#the most stupid people always think they are the cleverest and here we have a prime specimen

[consult-sherlockholmes]

This is the weirdest shit Ive ever seen. I cant believe someone actively spends their time pretending to be Sherlock online. Jesus christ. You know theres a world outside, right?

You probably don't own a mirror at home then because I can assure you the 'weirdest shit' one can ever see is your deformed thing that doesn't even deserve to call itself a face. Whatever you mean with 'pretending', I am for sure not the one pretending, like you are pretending to be someone with decency by sending hate anonymously to keep your reputation clean.

Well moron you thought this would stay anonymous, maybe you should have not sent hate messages at the exact same time as sending this ask. Not very clever, in fact extremely stupid. So why not show the world who is so spinelessly hiding behind anonymity and blocking me to avoid consequences of their vile hateful words? Some idiot called @sweetenedcondensedmeat

And just taking a look at you or listening to a single neuron-destroying word you utter would make anyone want to bathe in acid to end the misery of having to interact with you. Because even the slow painful death of your tissue getting slowly dissolved by acid is less painful than having to deal with your stupidity.  You might have cowardly blocked me and made yourself now inaccessible to me, however you did not block all my dear followers, who for sure gladly observe someone spewing their hateful bile at others. I mean I am not advising anyone to go teach this person a lesson or giving them a taste of their own medicine, merely showing it to all of you, so you know what kind of person this is, and everyone can decide for themselves what they will do with this information. It would be a shame if they had to face any consequences for their hate, wouldn't it? I don’t know if there might be a feature on this website to report such behaviour, would be a shame if enough people reported them and they would have to face justice. 

For someone who claims this on their blog you are for sure not a very loving person. The hypocrisy is so amusing that someone who sends someone not only hateful asks, also sends harassing private messages and writes their idiotic brain malfunctions on my posts claims that someone else is wasting their time with their actions. Maybe a mirror would really be a good investment for you, to take a look at yourself and notice your own actions before judging others. Although you would probably turn to stone as soon as you look at your own horrible looks like a basilisk. But that would be an improvement for the whole world, so please do look into a mirror and turn to stone. So thank you for harassing me, because this is just hilarious with how stupid you are, thinking I wouldn’t know it’s you, and believing with your pathetic delusional superiority complex that you are smarter or better than me. My diaphragm already hurts from all the laughing. Just pathetic.

[jackoshadows]

One of the things that totally baffles and frustrates me in the asoiaf fandom is the fanon that Sansa is smarter and more diplomatic than Jon and Dany.

How can anyone read the books and come to the conclusion that Sansa is more diplomatic than Jon and Dany? On what basis is this comparison made? Jon and Dany are military leaders and rulers respectively who have successfully negotiated from disadvantaged positions. What is the equivalent of this for Sansa?

These are the issues that Dany faced in Meereen -  olive trees burned down, winter on the horizon making agriculture disadvantageous, former merchants and slaves with no money and a blockade on Meereen by surrounding regions. Jon has 19 decrepit castles on the wall that he has to refit and rebuild and get ready and he has no money, food or men to do this. What is Sansa’s more smarter and diplomatic tactics to deal with these issues?

What is his tax policy? How does he feel about crop rotation? How does he handle land disputes between two nobles, both of whom think that they should have the village, so they burn it down to establish their claim. This is the hard part of ruling be it in the middle ages or now. It’s not enough to be a good man to be an effective ruler. It’s complicated and it’s hard and I wanted to show that with repeated examples in my books with my kings and hand of the kings - the prime minister if you would - trying to rule. And whether it be Ned Stark or Tyrion Lannister or Tywin Lannister or Daenerys Targaryen or Cersei Lannister trying to deal with the real challenges that affect anyone trying to rule the 7K or even a city like Meereen and it’s hard. You know, we can all read the books or read history and say oh, so and so was stupid and made a lot of mistakes and look at all these stupid mistakes they make. But these kind of mistakes are always much more apparent in hind sight than when you are actually faced with the decision about, oh my God, what would I do in this situation. How do I resolve this thing? Do I do the moral thing? But what about  the political consequences of the moral thing? Do I do the pragmatic, cynical thing and kind of screw the people who are screwed by it? I mean, it is HARD. And I want to get to all of that - GRRM

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nJCb3xyWyAg

Where has Sansa dealt with the above issues to make a determination on how she would do better than Dany? Or even do better than Cersei for that matter?

Here is GRRM talking about how frustrating it is that he was not able to compare Daenerys and Cersei as rulers in ADWD:

His biggest lament in splitting A Feast for Crows from A Dance with Dragons is the parallels he was drawing between Cersei and Daenerys.  

Cersei and Daenerys are intended as parallel characters --each exploring  a different approach to how a woman would rule in a male dominated,  medieval-inspired fantasy world.

GRRM, SSM,  July 08, 2007  

George regrets that Cersei and Dany will not be contrasted directly.   He likes the extra breathing room to flesh out the characters. Bran  didn't have any chapters and Dany's ending was different. Now he likes  the way she ended. I think he actually may be doing more with Dany.  

Comic-Con (San Diego, CA; July 20-23)

Where has he talked about contrasting Dany and Sansa? Or Sansa and Cersei? Where are the parallel leadership arcs for Dany and Sansa or Jon and Sansa like there is for Jon and Dany in ADwD?

Jon Snow has negotiated a loan with the Iron Bank, Dany agrees for peace with Yunkai by marriage with Hizdahr and Sansa managed to persuade an eight year old to eat his dinner. How are they even compared at the same level?!

It took an entire book and Ned Stark losing his head for Sansa to realize that the Lannisters were not the good guys. Despite the Lannisters doing increasingly evil things like ordering Sansa’s pet wolf killed. Her younger siblings like Arya cottoned onto that in their first chapters. Sansa then thought that beautiful, charming Margaery was simply the best and the Tyrells ended up using her. She thought Dontos was a good guy. In the Vale, she is pushing the Maester to do what LF wants with respect to SweetRobin. How is she smarter than Jon, Dany or the rest of her siblings? It’s this weird changing of canon in the completely opposite direction. Take the least smart character among the youngsters in the books and make them the smartest in fanon.

I know the show is responsible a lot for pushing this piece of fanon, when Benioff, Weiss and Cogman stripped book Jon and Dany of their leadership arcs and tried to hand them off to Sansa to prop up their favorite character.

But what’s baffling is the so called asoiaf book experts writing about stupid Jon and smart Sansa. About psychopathic assassin murder baby Arya and clever, measured leader Sansa, about ignorant, impulsive Dany and calm, compassionate, hope for the future Sansa. The thing is, no one knows on what basis and metrics they come to this conclusion. It just is. There are no detailed essays comparing Jon and Sansa’s leadership arcs, or Dany and Sansa’s arc of being rulers. But Sansa is still somehow more intelligent and diplomatic.

It’s also connected to this rather sexist strand of thought that only women who wield soft power are smart and level-headed. Tyrion is the only male character allowed to be smart and women who wield hard power like Dany or gnc characters like Arya and Brienne are impulsive, arrogant and ignorant.

In some ways I can see why this has happened. A lot of fandom want Sansa to be special in some way and have an important role to play. And since her narrative story arc is with Littlefinger, she is assigned to be the SMART one. But to be special, she has to be the only smart character.

Plus, Sansa has progressed the least in her arc compared to her peers. She’s a blank slate on whom her fans can project their desires and wishes for her character. The show did something similar - only D&D were too lazy to come up with something original and gave her Jeyne Poole’s story.

But still, there has to be a basis for such statements about the book characters.  It’s not just enough to keep repeating that Sansa is the smartest ever - like ultimate hacks D&D did on the badly written garbage show did. They were rightly laughed at for their ‘Sansa is the cleverest person’ dialogue. But for some reason such statements are accepted for the book version.

The books are well written with gradual character development. Surely, if Sansa is smarter than Jon and Dany we should read that in the books? That this fanon has literally become canon despite not having any basis at all in the books is one of the most frustrating aspects of asoiaf fandom.

[gallavictorious]

Gallavich Week Day 2: Fantasy AU

Summary: Prince Ian is offered up as a sacrifice to appease one of the dragons that haunt his father’s kingdom. Rather than being burned alive or eaten he is inexplicably left to wander the dragon’s lair in peace, as long as he never tries to leave and never enters the mysterious tower chamber. Then he meets fellow prisoner Mikhailo and starts to wonder if maybe this whole sacrificial gig isn’t such a bad deal after all.

Or, Ian Gallagher tells a bedtime story, and Mickey Milkovich is himself.

Fair Warning 1: There’s some Mickey-typical homophobic language in this one.

Fair Warning 2: I wrote all ridiculous 5K of this today (work? what work?) and it’s a little bit of a curious mess. Like, the sort of curious mess you get if you take Lip’s Hall of Shame, @gardenerian’s lovely bedtime stories, the novel “Dealing with Dragons” by Patricia Wrede, the Swedish picture book “Bröllop i Marsipanien” by Lena Karlin, the Greek myth of Andromeda, a bunch of folk tales about shapeshifting lovers, and the questionable old practice of MSTing fics, and then you stuff them all into a Kee and shake her around for a bit and then you pour it out into the shape of a 12 hour long and highly inadvisable speedwriting session.

