piek-ipc

[yesthefandomfreakblr]

Returning to the fic idea of Mareth and Ripred being forced to coparent Hazard/coexist and in the chapters where we really start to get heavy/into their psyche's we get flashbacks of their relationships with Hamnet and we get to see just how different he was, practically a different man for each, and Ripred has a habit of suppressing those memories until he's talking to Hazard about his family he lost and realizes he struggles to remember one or two of his pup's names because he's been disassociating/burying it so forcefully.

They're talking after living together for awhile, Hazard and Luxa are in bed, Ripred's reading and Mareth's going over paperwork, Hamnet comes up, Mareth says he just doesn't want to remember. He means 'not think about it' or 'not remember right now' and Ripred grabs his arm with such a desperation Mareth grabs his sword. "Do not forget him." He begs. "Please- do not force him away..." And it turns into a begrudging Ripred opening up to get his point across please don't forget Hamnet... Don't forget your love as I have mine...

It scares Mareth into softening a little towards the rat. Over time, Ripred learns to draw on painfully bittersweet memories for strength and not be so hurt by them. He remembers Hamnet to help him be strong in his new role of being kind and keeping peace. Mareth does the same. And after a LOT of character development, when they're struggling in perilous or terrible situations, they realize that they have not thought of Hamnet once for encouragement, but the other.

[cutter-kirby]

okay marethposting time i really like how an established character trait of his is that he is TERRIBLE at taking care of himself. like he refuses to get on a stretcher after gregor's escape attempt (he was bleeding profusely from his forehead at the time), instead trying to help andromeda. then later he offers to be the distraction for the spinner prison break before solovet shuts him down because she JUST stitched up his bleeding thigh wound. and THEN he tries to prepare food but solovet makes him prop up his injured leg. this guy has no self preservation and i love him for it

[aldoodles]

I heard it was Mareth appreciation hours!

[thelightfluxtastic]

The Crawler's Language

So I'm not a linguist by academic specialty but I am bilingual and fascinated by languages and every time I reread the Underland Chronicles I think about language and especially the Crawler's style of repetitive speech.

All of the species in the Underland have different speech patterns. The bats speak rarely, quietly, and in short sentences because it is physically difficult for them. The spinners speak through vibrations. The rats as a species are associated with humor, they're most likely to use sarcasm and constantly make jokes. But when all of these species do speak, they use the grammar and syntax common to human Underland English.

The exception is the crawlers, who have a distinct verbal quirk, saying things like: "Smells what, so good, smells what?" In this essay I am making basically two arguments:

The crawlers word order is completely normal for Underland English.

Often, when discussing the crawlers, the book narration will make a point of Gregor or others having to mentally re-order sentences to understand the bugs. But if you take out the repetition, Crawler sentences become things like:

"Smells what so good?" "Be she the princess?" "Hates us, the Overlander?" "Unless this be not the Cradle"

And this order that goes Verb-Object or Verb-Pronoun is not unusual for standard Underland English. Human and other characters throughout the books say things like: "Stop you. Stay you. Slow your hearts." (Ripred, Book 1) "Meet you Mareth and Perdita" (Dulcet, Book 1) "Gather us here for we must discuss" (Vikus, Book 1)

It's even baked in to the standard Underlander farewell, "Fly you high".

So the crawlers are speaking correct sentences in Underland English, just repeating the first phrase at the end. Which brings me to my second argument.

The repetition serves a grammatical function

In paying attention to the crawler's speech, I found a pattern. The repetition is not present in every sentence. Crawlers often make simple declarative statements without repetition:

"You look much like but smell not like" "Temp will share her food with me" "Rats give many fish"

The repetition specifically happens with questions:

"Ride you, ride you? Run you, run you?" "Give you five baskets, give you?" "You so say, you?"

Even Vikus takes on this particular grammatical feature. When speaking to the Crawlers, he says "We will give four baskets, and one for thanks" but later asks "Take us to your king, take us?" when asking a question.

There are exceptions to this, but to me they seem to be in cases of emphasis or explicit confirmation:

"Only the Princess, Temp serves, only the Princess" "Hate warmbloods, cutters do, hate warmbloods"

I have no idea if this was Suzanne Collins intention, but for me personally, it reminds me of how questions are structured in American Sign Language. In ASL, a question is indicated by raising or lowering the eyebrows. Signs for question words like who/what/where/why exist, but aren't always necessary. One of the structures common with ASL is to put or repeat the question word at the end, so you can sign a longer phrase or sentence normally, and only have to worry about the question facial expression for the last word. Bill Vicars at Lifeprint/ASL University has a more in-depth explanation, comparing it to English questions structured as "You go to [X university], don't you?" or "You like engineering, do you?" But basically, in ASL, a perfectly grammatically correct way to ask if someone is Deaf is to sign: YOU DEAF YOU?

It is also worth exploring why, in my opinion, the crawlers are the only species who have this visible difference to the audience, even though all species are speaking English as a second language. And at a meta-level, it contributes to the basic assumption that the crawlers are dumber than the other species. Gregor has the most to adjust to, but even long after he's accepted that the Underlanders aren't primitive, and bats/rats are intelligent, he still has a kind but condescending outlook on the crawlers. And even other insect species (like the fireflies) look down on them. Having the crawlers speak differently from anyone else emphasizes their alienation from all other species in the Underland. And it reminds me of how some accents or dialects, like AAVE, are associated with stupidity or assumed to be "incorrect" English when they have perfectly valid and functional structures and meaning.

[quohotos]

Favorite underland chronicles character?

Shoot, that's a tough question.

The short answer is Ares. He's the best boy.

The long answer is that Hamnet does so much for the series. His introduction really marks this point of no return where both Gregor and the series as a whole has matured. He dispels all of the notions that have been built up by this point and reality checks everything that's happening. He confronts all the violence and war for the horrible crime that it is, he confronts the evil of the regalians that Vikus is sickened by but ultimately enables. He also is the only god damn person down here who treats Gregor like the child he is. He's the only one that acknowledges that Gregor shouldn't be here doing this, that he's just a little guy.

The fact that war finds him anyways, that he dies fighting is just so tragic. He's not vindicated by the narrative, war is terrible but even he couldn't escape it. Sometimes war just happens to you, and you never get a choice in it. War takes good people from us, and we so rarely get a say in that.

Ares is also a person who never got a say in it all, and it's so tragic they never got to meet. Ares was picked my a real piece of shit to be his bond simply because he was bigger and stronger than his peers. He never really felt at home in Luxa's friend group, he was really just being used, but he adapted and made the best of a bad situation. He wasn't really in a position to turn Henry down, and by being his bond he was lifted into proximity to royalty and wealth. All he had to do was grin and bare it, and learn to have some fun along the way.

But Henry was bad. He treated him like a subservient animal. Ares was *Henry's* bat. Something about that just resonates deeply with me on a personal level. It's so compelling. Being trapped in this scenario where someone close to you is a peice of shit but you can't do anything about it because you owe everything to this person. I mean, the fact that Henry didn't even tell Ares about their plans shows how little he thought their bond was mutual.

So Ares does the right thing, he saves Gregor instead... But it haunts him. Henry betrayed him first, but he still gets tired for treason because at the end of the day there's a hierarchy and a human matters more than a flyer. He's at peace with that, he doesn't want to live... And then Gregor saves him. God, all the confusing feelings that must have invoked.

