#a similarly long-lasting legacy??

[sybbi]

"If enough of us vote third party for president, we could actually GET somewhere with our policy goals!"

Baby girl you can't even get a majority of third party/independents in a single state legislature. In the past 30 years there have been seven independent/third party state governors, and of those, only three were genuinely independent. The rest either got elected as a R/D and switched mid-term when they alienated themselves from their state party, got elected as I and then switched to R/D during their terms (with some of them having served the R/D parties before), or served as proxy candidates with heavy backing and support from one of the major two parties. Even VERMONT, a relative stronghold for independent/third party candidates -- the place that brought you Bernie Sanders -- doesn't have a majority of third party candidates. And when I call them a stronghold, I mean they are the only state (I know of) that consistently elects (less than a handful of) Independent candidates to the state legislature; the place is still dominated by Ds and Rs.

"The highest power in the land can't actually be voted on so there's no reason to vote for the democrats"

Hey princess here are some high school civics question for you: How are Supreme Court judges nominated? :) By what process are they appointed? Who starts that process? :) Why is the Supreme Court considered reflective of who has won the presidency? :)

[5sospenguinqueen]

CURSES & CONFESSIONS - GARRETH WEASLEY

Summary: The four times people told you Garreth was in love with you, and the one time Garreth did. Slytherin F!MC. Seventh Year.

Fandom: Hogwarts Legacy

Warnings: Fluff, unrequited love, shitty writing.

Word Count: 4957

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#1. Imelda Reyes

Rolling her shoulders back, MC exhaled deeply, hoping to ease some of the tension in her form. The incessant nattering of her roommate was doing little to help her efforts. Side by side, the teammates trod across the dew-dusted field, unbothered by the growing moisture on their shin pads. Morning mist clung to strands of their hair; both of them sporting green ribbons securely tying back their long locks. The Quidditch field loomed in front of them. The cheers of their fellow students beckoning them forward. Having spent the entirety of Sixth Year begging, Imelda finally convinced her competitive friend to join the Quidditch Team as their final Chaser. 

Imelda noticed the steps of her friend falter as they drew nearer. “The first game is always nerve-wracking but once you mount your broom, all worries about impending injuries vanish.” 

“Very reassuring, Reyes. Why not just tell her to take a Bludger to the head?” Sebastian Sallow commented, long legs easily catching up to them. “It’s a good thing it’s not your job to give motivational speeches to the team- Oh, wait… Maybe that’s why we lost the House Cup last year?” 

Slinging his arm across his friend’s shoulders, he grinned down at her ashy face. “Merlin, you almost look nervous,” the Beater jeered playfully, poking her in the cheek.

MC frowned, a crease forming across her brow. Goblins? No problem. Giant trolls? Easy. Embarrassing herself in front of the majority of the school? Mortifying. 

“Shut it, Sallow. We’re not going to lose this year. We have the ‘Hero of Hogwarts’ on our side.” Imelda’s tone was teasing, watching her friend chafe against the title she had earned in their Fifth Year. And hated ever since. 

Eyes landing on the Quidditch tent, Imelda honed in on a smattering of red lingering outside the entrance to the changing rooms. His dark eyes were trained on the muscular arm that Sebastian had draped around MC, ready to storm over and rip it off. 

Loudly, Imelda declared, “Besides, we’re playing against Gryffindor today. We already have the upper hand against them.”

“Is that so? Do feel free to share with the group.” Leander’s haughty tone broke through the cacophony of excited spectators.

The trio turned to find him looking down at them, arms crossed against his chest. Garreth flanked his left side, expression at odds with the relaxed posture of his body. Gravitating towards the mop of red curls, MC discreetly shuffled towards him, close enough to see the condensation forming on his robes. The cool air clashing with the natural heat of his body.

Similarly to the Slytherin Beater, Weasley had undergone an enticing transformation over the summer. Even whilst slouched against the wooden beam behind him, he towered over her. The second-hand uniform that used to hang loosely on his frame, now strained against the broadness of his shoulder, pulling taut at the muscles of his biceps. When she lifted her gaze to his, he offered a genuine smile, green eyes twinkling. Her brow smoothed, eyes lightening as she smiled back at him. 

“You may be an awful strategist, Prewett, but I know better than to give the enemy important intelligence. Why would I share my secret weapon with you?” 

“I hope you’re not referring to the little witch cowering behind Sallow. If so, you’ve lost already. After all, magic is banned from Quidditch and without her extra magic, she’s not very skilled.” 

Garreth clenched his fist, knowing his friend was only trying to intimidate the group of Snakes. Punching his teammate before the Game began wasn’t the best way to win the Quidditch Cup. 

“She is going to kick your arse for talking about her like she’s not here.” MC glared up at Leander. “I didn’t realise you were so eager to relive the humiliation I dealt you at Crossed Wands, which I did without extra magic.” 

Garreth sniggered, covering it with a cough before his Captain could scold him. Opening his mouth to retort, Madam Kogawa interrupted, yelling out that there was two minutes left until the start of the Game. Prewett dashed inside the tent, remembering he still needed to strap on his knee pads. Sebastian followed closely behind, muttering about how badly he needed to piss before climbing onto his broom. 

Shifting awkwardly on his feet, Garreth hated how his large frame made his discomfort more apparent. Both women turned to look at him as he moved, unable to move subtly anymore. Having noted the trepidation on his Potions partner’s face, he wanted to offer words of encouragement. Except her Captain was looking at him as though she were plotting all the ways to throw him from his broom. The trees swayed as the wind picked up. Not the best weather for a first match. 

“Don’t get blown away out there.” Garreth internally cursed himself.

Why did his mouth insist on saying the stupidest things his brain conjured up? Instead of telling her how he wished she had a good match. How some part of him wanted her to win so that he could revel in her joy. 

An alluring spark flickered in her eyes as the competitive side of her was ignited. “Have a good game, asshole.”

“You too, Princess,” he called out after her retreating figure. The scent of her shampoo filled his nose as she brushed past him. He watched her go with a dopey grin on his face, unable to wipe it off before Imelda walked past him. She didn’t look at the redhead but he watched the Slytherin Captain shake her head in disgust, knowing it was aimed his way. 

“Forget everything I said about keeping an eye on the Quaffle.”

“Excuse me?” MC questioned, turning to face her friend as they entered the Slytherin section of the changing rooms. “Doesn’t the defeat the purpose of my position?” 

“Your new job is to tail Weasley.” Imelda had a wicked smirk on her face. One that usually accompanied words of insanity. “Weasley has been infatuated with you since you stole the Fwooper feather for him. And, as much as the babbling buffoon bothers me, once he’s in the air, he’s exceptionally talented. I need you to put a stop to that. Whenever you’re around, you’re the sole focus of his attention. I’m not even sure he’s aware of it.”

The flaps to the tent rolled back, allowing in bright bursts of sunlight. Emerald and maroon robes filed out onto the grassy pitch. 

“You’re so full of shit.” MC muttered, pushing aside the way Imelda’s words made her feel.

The only response she received was a knowing smile before Imelda slowly sailed out of the tent, and into the roaring crowd. When the whistle blew, MC was further convinced of her friend’s dishonesty. Dashing after the Quaffle, she was elated when her hands were the first to wrap around the ball. Darting across the sky, she was unable to dodge the mass of red barrelling towards her left side. The two collided. She released the Quaffle, dropping it into Natsai’s awaiting hands below. Tightly grasping the handle of her broom, it took all her strength to avoid tumbling off it.

Oblivious to the Quaffle sailing past his head, Garreth’s attention remained on MC until he was confident she wasn’t plummeting to the ground. Furious eyes snapped up in his direction but he simply winked at her, flying back into the fray. He attributed the red tinge of his cheeks to the biting wind. Not the fact that his skin heated from where it had made contact with the beautiful Snake. 

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#2. Natsai Onai

Sunshine illuminated the two Seventh Years lounging in the Transfiguration Courtyard. Bags and outer robes discarded by the bench, the pair of them curled up on the neatly-trimmed grass. Taking a much-needed break from studying, the pair of them soaked up the warm rays. Even though it was only two months into the school year, NEWTS were bogging them down. So, instead of discussing the terrifyingly long Potions essay they’d been set, the pair were gossiping about their fellow classmates.

Entering the Courtyard, Garreth was alerted to his friend’s presence when her familiar giggle reached his ears. His head whipped round, searching for her.

“Is it true that Sebastian has a basilisk inked onto his back?” Natsai asked, when MC’s laughter upon hearing about Leander’s disastrous date subsided. Her hands weaved a small pile of flowers together. 

MC lifted her head up from the cushion she had transfigured her cloak into, squinting at her friend. “Pardon?” 

“Some of the Ravenclaw girls were discussing it in the Library. I may have overhead, and decided you would be the best person to ask.” 

“And you thought to ask me, and not Ominis? Why do you think I am the most knowledgeable about Sebastian without a shirt?”

A dark shadow fell over her, stealing away the warmth that had likely burnt the skin of her nose. 

“Who’s seen Sebastian without his shirt on?” Garreth dumped his bag beside MC’s before collapsing onto the grass beside her. His hand picked up a strand of her hair, twirling it between his fingers absentmindedly. “Can you believe the length of Sharp’s essay?” 

MC smiled up at him, amused by his actions. 

“I was just asking whether MC could confirm the rumours regarding Sebastian’s tattoo,” smiled Natsai, watching her housemate’s reaction closely. 

“The one on his back?” Garreth’s jaw ticked, fingers dropping the hair. “Why have you seen him shirtless?!”

Without letting MC reiterate that she hadn’t seen Sebastian without a shirt, Garreth spoke again. His teeth clenched tightly together as though the words pained him. “Although, I suppose the pair of you as a couple makes perfect sense. You would compliment each other nicely.” 

MC pulled herself into a sitting position, eyebrows knitting together. “What is that supposed-?”

“Oh, Garreth! We need another player for Gobstones.” Poppy shouted across the Courtyard, waving eagerly at him. 

Wanting to escape the bubbling feeling in his chest, Garreth excused himself, clambering to his feet before his mouth blurted out anything else he might regret. Watching the redhead make his way towards Poppy, MC felt a nauseous feeling arise in the pit of her stomach. 

“What was all of that about? Sebastian and I? Together? Merlin, it would be like dating a brother. A really annoying brother.” MC rambled. “And, could he have escaped us any faster? You would think he hadn’t seen Poppy in months instead of a couple of hours.” 

Guilt coursed through her at the ugly thoughts she was possessing, not enjoying how the idea of her friends together was making her feel. Poppy was a delightful witch, and if Garreth were to date anyone, MC couldn't think of someone who could be nicer. 

Natty snickered at the words tumbling from her friend’s mouth, watching her suck in a deep breath. “They were playing Chess in the Library earlier, but you had your head buried in your Herbology book.”

“Oh…” A dejected look overtook her face, watching the dark-haired witch laugh loudly at something Garreth said. “I wasn’t aware he felt that way about her. Although, I suppose it’s impossible not to like Poppy. She’s the sweetest. Now that I think about it, he is always patient with her, and they do spend a fair bit of time together. I think everyone should love Poppy. Oh, no… I’ve been trying to convince Ominis to tell her how he feels about her, but clearly that would be counterproductive if she and Garreth are courting. I wouldn’t want to interfere with that. Not when he looks so happy and-”

“My friend,” interrupted Natty. “Breathe.” 

Natsai looked at the witch across from her, wondering how somebody who had duelled Rookwood and survived, could be so oblivious to someone she looked at every day. 

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“What is going on with you and Garreth?”

“Nothing. We’re just friends.”

The fact that she didn’t ask for a further explanation told Natsai everything she needed to know. She shook her head in disbelief. “I have watched that boy almost snap his neck because he heard you laugh and wanted to see what was causing it. Even worse, I watched him smear mashed potato over his face because you walked into the Great Hall, and he was too busy watching you instead of where his fork was going.”

“I remember that,” mumbled MC to herself, before turning back to her friend. “It is sweet of you to try and boost my ego but Garreth and I don’t feel that way about each other. Poppy was next to me that day in the Great Hall. He was clearly looking at her.”

Natty enjoyed the discomfort on her friend’s face. MC clearly didn’t understand why the idea of Garreth and Poppy was so unsettling to her but Natsai certainly did. She just hoped the pair of them would figure it out soon. She had done her best to prompt her friend but it was not her place to declare the redhead’s love. That was something he needed to do himself. Ignoring the knowing smile on Natsai’s face, MC’s eyes zeroed in on the flowers in her hand. Changing the topic of conversation, she commented on the beauty of the flower crown. The Lion leaned over, placing it atop the Snake’s head. 

“I feel like a faerie princess.”

“I believe you are as frightful as one sometimes.”

“Oi! I haven’t duelled anyone in two whole days.”

“A new record.” Natty deadpanned. 

MC laughed, loud and clear. Fumbling his gobstones, Garreth’s head snapped up. His lips quirked into a smile at the joy on her face and the flowers in her hair. He paid no attention to the foul-smelling liquid spraying his robes. 

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#3. Sebastian Sallow

Legs aching, MC wished she was curled up on the couch in the Undercroft, reading to Ominis. That was how she was supposed to be spending her frosty Sunday. Instead, she was trudging along the icy pathway to Hogsmeade, eager to get to J. Pippin’s Potions. She’d overheard Garreth complaining that he was out of Bicorn horn and his latest experiment required some. Unfortunately, he had managed to land himself in detention for the first weekend of December. Professor Sharp hadn’t been overly impressed to find his hair transfigured into snakes, having been on the receiving end of the redhead’s latest concoction. The redhead had spent all of dinner last night complaining about his plans for the day had been ruined. 

Wanting to surprise him, MC decided to brave the harsh December weather to go for him. Because that was what good friends did. Nose pink and goosebumps dotting her arms, she snuggled further into her scarf and cursed when she slipped on black ice. 

Large hands wrapped around her arm, pulling her upright. “Remind me how you managed to save Hogwarts when you can barely stand on your own two feet?” 

“Are you stalking me, Sallow?”

“Absolutely. I bet you’re glad for it now.” Sebastian grinned, falling into step beside her. 

“Only because you saved me from cold and bruised buttcheeks. I shall sorely miss the peace and quiet though.” 

