#in hindsight more of a how to draw rather than recognise

[starflared-arrow]

this guy

[quasitsqueeries]

Space Marines are not your friend Part II

I keep thinking about this, and apparently a lot of other people keep thinking about this, because the conversation keeps happening. I think I didn't get it quite right the first time round, which is normal and we should embrace being wrong and changing our minds with new information.

So, sometimes you say the Imperium is Fascist and you learn form some dude online that actually they're a dictatorial theocracy or something. This is called splitting hairs but I think there's potential here for a more interesting conversation. It may come as a surprise but Warhammer 40,000, a game about spending whole Sunday afternoons moving little toy soldiers and tanks around on your dining room table with lore written by a whole bunch of different nerds over the last 35 years doesn't have a coherent political narrative.

We're not going to get the answers we're looking for by going over every bit of lore with a fine-toothed comb. Also please don't ask me to do that, some of the writing is really terrible. I've talked before in, I guess, Part I about how Warhammer 40,000 draws on the aesthetics of Fascism and I think this is what's really important. It really doesn't matter if the Imperium fulfils all of Umberto Eco's characteristics of Fascism or if you can find some other political ideology that you think fits better. The fact is that Warhammer 40,000 is a piece of largely visual media that draws on the imagery of Fascism, the same way it draws on the imagery of Feudalism and the Catholic and Orthodox churches.

There's a lot of talk lately about how people like Rick Priestly and Brian Ansell (may he rest in peace) and Richard Haliwell weren't really trying to make statements with their games but just wanted to sell miniatures, and they borrowed liberally from things like 2000AD because it was cool. I think that in itself says something about the game's ideology. It was developed and written in the context of Thatcherite Britain and I wonder if in that context there was an idea that it wasn't necessary to have the thing make political sense (and maybe that's naïve in hindsight, idk?). I don't know for sure but I wonder if 40K comes out of a time when you could be like "hey these cops are Fascists" and wouldn't need to expand on that. People would just get that you were painting in braod strokes and wouldn't demand that you prove that their brutality wasn't justified. I think it's fair to say the writers didn't foresee how big their game would get, or its popularity among military bros, or the rise of Fascism in the Anglosphere in the 2010s.

So, what do we do with this? I think it's important to recognise two things. Firstly, the Imperium isn't just a Fascist state. It's also a Theocracy, and Feudal. More than one of these things can be true. But secondly, we tend to assume our political concepts are universal and timeless. They're not. Here's an interview where Corey Robin situates the Left and Right historically for Adam Conover:

The point being that the Right isn't just authoritarian, it's a movement to reestablish the power of ruling classes in response to modern Democratic movements. Similarly, Fascism is a distinctly modern concept. It's an attempt to return to the idea, as identified by Robin above, that certain people should rule over everyone else, and it's a reaction against a move towards Democracy and people having freedom from authority.

So, political systems are historically constituted, I think it's fair to say that 38,000 years in the future our politics will be unrecognisable to us now. So like, does Fascism exist 38,000 years in the future, would it even be possible when you're trying to govern a billion worlds, is it "necessary" when state control of humanity is total, and Democracy, Socialism and Trade Unionism aren't even distant memories? Maybe the answer is it doesn't matter. I don't find that terribly satisfying.

The Imperium's political system isn't not Fascism. Rather, the writers of Warhammer 40,000 depicted a political system that's a sort of aggregate of political systems that are recognisable to a modern audience (and particularly pertinent to an audience living in Thatcherite Britain), and Fascism plays a major role in that aggregate.

So the upshot is, if you want to call it Fascism, you are correct, and if someone calls it Fascism and you want to say actually it's this extremely specific political thing you've just come up with to disprove them, consider shutting up.

[lepoppeta]

when i first got into drawing (and by that i mean like... SUPER into drawing - i would draw all of the time as a young child but it was never to the more calculated degree that i do now) it was a direct result of mlp fim. the art was simple, instantly recognisable, and easy to replicate. at the time i wasnt aware of this, but in hindsight i loved the fact that i could start with the same exact base every single time and only change up the colours and hair style and BAM, id have a brand new character ready to go.

a lot of how-to-draw books, especially ones that focus on character art, talk about focusing on not succumbing to "same face syndrome", which is like... the exact opposite of what mlp does. i personally have a really difficult time coming up with varied body attributes and keeping track of them all, and art would become exhausting and boring rather than a fun hobby. i know if i make the process of detailing and colouring too complicated ill lose interest too quickly.

i know my preferences, and yet i still carry a strong feeling of guilt.

i try to surround myself with artists who feel the same - who only draw what they love and dont care if theyre repeating themselves or come off as amateurish or lazy. it works some of the time, but other times i feel like im being laughed at in my little corner of the internet, especially when it comes to the more "mature" fandoms im in (namely bioshock) - i feel as though the art style has to match the media, and what im comfortable drawing... really, really doesnt.

its hard not to care sometimes.

[thefirstknife]

Hello! I know with Osiris acting sus there's a lot to be unpacked there but I wanted to know if you had thoughts on Sus!iris giving Crow his cloak and the "one exile to another" comments. Those felt more... Organic I guess than other actions of his. Do you think maybe he's still in there, just suppressed?

I'm not entirely sure honestl, but here are some of my thoughts.

When he goes to comission the cloak, Eva notes a few strange things:

With each stitch, she recalls the strange encounter some months ago that prompted her clandestine work:

It was late that evening. She had been walking back from the Tower, nearly home, when she heard a smooth voice quietly assert, "Eva. It's been too long. You look as bright as ever." Osiris melted out of the shadows near her doorway.

"Melting out of the shadows" has been a common theme for a while now. In Play of Shadow and Light (hint hint nudge nudge):

There is an imminent, daunting pressure.

Ikora holds her breath.

She is not alone; something is wrong. She feels an intrusion and tension draws tight around her heart.

A shadow moves over her.

"Ikora."

She breathes again; familiarity anchors her.

"Osiris… would you care to join me?" She recognizes his robes, his voice, and that is all. His face sinks between dancing shadows cast by the garden's torchlight. He is smaller, worn, and devoid of the magnificence she remembered. A monument of embers, defined by what once was.

Ikora experiences some strange vibes before seeing Osiris. He is then described as a shadow moving into her field of vision. Ikora is relieved to see him, but as she notes: she recognises his basic form, but if she hadn't seen him face to face, she clearly would've been concerned (more so than she was upon seeing him in this state).

In One Exile to Another, the same is repeated again:

"I know just the place." A deep, languid voice floated out of the forest behind them.

Crow whirled, hand on his Sidearm, ready to draw. He relaxed as the grizzled Warlock, Osiris, stepped forward from the shade of the pine trees.

Not only does Osiris "step out of the shade" again, but Crow is immeditely startled and almost draws a gun at him. Additionally:

"I've seen pictures of noodles," Crow said doubtfully. "They look like worms."

Osiris smiled beneath his cowl.

Hm. All of these things being repeated in the same way are not coincidences, for sure.

Anyway, Osiris makes a good reason for giving Crow new clothes: Crow has to stay hidden and having a huge Spider symbol on his chest isn't a good look. His reasoning for comissioning the cloak from Eva also tracks: he explains he needs someone who can keep a secret while Crow is adjusting and before he's ready to be revealed to the Vanguard.

If we're going by the current theory of Osiris having been replaced by Savathun, then it's Savathun who is directing these things. She is known to have orchestrated plenty of events behind the scenes. She loves secrets, even secrets for secrets' sake. In hindsight, keeping Crow a secret seems to fit that scheme.

Moreover, in the lore for Hawkmoon, Savathun is the one observing Crow the YW celebrating. She notes:

The Crow is so carefree in his ignorance. The bonfire's glow lights up his pale features and I am drawn to the hope in his gold eyes. Where is the despairing child I anticipated?

Savathun knows Crow. Or rather, she knows Uldren, whom she is responsible for corrupting. She knows who Crow was before which is why she seems to have anticipated "a despairing child." She is also very clearly experiencing something here that's new to her. Or at least something she hasn't felt in a long time. She keeps repeating how she doesn't understand what she's feeling and how it brings back memories of her family and hope and all the good things that she forgot about.

I believe she is drawn to Crow because of this and because of her past involvement with Uldren. I also believe she may be trying to influence him again.

Of course, it could also be as you suggested: that Osiris is somehow manipulated (Taken?) and she's controlling him and some of these instances is him fighting back. Since we don't know the mechanics of what's going on and how, it's hard to say.

But Savathun definitely holds a connection to Crow in multiple ways. The way he is being treated by Osiris seems to follow that pattern.

One more thing, in regards to the name itself: One Exile to Another. We can of course draw the parallel of Osiris having been exiled and Crow who is an exile himself.

But so is Savathun. Back in Immolant Pt. 2, Osiris interfaces with the Dreadnaught to learn more about the Hive and their structure after Oryx's defeat. He discovers the following:

Osiris sneers and grasps the head. He navigates the recounting of the Hive from Oryx's death. They are fractured, broken by internal power struggles. It leads into a recounting of Savathûn: banished, branded as heretic and set to burn. Many Hive turned to her when Oryx fell. Many of those same broodlines defected as the Darkness invaded Sol, sending Savathûn into hiding. She is still hunted by the hounds of war.

Savathun, same as Osiris, has been banished from her people and branded as a heretic. So "One Exile to Another" fits with both Osiris and Crow as well as Savathun and Crow. Savathun has been shown to be... sympathetic (for the lack of the better word) towards those that are banished and exiled; she also helped Nokris in much the same way.

I hope this makes sense all put together and I hope Savathun is enjoying her imbaru!

[rosykims]

wip wednesday

thank you for the tag @impossible-rat-babies !!!! tagging @solasan @wayhavn @seravadumortain @trvelyans and anybody else who wants to ❤

a lil shep/garrus moment i never finished bc i can never figure out how to write for them :s

"You checking out something in particular, Vakarian?"

He is, actually. Admiring his handiwork – or rather, cringing at his own carelessness. These past few days of stolen bliss aside, seeing Dinah in anything other than her armor is a rarity. Now she's draped over his legs in only a tank top and boyshorts, and the remnant of her injuries are quick to draw the eye. His little reunion gift to her back on Omega, mostly. One anti-personal round, fired from a Widow rifle – mark III, unregistered, untraceable – neat and tidy through her shoulder and lodging snug into the chest of the Eclipse merc behind her. To think it had marked only the first of two seperate occasions in which she would step in front of his scope and throw his whole life off orbit. At least he'd been competent enough not to shoot her the second time.

It's healed over well, all things considered.

In hindsight, Garrus finds he's more embarrassed over the whole thing than guilty. He's always prided himself on being good with faces – sort of par for the course for any C-Sec officer worth a damn – but Shepard stands out more than most, a convenience which inspires a certain laziness in anyone not looking hard enough. His own complacency was to blame – he hadn't recognised her without all that red. Long, bright, raging. Hair like a star gone supernova with a personality to match. It took him a full month aboard the SR-1 to realize that it wasn't her natural colour. Ashley and Joker had a field day over his obliviousness.

But he'd rather not bring up old wounds, and especially not the literal kind. The Omega 4 relay gave them plenty of fresh ones he'd just as soon forget. "I've been meaning to ask . . ." he says instead, "about those little brown dots on your skin?"

Dinah grins. "They're called freckles."

"'Freckles' . . . huh. I like them. They mean anything?"

"Not that I'm aware of. They're just pigments in the skin. Come out clearer in the sunlight, though, especially on me."

[commentaryvorg]

If you could change anything from Kaito's character arc in V3, what would you change?

Honestly? The short answer is nothing.

Kaito's character arc is fantastically crafted. There are so many tiny, seemingly-innocuous lines and moments that actually serve a vital purpose in either showing us what's going on in Kaito's head despite him never talking about it, or in pushing his arc along further, all of which I had so much fun talking about throughout the commentary. Granted, a lot of it is subtle and difficult to spot - but then it should be, considering how much Kaito tries to hide his issues. When you look for it, though, it is very deliberately there and not meaninglessly ambiguous at all. There's not a single part of Kaito's arc where I'm thinking “this was written badly”; even his phobia, as much as I'm sad that it gives Kaito less screentime and less being-himself in chapter 3, serves multiple purposes for the story and for Kaito's arc. Kaito's writers are the best and I adore how much care and attention they put into writing him.

I've seen a fair few people, presumably fans of Kaito, say “Kaito deserved better”, and... they're wrong. Well, unless they mean it in a purely in-universe sense, in which case of course he did, but then so did everyone, that's kind of the point. But if they mean it in an out-universe sense, in that they think Kaito deserved a better story for how good of a character he is? No! Kaito's story is amazing. He is the best-written character in this game and got absolutely everything he deserved, narratively speaking. I genuinely believe this with all of my heart. If other people don't see it, then they aren't looking hard enough - which is understandable, but also a shame when those people are fans of Kaito who presumably want to enjoy his story as much as they can. I just want to take all of these people and show them my commentary so that they can realise just how good Kaito's arc really is and love him even more like he deserves. (And I am endlessly thrilled that the commentary does seem to have had that kind of effect on some people!)

Obviously I would also love to see a story in which Kaito learns that it's okay to show weakness to his sidekicks, completely untangles his horrendous double-standard for heroes and begins to have healthy, mutually-supportive relationships with his friends. But... that was never this story. This is a story in which Kaito's messed-up view of what it means to be a hero literally gets him killed while all but destroying his sense of self-worth in the process, yet he still manages to keep fighting and make at least some kind of difference for his friends anyway, because he still is a hero despite what he might believe about himself. And that's also a fantastic story to tell!

It's kind of like something I've also considered about Ryoma. It would have been quite possible to tell a story in which Ryoma overcomes his issues and finds a reason to live and survives, and I'd have loved a story like that with him, because Ryoma is great and deserves to be happy. But the story of how he didn't manage to overcome his issues and tragically died because of them is also a compelling story that it's possible to tell with Ryoma's character - and, well, someone had to be chapter 2's victim. With characters as ripe with potential as Kaito, or Ryoma, or really any complex and well-written character in anything, there's so many different and equally compelling stories that could be told with them. But you can't tell all of those stories at once, and that's okay.

(That's why it's great that we have fanwork, to explore all of those other possible stories that couldn't be told in canon!)

With all that said, since this is about Kaito, you know I don't want to just leave it at the (very elaborated-upon) short answer. So here's a few things I thought of anyway that I might want to change if I could - all of which are really very minor nitpicks that barely matter in the grand scheme of things.

The absolute first thing I'd do is remove those four-ish lines in which Kaito is vaguely sexist in a way that is provably out-of-character for him. Gone. Expunged. Never there. Suddenly, magically, there is no longer a portion of the fandom that believes that Kaito is supposed to be sexist, and we literally only changed like four lines of his dialogue. Funny, that.

I'd also want to slightly change the parts where Kaito freaks out in a too-extreme way over ghosts once his phobia's been revealed. Not only is it not really quite in character for him to overreact that badly when he'd be doing his best to hide it, it also comes across like Kaito's phobia is being played for comedy. Which it shouldn’t be. He is literally mentally ill; that's not a joke.

These are the only two aspects of the way in which Kaito's written that I find actively bad in any appreciable way. And, yeah, they're really minor things that don't have anything to do with his actual character arc. That's kind of my point here!

...Though, admittedly, the part where Maki punches Kaito after he clings to her during his phobia-overreaction does actually play a small role in his character arc in that it seems to shift him into beginning to freak out more about his physical illness instead. Hm. Not sure what I'd do about that.

In terms of things I might change that are more meaningful and relevant to Kaito's arc, as I've said, there's really nothing that's actively bad at all. Rather, we're just getting into things where I'd maybe want to add a little bit more on top of what's already there.

Kokichi Doing The Thing in trial 4 - aka, repeatedly heaping insincere praise onto Shuichi in what's really a transparent attempt to jab at Kaito's jealousy and inferiority complex - should have continued for longer than it did instead of being weirdly confined to one specific quarter of the trial. There are plenty of moments after that that would have been perfectly good opportunities for it! And yes, this is absolutely part of Kaito's arc, shush. Not that this would have significantly affected how Kaito would respond or make his breakdown any more spectacular than it already was, mind you, because Kokichi's jabs at Kaito were not nearly as important as Kokichi wanted them to be.

Then there's the part in chapter 5 where, after being kidnapped and offscreen for a while, Kaito has evidently become okay with Shuichi being more of a hero than him and can just be openly proud of him again. There's no specific evidence indicating why this happened, even though it's a pretty important shift for Kaito. This was the only part of Kaito's arc that I speculated about in the commentary without having anything concrete to back up what I think went on there. So if possible, I'd like to add some hints at that.

...That's easier said than done, though, since Kaito gets so little screentime at this point in the story for unavoidable plot reasons, is still not willing to directly talk about his issues, and was never even really consciously aware of his toxic double-standard for heroes that was the root of this whole problem that he's finally begun to fix. It's entirely possible that this is something the writers already wanted to hint at more than they did, but they just couldn't find a way to plausibly do so in that situation. This also still wouldn't be me changing anything about Kaito's arc, just making part of it a bit more easy to notice and figure out.

Lastly - though this isn't even strictly part of Kaito's arc - I'd love to have Shuichi acknowledge more than he does that Kaito had been suffering, and for him to reflect on that and wish that Kaito hadn't been so selfless (just like he did at one point with Kaede!). Obviously I wouldn't want to make him more aware of it for most of Kaito being alive, because that'd change too much and because Shuichi's obliviousness is part of the excruciating tragedy of it all. But after hearing at the end that Kaito really was sick and dying all along, and that Kaito was jealous of him, Shuichi should have been able to recognise at least some of Kaito's vulnerability in hindsight. Having some reflection on that at the end of chapter 5 or at some point during chapter 6 would be lovely to underline and draw attention to what Kaito's story was really about from Kaito's perspective. It might even prompt more of the fandom to actually realise this and notice what an amazing arc Kaito had, which sure would be nice.

...In fact, there's a very small window of time in which Shuichi could have plausibly acknowledged this kind of thing a little more than he did while Kaito was still alive to hear it and potentially benefit from it. So, actually, now that I think of it: the one change I'd make that'd have any real impact on Kaito's arc at all? It'd be this.

[theshatteredrose]

Relic Keepers: Awakening of the Red Lily (Chapter 23) - Original Fiction

AN: This chapter turned out a wee bit longer than I had anticipated. Isn’t that always the way? Anyhow, hope you enjoy reading~

Ao3 | Wattpad | Inkitt | FictionPress

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Chapter 23:

The Elite Training Arena was far larger than Eishirou had anticipated. Though, in hindsight, it made sense to present it as a stadium. Half of an Elite’s workload within the academy involved training, after all. And there were a lot of Elites seen milling about outside the structure.

He tried not to notice the looks of disdain and puzzlement from other Elites as he walked toward the foyer of the arena. He just kept his head down and followed the signs that pointed toward the bleachers.

Inside the Training Arena was more impressive than on the outside. A raised battle ring surrounded by tall mana-infused panelling sat in the very centre. The roofing over the centre of ring was open, revealing a blue sky. The stadium itself could easily seat up to fifty-thousand people, revealing that battles between Elite Teams were a popular spectator sport.

Eishirou honestly felt really small as he glanced down at the battle ring to search for Zayne.

“Hey! Over here!”

He immediately narrowed in on the voice and quickly sighted Zayne amongst the small stream of Elites that roamed around the grounds. He felt a sense of relief when he did. However, he also couldn’t prevent himself from wincing when several other Elites turned to look toward the bleachers. And ultimately toward him.

Standing atop of a platform that overlooked the battle ring, a tall, muscular man with slick back black hair also looked over him.

“Hm? A newcomer?”

Scars on his arms, a prominent scar across his face…Was he Professor Sigmund? A Veteran Elite who took on the role of professor to train Elites. He was said to be strict and intimidating. Eishirou had heard stories of him. He had never met the man. But from his booming voice, he sounded formable.

“Relax, he’s a medic,” Zayne unexpectedly announced.

The gaze Sigmund threw at Eishirou was very unnerving. However, and surprisingly, he nodded his head. “Very well, I’ll allow it.”

Huh. Seemed like Zayne had a rather casual regard toward Sigmund. Like Eishirou did with his own professors.

Eishirou pushed that aside as he made his way down the stairs of the bleachers to the one field. Zayne stood before a dugout positioned to one side of the battle ring. As he made his way over to him, he noticed that the rest of Team 3 where present. All but Tatsu, that was. He felt bad about the spike of relief he felt, but he honestly was. Not after what he said to him yesterday.

“Is this the one?” he asked as he reached him, revealing a simple black mana cartage, usually used for firearms.

“That’s it,” Zayne replied as he retrieved the cartage and immediately pulled out his gunblade holster. “Thanks again. Appreciate it.”

“Don’t forget it next time,” Ernesta chided as Zayne inserted the cartage into his holster.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Eishirou nervously grasped at the strap of his bag as he spent a moment inspecting his new surroundings. He had never been inside the Training Arena before and he didn’t know if he would get another chance. It was actually quite interesting and far different than he was used to. Wide open area, several viewing screens to allow for close-ups of the events upon the field.  

He finally turned his attention to the battle ring. So, that was where Tatsu was; he was in the arena, duelling against someone else. An Elite he didn’t recognise. But that was no surprise.

“Are you battling against other Elite Teams?” Eishirou asked as he turned his attention toward Zayne once more.

Zayne nodded his head nonchalantly. “Right. It’s nothing serious.”

“It’s a form of exercise where one practices control and restraint,” Ernesta was the one to explain to him. “It is also an exercise in agility. There are three timed rounds. Both remaining within the ring is a draw. The one who is thrown out of the ring is the loser.”

Eishirou glanced over at the ring and noticed that there was a scoreboard that hung over the head of Sigmund. He was likely playing the role of umpire for the match. The score read two-to-zero. Since Team 3 was situated on the left side of the arena, where the first number was located, that meant that Tatsu was in the lead.

It honestly wasn’t all that of surprise that Tatsu was victorious, and likely would be for all three of his rounds. His cool confidence, or rather arrogance, wasn’t completely unwarranted. He was good at what he did. And he knew it.

“Why not sit and watch?” Zayne unexpectedly suggested.

Eishirou frowned. “Can I?”

Zayne shrugged. “Since you’re here.”

Well, he was curious what the training of Elites contained. And it would be a shame to leave now. He also wanted to stay around should there be a need for a medic. That was one of his roles at the academy, after all. He didn’t have any experience with training, so it should be a learning experience.

…He was making a lot of excuses, wasn’t he?

“Sure, ok, as long as it’s ok,” Eishirou returned.

“Well done, Tatsu,” Ernesta congratulated, prompting Eishirou to turn his attention back toward the arena.

Tatsu coolly ambled toward the dugout. Hardly even a hair out of place as he wore a half smile of self-satisfaction. No, it was pure confidence and smugness. “Of course.”

Ernesta was unperturbed. “Rinka, you’re up next.”

“Ok.”

Eishirou subconsciously moved to stand behind Zayne as Tatsu turned his sharp green eyes in his direction. He appeared momentarily surprised, but it was a fleeting expression. They soon narrowed in agitation.

“I invited him,” Zayne snapped, answering an unasked question. “Problem?”