Read it at your own risk, below or on AO3.

Very Important Note: I make fun of fic writing in this fic. Please note that I’m only making fun of myself and general tropes; any and all allusions to actual fic in the fandom is entirely coincidental.

---

Lest They Say, Here Be Dragons

Hush now, child; settle down. Close your eyes – yes, just like that – and listen:

Once upon a time and elsewhere, there was a kingdom. The people there were no happier than people anywhere else, and poorer than most, but they made do and lived and danced and grieved and died as people have always done.

Jesus, that’s gay.

That is, until the dragons came.

Okay, now you’re talking.

Like a plague they swept the land, winged beasts with fire for breath and ice in their hearts. Every night the fields burned, and the villages burned, and the cattle burned and was eaten. Many a brave people took up arms and went to confront the monsters, and then they burned too.

Heart-broken and terrified, the people went to the king to plead for aid. “Send an emissary to the dragons,” they said. “Reason with them and strike a bargain, or else we are sure to perish.”

What a bunch of pussies. What they should do is, they should use a bunch a cow shit to build a bomb and nuke the hell out of those dragons. Problem fucking solved.

Now, this king was a scoundrel and a drunk and the queen had an unfortunate habit of turning herself into a bird and flying off to more interesting lands whenever the mood took her. They had six children but rarely paid them any mind and fair Princess Fiona, eldest of the six, was left to raise her younger siblings as best she could. False King Francis would have been perfectly content to turn his desperate subjects away if it weren’t for the fact the dragons unchecked rampage threatened the production of the spirits the king so enjoyed. So, donning a mask of compassionate concern, for he was a skilled liar, he promised the people that he would help them. But as soon as they had left, comforted, he turned the task over to his children.

The second oldest child, foxy Prince Philip—

Foxy Prince Philip?

Yeah, you know. Foxy. Like clever.

Why not just say clever then?

‘Cause it’s not alliterative.

Alliter—

Starts with the same sound. Foxy – Philip. Fair – Fiona.

Oh, I get it. Like, Ian – idiot. Ow!

Foxy Prince Philip was known far and wide for being the cleverest in all the land, and by using all his cunning he managed to strike a deal with the leader of the dragons.

“By using all his cunning.” Skimming over the details a bit there, huh?

You really want me to turn this into a Prince Philip story? Hear me go on and on about what a genius he is?

…

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

It was agreed that the dragons would spread out over the kingdom, each one building their own place to live near a village, and that the villagers would bring them food and drink. In turn, the dragons would refrain from casual pyromancy and protect the villagers from harm.

Protection racket, huh. Classic. Starting to like these dragons, man.

In addition, the cruel leader of the dragons demanded that each dragon be offered a child of the land in sacrifice. No matter how Prince Philip bargained he could not change the dragon’s cold heart on this—

Guess he wasn’t so clever after all.

—and so, with heavy hearts and much lamenting, each village drew lots to determine which poor child would be sent as an offering to their new resident dragon. However, in the village nearest to the castle the people grew angry when the beloved blacksmith’s only child, a small girl of just four, was selected, and they went to the king and they said:

“It isn’t fair that some people are asked to give up their only child to appease the dragons while you, who have six children, are exempt from the lottery.”

King Francis, fearing an uprising as much as he feared the dragons (since each was as likely as the other to leave him without a drink), quickly nodded.

“That’s true,” he said. “And fairness must ever be the true monarchs first and most important concern. Though it breaks my heart, I can’t in good conscience watch my people sacrifice their own children without offering up my own. You may take Prince Ian and give him to the dragon.”

At this, the other princes and princesses raised their voices in furious protest, for they loved their brother even if their father did not. But industrious Prince Ian—

Industrious? That really the best you can come up with?

—stepped forward and declared that he’d be happy to give up his life, so that the child of the blacksmith might be spared. And so, as the sunt set, he was taken away to the lair of the dragon that had made its home near the castle.

So let me get this straight… The king is happy to toss Prince Ian to the wolves ‘cause he hates him, and his siblings are all sad and shit but they still let him go off to get fucking eaten by dragons?

Yes.

Uh-huh.

What?

…

Oh, fuck you. It’s just a story.

Totally.

Stepping into the lair, with heart a-hammering but on stubbornly steady legs, Prince Ian set eyes upon the beast that was to be his destiny. He was momentarily relieved to see it was not the terrible leader of the dragons, as he had feared, but a smaller monster he did not recognize. Black was its hide, its eyes a cold sparkling blue—

Gallagher, I swear to god, if you turn me into some lame ass henchman dragon—

Keep interrupting, asshole, and it’ll be a pink fucking unicorn. And hang on, you’ll show up in a little bit.

Setting his jaw, Prince Ian prepared to die a heroic death—

‘Course he did, the stupid motherfucker. Hey, if Prince Philip was so fucking smart, and if he gave a shit about his brother, shouldn’t he have given him, I dunno, a knife or something?

Prince Ian prepared to die a heroic death, because unlike some other people he was not a selfish prick and he actually cared about the people of the kingdom, but much to his surprise the dragon did not burn him. Instead, it just stared at him for a good long while, until suddenly it declared:

“You must never leave the lair, and you must never set foot inside the tower chamber. Abide by these rules and you may live. Break these rules and I’ll rip your heart out and eat it while you watch, and then I’ll burn the castle down with your beloved siblings inside.”   

You tell him, dragon.

With that the dragon took flight and disappeared, leaving Prince Ian to stand alone in the great hall of the lair, confused but alive. The young prince remained where he was for a few minutes, thinking that the dragon might come back, but when it did not he set out to explore his new home. It was big, with endless rooms and nooks and crannies, but it was badly kept, with strange bits and pieces cluttering up the hallways and chambers. Prince Ian found some old blankets and he used those to set up a pallet in one of the nicer rooms, one that had a view over a small, overgrown garden. And then, because it was very late and he was not dead, he went to sleep.

The next day he continued his explorations and managed to find the kitchen. It was full with the meat that the villagers brought the dragon once a month, and remembering that the beast had only forbidden him from leaving the lair and going into the tower chamber, Prince Ian helped himself to a piece of pork that he cooked over a small fire.

Hang on, was there a fridge in the kitchen?

No. This was the olden days.

But the villagers came once a month with the meat? How did the dragon keep from rotting?

That’s not really—

Was it dried? Like a Slim Jim?

… sure. It was dried.

As he was eating, Prince Ian heard a sudden scraping noise behind him.

The hell did he cook it over a fire for then, if it was dried?

He looked up and spied another young man standing in the doorway.

I’m just saying, it doesn’t make any fucking sense, man. Wait, is this me?

Prince Ian frowned. “Who are you?” he asked. “Are you a prisoner of the dragon too?”

The boy shrugged. “Uh, yeah. I guess. I mean, I do some work around here. Clean up and shit, in exchange for not getting eaten. Name’s Mikhailo.”

About fucking time. Only, how is it fair that you get to be prince and I’m a fucking cleaner?

Prince Ian tactfully did not mention how the lair was impressively dirty for a place with a fulltime cleaner but invited Mikhailo to share his meal. As they ate, Prince Ian studied his new acquaintance. He was the same age as but shorter than the prince, with skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony.

Hair as black as— The hell was that?

Nothing.

Yeah, okay, then why are you smiling? Eh, fuck you. Prince Ian’s fucking thirsty for Mikhailo, I get it.

Though his manner was somewhat brusque and uncouth, Prince Ian could not help but feel himself drawn to Mikhailo. The boy was funny and easy to talk to, even if he seemed reluctant to say too much about himself or where he came from. Prince Ian tried asking him about the dragon, but despite apparently having lived there ever since the dragon moved in, Mikhailo couldn’t tell him much.

“Hardly ever even see it, man. At dusk and dawn mostly, so I guess it spends the night flying around with the other dragons, terrorizing the peasants or whatever. During the day it holes up in the tower chamber. Guess dragons must sleep too, huh? Don’t fucking go up there,” he added sternly. “It ain’t fucking kidding about killing you if you do.”

Having found a friend, Prince Ian found that life at the dragon’s lair wasn’t all that bad. He missed his siblings and being outdoors and practicing with the soldiers at the castle, and he resented the loss of his freedom, but he enjoyed the peace and quiet, and enjoyed spending time with Mikhailo. However, one thing he soon grew very tired of was eating nothing but meat. The dragon didn’t seem to require anything else, for it was the only thing the villagers ever delivered, and Mikhailo – whose tasks included receiving the monthly tribute – just gave Prince Ian a weird look when Ian suggested he ask the people to bring some vegetables next month.

“That ain’t the deal they’ve got with the dragon,” he told Ian. “Ain’t nobody gonna listen to me if I go trying to change it.”

Yeah, real Prince Charming there, wanting Mikhailo to risk his life so Ian can stuff his face with fucking cucumber.

Undeterred by Mikhailo’s lack of enthusiasm and courage—

Fuck you.

—Prince Ian decided to take it up with the dragon himself. In the weeks since he arrived at the lair, he hadn’t met the creature again, not even once; he’d just heard the powerful swoosh of its wings when it came and went at dusk and dawn. Now he went up the stairs to the tower chamber and there he waited until night had fallen and he noted the scraping of claws against stone inside the room. Then he knocked at the door.

