#but there are still 12 including 3 unnatural so i hope it's enough ^^

[elequinoa]

Are you ready for my next dress up game? 👀 Coming very soon on Meiker 💖

[donteattheappleshook]

Not Broken At All Chapter 15/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

CONTENT WARNING! This has the hunt which includes lost boys (kids) being killed and while it's brief, it's a dark scene. There's also some gore afterwards and violence (again against lost boys) referenced off-screen. If you're at all uncomfortable you can DM me and I can let you know which sections to avoid. I had a few people review it and tell me it's "dark but not too dark" but better safe than sorry. And hey, there’s also smut to make up for it. 

Thank you thank you thank you thank you always @the-darkdragonfly and @elizabeethan for your help with this feral fic 😘 and thank you @kmomof4 for being a fantastic beta for this chapter! 💕💕

*****

Part 15

She can still feel the burn of his kiss - her kiss - on her lips when the moon hangs high above the Jolly.  She’s been watching it, tracking its slow climb across the sky since she came out of the forest to find Will waiting on the shore - Wendy having taken the dinghy and leaving them stranded. Emma was almost relieved that she wasn’t there, that she didn’t have to explain why she was standing there alone, why Killian wasn’t with her. No matter how angry Wendy was at her Captain, she would have noticed. Will, on the other hand, was too fixated on the sea, on the ship rocking rhythmically against the waves to notice. But the way he watched it, as though it were miles away and not metres, betrayed what the longing in his eyes was really for. 

She’d suggested they swim, the ship not far and the water most likely clear of vindictive sirens. Mostly she’d just wanted to get that look off of his face, to stop feeling the guilt that accompanied it. They’re risking their lives for you, Swan, all of us are - for you and for your son. He didn’t put up an argument. Will only shrugged dismissively, looking back out to the ship and wading into the sea.

It’s been hours since then, hours of waiting and staring out at the dark water, searching for any movement in the dimly lit night. She can feel the cold breeze seeping through her thin shirt, chilling her skin and sending a tremor through her bones. But she can’t go below deck, can’t leave her spot by the railing. Not until she sees some sign, any sign that she didn’t just send him to his death to protect Henry. Henry, who's still out there, who’s waiting for her to come get him, who may already hear the Lost Boys’ cries. 

It’s late, the moon already growing dimmer against the lightening sky. Will had come up some time ago, only sparing her a passing look before finding a spot far enough away that they wouldn’t feel the need to speak. He’d gone straight below deck once they’d climbed out of the water, his small plea of ‘Wen, please’ carrying over to her in the silence. The nights are always so quiet here, the sea soundless against the ship, the wind not stirring in the trees. It’s wrong, and unnatural, this island not a place rooted in reality, the piercing wails of the children in the jungle starker against the silence, echoing over the sea. 

Emma casts a glance over at Will, leaning over the railing, looking out at the water rather than the beach, though she imagines he’s not really looking at anything at all, and wonders if he can hear them. He’s never said. Only that Wendy did. And now Killian is out there risking his life to make it up to her, to atone for the daughter he left behind by making sure she doesn’t lose the man who stayed by her side. Because of her. Because she begged Will to go, begged anyone to go and do what she couldn’t. 

Daylight begins its slow crawl over the night sky and still there’s no sign of Hook, no sign of Wendy since the forest. She doesn’t hear Will cross the deck until his arms fold over the railing beside hers, his shoulders tense as he leans heavily on them, his question leaving him in a heavy breath.

“He went, didn’t he?” 

Emma nods, fingers pressing into the soft wood beneath them. But he’s not looking at her so she lets out a small ‘yeah’ and watches his jaw clench, teeth pressed together as anger and relief war on his face. 

“Bastard.” 

“How far is the camp?” 

Will gives a small shrug. “It moves. But it can be found if you know what to look for.” When she doesn’t answer he finally turns his head, just a fraction and she feels his gaze from the corner of her eye as she goes back to watching the beach. “He’ll be back.” 

“How do you know?”

“The man’s bloody impossible to kill. Trust me,” he insists. “I’ve tried.” 

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” 

He sighs when she doesn’t answer. “Pan doesn’t want him dead. He never has. He enjoys torturing him too much.”

“What if he changes his mind?” Especially if he catches him trying to meddle in whatever plan he has for Henry. 

“He could,” Will acknowledges. “But he expects Hook to try and stop him. It’s all part of the game.” 

“This isn’t a game.”

“Everything is a game to him. Sometimes… I used to wonder if he even knew what was real and what wasn’t. I didn’t. Not until…” The little girl he brought to Wendy. “He’s a child. Everything, this whole island, his hunts and his raids and his conquests, it’s all make believe, one big, never ending game.”  

Emma doesn't know which is scarier, the thought that Pan is a monster that murders and maims and torments without remorse, or that his acts of cruelty can be carried out without care, without any true understanding of consequence - for fun. How many times as a child did she play cops and robbers? How many times did she and the other children in homes sword fight with sticks and cardboard tubes, laughing while they ‘killed’ one another. Because it was all just make believe. 

Her thoughts are cut off by a slow roar of something in the trees, the dull, faraway sound carrying over the water. Will looks out at the sky, suddenly alert and she follows his gaze, the sun just breaking over the horizon. “It’s starting.” 

It’s shouting, she realizes, a low rumble of a battle cry making its way towards the beach. “The hunt?” 

“Aye.” The voice comes from behind them, Wendy having finally emerged from her cabin, staring out towards the shore. There’s a moment where she takes in Will standing beside her, frown pulling at her brow before relief softens it. But her gaze snaps back to the beach, eyes wide, brow marred again. “Where’s Killian?” The question is sharp, an order. But neither answer. She knows. Wendy rushes to the rail, looking frantically out over the water as though she could see him through the jungle. “Bastard.” 

It takes her a moment to school her features, to regain control of herself, hands still clenched into fists against the edge of the Jolly. But once she does, she slips back into the role of the fierce pirate captain Emma met that first night - the one that ended a deathmatch with a single word. “Ready the crew” she tells Will. “Be sure they’re prepared to take on the wounded. And no one,” she adds, tone commanding and almost frightening, “no one is to leave the ship. Is that understood?” The question is directed at her. 

“I-”

“If you go on that beach, you’re signing your death warrant. You’re to stay below deck,” she orders. “Understood?” 

“I’m not staying below deck if Henry comes out of that jungle,” Emma argues. 

“Killian is taking care of Henry. If Pan sees you you’ll be putting both of them at risk. You’ll stay below deck, Emma,” she repeats. “That’s an order.” 

“Let me help. I can -”

Before she can finish, she’s being lifted off her feet, a small nod from Wendy to Will, some unspoken command and suddenly she’s tossed over his shoulder and letting out a cry of protest as she’s carried below deck. 

“What the- Put me down!” she snaps, but Will and his stupid, freakish strength holds her steady, the arm across the back of her thighs vice-like. 

“I swear to god, you better not lick me again while you’re back there,” he warns. 

She gives a hard elbow to his ribs in retaliation, the small grunt he lets out immensely satisfying before she’s being dropped on her ass, the damp room one she doesn’t recognize, and a lock clicks into place. It takes her a second to register where she is. 

“You’re throwing me in the fucking brig?” she demands, fingers wrapping around the solid iron bars. “You can’t be serious.” 

“You're part of this crew. You don't follow orders, this is what happens,” Wendy tells her before heading back towards the deck. “You’ll be let out when it’s over.” 

“Maybe,” Will adds with a mirthful smirk that makes her wish he was close enough to hit again. But the door slams shut between them and she’s left alone with her outrage. 

The shouting is getting louder now, the sun climbing quickly - too quickly - into the sky. She can distinguish words now, cries of ‘get them’ breaking through the hollering and the cheering… and the screams. The first one she hears- sudden and sharp and cut off in an instant- sends her heart dropping into her stomach. She hardly has time to let the dread take over before another takes its place, this one worse, drawn out, fading into a whimper, small and heartbreaking and horrible. It’s followed by cries of victory. 

Reaching for the bars on the small window of her cell she hoists herself up onto the small bench, just able to look out if she holds her weight up, standing on barely touching tiptoes. She wishes she hadn’t. The beach is a bloodbath, bodies strewn out across the sand, dead, or soon to be. They’re too far for her to recognize any, but they’re all so small, narrow shoulders and lanky limbs. Any one of those bodies could be Henry. Every single one is a child. 

Emma nearly falls off the bench, barely managing to land on her feet as she doubles over, emptying her stomach on the floor of her cell. It doesn’t stop, the chaos on the beach echoing in the small room, screams, cheers of triumph, the slice of metal and the batter of arrows falling over one another until they all fade into the endless din of battle.

She can’t bring herself to look again, sitting with her back to the horror, hands over her ears as she tries to drown it all out, stuck and helpless to do anything about it. It’s not Henry. Henry’s not there. She needs to believe that Killian got to him in time, that he stopped him from being a part of it. Those aren’t his cries of pain she’s hearing. That’s not him celebrating. Henry’s not there. She repeats it, again and again, curled on the floor, trying to block out the horror. They were right. She wouldn't have been able to stay below deck- either above or below. She wouldn’t have been able to stay off the beach. 

It goes on for ages, growing in volume, the Lost Boys riled up more with every fallen victim. She could almost believe they were playing, were it not for the crying, the pleas for mercy. Then, almost as quickly as it started, the sounds begin to quiet. She hears a flurry of footsteps thundering onto the deck above her head, hears the muffled shout of Wendy ordering her crew to aid the survivors.

The mayhem on the beach finally settles, the slashing of swords and the cries dropping one by one until there’s silence. And then there are only hoots and hollers echoing across the shore - a celebration. Someone is congratulating them. She doesn’t have to guess who it is. She’ll recognize that twisted, childlike voice for the rest of her life. 

It’s over. It has to be. Please let it be over. There’s no more clash of swords, no more wails of pain and death and she can almost breathe again until she hears it. A single, sobbing whimper from the shore, a cry of “mama” that burrows itself deep, echoing through her. There’s another. And another. And it’s the worst sound she’s ever heard, worse than the Lost Boys at night - children crying for their mothers.

She’s on her feet before she can think, yanking at the goddamn padlock on her door, clawing at it and shouting with rage when it doesn’t give. She doesn’t have anything to pick it with - no tools, no pins, not even a goddamn pen to break apart. Fucking pirates knowing better than to leave anything within reach that could help her break out. 

She pulls the heavy leather boot from her foot, the heel solid and adorned with metal. It’s flimsy and awkward but it’s all she’s got and she reaches, arm scrapped raw by the stripped bars as she tries to get any force behind the blow. Reaching for the padlock, the angle awkward, and hitting it again and again, she curses when she hits it hard enough to knock the boot out of her hand, fingers aching where they still connect with the iron.

But she doesn’t stop, not so long as she can hear the kids crying from the shore. She may not be their mother but she’s a mother and she’s getting to that fucking beach. She yanks off her other boot, trying again, hanging on so tightly this time that her knuckles go white. Emma’s not sure how long she tries, how many times she brings the heel down on the lock, her skin damp with sweat, her shirt bloodied where the bars scratched her. 

“Come on you stupid son of a bitch.” She’s tired, her arm aching, fingers bruised, but there’s a fury in her, a rage that builds until it feels like it will burst out of her. And then it does. She smashes the lock again, a spark of light flashing when it makes contact, bright enough that she has to shut her eyes. But when she opens them, the lock is on the ground, broken in two.

The cell swings open easily as she runs for the deck, yanking the door of the brig open only to crash into a figure on the other side. Fingers and metal wrap around her arms as she tries to push past him, shouting obscenities and shoving at him. But he doesn’t move, his grip tightening until she hisses, flinching, skin scratched raw beneath his hand and he lets go. 

“Swan.” The name is what snaps her out of her panic. Her name. The one only he calls her - the one he promised not to let her forget. She looks up at him, finally realizing that it’s him, that he’s there and alive. The blue of his eyes, sad and anxious, shines even in the dim light of the room. “It’s over.” 

She hears it then, the absence. There’s no more noise, no more screaming, no crying, the awfulness faded to nothing, the only sound the creaking of footsteps above them and her own ragged breathing. Her hands slide over his chest, pulling back enough to look for any sign he’s been hurt, that he didn’t come back in one piece. She searches his face, remembering the way she’d first found him, battered and bleeding, but those wounds are long healed, no new ones in their place and she sighs gratefully. 

“Henry?”

“He’s fine. He wasn’t there. He’s safe.”

She nearly gives into the sobs that are trying to spill out of her, too full of anguish and fear and relief to keep them from overflowing. But her hands find the sides of his face, rising on her toes to capture his mouth with hers. She’s cried enough today - cried enough every day since she got to this stupid island, since she lost Henry to it. She doesn’t want to cry anymore. Her tears serve no purpose. They won’t keep Henry safe - but Killian did. Killian kept him safe. 

He lets her kiss him, lets her slide her fingers into his hair, lets her seek his tongue with her own and keep him there with a death grip on his collar. But when she presses herself closer to him, seeking more of his heat to warm her frozen skin, more of him to fill the ache growing inside of her, he pulls back. He watches her carefully, searching for something, maybe remnants of the wine or that the events of the last hour haven’t completely destroyed her. 

But Emma sees it then, the same exhaustion she feels darkening his eyes, pulling at the lines of his brow. The mask of resilience and unflinching coolness in the face of everything that’s been thrown at them slips, and he lets her see the suffering she knows is reflected back at him. She doesn’t know how long he’s been on the ship, how much of the massacre he had to watch before he came to find her - how many times he’s had to watch it before, just as powerless as she’d been to stop it.

She opens her mouth to say something, to ask him those very questions, but his lips crash down over hers before she can get the words out. The force of it sends her stumbling back and he follows, kiss hard and demanding, the door slamming as he kicks it shut behind him, and he leads them both across the room until her back collides with the bars of the cell, knocking the wind out of her. He swallows the sound she makes, tongue sliding over her lip in apology before pushing its way into her mouth to taste whatever he can reach, whatever he can take. 

He kisses her with the same desperation she feels - for all of this to be finished, for the horrible feeling and memory that’s sunk its teeth in to be drowned out. She understands. She doesn’t want to talk either. This day - the last hour alone - all she wants is to forget it. Just for a little while she wants to forget every wretched thing about Neverland and lose herself in the one person who’s helped her survive it.

Emma shoves at the lapels of his coat, pushing it over his shoulders and he lets it fall to the floor with a heavy sound. His lips find her neck as she reaches for his vest, fingers fumbling on the buttons when he works a mark into her collarbone and tugs her hair loose from its messy knot. Far more adept, even with only one hand, her borrowed vest is opened and tossed unceremoniously aside before she’s managed to undo all his fastenings, Killian pulling her shirt over her head almost frantically. 

She cries out when his mouth closes over her breast, hot and wet, tongue rolling over the hardened peak while his hand finds the other and he turns her into a panting, whimpering mess just like he’d promised to in the fae woods. When she hisses out a warning ‘Killian’, his lips start a path down the length of her stomach, dropping to his knees, shucking his vest and shirt. 

The look he tosses up at her, checking before his hook tugs at the laces of her stupid, inconvenient pants, sends heat burning in her stomach and wetness pooling between her thighs as he yanks the heavy fabric down her hips. Desperate, wrecked, the blue of his eyes nearly eclipsed by the black, heavy-lidded and full of shameless want and dirty promises.

“Fuck.” Her hands find purchase in his hair, stumbling back, hardly stepped out of the leather before his mouth is on her, hooking a leg over his shoulder and pressing her against the bars once more. The rough iron scrapes at the bare skin of her back, but she doesn’t care, not with the way he’s sucking at her clit, tongue flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves and growling into her skin when she bucks into his mouth. 

He presses his brace across her hips, holding her still as he eats into her, fucking her with his tongue and nothing about today matters anymore. Nothing feels real apart from his mouth between her thighs, the scrape of his jaw rough against sensitive skin. She whines at the push of his fingers inside of her, pleasure tightening in her stomach, the anticipation building in every muscle, the promise of release and fucking ecstasy just out of reach. 

“Please.” The word escapes on a whimper, wanton and desperate, and then he’s moaning against her, teeth scraping sharply against her clit, making her cry out and her hands fist harshly in his hair when he pulls it into his mouth, fingers curling in time with the pulse of his tongue against her, his lips around her, and then she’s shattering. 

She barely manages to catch her cry of release between her teeth as her whole body shudders and it escapes as a muffled sob in the dark room. But Killian doesn’t relent, egged on by her coming apart on his tongue, working her frantically, drawing out the aftershocks until they start to build to a new height altogether. She’s about to fall again, so close to the edge, but she pushes at his shoulders.

“Wait.” He only resists for a second, eyes dark with hunger when he looks up at her, but it’s the small hint of desperation, the unbridled abandon emanating from him that makes her remember that he needs this just as much as she does. That he’s been through as much as she has. And it’s not the first time for him. She can’t imagine living through today again and again for centuries. It’s no wonder he found solace wherever he could and with whoever he could in this horrible place. She’s been living a nightmare for a week. He’s been living it for lifetimes. 

Emma joins him on her knees, not caring about the dirt and the damp as she pulls him to her, mouth finding his easily. The way their lips move against each other is familiar now, but no less heated as his arms come around her waist, pressing heated skin to heated skin, hand snaking up the length of her back to tangle in her hair, gathering it at the nape of her neck.

She explores the length of his arms with careful fingers, muscles hard under her hands from years at sea and endless fighting. She feels the rise and fall of scars across his skin before dragging her nails down his shoulders, leaving her own mark and feeling the bite of his teeth against her lip. Her fingers move to his chest, sliding through the coarse hair and finding the evidence of years spent in bloodshed. The gasp he lets out when she rakes them over the flat of his stomach to his hips is choked and she ducks her head, lips leaving his to trail the length of his jaw, tongue sliding over the spot below his ear he can’t seem to leave alone.

“Emma…” It’s a plea and a warning and a question all in one as she pulls at his laces. The feel of him straining hard and hot beneath her palm only urges her on as her mouth explores the taut line of his neck, leaving a mark on his collarbone to match the one he gave her. 

He hisses out a word that isn’t in English but she’s almost positive is a curse when she slides into his leathers, fingers wrapping around his cock and running her hand over the hard length in rough, purposeful strokes. She touches him the way he’d touched her, urgent and desperate and aware that they’re on stolen time, revelling in every sound and unconscious thrust of his hips she draws from him. 

His grip on her hair becomes vice-like, tugging her head back enough that he can taste her neck again, mouth and tongue sloppy between the small growls and sharp breaths he lets out hot against her skin. The drag of cool metal over her nipple makes her falter in her rhythm. He does it again, circling the hardened peak with the sharp tip of his hook and she releases him altogether, desire burning impatient as she pushes him back to sit on his discarded coat.

Killian takes hold of her hips as she climbs into his lap, settling a knee on either side of him before taking his cock in hand again and sinking down over the length of him. His muttered ‘bloody hell’ reverberates through her as he holds still, straining as he gives her a moment to adjust to the size of him, the burn and the fullness that turn to heat and want, and she needs more. 

When she rocks her hips over his, they both let out a groan at the drag of his cock- so fucking perfect inside of her. Emma braces her hands on his shoulders so she can move over him, desperate to find that toe-curling pleasure he gave her again. 

His fingers dig into the curve of her ass, rolling and guiding them into a rhythm, hips rising to meet her every time she takes him in again, refusing to be a passive participant as she rides him towards their release. His hook and mouth are everywhere, touching and tasting, finding the places that make her tremble, bearing down relentlessly when the curl of his tongue or the scrape of his hook causes her to cry out and soon she’s right on the edge again, lips pressed hard together against the moans of encouragement and of his name that want to fall from them.

His hand releases her, letting her keep their pace, change it how she wants, and his fingers trail over her hip, ghosting over the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh. His thumb slides between them, finding where they’re joined with practiced ease and circling with every roll of her hips until she can’t keep quiet anymore, hands gripping madly at his back, teeth biting into his shoulder as she tries to muffle her cries. 

He presses harder, circling faster, murmuring filth and praise into her ear and holy fuck she doesn’t think she’s ever been fucked so properly in her life - every inuendo and brazen conquest on the island entirely justified. There are no thoughts left apart from how badly she needs to come, all senses muted, drowned out by the overwhelming build, the delicious drive of his cock inside of her, thrusting harder, deeper.

His mouth nips at her ear, begging her to let him see her fall apart again, telling her how good she feels, how he wants to feel her shuddering around him, how he wants to come inside her. And then there’s nothing but ecstasy, nothing but fire and release as she comes apart at his hands. 

She’s still shaking when he rolls her onto her back, braced on his hooked arm as the other slides under her knee, spreads her wider for him, fucking into her wildly, harder, deeper, chasing his release as fervently as she had hers. The grind of his hips, the scratch of his chest hair against her breasts sets off another wave of lust in her, begins another rapid climb as he takes her, using her however he wants, building on the high of her orgasm before it’s faded and sending her over the edge again. 

The sound he lets out when he feels her coming once more, feels the dig of her nails in his back, is almost feral. Her name is a curse and a plea as he pounds into her until he goes rigid under her hands, pulling out and spilling himself hot on her stomach with a moan muffled against the crook of her neck. 

There’s nothing but the sound of their breaths, heavy in the stillness of the room, the chaos of the deck far away above them as they lay still tangled in one another for a moment, drawing out the feeling of relief as long as they can, hiding from reality for just a little longer. Here in the dark with the weight of his body still over hers and the gentle hum of her skin, the heaviness of her limbs, it’s easy to pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

It's too soon when she feels him shift, the press of his lips to the hollow of her throat before he lifts his head, reaching for something in one of the many pockets of his coat they’ve sprawled out on. How he knows where anything is in the (she suspects) dozens of secret compartments that may or may not be magically hidden is beyond her, but he pulls out a handkerchief - dark like everything else he wears, but fine like everything else as well. 

Tracing it gingerly over her stomach, he begins to clean the mess he made of her, erasing every trace of him from her skin. Emma takes it from him when he’s finished, sitting up to take care of the rest when she feels the brush of his fingers over her shoulder, tracing lines down her back with a furrowed brow and leaving goosebumps in his wake. 

“What?” she asks, voice raw and rough from exhaustion. 

His knuckles ghost feather-light along her back again, her skin burning slightly under his touch. “You’re hurt.” 

There’s a bit of guilt in his expression as she turns to try and look over her shoulder, to see what he sees, the marks probably left on her skin from the iron bars. “I’m fine,” Emma promises, but he’s tracing the cuts on her arm now, ones that are definitely not his doing. “Those are technically Will’s fault,” she tells him casually, still pissed at her friend for tossing her in here, and he raises a brow at her blasé shrug. “Just if you were looking for an excuse, is all. I wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to defend my honour or something.” 

The corner of his mouth ticks up in amusement. “I think you’re plenty capable of defending your own honour, love,” he tells her, brushing a stray lock of hair back over her shoulder. She watches him fight a smirk out of the corner of her eye. “There’s a bottle in my coat,” he says then. “If you don’t mind.” 

Emma looks down at the heavy leather she’s still sitting on, the Mary Poppins bag of coats, and raises a brow at him. “You’re kidding right?” 

Shaking his head with an exasperated sigh - the one she’s come to consider her own - he reaches over her, digging into one of the infinite pockets and she tries not to let him see the way her breath catches, heat burning low and slow everywhere he’s nearly touching her. 