Tatsu turned his eyes toward him and they seemed to narrow further. Eishirou feared that the two might actually come to blows. The two appeared nonchalant, even casual. But there was a definite tension in the air.

However, Tatsu uttered a scoff of disapproval as he moved past Zayne and into the dugout. “No concern to me.”

From the tension between the two, it was obvious that they had shared a word or two. Zayne likely the one to instigate it due what Eishirou had told him yesterday.

The sound of a loud buzzer prompted Eishirou to return his attention toward the ring.

Rinka’s opponent was another young woman, though she appeared older than Rinka. She had long brown hair that reached past her shoulders and was pin straight. Held back from her face with a floral hairband. Her weapon of choice appeared to be that of a singular handgun.

The battle started slowly. The two women were circling the ring, eyeing each other closely.

Rinka’s opponent abruptly raised her gun and shot toward Rinka. As she darted to the left, something unexpectedly fell out of her clothing. He couldn’t see what it was exactly from where he was, but it glinted under the lights. Rinka saw it fall. So did her opponent.

Who decided to attack Rinka in a different way; by aiming for the trinket with her mana-handgun.

The trinket was no match against the weapon. It exploded in several different pieces, scattered across the mat.

The scream that Rinka released was deafening.

Rinka threw herself to the mat of the ring and frantically gathered the broken pieces of her trinket.

Again, her opponent saw an opening and she took it; she planted a kick to Rinka’s side, so harsh and strong that it sent her tumbling across the mat and over the side of the ring. The buzzer sounded a second after she hit the ground.

“Time out!” Ernesta yelled as she held her hands in a t-shape formation.

As soon as Sigmund allowed a short respite (though, not without the reprimand of reduced points to the team), Rinka scrambled to her feet and hurried out of the ring. The pieces of her trinket held tightly in her hands.

“Sh-she broke it!” Rinka cried, on the verge of hyperventilating.

“Hey, easy,” Zayne awkwardly tried to comfort the distressed young woman. “Eishirou can fix it.”

Rinka abruptly snapped her head up. “R-really?” she stuttered before she spun around to face Eishirou. In her hands were the pieces of her precious trinket, and she held them toward him in a purely desperate manner. “Can you, please?”

“Let me see.” Eishirou gathered the pieces to place in his own hands. “Are these all the parts?”

Rinka nodded her head firmly. “Y-yes.”

Ok, good. He could easily sense the mana inside. Shouldn’t take too long, or much effort.

“Let’s just set everything together and…”

After he set the pieces back together, Eishirou closed his hands around it and closed his eyes. He concentrated, allowing the green mana he manifested to gently spread out and into the trinket. His restorative mana was not unlike that of his healing; both required returning an object, or person, back into the state of completeness. Be that of health or of appearance.

“There we go,” Eishirou said as he pulled back his hand to reveal the restored form of the silver, rabbit-shaped trinket. “It’s back together in one piece.”

“Really?!”

Rinka raising her voice and sounding genuinely excited was a surprise. But it brought a smile to his lips nevertheless. “Yes. See?”

She quickly retrieved her trinket from him and gave it the once over with her eyes. It didn’t take her long to realise that it had indeed been restored completely to its original form. No damage. Not a scratch.

Rinka’s frantic inspection of the trinket soon calmed and she wrapped her hands around it. She uttered sigh of relief, revealing how panicked she had been. And how important her precious little trinket was.

“Th-thank you,” she uttered after a moment, sounding truly grateful.

“You’re welcome,” Eishirou returned. “It’s very important to you, isn’t it?”

Rinka nodded. “It’s a gift from my father.”

“Oh, I see. That explains why I was able to restore it so quickly and easily.” He gave Rinka a reassuring smile in hopes of calming her further. “If it’s ever damaged again, I’m sure I can repair it. So, don’t worry.”

That did seem to offer Rinka some comfort. “Ok.”

“Are you hurt? Do you need healing?”

“M-my side hurts a bit, but I’m ok.”

Zayne suddenly reached around and plucked the trinket out of Rinka’s hands. “Now, let’s leave this with Eishirou for the time being.” He gave Rinka a pointed look. “And you; get back out there and beat the crap out of the one who tried to destroy something precious to you.”

Rinka looked up at Zayne with wide eyes, appearing as though she didn’t quite understand what he said. However, a moment later her gaze sharpened and the innocence she had disappeared into a stone-cold expression. “…Yes,” she replied, coldly.

With the trinket back in Eishirou’s hands, Rinka abruptly spun around and stalked back toward the battle ring. With her shoulders squared and her back straight, she looked determined. Her anger was obvious, but she appeared to have control over it.

Now, she just wanted to get revenge, as it were.

Eishirou couldn’t hear what Rinka’s opponent said to her as the stood across from each other, but he could see that her shoulders were shaking. As if laughing. Almost prideful that she was the cause of Rinka’s prior frantic behaviour.

Rinka didn’t seem to respond, however, drawing a frown from the other Elite.

The buzzer sounded.

Rinka sprung forward.

And planted her foot in the very centre of her opponent’s stomach. A mere fraction of a second later, the brown-haired Elite was out of the ring, her back slammed against the mana panelling. She seemed to stay there, defying gravity for a second or two, before she slumped forward and fell, hitting the ground outside of the ring.

The buzzer sounded. End of match.

It lasted five seconds.

Rinka stood in the middle of the ring, watching impassively as her opponent struggled to her feet. And back into the ring for round three. The decider round.

Though, that was over quickly. In a similar manner as the previous round. A buzzer. A blur of Rinka as she sprung forward. A kick to her opponent’s side. Another buzzer as the brown-haired woman fell out of the ring.

Eishirou winced at the sound of the other young woman’s harsh coughing. Rinka had her weapon, a light-pink katana. But she didn’t use it. She didn’t need to. “She’s really quite brutal, isn’t she?”

“She certainly can be,” Ernesta replied nonchalantly. “But she is showing restraint.”

Wow…he never wanted to see Rinka lose control…

“Well done, Rinka,” Ernesta congratulated as Rinka re-joined them. “But next time, please keep your trinket in a safe place.”

“I-I will.”

Eishirou held out her trinket for her. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” Rinka said, returning to the meek, innocent girl he was more accustomed to.

There really were two sides of her, wasn’t there? So different and stark.

“Zayne, you’re up next,” Ernesta announced.

“Right,” Zayne replied with a nod of his head. He then turned to Eishirou and unexpectedly sent him a wink. “Watch closely, alright?”

Eishirou just had to smile. “I’ll be watching.”

With a confident gait, Zayne headed into the ring. His opponent was another man, with blond hair in a crew cut and sharp, narrow eyes. On his hands were gloves infused with dark blue mana, indicating that he was the brawling kind. And likely to be physically strong.

Neither two said anything as they waited for the buzzer to sound.

A second later, it did.

Zayne’s opponent was the first to move. He darted forward and started aiming quick, fast jabs toward Zayne’s head.

A right hook and then a left hook. Zayne smoothly dodged both as he walked backwards. Closer to the edge of the ring. As his opponent reeled back to throw out another right hook, Zayne stepped to the left and oh-so casually stuck out his leg and swept his opponent’s legs out from under him.

He staggered forward. And literally fell out of the ring.

Zayne won the first round without even trying.

He casually returned to his starting position as his opponent uttered a curse and climbed back into the ring.

Round two begun soon after. And it was similar to round one; opponent moving first, Zayne dodging smoothly. Opponent becoming frustrated, even annoyed that Zayne remained cool and level-headed.

Another missed attack, another miss-step, and Zayne’s opponent was on the ground outside the ring.

Zayne won again.

Eishirou kept his focus upon Zayne as round three began, though it was a formality. Zayne’s movements were smooth and slick. He was definitely very confident in himself. Though, it was understandable why he was.

Zayne had his weapons with him. Both of them. But he didn’t use either one. He didn’t need to.

He was…amazing.

Leon unexpectedly half-snorted, half-laughed. “And he’s showing off.”

“Yes.” Ernesta also seemed to utter a small laugh as she spared a glance in Eishirou’s direction. “Looks like he’s trying hard to impress you, Eishirou.”

There was definitely a teasing tone in Ernesta’s voice. Prominent enough that it brought a blush to Eishirou’s features once more. “A-ah, well…” he stuttered as he idly rubbed at his cheeks. “He is pretty impressive.”

Round three was quickly won and Zayne made his way from the ring.

Hm. Eishirou was fairly certain that Zayne forgot his mana cartridge on purpose. To help show him that not all Elites were bad. He didn’t really need to do so, but Eishirou was grateful nonetheless.

It was interesting learning more about what Elites did. And how they regarded each other and their professors.

“Congratulations where they are due, Zayne,” Ernesta stated with a placid, yet amused smile.

“No sweat,” Zayne returned casually.

“You’re up next, Leon.”

“Got it.”

Zayne walked toward Eishirou. “Well, what do you think?”

Ah, was he fishing for compliments? That was fine.

“Hardly a fair battle. You won with ease.”

“Imagine what I could do if I tried.”

Eishirou chuckled and turned his attention to the next battle.

Leon’s opponent was the first to step into the ring. Slick black hair, narrow red-eyes, pale skin. His weapon appeared to be the bow-type. Though, it appeared as though it could be used as a close-range weapon if needed. Dark yellow mana made up the upper and lower limb, as well as the string. The arrows themselves were likely to be made from mana, also. Pulled from the presence around him, or from his own inner mana supply.

However, as the other Elite raised his bow to inspect it, Eishirou perked up. His gaze was drawn to his left wrist for some reason. It took him a moment or two to realise what it was.

“He’s…already injured,” he muttered.

Zayne immediately turned to look at him. “Huh?”

“His left wrist. I can see it’s injured.”

Zayne glanced over at the other Elite before he shifted his attention to Leon as he made his way up the stairs into the ring. “Leon,” he called out to him. “The guy’s already sporting an injury. Left wrist.”

Leon snapped his head up to look at Zayne before quickly glancing over at his opponent. “What?” he uttered before he unexpectedly made a T-motion with his hands. “Hey, time out!”

Sigmund looked over at him, his eyebrow arched. “Forfeiting?”

“Hardly,” Leon retorted before he pointed toward his opponent. “I’m not battling against someone already injured.”

Sigmund’s brow furrowed at that. “Injury?” he repeated before he glanced over at the other Elite. “Kurou?”

The Elite, Kurou, subconsciously hid his left hand behind his back. “It’s only minor, sir.”

That wasn’t the answer Sigmund had wanted, it seemed. “So, you are injured. Why wasn’t first aid given?”

Kurou didn’t answer.

“Answer the question, Elite!”

Kurou winced but stood to attention. “Leader felt it unnecessary, sir!”

That was another answer Sigmund wasn’t pleased to hear. His gaze flickered over toward Kurou’s teammates. “Did she now? Points deducted from Team 7.”

A young woman with long light brown hair bristled. “What?”

“Team Leader had failed in her role to ensure the health of her teammates,” Sigmund coolly stated as he kept his steely gaze on the brown-haired Elite, who was quite obviously the team leader. “To force a teammate to enter battle with injury is a violation. And a liability. Any weakness in battle can be exploited. Elites are to ensure they are fit for battle at all times. You do know that, Erika?”

The young woman, Erika, didn’t respond. Eishirou couldn’t see her expression from where he was, but he could all but feel her anger. It made him wonder briefly if he had done the right thing in pointing it out. He didn’t want Kurou to take the blame for her mistake. Though, he didn’t want him to risk further injury.

“Medic?” Sigmund suddenly called out, his gaze directed toward Eishirou.

“Y-yes?” he replied, hesitantly.

“Kurou requires healing. Do you mind?”

Oh.

“Not at all,” Eishirou answered.

He clutched at his bag as he headed toward the ring. Leon stepped to the side to allow him up the stairs and into the ring itself. Kurou stood awkwardly on his side as Eishirou approached.

“Can I see your wrist?” Eishirou asked.

Wordlessly, Kurou raised his left hand. Eishirou took it with both of his and pulled back the sleeve. He had to prevent himself from wincing at the sight.

It was red and swollen. And…yeah, there was a fracture, too. It must be painful. It had no prior treatment, yet it appeared to be a couple of days old. No wonder he saw it across the area. He’d like to think that his medical training to spot injuries from a distance had kicked in.

Honestly, though, anyone who saw a glimpse of it would know that it was painful.

Eishirou worked silently as he healed the injury. He concentrated mostly on healing the fracture as the swelling, while uncomfortable, was not as important. Keeping the injury on ice should help with that.

“There, good as new,” Eishirou said as he tied off the support bandage. “Keep the bandage on for a few hours, though. It’ll feel more comfortable.”

“Ah, sure,” Kurou returned as he subconsciously cradled his wrist against his side. His red eyes spent a moment to study him. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

“Huh?”

“You noticed the injury?”

“Y-yeah, that was me,” Eishirou answered as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, I didn’t want you to get more hurt than you were. Well, it’s healed now. So, take care, ok?”

Kurou blinked as if unsure how to respond to him. “Sure.”

Eishirou gave him a small smile before he turned and headed back to Team 3’s side of the area. Leon seemed to wait for him at the top of the stairs and walked with him back to the dugout.

“How bad was it?” he asked.

“It was fractured,” Eishirou answered with a wince. “Would have hurt like hell if he took a direct blow. Even if he didn’t, he’d be favouriting it unconsciously, resulting in injuries elsewhere.”

Ernesta listened to him carefully before she nodded her head. “I see. It’s for the best that Leon took a stand.”

“Ah, well,” Leon muttered as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I felt sorry for him. He doesn’t really fit in with that team, ya know?”

Ernesta’s eyes flickered across the area toward the other team. And her gaze narrowed for a moment. “Indeed.”

Despite the circumstances, it was nice to see Elites being protective of one another.

“Team Leaders, step up.”

A placid expression soon returned to Ernesta’s features and she gave her teammates a small smile. “This won’t take long,” she promised as she moved toward the ring.

Her opponent was, of course, Erika, who in turned looked as happy as she was before. As in, not happy at all.

“We’ll be out in time for lunch,” Zayne pointed out as the starting buzzer rang out.

Eishirou turned to look at him. “You must be hungry after all that.”

Another buzzer was heard and Eishirou promptly turned his attention back to the main event. Sure enough, Ernesta stood in the middle of the ring all by herself. Arms folded, posture straight as she glanced to one side.

Where Erika was seen staggering to her feet.

“You bet,” Zayne responded and Eishirou turned back to him. “What’s today’s special again?”

“Let me check.” Eishirou reached into his bag to pull out his tablet as another buzzer rang out. As he opened the cafeteria menu map, there was another buzzer to single the match was over. “Hmm…baked potato and sour crème, or beef mince tacos.”

Buzzer for round three sounded.

“Hm, both sound good.”

Buzzer for end of round three sounded.

Eishirou glanced up in time to witness Ernesta wander down the stairs from the battle area. Behind her was the scoreboard. And on it was three-to-one. She wasn’t kidding when she said she would be quick. He had missed all three matches looking at a food menu!

Wow.

He felt a sense of guilt for missing out in the battle, but he was impressed all the same. Ernesta herself could be pretty brutal when the time called for it, it seemed. Though, it was highly likely that Ernesta was just agitated at her fellow team leader’s obvious lack of respect for her teammates.

“This match is over,” Sigmund formally announced. “Team 3 are the victors. I hope you take what happened here today into consideration, Team Leader Erika.”

Ernesta smiled, appearing as though she didn’t just endure three consecutive battles. “Well, looks like we have the afternoon off. Shall we go for lunch?”

[thewatsonbeekeepers]

Chapter 8 – Dream a Little Dream of Me: parallels with Doctor Who

What’s queer film and TV without a bit of Doris Day in your chapter title?

This was never intended to be a chapter by itself, but having seen @tjlcisthenewsexy’s fantastic video on Wholock parallels here X I had to start writing. Full credit for inspiration here to @tjlcisthenewsexy, who has definitely had many of these ideas independently, and I would fully recommend watching the video before you read this. I personally only really buy Moffat era Who as a direct parallel to Sherlock, largely because Moffat wrote both, but also because 2010-17 matches up exactly with our boys. Lots of people have drawn parallels between 2005’s Bad Wolf Bay scene (by Russell T Davies) and the tarmac scene – those parallels are definitely there, but I think they’re more due to common tropes in love-declaration scenes than from intent.

The Doctor Who episodes I’m largely going to be drawing on here are Amy’s Choice, Last Christmas, The Name of the Doctor and A Good Man Goes to War. Others will feature, but if you want a really strong grip on what I’m talking about, I’d recommend taking a look at all of these, or at the very least Amy’s Choice! But now – on with the show.

Time travel has always been possible in dreams. This line comes from The Name of the Doctor, which came out in 2013. The dream in question is a psychic telepathy connecting five of our main characters whilst they sleep, controlled by Madame Vastra. Much has been made of Madame Vastra being an explicit Sherlock mirror (X) with Jenny as her wife and explicit John mirror, so using a dream state to connect people across time should already ring TAB bells. But crucially, we’re not just focusing on telepathy here – we’re focusing on the ability of 19th century characters to use a dream state to connect with the 21st century. Given that we never see where River Song is connecting from, it’s safe to say that it is the 19th – 21st connection between the other characters that is important, like in TAB. The use of the word ‘always’ is really important here – it’s not saying that time travel is possible in dreams in the Whoniverse, but that it has always been possible. There’s an implication here that before time travel was invented, in a non science fiction world, dreams can still do this – and that’s what helps us to jump across to TAB.

In the dream sequence in TNotD, Jenny is supposed to lock up before they go into their trance, but she forgets. Intruders break in, but because Jenny and Vastra are unconscious they can’t defend themselves and so Jenny is murdered. This is the spur for everybody to wake up, to save themselves. Pretty much all of our dream states in Doctor Who are focused on the possibility of dying in the outside world, but TNotD is the one which articulates the problem of EMP theory most specifically. Jenny, our John mirror, dies because her protector’s unconsciousness means that she can’t protect her wife. (Vastra’s Silurian abilities very much put her into the role of protector here – she could save Jenny where Jenny couldn’t save herself, and frequently does.)

Between the time travel and Jenny, then, TNoTD is probably the best framework we get set up for TAB. This came out only a few months before s3, in which EMP began, so it’s safe to say that these ideas are well-formed in Mofftiss’s heads at this stage. However, if we jump all the way back to 2010 and Amy’s Choice, we can see that this has been in the works for a lot longer.

The first point of note here is the casting of Toby Jones as the Dream Lord.

Casting the same actor to play dream merchants, knocking characters unconscious and altering their memories and psyches? The universe is rarely so lazy. Other mirrors in this episode are easy to pull out. The Doctor and Sherlock have long been read as mirrors for each other – characters who have existed for a long time and are constantly evolving through adaptation, super-intelligent loners, but in case that wasn’t obvious, Moffat went to a reasonable effort to style them very similarly when both tenures began.

Both of these are very conscious remodellings of old characters. Much was made of Matt Smith being the youngest Doctor ever (26!), and Cumberbatch’s youth set him apart from the Rathbone/Brett image in everybody’s heads. There’s something young and modern here – but both still dress like they’re slightly ‘out of their time’, which of course they are. Coming to terms with modernity is the central challenge that Sherlock is going to have to face. And then, of course, there’s the hair – instantly recognisable to the character in both cases, yet remarkably similar.

If the Doctor and Sherlock are mirrors, Amy as the Doctor’s companion should be linked to John. Amy ran away on the night before her wedding, and whilst she is reasonably happy with Rory in the long term of the series, this episode is about her making the decision between domesticity and adventure – a pretty clear link to John in s3 and 4. This episode is particularly important for TST however, because Amy is heavily pregnant in the domestic dream – but she is far from enthused, torn between domestic life with Rory and wanting to run off with the Doctor. However, I grant the similarity with Martin Freeman isn’t striking.

Do note, however, the similarly uncomfortable dynamic in both of these photos – hilarious.

The parallel dream!verses created broadly represent John’s dilemma from TST, and if we followed Amy’s Choice as it seems on the surface, we would end up with a pretty straight reading of TST – John spends too much time with Sherlock, they’re all in danger, Mary dies and John is suicidal because of it. Broadly speaking, this works – Rory is killed in the dream (with a really nice visual parallel to TST) and Amy crashes a bus and kills herself because she doesn’t want to live without Rory. Amy picks the domestic sphere and although it takes several more series to play out in full, this is broadly the direction the series takes us in.

In both scenes, Sherlock and the Doctor are left standing off to the right, unsure of what to do – if you watch both scenes in parallel, it’s striking. There’s a great article here talking about how the angle demonstrates the Doctor to be powerless for the first time, amongst other things. X Amy asks the Doctor what is the point of him, and John’s declaration that Sherlock has broken his vow carries similar weight – they were supposed to save them.

The title of the episode is Amy’s Choice, and this, we’re led to believe, is the moment when Amy chooses Rory. I don’t believe this. The Doctor/Rory conflict goes on for a lot longer than this, and it’s far too early in their first series to resolve it. It would leave a lot of later episodes without nearly so much tension. It’s true that Amy does have some agency in choosing – the science is questionable, as the Doctor says they’ve all tapped into some space LSD equivalent from an unmentioned offscreen adventure which has induced a mutual psychic trance, which means that we’re not sure how much agency each of the characters has in this dream. It’s not seeded, and so it sounds like a fudge – deliberately. Because a pseudoscientific explanation like this can’t explain the Dream Lord himself, Amy and Rory point out, and the Doctor admits that the Dream Lord, the architect of the dreams themselves, was actually the Doctor’s psyche. The space LSD sounded like a fudge – and Amy and Rory expose that it wasn’t just a fudge on Moffat’s part, it was a fudge on the Doctor’s part.

And, crucially, what was the first thing the Doctor said about domestic!dream, long before he realised he created it?

“Oh, you’re okay. Oh, thank God. I had a terrible nightmare about you two. That was scary. Don’t ask. You don’t want to know. You’re safe now.” X

Later, when asked how he knew that the Dream Lord was him, the Doctor merely says that no one else hates him so much. Domestic!verse, then, is a manifestation of everything that the Doctor dreads – it’s his worst nightmare, being conjured by his subconscious. That nightmare involves Amy’s suicide, Rory’s death because the Doctor can’t protect them – this maps pretty neatly onto EMP theory and TST. Although John doesn’t kill himself, he is rendered suicidal in the domestic nightmare that is left behind. As the previous chapter discusses, Sherlock not being able to protect John is definitely a nightmare, but the nightmare also maps onto reality – John is suicidal, but he’s struggling to work out why, so he has to construct it through a heterosexual lens. John’s potential death and love for Mary are the two things that form the worst nightmare in both dreams, and the nightmarish sense is highlighted in TST by the deep waters metaphor.

At the very end of the episode, the Doctor’s reflection is still the Dream Lord, suggesting that this isn’t some psychic drug phenomenon, an explanation which was frankly crap. The Doctor’s dark side is still inside him. This feels like an allegory for mental illness, and mental illness crops up aplenty in Moffat’s depictions of the Doctor, particularly the later we get – the seeds of it are here. Again, although Sherlock is being killed rather than killing himself, we have seen the suicidal side of him before and it is made clear in TAB that his opinion of himself is low. EMP s4 is about him coming to terms with how he views himself, and the cognitive dissonance that we see in Amy’s Choice is a nice separation of the psyche in two that foreshadows the immense splintering that’s going to come in EMP, but particularly between John, Mycroft and Eurus.

