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oranges8hands · 4 years

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It's Not Your Life to Give: Booker Edition

I'm assuming somewhere out there is already meta for why the exile wasn’t wrong, but fuck if you can find shit on tumblr anymore, so here's mine:

I'm not denying Booker needs help; he's suicidal, he's depressed, he's tangled in his own grief and loneliness, he’s got survivor’s guilt, he's likely got complex-ptsd along with his alcoholism and probably some other stuff. I admit, the shorthand of "fuck Booker" is not nuanced to that. That said, I am really not a fan of this fandom narrative that his depression, grief, etc, is a good reason for his actions [1], that his victims owe him enough immediate forgiveness to continue to help him in the aftermath of his actions, that he is the only hurting person in this situation, or that his (self)-destruction - obviously a common symptom - didn't blow up a very basic foundation between him and the others that doesn't just get waived away by an apology. (Which... he never actually offers? Fandom posits he apologizes and feels bad for what he does in the aftermath, but that's one interpretation, and canon can just as easily be read that he gets a little bit of a rude awakening when Andy is mortal, but frankly he comes across as someone who is sorry it didn't work out and he ended up in a worse place, not for what he did.)

Plus, I think a lot of fandom mindset works under what happened [2] and not on what he either planned or did not see the obvious pathway was going to happen [3], as well as ignoring some of the context he put into the situation (his resentment of Joe and Nicky didn't just magically disappear after they escaped), and are looking at his end result (even less familial support than before, in the apartment getting drunk - and shit knows loneliness/isolation is an esp hot button for people right now) and not on the fact he just sold out his family to experience their worst nightmares (a fact he's reminded of again in the middle of his betrayal) and that they can't trust him.

THEY CAN'T TRUST HIM. They had no way to see this coming because it would never have occurred to them, but that barn door is open now. What keeps him from calling in their new safe house? maybe finding a different kind of partner, leading them to another trap on a job? hell, maybe contact Kozak again [4] and see if she made any progress. share their secrets with someone new. do they have to hope Andy's mortality (which is the only thing that made him pause) will reach him enough when apparently their love and affection didn't before? what happens when she dies? what sign are they supposed to somehow intuit if he tips from bad mental health to making actionable decisions to try to die and dragging everyone else into it with him again? if someone picks up this trail of breadcrumbs Copley and Merrick left, is he going to help clean up or go with it? Basically, what stops him from doing this to them again? Like, I can arguably make a list for reasons I don't think they should have 100 year exiled him (though again, time works on a different scale for them [5]), but at this point I am definitely pushing back on the dominant fandom idea that the exile in and of itself was wrong [6], or that it was only a punishment. They are going to feel guilty for what they did/didn't do to help him, for not seeing how bad it got [7], (in Andy's case esp) for helping him lean into the bad coping mechanisms, and yeah some of that does need to be owned, but they should not feel guilty for him betraying them or needing time away to deal with that betrayal. It's funny, cause my immediate response after seeing the movie was that the betrayal story line did not work for me, but it's canon and the response that they should put aside their reaction to help him definitely feels like it ignores the severity of what he actually did to them and how long it could take to (emotionally, mentally) recover from it. That they owe Booker to put it aside to help him. That the others are wrong for the choice they made because of a situation he put them in. [8] He didn't mind them being tortured, being separated, or being dead; if they want a 100 years to figure out how to continue to love and welcome someone who would do that to them, how to trust someone like that again, they get a 100 years. And at the end of the day, even Booker understood that.

____________ [1] mental illness does not cause you to try to murder someone (and it is very clear that even if he thinks Andy wanted to die, he knows Joe and Nicky do not, not to mention Nile), and that's frankly a very harmful myth used to dismiss larger violent patterns irl

[2] 2 days of medical experiments, Andy being (luckily!) non-lethally shot, I'd add Nile's general mental well-being but lbr that doesn't tend to factor into it for fandom

[3] Joe, Nicky, Andy, and later Nile be taken and medically experimented on/tortured until... well, forever, cause honestly it's a big assumption they'd let them go or kill them even if they discovered the secret to their death; earlier on, Nile either being left alone - yanno, the thing he said was his reason for doing this (even if it's obviously just a part of the tangled reaction for why he did it) with no answers and forever dreaming about their torture and/or more specifically Nile being left at the mercy of the us military/govt with no answers and forever dreaming about their torture while experiencing her own.

[4] them not killing Kozak or destroying the lab was hollywood-sloppy - even though I totally love the hc that either a) their spilled body parts disintegrate after a bit or b) there is absolutely nothing in their system that shows their immortality - but it does mean there's a little more clean-up needed than Copley erasing some tapes.

[5] which is not an excuse to infantilize him? he's a grown man. he may be young compared to the others, but he's not actually a "teenager" and he's esp not too young to realize the ramifications of his actions (aka that his family won’t react well to him selling them out)

[6] maybe not the smartest choice in terms of safety since they'd have even less ability to see if he betrays them or himself again, and being split up makes them more vulnerable, but also not wrong; it's basically a load of shitty choices and that's the one they picked. cause like he said, what else can they do? frankly, now or in a 100 years, Booker is the one that needs to rebuild trust, but at least 100 years gives the rest of them some time to deal with their own trauma before having to deal with him either trying (or not) to fix what he broke, leaves them possibly more open and receptive to changes he’s made.

[7] though as someone whose been on both sides of it, the idea you should be able to just tell how bad it actually is for someone (or even tell that it is bad) is frankly not actually that realistic or fair; people are very often good at hiding and/or downgrading how bad it is

[8] and specifically that Joe is wrong for the choice they made. like the fact Andy and Nicky both want to get him out the building or that Nicky isn't vocal in his reaction means they didn't reach this decision together, that Joe is the only angry one, that Joe is the only one to aggressively pursue this course of action. like, come on, the pattern of this definitely comes from fandom's racism

#this is both a) a response to a comment of a comment on someone's fic and b) something I've been thinking about for awhile #I feel like this is less anti-Booker and more anti-fandom's prioritization of Booker's pain (which is what I am) but ymmv #I am back on my footnote bs #haha just kidding I never left it #cross the street #fandom repeat fight #in a very real way they kind of have to forgive him #or at least learn to live with it #a kind of preordained forgiveness #how fucking galling is that #to not get to decide forgiveness #to not get to decide how to *give* that forgiveness #and he knows it too #what are they gonna do kill me?

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years

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Hey Steph! I know that I for one would love for you to post that hospital fic list! No pressure tho!

(referencing this post)

Hey Nonny!!

YAY!! Ask and ye shall receive!! <3 I have wanted to post it for awhile; I try to hold off as long as possible since every week I do get enough asks to keep me going; and when I want to post a list, I put out a *winkwinknudgenudge* and people like you indulge me hahah! <3

ANYWAY, check it out! Thank you for asking!! <3

HOSPITALS Pt. 2

See Also:

Hospital Fics

Rehab/Mental Hospital AU (Community Recs)

A Room of One's Own by whitchry9 (K+, 2,174 w., 5 Ch. || S2 Timeline, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Coma, John Whump, Worried Sherlock, POV John, Angst, Friendship/Bromance, Hospital) – When a severe head injury lands John in a coma, somehow he ends up in Sherlock's mind palace. It's actually pretty nice there, and John is entertaining the notion of staying there, rather than returning to his broken body. But Sherlock isn't taking it as well, and John can feel him breaking around him.

Reversed by whitchry9 (K+, 3,072 w., 6 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Medical Anomolies, John Gets Shot) – The man pointed his gun at John's chest, right at his heart, and shot.' Wherein John is shot, and Sherlock is the one panicking.

As You Wish by PipMer (K, 3,311 w., 1 Ch. || Bromance/Pre-Slash/Epic Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, John Whump, Hospitals) – When John woke from his coma, he wasn't at all surprised to see the wrong Holmes brother sitting at his bedside. Disappointed, but not surprised.

What Did I Do Wrong? by Starlight05 (T, 7,880 w., 5 Ch. || Hurt Comfort, Angst, John Whump, Hospitalization, Worried Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil, Nightmares, Sherlock Being Dumb) - After John almost dies on a case, Sherlock disappears. So John is left to figure out what he can do to get his best friend back. Meanwhile Sherlock, guilt-ridden and willingly alone, is doing everything he can to stay away.

A Study in Linguistics by rizandace (T, 12,425 w., 1 Ch. || S1 Canon Compliant/S2 Divergence, Friendship, Slices of Life, Communication, Cranky Sherlock, Hospitals, Sherlock Whump, Pet Cat, Jealous John, Sherlock’s Violin, Anxious Sherlock, John Whump) – Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had their own language. It was a language of few words and minute facial expressions, and John had learned that it was nearly the only way to have an honest conversation with his eccentric flat mate.

I Think I've Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

A Week is Just Seven Days Isn't It? by scifigrl47 (T, 39,906 w., 4 Ch. || Humour, Friendship/Bromance, Stroppy/Bored Sherlock, Undercover/Army John, Texting, Pining-ish Sherlock, John Whump) – When John heads overseas for a week, Sherlock's forced to fend for himself. It goes about as well as anyone could have anticipated. Which is to say, very, very poorly. Don't worry, things'll be fine in just seven days.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love, Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

The Burning by SrebrnaFH (M, 60,658 w., 24 Ch. || Reverse Reichenbach, Suicide, Depression, Hurt Sherlock / John, Separation, BAMF John, Good Big Brother Mycroft, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fake Character Death, Rescue Mission, Reconciliation / Reunion, Hospitalization, Marriage Proposal, Illnesses, Physical Therapy, Happily Ever After) – Something went very, very wrong. John had seemed, if not happy, then reasonably content with his life. Sherlock had never predicted something like THIS might have happened. Not in his worst nightmares. He was the lousiest friend ever, apparently. At least Mycroft found him something to occupy his mind with, so that he didn't have to go back to 221B and stare at the walls and the chair, where John Watson would never sit again.

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller, Switchlock, Rimming, Emotional Lovemaking, Lots of Sex, HJ/BJ’s) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #hospital fics #Anonymous

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lo-55 · 4 years

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Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 20

Deal or No Deal?

Achilles appears beside Chad and Orhihime, dressed in his black under armour and holding only his shield. He looks unassuming, for one of the most famous heroes in history. A whisper in the trees and he knows that Medusa and Cu have taken up their posts, but none of them move to interfere. Cu and Achilles have too much respect for a deal made by warriors to come between the two of them, and Medusa will stay where she is unless he looks like he’s going to die.

Which he won’t.

He can’t let himself die yet.

He has far too much to do.

Zangetsu sings when he blocks a tiny cero aimed at him. It cuts easily to both sides of him and blows up a tree violently. Ichigo blocks each one that’s lobbed at him, until Yammy yanks out his zanpakutou and swings it viciously at Ichigo.

Ichigo blocks, narrowly, and swings Tensa out of his sleeve in an uppercut that nearly spills Yammy’s guts from his body. If Hollows have guts.

He doesn’t actually know.

Yammy howls and keeps taking wild, viciou swings at him. He’s strong, and powerful and angry.

But that makes him stupid, too.

Ichigo bolts between his legs when he lifts his sword above his head and avoids a blow that leaves a chasm in the park ground. Ichigo spins on his knees and brings his shorter blade around to slice through Yammy’s tendons on his legs, then up his back with Neive.

On the chance that their Zanpakutou work like his he lops off Yammy’s other hand when he tries to flail behind him and kicks the sword into the trees.

Ichigo levels Neive to Yammy’s throat and stands still.

He’d learned a long time ago not to let people ‘level up’ if he could help it.

“Yield,” he ordered coldly. He didn’t feel much like Ichigo Kurosaki, Substitute Shinigami right now. He felt like Ichigo Kurosaki, Master of of Chaldeas.

“Fuck you!” Yammy snarls at him. “You can’t do this!”

“Funny,” Ichigo says, “I just did.”

He turns his eyes to Ulquiorra, who’s impassiveness is broken only by a slight widening of his eyes.

“Well?” Ichigo asks, not taking his blade away from Yammy’s throat.

Ulquiorra tilts his head. “I will have to confer with our Lord.”

Ichigo bristles. “You made a deal,” he snaps. He sees Achilles start to rise and Cu step out of the trees. The whisper of chains and serpents to his right reminds him that they aren’t alone. All it will take is one word for him and they’ll tear through both of them brutally.

“I didn’t think you would win.”

Ichigo will give it too him. He’s honest.

“We shall return, when Lord Aizen sees fit.”

Before Ichigo can move to stab him or give the order Ulquiorra turns and tears the air apart.

It splits like a mouth, gaping into a void. Unceremoniously Ulquiorra appears in front of Ichigo in a burst of insane speed and thrown Yammy straight through the gap.

Ichigo barely reacts in time to block a blow aimed at his head.

In a second the hollows vanish, Urahara appears with Yoruichi, and Ichigo starts cussing a blue streak.

Jekyll is red faced at breakfast the next morning, his shoulders hunched and his gaze guilty whenever it lands on Ichigo.

The girls notice, of course they do. Mash looks between the two curiously, and Mordred seems to come to her own conclusions because she mock gags and drags Fran away as soon as they’re done eating.

Alice and Jack as corralled by Mash, who shoots Ichigo a look as she escorts them out of the room and into another. The authors haven’t even emerged from their room. Admittedly, as servants they don’t need to eat, but its still nice to have everyone around the table, and Jack and Alice act like they’ve never eaten before in their lives.

(Ichigo very intentionally doesn’t look into the implications of that)

That leaves Ichigo alone with Jekyll, who takes one look at him, glances at his lap, and bolts for the door.

Ichigo is left watching him go. What the fuck is he supposed to do about this?

It’s easier dealing with children. It really, really is.

Ichigo taps his bracelet until Romani comes up on the coms.

“Ichigo! What’s going on?” Roman asks cheerfully. Ichigo can hear him take a sip of his coffee and hum.

“Nothing terrible just. Annoying. What do you do when someone’s convinced that their other personality has done something terrible to you, but you can’t explain that they didn’t and even if they did its not their fault for what the other them did because they won’t let you talk to them because they’re guilty and freaking out about what the them that they aren’t didn’t actually do?”

“... what ?”

“Uh. You know what. Never mind.”

“Wait, no, Ichigo I wanna know more what the fuck is happening down the-”

Ichigo hung up on him swiftly and stared down at his watch. God this was a stupid situation.

Jekyll acted like they’d just woken up in vegas or something.

And Ichigo has no idea how to fix it.

* *

Ichigo sits in the room in Urahara’s. Cu and Achilles are in the front of the store with the kids, and Medusa had gone to see to the girls, and make sure that they were safe. If someone had been sent to find him, there was always a chance that Aizen would send someone after the others too. He hated it, but he had to keep reminding himself that Aizen isn’t Kyo.

He isn’t the same person as the one he’d met in america. They haven’t fought and almost died together. Ichigo hasn’t shoved his very soul into Aizen’s. He hasn’t stayed night vigils on the restless river with him. He hasn’t held him while he begged for his memory.

Still.

Ichigo has promises to keep.

“What were you thinking?” Urahara asks, “Making a deal like that?”

He doesn’t even sound like he’s scolding Ichigo, for which he’s grateful. He might punch him if that was the case.

It’s strange sometimes. Urahara doesn’t patronize him nearly as much as other people have. People who’d known much more about what he was capable of and what he’d done in the past. He has a startling amount of faith in Ichigo. Even if he is a liar.

“I was thinking I need to have a … discussion, with Aizen,” he says at length.

Urahara’s brows shoot upwards. “A discussion.” He repeats.

Ichigo shrugs, and offers no other explanation. He said what he said, and he meant what he’d said too. He needs to talk to Aizen, if only to tell him the truth.

He may be a traitor to these people, and there’s a history between him and the exiles that Ichigo doesn’t know the details behind, but Ichigo has been to Seireitei. He’s talked with Kyo for hours, lamenting the state of the world and encouraging him to light the spark of revolution. He has no ill will towards him for betraying such a bad place. He barely begrudges him Rukia’s near execution.

Ichigo plays favorites. Sue him.

“Ichigo. He’s a very dangerous man. If you had gone what was your plan?”

“Are you trying to say you’re not dangerous?” Ichigo reasons, looking dead at him. Urahara has the decency to tilt his hat down.

“Certainly not. I would never lie to you like that, Kurosaki. We have a deal, don’t we?”

Ichigo shoots him a half a grin. “So we do.”

“And,” he adds, “My plan is the same as it always is. Charge in with a motley crew and make allies when I get there. It worked before.”

“These aren’t shinigami. They’re hollows.”

“It seems to me that at this point I’m as much a hollow as I am a shinigami. And, they were my enemies too. Does it really make that much of a difference? They clearly have personality and opinion. Not all of them can be on Aizen’s pay roll.”

Urahara considers this.

“It was still reckless.”

Ichigo leans across the table at him. “ I am reckless. It’s always served me well. Besides, I have people watching my back.”

“Yes, your friends. Who you’ve never explained.” Urahara shoots him a pointed look.

“I wasn’t just referring to them,” he nods to Urahara, who actually looks startled before he snaps his fan out to hide his mouth.

“That still doesn’t explain your friends.”

“No. You’re a smart man, I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Ichigo did not grin when he said it, even if he wanted to. The truth is impossible, even for ghosts in most cases, but Urahara had had a hogyoku. He’d held the impossible and possible in his own hands and nourished its power for centuries. He can come to his own conclusions about Ichigo’s life.

Ichigo kind of wants to know just what they’ll be.

“Anyhow. What are we gonna do about the Drosiv?”

“Dro- what now?” Urahara genuinely looks befuddled.

“Well they’re hollows with shinigami power right? The opposite of Visord. So Drosiv. Do you have a better word for them?”

“... I do not.”

* * *

Gin watched the show Ulquiorra put on for the gathered arrancar.

On Aizen’s order, without even blinking, he ripped his own eyeball out and crushed it into dust.

First was the sight of the bloodied teenagers. A young girl with brilliant hair that looked far too much like Rangiku for Gin’s own personal comfort, a bulky boy who Yammy swatted like he was little more than a fly. The girl held up better. She was strong, and a fighter, but it was pretty clear she took no joy in fighting.

Then came Ichigo.

The first thing Gin noticed, besides his hair, was his sword.

When last they’d met it had been a massive, body length kyber knife. Now it was the same length but the ribbon had turned black and there was a hollowed out portion in the blade.

Even more surprising is the white knife, pattered in geometric blue that appears from inside his sleeve.

“Looks like yer boy is gettin’ new tricks, huh?” he tilts his head towards Aizen, who wears a smile that would make lesser men grow cold. It’s not even a cruel smile. It’s just far too interested for someone like Aizen. Gin almost pities little Ichigo Kurosaki. Almost.

As it looks now the kid knows how to hold his own, and how to be vicious. Which was not the vibe Gin got from him during their brief encounters in the Seireitei.

Determined yes. Stubborn yes. But not cruel.

“Let’s make a deal,” Ulquiorra met his gaze squarely. Brown burned at his, and now Gin’s too, with a jaw set hard.

“And just what would that be? ” he asked, his voice smooth and flat. Through the memory Gin can feel the most muted tick of interest. Funny, the last few times they’d done this he hadn’t felt anything besides mild annoyance.

“You work for Aizen, right?” A redundant question. Ichigo adjusted his grip on his blade. “If I win I want you to take me to him.”

Ulquiorra looked briefly between the pair of them before he closed his eyes. It was dark for a long moment.

“So be it.”

