#because i am incensed at how little canon gave us

[stumbling-towards-the-light]

Free Folk & Their Adaptive Strategy

Adaptive strategy was a term first coined in 1974 by anthropologist Yehudi Cohen to describe a society's means of economic production. Cohen also further postulated that certain means of economic production adopted by a society also led said society to adopt certain social features, by which I mean shared political organization, and similar ways of choosing leadership, if they had any.

Now, in most anthropological circles, it's generally agreed there are five adaptive strategies to be linked to five types of political organization. This is a general pattern across a majority of human societies, but not a written-in-stone rule; some societies do not land in these neat, categorized boxes. However, this is a fictional culture, so for the sake of mine and the dear reader's sanity, we are going to assume the Free Folk fall into these categories.

It is largely implied that the Free Folk's main adaptive strategy is foraging, employing “traditional” hunter-gatherer means of survival. Now we see some Free Folk use pastoralist means of survival, with mentions of sheepfolds and pigstys found in various Free Folk villages, as well as a mention of a reindeer herding, however, baseline the Free Folk are foragers. Usually, in forager societies, the main type of political organization are bands, relatively small groups of people all tied together by some form of kinship. This seems to be supported in the text itself, where Jon refers to Rattleshirts’ group as a “band” several times.

This type of society does not lend itself well to permanent homes, usually moving seasonally in accordance with where herds of wild animals have moved. The idea of private property is virtually nonexistent. However, there are reports of forager societies all coming together in one place, usually when there is a surplus of food. This occasion is usually treated like a holiday, with lots of celebrating, dancing, singing, and trading being done.

Leadership: Fascinatingly enough, forager leadership structure is usually based around who can give the most, rather than who is the strongest or the toughest. This is due to the tendency of forager societies to develop social mores involving hospitality and shared social responsibility. 

Social Values: We already know the Free Folk hold proper hospitality to be absolutely sacred, with even Crastor, the worst of the worst, following it like gospel. (He is not the one to break hospitality during the Night’s Watch coup, after all.) The shared social responsibility part is simply an expansion of this core idea. If you can’t even take care of your own, why should your hospitality, your word be trusted? Societies like this one, also will ostracize any hoarders who take more than they need. We see this pattern with Crastor, with every other Free Folk we meet despising him. Granted, this is probably due to his practice of marrying his daughters, but he is also the only Free Folk to have a designated “keep”, where his family lives, with it’s own pigsty and sheepfold. Every other pigsty and/or sheepfold we see north of the Wall, appears to be shared. Some of that disgust could also be due to his hoarding tendencies.  

Gender Roles: White there is the traditional idea of men doing the hunting and fishing and women doing the majority of the foraging, these roles are not set in stone by any means. Again, this is supported by the text, where both men and women are raiders and accepted leaders of their groups. This is even supported in the Free Folks’ concept of marriage, which doesn’t seem to be set in stone. They do have a concept of one man and one woman being tied together, but it doesn;t seem that the two are bound by marriage; there is no expectation of fidelity for either party, or at least there are no social consequences for sleeping with someone who isn’t your spouse. This kind of openness is usually found in societies that give their women a lot more freedom.

Religion: Due to their heavy reliance on the land, almost all foraging societies are animistic, worshiping the spirits found in and around nature, rather than a specific, titled entity. Again seen in the Free Folk, who worship the Old Gods, nameless spirits inhabiting the world around them. 

Inheritance Customs: As there is no concept of private property, there is no concept of someone inheriting that private property. Further support the Free Folks’ lax gender roles. When there is nothing to inherit, why should there be a huge fuss over whose child is whose child? Why should a husband need to control who his wife sleeps with, when he has nothing to pass down? 

Descent Customs: Forager societies are often bilineal, children are considered to be descended from both parents and thus kin to both parents’ extended families. This is a way to ensure that there will always be someone to rely on in hard times. I see no reason why the Free Folk would not adopt a similar strategy. 

This is just some of the things, affected by the Free Folks’ larger adaptive strategy, there are probably a hundred more different ways this idea could be expressed. But anyway, let me know what you think!

[yostresswritinggirl]

Happy New Year, my children! 2021 has been an absolute blast because of you, so thank you for making my year! It wouldn't have been possible without you <3

I posted 6,250 times in 2021 (holy crap)

5884 posts created (94%)

366 posts reblogged (6%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.1 posts.

I added 11,333 tags in 2021

#exile.goblet - 5087 posts

#genshin impact - 2497 posts

#exiled community - 1031 posts

#anon - 827 posts

#xiao - 550 posts

#exile.feather - 363 posts

#anon 🥗 - 285 posts

#reblog - 237 posts

#tiger lily anon - 234 posts

#genshin.impact - 222 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#little side note i actually did had a story prompt similar to this before when it was leaked that he was royal guard long before the quest

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Genshin Boys would be Horrible as Disney Princes

Headcanon and Reader Perspective, Drabble

Sojourner Special (Followers Event)

Despite being the gentleman and sweethearts that they are, in the wrong hands, of badly aligned context and universal rules these boys can barely function as princes given their own ideals.

Diluc in Cinderella

Shortest one, oops.

Our Diluc would honestly be too busy for balls if we're doing this canonically, night time of all times. He's not your prince tonight, he's off somewhere doing Knight stuff...

If by chance you did catch him in the ball and he did indulge you with your dance until you escapaded at midnight, he's not gonna question it.

And since he didn't even REMEMBER your face, the next day just goes on as usual. No decree for searching the whole land for your foot or anything, it's just a normal day after a party.

"They left without a word, no name or promise, who am I to say no when they clearly don't want to stay?"

He's a gentleman. Too gentlemanly...

See the full post

1458 notes • Posted 2021-01-26 18:06:22 GMT

#4

Hi there. Can I request a poly relationship with Albedo, Xiao and Scaramouche ? A mix of fluff n a pinch of smut is this possible ?

First of all, what the fuck gave you this wacky idea? I thought at first, wow, this is so random, how did they think this. But then upon making the banner- IT'S ALL MY HUSBANDS IN ONE FICNWOFHLSNDLKSBSOANA

I'll do my best but oh gawd, I'm just so baffled right now HAHAHHA- brain juice GONE

Three Shorties Convention

Poly Relationship with Scaramouche, Albedo and Xiao... (event masterlist)

HOW?!

Three individuals from three different nations somehow collated to love a single human, that of which is you. With how wide your range is for such individuals, we can greatly assume that you are an adventurer travelling the world.

You first met Scaramouche who was undercover, on the way to Mondstadt/Liyue through boat. As he was in the down low, he made sure to act friendly to avoid suspicion. When he heard you were on the same path, he thought of using you as an alibi.

The next person you came across was Xiao when you were passing by the Inn. You heard of the Adepti residing in the area and wanted to ask for blessings as your journey would be much more confusing and dangerous. You lit up incense and a small prayer before leaving.

The last person you met was Albedo. Mond was your last destination before you laid low again until your next long expedition, and you were looking for Alice who you met long ago during your expeditions. You last heard about Mond from her and wanted to talk to her about your adventures but ended up empty.

What made them stay/intrigued? For Scaramouche, he saw you messing with the meteors and your theories, your disarrayed thoughts and ideas somehow made sense when he looks past the lines. And you ended up being the reason he found the large piece of meteor in that... island thingy.

For Xiao, it was the incense I mentioned earlier. It was something you got as a souvenir from a commission in Inazuma, and the scent it gave off brought him to Teyvat Nirvana, the voices silent and his body soothed. His curiousity got the best of him as he tracked your path.

And finally, you first piqued Albedo's interest when you mentioned your affiliation with Alice, and when he listened to your stories (you forced him to listen since Alice was not there) it remindee him greatly of his master.

All of them were attached so badly that on your way to the wilderness one day, the three of them ended up confronting you in some kind of JJBA way with you in the middle. Their Visions and weapons were raised in worry until you identified how you knew them all.

And when they found out of each other's interests towards you, they grew more wary but turned to you: who was busy picking up a mint flower to truly understand what's going on.

"I like all of you!" Somehow all three of them were smart enough to realize that you hold at least a drop of endearment for each of them.

It was supposed to be a silent competition, that then ended up to an ambiguous relationship through coexistence. The problem here is: all four of you barely understood the grounds of a proper relationship, and delved deeper into this polyamory without a second thought.

Equal Thirds

Oh geezus, this is the most confusing setup you've been through. Having to juggle between three continents, three men, three different occasions. They were so petty to the point that your schedule must be split EQUALLY or else the other two would ambush the place you would be in.

Albedo is the busiest and lax when it comes to your "relationship schedule." As a person of Alchemy, he takes days buried deep into his research and he is more than thankful for the existence of a schedule, as he struggles with the maintenance of human relations a concrete time and day for when he is needed balances this. Albedo requests your presence during the period after his major experiments where he wishes to unwind and empty his brain of the equations and machinations. His type of love deals with comfort and distraction.

Xiao has the most free time in your relationship in terms of work, but he is also the one tied down strictly to his code of conduct. His time with you comes from your visits to Liyue and he will always be by your side whether you're in the outskirts or within the mortal realm. His type of love, ironically, is filled with longing touches and whispers of adoration for your strength and light that silences the voices in his head.

Scaramouche is the neediest boy in this bunch, the most mortal of them and the farthest from your reach. Your relationship is a secret to everyone especially the Fatui, but he makes sure that every agent in Liyue and Mond does not lay a hand on you or else he's breaking that same limb. Your time with him comes when HE comes over no matter where you are or what you do. His 'love' is filled with materialism and feisty aura, revelling in strenght and power dynamics.

When you're in charge of the schedule is the rare times that all three of you are together, because you plan your expeditions well in par with their seemingly conflicting schedules. Soon enough you four would be a whole team of travellers going around Teyvat to indulge whatever curiousities you lay upon.

"Circus Festival in Fontaine? Sign me and my three boys the fuck up. No complains, I know you're free."

Camping and travelling with them is sooo convenient too because they're all incredibly strong in constitution and battle. You only need to hang back and watch as they bring you a fireworks of elements, which are thankfully not very harmful against each other.

You're NEVER hurt or even TOUCHED when they're with you, they always have keen eyes for danger and always stick close to you to make sure you are safe. But on a RARE occasion that you DO get hurt, they have a formation: Albedo is tasked in retrieving you, Scaramouche is the backup in clearing a safe area for possible first aid, and Xiao lets all hell break loose once you three are gone.

They help out as much as they can whenever you all go out to camp but ultimately it ends up being some kind of adventuring class for the three of them since you're the master in this field.

Cute stuff: You never keep watch because they always want to cuddle, so one would be up and the other two would be cuddling you on both sides, and the rounds would switch between them while you have your beauty nap.

Albedo is pretty chill with the other two, but Scaramouche and Xiao seem to have a tension between them due to his Harbinger status. Xiao is wary and protective of Albedo because of the knowledge of his background coming from Morax. And all three of you deal with Scara's chattiness.

Your Pet Names for them! Scaramouche: Darling; Xiao: Sweetie; Albedo: Beloved. If you go beyond that, they start to see favoritism so you picked them carefully.

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1604 notes • Posted 2021-01-31 11:08:43 GMT

#3

I don't mean to be thirsty on main but can I get a small fic where a gender neutral reader is admiring Xiao's muscles, and his tummy?

Bc g'damn the trailer splash art made me scream in the trailer 💀

Requesting a request okay— It seems we're continuing the Xiao fics week because I'm still braindead to do two fics daily hmmm. As per usual, these things are short still. But brainrot hours woohoo~

Admiring Xiao

Y'all so thirsty so here's you looking at that sweet, sweet Xiao musclesss... (masterlist)

See the full post

1611 notes • Posted 2021-02-06 14:00:55 GMT

#2

Request: hiii!! you’re writing is so amazing! i can really feel the emotion in every one of your pieces and i really admire you! i remembered seeing an artist from the obey me fandom drawing like a parellel universe where the player is a part of the original game and the characters are the ones enamored and spending all their money on trying to get them. i thought it would be cool to see that for genshin and i think your writing would suit it! you can write about any character you would like, but if it isn’t too much to ask, would you throw in some albedo and xiao crumbs? i hope you have a nice day/night!! (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)ﻭ

This will be the new format seeing as freakin tumblr won't show my posts in the tags if it's an ask :'))

I just want to say this is such a cute idea and I was tempted to isekai the fuck outta this, but that would be overkill ahahahha! This was so fun to write and I got instantly inspired, my goodness - here's my take! With new headers to get in the mood, credits in the tags!

Universe Reversal

Genshin Impact Character Reader and Modern Players Albedo / Xiao (how they simp for you) (event masterlist) (Part 2 / Part 3)

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1791 notes • Posted 2021-01-21 14:52:00 GMT

#1

okay,,, so,,, First of all, you are AMAZING. I have usually just stalked my fav writers as an anon but you are the first I'm requesting to, because I just admire you that much. Universe Reversal is SUCH a cool concept, thank you so much for bringing it to life!! Now, hear me out. How would the players react to Reader having flirty voicelines? Ex: "Oh, hey traveller! I have a question for you! Was your father a banker? Because I need Mora ya ;)" You don't have to, of course!! Prioritise yourself!

Anon, it's an honor to have you here, thank you so much for coming out of your shell to support ywy your words are too sweet,,

I struggled so much on this because I'm so bad at outright flirting I'm ahahahaha, so this ended being more like pick-up lines for SOME parts, some even crackish. I love the IDEA anon but I'm the WORST person for this apparently ahahhaha-

SUGGESTIVE THEMES, VIEWER'S DISCRETION ADVISED (Universe Reversal AU)

Albedo

"Ah, you're staring a lot lately, why don't I stay still and you take a picture? It would last longer uhu"

Albedo: And I took that personally.

Besides the screenshots, he ended up drawing that voiceline and it's his best piece yet.

Xiao

"If you wanted to hold my hand so badly, why not just take my hand for marriage so it's yours forever?"

His mind just goes into overdrive, while his keyboard clacks as he types into Google "(Y/N) x Reader marriage au"

If he can't find any, HE'S MAKING IT

Zhongli

"An invitation for tea? Do we have time, it's getting very late... unless there are other things you want to do besides tea fuhu~"

Goodness imagine how flustered he would be after that, and since it's part of his routine, that line echoes to him everytime he tries to drink tea

Zhongles would choke on his tea at least once or twice

Kaeya

"What's that smell? Your perfume? Ah, like sweet flowers, you KNOW I love those! Are you trying to rouse me or something~"

Ohhh smug boyo, that familiar smirk would force itself to his face as if he was ACTUALLY in the game.

Taking the comment to heart, he goes out to get 'better' perfume and well, he did attract people, just all of em are 3D

Ganyu

"Mmm, my whole body is in pain from all the commissions,,, can you give me a full body massage, please? I'll pay you appropriately depending on how good it is..."

Speaking of, Ganyu goes to book a massage for herself to indulge after barely using her paid leave the whole day. She's blushing the whole time at the idea as she gets the massage herself.

The massage therapist is very confused why she keeps kicking her legs and burying her face.

Diluc

"I only ever indulge in liquor when I'm in the company of people I trust. If I'm intoxicated, you'll take care of me, right? Ah, but if I act so... unplatonic with you, I hope you wouldn't mind."

Oh he is so down, not just to see such a new side to your character but also being your white knight for the night. He's so gentlemanly and sweet.

If unplatonic advances were to happen tho, well, Diluc.exe has stopped working. He'll need a restart.

Venti

"What's that- something on my face? Here? No? Mmm, can't you just come a lil closer and get it for me? I'll reward you with a kiss right after~"

See the full post

2716 notes • Posted 2021-01-27 18:01:40 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[nooneelsecomesclose17]

No doubt in my mind where I belong

Ok, so I've been thinking about this one for a while and anyone who follows me will know just how incensed I still am at the whole 'Paddy locking Aaron in his own house' episode, so this is my attempt at trying to make it just a little more bearable. I've had to rejig the whole going on the run thing so canon as it was pretty much stops when Vic walks in to tell them that L** is dead.

I've used some of the dialogue from the ep itself, but yeah, I've tried to make it better.

(A03 link)

When he was a kid he caught the end of one of those dramas about the apocalypse and it scared him. He’d gone downstairs late one night, wanting some water and he’d peeked through to door to see his Mum and Dad watching it. For weeks after he’d had nightmares of the world ending and him being all alone. When it actually happens though, it’s not with a bang or anything so dramatic. In reality it’s two little words that bring his world crumbling down around him.

“Lee’s dead.”

The room is perfectly quiet at Vic’s words, as if none of them quite know what to do. All he can see is Robert’s panicked face. They both know what this means. It means a murder charge, at best manslaughter. It means Robert going to prison, possibly for years.

Then Robert’s talking, his voice carrying through the fog of panic that’s filling his head.

“If anyone’s going then it’s me on my own.”

He stares at him, their silent conversation telling him everything. His next words are the truth, he’s useless without him. There’s no question that he’s staying behind

From then it’s a rush, making sure Seb’s taken care of, that Vic will take him back to Rebecca and try to explain, packing enough clothes for the night, they don’t have time for anything else. When he comes out of the bathroom, hands full of stuff they might need he finds Robert sitting on the bed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Is this the right thing?”

“Yeah. There’s no other choice. Robert we don’t have time. We have to go.”

“We won’t get anywhere, you don’t think they’ll have my name everywhere as soon as they can? How will we even get out of the country?”

“Look, let’s just get out of here first and then we’ll sort it. If we stay here the police will come and then we’ll have no choice. If we leave we have a chance.”

“I should go on my own. You don’t need to be dragged into this.” He shakes his head, there’s no way, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. “I mean it. Your family, the scrapyard, I’d be dragging you away from it all because I was stupid.”

“You’re my husband, you think that stops just because things get tough? I meant those vows you know. Now come on, get packed.”

Even in his wildest dreams he hadn’t thought it would be so hard to say goodbye to Seb. He tries to say everything he needs to while the little boy plays with his trucks. The little boy he’d once thought he could never love, who had won him over the minute he held him. Would he ever remember them, would he hate them for leaving him like this? He presses a kiss to the top of his hair and then makes his excuses about sorting the two cars because he can’t watch Robert say goodbye to his son.

By the time Robert’s done his Mum and Paddy are there and he makes the goodbyes as quick as he can but of course his Mum doesn’t want him to go, using the baby to try and stop him, demanding he doesn’t leave. He says the only thing he can.

“I choose Robert.”

—————

It was idyllic, the sun coming through the trees, the only noise the birds singing and the distant hum of traffic.. It really was idyllic. If he closed his eyes he could imagine they were on a picnic, the three of them, Seb taking a nap after wearing himself out exploring, he and Robert enjoying the quiet. Instead he’s looking around expecting the police to jump out any second. They’d driven for an hour, far enough away that they wouldn’t be found quickly, driving the cars down a track that looked like it hadn’t been used for years, deep enough that it couldn’t be seen easily, and now they were waiting, sat in the woods like they had years before.

"So we're agreed?" Robert asks breaking the silence. They’d talked this over so many times and there was no other way.

"Yeah." They needed to get out of the country and to do that they needed passports. Robert’s contacts had come up blank, leaving Aaron with no choice but to call Cain. Now it was all set. "I'll go and get the passports from Cain and more of our stuff, then meet you. Cain can pick up the car we leave later.”

"And you're really sure? Because it's asking a lot I know and I won't...if you wanted to stay."

"I'm sure." It wasn't even a question. No one got it, not his Mum, not Liv, no one. He thinks maybe Cain comes the closest. He had to be with Robert. Couldn't even contemplate letting him go. “Like I said, useless without ya, aren’t I?”

“I know but…we can never come back Aaron. Can you really handle not seeing Liv again, or your Mum or the baby?”

“I can’t handle not seeing you again. I’m not saying it’ll be easy but there isn’t a choice. Throughout our lives together remember. That wasn’t just about the easy bits.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Stuck with me now though.” Robert grins, the first one since they’d heard the news and he smiles back. “Right, so you find somewhere near the port then text me.”

“Right.”

“I’ll find you and then we’re gone.” It sounded so so simple, he could only hope it was that easy in reality.

"Then it’ll be me, you, little chateau, by the river maybe.” It sounds like a dream.

“We could even get a little veg patch."

"Fancy yourself in a pair of wellies do you?" Robert's laughing and for a few seconds he revels in it, the normality, before he sobers. "We're really doing this aren't we?"

"Looks that way."

"And it doesn't matter that we'll have nothing?”

“Are you forgetting I’ve done this before.” There was some kind of joke in there, going on the run twice in a lifetime. “ been there done it, got the criminal record

“You had Ed then.”

“Yeah, for all the help he was. Spent most of the first month panicking every time he saw a uniform. The security guard at the local supermarket nearly gave him a heart attack. At least you’ve got a bit of sense about you.”

“Cheers.”

“Listen to me, I don’t care what I have as long as I’m with you. What about you? I mean you're leaving behind just as much as I am."

"I don't have any choice though. I can’t handle prison Aaron, I know it. Anyway, I’d rather live out my days living my best life with you with nothing than not have you at all. But you, you have a choice.” He pretends not to hear the wobble in his voice because this is where they are now, they've made the choice. No going back.

“No I don’t.” They go back to sitting in silence, waiting, thinking, until his phone lights up. He picks up his phone. "It's Cain. He's got them.”

“That was fast.”

“Amazing what you can get if you offer enough money.”

"You're sure going back to the village is safe? Why couldn’t he meet you somewhere else.”

“I don’t know, there’s something up with him. I’ll be fine, I’ll be in and out. They can't get me on anything anyway. The worst they can do is hold me up but like I said, you wait twenty four hours and if I'm not there you go, however you can.”

"But..."

"No. You go. I mean it Robert you get away. I'll find you. Don't you dare do anything stupid like giving yourself up."

"Yes boss.” He takes a minute, just in case, to drink him in and then he’s getting up, kissing him, lingering as long as he dares before he leaves.

—————

He's halfway home when Cain calls telling him he's held up and to wait, that he's sending them over with Billy. Aaron rolls his eyes at that, him of all people. Whatever is going on with his uncle better be worth it.

He's sat at the edge of the village not daring to go any further until he has to, for all his bravado in front of Robert, he doesn't much fancy being hauled in by the police, even if they couldn't actually prove he'd helped Robert in any way. It would just waste time. Time they didn't have.

After he’s met Billy and got the passports and the cash Cain has managed to get together, he goes to the house, wanting to grab enough to tide them over for a few days. Sentimental it might be but he threw a few pictures of Seb in too alongside their wedding album. At least they’d have the memories wherever they ended up. As he’s zipping up the bag he hears the door slam downstairs.

"Hello?" Instantly on edge he grabs the bag making his way to the top of the stairs, half expecting find a police firearm in his face. Instead he finds Paddy standing between the stairs and the door. "Paddy, what is it? I don't have a lot of time."

"I saw Billy.” Fucking Billy, he should’ve known he'd mess it up.

"I don't need this." He goes to walk past him, cursing Cain, but Paddy stops him, and that's when he sees Liv sat at the table. "Paddy get out of the way,"

"Listen to him Aaron."

"I know what he wants to say and I gave you my answer this morning. I choose Robert. Now move, I need to go."

“No. I can’t let you do this to your mother. Not when she’s in the state she is.” There it was the tone he was so used to, like he was a naughty child. He wasn’t that person any more.

“She’s pregnant Paddy, and everything is fine so there’s no need for the dramatics. Did she send you?”

“No, but she’ll probably know by now. I told Marlon.”

“Terrific. Why not just send an email to Hotten nick. So, what are you going to do about it? And what's your part in all this?" He switches his attention to his sister, suddenly mute in the corner.

“I’m trying to help you see sense.”