Another nice parallel between s4 and Amy’s Choice is the idea of predictability. Way before we know that this is the Doctor’s dream, the Doctor displays a remarkable ability to finish what the Eknodines say before they do, an ability which becomes an obvious hint in hindsight. Moving over to TLD, Sherlock has similarly ridiculous powers to predict what other people will do; because this underpins TLD, it jumps out as being something that rings very false to me, almost like a parody of who Sherlock Holmes is meant to be, and so we should pay attention to it. An uncanny ability to predict what others will do – yup, that’s a dream world.

One key similarity that Amy’s Choice has with EMP theory is that a false dream premise is set up in both. Amy’s Choice suggests that there are two worlds, and only one is a dream; their survival depends on recognising which is the real one. This is, of course, a lie – both worlds are dreamed, and that false premise is created to trap them in the Doctor’s psyche, presumably until the Doctor dies (although the threat is never clearly explained). TAB sets up a real world in the form of the modern day and a false Victorian age, but the supernatural graveyard scene is the first hint that the reality/dream binary is not real, just like Amy’s Choice. This one scene is not an anomaly – the chronology of the ‘man out of my time’ scene coming after Sherlock gets off the tarmac suggests that such mixing is still going on, and we shouldn’t trust our senses. In case that point needed hammering any more, however, Steven Moffat gave us A Good Man Goes To War.

This episode is the culmination of a series in which Amy is actually an almost-person, and Amy has been dreaming all of their adventures with a flesh avatar actually having them with Rory and the Doctor. Here it is Amy, rather than the Doctor, who is dreaming, which is a little ambiguous, but there are two key aspects that parallel Amy’s Choice. The first is that, like Amy’s Choice, the flesh avatar/dream person threat doesn’t just go away. These words of Madame Kovarian are extremely important:

Fooling you once was a joy, but fooling you twice, the same way? It’s a privilege. X

Exactly what the Dream Lord does in Amy’s Choice. Furthermore, although there’s a later meta in blindness across Doctor Who and Sherlock which at some stage really needs writing, many people have made the point that Sherlock is associated with blindness throughout series 4, and so we should note that the architect of the dream people/flesh avatars is Madame Kovarian, better known (and usually credited) as the Eyepatch Lady. However, there’s one other key message they’re giving us, which comes at the end of the clip linked above – the baby’s not real. Both Amy’s Choice and A Good Man Goes To War feature Amy’s child, and in both cases the plot revolves around the emotional recognition that that world isn’t real. Given that we know that Amy is a John mirror, and that her choice between the domestic and the adventurous is consistently paralleled to John’s choice in Sherlock, this is a pretty huge indicator that something is up with Rosie even if we didn’t know it already. Indeed, the cot and mobile that the child has in Amy’s Choice are similar to Rosie’s. That baby never stood a chance.

The last episode I want to briefly invoke is Last Christmas. If we’re looking for dreams, this episode really goes above and beyond. The premise is that there is an alien species called the dream crab which latches onto your face and dissolves your brain whilst putting you in a dream so that you don’t notice. To make this more confusing, it often places dreams within dreams to confuse you – whilst you’re dying. This episode came out on Christmas Day 2014, so a year after series 3 aired but before TAB, so in Sherlock-time we’ve just entered the mind palace. The title, Last Christmas, is pretty helpful here I think – of course it has relevance within the episode, but this episode should also get us thinking about what was going on this time last year, when Sherlock was airing.

We’re no stranger to dreams within dreams at this stage, but it’s interesting how the saving-the-companion vibe is still going strong here. Ostensibly, that’s not what the episode is about at all – it’s a classic everyone-trapped-on-a-base-working-together episode, but the last five minutes tacked on the end suggests that it’s far more about the Doctor’s relationship with Clara, the episode’s companion, than one might think. In this clip (X) the Doctor thinks he’s broken out of the final dream but goes back to visit Clara and realises that she is now old, and that he’s missed her life. It culminates in him apologising for getting it wrong, for not coming for her in time, for failing her; we get more of this with Clara’s actual death later in the show, but given that it’s a kid’s show and Christmas, this scene is a touch lighter than that. It’s then that Father Christmas comes in to tell the Doctor that he’s still dreaming, he can still save her – and his first word when he wakes up is “Clara”. None of the others trapped in the dream have needed his help to wake from the vision and survive; Clara, who as the companion is our John mirror, specifically needs saving, and the Doctor needs to wake up from his dream within a dream to do that.

Nick Frost’s appearance as Father Christmas gave us all a good laugh, but he was also used as the indicator that the world we were perceiving was a dream world. This was made a bit of a joke of early in the episode – in a sci-fi world like this, are we seriously looking for what’s not realistic as the code to crack the dream? The exact same joke is made in Amy’s Choice, and here we’re hitting a pretty silly version of the show where they joke that just about the only character who can’t be real is Father Christmas. These hints about looking for what’s not real, though, should be taken as just that – hints. From the emergence of ‘something’s fucky’ theories early on in s4, this has been the abiding reasoning for the various forms of EMP theory that have sprung up, and they’re not wrong. However, if I had to put my money on a figure like Santa Claus, something iconic which functions as a kind of dream thermometer, I’d be guessing:

You were there before me. The fucky skull that glows, almost like a warning that this is too mad. Crucially, in Last Christmas they explain that Santa is a warning that your brain is sending you, picking the most unbelievable thing possible so that you know you’re trapped, dying in your brain. Santa Claus? Well, it’s a kid’s show, and it’s Christmas. But if I were picking a dream siren to tell me I was dying, I like to think that my subconscious would pick the glowing skull on the wall; without explanation, it’s an awful lot more direct.  

There is more reference than necessary made to dream crabs making one blind, and between Madame Kovarian and the blind Doctor in the later dream episode Extremis, there’s a lot more to unpack there, but I’m going to leave that for sometime down the line, or for someone else to jump into if they would like. I also want to throw out a thought I haven’t quite come to terms with yet – the elephant in the room in Amy’s Choice. Arwel Wyn Jones would be proud of the script for Amy’s Choice – twice, it mentions the elephant in the room, and so I feel I have to do the same. The first time, you could blink and miss it – the Doctor calls pregnant Amy ‘elephanty’. But the second time, we get this exchange:

DOCTOR: Now, we all know there’s an elephant in the room.

AMY: I have to be this size, I’m having a baby.

DOCTOR: No, no. The hormones seem real, but no. Is nobody going to mention Rory’s ponytail? You hold him down, I’ll cut it off? X

The elephant in the room – that the baby’s not real? Possibly, but not what we normally take it to mean. Rory’s ponytail also has not shaving for Sherlock Holmes vibes, but again it’s not quite concrete in my mind. These little bits at the end aren’t quite tied up, and I would love to hear what people have to say about them. That, however, is for another day! The next chapter in this series will be jumping back into episode-by-episode analysis with TLD – see you there.

[massistocchifontana]

The hunting of men… The dissolution of our past through the recognition of our mistakes

The hunting of men… The dissolution of our past through the recognition of our mistakes

I am a man. I am a man who strives to be better every single day but am haunted by my own personal reflection that I have done wrong in the past. Like every man going through their various stages of growth there are moments when we are completely oblivious to why we act in the manner we do and we can analyse these experiences to the point where there is a psychological explanation for every single facet of our behaviour. I do not believe that this is the problem because like every man or woman there are stages of development and growth that we go through and this is essentially a process to become more conscious and aware and steering towards becoming more self-actualised individuals.

In other words, we do not come out the womb with this experiential knowledge of how we should be. This is down to life and the experiences that we encounter along the way. There is no one blueprint to how men should be and this phase we are in currently is highlighting an interesting shift that more and more men are becoming aware of themselves and the mistakes they have made. 

 Let me rephrase that: Men are becoming more aware of the bad choices they have made!

 The problem with experience is that there is no master reset like a video game. We only have one shot at the experience itself and once we make a particular choice, we have to follow through with the chain reaction that follows. No matter how quickly or delayed we may be in recognising these bad choices, once made they will be imprinted in our minds forever.

 Men have a different relationship with shame and what I mean by this is that we all have encountered shame throughout our lives but the manner in which we bottle it up and hide it away is very unique to us. We almost dissociate from the actual feeling itself and we will continue to find other avenues of achievement to mask the real knowledge that we carry this shame within us. It is only through very deep self-reflection that we realise how we have attached this shame to something enjoyable like sex or masturbation or work and other achievements. We have an uncanny ability to mask this shame.

 Regardless of how many years of therapy I have done for myself and the continual personal development that I embark on daily, there will always be a conscious connection with the shame I feel towards the bad decisions I’ve made in the past. This is not to say that I am a monster or a villain like most men, but the manner in which I have carried myself in the past in relation to anyone or anything still holds an imprint deep in my soul when I compare who I was to who I am today. I believe this is a common feeling for many men, where you will find a common statement heard “can we move past this please”. 

 This is because there is shame there, and we feel it. But unfortunately we do not have a machine that can quantify how much shame we are feeling to visually illustrate to the person in front of us that we are feeling remorse and are deeply pained by the way we have been. 

 Most if not all of us going through this process of development can recognise that with hindsight we have probably behaved badly according to the current blueprint of how men should be and we are quickly labelled with the toxic masculinity title, or the narcissistic brand. I too am culpable of using these titles for men but I do so with knowledge of their history and most importantly the desire within them to change. Not using them in a manner to squash the individuals who are doing the work.

 I truly sit here struggling to write this piece because it feels that there is a 50/50 split at the moment between men. This split is being maintained by very regressed men who do not want to change because their ecosystem they find themselves in wont challenge them enough to make the necessary changes, so why should they.

 There is no immediate gratification in making these changes as a man, especially if it means that we have to change to suite others around us. There is not allure to being more evolved and being more conscious because it is too healthy and not charged enough. There is no draw to making love over fucking like animals where we can appease our ego drive in its fullest. Immersion into our conscious self takes time and patience and perseverance but is not easy.

 So the question is why should we change as men?

 The simple answer is one of respect. The man who does not try to become more within himself so outwardly he can serve more is a man who has no respect for himself and the world he lives in. There is no denying that men want sex all the time but this doesn’t mean that the manner in which we go about getting it isn’t sullied. We need to become more reflective of the kind of man we want to be and make the changes necessary to achieve that self-image. Because we have a choice in most things, the moment we become more conscious in our ability to make changes, this is where our responsibility towards our self and others becomes paramount and we have to honour ourselves in the quest to achieve this.

 We are given a loose blueprint of how to be as men. This blueprint is constantly changing but can be seen to slowly shift towards a better model, but unfortunately still maintains very bad traits. The blueprint that has been bestowed on us may not be a conscious one in its acceptance and its seldom a case where someone has sat us down and explained this is what is expected from us being men. Instead most of our learning is achieved through the collective of men we engage with. It is only within recent years that we can say that men’s groups are becoming more popular and we now have a platform to face up to the varied styles of masculinity and most importantly the shame we harbour. 

 The importance to change, is not about change but growth. This may be a clever term for the same thing, but I truly view this process as one of growth. Growing inwards towards a more connected and authentic self, grounded in the knowledge that everything we do as men can be founded on a principle of love and kindness. The knowledge that we can still be “manly” and love motorcycles and extreme sports and bars and pubs and all the things that stereotypically have been labelled as things men like to do. BUT, it too means that we have a choice in how we relate and show love in our fullness because in essence we as men want to show this love but struggle with “getting it right”.

 The realm of relating and being exposed in our vulnerability is not an easy task for anyone especially men. Unless you’ve been fortunate enough to have these feelings normalised we run risk of not knowing how to navigate the space and in general the masculine mindset is about “getting things right”. This is usually why one of the most common problems in relationships is the man trying to fix the woman’s problem rather than knowing that holding the emotional space will be more effective over the long run in comparison to finding a solution. 

 We run an additional risk here and that is not knowing against who we should model ourselves on because there is such a variety of masculinity available. We have the tendency to model ourselves against men who are high achievers and unfortunately these are the men that will more often than not have a voice and be bold and stereotypically “alpha”.

 We confuse achievement and success with acquisition and forcefulness. We confuse dismissal of the other with knowing how to navigate a debate linguistically and be present in doing so. We confuse our partners emotional turmoil as a task to fix and avoid learning to sit with discomfort. We confuse what society says about emotional expression as a means to express our anger towards someone rather than processing it in a manner that is constructive for you and the relationship you are in. We confuse superficial infatuation with deep love because we are mostly not able to navigate the full range of emotions. Ultimately this list of critique can go on and on, and we can point out all the flaws that men have.

 The one thing we must not do is shut down a man who is really trying to change and be better. Because the harsh reality for many men out there is that we are afraid or have been afraid that our shame is provoked through an altercation or interacting with someone and instead of the actual work we’ve done being the primary focus we are hunted for being men on the backs of other unevolved men and on the backs of our forefathers and the mistakes they have made. 

 Like most atrocities in history, there is a collective reparation that needs to be spoken about and implemented. This doesn’t mean that there should be more segregation between men and women but really a coming together where we can celebrate ones self-actualisation and recognition that we are changing. This is not an easy process for people going through it and especially for the people who have experienced an unevolved man.

 My hope is that the more and more men coming together to explore and understand the range of masculinities that are out there are also understanding that there are other more effective ways of being. More effective and fulfilling processes to challenge our ego and shadow and ultimately get to grips with who we are as men. 

 It is essentially brave for men to embark on this, but it is also incredibly courageous for women to accept and trust this process so that we can evolve forward. 

 Via Con Dios 

[writethehousedown]

New sensations, sweet temptations: Chapter 2 (Crygi, jan/rock)

a/n: we’re here with chapter two and ngl this was my favoruite chapter before i even wrote it, and huge thanks to emerald for betaing all this and helping me brainstorm, catch me over @soulfulwinter if you like, enjoy the girls at summer camp!

ao3 link

“Rock, how did you know you were gay?”

It was a sudden question that made Rock jolt. Why was Jan asking? She swore Jan was straight, she’d never mentioned anything remotely gay in the years they had been friends. She tried to shake off the confusion, resolving to help her friend and not prod whatever questioning might be happening.  

“Oh, you want a story time? Do you wanna come inside and listen to auntie Rock tell you a story of lesbians?” 

Jan laughed, of course Rock would respond with her usual brand of endearing stupidity. It made her heart flutter. The confusion and anxiety was quickly becoming too much with all these new feelings. But she knew Rock wouldn’t question it, only trying her best to keep Jan amused and not thinking too hard about things. She was like that, and it made Jan’s head spin even more at the thought of how good her best friend truly was. 

“Jannifer, I asked you a question and you’re just staring into space. Did the sun melt your brain?” Rock joked, but inwardly worried for Jan. She was acting off but it wasn’t the right time to question her about it. Not if what she thought was true. It was better to let Jan figure it out for herself and be as supportive as she could every step of the way.

The pair continued into Rock’s house, Jan trying her hardest to not seem off or raise suspicion. Rock sat across from Jan, posing herself like an old story teller ready to bestow an old legend onto some unknowing children. 

“It all began many years ago, a whole 4 years ago to be exact. You remember that summer camp? It was then.”

—– 

A young Rock, anxious and awkward as any kid her age would be, got dragged into a summer camp by Jan. Her parents said it would be good, they spoke so much of how it would help her to come out of her shell and make new friends. It didn’t feel like that though. 

Rock didn’t fit in with her peers. She was weird and she knew it. She always had been, and few people wanted to associate with the quiet nerdy girl who only seemed to talk to one person. 

Jan was everything to her though. She never judged Rock when she got excited over a cool anime she had watched recently or begged Jan to play a video game with her. If anything she encouraged it, always laughing and being excited along with Rock. Jan was different too. No one had the same energy as her. That bright bubbly infectious spirit that lit up everyone around her. How Jan wasn’t the most liked person confused Rock. She considered herself very lucky to have such a good person as her close friend though.  

They had made it to the camp in one piece, Jan was ever excited and had made a friend in the 5 minutes they had been there. She introduced her new friend, a timid looking girl with bright green curls falling just above her shoulders. She stood out and yet, seemed to want to run away from anyone who looked at her the wrong way.

“Rock, this is Crystal. You two both like art and stuff, I think you’ll get along well!” 

In hindsight, Jan was absolutely right. The pair got along very well and became good friends in their first year of high school, still a summer off however. 

For now, the one thing they shared was the anxiety of making new friends in such an unfamiliar place. Jan being the energetic 5 year old she was and would always be had dashed off, talking to more people and just generally being the social butterfly Rock had come to rely on.  

“Hi, I’m Crystal. Your friend is very…uhm friendly isn’t she.”

Rock picked up on the nervousness in the other girl’s tone. As much as she related and would rather run away than ever talk to someone, she felt an opportunity to find someone like herself in this strange place. Maybe it wouldn’t be awful if she tried to make a friend.  

“Yeah, she’s super friendly.”

The awkwardness in the conversation was palpable. But Rock knew if she ran back to Jan, the blonde would question it. She wouldn’t be harsh, but any bit of disapproval from Jan would destroy her. 

Rock pushed forward, trying to ignore the anxiety eating up at her, so far from her comfort zone in the first hour of the camp.  

Before their conversation could continue too much further, everyone was called over and one of the camp instructors started explaining everything. He explained how everything was going to work and Rock almost zoned out before Jan lightly shoved her. That made it even harder to pay attention though, but the pair managed with similar small smiles, trying and failing to hide their amusement. 

Room orders got sorted out, Rock sighed with relief upon realising she was in a decently small 4 person room with 2 people she already knew. It was to be her, Crystal, Jan and a girl called Jaida. 

They got settled into the rooms soon after, with the four chatting away while putting their stuff into the room. It was mostly Jan talking to Jaida, the blonde ball of energy was as sociable as ever, clearly having already befriended her.

Despite having stayed mostly silent since they got into the room, Rock was a little bit shocked when Crystal approached her with a nervous smile.

“Hey, you brought a sketchbook with you too? Oh, I was so worried I’d be the only one and be the weird art kid. Nice to know I’m not alone.”

The stark contrast in Crystal’s attitude was jarring. She had gone from sitting alone in a corner, glancing at the girls, not daring to interject with any of them to grinning excitedly at Rock, the genuine joy in her face made the other girl feel giddy, had she made a connection with someone? She hoped so desperately. 

“Well, I guess that makes two of us weird art kids!”

The loud, jovial laugh Crystal let out before regaining her grin made Jan glance over. She felt a surge of pride knowing her nervous friend was hitting it off with someone without much intervention. She wanted nothing more than for Rock to be more confident with people. 

“So what kind of stuff do you draw?”

Rock smiled nervously, inwardly cringing at the question. The reaction to her art from anyone apart from Jan was rarely what she liked. Would Crystal judge her? She tried to shake it off and be proud of herself, like Jan always advised her to do. She opened the sketchbook to reveal many drawings of different characters. The intrigue on Crystal’s face eased her anxieties. The green-haired girl gestured to something, smiling even more.

“Woah that’s a really good looking Eevee! Rock, your art is so cute!” Crystal squealed in excitement, making Rock bloom in pride. 

“What about you? What kind of art do you do?” 

Crystal’s art was intricate. She flicked through the pages of her own sketchbook, filled with sketches and watercolours of plants, trees and general landscapes. It was stunning, Rock was in awe of the girl’s art. 

Watching their conversation unfold, Jan had a huge grin. She always loved seeing Rock get excited about her art, and having someone else join her in the excitement was incredible. Jaida noticed the shift in her expression, curious as to what caused it.  

“Chile, what are you doing looking at her like she’s a kid who just learnt not to burn herself?”  

Stifling a laugh at Jaida’s phrasing, Jan tried to articulate a response through her giggles. 

“You know, I saw her burn herself once. She was trying to cook something but didn’t wear an oven glove and burnt herself on the tray.”  

Although they had known each other for all of 10 minutes, Jaida got the vibe Jan was an absolute airhead. She was extremely correct in her assumption, sighing inwardly upon realising she seemed to be the only one in the group who wasn’t off in their own world. Or jantasy as she had heard already. The puns were going to get tiring.  

The girls came to bond quickly over their shared time at the camp. They’d learnt they were all going to the same high school. Crystal felt immense relief knowing she would know people going into a new school. The fear of once again being an outcast hung over her still. She couldn’t help but question if they all would become good friends or split off once they started to get to know other people.  

That and her blossoming feelings for one of her campmates. It wasn’t the first time she had such feelings for a girl but it was hard to deal with. She didn’t know if the girl in question was even gay. Or even if she knew of her own sexuality. That was until one night in their room. She was half-asleep when she caught onto some quiet voices.  

“Chile, you are absolutely gay for her. We’ve seen the way you look at her . It’s cute.” 

The voice was Jaida, Crystal vaguely wondered who she was talking to before another, quieter voice piped up.

“Do I? I don’t know anymore. It’s so confusing. How do you even figure something like this out?”

Crystal recognised the second voice, her chest tightening at the thought of Rock talking about another girl. 

“I can’t tell you what you feel. But give it some thought. If she makes you more nervous than anyone else, makes you smile like no one else does and all that other sappy stuff then it sounds like a crush. I personally think you have a crush on Crystal. But you have to figure this out for yourself. I know it isn’t easy but know we’re here for you during this? Okay?“

Crystal froze at hearing her name. Rock liked her? Or was she just hallucinating while half-asleep? She woke up fully, head spinning with what she had overheard. Could it have been a dream? She decided not to push it, and to just observe how Rock was acting. 

The pink-haired girl seemed to be acting odd as the day started. She was practically attached to Jan, whispering things to her periodically. The moment she made eye contact with Crystal, she froze up. It was clear she was trying to act through the anxiety but she came off as shaky and nervous during all their conversations that day.  

It sent Crystal on a journey of mixed feelings. On one hand, she seemed to be causing the same feelings Rock caused for her but she hated to be a source of confusion and anxiety for the girl. She wanted to intervene but realised it would be smarter not to. Letting Rock figure herself out before talking about anything related to her feelings.

All the confusion and anxiety built up slowly in Rock. She had a lot of long periods of thinking, trying to make it all make sense. She liked girls. It made sense. She could accept that, what was harder was her feelings for a certain green-haired art kid with the cutest smile, the squeals she let out when her art got complimented and just every little thing about her. 

She had spoken to Jaida more, trying to explain her feelings with the brunette telling her that it sounded more and more like a crush the more she spoke of it. 

She had yet to speak to Jan though. Jan who had been by her side for years, who was always there when needed. She was terrified as to how her best friend would react to her newfound sexuality. She knew Jan wasn’t homophobic, she had argued with the homophobic kids a lot in the past. But the paranoid thought of her having a bad reaction tore Rock up inside. 

Eventually, after some days of it boiling up in her, Rock had to tell someone. She piped up in a quiet moment before they went to sleep. 

“Hey, can I talk to you guys about something.”

The nerves in her voice were immediately obvious, Jan got off her bed, making her way to Rock’s side quickly. She supportively grabbed her shoulder with a wide smile that lit some much needed confidence in Rock. 

