#HOT TAKE OF THE MONTH... READ 'EM AND WEEP

[princessnijireiki]

time for my weekly "may I say something hateful?" post...

anyway. I fucking hate takes like this... weren't the dragon age elves genocided? isn't that the whole point?

so, asatru is like wicca, it's a neopagan quasi-reconstructed religion made by non-persecuted peoples getting in touch with and/or self-exotifying + elevating (sometimes to racist end) their ethnic/ethnonational roots... vs. religious & spiritual reconstruction in the midst of literal catastrophic cultural destruction, like how hebrew had to be rebuilt from the ground up & how indigenous + afrodiasporic modern traditional and syncretic religions are made in a way that... it's on a path that's been altered by the trajectory of the genocide itself, right? in the same way as yiddish is more commonly spoken than ladino, or in endangered languages, if one of the only surviving speakers uses a specific dialect or has a speech impediment, that's how every other language learner from then on will speak as well. vodun & santería & palo are all real religions with shared ancestral roots that are not practiced the same way as the still living religious heritages they all come from in africa.

like the fact that these religions do not look the same way as the "authentic" "originals" is a direct result of (fairly damn recent) enslavement & massacre... loki worship is gonna look different not just because of christian conquest a literal millenium ago, but bc people who began modern nordic worship chose to characterize these religious figures a certain way, or worship in a modernized way that suited them for personal, aesthetic, or political reasons, often crafted whole-cloth. one is evolution & adaptation of a faith in the wake of survival, and what it means to be a survivor, and the other thing was honestly built up for funsies. and that's not a dis against people who practice those faiths, but if you actually knew your history, you'd be aware of what a revival vs a survival movement looks like.

all of which is besides the fact that as like... a person who has inherited a few genocides. 1) I would hope any ancient person thrown into the modern day would hear about their own people's ongoing genocide and be appalled for their still-oppressed nation rather than automatically jump to snotty condescension and judgement [I will allow for like. 2 outrages maybe at heresy due to lack of information or what the fuck ever. but AT LATEST after the 2nd one it's on them to either make peace with a dead tradition or teach people instead of being a dick]. and 2) same as how I feel about alternate history, I do not have time for any story that fantasizes & waxes poetic about writing me out of existence, and by extension, while I can accept an ancestor that would not recognize me or understand me, any ancestor who resents my people or me for doing what we needed to do to survive out here in the world (without them I might add!) can go jump off a bridge into the nearest & hottest hell lmfao.

I do not give a FUCK. eat a thousand musty bog body dicks before you think you can talk to me like you're some holier than thou authority on massacres you weren't around for, and eat a hundred thousand before you think any of that is comparable to history channel vikings cosplay and modern scandinavian ethnonationalist fascist movements' religious propagandizing.

[fruitcoops]

hiii i've just spent the last 36-48 hours reading your works and oh dear do i lOVE your writing and this universe :') . i dont know if you are taking requests but i think it would be kinda interesting (and low key hilarious) if you would write the lions reacting/reading thirst tweets? idk if this is a dumb idea or not but just like some of them reacting to them and going "well i'm actually gay/married so.. no!.. but thank you!"

Part two of the six-month celebration, everyone! Thank you thank you THANK YOU to everyone who submitted comments--I had over 60 come in, and while I couldn’t include them all, reading them was a true joy. The Lion Pride channel was something I started writing on a whim; I never expected it to grow like this <3 Much love to all of you!

TW for alcohol mentions and thirst tweets (nothing explicit)

“Why do I always fear for my life around you?” Sirius asked as Marlene settled into a cushy chair to the side of their table.

She smiled, catlike, and crossed her legs primly. “Because only Finn appreciates me.”

“That’s just the Aries connection, Cap,” Finn said with a smug grin.

“We’re both Leos, Harzy.”

“Eh, close enough.”

Remus raised an eyebrow at her. “You should probably start asking questions before this devolves further, Marley. He’s gonna keep digging himself a hole and we won’t get anything done.”

Marlene’s smile returned with a vengeance. “That’s where you’re wrong, Loops! We’re not doing any questions at all today.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Read it and weep.” She tossed a small posterboard at him like a frisbee; he caught it, barely, though both Talker and Sirius had to duck out of the way. Marlene faced the camera and winked. “Welcome back to Lion Pride, everyone! Today I’m here with Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Thomas Walker, and our wonderful cubs to react to your comments on our videos!”

“Bet you thought we’d never see ‘em, huh?” James asked.

“The comments fall into four categories: thirsty, funny, mean, and sweet. I will be reading two of those groups, and my lovely fiancée will be reading the others because she is the human embodiment of sunshine.”

“If you make Dorcas read the mean ones, I’ll be sad,” Leo laughed.

Marlene gave him a look of disbelief. “You think I’m passing up a chance to roast you guys? Puh-lease. We’re starting off strong with some thirsty, thirsty comments! Loops, you’re up first.”

“This is going to be fun,” Sirius said, leaning back in his chair.

She cleared her throat, then turned a smoldering look on their table. “I didn’t know I had a freckle kink, but then Remus Lupin appeared and now here we are.”

“Oh, shit,” Remus muttered, covering his face with his hands as the others howled with laughter.

“Lupin has been looking sexy as hell on the bench for years now. I'm so glad people are simping over him like he deserves,” Marlene read. “And there’s a little heart emoji, just for you.”

“This is every one of my nightmares come to life,” Remus said, though his voice was muffled by his forearms.

James lifted his glasses to swipe away the tears of mirth that had gathered in his eyes. “Are you kidding? This is everything I have ever wanted.”

“Y’know, it is so good to see people drooling over this hot piece of ass at last,” Finn sighed, reaching over to ruffle Remus’ hair as his face turned bright red.

“One more, and it’s a good one,” Marlene warned. She licked her lips, then had to take a moment to laugh before speaking. “I feel like Remus Lupin is the type of guy to bake you muffins—”

“Accurate,” Leo said.

“—but is also a kinky motherfucker.”

Remus’ mouth dropped open as the table erupted into cheering. Logan pumped both fists in the air and Sirius was laughing so hard no sound came out; Talker sank so low in his chair that only his head and shoulders were visible as he applauded.

“Why do people comment these things?” Remus asked, barely above a whisper. “Holy fuck, I’m engaged!”

“Speaking of…” Marlene raised her eyebrows and Sirius smile drooped.

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. Buckle up, Cap!” She rolled her shoulders out. “Get someone who looks at you the way Sirius Black looks at a hockey puck.”

Remus snorted; James’ laugh was so short and sharp that it set everyone else off as well. “That sounds like I have a hockey puck fetish!” Sirius complained. “Which is so, so not true!”

Finn made an ‘ehh’ noise, and he leaned around Remus to smack the back of his head. “Hey!”

“Next one!” Marlene announced. “Sirius Black was my bi awakening.”

A beat of silence passed. “Is that it?” Sirius ventured, looking nervous.

“Yep.”

“Aw, man, that one’s lame,” Talker said, shaking his head. “Everyone thinks Cap is a little hot.”

Remus shot him a look. “A little?”

“Fair. Marley, I dare you to find one person who wouldn’t tap that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Me, though that dovetails nicely into the last one for our lovely captain. Ahem. I understand why Remus is with Sirius: he's hot as hell and rich, I'd hit that too.”

“Oh, fuck, you’re right,” Leo gasped. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Finn and Logan turned to him in unison with a mix of disbelief and offense written all over their faces. “Dude.”

“First of all, Leo, you found yourself two hot rich boys,” Remus interrupted. “Second, that comment is forgetting that he’s funny, and smart, and nice, and—”

Seconds after the initial cover, Sirius took his hand off Remus’ mouth as if he’d been burned. “Did you just lick me?”

“Moving on! This is in all caps, so be prepared.” Marlene shuffled through her posterboards and turned to Leo with an ominous smile. He glanced toward the camera in mild fear. “What does a person have to do to get some hockey player ass?! Like why is Leo Knut so fine?!”

“Amen!” Logan called as Leo blushed.

“According to six of the seven people at this table, the answer to that first question is to be a hockey player,” Talker laughed. “The world may never know the answer to the second, sadly.”

“Lily could play hockey,” James said, resting his chin on his hand. Every single one of the others rolled their eyes. “She could! She’d be so good at it, too.”

“We know,” Finn groaned. “You only mention it every other day.”

“Speaking of the lovely Mrs. Potter,” Marlene began with a sly look as she held up a new card. “Do James and Lily Potter need a third? Asking for me specifically.”

James paused, dumbstruck, while the others drummed their hands on the table. “…no?”

A general sigh of disappointment went up. “I was really hoping he’d say yes,” Leo said.

“Ask Lily next time,” Remus recommended.

James turned to him and blinked slowly. “What are you insinuating, Loops?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Don’t worry, James, you’ll like this one,” Marlene assured him. “James Potter is the ultimate dilf.”

“You’re damn right I am!” James whooped. “Vindication, bitches!”

“Marley, what have you done?” Talker whispered. “He’ll never shut up about that, now.”

“Oh, never,” James all but cackled. “I’m officially a dilf, you guys!”

“I hate you,” Sirius groaned.

“Tremzy, are you ready? We’ve got a couple very special ones for you,” Marlene said.

“Anything to get us out of this hell,” Logan begged.

“In that case: Logan Tremblay’s ass is better than Sidney Crosby’s. I said what I said.”

A pleased flush rose to his cheeks as Finn and Leo high-fived over his head. “Really? Thank you!”

“And they would be correct!” Finn announced. “Best ass in the league.”

“Come on,” Remus scoffed, though he was smiling.

Marlene cleared her throat to get their attention. “I don’t think I can legally read this on air without being censored or getting the video taken down, but…”

She turned the board around; all seven of them leaned forward to read it, then slowly looked at Logan, who turned vivid red. “Mon dieu. Is that—someone commented that on a video? Like, for people to see?”

“I feel like I need to bleach my eyes,” Sirius said just as Finn began shaking with silent laughter.

Leo’s face fell. “You wrote that, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Finn wheezed, scooting forward to fist-bump Marlene. “We wanted to see what you guys would say. Fuckin’ hell, your faces.”

“Alright, Talkie, are you ready?” Marlene asked around her laughter. “Seeing Thomas Walker with a baby makes me want to have his babies…please hit me up.”

He held up his index finger and took a second to laugh before responding. “If that’s Noelle, yes. If that’s anyone else, I’m flattered, but absolutely not.”

Logan made a face. “Ew.”

“We have two more,” Marlene warned. “For some very special people that aren’t here today, but I think you’ll like them anyway.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “I don’t trust the look on your face.”

“Daddy Dumo makes me swoon.”

A muddle of horrified noises echoed through the studio as all seven of them cringed. “Oh, my god, that’s my dad!” Logan yelped, covering his ears. Sirius looked vaguely ill and Remus’ shoulders crept toward his ears; James shuddered.

“The worst part is, we all know he can get it,” Finn said with a grimace. “God, I feel like I just heard someone talking about my parents having sex.”

“I’m sure he’ll love to hear that,” Marlene laughed. “Last one, from one of our truth or drinks.”

Remus went pale half a second too late. “N—”

“Hope Lupin is a milf.”

A broken noise escaped his mouth and he clamped his hand over it while Talker rubbed his back in sympathy. Sirius shook his head. “Somehow, that’s worse than Dumo’s.”

“Whoever sent that in, show some respect!” Leo said indignantly as Remus bonked his forehead against the table. “Hope Lupin is a lovely woman!”

“I think they noticed that particular fact,” Marlene pointed out, earning herself several scandalized shouts of her name and a whine from Remus. “That’s all we have for thirst comments! Are you ready for some funny ones?”

“Anything,” Remus pleaded. “I am begging you, anything else.”

Marlene shook her head as she stood, still smiling, and kissed Dorcas on the cheek when she entered the frame. “Go for it, love.”

“Dorcas!” they all cheered, lighting up immediately.

“Hey, guys, it’s been a while!” She curled up in Marlene’s vacant spot and took her own posterboards out from underneath the seat. “Alright, let’s rock and roll. Pascal Dumais is the team dad and nothing will change my mind, and Tremzy is the annoying youngest child.”

“That is so accurate,” Sirius laughed, leaning just out of range of Logan’s playful punch. “Whoever commented that has no idea how right they are.”

“We’ve got a whole sibling dynamic thing going on,” Talker agreed. “Tremzy’s the baby of the family, Cap is the quietly chaotic middle child, and Pots is the older brother that starts shit and inevitably gets blamed for however out-of-control it gets.”

Dorcas nodded. “You are one hundred percent correct. In a similar vein: Pots was the dad jokes friend before he was even a dad.”

“Painfully so,” Leo confirmed, shaking his head as they all groaned in agreement. James looked rather smug about the whole thing. “So many puns.”

“Oh, you’ll like this one,” Dorcas mused as she drew a new card. “If Tremzy looked directly into my eyes for even two seconds, all of my problems would be solved. I am sure of it.”

“Yes,” Finn and Leo said in unison.

“It’s something about the eyes, I think,” James added. “They just stand out so much that it’s a little startling straight-on.”

Logan looked to the camera and stared at it, unblinking; it zoomed in slightly on his face. “Everything will be fine,” he said with mock solemnity. “Your problems are solved.”

“Well, that was terrifying,” Sirius said drily. “Got any more for us, Ms. Meadowes?”

“Of course I do! We’ve got quite a few for Loops and Leo.” She took a sip of her water before getting comfortable again. “My favorite thing about these videos is that we can all see Loops get steadily buffer as the season goes on. Good for you, king!”

“Flex! Flex! Flex!” the six of them chanted; Remus rolled his eyes, but slid his sweater sleeve to his elbow and flexed his forearm, resulting in enough hoots and hollers that they could probably be heard a block away. Talker fake-swooned into Leo’s arms and Remus lightly whacked him on the shoulder.

“Remus Lupin looks like he has squishable cheeks,” Dorcas read aloud.

“He does!” James cooed, scooting over and reaching out.

Remus narrowed his eyes. “I swear to god I’ll bite you.”

Sirius cupped his face between his palms and kissed his nose, then pinched both his cheeks gently. “Ta-da!”

“How many of these do we have?” Remus asked, though his voice was a bit muffled by Sirius’ hands.

“Just one more for you, and it’s my personal favorite.” Dorcas assured him. “I love how the team probably had no impulse control until Loops joined.”

Sirius let go of his face and dissolved into laughter as Finn nearly fell on the floor. “Oh my—you think he has impulse control?” Talker slapped the edge of the table as he shook his head. “Absolutely not. Hell no, Loops is the first person to do stupid shit with us.”

“Yeah, I just don’t get caught,” Remus added around his own laughter. “Everyone thinks I’m such a hardass goody-two-shoes and it lets me get away with so much more than you delinquents.”

“Speaking of delinquents,” Dorcas continued. “This one is from our ‘Taste Testing Sexy Alcohol’ video: ah, yes, now I know how to do a body shot. 10/10, very educational video.”

“Do not take educational advice from us,” Finn blurted instantly. “I know this is a joke, but please exercise caution. That video was a ton of fun but a nightmare to recover from.”

Sirius winced at the memory. “I took two naps and then wished for death for a full day.”

“On a lighter note, who’s ready for some Knutty appreciation?” Dorcas smiled at her cards. “I've only had Leo Knut for a season and half, but if anything happened to him, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.”

“Big mood,” four of them said simultaneously.

Leo turned to the camera with a concerned look on his face. “That’s a meme reference, but are y’all okay?”

“No,” Dorcas answered. “Especially not this next person: Sometimes I do something productive and then I remember @LeoKnut is a 19 year old professional athlete who radiates happiness and with two of the hottest boyfriends the good lord has made, and then my bowl of packaged ramen seems less impressive.”

“I’m proud of your ramen,” Leo said, even as the corners of his mouth twitched in a smile. “And I appreciate the note about my boyfriends, because they are definitely the hottest people the good lord has made.”

Talker stuck his lip out in a pout. “Rude.”

“Sorry, Talkie, I’m biased.”

“Last one before Marlene comes back, so you’d better enjoy it!” Dorcas announced. “Did the Lions effectively utilize girl power when they wrecked toxic masculinity, yes or yes?”

“Can we utilize girl power?” Remus wondered, resting his shin on his hand. “Isn’t that exclusively for, y’know, women?”

“We can utilize himbo power,” Finn suggested.

James gave him an offended look. “Not all of us are himbos!”

“Okay, but you definitely are.”

“I am not!” James held up his fingers to count. “There are only, like, three qualifications, right? I might be strong, hot, and respectful, but I’m not dumb so it doesn’t count!”

“Pots,” Remus said quietly, hiding his smile for half a second. “Buddy, that was four things.”

James paused, then sighed in resignation. “Ah, fuck, I’m a himbo.”

“You really are.”

“At least we don’t promote toxic masculinity.”

They raised their waterbottles in a ‘cheers’ motion as Marlene and Dorcas switched spots; Marlene stretched her arms over her head and grabbed the new boards. “I’m back, beloved himbos. Talker, Leo, you are beloved by the people and have no mean comments. Cap, we’re starting with you.”