Gin kept looking at Aizen, watching him reactions even when Grimmjowstarted berating Yammy for his state and Ulquiorra for not simply killing the other two. Grimmjow was always picking fights.

When they finally got the end, Aizen hummed.

“Interesting,” he said at last. “He wants to come here, then we’ll let him.” Aizen’s smile grew steadily.

Gin had a bad feeling about this.

* * * *

Yuzu was getting frustrated.

She wasn’t unused to being the weakest in the family. It wasn’t a surprise. Ichigo and Karin had taken all of the ghost power when they were born, and only left a little bit for her. Just enough for her to know when ghosts were around.

Not like the other two.

They could see them, interact with them, and even fight them. They were truly their mothers children.

For all Yuzu took over as a housewife once she was tall enough to touch the stove she had always felt the least connected to their parents.

Masaki had always been Ichigo’s world. She was a light for all of them but it was Ichigo that she doted on the most, and Ichigo that had clung so hard to her. Even after she died, Yuzu remembered the grieving more than her mother herself. Masaki was a distant memory, a warm and soft one that was corrupted by the rain of sorrow and the hole in the family that she’d left behind.

Yuzu remembered dark days, days when her dad wouldn’t talk to anyone, and when he brother paced the river bank looking for something that not a one of them could ever see.

Then, in those months, it had just been her and Karin.

It had been the two of them that had pushed their dad out of the house to find Ichigo when he stayed out in the rain. It was them that held each other in the dark of the night. It was them that cried for someone that they would barely remember in the years to come.

Then Karin had grown. She had taken the route of the tom boy, and despite his doting on her it was Karin who had more in common with their dad. Even their hair was the same.

And now it turns out that all of them had been able to see spirits the entire time.

Yuzu had always been the odd one out. Always.

So sometimes, when they go to visit the Ishida household she spends more time with Ryuken than practicing shooting like she’s supposed to. She can barely see what she’s doing, let alone form a proper weapon.

It’s frustrating, and it’s easier to find Ryuken and sit with him and do her homework while Karin tried to learn to fight from Uryu.

It’s during one of these sessions that Ryuken looks up from something he’s doing, hospital administration she assumed, and speaks.

“You should give this up. It will serve you better to focus on the living instead of the dead.”

Yuzu looks up at him. She feels older than 11. Sometimes she thinks she is.

“It would probably be easier,” she admits, “But… But this is something for us to remember our mom with. Did you know I only have three memories of her?”

Ryuken’s brows furrow minutely.

“I… did not.”

“Mhmm. I remember her in the kitchen. She had me sitting on the counter, and I was her taste tester for her curry recipe. It was way too spicy, but I liked it anyway. I liked the color it was. That was a long time ago…”

“I remember when me and Karin were first going to pre school. Dad was crying and making a fuss, and mom had to pry us out of his arms so we could go to class. She told him that he should be pushing us to explore, not trying to hide us away at home.”

She fell silent. Ryuken slowly leaned closer across his desk.

“And the third?”

Yuzu looks up at him. “I remember her funeral. I was the only one who could stand to look in the casket. She looked like she was sleeping. I kept waiting for her to open her eyes and tell us it was all a mistake, she was fine. But she never did.”

“No. I suppose she wouldn’t have. I remember that funeral.”

Yuzu startles. She hadn’t even realized he had been at it. “You do?”

“Mhmm. I always thought they’d picked the worst lipstick for her. She hated red with a passion. My mother always wanted to wear more make up, and look more lady like.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuzu said quietly. “You must miss her.”

Ryuken hummed. “She was my best friend.”

He stood at last. “If you’re really so serious about this, I may be able to help.”

Yuzu scrambled to her feet, her homework discarded, and rushed to follow him.

* * * * *

Ichigo was gonna kill someone.

He really, really was.

All he wanted to do was duel a hollow, jump through an interdimensional tear, and talk to his time travelled/mind wiped best friend so he could ask him about overthrowing the government but no!

No!

Now an entire band of dead people were standing in his homeroom, making a massive spectacle, and how do they think they’re actually blending in right now?

Ichigo looks at Hirako, who looks back at him with what might be his more honest expression to date. A frown.

“Don’t look at me fer help. I’m just a normal human person.”

“Oh yeah. A regular fellow human, you human fellow,” he drawls.

Rukia appears on the WINDOW of all things, her arms crossed and her chin lifted regalling.

“Ichigo! It’s time to talk.”

“Later,” Ichigo waved dismissively at her. “We’re about to start history. Sit down or take a step back, would ya?”

He ducks when Rukia flings herself at him with a vicious punch.

“And the rest of you! Sit down, what’s wrong with you?” Ichigo demands irritably. “Why does everyone insist on putting school on the back burner?”

“Why Ichigo, I had no idea you were such an academic!” Rangiku leaned right into his personal space, her blue eyes bright and teasing.

“I’m not,” he says flatly. “But the better I do the sooner I graduate. So. Sit.”

One by one the shinigami sit around the room, stirring up ripples of conflict.

Ichigo can feel a headache building behind his eyes and the bell hasn’t even wrung yet.

Couldn't they find him after school? Or just leave well enough alone?

Stupid question. Of course they can’t. They’re my friends, after all.

* * * * * *

#Ichigo Kurosaki #bleach fanfiction #BAMF!Ichigo Kurosaki #Ichigo Kurosaki is Ritsuka Fujimaru #gin ichimaru #ulquiorra cifer #jeckyll and hyde

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wulved · 3 years

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i feel like a tl;dr on some of my lore is needed because i essentially built it from the ground up, and the show only gives us like 10% and i had to fill everything else in and i also rewrote a lot . this will be temporary until i get my ass together to put it all up on a google doc. hopefully i got everything, but if i missed something i will go back and add to it as i remember

first some of the vocab from the show that i use that’s probably confusing:

zweilt’s / zweilt guardians : “god’s warriors.” a group of individuals who are continuously reincarnated and gifted with different supernatural powers that aid them in fighting demons and keeping the balance of the world in order

duras : the word for “demon”

niedertracht : lowest ranking demons, normally appear in the form of animal like beings , with red glowing eyes & black crystalline skin

mid-villain : mid ranking demon, as the name suggests. appear humanoid, but closely resemble sprites or fae. they do have the ability to gain more power and rank up to opast over time

opast : the most high ranking type of demon, just below the demon king himself. known to be deceptively and strikingly beautiful, usually spotted by their tell tale fangs, claw like nails, and slitted pupils

the demon king : their ruler of hell, the highest ranking and most powerful demon

infernus : their version of hell / the underworld. the home of the demon king & all demons

the black lake : a lake that takes up a vast majority of infernus. its waters are pitch black and deep, reflecting only the starlight above. it is said that any who try to journey through it have never returned

lore changes from the show that i personally made ( if you’ve never heard of the show or read anything about it, you probably don’t need to read this part )

luze does not exist. the idea of him is stupid im so sorry

the demon king is not “lucifer,” but an entirely separate entity named alcmena

the “bloody cross” is both a branding and a contract / blood pact made between luka and alcmena. this does not make luka his servent as the show suggests, but instead makes luka unwaveringly loyal : i.e. he cannot directly harm or usurp alcmena’s throne. he can still hold distasteful feelings, and downright hate him, but he cannot commit any acts to betray him. this contract also placed luka as the leader of alcmena’s demon army, and binds him to stay in that position eternally

the zweilt’s know luka’s real name. for the love of god i don’t know why he used the codename zess, that just doesn’t happen. what a weird idea

since the zweilt’s usually retain their memories with each reincarnation, that means they KNOW luka, and he’s close with at least some of them, specifically touko and tsukumo. they consider one another family

luka is the most powerful demon to exist to date

luka has jet black angel wings, we see them in the intro and then never again. he has them. they are hidden most of the time, only visible and tangible to others when he wills it

now luka’s backstory / lore in as short as i can get it

luka is the son of alcmena, the demon king, and an angel named mora crosszeria

from his very birth alcmena was wary of the power luka could possess. the combination of the most powerful demon in existence, and an actual angel was potent, having both divine and demonic blood in his veins

mora noted this, and became afraid of what alcmena would do if left with their son, and she ran away with luka to the mortal world, where she hoped to raise him on her own.

despite this alcmena still sent demons to watch luka as he began to grow, and after noticing severe power spikes that lead him to believe luka would grow to be more powerful than him, he had mora killed and brought luka back to infernus as a young child

alcmena treated him decently, not well, but not horrible. he never acted as a father, and often passed him off onto a demon named elya to care for him. elya, secretly an old friend of mora’s, tried her best to shelter luka from alcmena while raising him. alcmena mostly just wanted to keep tabs on his growing power, and other than that left him alone

once luka became an adult, alcmena banned elya from seeing him any longer, after gathering that she had spoken ill against him and told luka to follow in his mother’s footsteps. at this point alcmena was well aware that luka had become more powerful than him, and that if he so choose it he could very well usurp the throne. he was lucky, however, because luka himself was not aware of the full extext of his power

now an adult, luka began to speak out against alcmena and defy him, often starting fights wherein his untrained powers would explode and injure alcmena. to stop this, he forced luka into a contract of loyalty. luka did not yet known the full extent of how cruel alcmena was, and did not bother reading the contract. luka was then branded with two blood red x’s on his upper forearm, and the deal was sealed with blood.

luka was now unwaveringly loyal to alcmena, and would therefore be unable to cause him any physical harm, or to start any sort of uprising against him. along with this, to keep luka busy and exhausted, he put him in sole charge of the demon army. he was to watch after, train, and lead them into battle day in and day out without rest. it was only then luka began to see the full extent of his father’s cruelty. tricked into an eternal contract, and constantly battle torn and exhausted. and because he could not strike alcmena due to the contract, any form of speaking out against him or disobeying commands would result in punishment

eventually exhausted by this ordeal, luka takes his familiar and decides to try to look for the path out of infernus. he single handedly crosses the black lake, and finds a cave that leads to the mortal world

there, he meets yuki giou. a zweilt guardian, and someone he had seen briefly on battlefields fighting against his armies.

luka and yuki begin to sneak off together to meet, with luka traversing the deadly lake in infernus to see her. eventually luka tells her of the contract binding him to alcmena, and she offers him a deal. instead, he could make a contract with her. a contract bound by heaven, and the divine, would overrule anything alcmena had done. and because of the angelic blood in luka, this contract would be especially binding. in return he would swear to protect her, and to stay by her side. luka agrees. the contract with alcmena is broken, and he never returns to infernus again

luka remains bound to yuki and the other zweilt’s, fighting against other demons to protect them. he is known as a traitor, or betrayer to his kind

npc’s of my creation

alcmena : luka’s father, the demon king

mora crosszeria : luka’s mother, an angel

elya : one of the first demons created, sister of laelia and phaedrian, represents “speak no evil.” caretaker / adoptive mother of luka. mute, speaks strictly telepathically, lives at the far edge of infernus, deep within a thick woods, exiled

laelia : one of the first demons created, sister of elya and phaedrian, represents “hear no evil” deaf, resides both in the castle and on the shores of the black lake

phaedrian : one of the first demons created, brother of elya and laelia, represents “see no evil” blind, the gatekeeper of infernus

wolf mrithun : the first of death’s reapers, often appeared around luka when he was in infernus, andreas’ love interest

andreas : a mortal prophet who foretells of luka’s eventual overthrow of alcmena

canon characters

sodom : luka’s familiar, a giant dragon that often takes the form of a large wolf. found shivering and abandoned as a baby on the shore of the black lake by luka

yuki giou : “god’s light,” the most important member of the zweilt’s, luka’s love interest and the focus of the show

touko, tsukumo, hotsuma, and shusei : the other zweilt guardians

takashiro giou : leader of the zweilt’s , immortal , in an eternal dogfight with reiga because he killed his girlfriend like 500 years ago

cadenza and elegy : two high ranking opasts that torment luka, very powerful, ranking just below luka and alcmena. cadenza took over leading the army once luka abandonded infernus

reiga : basically just the bad guy, hates takashiro which i think is understandable

#im sorry this is so long i have so much to say for no reason #❛ ⛧ 𝟎𝟎 . 𝚁𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙼𝙾𝙾𝙽 𝙱𝚄𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙱𝙴𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙴𝚈𝙴𝚂 : meta #if u read this whole thing i give u a kiss

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skeetlehand · 4 years

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HI!!!!! I have been tagged™™™™ by @gheysnakelady and so here are my Hot Opinions!! :D

who is your favourite member on the smp?

I mean, i have SEVERAL faves: awesamdude, eret, wilbur (rip), techno and phil - I’ll watch sometimes, tubbo and tommy, but if you’re going by who I watch th

when did you first start watching the smp and what made you get into it?

Oh, it was thanks to the sudden influx of dream smp animatics all over my youtube home page - and tbh, they were all pretty good! and so, i was like: ???!!! and started watching and now i religiously check the dsmp tag for plot updates so i guess that’s where we’re at rn… haha…

what is your favourite part about watching the smp?

Just watching these creators make these amazing stories+narrative - it’s free tv! i am entertained! even just watching them interact, this large community of a variety of streamers/youtubers, in the most diverse topics (not all of them are really minecraft-centered, but they are all great!). The idea of showcasing underrated creators in a platform where they all have the opporunity to shine, is just a wholesome idea tbh

what piece of cursed lore is your favourite?

…………. the toe………….

who is your favourite duo on the smp?

Miss the ol’ tubbo n tommy dynamic! But i do enjoy techno and ranboo - they’re hilarious, too.

… Niki and Jack give me Stress… i try to think about them like: team rocket! it works! almost! i try not to think about them murdering children on purpose and more like a little evil duo who cause problems and miss. please-

who are your comfort streamers?

I like to watch awesamdude (he’s great!!! <3) bbh and tubbo, when I want some nice times where I might play minecraft myself... or just relax

who is your favourite character?

mexican dream, no sweat. tubbo and tommy tie for second second place, and back when elections were a thing, so was Big Q (he still is! he says the most brutal things these days but also ,,,, stream me dude pleas-).

who do you think is the best actor (s) on the smp?

A LOT OF PEOPLE OKAY LET ME ELABORATE ON A FEW:

- schlatt. evil president. wilbur. chekov’s gun but tragic. do i need to say more.

- bad is actually really good! and terrifying! surprisingly! because he’s.,,. he’s supposed to be one of my comfort streamers.... you should check out his eggpire!!! egg for the egg god

- tommy is good at subtleties, for someone who isn’t very... subtle... yknow? I was surprised by the AMOUNT of detail that went into the exile arc - and he played it adequately

who on the smp would you like to be best friends with?

ajgLJHGdljhagjJHGJHLGDS you can’t ask me that!!! they all seem like cool people and id like to meet them but also i am a mess so hhhhh

what are your favourite quotes said on the smp?

i have a lot here too but here are just some that I can think of rn haha:

connor’s whole: “you’re not a bad person, and I hope you find what you’re looking for” had me BAWLING aaa

tommy’s dialogue with dream during their battle was good, but when

a) tommy asks tubbo: “but what am I with out you?” and tubbo responds: “yourself.” I CRIED AAAA

b) tommy said: “Hey Dream, Dream, kill me.” because he knew dream wouldn’t, because he knew why dream wouldn’t - CHILLS

which part of the smp made you feel the saddest?

- ... pogtopia...

- Wilbur/ghostbur (out of character? in character? i don’t know which’d be worse, actually) admitting that he only wanted to make tommy president so he could blow it up seconds later

- .... tommy’s exile....

- A lot of tommy’s interactions with Techno have me kinda... :( ... you know? Like, the pit, the manberg vs. pogtopia war, doomsday - it feels like they keep shouting the same lines at each other, but neither of them really hear nor understand what the other is saying. Expecially doomsday - techno siding with dream, predictable but also hurtful, kind of. I can see why - but also techno was the closest to learning what had happened over the exile, and yet, the farthest from understanding it.

- doomsday was equally frustrating, hopeless, and depressing tbh

which part of the smp made you feel the happiest?

A LOT OF THINGS: but here are just the ones on the top of my head

- Quackity killing Schlatt and leaving manberg like: ✌️😠✌️

- When Tommy finally realized that dream was just. manipulating him. YOU GO funky exile child, LEAVE!!!

- PUNZ coming in to save the day with: “you should’ve paid me more”???? YES YES YES

- Sam giving tommy little tasks to build the hotel?? wholesome. Acknowledging tommy’s been through a lot, abnd being one of the few people to know most of the exile story that tommy still won’t tell anyone about outright? 😭 (and i am looking AWAY from the possibility that this is just for profit, nonononono, not in MY line of sight-)

be honest, who do you simp for? (ayo if anyone says tommy or tubbo i will 🔪)

....schlatt (who ironically, was somewhat my introduction into the smp), but only cause he was a TERRIFYINGLY good actor, and he sounds EXACTLY like what id imagine an evil president would sound like 😳 what can i say, i like my voices...? jkashdlhfgal closest ill get to simping anyway so all of you can just take this and go, go elsewhere-

what’s your favorite stream?

Hmm... one of the chaos ones? kjahdlkg i can’t decide...

what’s your least favorite stream?

The butcher army stream. I mean, it was good I loved the dialogue and set up... but like... story-wise, butcher army didn’t accomplish anything in the end, their existence was as volatile as the person they hunted and tbh nothing was gained from it, just lost and made worse. Hot opinion though, so take it with caution.

what’s something about the smp fandom that makes you sad?

Hmm... A somewhat common point: sometimes people can be really critical about characters, but like, not in a good way - just straight up bashing. I get disliking a character but it makes me :( when i don’t see reason for it. Or bashing someone’s opinion of a character. Look, we’re all interpreters here, but like.... cmon.... someone might just have a different view of a character and that’s fine!

for example: not a big fan of c!phil as a father. Some interpretations say he’s not a father because phil never said he was. Some might say he was an okay dad, and some might say tommy was never his son. all of these opinions are valid. another one of my opinions: tommy’s “punishments” were injust, some might agree with the idea that they were blown out of proportion and he didn’t really learn anything from them, some might disagree and say he got what he deserved. all of these opinions are valid -but on my end, maybe not the ones where people go: “aww man, c!tommy should’ve died cause he’s so annoying, and he totally deserved it.” did we watch the same arcs, buddies on that end???? are you okay????

Just, i get hating a character, but it bums me out when i see someone just straight up say “this character should die. cause they suck” - why though? story-wise, how would that play out? what

ANYWAY THIS IS ALL MY OPINION DON’T TAKE THIS TOO SERIOUSLY PLEASE

what’s something about the smp fandom that makes you happy?

Yall are great!! I love how much we’ve created - art, animatics, writing -all of you <3 <3 <3 and also all the discussion about the story, the characters, the interactions - I’ve found a community in some groups and honestly it’s just *chef kiss* great!!! yall are super cool and awesome and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise!!

anyway, for the spread: i tag - @territorialufo, @an-inspired-eternity and @n-ugg... don’t feel pressured to do this but if you guys want 😳

#dream smp #skeetle writes

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scarletaire · 4 years

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covenant mine

A/N: My humble offering to the Jurdan fandom. First posted fanfic, and hopefully more to come!

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Genre/s: Fluff

Rating: T

Tags: Post-QON, fluff, established relationship, wholesome jurdan, cardan is a soft boi, and he likes to cuddle

Description:

A year into their marriage, Jude presents Cardan with his own wedding ring.

[Read on AO3] [Masterlist]

Cardan is waiting for her when she finally returns to their quarters at the end of the night.

Jude shuts the great oaken door of the royal suite, eyeing him carefully. Flowering vines follow her fingers over the doorknob, twisting together to lock the door behind her.