“Liv, don’t do this. You told us this morning, you said we should go.” All he gets is a shrug.

“I changed my mind, I don’t want you to go. At least let us talk. You didn’t even give us a proper chance to say goodbye.”

"You understand that the police could’ve turned up any minute night? Did you want me to throw a party?"

"Aaron."

"What!" He turns back to Paddy. "You know what. I don't have time for this. Robert's waiting."

"You're really going to throw your life away. for him?" The sneering tone whenever he talks about Robert is back. Had it ever gone away or had he just ignored it. “You won’t be able to come back. Can you really do that, give up everything? Everything you’ve managed to build up here, the life you have?”

“That’s what you don’t understand.He is my life! Nothing else matters except for him.”

“You’re about to do the most stupid thing imaginable. For him. He killed someone Aaron."

"A rapist. Don't you ever try and tell me I should feel sorry for someone like him. Robert did the world a favour and if you didn't hate him you'd admit it."

"He broke the law and just like always he thinks he can just get away with it,”

"You call this getting away with it? He wishes he was surprised that Paddy was behaving like this but he wasn't. "He's giving up everything, his business, his home, his family, his son. You think that's easy?"

"Maybe he should've thought about that before he killed someone. Maybe Seb will be better off." Aaron can't help himself, steps up in Paddy's face ignoring Liv's protests and it takes everything he’s got not to push him out of the way. Only because it’s him does he not give into the urge.

“Whatever you think about Robert even you can’t deny he’s a good Dad. The best Dad, so don’t even go there.” He bends to pick up the bag again. “I’m done. I need to go, so are you going to let me pass?”

"No. You're staying here until you see sense.” Paddy nods at Liv and she finally moves. He frowns as all she does is go to the kitchen window. It takes a few seconds to realise she’s locking them.

"You're not serious?"

“Every door and every window is locked. I love you Aaron, you’re not going to get your own way. I'm not letting you ruin you life over him.”

"So you're keeping me prisoner?” He’s going to wake up in a minute and find this is some kind of drug induced nightmare he’s sure of it.

"If necessary."

"For how long?” They can’t be serious. Any minute now they’re going to laugh and send him on his way because he’s having a hard time believing that people he loves would do this to him.

"As long as it takes.”

"Best get comfy forever then because the second your back is turned I'm gone.” He’s not quick enough to stop Paddy moving past him and he can only watch as he throws the keys into the waste disposal.

“Oh that was clever. So tell me, how are you going to get out?”

“I’ll think about that when you’re not being so stupid.” He sits in the chair he’s moved to in front of the door, the one he picked out, the one they argued over because it didn’t match the sofa and Robert hated, the one he insisted on because it was big enough for both of them to sit in if they were really close.

“I’m being stupid? You’ve just locked three adults in a house and thrown the keys away. Real mature that. Now you’ve had your fun, but I’m done. You either let me leave or I’m callin’ the police.”

“Go ahead. I doubt they’ll let you go any more than I will.” He just stares at him, wondering where the Paddy he used to know had gone. The one who had seen him through one of the toughest times in his life, who had sat by his hospital bed when he’d thought there was no point in carrying on. The person in front of him wasn’t that man, he didn’t know who this was.

“I’ll have to take my chance won’t I?”

”Aaron. Don't be ridiculous. You’ll go to prison!”

“Fine. Not like I’m going to have a life here is it? If you’re willing to stand by and let me go back there then so be it.” He’s bluffing, it’d kill him he knows it would, but maybe just maybe it’ll bring them to their senses.

“He’s not worth ruining your life over!”

“See that's what you don't get. He is my life. Without him…without him I don’t have anything.” He ignores the cry coming from Liv. He didn’t mean to hurt her but he’s only speaking the truth. Without Robert he’d merely be existing.

He knows exactly how it would go, a repeat of the months after they broke up. The sympathetic looks would last for so long and then their tactics would change, the odd mentions of cute guys, of how he should get out more, how Robert wouldn’t want him wasting his life. He wouldn’t be able to cope with it, not again.

He has to come up with something, he was wasting time here, and they weren’t going to budge he knew that, but he had to get out. He’s frantically trying to think where there might be a spare key hidden. Robert was obsessive about them losing their keys so he had them stashed everywhere but right now his brain is so muddled he can’t remember where he put them.

“Seeing sense are you?”

“No, just trying to work out how to get out without hurting you.”

“You can’t. And besides we can’t let you. You’ll see we’re right in the end. You know the police, they’d think he masterminded this. All you’re doing is adding time to his sentence when they catch you, which they will.”

“We’ll be long gone by then.”

“You and Robert against the world? Do you think that’s going to last forever, that you’re not going to resent each other for everything you’ve had to give up.” They’re wrong and he wants to shout it from the rooftops. He doesn’t have anything to give up that’s worth more than Robert and if they’re together then nothing else would matter.

“This is our only option you know, I’m not choosing this.”

“But Robert did. Robert chose the day he ignored you and Victoria, the day he went out and attacked Lee, just like I did the day I went to Pierce’s office and smacked him one for what he did to Rhona.”

“There you go. He was just protecting his sister.”

“But she didn’t want that Aaron. Can’t you see, this is what he does! He always has to get his own way! It was all about him, and what he wanted. I was the same, it was about my need to do something. Ended up nearly ruining the court case for Rhona in the end.”

“Yeah, well Vic didn’t even get a court case did she?”

“That’s not the point and you know it. He still killed someone, someone’s son, someone’s brother.”

“Paddy you really are mental if you think I’m going to feel one ounce of sympathy for a rapist.”

“Aaron, he’s not a hero. He’s selfish, and he’s reckless and I know you don’t want to hear this but if he valued your marriage even half as much as you do…”

“Oh Paddy will you just be quiet. You know nothing about our marriage. The only time you bother with us is to tell us what we’re doing wrong or when Mum drags you. I get it, you don’t like him.

“And why is that? He’s turned you against us, me and your Mum.”

“No, no. You’ve done that yourself. Do you think he didn’t tell me what you said before our first wedding? When we broke up? Always in his ear like an annoying little flea aren’t you, whispering your poison. Whatever you say isn’t going to change anything, you might as well save your breath.”

“This is the man who tried to kill me. Twice. He cheated on you. He had a child with someone else and then forced you to take him on. He’s not yours Aaron and he never will be, not really.” That hurt, even now after all this time, because it’s true, in reality he’ll never have any claim on Seb. He knows that if this goes wrong, if Robert ends up in prison he’ll lose the both of them.

“No. You stop right there. I love Seb. You know you’re so obsessed with biology and yet you reckon I’m your son.” He shrugs, biting his thumb nail. “When was the last time you saw Leo?”

“What?” Finally he thinks he’s managed to wrong foot him, sitting there with his head tilted to one side, a habit that Aaron hadn’t realised was so annoying until today.

“When did you last see Leo. You do remember him don’t you? Nearly nine years old, blonde, you used to call him your son.”

“That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair is you lecturing me on all of Robert’s wrongs when you're not so squeaky clean yourself are you. Now you’re with Mum you barely want to know Leo. I suppose I should be thankful you still speak to me, although right now I’d rather you weren’t.”

“Aaron, why are you being so horrible? Paddy’s always looked out for you.”

“Has he Liv? Really? Where was he when I was going through the worst thing a person can go through? When I had to take my own father to court, to stand up in front of strangers and tell them what he did to me? Where was he?”

“Wait a minute…”

“No. He’s so keen to talk about Robert’s failings, but Robert was there. He listened to me, he let me talk, he didn’t lecture or tell me what was best for me. He stood by me the whole way through, he was there in court by my side every day.” He stands up and leans over Paddy, hands clutching the leather of the chair. “You, you turned up what twice and then as soon as it was over you upped and left me to it because you’d been found out after having an affair. That’s not what a Dad does.”

“You didn’t want me near you if you remember.”

“Because you’d had an affair! Something you keep crucifying Robert over. Face it Paddy, you’re a hypocrite. You hold everyone to such a high standard and yet you can’t even meet it yourself. If you truly loved me like you say you do you’d have been there anyway. I told Robert to do one numerous times and yet he was still there.”

“Oh Robert’s so perfect isn’t he?”

“I’ve never said that, no one is perfect, but he doesn’t stand on the moral high ground like you do lording it over everyone.”

“And yet he’s got you going on the run, away from your family. You can face the truth or not Aaron but he’s the one who’s put you here, all because he couldn’t control his temper."

“Whatever. I don’t need to hear this, just move.”

“No!” He’s shouting now, getting up out of the chair grabbing at his arm.

“Don’t be stupid Paddy.”

“Why, what you going to do? You gonna hit me?”

“No.” He’s so close all those old feelings of being trapped flooding back and doesn’t know if he can stop it. For all he’s better now, it’s still there.

“Well that’s the only way you’re going to get past me isn’t it?” It’s the hand on the shoulder that shakes him out of it, swings round so fast only to see Liv’s shocked face looking back at him.

“This is what he does you see Liv, lashes out, so he doesn’t have to listen, so he can turn it into a fight”

“You’re the one pushing me to it, and you know it.”

“Cos you know we’re right, like the last time you decided to beat me up.”

“Paddy stop it, that’s not fair.” He actually can’t believe he’s brought that up. He’s changed, surely he knows that. He’s not that petrified kid anymore.

“Tell me I’m wrong Aaron. Me, Jackson, James, Kasim, even Robert. Any time you’re in a temper or things aren’t going your way you lash out.” He can’t speak, just nods, fighting back tears, refusing to let them see him upset.

“Fine. If that’s what you think.” He sniffs, stands up straight. “If I’m so bad, if I’m such a violent person then you won’t need me around anymore.”

“Now hold on, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“No. Clearly I’m not someone you think very much of so there’s no point me staying any longer.” He wishes he was more surprised, but when he thinks back there’s always been an air of disappointment, like he’s never quite been good enough. He’d never be able to thank Paddy enough for taking him in, helping him, but it’s almost as if he’s expected to pay for that by conforming to his, and his Mum’s, idea of what his life should be like, and when he doesn’t they bring out the emotional blackmail, and bring up all his past mistakes.

He knows he’s done that himself, with Robert, can remember sitting on that sofa and calling Seb a mistake, seeing the light go out in Robert’s eyes as if he’d realised that he’d never be able to forget that one moment of stupidity. He should never have done that, especially as he hadn’t even meant it, had just been lashing out in his helplessness over Liv. He knows how that feels, how could he have made Robert feel like that.

“You’re going to break your Mum’s heart.” He barely manages to stop from rolling his eyes. Maybe she’d be upset, no he knew she would, but deep down he knew she understood even if she’d never admit it.

“She’ll get over it. She managed before when I went to France.”

“And you came home then, what makes you think you’ll be able to do it this time?”

“I’ll be with Robert.” They could do anything as long as they were together, as sappy as that sounded. They’d already got through so much, this wouldn’t be the thing to break them. “He’s all I need, and you can argue all you like but it’s the truth. I’ll never forgive you if you do this Paddy, I swear."

“I’ll take the risk. I’m still not letting you out. Your Mum would never forgive me and you might not think so now but you’ll thank me one day.”

“It doesn’t matter, because like I told you, as soon as you leave I’m gone. You can’t keep me here the rest of my life.”

“I don’t need to, the police will catch up with him eventually.” He can’t believe he’d actually wish someone to go to prison like this, it’s such a world away from the Paddy he’d lived with, the one who’d taken him in.

“You know, I used to think you were the best, I wished you’d been my Dad, that I’d always had you. But that person, he would support me, he would understand. I’m twenty seven years old Paddy, I’m not that messed up kid you took in, not any more. You can’t force me into doing what you want any longer.”

“Someone has to. I’m not standing by while you mess up, again and ruin not just your life but ours too. You say you’re not a kid anymore, well start acting like it.”

He just shakes his head, there’s no point talking anymore, he was getting nowhere. He checks his watch, it’s been hours and he’s running out of time. It’s dark outside, surely someone will have noticed Paddy is missing by now but he can’t rely on that. He’d never be able to call Cain, they’d probably break his phone. No, he has to sort this himself, has to stop relying on other people.

All he can think about is Robert sitting somewhere alone, waiting, wondering. Maybe he thinks Aaron’s had second thoughts, has decided he’s not worth it, hates that he knows it’s the first thing Robert will think and that he can’t do anything to take that away.

He can’t bear the thought of him out there alone, knowing no one, having to hide, not being able to contact anyone. At least if he’s with them then they have each other.

He needs a plan, because there is no way he’s letting Robert believe that Aaron doesn’t love him enough to do this.

“Have you ever been in love Paddy?” He asks quietly. Liv’s asleep and he doesn’t want to wake her.

“What?”

“I said have you ever been in love?”

“I’ve been married four times.”

“We both know that means nothing. I mean real, intense, passionate love. The kind where if you’re away from them too long it actually aches. The kind where you’d willingly die just so they could live. Have you ever felt like that?” He’s silent, like he knew he would be. “Because that’s me and Robert. That day, in the car, I told him to go, to save himself, to leave me so he could save himself.”

“So?”

“So...if you’ve never felt that then you can’t even imagine how much you’re hurting me right now.” For a minute he thinks maybe he’s got through to him, Paddy’s staring at him and maybe he’s finally seeing it.

“See, if that’s true, then Robert would willingly let you stay so that you could have your life when he can’t have his. He wouldn’t make you do this.”

“For God’s sake Paddy, he’s not making me. The only one making me do anything is you.” He doesn’t answer and Aaron sighs, sitting back in the chair.

They sit in silence for hours. His eyes are permanently fixed on the clock over the mantelpiece, the minutes and hours ticking by. He’s seriously short of time now, and if he doesn’t get out soon there’ll be no point. He looks around, Liv’s still curled up asleep on the sofa worn out from the constant arguing. Paddy’s still in the chair, he looks asleep but Aaron’s not going to take it for granted.

He’s about to give up hope when it comes to him, can only hope they haven’t realised, that they’ve forgotten it. He wishes it didn’t have to be this way, wishes he could’ve made them see that this was what he wanted, that without Robert there was no point. They’d never change though, so convinced that what they believe is true, and he had to do what was best for him.

Once upon a time he would’ve caved, would’ve given in just to keep them happy, that it would be the only way they’d love him, if he did what they wanted. He knows better now, Robert has taught him that love is unconditional, or it should be.

He gets up, checks they’re still sleeping. As quiet as he can he picks up the bag, eyes fixed on Paddy silently begging him not to wake up. As soon as he’s in the bathroom with the door locked he springs into action, nearly cheering when he finds the window unlocked.

“Not so clever after all eh?” He whispers, pushing it as wide as it’ll go, throwing the bag out onto the ground.

He studies the window, hoping he can fit. Then again, Robert did. If nothing else it’ll give them a laugh later on.

Before he knows it he’s out, the night air cool around him. For a second he thinks he should break back in, let them out, but he reasons with himself that the two of them got into the mess, they would have to get out of it. He drags his phone from his pocket dialling the familiar number.

“Robert? It’s me.” His voice is shaking from the adrenaline and he wants to laugh at the fact he’s just escaped from his own house. He would if it wasn’t so ridiculous and he wasn’t so angry.

“Aaron, what’s taking so long?”

“I’ll explain later. Where are you?” He gives him the name of a place and then he’s quiet and Aaron knows he’s waiting for him to tell him he’s not coming, that he’s changed his mind. “Rob?”

“I’m here.”

“I’m on my way. I promise.” He tells him, jumping into the car. He wishes they’d had time to find another car but as it is he’ll just have to be careful and as much as it would slow him down he’d have to keep to the speed limit to avoid any unwanted attention.

“I’ll wait.” He smiles. That’s all he needs to know.

He doesn’t want to leave Liv like this, he knows she’d only done it because she cares. Maybe Paddy did too, but there was a part of him that knew if it had been anyone but Robert, they wouldn’t have stopped him. It has to be this way. Maybe one day they’ll see each other again, somehow. Maybe one day he’ll forgive them, but right now that’s not important. What’s important is his future and he knew exactly what that meant.

His future was with Robert now.

[lovehugsandcandy]

Second Chances: Part 1 (ColtxMC, RoD)

A/N: First of 5 parts. Please read the warnings in each chapter.  Credit for inspiring me with magic goes to @client-327 and Externalizing which combines RoD and magic and I love that story and y’all should read it and I can’t wait for the next part. Hopefully posting this means I will get my act together for part 2.

Pairing: Colt x MC, references to Logan x MC, ROD

Length: ~2100 words

Rating/Warnings: PG-13 (This part has just swearing and references to canon-compliant death.)

Summary: Colt never believed in magic but maybe magic believed in him. 

His throat was closing, tongue swollen in his mouth. The smoke that hung in the air was so thick he could taste it, bitter and old, the stench of musty books and incense and a storefront that needed to be doused in bleach or steamrolled into dust. He had been sitting here, back straight in a creaky wooden chair, for far too long, exchanging glares with the old bat in front of him.

“I don’t believe in this shit.”

“Then why are you here?” She had a fair point, blinking owlishly at him behind bottle thick glasses. If he was such a skeptic, why was he here? 

“I have nothing to lose.” He tried to will his thoughts away from everything that had been taken, smoke and flame and burning wreckage haunting his dreams until he woke, throat raw and face wet. He tried not to think about everything that vanished, people who scattered, left to pursue dreams amid storied buildings that held no room for him.

“Tell me more.”

“I’m....” Colt didn’t even know the word he meant to say. Desperate? It fit but it wouldn’t come out, caught in the deep dark place where his pain hid until it exploded into fists of red. He leaned forward, hoping against hope that she could see into his soul and not find it wanting. “My dad died. Because of me. I spent my entire fucking life trying to get him to respect me, fuck, to get him to...and now-” He had to look away before his throat caught. “Now he’s dead.”

“And you want another chance.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I want another chance.”

The psychic, or psycho as he had taken to calling her in his head, blinked again at him and pushed a tendril of long grey hair behind her ear. “Ok. But how did you end up here?”

“Your ad online? It basically followed me around and jumped off the page.” It had been simple text, large red block letters against a black background: Psychic Cybill Alters Time and Place for the Magic of Second Chances. He noticed it the first time, and the second, and the third, and by the time its banner flashed over every single search he made, he thought he was losing his mind. Finally, it had been impossible for Colt to ignore, fresh off yet another nightmare of flames and pain, another round of being awoken by his own screams alone in a shitty, cash-only motel while he single-handedly tried to revive his father’s dreams. “I told you, I want another chance.”

Cybill sighed, groaning at the considerable effort needed to raise her ancient bones from the chair, and leaned heavily on her ornate wooden cane, hesitant steps making their way behind the counter. He followed, partly out of some sick curiosity and partly because she looked like she was going to keel over. He sure as hell should go to jail for some of the crimes in his past but he wasn’t about to go down for the involuntary manslaughter of some fraudster of an old lady who brained herself on her cash register. She fumbled around on her shelves until wrinkled fingers closed around a wooden box, barely larger than her palm.

“Here you go.” She slid it across the counter top.

He looked dubiously between her and the box. “What is it?”

“A second chance.” She opened the box, gingerly, and Colt leaned forward, peering inside. “You get one shot, one chance to fix it. Here’s your second chance.”

“Second chances look like shitty, second-rate tea leaves?”

“You don’t sound like you’re in any position to doubt me.”

He blinked. “You look like you could use some second chances yourself, old lady.”

“You have a lot of anger in you, child.”

“I didn’t come here for therapy.” He pushed off the glass counter top. “How do I know this isn’t bullshit?”

“Maybe I want to help you.”

“No one wants to help me.” He tried, and failed, to keep the bitter sting from his voice.

“Maybe I can. Maybe I can send you back so you can fix decisions made.”

“Maybe you can make pigs fly while you’re at it.”

“Enough, child.” The words came rough, still shaky, but her tone suggested that she was used to being obeyed. Colt just glared. “Take it. Boil some water, a cup and a half. Put all of it in a mug, steep it for three minutes exactly, then drink it, leaves and all.”

“How do I know this isn’t going to kill me?”

“You don’t.” She closed the box and slid it towards him. “But isn’t that a chance you are willing to take?”

He thought of the motel, his home base for months while he dodged rival gangs looking to fill the power vacuum his father’s death had caused. He thought of dodging the cops, cognizant every day of the warrant over his head. He thought of her, fully across the goddamn country, leaving him behind like the wisp of exhaust from the tailpipe of her shiny pink import. “How much?”

“What?”

“How much is it?”

“On the house.”

“That seems suspicious.”

“Everything has a cost. But some things are priceless.” She stared at him, through him, and Colt had the feeling that he was being caught in some web he couldn’t even fathom. “Take it.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“To help...to help you.” Her eyes seemed to dim, almost as if she were stepping into a trance or a memory. “Take it.”

He grabbed the box, fingers gliding over the smooth sides, the intricate pattern on the lid. “If this is a joke…”

“Then you can come back here and berate me some more. Now go.”

He took the box, shoving it in his jacket pocket before heading out the door without a second glance. But the entire ride home, he could feel eyes on him, someone, somewhere, watching him. 

It gave him the creeps.

When he got to the hotel, he made sure to lock the deadbolt, even though he knew it couldn’t stop the demons that trailed him. With a sigh, he pulled the box from his pocket. It was old, hinges squeaking as he opened it up to examine the contents. The leaves were dry, a mash of jagged pieces in varying shades of greens and browns. It looked like the fucking herbs shitheads used to sling on the corner when he was a kid, trying to tempt him with little baggies, the limited employment in Gramercy Park meaning the losers would even try to sell their wares to children walking home from school.

He didn’t even take his jacket off before he got everything ready. 

He followed the directions to the letter, choking the foul tea down, every bitter drop, every scratchy leaf of shitty tea, stomach turning as the vile liquid slid down his throat. He waited, toes tapping a nervous beat on the carpet, but he didn’t feel any different. He waited some more but, as the hours crept by and the moon seemed to follow him in the sky, nothing happened except for three hours of infomercials and a drunken fistfight in the hallway, Finally, he gave up. As he laid down in bed, he was disappointed but not shocked. He figured the old lady had played him, giving him snake oil and hope in return for her amusement.

But when he opened his eyes, he realized that he had no idea what he was dealing with.

He blinked. 

He was no longer in his bed in the shitty motel. He looked back in shock, where he was leaning against his bike, which had somehow driven him here and parked itself and put the kickstand down all on its own because last he checked, he was falling asleep. He looked in front of him, at the familiar cars and crowds and idiots who frequented this abandoned lost in West LA which, again, were not the drab walls of the motel where he bided his time.

He blinked again. He didn’t even think there was a sideshow today. Hell, he could have sworn that he had been in bed. 

Ah. A dream. At least this was a better start to his dreams than usual. Normally, the nightmares came hard, strong, without warning, leaving him sweating and shaking in bed. It wasn’t every night, though. Other times, he had better dreams, ones that still left him sweating in bed, but for a completely different reason.

And as if called from his subconscious, a familiar face wandered out from the crowd, looking about with stars in her eyes. He smirked. “Hey, sweetheart,” he called out. He may not know what dreamworld this was, but he knew that girl better than he knew his own name; usually, when he dreamed of her, she had a lot less clothes on. Colt would take what he could get.

She froze. “Who are you?”

“Ellie?” He raised his eyebrows in shock. She knew him. Hell, she knew him well, knew every inch of his body, just like he knew hers. He had spent hours mapping her, covering her skin, every curve and angle and bit of her under his hands and and lips and tongue. This is not how his Ellie dreams usually went.

“How’d you know my name?”

“What?!?” He leaned back, falling against his bike, trying to read her face, but she was genuinely confused, walking closer with her eyebrows drawn, as if they had never met. Urgh. While not as bad as the nightmares where he could feel the heat of fire burning his face, a dream where Ellie didn’t know who he was would definitely suck.