Gregor really wasn't the best bond to him. He was gone so often, Ares was just alone and struggling and even though Gregor wouldn't always be there for Ares you bet your ass Ares would be there for Gregor.

I have a really soft spot for characters that just take a beating from the world and keep on going, keep on choosing to be better for everyone else's sake. Seeing him and Gregor come together and be a team makes me feel things, man. I know Mareth gets to have the official role of "I wish you could have been my older brother" but damn, Ares should have gotten that. He was Gregor's big bat brother and he learned to love that kid.

Except for curse of the warm bloods, Ares was there for all of it. He went on every quest with the warrior, and he had to confront all the same horrors. I think back to the whole sequence in the labyrinth, how he also struggled with what to do when they found the bane, how he also felt somber retracing their old steps to find Ripred.

I always feel drawn to the second fiddle characters in media (don't even get me started on Norm Spellman from Avatar). So Ares is my favorite, hands down... Him being an adorable yet deadly bat is also a factor let's be honest.

Hamnet is the most *interesting* character, but Ares is my favorite.

[haveihitanerve]

a few little whore gregor ideas if you guys want some-

Theres a bonding ritual ares and gregor must perform before they can truly be bonded

Mareth decides a different approach at training

Howard is tired of gregor getting injured so much and decides to teach him a lesson

Ripred is tired of gregor's backtalk and sass and decides to teach him a lesson

Lets just get it over with- ripred is in a rut

Gregor has a nightmare and his sweet little scent proves too much for ripred

Ripred and ares decide to fuck some sense into Gregor before the war

Luxa wants something from the overland. It takes a little convincing

Gregor is stressed from the overland. Ares knows a place

Gregor visits ripreds merry little band of rats

Mareth howard and ares decide to train gregor. And maybe ripred

Bats have a certain pheromone and voice that makes humans feel…. More inclined to obey them. It works particularly well on overlanders, they discover

A mission to the spinners goes wrong. Or maybe… right?

[allanonxmareth]

Fic excerpt

Here's a part of an unfinished fic, PWP, written a while back, a bit weird. I think this was originally for the prompt "size kink" but it ended up having other stuff too. Again set in that nebulous fix-it future where Allanon is back and they're in a relationship.

Fandom: The Shannara Chronicles (TV) Rating: Explicit Relationships: Allanon/Mareth Tags: Porn Without Plot, Parent/Child Incest, Size Kink, Mind-Reading, Crying In Bed, Erectile Dysfunction, hangups about sex, emotions all over the place

It was odd, but not in a bad way. Allanon took things slow; Mareth could tell he was easily affected by her, but he never rushed, seemingly happy to enjoy just having her near.

It took days for them to fuck. He didn't seem to have much interest in it, no more than her hands on him - he seemed to prefer that, even, her touching him with thorough curiosity, mapping his body with her fingers and mouth, the plains and valleys.

But she wanted it, on some base level, his hard, silky, hot flesh inside her where it ached to be filled.

He was sizable as well, growing more so when turned on. She didn't remember bedding anyone, even human, with such a big cock. Having slept with humans before, it was all the odder to have him so apprehensive, so clearly afraid of hurting her. Often her elf side was what turned humans on, her perceived frailty and overly sensitive body - not anything she cared for, and not the truth, but she expected it. That she had to fight to get what she wanted. But her father touched her so attentively, almost with bated breath. He seemed so utterly happy just touching her skin, just tasting; going down on her got him so worked up that it took little more than rutting against her to burst all over her belly or back or hands.

"We don't have to," she said quietly, pressing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. His member was an enticing length against her belly, trapped between their bodies when she had settled in his lap, astride his hips. It made her run wet and slick to have all that so close, but he seemed to enjoy the squeeze such as it was enough. But -

"I don't want to hurt you." His words were hot, his hands light and hot on her thighs.

"You won't." She brushed his cheek with her thumb, across the little scar there. "I want you," she whispered, unable to hold back all the desperation pooling inside her. "All of you. But -" she swallowed the rest when her instinctual rocking of her hips sent a shiver of pleasure through her, her parted flesh rubbing against his length. So much of him, right there. She knew he would find his release like this, come all over between their bodies, and she would love it, want it - always a little wonder to feel what she too was made of.

But if there was any desire in him to push his gorgeous, thick cock inside her, she was aching to have him. And he had to know that, had to sense her dreams, the ache deeper inside her where his fingers couldn't reach. The yearning. There was no danger here, just a want to get him as close as possible

And yet it warred with her need to not hurt him. She didn't want to push, no matter how odd it was (and yes, she never thought a man might not want this) - she just wanted him to know.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," she murmured, rubbing her swollen flesh against his hot, giving body, tangling fingers in his hair, licking along the seam of his soft lips.

It didn't happen then, both getting too much into the kiss again.

It took them a few nights still, and dark of the night; a late return from a party, candles bathing her bedroom.

She had already come to love how it started. Him undressing her, unhooking, untying, fingers finding the little knots and clasps of a dress she wasn't accustomed to. And she probably wouldn't, given her aide.

When she was in her underwear, she asked him to derobe as well. A ritual, until they were both mostly nude, just clothed enough there was plausible deniability (for whom, she didn't think about). That it was just this side of chaste when she threw her arms around him, and he lifted her up, and carried her towards her royal bed where they finally crossed the threshold.

Her hair was completely loose - his fingers pulled out the pins - and it fell down her back in a way she wasn't used to. She bent down to kiss him, and his fingers carded through her locks carefully, one hand on her hip. This was familiar, already, frotting against each other slowly, the friction deliciously light, not yet frustrating. She'd started to think of this as her fucking him, pushing her hardened clit against his giving flesh, moving her hips on a wave, astride him. Wound up, he would finally ask her if she wanted his mouth, or fingers, and in which way - so breathtakingly eager that it alone made her insides flutter - if she wanted to move up and sit on his face - and so far she'd managed to hold back any commands otherwise.

But everything in her wanted, so so much, a please echoing through all of her being.

He didn't spook when she lifted her hips and took the base of his cock, not looking, wanting to keep the eye contact, fingers still not used to his girth and length after all these weeks - oh - so much more than anyone else she had known. The touch of the slick head of his cock over her lower lips made them both gasp.

"Do you - can I -?" She wasn't sure how to continue, if the simple f word would break some spell, but still needing him to say it out loud.

"Yes." His voice was rough with pleasure, with that tinge of uncertainty still, but it was more wonder than reluctance.

"Me too." She smiled, spreading her legs just a bit and -

It did hurt, just the head pushing past her entrance, and she couldn't help the air escaping her lungs with a moan, hands clamping immediately over his when he threatened to stop her movement downward. "No no no," she whispered feverishly. "It's good - so good. Just new."

So, yes, she wasn't unfamiliar with well hung men, but it had never been like this. Her fingers couldn't quite reach around him at rest, swallowing him down her throat was hopeless, and she felt each of those inches now intimately. No one had ever filled her like this - not just the size, but the pace - he let her take him as she wished, his eyes squeezing shut and mouth parting to let out a moan. 