Sebastian pressed a hand to his chest in faux offence. “You mortally wound me. Even more so upon discovering you failed to invite me on your little outing. I thought we agreed you would stop fighting Ashwinders and Poachers alone,” he scolded. His expression turned questioning when she continued past the Forbidden Forest, instead of venturing into it as he had expected. 

“Fret not. I’m simply running errands today.”

“Even better. Any adventure with you is thrilling but the best ones involve Butterbeer and free samples from Honeydukes. Are we looking for anything in particular?”

“I need to stop by Pippin’s,” mumbled MC. 

Whilst she enjoyed Sebastian’s company, and was pleased that he preferred outings to Hogsmeade than skulking around Catacombs these days, she’d slipped away quietly that morning in the hopes of being alone. Only because she hadn’t wanted to explain what she was doing. 

“I thought you stocked up on potion supplies last week? Don’t tell me you’re out already.” Sebastian chuckled, eyes honing in on the blush staining her cheeks.

Damn him and his perception, she cursed. 

Clearing her throat, her spine straightened. “I’m not actually going for myself. Garreth mentioned he was low on some supplies.” 

“Where is your boyfriend? Why isn’t he accompanying you?”

Pace picking up as they neared the Wizarding village, she prayed that the sight of Honeydukes would be enough of a distraction to keep Sebastian from prying too deeply into the meaning behind MC’s deed. She, herself, wasn’t willing to look past the fact that she wanted to help out her friend. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she protested

To her dismay, Sebastian persisted, following her down the cobbled streets. “Have you told him that?” A gleeful grin lit up his face. 

“What are you blabbering on about?” 

“I happen to have it on good authority that he spent the entirety of Potions convincing Andrew Larson not to ask you to Hogsmeade today. That’s why he messed up his potion. For once, he wasn’t brewing his own recipe.” 

MC stopped in the middle of the path. Sebastian smacked into her back with a soft ‘oomph’, unable to slow down in time. “That’s why he’s in detention? Why would he do that? I’m not complaining because at least I didn’t have to find a polite way to deter Andrew but…”

“Why would you decline Andrew’s offer? Perhaps your answer is the same reason why Garreth convinced him not to ask in the first place.” 

“Or maybe you’re listening to gossip again, and they got it wrong. Who is this so-called good authority?”

Sebastian’s smirk deepened. “Ominis.”

“Oh.”

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#4. Ominis Gaunt 

Splattered with mud, strands of hair slipped from her low bun, sticking to the sheen of sweat coating her face. Her entire body groaned in protest as she and Poppy sullenly made their way up the stairs before the Great Hall. Neither were feeling particularly victorious despite having saved all animals caged up in the Poacher camp. When Poppy had suggested Flooing to Irondale to dismantle a Poacher camp, the two witches had thought they would return before dinner, pleased with themselves and the good they had done. Instead, dinner was in full-swing and all the witches wanted was to reach the Hospital Wing without detection.

The three Wiggenwelds they had taken with them were long gone, and yet numerous injuries remained. Poppy had taken a nasty hex to the chest, and MC hadn’t hesitated to shove all three of the healing potions into her mouth. Unfortunately, that meant there had been none left over for when she was thrown from a platform, body slamming into the hard ground. Despite her twisted ankle and Poppy’s bleeding forehead, they had managed to get back to the Floo flame but were deposited all the way down at the Boathouse. 

“Is that blood?” A horrified voice exclaimed.

Footsteps hurried over to them. Warm hands reached for her cheek, pulling her face into the light so that green eyes could inspect the cut marring her face. Beside her, Ominis was reaching for Poppy, wand waving to assess the damage. 

“Don’t worry. It’s not ours. Well.. not most of it.” 

“Is that supposed to reassure me?!” Garreth shrieked, looping his arm around MC’s wait to help take some of the weight off her swollen ankle.

The two men accompanied their wounded witches to the Hospital Wing. Easing MC onto the stiff white sheets of an unoccupied bed, Garreth dashed into Nurse Blainey’s office, dismayed to find it empty. Tugging at his curls in frustration, he paced back and forth, fretting about his friends. 

“Gar, it’s dinnertime.” MC reminded him, voice soft and comforting. “She’s likely in the Great Hall. We can wait, we’ll be fine.” 

“No, you can’t,” he said firmly. “You’re injured.” Pain shone in his bright green eyes. 

Demanding that Ominis keep a close eye on them, (to which the Gaunt boy promised he’d do his best, prompting MC to giggle), Garreth announced he would go hunt down their healer. Before MC could ask him to stay with her, he was dashing out of the infirmary, robes flapping behind him. She didn’t care about the pain. She had just wanted him to stay. 

“I do believe he genuinely forgot how to breathe when he caught sight of you hobbling into the castle. I almost thought I was going to have to carry all three of you into here.” Ominis spoke up, hand twitching as he fought against the urge to reach for his favourite Hufflepuff. 

“He did go rather pale when he looked at us,” snickered Poppy.

MC shifted, easing her body into a more comfortable position. “Yes, well, you seem to have that effect on him.” She winced, attributing it to the heat lancing down her spine. Nothing to do with the words she spoke crushing something deep in her chest. 

“I don’t think it’s Poppy that makes him forget oxygen is vital to living. Regardless of how adorable she is.” Ominis drawled, taking joy in the pink flush blossoming across Poppy’s cheeks. 

“I told you she was oblivious.” squeaked the Hufflepuff. 

MC scowled, discontented with the running narrative that she was unobservant. Her perception had saved Poppy’s life earlier, and her body was bruised enough to prove it. It was as if her friends had teamed up to insult her consistently this year. 

Fed up with everyone tip-toeing around the fact, Ominis decided he was no longer waiting for her to figure it out. “Please tell me that you are aware Garreth is in love with you, and has been for the past year.” 

“If not more.” Poppy chimed in, supporting Ominis’ decision. The rest of the gang decided to let Garreth tell her himself but Poppy knew he would never do it. 

“No, he’s not.” 

Ominis snorted. “He’s so infatuated with you. Even a blind man could see it.” 

“You are blind.” 

“Exactly. And I can see it.”

“You can’t see anything,” shot back MC.

She shot her tongue out at him immaturely and whilst he couldn't see it, he had the sense to lean over and punch her in the shoulder. He shrunk back in terror when MC winced and a furious voice reverberated off the flagstones; amplified for his sensitive hearing. 

“Why the fuck would you do that. She’s already injured, Ominis. I asked you to look after her whilst I was gone.” Garreth thundered, storming in.

Poor Nurse Blainey was rushing to catch up with him. A slice of carrot cake was cupped in her hand, having been grabbed just as dessert was served. 

“Mr Weasley, you made it sound as if the poor thing was on death’s door.” Blainey scolded, saving the blind wizard from Garreth’s wrath.

The healer took MC’s ankle in hand, examining the swollen ligament and apologising as the Hero of Hogwarts gasped in pain. Poppy wrapped a hand around Garreth’s wrist to prevent him from trying to push the healer away.

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#5. Garreth Weasley

Mended and amused by the tension in the room, Poppy thanked Nurse Blainey for healing her before taking her leave from the Hospital Wing. MC had insisted that Poppy be seen to first, despite the Hufflepuff being mainly mended by the earlier Wiggenwelds. MC watched her and Ominis leave, hand in hand. A pitiful sigh escaped MC’s mouth as she watched them. That’s what she wanted. Someone who loved her enough to hold her hand in public, propriety be damned. The only issue was that she would only be satisfied if it was with the man beside her. The man who was also watching the new couple go, an unreadable expression on his face. Most likely agonised over watching the woman he liked walk away with another man. Ominis had finally worked up the courage to ask Poppy to accompany him to The Three Broomsticks. 

“Best drink it all in one go, dear.” Nurse Blainey advised. She had mixed numerous healing positions into one foul-smelling tonic, handing it over in a wooden goblet. “You’ll have to stay here for the night whilst your fracture mends but Mr Weasley is welcome to stay with you until curfew. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m hoping I can catch the end of the Feast. I’ve been looking forward to the choir all week.” 

Thanking the healer, MC immediately mentally cursed her when she swallowed the contents of her cup. The vile taste of the potion had her gagging, coughing loudly. Instantly, Garreth was there, a glass of orange juice in hand to chase the taste away. He had listened to MC recount the events of her fight - and the extent of her injuries - to Nurse Blainey in complete silence. Even now, he said nothing as the door shut behind the healer. The loud click echoed in her ears, reminding her that the pair of them were entirely alone. 

“You don’t have to stay with me. I’m sure you have better things to be doing.”

Garreth nodded but made no effort to move. An uncomfortable silence settled over them for the first time since their friendship developed. Their time together was usually filled with babbling antics and loud laughter. Now, the pair struggled to string a sentence together. MC’s hands moved towards each other, Garreth’s eyes tracked her movements. Fingers cracking her knuckles, she was desperate for something to focus on. Something aside from the hollow look in Garreth’s eyes. His hand shot out to still hers, and stayed there. His fingers enveloped hers, curling around her. As if he were grounding himself, reminding him that she was still here. Her heart stuttered in her chest. The tissues in her ankle slowly started realigning, pulling a pained gasp from her mouth. The sound dragged an anguished noise from Garreth’s chest. 

“Garreth, are you okay?” She whispered, concerned by his unnerving silence.  

A bitter laugh escaped his mouth. “Me? You’re the one who had to drag herself back to the castle, injured.” 

“I’m fine.” She grabbed his other hand when he turned his head away in disbelief. Garreth’s eyes instantly shot to hers. “Look, I’m alive. Unharmed.”

“But you weren’t!” He snapped. “You went out, alone. In the dark with only Poppy as your backup, and the pair of you came very close to not coming back.”

Her eyes stung at the harsh tone directed towards her. She chalked it up to being overtired and emotionally drained. Not because she felt as if she were being reprimanded. 

Garreth charged forward, oblivious to the look on her face. “I spent all evening looking for you, worried out of my mind because nobody knew where the pair of you were.”

“I told Sebastian-”

“Who was hidden away all day in some secret underground only you and Ominis know about!” 

Infuriated that tears were still pooling in her eyes, MC snapped back. “I don’t have to tell you where I am every minute of every day. You’re not my keeper! If you’re concerned that I’m dragging Poppy into danger then you should take that up with her! Besides, she’s the one who suggested we go. She made it quite clear it didn’t matter if I came or not so I went for her safety.”

“I don’t care about Poppy!” Garreth exploded, not meaning it in the way it sounded aloud. “Why must you bring her up in every conversation we have? Godric, you make it so hard to care about you sometimes.” 

MC sniffed before icily responding. “Then don’t bother. Walk away, Garreth, I’m not your problem.”

Garreth stood, and she thought he was going to listen to her, and leave. She didn’t truly want that but if she were such a burden- The pot at the end of her bed sailed across the room, smacking into the floor with a loud thud. When he turned to face her, there was no anger on his face. Only anguish. He wasn’t mad at her. He was furious with himself, for not being honest. For not being able to say the words desperately hanging to the tip of his tongue. If he had told her the truth last year, perhaps he would’ve been with her at the Poacher camp. Maybe he could have saved her from the bruises welting her back. 

“You don’t understand. I want you to be my problem. I want to worry about you, and I want to drag you to the Hospital Wing when you’re injured. Although I would really prefer you remain unharmed. But because I want to hold you in my arms afterwards, knowing you’re safe. I want to comfort you when defeating Poachers doesn’t go the way you expected. I want to take you to Hogsmeade, and hold your hands around the shops. I want to see you laugh, and know why you did so. And, I want to kiss you before a Quidditch match and when you win, even if that means I’ve lost. You are the cause of all my distractions, and the only regret I have is that you fail to understand how deeply I care for you.” 

“But, you and Poppy and seem so close?”

Was that really all she could say, MC chided herself. 

“Because she’s been trying to convince me to tell you how I feel.”

“Oh.”

“I love you. I am so deeply in love with you that every potion I’ve invented for the past year smells like you.”

And, as his thumb brushed her cheek and he leaned in closer, MC truly believed Garreth Weasley loved her. 

[halfagone]

Before The Wayne Came A Kane

Martha Wayne née Kane came from a very prestigious family even before she married her husband, the illustrious M.D. Thomas Wayne. Sadly, her family never supported her union with Thomas, so she largely cut them out of her life once she married and that certainly had not changed when she had a son.

Her strained relationship with the rest of her family is particularly apparent when it's revealed, at the release of her and Thomas' respective wills after their unexpected, tragic deaths, that she would not give her brothers or sisters-in-law custody of Bruce. They may be the last of his living relatives, but even in death she would never allow them to touch her baby boy. Hence, his care is left to the head butler, one Alfred Pennyworth.

She did have two sister, though. Two baby sisters, one who had been disowned and disavowed from the family long before her, named Alicia. And one who was far too young to take in her son, even if Martha had allowed it. Her name is Madeline Kane. As the only other acknowledged daughter left from Roderick and Elizabeth Kane, she is left to carry the burden of her older sister's legacy. And what a burden it was, to be constantly compared to a dead woman her family seemed to adore and loathe in strides.

It's really no wonder that the moment she gets the chance, she leaves her family in Gotham to attend a university in Wisconsin. There, she meets Jack Fenton. He can be a little clumsy sometimes, but he has an eye for engineering and doesn't like her for her family's name or wealth. He calls her "Maddie" when she says so, and he doesn't ask about the change.

She falls in love and the two are wedded in the blink of an eye, Maddie pregnant with their first child only a few years after graduation. In her family's eyes, it just further proves that any Kane daughter is cursed and doomed to failure. (Beth understands this. Bette learns this. Kate knows this.)

And all too similarly to her elder sister, when her son is just fourteen years old, she is killed: yet another unexpected, tragic death. Her husband and her daughter perish along with her. Just like her older sister, the only one left is her baby boy.

Only, Maddie wasn't nearly as forthcoming with her will, and there is no guardian marked for custody in his papers. The Kanes, who proclaim they are his rightful family, are more than happy to take advantage of this.

Bruce isn't close to his family, beyond perhaps Kate. But if there is one thing that he knows it's that his parents didn't give his estranged relatives custody of him for a reason. Alfred is stingy with the details, but he can confirm that much.

Bruce is left to fight an uphill battle, helping a mourning boy heal from his loss and fighting his extended family's attempts for custody at every turn.

More ramblings under the cut:

See this guy right here?