“I think…”

She trailed off, anxiety flowing through her with 3 sets of eyes on her at once.

“I’m a lesbian.”

Jan’s reaction was instant. Gaining a rare serious expression, she put her hands on Rock’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes before speaking. 

“Hey, Rock. No matter what you are or who you want to date. I’m always here and I’ll always support you okay? It’s nothing to be afraid of and you’re super brave for telling us.”

Rock could only try to hide her face, not wanting Jan to see the tears forming. Her emotions were at an all-time high as Jaida and Crystal came over, offering the same sentiment as Jan.  

“Hey Rock. I’m proud of you for that.” 

“Hey, we’re both gay weird art kids now, isn’t that cool!”

Crystal’s brand of comfort made Rock laugh, she felt lighter at the support her newfound friends gave.  

“Thank you guys, so much.”

—–

“That was when I really realised and accepted myself, it’s weird, it’s been a good few years now huh?” 

Jan nodded, clearly engrossed in the story. Rock couldn’t help but smile at that. Jan was always listening to whatever she said and Rock hoped it would never change.  

“Oh, I remember you and Crystal. What an interesting time.” Jan smiled, wistfully reminiscing on the short-lived relationship. They had a lot in common, making a good couple. But it had ended for some reasons she still wasn’t too sure of. Although she felt slight relief, knowing Rock was single now. Not because she wanted to date her though?  

Right? 

“Hey, what happened with you guys anyway?”

—- 

The rest of the summer passed by in a flash. The anxiety of starting in a new environment set in and shook the girls. After camp had ended, numbers had been exchanged and a group chat kept them feeling closer than ever.  

They all reacted differently to the new situation. Jan was excited, always the one to shrug off her friends’ anxiety with pure optimism and eager energy. Crystal and Rock were similarly anxious, confiding in each other in the lead up. Their feelings had only complicated more since camp. Neither quite had the courage to approach the other. Although Crystal knew there was a high chance Rock liked her back, it was almost impossible for her to admit her own feelings to the girl. 

“Hey Rock, how are you dealing with all this? I’m kinda scared. You can’t help but wonder if it’s going to go well or if you’re going to mess something and alienate yourself for the next 4 years. Oh, I’m scaring myself. It’s so spooky!” 

“It do be like that sometimes.” 

Crystal snickered at the deadpan response, knowing it was meant in a loving way. Rock had a habit of blanking, only replying with things that somewhat made sense but made people question her. Although she had seen Jan poke fun of Rock for it, Crystal found it adorable. It was part of her unique charm.  

“Crystal. Seriously though. You don’t need to worry yourself so much. You’re great, funny, nice, talented, uniquely yourself and one of the prettiest girls i’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. Everyone’s going to love you and if they don’t then they’re really stupid and you’re better off without them.” 

Whatever daze Rock had been in shifted quickly. Her serious face and voice was a strange transition from her normally chaotic and sweet demeanor. It was obvious to Crystal that it was all very heartfelt though. Her chest tightened, much like it did when she first overheard the conversation between Rock and Jaida at camp.

 “Rock, you’re so sweet. But you’re making it sound like you have a crush on me .” 

Although her tone was lighthearted and fun as ever, Rock froze at Crystal’s words. How did she know? She desperately wanted to shake it off, joke back with the cute green-haired girl and act like it was just banter between good friends. But part of her wanted to let it out. Express her feelings even if she got shot down. It was worth a try. But the fear was paralysing. 

Crystal noticed the conflict in Rock’s expression. Her heart hammered as she blurted something before thinking. 

“I like you more than a friend.” 

She spoke fast, but Rock knew what she heard. It snapped her out of her conflict, soon stammering out a confession of her own.  

“Crystal. I….you…” she paused to gather herself. “I like you like that too.”

—

“Honestly? I think it was Gigi. Not intentionally or anything but you know she was attached to Crystal the moment they met. Also we really did just work better as friends in the end. It’s not like it was too bad or anything. If anything we came out better friends. Plus I don’t think I would’ve wanted to be on the receiving end or the target of a jealous Gigi.”

Jan nodded, in hindsight they did make better friends. She couldn’t complain about Rock being single though. It made her heart feel somewhat lighter knowing she had a shot.

Wait what? 

She wanted a shot with Rock? No? Maybe? Of course she did. They worked so well together. They understood each other. Rock was the one person Jan felt the most comfortable with but she wanted more. The realisation hit her like a truck. 

She was gay for Rock.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Moving On

Summary: Coming out of a bad relationship leaves Belle fearful to move on and start another with the shy Mr Gold, someone she recognises as sharing her own plight. Dr Hopper helps out in his own way.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: "We accept the love we think we deserve."

Rated: T

CW: Past domestic abuse

===

Moving On

We accept the love we think we deserve.

Belle is no stranger to that acceptance. She has done her share of accepting the love she thinks she deserves, the love that she thinks she is worth. The love that is not really love, but that calls itself love in order to dig its claws in and make her believe that she cannot accept any other form of love, that this is the only type that she will ever be worthy of. 

She has accepted that love, the false love that hurts and harms and weasels its way into her head to tell her that this is the love she deserves. She is broken and incomplete and as such she deserves a broken and incomplete love. She does not deserve something pure and unconditional, so she accepts what she can get, the littlest scraps of affection in the midst of the toxic mire that she found herself sprawled in the middle of. 

It’s only what she deserves, after all, he says. She should be grateful for anything that she can get, as broken and unloveable as she is. After all, it’s not as if anyone else is going to give her anything better. 

In hindsight, she knows that’s why it took her so long to leave that love that wasn’t really love. The fear that anything was better than nothing and she would never find another offer. It took a lot of time and clarity of mind to see that the twisted version of love that he had always given her was not, in fact, better than nothing. Nothing would definitely be better than that. 

At least, it wouldn’t be any worse. 

She feared never finding love again, and she feared what kind of love she might find. It’s been so long since she knew what true love really is, so long since love did not come with a price tag or a condition, so long since she didn’t have to beg for scraps of tenderness like a puppy. 

(He literally made her beg like a puppy once. He thought it was cute.)

Because after all, she’s spent so long being told that she’s not worthy of anything other than cruelty that naturally it’s going to have a lasting effect. On the surface she knows it’s not true, but deep down, the wounds received from that last love are still there, and they fester. 

Belle wants more than anything to be healed, to be whole, to be worthy of love. Proper love, true, unconditional love. 

Dr Hopper tells her that she is worthy of love in any guise, that she does not need to present a perfect facade to the world in order to be accepted. She does not need to perform or conform. 

Belle knows that it’s true, but sometimes it’s hard to remember, and she has to play his words like a mantra over and over in her head. You are worthy of love. You should be loved the way you are.

Up until Baeden Gold moves to town, Belle does not think that love will be on her radar again. She wants to be loved, she wants to find love, but she is not ready for the work that finding love entails, and she still does not think that love will find her, not in the state that she’s in. 

But then Baeden Gold moves to town, and more importantly, his father moves to town. 

It’s Baeden that Belle sees more than his dad, at first. He’s a bright and precocious child, an avid bibliophile who shares her passion for stories and loves to talk about books more than anything. He’s a regular at the library’s story time and checks out new books every week, always eager to discuss them with her. His father stays on the sidelines, hidden in the shadows of the stacks, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. When their eyes do meet, a nervous half-smile flashes over his face for a brief second before he slips away, like a deer caught in the headlights, and Belle has to wonder, because she knows that reaction all too well.

It’s the terrifying thought of being seen, being judged, being known to be less than ideal and less than perfect. Oh, she knows that very well indeed, and she wonders how she can tell Mr Gold that it’s all right, that she’s just as broken as he is and there is no need to be alarmed or ashamed. 

One night after Baeden has come into the library and Belle has exchanged half-smiles with Mr Gold, she lies awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering how she can apply Dr Hopper’s advice so well to Gold, but not to herself. Why does she hold herself to a higher standard than everyone else around her? 

She knows the answer, of course, deep down inside, but she prefers not to think about it, tamping down all of those negative emotions. Now is not the time for them, not when she is beginning to think seriously about the possibility of moving on with her life and discovering something new, of discovering friendships, and maybe more than friendships, that will help her to grow rather than holding her back. 

Belle wonders just how well she has read Mr Gold. She recognises her own victimhood in other people now that she has escaped from her own situation, but she would hate to be drawing erroneous conclusions based on his behaviour. She doesn’t exactly want to use his son as a go between, but Bae is always happy to talk to her, and perhaps she can garner a little more information about the familial status that way. 

She shakes her head. No, if she wants to get to know Mr Gold better, then she’s going to have to take that first step herself. She is going to have to do the brave thing, and maybe once she’s done that, the bravery will come. She did not feel at all brave when she had first left that toxic love behind, but she came through it and she knows that in the end, with enough help and guidance from Dr Hopper, she’ll be all right. She will recover. Her bravery will have paid off. 

Maybe it can do so again, even if she’s not feeling very brave at all right now. 

She can do this. 

Belle waits patiently for Bae and Mr Gold’s next visit to the library, but her mind is on a rollercoaster ride as she tries to work out the best way of beginning their interaction. Ultimately, when Bae comes to return his books, his father waiting in the shadows of the stacks like always, she chickens out at the last minute, exchanging their usual little half-smiles but not venturing out from behind the desk to talk to him. The old fears and doubts have started nagging at the back of her mind again. She’s broken, too broken to be worth anything, too broken to find someone new. The feeling gnaws at her, even more so because she knows that she thinks no less of Mr Gold for whatever cracks there might be in his own veneer. 

Dr Hopper picks up on her indecision during their next session. He doesn’t call her on it. He calls her out on her destructive thought patterns and always helps her to put a healthier mechanism in place, but this time, he doesn’t state anything explicitly. He simply gives her a knowing look and asks a question that is both disarmingly easy and deceptively difficult to answer. 

“Is there anything else that you want to talk about today, Belle?”

It would be easy to say no and leave it at that, but Belle knows that her quandary is clearly written all over her face, and she knows that Dr Hopper will know that something’s up, even if she doesn’t tell him in as many words. 

She sighs. He’s here to help her after all, and maybe he can provide the impetus that she needs to let go of this baggage holding her back and take a leap of faith. 

“I’ve met someone,” she says. “I’ve met someone, and I want to get to know him better, but I get the feeling that he’s like me. He’s been hurt and he’s scared of moving on. And I want to let him know that it’s ok, that I’m not going to judge him, but I can’t do that if I can’t even tell myself that. How can I let someone else know that they deserve happiness when I don’t believe it for myself?”

Dr Hopper takes a moment to digest this, and thinks before he speaks. 

“There are a lot of schools of thought that will tell you that you can’t love someone else until you love yourself, or various iterations upon that theme. I don’t necessarily buy that myself. You have a lot of self-esteem issues, Belle, which you have made wonderful progress on in the time that I’ve been seeing you, but I know that you are a naturally friendly and affectionate person and you have a lot of love to give. So I think that there’s a lot of scope for you to go out and get to know this person better.”

He polishes his glasses on the edge of his sweater vest before he continues. “Yes, it is important for you to be aware of your self-worth before embarking on a relationship. It’s important to have a sense of self, or you’ll find that the relationship becomes unhealthy very quickly, if you’re so focussed on the other person that you begin to lose yourself. But that’s why I’m here; that’s why your friends are here. It would be a terrible thing indeed for us to stop you from moving on with your life and stop you from beginning new friendships and relationships based upon your relationship with yourself. If you think that you’re ready to start afresh, then we’ll help you to do that. And of course, the more that you apply my advice to other people, hopefully, the more you’ll begin to believe it yourself.”

Belle nods. “Yes. I think I’m ready. Thank you, Dr Hopper.”

Their session comes to an end, and Belle steps out of the office, startling as she does so, because Mr Gold is there in the waiting room. 

He looks just as surprised to see her as she is to see him, and for a moment, the air is thick with awkwardness and embarrassment. 

But then Belle holds her head high, and after a while, Mr Gold does too. There’s no shame in seeking therapy, for either of them. 

“It’s, erm, lovely weather we’re having,” Mr Gold says eventually, very pointedly making no mention of the fact they’ve bumped into each other in the therapist’s office. Belle glances outside at the warm sunshine. 

“Yes, it is. Would you…” She falters, but she’s determined to push through. Nothing about this is planned, but she knows that if she were following some kind of grand plan, then it would all be falling down around her ears anyway. Going in with a wing and a prayer is perhaps the best idea after all. “Would you maybe like to get ice cream later and enjoy the weather?”

“I…” He too falters, his deer in the headlights look back again, and for a moment, Belle wonders if he’s about to run for the nearest bolthole. 

Then she hears the soft click of Dr Hopper’s office door opening. 

“Cameron? Oh, I’m sorry, Belle, I didn’t realise that you were still here. I’ll leave you two in peace for a moment. Come in whenever you’re ready, Cameron.”

He lingers in the doorway for just a second longer, and Belle sees the moment that Mr Gold - Cameron - pulls his courage together with Dr Hopper’s encouragement. 

“I’d like that, Miss French.”

“Shall we say four o’clock?”

Mr Gold nods, and the date is set. Belle feels like she’s walking on air as she steps out into the sunshine, and she wonders if Dr Hopper realised that she was talking about Mr Gold when she was speaking about her dilemma.

She wonders if Mr Gold has been talking about her in his own sessions.

It’s such a strange thing to have brought them together, but in the end, Belle thinks that it’s fitting. They evidently have a lot of baggage between them, and it will take a while for them to get going and trust each other, and more importantly themselves, to make a go of this. It makes sense that they might need some help along the way to see the important things, to see past their own negative thoughts getting in the way of finding new, true love. 

She’s certain that with Dr Hopper’s help, they’ll get there. 

[chameleonwritess]

Feels Like Home (Ch2)

Myriad of Stars

Not-So-Secretly in Love

Feels Like Home (Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3)

Forever Starts Today (Epilogue)

Extras:

Infirmary Duties

Fandom: Percy Jackson

Pairing: Nico di Angelo/Will Solace

TW: bad dream, mentions of Tartarus, panic attack depiction. There's a new character in this chapter, too! I hope you like her

Word Count: 9948

Read the whole Myriad of Stars series on AO3

Nico had originally intended to ask Chiron for permission to leave Camp at the weekend. That was until Chiron forced all of them to work ten times harder on rebuilding everything and fulfilling Jason’s promise to Kymopoleia now that there were only a few campers left.

Camp felt surprisingly empty and yet Nico was surprised to find that he didn’t feel all that lonely.

Cecil would hang out with Nico during the day and Nico would still find himself dropping into the infirmary to chat to Austin and Kayla now that he’d grown quite close to Will’s siblings. If he couldn’t sleep, Nico often wandered over to the Hypnos cabin to wake Clovis up to chat, too, and whenever he wasn’t hanging out with other people, Nico was summoning hoards of skeletons to assist with the building work.

Every time Nico summoned a new wave of skeletons, he smirked slightly, knowing Will would be chastising him for overusing his powers and force him to sit in the Hospital Wing for the next few hours. Really, Nico knew it was just another excuse to force him to help Will with his job. And, of course, to spend more time together.

Still, Nico was beginning to wish they hadn’t spent quite so much time together before the end of summer. Every night, when he finally got to sleep, Nico dreamt of warm arms wrapped around him, the smell of summer fruits and sunshine and the feeling of soft blond hair tickling his nose.

When he woke up, he had to remind himself that Will wasn’t right there, after all. It made Nico feel empty.

Of course, once he got himself out of bed and started about his daily business, sword fighting, climbing the climbing wall without being doused in lava, taking Mrs O’Leary for walks and countless other things, Nico managed to push the feeling of emptiness out. There was still no denying that he really missed Will, though.

Luckily, weekend really wasn’t that far away. Will had left Nico with his address and so Nico only had to pack a bag with some spare clothes and shadow travel to Will’s. Friday night arrived soon and Nico still hadn’t mentioned to Chiron that he was leaving for the weekend.

In fact, he was completely trusting that Cecil would tell Chiron where he was and that he wouldn’t be assumed dead and return to find his cabin ransacked. In hindsight, Nico thought that perhaps he should have entrusted someone like Austin rather than the son of Hermes.

Nico didn’t have time to dwell on it too much, though. He was far too excited to finally see Will again.

In fact, he was that excited that when he melted into the shadows, he reappeared in a tree suspended at least ten feet above the ground.

“Oh shoot,” Nico muttered to himself before he fell through the branches and landed in a back garden he severely hoped was actually Will’s.

“Nico?” a luckily familiar voice called out. Nico sat up and massaged his head just as a door burst open and his vision was filled with tanned skin, blond hair and a mass of freckles.

“Did you just shadow travel into my tree you imbecile?” Will asked impatiently. Nico’s vision was going blurry but he could still just about make out Will’s face. He grinned and reached up to touch it.

“Hey, Will,” he said woozily before passing out.

When Nico next opened his eyes, he was led on a settee inside someone’s living room. He was pretty sure he didn’t recognise it and wondered how exactly he’d managed to find himself inside it. Maybe a monster had somehow lured him in.

Suddenly panicked, Nico jolted upright and reached for his sword. His hand returned empty. The monster had taken his weapon.

“Woah, Nico, relax, are you feeling okay?”

Oh. He remembered now. He was at Will’s house.

Will was lounging in a single seat just across from where Nico was led but he’d jumped to his feet to prevent Nico from attempting to slice up his sofa with his non existent sword. The first thing Nico noticed was that Will wasn’t wearing camp clothes, instead sporting a green plaid shirt, opened over what Nico assumed was the t-shirt of a band, paired with slim blue jeans. He looked good. Really good.

“Yeah, sorry. I forgot where I was and panicked,” Nico explained embarrassedly. Will chuckled and came over to sit next to Nico on the settee. Nico moved his legs out of the way but Will insistently moved them back.

“You’re not going anywhere yet. You banged your head pretty hard on the fall and you were weak from shadow travelling anyway. Have you been overusing your powers again?” Will scolded. Nico rolled his eyes.

“No,” he lied. In fact, he’d already summoned at least fifty undead builders that afternoon and the shadow travel all the way across New York definitely hadn’t helped.

“I’m not an idiot, y’know. I can tell you’re lying. What were you even doing?” Will asked, shaking his head. Nico rolled his eyes. He should have known he could never get away with anything when Will was around.

“Chiron wanted me to raise the dead to help with building,” Nico explained.

“Chiron is going to get a scalpel shoved where the sun don’t shine if he makes you use your powers too much again,” Will growled in annoyance. Nico couldn’t help but laugh. He’d missed Will so much.

“I’ve missed hearing that laugh a lot,” Will sighed, turning his head in to face Nico.

“I’ve missed you a lot,” Nico added. He hadn’t necessarily intended to be so honest but the smile it put on Will’s face was completely worth it.

“Good,” Will murmured and he leaned his face in closer to Nico’s. Nico felt his heart rate increase. He hadn’t kissed Will all week. He hadn’t realised how much he missed the taste of Will’s lips on his- the comfort of having him right there under his hands with no chance of anything bad happening.

“Will? Nico? Did I hear your voices?” a female voice called out, causing Will and Nico to spring apart from each other as if they’d been electrocuted.

“Oh, yeah, Nico just woke up, mom,” Will called back. Nico released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He didn’t think he would have been able to cope with the shame of falling into the Solace’s tree, passing out and waking up on their settee and then being found making out with Will by his own mother.

Nico was at least relieved that he had met Naomi Solace before arriving here. Otherwise, he definitely would have been immediately Shadow Travelling out of the house. He would take monsters over mothers any day.

“Nico,” Naomi’s grinning face peered around the corner of the room, “how are you feeling? I made sure to give you a quick check over and Will explained your Shadow Travel to me. He’s healed the injury on your head and found some ambrosia to stop you from fading.”

“Oh,” Nico said weakly, “thank you.”

“I warned you,” Will muttered quietly under his breath so only Nico could hear. Nico let out a huff of laughter. Will had indeed informed him that his mother was very concerned over health, being a medic herself.

“What are you muttering about, William?” Naomi asked sternly, placing her hands on her hip. Nico let out another laugh.

“I’ve never heard anyone call you William before,” he smirked.

“What, you didn’t think my name was just Will, did you?” Will asked with a grin. Nico rolled his eyes.

“Of course not,” he said, “no one ever calls you William, though. Not even Chiron.”

Will shrugged, “I’m pretty sure it’s just my mom and teachers that use it.”

“Generally when he’s in trouble,” Naomi noted. Nico realised she was wearing an apron and wondered if she’d been cooking. That’s when he realised that he had no idea what time of the day it was and how long he’d been passed out for.

“Which is pretty frequently, I imagine,” Nico added cheekily as his eyes scanned the room looking for a clock. He found one on the far end of the living room, sat among a bunch of photos- most of a much younger looking Will, usually grinning and sometimes stood next to his mother, varying in height drastically from photo to photo.

Nico couldn’t help himself from smiling at them. It felt strange to see pictures of Will from before he’d even arrived at Camp Halfblood and known who he was. Nico did get a weird feeling inside him as he realised he didn’t have a single photo from when he was a child. After all, he’d grown up in a completely different time to Will had.

Nico wondered if anyone had any photos of him anywhere at all. When everyone that knew him was dead and gone, would there be anything at all to remember him by?

Nico’s spiralling train of thought was luckily interrupted when Naomi Solace followed his gaze.

“Oh, if you want to see even more embarrassing photos of Will, I have a whole book of baby photos,” she said, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Mom, that’s the one thing I told you to absolutely not do!” Will complained. Naomi shrugged her shoulders and ran out of the room.

“So that’s where you get your inability to follow orders from,” Nico pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, shut up, you,” Will said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Gods, Nico really wanted to kiss him.

“What were you thinking when you were looking at the photos?” Will asked suddenly, drawing Nico’s attention away from his mouth and up to his solemn blue eyes.

“Oh, nothing much,” Nico shrugged. Will raised an unconvinced eyebrow.

“That’s a lie. I saw your face fall. Is everything alright?” he asked. Nico really wished Will didn’t know him so well, sometimes.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Nico continued to lie just as they heard the sound of the returning footsteps of Naomi Solace. Will flashed Nico a concerned look that unmistakable read ‘We’ll have this conversation later’.

Nico knew Will was a firm believer that a relationship required communication and so far, it had always worked. However, Nico also knew that he had a lot of issues, some very inbuilt that had plagued him for years. He didn’t want to burden Will, the kindhearted sunshine boy he was, with all of that. How was he ever supposed to help Will if he himself was a mess?

Luckily Nico didn’t even need to begin explaining any of that out loud, because Naomi came back into the room.

“Will’s going to kill me for this,” she grinned at Nico, “would you like a warm drink whilst we chat? Then the two of you need to get some sleep before tomorrow.”

“What time is it?” Nico finally asked.

“It’s nearly ten o’clock. You only passed out for a couple of hours,” Will added helpfully. Nico rolled his eyes.

“Wow, thanks,” he muttered, “could I have a hot chocolate, please?” Nico added to Naomi.

“Of course! Will, go put the kettle on,” she ordered in response. Will huffed and stood up, immediately leaving Nico’s side feeling cold.

