#- it means both titles so far have the word left in them therefore book three must as well

[albatris]

had a dream the title of rental car book two was just KEEP LEFT UNLESS OVERTAKING

(anyway today was moving day!!! so I'm too exhausted to post anything else. I woke up to post this. goodnight again. be good drivers y'all)

[itsbeaconhillsbaby]

octopus hearts || tom holland x reader

a/n: how do my intended blurbs turn out so long! god dammit. this idea popped into my head, so I hope you all like it. as always thank you so much for supporting; liking, reblogging, commenting or messaging me about any of my work. I love interacting with you guys and I plan to try and be more of a presence in general, not just with writing. come chat! hope you’re all well x  word count: 1638 warning: none...I think everything I write is pretty tame summary: it’s about time you and tom extended your little family 

“You do know she’s only young...” “And? What’s your point?” “The point is, you’ve managed to find the biggest toy in this whole place!” Tom turns to you, cradling two sacks of dry food to his chest, muscles straining slightly against his t-shirt. In his free hand was a large fluffy purple octopus - all 8 legs dangling centimetres off the ground. You’re both stood in front of the full aisle of toys, picking out your favourites for your new arrival. “She’ll grow! Plus look at it...she’ll love it.” He holds up the toy until it’s eye level with you, its stitched mouth looking at you almost mockingly. You roll your eyes, smiling at Tom’s pleading face, his bottom lip curling upwards into a pout. “Okay, it is cute. But that’s the last one Tom, we don’t even know if she’ll like them yet.” Tom grinned cheekily, slipping the toy into the growing basket you were holding, planting a sloppy thank you kiss onto your cheek as he did so. You laughed as he fist pumped the air before continuing your way through the aisles. The excitement was building, the whole situation becoming more and more real, as you searched for the necessary items.

//// “No peeking!”

If you could’ve rolled your eyes, you would have. You had been sat in the car for around 15 minutes, with your eyes closed and your hands covering your face.

Tom had finally wrapped his latest film in the US, and you had spent the past three days in-between your classes ‘reuniting’ – neither of you surfacing from your shared bedroom unless you were forced to do so. You had assumed Tom had met up with the boys, gone down to his local or played golf during your class time and were therefore extremely confused as to why he suddenly woke up one morning, bribed you to get dressed and dragged you out of the house, only to beg you to keep your eyes closed as soon as you got into the car.

“I’m not sure I like this surprise Tom, where the hell are we going?”

“We’re almost there, you’re going to love it! I promise.”

You felt the car come to a halt, gravel crunching beneath the tyres.

“Stay here one sec.” You heard Tom’s car door slam shut, and soon enough you felt the cold air as yours opened.

He guided you out of the car, allowing you to use him for balance as you struggled to get your bearings, eyes remaining closed the entire time.

“Okay. You can open them.”

You slowly opened them, blinking confused as you looked at a grey building. you eyed tom from the side, seeing his cheeky grin lighting up his entire face before you turned back to the building. It was then that you noticed the sign.

You were at your local dog rescue shelter.

“Tom…what are we doing here?” You fully turn to face him, eyes widening in both excitement and shock.

“Well we’ve lived together for over a year now and I know we said it wasn’t possible. But with this new film, they’re looking at a franchise and it’s an entirely UK based production, so I’ll be here, and I don’t know – you’re graduating soon, I’ve looked into dog sitters and walkers for during the day. My family can help ou-”

You interrupt him mid-sentence, arms wrapping around his neck and shoulders as you pull him towards you, eyes fluttering closed as you kissed him. Your entire stomach erupted into fluttering butterflies at all the thought behind the surprise, at the idea that Tom was genuinely just as excited about adding to your little family as you were.

You push back suddenly, “This is actually happening right now? You’re not messing me around? Because that would be a mean prank…”

“No,” he grins, laughing. You felt his breath tickle your cheek, “it’s all real. Now c’mon, we’re going to be late for our doggy date.”

He tucks you into his side, arm wrapped around you as you head into the building, your stomach doing somersaults the entire time.

////

Your phone buzzed, lighting up next to your laptop. You were in your university library, researching titles of books you needed for your dissertation when a text from Tom popped up:

eta 10 minutes x

You immediately took note of the last couple books on your list, before closing your laptop and stuffing it into your bag. You grabbed the pile of books you’d already collected into your arms before checking them out at the front desk, heading immediately for the nearest train station.

You made it home in record time.

As you unlocked the front door you could hear the pitter patter of tiny feet on the wooden floor. Placing your bag and books on the entry table, you let your keys fall into the bowl alongside Tom’s.

“Hey baby. In here.”

You peeked around the corner into the living room where Tom was lying stretched out on his side in the centre of the room. Holding his head up with his palm, he held up a soft crinkly toy as your new little ball of golden fluff jumped on her hind legs in her attempts to reach it.

“We’re bonding,” he murmured, lifting his head to look up at you, “come join us.”

The little puppy was all legs and floppy ears as she caught her toy and bounced across the room, tripping over it as she tried to hold it up. She paused as you entered, her head tilting dramatically from left to right, her toy immediately laying discarded as she tumbled towards you.

“Hey puppy! Hi Nala.” You kneel down, letting her sniff you to remind herself of who you were, before she wiggled onto her back, paws in the air as you gave her belly rubs. Her white and golden tail thumping on the wooden floorboards.

“Oh my god Tom, I can’t believe she’s here!” He sits up, grinning from ear to ear. He rolls one of the balls next to him and you both watch as Nala bounces after it, attention immediately grabbed. You shuffle towards him, placing yourself in his lap, “Thank you, thank you, thank you. Did she cope with the journey okay?”

Tom winds his arms around your stomach, “She was a star. She’s great in the car, didn’t even cry.”

You nod as he begins peppering kisses on your collarbone, as you watch your new puppy continue to explore her new home.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to one of the discarded toys, the giant octopus that was taking up a scary amount of room on the floor. You roll your head towards your boyfriend smirking slightly, “I take it she didn’t like it?”

He whines quietly, huffing, “So she might have run away from it, I think it freaked her out…” you laugh, tangling a hand into his hair as you pull him towards you, before you hear a noise that causes you both to dart your heads up in search of the destructive sound.

“Oh, fantastic so she’s hates my choice in toys, and she’s a cockblock,” Tom mutters as you stifle a giggle, immediately hurrying after your little pup.

////

You were laying on the couch, Tom’s chest pressed to your back. Nala had completely passed out, lying half in her crate, and half out of it and you couldn’t take your eyes off of her.

“Well, I think that was relatively successful,” you murmur.

“You would think that, it wasn’t your shoe laces that she chewed up,” Tom murmured from behind you.

You’d both had a tiring day with Nala. Once she got bored of playing with her toys, she immediately decided that running outside with Tom’s shoe and hiding under one of the bushes just out of reach would be far more exciting.

“You can’t get mad at her, look at her little face.” You sigh, officially completely head over heels in love, “I can’t believe someone would just dump her, she’s gorgeous.”

You felt Tom brushing a hand up you side absentmindedly as he nodded, “I know. They think she was bought as a christmas present, and then abandoned a couple weeks later.”

“We’re going to give her so much love. And I can’t wait to introduce her to Tess. You think they’ll be friends?” You grasp the fingers trailing up your arm and bring them closer round you, interlocking yours with his.

“For sure...best of friends.” He says as you snuggle further down against Tom, his arms tightening around you as you both relax against each other.

The pair of you let Nala recharge her batteries, diving into an episode of the latest show you had been watching together when you jump with a small gasp at the startling movement beneath you, as Tom sat himself up.

“Oh my god, look!”

You take a glance at Nala. she’d shifted herself in her sleep so instead of laying on the cushioned dog bed and blankets that were in her crate, she’d shimmied out and lay flat out against the giant octopus. Paws tangled with the soft legs of the toy as her head rested on its fluffy body, her pink tongue lolling to one side.

“Yes!” Tom cheered, Nala’s eyes immediately opening from the noise, “I knew she’d love it! Watch this space, Oscar the octopus is going to be her favourite.” He jumped off the couch and hunkered down next to her.

“Wait…do not tell me you named it?”

You took in the man in front of you, lying on his front playing with the pads of Nala’s paws and felt your cheeks begin to ache slightly from the smile on your face.

“Who’s clever! Yes Nala, clever girl.”

You took in your dorky little family, sliding off the couch to join them. The perfect little family of three. 

[sixteenthshen]

Episode 1 Notes/Meta

Contains minor spoilers up to Youtube's schedule and references to the novel

Since I don’t have any new episodes to watch until Friday, I decided to watch the drama all over again, very closely, to see if there’s anything new to discover.

Zhou Zishu's character: 

Drama immediately sets the backdrop/tells us why his character is kinder, more compassionate than in the novel. We don't know that drama!ZZS is kinder yet at this time, but we can see that he's schemey and sneaky

He wears a mask of indifference as the Window of Heaven's leader (sorry ZZH, I was wrong. I thought your acting was stiff during one scene, but now I know better). It's one of the many subtle faces of ZZS.

Wen Kexing's character:

He must be a highly-skilled martial artist based on how easily he kills two ghosts and that he can spot another skilled martial artist from a distance (beggar Zhou)

He's quite schemey. First, when he orders all his subordinates out to hunt for a man he just killed. Next, when he lets Gu Xiang go to check on the beggar, he's also subtly using her to test that unknown person's martial arts skills.

Why they're soulmates:

WKX understood immediately what "beggar" Zhou was doing (suntanning)

They're both well-matched schemey bastards

Behind the cut, geographical details and some details about the supporting characters. This is a very text-heavy post FYI

In chronological order:

20 years ago, Rong Xuan was killed by the Five Lakes Alliance and the gathered heroes.

Prince Jin is based far away in the North (Hedong 河东), where he holds power. It implies most of the story later takes place closer to the south of China.

Prince Jin ordered the Window of Heaven (TC in short, for Tian Chuang) to assassinate the Military Governor of Zhenwu (Officer Li). The Zhenwu Army is located somewhere around Inner Mongolia today.

Prince Jin falsely claims the Military Governor is a traitor to the country and has him assassinated. Prince Jin harbours treasonous thoughts, and in turn, makes ZZS and TC traitors.

Officer Li recognized Zhou Zishu by sight (calls him Officer Zhou), which means that they must have met previously somehow. He is shocked to know that ZZS is the leader of TC, so TC must be a secret assassin/spy organization (like an ancient CIA)

Zhou Zishu gets a drop of blood on his sword and flicks it off – he does not like blood.

Princess Jing An knows ZZS and first calls him Zhou shixiong (her first instinct is to use a familiar address). She later changes it to Officer Zhou when she realizes what he did.

Princess Jing An quotes, "The flowers blossom in all four seasons, knowing everything in the world", which makes ZZS turn to look at her - he sees the hairpin that his shidi Qin Jiuxiao made for the one he loves. ZZS gets super sad.

This line of poetry refers to the Four Seasons Manor (ZZS's martial arts sect)

ZZS, during his time as a court official, intentionally has a blank mask, so his emo is seen only in his slightly teary eyes.  Removing this mask is also part of the freedom he seeks. Possibly symbolic that he feels freer living behind a physical mask than he does with his face.

Prince Jin ordered ZZS to personally nail the seven nails into Bi Chang Feng (Uncle Bi). It seems somewhat cruel of the Prince. ZZS walks with 2 of his commanders – Duan Pengju and Han Ying.

Uncle Bi calls ZZS Manor Lord (庄主)*. He says he cannot help but suspect the motives of Prince Jin. ZZS shows a slight reaction to this. He knows the motivations of Prince Jin by now. Not only is he a traitor himself, but he dragged all his 81 men down with him.

This is the root cause of ZZS's different personality traits in the drama and novel. I think his character in both the book and drama adaption is similar, but his additional compassion stems from being placed in different circumstances.

Novel!ZZS did terrible things for the right reasons. As a result, he won't feel as guilty and has less reason to be so compassionate.

Drama!ZZS followed the wrong master, and the awful things he did were for treasonous reasons. There's no justification for the lives he took. Because he did worse things, he's better able to "see the light" and understand things in life better. Therefore, kinder.

The motto of the Window of Heaven (as requested by Prince Jin):

The members are to carry out their missions without leaving a trace (shadow without traces)

Once a person enters TC, they're never to leave (entry without exit.)

To know everything and to be everywhere.

When the camera cuts to ZZS's two senior officers, Han Ying shuts his eyes sadly while Duan Pengju has a slight smile on his face 🤨🤨.

Nails of Seven Torments (七窍三秋钉) – seven nails, each to be driven into the seven primary acupoints (for martial arts) in a person's body. After that, a person won't get to see more than three autumns. They would lose their martial arts ability entirely, and their five senses deteriorate over time, preventing the secrets of TC from being leaked. (see #2 of their motto)

ZZS does not like anyone who's not from his sect to call him Manor Lord, as it's a reminder of his failings. He doesn't think he has the right to be called that any longer since he ruined his sect.

Prince Jin calls ZZS by his name directly (Zishu); it implies a certain level of familiarity. However, ZZS hasn't been presented himself in front of Prince Jin in some time, suggesting he has already distanced himself from Prince Jin (and a certain level of disrespect)

From Duan Pengju, we learn that ZZS hadn't taken up his sword much in the past year due to a lingering injury; this time at the Military Governor's residence was the first time he wielded his sword in a while.

DPJ also uses this word again (又) in Chinese to describe ZZS aggravating his injuries again (that isn't in the YT subs), which implies that he has suffered other internal injuries before, not solely from QJX's death. DPJ is subtly suggesting to Prince Jin that ZZS is no longer very fit and not suitable for his role (shows us his ambition).

ZZS's current injury (that Uncle Bi refers to and why he coughed up blood in the snow) came about after Qin Jiuxiao's (shidi) death. He coughed up blood then and fainted.**

ZZS's residence is called Chongming Garden (重明苑), where he has a mural of 82 white flowers and the line of poetry about the Four Seasons Manor. He paints each flower red when one of his original sect members pass away. There's only one white flower left --- himself.  See this link for a more detailed translation.

ZZS scolds a vision of his shidi not to cry. ZZS's assertion that men shouldn't cry comes up several times later. His eyes only get teary after this scene, and not a single tear falls again (still canon for now).

ZZS has an official court position. He's an Imperial Guard with some seniority, and it's likely why the Military Governor calls him Officer Li. (A governor would not call a low ranked Imperial Guard “Officer” 大人 daren)

ZZS has several battle wounds from a blade, but the ones on his back (shoulder blades) look messy. Not sure what they are yet, but I think it could become relevant later.

Prince Jin appears unstable when he talks about everyone leaving him. Yunxing and Beiyuan are both characters from Lord Seventh. Beiyuan is the titular character of that novel. When Prince Jin said, "Beiyuan is gone too", ZZS displays a minute reaction because he knows Beiyuan isn't actually dead.

Prince Jin says ZZS is ruthless, but he's even more so to himself (recurring description).

Here, we see that ZZS knows of DPJ's ambition to take over his job when he says they both get their wishes today. DPJ becomes the new TC leader.

Prince Jin lets ZZS go. As he watches ZZS leave, he recites two lines from a poem, which title roughly translates to "on one's deathbed/imminent death".***

“涓涓江汉流，天窗通冥室。谗邪害公正，浮云翳白日。” Small streams can become large rivers; even a window as small as a skylight can brighten a dark room. Rumours and evil can harm the public good; clouds can block the bright light of the sun.

There's some foreshadowing here. Prince Jin sees ZZS leaving as a threat. It could be that one person leaving TC "standing" may lead to an exodus or that ZZS knows too much to be left alive outside for long. Prince Jin sees himself as the righteous and the sun here. He follows the recital by saying he's only letting ZZS go for now.

ZZS's beggar styling is supposed to juxtapose his strict and neat dress as the leader of TC, including his hair and overall CBAssed-ness of how his clothes hang.

Hanged ghost died super quick. We see an arm covered in a red sleeve strangle him to death. Red sleeve dude seems to be the head of the Ghost Valley (yaaaaa we know who you are)

WKX lies to the masses about the Hanged Ghost and tells them to set forth out of the Ghost Valley. We can see that all of them are scared of him. He has a scheme -- but we don’t know what it is yet.

WKX and ZZS meet (yay!!!) in Yue (modern-day Zhejiang, in the south), far away from Prince Jin. We should note that this is very far away from the North, where Prince Jin and TC hold power.

ZZS would rather be a beggar than the Emperor. The freedom to live and do whatever he chooses is more important to him than riches or power.

WKX understood what ZZS was doing right away (while GX thinks he's a beggar). This is why they're soulmates!

Gu Xiang's cuteness comes off as a little forced here, but upon re-watching, I believe it's because she hasn't been out in the "human world" before. Her mannerisms are all learned from her life in the Ghost Valley. She's also about ten years younger than WKX, so she's supposed to be more energetic.

WKX allows GX to go down partly because he is curious about the beggar, who seems to be very skilled at martial arts. GX is quite a straightforward and innocent person. She's unaware that she's helping to test the beggar's skills for her master.