“Are they actually mean mean?” he asked.

“Sirius Black seems like a little bitch. Not in a bad way, necessarily. He just. Seems like he'd be a little bitch."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Oh, okay. That answers one question.”

“He’s not a little bitch,” Leo said. “Pouty on occasion, but not a little bitch.”

Remus gave him a long look, then shook his head. “Yeah, I mean, you teared up a little when Hattie got a splinter in her paw but didn’t even yell when you almost sliced your finger off while making dinner.”

“Duality of man,” Finn said sagely.

Marlene cocked an eyebrow. “Finn O’Hara’s hair kind of reminds me of Garfield the Cat.”

“Alright, that’s just rude.”

“It does not!” Logan gasped at the same time Leo made a noise of agreement.

Finn turned to him in utter betrayal. “Nutter Butter, I thought you liked my hair!”

“I do!” Leo defended. “But they’re not entirely wrong. It’s very orange in the sun.”

“I’m never going to forget that,” Finn muttered, staring at the floor.

“Ugh, it bothers me so much that Lupin just objectifies Black all the time!” Marlene read in a high-pitched, nasal voice. “No respect in that relationship!”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Pardon?”

Marlene stared at it for a moment, then shrugged. “Yeah, I have no idea what videos they were watching. Do you feel objectified in your relationship, Cap? I know the opinion of total strangers really bothers you a lot.”

“I’m really glad you picked up on that,” he said with false gravity. “Yeah, it’s such a bummer when my hot fiancé says I look nice. Such a blow to my self-esteem.”

“That was supposed to be a roast against me,” Remus said, looking amused. “Talk about backfiring.”

“Are you ready, Pots? This one’s pretty brutal,” Marlene warned. James nodded and Finn linked their hands for moral support. “James Potter is a swiftie and you cannot tell me otherwise.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “…yeah? That’s true? T Swift is a regular occurrence on the locker room playlist.”

“Also, James Potter looks like someone who would think black pepper was spicy.”

“Now that one is mean,” he complained as the others burst out laughing.  “It’s not my fault I have sensitive taste buds!”

“Oh, honey,” she said under her breath as she took a new card. “Get ready, Tremzy. This first one is short and sweet: Logan Tremblay looks like a lesbian.”

“That is not an insult,” Logan laughed. “Every lesbian I know is rad as fuck. I wish I looked that good in a leather jacket.”

“I just realized Logan doesn’t look short cause he’s next to bunch of hockey players, he’s short cause he’s 5’9.”

The smile slipped off his face in a millisecond as the others roared with laughter. “Quoi?”

“Oh, she got you good,” Sirius gasped, patting his shoulder clumsily. “Holy fuck, can I frame that?”

“That’s not what it says.” An edge of distress appeared in Logan’s voice. “Marley, that’s not what it says.”

James sat on the floor with the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes. “You’re fucking—whoever sent that in, you are my new favorite person. Jesus.”

“Do you need a second to recover before we move on?” Dorcas asked as she draped her arms over the back of Marlene’s chair. “The next one is our biggest section by far.”

“It’s the sweet ones, yeah?” Leo asked.

“Right.”

“It might be a good idea to do those before Lo spontaneously combusts.”

“Agreed!” She swapped with Marlene and hauled a short stack of posterboards out from their hiding place with a smile. “A hug from Dumo can probably solve any issue.”

“Facts,” Logan said. “I could really use one right about now, too.”

“Has anyone noticed how blue Leo Knut’s eyes are?”

“Yes,” the six of them chorused.

Finn gave him a dreamy look. “Every single day.”

“When I first read this one, I thought I wrote it,” Dorcas said with a snort. “Someone give Marlene a raise. No reason why, I just love her.”

“Can we do that?” Sirius asked, looking toward the camera crew. “Can we lobby to give you guys raises? Because you definitely deserve it after all the bullshit you deal with to make these videos watchable, and Marlene, you’ve drawn the short end of the stick ninety percent of the time.”

“How?” she called off-screen.

“You have to actually talk to us and try to get answers.”

“Fair.”

Dorcas finished scribbling something down on her notepad. “Just making a note of this conversation for future reference. Moving on! Sirius Black and James Potter are a prime example of hockey husbands, and I adore them.”

“The ironic part of that is that we’re both in committed relationships, but we’re basically married,” James mused.

Remus shook his head. “You guys are so married. Lily wanted to get you matching rings for your birthday, Pots.”

“That would be so cool!” they said in perfect unison. Remus turned to the camera and spread his hands in a case in point motion.

Dorcas stifled her laughter before moving on. “This one is cute. Give Remus Lupin all the hugs! I feel like I could tell him he’s an inspiration and he’d be so nice about it—” She paused to glance up at them. “—this next bit is in parentheses: all the LGBT Lions give me that vibe, but Cap and Knutty are super intimidating so I wouldn’t have the guts.”

Leo’s face fell and Sirius’ eyebrows pitched. “I’m not intimidating!” Leo protested. “I thought we already went over that! Loops gives fantastic hugs, but I want some, too.”

“He definitely deserves all the hugs in the world, but I promise I’m nice,” Sirius said, a bit softer than usual. “Is it because we’re tall?”

Dorcas half-shrugged. “Probably. It’s a little startling at first. Oh, I could’ve written this one, too: The Venn diagram of men I trust and the Gryffindor Lions is a full circle.”

Talker beamed at the camera. “Thank you!”

“So many hockey guys are such douchebags,” Logan said with a shake of his head. “I’m really glad we don’t do that shit.”

“Me, too.” Dorcas slid her old card under her chair. “Sirius Black’s hair looks so soft and I just want to touch it so bad.”

“It is so soft,” Remus agreed immediately. “You have no idea.”

“Everyone wants to touch Cap’s hair,” Finn said, sighing. “It’s so majestic.”

“I need a haircut.”

“No, you don’t,” Remus said as he tugged a stray curl. Sirius hummed.

“This one is from the interview some you did with Jules and Katie: these hockey boys being so soft with kids is my aesthetic! Like, it’s just so adorable to see these big, intimidating dudes be so, so sweet! Love them all!” She turned the card for them to see. “And then they added a heart at the end.”

“It’s impossible to be around those kids and not be happy,” James said. “They’re just too cute and wonderful.”

“Yeah, I love kids.” Finn nodded. “Especially the Dumais and Jules. They’re a hoot.”

“Jules would die if he heard you say that,” Remus laughed. “The hero worship is still going strong with most of you.”

“This one made me laugh when I first read it, but it’s really sweet,” Dorcas informed them. “Anyone else feel like we were deceived these past five years into thinking Cap was this hard-ass man, when in reality he's a cuddle bug who definitely captures and releases spiders instead of squishing them?”

“You weren’t deceived, I was just closeted,” Sirius said. “Also, I absolutely squish spiders.”

Remus gave him a look. “No, you do not. That’s my job. I’m the catch and release person if I can get away with it.”

James shook his head. “The third week of practices you saw a spider and threw me at it.”

“You did what?” Finn asked.

“There was a spider in my stall,” Sirius sighed, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else. “And Pots and I were talking so I didn’t see it until I almost sat on it, and my brain decided the only logical thing to do would be to grab him and shove him toward the spider.”

“That was after you shrieked,” Talker added. “Like, literally shrieked. I’ve never heard anyone make a noise like that.”

“Alright, alright,” Sirius grumbled. “We get it, I don’t like spiders.”

Remus shrugged. “But you are a cuddle bug. They got that part right.”

“We’re in the final two!” Dorcas announced. “This one has some pictures to go with it, so it’s on my phone. Fuck Romeo and Juliet, I want what these bitches have.”

“It’s us!” Leo cooed as the phone made its way down the line. In the upper corner of the screen, the photo appeared—it had been taken in New York, and Logan’s whole face was alight with happiness as Leo and Finn each pressed a kiss to his cheek. The camera caught him mid-laugh, so his eyes were closed and his chin was tucked slightly into Finn’s Strand hoodie.

“That’s my screensaver,” Finn said with a grin, pulling his phone out and turning it toward the camera without moving away from Leo. “One of my favorites.”

“I forgot you took that one,” Logan murmured. He hooked his chin over Leo’s shoulder and kissed his cheek; the four others at the table gave soft are you seeing this? looks to the camera and Dorcas smiled.

“Pots, I think yours is next. I hate to break it to you, Talkie, but they didn’t get any of you and Noelle.”

“We don’t take a ton of pictures together,” Talker said as James took the phone. “I mean, we take a bunch of selfies, but we don’t live close enough to each other to actually post that often. What picture is it, J?”

James was staring down at the picture with an unbearably sweet expression. “It’s our wedding. That’s my favorite one, actually.”

Like Logan, they had been captured while laughing—Lily was bent slightly at the waist as James clapped, his glasses just as askew as the flower crown on her head. It was impossible to tell who had told the joke originally, but they were both radiant in the sunset.

“That’s a really good one,” Sirius said with an unreadable look on his face.

“Well, well, well, fancypants, you two got a video.” James wiggled his eyebrows and Remus leaned in to see.

“What kind of video? One of our tikt—oh. Oh, this is so cute.” He shifted his chair over as the short edit began to play. “D, who made this?”

“A fan.”

“It’s really impressive,” Sirius said without taking his eyes off the screen. The edit was a series of photos, both on and off the ice; Sirius knocking their helmets together, then Remus looking back over his shoulder, then both of them in the water playing chicken in the sun. It was a slideshow of their life and their love.

“Can you send that to me?” Remus asked when it was over. “Cause that’s super cool.”

“Sure thing. Are you guys ready for the last one?” When they all nodded, she drummed her fingers on the posterboard and cleared her throat. “Arthur appreciation hours. He deserves it after managing to control the team.”

A cheer went up—all seven stood and applauded, half-laughing and half-whooping. “Miracle worker!” Sirius called.

“Best coach in the league!” Finn added.

“Most tolerant man to ever walk the earth!” Remus raised his water in a toast and they tapped the plastic edges together, nearly spilling all over the table.

Dorcas’ eyes crinkled in a smile as she turned to the camera. “That’s it for today, Lions! Tune in next time for more content of our boys, and thank you for such wonderful comments!”

[voiceless-terror]

Pinning it Down

@aspecarchivesweek Day One: Pride

Characters: Jonathan Sims/Georgie Barker

Jon fiddles with the pin in his hand.

He and Georgie had only been dating for six months. They were still getting to know each other, at least, from Jon’s perspective. When she suggested going to the pride parade he’d blanched- the concept itself was fine, of course he supported it. But the crowd, the noise, being surrounded by drunk college students on a hot day; well, it wasn’t really his scene. Georgie must have read the hesitation in his face and quickly changed track, instead suggesting a quiet brunch with a few friends from class.

Georgie’s friends, not his. They tolerate him well enough, but he can see they’re perplexed by Georgie’s choice in partner. Quiet, pedantic, acerbic Jon. That’s what they think of him, he’s sure of it.

He’d had one friend before Georgie. It was his first year, he’d felt even more out of place than he did in Bournemouth, surrounded by kids eager to socialize and participate. Jon was in the library at some forced mixer, mumbling his way through ice breakers and trying to ignore the titters his answers brought. But he’d caught the eye of one girl from the floor below his; tall, with long brown hair and a wicked gleam in her eyes. She barked out a laugh at one of his answers, gave a commiserating smirk. He smiled tentatively back.

From that moment on Maria latched on to him, despite his many efforts to push her away. She was one of those people for whom intimacy came naturally. She studied with him in the library, they bantered back and forth over drinks she’d dragged him to, attended shitty concerts together where Jon had to duck out early, too overwhelmed by the flashing lights and sweaty bodies. She was easy-going, quick with a laugh and even quicker with a smile. It was nice to have someone who appreciated him, flaws and all.

One night over too many drinks, he confessed to her- he’d never felt that pull you were supposed to, that primal attraction that seemed to govern the lives of those around him. He confessed it like a dirty secret, something you kept close to the chest. But she just nodded, gave him a tap on the wrist as she always did when he got nervous. “My girlfriend’s asexual too,” she said, in the most nonchalant of tones. “You want another round?”

He blinked. He’d done his own research as a teenager, trying to find out what made him so different and how he could ‘fix’ it. There weren’t many resources back then, and though he’d seen some helpful information he felt too nervous to delve deeply. He’d heard the term only in science class, and he didn’t like the connotations that brought. But to hear someone use it so casually, as if it was something to be accepted, something completely normal, almost made him weep with relief. Here was someone like him, in a relationship with Maria, who was practically his idol in all things. 

The next day she passed him a pin in class: black, grey, white and purple. “My girlfriend’s got a ton of ‘em, thought you might like.” Later that night he stared at it, turning it over in his hand. He thought of putting it on his backpack, but instead decided to tuck it away in his drawer. 

At the end of the semester, Maria transferred to a different university to be closer to her girlfriend. She made him promise to keep in touch, but, well- Jon’s never been good at that. 

And now here he is, standing at Georgie’s door as she laces up her boots. Her fingernails are painted pink, purple, and blue, just like Jon’s. She’s even convinced him to let her braid his hair, threading it with similarly colored ribbons. It looks nice, Jon has to admit, and he found he liked the feeling of her fingers in his hair. She’s much more flashily dressed, but bright colors have never been Jon’s style.

“What’ve you got there?” Before he can protest, Georgie’s grabbed the pin out of his hand, staring down at it with some consideration. He sees something briefly flicker in her eyes- a dawn of understanding, and what he hopes isn’t disappointment. Georgie’s face is anything but unreadable most times, she wears her emotions plainly for all to see. But Jon’s not so sure of his ability to decipher them now, not with all of these thoughts rushing through his brain at hyper-speed.

“I-I really-” he begins to babble, hands fluttering nervously as the silence stretches on. “I should’ve told you, I mean-”

Georgie interrupts him with a gentle hand to his chest, pulling at his sweater. He looks down to find her delicately pinning the button to his chest, right above his heart. He shivers at the carefulness of it, looking up to meet her eyes.

“Yes,” she says, each word considered. “You should’ve.” His heart drops and he anticipates her next words, as heartbreaking as they will be.

“I want you to feel like you can trust me with these things,” she continues, and Jon pauses in his panic. What? “I sort of figured, honestly- you’ve been quite the gentleman these past six months. Even when I came on to you in that bar.”

Jon remembers that night. How could he forget? He’d never had someone approach him, want him so brazenly. It was strange. “You’re not mad?” His voice is tentative, though luckily clear of its usual stutter.

“No.” She shakes her head, her hand dropping from its place on his chest. “I just wish you’d told me, but- communication’s not our strong suit, is it?”

Jon lets out a weak laugh. “No, it isn’t.”

“We’ll just have to work on that. And maybe discuss boundaries, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I know you’re fine with cuddling-”

“Yes, please. Don’t stop that.”

“I won’t,” she laughs, taking his hand in hers. “But we can talk about this after brunch.” She looks down at their hands, suddenly unsure of herself, her grip loosening. “Is...this is okay, right?”

The trepidation in her tone is so uncharacteristic, completely foreign to him. They’ve done this a million times, but he finds the sudden hesitance almost sweet in its own way. She’s assessing his comfort level, making sure he’s not just going along with it to please her. After all, Georgie’s always telling him he needs to be more assertive.

“Yes,” he says, bringing her hand to his lips and delighting in the blush it earns him. “It’s more than okay.”

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28699863

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S3:E1; Chapter One, Suzie, Do You Copy? - PREVIEW

A Will Byers x Reader Series

Summer brings new jobs and budding romance. But the mood shifts when Dustin's radio picks up a Russian broadcast, and Will senses something is wrong.

A/n: so I've had this part written for a while, most of it at least and it's just been sitting in my drafts while I work on other stuff. It's barely edited and most importantly I'm not sure if I'm happy with some aspects and mannerisms, like Will is kinda very OOC here towards the end so its likely to expect changes later. Also I'm a clueless asexual who has never kissed anyone so I did my best based off stuff I've read in books lmao✌ please spare me

Love yall and hope you enjoy this small preview!

||3rd Person POV||

The faint sound of crickets could barely be heard over the soft music of The Power of Love by Heuy Lewis and The News plays from inside Castle Byers. Soft yellow light spills out from the cracks and slits of the castle from the battery powered lamp where the young couple sat planning a campaign. It was clear that both had done a great deal of growing over the summer, just as their friends had. Will most of all, as he sat now in Castle Byers, he did so with the slightest of hunches seeing as he had sprouted tremendously in height. His shoulders had broadened a bit, and his voice had lowered as much has he had grown.

As for Y/n, the changes in her were more internal than external. Like Will, her physique had changed though not quite as drastically. Her features were far more defined than they had been in previous years, but the biggest change within her was how she held herself. The months since that dreadful night at the cabin, she had dedicated every spare moment to learning about herself... About her powers.

And now more than ever, she's was one with her abilities. With help from El, and the overwhelming support from Will, she exuded a whole new level of strength and confidence in herself. Something that set her apart from her previous attempts in secret the year before. Now with help, she thrived.