There was a long silence. Then the door slammed open with enough force to nearly undo it from its hinges.

“What are you doing here?!” the dragon roared, terrible in its fury. “I’ve told you to never come here!”

“You’ve told me to never set foot inside the room,” Ian reasoned, fighting to keep his voice calm. “And I’m not. I just wanted to ask if I may have the use of the small garden just outside the lair. I miss being outdoors and I could grow vegetables for Mikhailo and me.”

Jesus Christ, man, again with gardening? Thought you were over it.

“You may never leave the lair,” the dragon, a garden-hating meanie, snarled, and then he closed the door in Prince Ian’s face.

As he fucking should.

“Probably worried one of the villagers will spot you and, I dunno, mount a rescue,” Mikhailo said shortly the next morning when Prince Ian told him of his failed attempt. “Anyway, you’re a fucking idiot for going up there like that. You get it won’t hesitate to kill you, right?”

“Right,” Ian agreed. “But,” he added with a frown, “why hasn’t it yet?”

“You fucking complaining?” Mikhailo snapped, and then he stalked away, and Ian didn’t see him again for three days.

Listen, you get that I get that Mikhailo is the dragon, right? You’re not fooling anyone, Gallagher.

Then, one day, fed up with the dragon being a really annoying prick, Prince Ian grabbed a huge sword he conveniently found lying around in a cupboard, because the lair was a fucking pigsty, suitable for a pig like the dragon, and he went up the stairs and kicked in the door and he cut the dragon’s throat while it slept, and then he went off and found himself a nice prince to marry.

…

…

That’s not how the story ends.

…

Hey, where are you going? Come back- Jesus, I’m sorry, okay? Gallagher, I’m sorry. Just come back here. Tell me what really happened.

Prince Ian woke with a start on his pallet in the lair. He’d had the most vivid dream about killing the dragon—

A dream? That’s the lamest fucking— Ah, fuck. Sorry.

—but for some reason it hadn’t felt as satisfying as he had thought it would. For all that Prince Ian often fantasized about strangling the beast, it seemed he didn’t actually wish to see it dead. With that disconcerting realization in mind, Prince Ian went to break his fast, resigned to doing so on meat and yet more meat. But in the kitchen he found Mikhailo, and on the table in front of him was a pile of cabbage and carrots and onions. 

“Guess the dragon must have talked to the villagers after all,” Mikhailo muttered, refusing to look at the prince. “And, uh, there was this thing I wanted to show you.”

Without waiting for a response, he spun around on his heel and walked out the door. Curious, Prince Ian followed, through doors and up and down stairs he never knew existed. Eventually, he found himself standing in what appeared to be an inner courtyard. It was small and the walls surrounding it very high, but up above the sky was blue. Prince Ian turned his face towards it and for the first time since he came to live at the dragon’s lair he felt sunlight on his face.

“It’s a shithole,” Mikhailo said. For some reason he sounded a little nervous. “But if you wanna go outside, you can come here. And there’s dirt in those bins, so I guess you could grow stuff in them? Just gotta wear this hat. Anyone sees you, they’ll just think it’s me.”

Privately, Prince Ian wondered who’d ever be able to see him behind walls that high, but he wasn’t going to argue. Wearing an ugly had was a small price to pay for being able to go outside, and to have a garden.

He gave Mikhailo a small smile; Mikhailo smiled back.

“Mikhailo smiled back.” Yeah, you bet he was laughing his ass off, ‘cause he thought Prince Ian was a huge fucking dork.

Things were good for a long while after that. Prince Ian spent his days in the garden and in Mikhailo’s company, and though he still resented being locked away from the world it was easy to ignore that when he had something to do and when his plants started to grow and when he was with Mikhailo. The two young men became closer and closer with each passing week, and soon it seemed to Prince Ian as if they had always known each other. He could no longer imagine a life without his friend.

He suspected that Mikhailo felt the same. It was there in the way he laughed at Prince Ian’s jokes; the way he sought him out to do nothing but talk; the way his gaze sometimes lingered on the prince, the look in his eyes unreadable.

Prince Ian suspected that Mikhailo too wondered what it would be like to press their lips together and hold each other tight. Sleep together; map every inch of each other’s bodies.

Hang on a minute, you’re telling me they haven’t fucked yet? The hell they’ve been doing?

I told you. Hanging out. Talking. Laughing.

Jesus Christ, that’s so fucking gay.

Two men not fucking each other is gay? Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. One day we really need to talk about all your internalized homophobia.

My interna-what? Ah, shut the fuck up. Continue with the story. All these interruptions ain’t doing much for the flow, you know.

Really? I hadn’t noticed.

Prince Ian became determined to find out if Mikhailo felt the same way as he did. He realized that he needed to be careful, however, and not push too hard, lest he spook the other boy. Even though he was almost sure he could see longing in Mikhailo’s eyes, there seemed to be some invisible hand holding him back. Every time Prince Ian was convinced they were finally getting somewhere, Mikhailo would suddenly pull back, as if stung.

Or as if remembering something. Himself, maybe.

Bu then came a cold, clear autumn day almost exactly one year after Prince Ian had been taken to the dragon’s lair.

Whoa, wait, now you’re telling me they’ve been hanging out for one fucking year and they still haven’t banged?

What can I say? Mikhailo’s a pussy.

Whatever. This story is unrealistic as fuck.

Prince Ian and Mikhailo had spent the afternoon together in the garden, as they almost always did whenever Mikhailo wasn’t busy with any of his mysterious chores (which he still refused to tell Prince Ian much about, but which sometimes took him away from the lair for days at a time). Once it started getting dark they went inside and dined on chicken and potatoes from Prince Ian’s patch, and as so often happened they started bickering and play fighting.

If that’s something that happens a lot you might have mentioned it earlier. Established it or whatever. Those mysterious chores too. What’s that all about?

Oh, my bad. Maybe I should start over? Once upon and time—

Nah, man, you’re good. Just a suggestion for next time.

Thank you.

You’re welcome.

They were chasing each other around the kitchen when Mikhailo tripped over the muddy shoes he’d lazily left there the night before and fell to the floor.

You know these meaningful little comments ain’t actually clever, right? They don’t actually add anything to the story.

I like them.

Prince Ian, ever chivalrous, grabbed hold of his friend’s arm to break his fall, but ended up going down with him instead, pinning Mikhailo to the floor with his big, strong body.

Fucking finally.

Their eyes met and Prince Ian felt his heart starting to beat faster. He could see a faint blush spreading over Mikhailo’s face. Neither of them spoke; neither of them moved. Then, slowly, slowly, Prince Ian leaned in to brush his lips over Mikhailo’s. Mikhailo lifted his head to meet him in a kiss to end all other kisses, a kiss to inspire a thousand love songs.

Uh-huh, and then…

And then they went to Prince Ian’s room and had sex all night long. But when Prince Ian woke the next morning—

Wait, wait, what? That’s it? “They had sex all night long.” How about some fucking detail, man?

Fine.

After having great sex using lots of good lube all night long, Prince Ian woke up alone in his bed.

I hate you.

He went in search of Mikhailo but couldn’t find his friend anywhere. He looked in the garden and in the kitchen and he went to the sad little cellar chamber Mikhailo called his room even though Prince Ian had never actually seen him sleep there.

Because he’s the dragon and sleeps in the tower chamber. Great hint, Gallagher. Real subtle.

Fuck off.

A week passed and Prince Ian was starting to suspect that Mikhailo was gone for good this time. Perhaps the dragon had found out about their tryst and had sent him away? Or maybe Mikhailo was disgusted with what had happened and wanted nothing more to do with the prince? Prince Ian wondered and worried and feared, and when finally Mikhailo returned, stepping into the kitchen like nothing had happened, Prince Ian was so exhausted with terror and regret that his relief immediately transformed into fury.

He yelled at Mikhailo, called him names and demanded to know where he’d been. He named him a coward and—

…

Hey, what’s the matter? You okay?

Yeah. Yeah, man, I’m fine.

You don’t look— Listen, Prince Ian’s just being an asshole, okay? He saying a bunch of stupid shit ‘cause he’s sick and tired of not knowing if he means as much to Mikhailo as Mickhailo means to him. He doesn’t mean it.

…

Mick?

I mean… He probably means it a little. He’s not wrong.

No, he’s— Fine. He means it a little right then. But he is wrong, okay? He doesn’t really understand what’s going on with Mikhailo, but he’ll get it later. He’ll know he wasn’t being really fair.

… yeah?

Yeah. Okay?

Okay.

Great. Maybe we should speed this bit up a little—

Once Prince Ian had finished shouting, Mikhailo just stared at him for a long moment.

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” he spat, and then he spun around and disappeared through the door.

Prince Ian was immediately overcome with regret, yet he was still too angry and hurt and stubborn to run after the other. He went about his day in a very foul mood and when he went to bed that night Mikhailo was still gone. Prince Ian slept fitfully and in the middle of the night he woke to a loud crash, soon followed by several more. He realized it must have come form the tower chamber and after a moment of hesitation he grabbed his nightgown and rushed up the stairs.