He is seated on the plush armchair that he favors beside the mantle, and he tracks her with intensity as she makes her way into the sitting area of their bedroom. His eyes are clear, so he isn’t drunk. But Jude immediately notices his tail swishing low against the carpet, betraying his agitation.

“Wife,” Cardan greets her.

“Husband,” she says in reply, shrugging off her jacket as she crosses the threshold. The heavy denim makes an unnatural thunk as it hits the floor. Her knives come off next; she plucks them from each of her boots, then her right thigh, and her left forearm. Nightfell goes last, set reverentially down on her weapons table right by the main door. She pats the pockets of her jeans before turning to face him again.

Cardan wields the silence in the room like his own weapon, sharpening it like a blade against her conscience. She knows that she worried him greatly by venturing to the mortal world without telling him. But he knows her better than to restrict and control her movements, so he doesn’t confront her for it.

But clearly he can damn well sulk about it.

Jude’s propensity towards danger and recklessness is still a bit of a sore point almost a year into their marriage. Cardan wishes that she favor the side of safety now that she has taken her rightful place as the High Queen of Elfhame, but those instincts and tendencies are what has kept her alive for so long. It is one particularly stubborn piece of armor to be rid of, and she is still learning how to compromise.

But seeing Cardan perched on his chair, still dressed in the night’s regalia, and an uneaten plate of dinner ignored beside him, Jude decides that she can afford to let him have this one. She didn’t deceive him by going to the mortal world, but he has made it clear that he wished to be informed of such plans should she make them. She knows she is in the wrong this time.

“I’m not sorry that I went,” she tells him finally, and it is the truth, “but I do regret that I was remiss in telling you I was leaving.”

The fingers of one elegant hand come up to steeple under his chin, insouciant even in his sulking.

“Cardan. I really am sorry I worried you.”

He says nothing.

She raises an eyebrow at him, unimpressed by his posturing.

Cardan sighs, a bit begrudgingly. “I believe you. Even though you make it incredibly difficult, you heedless mortal.”

“Do you accept my apology?”

“Loath though I am to admit it, I do.” The tension in his shoulders is replaced by a slouch, and he extends a plaintive hand toward her. “Will you soothe your troubled husband?”

Jude is powerless to deny him.

She takes his hand, the chill of Maine in October banished by the fire-warmed touch of his skin. Cardan pulls her toward him, and she allows him to settle her easily on his lap. His arms are a cradle of silk and brocade for her to lean against. After checking her over for any possible scratches or bruises and finding none, he buries his face into the quickly heating skin of her neck.

Affection does not come easily to Jude. It is a small and fragile thing she is still growing and nurturing after years of sharpening herself on war games and poison. But she understands the significance of moments like this, understands the undercurrent of tenderness and gentleness that blooms within her, and so she tries, for him.

(And if she’s being completely honest, she tries for herself, too, if only because she has come to crave and collect each of his little touches in turn.)

Jude shifts, and at first Cardan loosens his hold reluctantly, but she is only moving so that she can turn toward him entirely. She is soon straddling him in their armchair by the fire, and has wrapped her arms back around him as tightly as he has done to her. Cardan, so deprived of attention and affection as a child, melts completely into her embrace, tail twining around her ankle.

She doesn’t know how to process the relief softening the limbs of his body. He must have been beside himself with worry. She is still getting used to being worried over by him, and so there is a niggling sense of guilt gnawing at her now. She hugs him tighter in response.

It’s easier said than done though, because he’s still taller and bigger than her. She has to reach around the breadth of his shoulders and wrap her legs across the spread of his thighs, and it’s almost like there is too much of him for her to hold. She feels small in the space of his worry and his relief and his embrace. She grits her teeth against the ache of emotion building in her throat, against the comforting press of his chest, solid against hers.

Many moments later, Cardan surfaces from between her neck and shoulder. “And how is Madoc the exiled faring in the mortal realms?” He knew where she went, then. It’s still a bit odd to have someone know her so well.

“He is resentful,” Jude admits, “but none of the spies I stationed near him have reported suspicious activity.”

“And yet, my queen, suspicion remains heavy in your voice.”

“I needed to confirm some things for myself,” she explains carefully. “My father may have sworn to never put his hand on a weapon again, but that doesn’t mean he can’t command another in his stead.”

Cardan studies her face in earnest. “Keeping the peace is not your burden to bear alone, Jude.”

She touches a lock of hair that has fallen across his forehead. “I know,” she says, softly.

“You promised to warn me the next time you planned something dangerous.”

“I know.”

He waits, the silence his willing pawn.

Jude reaches for the short hairs at the nape of his neck to give her hands something to do. “I just needed to see,” she says, “for myself. How he was doing.”

There is grim understanding in Cardan’s eyes as he listens to her. If there is anyone who knows what it is like to love and resent the person who raised her, it is him.

“Did it help?”

Jude thinks about her reply, wanting to answer him as honestly as she can. “Yes,” she tells him. “I never have to wonder about him again.”

“Does that mean that you will never again check on our old enemies all by yourself?”

She smirks. “I’ll let you come with me to check on the others.”

His eyebrows crease. “You speak of Nore and the Court of Teeth.”

She shrugs. “Unlike Madoc, there may be others who have not accepted their judgement so easily.”

“Do you doubt Suren’s ability to control the traitors?”

“No,” she admits, a little uneasily. “Not that.” There was something in Suren’s untethered, sharp-toothed grin that unnerved her, but as long as that remains directed towards the peace of Elfhame, then she is willing to leave it untouched.

Jude sits up straighter on his thighs. “A year has passed since I laid judgement on Madoc and his coup,” she explains.

“Yes,” Cardan breathes. “And what a fearsome thing you were to behold.” He says this the same way he had once spoken about her hospitality of knives. Jude feels the glint of a grin tug at the corner of her mouth.

“A lot can happen in a year. I think it would be utterly feckless of us to let that much time go by without reminding Elfhame what happens to those who threaten the crown.” You and me, she thinks. Us.

At this, Cardan doesn’t bother to hide the beginnings of his own wicked grin. “Ah. Is that what you are scheming, Jude? Reminding our kingdom of what a formidable queen you make?”

His eyes burn as he looks up at her, the firelight setting the angles of his face aglow, his clothes and hair in disarray from her embrace. He is unbearably beautiful. He is her husband. “Perhaps.” She is unable to stop herself from leaning down and whispering it against his lips. “If my great king should deign to join me.”

Cardan’s fingers clench against her hips in anticipation, but Jude is already pulling away. She has one more thing to confess before she can let herself fall into him completely. “Checking on Madoc wasn’t all I did in the mortal world.”

He frowns, though whether it’s because she denied him a proper kiss or because there is more to her scheming, she can’t be exactly sure. “Your words bode ill, dear wife.”

Jude pokes at the wrinkles on his forehead. “Nothing for you to anguish over. Quite the opposite in fact.”

“Oh?”

“Cardan. Not like that, either.”

“Oh.”

She bites her lip to keep from smiling. But then she thinks about what she has for him in her pocket and she is biting her lip for another reason. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that she is looking down at Cardan, who watches her with an inhuman stillness, the otherworldly lines of his ears and his cheekbones and his jawline illuminated against the dying night sky, she is suddenly less sure.

Jude thumbs at the ruby ring on her fourth finger, the one missing its tip. Cardan had known the significance of that mortal convention to her. Would he be willing to accept it for himself?

“Jude?” he asks, after she has been silent for too long.

She takes a deep breath. “There’s a tradition among married human couples,” she begins. “When a couple is wed, they exchange rings to wear as a symbol of their vows to each other.”

“Yes,” he says, taking her left hand. “That much I understand.” And then he takes his teeth to the sensitive skin of her fourth knuckle. Jude swallows as she tries her best not to think about the marks those same teeth had left on the insides of her thighs.

Cardan looks at the red imprints he made above her red ring, and then up at her face. He grins, roguishly pleased at what he finds there. “I like seeing this on your finger. I like it even more knowing what it means.”

“Yeah, well,” she says, struggling not to squirm, “I realized that you gave me a ring the night that we wed, but I never gave you one back.” She reaches into the pocket of her mortal jeans. “So I was wondering if – if maybe you would take this one.”

His eyes widen. In her palm, flashing in the light, is a yellow gold band paved all over with a single row of tiny, blood-red rubies.

“Jude,” Cardan breathes.

“It was my mom’s,” she blurts out. “Or at least the gold was. I knew that Madoc kept the ring she was wearing the night he –” Her words fail her, and he waits in stunned silence for her to continue. “That was part of the reason I visited him today. To ask for it. Taryn and Vivi said it was ok for me to have it, but I wasn’t sure if he would actually give it up. He did, though, so I had the gold melted down and the rubies added because I wanted us to –” She realizes she’s babbling, and the words die off into a whisper. “I wanted us to match.”

“Jude,” he says again, and this time, she recognizes the awe in his tone.

“Do you… do you like it?”

“Yes.” His reply is immediate. His voice is hushed. “Yes, Jude, I like it very much.”

Jude watches as Cardan solemnly removes the rings on his left hand. All of them, every single one. His eyes never leave her face as she slowly, deliberately slides the new ruby ring onto his finger. Only when she whispers, “There,” does he look down at his new piece of jewelry.

Cardan takes her left hand in his, palms down, and moves them by the fire so that their rings sparkle in the light.

“A perfect pair,” he says, and then he is kissing her.

Cardan is not entirely kind with this kiss. He drags her closer by the roots of her hair and takes her bottom lip in between his teeth. She bites back and digs her fingers into his hair and shoulders in kind, using her position over him to her advantage. But he is needy and demanding, as if he has been unmade just a little by receiving her ring, and so she lets him sweep her away. There is a fire at her back, and there is the heat of his body as he pulls her in flush against him, and Jude feels like bursting.

“There is something I must ask,” he pants against her pulse point several long, fevered moments later.

Jude can barely think straight. All she can see is the dark desire in Cardan’s glittering eyes, and the color red. The red of their shared rubies, and the red of their bedsheets, singing their siren song just a few feet away.

“My cruel conqueror,” Cardan croons into her ear. "Who did you ask to make my ring?"

“What?” She steadies herself against his chest, the buttons of his shirt almost completely gone down the front. “Oh. I had a mortal jeweler do the ring while I was down in Portland.”

The relief is painfully palpable in Cardan’s voice. “Thank the stars.”

Jude laughs.

________________

End Note:

Cardan's new wedding ring.

I like to think that after Grimsen and the snake incident, Cardan becomes extremely wary of faerie craftsmanship.

Thank you for reading!

*EDITED (AUG 9, 2020): Changed a line to address the accuracy error pointed out by Ul’Yana on AO3. Shout out to you and your amazingly sharp eyes! <3

#jurdan #the folk of the air #cardan #jude #jude x cardan #jurdan fic #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #post-qon #cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #tfota #tfota fanfic #zita writes #tcp #twk #jurdanfanfic

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velveteencurtains · 4 years

Text

evermore first impressions!

willow - GIRL EUEJDNSKJDJEJD LOST IN YOUR CURRENT LIKE A PRICELESS WIINE!!!!! TAKE MY HAND!!! WRECK MY PLANS!!! THATS MY MAN!!!!!! girl this is so fcuking GOOD! gonna be 100% honest the 1 is a better album opening but this is so fucking good you guys. life was a willow and it bent right to your wind!!! ID COME BACK STRONGER THAN A 90’S TREND???? EVERY BAIT AND SWITCH WAS A WORK OF ART??? SHES SICK SHES REALLY SICK I SWEAR. the way she sings “that’s my man!” yes ma’am yes ma’am!!!!!! the parallel between “I knew you stepping on the last train” and then “you know my train could take you home” SHES SICK YOUR HONOR SHES SICK

champagne problems - okay we love a piano opener. i’m so conflicted on what i think this song is gonna be about. MORE TRAIN LYRICS GIRLIE. this really is this is me trying’s older, sadder sister. “our group of friends/don’t think we’ll say that word again” MA’AM??? SHE WOULD HAVE MADE SUCH A LOVELY BRIDE SUCH A SHAME SHES FUCKED IN THE HEAD??????? IM LOSIJG MY FUCKIJG MIND. taylor and joe wrote this together? we love a couple with shared mental illnesses

gold rush - jack antonoff do not let me down. GIRL THE HARMONIES AT THE VERY BEGINNING JUST GIVE ME A MINUTE. okay I can definitely see what they meant by this song being about being lost in a daydream, the juxtaposition between the chorus and the verses is AMAZING. this is just gorgeous’s older sister huh???? “ocean blue eyes/looking in mine/i feel like i might sink and drown and die” and “eyes like sinking/ships on waters/so inviting/i almost jump in”

‘tis the damn season - i can’t tell if i want this song to be christmassy or not. OH SO THIS IS JUST HOLIDATE. TAYLOR JUST WATCHED HOLIDATE AND WROTE A SONG ABOUT IT. this is a continuation of tim mcgraw, argue with the wall. NO BC TIM MCGRAW IS ABOUT LIKE A LOVE FROM HIGH SCHOOL AND THIS IS LIKE COMING HOME FROM COLLEGE AND REUNITING WITH THEM BC YOURE BOTH DEPRESSED AND LONELY

tolerate it - jesus christ i’m not emotionally ready for this. STOP THIS IS THE PRELUDE TO BETTER MAN. LIKE BETTER MAN IS AFTER SHES ALREADY LEFT BUT THIS IS BEFORE WHEN SHES STUCK AND KNOW SHE DESERVES BETTER BUT SHE JUST TAKES IT IM GONNA CRYYYYYYYYYYY. okay but i’m imagining the babe music video and that whole of like the doting housewife who gave up everything for her husband and does everything to make him happy but he just does not appreciate it at all and he doesn’t see how much his indifference hurts her. @taylorswift mv now. honestly? loved that but as a track 5 it’s pretty weak

no body, no crime - I PREDICTED THIS WAS GONNA BE MY TOP SONG ON THE ALBUM LETS SEE IF I’M RIGHT. GIRL THE SIRENS AND “HE DID IT” AS THE FIRST LINES?? THEN THE COUNTRY INSTRUMENTAL??? TAYLOR HAS FINALLY GIVEN ME A GOOD OLD FASHIONED “MURDERED MY CHEATING HUSBAND” COUNTRY SONG HELL YESSSSSSS. OH THE WIFE IS MISSING???? NOT GONE GIRLLLLLLLLL MISS TAYLOR CHANNELING AMY DUNNE HERE!!!!! OH SHUT UPPPPPP SHES A LESBIAN WITH ESTE’S SISTER AND THEY COVERED UP HIS MURDER AND NOW THEYRE GONNA LESBIAN TOGETHER MISS TAYLOR

happiness - okay miss happiness you’ve got a lot to live up to but let’s do this. NOT THE MIRRORBALL PARALLEL “i was dancing when the music stopped” and “when no one is around, my dear/you’ll find me on my tallest top toes/spinning in my highest heels, love” NOT THE IDEA OF CHANGING YOURSELF JUST TO KEEP SOMEONE BY YOUR SIDE IM GONNA SOB taylor please stop this i cant emotionally handle any of this. girl this is the prelude to tolerate it which is the prelude to better man

dorothea - okay so seven’s older sister? so dorothea and whoever this singer is were besties when they were teens and then dorothea moved away and now the singer misses her former best friend and also first love and also they’re lesbians yeah it’s gay it’s so gay. taylor i’m literally begging you from the bottom of my fucking soul please give us a music video with two girls please miss swift i ask of you this one (1) thing

coney island - see i thought this was gonna be seven’s older sister when the tracklist was announced so now idk what to expect! JESUS OKAY I KNOW IT SAYS “feat. The National” IN THE TITLE BUT I FORGOT AND I GOT SCARED BY HIS VOICE. NOT A FUCKIJG CAR ACCIDENT TAYLOR IM REALLY SORRY I RRALIZE YOU ARE YOUR OWN PERSON AND I NEED TO STOP CONNECTING YOU TO HARRY BUT REALLYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY. okay anyway here’s my theory hear me out: This is dorothea’s husband who’s confused why his high school sweetheart wife doesn’t love him anymore and why she’s now hanging out with her old high school best friend again damn that’s weird they’re like really super close that’s super odd. anyway that’s just a theory I actually don’t really know what this songs about! miss swift is too smart for me

ivy - stop this song is so sweet!!!!!! i feel like this is getaway car’s sister! i need to stop doing that i know it gets annoying but really honestly it is! NO NO NO THIS IS DOROTHEA’S PERSPECTIVE WHEN SHE HAS AN AFFAIR WITH HER HS BESTIE AND HER HUSBAND STARTS TO FIND OUT GUYS IVE FIGURED IT OUTTTTTTT. WAIT WAIT WAIT THE HS BESTIE IS FROM NO BODY NO CRIME AND DOROTHEA IS ESTE’S SISTER GUYS IVE FIGURED IT THE FUCK OUT YOU GUYSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS I GOT IT

cowboy like me - let’s yee and let’s haw ladies and gents. WHOS SINGING????? WHOS SINGING WITH HER???? taylor shut up for a second lemme hear who tf this is. AM I CRAZY OR IS THIS JOE???? i’m probably dumb. but am i? why can i not at all remember what joe’s voice sounds like rn. is that joe??? im so confused. maybe i’m super dumb and it’s really obvious and i’m just fucking stupid. it’s probably not joe it’s probably some country legend that everyone else knows bc they grew up yeeing and hawing and i’m but a wee city slicker but i’m gonna hold onto this stupid theory that it’s joe singing with her until someone proves me wrong later. also this song is fucking gorgeous where’s my cowboy hat not wearing one while listening to this song makes me feel sacrelige. okay wait tay and aaron wrote this one is it aaron? i’m sorry taylor i don’t listen to the national you can hate me if you want

long story short - god the production on this slaps!!!!! and the idea of being hurt before and then finding your love and being all about them and not even caring abt what happened before!!!!! god i’m gonna cry i’m gonna cry. NO MORE KEEPING SCORE NOW I JUST KEEP YOU WARM?????? taylor really said “oh you’re not in love and i’m gonna make you feel like SHIT ABOUT IT” taylor pls a petition to let us say “BITCH” after the last line so it’s “i survived...bitch!” okay pls and thank you

marjorie - oh is this about taylor’s grandma :(((( i knew she used her name but this feels like it’s really all about her. babey. this is so sweet. taylor i love you

closure - okay the opening??? slaps! literally! okay the production of this is interesting! okay i’m like trying to figure out who this is about....who cares this is so good. oh my god the distortion??? it just underlines the anger of it all so perfectly and i love

evermore - exile hive let’s GOOOO. please be an exile pt 2 pls be an exile pt 2. so odd to me because, as a whole, this actually feels like a way more happy and optimistic album than folklore did, yet the title comes from the line “i had a feeling so peculiar/that this pain would be for/evermore”. OKAY BON IVERRRRRR. the violence of the dog days? that’s my next instagram caption thanks taylor. NOT A DUET SECTION AGAIN LIKE IN EXILE TAYLOR PLEASE I CANT HANDLE THISSSSSSS. “we always walked a very thin line” AND “is there a line that we could just go cross?” THE PARALELLELLLLRJSNDBBD. I’m gonna die for this I really think. okay so she ends it on this pain wouldn’t last evermore so that’s good

overall? this is a masterpiece. miss swift has done it again. folklore aoty 2021 and evermore aoty 2022. no body, no crime is really THAT BITCH. i need a mv miss swift! okay bye gonna go cry over this

update: after listening all night i feel like i need to point out that i’m stupid and thought este was the mistress and the singer was the wife when in fact ESTE is the wife in no body, no crime. SO addendum to my theory: este and dorothea were besties in hs then dorothea left and got married and so did este but este’s hubby cheated so then este’s friend murders him and she’s cool w it, then dorothea and her husband move back home and este and dorothea reconnect and realize their long hidden feelings for one another, dorothea leaves her husband and she and este run away together

ANOTHER UPDATE: ‘TIS THE DAMN SEASON IS FROM DOROTHEA’S POINT OF VIEW!!!!!!!! WHEN SHE COMES HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS AND SHES SINGING TO ESTE!!!!!! CJNECNSJSNNDN

#taylor swift #evermore #taylurking #evermore era #this looks weird on mobile but normal on desktop so if this looks weird to you i'm sorry idk how to fix it #my post

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punkpoemprose · 5 years

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December 10th- A Royal Portrait

Universe: Canon (Post Frozen 2, post Anna’s coronation, but before a KA wedding)

Rating: M-E (This teeters on the mature/ explicit line, read at your own risk)

Length: 3412 Words

A/N: I was in a bit of a rut, so I stole this lovely idea (with permission) from @kristanna who continues to do God’s work on her tumblr every day. The premise here, is of course, Anna sitting for a tasteful boudoir portrait that she sends to Kristoff while they’re apart. Not giving anything away here, but this is mature to say the least. There are also feelings and I actually did research. I apologize for nothing some things!

