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the-last-kenobi · 3 years

Note

Most of your fics absolutely destroyed me emotionally so, on my own risk, may I request #13 “You shouldn’t be this easy to carry" with Qui-Gon and padawan Obi-Wan? Thank you!

Ohhh I’m happy to write this one! Thank you! (Always pleased to hear I’ve emotionally wrecked innocent people lol)

From this various prompts list.

Qui-Gon descended the ramp of his ship with something less than his usual grace, his expression was rather sour. Other than that, he looked his usual self, untidy but comfortable and serene.

He waved to the attendant heading towards the ship, and bowed to a small mechanic droid that squeaked with excitement, ran in circles around him, and then darted off after the attendant.

Qui-Gon chuckled. He paused to take a deep breath, tasting the metallic scent of Coruscant on the air, but also the warm and familiar notes of the Temple, of home. It was good to be back. Tedious diplomatic assignments that ran well overtime were nothing worth dwelling on, especially when it was done alone.

“Master Jinn!” a warm voice called.

He turned his head and saw Shaak Ti walking towards him, a smile on her lovely face with its striking colors.

“Knight Ti,” he greeted her. “How are you?”

“I’m well,” she answered. “I’m just about to depart to Alderaan; it’s a royal wedding and I’m the token Jedi invitee,” she informed him, but there was no offense in her voice. Alderaan was well known to be genuinely welcoming, and had been more than courteous in their dealings with the Order for centuries on end.

“Enjoy it,” Qui-Gon advised her. “Weddings are rarely something you’d like to miss.”

“I will,” she promised. “Oh, is your Padawan around? I was hoping to catch him when he returned, he forgot to sign off on his departure notice and was scheduled for three shifts in the crèche, which he obviously missed.”

Qui-Gon’s head tilted to one side, and he frowned.

It was obvious that Shaak Ti believed that Obi-Wan had accompanied him on his mission, which had in fact been a solo assignment. The twenty-one-year-old Padawan had remained behind for class rotations.

And Obi-Wan had never missed... well, anything. He was notoriously early for everything, beyond punctual. It was almost annoying.

Perhaps he’d finally slipped into a belated teenage fit of laziness, or he’d fallen so behind on class work that he’d forgotten about the crèche. Both would be extremely out of character, but one instance of this in nearly nine years of training could perhaps be excused.

Shaak Ti was waiting for an answer.

“I’ll talk to him,” he promised, revealing nothing. “Thank you for letting me know. I had no idea.”

She waved it off. “These things happen. You have a good student on your hands; he’s easily forgiven.”

Qui-Gon smiled.

The door to their quarters opened for him with a casual wave of the hand. Jedi did not lock their doors often; privacy was an understood thing, something not casually breached. No Jedi would enter another’s rooms without first asking permission.

He wasn’t sure what he expected.

Obi-Wan in the common area, reading.

Or Obi-Wan out and about, somewhere off with some of his more trouble making friends. (Quinlan Vos.)

He was not expecting to find Obi-Wan huddled in the corner of their kitchenette, half-hidden in his cloak, knees drawn up under his chin, crying.

Obi-Wan saw him enter and flinched away, shuddering.

Qui-Gon stared.

The entire scene was so unexpected, so wrong, that for a full five seconds he simply stood there, unable to process it. Obi-Wan had buried his face in his knees and was attempting to stifle his tears, seemingly by holding his breath, which was only making him shake harder.

Qui-Gon jolted out of his paralysis and stepped nearer, dropping onto one knee, sensing that looming over his Padawan was not going to help.

“Padawan?” he asked cautiously.

Obi-Wan looked up reluctantly. His face was a sickly grey; his cheeks were bright red and his blue eyes were feverish. They darted around, seeming to fix on nothing.

“Obi-Wan,” the Master tried again, warily reaching out a hand and resting it on top of one of Obi-Wan’s, clenched around his knee.

Obi-Wan took a rattling breath, more tears spilling down his cheeks. “...What... day is it...?” he gasped.

Qui-Gon’s chest tightened with something close to terror. What in all the galaxy was going on here?

“It’s the 29th,” he said gently. “Taungsday. I returned a day late from my solo mission. Do you remember that?”

Obi-Wan’s tears had increased throughout the brief speech. “Y-yes.”

“All right,” said Qui-Gon, struggling to remain as calm and patient as possible. “All right. Can you tell me what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, his expression crumbling. Suddenly he very much resembled the boy Qui-Gon had met on Bandomeer, uncertain and frightened, although even then he had not cried. This was different.

“Are you sure?” Qui-Gon pressed.

Obi-Wan nodded, strangling a loud sob by clapping one hand over his mouth. He said something, but of course it was impossible to understand behind his clamped fingers.

“What?” asked his Master.

“...so...stupid,” Obi-Wan burst out angrily through his tears. “I just... don’t feel well.”

“Don’t feel well?” Qui-Gon stared at his apprentice in confusion. “You’re sick? Obi-Wan, why didn’t you just go to the Halls?”

Obi-Wan shuddered. More tears slid down over his flushed cheeks. “I...I...I fell,” he said, sounding deeply uncertain. “I was working, and it was late, and I fell. I think I fell. I can’t walk. I can barely move. I don’t know how long it’s been—”

Qui-Gon was already moving, alarm ringing in his head like sirens. In two seconds he had Obi-Wan in his arms, cradled like a child, his head resting under Qui-Gon’s chin.

“You shouldn’t be this easy to carry,” he said tensely. “You haven’t had anything to eat or drink since you fell?”

“Some... some water,” Obi-Wan murmured. His skin was blazing hot against Qui-Gon’s, a sick and feverish heat. He had stopped crying — his tears seemed to have stemmed from a combination of confusion and shame, not pain — but he seemed on the verge of passing out. “I... I got some water... don’t remember when...”

“Stay awake,” Qui-Gon ordered. He was striding down the hallways, ignoring the few bystanders who watched them pass with bewilderment and concern. He did send a grateful nod to one young woman who raised her comm in her hand at him, asking a silent question, and at his gesture raised it to her lips and murmured ‘Tell the Healers that Master Jinn is bringing in his Padawan. Have someone ready.’

Obi-Wan murmured something vague.

“Stay awake,” insisted Qui-Gon. “Don’t fall asleep.”

Obi-Wan moaned but nodded, forcing his eyes to stay open. “I...I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” The words came out harsh and insincere in Qui-Gon’s urgency, and he realized it, because he dropped a swift kiss to the top of the fevered head in apology. Obi-Wan relaxed ever so slightly.

They arrived in the Halls of Healing and were immediately received by a Healer and his apprentice, who had Obi-Wan safely tucked in a bed and monitored in less than two minutes. Obi-Wan had closed his eyes against the bright light and seemed in danger of falling asleep again.

“Stay awake just a little longer, Padawan Kenobi,” the Healer instructed kindly. “I’m fairly sure of your diagnosis but I have to be more certain before I can administer treatment. Then you can sleep.”

“Yes, Healer,” rasped the young man.

Qui-Gon watched from the wall, his hands tucked deep in his sleeves to hide how they trembled. The shock of the last quarter hour was setting in, and he scrambled to keep his wits about him, worried about what this diagnosis might be. He still remembered Obi-Wan’s confusion about the day, his bewildered tears, and that memory was not going to be going away anytime soon.

He had been far too light in his arms.

Just how long had Obi-Wan been trapped in their rooms, unable to call for help and too confused to figure out a way around that? How long had he gone without eating and sleeping?

He found out.

An hour later, Obi-Wan was fast asleep, hooked up to an IV and blissfully pain-free due to a dose of pills he had managed to swallow. The Healer turned to Qui-Gon with a weary smile.

“You’re all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine. I’ve just returned from a mission, but I wasn’t hurt.”

“That’s good to know. I was asking about shock, however,” the Healer said gently. “I know this can’t have been a pleasant homecoming.”

Qui-Gon’s throat tightened, but he said nothing.

The Healer seemed to understand. “Obi-Wan has contracted a strain of the flu,” he explained, moving past the brief surge of emotion. “As you know, most strains of the flu are easily combated these days and many species have evolved or inoculated to the point where it’s hardly a concern. But sometimes the flu is stronger. In this case, it’s clear that it’s job was made easy. I don’t think Padawan Kenobi was eating or sleeping properly before the sickness began to set in. It would explain the severity of his malnutrition, and his confusion.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes flickered to the bed where Obi-Wan was sleeping, the fever still burning in his cheeks.

“...How long?” he asked.

“A few days at most,” the Healer said. “But I suspect it’s a habit that’s related to stress and overwork. Does Obi-Wan struggle with stress or insomnia?”

The Master hesitated a moment, opening his mouth to deny it, and then stopping to think better of it.

“...Maybe,” he admitted. The hesitation stung. Shouldn’t he know? “He’s very private with his habits when we’re in Temple. He prefers to study alone in his room, and we usually only manage to share one meal a day during his busier semesters, if that.”

The Healer nodded. He didn’t look or sound at all accusatory when he said, “That’s understandable. I’m going to suggest keeping a closer eye on that. Don’t force him out of his comfort zone, at least not right away, but make sure he understands that three square meals — or better yet, a light meal or snack every two or three hours — is expected of him. As is sleep.”

Qui-Gon nodded, his throat tightening again to the point of pain.

“Rest easy, Master Jinn,” said the Healer, briefly laying a supportive hand on the taller Jedi’s shoulder. “He’ll pull through this. The illness, and everything else. I believe it’s nothing more than a bad habit formed from good intentions. There are crueler demons out there.”

“Yes, I know,” said Qui-Gon. And he did know. One didn’t reach Jedi Mastery without learning the galaxy for what it was.

But he didn’t think he would ever quite move past the shock of today, of carrying his adult apprentice in his arms, sick to the point of tears and helplessness, and then discovering that he could possibly have prevented this if he had paid a little more attention to Obi-Wan’s work habits.

Well. They would, as the Healer said, overcome this.

Qui-Gon drew up a chair to the side of the bed, resolving to wait until Obi-Wan woke, and slowly reached out and set his hand next to his Padawan’s. After a moment, Obi-Wan stirred, and even in his sleep he gave a contented sigh and shifted his hand, his fingers searching blindly for his Master’s hand. Qui-Gon took it and held it tightly.

They had overcome so many things in nearly a decade together.

They could handle this.

And besides, Qui-Gon told himself, even after Obi-Wan was Knighted, he would always be here to watch his back.

He would never abandon Obi-Wan.

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pastafossa · 3 years

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23-romance and 35-guilt with bucky please!

Sorry this took me a bit! ROMANCE AND GUILT COMIN UP!

Headcanon prompts can be found here!

Set below the cut because it's a little long 😅

23 - “Romance” headcanon with Bucky Barnes

Romance with Bucky is a never-ending spin of the wheel, in the best kind of way. There are times he’s incredibly, traditionally romantic, even when he’s a bit gruff about it. He brings you flowers, settles his coat on your shoulders—scent of warm leather, metal, fresh snow you eagerly soak in—whenever you’re cold. He even writes letters when he’s away—fucking handwritten letters like something out of a goddamn movie. You treasure those letters like nothing else, collecting them like the gems they are, no matter how short they may be. And god, the first time he spins you around and kisses you in the rain? You could have sworn romantic music, all violins and light piano notes, started playing in the distance.

