#like on the one hand these people made unforgotten night but then they also made lovely writer so like......huh lmao

[gunsatthaphan]

Bed friend tried to bite off more than it could chew and ended up being basic. Like neither the ‘sexy’ scenes or the trauma really went anywhere or elevated the show. The pacing was so sloooooow too and they didn’t need 10 episodes, they could have stopped at the planned 8 eps since the last two eps were useless. Domundi is in desperate need of some better writers and directors. I’m scared for the rest of the projects they have planned for 2023.

yeah. the FWB concept per se isnt bad its just that it kind of deflated after the initial setup lol.

It sounds bad when I say the trauma storyline was basic but it just was lol. having seen so many bls with the exact same trope and the exact same execution, this just felt like a copy paste kind of situation. and not just that but why overdo it? as if the SA story with the stepdad wasn't enough, they threw 3 more toxic people into the mix. unnecessary and unrealistic. so that being said you're right, 8 episodes definitely would've been sufficient for this. The fact that the screenwriters responsible for this are the same as for Unforgotten Night...... explains a lot lmao.

I do wanna be excited for ML but considering it's the same director,.... I'm not so sure. Let's hope for the best.

xxx

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - The Industry is Having Issues But the Spice Spicy Must Flow

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

March 2024 Wk 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Two Worlds (Thurs IQIYI) eps 1-2 of 10 - One of those "he's dead Jim so time travel" thingames starring MaxNat. I'm over this concept but I do enjoy MaxNat. Phupha (Gun) and Khram (Nat) love each other but Phupha is murdered. Then Khram is pulled to a parallel world where, years ago, Khram and Tai (Max) were in love. However, Khram was killed by Tai’s dad. Now Tai finds alter-Khram. But then there is ALSO an alter-Phupha to deal with. (Phupha is played by Gun Thanawat who was Khom, the repressed butler bodyguard from Unforgotten Night. We like this, but we scared of the love triangle aspect.) Did that make sense? Yeah, okay, see what I mean?

Initial thoughts?

The subs are troubling but I’m enjoying this show a lot. It’s nice to see MaxNat get something meaty to sink their teeth into - that’s not just each other. Also it’s so smart of them to give us a fully fleshed out entire episode developing the alter romance rather than just a separation + death. It makes Khram’s grief and motivation that much more believable. Also it’s really nice to see Nat have good chemistry with other actors. 

Deep Night (Thurs iQiyi) ep 3 of 8 (10?) - I'm still enjoying it. But Two Worlds is objectively better. So this one has lost ranking. Also, unexpectedly chili (the name of my heavy metal Thai cover band).

Lovey switchy and verse main couple too.

This is all quite pleasing.

The bit where the hosts pretend to be a BL couple actor ship was epic on so many levels.

Also unsettling.

All sex work is performative, and in a way there is something more honest about this depiction, in this setting, than what BL actors are made to do on the promo circuit. Which then begs the question, how different is BL from sex work? That's the unsettling bit, for me anyway. Not to slam on sex work AT ALL, we pro-the-true-pros on this damn blog, but actors have been shaded by association with True Professionals for a very long time and BL has already had one epic shut down in this regard. (See the PerthSaint scandal around Love By Chance, no I will not explain.) Where was I? Oh yes, so anyway, see the Gossip section for the part where they better be paid either way!

Also, since I'm a warped fucker, I found this scene funny.

And then hilarious when all of those BL tropes were just trotted out. Like a greatest hits reel.

Truly beyond meta. (How Absolute BL of them.)

Note he’s even standing in yaoi's patented "hands in pocket with the shoulders back"? 

Meanwhile, the gayest bridge in Thailand made its quarterly appearance:

And lip serviced was paid to the most touristy romantic things you can do in Bangkok.

And I mean lip service literally. 

To Be Continued (Thai C3 Thailand grey) ep 5 of 8 - I’m still enjoying it but getting more and more nervous. We getting too close to Promise territory for comfort. EXPLAIN Ji’s reticence well and do it now or risk audience mistrust. We have to be given a GOOD reason for Ji's behavior, or he'll be irredeemable.

City of Stars (Fri iQIYI) ep 8 of 12 - NO SINGING. Yes smiley kisses and good communication and a nice healthy relationship. But no singing!

1000 Years Old ep 6 of 12 - Dropping in the ranks. I’m sorry it’s just gotten boring. It has, however, inspired me to invest in my own ridiculous cream fuzzy sweater. Which I plan to wear with leather trousers and huge stumpy boots, like the Kpop queer I truly am. Or do I mean vampire? 

Kiseki Chapter 2 (Sun iQIYI) ep 1 of 6 - Seems to be an excuse for a small posse of Thai actors to wander around Tokyo playing tourist and sing in public . Someone stop them?

“Most people think this kind of thing is bad manners .”

Anyway, it’s v boring. I’ll give it one more ep but I suspect I’ll DNF.

Close Friend Season 3: Soju Bomb! (Weds iQIYI) eps 1-2 of 6 - Meh. This is also looking suspiciously DNF-a-licious.  

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Unknown (Taiwan Tues Youku YouTube & Viki) ep 5 of 11 - It's brilliant. I love it. I'm ready to hurt. Let’s do this thing. 

Distribution note: This one has been picked up and is also airing on Viki now, so it may lose YT distribution in soem territories. I like Youku's hard subs better than Viki's subs, but that's a matter of preference not information since I don't speak Mandarin.

Love is Better the Second Time Around AKA Koi wo Suru nara Nidome ga Joto (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 3 of 6 - It is good. Every week I like this show a little more. I'm enjoying a reunion romance explored in Japan's quintessentially contemplative yet slightly surreal way. The juxtaposition of the tenderness of the sex scene with this Japanese brand of authenticity was oddly elegant - for lack of a better way of putting it. All in all, this is a good show. Thought provoking. Stylish.

AntiReset (Taiwan Fri Viki/Gaga) ep 9 of 10 - It remains lovely but they sure are reusing a lot of footage. Also, this was a classic penultimate doom episode. I do wonder how they are going to resolve this show ethically.

My Strawberry Film (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 6 of 8 - It is what it is, and it isn’t my style of show no matter what country of origin. Oddly that's one of the reasons I don't like it. Anyone could have made this, it's not as Japanese as I want it to be, it's just indie film club high school angst. Yawn.

I watched it, finally

The Servant and the Young Master (Vietnam YouTube) 7 eps - I dislike vertical filming, but I kind of enjoyed this show as a BL. I like class conflict romances. For me the rich kid is a bit too dictatorial (edges into bulling), but it’s kinda works. It’s sparse and underdeveloped and a bit plotless, but mildly entertaining. If you're missing Vietnamese BL you might give it a try. 6/10 

Began Beginning (Myanmar YouTube) 8eps - A Burmese BL that I had thoughts about but actually ended up recommending. Read the saga here:

It's done, ready to binge, but I suck

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps

It's airing but...

Graduation Countdown (Taiwan YouTube) ep 1 of ? - on one hand it's micro-installment vertical, on the other it's adorable and from Taiwan. I blame @heretherebedork entirely for my conundrum. As indeed, I did for My Type back in the day. (That was Nat Chen's first BL, yes of Kiseki: Dear To Me fame.) So I think I will also simply lean on Here to let me know when it's done and binge all at once. It's just too much to ask me to keep up with 2 minute pieces, I don't have that kind of endurance training, not even for BL.

Time the series (Tue Gaga/YT) 10 eps - it's finished now, I dropped it at ep 4. Should I bother?

A Secretly Love (Thai Sat WeTV grey) 10 eps - I watched the first ep but grey is too much work for this inferior of a show. I may pick up and binge if it gets distribution but for now, it gets a DNF from me. KimCop might have held this crap together but Kim without Cop? No thank you.

Lady Boy Friends (Thai WeTV grey) 16 eps - reminds me a bit too much of Diary of Tootsies only high school. Not my thing. DNF unless it turns a corner and is truly amazing for some reason.

Man Suang that MileApo vehicle from last year is coming to Netflix in the USA. I haven't heard much about it and since the KP stans would have lost their tiny minds if it was any good at all, I'm assuming it's not good at all.

Gossip

Thai BL actor Yoon breaks with his former company and talks about some very very VERY shady goings on in the Thai BL industry. Including not being paid.

And whacha know, same thing happening in Korean BL.

Have I mentioned recently how much I hate the film industry?

Next Week Looks Like This:

Starting Soon

3/31 Only Boo! (Thai GMMTV YouTube) 12 eps - New main couple for GMMTV in an idol romance about a boy who dances good and a food stand vendor. Other side of the tracks grumpy/sunshine pair who fall deeply in love but, of course, baby boy idol can't date. Boyband but from GMMTV? Control your singing and I'm game.

4/1 Love is like a Cat (Korea ????) 12 eps - This completed filming Aug 2022(!) which means there have been serious problems with post-production. This is another of Silkwood's Korean+Thai colab projects. Mew Suppasit plays a rookie film star, called the Cat Prince (for his cold arrogance) who goes up against a charismatic puppyish animal daycare director (JM of JUST B). There is also a side romance (love triangle?) with a veterinarian. Geonu of JUST B is also in the cast.

I wonder if this was part of the hold up, with Geonu on Build Up right now, they might have tried to muffle this one. Or maybe it's just that bad...

4/3 We Are (Thai GMMTV YouTube) 12 eps - University ensemble BL featuring PondPhuwin, WinnySatang, AouBoom, MarcPawinPoon - basically the good kind of messy gay friendship group (so more My Engineer and less Only Friends). Looks a bit like the Kiss series but everyone is queer. I'm IN!

Knock-Knock Boys (Thai WeTV?) - 4 college friends conspire to help their friend lose his virginity. Familiar faces like Seng (yes, Billy's previous partner), Best and frest face, news here.

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

NOTE: It looks like one of my personal favorites of last year Unintentional Love Story is getting a spin off!

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Without ghost girl.

With ghost girl.

I think she may be my favorite part of 1000 Years.

CLASSIC tsundere seme description of a sunshine uke. Like classic'est of classic. (Two Worlds)

Is there such a thing as a tired trope in a BL? Since it is a genre that is made up entirely of tropes quilted together? Your philosophical question for today brought to you by Deep Night's kabedon (Japanese trope) + punishment threat (Thai trope).

Love me a lap sit moment. (City of Stars)

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are too much work.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone

If ya wanna be tagged each week leave a comment and I will add you to the template. Easy peesy.

[brian-in-finance]

Lauren Lyle as DS Karen Pirie. Photograph: World Productions for ITV

‘My dad didn’t sleep, he was so excited’: the ITV drama that’s rewriting the rules of crime TV

There’s an all-female creative team, an ‘alarmingly young’ detective and material from legendary writer Val McDermid. Karen Pirie’s creators explain their attempt to do something totally new.

By this stage, the announcement of another ITV crime drama has the novelty of a press release revealing that bees like pollen. But the makers of Karen Pirie insist that this one is different.

Despite loud rhetoric about equality, it’s still rare for a primetime show to have an all-female creative team. The Distant Echo is adapted from Val McDermid’s 2003 novel by actor-screenwriter Emer Kenny (who has also written for Harlots and Save Me Too), with Lauren Lyle (last seen in Vigil) taking her first lead role as DS Karen Pirie, a detective in the St Andrews area of Scotland.

It’s also rare for a show’s creative team to be so young. Lyle has her first lead role at 29 in a show steered by the 32-year-old Kenny as writer and executive producer. Kenny also co-stars, playing DS Pirie’s best friend, River.

“I was very aware of being a young showrunner,” says Kenny. “So I wanted to try to do something new with the mainstream ITV crime brand. My mantra was ‘cool and fresh’, which I said so often people were eye-rolling at me.”

“When I was sent the audition script,” says Lyle, “I thought: a lead detective role for someone in their 20s! You don’t see that.”

“I don’t think there’s any other police detective this young on TV,” adds Kenny. Many, though, exist in real life.

“The police advisers said that detective chief inspectors simply wouldn’t do most of the stuff they do on TV,” says Kenny. “The preliminary interviews and so on. They’d leave it to someone like Karen.”

McDermid, a beady procedural realist, is happy about such accuracy but never told Kenny what to do: “I want to write novels, not TV scripts.” The novelist, 67, felt she should be even more hands-off than usual on this TV project, because its aim was to feel younger than other police shows.

Emer Kenny, who is also the programme’s showrunner, as River Wilde. Photograph: World Productions for ITV

Neither Lyle nor Kenny came to McDermid’s work with preconceptions. “I was sent the book by ITV,” says Kenny, “and my sister’s a great crime reader and she said, ‘Ooh, Val, the Queen of Crime!’”

Lyle laughs. “I told my dad that I’d got this part, and he said, ‘You do know that’s by the Queen of Crime?’ My mum told me he didn’t sleep that night, he was so excited.”

Their relatives may risk a lawyers’ letter; the Agatha Christie estate, which trademarked the regal metaphor, has objected to its use by McDermid, who is likely to compromise on future dust jackets by being called “the Scottish Queen of Crime”.

Kenny deliberately watched ITV crime dramas, from Prime Suspect to Unforgotten, to find “a character and tone that hadn’t been done there”. Part of this was the decision that Karen would be casual about dressing and hairdressing, mirroring McDermid’s refusal to glamorise female characters.

People keep saying, ‘Have they put a kid on this case?’ — Lauren Lyle

“Except for covering up a few spots,” says Lyle, “I didn’t wear makeup. We wanted her to look alarmingly, confrontingly young. People keep saying, ‘Have they put a kid on this case?’”

In most cases, it might seem rude or irrelevant to mention that Lyle is 5ft 3in and Kenny 5ft 10in, but the camera angles play with this disparity and a further one with male colleagues towering over both. As Karen walks into a conference or has a door opened by a man twice as high and wide, her physical vulnerability adds tension.

“A journalist asked if I’d been cast because I was short,” says Lyle. “And, er, no! But, visually, it’s super-useful. When these huge men are shouting at Karen, in every sense belittling her, it does give me something to play with, always having to look up at them.”

With McDermid’s agreement, Kenny made many changes to The Distant Echo, not least because Pirie is a relatively minor character in the story, before being foregrounded for the next books in the series. In the novel, the central cold case – the death of a young woman on a night when she had contact with several now-prominent men – is being investigated by a journalist who, 19 years on, becomes a true-crime podcaster who keeps missing crucial clues.

This update echoes McDermid’s long-held irritation at those who tell her they have stopped reading crime novels because true crime is “better”.

Val McDermid, author of the original Pirie novel. Photograph: Murdo Macleod/The Guardian

“I think it’s entirely spurious,” she says, “to say that true-crime podcasts give you the truth and fiction doesn’t. In novels, I’ve written about things I couldn’t when I was a journalist, for various reasons, principally the libel laws in this country. There’s a real problem with true crime, because people often don’t have the investigative tools to do it in a way that feels credible. A lot of it is ‘he said/she said’ and I’m uneasy about that because it has a deep impact on people’s lives.”

Kenny acknowledges she has “put that thought into Karen’s mouth. True-crime podcasts are interesting because they are often campaigning but also very commercial. I terrify myself driving at night listening to something about a serial killer, and I wanted to write about why we put ourselves through that. I think we like the idea of a calm voice telling us we’ll find the answers. But you get the funny thing where they can’t resolve it and the audience feels cheated. At least with crime fiction you do get a solution.”

One thing that hasn’t dated since the book was written is internal and external sexism against successful women. Chosen to run a case despite her youth, Karen believes she has been fast-tracked on talent, but her male bosses cynically wish to look feminist.

For McDermid, “That’s a very typical thing in the workplace now. It’s always the same if somebody who remotely fits the category of minority gets a promotion. Nobody in the office or the workplace thinks it’s because they’re terrific at the job. It’s always because you’re a woman. It’s because you’re black. It’s because you’re deaf. That’s very demoralising over time.”

Kenny says: “Writing it, I could see both sides. Karen is good and deserves to be there but, on the other hand, she doesn’t want to be a tactical pair of tits. I’ve been put in writers’ rooms full of men and know I’m there as the female perspective. It’s good that I’m there – and I should be there – but if you’re the only one, it can feel queasy.”

A scene from Karen Pirie. Photograph: World Productions for ITV

Due to the plot of the source novel, the female-led team faced an issue that has become controversial in male-made television: a young woman as a victim of violence.

“I struggle myself,” says Lyle, “with the idea we’re always seeing women murdered on screen. But, in this, we are looking at it through the eyes of a young woman. And, also, the issue isn’t going anywhere: women are still being murdered and we haven’t resolved it. Why should we stop covering it on screen?”

Kenny’s negotiation of this issue, she says, was that “deliberately, there’s no gore, no gratuitous assault scenes. It’s a book written by a woman, a script written by a woman, and that’s crucial. The victim – Rosie – comes back in flashback throughout: she’s got a character and a life, she’s not just a body on a slab. I don’t think it’s about watching dead women for entertainment. The killing of women is a huge issue in society; when I was writing this, the news was all about Sarah Everard. I think it would be perverse to say I’m going to write about dead men instead.”

What makes for great page and screen fiction is crime with complex motivations, however deranged. With a cold case, there are enduring psychological repercussions for those who have escaped justice.

“To be walking around all day with that on your back,” wonders Kenny. “What does that do to you? This show is about choices and trauma and the ripple effect of trauma.”

“Because,” says McDermid, “it impacts not just on the killer, but everybody who’s been part of their life: their friends, their partners, their children. I mean, imagine getting to the age of 25 and finding out that your dad’s a killer. It’s not as if it’s something that’s happening in the present, where you could see for yourself the stresses and strains that might have led to such a thing. But there’s something from the deep past. How do you factor that in to your knowledge of someone?”

Karen Pirie is on ITV on Sunday 25 September at 8pm.

The Guardian

Remember… a journalist asked if I’d been cast because I was short. And, er, no! But, visually, it’s super-useful. When these huge men are shouting at Karen, in every sense belittling her, it does give me something to play with, always having to look up at them. — Lauren Lyle

[thequeenofsastiel]

Since I'm always low key flattered when anyone tags me because they're interested in what I have to say, and because I love talking about BL shows, I'm here to answer the questions in the post @odi-et-amo85 tagged me in:

1. Your all-time favorite BL and why:

Definitely Bad Buddy. It subverted so many problematic BL tropes, was absolutely hilarious but also moving when it needed to be, had a GL side couple, was a lovely modern day gay version of Romeo and Juliet but with a happy ending, and, of course, there was the absolutely insane chemistry between Ohm and Nanon. Seriously, I have never bought another BL actor pairing as much as I bought them. They're both excellent actors who were able to seem deeply, deeply in love with each other. Their kiss on the rooftop in episode five was hands down the best kiss I've ever seen on screen, both in BL and non BL media. This will be the series that I show anyone when I'm trying to introduce them to BL. I don't think it's possible for me to recommend this show enough.

2. That one BL that scarred you for life:

Fucking Make Our Days Count. Istfg I sat on my couch weeping for hours after I finished it. My roommates were deeply concerned. I am forever bitter and have never trusted the HIStory series since. I only ever watch them after other people have and have assured me that there's a HEA. I spent most of my life being subjected to queer tragedies in books/tv shows/movies, and I am OVER IT. If I never have to see another queer tragedy it'll be too soon, idgaf how cliché that phrase is.

3. Is there any BL that made you feel very single:

Don't Say No. I'm kinky and, while their kink relationship was much softer than the ones I prefer, there was still an intense power dynamic and I miss that more than I can say.

4. If you could change one thing from a BL, what would it be?

This is also from DSN. Leonpob. I would entirely eliminate that romance and replace it with AndaNatsu.

5. That one BL you detest(don't hold back):

This one is hard, because in general I forget the ones I don't like, but the main one I can think of is Fish Upon the Sky(@heretherebedork can sympathize). Mork was so gross and controlling and gaslighty with Pi, and I hated it. I hated that as soon as they got together Mork pushed his way into Pi's house and, when Pi was resistant to being intimate with him, Mork said "Don't make me force you, Pi." And then started to force Pi to kiss him. Pi gave up fighting once he knew it was only a kiss, but Mork still sexually assaulted him. And somehow after that Pi was super soft and affectionate with him when Mork left. The rage in me I-

6. Your top five:

Bad Buddy, A Tale of a Thousand Stars, The Untamed, Until We Meet Again, and Manner of Death.

