” You look over your shoulder, and see him eyeing Wade’s guns. 

“Yeah, nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” He nods, taking off his sparring pads before walking away and leaving the two of you alone.

“What are you doing here?” You take one glove off, dropping it on the floor in favor of grabbing your water bottle and taking a swig. Wade watches you, tilting his head as he speaks, and you swear you can hear the grin on his face.

“I was just in the neighborhood, and happened to see you through the windows, putting on the most titillating show.” You eye the windows, which are pushed high up in the ceiling of the gym. You take off your other glove and put your water down, hands on your hip as you glare at him.

“Sure, right..... Now, since you were just in the neighborhood, you have no reason to stay.”

“Seeing you, sweaty and panting, canceling your inner ‘Real Steel’? I think that’s a good enough reason.” He steps onto the mats, raising his hands. “I’m no Atom, but I can shadow box well enough.”  He raises his fists up in a loose guard, making a come hither motion with one fist.

You sweep your leg out, catching one of his, making him fall on his back with a yelp and smack of the mats. A second later one of his guns is no longer in its holster, instead it's pointing at his chest, while your knee on his stomach and your hand around his throat keeps pins him down.

“If there weren’t people around, I would shoot you right now.” You know people keep to themselves here, but you think if you actually shot Wade they would pay attention. His voice is breathier than normal as you press down on his throat as he answers.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time. Besides, there are much more fun things you can do with me if we were alone.” You roll your eyes, ignoring how you’re actually feeling better by the second. For a fleeting moment the thought of getting your hands on skin instead of his suit goes through your head, but you shake it away.

“There isn’t.” You let go of his throat to take the magazine out of his gun, dropping it and the gun on his chest as you get up, standing next to his hip. He tilts his head, staying quiet long enough that you are able to talk again.

“I’m going to go take a piss, I expect you to be gone when I get back. If you’re not, I’m going to use your own damn blades to start cutting limbs off, audience be damned.”

“I think the audience would like that, the freaks (affectionate).” He winks somewhere off to his left, towards a weight rack.

“Wade.” You are sure the irritation rolls of you in waves, even without the bond between you both.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get your panties in a twist, I’ll get out of your lovely hair.” You roll your eyes again, but turn your back on him and walk away.

—--

When you get back from the bathroom, Wade is gone. But, he has carved a heart with ”pookie” inside into one of the mats, making you curse his goddamn name under your breath.

(Part 9)

[sgiandubh]

Not really an Ask, just wanted to say I’m thrilled for you that you got to the Con and met Caitriona, though admittedly I’m seriously jealous 😉😊. I too am a BIG fan of Lauren, delightful and talented, and you must check out her podcasts, they’re unfailingly interesting, and fun at the same time! It’s been awhile since I’ve been to Paris and personally I did love the Orangerie, it was lovely! My big regret is that I haven’t gotten into d’Orsay yet on any of my trips, only managed to hit its closed doors on state days and strike days, sigh… I console myself with having made it to Monet’s Giverny home twice and leaving it with the memory tattooed on my soul of the scent of roses hitting me like a wall as I entered his garden!

I look forward to more of your reportage on the Con, AND on Paris! Bisous! 😘😘

Dear Bisous Anon,

How melancholically thoughtful and sweet of you to send this! These submissions are just the best. I don't know, can't figure out and do not even want to know who you are, but keep them coming 💖!

First of all and for all purposes and intents, the Landcon's schedule was grueling, especially for people who made a substantial effort to travel far and wide, in order to get there. By the time we managed to coordinate everybody, Versailles was sold out at the right visiting hours for us on Friday and closed on Mondays (as always). My mistake and I am taking full responsibility for being sloppy about it. And Monday's cruise lunch was deliciously rich, but also tiresome to many, who could have rather used a welcome nap. So, we had to limit ourselves to whatever we could quickly do, which is - I admit - almost a crime and certainly butchering our best laid plans.

The reason I chose the Musée de l'Orangerie is purely pragmatic, since it is compact enough to easily navigate and definitely off the beaten track. It is one of the most poetic places I have ever had the joy to see and it is, of course, very French ;). Once a glass house built on purpose to accommodate the Tuileries Gardens' citrus trees, it is now home to eight compelling late Monet murals, depicting - as you rightly pointed out - the painter's garden in Giverny.

With an absolute focus on the water lilies, or Les Nymphéas:

To me, this is a perfect, deeply introspective place, designed on purpose by Monet himself - who donated his labor of love to the French Government, in recognition of the First World War victory - to make people pause and meditate. Color and light and shimmering shapes are a synesthetic invitation to deeply explore one's own feelings and reactions. I can assure you they are never the same.

The best way to fully enjoy this is very, very early in the morning, with as few visitors as possible. This time we were not that lucky, but I think we still managed to share a special moment there.

Paris being lately a ridiculous mess, because of Mayor Hidalgo's stupid new traffic policy, we were unable to be in time for the Sainte Chapelle. But perhaps that allowed for more compelling memories, who knows?

PS: The Orsay is one of my favorite museums, on par with the Hermitage, in Saint Petersburg. I particularly love the subtle game of light and shade through the huge train station clock glass dial.

Off to take Baby the Lab back home. More about the Landcon - later ;) But thank you for this, Anon - and welcome!

[violasghost]

While You Were Sleeping-Chenford edition, Season 7x18 episode discussion

It has taken me a few days to digest the season 7 finale of The Rookie. Not because the finale anything jaw dropping or really mind bending, but more because it’s taken me this long to digest how things landed in the finale for our favorite pair.

So, to start things off, I did not read the leaked finale spoilers that came out several days ahead of the finale air date but there was enough hinting and emojis and reactions around the Internet to get the message across that something disappointing was about to happen for Chenford. That said expectations weren’t high, and I hoped at the very least we weren't going to have to watch another grueling break up.

For the record, I have been one of the fans that has been super grateful for all the amazing Chenford content we have gotten this season and in seasons prior. Although I haven’t always been a fan of the plot, especially the choice to break them up, I have been 100% a fan of Melissa and Eric and what they bring to the characters and think that they continue to bring their ‘A’ games each and every episode. We are truly blessed. Which is probably why I keep going back in my mind to, if we are blessed, why does it still feel like something has been off kilter in Chenfordland?

Starting with the role reversal thing. Cause now Lucy’s like 'the guy 'who’s afraid/hesitant to commit and Tim’s 'the girl' who has put it all out on the table? Maybe it makes sense given what they've been through, but sporadically throughout the season they have been portrayed as best friends hanging out frequently, to sometime lovers, then in one episode Lucy referrs to Tim formally as 'Bradford'. Its like pick a lane. Not sure how many writers they have in the room doing Chenford but my head has been spinning this season.

On the bright side, it looks like at least they haven’t said those words ‘Lets break up’ or ‘We need some time apart,' But not sure they are even considered together-enough to be broken up at this point.  It’s like what are they doing exactly? So, we know they aren’t formal boyfriend/girlfriend. I’m guessing they at least see one another as friends-I hope. But friends with benefits? It’s obvious Tim is definitely head over heels in love, but Lucy not so sure about her. She definitely plays her cards close. I do think she genuinely cares for Tim and I thought they were heading in the direction of starting to date, but in the latest episode, it seems like with her comment to Miles, perhaps she’s not even ready to date or have a relationship with Tim for whatever reason. (Probably because she is never allowed to talk about her feelings) It seems to be more of Tim doing the talking (thanks to the writing which never gives Lucy the floor.)

So, I guess going into Season 8, Chenford has to figure out what their priorities are, or I guess I should say, Lucy has to figure out what her priorities are, because Tim already has declared his #1 priority. Their lives no longer revolve around each other by default, since their schedules conflict, so if they don’t make the conscious decision to stay connected, it could be a rocky road. And, if for whatever reason Lucy decides she wants to bail. Tim’s gotta get past that too (Sorry, I don’t want it to happen either, but I’ve been burned before in fandoms so just want to cover all the bases). Unfortunately, based on her conversation with Celina, I don’t think Lucy’s ready to move in with Tim yet, although I truly do empathize with Tim because I think he is trying his best and coming from a place of honesty and love. I think it was also a DICK move on the writers part knowing how long we Chenford fans have waited, over a year, since mid-season 6 for some sort of dialogue about their break-up and how Tim hurt Lucy, and finally in the last minutes of the S7 finale Tim actually addresses some of this in a lucid way, not on truth serum, or lie detector or any other trick, and they don’t even give us the grace of Lucy’s reaction. Truthfully, it’s probably because I’m already on a short fuse due to personal life stuff. (Working at a US University in a research dept is not a fun place to be right now, btw.)

Tim's words were much needed, despite the irony of Lucy never hearing them. And it’s important to note that Lucy also did admit to Celina that she needed to have a more serious conversation with Tim before taking their relationship to the next level. And Lucy did start to text Tim and vice versa with Tim to Lucy. So, in reading between the lines, they may actually want to have a dialogue someday. These very small breadcrumbs however, are not much to keep fans sustained over the long hiatus. The writers seem to want to go out of their way to have Lucy avoid talking about her feelings, and when they do decide to share anything, they talk about their feelings to everyone else-but each other, unless they are not lucid? What’s up with that?