WKX notices the ZZS's martial arts and stands up right away. This scene is also more important than it seems to be at first. Later in episode 2, it's revealed that he recognized the beggar's particular martial arts as unique to the Four Seasons Manor sect. I think it's the first hint that beggar Zhou may be "Zhou Zishu". (We find out that WKX knows ZZS's real name in episode 6.)

ZZS intentionally hits himself to make himself seem like a poor injured beggar and GX a bully. It shows that ZZS is sneaky – and again, ruthless, even to himself.

* ZZS is not a real lord. He's the sect leader (Manor Lord comes about because his sect's name ends in Manor, and the address "my lord" comes from Manor Lord). ** This is a fictional type of injury, where people in Chinese historical dramas cough up blood when they suffer severe emotional shocks that cause some unexplained internal injury. *** 《临终诗》

[thefanficmonster]

Best Friend’s Brother

Conrad (The Dark Pictures Anthology: Man of Medan) x Reader (Male)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Fluff, Mild Angst

Summary: Having been invited to the boat trip by his best friend Julia, Y/N can’t help but wish he never accepted the invitation because now he has to deal with being stuck on a boat with the boy he’s had a crush on for years with no real way to avoid him.

Requested by @dark-pictures-until-dawn  Hi hun! Thank you so much for your request, sorry to have kept you waiting for so long but here it finally is and I really hope you enjoy the read! (I used he/him pronouns but if you want them changed feel free to let me know!) Love, Vy ❤

I have no idea what I was thinking when I agreed to go on this trip. I don’t know what on God’s green Earth I was thinking but here we are now sitting on a boat, at open water with no land for miles. And I’m sitting here, face to face with him, but I’m completely frozen. Unable to say a single damn thing. Maybe that’s a good thing though, I’d probably embarrass myself if I did say something.

Let me give you a bit of backstory to how I found myself in this situation.

My parents are very close to Julia and Conrad’s family, given that our mothers used to go to high school together and have remained best friends ever since. That’s how I met the two siblings and was quick to grow a friendship with them both. Despite being Julia’s age, I found myself always gravitating towards Conrad but the girl is still my best friend - she’d probably kill me if I let her brother take that title from her. Truth be told, he could never take her title - I could never see Conrad as a best friend.

Not when my feelings towards him are anything but platonic.

No, I did not tell Julia about said feelings and no I don’t plan on telling her either. I’d never hear the end of it if I did tell her about it. She’d chew me up about it, making my romantic interest for her brother the main topic of discussion (read: teasing and mocking). Don’t get me wrong, I love Julia to death and there are never any secrets between us.

Well, there weren’t any until a few years ago when I realized my fondness for the dumbass she calls brother goes beyond just friendship and similarity. That it had more of a romantic nature that I was not prepared to have to deal with. And, in all honesty, I don’t think I’ve dealt with at all even now. I mean, it’s probably obvious thanks to the silence that’s taken over the deck of the boat where I’m currently sitting with Conrad, monitoring Alex and Julia’s dive while Fliss is tending to a seasick Brad downstairs.

“Hey Y/N, want a beer?“ When the comfortable but odd silence is broken, no one would be shocked to find it out it was done so by Conrad. I’m surprised he even managed to stay silent for so long.

“No thanks, I’ll keep the alcohol at bay until tonight when everyone’s onboard.“ It’s not a complete lie, that’s what I like about it.

You see, I’ve never got drunk with Conrad in the vicinity and I don’t wanna risk my drunk ass outing me and my silly and have neither him nor I remember it the next morning. So, to avoid getting carried with the drinking, I won’t be starting now and I’ll make sure to limit myself even tonight to three beers tops. I’m no lightweight but I’m no daredevil either.

“You’re oddly quiet.“ Conrad says when he returns with a beer in his hand, the glass bottle stained with droplets, suggesting he’s just taken it out of one of the coolers we brought. He presses the bottle to the side of his neck where he got a sunburn yesterday, some droplets trickling down his skin. He doesn’t seem to mind it as he keeps his focused gaze on me, a mildly concerned frown upon his face as he studies my expression, “Something wrong? You know you can tell me anything. That’s what best friends are for, after all.“ He smirks, putting extra emphasis on the word ‘best‘.

I laugh but I cringe inwardly. Something about calling him ‘best friend’ feels so unnatural and odd and out-of-place I can’t even describe it. I know it may sound ridiculous but if you’ve ever had a crush there’s a high chance that you can relate. “Don’t worry, if it were worth mentioning, I’d tell you.“ I blow off his concerns, using his own method against him.

He’s known to do that - sweep all his troubles under the rug and stand atop it to make sure they don’t try to escape and resurface while he’s keeping his bright smile on his face, avoiding showing any other expression. I’m no fool and neither is no one around him, at least the ones who know him well and are close to him. Us who he considers friends know that it’s not all smiles and sunshine in his life either.

Wish I could pull that rug from under him and see what’s really going on with him but not even Julia is allowed to do so, let alone me.

Thankfully though, before things could get any more awkward, Julia and Alex resurface with some rather exciting news - they went in as boyfriend and girlfriend and came back as an engaged couple.

And just like that, all thoughts surrounding Conrad were thrown out of my head. Ok, maybe not completely, but they were suppressed into some dark corner of my brain.

                                                              *  *  *

“You’ve got Connie worried.“ I yelp when my best friend plops her ass down next to me on the deck, her second bottle of beer half empty by now while I’m still nursing my first as though I’m trying to save more beers for the rest of the people on board.  We already have plenty of beers in stock but even if we didn’t, considering the sickness he had to endure earlier, Brad isn’t drinking, leaving his share at our disposal. Therefore, Jules is quick to catch onto my slow drinking.

I tilt my bottle in her direction, “I want to avoid getting sick like Brad did, thank you very much. The last thing I’m looking forward to is kneeling by the edge of the boat, puking my guts out.“

Julia laughs, clinking her bottle against mine before taking a swig. I take one too, hoping it fuels my courage at least a tiny bit to try and lead this conversation properly, “Nah, that’s not what he meant - although, I doubt Brad’s sickness was an alcohol issue.” She shakes her head, pushing aside a few blond locks to be able to look at me better. That’s when I feel like her gaze is piercing into my soul and I wish I knew how to shield myself from that. There’s a big issue with having your crush’s sister be your best friend, especially when she has a sixth sense for when there’s something off with me. “But you have been avoiding him, don’t deny it.” My eyes widen against my will and my mouth falls open as I try to defend myself and deflect her argument, but she raises a finger to signal me to keep my thoughts to myself while she’s talking. “Did he say something inappropriate while we were gone? Just tell me, I’ll end him!”

“Relax, Jules, Conrad would never do such a thing. Especially not with someone he cares about.“ Alex interferes - God bless his soul - and takes a seat next to Julia, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“I’ve known Connie for as long as I’ve known you, J. You should know by now that, even at the odd chance he does say something inappropriate, I have a reply ready at all times.“ I shoot her a wink in an attempt to wipe away the concerned expression on her face.

Alex contributes, “See? Nothing to worry about. Now let Y/N enjoy his beer and you enjoy yours.”

I shoot Alex a grateful smile over behind Julia’s back, subtly tilting my bottle towards him - a gesture he understands perfectly and does so in return. However, his fiancée refuses to give up the argument.

“No, no, no. There is definitely something to worry about and I’ll get it out of him if it’s the last thing I ever do.“ She narrows her eyes at me, forcing me to instinctively back away as if that’s gonna help me at all. Then, this woman pulls a 180 on me, going from an angry detective to a disappointed and betrayed friend, “Damn it, Y/N! I always tell you everything and you are just a closed book! How is that fair?!“

It may or may not be a tactic but she’s got a point - I rarely tell her things. I’m the listener of the duo and she’s the talker: she shares, I absorb the info; she’s upset, I listen and comfort her accordingly; she has something troubling her, I’m the one she shares it with. It’s rarely ever the other way around. And I can see why it bothers her.

What’s a little truth to pay her back for all the ones she’s told me? Well, the problem is that this particular truth is far from little and it would be the equivalent of descending into my own grave willingly.

It could also help you, you know? 

Yeah, sure it can. Sure it can....

“Ok fine!“ I cut her off because this woman can never run out of words to use against me when she wants to.

Her fiancée is quick to give me a sympathizing look, “No, Y/N, you don’t have to...”

“No, it’s ok, Alex. I owe her this much...“ I sigh, looking at the doorway leading to the lower level of the boat where Conrad went a while ago and doesn’t seem like he’s in a hurry to return, much to my relief. I sigh, succumbing to the inevitable, “Jules, I’m only gonna say this once and no, I won’t elaborate but I need you to promise me you won’t freak the hell out. Got it?“

The blond girl rolls her eyes, “Come on Y/N, are we in middle school or something?”

Oh she’s so not ready to hear this...

“Fine, then I bet you won’t be bothered by my crush on your brother at all.“ I huff out before I can rethink the words I’d use or how I’d phrase the sentence. It just left my body as though it has been waiting to do so for a while no. That wouldn’t surprise me though, it’s been one heavy weight to carry around.

There’s a long moment of silence. Alex and I both gaze at Julia who is pulling off the most impressive poker face I’ve ever seen but I have no time to dwell on that considering I’m too busy keeping my stomach from turning completely and forcing me to throw up the small amount of food I’ve eaten and the beer I’ve had to drink. When Julia opens her mouth to talk, I raise the bottle to my lips to shut myself up and calm myself down. “The only thing that bothers me is the fact you didn’t tell me sooner.“

To say I’m flabbergasted would be an understatement. I’ve seen Julia freak out over smaller things but she’s calm about this?! I’m impressed. But then again, I shouldn’t speak too soon - this might just be the calm before the storm.

“If I knew you’d be this chill about it I wouldn’t have waited so long.“ I admit sheepishly, fidgeting with my hands now that I’ve put the bottle aside. “It’s unlike you to be this calm about something....like this.“ I cannot find the right words to describe ‘this‘ but I know she gets me and that’s a relief.

“I’m a drama queen when I wanna be and a strategic player when I have to be, Y/N, how come you don’t know that?“ She smirks at me, all self-assured and whatnot. Wish I had at least a fragment of her self-esteem. “Speaking of strategic, leave it all to me. The two of you will be together in no time.“ She nudges me in the ribs with her elbow, giving me a wink that makes my blood run cold, my eyes opening wide as plates.

“No way, J! No fucking way.“ I feverously shake my head, the idea itself making me feel so terrified and unsure like I’ve never felt before. “You won’t do anything just like I won’t do anything. He doesn’t see me that way and that’s that, no room for negotiating.“

She scoffs, “Oh please. Have you known him all his life? Have you seen him through every darn moment of his life - from being a pathetic loser in middle school to the playboy in high school? No you haven’t. Well, I have and I can say with all the certainty within me that the way he looks at you is a dead giveaway of how he feels for you. He’s had many romantic partners, and I’ve never once seen him look at them the way he looks at you, Y/N.”

I narrow my eyes at her, “You do realize you’re contradicting your own point here - he’s never looked at me the way he looks at his romantic partners means he’s never seen me as a romantic partner!”

Julia shakes her head, “Goddammit, Y/N, you’re really trying to explain my brother to me? I’m telling you, the look he gives you is a lot more meaningful, a lot more special, unlike any look he’s ever given anyone.” The girl scans my face, looking for something I’m not sure she’ll find. “He adores you, Y/N. Perhaps even more than you.”

The words have no time to sink in an be processed by my spasming brain when I hear a familiar voice come from my right, “Wait, what?! What did I miss?”

If Conrad doesn’t have the best timing ever, I don’t know who does...

“Oh dear brother, we’ve been missing out on A LOT.“ Julia says, using every bit of insinuation she can to get me on-edge.

Conrad’s confused gaze darts between the three of us: Alex, who’s still in the processing phase, Julia who’s smiling widely and me who’s downright terrified. I now wish I had another beer bottle handy. It’d keep me occupied if nothing else.

Suddenly, the engaged couple arise from their seats and begin walking away - not without Julia flashing Conrad and I a big grin that says ‘Have fun, you two!’ as though she doesn’t know how much I’m sweating right now.

Conrad however doesn’t seem to notice the teasing undertones as he takes the seat opposite me, tightly holding onto his beer bottle when his gaze meets mine. There’s a smirk on his face but I don’t see even a trace of it in his eyes, leading me to believe it’s ingenuine and forced which is something I never thought I’d see on Connie’s face - a fake smile. It’s almost disturbing to witness.

“Well, well, well, has our boy scout found himself a significant other? Sorry if I’m far from the mark, I’m just shooting in the dark here. I didn’t get to hear much so I might be really inaccurate.“

I shake my head, “No, no, you’re pretty close actually.“ I was prepared to deny it to my grave but here I am confessing like a fool, “It’s a potential significant other. To be fair, there’s no potential whatsoever but a boy can dream.“

He quirks up a curious brow, “Why’d you be so sure?”

Well fuck, I didn’t think it that far through.

I attempt to play it off cool, shrugging my shoulder nonchalantly, “I’m not his type at all. I just know he doesn’t see me the way I see him. Hell, I’m not even sure he’s into guys and even....“

Conrad doesn’t let me finish though, shutting my up with his lips pressed against mine. I can’t recall when he closed the distance between us, I can’t even remember seeing him get up from his spot on the bench. Were my eyes closed? I have no clue, all I know is that they’re shut now and I’m afraid that this will all turn out to be a dream if I open them.

Therefore, I keep them shut even after we pull away, our faces still remaining inches away from one another.

“You still think he doesn’t like guys?“ The cocky fucker asks in a mumble, chuckling slightly.

I should probably feel timid, embarrassed or nervous or anything else that would fit well in this situation but all I feel is relief and all I can do is tilt my head back and laugh my heart out at the one thought that pops into my head:

I may have been the last person to know I had a crush on Conrad

Connie doesn’t allow me to spiral any further. He instead takes a gentle hold of the back of my neck, bringing me in for another kiss.

Man, is our story a cliché though - the story of how a dumbass (me) fell in love with his best friend’s brother.

[whateverafterhigh]

Worldbuilding: The Kingdom of Goodfallow

I’m going to come out-right and say it, I don’t like the fact that the Kingdom Raven comes from/lives in is called Queen Kingdom. It makes sense, both in terms of what the in-verse society seems to value more in a character fairytale-wise (Snow White), and in terms of the Evil Queen being more important to the narrative story-wise (EAH) than the Good King. But at the same time it makes no sense.

I’m not even going to nit-pick at it being called a Kingdom when it being named after the Evil Queen implies it’s a Queendom. Queen Queendom would be a stupid name for a country, and it’s not even the only one to be called a Kingdom when the Queen is the one clearly in charge.

But I have other reasons with disliking it. Such as the outright lunacy that is having your primary sovereign be someone who signed a binding magical contract at the age of fifteen to get arrested or die before having kids. Or how the original Snow White story has the Evil Queen marrying into the family, suggesting a patrilineal succession (or at least Good King to future Good King).

So the Good King is the one left running the Kingdom after his wife is arrested and he was probably running the Kingdom before he married the Evil Queen. That makes the Kingdom Raven calls home The Good King’s Kingdom. And no. I’m not going to call it King Kingdom because that’s stupid.

I’m putting the rest under a line-break.

So we’ve established that the ruler of this Kingdom is The Good King, and now the Kingdom needs a name. Unfortunately, the same kind of lazy kingdom naming that most of the other kingdoms in the series get won’t work here. But that doesn’t mean that there isn’t an in-verse naming formula that can’t be used: puns and wordplay.

Originally, I was just going to call the Kingdom Goodfellow, which is obviously the words ‘good’ and ‘fellow’ put together. But then I spelt it wrong, leading to Goodfallow, and I wondered “what is a fallow?”

Fallow can be used to refer to different things, but the two that I’m choosing to focus on here are: the breed of deer that’s called a fallow deer, and the shade of yellow. Because now the kingdom has two things, a national animal and a national colour.

Well, three things. It also has a name.

This might not seem important, especially having a national colour for a kingdom when the characters all seem to have their own colour schemes (Raven and the Evil Queen wearing purple, silvers, and blacks, and The Good King wearing red and gold the one time he’s talked about that I can recall). But having a national symbol in mind for a kingdom is useful if I ever need to describe that kingdom’s seal or the colours on their flag.

So the Kingdom’s called Goodfallow, it has a couple of national symbols that can be linked back to the name, does this mean that the other characters in any fanfiction I write using this now call it Goodfallow also?

No. Where’s the fun in that?

After all, it is still canon-typical that most of the character’s would call the kingdom Queen Kingdom. For example, in the books the reader’s first look at Apple White has her calling some of the dwarfs working for her Pouty and Sloppy when their names are actually Frank and Phil, and even laughs and calls one of them silly when they try to correct her. Because the dwarfs having names like Frank and Phil don’t fit into her own personal ideal of what her fairytale and happily ever after are going to look like, and Raven coming from a kingdom called Goodfallow rather than one called Queen Kingdom also won’t fit into what she wants the narrative to be.