7. That trashy BL you lowkey like:

I mean, I'm not entirely sure how one defines "trashy", but the best one I can think of is Gen Y. Sort of. There are parts of it I very much enjoy, like MarkKit in season 1, though season 2 is kind of taking a turn for the worse; same thing with PokTong. In both seasons I like SandeePhai and JackKoh(while it looks like Koh is going to be the more dominant one I just can't bring myself to call them KohJack).

8. Your favorite Korean BL(it's important we know):

Light on Me, even though I had massive Second Lead Syndrome for that show and was heartbroken that Tae Kyung picked Shin Woo over Da On.

9. But also your top three for KBLs:

Light on Me, Color Rush, To My Star

10. Season 2? Which one?

100% Utsukushii Kare. I NEED to know what a relationship between the two of them would look like. Can two subs make it work? Will Kiyoi be able to be satisfied with being service topped by another sub? Will Hira be satisfied being placed in the role of Dom to please Kiyoi? I NEED TO KNOW

11. A bunch of dramas will air soon. Which ones are you most excited for?

I don't know if excited is the right word, but I'm definitely intrigued by Unforgotten Night. Will they handle hardcore BDSM well? Or will it be portrayed as something wrong and toxic? Regrettably it doesn't look like they're going to show polyamory in a good light, and the female character looks like she's going to get the classic BL treatment of seeming like a horrible person.

Tbh I don't really know much about the BLs that are going to be airing. I try to focus on the ones that are currently available.

12. Tag them! Please only do it if you want to, no pressure!

I always want to hear what @heretherebedork thinks. Also I'd love to hear what @marbles290 @therealbduh @leofiat-bunny and @the-wayside have to say.

[tigerkirby215]

5e Yone, the Unforgotten build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Riot Games)

A YouTube comment on “The Path“ cinematic:

I can’t top this. This comment is fucking gold.

GOALS

Asakana - Trust me as a Kayn main I’m salty that we have another half-demon anime boy who isn’t even Darkin. But we still need a mask of many demonic faces.

Three swift strikes... - “Brother, why did Elder Souma let you have two swords?” Regardless we’ll need two swords for many slashes.

Death is like the wind - Yone is dead except not really, but he’s still capable of some astral projection to fight his foes from a distance.

RACE

Yone may have been human but with a demon fusing to him that gives him just enough infernal blood to be a Tiefling! As a Tiefling your Charisma score increases by 2 and your Intelligence score increases by 1. Your Hellish Resistance grants you resistance to fire damage, and Infernal Legacy grants you a few innate spells which I’ll cover in the build.

ABILITY SCORES

15; DEXTERITY - You’re an anime sword boy who was second best only to your brother who is the most anime sword boy who ever did swing an anime sword.

14; CHARISMA - As the more level-headed brother you had to do most of the talking. Remember that Charisma is strength of personality; not raw attractiveness. (Though you certainly have that going for you too.)

13; INTELLIGENCE - A master swordsman needs to study the art of war, which is more theory and less art. (Feel free to set your CON higher instead if you want more health.)

12; WISDOM - Yasuo’s the hothead and you’re the calm one. Not calm enough not to try to kill your brother, and definitely not calm enough to not be a target for Asakana.

10; CONSTITUTION - You died before, and dying generally means you weren’t that sturdy to begin with.

8; STRENGTH - Being cut down by the legendary wind technique and then brought back from the dead doesn’t spell a good workout routine. Yeah Yone has big pecs but put simply we need everything else more.

BACKGROUND

You had a background before, but unfortunately dead men tell no tales. You are a Haunted One brought back to life to hunt the creatures of the night. You can choose two skills from the Haunted One list to be proficient in: Investigation will help you find any stray Asakana, and depending on if your definition of emotional demons are Religion or Arcana you can pick either of those for your second skill. (Arcana is probably going to be more useful though.)

As a Haunted One people can easily see into your Heart of Darkness, easily telling that you’ve faced unimaginable horrors in your past. No shit you have a demon mask permanently attached to your face. Regardless commoners will be willing to aid you as much as possible unless you’ve shown yourself to be openly hostile, such as throwing their promo games.

You also learn two languages of your choice: one of which must be Exotic but since you already know Infernal as a Tiefling Sylvan would be good to talk to the spirits in a dating sim. For your other language Elvish seems fitting for Ionia.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

THE PATH BUILD

LEVEL 1 - ROGUE 1

Perhaps not the most fitting for the honorable brother, but being a Rogue will give us the skill to strike swiftly. As well as more skills in general! Take Perception and Insight to find Asakana, Acrobatics to fight them, and Intimidation to strike fear into their hearts. You also get Expertise in two skills your proficient in: Investigation and Perception would help further with finding Asakana.

When you find the Asakana you can strike it down with Sneak Attack. If you have Advantage on an attack roll or are attacking an enemy within 5 feet of an ally you can do an extra d6 of damage. Despite the name “sneak attack” you don’t actually have to sneak, but you do need to use a Finesse weapon such as a short sword. Yes your swords aren’t exactly “short” but for the purposes of dual wielding it’s the best you’ll get.

And after striking the demon down you might need to speak its true name in Thieves’ Cant. That’s not what Thieves’ Cant is? Well regardless it’s a code language shared among rogues; perhaps you picked it up from the Navori? At least you can shout the demon’s name loud and proud as you seal it away thanks to Tiefling Thaumaturgy, along with all other sorts of little supernatural effects I suggest reading into.

LEVEL 2 - ROGUE 2

At level 2 Rogues get Cunning Action to Dash, Disengage, or Hide as a bonus action. Hiding isn’t very in-character but being able to move swiftly across the battlefield is key for the twin blade technique. Unfortunately attacking with a twin blade also requires your bonus action, so pace your movements accordingly.

LEVEL 3 - ROGUE 3

Level 3 Rogues get to choose their Martial Archetype and in order to strike swift and true you’re going to want to play a Swashbuckler. Swashbucklers get Fancy Footwork to be able to slip away from enemies they attacked without provoking opportunity attacks, even if they miss.

Additionally they get Rakish Audacity which ironically provides two benefits: for one you get to add your Charisma modifier to your initiate, but you can also activate your sneak attack if you strike an enemy in melee with no other enemies nearby. Single the demon out and cut them down now that your Sneak Attack does 2d6 damage!

And finally you can cast Hellish Rebuke at second level as a reaction once per long rest thanks to Infernal Legacy. Strike a ganking lust demon with a big burst of “BEGONE THOT” damage!

LEVEL 4 - FIGHTER 1

Adding a quick level in Fighter because Yone was professionally trained, so a Fighting Style would be good to have. Naturally we’ll be going for Two-Weapon Fighting to fight with twin blades. You also get Second Wind to heal for a d10 plus your Fighter level once per short rest for a quick Corrupting Pot in lane.

But unfortunately now we’re going to have to die...

(Artwory by KAIZERS02 on DeviantArt)

LEVEL 5 - WARLOCK 1

Just kidding of course because it’s ya boii coming back with the WARLOCK LEVELS! You can choose your Warlock Patron straight at level 1 and as someone who came back from the dead you may think we’ll be going for the Undying patron right? Well that’s where you’re dead wrong because we’re going for a pact with a Fiend.

Why Fiend Patron? - Along with the lore reasons (not all Warlock pacts have to be made on good terms) Pact of the Fiend gives us Dark One’s Blessing to recreate the shield from Spirit Cleave (W), and Burning Hands also gives us an easy-to-use cone spell to recreate a cone-shaped cleave.

Why not Undying? - Undying has a pseudo-support role and a heavy focus on not dying, neither of which Yone does in-game.

Why not Hexblade? - We need at least 12 levels in Warlock for an invocation, and that means we’d be getting Accursed Specter from Hexblade. Yone doesn’t summon spirits to fight for him and while I could normally get past that bit of flavor fail (as both Hexblade’s Curse and Armor of Hexes actually make a lot of sense for Yone) Fiend made a lot more sense given that he literally gets his powers from a demon. A DEX build also allows you to be shirtless in Ionia.

Pact of the Fiend Warlocks have the Dark One’s Blessing, granting them temporary hitpoints equal to their Charisma modifier and their Warlock level when they down an enemy for some spiritual shielding.

Additionally Warlocks gain access to Pact Magic. You learn two cantrips from the Warlock list: Minor Illusion creates a sound or small visual you can use to trick an Asakana into falling for a trap. And Toll the Dead isn’t Eldritch Blast! Excluding the war crimes I just committed by not putting Eldritch Blast on a Warlock (you’re going to be using your swords most of the time anyways get over it it’s one spell) Toll the Dead forces the enemy to make a Wisdom save or take a d8 Necrotic damage, or a d12 Necrotic if they’re injured, making it a great finishing blow after using Soul Unbound.

You can also learn two first level spells: Burning Hands forces enemies to make a Dexterity saving throw or be Spirit Cleaved for 3d6 fire damage. If you want to mark an enemy for Soul Unbound however Hex will let you do an extra d6 of necrotic damage every hit, and give an enemy disadvantage on skill checks related to an ability score of your choice. You can also cast the Darkness spell once per long rest as a Tiefling, blinding everyone in the 20 foot sphere of darkness. If only you could see through it...

LEVEL 6 - WARLOCK 2

Second level Warlocks get Eldritch Invocations and we actually won’t be taking the one that helps us see in the dark. We will however be taking Armor of Shadows to let us cast Mage Armor at will and go shirtless in Ionia. Your second invocation will remain empty for now.

You can also add another spell to your repertoire and Protection from Evil and Good will help a lot with fighting Asakana. A creature blessed by the spell is attacked with disadvantage by aberrations, celestials, elementals, fey, fiends, and undead. Additionally they can’t be charmed, frightened, or possessed by them. If they’re already debuffed by these types of enemies they have advantage on future saving throws against them. Once you know the truth of Asakana there is no reason to fear them... or some other edgy one liner.

LEVEL 7 - WARLOCK 3

Third level Warlocks get their Pact Boon and hey look it’s Pact of the Blade. You can create a magic weapon in your hand as an action. The weapon counts as being magical to overcome armadillos who say “okay” a lot. And you know that Invocation I told you to hold off on? Improved Pact Weapon will let you do more damage with the blade of the Asakana. If you want to remain in character I’d suggest only attacking with your pact weapon in your offhand, but remember that Two-Weapon Fighting takes your Bonus Action so feel free to hit hard and then run if needed.

You can also now cast second level spells like Misty Step for some sick plays with Flash.

LEVEL 8 - WARLOCK 4

Fourth level Warlocks finally get an Ability Score Improvement: increase your Dexterity by 2 for swifter and deadlier strikes with your twin blades. Could we take a feat? Yeah, but we won’t.

You also learn another cantrip at this level on top of another spell. For your cantrip Prestidigitation will further your ability to cast small spiritual magic, and for your spell of choice we already got flash so how about Ray of Enfeeblement for Exhaust? There’s a lot of other great options though: Blindness / Deafness from the Fiend list is also a great choice.

LEVEL 9 - FIGHTER 2

Second level Fighters get Action Surge, allowing them to take one additional action on their turn. Right now that only means one extra sword swing but you can cast a spell after you attack!

LEVEL 10 - FIGHTER 3

At level 3 Fighters can choose their Martial Archetype and to unbind one’s soul you must travel to the world of Wildemount for the Echo Knight subclass. I’ve already made a few Echo Knights before on this sub so I’m going to give the cliffnotes version of a class that has quite a long ability description at level 3 for Manifest Echo:

You can summon your soul within 15 feet of you as a bonus action.

You can move your soul up to 30 feet for free on your turn.

Your soul can’t be more than 30 feet away from you by the end of your turn, or else it disappears. (Goes back to your body)

Your soul has an AC of 14 + proficiency and 1 hitpoint.

It’s immune to all conditions and uses your saving throws.

You can swap places with your soul using 15 feet of movement (regardless of the distance between you two.)

When you attack you can make the attack come from your soul instead.

Your soul can opportunity attack (using your reaction.)

Additionally Unleash Incarnation will let you attack an extra time from your soul’s location on your turn. You can use it a number of times equal to your Constitution modifier but your CON mod is currently zero. Thankfully you can use it a minimum of one time before finishing a long rest.

(Artwork by Valkhar on DeviantArt)

LEVEL 11 - FIGHTER 4

Fourth level Fighters get an Ability Score Improvement: invest further in Dexterity for 19 DEX and all the benefits that provides.

LEVEL 12 - FIGHTER 5

5th level Fighters get an Extra Attack, letting them attack twice with their main action. This means that with your bonus action you can attack three times in a round! Now would also probably be a good time to put the Asakana’s blade in your main hand instead of trying to work around your fancy passive.

LEVEL 13 - WARLOCK 5

It’s straight down Warlock now to become one with the Asakana we wear as a mask. Level 5 Warlocks get another Invocation and it wouldn’t be Pact of the Blade if we didn’t take both Improved Pact Weapon and Eldritch Smite! Pretend to be a Paladin by turning a spell slot into more sword damage and pretend to be your brother by knocking people over when you do so!

You can also learn another spell like Gaseous Form to turn into petals on the wind. Additionally Hex is probably wearing away its welcome by this point so I’d suggest taking Hold Person instead to CC-chain a foe to death.

LEVEL 14 - WARLOCK 6

6th level Fiend Warlocks get Dark One’s Own Luck, letting them add a d10 to an ability check or saving throw once per short or long rest. I consider this less you being “lucky” and more you going all out just this once.

You can also learn another spell from the Warlock list such as Spirit Shroud from Unearthed Arcana to give nearby enemies a Randuin's Omen while you cut them down.

LEVEL 15 - WARLOCK 7

7th level Warlocks get another Invocation and while there are plenty to choose from it’s only fair for the man who collects masks of many faces to get a Mask of Many Faces, allowing you to cast Disguise Self at will! Is this mostly done for flavor and is it a bit late to get Disguise Self? Yes but it’s still a very good spell to have.

And you can learn a 4th level spell like Fire Shield from the Fiend List. You can make a Fire Shield for resistance to Cold damage or a Cold Shield to resist Fire damage which you already resist. But regardless of your choice anyone who hits you with a melee attack for the duration will take 2d8 damage of either Fire (if you chose the Fire Shield) or Cold (if you chose the other.)

Also I’d perhaps suggest replacing Misty Step with Dimension Door? Sure Dimension Door takes a full action (while Misty Step takes a bonus action) but Dimension Door has a 500 foot range which will never not be useful! Teleport can be just as useful as Flash you know.

LEVEL 16 - WARLOCK 8

8th level Warlocks get another Ability Score Improvement: put one into Dexterity and the other one into... yeah Charisma. You also could learn another spell but none of these really interest me so I suggest holding off on it for now.

(Artwork by MizuriOfficial on DeviantArt)

LEVEL 17 - WARLOCK 9

9th level Warlocks get another Invocation, and while again there’s plenty to choose from we strive for accuracy here so how about some spiritual levitation? Ascendant Step lets you cast Levitate on yourself without using a spell slot or material components, so you can float towards a wise old man who definitely isn’t an Asakana in disguise.

But most importantly you now gain access to 5th level spells! Hallow is a big spell with a lot of effects, a 1000 gold cost, and a 24 hour casting time but it’s the ultimate way to protect an area from Asakana! To seal the fate of your foes  Synaptic Static forces an intelligence saving throw on all enemies in an AoE to try to avoid massive damage along with a disorientation effect that tends to come with being knocked up into the air by a tornado.

LEVEL 18 - WARLOCK 10

10th level Fiend Warlocks get Fiendish Resilience, allowing them to resist one type of damage of their choosing. They can swap the resistance out on a short or long rest but damage from magic weapons or silvered weapons ignores this resistance, so probably better just to resist wind magic (Thunder damage) in general instead of specifically resisting a magic wind sword.

Additionally while you won’t learn any more Warlock spells you do get your final cantrip: for some more minor spirit projection how about Mage Hand to grab things within 30 feet and bring them to you?

LEVEL 19 - WARLOCK 11

11th level Warlocks get Mystic Arcanum, which are like regular spell slots which only come back after a long rest because you’re no longer special. Regardless if you want to harness the wind technique look no further than Investiture of Wind Stone, because the rock spell actually lets you knock people over.

Regardless until the spell ends you have resistance to nonmagical slashing, piercing, and bludgeoning, you can move across difficult terrain without spending additional movement, you can move through terrain without spending extra movement (but can’t end your turn there), and you can spend your action to try to knock everyone near you over with some basic wind techniques.

Yes there are better spells to take (even in the Investiture spell line, such as the genuine Investiture of Wind which would let you fly as well as block projectiles with a wind wall of your own) but you’re not your brother. You’re a simple, practical stone who gets the job done. Or you can be a wandering poet: make your own Yone - you don’t follow this build point-for-point.

You also apparently get another spell because Mystic Arcanum doesn’t count as a spell? Hold Monster is like Hold Person but it works against everything at the mere cost of a much higher spell slot, meaning that you can only affect one creature with parallelization but that should be more than enough for your little brother to get the job done and flash his fancy blue crest afterwards. You do have three spell slots now after all.

LEVEL 20 - WARLOCK 12

12th level Warlocks get our final Ability Score Improvement and... ugh. As much as I want to do something fun I have to accept the fact that Charisma will help us more, so you may as well grab the Resilient Feat with Charisma for better saving throws and a higher Charisma mod.

But that Charisma mod is going to get a lot of use since now you can take the Lifedrinker invocation which grants the Asakana’s blade Necrotic damage equal to your Charisma modifier! That’s a lot of damage? How much damage? Well...

FINAL BUILD

PROS

One to cut, one to seal - Let’s do the math for how much damage you do with your swords every round: two strikes from the Asakana’s blade (d6 + 6 slashing + 4 necrotic), one from your regular sword (d6 + 5), and sneak attack damage (2d6) for a total of... 5d6 + 25 damage (8 of it being Necrotic and the rest being Slashing) every round. Not to mention Eldritch Smites in a pinch and a large assortment of spells.

Fear, once named, controls no one - You are also incredibly elusive with 18 AC and strong saving throws. Swashbuckler lets you get into the fight fast and get out before your enemy has a chance to react, and cunning actions let you weave around the battlefield as you see fit. To top it off Echo Knight levels let you attack your foes without even being near them! "Cross the veil!"

Wear a mask long enough, and you forget the face beneath - You have a great deal of out-of-combat utility too. Language proficiencies (along with Thieves’ Cant), skill proficiencies (including expertise in two very important skills 23 passive perception, anyone?) Thieves’ Tools, several utility spells which you can cast pretty much at will, not to mention the utility of near-infinite teleportation and flat out infinite levitation.

CONS

Blink, and you'll miss your own death - Between two-weapon fighting, cunning action, and interactions with your echo there’s such a thing as too many bonus actions.

Do not wish to hide behind masks - There’s also such a thing as being too elusive. Swashbuckler gives you plenty of mobility as does Echo Knight, but putting them together means that you’ll be everywhere at once.

Are you here to usher me back? - Multiclassing a spellsword means that you miss out on some vital ability score increases. This means your Charisma isn’t topped off, the saving throws you aren’t proficient in are subpar at best, and your health is just barely over the Power Word Kill threshold.

But a hunter with many weapons will always have the right one to catch its prey. Lure out the Asakana and strike them down. Just remember that even if you alone can stop the demonic plague you don’t have to work alone. Your brother may have struck you down but if you learn to forgive the Asakana will be a lot weaker. "Long before blades and sorcery are needed, words... can save a soul."

(Artwork by @ThatwasforZED on Twitter)

[cetaceans-pls]

Appropriate Times and Appropriate Places

My gift for @svanavrika, as part of the @tachibanamakotobirthdayexchange! Thank you for your really fun list, this one covers Elemental Magic and Coach/Swimmer c: I hope you like it!

Time and tide waits for no man, allegedly. Haru’s happily an exception to the rule; it’s pretty easy to deal with tides when you’re a supremely gifted water bender. And as for time....

No matter the occasion, he always, always has time for Makoto.

Free! AU, MakoHaru

 Haru has been an absurdly strong water bender for as long as he can remember. Bath time was an excuse to sit in the tub and let his power run wild, because his mother can’t scold him for getting the bathroom wet, it’s the bathroom. His parents are always happy to be both incredibly proud and incredibly embarrassing, and enjoy loudly proclaiming that he learned how to swim well before he learned how to walk. It’s a weird boast, but it’s the job of parents the world over to boast about weird things about their children, so Haru never corrects them about it.