She thinks about changing her mind. She’s behind the dressing screen, completely naked, and Kristoff is up in the mountains, and no one ever sees her naked except for him. Not even her lady’s maids. She wasn’t particularly shy in any sense, but since she’d started seeing Kristoff there was something in her head that said that the only person that should see her naked was him. Or rather, that the only person that she wanted to see her naked was him. He’d never restrict her so. In fact they’d had an unpleasant conversation about just that point before he left for the mountains to lead the ice harvest. With Elsa living in Northuldra, the need for an Ice Master and Deliverer, someone to lead the harvesters into the mountains and ensure their safety, was more important than ever.

He’d heard that some royals, Queens and Kings in particular, often took lovers, most favored men and women of the court who attended to the regents needs when their spouse was ill fit for the task or off elsewhere. He’d brought it up with shaking hands and a downcast face, unable to look her in the eye as he told her that just because she was betrothed to him, just because they were to be married and soon would be, didn’t mean that he would stop her if she decided she needed someone else.

Her heart still ached. He’d been so nervous, so heart broken at the idea, but willing to submit to the mortifying ordeal for her sake. Even after she explained to him that it was something she’d never want, he’d seemed anxious. Sometimes she worried that he’d never see himself the way she saw him. In private quiet moments, he was so self-assured, so certain of their love, but when it came to the time they spent “entertaining” the aristocracy, or when they held court at the castle, he started to doubt himself. It hurt her in ways she couldn’t begin to explain, and she thought they maybe exile would be the best treatment for whomsoever mentioned the idea of most favored to him. It was a relic from a time where Arendelle’s rulers married for power instead of for love. It was a “tradition” that had died off with her Grandfather.

But his nervousness, even after being told as such, was enough to move her to action, to make her think of an entirely different conversation she’d had just a few weeks before.

When she had been officially crowned Queen of Arendelle, despite ruling since Elsa moved to Northuldra, there had been a weeklong celebration where other royalty from far and wide had come to celebrate. Anna had found herself very much enamored by a contingent of Princesses sent from surrounding Kingdoms and other countries and continents that considered themselves allies of Arendelle.

On the eve of their returns to their own homelands, they may have all spent the evening in Anna’s parlor getting a bit too wine drunk and giggly, sharing secrets and brilliant plans and becoming all in all, great friends. Kristoff had happily surrendered Anna for that night, and she knew that it brought him great joy to see her happily making friends and catching up on many years of doing so. He’d even managed, elsewhere, to become a bit comfortable with some minor nobility of Arendelle and with a man who was betrothed to the Princess of Corona. They’d found a comradery of sorts as she was, of course, one of the giggling women in Anna’s rooms.

They’d all at one point discussed the topic of photography, specifically boudoir photos which were evidently all the rage. Some girls had rather excitedly discussed their own personal sessions, sending them to their lovers, betrothed, and husbands, while others had mentioned that they themselves preferred the idea of having a painting done, and discussed their experiences with it. Anna had, of course blaming the wine, collected the name and contact information for a painter they’d recommended rather than a photographer, finding that she rather liked the idea of the tasteful nature a portrait leant to the whole matter.

She hadn’t expected to call upon the painter however, not until after her discussion with Kristoff.

She let out the breath she’d been holding and peeked nervously around the corner of her dressing screen to where a young woman stood smiling.

“Oh it’s fine to be nervous,” she said gently, “Most people are. If it helps, I’m very discreet.”

She had a soft French accent. Anna had been fortunate that she had been in the country doing some work for other clients when she’d reached out. It had only taken a day for her to come to the castle, and that meant that while Anna had planned to wait quite some time, she’d be able to gift the painting to Kristoff sooner rather than later.

Anna sighed, “It’s not so much that I’m worried about that… it’s just… Kristoff is usually…”

The young woman nodded, “Anna… if I may call you Anna?”

She nodded at that, “I wish more people would. Not that I dislike being Queen or anything, it’s just I like being more personal…” she laughed at herself then, “Well usually not this personal.”

That earned her a small chuckle from the other woman who nodded and continued.

“Anna, I often find the people I paint become more comfortable talking about the recipient before we paint. Maybe you’d like to slip a robe on and tell me about him?”

She found that idea very much to her liking and decided that she had been given an excellent recommendation after all. She’d be writing a discreet letter of thanks to a few Princesses after her session.

She did as she suggested and walked out, laying on her couch in her robe as the young woman did some preliminary sketching.

“So what is he like?”

Anna grinned, “He’s… he’s perfect really. I’ve never met someone so brave and funny in my life. He’s just, well he’d do anything for me, and I just… he gets insecure sometimes and I knew I had to do something for him…”

The woman nodded along, “I imagine it’s difficult being the Queen and having the man you love be of common birth. Others have married like you have, and there is always much love there, but it’s hard to navigate the climate of the court, is it not?”

Anna sighed, the young woman seemed to understand. “You seem to be doing well with it yourself, the court I mean,” she mentioned, knowing that the story others had told her about the young woman implied that she too was a commoner, and that was, of course, part of the reason she was so trusted and highly in demand by many an aristocratic lady looking for a particular sort of gift for their beloved.

“Yes, though I’ve been lucky to only have to work with those I want to work with. Some people, especially those who don’t think highly of people who aren’t of noble birth, aren’t really worth trying to talk to at all.”

Anna laughed at that. She’d met the type.

“But a word of advice for your Kristoff,” she said, turning from the canvas with a smile, “The court is but another mountain to climb to reach happiness.”

Anna gave the woman a wry smile, “How did you know he climbs mountains.”

The woman laughed, “Oh I always do my research, like I said, too many rude royals in the world, I have to know for sure that the person I’m painting for is going to be fun to speak with, and your love story is,” the woman held her hand to her chest and grinned broadly, “Well I’d love to hear more. I’m sure the gigglings of a few Duchesses don’t do it justice.”

Anna shrugged off her robe, feeling confident, and lazed on the couch as the woman excitedly started scribbling with her pencil on the canvas.

“I’ll start at the beginning. I was… unfortunately engaged to someone else…”

***

Kristoff was exhausted. He placed Sven in his stable and pulled from, a pail that Anna had sent along with him, a few carrots to give the reindeer.

Anna.

He thought of her with a heavy heart. He hated how they’d left things. He hated how he often let insecurity get in the way of their relationship. He loved her, and she loved him, and he knew in his heart of hearts that they would only ever want one another. She’d never so much as looked at another person with the love she showed him, and he’d heard a nasty whisper in court and completely lost sight of it. The truth of the matter was that Anna wanted to marry him, the people of Arendelle and most of its aristocracy wanted her to marry him as well. They were after all, marrying for love, but there were many who saw the other potential benefits of their union and they were a fairly well-liked couple as far as all went. Many were pleased that Arendelle’s new Queen was marrying for love like her father had before her, continuing the fairly new tradition of Arendelle’s monarchs wedding commoners for love instead of other aristocracy for political gain.

He’d been listening to the wrong voices, and it broke his heart to think that he’d upset Anna as a result. If it weren’t for the fact that he’d never be able to make it back to the capitol and back before he needed to be out on the ice in the morning to lead the harvesters in their work, he’d hitch up Sven again and head back home, hell he’d even walk there, if only to tell Anna that he was sorry for not believing in her the way he should have.

When he walked from the stable and found, carefully placed directly in front of the doorway into his cabin, a wooden crate.

He lifted it from the ground and brought it in with him, noting the horse prints in the snow in front of his cabin, but also seeing that Anna’s horse Kjekk was nowhere to be found, he realized that while it could only be from her, she must have sent it with a courier or guard to be deposited on his doorstep. He was both grateful to have something from her, and sad to see that she’d sent something along to him when he should have sent an apology to her. If only he could call the wind spirit to him the way Anna and Elsa could call it to themselves and send letters back and forth. He would love to send her even the simplest sorry.

He set to making himself something to eat before opening it. He wanted to know what she’d sent along, but also felt that he needed to punish himself by waiting before he was given the joy of opening something, she’d given him. Anna was too kind, always. She was feisty and opinionated and said what she thought, but she was also forgiving and compassionate, and he was certain that she’d taken what he’d said to heart in a way that made him feel like breaking.

He managed to down some flavorless mush of porridge and realized, just how used to palace cooking he’d become. He’d never complain about any food, knowing what it was like for those who had too little to eat, but also it was one more reason he longed to return home. He wanted to tell Anna that he loved her and that he trusted her and that he knew that what they had was real, and then he wanted to stare lovingly into her eyes while he ate something that tasted better than unflavored porridge. It was, of course in order of priority, though he thought that maybe he could do both at the same time if he just tasted her. She did love having his mouth on her.

He set the bowl down in annoyance when he felt his cock jump at the thought. He was supposed to be feeling bad about what he’d done, not horny.

He huffed and stood, moving towards the box she’d sent along, wishing again, that he’d not been so foolish and had taken the time to love her like she deserved before he left. The week could not possibly come to an end soon enough for him.

The lid had not been nailed onto the crate, which he was grateful for as he was sore and tired and didn’t have the energy to go and find something to break the seal with. He pulled it open carefully, the wood only giving a slight resistance to his efforts due to it being a bit damp from the snow.

Once he had it open, he smiled softly, seeing that there was something wrapped in brown paper, about the size of a book, and that with it there was a letter. She often read to him, and him to her. He thought that perhaps the wrapped parcel was a copy of whatever book she was reading while he was away, for him to enjoy as she did.

It was thoughtful.

He picked up the letter first, breaking the wax seal with a smile as he saw that she had pressed a small flower into it. Anna was excellent with details and small gestures in a way he found amazing. He was not great at planning out romantic gestures, his many failed proposal attempts highlighting that well enough.

She’d sprayed the letter with her perfume. As soon as he opened the envelope it filled the air around him. She’d once told him it was made from rose and bergamot, but to him it just smelled like Anna, and as he pulled the letter from its envelope and found himself inhaling the smell of her, reading her handwriting, his manhood decided that despite his exhaustion it was not giving him a break.

Kristoff, my love,

I miss you terribly. My bed was cold last night without you and without the promise of you not so surreptitiously sneaking into it tonight, I find my heart, along with…other parts of myself… aching for you.

Kristoff paused for a moment closing his eyes. He could scarcely believe that Anna had sent him something so raunchy. Though if he was being truthful it wasn’t so much that he thought that she was incapable of writing such a thing as he was surprised, she’d entrusted it with someone instead of simply arriving unannounced and telling him about it herself. She used to do such things, but her inability to simply take off and follow him without warning was the one downside of her new position as Queen.

He opened his eyes and looked back to the letter.

I’ve sent you a small gift, I hope you enjoy it as much in the receiving as I did in the sending.

Love always,

Your Anna

P.S. Yours and only ever yours.

He smoothed his fingers over her signature, his heart leaping at her postscript. She was impossibly perfect.

She was sometimes insecure too, mostly around points of change, but he did his best to always help her through. That she was doing the same for him, was enough to make his heart skip a beat. He still wasn’t sure of what he’d done to deserve her.

When he set the letter down and lifted the brown paper package from the box, he was surprised to feel that it had much less heft than a book normally did. He found quickly too, pressing the paper, that the back was hollow under his hand.

He undid the twine securing the package and found that written on the brown paper was again, an echo of her letter “Yours and only ever yours”. It made him even more curious, and while he had many thoughts about what it might be, he had never expected what the removal of the paper revealed.

He cursed quietly under his breathe as he gazed upon what he now realized was an unframed canvas. It was no larger than a book, and the amount of detail and expression it contained was unparalleled to anything else he’d ever seen, even in a photograph.

It was a painting of Anna, smiling a bit shyly, reclined on the couch in her bedroom. She was rendered splendidly, the artist perfectly picking up upon the little blush on her cheeks, the half-lidded look through the thickness of her lashes, the slight shine on her lips.

The fact that in the painting she was completely naked, her freckles meticulously added with the tiniest detail, was not lost on him. He knew each of those freckles well, and not a single one was out of place. He’d touched those freckles, counted them, committed them to memory and caressed and kissed and licked each and every one of them in the process of loving Anna.

His heart raced. She’d sent him a beautifully painted portrait of her entirely naked body.

His fingers brushed against the surface of the canvas. She’d posed for it. It wasn’t a last second thought to send him a novel or snack or piece of clothing he’d left behind. She’d sat and posed nude for a painting with the express intention to send it to him.

His and only ever his.

He leaned the beautiful thing on the box it came in and couldn’t help himself but to undo the ties of his trousers, sitting back in one of his rough kitchen chairs as he took himself in hand and stared at the perfectly captured details of her body.

The air around him smelled of her as he ran his hand up and down his shaft. This was what she wanted, and he knew it. She was almost certainly in her bed, laying on the side where he slept, touching herself to the thought of him.

He groaned into the silence of his cabin, “Anna!”

What he wouldn’t give for her to climb out of that painting. It was beautiful, a masterful recreation of her every curve, of the slight slope of her breasts, the blush on her cheeks that extended down her chest. It was all so perfectly Anna, but he would give anything for her to be there, for her to bend over his table and let him show her just how sorry he was for ever thinking for a moment that she’d want anyone but him.

He’d been a fool, but she had been wicked and kind in her forgiveness.

His palm pumped faster and harder as he thought of her touching herself for him, as he thought about her posing for that painting for him, as he fantasized about having her right there bent over the table.

When he came, he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her, letting himself forget, if only for a moment, that he wasn’t at home with her, warm and snuggled at his side.

He was going to make love to her when he got back. She deserved more than a quick bout of apology sex. He was going to kiss every freckle again, double checking that portrait for accuracy. He was going to show her why he knew that he could be secure in the fact that she never wanted anyone other than him, and he was going to show her with his hands, with his mouth, and with his cock until she looked as absolutely debauched as he felt.

He was a mess, and as he opened his eyes, gazing upon the portrait, he knew that he owed Anna all that and more as a proper thank you. He’d put it back in it’s box in the morning and keep it with loving care under his bed until the next occasion presented itself that he’d be back.

The week absolutely could not pass quickly enough for him. As he straightened and cleaned himself, he thought again of her posing for that portrait, just for him. His sweet Anna bare and blushing, likely there for hours, just to give him something special.

This time his heart leapt at the thought. He laid himself in his bed and blew out his lantern, warm with the thoughts of her love, and how he would show her his appreciation.

#kristanna advent 2019 #kristanna #This has a plot and I'm as surprised as you all are trust me #A bit unreasonably proud of this one #I'm going to go sit in the sin bin for a while and think about what I've done

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renegade-skywalker · 4 years

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Out of the Abyss, Chapter 20

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15 / Chapter 16 / Chapter 17 / Chapter 18 / Chapter 19 / Chapter 20: Sole Survivor

After years in exile, ex-Jedi General, Eden Valen (now going by Vale) continues to clean up after Revan and Malak’s mess of a war, only to find herself forever cursed with their unfinished business. As an ill-fated lead brings her to Tatooine, Eden finds that Revan’s mysterious plans go beyond the Republic, beyond the Outer Rim, and into the utter unknown. (A novelization of The Sith Lords and beyond)

Chapter Summary: Atton returns to a changed Peragus, fearing now for his life as well as his record, and Brianna catches Atris up to the Exile's whereabouts.

Also found on AO3 | fanfiction.net

3951, Peragus Mining Facility Atton

"Anything you'd like to report?"

"Um, excuse me - what?"

"Anything you'd like to report, sir? In your luggage?"

Atton was good at smuggling, or at least he had been, given his current performance. Not used to being flustered, Atton mustered as charming of a laugh as he could and considered even winking at the Peragus intake officer looking him deadpan in the face.

"Ah yeah, actually," he answered finally, desperately trying to sound casual but failing miserably, "Got a new jacket, some boots, and-"

"Alright then, just log them in here, here and here," the woman cut him off as she thrust a datapad at his chest, before he could flourish his half-lie with something even stupider than what he'd already said. The new jacket wasn't a lie, nor were the boots… but what was inside the boots, well, that was another story.

Atton restrained himself, careful to keep his dumb mouth shut, and took the datapad from the officer's impatient hands. Doing as she asked, he logged the new duds and… nothing else. Smiling still, he handed the pad back to her, her expression unchanged.

"Okay, now I just need you to sign this waiver-"

"Waiver?" Atton held up a hand to stop her, "I signed a waiver when I signed on with this outfit, why do I need to do it again?"

"New company policy," she shrugged, seeming more annoyed than anything. Atton watched her for further reaction, but after finding none snatched the datapad back from her and scanned the waiver now displayed on its screen. "Says here the hazard pay's gone up. What's that about?"

Atton's heart skipped a beat once his brain processed the technical salary increase but knew better than to get his hopes up.

"Haven't you heard?" the officer said, rolling her eyes, "Whole outfit could blow any minute now, what with the up in mining accidents."

"But there are always mining accidents," Atton answered, "Isn't that the whole point this job is what it is?"

"Not like this," she replied, sighing and raising her brows as she glanced at his file open on another datapad at her fingertips, "We lost ten miners since you set off, it looks like."

"Lost? As in… died?"

The woman nodded, solemn despite the clear annoyance still painted on her face.

"Damn. Does anyone know why? I mean, accidents happen, but any idea why there are so many?"

The woman shrugged again.

"Management won't tell us anything, just that it's under control. Whatever that means."

Atton huffed in snark agreement, "Of course."

Signing the waiver finally, wondering just how harrowing his next four years here might be, he was suddenly feeling better about the contraband hiding in near-plain sight in his carry-on, almost forgetting the deal with the Exchange lackey that forced him into this mess.

One down, four to go. Though if everything went as planned, he'd be off this rock in no time.

-------------------------------

3951 BBY, The Polar Regions of Telos The Last Handmaiden

"And that was the last you saw of the Exile?"

"Yes, Mistress," Brianna's voice echoed through Atris' chambers, even the quickness of her breath reverberating off the stark walls that surrounded them. "Is there any more you wish from me?"

Atris remained silent, her fingers steepled in thought as they cradled her porcelain chin upon her desk, considering Brianna's words. Atris betrayed no emotion as she considered the Last Handmaiden's account, though she already knew what happened from the reports Brianna had sent. After a few agonizing minutes, the woman shook her head. "I believe that will be all for now. Good work."

