#i just found the slave ledger

[felassanis]

I'm sorry how can u not ship Courier x Ulysses when the base game and EVERY FUCKING DLC is constantly pushing the idea that they're fated to meet and destined to be each others salvation.

[moresassythanclassy]

Opinion: I really liked the Danbury/Ledger storyline. Here’s why.

Apologies in advance for this long take.

First, let me say that I don’t think I’ve ever felt more morally conflicted than I have while watching a pairing engaging in an affair. Actually, the first time I watched, I was cringing as they started growing closer and would point at the tv and say “Stop. It.” every time they came on.

But then I went back and watched their scenes again, and things changed a bit for me. And while I’m certainly not trying to justify an extramarital affair, I do feel like I now understand and even sympathize with them more than I thought I would have.

I suppose this whole situation just reminds me of how different their world truly was back then, where women were treated as property and the only things that really mattered were achieving/maintaining wealth and status. Lady Danbury was, by definition, a slave to her husband. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what that must’ve been like. She was probably married by 18—a young, beautiful woman with what could’ve been a full life ahead of her, forced to marry a man many decades her senior, who used and abused her whenever he pleased, with no true regard for her thoughts or feelings.

And Lord Ledger, while having so many more freedoms as a man, still clearly felt trapped in a marriage he was likely coerced into as well. (I will add that I truly resented the fact that they made Lady Ledger an unlikable person seemingly to justify the affair in a way—it doesn’t. But, since this was the material we were given, I’m still going to entertain it.) Ledger and his wife were obviously indifferent toward one another—they may have even loathed each other. In fact, as we learn more about him, his sense of humor and love for his daughter were the only things it seemed truly kept him going in life. But then he meets Agatha, and things begin to change.

*Side note: I feel like it’s worth mentioning that I believe they chose to change Danbury’s storyline from s2 Bridgerton significantly for QC, because Danbury’s conversation with Kate made it seem to me as though she’d actually somewhat cared for or even loved her husband. This is why her words don’t exactly seem consistent from s2 Bridgerton to QC if it is true that Danbury was referring to Ledger this whole time.

You may disagree with me completely, but I do feel like Danbury and Ledger truly did love each other, even if their relationship was brief. Now, the kind of love they felt may have been different than how we know it to be today, but for what little they truly knew about the concept of romantic love, they certainly experienced it in some way. Not only did Danbury keep the birthday hat he made for her, she even had her staff take her out to the fields in the middle of winter just to stand there and stare at their old meetup spot—and this had been 50 years on.

I personally buy that Danbury fell in love with Ledger for multiple reasons, the main one being that he was the first man to genuinely treat her with dignity and respect—the first man to truly take the time to listen to her, to take her thoughts and feelings into account and appreciate her for who she was. Ledger, at the same time, probably never experienced a friendship like this with a woman—one where he could actually say what he felt without fear of being judged. And for these reasons, I am glad that they found this friendship in each other.

But then, add in the fact that they were actually attracted to one another, and things were bound to change. When Agatha laments how all she has to live for now is mourning, embroidery, and tea with other widows, Ledger seems struck with the urge to ensure she knows that he is there for her, and that he cares—and cares deeply. At this point in her life, Agatha doesn’t seem to give much regard to the sanctity of marriage (and who can blame her?) so it’s no surprise that she’s the one who feels little to no guilt whenever they almost kiss and is disappointed when it doesn’t happen. Ledger, meanwhile, knows that what he almost did is wrong, and abruptly leaves.

The thing is, they clearly should’ve left it at that. Once they knew it would be so easy to cross this line together, they knew things could never be the same. Danbury, again, really didn’t seem to care—all she knew was that, for the first time in her life, she was actually, truly happy. But even then, she didn’t attempt to force herself on him. Ledger should’ve been the one to stop it, but instead, he deliberately made the choice to make the birthday hat and deliver it to her house when (miraculously) no one else was home, and then, as we know, things progressed from there.

I really am glad for them both that they finally got to experience what sexual joy truly felt like, but it unfortunately came at a cost. Ledger realized the error of his ways, and even though he still loved Agatha, he chose to do what was best for his daughter and what he thought was best for Agatha. And poor Agatha, despite being a bit heartbroken, understood and accepted it.

The truly heartbreaking thing about all of this to me is that their love for each other was pure, but their circumstances and the resulting decisions they made were not. Maybe in another time, in another life, they could’ve been happy together. Sadly, though, this relationship was always going to fail before it could really even get off the ground.

Yet still, in all the time that passed, Danbury never once seemed to regret it. Do I wish she'd fallen in love with someone actually available? Absolutely, but that just wasn't the way it happened, at least not with her first love. I do hope that, after all this time, Ledger wasn’t the only one—she deserved to know what it felt like to be loved by someone who could love her that way. If it never happened for her, though, and Ledger really was the only one, maybe that’s actually alright? If that one experience was enough to sustain her and help her to continue to find peace and happiness all these years later, then maybe it was enough.

For all of these reasons, this is why I found their storyline to be intriguing and fairly thought-provoking. Again, you may fervently disagree, and you could be absolutely right, but I just wanted to share my two cents on how I felt about it. Props to you if you made it all the way through this.

TLDR: Their affair was wrong. Their love was not.

[khazadspoon]

Ooh would you be able to write some James/Thomas/Miranda just hanging out being cute together? In London or maybe an AU where Flint and Miranda saved Thomas from the plantation in season 2 instead of going to Charlestown? (yes that scenario does live rent free in my mind, why do you ask?) Anyway thanks in advance/either way! 💜

I realised I hadn’t gone down the being cute together road so tacked a new ending on which made it longer but OH WELL flinthamiltons live on!!!

———

She had noticed immediately that something was wrong. The way their old friend, the man they had counted on as an ally, had been cold and had dodged their questions at every turn. Miranda had seen the clock and then-

She had warned James in a hurried, furious whisper, rage bubbling just under the surface. She demanded he find out what the truth was.

And he did.

Peter Ashe had been their betrayer all those years ago. He had taken everything from them, destroyed their lives and their happiness. Whatever friendship had been between him and Thomas was all but dead.

“Here! Please, just don’t- don’t kill me!” The man pleaded, a ledger held out in his hands like a shield. Abigail was stood pale and unblinking as she heard of her father’s betrayal. She did not speak in his defence. Miranda was glad for that.

James, his face twisted in pain and anger, took the ledger. The dinner knife in his hand was hardly a weapon befitting the legend surrounding him, but she knew he would use it if needed. One mention of Thomas’ name and he would be willing to carve out this man’s heart.

She held her tongue. Enough blood had been spilled for now.

The ledger contained a list. Names, numbers, prices, locations and dates. Miranda watched as James’ eyes scanned the pages, frantically looking for some sign of why this was worth Ashe’s life. The moment he saw it, his body slumped. The air rushed from his lungs, colour drained from his face, the knife fell from his hand and hit the floor with a terrible thud. Miranda saw tears from in his eyes and rushed to look at the page.

Thomas Hamilton. Charlestown to Savannah, Georgia.

“He’s alive.”

James’ voice sounded like it was coming from the next room. He touched the paper, fingers caressing Thomas’ name, and Miranda clutched at him with both hands.

“We can find him, James. He can be home with us again!” She felt herself shaking, the room almost spinning as she tried to breathe through the sudden panic in her chest. James was silent but she felt him nod, felt him lean into her.

In the end they let Ashe live. It was more than he deserved. But Abigail needed a family, someone to provide for her, and they were not in a position to do that yet. Perhaps, in a year, she might…

They sailed to the mainland. The Ranger followed them, an uneasy truce between Flint and Vane struck by the knowledge they would be freeing people from bondage and claiming any riches found for themselves. The Walrus would come out with less, the only prize Captain Flint sought would be worth more to him than any gold.

When they reached the plantation it was… devastating to behold. The main house was all splendour and clean prosperity. Slaves and servants in pristine white clothes answered every whim the master of the house thought of. Even as Flint and Vane stormed in, guns raised, the slimy man kept his head. He quietly tried to bargain his way out of disaster and, to Miranda’s secret sinful joy, failed. He was slain without mercy. James’ true beauty shone through as he raided the rooms, searching tirelessly for his prize, for her prize, and Miranda wielded a sword he had given her to join the party.

They found him in the fields.

The world stopped spinning. The sun came out from behind the clouds. Birds ceased their songs as he turned to face them, confusion writ large on his aged features. The blue of his eyes seemed somehow diminished even as they widened in recognition. He moved slowly towards them, limbs long and thin as they always had been, the white of his clothes marred with earth and flecks of what might have been dried blood stains.

They approached him together, she and James, side by side, the three of them colliding like galaxies. Thomas’ arms wrapped around them and a laugh like cannon fire burst from his chest, loud and unrestrained and almost painful to hear. Miranda buried her face in his neck. She felt James sobbing against her side, felt her own sobs ripped from her, and suddenly everything was different.

It wasn’t alright, there were still ten years of hell to reconcile for all of them. But now they had the rest of their lives to do that.

Thomas pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips chapped but warm on her skin, and she gazed up at him through her tears.

“I love you,” she whispered to him, “I love you.”

He smiled at her and it was so like when he had smiled at her back in London that she had to hold her breath.

“Thomas,” she heard James say, his voice thick and utterly wrecked.

Thomas turned, his expression so open and broken, and Miranda watched as they came together again. The kiss was hard, desperate, no doubt tasting of salt. They clung on to each other, still holding on to Miranda, completely unmindful of the people around them. It occurred to her that this was the first time they had kissed in the clear light of day. Her heart broke even as it began to mend.

Someone approached carefully, and she saw Thomas flinch, his hands tightening on them. He brought them closer, protectively.

“We should leave,” Captain Vane said. “One of the guards will have made it to town by now.”

James nodded even as he gripped Thomas’ shirt in one fist. “Fine. Well- five minutes and we’ll leave.”

Back on the Walrus, Thomas was given a wide berth at James’ order. He was taken to the Captain’s cabin and James had to tear himself away to see to his duties. Miranda stayed with him, nearly constantly touching him, and he touching her, the two of them sat in near silence as they breathed in the changed scent of one another.

“This isn’t a dream, is it?” Thomas asked under his breath. She shook her head and kissed the bruised, swollen knuckles on his hands. “Good. Good… I don’t think I could survive it if it were.”

She cupped his cheek and turned his face to her. “It’s real, Thomas. You’re really here with us.”

Nothing, not height nor depth, not life nor death, would part them now. Thomas was home.

—

Months later they were in Nassau and Miranda’s cottage was full of life. Bread was baking, herbs were drying, and there was laughter coming from the garden.

Thomas leaned his head on her shoulder, a cup of tea balanced precariously on his knee as they watched James. The fearsome Captain Flint was demonstrating how he had managed to get out of a particularly nasty predicament. He had been tied to a chair, trying to calm a rather irate bosun’s mate, and Miranda had lost track of the rest. She was too engrossed in the sound of her two love’s laughter. James kept bursting into giggles as he described his adventures. Thomas would laugh alongside him, his body moving against hers as the laughter took him.

She laughed too, but softer. The tea she had made them had long gone cold. But, later, they would sit in front of the fire and Thomas would tell them a little about his time without them. They would share stories, cry together, and then go to bed and sleep in a too-warm pile but unable to disentangle themselves.

James wandered over at the end of his story and sat in front of them on the grass. He rested his chin on Thomas’ knee and gazed up at him like an adoring puppy. Miranda ran her fingers through his long red hair, not as long as it had been in London, but it was growing out again.

“What are we having for dinner this evening?” Thomas asked, running his fingers over James’ cheek. He didn’t seem to be really asking about food.

“Whatever you desire,” James said.

Miranda had to laugh, she couldn’t help herself. “James, my love, you can’t cook.”

“Maybe not,” he said lowly, “but I have plenty of other talents.”

She tugged his hair lightly and laughed at his grin. “None that will stop Thomas’ stomach rumbling like a naval battle!”

Thomas didn’t even try to seem offended. He knew all too well how true it was.

“We can eat bread and butter in between,” James said with another grin.

“Sounds delicious,” Thomas stroked a finger down James’s cheek and pressed it to his lower lip.

“Come on,” Miranda said, tugging at the two distracted lovers. “Before you scandalise the chickens. The hens will start getting ideas.”

They wandered back into the cottage hand in hand, Thomas between them as he so often was nowadays. Miranda squeezed his hand and smiled up at him. There were new lines on his face she had begun to memorise over the past few months - around his mouth, around his eyes, etched into his forehead, all new but none unloved. It was the same with herself she was sure, and with James. They had aged, all three of them, and Miranda was enjoying the new patterns on their skin.

Slowly, they were relearning how to be together again. Miranda was relishing the challenge.

[musings-from-mars]