Unfortunately, despite coming in with low expectations due to the spoiler shenanigans, and being grateful for what we've gotten this season, it still somehow felt like we were short changed. I mean they had time for an entire Skip Tracer Randy episode, 2nd episode to last, with lots of time for guest stars and special appearances, and Chenford still only gets 2 minutes in the finale, and no 2-way relationship conversation? Sighs, like many others have mentioned in their reviews, it was just frustrating not to get that and it felt like they chose a copout as opposed to paying the debt that was sorely owed to these two characters.

Will I still root for Chenford after this? Of course. Will I watch with blind shiny optimism knowing that they are going to get their happy ending? Probably not. Am I starting to think the showrunners at this point may think of Chenford more as the shows cash cow couple, which gives them motivation to stretch out the angst/sexy stuff and are maybe thinking less about character growth and more about how to get the next ratings spike? Perhaps.

Oh and I am so effing sick of Monica and Oscar too for that matter. Neither one of them have any business being the big-baddies. Maybe they could pull off being side-kicks to a big baddie, but not solo baddies. They should bring back Elijah-he was an excellent villain. Or, for a bit I thought they were going somewhere with the Zuzu/AI thing and then that guy showing up at Tim’s house. I was even worried something might happen to Tim and the hit man. Or even Glasser was a better villain. All IMO have more potential than Monica or Oscar to do some serious damage. Every time we see Monica and/or Oscar now it feels very cartoonish, like they always seem to be able to escape, and it’s kind of turned into a cheesy beating a dead horse-like plot twist, especially in the season finale. Kinda had to roll my eyes when Monica popped up there at the end as if everyone was surprised. It would be hilarious actually if they played up Monica as the big baddie and then introducing the new villain coming onto the scene by sharp-shooting Monica between the eyes or something. (Sorry to those who don’t like gore) But just think they have over told their stories and they need something fresh and new.

On a side note, if Lucy ever did move in with Tim (not holding my breath until we see a true confession of her feelings), but if she did, Id actually really think Celina and Miles roommate situation would be very entertaining to watch.

Lastly, didn’t Grey serve as Sargeant during the same day shift as Tim when Tim made Sargeant? So, they could potentially have two Sergeants on the day shift at the same time now that Grey has been promoted right? Does one have to be more senior in rank or something if two are serving together? Not sure if anyone took Grey’s place, but just thought there might be an opportunity there for Lucy down the line.

[kaydensb]

I haven’t liked Eddie for a long time, I will admit that, but this has taken things to a whole new level of hatred for that character. The friendship and supposed brotherly relationship between Buck and Eddie has always been somewhat one-sided but this episode has escalated how toxic Eddie is towards Buck and I am well and truly done with his character.

He yet again has been invalidating Bucks feelings, but given that he is grieving someone who was like a dad to him and he was one of the last 2 people to see him alive, telling him he is making it all about him is particularly cruel. And considering Eddie’s complaint that Buck didn’t take a moment out of his shock and immense grief to ask about how it’s affecting him, how dare he claim that Buck always things about himself, talk about projection. Of course he is allowed to be grieving in whatever way works for him, how dare Eddie try to use Bucks grief and the way he’s been grieving as a weapon against him. Then to also have backed Buck into a corner with a very aggressive stance and go to hit him… fuck that. With friends like Eddie who the hell needs enemies. And as if that isn’t bad enough instead of apologising for his actions he gets in Chris and Pepa to basically sweep it under the carpet, that is so fucking emotionally manipulative.

I guess I shouldn’t have been so surprised that Eddie has now gotten to the point he is willing to get physically violent towards Buck after how toxic he has been in the past. He has never had any development as a character and at this point, I think it’s clear he won’t ever have any character development so they might as well bin the character after this season ends and we can have someone new to watch each week, also an added bonus if the new person can actually act. Constantly having what are supposed to be emotional scenes be kind of shit because Ryan Guzman always just looks constipated instead of whatever emotion he is supposed to be doing got boring many seasons ago.

But aside from how bad Eddie has gotten, the thing that really bothers me is Ryan/Eddie Stans still defending this kind of behaviour, and some even portraying this toxic, manipulative and outright abusive behaviour as some kind of romantic thing. Please fuck off with that. There is nothing romantic about their relationship to start with, Eddie is canonically straight and that means he will never be in a relationship with any man let alone Buck. And even if that character had been either gay or bi, Buck would deserve so much better than that. But still buddies are determined to defend everything that Eddie does, but if you replace Buck with any of Eddies previous girlfriends would they still support it or do they really just support all abusive behaviour in general regardless of who the victim is.

Let’s go through some of Eddies previous toxic behaviour in no particular order (and I may have missed some);

Sleeping with his wife, but keeping her away from being allowed to see their son unless she just follows along with what he wants (which most of the time was just sex)

Joining an underground fight club and nearly killing a guy

Beats up some random bloke in a car par over a parking spot

Instead of going to see a therapist about his struggles he smashes up a room despite his son being in the house and how that would scare him (and then getting Buck to patch up the mess he made)

At the store during the lawsuit, Eddie again minimises and invalidates Bucks valid and appropriate feelings about being held back from work. And he does it in a way so deliberately humiliating for Buck. (One of his reasons being not having buck be able to see Chris, which let’s face it that’s all Buck has ever been to him, free and convenient childcare. And ironically, it’s him using Bucks struggles to make things about himself)

Throwing Bobbies past with the fire that killed his first family as well as so many other people against him as a weapon instead of accepting that bobby was just wanting to wait to make sure he was ready to come back to work.

Fucked a woman who was basically a clone of his dead wife without even stopping to think how that could traumatise Chris.

Treating his girlfriends as free and easy childcare solutions rather than respecting them beyond how they can be useful to him (particularly Ana)

Buddies like to pretend that Tommy is some evil abusive person and that Eddie would be a better partner for him, even though he is a straight man and he and buck will never be together in that way. But unlike Eddie, Tommy has never treated Buck like this. Instead let’s look at how Tommy treats Buck

 Let’s Buck take the lead so as not to pressure him, especially in the very beginning of their relationship.

 Takes care of him even if that means sleeping on an uncomfortable sofa all night just in case Buck needed something when he was injured.

He always shows up for buck, even if he’s on call or just finished a long shift.

The morning after they hooked up again, he took the time to go and get Buck some groceries and make him breakfast as a loving gesture, and at this point I am convinced that acts of service are Tommy’s love language.

If Tommy treated Buck the way Eddie has always treated him, they would suddenly see it for what it really is, but because it’s Eddie that is Toxic, Manipulative and abusive they gloss over it. In reality Tommy is everything they wish Eddie is but isn’t and that’s why there is so much forced hatred of Tommy.

Ideally this should be the point where Buck should realise that Eddie is never going to change and become a better person or a good friend. He needs to cut Eddie loose, Friends don’t treat people the way Eddie treats people and he absolutely deserves better friends, and it’s honestly long over due for Buck to stand up for himself and say enough is enough regarding the way Eddie treats him and other people around him.

Like I said earlier in the post, with “friends” like Eddie who the hell needs enemies.

[ladykissingfish]

*At a campsite for the night, Sasori by the fire reading a book and Deidara laying on his back in a sleeping bag staring at the stars*

Deidara: Oi, Danna, what would you do if I told you that I wanted you to turn me into a living puppet, like you?

Sasori: *scoffs* Stop messing with me and go to sleep, brat. It’s already late and you’re a nightmare to wake up in the morning.

Deidara: I’m being serious, hm. Just tell me what the process is like. Will it hurt very much? Will I be unconscious for it? How long does it take to get used to having a wooden body? When do —

Sasori: You make it very difficult sometimes to tell whether you’re being serious with me or not. Why on earth would you be asking about this? My ideals of eternity conflicts with your entire artistic philosophy!

Deidara: But think about what you just said, about me being hard to wake up, hm. If I was like you, you’d never have to do that again. And we wouldn’t have to make so many stops when we’re traveling for me to eat or use the bathroom, and —

Sasori: No.

Deidara: N-no? No, what?

Sasori: No, I won’t turn you into a puppet. Go to sleep.

Deidara: *looks quietly at Sasori for a few moments, then nods and turns on his side, facing away from Sasori*

Deidara, so softly that he doesn’t think Sasori will hear him: I knew you wouldn’t understand …

Sasori: *stands up and moves so that he’s on the side Deidara’s head is facing, sitting cross-legged beside him* 

Sasori: You’re right, I do fail to understand. You’re talking about giving up your humanity, Deidara. Something that you can’t ever undo. Why would you want to walk around like me, soulless, a hollow body, a monster? What’s the matter with you?? And don’t give me some bullshit reason like “more convenient traveling” either!

Deidara: *closes his eyes while answering* Because I’m going to die someday, hm.

Sasori: Yes? I thought you looked forward to an “explosive” death more than anything. Haven’t you told me time and time again that the event would be the highlight of your artistic journey?

Deidara, eyes still closed: Do you see all the stars above our heads right now?

Sasori, confused: Yes?

Deidara: *opens his eyes, turns so he’s on his back again, and looks up* We’re seeing them together. We’re looking at them together. When I die, you will be looking at them alone. By yourself. And … and … Danna I don’t want to leave you alone. N-not like how your parents did, hm. Because, well … in case you haven’t realized this yet … I love you.