Good work?

Brianna would hardly call it good work, and though she was glad for her sisters' unusual accolades, nothing of what had transpired over the last standard week felt good to her.

"I sense some uncertainty," Atris said, a wan smile crossing her pale features as her gaze lifted to meet Brianna's inquisitive stare. "If you have any grievances, please share them."

Brianna was unsure if this was a request made in earnest curiosity or one meant to draw out her ire.

"Perhaps I misinterpreted your instructions, Mistress. I was under the impression that I was to continue to pursue the Exile, even after she left Nespis."

"Ah," Atris said, her voice soft and soothing. Mistress uncoupled her hands and pressed them to the desk as she stood, her white robes billowing as she swept across the room to Brianna's side. "That was the intention, yes, but the Force has since shown me another path."

Brianna stiffened as Atris placed a hand on her shoulder, both afraid there was some unseen reprimand yet to come though inwardly pleased at the closeness, her Mistress' smile an almost motherly welcome.

"As their only other living witness, you have further confirmed my fears that the Sith have returned. It is only a matter of time before they reveal themselves in true and wage war on the Republic as we know it. But for now we must rest and await their arrival."

Brianna nodded, tempted to mirror Atris' serene smile though finding she couldn't at the thought of the man with the violet saber back at Anchorhead, perturbed that Atris seemed so sure that the Sith would continue to emerge from anonymity, finally making themselves known.

"Tell me what to do next, Mistress," Brianna bowed her head, reverent, awaiting her Mistress' next command, unsure of what else to do.

"I have something for you," Atris answered after a moment, her voice soft but aloof now. "See that plasteel container by the door?"

Atris removed her hand from Brianna's shoulder, the Echani's arm suddenly cold at the absence of her Mistress' touch. Brianna glanced back in the direction Atris indicated, finding a demure box waiting by the exit to the study, hardly distinguishable from the other packages piled up along the walls - undoubtedly housing artifacts yet to be examined, items yet to be logged into Atris' never-ending inventory.

"I would like for you to take it with you when you return to your quarters. Think of it more as a test than a gift."

"Yes, Mistress."

"You would do well to consider your Echani oath," Atris continued, hooking her hand beneath Brianna's chin and guiding it so that she looked at Atris again. Mistress' angelic smile remained, her eyes warm despite their iciness. It was a wonder Atris was not Echani herself, given her appearance, though it was clear she revered the race highly for their discipline as well as for how well their faith coincided with that of the Jedi. "I will need all the protection I can get."

"Y-yes, Mistress."

Atris removed her hand from Brianna's chin and Brianna bowed her head again, wanting anything but to look Mistress in the eye.

She knows.

"Speak with Orenna about blocking," Atris said, returning to her desk and immediately busying herself with a datapad, as if Brianna had only just interrupted her and had not been speaking for the last hour, detailing every leg of her journey. "And try not to take it personally, or anything your sisters say for that matter. I believe it was sentimentality that ultimately led your father to his unfortunate demise."

Atris was not even looking at Brianna as she said this, her voice almost casual and nonchalant as she continued. Her father was murdered by the traitor Revan, Brianna and everyone else knew that. But she knew what Atris spoke of, if not indirectly - the thing that haunted her every waking moment, the mistake Brianna never made but was born with the burden to bear. Brianna the Bastard. The Last of the Handmaidens.

"You would do well with some guidance," Atris said with some finality, an edge to her voice as her eyes rose to meet Brianna's - briefly - before smiling softly and returning to her work without another glance. This was meant to signal Brianna's dismissal and mark her uncouth exit from Atris' chambers to again consider the sins of her father, ad nauseum.

Brianna waited for a moment, almost hopeful that Atris was not yet finished, but when her Mistress continued to read her datapad without so much as another upward glance, Brianna nodded, bowed, and retreated, picking up the plasteel container as she went.

Once out of sight of Atris' chambers and clear of the long, somber causeway that separated their Mistress' quarters from her Echani advance guard, Brianna stopped mid-stride and leaned against the wall, letting out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

Her fingers prickled, cold almost, as if she had been out on the mountainside. Brianna's knuckles were white against the plasteel container still in her hands, and with a trembling grip, she opened the box to see what was inside.

At first, she saw nothing, just the black nothingness of an open box. But as the light adjusted, she saw it - grey fabric on grey fabric, shades upon shades of grey. The box nearly clattered to the floor as Brianna extracted the cloth in its entirety from the container, what little color she had drained from her face at the sight. Jedi robes.

Oh, she knows.

--------------------------------

3951, Peragus Mining Facility Atton

"So, do anything interesting off-world?" the new-hire beside him asked, but Atton only shrugged, trying his best to keep his mind focused on the data running across the screen in front of him. The mining droid on his other side twitched as it idled, as if awaiting Atton's command with impatience - which only made Atton want to punch the thing square in the module that looked most like a face.

"Really, nothing?"

The young humanoid was eager for Atton's opinion on all things Peragus, including the quality of the food, the linens the bunks were outfitted with (Atton couldn't help but snort when he said the word 'linens'), and of course, what their once-a-year leave would consist of once he qualified for it.

"Played some cards, ate some take out. Stuff we can't get around here, that sort of thing. Enjoyed the peace and quiet," Atton answered reluctantly after a moment, doing what he could to be as vague as possible while still giving a meaty enough answer in hopes of shutting the kid up.

The new recruit was fresh-faced and new to the job - quite literally. Having only just arrived that morning, Atton's shift manager thought it best to have him shadow Atton first thing once his paperwork was signed and ready to process. Fresh from the dire warnings that management bombarded the poor kid with during orientation, he was likely looking for a ray of hope, hungry for any indication that this outfit wasn't so bad. Atton didn't want to outright depress the guy but he also didn't want to lie, though ultimately Atton preferred not to have to talk to him at all.

"Aw, really? Didn't meet up with friends or family or anything?" he asked.

Atton almost laughed.

"Don't have either, though plenty of the others do. The company can arrange for family visits if that's what you were trying to get at."

"Ah, yeah, I was wondering," the new recruit said, shifting now as he watched Atton work from over his shoulder, completely oblivious to how uncomfortable it made him, "Trying to help my family win back their estate on Coruscant. Since we couldn't afford to send any of my siblings to school, we sort of ended up finding odd jobs around the galaxy."

"And you got sent all the way out here?" Atton asked, trying to mask the agitation in his voice as he tried to ignore the kid at his back the droid beside him, still twitching.

"Tough breaks, right?"

"Eh, it's not so bad once you get used to it. There are worse things you could be doing."

'Worse things' is putting it lightly. Atton eyed the corner of their work station, nestled into a bit of rock at the base of the current excavation site, at the satchel he left unattended by the entrance. All workers carried their equipment to and from their work sites, but they also carried a satchel with any nonessential gear like water or other provisions they might need for their shift. Atton's satchel had been equipped with only one nutrient bar and a water canister that was now attached to his hip. The rest of the satchel's contents would hopefully only be discovered by the man intended to pick it up, per the Exchange's orders, during the next shift change. The drop-off would be seamless, if all went as planned. And no one would be the wiser.

"I'm only here for a year, so it shouldn't be so bad."

If he was lucky.

"So, how long have you been here?"

Atton gritted his teeth, doing his best to ensure his work was accurate while he fished for unimportant answers and the droid continued to hum beside him uncertainly.

"A while," he answered absently, punching in a code that should keep the droid happy for a while. After hitting the execute button, the droid began mining as directed, and Atton sighed as the kid beside him laughed, clapping on needless congratulations.

"Whoa, that was awesome!"

"Uh, yeah sure," Atton said, checking his chronowatch. Only twenty minutes and he would be in the clear. His immediate future was already so clear in his mind - lunch scarfed down in a minute flat followed by a much-needed nap in his bunk. Once the drop off happened, he'd feel a lot better. And he could finally get back to paying off his debts, worry free.

"So you're good with numbers, huh?" the kid asked, returning to Atton's shoulder, scrutinizing the program he just entered into the datapad. Atton could only roll his eyes.

"Sort of, it's just a basic equation. Once you learn the ropes here, you'll see, it's just a programming spec meant to-"

"Hey, is your datapad working?" A voice interrupted from Atton's other side. He spun around to meet the sound, his eyes falling on a short red-haired woman running up beside him and his undesired intern.

"Uh, yeah why?" Atton answered, instantly forgetting the woman's name despite having been assigned to the same shift as her for the last six months.

"I dunno, mine's acting kind of funny. Won't take any commands. Do you mind taking a look?"

Atton minded, but didn't want to voice as much. After quickly eyeing the unattended satchel in the corner again, he nodded, knowing it would be best if he acted as normal and unassuming as possible - even if normal for him meant avoiding everyone at all costs. And to his dismay, his little sidekick fell into stride once he agreed to follow along and see what the problem was.

"I'm no expert or anything," Atton warned them both, putting up his hands as if in surrender, "But let's see here-"

The woman's station was on the adjacent wall, her datapad propped up against a jut in the metal paneled wall. After punching in a few codes, it was clear his co-worker's data was sound, her programming even more polished than his if anything.

"Huh, that's weird," he muttered, punching in the sequence to run diagnostics. "Everything seems clean. Perfect, even."

The woman beamed at his side but bit her lip once she caught sight of her droid again, clearly malfunctioning beside them.

"You don't think-?" she started, but she trailed off. Atton side-eyed her, her brown eyes meeting his for an instant before she shook her head. "No, nevermind. I'll figure it out next shift."

She powered down the droid and nodded at Atton in thanks before taking her datapad back and submitting a Help Desk ticket.

"That happen often?" the new kid asked as they walked back to Atton's station. Atton couldn't help but eye his own assigned mining droid with suspicion, content it was doing as it was told but uncomfortable with how it had been acting earlier - not to mention the rumors running around the station since he'd returned from Citadel Station.

"No, not really."

"Weird."

They worked in silence until the end of the shift, to Atton's relief, the new recruit only asking him about trivial things like how many suits they were issued and if they were allowed seconds at meal times. He kept glancing back at the woman from before, her droid thankfully slumped and still powered down since she willed it to be so, unmoving.

"So, are there designated 'lights out' times or-?" the new kid asked just before the shift change was signaled. "Oh, what's that?"

"Shift's over," Atton said, packing his datapad away and making a point to not look at his abandoned satchel. As they approached the elevators, Atton watched as the next shift filtered past them.

Once inside the lift, he couldn't help but look back, knowing that his gaze would be indistinguishable among the rest of the group waiting for the elevator up. Watching as the new shift took their stations, Atton saw a man kneel down and snatch up his abandoned satchel, slinging it over his back as if it were nothing. With close cropped hair and sharp blue eyes, Atton didn't recognize the man - only knowing that he fit the sorry excuse for a description the Exchange provided. And for now, that would have to be enough.

-----------------------------

"Did you hear about the explosion down in Sector Two?" a Twi'lek muttered, idly moving the food around her plate with a fork.

"I thought it was in Sector Eight? Sector Two is way too close to the administration level," her companion said.

Atton did his best to keep his head down and eat as fast as he could, still eager to nap before scheduled rec time and making the most of his sentence on this rock, but he couldn't help but get sucked into the gossip already on fire at the table he was unfortunately sitting at.

"No, I'm serious. Sector Two! And management isn't doing anything about it!"

"How do you know about it, then?"

Atton's eyes volleyed between the two women, the second one a humanoid with blue markings dotting her gold face. The Twi'lek sighed and glanced about the dining hall again, apparently uninterested in Atton, who was hopefully doing a decent enough job of pretending to be equally uninterested.

"My bunkmate is stationed there, said she was lucky to make it out alive."

"You should file a formal complaint. The least they could do is ignore it, right?"

"I think it was fake," the Twi'lek said instead

"Fake?"

Her companion nodded, grave as her eyes scanned the room to spot any eavesdroppers, lowering her voice and leaning forward as she continued.

"It was planted, for sure. You heard about the ship they found last week, right?"

The other woman shook her head.

"I hear they found some people on it, salvaging the rest, I guess. Not sure who though, but they must be important because there've been a ton of inquiries."

"Inquiries?"

The Twi'lek shrugged. "Why else would people care?"

"What do you mean by inquiries, though? Like, is it someone we know? Or-?"

"Not sure, but I have a feeling it has something to do with money."

The other woman chewed as she considered the Twi'lek's words, narrowing her eyes as she mulled it all over. "You don't think it's a Jedi do you? I heard there was a bounty out for any found alive."

"Psht, they don't even exist anymore, Mara. I doubt it's a Jedi."

"I dunno. I mean, the bounty's pretty high. And you heard about someone trying to smuggle frag grenades onto the station, right?"

"What?!" the Twi'lek exclaimed, though managed to keep her voice somewhere in the range of an urgent whisper. "No way. That's the dumbest thing someone could do."

"Yeah! Or, I don't know, might have been a blaster rifle or something or other, but either way, I hear that's why they've ramped up security since yesterday."

"Ugh, they just want to make it look like they have the situation under control when they really don't. Why would these explosions keep happening, anyway?"

Atton wanted to hear more, suddenly nervous about whatever the hell he just smuggled onto this Maker forsaken rock, but instead reluctantly relinquished his seat for the next hungry worker, getting up swiftly as if he hadn't been listening and deposited his lunch tray at the end of the hall. Glancing back, he found the two women conversing still, heads bowed together now, eyes darting about the room. But they weren't the only ones, he noticed. Nearly the entire hall was flush with the sound of hushed whispers, charged with an unseen energy that Atton felt without question. He was anxious when he returned from Telos for the unchecked cargo he brought with him, partially against his own will, and while that anxiety never faded it quickly fell in line with the anxiety already running rampant throughout the station, though for reasons that were still mysterious to him. And everyone else for that matter…

"Hey! What's all this talk about accidents?"

The new kid from before sidled up alongside Atton as soon as he entered the hallway, bustling with other workers as they changed shifts, each sector switching over according to a staggered schedule. Atton rolled his eyes, his irises glimpsing so far as the contents of his brain. Atton had originally planned his quick lunch and equally swift exit ahead of time, though not for the express purpose of running into his incidental-protege. Instead, the idea had been to beat the lunch crowd back to the dorms so he could sneak in a nap while he remained the bunks' only occupant. Only now his chances of success were diminishing.

"Remember the hazard pay they had you sign off on?" Atton said, sighing. The kid nodded, though he still appeared confused.

"Why do you think that number's so high? Because it's boring here? You do know what 'hazard' means, right?"

"Of course I do, but-" the new kid paused, looking about the hall for another sympathetic face and finding none that could read his mind, "I dunno, it all seems wrong though, doesn't it? Hazard pay or no?"

Atton wanted to agree but he also wanted to be alone in his bed with only imaginary Pazaak cards for company.

"Just- don't worry about it, okay?" Atton conceded, "Everything'll be-"

But before he could finish his sentence, he felt it. It. That tingling sensation at the base of his neck that always managed to tell him when everything was about to go sideways.

"Shit."

Before the thought could properly register, Atton's senses exploded, suddenly hyperaware of everything around him - the new kid turning at his side, the bustle of people walking in the opposite direction, a deactivated mining droid ahead of him and a shipment of food being delivered to the dining hall behind him as it swerved to avoid passersby - and just as time sped up to meet his senses, an arm reaching out to cover his face of its own accord, a very real explosion blew Atton off his feet, sending him straight into the wall at his left.

Skull, shoulder, and hips collided with tempersteel as all thought rushed out of Atton's head, his limbs acting out of instinct to protect himself on impact. Several bodies crashed into his other side as the air in the hall exploded and then compressed, a dull, faraway ringing replacing all sound.

Atton collapsed, his senses on fire, his muscles jelly, when his mind suddenly reached out, all objects in the hall somehow visible in his mind's eye: every person, every machine, every piece of debris as it swirled through the air around them as if in slow motion. And that's when he sensed it – the second explosion.

Without thinking, and still unable to feel his extremities, Atton scrambled into a blown open service closet just ahead of him, ducking inside the moment the second explosion hit.

Everything went black.

Silent.

And then… ringing, low murmurs. Energy swarmed around him. Time passed, though he knew not how much.

It was almost like waking, treading the space between dreams as they bled into the real world, only prolonged, as if Atton were half-awake and hardly aware of everything around him but only marginally so, half of his brain straining to sleep and the other half urging him desperately to get up - GET UP.

"I think this one's stabilizing, finally," a voice came into focus from the void.

Atton's entire world was still a swirling blackness, but the voice grew clearer, closer.

"Can't say the same for the rest of them."

"Damn it, really?"

A low beeping resonated through the space around him, Atton's senses slowly returning, everything hurting and dialed to eleven.

"Lost this one."

"This one, too."

"Shit, why does this keep happening?"

"Has management said anything? Are they launching an investigation? Or-?"

"Management doesn't give a shit about us," another voice huffed, Atton's vision now surging with light, the waking world still a blur, "I think this one's waking up. Hey? Hey! Can you hear me?"

"Hm?" Atton's lips were numb, tingling if anything, but he could feel them, or at least sense the lack of feeling in them, which was better than nothing.

"Good, good, now just keep talking, stay with me here."

"What happened?" Atton heard himself say, his voice about as dumb as it was hoarse.

"You were hurt pretty bad, there was an explosion down by the cafeteria a few hours ago. Do you remember anything?"

A few hours ago?

"I remember…"

It had happened so suddenly, yet Atton could dissect his every second as if he were watching a play-by-play, each frame pausing long enough for him to register all present information, and it still only felt like moments ago, his brief coma lasting longer than it seemed.

"It's okay, take your time," the medic slowly swam into Atton's sight, kaleidoscope vision slowly merging into one as Atton continued to take deep breaths, his mind still reeling with what just happened. A woman stood over him, a wan smile on her face as she observed Atton - the rest of the medbay slowly coming into focus behind her and her halo of honey brown hair. "Just keep talking to me, keep talking."

"Uh," Atton muttered, his lips still unfeeling, his entire body a senseless mass, both amorphous but painful all at once, "There were two explosions, I think."

"Two?" the medic pressed, this time jabbing an intravenous needle into Atton's forearm, a warm hand briefly checking his forehead for a temperature, "Are you sure?"

Atton nodded, finding that his head pounded with the action.

"Take it easy, easy now," the medic steadied him, a gentle hand on his strapped-in arm, the IV draped over his wrist and already pumping strong with a hell of a painkiller, Atton's limbs suddenly euphoric as his mind cleared.

The medbay was full. And Atton was the only one conscious, save for the medics.

Beyond the medic at his side, several charred bodies lay on slabs beside him, white cloth barely covering their corpses. Other medics rushed about the room, medical droids buzzing at their sides.

"Two explosions," Atton repeated, unable to say more as if his mouth were suddenly full of cotton.

"No idea?"

Atton shook his head. The play-by-play was clear, but his brain couldn't yet decode the images, his mouth nowhere near as caught up to speed as his memory.

"We're losing them-" a voice said from the other side of the room, panic rising in their throat. The medic at Atton's side turned to look, and upon looking at Atton again began wheeling him out of the room, the stretcher beneath him lurching as they went.

"What happened before the explosion? Can you tell me that?" the medic asked, clearly trying to keep Atton's attention away from the room they just exited, strong with the smell of burnt human flesh. "Do you remember anything, no matter how small?"