She could lean forward, just a fraction, and press her lips to the spot behind his ear, see if he’d say her name again in that shaky, pleading way he had before. If she kissed him now would he press her into the floor again, drag his tongue over her skin and make her fall apart with mouth and hand and cock? Would he let her do the same to him, let her bring him over that edge with her mouth on him, while she rode him? 

Get a grip, she scolds herself when he finds what he’s looking for, pulling back to face her. She hopes he can’t read where her thoughts had strayed, can’t see the evidence she’s sure is written all over her, you literally just came three times. It’s just Neverland, just like it had been when she’d kissed him in his cabin and had been ready to let him fuck her on his desk where anyone could walk in (and had). It has to be - because if it’s not and it’s just him, then this could become a problem really quickly. 

If Killian does notice though, he doesn’t say anything and her own spiralling thoughts are halted when she sees the bottle in his hand, the water swirling of its own volition, a pattern that has no ties to the world around it. 

“Is that water from the spring?” she asks hesitantly as she watches him pour some onto another bit of cloth, one that looks like the same kind of bandage she’d made for him.

“Aye.”

“You’ve just been carrying that stuff around? Might have been helpful when you were stuck in that hospital bed.” 

Another exasperated look. “I filled a bottle when we arrived - It doesn’t work in your realm. Thought it might come in handy. And look, it has.” She has to fight a laugh at his snark; he’s been spending too much time with her. “Now are you going to let me help you?” he asks, what was obviously originally a kind gesture now spoken with a familiar sigh that makes her catch her amusement between her teeth even as she nods and turns her back to him.

“How did you find out about this stuff?” she asks when his hook brushes her hair out of the way over her shoulder - mostly to distract herself from the feel of the metal against the nape of her neck, remembering it other places. 

His tone is solemn when he answers though, cloth not touching her skin as he hesitates. “When I first came here… my brother was poisoned - dreamshade.” Brother? The water is cool against her back, his touch careful. “Pan showed me the spring.” 

“The water saved him?” 

The length of his pause makes her wish she hadn’t asked. “For a time.”

“He drank it.” It’s not a question and he doesn’t answer and her heart breaks for him. “And Pan let you leave.” How many people has he lost - how much pain has he suffered at the hands of the cruel people who took them from him? “Why did you come back?” 

“Because I was a fool, looking for revenge against the Crocodile. Sometimes I wonder if he knew - if he showed me the dreamshade because he knew I’d return for it one day. He has a way of seeing people, finding the parts they don’t want seen, and using them to get what he wants.” She wants to tell him that he’s wrong, that whoever he thinks Pan saw in him isn’t who he is. But she can’t find the words, all of them sounding like platitudes. He misunderstands her silence. “Henry’s far stronger than I was, love. He won’t give in so easily.”

Killian presses the cloth to her back again, meticulous in his task and she wraps her arms around her knees, pulling them to her chest. “What did you say to him?” 

She can feel the tension radiating off of him, matching it immediately. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” 

“I couldn’t risk him seeing me and knowing you were here. For all he is, Henry’s still a child, and little boys can’t keep secrets.”

“So what did you do?” 

The way he clears his throat is almost indecipherable, his hand going over the same spot by her shoulder again and again, the scratch definitely gone by now. “Pan’s camp is always moving, but he also always sets it near a body of water, usually a stream.”

“Why?”

The cloth slides over her skin slowly, buying time, avoiding looking at her. “For the Lorelei.” 

Emma whirls on him. “What?”

“Calm down, love,” he says softly, trying to get her to turn back around. “The sirens are his messengers; they relay his desires and bring him news of any stirrings on the island.”

“Killian. Did you send fucking Ianeira to him?” The mermaid who’s apparently so fond of drowning and eating humans.

“No.” She breathes a sigh of relief, but it’s short lived. “...Ianeira has a daughter.”

“What?!” That’s not any better.

“Swan.” He gives up his task for a moment, finally looking at her. “Do you really believe I’d have sought their help if they posed any threat to Henry? The Lost Boys are off limits to the Lorelei, and they’re on our side, bound by a bargain you made.” Her shoulders relax a little, still not happy about it. “The girl is hardly older than Henry in appearance. I thought she would have a better chance at getting through to him. The Lorelei can be…”

“Fucking terrifying?”

“Aye,” he nods. “She drew him from the camp and passed on our warning - that he can’t trust Pan, no matter what he says, that the hunt tomorrow is real and Pan would try and make him hurt the other boys, that if he did… he would never be able to leave Neverland.” 

“Is that true?” Emma tries to keep the tremor out of her voice as she turns away, resting her chin on her knees. She doesn’t want to see his face when he answers. She'd rather be able to believe him if he lies. 

“I don’t know,” he admits, drawing the healing water over a mark by her spine. “But we won’t find out, aye?” 

She nods, halfheartedly. “And you’re sure he wasn’t there?”

“I watched the camp from the treeline all night and into the morning. Your boy resisted Pan’s manipulations. He’s stubborn, like his mother.” She shoots him a look over her shoulder, eyes narrowed and he smirks. “It’ll serve him well here. I kept watch until it would have been too late for him to join. I told you, love, he was far away from all of it.”

“But you weren’t.”

She feels his sigh hot against her skin. “I took a shortcut back to the ship. I couldn’t risk Pan wondering where I was when they reached the beach…”

Emma nods. “Today was -” She doesn’t have words for it.

“I know.” She feels the backs of his fingers ghost over the nape of her neck, brushing away hair that hasn’t fallen, thumb tracing along her nape. “I wish I could say it gets easier.”

She nods again - she wouldn’t believe him if he did - and tightens her arms around her knees, banishing the memories that try to creep in, wanting to stay here where they don’t exist for a little longer. 

“So Ianeira has a kid.” He doesn’t comment on her change of subject, only hums. “She doesn’t really seem the motherly type.” And then thought suddenly strikes her. “Is she…”

Killian laughs. “Mine?” It’s not that ridiculous. He might have accidentally boned all the mermaids in Neverland. He could have dozens of little merbabies swimming around. “No, Swan, sirens don’t reproduce. They’re born of chance and magic, and very rare.”

“What about all your ‘creative’ encounters?”

“Those are… recreational.” 

Emma rolls her eyes. “Of course they are.” She doesn’t have to see his smirk to know it’s there, hook looping around her arm, tugging it gently free from its death grip around her legs so he can tend to the skin she marked up in her attempt to escape. The water stings slightly, the cuts deeper there, the cloth no longer as cold. “I can’t believe she let you use her daughter,” she admits. “She was so protective of her sisters.”

Killian hums in agreement, “It took some convincing.” 

“Did it?” She doesn’t think she’s ever failed so spectacularly at sounding indifferent. 

He lets out a soft huff of laughter, lips pressing to the back of her shoulder before he rests his chin on it. “Jealous?”

Emma scoffs. “Yeah, right. You wish.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, her teasing not returned and he takes a slow breath in, lifting his head to look at her, the weight of his gaze enough that she twists to meet it. His exhale is warm against the curve of her neck, the sincerity in his eyes stripped bare, holding her captive with their intensity. “Perhaps I do.” 

She swallows, heart racing at his confession. Because that’s what it is, a confession of intentions, of feelings she’s not sure she can face - his or her own. He’s watching her, waiting, that openness, the little bit of hope she can see breaking through absolutely terrifying. It’s one thing to find comfort in each other after a tragedy. But this, what he’s so clearly asking, isn’t something she thinks she can give. 

Her tongue runs over her lips, mouth suddenly dry, the motion drawing his attention and breaking whatever that was that just passed between them. Her voice is tinged with gravel when she tells him, “I think you’ve got enough jealous creatures on this island for one man to handle.” 

Emma sees the barest hint of disappointment he lets slip and makes herself ignore it. “You make me sound like quite the scoundrel,” he smirks, reaching for his discarded shirt and draping it over her shoulders. “I assure you I can only devote myself to one woman at a time.”

She raises a brow at him, pulling the shirt closed around herself, feeling less vulnerable than she had a moment ago and she thinks maybe he’d known. “There were three fairies throwing themselves at you yesterday - four,” she corrects, having forgotten the handsome gold-hued man. She thinks she sees the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks beneath the cocky shrug. 

“That was Solstice. It doesn’t count.” 

Emma rolls her eyes, pointing out for the second time, “How convenient.”

A thud from upstairs draws her attention, followed by a shout of pain, and she hears Will cursing. Stay bloody still, damnit. When she looks over at Killian, he’s watching the ceiling too, whatever lightness he may have held onto for a moment now gone. 

“We should get up there,” she says, not looking forward to whatever devastation awaits them on deck. There’s no lesser horror. Either many survived and there’ll be dozens of wounded and traumatised children awaiting them, forced to join a life of being hunted by Pan forever, or there won’t be - and the beach will be littered with bodies. 

“Aye,” he agrees, standing and finding his pants, tugging the leather over his hips as she does the same. She’s lacing them up when she notices his attention. 

“What?”

“You’ve got my shirt.” She looks down at the soft black fabric he’d wrapped her in, then at the bloodied white shirt in his hand. “Not that you don’t look quite fetching in it, love, but unless you want Wendy and Scarlet to know -” 

Emma snatches her shirt from him, shooting him a half-hearted glare. “Turn around.” The look he gives her tells her what she already knows, that she’s being absolutely ridiculous, but he just gives her an amused little smirk before doing as she asked. It’s not that she thinks Will and Wendy don’t already know, or that she’s oblivious to the fact that he’s already seen everything, but preparing to walk into a tragedy after they’ve been hiding down here, selfishly pretending it wasn’t happening, sends guilt churning in her stomach. 

When she’s dressed, hat tugged low over her head to try and hide her face from the new boys, she lets him turn back around, tossing him his shirt and waiting until he pulls the heavy leather coat back over his shoulders. “Ready?”

No. She nods. 

The scene is worse than she imagined. She’d been prepared for the blood, for the pain and the chaos as the crew do their best to tend to whatever injuries they can. There’s buckets of bloodied spring water, discarded bandages stained red, former Lost Boys shouting and struggling against the holds the pirates have on them as they try and heal them. They’re still the enemy, she realizes. They may have just been nearly murdered by their comrades but until this morning, the Jolly was enemy territory, and now they’re being held captive. 

What she hadn’t been prepared for were the ones who weren’t injured, who weren’t fighting, the ones sitting along the side of the ship, knees curled tight to their chests and hands over their ears as they stare at nothing with eyes that aren’t seeing. 

Killian moves quickly, hurrying over to where Will is trying to hold down a boy who looks about twelve while Wendy attempts to reset his leg, broken with an arrow pierced through the bone. He takes the boy’s shoulder and arm so Will can do the same, both pressing down on his torso until he can’t move - Emma looks away but she hears the crunch of bone and the scream nonetheless. 

“Hand me some bandages.” It’s not until Wendy shouts her name that she realizes she’s talking to her, the boy still fighting, though he’s growing weaker now. She scrambles to grab some from one of the buckets, bringing them to her. The captain begins wrapping the injury with soaked bandages, the arrow that had pierced him used as a brace, and the kid’s eyes fade in and out of focus, finally shutting as he passes out. 

“A little help!” one of the pirates calls, struggling under the weight of a boy only a few years younger than himself. A stain of dark red blood is blooming on his stomach, soaking through his leather vest and Emma doesn’t freeze this time, running over and looping the kid’s other arm over her shoulders. They set him down against the mainsail, Emma watching as the pirate, barely more than a teenager, pulls open the boy’s shirt. 

“What happened?” 

“Looks like a rapier,” he answers, inspecting the gash, blood flowing freely from it. “Gimme a hand,” he tells her and grabs the kid’s shoulder so they can turn him over. “Dammit. It’s gone right through him.” Emma doesn’t know much about medicine but she does know that without treatment, a stomach wound is basically a death sentence. 

“Can you do anything?”

“Nothing good,” he sighs under his breath. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a bottle like the one Killian carried and uncorking it. “Listen, mate, I can make this better okay?” The boy glares at him, face pale and clammy, distrusting. “If you drink this, you’ll live. If you don't, you're gonna die.” Emma’s thrown by his bluntness, by how calm he is despite being so young and she wonders how many hunts he’s already lived through. The boy continues to glare, looking away from him, rejecting the offer. “But if you do - hey,” he snaps, grabbing the kid’s chin and making him face him. “You’ll never get to leave, okay? You’ll be stuck here. Forever. And it fucking sucks here once you’re out. But you’ll be alive. And you’ll be one of us.” 

“Can’t you just give it to him?” Emma demands, a second away from snatching the bottle and forcing it down the dying teenager’s throat. 

The pirate shakes his head. “Captain’s rules.” She wonders which captain.

The boy still looks resistant, like he’d rather die than become a pirate than switch sides, regardless of what Pan’s just done to him. But then he starts to cough, a fit that takes over, the rough sound gurgling and wet as blood begins to drip from his lips and he turns panicked eyes on the pirate. The older boy nods, handing him the vial, but not letting go yet, waiting until the kid meets his gaze. “Never,” he reminds him. “You’ll never go home, okay?”

Emma watches him nod, bring the water to his bloodied mouth and drink, wincing and coughing as he tries to swallow, finally managing to get some down. They wait, a few long, drawn out moments, before the pirate looks at his wound again and Emma watches in amazement as it begins to close, blood flowing backwards along his torso in streams, pulled back into the tear in his skin. 

The older boy pats his shoulder. “Try and get some rest. That’ll still hurt like a bitch for a while.” And then he’s gone, moved on to the next injured Lost Boy, and the next. 

When everything is over, wounds bandaged, survivors counted, bodies laid carefully on the deck, a strange sort of silence settles over the ship. It’s not the silence of Neverland, that unending, eerie quiet, but the silence of dozens choosing not to speak, unable to speak in the wake of bloodshed. A crew member is cleaning the deck, the oldest here by far in his mid twenties, gaze somehow both unbothered and far away as he mops up the blood that ripples with the whim of the spring water spilled on the wood. Will is over by the side of the ship, talking to some of the boys who won’t speak, who don’t look at anything, voice falling low and gentle on deaf ears. 

Wendy and Killian are with the dead, placing coins over their eyes and wrapping their bodies in sails. She can count five, five who made it to safety only to die on the bow of the Jolly. Emma stares out at the beach. There are more than five out there. Almost a dozen Lost Boys left out under the hot sun. 

Sometime, this has been both the shortest and longest day of her life - the sun setting before it had managed to reach its highest point in the sky.

Killian had explained, as she’d helped to place a boy gently on a stretch of canvas and sew the fabric around him, that night always came quickly after a hunt. “There’s always a celebration for the victors.” Wendy had said the word with so much disgust it made Emma’s stomach turn. “They feast and fly and dance around the fire, bragging about their conquests.” 

“Did you ever-” she started, but stopped when the woman’s face darkened, regret and anger. “I’m sorry.” 

“They’re children,” is all Wendy gave in answer, casting a look towards Will, still trying to reach a boy, shaking and huddled by the helm. “So were we.”

Sleep doesn’t come easy, the sound of footsteps above her making her jerk awake - boys who’d refused to take a bunk below deck, still not willing to accept their new fate, their new role on this island. Voices set her heart racing, forgetting every time that the hunt is over. The crying tonight is louder than it’s been since she arrived, and the sounds of celebration carry over on the water.

She wants to go up there, wants to help them in a way she couldn’t this morning. But she saw the way they looked at her on deck, anger and hatred and fear. She’d be no comfort to them, not as a pirate. She could as herself, as a mother like ones they keep calling out for even now. Little boys can’t keep secrets. Emma’s shared her secret enough on this island. She can’t risk it without knowing they’re allies. 

Knowing that doesn’t make it any less horrible, doesn’t make the guilt any lighter or stop each wail from piercing through her chest. And it doesn’t bring sleep either. She hears the door to the room beside her open quietly and shut with a click, hears the muffled voices, one hissed anger and the other gentle compassion, back and forth until they both go silent, finding comfort amidst the chaos. 

It makes her want to cry, to let her own tears join those she only hears because she’s always been alone, because she’s always been abandoned - time and again. That may be the worse part, the small, selfish part of her that couldn’t help but understand their sorrow. She’s never lived through anything like they just have, but she knows that betrayal, the heartbreak of having trusted someone so completely, only to be cast aside. Alone again. Always alone. 

“Emma?” He’s not asleep when she sneaks into his cabin, pads across the small space to his bed. He’s half sat up, hand reaching instinctively for his sword at the first creak of the door opening, but his brace and hook are on the small table beside him, blunted arm and chest bare, sheets pooled in his lap. “What’s wrong?”

She tries to answer, all of her explanations feeling weak, and her words get caught on a shaky inhale. She doesn’t want to talk about it, so instead she closes the rest of the distance between them, climbing carefully into the bed beside him and sliding beneath the covers. He tenses for a moment when she curls herself against his side, head resting tentatively on his shoulder, but then he softens, letting out a breath and sinking back against the pillows. 

His arm hovers, hesitating before wrapping around her. She brings her own hand to his chest, focusing on the feel of the dark hair beneath her fingers rather than the way her hands still shake, listening to the rise and fall of his breaths rather than the sobs upstairs she can’t escape, and the steady beat of his heart as she tries to forget all the ones that won’t beat again. 

His lips press to her crown, not quite a kiss as he speaks against her hair. “Sleep, love. Neverland can’t find you here.”

******

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[gloivy]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

i’m like a million years late, but thank you @sleepstxtic and @annanother-thing for tagging me! <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 13 works on gloivy, and 7 works on punchedbystarlight - so 20 all together!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

225,935

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Just Harry Potter at the moment!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. The Weight of the Void

2. The Light on a Starless Night

3. Don’t Call Me Baby

4. The Muggle Telephone

5. How to Catch Snitches and Get Witches

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do, occasionally. I just find it very difficult to keep on top of! I wish I could respond to every single comment I receive, but it gets very overwhelming. I do read every single comment though, and I treasure each and every one!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

It’s probably a drabble hidden away in the depths of my twt somewhere, because ending them on an angsty cliffhanger was My Thing for a while. But as for actual fics, it has to be nobody nobody nobody

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

THIS ONE IS HARD. I love a happy ending. But I think The Muggle Telephone has to take this one! The way Hermione hard launches their relationship in the same way that Draco exposed his crush at the beginning of the fic still makes me giggle hehehe

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Unfortunately I’ve had a couple of really horrible hate comments. But most of the time it’s just rude comments about not updating fast enough, because *apparently* I am to cater to the every whim of RandomAo3User. But it’s best to give those kinds of people no energy or attention!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I am not a smut writer, at all. I write it only out of necessity, because I loathe writing it hahaha.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Never written a crossover!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Unfortunately, yes.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but I’d love to co-write something some day with one of my many talented friends!

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Well there’s only one answer I can give here isn’t there? Dramione.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

My longfic based on this drabble. Where Death Eater Draco finds a small girl that reminds him of a witch he once loved, and kills all of his comrades to protect her. I want to finish writing it SO BAD but I probably won’t have the time for at least 2+ years, so… it’s not looking promising hahahaha

16. What are your writing strengths?

I don’t know if it’s my strength, per se, but I’ve always found dialogue the most enjoyable part of writing. It just flows from my brain in a way that nothing else does!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Everything? Haha. No, I especially struggle with writing action - in a way that flows without feeling jarring or awkward. I’m always afraid of writing an action scene where it’s just a series of movements one after the other and it all becomes very robotic and unnatural. Which sucks for me because the fic I’m working on at the moment for NaNo is filled with action. But I’m hoping it’ll make me a bit better at it hahahaha

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I’ve personally never done it, although I have been talking about writing a McGonagall fic in Scots for…. years hahaha (it’ll happen one day). But I really enjoy when authors include another language in fic. As long as there is a translation in the notes for the clueless people (me).

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Okay, so I can’t remember exactly, because I’ve been writing fic since I was small. But I think it was a Hunger Games fic, because that was the fandom that introduced 12 y/o me to fanfic :’)

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

I can’t pick just one! As self deprecating as I am most of the time, I do have a few fics that I’m pretty proud of hehehe.

• The Muggle Telephone is the only fic of mine that I reread from time to time. And yes, I laugh at my own jokes. Yes, it’s a bit sad.

• How to Catch Snitches and Get Witches is my baby at the moment, I’m having so much fun writing it, and it makes me so happy to know people are enjoying reading it too!

• The Light on a Starless Night is my prettiest fic by far imo, and it has some of the best prose I’ve ever written!

since i’m so late to this, idk who has done this already! so i’m tagging anyone who wants to participate! <3

[peachscribe]

peach’s summer book list

i had a lot of fun compiling the list of books i read during the 20-21 winter, so i decided i would do a summer one as well! i still have a lot of books i own but haven’t read, so im definitely not lacking in material

if you didn’t see my winter list, how my book list works is basically like this: i read a book that i own but have not previously read, write a short summary immediately after finishing the book, write down my thoughts on the book, and then provide a rating for the book. i also might include background info on why i read this particular book/feelings about the author, but that depends on the book. that’s how each entry works

without further ado, let’s get started!

1. Grasshopper Jungle by Andrew Smith

okay so i absolutely adore another book by andrew smith (written after grasshopper jungle) called the alex crow. it’s one of my favorite books of all time, so naturally i wanted to see if grasshopper jungle would make me feel similarly. just like the alex crow, grasshopper jungle’s plot is. so fucking weird. it stars austin szerba, a teenage polish kid who lives in ealing, iowa, and is often sexually confused regarding his girlfriend shann and his best friend robby. and in ealing, iowa, austin and robby accidentally and unknowingly unleash an unstoppable army of huge six-foot-tall praying mantis bugs that only want to do two things: fuck and eat. and i just have to say: andrew smith’s got an absolutely dynamo writing style. alex crow is similar, where it’s a book about kind of everything all at once, framed in a moment centering around teenage boys. it’s fantastic, and it’s more than a little gross, and i love it. this book made me feel so many things, and i thought austin was such an amazing narrator and main character to identify with. this book has it all: shitty teenage boy humor, fucked up science experiments, and poetic imagery that will make you want to cry. and explicit lgbt characters.

412/10 andrew smith what do you put in your water i just want to know

2. Burn by Patrick Ness

patrick ness has written a plethora of some of my favorite books (such as a monster calls, the chaos walking trilogy, and the rest of us just live here) so when i saw this one in the store i knew it would be a great one. burn is an alternate history fantasy that takes place in 1957 frome, washington, during the height of the cold war, and it begins with a girl named sarah and her father hiring a dragon to help out on their farm. but there’s not just dragons, farm living, and cold war tensions; there’s also a really shitty small town cop, a cult of dragon worshippers and their deadly teenage assassin, a pair of fbi agents, and a prophecy that sarah’s newly hired dragon claims she’s a part of. i think eoin colfer’s highfire was on my winter list, which also featured a story that included dragons and shitty cops, so when i first began burn i thought it was funny to have two books that had both things. you know, if you had a nickel etc etc. but that’s really where the similarities end because burn is entirely it’s own monster (dragon). burn is entirely invested in its world, and its fascinating. not only that, i had no clue where the book would take me next. there were so many surprises and amazing twists that honestly just blew me away. this book also includes beautifully written complicated discussions on family, race, and love - it features interracial and queer romances as the two most prominent romance plots which was such a nice surprise from a book i wasn’t expecting to have that kind of representation. this book is witty, fast-paced, and a very heartening read - i absolutely adored it.