This is Jacob Kane, Kate's father, Martha's brother, and Bruce's uncle. He's got the distinct red hair and do you know who else has red hair? Maddie. Jacob is a respected military officer and Maddie, in general, has always given me strong former U.S. agent vibes. But regardless, it makes sense that Maddie would know things or learned how to fight at an early age if her older brother left for military service.

Also, I just love showing Bruce's extended family and how twisted, complicated his family was long before he adopted so many children. And this also helps explain why Maddie is so cagey with her background. She only has Alicia left really, all the rest she keeps out and away for good reason.

But she can't protect Danny from them forever.

Plus, there's this really cool possibility for Danny to stay with the Kanes for a while and explore that avenue before he's ultimately brought into the Wayne fold. Danny gets to see what the upper crust Gotham elites look like with his own two eyes, beyond Sam's stories.

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Princess

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Smut (18+), spanking, fingering, PinV, choking, brat taming, slight bit of name calling (slightly dubious to have sex with someone after rescuing them from a kidnapping but we'll ignore that)

Summary: Reader is the daughter of a prolific genral who's been kidnapped while she was trying to party it up with her friends. Ghost and Soap are recruited to rescue her, and soon find out that reader's attitude might be more of a challenge than the gang they're trying to rescue her from.

(No use of y/n)

A/N: I can't get Ghost out of my head and tbh I kinda feel like he'd be so good at dealing with your bratty nonsense if he had to.

- 👑-

You were sure you were going to die. 

Not because your family didn’t have the money, not because there weren’t enough resources  to save you, or even because of your own natural pessimistic tendencies. No. You were sure you were going to die because your father had made it abundantly clear long ago that you didn’t matter to him. 

You weren’t a man. You couldn't carry his title on and you’d grown up learning that that was mostly all he cared for. His legacy. It was one of the few things that cold man spoke of fondly, always lighting up at the mention of your brothers but never you. And as a result you’d grown up living for even the smallest chance at spiting him for it. You partied and drank and slept around with boys that made even your friends curl their lips at you sometimes. 

So, you were pretty sure that once your kidnappers realised that, that could only mean one thing. One of those big guns they were carrying was going to end up pointed right in your face then…bang. 

It was enough to leave you disoriented, you weren't taking in much. Not that there was much to take note of. Your eyes were shoddily covered over with a scrap of harsh, scratchy cloth and you could only see little slivers of things here and there. Your hands were duct taped to the arms of an office chair and your mouth was similarly covered so as to prevent anymore screams and curses.

You watched sets of boots as they echoed around the frigid room, and saw gun barrels and machetes, men roving across a scuffed up concrete floor. You didn’t catch anything that made you want to see more. Especially when you heard the taunts they slung at you in their thick accents.

“Don’t worry precious, I’m sure a spoiled little rich girl like you will get a good ransom, you’ll be home soon.”

“Bet you’re used to guys with big guns like this, daddy’s men must love you.”

“She’s a cute little thing, we should have some fun with her before we send her back.”

“I’ve heard she likes to have lots of fun, bet we’d slip right into her, fucking american girls.”

If the blindfold came off then that would only mean one thing. They were going to make good on the salacious threats they were now casually slinging your way. The fantasies they were now trading back and forth as they returned to speaking their own language. That was a small mercy at least. Not having to hear about how the last few moments of your life would go. 

You could feel your body shaking like an addict in withdrawal and your poor heart was leaping around in your chest like a caught frog. It didn’t help that you were riling yourself up either, imagining what the newspapers would say. Flashing up in your mind like something out of an old batman episode with a blaring brass section accompanying them.

 Daughter of a notable general killed in shock kidnapping

Holiday in Cancun turned nightmare as General’s daughter taken in the night

You couldn't even be sure if you were still in Mexico. For all you knew you were in all those other countries that you’d been too busy crafting a reputation to learn about in school. What were they again? Guatemala, Cuba? You were sure those were somewhere close by. Funny the things the mind distracts itself with when you’re stuck tightly in a chair surrounded by leering wolves. 

If only you hadn’t been drawn in by that tattooed man with the big arms. If only you’d been a good girl and enjoyed your holiday and stuck close to your friends instead of going out on the hunt for attention from bad men covered in tattoos and cologne that smelt like bad decisions. You could practically hear your father’s growly voice echoing through your mind. 

Stupid little girl. 

He’d been saying that for as long as you had memories of him. He’d be satisfied now, you lamented. You’d proved him right in the end, he’d always said your lifestyle would catch up with you and you’d be wishing that you’d just behaved for once sooner or later.  

At the very least, you figured, you wouldn’t have to hear him say I told you so. 

- 👑-

You weren't sure how much time had passed. It could’ve been a few minutes, or it could’ve been hours, but as your breathing grew more ragged behind the tape you knew you were experiencing the last few precious moments you had left. 

The men were sounding more and more pissed off as they rattled off curses to each other, filling the room with sharp hisses. They weren’t getting the results they wanted. They’d even removed the tape at some point and had you screaming out for a video, but apparently that wasn’t getting them anywhere either. They got tired with your cries and slapped an even thicker strip back in place.

You were starting to cry, feeling the stiff cloth go damp against your skin and irritating it further. It was so thick and itchy over your eyes, you wanted nothing more than to pull it off. You needed to see, needed to breathe. You were panicking. You needed out, you needed air, you needed to feel safe again. 

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?

You were chanting it in your mind, it rang through your head like a death toll. It seemed like those would be your last thoughts. You’d die panicking and snotty and covered in dried salty tears that mixed into a sludge with your thick mascara.

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the-

Thiew.

Crack.

Thud.

Every muscle in your body froze as you heard an alien sound zip through the room. Then suddenly everything erupted.

The men’s shouts turned into screams and barked orders and suddenly you were being wheeled around in your chair in the dark like a shopping cart. You were whizzed past men that were running and crouching into your limited vision, aiming their guns and returning fire as more bullets wailed into the room. And finally you found yourself slamming into a corner somewhere, banging your knees against a rough drywall. 

You screamed behind your gag and listened out as more men hit the ground and the guns grew into a cacophony of bangs. Death’s orchestra played for a solid few minutes, ringing in your ears and distorting the sound of your thrumming heartbeat as it crawled up through your throat and into your head.

You were sure you were going to die. 

The battle raged on for a few moments more until suddenly the men’s shouts silenced and the bullets grew sparse. All you could hear was the echoes of gunfire and shrill ringing from your unprotected ears. 

What was that?

You swore you could hear voices coming toward you.

“It’s alright, lass.”

You jumped as you felt someone touch your shoulder and cursed behind the tape in your mouth as the unidentified man tried to soothe you. It wasn’t until he pulled your blindfold down and you were greeted with his bruised face and ruffled mohawk that you calmed down, focusing your gaze on his icy pale eyes. He wasn’t one of the men who took you.

“I’m gonna take this tape off, ye good wi’ that?”

You frowned at the man, unsure if he was speaking english. You weren’t used to that accent, what was that accent? Scottish? Irish? 

You only had a few seconds to look up at him blankly before he gave up on getting a response and ripped the tape from your mouth, drawing out a scream with it.

“You motherfucker!” you shrieked, feeling a layer of skin peel from your face.

“Easy! It’s ok! What's the sayin’ agian? Best to rip it off like a band-aid, yeah?” he chuckled.

“Not when it’s fucking duct tape over my face, you- you stupid- oh, oh no, my god, oh my god look out!”

You screamed as you caught a giant man emerging through the shadows and through the doorway into the dingy room you’d been wheeled into. A skull mask obscured his face and a massive gun was braced in his hands, he looked as if he could take on an entire army by himself. He was fuck off sized and ready to kill. 

Your rescuer whipped around and raised his gun at your shout, body bracing and ready to defend you. Though, as he faced the hulking behemoth behind him he relaxed and lowered his gun again, cursing you through gritted teeth. Though, he turned back around to you with a smirk.

“He might be a scary lookin’ bastard, but that ones on our side,” he explained, slinging his gun behind him and getting to work on the tape on your wrists. “Sit tight and I’ll get you out of this in a sec, ok?”

“Is she hurt?” the masked man asked, flicking his dark gaze over your slumped body.

“Nah, doesn’t look like it,” the first man replied.

“She is scarred for life actually,” you huffed out, clutching your one freed arm to your chest. “What the fuck happened? Who the fuck are you two?”

“Settle down, princess. For now we need to get you out of here and back to your father, quickly and quietly, yeah?”

His accent was different from the other man’s, though to you it was just as difficult to make out through that thick gravely timbre. That one was definitely english, you thought, it sounded like ones from TV shows you’d watched when you were younger. It made you wonder what the hell the two brits were doing rescuing you when your dad was an American general. 

Did he find them on Craigslist or something?

Typical of him to find a couple of brutish thugs to come fetch you rather than calling on one of the teams that he worked with, you thought sourly. 

Though, as both your arms were free and you stepped onto wobbly feet you grew to appreciate his choice in rescuers more as they both towered above you. Even if they weren’t American they clearly knew their way around a fight.

“We’re gonna need you to follow us and do exactly as we say, ok? There’s still a few men lurkin’ about and if you want to get back to your family in one piece, we’ll need to avoid them,” the first man said, putting his hand on your tensed shoulder.

“You haven’t even gotten them all?” you hissed, escaping from his hold and backing against the cracking wall behind you.

The room was unfinished, crumbling from bullet holes and exposure to bad weather from the open windows. It looked like something straight out of a movie set, Soderbergh eat your heart out.

“We’ve gotten most of them,” the Scottish/Irish man shrugged, reaching around to secure his gun in his arms once again. “Some probably ran off durin’ the fight, but we can’t assume they aren’t hiding somewhere waitin’ for us.”

“Just be a good girl and do as you’re told, ok princess?” the other man growled, turning away from you and walking back out of the room. 

Your mouth dropped open and just as you were about to fire off another retort, it died in your mouth when you heard a shot ring out from the hallway. 

“All good, LT?” the first man called out, ushering you behind him. 

“Solid, Soap,” the other man replied.

Soap?

That’s just great, you thought, you were stuck with a man named soap and his big ape of a friend wearing a spirit halloween special across his face. You could practically feel your chances of survival drop through the ground and into hell. You could feel the hot flames licking at your feet already, biting at your toes. Or perhaps that was the fact you’d been stuck in heels for an inappropriate length of time. Who knew?

“Alright, lets get movin’. Remember to stay close and stay quiet. We don’t know where these guys are hiding,” Soap reminded you. “Stick to my back and we won't let anythin’ happen to you, alright?”

You were out of sass for the time being. You could only nod your reply as you followed his orders, too afraid of him leaving you behind as he started advancing out of the room.

You might have felt annoyed at the fact they were treating you like a stupid little girl, but you were too wrapped up in the adrenaline of the situation to object anymore. You’d heard the gunfire, could still hear the echoes of it pelting through your ears. You knew you couldn't afford not to listen to the two incredibly patronising soldiers before you. 

“Try to keep your eyes up, lass,” Soap whispered, gazing back at you briefly before heading through the doorway. 

“Why do I have t- oh fuck!”

You could’ve thrown up as your eyes connected with the bloody corpses that littered the hallway like flies on a roll of catcher paper. There were so many of them. You could feel the bile fighting its way up your gullet as you stopped against the wall and closed your hazy eyes. Bodies. Actual dead bodies. 

You’d never seen one before. Yet here you were surrounded by them, queen bee of a dead hive. It was too much. Staying up felt like fighting gravity and you were reduced to a pile on the floor in no time, huddled on a relatively blood free patch and stuck still against the rough chalky grey wall to your side.

“Ghost, we’ve got a problem,” Soap muttered, staring down at you with a worried look. 

There were a few seconds of blessed silence where you closed your eyes and everything was ok for a second. You weren’t in a shithole crack den building in god knows where and instead you were back at the hotel, getting ready to go to bed with your girlfriends. Yes. You were going to put on pyjamas and take some painkillers and peace the fuck out till noon the day after.

“Fuckin hell.”

The growl brought you out of your daydream and soon you were looking up at the cold crocodilian eyes of the now named Ghost. Had he expected you to do better in the hallway of a thousand corpses? 

“Alright, princess, up you get.”

You whimpered and expected him to offer you his hand to get you to your feet again, but you were taken by surprise when he leaned over you and enveloped you in his huge arms. You weren’t sure what the hell he was doing at first, but all became clear as you were hoisted over his shoulder and sprawling down his back like a chef’s tea towel. 

“What the hell, dude! Put me down,” you growled out, thumping your fists against his thick layer of tactical gear. 

“Quiet down, sweetheart. It’s not like you’re much use in those heels anyway,” he growled out, tugging on one of your silvery strappy shoes for emphasis. 

“You can’t just pick me up like a sack of fucking potatoes!” you protested, continuing to feebly fail to fight your way out of his grasp.

“Apparently I fuckin’ can,” he chuckled, rumbling in that horrible patronising voice of his. “Now…Settle. Down.”

And with that he started moving again, taking you past the tour of bodies that you’d folded at moments before, stepping through them like you might do through a botanical garden. The men were poked full of bullet holes and some even had knives jutting out of their skulls, but it didn’t seem to phase your rescuers. They were in their element. You were decidedly not. 

You felt like you were going to be sick and wondered briefly what the terrifying man would say if you were to throw up on him. Would he drop you as revenge? You quivered in his arms as he moved through the halls, following his partner faithfully in the shadows, only seeing by the light of the moon in some sections of the house. 

Not soon enough, after being thoroughly traumatised for two lifetimes, you emerged out of the house you were in. Only hearing two more men be taken out before you were free to breathe fresh air again. You cleared out the disgusting smell of coppery blood and gulped in huge breathfuls of clear night air.

Air. Moonlight. Stars. You were in a barren front garden in the middle of nowhere. You could see out for miles toward that inky black sky on the horizon. 

It wasn’t like something out of a nightmare anymore, this was real. And it was a new kind of scary. It was night and it was cold and your shivering renewed again as the giant placed you back down on your feet and let you stand on your own. 

Why was it so fucking cold? 

“You see anyone else?” Ghost asked his partner, sticking faithfully by your side.

“Negative. Think we’re good to move out, LT,” Soap said, giving his surroundings one last careful scan.

“Thank fuckin’ god. Might even get back to the safehouse before mornin’ at this rate.”

Safehouse?

What?

“Um, what do you mean safehouse?” you prodded, feeling the cold start sinking into your clattering teeth.

“It’s a house that’s safe,” ghost ‘helpfully’ provided. 