Atton tried to nod, but his head only swayed, heavier than he anticipated. It lunged to his left, and as they barreled down the hallway Atton glimpsed into another room full of kolto tanks alight with an ethereal blue-white light, like hyperspace. Each one housed a body, floating ominously in the viscous cerulean fluid, each tank's vital bars flashing orange with urgency. Atton tried nodding again as the door closed, his body still not entirely his own, only managing to shake his shoulders as the medic wheeled him into the auxiliary holding room usually reserved for workers awaiting blood tests.

"Take it easy," the medic said again, her brown eyes coming into focus as Atton finally stilled. "Don't wear yourself out, you've been through a lot."

"What happened to the others?"

"The others?"

"Yeah, there were a bunch of people in that hallway. I-"

"Hard to say," the medic responded, almost too quickly. "Can you tell me anything else?"

Atton's mouth slowly regained feeling - his lips were chapped, and he tasted blood.

"I-"

She had been like this just before she died, right before Atton killed her. The Jedi. Her lips parched, dry except for the blood bubbling from her throat, still smiling despite everything.

You can feel it, I know it, she'd said. You are a survivor, through and through. Your allegiances tell as much. But it is your connection to the Force you must thank, for it is the reason you yet live.

She was trying to teach him a lesson, his third eye finally opened, only Atton wasn't interested in seeing what was on the other side.

"No-not sure," Atton choked, the metallic taste of blood slithering down his throat as his senses continued to return.

"It's okay, it's okay. It's over now," the medic soothed, though the panic was clear in her voice. They were now in a silent room, but Atton still remembered the room they'd left and the one they passed along the way. The Twi'lek from earlier had mentioned an explosion in Sector Two, maybe the bodies were from that accident? But if the station's kolto tanks were already full, then where did that leave everyone else?

"You don't remember anything suspicious, do you?" the medic pressed again, "Was it a mining droid again?"

"Hard to say, I think the explosion came from right next to me. A cart was being pushed. Food, I think. For the dining hall."

The medic considered him, her expression growing graver by the second as she checked his vitals.

"You're one lucky bastard," she laughed, though the seriousness was clear in her voice, "You were the least injured of everyone we managed to pull out of there."

"Managed?"

"Half the hallway collapsed, there are still miners trying to get the rest of the survivors out, or at least recover any bodies- er, I mean, anyone else that might be stuck under the debris."

A survivor through and through.

Atton's chest lurched, launching his torso forward as he began to retch.

"Oh frack, here-" the medic balked, swallowing her surprise quickly enough to shift back into doctor mode and bring Atton an empty canister to shove his face in. "The meds might make you sick, forgot to mention that. It doesn't usually affect humans this strongly, but-"

Atton knew it wasn't the meds, though he thanked whatever nonexistent gods might be listening for their existence as the medicine coursed his veins, numbing the rest of his body from whatever hell he managed to avoid for the time being.

"Is this the only one?" Another medic approached them while Atton's head was still extended into the empty canister, his lunch thankfully remaining in his stomach despite the nausea that now roiled through him. "Just got the word from the infirmary."

"What word?!" Atton's attendant pulled away, her voice growing softer as she assumed an urgent whisper in response, "I just came from the infirmary."

The adjoining medic only shook his head. "The others are gone. None of them made it."

Gone. In minutes.

Atton retched again.

It is your connection to the Force you must thank, for it is the reason you yet live.

"What?!"

The other medic only nodded in response as shock painted both of their faces. Atton's attendant buried her face in her hands before raking her fingers through her hair, taking a sharp intake of breath. "Call the security officer. Now."

"What? Why?"

"They need to launch an investigation. This is getting ridiculous. No, we're well past that-"

"Yara? Yara!" Another medic came rushing into the room at a light jog, pausing only before she was close to her colleagues, glancing at Atton cursorily before continuing, still out of breath. "Did you order another round of medication to be distributed to the kolto tanks?"

"What? No, I've been in the infirmary, and now here. Why?"

"Then you need to come see this," the woman said, now nodding at the second attendant. "You, too."

All three medics looked at Atton apologetically, as if they owed him anything, the drugs now in full force as he felt both heavy and weightless at once.

"Someone will be back to check on you shortly," the second medic assured him as the three clinicians rushed out of the room.

And just like that, Atton was alone again.

#kotor 2 #atton rand #brianna the handmaiden #star wars #my writing #fan fiction #I posted this to ff and ao3 at least a week ago I've just been lazy #also not sure if anyone is reading this monster of a fic anyway but I want it done/posted for posterity's sake #and my own peace of mind for having finished it/having it up-to-date everywhere I guess?

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scrumptiousalpacadeer · 4 years

Text

A Note on the ‘F’ Word - (Forgiveness is Willy Wonka)

I’ve come to think that forgiveness is a bit like the scene in the original Charlie and the Chocolate Factory film where Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory is opened to the public after years of secrecy. In this classic scene, the crowds are gathered at the entrance of this most magical of places - a place that grandparents told their grandchildren of at bedtime in hushed tones; a place of flowing nectar-chocolate and sweets that burns like heaven in our hero Charlie’s imagination; a place they had never truly dared to believe in but dreamed of many times; a place run apparently run by some weirdo eccentric that the cynical masses had given up on long ago.

That is until five Golden Tickets are sent out into the world...Willy Wonka is opening his factory again.

In the scene, Gene Wilder approaches the eager crowd, leaning and limping heavily with his cane along a red carpet; a look of grim severity on his face. The whole falls silent; all that is heard are the regular steps of Wonka and the taps of his cane. What the hell? This is not what anyone is expecting; this God-like man of mystery and invention a miserable invalid? The opening of the Chocolate Factory is meant to be an epic event; the whole world is watching..

Wilder suddenly stops walking right next to his baffled fans and the world stops, holds its breath; locked in Wonka’s charismatic spell. Then something very weird happens; he begins to topple forward away from his cane - as if he’s had a stroke, or has suddenly died or fainted.... the crowd gasp, utterly horrified. Its the end of everything and it was meant to be the beginning.

And then....well, Willy Wonka does a perfect forward roll and springs up beaming from ear to ear: it was all a façade of ill-health; a silly joke. The crowd goes wild with relief and joy and the factory’s golden gates open for the day, signalling a new era.

The other day I had a phone call out of the blue from an old friend; a friend I hadn’t seen or heard from for eight years. Rahul; my party hard philosopher; he who introduced me to the basics of meditation in my student digs 1996, whom I’d shared hundreds of fags with and laughed and danced hard with at house/techno nights ‘down the Student Union in my final year at London University, 1997. Rahul who I’d watched Sideways with and had half a lager with when I was seven months pregnant. Rahul who often got so insanely drunk and gobby at a party that no-one knew what to do with him. Rahul, wild man of peace; loose canon. Rahul who years became a Maths teacher as I became an English teacher.

I very nearly didn’t answer the phone because I didn’t recognise the number, but I was in a care-free mood, listening to Radio 3 in the kitchen (how times have changed since 1997), so I picked up.

One of the first words I said to him was ‘sorry’. ‘Sorry, Rahul!’ - It was weird because I’d been thinking of getting in touch with him for a while to ask his forgiveness. I hoped for an opportunity to say sorry to him for being such a crap friend; for taking him for granted; for being a selfish shit-bag; for not answering his calls, for the years of silence; for draining his resources then abandoning him when I found new pastures. I needed to say thankyou to him for being there for me at times in need; times I’d been hollow in spirit and he’d stepped in, but I hadn’t grasped it at the time.

“What do you mean? You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, “ he said. “this is how it works with you. Years go by.” That's the thing with forgiveness; it hurts. It pained me that he forgave me without a second’s thought when I knew full well I hadn’t played fair. One time, in our mid-twenties, Rahul had bought me a ticket to go and join him in Atlanta America where he was working in I.T. His generosity was always off the scale.

Since our last meeting Rahul had lost half of his family and was now an orphan. His younger sister had died from a ‘cancer thing’ he told me; his mother crossed the threshold in April this year after contracting Covid in hospital. Her death was a relief, he said. “She was so happy to get the virus; all she wanted was to join her two children.” Apparently there had been a cot death. Rahul was the only one left alive now. He was talking to me from his flat in Hounslow, looking out over the town.

I had to steady myself on the windowsill as he told me how his world had imploded. I felt the disappearance of his world in my stomach; and a sudden revelation of the nature of our connection. I hadn’t realised it before, but Rahul and I were conjoined by our exiled status. He, more visibly - a boy of high Indian descent inhabiting a West London life of hedonism, doing the drugs and the booze but also somehow accepting an arranged marriage foretold in his stars - a marriage that ended in disaster...Me; a girl from a house of shame and smutty lies and buried criminality, trying to climb the ladder and be so gleaming white and impressive... We both knew how hard it was to play the game in this world; feeling all the time we could only exist outside it. Perhaps that's why, back in the 1990s, filled with the possibilities of our lives - born out of joint as we were - , we could feel the beat so keenly and dance so crazily together. Rahul and I knew the art of getting wasted and causing trouble.

I enforced the point that I’d been a real bitch and I told him how and why and that he deserved better. I told him of my stark memory of his mother singing sweetly to my baby daughter in Summer 2012, distracting her, so that we could sit and chat in his garden. I told him I lived in the country now; that so much had changed. “Are you comforted?” he asked. “Are you still Chrissy Woo?” It was always his nick-name for me - a nick-name I didn’t mind. “I don’t think I am,” I said. “I couldn’t go on like that.”

Did he know that my father had died...that I was an orphan too? Rahul and my father had met many times so I didn’t inform him of my father’s subtly racist jibe after he’d come over for fish and chips one time. I didn’t tell Rahul about my revelation that my father was, on one level, arguably, as far as I was concerned, often, a ball-less sack of shit (that’s a W.O.P.E. Whole Other Post Entirely - very much related to the ‘F’ word) Out mutual disappointment of our hopeless fathers was the subject of a much longer conversation.

I think the thing that’s so frickin’ scary about forgiveness as I am just as the very beginnings of understanding it, is the sheer unknowability of the space that comes after it. For my part, all the resentments, angers, prejudices, judgements, pulsing hatreds at times, these were very loyal friends that I woke up with each day without even having the faintest idea I was doing so. Sure, they were ugly and they caused merry hell enough, but, well, at least I knew where I was. At least I was livin, and sometimes that's really hard to do. They were the furniture I manoeuvred around; the reliable chairs I sat in for comfort when I was never good enough; when I just couldn’t keep my head above water. What happens if I let that all go? What will I hold onto? If I know longer want to stab my father with a screw-driver in the manner I meant to stab the lawn today as a form of irrigation for my new grass seed (see previous post and the WOPE I referred to earlier is coming soon) what the fuck happens then? I will have absolutely no idea who I am. Everything has the potential to start looking like Wonka’s Oompa Loompa Land with giant toadstools and chocolate rivers and that’s just too much happiness for anyone, surely, to stomach. I will know that I don’t know anything, and I’ve spent my whole life pretending to know everything. Surely the space will swallow me up, won’t it? How on earth do you start something entirely new?

There’s that terrifying moment of suspension before something new comes in - like Willy Wonka topping over his cane. There’s those seconds when, learning a new guitar chord, our fingers hover in space over the fret; the new contortions our fingers must make to strike a new sound feels so awkward; so wrong; the muscles tearing into a new shape.. There’s that burning second that we leap out in the dark, blind, towards the possibility of a new tune, we take a mad punt and see where our clumsy fingers land, risk making a new sound... Chances are first few times around we’re gonna fuck it up. It’s agony. Forgiveness feels to me, when it comes in, like a hard grounding grief, a thunderstorm of reluctantly received understanding that wipes out the old and invites me to the chocolate factory. And some days it leaves me entirely and I feel like I’m back in the dumb days again.

But, and I’m riffing here, I think the answer partly has to do with a belief in change and a steady embracing of transformation; or at least a basic faint belief that it might just be possible. Cynics and miseries say ‘people don’t change,’ ‘things don’t change’, but this is of course undiluted horse-shit. People transform utterly on a daily basis, all the time...One of the tricks, I’ve learnt, is to spend as large a proportion of time as possible with people who also believe in change and progress - a bit like stocking up on sunlight for those dark hours that must be spent with angel eaters - ( translation: rampant materialists/misery guts who refuse to believe in magic of any sort).

But oh the rewards; oh the sheer mad silly fun of Wonka’s gates opening and guzzling on that chocolate.. The ecstasy of hearing a G major chord sung from your own fair hand.

I hope to meet up with Rahul this Summer - to see him in the flesh. No doubt it will be somewhat awkward; he’s forgiven me - in fact; he doesn’t see what the problem is. I’m a different person; I’ve had some chunks taken out and they’ve been filled in with wholly different colours. He’s a different person too; I made him promise me on the phone that he would look after himself - so he’ll be made of different colours too. How will we talk to each other? What words will we use? How will we navigate such unknown waters? How do you build something new with someone who looks the same, but is wholly other?..

I have no idea. I think we might just have to chuffing well make it up as we go along; trying to forgive ourselves for all the mistakes we make along the way.

* * * * *

As a random and seemingly unrelated end-note - I went out for a walk down the lane to catch some air mid-blog. What with it being a Saturday night and me being a party fiend, I thought I would ‘pick up some litter’ for fun. I picked up a can of cider and a paper plate. Two cars zoomed past. It struck me that had the drivers of these vehicles happened to take a passing interest in the woman in a camel coat walking alone along the side of the road with an unsteady gate (wellington boots rub my right heel real bad!) and an empty can of cider in her hand they would surely been able to draw only one conclusion: PISS-HEAD!.. OLD SOAK! lonely Saturday night Sussex forty something alcoholic staggering along the lanes with empty cans of cider for company...

Ah the deception of appearance...

And so, dear reader; Happy Saturday and judgeth not a lady who walketh with a can of cider down a country lane. She might just be a blogger on a break.

I hope you enter the chocolate factory of your choosing some time soon or are already there sampling the delights....

Love from Christine x

#gene wilder #post covid impact #friendship #transformation #post covid freedom #exile #grief/mourning #personal freedom #making mistakes #love again #chocolate #charlie and the chocolate factory

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violetsystems · 4 years

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#personal

I had to clear the porch of all my plants yesterday. I was asked to move them by my landlord’s wife so that dirt didn’t get into the air conditioner below. Yesterday the husband banged on my door and read me the riot act. In his mind, this is not something I argue with. And honestly over the years, it’s been cheaper not to complain. That is until you realize you are cloistered into a literal daily soap opera with everyone’s hearts on their sleeve. Including the police. I honestly don’t have the capacity to worry about anything except my own private space these days. Everybody seems to know something about me on the surface but not the whole story. People brush by with projected questions every day. They snoop. They follow. They try to get a read on what I’m thinking. Which boggles my fucking mind because I’ve written it here weekly for over five years now. Some people on here know me more intimately than anyone in real life. I think that is special and a large reason why I’ve kept things very ethereal and romantic here. I don’t force myself into anything or anyone’s life. And yet I find myself encroached on in such a unsafe and disastrous way I don’t know where to go anymore. I’m stuck. The last three responses on LinkedIn were women I didn’t know. The first from the post office I was nice to then ignored. The second was an unsolicited request from a student at NYU. I ignored that one. Then an all too obvious ghost profile from Atlanta that worked as a makeup artist for Ulta. All of them I found a light way of saying I’m on the platform for professional reasons. All of them I feared were catfishing especially when the conversations turned to “do you wanna hang out?” The last one was a little more human and I need connections. Professional ones. My last job and everything with it just ghosted me in the most heinous way possible. I’m in a vulnerable position seemingly. And everyone seems to think this is the final blow. They’re closing in for the kill. They’ve surrounded themselves around me. I can’t escape. The whole neighborhood has me on trial every square inch I walk. None of it makes sense unless you count the police down the block making sure I’ve been made contact with. It’s surreal and not so obviously unconstitutional. It’s my life every day now. It sounds like shit out of a spy movie. And this is what my life has become. And if I talk about it openly I’m the first to be shoved in the oven and gaslighted. How did it come to this? I don’t really care. The lesson I have learned from all of this is that time and distance will tell. Nobody knows how drastically my financial state has changed other than my bank. And this entire time being tortured, followed, analyzed and picked over I’ve just been building up equity week by week. The plants didn’t go to waste. I rearranged them in the bathroom. It made things less scary. The only place where I feel safe anymore. Inside the locked doors of my apartment.

If I were to sum it all up with one phrase. This is the phrase. What the literal fuck is wrong with people? The answer is too dark to repeat. This is just how people are. You can be above it. Or you can sink to the bottom with the rest of the trash that floats down there. I tend to stay away from everyone. People have year after year pinned the blame on me. And yet no one can stop reaching out to me or pressuring me to be a part of something I’m not. Welcome to society I guess. It makes me angry. And the one thing I’ve had the luxury of not being the last few weeks is angry. I’m not the hulk. I am hiding a blinding rage inside me. But it’s not my own. And I realize sometimes that for all the shit people try with me, it’s a sure sign none of it works. I’m somewhere else entirely. Wondering if I should seek out a job in China next year and prepare my language skills the rest of the year. Wondering if I will even have to work at all after all of this. It’s all going to cave in at some point. Nobody can go through what I’ve gone through and just disappear. Unless someone really feels they need to off me. Which is a fear I live with for no real purpose. I don’t really gain anything from being exiled and ignored. Some great big test year after year about how one day I’ll be “discovered.” What the fuck am I doing down here writing for anyway? I’m 46. I’d play Khan in a Star Trek reboot. But really I’m trying to connect just like everyone else. And people have consistently taken this as a vulnerability or a mental illness to manipulate and turn on me. That’s just the evil of human nature. Life teaches me that evil people will just tell you it’s in their dna. They fuck into existence enough tax havens. The panama papers made sure of bringing that to light. But here I am an only child with no legacy other than my parents who one day will cease to be. I’ll be out here paying my taxes until my dying breath while people use them to fund police actions so blatantly corrupt you’d better be putting the rest into a good lawyer. Chicago is a city of lawsuits. And I fear sometimes it’s just a con on top of a con. They had it set up. Destroy my life and offer me no choice but to accept their version of what I should be. And they got caught with their pants down so much that I feel it’s not so much a cover up but an orgy of greed and corruption. Chicago is no better than Donald Trump in that respect. Neither are both sides of the political coin people roll down the street to you as bait. You can make a change. I can actually. I received an email that my vote by mail ballot was accepted. The email account that wasn’t locked out after twenty years of service to an art school that I gave my very soul to. No student loans to show for it either.

I can tell you how this all ends. It ends great for me. And bad for anyone who is tied to holding me back. I know this because a year ago I was far worse off. And I have been the only person I can ultimately rely on these days. My own good judgement. My own legacy which people cast doubt on. My body of work that reaches past a job that never wanted me to be me. I learned a lot about being inclusive. How to be an ally in my own way. I’ve seen that respected and appreciated down here. I’ve put it into practice in my life in my search for a new career. I’m not looking for a job. I don’t need to be plugged back into some matrix of human capital for the sake of maximizing the GDP. I’m not interested in people forcing their ideas of what is best for me in a hidden, corrupt fashion. The big brother nation state here is nothing to brag about. We are far worse than China in that respect. Americans are at the mercy of capital. We are bullied by landlords, developers, politicians, police, institutions, and countless other mobs. When we disagree, we are put on trial and hunted until we admit we are wrong. We are watched with the human eye from the shadows like a rabid animal breathing down our necks. No luxury of the fourth wall of CCTV. We are conned and herded into ghettos and experimented on for marketing pogroms. We are told we are irrational when we question a 2 trillion dollar valued company’s need for 30% of profits from independent developers. We are sick and tired of hearing your endless excuses. We see how full of shit you are. And some of us revolt. Some of us tear it down. And some of us sit back knowing full well this is the way it has ended for some of us. My love of this country. My freedom that isn’t free. The lie I live from day to day. Sounds very depressing. I must have brought it on myself. And I did partially. Trying to get close to something real. I got very close to myself. I ended up healing myself in ways I didn’t know I needed. And I ended up being in a very different place while people around me stayed the same. I feel tied down. I feel torn apart. But mostly I feel indifferent because you can’t hurt me any more if I don’t believe you have any power over me. And this is the boring nature of my life now. I sit back and plan like I always do. Get things in order. Know what my rights are. Know how badly they’ve been violated. And know the world is just a planet in the universe. A planet we both share. Air we both breathe. Private and intimate thoughts that are stuck inside my head only to be pried out with forceful hands. They’ve tried for years. I have too many scars to show for it. And they’ve never heard the secret out of my mouth. Or if they did they never really listened. It’s not about them. It’s about us. <3 Tim

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cover2covermom · 4 years

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Goodbye April & hello May!