He rolled up his sleeve to pinch his forearm, wincing when it hurt. 

Wait. 

Wait a fucking minute.

He swallowed, shoving his hands in his jacket pocket to find his phone, fumbling through the lock screen. When he saw the date, he almost dropped it. March 22nd. But....but. It was August when he saw the psychic. This didn’t make sense.

“Excuse me? How’d you know my name?!?” Ellie stopped to glare, hands on her hips, familiar fire in her eyes.

“You have no idea who I am.” The words came slow as he tried to piece together what was happening.

He pinched his arm again, harder, feeling every bit of the dig of nails into his skin. 

Wait a minute. 

....What the fuck.

If that bullshit crank who made him drink the tea was real...

And if this was the night they met, then…

He looked around and, emerging from the shadows right on time, there he was. “Is this guy bothering you?”  Logan strode forward, standing protectively next to Ellie, shooting a glare his way.

“No?” She just looked befuddled. Colt was as well. “We were just…”

His mind raced. He really wanted to needle Logan, to put him in his place for thinking he had any right to police who Ellie was talking to, but he had bigger fish to fry. If this was reality and this really was the night of the sideshow, then… “I have to go.” He ignored them, ignored the confusion on their faces as he walked away, picking up speed until he was sprinting, racing through parked cars, frantically looking for a flash of green that he would recognize anywhere.

It took a lap around the lot, dodging idiots doing donuts and onlookers gawking at the races, until he saw it. The Aylesbury was parked to the side, near the food trucks, the glare of the dance floor strobe lights glinting off the pristine paint job. 

And leaning against the driver’s side door, smoking a cigar and watching the tail end of a race?

Colt’s heels skidded on the pavement as he stopped to stare. Holy shit. The psychotic psychic did it. Because, a mere five feet away from him, his dad stood, back tense and restless eyes scanning the crowd, always on guard. He gaped and watched as Pop turned his head, mouth falling open as he laid eyes on his prodigal son.

He was alive.

Colt moved before he could think, rushing over to wrap his arms around his father’s shoulders. They weren’t huggers, he could barely remember rare occasions where his dad would embrace him with anything approaching fondness, but the long-denied intimacy seemed appropriate as he clutched his dad’s shoulders.

“Colt?!? What are you doing in LA?”

He could only grin, staring into eyes he thought he would never see again.

He had his second chance.

Now, to make the most of it.

.

Tags:

Perma @desiree-0816 @leelee10898 @emichelle @client-327 @choicesgremlin @brightpinkpeppercorn @thequeenofcronuts @lilyofchoices

 ROD @omgjasminesimone @mskaneko

Colt

@deimosensblog @alegria1580  @choicesarehard @thefarrari @moonlit-girl-wonder @going-down-downtown@soniadotalves@jolietmaraud @flowerpowell@poeticscolt @zaira-oh-zaira @umiumichan @akrenich @sibella-plays-choices​  @maxwellsquidsuit  @liamzigmichael4ever​ @octobereighth @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction

[baldwin-montclair]

Baldwin’s Nightingale (Part 13)

Characters: Baldwin Montclair/OC

Timeframe: After the S1 Finale, TV Show canon MOSTLY with some S2, Shadow of Night and Book of Life.

Summary: Whilst Baldwin deals with business away from Sept-Tours, Alisha copes with his absence and the impending wedding.

Tag requests: @christi14 @poemfreak306 @pookie-cleary @hofficoffi @stormyheart326 @simplytimeless @wonderlander594

The Story So Far

Alisha tossed and turned for two hours after Baldwin’s departure. She would never have imagined that sharing a bed with someone for just two nights would so spoil her for when she was then left to sleep alone.

Getting comfortable seemed like an impossibility, she was either too warm with the covers over her or too cold without them, she missed the heat regulating coolness of her vampire’s skin and the feeling of safety in his arms. The loss of this made her think of the first time she had it, their first night as husband and wife.

When he was so initially so gentle he seemed almost fearful that he’d break her if his movements within her were too insistent.

Tormented by the memories of their various intimacies, she gave up on the fruitless quest for sleep and instead got up, pulling on her underwear and Baldwin’s discarded shirt before wandering over to a small table where Alain had placed the chest containing her ‘dowry’.

Alisha picked it up, finding it surprisingly heavy, and brought it to Baldwin’s desk where she sat and opened it once more.

She gradually emptied the contents onto the desk, the folded papers that spoke of wealth contained in both stocks and properties, and, the glittering jewels.

With everything on the table in front of her, she noticed an old parchment style letter complete with seal.

Madame De Clermont.

The name on the front was not written with either a ballpoint or a fountain pen. It was clearly a quill, making the letter old, how old she wasn’t was sure.

In truth, she’d never opened a letter like this before and tried cracking the seal with the Ouroboros depicted. That then allowed her to unfold the parchment and frown at the almost unintelligible writing.

It took a moment to focus on the characters before she was able to decipher it.

Daughter,

The fact that you are reading this should already inform you that I am no longer of this world and greatly regret not having had the chance to meet you.

I write this letter in the hope that it will one day be opened although I have long feared it will not be. If I am wrong in this, please know that there would be no-one more delighted to be mistaken than I.

My wife will guide you in what it means to be Madame de Clermont, she is my right hand, as my son will need you to be for him. Heed her advice in all things as she knows well how to manage difficult men. Love and obey my son and you will find no greater, nor more loyal a protector.

Let me also take this moment also to stress that it does not matter to me whether or not you are of our kind, nor is it a prerequisite that you be changed. Even an old man can learn when he is wrong, and, consequently, hope that his past folly has not deprived a most beloved son of his happiness.

If Lucius loves you and you love him, you both have my blessing.

Your Grateful Father,

Philippe de Clermont

Alisha sat back in the chair, pulling Baldwin’s shirt tighter around her in a vain attempt to feel close to him, much in the same way she’d given him the ribbon.

Oddly, she no longer noticed an aroma of church incense on him as she had when they first met, clearly he’d just attended mass with a liberal use of the cloying smoke.

Now, his burning campfire scent mixed with the notes of rich leather served to perfectly sum him up, both attempts to control and utilise nature, conquer it, prove oneself above it.

Civilised.

As soon as there was light, Alisha was ready for her walk, just around the grounds of the fortress but enough for the cold November air to keep her alert.

The place was peaceful and she didn’t encounter another person, for around ten steps, when Gallowglass jogged out the door behind her.

“Mind if I join you, fancy a walk!” He asked the question that was in no way a question.

“I don’t mind, and I’m sorry.” She glanced across at him.

“Sorry?”

“Baldwin has put you on me-sitting duty whilst he’s away,” she smiled and shook her head when he opened his mouth to protest, “don’t worry, I’m not about to make your job harder. In fact, tell me what his command is and I promise I will help you stick to it.”

“I’m grateful for your offer Auntie, but a command from Baldwin is no a thing that bears repeating.”

“Alright,” she thought to herself, “then give me the jist.”

“The jist,” he stroked his scruffy chin in thought, “is that whilst you are outside, I am not to let you out of my sight.”

“Wow,” she whistled, “that’s more restrictive than I thought it would be.”

“Really?”

“Yes, who’s going to step foot on De Clermont land?”

“There are other ways to snatch someone than on foot.”

“There’s really not.”

“Please tell me you know that some witches can fly?”

She laughed at this.

“What, like on a broom? I think you’re making fun of me.”

“No broom needed, I’ve seen it, I swear!”

“Okay,” she regarded his expression, and believed him, “good thing my only threat comes from a vampire and not a witch.”

“When the congregation finds out about you and Baldwin, the only creatures who wont resent you will be your own kind, and us here, obviously.”

“I appreciate that, and you’re being so welcoming, even if having to follow me around is kinda super unfair to you.”

He had to chuckle at that but even through his cheerful exterior, there was a hint of sadness.

“Trust me, it’s not the least fair task I’ve been given,” he shook his head and the cloud of heaviness dissipated, “and what else am I going to be doing?”

“Planning more mischief with Marcus?” She suggested.

“Unfortunately not, Granny’s sending him to London to collect some miniatures from an auction house.”

“Well, since you’re stuck with me, I have a question for you.”

“Hit me.”

“Do you remember a party here in the past? Something to do with Baldwin’s father and his support for a French King.”

“Henry of Navarre?”

“Yes, were you here?”

“How do you know about that?” He asked with a hint of uncertainty.

“The tapestry, Marthe didn’t know much about it because she and Ysabeau weren’t here. So, were you?”

“I was.” He admitted.

“Then you’ll know, why was the tapestry moved, what happened at the party?”

“It wasn’t a party, Cicogna, the Venetian Doge brought his entire court, they were supposed to be here for a week but one of his musicians was killed. It was blamed on a spy in Sixtus’ retinue. Grandad gave his support for Navarre anyway. Nothing really happened.”

“You count a murder as nothing happening?”

“Just one murder? Aye!”

“Then why did he have the tapestry moved?”

“No idea, Why do you want to know?”

“Honestly?” She asked him.

“Yes.”

“It’s a mystery, I have a fraction of a story and it drives me a little crazy.” She confided.

“So you married a notorious secret keeper?” He asked.

“Fair point,” she smiled.

“Auntie, the past is not something you need to worry about, you’re his mate and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you Gallowglass.”

Alisha couldn’t help but recognise the strangeness in his statement.

If the present mattered because she was indeed Baldwin’s mate, she wondered what happened in the past that, according to Gallowglass, she needn’t worry about. It did make her think on Philippe’s words, to what ‘past folly’ was he referring.

Perhaps she really wasn’t getting to quench her idle curiosity and decided it not worth causing upset just to learn some gossip.

“So, wedding?” He changed the subject.

“We’ve agreed to give the go ahead.”

“I know, Baldwin spoke to Granny earlier, you did well to escape without her catching you.”

“He called, earlier?”

“Yes, and no, you cannot speak to him or see him before the church.”

“What,” it was her turn to stop, “I can’t see my husband for how long?”

“Jesus, the wedding’s in two days, I’d happily take not speaking to your husband for two millennia if it was on offer.” He chuckled.

“Two days?” She asked, feeling the blood drain from her cheeks.

“Granny works fast, I think she made most of the arrangements before she even got off the phone. We do have a seamstress on staff mind you, so that won’t be a problem, just do as Victoire says, she’s the one with the sewing needle.”

He stopped, his expression turning to one of concern.

“Aw hell, here,” Gallowglass directed her over to a low wall, “sit there, head between your knees before you faint on me.”

She followed his direction without argument, as he hovered nearby, not sure what to do. The vampire custom was clear on not touching the mate of a higher rank vampire but his compassion was at war with this rule.

“Maybe the whole wedding thing has made more of an impact on me than I thought,” she agreed, “are you all religious?”

“Both myself and your husband were pagan, Baldwin obviously much earlier, but Philippe would not have that, we would be Christian, serving one master.”

“God or Philippe?”

“They were both one in the same, I think he could relate, one heavenly father overseeing his children, and he did inform most of the Church doctrine.”

“You’re telling me that Baldwin’s father wrote the Bible?”

“No, I’m telling you that Grandad had a very firm hand in deciding which accounts made it into the final canon.”

“That is...terrifying.” She admitted.

“Why?”

“It doesn’t ever concern you just how much power and influence your family have had over the past two thousand years?”

“Closer to three thousand, and it’s your family now too Auntie.”

She nodded gravely, the responsibility Ysabeau had mentioned suddenly becoming painfully clear.

“Come on, you need to eat something.”

Alisha had no idea how much of an event breakfast was in Sept-Tours, tea, coffee, juice, bacon, eggs, pastries and so much fruit.

She couldn’t do much more than pick at croissant as the table bustled with conversation between every inhabitant of the fortress.

“Isn’t there anything I can do to help?” Alisha asked Ysabeau, who was sitting with Margaret on her knee, the child staring adoringly up at the vampire.

“It is already in hand.”

Alisha had the sneaking suspicion that Ysabeau already had most of the arrangements made before they arrived at Sept Tours, and knew that her step-son would relent.

“After breakfast we will have Victoire make some preliminary measurements for your gown.” Ysabeau’s eyes drifted to the different coloured ribbon around Alisha’s wrist, a ghost of a smile on her expression.

“Have you invited my aunts,” Marcus asked her, “and my cousin?”

“Baldwin will notify Miyako himself but I have invited Verin, Stasia and Freyja.”

“Aunt Fanny’s already in France, she’ll be here before the wedding, I guarantee it.” Marcus smiled, looking forward to seeing Freya.

“What about your father, Marcus? Matthew and his wife...Diana? Are they not coming?” Alisha asked him, causing a weight of silence to fall over the table.

“They won’t be able to make it, unfortunately.” Ysabeau answered.

She realised that Baldwin hadn’t actually told her what had happened with them.

Judging by Ysabeau’s tone - and the way everyone was suddenly studying their breakfast - now was not the time to find out.

“Where is the ceremony happening?” She asked instead.

“Saint Lucien,” Ysabeau seemed relieved by the change in topic, “it will be a Catholic ceremony, if there are no objections?”

“N-no, of course not. What can I do to help?”

“You can learn the Latin phrases you are expected to say and under no circumstances are you to speak with or see Baldwin until the wedding.”

Her cell had been broken by Christina several days prior and without a replacement, it would be easy for Ysabeau to enforce this rule.

“I understand,” she accepted, “and I want to thank you, for everything you’re doing for us, I really appreciate it. I’m sure Baldwin does too.”

Ysabeau almost corrected her, she was keeping a promise, nothing more.

“You are welcome,” she said instead, surprised that her rules had not prompted an appeal against them.

Ysabeau’s gaze was that of appraisal, like she was sizing Alisha up for some unknown purpose, task, role.

The rest of breakfast passed in general conversation until Victoire arrived to collect Alisha for her fitting.

Ysabeau watched until she was gone.

“I do hope Freyja is on her way,” she told Marcus, “if Verin and Stasia arrive first, they will eat that poor girl alive.”

“To get an accurate measurement, you must take those off.” The vampire told Alisha.

“O-okay.” She answered, hesitantly removing the warm, bulky sweater, jeans and vest until she was standing in just her underwear.

“Our priest is...conservative, which means that there will be no bare shoulders or arms.” Victoire decreed as she measured around Alisha’s waist.

That’s when she remembered, the very obvious hickie on the inside of her thigh that she’d noticed in the shower that morning.

She could only hope that Victoire either did not see it or would be too polite to mention it.

It had been acquired during Baldwin’s deliciously cruel teasing the night before, clearly it was some primal impulse to put a physical mark of his claim upon her.

“I don’t mind,” Alisha rushed to protest, “I trust you, with the design.”

In truth, she just wanted the two days to be over and was willing to do whatever it took to make them pass as smoothly as possible.

She started to believe Baldwin was mistaken, about the mate bond, it didn’t just lie with him. When he left, she felt a distinct tug at her heart that was, throughout the day, starting to feel like a vast chasm was opening up, hollowing her out.

“You will be beautiful on the day Madame, I guarantee it. You shall even render Sieur Baldwin speechless!”

Just as she was about to respond, the door to the room opened and a tall, blonde and stunning vampire entered.

“Um, hi!” Alisha greeted, still standing, in her underwear.

“Freyja,” the woman answered simply, as though that was explanation enough, “do you know who I am?”

“Baldwin’s sister?”

“One of them,” she answered with a smile, giving Alisha a frank up and down appraisal, “I’m here to help prepare you for the ceremony.”

“Ysabeau said I have some phrases to learn, in Latin?”

“You...do not speak Latin?”

“No.”

“French?”

“Nope!”

“I suppose it would be pointless to ask how familiar you are with Ancient Greek?”

“Not pointless but the answer would still be nuh-uh.”

“I assume Baldwin chose me as your chaperone due to your...unfamiliarity with our ways.”

“But Gallowglass-“

“Is your guard, do not leave this building without him.”

“Yeah, he already warned me of the hazard that is flying witches.”

“Good, dear Matthew’s mate Diana was taken from here by a witch, one who possessed the power of flight.”

“What happened to her?”

“Tortured, they were lucky to get her back alive.”

“They?”

“Matthew and Baldwin mounted a rescue. He didn’t tell you?”

“No.“

“I’m sure he will, he simply does not want to worry you with inconsequential threats. Baldwin has no patience for fragility, of body or of spirit but you seem to be the exception.”

“I’m not fragile.”

“Of course you are, and I am not saying that as an insult. You’re a warmblood, a musician too I hear. Not a warrior but we have enough of them in this family already. We will find a role for you, one that will suit your sensibilities.”

“A role? I’m getting married, not applying for a job.”

“Everyone in the family has a role, a purpose that furthers the de Clermont cause.”

“I though my role would be to support my husband.”

“Would that be enough for you? Would you not like to carve out your own function?”

Freyja’s words resonated, she never really thought about her place in the family beyond that of an extension, attached but not entirely a part of it.

“What role could I possibly fulfil that has not already been taken?”

Freyja’s smile was triumphant.

“We can figure that part out together!”

“Is that why he asked you to help me?”

“I have some more modern ideas when it comes to preparing the uninitiated for their new life. Verin and Stasia would not be as patient, I’m afraid. He must really care for you, to admit that a kinder approach is sometimes appropriate. My brother does not like to admit when he is wrong.”

“And Did he?”

Freyja snorted.

“Of course he didn’t, his request for my assistance was admission enough.”

“I have what I need for now Madame, we will have a fitting tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Victoire.” Alisha gave the woman a grateful smile.

“Wait,” Freyja told Victoire whilst keeping her eyes on Alisha, “I assume you would like to keep the dress intact after the wedding?”

“I would, yes.” Alisha agreed.

“Victoire,” Freyja turned back to the seamstress, “please keep that in mind when you are devising the fastenings. A newly mated pair kept apart for two days and nights, too many buttons and the dress will not survive.”

Alisha stifled a smile at the vampire’s candour as she pulled her clothes back on before Victoire left them.

“We need a man to give you away at the ceremony.”

“I’ve probably spent the most amount of time with Gallowglass so far-“

“It cannot be Eric, or Marcus, Baldwin’s their uncle. Ideally it should be a daemon.”

“The only daemon male I know is Nathaniel.”

“Perfect, ask him. It should also help with securing the daemon’s vote in the congregation, their leader is his mother after all!”

Alisha read over Philippe’s letter for the tenth time, taking time she should have been using to get ready for dinner. Meal times seemed to be an event in general in Sept Tours.

There was something regretful in the words of the deceased patriarch, guilt too, perhaps. Still, sitting at the desk was not going to urge her up to get ready and she reluctantly stood.

At the door to the shower room she heard a noise, the unmistakable sound of a phone vibrating, the cell phone Nathaniel had given her - alongside his agreement to give her away - ringing on the bedside table.

“Is everything okay?” She said as she answered the call, already knowing, in her bones, who it was.

“And hello to you as well Sweetheart.” Baldwin’s tone was teasing.

“Two days Baldwin! Our wedding is in two days.”

He was silent for a moment then sighed.

“I know,” he admitted, “Ysabeau works faster than even I give her credit for.”

“Surely you’ll be back by then, I’d kind of like you to be there!”
”I will be, I promise.”

“I hope so, Victoire has already measured me for my dress.”

“Oh?”

“Yep, and luckily your mark went unnoticed by her and Freyja.”

“Mark?”

“Let’s call it a token of affection,” she rolled her eyes, “that you so kindly bestowed on me last night with your merciless teasing, on your desk.”

“Ah,” he answered in understanding, “I am sorry, I forget how easily warmblood skin bruises.”

“So it wasn’t deliberate, a plan to mark your territory?”

“When I’m between your thighs, I don’t have the presence of mind to formulate a plan.”

“It’s really mean to talk like that when you’re so far away and I’m all alone in a big bed tonight. I might have to please myself.”

“Do something for me.”

“Record and send it to you?”

“N-“ he stopped.

“Well?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Stop,” she giggled, “what were you going to say?”

“I was going to ask you to wait. There’s no way Ysabeau will let me near you until the wedding anyway.”

“Are you asking me to ‘save myself’ for you because that ship has hoisted anchor by this point.”

“Two days, wait for me?”

“I can do that,” she agreed with a smile.

He went silent for a moment.

“Baldwin?”

“I’m sorry, for almost depriving you of this wedding. Everything happened so quickly I just didn’t think having this was something I-“

“Needed?”

“Deserved.”

“You’re a good man Baldwin, you deserve to be happy.”

“Good men don’t live as long as I have.”

She wasn’t sure what it was about conversation over the telephone that lent itself to such openness from him. Still, the sound of a door being knocked on the other side of the line stopped her from answering.

“I have a meeting before the Congregation hearing so I must leave you now Sweetheart.”

“Then go be big boss man,” she encouraged, “try not to kill anyone, and remember that I love you.”

She hung up just as Freyja breezed into the room.

“I would turn that off and hide it if I were you. Ysabeau is very strict with rules!” The woman headed straight for the wardrobe.

“I have to go wash up.” Alisha got up and made her way to the door, hearing his voice made the separation much more difficult and she had to pull herself together, preferably not in front of her sister-in-law.

“Take your time,” Freyja stated with sympathy, “no red eyes at dinner, and I’ll leave this dress out for you to wear. My sisters will be in attendance and I will help you make a good impression.”

___

PART 14

[xtestament]

The Problem With Catholics telling you not to rely Solely on The Bible

So there’s this thing going around in the Catholic circles of “how dare you rely solely on The Bible for The Bible is not the only rightful source” of course, this is paraphrased but you get the idea, now this comes with the protestant criticism of the Catholic teachings contradicting The Bible and why that is important so let’s look at the first contradiction from the Catholics themselves using their own words.

“Like you, we believe that Scripture is truly the Word of God, authored by God and without error.”

Ok so they’ve admitted that the Scripture is without error which is good, though it begs then the question of why they get annoyed when we say their teachings and wrongful acts contradict something that is without error. If it is without error then that should be the ultimate source of which everything should rely upon, and if anything else comes that goes against it, it should not be believed. Yet for some reason they continue to believe just some of the following things.

Mary never sinned

Mary is the Coredeemer next to Christ

Mary is the redeemer of sins

Mary is the Queen of Heaven

It’s ok to pray to dead people (the apostles)

The Apostles have been set to govern over certain areas of the world and church up in heaven

Graven images in so many churches is ok

The Apostles have been given titles similar to those of the Greek/Roman Pantheon and beyond. 

Only certain people through works can become saints, despite the fact that The Bible mentions that every Christian is a saint.

Priests aren’t allowed to marry

Nuns aren’t allowed to marry

Monks aren’t allowed to marry

The Pope isn’t allowed to Marry (despite previous Popes being married and having kids in history)

That Peter was never married despite The Bible mentioning that he had a wife as well as Church history (see Peter get crusified upside down with his wife)

That the Pope is the Infallible voice of God

The very act of Indulgences (pay us and we’ll give whoever a free ticket to heaven)

That Grace alone is not sufficient to get into Heaven.

These are just some of the few things out of many that contradicts what is in something that the Catholics themselves say... is without error? Like how do you not notice such glaring contradictions? I’m sorry but that takes on some serious blinders to ignore the issues here and that’s just from one sentence. Let’s however get into their “link” that speaks against it and see how it can’t be torn asunder.

“Consider why anyone would want to base their faith on an error instigated 500 years ago by Luther and reject 2,000 years of Church tradition.”

Maybe it was because Luther saw the heresy of the Church who believed that one must do certain works, pay indulgences if you want a soul to go into heaven, that Grace alone was not sufficient, that what the priests and Popes said was more important than the very teachings of Jesus? The level of corruption in the church? There were many reasons that Luther saw to split away and why he nailed his thesis on the doors of the church but here’s a video that might help explain just a little bit of it.