Mareth wanted to enjoy the first slide in, but she gave up and let gravity do its work, setting her palms on his rapidly rising chest. He slid his hands up her thighs slowly, cupping her waist, but not pushing or pulling, just tight enough she felt the delicious pressure of his fingertips.

Mareth. She felt it like a caress inside her head. How fondly he said and thought her name. Inside and out.  A common human name, but he made it feel like an endearment.

Every inch of his cock filling her sent sparks all over her. She felt him everywhere, his cock leaving no space for her muscles to flutter, desperately tightening around him.

Allanon groaned, clearly feeling her body's desire around him. He said her name out loud, stroking her thighs slowly.

"If it hurts, please -" he forced his eyes open, "- we can stop - ah."

She laughed, causing everything to feel even more intense. "It's good," she said, and meant it - it did hurt, but it was perfect, a sweet kind of hurt; now they knew how their bodies felt together, and she was filled to the brim and not halfway there. It was crazy.

It wasn't like any other time - it couldn't be. Once she was done - almost - she didn't try to raise her hips, just felt. Her insides twitched anyway, like she could find her crest just from this, no need for any more friction, just this amazing fullness, heat on heat. She squeezed experimentally, and gasped - it sent shocks of pleasure through her - making him moan again. Like he was the one being filled, fucked.

If this had been like any other time, with any other man, if this was him throwing her on the bed and slamming into her, she would have cried out. But the sounds leaving her throat were soft, escaping when his gentle touch made her tremble. They rocked slowly against each other, working his cock deeper into her just so - it felt impossible that he would fit, and that thought made her heart beat harder. Part of her wanted to sheathe him in full, part knew it was physically impossible.

"You feel amazing." His whisper, reassuring, was a low rumble that caressed her skin everywhere. He rarely spoke these things out. "Mareth -"

His thumb touched her inner thigh, making her answering sounds a little desperate. She knew in a flash she was too close to edge - and she wanted it and didn't, wanted to come so badly, and also for this to never end -

Then it was all too much - everything inside her exploded with pleasure and she lost track of all thoughts --

She managed to lift her hips and move; even that stimulated her aching entrance more.

She glanced down, panting, seeing his cock had softened as it slipped out of her, glistening with her juices.

"Oh -" her cheeks burned, though the pleasure still echoed inside her. "I'm so sorry -" She climbed off him, still fuzzy and unsteady, cautiously laying next to him.

The thought that he had not liked it, really,  made her ache, a confusing mix with the remains of her orgasm. She had pushed him, after all, forgetting to keep her head in check. But it had felt so good, so right, his eyes had had that look as well, she had thought he wanted it as much as her - her cheeks burned. It was like forgetting to keep her magic leashed at times, knocking him down.

"Oh, no." He quickly rolled to his side so he could look at her. He took her hand and brought it to his mouth to kiss her curled fingers. "I did enjoy it. Very much. I just - I can't quite keep up with you. I apologize."

The words were awkward, his voice quiet, but his eyes were as intense as ever when they met hers. She saw the storm of emotion there: shame, but also, still, desire. "I want you," he said, before she had the time to answer and tell him he had nothing to be sorry for--that it was the other way around--his voice low and so serious it made her shiver all over again. "I just - I couldn't do more than that. It's not -" he paused, fingers on her elbow. She wanted him to press his thumb on the vein there and to feel how her heart beat. But he brought his hand up to brush her cheek, tears she didn't realize were pouring out, weird, because she wasn't sad.

This was not her feeling.

She felt his emotions like a wave lapping against the shore of her mind. Worry above all, worry for her now. And something warm and aching, mirroring her. It was so weird to untangle his feelings on the subject. He had enjoyed it - until he didn't, worried she was only doing this because she thought he wanted it. Thoughts that perhaps his other skills weren't enough, that he wanted her to feel nothing but pleasure but perhaps he was too inexperienced for her.

It all crashed over her - so this was what it was like, wasn't it? How it felt to read minds.

Above all, she felt his adoration, utterly overmeasured, echoing inside her bones, and it made her chest ache. It was one thing to hear spoken words and feel his touch, and one to dive into his head and heart like this. But she couldn't stop it, unused to navigating this form of the power. It washed over her. His lo-

Did he not know no one had ever touched her so thoroughly before? Didn't he read that in her head? No one had ever gone down on her like he did, like he wanted to learn everything, wanted to map her like the most eager explorer - and he thought himself selfish of all things, wondering how much he fell short, aching to learn more (she deserved the world and more). And then there was the shame over his touch, his rough fingertips, as if it did nothing but thrill her, as if it wasn't a mark of years gone by, filled with history that made him who he was. History she wanted to learn, whatever he was willing to open up for her.

It was overwhelming - her own emotions mirrored back at her hundredfold, the sea of love (that's what it was) around her - it was too much to take in when she couldn't look away or escape, when she was still aching between her legs, skin glued to his, sticky and sore. Yes - she had wanted this - all of him - and it nearly hurt to finally have it.

"Dad," was all she could say, tearfully, grasping his hand again, twining their shaking fingers, pushing her hot face into his neck, out of any thoughts except him and her and them together.

*

They made love again, almost without meaning to, bodies slipping back into it as they clung to each other. He spooned her carefully against his chest and touched her still hot and sticky flesh, rubbing his waking dick against her lower back, nosing at her tangled hair and licking up the rim of her ear, comforting her. She reached back to grab his thigh, to guide him, to feel the flex of muscle. Little animal touches that grounded them both.

"It'll pass," he murmured soothingly into her ear. You can block me out soon, everything else too. "I'm sorry it had to happen now -"

Don't be. She rocked her hips. "It's just too much," she whispered in turn. "But it's good, I mean -" I wouldn't have it any other way. It was hard to keep track of where words ended and thoughts began.

He came between her thighs, face buried in her hair, hot breath on her ear and cheek, pulling her along with the desire she was flooded with, a breathtaking wave of lust that he was partly ashamed for (she wanted to scrub all that shame away; how could he think it was wrong or selfish -).

And it probably happened again, and again, she lost count and became detached from reality, became nothing but her body and her father, her everything right now, and this wasn't even desire, it was just being, existing together like they were supposed to, always always always.

*

[mardi-nah]

Tricks

Circus worker narrator, trickster, fae, circus setting, unrequited love, pining, enemies to lovers, a pinch of angst, vulgar language, otherwise sfw

“I am in love with you.”

My reflection glowered back at me. I grimaced at it. “I love you.”

The reflection looked pained. This wouldn’t do at all. “I have fallen in love with you.” No. “I have loved you for—no. I love you. I love you. I am in love with you. Quinn, I am in love with you. I love ya, babe.”

The glass was cool against my skin as I slumped forward, forehead to forehead with my mirror twin. I had watched so many movies, so many shows with dramatic and simpering love confessions, but it wouldn’t do. I looked like I was constipated. Or ready to murder. Mama should have bore someone cuter, curse her in her grave.

“Quinn, I—“

Someone threw the sliding door open so hard it bounced against the wall with a foreboding boom! A voice that could try a priest called out, “Oh Gwen! Gwenny, honey! Gwenster! Gwen-dah-lee!”

I didn’t fucking twitch. “What.”