 It’s not really swimming, so much as it is just… becoming the water. It’s general knowledge that powerful elemental benders can melt into their element, and Iwatobi’s been a hotbed of exceptional benders for centuries (it must be the quality of mackerel, if you ask Haru), so everyone’s pretty used to kids crumbling into the sand when they’re embarrassed or having their hair catch fire when they’re upset. When he’s happy, Haru dissolves into water, and when he’s upset, Haru can officially draw the ocean to him up to a maximum distance of 50km from the shore.

 It had been pretty funny, when the government official with the exceptionally sweaty brow had come ‘round to the Nanase family home when Haru had just started high school, and they had gone on a long drive away from the sea so that the man could judge what Haru’s range of effect was. The poor man had looked increasingly stressed when they passed the 20km mark, and feeling that sort of spiky spite teenage boys are wont to feel Haru had kept calling and calling for the ocean (that kept answering and answering).

 He had finally stopped at that 50km mark when he’d realised that if they kept driving for very much longer, he wouldn’t be back in time to eat with the Tachibanas, and that was a heck of a lot more important than having a stranger try to verify the extent of his power. Haru could probably call the sea from anywhere in Japan, he suspects, but also doesn’t particularly want to find out.

 (The night the storm almost took Makoto and Haru took him back had been more than enough of an experience in raw, screaming power, thank you very much. He might have a lot of power, or he might have unlimited power, and in case it’s the former and not the latter, Haru is happy to curb his magic so that it can explode the next time Makoto tries for hopeless heroism, yes).

 Makoto thinks he’s an amazing elemental magician; Makoto thinks he’s amazing in general, which is the really amazing thing, but Haru had decided age 4 that he shouldn’t question his good luck, and 25 years on he’s still keeping up the con of having Makoto be enamoured with him.

 Today, the glamour is maybe wearing thin, because Makoto’s looking at him with furrowed brows and his arms are tightly wrapped around himself. 

 “It’s all right, Makoto,” Haru says for what must be the sixth time in the last four-and-a-half minutes. “It really is.”

 Unconvinced, Makoto winces and looks away. “It’s not, and it’s all my fault!”

 It technically is, but literally isn’t. Haru takes a step closer, determined to enforce a hug, but remembers at the last moment that he’s still soaking wet, right out the pool, and Makoto is still crisp and dry in his pretty Team Japan coach’s outfit. It’s the work of a thought to whisk the water off and back in the pool, and it’s just a moment more before he’s got his hand on the back of his partner’s neck, pulling Makoto down so that their foreheads are pressed together. “Makoto,” Haru repeats himself, infinitely calm. “It’s fine. It’s only the 200m.”

 “Of the Olympics!” Makoto cries out, and Haru really should have known to expect this. “I wanted to propose and make it really memorable, but now you’re only going to remember it because I made you get disqualified at the Olympics!” The hand-wringing is in earnest now, and Makoto’s upset enough that the ground by their feet is startling to rumble.

 There’s one benefit to losing in the early heats: Haru can excuse himself for the rest of the day, and the coaches of Team Japan have learned to allow him his little foibles because an irritated Haru, even when he tries to be on his best behaviour, has a tendency to make pipes explode. He makes eye contact with Head Coach Sugihara, who just rolls his eyes exasperatedly and waves them off, before Haru drags Makoto with him to find a quiet nook to talk.

 It doesn’t take too long before they find a storage room that had been left fortuitously unlocked, and Haru tugs Makoto in behind him. This is neither the time nor the place for this serious of a discussion, but they’ve got a place and Haru will always, always make time for Makoto, so he won’t be dissuaded even if Makoto keeps making sad eyes at him. “Makoto,” Haru says, as calm and clear as he can be. “Makoto, there’s nothing wrong with proposing to your long-term partner, okay? I don’t mind that you blurted it out over breakfast,” Haru emphasises this with a peck to the forehead, “and I also really don’t care that getting engaged got me so overexcited that I melted into the pool during my heat,” another peck to Makoto’s left cheek. “Pretty much every professional athlete who’s an elemental has fouled out of competition before, it’s not a big deal.”

 Maybe not at the Olympics, but that’s just semantics. There’s an even more important point to make here, and Haru can’t even pretend that he’s not smiling. “It’s very cute that you burst into a proposal on your birthday. I’m the one that’s supposed to be getting you a present.” 

 His plan had been to sweep up gold today for the 200m freestyle and then have it made into an engagement ring, inspired as soon as he saw Makoto knock over his plate of waffles as he dropped down on one knee, fumbling with a velvet box and looking ready to cry. It’s not going to happen now, but Haru isn’t exactly dealing with a shortage of Olympic gold. And since he’s yet to miss celebrating the absolute hell out of Makoto’s birthday as a show of unwavering appreciation for the best thing that’s ever happened in his life, there’s already a reservation in place for the best Thai restaurant in town, plus some holiday brochures Makoto can pick from for their year-end vacation.

 Makoto still looks pretty upset, but happily has stopped taking it out on the ground. In the gentle darkness of this storage room, with the sounds of the competition muffled, it’s easier to take a deep breath and reevaluate things. It’s slow, but after a few moments Makoto heaves a massive sigh and steps into Haru’s arms for a hug, resting his forehead against Haru’s bare shoulder. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “I still really am sorry, Haru-chan. I had been planning to propose on New Year’s Eve.” He just smiles when Haru snorts softly and calls him a sap, because you shouldn’t argue with the truth. “I had a whole plan! Ran and Ren helped me practice what I’d say and what I should wear and how to set up a camera to, uhm, livestream? My proposal, but I woke up this morning and I remembered that the best thing about my birthday is that it’s always a good reason to spend time with my loved ones, and I got to thinking about how I really love you, Haru-chan, and it was like I was going to explode-”

 Dust trickles down as the ground shifts ever so slightly beneath their feet, and Haru’s quick to put a calming hand on Makoto’s nape, squeezing gently. “Makoto,” is all he says, and that’s enough to settle the other man. “I don’t even really like competitive swimming,” Haru whispers, like it’s a confession even though it’s rather public knowledge at this point. “And not swimming, not the Olympics, and not water is more important than you.”

 In Haru’s head, he’s just very simply stating a very basic fact of life. His name is Nanase Haruka, he’s got more Olympic medals than he has fingers on his hands, he still gets the odd letter from the government begging for him to join the Japanese Navy and put his powers to good use, and there never will be anything in the world more valuable than Tachibana Makoto.

 He’d thought that it was pretty obvious, but it must not have been obvious enough because alarmingly Makoto starts to sniffle and shudder. 

 Haru can pull the tide in whenever he wants, and Haru has the Olympic Record for the 100m Free!, but there is nothing in his arsenal of various powers that makes him good at comforting Makoto, which is a horrendous shame. Panicking but refusing to show it, Haru hugs Makoto tighter. For someone who wears his heart on his sleeve and is willing to consistently treat people with kindness irrespective of whether or not they deserve it, Makoto can wall himself off emotionally a lot better than Haru, who doesn’t put any effort into being anything but what he is.

 It means that seeing Makoto snap or break down is a worryingly rare occurrence, and unlike Makoto’s fear of haunted houses and the sea Haru isn’t a professional at dealing with it. “Mako-chan, it’s okay,” he says quietly, hoping that he doesn’t sound as worried as he feels. “It’s okay. I love you.”

 Makoto pulls away, and aside from glassy eyes and unsteady breath he looks no worse for wear as he leans down to kiss Haru right on the lips. "I love you too," he replies with utmost seriousness, because they had promised each other at the start of their romantic relationship to always reply when someone drops the L-word, with the hope that through all future fights and disagreements this one fact remains unforgotten. "And sorry for freaking out. I haven't seen you go full water boy in years, and honestly Haru-chan seeing you lose control was a little bit scary." He rubs at his red nose and it gets redder, before he groans. “Rin and Nagisa are going to tease me so hard when they figure out what happened.”

 Haru can feel the tide shifting towards brighter shores as clearly as he could if he were in the sea itself, and he can’t help the littlest smile. “Makoto, you dropped an unplanned proposal, on your birthday, during the Olympics. Ran and Ren’s classmates are going to tease you. Kuroda-san at the corner store will tease you. Our cats will tease you.” Haru is personally planning to decorate and mount the breakfast plate that evaded smashing when Makoto knocked it to the floor, and that’s part tease and part raw, unbridled affection. “Make your peace with it, Mako-chan.”

 The look of horror that crosses Makoto’s face is very silly and also very sweet, but it fades as quickly as it came into a smile that can only really be described as dopey. “It’s embarrassing,” he emphasises, cheeks a glowing red,”but at least you said yes, so it could be worse.”

 Haru would happily flood out every single pool for every single Olympics from today till the day he dies if Makoto indicated that that’s what he truly wanted. The odds of him saying no to Makoto is already generally very low, but the odds of him turning down the opportunity to lock it down right and proper, and be married to the best man that he will ever, ever meet?

 “Makoto, you’re an idiot,” Haru says with an utterly expressionless face, before dragging his fiance down to make out in a storage closet of the Olympic swimming pools for Tokyo 2020.

-

A/N: I swear I tried to make them bang in the blessed closet but 4 different characters showed up on 4 separate occasions to razz them. This was a really fun bit to write, and @svanavrika I hope you enjoy this strange situation the boys found themselves in :> 

[iwillgiveyoumyhappiness]

Always Forever

Idol: Lee Minhyuk

Group: Monsta X

Song: I Love You Always Forever by Donna Lewis

Genera: Fluff 

Request: Anonymous (Affectionately named: “Minhyuk Anon 🐶”, because dang, she loves this boy a lot.)

This is the third installment of the little Minhyuk mini-series that was requested by the incredibly lovely Minhyuk Anon. ^^ For those who haven’t read the first and second part, I recommend you do that first to get a good feel for the story as a whole. As always, enjoy! 

It was a warm day. A warm day with a cool breeze, fluffy clouds and floral scents filling the air. It felt like spring had finally bloomed in Seoul, and Minhyuk couldn’t have been more grateful. 

What a serendipitous time to have a day off. 

He’d been wandering around in his beanie, jeans and light jacket, doing things as he saw them. It didn’t feel like a day that needed planning, just experiencing. He was craving the taste of being spontaneous. 

He took a deep breath of air, glancing around the shopping mall that he’d found himself in. “Where to now?” he wondered aloud. A sign caught his eye, cursive words bathed in muted tones of lavender and gold. 

Café de la Mémoire. He didn’t know at all what it meant and he certainly couldn’t pronounce it, but it looked pretty enough. 

With a shrug, he made his way over. He peered in through the window first, a sudden sinking fear of it being a lingerie shop crossing his mind. Luckily, it was just a cafe. He pushed open the door, the small brass bell over the top of the door letting out a small trill.  

It was a small cafe, customers scattered here and there having hushed conversations, like they were sharing childish, pure secrets with each other. There was a gentle playlist sounding out over the speakers, setting a calm tone, and the extensive dessert menu definitely didn’t go unnoticed by him. 

There was an array of blurry photos hanging on the wall, but each of them were taken in such a way that the blurring felt somewhat purposeful. As if each picture was a memory, slowly being forgotten. 

There were rows of books lining the wall, free for the taking. It gave the whole place a very warm, nostalgic vibe, almost like a home. Not to mention, it smelled pleasantly of peaches and vanilla.  

“Welcome to Café de la—” A small gasp. “No way.”

The first thought that ran through his mind was that it was a fan, but the second thing that occurred to him called out stronger. He thought, “That voice sounds so utterly familiar.” 

And it was. There was no possible way to forget it.

Slowly, he turned his head. It felt like a very cinematic moment in his life; everything moving in slow motion, the sunlight peeking in at just the right angles, a moment of silence for his thoughts to collect themselves. 

He froze, his breath catching in his throat. For a short moment, he considered pinching himself. He was positive that he must be dreaming with his eyes open, because what he was seeing couldn’t be real, though he desperately hoped it was. 

Memories came rushing back to him. Memories of the person who stayed up late at night to watch thunder storms with him. Memories of the person who always stuck her head out the window while they were in the car, even if it messed up her hair afterwards. 

He was thinking about the person that whispered to him even when there was no one else there. Everything felt like a special secret between them, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way.  

Standing before him—just as she had been three years ago—was a memory in the flesh. A painful, confusing, beautiful and incredible one. She was dressed in an apron, slacks and an orange button-down, and she was real. She wasn’t a dream.  

It was her. 

“Hyuk?” she spoke first, breaking him out of his spiraling thoughts. “That is you.” She sounded unsure for a moment. “...Right?”  

It seemed like a half a second before he had trapped her in a tight embrace, his face buried in her hair. It was shorter than it had been before, but it was still familiar to him. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said, unknowingly breathing in her scent. “And it is you, right?” 

She loosened her stiff posture. He could feel her smile, her hands reaching out to hug around his middle. “Believe me, I wouldn’t be letting you hug me if it wasn’t.” 

He chuckled. “True.” He glanced around, noticing how they were being stared at. He pulled away, giving a quick bow and muttering a flustered ‘I’m sorry’. Still, that didn’t keep his attention away from what was important. 

She was here. 

“You look good,” he said softly, the grin on his face putting a strain on his cheeks and crinkling the corner of his eyes. 

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Can you stop smiling like that? You’re creeping out the costumers.”

Honestly, he couldn’t. There was something fluttering in his stomach and chest and it made him feel like he was fourteen again, confessing to the most popular girl in school. Yet, he’d barely said two words to her. 

He shook his head. “I don’t think I can.” 

She looked down at her feet, a smile playing on her lips. “Well, at least sit down somewhere. You’re drawing unwanted attention, Mr. Worldwide Famous Vocalist.” 

He pulled his beanie down a little further, as if that would disguise him at all. “Lead the way. You work here, after all.” 

She flipped her hair sassily. “I own it, thanks,” she said. 

His eyes widened. “No kidding.” They started walking side by side as she lead him to a table, like an unforgotten habit. “So, you’re your own boss now?” 

She nodded, a proud look on her face. “Yup.” She gestured to a chair near the back. “Sit here, please.” 

“Geez, why’d you give me the dark, creepy corner?” Still, he sat without hesitation. 

She sat down in the chair across from him. “So we can catch up,” she said said simply. “We haven’t seen each other in a while, in case you didn’t notice.” 

He felt a pang in his chest. “Believe me, I noticed.” Suddenly, this corner felt so much like the cardboard box he’d thrown all their memories into. He was just grateful that she wasn’t throwing him away and trying to forget him. 

She was trying to get to know him again. How he had changed and grown. After all the pain he’d cause her, she was still curious about him, and that made his cheeks heat up in the most delightful way. 

She cleared her throat. It wasn’t in an awkward way, it was just a way to start the conversation, like an inaudible ‘um’. “I watched your comeback,” she said. A chuckle passed her lips. “You actually had lines this time, which was nice.” She picked at a loose string on her apron. “I like your voice.” 

He licked his lips nervously. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “You know, I honestly didn’t think you would listen to our music anymore, what with how we left things.” 

She quirked a brow. “Did we leave things badly?” 

He shrugged. “No, I guess not, but we did... Leave things.” 

A brief silence. 

She nodded understandingly. “Okay, I get that, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still like you.” She caught herself, her eyes widening to the sizes of saucers for a split second. “You know, as a person.” 

He felt like he’d just been given the highest form of a compliment. He wondered if he could even successfully stay in his chair with how hard his blood was pumping through his veins. “Well... I still like you, too. As a person.”  

She looked anywhere but his eyes. “Well, that’s... good.” 

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “You’re so cute!” 

“Shut up!” she huffed. She crossed her arms. “Let’s move on, got it?” 

He nodded, feeling proud of himself. “Fine, we’ll move on. How have you been, then?” 

Her eyes lit up in the most beautiful way. “Great, actually. I have a nice place, I have two dogs and a cat, I found a few good friends that actually genuinely care for me, I own this joint which is more like my child than my job and...” She gave him a heart-melting smile. “I’m happy. So yeah, I’m doing pretty well.”

He couldn’t help but smile along with her. “That sounds fantastic,” he breathed. A question popped into his head, battling with his common sense to decide whether or not it was something that was okay to ask. “So you don’t have a... boyfriend or anything?” He shrunk in his chair, almost a little scared of the answer. 

“No, actually,” she answered. She could see his ears perk up. She clasped her hands together tightly. “I’ve been too busy thinking about this one guy.” 

His heart was beating off the charts. “Oh, yeah? What’s he like?” 

“An idiot,” she chuckled. “He’s an idiot and he thinks too much about himself sometimes, so I ditched him a few years ago.” 

He pouted. “He doesn’t sound like such a good guy.” 

“Maybe he’s not.” She shrugged. “But even though he’s an idiot, he’s very kind. He has sweet eyes and a healing smile. He’s really funny and he knows how to make me laugh, and he’s one of the handsomest guys I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

She met his gaze. “He’s loyal and hardworking and he has a really beautiful voice, and I’ve just been waiting and wondering if he’s grown up a little, because I really miss him.” She trailed off at the end, getting a little shy.

Minhyuk was at a loss for words. “Well, I don’t have a girlfriend either,” he stuttered ungracefully. “I’ve been to busy thinking about this one girl.” 

She gripped her hands tighter. “Oh, yeah? Tell me about her.” 

“Well... First of all, she’s really pretty, inside and out. I’m literally in awe of her half of the time. She’s very considerate of other people, and she always puts them before herself. She has a very giving and generous nature, and she puts the utmost effort into everything she does.”

He took a deep breath, continuing his unplanned confession. “She loves animals and kids and she’s really smart, but she’s also scared.” 

She tilted her head. “What’s she scared of?” 

“People,” he said. “Their judgment and what they might think of her. She’s scared that they’ll leave her, but really, she shouldn’t be, because who in their right mind would leave such an amazing person?” He could see the redness that was growing on her cheeks. 

“So what’s been stopping you from getting this girl?” she asked him. 

He looked at her, really taking her in. It was like he was seeing her for the first time again. Like he was falling in love for the first time again, because love never fully fades. “Well, I’ve been waiting to grow up a little, and for her to give me a chance to redeem myself.” 

She let out a laugh. It was a laugh he had missed so much; one he had dreamed of on more than a few occasions. 

“You know who I’m talking about, right?” he asked softly. 

She feigned thinking about it very deeply. “Is it...” She looked at him, a content smile resting on her face. “Me?” 

He tapped the table rhythmically. “Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner,” he joked. 

She laughed again. “Hey, you know that guy I was talking about?” 

“Yeah.” 

She rested her chin on her palm. “Do you know who he is?” 

“Me,” he said confidently. 

She raised a brow. “Oh, yeah? What makes you so sure?” 

He leaned across the table, their noses almost touching. “Gut-feeling,” he whispered. 

She huffed. “Well... You always did have pretty good hunches,” she whispered back. It was as if their secrets were being returned to them, one by one. They were meaningless and didn’t even deserve the title of ‘secret’, but they were theirs and they treasured them greatly, for better or for worse.  

His smile grew wider, if that was even possible. “So, do you think you’ll do it? Do you think you’ll give me a chance?” 

She nibbled her bottom lip nervously. “I can try,” she said. “Meet me here every week, and we’ll see how things go.” 

“Coming here every week is going to hard with my schedule.” 

There was an impish glow in her eyes. “That’s what I’m offering—take it or leave it.” 

He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I’ll take it.” He would do everything he could to be able to see her smile every day again. 

He would do everything to make sure he didn’t have to pretend to have moved on anymore. He would change for the better and grow up and become less selfish and he would fight tooth and nail to pass every test she handed out to him. 

He just wanted for both of them to finally admit that they would love each other for a long, long time. 

Maybe forever.     

[imagine-loki]

Seiðmaðr

TITLE: Seiðmaðr

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 6/? AUTHOR: goldtrimmedspectacle ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki is attacked and forgets his past. Now riddled with amnesia, Loki must decide whether to follow his mind and return his memories, or to follow his heart and find true happiness. RATING: PG13. Will go up in later chapters. NOTES/WARNINGS: Angst. Can be found on AO3.

Hear on the wind how the pendulum swings Feel how the winter succumbs to the spring Over the palisade morning will break Rise up to meet it, oh sleeper awake

- Caesar, the Oh Hellos

CHAPTER SIX

You handed the butcher a handful of ingots as he passed the sealed package of meat over the counter, tied together with a thin string, and into your waiting hands. The burly man stood behind the counter with a large smile, rewarding your thanks with murmured ‘of course’, coated in the thick regional accent of western Innangard and nodding his thanks in turn. From the front of the counter, you watched him stash the coins inside a clay jar, allowing the few coins to fall into his growing collection, and waved as you slipped out of the front door.

  “Have a good day.”