9/10 dragons and becoming motivated by the power of love and friendship are so fucking cool

3. As Meat Loves Salt by Maria McCann

i hate this book! as meat loves salt is a historical fiction novel which takes place in seventeenth century england, which is going through a grisly civil war. the protagonist, jacob cullen, is a servant for a wealthy household and is engaged to another servant in the house. but due to certain events that are almost entirely jacob’s fault, he flees the house and is separated from his wife. from there, he joins the royal army and meets a kind soldier, ferris, and the two become fast friends. jacob and ferris’s relationship begins to bridge past friendly, and jacob struggles with his homoerotic feelings as well as the growing obsession and violence inside him. also, they try to start a colony. listen, i don’t know how to describe the book because so much happens, but it basically just follows jacob and all the terrible decisions he makes because he is, truly, a terrible person. ferris is kind and good, and jacob is scum of the earth. he sucks so bad. the entire time i was reading this book (which took absolutely so long), all i wanted was for jacob to just get his ass handed to him. i wanted to see him suffer. and it’s not like i just personally don’t like him - i believe the book purposefully depicts him as unsympathetic even though he is the narrator. i did enjoy the very in depth and accurate portrayal of what life would’ve been like in seventeenth century england, and i think it was interesting to read a character that is just the absolute worst person you’ve ever encountered and see him try and justify his actions, so if you enjoy that kind of thorough writing, then this book would be perfect for you. however, i did not see that bitch ass motherfucker jacob cullen suffer enough. i’d kill him with my bare hands.

2/10 diversity win! the worst man on earth is mlm!

4. This Savage Song by Victoria Schwab

i know ive had a friend tell me how great one of schwab’s other book series is, but truthfully i bought this book because the cover is sick as hell and it was on a table in the store that advertised for buy two get one free, i think. something like that. anyway, this savage song takes place in a future in which monsters, for whatever reason, suddenly became real and out for blood in a mysterious event nicknamed the phenomenon. august flynn is one of these monsters, but he takes no pride in that fact and only wants to feel human. kate harker is the daughter of a ruthless man and is trying her hardest to be ruthless, too, but deep down she knows it’s just an act. their city, verity, stands divided, and kate and august stand on either side - but when august is sent on a mission to befriend kate in the hopes of stopping an all out war, the lines begin to blur. this book rules. august and kate are such interesting and dynamic characters, and the narrative is familiar while still being capable of twisting the story around and taking the feet out from under you in really compelling ways. this savage song is part of the monsters of verity duology, and i can’t wait to dive into how the story continues and finishes.

11/10 sometimes you can judge a book by it’s cover

4a. Our Dark Duet by Victorian Schwab

this is the sequel and finale for this savage song and i’d figure i’d update everyone: fantastic ending, beautiful, showstopping, painful.

12/10 loved it and will definitely be keeping an eye out for schwab’s other books

5. White is for Witching by Helen Oyeyemi

oh boy. okay. white is for witching is about a house, and it is about the women who have lived inside of it. when her mother dies abroad, miranda silver begins to act strangely, and there’s nothing her father or her twin brother seem to be able to do about it. she develops an eating disorder and begins to hear voices in the silver family house, converted to a bed and breakfast by miranda’s dad; and she begins to lose herself in the house and the persistent presence of her family legacy. white is for witching switches perspective dizzingly and disorientingly between miranda, her twin eliot, miranda’s friend from school named ore, and the house itself. this story is a horror story as much as it as a tragedy as much as it is a romance as much as it is a bunch of other things. oyeyemi brings race, sexuality, nationality, and family into this story and forces you not to look away. this book is poetry.

(like i mentioned briefly, this book heavily deals with topics of race and closely follows miranda’s eating disorder. read responsibly, and take care of yourselves)

15/10 this book consumed me and i think i’ll have to read it another 10 more times to feel it properly

6. These Violent Delights by Chloe Gong

okay. okay. strap in for a ride. these violent delights is a romeo and juliet style story, taking place in glittering 1920’s shanghai. the city stands divided - not only between the foreign powers encroaching on chinese land, but also between the scarlet gang and the white flowers, who are at the height of a generations-long blood feud. juliette cai, heir to the scarlets, has recently returned from four years abroad and is determined to prove herself ruthless enough to lead. roma montagov, heir to the white flowers, is standing strenuously on his place as next in line due to a slip up four years prior and is desperate to keep hold of his title. and in the midst of juliette and roma’s burning history with each other threatening to combust, an unnatural monster lurks in the waters of shanghai, loosing a madness on scarlets and white flowers alike. this book has it all - scorned ex lovers, political intrigue, deadly monsters, and all set on a glamorous backdrop of the roaring twenties. i absolutely was enraptured by this book and the way it plays around the story of romeo and juliet so well that it easily became it’s own monster, but with the punches and embraces of something classically shakespearan. gong does just an absolutely breathtaking job of fitting this fantastical story amid the larger world of shanghai and the real life historical events that had shaken the city to its core. completely immersive and outstandingly heart racing.

17/10 i was chewing on my fingernails for the last thirty pages and will continue to do so until the sequel is released (our violent ends, 16 nov 21)

7. The Antiques by Kris D’Agostino

you ever heard of the american dysfunctional family story? this is most definitely that. at the same time george westfall’s cancer takes a turn for the worse, a hurricane hits the east coast, and suddenly all at once the issues of his health, the hurricane, and all three of his children’s achingly dysfunctional adult lives are crashing into each other. reunited by george’s death, the westfall siblings have to face their grief, each other, and the problems in their own lives they attempted to put on hold while planning their father’s memorial. this is a nice story about grief and loss and love and somehow finding the humor amidst it all.

(this book does include a depiction of an autistic child who does experience several pretty bad meltdowns due to ignorant people around him not understanding how to cater to his needs. im not an authority on what depictions are or are not harmful, but i do believe this depiction is ultimately loving and well-intended.)

7/10 it made me laugh and cry and was generally one of those books that somehow hit you close to home

8. Fierce Fairytales by Nikita Gill

fierce fairytales is a poetry anthology that reimagines classic fairytales from a modern, feminist viewpoint, acknowledging that the line between hero and villain, monster and damsel, are not as clear cut as the classics try to make you believe. this book also includes illustrations done by the author herself, which i think is really cool. my personal favorite story reimagining was the story of peter pan and captain hook, called ‘boy lost’ which looked at how peter and hook’s relationship began and rotted. all in all, i think this collection of stories had a lot of important things to say and said them in frank, easy to understand poetry and prose.

7/10 beautiful message and pretty prose, but at times a little cliche

and that’s all from the summer! my fall semester starts tomorrow, and overall i feel very good about all the reading i did this summer. i even read four other books not on this list for work! so i definitely feel like i made the most out of my time, and im really glad i was able to read so many stories that made me feel a variety of different things

thanks so much for reading this list, and let me know if you read or have read any of these books and tell me what you think of them!

happy reading<3

[shadowed-dancer]

My Thoughts on the New MHA Opening and Ending

I have thoughts, and I will share them because oh boy if I don’t get this out I’m gonna explode

Vague Spoilers for the manga (up to chapter 258 and vigilantes) because I discuss the upcoming arcs, but I don’t discuss any major plot points in detail. Still, proceed with caution if you’re anime only

Keep in mind, this OP and ED will cover the Endeavour Agency Arc and the MVA Arc, so I will be judging them accordingly.

First, the OP

This is a good OP... in theory (that’s going to become my catchphrase for this post). It’s nice to look at and flows pretty well, but my biggest problem is that it doesn’t do it’s job. An OP is supposed to be a sort of... summary (?) of the Cour it plays for. That means any cool plot points, emotional beats, and important characters should be featured in some way, shape, or form. We’ll talk about that more later, but first let’s discuss the music.

The song is really good. I have a feeling it will continue to grow on me as I listen to it more often, but yeah my first impression is that the song sounds great. My only complaint about the music itself is that it ends kind of abruptly (I noticed this is the JT opening too). The previous openings used to have a bit of instrumental to “play us out” and lead us to the end card, but this one feels like it ends very suddenly and unnaturally.

As for the visuals...

Yeah alright I’ll admit, the visuals are stunning... in theory. I appreciate the variety in backgrounds and colours, it makes the OP really interesting to look at. This was actually one of my biggest problems with the JT Opening, it all took place on the training grounds, so there was no variety (everything was metal tubes with a blue sky, with only 3 shots set somewhere different). I appreciate the style of this OP.

But like I said, that’s only in theory, as in, through screenshots these are all pleasing to look at. The pacing of this OP is wild, and I truly don’t know who to blame for this.

That sunset shot above? It lasts approximately 12 seconds, zooming in every few to make it seem like something is happening (when in reality it’s still the same poses, angles, etc). While there’s nothing wrong with a nice, drawn out shot, it becomes irritating when compared to the pacing of the rest of this op.

At the 41 second mark, we are given the shot above. It has flowed directly from the previous sunset scene. We still have not moved away from the image of the trio (aside from the opening shot and the title card) yet we’re approaching the halfway mark of the OP.

The next shot is the MLA, which lasts about 5 seconds. Ok, perfect. Not too long, but also not short enough to be confusing. It cuts away a little fast once the dude on the far left appears, but does anyone actually know who that is? No, seriously, I’m asking. I don’t remember his name and he’s not on the wiki, so I can only assume he’s not important. Therefore, it’s not all that bad if the shot cuts away shortly after he comes into frame. The audience is able to take in the scene without having to pause...

... And then the problems start

While this shot is fine in theory, it pans up fast and  cuts away quickly. You know how hard it was for me to get this screenshot? Really hard. You want to know why I struggled so much? Because, due to the timing of the cut and the way it pans upwards, it’s almost impossible to pause on Dabi’s face. I literally had to go frame by frame to get it, because he’s in shot for so little time that naturally pausing is guaranteed to miss him.

When watching this in real time (without pausing) the cut away makes you feel as if you missed something because “something was there, I just couldn’t register what because now it’s gone”. Unlike Compress, who wears a very colourful coat you can recognize the entire time, Dabi’s pants are more blended into the background.

It also doesn’t help that this shot is literally composed to draw your attention away from Dabi until the last possible second. Due to framing, your eye is naturally drawn to the brightly coloured Toga in the foreground, making it super easy to miss Dabi in the back (until, of course, his bright face appears and contrasts against the background, drawing your eye just in time for the scene to change, leaving you to wonder who or what you missed).

I know this sounds like nitpicking, but this shot is the only group shot we get of the League, and is also the start of a seriously weird trend for the villains in this OP getting the short end of the stick.

Anyways, then we get what I’ll call “The Carousel Shot” in which every Class 1A kid shows up and poses dramatically, as if they were on a carousel. It’s a lovely sequence and I really enjoy watching it but... why is it in this OP?

Seriously, this is a genuine question. Class 1A barely shows up in the Endeavour Agency Arc, and NONE of the students are in MVA. This sequence (not counting the three boys at the end) lasts 8 seconds. Why is this much time dedicated to characters who are barely in the arc? (Unless Studio Bones extends their work studies into fuller plot lines which oh my gosh please don’t do that, or if they do, do it quick).

We then get what I call the “Oh God I Blinked And Missed Everything” sequence, which lasts 3 seconds (not including the longer, moving shot of Shigaraki at the end) and features NINE INDIVIDUAL IMAGES, none of which are related to each other. Not only is this 3 images per second, but the fact that they are all unrelated means you can’t even use previous information to fill in the blanks.

What do I mean by that? Well, imagine if I show you 9 images of various pro heroes posing. If I play that in 3 seconds you’ll absolutely miss some of them, but as long as you catch some you’ll still get an idea of what I’m trying to show to you. Your brain is able to fill in the gaps that “I recognized 4 pro heroes, therefore the rest must have also been pros” even if you didn’t register every single frame.

That doesn’t work if every frame features a completely different subject. The shots in this sequence vary so widely that it’s impossible to find a through line. Some feature multiple characters, some feature one, some are closeups, some are super far away, some are character’s we know, others are characters we don’t. It’s impossible to get a solid read on what you’re being shown.

Now, again, there’s nothing wrong with these super quick shots... in theory. The problem comes from the fact that these shots are the only indicators for some of the major themes that will be explored during this Cour (like Twice’s growth and young Shigaraki).

That being said, let’s move away from criticism and talk about speculation, because hidden amongst this sequence are two... interesting images.

This All Might one is very reminiscent of the shot in Chapter 257, where Aizawa and All Might have a conversation while staring up at the stars. However, this is technically the start of the “War Arc” (or the “prologue”, if that’s what you want to call it), so this might indicate that we’re going to get farther into the series than a lot of us guessed.

(Many people suspected we’d get to that cliffhanger at the start of the season (if you read the manga you know the one), but after seeing the pacing for JT a lot of us assumed we’d be lucky to even finish Endeavour Agency. It seems we’re back to the cliffhanger now though lol). 

This is another really interesting shot because it’s indicative of Shirakumo, meaning we might get to see Aizawa and Mic confront him some time this Cour (this also makes sense, since this confrontation technically happens before that All Might scene I mentioned in the previous paragraph).

But the cat specifically is a really strange addition. That cat is named Sushi and, correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think Sushi is ever mentioned in the main series. I think he’s only in Vigilantes.

This might just be a little Easter Egg for Vigilante readers, but I’m personally hoping that they’ll add at least a few Vigilante shots in there to really tug at the heart strings. I’d say I want a whole Vigilante episode but I don’t think they have the time (unless they really cram MVA, which I do NOT want).

I don’t have much to say about the last bit of the OP. The action shot between the 3 boys was nice, and it follows the sort of narrative through line they established from the early shot of them sitting at the sunset. I also like the shot of Endeavour fading in to replace All Might, even if it’s very simple.

But I want to talk about an overarching problem I touched upon earlier in that villain shot: the way the villains are handled in this OP.

This is a good OP... in theory. The problem is, it doesn’t represent half the arcs in the cour! Every shot of the League is so rushed that you can barely register that they were on screen before they’re gone.

I have no idea how many Episodes Endeavour Agency will take, but I’d assume 3 (4 if you count the Christmas episode). 12 episodes for this Cour minus 3 for Endeavour Agency = 9 episodes left. If we truly do get the prologue for the War Arc (and if we assume it’s only 1 episode) that leaves us with 8 villains episodes.

8/12 episodes (aka two thirds of the Cour) will likely be about the villains. And yet they’re pushed to the background so hard in this OP.

I want to dream, and I want to believe that this OP is going to magically change when MVA starts. The song fits super well, and I can imagine like an inversion of the OP but from the Villain side! Wouldn’t that be neat? Imagine right after the “it’s alright” part Shigaraki just freaking decays the title card... oh man that would be so cool. But, alas, I highly doubt they’d do that.

Side rant, but you know what was so fun about MVA in the manga? It’s that, for 21 chapters, we leave the kids behind and the villains become our protagonists. Suddenly Shigaraki is the one we’re rooting for, suddenly we’re learning backstories for everyone, and suddenly we find ourselves just as attached to the villains as we are to the kids. It’s an inversion that’s SO RARE to find, and I think many people (myself included) were hoping it would be reflected in the OP.

A big part of being the protagonist means featuring heavily in the OP, and a lot of us just wanted the villains to get that honour, even if only once. As is, the OP still treats them as the antagonists when... really they aren’t. Not right now, at least.

So yeah, final thoughts on the OP are that it’s good, it’s just not very representative of the arcs it’s supposed to cover. If this was just for Endeavour Agency, I’d say it’s actually really cool, but if we assume that this is what will play for the Villain Arc, then it simply doesn’t do it’s job. And it makes me sad to say that because, again, this OP is really well done.

If I had to rate it? Hmmm

If Studio Bones actually grants my wish and creates a different visual for the Villain Arc (while using the same song) and then this version only plays for the Endeavour Agency Arc and the War Prologue? I’d give it an 8/10. It’s really good, but it could use a few more elements that are clearly derived from the Agency Arc (ahem, Todoroki siblings).

But if this is the OP that will play for the entire Cour? a 6.5/10. It’s nice, but it’s not representative of one of the arcs it’s going to cover. And, unlike other arcs like Pro Hero or Summer Exams, the villain Arc is so important and takes up so much time that it honestly feels like a bit of a disservice.

Now for the Ending

I want to say that I appreciate how soft this ending starts. This cour will likely feature a lot of episodes that end on... heavier themes, and I think the sight of peaceful, falling raindrops is the perfect way to let the audience process their emotions before starting the ending in earnest.

The song itself is very nice, and I like that it’s a bit slower than the more recent endings.

(Side note, but the FUNNIEST moment in the entire series is when Sir Nighteye dies because it’s so emotional and everyone is standing around his bed in his heartwrentching silence, only for the ending to come BLARING IN out of no where. If you forgot how jarringly hilarious it was, go listen to the Eri ending and tell me that’s not the funniest thing this series ever did. Anyways yeah I’m glad that’s not gonna happen this Cour).

This ending is a bit all over the place in terms of it’s visuals, but honestly I think it works. Most endings usually have a theme tying them together (all the Class 1A girls, a fantasy AU, old photographs, planning a party, etc) but this ending’s theme is a bit harder to identify.

That being said, I think it’s just supposed to show everyone going about their day. It’s calm, it’s peaceful, and it’s just very sweet to think about

I like this shot. Actually, scratch that, I like this whole sequence. I enjoy anything that allows Class 1A to chill and have fun.

Hawks is featured quite heavily in this ending which, fair. He’s pretty important in this arc.

I really love the shot where Endeavour immediately switches to Hawks, I thought that was a lot of fun, and very good symbolism on how Hawks wants to be like Endeavour. I also love all the shots of Baby Hawks, because it’s adorable.

Something about this shot is just so cute. It’s the little domestic things like waiting for a bus that make this ending feel... idk the word, real? It shows a side of the characters that we’ll never see in the episodes, but we know have to exist.

Like yes, of course the kids have to wait for the bus. We never see it, but of course there are those moments of quiet. Agh, I love it.

The villains also make an appearance and I’m very happy about that (I’d love to see more of the villains just chilling around, I think they deserve it). I kind of wish they weren’t sitting in a dark room for the sake of being edgy, since I think it would be nice to see the villains just... sort of existing, but honestly it’s still a nice shot. I also like how this shot sort of mirrors the first one with Class 1A (someone coming in while everyone else is sitting and waiting for them).

That being said, as much as I love looking at Dabi and his stupid face (affectionate)... why is Dabi the one getting the closeup?

Mind you, endings don’t need to be connected to their Cours (they can be, like the Eri one, but they don’t have to be). But this ending does seem to be connected to the arcs it intends to cover, given all the Hawks appearances, the boys wearing their work study scarves, etc.

So, I ask again, why Dabi? Out of the six League members, we learn the backstory for four of them in this arc (Shigaraki, Toga, Twice, and we very briefly learn about Spinner). The only two left out are Dabi and Compress.

I can only assume they chose Dabi because he’s constantly in contact with Hawks, and therefore that makes him important? If the OP told us anything, it’s that Bones values the Endeavour Agency Arc over the Villain Arc lol...

... Oh my gosh please tell me that’s not actually the reason Dabi is focused on here BONES WAI-

Anyways, the ending comes to a close with Hawks watching over the kids and Endeavour. The relaxing time is done, it’s time for work studies.

Overall impression? It’s great. It’s hard to screw up an ending, so as long as you have something pretty on screen, it’s wonderful.

I’ll give this a 9/10

[thecagedsong]

Forgotten Light: Chapter 10: Departure

A/N: Hey, going to be a little iffy on the posting schedule. Taking a huge test in 12 days and I have to study all day every day. Take this one though, one of my favorite chapters. I do wonder if the story would be better if I didn’t have so much of the plan laid out beforehand.

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11

Chapter 10: Departure

Everyone was sweating as Agad, the last of their group, reached the High Judgement Pavilion. Only Patton was missing, already on his way to scope out the dragon temple. While they didn’t tell Seth directly, Patton was probably going to use their infuriatingly peaceful flight as a distraction for when he entered.

Seth had spent the afternoon getting everything ready. Whispering to people to pack up and where to go, modifying the treaty to let their mounts out, trying to collect items. Tess had found him and spelled out the names of the demons in Kendra’s journal, and it was only when she spelled out “Tailizar” that he connected that name with demon that had confronted him in the dreamscape. Agad had promised to see if he could locate any of these demons, and Seth stuck their names with Patton’s list of ways to reach the Phantom Isle. He really needed an adventure log. He let Tess keep the journal of secrets, since no one else was going to use it.

“All right,” Seth said, rubbing his hands together. “I see everyone has brought their suitcases, like I said. You’re probably wondering what is going on, and the answer is that all humans and Satyrs are leaving Wyrmroost right now. I’m going to give being caretaker back to Marat, Agad will do what he wants, but the rest of us are heading out.”

Everyone started asking questions at once, but they weren’t letting Seth answer them. Every time he tried to start, someone else would jump in with a point.

Marat struck his staff on the ground, demanding silence. He nodded back at Seth.

“Right, I’ve thought this through and talked it over with Agad and Marat. We’re expecting an attack tonight, and the biggest weakness is the barrel, so we’ll be taking that with us. There’s a spy in the keep I’m going to have to leave Marat to deal with, but to be honest, he’ll probably be able to handle them a lot better than I could.

“We did what we were brought here to do: kept Wyrmroost from falling, strengthened the treaty barriers, and we saved a couple of castles and insulted the dragon king while we were at it. There’s no reason for me to be here, or any of you, and as cool as it has been being the caretaker, I have a couple of leads on finding Kendra, and that’s more important.”

Grandma asked, “How will you get Celebrant to agree to the change in leadership?”

Seth grinned, “Celebrant doesn’t have to. He’s no longer caretaker, revoked by our local dragon slayer. He’ll be angry, I’m counting on it, but no magic says he can tell us to do anything. We’re skipping the Fair Folk bit again, but they already confirmed Marat once, and what are they going to do, write a slightly angry letter?”

“And how do you expect to leave peacefully?” Grandpa asked, arms folded.

“The flying mounts,” Tanu answered before Seth could.

“Yep,” Seth said. “It may have skipped your notice, but we acquired some new wings for our friends. We fly down to the nearest town with a car rental, and we can be back in Fablehaven by tomorrow. To make things easier on our friends, we won’t have them fly us the whole way. And we’ll have some nice stables waiting for them at Fablehaven when they arrive.”

“And the Dragons?” Newel asked. “I still haven’t heard how we’re getting around them if they decide it isn’t poor taste to eat poultry and red meat in the same meal.”

Doren slapped a hand to his head, “Of course, the Cloak of Innocence.”

“I would normally be loathe to test the cloak against multiple dragons,” Agad said, “As they are undoubtably watching us, but it is a short trip, the numbers within the cloak’s ability, even with the mounts. The cloak has also proven effective against dragon fear, ensuring you retain the ability to stay seated.”

“Oh, and we’re taking the barrel with us,” Seth said, not remembering if he had already mentioned it, “Marat, did we get anything for that?”

Marat waved a golden feather, “This will significantly lighten the barrel, making it possible to carry if secured correctly.”

“Cool, any other questions?” Seth said, “We’ve been keeping this underwraps, hoping to be able to walk right out of here. Celebrant isn’t going to expect us to just leave, certainly not in broad daylight, which makes this the perfect time.”

“Wait, does this mean we’re going to be riding horses?” Newel asked, absolutely affronted.

“Actually, it’s not so bad,” Doren admitted quietly. “I had to, in order to stay with the littles. Felt a little off, but it won’t kill ya.”

“Look, I would really like you guys with me,” Seth said, “But if you’d rather stay here…”

Newel huffed, “Now I don’t appreciate being strong armed, I’ll go, but it’s unnatural is all.”

“So Marat, how do I do this?” Seth asked, and the dragon avatar stepped forward.