I can see the light at the end of the tunnel & I’m running toward it…

April seemed to drag on despite the days flying by. Does that even make sense? Like I’ve mentioned before, my days are filled with homeschooling, home projects, mask making, and reading. I’ve been doing my best to fill my hours to ease the COVID-19 anxiety.

I received the notification that I will be returning to work next week, which was welcome news. I’m ready to get back a little bit of normalcy in my life. Thankfully, our library system is reopening in phases. Our first phase will be employees only (3-5 employees in the building at one time) and offering curb-side service to our patrons. As of now, we will not open our doors to the public until June 1st at the earliest. At that point in time, we will be limiting the number of patrons allowed in the building. It is definitely going to be a learning curve to see what my new work normal is going to entail. I’m looking forward to adapting & rising to the occasion.

» Be Not Far From Me by Mindy McGinnis

As per usual, Mindy McGinnis puts out another harrowing YA book. I love survival stories, so I enjoyed this story about a girl that has gotten lost in the woods. Be Not Far From Me was uncomfortable to read at certain points.

» Here in the Real World by Sara Pennypacker

*3.5 Stars*

This was a sweet story about two kids that form a friendship while hanging around an abandoned lot. The first half of this book didn’t grab me and moved far too slowly. I enjoyed the second half of this book a lot better than the first half.

» Keeper of Lost Cities (Keeper of the Lost Cities #1) by Shannon Messenger

An awesome MG fantasy! I cannot wait to continue on with this series. I’d recommend this to fans of Harry Potter.

» Separation Anxiety by Laura Zigman

*2.75 Stars*

I read this for one of my book clubs. I think the author was attempting to write a book that would charm readers with eccentric characters & a humorous plotline, but don’t think it delivered. Instead of being funny, the story felt odd & forced.

» A Wolf Called Wander by Rosanne Parry

I think the author did a tremendous job writing a book from a wolf’s perspective. You can tell the author did extensive research into wolves & their behaviors. While I think this animal perspective was very well done, I didn’t think the plotline was all that entertaining.

» The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (Oz #1) by L. Frank Baum

I’ve decided to challenge myself to read more children’s classics in 2020. To kick start this challenge, I started with The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. This was a delightful read! I was surprised to learn that the slippers were actually silver instead of ruby red… mind blown!

» SHOUT by Laurie Halse Anderson

This is a must read for fans of Laurie Halse Anderson’s Speak. While you don’t HAVE to read Speak to read SHOUT, I feel like it makes a bigger impact if you read Speak prior to this. If you didn’t know, SHOUT is Anderson’s memoir told in verse.

» Loveboat, Taipei (Loveboat, Taipei #1) by Abigail Hing Wen

*4.5 Stars*

This is a guilty pleasure type of read. Actually, it reminded me a bit of Crazy Rich Asians a bit. It is a tad racy for a YA book… So I’d probably recommend for older YA readers that are 16+

» Exile (Keeper of the Lost Cities #2) by Shannon Messenger

I am LOVING this MG fantasy series. While these books are a bit chunky, don’t let the page count deter you. I flew through the first two books in this series this month. Also, I’m happy to report that this second installment does NOT suffer from “second book syndrome.”

» Nooks & Crannies by Jessica Lawson

Nooks & Crannies is an excellent MG historical mystery. Some of the elements of this story gave me Matilda mixed with A Series of Unfortunate Events vibes. The audiobook is well narrated.

» The Penderwicks (The Penderwicks #1) by Jeanne Birdsall

This is the perfect book to pick up during the summer months. It really gave me modern Little Women crossed with The Secret Garden vibes. The ending was so heartwarming it almost brought me to tears.

Goodreads Challenge Update: 46 books!

*I know it says 47, but I finished The Last (Endling #1) on May 1st*

March 2020 Reading & Blogging Wrap-Up

April 2020 TBR

Childhood Classics 2020: TBR

Most Anticipated Books of 2020 (May – December)

Mini Book Reviews: April 2020 – Part 1

Mini Book Reviews: April 2020 – Part 2

If you were ever curious what a bookworm’s quarantine stress shopping spree looks like, here you go…

» The Guinevere Deception (Camelot Rising #1) by Kiersten White

There was nothing in the world as magical and terrifying as a girl.

Princess Guinevere has come to Camelot to wed a stranger: the charismatic King Arthur. With magic clawing at the kingdom’s borders, the great wizard Merlin conjured a solution–send in Guinevere to be Arthur’s wife . . . and his protector from those who want to see the young king’s idyllic city fail. The catch? Guinevere’s real name–and her true identity–is a secret. She is a changeling, a girl who has given up everything to protect Camelot.

To keep Arthur safe, Guinevere must navigate a court in which the old–including Arthur’s own family–demand things continue as they have been, and the new–those drawn by the dream of Camelot–fight for a better way to live. And always, in the green hearts of forests and the black depths of lakes, magic lies in wait to reclaim the land. Arthur’s knights believe they are strong enough to face any threat, but Guinevere knows it will take more than swords to keep Camelot free.

Deadly jousts, duplicitous knights, and forbidden romances are nothing compared to the greatest threat of all: the girl with the long black hair, riding on horseback through the dark woods toward Arthur. Because when your whole existence is a lie, how can you trust even yourself?

» Song for a Whale by Lynne Kelly

The story of a deaf girl’s connection to a whale whose song can’t be heard by his species, and the journey she takes to help him.

From fixing the class computer to repairing old radios, twelve-year-old Iris is a tech genius. But she’s the only deaf person in her school, so people often treat her like she’s not very smart. If you’ve ever felt like no one was listening to you, then you know how hard that can be.

When she learns about Blue 55, a real whale who is unable to speak to other whales, Iris understands how he must feel. Then she has an idea: she should invent a way to “sing” to him! But he’s three thousand miles away. How will she play her song for him?

» Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik

Miryem is the daughter and granddaughter of moneylenders, but her father’s inability to collect his debts has left his family on the edge of poverty–until Miryem takes matters into her own hands. Hardening her heart, the young woman sets out to claim what is owed and soon gains a reputation for being able to turn silver into gold.

When an ill-advised boast draws the attention of the king of the Staryk–grim fey creatures who seem more ice than flesh–Miryem’s fate, and that of two kingdoms, will be forever altered. Set an impossible challenge by the nameless king, Miryem unwittingly spins a web that draws in a peasant girl, Wanda, and the unhappy daughter of a local lord who plots to wed his child to the dashing young tsar.

But Tsar Mirnatius is not what he seems. And the secret he hides threatens to consume the lands of humans and Staryk alike. Torn between deadly choices, Miryem and her two unlikely allies embark on a desperate quest that will take them to the limits of sacrifice, power, and love.

Channeling the vibrant heart of myth and fairy tale, Spinning Silver weaves a multilayered, magical tapestry that readers will want to return to again and again.

» Girls Like Us by Randi Pink

Set in the summer of 1972, this moving YA historical novel is narrated by teen girls from different backgrounds with one thing in common: Each girl is dealing with pregnancy. Four teenage girls. Four different stories. What they all have in common is that they’re dealing with unplanned pregnancies.

In rural Georgia, Izella is wise beyond her years, but burdened with the responsibility of her older sister, Ola, who has found out she’s pregnant. Their young neighbor, Missippi, is also pregnant, but doesn’t fully understand the extent of her predicament. When her father sends her to Chicago to give birth, she meets the final narrator, Susan, who is white and the daughter of an anti-choice senator.

Randi Pink masterfully weaves four lives into a larger story – as timely as ever – about a woman’s right to choose her future.

» The Island of the Sea Women by Lisa See

Set on the Korean island of Jeju, The Island of Sea Women follows Mi-ja and Young-sook, two girls from very different backgrounds, as they begin working in the sea with their village’s all-female diving collective. Over many decades—through the Japanese colonialism of the 1930s and 1940s, World War II, the Korean War, and the era of cellphones and wet suits for the women divers—Mi-ja and Young-sook develop the closest of bonds. Nevertheless, their differences are impossible to ignore: Mi-ja is the daughter of a Japanese collaborator, forever marking her, and Young-sook was born into a long line of haenyeo and will inherit her mother’s position leading the divers. After hundreds of dives and years of friendship, forces outside their control will push their relationship to the breaking point.

This beautiful, thoughtful novel illuminates a unique and unforgettable culture, one where the women are in charge, engaging in dangerous physical work, and the men take care of the children. A classic Lisa See story—one of women’s friendships and the larger forces that shape them—The Island of Sea Women introduces readers to the fierce female divers of Jeju Island and the dramatic history that shaped their lives.

» The Weight of Our Sky by Hanna Alkaf

A music-loving teen with OCD does everything she can to find her way back to her mother during the historic race riots in 1969 Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, in this heart-pounding literary debut.

Melati Ahmad looks like your typical moviegoing, Beatles-obsessed sixteen-year-old. Unlike most other sixteen-year-olds though, Mel also believes that she harbors a djinn inside her, one who threatens her with horrific images of her mother’s death unless she adheres to an elaborate ritual of counting and tapping to keep him satisfied.

But there are things that Melati can’t protect her mother from. On the evening of May 13th, 1969, racial tensions in her home city of Kuala Lumpur boil over. The Chinese and Malays are at war, and Mel and her mother become separated by a city in flames.

With a 24-hour curfew in place and all lines of communication down, it will take the help of a Chinese boy named Vincent and all of the courage and grit in Melati’s arsenal to overcome the violence on the streets, her own prejudices, and her djinn’s surging power to make it back to the one person she can’t risk losing.

» Escape from Aleppo by N.H. Senzai

Nadia’s family is forced to flee their home in Aleppo, Syria, when the Arab Spring sparks a civil war in this timely coming-of-age novel from award-winning author N.H. Senzai.

Silver and gold balloons. A birthday cake covered in pink roses. A new dress.

Nadia stands at the center of attention in her parents’ elegant dining room. This is the best day of my life, she thinks. Everyone is about to sing “Happy Birthday,” when her uncle calls from the living room, “Baba, brothers, you need to see this.” Reluctantly, she follows her family into the other room. On TV, a reporter stands near an overturned vegetable cart on a dusty street. Beside it is a mound of smoldering ashes. The reporter explains that a vegetable vendor in the city of Tunis burned himself alive, protesting corrupt government officials who have been harassing his business. Nadia frowns.

It is December 17, 2010: Nadia’s twelfth birthday and the beginning of the Arab Spring. Soon anti-government protests erupt across the Middle East and, one by one, countries are thrown into turmoil. As civil war flares in Syria and bombs fall across Nadia’s home city of Aleppo, her family decides to flee to safety. Inspired by current events, this novel sheds light on the complicated situation in Syria that has led to an international refugee crisis, and tells the story of one girl’s journey to safety.

» The Two Princesses of Bamarre (The Two Princesses of Bamarre #1) by Gail Carson Levine

Twelve-year-old Addie admires her older sister Meryl, who aspires to rid the kingdom of Bamarre of gryphons, specters, and ogres. Addie, on the other hand, is fearful even of spiders and depends on Meryl for courage and protection. Waving her sword Bloodbiter, the older girl declaims in the garden from the heroic epic of Drualt to a thrilled audience of Addie, their governess, and the young sorcerer Rhys.

But when Meryl falls ill with the dreaded Gray Death, Addie must gather her courage and set off alone on a quest to find the cure and save her beloved sister. Addie takes the seven-league boots and magic spyglass left to her by her mother and the enchanted tablecloth and cloak given to her by Rhys – along with a shy declaration of his love. She prevails in encounters with tricky specters (spiders too) and outwits a wickedly personable dragon in adventures touched with romance and a bittersweet ending.

» The Lost Kingdom of Bamarre (The Two Princesses of Bamarre 0.5) by Gail Carson Levine

In this compelling and thought-provoking fantasy set in the world of The Two Princesses of Bamarre, Newbery Honor-winning author Gail Carson Levine introduces a spirited heroine who must overcome deeply rooted prejudice—including her own—to heal her broken country.

Peregrine strives to be the Latki ideal—and to impress her parents: affectionate Lord Tove, who despises only the Bamarre, and stern Lady Klausine. Perry runs the fastest, speaks her mind, and doesn’t give much thought to the castle’s Bamarre servants, who she knows to be weak and cowardly. The Lakti always wage war, and the battlefield will give her the chance to show her valor.

But just as she’s about to join her father on the front lines, she is visited by the fairy Halina, who reveals that Perry isn’t Latki-born. She is a Bamarre. The fairy issues a daunting challenge: against the Lakti might, free her people from tyranny.

» A Crack in the Sea by H.M. Bouwman

An enchanting historical fantasy adventure perfect for fans of Thanhha Lai’s Newbery Honor-winning Inside Out and Back Again No one comes to the Second World on purpose. The doorway between worlds opens only when least expected. The Raft King is desperate to change that by finding the doorway that will finally take him and the people of Raftworld back home. To do it, he needs Pip, a young boy with an incredible gift—he can speak to fish; and the Raft King is not above kidnapping to get what he wants. Pip’s sister Kinchen, though, is determined to rescue her brother and foil the Raft King’s plans. This is but the first of three extraordinary stories that collide on the high seas of the Second World. The second story takes us back to the beginning: Venus and Swimmer are twins captured aboard a slave ship bound for Jamaica in 1781. They save themselves and others from a life of enslavement with a risky, magical plan—one that leads them from the shark-infested waters of the first world to the second. Pip and Kinchen will hear all about them before their own story is said and done. So will Thanh and his sister Sang, who we meet in 1976 on a small boat as they try to escape post-war Vietnam. But after a storm and a pirate attack, they’re not sure they’ll ever see shore again. What brings these three sets of siblings together on an adventure of a lifetime is a little magic, helpful sea monsters and that very special portal, A Crack in the Sea.

» The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin

A bizarre chain of events begins when sixteen unlikely people gather for the reading of Samuel W. Westing’s will. And though no one knows why the eccentric, game-loving millionaire has chosen a virtual stranger—and a possible murderer—to inherit his vast fortune, one thing’s for sure: Sam Westing may be dead … but that won’t stop him from playing one last game!

» Ballet Shoes (Shoes #1) by Noel Streatfeild

Pauline, Petrova and Posy are orphans determined to help out their new family by joining the Children’s Academy of Dancing and Stage Training. But when they vow to make a name for themselves, they have no idea it’s going to be such hard work! They launch themselves into the world of show business, complete with working papers, the glare of the spotlight, and practice, practice, practice! Pauline is destined for the movies. Posy is a born dancer. But practical Petrova finds she’d rather pilot a plane than perform a pirouette. Each girl must find the courage to follow her dream.

» Wishtree by Katherine Applegate

Trees can’t tell jokes, but they can certainly tell stories. . . .

Red is an oak tree who is many rings old. Red is the neighborhood “wishtree”—people write their wishes on pieces of cloth and tie them to Red’s branches. Along with her crow friend Bongo and other animals who seek refuge in Red’s hollows, this “wishtree” watches over the neighborhood.

You might say Red has seen it all. Until a new family moves in. Not everyone is welcoming, and Red’s experiences as a wishtree are more important than ever.

» The Library of Ever (The Library of Ever #1) by Zeno Alexander

With her parents off traveling the globe, Lenora is bored, bored, bored–until she discovers a secret doorway in the library and becomes its newly appointed Fourth Assistant Apprentice Librarian.

In her new job, Lenora finds herself helping future civilizations figure out the date, relocates lost penguins, uncovers the city with the longest name on Earth, and more in a quest to help patrons. But there are sinister forces at work that want to destroy all knowledge. To save the library, Lenora will have to test her limits and uncover secrets hidden among its shelves.

» Chains (Seeds of America #1) by Laurie Halse Anderson

As the Revolutionary War begins, thirteen-year-old Isabel wages her own fight…for freedom. Promised freedom upon the death of their owner, she and her sister, Ruth, in a cruel twist of fate become the property of a malicious New York City couple, the Locktons, who have no sympathy for the American Revolution and even less for Ruth and Isabel. When Isabel meets Curzon, a slave with ties to the Patriots, he encourages her to spy on her owners, who know details of British plans for invasion. She is reluctant at first, but when the unthinkable happens to Ruth, Isabel realizes her loyalty is available to the bidder who can provide her with freedom.

From acclaimed author Laurie Halse Anderson comes this compelling, impeccably researched novel that shows the lengths we can go to cast off our chains, both physical and spiritual.

» The Girl Who Drank the Moon by Kelly Barnhill

Every year, the people of the Protectorate leave a baby as an offering to the witch who lives in the forest. They hope this sacrifice will keep her from terrorizing their town. But the witch in the forest, Xan, is kind and gentle. She shares her home with a wise Swamp Monster named Glerk and a Perfectly Tiny Dragon, Fyrian. Xan rescues the abandoned children and deliver them to welcoming families on the other side of the forest, nourishing the babies with starlight on the journey.

One year, Xan accidentally feeds a baby moonlight instead of starlight, filling the ordinary child with extraordinary magic. Xan decides she must raise this enmagicked girl, whom she calls Luna, as her own. To keep young Luna safe from her own unwieldy power, Xan locks her magic deep inside her. When Luna approaches her thirteenth birthday, her magic begins to emerge on schedule–but Xan is far away. Meanwhile, a young man from the Protectorate is determined to free his people by killing the witch. Soon, it is up to Luna to protect those who have protected her–even if it means the end of the loving, safe world she’s always known.

The acclaimed author of The Witch’s Boy has created another epic coming-of-age fairy tale destined to become a modern classic.

Which books did you read in April?

Have you read any of the books I read or hauled this month? If so, what did you think?

Did you buy any books? If so, which ones?

Comment below & let me know 🙂

April 2020 Reading & Blogging Wrap-Up + Book Haul #BookBlogger #Bookworm #Bibliophile #BookHaul #Reading #Books #WrapUp Goodbye April & hello May! I can see the light at the end of the tunnel & I'm running toward it...

#Bibliophile #book blog #book blogger #Book Chat #Book Haul #Book Nerd #Book Talk #Book Worm #Bookish #Books #Bookworm #Reading #Wrap Up

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isobel-thorm · 5 years

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Don't kill me, but all the fruits for grant and alistair please 💕

Also just noticed @troyebakers asked for all for Grant too, so here y’all are:

Let me apologize to mobile users now bc this is probably just gonna be a giant wall of strewn together nonsense for them. Switching around the order of the questions to make it flow a fair bit better.

🍍 : how comfortable is my muse in their body? how do they feel about their height, weight, strength, and body type? how important is being attractive to them?