“It is the strangest thing, Gwenny-poo!” A sigh, and then the unmistakable screech of bed springs as someone fell on top of my cot. “All of the stage lights have gone out! Just like—“ a snap of fingers, “—that! Can you believe it?”

Oh, hell no. “What did you do?”

Mareth gasped. “Me? I haven’t done anything! Or I’ve done a lot of things, depending on how you look at it. None of them have involved lights.”

I spun myself away from the glass to glare at him.

Mareth was grinning, green eyes glittering and black hair wildly eschew. His little black tail was curling in the air behind him, tangling with my blankets just to piss me off. “Gwendy, you’re so scary looking today!”

“What. Did. You. Do.”

“Weeeeeell …”

“Mareth!”

“It isn’t my fault it started raining indoors! How could I have known?”

“You little shit!” I screamed, charging at him to fucking throttle his horrible little neck, but he only laughed gaily and disappeared the moment I fell on the bed.

“So violent! I said I didn’t do anything!” His voice chirped from behind me.

I twisted around, hands knotting in my sheets. “You are so full of shit! Come here so I can strangle you!”

Mareth tsked at me, strolling forward but staying just out of reach of my legs and fists. “Ah-ah. If you keep that up, I won’t tell you where the control panel went.”

“What?”

“Oops.” He giggled. “Didn’t mean to tell you that part. Guess it just slipped!”

“Why you—!” I staggered to my feet, ready to tackle him and wail on him until he cried, but he was already fading out.

“Well, would you look at the time! It’s time to dash! Au revoir!” His voice echoed around my room, his laughter chasing the last remaining shreds of my sanity.

I sank back onto my bed and put my head in my hands. Guess there’d be no time to talk to Quinn about my feelings or anything else tonight.

~

Mareth had been a pain in the ass my entire career working with the circus. Had been a pain in everyone’s ass, just about, but he seemed to get a special pleasure seeing me screech. Lately, I’d swear he was worse than ever, and it wasn’t just me, either. Poor Quinn came into the back one night dripping molasses, his expression icier than usual. Mareth had been found in storage, tied and bound with a growing black eye. Somehow, that hadn’t stopped him from emptying Quinn’s underwear into the river later that evening.

“Is he off in the head? What the hell,” I growled as I scrambled to reassemble the control room with Joan.

“It seems our dear boy is having a tantrum,” an amused voice came from the doorway.

I looked up to see Mr. Bailey leaning against the entryway, watching us with dark eyes that had an uncalled for amount of sparkle.

“He should be whipped,” I hissed, “He’s going to destroy the show.”

“Yes, probably. At ease, girls. I’ll talk to him.”

At that point, there was nothing to do but focus on the show. If anyone could straighten Mareth out, it was Bailey.

~

Quinn was beautiful tonight.

He dripped a milky fog as he shouldered his way through the back, glittering wings fluttering softly behind him. His act was particularly flawless tonight—it was as if he and Odessa were of one mind, one move sinking into the next, their limbs synched beatifically.

It was such a shame he would never consider someone like me.

~

Of all the people to find me on that night, Mareth should not have been the one.

The cart was dark in the night, the moonlight dying it dark. Its roof was cold against my ass, but I only pressed my bare toes firmer to it. I heard the ladder scream as someone climbed it, but I didn’t turn to look.

“Well, this isn’t the most depressing place you could have chosen,” a teeth-grittingly familiar voice chirped. “I’m almost disappointed.”

“Fuck off.”

“Ooh, she still has teeth!” The cart groaned as he moved towards me, and next thing I knew, a pair of dark pants had their legs slung over the side of the cart beside me.

“I’m not in the mood, Mareth,” I snarled, burying my face in my arms.

“Come here to cry like a little girl in private, hmm?” He hummed, kicking his feet out. “Now I’m very disappointed. I thought you had more to you than that.”

“Are you just here to mock me? I will knock you off the fucking cart. Go. Away.”

“What is it about Quinn, I wonder? It’s definitely not his personality, given that he’s q giant asshole. It’s not his money, since he’s as broke as the rest of us. What does that leave? Hmm …”

I snapped upright, eyes burning with the old tears, with anger, with frustration and hatred and this fucking guy. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Just because he doesn’t like you doesn’t mean he’s like that with the rest of us.”

“Really? What’s he like with you, then?” Mareth was smiling that damn shit-eating smile he had, though there was something a little off about it. Must have been my more than usual desire to punch it.

“He might be moody and quiet, but he’s just as intelligent and focused.” I turned away from him, scowling into the vast dark. “He’s prosaic and graceful. His manners are impeccable. And he practices like a damn mad man.”

“So? Many of our performers are like that.”

“Like hell they are. I don’t think anyone hates their job, but Quinn is—“ my voice broke, which would have been humiliating in any situation, but more so in front of Mareth of all people. I swallowed with difficulty. “He’s admirable.”

There was a brief silence, and I thought that maybe Mareth had mercifully run out of things to say, but then he quietly continued. “Doesn’t seem that great to me.”

“What do you know of greatness? You sabotage the show every chance you get.” I rubbed my wet nose against the back of my arm and grimaced at the feeling.

“Not the show! Just you. And Quinn. Mostly.”

“Can’t you just go?” I asked miserably, sinking myself into the ball of my limbs. Fresh tears were hard at work behind my eyes, and I could feel the worrying beginnings of a sob climbing my throat. “Leave me alone for once.”

At that point, Mareth looked at me, green eyes glittering—with anger, I realized. “I would never leave you alone, Gwen.”

I stared at him, but he only stared angrily back.

When I managed to speak, it was a croak. “Why?”

“Quinn isn’t worth breaking down like a child. Stop acting so weak.”

I huffed. “What right do you have to say that? You’ve never had your heart broken.”

“Oh, please. You break my heart all the time.”

My body stiffened involuntarily; blood was drumming in my ears. His words didn’t make sense. Another prank, probably. “Cut the bullshit. I’m not in the mood for pranks.”

I started when hands grabbed my head and forced me to turn to look at him again. If anything, he looked more furious than before. I almost shrank back from the rage in his gaze, but I swallowed it down. Mareth didn’t scare me.

“You never look at me unless I make you.” His voice was unsteady, steaming in the cold night air. “The only person you can see is Quinn, but he doesn’t see anyone but himself. Don’t you get that?”

“Trust me, I get it,” I peeled his hands away, avoided his stare.

“Then why? Why him?” His real meaning went unsaid.

“I told you why. Dammit, Mareth, I thought you hated the show. Hell, I had half a mind that you hated me even more than I hated you. Why are you doing this now?” I scrubbed angrily at my eyes, mad that I was crying and even more mad that he was there to see it.

Quiet again, but only for a few beats. Mareth took a deep, shaky breath. “I hate that you love him. I can’t get you to notice me at all, and he doesn’t even care that he has it. It could have been anyone else. I don’t know why you picked him.”

“Jealous?” I sniped.

“Horribly.” He agreed.

I hadn’t expected him to say that; the surprise made me wordless for a few minutes, but I recovered. “Should I fuck you out of it? I have the strangest suspicion that your feelings will magically disappear come morning.”

“I would whole-heartedly love for you to try.”