So, he brought a nightgown with him when he thought the dragon was going to kill him?

Of course not. He found it in one of the rooms.

Yeah, okay, but why are there so many rooms in this fucking lair anyway? What’s with all the old stuff there? Didn’t the dragon build the place to live in like right before Prince Ian was sent there?

Mickey. It’s getting late and I’d really love to wrap this up and go to bed. It doesn’t really matter about the rooms. Can I just continue with the story?

Whatever, man. Just thought you should know there’s a bunch of plot holes in your little fairy tale.

 Once he reached the door to the forbidden room, the crashing noises had stopped. Instead, Prince Ian heard whimpers and moaning, as if from someone in great pain. It could only be the dragon – something must be wrong with it.

Yeah, ya think, Sherlock?

Prince Ian knocked on the door. There was no reply, other than more whimpers and moans. Steeling himself, he tried the handle. The door was unlocked.

That’s awfully convenient.

Stepping inside, Prince Ian found the dragon on the floor. It was clearly hurt, for there was dark blood pooling underneath it. As Prince Ian entered, the great beast lifted its head but said nothing and made no move to attack him. It seemed it was too badly hurt to pose any threat.

It occurred to Prince Ian that he could kill the dragon. He could go down to the kitchen and fetch the biggest knife there and then he’d be free and he could go back to the castle and his siblings and—

The dragon made a low, pained sound and let its head fall back to the floor, closing its eyes.

Prince Ian went down the stairs, but he didn’t fetch a knife, he fetched bandages instead. Though part of him cursed himself for a fool, he knew he couldn’t bring himself to kill the dragon, monster or not, and couldn’t bring himself to let it bleed to death either.

That’s a huge fucking mistake. Maybe the dragon never hurt him but it still kept him imprisoned. Prince Ian should be getting the hell out of there when he has the chance.

Hmm, yeah. Choosing to be locked up just to be the person you love does sound like a pretty insane thing to do.

Oh, fuck off. That’s totally different.

Sure, Mick.

By the time Prince Ian returned to the tower the dragon had lost consciousness. The prince set to cleaning and bandaging his wounds, having learned the art of it while training with a medical witch who lived at the castle. It took a great long while; the dragon was large and heavy and the cuts in its side long, if shallow. But Prince Ian was nothing if not determined and eventually he had the beast wrapped up.

As Ian moved to rise, the dragon stirred.

“The hell are you doing?” it muttered, blinking up at Ian. Then it spotted the bandages, and the ice blue eyes widened. “What the— Are you fucking insane? This is a... is a… real bad fucking idea… ”

It sounded… strange, and not just from the pain and blood loss, Prince Ian thought. Sounded not just slurred but softer somehow, in spite of the uncharacteristic cursing; sounded almost familiar; sounded like—

“Mikhailo,” Prince Ian whispered.

Ooooh, big surprise! I’m so shocked right now!

You know there are other uses for plot twists than to shock the reader, right? Or actually, I guess you don’t know, but if you picked up a book once in a while—

Yeah, yeah, whatever. What happened after this great and totally unexpected reveal?

The dragon lost consciousness again so Prince Ian went to bed and slept soundly and when he woke the next day he spotted Mikhailo leaning against the wall of his room, looking tired ad unhappy. He was even paler than usually and there was a stiffness to his posture that suggested quite a bit of pain, but other than that he seemed well enough.

“So,” Prince Ian said, trying for casualness as he sat up on his pallet. “You’re a dragon.”

Mikhailo shrugged. “Seems like it.”

“But only by night.”

“Yeah… We turn when the sun sets, and turn back again when it rises.”

“I didn’t know that about dragons.”

“No one around here fucking does. People realize how helpless we are during the day, they’d kill us in a heartbeat. My dad says— “

“Your dad?”

“The leader of the dragons. The really big, white one? This whole terror and extortion thing was his idea, once he realized that no one in this kingdom has a clue about dragons.”

“Oh.”

“He hates humans. Thinks they’re useless and weak. If he knew I kept you around instead of killing you, he’d have murdered us both.”

Jesus fucking Christ, laying it on a bit thick with the metaphysical shit there, don’t ya think?

You mean metaphorical?

I mean it’s fucking stupid, that’s what I mean.

Might be closer to allegory anyway.

Uh-huh. Nobody fucking cares, Shakespeare.

“So, anyway,” Mikhailo continued, “you should probably try to go as far away from here as possible. Find a ship and go across the sea or something.”

Prince Ian blinked. “What?”

“Yeah, man, you won’t be able to go back to your castle. No way to stay hidden there. I know this guy up in Dikno, he might—”

He fell silent as Prince Ian jumped up from the bed and crossed the space between them in two long strides, and then he gasped loudly as the prince’s lips found his.

It was another one to inspire love songs.

“You idiot,” Prince Ian said fondly when eventually they broke apart. “Of course I’m not going anywhere. Unless,” he added, suddenly shy, “you want me to.”

Mikhailo made a face. “No, you fucking moron, I don’t want you to go,” he finally said. “But my dad—”

“We’ll find a way to deal with him. We’ll figure out how to sort it out and set things right between humans and dragons. We’ll find a way, together. Okay?”

And Mikhailo the dragon looked at his prince for a long moment and then he smiled. “Okay.”

At his prince, huh. Surprised you got room for all those big words in your head when your ego’s taking up so much space. All right, then what happened?

They organized a rebellion against the leader of the dragons, I guess. I don’t really know. That’s another story.

What do you mean, another story? Is this it? You spend all that time setting it up but when you get to the good part with the fighting you just stop?

Yeah, it’s getting really late. Kid’s asleep anyway.

Kid’s been out cold since, like, before the dragons even showed up, man, don’t fucking pretend this story was for her. … you really not gonna continue?

Nah, I’ll continue. But for the next scene I figured we might try a little show, don’t tell…

Oh, really? What’s the next scene?

Make-up sex. Prince Ian fucking Mikhailo’s brains out. And hey, spoiler alert: Mikhailo comes four times.

Four times, huh.

Yeah. So… wanna know how it happens?

Okay.

Okay. It starts like this—

---

So, yeah. There we have it. The things we write for Gallavich Week… XD

I am halfway outraged that this is the longest fic I’ve ever written for Gallavich, but I’m rather pleased I managed to write something for this theme! Guess I’ll go to bed both proud and embarrassed and dead tired tonight. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Where I am, we’re half an hour past midnight, but seeing as it’s still Monday somewhere, I have decided that I’m posting on time. Yay me! @gallavichthings

[padfootagain]

Infuriating

Here we go for a new fic for my 4.7k event!! Answering the request made by @inkhearthes​ for Sirius using the following prompt (they are written in italics in the fic):

9. "Does it hurt?"

"Not that... OUCH!"

10. "I can't believe you got punched in the face."

"For you. I got punched in the face for you."

11. "It's dark, and it's late, and I'm cold and I'm drenched with this freaking rain and yet all I can think about is that I love you."

34. "Cuddles, cuddles, cuddles!"

It's fluffy. A tiny bit angsty, maybe? I'm not sure, I think it's pretty fluffy.

Anyway, I hope you like it!!

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Word Count : 3683

Of course, you had to be duelling against Sirius fucking Black.

Of course, out of all the students in seventh year with you, you had to be paired with the one you hated the most.

You found him absolutely infuriating. 1000% infuriating. The most annoying person on the surface of the Earth, you reckoned.

You had been facing him for five seconds and you were already so mad at his stupid long dark hair, and his bloody cute chin, and his stormy grey eyes that didn't seem to have an end, and those stupid lips you dreamt about kissing…

Argh! Really, he was insufferable!

And why did he even pick you? You knew the reason, of course, it was just to allow his idiotic best friend to try and seduce your idiotic best friend… as if Lily wasn't already just as head over heels for James than he was for her…

And so, you found yourself paired with Sirius fucking Black, of all people, and you wanted to slap this smirk of his away, or maybe kiss it, you weren't 100% sure yet.

Because, of course, you got along perfectly well with Sirius. You were both playful and full of banter, and he was charming despite being an idiot sometimes, and he was smart too, and talented, and very very sweet, and a little dangerous maybe and…

… and you had a crush on him.

Huge, HUGE crush on him, and that was bad. Very bad. Terrible. Especially because the crush you had wasn't really a crush and more like love.

So, you were mad at him. So mad at him for making you fall for him when you never even intended to befriend him in the first place, let alone love him. And yet, there you were. All this because he was just an absolute sweetheart with a stupid sense of humour and a heart of gold despite all the pain he had been through during his childhood, and had cheekbones to die for.

Of course, how could you resist him?

So now, there you were, about to duel you friend, aka crush, aka potential love of your life, and he was acting so smug about it you heaved a defeated sigh.

Both of you knew that you were better at duelling than he was, and you would soon kick his pretty arse, but you almost felt bad for it. You had your bloody, irrational heart to blame for it all.

Your teacher was gone for just a few minutes to fetch something - you were too focused on watching Sirius laugh at that moment to listen to your professor about what he was leaving the room for.

All you knew was that there was no teacher in the room, which quickly turned into some nasty argument between a few students behind you.