  The door slammed shut as you stepped onto the busy streets of Sandnæs, leaving you alone on the butcher’s front step with a small package of food for the oncoming day.

  A woman bustled besides you, smiling apologetically as she reached for her rushing child and pulled them back into her arms. The precocious toddler squirmed in her arms for a few seconds and then fell into their mother’s chest with a soft noise, followed by the mother cooing and forcing herself into a fast gait. The toddler peered over their mother’s shoulder and cooed at you briefly, disappearing behind one of the central town buildings a moment later.

  Swayed by the sweetness of the child’s toothless smile, you juggled the crinkled parcel with one hand and slid the meat into your side satchel alongside a loaf of bread that you had purchased from a nearby bakery. The endearing front and sign, spelling out Sæti Bakery in cursive, had lured you in – as did the sweet scent of custard pastries and cake.

  No wonder it was Bjarke’s favourite bakery in Vanaheimr.

  It was endearing and mildly annoying at how vastly Bjarke praised the bakery every time he visited, groaning with every bite of their carrot and rhubarb cake. The crumbs would often fall into his beard and gather until he finished off all the pastries he desired, so you were thankful to have gone alone for once. Without the added groaning and drooling from Bjarke, that is.

  Closing the satchel once more, you glanced into a nearby shop window and read the time plastered on the shop’s clock face.

  Half hour past twelve.

  Two hours had passed since you had left Ormr in the care of Healer Kari’s hands. His deteriorating state and the news of concentrated seiðr poison in his bloodstream had left the man beaten and exhausted upon the bed on which he lay. Even after leaving him in the care of such an experience healer, as displayed through Kari’s quick actions and previous experience in the medical field, you still felt uncomfortable having left the aching man in the grasp of another – despite your prior comments on passing him off to the next living soul who could heal him.

  However, whether it was his easy and quick words, or the manner in which he teased you, or the sudden act of trust in which Ormr had read out his mother’s last words to him. The man had grown on you like a thick moss.

  Granted, not a sturdy piece of moss, for it was a new ungainly friendship, but there were traces of life and flourishment in the odd friendship that had blossomed between the two of you.

  It had also taken you another half hour to allow the full consequence and meaning of Kari’s words to settle within your pounding head. The adrenaline of Ormr’s passing sickness and the sudden kaleidoscope of information about Ormr’s gift in seiðr – which you had reacted in a rather dismissive manner, you now realised – having thrown your thought process for a mental loop.

  It was rather overwhelming, having discovered the man only a few days prior and healing him under the beating summer sun, only to create an odd unstable friendship with him. His mannerisms still puzzled you at times, leaving you unsure of what phrases would set him over the edge or what would be considered taunting rather than teasing in his eyes. However, you did note that friendships were often built in less extreme scenarios, but it did not mean that Ormr and yourself were incompatible as companions.

  There were many companionships that had been formed in far fewer than seven days.

  Burying the thought, you glanced down at the lunch you had bought yourself and Ormr, that is if he was awake when you returned and tried to remember the right turn in which the side streets would lead you towards the main road leading into Sandnæs’ centre. Thankfully, in the time you had been apart from Ormr you had reunited yourself with Sandnæs layout and the townspeople – a sight to behold, granted there were far fewer people here than in previous years. You had also been able to require lodgings for the next few nights, and you had been gifted the opportunity to visit the passing merchants’ market, where there were many different and unique items being sold for either very extravagant or suspiciously low prices.

  A golden pendant had caught your eye briefly, although the outrageous cost had made you decide it was a lost cause – no matter how enchanting the colourful design was.

  Walking back through the opening streets of Sandnæs, satchel in hand, you decided a slow stroll back to the healers was your best decision in that instance and chose to gaze through the windows of multiple shops and stalls. The sound of voices and rolling carts on the bustling streets was a welcomed backing track as your eyes wandered from necklace to vial to book and then back to the buffed suits of armours and engraved swords, as well as the fancy clothes depicted in high-esteemed tailors and their partnerships.

  The larger shops continued for a while longer but eventually, the more family-orientated and smaller shops filled the streets. There were Vanir flooding out from each of the cobbled buildings and sharing their wares in small stalls in front of their homes, yelling out prices and bargains to the passerbys.

  You paused in front of a small bookshop.

  The display in the front window was petite in size with a varying range of thick volumes and journals for women and men of incredible penmanship. There was even a small collection of ink pots framed by thick quills and shiny tips. Besides, the beautiful quills stood even more books arranged into small piles – spanned over the wooden shelf to display the intricate leather-bound covers and titles.

  Whilst it was true that you did not often indulge in literature, you held an odd admiration for the written thoughts of another. Especially those of a fictional world where young children and adults were capable of escaping reality, at least for a moment. But that did not mean philosophers and their beliefs did not deter your attention either, as there were many interesting theories and discussions often held within the binding of a good book.

  Ormr seemed particularly interested in books, you noted in a passing thought, perhaps I should purchase a volume for him?

  A short-lived idea.

  It was a silly notion, you realised, and turned to head back – acknowledging that Ormr could choose his own books when he was moving once more. That is if he wished too. Yet, a thin book with the title Seiðr and Potions caused you to pause. The cover was thinner than the other more expensive books, but the intricate golden detailing seemed to make up for its small size, and you found yourself estimating the cut in your wages. Through much mental debate with what crossed the line of a kind-hearted stranger and friend, or an overtly friendly fool, you entered the shop.

  The exchange of money and paper was quick and painless, the book costing very little in comparison to some of the larger copies and finer covers, and you exited a few moments later with the volume in your arms and the hope that Ormr would enjoy it. Especially as you were uncertain if Ormr could actually remember how to use seiðr, no less use it without an infliction of seiðr poisoning. But perhaps he would simply appreciate the aesthetic of the green leather and black ribbon? Or, if his seiðr was currently indisposed, he would appreciate the connection to his past by the formation of potions and remedies.

  It is a gift of consolidation, you decided, an act of offered friendship and a further alliance, considering how Ormr may be staying with Bjarke and myself.

  It was a satisfying decision. Especially as you were sure that Ormr would feel quite alone and confused once he awoke, and if you were there to calm him down with a few sarcastic remarks and something familiar for him to grasp, then perhaps it would allow Ormr a source of comfort. Moreso, you were unsure whether the man would find your presence a comfort in such trying times. You may still be a stranger or newly-earned friend in his eyes, and the memory of Ormr’s sudden anger at your curious questions did not lay unforgotten.

  Checking the time once more, you found that the town clocks had struck half one. Distracted by the wares of an iron merchant, you hadn’t heard the town clocktower strike the hour.

  Finding it a good time to start your walk back, you checked that nothing had been lost in your traipse around town. And despite the slight squashing of the bread, everything appeared intact, so you slid the book into a side pocket and twisted the strap around your shoulders. The food and book fit snug in the leather hide, unbothered by the battering they received through the busy streets of Sandnæs, so you continued the walk with no further interest regarding the side stalls situated along the cobblestoned roads.

  When you arrived back at the healers, the swinging sign at its front had been washed during your absence and the door was flung wide open to allow some diminishment of the summer heat. Without its swinging motion, the entrance permitted you to walk into the small front of the ward without the shop bell chiming your arrival, and greeted the two young apprentices behind the counter.

  Both girls were young in their age, cusping on the awkward verge of childhood and adulthood. Both held similar features, however their skin varied in tone and one of the two sisters were speckled with lack of pigment, whereas the other had hair that bunched around their ears and her sister wore braids that fell to her shoulders.

  Both wore the embroidered symbol of the Sandnæs ward on their clothes.

  “Hello, how may we assist you today?” The smaller asked, face stretched into a warm smile whilst her sister gathered a handful of plants and vials – sorting them into an open cabinet to the side of their station.

  “Healer Kari asked me to come back for my companion,” you shifted the bag on your hip and nodded towards the curtain leading towards the back ward. “A man named Ormr who suffered from a poison-induced…seizure – long black hair and green eyes. Quite lithe and tall.”

  The twins glanced at one another.

  “Are you Jorunn?”

  By Odin, you cursed Bjarke for the endearing title.

  “Yes. I was the woman who delivered Ormr this morning,” you nodded in regards to the girl’s question, “My travelling companion and I came across him a mere few days ago. The man has been in my care since he was discovered and our party had only been able to reach town early this morning.”

  The taller of the two grimaced.

  “He is awake. Please, follow me.”

  Trailing after the girl, you passed the smaller of the two sisters, who smiled warmly once more, and through the red curtains – ducking between the folds of fabric. Inside the ward, rays of sunlight filtered the room where more men and women lay in the ward beds. Few were alone whilst others were covered by healers of varying ages and colours, all practised in the art of seiðr.

  None were men. As was custom to the Vanaheimr realm.

  Kari came fluttering up to you in a spike of anxiety, her hands gripping yours as she pulled you away from the young apprentice without a word. The young girl did little but wait for the older healer to pull you away, before turning and retreating into the storefront where her sister sat in waiting. Her hands were still as she retraced her steps and offered an unvoiced apology for the condition you would find your companion in.

  “Thank the Norns, you are back!” Kari bit out, relief encasing her voice as she hurried you out of the public ward. “The man – Ormr – he did not react well to your departure.”

  “My departure?”

  “Yes, very badly. Incredibly badly. Never have I seen such a violent response to someone’s absence.” Kari bit her lip and winced, “I did not anticipate such a panicked reaction to his awakening but it took more than three of my healers to stop his attack.”

  You faltered in your steps.

  “Attack?”

  Kari paused in front of a closed wooden door.

  “Ást,” she turned and her eyes searched yours patiently, ignoring the frantic tone in your voice, “You must understand. Ormr - you do not know who he is or where he has come from. The man could be of any mother or father in the realms. We do not know him or his heritage, but trust me when I say he has been injured very badly. Physically and mentally. Whilst his physical injuries have been healed and I can temporarily cure his poisoned ailment, there are traces of injuries that as healers of the body, we cannot fix.”

  The realisation that struck with her words caused shame to bottle in your chest, especially as Ormr’s previous actions had hinted towards evidence of physical and psychological abuse. 

  “Ormr has been injured by faculties of the mind and conscience, and my wards and I cannot help a man with those kinds of injury. Please understand, Ormr meant nothing in his attack and my own healers know this. He was scared and in pain, not to mention forcefully sedated during his seizure. I am unsure of the extent concerning his mental condition, but he is not the worst we have seen and he is not the best either. We have no knowledge in the extent of his poor mental health, but it is not our right to push his boundaries.”

  “And the attack?”

  Kari grimaced.

  “Another healer, one of the more experienced, thankfully,” she breathed out. “But when the man awoke, he was distraught – it was a mistake to move him whilst asleep, granted, as it was a mistake to have you leave whilst he was under. But the attack I speak of – he tried to physically harm one of our healers when they attempted to touch him.”

  You ran a few fingers through your hair as a source of self-comfort and sucked in a shaky breath.

  “Ormr did that to me the first time I tried to help him, too. But it was more as an attempt of escaping my grasp,” you lifted your head and met Kari’s eyes once more, “I am so sorry I did not warn you. I had no belief that his reactions would repeat in such a violent manner, especially as he has been so well in the past few days.”

  The older woman squeezed your arm.

  “Whilst the information may have prevented our panic, know that it is all well, krútt. You did not realise the nature of Ormr’s condition and therefore, it is not your fault. And our healer is fine – no harm done. It is not uncommon for our patients to awake in a panicked state, so rest assured that Ormr is not the first to react violently, and he shall not be the last either. However, I believe your presence would be appreciated, moreso because he was further panicked when the news of your departure reached his ears.”

  You winced, the shame strengthening until it overwhelmed your prior guilt, despite Kari’s own blatant shame, which lay heavy on her features. It was difficult to banish the regret despite your reasoning, knowing that your presence would have been a pure nuisance within the healers’ ward. And you knew Kari’s influence in your walk was out of pure heart rather than anything malicious. Besides, your walk had allowed the procession of your thoughts and feelings to be organised rather than to wallow and manifest in your mind. Not to mention, it would have been purely selfish to feast upon the ward’s rations than to buy your own food in town.

  Moving past Kari, you thanked her softly and opened the door, stepping into the small room where a single bed had been pushed up against the far wall. The bed was positioned facing the open doorway and beside it sat two side tables covered in herbal mixtures and flowers twisted towards the light coming through a framed window. The whole room was glazed in sunlight, displaying the white-washed walls and sterile placement of furniture through the rays of yellow slipping through the glass planes.

  Lying in the ruffled sheets lay Ormr bundled in several blankets and adorned in a fresh layer of plasters. His gaze remained vacant on the wall to his right, pupils frozen and glossed over by the streams of sunlight. The side of his head that had been ripped and shredded appeared to be mended now, the hair cut and sheered to a suitable length whilst any blood and cuts had been stitch and cleansed.

  You tapped on the door.

  His gaze turned to you.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Tension eased from the man’s stiff stature and his body fell more languidly onto the stiff sheets stretched across his bed. His eyes still drilled onto your worried form, eyebrows furrowed and a sneer coating his lips. An air of animosity filled the sterile atmosphere, causing you to shift and brace yourself for further violence or distrust from the injured man.

  “I am better.”

  The curtness in his answer cut an inch too deep for comfort.

  “I am glad. I feared for your health when your body reacted so violently to the healer’s seiðr,” you offered softly and walked into the room, slipping the satchel from your shoulder and grabbing a chair. “I apologise I was not here when you awoke – Kari sent me to fetch food and to prevent any disruption inside the main ward.”

  Ormr hummed and his eyes slid off your form, back towards the open window where the noise of carts and people echoed from the busy streets. His eyes seemed to freeze over and his features fell flat, refusing to meet your eyes once more.

  “Good. I was glad that you were not here. It allowed me some time away from yours and your companion’s boorish company.”

  There was an angered bite to his tone, seething and rejected in nature, but the manner in which he spoke was cool and unfeeling. No emotions reached past his jaw and his features remained cruelly despondent.

  You had experienced such behaviour before, and you would not fall flat in your attempts to break the frozen façade now.

  “I am glad then, that you found time to relax and heal despite my absence,” you smiled sweetly, ignoring the manner in which Ormr’s eyes twitched. “I bought us food – meat cutlets, such as boar and pig – and bread from a nearby bakery.”

  You dug the packages out from inside your bag and laid them on the table besides Ormr. The parcel crinkled loudly in the tense silence and you laid the meat out for the man to see and pick. The bread was, thankfully, pre-sliced and parts of the crust flaked from its paper coverage.

  “I am no longer hungry, thank you. The healers have fed me in your absence.” Ormr turned his head away from the food, however his eyes wavered in their attention for a moment, foiling the man’s silver tongue and his waspish words.

  “Well, if you find yourself able to stomach the food,” you sandwiched a piece of meat between two slices and bit into it, fully-acknowledging Ormr’s attention on your meal, “then I believe it is best to leave the bread and cutlets for your disposal.”

  The man faltered in his stoic behaviour, hands inching across the stiff bedsheets and eyes growing a small degree warmer, all whilst he stared at the bread squashed between your fingers.

  His voice softened.

  “Thank you.”

  You nodded and took another bite, brushing crumbs from the travelling trousers you adorned at that moment. True, it was a futile attempt in clearing the mess which would grow as you finished the sandwich, hunger temporarily quenched, but you found that the previously tense silence had grown slightly less overbearing as you sat and ate.

  “Oh,” you broke the silence again and swallowed the last bite. “I bought you a gift in town – something you showed interest in earlier, when we were riding Raoul through the Sandnæs’ centre.“

  Ormr watched as your hands slipped into the bag once more, pulling the green leather-bound book from its pocket and smoothing out the black ribbon attached to its spine.

  “Here. I am unsure whether Kari has informed you fully of your ailments, but I believe this book will be helpful or at least entertaining for you to read,” you explained and laid the volume on Ormr’s lap. He gazed at the book a moment longer and ran his fingers over the ridges of detail on its cover and spine.

  Lifting the book from his sheets, you watched as Ormr thumbed his way between the volume’s pages and curled the ribbon over his left hand. A look of grief and ease flooded his features, polar-opposites consuming his mind as he pulled the book further into his chest and allowed the smell of ink and paper to flood his senses. His eyes teared up momentarily, chest clenched and left hand rubbing over the dips of his fingers and the silk bookmark.

  “Seiðr and potions?” Ormr licked his lips and traced the cursive letters slowly. “Thank you – for your gift, that is.” He faltered and pulled himself further up the bed, book tucked into the crook of his arm, and sat to his full height.

  “It is alright. I’m glad you like it, especially as I hope it may help for future references.”

  He nodded.

  “Yes, the healers explained to me what occurred,” Ormr’s façade crumbled as a small wince coated his features. “I apologise for causing such an event,” he paused at the word, “but it is quite nice to understand the extent of my injuries, I suppose.”

  A lingering sense of bitterness weighed heavy on his tongue.

  “So, you know of the seiðr and poison?”

  “Yes, I know of the seiðr and poison,” he recited your words with a quirked eyebrow. His face held no remaining angst or anger as he traced over the book’s textured cover.

  “And, are you alright?”

  “What? Are you a mind healer, now?” Ormr spat out, shoulders tensing and fingers curling over the book’s surface. His defensiveness fell as swiftly as it built and Ormr’s body unfurled itself, a look of shame flooding his features, “I apologise, that was – uncalled for. I am not quite in the right mind as of currently.”

  He picked at his thumb.

  “As much as I don’t appreciate your curtness, know that there is no harm done,” you hummed and began to make a second sandwich. “However, the next time you yell at me, I will throw a rock at you.”

  You watched Ormr, cautious of his reaction towards your light-hearted threat.

  He chuckled weakly.

  “I have no doubt, dear healer. Will you make me build a fire pit too?” He teased and rolled onto his side, facing you fully. The fabric bunched around his waist and you were happy to see the clean gauze and patches that had been applied to the worst of his cuts. No longer was he bound in bandages.

  “Most definitely, but if you behave, perhaps I will allow you to simply set up our beds for the night,” you grinned and handed the prepared food over, “Now eat. Despite your gilded words, I know the behaviour of a starving man.”

  Ormr hesitated and took the food, accepting his lies and your truth.

  "Thank you, again.”

  His words held more meaning than was spoken, but you accepted the subject of which he voiced.

  You sat a while longer as Ormr ate the meal, supplying him with another sandwich and another roll of bread that you had bought. He eventually ate the entirety of the bread and finished off the remaining meat, all which he consumed with the ravenous nature of a bilgesnipe.

  “I feel like you and Valencia would get along just fine.”

  Ormr paused in his chewing.

  “Bjarke’s wife?”

  “Yes,” you smiled brightly, “She could feed both the army of Hel and the Valkyries. No doubt if you were to meet, the poor woman would never let you leave her home without a few pies and roast under your belt. That is, if the children do not eat the pies before you do.”

  Ormr chuckled and lapsed back into silence as he finished off the last pieces of meat. He passed over the last piece of bread - a truce and an apology. The bread and meat packaging were slipped inside your bag, and you took a bite of the slice he offered.

  The following hour you remained by Ormr’s side in comfortable ease. The awkward tension had ceased and so the pair of you indulged yourselves with the book you had gifted him, Ormr reading out each passage for his interest and your own. When the town clock tower struck four, Ormr silenced and turned to face the northern window. His eyes watched the clock’s hands land on the number four, the bells sounding as you rose and wiped off any remaining crumbs that resided on your trousers.

  “I fear that I must leave – Bjarke and Valencia will be expecting me soon for dinner,” you explained and slipped the satchel back onto your shoulder. “And I doubt Raoul is most grateful about his stay in the public Sandnæs stables.”

  Ormr stayed silent as the chair was tucked away and your satchel shifted. His eyes seemed wary as you rose and stood by his bed. His hands wrung around each other subtly, acutely hidden by his sheets.

  “Hopefully, by tomorrow you will be discharged and I can take you back to our current lodgings. Whilst Bjarke stays with his family, I have bartered two rooms in a nearby tavern. I will come to pick you up tomorrow around noon – that is, if you believe to feel up for it.”

  Ormr’s hands fell and the wariness lessened.

  “So, you will be returning?” There was a definite change to his voice.

  “Of course,” your eyebrows furrowed, “You did not believe I would abandon you to the healers’ hand, do you?”

  Ormr’s eyes shifted.

  “You did.”

  “When I awoke,” he spoke slowly, “one of the healers. She said that you had left the ward. Left me, I suppose, to fend for myself.” Ormr shifted his head upon the pillow. “I did not believe you would come back, nor that you would wish to keep me as a companion. I am not the easiest of men to be around, especially with the newly discovered circumstances. Such is the reason why I acted so, um, coldly, towards you.”