I grabbed the sides of his head and mashed my face against his before he could react. He was surprisingly soft—his hair and his mouth and even his cheeks, lips warm and pliant under mine. I didn’t want to admit how hot I went when he moaned against me, and I certainly wasn’t going to tell him how good he felt. He was eager and compliant, letting me move and dominate him, allowing me to conquer his lap and his trousers and later, his dick.

~

The next morning found Mareth still in my room, for whatever reason.

He was naked, sprawled lazily over my cot, watching me put on my makeup with those smug-ass cat eyes of his. His tail was swishing slowly in the air behind him. He looked entirely too satisfied.

“Do you have what you want now, dumbass?” I asked, penciling in my eyebrows.

“Dunno. Are you going to come over tonight?”

I scoffed. “Why would I?”

In the mirror, I saw him frown, his tail stilling. “Then no, I don’t.”

We watched each other for a minute, and then I went back to putting my face on for the day, intent to avoid any further conversation.

Mareth was having none of it. “Won’t you consider it?”

“Consider what?”

“Being with me? You seemed—it was good last night, wasn’t it?” He seemed uncharacteristically nervous, the tip of his tail twitching.

I eyed him in the mirror, and then smirked internally. “Give me your true name, and we can try to have a relation.”

His tail twitched again. “Oh?”

“I’m still not convinced you aren’t tricking me. Give me your name so I’ll know.” There. The matter was over.

Mareth sat up. “Is that all?”

“All”?

I blinked, and he was standing in the center of my tent, his clothes suddenly on again. “Consider it done! You may know me as—“ a gust of wind, and he was at my ear now, his mouth brushing my lobe. “Merit.”

“Your name is—?” He slapped a hand over my mouth before I could finish, wiggling his eyebrows at me in the mirror.

“Ah, ah. No spilling my secret now. I’ve just given you my soul, sweetie.”

I choked. “Your—?”

He actually did it. He gave me his—no, it must be fake. I could call his bluff.

I smiled sweetly up at him, murmuring, “Merit, why don’t you be a dear and get on your knees?”

Mareth gasped, and it wasn’t so much a sink to his knees as it was an inglorious fall. His knees hit the floor with a sharp crack and I couldn’t help but wince guiltily.

Holy fuck. He actually gave me his name.

I stood from my vanity, towering above him, staring. His eyes were gleaming madly, smile twisted into something familiar and devious. “Oh my, what ever will you do with me, Gwenny-poo?”

“You and I might be together for a long time, dear.” I brushed my hands through his hair; he tilted his head into my touch, and I fisted my fingers in his hair, making his breath hitch. “I guess I’ll have to train you.”

“Oh, please do,” he purred.

We had made a deal to try, at least. And if nothing else, I was a woman of my word.

~

Mareth was a very bothersome lover. I hadn’t decided if he was more or less so than before.

He whined if we didn’t have at least one meal a day together; he whined if he had to sleep alone; he whined if he couldn’t see me in the morning; he whined if I left him without a kiss goodbye; he whined if I wore something pretty and he wouldn’t be around to see it. He hated Quinn, and hated if I spent time with him, but I was a loyal partner, and he seemed to know this.

Besides, I wasn’t one to give my heart to someone who already broke it once. Mareth seemed to know this, too.

Lately Mareth had been pressing me to wear his favorite sweater—a dark green turtleneck that brought out the color of his eyes neatly. Not only was the idea of sharing clothes already ridiculous enough, but the fact that Mareth was a hell of a lot more petite than me didn’t seem to factor into his head.

“Mareth,” I said through my teeth, “This would stick to me like a second skin. I doubt it would even cover my stomach.”

“I know,” he purred.

I knocked him upside the head for that one, but he kept insisting that I “borrow” some of his clothes. I eventually caved and stuffed myself into one of his bigger jackets, and I pretended not to notice him watching me in it, or how he kept subtly trying to sniff at it after I returned it.

He also kept little useless items I gave him, which was so bizarre I couldn’t even bring it up to him. The number seemed to grow a little every time I was in his tent—a packet of toothpaste I lent him so he’d stop trying to use mine when he slept over; a pencil; a crumbled napkin I threw at him with a crude drawing of my foot on his ass; a glittery hair clip I had used to help Alice do his makeup before a show.

He was ridiculous. Absolutely bonkers.

If I obliged him in these things, it was no fault of mine. I was his girlfriend, after all, it was only natural to let your boyfriend have his needs and help meet them.

And if anyone claimed I enjoyed the little happy smile Mareth gave me when I used a pet name, or made him lunch, or wore his stupid sweater, or invited him to join me in the showers, I’d kick their ass too. And if they had the balls to claim I liked Mareth and his clingy affection and dumb tricks and loud laugh and short stature and ridiculousness, well, they might be right, but I’d still fucking end them.

[ezilo]

TUC week, Day 5!

Okay, missed a few days, but here I am. The prompt today was Code/Claw, but I mostly focused on the last book in general.

So here's an AU where Gregor actually dies in battle. You have been warned!

By the time her cell door opens, Luxa is a little less angry at Gregor. Aurora pointed out many a time in the last days that Luxa may have done the same in other circumstances, and Luxa just wants to see Gregor again, even though she may not. Will not.

It is Mareth who opens the door, and after one look at his face, she falls to her knees. She barely has enough strength to raise her arms and reach for Aurora, who wraps her in her golden wings. Her bat chokes out “Ares?” and Mareth shakes his head. Luxa weeps, like she had a year before in Vikus’s arms, losing her best friend. She sobs, shameless, for this boy and this love and a lifetime she will never have. She cries for his sacrifice, his bravery, his delicate smile. The clip-clop of Mareth’s footsteps comes closer, but she shakes her head. This is a time for no one but her and Aurora. They stay entangled for a while longer, until Luxa remembers who she is, a queen, a leader, and gets up. Her grief is dragging her down, as it has for years, but still she takes a few steps toward Mareth, toward the stairs, the light, the rest of her life.

“Wait.” Mareth says, grabbing her wrist. “It is not just Gregor.” Her heart hammers, and she leans against the wall, closes her eyes. “Tell me.”

“Solovet.” Her first sword lesson. Holding her hand at her parents’ funeral. Bright, blinding force passed down to her. She breathes in. “Who else?” “Vikus had a heart failure. He is in the hospital, between life and death.” Luxa buries her face in Aurora’s fur, smells the warm scent of her bond, and hopes it will be enough to bring her back together. “We have reason to believe Ripred is gone as well.” The sharp pain in her, she had not expected. Ripred could not die, could he? Luxa had thought she would build back the Underland hand in paw with him. No, she had not expected this.

“And the Bane?” Mareth gives a tired smile. “Gregor and Ares killed him.” Luxa smiles, too, and climbs out.

*

In the days to come, Luxa is whisked from meeting to meeting, held upright by Aurora and Howard and Mareth. She finds the time to read Gregor’s last letter to her, sitting in the museum one night, and whispers “I love you too”, indulges in the pain for a moment, as during the rest of the day, she has no place for it. She carves out a half-hour here or there to sit with Hazard and the orphaned nibbler pups and wash them, and look at Boots play with them. She doesn’t know, yet. And who is there to tell her? Lizzie is in shatters, Grace is at the Fount, the rest of the family in the Overland somewhere. No, this task is also Luxa’s. But she does not have the time, or the heart, to tell her.