Of course, Apple White isn’t the only character in Ever After High. She does, however, share the same goals and ideals as Headmaster Grimm and as the Headmaster of the school he might even have some power over the course content in the Geografairy class that appears to be a compulsory subject.

The question is now whether or not Raven tries to fight it.

On one hand, she could. She’s the senior authority at Ever After High when it comes to the name of her own country, and insisting it is called something else is going to be massively disrespectful given she’s the Princess and presumed heir. You know that her friends are going to support her, and some of the other characters that aren’t necessarily Rebels but are respectful will too. While anyone still trying to save the sinking ship will look like an asshole and a very rude one at that.

On the other hand, there could be a reason for the misunderstanding and a reason for Raven to keep everyone else ignorant. The royal family in Goodfallow might want it that way.

Think about it, the Good King married someone who, at least as far as he’s concerned, signed a magically binding contract to be evil. Whatever his motives for doing this (and I have ideas on that of my own), there would have been some kind of acknowledgement that doing so could lead to the kingdom going to war. Marrying a main character could well be an acceptable in-verse reason for changing the name of the Kingdom, and changing the name of the Kingdom could well mean the need to reprint “updated” maps.

Presumably, these maps would have up-to-date information in regard to main roads used for trade routes, or have a particular note on which towns and cities are fortified and which aren’t, or mark areas where the geography of the landscape would be marshy and therefore a poor choice of battleground.

If Raven has little reason to believe that the future Rulers of the kingdoms that neighbour hers are going to accept her as her father’s successor, which is reasonable considering the push back against Raven being good. Then she’s not going to want to give up the military advantage she has when it comes to the defense of her boarders.

Especially, not when the biggest person pushing against her is her own niece, who due to a) brief in-verse implications about the Evil Queen marrying Queen White’s father means Queen White would have a biological claim - though generally speaking marrying into another royal family means abdicating titles held in one’s own home kingdom, and b) the original Snow White story has the Good King dying before the story takes place and the Evil Queen dying at Snow’s wedding to the Prince - presumably leaving the two of them in control of that kingdom as well as the kingdom that the Prince came from if he had a claim to the throne himself.

If White Kingdom does boarder Goodfallow the political drama Apple attempting to force Raven into being Evil would hold (and given the Storybook of Legends show Raven as being homeless after being banished by Apple) is a story in itself.

[lariskapargitay]

Brienne of Tarth is Lightbringer

Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow and Stannis Baratheon.

All three are grey heroes in the series, one of which is the most popular character in the book and especially the show. All three are legendary figures from their respected Houses- the one true king who should have been Lord of Stormsend, the secret prince born of ice and fire, and then there is the Mother of Dragons, Mysha, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and the last (so far as we know) Dragon.

All three have been, supposedly, chosen by the Lord of Light, and all three are the leading choices for Azor Ahai with their individual weapons (dragons, a valyrian steel sword and a burning sword) acting as the legendary weapon Lightbringer.

It makes sense; the great leaders who’ve been prophesied to end the long night. One even has DRAGONS, it would be absolute folly to imagine anyone else’s from three big huge players, one of whom the series is named for whose story is so heavily linked to the Others, to act as Azor Ahai or the weapon prophesied to end the Long Night; Lightbringer.

This post isn’t to dissuade those three or others from being AA or LB, but rather to put forth a new candidate to act as the legendary metaphorical ‘sword’. Someone who was a supporting player for the second and third books, ignored in the show, and for some reason people consider boring when she finally gets a chance to shine in her own POV.

Brienne of Tarth.

The ugly girl who wants to be a knight, a noblewoman whose house isn’t a great one, who has blood ties to both the Targaryen and Baratheon dynasty and who were kings and queens in their own right once upon a time. Not much is known about House Tarth apart from their sigil, rose and azure quartered with yellow suns and white crescent moons, the name of their keep Evenfall. Their descendants were not always called ‘Tarth’ though, their family name was once ‘Evenstar’, which has been passed down to be the official title of the Lord of Tarth.

Their House seems to have a fond appreciation for the sky and all that comes from it, including naming the small little island off Tarth ‘Morne’ to stand for morning, with only House Dayne as a challenger in regards to their love and admiration for the celestial. All that to say; House Tarth values light, in all its natural forms. The sun, the moon, the stars, the morning dawn… Their sigil and title literally brings light *looks directly at the camera like I’m in the office*, and it is one of only sigils where no matter what; it cannot be killed. No matter if the Dead or Living wins the war, the sun and moon and the evenstar will rise day after day until the end of eternity. Dragons and krakens and crows and stags and direwolves and lions can be killed, but the lights in the sky can never be.

The title of Evenstar itself also has connections to Lightbringer. Lucifer means ‘Lightbringer’ and it is the Latin name for the planet Venus. Venus used to be called ‘Evenstar’, and Evenstar is, as covered above, the title of the Lord of Tarth. With Faegon attacking Tarth, it is safe to presume that Selwyn, her father, is dead and Brienne is now the Lady of Tarth making HER the Evenstar which literally, not metaphorically, makes her, Lightbringer (which is something no other contender can claim.)

Another language fact is Tarth means smoke or fog in the Welsh language. “Born amidst salt and smoke,” is a large part of the prophecy of AA & LB and Brienne, being born on an island that means smoke in the middle of a salt sea…

ACOK Davos I

“To oppose it, the hero must have a hero's blade, oh, like none that had ever been.”

AFFC Brienne I

>When she was small, her nurse filled her ears with tales of valor, regaling her with noble exploits of Ser Galladon of Morne, Florian the Fool, Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and other champions. Each man bore a famous sword, and surely Oathkeeper belonged in their company, even if she herself did not.

Brienne often thinks of Oathkeeper as a ‘magic sword’, and here she not only calls it a heroes sword, but she is humble enough not to consider herself amongst them. The sword is worthy of being a part of something great but not Brienne herself. And right after she refuses to call herself a hero, she kneels, blade in hand, and says a prayer to the Crone whose known to bring light *once again looks at the camera like I’m in the office* to help guide people who would ask for it.

>**AFFC Brienne I**

>Kneeling between the bed and wall, she held the blade and said a silent prayer to the Crone, whose golden lamp showed men the way through life. Lead me, she prayed, **LIGHT THE WAY BEFORE ME**, show me the path that leads to Sansa.

Now, onto a huge moment for Brienne, where a large bulk of this theory comes from. The dream Jaime has, the prophetic Weirwood dream where most of his prophecies have come true.

>**ACOK Davos I**

>“In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword.

>**ASOS Jaime VI**

>Brienne’s sword took flame as well, burning silvery blue. The darkness retreated a little more.

>Brienne moved her longsword back and forth, watching the silvery flames shift and shimmer.

>Then his sword went dark, and only Brienne’s burned, as the ghosts came rushing in.

Lightbringer is, in its most basic form, a burning sword. Brienne, Stannis, Thoros, Beric, Jon and Jaime are the only ones to use a burning sword. Stannis sword is proven to be a fake, Thoros uses tricks to get his sword to light on fire, and Beric had a legitimate magical burning sword but he gave up his life for Lady Stoneheart. That leaves Jon in his dream then Jaime and Brienne in Jaime’s dream.

Again, this essay is not to dissuade the other candidates, but I personally do not believe that GRRM is the type of writer to let the secret dragon prince, the just leader, the Aragorn of Westeros get the big prophecy fight in the end. Aragorn wasn’t the one to destroy the ring, it was the unsuspecting big footed hobbit who saved the day. In any case Brienne DOES carry a flaming sword she uses to fight the dead, and she is the ONLY LIGHT left in Jaime’s world and the world itself. And yes, Jon does carry a red flaming sword in his dream whereas Brienne carries a silvery blue flaming sword in Jaime’s dream, but Oathkeeper, her sword, is red and black. It’s spell forged, it’s magic, **IT COMES ALIVE IN THE SIGHT OF FIRE**.

>**ACOK Davos I**

>And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes.”

>**AFFC Brienne VIII**

>In the light from the firepit the red and black ripples in the blade almost seemed to move.

Let’s move on to another significant moment in Jaime’s dream is when a naked beautiful Brienne touches him.

>**ADWD Jon III**

>Therefore after Lightbringer was never cold to the touch, but warm as Nissa Nissa had been warm.

>**ASOS Jaime VI**

>She put a hand on his shoulder and he shuddered at the sudden touch. She’s warm.

Brienne is warm in his dream just as Lightbringer the sword is warm, she carries a flaming sword, she brings light, she’s the only light in the world… The dream can be interpreted in a few ways, mostly done to either prove or disprove an eventual romance between Jaime and Brienne, (I 10000% proves it does along with all the other evidence but that’s another 2000 word essay for another time.) But I believes it also offered a substantial amount of proof to my theory that Brienne is in fact Lightbringer. Melisandre even says the Lord of Light created the sun and moon and stars to assist them in ‘keeping the night at bay.’ .

>**ADWD Jon III**

>The Lord of Light made the sun and moon and stars to light our way, and gave us fire to keep the night at bay.”

Once again; let me bring back the Tarth fascination with the celestial

>**AFFC Brienne II**

>The arms of Tarth were quartered rose and azure, and bore a yellow sun and crescent moon.

>**ASOS Jaime IV**

>“I am Brienne of Tarth, daughter to Lord Selwyn the Evenstar, and sworn to House Stark even as you are.”

Brienne is the sun and moon, she is the brightest star in the sky. Yes there was a magic comet that fell for the birth of dragons but it lasted only for a while then died off. The Evenstar will always stay in the sky, as well as the sun and moon. They will always bring light.

Now, branching off into LOTR territory for a moment, Brienne is given the exact same introduction as Eowyn was when she killed the Witch-King, as ‘no man’ could kill him

>**The Return of the King, book 5, ch. 6 "The Battle of the Pelennor Fields"**

>“But no living man am I! You look upon a woman. Éowyn I am, Éomund’s daughter!”

>**ACOK Catelyn II**

>“He is no man, My Lady. That’s Brienne of Tarth, daughter to Lord Selwyn the Evenstar.”

Don’t you think there’s just the tiniest bit of coincidence that GRRM introduces Brienne using a VERY similar quote to another blonde shieldmaiden who is confused for a man right before she helps destroy the leader of a great and terrible undead army and helps save the day?

Now, all this isn’t to say she’s an absolute shoe in for Lightbringer. That’s not to say it won’t be the obvious choice and Jon and Dany or Stannis save the day and they get to rule Westeros for 100 years and they get to be the ones who tell the Hobbits they bow to no man. But what I am saying is Brienne is just as much in the running to be Lightbringer as them. And just how bards can slay dragons, and Hobbits can destroy rings; an ugly girl who wants to be a knight can most definitely be a Lightbringer.

[motorcyclegirlfriends]

Hey! I read that Supergirl and Batwoman have been facing low ratings and are at risk of getting cut this season or the next (if they make it that far). The CW is saying it's not but of course they would; Old Yeller wasn't necessarily told he was going to meet his end, right? Any thoughts?? Hopefully information to counter this? Thanks in advance, 💕.

Hi! So this answer’s a little late to quell your immediate fears, as Supergirl and Batwoman have both been renewed for the 2020-2021 season. But, this question pops up every season and will pop up again (you’re ahead of the curve—afraid in advance for season 7! 😆) so I figured now’s a good time to address this.

First, we’ll take a look at the shows’ ratings and how they compare to other CW shows, then we’ll take a look at the sources of these cancellation “concerns.”

Supergirl is averaging 1.006 million viewers so far this season, which is less than the 1.207 million average from last year, which is less than the 1.835 of season 3 and so on and so on. Each year the ratings go down!

Look at that! Absolutely terrifying. 

Except it’s completely ordinary:

Every show declines over time. Supergirl’s Season 1 to season 2 decline was much steeper than average, but that’s because they moved from CBS (averaging 9.0 million viewers) to the CW (averaging 1.3 million viewers).

What matters for our purposes is where they stand amongst the other shows on the network at the time. And, well, these are the (Fall) 2019 to (Spring) 2020 season ratings across all CW shows:

Batwoman and Supergirl are amongst the top 4 CW shows—top 3 if we’re only counting shows that need to be considered for renewal. 

So then why do stories like these exist?

Well, let’s take a closer look at these sources using three methods: 1. In-Text Examination, 2. Track Record- External Sources, and 3. Track Record - Internal History.

(In this breakdown, we’re looking for Bias. For a similar breakdown on stories spouting speculation as fact for clicks, look here. In both cases, we’re keeping an eye on the motivation behind the articles.)

We Got This Covered: In-Text Examination

This step is about reading the lines and then reading between the lines. This is the first paragraph of Batwoman Could Be Cancelled Due To Low Ratings:

Batwoman has gotten off to a pretty rough start. Even before the premiere, the show seemed to be in trouble. Whether it was the titular star alienating a large segment of the potential audience or poor reviews on Rotten Tomatoes, it looked like The CW’s next big project was facing a tough uphill battle.

Speaking of things getting off to a pretty rough start! They’re just providing context and we already know a lot about how they see the world, what their goals may be, and if we should trust them.

The “alienating a large segment of the potential audience” bit links to an article by the same person titled “Ruby Rose Says Old White Men Probably Won’t Like Batwoman.” It criticizes this comment:

“Some people will love the show, some people might be surprised and find that they really enjoy it, and some people might not see themselves on the screen and therefore not see the point. But there’s obviously plenty of shows for people like that. There’s plenty of shows for white old men.”

A quick google search re: “poor reviews on Rotten Tomatoes” confirms what I expected: Batwoman was “review-bombed,” a term which means a ton of people left negative reviews to send a message or hurt the product’s popularity.

The interpretation of these events and inclusion of them as Relevant lets us know that the writer of this article things Batwoman should have poor ratings, and that tells us we should double check their read of the ratings data.

Bounding Into Comics: Track Record- External Sources

A google search for this site + Bias pings the site Media Bias/Fact Check, which does a lot of our work for us! They’ve already assessed the accuracy of the reporting and the interpretive slant of Bounding Into Comics, along with many other news/media sources.

RIGHT BIAS: These media sources are moderately to strongly biased toward conservative causes through story selection and/or political affiliation. They may utilize strong loaded words (wording that attempts to influence an audience by using appeal to emotion or stereotypes), publish misleading reports and omit reporting of information that may damage conservative causes. Some sources in this category may be untrustworthy.

This is a solid description of what we should look for in our own assessments!

Cosmic Book News: Track Record - Internal History

I like to look at the other stories on the site and the other stories from the author to see if they’ve been wrong before or if they have a clear Motive.

Some stories from Matt McGloin of Cosmic Book News: 

Batwoman Ratings Collapse With “Queer” Episode, Diversity Destroying Black Panther: Chadwick Boseman ‘Unhappy,’ Diversity Destroying Doctor Strange 2 (Rumor), Diversity is Destroying The MCU, Marvel Cancels Ant-Man 3 Because of Diversity, Captain Marvel Petition Demands Removal of Brie Larson, Now Batwoman Ruby Rose Doesn’t Like White Dudes, Terminator: Dark Fate Box Office Tanks With Diversity Push

According to this article at Geek Buzz, “Certain fan sites are engaging in a subtle form of trolling by pushing the narrative that DC’s female-fronted shows aren’t as popular as others on the network.”

The source of this quote is… an unknown tv writer named Craig, but I agree! There’s a clear motive here. 

There are always articles like this, it’s up to us to verify what we can and try not to further spread rumors that were created for the purpose of tarnishing the media we love.

[silver-lily-louise]

My Darling, Believe Me (For Me, there is No-One but You)

- A Shadowhunters fanfic

Summary: ‘Ah, my beautiful Alexander. The brightest star in all my skies, the only angel I’ve ever known to walk the earth... The love of my life.’  Magnus gets a lil’ tipsy, and thinks it very important that Alec knows how special he is. (Title is from Aretha Franklin’s ‘I Say a Little Prayer’.)

Read it on AO3, or below!

~oOo~

In the three-and-a-bit years they’ve been together, Alec can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Magnus visibly tipsy. Warlocks are, apparently, natural heavyweights in that department, and Magnus enjoys alcohol regularly enough that his own tolerance is even higher.

But tonight is a special occasion. They had decided to host a party to celebrate their anniversary, mostly as an excuse to see some of the friends and loved ones they’ve been a little out of touch with ever since the move to Alicante. And after a trying week – some sort of magical disturbance in the Seelie realm had caused a mild knock-on effect on all local magics, and therefore a not-so-mild headache for the local High Warlock – Magnus had waited until all the guests were comfortable, and then swept Dot, Meliorn, Maryse, Isabelle and Maia onto the balcony with him. ‘Alexander,’ he called, ‘would you hold the fort for a while? We’ll be back once we’re all a little less sober.’ Isabelle whooped, and Dot blew Alec a kiss as they all disappeared outside.