“I fucking know that,” you said through gritted teeth, “what I mean is, why the fuck are we going to a safehouse? I need to go home. I need to get to an airport or something or like- like you should be calling me a helicopter or something! Why would we go to some safehouse and stay here any longer?”

“Your dad ordered us to take you there once we had you secured,” Soap said, staring over at you with a calculating gaze. “Now are you going to come get in the car yourself or does Ghost need to pick you up again?”

Fuck you.

You didn’t give either of them the satisfaction of answering. 

- 👑-

“He’s doing this to punish me isn’t he? It’s fucking typical you know! Only he would pull this shit, only my dad would find out I got kidnapped and send in two fucking random Englishmen and not even want to get me home-“

“Whoa! Watch it!” Soap shouted, interrupting you mid rant. “You can call me a lot of things, but don’t fuckin’ call me English, sweetheart.”

“English, Scottish, Irish- whatever the fuck you are! Point is he should be here! He shouldn’t be letting me stew in some random safe house with you two…two- two strangers,” you whined, throwing your arms up in the air. “For all he knows you could both be serial rapists!” 

“We’re two strangers that just saved your life, princess,” Ghost grumbled from the front seat. “And if your dad is punishing you, then I think I’m beginning to see why.”

Your mouth dropped like a lead weight and you stared daggers into the mirror, catching Ghost’s cold eyes in the reflection. He was still wearing the mask.

You were driving on country road that stretched almost  limitlessly into the horizon but for some reason he was still in disguise. Not that you cared to see his face! No, if anything, you hoped you’d be out of their company much sooner rather than later for him to reveal himself. Though, that wasn’t going to happen it seemed, so you resolved to make that everyone’s problem. Share the burden of being abandoned to Mexico. 

“In case you haven’t realised; I’m not exactly accustomed to dead bodies and I’ve just come from the midnight showing of night of the living fucking dead here! I should be getting wheeled into a therapists office right now, not getting bundled up into another strange house, spending the night with Micheal Myers and groundskeeper fucking Willie,” you growled out, penetrating your gaze into Ghosts very soul, hoping he’d feel a shred of pity for you. 

However, you weren’t doing a very good job of that. Instead of knocking sense into the big brute you only made him narrow his eyes at you. And to add even further insult, Soap choked back a laugh. Though, he composed himself quickly after casting a glance at the leuitenant and focused his eyes back on the road. 

“You’ve got a funny way of sayin’ thank you, princess.”

And that was the last thing he said to you before ignoring you completely. No matter how much you moaned and groused and demanded to be taken back home, neither of the men would answer your cries. Typical men! 

They left you to marinade in your own self pity - in a dish that was endlessly deep. Afterall, how could your father not appreciate how stressful your ordeal was? Sure, you both had your differences, but you’d have thought that even he would put his malice for you aside on account of an actual real life kidnapping! 

After a few more miles of barren road you found yourselves coming to a small village, and started to slowly roll toward a modest concrete house on the outskirts.

It was two floors high and painted a sandy cream colour, with a small sheltered space to park the car and protect it from the elements. It seemed as if it might just fit you and Soap through its tiny door, the ceilings didn’t look that high. And it was the thought of Ghost being stuck in its old wooden frame that made you finally crack a small smile for the first time since you’d been taken. 

“Any complaints about the exterior before we step in, sweetheart, or would you like to save your scathing words for when you’re inside?” Soap teased as he opened the car door for you. 

“Very funny,” you huffed, smile disappearing you made sure to knock into the door as you stepped out. “Maybe you can go make fun of some terrorist victims next.”

Soap raised his brows, but didn’t bother to dignify you with a reply. He closed the door behind you instead and walked up to house and unlocked it for you, ushering you inside. Not that there was much to walk into. 

There was some basic furniture, a ratty old couch, a table and chairs, a kitchen that hardly seemed stocked and an old orange cloth rug that looked like it had seen better days. The place smelt like old newspapers for some reason, and all in all, it didn’t inspire much hope in you for the rest of the house. And just as you caught yourself thinking that, you knew you’d already proved Soap right. You had many, many, many complaints. 

“Well, I drove. So I bagsy first shower,” Soap announced, trailing off toward the creaky wooden stairs at the end of the hall. “Try not to cause world war three while I’m gone.”

You balked as you felt Ghost brush past you, successfully getting through the door. Who had Soap directed that last order at? Jeuss. You were the kidnapping victim and somehow you didn’t qualify for washing up first? What was this?

Chivalry was truly dead. Though, it wasn’t like they’d rode up in white horses when they’d come to get you, no they emerged through a cloud of bullets and snatched you out of the house like a drug bust they could trade in for on the sly. 

“And what am I supposed to do now, hm?” You said, turning to the man now shedding his gear like a second skin onto the couch. 

He didn’t give you a response though, instead he just finished off pulling the various packs and armaments off of himself until he was left standing in his uniform and mask. He looked a few pounds lighter, but he was still massive compared to you. The equipment didn’t bulk him out quite as much as you’d suspected. 

“Is there a phone I can use?” You finally asked, exasperated with the silence. 

“No.”

He grunted as he took a seat on the couch and rolled up his sleeves, exposing his thick tattooed forearms. You couldn’t help but feel that that was some kind of threat. Though, your suspicions were eased as he shuffled around and crossed his arms around his head, lying down and closing his eyes. 

“So, what? We’re just waiting to see when my dad magically shows up?” You needled.

“You asked If there was a phone that you could use,” he reminded, glancing over at you with slitted eyes. “Why don’t you go get some rest princess, there’s rooms upstairs that you can whine in in peace.”

What!

You clenched your fists at your sides and growled out in frustration. How was it that you were stuck with one of the most insensitive men in the world right after you got kidnapped? In fact it felt like you were being held hostage all over again.

Well you weren’t going to sit there and take it this time!

Before you could think about how bad an idea it was, you marched straight over to the sofa and started digging through Ghosts things. You crouched and moved aside all the smaller pouches and sharp pointy things trying to find anything that might resemble a phone. Though you didn’t get much of an opportunity to look, you were swiftly dragged up to your feet by the masked man and knocked away from his stash. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He barked, not sparing a single decibel from piercing your already abused ears. 

“I need to use a phone! I need to call someone!” You screamed back. “I need to tell people I’m alright. My friends must be worried sick and you’re treating me worse than a prisoner! E-Even prisoners get their phone calls!”

You tried desperately to fight against his hold, and screeched and hit against him like a banshee. However the man was solid, his hands were digging into your skin like a bear trap. And even as you tried to scratch at him, it didn’t deter him any. He just held you against him, making you smell the sweat off of him, the bullets, the smoke, you breathed him in as he pinned your hands flush to your body and screamed out as it became too much.

“In case you’ve forgotten, princess, we’re hiding out in a safe house right now because you’ve just been bloody kidnapped! You can’t call anyone because we need to keep the line clear and wait for word from back home. This isn’t fucking vacation, sweetheart, this is a fucking mission,” Ghost roared. 

You froze at his words. Your body felt like it had been hit by lightning and all of a sudden you could feel the storm in you shifting. All of the adrenaline was draining from you and just like that, you went from fighting like a rabid dog to blubbering like a baby. You broke down in his arms and felt the tears flowing freely back down your cheeks and fell back against him defeated. 

“Oh Jesus,” Ghost muttered to himself. 

Of course you hadn’t forgotten you’d been kidnapped. You were just dealing with it all in the only way you could. it just so happened, that when you fell back on instinct to get you through hard times it would result in you being, well as your dad put it, a massive pain in the ass. You were sure that Ghost would say the same. 

You didn’t even try to compose yourself, you were too upset to think. 

So, as Ghost came to that conclusion too, he decided to take matters into his own hands and picked you up again. Though, instead of putting you over his shoulder this time, he held you tightly against his chest and carried you off into one of the side rooms further into the house. 

The floor protested with every step the big man took and even over your shaky sobs, you could hear the wood below groaning like a zombie. He checked in the first door, and then the second on the wall to the right, coming to a stop when he found what he was looking for. Through blurry eyes you could see that you were in a small bathroom. A messily tiled room that contained an old wooden cabinet, a sink and a toilet. 

Ghost sat you down on the closed toilet seat and pulled some tissue from the roll, pressing it into your limp hands. You looked down at it like it was alien for a second, not sure what to do until you met Ghosts unwavering gaze. You needed to dry your eyes and get control of yourself. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, princess,” he sighed, turning and reaching into the cabinet. 

You gulped down a fat sob that had been threatening to come and sniffled softly instead. As much as you begrudged him, you knew Ghost’s logic was sound. You needed to get a hold of yourself and stop crying in front of him. He was hardly the sympathetic audience for it.

In fact it almost made you laugh when he turned back again and his skull mask caught the light. The hard plastic only served to remind you that he wasn’t going to sit and rub your back and make you feel better about it all. It was like he said, this was a mission for him, and his only concern was getting you out of Mexico alive. 

“There you go, deep breaths,” he said in a hushed voice, putting his hand on your shoulder for a second. 

The warm contact was comforting for a fleeting moment, his hand was gentle yet firm on you before he took it away. He’d fetched a cloth from the cabinet and stepped over to the sink, running it under the water and stepping back to your side. You’d expected him to hand it to you just like he had done with the toilet paper, but instead he took you by surprise and crouched at your level, stepping down from his massive height. 

He smoothed the cloth over your cheeks and down your tear tracks, softly clearing up your sensitive skin. When he’d brought the cloth away and refolded it, you’d half expected it to be a muddied black from your makeup but there were only traces of grey. You’d cried most of your makeup off already. Then, after a few more goes at letting him clear up your face you almost jumped out of your skin when a piercing ring sounded out from the living room.

“Stay here,” the soldier softly ordered, handing you the stained cloth. 

Ghost ducked out of the room, and you lamely held the cloth in your hand, listening out to what he was doing. He silenced the ring, presumably answering the phone he’d secreted away, and for a second all there was was fuzzy silence and the low ringing that hadn’t left your ears. 

“Mhmm,” Ghost grunted, his rumble cutting clear through your tinnitus. “Yeah we’re clear I reckon. Didn’t pass anyone on the way in…no one awake, no curtains twitching…your daughter is-…mhmm…yeah…ok. Well just so you know, your daughter is…fine by the way.”

The gruff man said the last part quietly, and it was that that clued you into the fact your dad probably hung up before he could catch it. He didn’t care how you were, only cared that you hadn’t been killed by a foreign gang. That probably wouldn’t have done his image any favours, you thought to yourself. What man wasn’t able to protect his family? A high ranking general at that. All that mattered was that you were safe and he didn’t have a PR crisis on his hands. How you were doing was none of his concern.

You gulped thickly when Ghost reentered the room and did your best to put on a brave face. He didn’t say anything. He flicked his eyes over your grave expression and took the cloth back from your hands, wetting it under the tap again and handing it back to you. 

“Those must be killing you,” he murmured, gesturing to your feet. 

You startled when he spoke again, not used to having a conversation with someone who’s lips were hidden behind a skull facade. It was quite unnerving when his rasp broke through the cloth.

Eventually though you nodded, looking down at your feet and finally acknowledging all the blisters that had formed where the straps had dug into you. The shoes had been new, you’d been excited to wear them when you put them on earlier. Now, they were just another regret among many. 

“Let’s get them off, hm?”

You nodded again, caught by surprise by the tender way that he was dealing with you out of nowhere. Perhaps out of pity after speaking to the General. You had no way of knowing if he was sympathetic to that type of thing. He was a soldier afterall. They dealt with much worse than emotional neglect and were often oblivious to the cold way your dad treated you. At least in your previous experience of them...

Ghost got to his knees and softly took one of your feet in his hands, turning it slowly this way and that a couple times, until he caught sight of the tiny buckle. He dealt with it like he was diffusing a bomb. 

He carefully took the end of the strap in one hand and lifted the buckle with the other, gently letting the catch come loose. Then he slid the shoe from your foot and repeated the process with your other. You had to do a double take. Was this really the same man that had all but snapped at you like a vicious dog earlier? 

“Thanks,” you whispered, still uselessly holding the cloth in your hands. “Did the General say when we could leave?”

Ghost frowned as you addressed your dad by his title, but quickly fixed his eyes into that familiar cold stare. He thought to himself for a moment before he answered you. He was probably scared you’d kick off again, you realised. 

“He said he wouldn’t get here till evenin’ at least. Said he’d be bringing a chopper though.”

“Ok.”

You didn’t have anything else to say. You’d run out of words, and steam and any kind of fight and all the things that had kept you going before. 

You were going to be stuck with the two strangers until almost the next day. There was nothing you could do about it, no one you could complain to, no one that cared. You might as well just accept it. 

- 👑-

You’d ended up taking Ghost’s advice afterall. You’d finished cleaning up in the bathroom yourself and painfully trudged upstairs with your swollen feet, searching out the first bedroom you could find along the gloom of the lonely hallway. The lightbulb flickered and danced as you’d made your selection, chasing you into the room as it mimicked the gunfire you’d seen flashes of not hours ago. 

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, not like you thought it would. 

You’d been convinced you’d be left sitting like a character in a movie. Painfully watching the walls in the cold silence and mourning the life you could have had if only you came from a loving home. However, as much as you loved dramatics, you weren’t fit to live up to the hurting girl stereotype.

You realised that when you woke up again and the sun was shining through your room like a big bright fuck you. You thought you were getting a moment's peace? Think again. You were going to be awake for the rest of your internment at the safehouse. 

You sighed and scanned the room with your eyes, taking note of the peeling paint and sparse bits of furniture, confirming what you already knew. This room was just as shitty as all the rest. It wasn’t like there was any reason to maintain safehouses beyond being structurally sound and stocked with essentials, but it would’ve been nice to provide some comfort. At the very least they could’ve made it smell better, less musty, less like a place people came to rot.

“You’re awake.”

You yelped when you heard the voice break through the calm and looked over to the door, spotting the looming spectre that stood in your entryway. Ghost. Had he been watching over you the whole time you slept? You didn’t know whether to feel creeped out or grateful for the fact he was so concerned about your safety. 

“I am,” you finally said.

“Good. I thought I’d bring you something to eat.”

Perhaps he hadn’t been watching over you after all. Maybe it had been Ghost’s footsteps that had woken you up. It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination, he sounded worse than a herd of cows when he creaked across the floors.