And let’s not forget, that when only one person can read The Bible they can simply say “Oh well, this is totally in the Bible (even though it’s not but you fools don’t know that) so you have to listen to me because you’re all uneducated and don’t know any better” Not to mention the fact that until recently and dare I say even recently, most Catholics are shall I say pushed to not read or rely on The Bible... despite the fact that it is without error... now I wonder why that would be? Oh yes, to keep people ignorant.

But let’s look at their argument for “Tradition” that is to follow Tradition and the Scripture, when it comes to the point where something is wrong, I have heard many Catholics say Tradition is more important... Tradition of errors... is more important than Scripture? Right ok, in that case we must ask who has given them the authority to be more powerful and pure than the Scriptures? Especially when they’re more fallible? Of course, this doesn’t get answered by Catholics but we still must ask the question.

Secondly, when the Early Christian Churches and groups were being created, on of the biggest divisions was that Gentiles must become circumcised in order to become a Christian, this was after all Tradition, and it’s not until Paul steps in to handle that debate that they leave that to the Jews and let Gentiles follow a different set of rules but still very vitally important ones. Also if we want to talk about Tradition as the Catholic church is so opt to do as an excuse for gross contradictions of The Bible that enter into the realms of heresy and blasphemy, why not go back to the source? What do I mean by the source? Well if we’re talking Tradition who else is closer than the Messianic Jews? Why don’t the Catholics follow in their footsteps? Also last I checked the Messianic Jews traditions don’t go against the Bible where as the Catholic ones do, thus one would have an easier time following Pauls words in the Messianic Sphere about tradition than one would anywhere else.

“What is very clear historically is that Jesus established a kingdom with a hierarchy and authority to speak for him (see Lk. 20:29-32, Mt. 10:40, 28:18-20).”

Let’s look at this for a moment because it mentions scripture and we can see what it actually says.

Luke 20: 29-32 “Now there were seven brothers. And the first took a wife, and died without children, and the second took her as wife, and he died childless, then the third took her, and in like manner the seven also; and they left no children and died. Lastly the woman died also”

Welp... nothing there that talks about a Hierarchy that he establishes to speak for him, in fact they’re asking him a question, this is I believe at the time was done by the Sadducees who were an opposing sect to the Pharisees, asking Jesus about the ressurection, to which Jesus stated that no one in Heaven is given in marriage, and that people are equal to the angels themselves if you read just a little bit further.

Matthew 10:40 “He who receives you receives Me, and he who receives Me receives Him who sent Me.”

Ok once again, nothing about a Heirarchy that I can really see, about those who he gave Authority to do things and know everything that Jesus meant and should be said and so on and so forth, so that’s 2 for 2 of whatever they just tried to pull and expected people to just believe without reading. Not to mention that this is right after the line that Jesus tells people to pick up their cross and follow him as well as denying the world and so on and so forth, once again, follow Jesus... not the Church.

Matthew 28: 18-20 “And Jesus came and spoke to them, saying, “All authority has been given to Me in heaven and on earth. Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age” Amen.”

Ok so I can see a heirarchy there, but only as much as “Go tell them what I (that is Jesus) have said and commanded of you” not that they were in a higher position necessarily but this was basically the mandate of “Go into all the world and preach the Gospel” which every Christian is to do, also the Heirarchy here seems pretty clear... the things which JESUS taught and commanded, not what some priest 300-1000 years down the line would say that goes against what Jesus taught and commanded (which the Catholics believe is a ok).

Now let’s see what else they have to say for themselves.

“It was members of this Kingdom—the Church—that would write the Scripture, preserve its many texts and eventually canonize it. The Scriptures cannot write or canonize themselves.”

Well first of all they were part of the Kingdom of Christ as every Christian is, they were not yet a Church but would become parts of one later on in life, and yes the Apostles did write majority of the New Testament who all had eye witness accounts of Jesus in one way or another. In fact Luke was instructed to go and see whether the accounts were accurate by Theophilus, and basically went around interviewing every one that he could. But once again these same Apostles did not mention or believe in any of the things I mentioned earlier, and I dare say they would probably count it as false teachings by false teachers and prophets. Also since there were already False teachers and Prophets claiming things, Paul and the others basically stated “don’t listen to them, don’t entertain them, don’t welcome them and highly use discernment to tell whether something is true or false.” There are too many scriptures where this is stated but I will get them all if I must.

“With Protestants I will not debate Purgatory, Mary, Statues, Incense, Bells, Praying to Saints or the bad popes. I will not discuss pedophile priests or celibacy or papal infallibility. I will not discuss transubstantiation, the Immaculate Conception, books we “added” to the Bible, pagan traditions or the Spanish Inquisition.”

Maybe because all those things go against the Bible and the early Church teachings and you bloody well know it, thus can’t properly defend it or accept it I’d imagine.

“The only topic I will discuss is the doctrine of Sola Scripture. If he believes everything must be found in the Bible then we begin by asking where “everything must be in the Bible” is in the Bible. “

If you’re looking for the exact words Sola Scriptura in the Bible of course it’s not going to be there, but if we must here’s another interesting video this time by a Lutheran defending the basis of Sola Scriptura

and here’s another one

In turn I must ask where in the Bible does it state that the Traditions of Man or the Church are infallible? Where does it state that the Traditions taught are of a higher authority than the Bible? Which I will remind you, you youselfs state is without error. So obviously if there is a contradiction who has the higher Authority? Tradition or the Infallible word of God? You all seem to speak as if it is Tradition that holds more Authority, and if so who decided that? 

Oh and just to put the nail in the coffin here, have another video

And finally because I am tired

“Yet Vatican II makes abundantly clear that this Magisterium is not “over the Word of God, but under it. It was instituted by Christ there to serve the revealed Word of God, not to change it or add to it. “

Ok so the Magisterium is not over the Word of God but under it, so then why is it ok to believe in things that are blatant blasphemies, heresies and the like? After all it just states there that it was Instituted by Christ there to serve the revealed Word of God, not to Change or add to it.

Well now fancy that, and yet you guys have both changed and added to it with things that are not right, how do you not see this? Anyways I’m tired I’ve written a lot of thoughts on it, watch the videos because they have good information but this entire post sums up what I wanted to say, even though I could probably write an entire 100 page essay on it, picking it apart piece by piece.

[thisgirlsays22]

You are Not Alone (Part 2)

Rating: E (for the overall story, not this chapter THANKS JEN)

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin

Pairing(s): Mikasa Ackerman/Jean Kirstein, Eren Yeager/ Levi

Chapter Word Count: 2k

Additional Tags: Post-canon, angst, smut More Tags On AO3

Summary:

Mikasa relishes in her newfound sense of freedom. Loneliness does not mean she is alone.

A prequel and sequel to Home and I Know (I Am the One in Love).

Written for the wonderful @dreamxxdream as a (belated) birthday gift. Nadine, Thank you for your patience while waiting for these other parts to be posted. You’ve kicked a lot of ass this week, so I wanted to get my ass in gear finally. To make it up to you, have this gorgeous JeanKasa art I commissioned from the incredible @lolakasa​ . 

And thank you to @fluffymusketeer for the beta <3333

Part 1: Read on Ao3 | Read on Tumblr:

Home and I Know: Read on Ao3 | Read on Tumblr

Read part 2 on Ao3 or under the cut.

Mikasa sipped her second cup of coffee in Hanji’s office. She had slept fitfully the night before, and it showed in her sluggish movements. The recruits didn’t need Mikasa half-assing it through drills.

“Rough night?” Hanji asked, trying to hide their smile.

“Not what you’re thinking.”

“That’s no fun.”

“You’re like a gossipy teenager,” Mikasa pointed out.  

“I thought you liked that about me.”

Mikasa sighed. “I really should end things with Jean.”

“What? Why?”

The coffee tasted too bitter. There hadn’t been enough sugar left in the jar. She sipped it anyway, avoiding the question. Though they'd never explicitly discussed it, Jean had been in her life for a long time, and she could see the kind of life he wanted unfolding out between them. But since the war had ended, since Eren had left, since Armin had become preoccupied with work, her life had shifted in ways she’d never expected.

For the first time, everything belonged to her. It was a different kind of freedom than the one Eren had imagined. Sweeter. And though she missed her friends, and at night she had to remind herself she was not alone, there was a purity to the loneliness, a strength.

If she let him, Jean would intertwine both their lives completely. He would absorb her into his world as he did with the parties sometimes. Optional would become obligation. She would have to move into his house, closer to the palace. She would have to attend endless events. He'd probably wanted to get married soon, fill his home with children.

Mikasa longed for Jean all the time. But he deserved to be with someone who could share their life with him completely, and she wasn’t sure if she could. Not yet.

“Mikasa?” Hanji stretched out a leg and nudged Mikasa with their foot. “You in there?”

“I just can’t,” she said finally.

“It’s funny the things that stay with you,” Hanji mused.

“What?” Mikasa squinted, not following the line of thought.

“During the war, I remember that Jean was always looking out for where you were. You were looking out for Eren, and Jean was looking out for you.”

Her heart ached at that. It had been years, so much had changed, and yet...had things really changed at all?

“Hanji,” she began. “Are you happy as Commander?”

Hanji answered without hesitation. “Not particularly.”

“Why don’t you step down?” Mikasa asked. “You talked about leading the research division full time before. Things are different now; you don’t need to stay in a role you never wanted.”

“I know it’s different. But it’s naive to think that we could never go to war again. Peace is fragile, Mikasa. I couldn’t let Erwin down like that. You know, I used to think Jean would be the perfect successor, that I’d hand over the reigns to him and never look back, but I think he’s content with his role.”

“Armin?”

“Already turned me down. I think he wants to stay close to Historia.” Hanji raised their eyebrows.

“Gossipy teenager.” Mikasa sighed. “There must be someone else.” She wanted Hanji to be free.

“I have a few others in mind. We’ll see.”

“I hope it happens for you sooner rather than later,” Mikasa said. Hanji had become a good friend over the years, she wanted them to be happy.

Hanji smiled and then said, “So, Eren and Levi, huh?”  

Mikasa’s eyes shot to Hanji. “What?”

“Levi came to see me before he went chasing after Eren. I don’t know what you said to him, but he looked like a man on a mission.”

“I’m going now,” Mikasa said, standing.

“Oh, come on! When do you think they’ll be back?”

“I’m leaving.”

“You Ackermans are never any fun.”

“You know, Levi warned me about you before he left.” She put the empty coffee mug on Hanji’s desk and headed for the door. “Gossip.”

Hanji’s laughter followed Mikasa down the hall.

Eren and Levi returned a few days later. At the smile Eren gave her, Mikasa nearly burst into tears. He kept giving Levi those dopey looks that brought her back to when they were fifteen. All she had ever wanted was for Eren to be okay, and here he was, better than she’d ever seen him before.

“Good, you’re here just in time to come to the fundraiser with us,” she said, over dinner on their second night back.

They sat around Jean’s table in his grand dining room, the full-length windows overlooking the garden. Jean had even put out the nice china. Mikasa was secretly pleased he’d done so for Eren and that he’d extended the invitation in the first place. His spacious townhouse was better for dinner parties than Mikasa’s modest home. Besides, she hated hosting.  

“You’ll be the talk of the town,” Jean added.

“Not a chance in hell,” Levi said, calmly taking a sip of wine. It felt too pretentious to admit, but she really did like when Jean brought out a fancy bottle for dinner.

“No? Oh, Levi, won’t you dance with me?” Eren mock pleaded, casting a sly look at Levi.

“Don’t be a shithead.”

“Is this what counts as foreplay for you two?” Jean asked.

“Shut up, Jean.”

“You shut up, Eren. You’re the one flirting with your...with Levi at dinner.”

“We weren’t flirting! And besides, you’re the one trying to impress Mikasa with all this fancy shit.” He waved his hand over the serving platters, piled high with chicken, roasted vegetables and bread. “Is that your idea of foreplay?”  

They glared at one another over the table.

“Aren’t you going to punch one of them?” Mikasa asked Levi.

“Not yet,” Levi replied mildly, reaching for another roll and the butter. “Mind the candles if you start throwing punches. Last thing we need’s a fucking fire.”

Simultaneously, Jean and Eren both leaned back in their seats, still huffing.

Jean took another sip of wine then asked, “So does this mean you’re moving back to Paradis, Levi?”

Eren and Levi exchanged looks.

“What?” Mikasa prompted, trying to keep her tone neutral.

Levi sighed. “I’m leaving the Corps.”

“What?” Jean and Mikasa chorused.

“We’re going to travel,” Eren said by way of explanation. “It’s probably safe for me to return to Marley, but...there’s more of the world I--we--want to see.”

Mikasa glared at Levi. He was supposed to bring Eren back, not take him farther away.  

“Who knows how long he was going to stay out in the woods for,” Levi said. “What’s the difference?”

“I could still go see him!”

“I’m right here,” Eren said. “And you loved my letters. I’ll write to you all the time. I’ll send you postcards!”

What a fucking asshole! You loved my letters. She waved a hand. “Fine. Do what you like.”  

“Just because you want to stay here, doesn’t mean I do,” Eren continued, as though he hadn’t heard her.

Suddenly, she felt the absence of her scarf around her neck. She longed to tuck her chin in its protective embrace. Longed for something familiar, comforting. Jean rested a hand on her arm, and she felt some of the tension leave her shoulders.

Everyone was staring at her with apprehension. It was Levi’s disappointed look that hurt, though. She’d never seen it directed at her before.

“Let’s just talk about this tomorrow,” she said, looking down at her plate.

Eren deflated, slumping back in his chair. “Yeah, okay.”

They finished the meal, Jean gamely trying to steer the conversation to more pleasant territory, and Levi went along with it. Mikasa and Eren avoided each other’s looks, politely addressing one another only if the conversation truly called for it.

After dinner, Levi and Eren excused themselves to return to the inn where they were staying. Mikasa watched from the front window as they walked down the winding path away from Jean’s house, Eren intertwining his hand in Levi’s.

She moped for the rest of night, tucking herself away in Jean’s study where she scribbled madly in her notebook. It was one of her favorite places to write. He kept everything neat, and he always had her favorite incense on hand--an earthy, warm sandalwood. “Use the room whenever you like,” he’d offered.  

The words bled from the pen, ugly and raw. Nothing she wrote sounded right. Distracting thoughts filled her mind: Eren and his stupid letters. No, postcards!

“Hey,” Jean said from the doorway, after she’d been at it for about an hour.

She looked up from her notebook. “Hey.”

“You’re really that upset about Eren? I thought you were kind of used to him not being around. Maybe even enjoying yourself,” Jean said, frowning.  

“I want him to be happy. I just...thought he’d come back to stay here. With Levi.”

“Really?” Jean asked. “That was your big play?”

“Yes. I thought Levi would come back for Eren. I never thought they’d just up and leave us all.”

“Some people are our blind spots,” Jean said, a little sadly. “Eren never seemed happy here, Mikasa. And of course he wasn’t going to just go settle down in Marley forever either.”

She felt like she was being pulled apart in all directions. It wasn’t even clear to her why she was so sad. Her life had been good lately, hadn’t it? Even without Eren around every day.

Abruptly, she asked, “Jean, when did you realise you wanted me?” Because it was easier than asking what do you really want?

He gave the question some thought and came to sit down besides Mikasa on the ottoman. “I thought you were beautiful right away, but it was seeing you just being yourself, with Sasha, that made me really like you.”

“With Sasha?”

“Yeah, I realised you had this secret funny side to you. You were always so serious about training, or looking out for Eren and Armin. It wasn’t what I expected.”

“And is that why you looked out for me?” she asked.

“What? No. It just seemed like you needed someone in your corner. I usually agreed with you anyway...except about Eren sometimes.”

She snorted. “Except about Eren most of the time.”

"Yeah." A smile broke out on his face. “Also, that time in the hot springs.”

“What?”

“Mikasa, I don’t think you know what towel slippage does to a teenage boy.”

Mikasa groaned and covered her face. “Sasha was right about you.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

She stretched her fingers and peered out at him with one eye. “Pervert.”

Jean gave her an indigent look. “I was seventeen! And when the towel of the most gorgeous girl you’ve ever seen slips, it’s the kind of thing that stays in your head forever.”

“Forever? You see me naked all the time.” Her cheeks flushed. Jean was being a moron.

“True.” Jean smiled. “But that was...unexpected.”

She leaned into him then, head resting on his chest so her ear was pressed over his heart. There were moments like these when she thought, I should be with you every minute of every day. A fear she couldn’t put words to always followed this thought, manifesting as a tightness in her chest. What if she changed her mind, wanted to be alone again, and hurt him?

“Thanks for looking out for me. Even when you shouldn’t have,” she said.

“Well, Mikasa. I suppose not much has changed.”

When she looked up, he smiled down at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“How do you mean?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.” Jean unwrapped his arms from around her and stood. “I’m busy for the rest of the week, but I’ll see you for the fundraiser.”

“Have fun with your...other friend,” she said, too lightly.

“Thanks, I will.”

The words, probably meant as a joke, came out meaner and sharper than Jean intended, judging by the stricken look on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That came out wrong.”

“It’s fine.” Mikasa stood. “I should get going. I have an early morning.”  

Before she left his house, he pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek.

[permian-tropos]

For a while I thought your SW takes were good and I followed you, but you know what? You’re a fucking hypocrite. You say you don’t like R/ylo, and the ship is fucking disgusting, but you still lap up notes from them anyway. I recognize URLs. You won’t call yourself an anti because you think we’re what, bad for standing up to a shit ship and the racists who fucking ship it? It’s because you’re afraid of looking bad to them because they’re the only ones who give you attention. Fucking. Hypocrite.

Why are you so afraid of saying you’re an anti? We don’t stand for bad shit. We’re ANTI bad, demeaning, sexist tropes. We’re anti abuse and racism. And your SW takes aren’t bad! You actually see through the bullshit parts of the story. But for fuck’s sake you’re dripping with condescension all the time about what antis are like, like you’re too good for it, and I call bull. You’re afraid of losing the attention R/ylos give you if you actually stood up for something and called them on their shit.

Okay, I’m sorry. I got angry. But when you said that the anti side of fandom couldn’t be arsed to get into details I was pissed. You could do a lot on the anti side of fandom! Why do you act like attention from antis has to be avoided! You’re cool with fucking R/ylos reblogging your posts but you can’t stop ragging on us. It’s. Not. Bad. To. Be. An. Anti.

Usually I delete messages like these, I’ll make an exception because you apologized, so I can get some things absolutely clear. 

*clears throat*

Anon, you have absolutely no right to speak to anyone like this (especially take a moment and consider whether you thought the fact that you followed me gave you some right to dictate what I should be allowed to say or do). You need to cut this shit out right now. Do not send messages swearing at people you’ve never met and accusing them of hypocrisy because of Star Wars fan wank. This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten an angry anon bitter about how I haven’t picked a side in this INCREDIBLY DIRE AND IMPORTANT WAR FOR MORAL JUSTICE, so I’m putting my foot DOWN VERY HARD. Your identity is painfully wrapped up in fictional characters if you’re this incensed that I’m not on your side.

Reasons why I’m not an “anti”:

1) This. This kind of disrespectful cultish moral abuse. Your community shames anyone who interacts with the human fucking beings who you’ve assigned the enemy. I will not participate in that, I will not enable it, I will not enjoy the benefits of it. I certainly won’t join up only to be harassed. The fact that I’m even slightly anti-adjacent has emboldened you to, well, do this. Imagine if I was in deep. I’ve seen what kind of nastiness antis spew on each other when someone dares to, say, explore reylo in a dark non-endgame context.

2) I don’t think it’s evil to ship reylo. I disagree with plenty of things reylo shippers have argued about the canon narrative. But no, it’s not wrong to romanticize dark violent ships, or swoon over villains, or fantasize about redemption arcs. I literally do all of those things. I’m a villain lover and a dark shipper and a redemption sucker. I actually just… don’t like Kylo Ren as compared to other characters with superficial similarities. Did you miss the part where my favorite ship is between two fascist dictators who fight to the death? You really shouldn’t be shocked by my attitude if you noticed anything I was posting positively about. I don’t want to be in an anti community because if the Aftermath Trilogy were popular, gallirae would be a ship with an antifandom. It’s an edgy mcdarkfuck hell trash. That’s my wheelhouse. 

3) You are not anti abuse. This is fucking abuse, towards a real person, which is the kind of abuse that matters. You asshole. 

4) “You could do a lot on the anti side of the fandom” god this feels like a villainous “join me and we could rule the galaxy together” 

5) Yeah I’m cool with reylos reblogging my posts. Some of them are my fucking friends. And I don’t caaaaaare if people who ship something different from me happen to share my taste for something unrelated. “You only interact with them because they’re the only people who will interact with you” and you think, what, I should condemn myself to isolation? If they like my stuff that’s great! Also, I don’t need to convince them to stop shipping the ship, but if I make a sensible take I can spread certain forms of common sense in any community. If I’m not seen as a cruel, vindictive bully by the reylo community, and if I don’t shame people for having at worst a pulpy bodice-ripper romance story that makes them happy, I will have a little more authority in calling out problematic attitudes. Also I don’t want to be a cruel, vindictive bully. I want to be kind to people. You asshole. 

6) Reylo isn’t a political stance. Liking any ship says fuck all about what kind of person you are. What is an awful, fundamentally reactionary political stance is dehumanizing people who have “deviant” aesthetic interests. 

7) The anti community has been extremely bitter about TLJ, and as a result has been unable to talk about a canonically villainous Kylo Ren positively. The fact that you are anti is the problem! Yes, it’s bad to be an anti, bad for you and anything you want to enjoy. It’s absolutely poisonous to your brain to lash your sense of self to feelings of hatred, and hate of an online fan community no less. You can have the same tastes in fiction while being PRO-SOMETHING. That’s why I have a tag “villain Kylo”. I’m not anti Kylo Ren. I’m pro villain Kylo. It’s something I like. It’s something I enjoy thinking about. 

8) You’re a fucking asshole. I’m flattered you hold me to such high regard that you’d be angry I’m not on your side. But here’s the thing. I am on your side. I think you’re being a terrible person right now, and I would forgive you if you made amends, because I don’t believe you’re unspeakably, unforgivably evil. I think you’re in a bad crowd, and you should take a long moment to think what your fandom habits have led you to. This is toxic as fuck. 

9) Talk to me in private if you’re mature enough to apologize for real. I’m too damn nice for my own good. But don’t send me any more anon hate. I will delete it.

[sunevial]

The Sorceress and the Sergeant

Why does this exist? @missvulpix212 is why. Blame her for this because it was her idea to commission me to write her a thing and I took the job for some reason (but hey, I’m now offering writing commissions so that’s a thing). Now...how to explain this...

rubs temples

Okay, so, you know my Followers fanfic. Well, one of the characters by the name of Old Priestess likes to write fictionalized accounts of her colleagues in horrible trashy romance situations and then sells them. The Sorceress and the Sergeant is a fictionalized account/probable AU of the relationship between the Witch and the Lieutenant and is absolutely no way canon to my Followers fic.

So, uh, enjoy?

The dimly lit hallways were silent for once, the stressed single mothers and frantic college students somehow all asleep at this godforsaken hour. Fumbling with a key ring sporting more baubles than keys, Marjory clicked the lock open and rammed her shoulder into her apartment door as quietly as she possibly could, forcing the sticky thing to move for once in its unhappy existence. She glanced around the inside, checking the darkened corners for movement or unwelcome visitors, before dragging her partner inside and shutting the door firmly behind them both. Only then did she risk turning on her little side table lamp.