Why was your name even brought up in the first place, you had no idea. All you knew was that before you could understand what was really going on, one of the Ravenclaw boys you had rejected a couple of weeks before was shooting nasty comments at you.

But when the word slut rang through the room, the whole situation got out of hands.

"Hey, Trevor, why don't you shut it!" Sirius snapped before you could have time to reply on your own.

"Sorry, Black, What were you saying? Were you talking to me?"

"I told you to shut your stupid mouth! How dare you talk about her like that? Especially you, Trevor, considering that you have the brain of a mandrake: all you can do is whine all day long."

"Say that again to my face, just to see, Black!"

"Oh, but with pleasure…"

"Sirius!" you tried to hold him back as he strode across the room, meeting Trevor halfway, standing chest against chest and taunting each other to hit first.

James and Remus had taken a step towards the boys too, ready to defend their friend if need be.

You walked over the two of them and pulled at Sirius's sleeve.

"Sirius, please. He's not worth it."

"Yes, Black, listen to your girlfriend… oh wait, you ain't together. Yeah, I bet she rejected your sorry arse."

"Coming from you, who can only insult every girl who refuses a date, I find the blow particularly ironic."

"Don't worry though, I bet she's not a good enough shag anyway. Probably aren't worth the trouble…"

"Say one more word and I'll turn you into a toad," Sirius warned the Ravenclaw, grabbing him by the collar of his robes.

He was so blinded by his rage towards the boy that he didn't see anything else in the room.

How could he dare speak of you like this? You of all people? You, who were a literal ray of sunshine, and so incredibly talented, and bright, and kind, and smart, and hilarious, and he was head over heels for you. Sirius was ready to lose his mind with how much he loved you. Had for years. Had since that night in third year where he had caught you making a trip to the kitchens at midnight and had ended up sharing his snacks with you. Since that moment that you had laughed so much you had ended up chocking on your pudding. Since that night when, for the first time, you talked through the whole night. Since that early morning when you had cried when he had told you about how his family treated him. Since the second you had wrapped your arms around him and promised him that if he needed help, he just had to call you, and you would protect him.

And now hearing some idiotic ghoul insult you was making his blood boil so much that he wasn't able to notice anything happening around him, including Trevor's fist flying across the air to land on his cheekbone and make a clear cut through his skin.

Sirius was hitting the floor before he could understand what had happened, and his body had barely hit the ground that you and the rest of the Marauders were pointing your wands towards the Ravenclaw and his friends.

You were interrupted by the sound of footsteps of your professor coming back, though.

"Y/N, get Sirius to the hospital wing," James instructed, but his friend was already back on his feet, shaking his head.

"I'm fine, Prongs. 'S just a scratch."

"You're bleeding," you argued, but he shot you a grin as an answer.

"You should still go," Remus jumped in. "Or we might all end up in detention."

You grabbed Sirius's hand.

"Come on, you idiot."

"Hey!"

But you ignored his protest and dragged him into the corridor and away from the class, heading for the Hospital Wing.

"Now, I'm not sure that if we truly want to avoid detention, going straight to Mrs. Pomfrey would be the cleverest idea," Sirius argued. "Besides, it's nothing."

You had to agree with him on that, going to Mrs. Pomfrey would get both of you in detention. It was pretty obvious by the look of Sirius's cheekbone, bloody and slowly turning from pinkish to purple, that he had been punched.

"I think I can patch you up," you offered, taking a closer look at his bruising face.

"Perfect. Let's go to my dorm then. We won't be disturbed there."

You accepted with a nod, and followed him all the way to the Gryffindor tower and to his dormitory. And the more you walked across the castle, the angrier you were. Sirius was hurt, and it was because of you. You wanted to go back and turn Trevor into a lizard. You wanted to punch him too.

And what was Sirius thinking? Acting so recklessly?

The wound colouring his cheekbone wasn't serious, but it still needed to be cleaned, so he reached for the bandages and bottles of disinfectants that the boys kept for their monthly trip to the whomping willow, just in case.

It's only when he let himself plop onto his bed with a sigh that Sirius noticed that you were glaring at him.

"What's wrong, Y/N?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

And Merlin, did he annoy you… what was wrong? He was bleeding!

"I can't believe you got punched in the face." You shook your head.

"For you. I got punched in the face for you," Sirius corrected you, waving his finger at you pointedly, a smug smile on his face. "I reckon that you owe me one!"

"Why by Agrippa's name would you do that?" you asked, ignoring his stupid remark.

Because you weren't in the mood for his stupid charm, and his insufferable smug smiles, and his silly humour, and the way he always hid his pain behind wits. You weren't in the mood for any of that, you weren't in the mood for the way he always tried to look tougher than he was, because for so long no one had showed him any other way to deal with his emotions, except by bottling them all up in his chest. And you were tired of his tough act, and all you wanted to do now was shake some sense into his head and make him realize that someone had just hit him, and for what?! Because Trevor had insulted you?! That was most definitely not enough of a reason to get punched in the face.

But he looked at you with a curious frown, as if he didn't understand why you asked that question, as if the answer was obvious.

"He… He was making fun of you. He was insulting you. So, I defended you."

"I didn't ask you to."

"We're friends, you don't have to ask me to. I'll be there whenever you need me."

"Who says I needed you back there?"

He didn't answer, studying your expression with an unreadable look across his features.

Why were you mad?

You didn't say anything more, and reached for a clean clothe instead.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not that... OUCH!"

Sirius bucked away as you harshly pressed the piece of fabric against his wounded cheek.

"Now, don't be a baby," you mumbled under your breath, a deep frown adorning your brow.

"I'm not being a baby! You're the one being as delicate as a cave troll! Besides… what the hell is wrong with you?!"

"What?"

"What is wrong with you? Why are you mad at me?" Sirius snapped, his voice staying low, but his tone as corrosive as acid. "I've just got punched in the face for you, and you're mad at me?!"

"Yes, I am mad at you, Sirius," you replied, throwing the clothe away in exasperation. "I am mad at you, because you got punched in the face! What were you thinking?!"

"I was thinking that you needed me…"

"I don't need you, Sirius!"

The words escaped before you could refrain them, even if they were a mere lie.

Of course, you needed him. That was the point, actually. You needed him safe, and happy, and laughing. You needed his stupid long dark hair, and his bloody cute chin, and his stormy grey eyes that didn't seem to have an end, and those stupid lips you dreamt about kissing…

And you needed the way he always hid his pain behind wits, and the way he made you laugh every morning when you drank your fist swing of tea on purpose just to make you choke on it and look at how mad it made you with that stupid smirk plastered on his lips. And you needed the way he always held the door for you, and how he didn't even ask before he would pick up the mountain of books you were taking from the library for your essays. And you needed the way he said your name in that deep voice of his, and this almost-shy smile he gave you every month when he walked back from Hogsmeade and offered you a bunch of sweets from Honeydukes. Always your favourites. Every single trip to Hogsmeade ever since you had been allowed there during your third year. You needed to hear his laugh ringing through the corridors, so loud that you were aware of his presence way before seeing him. You needed his stupid pranks and his even more idiotic acts of kindness. You needed his broken parts and all his scars if only to help him make them slowly get better. You needed him. You needed him so badly, it hurt sometimes, right there, in your chest, and there was no way, absolutely no way that you would let him endanger himself for you.

You needed him more than you needed your pride or reputation.

Yet, it was the opposite that your tongue formed on its tip as you spoke.

And the words kept on ringing through his mind like a broken record, and it was more painful at each echo of your voice.

I don't need you, Sirius.

Well, that was clear, at least. No need for Sirius to keep his hopes up anymore. He had kept on hoping for you to maybe, one day, feel for him something else than a platonic friendship, but clearly you weren't on the same page. Instead, you didn't need him.

And he hated you, then. He truly did. He hated you, because he wished he could have answered with a remark just as poisonous and painful as your words had been, but he couldn’t. Not that he didn't find the right words, no the problem was more insidious.

He couldn't say it.

He couldn’t, because then, he imagined the pain crossing your features, and he couldn't bring himself to be the reason behind any of your sorrow. He was used to it, really. Being in pain in silence. Taking the punch without saying a word. Swallowing the insults without fighting back. Years of survival skills had developed while he was a child. Now, he was excellent at biting his tongue and imagining what scenarios could come out as a result of his words. He had made progress over his years spent by James's side to loosen up that tendency of his to overthink everything. That, coupled with his natural will to rebel, and he was good now at fighting with both his curses and his remarks. But not to you. No, not against you. He didn't want to use this weapon with you. He knew way too well that words were often way more effective at hurting someone than fists. The wounds cut deeper, and the scars never healed. He knew for certain that he would never forget the look on your face as you said that you didn't need him.

And he couldn't summon the strength to reply with words that would be just as painful. He had just gotten punched in the face for you, after all. That ought to speak about the way he felt for you.

So, instead of replying, he walked out of the room, leaving you behind.

It took you two hours to find him.

It was raining so hard, and the late days of September had brought a cold wind that curved the veil of droplets as they fell from the heavy black clouds above your head. The sun had almost set by now, and judging by how you were hungry, you guessed it was time for supper in the great hall. Your feet were frozen because of the mud that covered your ankles and splashed across your calves.