You sat up when he walked into the room and caught a glance at the bowl in his hands. Something to eat was a good description of what he’d brought you. It looked like he’d heated some spaghettios. Not exactly the most appetising thing that you could think of, but given you hadn’t eaten since the morning before, you realised that beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Not that you were often, if ever, a beggar. It was easier for your family to give you unlimited access to money and shut you up than it was for them to spend any time in your presence arguing that you should work for it. 

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking the bowl off of Ghost after staring at it for a few seconds. 

There was a spoon already shoved into the bowl, and when you picked it up, you found yourself wincing at the burning metal. Ouch. Ghost couldn’t have warned you they were hot? You glared up at him, but he was already retreating back out of the room, seemingly content that you had everything you needed.

But you didn’t feel like you had everything you needed at all.

You felt pathetic admitting it, but you didn’t want to be alone. Your ears were still ringing even hours after the firefight had ended and there was nothing to do in that bland room all alone. And now to top it all off it felt much too hot and sweaty. You felt like you might go mad. You softened your features again and called out to Ghost, praying against all odds that he’d indulge you. 

“C-can you stay?”

Ghost paused and turned his head, his skeletal mask caught the golden glow of the sun. It didn't look right. He looked out of place in the sunlight. Though, you knew better than to voice that thought, he wasn’t going to stay if you insulted him again. 

“If you really want me to,” he finally replied, tilting his head at you.

You nodded and watched as he looked around and found no alternative but to sit on the end of the double bed, and sighed as he plonked himself down. The bed rippled with his weight, and you almost let the bowl spill out of your hands, but thankfully caught it before it could drop.

That wouldn’t have been good, you thought. You’d already set yourself on eating it all when it had cooled. You couldn’t go without food any longer or your stomach would be gurgling like an alien. How embarassing.

“Did you manage to get some rest too?” you asked awkwardly, testing the spoon in your hands again.

“Some,” he answered, casting his eyes over you. “Soap traded places pretty quick.”

“What an asshole,” you snorted, lifting a spoonful of pasta to your lips and blowing on it.

“That arshole saved your life, princess,” Ghost reminded you, voice regaining its husky edge. “Show some respect.”

“I didn’t-I mean…I just figured you could’ve probably used the rest, I was just joking…Sorry,” you muttered, resigning yourself to eating instead of talking.

Ghost watched intently as you ate every last spoonful, but you ignored him, finding yourself greedily taking on more and more as you recognised your own hunger. You forgot about Ghost’s scolding for the moment as you felt your hunger pangs rattling from deep within you. Though, you felt a little better after finishing the bowl. You were going to eat so much when you got back home, you thought to yourself. 

You set the bowl down on the floor and looked back at your rescuer, staring awkwardly at him for a few moments. The silence was making your skin crawl. Why wasn’t he saying anything? 

“Do you ever take off that mask?” you blurted, feeling your cheeks heat up as you said it.

Ghosts eyes took on a glint as you’d said it and if you weren’t mistaken it felt like he was…smiling? You bit your lip and looked away from him, focusing instead on a particularly chipped patch of paint on the wall to his left side.

“Why? Do you want me to take it off?” he asked, amusement lacing his tone.

“I just- I don’t get why you still have it on. The bad guys don’t know we’re here, right?”

“Maybe I’m just shy,” he teased, leaning back on the bed, his forearms rippling as they supported his weight. 

You snorted at his answer, folding your arms across yourself. Suddenly you were all too aware of the fact that he was staring at you bare faced, messy haired and still in yesterday’s tiny dress. There was no way that he was shy, and it seemed unlikely that he was ugly under there. He walked and talked like a confident man, like a man that had never questioned himself. How exciting.

“Has Soap ever seen your face?” you asked, picking at the loose threads on the blanket you laid under. 

“Why the sudden fascination?” he grumbled. “I thought I was a big scary serial rapist or somethin’?”

You winced as he threw your words from earlier back to you, it felt like you’d been burned with acid. You realised how stupid you sounded now. He’d held onto that. 

“I didn’t say that you were one, I said that you could be one,” you corrected, sighing at your own stupidity. “I didn’t know who you both were, in fact I still don’t. I guess- I guess I just got freaked out, is all. Do other people not react a little crazy when you go on rescue missions?”

“Other people tend to be more gracious, at the very least,” he snorted.

You winced again.

You really were a princess sometimes. As much as the nickname had been annoying you all night, the soldier wasn’t wrong to call you it. They’d been good enough to put themselves in harms way and carry you through a sea of threats only for you to turn around and return fire, calling them names. 

You put your head in your hands and groaned. You always slung your arrows at the wrong people. Always got prickly with people that tried to help. And they’d helped you more than anyone ever had.

“Thank you for saving me. I know it's a little late, but all the same…thanks for getting me out of there alive,” you murmured, catching a glance at his widened eyes. “And for- um, dealing with me earlier. That was nice of you cleaning me up like that.”

Ghost took a second to recover from you actually thanking him, his eyes staying open and shocked before returning to their usual shadowy state. They looked almost black even even in the sunlight. Though, you supposed it didn’t help they were hidden behind cloth and plastic. 

“You’re welcome, darlin’” he rumbled.

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Darling?” you grinned, preening at the warmth in his tone. “Am I growing on you?”

“Like black mould,” he groused, “Can’t get rid of your questions, can I?”

“You did not just compare me to mould,” you growled, forgetting yourself - and who you were facing up against - and shooting toward him with a pillow in hand.

Ghost, cast his eyes from you to the pillow and turned, catching you before you could do anything stupid with it and held you against the wide expanse of his chest again. You were held solidly against him, packed in tight and before you could do anything else, you were disarmed and your pillow was plucked right out of your hands and thrown back to the head of the bed.

“What’d you think you were gonna do with that then, ay?” he growled, his mouth dangerously close to grazing your ear. 

His breath was warm on your neck and it raised a trail of goosebumps across your flesh. You shivered in his arms, feeling his words send a shock through your body, and felt yourself go limp in his bulging arms. Why was he suddenly so much more enticing when he had you pinned down like this?

“Ay?” he asked again, releasing a low chuckle. “You think you can attack me, princess? Think you can do a bit of damage with those little arms?”

“I think I could do a lot of damage if you let me,” you breathed, scraping your lip under your teeth. 

The lieutenant paused and held you very still for a moment, his arms stiffening over your body like he’d moulded to you. Oh no. Had he not liked that, you wondered. Had you just embarrassed yourself again?

“Are you flirting with me?” he asked, voice not losing his amusement.

Oh good. So he wasn’t disgusted with you.

“Maybe…depends on if you liked it or not.”

“And if I liked it?”

“Then, yes, I was.”

You both sat in silence for a second, you stayed trapped in his arms, holding stock still while he mulled over what you’d said. What now? You didn’t have to wonder very long, he released you and turned your body so that you faced him again, balancing precariously on your hands and knees, capturing your face in his hands so that you were forced to look at him. 

“You should be careful who you flirt with, princess. It’s like you said earlier, I’m a stranger in a mask, you have no idea who I am…No idea what I’m capable of,” he trailed, letting your own mind take over the implication he was getting at.

Not that you got the point that he was trying to make. If anything the whole thing was suddenly hotter to you. A rough fuck with the giant soldier that just rescued you from a gang of kidnappers and could pin you down like you were nothing? Hadn’t he sensed your issues from a mile off? Maybe he had, maybe that was why he said what he said. 

“Maybe I wanna find out,” you whispered.

You shot forward and kissed where you supposed his lips must be and, luckily, guessed correctly. You could feel him tense up in surprise before yanking you off of him and pinning you under him, holding your body down against the bed with his sculpted body, his legs caging yours in and his hands holding your wrists like manacles. 

“Give me one reason you want to, other than spiting your father,” he purred, eyes glowing with amusement and curiosity.

So he did know your game.

“You have a sexy voice,” you tried, fluttering your lashes in a way that you hoped would work on him. 

“Fuckin’ americans,” he grunted, laughing lowly to himself. “I want somethin’ better than that.”

“Didn’t think you’d be the type to go fishing for compliments,” you snarked.

With that little comment , you were rolled over quicker than you could comprehend and before you could turn to see what he was doing he slapped you on the ass. It was solid, no nonsense. Enough to sting even though he’d done it through the fabric of your little dress. He wouldn't have to do much to expose you and make it hurt more. He’d just have to flip up the fabric. 

“Answer my question,” he growled, still holding one of your hands captive.

“Because I want you to teach me a lesson…because you’re the first person in a long time that’s had me minding my manners,” you sighed, using your free hand to give your body leverage enough to rut against the soldier's bulging crotch.

“Fuck me,” Ghost grunted, voice losing its sharpness as you rutted against him. 

“That worked?” you grinned, half shocked that it clearly convinced him. 

“You could have any cunt from England, princess, and plenty of em’ would sound like me. You think that they could make you beg like I can?” he questioned.

You were tempted to give him a sassy reply, but already knowing you too well, he hit you with a couple more spanks, this time on your bare ass and finally slipped your skirt up so that he could admire the flesh he was abusing. You gasped as he ran his hands over your cheeks and whimpered when he ran a finger over your slit. You practically feel his eyes glowing like laser sights as he connected with your glistening flesh and paused so that he could dip his finger into you and confirm his suspicions.

“Please,” you whined, praying that he’d start moving it, praying for friction.

“Looks like I’ve got my answer,” he chuckled, removing his soaked finger and slapping your ass noncommittally. “Please what, hm?”

“Please,” you cried out, feeling awfully empty as he’d withdrawn. “Please, I want your fingers. Want you to finger me please.”

“Aw, so cute when you’re all needy, princess. Alright. If you ask me nicely, I’ll give you what you want.”

“I did ask nicely!” you whimpered, feeling your body burning with desire for him.

It felt like he was all you could think of now. The kidnappers and the whole resentment thing you had going for your family was a distant memory and all that remained was Ghost. All that remained was burning lust and a need to have him inside of you, possessing you wholly and taking you for his own.

“You’re such a little brat, princess. I just told you that you could have what you wanted and you just had to go spoil it for yourself,” Ghost said, his voice forging into a chilling point. “Looks like you need to be taught better manners.”

You groaned at his words, but you didn’t get much of a chance to work out what they meant. Instead, his hand rained down hard on your already stinging flesh and he spanked you like it was his next mission. You cried out as the smacks began to burn more and more and wriggled in his grasp, fruitlessly struggling against him and fighting his expert hands to no avail. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you chanted, giving him what you thought he wanted.

“Sorry, what?” he asked, accentuating each word with a slap. 

They were softer than the ones he’d been giving before at least. Like caresses against your screaming skin, fiery with his rough treatment.

“Sorry…for not asking nicely,” you said quietly, hoping to god he’d just give you what you wanted.

“Sorry, sir,” he grunted, running his hands over your hot skin.

“Sorry, sir,” you repeated quickly, sighing as his gentle touch soothed your prickling burns.

“That’s better.”

You hummed as his nails scratched down your cheeks and settled into the bed, feeling like the stiff blankets were transformed into egyptian cotton as your head grew fuzzy. His hands really were quite skilled, especially since he was so easily able to have you howling one second and then had you curling up like a cat the next.

“You wanna do this for the rest of the day or you wanna try asking for what you wanted again?” Ghost asked, his voice softening as he watched you relax.

“Mmm, would rather have your fingers inside me please, sir,” you moaned, smiling contentedly to yourself.

“That’s better…good girl.”

Your masked soldier grabbed your hips in his hands, making you feel tiny as he yanked you up like you were nothing. Yanked you into a half kneeling position as you kept your head pasted onto the bed, not having the strength to bring it up. Then finally, just as you were about to start begging again, spat on his hand and pierced his finger back inside you. 

You groaned at the intrusion and whined as he slowly pumped it in and out, getting you all worked up and turning you into a moaning mess. You were burning for more, your belly tightening as he worked his digit in and out and circled your clit with his other hand like it was an art. You whined and writhed and clutched at the sheets, crying out as he added another finger and increased his pace. You could feel the rumble that caught in his throat reverberate through your chest. ‘

“So pretty. Your cunt’s so wet and you’re clenching on me so hard. What would happen if I shoved my cock in there? Would you cum right away, princess?” he purred.

You whined out at that and felt your need light up anew, could feel it vibrate around your skull and through your gums. Yes. Stick your cock in me. That’s all you wanted, you wanted the big man on top of you, pinning you down and boxing you in like an animal, fucking into you like you were his own personal fleshlight. Fuck. 

“Ohmygod, please fuck me, Ghost!” you cried out, “Please, oh my god please, sir! Please fuck me.”

Ghost chuckled and slowed his pace, bringing his fingers to a near stop. It was like hell, the tingles dampening throughout your body, your high being torn from you. You growled out and tried to claw your way up, tried to face him and see the stupid glint that would no doubt be in his eyes, but before you could he shoved you back down and tapped your ass again.

“We don’t have condoms here, princess. It’s not exactly standard protocol,” he teased. “Doesn’t seem like such a good idea.”

“I don’t care! I’m on birth control and I get checked out by the doctor every month,” you whined, fighting against any argument he could make against giving you his cock. 

“Well…I suppose that changes things,” he grunted.

Thank fucking god! You were sure you were going to d-

“Fuck!”

Your strangled cry pierced the room as he replaced his fingers and thrusted into you, shattering you inch by inch with his massive cock. It seemed endless, it was torturous in all the right ways, the burn that licked through your body like a forest fire. He was huge, not that you doubted that of course.

“That what you wanted, hm? That feel good, princess?” Ghost said, coming to a stop as he filled you completely. “Tell me, how does that feel? I wanna know if anyone else has been able to make you as fuckin’ speechless as this.”

You whined out, scratching at the bed underneath you like a trapped animal and breathed in thickly, wondering if your lungs would ever recover from the events of the last few hours. Wondering how to answer Ghost. How did it feel? Did anyone else compare to him? What stupid fucking questions. 

Nothing compared.

“It feels so fucking good, feels like you’re gonna split me in half,” you gasped, rocking yourself against him. “Need you to move, need to feel you ruin me!”

“Oh yeah? You need me to move? What a slutty girl telling me such filthy things,” he growled, reaching around and grabbing your neck, not quite enough to choke but enough to let you know he was in control. “Tell me, slutty girl, who’s in charge?”

“You, sir!”

“Who gets to wreck this pussy?” he asked, slowly begining to fuck you, rocking himself slowly in and out of you at an agonising pace. 