“First you’re going to have to denounce Kendra as a caretaker. You were appointed together as one, and you are both required to make decisions regarding the mantle. Kendra has been gone for long enough, that you can officially declare her as having abandoned the post, and accept all the responsibilities as sole caretaker. Hold the staff, hold the amulet, and repeat after me.”

Seth accepted the staff and repeated what Marat told him to. If Kendra had her memory, she would be so mad over what he was accusing her of: abandoning responsibilities, disregard for the treaty, and in her absence, he accepted sole power and responsibility for the preserve.

There was a glow from both the medallion and the tip of the staff. When it settled down, Agad stepped forward.

“Seth, remove the medallion from around your neck,” he instructed. He did so. “And repeat after me.”

Seth recited the same oath that Marat had asked him to take a little over a week ago.

“Do you, Marat nee Camarat, vow to protect the outside world from the living beings at Wyrmroost, and to shelter the living beings at Wyrmroost from any outside threats?”

“Yes,” Marat said, his head bowed.

“Then as the current caretaker of Wyrmroost and as master of Blackwell Keep, of my own free will, I hereby confer my stewardship over Wyrmroost to Marat nee Camarat, including all rights pertaining to a designated and official caretaker of this sanctuary together with all privileges available to the master of Blackwell Keep.”

Seth placed the medallion over Marat’s head, and they shook hands.

Agad let out a breath, “It is done. You have done this war a great service, Seth Sorenson.”

“Hey, maybe this isn’t goodbye forever to Wyrmroost,” Seth said, smiling, “It’s been fun, feel free to call on my services again after we get Kendra back.”

“We will try to let you grow up first,” Agad said. He walked to the side of the pavilion, it was fairly large, and waved a hand towards the stables.

A minute later, those who hadn’t yet seen the mounts were appreciating them. Tess looked like she had gone to heaven.

“I get to ride one?” Tess asked, bouncing.

“You’re going to be with your brother,” Agad said, smiling at her. “His steed is the majestic flying camel, Bagak.” Tess squealed and ran up the camel, talking a million miles a minute.

“Do I have to ride with her?” Knox complained.

“Bagak is the most secure,” Agad said, “We don’t have saddles that accommodate wings. Make no mistake, Tess is possibly the most important member of this party. Without her, everyone fails.”

Seth, meanwhile, was making introductions, “Grandma, this is Glory. She’s Kendra’s mount, and one of the mute luvians. Glory, would you be willing to take my grandma out of the preserve and to the outskirts of the city?”

Glory neighed and stomped once for yes.

“You are quite beautiful,” Grandma admired offering her hand and waiting for affirmation to stroke, “And Kendra picked you because you like Jane Austen, right?”

“Captain!” Seth called, pulling Grandpa behind him. “Patton’s gone, he was only a stingbulb, but I’m hoping you’d be willing to take my Grandpa?”

“I remember Patton was only temporary,” Captain said, “as a group, we have decided to stick together and give your goals what aide we can. I would be honored to carry your esteemed elder.”

“The honor would be mine,” Grandpa said bowing.

Seth found the dark gray stallion, and asked quietly, “Rodolfo, are you sure you’re okay leaving Lomo behind? I’d understand if you wanted to stay by him. He’s the only one you agreed to carry.”

“I heard you with Captain, and I stand by that. Lomo also encouraged me to stay with your group. Frustrated by his own race’s neutrality, he encouraged me to assist you in what I can,” Rodolfo told him.

“Good, I’m glad to have you with us,” Seth said, “You get the strangest riders. Go easy on them, they spook easily.”

Rodolfo seemed amused as he followed Seth to where the satyrs were standing apart from the group.

“Newel, Doren, this is Rodolfo, he has volunteered to carry you out of here,” Seth said. “I told him to go easy on your two because you’re scardy cats and this is unnatural.”

“I resemble that remark,” Doren said.

“You sure he’s up for carrying both of us?” Newel asked.

Rodolfo snorted, “I could carry you both and another besides.” Then he calmed down, “I swear that you will have safe journey on my back.”

“Sorry,” Newel said, “We’ve just never gotten along well with Centaurs, and have never met Luvians, but you seem an alright sort, I suppose.”

Seth left to find Nobel, who was waiting for him.

“Sorry about that buddy,” Seth said, “That was my last bit of being in charge for a while, had to do a good job of it. We’re going to be following Tanu and Charlemagne out of here, right?”

Nobel stomped once.

“Good, alright. If dragons try to bother us, I’m going to be the one talking to them. I won’t be focused on staying with the group then, you’re going to have to do that for me.”

Nobel tapped once again, then tossed his head. Seth smiled, “Yeah, I so got the coolest one.”

It took longer than Seth liked to get everyone mounted up and settled. Grandma made sure everyone had their weapons firmly put out of reach so that no accidents killed them all by disrupting the cloak of innocence’s power. The barrel ended up tied alongside Captain, weighing as much as a feather thanks to the magical item. They made sure Tess knew all the people and animals inside the protection of the cloak. Finally, they were ready about 5:30, which gave them a little over three hours before sunset.

“Until we meet again,” the caretaker brothers said in unison. They didn’t look anything alike, but their manners matched in that moment as the two dragons in human form bowed to the party.

“Lead on Charlemagne,” Seth called. They took off, and the heat fell away as they soared on the breeze. Seth decided to start counting, see how long it would take for a dragon to attack them.

He got bored and stopped, but it didn’t take long for one to approach.

“And where are you going, little caretaker?” a female voice asked. A black dragon surged from the surrounding woods into the air beside them.

“Oh, I’m not caretaker anymore,” Seth said, “I gave that over to Marat. Celebrant’s tantrums got boring; they aren’t worth my time.”

The dragon pulled back and a surge of green fire surrounded them, deflected by the bubble of Tess’s cloak.

“Now that was rude,” Seth said, as the breath weapon subsided, “Here we are, trying to leave peacefully, and you try to set us on fire.” He leaned forward on Nobel and stoked his neck. Dropping to a whisper he said, “Stay steady, don’t spook.”

There was a grunt Seth couldn’t interpret, but it was strong enough that Seth leaned back.

“Celebrant did not accept this change! He was not aware. You lie.”

Seth shook his head, “Take it up with the caretaker, Marat is back at Blackwell Keep. It might be hard, since Celebrant tore down the roost. The Somber Knight stripped Celebrant of his caretaker status, and since it’s no longer his business who is caretaker, we didn’t feel the need to inform him of the change. If he doesn’t know, you should hurry and tell him.”

The black dragon took off with three harsh beats of her wings. Not even the wind affected them, instead slipping around the barrier.

“Seth, here’s an idea, maybe don’t taunt the dragons?” Doren called back with a strained voice.

“Seconded,” Grandpa called from in front of him, “Protection from magical fear is all well and good, but we don’t need to make this experience anymore terrifying than it already is. Everyone okay?”

A round of affirmatives came, the silent horses whinnying.

Calvin flew up close on Thistleton.

“Should I try scouting like last time?” Calvin asked.

Seth shook his head, “Stay within the cover of the cloak. We don’t know how far we can stretch this bubble, and everyone staying together would be better. Go up to Charlemagne and ask how long until we reach the barrier.”

“Aye sir!” Calvin said. “Let’s go Thistleton!”

Calvin came back and reported forty minutes until they reached the boundary. Seth took out his spy glass and pointed it towards Sky Hold, but couldn’t focus it right while moving. He put it away and hoped. Hoped the black dragon was a chatterbox, discrediting Celebrant even further. Hoped she wasn’t as fast as she looked, and it would take her at least thirty minutes to make it to Sky Hold. They had bet a lot on this plan, and Seth really, really, really hoped it would work.

Ten minutes of fairly smooth flying (they had a small detour away from a herd of Peryton), and Seth was starting to feel hopeful. A dragon came up, but didn’t speak, just flew beside them, then dropped back down. Then twenty minutes down, twenty minutes to go, Calvin confirmed that they were on track.

A roar echoed along through the air, startling several flocks of birds, and even a couple of their flying mounts falter.

“Steady,” Grandma called.

“Seems like Celebrant just got the news,” Seth called to everyone.

“Pull in tighter,” Grandpa said, “As close as possible without jeopardizing speed. The less stretched the cloak, the better it will be able to protect us.”

Their mounts obeyed, and Seth started tapping his thigh nervously and checking over his shoulder towards Sky Hold. Five minutes later, according to his watch, because it felt like thirty minutes to him, Seth looked back and saw the streak of adamantine silver wings pushing towards them. Seth forced himself not to look back again.

“What is the meaning of this!” Celebrant demanded pulling to a stop in front of them. Their mounts reared in the air at the block.

“Keep going forward,” Knox called when their mounts pulled up. “he’ll be forced back, just like the first time I was here.”

“He’s right Charlemagne,” Seth called, “Keep going.”

Hesitantly, the mounts started forward again, and Celebrant snarled as he was the one forced back.

“I will not be ignored!” he roared. And it was exactly as terrible as it had been the day he and Kendra had had their interview.

“Uggh,” Seth said, wrinkling his nose, “I see you didn’t take my advice about the breath mints.”

“Do you admit to fleeing your post caretaker?” Celebrant demanded. “I would destroy you for your insolence!”

“As I told your spy,” Seth answered, “I’m not the caretaker. I gave the job back to Marat, and you can’t complain. The Somber Knight fired you for doing a terrible job! Go take it up with Marat back at Blackwell Keep. We’re leaving.”

Celebrant roared again, this time with the full strength of his breath weapon. Four other breath weapons joined from the rest of his entourage.  

Calvin flew up beside him, and as quietly as he could, said, “The barrier is weakening by the Satyrs.”

Oh no. He was used to Kendra holding the magic item, Tess didn’t have the same magic juice in her.

“Tell everyone to get ready to dash,” Seth whispered back. Calvin took off and he took a deep breath.

“Celebrant!” Seth roared back, hoping he was about  “I’ve met babies with better manners than you! We are leaving Wyrmroost in peace. You lie and cheat and still can’t beat a couple of kids. How does it feel to screw up so many times in just two weeks? Now leave us alone, you spineless piece of shit!”

“LANGUAGE!” Grandma yelled.

“Sorry!” Seth yelled back, “Celebrant, back off you piece of rotting troll dung! We’re leaving and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

The breath weapon ceased, and Celebrant looked more livid than Seth had ever seen him. “YOU DARE INSULT ME! I WILL BURN YOUR BONES TO ASH AND FEAST UPON YOUR HORSES —” Celebrant was forced to the side as Charlemagne charged forward.

 “The gate is in sight!” Tanu called.

“YOU FLEE LIKE COWARDS AND FLAUNT OUR CAGE! YOU WILL DIE HERE, SETH SORENSON!”

 “And your mother was a chicken nugget!” Seth shouted over his shoulder, clinging to Nobel with all his might.

Celebrant swiped with claws at the barrier, forcing it to turn temporarily opaque. Another dragon, brown, attacked from above, and the black one struck above the Satyrs, their shrieks were barely heard over the large cracking sound of their barrier.

Options, he needed options! The moment the cloak broke they were all dead. Why hadn’t he claimed the bow from Kendra?

The bag of winds! Seth scrambled, and pulled the small sack out of his adventure kit.

“I have the rear!” he called to his family over the crack of the brown dragon attacking again. “Everyone keep sprinting.”

Nobel resisted a little, but let Seth tug him exactly behind Bagak. He readied the bag of winds as the black dragon swiped. The shield was remaining opaque for longer and longer. The black dragon chomped at the shield, and it shattered. With a roar, Celebrant dived directly for him.

Seth waited until just before Celebrant reached the fading shield, angling it to catch on the flat of his wings. He braced as much as he could without losing his hold on Nobel. Seth opened the bag as wide as it would go. The protection, currently a cracked shell, vanished under his attack. Celebrant was blown off course, his swipe missing—

Celebrant vanished, along with his allies. Seth blinked at the empty sky. Gazing downward, gone were the lush, colorful trees. There was no Blackwell keep in the distance, and no enormous mountain peaks where Thronis watched, probably laughing.

It took a second for the cheering of his friends to hit. But it hit like the colder air and Seth collapsed against Nobel and he dropped the bag of winds. Calvin caught it and flew it back up to him.

“You were awesome,” Seth said to his horse.

“No, you were amazing!” Newel said, inching Rodolfo closer. “We thought it was our turn to become barbeque!”

“Indeed,” Rodolfo said, “You and Nobel showed great courage.”

“I don’t know about you guys,” Seth said, “But I can take a little break before we do that again. And I need a hamburger. Now.”

Doren and Newel absolutely agreed.

[ieatmypizzawithaforkandknife]

MAG 019 - Confession (part 1)

Summary: Jonathan reads the first half of the statement of Father Edwin Burroughs, regarding “his claimed demonic possession.”

Our first two-parter! Not that I realized that when I listened to the episode the first time, despite it being right there in the title, because I have the observational skills of a blind muskrat...but I’m excited because I know there will be more multi-parters in the future. I like the episodic format right now, but I know that as Things Begin To Happen, I’ll appreciate the increased breadth and depth of longer stories.

89 Bullingdon Rd is the third street address featured in the series so far, the other two being 93 Lancaster Rd in episode 5 and 105 Hill Top Rd in episode 8. Unlike the first two, however, this one actually exists - kind of. According to google maps, the house numbers on Lancaster Rd in Walthamstow run from about 1 to 85, and the numbers on Hill Top Rd in Cowley run from about 1 to 75. But 89 is right in the middle of the range of house numbers on Bullingdon Rd in Cowley, and while google maps says there’s an 89A but not an 89...it’s close enough. On one hand it’s super cool that these locations are relatively real (the towns are real, the streets are real, it’s just the exact buildings that aren’t). On the other hand 89A is a little too close to 89, and I wish Jonny had picked a number completely outside the range of addresses like he did with the first two, just to avoid crazy fans descending on real people’s houses.

It is definitely worth noting the proximity of 89 Bullingdon Rd to 105 Hill Top Rd. They’re only about half a mile (or about a kilometer, since this is in the UK after all) away from each other as the crow flies. And for both of them, the location itself seems to be tied to the paranormal happenings of the episode(s) they’re featured in. In episode 8, Ivo Lensik feels that unnatural burning start when he’s alone inside 105 Hill Top Rd, which stops as soon as Father Burroughs arrives. In this episode, Father Burroughs feels that same unnatural burning start when he’s alone inside 105 Hill Top Rd, and it only stops when Ivo uproots the tree. And in this episode, Bethany claims her problems are being caused by the Bullingdon Rd house itself, though she doesn’t explain what made her think that. But it’s very concerning that she can’t seem to see the only creepy thing about the house that we’re aware of: the old Latin word written in faded blue paint on the exposed wall.

The word “mentis” is Latin alright, but Father Burroughs translates it as “mind” which...isn’t quite right. “Mentis” doesn’t strictly mean “mind”, it means “of the mind”. The endings of Latin nouns change based on how they’re used in a sentence, so if you’re talking about the word “mind” as the subject of a sentence (or as the word in general) it is “mens”. “Mentis” is specifically the possessive form of the word. I don’t know whether this was deliberate or accidental on Jonny’s part, since if you look it up the dictionary entry shows “mens, mentis”. (It’s standard practice to include both the “subject” form and the “possessive” form in the dictionary since they’re different.) It makes me wonder if this word was part of a phrase and if there were other words hidden under the wallpaper. (Also, small shout-out to anyone reading this who is also a Latin geek, and I hope I explained it well enough that the non-Latin-geeks also understand that explanation.)

On the subject of language, this isn’t the first time Latin has appeared in connection with the paranormal. Ex Altiora, the Leitner found in episode 4, was written entirely in Latin (including the title), and the Lord’s Prayer was written in Latin on that long strip of singed paper found in the second trash bag in episode 5. It’s interesting that the same constellation of details from the trash bag incident are also in this episode: Latin, Christianity, and burning.

Latin isn’t even the only dead language to make an appearance this episode. When describing his experiences performing exorcisms at the beginning of the episode, Father Burroughs recounts: “I was once cursed at in Sumerian by a young man who was illiterate.” In episode 12, the phrase muttered by the hospitalized man that seemed to summon the “lightless flame” contained the word “Asag”, which is the name of a Sumerian demon that could boil fish alive in their rivers. Father Burroughs doesn’t appear in episode 12, but if he had been at that hospital, I think he would have pegged that guy as possessed and wanted to have an exorcism performed. So is there a connection between Sumerian and possession and burning? And how do all the different dead languages that have appeared so far (Latin, Sumerian, and Sanskrit) fit together?

I am also very interested in that nurse, Anna/Annie/Anne Kasuma/Willett. (Seriously, how many names does one person need?) For my purposes, I’m going to call her “Annie” because she seems to go by that. In this episode’s statement (made in 2011), Father Burroughs gives her surname as Willett, and in Jonathan’s wrap-up at the end of episode 8 (which he recorded in late 2015 or early 2016), Jonathan gives her surname as Kasuma. As an older, fairly conservative Catholic (she was a member of the congregation at Father Burroughs’ church, fully believed in demonic possession, etc.), it is highly unlikely that she changed her name for any reason other than marriage or divorce. Ivo Lensik described her as “Malaysian”, and Kasuma is an Indonesian name, whereas Willett is found overwhelmingly in predominantly white countries (the U.S., England, Australia, and Canada are at the top of the list of countries where the name is found). So it would make the most sense to me if Kasuma were her maiden name and Willett a married name. BUT when Jonathan mentions her in the wrap-up to episode 8, he calls her “Mrs. Kasuma”. Since everything else fits with the idea that Kasuma is her maiden name and Willett her married name, I’m thinking Jonathan just messed up the honorific, since he also referred to “Miss Popham” at the end of episode 15 when “Popham” was very clearly Laura’s married name. (This overly detailed surname analysis brought to you in part by my ongoing obsession with genealogy. If anyone reading this has anything resembling a passing interest in the subject, feel free to hit me up about it. I will gush.) All of that nitty-gritty was not without purpose: I think she’s important somehow. I could be reading too much into things, but why would Jonny give her a name change if it weren’t somehow important? Even I realized the nurse from episode 8 and the nurse from episode 19 were the same person on my first listen-through, when I missed or forgot 90% of the details in any given episode, so I don’t think he was trying to trip us up. And she has a direct connection to 105 Hill Top Rd: she grew up on that street, and had a lot of information on the property’s history dating back to before she was born, possibly indicating her family lived on that street even longer. But we haven’t met anyone else with either surname, so for now that’s where it stands: possibly a lead, muddled with a probable mistake.

I was so glad when Father Burroughs made the differentiation in this episode between perception and will: “Bethany told me that her will was still her own, but she could no longer trust her senses, and had found herself doing much that she did not understand.” She tried to eat a small slab of slate, and she apparently couldn’t perceive the word “Mentis” that was literally written on a wall. This might be the first time that the author of the statement calls attention to the recurring theme I’ve been calling “altered reality”. This “altered reality” is a heavy presence in the second part of this two-parter, but I’ll wait to talk about that in that episode’s post. Coupled with this “altered reality” is the “eating of something you really shouldn’t be eating”. In this episode, it’s Bethany trying to eat a slab of slate before being abruptly pulled back to reality by Father Burroughs, only then realizing what it was. Hinted at in this episode, and shown in more detail in the next one (minor spoiler, I guess?), is Father Burroughs eating human flesh and only realizing what it was when the police arrived. The only other time I remember these two themes working in tandem is in episode 3 when Graham Folger ate a notebook. No one stopped him or made him realize what he was doing, so we don’t know for sure that his reality was altered, but it makes the most sense to me that he, like Bethany and Father Burroughs, truly didn’t realize what he was doing. I’m not convinced that the events of this episode (and the next one) are actually related to the notebook incident in episode 3, but it’s an interesting parallel.

On a completely unrelated note, I’d like to talk a bit about Father Burroughs’ “possession” itself. First off, I get that Bethany saying “I’m so sorry...it wants your faith” was supposed to be an ominous line, but why is that the only thing she said throughout the entire attempted exorcism at the hospital? She couldn’t even say, “Hey, man, this isn’t working”? All she could do was look at him with pity and say that? I’d be OK with those being her only words if whatever was “possessing” her also affected her speech the way it did to Father Burroughs later...but she specifically established that she was free to speak and act as she wished, it was only at certain times that her perception of reality was altered. So I’m a little annoyed at her for not giving Father Burroughs (or us) any kind of useful warning or helpful information during the failed exorcism.

I was really confused by the apparent theft of the sacramental wine, too. What was the significance of that? Was it just an example of something weird Father Burroughs noticed that keyed him in to the fact that All Was Not Well, or was there something more to it? (This is only a semi-rhetorical question - if the answer to this was said outright or implied in this episode and it isn’t a post-S1 spoiler, please do fill me in. I sometimes miss stuff that’s super obvious to other people.)

I also find it interesting that he can say “God” towards the end of this episode. He stumbled over it, but by contrast he was completely unable to say “Lord” and “Jesus” at the very beginning. Not sure if this is significant, since there’s no real difference between the words “Lord” and “God” in my estimation. Jesus is specifically Christian, and while “Lord” tends to be associated with Christianity, it’s not exclusive. “God” is the most general of the three terms, yes, but in context he is very obviously referring to the Christian “God”, so his difficulty with getting certain words out isn’t based solely on their contextual meaning. Jonny could have written it without him getting out the word “God” at the end and I think most people listening would have understood that’s the word he was going for. It’s either some kind of clue, or Jonny just got sick of stuttering.

Father Burroughs’ call for protection is the point at which he knows something is Very, Very Wrong, as he feels his lips move even though he himself isn’t moving them. But, as with so many of these stories, Things Were Bad Long Before You Realized It. Bethany told him “it wants your faith” years before the Hill Top Rd incident. He himself admits that his pride led to his downfall, since he initiated an exorcism/blessing on Hill Top Rd when he wasn’t supposed to be doing them at all. But it wasn’t just his pride - it was something taking advantage of his pride. I think that, as much as any person can be, Father Burroughs was a victim of whatever possessed him. He made mistakes in his life - his sins, if you’re looking at it religiously, as he did - but he never wanted to be evil or commit crimes like cannibalism. Like the characters in so many of these stories, I don’t think he deserved what he got, and I mostly just feel bad for him.

His call for protection, he says, was answered by something that was not God, and when Jonathan reads the words that Father Burroughs’ lips were forming (“I am not for you. I am marked.”) we once again hear that creepy static or interference. And I still can’t decide if this is supposed to be some kind of clue or if it’s just to make things creepier. It feels like a clue, but I can’t figure out what exactly it’s supposed to mean. Most of the times I’ve noted it appearing (probably not a complete list - I’m working on it) it appears during a specific quoted phrase or instance of someone speaking: “Can I have a cigarette?” in episode 1. “Isn’t it funny, Amy, how you can live so near and never notice. I’ll need to return the visit someday” from not-Graham in episode 3. “Some hungers are too strong to be denied” from Angela in episode 14. Laura’s sister Elena asking her “how lost I was, in a low, grating voice” in episode 15. If the examples were limited to things like this, then I’d say that it occurs whenever some as-yet-undetermined otherworldly monster is given a human voice to speak through. But it also occurs the first time Ex Altiora is said in episode 4 and the first time The Boneturner’s Tale is said in episode 17, as well as two different moments during the recounting of the story inside TBT. So how is it connected to the Leitners? It didn’t occur when Jonathan read the title Key of Solomon in episode 4, which is implied to be a Leitner. And there’ve been a few other occurrences where something obviously supernatural is happening but that doesn’t involve speech or quoted words at all: When Laura describes the light changing from appearing like an approaching candle to sunlight (which it still wasn’t...) in episode 15, and when Jonathan reads the description of the bleeding books in episode 17 (”red dripped and pulsed from the cart”).