Sasori: *eyes go wide as he’s temporarily stunned into silence*

Deidara: N-never meant to tell you at all, but, it’s gotten to the point where if I didn’t tell you, I felt like I was going to go crazy or something, hm. And I get it, I get I’m just a brat to you, you can’t feel anything back for me, but it’s okay, I understand. I just know that I could never leave you alone, hm, because —

*Sasori swiftly pulls Deidara upwards by the shoulders and locks him in an embrace; it’s awkward because Sasori hasn’t given a hug since he was a small boy and the gesture is a bit too stiff and rough to feel very good. But Deidara doesn’t seem to mind at all*

Sasori, softly: Never noticed before how warm your skin is … and you’re not going to lose that, Deidara. Or this — *lightly touches Deidara’s cheek, which has turned pink with a blush* — or this * puts his hand over Deidara’s beating heart* 

Deidara: But what about when —

Sasori: We have so much time to figure out things, Dei. *gently lays Deidara back down and smooths his hair away from his face* But for now, you need your sleep. We can talk more in the morning, alright?

Deidara: Speaking of the morning; what are you going to get me?

Sasori: Get you? What do you mean?

Deidara: You and I seem to be together now, hm. Tomorrow will be our first holiday as a couple, and it’s a big one: Valentine’s Day. So I’m hoping that your present tomorrow will blow me away. Anyways … *turns over on his side again and pulls the covers up* G’nite, old man! And remember; if you can’t wake me up right away, nothing is more motivating than a deep kiss, hm ~ Deidara: *is asleep within moments*

Sasori:

Sasori: Perhaps turning him into a puppet was the correct course of action, after all.

[wryuxim]

this has been in my drafts way too long, and again, i suck at writing, but i’ve really needed to say this. how the hell is millionsummers so normalized in the fandom? well i know why, but it’s honestly crazy to me how 90% of the pretty small amount of legato fans in existence ship him with knives. like do you even understand his character? sure if you haven’t read trimax (like too many people) you literally wouldn’t know anything significant about him since he’s just kinda there in the other iterations. all you’d see is evil guy x bootlicker right hand that have minimal interactions with each other. don’t get me wrong, i could get behind that. like it even. but the issue is that there’s more to it than just that. even if you haven’t gotten to legato’s backstory in the manga, it’s clear from the start that the way that knives treats him crosses the line of average evil toxic yaoi bull. like literally the very first time we see them interact knives casually shatters every bone in legato’s body bro. causing irreparable damage and rendering someone a quadriplegic(?) after they were probably trying to get you a new body for the past 7ish years is so romantic, right!! He also just disregards him as a person and is generally shitty and all that which is kinda mean of him to do ngl. yeah you could say erm actually knives does care about legato though, he’s just too much of a stubborn bitch to show it!1!1!!1!! and i agree with that (to an extent, not getting into it though) but like…that doesn’t excuse the fact that he’s literally abusive. and that isn’t even considering literally everything about legato himself. he was horrifically abused for as long as he could remember. he doesn’t know what a healthy relationship of any kind is. he chose to serve knives (despite being well aware of how he was) because he never knew a life outside of that. he thinks that’s all he’s good for and knows he won’t be anything more to knives, yet still kills himself trying to prove his worth. knives is someone he is unhealthily dependent on who causes him to become more and more self-destructive. just because knives isn’t the same as his previous abusers doesn’t mean it’s not just another shitty situation he fell into. i do think legato’s feelings towards knives could be some sort of crush, but it’s more of a one-sided obsession than anything. to think that it’s an actually good cute little pairing baffles me. i think what i’ve said so far is enough of an argument, but there’s still my main point left. i held back on this till now because of the crazy amount of people say he wasn’t for whatever reason, but legato was a CHILD when they met. like do y’all SERIOUSLY think he’s an adult here??

i really don’t want to pull up panels from his backstory flashback, but you literally cannot convince me. nightow didn’t need to state it outright for it to be pretty obvious that he was a kid. we see how he draws other characters when they were younger as reference so you can clearly see the differences in proportion. i mean just compare it to how he looks throughout the rest of the manga, especially near the end. just because he doesn’t have a confirmed canon age doesn’t mean that there wasn’t an intent there. y’all are grasping at straws to justify it.

also the same applies to elendira (x knives) because of the super secret third legato flashback:

i won’t count this as proof for legato because tristamp (though a separate canon) kinda muddies it, but woah she’s not an adult. also irrelevant but knives was smiling at him 😞😞 i’d like to think he was nice to them at one point but this isn’t about that. the fact that people probably take this to fuel their millionsummers makes me very very sad.

back on topic though, there’s another side of the copium spectrum. i can’t believe i have to say this, but i’ve no joke seen people say that legato and knives were both teenagers when they met as if that makes any damn sense. the twins are both confirmed over 150 years old. in trimax, the july incident happened ten years by the date before the events of the last few volumes (cited in my last post), and legato doesn’t look all that different in the two flashbacks. and the flashbacks or any other evidence i could pull out my ass don’t even actually matter because knives is old as fuck and legato is obviously a normal human age. again, it’s just straw grasping bro so please give up 😭🙏

and if you don’t give a shit and loooove grooming mentally ill teenagers you pick up off the streets then fuck off?? you’re gross and legato would hate your ass. i probably have more to say but i can’t think of anything rn so that’s it for now. millionsummers is cringe and this fandom is a prison. but like a cartoon one where the bars have large enough gaps between them to walk through.

[yourloveaton]

Just scroll through everything I have missed. The fuck you mean Trickster doesn't sleep ?!?? What. Did I get it wrong? Am I not understanding something?

Plus, about my last ask about Undyne. Or if to be more concreting about the Asgore's "maybe ask Trickster to train Undyne a bit" part of the answer. I personally really can't see him doing this. Because Trickster is kinda...not..really... in the guard??? Like you get it? Yes, Sans started doing this while he was part of the guards, WE knew that. And yes, he might be associated with them in the eyes of other monsters. But realistically, how can someone who's identity you don't know be officially a part of the government structure? So that means you can't really say this person what to do. You can ask nicely and hope that this will work, but ehh idk about that

Of course, there is another explanation for this possibility. Trickster simply was given a job offer as part of a guards at some point from Asgore. And now he gets paid twice. As Sans and as Trickster. LMAO, just think about it XDD Which actually made me think, does Sans get paid at his job at the laboratory??? Or Gaster just taked him as an unpaid intern. Ahahahah, that would be cruel

OKAY I’m slowly getting back to the inbox IM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT AGAIN 😭🙏🙏 It’s been so busy I couldn’t have the time to seriously sit down and write earnestly…

HAHAHA WHERE DID U GET TRICKSTER’S SLEEP HABITS FROM He does get sleep, but I guess it’s so little enough that nobody has seen him sleep or anything related to it rlly !!! Who knows 🤷

Yeahhh I get your reasoning !!! Let me try to brainstorm and explain what I’ve thought for Trickster’s position in royal guards and anything related to it

Asgore and Sans know each other, through Gaster since in this au Gaster and Asgore were friends that worked together, Gaster introduced the skelebros to Asgore long time ago

I in all honesty haven’t thought throughly about the Trickster’s royal guard role and its details yet cuz I’ve been working on his other parts of his lore, which took more priority as of now AHAHA

But as I was saying, Trickster’s existing connection with Asgore and how his silly reputation with the underground would have reached to Asgore’s ears eventually and and and UGHH MY BRAIN IS NOT WORKING SORRY Gaster could’ve told Asgore too actually AHAHHAAHA many possibilities happening here

but what I wanted to say is that, Asgore would know Trickster eventually and THAT IS WHY he could’ve asked Trickster to do little training session for Undyne since Asgore would’ve wanted her to learn and experience new things from someone different than himself, also it’s his close friend’s son like he’s sure he got some tricks up to his sleeve that could help undyne’s growth or WHATEVER I THINK THATS WHAT I THOUGHT AT THE TIME?? I genuinely don’t remember anymore….

Yeah sorry… I lowkey forgot most of it let me think again… The royal position he’s gotten could either be a sentry or u know, replacing someone’s role for a time because of reasons? Cuz one of the ideas I had was that Gaster heard Asgore’s talk about maybe royalty guards and role replacement or whatever was talked about so Gaster might’ve put Trickster to handle it??? IDEK IF I EXPLAINED IT PROPERLY IM SO SORRY I’m in brainstorm mode rn I’m not good with writing 😭😭😭

But errr errr yeahh something along the way, could be worked more on it later on..

Trickster was an unpaid intern for a while actually AHAHAHA but he did eventually start getting paid for it, not that it matters much cuz… yeah… they’re lowkey rich…. Trickster is a nepo baby 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

anyway, thank you so much for your asks again, I appreciate them SO SO MUCH you’ve got no idea !!! Makes me enjoy developing Trickster’s lore even more too ehehehee 💖💖💖 Let me know if u didn’t get any of these or just have another question heh

[wundrousarts]

SORRY um like. what's a thing that you've seen in any of the jess interviews that you think is going to be important going forward in the series + any thoughts you might have on it?