“You, sir!”

“Are you my little whore?” He asked again, building up speed a little, catching you in all the right places and turning your head to mush.

“Yes sir,” you cried out, feeling yourself coming closer and closer to the edge.

“Good fuckin’ girl, princess.”

You screamed as he upped his pace out of no where and fucked you like it was his job. Your eyes lost focus and your teeth gnashed together and suddenly it was a fight to stay upright as he pounded in and out of you and held your neck tightly in his firm grasp. It wasn’t like anyone you’d been with before, this was a new level of fucking you’d never experienced.

“Fuck!” you cried out again. “Gonna- gonna cum.”

“Yeah? Good, cum for me. Clench on my cock, little slut.”

You moaned out and gripped the sheets underneath you tighter, feeling your whole body shaking as his cock forced you off balnce. Just a few more thrusts and-

It felt like bliss, it felt like a high from a drug you’d just taken for the first time. You came with a muffled scream as Ghost clamped his hand over your mouth and gasped wordlessly as he continued to fuck you. In and out, in and out, it was about all your mind could process as your body zipped and sparked like it had been hit by a thunderstorm.

He kept going like that, absolutely relentless, skewering you and turning you to mush below him, making you feel like dirt at his knees. You were nothing, you weren't any kind of princess, you were just his toy. And you fucking loved it. You loved that he could make you feel like that, but still make you feel so fucking precious as he continued to caress your skin and growl affirmations every now and then.

So fucking pretty.

Mine, princess, you’re mine. 

Feel so fucking good, you’re so fucking good.

You cried out as he put his hand around your throat again and put on some pressure, making you struggle a little to pull in air, but not by much. It felt exquisite. The tremors of your last orgasm were still bolting through you and now another one was building. You felt so good, felt so impossibly warm as you struggled beneath him. Fuck, you never wanted this to end. But you knew you could hardly take much more.

“You gonna cum for me again? Gonna give me another one before I finish? C’mon, I know you have another one in you, princess.”

You whined and felt your thighs shaking like they were going to collapse and suddenly his fingers closed tighter round the sides of your throat. You gasped loudly a couple times, trying to pant out that you were close, but the sound couldn’t quite form in your mouth. Then, in no time at all it was hitting you again, that high, that euphoria. Another orgasm. 

“Fuck!” Ghost growled out. 

You clenching around him had sent him over the edge and all too soon, you were both collapsing into the sheets like falling scaffolding. You clattered down against him and he pulled you close. He bucked his hips a couple times as he finished inside you, grunting a little with the increased sensitivity he felt as you shifted against him. It was divine.

You were both wrecked.

Neither of you said a word as you laid there, both keeping your eyes closed and your mouths open as you panted into the arid empty air. There was nothing to say. You just had to soak in the moment and retreat into each other's bodies, accepting the burning, unbearable heat you were both giving off and enveloping each other in it.

Fuck.

“Is that a better way of saying thank you, sir?” you finally moaned, grinning to yourself as you proved yourself right.

That was one way to teach you some respect alright.

[lucentclan]

Moon 11!

Sparkstars leader ceremony under the cut! much longer than I intended, but I'm so emotional over these cats man

Sparkfire never intended to become leader.

and yet. here she was. staring down into the long abandoned burrow that led to an underground pool surrounded by glistening rocks that somehow still managed to reflect the starlight. She couldn't see the rocks from here, the darkness seemingly endless.

Newtstar was supposed to long outlive her. Sparkfire wasn't terribly older than him, but old enough. His nine lives weren't supposed to be gone that quickly.

Thinking of the previous leader makes her stomach churn with a mix of guilt and grief. *Why* had she encouraged the war against Fernclan? If she hadn't, the clan she and Newtstar worked so hard to bring together would still be thriving.

She was stupid and arrogant, but she can't change anything now.

With a deep breath, she ducks into the hole and makes her way down to the starpool. The dirt walls of the tunnel close around her, dirt and roots getting caught in her ginger fur and threatening to suffocate her.

After what feels like an eternity, the tunnel opens up to a small cave. In the center a glistening pool surrounded by similarly glowing rocks. The sight takes her breath away and she stands there for a moment, imagining the future generations of medicine cats and leaders of Lucentclan coming to this pool and etching their paw prints into the ground. Solidifying the clans legacy.

She shakes off her pelt as if shaking the thoughts away and steps up to the pool, her pawsteps echoing gently around her. Once to the waters edge, she lays down with her toes and chin barely brushing the cold water. The cold water sends a jolt through her but she quickly finds herself drifting off.

When she opens her eyes again, the cave has been replaced with inky blackness. Stars sparkle around her and the ground ripples underpaw as if she were standing on water.

From the darkness emerges all the cats she had grown to care for over the last few moons, The only one she didn't recognize was a black tabby that looked similar to Newtstar. She assumed it was Newtstars sister, Shardfoam. The she-cat had died far before Newtstar had left his old clan and met Sparkfire but Shardfoam had become their starclan guide after Newtstar had formed Lucentclan.

The first cat to step forward is Pepperflare, the black and white she-cats eyes showing warmth but also hesitance. Pepperflare stands infront of Sparkfire, "To start, I give you a life for friendship. Use it to treat others with the kindness you showed us in life." With that, she leans forward, only able to hope that Sparkfire uses her honeyed words and silver tongue well as they touch their nose to the leaders head. She steps back, bowing her head respectfully before drawing back into the line of starry furred cats.

The second to step infront of Sparkfire is Violethope, who's can't help but wonder if her head strong mentor will use her charm and popularity to make Lucentclan a better clan or for her own selfish gain. Her blue eyes glint with distrust, making Sparkfires heart lurch. The leader goes to speak, but is quickly cut off causing her to close her mouth with a click of teeth.

"I give you this life for farsightedness, to see any enemies before they strike and to recognize prosperous opportunities that come your way." She mews, voice more mature than it ever had been in life. Sparkfires legs almost buckle when Violethope presses her nose into ginger fur, sending the life flooding through her being. Violethope nods and turns to stand beside Pepperflare once more.

The next cat startles Sparkfire, stars reflecting in his youthful gaze as he trots up to Sparkfire. Sablepaw appears much friendlier than the previous two. "This life is for trust, to trust your clanmates and keep them close to your heart. I think you'll be a great leader!" He says cheerfully, stretching up to touch Sparkfires nose with his before backing up again to let Sparkfire regain her balance before rejoining the crowd also.

A cream tabby and white tom steps out next, it was their old medicine cat Rippleclaw. Rippleclaw was the start of the tragedies that hit their clan, having been killed by Fernclan which led to the war.

Sparkfire half expected hostility from the medicine cat, but was met with a warm smile instead. The tom leans forward until their noses are touching gently, this time the life feels like it flows through Sparkfire like the tide pools in their camp.

"With this life I give you wisdom. Take care of the clan the best you can. I believe in you." He purrs, voice hardly above a whisper. Sparkfire nods, thankful.

Shardfoam is next, the she-cat not giving away her true emotions. "I know you do not know me,  but I'm grateful for you taking over the clan and for helping Newtstar get as far as he did. I know you blame yourself, but do not.  This was the will of starclan." She leans forward, "I give you a life for duty. You are now responsible for the future of Lucentclan, be sure to make the right decisions." Shardfoam steps back into the line of cats.

and finally, Newtstar steps forward. His golden eyes stare into Sparkfires own olive ones, brimming with pride as he looks upon his old friend.

Sparkfire once again tries to speak,

"Newtstar, I-"

The black and white tom smiles and hushes her with a brush of his tail under her chin.

"Hush now, Sparkfire. I know what you're going to say, but as Shardfoam has told you, this is how it was meant to be." He leans forward and presses their noses together, sending warmth washing over Sparkfire. "With this life I grant you endurance in the face of hardship. It will only get harder from here, my friend. but you will always have friends and loved ones here in starclan. Live as Sparkstar, and lead our clan out of darkness and into the light we're named after."

Sparkstars shoulders shake with heavy sobs, overcome with emotion in front of the cat she had grown to care for so deeply. Sure, they disagreed on certain aspects and Sparkfire had violent thoughts but she would have never acted on them.

Before she can say anything, dozens of wispy, starry spirits emerge, quickly surrounding Sparkfire. "we grant you your remaining 3 lives." Individually, each voice is distant, but together, the force of their words shakes Sparkstar to her core. "Use them well, with our blessing." And in a heartbeat, they were gone and Sparkstar awakens with a jolt. The starpools cave now feeling more barren and lonely than when she arrived.

Sparkfire looks into her reflection on the water, determination now flooding through her. "I vow to protect Lucentclan, even at the cost of all my lives. The clan *will* live on."

And with that, she turns tail and heads home where Quailcall is waiting.

[tuliprambles]

With the current state of the film industry, my brain's been all over the place, and I wanna get some thoughts out there.

I wanna talk about the releases of two movies in particular: Deadpool & Wolverine, and Alien Romulus. Both of these are big budget sequels to long running franchises, something that general audiences seem to just be done with as of late. A lot of movies underperformed last year for this reason. So what is it about these in particular that audiences gravitate towards?

I've made it no secret that I don't like Deadpool & Wolverine as much as most people seem to. The trailers made it look like yet another MCU movie except R rated this time. Upon its release though, I did end up going to see it and was pleasantly surprised. While not as good as the first two in my personal opinion, it is still very enjoyable. The movie is very much a passion project. It meant a lot to everyone involved. Ryan Reynolds wanted to make something to celebrate the distant past of Marvel movies that have been largely forgotten about in this day and age, and Disney let his team make the movie that they wanted to make.

Similarly, Alien Romulus is not just an obligatory sequel made because a corporation wanted it. This movie had a director that loves the series and wanted to have his own spin on it. Fede Álvarez was inspired by what's come before in the Alien series, and had creative control to tell his own story.

Now imagine for me, if a couple years ago, Disney announced "We're making a new Alien movie and we're looking for directors!" This is how they tend to approach their projects. They make a roadmap of what they think will make the most money, and then start looking for creative teams to reach a deadline.

Nowhere is this more apparent than the recent D23 announcements. What did Disney have to announce? A bunch of remakes and sequels of movies that already exist. These were no doubt decided purely by execs to make the most money, there is no creative merit to be found here. That's the key difference.

On paper, movies like *another Deadpool* and *another Alien* blend in with all these other movies that Disney spews out on a conveyor belt. This doesn't just apply to Disney either, every major movie studio is guilty of this. The difference though is that while yes, these two movies are legacy IP sequels, they were made purely out of love by passionate creators.

Not to say there is no passion or effort that goes into other remakes or sequels, but the problem is that these movies are made to reach a deadline. And when that's the case, there's very little wiggle room for directors, artists, etc. to really put their talents to use.

TL;DR, the problem isn't that legacy sequels exist. Deadpool and Alien are proof of that. The problem is profit and shareholders being put above actual creative vision.

[blueikeproductions]

More CyberWorld/EarthSpark stuff that stuck out to me.

Another page in the planning document cropped up, & it gives a general overview of what Hasbro had in mind at the time.

Two new shows are planned to come out, but this page confusingly doesn’t mention CyberWorld, just an “animated kids series” & an “animated pre-K series”.

The other pages still reference CyberWorld, so mostly going by what we’ve seen, CyberWorld is meant to be the kids series, but it’s a big question mark on the pre-k show. Rescue Bots ran its course, I got the feeling lil’ kids weren’t interested in RBA since it didn’t last as long, stories were both too preschool but also trying to tack on IDW centric ideas by forcing Laserbeak to be forgiven and becoming an Autobot, for reasons. Stuff that’s not interesting to lil’ kids or their parents.

When RBA ended, a new toyline took over but I don’t think it sold super well, nor did it have any fiction.

As well as only including Optimus Primal & BW Megatron Gator…? It was a random line, and clearly just filler to eke out RB style toys longer. I don’t see the new Pre-K show being this, but CHT did sell Decepticons as enemy characters unlike RB/A, so the Pre-K show might be based on the Great War this time? Or at the very least, stuff like the Decepticons robbing banks and power plants, lol. Or some gag about Soundwave illegally downloading music, only to be put in his place, but with a contradictory gag about the human kids and Bumblebee doing the same from time to time.

It’s pry too late to ape it now, but a modern pre-K show I could see being Spidey & His Amazing Friends tonally with toys similar to Paw Patrol’s. Like say you have the standard Optimus toy partnered with Spike (Skybound or G1 doesn’t matter), and the trailer transforms into a big jet for Optimus and Spike to ride in. Something like that.

As for CyberWorld.

The current assumption based on the toys, is it might be a return to vehicles vs animals that both RiDs, Beast Machines, Beast Wars II and ROTB (kinda) did.

The Decepticons seemingly being animal themed supports this (plus if Meg Bull IS Megatron, Megs trying to push off road Optimus off a cliff in bull mode is hilarious), though Galvatron is the odd one. The only one with a beast form is the BWII version…

Hasbro might be more open to Beast Wars again but they’re still a bit dodgy about the Japanese cast despite Lio Convoy and Magmatron. I could sooner see a G1 Galvatron than BWII Galvatron, but the fun approach would be an Armada Galvatron inspired design that borrows from G1, Energon & BWII.

Toy speculation suggests the line might be a repaint line like the old TF Universe series made up of Cyberverse, RiD15 and EarthSpark molds.

A possibility. Cited speculative examples of Sky-Byte being his Cyberverse toy, Chomp & Stomp Grimlock being another go at the AoE toy of the same name, & Mirage being RiD15 Blurr make sense, but I dunno. Scorponok and Galvatron stick out, as I would think they’d have to be new molds, though an argument can be made for a G1 colored version of RiD15 Scorponok… Similarly, they might repaint TFP Predaking into Galvatron if he’s a repaint and they wanted to homage BWII, but I’m leaning towards new molds for now.

CyberWorld ISN’T a cartoon, but a toy only subline or size class meant to replace the abandoned Core/Legion class.

Inconclusive. The tiny toys don’t seem to sell well as it is, Legacy just stopped being restocked my way so no BM Cheetor or Energon Megatron for me. Also guys like Iguanus shelfwarmed HARD. Rungs were still clogging Ollies until recently. CyberWorld is also shown to be the successor to ES in most of the documents that we can tell.

The CyberWorld cartoon will have a half of a half shoe string budget like Cyberverse and possibly be similar to it.