🍑 : how meticulously does my muse look after their physical appearance? do they spend a lot of time on their hair, makeup, grooming, and clothing? is there a particular reason why they do or don’t? Grant: Grant is basically okay with how he looks. He doesn’t exactly like his appearance, but he doesn’t hate it either, nor does he think it’s that important. The only thing he’ll really fuss over is his hair, and his idea of fussing is brushing it but letting the bedhead win a lot of the time. Same goes with how he dresses- if a pair of jeans and T-shirt are discarded on the floor one night and they’re not in bad condition/they don’t smell, he’ll wear them again. Alistair: He’s a little fussy with it. He knows most people find him attractive but he’s not that invested in it. Living for multiple centuries does that to a guy. He’ll make sure he’s neatly put together daily and that’s that. He does usually try to dress nicely though. His casual is a nice sweater, well-fitting leather jacket and dark jeans. He tends to call it ‘professorly.’

🍅 : how does my muse feel about plastic / cosmetic surgeries & procedures? is it something they have done or would do? do they mind if others do it? Both: Both of them are usually in the “why do people do that, it’s not necessary, people age, it’s a fact of life” side of things- with Alistair noting “except for me” in that last bit. They’d never dream about getting anything done themselves.

🍏 : how stable is my muse’s physical health? do they go for regular or semi-regular checkups by a physician? do they have any diagnosed illnesses and / or take any medication? how often do they get sick?

🍎 : how stable is my muse’s mental health? have they been diagnosed with any mental illnesses and / or conditions? do they have any undiagnosed mental illnesses and / or conditions? do they or should they attend therapy? Grant: He’s usually physically healthy and tries to stay that way. Mentally, he’s a mess and tries to get help, but it’s not lost on him that talking with Nic and getting hugs from her works better for him than an actual therapist half the time. Alistair: Fit as a fiddle permanently, if you don’t count the whole living undead thing. He’s also fairly mentally stable himself, and he’s had a vested interest in Psychology the last century, which helps things.

🍒 : how much does my muse value companionship? do they constantly keep people around them, or do they prefer to be alone often? do they have or desire to have many friends? do they see every meeting as an opportunity to make a new friend? Grant: After what happened during his time as a soldier, Grant got it in his head that he was bad luck for anyone around him, so he tried to stay solo for as long as possible and didn’t actively make friends. Enter Nic and Matthew/John, and it was another story. They didn’t really give him an active chance to tell them to leave him alone so they wormed their way into his heart, which helped his mental state so he was able to pursue a friendship with them and then a relationship with M/J, which healed him enough where he was a little more outgoing/willing to meet and befriend other people. Alistair: Nearly the same deal. He was also fairly anti-friends because people only usually gave him the time of day to get in his family’s good graces. He was very apprehensive about making friends because he figured once they got what they wanted they’d leave him, considering that happened a lot. And then Kat and the others came along and made him feel wanted, and while he still has that distrust of people outside that group, he would die (again) for every single person in their friend circle.

🍇 : how would my muse describe their childhood? how much has it impacted the person they are now, or will become as an adult? around what age did they or will they start to mature, and why? do they wish to go back to their days as a child, or have they embraced adulthood? Grant: He had a lonely childhood, his parents did take care of him, but were also fairly neglectful and paid more attention to their business than him. When the whole ‘bi but leaning more towards being romantically interested in men’ thing came to pass his parents sent him off to live with his gay uncles which ended up being the best experience of his life because he finally got active attention/parental figures who genuinely cared about his day or interests for once. The first half of that, however, prepared him a lot for his self-exile after coming home from overseas, but it also planted the idea that there was a silver lining somewhere in life, which he found in his friends. The only way he’d want to relive his childhood is if he was with his uncles the entire time. Alistair: Looking back, Alistair acknowledges that his mother raised him to be a spineless, pompous ass. Him becoming a full vampire/getting some distance from the family when he turned thirty was the turning point where he acknowledged that ‘oh hey, a lot of this shit is messed up.’ He wouldn’t relive his childhood at all.

🍐 : how intelligent is my muse overall? are they smarter than the average person, or less than? are they primarily self-taught, or did they acquire most of their knowledge in school? are they more street smart or book smart? Grant: He never went to college, he joined the Army straight out of high school, so he’s got an extremely basic… standard education. He’s more street smart than anything, and considering That Day, he got a lot of “that’s the how the world works, it’s unfair” type lessons from that tragedy. Alistair: He’s extremely intelligent. He went to college for law, but in the centuries since he’s found modern law is a little too corrupt for his liking, so he went into veterinary science and then studied Psychology on his own just to pass the time.

🍉 : which of the four seasons suits my muse best, and why? Both: Winter. Their personalities and wardrobes match it more, and they both enjoy the aesthetic of it the most.

🍌 : is my muse inclined to help others, or will they only do it when it benefits them, if at all? what makes them this way? has it ever gotten them into trouble, or inconvenienced them? Both: Will help others at the drop of a hat for entirely selfless reasons. They both figure they’ve got awful pasts to make up for, and if little acts of kindness and paying it forward is how they can go about it, so be it. 🍊 : does my muse desire romance? is it something they would actively seek out, or prefer to happen more ‘ naturally? ’ what is their love life like? do they have any exes or past flings, or crushes? Grant: Was very anti-love/anti-thinking-he-deserved love, but then Matt/John came along and was charming and nice and patient and his heart was all “alright get your shit together because T H I S O N E I S F O R Y O U.” Because of that, he’s an absolute mush with his LIs, which is a surprise to everyone outside his immediate friend circle because “wait the stoic guy likes cuddling and talking with faces a couple of inches apart and getting all romantic on holidays?” Alistair: Got his heart shattered into pieces by his first love early in his life, so he was reluctant to ever start anything romantic ever again, but then he fell for Kat platonically, which kick-started his heart back up to be willing to go pursue someone romantically - and then said heartbreaker comes crashing back into his life and then it’s a 50/50 clusterfuck again and he’s not quite sure what to do. 🍓 : how is my muse typically seen by others? does it ring true to who they really are? does their reputation matter to them? Grant: Doesn’t give a damn about his bad stoic/wide/intimidating reputation. He’s not here to be judged, and if people wanna judge a book by its cover, fine, that’s not his problem. He’s got a handful of friends who love him because they bothered to get to know him, he’s invested in them. Alistair: Used to care very strongly about reputation and yearned to be alluring/scary/intimidating all at once, but he learns that was a lot of his mother’s influence, so he goes out of his way to nice people to death so he gets a far more welcome, warm, friendly reputation to make sure it sticks. It makes him stop caring about it so actively/doesn’t make it a staple in his life anymore.

🥝 : does my muse have any ‘ unusual ’ habits, interests, and / or talents? do they hide it, or are they proud of it? Grant: Nothing special at allAlistair: He’s a hemophobic vampire, so he doesn’t go out on hunts with his family- nor does he feed on humans unless it’s necessary. He uses his resources as a vet to ‘feed’ on animals- where he’ll only feed feed if there’s a time crunch, but even then he only takes a standard blood test’s amount and tries to make it last- and he’ll even coach the animal through it, promising that he means it no harm, they’ll be safe in a minute, “Awww, we’re done, see, that wasn’t so bad. Good job, here’s some extra biscuits/cat treats/veggies, you did so well.”

🍋 : what kind of diet does my muse have? do they eat regularly, or the standard 2-3 meals a day? do they have to be reminded to eat, or are they likely to remind others? do they cook, or have others cook for them? do they eat healthily, or not so much? Grant: Unless depression is kicking his ass, he’ll eat balanced meals regularly, with the usual 3x a day. If he does have a day of depression where he misses a meal or so when Nic or John/Matthew is around, they’ll notice and try not to be too forceful about it but they’ll also make a meal with him and try to goad him into eating it, and it usually works. Alistair: Also keeps up with regular meals 3x a day, considering he tries to make human food work as much as possible to avoid interacting with blood in any capacity. If worse comes to worse he’ll cook up/order a super bloody steak and have it, wincing all the while.

🥭 : how important to my muse is their hometown, or where they’re from? are they proud of it, or considered a hometown hero? did they move away, or do they wish to?Grant: Grew up in Texas, and mentioned, he hated it so he avoids going back. He considers Wyoming/his uncles’ ranch home and would live there if he could, but then the job in Hope County came along, and he sticks there for a while and he’s happy, but maaaayyyybbbeee he’d consider dropping hints to John/Matthew that settling back in Wyoming could be nice if they’d be up for it. He’d be okay if they weren’t, though. They could always vacation there, and it’s enough. Alistair: Grew up in the downtown area of [CITY REDACTED] and has a hate/love relationship with it, so when Kat comes along and he joins that crew where they’re on the outskirts of town by the bay, he absolutely falls in love with the weird suburbia feel and makes plans to move there nearly immediately.

#Deputy Grant #Alistair Hardy #amistrio

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sammy24682468 · 4 years

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Nehemiah Lesson 2

"Memory Text: “So it was, when I heard these words, that I sat down and wept, and mourned for many days; I was fasting and praying before the God of heaven. And I said: ‘I pray, Lord God of heaven, O great and awesome God, You who keep Your covenant and mercy with those who love You and observe Your commandments’ ” (Nehemiah 1:4, 5, NKJV)."

"To date, two groups of captives have returned to Judah in at least partial fulfillment of God’s promises to the Hebrew nation.But there is one more company of exiles that God is preparing. The last group of captives is commissioned to fix a problem. Although the first two groups returned to rebuild Jerusalem and to complete part of that project by finishing the temple, the rest of the construction was abandoned as opposition from the surrounding nations arose. The people from the surrounding area didn’t want the Israelites to build the city and its walls because they were afraid that the Israelites might become a mighty nation as they had once been (Ezra 4:6-24). Thus, the return of the Israelites appeared to be a threat, one that they were determined to stop. But God didn’t call His people in order to abandon them in the process of doing what He had called them to do."

"Thus, He was preparing another man to carry out His will and to accomplish His purposes. His name was Nehemiah, and to him and his work for the Lord we turn."

"The book of Nehemiah opens somewhat in the same way the book of Daniel did (read Dan. 1:1, 2), and that was with bad news. Yes, many had returned to their ancestral homeland, but things weren’t going too well for them there."

"Read Nehemiah 1:1-4. Why was Nehemiah so distressed? What was his response to the bad news he received?"

"Some Jews taken captive years earlier were brought to Shushan, one of the four administrative centers of the Persian Empire, where Nehemiah served in the royal palace as a cupbearer. The term used for “Hanani one of my brothers” most likely refers to a blood brother, because there is a similar but more familial-sounding reference to Hanani in Nehemiah 7:2, although it could be a reference to just a fellow Israelite. The conversation with Hanani most likely happened between mid-November and mid-December of 445 b.c., some 13 years after Ezra’s return to Jerusalem. Hanani reports that the situation in Jerusalem is dire. The people have not been able to rebuild Jerusalem, and the enemy had destroyed the walls of the city, leaving it defenseless and desolate."

"It bears mention that King Artaxerxes crushed the hope of the returnees by stopping the progress of the construction after the people beyond the river complained (Ezra 4). This allowed the enemies to destroy the walls of the city (Ezra 4:23). Nehemiah would have heard rumors of such disaster, but he didn’t have definite answers until this time."

"Even though the temple was rebuilt, it wasn’t fully functioning because the people needed for the temple service were unable to live in Jerusalem. The situation saddened Nehemiah as the implications of the news penetrated his soul: the Jews had not glorified God even though they had returned for that purpose. Instead, they had neglected the house of God and the Holy City, because of their fear of the enemy and oppression."

"Thus, Nehemiah automatically turns to God. He doesn’t complain that the people of Judah lack faith or put them down as cowards, nor does he just accept the situation as the status quo. Nehemiah just gets down on his knees and starts praying and fasting."

"Read Nehemiah’s prayer found in Nehemiah 1:5-11. What are the dif ferent components of the prayer? Why does he include himself in the prayer as those who are guilty?"

"1. God, You are great and have mercy (Neh. 1:5). 2. Hear me (Neh. 1:6). 3. Confession of sins (Neh. 1:6, 7). 4. Remember Your promises (Neh. 1:8, 9). 3. You have redeemed us (Neh. 1:10). 2. Hear me (Neh. 1:11). 1. God, grant prosperity and mercy (Neh. 1:11)."

"Nehemiah’s prayer is a beautiful composition recounting God’s greatness, their own sinfulness, and concluding with a cry for help. The prayer resembles the prayer of Daniel in Daniel 9, and it is possible that Nehemiah was familiar with that prayer. It is noteworthy that Nehemiah doesn’t begin with a cry for help, but rather first states the truth about who God is, great and awesome. He also points out that God keeps His covenant and has mercy on those who love Him, as if to remind God that He has always been faithful and cannot now be any other way."

"The prayer is in a special structure (depicted above) that centers on verse 8, where Nehemiah articulates God’s promises. Nehemiah says: “Remember!” In other words: Remember, God, that You promised that You will scatter us when we are unfaithful but that You also promised to bring us back and restore everything. Since the first one has happened, now it is time to fulfill the other because we are returning to You. Nehemiah is not afraid to claim God’s promises and to remind God of them. Of course, it is not that God doesn’t know or remember His promises. Instead, God takes pleasure in our willingness to claim His promises. He wants us to believe in them and thus speak them out loud to Him. By verbalizing what God has promised us, we can be strengthened in our own resolve to trust in those promises, especially at times when everything seems hopeless."

Nehemiah speaks out:

"Nehemiah 1:11 says that Nehemiah is the king’s cupbearer. To us this may seem like an unimportant job, but cupbearers could be men of powerful influence, since they had constant and close access to the king. Cupbearers tasted beverages for the king in order to prevent illness or death of the king. Herodotus points out that the Persians held cupbearers in high honor, as they were regarded as high officials. For instance, the cupbearer of the Assyrian king Esarhaddon also was the chief minister of the kingdom. Thus, Nehemiah holds a high position in the kingdom, and because of his access to the king, he pleads with God to use him in speaking to the king about the situation in Judah."

"Read Nehemiah 2:1-8. What happened as a result of Nehemiah’s prayers and fasting?"

"The prayer is answered in the month of Nisan, which is roughly the month of April of 444 b.c. Four months have passed since Hanani and the Jews brought the disturbing news about Jerusalem to Nehemiah. For four months, Nehemiah prayed and fasted, and every day it might have seemed to him as if God were not answering. But God’s timing is always perfect. God prepared the king to hear Nehemiah and to respond favorably."

"It was not an everyday occurrence to have the cupbearer relieved of his duties for a time to be a governor in a different land. God spoke through Nehemiah and impressed the Persian king Artaxerxes I to make Nehemiah a governor over the territory of Judah. The mention of the queen suggests that this was possibly a private occasion, as it was not customary for the queen always to be present for formal banquets. Nehemiah does not immediately mention Jerusalem, in order to keep the king from having preconceived ideas, but rather he makes an emotional appeal to the king about something personal to him. By the time the specific place is mentioned, the king has been won."

"The king sent letters with Nehemiah to Sanballat the Horonite and to Tobiah the Ammonite, the high officials of the region beyond the river, in order to pave the way for what Nehemiah was to accomplish. Additionally, the king commanded Asaph, the keeper of the king’s forest, to provide Nehemiah with all the timber necessary to rebuild the city, walls, and gates of the temple."

"Read Nehemiah 2:9, 10. What do these verses tell us about the opposition Nehemiah and the Jews in general were going to face?"

"Nehemiah arrived in Jerusalem sometime in the second part of the year 444 b.c. Opposition appears to spring up even before Nehemiah attempts any action, as the request delivered to the governors stirs up problems. Although Tobiah is a Jewish name, which meant “the Lord is good” (his son Jehohanan also carried a Jewish name, “the Lord is gracious”), he served as a governor of Ammon. Thus, Jerusalem was surrounded by enemies: Sanballat, the governor of Samaria to the north; Tobiah, the governor of Ammon to the east; and Geshem, the Arab (Neh. 2:18, 19) to the south, who took hold of Edom and Moab. It is unfortunate that the leadership in that region shunned Nehemiah for being concerned about the “well-being” of the oppressed. Bullies don’t rejoice over the good fortune of those they intimidate."

"Nehemiah’s “arrival in Jerusalem, however, with a military escort, showing that he had come on some important mission, excited the jealousy of the heathen tribes living near the city, who had so often indulged their enmity against the Jews by heaping upon them injury and insult. Foremost in this evil work were certain chiefs of these tribes, Sanballat the Horonite, Tobiah the Ammonite, and Geshem the Arabian. From the first these leaders watched with critical eyes the movements of Nehemiah and endeavored by every means in their power to thwart his plans and hinder his work.”—Ellen G. White, Prophets and Kings, p. 635."

Nehemiah prepares for his task.

"No question, the Lord had called Nehemiah to this task and would provide all that he would need. Armed with the knowledge of God’s promises and the certainty of the call by God, Nehemiah proceeded. But he moved ahead carefully and prayerfully. In other words, even though he knew God was with him, this knowledge didn’t keep him, basically, from thinking through what he would do."

"Read Nehemiah 2:11-20. What does Nehemiah do to prepare for the project of rebuilding the wall?"

"Leadership Lessons: Lesson 1—Nehemiah does not tell anyone what the plans are that “God had put in my heart to do at Jerusalem” (Neh. 2:12). Not only does he not tell the enemy, but he keeps it from the Jewish leaders, as well. He is on a scouting mission to figure out what needs to be done. Lesson 2—Before presenting anything, Nehemiah does his homework and plans out all the work that will be required. Lesson 3—When he does speak of the task, Nehemiah first outlines what God has done so far to lead this expedition, and then he adds the words of the king. He encourages before he asks for commitment. It is nothing short of a miracle that the Jews respond so favorably and decide to build, despite the resistance that will come. God had prepared not only the king through Nehemiah’s prayers and fasting but also the Jewish people, so that they respond boldly and courageously."

"Read Nehemiah 2:19, 20. What do these verses tell us about Nehemiah’s faith? How might texts such as Deuteronomy 7:9, Psalm 23:1-6, and Numbers 23:19 have helped Nehemiah?"

"Our conversations demonstrate who we are and what we truly believe. Nehemiah tends to speak uplifting words. He is not afraid to include God in all that he says and to glorify Him as well, even when people jeer and laugh at him. Even though Nehemiah knows the contempt the enemies feel toward them, he doesn’t mince words or leave God out of the conversation. Like Joseph in Egypt many years earlier, Nehemiah is not afraid to promote his God among people who do not believe in Him."

"Nehemiah was a man of prayer: “Nehemiah had often poured out his soul in behalf of his people. But now as he prayed a holy purpose formed in his mind. He resolved that if he could obtain the consent of the king, and the necessary aid in procuring implements and material, he would himself undertake the task of rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem and restoring Israel’s national strength. And he asked the Lord to grant him favor in the sight of the king, that this plan might be carried out. ‘Prosper, I pray Thee, Thy servant this day,’ he entreated, ‘and grant him mercy in the sight of this man.’ Four months Nehemiah waited for a favorable opportunity to present his request to the king.” —Ellen G. White, Prophets and Kings, pp. 629, 630."

"• Neither Ezra nor Nehemiah could have accomplished anything without the help of the king. In other words, these men of God worked in cooperation with the political authorities, who were pagans, as well. What lesson can we draw from this about when and how we as a church can work with the political powers that be, whoever they are? At the same time, when doing so, why must the church be very careful?"

#Sabbath School lesson #Sabbath #religion #Adventist #God #Jesus #faith

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