And yet Bucky also has a hysterical habit of acting without thinking. That lack of thinking carries over into a romance with him. It’s something you find… kind of adorable honestly, especially in the beginning. Bucky is, at times, not unlike a stray cat bringing you a—fortunately not dead—present. He’ll see something while he’s out, something that reminds him of you, and the next thing he knows he’s slapping his money down on the counter. He’s always confident about it at first, this little token, eager to shove it into your hands, give you this small thing that says, I thought of you. Except… the second it’s time to actually give you this token of affection, he freezes, and what had seemed clever before suddenly seems stupid because sometimes these gifts aren’t even romantic and what would you even want with these stupid novelty waffle socks anyway, all because you made that joke about waffles? Who buys his girl waffle socks?! Those are the days you have to claw your way up his body to get into whatever he’s got in the box or bag he’s suddenly holding up out of your reach, because he will absolutely take the gift back if you don’t get ahold of it in that moment. And god damnit, you love these little gifts just as much as the flowers and chocolates. You love your goofy waffle socks, the kitschy keychain with your favorite animal on it, the tiny tin of artisan soap given all because, “you said you liked that scent a while back and I just thought… you know, it was stupid, forget it—”

“Try to take back my soap from me and I will bite through that metal arm, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Now, you just need to get him to wear some waffle socks...

35 - “Guilt” with Bucky Barnes

You thought you’d planned for all the ways his guilt might manifest: the nightmares, the cruelly self-deprecating comments disguised as sarcasm, his distaste for his scars. You rolled with it, adjusted and adapted. You curled up with him after his nightmares; you were quick to offer reassurance and affection; you made sure to kiss across his scars as easily as you did unmarred skin. You thought you had things handled.

In hindsight, you should have considered the metal arm. Or rather, how he’d feel when he accidentally nailed you across the face with it in the middle of the night as he rolled over. He couldn’t even look at you now.

“It’s not that bad,” you told him calmly, still holding the ice pack to your black eye. In truth you found the incident a little funny in a ‘of course this happened,’ kind of way but Bucky was decidedly less amused. He shook his head at you, still refusing to meet your eye as he set the bottle of anti-inflammatories down on the table in front of you alongside a glass of water. “Seriously Bucky, I’m fine.”

“I hit you,” he said simply, his jaw working as you reached up and hooked your fingers loosely in the hem of his sleep pants. “’s not fine.”

“You did it accidentally. In your sleep.”

“Still happened. Let go, Doll. Take your pills.”

You curled your fingers tighter in response. If you wanted to keep the ice pack on your eye, that meant you only had one hand free, and there was no way you were going to let go when you were pretty sure he was gonna run the second you looked away. “No. Not letting go if you’re gonna take off.”

He snorted, just a touch of amusement. “You really think you can hold me here by my fucking pants?”

“I’ve got a good grip. You’d lose the pants and I doubt even you’d run down the street naked. Even if you do, I’ll chase you so we both look crazy.”

“I’ll outrun you. Super soldier.”

“And I love you,” you shot back. “Which is infinitely stronger according to all the laws of romantic movies. Also I’ll call Sam and tell him to track you, and then he’d have video footage of you streaking. You’d never live it down.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re insane,” he muttered, equal parts frustrated and fond. “Fine. ‘m not goin’ anywhere. Take your pills.”

He sounded serious enough—maybe because he knew you were serious about this—and so you reluctantly released the hem of his pants so you could work the bottle open, tapping out two pills for yourself. “Look, I get you’re upset, and I acknowledge that, but this stuff happens—”

“No it fucking doesn’t,” he snapped, his metal hand letting out a soft whir as it closed into a fist, as he kept his head turned away, though you could still see the way his lip curled up. “Most girls ain’t gotta worry about getting a black eye from a fucking metal arm when they sleep.”

"I’m going to point out that even non-metal hands hurt when they smack you in the middle of the night,” you said gently, throwing back the pills with a swallow of water. The second you were done, you continued, “and ok, so, we switch sides of the bed. Easy fix, and now if you roll over, you won’t—”

“It’s not about that!” he shouted, and the strength of the response startled you, the way each word dripped with so much venomous self-loathing you were surprised it hadn’t eaten away the floorboards beneath him like droplets of acid. He stabbed a finger at the ice pack you were still holding over your eye, baring his teeth. “You’re treating this like it’s fucking nothing, but I hurt you! Jesus, you all just keep-keep giving shit up for me—”

“Bucky—”

“—I fucking wake you up with nightmares, you all have to deal with my shit constantly, and for what? All of you doing it for who? A fucking murderer? A f.. a fucki—”

You dropped the ice pack and lurched up to your feet, reaching for him as he lifted a hand to pull on his hair, a full-body tremble running through him. He hissed when you wrapped your arms around him, recoiling from your touch as if it burned him but you hung on, knowing what was coming. And as you wound around him, clinging tight, the trembling transitioned into hitched breathing, heavy shudders as the coiled serpent Guilt rose up inside him, threatening to swallow him whole.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m sorry, Christ, Doll, I’m so—”

“I know.” You pulled his head down to your shoulder as he groaned, finally finally returning the hug, dragging you in so tight your bones creaked with it. “I know, Bucky.”

#Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes #FATWS #Headcanon prompt #Bucky Imagine #Fanfic #Guilt #Romance #Bucky being both adorable and guilty #as is his usual method of operation #Bucky is a feral cat #and he brings you gifts sometimes #but then guilt says 'no is stupid'#cat take gift back #EXCEPT YOU REFUSE #YOUR GIFT NOW #this got long whoops

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uh-velkommen · 3 years

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The White Lotus, HBOMax

Alright four episodes in and things are finally starting to ramp up. My face throughout the whole episode was stuck on discomfort. This show packs so much tension in every 45 minutes that I'm constantly waiting for somebody to pop off or something crazy to happen but instead we get teased with the smallest little plot pusher. Which is working. I'm officially intrigued. I do wish I knew the overall point of the show because that's what would've helped me decide if I wanted to keep up with but now my determination to find out how this all ends is doing just that...

Character breakdown + Spoilers/Predictions

Armond: The manager of the White Lotus resort. I love him in all his poor choices. He's just constant chaos simply because he has the power to create it. He's also the biggest driver of drama. He lies a lot, almost pathologically, and he will carry those lies to the grave for no real reason.

Nicole Mossbacher: Resort guest, Mark's wife, and Olivia and Quinn's mom. She's a pretty basic character who is teased about possibly having OCD and working during vacation. She was pretty chill in the first 2 episodes but every once in a while she says things that gives off I'm a centrist but my views lean a little more conservative.

Mark Mossbacher: In the beginning he's stressing about possibly having testicular cancer because his father died of cancer... Turns out his father had AIDs. He has a depressive episode over his dad being gay and then, while drunk, he inadvertently comes onto the Armond. The next day Armond tests the waters with Sober Mark and we get uncomfortably funny scenes of Armond coming onto Mark in front of the whole family. Mark's a very passive dude who doesn't do anything exciting in the show but we just find out that he has, in the past, repeatedly cheated on his wife and didn't tell her (he told his son that he did tell Nicole but I don't believe it) I think his theme is just being genuinely unhappy with his life at the moment.

Olivia Mossbacher: She's a college sophmore and has many moments where she calls out her parents questionable statements. She carries herself with a weird nonchalance where you'd think she's a mean girl but she's only ever expectedly mean to her brother. However, she brought along her friend Paula and we start to see that their friendship is built on some unspoken competition. The girls do tons of drugs on vacay until Armond gets his hands on them and breaks his 5 year sobriety. This is when and why shit starts to hit the fan. They know he stole the drugs but because everyone avoids admitting to having illegal drugs, no one is ever outright accused.

Paula: Olivia's poc friend, possible hypochondriac, and supplier of drugs, has secret rendezvous with one of the Hawaiian native resort workers. She refuses to say anything when asked about her nightly disappearances but Olivia knows why or for whom Paula keeps sneaking off. We learn that Paula doesn't want Olivia to know about her and her beau because Olivia always wants what she has. My theory is that this wouldn't be the first time Olivia has stolen a partner of hers and I think now because Paula isn't admitting to hooking up with this guy, Olivia is gonna steal him and use Paula's secrecy as a way of blame.

Quinn Mossbacher: Involuntary loner in my opinion. He comes off as a classic video game nerd, obsessed with the internet, cant live without his Switch and Fortnite. He doesn't have any friends and he takes all the teasing from Olivia and Paula without a fuss. But he starts sleeping on the beach alone and keeps running into these amazing sights to see. This is where we start to see him blossom and speak up. Its ever so slow but in episode 4 he actually walks up to a group of guys and introduces himself, interested in their boat related sport[?] (Or maybe even the guys themselves🤞) He's also the only one who knows about the Dad's affair and stupidly hints at it at the family dinner (he's just genuinely stupid).

Shane Patton: Also a resort guest and the funniest character to me. He's your run of the mill self-centered male Karen (Kevin if you will) and he arrives at the resort with his wife Rachel. They're on their honeymoon but so many moments make you question why in the hell did these two get married? He is in an unnecessarily one sided battle with Armond. First the resort accidentally downgrades his room. Armond gaslights Shane into thinking that he never purchased the bigger room. Shane gets a receipt. Armond tells him there's a German couple staying in the receipted room longer than Shane and his wife are there so the room will not be ready for them in time. Shane finds out the Germans are actually leaving wayy earlier. Armond apologizes and books them a romantic sunset dinner on a boat. The boat is actually a funeral where a strange grieving woman, named Tanya, fails to spread her mothers ashes in the sea. Shane confronts Armond and asks for Corperate's number. Armond creates a fake business card and when Shane realizes the number is fake, he bursts into Armond's office to find him rimming a coworker while high on Ketamine. Prediction: Armond's gonna get blackmailed for abuse of power in a classic Monicagate manner.

Rachel: Shane's wife. Rachel's a journalist who actually looked up to Nicole (her job as CEO of god knows what puts her in the public eye) but when she finally got to sit with Nicole over lunch, Nicole calls her out for writing an incredibly slut shamey article, claiming that Nicole used her femininity to get her where she is now. This is the first smack in the face that maybe journalism isn't for Rachel. Well that on top of the constant teasing from Shane about her career choices. Shane's family is much more wealthy than Rachel's and he always finds subtle ways to make it known. Shane also pays her no mind, flirting with Olivia and Paula and battling Armond. Even during their arguments (which happens too many times for newlyweds) Shane doesn't look at Rachel and just gives periodic "mhmm"s and "okay"s. Also Rachel hates the Mossbacher family simply because they all seem to be doing better than her.

Now for the boring ones

Tanya McQuoid: An eccentric resort guest (which is a polite way of saying, a weird ass person who is over polite and basically pushes herself into every other character's drama in the most unintentional way, she's also bad at reading the room) She comes off as calm and quiet but we find out that her mother recently passed and she's in Hawaii to spread her mothers ashes. She becomes creepily obsessed with the resort's massage parlor manager, Belinda, after a complimentary massage and suggests becoming a beneficiary so Belinda can open up her own massage parlor. Her "obsession" could possibly just stem from Belinda showing her an act of kindness during a hard time but I know I questioned Tanya's intentions for at least the first two episodes... In episode 4, some random dude, Greg, shows up and invites Tanya to dinner after "accidentally" mistaking her room door for his own. Tanya postpones a business meeting with Belinda so she and Greg can hook up that night. The presence of these characters feel a little out of place. Unlike the Newly Weds and the Mossbacher family, there is not a lot of plot overlap. Tanya will often pop up to converse with the others and brag about Balinda's skills but she doesn't cause any trouble. Tanya's also very wealthy so I definitely thing this "Greg" has some secret plot to take down Tanya or plant something or steal her cash and unfortunately I do not think Belinda will see anything bright in her future. Her plans will be left on the backburner which I say is unfortunate because she's a kind woc who is just trying to do her job and is clearly very skeptical about going into business with this strange, rich white, resort guest.