“Sorceress, this really isn’t necessary,” Ollie protested, leaning his back up against the doorframe and giving her the most neutral stare she had ever seen him pull off with those ice blue eyes. “You know I am more than capable of regrowing my own skin and muscle tissue.”

Not bothering to roll her eyes, she tossed her earthy green pea coat onto one of her fold out chairs and pointed to a couch that had seen one too many games of Mario Kart in its day. “It’ll heal faster if I help. So, please sit down and take off your shirt. I need to see the wound,” she said, grabbing a step stool and setting it down in her little kitchen. Rolling up her sleeves, she hopped onto the little box and threw open a cabinet, rummaging through the endless stacks of incense and oddly shaped crystals for the bag hidden somewhere in the endless mess.

With an ever so mischievous smirk crossing his face, he kicked off his shoes and plopped down on the worn sofa. He shrugged off his dark gray hoodie, wincing only ever so slightly as it brushed the massive burn along his left shoulder. “Are you sure that’s all you want to see?” he asked with a smile, tossing the ruined sweatshirt off to the side and inspecting the t-shirt now partially fused to his skin.

“Yes, I’m very sure,” she squeaked, her voice going just high enough to hurt even her own eardrums. Her free hand fiddled with a bit of the sweater dress hugging her body. She could feel the blood rising from the bottom of her stocking feet to the top of her rusty red hair, pooling in her cheeks and making the room go from being like inside an icebox to being unbearably warm.

“According to what I know of mortals, your cheeks say otherwise.”

A tiny shriek escaped her lips, one she immediately pushed down into the depths of her throat. Muttering several curses under her breath, she reached for the black ribbon tied around her head in a fashionable bow and pulled it tight against her skull. Ollie wasn’t the first man in her life to poke fun at how easy it was to make her turn the color of a firetruck, not by a long shot;. he just happened to be the one being in this universe who could make her sputter and curl up into a ball of embarrassment nearly on command, and he definitely not use this knowledge responsibly.

Snatching up a small velvet bag, Marjory dumped out a single spool of black ribbon. Resembling the one in her hair in every manner, it seemed to exist only in two dimensions at any one time. Soul ribbon: a material that could save a life as easy as it could take it, the signature weapon and healing instrument of those who served a certain god who oversaw the endless cycle of life and death. It was a tremendous honor to just have a single strand, much less the ability to manipulate nearly endless amounts of it to her will.

After a bit more searching, she fished out a small glass bottle of shimmering red liquid. Holding it above her head, the glittering bits caught rays of light and scattered them onto the white tiles lining the kitchen wall. She smiled a little as she shook it up, still proud of the fact she had been able to craft a true healing potion with the magic she had been given. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she brushed it away and stepped off of her box. No, focus; she had a job to do. Sighing, she walked back into the living room just as Ollie peeled the t-shirt over his head.

The smell hit her first, acrid and reminiscent of eldritch horror and hellfire mixed into some unholy union. It looked just about as nice as it smelled, the flesh a sickly green and charred black wherever it wasn’t oozing a substance that she could not identify but was definitely not blood. Biting back the bile rising in her throat, she unraveled a length of ribbon and snapped it with a pair of scissors. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” she asked, pulling and stretching at the mystical fabric it until it was wide enough to be used as a bandage.

“Because it’s not,” he replied, pushing his long raven hair off of the exposed wound. “As far as acid spitting abominations go, that one was weak at best, considering the most menacing form it could take was a Chinese ursine.”

“It’s called a panda, Ollie,” she said, dabbing a little of the potion onto the piece of ribbon. “One that threw you into an air conditioning unit and gave you a massive third degree chemical burn. That’s not nothing, you know! I’d have to be in the hospital for weeks if I got something like that, not to mention all the skin grafts and blood transfusions and physical therapy for the damage to the muscle structure.”

“I am here precisely because of the fact that grievous injury is much more harmful to you than it is to me,” he said, tapping a chin against his neatly trimmed beard. Before she could blink, two silver wings sprouted out of his back and unfurled against the thin wall separating her from her overly religious neighbors who already didn’t appreciate having a pagan woman next door. “I am your Sergeant, Sorceress. Your guardian. My job is to protect you. That includes getting hurt in your place so you can do your job.”

“It’s Marjory,” she said, taking the medicated bandage and slowly binding up the wound. “And even so, I don’t like seeing you like this.”

“I knew all too well what serving a god of death would entail, Marjory, better than you did when I came to fetch you,” he replied, his voice low and soft but placing a little more emphasis on her name. Shifting a little under the bandage, he gazed at the black ribbon for a long stretch of time. The silence hung in the air between them like a comforting blanket. “I have been protecting mortals like yourself long before you were so much a thought to your parents and will continue to do so long after you move on to wherever it is your soul is destined for. You need not waste your worry on me.”

“But you…you’re important to me,” she said in an equally low voice, winding the wrap under his arm. Her fingers lightly brushed against his exposed skin, soft despite being littered with scars from countless skirmishes against forces she couldn’t name. She tried to keep her gray eyes on patching up her injured partner, but her gaze kept wandering across his chest and down his torso. No longer hidden under relatively shapeless clothing, he was much thinner than she expected, built with the speed and grace of a swan in mind. The heat rose to her cheeks again. “And I worry about the people who are important to me, Ollie.”  

He caught her traitorous gaze and smirked, leaning back as much as he could while she deftly tied up his shoulder. “So I was correct in my assumptions.” Before she could sputter out a defense, he held up his good hand and put it on her shoulder, smiling sympathetically even as his gaze was as cool as his eyes. “You have a good heart. A good, kind, bleeding heart who wants to help the hurt and sick.”

“I wouldn’t be in med school if I didn’t,” she said with a chuckle, her words shaking a little as she tied off the wrap with a small bow.

“But turning that heart on me is dangerous, Marjory,” he continued, keeping his gaze and tone eerily even. “You know that Ollie is just a pet name our other colleagues have given me. You know that if I was ever human, that was long in the past. And you know what I am capable of doing to others…what I am capable of doing to you.” His words trailed off to nearly nothing before he sighed. “It’s best if you keep a heart like that closed around someone like me.”

Marjory held his gaze, memories flashing before her eyes of that first day in the alleyway. She remembered the same steely look in his eyes as he pinned her against the brick wall and pressed a the sharp edge of a knife into her throat, any remorse or guilt for his actions hidden behind years of experience and a touch of obedience to their boss. She remembered beginning to bleed out when ghostly magic erupted from her fingertips, clinging to the wound gouged into her neck and stitching her up as if she had always been able to call upon the endless webs of energy sustaining the world. She remembered his genuine smile as he offered her his hand, saying she had passed the test with flying colors.

She remembered the training sessions, his gentle touch on her arms and legs as he showed her how to more accurately conjure her magics to heal and to help. She remembered the casual teasing and the playful banter between them both as they spent nights traversing rooftops and the realms of the dead. She remembered the nights of teaching him how to sew and understand references to youtube videos and the long conversations over coffee about how strange being human really was as the two of them laughed for hours on end about everything and nothing at all.

“That’s not an option, Ouriel,” she said with a weak smile, laying a hand on his arm as his real name slipped from her lips. “I know who you are and what you can do…and I’m not scared if that ends up hurting me.”

Ever so slowly, he stood up from the couch, reminding her on just how much taller he was than her. He gently took his hand off her shoulder and cupped it over her cheek, resting his palm against her warm skin and turning her head so they looked each other in the eyes. “Is that a challenge?” he asked, the corners of his mouth breaking into a smirk unlike any she had seen before. Chaos danced his irises, flickering no longer with the harsh winds of a blizzard but the gentle winds of an October afternoon. He curled his fingers under her chin, lightly brushing just the tips against her neck.

Her whole body quivered as her cheeks burned with a fire she didn’t know existed in her, one that burned up her body with a bright flickering flame that she knew would not die for anything less than a sleepless night for them both. She didn’t dare look away, instead taking both of her hands and slowly crossing them at the wrist. Letting out a long shaky breath, she pushed herself up onto her tiptoes as the heat spread to her chest and down her stomach. “Go ahead…do your worst.”

A true smile crossed his lips as his other hand reached behind her ear and pulled the ribbon out of her hair, freeing her curls from their prison. As if she weighed nothing at all, he brought her face up to his and sank his lips against hers. It was cold, cold like a comforting autumn breeze, cold like the first snowfall, cold like polished steel, cold but so incredibly warm at the same time. She closed her eyes, letting ice freeze the fire in her body as she fell into his embrace, feeling soft fabric wind its way around her wrists as they sank into darkness together.

[firedingo]

Long Time No Post.....

______________________________________________________________

So yeah......it's been a while.

What am I up to? Well let's see....

Obviously still at uni. I'm now effectively in my final year. I have 2 subjects, 1 software development project and 1 year and then I can graduate.

I can't believe I'm this close now after almost a decade at this degree (not counting the like 5 year break I took in that decade :P)

I'm well and truly engaged with the Christian Students group on campus. They're really frankly quite awesome. We put on a BBQ for the other students after a bar night recently. We're working through John in the Bible and I'm so keen for small groups to kick off and the events coming up this year.

In my first year in 2019 I didn't get involved in events and last year covid either stopped or radically changed events last year. So I'm super keen this year because it's my last year there.

In the face of everything.....childhood trauma, mental illness, covid, stress, family.....my church, my faith and the christian students group has been a huge anchor for me.

That of course leads to church and faith. So with covid we moved to a new location....the local christian school. That meant learning a new AV system....I actually feel quite confident running AV now.

The flip side means I run AV at one or both of the services I go to on Sunday almost every Sunday possible.....yes we need more AV trained people.

I love learning about AV and serving but sometimes you do need a break.

My mental health has been interesting to say the least. I have brilliant days but also really bad ones. I don't know what I would do without my faith. I've really been hanging on to a passage in Romans lately.

"I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us."

- Romans 8:18

I've found this verse to a good reminder that eternal life is still better than letting the crap in life get the better of me.....What will anything matter in 10,000 years time in heaven? Nothing. Of course that doesn't mean it doesn't feel like the end of the world right now.

Oh we humans are such fickle creatures....

So I also signed up to do Introduction To The Bible, a subject run by my church through an organization they help manage along with a couple other churches. It has been hugely interesting to see the bigger picture of the Bible. I remember someone told me early on that the whole Bible points to Jesus but it's actually really cool to see how that works, especially with the Old Testament and be hugely encouraged by what I've read and learned.

A highlight for me was seeing how God so deeply cares and loves in Hosea.

" “When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Egypt I called my son. But the more they were called, the more they went away from me. They sacrificed to the Baals and they burned incense to images. It was I who taught Ephraim to walk, taking them by the arms; but they did not realize it was I who healed them. I led them with cords of human kindness, with ties of love. To them I was like one who lifts a little child to the cheek, and I bent down to feed them."

- Hosea 11:1-4

Another highlight was realizing that the Exodus - the Israelites being saved in Egypt, lead out to God and eventually to their promised land with blessing given to them - is a mini example of God's plan of salvation. It encourages me when I wonder if God will ever return, or on the mentally tough days when I wonder if God will save me.

He can, he has and he will!

I've also begun helping teach scripture classes in school. It has been wonderful to have kids to love and care for in scripture class. I don't know if I will ever have kids of my own but I do know I care about people, I am deeply moved by my faith and I think how can these kids ever make a choice if they never hear, so my aim is to give them the best understanding of what I believe.

The hardest thing is the exhaustion, the complete and utter exhaustion. I want badly to have a break yet I don't get one. I've tried asking for so much help and support only to find out I don't qualify.

I still care for my dad too. I don't get any support there.

I probably do 60-75 hours of "work" across any particular week right now. Some of it I didn't need to agree to right now but much of it isn't a choice. I'm tired and worn out.

The system here is broken because someone like me can study, care nearly full-time, do volunteer work and somehow not qualify for any support or help. Hell I can reach the point of being suicidal and still not qualify for help. That's how broken the system here is.

I have no hope things will actually get better....the only hope I have is that one day I will get to rest when I see God.

Honestly I feel like canon fodder to the government. I don't have the resources or capacity to change much of my circumstances, the government does and yet I genuinely believe that they don't care at all, in fact I reckon quite a few wish I were actual, legitimately dead.

Honestly what's the bloody point any more? If things are never going to improve, what's the bloody point to life? Keep getting beaten to a pulp until I finally burn out and kill myself?

Frankly it'd be better if I did it now in the face of that. Only my faith gives me a reason not to......You know who's around the corner that needs to hear about God.

I know being a disciple of Jesus isn't easy in fact hardship should be expected yet I don't think suicidal ideation was what that meant.

So I hold on to my faith and what I know and pray like hell that I don't act on the thoughts.....

"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life."

- John 3:16

"You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

Since we have now been justified by his blood, how much more shall we be saved from God’s wrath through him! For if, while we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life!"

- Romans 5:6-10

[aion-rsa]

Riverdale Season 5 Episode 4 Review – Chapter 80: Purgatorio

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Riverdale reinvents itself as the fifth season properly gets underway.

This RIVERDALE review contains spoilers.

Riverdale Season 5 Episode 4

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“To be honest, it doesn’t even feel like Riverdale anymore.”

You can say that again Archie.

Following three episodes originally intended for last year and a seven-year time jump, Riverdale‘s fifth season gets well and truly underway with an installment designed not so much with shaking up the status quo but reinventing it completely. To borrow the name of a Flaming Lips song — you just know NYC writer’s block-stricken Jughead listens to lots of the band’s output — suddenly everything has changed.

In the near decade since he was last home, Archie has been through hell fighting in an unnamed conflict in which he feels responsible for one of his fellow soldiers losing a leg. He has dreams that mix battle imagery with the formally idyllic existence he had in high school. (At least that’s what I think we’re supposed to feel here, even though Archie’s teen years were fraught with bear attacks and attempted murders aplenty but I digress). The point being that Archie sees Riverdale, despite its obvious flaws, as a safe haven. Always one to embrace a cliche though, he quickly learns that you can’t go home again. Riverdale is now just as dangerous as his overseas battle. It wasn’t a nightmare he had, it was a premonition.

Ordered to run Riverdale High School’s ROTC program, Archie comes home is quickly brought up to speed by Toni — pregnant and running the reborn White Wyrm out of the former space of La Bonne Nuit. Lawlessness prevails throughout town, leaving Riverdale largely empty with the exception of those who are too poor or proud to try to restart elsewhere. The city is without hope. Mayhem reigns. Is Archie Batman now? God I hope so.

Responsible for the community’s downfall is, you guessed it, Hiram Lodge. Without the influence of Hermione or Veronica to keep his worst instincts in check, Hiram has become the villain he has always longed to be. (He’s enlisted Reggie to be his right hand man, making that character the closest to his pain-in-the-ass comic book counterpart to date). Some murky dialogue vaguely explains that Hiram’s wrongdoing is connected to his long-gestating SoDale real estate development, but the specifics don’t matter. What does is that Mr. Lodge is in power like never before, and all of Riverdale is suffering as a result.

Meanwhile at Quantico, FBI trainee Betty is also haunted by her recent past. While pursuing the hilariously named Trash Bag Killer, she didn’t wait for backup — becoming the killer’s captive before he escaped in the process. Her loving partner — let’s call him Molder for now, Mad magazine style — is worried that she isn’t dealing with the trauma of her experience, as is her therapist. But soon she too is called back home to deal with what we think is a crisis but is really just a very sweet thing. More on that in a few minutes.

We catch up with New Yorker Veronica, who is married to real estate tycoon Chadwick Gekko (Chris Mason, portraying a character from Katy Keene that Reid Prebenda originated). Apparently she used to be the “she wolf of Wall Street” until she lost her mojo after being involved in a near-fatal helicopter accident with Chad. Since then, she’s been secretly working in an upscale jewelry store that let’s her take advantage of the smart business acumen she frequently demonstrated during her high school years. But when she sells a Glamorege egg that Chadwick gave to her, it’s clear that their relationship is more than just a little fractured.

Also in the Big Apple is Jughead, and he’s just full on skeezy now. With dubious facial hair and a penchant for sleeping with fans, this version of Jughead is easily the most disturbing new version of one of the series’ core four. We learn that his first book, the S.E. Hinton meets Pop Tate’s Chok’lit Shoppe pastiche The Outcasts was a mega success that made him a fleeting media darling. But now Jughead has severe writer’s block…not to mention debt collectors literally pounding at his door and toxic boyfriend tendencies we see him display briefly. Basically he sucks. If anyone can use a priority realignment it’s him. Fortunately, he too gets a call beckoning him home.

Once the gang is back together in Riverdale, for Pop Tate’s retirement party!, awww, we get an update on Cheryl. She has successfully rebuilt Thornhill and rehabilitated the Blossom family name over the past seven years…with a cost. She still feels cursed by her family’s misdeeds and spurns Toni’s attempts to reconcile and instead chooses to live as a recluse. (I mean, for at least the remainder of this episode).

Finally reunited with all of friends, Archie is determined to enlist their help in saving the soul of Riverdale. Not that any of them seem too happy to join this crusade. But the episode doesn’t dwell on their responses as it is too busy establishing a new mystery — a murderous trucker is on the loose. And our heroes are the only one who can stop him. Obviously.

This episode is a very typical one in that it bombards the viewer with new information. True, it doesn’t feel like Riverdale as we know it, but that’s a good thing. After a previous season that was a bit middling, I am more than supportive of this quasi reboot happening here. The series has been renewed for a sixth season, so it’s likely that it will find it’s new rhythm over the course of the upcoming installments and a new normal will settle in. For now though, there’s a lot of possibility here. Riverdale‘s biggest mystery right now? Where it will go next.

Riverdale Roundup

• Along with Saving Private Ryan, the nightmare that starts this episode is also a reference to the excellent Archie 1941 miniseries — which explored how World War II impacted Riverdale and its characters.

• Since Archie and Betty are now both experiencing PTSD, will their shared trauma bond them together?

• I absolutely believe that each of these characters would return to Riverdale to bid farewell to Pop Tate, given how important his shop has been in each of their lives.

• Let’s hear it for more screen time for Vanessa Morgan’s Toni Topaz! Choni forever! (That baby bump was real by the way, she gave birth to her first child last week).

• Archie reads Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms, in case any of you were worried that the series’ fondness for anachronisms would be lost during the seven year time jump. Also, Archie being able to read is canon!

• Even though Katy Keene is long-cancelled, it’s nice to see that show’s title character (and her employer, Lacy’s) get referenced here.

• As an Archie comics diehard fan, I am incensed that the show has ditched his iconic whoopee hat. Yet I have a feeling by the time this season ends we will witness him throwing it back on in an effort to reclaim the artistic power that his former self possessed.

• Kevin and Fangs are established as still being together, with the former working at Riverdale High. Alice’s current whereabouts are unknown. I hope Vegas has been rehomed.

• In case Betty’s Silence of the Lambs parallels were a tad too understated for your taste, her therapist’s name is Dr. Starling. And if someone doesn’t sing “Goodbye Horses” this season I will be very upset.

• The FBI waited seven years to dismantle the two-person (one of whom wasn’t even a real agent) Riverdale field office? Actually, given government inefficiency, this sounds just about right.

• Veronica and Chadwick’s helicopter accident happened while they were on their way to “Marsha’s Vineyard,” because apparently Riverdale 2.0 now does fake places as well as brands.

• That abandoned doll Archie found in Pickens Park is super creepy.

• Betty’s cat is named Coffee, and given her history as a pet owner, I fear for the feline.

• Towards the end of this episode, new character Tabitha Tate (Erinn Westbrook) bids farewell to drifter Lynette “Squeaky” Fields. Given that Fields’ nickname is a Manson Family reference, could Riverdale have a death cult on its hands?

• Other mysteries raised by this episode: Who is the father of Toni’s baby? How will Veronica feel about La Bonne Nuit becoming a Serpent hangout? How long have Betty and her partner been together? Will Jughead get a razor? Who is the Lonely Highway killer? How did Reggie get involved with working for Hiram? What exactly are Hiram’s SoDale plans? How long until someone punches Chadwick? Where’s Mary Andrews? How long have the Ghoulies been back in Riverdale…and Archie’s house for that matter? If Riverdale is such a cesspool, what exactly does Tom Keller do all day? I suppose we will just have to wait for answers to all of these questions and more. Until next week!

The post Riverdale Season 5 Episode 4 Review – Chapter 80: Purgatorio appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Homeward Bound (4/?)

Summary: After Miles and Sawyer follow Claire when she wanders off after her father in the dead of night, Claire and Aaron are safely returned to the beach and head towards the freighter and freedom from the island.

But as Claire learns a few years later, the island has a way of bringing people back…

A fix-it that diverges from canon at S4Ep10 “Something Nice Back Home”, in which Claire becomes one of the Oceanic Six and gets to raise Aaron herself, away from the island.

Rated: T

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [AO3 Link]

Part Four: The Business of Living

The compensation settlement from Oceanic Airlines is huge. Claire doesn’t think that she’s ever been able to comprehend so much money. She knows that Hurley is a millionaire lottery winner of course, but that didn’t count because it didn’t really affect her, and it wasn’t like money had any real use or value on the island anyway. Perhaps if more of them had been rescued it would have been smaller, but as there are only five of them to share in this pot, it’s almost ludicrous. For a long time, all she can do is stare at the slip of paper that shows how much money has been transferred into her account. Sun has bought a controlling share in her father’s company with hers. Hurley has been giving most of his away to various charities, still convinced that his lottery win is somehow cursed.

It’s Hurley who helps her out in the end. Once the settlement had come in, he was the first person that she had called. Of all of their fellow survivors, he’s the only one who’s experienced this kind of sudden windfall before, going from a dead-end job in fast food to having more money than they know what to do with overnight.

“Hi Claire, it’s good to hear from you. Isn’t it like, the middle of the night in Australia?”

Claire laughs. “It’s six am tomorrow morning. I was up anyway with Aaron.”

“How’s he doing, adjusting to life outside the world of Crazy Island?”

“Really well, actually.” Perhaps the fact that Aaron spent his first couple of months seemingly in constant mortal peril has made him more relaxed now that he isn’t in peril all the time. As she said to Kate back in the New Otherton - she’s adopted Sawyer’s nickname for it, it seemed to fit - Aaron can sleep through anything. For these past few months whilst she’s been living with her mother, Carole has marvelled at just how quiet Aaron is and how well he sleeps. She’s completely besotted with her grandson, and considering the fact that she didn’t even know her daughter was pregnant until she’s already had the baby, Claire’s almost worshipfully grateful for her help. She thinks that there is something in that old saying, it takes a village. Back on the island, there had always been people around to help her with Aaron whenever she was worrying about him, about herself, about her ability to be a mother. She’d always had Sun and Rose and Kate, and any of the other survivors. To them, Aaron was a symbol of hope and new life in a place where there had been so much death and despair, and they were always happy to help. Now, the village is gone, she’s left it behind, and she only has her mother and her aunt. They’re happy to help too, but the fact remains that there are only the three of them.

But she has Hurley too, always on the other end of the phone and always happy to hear from her and hear how Aaron’s doing. Despite him being on completely the other side of the world, he’s probably the one whom she’s still closest to. Sun is closer geographically, but she has her own problems to deal with, and outside of the island, she and Claire inhabit very different worlds.

“My settlement payment came through last week,” Claire begins, but of course Hurley knows that because his own payment came through at the same time.

“Sweet. What are you going to use the money for?”

“I don’t know, that’s the problem.” Claire sighs. “That’s why I called you. Because, well, you’ve been through this before.”

“Yeah, the usual rags to riches story. That didn’t really turn out so well for me the first time. But I get your point.” He pauses. “If you don’t mind being in completely different time zones then I can give you my financial advisor’s number. He’s always handled most of the complicated investment stuff for me, and he can probably help you out and make sure that you can put something away for Aaron’s college fund, or whatever you might need it for in however many years’ time.”