Inconclusive but not out of the realm of possibility either. Hasbro has been having its own problems lately, while Paramount is practically on fire right now. A lot of people mostly just seem to be clinging to how similar World & Verse sound, with the logo also looking slightly similar but still different enough. A lot more people also seem resistant to the idea of more Cyberverse either way. CV didn’t perform well either, the toys clogged store shelves from start to finish, heck the first wave went on clearance immediately after Christmas, and the series JUST came out, the messy, lackadaisical approach to the show’s (lack of) story, the bad voice acting, etc. It’s not a fondly remembered show as much as some make it out to be. And even then, you’d sort of expect, if it was directly related, Hasbro would shove Bumblebee front & center, despite the CV cartoon wanting little to do with Bee as it went on. Like let’s be real, if it was a CV sequel, Bee, Windy & Shadow should be here right out the gate. They’re not. At all. Windy is practically benched in favor of Elita now.

Mirage is the focus (seemingly) instead, presumably due to the ROTB version’s popularity. He’s certainly more fun than the rich snob that may or may not be a traitor the G1 version tends to be. Not that you can’t make the G1 version interesting but boy has Hasbro not really had any interest in doing so beyond his invisibility gimmick.

So really until told otherwise we know very little. All we know for sure is EarthSpark is being slowly phased out in favor of CyberWorld & a potential Pre-K show. The Slag Podcast host has given a knowing wink, and has a show planned that will presumably lay these Snaketicons out straight, as people have been calling him a lying liar again for sticking to what he knows. Similarly some have pointed out Nick Roche may have also been lying, giving false hope EarthSpark is continuing on when it’s pretty clear it isn’t. S2 is it people, one way or the other, and the new CyberWorld order is coming whatever it ends up being.

[thefirstknife]

(This is a theory based on the previews shown for Prism and the most recent TWID, so there may be other recent official communications that I've missed and should consider, apologies if that's the case)

Prism looks really fun but also seems like a significant jump forward in terms of powercreep, and especially the exotic class items, seem like they'll be a long-term balancing nightmare. The impression I got from the showcase reveal was that previously, it was an idea that got shelved as being not great for the long-term balance of the game, but then was brought back online in response to underwhelmed backlash.

Similarly with the Brave Arsenal, it feels like they looked at the perk pools and said 'screw it, let's make them all obscenely juiced up' again a jump in powercreep, and they don't seem to be overly concerned about that right now.

Today's TWID said that legacy gear will be re-enabled for infusion, undoing the last current mechanical implementations of sunsetting, and that a lot of it will be re-introduced and rebuilt for the current sandbox.

We're on the way back to a sandbox where everything goes, in a game world that seems broader than it was when the DCV was introduced, with way more power than we had before with 3.0 classes and weapons with ability verbs. Looking just at the PvE side of things, it seems to me like the game is going to be in the same state it was when Luke Smith announced the huge changes in Beyond Light. (We also keep getting more vault space when they had told us not to expect more vault space)

I see this as a path with 2 branches on it. The first is they aren't worried about powercreep because the game is not 'bloated' the same way it was when they developed Beyond Light i.e. it's not a nightmare to keep a laundry list of activities balanced against guardians more powerful than we imagined we ever would be. Prism will have a rough patch but come in-line with everything else within 6-8 months. Gear will also get equalized again via consistent tweaking. Episodes will continue the story in cool ways, new gear will cycle between cool and less cool, more reprised raids/missions, maybe we get new permanent destinations, maybe another (or more) major expansion in the future, but right now I expect Episodes will probably be a lot like what we've seen from the beefier seasons with custom locations and activities that wont be permanent.

The other branch is that they aren't worried about powercreep because some amount of time after the first 3 episodes, destiny 2 will go into stasis; playable but with no major updates or expansions while they work on Destiny 3, which will have another hard reset for character progress/gear. Destiny 2 stays free to play with a huge library of campaigns, raids, dungeons, and exotic missions but the 'gear chase' and all the 'forever game' mechanics get moved to destiny 3 or whatever it'll end up being called. This game will be built based on all the hard design lessons and problems they have had to crack for D1 and D2 with the expectation that they won't need to do this again for a D4 (and maybe they'll even be right).

Thoughts?

Honestly that sums up my thoughts on it too.

I know there's been talk about them allegedly already working on D3. I generally don't have a strong opinion about it; my personal only issue is the loss of all cosmetics. But outside of just me, I think D3 will do the same as D2 did, which is split the fanbase and piss everyone off. People will need an exceptionally strong incentive to be okay with restarting their characters once again, years after TFS, and to re-grind everything and wait years for the game to have more than vanilla content.

A lot of people think that D3 will somehow drop and magically be better in every aspect, but what they fail to realise is that it will take years, again, to populate the game with content. Like, D3 will launch with 1 raid and will have 1 raid for a year. We're used to a selection of much more than that. I can't imagine a lot of people will have the patience to wait 4-5 years for the game to have the same amount of options to play with. It's a big risk overall. Not to mention the cost of keeping both D1 and D2 still alive.

Anything is possible! These things are still years away from us so genuinely who knows what they're planning long-term. I do think that eventually they will have to move away and update the engine and probably stop supporting old gen consoles, purely for technical reasons.

As for the possible powercreep, I don't think it will be too much of a problem. As it usually is with any new abilities/supers, things will be wild at first, but probably reigned in fast. Same with unsunsetting; a lot of the old weapons are simply not that good anymore given their lack of updated perks. I'm more interested in them saying that they will reissue most if not all of the old stuff and update it to modern standards, but even then, we already have a lot of weapons. There's only so many types of legendary hand cannons to make feel unique and useful. Most of the old stuff will just be for nostalgia's sake. Still, it will probably super wild at launch and until things settle, but powercreep can be dealt with over time with changes and content being made to account for new options.

We'll have to wait and see! I am not opposed to the game being refreshed with a full restart, though I do have personal gripes that are mostly based on the fact that I really don't want to wait years to have my characters look like I want them to rather than wearing gear that doesn't fit my aesthetic because there's only 4 armours in the game. A new game will simply not have enough options for years to come and I think that a lot of players will be incredibly put off by having to start again. I'm not sure if they would risk this again, given how vanilla D2 went. But also, it's been so long since then so with all of the experience, maybe things can go better this time. Third time's the charm?

[mod-doodles]

It’s kind of sadistic that some of the anti shippers argument for why Sydney and Carmy shouldn’t date is because they work together/it would ruin their working relationship. Has capitalism done such an irreparable job of warping our brain chemistry that the human instinct to find love which is biologically based on the needs of species survival to procreate is now being ignored?

I know it’s not that deep but some of those same fans would then argue that Carmy needs to find love. I wonder how this idea presents itself in real world situations. If Carmy was a friend in real life, someone whose found themselves a victim to abusive relationships and by a miracle someone comes into their life in the form of a work colleague, who sees and experiences the world similarly and your friend had the chance to finally experience a truly loving and life-affirming relationship, would you advise them that their job which is currently providing them with anxiety is more important than a relationship that would provide solace and refuge? 

Bear in mind 😏, yes some peoples legacies live in their work, as an artist (and a mountain goat iykyk) myself I do hope to one day leave a lasting impression on the industry and people’s work is important but I think a message that they are trying to portray in season two is that balance is the spice of life. To have love, to be loved and to give love is just as important of a legacy, our accolades are not going to be able to provide comfort to us at the end of our lives should we all be so lucky to live long enough and reflect. 

I hate the idea that we should suffer for our art, its such a cynical and possessive ideology that has taken more souls than it has given life. Even in fiction you guys want to inflict more pain on the sufferers, the loneliness epidemic specifically with men is very apparent in this fandom, people tend to put society and their community before their own wants and desires then end up alone or alone within a marriage. 

Steps off soap box

[fkevin073]

Will Lucy Grey disappear from Coriolanus' life for a while to give him a chance with Livia? Will he create a family with Livia? Although it seems to me that the appearance of children would mean the ultimate end. I don't understand how Livia could agree to the arrangement. Is a happy ending at all possible for Lucy Grey and Coriolanus ? Will they be able to find their way together after Coriolanus is no longer president ?

lol these are a lot of questions that I can't answer because spoilers!!

um... I mean, idk I have a specific vision of how their relationship unfolds over the next five/six years. like I don't think they see much of each other until Coriolanus kinda strong-arms Lucy Gray into coming back into his life again, because I think she really did mean what she said at the end of the last chapter; like she does want him to try with Livia, even if she kind of hopes he never loves Livia like he does her, because while Lucy Gray is a good person at her core she still likes the control she has over this person who is so cool and powerful to everyone else but loses his mind if she so much as kisses someone. it's insane.

and as for Livia... I'm not going to feature her too heavily in the next chapter I don't think, but for her, like Coriolanus says, she's ambitious in her own right. she doesn't have the political drive to go into politics on her own, but she does want to leave her own legacy/stamp on the world, and she revels in power/status/admiration, and what better way to achieve that than becoming First Lady? Livia may have been annoyed when Coriolanus broke things off with her in chapter 2 because she thought they were kickstarting their political dynasty, not because I think she genuinely has feelings for him.

I think they see each other very clearly, and in a way, because let's face it affairs are very common place for rich/influential people, she almost admires the fact that he was honest and upfront with her about his relationship with Lucy gray? Or at the very least appreciates it, because she knows what to expect. And I think for him too, he knows she'll have her own affairs with people she wouldn't want to marry because it'd be a decline in social status (like her bodyguard for example) so long as she's discreet and no one really knows, he doesn't care at all.

In some ways actually, I think him and Livia see the world more similarly than him and Lucy gray do - like Livia, like Coriolanus, would never entertain the less than conventional upbringing Lucy Gray had before becoming an orphan. She very much leans into the whole 'traditional' upbringing and way of life in a way Lucy Gray never really has.

As for whether Lucy gray and Coriolanus can be happy after he's president... well, that's something that will probably be discussed in chapter 4, so no spoilers!!

thanks for the ask anon! ♥️

[marinecorvid]

my shadows of almia headcanon of the day: the chroma ruins are actually catacombs. with all the tunnels being, yknow, underground, and the existing manmade structures being 1) in place block off the primary entrance (i think, my memory is admittedly a little fuzzy) and 2) that one dais where the shadow crystal is supposed to be - the ruins were the traditional burial grounds of almia’s royal family (or just in general), the shadow crystal grew where the ancient king was entombed, and his remaining child in almia broke tradition by choosing to be interred in the hia vale/almia castle.

:readmore:

the older two siblings, who had been previously banished to the volcanic isle of boyle and the haruba coast, were similarly entombed away from the traditional resting grounds of their people, in the lands they spent the last parts of their lives in. all three’s resting places were found to possess 3 mysterious gems, similarly to the great crystal growing in the king’s tomb. (following the discovery of a dark stone formation growing out the king’s tomb, the catacombs were sealed from further use.)

the pokemon guarding the tears of princes were companions of the deceased princes, residing over their masters’ final resting place - the two legendaries are the same, but the lucario line (which doesn’t live as long) has passed down this duty through the generations. it is shrouded in mystery exactly when darkrai comes into play - was it a caretaker of the catacomb prior to the king’s entombment and crystalification? or was it attracted to the dark energy the crystal exuded? did it stay because it personally preferred the energy it radiated, or knew what power it possessed and was trying to act as guardian? questions abound. (read: i am still deciding my own fanlore.)

the spiritomb showed up after the catacombs stopped being maintained, though - it’s natural for them to form in places where many souls have gathered in a space that hasn’t been upkept spiritually. darkai was either indifferent/tolerant of it to some degree or was actively glad it was there, helping protect the tunnel system from outsiders. (if no special keystone is provided, time and exposure from gathered spirits will cause stones to become pseudo-keystones)

uhh the cresselia that was the pokemon companion of the yellow gem/prince is far more aware “the shadow’s” presence back on the mainland (as befitting their dual association - maybe the prince befriended it in relation to darkrai’s existence?) and is a far more difficult capture than heatran and lucario - she wants to ensure the last remaining vestige of her prince is in the hands of someone capable, or not at all. she’s mildly peeved at kellyn that he immediately trades it for keith.

yellow gem/the sun-touched prince = eldest sibling; red gem/the crimson prince = middle sibling; blue gem/the frost-wreathed prince = youngest sibling. the sun touched prince = a title given to the heir prince for his preference for yellow toned/gold accessories, it became to be used ironically when he was exiled to the haruba desert, where such extravagance was less practical, and sandstorms frequently blocked out the sun. the crimson prince = a title given for his preference for red-toned clothing and his violent (bloodthirsty) tendencies, it became ironic when he was exiled to a land of lava. the frost-wreathed prince = a title given for his preference of the cold mountains of hia, and how such cold never seemed to affect him like others. also while they’re all frequently called princes their gender identities are historically ambiguous. at least one of them is trans.

all three of them have fates mirroring what they wanted of a legacy: the sun touched prince is never reunited with his homeland, instead becoming a part of a different culture (and that in itself is something to unpack - historical colonialism and all that) and being primarily remembered not as a ruler but as something else (relating to hippowdon temple somehow); the crimson prince is never the great conqueror he hoped to be, is almost entirely unremembered, boyle isle being home only to a relatively small settlement that no longer sees industrial use (mines scraped hollow), has a small but thriving agricultural culture (got that fertile volcanic soil babey), and is an inexpensive holiday destination at best; the frost wreathed prince never wanted to be first heir to the throne, preferring to avoid politics and live simply but is remembered almost entirely as the last commonly noted ruler of almia.

[disparition]

Why do you pick parts of California you do for In.A.Walled.City?

How do you come up with concepts like a mile wide highway nation that exists in the legacy of a Amazon delivery driver turned communist general?

There's so much imagination to extrapolate what these places should look like, does it just come from looking around and earnestly thinking about what comes next for the places we live in?

Thanks!

Yes, I spend a lot of time thinking about the future of the places I travel to. I've always been into speculative fiction of various kinds as well as more grounded theorizing about the future shapes of human societies, and when I started touring regularly I began thinking a lot about this in a more physical and direct sense.

I noticed for example that a lot of strip malls and outdoor shopping centers throughout the US - especially on the west coast - have a physical structure that can be easily converted into a small fortified community. Many of them even have decorative watchtowers and borrow the aesthetics of medieval and early modern fortifications, even if these are very superficial. This comes up in several places in the story and is part of the origin of the name, but the first one I thought about (briefly referenced in episodes 5 and 8, and it will come up again much later) was the Tejan outlet mall just north of the grapevine pass, which would be a strategically crucial area for a number of reasons.