The party is over now, the guests either travelling home or retired to the spare bedrooms. Although Alec has seen his husband throughout the evening, it’s on the balcony again that he finds him – enjoying the view, or possibly letting the night air cool the alcohol in his blood. Alec suspects it’s a combination of both.

The door swings shut behind him, and Magnus looks around at the quiet click, his face lighting up as Alec wanders over to join him. ‘Ah, my beautiful Alexander. The brightest star in all my skies, the only angel I’ve ever known to walk the earth.’ He steps forward, looping his arms around Alec’s neck. ‘The love of my life.’ Alec rolls his eyes, but he smiles fondly, his hands coming up to rest on Magnus’ hips. ‘Okay, come on. Let’s get some water in you, and then go to bed.’ But Magnus doesn’t put up the expected protest that he’s fine, he doesn’t need any help handling his drink, thank you very much. Nor does he raise an eyebrow suggestively, and remark on Alec’s eagerness to take him to bed. Instead, his brow furrows, and he looks… sad, Alec realises with concern. ‘You don’t believe me,’ he murmurs. Alec stares, confused. ‘What? Of course I believe you. I love you too -’ ‘No, no,’ Magnus says, shaking his head. ‘You know that, I know you know that, I tell you every day – but it’s more than that. You,’ he says, tapping the tip of Alec’s nose for emphasis, ‘are the love of my life.’ He pouts a little, a surprisingly childish expression for someone centuries old. ‘I believe you, when you tell me that. Why won’t you believe me?’

And maybe Alec doesn’t have to handle a tipsy Magnus often, but he knows his husband, and so he knows that platitudes won’t get them anywhere. Instead, he gives a gentle smile. ‘Magnus, we’ve talked about this. Nephilim love once. You’re the only person I’m ever going to feel this way about.’ He moves his hand up to the small of Magnus’ back, rubbing small, reassuring circles. ‘But you’re a warlock, Magnus. You’re immortal. I don’t expect the same of you, and I promise, it doesn’t change anything.’ It had taken him a while, but he had eventually made his peace with Magnus’ box of memories, and the future it represented. It’s hard, knowing that one day, Magnus will love someone else – but the alternative would be a potential eternity of loneliness, and Alec would hardly wish that on anyone, let alone Magnus. ‘We have now. We have this lifetime,’ he says. ‘I don’t care what happens after that, as long as you’re happy.’

But the frown on Magnus’ face only deepens. ‘No, I… I need you to understand,’ he implores, leaning forwards. ‘You need to understand. When you made that deal with my father, when you left me so that he’d return my magic – I didn’t just mourn. I went to Brother Zachariah. I begged him to – to just take it all, all the memories of you, because you were everywhere I looked and it hurt. More than I could bear.’ Alec swallows hard. ‘I’m sorry, I-‘ But Magnus waves a hand impatiently, a lazy, presumably unintentional spark of magic jumping onto the stone railing as he does. ‘No, that’s not – that’s not what I mean, that’s all in the past now. I forgave you a long time ago. The only reason I’m telling you all this now is because I need you to know. You need to know what this, what you mean to me.’ His hands are bracing either side of Alec’s neck now, grip just light enough that it isn’t uncomfortable, but strong enough that Magnus can ensure he keeps Alec’s gaze. ‘In all my years,’ he says quietly, ‘nothing – no other loss, no other heartbreak – has made me that desperate. I’ve been tempted, of course, but I’ve never actually gotten that far, never actually asked to have the memories taken. But it’s like – it’s like you still see yourself as the norm. Like the latest in a long line of loves, easy to forget. I assure you, Alexander; nothing could be further from the truth.’

Alec’s jaw works as he tries to find the words to respond, to refute. ‘That – I don’t – ‘ He shakes his head; there’s a part of him that wants this desperately, wants to cling to Magnus’ words like lifesaving validation, but he knows that isn’t fair. He can’t ask this of Magnus, can’t ask to be this, not when Magnus might have hundreds of years ahead of him once Alec’s gone. And so he shakes his head in denial, and Magnus sighs. ‘Alexander,’ he says softly, his hands dropping to Alec’s shoulders. ‘Please. Please, believe me on this. You’re different to anyone I’ve ever met. No-one else has called my cat eyes beautiful, or so wholly accepted my greatest failures. No-one has ever wanted to change the world for me.’ He smiles a little. ‘In over seven-hundred and fifty years, you’re the only person I’ve ever married – because you’re the only person I’ve ever truly wanted to marry.’

A stray tear slips through Alec’s otherwise iron control, and Magnus cups his face with one hand, wiping the tiny drop away with his thumb. ‘You know my past, Alec. I’ve always been honest about it. I have loved before – I have loved passionately, and I have loved deeply.’ He takes a slightly shaking breath; but his gaze is fierce, certain, even as the alcohol hazes his focus. ‘But I have never loved like this.’ He kisses Alec, and it’s warm, rum-sharp and honey-sweet. It settles like a blanket over Alec’s whirling thoughts, and he doesn’t want it to end.

When they eventually break apart, Alec wordlessly leads Magnus to their bedroom, keeping one arm around his husband’s waist. A casual observer might not see the necessity, as Magnus still seems so clear-headed – but Alec knows better, knows how the intoxication hits Magnus’ co-ordination faster than his eloquence. He feels a gentle amusement remembering the last time Magnus indulged in drink; how he insisted he was fine in beautiful four- and five-syllable words, even as he clipped every doorway and piece of furniture in his effort to walk the short, straight path to the kitchen. Magnus is humming now, a tune that slips between major and minor in a way Alec faintly recognises, but not enough to name it. He barely seems to notice as Alec undresses him, coaxes him to drink a small glass of water. He settles under the covers with a heavy, contented sigh, his eyes falling shut – and Alec is just about to turn away, when he hears him mumbling.

‘Please believe me.’

Alec’s throat works for a moment, and then he bends down again, pressing a kiss to Magnus’ temple. ‘I believe you, Magnus. I believe you.’ He doesn’t know whether it’s a miracle or a tragedy, but he’s telling the truth.

***

Three days later, Alec finishes his work for the day, and doesn’t go home. Instead, he takes the elevator down to the lowest basement level, stepping out into the bright, soft lighting of Alicante’s largest and most closely guarded library. Magnus will be out late, having portalled over to Greenland to help resolve a leadership issue within the Warlock Council there, so Alec knows he has at least a few hours to kill and he plans to make the most of them. He walks with a sense of purpose, as if determination alone will make what he’s searching for easier to find.

There’s a strange sort of hum to the dark wooden bookshelf he approaches; an aura that whispers of the knowledge stored in these tomes, these ancient histories of almost-forgotten magic. It’s residual power from a time long passed, a time when the divide between the Divine and the Infernal was at its greatest – but also a time when the differences between those magics were so few as to be almost imperceptible.

Alec gathers the three oldest-looking books, the ones whose leather covers are worn hard and smooth and whose pages are aged yellow and sweet. He settles himself on the nearest armchair, and remembers what he said to Magnus in Edom, what seems like a lifetime ago now. I’m never leaving you again.

He opens the first book, and starts looking for a way to keep that promise.

~oOo~

[steveramsdale]

10.11 MyLastEverBlog(?)Blog?

Think back to November or December in 2015. You’d never heard of Tashkent and your Saturday mornings were your own. If you had heard of Tashkent, you probably knew little about it and could not imagine what daily life there might be like. Those things were about to change. I was about to find out about daily like in Tashkent and, through me, so were you. I think I’ve said before, I didn’t expect to be writing a blog every week. I didn’t think anyone would be interested in reading such a document. But here we are. It is not ending how I expected, this year has not turned out in a way anyone expected. This will be, almost certainly (!!!) my last Saturday as a economic migrant in Uzbekistan. So, find a comfortable seat. Grab your favourite Saturday morning beverage. Settle for the final edition of the blog no-one needed! Therefore, this is (almost certainly) the last blog from Teaching on the Naughty Steppe. By the way, that blog title is made of the five best words I have ever written, probably the only good, clever, interesting words over the four and a half years. Anyway, you will be getting back your Saturday mornings, so start planning for what that freedom could mean to you.

On Saturday, I went out for tea, back with Wendy, Malek and Maya, and it was hot. Just as I arrived back at NBU, the theme of the week emerged - The Ticket Crisis. I received at text message telling me that my flight on 1st July had been cancelled. It advised that I could change the ticket. This was in the context of news that Turkish Airlines had not been given permission to resume operations to and from Tashkent. There was also news of additional repatriation flights operated by Uzbekistan Airways to various locations, including Istanbul. I tried using my phone to re-book the ticket. I tried using a laptop at Wendy’s house. I kept getting an error message at the same stage. I downloaded the Turkish app. It worked. I was able to rebook for the 2nd July and was able to relax and enjoy the evening (for a while). Various colleagues said ‘hi’ as they left the compound and when a group of three returned, they came into the garden. They came to let us know that they had just been to the main office of Uzbekistan Airways as they had been told that the last 5 tickets out of the city were available. They had bought them for a flight the next day. They had all sorts of rumours available to share. There would be a few more flights but commercial flights were shut down until August. The whole of Central Asia was shutting down until October (because a Kazakh government minister contracted the virus). There were, however, more tickets on the flight than the five they had told me about. It was a wild ride. I had my tickets. There were three more days of school. I had things I needed to do. I was sceptical about the stories. That was not the end, however.

On Sunday, I had my last Russian lesson(?). I had managed to ‘sell’ most of my spare Uzbek currency via UK bank transfers, which was good. Then I realized I owed for one Russian lesson and had this last one so I didn’t now have enough money - maybe. I can use a Visa card if I really have to.

On Sunday morning, I got another text message about the flight. At first I thought it was another cancellation and thought: ‘Is this going to keep happening for the rest of my life?’. It was, in fact, just a change -10 minutes earlier. By about 10:30am on Sunday, I was organised to such an extent that I could have been out of the flat, on my way to an airport, in m 15 minutes. This was my intended state of readiness for the next 11 days or so.

I made my last ever bus journey. Early Monday I walked to school - or I set off walking. I saw a couple of almost empty buses go past and decided I should take one last ride. Early adopters of the blog will remember our fun getting on different buses when we first came to Tashkent. It was the 24, fittingly.

By the end of Monday afternoon, the classroom was almost packed up. I would go in again on Wednesday for a final check - but it was almost the end. On Monday I also received another text message about the flight - again just a ten minute change to the the departure - the second flight this time.

Tuesday morning saw no changes to my ticket. Unusual times. Discussions were still ongoing in the message group. I was, once more, working from home. Between lessons, I decided to go and get some different drinks, via the bin to Ben’s little shop. I went downstairs and got to the corner, only to realise I had forgotten a face mask. I went back and got one. When I got back to the exact same point, I noticed something strange in the rubbish bag. It was a kitchen knife. I stopped and thought about going back again. I could not bear the thought of that. I put the knife in my little bag and went down to the bins. As I headed towards the shop, I thought about the fact that they sometimes check bags. I did not want to try to explain why I was carrying a knife, so I went home!

Wednesday morning saw the arrival of an email saying that Turkish Airlines resumption of flights had not, in fact, yet received official Uzbek government approval. So, the date of 2nd July was still ‘up in the air’. I genuinely apologise for that phrase. Would I be flying on the following Thursday?

All of this uncertainly (keep reading) may mean, there may need to be at least one more blog to resolve this part of the story. I cannot tell you that I will definitely not be here next Saturday. I think you might want to know how (and even if) this ends! Anyway, if I’m going to suffer, you can, too.

Here’s a strange little story to change the mood for a moment. As I was drifting off to sleep on Tuesday evening, I thought about someone and decided I would ask Mairi, the next day, if she had heard from this person. I was awake in the middle of the night and knew that I would not be getting straight back to sleep. So, I got up and checked my messages and there was a message from this person. I know that is a coincidence, but still slightly cool and spooky.

Wednesday was our last day. I saw one of my students in person as she came to return her iPad and collect her belongings. That was really nice. She was the only one I saw. It was a very strange end to then year but I think it was ‘easier’ for me that a proper end would have been.

A few staff arranged to have a get-together on Wednesday evening and I decided to go. It was not too far from me so I walked round and it was very pleasant. I made this note - ‘The girl selling tissues who took the money but didn’t give the tissues.’ It was Mark who was persuaded to buy them. I think she just forgot to hand them over, but it was funny. I then saw her again later as I walked home . She was walking along counting her money.

On Thursday I had my flat inspection, a ‘hospital appointment’ my telephone with my consultant and an interview with a supply agency.

Friday was also an unexpectedly busy/exciting day. The next flight chaos arrived. A message saying my flight from Tashkent to Istanbul had been cancelled. It was time to see if the Uzbek repatriation flights were on. As I set off, Dave got in touch and I told him to join me. It was quite early, but there was already quite a gathering outside the office. I won’t say queue because this is Tashkent. I stood at the back of the scrum. A man asked me if I needed help. I said I was here for a ticket to England. He said I could go straight in. I was unsure, but others waved me forward. I was allowed in and soon after, Dave arrived. Within about 20 minutes, we both had tickets to Istanbul and a reasonable price. Now to check the UK leg.

When I got home, I called Turkish airlines. The app was not letting me do anything. I explained the situation and said that I now had an alternative flight to Istanbul. I wanted to know if I could still use the Manchester ticket. He said I could not. After some back and forth, he told me I could cancel the whole ticket and book a new flight. He told me about the one at 13:40, I pointed out that I knew about that flight as I HAD A TICKET FOR IT. We cancelled and re-booked. He also told me I could only arrange a refund via email. I sent the email. I also filled in a claim on the website. A little while later, a call came to my phone from an Uzbek number. It was a woman ringing to give me a number to call to claim my refund. I wrote the number down and then called it. I got in to a hold queue and decided not to wait. When I looked at the number of the incoming call it was the same as the one the woman had given me. So she called to give me the number she was calling from for me to call to get the refund! A little while later, someone else called and they sorted the refund. The outstanding one from Emirates is still outstanding. But, I (hopefully) have a route home with only 24 hours at Istanbul airport.

My final activity on Friday was to meet two wonderful people at Ecorn. We made a video call to Mairi, too, so she was ‘there’ as well.

The government here is trying to encourage people to continue to be vigilant and sensible. They have sent out police and national guards to check hygiene methods are being observed at shops and markets. Also, the cars making announcements are back out.

And that is my last week (probably). It has been quite a ride. By next Saturday, I should be home home! I will let you know either way! Good Bye.

[searchingwardrobes]

Until the Day Breaks and the Shadows Flee: 4/8

We’ve got some more progress with our slow burn, everyone! Thanks again to @kmomof4 and everyone in the @cssns, my beta @snowbellewells, and my artist @hollyethecurious

Summary: Every night she traces the contours of his body as Killian whispers words of love against her skin. But can Princess Emma ever be fully happy with a husband who only comes to her in utter darkness? A Captain Swan AU of the myth of Cupid and Psyche.

** I’m also curious if anyone knows where the fic and chapter titles come from. Only two people so far have guessed, but since they’re my beta and artist, I’m not sure they count, lol! Anyone else? ***

Rating: M for sexual situations

Words: Almost 3,000 in this chapter

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Also on Ao3

Tagging: @jennjenn615 @kday426 @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @welllpthisishappening @profdanglaisstuff @distant-rose @shireness-says @mythologicalmango @wellhellotragic @branlovestowrite @xhookswenchx @optomisticgirl @winterbaby89 @ultraluckycatnd @vvbooklady1256 @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @whimsicallyenchantedrose @tiganasummertree @snidgetsafan @ohmakemeahercules @delirious-latenight-laughs @gingerchangeling @nikkiemms @revanmeetra87 @cocohook38 @effulgentcolors

Chapter Four: Finest Wine

Apparently, Emma’s new home wasn’t the paradise she had assumed, for the next morning rain beat upon the roof and lightning flashed across the sky. Of course, she supposed the flowers needed the rain as much as they needed the sun.

She had been here for a week now and had fallen into a routine each morning. Ariel came to help her dress and do her hair, then she went downstairs and took her breakfast in the salon. It was smaller than the formal dining room, and therefore it felt less awkward to dine alone there. She also loved the wall made entirely of windows that faced the rose garden, and the room itself was filled with ferns and other potted plants.

On this rainy morning, however, the wind was howling and thunder rumbled throughout the castle. A wall of glass didn’t seem quite so inviting, so she asked Ariel if Tink would bring her breakfast up to the sitting room just off the master bedroom. In true fairy fashion, the table set itself automatically, Emma’s desired breakfast of scones and scrambled eggs already on her plate. She sat at the small table, but before she picked up her fork, she called into the empty room.

“Do you not like me, Tinkerbell?”

A darting ball of light swooped over the breakfast table, then grew in size until Tink was standing before Emma with her hands on her hips.

“Who ever said I didn’t like you?”

Emma shrugged before taking a bite of her eggs. “Ariel and I talk daily, and when Tiger Lily isn’t too busy, she and I chat in the gardens, but you and I . . . “ She trailed off, arching her brows at the blonde fairy.

Tink huffed and plopped down in the chair next to her. She picked up a scone and nibbled at it. “It’s not you, Princess, it’s me.”