  “Ormr,” you sat on the bed and refrained from touching his arm, “I know that we are barely strangers. Barely friends. But know that I have no intentions of leaving you alone without your request. Bjarke and I want to offer you a place with our travelling party. We would be happy to have you join our journeys to other regions and realms.” You laughed at his frown. “Okay perhaps I would be happy to have you join our small travel party, but I truly believe that we could be friends. Or at least, I would like us to be friends. And I would like to assist with earning your memories back, with or without the poison in your system.”

  The injured man faltered and a slow smile settled on his cheeks, completely filling his features with unadulterated affection and gratitude. His eyes lit up and the fire that grew behind his pupils formed an elixir of gold and green topaz. Even his cracked lips grew into crescent blossoms that shifted with a lick of his tongue.

  “I would like to be your friend too.”

  You echoed his expression and lifted a hand.

  “Friends?”

  “Friends.”

  His hand clasped yours and it was unsurprising to see the magnitude in which his palm swamped your own. The gloves which he kept had obviously been used religiously as his hands felt extravagantly soft in comparison to your own.

  “Great,” you squeezed his hand once more and dropped it. “And no worries for your previous actions. It is in the past, however harke my words that I will throw a rock at you if you repeat such actions again.”

  Ormr smiled, “I promise. And I assure you that I truly am sorry. I apologise for reacting so coldly to your arrival and any other slights I have caused in the past few days.”

  You nodded thoughtfully and squeezed his arm, glad that Ormr did not pull away from your touch.

  “Thank you. I appreciate it, but I really do have to leave now – Valencia is not a person you wish to anger.”

  Ormr chuckled.

  “Have fun and do not do anything I wouldn’t.”

  You laughed and a smirk spread over your lips, “In which you mean, do not refrain from causing chaos?”

  His eyes sparked once more, watching as you stood to leave.

  “Dear healer, chaos is such a harsh term. Perhaps mischief would be better.”

_________

Ást– translation for love, pronounced: as-t Krútt - translation for sweetiblueutie, pronounced: kyer-root

[alexandercfengland]

challenge  iii (  character  study. )

001.  describe  your  characters’  relationship  with  their  mother  or  father,  or  both.  

in regard to alexander’s relationship, he is extremely close and fond of his mother. she has always been the world to him and his number one support. he has relied on her for advice and followed her by example, seeing only the best in her despite what anyone else says. in contrast, his relationship with his father is far less intimate as there are unspoken boundaries. alexander doesn’t have any issues with his father but does not really share the same closeness as he does with his mother. while he may be indifferent generally to his father, he does care and love him. both of his parents share such love and happiness that he is happy. 

002.  what  are  your  characters’  most  prominent  physical  features?  what  is  a  feature  that  they  are  most  insecure  about?  what  are  they  proudest  of?

he has a very nicely chiseled jawline and a very charming and cheeky smile. he likes his wavy chestnut hair and honey colored eyes - all traits and genetics inherited by his lovely mother. in general, alexander wouldn’t say he has any features that he’s insecure about. in fact, he’s rather proud of his face and believes himself to be very attractive. perhaps the closest things he could say that he would wish he could fix would be the angle at which his ears tilt but it’s severely minor that it wouldn’t really count. 

003.  how  vain  is  your  character?  do  they  find  themselves  attractive?  what  is  their  worst  flaw,  and  are  they  aware  of  it?

alexander is extremely shallow and certainly believes himself to be very handsome. he matches his elder brother in height, standing at 6′3 so he’s massive. his proportions are also appealing as his legs are long and his body toned from the outdoor activities in participates in. in terms of flaws, well, he doesn’t really think about it. most of the time he dismisses any critiques as he thinks himself above it. 

004.  what  is  your  character’s  ranking  on  the  kinsey  scale?

3  so   bisexual,  equally  heterosexual  and  homosexual.

005.  describe  your  character’s  happiest  memory.  minimum  word  count:  

there are many good memories in alexander’s childhood which is to say that his mother had given him many opportunities to be carefree. perhaps one of his happiest memories is tied to the time when he was allowed to received and rode his first horse with the help of his father and under the watchful eye of his mother. in that moment alexander felt special. there was no one else around to criticize the trio and it was also a chance to feel like he belonged. it also then and there that he is told by his father that his royal birthright shall be acknowledged and brought to light. he shall be a prince. 

006.  is  there  one  event  in  your  characters’  life  that  they  would  like  to  erase  from  their  past?  why?  minimum  word  count:  200.

there aren’t too many things that alexander finds the need to erase from the past. if anything, he would wish that his mother had been made the rightful queen earlier and that his siblings were legitimized as he was. he would’ve wished that his mother been spared of the rumors of being a seductress and a whore - wishing that she was loved by the people instead. he’d even go as far to say that he would prefer it better if his elder siblings had been spared the anguish of losing their mother by just erasing the fact that their mother was even wed to england in the first place. it would’ve solved far more of the problems (needless to say) much of this is ingrained in the fact that alexander is neither fond of his elder sister or the crown prince. but truthfully, much more of his annoyance is targeted at the latter. such sentiments wouldn’t exist if harry had chosen to utilize alexander as an ally rather than an enemy. and much of this is rooted in bitterness that the crown prince intends on disposing queen isabel and all of her children in favor of starting a new reign. 

007.  let’s  talk  favourites!  what  is  their  favourite  colour,  food,  and  season?   what,  in  a  modern  setting,  would  be  your  character’s  favourite  song?  

alexander’s favorite color would be navy which is usually paired with hints of silver or dark forest green - shades usually bright in color like emerald which compliment both his complexion and his visage. with food, he loves anything with meat, preferring eating pork the most. alexander has always been fond of the summer weather seeing that it’s warmer and brighter. plus its an excuse for him to escape into the outdoors to strengthen his physique and flaunt his body as well. in a modern au, he’d be the type to listen to panic at the disco (specifically) saturday night. 

008.  can  you  define  a  turning  point  in  your  character’s  life?

when alexander was legitimized, it changed everything. it gave him opportunities he would’ve never been open to. it also made him feel more inclined to devote his livelihood to protect and accomplish great things for his mother. 

009.  is  your  character  an  early  morning  bird  or  a  night  owl?  at  what  time  do  they  get  most  of  their  work  done?

generally I would say alexander is a night owl, he has always preferred staying up late and enjoying the stars. but if needed, he is also capable of being an early riser though this occurs often with a groan and a complaint. he likes to do his work in the morning so he can have the clearest mind and spend the rest of the day doing whatever he pleases. 

010  a.  what  other  character,  a  npc  or  someone  apart  of  the  rp,  is  your  character  completely  real  with?  who  knows  them  best,  has  seen  them  at  their  most  vulnerable,  knows  their  innermost  and  basest  fears?  

this would easily be his mother. alexander has always been comfortable with his mother and has no shame in sharing his vulnerabilities. she knows his heart well and has always cared for him and so in return, he shares the same mutual affection. while he is close with his full blooded siblings, he isn’t keen on showing them any weaknesses lest they worry for him. 

011.  is  your  character  a  neat  or  messy  person?

alexander is a messy person. he doesn’t care for organization and tends to leave a mess for other people to clean up behind him. he cares about his own hygiene but other than that, the way in which he rolls out of bed unmade is a habit he has long been accustomed to. while he doesn’t bother with doing these tasks, he’s always mindful of thanking the servants who tend to his area so that his space shall be well kept. 

012.  does  your  character  have  any  irrational  fears  or  phobias?

alexander’s fear would always been with any threats regarding his immediate family. perhaps the one he worries for the most would be his mother seeing as she is his world. 

he is also afraid of becoming incompetent or useless - tainting a legacy that he intends to build for the neville lineage. he shoulders the weight of the expectations and does the best of what he can do. but if were to die without achieving the success on the behalf of his family, he would live with unforgotten regret and self loathing. 

013.  does  your  character  have  an  underlying  passion  or  trait  that  influences  all  aspects  of  their  life?

most of what he does is on the behalf of his mother - his sheer and utter devotion to make her proud is how his world revolves. he definetly considers her opinions and takes her advice seriously. his neville uncles and aunts play an important role in shaping alexander’s childhood as well and their influence still reside in him. 

014.  what  might  your  character’s  ideal  romantic  person  be?

well first and foremost, alexander is very shallow - usually finding appeal in pretty and beautiful things. he is still immature in the field of love and prefers to fool around instead of the pursuit of something longterm and serious. 

but i think the type of person that would suit alexander would be older and somewhat reminiscent of his mother (he’s got a big mother complex), someone who he can say nothing and they’ll understand him. a person who will be patient with him when he is confused, angry and conflicted is also a big factor. he needs someone who can humor him and keep his attention span, perhaps give him a run for his money. whoever is able to romantically lock down alexander - well, he’d fall hard. 

at the moment he has no interest in commitment and refuses to sire any bastard children so has been in more intimate relationships with men than women. to be honest, his relationship with males are much easier to navigate with women. in a woman, alexander would want to pursue a romance as strong as his father’s and mothers. 

015.  describe  your  character’s  hands.  are  they  small,  long,  calloused,  smooth,  stubby,  dexterous  or  clumsy?  do  they  wear  any  jewelry  and  would  they  wear  polish  in  a  modern  setting?

alexander has nimble long fingers and large palms that are softer in nature than typical which demonstrate his privilege as a noble for he never had to do any manual labor. he has a scar running down his left hand from a jousting incident. he does have some callouses from participating in athletics but they aren’t evidently noticeable. in general his hands are rather unmarred and he wears only one ring which was a heirloom from his neville grandparents. 

016.  how  does  your  character  smell?  what  is  their  favourite  scent?

alexander is very keen on keeping up his hygiene (revolutionary at the time, ain’t it) and making sure he looks well groomed. he likes to bathe with rosewater so usually there’s always a scent of flowers wafting from him. otherwise, he spends a good deal of time outdoors participating in a variety of sports. and so he will have a hint of cedar and pine. 

in terms of the scent of other people, he has always liked flowers, particularly roses, sweet peas and lilies. he also enjoys the smell of sweet honey and on occasion a sharper scent like cinnamon. 

017.  how  would  your  muse  describe  their  religious  beliefs?

alexander is catholic by birth and by status but his religious stance is nowhere as devoted as his brother’s edmund. he takes much of what the church says with a grain of salt. he understands that when he is expected to wed, his wife shall be properly catholic and together they shall uphold the traditions of the court. but personally, alexander doesn’t think much of religion. though he does have a fear of God so he’d rather abide instead of fight. 

018.  what  rules  does  your  muse  live  by,  if  any?

anything his mother says he shall keep an open ear to. he often grits his teeth at the protocol expected of him by his elder siblings, he follows as decorum instructs. however he gladly disposes of rules in times of favor when he can use his status as prince to do what he pleases (so long as no scandal were to arise). 

019.  does  your  muse  overshare,  or  are  they  more  private?

alexander generally is a private person despite his seemingly more extroverted personality. he only truly overshares with those he fully believes he can trust or else he maintains a barrier to outsiders. 

020.  is  your  muse  a  gossiper?  are  they  more  likely  to  argue  with  their  fists  or  tongue?  what  does  their  voice  sound  like?

i would say alexander is more inclined to hear about gossip to stay informed of the schemes at court but he wouldn’t dare spout nonsense lest it fall into the wrong ears. alexander has both brains and brawns and usually has an even temper so he prefers to spar with his tongue. however if pushed to his limits, he has no qualms in using his fists to fight. 

021.  is  your  muse  a …  pessimist  or  optimist …  lover  or  fighter … believer  in  happy  endings …  believer  in  love  at  first  sight?

generally, alexander is fairly fifty fifty. he’s pessimistic with the future of his brother taking reign over the throne but optimist that his mother and the rest of his fully related siblings shall secure their places and be unmoved from their positions. alexander would like to believe in happy endings but has no desire to achieve them if such things didn’t occur naturally. i believe alexander would be a bigger advocate for lust at first sight. his concept of loving outside of family is little to none so i do not think he has any care for it. 

022.  what  sense  of  humour  does  your  character  have?

alexander is still rather immature and at times, idiotic. his sense of humor can be vulgar but that usually occurs if he’s intoxicated. otherwise, to those who he finds to be good company, he is rather teasing in nature. 

023.  what  bad  habits  does  your  character  have?

sleeping around with both married and unwed characters would probably be the worst he’s done. drinking is another vice and has a natural inclination to be a hoarder. he likes to collect useless things especially when they’re gifts. 

024.  how  does  your  character  feel  about  growing  old?

alexander doesn’t mind aging however, he is concerned that when more time passes, his end with his mother shall come nearer. otherwise, he does look upon growing older with an optimism. he knows that he can secure his place as he matures as his relations with most people are well received. he also awaits for a day where he may have a chance at seizing the throne, perhaps proving his brothers incompetence and taking the power swiftly from his hands. 

025.  does  your  character  prefer  adventure  to  safety  and  security?

in his childhood, alexander was a curious child who would try almost anything and everything - perhaps panicking the servants and his mother alike. but now that he is older, alexander prizes security first and foremost because of his line in succession as well as others. 

[royal-writer]

Do your kisses feel the same? Do you still have the same touch? And will you whisper softly, Because you’ve missed me so much? Have you heard all of my prayers, When I laid down at night? And did you feel my body, When I held your pillow tight?

-

Watching Hepsiba was like a residual haunting; a picture playing over and over again in the house. Though she was growing into her own; also fractures of him, still pieces of Essätha shone through her actions in some manners all but too eerie. It made him wonder how much of her charm was natural, and how much was an inherited gift. Anyone could be special; and sweet, coming from any lifestyle but there was an overlapping photo of someone else laid into her that seemed too real.

With a smile that was adoring and frayed with an exhaustion that had never been satisfied all these years, Amon held to the side of the sturdy ladder carefully as he watched his brave little girl. She perched herself in a way that made his heart flip with concern, but he hovered nearby to make sure he was there to catch her, should she take a fall.

“Do the curtains look straight to you?”

“Pull the one on your right a little more inward, I think.”

With hands still so endearingly small, she reached over to tug the fabric a little bit more into place. Her body wobbled, and she leaned to brace a hand against the window, leaving a handprint. The light of the sun was blotted out, but it was still absorbed in the softened caramel of her eyes and in the quirky stiff smile of concentration she wore.

“Better?”

“Much,” he murmured softly, offer out a hand to brace her back as she wavered. “Now come on down, Sibby, you’re going to give me heart failure.”

She scoffed. “I was the one to take them down and wash them, I should be the one to put them back up!”

He almost laughed at her defiance; the burning spirit in her steadfast resolute behavior. Just like his Essie, she picked her battlegrounds in the most obscure places, but he loved her all the same.

Keeping a careful hand pressed lightly to her back, Amon aided in guiding Hepsiba back down the rungs and to the floor. She hopped down the last two proudly, offering him a rebellious smile to his high-pitched gasp and narrowed gaze of unspoken scolding. His spritely little girl liked to push her luck. He just hoped she wouldn’t push it too far.

“Be more careful sweetheart, please,” he mumbled.

“I was careful,” she sang in response, reaching for his arm. “I knew you were here to catch me if I took a fall.”

Oh, how unprepared his heart was for her words. She knew him. She saw through him, like her mother did. Trusted him just as deeply. Yes he would protect her, at all costs. She could count on him for anything, anything at all, and he would never judge her. He would never persecute her or toss her aside. She could make the worst mistakes, and he would still be there to pick her up and offer her a better path; a safer path, to follow.

He sighed deeply, emptying some of the ache from his chest. Though he ignored her smug grin, he did bother to slip the strands of soft-toned ebony loose from her two braids back behind her ears and look down into those vibrant, youthful eyes to feel the parental tug on his heartstrings. How he loved his little girl with all of his very being. The center of his world. The reason for his being.

Sibby giggled, free at heart and untamed still as the wilds. She twirled away from him, her plain summer dress twirling around her ankles as she spun around.

He unlatched the extension on the ladder Abernathy had made for them, and took it down cautiously. His eyes darted across to where she was, always on the edge of overprotective mode.

Joining her over at the dresser too tall for her, Amon watched as she took a rag from a bucket she’d been letting it soak in. Water and mineral oils, a touch of lemon. She wrung it out a few times, and got to work on wiping down the furniture with a large grin plastered on her face.

“You don’t have to do all of that.”

“I know, but I want to help.”

Chuckling softly, Amon picked up a small framed portrait to set on the floor. “There’s nothing else you’d rather be doing?”

Hepsiba shook her head. He reached for the next item on the stand.

“No, daddy. I love spending time with you. Besides,” she chimed in brightly, “helping others makes me feel good. If I can make someone’s life a little easier; a little better, by doing one good deed at a time, then I’ll start somewhere small, and hope I make a difference. I think it would make mom proud. It’s nice to put a smile on someone’s face, don’t you-”

It was too late. As a rush of cold shock and churning emotions conquered him, Amon’s shaky hands fumbled with the porcelain in his hands. It hit the floor, shattering into dozens of chunks and fragments.

There was a stunned silence. Hepsiba instantly reached for his arm, leaving the towel on the dresser.

“Daddy-”

His breath caught. She never met her mother. She never met Essätha, but her mimicry was so spot on, so alike to her that he thought he had to be dreaming, or hallucinating. It was deja vu. She should not know her mother’s phrasing; should not know how to crawl under people’s skin in the manners she could yet she could and she did. She saw through veil’s like a thin sheet of glass, and spoke loudly and proudly of hope and love and happiness and peace like it was the only outcome imaginable. Even on the days when it rained; when it poured and looked as though the sun would never return, she still smiled and would said that the sun would rise again, and all this rain would make the flowers bloom and grow and feed the rivers that spread the lifeblood of water to the animals.

It was a struggle not to hear and see Essätha in her, then. They shared the same heart; the same wisdom, the same personalities that burned bright and you could not forget.

But he could not make sense of how she knew her mother so intimately, without having ever known her. Without ever hearing her voice. Without ever seeing her smile outside of portraits. No novels or papers did her justice. No stories could capture her essence, yet she knew her mother like she knew herself; like she knew her own soul, and it reflected in a prism so alike it made him ache all anew with longing from a wound that could never heal.

He dragged in a deep, shuddering rush of air, and blinked down upon the floor where the remnants of the vase were scattered.

His throat constricted helplessly.

The remains of the vase were almost indistinguishable. The ornate golden handles were broken into pieces. All the carefully painted details of flowers across the soft emerald color were fallen petals, some protruding beneath the dresser. The scaly texture of the winding serpent on the surface, painstakingly carved into the craftsmanship during its molding process, lay in pieces. Its granite mottled pattern, a close resemblance to his late wife, lay everywhere. A single shard, with a perfectly sculpted golden butterscotch eye, seemed to stare back at him.

Amon’s insides shuddered. One of the first year anniversary gifts on their wedding day he had gotten for his darling Essätha; the flowers he had hand painted upon it himself, and he… he had shattered it. Broke it. Lost it as he did her; the piece of furniture not used since her passing that sat in a solemn reminder.

He was numb to Hepsiba’s hand on his arm. Her scared, worried words did not penetrate his skull.

“Sibby sweetheart, would you mind leaving the room?” he rasped, “I don’t want you to get cut on any of these…”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Twisted it into a shape of worry, and finally, murmured a soft, “Yes, daddy.”

He did not hear her walking away. He was too frozen, staring right back into the single eye looking up at him.

He could not replace it.

He would never be able to replace it.

A throaty moan, raspy and thick, tore tore through his chest. It rattled his bones, and made his strained muscles ache.

He collapsed to his knees, a broken man, picking up pieces of his heart with shaking hands.

“Oh my darling, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry my sweet Essätha. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The door squeaked softly. A bright-eyed, curious Hepsiba peered back in; having been hovering just outside the entry to his chambers.

“Dad?”

Shaking, the nobleman sank lower; clutching a sliver of pottery to his chest as though to fuse it back into him.

Hepsiba’s shoot scuffled nervously against the floor as she slipped back inside, closing it behind her. She made her way over to him cautiously, taking to a knee beside him.

“It’s okay, daddy,” she soothed softly, reaching for him. “It can be fixed. Adela can mend it back together.”

No, it couldn’t. She could repair it whole once more, but it would not be the same. It would know its invisible scars. And what if they could not find every pieces?

It was priceless; irreplaceable. He had destroyed it. He destroyed it like he did all things he handled.