Honorable Mention

Lani: A Hawaiian native, trainee at the White Lotus. She shows up in episode one as her first day on the job. Later we find out she's also pregnant and goes into a premature labor on the job. She has her baby and disappears for the next three episode. Come back Lani, Armond has just started getting your name right!

Show Themes

The show does touch on conversations of race and class but I would not consider this a political show or one with an agenda (it's satire). I point out the characters of color here because their race becomes a device used to create tension but not in a Token POC kind of way. All the characters are rich and they are shamed for it by the show writers. By this I mean nobody is spitting in their faces and calling them Climate Killers but the choices the characters make, the things they say, and the way they act gives the viewer something to laugh at. Their ignorant entitlement juxtaposing with the beautiful Hawaiian beaches and tragic Hawaiian history creates an underlying experience of, look at these rich people not having a good time and they can't even realize why! As for the characters, there is plenty of time to sit back and question, is this character a good person, who's the real antagonist, how do these stories intertwine, who do we root for What story is attempting to be told here? What is the message!?

#the white lotus hbo #the white lotus #the white lotus hbomax #hbo max

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castillon02 · 4 years

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It occurs to me that Jaskier might have a “group of devotees,” or rather, a fan club.

And that people who run fan clubs are generally much more organized than bards errant.

And there might be chapters in each city and the larger towns, filled with mostly-women congregating to play covers of Jaskier’s songs and analyze his latest book of poetry. Probably they end up writing and distributing erotic Jaskier fanfiction and singing filk. They don’t have matching jackets, because money, but they all wear a feather somewhere on their person---an easy token for anyone to find. No barriers. Jaskier will love anyone, so anyone can love Jaskier.

Supposedly, the feather is in memory of the opulently feathered hat that Jaskier once wore to a ball. (“It was a bold look.” “It was stupid.” “It made him recognizable from a mile away.” “It hit the floor when he bowed---dirty instantly.”) Really, the feather is because, well, they’d all like to be songbirds, wouldn’t they? Able to charm a Witcher, able to fly away from their fears and their burdens, able to soar across the Continent and have adventures and miraculously not die? And most of the day they’re stuck where they are, feet firmly in their fields or their crafthouses, but when they flock together to sing and laugh and write for no one else’s pleasure but their own, it feels like freedom.

And these Jaskier fans might come across the famous White Wolf, or another Witcher, injured or treated badly. And these fans might do something about it, whether that’s offering a meal or a barn to sleep in or a ride in their cart to the next town over.

Maybe the offer is hesitant at first, and more confident with each Witcher who doesn’t kill them, who says “Thank you,” or who doesn’t say anything at all, but the fan wakes up and finds that the Witcher is gone and their crops have been weeded or their tools have been sharpened.

And look, you don’t become a fan organizer unless you have a “see a need, fill a need” mindset, so as reports of Witchers needing aid come in, and as Jaskier fans start to take more notice of the poor circumstances that Witchers are encountering... Well. Obviously these individual efforts at helping Witchers are great! But they could also be more consistent and reliable. These are the fan club officers that organized an inter-Continental Jaskier Day last year and got a hundred villages at once singing “Toss a Coin to Your Witcher” at exactly noon; they can organize this, too.

Anyway, that’s how Jaskier fans set up a network of Witcher safe houses across the Continent and Witchers eventually learn to ask if anyone in town is a “friend of Jaskier” if they need anything.

---

Jaskier knows nothing about any of this until he sees it in action for himself while traveling with Geralt, but to his credit, he promptly gives them money to help the efforts of this new Witcher Protection Squad. He also hooks them up with some patrons who are more financially solvent than he is.

With their new funds, Jaskier’s fans hire teachers: a healer, an herbalist, an alchemist, a blacksmith, and a professional fighter. Probably their hires are fellow fans who had been teaching piecemeal before and now, with the help of a purse, can spare the time for a more intensive retreat. And the literate ones were already teaching the illiterate ones to read, the better to enjoy Jaskier’s work---this isn’t that different.

Jaskier’s fans learn things that will help Witchers, but also things that will help their families and their villages too. And once they’ve been taught, they’re honor-bound to pass on their fortune and teach others. The organizers develop a traveling workshop system that spreads across the Continent, feathered folk flying village to village and offering songs and knowledge in exchange for room and board and enough coin to reach the next town.

Jaskier’s fans get to travel after all, if they want to.

Some of the Friends of Jaskier carry lutes; others carry vaguely lute-shaped cudgels. They tend to travel in pairs. They don’t pass through villages that treat Witchers badly. And they know which villages those are. Fans are very good at making and distributing things, and that includes lists.

And of course they start passing this knowledge on to their kids. And they start creating skill-based badges, too, and rankings to show accomplishments. The feathers they wear start to have meaning. People are proud to move up to the rank of “Dandelion.” And you only get to “Buttercup” once you’ve mastered and taught the five core skills; Buttercups are highly respected.

And that’s how the “Friends of Jaskier” club becomes the Continent version of the Girl Scouts.

Jaskier inspires people to celebrate, to feel things, to find joy and love. But most of all he inspires his fans to grow. Grow with other people; grow by yourself; grow in any direction you want. Grow like weeds.

#castillon writes #the witcher #jaskier #not sure where this came from #but I have a lot of feelings about fan culture #obvs this is a pretty positive representation of it #that's partly because I've been lucky enough to help create a positive community within the 00Q fandom #a community that I'm inspired by every day #and especially every year during 007 Fest #and partly bc trying to figure out what the Jaskier Discourse would be would make my eyes roll up into my skull permanently #anyway #I've been in fandom for seventeen years #in one way or another #so I enjoy the idea of Jaskier fans becoming positive forces in their community #while Jaskier just bards his way across the Continent semi-obliviously

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nestable · 3 years

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Feminism in ACOTAR

(This is a bit long so bare with me)

As a politics student and general member of the public who's curious about feminist themes, I've read a lot of feminist writings which have informed my opinion in saying that none of the acotar books can be described as feminist.

I've noticed that the big motivator behind describing the books as feminist is feyres appointment of High lady. Though that may be pivotal in prythian history, we cant ignore the fact that it is still a fairly patriachal society. Having a few women in places of power like mor, amren, feyre etc. Is not enough because women don't grow up on an island and are also influenced by patriachal views or mindsets. In short, just because someone is a woman and is in a position of power, doesnt mean that they will cater to the needs of women or are feminist. Women, especially white women(this is important because sjms writes white feminism) have often gotten into positions of power and actually ignored women and done the same that their male predecessors have done and often threw other women under the bus in order to retain their tokenism status. And the main flaw of white feminism which is the reason why it coined the term 'white feminism' is that it doesnt encompass all the intersectionalities that women reside in and only focus on a western model of what it means to be a woman and anything outside of that is backward and 'barbaric. We see this in the judgement and disregarding of POC's experiences and outlooks on life because they are different to theirs. There are more than enough examples of the white women in the series judging the illyrians which are seen by the fandom as POC's and how they maliciously drag their customs through the mud. Instead of getting these views from illyrian women themselves, we get them from white women who arent connected to that culture whatsoever and who have nothing to say except judgement and critique instead of actually helping.

We see this with the white characters views of illyrian cultures and their conclusion of the condition of women without even having a single conversation with illyrian women. Illyrian women in this set up have no agency and no voice and that leaves the women of the IC to speak for them which is counterproductive. This is wrong in that many western cultures have misinterpreted different cultures and ignored the women in those societies as being disenfranchised and have used this as an excuse to invade and colonize under the guise of liberating women when in actual fact they dont care about the women at all, and are only concerned in reaping the benefits of that culture and keeping them under their control. An example of this is rhys ignoring the treatment of illyrian women but reaping the benefit of having illyrians fight in his wars.

Feyre as high lady

It's unfair to judge feyres actions as high lady as yet because we've barely seen her act, but from the little that we know, she follows Rhys' every action and decision without question. And rhys hasn't done anything for the improvement of women's position socially or economically at all (we all know the state of the illyrian camps) in all the 500 yrs he's been high lord. Apart from Rhys, the inner circle has 2 women in the highest leadership positions and even they havent done anything and have even ignored the plight of women under their jurisdiction, (mor with Hewn city) I dont even think amren cares about anything besides her jewels tbh. So it's fair to assume that feyre will follow in those very footsteps. She already has biased and low views on the illyrians and people who reside in hewn city to the point where she participates in the 'pimp and whore' act that she puts on t deal with them. And we've never seen her speak to illyrian women so to her their voices and autonomy dont matter.

Male feminism in the IC

The only male who can be seen as being feminist in the series is Cassian because aside from simply declaring that wing clipping is illegal, he actually does the ground work to ensure it doesn't happen by offering the women to train with him. Though this is a weak cure for the issues the women face in Illyria, it's a start and far more work than anything the other characters have done in the name of women empowerment.

Another so called feminist figure in the series is rhysand. Why he's described as such defeats me, but I'll go through some points to prove that hes nothing of the sort.

1. He created a library for sexual assault survivors.

Though this is a nice effort, it can't be described as feminism because he doesnt extend the same courtesy to the other women in his territory and is only concerned with women in Velaris. Supporting women who worship you isnt feminism isnt feminism either and we know that the entirety of Velaris see the IC as blameless gods. Based on mors history, its obvious that the women in hewn city are suffering just as much if not more but hes forsaken them to live under mors parents/abusers rule. And creating a safe house for sexual assault survivors isnt as much feminism as it is human decency. Especially considering how much money hes got.

2. Banning illyrian wing clipping

Wing clipping is still a pandemic in the illyrian camps meaning that he didnt put enough provisions to ensure that it stops. Passing a law and ensuring that it is followed are two different things and rhys clearly dowsnt know the distinction. An additional point regarding illyrian women is that it was mentioned in acofas that they were joining the men in rebelling, and if that doesnt say anything about their feelings with him being high lord and how he doesnt cater to them, then I dont know what does. This also speaks to the point of the assumption that women of color dont have agency in their own societies. He said something like the men 'manipulated' the women into joining their rebellion, which insinuates that they can't think for themselves and are completely voiceless and this is a factor of whit feminism, the belief that WOC colour cant speak for themselves and are meek and susetable to being controlled or manipulated. It is a huge possibility that the women can't really express their opinions because they are suppressed by their men, however we dont see rhys interacting with any women and getting their opinion on things. He assumes that they are forced into everything and though we havent gotten the book yet I'm gonna say this is false. The reason being if rhys was such a good high lord and cared for women's issues, why would the women side with their 'abusive' men instead of their so called benevolent high lord?

3. Rhys appointed women in his IC

First of all, appointing women based on merit and qualifications is feminism, not appointing family members and you underaged bride just because 'you love her'. Though mor and amren may be qualified, and that's a massive 'maybe', they haven't done anything to improve the lives of women. Like their high lord they are complacent and Hewn city and illyria are more than enough to prove this. What rhys has essentially done is nepotism and corruption and no one can convince me otherwise.