"The power of love is a curious thing

Make a one man weep, make another man sing"

"So what if, when they enter the tomb of Kuzatan - the villagers being in danger I'm sure would give them no way to cheat their way out - and then they..." her voice trails off, getting lost in the notes that seep into the air. She quirks a brow at the boy before her. "Will, hon? You listening?"

"Mmm?" Will hummed, torn suddenly from his blissful gaze.

Having been caught staring at Y/n, she realized he had missed the question. She laughed, shaking her head. Butterflies erupted in Will's stomach at the sound, and he realized he may never grow tired of it. He still couldn't believe his luck that she was dating him.

The corners of his lips tugged into a small grin as he mumbled a 'sorry'. Y/n simpered, trying to shake off the the dizziness in her head that always appeared when he made her heart flutter.

She returned to her notes, and he lovingly watched her speak. His eyes would occasionally fall to her lips but he was drawn back to her eyes and the concentration they possessed. All the while the sappy lyrics spilling their way into his subconscious as he listened.

"Don't need money, don't take fame

Don't need no credit card to ride this train"

Just two years ago, the thought of her liking him was a myth in his eyes. Her ever noticing him as more than a friend was a sickly sweet dream that would never see the light of day.

"It's strong and it's sudden and it's cruel sometimes"

And last year, with the Mind Flayer... He hated the thoughts he had, the feelings he felt when the Mind Flayer took over. The hate and disgust that crept up whenever she was around but he fought it. Though he could never forget the look on her face when the mind flayer spit at her.

"But it might just save your life

That's the power of love"

But now. They were happy. She saved him, and after his recovery, they were finally together.

"Will!" She laughed sharply, reaching over and swatting him lightly on the arm with her notebook.

Will was pulled from his daze yet again, no longer trying to hide the happiness and bliss he felt.

She smiled fondly and shook her head, placing her arm on his shoulder and pulled him in for a kiss. The music playing from the radio she had gifted to him a year before swelled as their lips met in a tender kiss.

"That's the power of love,"

After several moments their lips break apart but their foreheads remained glued together. A light laugh breaks out between them, escaping through the blinding grins carved into their faces. Her eyes travel from the ground to meet with his, only to find he had already been staring at her with the same love sick gaze. It brings the same storm of butterflies in her stomach and sporadic beating of her heart.

Neither Will or Y/n could recall a time either of them felt this happy.

Y/n's gaze flickers back to Will's lips. She flashes a warm grin and gives him one last and swift peck on the lips before sitting back up. She tucks her notes father into her lap and that is when she catches sight of the time displayed on her watch.

"Shit,"

Immediately, Will's mood shifts.

"What? What's wrong?"

Her eyes find his and she quirks a brow, her hands already collecting their campaign papers and stowing them away in safe place.

"We're late."

Out of reflex, Will checks his watch. His eyes widen in a brief flicker before gathering his things, though his movements are not as hasty as hers. He gathers his campaign papers, his eyes glazing over several notes he had made. The smallest bud of unease blooms in his stomach.

"You really think they'll like this campaign?" He asks, his gleeful composure fading for the first time since her visit.

The ache in his voice captures her attention, and quickly she drops what she's doing. She immediately recognizes the uncertainty in his features, and feels a tug on her heart. A sad smile graces her face, and she drops her folder before leaning forward and cupping his face in her palms forcing him to look at her. His wide hazel eyes search hers finding nothing but love and comfort in them.

"They're gonna love it, Will. Cause, it came from you. Remember, " she smirks when his smile begins to return. "I'm just helping out."

Before he can protest she brings his face forward with a small hum, planting a kiss on his nose with a dramatic smack of her lips. His face errupts into a violent shade of scarlet against his wishes. After all this time, Y/n still managed to have this effect on him. She begins to lean away when she knows she's cheered him up, but before she can escape he captures her in another sweet kiss. He can faintly make out the f/f slurpee that lingered from earlier that day. She hums contently and it blends perfectly with the drumming of his heart. He can feel his cheeks grow hot not just from his fluster but the feel of her palms growing warm against his skin.

Like Y/n's laugh, her warmth was something he was certain he would never tire of. It was something he had always seen in her, but after her powers had been discovered, it was only more obvious. Her touch always reminded him of the sun streaming in through the window on a chilly morning; a toasty blanket of light that hit your face just right. And he felt it now on his face as she kissed him. Although it was cut far too short in Will's opinion as she broke apart for air. Her thumb softly strokes his cheek, the pads of her fingers and palm still warm to the touch as sends him one more reassuring smile.

"And even if they don't," she continues, a spark of mischief in her eyes. "I'll blast 'em for ya."

Will chuckles, bringing his hand up to cup hers in thanks, nevermind the fact he didn't want her to let go quite yet. Alas, yet another moment lost to time. Her warm palms leave his face and immediately he feels colder, but he also knows they don't want to miss the movie. He smiles to himself as he packs up the remainder of his things as he thinks about it. His hands were almost always cold, a trait he had long before the Mind Flayer. And had it not been for her powers, Y/n might have been the same. It was yet another reason they fit so well together.

The crunch of a very small twig beneath Y/n's sneakers bring him back to reality for the third time. He looks up at Y/n to find her balanced on her tiptoes, legs folded ready to stand and she extends her palm for him to take.

"Come on, Sir Will," she says through coy smile, her head gesturing behind her towards the cloaked entrance to the castle. "The party awaits."

He brings himself to his knees to match her, ready to stand and duck outside into the night when he takes her hand. His thumb grazes her knuckles before planting a quick kiss on them, bringing a natural heat to her neck and face.

His face quickly contorts into a feigned expression of seriousness, all while dawning a fleeting and silly attitude as he waves his finger in the air. The way he always did as Will the Wise during campaigns.

"Then what are we waiting for, Y/C/N? Let us make haste!"

Will watches triumphantly as her lips press into a firm line that begins to twitch, the tell-tale signs she was fighting a losing battle with a grin as she shook her head. Y/n had yet to get used to this side of Will, though she did enjoy it. Since their time at the Snowball - their first kiss - he had been far more relaxed. To the point where he would be cracking jokes, or surprising her with romantic gestures as such. It rarely came out like this, and when it did it was never around the others. It was something she wished they could see, but Y/n couldn't help the flutter of her heart knowing she was the only one to bring it out in him. She looks down at his soft gaze and humor in his eyes, before rolling her own, rising to her feet and ducking out through the curtain door to avoid being caught with a smile.

"Dork," she laughs, her knuckles tingling from the unexpected gesture.

She hears his soft chuckles from behind her before he joins her side, and the couple falls into a comfortable silence as they grab their bikes of the forest floor and ride off into the night to the infamous Starcourt Mall.

+++

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[purewhitepages]

La Retour de Foi Chapter 1

Summary: Nothing is ever lost, only changed.Its been 27 years since Claire and Jamie's daughter was put up for adoption, and their family has never felt truly whole since. At least they have the Fraser Family Reunion at Lallybroch to look forward to. Claire sends an email, Young Ian crashes a car, and a familiar stranger walks the streets of Broch Mordha. Faith lives modern au in Scotland.

A/N: And now for something completely different. Had a bug, wouldn't go away. And the rest is history. I have no idea if anyone actually wants to read this. But when has anyone actually read anything I've written? Anywhere, here you go. From my brain to yours. [EDIT] The title of the work has been changed in order to be more grammatically correct

Prologue 

Dear Mrs. McTavish…

Claire’s fingers hovered over the keys, shaking with agitation and nerves. The easy part was done with, at least, as well as most of the hard part, she’d like to think. How long had she been waiting for this moment? Since yesterday when she got the confirmation email but was too busy (not nervous, absolutely not nervous) to adequately draft this message? Six months when she first called the adoption agency? A year when the idea first popped into her head. 

27 years, three months, and 14 days. She shook her head. Best not dwell too long on that. Blinking back tears, she started the next line-

I am a Doctor in a town called Broch Mordha-

She repeatedly tapped the backspace key while shaking her head. That made her sound like she was conducting some sort of experiment or clinical trial. She couldn’t think of a better way for her message to be immediately deleted. 

I lost my daughter-

Backspace, backspace, backspace. Too strong, much too strong. There had to be some sort of middle ground between sounding like a bureaucratic robot and Emily Bronte. 

She took a deep breath and started one more time.

27 years ago, you adopted a young girl in Scotland-...

Chapter 1

Jamie saw the car to the garage and whistled his way up to the main house. He followed the path worn into the land by generations of Frasers, a slight grin on his face. Though five o’clock had come and gone and the Printshop was now empty, there was still much to do before he saw to his bed. 

“I’ve promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep,” he whispered to himself as he crossed the threshold of his house. 

He entered to witness a typical picture of life at Lallybroch. The smell of dinner pervaded the air as he walked down the hallway, passing by the pictures of his family and those who came before. Mrs. Bug was bustling in the kitchen to finish the family’s supper before she headed home, and the fire was steady in the main sitting room where his son sat on the couch with his nose buried in a book. Jamie rustled his brown hair and tried not to sigh when the boy jerked his head away from his father’s touch.

“Willie, mo bhalach, did ye do all that I’d asked ye this mornin’?” He leaned over the couch so that his face wasn’t far from the boy’s.

Willie didn’t look at him. “Aye, I did.” 

Jamie quirked an eyebrow. “Oh ye did, did ye?”

Willie nodded. 

“So, I’ll walk upstairs and find suitable rooms for our guests come Saturday?” 

“Aye, ye will.” 

“Clean sheets and everything?” 

Willie’s face colored and Jamie knew he had him. “You’d let Brianna, Roger, Fergus, and Marsalia sleep in old sheets?” He tsked.

“It’s no’ as if they werna changed after the last time. Those sheets are still clean.” 

“Those beds have been restin’ in their own dust for three month or more now. Would you want ta sleep in musty sheets when you come home for a reunion? It’s the first time the whole family’s been together for god-knows how long. Go up and change ‘em quick, before supper.”

Willie groaned and roused himself up to the upstairs. “Bold of ye to assume I’d even come home for a reunion.” The words under his breath stung but Jamie didn’t say anything. Bree, Willie’s elder sister, was much the same at his age and she turned out just fine. He was a patient man, but lord did this boy test him. 

Supper was a family affair. He was able to give his wife a quick kiss and a smile before they sat down, and though she smiled, he could tell something was on her mind. Best ask about that later. They chewed silently for the most part.

“All seems to be ready for Saturday,” Jamie said finally, chewing his meat. “Auld Alec has been kind enough ta lend us his tent for the weekend.” A grunt from Willie and a nod from Claire was his only response. “I didna check the weather yet, but I think I willna be goin’ too far out on a limb to assume it’ll be rainin’ once again.” The same response. Jamie squared his jaw and continued to eat. 

“That was nice of Alec,” Claire commented. Jamie smiled at her and nodded.

“Aye.” 

They sat in silence for the rest of the meal. When excused, Willie jumped up and ran to his room to carry on with whatever tomfoolery he was like to get up with. 

Jamie picked up his and his wife’s plate, eyeing her. “Claire, what’s troubin’ ye, lass?” He walked to the sink and put in the plates to be washed. As he turned on the hot water and began to scrub, she took up her usual spot beside him with a dish-towel. Jamie eyed her as she picked up a wet dish, but her eyes remained downcast and she worried her lip with her teeth.

“Claire, mo chridhe, I canna read your mind.” He reached out and gripped her hand through the towel.

She looked up at him and he was struck by the torment in her eyes. He tried to steady his breathing and prepare himself for anything.

“I have to tell you something, but don’t know how to.” 

“Well, start at the beginning, if ye please.” He turned back to the sink and placed another dish for her to dry. 

She cleared her throat. “I know we don’t like to talk about-- our troubles from after we first got married, but- it’s been weighing on my mind recently.” 

Jamie’s eyes downturned and he squared his shoulders and jaw.

“Are you alright?” Claire asked. 

“Aye, I am. I must confess that I’ve had similar thoughts a time or two.” He couldn’t think of a day he didn’t think of what may have been had he not been such a foolish youth--thinking himself invincible with conviction and passion.

They finished the dishes and Claire wrung her hands, struggling with the next part of her confession. “Six months ago, I contacted St. Anthony Children’s Services.” 

Jamie’s heart stuttered in his chest and he gripped the counter. “That’ll be- that’ll be the place- the people that-”

“Yes. It is.” She leaned against the counter next to him and crossed her arms over her chest. “I didn’t expect to hear anything. After all we- we already proved we couldn’t take care of her properly so-” He looked up to see tears glistening in her eyes and he reached out to her. He was stopped by her hand. “No, I need to get this out.”

“Ye heard from them?”

Claire nodded. “She- she moved to the US with her family, it took awhile for them to find information but I was able to get an email address for the mother and-”

Tears flooded his vision and his breathing was heavy. “Ye mean- ye can contact her?”

“That’s it, Jamie. I did. I emailed her and I’m sorry, I should’ve talked to you I should’ve written it with you-”

He finally reached out and embraced her, shushing her. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and he felt her body shake with sobs. “Oh, mo chridhe, it’s alright. Dinna weep. I trust ye to present us well enough.” He pulled back from her and wiped her face with his thumbs. “Did ye hear anything back yet?” 

She shook her head and sniffled. “No, I just sent the email, just now before supper. I don’t even know if I will receive an answer. They haven’t been in contact in years.” 

He rubbed her arms. “Well, whatever happens, we’ll weather it together, aye?”

She nodded and accepted his kiss.

Chapter 2

[drsilverfish]

The Man Who Would Be King - Edlund’s Literary Allusion and 6x20

If you’ve not read Rudyard Kipling’s short story “The Man Who Would Be King” (1888) you can do so here:

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/8147/8147-h/8147-h.htm 

It’s a story about the wild adventures, utter folly, criminal chutzpah, catastrophic hubris and thus, inevitably gruesome downfall, of two itinerant British conmen on the Indian subcontinent, during the time of the British Empire. 

The short story was also made into a film, starring Michael Caine and Sean Connery (1975), which, given the two actors and the medium, ennobles the characters rather more than the original story did. 

Ben Edlund borrowed Kipling’s story title for his Cas-centric episode,  6x20 The Man Who Would Be King, and the original tale has some particular elements that resonate for the Supernatural episode:  

1) The power of an alliance between two men, to wind each other up towards great achievements/ great folly

2) The sheer hubristic (colonial) over-reach of their plans

3) The way the alliance is broken between them

The two men in Kipling’s story, Peachey Carnehan and Daniel Dravot, parallel Crowley and Castiel respectively (not exactly, but somewhat) in Edlund’s tale. 

Peachey and Daniel plan to trek to the remote (imaginary) kingdom of Kafiristan (adjacent to Afghanistan) and become Kings there. They sign a contract to back each other up in pursuit of their goal, and, in it, they swear off liquor and women the while (both being historical drunkards and dissolute con-artists).

This parallels what Crowley offers to Castiel - the defeat of Raphael and their own inaugurations as the new Devil and the new God respectively. 

CROWLEY: “I'm talking about Raphael's head on a pike. I'm talking about happy endings for all of us, with all possible entendres intended. Come on. Just a chat.”

Peachey and Daniel do become Kings. In fact, they become more than Kings, they become understood to be “Gods” amongst the locals in Kafiristan (Edlund, in choosing this literary reference, thus alludes to the developing Godstiel arc).  The two con-men do this by teaching a bastardized version of Freemasonry to the local priests. 

DRAVOT: “A god and a Grand-Master of the Craft am I, and a Lodge in the Third Degree I will open, and we’ll raise the head priests and the Chiefs of the villages!”

“‘It’s against all the law,’ I says {PEACHEY, narrating] ‘holding a Lodge without warrant from any one; and we never held office in any Lodge.’”

“‘It’s a master-stroke of policy,’ says Dravot. ‘It means running the country as easy as a four-wheeled bogy on a down grade. We can’t stop to inquire now, or they’ll turn against us.”

Similarly, we see Castiel being heralded as “God’s chosen” in Heaven by some of the angels:

RACHEL: “Castiel, we saw Lucifer destroy you.”

CASTIEL: “Well, I came back.”

RACHEL: “But Lucifer? Michael?”

CASTIEL: “They're gone.”

RACHEL: “It was God, wasn't it?”

CASTIEL: “No. It was the Winchesters. They brought down the Apocalypse.”

RACHEL: “But you beat the Archangels, Castiel. God brought you back. He chose you, Cas...To lead us.”

And we see Cas being seduced by Crowley into believing the same, in spite of his own better judgement.

CROWLEY: “You can save us, Castiel. God chose you to save us. And I think...Deep down...You know that...”

Back in Kipling’s tale, all goes well enough, until Daniel Dravot decides they are settled enough in their God-King positions, that he wishes to ask the locals for a wife:

“There’s another thing too,’ says Dravot, walking up and down. ‘The winter’s coming and these people won’t be giving much trouble, and if they do we can’t move about. I want a wife.’

“‘For Gord’s sake leave the women alone!’ I says [Peachey is narrating here]. ‘We’ve both got all the work we can, though I am a fool. Remember the Contrack, and keep clear o’ women.’