I don’t know what to make of the creepy static yet. But my specific concern with the most recent instance, when Father Burroughs “said” “I am not for you. I am marked” is: Who are the “I” and the “you” referring to? Is the “I” supposed to be Father Burroughs, or the thing “possessing” him? And who on earth is the “you”?

This post is part of a series where I write my thoughts about each episode and obsessively connect dots in an effort to figure out The Big Mysteries of the series. All posts in this series are tagged “is this liveblogging?” Comments and messages are welcome but I have only listened to season 1, so I ask that you not spoil me for anything beyond episode 40. In the words of Jonny Sims…thanks for listening!

[miaouerie]

whumptober 2020 ------ day 25. blurred vision/ringing ears

@whumptober2020​ Rebelcaptain Hunger Games AU: Cassian is Jyn’s mentor in the 70th Hunger Games. After being crowned victor at fifteen years old, Cassian is all-too-familiar with what it takes to bring a tribute home, and what becoming a victor really means.

content warnings: graphic descriptions of minor character death, references to forced prostitution

previous: day 1 / 2  / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15  / 16  / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24

Candela is the first to get killed; her escape to the tree line was hampered by the uphill climb to get out of the rocky ditch that the 67th Hunger Games’ Cornucopia is in. The male Career tribute from District 1 kills her with a sledgehammer to the throat. Cassian watches her head snap all the way to the right, the neck bent at an unnatural angle, and her body hits the ground, motionless; it was a clean break to the neck.

Garrick made it a while longer on his own, but chose not to heed Cassian’s repeatedly stressed advice to skip over supplies—those could always be sent later—and made his escape route include a wide arc towards a backpack and a sleeping bag. Those extra seconds put him in the scope of a pair of Careers, who run him down easily and then kill him with their knives.

Both of his tributes dead in the first five minutes of the 67th Hunger Games. How could this happen?

He had weighed their odds carefully. District 5 fell squarely in between the Career districts and the poorer districts when it came to anticipating the Games. The district itself was well off enough that tesserae wasn’t necessary for the majority of households, which meant that the extent of the Games in the populace’s mind was a hope and a prayer for their children to not be chosen on Reaping Day. No Games training was offered for the glory of volunteering because no glory was seen in the practice—District 5 had the lowest volunteer rate out of all the districts—and so it wasn’t a surprise that Cassian’s first year of mentoring began with two unremarkable tributes: Candela Invers, a fifteen-year-old girl, and Garrick Thule, a sixteen-year-old boy.

Garrick was the son of a power plant supervisor and had hardly an inkling for survival; he didn’t go to the fire-starting station or the edible plants station, or any of the other stations for basic survival skills that Cassian urged him to. A lot of his time during the three allotted training days was spent away from the other tributes, hiding his fear behind an indifferent look; unsurprisingly, he scored only a 3 in the evaluation. Candela on the other hand had been game enough to ask for Cassian's advice in the training room and went over strategies with him for acing her interview; just last night on Caesar Flickerman’s show she had made a favorable impression on the audience, especially after Caesar brought up the 7 that she scored in the Gamemakers’ evaluations. Cassian could work with that; if she could survive on her own for the first three days, he could hopefully start talking her up to potential sponsors. He wasn’t going to bet on whether or not Garrick could survive that long on his own, but in the end it didn’t even matter because now both of his tributes are dead.

He can’t take his eyes off the carnage of the bloodbath, projected on the main screen of the mentors’ observation deck. It takes several long minutes before he yanks off his headset; the only sounds the mics were picking up is the ambient noise of children killing other children. But it’s too late; the sounds won’t leave his ears; it coalesces into screaming that he knows isn’t real, but it sounds more and more similar to Teak’s—

He pushes himself away from the console and tries to stand up, but has to lean his weight against it when his legs threaten to give out from underneath him. The room is starting to spin in a way that has everything to do with the roar of blood and screams in his ears, how lightheaded he feels, and… shit. He needs to sit back down.

Then there’s a hand on his shoulder, pushing him firmly but gently back down onto his chair. “Both of yours bit the dust? First time’s rough; it doesn’t get any easier.”

The sole victor and mentor of District 12, Haymitch Abernathy, is holding out a bottle of liquor to him. Still breathing heavily, Cassian shakes his head no; they both look back to the broadcast on the main screen. The camera is panning a bird’s-eye view over the action at the Cornucopia, before cutting over to where the two Careers from District 1 who killed Garrick are cutting down another tribute. The tally on the screen reads nine dead, fifteen tributes still in play.  The Career pack hasn’t yet started to hunt for tributes who escaped to the trees, which means it’s still likely a death or three will be added to the projected death count at the end of the day. But as far as where Cassian is concerned, his first stint as a mentor in the Hunger Games is over.

Cassian thinks about reaching for the proffered bottle, but decides against it. Haymitch is an alcoholic, foul-smelling and drunk more often than not. Jeron always told his son to stay away from him, but Jeron isn’t here anymore. His heartbeat feels like it stops as it does each time the realization washes over him anew—your father’s dead, while you didn’t kill him you might as well have—but after that split second of grief he’s able to breathe again.

“C’mon. Let’s get some fresh air, you look like you could use it.” The look that Haymitch is giving him is half-pointed, half-pitying; Cassian gets up to go with him.

-

Cassian has never been to the top floor of the Tower; he didn’t even know that such a place existed. The tinkling of the windchimes drowns out the ringing in his ears, until he can blink up at the noonday sun without his vision doubling over.

“It’s a shame about your old man,” Haymitch says to him. “Power explosion, right?”

The younger victor can’t trust himself to speak, so he nods.

“Took out Irga too? Seems a little convenient to me.”

Cassian wants to say, I know the truth, I read it myself. But he doesn’t; what comes out instead is, “Yeah, that’s why I’m mentoring alone. Apparently I’m not very good at it.”

The look that Haymitch gives him has a flash of disappointment, but then it disappears as the older victor takes a swig of his booze and grunts. “Look, it doesn’t matter if you’re a good mentor or not, whether your tributes die or not. The Capitol gets their twisted entertainment regardless.”

“So we should just let them die?”

The older victor snorts. “I’m surprised you think it’s worth letting them live. You of all people should know being a victor doesn’t mean you won.”

Well, he can’t say anything to that. They look up to see an Avox approaching; apparently, to hand Cassian a powder blue envelope.

Cassian turns the envelope over in his hands but doesn’t break the seal yet. What happened to attractive and desirable victors was an open secret but the confirmation that Haymitch knew still stings; it made him wonder just how many of the other victors had known, if any of them talked to his father about it.  

Haymitch juts his chin out at the envelope. “Snow’s had his claws in you for a long time hasn’t he, kid? I’m not surprised if District 5 got taken out because our dear president thinks you shouldn’t be spending your precious time in the Capitol mentoring.”

But no; Jeron couldn’t have known, Cassian was too good of a liar. But his self-loathing wrestles briefly with the fear that maybe Jeron knew after all, even before his disastrous Decem year.

But no, he couldn’t have. He would have done something about it sooner, he wouldn’t have let Snow turn his son into a whore. Right?

But he knows it wouldn't have changed anything, let alone the fatal outcome. There was no other way to impel Cassian into a mentoring position, not when Snow wanted him to solicit for a more lucrative purpose. Jeron couldn’t have known that Snow would kill his mentoring partner to devastate his son in retaliation; while Lila was allowed to live and he wouldn't have had Cassian killed, there wasn’t a way a victor could act without consequence.

Cassian opens the envelope, looks at the three lines: a name, a place, a time. He thinks about the system that drove his dad to believe that suicide was the only option, that forced him to play into the Capitol’s hand to save his son, then made him realize that in the end he couldn’t protect him at all.

[tarithenurse]

On my mind, in my soul - 12

Prompt: Anon was kind with “Highway to Hell” by AC/DC (shown in blockquotes as usual), Asgard, the throne. Pairing: Loki x Burglar!reader. Content: Swearing as usual, references to lemon and sugared lemon (nothing detailed this time), a truckload of feels, and a pinch of...recklesness? A/N:  I know my writing is very slow at the moment and you may all blame my BA for that. I hope this chapter ended up as good as I claim and if you do like it PLS reblog <3

Is it madness?

A golden glow manages to worm its way past your heavy eyelids, reminding you of a world outside of the cocoon you’ve snuggled into. A nest of soft sheets and cool limbs, a gentle breath fanning your shoulder in a slow but steady rhythm.

Blinking against the morning sun, you take in the serenity that are the ruins from the night: parts of the pretty dress are scattered in a path to the bed and the golden horns are dangling from the canopy above, gleaming playfully at you until you see the warped reflection of you and Loki who’s practically wrapped around you.

Craning the neck only brings a sliver of the god’s face and pale upper body into view. Time to be sneaky. There’s no way you want to wake him up already. He needs the rest…and honestly, you want this moment to last. All too soon this dream of a morning will be shattered in some nasty way that probably involves guards and a prison cell…if lucky. So you twist slowly, careful not to jostle Loki too much with the series of wriggles it takes before you finally lie chest to chest with him.

If someone would have told you this is where you’d end before you’d stolen the tiger’s eye pendant…the would have sounded like liars. Or at least you’d have made sure to let them know how crazy there were. Crazy indeed. Of course stealing from a god could have consequences! It just wasn’t supposed to have included falling for the freaking guy.

How could you not have? Chiseled features hides one of his best assets: the highly intelligent mind that enjoyes challenging you and holds immense knowledge on any subject you could possibly fathom even a fraction of. Combining that with a personality which you don’t even have the vocabulary to fully describe and a body tha–

“You’re staring, my queen.” Loki’s voice is raw and sweet, still heavy with sleep.

“Still got your eyes closed so how’d y’know?”

When they open, there’s only a tiny hint of crimson at the edges to contrast the turquoise. Perfect and cold like ice to some, it’s hard to understand how warm his gaze is. Loki isn’t one person with neatly defined traits. No. He’s a living, breathing, goddamn paradox.

“My eyes are open now,” he smiles, “and you’re still staring.”

“A cat may look at a king.”

Living easy, living free Season ticket on a one-way ride

Dark brows wrinkle as he ponders the meaning of the idiom, and you can see the moment he realises what it means. “There are some laws here that we will have to abide by.” The smile’s gone, the joy too.

“What’s gonna happen to you?” If you’d wanted to sound brave, well, that’s not what you managed to pull off as the question’s reduced to a meek whisper.

Soft lips seek out your forehead and mouth. It’s not a real answer. Less so the answer you actually want because you can taste the desperation on his tongue as both of you try to commit the other to memory in the hopes of stretching this glorious morning into infinity.

It’s to the sound of the birds and rustle of silk sheets that Loki makes love to you. Sweet and tender. Toe-curling bliss rolling through your body like waves onto a dry beach until the second orgasm pulls the god along in the surf, your name spilling from his lips in a broken whisper.

We belong…

…   Loki’s PoV   …

He had never intended for things to go the way they did. [Y/N]’s feistiness had drawn him in, her wit and skills had dazzled him…and none of it was enough to explain why Loki had found himself falling for this woman. The many excuses he’d thought up during the long days as he tried to distract himself from her memory were, in the end, bullshit. And the curses he’d been prepared to spit in the woman’s face after yet another lonely night haunted by her scent with nothing but his mind and hands to quench the burning desire? No…Loki’s intellect and foresight had not saved him from this fate.

I love her.

The knowledge isn’t new. He’s known for quite some time although the god has done anything to avoid both thinking and saying it. Nearly losing her was just the latest push in the same direction, down a path that inevitably will break [Y/N]’s heart because that’s all this cruel semi-Asgardian can offer. It’s selfish of him to covet her heart.

A broken heart is better than a dead heart, he’d thought as he chose to repay his debt the only way he could. But it hadn’t worked as intended, and while [Y/N] could ask him anything of him, Odin would be the one to deem it possible or not. One night. The request had been Loki’s even though he knew the price would be high. At least Thor had pleaded his case or the All-Father surely would have denied it without a second’s hesitation.

One night…and then what? What seemed like a great idea once has turned into a sweet nightmare which Loki has to distract himself from by doting on the Midgardian woman in the hopes that she might understand how much she has come to mean to him.

I could just tell her? They bathe together, barely speaking a word because no words will be enough anyways. He dresses [Y/N] in dark blue and silver, hoping to spare the pain it would be to see her in Loki’s own colours because there’s no way anymore that she will ever be his in this world or another…not even now as she willingly gives herself to him. Not give. No, this time the god is the one who has prayed for and received nothing short of a miracle. But the sweet satisfaction has come too late, on the very cusp of judgement.

Breakfast is brought to them, brimming with the best delicacies Asgard can offer. It’s with a feigned smile and unnatural cheerfulness that Loki speaks of his childhood when he was causing mischief in the great halls of Valhalla and more often than not pinning the suspicions on Thor. Time and time again, an honest laugh is coaxed from [Y/N] only to be snuffed prematurely as reality catches up with the game of pretence.

Their time together is brought to an end by the arrival of a dozen guards preceding Odin and Thor. Heavy manacles and chains are wrapped around Loki despite the oath he’s given. Upon [Y/N]’s life, the prison would neither struggle nor attempt to escape. His distaste of the safety measures are not for himself (he wouldn’t trust himself either), but for the pain in her eyes that never waver from him once. Thor’s by her side, a heavy hand upon the comparatively narrow shoulder as though to comfort her or keep the woman in place.

“Wait!” They’ve already marched Loki to the door when he hears her cry.

Someone must have accepted the plea, because next moment the taste of [Y/N] is on his lips once more, mingling with traces of salt.

Don't need reason, don't need rhyme Ain't nothing I would rather do

…   Reader’s PoV   …

Just like that.

You can only surmise Loki’s being brought back to the prison, but it has been more than obvious that this time there’ll be no visits. Even though the guards and Odin left now without as much as a word to explain, you can’t risk sneaking after them because Thor’s hovering around in the room that suddenly seems cold and barren. Maybe you should be comforted by his presence. At least it’s keeping you from doing some pretty stupid things that could make Loki’s situation worse. Glancing over at the blond meat-wall of a guy, you don’t feel any better.

“Lady [Y/N],” he offers lamely, an apologetic smile on his lips that does nothing to hide the pity, “do not fret…my father has not decided on the verdict yet.”

“What are the odds?” You can hear it yourself, how hollow your voice is.

Falling onto a chair, which groans under the sudden strain, even Thor seems to be at a loss for anything optimistic. “There’s a strain in the relationship between my brother and father.” No shitting. “Over the years, my word has come to way less and less. In fact…” He pins you to the ground where you stand with electric-blue eyes. “In fact you may be the best hope there is for him.”

Then we’re fucked. The odd wording of the thought makes you hesitate. It’s his freedom or worse on the line. Not yours. A year ago, there’d have been no “we” and you’d never have ended up this close to anyone, instead stayed detached enough to simply walk away without a second thought. It had been a simpler life. A lonely life. Well this is gonna be fucking lonely anyways unless I do something.

“Tell me how the justice system works here.”

Nobody's gonna mess me around Hey Satan, paid my dues

…

For three days, you and Loki are kept separate and the news on his wellbeing are close to non-existent. It’s fairly clear, how badly Thor wants to speak with you, tell you something to bring comfort. Maybe the king has made him swear to keep quiet in that respect but at least the prince compensates by giving you a crash course on Asgardian courtroom etiquette which turns out to be surprisingly simple (and prone to flaws).

Odin’s the judge. There’s no jury, save for anyone the old ruler might call upon as a sort of council. And the executioner? Anyone he points to.

At first, you make the mistake of thinking it’ll make things simpler because the way of addressing Odin as judge will be no different from the manners required when addressing him as a king, but the next second you realize that you’ll be talking to a man who’s used to complete obedience and that for all his rumoured wisdom…he will most likely be biased. This is his son. Adopted, sure, but a son nonetheless and Odin’s not forgiving towards the mistakes of his children.

Anything I say can and will – fuck! Poking at the smoldering wood in the fireplace, it seems to you like there’s no way out unless you and everyone else are willing to sweet-talk the King until his ears are dripping with honey. Loki chose to return despite the banishment, and it had been clear from the beginning that the consequences would be harsh if that were ever to happen. Idiotic god. The poker releases an eruption of sparks. Fucking, grudge-holding, semi-sadistic stepdad. At least Odin’s kind to you, treating you tenderly on the rare occasions you are together to the surprise of even Thor.

The shadows from the poker dance and dive blackly against the surrounding stones while you ponder the obvious. Why? You’re a freaking human, Midgardian, an outsider in whom the king isn’t supposed to show any particular favours or interest…except he does.

Ignoring the clatter and angry flares from the hastily discarded poker, you push to your feet and grab the nearest cloak to throw around your shoulders. Soft and dark green, it allows you to blend into the shadows as you leave the room in search of answers and limits.

I'm on the highway to hell Highway to hell

…

Considering that Asgard and the royal castle are supposed to be more or less impenetrable there sure are a lot of guards. But guards are people and people are, well, simple. Thankfully, the Asgardians don’t prove to be anymore complicated than those at home, in fact, none of the motionless figures clad in golden armour even bother to ask what you’re doing out of bed as you hurry quietly down the halls in search of set of double doors taller than a house.

When you find the entrance to the throne room, you walk by as if perfectly disinterested and only come to a halt once you’re past the corner and into a stretch of the hallway with no one in sight. Could work.

Only a few minutes have passed before the guards rush past where you’re crouched in the shadows, the catalyst a strange wail which they automatically attribute to the unusual shape in the darkness further on which they don’t know what belongs to yet, just that it’s not supposed to be there. Attention solely on the possible threat, neither guard notices the green flurry of movement that dashes away.

Why in the freaking universe do they not event big doors that don’t weigh a shit ton?! At least you only need a narrow gap to slip inside the room, back against the door to make sure it closes without a sound. A few embers in the braziers in the wall sconces cast an unnatural glow like puddles of faded heat which hardly is enough to navigate by, so you send an unspoken excuse to the designer of the castle who thought far enough to allow the natural light from outside shimmer in through impossible arches at the very top of the walls, each showing a sliver of star-spangled night sky. The room is warped in shadows and splotches of cold light to create a scene from an old photograph with the imposing throne at the far heart of it all. No longer golden but silvery it looks even bigger now and should hold your interest better than it does, but your eyes are glued to the object stretching from armrest to armrest.

It does seem too good to be true even as you finally stand before the seat. Tentatively, you reach out to brush the fingertips along the metal shaft. It’s real. Gripping the spear firmly, there’s no immediate reaction other than a shiver from the nerves you suddenly find ablaze with worry and exhilaration. Lighter than it appears, the weapon slides soundlessly through the night air as you wield Gungnir for the first time.

Probably last time too, you accept as you finally take a seat with the spear in hand. Before you are two sets of eyes belonging to predators and your only consolation is that rather than attack you, both wolves lift their heads to the ceiling and howl.

And I'm going down All the way

[brishu]

Almost Everyone

My daughters were introduced to the music of the Backstreet Boys by camp counselors, so their only context for hearing some of their bigger hits (and they have an astonishing number of very big hits) was the enthusiasm of people about 10 years older than them. No anti-boyband snark, no snobbery that looks askance at performers who don’t play instruments. They began asking for specific songs to be added to their music players, and even requested “As Long As You Love Me” at my dearest friend’s daughter’s Bat Mitzvah party. To them, the Backstreet Boys were as much a part of the pop canon as Elvis, only still out there performing.

Their response to the BSB’s seemed to be purely musical. It’s possible that they got high on secondhand boyband fumes, since their counselors’ enthusiasm was surely fueled by the gangbusters marketing campaign designed to make millions of kids fall in love with AJ, Brian, Nick, Howie and Kevin, which is probably even harder to pull off than it sounds. But as much as I’d like to, I can’t discount the quality of the music either. And if I’m shocked that five cute boys who first performed together in 1993 just hung another Number 1 album on the Billboard charts (which apparently also still exist), maybe it’s my shock that should be shocking. I also envied the girls their ready embrace of songs they liked without subjecting them to the battery of artistic litmus tests their sonically dyspeptic father does. 

The psychotherapeutic industry seems built upon the distinction between gentle and brutal. If you make the same, relatively harmless mistake repeatedly, steps toward correction are fine, but ease up on the internal machete. If you are too prone to lying to maintain valuable relationships or hold down a job, stop treating your dishonesty like fine china, you goddamn schlemiel. OK, I’m not a psychological expert but one of the things I’ve been working on in therapy is retaining a consistent striving for improvement while loosening an attachment to self-flagellation. So, occasional desire to make my children happy aside, was it a well-earned moment of transcendence or a mere boot to my own aesthetics that led me to sneak off to the Barclays Center to buy a trio of Backstreet Boys tickets while the girls were in Hebrew school?

I didn’t tell them about the tickets for several months, but ultimately I worried that surprising them on the day of the concert would pressure them to evince unnatural levels of appreciation for their loving father’s amazing gesture, so about two weeks before the show, I gave them a heads up. 

Another chronic difficulty I have is ordering food from people whose first language is not English. I don’t think it makes me Steve King to cling to the generalization that they never take me seriously when I say I want it spicy. So on the day of the concert I ordered Thai food and asked them to make it “extra, extra, extra spicy please.” In retrospect that was at least one “extra” too many. But by the time we had dinner before the show, I forgot about lunch and slathered everything I ate with hot sauce, which I believe contributed to my need of a bathroom that undermined my plan to arrive at the Barclays Center by 7:30 so we could get through the security line before the show started at 8.

I had looked up the setlists from Chicago and Detroit and noted that they opened the show with a song called “Everyone”, which I thought was the one where they’re like “Everybaaaah-day! Rock your baaaah-day!”, which in my self-conferred Masters in Backstreetology seemed like the only appropriate opener so I really, really didn’t want the girls to miss it, which brought on a sustained castigation of why I prioritized capsaicin over keeping promises I’d silently (and inaccurately) made to my children. 

We got into the arena at about 8:12 and, hearing noise emanating from the stage, rushed up several flights of stairs to our seats. That’s when we learned that there was an opening act named Baylee Littrell (it wasn’t until the next morning that I learned he was Brian Littrell’s 16 year-old son). What we caught of his set assuaged whatever guilt I felt about what we missed, but I did appreciate that he played with actual bass, guitar and drums (plus keyboards, horns and back-up vocals that could not be seen onstage). We looked him up on Spotify to see how many plays his songs had gotten and determined that the one with more than 300,000 would be the closer. Do you know how many great bands would harm the elderly for 30,000 plays??? Fruit & Flowers only have two songs over 20k. Look ‘em up, they rule. Anyway, we were right. It was a song called Boxes and apparently the girl Baylee loves checks off all 22 of them. 

I have shadowy memories of watching the Backstreet Boys’ debut on Saturday Night Live with this perfectly synced dance involving chairs that they may or may not have stacked at one point during their number. At the time I was appalled by them, but proud of myself for being sophisticated enough to label their performance Fosse-esque. Harboring the incorrect assumptions that “Everyone” was the song I thought it was, and that their act had not evolved in the 20 years since I saw them on SNL, I tried to share in the excitement of the folks around me. Our neighbors were a very attractive young man and woman who kept apologizing when they passed us to get to the aisle. I tried not to eavesdrop but I did hear the young man extol his therapist to his friend (somehow it was clear they weren’t a couple). Just before the show started the young woman asked if I was the fan bringing my kids along or vice versa. I said it was mainly the kids but I was stoked too. She said that she and her friend had caught the band in Vegas and it was so amazing that they had to go again in Brooklyn and don’t mind her when she sang along to every lyric, even the new ones. Our conversation ended abruptly when the lights went down and she joined the collective “WHOO!” volleying stageward. 