“That would be great, thank you.” The knowledge that she can cast of the responsibility for this huge sum of money onto someone else is a great weight off her mind.

“The only other thing I would say would be to invest in property. Buy a house. Buy your mom a house. That was the first thing that everyone said to me when I won the lottery. Actually the first thing that I bought was Mr Cluck’s. Do you want to buy the Fish ‘n’ Fry where you used to work?”

Claire wrinkles her nose. “Not particularly. But a house sounds like a good idea.”

Hurley gives her the financial advisor’s number and email, and Claire feels slightly more at ease about what she’s going to do with the money, and they keep talking until Claire’s mum comes downstairs and begins making breakfast. There’s still a long way to go, but at least she’s got some kind of direction now. She’s so used to taking every day as it comes and making no long-term plans, even before the island, that it feels strange to be thinking about the far future. It makes it real; she’s really here and she’s really off the island.

Later that day, she starts looking at houses.

X

The settlement is enough that Claire can live pretty comfortably without having to work for a while, especially now that Hurley’s financial advisor has helped her with some lucrative investments, so she takes advantage of that, staying home with Aaron whilst he’s growing. She thinks about setting up a little side business, getting back to the things that she used to love before the island. Having Aaron and having to deal with all the dangers that were constantly befalling them had dampened her enthusiasm, slightly, but now she’s back home with all her astrology books, she remembers her first conversation with Kate, offering to make her chart. Art has always been something she’s been interested in, and something that, even if she does say so herself, she’s pretty good at. She was a tattoo artist for a while, after all, even if at that point in her life she couldn’t stick at anything for more than a few months, so young and angry at the world, desperate to find her place in it.

She’s still not entirely sure of her place in it, but she knows that her role for the moment is being Aaron’s mother, and she’s satisfied with that. Beautifully illustrated, customised astrology charts can wait for a while.

The house they live in is not palatial by any standard, just an ordinary place a few streets away from her mother and around the corner from the park where she walks with Aaron every day. She’s become so used to carrying him all the time that it felt strange to put him in a pushchair, so for now she wears him in a sling similar to the one Charlie made for her on the island. He’s getting a bit heavy now though, and since he’s started to crawl, there’s no stopping him. He shuffles about on his hands and knees at mach three, and Claire laughs as she runs around after him. Sometimes she forgets the lies that they’ve told everyone, and themselves, and she’ll mention something about Charlie to her mum, who just gives a sad smile. Carole knows that there’s something more at work, that what they told the press is in no way the full truth, if it is even the truth at all, but she doesn’t question it, she never probes further. She knows that whatever happened, it was a traumatic time, and she knows that a small part of her daughter was lost to that island forever, and will never come back. But they’re happy, all of them, and the deep sadness that Claire feels when she thinks about those they’ve lost is tempered with the happiness she feels when she looks at Aaron and her mother, alive and well and here with her.

Her new life hits its first snag when Aaron is eight months old, and there’s a knock at the door.

Thomas is standing there.

Claire’s first instinct is to slam the door in his face. She rests her forehead against the cool wood as he knocks again.

“Claire? Claire, please, I just want to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she snaps through the door.

“Please, Claire, I want to see my son.”

That incenses her, and she wrenches the door open.

“No. You don’t get to see him. You gave up that right when you walked out of his life before he was even born. What, did you get some kind of epiphany when you thought I was dead, or is your sudden paternal urge more to do with the fact I now have a few hundred thousand dollars in my bank account and I can support your precious art, the art that, a year ago, was more important to you than your unborn child was?”

Thomas at least has enough courtesy to look sheepish. She had wondered how long it would take him to come sniffing around, looking for handouts on the pretext of wanting to be a family again. He had been the one to persuade her to keep Aaron, wanting them to be a family, and then he had thrown it all back in her face when he got cold feet. Now that she and Aaron are a family, he wants back in. Now that Claire’s gone through all the difficult parts without him. She shakes her head.

“Get out. Charlie showed more concern for me and Aaron than you ever did, and he only knew me for a month before I gave birth. You can’t just pick and choose parenthood to suit you, Thomas. And you definitely can’t pick and choose it to suit your bank balance.”

His expression hardens, and for a while, Claire wonders if he’ll fight her for parental rights. If that’s what he wants, then bring it on. She’s not letting him back into her life or Aaron’s, and she’ll fight tooth and nail every step of the way. She knows she has support. She has her mum and Aunt Lindsay, both of whom have made their opinions of Thomas and his behaviour very clear. She has Hurley and Sun who can throw so many lawyers at the situation that he’ll be tied up in legal arguments for the rest of his life. If he’s really interested in Aaron, if he really wants to be a father and doesn’t just want to sponge off her, then he can go through all the due process and prove it, but right now, Claire is not giving an inch. If there was one thing that the island taught her, it’s that fear is a powerful weapon when put to good use. She’s never going to not be scared, but if she can channel that fear into something productive, if she can channel it into anger and indignation, then she can use it, and if Thomas thinks that he’s going to deal with the same soft and lovable pushover that she had been before, then he’s got another think coming. The island has changed her, irrevocably so, exposing the inner steel that had always been hidden before.

Eventually though, Thomas gives up without further fight, and Claire closes the door, wondering if she will see him again. She goes back to Aaron in his soft playpen in the living room and watches him playing, his chortling giggles soon lightening her mood and lifting her spirits. Charlie was the only father figure he’s ever known, and he was an infinitely better one than Thomas. One day, she’ll tell him all about his father, but that’s a day so far off in the future that she can safely forget about it.

It’s only a few weeks later that Claire gets the call from Sun, inviting her to come and meet Ji Yeon.

“I’m inviting everyone,” she says, and Claire knows that Kate is the exception because she’s not allowed to leave the country whilst her case is still ongoing. Her trial is still postponed indefinitely but at least she was remanded on bail. “But don’t feel that you have to come. I know that you have your hands full with Aaron.”

She really wants to see everyone again, but she doesn’t want to take Aaron on an international flight. He doesn’t have a passport yet for starters, and at the same time, Claire isn’t all that enamoured by the prospect of an international flight herself. As soon as she got back to Sydney after the press conference, she had vowed never to get on another plane for as long as she lived.

Then she thinks about fear, and using it, and owning it. In addition to the monetary settlement, Oceanic also gave them free passes for the airline, and she might as well use them. Her mum is happy to take care of Aaron for a couple of days. She knows that taking this flight means something to Claire. It’s important to her to get back on a plane and take a step into the unknown, to prove to herself that her experiences thus far have not inhibited her. And she’ll get to see the others again.

In the end, it’s only her and Hurley who arrive; Jack is back practising at the hospital again and could not take the time off. They meet in the airport in Seoul and Hurley envelopes her in a bear hug that she didn’t even know she needed. She managed to get through the flight unscathed, but now she’s shaking with a delayed reaction. They check into the same hotel and order ice cream sundaes from room service just because they can, and they catch up on everything that’s happened since they last met. They speak on the phone regularly, just to check that they’re ok, but that’s different to seeing each other in person. Claire shows him photos of Aaron; she can’t stop taking pictures of him, probably because she didn’t get any when he was first born and she’s making up for lost time.

Lost time. Such a strange way of looking at things. The three months they spent on the island are lost to them now, never to be regained but still indelibly printed on their minds. They’re both thinking it, but neither of them say it, and the subject is changed.

The visit to Jin’s grave is sombre, and the happiness that Claire feels at seeing Hurley and Sun again and meeting Ji Yeon for the first time is mellowed somewhat. But Ji Yeon is a beautiful child, and Claire finds herself in the strange position of giving Sun parenting advice. It’s an odd feeling, imparting all this wisdom that she herself only learned by trial and error, and a part of her wonders if she sounds confident or if she sounds like a fraud, but Sun nonetheless takes everything on board. Motherhood isn’t something that she ever thought that she would be any good at, but now it’s one of the things that defines her. In all the furore after the Oceanic Six came home, the press made so much of her imperiled pregnancy and her having Aaron on the island, it was as if she had been reduced to her motherhood and nothing more. She’s quite glad that things have calmed down now and she can try to get back to a normal life.

As wonderful as it has been to see old friends again, Claire doesn’t realise just how much tension she’s been holding in herself throughout her trip to South Korea until she’s back in Sydney, and her mother and Aaron are waiting for her in the arrivals hall.

[romancevsreality-blog]

the bachelor, season twenty-two, episode one: call me a private detective on a hbo comedy because i am bored to death.

Admittedly, I don’t know many things.

I really know a lot of things about the things I do know, but the things I don’t know I don’t care about. There are things I want to know but haven’t had the time or patience to learn - looking at you, crocheting.

But I do know that Arie Ludenchyksdjkfds, Jr. has the personality of low-fat mayonnaise. You know Lay’s Lightly Salted chips? Arie was the inspiration for those. Arie is massively boring and I kind of love him for it. Then again, we were last treated with Nick Viall and Ben Higgins before him, so we’re realistically just dealing with different shades of beige at this point.

Arie is our Little Engine That Could1 who so badly wanted to be the Chosen One - both by Emily Maynard and for the title of The Bachelor. It’s been five years since his turn on La Bachelorette2, and in that five years, he hasn’t dated and he’s stopped racing cars and now is in real estate! HOW SPLENDIDLY BORING. But now he’s ready to settle down. Because the race is over, but it’s really just beginning.

I hate what this show does to me.

Sean and Catherine roll up with their baby, and Sean salts the would that he was picked to be Bachelor over Arie in some weird way of attempting to convince us all this process works for people. See? They have a baby! They get to do other reality shows now! It’s all great! Arie does his obligatory photoshoot and moves into the Bachelor Fuck Pad.

And away... we... go.

We’re greeted by Chris Harrison, who’s back to being my Mortal Enemy once again after the disaster that was last season of Paradise. He’s all skeevy telling us that Arie’s the best kisser the show ever had and how they’ve collected a great group of girls that all thought they were going to get Peter as The Bachelor and now they’re stuck with Arie!

We meet Chelsea, who’s a single mom from Portland, Maine3 who’s pumped that Arie’s the bachelor because Emily Maynard was a single mom, and so is she! Relationship connections be damned, they have something in common. Next in Caroline, a realtor from Fort Lauderdale. She’s my age and has already sold $5 million in sales and I want to jump from a bridge. Caroline is boring.

Next is Maquel, which is not a fucking name, and she’s a professional photographer, which means she may own a Canon Rebel she bought in high school. She’s like, 23, and said she watched Arie on The Bachelorette. 5 years ago. That’s just gross, imo. Nysha’s a big fan of adrenaline rushes - she’s a nurse and likes skydiving.

Oh my god, they’re all so boring. I can’t be witty when I’m half asleep.

Tia is 26 and from Weiner, Arkansas. Cue weiner jokes all around this podunk town. Oh, and we get to see Raven from Nick’s season! She’s the reason Tia’s here. If it doesn’t work out, their friendship is over. Hell, it’s over if it does. Raven would lose it. Kendall collects taxidermy and plays the god damn ukulele4 and lives in Los Angeles. I hate Kendall. That’s all. I bet Kendall has a Pinterest page called “wanderlust”.

Bekah reminds me of my friend Jordan with her cute short haircut. She’s a nanny, but considers herself gentle and exciting. Next up is Marikh, who needs to be the center of attention and be pursued. She runs an Indian restaurant with her mom and Marikh is my favorite.

Krystal is 29, lives in San Diego, and Krystal reminds me so much of Kristen Chenoweth I can’t handle it. She’s like a taller, more deluded Kristen Chenoweth. She’s very into nutrition and helping others, she donates to the homeless because her brother is homeless and refuses her help. I didn’t cry.

Fuuuck I cried with Krystal help me.

THE LIMOS ARE ARRIVING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chris Harrison greets Arie and they pretend like they like each other for a bit. Arie’s nervous because realistically he never really expected it to happen. Chris Harrison is essentially like “what’s wrong with you?” and Arie’s like “Emily was it for me and that’s it so it’s time to find someone like her.” Or some nonsense. I can’t figure out what Arie’s narrative is going to be this season. Meanwhile, Chris Harrison tries to hide his horns.

Caroline is the first out of the limo in a white sequined gown. She makes a hilariously bad “off the market” job in reference to them both being realtors. It’s so bad, but it works. Chelsea is next, and there’s nothing worth commenting on except she's trying to be mysterious and failing. Kendall is nervous as hell. Then Seinne comes out and I scream because I love when black women arrive on this show in any capacity. She gifts him elephant cuff-links with such a well thought out response, I died.

Next is Tia, who’s there to continue her weiner jokes. Bibiana doesn’t know that blue eyes are a recessive gene. Krystal gets a big reaction in her red dress. Krystal’s vocal fry is so real. Bekah arrives in a classic car and all the girls are incensed - it’s going to be a long night and it’s only just beginning.

Jenna is 100% arms and hands when she talks. Jessika gives him a rock. None of the girls expected the competition to be as tough as it is on night one, but it’s like they’ve never seen this show before. Becca K basically convinces Arie to get on his knee for her, and I like her immediately.

There’s about a baziilion Laurens this season, and Lauren S. is the first one. Then comes Lauren J. ANOTHER LAUREN B. and another Lauren J,, then Lauren G. oh my god. They should have done what Tyra Banks does on Top Model5 and made thse girls go by nicknames. God damn.

Cue the “we’re trying too hard to impress” montage. One woman is too tan and owns a spray-tan company and has seen a lot of dicks. One woman asks Arie to smell her. I need to nap.

Okay, I’m awake again.

We do get Annaliese, who arrives in a mask because i LOVE WHEN PEOPLE WEAR MASKS ON THIS SHOW. We never learn your face. Maquel whips her head after she takes her helmet off like she thinks she’s in Talladega Nights. Maquel is 23 years old, and Maquel needs to focus her priorities elsewhere, in my humble opinion.

Then Chris Harrison comes in and reminds us all of the First Impression Rose, aka the You Gave Me My First Non-Viagra Boner In Years6. All the girls scream when Arie walks in and reminds us that it’s be FIVE YEARS since he was on this franchise. Five fucking years he just sat around and waited to be picked as Bachelor.

Chelsea is the first to swoop in and grab Arie, barely after their arms have fallen after the toast. All the girls are shooketh at how quickly Chelsea ran up in there, but guys - that’s the name of the game. Get in there quick, figure out if it’s right, and if it is, coo, if it’s not, bye. Go back to your normal lives. He literally has two-and-a-half baker’s dozens of women waiting to meet him over the span of basically three hours.

Arie thinks Chelsea’s mysterious after meeting her for 30 seconds. I guess her trying to appear mysterious worked for him, and now I’ve confirmed that likely Arie is one of the reasons Family Guy is in its sixteenth season. There are just some shows where I just wonder “who is still watching you?” Arie’s still watching Family Guy. He’s that kind of person. Chelsea talks about making a sacrifice and Arie’s like I’M INTRIGUED and I’m just like, bitch, tell him you have a kid and get it over with. Do not keep your kid a secret from someone you want to be your future partner. I don’t understand the looooogic. Chelsea is pissed when Maquel comes and interrupts them.

I love when people get upset at the general conceit of this entire show like it hasn’t been running since Arie was born (i.e. 850 B.C.). Chelsea is salty as hell that Maquel, who arrived in a racecar and is twenty-three years old, had the gall to interrupt her. She’s like, “Of course it’s the girl in the LOUD CAR that interrupted me.” Is there any girl you wouldn’t have been upset with, Chelsea? “Baby Christina Ricci over there interrupted me with her flat chest and baby face.” “One of the MILLIONS OF LAURENS interrupted me by being a Lauren all over the place!”

Quit it, Chelsea. Quit it7.

Maquel, who is still twenty-three trying to date a thirty-six year old8 takes a selfie with Arie, and god, he is so boring. Even his “goofy” faces are boring. Meanwhile, Khelsey is still complaining about how bad it would look for Maquel to interrupt them, and Maquel admits that she and Arie talked about pretty much nothing during their conversation.

These people.

Arie talks to some girl who doesn’t even get a chyron so clearly she’s a NonFactor of the moment, and we learn that 36-year-old Arie came back because he’s a Man now, instead of 31-year-old Arie, who was Just A Boy. We infantilze white men so easily in this country, ain’t no way in hell a 31-year-old is a boy. He still can’t stop mentioning his connection with Emily, though. He doesn’t know why it works better for him on The Bachelor than it does in real life other than it’s a completely isolated situation where your only focus is on one other person the entire time, so it’s just easier. Arie sounds lazy AF. Basically he’s telling us it probably didn’t work for him in real life because he moves far too quickly too easily and at least on The Bachelor it’s socially acceptable and actually praised.

Arie joins Marikh on an outdoor couch and he literally looks like a little boy talking to his therapist. I firmly take back every complaint I had about Nick last season because Arie is SO BORING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! He has nothing to say. At all. Everything is “I’m just as nervous as you,” and “I’m looking to meet someone, too.” There’s this amazing moment on Real Housewives of Beverly Hills where Mauricio Umansky is talking and Camille Grammer is basically repeating everything he says to him back to his face “So sad,” “It’s so... sad.” and that’s what I imagine dating Arie is like.

If I wanted that, I’d get a parrot.

All of the black girls (and Annaliese, still wearing her sparkly mask) talk about if they’ve dated interracially before and honestly this is probably the most screentime at least two of them will have until they’re eliminated. I cannot tell any of these women apart - and they’re giving so many little cutaways of the girls just being hopeful that they’ll get a 1/30 chance of being picked or realistically, a 1/909 chance of being picked at The Bachelorette.

Brittany takes Arie aside and they race like, minicars and all she wants to do is kiss him. Brittany wins and gets a kiss, and I’m just thrilled a black girl got the first kiss of the season. SO PROUD. All the other girls are like, “wait, it’s been fifteen minutes and he’s already kissing?” Khelsey is mostly mad that she feels she had thirty seconds with Arie and everyone else got like, ten minutes or an hour or five years10.

Oh, Kendall brought her ukulele. She sang a song about fish. I am sitting here with just a stank face on. I can’t help myself.

There’s a lot of girls feeding Arie, including one girl who confesses that “pineapple” is her safe word. Jenna gives Arie a foot massage and she’s very in tune with her senses so her being 100% arms makes sense. Jenna’s a little drunk already and I love it. I love the first drunk girl. Annaliese is unsure if she wants Arie to see her face behind her mask, and she’s already my favorite becuase she’s “not a nickname kind of person.” Me either. My name has three syllables. Annaliese also has my favorite dress of the night - the teal gown with the cutouts, gorgeous.

Becca K. and Arie have nice, if not bland conversation, but it’s the conversation that two people who are comfortable have. So many of the girls are freaking out because they haven’t talked to Arie yet, and of course, here comes Human Toenail Chris Harrison to drop the First Impression Rose down. Having the First Impression Rose is both a good thing and a bad thing - clearly he likes you, but the girls already know you’re a threat.

The girls who haven’t had a moment essentially start lining up one by one and waiting in a corner to start interrupting Arie and trying to get their time in. And Khelsey, fueled entirely by the notion that She Was Robbed, decided now it’s time for her second go-around. She regrets going first because she’s worried about being forgotten. Krystal, my emotionally fragile broken bird, is with Arie, and he’s like, “I want to get to know you.” And the first thing out of her mouth is, “I’m a Libra.”

KRYSTAL STOP IT. Tell him you like health and fitness! Tell him you do work out videos or whatever! Hell, tell him you really like lipstick. ANYTHING BUT YOUR ASTROLOGICAL SIGN, PUH-LEASE. Khelsey comes in when Arie is complimenting Kelsey’s voice11 and asks for more time. She doesn’t care if it makes her unpopular, getting a second round. Effectively, this is Khelsey pissing on Arie’s leg. She just wants to remind him of who she is and make sure that he knows she’s there for him. They kiss, and she’s nice enough to be like, “okay, go be with the other girls.”

How kind of you, Khelsey. She immediately runs to the other girls what she did and they’re all like, “oh, that’s who she is.” Because the house has zero clocks and they only have a rose to stare at, the girls are already going stircrazy. Khelsey’s literally like, “Oh, I didn’t know a few of you had never talked to him,” and pretending like she really cared. Arie wants to make sure the girl he picks is honest and truthful and really shares with him, which... god. It makes these women sound like peanut butter, and not in the RuPaul kind of way12. One girl is even like, my dad met you once and he just passed away but he approves, which is basically what everyone wants to hear on a first date.

Bekah, who is twenty-two years old and needs to get away from this franchise immediately, repeats her opening line over and over while Arie talks about three things that make him excited to be alive.

Excitement - Arie is excited about excitement and I am actually crying, he really is Lightly Salted Lays

Adrenaline - ... How is adrenaline any different from excitement? I’ll wait.

Pizza - It’s official, Arie is the personification of the Basic White Dude Starter Kit.

Bekah’s answers are straight fire. And she’s twenty-two years old. Arie’s a dweeb.

Arie comes in for the First Impression Rose, and he grabs Khelsey. Her re-return worked in her favor, and Arie appreciated her going after what she wanted. Krystal is especially pissed because she felt like she was in the middle of something with Arie when Khelsey came back.

We head into the first Rose Ceremony of the season, and the sun is rising. This entire experience seems exhausting. I’m one of those “I need a vacation from this vacation” kind of people - my time off is usually jam packed with all the shit I didn’t do because I was working, so I can only imagine that this would be my personal hell. I’m always tired. If they told me my call was 11:30 PM I’d be out. There are very few occasions where going out that late has ever ended well for me.

THE ROSES ARE GIVEN AWAY IN THE CEREMONY OF ROSES.

Becca K., Kendall, Lauren G., Koach Krystal, Bekah, Lauren S., Seinne, Caroline, Brittany T., Bibiana, Annaliese, Jenna, Valerie13, Jacqueline, Jenny14, Lauren B., Ashley, Tia, and Maquel all get roses. Maquel has the indecency to be like “Arie, why’d you do that to me?!” and that seems like quite the insensitive joke to be making at that moment, Maquel.

We’re saying goodbye to Ali, Amber, Bri, Brittane J., Jessica, Lauren J., Nysha and Olivia, of course, because we got to know them so well. Then again, Nysha did get an opening segment. Nysha, we barely knew you.

The girls are ejected into the daylight and while they’re upset now, they feel a heavy, boring burden lifted off of their shoulders. Arie’s in the driver’s seat now (eyeroll). It’s gonna be more like a Subaru than a racecar, though.

This Season on El Bachelor: We’re in Tuscany! We’re in Paris! Bekah making out in front of the Moulin Rouge! Making out in the snow! Tia’s in love! Krystal’s in love! My queen Sienne is in love! Khelsey thinks she deserves more time with Arie because she’s a mother and that means she gets more time. I don’t understand that logic, but okay. Bibiana’s not here to fuck around and tells the cameras to get out of her face. Krystal’s facade has broken. Everyone thinks Bekah’s so young (she is). Teary montage! Arie’s caught the feels! Someone’s ex is back and there to get his girl back.

... So, basically, your standard Bachelor season.

See you soon.

Random Assessments from the Desk of Amanda:

Jessica looks like just Jessalyn Gilsig. So many people on this season are just versions of other people.

I’m so sorry this blog is so late. I’m catching up. I swear. I’m not going to be that behind. ONWARDS AND CATCHING UPWARDS.

How tired of the race car puns are we going to get and how quickly?