Thank you for rewording lol IDK why I had no clue what you were asking

For full transparency, while I’ve organized most (I believe all) interviews and Q&As and etc. with Jessica Townsend, I haven’t actually checked them all out. Any podcasts without transcripts and any videos without captions require more effort and energy on my part lol. If they’re on the longer side like 30+ minutes they’re not really something I want to listen to over and over to find the info I’m interested in which is one of the reasons I’ve been wanting to transcribe them… but then that takes even longer… so there’s several I just haven’t gotten around to yet. I hope I can make significant progress before Silverborn interviews start.

From the top of my head, I have always been haunted by the bit from this 2020 interview for years where Jess talks about mothers. The entire section is too long to share so here’s a good section (among many other good sections):

I know that people love the dynamic between Morrigan and Jupiter of being this uncle-niece, big brother-little sister, father-daughter thing. I think we have people feeling comfortable in that that you think, ‘Oh, is that what it's about? It's about father-daughter relationships’. This series for me, without wanting to give too much away, I think that when people get to the end of Hollowpox, they realise that actually mothers are quite important and will be much more important.

And I think that’s true! Aside from the ending “Mog, I think this belonged to your mother”, there’s a bunch of small things in Hollowpox where you see Mog, aware of it or not, starting to think more about not having her mom or knowing anything about her. Hanging out with the Swifts, seeing Ivy with her half brothers, thinking that Maud reminds her of a mom… lots to think about!

While you could make arguments for like, Miss Cheery and Rook, I feel like Mog doesn’t have an older female figure in her life to guide her and I think perhaps that could be explored through the exploration of her mom and that gap in her life. We sort of almost have Jupiter and Squall pulling her in two different ways, I would love to see if there’s anything or anyone that pulls her in a different way and informs her own journey.

I’m excited to see this stuff start to become more important in Silverborn, but also beyond!!

[beebopboom]

A Case of Missing Weaponry

Probably the thing Archangel Michael is most known for in biblical lore is striking Satan down with a sword/spear (i see them used interchangeably) and yet it seemingly has not been touched on in the show.

Granted it is a story largely in Revelations and we are shown that that is not an entirely truthful book in the show so it might not even be a something that proves to be anything

but I have a theory for you anyway.

Michael has continued to be a mystery in this show with their motivations, their past, and their knowledge all called into question.

and yet another thing we haven’t even gotten a verbal mention of is their weapon - the legendary weapon that stuck Satan down from the Heavens.

With all the mentions of the fall and the Great War it’s an interesting detail to leave out but I was willing to leave it alone for the reason mentioned above.

However,

In @drconstellation future of echos past meta she points out the Michael parallel indeed being the one to take the shot at the Lucifer parallel - which is then later confiscated by police (ok maybe not that exact meta but i couldn’t find the one where you went into detail about it😭)

@youryurigoddess pointing about the Michael statue in the trash mountain is missing its sword

and the scene being depicted within Agnes Nutter’s book

It makes a person start to wonder yknow?

but where could this weapon be if it’s not on Michael’s being? The logical explanation is that it’s just up in Heaven somewhere, I mean it’s not like Michael has a use for it right now anyway.

So up in heaven? Confiscated? Never existed? Misplaced?... Maybe

There is one small offhand comment (you know I love those) in 1941 that threw me down a rabbit hole of what could maybe be Michael's weapon.

When Aziraphale is handing over the books he compares Agnes's book to the Holy Grail but that's not the one I want to focus on rather something mentioned right after,

The Spear of Destiny, or the Holy Lance

This spear is said to be the one that pierced the side of Jesus as he hung on the cross to make sure he was dead

The spear which was said to guarantee victory in battle. (That was until it made its way to Hitler and he lost) 

but probably one of the bigger success stories about this spear is one that actually connects it back to Michael

Emperor Constantine

He was the one to bring Christianity into the Roman Empire and believed in the power of this spear - bringing it into battle with him as his main weapon.

Constantine and his co-emperor Licinius were the ones to sign into law that Christians could worship publicly and have churches

later they fought each other with Constantine coming out victorious near the Michaelion - which caused him to attribute his victory to Archangel Michael

even going as far as comparing Licinius to the serpent that Michael defeated, as described in Revelations. Using the serpent as a symbol for Licinius in money and art

he then continued commissioning statues and art of this event eventually replacing him and Licinius with Michael and Satan, which then lead to it being standard of what Michael is known for - spear and all.

Interesting (very shortened) story isn’t it?

Now this spear has been passed along all throughout history with many people claiming to have it and different pieces of it displayed throughout the world, so maybe it just was a replica of Michael’s spear just like they did with Aziraphale’s sword - the Romans seem to have a type for their weapons

there is also a very interesting conspiracy that after the Americans found it after ww2 they brought the real one back with them and leaving a replica behind - yknow considering the hints at America having something to do with s3

How Michael’s spear would have ended up lost on Earth I do not know but I do think that this could be interesting if nothing else

either way the lack of talking about it in the show has always had me intrigued

What is up with you Archangel Michael?

[fourthwingfan]

Madness - Chapter 8

Hello, hello dear readers. The new chapter is here, the longest so far. I hope you'll enjoy it :)

„There is an art to poison not often discussed, and that is timing. Only a master can properly dose and administer for effective onset. One must take into account the mass of the individual as well as the method of delivery.

—Effective Uses of Wild and Cultivated Herbs

by Captain Lawrence Medina”

The women’s hall is quiet as I dress for the morning, the sun barely peeking above the horizon in the far windows. I take the dragon-scale vest from where I left it to dry on the hanger at the end of my bed and slip it on over my short-sleeve black shirt. It’s a good thing I’ve gotten pretty adept at tightening the laces behind my back, since Violet isn’t in her bed. She had to get up earlier than the others. She’s on breakfast duty. And she chose it herself. I would think she’s a masochist if I didn’t know the reason behind it. Two words. Challenges. Poison.

I grab my bag on the way out, passing by rows of empty beds that belonged to the dozen women who haven’t survived to see August.

Time sure flies. And I’m incredibly lucky that after the talk with the General in his office, he had to go to the front. I didn’t have to report. It’s really a great luck because I haven’t figured out how to lie to him about the marked-ones.

With these thoughts I shove open the door.

And there he is.

“You didn’t tell me why you chose the library duty.” I greet the smiling Liam. He always at the door waiting for me in the mornings.

“Good morning to you too, Sunshine.” He laughs at me. “And I chose it because you’re my friend, and if I don’t go to the library then I would never see you after classes. It’s like you’re in love with the books. Or learning. I’m not sure yet.”

“Haha, you’re funny. And don’t call me that either” I say grumpily as we made our way to the quadrant’s library. It’s not like the Archives where the scribes are. It only contains books what we learn at classes. History, dragons, past reports etc. Despite of that, I like our library, it’s cozy. And not crowded at all. It seems the Riders don’t have time to read.

“And why did you chose the library?” Liam asks as we enter the library. “You’re always here after classes and I don’t understand why you’d want to come here so early in the morning.”

“What if I just love books?” I ask with a raised eyebrow. The only reason I chose the library duty is because we’ve got the keys to open it at the start of the day, and to close it before curfew.

“No, you don’t.” He shakes his head.

“What? How do you know?” I ask him curiously.

“You always look angry when you’re reading or writing an essay. It’s like books are you’re nemesis.” He says with a surprising insight.

I should have known. Liam is very observant, since our first day. He always points out what I try to hide. Only because he cares about me, not with bad intentions. And because of that I find myself opening up to him. I told him a lot of things about me. Things that only Violet knew. I really appreciate our friendship. He’s the kindest man whom I ever met. And I feel bad about his parents, even though he won’t speak about them. After all it was my father who killed them.

“I just like to be left alone.” I try to share some truth with him. “Not many people come here.”

I go to the closet beside the wall, near the entrance and pick up a broom. “Do you got the books?” I nod toward the piles of books which was brought back by the cadets and riders sometime yesterday.

“Yes, that’s true. But I think it’s only part of it.” He picks up the first book. “I don’t want to pry but I have eyes. You hate books. You take notes without looking what you write. I did not once see you put back a book in it’s place since we started this thing. You can tell me anything, but only if you want. If you’re not comfortable then just forget it.”

Shit. What should I do? He almost figured it out. If I tell him my secret will he changes toward me? I don’t want that. But if he finds out without me telling him, would it be better? No. I don’t think so.

Then I just have to prepare for the worst.

“It’s a long story.” I say while I walk to the chair beside the desk he currently sorting books. “You really want to know?” I sit and look at him with a serious gaze.

“Yes. I like you, you’re a good person. I want to know because if I can, then I want to help you.” He sits in front of the desk and turns to me.

“I have dyslexia.” I stare my hand without looking up. “When I was born…my mother…” I try to explain but I can’t. I didn’t even knew her but it still hurts to think about it.

He grips my hand and when I look up he smiles reassuringly.

“There was certain circumstances which caused brain damage due to lack of oxygen.” I say in a rush lest I change my mind. “I’m normal in every other aspect, I think. It’s just that my mind works differently then others. In most situations I have good memory so it’s not that bad, but when it comes for example history then I need to learn. Or if I see a map then I should be able to read the names on it, but… But I can’t read, only with great effort. It’s really difficult. It’s like the letters are running away from me. I know which letter is which, but when I try to put into words it’ll become nothing. It’s really tiring. I’m useless, I know. And I understand if you don’t want to be my friend anymore.” I draw back my hand to let him go.