“‘The Contrack only lasted till such time as we was Kings; and Kings we have been these months past,’ says Dravot, weighing his crown in his hand. ‘You go get a wife too, Peachey — a nice, strappin’, plump girl that’ll keep you warm in the winter. They’re prettier than English girls, and we can take the pick of ’em. Boil ’em once or twice in hot water, and they’ll come as fair as chicken and ham.’”

This element of the narrative is paralleled in Edlund’s riff on Kipling by Castiel’s concern for the Winchesters, and for Dean in particular (who, in this parallel is equivalent to Dravot’s “wife”). 

CROWLEY: “The point is...You're distracted, and that makes me nervous.”

CASTIEL: “I am holding up my end.”

CROWLEY: “Ah, yes. But is that all you're holding? See...the stench of that Impala's all over your overcoat, Angel. I thought we'd agreed - no more nights out with the boys.”

The wife Dravot insists on being given, is so terrified of being married to a God that, in her wedding finery, she bites him when he tries to kiss her. This draws blood, alerting the locals to the fact that Dravot and Peachey are in fact not Gods, but mere mortals (who can bleed). Dravot is then executed by the now thoroughly rebellious locals, by being cast into a deep mountain gulley from a rope bridge (a symbolic fall from great heights) whilst Peachey is crucified by pine trees, but survives, and is thus set loose to beg his way back to India and tell his tale.

Crowley and Castiel’s alliance is likewise, eventually, blown apart by (in subtext) a “love interest” - Castiel’s complex, continuing care for the Winchesters in the midst of his betrayal of them. 

CASTIEL (to Crowley): “I'm only gonna say this once. If you touch a hair on their heads, I will tear it all down. Our arrangement -- everything. I'm still an Angel, and I will bury you.” 

But the significance of the “love interest”? 

Well, in Kipling’s world of men, she is a possession, a gift to be given, the cause of the breach of contract between the two con-artist “God-Kings”, someone who weeps but who is given no lines, “...covered with silver and turquoises, but white as death”. 

In Edlund’s story, because the (subtextual) “love interest” is also a man  (SPN also being a world, predominantly of men) he is someone with far more agency. 

And so, in 6x20, we get a final confrontation, a final emblem of mourning, not between Castiel and Crowley (Dravot and Peachey) but between Castiel and his “love interest”, at the end of the episode:

DEAN: “How'd you get in here?”

CASTIEL: “The angel-proofing Bobby put up on the house -- he got a few things wrong.”

DEAN: “Well, it's too bad we got to angel-proof in the first place, isn't it? Why are you here?”

CASTIEL: “I want you to understand.”

DEAN: “Oh, believe me, I get it. Blah, blah, Raphael, right?”

CASTIEL: “I'm doing this for you, Dean. I'm doing this because of you.”

DEAN: “Because of me. Yeah. You got to be kidding me.”

CASTIEL: “You're the one who taught me that freedom and free will --”

In Kipling’s tale, we have a bromance and a (fatal) love-story between Peachey and Dravot. Peachey emerges broken from their time in Kafiristan as (temporary) “God-Kings”, bearing the wizened, severed head of his nemesis and friend, Dravot. 

But in Edlund’s tale, we have a love-triangle. The threads of which, eventually play out over a much longer SPN arc, leading to Crowley’s “summer of love” in S10 with Demon!Dean and thus, to Crowley’s, inevitable, demise. Because, as lain down here so beautifully in 6x20, it’s abundantly clear that Crowley is the third wheel. And, despite the betrayals, the “affairs” with Crowley, it is the angel and the man who belong together.   

[themoonandotherslikeit]

The Hand That Reaches for God -Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

“There are feelings you will never find words for; you will learn to name them after the ones who gave them to you.” – Maza Dohta

-30 Days After-

Being with Dean didn’t erase what Gordon did, no one could do that, but the way he was looking at her helped. That glint in his eyes and shadow of a smile on the corner of his lips dulled that pain that lingered. He made her stomach flip with the possibilities that he held behind his gentle green eyes. It made her dizzy. As their fingers laced together, she thought that maybe, just maybe things would be okay.

She had no idea how wrong she was.

Thunder interrupted their gentle embrace, causing the ground to pulse beneath them. “Dean?” Emerson murmured, her eyes wide as her head turned up to spot the deep burn marks that were streaking down the sides of the tent from the rain.

“Shit,” he said, immediately shuffling to his feet. “Let’s get your stuff, we’ve gotta go.”

She stood up and grabbed her own bag, tossing Dean Pheli’s. They were already packed up. Ever since Gordon attacked her, Em was ready to run. Most of the time she still slept in her boots. “What are we going to do about the rain?”

“Here,” Dean said, grabbing the blankets from the twins bed pads and wrapped them around Emerson.

“What about you?” She looked at him. He wore his flannel shirt with the sleeves pushed up. He didn’t exactly look protected.

He rolled down the sleeves and buttoned it up to his neck. “I’ll manage. Let’s go.”

“No fucking way.”

“Listen,” Dean said, grabbing her shoulders gently to make her look at him. His cheeks were flushed under his freckles, and his lips were pulled tightly over his teeth. He looked serious. He looked afraid. “We don’t have time to argue. You trust me?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” she said, touching his cheek. They were together, which meant she had to trust him. She owed him that. “But, yeah, I do.”

“I’ll guide you. Stay under the blanket. We are getting Phel and Sam, and we will find cover.” He put the blankets over her head, and his hand rested on her lower back. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

-2 Years Before-

“Ready?”

“No,” Dean grunted. He was gripping two bars on either side of him. His knee was in some kind of metal and fabric contraption, and he hadn’t walked in months. Physical therapy was the bane of his existence. It was the last fucking place he wanted to be. His therapists name was Anna and with her red flowing hair and quick retorts, he often couldn’t look at her without seeing Charlie. Charlie smiling and telling jokes, then Charlie in pieces strewn around him, which usually sent him into a panic attack. He would fall over, sweating, weeping, his heart rate pounding in his ears like an explosive blast echoing through the desert.

“Whenever you’re ready, Dean. I cleared my schedule.”

“Why would you do that?” He gritted his teeth, still avoiding Anna’s face. He could see her scrubs and white tennis shoes, tapping impatiently.

“Because I know you like to stall and run into my next appointment. Now you can’t do that. You’re my last one of the day.”

“But don’t you want to go home eventually?” He groaned, his arms already shaking from having to hold himself up. He was so fucking weak, and the reminder had his eyes stinging.

“Go home to who?” He watched her knees lower as she squatted down so her face could meet his. “I’m here to help you. Being in the hospital is miserable. You’re punishing yourself. I can see that. It won’t get better until you let yourself heal. It’s one step at a time, you just have to start.”

“God you’re really preaching, ain’t ya?” He wanted to spit at her. He wanted to hug her. “As if you know what it’s like.”

“It’s my job to know.”

“Well you better start working a little harder on that, Sweetheart.” He said it like an insult, like venom.

“You want to be mad at me? That’s fine.” Anna stood up, crossing her arms. “Be mad. Be pissed. Just come over here and say it to my face.”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t walk over there. He just wanted to be left alone to atrophy in the dark. He didn’t talk about the dark thoughts that danced behind his eyes, the insomnia that kept him up at night. He didn’t talk about the nightmares that followed him even when he was awake.

“Don’t be a coward, Winchester. You’re better than that.”

“You don’t know me,” he snapped, his eyes finally up level with hers. “You don’t know that I’m better.”

“I know what the people who visit you say when you turn them away. Your brother? The pretty blonde? Your old platoon? They all tell a lot of stories about the kind of man that you are.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” Anna challenged, her eyes narrowed in on him. “Show me the truth, Dean.”

She was touching a live wire, poking a nerve. He hadn’t slept past a nap in over a week. They were weaning him off of the pain medicine to keep him from being addicted. He was awake. He was in pain, and he was fucking pissed off.

“God, shut up will you? I can’t stand it. I can’t fucking stand it!”

“Bradbury! Bradbury, shit, fuck. I can’t see! Call out to me! Charlie!”

His chest hurt and he wanted to hit something. He wanted to punch and scream, break his fingers, and seep into the ground where no one could find him again. His whole life he stayed alive for Sam, but in that moment he felt so fundamentally broken that he didn’t see the point. There was no meaning him. Sometimes something was so unrepairable that it’s better, more humane, to just leave it that way. He just wanted to be left alone.

“Then you don’t want to read this?” Anna pulled out a piece of paper, folded in half twice.

“What the fuck is that?” He asked, a bead of sweat rolling from between his eyebrows, down the bridge of his nose and into his mouth.

“The blonde left it the last time she tried to check in.”

Dean frowned and let out a ragged breath. His fingers curling around the bars tightly. He tried to catch his breath, to not collapse right there. “No, I don’t want to see that.” She was the last person he wanted to hear from. He didn’t want to see her, hear from her. He didn’t want her pity.

“You don’t want to hear this?” Anna challenged, unfolding the page. “Dear Dean, leaving you laying in that hospital bed may have been the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Stop it,” he grunted, his head turning up just to catch a flash of her red hair. His eyes brimmed with tears.

“I know that you are hurting. You’re hurting in a way that I can’t possibly understand, but I just need you to know.”

“I said fucking stop!”

Anna went straight to Dean to be there if he fell. He didn’t even notice, he was too focused on the letter, on the words, her words, that he didn’t feel himself take a step. “You’re doing great, come on Dean, lets make it to the end of the bars. You got this.” He stumbled forward, his leg giving out. Anna caught him, her hands in his. He could feel Emerson’s letter crush between their clasped hands.

A tear rolled down his cheek as white hot pain rushed through him, but it wasn’t the pain from his knee, it was something else altogether.

-30 Days After-

Dean and Emerson exited the tent in a sprint. His hand was on her back guiding her. It took everything in him to focus forward and not cry out from the rain pelting onto his skin, sizzling in his hair, melting through his flannel. He put an arm up to cover his eyes, because the last thing he needed was to be blindduring the damn apocalypse.

His hands curled into the blankets covering her back and he hoped to hell that the layers were enough to protect her, as the speckles of deep red rain left droplet sized burns on his fist. His foot landed in a hole, his knee twisting. Pain rushed up his leg right into his gut, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. Not while she was on the line. Not after all the pain she already had to shoulder alone.

“Dean?”

He heard Emerson like she was caught on a breeze, stifled by the storm. She was under his fingers, but his head and skin were buzzing. Like always, he felt like he was too far away. He was always too far away.

The world was red. It was the color of the rose he handed Emerson at homecoming.  “Fine, but this isn’t a date. We are going for our siblings.” The color of her dress as she danced with him, their hands brushing. “Why aren’t you always like this?” It was the color of his moms apron as she puttered around the kitchen, trying to make use of herself by pretending she cooked the Kentucky Fried Chicken herself. “I’m not good at this, but you always have something to eat. Don’t you?” It was the color of Charlie’s hair. The wisps that caught in the breeze that escaped her cap. “Sargent Winchester, you can’t lie to me. I’ve seen that look before.” It was the color of blood. Blood pooling under her missing limbs. Blood dripping out of his mouth after his fathers fist connected with his teeth. “You’re no son of mine.” Blood on Emersons bedroll After Gordon attacked her.

Everything was red, and Deans run was slowing. The tent felt so far away, and his head was spinning. Just as he was losing his footing, he felt an arm slide under him. Emerson had flung her blankets over his shoulders as she supported him on his. Her arm was out of the blankets now, as she met his eyes under the blanket. Red liquid rolled down his cheek. She reached up and wiped it without a wince. “There’s room for both of us. We aren’t doing this Titanic, shit, Dean. We will end better than them.”

And they went forward with gritted teeth and squinting eyes. They fell into the Winchester’s tent, having used up all their energy running and fighting the pain that radiated through their skin. Emerson threw off the blanket immediately and rolled Dean over to his back. She pulled his head into her lap. He was barely conscious, but he could see Sam, Pheli, and Emerson’s face in the red haze. “Sweetheart, I think I’ve got a thing for ya.”

Emerson blinked a tear out of her eye and pressed her lip together. “You do, Dean. It’s a big thing.”

“We are running out of time,” Sam said anxiously. “It’s not safe.”

“He’s hurt,” Em said, her voice far away. “I don’t know if we can move him.”

“We don’t have a choice. Get ready.”

-17 Years Before-

“Get ready!” Mr. Maklen said as he pushed a six year old Emerson on her bike. Dean was sitting on his porch and eating a popsicle just watching her.

She petaled hard, her blonde pigtails poking out of her lopsided helmet. She was all elbows and knees, leaning forward with her tongue between her teeth as she focused.

The Maklen sisters were annoying at best. They were in first grade with Sammy and he always got flustered when they were around. “They’re just girls, who cares?” Dean never understood. Girls were the same as boys, except they cried more and never wanted to get dirty.

There was something different, though, about Emerson with her scuffed knees and serious expression. She had no training wheels and Mr. Maklen released her, even though she’d been repeating don’t let go, don’t let go, don’t let go like it was her mantra, like a battle cry. All Dean could think was, she trusted him. Fathers weren’t supposed to break their children’s trust, he knew. But they still did. He knew that, too.

She pedaled down the road, zipping along the gravel. She wasn’t wobbling, or afraid. She looked good, brave even. Dean grinned at her, moments away from cheering her on, when the front wheel of her bike hit a patch of sand, sending her skittering to the ground. The bike slid out from underneath her, the right side of her body scraping against the asphalt.

Before Dean knew what he was doing he was running to her, his popsicle left behind in the yard. “Em, are you okay?” He fell to his knees next to her, staring at her with wide eyes.

Her face was in the sand, one of her pigtails hung limply where the pink scrunchie was falling out of her hair. She propped herself up on her elbows and spit out some blood before turning to him with a wide, newly toothless grin. “What do you want?”

He looked at Emerson, completely enamored, his mouth hanging open. “I saw you fall.”

“Yeah, so?” She asked, wiping her bloody saliva with the back of her hand. Her brown eyes glistened in the sunlight, with small flecks of gold.

The corners of Dean’s mouth tugged, pulling his lips into a wide grin. She got up and wiped the rocks off her knees and hopped on her bike, leaving her small front tooth behind in the dirt. Emerson Maklen was officially the coolest person that Dean had ever met, you know, for a six year old.

-30 Days After-

Emerson let Dean rest in her lap, his eyes had flickered closed, and her fingers were resting on his pulse point. His heartbeat was a little quick, but he seemed stable. “It’s okay, Dean. I’ve got you.” I can be strong enough for the both of us, she thought. It was the least she could do, since he was always doing It for her. Her own skin ached and tingled, but her time in the rain was a fraction from his.

Sam pulled out their protective gear, gloves, jackets, and gas masks. Pheli slid into her long pants and stuffed them into her boots. “Em, you need to get ready.”

Emerson’s eyes didn’t leave Deans resting face. “What if...”

“No, we aren’t doing that,” Pheli said, putting her hand on her sisters shoulder. “No fucking way, okay?”

Em pressed her lips together and nodded. “Okay, you’re right.” She reaches down and placed a kiss in his hair, before whispering against his ear. “Dean Winchester, I swear to whatever god is listening that if you leave me when we are just getting started, I will never forgive you.”

His eyes fluttered open, and he smiled just a little bit. “Think you’ve got a thing for me too, Maklen.”

“Shut up.”

She smiled and she kissed him. It was soft, because he was hurt, and because she was afraid. She spent her whole life being strong. She was strong enough for her and Pheli, for her mom, strong enough to handle her father leaving, and strong enough to watch Dean walk away from her over and over again. No matter how strong she was, Emerson was never strong enough to say yes. To say yes to him, to what she wanted. It was always someone else. The last time she felt close, that forever felt like an option, he was laying in a hospital bed and a few days later she wasn’t allowed to see him again. To say that her heart hurt was a vast understatement. So she kissed him softly, because a brush was all she could handle. Any more pressure and she may burst.

Pheli’s eyes were on them, locked and examining. “Okay, lets get you sitting up, lover boy.”

Dean smirked, though the smile didn’t meet his eyes. The girls helped him sit up, and Sam helped get him into the gear. Emerson and Pheli moved to the back of the tent to finish getting ready and to give the brothers a little space. “So, it’s a thing?” Phel whispered, eyeing Dean.

“What?”

“Don’t what me!”

Emerson smiled and gave her sister a quick nod.

“Yes!” Pheli squealed a little too loudly, throwing her arms around her sister. The girls hugged, despite the itching on Emerson’s burns, she laughed.

She was still laughing when a bright red flash of light shot across the sky, lighting up even the inside of the tent like a flare gun. “What the fuck was that?” Emerson asked, turning her face up.

“No idea,” Sam commented, quietly, his hands still on Dean’s hood, adjusting it.

“We need to go,” Dean agreed as a blaring alarm started ringing through the camp. “Help me up, Sammy.”

Sam gripped his brothers arm, yanking him up, causing Dean to grunt.

“Where are we going?” Emerson asked, gripping her gas mask in her hands.