As though in response, the stage started to open with almost unbearable slowness, suspense mounting as aperture expanded to maw, and I realized that I am unable to experience a reveal like that without hearkening back to one of the earliest and most vivid aural memories I have- the hinges creaking at the beginning of the Monster Mash. On angled video screens, band members appeared, one by one, in slow motion. The way they fingered their hat brim or rolled their shoulders made me laugh very hard. My neighbor to my left nodded approvingly, the kids to my right briefly emancipated themselves. Finally the tectonic shifting ended and there, on a platform so receded that I thought they should be called the Backstage Boys, were five guys who had been crushing it for 26 fucking years.

My neighbor said, “They can’t really dance anymore but they can still sing!”

“Everyone” is not the song I thought it was.

The first concert our kids ever attended was Los Lobos in Prospect Park. Our younger daughter was 10 months old and happy anywhere that had popsicles. Our older daughter was nearly 3 and for months she would ask to hear more Los Lobos. I don’t think she recognized anything from the concert, she just wanted to be reminded of the special experience of live, loud music and how happy it made the people around her (including her dad), and our living room stereo system was the best portal for that. Los Lobos’ most popular non-fucking-La Bamba-song is Cancion del Mariachi, coming in at 15,898,494 plays. Nothing else cracks a million. 

This was their first time seeing a bigtime pop act, and though they only knew about 5 of the 30 songs performed, they were rapt for the entire show. Except when the band talked to the audience, which they did in a sort of schematic where every member got his five-minute lovefest with the audience while the other guys changed outfits. They were all some variation on how much love they felt in the room (it was pretty palpable), how much gratitude they felt to the fans for the longevity of their career, and how pleased they were to be Number 1 yet again. Oh and that music was important too. I don’t mean to demean their commitment to music. All five of them can sing quite well, they harmonize together beautifully (even though I’m pretty sure vocal enhancements were employed without remorse) and you can’t sing the same song over and over again for more than 20 years without losing it unless the song is half-decent. But without getting too grumpy about it, I neither could nor wanted to suppress a flare of anger that so many serious musicians are poor while these cutie pies are all multi-millionaires. I don’t know what the ultimate size of the music market is, and it was hardly revelatory to note that these guys’ share was not in line with the quality of their musical production, but I felt like I had to take my own tiny stand, to stand up for musicians less slickly managed, artists less adept at navigating A&R social hierarchies, bands whose universality is not predicated on cultural touchstones manufactured by MTV. Obviously, nobody buys a concert ticket in the hope that they’ll get scolded at the show. Another thing people try to avoid at concerts is taking a dump. And so more acutely than ever, my self-righteousness was supplanted by regret for that extra extra.

I thought about asking my neighbors to watch the kids, and even to make the joke “And don’t let them vape!” but opted not to because I didn’t want to suggest that I had a problem with their vaping (such is my social density that I tuned out all of their apologia and was so grateful for their friendliness that I just wanted them to like me, never realizing that maybe, just maybe they might really want me to like them too). So I just told the kids to stay put and made my way to the can. And I daresay BSB fans are as nice in private as they are out in the arena. I base this conjecture on my bathroom experience where, unlike most concerts I attend, I was able to tend to my digestive needs without feeling like I had to contort myself to avoid somebody else’s excrement. It shouldn’t be surprising that more banal music begets more polite behavior, hell even Plato cautioned against exposing certain segments of society to more inflammatory musical scales. But maybe all that bougie antisepticism is just proof of how truly un-punk Mr. Stand-Taker really is.

Returned to the seats where the kids looked sleepy. I told them they shouldn’t feel any pressure to stay for the whole show, which looked like it was going to end after 11. They looked at me like I’d just told them I was donating their college fund to Trump 2020. 

One of them said, “Just because we’re not dancing and screaming doesn’t mean we aren’t having an amazing time, Dad.”

OK then.

So that song I got confused about is actually called “Everybody (Backstreet’s Back).” I pretended like I knew that the whole time and was pretty sure I got away with it. Then one of the girls said, “I thought you said they opened with this song.” And with no remorse whatsoever I said, “Yeah, that was in Florida.” Why I needed them to think I knew what I was talking about is almost a less interesting question than why I also lied about what states preceded New York on the DNA Worldwide Tour. 

There were more costume changes, more banter with adoring fans, more grinding reconfiguration of the stage, more neon mike stands shifting color in unison, something that probably seemed high tech in 1999, and more hits, at least four up-tempo numbers before they went into their big treacly ballad about which way they want it, which nobody can convince me isn’t about the supposed horrors of anal sex. Our neighbors checked and sure enough, both kids knew every word. A singalong ensued. Then I encouraged departure but the kids insisted on staying in case there was more. There was more. 

In fact, all five guys came out for what I guess was an encore wearing Nets jerseys. Knowing what a rabid Nets fan I am, both kids felt vindicated for insisting we stick around. And then they actually knew the second, and final song of the evening and were so exhilarated by the whole thing that they wanted to walk all the way home. But it was 11:15 and I’d been up since 4:30 and I was not above projecting my fatigue onto them so we took the subway one stop. We had gotten out quickly enough that the train was not packed with other BSBers or whatever their fans are called. And again, if we strip away the petty concern of my daughters’ happiness, was I glad we went to a Backstreet Boys Concert? Well, one kid said “That would have been awesome even if the band didn’t sing any songs. The lights were just so great!” So cool. I just spent the better part of a week’s pay on the magic of strobes that kept me up way past my bedtime. And two very happy daughters. And very pleasant interactions with attractive strangers. And a few moments of infectious beats and melodies. And the nicest shit I’ve ever taken at a concert. Would I do it again, even with smarter lunch ordering? Without hesitation.

By the way, this was written while listening to Face Stabber, the newest Thee Oh Sees album. It’s fucking awesome. They’re playing a club in a few weeks than can hold about 800 people.

[quotes-meh]

12 Things You Should Never Say to Sick People

Even the most well-intentioned people often don’t know how to talk to the chronically ill. This is because we live in a culture that treats illness as unnatural. As a result, people have been conditioned to turn away in aversion from those who aren’t healthy, even though it’s a fate that will befall everyone at some point in his or her life.

The consequences of taking this unrealistic view of the realities of the human condition is that many people feel uneasy and even fearful when they encounter people who are struggling with their health. I admit that this was true of me before I became chronically ill. Now I find it as natural to talk to people who are chronically ill as I do to people who are the pinnacle of health.

I hope this list encourages people who know someone who is chronically ill to become more mindful of their speech. I also hope it will help those who are sick and those who are in pain feel less alone. I expect that those of you who are chronically ill will recognize many of the comments you’re about to read.

1. “You look fantastic!”

It’s a challenge to respond to comments such as “You look fantastic,” or the dreaded “But you don’t look sick,” because we know that the speaker is only trying to be nice. If we respond truthfully with “Well, I don’t feel fantastic” or “Thanks, but I feel awful,” the other person might be embarrassed or think we’re being ungrateful. I admit that I’ve never come up with a satisfactory response to this comment. I usually mumble “thanks” and try to change the subject.

2. “You just need to get out more often.”

One day, my husband and I were at an espresso place and a woman who knows I’m sick stopped and said to me, “You look so good!” My husband politely responded that actually, I was quite sick. When she then said to me, “You just need to get out more often,” I was at a loss for words. My husband told me afterward that he wanted to say to her, “You don’t heal a broken leg by going for a hike.” He held his tongue because he thought she might take it as an insult.

3. “Give me a call if there’s anything I can do.”

I’ve been on the receiving end of this well-intentioned comment many times. Not once has it resulted in my picking up the phone. The offer is too open-ended. It puts the ball in my court and I’m not going to hit it back, either because I’m too proud, too shy, too sick—or a combination of the three. I’m not going to call and say, “Can you come over and weed my garden?” But if someone were to call and offer to come over and do it, I’d gratefully say, “Yes!”

4. “I wish I could lie around all day and do nothing.”

A friend said this to me over the phone; it’s stuck in my mind all these years because it hurt terribly at the time. It may sound as if it couldn’t possibly have been well-intentioned and yet, given the tone of voice in which it was delivered, I’ve decided it was. I’m sure that my high-powered, overworked friend was genuinely thinking, “Lucky you to have so much leisure time.”

When she said it, I was still so sensitive about being sick—including being worried that people might think I was a malingerer—that tears came to my eyes. I wanted to scream at her, “You have no idea how it feels to be stuck in bed and have no choice but to do nothing!” Instead, I mumbled something and made an excuse to get off the phone because I could feel the sobs coming—which they did as soon as I hung up.

5. “Disease is a message from your soul, telling you that something is wrong with your True Self.”

This is an excerpt from one of dozens of emails I’ve received from people trying to diagnose or cure me. I must admit that I have no idea what the sentence means. Are the soul and the True Self different entities, and the one that is okay is sending a message to the other one saying that something’s wrong with it? Bottom line: This is not helpful. And while we’re on the subject of “not helpful,” another person said she’d help me get my health back—free of charge—by showing me how to perform a “soul retrieval.” Sigh.

6. “My sister-in-law’s best friend had what you have and said she got better by drinking bottled water.”

Little did this speaker realize that it’s just as likely that my own sister-in-law’s best friend had what I have and told me that I could get better if I stopped drinking bottled water! It would be such a relief if people understood that, despite their best intentions, we’re unlikely to want advice on treatments—unless we ask for it, of course. Most of us have spent hours on the internet, researching possible treatments. We know what’s available, and we know what we’re considering. When people offer treatments, especially based on anecdotal evidence, it puts us in a position of having to defend our treatment decisions.

Another piece of treatment advice that many of us have heard multiple times: “Have you tried sleeping pills?” Sleeping pills? Who hasn’t tried sleeping pills? Even healthy people do. Sleeping pills may be helpful for some people, but they are not a cure for chronic illness. Regarding any comment that starts with the phrase “Have you tried…”: If it’s available by prescription or as a supplement or even as Chinese herb, the odds are very high that I know about it and that I’ve tried it!

7. “Do you meditate?”

Yes, I meditate—although, depending on our relationship, this may be an intrusive question. Meditation and other stress-reduction techniques can help with symptom relief and with the mental stress that often accompanies ongoing pain and illness. However, they are not a cure for a physically based chronic illness.

8. “Aren’t you worried that you’re getting out of shape from living such a sedentary lifestyle?”

Uh…yes. Thanks for reminding me.

9. “Just don’t think about it.”

This comment left me speechless…but still thinking about “it.”

10. “Are you eating enough fruits and vegetables?”

As many as this one body can hold!

11. “Have you googled your symptoms?”

Let me count the ways.

12. “At least you still have your sense of humor.”

Thanks. Truth be told, however, I’d rather be a humorless healthy person.

[theinvulnerabletide]

Headcanon meme: (answer for whoever you can think of things for I guess) 1, 8, 11, 12, 23, 26, 29, 30, 34 :3

Okay okay okay. This got long because some of them turned into vignettes, so it’s gonna be under thecut.

1.) Love

Forsomeone who professed to be a loner, Lyra has loved so many people in her life.Her mother, first and brightest and most dearly, murdered on her way back fromher shift at the pub, the Stone Crows, her gang growing up, including her bestfriend Kora, who got scooped off the streets when some passing mage saw her set something on fire with her mind (which now strikes Lyra as ironic, consideringher current travelling companions, and her own predicament).

And then her newfound family,her Magpies. The ones that were murdered so cruelly in front of her.

Love and loss are intertwinedfor Lyra, the brilliance of lightning followed by world-shaking thunder. Whichis why she has, wholeheartedly, decided to stop caring about people. They won’tleave if she doesn’t get attached, and even if they do, well, she won’t feelanything right? Win win.

8.) DreamsIt’s not uncommon for Whisperto dream of water. Even if it wasn’t literally her element,she spent so much of her life surrounded by it; snow and rain pattering on thestone, the underground inlet, the blighted mermaid tank, that it of course itwould enter her dreams at some point.

Tonight though, tonight isdifferent. Tonight she dreams of depths, of an ocean so deep there is nogranulated sunlight to illuminate it, and even her comfort with the dark isn’tenough to make it feel less… crushing. She sees in staticky black and whitehere, feels the way the currents tug insistently at her. She has to remindherself that she can breathe.

There’s movement there, in thedepths. It takes up the whole of her vision. It’s just the suggestion of agreat thing slowly winding and unwinding, pulsing slightly as if with laboredbreath. It does not move against the current. It directs it, and it makes herown breath catch in her throat. Not with fear, but with excitement. 

When she wakes, she swears shecan still feel it, the current tugging at her, the great thing directing herforwards. The letter appears the next day, and the day after that, she isgone. 

12.) Worst Enemy

According to Az’ar, her worst enemies are the Godsthemselves.

The Gods are arbitrary and cruel things, starting and endinglife as it pleases them, for mere entertainment. They set up laws,contradictory and unforgiving, a universe full of pain and misery, and createdsentient creatures to wade through the mud and experience every bit of it.Growing up in the Shadowfell, Az’ar has witnessed it all, and grew to despisethe traditions of the Shadar’kai, the same traditions that honor Hala by tryingto protect the living things she holds so dear, especially from the unnaturalundead things she abhors, the traditions that pretend to honor Her brother bysending them back to His domain, and by dying well.

She left her people, somethingelse that was forbidden, and fought and killed far too many of them in order tocross over to the Prime Material Plane, the tear she made between worldsallowing a few of those undead monstrosities to cross with her. It was aregrettable loss, ones that she lays again at the feet of the Gods; if herpeople had not been obsessed with their supposed sacred duties, they would nothave needed to die.

Az’ar intends to wrest their claws from her chest, by making itso she can never die, and then, she will end their grip on the rest of thePlanes, even if it means killing them. She hope it does. That would be a sweetirony indeed.

23.) Romance

Orianais a romantic. Probably in the classical movement sense as well as in thehopeless romantic sense. She has this ideal of herself: knight in shiningarmor, a blazing paragon of Wahreight’s mercy and light, beating back thedarkness and protecting the innocent.

She also is kind of obsessedwith romance novels, and novels that we might consider romance novels due tothe way books are sold, but, unlike Whisper, prefers the ones that hold a highideal of love than the vulgar. Which isn’t to say she won’t read books with sexin them, only that she prefers more comedies of manners. Jehanne Augere’s Dignityand Discrimination remains her favorite novel (and she finally got a copyof her own the last time we visited Fantasy Half Price Books), and she’s morelikely to blush at the scene where the elven hero confesses his love for thevery human Elisabet. 26.) Beauty

Thecostume is… well. It’s tight. And barely there. Whisper runs her hands thelength of her torso, fingers skimming cut-outs in the shimmering golden fabricat her sides where her midnight skin provides contrast, and she lets out ashuddering breath. She doesn’t know whether its nerves or awe that’s making herstomach clench uncomfortably but… either way.

She sneaks a peak in themirror and looks away almost immediately. Salt and storm, she is glad hermother will never see her in this, or she’d be dead. Brutally and messily andall over the place.

She sneaks another look, outof the corner of her eye at first, then straight on. The leotard is almostblinding in the way the golden cloth catches the light (Ignatius’ choice, nodoubt), small black stitching and sequins giving the illusion of scales downher stomach. At her hips is this strange, diaphanous half-skirt, more like thefrills of a tiger fish than an actual garment. The neckline—if it can be calledthat— plunges far deeper than anything she’s ever worn, and she mutters a quickprayer that she won’t spill out of this thing at an inopportune moment. Or anopportune one. She is not being paid enough for that.

But the effect… She takes astep back, so she can see the whole effect, the golden ribbons wrapped aroundher horns and pinned in her hair, the ridiculous amount of eyeshadow, thestreaks of gold shimmer on her cheeks, she looks… ethereal. Magical. Shestretches one indigo hand out, and her reflection does the same, lightlymeeting her in the mirror. She watches herself smile.

“It looks beautiful on you,”comes a voice from behind her, wobbling like the owner is about to burst intotears. “You look beautiful, Whisper. Just brilliant…”

She whirls around, a scowlslotting into place. “I can’t believe he wants me to wear this, Terrance!”  

The huge man doesn’t seem tohear her, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. “Oh, I outdid myself. Just wait until the audience see you. You’re going to dazzle them.”

Whisper laughs under herbreath, and sneaks another look at herself. Okay. Maybe it’s not so bad afterall.

29.) Bedroom (and 11.) Best Friend).

She wasclose, she was so freaking close! If she could just figure out thethaumodynamic stabilizers and the aetheric channels and how to connect them tothe theurgic couplings, then the armor would definitely be finished beforeschool started. Her tongue peaked out of the corner of her mouth as sheconcentrated, wand on one hand, tweezers in the other, a soldering ironfloating above her, held by her mage hand. 

The workbench in front of heris littered with such tools, awl and a few other small sharp blades and hergrindstone, linen thread and an assortment of needles, little colored glass ballsshe’d spent weeks making and enchanting so they wouldn’t break when she used them,and small gems that had cost quite a chunk of the money she made from selling herclockwork toys, not to mention all the other tools she didn’t currently needfor this project. The bed next to her, on the other side, had the rest of thearmor, chest plate and second gauntlet, both nearly finished save for the collectorsthat would collect the untethered thaumic energy from the aether.  

She’s so close. She can feelit.

“Celandine!” her mother calledfrom downstairs, “Celandine, your friend is here!” 

“What?” she freezes, and thewand released the spell it was holding… at the wrong part of the gauntlet. Andsomething started smoking. “Shit!”“Celandine?”

A quick prestidigitation puts the fire out but it definitely smelt like magic gone wrong and scorched leather.“Oh, hell. Coming Mom!”

”I’m sending her up!”  

“Shit!” Celandine cast a lookabout her room. Her chairs were full of clothes and her bed was covered in armorand there was spare leather and clothes and books all over the floor and why hadn’tshe learned the invisible servant spell.

“Hey, Celandine? Your Momsaid—” Caela pauses in the doorway, the top of her head nearly brushing thetop of the doorframe. Her eyes widen as she takes in the state of the room. 

“I know! It’s messy I’m sorry.I got uh…” she looks down at the gauntlet and then back up at her best friend,smiling weakly. “I forgot you were coming over. I’m sorry.” She puts the gauntleton the workbench and reaches over the small space to her bed, which at leastonly had the breastplate and the other gauntlet on it. “Sit down and give me asecond, I’ll have this place tidied up in a…”

But Caela is already bendingover, gathering up the nearest books that had fallen over. “It’s okay. I’llhelp. Why don’t you tell me what you were working on?”And Celandine beams.  

30.) Sex

Oriana pressesthe pillow harder over her head, trying to block out the sound from the onlyother bed in the room. Since she’d been knighted in the service of Wahreight,she’d been moved out of the general barracks and into a shared room;unfortunately, her roommate decided that that was enough privacy in order tocarry on her… assignations with one of the paladins still in training. And theidea of actually talking to Ritika about it was blighted mortifying, so hereshe lies, pillows piled on her head, face burning as she tried to pretend shewas not hearing what she was hearing.

34.) AffectionIt’s not that Whisper’s family was not affectionate. Sheremembers her father’s hand on her head, her mother’s approving smile. Hugsfrom her brothers, kisses on her forehead from the governess. But compared tothe carnival, her family was as touched-starved as any dwarf.

Affection wasphysical and platonic and above all, free among them, holding hands and huggingfor no reason, kisses on cheeks and foreheads and lips, giant cuddle piles inone of the main tents the afternoon after a big show, all of them just waitingfor the inevitable cry to start packing up. 

And the sex. Oh, seaand storms, the sex. There was just so much of it. After the first year she’dgone from having sex once in her entire life to having had more partners thanshe could count, of so many genders, in several different… permutations. Things would just…escalate. Someone would be feeling bad and a cuddle pile or a platonic kisswould turn into make-you-feel-better sex, someone would decide that they wereboard and seek someone out, or two people would be fighting and suddenly they’dbe up against the wall (that happened with Ignatius and a few of the othersmore than she would care to admit), or they’d be coming down off a high of asuccessful heist or a show, adrenaline still singing high gospel within them,and next thing you knew you’d be tearing off someone’s clothes. Maybeseveral someone’s.

But the real world doesn’twork that way. And after a bad experience or two on her way to Hazelscar, she isthoroughly aware of that. Most people don’t like being touched.

She meets Adoraor and Keithiafirst, and she makes sure to keep her hands to herself. Even when Adoraor isbleeding out and she has the stupid idea to stick a knife in his chest to seeif it’ll heal him, because, hey, it worked on that orc, or when Keithia (notThia, not yet) places a hand on her shoulder to press healing magic, warm andtingling, into her skin. Not even when they’re barring the door of a cold stonechamber and waiting out the night, and she knows she could stop them both fromshivering. 

She’s almost starving from it,achingly aware of where people are in relation to her at all times. She finallygives in and hugs Keithia about two weeks in. She feels Keithia freeze up for ahalf a second and she closes her eyes, waiting for the rejection, before Keithiasqueezes back, just for a second, before she eases back. Whisper has to forceherself not to cling, to let her new friend go. 

Oriana, she learns, hatesbeing touched at all and the boys are weird about it, so she has to make ithigh fives and playful slaps and punches to the arm. She can hug Frank, atleast, he’s not strange about it. Sing-songtoo, until he vanishes. 

She nearly cries when it getscold enough that they have to huddle in the Magnificent Bubble (also screw Leomund,she’s the one casting the spell, she’ll call it what she wants), and the Bubbleis just big enough for them. If they huddle. It’s almost like the piles she’sused to, and she plays it off with a few sighs and rolled eyes, but when sheends up cuddled next to Twiggy and Isao of all people, she has to bury her headin her arms, so no one will see her face. It’s almost good enough.

[annelixa]

Stay True Chapter 6

Can also be read on AO3

Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 I Chapter 9 I Chapter 10 I Chapter 11 I Chapter 12 I Chapter 13 I Chapter 14 I Chapter 15 I Last Chapter I Sequel

Summary:  Deceit first appeared to Thomas a few weeks ago and caused panic among the other four involved. Since then life has gone back to normal but things can never last.

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Words: 945

Parings: None

Warnings: Implied violence, manipulation

Logan, Patton, and Roman popped up in the other side of the Mindscape; a place they were not familiar with. It was filled with swirling shadows and constantly changing ground and walls. Nervous, the bright three stepped closer together and looked around themselves, feeling as if unseen eyes were watching them.

“Th-This is where someone took our kiddo?” Patton asked with a shiver.

They had searched every inch of their side of the Mindscape, including all of Virgil’s usual hiding spots, but had found no sign of him. Roman even spent an entire day searching Thomas’ Imagination in case he had somehow gotten lost inside. No further clues had been discovered so they had agreed that he had to be somewhere in this part of the Mindscape.

“Unfortunately,” Logan replied. “Thomas’ anxiety is heightened to an unnatural level, even for him, and some of his other functions are out of balance so he must be here somewhere.”

The shadows around them shifted to create a building. Glancing at each other, the trio decided that the best course of action was to enter the structure. Roman took the lead and Logan took the rear, keeping their marshmallow safely between them. The interior of the building only had one twisting hallway that eventually led them to a gray, unmarked door. Taking a steadying breath, Roman pushed it open and stepped inside, only to freeze when he saw the interior of the room. The other two followed and Logan let out a quiet gasp, quickly covering Patton’s eyes.