“Aelin. Look at me.” He says quietly.

I look up at him and only see understanding in his eyes.

The air rushes out of my lungs.

“First, you’re not useless! You’re a very kind and protective woman. You’re really amazing and do not forget that! It doesn’t matter if you can read a whole book within an hour or not. It doesn’t define who you are. I don’t know who said that shit to you, but it’s not true.” He says firmly and my eyes are stinging. “You’re very precious to me. And I find it amazing that despite of your struggle you’re here as you are. You’re smart. If you struggle a little then what? Nobody is perfect. Me neither. And if I can help you with anything, even if you only need me to read out loud the books then I will help you. Because we’re friends.”

I swallow hard and try to blink back the tears. Nobody said things like this to me. And here we are. A marked-one and General Melgren’s daughter. And despite of the circumstances he became my best friend beside Violet. Because he wanted to.

“Liam…” I start but my voice breaks. I feel that if I say a thing then I will cry. Instead I smile at him. With real, genuine smile. With all the warm that I can muster up. I want him to know that I really appreciate his words. Him.

“Now come. We need to tidy up here before breakfast.” He lets go my hand and stands up. But I know he understood what I couldn’t say. He understand me.

“Yeah” I say in a raspy voice. “Don’t slack off.”

He just laughs and it seems that the library is brigther then minutes ago.

***

„Keep the temperaments of each specific breed in mind when you decide which dragons to approach and which to run from at Threshing,” Professor Kaori says, his serious, dark eyes slashing toward his nose as he studies the new recruits for a beat, then he changes the projection he’s conjured from a Green Daggertail to a Red Scorpiontail. He’s an illusionist and the only professor in the quadrant with the signet ability to project what he sees in his mind, which makes this class one of my favorites.

The Red Scorpiontail in the center of our circled tables is a fraction of its actual size, six feet tall at most, but it’s an exact replica of the actual firebreather waiting in the Vale for Threshing.

“Red Scorpiontails, like Ghrian here, are the quickest to temper,” Professor Kaori continues, his perfectly trimmed mustache curving as he smiles at the illusion like he’s the dragon himself. We all take notes. “So if you offend him, you’re—”

“Lunch,” Ridoc says, and the class laughs. We have a common class with Violet’s squad and unfortunately Jack Barlowe is here too, who hasn’t quit glaring at Violet since his squad took over their quarter of the room a half hour ago.

“Precisely,” Professor Kaori responds. “So what’s the best way to approach a Red Scorpiontail?” He glances around the room.

I know the answer, but I keep my hand to myself to lay low as always.

“You don’t,” Liam mutters next to me, and I huff a laugh under my breath.

“They prefer that you approach from the left and from the front, if possible,” a woman from our squad answers.

“Excellent.” Professor Kaori nods. “For this Threshing, there are three Red Scorpiontails willing to bond.” The image changes in front of us to a different dragon.

“How many dragons are there in total?” Rhiannon asks.

“A hundred for this year,” Professor Kaori answers, changing the image again. “But some might change their minds during Presentation in about two months, depending on what they see.”

My stomach hits the floor.

“That’s thirty-seven fewer than last year.” Violet says.

Maybe even fewer if they don’t like the look of us after we have to parade by them for their perusal two days before Threshing. Then again, there’s usually fewer cadets after that particular event anyway.

Professor Kaori’s dark eyebrows rise. “Yes, Cadet Sorrengail, it is, and twenty-six fewer than the year before that.”

Fewer dragons are choosing to bond, but the number of riders entering the quadrant has remained steady. My mind whirls. Attacks at the eastern borders are increasing, according to every Battle Brief, and yet there are fewer dragons willing to bond in order to defend Navarre.

“Will they tell you why they won’t bond?” another first-year asks.

“No, jackass,” Jack scoffs, his icy-blue gaze narrowing on the cadet. “Dragons only talk to their bonded riders, just like they only give their full name to their bonded rider. You should know that by now.”

Professor Kaori sends Jack a look that shuts the first-year’s mouth but doesn’t stop him from sneering at the other cadet. “They don’t share their reasons,” our instructor says. “And anyone who respects their life won’t ask a question they’re not willing to answer.”

“Do the numbers affect the wards?” Aurelie asks from where she sits behind Violet, tapping her quill against the edge of her desk.

Professor Kaori’s jaw ticks twice. “We’re not sure. The number of bonded dragons has never affected the integrity of Navarre’s wards before, but I’m not about to lie to you and say that we’re not seeing increased breaches when you know from Battle Brief that we are.”

The wards are faltering at a rate that makes my thoughts running wild with possible theories every time Professor Devera starts our daily Battle Brief. Either we’re weakening or our enemies are getting stronger. Both possibilities mean the cadets in this room are needed more than ever.

The image changes to Sgaeyl, the navy-blue dragon bonded to Xaden.

My stomach pitches as I remember the way she looked right through me that first day.

But despite of that I found her beautiful. That color and that confident stance.

“You won’t have to worry about how to approach blue dragons, since there are none willing to bond this Threshing, but you should be able to recognize Sgaeyl if you see her,” Professor Kaori says.

“So you can fucking run,” Ridoc drawls.

I nod along while others laugh.

“She’s a Blue Daggertail, the rarest of the blues, and yes, if you see her without her bonded rider, you should…definitely find somewhere else to be. Ruthless does not begin to describe her, nor does she abide by what we assume to be what the dragons consider law. She even bonded the relative of one of her previous riders, which you all know is typically forbidden, but Sgaeyl does whatever she wants, whenever she wants. In fact, if you see any of the blues, do not approach them. Just…”

“Run,” Ridoc repeats, raking his hand through his floppy brown hair.

“Run,” Professor Kaori agrees with a smile, the mustache above his top lip quivering slightly. “There are a handful of other blues in active service, but you’ll find them all along the Esben Mountains in the east, where the fighting is most intense. They’re all intimidating, but Sgaeyl is the most powerful of them all.”

My breath catches. No wonder Xaden can wield shadows—shadows that can yank daggers out of trees, shadows that can probably throw those same daggers. And yet…he let me live. I shove the kernel of warmth that thought gives me far, far away.

He was an asshole after all.

“What about the black dragon?” the first-year next to Jack asks. “There’s one here, right?”

Jack’s face lights up. “I want that one.”

“Not that it’s going to matter.” Professor Kaori flicks his wrist and Sgaeyl disappears, and a massive black dragon takes her place. Even the illusion is bigger, making me crane my neck slightly to see its head. “But just to appease your curiosity, since this is the only time you’ll ever see him, here is the only other black besides General Melgren’s.”

“He’s huge,” Rhiannon says. “And is that a clubtail?”

“No. A morningstartail. He has the same bludgeoning power of a clubtail, but those spikes will eviscerate a person just as well as a daggertail.”

“Best of both worlds,” Jack calls out. “He looks like a killing machine.”

“He is,” Professor Kaori answers. “And honestly, I haven’t seen him in the last five years, so this image is more than a little outdated. But since we have him up here, what can you tell me about black dragons?”

“They’re the smartest and most discerning,” Aurelie calls out.

“They’re the rarest,” I add in. “There hasn’t been one born in the last…century.”

“Correct.” Professor Kaori spins the illusion again, and I’m met with a pair of glaring yellow eyes. “They’re also the most cunning. There’s no such thing as outsmarting a black dragon. This one is a little over a hundred, which makes him about middle-aged. He’s revered as a battle dragon among their kind, and if not for him, we probably would have lost during the Tyrrish rebellion. Add to it that he’s a morningstartail, and he’s one of the deadliest dragons in Navarre.”

„I bet he powers one hell of a signet. How do you approach him?” Jack asks, leaning forward in his seat. There’s pure avarice in his eyes, mirrored by his friend next to him.

That’s the last thing this kingdom needs, someone as cruel as Jack bonding to a black dragon. No, thank you.

“You don’t,” Professor Kaori answers. “He hasn’t agreed to bond since his previous and only rider was killed during the uprising, and the only way you’d ever be near him is if you’re in the Vale, which you won’t be, because you’d be incinerated before you ever got through the gorge.”

The pale redhead across the circle from me shifts in her seat and tugs her sleeve down to cover her rebellion relic.

“Someone should ask him again,” Jack urges.

“It doesn’t work that way, Barlowe. Now, there is only one other black dragon, which is in service—”

“General Melgren’s,” Sawyer says. His book is closed in front of him, but I can’t blame him. I’d hardly be taking notes, either, if this was the second time I’d gone through this class. “Codagh, right?”

Everyone looks at me with curiosity in their eyes. Shit. What do they think? I won’t tell stories about him. Never.

They say the dragon chooses their rider based on things that makes them a great match. In this case they’re both cruel. They deserve each other, I shudder.

“Yes.” Professor Kaori nods. “The eldest of their den and a swordtail.”

“But just for curiosity’s sake.” Jack’s glacial-blue gaze doesn’t stray from the illusion of the unbonded black dragon still being projected. “What signet ability would this guy gift his rider?”

Professor Kaori closes his fist, and the illusion disappears. “There’s no telling. Signets are the result of the unique chemistry between rider and dragon and usually say more about the rider than the dragon. The stronger the bond and the more powerful the dragon, the stronger the signet.”

“Fine. What was his previous rider’s?” Jack asks.