“We are getting a Jeep and getting the fuck out of here. Don’t worry, Sweetheart. I’ve got ya. I’ll take point, Sam you follow up the end?”

“You got it.”

Dean slid his gas mask on, and the rest of the group followed. The bleep bleep bleep of the alarm still rang in their ears, only slightly muted from the mask over their ears. He held out a hand to Emerson, and she took it eagerly. His gloved hand felt heavy in hers. Dean gave her a nod, and she met his nod with her own.

The rain had lessened outside. It was more of a gentle drizzle, a hiss like a snake hiding in the grass. Emerson gripped Dean’s hand tighter. Apart from the alarm cutting through the air, things seemed quiet. Eerie. Empty.

The main gate was down, electricity pulsing through the air. The trees around the gate were on fire, the medical buildings, and coffee cart were all engulfed. Golden flecks of heat licked up toward the dark sky, deep black bellows of smoke curled and mingled with the clouds. There was a weight in the air. Something palpable. It felt sort of like a post disaster film reel, flickering on aged film without sound.

At least it did, until it didn’t.

The group saw Castiel before they heard him. He was running toward them, gas mask on, waving his arms wildly. Emerson squinted at him. It was hard to see through the smoke, and haze of red drizzle, but from where she stood it looked like he was running from something.

—————

Chapter Twenty-Two

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[thevintagebluebird]

Unpinned - Winter Squash and Wild Mushroom Curry

Tumblr tells me it’s been six months since my last post. That seems pretty on-brand for me and this blog. Valentine’s day is coming up, and I could offer you all flowers, chocolates, and promises I don’t intend to keep: or I can just try to cook new recipes and take photos of them more often. 

Let’s see, what’s new...well, we left the nightmare world of 2020 behind and are now firmly in the nightmare world of 2021. Still in lockdown. Still hanging out on Zoom. Oh! But the fella and I did the unthinkable: we MOVED! Yes, after eight long happy years together in a two-room apartment, the pandemic finally broke us. Working from home gets really cramped when you can’t walk behind your partner’s conference call to get to the bathroom. With everyone fleeing the cities for the space of the suburbs, apartment rents in our little commuter city plummeted! So we finally, FINALLY found our unicorn apartment. Same city, same rent, AND THREE BEDROOMS BABY. And that means no more plastic blue countertops here! So allow me to present my first vegan recipe AND my first post from the new digs: 

Winter Squash and Wild Mushroom Curry! Straight off the never-fail pages of the New York Times cooking section, I printed this recipe sans images and left it hanging on my fridge for weeks, waiting for the right moment. Apparently at 4:45pm driving home during a snowstorm I realized it was THE right moment, because I stopped at the grocery store, loaded up my cart with a concerning amount of mushrooms, and got to work.

Verdict: Is the Pintrest photo complete bullshit? I need to hit up my local Indian grocery stores because I have no idea where you find a branch of curry leaves in Shaws, but other than that not really!

Is it crazy expensive/time consuming/confusing? No! It came together shockingly fast! The mushrooms can start to add up a bit but 100% worth it.

Does it taste good? So good I’m considering making it again TOMORROW.

Winter Squash and Wild Mushroom Curry

INGREDIENTS

3 tablespoons vegetable oil

10 ounces butternut or other winter squash, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch pieces

Kosher salt and black pepper

1 or 2 small green chiles, such as jalapeño or serrano

3 medium shallots or 1 small onion, finely diced

½ teaspoon black mustard seeds

½ teaspoon cumin seeds

Handful of fresh or frozen curry leaves (optional)

2 garlic cloves, minced

1 teaspoon ground coriander

Pinch of ground cayenne

½ teaspoon ground turmeric

1 pound mushrooms, preferably a mix of cultivated and wild, trimmed and sliced 1/8-inch thick

¾ cup coconut milk

2 tablespoons lime juice

Cilantro sprigs, for garnish

In a wide skillet, heat oil over medium-high. When hot, add squash cubes in one layer. Season with salt and pepper. Cook for about 2 minutes, letting cubes brown slightly, then flip and cook for 2 minutes more. Use a slotted spoon to lift squash out, and set aside.

Cut a lengthwise slit in each chile to open it, but leave whole. (This helps the chiles heat the sauce without making it too spicy.)

Add shallots, salt lightly and cook, stirring, 1 minute. Add mustard seeds, cumin seeds and curry leaves, if using, and let sizzle for 30 seconds, then add garlic, coriander, cayenne, turmeric and chiles. Stir well and cook for 30 seconds more.

Add mushrooms, season with salt and toss to coat. Cook, stirring, until mushrooms begin to soften, about 5 minutes.

Return squash cubes to skillet, stir in coconut milk and bring to a simmer. Lower heat to medium and simmer for another 5 minutes. If mixture looks dry, thin with a little water. Taste and season with salt.

Before serving, stir in lime juice. Transfer to a warm serving dish and garnish with cilantro.

Look at that spread. And LOOK AT THOSE NON-70S-BLUE COUNTERS! I may have gone a tad overboard with the mushrooms but they are nature’s meat, after all.

My sous chef for the evening. Pretty dang excited to marry that cutie in the aftertimes.

Ah yes, my favorite part of any recipe: trying to do shoddy math in my head. It calls for 10oz of butternut squash which, due to packing/shipping small boxes almost every day for the last ten years, I can eyeball fairly well, but this was a 1lb 12oz box. I have no idea why they didn’t pack a pound, a pound and a half, or 2lbs, but there ya go. I hate cutting butternut squash so I really shouldn’t complain.

Stop what you are doing to feed the cat because she is a cruel mistress and demands a sacrifice NOW.

Ask your partner if the 3″ cubes look close enough to 1/2″ cubes and admit that they probably need chopping. Oh well. Chop ‘em.

Does he look fly as hell? Yes. But these are our snazzy utility sunglasses. Not only do they make you the coolest person in any room, they also a) reduce overstimulation in a pounding nightclub b) keep the oils from onions from burning your eyes during chopping c) I guess block the sun sometimes.

Get those now-tiny cubes into a hot pan! Perfect! ...for now. Foreshadowing.

Wash your fungus. Now, I’m not fancy and don’t have wild mushrooms or foraged mushrooms (I haven’t gotten to see my mushroom guy at the Somerville Winter Farmer’s Market in a while). I got some shiitake, baby portabella, and plain ol’ white mushrooms. Store brand baby.

Snazzy sous chef grillin’ the onions.

So it’s about time I admit: I did not have some (read: many) of the spices this recipe called for. I have never seen curry leaves. I don’t know what black mustard seed looks like. I don’t own coriander. We turn into weeping piles of burned sand whenever there’s a pepper in the house. So I did a lot of substitutions: entirely left out the chiles (sorry flavor fans) and skipped step 2, swapped ground cumin for the seeds, used curry powder in place of leaves, and threw in a dash of cardamom instead of coriander (it smelled like something that would be happy in a curry dish plus they’re close alphabetically). I added a good dose of black pepper to make up for the lack of mustard seeds (?!) and, anyway, my meals are often struggle meals. 

Ah yes, the other inevitable moment of the evening: when I realize there’s no way the rest of the ingredients will fit into my pan. Tall Allan to the rescue, pulling down our dutch oven gifted by the lovely Ann and Joe when we helped them move a million years ago! It doesn’t get nearly enough use. Maybe I should store it somewhere I can actually reach.

WHOO NOW TWO DIRTY HAND-WASH-ONLY PANS!

Ok now we’re getting somewhere, starting to smell pretty damn good...

If you are not a cilantro-is-soap person, chop up your fresh leaves. I did splurge on these because I also have salsa and can make next-level nachos next time I need a snack. Or put it in a salad or whatever. Mainly nachos.

This is the moment you realize that despite crafting this blog for a few years and being both a person who cooks food sometimes AND a professional pantry chef in years past, you STILL don’t ever closely read the recipe all the way through first. The curry needs rice. What are you even doing with your life. How could you forget to start the rice. Now everything will be done in minutes and you’re starving and the rice is RAW. Concede defeat, promise to make rice FIRST next time, and pull out some tiny bit of starch: these mini whole grain naan breads. They are my new obsession. They’re $3.50 for four slices but holy heck I love them so much.

Done! The whole thing came together in under a half hour, and looks nice on a plate!

We’re skeptical that sans rice this vegan meal will be filling enough, but moments after this photo was taken and before a single bite was had, our doorbell rang and who was it but THE KENTS with GIRL SCOUT COOKIES!  Delivered to our door in a snow storm no less! Desert safely secured, we sat down to discover our fates: it was GOOD!! Filling! Tasty! 

Final final verdict: I’ve yet to try a NY Times recipe I didn’t end up loving (the one and only salad recipe I have is their orange/radish/pistachio dish I was shown a few years ago - amazing) and this was no exception. We’re trying to eat less meat (and have already virtually cut beef and pork from our normal rotation) so finding easy vegan meals is really exciting. We freakin’ love mushrooms and I can’t wait to make this again. Probably later this week.

[bangtan-bookclub]

As the stress of work and school begins up back in September, it’s important to remember the little things in life.

this month’s theme is slice of life.

smut ✗     |     angst ☁     |     fluff ♡     |     death/drugs/horror ⚠

✎ KIM SEOKJIN

roomie by @hobibliophile | ♡ ✗

When you first moved in with Jin, you thought you had hit the roommate jackpot. Turns out, living in the same apartment with this gorgeous man is a lot harder than you thought it’d be. He didn’t do anything wrong, and neither did you. It’s just this pesky thing called sexual tension.

gaffe by @taesthetes | ♡ ☁

Accidentally texting your ex is never good... right?

001 by @94hixtape​ | ♡ 

A familiar beep from the coffee maker and the soft aroma of freshly brewed coffee drowns out the monotonous tone of the chief nurse, your bleary vision focusing on an empty mug resting between scattered brown folders.

the professor’s wife by equinoxsolstice | ♡ ☁ | namjin

Everybody knew Professor Kim was already married. It was actually the first thing they asked the man during the first day of classes, with one brave student asking the question out loud for everyone to hear. The older man responded with deep dimples and a raised left hand, letting everyone see the plain, silver band glittering on his ring finger.

But, as one Jeon Jungkook found out, they were all completely, terribly wrong.

What? The Professor didn't say he had a wife.

✎ MIN YOONGI

need a hand? by @workofteaguk | ♡

“We really have to stop meeting like this.”

read ‘em weep by @illegirl1 | ♡ ☁

You had never meant to daydream over the boy who sat at the back corner of the dusty bookstore you worked at, but he made it impossible not to. Not with his soft looks, and confused blinking like he was constantly snapping himself back to reality, or the way he walked around like a lost kitten and made every part of you want to curl into him and cuddle.

take me out (the date way or the assassination way) by fruitily | ♡ | yoonkook

jin [8:01] theres a mysterious hot guy on campus that yoongi keeps running into like a damn romantic drama but every time they meet he ends up nearly killing yoongi

without you there’s nothing by syubology | ♡ ☁ | sugamon

Yoongi gets sick and Namjoon is Not Worrying.

✎ JUNG HOSEOK

why don’t you figure (my heart) out by dollyeo | ♡ ✗ ☁ | namseok

It's not that Hoseok really needs to sleep with Namjoon, he really doesn't. It's just that it keeps happening all the damn time.

tell me you’re going to stay by astringxnt | ♡ ✗ ☁ | vhope

finding out that the man he’s been hooking up with after hours for the past six months is his boss’ son over casual Christmas potluck is something that Hoseok has never wanted (or even thought about).

guarded hearts by @hobismorning | ♡

let me love the lonely out of you let me love the pain you’re going through

✎ KIM NAMJOON

the professor’s wife by equinoxsolstice | ♡ ☁ | namjin

Everybody knew Professor Kim was already married. It was actually the first thing they asked the man during the first day of classes, with one brave student asking the question out loud for everyone to hear. The older man responded with deep dimples and a raised left hand, letting everyone see the plain, silver band glittering on his ring finger.

But, as one Jeon Jungkook found out, they were all completely, terribly wrong.

What? The Professor didn't say he had a wife.

without you there’s nothing by syubology | ♡ ☁ | sugamon

Yoongi gets sick and Namjoon is Not Worrying.

why don’t you figure (my heart) out by dollyeo | ♡ ✗ ☁ | namseok

It's not that Hoseok really needs to sleep with Namjoon, he really doesn't. It's just that it keeps happening all the damn time.

rest your head on my shoulder by jams_and_suga | ♡ | minjoon

All Jimin wanted was a hug, but fate gave him something better.

It gave him Namjoon.

✎ PARK JIMIN

locked in love by @jiminniemouse | ♡ ✗ ☁

Getting locked in the mall on Christmas eve isn’t ideal, but getting locked in the mall with your brothers best friend that you haven’t seen in a while? Well, it might have been alright if you didn’t have feelings for him.

four o’clock by @fairyguks​ | ♡ 

once the clock strikes 4 am, it’s no one else but you, jimin, and the moon.

for you, anything. by kadotas | ♡ ☁ | vmin

in which Taehyung and Jimin navigate through married life together, realising belatedly that it’s not always smooth sailing.

rest your head on my shoulder by jams_and_suga | ♡ | minjoon

All Jimin wanted was a hug, but fate gave him something better.

It gave him Namjoon.

✎ KIM TAEHYUNG 

the last time by @jimlingss | ♡ ☁ 

In the middle of the cold, bustling street, people crowd around – pushing each other after a long day’s work to get to their cozy, warm home, to get to their waiting families. In the middle of the bustling stree,t Taehyung faces you. “You’re back?” He whispers.

“I am.”

the countdown by @dreamscript | ♡ | ft. yoongi

Taehyung googles his symptoms and convinces himself he’s got a week to live, Yoongi’s coerced into helping write his will, and you’re just trying not to go insane.

for you, anything. by kadotas | ♡ ☁ | vmin

in which Taehyung and Jimin navigate through married life together, realising belatedly that it’s not always smooth sailing.

tell me you’re going to stay by astringxnt | ♡ ✗ ☁ | vhope

finding out that the man he’s been hooking up with after hours for the past six months is his boss’ son over casual Christmas potluck is something that Hoseok has never wanted (or even thought about).

✎ JEON JUNGKOOK

something in the water by @gukvory | ♡ ✗

Sleeping in is a foreign concept to Kim Taehyung and his awkward, mismatched gang of pals, which is made all the more apparent when they rock up at Y/N’s doorstep at the ass crack of dawn like it is a natural time for any college student to be awake.

But when she is informed that it was the youngest of their group, Jeon Jeongguk, who insisted she join them on their spontaneous camping trip, she is suddenly not as reluctant to play along than when she was first awakened by her enigma of a best friend slamming his fist against her front door.

take me out (the date way or the assassination way) by fruitily | ♡ | yoonkook

jin [8:01] theres a mysterious hot guy on campus that yoongi keeps running into like a damn romantic drama but every time they meet he ends up nearly killing yoongi

[hermionegranger]

So i’m working on another novel. Any input, criticism or notes would be greatly appreciated. I’m tryin’ to go for a darker take of a fairy tale... kind of turning the tropes on their heads (though it definitely starts off in a very stereotypical fairy tale way.) Lemme know friends!!!! Prologue

When she was growing up, fairytales had been a game: castles and princesses and sword fights. The tall grass that surrounded their ranch made for flimsy turrets, swaying with the breeze, but providing enough cover not be seen. They would push the grass down until it was flat, and sit cross-legged, claiming the land as their new makeshift castle. They brought imaginary teacups to their lips as they sipped imaginary tea and giggled at the prospect of a prince. Then Aldric would come barreling through the brush, wooden sword in hand and a war cry on his tongue. Emmy and Cicely would yelp and grab their twigs and swing.

           As Emmy grew older than her twin cousins, she would read to them instead, of queens and dragons and far off lands. She had no more time for castles made of grass and swords made of twigs; there were animals to feed and horses to brush. There were errands to run and tutoring sessions to attend. The little ones would join in her chores soon enough, as Aldric had already begun to feed the pigs when she requested, as the mud and dung clung to her shoes when she went into town and the store keeps would shoo her out for the smell.

           At twenty, the fairytales had fallen away from memory. Cecily and Aldric were fifteen now, old enough to read to themselves, and old enough to help with the chores. She’d finally shaken herself from the tutoring sessions, and instead used her free time to ride her horse into the valley. There was a lake she particularly liked, something about it felt otherworldly. She had once dreamt a woman with long, white hair down to her knees had emerged from the water and laid a sword at her feet, and though Emmy no longer believed in fairytales, she couldn’t shake the magical feeling the lake gave her. It became her personal little oasis from reality. A reality of mud, dirt, and horrible stenches.

           So, when a boy arrived at their ranch in the middle of a hot summer night, Emmy did not venture to think he had brought a fairytale with him.

She did not venture to think he had brought her fairytale with him.

Nor did she think her fairytale, of castles and kings and sword fights, would not be a fairytale at all.

Chapter I

It had been a rainy summer day, leading into a humid evening. The horses were rattled by the change in the air, as Emmy tried to shush them into a sense of calm. The animals could always tell when a storm was coming, they felt it in a way no human could.