Emma waved her hand in the air as she chewed and swallowed her own bite of scone. “I already told the others, no Princess, no your highness, just Emma.”

Tink ducked her head as she gave her a shy smile. “Okay, Emma.” She continued nibbling at the scone, gazing out of the windows as a blush stained her cheeks.

“Are you in love with my husband?”

“No!” Tink shouted, dropping her scone with a clatter onto the breakfast china. “I mean, that is to say, well . . . I would say it was more a crush than love, and I’m over it. Way, WAY over it.”

Emma laughed even as Tinkerbell seemed to shrink farther in on herself. “It’s okay, Tink, really.”

“You mean it?” Tink asked hopefully.

“Absolutely. I only have three friends in this castle during daylight hours, so it would be silly for you to avoid me.”

“True,” Tink said with a cautious smile, “and Killian never saw me that way, really. It was just a stupid crush. He always only saw me as a little sister type.”

Emma cocked her head at Tink as she continued her breakfast. “Does this have anything to do with you being banished and almost losing your wings?”

“Yes,” Tink admitted, sinking lower in her chair. Emma smiled at how childlike and innocent Tink was, especially in comparison to Tiger Lily and Ariel. “Killian felt responsible I guess, though he didn’t do anything wrong. He intervened, and here I am.”

“Tink,” Emma asked hesitantly, “is Killian a fairy too?”

Tink dissolved into giggles, almost choking on her scone. “Heavens, no! Whatever made you think that?”

“Well, he seems to be heavily involved with the fairies, and last night . . . “ Emma shifted uncomfortably, but then decided to come right out and say it, no matter what conclusions Tink jumped to, “last night I noticed his ears are a little pointed.”

“Excuse me, fairies do NOT have pointed ears,” Tink shoved aside her blonde locks to show her perfectly rounded ears to Emma, “you’re thinking of elves.”

“Okay, is he an elf then?”

Tink shook her head as she spooned some eggs onto her plate.

“A nymph?”

Tink rolled her eyes. “Nymphs are all female.”

“Hmm,” Emma slouched in her chair, but she refused to give up. Her husband helped not only fairies but a woman in an unhappy marriage. He had experience with nymphs, had a demanding mother, and an absent but powerful father. His childhood had lacked nothing of material possessions, and he lived in an enchanted castle surrounded by enchanted gardens. He obviously possessed magic himself, considering how the darkness he enveloped himself with when he visited her wasn’t of the natural variety.

“Don’t even try to figure him out,” Tink said around a mouthful of eggs. She swallowed and wiped her lips with one of the linen napkins. “He’ll reveal all to you, but not until the time is right.”

“And when will that be?”

“When he knows you are safe.”

“From whom?” Emma bit out in frustration, but the fairy had already miniaturized and flitted away.

********************************************************

For the first time since her arrival, the weather kept Emma confined to the castle. She spent the morning exploring several of the rooms, many of which contained gorgeous paintings and lifelike statues of incredible beauty. Killian obviously had impeccable taste. Emma also wondered if some of the art were gifts from those he had helped.

After lunch, the storm had abated, though rain still poured from the sky, so Emma went to the castle library. She had been there previously to find novels to read as she enjoyed the gardens. Today, the room’s large fireplace had been lit to ward off the chill of the rain. Emma selected a book and went to sit in one of the window seats flanking the fireplace where she would have more light to read.

The minutes ticked by, and as they did, the rain tapered off. Emma grew drowsy from the light, trickling sound of the rainfall combined with the warmth of the room. Soon the words were blurring on the page and her head was nodding. She laid the book aside and looked instead out of the window

The dark clouds of the storm were being banished by warm rays of sunshine. Here on the second floor of the castle, Emma had a wonderful view of the grounds. As the clouds parted further to reveal a glittering rainbow, Emma leaned her forehead against the pane of glass, squinting to be sure she was seeing clearly. With a gasp she jumped from the window seat and hurried over to the one on the other side of the fireplace. She saw the same thing there on the borders of the castle grounds. The same thing she had run up against on her first day here: a wall of thick fog.

Emma left her novel abandoned in the library to race up and down the hallways, looking out of every window she could find. She climbed all the way up to the battlements on the top floor where she had a 365 degree view. She raced from one casement to the next, breathless and trembling. Every vista she took in proved it: the wall of fog completely surrounded her new home.

******************************************************

Emma expected to feel defensive and angry when Killian came to her that night. She had thought that she would demand answers immediately. Instead, a request fell from her lips.

“Sit next to me?”

Emma’s hand searched for his in the dark emptiness around her, and when his fingers

found hers, warmth spread from the contact all the way down her arm. She slid over to make room for him, keeping a firm hold on his hand. Once they were both settled, Killian rested their joined hands on the mattress between them, and Emma threaded her fingers with his.

“Something is bothering you,” he observed.

“Is the barrier surrounding your home to keep me from leaving?”

Killian shifted towards her, drawing their joined hands up to his bare chest. “Emma, my love, this is your home now too. Not only that, the moment you set foot in that fog, you would find yourself on the same mountaintop where your parents left you.”

“Then why is it there?”

“To shield my castle. It isn’t safe for certain . . . individuals to know where it is.”

“That’s why I couldn’t see it at first when I arrived?”

“Aye.”

Killian lowered their hands back to the mattress and situated himself next to her. Emma wet her lips as she thought.

“So I don’t have to stay here? I could leave?”

Killian was silent for a moment, and based upon the way his thumb was brushing her knuckles, Emma was fairly certain he was pondering how to answer.

“Just as you came to that mountaintop of your own free will, you can choose to stay or leave.”

“I sense a but following that statement,” Emma told him wryly.

“Unfortunately. The oracle was being truthful when she said the plague in your kingdom wouldn’t stop unless you gave yourself up to the creature on the mountain.”

It was Emma’s turn to fall silent. She clearly remembered the oracle’s cryptic and devastating words when she and her father had gone to her in desperation. Killian’s words now were exactly the same. The oracle had said: “Princess Emma must give herself up to the creature on the mountain, dressed in her wedding gown. Her sacrifice shall end the plague.” Emma and her parents had assumed that meant her death at the monster’s hands. Only now could she see the alternate interpretation of those words.

Like the true princess that she was, Emma lengthened her spine and lifted her chin. “Then I shall stay.”

“My dear Emma,” Killian breathed as he pressed kisses to her hand, “I hope desperately that someday you will want to stay because this is your home.”

Emma blinked back sudden tears. “My family thinks I’m dead.”

“And so, thankfully, does your mortal enemy.”

His words were like ice spreading through her veins. “What enemy?”

“I cannot yet say,” Killian said, and in his voice she heard regret, “but please believe me, love, I am doing all I can to make things right. It is my hope that one day we can lower our defense, throw open the gates, and welcome your family to visit here. But until that day comes, I need you to try something new.”

“What’s that?”

He leaned closer and she could feel his warm breath caressing the curls that brushed her cheeks.

“It’s called trust.”

*************************************************************

Killian’s new place was beside Emma in the bed, his hand clasped in hers. Over time, Emma drew closer to his side and eventually lifted his arm over her head so he could pull her against him. Then she began tucking her head into the crook of his neck as they talked, his fingertips drawing circles absently on her bare shoulder. As their nights together came and went, Emma became so comfortable in his presence that she began drifting off in his arms as they sat propped against the headboard. She would awaken to find herself tucked in beneath the sheets, and a contented smile would fill her face.

One night, she was being pulled under by sleep when she heard Killian whisper against her hair. “Emma? Emma, love, are you asleep?”

Part of her wanted to answer him, to enjoy his company a bit longer, but she was already too close to the edge of sleep to form words. He gently lowered her to the pillow and pulled the sheets and blankets up to her chin. He stroked her hair, and though Emma felt a bit dishonest pretending to already be fully asleep, she also relished in experiencing his tenderness first hand. Then he began to speak, and a delicious feeling swooped low in her core.

“I will win your heart, Emma. And when I win it, it won’t be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me.”

He brushed a kiss to her forehead, and the feel of his lips against her skin sent tingles down to the tips of her toes. He left her then, but his words lingered in her dreams.

******************************************************

“You never answered my question, love.”

“Hmm?”

Killian’s answering chuckle reverberated through his chest and against Emma’s shoulder. “I asked how your day was.”

“Oh,” she murmured, still distracted. She turned in his embrace to have a better angle with which to run her fingers through his chest hair. She nuzzled her nose against his neck, and Killian responded with a groan.

“What was my question again?” he muttered into her hair as his lips trailed along her temple.

Now Emma laughed. “You asked about my day.” She trailed her hand up over his shoulder blade and ran it down his bicep. “But it’s a dull topic I’m afraid. I’d much rather hear what realms you traveled to today.”

Killian said he couldn’t tell her what he did all day, but he gladly told her where he had been. He told her about the frozen fjords of Arendelle, the cardamom cluttered stalls of Agrabah where the wind smelled of spice, and the sparkling Emerald City of Oz that was so bright, visitors had to wear special glasses. Emma, who had never traveled farther than neighboring Camelot, drank in his descriptions eagerly.

Tonight, however, Emma cared nothing of dazzling cities or mystical lands of magic and sand. Killian’s voice, she had come to realize, was husky and provocative. It had ignited her senses every night, but at the moment she wanted more than his voice. Her hands explored his chest, his collarbone, his neck, but even that wasn’t enough. With the tips of her fingers, she touched his lips, so soft, so inviting.

“I’ve lost my train of thought again.”

His voice was low, undone. His lips moving beneath her fingers made something coil tightly in her belly. She shifted closer, the only thing between her breasts and his bare chest the thin fabric of her nightgown.

“Kiss me.” She hadn’t meant it to sound like a command, but the low and ragged tone of her voice made it sound that way.

“Emma,” he breathed, and his heart beneath her palm beat rapidly as he bent his head towards her.

Killian’s lips met hers tentatively, reverently, but she was having none of it. She grasped the back of his head with one hand, burying her fingers in his hair and practically bruising his lips with the force of her reciprocity. She opened for him willingly and mewled into his mouth as his tongue explored and drank her in. Her other hand cupped his jaw, scratching his stubble with her fingernails.

Killian’s hands circled her waist tightly, pulling her flush against him, and his fingers danced up her back, leaving fire in their wake. Leaving one hand splayed across the middle of her back, his other threaded through her hair. When they finally parted, they were both out of breath, and Emma’s lips were swollen and wet.

“That was . . . “ Killian breathed, and Emma didn’t blame him for being at a loss for words. She was just as wrecked.

Emma brushed her lips against him again, but in the darkness she missed and only grazed the corner of his mouth. His lips were tipped up in a smile.

“My day,” Emma breathed as she nuzzled against his jaw, “was nothing of consequence until now.”

Killian chuckled, tucking her against him and wrapping his arms tightly around her. “Aye, love, your kisses are far more intoxicating than any exotic realm I have ever visited.”

[mason-mem]

first pages of Michel Serres’ Malfeasance

I URINE, MANURE, BLOOD, SPERM

THE LIVED FOUNDATIONS OF

PROPERTY RIGHT

TIGERS PISS ON THE EDGE OF THEIR LAIR. And so do lions and dogs. Like those carnivorous mammals, many animals, our cousins, mark their territory with their harsh, stinking urine or with their howling, while others such as finches and nightingales use sweet songs.

To mark: the origin of this verb is the mark of a footstep left on the soil. In bygone days, the story goes, the whores of Alexandria used to carve their initials in reverse order on the soles of their sandals. This enabled prospective clients to read the imprints on the sand and discover both the desired person and the direction of her bed. The presidents of great brands promoted by advertisers on city billboards today would no doubt enjoy knowing that like good sons they are direct descendants of those whores.

Or perhaps they descend from creatures that mark the boundaries of their territory with their excrements. Similarly, certain plants throw out little invisible jets of acid . . . nothing grows in the frigid shadow of fir trees.

THE CLEAN AND THE DIRTY: ANIMAL CUSTOMS, HUMAN CUSTOMS

How do the living inhabit a place? How do they establish it, recognise it? Lions through smell, birds by hearing . . . advertisers and whores by sight. Here we have three senses on the alert. How do animals create links as powerful as the law is for humans, links that enable them to appropriate the habitat where they dwell and live?

The science of animal behaviour, ethology, describes at length those nests, holes, wallows, sheds, ecological niches .... in short, how males define and defend their habitats with their filth. These places are often secret, hidden, dark, buried, lost, places where the living eat, sleep, hibernate, copulate, give birth, and are born, in short survive; do they own or rent these places? How can we answer this question, which is perhaps a bit too anthropomorphic? We can easily turn it around.

In The Parasite, I described the customs of mammals in order to compare them to hominine ways of appropriation. Whoever spits in the soup keeps it; no one will touch the salad or the cheese polluted in this way. To make something its own, the body knows how to leave some personal stain: sweat on a garment, saliva or feet put into a dish, waste in space, aroma, perfume, or excrement, all of them rather hard things . . . but also my name, printed in black on this book cover, where my signature looks sweet and innocent, seemingly unrelated to those habits. And yet. . . . Hence the theorem of what might be called natural right. By "natural" I mean the general behavior of living species: appropriation takes place through dirt. More precisely, what is properly one's own is dirt.

The spit soils the soup, the logo the object, the signature the page: property, propriety, or cleanliness. The same word tells of the same struggle; in French, it has the same origin and the same meaning.1 Property is marked, just as the step leaves its imprint. Conversely, I should re-mark—yes!—that a hotel makes the rooms clean and proper to make them available for others. Otherwise, no one would come. Conversely, clean and proper here implies there is no well-defined owner yet, and that it is freely accessible. In short, either proper means appropriated and consequently dirty or proper implies really neat and therefore without an owner. Come over here, to this clean spot; you may, because it obviously welcomes you. When you leave, it will be yours because you will have made it dirty. No one will want to sleep in your sheets, nor handle your used towel, nor drink from your glass seeded with bacteria from the imprint of your lips. You appreciate the cleaning done in a hotel. The cleaner it looks, the more hospitable it will seem to everyone. At home, I take care of the garbage and occupy a space called by the delightful name of powder room. Long ago, we hardly dared to translate the famous quote stercus suum cuique bene olet,1 "one's own excrement smells good." This is still true of noise; one's own noise is not bothersome. This is also true of many types of trash. It is again true of small children who have similar behaviours at the anal stage.

THE EXPROPRIATED SQUAT Discreetly, dictionaries define squatter, as the term indicates, as someone who occupies the surface of the land on which he crouches. This would take up little space; only a dwarf could lie down on such a spot. No, squatting describes the crouching posture of defecation and that of females when they piss or give birth.

The origin of the old French verb es-quatir, originally used in the Far West and Australia, is first related to the verb co-acticare, the old curious root of cogito, through co-agere or co-agitarey" indeed, my thoughts move around in me like a large assembly of sheep in the meadows. Now, farmers in these two New Worlds led even larger herds on lands that they considered to be without owners, even as their grazing and their presence expropriated Indians or Aborigines who had been living there before them, albeit without title deed, at least according to common law. So there was nothing about this term that would imply crouching. As soon as it acquires that meaning, it can be linked to the earlier one: to invade and possess. The fact remains that animals never leave places free of droppings as they trot along.

FROM THE HOME TO THE FARM

I will now go from the soup, polluted by spit, to the dirty sheets, or from the table to the bed, to get from individual appropriation to family property, from the city rat to the field rat. Indeed, the arable square of land, the stretch of vineyard or alfalfa, the pagus of the ancient Latins, properly belonged to the peasant tribe because the bodies of ancestors were buried there, in tombs or under stone slabs. Did you know that the word paix, peace, comes from pieu, the stake that marked the boundary of the tilled pagus? The mortuary slab was also used as a boundary around which peaceful relations with neighbours could be established. I'll end my remarks with a discussion of this peace.

I will also explain how the aforementioned peasant or pagan—same terms similarly derived from pagus— appropriated this patch of land in the same quasi-animal fashion. Is there anything more disgusting than what has no name in any language: the stench emanating from a mass grave? Except perhaps the stench of manure spread out at the appropriate season to improve, enrich, and fertilise the soil. Perhaps you doubt that the main reason to cover the field with this biodegradable layer of fatty fertiliser, this urine nitrogen, is for the sake of appropriation. However, I would still like to convince you that I find here a possible origin of agriculture. When the first human enclosed a plot of land and thought of telling his children, his parents, and his wife to imitate him and his animals by depositing some of their urine and faeces in order to make it a piece of earth belonging to the family, he noticed with surprise, come spring and summer, that the polluted field was greener and more productive than the neighbouring soil. Could he possibly have founded the farming profession and rural society with this act?

As you travel, do admire that peaceful—same word as pagus—landscape, beautifully divided, of the old countries of Europe; their rural spaces display fertilising manure and the Cities of the Dead.

l. Professor Serres plays on the various meanings of the French propre, which means both "clean" and "one's own," or "characteristic of." The French title Le Mai propre is itself a pun on several levels: mal is evil, combined with propre; it thus signifies "clean evil," but malpropre in one word also means dishonest, sleazy, despicable. I have chosen to emphasize the combination of evil and dishonest by translating the title as "Malfeasance," which has similar connotations. [All notes are from translator.]