“Naolin’s signet was siphoning.” Professor Kaori’s shoulders fall. “He could absorb power from various sources, other dragons, other riders, and then use it or redistribute it.”

“Badass.” Ridoc’s tone has more than a little hero worship.

“He was,” Professor Kaori agrees.

“What kills someone with that kind of signet?” Jack asks, crossing his arms over his thick chest.

Professor Kaori glances at Violet for a heartbeat before looking away. “He attempted to use that power to revive a fallen rider—which didn’t work, because there’s no signet capable of resurrection—and depleted himself in the process. To use a phrase you’ll become accustomed to after Threshing, he burned out and died next to that rider.”

Something in my chest shifts, a feeling that I can’t explain and yet can’t shake.

The bells ring, signaling the hour is up, and we all begin to gather our things. The squads filter out to the hallway, emptying the room, and I rise from behind my desk and go to stand beside Violet, shouldering my satchel as Liam waits for me by the door, a puzzled expression on his face.

“It was Brennan, wasn’t it?” Violet asks Professor Kaori.

Sadness fills his gaze as he meets hers. “Yes. He died trying to save your brother, but Brennan was too far gone.”

“Why would he do that?” She shifts the weight of her satchel. „Resurrection isn’t possible. Why would he essentially kill himself when Brennan was already gone?”

A stampede of grief tramples my heart, stealing my breath. Brennan never would have wanted anyone to die for him. That wasn’t in his nature.

Professor Kaori sits back against his desk, pulling at the short, dark hairs of his mustache as he stares at us. “Being a Sorrengail and Melgren doesn’t do you any favors in here, does it?”

I shake my head. “There are more than a few cadets who would like to take me—and my last name—down a peg.”

He nods. “It won’t be like that once you leave. After graduation, you’ll find that being who you are means others will do just about anything to keep you alive, even pleased, not because they love your mother or father but because they either fear them or want their favor.”

“Which was Naolin?”

“A little bit of both. And sometimes it’s hard for a rider with a signet that powerful to accept his limits. After all, bonding makes you a rider, but resurrecting someone from the dead? Now, that makes you a god. I somehow don’t think that Malek takes kindly to a mortal treading on his territory.”

“Thank you for answering.” Violet turns and starts toward the door, I follow her.

“Violet,” Professor Kaori calls out, and I pivot to look back. “I taught both your siblings. A signet like mine is too useful here in the classroom to let me deploy with a wing for long. Brennan was a spectacular rider and a good man. Mira is shrewd and gifted in the seat when it comes to riding.”

She nods.

“But you’re smarter than both of them.”

She blinks. It’s not often she gets compared to her brother and sister and somehow come out on top.

“From what I’ve seen of you helping your friend study in commons every night, it seems you might be more compassionate, too. Don’t forget that.”

“Thank you, but being smart and compassionate isn’t going to help me when it comes to Threshing.” A self-deprecating laugh escapes her mouth. “You know more about dragons than anyone else in the quadrant, probably anyone else on the Continent. They choose strength and shrewdness.”

“They choose for reasons they don’t see fit to share with us.” He pushes off his desk. “And not all strength is physical, Violet.”

She nods, and we head over to meet Rhiannon and Liam at the door.

“See? I told you that you’re the smartest person I know.” I grin at her. “And if anybody will bond with a strong dragon at Threshing then you will be the one.”

“You’re just saying that to comfort me.” She sighs.

“No, Vi. I say it because I belive in you.” I grab her arm and look into her eyes. “You’re smart, persistent and a good person. Don’t underestimate yourself.”

“Okay, I try.” She gives in.

“Good. Now see you later at the gym.” I wink at her and go grab Liam’s arm.

“Come on, we’re gonna be late.” I laugh at him.

“Again.” He mutters.

***

I’m so nervous for Violet’s challenge I thought as I stand and watch Liam beat the ever-loving shit out of his opponent. It’s a guy from Second Wing, and it takes almost no time for him to get the guy into a headlock, cutting off his air supply.

He’s really good. I cross my arms across my chest. I’m stripped down to the dragon-scale vest that’s starting to feel like a second skin and my fighting leathers. All four of my daggers are sheathed, and if everything goes correctly, I’ll have one more to add to my collection soon.

The Second Wing first-year passes out, and Liam rises victorious as we clap. Then he leans over his opponent and removes the dagger at his side. “Looks like this is mine now. Enjoy your nap.” He pats him on the head, which makes me laugh. Maybe I’m a bad influence to him.

I hear a shout behind me and I turn around.

Wow. Jack Barlowe stands near the wall and two daggers are etched into the wall. One near his ear and the other near his balls.

That must be Violet. So she took Xaden’s advice. I’m…glad.

There’s no ignoring the prickle at my scalp, and I let my gaze shift to see Xaden watching Violet.

My heart does that damn stuttering thing again, as if he’d sent shadows straight through my ribs to squeeze the organ. He lifts his scarred brow, and he walks toward the door, but before he can disappear he looks at me and I swear there’s a hint of a smile on his lips as he leaves.

That’s strange. It’s just me or he sends mixed signals? I thought he liked Violet but maybe he didn’t?

I don’t have much time to ponder on these thoughts.

„Melgren.” Professor Emetterio glances at his notebook and raises one bushy black brow before continuing. “Cardulo.”

Oh man, it will be a good fight. I grin as I step onto the mat opposite Imogen who glares daggers at me.

“You were just lucky last time.” She says as we start circling each other “And I will show everyone that you’re just a weakling.”

“Sweetie, I wasn’t lucky I’m simply that good.” I laugh at her.

She charges at me with raised fists and intends to punch me in the face but I quickly block it with my arms. I swing my right arm to land a hit on her side but she swiftly moves sideways and avoid it.

Hm, she’s not bad either. We exchange several blows, each one is faster than the one before. It’s like a well balanced dance, and we wait to see who will make the first mistake.

And there it is.

She charges at me again but her footwork is a little sloppy. I took advantage of it and kick out her legs.

She falls on the mat and I quickly try to secure her legs while punching wherever I can but she blocks almost every hit.

With a move I can’t see with her leg she reverses our positions and now my back is against the mat.

She lands a blow on my jaw and for a moment I see stars. Shit, she’s strong.

While I try to blink out the darkness she lands another punch at my ribs and grabs my hair to slam my head into the mat.

“I told you that you were lucky.” She mocks me. “You’re actually useless, aren’t you?”

Useless? My world stops for a moment.

You’re useless. You can’t even do the simple things I asked from you. You’re an embarrassment. Do something right for once in your life.

Useless. Useless. Useless.

I’m going under deeper and deeper in my memories.

‘You’re very precious to me’ I hear a voice. That’s… what Liam said at the library in the morning. He’s my friend and he doesn’t think that I’m useless. Then… maybe I’m not?

With these thoughts I’m back in reality and that’s the moment when Imogen hit my nose and I hear the bone breaking.

There’s blood everywhere.

Fuck. She broke my nose. I feel my anger rising.

When she tries to hit me again I grab her arm and I pull it to the side with all my power.

She loses her balance and I push her on the mat. With a swift move I punch her in the face, and I hear a satisfing snapping sound.

Payback bitch. Now her nose is broken too.

We begin to struggle for the upper position, but it’s like our strength is matching.

We use elbows, fists, everything we can to gain an advantage over the other one, while collecting more bruises.

With an opening, I get her into a headlock and I stabilize myself against the mat. I cut off her air supply, now I just need to endure it.

She claws my hand, tosses her body, trying to break my hold on her, but I won’t let it.

“Yield.” I say in a raspy voice.

She starts to struggle with a renewd ferocity but in vain. Slowly she starts to lose strength, slowing down. She almost lost consciousness.

“She yields.” Professor Emetterio says.

I relase her and she starts coughing.

Serves you right bitch. I won.

I stand up and I extend my hand. She looks at me with surprise in her eyes.

“It was a good match.” I say in a hoarse voice.

She accepts my hand and I help her stand up.

I turn to Liam who smiling at me. “You were great Aelin.”

“Yeah, thanks. But I think I will go see a healer, somebody should fix my nose. I don’t want a crooked nose.” I whine.

“Then come, I will escort you there” he laughs outright.

As we made our way to the doors I see Violet and her opponent and that’s when he pukes all over the mat.

Good job, Vi. The poison is working.

***

Next week I win against a second-year man with a rebellion relic who challanged me because the General is my father. What a surprise.

The week after the next I win again, because my opponent was a first-year who almost cried when the Professor paired us up.

The next week I almost lost against a second-year. He was a really strong opponent but got too cocky and his moves became sloppy.

My fifth won dagger is from another first-year. To my surprise I was paired up with Rhiannon. That was a good match, she’s strong and smart. But I’m better than her. It’s a fact. After all I was taught by the General.

It’s my luck that he was still at the front. I’m terrified if I think about the first time when I will have to report him. I can feel that I can’t avoid it much longer.

And August is over.

Come early September I stand next to the mat to wait for my match.

Violet is on the mat and I search for her opponent. What will it be this time? She will be throwing up? She won’t see after a couple of minutes? She will lost her balance?

I’m really intriguied. She always uses different kind of poisons so it’s not that conspicuous.

„Sorry, Violet,” Professor Emetterio says, scratching his short black beard. “You were supposed to challenge Rayma, but she’s been taken to the healers because she can’t seem to walk in a straight line.”