“Shush, now, Arabella, it’s just a bit of rain that’s coming. You’re fine.” She ran her hand down the creature’s cheek. “You’re fine,” she repeated.

Arabella wasn’t her horse. Well, according to her uncle none of them were technically her horse, but she’d mentally claimed one nonetheless: Amberlee, the only horse that sat silently in her stall, clearly aware they were not in mortal peril. It was an emotional connection between the two of them, one that money or titles couldn’t break. Amberlee listened to her, she trusted her, she felt her. Now, she registered Emmy’s calm, and became calm herself.

The other horses, however, could care less for Emmy’s demeanor, choosing instead to focus on their own instincts. Emmy couldn’t blame them; she probably would have done the same.

Sighing, she nodded to Amberlee, before retreating from the barn. The animals were not going to listen to her, nor did they apparently receive any comfort from her presence.

The evening air was warm and suffocating. The sun had gone down not an hour ago, and the sky was a velvety midnight blue. It was her favorite time of day, the still moment between day and night: the in-between.

Sweat began to pucker on her brow as she trotted toward the house, taking in the last of the twilight. Swinging the door open, she found Aldric and Cecily already setting the table for supper.

“Em!” chimed Cecily, balancing a tower of bowls in her hands, “did you make sure all the chickens are in? It’s going to rain tonight.”

Emmy smiled at her younger cousin. Cecily had gone from child to adult overnight, suddenly becoming the responsible one of the family.

“Of course. The horses can sense it,” Emmy said, winking. Cecily smiled and continued setting the table.

Emmy’s aunt stood above them, a pot in one hand and a large serving spoon in the other.

“The stew’s not going to wait for anyone! Hurry now.” She ‘tsked her children as if they were ponies. Emmy only giggled, grabbing a bowl from Cecily and placing it at her usual seat.

As the children rounded their chairs at the table, Uncle Koda clunked down the stairs, as graceful as usual.

“Crops are gonna drown if the rain keeps up like this,” he mumbled, throwing his hat at the coat rack (completely missing). He fell into his seat. “Mama, tell me you got somethin’ good for us.”

Aunt Seren put her hand on her hip, still clutching her serving spoon. “You know it’s the same old stew. And be grateful.” She shoveled a load of her famous (or infamous, depending on who you ask) rabbit stew into his bowl. “The rest of the crops this season are going straight to the crown, so get use to it.”

Uncle Koda only grumbled before taking a large spoonful of stew.

Aldric placed bread from the stove on the table, just enough for each of them to have a gripful.

“Don’t worry, paps,” Aldric said cheerfully, taking his seat as Aunt Seren filled his bowl, “next season there will be plenty to go around.”

Again, Uncle Koda only grumbled into his food.

Emmy didn’t mind so much, the stew or the repetition of their meals. It was better than an empty belly, and she’d seen too many bone-thin children in the town, begging for scraps. Their parents were dead or gone, probably starved, or had fell victim to some disease, like hers. A roof, a full belly, and a family was considered rich around here, and she was thankful.

“Just eat your food before the King claims this meal, too, eh?” Uncle Koda chastised, and then added, as an afterthought, “and don’t go repeating that. I’d like to keep my tongue.”

“I, too, would like you to keep your tongue,” Aunt Seren winked, and Koda grinned like a mad man. Cecily and Aldric tossed each other a puzzled looks, and Emmy pretended to gag.

X

Cecily and Emmy had already curled up in their makeshift bed by the time Aldric climbed the ladder into their shared room, the only second floor room of the house. He crawled across the floor and fell into the pile of blankets he used as a bed, exhausted.

“Long day?” Emmy raised an eyebrow as she propped herself up on her elbow. Cecily was already snoring quietly beside her.

Aldric shot her a look, as if the question wasn’t even needed. “I never want to see hay again,” he moaned.

“You and me, Ric.” She shook her head, and repeated, “you and me both.”

Aldric rolled away from her, facing the wall, and Emmy hopped out of bed. She padded over to the fireplace to stoke the fire, and sighed. She was exhausted, but she didn’t want to sleep. Not yet. The sooner she went to sleep, the sooner the morning would come, and she just wanted a few moments to herself in the quiet of the night.

Grabbing a book (one of the few they owned), Emmy went to the window, where she sat in the small alcove. Rain had begun to fall, gently at first, before turning into loud slaps against the glass. She prayed it wouldn’t wake her cousins; she just wanted a moment of silence.

Watching the rain, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander down the road, toward the town. The only other place she’d ever been. She constantly caught herself imagining the world beyond: beyond the valley, beyond the town, beyond the ranch. She heard so many stories from merchants in the village, who often traveled north in the summer months to sell their wares. They came back with tales of the King and his castle, the prince and his new bride. She wondered what it would be like to be married to a prince, instead of moving hay and brushing horses all day. Would it be as glamorous as it seemed? Was his new bride happy? Hidden behind the walls of the palace? Being waited on hand at foot? Or was it an unhappy arrangement, made only for political gain? She imagined the bride crying as she dressed in her sprawling wedding gown, using her veil to hide her tears, beautiful and tragic.

Those were her favorite stories, the kind that made her weep with empathy for the tragic heroes, but warmed her heart at the same time. The kind where the princess would fall madly in love with her suitor, only to have him sacrifice himself to save her. Was it truly possible to love someone so much?

Emmy was lucky. She knew she was lucky. Lucky to have a family and a home, to have a belly full of stew as she slept in a warm bed beside her cousin who was more like her sister. But she couldn’t help but want more. More adventure, more romance, more places. The world was so large, after all, but she had only ever seen her small corner of it.

The guilt washed over her again, for wanting to leave, for wanting to abandon her family. Where would she go, anyhow? She knew no one outside the village. She didn’t have a horse of her own, not truly.

She reminded herself, as she always did, to be grateful for what she had. And she was. She was grateful. But a childhood of books and fairytales had filled her imagination with such wonder, that she didn’t believe she could ever be happy with her life on the ranch. Not truly happy. Not the way one was in a proper happy ending.

As she began leafing through the pages of the book in her lap to find where she had left off, a blur in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned back to the window, squinting through the rain, and saw a figure on a horse, coming toward the ranch. The singular road led to nowhere else, only their front door. She sat up straight, fear swimming in her belly. Had something happened in town? Why would a rider come so late? And in a storm?

What message did he bare?

Through the mosaic of rain droplets on her window, she couldn’t make out who the man was. He looked like a painting through the glass, all soft edges and blurred lines.

The man discarded his horse, not bothering to tie the beast up. Then he was gone, too far below the angle of the window for her to see. She heard light tapping on the door below, soft, but urgent in its tune.

After a few moments, she heard nothing. The air was silent once again. Only then did she let out a breath, not realizing she had been holding it in.

Climbing from the window, she crawled quietly to the ladder and peered down onto the first floor. The soft, flickering glow of a fireplace burning in the kitchen illuminated the hall below, but she heard nothing.

She waited a few more moments, waiting for a sound. Waiting for something.

Emmy peered over her shoulder back to her cousins. Each was still, their chests rising in tandem, drawing slow, deep breaths.

Emmy bit her lip, hesitating only a moment before descending the ladder.

The door to the kitchen was ajar, just enough to allow light to spill into the hall in a tall line. She heard murmurs.

The man was here.

Nerves swam. She knew she shouldn’t be here, knew she shouldn’t listen, but none of that stopped her as she tip toed toward the door. A voice in her head told her to run, to cover her ears and retreat back up the ladder into her warm bed, but she willed it away. She would only listen for a moment.

Through the crack in the door she could see the fireplace, burning much too lively for this time of night. Normally, Aunt Seren would have doused it hours ago.

This close, she could finally make out the voices.

“No. No. It’s not time for anything,” Uncle Koda scolded, clearly agitated.

Then the stranger spoke, “it is, and she deserves to know.”

“She’s too young,” Aunt Seren said simply, calming.

Emmy couldn’t see the man, nor her Aunt or Uncle, but she could sense the tension in the air. Who was too young? Cecily? She was nearly sixteen now...

The man snorted, “she’s a grown woman in her own right, and it’s her right to know, to choose. Not yours.”

“And certainly not yours,” Koda snapped.

A choice? For Cecily to make? Emmy’s thoughts swarmed, each trying to outrun the next. Did this man want to marry Cecily? Or perhaps he meant her. A chill went down Emmy’s spin. Was this stranger asking for her hand? To take her away from this life, this family, forever? She wanted adventure, oh, how she longed for it, but not like this. It was supposed to be on her own terms, not on anybody else’s.

The man sighed in defeat. “No, not ours. But this is a plan twenty years in the making; without her, it will fail. Without her, it can’t even truly begin.”

Emmy’s stomach was in knots. Twenty years. That was exactly her age.

The man continued, “But that’s beside the point. Everyone deserves to know where they come from... who they are.”

“Where you come from does not determine who you are,” Seren whispered harshly.

There was a pause, and then, “for her it does.”

It felt like a large hole was forming inside of her. She was twenty years old. She did not know where she came from, not precisely. She had been told her parents names, where she was born and how they died but... she didn’t know. Not truly. She had no portraits, no trinkets, no proof. She had no memories, only words, and words were thin. Words dissolved like smoke on the wind.

Uncle Koda only sighed, a deep and heavy sigh. “We will speak on this more tomorrow. It is late and I am tired.”

Emmy heard the scraping of a chair against the wooden floor. Her heart jumped and she began to retreat.

“But I want you and your father to remember,” Koda continued, ”she is my daughter. No matter who her parents were. I raised her. I held her as a babe, I wiped her tears away, and I will defend her until my last breath.”

Emmy’s breath caught, and she felt like she was choking on some invisible force. So it was her they were talking about.

Another chair scrapped across the floor, “Of course. But it is her life, nonetheless, to do with it what she will,” the man countered.

Emmy was nearly at the front door now, but she could still faintly hear the voices. She willed her feet to take her away, up the ladder or out into the front yard, anywhere that wasn’t here, but they wouldn’t move. If she barged into the kitchen now, would they tell her the truth? Would her Uncle be angry?

Of course he would be, he already was. She wanted answers. Tonight. Right now. And she wasn’t going to get there here, not from him.

Faintly, she heard the stranger speak again, sounding closer this time, “my father thanks you, you know,” he said. “We all do, for your service. For all you’ve done. For all you’ve risked...”

That’s all Emmy heard. She was at the door now, hands and back pressed against the cold wood. She could hear the rain continuing outside, oblivious to the storm that was happening inside this house, inside her. She needed answers, and she needed them now.

Emmy             slid from the house and let the front door shut gently behind her, careful to make no noise. They would emerge from the kitchen at any moment and the last thing she wanted was to arouse suspicion.

Through the rain and chill, she raced toward the stables. The stranger’s horse stood silently in the storm, not caring that he was without a rider or a roof.

Mud splashed up her bare legs and onto her nightgown as she went, which would be hard to explain later, but for the moment she didn’t care.

She burst through the stable doors and padded over the loose hay and dirt floor to Amberlee’s stall. The chestnut mare stood with her knees locked, eyes shut in sleep.

“Amberlee,” Emmy whispered, unlocking the stall door. “Amberlee.” She brushed the horse’s forelock hair away from the beast’s eyes.

Amberlee raised her head in attention, eyes groggily opening to greet Emmy.

           “Hi there, girl,” Emmy cooed, nuzzling the animal with her own forehead. She already had a saddle blanket in hand. “Time for a midnight run, eh?”

           She knew where the man was going. After all, there was only one inn in town, but she felt the need to follow him, incase he decided he’d rather spend the night elsewhere.

           She needed answers.

           Emmy threw the blanket over Amberlee’s back, straightening it quickly. She ran back out of the stall to grab her saddle, and fitted it to Amberlee’s back. Tightening the girth around the creature, she heard a whinny from the man’s horse.

           “Alright, time to ride, Amberlee,” Emmy coaxed the animal out of the stall while making sure the bit was firmly behind Amberlee’s teeth. She grabbed a dark blue riding cloak from the wall and draped it around her shoulders.

           Using a stool, she climbed into the saddle and grabbed the reigns. She squeezed her legs and the animal began a slow walk toward the open stable doors.

           Emmy pulled the reigns taught as they reached the threshold of the stable, signaling the animal to stop. She peered forward as best she could, hoping the man and beast were gone.

           Indeed, the front of the house was empty, and the front door was shut. The glowing light of the kitchen had withered, and Emmy felt a wave of hot relief flushing through her.

           She squeezed her thighs again and Amberlee obliged, trotting into the rain. Emmy responded in a posting trot, rising and falling with the horse’s gait.

           Though it was dark, and the rain obscured her vision, she could make out the indents of a horse’s hoof print fresh in the mud.

           The trail continued.

           Emmy kicked her right heel into Amberlee’s underbelly and the horse jumped into a steady canter. The rain was steady, bleeding into her thick nightgown. Though the air was warm, she shivered.

           Emmy steered Amberlee through the rain, staying to their path, following the hoof prints of the stranger’s gelding.

           Straight to the Inn.

Chapter 2

The inn was old. Very old. Ivy crawled up and down it, wrapping itself around the structure. It had been here as long as she could remember (and probably much longer), but she always thought of it as charming... a familiar and loveable place. A permanent feature in the village. Besides the public house, it was the most popular place for people to congregate.

But it didn’t feel that way now. It felt like a fortress; an enemy.

The stranger’s gelding was already here, drinking loudly from the inn’s trough. Again, it wasn’t tied to the post.

Emmy jumped from Amberlee, and guided her to the water. As the horse bent down to inspect the liquid, ignoring the other horse, Emmy wrapped the reigns twice around the post and pulled it tight.

There were no other horses out front. Perhaps they were already in the stables, as the stranger’s horse would soon be, once the inn’s groom was alerted to a new patron.

Emmy didn’t hesitate as she opened the inn’s doors. If she thought too much, if she took a moment to consider her actions, she would turn around.

Instead, she let her feet carry her straight to the bar.

It wasn’t exactly strange for her to be there. She had come to the inn numerous times for drinks. Just never alone. Normally she’d accompany Uncle Koda on a delivery of eggs or such and the two would then stay for a large cup of ale (or three). It was their little secret: their little getaway. While Seren and the cousins fussed over supper, Koda and Emmy would laugh in their cups.

She took her usual seat at the bar and smiled at Remi, the innkeep, who waved in response.

“Ale?” he asked knowingly.

“Ale,” she nodded.

While Remi poured her drink, Emmy scanned the bar. It was scarcely populated, as usual. The room was small, wrapped in brick walls and a wooden floor. The bar lacked tables, instead using old wooden casks and barrels to set drinks upon. The light was low from the few oil lamps on the walls, and the sparse windows. She recognized most of the patrons in the small, cramped room. Studon, the laundress’s husband, sat in the corner playing cards with the innkeep’s eldest son, Triton. A group of travelers, well in their cups, roared loudly at an obscene joke their friend made, while the lord’s groom and valet conversed quietly with their heads together, two untouched bowls of soup and bread in front of them.

For a moment, she hoped to find Galen there. The apothecary’s son was quite easy on the eyes, and only a few years older than Emmy. She only saw him at the inn or when he brought Aunt Seren’s weekly medicine for her back aches to their house. Both of which weren’t nearly enough. Alas, as her eyes darted from person to person, he was absent.

That left only on patron unidentified.

He sat three seats to her left, perched at the bar, hovering over an empty bowl and a nearly empty pint. His dark blonde hair was matted down from the rain, sticking to his forehead, and his cloak lay damp around his shoulders. He starred down into his drink, seemingly oblivious to the world around him.

Remi plopped the pint of ale down hard in front of her, letting it splash onto the counter.

She snapped her gaze back the barkeep. He was an older, large man, with jolly red cheeks, swollen from years of excessive drinking.

“No, Koda tonight, Em?” he asked, wiping his calloused hands on his apron.

Emmy shook her head. She glanced at the blonde stranger, hoping he hadn’t heard Remi mention her uncle’s name. She wasn’t quite sure how she was going to approach him. Not yet.

“Nope, not tonight.” She wrung her hair out, letting the cool rainwater flow through her fingers and drip onto the wood floor. “Just needed to get out of the house for a while; always loved the rain.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. She did need to get out of the house, and she did love the rain, though perhaps not riding into town through it.

She took a large swig of her ale. It was dark and nutty, and it coated her throat as it went down, warm in her belly. She savored the sensation.

Suddenly, she felt the stranger slam his empty pint glass on the counter. Without a word he swaggered off toward the stairs, taking them two at a time.

It was now or never.

“Who was that man, Rem?”

The innkeep swiped the empty glass from the counter and dropped it into an empty basin.

He shrugged, “dunno. Never seen ‘em before. He didn’t say much. Just asked for a drink and a room, like most men comin’ through here.” He dragged his hand under his nose. “Paid an extra coin though.” He winked.

“What room is he in?” she asked without thinking.

Remi was clearly taken aback, furrowing his brow and cocking his head, “his room? Why would you wanna know that?”