“Yes, mother,” he sighed dramatically, walking out of the room, presumably to where their kitchen was. Nico tried not to feel too awkward about being left alone with Naomi.

“Will was a really chubby baby,” Naomi began, opening the album to show Nico the first few photos. The Naomi holding the baby had dyed red and straightened hair, completely different to the soft brown curls she sported now. Nico vaguely remembered Will mentioning that his mom had been an alt country rock singer when she’d met Apollo and that it’d been Will’s own affiliation with healing that had sparked her interest in a medical career. The photos themselves were pretty adorable as far as Nico’s knowledge of baby photos went. Will had a tuft of blond hair that only grew in length from each photo to the next.

“He’s always had freckles,” Nico noted, not realising he’d said it out loud until Naomi looked at him with a sparkle in her eye. He flushed red as he turned the page, hoping to distract her.

“This was Will in elementary school. He loved to play tennis back then. It’s a shame they don’t have any tennis courts at Camp,” Naomi sighed wistfully.

“We have volleyball,” Nico added, “but that’s about the only non-life-threatening sport.”

Nico wasn’t entirely sure how accurate his statement was. To consider any normal event as ‘non-life-threatening’ at Camp Halfblood, you clearly hadn’t participated with the Ares or Athena cabin.

“Maybe you two can go to the park tomorrow and play on the courts,” Naomi suggested. Nico tried not to let his panic be visible. He hadn’t thought of the possibility that he’d have to leave Will’s home and spend the day in the mortal world.

Nico had pretty much always spent his time in the demigod world ever since the age of eleven. Even prior to that, he’d been trapped in the Lotus Casino which whilst he hadn’t realised it at the time, was also not exactly a mortal attraction. He’d forgotten that he wasn’t just behind the times in which year he’d been born in but also in how to act in pretty much any social situation.

“I don’t know how to play tennis,” Nico finally said, realising he’d been a bit too quiet for too long. Naomi merely smiled kindly at Nico and he suspected she had sensed his panic after all.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to go. Will told me you weren’t actually born in this era. I imagine it must be pretty daunting leaving Camp and having to spend time in the mortal world,” she said.

“Oh, uh, yeah. It is a bit,” Nico mumbled. He hadn’t expected Naomi to have known that. For some reason, it made him feel a bit more relaxed.

“Two hot chocolates and a tea,” Will’s cheerful voice rang out as he reentered the room, balancing three mugs precariously. Nico automatically jumped to his feet to help, used to seeing Will struggle holding so many things at once in the Infirmary.

“Thanks, Will. Come and join us, we’ve not even made it to the worst photos, yet,” Naomi grinned, flashing a wink to Nico. Nico smiled appreciatively. He knew it was her way of saying she wouldn’t mention anything to Will about his small panic.

“This is the worst,” Will complained although he didn’t seem too hesitant to jump back onto the sofa and throw his arm over Nico’s shoulders as Naomi flicked through the photo album, explaining all the photos of Will to Nico.

Nico allowed himself to relax back into Will’s hold as the panic gradually released its tight grip on his ribcage. With Will’s familiar warmth pressed against him, it was just that bit easier for Nico to breathe again.

“I don’t know about you boys, but I’m getting tired and I have work tomorrow,” Naomi finally announced after a good half hour of laughing over Will’s photos, “Nico, we’ve set up a bed for you in Will’s room. Will can show you the way.”

“Thank you,” Nico said gratefully. Naomi got to her feet and threw her arms around Nico, much to his surprise. It was a relief that Nico had become so accustomed to personal contact as of late, or he suspected he may have fallen off the settee.

“Sleep well. I’ll make you both breakfast in the morning,” she promised, releasing Nico to pull Will into a hug, planting a kiss on his forehead before waving one last time and heading back up the stairs.

“Your mom‘s really nice,” Nico said, “I hadn’t expected her to approve of me.”

“Don’t be silly,” Will rolled his eyes, “I already told you she’d love you.”

“Yeah, but I’m not exactly the kind of person most people would want to introduce to their mothers,”   Nico protested.

“Hate to break it to you, Mr Doom and Gloom, but you’re not as intimidating as you like to pretend,” Will said cheerfully. Nico pouted at him and tried to glare but Will just leaned forward and touched his nose to Nico’s.

“You’re like a cute little puppy.”

Nico jerked his head away.

“You’re the worst,” he commented.

“Fine, you’re sleeping on the air mattress then,” Will shrugged before jumping to his feet, extending a hand to pull Nico with him, “but not until you’ve had the grand introduction to my room!”

Nico wasn’t sure what he was expecting Will’s room to look like but based on the fact that Nico had only ever seen Will sleep in the Apollo cabin- a room that literally glittered gold- and the Hades cabin that looked more like a morgue than a place a living person should sleep, he supposed he should have guessed it would be something in the middle.

Will’s walls were painted pale blue but not much of the paintwork was visible underneath the mass of posters covering his wall. Nico didn’t recognise many of them but of the ones he did know, they were of bands, films and TV shows that were popular enough, Nico had actually heard of them.

A large Harry Potter poster was surrounded by some smaller Disney posters, a Lord of the Rings poster and two Star Wars ones. On the wall opposite, there were a selection of bands represented: Fall Out Boy, Panic! At the Disco, My Chemical Romance and Green Day.

The remaining walls were taken up by a large wooden wardrobe and a window that overlooked the garden Nico had shadow travelled into only a few hours previously.

Nico wasn’t surprised at how tidy Will’s room was, though. All his books were piled neatly and there wasn’t a stray item of clothing in sight. On a bookshelf there was a tall pile of medical books that caught Nico’s eye. He hadn’t realised Will actually had to learn things for all the healing he did at Camp- he’d assumed it was inherited knowledge from Apollo. Nico felt a warmth grow in his chest at the thought of Will studying the medical books into the night, desperate to help an injured camper.

“So, what do you think?” Will asked, flopping down onto his own bed, covered in a deep blue space duvet.

Nico tried to think of a way to describe the room. It was just so… Will.

He allowed a smile to creep its way onto his face.

“I love it,” he admitted. Will beamed and motioned for Nico to sit next to him on the bed. Nico obliged and couldn’t help but sit a little closer to Will so that their legs were touching. After all, it had been a week and he hadn’t been left alone with Will for all of that time. He missed the privacy, not that they got much at Camp anyway.

“What were you thinking downstairs when you were looking at the photos?” Will asked, “I saw your face fall a couple of times and when I returned with the drinks you were definitely more tense than usual.”

Nico observed the concerned look on Will’s face. His eyebrows had scrunched together and Nico really wanted to smooth the crease lines out with his thumb.

“I’ll be fine, I promise. You don’t need to worry,” Nico assured. Will chewed his lip and Nico unintentionally followed the movement with his gaze.

“I do worry, though. I was the one that asked you to come here and I don’t want you to feel panicked or trapped or anything. I just wanted to spend time with you. Maybe I was being selfish,” Will huffed but Nico grabbed his wrists where his hands had been gesturing as he talked.

“Will, that’s not it at all. I chose to come here. I don’t feel trapped at all and your mom is really lovely. Downstairs I-“ Nico paused for a second and allowed Will to intertwine their fingers where his grip had loosened on Will’s wrist, “I was just thinking that no one had ever taken a photo of me. Because, you know, my mom and sister aren’t alive. It just made me think that there’s nothing to ever remember me by. It’s stupid, I know-“

“No it’s not,” Will cut Nico off, “Nico, that’s not stupid at all. Photos have always been a big part of my life. They always help me remember happy moments and keep me connected to the mortal world. I promise you we will take so many photos together this weekend because I always want to have something to remember you by.”

Will leaned forwards to rest his forehead against Nico’s. Nico sighed. He’d felt sort of silly explaining why he’d felt strange earlier but as always, Will never thought Nico was being annoying or stupid or a nuisance or anything. He was always just there to support him.

“I love you,” Nico choked out, not having expected his voice to have sounded so strangled. It didn’t matter, though because the next thing Nico knew, Will’s lips were pressed against his and gods of Olympus Nico had been wanting to kiss Will all evening and now he finally was and Will’s lips were sliding over his urgently and Nico was leaning up into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Will’s neck and pushing forwards so hard that they both fell backwards onto the bed, giggling slightly before returning their mouths to one another’s.

Nico pushed himself up on all fours above Will but Will didn’t let that break the kiss, instead leaning upwards to capture Nico’s lips again and pull him straight back down, his hands sliding over Nico’s back, into his hair, over his arms, cupping his face, tracing the slither of skin along his stomach that had been exposed due to the fall.

Nico reciprocated with his own actions, letting out a small gasp, running his own hands through Will’s tousled blond hair and pressing his body against Will’s as he tugged on Will’s lower lip with his teeth, pressing more fervent kisses to Will’s mouth.

Nico wasn’t sure how he was going to last for the rest of the time Will was at school for. If he had missed kissing Will this much after a week, he was going to be almost embarrassingly clingy when the few weeks before Christmas rolled around and Will returned.

Will finally detached his mouth from Nico’s much to his disapproval and pressed his lips instead to Nico’s hand.

“We should probably get to sleep. I never get a lie in, even on weekends,” Will explained. Nico had to try hard not to pout.

“I suppose. We could just stay in later, though,” he suggested. Nico hated waking up early and going to bed early. Will laughed at the proposition.

“I literally can’t. As soon as the sun rises I can never get to sleep again. I’m pretty sure it’s my dad’s fault,” he explained. Nico winced at the thought.

“That sounds terrible,” he said.

“I’m pretty used to it now,” Will shrugged, “however,” he added, leaning closer to Nico again so that Nico wanted nothing more than to continue kissing him, “I still need to get early nights. Do you have pyjamas? You should probably take a shower and make sure there’s no tree stuck in your hair, too.”

“Why, do I smell that bad?” Nico teased, glad he’d managed to find his voice again. Will crinkled his nose up comically.

“No comment,” he said. Nico pushed him lightly in the chest.

“You didn’t seem to mind a few seconds ago,” he retorted. Will gasped.

“I hope you drown in that shower, di Angelo,” Will said. Nico laughed.

“I’ll come and haunt you as a ghost if I do,” he promised. Nico slid off the bed and went over to his bag he hadn’t previously realised was sat in the middle of the guest bed.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” Will muttered under his breath. Nico just chuckled in response as he fished his pyjamas out.

“Which door is the bathroom?” he asked.

“Second on the left,” Will instructed cheerfully. Nico nodded and made his way to the door, smiling to himself as he left.

One day, Nico was going to learn that irony wasn’t just something that happened in fiction. Just as he’d been thinking he was going to enjoy the weekend at the Solace’s house, he had to have his first nightmare about Tartarus since the war with Gaia.

Sure, Nico had had nightmares since- nightmares of being trapped in the jar with only a few pomegranate seeds, feeling like he was slowly suffocating to death with no way to escape; the nightmares about coming out to camp and Will rejecting him; nightmares about fire, storms, giants, monsters and death: the demigod usual- but he hadn’t had a nightmare about Tartarus yet.

In all honesty, Nico wasn’t quite sure how Percy and Annabeth had survived Tartarus. Even Percy himself had commented to Nico that he’d had Annabeth with him- he hadn’t been alone- but Nico knew it hadn’t quite been the same for him as it had been for the two of them.

Nico spent a lot of his time in the Underworld already. Nico imagined Tartarus for him just felt like the Underworld for other people.

Sure, it was terrifying, felt like death and Nico had nearly lost his life several times despite only being in there for a short time before being flanked by Gaia’s minions and captured, but he also had the advantage of being the son of Hades.

He had seen the form of Tartarus that Percy had seen, though. That was what the most terrifying thing of all had been.

That’s what Nico dreamed of.

It was just after Gaia’s followers had captured him. Nico normally would have been able to put up a better fight but he wasn’t in the Underworld, he was in Tartarus and that was their domain. Nico was captured by the two giants, Otis and Ephialtes, and forced to stare into the horrific form of pulsing purple muscle and writhing flesh that couldn’t possibly be a living thing and yet was so alive Nico could feel its very existence crawling under his skin.

It wasn’t just the jar that was suffocating, too- being in Tartarus made Nico’s skin itch and his chest feel tight. There was no medical grade oxygen down in the pits of Tartarus. Only a small fraction of the air that burned when inhaled was physically able to keep Nico alive. He could remember the feeling better than he thought he could. It made him feel weak- helpless.

If the giants had left him in there for any amount of time longer, he would have gone insane, died, or perhaps both at the same time. He wanted to scream out, to summon an army of skeletons, to shadow travel very far away.

He could do nothing.

‘Ransom’ he was told he was being kept for. Only one thought went through Nico’s head. He possibly even let out a cold laugh there and then.

As if anyone would fall into the giants’ trap to save him.

This time no one did come for him, though. The giants didn’t even take him out of Tartarus. He was trapped, with no help on its way, no weapon to defend himself with, his skin burning and his lungs feeling raw. There was no escape. He was going to die alone and no one would care. He had never been so useless before.

A hand wrapped around Nico from behind and he cried out in alarm, suddenly able to twist himself free of the chains he was bound in.

Nico came face to face with a very concerned looking Will Solace. His face was paler than Nico had ever seen it and he looked like he had tears streaming down the front of his face. Nico pulled an arm free from underneath him and patted his own cheek. He was crying too.

Then Nico remembered where he was. He was in Will’s room. Will had his arm around him. He was safe. Hazel and Percy had brought the others to come and save him. He was alive.

And Will Solace was right there with him.

Nico didn’t know what else to do. He buried his head into the front of Will’s night shirt and sobbed.

Will wrapped his arms around Nico slightly tighter and pulled him closer under the covers.

“Shh,” he whispered, “you’re safe. No one’s hurting you. I’m here. Gods, Nico, you’ve been through so much but you’re okay now. You made it through. You’re so strong. You’re the strongest person I know. I love you so much, okay?”

Nico cried harder as Will ran his fingers through his tangled, dark hair. He let Will’s words comfort him, reminding him where he was, who he was, who was with him. Will was right- he was safe.

“I-I’m sorry,” Nico choked out.

“Hey, you have nothing to apologise for,” Will said sternly yet softly, “every demigod has nightmares. This was just a particularly bad one. You’ve been through a lot, Nico.”

“I was back in Tartarus,” Nico began to explain, feeling as if he owed Will the explanation. To his surprise, Will shushed him again and pushed him back slightly to look in his eyes.

“I don’t want you to have to relive it just to explain to me,” Will insisted, “just hold me. I’m here, okay?”

Nico nodded into Will’s shoulder and for once, made no complaint about following his instructions.

It took a while for Nico’s heart rate to steady again and for the tears to stop flowing. Will held onto Nico like he was his lifeline- like Will was the one who had had the nightmare, not Nico.

“Feeling better?” Will asked when he noticed Nico had stopped shaking, relenting his grip on Nico’s shoulders a fraction.

Nico nodded and wiped his hands under his eyes.

“Thank you for being here. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been,” Nico admitted, “I haven’t had a nightmare that bad in a while.”

Will smiled at Nico and ran his fingers through his hair again, just as he’d been doing when calming Nico down.

“I was actually really scared,” Will said softly. Nico looked at him puzzled, silently telling him to continue. He did, “I was just waking up anyway because it’s practically morning when suddenly you seized up in my arms and started shaking. Your breathing rate increased and your pulse shot up and I kept trying to wake you but you wouldn’t. Then you started to cry and call out and I hugged you but you fell limp in my arms.”

Nico stared at him in shock.

“I thought you’d settled down but then you started shaking again, only this time you weren’t fighting me. I released my arms but you stayed still, crying and shaking. I kept calling your name and reached out to try and shake you awake when you finally woke up. I hadn’t realised I’d been crying too until you wiped your own tears,” Will finished.

“Will, I’m so sorry-“

“Stop apologising,” Will interrupted harshly, “you’re allowed to have nightmares and you don’t have to be sorry for upsetting me. I was just really worried about you, okay. I hate seeing you that upset.”

Nico breathed out, his heart pounding. If Will could be there for all his nightmares, Nico had a feeling he might just be able to cope with them a little bit easier. Of course, he’d rather never go through them again- that way both he and Will could get a peaceful night’s sleep.

“Thank you,” Nico gasped, “but really, I am sorry for putting you through that.”

“Nico, it’s okay, really. I want to share the pain with you if I can. No one should have to go through that alone,” Will insisted before pulling Nico back into a hug, “I’m a healer. I hate not being able to heal mental scars. Being here is the next best thing I can do.”

Nico was pretty sure Will was going to make him cry again. What had he done to ever deserve someone as incredible as Will?

He thought back to what he’d been thinking last night- that he didn’t want to unload all his troubles onto Will. However, this morning, he was wondering if it might lighten the burden, being able to tell someone else.

“Will,” Nico said slowly, “can I- tell you about the dream?”

Will drew back and raised an eyebrow at Nico. “Do you want to?”

“Yes,” Nico spluttered, “but I don’t want to unload everything on you if it’s going to be too much. Just… tell me if you need me to stop, yeah?”

Will nodded solemnly and before Nico knew what he was doing, he was describing the feeling of being in Tartarus, the monsters he’d encountered, his fear, pain and suffering over the years, losing Bianca and how it had made him snap inside, feeling so much for Percy that he could hardly differentiate the love from the hate, feeling like he’d never belong anywhere and could never be loved.

Will listened intently, holding Nico. He was opening up to Will more than he ever had before and even though he knew Will well enough by now to know he’d support him through, anything, it was still almost unbearably terrifying.

“Thank you,” Will said when Nico finally finished.

“What?” Nico asked, more out of confusion than surprise.

“For telling me,” Will expanded, “I- I never knew you’d been through quite that much so thank you for telling me. It means a lot to me. I just don’t know how you manage to stay so strong. If it was me-“ Nico felt Will shiver against him.

“I wasn’t okay,” Nico said, “for a long time I just shut people out. You know what I was like on top of the hill the night I returned. I wanted nothing to do with you. Apparently, my heart thought differently. You’ve helped me a lot, Will. Without you, I wouldn’t be able to do half the stuff I can without freaking out and running away.”

Nico rolled his eyes at the end but Will just smiled at him.

“You’re secretly a bit of sap, you know that?” he smirked.

“Shut up, no I’m not,” Nico complained, wriggling out of his arms, “I try and be nice and this is the thanks I get?”

“Like a said- you’re a sap,” Will teased, poking Nico gently in the side.

“I’m not,” Nico insisted, nudging Will back.

“Are,” Will argued.

“Not.”

“Are.”

“Do I smell pancakes?” Nico interrupted their argument as his nose caught scent of something very welcoming. Will grinned.

“My Mom’s Special. Come on, let’s get dressed for the day. I want to take you out into the town to see all my favourite spots,” Will grinned, “if you’re okay with it, that is.”

Nico knew Will had spotted his face fall a tiny bit but he steeled his nerves. If he could get through Tartarus, he could get through a day in the mortal world.

“Yeah, let’s do it,” he agreed.

As promised, Naomi Solace’s pancakes were incredible. Nico was pretty sure he’d never eat Camp’s pancakes again because they would never compare. Naomi had had to head off to work shortly after, so she had dropped the two boys into town beforehand.

Nico suspected she knew about the nightmare because she gave him gentle shoulder touches all through the morning even though she didn’t say anything. Nico was grateful for that but he also suspected Naomi didn’t quite know what to say to her son’s boyfriend after he’d had a demigod nightmare. He couldn’t blame her- it wasn’t exactly something they prepared you for in a parenting course.

Now Nico and Will were alone in a town Nico had never been to before and Nico was feeling just slightly nervous.

Okay, that was an understatement. Nico wasn’t sure why exactly he felt so on edge but his eyes were darting around everywhere, constantly searching for monsters or danger of any sort.

“Hey,” Will said gently, slipping his hand into Nico’s upon noticing his discomfort, “you don’t need to worry, okay? Do you want to sit down somewhere?”

Nico shook his head and gripped Will’s hand a bit harder. Then he realised he was holding a hand with a boy in public and pulled it away quickly.

“Nico?” Will asked.

“I’m sorry- I-“ Nico nearly teared up. He was panicking. Why was he panicking?

“It’s okay, just take deep breaths. You know no one will mind if we hold hands, right? The world isn’t as homophobic as when you were born, I promise,” Will explained. Nico nodded and allowed Will to take his hand again. He was still panicking. He wasn’t really sure why.

“How about we sit down?” Will suggested, “there’s a café I know quite well just around the corner from here. We can go and get a hot chocolate.”

“Y-yeah, okay,” Nico agreed. He felt bad for Will. Will had just wanted to spend a normal day out with Nico and here Nico was, doing the one thing he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do- panicking.

“Don’t worry, okay? You’re allowed to panic,” Will promised.

“I don’t deserve you,” Nico muttered under his breath, leaning against Will as a tall man walked close past him. Will chuckled gently.

“Personally, I’d suggest it was the other way around. Now, come on, Lord of Darkness,” he smirked. Nico managed a very small smile in return as Will led him inside a brightly lit coffee shop.

“Hey, Will! The regular?” a boy around their age asked as soon as the door opened and Nico and Will stepped inside.

“Times two, please, Jared,” Will smiled at the barista. Nico felt his nerves relax very slightly at being inside. He logically knew a monster could still attack him but somehow, not being out in the open had helped.

“Coming right up,” Jared said, glancing between Nico and Will and flashing Will a wink. Will tugged at Nico’s hand and pulled him towards a table.

“You seem calmer,” Will observed, “what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry,” Nico apologised, “I panicked. I was trying not to, but being out in the open-“ Nico shivered.

“I understand. Your scent is stronger than mine to monsters so I imagine you’re probably a bit more likely to be attacked than me. We can take them, though, if they find us. Together,” Will promised. Nico smiled back.

“Two hot chocolates,” Jared arrived at their table a minute or so later, “you going to introduce me, Will?”

“Oh, of course,” Will suddenly realised. Nico raised an eyebrow at him curiously. “Nico, this is Jared. He goes to school with me. Jared, this is Nico. I know him from the Camp I go to.”

“The one you can’t tell us any details about but disappear halfway through the school term to return to?” Jared asked with a smirk. Will laughed.

“That’s the one,” he grinned, “Nico’s my boyfriend, by the way.”

To Nico’s surprise, Will had rushed the last bit out as if he struggled to say it. Nico recognised that. Apparently, whilst Will was very open about his sexuality at Camp, his school friends weren’t quite as aware of it.

“Oh,” Jared smiled, “that’s cool, man. It’s nice to meet you, Nico.”

“And you,” Nico said politely, “your hot chocolate is good.”

“It’s the only reason I come here,” Will teased Jared.

“You mean it isn’t my dashing looks and witty banter?” Jared asked in return.

“I’m still waiting on both of those orders,” Will said wryly. Nico chuckled gently even though he was slightly jealous that Will was teasing someone other than him. Nico had never thought he would be the jealous type but apparently that was before he met Will. He supposed Jared was ruggedly handsome. He also didn’t have demigod nightmares and a fear of monsters following him. Maybe Will would be better off with a mortal after all.

“Well, I’ll let you two get on with your date. Don’t want to be a third wheel,” Jared said, winking at Nico. Nico rolled his eyes a bit. Unlike the winks Will gave him, Jared’s seemed casual and friendly. Will’s had always seemed more intimate, somehow.