“That’s too bad.” She winces. “But I’m fine without a match” she adds quickly.

The Professor nods then turns to me “And Aelin it seems you’re opponent is Rayma’s boyfriend and probably they shared their breakfast. Now they both at the Healrs Quadrant.”

“What?” I ask with surprise evident on my face. “Then who will be my opponent?”

„I’m happy to step in.” That voice. That tone. That prickle of ice along my scalp…

Oh no. Hell no. No. No. No.

“You sure?” Professor Emetterio asks, glancing over his shoulder.

“Absolutely.”

My stomach hits the floor.

And Xaden walks onto the mat.

Shit. I should’ve said that I’m fine without a match too.

[shalom-iamcominghome]

I have been considering conversion for a while now, but haven’t felt that I’ve had the proper time to commit. One thing that I think is making me wary of beginning is the fact that I worry I will struggle a lot with learning Hebrew (language learning is not my strong suit). Do you feel like being expected to know Hebrew is something that has come up during your conversion process, or is it generally understood that if you’re making an effort, that’s what counts?

So, I want to preface this by saying that it often depends on which shul you attend - it's very common for orthodox shuls to operate in a lot of hebrew, while other movements may incorporate the local vernacular. I can only speak about the conservative movement, so I want to just remind everyone so we all are on the same page.

It's been my experience that I'm not really expected to know hebrew very well, but my community has definitely had a hand in teach me. Our siddurs are transliterated, and it's common in the Diaspora to have siddurs with both hebrew and the vernacular. It might take some getting used to, but you by no means need to be fluent in hebrew to attend services.

Now, I haven't gotten up to read the torah yet for obvious reasons, but even then, it's accepted in my shul to chant in hebrew or read the translation. I think there's an implicit understanding in the Diaspora that people's hebrew comprehension will be different and so people are often not surprised if you don't know hebrew. If anything, they'll really just want to help you (in my experience).

I've found it useful to learn some of the blessings, such as hamotzi (the blessing for bread) and borei pri ha'gafen (the blessing for grape products like juice or wine), but I think people will understand if you don't know the blessings yet. The convenient this is that all blessings will have the same format for the first half, so memorizing them is a bit easier.

My community has heavily encouraged me to learn hebrew, and like I've said, have been very helpful. If you're starting from scratch, it might be a very difficult learning curve, and I think a lot of jews in the Diaspora empathize with that struggle. Essentially: you can technically survive with a little bit of hebrew, but a community is likely to be very willing to help. You don't need to speak hebrew to be a jew (g-d knows how many jews in the Diaspora never got to have the chance to even begin to learn hebrew), but it does help because traditionally, all of this would have been in hebrew.

I think, also, you'll just naturally start to pick up on hebrew whenever you start going to services in a shul that operates in hebrew to any capacity. When I started going to shul, I knew nothing. Now, I don't even need my siddur on me unless they throw a curve ball at us and go, "you know, I feel like singing this more obscure thing this week". You can absolutely amaze yourself with how much you can understand as you practice more and more. Sometimes studying isn't about dedicated, academic focus but about immersion and living in the moment

[tarithenurse]

Inhuman

Fandom: MCU Pairing: Bucky x fem!reader, eventually Loki x fem!reader, Stucky, more (some canon, some not). Word count: 3372. Contents: More calm, visit home, smut. A/N: Any questions are welcome. Please comment and like and reblog. Let me know if you want a tag.

Chapter 37

... Reader’s PoV ...

While you are brushing the teeth, Bucky is talking about growing up with Steve. Apparently, he was a scrawny kid. Righteous, artistic...and had absolutely no idea how to deal with women. Now every woman in the country would want a piece of the art-school drop-out if they could get away with it.

“Back before the war, I tried to hook him up. We’d go on double dates, but even if he was polite and all, he just didn’t really care. I was afraid he’d be all alone when I deployed. Boy was a wrong!”

You don’t know a lot about Steve’s past love life and have no intention of changing that. “And now he’s settling down, sorta. Going to personally invite each and every single in-law.”

Falling backwards into bed, you eventually nestle up, ensuring a clear view as Bucky pulls off his t-shirt the typical way: one hand reaching back over the head, grabbing the shirt between the shoulder blades and yanking it off that way. Emerging once again his hair is a mess with the man-bun more or less falling apart near the forehead.

“So tell me…” brushing the hair out of the eyes before he proceeds undressing. “All this family talk. What about your family? You told me it’s big, but when do you see them?”

“Not often enough. And when I do talk with them…I can’t tell them anything about my life which is tough…” For your inner eye, the faces of your family are smiling at you.

“None of them knows?” Lifting the covers he joins you, lying on his side with one arm around your waist and a hand to keep his head up.

“Well...only my parents know a bit about why I’m over here. Everyone else things I’m a nurse at a posh private clinic. And when I say my parents know…technically what I should say, is that they know I’ve got something to do with the Avengers and the only reason they know that is because Thor came to fetch me once.” And that in itself was almost a disaster…though the garden is amazing now.

“But you keep the truth from them because you don’t want them to worry?” The grey eyes are almost obscured by wrinkly brows.

“Yes and to keep them safe. It’s not a situation I’m happy with though. I miss talking to my sister in particular. We used to talk about everything…” You need a deep breath to steady herself…you haven’t seen them in around a year.

“Tell me about your family, please.”

And you do. You talk about how the family is a hot mess of bonus family members and half-sibling here and there. About the traditions and habits that have been shaped by a wish to see everyone somehow, and how boisterous they get during the gatherings where there are all sorts of heated discussions going on, yet no one gets mad at each other because sometimes they argue just for the sake of thinking clearly and honing the language.

Then Bucky starts asking about what sort of things they discuss and the examples come pouring: history, politics, which book is the best or maybe how a particular bird migrates. Anything really. When he starts to ask about the family history, you divulge as much as you can, describing grandparents and their heritage…and no matter how many times you get sidetracked with random information throughout the quasi-monologue, he gobbles the words up.

Each time, you think that ‘now he must be bored’, Bucky asks something new. He keeps asking until your eyes are closing and his voice seems far away. Only then, does he kiss you softly before turning off the lamp and nuzzling closer.

… …

Ever since Bruce got back to the bunker, everything has been tranquil. The most dangerous thing is Natasha without coffee and thankfully that’s an easy fix. The lull in heroing comes at the opportune moment, as you have gotten an email from her mother reminding her kindly, yet sternly, that you are expected at your aunt’s 60th birthday.

So, you’ve packed, booked flights, and convinced Bucky to give a ride to the nearest airport. He’s not downright miffed that he’s not coming, but he does look like a small puppy left behind when you are giving him the last kiss before going through security.

He’d asked if he should come along to meet the family, but to lessen the surprise a bit, you’ve decided it’s better to first talk with your sister and anyone else who’ll have to know the truth about what work you do before introducing a man who’s been hunted by almost all governments of the world. It’s a logical argument that’s accepted…on the condition that you’ll text him now and then.

You haven’t truly been to an airport since FitzSimmons implanted the babel-chip. Walking around and picking up on snatches of conversation in all sorts of languages is constantly make your brain tick and flood with simulated knowledge making it near impossible to keep a straight line of thought for more than a few minutes at a time.

As opposed to last time, you’ve not opted for the dazzle and exclusivity of neither first class nor a direct route, so there is a layover in Detroit of a few hours before the morning flights start taking off, allowing you to continue on the final leg of the journey. Having made the way through the underground passage where the walls are lit with constantly changing colours and which leads from concourse B and C, you’re browsing the titles in a small shop with magazines and such. They don’t have a lot of books, and those they do have are either aimed at business travellers or you have already read them.

”Regarde-la! Pretending she is someone intelligent by looking at books.”

The nasal stream of condescend is erupting from a woman with way too much makeup and a scary amount of bronzer in her wrinkles. Her comment is not meant for you to hear (much less understand), but for her husband who dutifully is carrying several shopping bags and now accepts the glossed issues of Vogue and Jalouse.

Doing your best to subdue a growing indignation, you sidestep the couple, bringing publications like National Geographic into view. One of them has a tag-line about genetic therapy hoped to help people heal or maybe even regrow limbs, just like some lizards can. Oddly realistic for once. Grabbing it, you get in line behind the woman.

”I promise, she cannot even understand what she reads in that. American girls are too stupid.”

She’s downright glaring at the publication in your hand and the so-called American almost expects it to spontaneously combust due to her apparent hate of it. The woman’s brazen style makes the poor husband cringe, curling his toes in his shoes.

It’s their turn now and it takes her all a long time to find the appropriate amount of money…only to have the coins rejected as she hands over what turns out to be euros and not dollars. A big sticker on the till does state that foreign currency is only accepted if they are bills, but still she argues with the poor cashier in a broken English until she snubs him and leaves it to the husband to deal with it.

Standing face to face with you once more even the heavy makeup is not enough to hide the aggressive blushing which is only enhanced by the inordinate amount of bedazzling she’s wearing. Behind her, the husband is sorted and starts to wander off without her noticing it.

Smiling gently at her, you keep the voice meek and polite, taking care to pronounce each word in perfect French: “Madame. I believe your husband is ready to assist you, so you can leave this dangerously intellectual place.”