Going further on the inner circle women, rhys was willing to sacrifice these very women to achieve his goal and this is self serving and anti feminist. The first being abusing feyre UTM and then using her as bait for the attor, then later making a deal with eris even though he knows his history with mor. If anyone believes that these actions are remotely feminist or excusable, then feminism is not for you and need help because its abusive and patriachal.

In conclusion rhys isnt feminist, mor isnt feminist, amren isnt feminist, feyre isnt feminist, azriel isnt even in the conversation and cassian is the only one scratching the surface. Also, white feminism is an exclusive and limited way to portray and execute feminism, women getting leadership positions based on their proximity to men just advances the false notion that women can only succeed if they 'sleep' their way to the top and just because a woman is in a leadership space, thag doesnt make that state of affairs inherently feminist because women are also carriers of patriarchy.

I tried to sum up my points but for more on white feminism, feminist intersectionalites and how being female doesnt make a person feminist, I advice you read Bell Hooks' writings because she touches on these topics in far better ways than I can.

#acotar #acowar #acomaf #anti inner circle #anti rhysand #anti feyre #my take on feminism #stop caling female representation feminism #anti sjm #sjm critical

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snoffyy · 3 years

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@zhaozaipalooza

Heyyyyy wow why am I not surprised my first post on tumblr already contains problematic content ANYWAY I’ve tried to write something beautiful and eloquent and flowy but this is all my brain has spat out oof -

Filling the modern au prompt with TA!Zhao in an introductory maths course. Started out as Zuko/Zhao, turned into Yue/Zhao (I believe the ship has been coined fried fish??) and then for some reason settled on Hakoda/Zhao (at least, the setup for it). It’s a little hastily put together (could it be??? My word counts somewhat under control???) and I have no idea what I’m doing so I’m keeping it on tumblr. I’m so sorry for being horrendously late, but a huge thank you to the mods for all their time and effort!!

Despite the many grievances that came with being a TA, Zhao did find the job rather fulfilling in some respects. Tearing through assignments, breathing down people’s necks while invigilating exams, getting paid to answer algebraic questions he could do in his sleep…

And then, out of the blue, he would be reminded that there were a few but significant downsides.

Such as now.

Sometimes, students thought they could waltz into his office and expect him to bend rules to their whim.

“Sokka…” Zhao said carefully, sliding his pen down the enrolment list. “I thought this would be the first time I received everyone’s assignments on time, but it looks like I’m still waiting for that day to come. So, what’s your excuse?”

“It’s done!” Sokka yelped, waving his hands about in a flurry of panic. “I swear it is, I’ve got it in my bag right now. Just, uh, could you possibly, pretty please with cherries on top, let the late penalty slide? Please?”

Zhao arched an eyebrow. “And pray tell, why should I do that? The guidelines clearly state that a penalty will be applied for late submission, increased in increments of five percent for each day that it is late until it reaches a total deduction of forty percent, in which case you will receive a zero instead. You’re six hours past the deadline. If it were six minutes, I may have been more inclined to let it slide.”

“Please,” Sokka begged, clasping his hands together. “I’ve been doing so well in this course! But today was super busy and I tried, I really tried to get it in on time.”

“Look,” Zhao sighed, scrubbing at his face. “If I let this one go, there’ll inevitably be a next time. Not for you maybe, but someone else. That’s just how these things work and –”

“I swear I won’t let anyone know,” Sokka promised. “And… and…” his eyes sidled to the empty coffee cup on his desk. “I’ll get you a coffee! As a token of my appreciation.”

“That sounds more like bribery than appreciation.” Zhao scoffed, flinging the paper cup into the bin. “Just give me your assignment so we can call it a day.”

“And a cookie.” Sokka tacked on, evidently refusing to go down without a fight.

“… A cookie.” Zhao repeated flatly. “You’re trying to bribe me with a coffee and a cookie.”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

“But…” Sokka said, a crafty look in his eye. Zhao would be more impressed if he hadn’t seen that exact expression for most of his upbringing. “I know for a fact that you’re a crazy fast marker. You always get our results back to us within a week. No one can do that without binging coffee and sugar… aren’t you in need of a fix?”

He was a fast marker because there were only two teaching assistants in this course, and Jee was woefully slow-paced, so obviously someone needed to pick up the slack. What usually happened was that Zhao would tackle the stack of assignments nearly solo and leave grading input and moderation to Jee, before happily returning to other pressing matters.

“Actually,” Zhao said, picking up a second, smaller stack of papers on the other side of the desk, holding it up for Sokka to see. “I’ve already graded these, and I’m doing just fine.”

The horror on Sokka’s face nearly made Zhao smile. Nearly.

“But…” Sokka protested feebly. “How… how are you nearly halfway done?”

“Trade secret. Now, assignment. Gimme.” Zhao held out a waiting hand.

“Large coffee.” Sokka pleaded once more with newfound desperation. “Anything you want. And a cookie. One of those massive ones.”

“Not that interested.” Zhao said. “Come on, come on. I’m planning on getting these done by tomorrow.”

“And,” Sokka pitched forward. “In the next tutorial, I’ll answer all your questions if no one else puts their hand up.”

Oh. Now they were talking.

“Next three tutorials.” Zhao leaned forward, a sharklike smile spreading across his face. “And I want that coffee and cookie.”

“Done.”

“Very good,” Zhao grinned, “you can give me your assignment now. No penalty will be applied. I’ll mark it now while you get the goods, and once you’ve come back, I’ll input your grade into the system.”

The relief was palpable in Sokka’s face. “Yeah, yes. I’ll do that. What kind of coffee and cookie do you want?”

Zhao hummed, taking the assignment out of Sokka’s hands. He got started on marking immediately, red pen working furiously as he tore through the questions. The answers have practically been imprinted behind his eyelids at this point and thankfully, Sokka almost always got full marks, which meant he didn’t need to spend time picking through the working. “The coffee? Surprise me. I want an oatmeal raisin cookie, though.”

Zhao decidedly ignored the muttered incredulity under Sokka’s breath about his taste in cookies, and pointedly flipped the next page to spur him into fetching his bribe.

By the time Sokka scurried back into his office, Zhao had already made another dent in the pile of marking. He lifted his head at the sound of the door opening, and the sight of Sokka’s triumphant face tempted him into changing his mind about accepting the bribe, if only to pour cold water over his excitement.

But, as Jee had pointed out earlier this morning, he’d already reached his maximum quota for assholery today.

“Here,” Sokka presented the cup and a small, brown bag that smelled heavily of baked goods.

“What did you end up ordering?” Zhao asked, taking both items from his hands.

“I asked my dad to make something for my grumpy TA,” Sokka grinned cheekily.

“Need I remind you that your grade’s fate is currently held in the hands of said grumpy TA?”

“Right, yes. Sorry, sir.”

Something else about the statement had caught his attention, though. Zhao examined the logo on the cup, tilting his head as he asked, “Your dad made this?”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Sokka scratched his head sheepishly. “My dad co-owns a café with his best friend. Anyway, uh, he says he’d like to apologize on my behalf for annoying you and that he hopes you’ll enjoy the coffee and cookie. He said it’ll knock your socks off.” Sokka puffed his chest up with pride.

“I’m hard to impress.” Zhao drawled, a bit derisively, but he reckoned he was entitled to a little haughtiness.

“That’s what I said, but Dad’s confident you’ll like it.” Sokka shrugged. “Said you’re welcome to stop by the café anytime. He’ll hook you up with a treat.”

Zhao rolled his eyes and shifted his attention back to his end of the deal. He turned his desktop around so the screen was facing Sokka and pointed out his name. “There. Ninety-seven percent. Congrats.”

And before the fool could do something intolerably annoying like celebrate in his office, Zhao growled out a dismissal, pointedly picking up his cup as Sokka waltzed out the doors.

Alone again, Zhao popped off the lid, peering down with slight confusion when he caught sight of latte art. A classic heart, which he barely managed to rein in another scoff at. At least it tasted… decent. Surprisingly strong notes of espresso, none of that flavoured syrup shit he couldn’t stand.

The cookie wasn’t bad, either.

Well. Colour him slightly impressed. Slightly.

Making a note to stop by the café sometime, Zhao turned back to his marking, mood lighter for some strange, inconceivable reason.

#zhaozai palooza 2021 #hakoda/zhao #what is their ship name #my writing #zhao only has 2 moods #caffeinated and uncaffeinated

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seriouslyhooked · 3 years

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I’ll Stay (Vulnerable)

Cannon divergent oneshot based in 3A when everyone is back from Neverland. CS-centric, and involves Emma coming to grips with her feelings for Hook much earlier. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey everyone! In this chapter, we are taking things back to season 3 and we are rewriting it. I know, I know, you’re all shocked. Me – a devoted follower of fluff and hope – is going to rewrite a storyline where Emma and Henry left everyone behind and forgot them? Yup. Absolutely. Would write this fic a hundred times in a hundred different ways if I could. In this divergent little drabble, we made it through Neverland and got rid of Pan without any more curses or nonsense. Everyone knows what could have happened, but they avoided it, and now Emma is grappling with the fact that something more than a ‘one-time thing’ is happening between her and Hook. Inspired by the song ‘Vulnerable’ by Selena Gomez.

The irony was not lost on Emma that sleep was eluding her.

After what felt like an eternity fighting to get Henry back from the clutches of Pan and from the brink of danger, they were finally home. They’d staved off another curse, circumvented another terrible twist that would have ripped them all apart once more, and, most importantly, her kid was safe, sleeping in his bed and on the road to healing from this terrible adventure.

Over the past week, Emma had barely closed her eyes. Leading them through Neverland and navigating the wickedness of Gold and his father was a constant struggle. The physical toil and the emotional pain had been profound. She was exhausted and weary, but still, sleep would not come.

Here in the loft, the air was quiet, and the mood was peaceful. The moonlight trickled through the glass pane of her window, and the curtains caught in the breeze filtering in from outside. The temperature was perfect, cool and refreshing, but warm under the covers. The bad guys had been beaten, Storybrooke was safe, and the calm seemed stable, at least enough to last through the night. But it didn’t matter. Despite her best efforts, Emma could not sleep. She’d tried everything, but none of it would work.

It’s never going to work, she said to herself dejectedly. Not until you face this.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” she muttered aloud, shutting down the part of her that wanted to work things out instead of always avoiding.

She heaved out a sigh of defeat and tossed the rumpled sheets off of her. Climbing out of bed and tiptoeing to the kitchen, Emma made sure to avoid all the noisiest parts of this apartment. She didn’t want to disturb Henry or her parents, but she couldn’t handle being cooped up in that bed. It was getting her nowhere. In fact, it was making things worse. Lying there in the dark, she was bombarded by memories and what ifs. It all was overwhelming, and enough to drive her mad.

Wordlessly she moved to the kitchen and found herself reaching for the ingredients needed for a calming cup of cocoa. Despite the lateness of the hour, she knew it would be a small token of comfort in a long, unrelenting night. The motions of preparing the sweat treat were soothing. This was a ritual she had grown accustomed to, and was mindless enough to lose herself in. But this late-night activity, which usually saw her through the worst of days, didn’t yield the desired effect. Her thoughts still wandered, circling back to a particular pirate who perplexed and provoked her.

I don’t understand his motives, she said to herself, knowing this was her cynicism taking the lead. Why is he still helping? Why take the risk? What is he after?

Why does he have to be ‘after’ anything? The reasonable part of her brain replied. Why can’t you just accept that he cares about you?