Valet of a Ticket Machine

An original sci-fi story

Part 1

~~~

2

For the next few days, I continue on assisting Multen however he sees fit. And for the next few nights, I'm talking to Tixxy, trying to figure out how else I can help.

"I'm sorry, but I can't leave Severen."

Tixxy prints out a page in reply (I've since managed to acquire some paper that better suits its hardware):

Why can you not leave Severen?

"Well..." I look around at my room, my tiny sanctuary, the little bit of the universe that I can feel in control of. "I just can't."

Is Severen your home?

I grit my teeth and shrug. "It's where I live, and I can't exactly afford to leave."

How much money do you have?

I laugh. "None."

I can acquire money.

I pause and stare at the segment of paper sticking out of Tixxy. "How can a ticket machine acquire money?"

Tixxy takes longer than usual to respond, by at least three seconds. I soon realize why as a long segment of paper prints:

I am equipped to interface with transactional systems to render tickets for payment. I am familiar with many systems that govern digital currency and can therefore manipulate them to redirect currency to your possession. If connected via a bank machine or a market kiosk, I can manipulate ledgers to reroute funds to your account.

I read the whole thing before taking a breath. So, Tixxy has a mischievous streak then? Even with the level of sentience it has, I figure its programming should include a familiarity with common law. "Uh, Tix... That is very illegal."

It is. You will not face consequence if you are not caught.

Well, it isn’t wrong, but this printer is missing the crucial fact that I likely am not going to be good at not getting caught. "Are there other options?"

We could stow away on a cargo ship.

"Legal options?" I reiterate.

Tixxy takes a moment to think.

You acquire money through legal means.

"Not easy to do around here," I say. I refuse to slave away in smithshops and quarries for a pittance, I'm more than happy just living here.

Severen seems like a depressing place. Why do you want to stay?

"Because I'm scared," I blurt out the moment I read the words, and then stop. I grip the sheets of my bed and look at what else I had on my desk. Manuals, odds and ends, bits and bobs, and my Soulore fragment, a valuable bit of rare ore that I just stumbled upon one day. I always figured I'd sell it in a time of urgency...

I pick up the Soulore. It's pitch black, unless moved—then colors spring to life from within and fade once static again. It's roughly in the shape of a pyramid, just a chip off of what likely ended up being a much bigger find. But even a small piece like this could be enough to possibly...

But no. I can't, not now, not for a printer. I like Tixxy, but I can't uproot my whole life just to try to get her back to some cruise ship.

I look away from the Soulore and glance at Tixxy. It had printed a reply that I was just now seeing:

I am also scared.

I close my eyes and sigh. "How are you so sentient? You're a printer. How can you feel scared?"

I just am.

I grit my teeth. This isn't possible. How could the smartest printer in the galaxy just end up here where I would find it and listen to it to beg me to help? Why couldn't have someone else have found it, someone else who could help? Someone else who felt capable of helping?

More paper printed.

The Soulore you are holding weighs 532.59 units, it would have a market value of 12,450G

I freeze. Does Tixxy have visual input as well? And... "How do you know how much it weighs?"

I am equipped to detect precise Soulore deposits and their exact mass.

"Tixxy. You are a printer."

I am a printer that is equipped to detect precise Soulore deposits and their exact mass.

I stare at a wall for a moment, then laugh. I gasp, then laugh some more. I bury my face in my hand and keep laughing until I feel tears on my cheeks.

What are you laughing about?

I steady myself and let out a shaky sigh. This was all so…uncanny. Detecting Soulore? And I thought that was impossible, Soulore is valuable because it’s nearly impossible to find, other than by just digging and praying. "I'm just...surprised. You are not a normal printer."

I am not.

I set the Soulore fragment down and close my eyes. I picture space, stars. "Okay. So what if I do help you. I sell my Soulore and get you to wherever you need to go. Then what? What do I get out of it?"

You get to leave Severen.

"But then where do I go?"

Anywhere you choose.

The air in my lungs stalls as I stare at Tixxy's words, the thin text and blocky font. I feel myself doubting it, but... Tixxy has seemed very honest ever since I found her, I will give her that.

Do I want to leave Severen? Of course I do. I’ve always wanted to leave. But the problem with leaving is, there has to be some place to leave for. Some place to land after taking off. “What if I can’t choose?” I ask Tixxy. “What if there’s nowhere else I can go?”

There are thousands of Severen-sized planets in the galaxy.

I chuckle. “Right. But how do I know which one to live on?”

You could visit them.

I stare at its words. Several meters of paper is piling up beneath my desk, all with Tixxy’s words printed on it. For some reason, I don’t want to tear it.

More paper, more words print out unprompted:

You could visit them on our way to Xenet.

I hang my head forward and let out a sigh. “Tixxy, I can’t take you to Xenet. I can’t take you anywhere.”

Why not sell your Soulore?

“Because what if I need to save it for something in the future?”

Such as?

Such a snarky printer…

I lean back in my seat and stare up at the ceiling, a single light hanging from a cable leaving spots in my vision. If I had kept track, I’ve probably spent a lot of cumulative time staring at this lightbulb, feeling too lazy to get out of my bed to switch it off, having no reason to not stare at it. Sometimes I woke up the next morning with it still on.

And now I’m suddenly realizing that I haven’t seen daylight in weeks, not since the last time Multen sent me out to run errands.

Tixxy was asking a good question. What did I expect to need money for? All I do is live here rent-free, Multen feeds me, all in exchange for my assistance. Well, recently I’ve been assisting a lot less, because Multen has been acting increasingly fickle and disinterested about his work.

Maybe that was it then. Multen could just decide to move on from his scrapworking job that he was slowly growing to hate, find some other way to make money, one that wouldn’t involve me. And if I don’t work for him, he no longer has a reason to give me food, or this room…

Maybe I should just get a jump on figuring out my future before he forces me to. And if I did have to find some other place to live, I would love for it to be somewhere other than Severen.

I look back down at Tixxy. At least it’s patient; no new paper had printed out yet. “Okay. So, if I do sell my Soulore, that should get me enough money to leave Severen. How far could we go with that, with the…” I look back on Tixxy’s long roll of printed paper to check the valuation for earlier, “12,450 grains it would fetch. Wait—” I check that number again. “Twelve thousand grains?”

It would be more than enough to get us to Xenet, if we took base intersystem transport.

“How can this tiny piece of Soulore be worth that much?” I ask. I hadn’t been this struck before by the value because I was too caught up about a printer’s ability to weigh something that I was holding.

The market value has increased greatly in recent months.

“Is Soulore becoming that scarce? Also, how do you know that? Are you connected to CenCom somehow?”

Soulore is incredibly scarce due to over-mining and miner strikes. And yes, I am connected to Central Communication.

I should not be so surprised by that. Tixxy has proven how weird it is in multiple ways already. And now I’m realizing that I actually could leave. With that kind of money, I could travel to the other side of the galaxy and still have enough left over to find a new place to live, maybe find a job with the scrapworking experience I’ve gotten while working with Multen. For the first time it actually feels possible, even doable…

But the thought of actually doing it terrifies me. Just having that much money…would I even be able to make it off Severen before someone caught wind of some kid turning up with a piece of Soulore? It’s not like my options for selling it are very reputable, not here. Even the legal places to sell off ores and gadgets were just fronts for other types of business. I’d have a target on my back.

If I could somehow get somewhere else, find a way to a more secure planet, and sell it there…

But without money, the only way I could do that was…

“About stowing away…” I mutter.

Stowing away, preferably on a large freight vessel, would be the safest inexpensive option.

“It would also be the easiest way to get myself arrested, or killed,” I say, both to Tixxy, and to myself. It’s like I’m trying to talk myself out of it.

I could assist you.

“How?”

It would be simpler if I had audio capabilities. Then I could direct your every move to assure you board the ship and hide away undetected, without needing to print instructions.

“How would you be able to do that?” I just don’t get it. How can a printer be capable of so much?

I can use my ability to interface with various CenCom-connected systems to help you move undetected, and to warn you of threats.

“So it’s not just stealing money, you can also hack security cameras?”

If they are connected to CenCom, which they likely are.

I put a hand to my face. “Ugh…I’d rather avoid doing anything illegal.” But the alternative was selling the Soulore on Severen. I would also like to avoid being mugged.

The only unlawful thing you would be doing is stowing away.

I laugh. “Right. I’ll leave the rest of the unlawful things to you.”

Precisely.

I just kind of smile incredulously at Tixxy. I wonder if it can see me. It had shown no sign of any such ability, but I wouldn’t doubt it. “I just…I don’t know.”

Do you feel you can trust me?

I’m floored by that question, and it takes a while for me to answer. “I mean, you want to go home, right? I guess…” I sigh, “I guess you wouldn’t want to risk doing this if you didn’t feel confident in your abilities.”

I know how to get home. I just need a valet.

“I guess that’s me, then.” I rest my elbows on my desk, staring at Tixxy. I feel myself laughing again. “I can’t believe I’m going to just…leave. Leave and never come back, for a printer.”

It is for your own good as well, Ander.

That response empties my lungs of air like a gut punch. It really does suck here. I’m not happy here. I’m content and surviving, but not happy. Maybe Tixxy’s right, maybe I should leave, and find some place where I can be happy. Some place where I can see and feel the bright warmth of a star without needing to watch my back. Some place where I can meet people who aren’t either miserable, a member of some criminal ring, or both. I could See The Galaxy, like those starliner ads say.

My mind is made up. I’m leaving soon. When and how, I don’t know. But at least I know why.

“Okay, Tixxy.” I nod. “Let’s do it.”

Thank you, Ander.

“Thank you, too.” I look to the side, at a small box of wires and connectors, inputs and outputs. “So, audio capabilities, huh?”

Preferably formatted in such a way that only you will be able to hear me.

I get up from my chair and take Tixxy as I crouch by the box and start rummaging through it. Maybe there was a tiny speaker in here, something I could fashion into an earpiece. “I wonder what you sound like.”

So do I.

I read those three words over and over and over, and then sit down on the concrete floor. “Tixxy,” I mutter. “I don’t know what you are, or how you ended up here, but…I’m glad you did.”

I am a TIXbot. And I do not know how I ended up here. But am glad you found me, and that you will help me.

“You’re more than just a TIXbot,” I tell it as I start looking through the box again. I find a small communicator. The speaker inside it ought to be perfect.

I suppose I am also soon to become a radio.

I laugh and nod. “Yep. I just need to figure out a way to fit you with an audio input, which…might require taking you apart to some extent.”

I can give you schematics and diagrams regarding my construction, but they might look odd when printed on such narrow paper.

“If you can give me that, that would make it a million times easier.”

Very well. I will print them now.

Tixxy wasn’t kidding. The instructions did look odd printed on a long, narrow piece of paper like this. It just ended up being the same few illustrations of its insides, but repeated over and over with different annotations marked on each. But I understood them, the same way I could understand someone even if they only spoke two words every ten seconds.

It had been a long time since I had a project like this. And this one was far more exciting than anything Multen had given me. After looking over all the instructions Tixxy had given me, I figured out a plan and got to work. Sleep be damned.

“Okay.” Using the speaker from the communicator, some scraps of rubber, and a cord and audio connector, I had fashioned myself an earpiece. “I need to open you up now. Do you want to power off?”

You will reassemble me correctly, Ander?

I smile and nod. “I promise, I know what I’m doing.”

OK. I trust you.

I stare at the paper, then close my eyes. It’s just plain text, but the feeling of knowing that I mean something to this little device, being relied on like this…

“I look forward to hearing you talk to me, Tixxy,” I tell it, trying to make them feel more optimistic.

Thank you, Ander.

And then it’s blue light goes out. I sit and listen to the silence for a moment. With it powered off, it feels like Tixxy isn’t here. I feel alone, and for once, I hate it.

I get to work on outfitting Tixxy with this new cable. But first, I hold it with one hand and grab the paper with the other. In one motion, I tear the paper away, letting it all accumulate under my desk. I then sit there, staring at paperless Tixxy.

I have to lean to the side to pick up the paper again, just to see its words again. OK, I trust you. Thank you, Ander.

I close my eyes and take a shaky breath. I resist the urge to work fast; I need to do a quality job. The sooner I do it right, the sooner I can power Tixxy back on.

As I work, I find the silence is bothering me. I used to be accustomed to it, but now for some reason…

So instead, I quietly sing Tixxy’s song to myself. Much like the words it had printed out, the melody that my brain had conjured to go with the lyrics had been stuck in my head since the night I had found it. Except now, I wasn’t singing it in my head while trying to go to sleep. Now I was quietly singing it out loud to keep myself focused.

“Tixxy Tixxy Tixxy, I love my little Tixxy, Tixxy Tixxy Tixxy, I love my Tixxy bot…”

I wonder if that’s how the song actually goes. Maybe Tixxy will sing it for me once I’m finished.

[sparktober]

Sparktober Bingo 2021!

Back for a new generation: Sparktober Bingo!

Instead of coming up with an Atlantis-specific list of prompts, I compiled a bunch of 2021 -tober prompt lists into one google doc here. (Links to original prompt lists are on the google doc.) Add in a list of Atlantis episodes and...

How to play:

Choose a “flavor” from the prompt sets below the cut, then paste it into this fandom bingo card generator.

Adjust your browser size til it looks right and take a screenshot, or use the html script if you’re familiar with using html on tumblr. Tag @sparktober​ if you want us to reblog it so everyone knows you’re playing!

  Sparktober Bingo Rules:

Complete a row/column, corners, or a blackout of your card by November 1, or not! Update as you go.

All fan-works are allowed: art, edits, fic, meta... bonus points to anyone who picks the “sprinkles” flavor and goes full mid-aughts by filling their bingo cards with 100x100 pixel icons.

You are allowed to pull multiple cards until you get one that inspires you, and you can also go through the prompt list of your choice in advance to pull out squicks or things you absolutely won’t write. I recommend not googling unfamiliar words from your work computer.

Use the prompts liberally! Episode titles can be treated as the episode or as generic prompts (e.g. “Epiphany” can be for an episode-related fic or a prompt for an epiphany of your choice).

  Flavor descriptions:

VANILLA: Gen prompt lists from Fictober, Inktober, Trektober Gen, and Trektober Trek.

CHOCOLATE: Zesty prompt lists from Trektober NSFW, Kinktober, and Whumptober. The multiple-prompts-per-day from Kinktober and Whumptober have been broken into individual prompts.

CANDY CORN: Fall / holiday themed prompts from TUA-tober.

SPRINKLES: Atlantis episode list (in order, in case you only want to copy certain seasons), along with characters and a few Atlantis-specific prompts.