God damn it, even this show has me making stupid racecar references. ↩︎

They made out against the John Lennon Wall in Prague! I did that! ↩︎

I almost said the “white Portland” and then I realized they’re both the White Portland so, you decide. ↩︎

Why does everyone want to play the ukulele and no one wants to play the goddamn harmonica? ↩︎

Something something podcast something something. ↩︎

Arie is basically as old as Jax Taylor, who invented dating. ↩︎

I’m genuinely shocked that her name is spelled the traditional way, and not the millions of phonetic variations. I weirdly want to call her Khelsey. I keep typing Khelsey. ↩︎

YOU TWO HAVE NOTHING IN COMMON. I dated someone ten years older than I was and that to me was a fine line, I’m just lucky I had two older brothers who treated me like I was their age. Let me put it this way: Arie’s still using Snapchat and you think Instagram Stories are “old school”. ↩︎

My early predictions for The Bachelorette? Tia. I think if Raven had wanted it last season, it would have been hers - but for the first episode out, I’m just calling Tia my front runner. ↩︎

That’s Emily. ↩︎

Manic Pixie Vocal Fry tbh ↩︎

MUST BE JELLY CAUSE JAM DON’T SHAKE ↩︎

WHO? ↩︎

Along with 100 Laurens, they had a Jenny and a Jenna? Nothing is good in this world. ↩︎

[bygosscarmine]

LOVE SHIFTS SHAPE

Sky High: Magenta x Ethan, post-canon

a multi-chapter reunion story, in continuity with Love, Unspoken

Magenta is dreading the reunion in a mild “I’m in a successful band that has nothing to do with my powers” sort of a way, but she looks forward to seeing the friends she’s kept up with at the party.

Then, for a second she doesn’t recognize Ethan in his adult form, and things long forgotten (like her break-up with Zach) feel all too relevant again.

Read Chapter One here.

Read Chapter Two here.

Read Chapter Three here.

Read Chapter Four here.

Chapter Five: Carpe Diem, What’s Left of It

FINAL CHAPTER!

When he opened the door, it took Magenta a second to figure out why she felt like smirking. Either in unconscious self-sabotage or a rather brilliant delaying tactic, Ethan was wearing his glasses, which looked exactly like the ones he'd had in high school. He'd taken off his jacket and hadn't unbuttoned his shirt at all, and it felt like a weird alternate time-warp with new Ethan in an old Ethan outfit.

He brushed her arm as she entered, though, and that made the present moment very clear.

"Any trouble finding the place?" he asked.

She gave him an exaggerated once-over. "I don't know, did I?"

He grinned. Inside she heard the load-screen music and sound effects looping of the FPS they not finished running before her last tour started. No, the tour before that?

No wonder she hadn't been prepared to see him. It had been about three years since she'd actually shot anything with him, over voice-chat or not. No wonder some part of her had missed him--because it wasn't just that she'd seen him, thought him a handsome stranger, then fallen for the new version. Maybe it had been happening all along--that's what Layla thought, and she could be right about stuff like that.

She planted herself in front of his television, noting the small, tidy apartment had more bookcases than other furniture. The side-table by the couch had a plant on it that had the somewhat dubious placement of something he possibly had bought on his way home this afternoon. She picked up the controller on her side, and pretended not to be eying him as he sat beside her, and scooted close enough they'd be elbowing each other once things got exciting.

"What kind of snacks we got?" Magenta asked, personalizing her character deftly.

"You just got to my house, and you take over my video games then ask about snacks?" Ethan heckled.

"If you want a girlfriend with some shame, please look elsewhere. My mother would tell you the same."

There was a pause, and Ethan turned to look at her with a sort of compassionate judgment.

"Your mother loves you," he said. "She's an unrecovered perfectionist, but you need to stop making digs at yourself using her voice."

For a moment their eyes locked. Magenta asked, "So are you a therapist now?"

"If you want a boyfriend with no emotional range, please look elsewhere."

Magenta couldn't look away, but she was not sure what to do. Ethan then continued, "And of course I got snacks. If you hadn't dived at the controller to be sure you got the better one I would have got them out already."

"I'm a terrible girlfriend and we haven't even started dating yet," said Magenta, when he produced a package of Oreos she hadn't noticed on a pile of books.

"Anything is a step up from the last six years you didn't think you were my girlfriend," said Ethan.

"Wait. I was not a terrible girlfriend just because you decided I should be your girlfriend on your own!"

"That's not what I mean," said Ethan. "More like, all the girls I tried to date were a step down from the not-girlfriend you were."

Magenta eyed him sideways while opening the Oreos packet. "You are an idiot. Also, we were friends. Were you always angling for more?"

He casually put his head on her leg, and gazed up at her. "Remember the last time this happened?"

Ethan, seventeen and getting too tall for her to pretend he was a kid brother to her, coming over after they'd somewhat patched up their relationship. Her saying, "If you were Zack, I'd tell you to get off."

Him replying, "Zack can't help it. You guys skipped from convenient prom dates to dating, he doesn't know how to be friends with you."

"What about it?" Magenta asked now, warily.

"If the only thing I get out of today is staying friends with you, then I'm good. I'd like more, same as always. But I didn't need more before, and I don't need more now. I like you, and I want to be near you. Even if you are a snacks-demanding, controller-stealing punk."

She knew what to do, now, though the steadiness of his look still shook her up a little. She ran her hand over the short hair on his head, petting him like a darling friend who needed reassurance--like a lover who was confessing pain.

"I've never been good with feelings," she said.

"Your writing would suggest otherwise."

"Writing is for the difficulty of feelings, you know."

"So is research," he said, musing.

She lifted his glasses off, and put them by the awkwardly poised plant.

"Hey, I need those to see the game," he complained.

Her fingers brushed his face. "We can play in a few minutes."

She wanted to get used to touching him, and Ethan was quiet, eyes closing as she continued to stroke his hair.

"It's totally fair that I got to become handsome after puberty," he murmured. "It's definitely not right that you went from adorable to sexy while still adorable."

"Adorable?" her most skeptical-teen voice emerged from the past to question this assertion.

His eyes opened with an intent look that made her face get a little warmer. Her belly, too.

In a very mature reaction to this feeling, she used her free hand to secretly start the round on the game, while Ethan's player was still in a default character-mode.

"Mother bitch," he yelled, hearing the intro sounds, and diving for his controller.

Magenta burst into laughter, pausing the game while he was still scrambling to get at least a better weapon selected.

He glared at her. "I just needed to check you weren't being mind-controlled by something weird but are really still Ethan," she explained. "I'm not used to this."

"Are you telling me none of your boyfriends were an improvement on Zack whatsoever?"

"I'm a demisexual woman touring with a rock band. When do you think I had other boyfriends?"

He gave her a look that she thought probably mirrored her own expression at being called adorable.

"Are you weirded out by that?" she considered hitting "start" again, but just stared down at her controller for the moment, because this was important.

"I'm trying to decide," he said, in a too-level voice, "if I am more impressed by my game or my dumb luck."

"You should try pressing your luck," she said.

"By showing you some game?"

"Sure," she breathed, eyes caught by his.

Suddenly the sound started up again on the game, and she shrieked as she turned her attention back to the screen. Ethan shoved behind her to grab his glasses and put them back on, mashing the "fire" button for good measure while he did it.

"You killed me!" she yelled, as her half of the split screen pulsed red.

"Well, I couldn't see you without my glasses on, could I?"

She started cackling as he went down, too. He set up his character before the next round properly, and they got sucked in to the game itself for almost an hour.

An alarm she'd set went off and reminded her she only had two hours to get to the airport.

Ethan, who was sprawled comfortably on the floor against his couch, glanced up but they finished playing through to the next save-point.

Then he said, "Time to go?"

"Unless you have a friend who wants to fly me over the traffic."

"Oh, I have a friend who wants to, but he's perpetually over-scheduled with the president."

Magenta snickered. She got to her feet with reluctance.

"Take the cookies for your flight," he offered.

"Wow, you are in love," she joked, picking the half-full package up all the same.

"Get used to it," he said. He'd rolled onto his stomach, and was looking up at her, chin on his hand.

"You not going to see me off, charm-boy?"

"I don't know," he said, "I'm not sure how."

She tilted her head to the side. This wasn't a flippant remark, but it wasn't exactly a question she had an answer to.

"And only a little while ago you were so impressed with your own game," she said, finally.

He laughed and got up to his feet. She turned toward the door, and smiled when he leaned on it, preventing her from turning the handle. He leaned in close, the woods-and-incense smell of his cologne a little more noticeable again.

"I don't want you to have to go already," he whispered.

"I know," she answered, voice as low.

"I just barely got to have you to myself."

"I know."

He leaned in further. The kiss this time was an exploration--long-lost lovers finding each other again. He was soft and demanding both, his fingers running under her jaw in reassurance. She slowly turned her back to the door, threaded her arms around his neck.

The soft lines of his nose played with hers as they took a breath, and she pressed back toward him because she didn't have time left to hesitate. His tongue burned hers, and she licked the fire. His palms tilted her head higher, and the kisses devolved to rapid strokes, pressed along her mouth, along her cheek until she pulled him too tight in a hug, body to body. Both drugged soft and feeling her skin tightly awake, she clung to his shoulders, and he breathed roughly against her hair.

"I thought it might be like this," he finally said.

He pulled back, and they stood just inches from each other, her hands on his chest, his slowly running up and down her arms. He looked a little dazed and a little grim, which made her wonder what her face showed.

"When is your flight?" he asked, a little hoarse.

"It's 4:30."

"Tomorrow?"

"Now."

"When are you coming back?"

"As soon as possible."

He let go, then, and she straightened up from the support of the door.

"Which means a lot," she added, "since I'll have to see my mother if I come back again, too."

"Meanwhile, we have Call of Sacrifice," he said. She could tell he was trying to shift gears--it was hard for her, too.

"With voice chat," she agreed.

She stepped out his door, and he waved when she was about to go out of sight.

She got her car to the rental return in plenty of time to get through security, even on a busy Sunday. She pulled her cellphone out once she was at her gate to send a message to him when she saw there were messages in the group chat.

Anyone hook up after reunion? Couldn't go, so I'm relying on you all for gossip! April of the stretch-powers had asked.

Magenta, did you have any *insight* about this? Layla asked.

Ethan had written I finally have a girlfriend, I don't know about Magenta.

Magenta wrote, I don't have a girlfriend, but I beat Ethan at several rounds of PtD, so I am aight

Ethan texted her right after that and said, You are the wickedest hamster I have ever met.

Well, you are the suavest goo, she replied.

Please never say that series of words again, he responded.

Magenta got on her plane with a smile.

[whopooh]

Miss Fisher going out of space and time – the July trope

Hanging out in space...

July has passed – I know, some time ago, I’m getting slower and slower at this – and we’ve had another wonderful wave of fics emerging from one trope. This time the topic was “Out of Space and Time” – a trope that encourages writers to think outside the box and allow their favourite characters to meet things not usually in their own fictional universe.

This month proves there is no shortage of imagination in this fandom. It has been a joy to see how the trope has been interpreted. Much like earlier tropes like “soulmate AU” and “body swap,” it makes the writers take the story in surprising directions. And just as good tropes work, it not only allows for the surprising takes, but also for more ‘normal’ fics, using the prompt in a more literal way.

I’ll start with the ones closer to the Miss Fisher normalcy, then jump to a fic set in another time setting. After that I’ll discuss cases of the supernatural or stories where history can be changed, and finally turn to fics that are crossovers and incorporate other fictional universes that somehow challenge our concepts of time and space (the full collection can be found here).

Up in the air.

First, the fics that focus more on the “time and space” part than the “out of” part of the prompt.

Here we have @rositalg lovely “Presumptuous”, that gives us a great view of Phryne’s mother meddling in her daughter’s life. Phryne has no idea that Jack has gone after her until he’s suddenly there in London, and she reacts rather violently:

“I believe you know the Inspector?”

“I apologize for the delay, Miss Fisher.” He smiled at her stunned face. “But the only pilot I knew was already booked for England so I had to take the long way around.” He explained.

She stared at him, her hands shaking, before looking towards her mother for confirmation of what she was seeing. When she turned back to him, her shock gave way to incense at seeing his smile and before he could comment on the change, she reached out and slapped him across the cheek.

“Phryne!” Her mother cried out, scandalized.

Jack held up his hand to quiet the older Fisher. There’d been no heart in the weak attack; in fact, he’d barely felt it.

“Six weeks!?” She cried, jabbing the words at him like a dagger.

The fic gives us a Jack that presumes a little more than usual when he goes out of his own space, Australia, to go after Phryne, and then a Phryne perhaps presuming more than usual, and then a wonderful conversation where time is out of joint. Phryne has been sending Jack letters and telegrams that he didn’t receive because he was travelling, and once he comes home, he decides to answer every one of them, as detailed as they are delayed. This forms the basis of a delicious scene where a suggestive letter from Phryne receives a welcoming answer from Jack – and is then immediately acted out.  

@whopooh “Time and distance, time and closeness” is a take on an established relationship between the detectives in the longer run, where Phryne is committed, but also doesn’t cease to be an adventuress and a traveller. The story focuses on both the longing and the joy of reunion, and how this balance plays out in their life with small farewells and small reunions.

“You really are rather good at this, Inspector,” she said, looking at him curiously. Her voice had an edge, as if she was a tiny bit offended.

“Would you rather I rotted away here on my own?”

She sized him up for a moment and moved closer to touch his arm.

“Perhaps a tiny bit of decay, just on your outer edges?” she suggested.

He laughed as he dragged her into his lap.

@longlineoftvdetectives‘ “The Right Time” is an intimate, low-key fic where Phryne and Jack discuss their relationship after having been together for a year, with the theme of when the right time for something is. There is tension building from Phryne’s simple question of why he decided on her the specific night that he did, and the doubt from how Jack answers it. Here are beautiful lines like “There was a part of him that believed it was that simple. But the romantic Jack still warred with Jack-the-realist, Jack-the-experienced – the Jack that knew that even the simplest and most pure of loves couldn’t always withstand the buffeting winds.”

And in response to the night at Concetta’s, when Concetta said his heart was taken:

“And you didn’t want your heart to be taken,” Phryne said gently.

“No, that's not what I mean.” he responded. “There was a time it was true. An earlier time. A time when I thought my heart had run leaps and bounds ahead of me and I had no choice in the matter.” Jack’s smile grew boyish and joyful. Phryne laughed and matched his smile effortlessly.

“But by that night, I knew I loved you,” he said. “I wanted to love you. I chose to love you. But I still didn’t know how…” he gestured between them, to their position together on the chaise, and their joined hands. “I didn’t know how we were going to do this.”

And in @longlineoftvdetectives​’ second story, “Space”, the writer has made use of “space” as a prompt by writing snippets where she uses different meanings of the word. Phryne is going away and Jack isn’t that happy with it: “I can’t bear for you to leave me,” he said with a laugh, his voice teasing, but his eyes, his body, suggesting that his lightheartedness was flimsy cover for the depth of his real feeling.” The play on different kinds of spaces, and of Jack retreating and not being sure if he can handle a relationship with Phryne, is all delicately done, ending with his promise that he’ll get better at this, with time.

@rositalg​, “Time and space”, chapter 8 of “War Stories” is a lovely short take on Phryne being overwhelmed when she sees an abuse victim that takes her back to her own experiences from Paris. This is Phryne and Jack within canon, not (yet?) in a relationship, and Jack recognizes something of what she’s feeling:

“Melbourne, 1929.” He offered. 

“I’m sorry?” She gave him a quizzical look.

“When I forget where I am, I try to focus on the differences between then and now: sunny skies, clean air, thick grass underfoot, Inspector Jack Robinson,” he added with a smile as he touched his own chest. “You’re in Melbourne, 1929.”

Phryne searched him carefully.

You’re safe with me, his eyes told her, even when his mouth couldn’t.

And later, when Jack talks about how she’s inspiring because she’s been through a lot and is so alive:

"It inspired me." He confessed. "Do you remember when you told me that you hadn't taken anything seriously since 1918?" 

"Oh, I was flirting with you, Jack." She rolled her eyes, not taking her statement seriously either. 

"Even so," he smiled at her.

@geenee27 “Two Roads Diverged” is a lovely take on how things could have been very different. It tells of Jack Robinson making his last day at City South, about to be transferred to Sydney, and the piece is filled with such melancholy about this change in his life, and gives a beautiful character study of Jack right before he meets Miss Fisher. He says good bye to the new, promising constable Collins:

Jack did not have many regrets, but he had looked forward to mentoring this young constable. He was very green to be sure, but he was intelligent, dedicated to the work and empathetic to the people who needed their help. He would make a good officer.

Jack extended his arm and they shook hands goodbye. Then Jack lifted the box and walked determinedly out of the door. He did not look back but walked to his motorcar, placed the cardboard carton in the back seat and slid into the driver’s seat.

Just as he is about to drive away from the station, he is called back to investigate at the Andrew’s house. As the title suggests, this is a real divergence of roads: either he goes to Sydney and never gets to know Phryne, or he stays in Melbourne. What he chooses here, you’ll have to read for yourselves.

The trope of space and time can also be interpreted as prompting and AU in another time, but this was not so much taken up on – maybe we already have a fair amount of AUs from other times and modern times, or maybe this just wasn’t the typical association to the trope. One fic that created another time for Phryne and Jack is @heavyheadedgal​, “The Heiress’ Tale”, set in the 12th century England, where Phryne is a Baron’s daughter setting out to escape from an arranged wedding. She’s aiming for protection from one side of the civil war, or “At the very least, her disobedience might put her betrothed off the idea of marrying her altogether.” She buys the help from a steadfast retired knight of the name Sir John Robinson: “If she can get to Bristol, her aunt, the Lady Prudence (no friend of the Baron’s), will give her refuge. The problem is getting there, quickly, without discovery.” The fic is written as a one-shot, but it really sets the scene for further fun, and since so many asked for a continuation in the comments, I wonder if it might get a continuation.

“I cannot touch you, Phryne.”

When the trope goes in the direction of the supernatural or of the possibility to change history it easily becomes a contemplation of love, loss, and what is important in life. It’s probably not surprising that several of the fics turned in rather sad directions.

@phrynesboudoir/Sassasam, “The Nearness of You” explores the idea that Jack died when travelling after Phryne, but he stayed as a ghost and when a young relative to Phryne moves into Wardlow, she’s the only one who can see him.

“How did you get in here?” she asked as tersely as she could manage.

“I’ve been here for quite some time,” he answered.

“Well that’s impossible. This is my house and you’re trespassing. If you don’t leave I’ll be forced to call the police.”

He chuckled ruefully. “In my day, I was the police,” he said, voice gruff and low. “Don’t you remember me.”

In this storyline, Phryne lived her whole life to an old age without Jack, and without having either had the chance to get together with him or say goodbye; and Jack, is haunting a house where no one can see him for 90 years. The young Phryne learns more and more about Phryne Fisher, reading her diaries and listening to the ghost, and she starts to dream about Phryne and Jack – or is she perhaps remembering? The fic explores this very sad ending to the love story of Phryne and Jack, an alternate ending that works to show the power of the two of them together. It makes the young Phryne, who like us is experiencing the story as an onlooker, the possible saviour of them by what she can read and learn, and also by how she can relive it.

Another interesting – and exceedingly sad – exploration of how history can be changed is @firesign23, “Like Juno’s Swans”. In this story, Phryne is allowed to travel back in time and decides to revisit her youth to try to save Janey. It’s not easy to find a way to make Murdoch Foyle be arrested before Janey is kidnapped, but Phryne is doing fairly well – until she meets the young constable Jack Robinson and he gets involved. Jack is both the same and not at all – still young, inexperienced and a newlywed, but with plenty of quirks the same, and Phryne comparing the young man to the older:

“How did you know I was married?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I can always tell,” Phryne bluffed, then smirked. “And Samuels mentioned it in passing.”

Jack chuckled, more easily than her Jack did but the same tone. “I suppose I should get used to gossip,” he said.

Darling, you have no idea, she thought, but merely smiled.

The irony of the story is that Phryne doesn’t have very much idea herself about what messing with time means. She manages to save Janey, but at an enormous price – where she changes both her own and other’s lives so much we can’t even be sure how much of “our” Phryne is actually left. It is beautifully done but also heart breaking.

“You and me both, Miss Fisher.”

@zannadubs23, “Different Destinations” has an idea that is also at the same time clever and rather sad – that some people are reliving their lives, again and again, changing small things in it so there are different life courses, and that Phryne is one of them. Every time, things change: for example, the first time around, Phryne had a husband, Pascal, but in her later reruns, he was never even born. And in no lifetime did Phryne manage to save Janey. Again, there is much sadness and thoughts about life and how to live it here. The fic explores the whole idea via a lovely dialogue between Phryne and another man that turns out to know everything about this, the all-knowing Mr Butler -- there is a reason he is so all-knowing. He also encourages her to dare to love no matter this curse of repretition:

Phryne tried to process what she was hearing from the man. “This is my third time. I’m not sure what has been hardest, losing Janey each time or the wars.” She finally said softly.

Mr. Butler considered her, “It’s always the closer things that hurt the worst for me in the long run,” his eyes filled with moisture, then he smiled, “but they also make the journey worth bearing.”

Also @ollyjayonline “Au Revoir” explores the pain of time travel and repetition, in a slightly different – but equally clever and devastating – manner.

Here, Jack is about to be killed in a fire when Phryne – not his Phryne, but a Phryne from the future – pops in through the ceiling and throws him back in time so he can relive his last day, again and again. Every time, he and she has learned something from the last time, and he uses this knowledge to change things while she is trying to save him. There are so many clever things here: their conversations when Jack is almost suffocating and first not sure that he’s not hallucinating; the way Jack tries to make it difficult for Phryne to find him in order to save her, while she’s trying to save him; the way Phryne has worked so hard in the future to be able to save him. And above all – the exploration of what that means, that Phryne in the future is working to save Jack, but when he is saved, he meets not that Phryne, but his contemporary Phryne, and how that messes things up for him.

This is potentially heart breaking and beautifully handled – to layer in that last part is so interesting and Jack’s hesitation was a great surprise for me: 

And so he had got on the ship, determined to tell her in person that things had changed. He would explain that he had unexpectedly met someone from his past, not exactly an old friend, but someone he cared for very deeply. (...) it wouldn't be right for him to be with her, knowing he was in love with someone else.

But when he meets Phryne -- his contemporary Phryne -- the distinction breaks down: “He tried to reason with himself, this isn't the woman who searched for you for ninety years, who saved your life five times… but his arguments faltered in the face of the empirical evidence that she quite clearly was.”

Then, to just top it all up right over the top, the story ends with another, similar scene – Jack is going to die again so that others can live, this time in World War II:

Ex-Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, currently serving as a Captain in the British Expeditionary Forces, sat on the floor under the window holding a much worn photograph. He gazed up at the ceiling, wondering idly... death by smoke or rescue by the woman he loved.

Either way, he understood now, it was just a matter of time…

The beautiful thing with the fic is that it is left open-ended like this. We have no idea whether Jack is saved again; whether he then has to revisit this painful day more than once; or whether this is just where he dies, but still, future Phryne’s earlier time work did manage to give them a decade more together. What will happen is up to the reader, and this really makes the fic linger in the reader’s mind.

Last in this section, in Rithebard “The Painting” it is space travel rather than time travel – Phryne and Jack need to solve a disappearance, and it turns out at the house they are visiting there are paintings that people can walk into. The most dangerous one is a painting that makes the people just want to stay in a state of bliss and love, and it is a proof of their resilience that even though they do love each other and are seized by this feeling they can also, after having indulged in it shortly, break loose and walk out of this place of overwhelming harmony – in the process also finding and saving the man who had disappeared.