Because it can’t happen.

It already has. The kiss, in Neverland…

It was a one-time thing.

It doesn’t have to be.

It does.

It doesn’t.

It does.

You’re scared.

Of course, I’m scared! He’s Captain freaking Hook!

He’s just Killian.

“He’s not just anything,” Emma murmured as she mixed in the chocolate, watching the warmed milk turn to a rich, silky chestnut color. Here was the kernel of truth she was terrified to admit. To Emma, Hook wasn’t just a villain or a pirate. He was more, intricate and messy and moving and intriguing.

During their time in Neverland, Hook had awakened something in her. It started with the kiss, that sinful encounter that drove her to distraction, but also struck her heart, piercing armor she had been building up for years. Okay, maybe it started before that. There were plenty of heated glances, and barbed bits of repartee between them that almost felt like foreplay, but the kiss lit a fuse she didn’t realize existed. It was meant to be a power move, a strategic plan to shut him up, maybe the vent some of her frustrations out, but the consequences lingered, and they were ones that Emma never saw coming.

She could still taste him even now, the ghost of that embrace tracing touches on her skin. Pressed up against him, the roughness of leather and metal, the scrape of his beard, the taut lines of his body… She’d given into him in that moment and lingered in the pleasure. When they kissed, Emma allowed herself a minute just to feel and to live. For a fleeting blip of time, the world wasn’t crumbling around her. She was restored and she was hopeful, but it had to be just once. She wasn’t meant to want any more than that. She certainly shouldn’t still be thinking of it now, but here she was. And she was thinking of more too, thinking of the ways he’d risked himself, the ways he’d supported her, the way he’d saved her father. She acknowledged in the silence of her self-dialogue that she had grown to count on him, and that she felt drawn to him, even when his obvious role had come to an end. She should have been eager for him to go, now that the task of defeating Pan was over, but the thought of him leaving left an aching, empty feeling in her chest.

Over the past few days, Hook had luckily shown no real signs of setting outward. He was still sarcastic and cocky and cutting. He was practically gleeful every time he got to torment David, and his actions towards Neal and towards Gold were downright frosty still, but there was honor underneath it all and a respect he gave the others and this town that spoke to a more gentlemanlike nature. She had seen him when they located Henry, and observed a genuine relief when she was reunited with her son. She noticed the way he minded the others, helping far more than he hurt, and how he bit back the bullshit bad guy act when they just couldn’t take it. He could read a room, and he often did, though he hid behind the swagger and the accent. And more than once there was something that colored his gaze, swimming in the blue depths of his eyes. When he looked at her, he hid nothing, and let the weight of his affection flow between them. He may not say the words aloud, but he laid it all out there, showing a vulnerability she never imagined but desperately craved. He wanted her, and Emma… well Emma wanted -

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Emma jumped, her hand moving towards her chest and making contact with the speedy pacing of her heartbeat. Adrenaline spiked in her system, but she immediately relaxed when she saw it was only Mary Margaret. Emma worried for a moment that the conversations playing in her head may have been whispered out loud, but her mother (God that was still so weird to say), showed no awareness. Seeing as Mary Margaret was incapable of keeping secrets, Emma knew her own were safe. At least for now.

“No. You?”

“I wish,” Her mother said, reaching into the cupboard and coming out with cinnamon, bringing a small smile to Emma’s lips. “I never can after these escapades. But your father? Out like a light the moment the bad things pass. It’s almost like it never happened.”

“Lucky guy,” Emma joked, and her mother chuckled, a thoughtful expression coloring her face.

“We are all lucky tonight. It was almost so much worse.” Snow’s words had the lilt of unshed tears hanging on the end. Emma could see the mistiness in her mother’s eyes, and felt the weight of her worry. “We almost lost you again, Emma.”

“I know, but you didn’t,” Emma said, placing a hand on her mother’s shoulder. Snow placed her own hand over it and took a deep breath, nodding. She wiped two stray tears away quickly but collected herself.

“Everything that’s happened… well it’s put things in perspective for me.”

“Like what?”

“I was wrong, Emma. In Neverland, when I practically interrogated you about Hook.”

To say that this was unexpected was an understatement. Emma was shocked at the acknowledgement, even though she appreciated the words.

“It’s fine.”

“It isn’t,” her mother emphasized, and Emma stayed quiet. Snow was right after all. It wasn’t great. It had caused more pain in a series of painful events, but Emma planned to just move past it and leave the discomfort behind them. “I didn’t understand what you had been through. Even worse I jumped to my own conclusions. I was pushing you towards Neal, thinking Hook was the bad guy, but in the end, looking at the full picture, that’s not really the story, is it?”

“No, it isn’t,” Emma agreed. “Honestly, I can’t really follow the story anymore. I feel…”

“Lost?” her mother asked. Emma nodded.

“Yeah. Crazy right? We leave Neverland, and somehow I’m more lost back home than I was there.”

“Maybe,” her mother mused, as Emma poured two glasses of cocoa. She handed them to Snow for added cinnamon, but she was curious as to her mother’s hesitation.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, are you really lost, Emma? Or are you scared of facing what it is that you want?”

The words were a swift punch to the gut, but Emma sustained them, taking a sip of her cocoa and braving up to respond honestly. “The second one. But it’s insane. How is it possible? A few weeks ago, I’d never even met this man. He’s a pirate – a villain from a story that I read as a kid. Things are moving so quickly, and yet their standing still. I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you trust him?”

“As much as I trust anyone,” she admitted, the truth coming out for the first time since meeting him.

“Do you care for him?”

Emma nodded, not daring to say that part just yet. Her mother’s eyes softened, a look of love despite the strangeness of this suitor.

“Does it have potential?”

“I don’t know,” Emma whispered, but the feeling in her chest that had been there for a while now was blooming something fierce. This may not be her gut, per se, but it was something adjacent, an instinct and an emotion screaming out that there was more than meets the eye here. This was different. This was special.

“If you think about the future, is he there?”

“I think I want him to be,” Emma said, knowing there wasn’t much thinking to be done. That was what she wanted, and now, she’d finally confessed it.

“Then you have your answer. It’s just a matter of facing it and doing what you need to do.”

Her mother’s observation hung between them and Emma realized Snow had immediate expectations. “You mean now? But it’s late.”

“So? He’s a pirate. I don’t know much about them, but I’ll hazard a guess that they don’t keep normal hours.”

“This is crazy.”

“Affairs of the heart usually are, Emma. You’ll recall I once bashed your father in the head with a rock, and yet the thought of going one more day without him by my side…” Emma’s pulse skipped a beat at the mention of her heart. Another sign that deep down she had known for quite a while what she wanted. “You’ll never sleep until it’s settled, honey. Believe me, I know. You take after your mother, just as I took after mine.”

Emma didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at her mother’s joke, but she found herself hugging Snow close and thanking her. From there, things got a bit hazy. She was working off of adrenaline, moving to her room and changing out of her pajamas before heading into the Storybrooke night. It was just after midnight, not tremendously late, but by small town standards it was as quiet as quiet could get. Everything was closed now, the diner, the inn. Even the bar was locked up tight, and that was as late-night as Storybrooke ever got. There was no one around, just Emma and the pounding of her heart. Still, she kept moving, following the advice of her mother and the sense of what-if that had nagged at her all evening.

Soon enough she was at the docks, following the lamp light, and headed in the direction of the Jolly Roger. It wouldn’t be difficult to spot, as the only Enchanted Forest vessel in the harbor, but still Emma worried. What if he’d left in the dark of the night? What if he believed her when she said this didn’t matter? What if she was too late?

When the ship came into view, she exhaled a sigh of relief, but it was quiet. The lights were out. There were no signs of movement anywhere. And then she heard it. Singing, feint at first, but louder as she approached the boat. The voice was deep, but ruggedly refined. She knew it was Hook, but she’d never actually considered what he’d sound like in a song. His voice was beautiful and a little haunting, the seafaring shanty being one of heartache and loss. It was somber and serene, but despite its content, it was also a little bit hopeful. At least to Emma. Because if Killian was up signing instead of sleeping in his quarters after all they’d faced in the past few weeks, maybe that meant he was thinking thoughts like the ones that she’d been plagued with.

On their voyage to and from Neverland, Emma came to know this ship intimately, and the wooden planks called out to her. They were familiar and welcoming, two things she never believed she would ever say. It would be so easy to come aboard and just announce herself. But instinctively she knew it wasn’t okay to board this ship without permission. Insecurities crept in at the realization. She was intruding. This wasn’t right.

This was stupid, she reasoned to herself. I should have waited until morning. I should have –

“Swan?”

The voice she most wanted to hear played strange tricks on her now, sending a shiver of anticipation through her system and a tiny bit of terror as well. She looked to the deck but didn’t see him, then she realized the voice had sounded out from a higher locale. Her eyes climbed the great mast of the Jolly and there he was, perched atop the crow’s nest. With a coordination and grace reserved for the movies, he swung down from the great height with a rope from above. The action only tensed the hard lines of his muscles even more, and Emma took each movement in, unable to look away.

Hook was still dressed in a way she was used to seeing, but now he was missing his jacket and his vest. His hair was tousled, and his beard a touch darker, or perhaps that was a trick of the moonlight. She’d never seen him like this before. He was somehow even sexier than usual, and it overwhelmed her. He descended from the ship at a hurried clip, moving towards her with purpose and precision. He closed the distance between them, until they were mere inches away from one another. When he was near enough, his eyes searched her whole being for signs of trouble, and his hand came out to reach for hers in a show of comfort. She extended hers in kind, and her body came alive at the contact. Her breathing caught as her eyes met his cerulean gaze, brimming with intensity and earnestness.

“Emma, love, are you all right? Is it Henry? Has something happened?”

The worry in his tone was evident, and the honesty she felt flowing off of him broke the last fragments of her will power. She couldn’t take it anymore. She was in this, and it was damn well time that she act like it.

She practically leapt into his arms, pulling him down by the v of his somewhat unbuttoned shirt and kissing him as she’d wanted to ever since walking away back in Neverland. The instant delight that came was heady and addictive, and this time Emma knew that she could savor it. There was nothing looming on the horizon – nothing poised to stop them or intrude on this big moment – and for the first time in a long time, Emma felt free. Free to feel and free to want something only for herself.

Hook needed only the briefest moment to respond. He practically purred out his approval, the growl he let loose buzzing through her and setting her ablaze. His expert use of hand and hook left her shaking. He pulled her even closer, closing the remaining space between them, and enveloping her in every part of him. Emma stopped knowing where she ended and he began. God, this was perfect. Easily the best kiss she’d ever had. How could anything possibly feel this good? His hard body had her squirming in his grasp, seeking any semblance of friction and relief. She’d been carrying desire for this man for too long, but compartmentalizing and hiding it away. Now it flowed freely, surrounding her, engulfing her, and leaving her breathless.

She wasn’t the only one trying to soak in every moment. Hook was just as ravenous, nipping and teasing her with touches designed to seduce and to entrance. He was hot and fierce and alluring, the scent of rum and salt and sea air clinging to him. It felt dangerous and daunting, but also natural and filled with need. Like magnets flung towards impact, two opposites attracting and finding something more. Many parts of this were familiar, but then it changed, sparked fire, and blazed to something past her comprehension.