TWIST: All of the above! (You can also manually mix and match different flavors, of course.)

Text blocks to copy into the bingo card generator are below the cut. Enjoy!!

VANILLA

“I need you.”; “You have no proof.”; “I’ve waited for this.”; “Fine, I give up.”; “I’m not saying I told you so…”; “Didn’t we already have this conversation?”; “That could have gone better.”; “This is it, isn’t it?”; “There’s no right side to this.”; “It’s so quiet.”; “I swear, it’s not always like this.”; “You keep me safe.”; “The things you make me do…”; “Your information was wrong.”; “I like that in you.”; “Not this again.”; “I’m with you, you know that.”; “This was not part of the plan.”; “I feel strange.”; “That’s what I’m known for.”; “What did I say?”; “No promises.”; “This time, do what I say.”; “Is this supposed to impress me?”; “Do you know what time it is?”; “I’m sure this has never worked, ever.”; “You could have died!”; “I don’t have to explain myself.”; “Why are we whispering?”; “Don’t ruin this.”; “Take me with you.”; Crystal; Suit; Vessel; Knot; Raven; Spirit; Fan; Watch; Pressure; Pick; Sour; Stuck; Roof; Tick; Helmet; Compass; Collide; Moon; Loop; Sprout; Fuzzy; Open; Leak; Extinct; Splat; Connect; Spark; Crispy; Patch; Slither; Risk; Meet-Cute; Amnesia; Age Difference; Pining; Sick Fic; Fake Relationship; Accidental Meeting; Epistolary; Secret Identity; Historical AU; Nightmares; Monster Hunter; Reunion; Soulmates; At Pride; Angst; Seasons; Fix-It; Coffee Shop; Movie Plot AU; Kid Fic; Actor's Other Crossover Work; OT+; Getting Together; Only One Bed; Pirates; Making Up; Forbidden Relationship; Tattoos; Halloween; Prime Directive; Lower Decks / Background Characters; Away Mission; Ship's Bar; Aliens Made Them Do It; Observation Deck; Crew with Family; Holodeck; Science Crew; Character Survives; Headcanons; Diplomacy; Decontamination; Trek Crossover; Replicator; Worldbuilding; Redshirts; Sex / Love Potion; Medical Crew; Transporters; Medbay; Interspecies Relationship; Mirrorverse; Uniforms; Mutiny; Stranded on a Planet; Rec Room; Academy Era; Second Contact; Command Crew; Off-Duty

  CHOCOLATE

A/B/O; Soft; Anonymous Sex; Penetration with Object/s; Sleeping; Intercrural Sex; Restraints; In/Under Water; Group Sex; First Time; Possessive Behavior; Dry Humping / Grinding; Overstimulation; Roleplay; Rimming; Stretching / Fisting; Power Imbalance; Food Play; Fingering; Body Worship; Sex Work; Voyeurism / Exhibitionism; Safewords; Technology; Oral Sex; Omorashi / Wetting; Crying; Underwear / Lingerie; Friends with Benefits; Pain Kink; Dirty Talk; Trick or Treat; All trussed up and nowhere to go; Talking is overrated; Sticks and stones may break my bones...; Trust fall; I've got red in my ledger; Touch and go; My spidey-sense is tingling; Coughing up a lung; Rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated; Oops, I did it again; Just keep swimming; It'll be fun, they said; That's gonna leave a mark; Under pressure; Feed a cold, starve a fever; On a need-to-know basis; Field care 101; The doctor is in; Just a scratch; Lost & found; That's where the blood's supposed to be; They made me do it; You break it, you buy it; One down, two to go; Hide & Seek; You will go down with this ship; “I'm fine, I prom...”; It's (not) just in your head; All work and no play; Digging your grave; Hurt & Comfort; “You have to let go.”; Garotte; Taunting; “Do you trust me?”; Betrayal; Bruises; Helplessness; Pneumothorax; Presumed Dead; Hospital; Adrift; Torture; “This is gonna suck.”; Crush injuries; Delirium; Recovery; “Please don't move.”; “Now smile for the camera.”; Bitten; Trunk; Bleeding through bandages; Cursed; Auction; Self-induced injuries to escape; Escape; Fallen; Passing out; “Good, you're finally awake.”; “You're still not dead?”; Major character death; Disaster zone; Barbed Wire; Choking; Insults; Taken Hostage; Misunderstanding; Touch Starved; Numbness; Exotic Illness; (Blind) Rage; Flare-Up; Drowning; Made To Watch; Burns; Beaten; Fever Dreams; Scars; Hemorrhage; Doctor Visit; Bleeding; Trapped Under Water; Pressure; Demon; Ransom; Flashback; Flight; Waterfall; Vertigo; Nightmares; Too Weak To Move; Left For Dead; Trauma; Bound; Gagged; “Who Did This To You?”; Pushed; Broken Nose; Hunger; Blindness; “Definitely Just A Cold”; Tears; Ice Chips; Dehydration; Begging; Cauterization; Force; Bees; Aftermath; Dread; Cpr; Stabbing; Solitary Confinement; Blood-Matted Hair; Obsession; Pursuit; Revenge; Hiding; Trap Door; Collapse; Panic; Overworked; Ghosts; Prisoner; Losing Control; Threats; Caning; Mercy; Forgotten; Head Injury; Screaming; Comfort; Self-Sacrifice; Trapped; Near-Death Experience; Regret; Tragedy; Battlefield; Anxiety; Gore; Petplay; Bimbofication; Panties & Lingerie; Bondage; Double Penetration in 2 Holes; Breeding; Humiliation; NTR; Incest; Emeto; Omorashi; Free Use; Crossdressing; Public; Three (or more) some; Daddy & Mommy; Double Penetration in 1 Hole; Distention & Cockbulge; Xenophilia; Shotgunning; Watersports; Pregnancy; Lactation; Waxplay; Grooming; Human Furniture; Feet; Prostituion; MacroMicro; Spanking; Cockwarming; Glory Hole; Somnophilia; Body Modification; Temperature Play; Leather; Size Difference; Sounding; Stockings; Tentacles; Medical Play; Stripping; Orgasm Denial; Master & slave; Scissoring; Titfucking; Frottage; Knifeplay; Formal Wear; Breathplay; Fisting; Pegging; Scat; Beastiality; Fucking Machine; Tickling; Boot Worship; Bukkake; Collaring; Foodplay; Non or dubcon; Feederism; Sensory Deprivation; Oviposition; Clone & Selfcest; Exhibitionism & Voyeurism; Impact Play; Sadomasochism; Bloodplay; Praise Kink; Body Swap; Sweat; Branding; Massage; Role Reversal; Armpit; Masturbation; Inflation; Sex Toys; Burnplay; Menophilia; Stuck in Wall; Deepthroating & Facesitting; Dacryphilia; Hate Sex

  CANDY CORN

Birthday; Sick Day; Autumn; Candles; Plaid / Flannel; Leaf Piles; Sweaters; Baking; Cinnamon; Pumpkin Spice Latte; Carnival; Movie Night; Candy; Graveyard; Black Cats; Goosebumps; Pumpkin; Party; Monster; Ghosts; Witch; Vampire; Traditions; Magic; Mask; Haunted House; Trick; Treat; Costume; Monster Mash; Halloween

  SPRINKLES

Rising Part 1; Rising Part 2; Hide and Seek; Thirty-Eight Minutes; Suspicion; Childhood's End; Poisoning the Well; Underground; Home; The Storm; The Eye; The Defiant One; Hot Zone; Sanctuary; Before I Sleep; The Brotherhood; Letters from Pegasus; The Gift; The Siege Part 1; The Siege Part 2; The Siege Part 3; The Intruder; Runner; Duet; Condemned; Trinity; Instinct; Conversion; Aurora; The Lost Boys; The Hive; Epiphany; Critical Mass; Grace Under Pressure; The Tower; The Long Goodbye; Coup d'Etat; Michael; Inferno; Allies; No Man's Land; Misbegotten; Irresistible; Sateda; Progeny; The Real World; Common Ground; McKay and Mrs. Miller; Phantoms; The Return Part 1; The Return Part 2; Echoes; Irresponsible; Tao of Rodney; The Game; The Ark; Sunday; Submersion; Vengeance; First Strike; Adrift; Lifeline; Reunion; Doppelganger; Travelers; Tabula Rasa; Missing; The Seer; Miller's Crossing; This Mortal Coil; Be All My Sins Remember'd; Spoils of War; Quarantine; Harmony; Outcast; Trio; Midway; The Kindred Part 1; The Kindred Part 2; The Last Man; Search and Rescue; The Seed; Broken Ties; The Daedalus Variations; Ghost in the Machine; The Shrine; Whispers; The Queen; Tracker; First Contact; The Lost Tribe; Outsiders; Inquisition; The Prodigal; Remnants; Brain Storm; Infection; Identity; Vegas; Enemy at the Gate; Ronon Dex; Teyla Emmagan; John Sheppard; Carson Beckett; Elizabeth Weir; Rodney McKay; Jennifer Keller; Samantha Carter; Aiden Ford; Radek Zelenka; Kate Heightmeyer; Evan Lorne; Laura Cadman; Kolya; Chuck; Peter Grodin; Steven Caldwell; Lantea; Ocean; Ancient(s); Richard Woolsey; Athosians; Daedalus; Wraith; Nanites; Asurans; Genii; DHD; SGC; Stargate; Earth; Antarctica; Ascension

 TWIST

“I need you.”; “You have no proof.”; “I’ve waited for this.”; “Fine, I give up.”; “I’m not saying I told you so…”; “Didn’t we already have this conversation?”; “That could have gone better.”; “This is it, isn’t it?”; “There’s no right side to this.”; “It’s so quiet.”; “I swear, it’s not always like this.”; “You keep me safe.”; “The things you make me do…”; “Your information was wrong.”; “I like that in you.”; “Not this again.”; “I’m with you, you know that.”; “This was not part of the plan.”; “I feel strange.”; “That’s what I’m known for.”; “What did I say?”; “No promises.”; “This time, do what I say.”; “Is this supposed to impress me?”; “Do you know what time it is?”; “I’m sure this has never worked, ever.”; “You could have died!”; “I don’t have to explain myself.”; “Why are we whispering?”; “Don’t ruin this.”; “Take me with you.”; Crystal; Suit; Vessel; Knot; Raven; Spirit; Fan; Watch; Pressure; Pick; Sour; Stuck; Roof; Tick; Helmet; Compass; Collide; Moon; Loop; Sprout; Fuzzy; Open; Leak; Extinct; Splat; Connect; Spark; Crispy; Patch; Slither; Risk; Meet-Cute; Amnesia; Age Difference; Pining; Sick Fic; Fake Relationship; Accidental Meeting; Epistolary; Secret Identity; Historical AU; Nightmares; Monster Hunter; A/B/O; Reunion; Soulmates; At Pride; Angst; Seasons; Fix-It; Coffee Shop; Movie Plot AU; Kid Fic; Actor's Other Crossover Work; OT+; Getting Together; Only One Bed; Pirates; Making Up; Forbidden Relationship; Tattoos; Halloween; Prime Directive; Lower Decks / Background Characters; Away Mission; Ship's Bar; Aliens Made Them Do It; Observation Deck; Crew with Family; Holodeck; Science Crew; Character Survives; Headcanons; Diplomacy; Decontamination; Trek Crossover; Replicator; Worldbuilding; Redshirts; Sex / Love Potion; Medical Crew; Transporters; Medbay; Interspecies Relationship; Mirrorverse; Uniforms; Mutiny; Stranded on a Planet; Rec Room; Academy Era; Second Contact; Command Crew; Off-Duty; Soft; Anonymous Sex; Penetration with Object/s; Sleeping; Intercrural Sex; Restraints; In/Under Water; Group Sex; First Time; Possessive Behavior; Dry Humping / Grinding; Overstimulation; Roleplay; Rimming; Stretching / Fisting; Power Imbalance; Food Play; Fingering; Body Worship; Sex Work; Voyeurism / Exhibitionism; Safewords; Technology; Oral Sex; Omorashi / Wetting; Crying; Underwear / Lingerie; Friends with Benefits; Pain Kink; Dirty Talk; Trick or Treat; All trussed up and nowhere to go; Talking is overrated; Sticks and stones may break my bones...; Trust fall; I've got red in my ledger; Touch and go; My spidey-sense is tingling; Coughing up a lung; Rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated; Oops, I did it again; Just keep swimming; It'll be fun, they said; That's gonna leave a mark; Under pressure; Feed a cold, starve a fever; On a need-to-know basis; Field care 101; The doctor is in; Just a scratch; Lost & found; That's where the blood's supposed to be; They made me do it; You break it, you buy it; One down, two to go; You will go down with this ship; “I'm fine, I prom...”; It's (not) just in your head; All work and no play; Digging your grave; Hurt & Comfort; “You have to let go.”; Garotte; Taunting; “Do you trust me?”; Betrayal; Bruises; Helplessness; Pneumothorax; Presumed Dead; Hospital; Adrift; Torture; “This is gonna suck.”; Crush injuries; Delirium; Recovery; “Please don't move.”; “Now smile for the camera.”; Bitten; Trunk; Bleeding through bandages; Cursed; Auction; Self-induced injuries to escape; Escape; Fallen; Passing out; “Good, you're finally awake.”; “You're still not dead?”; Major character death; Disaster zone; Barbed Wire; Choking; Insults; Taken Hostage; Misunderstanding; Touch Starved; Numbness; Exotic Illness; (Blind) Rage; Flare-Up; Drowning; Made To Watch; Burns; Beaten; Fever Dreams; Scars; Hemorrhage; Doctor Visit; Bleeding; Trapped Under Water; Demon; Ransom; Flashback; Flight; Waterfall; Vertigo; Too Weak To Move; Left For Dead; Trauma; Bound; Gagged; “Who Did This To You?”; Pushed; Broken Nose; Hunger; Blindness; “Definitely Just A Cold”; Tears; Ice Chips; Dehydration; Begging; Cauterization; Force; Bees; Aftermath; Dread; Cpr; Stabbing; Solitary Confinement; Blood-Matted Hair; Obsession; Pursuit; Revenge; Hiding; Trap Door; Collapse; Panic; Overworked; Ghosts; Prisoner; Losing Control; Threats; Caning; Mercy; Forgotten; Head Injury; Screaming; Comfort; Self-Sacrifice; Trapped; Near-Death Experience; Regret; Tragedy; Battlefield; Anxiety; Gore; Petplay; Bimbofication; Panties & Lingerie; Bondage; Double Penetration in 2 Holes; Breeding; Humiliation; NTR; Incest; Emeto; Omorashi; Free Use; Crossdressing; Public; Three (or more) some; Daddy & Mommy; Double Penetration in 1 Hole; Distention & Cockbulge; Xenophilia; Shotgunning; Watersports; Pregnancy; Lactation; Waxplay; Grooming; Human Furniture; Feet; Prostituion; MacroMicro; Spanking; Cockwarming; Glory Hole; Somnophilia; Body Modification; Temperature Play; Leather; Size Difference; Sounding; Stockings; Tentacles; Medical Play; Stripping; Orgasm Denial; Master & slave; Scissoring; Titfucking; Frottage; Knifeplay; Formal Wear; Breathplay; Fisting; Pegging; Scat; Beastiality; Fucking Machine; Tickling; Boot Worship; Bukkake; Collaring; Foodplay; Non or dubcon; Feederism; Sensory Deprivation; Oviposition; Clone & Selfcest; Exhibitionism & Voyeurism; Impact Play; Sadomasochism; Bloodplay; Praise Kink; Body Swap; Sweat; Branding; Massage; Role Reversal; Armpit; Masturbation; Inflation; Sex Toys; Burnplay; Menophilia; Stuck in Wall; Deepthroating & Facesitting; Dacryphilia; Hate Sex; Birthday; Sick Day; Autumn; Candles; Plaid / Flannel; Leaf Piles; Sweaters; Baking; Cinnamon; Pumpkin Spice Latte; Carnival; Movie Night; Candy; Graveyard; Black Cats; Goosebumps; Pumpkin; Party; Monster; Witch; Vampire; Traditions; Magic; Mask; Haunted House; Trick; Treat; Costume; Monster Mash; Rising Part 1; Rising Part 2; Hide and Seek; Thirty-Eight Minutes; Suspicion; Childhood's End; Poisoning the Well; Underground; Home; The Storm; The Eye; The Defiant One; Hot Zone; Sanctuary; Before I Sleep; The Brotherhood; Letters from Pegasus; The Gift; The Siege Part 1; The Siege Part 2; The Siege Part 3; The Intruder; Runner; Duet; Condemned; Trinity; Instinct; Conversion; Aurora; The Lost Boys; The Hive; Epiphany; Critical Mass; Grace Under Pressure; The Tower; The Long Goodbye; Coup d'Etat; Michael; Inferno; Allies; No Man's Land; Misbegotten; Irresistible; Sateda; Progeny; The Real World; Common Ground; McKay and Mrs. Miller; Phantoms; The Return Part 1; The Return Part 2; Echoes; Irresponsible; Tao of Rodney; The Game; The Ark; Sunday; Submersion; Vengeance; First Strike; Lifeline; Doppelganger; Travelers; Tabula Rasa; Missing; The Seer; Miller's Crossing; This Mortal Coil; Be All My Sins Remember'd; Spoils of War; Quarantine; Harmony; Outcast; Trio; Midway; The Kindred Part 1; The Kindred Part 2; The Last Man; Search and Rescue; The Seed; Broken Ties; The Daedalus Variations; Ghost in the Machine; The Shrine; Whispers; The Queen; Tracker; First Contact; The Lost Tribe; Outsiders; Inquisition; The Prodigal; Remnants; Brain Storm; Infection; Identity; Vegas; Enemy at the Gate; Ronon Dex; Teyla Emmagan; John Sheppard; Carson Beckett; Elizabeth Weir; Rodney McKay; Jennifer Keller; Samantha Carter; Aiden Ford; Radek Zelenka; Kate Heightmeyer; Evan Lorne; Laura Cadman; Kolya; Chuck; Peter Grodin; Steven Caldwell; Lantea; Ocean; Ancient(s); Richard Woolsey; Athosians; Daedalus; Wraith; Nanites; Asurans; Genii; DHD; SGC; Stargate; Earth; Antarctica; Ascension

[null-whump]

Whumptober 2021

Day 5 – I’ve got red in my ledger

Another short one for today besties ~ I have two exams this week so I'm a bit busy (hence why I am posting at midnight and I also haven't edited this yikes). After exams settle down I'm hoping to have some more time.

This is a follow-up to day 2!

Warnings: Mentions of blood, injuries, and slavery

Word Count: 662

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The next time the cell door swung open, it wasn’t Igneous who entered. It was a fairy, tall and broad; with pale blue skin marked with patterns of red; white hair; and moth-like wings that he had folded back in order to fit through the door. He was a slave, as marked by the collar around his neck, along with the band around his right arm.

“I’m here to see to your wounds,” he said.

His voice was quiet and calm, and Darion found themselves inexplicably soothed by his presence as he knelt on the floor beside them. Up close, they got a better look at his face; his right eye was gold, his left was silver. The feather-like antennae that stuck up from his forehead were the same teal color as his wings, tipped with crimson red that mirrored the bold markings on his face and arms. Scars were scattered across his arms, and a few on his face. Darion realized they were staring and looked away hurriedly.

“What’s your name?” The man asked. He set down a bag he had carried in and pulled out a length of bandages and a water jug.

“Darion.”