You had checked the shores of the lake, and Hagrid's home, and the edge of the Forest, and the Quidditch Pitch. But he was sitting a few meters away from the Whomping Willow.

He didn't seem to mind that his robes were covered in mud and drenched by now. Actually, he didn't even react as you hurried towards him.

"Sirius!" you called as you approached him. "What are you doing? It's freezing, and it's raining, you'll catch your death!"

He slowly turned his attention towards you, his grey eyes fixed upon you, his dark locks clinging to his forehead, his neck, his temples, because of the heavy rain. With the sadness in his gaze, he looked like a sad and wet puppy.

"Let's go inside," you mumbled. "You'll catch a cold, or worse. For how long have you been here?"

He took the time to look carefully at you, finding that you were just as drenched as he was, shivering in the cold rain.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, ignoring your own question.

"I was looking for you, obviously," you answered. "Now, come on, let's get you dry…"

"You were looking for me?"

"Of course! You just… disappeared, I was worried sick about you!"

He merely blinked up at you.

You heaved a sigh, swallowing your pride with the lump in your throat. You had to apologize for lying to him, and acting like an idiot, when he had simply tried to help.

You were such an idiot, sometimes…

"Look, Sirius… I'm sorry about what I said in the dorm. I didn't mean it. Please, let's go back inside."

"It's okay. I'm not mad at you," he answered with a soft smile.

"What?"

"I'm not mad. You're right, you don't need me. I was acting as if you did, but I was wrong. I guess… I thought we were closer friends than you mean for us to be. It's okay. I understand."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm used to it, really. It's fine. Sometimes, I start needing people more than they need me. It's alright, I get it."

"No, no… No, Sirius, you don't get it. I was just mad because you got punched in the face, and I was worried about you, and I said utter nonsense…"

"No need to feel bad about all this. It's okay."

"It's not okay! It's not okay, because it wasn't true!"

"Y/N…"

"It's not okay at all, how can you say that it's okay?!" you asked, starting to raise your voice. "I hurt you! And I was mean! And I shouldn't have said that, because it's not true at all! So be mad at me!"

"I… I don't want to be mad at you…"

"I'm sorry!"

"I forgive you, alright… are you, are you crying?"

It's only then that you noticed that hot tears were mingling with the cold rain across your cheeks.

"I'm so sorry. I never want to make you feel like that. I'm so sorry," you whimpered.

"It's… it's alright."

"I was lying. It's not true. Please, don't say that we're not friends anymore. I do need you. I do need you, Sirius. And I hate it! I hate it, but I need you! And it's… It's dark, and it's late, and I'm cold and I'm drenched with this freaking rain and yet all I can think about is that I love you."

You didn't seem to notice your confession as it passed your lips, and for a moment, Sirius wondered if he had heard you right. But there was no mistake, you… you had said it.

You loved him?!

Slowly, he stood up, while you kept on crying.

"I was just mad at you because… because you mean so much to me, and I… I hate to see you hurting. I hate to see you in pain. And I hate it… I hate it when people are mean to you. I'm so sorry. I was so worried about you. I'm…"

But you were shushed by Sirius's arms wrapping around you, encaging you all of a sudden. You needed a few seconds for your brain to register what was actually happening. But it was his arms pressed against your back, and it was his chest against yours, and it was his cheek against yours.

"It's alright," he spoke in a soft, warm voice. "I'm not mad. I forgive you."

Finally, you wrapped your arms around his frame too, your tears finally stopping.

"Thank you, for defending me," you eventually whispered in his ear, your warm breath such a burning contrast with the cold air against his skin, making him tremble in the best way.

"Anytime. We should go back inside though, you're frozen."

"Yeah, I'm really cold."

"You know what… I think we could cuddle. Cuddles, cuddles, cuddles!" he mumbled, making you sway from one foot to the other, and you couldn’t refrain a laugh at his silly behaviour.

"I'd like that," you nodded. "With blankets."

He hummed in agreement.

"But… are we gonna discuss the fact that you've just told me you love me?"

Your heart stopped altogether.

"Did I?" you asked, although you knew perfectly well that he was right.

What had passed through your brain to make you say something like that?

"Yeah, you did."

You looked for the right words to apologize, but Sirius was faster than you to speak again.

"So… What about we go to Hogsmeade together next month?"

You pulled away just enough to be able to look at him.

"Are you… Are you asking me on a date?" you asked.

"Maybe…"

"Maybe?"

"Depends on… whether you'll say yes or no."

"What would we do then, if it's a date?"

"I have a few ideas. Know about a couple of places we could visit. I know you'll like them."

"Already? You already know what we're gonna do? Even if you've literally just asked?"

"Maybe… just maybe… I've been imagining that for a while," he admitted, blushing.

You couldn't help the grin that formed on your lips.

"Really?"

"Yeah… really… but… huh… you have to give me an answer before I get my hopes too high…"

But your grin didn't waver. And when you stared at his eyes, he could read your answer already, without needing you to speak the words.

Still, it was a nice thing to hear, and a nice thing to say, so you answered out loud anyway.

Merlin, Sirius was infuriating. And you loved him so much.

"Yeah, I'd like to go on a date with you, Sirius Black."

 ***********************************************

Tag list : @geeksareunique @giggleberts @justanothermaraudersblog @sad-orange-thoughts @aylinnmaslow @benbarnes-world @ladyblablabla @drinix @joelynnp @mxrihollxnd @mikeselevenn @knowledgeisthebomb​ @madamrogers​ @newtstarmander​ @wangmangagavroche​ @inkhearthes​

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[jaelijn]

I wrote a fic. It’s decidedly not seasonal and the fact that it was written out of Neurodivergent Frustration (TM) makes me hesitate to put it up on its own on AO3, but it is S4, so if the “season” we are talking about here is the run up to Gauda Prime Day, I suppose it fit perfectly. So I let myself by convinced to post it here, as a special (and decidedly angsty) treat. Enjoy!

Gauda Prime Day Calendar 2021 Masterpost

“Why is it,” Avon asked, with a crack in his voice, “that when I tell people to stay out of my way, ‘help’ is foisted upon me, but when I ask, plainly, for ideas, there is no response?”

“Perhaps because you tell us time and again how stupid we are?” Vila retorted while Avon took a sip from his drink, moistening his lips. Vila mirrored him, feeling careless, vindictive, ill-tempered. He hated feeling this way, but he had reason enough. He’d nearly died – again – and who’d cared? The girls had laughed at him. He wasn’t in any kind of mood to humour Avon, even if they were sharing a late-night drink.

But even so, something about what Avon had said, or perhaps the way he had said it, niggled at the back of Vila’s mind enough to make him answer.

Now, Avon was glaring at him – of course. “I have never understood,” he declared, enunciating carefully, “why so many people feel the need to pretend competence beyond their skill. In the future, if I ask for suggestions, you may take it that I’m sincere.”

“Look, Avon,” Vila responded, swinging his legs down off the table. “It’s a little difficult to suggest things with you lot. Not just you, mind. You’re the cleverest person in any room, but Tarrant’s easily to most arrogant” – the corner of Avon’s mouth twitched – “Dayna laughs at everything that isn’t killing Servalan and Soolin’s as cold and contemptuous as they come.”

“And you?” Avon prompted.

“Me? Don’t worry about me–”

“Vila–”

“All I’m saying,” Vila forged on, “if you want an academic discussion, you’ve picked the wrong company.”

“I don’t want a discussion forum,” Avon snapped, his hand tightening on his glass. “I would like to receive help when and if I ask for it, and not when I expressly reject it.”

Vila shrugged. “Maybe we’re just feeling helpful.”

“You’re being contrary.”

“Is this about Terminal? Because I said, whatever you need. I didn’t go teleporting–”

“Vila, I’m not accusing you. The fact that I’m talking to you about this should tell you something.”

“Yeah. It tells me that Cally’s gone.”

Silence.

Vila wanted to take the words back instantly, but he couldn’t bring himself to prattle over them, not the way he’d been feeling.

Avon gave an odd little smile and lifted his glass to drain it.

For the first time since they’d found themselves in the common room together while Soolin had the night shift and the others were asleep, Vila paid attention to what Avon had been drinking – from the way he grimaced as it went down, it was either medicinal or alcoholic – or both. Not the wine, though – Vila was very familiar with the wine.

It was uncharacteristic, that, whatever it was – Avon rarely drank.

“I’m sorry, Avon,” Vila forced out into the silence at last. “I didn’t mean to say that. I know you miss her, too.”

“Do you?” Avon returned with raised eyebrows. His voice had gone very flat, very empty. “Tell me, oh great interpreter of humanity, why it should be someone else who decides when help is needed and not the intended recipient?”

Vila took an uneasy swallow from his own drink. He tried for a grin, didn’t know whether he’d managed. It always paid off to be wary of Avon’s more fey moods, but this was something else, something far darker. “I s’pose some people don’t realise when they need help – or they don’t ask for it, proper. So you have t’ offer. I don’t think they mean ill by trying to help!”

Avon splayed his fingers slowly and deliberately along the surface of his empty glass. “Then I suppose they don’t mean ill when they withhold help when it is explicitly requested, either, in your view?”