“Thanks. I’ll see you on Monday,” Will smiled back and leaned over the table to enclose his hand around Nico’s.

“You doing okay?” he asked as soon as Jared had left. Nico’s heart stuttered in his chest. Maybe Will did still think Nico was okay, even if he could most likely do better.

“I suppose,” Nico shrugged, “better than when I came in. The hot chocolate’s helping.”

Will laughed, “Nothing like a warm drink to help you feel better.”

Nico was about to respond when he noticed a flash of movement out of the window. His attention immediately snapped towards it and he could have sworn he saw ram-like horns.

Will’s head also snapped in the direction Nico was looking the second a high pitched scream was heard.

“Monster?” Will asked, turning around to catch Nico’s eyes again. Nico nodded his head solemnly and reached his hand for his side. As always, his stygian iron sword was slung through its scabbard on his belt.

“I think it’s following a half-blood. Let’s go,” Nico insisted, jumping to his feet. Considering all the fear he’d been feeling about running into a monster, now that there was a strong possibility he had, he didn’t feel all that scared at all.

With his free hand, Nico grabbed Will’s outstretched one and pulled him to his feet, darting out of the café and following the direction he’d seen the monster go in.

“There’s an injured girl in that back alley,” Will said suddenly, pulling Nico’s hand in the direction he was pointing.

“How did you know?” Nico gasped out as he ran.

“I don’t know,” Will called in response, “I just sensed it.”

Nico wondered if Will could sense injuries the same way he could sense death.

“Nico, I don’t have my sword,” Will called out again as they rounded the corner and appeared at the top of the alley. Sure enough, a creature was looming over a small girl- unmistakably a half-blood- with a large gash on her leg and smaller cuts on her cheeks.

The monster was almost serpent-like, with two large ram horns and a smaller set of horns underneath. Its legs were short but it could clearly move at a decent speed. Nico unfortunately recognised it.

“Cerastes,” he identified.

“Good or bad?” Will asked in a slightly panicked voice. Nico squeezed his hand, suddenly realising that Will wasn’t quite as accustomed to fighting monsters as Nico was.

“Not that bad. They usually lure their prey so they aren’t as much of a threat when they’re visible,” Nico explained, turning back to look at Will’s face which was pale and aghast with fear. Nico smiled, “don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

Will nodded and released Nico’s hand as he stepped towards the monster.

“Help me, please,” the small girl begged as she noticed Nico. The monster was unfortunately smart enough to notice Nico’s presence at the girl’s words. It turned around and roared at Nico, blowing an unpleasant smelling wind through his hair. Nico gritted his teeth and swung his sword out before him, diving towards the monster.

He’d anticipated the Cerastes’ move. It rammed its horns at him, intending to skewer Nico on the end, but he rolled and came out to the side of it. He attempted a jab in its long, serpent-like neck.

Unfortunately, the Cerastes was quick and moved its neck out of the way, causing Nico to only just graze the side. Golden ichor trickled out of the wound, distracting the monster enough for Nico to run past it and towards the girl.

“It’s bleeding gold,” the girl whimpered. Nico crouched down next to her.

“Don’t panic- I’ll take care of the Cerastes for you. Do you see the boy over there with blond hair? That’s Will- he can heal your wounds for you and we’ll make sure you’re safe. When I say go, can you run towards him?” Nico explained. The girl looked at him in shock with wide eyes and nodded her head.

“Yeah,” she agreed, slightly dazed. Nico knew the feeling well but this time, he had to be the one protecting her. Unfortunately, during their chatting, the Cerastes had recovered from its shock and was rounding on Nico and the girl again. Nico jumped out of his crouch and readied his sword in front of him again. The Cerastes looked at the stygian iron and hissed in annoyance. Nico had a plan and he could only hope it wouldn’t fall through.

The Cerastes lunged towards Nico, its horns bared forwards, and began to charge towards the two.

Just as it did so, Nico yelled, “Go!” at the young girl and she darted out to the side of him and around the monster, just as asked. She was brave, Nico would give her that.

Nico waited a few seconds longer for the Cerastes to come towards him and just as the tip of its Ram horn was about to barrel into Nico’s head, Nico dived to the side, allowing the Cerastes to ram its horns into the alley wall right where Nico’s head had been.

Nico didn’t hesitate to haul himself onto the scaly neck of the Cerastes and, before it knew what had hit it, slice its head clean off its body. His sword went right in past the hilt, smearing golden ichor across Nico’s hand.

The girl made a strangled cry behind Nico as he jumped off the Cerastes before it could disintegrate. Nico swung his sword back into its scabbard at his hips and wiped his hands on his torn black jeans. That luckily hadn’t been too difficult. However, he and Will now had a demigod girl to take to Camp which was sort of frustrating.

Nico walked back over to where both the girl and Will were staring at him in shock.

“Do I have ichor in my hair?” he asked, puzzled at their agape stares. Will shook his head.

“No, you look amazi- fine!” he spluttered, “you look fine.”

Nico raised an eyebrow at him curiously as his heart stuttered slightly in his chest. They had more pressing matters, though.

“What’s your name?” Nico asked the girl.

“Cordelia,” she responded.

“Nice to meet you, Cordelia,” Nico tried to smile, “I’m Nico and this is Will, as I said. Has he healed your wounds?”

Cordelia nodded.

“It was like magic,” she said, “and you killed the monster, too. Are you superheroes?”

Will chuckled lightly next to Nico.

“Just heroes,” he smiled, “do you mind me asking who your parents are?”

Cordelia frowned at that, although Nico had sort of been expecting that.

“I don’t know my daddy. My mummy isn’t very nice. She thinks I steal things. I don’t though, I promise! I-I’ve run away,” Cordelia explained. She looked up at Nico and Will pleadingly, “please don’t take me back!”

“Hey, don’t worry, we won’t,” Will said gently, placing his hand on Cordelia’s shoulder, “we do know a safe place we think you should go, though. Have you had many monsters following you?”

She shook her head.

“There was a really big angry dog once but it left me alone when I went inside a library. This is the only one that’s attacked me,” she explained.

“How old are you, Cordelia?” Nico asked.

“Eight,” she responded. Nico nodded. Her scent wouldn’t have been too strong yet, but now that she’d spent time with Nico and Will, she’d definitely have more of an idea of who she was. They had to get her to camp.

“This is going to sound really strange,” Will began, “but have you ever heard of the Greek gods?”

Cordelia screwed her blonde eyebrows up in confusion, “Like Zeus and Poseidon and Hades? I don’t know much about them, I’ve just heard their names.”

“Well, you’re about to learn a bit more,” Nico said dryly before turning to Will, “I can Shadow Travel her back to Camp and then join you again.”

“No way, you’re not leaving my side. Doctor’s Orders,” Will insisted.

“Will, we have to take her. You know she’ll only attract more monsters if we don’t,” Nico huffed. Will ran a hand through his hair and stared at the ground, clearly deep in thought.

“We can take a bus?” he suggested. Nico shook his head.

“Not enough time. I’ll Shadow Travel you, too, so you can heal me when we get to Camp or whatever,” Nico conceded. Will chewed his lip in consideration.

“Fine,” he relented before softening his tone and turning to Cordelia again, “do you trust us to take you somewhere safe?”

Cordelia looked uncertain for a few seconds. Her eyes flickered between Nico’s and Will’s. When they landed on Nico’s again, he tried to give her a smile. He’d never been very good with children. They always seemed scared of him. It was natural, he supposed- he was a son of Hades, after all and he’d just killed a monster right in front of her.

“Okay. I don’t want to see any more monsters,” she decided. Nico breathed a sigh of relief.

“Alright, both of you take my hands,” he instructed, “I hope you don’t get motion sickness.”

“Wait what?” Will spluttered before Nico stepped the three of them forwards into their own shadows and dissolved into darkness.

For the first time in his last three Shadow Travel jumps, Nico landed in exactly the spot he’d intended with no passing out or falling through trees. He released Cordelia and Will’s hands upon landing and turned to face them. Cordelia’s eyes were shining and she was grinning, practically jumping up and down in excitement.

“That was so cool,” she grinned, “can we do it again?”

“Absolutely not,” Will said. He didn’t seem to have taken the Shadow Travel as well as Cordelia and was looking slightly pale, “oh gods I need to sit down. So do you,” he added, pointing a stern finger at Nico. Nico rolled his eyes.

“Come on, let’s just find Chiron and introduce him to Cordelia,” Nico said. The three demigods made their way to the Big House which luckily wasn’t far from their landing spot. Chiron was sat inside his office, listening to classical jazz music.

“Chiron,” Nico said to gain his attention.

“Mr di Angelo, I don’t suppose you’d care to explain why exactly you disappeared from Camp last night?” Chiron said sternly before he turned around and spotted Nico’s company.

“Ah, I see,” he mused, “It’s good to see you back, Will, although I thought you still had several more weeks until you returned for Christmas. It is still only September.”

“I know,” Will said, “it was sort of an emergency.”

“You’re a horse!” Cordelia suddenly realised, making her presence clear at last.

“Centaur, my dear,” Chiron corrected, “I presume this was the emergency?”

“A Cerastes found her in an alley,” Nico explained, “her dad’s one of the gods. Cordelia, this is Chiron. He’s our mentor here at Camp.”

“This is a Camp?” Cordelia asked with wide eyes, “what sort of Camp? Did you say my dad’s a god? Is that why you asked me about Greek gods?”

Chiron chuckled at her questions.

“Don’t worry, my dear, everything will make sense soon. How about I give you a tour around Camp so we can leave these two to get on with their date,” Chiron suggested, looking pointedly at Will and Nico. Nico felt his face flush in embarrassment as Cordelia turned around to look at the two of them with a cheeky grin.

“You were on a date?” she giggled.

“Th-that’s not important,” Nico spluttered, “thanks, Chiron. Cordelia, I’ll be back here in a couple of days. I hope you settle in, in the meantime.”

Cordelia nodded and looked slightly sad to see them go.

“Thank you for fighting the monster. And thank you for healing me!” she added. Will smiled at her and ruffled her hair.

“It was no problem. We were happy to help,” he promised.

“Come now, Cordelia, do you like archery?” Chiron asked and he led Cordelia out of the Big House to explore the grounds.

“Ready to Shadow Travel back?” Nico asked.

“No!” Will spluttered, “it felt like being squeezed through a tube that was way too tight.”

Nico shrugged and smirked, “You’ll get used to it.”

Before Will could protest again, Nico grabbed both his hands and tugged him forwards into the shadow that had formed over the porch, dissolving into it.

When Nico and Will reemerged, Will fell forwards into Nico’s arms and clung onto him.

“How do you do this without throwing up?” Will asked breathlessly.

“You’ve managed,” Nico pointed out. Will managed to straighten himself up and regained his bearings.

“I suppose so, yeah,” he noted, “please can we sit down, though?”

Nico chuckled but agreed. After two bouts of Shadow Travel, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling weary himself.

“How’s your panic doing?” Will asked.

“The monster worked as a pretty good distraction, actually,” Nico noticed. He’d completely forgotten about the panic attack. He supposed it was kind of ironic considering meeting a monster had been what he was panicking about in the first place, “I sort of forgot to panic.”

“Yeah, well,” Will shrugged, “I think you passed it onto me. Sorry I sort of froze up when we saw the monster. I’ve never really met one without being surrounded by loads of other demigods. I’m glad you were there, too.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Be glad you haven’t had to meet one by yourself before. If you had your sword, you would have been fine, I promise,” Nico insisted. Will shrugged so Nico took the silence as an opportunity to continue. He could still feel adrenaline coursing through his veins from the fight- he needed an outlet to drain it.

“Is that why you looked so shocked at the end, too, when I killed it?” Nico asked. To his surprise, Will’s face flushed red.

“No, er, that was less to do with the monster,” he explained, “more to do with you.”

Nico suddenly realised what Will was meaning. Or at least, he was pretty certain he did.

“Oh really?” Nico teased, “then maybe I should find a few more monsters to kill around you, then.”

“Oh, shut up,” Will grumbled, nudging Nico with his shoulder.

“What? I don’t have a problem with you watching me fight monsters,” Nico shrugged, allowing a sly grin to edge its way onto his face.

“I think I’ve decided I like you better when you’re panicking- you’re not teasing me then, at least,” Will huffed, “I’m allowed to think my boyfriend looks good when he’s using a sword, okay?”

Nico chuckled.

“Stop complaining, Solace,” he whispered as their faces drew closer together. Will really did stop complaining when Nico connected their lips.

Nico wished he didn’t only have a weekend with the Solaces but when Sunday evening rolled around, Naomi told him he was welcome back any time he liked and Nico thought he might just be tempted to take her up on the offer.

Will gave Nico a lecture about making sure he didn’t use his powers again for at least twenty-four hours after the Shadow Travel back before pulling him into a tight hug that Nico melted into. He wouldn’t be seeing Will again until a few weeks before Christmas and he’d be lying if he even pretended that he wasn’t going to miss the son of Apollo immensely.

“Promise you’ll Iris message me, right?” Will begged.

“Of course,” Nico rolled his eyes. As if he’d pass up any opportunity to see Will again, even if only through a rainbow.

“Don’t go having too much fun at Camp without me, though,” Will added with a laugh.

“I’ll let you know if Cecil finally manages to get someone killed,” Nico promised.

“Stay safe, Nico. Thank you for coming over. It’s been lovely meeting you,” Naomi smiled.

“Thanks for your hospitality,” Nico replied, “it’s been really nice. Your pancakes are very good.”

Naomi chuckled and ruffled his hair.

“Well, I’d better be going now,” Nico said, shouldering his bag and heading towards the shadow he intended to travel through.

“Wait, one last thing,” Will blurted out as he jogged forwards towards Nico. Nico looked up at him with a small smile and raised an eyebrow.

“Yes?” he said. Will smiled back and cupped his face before bringing their lips together in one final, chaste kiss- Will’s mum was watching, after all.

“I love you,” Will added. Nico tried to act embarrassed but he was struggling to hide his grin.

“Yeah, love you too or whatever,” he grumbled, “Don’t go getting attacked by monsters before I next see you, okay?”

“I promise,” Will agreed before stepping away and leaving Nico to melt into the shadows.

When Nico next opened his eyes, he was back at Camp Halfblood, stood in the woods he always went to with Will in the shadow of a tree. He took a deep breath in, smelling the freshness of the forest and the dampness of the canoe lake. He was going to miss Will a lot.

Still, Nico had things to do at Camp as well. Jason’s building project was still underway, Kayla had plenty of teases about him and Will up her sleeve upon Nico’s return and Cordelia was overjoyed to see Nico again.

“Nico, Nico, I got claimed!” she said excitedly. Nico raised his eyebrows and smiled at the small, blonde girl.

“Really? Who’s your dad?” he asked.

“Hermes!” Cordelia grinned, “Cecil’s my big brother. And Connor and Chris and Julia and Alice.”

“I bet they’re keeping you on your toes, then,” Nico chuckled.

“Watch it, Death Boy,” Cecil retorted, elbowing Nico.

“Cecil’s funny, though!” Cordelia argued enthusiastically, “he has funny jokes.”

“Hey, Nico, listen to this one,” Cecil grinned as he crouched down, allowing Cordelia to climb on his back after a few attempts of her jumping up to reach herself, “why are mountains so funny?”

Nico looked at him.

“They’re not?” he pointed out.

“That’s right,” Cecil said, “they’re hill areas.”

Cordelia promptly burst out laughing and Nico had to try hard to resist a smile himself.

“Get it? Hill areas: hilarious?” Cecil chuckled, nearly falling over with the combined weight of his own body plus Cordelia’s.

“I hope Lou Ellen returns soon,” Nico rolled his eyes, “I don’t think I can cope with you on my own.”

Cecil merely laughed louder at this and Cordelia joined in, despite Nico’s doubts that she had any clue who Lou Ellen even was. Cordelia seemed happy, though and that was what mattered. She was already seeming so different from the small, frightened girl he’d found cornered by the Cerastes.

Maybe the wait for Will at Christmas wouldn’t seem so long, after all.

[guylty]

My annual social media Lent is coming up. From Ash Wednesday I will abstain from Twitter for the next 6 and a half weeks (until Easter Sunday), allowing me to recalibrate a little and concentrate on other things. Such as my blog – or RAnet. That means I need blog fodder. Almost four weeks have passed since The Stranger launched on Netflix. Enough time to assume that most fans and readers have watched the show and will not be spoiled by the discussion of the show. Moreover, some more in-depth discussions have already started in the comments. Last weekend, for instance, we got into the intracacies of the “bar scene” in episode 4 of TS, talking about the casting, costuming and directing of that particular scene and how we, as women of a particular age reacted to that scene.

However, it would probably make more sense to start at the beginning. So anyone who’d like to discuss TS with me, you are welcome to write your observations, reactions and opinions in the comments. I know I am kind of launching into this without announcement. But by doing this episode by episode, I hope you can follow along and catch up with individual episode if need be. I’ll also try and summarise every episode at the beginning of each review post so we know what we are talking about. Hm, I may need to rewatch the show for that. The hardship!!! However, the discussion will probably focus on the plot… eh… Adam. Anyhow, I hope you’ll join me and share your thoughts either here – or your own blog, if you are blogging, too.

The Stranger – Episode 1 Recap

Prior to the trailer, TS starts with teenagers at a bonfire party, culminating in a naked boy escaping through the dark forest. The plot then begins with the Price boys driving in the car to the football club where younger son Ryan is trying out for the A team. While at the club, daddy Adam briefly speaks with his wife Corinne on the phone. She is away at a teachers’ conference while Adam looks after their sons. In the clubhouse, Adam is approached by “a stranger” who reveals a devastating secret to him: His wife faked her pregnancy a couple of years ago. He is shocked and disturbed.

Once back home after football training, Adam can’t resist checking the details the stranger passed on to him, and sure enough, his suspicions are confirmed – there is a credit card payment for a fishy website called Novelty Funsy, and the ultrasound scan of the miscarried baby does not quite match the ones of his two sons. Meanwhile, Adam’s elder son Thomas heads out to the bonfire party with his friends.

The next morning, police woman Johanna investigates a bizarre crime scene of a decapitated alpaca in the city centre. With her DS, she drives to a nearby alpaca farm to confirm where the animal came from. On their return trip their attention is attracted by some pieces of clothing in the forest. They follow the trail of clothes and find a naked body. The young man is still alive.

Adam meanwhile looks after his day job – he is the legal advisor to an obstinate tenant who refuses to move out of a house that has been earmarked for demolition. Upon his return, Corinne arrives back from her conference and Adam receives confirmation that the mysterious credit card payments are for a website that provides fake pregnancy products. He immediately confronts Corinne. She does neither deny nor explain why or what she did, only hinting that there is more to it than he thinks. The Prices spend the night in separate bedrooms.

The next morning Adam observes Corinne taking a phone call outside the house. She later suggests to Adam that they talk later that day after a school awards ceremony where she will explain all. However, Corinne never shows to the event. Adam receives a text message asking for some time apart.

The episode ends with Thomas revealing the decapitated alpaca head in his cupboard.

  Episode 1 – Discuss

So, first of all – I have watched the first episode about three and a half times. Twice on my own, once with hubster, and finally today a quick run-through for the sake of the recap where I fast forwarded through a lot of scenes, focussing on Adam mostly. I couldn’t help it… My first response to the show at the very first viewing was – WOW! I remember that I was fully engaged during every minute of it – even the scenes and story lines that Richard did not feature in. Granted, I was most interested  with the “grown-up” arcs, not least because anything involving drugs and other goings-on with teenagers makes *this* mama really worried. But having said that, I think the first episode was very effective in establishing the storylines and the characters. Hence the show spends most time following Adam (Richard Armitage) – as a father, as a lawyer and as a husband. Then there are the two police officers who also are presented as round characters – the middle-aged senior officer Johanna (Siobhan Finneran) approaching retirement who has just decided to split from her husband, and her much younger partner, a gay black man. Adam’s son Thomas also gets a good bit of screen time with his friends, making him more than just secondary. Other secondary characters include first and foremost Dervla Kirwan as Corinne, Stephen Rea as obstinate tenant Martin, and Jennifer Saunders as Johanna’s BFF Heidi.

So, the first watch was highly exciting and addictive, so much so that I basically binged the whole show. On second and subsequent views, I found the episode not quite as fast and exciting anymore – only natural, as a lot of time was actually spent setting up the characters and the various story lines: Johanna waking up in bed to her snoring husband; Johanna meeting Heidi in her café; observing the teenagers at their bonfire party; visiting Dante in hospital…

RA is the natural focal point from the get-go. Not only for fangirls, I might add. The show is really good at setting him up as the perfect family man who obviously has great rapport with his sons, both the “difficult” almost grown-up older son, but also the younger lad who needs a different kind of care than a young adult. I found the casting really great, with Thomas definitely matching the tall, dark, handsome vibes of TV-dad Richard, and younger boy Ryan more a mirror of his blond, curly-haired TV-mum. They all have great chemistry together, and found Misha Handley (Ryan) very natural and convincing. Jacob Dudman as Thomas was also great.

… really aged well… hehe

RA really shines in the confrontation scenes, both with the stranger and with his wife, when he has to convey both suppressed anger and outright fury at having been deceived. Both his major scenes with Corinne are very convincing, and I appreciated the decision to make Adam extremely angry, on the verge of volatile, when Corinne refuses to explain her actions. Adam’s anger is immediate, raw and confused and Armitage really draws the viewer on his side with his emotional outburst. So much so that I basically missed Dervla Kirwan’s nuanced acting in that scene. On second and subsequent viewings, once you know how the show ends and why she doesn’t want to talk immediately, you start to notice the little things: her refusal to talk has more to do with fear than with anger or denial. She is afraid of actually addressing the fact that the reason for her faked pregnancy will also bring another secret out in the open, and the subsequent discussion (which she had successfully avoided by faking the pregnancy in the first place) will now have to take place. What might have looked as callous or dismissive at first viewing, conveys much more detail the second time round: there is a sadness to Corinne that Kirwan expresses very subtly – in a slight pause, or the tiniest glance into the mid-distance. The same applies to their second and much calmer confrontation the next morning. What might have looked almost callous on first viewing, gains much more weight when you watch it with prior knowledge of the plot. When Adam says he has lost trust in her, Corinne replies “it hurts, doesn’t it?“. The question tag really stood out to me on first viewing. It confused me. Why is she phrasing it like that? It of course became clear in episode 4, but again, Kirwan really gave it a spin by loading it with subtle sadness that doesn’t only confuse the viewer but also Adam. Armitage here kept his response at just the right level of confusion without giving away how much Adam really recognises or understands what she was hinting at. RA reacts with great detail expressions. No words are needed. And in hindsight you can see how he begins to wonder whether she knows about his affair. Loved it.

Let’s talk a bit about Armitage’s look in this show. Such a spectacle!

Yes, I like details like that. The jury is still out on whether this is a prescription that Armitage wrote into the script himself 😂, or whether we just had a costume department that is on the ball. Yes, it’s time for the presbyopic lenses. Happens to most of us at around middle age. 🤓 I found it a lovely detail that makes Adam more relatable. Because – a dad bod he has not.