The man poured water onto a cloth and reached out to take hold of Darion’s arm. His hands were rough with callouses, but he was gentle as he pulled their arm out and began to clean the wounds there.

“My name is Whisper,” he said. “I’m usually the one who takes care of injuries.”

Darion bit back a hiss as the cloth rubbed against a particularly nasty cut on their arm. “How did you end up here?” They asked. “I’m guessing ‘healer’ isn’t your specialty – and he seemed pretty obsessed with that.”

Whisper smiled briefly. “I was a thief. Best in the land,” he added sardonically. “There was nothing I couldn’t steal. Never got caught either.” He set the aside the blood-stained cloth and reached for the bandages. “The Master caught sight of me when he was in the capitol for the Solstice Summit, about three years ago. Someone dared me to steal a visiting princess’s necklace.” He sighed wistfully. “I nearly pulled it off perfectly.”

He had finished winding the bandage around Darion’s arm, and pulled a pair of scissors out of the bag to cut the cloth.

“That’s nothing compared to you,” he said. “The Master was ecstatic to have acquired you – The Onyx Blade – nothing more than a shadow in the underworld.”

Darion looked at the ground as Whisper shifted to move behind them and began tending to the wounds on their back.

“Clearly I wasn’t good enough,” they said bitterly.

Whisper scoffed. “Just the opposite, I’d say. The Master is only interested in the best. The fact that you got caught speaks more to his skill than your lack of skill.”

They fell silent as Whisper worked his way across their back. The cool water helped alleviate the burning on their back, even if it stung almost as much. After several moments, Whisper spoke again.

“You were an assassin,” he said. “Did you…enjoy it?”

Darion fought back the urge to snap that they still were an assassin, technically, even if they were currently…employed in different work. “I don’t – like it,” they answered hesitantly. “At least – I don’t kill people because I enjoyed it,” they corrected. “I guess…there are parts of it that I like. But I’m not bloodthirsty, the way some people I know are.” They stopped and contemplated the question before continuing. “I do – did it because I had to,” they said. “I’m good at it, and it paid well.”

They didn’t say that they did somewhat enjoy the power that came with their name, and the fear that people exhibited around them. In the underbelly of society, fear was the best way to stay alive. If that meant that their ledger was dripping red, then they could live with that.

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Tag list! Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed :)

@starnight-whump @chifechi

[mercurygray]

Currently Reading:

Breath Like Water, Anna Jarzab. Teenage swimmer deals with the pressures of growing up, falling in love, and trying to qualify for the Olympics. It has been a while since I have so thoroughly enjoyed reading something. Jarzab's protagonist Susannah has a refreshingly honest voice, and she very much feels like a kindred spirit to me. If this is a YA novel, I have forgotten it thoroughly while reading. 10/10, would recommend.

Currently Watching:

The Gilded Age (Season 1) - Hire me for the writers room, you cowards. I have ideas.

Vikings: Valhalla (Season 1) Period drama on Netflix that picks up 100 years after the events of the previous seasons of Vikings and follows the dynastic drama that will eventually lead to 1066. Will be watching again and again for reasons.

Just Finished:

The New Yorker Book of War Pieces: London, 1939 to Hiroshima, 1945 - John Hersey's essay on Hiroshima should be required reading. Why have I never read it before? Send tweet.

The Unwomanly Face of War, Svetlana Alexievich - Oral history of women with the Russian military during World War Two. Deeply personal and incredibly moving. This one has been on my TBR for a while and did not disappoint.

Never Caught: The Washingtons' Relentless Pursuit of Their Runaway Slave, Ona Judge, Erica Armstrong Dunbar - I found this book because Armstrong Dunbar is currently serving as the historical advisor/executive producer for The Gilded Age and thought it would be a good read for the end of Black History Month and the start of Women's History month. Dunbar takes a lot of very small details and manages to not only make Ona Judge into a whole person, but also contextualizes her and her world, and corrected some misrepresentation I had about Judge. Very good, would recommend.

Absynthe, Brendan Bellecourt. I actually gave up on this one. Fiction, steampunk 1920s with an oppressive government trying to infect everyone with a virus hit a little too close to home and the way in which information was revealed was a series of extremely clunky flashbacks. By the time I was 75% of the way through the book I legitimately did not care how it ended. Would not recommend.

The Chosen and the Beautiful, Nghi Vo. An alternate reality and semi-magical take on Gatsby. I wish I wrote this well. I aspire to write this well. Incandescent prose, stunning execution. Never was a copyright expiration so well used. Highly recommend.

The Four Feathers (2002) Movie based on a 1902 novel by A E W Mason. A man who resigns his commission shortly before his unit is shipped to the Sudan during the 1898 war follows his friends and redefines what it means to be brave. Very Kipling, very 19th century imperialist. I watched it for the cast (Ledger, Sheen, Bentley, Penry-Jones) and was not disappointed.

[humandisasterskywalker]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker Additional Tags: Pre-Relationship, Whump, Angst, No Beta We Die Like Clones, alternative universe - different masters, Miscommunication Series: Part 5 of Whumptober 2021 Summary:

Whumptober 2021

Day 5 - I'VE GOT RED IN MY LEDGER

betrayal & misunderstanding & broken nose

“What was it you said about him. That he was a ‘nuisance that trailed around your Master like a lost Tooka.’ That you’d ‘drop him back off on Tatooine if you could’. Don’t worry Obi Wan I’m sure all of us would be resentful about your Master’s supposed chosen one if we were in your position.”

“I’m just gonna go,” said a small voice.

Of Course Obi Wan had resented Anakin at the start. His Master had tried to throw away their new bond to take on Anakin instead. But he'd grown on him over the years. They had grown close. Not that Obi Wan had told his other friends that.

.

.

.

Obi Wan was sure he would never enjoy being in the council chambers. As an initiate when he feared not getting a master at all they were a place of potential failure. A place where his dreams could die. Where he would be rejected.

When he was a Padawan those very fears had become true within this chamber. His Master had been willing to throw away their new bond for the nine-year-old slave boy they had found on a mission to Tatooine. The council had rejected the move, reminding Qui-Gon Jinn of the responsibilities he had undertaken when accepting Obi Wan as a Padawan but he had never forgotten the feeling of rejection. Of his despair when he felt he was being cast aside.

“By the right of the Council, by the will of the Force, Knight Kenobi, you may rise."

A  Lightsaber flared and with a swing, his Padawan braid fell to the floor.

Obi Wan reached forward, picking up the braid before standing. The council was arrayed around him. They were smiling, Master Yoda in particular looked pleased, almost smug. As if some sort of plan had been seen to fruition.

Qui-Gon was stood in front of him, looking uncharacteristically emotional. Obi Wan smiled at him before presenting him with the braid. As difficult as the early years of their apprenticeship had been, as much as their relationship had never truly been repaired from that mission he could not help but appreciate that his Master had stuck with him ever since. That he had fulfilled his promise. That he had seen him through to Knighthood.

“You may go Knight Kenobi.” Master Windu said with a knowing smile. “I can sense your friends are already outside ready to celebrate.”

Obi Wan bowed to the council before turning and leaving the chamber.

As suggested there was a crowd of Senior Padawans and young Knights waiting just outside the door.

“I can’t believe you’ve done it!” Bant squealed, throwing her arms around him.

Obi Wan raised his eyebrows. “Did you have that little faith in me going into the trials?”

She pulled back, hitting him in the arm. “I didn’t mean it like that and you know it!”

Obi Wans face broke into a smile.

“I only meant that you’ve been self-deprecating ever since you became a Padawan and I am over the moon that you have finally proved yourself wrong.”

“You have subjected us to multiple monologues about how you were never going to be good enough to be a Knight” Greef agreed ruffling Obi Wans hair. “It did seem that you were you’re own worst enemy. None of us ever thought you’d have a problem, you always worked harder than any of us did.”

“Speak for yourself!” Bant laughed. “None of you have to spend hours on the wards in the Hall of Healers.”

Greef grinned at her “I apologise greatly Bant, please ensure that I still receive top notch treatment when I am dragged in after a mission.”

“You would be better off not having to come into the chambers at all.” She retorted.

Quinlan threw an arm around his shoulders. “Where are we going to celebrate then. I owe you revenge after the state you got me into after my Knighting.”

“I think you only have yourself to blame their Quin, no one said you had to do shots of all the spirits in that bar.” Obi Wan laughed.

“You issued it as a challenge. I do not say no to challenges.” Quinlan said his arm tightening around Obi Wans neck.

“And that challenge,” Bant interjected “Resulted in all of us back in the temple within hours with both of you making acquaintances with the fresher floor. Can’t we have a slightly quieter one this time?”

“Never! Quinlan crowed before tilting his head considering, “But then again, if we stayed out longer it might be possible to see what happens when you get beyond a couple of drinks Bant. No, I’ve changed my mind. We’ll do it your way.”

Obi Wan smiled as they began to bicker. It had been too long since they had all been at the Temple together. He had missed it.

“Congratulations are in order I hear.”

Obi Wan winced, turning towards Bruck Chun.

“Thank you Bruck”

“You must be very happy, not to have to put up with that brat from Tatooine trailing after you anymore. You can get away from him now that your not with a Master that cares more about him than you.”

“Piss off Bruck!” Greef growled.

“What, I’m just saying I’m impressed. It must be difficult to get knighted when your Master is more interested in someone else's apprentice.”

He smirked.

“What was it you said about him. That he was a ‘nuisance that trailed around your Master like a lost Tooka.’ That you’d ‘drop him back off on Tatooine if you could’. Don’t worry Obi Wan I’m sure all of us would be resentful about your Master’s supposed chosen one if we were in your position.”

Obi Wans friends had gone quiet. Grey-faced.

“What Obi Wan, not willing to remember everything you complained about him. How you wished he was never found and was left in slavery.”

“I never said that!” Obi Wan snapped. “Yes I said I resented him, yes I said complained. I may have wished we never went to Tatooine and that I never met him, but I never wished he was still a Slave.”

Bruck looked triumphant.

“Obi-“ Bant sounded pained.

“I’m just gonna go.” Said a small voice.

Obi Wan whirled round. Anakin was standing off to the side, he hadn’t noticed him after he left the chamber, mobbed as he’d been by all his former creche-mates. Anakin's face was carefully blank. Obi Wan had never seen him display fewer emotions. Obi Wan could normally read him like a book, but now he couldn’t tell anything. It was like Anakin was shutting down.

He turned to leave, slipping behind the crowd and walking down the corridor.

“Anakin, Ani wait!”

Obi Wan pushed through the crowd, Brucks voice echoing behind him.

“Looks like you’ve managed to ruin another relation there Obi, what is it with you being unable to maintain any sort of connection.

“You absolute dick!” Quinlan shouted jumping at him.

Obi Wan ignored the sound of the scuffle, trying to chase down Anakin.

He had walked quickly, the door on the turbo-lift already closing. Obi Wan caught sight of his face before the door closed. It was like a knife being driven into his heart. Anakin had never looked that upset before, even in the early days when he was homesick. And it was all because of him.

Anakin was nothing if not predictable, and had a small list of places he tended to go when upset, so Obi-Wan had assumed he would be able to find him quickly.

He was wrong, Anakin wasn’t in his quarters and Master Koon had not seen him. He wasn’t in the quarters he shared, well used to share with Qui-Gon. He wasn’t in the Speeder or Starfighter hangers. He wasn’t in the mechanics' office. He wasn’t in the small area in the basement where the Temple kept their mouse droids.

He couldn’t find him.

Obi Wan let his feet take him towards the Room of a Thousand fountains. Anakin wouldn’t be there, he had always hated meditation. That was one of the things he used to complain about. When Anakin had first come to the Temple he used to disrupt Obi Wans attempts to meditate all the time, but over the years he had grown almost fond of the disruption. He expected it. Not that he’d ever told anyone.

He headed towards his favoured spot, an area near one of the waterfalls.

It was already filled.

Anakin sat with his back to him. He was sat in a meditative position but Obi Wan knew he wasn’t meditating. His body was vibrating with repressed tension.

“Was it true?” Anakin said without turning to him. “Was what Brock said true, did you say those things about me?”

Obi Wan sighed. He sat next to Anakin, staring into the water.

“No… It wasn’t… That. That is not how I said it!”

Anakin closed his eyes before nodding.

“So that's a yes.”

Obi Wan felt constricted as if he could barely breathe. He felt like something was collapsing, that he was losing something significant. A bond that he had never truly accepted, but was now being ripped away from him.

“Anakin it was years ago.” He said frantically, “When you first came to the temple. I was hurt from what my Master said and I took it out on you to my friends. It wasn’t true!”

“I thought you were a superhero.” Anakin said dully, “I worshipped you. I thought you were the ideal Jedi, the role model for me to aim for. You were the one person here who I knew. The one friend I had. And all that time you were complaining about me. Laughing about me to your friends. Resenting me.”

He looked at Obi Wan. For the first time, he saw the passion that Anakin was so often caught up in directed at him. It wasn’t just sadness it was deep anger.

“Was I truly that oblivious? That the whole time I spent following you, trying to get a small part of your attention you were hating me. That you didn’t want me around. That I was making your life worse.”

“Anakin-“

“You could have told me to back off. I would have done it. I would have done anything you asked me to.”

“You can’t mean that.” Obi Wan said desperately.

“I do,” Anakin said with such surety. Like it was something that had never been questioned. That it was a simple fact in his life. “Well, I would have done, before.”

Obi Wan couldn’t accept it. This couldn’t be true, he had to find a reason why this wasn’t true.

“Anakin you were only nine when you came here, surely you can’t commit yourself so sure when you're that young.”

“Why Not? Clearly, you committed yourself to how much you resented me. You never told Bruck otherwise”

“Come on Anakin, I was thirteen years old being bothered by someone four years younger than me that would never shut up. How was I not supposed to be resentful!”

Obi Wan regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. They were harsh, not at all what he meant. Why couldn’t he talk to Anakin? Why could he only hurt him?

He wasn’t shocked when the first connected with his nose. He would have done it to himself if he was able.

Anakin left, storming out of the room shaking his fist.

Obi Wan stayed sat, holding his nose to stop the bleeding. He felt bereft. Like something had been irreparably broken.

This had supposed to be the best day of his life. The day that he finally achieved all the dreams he had ever hoped for. But it no longer felt like it.

He felt adrift. It was far too quiet. He felt desperately alone. And the worst thing was, he knew it was entirely his fault.

[lovelivresse]

Laurent of Vere being iconic a bitch in Captive Prince #1

“An Akielon grovelling on its knees. How fitting,”

“I’m not desperate enough that I need to soil myself with filth,’ said Laurent. [...] ‘Break him on the cross. I believe that will discharge my obligation to the King of Akielos.”