2. Latin proverb, provenance uncertain, quoted by Michel de Montaigne, in Essais, III, VIII.

3. Co-agitare: from the Latin co- (together) and agitare (to move around, revolve).

inspired by @aazzure 2019.19.14

[methoxyethane]

KH AkuRoku Ficbit, possibly to be continued

Roxas’s magic shop was one of the first legal ones to open up in Exile Bay, and even though more witches had opened doors by bow his was still among the most reputable. He was young and had almost zero known associates professionally or personally, but he worked hard and the spells he sold were always top quality.

It was probably, he reflected, his good reputation that kept attracting freaks to him.

Today’s douchebag was a redhead who was taller than could possibly be reasonable, spiky hair and sharp eyes and swagger that was basically everything Roxas couldn’t stand all at once. He was never going to one of Sora’s parties again; his brother had the absolute lamest taste in friends.

“Do you know why the sky is blue?” Started the sort-of-handsome-ish stranger in front of him.

“Because blue light’s short wavelengths are scattered through the atmosphere more easily?”

The redhead laughed. “Really? And here I was thinking it was because the sky saw your eyes and got jealous.”

“You’re lame,” Roxas answered back instantly. He shouldn't even be here. He should be at home working on a cure for Namine, or at least something for a client if he couldn't get anywhere on that front. Or even just doing his dishes, or like his fucking taxes or something.

“A little lame, sure. But I prefer to be called Axel. A-X-E-L, got it memorized?”

“Never,” Roxas lied. “I have instantly forgotten you.”

Axel laughed again, for some reason charmed by Roxas’s icy blow-offs, and there was officially no getting rid of this guy.

Roxas let him ramble on with little more than a roll of his eyes, and was stuck with him for the rest of the night for it. Red hair, probably unstable personality, and the faint smell of smoke and wood. This guy was definitely an ifrit, possibly a lower class spirit but certainly a fire elemental of some sort.

Hm. That was interesting. A lot of his spells were potions that required extremely precise temperature control to make right, and a fire elemental would be a perfect lab assistant to have around when he needed to make something fast for a client. Too bad this guy was way too annoying to offer a job to.

Having decided such, he pretty much ended the conversation by walking away when Axel was mid-sentence. Didn’t just leave the room, left the entire party straight up. How’s that for a rejection, Mr. Confidence?

It was of course, far from the last time he saw him.

—

Axel showed up at his shop an appropriate three days later, greeting Roxas with a smile and idly browsing the shelves like his presence had absolutely nothing to do with having spent the better part of two hours hitting on the witch just days before.

Roxas’s shelves were honestly lined with samples, ingredients and junks spells, not actual products he intended to make money off of. Well the hair growth and removal tonics and energy potions all sold like hot cakes, but the real business had always been in custom spells for clients. The entire storefront here was basically just decoration to lure in those specific high paying customers, and window shoppers like Axel were just a nuisance.

“You really don’t need to sleep for three days if you take one of these little pills?” The nuisance asked, poking at a bottle near the window.

Roxas held back a sigh, trying to ignore Axel in favor of the notes he was working on. “Mm-hm,” he confirmed in a mumble. “Comes with a half-day long hangover that’ll split your head open, but I sell cures for that, too.”

Axel whistled, impressed. “Sounds unhealthy. Just like any good party is, am I right?” To spite his comment he didn’t stop browsing the products, eventually pulling a book on ley lines off the shelves and forcing Roxas to accept the fact he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

Fine, let him do what he wanted. Roxas had work to do, and he had just figured out the ratios he’d need to start crafting this steady-hand potion for Mrs. Boreux’s Parkinson’s and was ready to fire up his cauldron.

Hm. Speaking of…

“Hey,” Roxas said, standing up from his desk to head to his unlit fireplace. “Make yourself useful and gimme a spark.”

Axel laughed, sauntering over to Roxas’s cauldron to spit a spark at the firewood beneath, instantly starting them into a burst of fire when the tiny flame hit it.

“Very nice,” Roxas praised accidentally, admiring the steady orange flame that had erupted.

His cauldron was small, because no one needed one bigger than a crock pot in real life unless they were mass producing soup for an entire mess hall. Water was always the first thing to go in the pot, because it wasn’t made of living matter and couldn't be affected by his magic and therefore made the perfect base to heat up and break down the other ingredients.

Also, you know. Kind of hard to make a potion that wasn’t wet.

This was at it’s heart a healing spell, one meant to affect the nervous system specifically. Healing spells always used more plant matter than animal, so the main ingredient to the potion itself was just foxglove and cattail cotton. The only blood he needed was his own, the magic in it more than enough to catalyze such a simple spell, his power activating the latent magical effects the ingredients by themselves couldn’t achieve without him.

The word ‘witch’ wasn’t his job title after all, it was who Roxas was down to his very being. He was born a witch, couldn’t stop being one if he wanted, just the same as the humans couldn’t stop being human.

The cauldron was at full boil now, Roxas and Axel both hovering around it watching as the floral ingredients boiled off like a giant vat of unstained tea. “I need the heat up,” Roxas demanded, brows furrowed in concentration as he grabbed the small vial of his own drawn blood out of his pocket.

Axel glanced at him, then down at the fire beneath the cauldron for half a moment until it turned bright blue with heat. Carefully, Roxas measured out two drops of his blood to let them fall into the boiling tonic, watching as each green-black beads hit the water and capping the vial once more.

The magic in his blood reacted instantly, sizzling in the water and evaporating into pure mana in seconds. The yellow-green of his magic spread from that spot, curling out to stain the potion in his color until the waters turned pitch black from plants and blood and magic. The black burned away in another few seconds when Roxas asked for the heat to be turned down to a simmer, the smell of the smoke rising from the cauldron turning sweet and floral from it’s acrid stench of burned foxglove until the water stopped boiling and the now golden-colored potion was at its completion.

Both of them stared at the potion for a few more minutes, even though letting it simmer wouldn’t really do anything for it one way or another now that it was complete. “That was kind of awesome,” Axel said eventually, and Roxas batted down the automatic swell of pride that came with being praised.

“Thanks,” Roxas said back. “But you don’t even know what it does or if it works.”

“Still cool to watch,” Axel shrugged with a smile that shouldn’t have looked honest. “You never get a chance to see magic in action like that nowadays. You know, not REAL magic, anyway.”

Roxas finally let himself actually look at Axel properly. “And controlling my fireplace with your mind doesn’t count as magic?”

“Not if I see it every day it isn’t.” Which… was such a ridiculous answer it actually pulled a short laugh out of Roxas.

He pulled the cauldron off the fireplace and over to his work table to strain, pouring it into filtered pot that would catch any remaining planty bits still floating around in the potion. “Thanks for your help,” he offered eventually, ready to give Axel his full attention just out of gratitude at this point. “You saved me about an hour of careful fire-poking to get the temperatures just right. Potions like that can be a real pain in the ass.”

Sharp green eyes narrowed even further with Axel’s smile. “So, does this mean you owe me a favor?” He practically purred, long body towering over Roxas in a flirty forward lean.

Roxas thought about it. “Sure,” he supposed, eyeing Axel critically. “As long as you don’t expect anything stupid.”

That strange smile that seemed way too sly to be honest, but Roxas couldn’t help but trust anyway. “Go out for ice cream with me.”

He felt his own eyes flutter in surprise. “Huh?”

Axel’s smile, if anything, only grew wider.

[messagefromtheveins]

Books, Guitar Lessons and Kisses

A/N: In celebration of my birthday being less than a few hours away I decided to gift you with this random piece of college!Shawn that has the worst title ever. 

Words: 1490

Pairing: Shawn/reader

"You look lost," you giggled, keeping your voice low in consideration that this was a library and people were trying to study. The curly head snapped up and turned to look at you, the most beautiful dark eyes you had ever seen in your entire life making contact with yours and a small, helpless smile spreading over his pouty lips.

"Yeah, kinda," he chuckled and raised a hand to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck from where a chain dangled, disappearing beneath his rather tight T-shirt that stretched around his biceps. "My prof told me to get a book but I can't find it anywhere," he sighed, his eyes once again skimming the high shelves in front of him.

"Can I?" you asked and reached for the paper he held in his hands, his gaze falling on you again.

"Oh, yeah. Sure," he quickly handed you the slip of paper where a title and author of a book was written down, a small grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

"English literature, huh?" you asked amused and reached into your bag to pull the exact book out.

"Yeah, I just transferred here and now I have to catch up on all that stuff," he sighed, seeming very stressed as he ran a hand through his hair, a single curl falling down his forehead.

"Well, bad news is- there's literally not one copy left. People already had to buy that book themselves because no library in town has just a single one left," you started off, a groan leaving his mouth as he turned to look at you again. "Good news is, I'm through with mine," you added with a grin and shoved the book into his arms, a confused expression on his face.

"Are you for real right now?" he asked in a soft voice and looked at you while adjusting the book in his hands, "you're also in English literature?"

"Mhm. And don't worry about it, it's really not that hard. I mean, the book is complete shit, but our professor is actually really cool," you said, a relieved chuckle slipping past his lips. "And we're all really nice, so if you need help with something…" you trailed off and shrugged your shoulders, giving him a soft smile.

"You're a life saver, do you know that?" he asked, his features a lot more relaxed and less stressed out. You shrugged with a little grin.

"Ah, I try, I guess."

With a soft laugh he shot a quick glance at his watch. "Uh, I get if you're busy, but my coffee addiction is drawing attention to itself again and I'd really love to talk to you a bit longer? Maybe in a place where people aren't looking at us like they're ready to kill?"

You giggled and adjusted your bag on your shoulder, lightly biting your bottom lip. "On one condition."

"What is it?"

"You tell me your name," you said, a soft laugh slipping past his lips.

"It's Shawn."

–—–—–—–—–—–

Over the months you had learned a lot about Shawn. You had learned that he had his own place and worked at a café to pay his rent. You had learned about his little quirks and rough edges, how he absolutely hated it to be put under stress and therefore wasn't the most pleasant company when midterm exams were getting closer and closer. And yet at the end of the day when he'd finally push his books and notes aside until the next morning he never failed to text or call you or even come around and apologize if he had accidently snapped at you. You had learned that he was definitely not a morning person and couldn't live without at least three coffees a day. You had learned that he loved music and was incredible at playing guitar, and you also had learned that he was quite embarrassed about it and shy when it came to playing in front of you.

So when you were at his place one Friday night you were quite surprised when he offered to teach you how to play guitar as he caught you staring at it.

"If you don’t mind," you responded with a little shrug, a soft smile spreading over his face as he grabbed the instrument and instructed you to sit between his legs before he placed it across your lap. Your heart started beating a bit faster at your proximity, your skin tingling where he gently grabbed your hands and placed them on the guitar. You didn't even properly listen as he explained the different cords to you, moving your hands and playing different tunes. You couldn't concentrate on anything except for his warm breath on your neck and shoulder, how strong his arms felt around you and how soft his skin felt on your hands.

Of course you had noticed how your feelings towards him had changed over the course of the last few weeks. How your heart had suddenly started fluttering whenever he smiled at you, how you never wanted to leave his side again whenever he casually draped an arm over your shoulders.

"Hey, space cadet. Are you even listening to me?" he suddenly chuckled, your eyes widening as you snapped out of your daydream. "Where have you been again?"

Of course he had also learned a lot about you. Like the fact that you tended to drift off a lot, your mind far away.

"Sorry," you mumbled a bit embarrassed as he removed the guitar and allowed you to stand up, though his hands placed on your waist and gently turned you around, looking up to you as you stood in between his spread legs. You slowly reached out and let your hands run through his curls, a habit you had picked up after discovering how soft his hair was a few weeks ago.

He lightly bit down on his bottom lip, seeming to hesitate for a second before his hands slipped to your thighs and tugged you closer, watching your reaction in case you'd push him back. But you got the hint and let him tug you closer until you straddled him, his hands once again curling around your waist as you were on eye level again, the hazel in his iris seeming darker than usually.

The tension between the two of you grew by the second as his eyes kept moving to your lips, quickly looking up into your eyes again just to let his gaze drop once more. He repeated it over and over while he subconsciously licked his own pair of lips, his hands slightly squeezing your waist. Your heart was racing by now and you were sure that he could probably hear it.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispered, your heart leaping as you registered his words, your whole body heating up in anticipation. You found yourself nodding slightly, his breath hitching. Licking over his lips again, he cautiously leaned in and rested his forehead against yours, his thumbs brushing over the fabric of your T-shirt where he was still holding your waist. Your hands were trembling slightly as you placed them on his broad shoulders, slowly letting them move up his neck and feeling his short stubble under your palm until you cupped his face in your hands. He released a shaky breath, eyes looking straight into yours and holding your intense gaze for what felt like forever until he tilted his head, both your and his eyes falling shut as his lips just barely brushed over yours.

A second passed in which your lips were so close to touching, your breaths mixing and your heart pounding in anticipation before he finally pressed his lips against yours, your breath hitching in your throat. His lips fit perfectly against yours. He tugged you closer until your chest was pressed up against his, your arms wrapping around his neck and holding him close. Letting a hand move up to tangle into his hair, you tugged slightly as he gently bit down on your bottom lip and sucked on it, getting a growl-like sound from him.

You felt his hands slide down to grip your hips as he pulled back just to tilt his head to the other side and kiss you again, the new angle making both of you gasp slightly. You didn't concentrate on anything that happened around you, not even how fast you heart was racing. The only thing that really mattered in this moment was how perfect his lips felt against yours.

His teeth found your lower lip again, gently tugging on it and getting another gasp from you, your hands pulling on his hair again.

And you couldn't help but release a shaky breath in form of his name as he slowly pulled back, your eyes meeting his blown ones. For several seconds complete silence settled between you, both of you breathing a little faster than usually.

[yellowsugarwords]

Walking Dead Game FanFiction - “Party Time”

Title: Party Time Characters: Clementine, Marlon, Louis, Violet, Minerva, Duck, Brody Summary: In a high school au, Clementine, the new shy girl, ends up at a high school party with Duck the jock, Marlon the edgy boy, and Louis the theatre kid. Slowly developing feelings for Clementine, Marlon and Louis scheme to get Duck out of the picture with Clementine remains completely oblivious. The entire time, Violet and Minerva watch everything unfold from the sidelines. Author's Note: This actually turned out so great omggggg I’m so HAPPY with it Requested By: Anonymous support me with ko-fi ♡ ---------♥️♥️♥️----------

Clementine hated parties. More so, she hated the people that were at said parties.

Before she had moved, that was all that kids in her school did: got drunk, got high, repeat. They were never interested in art, or books, or film. Nothing like what she was into. She stuck out like a sore thumb.

She had hoped that Savannah would be different but so far, seeing as she had only been there for a week and a half and already she was invited to a “we won a single football game and therefore need to all get drunk” party, her hope was dissipating quickly.

Unlike any other school she had ever been to, there weren’t set cliques: the cool kids, the smokers, the rocker kids, etc. Instead, here, everyone was mixed in. The average clique had a bit of everything, and Clementine couldn’t tell if she loved or hated it.

Realistically, it meant she had a better chance of finding a group to hang out with. However, the added stress of not having an obvious target group to seek out was daunting. Where did one seek to find their place in a school where everyone already had it figured themselves out?

Within her first few minutes at the party, Clem could tell she was in for trouble. Everyone had already sorted themselves out into their respective groups, and she sat in the middle of a coach, talking to nobody, sipping away at her lemon water like a total idiot.

“Dude, have you seen the new girl yet?”

Marlon could feel his shoulder rattle as Louis jostled it. “New girl?” Marlon groaned, adjusting the earring that the contact had tugged at. Maybe it was because Louis was the school’s prized theater kid, but he had a tendency to be exuberant with every motion. The charm of it was what originally had drawn them to one another, but more often than not these days, Marlon just found it to be grating.

Louis turned, giving Marlon a skeptical once over. “You mean you haven’t?”

Marlon stared at him, brows raised, confused at the weird way he was acting. “No, I haven’t. Can you chill out? It’s just a girl. Who cares.”

“You should and I do,” Louis scoffed, his shirt fabric twinkling under the dim living room lighting. Louis always dressed up when he went anywhere. Theater kids.

His glimmer wasn’t thanks to him alone. The party was hosted at the rich girl’s house — Minerva, head of the art club. Apparently her parents left town for the weekend and put her in charge. It was big news around school that they hadn’t taken kindly to hearing about her girlfriend, Violet, and Minerva made a big spectacle about her “revenge house party” to get back at them.

A high school student body didn’t need a reason to party, but for revenge? As if any of them would say no.

Marlon rolled his eyes. “I’m not interested.”

“In girls? Guys? Or do you mean you’re not interested in anybody?”