Emmy leaned forward and took another large swig of her drink. “Just tell me his room and I’ll bring you extra eggs in the morning, okay Rem?”

“You ain’t gonna cause no trouble now, are ya? Koda ain’t gonna come down and bash my head in d’morrow is he?”

Emmy flashed a sly smile; it made it easier to lie. “Of course not. I think he’s just... an old family friend.” And she slid Remi an extra coin.

Remi eyed her for a moment before fingering the coin into his pocket. “First door on the right.”

She chugged the rest of her ale, feeling a drop escape the side of her mouth. She wiped it away with her arm and handed the empty cup back to Remi.

Nodding her goodbye, she pushed herself off the stool. The warm alcohol in her stomach made it easier to approach the stairs, easier to climb each crooked step, easier to stand in front of the first door on the right.

But even the drink couldn’t dose the rush of nerves she felt as she reached for the door handle.

She took it, and turned, slowly, quietly.

Locked.

Her shoulders dropped in disappointment. And relief.

She summoned her courage once more, with a single breath, and knocked three times.

“Whose there?” The stranger inside called. Emmy noticed his accent instantly: eastern, with hollow vowels and sharp edges. In the kitchen his voice as been muffled, but now it was clear as a bell.

Suddenly, she realized she hadn’t thought this far ahead.

“Uh, a friend,” she said simply.

“Don’t have any of those, and not interested in making any, nor do I have any coin. Move along now,” the stranger answered, closer to the door now.

“I’m a friend of Koda’s,” she said, lower this time, as if it were a beloved secret.

The stranger behind the door hesitated a few moments before swinging it open.

He stood only a few inches taller than her, his dirty blonde hair now dry and slightly curled, recently attacked with a towel. He had large blue eyes, clearly shocked by her appearance, and a young face, with a shadow of scruff. He couldn’t be older than 25, but handsome in a boyish way.

“Did he send you here?” he asked suddenly.

“I need to speak with you. Privately,” she answered, ignoring his question.

“Did he send you here?” he asked again, more harshly this time.

She pursed her lips in annoyance. “Not exactly.”

“Does he even know you’re here?” He raised an eyebrow.

Emmy crossed her arms. “May I come in please?”

The stranger sighed and stepped aside, extending his arm in the direction of the room, almost sarcastically.

She stepped in. It was small, with two cots pressed against adjacent walls. A large window was slightly open in the center of the back wall, rain pounding against it. A travel bag was stuffed into a corner, half under the bed, and damp clothes lay atop it.

She strolled in and stopped short of the window, turning slowly toward him.

“Who are you?” he asked after he shut the door behind him. He crossed his arms across his tunic-clad chest; he clearly had been preparing for bed.

“Emmy,” she answered without thinking and nearly swore aloud at herself.

Something flashed behind his eyes, something... knowing. He dropped his arms and took a step forward, brow furrowed.

“Emmeline?” he asked.

Now it was Emmy’s turn to be confused, and she let it show, “Emmeline? No. Just Emmy.”

“Just Emmy,” he repeated, and she nodded in confirmation. A shiver flashed down her spin as her dark, wet hair clung to her shoulders, seeping through her cloak and nightgown.

“Alright, Just Emmy, what have you come here for?” his eyes dropped to her bare, muddy feet. She must have looked like a lunatic.

Emmy wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling very aware of herself and her situation. “Why did you visit my uncle? Whom were you talking about? Who are you?” she fired off.

The stranger sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “My name is Von and I’m a friend of your uncle’s. But as for the rest, I’m afraid you’re going to have to ask Koda about that.”

Not good enough.

“You seem a bit young to be friends with my uncle,” she countered.

The stranger, Von, was clearly uneasy. He shifted his stance and leaned against the door, crossing his arms again. “Family friends, then. He is a friend of my father’s.”

Her uncle rarely hosted visitors, and when he did, they were from town; she knew all of his friends.

“And who is your father?”

Von looked her up and down, as if estimating if she was worth the answer. “Look, it doesn’t matter. You should go back home and ask your uncle these questions.”

Apparently she wasn’t.

“I know you were talking about me. My parents, where I came from,” she said defiantly.

She wouldn’t leave here without answers.

“What do you know? Who were they?” she asked softer.

He shook his head, a tinge of empathy in his light eyes, “it’s not my place,” he said quietly.

“Look, why do you think I came here?” she said angrily, feeling the rage beginning to boil in her blood.

He didn’t answer.

She stepped closer, trying to get her point across. “Because Koda doesn’t want me to know. He isn’t going to tell me the truth. Not fully. He’ll try to protect me when I don’t need protection, just like he did tonight.”

Again, he was silent. He flicked his gaze to the window behind her.

She sighed and her shoulders sunk with her loosened breath. “I don’t need protection,” she repeated. “I need answers. I need the truth,” she pleaded.

He flashed her an empathetic look: brows drawn together tight, eyes sad.

“Emmeline,” he spoke, finally. He pushed himself off the wall and stood straight.

“What?” she shook her head, not understanding.

“That’s your real name. Your full name. Emmeline Hale of House Garmon.”

Hale. Garmon. Emmeline. Where had she heard those names before? They were buried in her brain, she’d learned them before... years ago... but where?

Then it hit her. Suddenly she felt as if she’d been thrown from a horse, her breath stolen from her lungs.

Her lessons. She’d learned those names in her lessons.

“Garmon...” she repeated. “But that’s...”

“The Duke’s House. Well, the late Duke’s House,” Van said simply.

Emmy nearly laughed. The late Duke’s House? She was a member of a duke’s house?

“My parents were of House Garmon?” she asked, trying to piece together his cryptic words.

“You’re parents were House Garmon. All that was left, anyway. Until you.”

“Wait, but,” Emmy shook her head. What he was saying didn’t make sense. “House Garmon was the Duke, the Duchess and their daughter... but they are all dead.” She remembered the stories. The late Duke and Duchess of House Garmon led a campaign for independence and were executed for it. Their babe died from illness months after, but not before the King had bestowed the Dukedom and title to a new House. The rebellion died with them, as did the cries for independence. The Duchy remained part of the kingdom.

Von rubbed his brow in irritation. “Well, yes, that’s what the history books say. But when was that? When were they executed?”

Emmy shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t remember exactly... twenty years ago?”

Von nodded. He was waiting; waiting for her to connect the dots.

She shook her head, feeling as though the room was suddenly beginning to grow a lot smaller.

“You can’t be saying...”

“I am,” he cut her off. “I’m saying you’re the heir of House Garmon. The sole heir.”

She wanted to laugh again. Or cry. She wasn’t quite sure.

“That’s impossible. That would mean...”

“That you’re parents are Cal and Livinia Hale of House Garmon and you’re the sole heir to their title? Yes, that is exactly what it means.”

She may be the one standing barefoot in a stranger’s bedroom, covered in mud and rainwater, but he was the mad one.

“Their heir is dead. Their house is dead. Their title was stripped,” she reminded him.

Von bit back a tight smile, but she could see him fighting to keep it hidden. “That’s what the King believes. That’s what the people believe.”

She shook her head, speechless. It was just... preposterous. She slept on a makeshift cot stuffed of hay and feathers every night. She ate stew for dinner every evening. She walked in pig shit every day. She wasn’t a duchess. She wasn’t of the peerage. She was an orphan, a farm girl. She was nothing.

Von must have noticed her disbelief. “A babe did die, but it wasn’t their daughter. It wasn’t you.” He ran a hand through his hair again. “The Duke and Duchess knew the sack on the palace was coming. They knew the King would have their heads. My father smuggled you out that night, and you were replaced with a sickly babe. It died not long after your parents... and that was the end of the Garmon family, or so they believed. The King thought he’d squashed the rebellion along with your family, but we’ve been here, waiting, for twenty years,” he concluded.

The room was, indeed, getting smaller. She felt the walls closing in. The daughter of a Duke and Duchess? A rebellion laying in wait? But for what? For her?

No, no. What a ridiculous fantasy. Surly, it was a jest, a cruel joke against an unknowing girl.

But in the back of her mind... the pieces were falling into place. Her schooling had gone on much longer than any children in town, even longer than her younger cousin’s. Her Aunt and Uncle avoided speaking of her parents, even when she asked an innocent question. And the lack of marriage proposals at her age... all these years she thought it was just her, that simply no one wanted a dirty farm orphan, but perhaps there was another reason, perhaps there was more. She thought of Galen.

She put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow, refusing to show the fear that was beginning to swirl inside her. “Where’s your proof?”

He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t have any.”

She was about to open her mouth to refute his claim but he cut her off.

“But your uncle does.”

[moreinfinite]

Headcanon of living with Sam, Bucky, and Steve on a floor of the Avengers Tower :) Thanks darling, you're the best!

OMG I LOVE THIS! Y’all kill me.

Steve was the one who recruited you. He had you placed on his floor between himself and Bucky, so he could always keep an eye out for you.

Soon enough the boys absorb you into their little trio.

Sunday mornings you and Steve make pancakes for the whole team, for a few months Bucky was still uncomfortable eating with the rest of the team so you would save him a few pancakes and bring them up to his room. 

He would kiss your head, obviously so grateful. “Thank (Y/N).”

Eventually you and Steve dragged him down to the kitchen one Sunday morning for breakfast. Buck sat between the two of you at breakfast and had a blast. He now is the first one down every Sunday to shoot shit with his best friends and get the first batch of pancakes.

You started the tradition of the monthly Avengers’ Nerf war. Each floor teamed up to fight the others. Natasha, Clint, and Wanda on one team. Tony, Vision, Banner on another. Thor insisted being a team of one.

Most of the time it was down to you and the boys against Nat, Clint, and Wanda. Every time, you would get caught in the cross hairs.

“OH MY GOD (Y/N), I AM SO SORRY!” Steve run over to crush you in his overly huge arms

“Stevie I am fine.But breathing would be nice.”

Bucky came barreling over nerf guns blazing. “HOW DARE YOU HIT (Y/N)! I WILL AVENGE YOU (Y/N)!!! AVENGE!”

This usually started an all out nerf brawl between the boys, giving the other team the win by default. This basically happened every month.

Bucky would take super long showers that no one else would have hot water so you and Sam prank him so hard. Putting a soup broth cube in the shower head, baby powdering his towel, and swiping his clothes.

“Sam! (Y/N)!” He ran around the tower searching for you with his baby powdered towel wrapped around his waist, while you and Sam hid at the Starbucks across the street watching on the security camera feed Tony gave you.

But when it came down to it, your boys adored you. The suffered through movies nights when you chose chick flicks like the Notebook or Titanic.

Sam usually would end up being the only one crying. 

“What, Rose totally had room for Jack on that board. It’s bullshit.” The rest of you just stared blankly at him. “Don’t look at me assholes.”

And when your “aunt flow” came to visit Steve would make sure the tower was stocked full of your favorites.

 when the cramps were to bad Steve would come into your room with a heating pad and cuddle you while he rubbed your back and watched cheesy 80′s movies until you felt better.

Fridays were pizza, beer, and poker night. You usually kicked their asses every week.

“Read em and weep boys.” Claiming the jackpot at the center of the table as your own.

“Why do we even let her play anymore if she is just going to win every god damn time?”

“Don’t hate the player at the game.” As you left to go count your winnings.

I could do this for days, but I should probably stop before it become a whole fic of its own. 

[livefromhouseatlantic]

Chain Breaking, pt 12

Okay. I'm running on like two hours of sleep. This has been more common in the last week or two. I've been walking up at eight or nine am like clockwork (I'm born on an eighth. I've always felt 8 was my number.) Generally, with considerable effort (two or three hours of tossing and turning kind of effort) I've been able to get back to sleep, but I didn't bother today. I'm off anyway, whatever.

I've got tricks that help me sleep. Some are healthy. Meditative exercises, that type of thing. I picked up some from my parents and the internet at a young age to cope with vivid, recurring nightmares. With enough focus, you can sort of think parts of your body to sleep, pins and needles and everything.  It's kind of neat. The idea is that you work your way from your toes to your head, blanking out your mind and your whole body as you go.That one... doesn't work as well as it used to. I can still do the pins and needles part, not so much the fall asleep part.

I have unhealthy ones, too. Here's a cough remedy that I do not recommend you try. You take two tablespoons of Robitussin or Buckley's. Pour em into a NeoCitran if you want, or don't. Add honey for flavor. Then put in two to three shots of whiskey. That's a Scots thing, actually. Got it from my mum, who got it from her mum. It's called a Hot Toddy (not “totty.” That means a totally different thing). I just added cough syrup one night when I was really congested. That one was from a coworker at my old job. I don't care how sick you are - you're going to bed after that. If that'll put me out, it'll probably work for you.

I kinda used that when I wasn't sick for a while there. I've stopped doing that. I've also stopped reaching for the bottle of Grants I keep on my makeshift liquor shelf. Partly, I'm on a health kick. Liquor is not my protein shakes. It won't help me. Part of it is I know that relying on shit like that to sleep is probably not a great idea. Self control, right?

But the downside is, it leaves me a bit stuck. I work night shifts and get home at 6 am. So I'm going to bed as the sun is rising. I've tried melatonin in the past during other, more pronounced bouts of insomnia. It didn't really help me much after the first two days. So, I toss and turn. And buy blackout blinds. And hope that if and when I do go back under, I wake up with my alarm. That hasn't really been happening. I haven't been late for work yet, which is a plus.

So, last post talked about Invisible Kid. Bit of a segue, maybe, but I do think all of this ties together somehow.

I'm having a much easier time talking to people about where I'm at after having written these. After all, if you really wanted to, you could look me up and read it all anyway, and ask me about it, so I might as well be open. That's actually why I've made a point of telling some friends about all of this and asking people to read it. If I know people are reading it or are at least aware, then I fulfill the criteria laid out in that previous thought. Gotta be open. It's all out there anyway, and easy enough to find if you're familiar with tumblr. I need that in order to really talk completely freely. At the same time, doing this puts me more than a little outside of my comfort zone. I'd rather be quiet, as mentioned before. It's what I know. So I'm a little nervous about having this all out there for the whole world to see. But, same time, as I've said, it doesn't matter who knows, they won't bother to read it. And if I ask, I'm unnecessarily burdening people I care about by making them have to deal with me. And they'll reject me for being a head case. (Authors note: I hope I remember to put all the hyperlinks into this draft later. I'm not used to writing in stages. I usually bang out whatever I'm working on and then it's done. My compromise is that all I'm editing are hyperlinks and the occasional spelling error that I catch. I'm not changing the wording of any of this in order to maintain an honest stream of my thought process).

That whole paragraph there ^ is as close to an actual look at the "script" (if you will) of what goes on upstairs as I think I can manage. As you can see, there's a lot of ping pong action happening. I just kind of bounce from one put down to another at a fast pace, and then it loops back around. The first parts would be my actual thinking or desires, namely, to be able to tie this all together to make it make sense for me, and anyone else who I might happen to talk to about any of what's going on. The rest is "the noise". "The guy upstairs". I've been told that I'm "the reasonable one"; I'm inclined to agree. The guy upstairs tends to be kind of an asshole.

In all honesty, looking back at some of these posts, I'm thinking maybe that this isn't a guy upstairs, so much. And he's probably not as much of a jerk as I think. You know how people talk about their "inner child"? I'm guessing that somewhere in here is a very scared and very sad twelve to fifteen year old who never thinks he'll be good enough for anyone or anything else on Earth and is just resigned to being discarded like yesterday's classifieds and left alone. Any time I feel rejected or unfulfilled in any way, these patterns of thought tend to start back up, and a lot of the time, my reaction is sadness or fear. Sometimes it's followed up by anger. Other times I just get stuck in the "sad" gear and I just weep. Here's a line from Fall Out Boy: "I've cried tears you've never seen..." Could be that there's more than one cause for my different tracks of thought. As I've mentioned, I can have more than one or two going at once in a way that I find very detrimental.

I'm the type that, as mentioned, tries to tell the truth all the time. I tend to take people at face value - what reason do you have to lie? That's burned me on more than one occasion. I got into a relationship back in 2016 with a girl to whom I had grown really close over the preceding five years. She talked about emotional bonds. Said a lot of things that were really nice about wanting to be with me, etc etc. Had just (finally) gotten out of a really on again, off again relationship with some guy who she'd given me and others the impression was... Kind of a loser. I never really met the guy, so I can't actually say. It had lasted most of the preceding five years.

There were high points. Mostly at the start. The relationship itself was a nightmare in the end. She changed - not in the normal way you kind of expect when you date someone. It wasn't just seeing more of her in an unguarded state. She was completely, 100% different. Callous. Mean spirited. Manipulative. Fond of gas lighting. She preyed on a lot of my own self doubts and had me doubting that what I was seeing was true. Folks with low self esteem tend to criticize others and tear them down instead. They might talk about your weight. Or your habits that they don't like. They might just say or do something really mean and then somehow blame you for it, like it's your fault for misinterpreting something or seeing something that wasn't there. This relationship only lasted three months. I ended it in a moment of clarity when I realized that it wasn't going to get any better, only worse, and that I deserved better. The length of time I was in it didn't fuck me up as much as, like, the thought that none of it was real. I'd been so close to this friend and trusted her. Believed she was looking out for me. And then I got to date this person that was totally different. Viciously so.