“So the country will be ruled by a bastard and a whore,’ said Laurent. ‘How appropriate.”

“Yes. How lucky that you were informed. I would hate to inconvenience you, uncle.”

“We must have some conversation. You see: I have asked after your health, and now I am reminiscing. I fondly remember our night together. Have you been thinking about me this morning?”

“A slave laid hands on me and I had him flogged for it.’ Calmly.

‘Twice,’ said the Regent. ‘Against my orders. The second time, against the advice that it might lead to his death. Almost, it did.’

‘He’s alive. The advice was incorrect.’ Again, calmly.”

“You look like a whore.’ The soft words barely stirred the air by Damen’s ear, inaudible to anyone else.”

“Why do you delay?’ Laurent held out his hand and smiled. ‘The slave and I have embraced and are joyously reconciled.”

“Your uncle wants to see you.’

‘Does he? Let’s make him wait.

[...]

Nicaise lifted his chin. ‘I’m going to tell him you waited on purpose.’

‘You can if you like. I just assumed he’d guess, but you can save him the effort. Since we’re waiting, shall I call for refreshments?’”

“The slaves?’ Laurent said, after a slight pause. And then, with renewed drawling scorn: ‘Am I supposed to believe you care about their welfare? How exactly would they be treated better in Akielos? It is your barbaric society that forced them into slavery, not mine. I would not have thought it possible to train the will out of a man, but you have managed it. Congratulations. Your show of compassion rings false.”

(about Govart) “He certainly had my blessing to fuck you, but it turned out he’d rather take a blow to the head. Disappointing, but I can’t fault his taste.”

“He’s thirteen years old,’ said Damen, and found himself subjected to Laurent’s long-lidded gaze. ‘Is there anyone at this court who isn’t my enemy?’

‘Not if I can help it,’ Laurent said.”

“Nephew. You were not invited to these discussions.’

‘And yet, here I am. It’s very irritating, isn’t it?’ said Laurent.

The Regent said, ‘This is serious business between men. It’s no time for childish games.’

‘I seem to recall being told to take on more responsibility,’ said Laurent. ‘It happened in public, with a great deal of ceremony. If you don’t remember it, check your ledgers. You came out of it richer by two estates and enough revenue to choke every horse in the stables.”

“What are you doing? You were the one who warned me about Nicaise.’ He spoke in a low voice.

Laurent went very still; then he deliberately shifted in his seat and leaned in, bringing his lips right to Damen’s ear. ‘I think I’m out of stabbing range, he’s got short arms. Or perhaps he’ll try to throw a sugar plum? That is difficult. If I duck he’ll hit Torveld.”

“He looks combative, but he’s really very docile and adoring,’ said Laurent, ‘like a puppy.”

(this happened after Nicaise stabbed Damen with a fork) “‘I wouldn’t mind being given a knife.’

‘Or a fork?’ said Laurent.”

“Let go! I haven’t done anything,’ said Nicaise. He rubbed his wrist when Damen released it. To Laurent: ‘You let him speak to his betters like that?’

‘Not to his betters,’ said Laurent.”

“I thought it was terribly unfair of you,’ drawled Laurent, ‘to burn the skin of your slaves when you would not let me flay mine even a little.”

“In my part of the fight the men were not helpfully killing each other,’ Laurent said.”

“I assume I am to drag these three derelicts out myself?’

The soldier in charge flushed. ‘We’ll remove them. Of course. Is there anything else you require from us?’

‘Haste,’ said Laurent.”

“Yesterday I brutalised him. Today I am swooning into his arms. I would prefer the charges against me to be consistent. Pick one.’

‘I don’t need to pick one, nephew, you have a full range of vices, and inconsistency is the cap.’

‘Yes, apparently I have fucked my enemy, conspired against my future interests, and colluded in my own murder. I can’t wait to see what feats I will perform next.”

“I don’t have a petition. I just wanted to speak with you.’

‘Fond goodbyes?”

“You have to admire it,’ said Laurent, in a detached voice. ‘It’s the perfect time to attack Akielos. Kastor is dealing with factional problems from the kyroi. Damianos, who turned the tide at Marlas, is dead. And the whole of Vere would rise up against a bastard, especially one who had cut down a Veretian prince. If only my murder weren’t the catalyst, it’s a scheme I would wholeheartedly support.”

“Damen flushed. ‘You will have one more person standing between you and your uncle. Isn’t that what you want?’

‘My dear brute,’ said Laurent, ‘I want you to rot here.”

[schnoogles]

Temporary Escapes written for the @jonsa-halloween event! Day 1: Wargs/In The Dark Read on Ao3

Sansa and Jon are ruling the North together after the defeat of the others. Sansa, already prone to making up stories and bury her trauma, finds an escape in warging into birds, soaring high into the skies to escape her fears and nightmares. Jon worries though. Varamyr once said birds often cause wargs to be disassociated with reality.

__

The knock on the door shook Jon out of his stupor. Going through ledgers was his least favourite part of ruling, he found it boring. And going through them late at night was just abysmal. He shook his head and called out to the door. “Enter.”

“Your Grace?” a timid looking woman peeked through, “Pardon the interruption. It’s just- well you told me- uhm- always come fetch you-”

“Gwin? Remember what we talked about? Speak freely, please.” The poor woman had been around during Ramsay’s reign of terror. And sometimes, she still felt like she had to tiptoe around Jon. He’s been working with her to try to get her to feel safer in the walls of Winterfell. It’s a work in progress. 

Gwin, very much still distressed, started over, “Your Grace, she’s doing it again. And I can’t get her to stop.”

Jon shot up to his feet, “How long has she been at it?” Already marking his place and closing the books, Jon was ready to leave immediately. They both walked out and headed towards the sleeping chambers as Gwin answered.

“I’m not sure. She was like that when I found her, and I tried making her stop, but she wouldn’t! I’m sorry.” Gwin was wringing her hands as she tried to keep up with Jon. He noticed.

“You did all you could Gwin,” he reassured her, “If you don’t mind fetching some warm washcloths and hot water?” Gwin nodded and turned to leave. Before she could get any further though, Jon called out. “And Gwin? Thank you.”

__

Jon carefully opened the door to their chambers and saw her sitting there, in the dark. She was by the window, a cup of ale sat next to her untouched. With her back to him, she looked as if she was just gazing out at the night sky, admiring the stars. Jon knew better. It’s been a while since she’s done this, but every time it happened, it lasted longer and longer.

He walked over to the window and knelt in front of his wife. Even though he knew what to expect, every time he saw her eyes a pure white instead of her usual Tully blue, his heart broke, just a little. “Sansa? Darling, please wake up.” No answer. He knew waking a warg up from skinchanging was near impossible, but damn it he’ll try. Cradling her face, he leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers. All he could do now was wait. 

It was probably less than five minutes later when her eyes flashed blue again. “Jon?” she whispered, still in a daze. “What are you doing?”

“Sansa? I lost you again, love. You went away.” He kissed her sweetly, gently. “You promised you wouldn’t do this anymore.”

Tears filled Sansa’s eyes. Afraid that even speaking too loud would somehow cause her memories to resurface, she whispered, “I didn't want to, I swear. But when it got dark, it was like the monsters came back. The echoes of knives scraping, of fabric ripping, their voices. I couldn't take it. All I felt was alone and I felt trapped. I didn’t like it. I just wanted to go away for a little; escape reality for just a bit. I forgot myself.” She was softly crying now.

“Shh shh, it’s alright love. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have left you alone like this.” Before he could say anything else, Gwin returned.

“I’ve got the washcloths and hot water Your Grace,” setting down the items, Gwin curtsied and retreated, but she hesitated by the door before turning around and spoke to Sansa. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you, Your Grace. I’m glad to see you’re back.”

Sansa smiled at the kind woman. “It’s not your fault, Gwin. You’re my lady’s maid, not my slave. You aren’t expected to be at my beck and call at all hours of the day and night. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you, turn in for the night and rest. Have tomorrow off even, I don’t mind.” 

Touched by her queen’s kind words, Gwin returned the smile and left.

Jon picked up the washcloth and dabbed Sansa’s face, clearing off any sweat he’s sure has dried off since. Sometimes he wishes Bran had never taught Sansa to hone her warg skills. Skinchanging into one of Winterfell’s hunting dogs -into Ghost even- was one thing. But skinchanging into birds? And so frequently? He worried for her. Varamyr once said that birds cause skinchangers to be disassociated with reality. He knew that’s why Sansa did it though. The horrors she’s seen and the trauma she’s been through would cause any man to wish it all away and escape. 

“My love you can’t do this anymore, please,” Jon quietly begged. “One day you might not come back to me.”

“I’ll always come back to you Jon.”

He sighed. After the light cloth bath he gave her, they quietly dressed for the night. Though their marriage started off with many awkward silences, they now lived with moments of comforting quietness. When he had finished brushing her hair, they went to bed. He wanted to know what today’s trigger was, but he would never ask her. Sansa would tell him when she was ready. He was on the precipice of sleep when she was.

“Jon?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think I’ll be a terrible mother?” Her voice was soft, filled with an anxiousness he couldn’t quite name. But it was what she said that had him wide awake, turning to face her.

“Absolutely not. Where is this coming from love?”

He could feel the hesitation radiating from her body. “I saw Maester Wolkan today.” She whispered to him, as though afraid of his reaction. But Jon didn’t notice, his heart was beating wildly. He was told not to hold much hope, Sansa had been through too much.

“Sansa?”

“Jon, I’m with child.”

The euphoric feeling in Jon was indescribable. He pulled his wife over to his arms and peppered her in kisses. “That’s wonderful news Sansa.”

“Is it?” 

Jon immediately stopped his affections. Had he read the room wrong? Did she no longer want children? Did she not want his children? His mind was spiraling and Sansa would have none of that.

“Jon, I’m happy. Incredibly so. But after everything that’s happened to me, what if I can’t be the mother that our child deserves?”

“Impossible. Darling, I think we both have fears when it comes to raising a child. But we can’t hide from our fears. Or warg ourselves away.”

“I know.”

“We can’t rely on magic to escape. Gods know how I wish I could just warg into Ghost whenever Glover talks.” Sansa laughed at that. Jon has done that once before, and the Lord of Deepwood Motte didn’t take his King’s absence too kindly. 

“Jon, what if our child becomes a warg?” There was worry in her voice. If she could so easily get addicted to skinchanging, who’s to say their children wouldn’t?

“Then we’ll teach them.” He said simply. “We’ll teach them right and proper. Stark blood runs through their veins. Blood of the First Men runs through their veins. If they'll have magical abilities like I think they will, then we show them how to handle it."

Sansa still wasn’t reassured. “And we’ll make sure it’s not a clutch?”

Jon smiled at his wife in his arms and nodded. “We’ll make sure it’s not a clutch.”

10 years later

A dog was trailing behind Sansa, trying to get her attention. When it did, she turned around and looked at it. It tilted its head back. Sansa sighed and put her hands on her hips, ready to lecture.

“You get your skinny little arse out of there and back to your lessons Sarra!” 

The dog whined and then suddenly looked at Sansa curiously, as if wondering How did I get here? Sansa huffed and continued on her way.

When she arrived at her destination, she went in and closed the door behind her. She didn’t say a word until she had his undivided attention. 

Jon took his time to carefully sign the last bit he needed, put down his quill, and looked up at his wife. “Yes, dear?”

“Your daughter-”

“Now hold on.” Jon was affronted with her implications. “Why is she only my daughter when she’s in trouble? When she does something wonderful, suddenly she’s yours too?” Sansa pouted. “C’mere love. What did she do now?”

Sansa planted herself on her husband’s lap and placed her hands on his shoulders. “She skipped her lessons again by warging into one of the hunting hounds.”

Jon’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Don’t be impressed!”

He laughed. “I’m sorry darling, but for a nine year old, even you have to admit that’s pretty impressive.”

Sansa sighed. “I just don’t want her warging so much and so soon.”

Jon suddenly understood. It’s been a few years since Sansa last skinchanged into anything, but her fears were not unfounded. “We’ll talk to her tonight. We’ll explain why it’s dangerous to warg so much, alright? I promise.”

“You promise?”

“Have I ever broken one?”

Sansa blinked.

“Right.” Jon cleared his throat and picked Sansa up, bridal style. “Up we go, Your Grace.”

Sansa yelped and clung onto Jon for fear of falling. “Jon! Where are you going?”

“Where are we going, my love.” Jon kissed his wife and she laughed.

“Alright, where are we going then?”

“To the bedroom of course.” He had a few broken promises to make up for. Sansa giggled all the way to their bed, sure she wouldn’t want to warg anytime soon.

[kat-hawke]

Kul Tiran Backing

A puddle broke beneath the soles of the Director's boots as she journeyed through the rain across the city of Boralus. Eyes swept across open streets from beneath the hood of the long coat, drops of water cascading off to the sides. The amount of rainfall here stirred up memories of her Gilnean childhood for only a minute before she shifted focus to the upcoming meeting.

"I don't think I've ever seen you nervous," Alyssa chimed across the telepathic link. "Anxious, sure. But nervous—"

"Are you making a point here, or?" Kat interrupted.

"No. Just curious. Why does she make you nervous and not anyone else?"

"It's not her. It's the topic at hand. Doing this puts an unnecessary risk on other financial ventures and our relation, should she decline. Yet, I'm left with little other options to seek funding." Kat admitted as the office came into view across the plaza.

"There's also the matter of what I plan to do. Pad her funding line with my own coin to avoid potential investigations into my financials. She won't like it, I know. To keep that behind her back creates more risk while revealing the matter could turn her away."

"Well, if she doesn't need to know, then why risk it? What she doesn't know won't hurt her." The dagger-bound woman practically shrugged in her tone.

"It could hurt us both. I'll consider your point," Kat sneered.

Drowning out the warlocks reply, she swung the office door open, the bell above the frame emitting the soft chime throughout the space, announcing Kat's arrival to the noblewoman seated at the desk. Pulling back the soaked hood with a smile, the pair commenced with the standard pleasantries. An informal greeting, inquiring on one another's state of wellbeing, and a brief catch-up of the recent Scourge invasion.

"My family is all well and safe, and Stormhollow did not suffer the Scourge. I would consider things well and good." Lady Stalsworth answered as she eased back into the seat, following their courteous handshake.

"Glad t'hear," Kat nodded, swinging one knee over the other as she dropped into the adjacent chair. "Gransonee was spared from the dead risin' again as well. So, no effect on our current arrangements as it stands." She paused for a moment. "Unless, of course, ya' wish fer changes?"

"Unless there are reasons why I should wish for changes, I see no need. Do you?"

The Director shook her head slowly. "None wot-so-eva. Th' profit flows, th' people are happy, and the hamlet has been able t'repair and expand some infrastructure. Most importantly, it keeps Jasper out of m'ear."

Elaianna chuckled in a breath, a faint smile touching the corner of her lips. "You did not write to me about our current business affairs, but rather, a new one if I am to understand your letter correctly?"

The pleasantries were dismissed. Both women preferred to discuss business over the former at every meeting.