As she storms off in a huff, the husband looks back at you with a wink which you return.

… …

The best thing about breakfast at your parents are the habits that somehow have survived since you were a kid. An example is the boiled egg. Not only is your dad sweet enough to boil yours just a big longer, ensuring that the egg white isn’t runny: he draws a face on it. He’d have to mark it somehow to tell it apart from the other eggs, but at your age, getting a decorated egg is still splendid. Enjoying the morning sun, surrounded by flowers and the cacophony of birds, is the only thing that could possibly top it.

“So. How’s…work?” Keeping his eyes on the tea cup, your dad adds milk until it’s right at the brim. His nonchalant question makes your mother’s heart skip a beat.

“It’s been a very busy over the winter so I’ve had to do a lot of over hours on base. A few weeks back things finally started to quiet down again.” For their sake, you have to keep anything specific from them.

Adopting the untroubled demeanour, mother seems compelled to remove as much of the eggshell as she can. “And your…colleagues are being nice to you?”

“Yes. We’re starting to become very good friends and they all take good care of me.” Some in different ways that others. Magically, your hand has found the bauble that’s hanging on its thin chain around your neck.

Your mother is still picking at the small pieces of shell. “Who gave you that necklace?”

Looking up, your father appears to have arrived straight from outer space: he hasn’t noticed any necklace until his wife through 35 years mentions it.

You are fighting to keep the cheeks from betraying her. “A guy who…erm…” Holy cow! I’m an adult, not 13 so this should not make me all giggly and shy to talk about! “Steve introduced us to each other…”

Lowering his voice to nearly a whisper, father leans closer: “Is it that guy with the wings?”

“Your dad and I have tried to read up on…your new workplace, but it’s a bit tricky still to figure out who’s who.”

“It can be really confusing, I admit that. But I think you mean Sam…and no, not him –”

“As long as it’s not the garden-destroyer, then I’m fine.” Feigning disdain, father’s only reward for his comment is a talking to about how every single plant has never flourished like they’ve done since that incident.

…

“So, what does he look like then? Since he makes you do all that.” Mother gestures the all of you.

Flicking through the phone, you find a screenshot of his file from before he was deployed. In full uniform, short hair tucked under the hat, his smile is enough to make any woman’s knees weak. Even if the photograph is in black and white, you know that the dusty, green colour somehow makes his eyes a bit brighter. I should make this my screen saver.

“It’s an old picture, but it gives a pretty good idea.”

“Ooh, I hope he’s as smart and kind as he’s is hot.”

… …

The total duration of the vacation adds up to two weeks, and it’s been two busy weeks trying to see as many people as possible. When the time finally comes for you to go back overseas, you’re sad to say goodbye to everyone but also a bit relieved that you finally get to relax a bit, getting back to the habits.

Flying to New York, this time there is no need for stopovers and ‘someone’ is there to pick you up when you finally do land in the late afternoon. As you wait for the luggage, the phone has taken on a life of its own, buzzing happily in a jeans pocket, until you turn the flight mode back on again.

You know where he is standing even before the doors open to allow you to walk into the arrivals area. A bit away from the crowd, but still nervous by all the people, is a man with one arm and a racing heart. As you are striding towards him, his frown is replaced by a goofy smile and next moment he’s lifted you off the floor to better kiss you.

“Thank you for coming back to me.” Carefully placing you back on the ground, Bucky gives you a squeeze before finally letting lose.

“Always.” Dear puppy.

Insisting on being a gentleman, Bucky carries the luggage as the two of you make your way to his car.

All the way home, he asks about the trip, how the family is doing, and he updates you on what has been going on while you’ve been gone. That turns out to not be a whole lot, apart from him and Sam trying to figure out how to arrange a surprise party for Steve.

When they do get back to your place he sorts the food (also known as: order pizza). Afterwards, he cleans up and tends to your now withered plants while you get to unpack.

“So which one is which?”

Standing by the desk, his specks are holding something, but unfortunately you can’t tell what it is through the floor. To get a view, you lean over the railing.

“Can’t see what you are holding.”

“It’s a photograph with what looks like you and three other women.” Stepping out from under the overhang, he holds it up for you.

It’s a snapshot from a family get-together a few years ago where one of your cousins managed to catch all of you sisters with your heads together, deep in conversation. As least he was kind enough to ask you to smile the second before the flash went off and your smiles are genuine, albeit a bit caught off guard.

“It’s actually age-wise, that one.”

“So you are the baby. Aww!”

You can hear him rummage around, muttering to himself.

“I showed my mom a picture of you.”

The muttering stops and he backs slowly until he’s in view once more. Worry and shyness come together in perfect balance with curiosity and it’s hard not to laugh. Apparently, the man who can face the fiercest battles might be afraid of a mother. Then again, he’s probably not alone on that. I wouldn’t want to mess with my mother.

“I got an old photo on my phone. From your file,” you explain.

Making the screen light up, he sees his own face from long before his world was turned upside down. “That’s the night before I shipped out. I didn’t think that picture came out good.”

“Well my mom was just about ready to enlist when she saw it.”

A deep red colour spreads across his cheeks as he realizes the implications. Blushing like a teen.

“I’m not a teenager.” You hadn’t meant to say it out loud but it must have slipped between her lips. “I’m 100 years old, for Christ’s sake!”

“…but not really though.” Not physically, thank goodness. “You’re from 1917, right?” He nods, as if he was just proved right. “Then you were presumed dead in February of 1945 which would have made you…27. Almost 28 years old.”

“Yes, but -”

“Nuhuh, let me finish.” Swinging the legs over the railing, you sit, waving the feet in the air as you continue. “Then you joined the human popsicle club on and off until like two years ago.”

“Key word being ‘on and off’!” Fists in his sides, he is clinging on to his status as a senior citizen.

“Well then. How many years in total were you running errands for the bad guys? One? Two?” Deflating a bit more, the man beneath her is lacking proper facts but agrees to a guesstimate of a year because, as he proclaims, it sounds less bad. “So a year. And it’s two years ago that you came back to your senses, but half of that time you’ve been on ice. Again. So that’s only one year extra. Which means…you are, physiologically speaking, only 29.”

“It was my birthday in March. Can’t we say I’m 30?”

Pleading eyes are hard to resist. ”30 then, but you are still among the youngest of the Avengers.”

“…”

“Just a kid really…”

“Come down here and say that to my face!”

He’s grinning, right until you spread your arms and kick off from the railing.

Open-mouthed in shock, he reaches up towards you, diverting the weight of the fall by sweeping you sideways just as he catches you. Spinning around his own axis, the momentum sways his upper body close above yours before coming to a stop. It’s warm and strong and safe, making you want to stay in his arms. Looking into his face, there is a shocked determination that’s quickly undermined by something else entirely.

When your lips meet, it’s not gentle but rough and hungry. Lifting you higher, Bucky walks as his mouth moves across your chin, cheeks, and throat before your back hits one of the beams supporting the mezzanine.

Instinctively, you reach up behind you for support as he places you on his thigh, freeing his hands to unbutton the blouse you’re wearing with shaking fingers. The moment it hangs lose from your shoulders, Bucky lifts you a bit higher, thrusting his hips forward to keep you pinned against the hard metal and allowing you to give in to the wish of wrapping your thighs tight around him.

Stretching to kiss your face, his hands work around your waist and breasts as if by their own free will before sliding down towards the pelvis, occupying themselves with the buttons of the jeans. Each time a button pops through a buttonhole, a wave of excitement rushes through Bucky, making his heart beat faster and sending more blood down to his growing erection.

In a swooping movement, he grabs you with one arm to hold you steady as he carries you towards the couch, shedding the shirt completely on the way and expertly unclasping the bra. The next moment, he drops you over the armrest and on to the rough fabric of the couch.

The well-trained man pulls his own shirt off as he, without breaking a stride, follows suit. The edge where his warm skin ends and the metal of his arms begins is not enough to distract from the rest of his sultry body that’s now reaching out towards you. With a firm grip by each hand, he yanks your trousers (including the knickers) off, throwing them on the floor, before finally freeing himself of the last bit of clothing too.

Sitting up to get close to him, your only prize is a firm hand on the chest between the breasts that pushes you, kindly but sternly, back to a lying position. You will not complain because with it comes Bucky. Right knee between your legs, his skin softly grazing yours as he leans forward to kiss a nipple on a breast that he has cupped tenderly in a warm hand.

For a moment, everything is still while his lips part, allowing the tips of his tongue to linger a moment longer, sending goosebumps across your body. Then the calm evaporates before the flame of his lust as he rediscovers each inch of skin, kissing, biting softly and stroking, constantly altering positions so his burning hot cock teases along your inner thighs and cleft before finally being put to good use. Slow at first, making your toes dig into the cushions and your fingers wrap around his wrists.

But as Bucky increases the speed and the depth of each thrust, your back begins to arch and your fingertips bore into the skin of his shoulder blades where each muscle is working to keep him just a few inches above you. His face sometimes disappears out of view to place new smouldering kisses anywhere he can reach until he slides an arm under you, lifting you up as he, on his knees on the couch, pulls your hips hard down again and again not once breaking eye contact until he joins you in a wave of ecstasy. Holding your breath, you see his look grow hazy as he breathes in shakily and deep.