Wrapping her arms around him, Hepsiba held to him tightly, giving an affectionate squeeze.

Amon reached for her frantically, clutching tightly to the last shaft of warm summer light in an endless winter. His weeping raked through him, body and soul. He had enough strength, enough heart, enough arms to hold two. He had enough inside, for two, but he could only hold to one.

And maybe there was another holding on to him. Maybe he just couldn’t see. Maybe it was just the feeling, that never escaped his heart. The yearning. The soft edges of unforgotten love.

But he wished he could still hold that love too, sobbing relentlessly into the arms of his daughter as she consoled him in gentle murmurs that still made him feel at home.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It had been days, but it felt like centuries and eternities past before Adela held out the vase to him again. Not seeming to know its importance, she merely grinned at him and brightly exclaimed: “Here you are Amon, good as new!”

He murmured his thanks, quietly, and saw her off with a wary wave. It wasn’t until she was down the street did he feel safe to take it up to the lone living room upstairs to sit upon the sofa, and examine it. Indeed, it appeared flawless. Yet he cradled it to his chest; unwilling to let it go, not wanting to put it down.

A small fist knocked at the threshold wall mindfully. He looked with eyes of a storm, his pupils a cold and dead center to see the nervous tangle of hair falling over a small and timid face. There was a smudge of chocolate on the corner of her lip, and an innocence in how she clung to the front of her shirt. It was a likeness to Essie’s nervous tick; unable to keep fidgety hands still.

“May I come in?”

Although it was not a room, he surmised her inquiry to enter his space. He nodded, scooting over from the center of the cream couch to pat the cushion beside him and offer her a spot.

Hepsiba tiptoed over. She eyed him slowly, catching his glazed-over eyes and the smile that didn’t crinkle his eyes. She slid in to the spot at his side. Her hand reached out for him, but she stopped herself as she realized the precious artifact he was holding.

Leaning the porcelain against his side with his other arm, he offered his daughter his hand. She looked her arm instead through the hole it created, and leaned into his side to rest her palm atop the back of his hand. He laid his arm down loosely, palm resting to his thigh.

“Is it all better now?”

He nodded mutely. “It is.”

She studied his face. Even when he did not look directly into her eyes, she scrunched her nose with knowing.

“… Is the vase important to you because it was mommy’s?”

The nobleman sighed deeply, from the lost part of his breathless soul, and nodded. “Yes, Hepsiba.”

“Are you upset with me that it broke?”

Wide-eyed, he met her gaze this time. “No, sweetheart, of course not. It’s not your fault it broke.”

“But I startled you-?”

How could someone so small, realize so much? Surely most other people would have thought it was a simple slip; a misplaced grasp, a weak handle that had fell away in the hand that made him drop it.

“It wasn’t your fault, Sibby,” Amon stressed, gripping her hand briefly. “I’m not mad. I’m not upset. This isn’t your fault, honey, do you understand?”

She searched his features a few heartbeats longer than necessary, before she finally nodded with understanding.

He sighed, staring back down at the pottery. Its glossy finish still glistened brightly in the sun, making the scales have an iridescent shimmer.

Silence dragged. Hepsiba went from staring at him, to the vase, and back again numerous times. He did not move, a statue of fixation upon his wife’s gift.

“Dad?”

His blank vision stirred to life, staring upon his wife’s final gift to him. Her eyes full of wonder, her youthfully small hands wrapped around his. She appeared quite apprehensive about opening her mouth, and he thought he may have to encourage her to find her words, but she quietly finally managed to find her voice again.

“What was mom like?”

His eyes grew misty. He stared past her, vacantly, into the unknown.

How many stories had they told her? How many tales they could recount?

How could anyone ever describe a woman so perfectly wonderful with words that could not capture her true being; the essence of her beauty and splendor of courage and kindness?

As Amon’s lips tugged into a ghostly form of a smile long-forgotten, he choked, and whispered hoarsely: “A heavenly, gorgeous woman with a tender heart of gold, who gave me some of the most joyous moments of my life.”

He paused. The focus of his eyes realigned; seeing the stare of intrigue and awe in such honest and heartwarming eyes.

His smile grew. “… Including you.”

The child’s expression grew radiant and eager. “Tell me more,” she whispered.

He tried to laugh, but it was strained with hurt. “I met her at the lowest point in my life. She was… glorious,” he sighed gently at the memory. “I never met anyone with so much heart; with so much willingness to help others and an open mind to listen and be sympathetic, and true, and warm. I thought she was utterly stunning right from the start; a delicate and pretty creature, and I had no idea how much she would change my life… I never thought it was possible someone could help me be more me, and retrieve me from the shell I’d been living in for years.”

“She was a brave woman. She put up a fight against anything; no matter the size or the power it held. She had guts, even if she was afraid. If she had an opinion, and she wanted it to be heard, she’d shout it from the top of her lungs until you listening. She fought injustice with ferocity; stood up for the weak and frightened without a second thought. She’d put herself between someone and the snarling words of an oppressor at every turn. She was conscious of the world, and determined to make it better.”

“Your mother was very wise,” he continued on, quieter. “She tried to see the good in everything. She understood things about the world, and about people, that most were too shallow to see. She knew how to comfort, and she seemed to always know the right kind of things to say.”

“She was magic. She was herself; beautiful, true, passionate, strong, gentle. She knew how to make me laugh. She knew how to make people smile, just by being herself. She was pure and rare and something the world could perhaps, not always understand, but her sensitivity made her all the more precious.”

“All I ever wanted, was to return the joy she gave to me back unto her,” he rasped, pulling the vase a little closer as he grew distractedly washed away to the drowning sea of agony. “All I wanted, was to make her happy; to make her feel safe, to share a life with her…”

Sibby’s small hand squeezed his to pull him back to the sandy beach, breathing a bit hard for air. She smiled up at him with a sad understanding.

“Does talking about her make you sad?”

Amon smiled a fraction wider. “… Yes. I miss her, terribly. It hurts, but it also makes me happy, because I get to remember all the wonderful times we had together, and all the adventures we took in the time we had each other.”

Absorbing his words, his little girl nodded slowly. “I bet mother would say a lot of the same things, about you.”

He laughed huskily. “Knowing her, I’m sure she would have. She always thought better of me… Saw better of me, then…” Then I did myself.

When he didn’t finish his statement aloud, Hepsiba cocked her head at him quizzically. He swallowed, clearing his throat and offering a tentative smile.

“Would you do anything to have her back?”

His breath stuck in his throat. Her gaze bore into him. She didn’t seem to realize the weight of her question. Or perhaps she did; and wanted him to do the soul-searching that he tried every day to suffocate beneath the blankets.

Slowly, Amon exhaled. “… I would,” he agreed, softly. “Unfortunately, bringing someone back to life has risks, and can be harrowing on the one brought back.”

“Did you try?”

“… No more questions, Sibby,” Amon hushed gently, bringing his gaze to the floor. “… Not about that. Please.”

He could feel the weight of the small girls stare upon him. She finally nodded, squeezing his hand with reassurance.

“Okay, daddy,” she whispered. “I love you.”

He pulled her tighter against his side; the vase on his other side pressed firmer to his chest too as he placed a kiss atop the young girls head. A single, beaded tear fell into her locks.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

[aion-rsa]

Ted Lasso and Other TV Bosses We’d Walk Over Hot Coals For

https://ift.tt/3ryGOvx

In the heady moments of celebration after England’s victory over Denmark in this year’s Euros semi-final, the sight of team manager Gareth Southgate prompted ITV pundit Gary Neville to comment: “The standard of leaders in this country the past couple of years has been poor. Looking at that man, he’s everything a leader should be: respectful, humble, he tells the truth.” 

The former Man U right-back’s words, directed at the political rulers of a country riven by Brexit, tap into a modern craving for decency. Fed a diet of self-serving narcissism from our public figures, we hunger for more wholesome fare: moral character, humility, honesty, kindness. In the year of horrors that was 2020, that appetite was temporarily sated on TV by fictional football manager Ted Lasso. 

Played in the Apple TV series by Jason Sudeikis (who, in true Ted style, wore a shirt to the Ted Lasso season two launch in support of the three young Black England footballers who received racist abuse after their team’s eventual loss to Italy in the final), Ted’s thoroughgoing decency won everyone over to The Lasso Way. He’s the gold standard of TV bosses – selfless, caring, wise, inspirational, and patiently dedicated to bringing out the best in his players and the team as a whole. He may not always win on the pitch, but he always wins in our hearts. And if those words make you want to heave, then you, friend, may just need a little more Lasso in your life. #Believe.

To celebrate his return, we present Ted’s TV peers, the bosses for whom you’d go any number of extra miles.

Leslie Knope – Parks & Recreation

There is no finer example set in the TV workplace than Leslie Barbara Knope. The Pawnee public servant leads from the front, the sides and the back. She’s the waffle-powered sheepdog of City Hall, yapping co-workers and townsfolk into shape with her relentless work ethic and bottomless optimism. Leslie’s a boss who cares so much that she’s already bought your Christmas gift. And your birthday gift. And made you a special hand-crafted gift to mark the half-year anniversary of the day you first met. She sleeps three hours a night, runs entirely on sugar (or should that be salgar?), has a binder for every eventuality, and always, always has your back. Her rubber-soled energy is so infectious that over seven seasons she even manages to motivate the lazy (Tom), disaffected (April), dumb (Andy), aloof (Donna), hapless (Jerry) and the downright obstructive (Ron). For a gal named ‘nope’, she’s a whole lot of yes. LM

Bertram Cooper – Mad Men

Technically, advertising firm Sterling Cooper on Mad Men has two bosses – Roger Sterling and Bertram Cooper. Coop, however, is the let’s say…more experienced of the two and takes on the role of boss. And what a boss he is! The eccentric office sage played by Robert Morse takes a decidedly hands off approach to managing the workplace. Do whatever you want in this Madison Avenue ad agency, as long as you take your shoes off when you enter Bert’s office. And if you’re nice enough he might show you his collection of erotic octopus art. AB

Jacqueline Carlyle – The Bold Type

The Editor-In-Chief of Scarlet magazine, the women’s title at the heart of ridiculous millennial wish fulfillment vehicle The Bold Type is part mentor, part mother figure, part fairy godmother to the three young women at the centre of the show. Jane is an intern when she first meets Jacqueline, who greets her with “Are you a writer? You look like a writer.” Because, yep, it really is that easy to get a job at a top magazine. The Bold Type is nonsense but it’s very good hearted nonsense which tries in earnest to tackle big issues while maintaining a sunny outlook. Be yourself, be passionate, be bold, the show says, and the world is at your feet. Sent a couple of tweets? Congratulations, have a promotion! Threatened with a lawsuit because of something you wrote? No bother, have a promotion! Fraudulently passed yourself off as a stylist when you’re not, thereby ruining a key relationship? Meh. Promotion for you! Promotions all round! Jacqueline is glamorous and wise, endlessly patient with her proteges and seemingly in possession of a bottomless budget. We all wish we worked for Jacqueline and she’s a wonderful (imaginary) role model. We’re just slightly nervous for any young fans of the show who ever get to work for an actual, real life Editor-In-Chief… RF

Mr. Krabs – SpongeBob SquarePants

Mr. Krabs is a good boss because he’s refreshingly upfront about what matters to him. Simply put: the crab likes money. As long as you’re putting in the hours and keeping the profit margins fat, Mr. Krabs will be your best friend. Sure, he takes advantage of SpongeBob’s naivete from time to time. But deep down, you know the guy has a heart as big as his enormous whale daughter, Pearl. AB

Supt. Ted Hastings – Line of Duty

Think of Ted Hastings, head of Central Police’s Anti-Corruption Unit 12, as Ulysses – a man sailing on dangerous waters but so determined not to be seduced by the sirens’ song that he’s tied himself to the ship’s mast and stopped his ears with wax. Except replace ‘siren’s song’ with ‘bungs from criminal gangs’, and ‘ship’s mast’ and ‘wax’ with ‘sheer force of will, son’. Ted’s a colossus of integrity in a world of backhanders and turning-a-blind-eye. He does the right thing even when it’s the hard thing, and if you’re one of his officers, then you’re his for life. (Unless you’re a corrupt gangster plant, in which case, by Mary, Joseph and the wee donkey, he’ll never live down the shame.) Ted may have more decency in his side-parting than most officers have in their whole bodies, but he still has his flaws. The stock he puts in loyalty makes him inflexible, and his temper’s a thing to be seen, but the key thing about Ted as a leader is that when he makes a mistake, he owns up to it. We should all be so lucky to have a gaffer like him. LM

Ron Donald – Party Down

Starz’s brilliant comedy Party Down premiered around the same time as classic NBC sitcom Parks and Recreation. As such, Ken Marino’s perpetually stressed boss character Ron Donald didn’t get nearly as much attention as another boss named Ron: Ron Swanson. Let’s be clear, however, nobody would want Ron Swanson as a boss because that means you’d have to regularly interact with a libertarian. Instead, it’s far better to be in the good graces of Ron Donald. This Ron will support your dreams all the while telling you about his own to own a Souper Crackers franchise. AB

Read more

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Press Gang: How Steven Moffat’s First Show Shaped a Generation

By Rosie Fletcher

TV

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By Louisa Mellor

Lynda Day – Press Gang

Bit of of a niche one – you probably have to be British and in your 40s to even know who this is – but Lynda Day, played by Julia Sawalha deserves a mention as the youngest boss on the list. Editor of the Junior Gazette, the after school newspaper run by pupils at the heart of Steven Moffat’s very first show she’s an erudite journalist, a ruthless news hound and a self possessed young woman who cares more about being right than about being liked. Lynda isn’t particularly soft or warm but she is a boss who would make you a better writer. You’d strive to please Lynda, want to live up to her incredibly high standards and know that the work you were doing on the paper could actually make a difference. Lynda is all about work ethic and integrity. Small of frame, sharp of tongue, you wouldn’t wanna mess with her, but you know she’ll get shit done. RF  

Captain Holt – Brooklyn 99

It says something about a boss when you wouldn’t just walk over hot coals for them, you would also do it for their pet dog. Cheddar the corgi is just one of many reasons to snap your sharpest salute to Captain Raymond “Do Not Call Me Ray Or Use Contractions In My Presence” Holt. Precinct captain of the 99, Holt is a walking yardstick of fine taste, good manners, linguistic clarity and grammatical coherence. Holt values simplicity and despises vulgarity. Do your job and do it right, and you will earn his hard-won respect, perhaps indicated by a very slight incline of the head if he is feeling frivolous. Holt has already earned your respect, for leading an exemplary career as an openly gay NYC cop since 1987, facing down racists, homophobes and the lowest of the low: people who use “What’s up?” as a greeting. Captain Holt’s impossibly high standards are a bar few reach, but to which we can all aspire. LM

Ian Grimm and Poppy Li – Mythic Quest

Mythic Quest creative directors Ian Grimm (Rob McElhenney) and Poppy Li (Charlotte Nicdao) are messes on their own. But when their personalities combine, they create one great boss unit who keeps things moving and keeps things lively. Granted, I wouldn’t want to work for Ian and Poppy as a programmer or dev on the Mythic Quest team because crunch is real (and I also have no such skills). They would make for a great boss team in just about any other industry though. AB

DCI Cassie Stuart – Unforgotten

Some bosses try to impress their status on employees by turning up the volume, but not DCI Cassie Stuart. Everything she does in ITV police drama Unforgotten, from case meetings to suspect interrogations, she does in the same controlled, low voice. It gives her words an intensity that shouting wouldn’t achieve and makes her cold-case murder team lean in to absorb the significance of what she’s saying. Usually, that’s on the theme of how they owe victims answers and are going to find them. Diligent and dedicated, she trusts her team, especially partner Sunny, and is the kind of boss whose praise really means something. A ‘good work’ from her and you’d be walking on air. LM

Conan O’Brien – Conan

This is technically violating the spirit of this thought exercise because Conan O’Brien is not fictional. What he is, however, is a boss…in both the metaphorical and literal sense of the word. No late night talk show host has ever reveled in being the boss of a staff as much as Conan O’Brien has on his shows like Late Night, The Tonight Show, and Conan. He views his role as boss as an opportunity to troll his employees like a corny father torturing his children with dad jokes. Many of Conan’s behind the scenes workers have become stars in their own right, like producer Jordan Schlansky or assistant Sona Movessian. And it’s all because Conan can’t help but want everyone to be involved and having a good time. Just like any great boss would want. AB

Captain Janeway – Star Trek Voyager

Anyone can be a good boss in a thriving workplace, but it takes a person of strong character to stay empathetic, decisive, and focused when everything goes to hell. In the very first episode of Star Trek: Voyager, Captain Janeway is stranded with her crew on the wrong side of the galaxy, 70,000 light years from home. She is tasked with getting not only her Starfleet crew home, but also the remaining members of the Maquis vessel Voyager was trying to capture when they were both pulled into the unexplored Delta quadrant. She does this all without the institutional support of the Federation, and without the certainty that they will ever make it back. It’s not always pretty, and Janeway makes some questionable decisions along the way, but it’s hard to imagine Voyager making it home without Janeway as their tough-as-nails boss. KB

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Ted Lasso Season 2 is available now on Apple TV+

The post Ted Lasso and Other TV Bosses We’d Walk Over Hot Coals For appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[calebandnott]

Title: Thoughts Unforgotten

Summary: Caleb lies in bed sometime before episode 12, unable to sleep and unable to stop thinking. Angsty musings on his past, his place within The Mighty Nein, and himself.

I love one (1) morally grey stink wizard who hates himself and is berated by an overwhelming onslaught of psychological symptoms. This has literally zero plot and is just meant to be an exercise into his psychological state of mind and how he thinks about himself and his current situation, because there is just so much going on beneath the surface with him.

Word count: 1200

Link: AO3

He lay in bed staring at the rafters of the inn, vaguely wondering if the wood rot was bad enough that it would cause a potentially lethal roof-caving incident. Not a bad way to go out – a quick death in a bed that wasn’t particularly warm or soft but was certainly warmer and softer than the battlefield or the trodden dirt of an alleyway. Deciding that the rot wasn’t quite bad enough to pose a threat, he tried closing his eyes again. He didn’t expect that sleep would come – it almost never did – but he might as well act the part and try. After all, Frumpkin pretended to sleep, curled in a ball at his hip. He absentmindedly stroked the cat’s fur, comforted now rather than disturbed, as he was initially, by the cool to the touch fur. He tried to focus on the feeling, willing all of his consciousness into his hand, in a feeble attempt to stop the thoughts.

Caleb thought he could stand the sleepless nights if they weren’t accompanied by the thoughts. At this point, when Frumpkin’s comfort failed, he would usually pull out a book and try to read until he quite literally passed out of exhaustion. But he only had a few books in his current possession and he had read them so many times that their bindings were falling apart. Besides, he already had them memorized after his first reading, so the re-reads were largely futile. He feared he’d soon get desperate enough that he’d ask to borrow Tusk Love from Jester –or, more likely, ask Nott to nip it from her, as he wasn’t sure if he could stand Jester’s likely attempts to engage in enthusiastic conversation about how ‘dreamy’ Oskar was. But since he hadn’t degraded himself to this decision yet, reading was out of the question. And so the thoughts came, relentless and unrestrained.

Caleb knew they didn’t trust him. He didn’t begrudge them for this, because he didn’t trust them either – he didn’t trust anyone. What did bother him was that they probably didn’t like him, because while Caleb was still weary of their motivations, he liked him all. Fjord was so charismatic, in a commanding way that didn’t reek of power hungry authority. Beau was too inquisitive for his comfort, but she was so full of life and vigor that only youthful optimism can provide. Jester was privileged but she was also sweet and weird and didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought about her and gave him stale pastries. Molly was nonchalantly the most charming person he’d ever met. Yasha was mysterious and reclusive, but in a way that made people drawn to her rather than distrustful. And Nott, sweet Nott the Brave who had shown her bravery time and time again but thought she had none. He liked them all, but he knew the feeling wasn’t mutual. How could it be?

He had tried to keep his distance from them. He knew sticking with them was best for his survival: in only a few short weeks of knowing them, he had already made more gold than he had ever seen in his life. But while a physical closeness was necessary, that didn’t mean he had to get emotionally close. He couldn’t. So, he had tried to play it cool, just present himself as the poor wizard who could benefit the others and not cause any trouble.

But then the priest had burned.