Their missing friend was being held against the wall with chains around his wrists and ankles. His clothes were torn and dangling off his skeletal body which was covered in open wounds and blood that was both dried and fresh. When they peered closer at him, they noticed that his hair had been cut brutally short but that was not the most concerning discovery; covering his eyes was a thick blindfold and deep in both of his ears were a pair of earplugs.

“They…deprived  him…” Logan whispered, eyes blown wide and stunned.

“How could they do that?!” Roman demanded, shaking with barely suppressed rage.

Patton tried to pull Logan’s hand away from his face.

“What happened? What did they do to our special boy?”

The other two bright Sides shared a look.

“Maybe you should go home, Patton,” Roman replied, still looking at Logan for support. “We can take care of Virgil and get him home. You can get one of our rooms ready for him and make him some food, he will probably be hungry.”

Patton laughed warmly.

“You guys, I can’t leave you behind to take care of our kiddo! You know how important he is to me.”

“Yes, we know,” Logan replied. “But we do not need three of us to get him home. Go on back and we will be there soon.”

“Let me see my son,” Patton said, warmth leaking out of his voice and becoming stern. “Stop trying to hide him from me.”

The two silently debated about what to do as Patton continued to attempt to remove Logan’s shield. Finally they took a deep breath and agreed.

“Patton, I need you to listen closely to me before I show you,” Logan began speaking firmly. “You know what happens when you…lose control…of your more negative emotions and if you do that, you will hurt Virgil. He has been hurt and you do not need to call him into this because it is highly doubtful that he did not have something to do with how our friend came to be in the state his is currently in. Do you understand?” Patton nodded solemnly. “If you start to feel too overwhelmed, go home immediately, otherwise you will hurt Virgil.” He waited for the older Side to realize how severe the situation was and be serious about it before slowly pulling his hand away.

Patton gazed around, eyes adjusting to the darkness, and spotted his favorite boy on the wall. His jaw dropped open and he started to cry earnestly. He stepped forward while tears poured down his cheeks, overcome with the need to comfort his child, and that’s when he saw the objects cutting off his senses.

“No…No…No!” the last word was screamed, eyes flashing dangerously and tears freezing on his face. “They used sensory deprivation on my Virgil?!” He began shaking, rage flowing through his body. “No one should ever do that to him!”

The walls starting quavering and heavy footfalls could be heard echoing down the labyrinth of a hallway.

“Patton!” Roman shouted, fighting to be heard over the furious Side. “Get out! You are calling him!” He ran over to him and shook him, trying to force some sense back into him.

It seemed to work long enough for Patton to pull himself together and sink out of the room.

The two remaining Sides stared at each other in terror, waiting to see if the footsteps were going to bring them a new visitor or not. Several tense moments passed after Patton disappeared and finally the footsteps stopped and the walls stopped shaking. Both of the Sides waited a little longer before agreeing that he had left.

They each took a deep breath and stepped over to their friend, Logan expertly unbinding him and Roman supporting his body. Once the final restraint was opened, Roman carefully cradled his body. Logan adjusted him a little to make sure his body was properly supported in order to not injure him further. They sank out, taking one last look around them and hoping that none of them, Virgil included, would ever be in this place again.

[fmabigbang]

Summaries for mobile, as the link doesn’t work:

Looking for ships?

Roy/Ed: #1, #2, #3, #6, #7, #14, #17, #19, #22, #23

Roy/Riza: #8, #9, #16, #20, #21

Al/Mei: #8, #12, #17, #21

Ed/Winry: #8, #12, #18

Al/Wrath: #18

Greed/Ling: #23

Havoc/Fuery: #23

Ling/Lan Fan: #8

Maes/Gracia: #4

Olivier/Roy: #5

Riza/Rebecca Catalina: #10

Russell Tringham/Belsio: #2

(Please note that only main/major ships are included in this list)

Fic #1: Dead Ringer

Summary:  Love, as fleeting as it is sweet. After a single date, Roy Mustang is left with only funeral flowers and the memory of a guy who could have been The One.  A few months later, he finds himself introduced to a friend of a friend who looks eerily familiar. Second chances come from unexpected places, he knows, but—Ed’s cousin?

Author: Xyriath Continuity: Modern Amestris AU Length: Roughly 20k Pairings: Roy/Ed, Ling/Lan Fan (background) Rating: T or E (depends on age of artist) Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Amestris, Alchemy, Hijinks, Humor, Lan Fan you had one job, A Comedy of Intrusive Thoughts Major warnings: No

Fic #2

Summary: Centuries after faery-kind disappeared from the planet—in part due to humanity’s fear and hatred of them—their part-human descendants continue to face discrimination, particularly in Amestris, where Lord Selim the Prideful has recently inherited his father’s power. Lord Selim wishes for a nation that adequately reflects his own greatness, and thus seeks to purge it of anything nonindicative of that, “halflings” included, starting with a widespread movement to identify and relocate them to designated areas throughout the country. John Belsio, a halfling farmer and hunter, wouldn’t be bothered, but Lord Selim chooses his extensive plot of land as one such relocation area for part-humans throughout Eastern Amestris. His precious privacy infringed upon, Belsio travels to Central City to confront Selim, who makes a deal with him: if Belsio completes a quest for him, Selim will gladly move the halflings elsewhere and leave Belsio in peace. With former politician and fugitive Roy Mustang at his side, whether he likes it or not, Belsio sets out to complete Selim’s task, which, between discovering a decades-long conspiracy and the burgeoning revolution, turns out to be more than he bargained for—and maybe exactly what he needed.

Author: geichang Continuity: total AU featuring characters from both versions Length: 40k ish. EXTREME emphasis on the ‘ish’ Pairings: Belsio/Russell Tringham, Roy/Edward (side) Rating: T (teen) Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Part-Human Characters, Fantastic Racism, Minor Character Focus, Autistic Protagonist, Friends to Lovers Major warnings:  No

Fic #3

Summary: Roy Mustang was born, saved a kingdom and its prince, and died of old age, the love of his life by his side. And then he wakes, Edward nowhere in sight. By some twist of fate, Roy lives again. And again. And again. His existence, he finds, is part of a prophecy; a plan set out by the gods to combat that great evil he thought he had conquered all those years ago. Roy has decided he hates the gods. Not only can he have no rest, but neither can those he loves - Roy is haunted constantly by familiar faces, who no longer even know his name. So, Roy deigns to live a life of solitude - if he is to be forced to give his attachments up after every lifetime, then it would be better for him to never have attached himself in the first place. The gods, it seems, won’t even let him have that. With each life, that Great Evil twists and grows, finding new ways to wreak havoc across Hyrule, and it should be easy for Roy to lose himself in his duty - the thing the gods chose him to do. His life, however, is tied to Hyrule - particularly, its leader. When all attempts to push away one princely figure in particular fail spectacularly, Roy is dragged kicking and screaming into loving again, and with every life, with every goodbye followed be Edward’s unrecognizing eyes at their next meeting, Roy wonders how much of this he can take. (Legend of Zelda AU, with no prior knowledge of the source material needed whatsoever.)

Author: fishingclocks Continuity: Both Length: 30,000 Pairings: Roy/Ed Rating: T (teen) Tags: Legend of Zelda AU,  Reincarnation, Romance, monster-killing at any and all ages, so i suppose child endangerment, incorporates nearly any zelda game you can think of, Angst, yet surprising amounts of fluff, and humor because my Roy is a snarky little loser, will you ever see anything nerdier?, the world will never know Major warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Fic #4

Summary: When Maes Hughes’ body arrives into Central City Morgue, Dr. Knox and his assistant are shocked to find him barely alive inside the body bag. Working quickly, they manage to save him, only for Maes to awaken and nearly re-injure himself in his desperation to get vital information to Roy Mustang. Using a network of underground informants and smugglers, Maes manages to escape Amestris- but at what cost? And can he still manage to alert Roy to the plans of the people who tried to assassinate him? Follow along as Maes becomes one of the living dead and travels out of the country, to save himself- and all of Amestris- from whatever is making that giant transmutation circle.

Author: SonjaJade Continuity: Brotherhood/Manga Length: 34000 Pairings: Maes/Gracia, Maes/Roy (past), Roy/Riza (background), Ed/Winry (background) Rating: T (teen) Tags: Blood, surgical situations, disguises, hideouts, on the run, coded messages, Maes lives AU Major warnings: No

Fic #5

Summary: After an incident with a rogue alchemist, Roy and Olivier find themselves in a strange place and in need of a way back. Their misadventure will open the door to some of the greatest changes Amestris has seen in a long time.

Author: MaiKusakabe Continuity: Brotherhood/Manga Length: 40-50k Pairings: Roy/Olivier, Ed/Winry (background), pre-Al/Mei (background) Rating: E (explicit) Tags: (possible) explicit sexual content, crossover with Harry Potter, language Major warnings: No

Fic #6: The Devil in the Desert Sun

Summary: Roy Mustang is stuck in a rut. And by “a rut,” he explicitly means Cameron, the Eastern ghost town wherein he is investigating his latest story. After he is so rudely ousted from his job as Editor-In-Chief of the Central times on the Führer’s executive order, all he can do is hope to redeem himself to the public by solving a case that has eluded federal and local investigators for years. And so Roy hunts for the Alchemist, a serial killer with a habit of leaving things called “transmutation circles” on the bodies of their victims. When he makes the acquaintance of an activist with a missing best friend and a strange knack for the Alchemist’s own state-restricted secrets, Roy’s suspicions that the Amestrian Military has something to do with the murders are only furthered. Conspiratorial leanings aside, Roy has to get to the bottom of the truth before the case can upend the lives of the very people he’s trying so hard to protect. If only he were as good at keeping everyone safe as he was at starting wildfires.

Author: asonohara Continuity: Brotherhood/Manga Length: 40-50K Pairings: Roy/Ed Rating: E (explicit) Tags: violence, graphic descriptions of death/murder, mentions of past suicidal attempts/ideation, character death, prescription drug abuse, smut, bottom!roy, journalist!roy, activist!ed, modern au, alternate universe-canon divergence, modern brotherhood au Major warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Fic #7: A Lesson in Distraction

Summary: His goals hadn’t, and would never be without trials. Mistakes had, and would be made; he was only human after all, but he had no intention of ever letting it stop him. Roy hadn’t done the things he had, come this far, to back out now or ever. No Alpha would cow him, no amount of gossip or derisive opinion would sway him. If a megalomaniacal pseudo God and his menagerie of unnatural ‘offspring’ hadn’t been enough to deter him, then nothing would. Roy Mustang would bow out only when he himself was ready to; when he’d deemed his goals accomplished sufficiently. Only then would he step back and let everything else fall where it may. And, so close to the top seat, the last thing he needed was a distraction. It was decidedly unfortunate that he neglected to take into account nature’s tendency to overrule the paltry decisions of man, and throw troublesome Elric’s at him. Alternatively: Roy gets blindsided by his biology, and Ed really isn’t helping.

Author: Fullmetalflame Continuity: Post Brotherhood Canon Length: Estimated at 25-30k (May exceed) Pairings: Roy/Ed, Riza/Sheska (background), Alphonse/Fuery (background) Rating: E (explicit) Tags: (Ooh boy) My entry for the 2k17 FMA big bang, Alpha/Beta/Omega, and everything that entails including, knotting, mpreg, it’s not overly graphic, but it is sort of a big thing though, post Brotherhood canon, coarse language, on account of Ed’s potty-mouth, Roy pov, Omega Roy Mustang, Alpha Edward Elric, NSFW, protective!Team Mustang, no angst, light hearted fic, I promise, Alphonse is a little shit, minor background relationships, slash, smut, lots of smut, pwp, porn with plot, Roy’s a strong proud Omega who don’t need no Alpha, but he’ll take Ed anyway, because he’s a dork, the author regrets nothing, what are tags, bonding, marking, smug Omega, seriously, strut your stuff Roy, Madame Christmas knows, seriously, she knows, what else, uh, that’s it I guess? Major warnings: No

Fic #8: Under the same roof

Summary: “This is bound to be a disaster!” Ed muttered under his breath, hoping that no one would hear him but just wanting to get it out of his system. He was setting the table for his guests: ‘and what guests!’ he thought ironically. Ten years have passed since the Promised Day, and many things have changed. Finally, the friends have time to reunite in Resembool and old stories are dug up, secrets are disclosed and hilarity ensues.

Author: ionica01 Continuity: Brotherhood/Manga Length: 75k Pairings: Ed/Winry, Roy/Riza, Ling/Lan Fan, Al/Mei Rating: T (teen) Tags: Fluff, Romance, Funny, Couples, Usual Ed-Roy Bickering, Embarrassing Stories, Politics, World-Building, Character Development, Visit (and Ed isn’t happy), Bonding Time, Families Major warnings: No

Fic #9

Summary: The Illumination is a phenomenon that makes the wounds people bear visible to all in a ray of light. It is completely harmless to human health aside from making one acknowledge it. It started on the third of October 1910 and everyone remembers it very well. Follow the story as Roy, Edward, Alphonse, and the rest of the team experience the illumination to see just how far some might go to douse the lights of another’s pain. Inspired by the Illumination by Kevin Brockmeier.

Author: Literatureworks Continuity: Brotherhood/Manga Length: 50,000 Pairings: Roy/Riza Rating: T (teen) Tags: illuminationAU, Everyday life, pain, Hurt/comfort, Parental, Just an all-around good feeling sappy story of everyday emotions and circumstances, stressbaking Major warnings: No

Fic #10

Summary: Riza Hawkeye knew that her father would die, but she never thought she’d miss him. She also didn’t anticipate his apprentice, a young man named Roy Mustang. And she never thought she’d take up the alchemy tattooed onto her back, but apparently life was full of surprises. Asking Mustang to mentor her, she begins her journey down the alchemic path. She becomes close, and eventually trusts him enough to see the tattoos on her back. Apparently that was all Roy wanted, and soon after seeing her at her most vulnerable, disappears. She finds him a week later in a motel, poring over her most guarded secret and forgetting that Riza even existed. Heartbroken, she decides to continue on her path, except now not content with just being Roy’s equal. She’ll surpass him now, she swears it. Apparently, others want the same for her, and help her along the way—but at what cost?

Author: Veilrony Continuity: Brotherhood/Manga Length: 55 000 words Pairings: Riza/Rebecca (main), Roy/Riza (main for 10 chapters, not “endgame”) Rating: T (teen) Tags: Unhealthy Royai, Alchemist!Riza, Fic Spans 10 Years Major warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Fic #11: Consigned to Oblivion

Summary: Memory is powerful, but easy to fabricate. When Edward Elric has to choose between his brother’s life and his own, he decides to make a sacrifice far greater than he anticipated. The Gate waits for him, and with only a week to live the life he longed for, time is the greatest enemy of all.

Author: wrongnote Continuity: Brotherhood/Manga Length: 25k to 35k, most likely. (maybe longer) Pairings: Ed/Winry (background), Roy/Riza (background) Rating: T (teen) Tags: Parental Roy & Ed Major warnings: No

Fic #12

Summary: Edward enters the Far West, searching for new forms of alchemy. In the red dustbowl of the western lands, he meets with a man that many claims can perform miracles, but Edward’s past experiences with both Dr. Marcoh and Father Cornello told him he was going to find a Philosopher’s Stone behind these so-called “miracles”. During his meeting with Don Paco, Edward learns about magick: an ancient mystic art of Don Paco’s people. Edward takes a gamble when Don Paco offered him the possibility of restoring his Gate of Truth and thus restoring his ability to use alchemy. Little did he know that this “Miracle Man” had a hidden agenda, so on the morning after Don Paco performs the Ritual of Transcendence, the former State Alchemist finds himself trapped in the body of a cat. When all seemed lost, Edward finds an ally in Matilde, Don Paco’s wife. Thanks to Matilde, Edward learns that Don Paco had stolen his body and is heading to Resembool to find Winry. What he wants with the automail mechanic remains a mystery. Armed with the knowledge that the Ritual Transcendence can be reversed, Edward heads East to stop Don Paco and keep Winry from harm.

Author: hirstories Continuity: Brotherhood/Manga Length: 30,000+ Pairings: Ed/Winry, Al/Mei Rating: T (teen) Tags: Canon compliant AU, Canon relationships, Implied relationships, Multiple OCs, Humor, Supernatural, Adventure, Mild violence, Cursing Major warnings: No

Fic #13: sicut in caelo et in terra

Summary: A series of shorter stories set in a world where canon alchemists are not scientists, but deities: making up a Pantheon of gods and goddesses, with Truth and Hohenheim at their helm. The series details scenes along the boys’ journey to harnessing their inherited powers and locating their father, trying to restore balance to the world of deities and discovering what he left the Pantheon to do.

Author: miraculous-stardust Continuity: Brotherhood/Manga Length: >15k Pairings: Roy/Riza (background), Maes/Gracia (background) - pairings exist but the fic is gen Rating: T (teen) Tags: fmabb 17, deity au, basically alchemists +homunculi and gracia are deities, a series of smaller fics bc this got out of hand, inspired by the fma prototype chapter and greek mythology Major warnings: No

Fic #14

Summary: If there is one universal truth, it is that Edward Elric will do anything for his little brother…right? Yet Al is sick and Ed refuses to consider magic as a possible cause or cure. With the best intentions, Al goes behind Ed’s back to pursue the possibility, requesting assistance from Detective Roy Mustang—the only State recognized civilian Mage.  Roy reluctantly agrees, positive that doing so is about as smart as hugging a live grenade but curious because of, both the large disparity in mindsets of the brothers, and his rocky history with Ed. It predictably explodes in his face. Meanwhile, Roy has his hands full trying to protect those few magic users he’s able to track down within the confines of his profession from a world no one believes in (all the while assisting Al where he can and sidestepping explosive interactions with Ed).  He finds himself missing patterns, falling a step behind when he should be a step ahead and his past catches him unaware. Despite Ed’s protests that magic is just a flashy form of alchemy, it exists and it’s coming for him in a very real way. And when handed a decision, Ed makes the worst possible one. Tldr: Everyone: Ed, no!        Ed: Ed, FUCKIN’ yes!

Author: Catie-brie Continuity: AU that pulls from both Length: 40-50k-ish ?? Pairings: Roy/Ed (main) Ling/Lan Fan (background), Havoc/Breda/Rebecca (background), Ed/Ling (past), Roy/Kimblee (past) Can’t think of any others but ships kind of just happen when I write Rating: M (mature) Tags: Urban Fantasy AU, Modern!Amestris, with magic!, Dark, watch out for the fae, fae and faeries, '03 flavored ending, Ed will do stupid things to protect his brother, angst, enemies to lovers to friends to better lovers, UST, RST, unhealthy depictions of sex (magic), other depictions of sex, canon typical violence Major warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Fic #15: Careful what you wish for

Summary: The homunculi each had a desire.  Friends, family, love, and they got what they wanted. Just not in the way they would have wanted it. Envy has abusive relatives, lust falls in love with almost every man, greed has all the possessions he could want,  but not in the prime of conditions. Edward and three others have to go into this world, similar to 03 but is brotherhood,  and collect all the homunculi and take them back to truth, as to have their current lives, they took a piece of him each that has to be recovered. Warning, this story will be very trigger sensitive. It deals with abusive relatives, mental and physical disorders. It can be fairly gory and depressive at parts. If you are sensitive to any of those things. Please do not read.

Author: Homunculus101 Continuity: Brotherhood/Manga Length: 20k or above. Pairings: N/A Rating: T (teen) Tags: Mental disorder, physical disorders, gore, real life issues Major warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Fic #16:

Summary: While people fear the monsters they’ve read in children’s stories or even see in movies, the real monsters within humans can be even more horrifying. How does Edward contend with what’s killing people all over the world? How does Roy contend with the monster that is slowly growing from the military?  Everyone has a demon, a personal monster, how does humanity deal with a threat like that?

Author: YYLoverGirl1 Continuity: An AU inspired by Blassreiter while still keeping elements from Brotherhood Length: 15k+ Pairings: Roy/Riza Rating: T (teen)   Tags: (none) Major warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Fic #17: Bringing the Fight to You

Summary: Story so far:

Edward and Alphonse were born a few years earlier, so Edward is 21 at the beginning of this story. Edward never became a State Alchemist, instead, he and Alphonse train with Izumi Curtis and travel the world, learning as much as they can. Alphonse is now a doctor, and Edward has multiple PhDs in the fields of Alchemy and Languages, and is a professor at Central University. He also helps out at the hospital whenever he has spare time, using Alchehestry to increase people’s chances of survival until the doctors (and Alphonse) can get to them. They saved Maes Hughes, who set up Edward as Roy Mustang’s escort to a military ball.

Edward and Alphonse learn of the conspiracy involving the Promised Day.

This fic:

In order to prevent the scheme of the military high command to use all of Amestris to become immortal, Edward and Alphonse join forces with Mustang. They gather allies and prepare as best they can for the fight to come. Along the way, Roy and Ed have to hide their relationship, in order to tempt the senior staff into thinking they can gain Ed as an ally for their schemes. This doesn’t stop their romance from blooming, but many obstacles are put in their path. This is the story of how the Promised Day, and the year leading up to it, would have gone, had Edward stayed out of the military, and Hughes survived to tell the tale of a nationwide transmutation circle.

Author: caraakame Continuity: Brotherhood/Manga Length: 20k - 30k Pairings: Roy/Ed, Al/May, Greed/Ling (background) Rating: M (mature) Tags: AU, Angst, So much angst, some fluff, possible smut, Hughes survives, Doctor!Al, Professor!Ed, Alternate Timeline Major warnings: Major Character Death

Fic #18: Dante’s Divine Comedy

Summary: Edward Elric has never met the host of tonight’s dinner party. In fact the only thing he truly knows about them is that they are offering key information regarding the disappearance of his father. He would have never have come here with his fiancé otherwise. Upon arrival, Edward is surprised to see that there a quite a few familiar faces among the guests. Even more so when he realizes just how similar their motivations are for attending. Though the night quickly turns for the worst as more guests begin to disappear causing Edward to realize that some things are better left buried and forgotten.

Author: totallynotmyfanfiction Continuity: FMA 2003 Length: 20,000 (in the end) Pairings: Al/Wrath, Ed/Winry, Winry/Paninya (past), Dante/Hohenheim (background), Greed/Envy (background), Dante/Greed (background), Lust/Scar (background) Rating: T (teen) Tags: Murder Mystery, Human AU, Slightly Older Characters, Some Humor, Tragedy, Major warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Fic #19

Summary: In a world where the Gate works on different principles, the price Ed pays for Al’s soul isn’t an arm, but his humanity. Turned into a strange and unnatural beast, he and Al run away, and end up settling in an old castle ruin. Hiding from sight, they spend years searching for a way to get their true bodies back. But then the military shows up, and Roy ends up as Ed’s “hostage”. Though it’s hard to tell who’s the more unwilling party. Well, at first, anyway.

Author: Spuri Continuity: AU (possible vague mention of some Brotherhood details) Length: 46000 Pairings: Roy/Ed Rating: M (mature) Tags: AU - Beauty and the Beast, fluff, crack, slight angst, mention of non-trans related dysphoria, (aka Ed is Beast and understandably has issues), Major warnings: No

Fic #20

Summary: He hates being reduced to the role of civilian – a convalescing civilian, even more. He hates the red tape that surrounds his recovery; hates that Riza still hasn’t come out of her coma like the doctors said she would.