Sometimes, she has dinner with Vikus, leaning on the bed, feeding him bits of mashed food. He holds her hand, and she relaxes a fraction, lets go of the tension in her shoulders. She even falls asleep once, wakes up snuggled up to her Grandpapa like she did as a little girl. It is dark, the hospital has turned off almost all torches. She buries herself further under the blankets and falls back asleep.

In the morning, she gets the first reliable numbers of the victims. She crumples the paper in her hand. A third of her city is gone, most of the nibblers left with no home. She had asked her advisors to find out the numbers of the gnawer victims as well, which had surprised them. She stares at the number at the bottom of the list, and wonders if that is enough paid. Gregor’s bright brown eyes appear in her mind and she thinks nothing will ever be enough.

*

Luxa is crossed-legged in the code room, staring at a map of the human territory, wracking her brain for a solution to the water supply problem, when they enter.

“Luxa?” Lizzie’s small voice echoes in the room. Her parents stand behind her, arms on her shoulders, Grace leaning heavily on her husband. Boots is standing next to them, her little face flooded with tears, her lower lip wobbling. Luxa opens her arms, and the girl stomps all over the map as she rushes to her, messing up her plans. “Gregor is dead, yes?” Her little voice asks in Luxa’s ear. She opens another arm for Lizzie to fall into, and has to say “Yes, Boots.” And then, because it’s what he would have wanted, she adds “You said his name, sweetie. Good job.” Lizzie is sobbing in earnest now, finally looking her own age. And then, something amazing happens. Grace and Jonathan join them, fall to their knees, and suddenly Luxa is the one wrapped in someone’s arms, Luxa is allowed to cry into someone’s chest. She squeezes the girls closer, and leans into Grace. “It will be okay, sweetie. I promise.” And Luxa enjoys  a mother’s hand passing through her hair, and dreams about those words ringing true, one day.

“I keep him here?” Boots asks, pointing at her chest.

“Yes, Boots. I keep him here too.” Luxa folds her fist on her heartbeat. “We all do.” Jonathan adds. Boots still looks scared and confused. Luxa feels a pang of melancholy at how little Boots will remember of Gregor. She thinks about how he had always put her first, pushed her onto Ares as he inhaled poisonous fumes, asked Ares to break his vow and save her first, cried in desperation as he searched for her in the Swag. Gregor sacrificing his food for Boots, reaching for her, turning into a rager just to protect her. A million other moments none of them knew about because they had only happened between them, a brother and a sister. Luxa did not grow up with siblings. But she’d learned everything about it from him, and it had given her the courage to take Hazard in.

They stay, hugging close, a little while longer. And then Luxa has to get up, has to compose herself, and head into a council meeting. Just as she crosses the threshold of the door, Grace catches up with her, wheezing slightly from the effort. She reaches for the crown on Luxa’s head, and rearranges it neatly. “There.”. Luxa’s eyes almost fill up with tears again – it has been so long since a mother’s touch. Instead, she asks, “Will you have dinner with me? All of you?” and Grace smiles.

*

And so the family practically moves into her quarters. Sometimes, when she’s passing through between meetings and obituaries, she sees Jonathan explaining things to Hazard: the functioning of an exoskeleton, the hierarchy visible in anthills, the mating rituals of worms. Hazard hangs on to his every word, Boots dutifully by his side, playing with Temp. She still plays, still sings, still eats and smiles. But sometimes she catches herself turning around and looking for her brother, and then she will burst into hot angry tears. Lizzie mostly sits at Luxa’s old desk and writes, using the tree of transmission, the code of claw, or her own invented ones. She writes out all the prophecies neatly, and asks Luxa for stories about her brother completing them. Luxa tells her all she knows, all she can bear to tell, and then sends for Mareth, Dulcet, Howard or Temp. Some of the anecdotes even make Lizzie smile, however briefly.

Every night, Grace comes pounding at the Council door and says she has come to retrieve Luxa for dinner. No one in the Council dares object, because she is the Mother of Light, and because, frankly, Grace is a little bit scary. Luxa appreciates the protection, more than she thought she would.

She asks them, one night, what they want to do with Gregor’s body, once Lizzie and Boots are asleep, curled up with Hazard in his room. Grace and Jonathan both still, look at each other. It is an entirely different kind of love than Vikus and Solovet had, than even her parents had. Unburdened by royal blood and diverging ideals, there is a sense of friendship to them, of being a team through it all, that Luxa so admires. And a little part of her thinks that perhaps, she and Gregor might have had that, given time. Of course, it is foolish; if Gregor had lived, he would have returned home. But still, her heart is treacherous enough to imagine.

“We would like to take him home, and bury him with our family.” Luxa nods. “Then we shall do that.” But they share a look, and Luxa braces herself. “Luxa… no one has made any plans to take us home. There has been no talk of it. We are starting to get worried.”

Of course, there has been talk of it. Almost every day in the Council, Luxa is battling the same arguments: the usefulness of Boots to rally the Crawlers; Lizzie’s sharp, young mind against codes to come. These extraordinary children, given away to the Underland, Gregor laying down his life for them. Every day, Luxa  has been fighting them off, but there is little she can say, despite a weak it would not be right. “This is not what Gregor died for” she whispers to Vikus over and over, and he agrees. If it comes to it, Luxa will fly them out herself, if she can find a way out of the palace. Surely she could enlist Temp’s help. She so wishes Ripred were here.

“I will get you home. Do not worry. But perhaps after the surrender, if that is alright? The warrior’s family should be here.” Grace looks uncomfortable. “And I shall like to have you by my side. It will be a little like…” She cannot say the words. But Grace covers her hand with her dark one and nods. “Okay, Luxa. We’ll be there.” And it is so like Gregor, the shortening of syllables, the intonation of okay, that Luxa really does feel like a part of him is here with her.

*

The day of the surrender, Luxa carefully fills the deep pockets of her dress. She takes the two photographs of her and Gregor, a drawing Hazard made of her and Hamnet together, the blue fish stone, and Vikus’s ring in her right pocket. In her left, she rests Solovet’s ring, a stone from her father’s coronation crown, and the crown the nibblers had used as their signal to her. The Council tells her to fly out with Aurora, but she walks through the city. She fills her eyes and her heart with her destructed home, promises justice to all who ask.

In the arena, everyone turns to her. She wishes Vikus were here. She wishes a lot of people were here.

But she holds her head high, sidestepping the holes on the ground. Her eyes sweep over the bleachers: Gregor’s family is huddled with the Crawlers, though Lapblood is near them, her tail wrapped protectively around Lizzie; Hazard sits with them, and he gives an encouraging smile, as Aurora lands; Howard, York and Susannah, practically the last of her mother’s side of the family, are also there, looking at her expectantly; and Nerissa, tired and frail, does not look at her, and Luxa wonders what that means.

A part of her wants to run. Wants to say no, I am only twelve, hop on Aurora and run away to Ares’s cave, pretend that Gregor will round the corner in a minute and they can finally have their picnic. Instead, she calls upon the gnawer’s representative, expecting it to be Baereleg, who does open his mouth, but -

Of course, nothing in Luxa’s life has ever quite gone to plan.