"That is correct, yes. While this proposal is of another nature, it bears no effect on the current trade agreemen'." Kat cleared her throat, ignoring a comment from Alyssa as she pulled a ledger from the coat. "I'm sure yer aware of th' current state of the Kingdom, yes?"

"Presuming you mean things such as the King's absence and an ill-chosen replacement on the throne in the meantime? Yes. I cannot say things are any better here, as the Lord Admiral has also gone missing."

"I was referin' more t'the current economic situations." The Director clarified, collecting her hands upon the leather cover of the ledger.

"Aye," the Lady dipped her head in a shallow nod. "Such things come with recent events."

"More-so when on th' tailwinds of a long and costly war," Kat added. "Stormwind is, well t'be blunt, fractured. Th' military cutbacks, coffers empty...surely ya' know wot follows there. Taxes and overexertion. Th' nobles houses are all in a tiff, vyin' fer favors and agreements in exchange fer gold. Sharks, th' lot of 'em."

"I am an affluent woman, but I cannot cease an entire kingdom from going into taxation," Elaianna remarked, weaving her fingers together and studying the Director. "So what favor and agreement are you looking for?"

Kat quickly wet her lips, knowing her discomfort in this proposal was visible to a small degree, and while the dagger-bound woman was silent, Kat knew she was listening. Without further delay, she promptly opened the ledger to her Unit's budget and slid it across to Elaianna.

"I do no' have th' time or patience t'lobby the houses while they are in congress fer fundin', nor would I likely care for th' things they ask in exchange. My Unit is internal affairs, we are no' combat facin', but many believe wot we do is of little value."

"What -do- you do? Especially in times post-war?" Lady Stalsworth inquired, glancing over the ledger.

"Th' same as we would durin' war. We handle issues that extend beyond th' capabilities of the guards; serial killin's, drug cartels, slave rings, th' occasional cults." Kat picked at her nails in her lap, out of the other's view.

"Our latest project has no' been well received by m'peers, and I narrowly dodged havin' the Unit axed with my proposal. With the right resources and time, we could document and categorize these dangerous people's thought processes and mental states. Study them, if you will, and create a possible method t'detect these behaviors before they manifest into somethin' larger. However, with no fundin' or resources, I canno' produce the results needed to keep my Unit from disbandment."

"And you're looking for..." Elaianna asked as she found no estimated total within the ledger.

"Wot eva yer willin' t'give." Kat answered plainly. "I hate t'even ask at all, given our current professional relationship. And I certainly do no' expect charity either."

The Lady nodded again, motioning toward the Director. "Would monthly increments be of use, or were you hoping for a singular lump sum?

"Monthly would be ideal, luv'. A lump sum may create too much of a surplus that others may try to pillage."

"I can commit to supporting your Unit on a monthly basis." Elaianna pushed the ledger back across the desk with her answer.

Inquisitively, Kat stared and collected the ledger, returning the book to her coat as she hesitantly asked, "And in return?"

With a simple shrug, the Lady answered, "I would ask what I would hope you would already do. If you happen upon any knowledge of a threat to Stormhollow or my family, you will let me know so that we might protect our people and ourselves."

A soft hum rattled with Kat's throat. This was something she would have done already, yes. But while Elaianna had never given her a reason to be mistrusted, Kat struggled to believe one would ask only this in return for funding. A thought that Alyssa did little to dismiss.

"That I would already do, yes. Though I will add that if ya' have an issue within Stormhollow that falls within wot m' Unit handles, I would be more than happy t'direct focus there until the matter is resolved."

"Thank you."

Kat lifted her hand, "it is I who owes ya' thanks, twice over."

"Then let us call it a deal." Elaianna smiled, extending her hand over the desk to cement the agreement.

Now at the crossroad of revealing or secreting her intend, Kat's conflicting thoughts churned again as she eyed the offered hand. Forcing her way through, she began to reach but recoiled at the last second.

"Don't do it," Alyssa argued to no avail.

"There is one more thing," Kat muttered, clearing her throat.

"I will pull funds from my personal accounts, those undocumented linked to Gransonee. Doin' so on m'own would draw attention and force m'hand into revealin' th' island and hamlet publicly, which would then force a pledge to the Alliance or vassalage t' a noble house. Against the wishes of its people. I will hide th' funds I sent in the same ledger line as yer own." The Director admitted, letting out a heavy breath as if a weight had been lifted.

"I wanted ya' t'know, rather than keep it hidden from ya' and risk an auditory blowback."

Immediately, Elaianna's lips pursed, and a low hum vibrated behind the displeased expression as the offered hand was withdrawn. The silence which followed lingered uncomfortably between them for a solid minute as Kat held her breath and avoided the Lady's gaze.

"I suspect such will not pose a problem," Elaianna finally spoke, "as it is assisting the Kingdom."

Kat's shoulders dropped as she relaxed and let out her breath.

"I wanted t'be honest and transparent in m'intentions than lead ya' blind and risk everythin'."

"I appreciate that," The Lady smiled faintly. "Thank you."

"Th' consequences will be mine, and only mine t'bear should anythin' happen." Kat offered her hand to complete the transaction with a nod, relieved when Elaianna nodded and took the hand in a firm shake.

"Let us hope such things do not come to be."

Standing to exit, Kat fixed the position of her coat, which had shifted slightly while seated. The hood remained down, as the sound of rainfall beyond the door had ceased during their exchange.

"Light and Shadow keep ya' and yer family, Lady Stalsworth."

"Tides guide you and yours, Lady Hawke."

Resisting the urge to correct and discourage using such a title, Kat resigned to dipping her head and turning towards the door. Quickly leaving the office and taking in the scent of the city after the rain. She knew Alyssa overheard every word and would likely inquire on details but cut the inquisitive warlock off before she had a chance.

"Another time," Kat implored, "I promise. Just give me time."

[ @elaianna, @alyssa-ward​ ]

[ Relevant: @tristanasneak, @jocelyn-wellson, @myzariel, @nikkithorpe, @lovelydeadlysocialite, @quinn-varden ]

[gravitascivics]

A PANTHEIST IN THE MIX

The purpose of this posting is to review, in a few words, the effect of Ralph Waldo Emerson – known to his acquaintances as Waldo – on the Transcendentalist movement in the US.  This account will be spotty but hopefully cover the importance of Emerson in advancing and, at times, inhibiting federalist values.  He initially set out to do his work in religious venues – he trained to be a minister – but in time he left that behind.

         Probably his most utilized stage was that of an essayist.  Originally, his efforts usually appeared as lectures that he then converted into written form.  His overall messages portrayed him as a champion of individualism and as a social critic.  As such, he portrayed an uncanny ability to foresee developments as he repeatedly set out to dispense good advice in relation to countervailing societal forces.  

In that effort, he described how and why those forces did what they did. For that, he enjoyed an expansive audience that grew not just across the nation but extended into Europe.   From his 1500 or so lectures, one can find the core of his thinking in the first two published collections of his essays, those being Essays:  First Series (1841) and Essays: Second Series (1844). A few of his well-known essays include “The Over-Soul”, “Circles”, “Experience”, “The Poet”, “Self-Reliance”, and his most famous piece, “Nature”.  

And underlying his main themes was his transcendent view and reliance on the role of intuition in determining one’s knowledge and the direction one takes in life.[1]  As a cited source puts it, using Emerson’s words,

… he explicitly identifies Transcendentalism as a form of philosophical Idealism. Emerson wrote:

As thinkers, mankind have ever been divided into two sects, Materialists and Idealists; the first class founding on experience, the second on consciousness; the first class beginning to think from the data of the senses, the second class perceive that the senses are not final, and say, The senses give us representations of things, but what are the things themselves, they cannot tell…Society is good when it does not violate me, but best when it is likest to solitude. Everything real is self-existent. Everything divine shares the self-existence of Deity…[Kant showed] there was a very important class of ideas or imperative forms, which did not come by way of experience, but through which experience was acquired; that these were intuitions of the mind itself; and he denominated them Transcendental forms.[2]

         On more political topics, he espoused the potential of the individual and of his/her freedom to seek those potentials.  This individualism should not be seen as the one seen in the twenty-first century.  It was more a concern for the integrity of a person and his/her challenge to overcome his/her weaknesses or other obstacles in life.  

And in true Romantic spirit, he extoled the virtues of nature.  Some would consider his philosophic bent to eventually become a pantheist or pandeist.  He is quoted as saying, “In all my lectures, I have taught one doctrine, namely, the infinitude of the private man.”[3]  His political contributions gained steam during the Civil War years.  

An antislavery person, he initially shied away from entering that arena.  But probably as a reaction to the number of his friends and family members being outspoken critics of the institution, he eventually joined the fray. Besides a series of lectures opposing slavery in 1837, he began taking a more active role in 1844.

Beyond giving speeches, he hosted John Brown in his home in Concord.[4]  During the war he met with Abraham Lincoln and upon meeting him, changed his estimation of the President.  His initial concern with Lincoln was that he was not as committed to ending slavery as he was in saving the Union.  His face-to-face meeting convinced him that his judgement was not accurate and became one of Lincoln’s great admirers.

So, on the pro-federalist side of the ledger, Emerson strove toward inclusion of blacks into the political partnership of the nation.  In that, he had no hesitation in promoting his belief in the need for a civil war and seemed to consider it as a rebirth of the nation.  On the not so federalist end of the scale was Emerson’s attraction to Thomas Carlyle.  Apparently, the Scot had a profound effect on Emerson.  

As alluded to earlier in this blog, Carlyle was a strong proponent of the superiority of the Anglo-Saxon “race.”  In this, one can sense an exclusionary trait and the degree to which Emerson shared this belief is not clear.  Emerson wished for Carlyle to visit America and served as a sort of agent for the historian on this side of the ocean.  The two kept up an ongoing correspondence until Carlyle died in 1881.[5]

In this blogger’s opinion, Emerson did much to secularize American thought.  His opposition to slavery helped bring an end to that scourge on American federalism.  His travels, both domestic and in Europe, led him to meet just about everyone of any note in the literary as well as the political world of his time.  Early on, while living in St. Augustine, Florida, he even met a nephew of Napoleon Bonaparte, Prince Achille Murat. They became close friends as they discussed the heady topics of the day such as religion, philosophy, sociology, and politics.[6]

That stay in Florida was where Emerson witnessed slavery firsthand and noted that on one of his outings to a Bible Society meeting, there was a slave auction taking place nearby. He is quoted as expressing, “One ear therefore heard the glad tidings of great joy, whilst the other was regaled with ‘Going, gentlemen, going!”[7]  

         The history of Emerson’s time and his influence betray much of American culture of the 1800s.  While his family’s background spanned the European experience in North America up to his time, he helped further define what the espoused political values of his countrymen should be.  In his efforts, he was more a force for liberating the prevailing federalist thought than adding to its parochialism.  In that, he helped Transcendentalism as a movement stay true to the nation’s basic moral stand in defining its political proclivities.

         Eventually given the title, Sage of Concord, he is judged to have upgraded the art of lecturing.  Reported are the later thinkers and writers who were influenced by Emerson’s work, and they include William James – who happened to be Emerson’s godson – and Nietzsche.  And despite his anti-establishment religious turn, he is credited by some as having a great influence on American theology.  With the focus this posting gives this great American lecturer/essayist, the blog ends its review of the Romantic/Transcendentalist movement in the US.

[1] David Boersema, “American Philosophy,” Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy:  A Peer-Reviewed Academic Resource (n.d.), accessed September 20, 2021, https://iep.utm.edu/american/#H2 .

[2] Ibid.

[3] Ralph Waldo Emerson, Journal entry, April 7, 1840.

[4] Len Gougeon, Virtue’s Hero:  Emerson, Antislavery, and Reform (Athens, GA:  University of Georgia Press, 2010). 

[5] Robert D. Richardson, Jr., Emerson:  The Mind on Fire (Berkeley, CA:  University of California Press, 1995).

[6] Peter S. Field, Ralph Waldo Emerson:  The Making of a Democratic Intellectual (Lanham, MD:  Rowman and Littlefield, 2003). 

[7] Richardson, Emerson, 76.

[giasonesdream]

The Art TA, Tae...

Hi, so I was inspired by this gifset created by @95z​

Such a simple yet effective post, because this is what I came up with:

Your university wasn’t an art school by any means. With an expansive campus run rampant with prospective business people and research scientists, the last thing on the majority’s mind was the history of your personal favourite painter, Carravagio.

Not that it mattered to you...since you weren’t an Art Major, yourself.

But you hang with that crowd, somehow drawn to the open and relaxed spirits of those that spent their lectures with paint brushes in their aprons, or calloused fingertips from strumming the strings of some orchestral instrument. In summation, despite your academic plan leading you down the path of Foreign Communications, you always somehow found yourself in the Art Building during your spare time.

It was a rather cozy building, stacked with the same warm tone bricks used to make the goliaths just across the street, on the main campus. If the Science building wasn’t on it’s own separate street, as well, you could’ve sworn the School Board held some vendetta towards Art Majors.

So the trek is comfortable, jay-walking in the middle of the day as the streets are normally empty during this time of the day. Your friends are scattered throughout the small building. The halls are narrow and cozy, almost makes you feel like you’ve walked into a new world of secrets and mystery. Paintings, portraits, and mixed media line the cement walls.

Despite knowing that there are people in the rooms evidently from the various noises that come muffled from the wooden doors, it’s always so quiet and empty when you’re there. It’s a rarity to share the hall with another human, and it’s normally a treat when you do.

Like today. The both of you are walking from opposite ends of the hall, coming closer.

He doesn’t have a face you recognize, but some primal part of your brain wishes you did. Chocolate copper tresses veil his forehead, slipping under the thick framed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He’s adorned in black trousers that seem to fit his waist perfectly, but with suspenders that contrast the simple...ridiculously obvious shirt fitting to his shoulders. You can’t stop the grin that pulls at your lips upon reading the painter’s name written clearly on the maroon fabric: Van Gogh. 

The stranger is in the midst of rolling out his neck, his shoulder twitching up to adjust the leather strap of his messenger bag going across his body. When he seems satisfied with stretching his neck, his gaze falls to yours. It’s so sudden, you don’t have time to look away, to try and pretend like you hadn’t been checking him out just a second before. 