Marlon gave him a daring look. To anyone else, the look would be horrifying, seeing as head-to-toe Marlon was dressed like he was out to kill — black jeans, a leather jacket, thick black boots and a chain earring on his left ear — but it didn’t phase Louis. It never did. He knew what a softie the guy was, despite his dark exterior.

“Come on,” Louis groaned. “She’s sitting right there on the couch. Just look.” Flicking Marlon’s cheek, pushing his stare in the right direction, Marlon finally set his sights on the girl of the hour.

He swirled his drink in his palm as he studied her, taking in the awkward way she was sitting on the couch, wedged between a couple making out and a two girls taking a hoard of Snapchat selfies and deleting every one. She didn’t seem comfortable, and she stuck out like a sore thumb in her jean overalls and lemon-print t-shirt.

Despite the flit of his lip — the way it faintly tugged upward as he studied her — he turned back to Marlon and forced his expression to become cold again. “She’s alright.”

Louis scoffed, fiddling with the unbuttoned buttons on his shirt. “Right, I’m sorry, I forgot that you only like girls with three layers of eyeliner and piercings from head-to-toe.”

Marlon shot him a glare.

Louis accepted it. He wasn’t about to act like he didn’t deserve it, but he also wasn’t about to act like he wasn’t right.

“She doesn’t seem happy. How am I supposed to know what she’s like from staring at the uncomfortable way she’s sitting?”

Louis smirked, picking up on every part of his attempted cover-up. His gaze turned back to the couch and his relaxed, teasing body began to stiffen. Marlon, whose focus was stuck to him, shifted to see what, or who, he was staring at.

The couple on Clementine’s left separated from what felt like the decades of sucking at each other's faces. Peeling away, Louis and Marlon could both see that it was the head of the football team - nicknamed Duck - and the head of the debate team, Brody.

“Excuse me?” Brody snapped, her gaze harrowing in on the male.

Duck shrugged, taking hold of her hips as he attempted to tug her closer, wanting to place her back on his lips.

She scoffed, forcing him away harder this time. “I said no, creep. Stop trying to shove your hand down my pants.”

Duck scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. “Come on, loosen up a little—”

Once again, Brody swatted his hand away. “No means no, asshole.” She scoffed, pushing herself to her feet and trotting away, fixing her hair as she went.

Even though they were a decent distance away, and could only just barely make out what the two were saying, Louis and Marlon could very clearly see Duck call her a bitch. Louis scoffed, leaning back into the wall. “What an ass.”

“What else is new?” Marlon scoffed, taking another swing of the event’s cheap beer. Although Minerva’s family had money, her and Violet had a limited budget. The event was purely for popularity. As if they were going to spend decent money to get party-goers anything better than the cheapest beer they could get in mass and frail red solo cups. He groaned as it slid down his throat. It was disgusting, but at least it had the promise of keeping him tipsy.

“Hey guys!”

Glancing up from their drinks, over trotted Minerva, dressed up to the nines, with Violet being pulled along behind her. One of the weirdest parts about Violet and Minerva’s relationship was how polar opposite they seemed, and yet how perfectly they got along. Minerva was always dolled up, and always came to school looking like a Barbie fresh out of the packaging — not a hair out of place, not an item of clothing smudged. On the opposite side, Violet was always late, wore the same outfit 3 days out of the week, and was regularly known to smoke behind the school instead of going to class. Yet somehow, whenever they were together, they fit like the perfect couple.

“Are you guys enjoying the party?” Minerva asked, smile beaming. From slightly to her right, Violet turned to her and smiled, smitten as could be.

Louis smiled. “We are, thanks for hosting Minnie.”

Minnie shrugged and waved her hand, the small solo cup of wine — the least classy thing they had ever seen her with — jostling in her hand. If she was forcing everyone to drink out of solo cups, she was going to as well. That was just the type of person she was. “It’s not a problem. My parents owe me one.”

Throughout their conversation, Marlon didn’t detach his stare from Clementine. Duck, directly at her side, was prowling for his next victim. Marlon could feel his stomach twist watching, and hated what he knew would inevitably occur.

“Marlon?”

Finally, he snapped out of his trance, his gaze dragging from the couch to the girl standing before him. Awkwardly he cleared his throat, turning to Louis for help. All he did was smirk. “Yeah, yeah, the party’s been great.”

Violet turned, peering over her girlfriend’s shoulder and spotting Clementine, staring down at the water cup in her hand and watching it swirl. Violet chuckled. “So, you like Clementine, huh?”

“What?” Marlon scoffed. This would’ve been so much easier if Louis — the socially competent one out of the two of them — would’ve stepped up to help him. “No, that’s not it.”

“Clementine?” Minerva asked, eyeing up Louis. “The new girl?” Louis nodded and gestured behind her and, after swirling around and spotting her, she swiveled back. “Oh her! She seems quiet.”

“She is,” Louis said, nodding. “She hasn't said a word to anyone the entire time she's been here.”

Minerva frowned. “Do you think she’s not having fun?”

“I’m sure she’s just shy, Minnie.” Violet said, jostling her shoulder. “She’s new, she just doesn't know anyone here yet.”

Watching Duck turn, his eyes widening spotting the unarmed girl to his side, Marlon could feel all his relaxed muscles dissipate. “That’s what I’m worried about.” Sensing the attention drift, the rest of their group turned to see what Marlon was analyzing.

Louis, picking up on his friend’s stress, spotted the sight. “Oh jeez,”

“I’m on it,” Violet sighed, patting Minerva on the shoulder and making her way to the couch. Just as Duck was reaching his hand out, ready to tap an unknowing Clementine on the shoulder, Violet wandered up and slapped the male on the leg. “Wrestle me.”

Duck scoffed, eyeing up Violet hesitantly. The two of them had been teamed up on sports since elementary school — anywhere from basketball to badminton — so Violet challenging him was nothing new. But in the middle of a party? That was new. “Wrestle you?” He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Vi. I’m not about to embarrass you in front of everyone.”

Violet felt her eyebrow twitch. Despite being in school with him for years, she still knew he was an ass. “Come on, Duck. Grow a pair, huh?”

That did it, and Violet knew it would.

Duck scoffed, heaving himself to his feet. “Backyard. Let’s go.”

Violet smirked, crossing her arms cheekily and starting for the back doors.

The buzz of the match swept through the living room, and while a handful of people slipped out to watch, Louis and Marlon weren’t some of them.

Minerva sighed. “Well, I guess I’d better go keep an eye on that.” Lifting a hand, giving the two a little wave, she gathered Violet’s abandoned cup and started for the door. “Talk later!” She called over her shoulder.

Just as she vanished, Louis jostled Marlon’s arm. “Let’s go talk to her.”

“Talk? To Clementine?”

“Yes!” Louis scoffed, arms waving, his rum and coke jostling. “There’s no Duck getting in the way, we can finally go and see what she’s like.”

Marlon said nothing, only faintly scrunched his nose and wavered from foot to foot.

Louis scoffed, tugging on his friend’s jacket and jumping down to the now-vacant seat on the couch. There was only the one, seeing as the girls clouding the other side weren’t too interested in watching an unprofessional wrestling match out back, but Louis decided the proximity wouldn’t bother either of them. Hopefully, it wouldn’t bother her.

“You’re Clementine, right?” He asked, speaking before sliding himself down into the spot beside her.

She glanced up, blinking meekly at the two towering before her. As suspected, her shoulders curled at Marlon’s appearance. “Yeah? Do I know you guys?” Her voice was so soft over the music, like it was made of glass. It made Louis want to hold them. It made Marlon, even more so, want to keep Duck and his grimy hands away from her.

“Probably not,” Louis offered with a faint chuckle, watching as Marlon took a seat in front of her on the coffee table, clutching his beer can between his legs. “We just noticed you were sitting all alone and wanted to bring some company. You’re new, right?”

“Yeah,” she breathed faintly. “I just moved from Roswell.”

Louis smiled. “Welcome to Savannah. I hope our classmates haven’t brought you too much trouble.”

Clementine gave a small smile, shrugging her shoulders, her stature loosening given their pleasant conversation. “No, but I think they’re going to be bringing each other a bit of it.”

Marlon gave a faint smile. “Yeah, that’s kinda Duck’s style.”

“Violence?” Clem questioned.

“No, trouble.”

Clementine smiled, a giggle escaping her. Marlon and Louis, although it was only for a flicker, made eye contact. They agreed, silently, that it was the cutest sound they’d ever heard.

“So, have you talked to a lot of people here?”

Clementine’s smile faded slightly. “No, I’m not really great when it comes to putting myself out there.”

“You came tonight,” Louis said with a shrug, tapping Marlon on the knee to back him up. “That’s putting yourself out there, especially in a new city.”

Marlon nodded, swirling his beer can passively. “That’s already a step above a lot of people. Give yourself some credit,”

Clementine’s eyes widened faintly, so faintly that Louis couldn’t see under the dim lighting, but Marlon — the one meeting her gaze — could. “You think?”

Marlon smiled. It was cute how innocent she was when it came to social interaction. “Of course,” he offered, a chuckle escaping. “You’re doing great. You’re talking to us, aren’t you?”

Louis smiled, impressed at how swiftly his friend was taking to her. Although, they both knew that was largely in part thanks to Clementine being easy to talk to and not due to Marlon’s social skills improving. “Yeah,” Louis furthered. “You’ve already made 2 new friends.”

Clementine turned, mouth propped open, as if ready to question the statement. Just as she was about to speak, just as she was about to question if they were being serious, she was silenced.

“Sorry boys, I believe that’s my seat.”

Glancing up, the three spotted Duck, covered in grass stains. His arms were crossed, and his toothy grin gleamed even through the faint lighting. Violet, also covered in grass stains, was standing a few paces behind him being tidied up by Minerva, too preoccupied to notice.

“I believe this is a party, and people can sit wherever they want.” Louis countered.

Marlon rolled his eyes, taking a long swing of beer. Duck wasn’t worth the effort it took to belittle him, but he’d be damned if they were about to give up their spot next to Clementine for Duck to swipe it.

“I called spot check,” Duck claimed, arms crossed.

Louis scrunched his nose. Duck knew Louis was a stickler for party rules. Spot checking? That was rule number 1, and they all knew Louis wasn’t about to break it. With a huff, he shot up to his feet. “Fine,” he scoffed. “Come on Clementine,”

“Oh no no no,” Duck said, his hand latching onto Louis’ shoulder just as he was helping Clem to her feet, and just as Marlon stood to assist in their transition. “She stays.”

Clementine immediately tensed. Even though he wasn't looking at her, Marlon could feel it. “Ease off Duck, she’s allowed to go wherever she wants.” He snapped, feeling a twitch of rage. He spoke about her as if she was a potted plant rather than a person.

Duck scoffed, releasing Louis. “Nice to know that when Marlon finally speaks it’s to show support for feminism,” he laughed. “Nice to see you supporting your own kind.”

Marlon furrowed his brows. Just when he thought Duck couldn’t make himself look like a bigger ass, he went ahead and did it.

“Duck, just knock it off, okay?” Louis scoffed, arms out, pleading with the guy. “We’re all here to have a good time. There’s no need for you to start acting like an asshole.”

“Excuse you?”

Marlon smirked. “Sorry, he meant to say that you never stopped acting like an asshole.” Marlon could tell that one made Clementine’s shoulders tense even more. A part of him felt bad that she was tossed in the middle of all this.

“Excuse you?” Duck asked, leering toward the male. “Rich talk coming from the quiet kid,”

Marlon didn’t flinch, even when Clementine slithered farther behind him. Maybe it would be better for her to just go home. Maybe coming to the party was a mistake. Just as she started for the door, ready to set down her cup and get out, she was spotted.

“Awe, come on girly, where ya going?” Duck called, causing her motions to freeze. “Are the weirdos freaking you out? Don’t worry,” forcing himself between the two of them, he reached out for her. “I’ll keep you awake from them.”

Turning around, feeling a hand creep up on her back and shoulder, Clementine could feel her skin crawl. Could she force him away? Would he listen? He sure hadn’t been listening to anyone else who had been telling him off. What made her any different?

“That’s enough of that, asshole.”

Clementine watched as Marlon jetted his elbow into Duck’s side, causing his grip on her shoulder to vanish. Just as the grip was lost, Louis swept up beside her, making sure to hold his hands out in front of her, demonstrating that he didn’t mean harm. “Are you okay?” He hushed.

Clementine said nothing, she was too worried and shaken. Instead, she just nodded.

It was then, staring at the terrified quiver in her eyes, did Louis realize just how different she was. Just how much better she was than the rest of the school.

At first glance, they’d approached Clementine because she was cute. It didn’t take long for them to realize that she was more than that. She was special. In a city full of stuck up teens, and in a high school that promoted pompous popularity over generosity, Clementine brought a stark contrast to it all.

They didn’t want to flirt with her. Hell, the two of them didn’t even want to date her. They wanted to keep her safe. They wanted to keep her away from the cruel world of high school. As far as they were concerned, they were there to save her.

“Come on Clem,” Louis said, taking her arm and guiding her away. “We’ll take you home.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, voice wavering and fragile. “I don’t want to take you guys away.”

“We don’t care about being here,” Marlon said, whisking the front door open and placing a hand on Clem’s shoulder as Louis guided her out. “We’d much rather walk you home than stay with this mess.”

Clementine’s eyes widened as she was escorted out of the house, one of the boys on either side of her. For the first time since she had entered that night, she felt safe. She felt as if someone had her back.

It was then, as the two guided her down the street back to her home, did she know that Savannah was going to be different from Roswell. Savannah was going to feel like home.

Because finally, finally, she had friends. ---------♥️♥️♥️----------

[imnotcameraready]

If Villains Baked Cookies — Ch 1

A/N: hey!! since a few people asked about it, and I had some ideas floating around already, I’m making the story from this post into a longer Thing™. I can’t promise regular updates or anything, since writers block is very good at beating me down, and since I’m very much in the middle of semester at uni, but I CAN promise that I’ll be thinking about this story near constantly. chapter 2′s already in the works lol

also gonna tag @rebelrewriter since you asked about if this would b coming out! i hope you like it ^^

read it here on AO3!

Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit, a curse, cursing, violent threats (no actual violence in this one) — also to note is that this is written as dialogue! it’s all dialogue! all of it!!

Words: 2842

Pairings: some real light platonic moceit? other than that, uh, none. none in this whole story. its just Big FamILY time

Characters: Patton patton and more patton, Deceit, a bit of Virgil, mentions of Logan and Roman

hope you enjoy!

If Patton Hart were considering all of the factors, then he’d be able to trace all of these problems back to gardening. He hadn’t been raised a farmer — his parents had him apprenticed to a healer, which he thoroughly enjoyed, but found much more stressful than he could enjoy. And the grief after having a patient die on his table…. At the ripe old age of 22, he decided to retire from healing and moved out to a smaller village, near the kingdom’s outskirts, and began a farm.

He hadn’t expected it to be so challenging. The village he moved to was a farming village, with his closest neighbors being a few hours’ horseride away, and a royal liason coming to collect the village’s surplus foods every fortnight.

There was a blacksmith, doctor, tavern, city hall, and a small cell block in the village’s center. A few blocks away (closer to Patton’s actual house than the village) was a library, but he hadn’t seen anyone enter or exit it since he’d moved in. In fact, he never saw the lights on, either, and no one ever talked about it.

Farming was hard. The animals listened to him, thankfully, but nothing would ever grow. And he could only live off of animal products for so long (and god knows he would never kill them). Responses from those in the village ranged from sympathetically helpful to sarcastic rudeness, but all pointed toward the soil in his land plot being less than ideal for crop growing. Or something. There were a lot of reasons and Patton had stopped keeping track.

Other people in his little village were farming, though, so he thought that there was something wrong with his methods. Maybe he was using too much water? Maybe he should purchase a different type of fertilizer?

Patton was more of a people person, so his first instinct was to ask his neighbors for help.

Looking back, he wasn’t sure why he thought they would help. His neighbors had been passive-aggressively bullying him for a month, since he arrived. They laughed at him, scorned him for thinking arming may be easy, and refused to help.

Don’t think about them, Patton. They’re not long gone by now. Assholes.

He knew that. But Patton’s a nostalgic guy. And stop swearing! We have children in the house, now.

His second instinct was to go to the library. Sure, he didn’t know if it was open or even functioning, but any sort of help would be welcome, even just one book on farming.

When he went to the library (it was a spur of the moment decision) it was dark.

Patton lifted his lantern a little higher, casting light on the entirety of the high-ceiling-ed room. The library had two floors, as could be seen from the outside, but inside he noted that the second floor had an open balcony down to the first floor. There were a cluster of tables in the center of the room but every wall on both floors was covered in bookshelves, from ceiling to floor. Along with that, there were mismatched shelves between the center and walls, nearly as tall as the walls themselves, all full of books.

There must be something in here that could help, he’d thought, so Patton began looking.

Books were never his strong suit, but he did his best with searching for the right topics. Even just any key words. He scoured the shelves for two days and found….nothing. No books related to farming at all.