She has no time to be happy that he is alive. As she watches Lizzie jump onto him, laughing for the first time in weeks, Luxa squares her shoulders, shares a look with York. The game has changed, with the Peacemaker appearing (she almost snorts – there is no doubt in her mind that this wound is self-inflicted). Luxa is weakened, and so she does what she has been taught to do: attack.

“Good. Then you should have no problem peacefully leading your fellow gnawers to the Uncharted lands.” She says icily.

“Yes, I do have a problem with that, Your Highness. And I am willing to bet I am not the only one. What have you done with my little warrior, huh? What does he think of this?”

Luxa grows cold. Even for Ripred, that is a low blow. To taunt her, to make her say what has been prophesied for so long. What she has known since the first time she laid eyes on Gregor: he would be taken from her.

“What do you think, Ripred? Gregor’s light has faded.” She watches the smallest glimmer of hope faint from Ripred, watches a flicker of genuine sadness be replaced quickly. Right there, in the moment Ripred has waited for his entire life, the moment he has worked and bled and killed for, he crouches next to Lizzie and abandons all negotiations in order to care for her. Luxa is stunned, staring at the huge rat, oozing blood, wrapping his paws around the girl. She can guess where this is going, if she stands her ground and he stands his: such moments will not happen again. Such genuine friendships between human and rat, Killer and Gnawer, will not come around again. She thinks about Gregor crying over Tick, Hazard being the first of his kind to learn another language. She thinks about Boots feeding the stingers, earning the title of Princess because of her kindness, not her blood. She thinks about Gregor sparing the Bane, and is sure, in that moment, that even if he had known the future, that foolish, idealistic, wonderful boy would not have killed it. Suddenly, she is very, very tired.

The gnawer is back to negotiation mode, rambling about justice and guarantees, cutters at the border and treaties, but Luxa interrupts him.

“Ripred.” Her voice is not queenly, or controlled. It is hoarse, and human, and grief-stricken. It is genuine.

He turns to her, snarls, “I will give you a war if it is one you want, your Highness.”.

Luxa thinks about One of us has to live, and steps toward the gnawer with a raised hand.

“This is what I offer. A bond between all humans and gnawers. A vow, to defend one another. To fight side by side, to learn about and from each other. To teach our pups differently. No treaties, no promises – but bonds.” Luxa smiles at the stunned crowd, and then turns back to Ripred. “Do you dare take it?”

Ripred’s smile is genuinely proud. He presses his claw against her palm, and so Luxa gains a new bond.

Aurora, Hazard, and Howard launch themselves at her, showering her in congratulations and expressions of pride. “Grandmama is rolling around in her grave.” She tells Howard. He laughs. “But Gregor would be so proud.” A shadow of sadness falls over Luxa, but she smiles. “You know what, I think you’re right.”

*

Lizzie’s solution is ingenious, and the compromise is sure to be a success, but Luxa is anxiously watching the Council members, their carnivorous smiles at Lizzie. Oh, how useful she and her little mind would be. She wraps an arm around the girl, and shares a look with Ripred.

They feast, and Luxa points out the shrimp in cream sauce to the rat. But he shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t think I can bear it quite yet.” She frowns. Hazard takes a spoonful of it, and says “Oh, this is what Gregor brough to the jungle for you, is it not?” And Ripred nods. “Yes. Yes it is.” But he does not elaborate. Instead, he launches into a conversation with Hazard about echolocation lessons, and Luxa makes herself a sandwich.

They get them out that very night, secretly. Lizzie clings to the rat until the very last minute, and Temp weeps as Boots says “See you soon!”. Aurora flies them all out, even though they’re heavy on her back, but it was the only way. She orders them to lay on their bellies, hidden from guards, and places trusted soldiers at the gates.

She hugs Boots close, and Lizzie too. “Thank you.” The girl says. “For what?” Lizzie smiles, looking beyond her age. “You made him happy. A lot.” And then she’s stepping out, into the mysterious Overland. Luxa pokes her head out, just to see Gregor’s world for a second. The moon curves elegantly in the sky. Jonathan kisses her cheek, Grace hugs her close. “Sweetie, you will make such a wonderful queen.” Luxa buries her face in the woman’s shoulder.

She’s crying by the time they land back at the docks. Ripred, Mareth, Temp, Lapblood and Hazard are still there. She catches the last bit of dialogue, Lapblood saying “Shame, I would have been proud to bond with the warrior.” and smiles. Hazard takes her hand, asks her if she is alright. “I will be.” And she brings him close to her side.

“Now, we have work to do.”

Ripred narrows his eyes. “We do?”

“Oh, have I not told you? You are all part of my new Council. I am getting rid of Solovet’s lieutenants.” There’s silence, and then Lapblood is whooping loudly, Ripred and Mareth already deep in negotiation.

“Me, in the Council, me?” Temp asks, bewildered. Luxa crouches next to the creature that had welcomed Gregor here, that had taught her so much, and smiles.

“You, in the Council, you.”

[loisfreakinglane]

1, 15, 25, 31!

1. Talk about the first ship you ever had.

you know.......... it’s hard to know. I would usually defer to some of my earliest tv fandoms but I’m gonna go earlier than that. I had a vested interest in brandy!cinderella and her prince and how fucking much I wanted them to dance forever, so it might have been that. OR POSSIBLY robin hood/maid marian but specifically I am only talking about the version of them in robin hood men in tights. so like one of those is my best guess today lol

15. Have you ever “shipped at first sight”?

one hundred percent yes. sometimes people are just so beautiful you know in your heart that they need to smush faces

25. Have you ever shipped a pairing before you even started watching the show/movie simply because of gifs and graphics or similar?

OH FOR SURE. like many times. but one of the big ones that became a huuuuge otp for me is aidan/sally from being human us. it’s a good thing I genuinely liked the show as a whole bc their actual like FALLING IN LOVE GETTING TOGETHER ship content wasn’t til the very last season

31. Talk about one of your favorite headcanons for a ship you love.

I’m gonna leech off of @bluetiefling‘s answer for this bc it is genuinely my most favorite, but mine and hers and @beavesaintmaries epic post s2 shannara chronicles wil/mareth worldbuilding is genuinely one of the best things ever created on planet earth 

[cutter-kirby]

something really upsetting about mareth that i haven't really seen talked about is that gregor says mareth was in charge of the prophecy of bane quest (he mentions this in chapter 7 of cotw) and. that quest was a complete and utter failure. pandora was killed, five of the questers went missing in the labyrinth (including the queen who wasn't even supposed to be there), mareth himself was heavily wounded, and to top it all off, they didn't kill the bane. the remaining five returned to nothing but hatred and an execution trial. like i'm sure this isn't the first mission he's led but considering this is a warrior-prophecy-dictated-quest, oh man this must have been devastating.

[abyss-of-muse]

@errera-after-dark (continued from here)

“Ohhh, I know. You look like a cute, innocent elf girl on the outside, but secretly you’re some plant monster or demon or whatever the fuck. Very possible. But I feel like taking chances today! Soooooo...” The cheery lizard waved over the bartender and ordered a pair of drinks, allowing Aila to choose her drink of choice while she opted for the usual firewater. Of course, at this point she’d been conditioned by the land of Mareth to believe that it was much less common to find a genuine human than a monster wearing one as a disguise. Typically that’d be quite the leap to make, but in this case she was actually correct... kind of.