In order to save your dignity, you go for a smile, something you hope comes across as friendly and kind. But his gaze is piercing, even beyond the lenses of his glasses that catch the reflection of the light hanging above, you can see it. Brown eyes boring into yours, almost like a challenge, daring you to keep his stare or look away.

Maybe later on you’ll curse yourself, kick at your own ass for not wanting to be confrontational or even the slightest bit rebellious. For now, however, you drop your eyes to the floor, just as your paths cross. Christ, where had your confidence gone?

What’s more, that primal part of your brain doesn’t think, only reacts. Curious as to see the stranger from behind, you turn your head back, and there it is again: that stare, that stone gaze catching yours. This time, though, it’s coupled with a smirk, one side of his lips turned up into a smile. Of course, you only notice that you were caught in the act, and you snap your head back immediately, quickening your pace to get to the end of the hall as soon as possible.

With the Art Department being so small and intimate, it’s not hard to learn about the stranger, the man that has somehow made a name for himself with his eccentric fashion, someone who was able to stand out even to the Art Students literally is that even possible?

He’s a mid-level Art History Teacher’s Assistant named Kim Taehyung. Thankfully, one of your friends has a class that he assists, and he’s quite talkative in class. From what your friend has told you, he likes to converse with the students before class, try to read the room’s mood levels before the professor joins them. Your friend doesn’t remember if he’s in Graduate School working to be a professor himself or to open up an Art Gallery. Seems like two completely different career ventures-

“You’re not from here.”

The voice snatches you from your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. One of your friends is in his Music Theory lecture in the lower level of the building. It’s probably the creepiest, most eerie section of the building, and mainly your biggest piece of evidence that the Art Students get the short end of the stick.

Your stare had been a mile long into the wall opposite of you as you leaned against the cold, hard surface. And the last time you were aware of your surroundings, you’d been alone.

So to hear someone else talking-

“Oh my go-” you exclaim, quickly lowering your voice. You don’t want to disturb the lecture going on just on the other side of the wall. You finally follow the direction in which the voice had came, low and smooth enough to wrap around some inner part of yourself.

Speak his name, and he shall appear.

Standing to your side is the aforementioned Kim Taehyung, the TA you’d passed in the hallway just a couple days ago. Your heart is still pounding in your rib cage, but now it’s unclear as to what the cause of that is. 

He laughs, holding out his hands in front of him, like a sign of not being a threat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You give yourself a moment to calm down, taking the time to give a quick once-over the outfit for today. Students in the Fashion Department must have a field-day with how he styles clothing. Again, he’s wearing simple black pants, maybe a little less fitted than the pair he wore the other day. Today’s eclectic shirt is a button down with geometric shapes of all sizes, staying in the colour story of red, white, and gray. Again, simple, but bold.

“Um...what?” You ask on an exhale.

“I said ‘you’re not from here’,” Taehyung reiterates. “I’m pretty good at remembering faces of the staff and students that normally frequent this building. You’re a new one.”

You hum in agreement. “Right. No, my friends...I’m waiting on a friend that’s in this lecture. Most of my friends are Art Majors.”

Taehyung nods, pushing his glasses up his nose. “So, what major are you, then?”

It’s an easy conversation to have, especially on campus. Everyone wants to know what plan someone else has, especially if they have no idea what they’re working towards themselves. So you explain your major, your plan to work in foreign affairs for some big company.

“...or, atleast, that’s the goal,” you finish.

“Is that the dream, too?”

It takes a minute for the question to process. Even as it does, you still respond with a furrow of your brow in confusion.

The TA leans his shoulder against the wall, loosening his posture, and you have the desire to mirror his relaxed state.

“Well, what I mean is...you say that it’s your goal, but is that career move what you dream of doing?”

Being in your last year of university, this was already a talk you have had to have with yourself. When you slaved away over your French Oral Presentation, or going through the motions of General Accounting, you knew what you would have rather been doing with your time. Ledgers was far from it.

What makes you hesitate, though, is whether or not you should express this honesty to a virtual stranger. Attractive or not, were you willing to open up about something you’ve already lamented over?

Sighing, you sink into the wall. “Not even close.” His expression is patient, waiting for you to explain. “If I didn’t crave financial security, I’d spend my days and nights here, working on creative writing projects...maybe diving so deep into the world of Gentileschi that I could transport back in time to when she thrived. But alas...I graduate this Spring.”

When Taehyung nods, he looks thoughtful, mulling over your words. Much to your surprise, his silence doesn’t feel awkward, but you do have questions of your own.

“What about you? I heard you’re...either trying to open an Art Gallery or become a full time professor. Which is it?”

With a tilt of his head, a laugh threatens to stumble past his pursed lips. “Did you ask about me?”

At your slip-up, your mouth hangs open as you try to stumble for a response. You hadn’t even thought about that, about how it would sound for him to know you were already trying to figure out who he was after one encounter.

“Oh...I, uh...well- okay, yeah, you.” You breathe a nervous laugh. “Your shirt had caught my attention, and you-”

“I caught your attention,” guesses a rather smarmy Taehyung. He seems to find some entertainment in your slight panic, which actually helps to calm your nerves. When you finally settle, he continues. “I wanna do both, actually. Even when I graduate, I know there’s still more I can learn. Why not get paid while I continue the journey, right? Plus, I’d need to grow a savings so I could start off with some backing-”

“Man, you’d fit right in with the Business Department. Especially the Accounting Students. They go nuts for financial plans and forecasts.”

Taehyung shrugs. “Nothing wrong with having a plan in place. Just as much as there’s nothing wrong with not having a plan.”

His words, for some reason you couldn’t even explain to yourself, gave you reassurance and solidarity. Your future had been set since the moment you stepped foot onto the university’s campus. And though you would have nights where you longed to stray from the path laid out, you kept on course. And with only months left of your undergraduate schooling, the finish line was just over the horizon, already pooling into view. 

But everyone knows that with finishing one race, you only start another. Not a race, no. A marathon. A marathon that the man to your side was giving you comforting words would go well even if the lines in front of you blur or obstacles come.

Again, the silence is nice, filled with words not spoken but ease and welcome vibrations.

The lecture room door opens, and the noises from inside spill out into the small corridor. Jeongguk will be out soon.

“Welp.” You straighten up, pushing away from the wall. “It was nice to meet you, Taehyung. A rather interesting first conversation.”

“Wow, you know my name! And I never even learned yours.”

Right. You tell him your name, listen as he tries it out on his own tongue. It shouldn’t sound as intimidating as it does, given that he’d already seemingly jumped head-first with the deeper topics of discussion. 

“First conversation?”

“Huh?”

“You said it was an interesting first conversation. Does that mean you’d want to have a second? Maybe even a third?”

He feigns a scandalous look that makes you giggle. “Hell, we might even have a fourth.” He gasps deeply.

He nods towards the lecture hall. “Well...now you know where I am on Friday’s at this time of the day. The joys of only having one lecture hall in the building.”

You roll your eyes, your disdain seeping through. “Ugh, that’s so ridiculous. This building really should be a lot bigger.”

“Won’t argue with you, but what are the odds that we would’ve run into each other if that was the case?”

It’s a sweet sentiment that doesn’t match the wink he sends your way.

The hallway is busy now as the current of bodies flow. Taehyung starts walking toward the classroom. “I’ll see you around, yeah? Give me time to guess which Gentileschi painting is your favourite.”

With a grin, you nod, giving a small wave as he enters the classroom.

When Jeongguk finds you, you both make your way through the building. He’s already going into a ramble about his final project for his film class. You both have a habit of sliding your fingertips against the walls, tapping along the heavy surface.

Taehyung was right about that. You still believe the Art Department could have more, be more, but there’s a charm in how small it is...intimate.

[fenrys-moonbeam-lochan]

Fenrys x O.C. (Lorcan’s sister) + Lorcan HC

So I created an OC and here are some headcanons about her relationship with Fenrys though it features Lorcan equally.

Lorcan doesn’t even know that he has a sister until the Demi - faes of Doranelle start demanding equal rights. In their haste to find evidence of wrongdoing against Demi fae slaves, the new reign uncovers a current Demi fae slavery ring, one Maeve had been willings overlook. There they find a young that according to the ledgers was being trained to be the next ‘Lorcan Salvaterre’.

After some more investigation, they figure out that the girl, fourteen years old, shares the same father as Lorcan. They take the information to Rowan and Aelin who think of the best way to tell Lorcan.

They finally call him in and tell him all the facts. They had been ready for an outburst, anger, confusion, a combination of all but what they did not expect was to see Lorcan sitting there looking tired and resigned.

“I never learned much about my father, but I know he was heartless, it doesn’t surprise me who would give his daughter over to Demi fae slavery during a time when it’s gone out of fashion,”

“I didn’t even know you knew your father,” said Rowan. Lorcan just shrugged. Neither of them asked him anything else.

Rowaelin and Elorcan travel to Doranelle. The king and queen so they can help deal with the slavery ring and Elide to support Lorcan.

According to the healers, the girl refuses to talk and sits in one place waiting to be told what to do.

Everyone is confused but Lorcan knows exactly what to say and what to do and how she will react to different people. Again, Aelin and Rowan wonder what’s going on. Until they realize that this little girl was being raised to be the next ‘Lorcan’ which means that Lorcan probably went through the exact same thing. 

“I don’t know how I feel, Rowan. God, can you imagine him going through all the shit written in that book. As a child too, it says here they started learning ‘proper’ archery at age five and that a bone in their body was broken every time they missed. How are people this cruel?” Rowan grimaced, “Unfortunately there are people who don’t really see Demi fae as people. To them, it’s equal to animal cruelty,”

The girl is most comfortable with Lorcan and Elide because of their scents. She doesn’t have a name to Elide tells her the story of her mother, Marion, and tells her that she can have that name if she wants. So, she becomes Marion Salvaterre Lochan.

Marion is still too fragile to change location but Elide and the others have to go back. So, Rowan, Aelin and Elide say their goodbyes and leave Lorcan with Marion.

It takes six months for Marion to be mentally ready to travel. Six months of nightmares, of screams, and crying. Six months of Lorcan staying with her and helping her the way he wishes someone had helped him. Of telling her jokes, of making her smile and then making her laugh, of letting her learn who she is.

They take a small ship with a crew that leave them alone as she is still not good with too many people being around her. Once she gets to Perrath, she refuses to leave for a while and Lorcan and Elide let her be. Letting her realize that this can be home and she can always come back there if she decides to travel away.

After a few months, she starts to make small trips to the Witch territory. They took her to Ornyth once but she took one look at the busy streets and the people, so much louder then Perrath and promptly refused to go in. She adores the wastes though.

She starts calling Lorcan Abba, a title for a father figure. He cries out of joy in Elide’s arms the first time she says it.

It takes her a year to be able to go back to Ornyth and warm up to the rest of the Court. Fenrys wasn’t there at the time though. He heard of her through the others and was helping to rebuild and make connections. Five months into Marion having arrived at Perrath he asked Aelin for some time off, to mourn and reflect and take care of some things back home. There was a lot of land and wealth of his parents that had to be dealt with under the new regime.

He comes back to court a year later, feeling a refreshed and stronger just in time for the winter holidays. Marion was supposed to make the trip but decided against it and stayed to entertain the people of Perrath while the Lord and Lady came to Ornyth. Fenrys just shrugged it off. Plans change and he’d have other opportunities to meet Lorcan’s little sister.

A little after he’s sent to an Eastern kingdom to their version of the winter holidays that takes place after a few weeks of the Erilian ones. He’s supposed to make a good impression, spend the holidays and understand their culture. Nothing strenuous. Just fun. So, he participates in one of their rituals. Turns out once you do you can’t leave the city until the next holidays. It’s a little annoying especially since the two other countries with similar rituals are asking for Aelin’s court member to participate. Basically meaning that he won’t be able to go back to Terrasan for at least three more years. However, Fenrys is young and full of adventure and takes it as a challenge.

Aelin and Rowan take wyvern and fly out to see if he’s really okay.

“Seriously, don’t worry about me. It’s a little annoying but the people are nice. It’s like a challenge and I’ll be able to learn more about these people, maybe smoothe ways more future relations. And anyway, I know you will rescue me if I really want to come back,”

Aelin and Rowan leave him there. Though Aelin makes sure to write letters all the time and Rowan goes to visit him during the holiday season and brings him back once he’s done with his duty there. 

In the three years that he was away, Marion has been growing both physically and as a person. She’s some months over eighteen and being in the company of badasses ladies like Aelin, Elide, Lysandra, Yrene and so on has made her more confident and self reassured. She still doesn’t like to be around people but that only applies to those she doesn’t know. The citizens of Perrath know her as the dancing fairy because she loves to dance and can be found in some random garden doing so. She is kind, selfless and full of life and makes her abba proud every day by how much she’s learned to enjoy and love life.

The thing is, her magic is strong and sometimes she has outbursts that she can’t control. Lorcan used to have them too and they stopped once he settled. Until then, Marion has some exercises that she uses to calm herself down. She can even feel them coming and prepare.

Once Fenrys gets back he busies himself with court life and travels, meeting other ambassadors. Once the fall celebration comes around, he’s actually looking forward to meeting Lorcacn’s sister, along with Lorcan and Elide’s twin children, Zirrek and Salva Lochan. He’s heard a lot about them. Once the family shows up the twins are there and they love Fenrys and refuse to let go of him. There’s no Marion though and Fenrys is a little put-off. Especially considering Lorcan won’t give a straight answer as to why Marion is not here

Thet thing is, Marion’s magic has been acting up a lot more and she already doesn’t like being away from Perrath too much and especially not with her magic going wold. The healers say it’s because she’s close to settling and she promptly decides not to leave until she’s settled.