No, he wouldn’t think about it again. He couldn’t think about it again. The thoughts kept instinctually surfacing but he repeatedly pushed them down. The hand that was petting Frumpkin grew more and more frantic, until Frumpkin woke up, sensing Caleb’s was distress. The spirit cat shifted positions and started kneading Caleb’s thigh, grounding him. Caleb breathed in time with the kneading, grateful that Frumpkin was a cat again. When he had been a bird he attempted to hop on Caleb’s arm and, granted, it elicited a chuckle from Caleb, but did not have the desired effect. Eventually he calmed down by focusing on Frumpkin’s paws pushing into his side and gave him a scratch on the head, telling him that he could go back to his pseudo-sleep again.

He sighed shakily, turning onto his side away from Nott’s squeaky snores and occasional worried mumblings in her sleep. He was worried about her, but the worry was oddly comforting in a way. He hadn’t cared for someone in a very, very long time and it was a refreshing change to worry about someone other than himself. When he was thinking about her, he wasn’t think about what he had seen, what he had done. What he was…

No. Pushing those thoughts down again, for what felt like the hundredth time that hour, he tried thinking about tomorrow’s events. He was anxious about working with a revolutionary group but had early on decided that if anything went even the slightest bit sideways, he would be gone before they knew it. He’d try to take Nott with him, of course, and that might complicate things a bit, but he was sure they could manage it. Maybe they needed a new group soon anyways. He would be sorry to lose this one, since they were so clearly competent and a veritable money pot of their own, and, despite his better judgment, he had started to really like them. But he also craved that immediate relief he felt whenever he entered a new place where no one knew him. Somehow, he suspected the loss would outweigh the relief for the first time since – well, for the first time in a long time. But he sure as hell wasn’t getting caught up in a revolution gone awry. So, if he needed to, he would disappear, as he always did. In the absence of the ability to disappear completely, to not exist or exist as Frumpkin did, he’d simply go away, vanish into a new town, a new place.

With time, he could probably forget Fjord’s smile, strangely devoid of tusks, seemingly sincere but with a slight forced edge that only someone as well versed in deception as he was could notice. He’d forget the way Beau’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm every time they decided on a new path to take or found something that promised adventure in the future. He’d forget Jester’s laughter, laughter than never got caught in the throat or tried to cover something up, laughter that was pure and gleeful and full of joy. He’d forget Molly, all of wondrous, weird Molly who unsettled him in the best way possible, who made him want to see colours in the world again.

He hoped he never had to try to forget Nott.

His companions were forever solidified in his memory simply because he had seen them. His memory wouldn’t let him forget a face. But he’d try. He had to try. He told himself he could barely remember his face anymore, even though he every time he closed his eyes he could see it as if he had just turned away from him.

The one thing he took comfort in is that they would forget him.

[doorsclosingslowly]

Your death is a number but I cannot count that high (5/?)

In which conclusions are drawn. Some of them are even accurate.

Zombie Savage AU | 2.1k | canon divergent after Son of Dathomir | also on AO3

This Darth Maul is a far cry from the angry stalking beast of Raydonia. He’s quiet, for starters. He’s lost his shadow. He looks much older, too; the man standing before her in the busy landing bay of the massive Mandalorian cruiser has aged far beyond the mere months it’s been since they last saw each other, when Asajj saved Obi-Wan Kenobi from two raving monsters.

He’s not gaunt, but close. Ribs peek out shamelessly from his open tunic. Like all nightbrothers that Asajj has ever seen apart from fucking Savage Opress after his faulty upgrade, Maul’s never been much more than lean muscle, though she always attributed that to his exile, and for the others, to the scarce harsh landscape of Dathomir. To the tributes they paid to her clan, instead of eating. Perhaps the males were just bred for thinness, though.

After all, Maul apparently now commands Mandalore, or the terrorist army occupying it, depending on who’s asked. By all rights, he should have put on weight instead of losing what little he had. He owns luxuries, now.

He should look better.

That he doesn’t fills Asajj with quiet satisfaction. It strengthens her hopes: she did not want to come, but apparently, she was right.

A wreck. That’s what he is now. A sickly green tinge to his red face, and he’s barely more than spat-out garbage, even though Sidious apparently still couldn’t kill him. He’s slouched and finely trembling and stubbornly upright, a purple-armored Mando close by his side, arms ready to catch him should he fall. Not a warlord, but a has-been tolerated for his former glories—if there were any—and Asajj tucks the fault line close. It may prove useful. He must be weak indeed to tolerate this display.

If it wasn’t for his black markings, there would be deep sleepless bruises visible under his eyes, because surely, his recent nights have been just as restless as Asajj’s. He’s probably got the pounding headache, too. The alien revulsions. The hallucinations. The second-hand death wish.

Savage Opress is Maul’s apprentice, like he is Asajj’s mate.

They’re in the same boat now.

No, not boat. They’re tied to the same karking boulder. The same force bond, driving them both slowly insane. If anyone else has been subjected to the strange, constant psychic assault of nonexistent things wriggling under her skin that she finally managed to trace to that as yet unbroken mental connection, it’s Maul.

Despite all this, he is also saner, more controlled, than she has ever seen him. Open hatred in his eyes and a hand tapping nervously against the hilt of the lightsaber dangling from his belt, but apart from that, he is still. Silent. Waiting. Empty. Glowing—

Green.

The longing hits Asajj so strongly it almost bowls her over. Green, and she recognizes it now: faint green traces on Maul, like her Sisters’ magicks. Light, slowly leaking out.

He looks utterly miserable.

Asajj doesn’t pity him. Wouldn’t even be tempted. Maul brought this pain down on himself, and on all their heads. He let Savage loose. He… Asajj bares her teeth, and the pathetic handcuffs fall. She reins herself in. He is bathed in their magicks now, but he killed them. Maul brought Sidious to Dathomir. Every day still, unforgotten—unforgettable screams ring through Asajj’s mind, the last desperate pleas of the Nightsister witches before their annihilation, of Asajj’s family, and that’s not even the worst problem. It’s not what brings her here. She could have coped, if it was just death-screams. Asajj mourns her people. That makes sense. The other thoughts, though…

(There would be no sleep tonight, Asajj decided when the last Sister’s cry had hushed. She knew how it went. She had been abandoned by Hal’Sted—and good fucking riddance—by Master Narec, by Dooku, and now her clan was gone too. It would be unwise to sleep. Instead, she threw knives at the wall and collected them and threw them again in moving meditation, until all was still inside and action automatic. She sank into the force.

Then, after uncounted hours, faces came to her. Not her family’s. Instead, patterned horned faces she did not care about. Maul, laughing and whispering instructions and begging her desperately to stay alive; other nightbrothers; and over and over, a small orange-skinned maleling that was vaguely familiar. They were faces she didn’t care for, or ones she hated—this was all Maul’s fault, something awake and outside knew—but she mourned them. Each face was the loss of an entire life, a world that could have been. She cried. I am alone now, she thought. All of my brothers are dead.

Let me die, Mother.

When Asajj realized her mind had been hijacked and fought her way back to the surface, she had already cut through her vambrace and deep into her arm.)

The other thoughts are foreign thoughts. They’re not her, for all they take control as soon as her attention lapses. They’re intrusions. Hallucinations. Concerns she’s never had, or not for a very long time. Asajj has been alone, abandoned, for most her life. She’s dealt with the pain. She’s beaten it long ago. She has emerged, powerful and vicious and the master of her own destiny.

Still, the other thoughts are impossible to get rid of, relentless despite and because of their absurdity—She remade me and I cannot die—and they had mystified Asajj, terrified her, until she’d finally remembered after the first sleepless week: the living force is a web connecting all beings, and there are still two reinforced bonds tethering her to the living. Two chains to drag her down.

One, to her former Master, the man who betrayed her and who she failed to kill. This one’s dormant, for everyone’s convenience.

The other: to her slave.

Apparently, Savage Opress is trying to murder her again.

(Their connection had originally been mostly a formality. This is what happens when you win a maleling, her Sisters had explained. He belongs to you now. His thoughts belong to you. Asajj had cared much more about results than about the arcane theories of her people then, for all the plan turned out a failure. She’d been naïve. She hadn’t asked whether it could be used against her. She hadn’t asked whether it could be broken. The connection had been nothing but a minor nuisance her Sisters should have warned her of, though of course, none of the others ever had to suffer. Nightbrothers die long before their leaky thoughts get too repetitive. Slowly, she had grown used to it, and then Savage had tried to kill her and met Maul and finally learned how to shield his mind.

And that would be the end of the whole affair, Asajj had hoped.

Fat chance.)

Dathomir burned, and less than a day after, the force bond flared back to life. Something happened to make Savage Opress stop caring about the boundaries of his mind, and now, Asajj is being boiled alive slowly. A pounding headache of despair day-in, day-out. Drowning in a sea of love and mourning for Maul—for a man who she can’t even imagine anyone genuinely liking, and who, besides, is clearly unfortunately still alive—and suffering endless secondhand tortures. Needles, maggots, cables, forever writhing.

Asajj wants her own skin back. She wants to sleep again.

She wants Savage Opress to shut up.

She’ll do whatever it takes.

She just needs to find him first, and that’s why she’s here. He vanished without a trace, one-and-a-half months ago, a short while before Dathomir’s end. Asajj had loosely been following the trail of the monster she’d lost control of and unleashed, paying contacts for tales of Maul and his massive, quiet, ever-present shadow meandering around the galaxy and slaughtering pirates and mafia and peaceful Mandos alike. Then, suddenly: nothing. Not for any price. Maul left Mandalore, alone, and dis- and reappeared. No sign of Opress. A falling-out? A fight?

Whatever it was, Savage can’t be dead, or he wouldn’t be bothering Asajj. Whatever it is, none of the information brokers Asajj has ever heard of know anything at all.

There’s nowhere to go but the one source left, now. The fellow drowner. She’ll just have to hold back the hatred for the man who got her people killed.

“Hello, Maul,” Asajj greets, with supreme dignity.

Then, she waits. There’s no acknowledgement.

“I did not come here to fight.”

Maul stares.

“I have come to exchange information.”

Nothing.

The bustling all around them continues. Mandos waving around the blasters they drew when Asajj unlocked her cuffs. Mandos dragging their slave cargo out of the ship’s hold, whispering quietly. More Mandos, pouring into the landing bay. More threat displays, but Maul himself doesn’t even blink.

Finally, the purple-armored soldier at Maul’s side steps forward and says, “You did not ‘come here’ at all. You were brought.”

There’s nothing to be gained from underestimation, right now, and so Asajj raises her uncuffed hands and explains, “Do you really think you could have made me do anything I didn’t want to? It would’ve been easy to find you. I’m a bounty hunter. But why bother when there was a Mandalorian taxi ready to take me straight where I wanted to go? I did not come here to fight, Maul. I came to talk. I have a proposal for you.”

“No,” Maul says. Well. It’s better than mulish, stubborn silence, at least. Barely.

“It’s mutually beneficial, I assure you.”

“No.”

“It’s about something you lost.”

“No.”

Asajj is tired. She has a headache. She doesn’t particularly want to be here in the first place, and there are phantom worms multiplying and digging through her ribcage—Maul’s hand twitches towards his chest, another piece of evidence—and she has no patience for whatever game Maul thinks he’s playing. She hisses, “Where is your brother, Maul?”

He stills again. So does the whole bay, this time, except for the purple Mando who lightly touches Maul’s shoulder. Then, blasters cock.

“I’m asking about Savage Opress, in case that wasn’t clear.”

“Dead,” Maul says flatly.

“Don’t insult me. You know I’m not that stupid.”

No air, suddenly. Fingers pressing into her throat. Dirty, scraping nails. Asajj curses herself for her mistake, for the split-second in which she failed to defend herself. Maul was just meters away, and she forgot. She’s been lulled in by his wretched demeanor, by his petulant silence, by his pretense at calm, and she’s forgotten: beneath it all lurks a beast, ready to lunge.

Maul’s eyes are close-by now as he tries to wring her neck, too close and far too wide, and there’s no intelligence left in them. Nothing but pain.

Still—she couldn’t have skewered him on her sabers, anyway, no matter how desperately she wants to. She came here to talk. He’s the only person left who knows anything. Even though, apparently, if he’s not lying—he’s too ignorant to even realize there’s anything to know.

“I wouldn’t do—do that, if I were you,” Asajj rasps out.

More pressure.

“Don’t. You’ll regret… I know. He’s not dead.”

Maul’s voice isn’t particularly pleasant, howled straight into her ear. “I watched him die,” he shrieks, loud and hoarse and spittle-flecked. “I held him. He fought—I tried to—I let go. I let him die. My Master killed him. He killed my brother. He took everything. Savage is dead.”

Still: his hands ease off slightly. He wants to believe her.

Asajj gulps in air.

“He’s not,” she says, once she’s recovered. “And you know it. You should, anyway. Stop me if any of this sounds familiar. Nightmares about him, over and over. Every night. The kind of things he’d be thinking. You, mostly. Other dead nightbrothers. Not much variety in his mind. It feels like it’s you, thinking it. It feels like it’s real, but then you realize…”

Maul nods. A jerky, unselfconscious movement.

“Weird tortures. Like something’s inside you, trying to get out.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a rogue force bond.”

He looks stunned. Desperate. Eager.

“It’s stronger than it used to be, than it should be, but yes, that’s what it is,” Asajj explains, as if to a stupid child. “I won him, a long time ago, and Mother Talzin’s ritual... We’re connected. He’s your Sith apprentice, and you—he’s awful at shielding. That’s what he’s feeling, right now. Those fucking worms. The torture. That’s him. He’s inflicting his misery on us. He wouldn’t be feeling anything, if he was dead. In conclusion: he’s alive, and we need to find him.”

We need to put him out of his misery is something she’ll hold back for now. She has no desire to get attacked again.

Maul isn’t listening anymore, anyway. His eyes are saucer-wide, stuffed to the brim with epiphany and bottomless horror. He lets go of Asajj’s neck, finally, and staggers backwards. He stumbles. He falls. He doesn’t get up.

“Master,” he whispers. “My brother—Lord Sidious took him as well.”

[idorkish]

Little Munson - Chapter 5

A/N - Life is always a series of good and bad. With every bad thing that happens in life, there is always a way to find the good. So this chapter has mixture of some angst and some fluff!

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In the month after the men of SAMCRO were hauled away, Angel was starting to struggle. Precious was doing her best to keep things normal around the home but the lack of Bobby’s presence weighed heavily on them both. Angel helped as much as she could with cooking and cleaning, but there were days she locked herself in her room. David tried to come over but every time, she would ask Precious to not let him in. Angel avoided everyone as much as she could.

Gemma stopped by once with Bambi, which Angel was grateful for. They spent the evening watching movies and eating popcorn. When Gemma and Bambi left that night, Angel felt her heart break. It would be another month before she would see Gemma or Bambi again.

Angel was confused the next time she saw Bambi at her house. Kozik’s bike was parked out front and Bambi was inside, rolling her eyes at everything Precious was telling her to do. “Bambi, you causing trouble?” Angel called out as she dropped her bag near the door. Bambi smiled and ran over, wrapping her arms around Angel.

Kozik walked over and smiled at the two, “Hey is it ok if I leave her here tonight? I need to do some club things and I won’t be back until tomorrow evening.”

Angel nodded and hugged Bambi tightly. “Of course it’s alright! I have new movies we can watch and it’s been too long since we got to hang out! But wait, I thought she was staying with Gemma.”

“Nah, she’s been staying with me this whole time. Gemma, well she has her hands full. Thanks though kiddo.” Kozik knelt down and turned Bambi to face him, “And do you remember what we talked about?” Bambi rolled her eyes and smiled, “Yes Uncle Kozi.”

“Bambi, I’m serious. Do not make me tell your Daddy and Papi that you were making things hard for Angel and Precious.” Bambi nodded quickly “I swear, I promise! Can I please hang out with my sister?” Kozik gave the girl a hug and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be back for you tomorrow, about dinner time. So be good and get your homework done.”

Angel enjoyed having Bambi around for the day. It felt like life was normal once again. Kozik returned late the next day and asked them to keep Bambi another night. Angel was ecstatic that she could spend the day with Bambi and David. Good things never last though. The trio had made their way to the clubhouse to see Gemma and Jax when Angel noticed a very angry Mary making her way to the garage office. “Hey David, can you take Bambi inside please? I’m going to make sure those two don’t tear each other apart.”

Before Angel could make her way to the office, a firm hand held her back. “Leave them sis. Let them hash it out.” Angel turned and noticed the bags under Opie’s eyes. “Hey, what’s going on?” Angel hadn’t seen Opie look this miserable since the death of Thomas and JT. “Um, follow me. We got to talk.” For the unforgotten number of times in the past months, Angel felt her stomach and heart clench up. Those were words she was beginning to dread but she followed Opie up the ladder and onto the roof. This is where they all came when they had thinking to do. Opie sat with his legs hanging over the roof and motioned for Angel to sit next to him . “So, what’s going on Ope?”

Opie pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit on, ignoring the face that Angel made at him. “We’re leaving tonight. Ma pulled me out of school this morning. Packed up what we could. She wants me out of Charming.” Angel froze at the words. No, this can’t be happening. Not now… she thought to herself and willed the tears not to come. “I don’t want to go but she’s had it with Pops. She filed for a divorce already. She’ll get it too. I wanted to tell you in person.”

Angel felt as if her world was falling apart. Bambi was with Kozik and traveled with him when she could. Gemma had seemed distant from her. Jax - well it was hard to keep a tab on where he was at times. And now Opie was being pulled away. “Have you told Bambs yet?” Opie blew out the smoke and shook his head. “Nah, not yet. I was surprised to see her here honestly. Look, I can see you struggling. Take care of you first Angel. Jax, I love him, but he isn’t all here right now. I’ll be gone, so it’ll just be you and Bambi. Stay strong and look out for each other.”

Neither Opie or Angel moved until they heard Mary screaming for Opie to get down. Angel made her way over to Mary and gave her a hug. Despite never being close to Mary, Angel would miss her. She had brought some sort of normalcy to their lives and now that was leaving.

________________________________________

It took some time but Angel and Precious finally settled into a routine. Angel would wake early and make breakfast for the two of them. Precious would clean up after and then drive Angel to school. In school, Angel did her best to avoid David. She didn’t know why she was doing it but she couldn’t stand to see him at this point in time. She tried to talk to Jax and Opie when she saw them but that was rare, as they seemed to be in school less and less. Lunch was spent with Tara, pouring over books and notes to keep up with class. Tara was the only one who seemed to ask Angel how she was doing and tell her what was going on in the Teller household. Apparently, there had been a lot of fighting between Mary and Gemma when it came to Opie spending so much time at the Teller residence. Tara was also the only one to call out Angel on avoiding David.

“You can’t avoid him forever. He is so confused right now Angel. You haven’t even told him what he did wrong!”

“He didn’t do anything wrong Tara. I just…I just can’t see him right now. I have enough shit to worry about at home.”

“Angel, you’re one of my best friends. You know I love you like my own sister! So it is with great love that I tell you to get your head out your ass and talk to him! Before Jessica finds out and starts to sink her claws into him! You know she has been after him since you two started dating!”

Angel groaned and slammed her books closed. Tara watched as she gathered up everything and stormed out the lunchroom. With a sigh, Tara cleaned up their mess and made her way after Angel, afraid of what she would do. Everyone saw Angel going into a downward spiral and no one knew how to bring her back.

Tara caught up to Angel at her locker and watched as Angel tossed everything in there. “What?” Angel snapped, glaring at Tara. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Tara, you don’t have to say shit. No one has to say anything. I can see it on all your faces. If you want to say something, say it and stop holding back! I’m sick of everyone fucking avoiding telling me things!” When Tara remained quiet, Angel rolled her eyes and stormed off. She knew she shouldn’t have yelled at Tara like that, she was the last person who seemed to be willing to be around Angel.  But Tara was also supposed to be her friend and Angel couldn’t help but feel she was hiding something from her.

Angel did her best to concentrate through the rest of her classes. She could feel the eyes of her peers on her; the news of SAMCRO being imprisoned had spread throughout the city and was still mentioned in the newspaper. Angel had heard all the whispers.

When the end of the day finally arrived, Angel tossed everything into her locker. She knew she had to find David and talk to him. Tara had been right and it wasn’t ok to ignore the one of the few people who seemed to want to be around her still. Angel gathered what she needed and made her way over towards David’s locker. “Hey David,” Angel kept her voice low, unsure if he even wanted to talk to her. David stopped putting his stuff away and turned to face her. “Hey yourself.”

“Can we talk? Please?”