“Just don’t go and count me out right away. I’m stronger than I look, y’know?” The seven foot tall fiery salamander made her jest just as she raised a freshly poured glass of liquor to her lips, gulping down the large shot with ease. “Name’s Roza,” she proclaimed after she slammed the glass back down on the counter. “What’s yours?”

[scorbleeo]

The Shannara Chronicles Season 2 | TV Show Review

Series of adventures, war, and evil that occur throughout the history of the Four Lands.

Source: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1051220/

Watch The Shannara Chronicles Season 2 trailer here.

Why Did It Get Cancelled?!

If you looked back at my review for The Shannara Chronicles Season 1, you would quickly become confused with my sudden change of heart (in reference to the bolded title just one or two sentences up there). Yes, I admit I did not enjoy the first season and due to that, I judged season two pretty quickly. I will be completely honest here, I expected to dread each episode in The Shannara Chronicles Season 2. Yet, with a shocking turn of events, I ended up really enjoying this season. It was everything I wanted from season one but never got. To be more objective, as much as I liked this season and I do think it did doubly better than it’s previous season, there is still so much room for improvements. So, season two was good but still far from perfection.

I really liked the addition of Mareth in this season. Her character started out being so mysterious, I could not get a clear read on her at all. Fortunately, when things began clearing out, she became an extremely interesting character. Her backstory, her abilities and her capabilities. If The Shannara Chronicles had continued, I would have been so down to watch more Mareth. She was one of the reasons I really enjoyed this season to begin with. Melise Jow did this character justice.

Apart from Mareth, Garet Jax was such a fresh inclusion into the TV show too. Likewise, I could not get a read on him in the first few episodes. I do think his backstory was slightly cliche but Garet Jax made up for those cliche bits with his badass abilities. Mind you, Garet Jax is entirely human, whatever his character has the ability to do, he was NOT born with it. Which makes him even more interesting than if he was someone supernatural. Personally, I have never watched any show with Gentry White in it, but the team made a right choice casting White as Garet Jax.

Of course, with every show I watch, I look out for character growth. Although I would not consider Bandon’s character as growth, I completely understand why he chose to go down that particular path. I just hate what happened to Bandon in the end. This was one villainous character I would have looked forward to watching more of; instead of that Warlock Lord who was probably the least interesting character in the entirety of The Shannara Chronicles.

I am very sad this TV show has come to an untimely end. This will probably be one of those cancelled TV shows I had watched that I regret not getting to earlier on. Maybe I would not have been able to do anything about its cancellation, but even if it was going to just be a sliver of hope, it’s still hope. Now, I’m just downright late to the game, the results are out and I can’t help in anything. I do wonder though, if the show had more episodes per season, would it have helped? One thing’s for sure, there would be more room for plot development.

Ratings: ★★★★☆

[runlikethemotherfuckingriver]

Reasons to read TUC (spoilers)

The underland chronicles:

- giant fucking rats

- Questionable actions from the ‘good guys’

- Actual character development

- Ripred

- Boy attempts to commit suicide to save friends, is saved by a depressed bat who let his best friend die in order to save boy

- A character is full on isolated from society, left to die in a cave

- A mother imprisones her son in a cell for a full month with no light or human contact, does the same to an 11 year old boy

- Rats litterally kill a whole species

- Biological warfare employed by the good side, even when their own people started dying they didn’t give out the cure (which they said they didn’t have)

- Very graphic scenes of war, main character is actually affected by how much he has killed

- Humans are referred to as killers by other species for very sinister reasons

- Very serious bond death treason stuff

- People/bat almost get executed by getting thrown off a cliff

- MAIN CHARACTERS ACTUALLY DIE

- Ripred

- Ambiguous ending

- blood and gore described

- Moments where you physically have to put the book down because of cringe (not bad cringe funny cringe)

- Have I said ripred yet?

- Believable love interests

- Good prophecys

- Mean grandmother

- Much less mean grandfather

- Much cooler uncle

- Much more arrogant granddaughter

- Varied types of cousins

- I mean you’ve got bad cousins, good cousins, sexy cousins, prophetic cousins all of them

- Sass master 3000 otherwise known as ripred

- Echolocation

- Rat names that are just two badass words out together; lapblood, ripred, makemince, flyfur, sixclaw

- Oh wait I was wrong there’s actually a rat who’s just called shed

- Very subtle hints that two of our favourite men were MOST DEFINETLy DATING AND THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN TELL US OTHERWISE MS COLLINS

- Prophecies that are fun to say out loud to a beat

- People are affected by their goddamn scars and injuries

- Bats that you just cannot help but love

- But one bat in particular that is impossible not to love

- Awesome species names that are in fact very creative and not at all just description of what said species does

- Ripred

In conclusion:

Hamnet and Mareth were dating

Thank you for your time

And for coming to my Ted talk

[crazy-fruit]

Highlights from “Gregor and the Prophecy of Bane” (look this is my favourite book out of the series) - Gregor saving the cockroaches in their flat - the fact that the some crawlers walked around the Central Park to save Boots - Ares being there to safe Gregor from falling (again) - Ares being pissed at Gregor for commanding him around - Luxa absolutley slaying during the training session - Luxa and Andromeda looking out for Ares and being his only friends - Gregor being a rager - RIPRED! - Vikus thinking that a reunion could help - everybody leaving/feeling devastated about the reunion (except for Ripred because SHRIMPS!) - The Prophecy of Bane, I just love the first verse - Gregor doesn’t want to fight a giant white rat - Fofo and Zap (+ Twitchtip telling them to stfu) - Gregor failing to keep up during the watch (he might be the hero but he does mistakes) - Luxa perfectly timing her arrival so that she can’t fly back - Mareth’s foreshadowing “What if you die?” - Howard telling Luxa that she shouldn’t believe everything that Henry told her - Gregor saving Twitchtip aka. risking his own life because he’s over the entitled humans thinking they’re better than other creatures - Twitchtip being utterly touch-starved - Luxa making Gregor a sandwich! Like he taught her how to make a sandwich...GLUXA is life!! - the Island is still a shocking scene - How devastated Gregor is after they enter the Labyrinth - Twitchtip no longer being strong enough to follow - the “plottwist” - Gregor keeping his heart by the actions he chooses to take - Nerissa’s reaction to Gregor’s story - Vikus telling Gregor he’d warn Ares if he gets charged again - Mrs. Cormaci is an absolute angle - being home for Christmas

[allanonxmareth]

I have the worst writer’s block but some three- or more some ideas I’m now wishing would exist -

✍️ Mareth/Allanon/Ander threesome - pre-S2 AU where Mareth goes to Arborlon to seek help to find Allanon who oops happens to be there. Maybe Ander/Allanon is already happening idk. One thing leads to another leads to the royal Elves DP’ing the Druid

✍️ Mareth/Allanon/Pyria threesome - pre-canon AU where Allanon figures out a way to avoid Druid Sleep. Incredibly problematic, dirty, loving hands-on sex ed where Pyria teaches Mareth to dom extremely subby Allanon

✍️ Mareth/Allanon/Lyria/Eretria - post-canon AU where Allanon lives etc. good stuff. Mareth shares her dad with the Human Queen and her Consort

Basically there should be more Situations