Vila felt vaguely trapped by the argument. “Well, sometimes they might,” he babbled hastily. “Or sometimes they might think the request wasn’t sincere, or that help isn’t really wanted.”

“Why? If a request was made–”

“You know as well as I that a lot of distress calls are traps!”

Avon shook his head sharply once. “I’m not talking about distress calls. On the personal level, Vila.”

“Look, I’m too tired for philosophical discussions! What’s this about?!”

Avon smiled again, but there was no humour in it. “Would you say, then, that a person might conceivably – hypothetically – stop asking for help altogether, if it is never given when it is requested?”

“I suppose. This isn’t about you, is it? Just some topic?”

Avon inclined his head slightly. “As you say, Vila. Just some topic.” He put his glass aside with a decisive clunk. “Go to bed, Vila, if you’re this tired. I have the second shift.”

[robin-foxglove]

Rules: list your favorite male characters from ten different fandoms, and tag ten people to do the same.

Thanks @theimpossiblescheme for the tag!

Okay this is gonna be a little tough, since I tend to skew towards favoring female characters. I can come up with ten, probably...

So, in no particular order:

1. Bustopher Jones, Cats. He's such a jolly guy and his song is underratedly fun!! He's really just out here to have a good time and he's absolutely thriving. To me, he embodies the kind of life that every cat aspires to have: decadence and indulgence, and commanding the admiration and respect of his community.

2. Dick Gumshoe, Ace Attorney. Pure of heart, large of muscle, and dumb of ass. I love him so much 😭 He's so loyal and helpful, and I especially love his interactions with Pearl. He tries to act tough but he really is such a softie 😭💕💕💕

3. Clay, Wings of Fire. He loves his family more than anything and he's just constantly trying his best and I love him...He's far from the cleverest in the group, but his protectiveness and loyalty towards his friends just gets me okay 😭

4. Caduceus Clay, Critical Role. Aro/Ace king who spouts wisdom and makes tea out of dead people--what's not to love? I love the contrast of him being such a serene and morbid person. All of Talisen's characters exude powerful energy, but Cad is my favorite of his!

5. James, Pokémon (TV series). He was always so kind to his Pokémon and one of the funniest characters in the entire franchise. I love his flamboyance so much, and even though Team Rocket as a whole are my favorite characters in the franchise because of their INCREDIBLE dynamic, James in particular was always my favorite.

6. Samwise Gamgee, The Lord of the Rings. Yeah, I have a type, in case you couldn't tell. "I can't carry the Ring, but I can carry you" lives in my head rent free. I can't think about him without tearing up a little--all he wanted was a simple and happy life, but he went through all that Morder shit and stuck by Frodo through everything and he deserves the world 😭

7. Ryuk, Death Note. I rewatch Death Note once a year, and I grow more and more fond of Ryuk every time. I've begun to view Death Note through the lens of a comedy, which really elevates the narrative to a different level once you realize that Ryuk is doing the same thing too--Light's psychological warfare bullshit is Ryuk's favorite sitcom, and like honestly yeah me too, this shit's funny as hell.

8. Nagito Komaeda, Danganronpa. And yes I took psychic damage typing that out. My taste in characters is either Himbo or Completely Fucking Unhinged. I think he's the best antagonist to come out of the series, and I ADORE the conflict he brings in terms of the series themes of hope vs. despair. Most of my favorite characters in the series come from the second game, but Nagito holds a very special place in my heart. A friend and I did a playthrough of the series together where we did stupid silly voice acting for the characters, and I had Nagito and god it was so much fun.

9. Todd Chavez, Bojack Horseman. Absolutely one of my favorite pieces of media ever, and Todd is in my top three favorite characters. He's everything I aspire to be. I love the wacky hijinks that he gets wrapped up in so much and he is such a welcome relief amidst all the rest of the bullshit that happens in the show. But he still gets really good character arcs and moments too?? His arc about his relationship with his asexuality is the most incredible ace representation I've ever seen in TV, and he's all around a very relatable character to me. He's probably my favorite character on this list.

10. Black Beauty, Black Beauty. Black Beauty is one of my favorite books ever, and I just really love how constantly pleasant and gentle he is, despite his circumstances. He's so polite and mild-mannered all the time and he's the perfect boy to bring home to my parents. Both the book and the 1994 film were huge parts of my childhood--I'd check it out from the library like ten times in a row, and it was my favorite movie to watch on long car trips. He's definitely very much an observer, but he's so contemplative and I find his inner monologue to be so very, very charming. I do cry at the end of the story every time,,,,

Oh jeez now to tag 10 people,, hnngg okay gonna tag @berrybfoxglove @my-name-is-jimmy @heccin-lit @lina-voltaire @bees-in-a-davidbowie-shirt @rumpleteazers-swag-bag @itsmyregularcat @look-how-the-lights @mister-beetlejuice @corico-mile

[thefudge]

Do you have any Romanian (language or just content-wise) media recs? Particularly novels and poetry but really any must-sees/must-reads are welcome!

uuuu! 

my brain is too fried right now to do any kind of exhaustive list so i’m gonna rec a few things that i know you could get your hands on/available in translation:

for two thousand years, by mihail sebastian - really heartbreaking yet also lucid, adventurous and darkly humorous memoir of a Jewish writer in his youth at the height of nazism in romania (there’s even a Penguin classic of it)

diary of a short-sighted adolescent by mircea eliade - a funny and bittersweet bildungsroman about a bookish teenager who wants to read everything now and be the cleverest person alive while also struggling with being super lazy and unmotivated because he’s young and restless, it’s very #relatable. but it’s also fascinating to read this in opposition with “for two thousand years” because eliade entertained legionnaire nazi sympathies at one point. (also, you should check out his novellas too, especially the fantastic ones)

anything you can find in translation by gabriela adamesteanu - just lovely, delicate prose about growing up, being an adult, inhabiting your body and your feelings in an oppressive world 

the hatchet by mihail sadoveanu (apparently, there is a translation) - a lot of people give this novel flak, mostly because we had to read it in high school, but it’s a great and deceptively simple little novel that says a lot more about people than it cares to admit. the action takes you through several villages in the East-Carpathians, where a peasant woman goes in search of her missing husband. it’s a fascinating mixture of crime and folklore and mythology. 

any novella by costache negruzzi, but especially “alexandru lapusneanu”, another classic we had to read in school and which gets a lot of flak. it’s so bonkers and #quality-trash. let’s just say there’s a scene where the power-hungry voievod/prince lapusneanu enacts a red-wedding situation and builds a pyramid of freshly severed heads to impress his lady wife *swoon* 

the forest of the hanged by liviu rebreanu - i know people argue this isn’t his best novel, but it’s got the most heart. it’s the story of a soldier/philosopher in WW1 who falls in love with people again. that’s it. he falls in love with people, and the war and everything in between doesn’t matter anymore. or it matters only as it pertains to people, and people alone. 

gallants of the old court by mateiu caragiale - a bizarre gem of early 20th century Romanian nightlife, a wonderful, orgiastic fugue, feverish and infuriating. it’s mostly about rich men and social-climbers getting into existential trouble, but also into real trouble. normally, because the action takes place right before WW1, this would signify the end of an era. but we don’t really have a beginning or end. we are part-balkan, part-french imitators, part-whatever-sticks. nothing moves us, and everything does. and that’s why it’s a sort of love/hate letter to romanians 

in terms of poetry, some personal faves:  nichita stanescu, ana blandiana, monica pillat, marin sorescu,  a.e. baconsky, lucian blaga, emil brumaru, nora iuga, marta petreu, nina cassian. and yes, mihai eminescu, our national poet, though i’m often in two minds about him.  

poetry in translation is really hit and miss because of the “untranslatable”, so here’s two lines from a poem by nina cassian, because i want to show you what i mean:

            De când m-ai părăsit mă fac tot mai frumoasă             ca hoitul luminând în întuneric. 

this roughly and poetically translates to:

          Since you left me I’ve grown more beautiful

           like the corpse lighting the dark 

and this is sort of lovely on its own, but you’d need to know and hear and taste the word “hoit” in romanian to really feel the abjectness, because “hoit” is a smelly, ugly yet also alluring, already decomposing version of “cadavru” aka cadaver/corpse. also “ mă fac tot mai frumoasă” cannot be accurately summed up in “i’ve grown more beautiful”. a literal translation would be “I make myself more beautiful”. in romanian, this is obviously idiomatic and not literal. and yet, these strange self-reflexive valences make these lines strong and eerie, as if the speaker were authoring her beauty, shaping it out of clay and darkness and “hoit”,  like a butterfly cracking the corpse’s shell to get out, but also retaining some of its mesmerizing stench. why did i pause to do a close-reading of romanian poetry??? anyway, you catch my drift

in terms of movies, a recent one i really loved was sierranevada by cristi puiu, which is a neurotic family drama that drains you but also lifts you up 

and yeah, the hype is real, 4 months, 3 weeks and 2 days by cristi mungiu really is that good (about two young women trying to get an illegal abortion in communist romania. it won the palme d’or for very legit reasons. it breaks you in small ways. the very last shot of the film you’ll carry with you forever). i also liked graduation by cristi mungiu, where a young overachieving girl is about to graduate high school and go on to study abroad, until a terrible event unmoors both her and her family. the movie turns almost hallucinatory at one point, filled with ambiguity and a kind of sleep-walking quality 

tales from the golden age by cristi mungiu (him again!) is also fantastic for anyone who wants to get a taste of communist romania and the sad-funny absurdities of everyday life. this movie is split in 2 parts and the format is that of an anthology, almost like watching several short films at once. and there is one film in the anthology that always turns me inside out, and it’s really silly, it’s this bonnie and clyde type story about this girl and boy who meet at a party and devise an ingenious get-rich scam and just run around a few neighborhoods trying to put it into practice and it’s...the sweetest, most incomplete thing. there is such a strange, lovely connection there that never gets realized, and there is a MOMENT between them where he helps her step down from this ledge and he holds her briefly to him and i remember being in the cinema and thinking THIS, this is THE MOMENT where i felt these people were real. it was such an honest, lovely moment. like the equivalent of this song. ANYWAY, why am i rambling so much??? this ask was supposed to be SHORT. 