Finally, I’ll turn to the specific fics of “Out of Space and Time” that are actual crossovers – where the world of Miss Fisher is blended together with other fictional worlds or genres. This is a way of writing fic that is rather difficult, to manage to blend two worlds and still do both of them justice. The writers in this fandom surely knows what they’re doing, and the results are amazing. I am personally lucky in that some of the crossovers are made with fictional worlds I know and love, and the blends are working brilliantly.

BookPhryne ready to meet her TV alter ego.

In QuailiTea, “The Next Adventure”, Miss Fisher’s world is mixed with the Literary Detective Thursday Next, who is a novel character written by Jasper Fforde. Thursday’s world is rather complicated and I probably won’t manage to do it justice here, but she is working in the BookWorld, where all imaginable books exist, and where it’s possible to bookjump – walk in and out of books – and where characters can disappear and novels be suddenly rewritten. Thursday is working for Jurisfiction and in this case, she is finding a discombobulated Phryne Fisher who has troubles because the tv series has started to air and she has two different backstories and two different relationships to the people around her – is Mr Butler a widower or a happily married man? Is Lin her long-time lover or an old friend? Is Jack Robinson a policeman friend or someone she’s falling in love with? 

The story is very quick-footed and humourous and playing with Thursday Next's way of moving around inside novels -- here’s an example of that: 

“I’m not liking this. Bert, see if you can get a bead on where Inspector Robinson turns up next in the text. We might be able to jump ahead and beat whoever it is who’s after him to the punch. Phryne, if you can get a message to Dot, see if she can prolong her search for her sister a little, maybe a quarter-chapter. We can’t have the narrative bounce back to you before I figure out what’s going on. Once you’ve done that, meet me at the antiques store two chapters early.”

To write this story, you need to have a distinct grasp of the worlds of both BookPhryne, TVPhryne and Thursday Next, and that is no small feat. Added to this, QuailiTea has imagined a Phryne Fisher novel that doesn’t exist, where Jack Robinson is killed, and this book is the very scene where Thursday and Phryne have to solve the mystery of who is trying to mess up the books and Phryne’s backstory – and, perhaps, they can also save Jack from dying? The fic is still not finished, so I don’t know if this is where it’s going. In the first novel about Thursday Nex, “The Eyre Affair”, she manages to change the ending of Jane Eyre (to the ending we know), so there is the potential of irreversibly changing books. How will the mashup of the two different Phrynes work out? We still have to see the resolution.  

A fic that has some similarities with QuailiTea’s fic is @flashofthefuse “Of Two Worlds”. Here is no Thursday Next, but here is also a humourous play on the differences between BookPhryne and TVPhryne – so it is too a crossover with the Phryne Fisher books. In this fic, it takes a little while before the reader realises what is happening, but I have to spoil it a little to discuss it – apologies for this! Phryne is opening the door at Wardlow and meets a visitor – a handsome, well-dressed man who seems to know her and her house exceedingly well, although she’s never met him before. He has the gall to claim to be Jack Robinson, although she knows that her friend in the police force looks nothing like that: 

“You are not Jack Robinson!” She laughed incredulously. Jack Robinson was a wonderful man and a dear friend, but Jack was a plain looking man. He had what might be called a forgettable face. This man had a face she imagined would haunt her dreams. A chiseled jar and impossible sharp cheekbones. And eyes so blue they conjured endless sky or deep oceans. Eyes that were currently looking at her with a mix of concern and alarm.

Then to mess it up even further, a second Phryne – almost but not completely identical with herself – turns up, as well as her own Jack, BookJack. 

It turns out that both Wardlows exist at the same place, and that Mr Butler is a liminal person, inhabiting both worlds and serving both Miss Fishers, and he had forgotten to close the door between the realities properly. Mr B always seems magically knowledgeable, and here we get the perfect explanation. Also, in this story he has half a life where Mrs Butler is still alive, and he shares all his adventures in the other world with her, which is incredibly sweet and a brilliant take on the trope. 

Another fic that dares to make a crossover and makes it astonishingly well is @scruggzi, “The Long Road to Patagonia”, as well as a first oneshot of “The Spacephrack Drabbles”  – the latter is a short scene that is actually written for the trope challenge, the first is a more long-term fic that fitted the challenge. 

This is a wonderful exploration about what would happen if Miss Fisher met The Doctor. @scruggzi has delved into this question thoroughly, not keeping it only as a fun idea but writing it as something that truly affects Phryne and Jack. Phryne goes missing while flying her father home to England, and Jack finds discrepancies around her disappearance and refuses to believe that she actually is dead. The truth is that she has been caught in a timeloop, and once the Doctor has saved her, and reincarnated into a female doctor, she’s been thrown six months into her own future. 

On the one hand, the fic is about fun and meeting adventures and being allowed to travel to see the universe, on the other hand it’s about loss and grief, and about how that affects you. The combination of this is stunning. There are many beautiful scenes – of Phryne and the Doctor trying to understand each other; of Phryne grieving her father who dies; of Jack grieving and not accepting that Phryne is dead; of Mac trying to stop Jack from digging himself into a hole claiming that Phryne is not dead; of Dot breaking into the Adventuresses' Club; of Phryne’s and Jack’s different ways of believing or disbelieving the Doctor and the time travelling police box. The way it takes some time before they solve the oddities created by time travel, and the way also Mac and Dot are important parts in this plot, is great. And there is wonderful banter between the three of them:

The Doctor considered this. “You want to use the Oscillator to shield yourself, keeping you from damaging yourself and time, in order to meet Jack in the past for what I am assuming is a booty call?”

Actually, in terms of fixing the paradox, the idea was rather brilliant and the Doctor was a little disappointed not to have come up with it herself. The detectives were looking at her in confusion.

“A what?” asked Jack, although he could have made a fair guess.

“Netflix and chill?” She hazarded.

When this got nothing but blank faces, the Doctor mentally readjusted her lexicon of idioms by a few decades.

“A romantic liaison?”

Jack had the grace to look a little embarrassed, but Phryne Fisher had never known shame in her life and was unlikely to make its acquaintance now.

“Naturally. Does that matter?”

“As a plan, it’s all kinds of risky and every flavour of dangerous.” The Doctor grinned. “I love it. Let’s get going.”

and between the Doctor and Jack:

The Doctor scrutinised him for a long moment. “Well, you better work it out in your head somehow now that you’re joining us.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I am?”

She gave him a very patronising look which did not make him feel especially keen to take any of her advice, however sensible. “Please. You’d follow her anywhere.

In the short, more tounge-in-cheek drabble, there is a specific meeting with the Doctor’s enemies, where Phryne discovers the backside of wearing a time appropriate corset.

Image borrowed from  http://transgenderuniverse.com/2016/04/07/steampunk/  (I hope it’s okay to borrow!)

Finally, @omgimsarahtoo‘s “The Winds of the Heavens” is not a crossover with a specific story but with a whole genre, steampunk romance. There is no good way to illustrate this fic -- here we really would need fanart! -- but I wanted to give a feeling of the kind of universe we’re talking about with the above picture.  

Jack Robinson is going on an undercover mission, in a world where there is space travel in fin-de-siècle aesthetics, and the captain of the ship he will travel with is Phryne Fisher. Here, both Jack and Dot are much less modest and restrained than in the show, which fits the AU perfectly. Phryne and Dot are almost equally experienced and cool, and Jack is much more quickly on the boat with starting a sexual relationship with Phryne, but there is still tension between them, and also a question of what is truth, what is lies, and what is evasion. 

Apart from the characters meeting, the first chapters have given us Phryne singling out Jack in a scene that overflows with the female gaze; a meeting in a more intimate setting; several of the characters reimagined as other species or as cyborgs (Mac with technical enhancements! Jane as an alien girl Phryne has taken care of!) and a lot world-building and details about the world that this story is set in. It’s only been two chapters yet, and although Jack has made his way to Phryne’s bed in a rather steam(punk)y fashion, it’s still rather open how the plot will develop.

This was all from me for the July trope. I am looking forward to the August trope -- the Dulcinea effect!

[destructivelyconstructive]

Always Mine

This is a follow up on "An Interesting Quarry" about bonding with Angor, among other things

Oh, not to be a bother, but please tell me what you think with the comments and reblogs. And yes, I read everything. Including the tags.

And if you want to, you can drop in and make story requests. I enjoy writing, and I need more practice writing things that aren't for my own characters or these Canon x reader stories.

I'll make a guidelines thing later if people express interest in that sort of thing.

After the strange second encounter with the pale troll, you meandered to your cave and, upon finding the first cleared off flat surface, laid down to think. The notion of engaging in a game of cat and mouse, as he put it, was a daunting prospect to say the least.

You left yourself think about all the ways this could end horribly for a few moments before getting up and heading off to scrounge up what you could find on Angor Rot and the Inferna Copula.

You had a long day of reading ahead of you.

After basically scouring every book you could get you hands on, you had precious little to know about Angor Rot and his ring. Or rather the manifestation of his soul after he had made a Faustian bargain. With whom you didn't know, as there was no mention of his dealer.

After returning the tomes to their proper places, you rubbed your head with a sigh. Lingering for a few moments more, you decided to work out your body as much as you did you brain.

The next time you encountered him, you pride was suffering and you were absolutely incensed. You were licking your wounds when he showed up, and you glared at him evilly.

"Leave." You said simply before turning your attention elsewhere.

You felt his stare on your back, and knew he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Still, you made a point to ignore him.

He spoke suddenly and you turned your head to him despite yourself.

"Would you like learn how to avenge you defeat?"

"I KNOW how to avenge my defeat!" You snapped with red hot fury. "I just need a competent sparring partner..." You ended with a growl.

You sensed the projectile more than you heard it and you deflected it with a chakram. In the next instant you were locking blades with the pale assassin.

He smirked at you, his burning eyes half lidded with some unidentifiable  emotion. Amusement perhaps? He usually seemed to be amused around you.

"I believe that I should be sufficient for that task." He remarked.

"Less talking and more sparring." you retorted as you hooked his knee and sent him tumbling.

He rolled away from the descending edges of your weapons, and smoothly rose to his feet.

"I can do that." He hummed.

You glared at him, temper flaring.

'What did I just say?" You hissed, chucking one chakram at him.

He deflected the weapon back at you and lunged forward. And so began the most intense sparring session you had ever been in.

In fact, it was so intense, that both you AND Angor Rot lost track of the time. Up until you burned your hand in the light of the rising sun attempting to retrieve your weapon of choice.

You snatched your hand back with a hissed curse and looked over the trees. Your curse was a guttural growl this time. Something was shoved in your hand and the magician grabbed your arm.

Shoving the weapon into it's pouch, you struggled against his grip of steel.

"Where the hell are we going?" You demanded, yanking your arm away finally.

He turned halfway to look at you with raised brows.

"My apologies. I was under the impression that you would be happy to get away from the sun." He drawled.

Your face went blank, and you nodded slightly.

He held out his arm with that infuriatingly smug, amused smirk of his as he opened a portal.

"Shall we?" He chuckled.

You glared at him for the tone of voice he used, but approached him and took his arm anyway. You could have sworn that he tensed momentarily at the action, even though he had invited it.

"By all means." You quipped.

"Hold tight." He advised before stepping into the portal.

Once over the threshold, you tightened your grip on him and looked around, awestruck by the watery shadows you were moving through. The contrasts and the indefinite lighting would be stuck with you for the next few decades at least. You glanced at Agnor Rot for a moment and thought 'if I live that long'.

When you both came to wherever the assassin had taken you to, you were still gripping Angor's arm in a vice-like grip, still reeling over what you would call the Shadow Realm.

Some time passed before you finally collected yourself and released the uncomfortable troll's arm. You moved away from him and to the other side of the cave.

Silence hung in the air before you spoke.

"Thank you. For this and the spar."

Angor merely grunted in return.

After that, the both of you were content to ignore each other until nightfall, where you parted ways for the time being.

The next time he found you, you were preening over your overwhelming victory. You didn't know how just one sparring session with him could so drastically improve your skills, but you weren't complaining. Your pride was repaired and you were happy.

"So the conqueror returns victorious I take it?" Angor Rot queried.

One (E/C) eye opened lazily.

"You're the one stalking me, but yes. I am victorious." You retorted.

"Do you have any plans to celebrate?"

"Pffft, no. I'm not that vain. No, I'm just going to take it easy. I would collect a few more knick-knacks, but I've been around this block three times."

"Then in that case, perhaps I could take you somewhere new." He mentioned in an off hand manner.

You shot up from your position and stared at him with suspicion.

"Why?"

 He was silent as he casually inspected his nails, making a point to not meet you searching gaze.

Finally he gave a weak reply, fashioned to evade your simple question.

"It gets rather boring here, doesn't it?"

You continued staring at him in a deadpan manner, before sighing and pulling yourself to your feet. You walked over to the magician and took his hand. His head snapped toward you, glowing eyes wide with blatant surprise.

You smirked at him, displaying the amusement he usually emitted. So he wasn't big on non-aggressive touching. Go figure.

"Let's go."  You told him.

Angor recovered his composure and nodded, his face contemplative as he opened the swirling blot of darkness that made his portals.

Once again, you were overcome with the strange beauty of the Shadow Realm. Once again you tightened your hold on the assassin.

And once you were though the portal, you turned to Angor with a small smile on your face.

"I'll never get tired of that." you commented.

And with that parting note, you began exploring and collecting. And all the while, Angor's stare followed you with curiosity in his gaze.

Eventually, a routine was formed, consisting of moving from the woods that were outside your cavern to whatever new location Angor had in mind. Though he never seemed to change it until you showed the slightest amount of disinterest. Once you were at the second location, sparring or game of chase was ensued.

Right now, it was sparring and you wanted to test something. There was a lull of stillness and you sucked on your teeth. How well would this play out? Only one way to find out.

You moved forward first, and the next instant, your blades were locked with his. Angor's face was that one of concentration, mixed with enjoyment, while you were trying not to grin as you stepped into his personal bubble, making sure to keep your weapons locked together.

His face morphed into one of startled confusion as your face came increasingly close to his. You hovered there for a moment or two and blew at him. His reaction was strikingly similar to that of a cat's after the same action.

You spun out of his line of vision and put you chakrams away, before brushing a finger up his back. He tensed under your touch, arching his back slightly as if trying to get away from your teasing digit.

When you finger finished it's route, you swept his legs out from under him and pinned his arms, partially hovering over him. His face was blank as he emitted an air of confusion an and surprise, along with many other strange and hard to classify emotions. You smiled down at him, displaying the amusement he usually felt.

"I think I win" you chided before standing and offering a hand.

Angor sat up and stared at you with a bewildered expression. his stare shifted to your hand, and then back to your smirking face. Something must have sold it to him because he started to reach for your unspoken offer. His hand hovered for a moment before grasping yours.

You hauled him up, your smirk shifting to a smile as he continued to stare at you. You raised your brows at his staring before turning to explore your surroundings more.

As such, you missed him shift his eyes to his hand then back to you once again. The assassin's hand curled slightly and his usual smile returned as he watched you.

As your excursions with Angor continued, so did your flirtations.

When the two of you sparred, said flirtations grew bolder and bolder as time passed until your spars were more like exotic dances. And down right provocative ones at that.

When engaging in you cat and mouse games, you would double back and brush teasing touches along his back and arms before bolting to either side of him.

Each time you did anything of that sort to him, Angor would just ... stop working for a time.

Something must have shifted because right now, you were engaged in another game of cat and mouse. Only you were terrified out of your mind and fleeing for what could every well be your life. It felt like you were playing with a stalking instead of Angor. Granted they weren't that different, but you had been comfortable with the latter. And rather fond of him as well.

But enough of that. Where were you? Ah yes, running for dear life.

You were stopped short in that action by a familiar pale stone chest.

Damn this troll and his Shadow Staff.

You jumped back from him, refusing to cower, even if some part of you desperately wanted to.

"Finally got bored, have you?" you snapped at him.

The assassin feigned surprise at your assumption, before he regained his usual demeanor.

"Bored? Oh no. Quite the opposite actually." he hummed as he started to stalk closer.

In that moment you were struck with the realization of just how cat-like he was. The way his eyes glowed with intent. The refined savage grace of his movements. His obvious surety in just about everything. And finally, the predatory air he was excluding that kept you locked in place despite yourself.

By your ancestors, he was breathtaking.

He started circling you then, and you resolutely kept your gaze locked forward. He came to a stop, in front of you yet again. Then Angor Rot began speaking.

"I was right to believe you would be intriguing prey" He reached his hand out and scrapped his fingers up your throat and under your chin. Shivers ran down your back at the action.

"However, I never thought I would become as attached to you as I did." You glanced up and saw his face was pensive as he regarded you. Your gaze quickly averted back to his chest before his eyes could catch yours.

His finger traced along your right jaw as he began leaning in.

"But as that would be the case, I've come to a conclusion." He purred, incredibly close to the left side of your face. Just on the edge of your peripheral, you could see the rings in his eyes. You never noticed those thing rings of back before.

"You'll always be mine, little (Y/N)" He declared, his voice something between a growl and the purr he made just a handful of seconds ago. The right side of your face tingled, and you knew the mark he had made during your first encounter had finally reappeared.

A rumbling chuckle sent vibrations throughout your trembling body. And that's what caused your weak knees to finally buckle.

He caught you of course, and you grabbed a hold of the sash around his waist with one hand, and grappled a hold of his arm in the other.

You stayed like this for a while before you finally got a hold of yourself and pushed off him, outrage painted on your face.

"Was the terror really necessary!?" You hissed.

Silence rang while you glared at him. He met your gaze evenly, the emotion in his eyes disarmingly soft. Realizing that you weren't going to get an answer, you threw your arms up in exasperated defeat and walked away.

Laughter rumbled behind you and your knees were weak once more.

Damn that troll and his sinful voice.

Your excursions continued, as did your sparring and games. Said games usually ended up with someone catching the other and simply saying 'Always mine'. And that someone was usually Angor.

From time to time the two of you would 'knock boots' as the humans would say.

Not much changed.

But of course, change came eventually.

It had come in the form of the Inferna Copula being stolen from your magician. You weren't sure how it happened, but Angor was livid.

He paced like the caged predator he was. He was growling and snarling and cursing the name of the thief. He was the spitting image of an innocent man who had been eternally damned.

You glanced at the small bag you had made for him, and put it back into the larger one you wore. You'd give it to him later.

"Angor?" You finally spoke.

"WHAT." He snapped, stopping his irate pacing to look at you with blazing eyes.

You took a step back as your hands raised to your chest. One began twisting the ring that Angor had crafted for you from his own living stone.

The crystal glowed in accordance with his mental and physical state. At this moment it was blazing with his wrath, and was hot with the same emotion.

Upon seeing the representation his emotions, and realizing just who he snapped at, the pale assassin tried to reign in his temper.

"What is it (Y/N)?" He rumbled.

"Let's go find your ring."

Of course, things went horribly wrong.

The ring stayed lost, Angor ended up being cast away somewhere in chains and under rubble to rot away, and you had been exiled from your cavern for associating with the notorious killer.

Originally they had wanted to kill you and cast your remains into a molten pit. They tried, but the cost had been too high, and so they exiled you with dishonor.

You raged for days, before settling in a cave and sulking. Your skin crawled with the absence of Angor Rot. It felt strange to be so totally left alone to your own devices.

The ring was still warm, so that was reassuring. He was alive at least.

You started a new life in a foreign cavern, keeping the satchel you made safe, and keeping your ring close.

One day it surged to life, and you knew he was free once more. You packed your meager possessions and set off to find him.

Soon after the ring came to life, it's gem was blazing with a familiar anger, while the stone remained strangely cold.

A horrible feeling settled upon you, and you frantically looked for leads to his whereabouts.

Once you caught snippets of gossip about a new Trollhunter, and human one at that, you knew where you would have to go.

Heartstone Troll Market. That's where you would find him hunting his new quarry.

Just as you started collecting your belongings, your ring turned to dull grey stone. That horrible feeling immediately turned to a profound feeling of loss and longing for someone who wasn't there anymore.

That feeling turned into a possessive rage shortly after.

You weren't called (Y/N) the Vengeful for nothing.

One you arrived at Troll Market, you saw the havoc reaped. The remains of crystal golems and trolls alike greeted your eyes.

As you meandered, avoiding the clean up, you came across two human adolescents and a four-armed troll converged around a larger troll with an outstretched hand, turned to stone like so many others.

You approached them, doing your best to look like a lost traveler.

"Excuse me? Could you tell me what happened here?"

As they indulged you, you tried your best not to twist your hand into claws and end the stout one who had assisted with Angor's demise. Instead you crossed your arms and feigned quiet contemplation.

It wasn't that difficult, as you were debating whether or not you should end him. Eventually you decided to spare him from your wrath, as you could empathize with his anger towards your lover's action.

Of course, none of this would have happened if the Trollhunter had simply given Angor's soul back to him and - !

Getting back on track, you tentatively asked if you could see Angor's remains. For closure, you clarified, making something up about your father.

They agreed to that, and took you to the Hero's Forge, and left you alone so you could grieve in peace and so they could continue their own grieving.

You started at the shattered body of the pale assassin uncomprehendingly, before you thought about something he had mentioned in an off-hand manner close to a century and a half ago.

You thanked whatever higher power that Angor had enchanted your bag for more storage.

You gathered up the pieces of him and left before they could connect his remains' disappearance with you.

They would anyway, but by then, you'll already be damned.

A trip to Gatto's Keep rewarded you with bargaining chips to use in the binding contract you were about to strike up.

You looked sadly at he reconstructed remains of Angor and out to the cave across the lake. You sighed and moved to the raft you made.

Once you reached your destination, you hopped onto shore and started the ritual.

Once a feminine voice rang out, everywhere and nowhere all at once, you began to reach into you bag while you spoke.

"I have come to make a bargain with you."

"Of course you have. What have you to trade and for what purpose? "

You shifted on your feet.

"I've come to request that you bring Angor Rot back to the realm of the living, as well as return his soul to him."

"Even I have limits to my power."

"Please." You begged. "I've come bearing the Astral Sphere and the Twin Trickster Stones."

You drew the aforementioned items out of your bag and presented them to her.

There was a pregnant pause, in which you grew more desperate, even if you refused to acknowledge the feeling.

". . . Very well. I will do this, but I require one more thing." The Lady Pale replied.

"Anything." You spoke with conviction.

She paused again and you saw her slim hand appear from the darkness. you obligingly deposited the items in her hand and awaited her third request.

"I've lost my hunter. YOU will serve in his place."

You hesitated then, knowing just what she was asking of you.

"You said 'Anything', Yes?"

Your lips pressed into a thin line a you looked toward the ground. Finally you looked up with a determined expression.

"Anything." You repeated.

The Eldritch Queen chuckled and beckoned you closer. You obliged and came within arm's reach of her.

A clawed hand was placed on your chest, over where a human's heart would be located. The place she was touching began to burn, but you were frozen, unable to scream and writhe in pain.

There was a glow of (Color) and you watched your soul turn into an accessory. A chasm formed inside you and you gasped deeply, falling to your hands and knees, the world darkening around the edges from the suddenness of it all.

You looked to your ring and saw the dull color fade away, the gem glowing and the stone warm once again.

Faintly, far off in the distance, you heard a deep voice scream, forming a single word. 'NO'. They sounded so distressed...

"Go now, my hunter. I will call for you when the time is right."

You stumbled to your raft and left, laying down to attempt to get used to the crushing emptiness inside you. Oh, by Deya's grace, where was your fiery core?

Dully you acknowledged you hit land. You were faintly aware of someone hauling you off the wood.

You were vaguely aware of Angor's golden yellow eyes - oh she had given him another eye, how thoughtful - staring at you, wide with panic. You barely heard him speak, repeating your name and the word 'why' in varying fashions.

"Always mine, remember?" you slurred, smiling sadly up at him.