Even if he claims he does. I find this a rather attractive package for a middle aged family man. Also:

Bonus WRP. Needs no further elaboration

But to get back to the look and style – I enjoyed the casual style of Adam. Once again, it felt right – nothing too fancy, with windbreaker, jeans and shirts, and even a tracksuit at home, the perfect attire for a father of two (pre-) teen sons. I was surprised how good RA looked in other colours than just black and blue. The red polo shirt was very nice on him.

I can’t say I am as convinced of the costumes provided for Corinne. In fact, I think there were some rather sledge-hammer style decisions going on there, putting the wife and mother into rather dowdy, pale pink mom trousers and giving her a hole-pattern, fluffy knit jumper. Then there was that turquoise dress that went slightly longer than her knees – apparently the work wear for female teachers in English private schools, judging by an equally frumpy outfit for Corinne’s colleague and friend Vicky? (This observation I will come back to in a later post once we get to episode 4.) It just kind of made me think that Corinne was made to look older and less casual than her husband who even attends to his client in jeans and shirt…

Police officer Johanna Griffin OTOH looked *real* and great. (I kept double-taking because O’Brien’s severe look kept coming back to me.) And I loved Heidi’s funky style – very much the slightly crazy café-owner with a café as stylish as herself… And can we also mention the Price’s residence here? There were only quick first glimpses of their house – but oh, that stylist made it a gorgeous family home. The garden was beautiful but I can take it or leave it. Too much work – I don’t like to get my fingers dirty. But the dining area with the floor-to-ceiling windows and the sleek white kitchen? Big win, especially because it doesn’t look like a showroom but has photos on the fridge and a mess on the counters.

So episode 1 gets a big thumbs up from me – for introducing us to almost all the characters (some held back for more surprise later on) and establishing the plot. Yes, there is a lot going on here, which I haven’t even all mentioned in the recap: the stranger dropping her first bomb, the Price family life, the secret in Corinne’s past, the tenant who refuses to move out of his home, the colleague who has trouble with her pre-teen daughter, the teenagers who are partying under the influence of drugs, the mystery of the boy who was hunted through the forest, the curious story of the decapitated alpaca, an almost-comic police duo, a police officer who is splitting up with her hubby, her friend, the funky café owner, the gregarious neighbour, the busybody football trainer… Too much? I’d say a lot of it is deliberate overload to distract us, yet give us some extra info about the characters, their work, their life and their environment.

The strategy definitely works when you watch the show for the first time. You are busy dealing with Richard Armitage’s overwhelming handsomeness taking it all in. The questions only really pop up when you watch again.  Such as: When stoned Mike takes the alpaca for a walk into the city centre, why is there no CCTV footage? I mean, nowadays there is hardly *any* urban area that does *not* have CCTV on shops and banks or traffic spots. How come no one saw him decapitating the alpaca, in a city centre? And how did he manage to decapitate it anyway`- it’s hardly a one-chop job?Likewise and with hindsight we know now that Corinne’s text message was not sent by her at all: But how did the sender actually know the password to Corinne’s phone to send that message? I mean, don’t all people lock their phone with a password these days? Possibly nit-picking questions, but that’s the fun of it, isn’t it? You can enjoy a show immensely – and still want to pick a few holes into the plot just to see whether you are cleverer than the writer 😉.

There is probably so much more to discuss, but for the sake of getting the discussion started, here is the post. What is your take on the first episode of TS? Any agreements with me, or disagree? Other points of interest? Let me know in the comments!

Let’s Talk About… #TheStranger – Episode 1 My annual social media Lent is coming up. From Ash Wednesday I will abstain from Twitter for the next 6 and a half weeks (until Easter Sunday), allowing me to recalibrate a little and concentrate on other things.

[jobrosupdates]

‘We needed to speak our truth – and forgive’: Jonas Brothers on music, marriage and making up | The Guardian

Six years ago, on the back of 17m album sales, the Disney stars split, devastating their fans. Now they’re back with a No 1 single. They talk about family rifts – and why it took so long to patch things up

“Good to see you,” smiles Kevin Jonas, the first of three Jonas brothers to arrive in the back room of an upmarket hotel in Fitzrovia, London. Kevin and I have indeed met before, many years ago, for an interview he has no reason to remember. Between then and today, the Jonas Brothers have split and now re-formed, and for anyone querying just how in sync the newly reunited band are, Joe is the next to join us. “Good to see you,” he says. A few seconds later, here comes Nick: “Good to see you.”

It is three months since they announced their reunion, more than half a decade since a split that was blamed on a “deep rift within the band”. The pandemonium surrounding their getting back together, which has seen Sucker become the band’s first US No 1 single, feels like a mirror image of how fans reacted to the brutality and abruptness of the split in 2013, when, having sold 17m albums and achieved widespread international fame, the brothers ditched a half-made fifth album and cancelled a world tour they were in the middle of. Nick instigated the split, it emerged; there were musical differences, along with the deep rift.

I ask them how being back and once again hurling themselves into full days of press, fan meets-and-greets and invite-only concerts is going. Kevin is the first to respond: “Well, we haven’t wanted to break up yet.”

The Jonas Brothers began life as a standard teen band. Columbia Records had already released solo music by Nick, who had been performing on Broadway since he was seven. (Today, he describes his seven-year-old self as “incredibly driven and focused and not very fun to be around”, which prompts a knowing laugh from older brother Kevin.) The preposterously wholesome New Jersey brothers’ cover of Busted’s Year 3000, in which their vision of the future referenced girls with “round hair like Star Wars” rather than Busted’s “triple-breasted women”, brought modest success. But when their debut album flopped, Columbia dropped the band and around the same time, their father, a pastor whose involvement in the church had a big impact on the family, lost his job. Joe was 17, Kevin was 19; Nick was just 14. “Lost in the shuffle of major label ‘stuff’,” is how Nick puts it now. At the time, emotions ran higher. “We felt like our journey had come to an end.”

But in the words of another sibling pop band, it had only just begun. In 2007, just weeks after leaving Columbia, the band signed with Disney’s record label Hollywood. Disney’s pitch to the Jonas Brothers was simple, according to Nick. “They called and said: ‘You’ve been working with someone who doesn’t know how to market to this audience. This is literally what we do. We see an opportunity and we want to help you grow.’” Disney’s power had already become obvious to the band when the Year 3000 video was played on one of its TV channels. “I saw our Myspace followers go from 100 to 10,000 in just one day,” Joe says.

Only with hindsight is it clear just how effectively the Disney machine made good on its promise. They inserted the Jonas Brothers, albeit not as the Jonas Brothers, into the TV show Hannah Montana, as Miley Cyrus’s favourite band, in an episode that aired directly after the premiere of High School Musical 2. They gave the siblings their own sitcom, Jonas, in which they played a band (again, not the Jonas Brothers). Then came the movie Camp Rock, in which the Jonas Brothers starred alongside Demi Lovato as the band Connect 3. Once again, not the Jonas Brothers, a strategy Joe now recognises as both “genius and confusing”, but the audience joined the dots, thanks in part to another series, Living The Dream – a fly-on-the-wall show in which the band finally starred as themselves.

Those years involved so many of what Nick describes as “pinch-me-I’m-a-Jonas-Brother moments”, such as performing at the White House as favourites of the Obama administration. Joe recalls playing with Stevie Wonder at the Grammys. “The curtains open and there’s Paul McCartney and Chris Martin, and they’re the first ones out of their seats.” They were applauding, not leaving. “Obviously it was for Stevie Wonder, but that felt rewarding.”

Inconveniently, the brothers, being living organisms, got older, and while the Jonas Brothers owe their success to Disney it was inevitable that they would outgrow the channel’s values. Joe wrote a frank assessment of that time for New York magazine in 2013, saying the band were like “frightened little kids” when faced with Disney’s demands for a clean-cut band. Today, he says simply that Disney was “very helpful when we needed it the most”.

Internally, things were also complex. There is a throwaway comment in one episode of Living the Dream in which the brothers discuss their father, who by that point had taken on the role of the band’s co-manager: “The problem is, we’re never sure when he’s just being dad.” Equally, the band realised the line between brother and bandmate was frequently, inevitably, ill-defined. “Sometimes you just want a dad, sometimes you just want a brother,” Joe says today. “There was confusion when it came to family versus band, and what comes first.”

“When the band broke up, he balanced both really well,” Nick says of their father. “Because I had initiated the conversation for the group to break up, he was comforting to me while I spoke my truth. Then when Joe and Kevin’s reaction was complicated, he was a father to them, and managerial to me.”

I ask Joe and Kevin if they can expand on “complicated”. “Sure,” Joe says. “I was mad as hell.”

The split, Joe says, wasn’t something he was expecting, even if the signs were all there: “The music wasn’t as strong as it had been, we weren’t selling as many tickets. And our relationship was unhealthy. We weren’t communicating as we should have been.” Still, Joe remembers thinking that things would work themselves out. “I kind of just assumed we’d get through this bad phase and something great would happen again.”

By 2009, the Jonas Brothers had been releasing an album every summer since 2006 but their fourth album, Lines, Vines and Trying Times, sold less than half its predecessor, and less than a third of the band’s breakthrough album. After that, Nick and Joe released solo albums, which were poorly received. I ask if the failure of those initial solo outings, followed by the ill-fated retreat to the safety of the band, could have fostered resentment that led to the eventual split. Joe nods. “I wanted to at least get that personal win of being able to do something on my own, which I carried for many years, just thinking: ‘I can’t do anything without these guys.’”

After the band’s split in 2013, Kevin spent time with his wife, Danielle, raising their two daughters, starting a construction company and investing in a handful of ventures including a food app called Yood and a service for social influencers called The Blu Market. Nick released two albums, resulting in some decent airplay and chart hits such as the 2014 single Jealous. Joe formed a band, DNCE, whose 2015 billion-stream behemoth Cake By the Ocean was No 1 from Ecuador to Israel. Despite movie roles for both (Nick in Goat and Jumanji, Joe as a voice actor in Hotel Transylvania 3), and a slot judging on Australia’s The Voice for Joe, their projects hit a wall – one of the tracks from DNCE’s latest EP has broken 7m Spotify streams, while Cake By the Ocean stands at 806m.

Although the brothers were hardly estranged during this period, there was a multi-platinum elephant in the room at family events. In 2017 came the idea of a Jonas Brothers documentary, Chasing Happiness, which is out this week on Amazon. The main aim was closure. “We definitely didn’t think we were going to get back together,” Joe says. During one pivotal moment the band took part in a drinking game (the documentary was not being made by Disney), in which residual issues were pulled out of a hat, and each member rated the other on the honesty of their responses. “We all needed to speak our truth, and be able to forgive,” Nick says. “It’s easy. Say the truth, then it’s behind you. Just say it out loud.”

The brothers insist the plan was simply to draw a line under the band, but a full reunion happened anyway. They contacted the songwriter and producer Ryan Tedder, who has worked with everyone from Adele to U2. They knew they needed to update to reflect pop’s new sound, and what Nick describes as “the ever-changing landscape of the way music is released and how people consume it. We were conscious that there would always be a new wave of entertainers you can feel you’re in competition with but rather than be frustrated with how quickly things change, we’ve chosen to lean into it.” Tedder’s early enthusiasm for the project gave the band the confidence to approach other pop overlords such as Greg Kurstin and Max Martin. “Before,” Joe says, “when it was slowing down, we were nervous to reach out to big producers and writers, thinking they would say no to working with us.”

The result is an album, Happiness Begins, that is arguably better than anything the band made in their earlier years. Free from the late-00s shackles of over-enthusiastic hair straightening, the Jonas Brothers rather suit being older. They seem happy that their audiences in 2019 will generally have drinks in their hands and much like the fans who have grown up with them, these brothers seem more like individuals, too, from Nick in his designer bomber jacket to Kevin in an unassuming lumberjack shirt.

The march of age – Nick is 27, Joe, 29, and Kevin, 31 – also means the brothers are no longer synonymous with the purity rings they once wore as a display of abstinence, which quickly became the target of a rather odd media obsession. Nick has since said that the purity rings ended up shaping his view of sex. “They did,” he restates today. How? “The values behind the idea of understanding what sex is, and what it means, are incredibly important. When I have children, I’ll make sure they understand the importance of sex, and consent, and all the things that are important. What’s discouraging about that chapter of our life is that at 13 or 14 my sex life was being discussed. It was very tough to digest it in real time, trying to understand what it was going to mean to me, and what I wanted my choices to be, while having the media speaking about a 13-year-old’s sex life. I don’t know if it would fly in this day and age. Very strange.”

In any case, the band are all now married. Kevin got hitched to Danielle a decade ago while Nick’s wife is the actor Priyanka Chopra, and Joe married Sophie Turner, Game of Thrones’ Sansa Stark, in a Las Vegas ceremony last month. All three significant others feature in the video for Sucker. “Sophie was pretty adamant that she play the love interest in every music video we do from now on,” Joe notes. “I told her I didn’t think that was possible, but we’d give her the first one.” I ask him if there’s been a strange atmosphere, with one major chapter ending for Turner just as a new one begins for Joe. “We’ve definitely spoken about that. It’s difficult to say goodbye to one … But it’s amazing timing that we could be starting our life together right now.”

The couple’s refreshing approach to dealing with paparazzi in New York, where they live – staring them out, giving them the finger – often sees them go viral. “Early on, we were trying to be secretive about our relationship,” Joe explains. The problem? “We like to sit outside. Pulling faces at the paparazzi is sometimes the best way to handle the situation – and then I see myself on the top of Reddit.” He suddenly becomes rather animated. “I love Reddit! I got so excited when I saw that. I went: ‘We made it!’ She wasn’t as excited.” (He adds that he mainly visits Reddit for Gifs, memes and pictures of “any cute animal”.)

I ask Nick how he and Priyanka, who has experienced a similar level of a different type of fame, manage their public lives. “She’s coming up on 20 years in the business, and weirdly, so am I,” he begins. “But she wasn’t really familiar with us, or me, when we first started dating.” One of their first steps, within their first few weeks together, was a show-and-tell session. “We actually sat down and educated each other, playing videos we were both embarrassed and proud of. It was a helpful way to get to know each other.” (Nick adds, ominously, that Chopra “did a little digging of her own and found out some things about my past”.)

The band’s not exactly hermit-like private lives have undoubtedly boosted their comeback, but, along with Sucker being a nailed-on hit, they have also benefited from a curious type of nostalgia. Their return does transport the mind to a time when their music seemed to soundtrack things slowly getting better, rather than rapidly descending into what Nick describes today as “an incredibly negative time across the whole globe”, and what the rest of us might term an international dumpster fire.

“That should be our album title,” Joe decides. “Before The Dumpster Fire. Six years ago was a lot different everywhere, but we like the idea that we can take people out of it and smile and bring some joy to 2019.”

This feels like as appropriate a time as any to bring up the internet theory that Kevin’s appearance on the US version of Celebrity Apprentice was directly responsible for Trump’s presidency. The Jonas Brothers aren’t known for their political views but the theory goes like this: Kevin’s presence gave the ailing show an early ratings boost, but after Kevin attempted to outfox Trump in the boardroom and got himself fired, the rest of the season’s ratings were poor, and now here we are. “You can do the math on it, and it lines up,” Kevin accepts. “It’s plausible, I guess, that the need for attention could have led from bad ratings to the presidency. I hope that’s not the case.” Would he like to apologise to the world? “No. I do not take credit for it.”

I ask Nick if, as he has previously stated, he would still like to run for president himself one day. “Politics is a very tricky thing,” he diplomatically responds. “It’s a very different time to when I first mentioned my desire to be president.”

“He’s practising,” Kevin laughs.

“We’ll take what we can get,” Joe mutters.

With that, it’s time for the band to clear off and perform for fans in Kingston, London. Before they go I ask what Connect 3, the band they portrayed in Camp Rock, are doing now. “I think,” Nick says, “they’re just really jealous that the Jonas Brothers are back.”

Jonas Brothers’ new album, Happiness Begins, is out on 7 June on Polydor/Republic Records

Source: The Guardian

[firelxrdsdaughter]

Cruel Symmetry | Preview Chapter

And here’s the second piece I did for the @avatarbaang!

Honestly this one was one that excited me more out of the two? I ended up taking the concept over to rp on here as well. HAHA. Then again, Azula is my main lady, no matter how much I love Suki. x)

This one’s a bit of an au anyway. Post canon.

Cruel Symmetry 

synopsis: After escaping her confinement in the Fire Nation, her bending stripped from her by the Avatar, Azula finds her way to the Earth Kingdom. Fourteen years pass, during which she has joined the Earth King’s forces and made a name for herself under an alias. No one the wiser that the child general who once conquered Ba Sing Se could be the honoured Commander Hui Yin. 

On the fated day in which she is brought to the Capital of Ba Sing Se to receive accolades for outstanding military service, Azula’s new life comes crashing down around her ears when an unexpected guest recognizes her for who she truly is. 

I

She already knows, as the walls split before her, that she ought to have rejected the invitation. What’s another year on the run, when she looks at her life in hindsight? The only problem is, where would she go?

Azula fidgets, her nails biting into the worn leather of the reigns that she holds, her back ramrod straight as she passes through the first ring of imposing walls (as easy to invade as the last time that she was here), trying to force herself to be calm. Trying to will her shoulders to fall and her easy confidence to return. It’s been fourteen years. There’s no way that they could possibly recognise her. Not in Earth Kingdom green. Not leading a retinue of Earth Kingdom soldiers, and not with her mother’s face plastered over her features.

She chews her bottom lip covertly, turning her attention upward at the towering walls of each section of the city. The men behind her, who due to complaints of the heat have been lagging since their trek across the desert, now walk a little more lively than before. Their attentions, too, are caught on the grand splendour that is the first ring of an even grander city to come. They do not notice her discomfort.

That is all just as well.

She hears the scrape of the ostrich-horses’ claws on the stone walkway and listens in the distance to the way the wind off of the mountains whooshes through the hollow spaces of the agricultural ring. An ostrich-horse snorts at her right elbow. She turns in time to see her second in command draw even with her, a grin on his otherwise rather plain face. Azula cocks an eyebrow.

“Well?” His smile stretches perceptibly wider.

“Well, what,” she returns in question, watching as Guangting’s gaze sweeps the vast expanse of the outer ring around them. He returns his attention to her.

“You said you’ve never been to Ba Sing Se before,” he points out with a sense of ease that Azula wishes were her own, “what do you think?”

She thinks that she’s already made a big mistake in coming here. She could have excused herself from the meeting. Feigned illness. But she did not. Azula notes that her hands have tightened once more against the reigns, and she loosens them consciously while she mulls over her response in her mind.

“It’s very grand,” she says after much deliberation, “probably too grand for someone like me.”

Even though the Earth Kingdom is and has always been much different from the Fire Nation, the city of Ba Sing Se reminds her of her childhood in Caldera…But Hui Yin, the commander of the hundred-and-eighty-seventh regiment of the Earth King’s army, has never been somewhere so ostentatious as Ba Sing Se. She has spent her life in the backwoods of the Earth Kingdom, scraping by, using her superior intelligence to make a name for herself in the army after the death of her farmer parents.

And that is how it must remain.

“Well it has to be, doesn’t it,” Guangting says then, “it is the capital city of the Earth Kingdom.”

In name, Azula thinks.

In truth, their reach is not as far stretching as it should be for the Earth King to be effective, but she is slowly remedying this for him. Slowly. Being the commander of a notably small force of soldiers is hardly worth much salt, just enough to get her noticed and summoned here.

“I suppose so,” she answers distractedly.

She feels Guangting grow covertly closer to her, glancing briefly over his shoulder at the men following their lead before he closes the gap between them.

“Don’t be so nervous. You’re being lauded for your part in the King’s efforts to unite the Earth Kingdom. This is a joyous occasion.”

Azula turns and offers Guangting a tight smile.

“I’ve never done well in cities,” she excuses.

Guangting snorts.

“It’ll be okay. I’ll show you the ropes.”

Azula laughs, smirking at him.

“That’s right, you grew up here, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. Lower ring though. Not a great place to be but…well, I got out of there, and I made a name for myself. And my parents can afford to be in the middle ring now and — Sometimes it’s just nice to be home, even if you don’t have fond childhood memories of the place.”

Her stomach twists. She presses her mouth into a line and looks back at the second wall looming before them—the wall to the lower ring of the city proper. The part of the city  that Guangting originates from, that houses the city’s poor.

She remembers thinking in her youth that it was a rather clever system, the segregation of the classes by walls. No one had to see the squalor that some people had to live in. It was easier to keep the city under control that way too, the Dai Li’s ultimate role.

Thoughts of stone hands flying out of the shadows and enveloping her before she can call out invade her thoughts momentarily.

Azula trains her eyes on the horn of her saddle, watching the passage of the clouds

overhead on its surface.

Guangting’s rough-knuckled hand comes and plants itself over her own. Azula looks over at him. The silent And it’s all thanks to you sits between them unspoken.

Then, he says,“You should meet my parents before we go.”

Azula feels her face heating, just a little, and swallows against a suddenly thick throat, her heart fluttering.

“I wouldn’t want to impose on them when they haven’t seen you in so long,” she replies, training her attention on the ground beneath her ostrich-horse’s feet.

“Nonsense, I’ve written to them about you. They’ll be eager to meet you.”

Her heart clenches. She clears her throat, and then finally, reluctantly, nods.

“If you say so, then of course I’d be honoured,” she lies. This is something for which she will feign illness.

He’s placated for the moment, however. Besides — it would be a lie to say that she is not flattered by the notion that he wishes for her to meet them, or that they would ever wish to meet her. They wouldn’t, but he’s being polite.

Azula pushes the thought back into the recesses of her mind. She can examine that later.

They slow to a halt at the second set of guards posted outside of the lower ring’s walls. The men there stare at them stonily for a moment before nodding and parting the newest set of walls with their bending. The earth trembles; Azula can feel the vibrations all the way to the top of her skull.

For a brief moment, she hesitates. The sounds and sights of the city waft on the breeze toward them, revealed through the now present giant gate. It’s accompanied by the strong scent of human living, and she makes a conscious effort to breathe through her nose.

With a sense of finality, Azula urges her party forward, and they pass onward into the lower ring of Ba Sing Se.

*

Azula is combing out her freshly washed hair with some effort when the official arrives at her door. Guangting’s footsteps pad across the floor and down the hallway to her private suite after a brief few minutes, identifiable even from where she sits alone in the room. She watches him come through the circular porthole, a missive in his hands, scrolled and sealed with forest green wax.

“What’s that?” Azula continues in attempting to tease the knots from the bottom of her hair, wincing at each tug of the comb from her careless hands, still watching Guangting’s expression in the surface of her mirror.

“Mm, something pretty official looking,” Guangting answers distractedly.

Azula raises a dark eyebrow in response. Her hands have paused in her hair, and she watches as Guangting crosses the space between them and settles himself beside her. He looks up at her with his black eyes, smiling briefly before he returns his attention to the scroll in his hand. He breaks the seal, unravelling the paper.

Azula returns to her work, waiting.

“Ah,” he says after a moment of silence, “the King’s second cousin, Lord Shenlong, has invited you to a gathering of the nobility and high ranking ministers of the city.”

Her eyebrows raise.