With the benefit of privacy and time, Hook took control and guided the kiss. He was dominant and demanding in ways Emma never allowed another man to be. It set her soul on fire, and tilted the world into a whole new point of view. This heated embrace stole every shred of sanity Emma had left, but she wouldn’t trade it for anything. Neverland was about her making a statement, and tonight was as well. But Hook would have his say this time, and he showed her so much more through luscious actions than anyone ever had with words. This kiss was a revelation, a seduction any siren would be proud of, and here she was, caught within the storm but finding that she loved it all the same.

Coming up for air was a struggle, mostly because now that she had done this, Emma didn’t want to let go. But after the fervor of first contact, they both knew that they had to talk about this. For Emma, it was time to fess up, and to confess that the fear of taking a chance was overwhelming, but that the fear of losing a chance at this was even more jarring.

“It’s difficult for a man to determine if he’s dreaming when a woman as lovely as you appears like this, Swan.” Killian uttered the words as his fingers traced along her jaw. His hook held her hip in place, the cool metal a source of strange comfort. Emma nuzzled in closer, leaning against his palm and breathing him in as her eyes closed. “But in all my years I’ve never had a dream that compares to you. So it must be real. Please, Gods above, let it be real.”

“It’s real,” she whispered, pressing another soft kiss on his lips. “We’re real. I’ve been scared as hell to say that, but I…”

“I understand, love. It’s wholly unexpected. And I’m not exactly the kind of man a woman like you deserves.”

“Don’t say that,” she pleaded, and the pain in his eyes sent a sharp sting through her heart. Obviously he didn’t see himself the way she saw him. But maybe with time, things would be more clear.

“It’s the truth, Swan.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Aye.”

“Do you want me?” He nodded immediately, his hold on her tightening, whether or not he realized it. Her lips curved up to a small smile at that, and she not so secretly loved how sure and certain he was in this.

“Yes.”

“Would you ever hurt me?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly, and the pain of her past surging up in darkened memories.

“I might, love, but Gods strike me down if I do, because it’s the last thing in the world I’d ever want.”

“And that’s how I know,” she whispered. Looking at him with new conviction, willing him to believe her. “That’s the difference with you, Killian. I see you, I see your heart, and I know you see me. Not the savior, not the sheriff, not the lost little girl or the woman with walls. You see me. Just me.”

“You’re all I see, Swan. Have been for some time.”

She didn’t know who started their next kiss, but she felt the frenzy of it all the same. It was just as magnificent as before, but this time sincerity simmered throughout as well. The understanding they were reaching made it all the better. Knowing they were both going to jump here gave her comfort, but there were still some words to say.

“I don’t really know how to do this,” she admitted, running her hand across his chest as their foreheads touched. She looked down to avoid an embarrassing exchange. Patiently he waited, but when she stayed stock still, he tilted back and brought up his hook. He gently nudged her chin back up, prompting her to see that there was nothing like judgment in his eyes.

‘Neither do I. But we’ll see it through. Together.”

“I’m not good at letting people in.”

This time he grinned, looking like a man who was up for the challenge of scaling her walls. She almost rolled her eyes until he took her hand in his and pressed a gentle kiss upon it. It was an intimate gesture that made her heart soar. Who was this man who could be so roughish and rough one moment and yet gentle and sweet the next?

“That makes two of us.”

“I’m going to fuck this up,” she affirmed, assured of the missteps she would make and wanting him to realize she was so much less than perfect.

Now he looked frustrated, and his voice ground out in a graveled, gruff tone. “Not possible.”

“How do you know?”

‘Because you’re you, Swan,” he murmured, pressing sweet kisses to her face, to her neck and jaw, then her lips once more. “You’re rare and remarkable and real. You can do anything you set your mind to, anything but push me away. I’m in this, Emma. Entirely and completely. It’s soon to admit that, but you deserve the truth, and you’ll always hear it from me.”

“I really want to trust you,” she whispered, clutching onto his shirt and letting this one last worry live between them.

“And someday you will. In the meantime, I can wait. I will wait. As long as it takes.” That was all it took. Peace finally claimed her, and something in her settled.

“Okay,” she murmured, leaning in to hug him and basking in his heat and the gentle thrumming of his heart.

“Okay,” he replied, a lilted whisper in her hair as he held her close.

They remained out there for a while more, but neither needed to say anything for them to realize what must come next. Emma needed to go home, and he would see her there, safe and sound. They walked together, down Main Street in the moonlight, hand in hand, with the closeness of lovers, and the poise of two similar souls seeking comfort in each other. No one was around to see them, but Emma knew they would very soon. She wasn’t going to hide this, and someday they’d walk in the light together, letting everyone know exactly where they stood.

When they were back by the loft, Emma stalled, not wanting this to end. She wished she could invite him up for a drink, a drink that would no doubt turn to more, but she couldn’t. Instead, they needed to say goodbye for now, but she found she wasn’t sure how.

Killian took the moment to pull her in, kissing her one last time, and saying again with actions what words could only half describe. This kiss was sweet but insistent, a reminder and a promise of all that he would give and all that they could have if they chose to be together. When they broke apart, Emma was certain in him and in herself. This was happening. This was right.

“Until tomorrow then, love,” he whispered, pressing one last kiss upon her cheek.

“Good night, Killian.”

His eyes lit up and he smiled at her use of his real name. She made a promise to herself that she would use it more often. He waited for her to go inside, and only when she’d done so did he finally walk away. Leaning against the wooden door, Emma sighed in relief and smiled.

This is the start of something good. Something true. Something… happy.

And with those final thoughts, Emma headed back to bed, and found that sleep came swiftly, bringing with it dreams she hoped would come to pass.

……………..

If I gave you every piece of me, I know that you could drop it Give you the chance, I know that you could take advantage once you got it If I open up my heart to you, I know that you could lock it Throw away the key and keep it there forever in your pocket

If I gave the opportunity to you, then would you blow it? If I was the greatest thing that happened to you, would you know it? If my love was like a flower, would you plant it, would you grow it? I might give you all my body, are you strong enough to hold it?

If I show you all my demons And we dive into the deep end Would we crash and burn like every time before? I would tell you all my secrets Wrap your arms around my weakness If the only other option's letting go

I'll stay vulnerable, yeah I'll stay vulnerable, yeah I'll stay vulnerable

If I hand you my emotion, would you even want to take it? If I give you all my trust now, would you fumble it and break it? If I let you cross my finish line, then would you wanna make it? I think I'm ready, won't you come and flip the switch and activate it?

I'll stay vulnerable, yeah I'll stay vulnerable, yeah I'll stay vulnerable

I'll stay vulnerable, yeah I'll stay vulnerable, yeah

If I show you all my demons And we dive into the deep end Would we crash and burn like every time before? (I'll stay vulnerable) I would tell you all my secrets Wrap your arms around my weakness If the only other option's letting go

(I'll stay vulnerable, yeah)

Post-Note: So, what did you think? Honestly, I had no intentions of writing this chapter right now. I knew the song needed to be in the mixtape, as I love it, and it fits so well with this series of CS love stories, but I have a number of other fics I am working on now that need attending to. Nevertheless, here we are, and luckily, this has proved to be the perfect palate cleanse for my other writing. My multichapter stories will be back soon. I’ve already started writing, and in the meantime, we all get an added little romantic bonus. Hope you enjoyed this dose of fluff, thank you all for reading, and know that I’m wishing you safe, healthy, and well. xE.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,Part 10,Part 11, Part 12,Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24,Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31,Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35, Part 36, Part 37, Part 38,Part 39,Part 40, Part 41, Part 42, Part 43, Part 44, Part 45,Part 46,Part 47, Part 48, Part 49, Part 50, Part 51, Part 52, Part 53,Part 54,Part 55, Part 56, Part 57, Part 58, Part 59, Part 60,Part 61,Part 62, Part 63, Part 64, Part 65, Part 66, Part 67, Part 68,Part 69,Part 70, Part 71, Part 72, Part 73, Part 74, Part 75,Part 76,Part 77, Part 78, Part 79, Part 80, Part 81, Part 82, Part 83,Part 84,Part 85, Part 86, Part 87, Part 88, Part 89, Part 90,Part 91,Part 92, Part 93, Part 94, Part 95, Part 96, Part 97, Part 98,Part 99,Part 100, Part 101, Part 102, Part 103,Part 104, Part 105,Part 106, Part 107,Part 108, Part 109, Part 110,Part 111, Part 112,Part 113, Part 114, Part 115,Part 116, Part 117, Part 118,Part 119,Part 120, Part 121, Part 122, Part 123,Part 124, Part 125,Part 126, Part 127, Part 128,Part 129,Part 130, Part 131,Part 132,Part 133, Part 134, Part 135, Part 136, Part 137, Part 138,Part 139,Part 140, Part 141, Part 142, Part 143, Part 144, Part 145,Part 146, Part 147, Part 148,Part 149, Part 150, Part 151,Part 152, Part 153, Part 154, Part 155, Part 156, Part 157, Part 158,Part 159, Part 160, Part 161, Part 162, Part 163, Part 164,Part 165, Part 166, Part 167, Part 168, Part 169, Part 170,Part 171,Part 172, Part 173, Part 174, Part 175, Part 176,Part 177, Part 178, Part 179 , Part 180, Part 181, Part 182, Part 183, Part 184, Part 185, Part 186, Part 187, Part 188, Part 189, Part 190, Part 191, Part 192, Part 193, Part 194, Part 195, Part 196

#captain swan #captain swan fic #cs fic #cs ff #cs fluff #cs smut?#cannon divergent #cannon divergence #captain swan rewrite #emma swan #killian jones #ouat rewrite #cs oneshot #captain swan oneshot #the mixtape #cs mixtape #captain swan mixtape #i'll stay vulnerable

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iamakiller · 3 years

Text

owl always love you

Wordcount: 2000

Notes & Warnings: It has been far too long since I shared any of my fiction with you, hasn’t it? Well, how about five unhappy memories of Valentines past, and one that went perfectly to plan (... or did it?)

As for warnings, there is no sex at all, but there is an unfortunate accident, and a hint of murder. Hmm, I must be going soft in my old age ...

Five unhappy memories ...

Charlie is four.

Today feels like a very special day. There were flowers and a card on the kitchen table this morning, and no arguments over breakfast. It was almost like last night’s fight didn’t happen.

At preschool, the classroom has been decorated with red and pink hearts because it’s Valentine’s Day. The teacher reads the class a picture book about an owl who was looking for love, and then they all do a craft based on the story. The teacher has drawn the owl’s face and body on card for everyone, but they have to color it in and try to write a message on the owl’s tummy. Charlie writes “Owl always love you Mommy” in purple crayon – his mother’s favorite color.

The next part of the craft is very hard. They have to trace the outline of their hands onto card, color it in, and then cut it out. They stick the hands onto the owl with glue, and fold them over, and it looks kind of like wings. Charlie is very proud of himself, because he did it without any help, and unlike the boy who sits next to him, he didn’t try to eat any of the glue.

At going home time, he presents the card to his mother. She glances at it, and puts it in her handbag.

“Do you like it, Mommy?” Charlie asks, but she doesn’t say anything. Maybe she didn’t hear him.

The next morning, he finds it in the trash.

Oh.

Well, it wasn’t very good, he realizes. His coloring wasn’t neat enough, and one of the thumbs was missing because of a mishap he had when he was cutting it out. Maybe if he’d tried harder, she would have liked it.

Maybe if he tries harder, she’ll like him ...

Charlie is eight.