“You know that could still be months away. Our magic doesn’t exactly follow the norm. Mine started acting up seven months before I actually settled,” “I don’t care. I’m not going,” “Fine,”

Lorcan doesn't like talking about Marion’s problems with other people though, he lets her decide what she wants to explain. Everyone else in the court knows what Lorcan’s vague answers mean but Fenrys doesn’t. At the winter celebration, there is again no Marion even though she used to attend every celebration in the years before. He quietly asks Rowan what’s different this year, and Rowan knowing about Lorcan’s not talking about Marion thing just shrugs and says ‘nothing’.

Fenrys thinks about it a little more and realizes that he’s the thing that’s different. Putting together what he knows about Marion and Lorcan and thinks that somehow his personality might have kept her away.

He tries not to let it get to him but it does and it shows. Lorcan still comes to Ornyth every month with reports, sometimes twice and brings his children who adore Fenrys. However, Fenrys becomes chilly toward Lorcan.

No one understands what’s going on. Except for Aelin.

Cause Aelin knows everything.

She tells Lorcan to talk to Fenrys.

“What is it with you Moonbeam? I thought we were getting better,” “Am I supposed to pretend you trying to keep your sister away from me doesn't bother me,” “WHAT?!”

Lorcan clears up the misunderstanding, stunned that Fenrys would even think that. “My children adore you, they call you their ‘wolfy’ and their ‘Fenny’. Why would I keep a member of my family away from you? Anyway, Marion does what she wants and nothing I say deters her,” 

Then Lorcan and Rowan have a crisis over the fact that their little pup is more self-deprecating then both of them combined and ‘we need to fix that’ ‘Definitely’. It’s the first thing they’ve agreed on for a while.

Eventually Marion settles, is named an heir to Perrath and has to start making trips to Ornyth.

Fenrys meets her at one such meeting, starts flirting with her before he even registers who she is, tries to apologise and “It’s alright. I feel like I already know you, I’ve heard so much,” “All good things I hope?” “Depends on who’s telling,”

She takes him out and shows him some of his favourite places in Ornyth. Marion has a very different social life so they’re places Fenrys doesn't frequent. A hole in the wall pub, where they get tipsy, a small flower garden where they make crowns and a dance studio where Marion dances with him.

By the time they come back, it's dinner time and Lorcan’s waiting for them. He asks how their day was and seems happy their getting along. Fenrys feels silly for thinking that Marion was deliberately staying away from him.

Life goes on and Fenrys and Marion become closer and one day after dancing the evening with Marion, Fenrys realizes that she’s his mate. There had always been this tug between them and looking into her eyes earlier...yeah she was his mate.

Overnight his behaviour changes. He becomes nervous around the Salvaterre siblings again. No one knows what’s going on. Except, Aelin.

Cause Aelin knows everything.

Once again she intervenes and sends Fenrys to Lorcan. Turns out he’s actually pretty cool with the whole thing, it’s actually Elide who has a bit of a problem, being protective of the younger woman.

Marion isn’t ready for a romantic relationship though so they both do their jobs as an ambassador and future lady and stay close friends. 

About four decades later, they start dating, another year after that, they get married. Elide walks Marion down the aisle while Lorcan walks down Fenrys, ‘the future Lord Lochan’

“You know I always thought you two balanced each other out,” “Really?” “Yes, you’re like a wild storm and she’s a gentle breeze but you both love celebrating life as much as the other does,” “What so we make each other better?” “No, it’s like me and Elide. She’s the calm ocean and I’m the raging one, we complement each other or like Lysander and Aedion. Lysander is a wild spirit with a calm heart and Aedion is a calm soul with a wildness that can come forth. They bring out the most in each other,” “next you’re going to be saying poetic words about our king and queen,” “Ones a firestorm and the other is an ice one and they both act like children riling each other up until something explodes,” “oh god, please say that to their faces,” “shut up,”

Ambassador Fenrys Moonbeam becomes Lord Fenrys Moonbeam Lochan and couldn’t be happier

[excathedras]

@theophanie.

     HE’S  BEEN  PREPARED  FOR  THIS,  for confrontation,  for a while now,  a few days less than a fortnight.  the summons came on a blustery fall evening,  and with them a name mentioned in caesar’s letter that sounded unsettlingly familiar in his mind.  it gnawed at the fringes of crassus minor’s memory as if he were trying to recall a holiday from years ago,  trying to make faces of names,  people from neat scrawl on a damp piece of parchment.  

       frustrated,  it led him to rifle through his father’s accounts,  flipping through years of ledgers and guestbooks,  scanning through endless lines of meticulous penmanship detailing every household matter from the counts of feathers in pillowcases to outputs of silver mines in africa.  he found the name in the manifest of slaves,  and suddenly a deluge of memories returned to him,  permeated by grammar lessons and the afternoon sun coming in the atrium,  and the awkward exchange of glances as dinner was served.

       years away from his family have re - carved marcus from entirely different stone,  leaving him chronically humiliated by the disposition of his former fallen state and its constant reminder that lived on in his father and younger brother.  constantly,  he reveals that dreadful shame,  in some never - ending emotional prostration to remedy what he can never remedy.  and yet,  in a way,  marcus is glad that shame is the worst he has to live with.  it is a luxury he knows that others cannot indulge in.

       still,  it curls in his stomach,  makes his hands clammy and his eyes flighty as he sits in warm tent,  longing for the brisk freeze outside to calm him.  just as he thinks it,  a gust of air sighs through the opening.  crassus minor stands to greet him.  he would recognise his face anywhere.  “meto,”  he says,  trying to be kind but he fears that he comes across perhaps a little strangled.  “i hope you’ve been well.”

[littlemonstersau-blog]

Meet The Parents

Written by @jkl-fff, illustrated by me

————————————————————————————————

Bill, meticulously arranging props in front of laptop: … Okay, that looks enough like organization getting unintentionally messy … [puts cotton balls in cheeks to make them rounder, straightens tie, puts on stolen glasses, picks up pen] And now, to wait for the skyelp to come through! [bends over “homework” as if dutifully studying … holds exact pose for over 5 minutes while quivering with excitement]

*laptop chimes as skyelp comes online*

Dipper, excitedly: Will? You there? I’m here with Mom and— [registers costume (especially new additions of sweater vest, tie, and glasses) and gasps]

Bill, beaming and voice-cracking: Dippy!

Dipper, breathlessly happy: … h-hey there …

Ms. Pines, squealing softly to her husband: My gosh, he’s so cute!

Mr. Pines, just as softly and trying not to laugh: He looks like a tiny, Irish accountant. Like he’s balancing the ledgers for the Leprechaun King.

Ms. Pines: I know! I just wanna pat his chubby, little cheeks and put a pencil behind his ear!

Dipper, blushing: M-Mom! Dad! Don’t embarrass me with B-Will! [clearing throat] Um, Will. This is m-my Mom and Dad.

Bill, dripping with wholesome enthusiasm: Pleased to meecha, Ms. and Mr. Pines! I’m William Corduroy, but you can call me Will. Or even (ugh) Willy, if you like.

Ms. Pines: Well, Willy, it is sooo nice to finally meet you!

Mr. Pines, sternly: What are your intentions with my son? [gets smacked by wife while son groans] What? C’mon, I had to ask it at least once. I’m a dad!

Bill: My intentions? [flashes through everything he’s imagined doing with Dipper since the twins had to go home … it’s pretty wild; blushes; starts to sweat] hhh … HOLD HANDS! MAYBE KISS FACE! CH-CHERISH! [gestures helplessly at Dipper] I mean, look at him! What else could anyone intend with him?!

Ms. Pines and Dipper: D’awww!

Mr. Pines, still sternly: You tell me. What else do you intend?

Dipper, burying face in hands: Oh, Moses, Dad …

Ms. Pines: Dear, stop, you’re making the poor boys nervous. And teenage boys already sweat enough as it is. Just look at Dipper.

Dipper: Mom!

Ms. Pines, insistently: We can have a talk about … safety and responsibility later. [Bill and Dipper exchange a horrified look] Right now, we’re here to get to know Dipper’s little boyfriend. So stop acting out clichés for 5 minutes, please. Now, Willy … um … How’s your day been? What’ve you been up to?

Bill, relaxing visibly as things go back on script: Oh, y’know. Same old, same old. School. Now I’m just here at the library, gettin’ my homework done for the weekend. [gestures at prop “homework” like a good student] Sorry I couldn’t do this at home where you could meet my dad, but we don’t have a computer. If you can believe that. It’s also why I’m still wearin’ these school clothes.

Dipper, confused: School clothes? Gravity Falls schools don’t require uniforms. They’re public.

Bill: Oh, well … Today was … special.

Dipper: Did you … dress up just to impress my parents?

Bill, a little defensively: Golly, I just wanted to make a good first impression! So your folks’ll, y’know … like me. And let us keep being together.

Ms. Pines, charmed: Oh, don’t worry, Willy. It worked; I think you look absolutely darling!

Bill: Gee, thanks! I can see where Dippy gets his sweet personality!

Ms. Pines: Oh, you!

Mr. Pines, rolling eyes: Okay, honey, dial back the falling for cheesy compliments. Anyway, Will, what do you like to study?

Bill: Oh, I really like math. Especially … trigonometry.

Dipper, snorting: Pff! Seriously? Oh, um, inside joke.

Bill: Perpendicular.

Dipper: Hahaha! C’mon, man, be serious!

Bill: Let’s see … I also like psychology. Dream analysis is fun, ‘cause then I getta tell people that, like, I’m the boy of their dreams … analysis! At least, I getta tell Dipper that.

Mr. Pines, snorting: Okay, I’ll give you points for that one, kid. Dad Joke level of corniness. 6.5/10.

Bill, grinning: Gee, thanks!

Mr. Pines: You getting good grades in math and psychology?

Bill, playing at modesty: Oh, golly, sir. I don’t wanna brag … But it is easier to work hard when it’s fun, y’know? Unlike the way they do history classes here.

Mr. Pines: Boring teachers?

Bill: Yeah. Plus, they’re complete schills for the conservative military-industrial complex. It’s bad propaganda done borin’ly.

Mr. Pines, perking up: What makes you say that?

Bill: Oh, the usual. The don’t even teach that Ben Franklin was secretly Gwen Franklin, that JFK was killed by mobsters from the future to keep him from becomin’ a robo-dictator, and that Ronald Reagan was a mind-controlled puppet put in power by a conspiracy of billionaires to keep colonizin’ other countries for their resources and essentially slave labor.

Mr. Pines: Ugh! Tell me about it! And it’s all because they want to keep the populace uninformed and easy to pacify.

Bill, defiantly: But it’s not gonna work on me! Or Dippy! We do our own historical research and stick it to the man!

Mr. Pines: Boo-yeah! Tear down corporate capitalism! [turns to wife] Okay, I like this kid.

Bill: I can see where Dipper gets his keen judgment of character. Along with his striking good looks.

Mr. Pines: Oh, go on!

*Dipper gives bill a secret thumbs-up*

Ms. Pines, smirking: Okay, now who has to dial back the falling for cheesy compliments? [turns back to Bill] So, math and psychology and rebellious history study … Given any thought to what you’d like to do with those when you grow up?

Bill, feigning thoughtfulness: I … think … I’d … like to make video games. Coding and design and such. But ones that make players think and be creative.

Ms. Pines, impressed: Really? Has Dipper told you that’s the kind of work I do?

Bill: What? No! Gosh, Dippy, why’d you never tell me! That’s just swell, ma’am! What kind?

Ms. Pines: Indie games, so there’s a lot of side-scrolling and retro RPG elements—very basic gaming elements— but sooo much more heart. And, like, artistic integrity. The kinda stuff that really touches people.

Bill, starry-eyed: That’s the kinda stuff I wanna make!

Ms. Pines: It’s not easy … but it’s worth it. So, how’d you and Dipper meet? When’d you start dat—

Mr. Pines: Wait, sorry, hold up. Is that a freakin’ skull? [points at shelf]

Bill, genuinely surprised: What? [turns, has to take off glasses to actually see] Well, gosh, it looks like it is.

Dipper, mouthing silently: Why in the 79 hells would you even put that there?!

Bill, honestly: I’m honestly not sure why the library’d have that. I didn’t even notice it.

Mr. Pines: Might wanna get your prescription checked, kiddo.

Bill: They’re reading glasses, so …

Dipper, mouthing silently: Where’d you even … ARE THOSE GRUNCLE FORD’S?!

———

[Meanwhile, back at the Shack, Ford, stumbling around all squint-eyed: Ah, Stan, there you are! Have you seen my glasses?

Sascrotch, standing mutely like a taxidermied figure: …

Ford: It’s the darndest thing. I’d swear I set them on the end table when I laid down to take a nap, but couldn’t find them when I woke up. Of course, I’m not having much luck finding my glasses without my glasses.

Sascrotch: …

Ford: What? Oh, am I still getting the silent treatment for saying you’re too old to have hair that long?

Sascrotch: …

Ford, indignantly turning away: Fine, who needs you anyway? I’d find them without your hel—

Ford, tripping: AAA!

Ford, lying flat on his face: … I’m alright!]

———-

Bill, continuing as if to the Dad, but actually to Dipper: It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. [goes and puts a book in front of the skull] There! Problem solved!

Mr. Pines: Yeah, that’s much bet … Is that The Necronomicon?!

Bill, genuinely surprised again: … Huh. Looks like it is. [picks it up, pages through it … shakes head] Nah, it’s just The Nockoffronomicon. You can tell ‘cause it doesn’t mention Shaggy or even Bob. And instead of Cthulhu, it’s dedicated to Cthhula. [puts different book in front of skull] The best dancer among the Elder Gods, am I right?

Mr. Pines: Heh … 7/10 for that one.

Bill: Gee, thanks! Anyway, um … D’you mind if I tell ‘em, Dippy? You’re sure it’s okay? [pretending to get bashful] So, um … Dippy used to have a crush on my big sis, Wendy. And ‘cause she works at the Shack, they’d be, like, hanging out together a lot. He even came over to the house a few times. And, um, naturally I had a crush on him from the get go, ‘cause just look at him! Who wouldn’t?

Dipper, blushing: Ah, jeez …

Ms. Pines: D’awww!

Mr. Pines, grudgingly: D’awww …

Bill, making himself grin and blush wholesomely: So I started coming along to hang out. Then, before I knew it, it was just us hanging out alone together. And we were exploring the woods one day when we found some wild mistletoe—golly, I told him, “That’s wild mistletoe. That’s what it looks like in the wild.” and then he said … No, he stepped under it first, then he said, “Guess we gotta kiss now.”—and so we kissed.

Mr. Pines, slapping his son on the back: You sly, little dog!

Bill: And I was like, “Gee, that was swell!” Can you believe it?! Real lame-o line to follow a first kiss, right? And he was like, “We could do it again, if you want.” And I said, “But, gosh, we’re not even dating! Everyone’ll think I’m a boy-floozy!”

Ms. Pines: HA! Oh, that’s precious!

Bill, giggling: Y-yes, ma’am! It was! And then Dippy, he said, “Well, be my boyfriend. We’ll start calling our hang-outs dates, and I’ll fight anyone who calls you a floozy.” It was soooo chivalrous!

Dipper, beet red and with his hands in his face: Stahp …

*a while later, after the parents have left*

Dipper, relieved: That … That went a lot better than expected. And they sure loved Willy Corduroy.

Bill, self-assuredly: Natch. I’m inescapably charming, no matter the alias. [pulls out cotton balls and tosses them in the trash] If you ever call me Willy, though, I will shank one of your stuffed animals. That was me takin’ one for the team. Which is us, by the way. The team is us.

Dipper: Heh! Yeah, I gathered that.

Bill: Still, I’m surprised they never asked about my eyes …

Dipper: Oh, I “warned” them in advance. Told them you had a medical condition, and that you were really sensitive about it.

Bill: Good thinking. You’re so smart. And handsome. And sexy.

Dipper, grinning: Stahp!

Bill, grinning back: Nope. Never. Because I love you.

Dipper: Hehehe! I love you, too … Willy!