On the third day, because Patton was stubborn as an ox, he finally found something on the second floor. Tucked away in the lower-most corner of the farthest shelf against the wall to the left was a book titled “Gardening with Snakes.”

Despite not knowing much about farming, Patton was fairly certain from the beginning that snakes had little to nothing to do with gardening. He knew some snakes lived in gardens —

I don’t happen to do a lot of gardening.

This isn’t about you, yet, shush.

It was late in the day when he found the book, too, so Patton deemed it best to take the book home for reading.

A few pages in and it was clear that this was a book about using magic to garden.

Patton hadn’t considered using magic. As far as he knew, the only people in the kingdom who used magic worked directly with the royal family, and someone had to pass rigorous ritualistic tests to be considered for an apprenticeship.

But here this book was, almost like a “Magic for Fools,” something even he could digest despite not having any experience with the subject. And it looked like most of the magic in the book was actually aimed at gardening. There were spells on improving soil fertility, how to bless water to heal ones’ crops, how to protect farm animals from illnesses….

Patton was absolutely charmed.

Ugh….

It may have been an unconventional means of farming, but he’d lowered his standards for “conventional” fairly far. At this point Patton was ready to try anything.

So, within mere days, this book had him spellbound.

I don’t hate you.

I know you love me.

The first round of crops, using a simple-seeming soil fertility spell, grew wonderfully. The corn stocks were strong and sturdy, and in only one month they had shot up to his height. His spinach actually gave crop in only 2 weeks!

Patton celebrated all night and had a wonderfully fresh salad with a cheese-based sauce.

He didn’t know enough about gardening to know that his corn had grown at half the speed it would regularly, or that his spinach had grown thrice as fast. How would he? The whole point of his plight was that he didn’t know anything about gardening.

And, after the corn began producing after only three months and during the winter, his neighbors began to whisper.

He continued to study the gardening magic book, however, and began planting more crops completely out of season, and yet they grew. The wheat grew tall, the spinach produced plentifully, the green beans thrived….sometimes while covered in snow. There must be some form of witchcraft involved, the neighbors whispered.

And as soon as Patton realized he had a surplus, he began to bring his crops into the market at a nearby town. There was no way he could sell them at the high prices his neighbors would — he was always distraught when he went to the market and found himself a dollar coin or two short of even a loaf of bread. So he slashed his own prices. What need did he have for money, other than the occasional gifts and coins to send to his parents, or for paying for services every so often? People need to eat!

People flocked to his booth, drawn by his low prices and charming personality.

Patton, you’ve never been a people person.

Oh, I have been?

I thought you weren’t doing a story point of view thing.

Fiddlesticks! Don’t make fun of me, Dee, you made me break it!

Anyway.

His neighbors were once again aghast. Within a few weeks, they were up in arms. Not only was Patton drawing customers away from them, he was attracting the attention of the crown.

Now, unknown to Patton at this time, the royal family was well aware of the famine threatening to sweep the country. Access to food was scarce, so much so that most farmers in the nation were gaining less crops every harvest, therefore selling them at higher prices.

In order to secure a surplus of foods for the royal family, the King had ordered for 76% of all crops to be brought to the capital, at a slashed fee. It was like highway robbery!

It wasn’t highway robbery.

I’ve been trying to clarify my metaphors, Dee, it makes Logan feel better. Anyway, the King would send a collector every two weeks, and Patton knew that, but he didn’t realize how much was being taken.

First his neighbors confronted him about his prices. Of course, Patton felt bad for his neighbors, but he also pleaded with them to lower their own prices. People shouldn’t have to save up for a week to buy only one loaf of bread! The food is in plenty, and everyone needs to eat!

Then they warned him. He didn’t know what to think. They’d just been threatening him, threatening to burn down his barn, kill his animals, burn his crops….now they wanted him to be safe?

They said the King would come to his doorstep. Not actually the King but a liason, a squire or some sort of lord or something, to make sure Patton fell in line with the King’s “policy.” And if Patton didn’t, then the King would make sure his farm died with him.

Of course, Patton was more than a little worried either way. He didn’t think being a farmer would make him on the run from the law, but what can you do? He didn’t expect these sorts of problems to just

Crop up.

Ugh. I’m not leaving.

Fine, fine, no more puns! Stay!

One more pun and I’m not going to get Logan to finish the story. I fully care that he doesn’t know what happens.

Alright….

He noted it, dully, and continued with his farming. But, true to what his neighbors said, there was a proceeding of lords who visited his house the very next day.

They told him about the patriotism he’d be donating the food to, how it was for the good of the country. But Patton was good at seeing through lies at this point. But more on that in a bit!

He didn’t know how he knew they were lying, but he knew. So he said no. No, he wouldn’t be giving the King any of the surplus food. All of it should be given to the people, because if the King was getting food from everyone else, then he should be having plenty! And how much was he going to be paying for it? The King had a lot of money. Why should he get such a steep discount compared to the market price?

It didn't make sense to Patton, so he said no. And the lords threatened him with everything his neighbors warned him with. They said the King would retaliate.

So, in a moment that Patton didn’t understand for a while, he responded “I sure hope he does.”

That is the dumbest thing I have ever done. I’ve done a lot of dumb things, but I still think this takes the cake!

Oh, finally giving up on the narration?

You know what, Dee. I think I will. I think everyone should hear me scream about my life from my own voice, with my own name, because DANG NABIT it was hard!

You’re not valid, but it is not fun to listen to you refer to yourself in the third person.

Well….thanks, Dee. Alright. I’ll keep it up then!

That was also not the dumbest thing you’ve done, I disagree.

It was dumb, but you helped. D’you want to explain that or should I?

I think I would tell it better.

Okay, okay, I’ll explain. So, rolling back a bit to the magic book. The magic book Patton found was actually related to a specific deity. Not a negative or positive one, but just a deity of illusions and growth. Because of the growth part, he was one of the many small-time deities who were called upon in help for the harvest.

Since magic had been hoarded amongst the upper-class, very specific deities were picked to be worshipped and, well, taught about to the people. Patton didn’t even know about the deity his book was based around.

At first, he thought it was fake, but the more he used the book’s knowledge in his farming, the more he attracted the deity’s attention. It was the first time a human had called upon his specific teachings in hundreds of years. And then he had to watch this human be threatened by people who were supposedly representing his best interests.

That night, the deity showed himself to Patton. He said he’d been intrigued. Well. Technically he said he hadn’t been intrigued.

This deity, since he was the deity of illusions first and foremost, lied in every sentence. He’d actually been cursed to, by another god! At first it was confusing, but that was just how he spoke, ya know? Nothing he could do about that, and nothing Patton could do!

He said he’d been intrigued by Patton’s use of his magic, because it’d been outlawed years and years ago. Patton, surprised, offered the deity a drink and some dinner.

That wasn’t adorable. A human has always offered me food and beverage.

Look, Deceit! I’d never been faced with a god before! How was I supposed to know what to do?

Fair enough. Please stop.

We had dinner, the deity and….Patton. And they discussed.

Patton wasn’t particularly interested in learning more magic, but the deity promised to teach him all he knew about gardening. But to earn that, the deity also had to teach him other forms of magic. Patton had heard the kingdom’s histories with magic, how the kingdom villainized all mischievous forms of magic in favor of more powerful or controllable forms, but this deity claimed that the kingdom did this by casting away and levying laws against certain other magics and, ergo, certain other gods.

Do you want to explain this part?

Me? Um, well, I think I could definitely do a good job of being understood. And because the story is not yours, I fully believe I could do it justice in telling it. Plus I just want to say it.

Well, alrighty then! Another thing about this deity is that he was lonely. That’s putting it kinda blunt. This deity in particular was mad, mad that he’d been abandoned, mad that he’d been locked away, so he had an ulterior plan. If he could corrupt this one human farmer and make him carry out his bidding, then this god could level the kingdom and kill everyone who put him in ethereal exile!

But he was more lonely than he was letting himself admit, and so was the human. So when the deity showed up every night to teach the human magic, the human would cook up a dinner with whatever foods they had on hand. Soon the tutoring lessons stretched longer, and then the deity just started….gosh, was there even a grace period before you just started living at my house?

I believe there was. I completely remember when I began staying at your house, but after you built me a whole room, well, how could I refuse?

That’s true, I guess! And you cooked a little, too!

Aren’t I just the best house guest?

Good use of sarcasm.

I hate loopholes in the lying curse.

Loopholes are the best! Alright, so then….wait, where was I?

I don’t remember, you weren’t talking about the first King’s messenger.

Oh, right! After Patton took that threat in accidental stride, the messenger….probably went back to the castle and told the King! And I imagine he was furious, because within a week, uh….

Gosh, yeah, that did happen….

Do you want me to tell this part?

Well….

I won’t tell it—

“Hey, Patton?”

Ah—yes, Virgil?

“Um, Logan, uh-he messed up a spell and, um. Roman’s stuck in a wall.”

....He’s….he’s stuck in a wall?

“Yeah, uh, Logan was practicing a portal spell and Roman followed him through it, the portal, but L said he didn’t know, so, uh. It closed. And Roman’s stuck in the wall now, and the extra concrete’s sitting on the ground outside the wall and he’s kinda screaming at Logan. Lo can’t figure out how to get him out, either.”

I….Well, let’s go. Deceit, can you finish telling the story?

“Telling the story? Ah, shit, did I—shoot, I meant shoot. Did I interrupt something?”

Nothing too big! Dee was going to take over for me, anyway! I just figured I should talk about how our big ole’ family came together! Like an oral history?

“.....Yeah.”

And I don’t really want Logan, um, accidentally closing the rest of the portal while Roman’s halfway through it. That would be….wall-ful.

“....”

….

You’re right, that wasn’t my best.

“Pat, I think Roman’s crying by now, and that pun’s about to make me start crying.”

I cannot take over, Patton, you don’t need to deal with that. Tell Logan he’s not an idiot for trying a portal spell this early in his magic career.

He’s not an idiot! He’s still learning!

Yes, indeed, because you also nearly killed yourself while learning.

Hah! You know I did! So that was a truth! Loop those holes, Dee, loop ‘em!

“Patton, can we go?”

You’re right, Virge, you’re right — let’s go.

[nic-and-annie-in-france]

Paris Vignettes

I found it pretty hard to write about our time in Paris because the city is so present in the American collective imagination. Paris means romance and sophistication. Everyone already knows about the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, and the Louvre. What can I say about the place that hasn’t already been said? Not much, which is why I’ve chosen to write more about the little moments than the big monuments. These are the small things that happened on our Paris trip that will likely never be advertised in a travel brochure.

We left home on a sunny Saturday afternoon. As we rode the bus through the town to the train station, I realized it had been ages since I had seen the town in full sunlight like this. I couldn’t stop staring out the window. Even though our town is not what I’d call picturesque, it looked so beautiful with people walking around outside and every factory and apartment building illuminated.

We waited on a bench about an hour at the station for the train to arrive. To pass the time, I eavesdropped on the family seated near us, and learned that they were from the Paris area and were returning home from a ski vacation. The little girl in the family, maybe three or four years old, had left her sunglasses in their driver’s car, and the mom was calling the driver to ask about the sunglasses. After she hung up, she told the little girl that they wouldn’t be able to get her sunglasses back before the train arrived, so they would have to go back home without them. The mom’s work acquaintance, however, was coming to this area in the following week, so she told her that the coworker could probably bring the sunglasses back with her next week. The little girl sounded disappointed. “But I don’t want to go home without my sunglasses…could we call the police and get them to bring my sunglasses?” By the time we boarded the train, I was highly invested in this little girl and the fate of her sunglasses, but since it was all happening in French, Nicolas was unaware of the drama. As soon as we were on the train and out of earshot, I told him the whole story. We laughed. We cried. We hoped that one day she and her sunglasses would be reunited.

We checked into our hostel in Paris after dark. Our room was several flights of stairs above the ground floor, so after we huffed and puffed our way there, we set our things down and checked out the view. There were some trees in a courtyard nearby that partially obscured our view, but the skyline literally glittered with thousands of tiny lights almost too far away to see. I could tell that the Eiffel Tower wasn’t in our line of sight, but I was eager to look again in the morning and see what else was visible in the daytime. It’s certainly easier to navigate in the daylight, but it’s a lot of fun to see a city for the first time in the dark and then discover it all over again the next morning.

We went to both the Louvre and the Musée d’Orsay, Paris’ two most popular art museums. In terms of time period, the Musée d’Orsay picks up where the Louvre leaves off��the Louvre has art from Antiquity until the 19th century, and the Orsay covers about 60 years of art after that, including most people’s favorite Impressionists. So in terms of collections, comparing the two museums is like comparing apples and oranges. However, I really enjoyed comparing our experiences of the two museums and how the space in each building is used. -- The Louvre is a royal palace that has been repurposed to become a heavily trafficked public building and tourist destination. The oldest part of the building dates from the medieval period, and has been changed and added onto ever since; the iconic glass pyramids in the front are only 30 years old. In terms of the floor plan, it’s pretty typical for a European palace. There are two main wings where you basically travel down a straight line of progressively smaller rooms. As an art museum—and as the world’s most popular art museum—it’s kind of a nightmare.  We couldn’t find a single staircase that let us access all five floors. Several times we wanted to leave the right wing and go to the left one, or vice versa. And after studying the map, making a game plan, carrying out the plan, and checking the map again, we realized with frustration and horror that we had never left the first wing at all. After an exhausting day of wandering around through crowds of people, we were lucky to finally find the exit. Don’t get me wrong, it was really cool to see the Mona Lisa and tons of other masterpieces. It was just interesting to see how the choice of layout for the museum had very real physical and emotional implications for us and our trip. -- The Orsay, mercifully, is not an old palace—it’s an old train station. The main entrance area is therefore a giant open room with a rounded glass ceiling and a huge clock. Most of the paintings are held in rooms branching off from this central area, so it’s very easy to orient oneself and to travel to the rooms you want to see most. And this is what one would expect from a train station, where it is important for large crowds of people to be able to get from A to B without much trouble. Our day spent in the Musée d’Orsay was overall much more pleasant and comfortable than our day in the Louvre, not because we liked the art so much better (even though we did) but because the building was better suited to tourists and art.

On one cloudy morning, the first item on the itinerary was walking around the neighborhoods on the banks and islands of the Seine. We wandered down whatever streets looked most interesting. We went to the small park on the point of one of the islands and snapped a few pictures. Later that day in the Musée d’Orsay, we saw a Pissarro painting of the almost exact same view we saw from the point of the island.

We were supposed to only spend a morning in the Musée d’Orsay, but we enjoyed it so much that we ignored our grumbling stomachs and stayed until 4pm. As I think I’ve mentioned before, the French are pretty particular about mealtimes, and lots of restaurants close between 3pm and 7pm. Paris has enough demand from tourists at odd hours that we could have easily found a restaurant open between those hours, but we were just too embarrassed to violate the culture so flagrantly. Instead, we went to a grocery store and bought some pre-made sandwiches, a box of crackers, and two yogurts.  We brought our food to the Tuileries garden and ate in a secluded corner, enjoying the unusually pleasant weather, pointing out cute dogs to each other, and daydreaming about what our lives might be like if we lived in Paris.

Europe has a lot of religious art, and we both paid attention in Bible study, so we’ve gotten pretty good at identifying our saints and Bible stories in the paintings and sculptures we see. For example, in a painting of the disciples, Peter is always going to be the one who is balding in a horseshoe pattern, with one tuft of gray hair in the middle of his forehead. John is always going to be the youthful-looking one with no beard and longish auburn hair. In Paris, we decided to make a game of looking at an artwork and guessing the Bible/Church history scene before we looked at the title. It was our own little trivia competition each time we toured an art museum or cathedral. My personal favorite story to spot is Saint Anthony of Padua preaching to the fish, and one of my favorite artworks is this stained-glass representation of the book of Revelation.

One afternoon we headed to the outskirts of the city in order to go to the Musée Marmottan Monet. On our walk to the museum, we passed a horse trailer parked on the side of the road. My Kentucky brain didn’t register that that this was an odd thing to see in Paris, but Nicolas excitedly said, “Chevaux!” when he recognized the word written across the trailer. We rounded a corner, and then we found the chevaux: they were hitched to old-timey carriages parked in the middle of the street, surrounded by people in 19th century period costume. We were told by the man working security at the corner of the street that a TV series was filming there that day. We had to wait for permission to hurry into the museum between takes. 

We went to the Eiffel Tower around sunset so that we could see in the daylight and lit up at night. We took a few pictures, then just spent some time looking at it quietly and trying to absorb the moment. A street musician from the US was performing nearby—we were there long enough to hear, of all things, “Santeria” by Sublime and “Wagon Wheel” by Old Crow Medicine Show. Those were probably the last two songs I’d want to hear while trying to appreciate the Eiffel Tower, but in spite of this, and in spite of the selfie sticks and souvenir hawkers, it really was as cool—moving, inspiring, romantic—as people make it out to be.