Valentine’s Day has been the main topic of conversation on the playground ever since the beginning of February. It’s not like anybody ever talks to Charlie, but there are some advantages to being invisible. He hears everything. He knows exactly who is getting a Valentine, and – most crucially – who isn’t.

On the night of February thirteenth, he stays up very late. It isn’t like anyone is checking what time he goes to bed anyway, so he pulls together the materials he’s “borrowed” from his teacher over the past few days, and works until the early hours of the morning.

The next day, everyone in the class has at least one little handmade card on their desk by the end of the day.

… except Charlie.

And that’s one of the disadvantages of being invisible.

Nobody knows he exists ...

Charlie is thirteen.

According to his research, it is puberty that has turned the majority of his classmates into mindless, giggling idiots. Thankfully, he seems to be immune to this plague, and the hours he spends staring at the long, golden hair of the girl who sits in front of him in class is perfectly normal, thank you very much.

Melissa is the prettiest girl in the class by far. Charlie thinks she looks just like an elven queen ... if Galadriel had a Midwestern accent and a mother who was the head of the PTA. She is also constantly accompanied by a group of four uglier girls, who all stare at Charlie as he makes his approach, the poem he wrote for her clutched in a hand that seems to be permanently sweaty these days.

She accepts the token of his affection with the carelessness of one who is accustomed to such things, and doesn’t even say thank you. At lunchtime, Charlie overhears her reading excerpts of it to her gaggle of friends. She tosses her lovely, blonde hair back, and laughs scornfully, before tearing it up into tiny pieces and leaving it on her lunch tray for the cafeteria staff to clear away.

And suddenly, Charlie realizes how ugly she is.

At the end of February, poor Melissa has a terrible accident. One of the teachers finds her unconscious at the bottom of the stairwell hours after school has finished for the day. She must have tripped and fallen down the stairs somehow.

She makes a full recovery, but she never remembers what happened that day ...

Charlie is seventeen.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to the dance?” asks cousin Pat from where he’s leaning in the doorway of Charlie’s bedroom. He’s dressed to impress, and Charlie can smell the terrible cologne he’s wearing from all the way on the other side of the room. “I can wait for you to get changed, I don’t mind.”

“I’m too busy,” says Charlie, staring up at the ceiling. Soon, it will be time for him to turn over and stare at the wall. “And I don’t like parties.”

“I don’t like parties either,” Pat reminds him, fidgeting with the cuffs of his blue button-down. “But you’ll never meet someone special if you don’t leave your room.”

Charlie responds by making a noise like someone being sick, and turns over to show Pat his back. “Bye. Have fun at the shitty Valentine’s dance.” He can feel his cousin’s gaze on the back of his head – can picture the annoying look of concern on his face – but he doesn’t move or say anything, and finally he hears the door close, and then Pat’s footsteps lumbering down the stairs.

Fuck Valentine’s Day, Charlie thinks. Fuck parties, and fuck ever finding someone special.

Charlie is 27.

This might be his first ever Valentine’s Day in a relationship, but he’s done his research into What Women Want, and blown a small fortune on trying to make the day special. A hundred red roses, delivered to Nicole on set. Reservations at the hottest restaurant in town. A pair of Chanel earrings, so expensive he actually choked on his own saliva when they told him the price, and had to be brought a glass of water to help him recover.

At the restaurant, Nicole opens the earrings, and stares at them for a long time. Her expression is completely unreadable, which is usually the case with her. They have been dating for two and a half months, and with every day that passes, Charlie feels like he knows less about her, which should surely be impossible.

“Don’t you like them?” Charlie asks, after the silence has gone on for so long that even the people at the next table have glanced over to see what’s going on.

Nicole closes the lid of the box with a snap, and looks up at him. “So you aren’t going to propose to me, then?”

Charlie blinks. “I – Wait, what?”

And then it all goes south very quickly from there.

The next day, there’s a blind item online about it:

Which C-list celebrity currently filming a procedural drama in New York was seen arguing with an unknown male at a local celeb hotspot last night? With a string of broken engagements already behind her, it looks like this feisty young starlet is single once more after dousing her hapless companion in Veuve Clicquot!

Unknown? Hapless? How rude!

He complains at length about the injustice of it all to the cocktail waitress he brought home last night, after he had sloped off to a bar to drown his sorrows and soothe the burn of his humiliation. Naturally, she has nothing to add to the conversation – having passed away six hours or so ago – but he appreciates her presence nevertheless. So much so that before he prepares her for disposal, he takes out her fake diamond earrings, and replaces them with the Chanel ones.

“I know I’m a day late,” he tells her. “But … happy Valentine’s Day.”

It’s the thought that counts, anyway ...

And then ...

Charlie is 37.

He is awakened at 5:30 a.m. on Valentine’s Day morning by his son barging in to the master bedroom. Without saying anything, Henry climbs onto the bed next to him, and falls asleep almost instantly. Charlie throws an arm over him, in the hopes of stopping him from tossing and turning like he often does.

Behind him, there’s a rustle of sheets “What’s happening?” Kitten asks, her voice thick with sleep.

“We have our usual Sunday morning visitor,” Charlie mumbles. “It’s still early, go back to sleep.”

A leg hooks over his, an arm curls around his middle, and Kitten lets out a happy sigh before falling asleep again.

Charlie closes his eyes, but it barely seems like a moment has passed before he’s being shaken awake by a very excited Henry. “Dad. DAD! Can we give Britt the card now?”

The digital display on the clock says eight, still an ungodly hour to be awake on a Sunday, but when Charlie rolls over, Kitten is already sitting up against the headboard, with her phone out. “A card?” she says, feigning surprise, as though she wasn’t banned from the kitchen for four hours the previous day, and hadn’t noticed the layer of glitter Henry was covered in when he emerged, which necessitated a dreaded bath.

“If we must,” grumbles Charlie, astonished at the speed with which Henry scrambles out of bed and sprints out of the room. He thunders downstairs, in search of the spot where they left their work of art to dry out after its completion.

Charlie rolls over onto his back, and stares up at Kitten. “Remember last year, when we stayed in bed all day?” he asks, mournfully. “That was the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had.”

“Mm, same.” Kitten leans down to kiss him, probably intending it to be just a peck on the lips. But Charlie wraps his hand around the back of her head to keep her there, deepening the kiss until a gagging sound from the doorway interrupts them and they break apart to find Henry watching them from the doorway, looking slightly green.

“You guys are gross!” he scolds them, in a tone not dissimilar to Sandra when she is upset about something.

Charlie sits up, and scowls. “That’s not in keeping with the spirit of the day.”

“The spirit of the day is chocolate,” says Henry, approaching Kitten’s side of the bed, with one hand behind his back. “Ta-daaaaa!” he shouts, and pulls out the card, waving it in her face. A hefty sprinkle of glitter falls on the sheets, and Charlie winces.

“This looks very impressive,” says Kitten, glancing sideways at Charlie to check his reaction to the glitter, and stifling a smile. “Can I take a closer look?”

On closer inspection, the card is very large, and is a rather well-drawn and extremely glittery looking owl which looks to be a combination of about three different species. Its wings – which look suspiciously like the outline of Charlie’s hands – are wrapped around itself.

“Open it, open it,” says Henry, climbing onto the bed, and bouncing slightly, causing more glitter to be dislodged.

When Kitten carefully opens the wings, she finds another, smaller pair of hand-shaped wings underneath. “Yours?” she asks Henry, who nods vigorously. When she opens those, there is a ridiculously tiny pair of hands underneath. One has been colored blue, and the other pink.

“Little B,” says Henry. “We looked up online how small their hands would be. I drew them, and Dad cut them out. He said we should do one hand in each color since we don’t know whether Little b is a boy or a girl yet. And wait, there’s a message. Read the message!”

“Owl always love you,” Kitten reads, her voice trembling slightly. “From Charlie, Henry and Little B. Oh Henry, thank you! The owl, the hands, the sweet message. It’s perfect!”

She pulls Henry into a hug, which he tolerates for a moment or two before asking, “Can I go watch cartoons now?” with all the tact typical of an eight year-old boy.

“It was all Henry’s idea, of course,” says Charlie, once the young man in question has bounced out of the room. He tries to brush some of the glitter off the bed, and succeeds only in getting it stuck all over his hand. “I was but an unwitting accomplice to this madness.”

“Is that so?” asks Kitten, with a smile. She sets the card on the nightstand so she can see it, and curls against Charlie, who wraps an arm around her shoulder, and rests his other hand on her stomach. “You know, it reminds me of this book I read when I was little. About an owl who was searching for love. It was a really cute story.”

“Never heard of it,” says Charlie, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “But it sounds like a real hoot.”

“Oh god, not the owl puns.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” says Charlie, but somehow he finds himself lapsing into silence instead of releasing the string of dreadful jokes that are on the tip of his tongue. “Do you -” he begins, and then sighs, and runs his hand through his hair, inadvertently spreading multi-colored glitter quite liberally through it. He chews on the inside of his cheek before continuing. “Do you really like it?”

Is it good enough?

Am I trying hard enough?

Do you like me?

A gentle hand against his cheek brings him back to the present. “I don’t just like it, I love it,” Kitten reassures him. “And I love you very much, too. I know it’s a little rough at the moment with me working from home, but I’m still feeling very lucky. Who would have thought six months ago that we would be here? We’ve come so far, Charlie. I’m so proud of us. I’m so proud of you. Especially now you’re back in therapy again.”

Charlie holds her a little more tightly, and she tucks her head under his chin and settles her hand on his chest, over his heart, which is beating too quickly for his liking. “I’m trying, my love,” he says softly, taking slow, deep breaths to try to control the speed of his heart. “I never want to let you down again ...”

He closes his eyes, breathes in Kitten’s familiar, comforting scent, and tells himself that he’s just holding her, not clinging to her. I’m okay, he tells himself, over and over again. We’re okay.

I just have to try harder, and it will all be okay ...

#valentine's day #tw: bad parenting #tw: assault #tw: implied murder #B+C #direnightshade #tw: pregnancy #tw: angst #glitter should have a trigger warning

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moonshinesapphic · 4 years

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So you were disappointed in Throne of Glass...

(DISCLAIMER: This post does not intend to offend anyone who loves ToG. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions and likes and dislikes and is allowed to express that. This post is meant to share books that have similar qualities to ToG for people who were disappointed in the series, like myself, but anyone who does like ToG can absolutely find great recs here! However, if you don’t want to hear anything ToG critical I recommend skipping over this post. Thank you!)

So last week I finally got rid of all my ToG books. I was mostly relieved that I now have more room on my bookshelf but I also felt a little sad. It was a series I really enjoyed when I first read it two years ago, and on some level it will always have a special place for me. It was one of the many books that got me back into reading after a five year slump, it’s the reason I became friends with the wonderful Nicole (@/rainbowbooktheif on Instagram) who was the first person irl to make me feel less alone as a bookish nerd, and it, unintentionally, helped me hone my critical reading skills. However, I slowly began to care less and less for the story and characters as the series progressed and ended up not reading the last two books because I just stopped caring. I wondered why a series that I loved so much in the beginning went down hill so fast for me, but in the process of falling out of love with ToG I realized I wasn’t the only one who felt this way about the series! The lack of diversity (and misrepresentation/mistreatment of diverse characters when they were there), sexism, lazy editing and lackluster world building, among other things, came up many times for me and other former ToG fans when discussing why we became disappointed in the series. But the pitch for the book (badass morally gray assassin taking down a tyrant king for her freedom, so cool!) and some of the elements (romance, female friendships, magic, trials) sounded so amazing even though in the end it was executed poorly. So, I decided to compile a list of books that I have read and loved that have some elements and themes of ToG. This list is by no means exhaustive and is limited by the books that I have read (which is not many when you look at how many books exist in the world) so I would love to see your recommendations! Please feel free to add onto this post any recs that you have! Now onto the list!