“Let me just get my stuff. I’ll walk you home and we can talk, ok?”

As the two left the school, Angel caught Tara out the corner of her eye, giving her a thumbs up. Angel waved and continued on her way with David. The first few minutes were silent as Angel struggled to find words. It took David laughing and grabbing her hand to break the silence. “You are so adorable, you know that right? Look, I get it. It’s rough for you right now. I’ve already forgiven you for whatever it is you’re blaming yourself for. I don’t want you to keep ignoring me though. I miss you babe.”

Angel squeezed his hand and stopped in the middle of the block, yanking David toward her and wrapping her arms around him. “I’m sorry Davey,” she whimpered into his chest. “Shh. No crying Angel. I’m here for you. I just need you to tell me when things are getting rough for you. It’s my job to help you carry your burdens,” David lifted her face and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, “I LOVE you Angel Munson. It’s me and you against the world, no matter what tries to come between us. You’re my best friend. Don’t you ever forget that.”

________________________________________

  Three months after the men of SAMCRO were taken to prison, three of them were freed. Angel waiting anxiously with Precious and David at the clubhouse, ready to welcome home part of the family. The familiar sounds of bikes pulling up made Angel bounce with glee. Of course, Bobby wouldn’t be released for a while more but Angel was happy to at least have part of her family back. Precious sat at one of the picnic tables with David close by. Angel smiled at Precious, as she rubbed her swollen belly. Angel was saddened that Bobby wouldn’t be there to welcome the littlest Munson into the world, but she was determined to keep a smile for Precious.

Clay pulled into the lot first, followed by Tig and Chibs. Bambi was the first to reach them all, jumping into Tig’s arms. Angel felt conflicted as she watched the two. She was happy to see the two reunited but she couldn’t help feeling envious. She wouldn’t be able to hug her dad for who knew how long. Angel walked over to and gave Chibs a quick hug, welcoming him home before she turned and faced the other closest male in her life. Clay had his arms wrapped around Gemma but quickly motioned for Angel to come closer. “I missed your smile princess!” Clay bellowed as he wrapped his arms around Angel and lifted her up. Angel clung to her uncle and did her best not to cry.

 ________________________________________

Things were finally getting back to as normal as they could be once the three men returned. Bambi returned to living with Tig. Clay, Chibs, and Tig continued to carry out whatever they were doing before and Angel found herself around the clubhouse more often with Precious and David. Precious and Angel had visited Bobby twice over the past few months, until Precious was not able to move around much more.

It was a Saturday afternoon when Precious, Angel, and David were playing a game of cards at the kitchen table. This had become the norm for the three of them. David often stayed as late as possible, helping to care for the overdue, pregnant Precious. “Think the baby will finally make an appearance soon?” David teased Precious as he shuffled the deck. “I’m hopeful. Feels like this little shit is waiting for Daddy to get out to make their appearance!” Precious looked down at her belly and rubbed her hands over the bump slowly, “You got to come out soon little bean, Momma can’t take holding you in much longer.”

“I can’t wait until Daddy gets out. It’s not the same without him here.” Precious leaned over and patted Angel’s arm. “I know sweetie. He’ll be out before you know it. Especially with the little bean on the way. Now, who wants something to drink?” Precious tried to stand and gripped the edge of the table. David and Angel swiveled their heads and made threw back their chairs. “What’s wrong?” “Precious, is it time?” Precious gripped Angel’s arm and nodded quickly, “Shit,” she growled out, “David, start the car. Angel, grab the bags and call Gemma. Little bean is ready to make an appearance finally!”

Angel and David helped Precious to the car, Angel sitting in back as Precious gripped her hand tight. “I couldn’t get Gemma on the line but Luanne will hopefully be there! You got this Precious.”

After checking in Precious, David sat with Angel in the waiting room. No one had made it to the hospital yet and Angel still hadn’t been able to reach Gemma. The two sat in the waiting room by themselves, Angel leaning against David and slowly drifting off. She wasn’t sure how long she was out, but she felt movement and slowly opened her eyes. David was slowly lowering her head to rest on a pillow before making his way over to a distant figure. Angel was too tired to figure out who he was talking to and soon closed her eyes again.

David looked back on Angel sleeping on the chair. He knew it would be uncomfortable but he was determined to get a hold of someone from the club. He had already managed to call Luanne, who was picking up food for the two of them. Gemma was still MIA. So David tried the last number he knew. It rang three times before someone finally picked up, “Yeah?” The gruff voice spoke. David cleared his throat, “Hi Clay. It’s David. Hale.”

David rolled his eyes as he heard the chuckle on the other line, “Look, Angel and I are at St. Thomas. Precious -” David couldn’t finish his sentence before Clay interrupted him, “What do you mean? Is she ok? What happened?!”

David leaned against the wall and rubbed his face, “Angel is fine. Precious went into labor about two hours ago. We’ve been trying to get a hold of Gemma. Luanne is already on her way. Thought you guys would want to know.” David didn’t wait to hear what else Clay would have to say before hanging up and making his way over back to Angel. David knew they didn’t think much of him still. Two years of dating Angel and he was still himself to them. What he was proving, he was never sure. David leaned over Angel and slowly shook her awake, “Wake up babe. You’re neck is going to kill you like this.”

Luanne had finally arrived with food for them and rushed into the room to be with Precious. Hours later, the current free members of the club and Gemma finally arrived. It would be another 6 hours before Luanne called for Angel to follow her into the room. Precious looked exhausted and her eyes were red, but she had the biggest smile on her face. Angel took a step closer and noticed the little blue blanket. “Meet your baby brother, Robert Jr.,” Precious patted the side of the bed and beckoned for Angel to come closer. Angel sat next to her step-mother and held her arms open to accept her little brother. “Aww, he’s so red and angry! He looks like a little tiki monster!”

________________________________________

A year after being in prison, Bobby, Piney, and Happy were finally released. Angel kept hold of her baby brother as everyone else continued to decorate the club house. They were throwing a big party to celebrate almost everyone being freed. No one would tell her why, but Otto was the only one not being released and no one knew if he would ever be released. Angel’s heart broke for Luanne but she was glad to see her helping get the party together. Angel made her way over to Luanne and wrapped an arm around the woman’s shoulders. Luanne looked up and gave a small smile but it never reached her eyes. “Hey Ma, how you holding up?” Luanne gave a small shrug, “As best as I can. This is a time for us to be happy, even though not everyone is here. I’ll be ok baby. Go keep this little monster out of trouble, the guys should be here really soon.”

The sound of bikes could be heard in the near distance and everyone made their way outside. Angel sat at one of the nearby picnic tables with little Tiki. Angel couldn’t help but laugh at how her nickname for the baby stuck so quickly. David appeared behind her and pressed a kiss to her shoulder before sitting next to her and passing her the baby’s bottle. David had been a huge help for Angel and Precious since the baby was born. Precious had gotten sick right after Tiki was born so David and Angel took care of them both, making sure that whatever Precious had wasn’t passed onto the baby. Even when she was all better, Angel still cared for her little brother. Precious had picked up an evening shift of work to bring in money to the household and Angel was watching little Tiki every evening. David was always over, bringing them food before Precious went off to work and ensuring that they had what they needed.

David’s family couldn’t understand why he was still with the Munson girl, especially his brother Jacob. But David would just ignore them as he got ready to go over every day. It sucked that they couldn’t do normal dates, just by themselves. But he wouldn’t give it up for anything. The few times they actually went out with the baby, David had to hold back his anger at all the whispering and rumors starting to form. Now that Bobby was back, David was hopeful that he and Angel could be a normal teen couple again.

Bobby parked his bike in his normal space and opened his arms as Precious ran to him. He had missed his wife so much and now here she was, her legs and arms wrapped around him and her lips pressed to his. Bobby knew that tonight would be a welcome home he wouldn’t forget. Setting his wife down, Bobby looked around the lot, searching for his other girl. Bobby stopped when he caught sight of Angel with David’s arm wrapped around her and both doting on a little baby in her arms. Bobby wasn’t ready to every imagine his little girl like that and he stormed over to the two, “Alright break this shit up!” David and Angel both jumped and gave a small laugh. David stood and held out his hand, “Welcome home sir.” Bobby smirked and pulled the boy in for a quick hug. “Thank you for taking care of my girls and little boy. You didn’t have to but you did.” Angel stood and passed little Tiki over to David so she could properly greet her father. All eyes had been on the two. Angel and Bobby wrapped their arms tightly around one another, “Welcome home Daddy, I missed you so much!”

“I missed you so much pumpkin. You’ve grown up so much this past year, you’re not my baby girl anymore,” he sniffled softly and whispered to his daughter. Angel did her best but couldn’t help the tears. “I’ll always be your baby girl, Daddy. But now it’s time to meet your baby boy.”

Precious had joined the three and wrapped her arms around Bobby, resting her head on his shoulder. “Meet Robert “Tiki” Munson Jr.” Bobby frowned and scoffed, “Tiki? What the hell?”

Angel laughed and stuck out her tongue, “He looks like an angry tiki monster when he’s hungry! And he’s always hungry!”

As everyone made their way inside to enjoy the party, Bobby sat outside with his family. Angel and David brought plates of food out so they could eat together as Bobby continued to feed the baby. Looking around the table, Bobby couldn’t help but smile. He had his family back and he would be damned to let them go again. “It’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back kiddos. Now let’s eat!”

[b-nicks]

Firsts

I have learned that few things in life are as memorable as firsts. Beginnings hold memories like toddlers hold their parents fingers. Everyone can recall their first kiss; it’s a prime example. The first sweaty day in High School is one you won’t forget. That first gross cigarette still burns in the back of our minds. We remember our first cars. The feeling of chipped paint and a worn steering wheel stays engraved in our skin. The broken exhaust on my 1997 Mitsubishi Mirage still barrels in my ear. My memory of that piece of junk is bittersweet. It comes in tow with the memory of highway breakdowns and triple A calls: for some, a rite of passage.

Firsts can be chronicled by our parents or our schools. We all have Kodak moments of our first birthdays, with our gleeful faces presiding over a sheet cake. That mugshot for our first school ID is probably memorialized in your closet somewhere. You might remember popping your first pimple, or the color your braces were. The first suit, or prom dress you’ve ever bought remains displayed in hundreds of prom photos in an old Facebook album. Your password recovery questions never cease to make you remember the name of your first pet.

In that way, it’s interesting how life creates events that structure reminders of where we were in life, and the person we identified as. Your first detention can the beginning of a grim track record, or the one mark that keeps you from getting into the college admission letter your desperately vied for. Your first love is one that, for most, has ended. We remember it woefully, because in a way that first heartbreak makes a hole in you. We may spend our whole lives trying to fill that hollow.

Ultimately our firsts become who we are. After all, you introduce yourself with your first name. Your Alma Mater can define your lifelong loyalty to a sports team. Firsts can also be less endearing. In another sense, a trip down memory road can double as an escape out of a bad family situation. I don’t pretend to know how addicts feel about their first hit. Some firsts might be better left in history.

What strikes me now, is a first that tops a list that I still do not understand. I’m mystified by it, and the feeling it gave me then. Even more confusing is how new entries on this list still move me in the same way as that first. It’s so familiar to me. It is too familiar to everyone dating now. It’s become an accepted practice in our world, but one that still has the power to tackle us from out of left field. It’s a disgusting practice I’ve done, and I’m certainly not proud of. it For this list, I don’t know what to call the first, but his name was Jesse.

We met in the dim post-anesthesia care unit of a hospital I was volunteering at. Patients were waking up from surgery in pain. I was trying to get to know an industry I very much wanted to be a part of. He was interning to get ready to apply to medical school. The nurses there were so great. They were caretakers in most pure form: skilled in their practice, yet never distracted from the genuine role they perform. I learned so much from them about how to be human in a profession that requires an inhuman lifestyle.

He was blonde with blue eyes, a picture often overused in tales like these, but nonetheless the truth in this story. At first glance he arrested my attention. It’s embarrassing to admit that time wheeled to a stop at that moment. My pulse bounded. The patient monitors in the unit became distant and quiet. The overhead lights softened. I didn’t speak to him immediately out of shyness. Was he a doctor? I was typically an outgoing person, but the thought of shaking his hand and telling him my name made me weak. He was busy moving about, and we didn’t connect at first. I wanted to admire him a bit more, and maybe see how he spoke to the women in the unit so that I could predict his sexuality. Soon enough, time was up and not more than five minutes after he had entered the unit, we were being introduced.

He was calm and polite, and made good use of eye contact. He shook my hand and asked for my name and said his in a deep way I would never forget. I felt so flushed and awkward, and I wasn’t busy so I didn’t want to occupy his time. He didn’t make anything about our introduction feel rushed. We took our time. I leaned in as we spoke softly. I didn’t know his title but I could tell he had a good education. He was just finishing up school at a reputable university in Boston. I told him about my plans to go to school in Boston too, but at a less prestigious college. He listened intently and didn’t make me feel small, despite being in a place where he could have done so easily. I glowed in hues of gold, and I wanted to know more about his world. It was a first impression that wouldn’t go unforgotten. My volunteer hours on Thursdays became my favorite part of the week.

I had just graduated from High School, and the summer started warm and sunny. I filled my summer days the way I always did. I biked all over my hometown, worked part-time, and spent warm nights at home with my two best friends. Every time I saw them, I gushed about Jesse. I smiled as a reflex while recounting our interactions. The same glow that shined the day we met, glowed warmer and warmer each Thursday. It wasn’t a first love for me, and I was not a virgin, but I was undoubtedly alight with a feeling that had not coursed its way through my body in a long time. I had dated in High School, but by the summer after senior year, I could barely remember the feeling of a man’s touch. My best friends were straight and talked about getting laid all the time. It was a subject that always drew my interest. They knew I was single and felt left out, but I loved to talk about dating and meeting guys. Talk was fruitless, but my longing was sometimes eased by the stories my friends told me. Now, I feel so much gratitude for them. Loneliness occupied my mind constantly. But the truth was that I was constantly surrounded with copious amounts of love and attention, more than most people are lucky enough to have. It wasn’t apparent to me at the time, but looking back, I have so much to be grateful for.

The work Jesse and I did was mindless and mundane. We had plenty of time alone to talk and get to know each other. Pretty soon, we exchanged numbers. I didn’t have a car, and eventually he offered to drive me home one afternoon. I still remember smiling and pretending to know the words to the songs he played on his radio. He loved classic rock, and I think I said I did too. I asked him to play my favorite song at the time, 1957 by Milo Greene while he drove. The new folk rhythm, melodic vocals, and hipster lyrics complimented my blase mentality at the time. While driving, my gaze was either trained on him, or staring through the flickering sunlight on his windshield. The summer foliage streamed in piecemeal sun that gleamed like gold foil on the roads of my hometown. He drove me home as a favor, but I lived for those drives. With him, my lungs filled with rosewater air in every breath. I was in love with my life just as it was. Then, I dared to know if he breathed the same air as me.

To be continued. 

- Bradley 

[londontheatre]

Claire Goose & Tom Moutchi in Twitstorm at Park Theatre. Photo by Darren Bell

Social media. Two rather innocuous sounding words that when put together are more powerful at taking over the world than an army full of crazed generals marching their troops over borders as though they didn’t exist. Like it or loathe it, social media is here to stay. The two biggies in the social media world are of course Facebook and Twitter. And it is the latter of these two that is at the centre of Chris England’s new play Twitstorm at the Park Theatre.

Guy Manton (Jason Merrells) has it all. He is the presenter of the successful show ‘Arguing the Toss’, written by his best friend Neil (Justin Edwards). His wife Bex (Claire Goose) is a successful author in her own right and the couple are at that level of wealth that they can afford to send a monthly direct debit to sponsor a child in Africa, without it causing them any hardship. Guy’s Manager Rupert (Chris England) is looking at taking the show, along with Guy, to the USA and, really everything in Guy’s garden is, as they say rosy. And then, one day, Ike (Tom Moutchi) turns up on Guy’s door claiming to be one of the African children the Manton’s had sponsored, now grown into a man. The family welcome Ike into their home – Bex happily, Guy reluctantly – and life carries on until one day Guy makes a rather inappropriate ‘joke’ at Ike’s expense. Although he doesn’t ‘do’ Twitter, Guy does have an account which is looked after by Neil and, through no fault of Guy, the ‘joke’ gets tweeted out to the world causing, to use the current vernacular ‘Twitter to go into meltdown’. As his attempts to calm the storm fail dramatically, Guy is soon up the proverbial creek without a proverbial paddle. Can his salvation come with the ultra PC online journalist Daniel Priest (Ben Kavanagh) or has Guy gone 140 characters too far.

So, confession time. I am a really dedicated Twitter user. I tweet about my bus journey to work, my random thoughts and every Sunday sees me joining the #Marr and #TheArchers tweetalong – yes it’s a real word – with gusto. I have therefore seen plenty of these Twitter storms when blow up when someone tweets something that gets up the nose of other Twitter users. We only have to look to the USA where @realDonaldTrump and @POTUS are constantly managing to upset people in 140 characters. I think that Chris England has really captured the feel and flavour of a Twitter storm extremely well, particularly the speed at which the online world will turn on someone they consider has offended them. However, I did feel it took a long time coming. The offending tweet didn’t get sent until the end of Act I and a lot of time was spent establishing the characters and their motivations before that. I also think, and remember this is a personal opinion, it would have been better not to discover who had sent the tweet until later in Act II. If you hadn’t seen them do it, there were three really good suspects with the means, motive and opportunity to ‘stitch’ Guy up. Having said that, I did enjoy the play and the writing was first rate with some real belly laugh moments. And Guy’s rant in the second act at Daniel Priest was really spot on in every respect. And speaking of Daniel, a quick mention for Ben Kavanagh here. His portrayal of Daniel was perfect. Without saying too much, Ben conveyed all the small minded, narrow opinion and general disdain of everyone else that the ultra-righteous PC brigade manage to convey when dealing with those not as enlightened as themselves. A great piece of acting from Ben there. Overall, this is a very talented cast. All of them played their parts beautifully and, Justin Edward’s Neil was a really lovely piece of acting, particularly as he started binge eating snacks while staring at the offending tweet with a face that literally said a thousand words.

Jonathan Lewis’ direction was on the whole really good, though there was a point, when Guy was doing his rant, that from where I was sat, Bex was completely hidden by Rupert so I wasn’t able to see her reaction as Guy really went for it. I loved the tweets appearing on the screens above Anthony Lamble’s set though the timing was occasionally out with the tweet appearing before the writer had finished typing. And, I have to say, whoever was responsible for the music choices during the scene changes – Bravo, absolutely Bravo.

Overall, then Twitstorm is a good show that nips at the ankles of the PC brigade and those ready to take offence at the slightest provocation. I thought the story was good and the acting first rate. I would have liked a bit more meat on the bone of the story and am still not 100% sure about the ending, though it made me laugh. But ultimately I would say Twitstorm is something worth seeing for a fun and funny night out. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to tweet about it from @Terry_Ea – #pleasefollowme

Review by Terry Eastham

Cahoots Theatre Company in association with Simon Fielder Productions and Park Theatre present the World Premiere of

Twitstorm By Chris England Directed by Jonathan Lewis

Guy Manton is a national treasure, the much-loved host of a caustic television panel show, until a throwaway remark is inadvertently shared with the whole world and, before Guy knows what is happening, he is being battered by the Twitstorm.

A hilarious exploration of what can happen when the self-righteousness of social media gets out of hand. From Chris England author of the hit comedy Breakfast with Jonny Wilkinson and co-author of the acclaimed An Evening with Gary Lineker.

From the producer behind Park Theatre hits Dead Sheep, An Audience with Jimmy Savile, The Roundabout and Deny, Deny, Deny.

Cast includes Jason Merrells (Emmerdale, Waterloo Road, Cutting It, Casualty), Claire Goose (The Coroner, Unforgotten, Waking The Dead, Casualty), Justin Edwards (The Thick Of It, Skins, Love and Friendship), Ben Kavanagh (Closer To Heaven, Boy Meets Boy), Chris England (Harry Enfield’s Television Programme) and social media star Tom Moutchi.

Design by Anthony Lamble, Costume Design by Sarah June Mills, Lighting Design by Tim Mitchell, Composed by Matthew Strachan and Sound Design by Chris Packham.

PARK200 Time2 hours 15 mins approx. Age16+ Plays: 31 May – 1 Jul 2017 http://ift.tt/1NQfsF7

http://ift.tt/2rrLbcX LondonTheatre1.com