The aftermath of the Promised Day isn’t pleasant for anybody involved.

Author: Tsaritsa Continuity: Brotherhood/Manga Length: 15k Pairings: Roy/Riza, Ed/Winry (background) Rating: T (teen) Tags: (none) Major warnings: No

Fic #21: The Wilderness

Summary: Amestris becomes a harrowingly silent place on the afternoon of the Promised Day and only the survivors at the center are left to tread over it. Within a few hours, they won’t be the only ones wandering.

Author: haganenobeato Continuity: Brotherhood/Manga Length: 25,000+ Pairings: Roy/Riza (main), Al/Mei, Ed/Winry (background) Rating: M (mature) Tags: Horror, Dark, Psychological distress, Zombies, Kinda gorey, Lots of things happen REAL QUICK, some light moments to help Major warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Fic #22: Heathens

Summary: Central City has never been a quiet city. Sex and drugs—the currency of choice in the criminal underground—overflow in the streets leaving fear and unrest in its wake. Obsidian Inferno, the most exclusive club in Central, caters to an exclusive clientele with the most notorious playboy,Roy Mustang, on its throne.  However when a recent string of murders and drug overdoses takes the city by storm, the evidence starts to point to the Inferno. Detective Edward Elric must go undercover to solve the case, but discovers that not everything is what it seems. As the pressure mounts, his discovery threatens to tear apart everything he loves.

Author: Stargazerlilith Continuity: AU with a mix of both worlds Length: 25,000 - 30,000 ish Pairings: Roy/Ed, Ed/Russell (past) Rating: E (explicit) Tags: Drug abuse, gang violence, alcohol abuse, possible kink, sexual content, graphic murders, Schizophrenic characters. Major warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Fic #23: Antebellum Innocence

Summary: The year is 1922, and New York City has never been more rife with drama, drugs, conflict, and crime. It’s a dangerous place for a couple of immigrants, but Ed and Al have always been good at toughing it out. However, dangers can lurk even in the most well-lit corners, and the shadows can hold some of the best friends they’ll ever meet.

Author: the-redheaded-potato Continuity: Brotherhood/Manga Length: 40k Pairings: Roy/Ed, Greed/Ling, Fuery/Havoc Rating: M (mature) Tags: aged-up character, mafia!au, mob boss Roy, trans Havoc, nb Breda, nb Envy, disability, officer Hughes, the homunculi are a rival gang, period-typical racism, tho I downsized it significantly, mentions of ableism Major warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence

[sniperofmyheart]

STORY STARTERS MEME

Rules: List the first lines of your last 15 stories. See if there are any patterns. Then tag 10 of your favourite authors!  Do it if you are interested? @maychorian​ @danosphere91​ Tagged by @justira​

I don’t even know if I have 15 stories. I am going with the first paragraph or first indent not including dialogue if that makes sense. Starting from most recent. I am including different chapters as otherwise I won’t have 15. I feel like I am missing a WIP but I can’t find it found it!

1. Sad Fic (WIP no real title yet)

“Hey guys!! Look who we’ve got!’

They hadn’t even arrived at Wano, and Luffy was already screaming. He stood on the railing and pointed proudly at Sanji, who tried his best to hide behind Brook.  So much for a silent approach.  Having just escaped from one Emperor, Sanji couldn’t shake the feeling that any second Kaido would come barrelling down on them. Best not to tempt fate. The Sunny pulled  into the hidden harbour with very little fanfare, besides the fanfare that Luffy self generated. There was a crowd to greet them but first glance he couldn’t spot any familiar faces. There wasn’t a smile among them.  Luffy was smiling enough for them all as he danced along the railing and dove into the crowd, his arms swinging back and shit, Sanji  and the rest was dragged down as well. One of these days he was going to figure out how far that his damn captain could stretch and stay a good foot beyond that near any high places.

2. Chopper’s Dream (WIP. Title to change)

The lights were off in the infirmary. Sanji had seen Chopper run in not too long ago, so just in case, he knocked as he entered. Chopper did take reindeernaps in here after all.

“Chopper? I brought some tea and cookies, the ladies didn’t want it all”

The small reindeer had his head on the desk, turned, eyes staring into the wall

Sanji carefully set the platter between Chopper and the wall, and waited.

Chopper continued to stare through the ever so delicious tea and cookies at the wall.

3. Raftel (WIP)

They had finally made it, Raftel. The imposing cliff face loomed over them. All those years of fighting, crying and laughing, suddenly felt very small before it. Even Usopp, brave warrior of the sea that he was, felt his knees shake a little. This was the end. The last island, X that marks the spot.  What could possibly be up there that was worth all this? Even with everything  they had seen, if he was really honest with himself, Usopp had no idea what the One Piece was. A mountain of gold? “Made you look” ponoglyphed into a wall? A doodle of sea gull with God D roger’s autograph at the bottom? Nothing could surprise him anymore. He looked over at Robin, she probably had a better idea. Even with the wind splashing the stinging seawater into the crew’s eyes, she kept looking forward, unblinkingly.

4. Reindeernapping Chapter 4 (WIP)

The Sunny was docked slightly away from the main harbour, tucked away half hidden. Apparently the locals (thanks Franky for the intel) were okay with pirates as long as they were seen and not heard. Zoro was on the deck trying to sleep as  Luffy continued the Chopper hunt. Cause of course Chopper might of just fallen asleep in a barrel or climbed up into the crow’s nest. Zoro couldn’t wait to see the shit cook’s face when he saw his kitchen, Luffy had opened every single drawer and cabinet, on the off chance that Chopper had somehow managed to shrink down to 6 inches and decided to hid with the spoons. Once he had satisfied himself that Chopper hadn’t buried himself into any of the bags of flour Luffy stumbled from the kitchen, caked in white powder and launched himself to the figure head. He lay out and stared at the sea

“This is sooooo booooringg! I want to look for Chopper too!”

5. Emergency Food Supply (WIP)

It has been 19 days, three hours, fifteen minutes and 30 seconds since they had last eaten. Not that Chopper was keeping count. Counting required energy. Luffy’s stomach didn’t so much as growl anymore, it was just a dull constant roar against the ocean.  Despite Thriller Bark being behind them, they still couldn’t find their way out of the fog that was the Florian Triangle. 

6. Shut Up Kiss Chapter 3 Lusopp 

They were sailing away. The cannonballs crashing into the ocean were so loud that Usopp could barely think straight, but the silence from the ship was deafening. They were going to leave him.

“If that’s what you want… let me say one last thing. You guys…” he tries to yell but it only comes out as a kind of whisper. What was the point, his throat was already sore from screaming and they were sailing away.

7. Physician Inquisition

“I HOPE YOU CHOKE ON THAT APPLE AND DIE YOU BASTARD!”

BZZZZZZ

“GOD DAMN CHARLEY HORSE!”

BZZZZZZ

“HEY I AM NOT A HORSE! I AM A REINDEER”

BZZZZZZ

Nami poked her head into the sick bay,

“Is everything all right in there?”

8. Don't Play With Your Food

Sanji stared at the freezer door and took a deep breath. He must have misread it, or it was mislabeled, or this was all some kind of fevered dream. If this was a fever dream, he expected some beautiful dancing ladies. He opened the freezer door and pulled out the parcel. Venison. So not dancing ladies then. In little black letters clear as day and beside it almost as an afterthought, reindeer. It sounded like a devil fruit, the venison venison fruit mode reindeer. A small slightly hysterical laugh escaped his mouth and he bit his lip but it still echoed through the kitchen. This wasn’t a devil fruit or some kind of joke, it was a slab of meat. Reindeer meat. In his freezer. Outside he could hear the tap-tap of hooves and a gentle high-pitched laugh. Their emergency food supply new crewmate, he really should stop those jokes, was fitting in well. He stared harder at the letters willing them to rearrange themselves. Fantastic.

9. Wedding Feast

“Welcome to my humble kitchen Lord Sanji” the head chef was groveling so hard his white chef hat scrapped on the ground. His hat seemed wrong, too small.

“Get up. I just wanted to have a look around, it is my wedding feast after all.”

The chef straightened himself.

“Why yes Lord Sanji, of course. I had heard rumours that our great Lord spent some time at a restaurant, so any comments or suggestions are more than welcome.”

The bustle of white smocks around him, the sizzling of pans and the smell of garlic filled the room. Throw in some swearing and a few half dozen tattooed men and you would almost have the Baratie. For the first time since he had arrived at Germa Kingdom, he almost felt at home. He had missed the bustle and the noise. The kitchen was never quiet even back on the Sunny. Someone was always whining for more meat, trying to sneak sake or sweets, and trying to drink all of his milk or cola in one go. Or just dropping by to talk and getting bullied into cutting veggies and washing dishes. He really should ask Franky to put a lock on the door, give him some peace and quiet for a change. But then the ladies wouldn't be able to drop by. Choices choices.

10. Man Overboard

“MAN OVER BOARD MAN OVER BOARD”

Sanji was already in the water looking around frantically so Usopp though it was safe to check who had fallen in. As Chopper and Luffy were the ones yelling their heads off a bit further down the ship with fishing rod in hand, or well hoof, it wasn’t them. Brook had come running over with his violin (how that would help a drowning person is anyone’s guess), and he could see one of Robin’s hand with an eye in the centre sprouted on the side of the ship scanning the water as well. So it wasn’t any of the devil fruit users, that was a relief. Nami had poked her head out of the girl’s room to see what the fuss was about her mapping pen still in hand and Franky had poked his head out of the bathroom. Which left Zoro. Had he somehow managed to wander off the ship into the sea, was that even possible? There weren’t any marine ships around so it wasn’t a surprise attack that had knocked him in. Maybe he fell asleep on the railing and tipped over? But just as Usopp had settled on this, he heard a loud voice behind him “What is taking that damn curly brow so long?”

11. The Question

There is a rare moment of silence, the Merry has burned and the Straw Hats are wiping their eyes and trying to catch their breath. The mighty Sogeking takes a deep breath and grabs Luffy’s hand, half dragging him away from everyone else. Or at least he tries to, but dragging a rubber man by the hand is surprisingly difficult and kind of awkward. You end up standing a few feet away with his stretched arm between the two of you as he picks his nose with the other. After some anxious head tilting and whispering what could be misunderstood to be the word meat, Luffy shuffles over. It is quiet and Luffy has to lean in a little to hear it properly but Sogeking manages to squeak it out

“Can I join the crew?”

no bravado no tall tales and Luffy just smiles.

“No way!”.

12. Reindeernapping Chapter 3

He had built the Shark Submerge III to carry up to three people so with only himself inside there was plenty of room, but the metallic echo of his own breathing and the itching sense that time was passing too fast was making Franky feel queasy. Being a dozen or so feet underwater and forced to wear unnatural pants wasn’t helping matters either. He would give anything for that squeaky little voice to start chirping away, dancing around the cabin asking silly questions about what each button did. Instead there was silence. Franky stared out the reinforced glass viewing window scanning the ocean view. If Little Bro was here, he wouldn’t miss him. One of the handy things about being a cyborg was that blinking was purely optional. With a few drops in his eyes every morning, he might blink once or twice a day, if at all. He had won a lot of money off Long Nose Bro that way, the poor kid couldn't say no to a staring contest. Franky usually wore his shades to avoid giving anyone the creeps but with an empty submarine, that wasn’t an issue.

13. Reindeernapping Chapter 2

The pink and purple smoke was still hanging in the air. Franky couldn’t help asking

“How do you guys usually go about finding lost people? This can’t be the first time this has happened, right?”

“ Chopper just tracks Zoro-I mean Chopper tends to sniff people out” Long Nose answered.

”Fantastic ”

He had seen a bit of their finding people attempts back at Water Seven, and been less than impressed. Franky sat down with a thud on the grass.

14. Reindeernapping Chapter 1

Grocery shopping was distinctly not super. Franky and Reindeer Gorilla had gotten stuck with last minute supplies duty as Cook Bro was too busy protecting the fresh meat and booze from Straw Hat and Sword Bro. Cook Bro had given them an extensive list and Reindeer Gorrilla had his own list of herbs and textbooks he wanted to get. It all added up to quite a haul so someone needed to order and pay while Reindeer Gorilla lugged everything around. Merchants didn’t take kindly to animals placing orders. So Franky volunteered to be Reindeer Gorilla’s designated human. He wanted to get to know his new crew mates outside the yelling and screaming that was Enies Lobby. The market place was jam packed, a lot of elbows to the stomach and competing smells that didn’t quite go together. Fresh flowers, half rotten cabbages and the body odour of the crowd (he was going to have to force Lil Bro to take a bath eventually, the smell was ridiculous) were enough to make his nose rust. It kind of reminded Franky of back home, he has barely left it 72 hours ago and he was definitely not crying. Rubbing his super dry eyes, he stared down at Cook Bro’s list. It seemed like he had everything. A note was scribbled on the bottom ‘Absolutely no cotton candy, that means you Chopper' Franky snorted.

“Reindeer Gorilla, look at this-”

But he was speaking to thin air. The parcel packed Reindeer Gorilla was gone.

15. Shut Up Kiss Chapter 2 Lusopp

“Thinking back, when I was about to sail out, you guys asked me to join you. That's all that's tying us together. We don't have to-”

Something slams into Usopp’s face and everything goes dark. Luffy had been across the room sulking in the wrecked table, right? Had Luffy punched him? Or Gum Gum belled him in the face? Usopp peeks his eyes open, he didn’t remember closing them, and finds himself staring into black circles. Luffy was close, too close. Close enough for Usopp to pluck out his stupid eyelashes one by one. The words won’t come out, he can’t breath. Something was blocking his mouth or rather someone was. Luffy. This wasn’t a surprise punch to the face or a head butt. This was something else.

[lopezdorothy70-blog]

Organic Egg Farmer Wages War on 'Health' Agency

By Dr. Mercola

Jesse Laflamme, chief executive officer of America's No. 2 egg brand, Pete and Gerry's Organic Eggs, is asking tough questions about how the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) sets its food labeling rules.

After filing a 17-page citizen's petition with the FDA in April 2018, Laflamme took to his company's blog to make his point.1 Beneath photos of four food items, Laflamme posed this question: "Which of the following does the FDA consider 'healthy'?"

The three so-called healthy choices noted were fat-free chocolate pudding, low-fat toaster pastries and sugary cereal - all of which the FDA considers to be good for you simply because they contain a few beneficial nutrients.

Surprisingly, the fourth food item featured - organic eggs, a completely natural product - does not meet the FDA's standards for application of the word "healthy."

Laflamme, who is passionate about saving his family's third-generation egg farm from bankruptcy, is urging the FDA to reconsider its labeling rules to allow egg companies like his to add the word "healthy" to their products as a means of educating consumers - some of whom still believe eating eggs is bad for you.

If you think the FDA has your best interests in mind when it comes to food labeling, you may want to keep reading. The system regulating food labeling in the U.S. clearly is broken and it's clear eggs are a healthy food. Here's why.

The Puzzling Inconsistencies of Food Labeling

The basis of Laflamme's petition centers on the apparent inconsistencies noticeable in how the word "healthy" is applied to various foods under the umbrella of oversight provided by the FDA. About these inconsistencies, Inc. magazine asserts:2

"The FDA has strict rules governing food labels' nutrient content claims, but it also broadcasts puzzling inconsistencies. For example, the agency says an egg has too much fat, saturated fat and cholesterol to be considered healthy, but seemingly bad-for-you foods like low-fat pudding, which may be rich in potassium, calcium, iron and vitamin D are considered healthy."

The agency announced plans in September 2016 to change its rules related to what it deems healthy, but has been slow to act or comment publicly about the status of its efforts. In the meantime, Laflamme and others are growing impatient with the delays.

He says, "It's so antiquated and out of touch. The idea that a toaster pastry - a Pop Tart - is healthy or that Jell-O is healthy is crazy ... We know we are shortchanging ourselves by not being able to say eggs are healthy … [I]t's time to fight back."3

The FDA has up to 180 days to respond to Pete and Gerry's petition and nothing has come of it yet. A CBS television affiliate in Boston that was in contact with the agency says an FDA spokesperson told them, "[T]he agency is reviewing nutrition science data and public input as it considers modernizing the criteria for the term 'healthy'."4

Laflamme wants the FDA to change its ways because he believes an updated label is needed to dispel outdated and misleading information about eggs. After all, he says, "A whole generation grew up being told eggs were harmful."5

How Can Chocolate Pudding and Toaster Pastries Be Considered Healthy?

On the company's blog, Laflamme notes the apparent discrepancy related to the treatment of eggs as compared to the FDA's handling of products long considered to be junk food. Says Laflamme:6

"Toaster pastries (Pop-Tarts), flavored gelatin (Jell-O) and fat-free chocolate pudding are all considered 'healthy' products, while eggs are not. That seems like a ridiculous notion … But, believe it or not, that is what the FDA says on the matter.

Those products may use … 'healthy' in reference to their products and Pete and Gerry's Organic Eggs cannot, despite ample evidence to the contrary. We are hopeful that with the advances in nutrition science and understanding … the FDA will issue new guidance on eggs."

The company enlisted the support of registered dietician and nationally recognized healthy living expert Keri Glassman in its efforts to petition to the FDA.

"It is long overdue that eggs be restored to their proper place in the American diet," says Glassman. "It's one of the best sources of natural, nutrient-dense protein you can find, to say nothing of its convenience and flexibility as a food."7

Given the skyrocketing rates of unhealthy eating and obesity in the U.S., Laflamme believes consumers are "waking up" and beginning to educate themselves about the nutritional value of the foods they eat.

"The result has been a move away from processed, artificial foods in favor of simple, whole foods such as vegetables, fruits, whole grains and natural proteins - like eggs," notes Laflamme. "We believe by pushing the FDA on this out-of-date definition, we can help drive this healthy eating trend forward."8

Glassman calls the FDA rules "outdated and misleading," encouraging Americans to eat more nutrient-dense whole foods like avocados and wild-caught salmon, as well as organic, free-range eggs, mainly because they are healthy additions to any diet.

"Americans should be eating more of [these foods] as well as be encouraged to avoid sugar-packed, processed foods that are filled with unhealthy ingredients, but can still be labeled as 'healthy,'" she says.9

A Great Source of Choline: Why Eggs Are a Healthy Choice

While the consumption of chicken as a source of meat protein has become popularized in recent decades, eggs have become unfairly vilified, in part because of misconceptions regarding their cholesterol content. In reality, eggs, particularly the yolks, provide important vitamins such as A, D, E and K, as well as antioxidants and essential omega-3 fats.

Eggs are also one of the best sources of choline available. Choline helps keep your cell membranes functioning properly, plays a role in nerve communications and prevents the buildup of homocysteine in your blood, which is good because elevated levels are linked to heart disease. Choline also helps reduce chronic inflammation.

This vital nutrient is also prized because it enables your body to make the brain chemical acetylcholine, which is involved in storing memories. In pregnant women, choline plays an equally, if not more, important role, helping to prevent certain birth defects such as spina bifida, while also playing a role in your baby's brain development.

According to a study published in the journal Nutrients, only 8 percent of U.S. adults are getting enough choline - including only 8.5 percent of pregnant women.10

Among egg consumers, however, more than 57 percent meet the adequate intake levels for choline, compared to just 2.4 percent of people who do not consume eggs. Based on the outcomes, the study authors concluded, "This research illustrates that it is extremely difficult to achieve the adequate intake for choline without consuming eggs or taking a dietary supplement."11

Some of the symptoms associated with low choline levels include lethargy, memory problems and persistent brain fog. Because your body can only synthesize small amounts of this nutrient, you must get it from your diet on a regular basis. One egg yolk contains nearly 215 milligrams (mg) of choline.

More Good Reasons to Eat Eggs

Beyond the presence of choline, egg yolks are good for you because they're rich in the antioxidant carotenoids lutein and zeaxanthin, which are well-known to support healthy vision. In addition, egg yolks are an excellent source of healthy fat and contain about 6 grams of protein.

While you can buy eggs at nearly any market or convenience store, if you want a healthy egg you'll want to purchase only organic, free-range, pastured eggs. Why? Because they are far superior than other types when it comes to nutrient content.

I advise against eating conventionally raised eggs mainly because they are far more likely to be contaminated with disease-causing bacteria such as Salmonella.

You can usually tell if your eggs are pastured simply by checking the color of the egg yolk. Hens that forage for their food produce eggs with noticeably bright orange yolks. In contrast, the presence of dull, pale yellow yolks is a sign your eggs were sourced from caged hens that are most likely fed an unnatural diet.

What About Cholesterol?

If you are middle aged or older, it's possible you may still harbor misconceptions about eggs and cholesterol. After all, for decades, the American public was told that eggs, as a source of cholesterol and saturated fats, promote heart disease. In a 2015 study titled "The 50-Year Rehabilitation of the Egg," the journal Nutrients credits the American Heart Association with promoting the mistaken guidance about eggs and cholesterol, stating:12

"The 1968 American Heart Association announced a dietary recommendation that all individuals consume less than 300 mg of dietary cholesterol per day and no more than three whole eggs per week.

This recommendation has not only significantly impacted the dietary patterns of the population, but also resulted in the public limiting a highly nutritious and affordable source of high-quality nutrients.

The egg industry addressed the egg issue with research documenting the minimal effect of egg intake on plasma lipoprotein levels, as well as research verifying the importance of egg nutrients in a variety of issues related to health promotion. In 2015, dietary cholesterol and egg restrictions have been dropped by most health promotion agencies worldwide."

While it's true fats from animal sources contain cholesterol, it is not necessarily harmful. In recent years, studies have clearly shown eggs - particularly egg yolks - to be one of the healthiest foods you can eat. Even though egg yolks are relatively high in cholesterol, numerous studies have confirmed eggs have virtually nothing to do with raising your cholesterol. About this, NPR comments:13

"[E]ating cholesterol can raise levels of it in the blood, but, as a growing body of research has shown, not by that much. Consuming sugar, trans fats or excessive saturated fat (from unhealthy sources) can be more harmful to cholesterol levels than dietary cholesterol itself.

Most of the cholesterol in our bodies we make ourselves in the liver, and total body levels are heavily influenced by genetics, gender and age. As more and more research suggests that some degree of cholesterol consumption is harmless, if not healthy, the egg's reputation is gradually returning."

Final Thoughts About Eggs, the Petition and the FDA

The bottom line is eggs are indeed a healthy food. The guidance provided by the FDA is outdated and practically absurd. You and I can recognize that adding vitamins to sugary cereal and highlighting the calcium content of chocolate pudding as a means of promoting them as "healthy" is ridiculous.

If the FDA classifies a wide array of junk food as healthy, then eggs most certainly deserve the same label. As mentioned, when produced by healthy, foraging hens, eggs are a natural food and one that is packed with health-boosting vitamins and minerals.

The folks at Pete and Gerry's Organic Eggs are correct in demanding more from the FDA. Anyone producing organic, free-range eggs should be able to apply the word "healthy" to their product labels. About the disconnect with respect to FDA labeling for eggs, Laflamme states:14

"While nutrition experts recognize eggs as a nutritious food, many would probably be surprised to learn that federal regulations prohibit the use of the word 'healthy' to describe eggs.

Our goal with this petition is to encourage the FDA to bring outdated regulations in line with current nutritional science and general consumer awareness, and thereby help shoppers make more informed choices in the grocery store aisle."

No matter what the FDA says, if you are able to tolerate them and have a reputable source from which to obtain high-quality organic ones, you'd be wise to remember: Eggs are healthy and it's OK to eat them.