I stayed single after that. I dated around my workplace and picked up a girl here and there from bar nights or whatever. Turns out I can't do causal well. That, or I picked the wrong people to do that with. I found one or two that reminded me of this ex in all of the wrong ways (and managed to be wary, but not wary enough at times). I'm closer to you after I take you home. I've shared part of me that not a whole heck of a lot of people get to see. I feel that in sharing whatever took place, you mean more to me. Not everyone feels the same way about that, and that's honestly okay, I understand that. Again, I can empathize.

It's just that I also tend to end up feeling kind of... disposable. (I told you we'd get to that!) I've described to people I trust before that I feel very much like a way station. In other words, I'm just a transient point. The lace between where you're from and where you're going. A lot of the people I have dated over the years have (or had) perhaps more baggage than would be considered "normal" - whatever normal means, anyway. I'm honestly not sure. Anyway, I've often come away from relationships feeling as though all I'm going to ever do is be there for folks who will, in time, toss me aside as soon as it's convenient and then move on to greener pastures. Call it what you will; a B-Team, the second string, way station, "any port in a storm", disposable, it all means the same thing in my head, anyway. It means that you’re going to use me for whatever emotional or physical support I might be able to offer, build yourself back up as best you can, and then - leave. Byeeeeee.

A friend of mine from my old job said it really well - "I pretend to be a cynic, but really, I'm a hopeless romantic at heart". I feel kind of the same way about myself. I'd like very much, anyway, to be a romantic. I just tend to get scared. And I also get very bleak. After 2016, I concluded that I was never going to be in a meaningful relationship again, because there was no way that anyone would ever like me in that way. I can’t actually remember what specific thing brought that feeling on - but I could definitely point to any post in this series as a background reason for thinking that. Sometimes, I get hopeful that I am wrong. Any time I try and fail, I kind of reinforce to myself that I am, in fact, doomed. Unlikable. Unlovable. And then it repeats... you get the idea. 

That might be it for tonight. I've been looking forward to tonight for a few days now, and I honestly don't know how late I'll be up afterwards, because I'm exhausted. I might actually sleep tonight, which would be nice. Fingers crossed.

[hermionegranger]

Prologue

When she was growing up, fairytales had been a game: castles and princesses and sword fights. The tall grass that surrounded their ranch made for flimsy turrets, swaying with the breeze, but providing enough cover not be seen. They would push the grass down until it was flat, and sit cross-legged, claiming the land as their new makeshift castle. They brought imaginary teacups to their lips as they sipped imaginary tea and giggled at the prospect of a prince. Then Aldric would come barreling through the brush, wooden sword in hand and a war cry on his tongue. Emmy and Cicely would yelp and grab their twigs and swing. As she grew older than her twin cousins, she would read to them instead, of queens and dragons and far off lands. She had no more time for castles made of grass and swords made of twigs; there were animals to feed and horses to brush. There were errands to run and tutoring sessions to attend. The little ones would join in her chores soon enough, as Aldric had already begun to feed the pigs when she requested (the mud and dung clung to her shoes when she went into town and the store keeps would shoo her out for the smell). At twenty, the fairytales had fallen away from memory. Cecily and Aldric were fifteen now, old enough to read to themselves, and old enough to help with the chores. She’d finally shaken herself from the tutoring sessions, and instead used her free time to ride her horse into the valley. There was a lake she particularly liked, something about it felt otherworldly. She had once dreamt a woman with long, white hair down to her knees had emerged from the water and laid a sword at her feet, and though Emmy no longer believed in fairytales, she couldn’t shake the magical feeling the lake gave her. It became her personal little oasis from reality. A reality of mud, dirt, and horrible stenches. So, when a boy arrived at their ranch in the middle of a hot summer night, Emmy did not venture to think he had brought a fairytale with him. She did not venture to think he had brought her fairytale with him. Nor did she think her fairytale, of castles and kings and sword fights, would not be a fairytale at all.

Chapter I

It had been a rainy summery day, leading into a humid evening. The horses were rattled by the change in the air, as Emmy tried to shush them into a sense of calm. The animals could always tell when a storm was coming, they felt it in a way no human could. “Shush, now, Arabella, it’s just a bit of rain that’s coming. You’re fine.” She ran her hand down the creature’s cheek. “You’re fine,” she repeated. Arabella wasn’t her horse. Well, according to her uncle none of them were technically her horse, but she’d mentally claimed one nonetheless: Amberlee, the only horse that sat silently in her stall, clearly aware they were not in mortal peril. It was an emotional connection between the two of them, one that money or titles couldn’t break. Amberlee listened to her, she trusted her, she felt her. Now, she registered Emmy’s calm, and became calm herself. The other horses, however, care less for Emmy’s demeanor, choosing instead to focus on their own instincts. Emmy couldn’t blame them; she probably would have done the same. Sighing, she nodded to Amberlee, before retreating from the barn. The animals were not going to listen to her, nor did they apparently receive any comfort from her presence. The evening air was warm and suffocating. The sun had gone down not an hour ago, and the sky was a velvety midnight blue. It was her favorite time of day, the still moment between day and night: the in-between. Sweat began to pucker on her brow as she trotted toward the house, taking in the last of the twilight. Swinging the door open, she found Aldric and Cecily already setting the table for supper. “Em!” chimed Cecily, balancing a tower of bowls in her hands, “did you make sure all the chickens are in? It’s going to rain tonight.” Emmy smiled at her younger cousin. Cecily had gone from child to adult overnight, suddenly becoming the responsible one of the family. “Of course. The horses can sense it,” Emmy said, winking. Cecily smiled and continued setting the table. Emmy’s aunt stood above them, a pot in one hand and a large serving spoon in the other. “The stew’s not going to wait for anyone! Hurry now.” She ‘tsked her children as if they were ponies. Emmy only giggled, grabbing a bowl from Cecily and placing it at her usual seat. As the children rounded their chairs at the table, Uncle Koda clunked down the stairs, as graceful as usual. “Crops are gonna drown if the rain keeps up like this,” he mumbled, throwing his hat at the coat rack (and completely missing). He fell into his seat. “Mama, tell me you got somethin’ good for us.” Aunt Seren put her hand on her hip, still clutching her serving spoon. “You know it’s the same old stew. And be grateful.” She shoveled a load of her famous (or infamous, depending on who you ask) rabbit stew into his bowl. “The rest of the crops this season are going straight to the crown, so get use to it.” Uncle Koda only grumbled before taking a large spoonful of stew. Aldric placed bread from the stove on the table, just enough for each of them to have a gripful. “Don’t worry, paps,” Aldric said cheerfully, taking his seat as Aunt Seren filled his bowl, “next season there will be plenty to go around.” Again, Uncle Koda only grumbled into his food. Emmy didn’t mind so much, the stew or the repetition of their meals. It was better than an empty belly, and she’d seen too many bone-thin children in the town, begging for scraps. Their parents were dead or gone, probably starved themselves, or had fell victim to some disease, like hers. A roof, a full belly, and a family was considered rich around here, and she was thankful. “Just eat your food before the King claims this meal, too, eh?” Uncle Koda chastised, and then added, as an afterthought, “and don’t go repeating that. I’d like to keep my tongue.” “I, too, would like you to keep your tongue,” Aunt Seren winked, and Koda grinned like a mad man. Cecily and Aldric tossed each other a puzzled looks, and Emmy pretended to gag.

X

Cecily and Emmy had already curled up in their makeshift bed by the time Aldric climbed the ladder into their shared room. He crawled across the floor and fell into the pile of blankets he used as a bed, exhausted. “Long day?” Emmy raised an eyebrow as she propped herself up on her elbow. Cecily was already snoring quietly beside her. Aldric shot her a look, as if the question wasn’t even needed. “I never want to see hay again,” he moaned. “You and me, Al.” She shook her head, and repeated, “you and me both.” Aldric rolled away from her, facing the wall, and Emmy hopped out of bed. She padded over to the fireplace to stoke the fire, and sighed. She was exhausted, but she didn’t want to sleep. Not yet. The sooner she went to sleep, the sooner the morning would come, and she just wanted a few moments to herself in the quiet of the night. Grabbing a book (one of the few they owned), Emmy went to the window, where she sat in the small alcove. Rain had begun to fall, gently at first, before turning into loud slaps against the glass. She prayed it wouldn’t wake her cousins; she just wanted a moment of silence. Watching the rain, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander down the road, toward the town. The only other place she’d ever been. She constantly caught herself imagining the world beyond: beyond the valley, beyond the town, beyond the ranch. She heard so many stories from merchants in town, who often traveled north in the summer months to sell their wares. They came back with tales of the King and his castle, the prince and his new bride. She wondered what it would be like to be married to a prince, instead of moving hay and brushing horses all day. Would it be as glamorous as it seemed? Was his new bride happy? Hidden behind the walls of the palace? Being waited on hand at foot? Or was it an unhappy arrangement, made only for political gain? She imagined the bride crying as she dressed in her sprawling wedding gown, using her veil to hide her tears, beautiful and tragic. Those were her favorite stories, the kind that made her weep with empathy for the tragic heroes, but warmed her heart at the same time. The kind where the princess would fall madly in love with her suitor, only to have him sacrifice himself to save her. Was it truly possible to love someone so much? Emmy was lucky. She knew she was lucky. Lucky to have a family and a home, to have a belly full of stew as she slept in a warm bed beside her cousin who was more like her sister. But she couldn’t help but want more. More adventure, more romance, more places. The world was so large, after all, but she had only ever seen her small corner of it. The guilt washed over her again, for wanting to leave, for abandoning her family. Where would she go, anyhow? She knew no one outside the village. She didn’t have a horse of her own, not precisely. She reminded herself, as she always did, to be grateful for what she had. And she was. She was grateful. But a childhood of books and fairytales had filled her imagination with such wonder, that she didn’t believe she could ever be happy with her life on the ranch. Not truly happy. Not the way one was in a proper happy ending. As she began leafing through the pages of the book in her lap to find where she had left off, a blur in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned back to the window, squinting through the rain, and saw a figure on a horse, coming toward the ranch. The singular road led to nowhere else, only their front door. She sat up straight, fear swimming in her belly. Had something happened in town? Why would a horseman come so late? And in a storm? What message did he bare? Through the mosaic of rain droplets on her window, she couldn’t make out who the man was. He looked like a painting through the glass, all soft edges. The man discarded his horse, not bothering to tie the beast up. Then he was gone, too far below the angle of the window for her to see. She heard light tapping on the door below, soft, but urgent in its tune. After a few moments, she heard nothing. The air was silent once again. Only then did she let out a breath, not realizing she had been holding it in. Climbing from the window, she crawled quietly to the ladder and peered down onto the first floor. The soft, flickering glow of a fireplace burning in the kitchen illuminated the hall below, but she heard nothing. She waited a few more moments, waiting for a sound. Waiting for something. Emmy peered over her shoulder back to her cousins. Each was still, their chests rising in tandem, drawing slow, deep breaths. Emmy bit her lip, hesitating only a moment before descending the ladder. The door to the kitchen was ajar, just enough to allow light to spill into the hall in a tall line. She heard murmurs. The man was here. Nerves swam. She knew she shouldn’t be here, knew she shouldn’t listen, but none of that stopped her as she tip toed toward the door. A voice in her head told her to run, to cover her ears and retreat back up the ladder into her warm bed, but she willed it away. She would only listen a moment. Through the crack in the door she could see the fireplace, burning much to lively for this time of night. Normally, Aunt Seren would have doused it hours ago. This close, she could finally make out the voices. “No. No. It’s not time for anything,” Uncle Koda scolded, clearly agitated. Then the stranger spoke, “it is, and she deserves to know.” “She’s too young,” Aunt Seren said simply, calming. Emmy couldn’t see the man, nor her Aunt or Uncle, but she could sense the tension in the air. Who was too young? Cecily? She was nearly sixteen now... The man snorted, “she’s a grown woman in her own right, and it’s her right to know, to choose. Not yours.” “And certainly not yours,” Koda snapped. A choice? For Cecily to make? Emmy’s thoughts swarmed, each trying to outrun the next. Did this man want to marry Cecily? Or perhaps he meant her. A chill went down Emmy’s spin. Was this stranger asking to for her hand? To take her away from this life, this family, forever? She wanted adventure, oh, how she longed for it, but not like this. It was supposed to be on her own terms, not on anybody else’s. The man sighed in defeat, “no, not ours. But this is a plan twenty years in the making; without her, it will fail. Without her, it can’t even truly begin.” Emmy’s stomach was in knots. Twenty years. That was exactly her age. The man continued, “But that’s beside the point. Everyone deserves to know where they come from... who they are.” “Where you come from does not determine who you are,” Seren whispered harshly. There was a pause, and then, “for her it does.” It felt like a large hole was forming inside of her. She was twenty years old. She did not know where she came from, not precisely. She had been told her parents names, where she was born and how they died but... she didn’t know. Not truly. She had no portraits, no trinkets, no proof. She had no memories, only words, and words were thin. Words dissolved like smoke on the wind. Uncle Koda only sighed, a deep and heavy sigh. “We will speak on this more tomorrow. It is late and I am tired.” Emmy heard the scraping of a chair against the wooden floor. Her heart jumped and she began to retreat. “But I want you and your father to remember,” Koda continued, ”she is my daughter. No matter who her parents were. I raised her. I held her as a babe, I wiped her tears away, and I will defend her until my last breath.” Emmy’s breath caught, and she felt like she was choking on some invisible force. So it was her they were talking about. Another chair scrapped across the floor, “Of course. But it is her life, nonetheless,” the man countered. Emmy was nearly at the front door now, but she could still faintly hear the voices. She willed her feet to take her away, up the ladder or out into the front yard, anywhere that wasn’t here, but they wouldn’t move. If she barged into the kitchen now, would they tell her the truth? Would her Uncle be angry? Of course he would be, he already was.  She wanted answers. Tonight. Right now. And she wasn’t going to get there here, not from him. Faintly, she heard the stranger speak again, sounding closer this time, “my father thanks you, you know,” he said. “We all do, for your service. For all you’ve done. For all you’ve risked...” That’s all Emmy heard. She was at the door now, hands and back pressed against the cold wood. She could hear the rain continuing outside, oblivious to the storm that was happening inside her. She needed answers, and she needed them now. Emmy slid from the house and let the front door shut gently behind her, careful to make no noise. They would emerge from the kitchen any moment and the last thing she wanted was to arouse suspicion. Through the rain and chill, she raced toward the stables. The stranger’s horse stood silently in the rain, not caring that he was without a rider or a roof. Mud splashed up her bare legs onto her nightgown as she went, which would be hard to explain later, but momentarily she didn’t care. She burst through the stable doors and padded over the loose hay and dirt floor to Amberlee’s stall. The chestnut mare stood with her knees locked, eyes shut in sleep. “Amberlee,” Emmy whispered, unlocking the stall door. “Amberlee.” She brushed the horse’s forelock away from the beast’s eyes. Amberlee raised her head in attention, eyes groggily opening to greet Emmy. “Hi there, girl,” Emmy cooed, nuzzling the animal with her own forehead. She already had a saddle blanket in hand. “Time for a midnight run, eh?” She knew where the man was going. After all, there was only one inn in town, but she felt the need to follow him, incase he decided he’d rather spend the night elsewhere. She needed answers. Emmy threw the blanket over Amberlee’s back, straightening it quickly. She ran back out of the stall to grab her saddle, and fitted it to Amberlee’s back. Tightening the girth around the creature, she heard the whining from the man’s horse. “Alright, time to ride, Amberlee,” Emmy coaxed the animal out of the stall while making sure the bit was firmly behind Amberlee’s teeth. Using a stool, she climbed into the saddle and grabbed the reigns. She squeezed her legs and the animal began a slow walk toward the open stable doors. Emmy pulled the reigns taught as they reached the threshold of the stables, signaling the animal to stop. She peered forward as best she could, hoping the man and beast were gone. Indeed, the front of the house was empty, and the front door was shut. The glowing light of the kitchen had withered, and Emmy felt a wave of hot relief flushing through her. She squeezed her thighs again and Amberlee obliged, trotting into the rain. Emmy responded in a posting trot, rising and falling with the horse’s gait. Thought it was dark, and the rain obscured her vision, she could make out the indents of a horse’s hoof fresh in the mud. The trail continued. Emmy kicked her right heel into Amberlee’s underbelly and the horse jumped into a steady canter. Emmy steered her through the rain, following the hoof prints of the stranger’s gelding. Straight to the Inn.

I know the story begins very.... cliche. But the whole point of it is going to be to turn the regular fairy tale/YA tropes on their heads by the end... so bare with me! Also please ignore any spelling errors and such.... I haven’t gone through it fully. Any feedback is GREATLY appreciated. Even if it’s harsh! (I got a little lazy at the end... will probably add more eventually)