“A party?” She doesn’t quite manage to hide the disdain in her voice. Or maybe it’s apprehension. She has enough experience with high society parties that she’d be hard pressed to truly enjoy one now. She knows all  too well what goes on at functions featuring the nobility.

“Yes.” He smiles, rolling the scroll back up and setting it down on the vanity. “A party.”

Azula’s right eyebrow raises a little higher than the left in response, and she purses her lips. Guangting snorts.

“Don’t be like that,” he says with a laugh, “they like you. They’ve heard all of the stories and they want to rub elbows with you. Not bad for someone from some farming village in the Northern Earth Kingdom, no?”

A smirk tucks itself into her cheek.

“I’m not very interested in rubbing elbows with most of high society,” she answers. “I don’t suppose that we can refuse?”

He leans back on his hands next to her, bemused.

“Making connections here will only be good for us,” he points out, too logically for Azula’s taste, “we could get a lot of help and a lot of supplies if you impress enough of the rich people here in Ba Sing Se. I should hardly think I’d need to tell you that, though, oh wise commander.”

She offers him a withering look for the mocking way in which he uses her title.

Turning from her second, Azula goes back to pulling the turtle shell comb through her tangled mass of damp hair one handful at a time. She winces as she catches yet another knot, closing her hand a little tighter around the offending section, working at picking the matt out with one of the comb’s fine teeth.

“Hui Yin…” Guangting takes her hand in his broad palm, wresting the comb from her and shuffling yet closer, going to work himself on her hair. She lets out a sigh, and allows him the intimacy. “We cannot afford to offend these people.”

She rolls her amber eyes up at the ceiling.

“I am aware,” she responds flatly, “but it doesn’t make me want to do this any more than I did in the first place.”

If she had still been a princess she could easily have refused the invitation. Gone to bed early. Done whatever she liked rather than go to the party, really. As a peasant girl from the Earth Kingdom, who has worked her way up the social ladder to Commander, she has no right to do as much. There are precious few times that she has missed being the princess that she once was, in all honesty, but now she longs for the privilege.

That same privilege is also part of the problem, however. She has no doubt that there will be those among the guests who would have lived through her coup of the city. There are those that might even think they recognize her from somewhere or other, surely. At least with only a court proceeding to attend, she would run less of a risk of being recognized. She’d bow before the Earth King, far enough away from most of those in the palace that anyone who could possibly identify her would not be able to clearly see her face...

Azula takes a steadying breath and tries not to think of the what ifs. This is happening, whether she likes it or not. She must simply prepare herself the best that she can.

Her scalp tingles at each pass of first the comb and then Guangting’s fingers through her hair. His kind, dark, eyes catch her gaze in the mirror once more. She feels the curve of her spine relaxing downward.

“Your parents would have been proud of you,” he tells her quietly. Azula feels her stomach sink, but keeps her expression passive where she meets his eyes in the mirror.

No, she thinks, but  forces the briefest of smiles, and makes certain it reaches her eyes for the full effect.

“Perhaps,” she says out loud, forcing lightness into her tone, “It’s certainly not the life they could have possibly pictured me living.”

“Maybe not,” he concedes, “but certainly any parent would be happy to see their child succeed in the way you have done.”

She closes her eyes, and tries to will herself not to think of her mother or father.

When she opens her eyes again, Guangting is smiling, and he settles her combed out hair carefully against her back.

“You’ll need a nice dress,” he comments. Azula glances at the scroll where it sits loosely folded against the vanity’s surface. She grimaces.

“Surely one of my nicer uniforms will do?”

Guangting snorts at her.

“You don’t know the nobility like I do,” he says, “you will need something nicer than that. Something that doesn’t shout military across the room. Something…refined. Lucky for you, I’m better at managing your stipend than you are. You have more than enough for something modestly presentable.”

Azula rolls her eyes again but cannot help the smile that splits her face from cheek to cheek briefly.

“What would I do without you, Guangting?” she asks.

Azula sighs, fluttering her eyelashes prettily at her second in command. The man raises his eyebrows and sets her comb aside.

“Go hungry, probably,” he answers dryly, a twinkle in his eye.

*

Despite the relatively dry heat of this region of the Earth Kingdom, Azula finds the room humid.

It is the press of bodies and the mingling voices that make it so. She remembers a hundred parties in her youth spent regulating her own temperature with her bending for just this reason. Now that it’s no longer there, held just beyond her reach, she finds the pressing heat nearly unbearable.  

The people are even more unbearable, if that is possible.

The invitation, when she had deigned to read it, had implied that this soiree was, in fact, a celebration of her accomplishments. But, as is often the case of gatherings featuring the world’s most wealthy and haughty elites, it had been a front for the catty sort of gossiping nosy nellies who would show up just to see someone allegedly as low born as herself stumble over her own iniquities amongst high society.

How lucky for her that she has not entirely forgotten her courtly etiquette. She doesn’t see how she could have, not with years spent at that finishing school under her belt. And surely not with years spent trying to make certain that everything she did in deed and words was perfect.

Azula doesn’t remember it being quite so exhausting, however.

Eventually, she will purposefully allow herself to slip. She can’t let rumours spread.

Guangting is a shadow at her right elbow, hovering close. He looks far more overwhelmed in this setting than she had imagined he would. He always seems so collected. It’s why she’d singled him out for promotion amongst her officers when she had first earned rank. But his floundering shows in this crowd.

Azula keeps her hands clasped firmly either at her back or at her sides, resisting the urge to reach out for him in the sea of people. She feels dangerously normal in the silk robes they’d managed to find at the shop earlier in the day, and she wants to anchor herself back to her new normal. She doesn’t dare act on the impulse in front of a crowd.

To her left, some noble women glance at her from behind their open fans, leaning in to whisper to one another. To her right, some men let out a raucous laugh and continue on in their private conversations. She is not wanted in either crowd.

Azula turns to look at Guangting, and though she is careful not to let too much slip, he reads the exasperation in her features all the same. He offers her a tight smile.

“Should I get you something stronger?” he asks, nodding at her cup. Azula glances down at the cleverly disguised glass of water that she holds poised between her fingers, and then shakes her head.

“No. I wouldn’t want to lose my composure around these people.”

He nods, surveying the room with a sweeping glance.

“Hard to make friends and connections when everyone is avoiding you,” Guangting says then.

Azula scoffs. “I feared that it might be this way,” she answers.

Guangting looks at her in surprise. She realises she’s slipped up. She backtracks.

“I just mean that when you’re born outside of privilege, it’s not as though the privileged in this country are all that interested in raising you up to be their equal.”

Guanting nods again, expression softening to understanding of the observation. Azula takes a sip of her water.

Out of the crowd, a man wades toward them, his dark hair slicked back into the long braid that seems popular still amongst the Earth Kingdom elites. His face closely resembles what she remembers of the build of the Earth King’s features. Azula turns to face him, expecting that she is finally about to be greeted by the party’s host.

When he stops before her, she is proven correct.

“Commander Hui Yin,” he bows just slightly, hands out before him, “it is truly a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Azula returns the gesture, bowing far lower, knowing her place. The ornamentation on the top of her head strains at her scalp, pulling at her hair with the downward momentum of her bow. She frowns at the floor before schooling her features as she straightens once again.

“I am Lord Shenlong, Grand Secretariat of Ba Sing Se. I am so glad that you could make it to this small gathering of mine.”

The title shocks her somewhat. Azula manages to keep her expression schooled, unaffected, but her heart thunders loudly in her ears, fluttering behind her rib cage. She knows what the title truly conceals, and it is as though her worst nightmares  have come to life before her eyes, staring at her in apathetic interest.

Shenlong, Grand Secretariat; Leader of the Dai Li.

She knows that her posture has stiffened. She can feel the strain in her shoulders and her gut. She forces herself to smile cooly, demure.

“Lord Shenlong,” she greets, bowing her head once more, “it is an honour to have been invited to mingle with so many members of Ba Sing Se’s upper echelons. I am flattered by the thought you have spared for me.”

“Yes, well…You are an anomaly,” he says with an oily smile of his own, “and when I heard that you would finally be visiting our fine capital, I knew that I could not let the opportunity to meet you face to face go to waste.”

Azula forces a light, lilting, laugh.

“My Lord has spared far too much thought for one so lowly as myself,” she tells him. “Growing up, I could not have imagined myself in a place like this.”

“I would guess not,” Shenlong answers. When he smiles it is knife thin and insincere.

Azula feels herself relax. This is a game that she knows.

His intrigues are, like those of all of the nobles in this room, of the lowest brow imaginable. At least in this context. She can feel the disdain dripping from him at the idea that someone as lowly as Hui Yin has made it as far as Azula has managed to push herself. From backwoods foot soldier to ranking officer ready to receive accolades and appointments from the court. The intrigue is petty, and ill thought out, and predictable. Perhaps the worst offence of all, especially in the hands of the leader of the Dai Li, whose power Azula knows first hand.

She takes another sip from her cup, unruffled, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

For the first time, she notes the presence of a couple of other noblemen, hovering by Shenlong’s elbow, waiting to see what happens, or to participate if they feel that they might be able to do so.

“And how do you like the upper ring,” he asks then, “if I heard correctly down the grapevine, and I always do, you are to receive more than just accolades for your accomplishments. My cousin is set to award you a title as well. Soon you’ll be the honourable Hui Yin. Perhaps a military minister even.”

When she is certain that she will be able to speak without the wavering of ambition and excitement in her voice, Azula opens her mouth to answer, “It is very fine; I’m unused to such luxuries, even with my rank. There’s little that could be described as glamorous about manning a desert outpost or wading through mud in the Southern swamps.”

“So I would imagine…” he says, eyebrows arched.

There is a calculated look in his eye that has Azula’s spine crawling. It’s a look that she knows from childhood. Her father’s look, the look of Long Feng, their last Grand Secretariat. Probably a look that Azula has worn a hundred times in her life or more. He is trying to discern something about her, or figure out what might be her weakness. How to get under her skin. How to control her; find her vulnerable underbelly so that he can turn her iniquities to his own advantage.

Or, he already knows something and the Dai Li are lying in wait for her back in the borrowed house that she is staying in.

She wonders how good Guangting would be in a real fight. They’ve hardly seen the sort of battle that Azula was used to in the war. They’ve mostly been herding peasants and quelling their unorganized uprisings. She looks down briefly at the toes of her silk slippers, peeking out from under the robes that she purchased for the party.

Guangting’s an earth bender. He will be better than nothing.

“I must say that I am surprised commander,” Shenlong says then.

Azula looks up at him once more, eyebrows raised in a mild expression.

“I had heard rumours of your beauty,” Shenlong continues, “but I had thought them greatly exaggerated. It’s strange enough that a woman should be serving in the army at all, let alone one with a face such as yours.”

Recognition of the slight flickers briefly through Azula’s mind, and then a sharp smile spreads her red painted lips thin against her teeth. She holds herself perfectly still, feeling the anger tremble in her pulse despite her best efforts. Ah ha. He had found an edge to pick at after all.

“I’m afraid that I have no idea what you mean, my Lord. What do my looks have to do with it?” She plays dumb, though she is coiled tight as a snake, ready to spring at a moment’s notice.

“Well, surely it is just the novelty of a woman strategizing like a man that has gained you such recognition,” he posits casually. Around him, the men that have come to hear her speak look at one another, snickering, hiding smug smiles behind their sleeves as though she has not already seen them.

In the Fire Nation, Azula reflects, no one would have had the gall to say such a thing to her, whether she had been the princess or not. A fighting body was a fighting body, and military talent was prized amongst men and women. What her face looks like would have had nothing to do with it.

She feels her smile strain at the edges, and at her elbow, Guangting shifts. She thinks perhaps he might say something on her behalf, so she quickly responds before he has the chance to defend her.

“You are probably right,” she says, forcing her voice to steady sweetness. With his lean features and pointed beard (the slope of his nose), Shenlong reminds her once again of her father. Or perhaps it is merely his words which are playing a trick on her mind.

Even when he had been lifting her up, her father had had the uncanny ability to make her feel lesser than.

“But even this lowly woman’s tactics have led my men to many victories for the Earth Kingdom, in the name of your second cousin, our benevolent King.” She bows again, hands folded against her thighs this time. The soft ties of her deep green, waist high, ruqun strain at her middle as she breathes deeply into her gut, settling her anger.

“That is all of the assurance that I need to know I am following the correct path in my life, my Lord.”

He says nothing, but Azula can feel the force of Shenlong’s gaze against the crown of her head.

“Of course,” he says, “you are so humble. Our great hero.” There is a sneer in his voice, but he remains as poised as Azula. Around him, the men that have gathered to listen murmur their agreement, hiding their own disdain behind their politicians’ facades once more.

“Come, Commander. Walk with me. Let’s leave this hubbub so that we might speak more privately. I’ve been just dying to pick your brain.”

Azula straightens, searching his expression for any hint of what might be to come. There is no hint there.

She nods finally, gesturing to the Grand Secretariat to lead the way. Shenlong accepts the invitation, wading through the crowd. It parts before them once everyone has noticed who is trying to get through. She is glad for the warmth of Guangting at her back.

They step out of the large gathering hall and onto the walkway which overlooks the estate’s grand gardens. Azula has grown appreciative of such things in her adulthood. She breathes the sweet scent of late summer blossoms in through her nose and smiles briefly before she returns to the task at hand.

Namely, what Shenlong is planning, and how she will avoid it, if she can.

He comes to a halt, hands folded at his back whilst he observes the full spread of his gardens.

“Remind me, Commander, where was it that you’re from again?”

“Nowhere that my Lord would likely have heard of,” she answers simply, coming to stand even with him at the edge of the walkway. A breeze brushes against her cheek, cool. It comes off of the mountains. They might be in for a storm.

“Humour me,” he requests.

Azula smiles again, bemused. He suspects something, she thinks, but she isn’t certain what tipped him off. It could have been any number of things, she supposes. The colour of her eyes comes to mind, though there are plenty of men and women with something akin to them in the Earth Kingdom. A hundred years of colonization will do that.

“Northern Chu Li,” she answers finally. A place that had long been occupied by the Fire Nation. The best choice for someone who looks like her to say they’re from, if they’re lying.

“And your parents?”

“Passed on, my Lord. They were farmers.”

“Simple farmers?” He sounds slightly surprised by the news. She had thought that her fabricated story would be more well known by now. Then again, perhaps he is lying, just like her. “And yet you have such a military mind.”

Azula lets her smile grow mild, tolerant.

“Just because we were farmers does not mean that we are not capable of thought, my Lord.”

Behind her she can hear Guangting shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

“I suppose that is true,” he answers in a drawl. She sees Shenlong look sidelong at her out of the corner of her eye. “Did you know that the man who was cultural minister of Ba Sing Se before myself came from a similarly remote province. Similarly small. He also came from nothing, and yet he managed to become Grand Secretariat of Ba Sing Se…”

Shenlong turns his attention back to the garden, and Azula waits for him to make his point, bemused. Of course she had known at the time. His history had been written all over him. She had seen his struggle in the lines of his face, and the way in which he had stubbornly clung to power despite knowing already that he had lost.

“No my Lord,” she answers simply, “I didn’t.”

“Yes…He was a powerful man, too, but in the end it was nobility who overthrew him, and it is nobility now who stands in his place. Better at his job than he ever was.”

She might contest that, but Azula does not know Shenlong all that well, and anything is possible. Long Feng had not been the best of the best but he had been close. Anyone could be overthrown given the correct circumstances.

“I don’t think I am following your point, Lord Shenlong,” she says after a moment, sounding a little bored. Azula looks over at him, straining her chin upward to take in his full height. He looks at her too, green eyes crinkling at the edges in a smile.

“My point is that you enjoy quite a bit of power now, and will likely enjoy more, but given your humble beginnings I have no doubt that eventually you will fumble in that power. It was not meant for one such as you. But I can help you hang onto it as long as possible, and perhaps set you up for life after that power is gone.”

Azula raises her eyebrows, amused.

“That is a very generous offer, my Lord. What exactly would you want me to do for you, should I accept the invitation?”

“Errands…Taking care of things here and there for me when I cannot take care of them myself…” He gestures lazily with a hand, pursing his lips.

Azula swallows a laugh and a smile.

“..May I consider the offer at length and come back to you with my decision,” she inquires.

Shenlong looks at her for some time, expression inscrutable, and then finally nods, seeming satisfied with the answer.

“Of course. Is a week long enough? You should be on your way back to your station by then, yes?”

“That’s correct,” she replies, “I will have my answer for you by then.”

This time he does smile, and he reaches out a hand toward her, seeming confident already that she will agree to his terms. Azula accepts his hand, and they shake firmly for a moment. Not exactly an Earth Kingdom tradition, but it’s as good as anything to seal a verbal contract.

Shenlong slips his hands into his sleeves, and bows his head briefly toward her.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Commander. I look forward to hearing your answer,” he says, turning to walk back in to the party.

Azula watches him go, expression smooth as glass, and only when he has disappeared into the crowd does she look at Guangting, raising her eyebrows. She smirks. He returns the expression, though he seems considerably more troubled by what has just happened than she is.

*

The evening ends in a fashion that is not entirely uncommon these days. Her back pressed against a wall, and Guangting’s mouth on hers as they paw at one another’s clothing. When they break for air, panting, Guangting picks Azula up off of the floor to lumber with her over to the bed. He smiles broadly before tossing her down to the soft mattress.

It’s too soft. She misses the solid ground under a thin cot.

“I suppose after tomorrow I am going to have to start calling you ‘my lady’,” he says playfully, climbing in after her. The mattress bounces with every movement he makes, crawling up over her body.

Azula checks covertly for anyone watching in the shadows, amber eyes flashing about the room to see if the Dai Li stand waiting for them. Waiting to begin her undoing, waiting to take her to Lake Laogai and brainwash her on behalf of Shenlong. They are not there.

Guangting's dark hair has fallen from its top knot, her own handy work. It’s a curtain about them. Azula can feel one of the pins in her own hair digging into her neck uncomfortably. She ignores it and returns her full attention to what she’s doing in the moment once again.

“Don’t call me that,” she says flatly, neck tilting back to expose more flesh to his searching lips while he trails wet kisses along her skin to her collar.

“Mm…what? You don’t like the idea of being a lady,” he teases. Azula digs her nails into his sides and a hiss of breath sucks its way through Guangting’s teeth. It’s her turn to smile, knife thin and satisfied.

“No,” she answers, breathless. Her expression has turned wicked.

If anyone asks, she had not been looking for whatever it is that exists between herself and Guangting. Certainly, she’d almost been actively avoiding it her entire adult life. But whatever sits between herself and her second-in-command seems to come as naturally as breathing to them. And it does feel good to give in, every now and then.

His tongue traces the raised skin of an old scar which runs like a crevasse over her abdomen. She shivers, gasping out involuntarily. Azula bites her lip and lets her head tip back against the silk pillows of the borrowed bed in their borrowed apartments. Her borrowed apartments.

He brings his head back up, hovering close in the ever dimming light of the few candles that still burn in the room. She can feel his breath against her face.

“Well, Lord Shenlong was right about one thing.”

She raises her eyebrows, unimpressed. He is very quickly killing the mood, and she’s so very rarely in the mood in the first place.

“And what might that be?” she asks, snappish.

“You do have a face that’s meant for portraits.”

She snorts, rolling her eyes.

“Is that so?”

“It is.” He grins at her, and Azula cannot help but find it…slightly endearing. Slightly.

Guangting kisses her deeply, and Azula’s mind falls dizzyingly silent. She allows herself to be wrapped up in him.

[kellylouise-blog]

The End of the College Era

I’ve been in college a while. My educational journey has been a bit longer and more unpredictable than most others. Going through secondary school, you’re encouraged to set your sights on one interest, on one dream, on one goal. At the time, I was dead set on becoming a musician. It was all I wanted and I still dream about it sometimes. Music is still a fundamental part of my personality and I still enjoy playing when I can but the dream wasn’t meant to be (at least not yet).

It’s become quite a funny story now to say that my school art teacher greatly discouraged my interest in art (I was nowhere near good enough then) and now here I am after completing a degree in Digital Animation (results soon, eep)! My school wouldn’t let me study BOTH art and music (how dare you have multiple interests, fool!) due to supposed timetable issues so I chose music then with the hopes of studying it in college. But I continued to be the fool that believed colleges were supposed to teach you how to do something, not expect you to already know. I still remember how terrifying the entrance exam for UCC was, and how my hands trembled over the piano keys during the audition. 

But luckily, I had a backup in place. Film, back then, was a secondary interest, something I thought might be cool to learn about. Looking back now, it’s hard to imagine that I ever had my sights set on something else. St. John’s was wonderfully welcoming; all you needed was the interest, the potential and desire to learn. I believe that PLC (Post-Leaving Cert) colleges are woefully underrated, almost viewed as being a fallback for those whose grades aren’t strong enough to go straight into university. But they also offer the opportunity to explore and discover what you really want to do before wasting your time (and money) on a degree that you’ll never use. 

But even then, I wanted to be a “jack of all trades”; I was interested in everything, I wanted to learn about everything. And it was here that my slight interest in art was reborn. For the first time ever, my skills were encouraged, even praised as my production design lecturer encouraged me to pursue the route and apply for similar courses (apparently I was sort of good?). And so I did. 

Part of me thinks I regret it because I must’ve known that I didn’t want to, not really. Or perhaps that’s just hindsight speaking. But with the portfolio I could gather, I applied for Production Design in IADT in Dun Laoghaire and just barely passed the assessment, with the offer only arriving in the second round. Long story short, I ended up dropping out after the first year. There were a number of factors there and whilst I learnt a great deal and met some great people, the college reminded me of that feeling of discouragement. Sorry to badmouth it but my main lecturer wasted no time in showcasing his amazement that I had been accepted without having studied Leaving Cert art. He also wasted no time in critiquing my less than magnificent drawing skill. At the time, I also had no idea about the “design process” (research - mock ups - design) and was ridiculed instead of being taught. It baffles me that some courses don’t intend to teach, only to mildly guide. 

So once I realised I wasn’t looking forward to returning, I wondered why I should. And unfortunately, since I was dependant on state funding to cover tuition etc., I couldn’t just change into another course. I took a year out and, rather accidentally, bumped into another course that mentioned the words Visual Effects. This would bring me back to a PLC but the certificate was of a slightly higher level than my film course so it was no problem. And it was the best decision I ever made. It was truly where I started to find myself and what I actually wanted to do, career-wise.

It was technically a multimedia course (in Colaiste Stiofain Naofa (CSN)) that taught a number of things from web design to animation and game development. I had never even thought about animation before that course, not seriously at least. And as the course offered a link into an animation degree in another college, I felt I was finally on the right path. (PS passed that portfolio assessment with flying colours, mah fools.)

CSN and LIT (Limerick Institute of Technology) are perfect examples of college that recognise potential and encourage growth (and actually teach) in its students. I never once felt put down or useless in my work, even if it was probably sub-par at times. (For example, my lecturer in LIT had no problem helping me understand perspective instead of ridiculing me.)

It’s been a long journey to get to where I am but it’s been the journey I needed to take. I will continue to learn, grow and create in my own time. Stay tuned for more (hopefully!).