1) Graceling by Kristin Cashore

I read this book the summer before I started ToG and completely loved it. It was one of the early books that got me back into reading and it was honestly the perfect book for that. It was exciting and I couldn’t put it down. It follows an assassin for a tyrannical king who begins to realize her own gifts for killing are more then she ever thought they could be. Cashore does a fantastic job developing the lead character Katsa and the ways that she dolls out information to the readers slowly is impeccable. While this book is technically the first in a trilogy of books taking place in the Graceling world, it can be read as a standalone fantasy (which I feel like are very rare). Another part of this book that I really loved was the romance. I usually don’t read very many straight romances (due to the sexist/problematic aspects many of the ones that I’ve read have) but the relationship between Katsa and Po is honestly a breath of fresh air when you’re used to a lot of toxicity and sexism with cishet romances in books. The two take care of each other and their relationship is very balanced. There are no gender roles pushed on either of them and they truly grow to become a team throughout the story and it’s wonderful to see! I would consider Katsa and Po, while canonically cis (there isn’t any explicit queer rep in this book), both quite androgynous characters who often express themselves in a fluid manner which I really appreciate. Over all this is an amazing classic YA fantasy that everyone should check out!

Synopsis: “Katsa has been able to kill a man with her bare hands since she was eight—she’s a Graceling, one of the rare people in her land born with an extreme skill. As niece of the king, she should be able to live a life of privilege, but Graced as she is with killing, she is forced to work as the king’s thug.

She never expects to fall in love with beautiful Prince Po.

She never expects to learn the truth behind her Grace—or the terrible secret that lies hidden far away . . . a secret that could destroy all seven kingdoms with words alone.

With elegant, evocative prose and a cast of unforgettable characters, debut author Kristin Cashore creates a mesmerizing world, a death-defying adventure, and a heart-racing romance that will consume you, hold you captive, and leave you wanting more.”

2) Three Dark Crowns by Kendare Blake

This book is the first in a five book series about three royal sisters raised to battle it out for the throne. I must admit the first book in the series is a little lackluster due to the fact that it’s setting up a lot but the second book just blows everything out of the water in a fantastic way. This series is dark and bloody and intriguing. I got completely hooked on this series and it brought out a lot of emotion to the point where I was gasping and shouting and throwing my book around as I was reading it (I got very invested)! I think that’s one of the things SJM can do well is get you hooked on her characters and Kendare can do the same (if not better). I love the dynamic between the sisters, this book does a great job at exploring the darker side of familial and female/female relationships (mostly platonic.. there isn’t very much queer rep unfortunately) that I really appreciate. The magic system and wolrdbuliding are also something that I enjoyed and I though was quite well done. Kendare does a good job at weaving in worldbuilding and magic system seamlessly into the story and I love that so much. Three Dark Crowns is just a fun and exciting series that I think anyone who loves fantasy YA should check out!

Synopsis: “ In every generation on the island of Fennbirn, a set of triplets is born—three queens, all equal heirs to the crown and each possessor of a coveted magic. Mirabella is a fierce elemental, able to spark hungry flames or vicious storms at the snap of her fingers. Katharine is a poisoner, one who can ingest the deadliest poisons without so much as a stomachache. Arsinoe, a naturalist, is said to have the ability to bloom the reddest rose and control the fiercest of lions.

But becoming the Queen Crowned isn’t solely a matter of royal birth. Each sister has to fight for it. And it’s not just a game of win or lose…it’s life or death. The night the sisters turn sixteen, the battle begins.

The last queen standing gets the crown. “

3) The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon

So a little disclaimer, this book is one of my favorite fantasy books of all time. I read it over the span of a few months last summer (its a long one guys...800+ pages) and it was one of the greatest, most well thought out fantasy books I’d ever had the pleasure of reading. I loved the characters, the world, the plot, the magic system etc. I loved everything! There’s some great political intrigue, dragon riders, epic battles, prophecies, weddings, funerals, romance and just general badassery and kickassery happening. Shannon clearly put so much time and effort into this book and it shows. That kind of dedication that shows is something that I really appreciate in a book, especially a fantasy book. Another aspect that I loved so so much is the diversity in this book. It came so naturally and didn’t at all feel like tokenism. The characters, with their differing genders, ethnicities, sexualities, ages, and nationalities etc, and their relationships with each other are truly what made the story. This book also has one of the BEST f/f romances I’ve ever read (as a queer woman I really loved that representation so much and felt very connected to both of those characters). Priory is a long one but if you have the time I highly recommend it.

Synopsis: “ A world divided. A queendom without an heir. An ancient enemy awakens.

The House of Berethnet has ruled Inys for a thousand years. Still unwed, Queen Sabran the Ninth must conceive a daughter to protect her realm from destruction – but assassins are getting closer to her door.

Ead Duryan is an outsider at court. Though she has risen to the position of lady-in-waiting, she is loyal to a hidden society of mages. Ead keeps a watchful eye on Sabran, secretly protecting her with forbidden magic.

Across the dark sea, Tané has trained to be a dragonrider since she was a child, but is forced to make a choice that could see her life unravel.

Meanwhile, the divided East and West refuse to parley, and forces of chaos are rising from their sleep. “

4) Truthwitch by Susan Dennard

As a queer woman, I’m always a little on edge when someone mentions f/f friendship in a book. This is entirely because of the erasure many many f/f romances experience when they are just brushed off as friendships (we’ve all heard the term “gal pals”). It’s frustrating and even though I love a good f/f friendship when the f/f romances get erased and replaced by friendships it gets exhausting. However, Truthwitch is a true f/f friendship that I can fully get behind! Dennard is an author that I had been following for writing tips for a while before I finally picked up her book. I knew that she’s someone who is invested in making her series diverse, even if she herself doesn’t fit into those categories, and accepts criticism because she want’s to do her characters justice. That’s something I really appreciate seeing from white cishet authors and is one of the reasons I picked up Truthwitch. It’s so much fun and the heart of the story truly is the relationship between the two leads Safi and Iseult. Their friendship reminds me a lot of my relationship with my friends. Books about f/f relationships (romantic or otherwise) are few and far between so I really love that this book exists. Strong platonic relationships are so often pushed aside for cishet romantic ones so it’s SO refreshing to see a series where the book would not exist without Safi and Iseult’s bond. They are truly soulmates and their relationship with each other is the most important one in their lives and that is just beautiful. Not to mention this book has got an awesome magic system and is building up to an amazing fantasy series! There’s pirates, priestesses, princes and, of course, witches! It’s loads of fun all around!

Synopsis: “ Young witches Safiya and Iseult have a habit of finding trouble. After clashing with a powerful Guildmaster and his ruthless Bloodwitch bodyguard, the friends are forced to flee their home.

Safi must avoid capture at all costs as she's a rare Truthwitch, able to discern truth from lies. Many would kill for her magic, so Safi must keep it hidden - lest she be used in the struggle between empires. And Iseult's true powers are hidden even from herself.

In a chance encounter at Court, Safi meets Prince Merik and makes him a reluctant ally. However, his help may not slow down the Bloodwitch now hot on the girls' heels. All Safi and Iseult want is their freedom, but danger lies ahead. With war coming, treaties breaking and a magical contagion sweeping the land, the friends will have to fight emperors and mercenaries alike. For some will stop at nothing to get their hands on a Truthwitch. “

5) Monstress by Marjorie Liu (Writer) and Sana Takeda (Illustrator)

Another disclaimer! This book is my favorite graphic novel, period. There is really nothing like Monstress out there and I think that it’s criminally underrated. Liu and Takeda are the perfect combo of writer/artist to make this GN come together. I’m constantly in awe of the world, characters, and story Liu built and the frankly stunning art Takeda creates to go along with it. It’s steampunk and dark and dirty and beautiful. The lead character, Maika, is one of the few truly morally gray characters that I’ve read. Her decisions will make you question if you’re a good person because you still love her despite the fact that she just killed that guy... and that guy... and those other guys. This graphic novel series is very reflective of the dark animes (like Tokyo Ghoul and Castlevania) that we are seeing more recently and I personally believe Monstress would make a fantastic animated series if it were ever to get an adaption. This book has also some great representation of queer women (Maika herself is a queer, disabled, WoC). It’s totally the norm for the world and all of the lead female characters are queer, which I just love. This story has amazing woldbulding, magic, characters etc. It’ll give you everything from giant dead gods, to talking cats with multiple tails, to demonically possessed teenage girls who need to eat people. It’s honestly amazing. (I would give a major trigger warning for blood/gore so as long as you know you can handle that I think you should check it out!)

Synopsis: “ Set in an alternate matriarchal 1900's Asia, in a richly imagined world of art deco-inflected steam punk, MONSTRESS tells the story of a teenage girl who is struggling to survive the trauma of war, and who shares a mysterious psychic link with a monster of tremendous power, a connection that will transform them both and make them the target of both human and otherworldly powers. “

6) The Bridge Kingdom by Danielle L. Jensen

I never thought I would love a cishet romance as much as I love this one but here I am. The Bridge Kingdom is not really the kind of book I would normally pick up but it was on sale on kindle so I thought “why not!” And I was not disappointed. This story follows the assassin princess, Lara, who was raised to be married off to her fathers rival kingdom and kill the king. However, things get sticky when she begins to actually fall for the king and starts to realize that her father isn’t exactly who he says he is. Not only was this romance steamy as hell (this is an ADULT book folks so there are some explicit sex scenes, beware) but the world is super cool. The political intrigue was something I really enjoyed and I loved to see the world unfold from Lara’s eyes. I also totally loved Lara’s character. She’s complicated and cutthroat but ultimately want’s to do what’s right and is a character made to change and develop. I usually don’t go for that character trope that Lara fits into (beautiful and badass and despite being the MCs they somehow end up being very bland...) but Jensen managed to create a very mature and ever changing version of the YA trope that I ended up loving completely. If you love steamy fantasy romances with cool worlds and intriguing characters this is absolutely the book for you!

Synopsis: “ Lara has only one thought for her husband on their wedding day: I will bring your kingdom to its knees. A princess trained from childhood to be a lethal spy, Lara knows that the Bridge Kingdom represents both legendary evil - and legendary promise. The only route through a storm-ravaged world, the Bridge Kingdom controls all trade and travel between lands, allowing its ruler to enrich himself and deprive his enemies, including Lara's homeland. So when she is sent as a bride under the guise of fulfilling a treaty of peace, Lara is prepared to do whatever it takes to fracture the defenses of the impenetrable Bridge Kingdom.

But as she infiltrates her new home - a lush paradise surrounded by tempest seas - and comes to know her new husband, Aren, Lara begins to question where the true evil resides. Around her, she sees a kingdom fighting for survival, and in Aren, a man fiercely protective of his people. As her mission drives her to deeper understanding of the fight to possess the bridge, Lara finds the simmering attraction between her and Aren impossible to ignore. Her goal nearly within reach, Lara will have to decide her own fate: Will she be the destroyer of a king or the savior of her people? “

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