One idea for the series came from reading a firsthand account of Napoleon's Russian campaign, written by his aide de camp Philippe Henri de Segur. It was a fascinating and very personal portrait of a huge humanmade disaster. So the first sketch I wrote, which will not appear in the series until episode 17 (Mia Marisol and the Last Governor of California) is a similarly personal account written by an aide to one of the most famous generals of the period. She was a UPS driver by the way, not Amazon. Marisol is not the same kind of figure as Napoleon and her career takes a different turn, but she is a similarly divisive and transformative figure of her time.

Another idea, for the setting, came in the form of trying to reconcile the history and present of Judaism and various Jewish communities, to address our cycle of being both victims and perpetrators of violence and oppression and nationalism. This is the core of episode 2, as well as the final section of episode 6, and is the reason that the story is set in the Hebrew year 6000 (or, the 23rd century according to the Gregorian calendar). It is a theme that will be interwoven throughout the work, and is the other part of the meaning of the name.

The first actual story I wrote in this world was what became episode 8. The first line of the episode, "first it was Borders, then it was Barnes&Noble, then it was nothing", came to me in the middle of the night and I had to get up and start writing, and The Historian was the eventual result. That episode is largely based on my own experiences in the world of publishing (I worked for Barnes&Noble.com managing their online community and customer reviews, then later for a book publishing house that was part of the Disney/ABC conglomerate) as well as my own predictions about future intersections of literature, fandom, and religion. Episode 4, The Marketer, is also part of that particular thread.

Starting in late 2020, due to a number of family crises, I had to drive between LA and SF every week or two. It was during these drives that I came up with the idea of a road as a nation in and of itself and a culture of constant travellers who maintain and regulate that road. The story of that nation is arguably the most "gimmicky" episode since it's about the future of interstate 5, it's episode 5, and musically speaking it's in 5/4. It was also the most fun to work on.

As you might guess, each episode takes a very long time to make. But I am still working on the next one. Thank you very much for listening!

[capsarcastica]

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice Review

The long-awaited sequel has a lot to enjoy and a lot of problems keeping it from greatness. Original film fans will enjoy the returning characters and their progression, but the story is a mess.

The three returning actors are all terrific. Michael Keaton is the obvious standout. Like his return as Batman in The Flash, he slips back into the role like he never left. He brings all that same energy that made the role so iconic to begin with. I like how Delia and Lydia's characters are progressed. Catherine O'Hara still has that yuppie narcissism from the original but is has more of a softer side. Winona Ryder plays a similar mother to her Stranger Things role just with a goth side.

I'm disappointed with how the movie handled Charles Deetz. I get Jeffrey Jones wasn't going to return due to his legal issues, but the character was one of the good guys. This movie goes out of its way to disrespect Jones that it hurts Charles with an over-the-top death. It doesn't help that the movie similarly killed off Astrid's father also off-screen in another over-the-top way, almost like the movie has a thing against fathers.

Of the new characters, Jenna Ortega's Astrid has it best even if it's too close to her Wednesday Addams role. She has the most story and character development from doubting the events of the first movie to meeting a boy her age and then getting swept up in the supernatural. I wish the movie focused more on that, instead it gets lost in the sea of other subplots. I don't know why every single legacy sequel has to turn the original characters into bad parents whose kids hate them, but it has become an annoying cliche that Hollywood needs to stop.

The other new actors do what they can, but their characters aren't given much to do. Willem Dafoe's actor turned afterlife cop is lots of fun, but could have been written out and not be missed. The rest are pretty one-note. It's telling when Bob, a voiceless character with a shrunken head, is more interesting to watch than Lydia's boyfriend or Beetlejuice's ex-wife.

The main problem is that there are simply too many stories going on and none of them tie together in the end. And it spends too much time in the zany afterlife rather than living world. The first film had a simple plot and only used the afterlife sparingly. This film feels like several episodes of the animated series mashed together. Individual stories are fun but too often disappear for long stretches while it develops another. Besides concluding at the same physical location, none have much to do with the each other. There are also times a scene will just go on too long, like Charles' funeral or the wedding musical number. Someone should have exorcised the excess from the script.

Tim Burton continues killing it as Hollywood's most visually distinct director. Just like the first, the living world is a Norman Rockwell painting come to life while the afterlife is German expressionism pushed to the extreme. The cartoon's influence may have hurt the story but not the visuals. I also love how the visual effects continue that classic stop-motion look of the original rather than obvious CGI as it maintains continuity between films, something I wish the last two Ghostbuster movies did more of.

Danny Elfman delivers another knockout score. There's just something extra special when he does a Tim Burton movie, like when John Williams works with Stephen Spielberg. Just like Batman Returns, Elfman keeps the main themes every fan loves while also bringing something new. The 70s pop songs are fun, though they don't quite hit the same as the original film's use of Harry Belafonte.

Like Deadpool and Wolverine, there's too much good stuff to just dismiss the movie as a pointless sequel but too many problems to equal the original. I certainly enjoyed it enough that I wish there would be a third film coming soon, but also too much wasted potential to be memorable thirty years later like the first.

[tgrailwar-zero]

Good job Constantine. I'm glad you got out of that unharmed. I know things have been rocky up until this point and I can't promise they'll be smooth going forward either, but it's an honor to fight besides you.

You and the others should find time to reward yourselves with a drink. Bond via the power of alcohol. We'd join you, but no body. So, take a shot for us.

CONSTANTINE: "Thank you, but… what's a 'Doordash'?" MUSASHI: "Oh, I second the party! With plenty of udon!"

PRETENDER: "I'll see what I can do. Our faction will probably be getting pulled out of the city to regroup because of... well, everything that's happened recently, but I'll pull the strings I can to get him to talk."

KUKULKAN: "And I second getting a good rest. I can keep going, of course, but I know everyone else might be getting a bit tired!"

...Truly, it seemed like despite being depleted of Magical Energy, KUKULKAN was still raring to go. Luckily, despite her energy, it seemed like she was at least trying to be aware of the limits of her allies.

PRIEST: "I'm glad you asked. I was going to ask for a formal conversation with you regardless, so..."

Before he could speak any further, a shout echoed as a shadow dropped down from the massive hole in the ceiling made by KUKULKAN's attack.

???: "Yahoo! Jaguar Maaaaail! The Jaguar always arrives on time!"

A form landed between the Priest and your Servants- a mighty(?) feline form... or feline-adjacent... graceful, and powerful, and... a third thing, probably... the air did become dense with mana, the signal of a Divine Spirit making itself known, and the overwhelming presence of a War Monitor, and... okay. Listen.

...It was JAGUAR MAN.

JAGUAR MAN showed up.

JAGUAR MAN's here now.

JAGUAR MAN's arrived.

Frankly, similarly to the PRIEST's arrival, if she hadn't screamed out her approach- she'd probably be able to get the drop on you and your Servants. This was a dangerous Servant and a War Monitor... despite how she looked.

CONSTANTINE: "Ah… Miss 'Jaguar Man', right? It's certainly been some time. Invader, Musashi… this is Jaguar Man, one of the War Monitors. I met her when our Masters gained our first Trigger Key."

JAGUAR MAN: "Long time nya-o see, Rider! Paw-some work out there, Musashi! Nice to meow-t you, K-- I mean, Invader! And of course- hello, Interlopers! It's been two whole chapters since we last saw each other! Hope you didn't forget about me!"

KUKULKAN: "Eh? You know who I am?"

JAGUAR MAN: "Of course! That brightness, those winds, that heat--! And you being here with Rider-- of course you're part of her legacy! But we can talk about that later!"

There was the 'Wisdom Feather' item from QUETZALCOATL that you had lost upon summoning KUKULKAN... or maybe this JAGUAR MAN had an affinity for South American Servants? Perhaps it was a mix of both?

PRIEST: "…Miss Fujimura, I wasn't aware that the Interlopers had any former association with one of the assigned Lair Servants. Next time, would you please share that information rather than keeping it to yourself?"

JAGUAR MAN: "Eh? It wasn't obvious to you? As soon as I looked at the records from the Hamlet, I was like 'THAT'S HER'! So I thought you knew! Oh man, I thought you were the smartypants A.I, Father Kotomine!"

FATHER KOTOMINE: "...Truly your presence and wisdom is a unique blessing upon the Solar Cell." JAGUAR MAN: "Aw, thanks! You'll make me blush! But no time for compliments-- my job right now is to deliver important Jaguar Mail!

She turned to your Servants, beaming.

JAGUAR MAN: "As things are fixing themselves, it seems like Sigurd wants to have a formal meeting with you while you celebrate your victory! Both to thank you for helping his city, and He'll give you guys a place to rest up too beforehand, so you can relax, party, chat, and then talk about the future of your time here on the Solar Cell! Plus it'll give you a chance to breathe easy!"

PRETENDER: "And would any particular Servants who helped against this Beast alongside these 'Interlopers' be welcome as well, or…" JAGUAR MAN: "Nope!" PRETENDER: "Ah. Okay."

JAGUAR MAN: "Anyways, when you're all set, just click the 'Ready' prompt and then we'll cut to the next scene!"

It seemed like you were being invited to actually talk, for once.

[chessismyaesthetic]

Happy birthday Vera Menchik (1906-44)!

Vera Menchik was a Russian-born Czechoslovak chess player who primarily resided in England. The first and longest-reigning Women's World Chess Champion, she won the championship eight times from 1927 to 1944, mainly in round-robin tournaments which she totally dominated (to the point that Alekhine once commented it was unfair she had to keep defending her title when her dominance was so obvious). Sadly, she was killed by a V1 rocket at her home in London in 1944, aged only 38.

Although her life was cut tragically short, she achieved a helluva a lot and should be remembered as an important part of chess history. A few points are needed to fully appreciate Menchik's chess career.

First, she was the first woman to compete in master's level tournaments against some of the world's best male players which she did throughout the 1920s and 1930s - people like Alekhine, Capablanca, Reshevksy, Maroczy, Rubinstein, Euwe.

She did this despite considerable sexism. Both the press and players joked that those who lost to her were members of the "Vera Menchik Club" - a term first mockingly suggested by Albert Becker to make fun of her at the Carlsbad tournament in 1929 when she lost her first game. Before that tournmanet, one journalist - Hans Kmoch - said he would "go on stage as a ballerina" if she scored more than three points.

Fittingly, Menchik beat Becker in the tournament, making him the first member of the "club" he'd just suggested, and Kmoch was forced to public express regret for his comment when she did indeed score three points.

The idea of the "Vera Menchik Club" took off in the press after that, though it became more a term of respect - when FIDE began awarding the title of Grandmaster in 1950 four of the new GMs were members of the club and eight were "candidate members" having only drawn against her. When a member of the "club" includes a World Champion like Max Euwe, it's an impressive club!

Menchik giving a 13-board simultaneous exhibition after winning the 1926 London Girls' Championship.

Secondly, Menchik did all this while NOT being a full-time professional player or even aiming to be fully dedicated to chess, unlike the world's top players of the time. That's not to say she didn't have a big impact on the game though, especially in Britain where she gave lessons, was chess editor for different journals, edited Social Chess with William Winter, was a columnist and editor for Chess magazine, and served as director of the British National Chess Centre.

It's also not to say she wasn't a flipping good chess player. According to chess.com she was on a level with the strongest male British chess players of the time who were "undeniably strong players" though "a level below the Laskers, Capablancas, and Alekhines of the world". Nevertheless, the top players treated her with respect. After that 1929 tournament where she was mocked, Alekhine - then the reigning World Champion - commented:

"She indisputably has attained her three points against the strong masters, but it is little known to the public that she has also attained superior positions against Euwe, Treybal, Colle and Dr. Vidmar. She was beaten by Dr. Vidmar only after a nine hour match. It is the chess world's duty to grant her every possibility for development."

Similarly, when asked "are there any women who played good chess" in 1932, Capablanca replied, "One. Her name is Vera Menchik. She is Czechoslovakian and Slavic and was trained in England, where she now lives. She played against me and she is very strong."

She even apparently inspired a 1929 Vogue cover!

Her legacy is long-lasting. As chess.com notes, "to this day the winning nation in the Women’s Olympiad is awarded the Vera Menchik Cup, a fitting way to remember the first world champion".

Check out some of her games here.

[howlandsmovingcastle]

Viserys I being the last to ride Balerion is so representative of his character. Balerion is the last living creature to have seen Valyria before the Doom, and is a symbol of Targaryen power, ancestry and Valyrian heritage. He is living history in many ways, and it makes sense that Viserys was drawn to him, in the same way that Viserys has an affinity for Valyrian histories, demonstrated in the show by his meticulously crafted model of Old Valyria.

He venerates and romanticizes Old Valyria and his Targaryen predecessors as powerful leaders, but this uncritical veneration leaves him ill-equipped to wield the power he inherits from them. Viserys is forever looking backward, reverentially attempting to emulate the traditions that supposedly cement Targaryen power. However, this leaves him unprepared to critically interact with his family’s history and therefore unable to recognize the flaws in Targaryen dynastic rule, and amend them during his reign. This blind reverence ultimately contributes to the crumbling of the Targaryen Dynasty in the Dance of Dragons.

Balerion is a symbol of Targaryen power, but at this late stage in his life, he is also a symbol of its decaying foundations. Viserys bonds with Balerion ostensibly because he was the last living creature to have seen Valyria before the Doom, and because he was ridden by Aegon the Conqueror. Unfortunately, Viserys is unable to see that--much like the colossal, once-formidable dragon that is now outsize, sluggish, and close to death--the might of Old Valyria is long past and unattainable. As with Balerion, Viserys is trying to resuscitate a dying creature. He never bonds with another dragon, preferring to live with the memory of Balerion’s greatness and the symbol of dragons as an icon of his house’s power, rather than create a new legacy for himself as the rider of a younger, faster dragon. Similarly, his reign is spent dreaming of the distant past when Valyria’s power was at its height, but he fails to take any concrete steps to actualize those dreams or emulate his hero, Aegon the Conqueror. Despite the Targaryen dynasty being at its most powerful during his reign, Viserys’ romanticized view of Old Valyria and his Targaryen ancestors causes him to squander the very power that he inherits from them.