aferim! by radu jude is also a really neat movie and provides a look into the historical romanian/rroma relationship and why it’s so messed up, yet also so organic

the death of mr. lazarescu by cristi puiu is also a great little film about a man who gets sick and goes to the hospital. and...dies, as you can tell from the title. on the surface, he dies because of institutional ineptness and a broken healthcare system. at a deeper level, he dies because we no longer know how to help people. various hospital staff in the film do try to help him and fail for various stupid or quietly heartbreaking reasons. it’s a movie about being physically unable to care. there’s indifference, sure, but also this great exhaustion of the human spirit. but the movie is also darkly funny. might not be a great pandemic watch, but then again it might be exactly what you need 

there are soooo many other classics in terms of books (morometii by marin preda, for instance, about a patriarch in a small village in the South who slowly realizes the world he used to live in doesn’t have room for him anymore, and maybe it never had) but i’m gonna end on a quote from ion creanga, one of the most cryptic classics of romanian lit:

“Şi eu eram vesel ca vremea cea mai bună şi şturlubatic şi copilăros ca vântul în tulburea sa”

my translation: “and I was cheerful like the best weather and frolicsome and childish like the wind in its cloudiness” 

and again, the words in romanian and their particular sound and bite (”şturlubatic”, “tulburea”) immediately take me elsewhere. creanga writes about childhood, but it’s never really childhood. he writes as an adult who, in my opinion, was never really a child, but a weird, small god of the land. i mean the word “tulburea” can mean both “turmoil” and “muddiness”. the wind can be anguished, but also just a little cloudy, just a little hazy, shrinking its agony, howling it in the child. it’s eerie and gorgeous. so, that’s what he does: creanga writes about children as if they were wind-like spirits. he writes stories about devils and the peasants who trick them and school books filled with spit and flies, and warm eggs stolen from nests and fairy-tales of a world that is buried somewhere inside us, but not too deep, things hidden under our clothes or nails or even in our hair. and it’s all so physical and convoluted, just like his prose. and i don’t think anyone will ever make sense of him and that’s what makes him so discombobulatingly great.

anyway, this was supposed to be...like, really short! and not gassy! i’m sorry. i love waxing about all this gay stuff. i’m so gay about it. 

realistically tho, the nearest thing you’ll find in your local bookshop is probably books by famous ‘theater of the absurd’ playwright, eugen ionesco, or novels in translation by contemporary author mircea cartarescu. both are pretty good, so go for it! (if you want to start small, i’d recommend REM by mircea cartarescu, because it’s so trippy and meta and captures that summer holiday eeriness so well. it goes well with this romanian song sung in english)

okay byeeeee 

[takaraphoenix]

*chanting* Danny Phantom, Danny Phantom, Danny---

Let me set the stage. The year is 2014, a friend of mine has successfully not just convinced me to watch this cartoon but also introduced me to the baffling concept that wait in this fandom, selfcest exists and is like vaguely popular? I was delighted!

So this story took off after 02x06 Identity Crisis, when Danny’s ghost and human side were split in canon. Phantom started to develop more of an on personality in Danny’s mind, a comforting presence, but they were now two souls trapped in one body. And, here’s where my memory fails me a bit on the “how?” but somehow, they would manage to split into two separate bodies, one full ghost, one full human.

The endgame was that they get married and adopt and raise Dani together, like on the very long run. And yes, long, because this was supposed to be a rewrite of the entire consequent show post 02x06.

And though I only ever got three pages written, the document has remained in my folder for those past six years, because I did make notes on the changes I had planned throughout the show and I guess that a part of me remained hopeful that hey, just maybe once I rewatch the show, I’ll get back into it and actually finish it.

(...man I really hope the vase metaphor makes sense. I had, still have, a very clear visual picture of what I meant with that xD”) But here, have a snippet:

--

It had started out how everything that ended in chaos, catastrophes and crisis in his life had always started. With one of his parents' inventions. Of course it did, it had to.

The Fenton Ghost Catcher.

The first time he became they. Splitting one person into two different, separate beings.

Sometimes Danny wondered if Sam and Tucker truly believed that going through the catcher again (and again because the second time had failed in the most confusing and weird way. Which was saying a lot considering the first time) would simply fix things again? Make them one again?

How could it? It had created two separate entities. Splitting his personality.

Phantom had explained it to Danny the first time he had asked what this meant, how this was possible. Right after the two of them had gone through the catcher to 'fix things', just to notice that Danny wasn't alone in his mind anymore. That he was hearing a voice, a voice he wasn't controlling, one that spoke to him. Another mind inside his head. Phantom's mind.

Now, Phantom had explained it with a metaphor. He had described them as a vase – which was weird for Danny, but he had gone with it and listened patiently anyway. A white vase. Danny Fenton was the vase and when he had gone into the ghost portal for the first time, one half of that white vase had been painted black. Creating Danny Phantom. Now that vase was facing society with its white side, everyone who walked past it saw a white vase. If someone came and just spun the vase around once, everyone who would walk past that vase would see a black vase. Just like when Danny would 'go ghost', turning human Danny into ghost Danny.

Going through the Fenton Ghost Catcher was like breaking the vase, a clear cut right in the middle. But it was more than just breaking the vase, it was like fixing each half with a flat part to close it, creating two working vases that coexisted. Going through the Ghost Catcher again didn't just put the vase back into its original form though, it just took the two fixed-up vases and glued the flat sides together. It looked like one, whole vase again and they couldn't stand beside one another anymore, but the water one poured into the white half wouldn't fill the black half. They were still two different vases, just now stuck together again.

And so were Danny and Phantom now. Two minds forced back into one head. And just like the vase, the half turned to the front was the half 'in charge'. When the black half of the vase was turned to the front, filled with water and holding the flowers, that was when Danny would go ghost from now on. Giving the reins over to Phantom, who took charge of their body.

Danny was a freaking vase.

It gave him a headache, really, so he decided to just nod and agree. They had been split and they couldn't be put back together to one, he got it that far. At first, that annoyed and scared him. Because there was that constant, nagging voice – Phantom had a lot to complain and it distracted Danny from the actual situation he was in, causing Mister Lancer, his parents and his friends to scold him for spacing out. What scared him however was the essential question.

Was he still himself? Had the split taken part of his personality away from him, given it to Phantom? Was he still the person he thought he was? But no one noticed a change in him. Where Tucker had claimed the human Danny to be 'fun Danny' before, now he and everyone else seemed to see Danny as just Danny. But that had only unsettled him even more.

If nothing of his personality was missing, then what exactly was Phantom?

“I'm not you. We're not split anymore. We're both separate people now, Danny. Why can't you wrap our head around that? I explained it often enough by now”, complained Phantom's voice annoyed.

Because it was strange and weird and confusing, really. Wouldn't that mean they weren't the ones who had come out of the Catcher after all? Because Danny wasn't so careless and uninterested in saving lives anymore, he was back to his overly worried and self-sacrificing self. And Phantom had finally stopped with his stupid alliterations, he still spoke a little high-and-mighty and seemed more intelligent than Danny though (if Danny was being honest, which he didn't like, because seriously, he wasn't even the cleverest person in his own mind anymore. How was that fair?).

“We evened out. Like the vases. I don't feel like you truly grasp the metaphor, do you? I've really tried putting it simple for you, Danny. We were fixed, like the two halves of the vase. Being glued together again changed our dynamic once more, just like breaking us apart had. We were two extremes – the heroic ghost and the carefree human. Now you're as much a complete person as I am, even though we have been split from the same. I am still the hero and protector of Amity, but it's not the only interest I have anymore. Just like you have concerns for other things aside from fun”, replied Phantom, sounding bored. “However, we adjusted differently. Not evening out to be exact copies of one another. Now we're two different people.”

Two different people, but stuck in one mind.

“You're not happy with that, I gathered as much”, sighed Phantom.

“It's not that”, muttered Danny beneath his breath, knowing it wasn't necessary for him to talk out loud, but very much feeling like this was important enough to be properly discussed. “I... like having you around. But it's just... draining. And confusing. I think Jazz is that short of stuffing us into a straight-jacket, you know? I'm worried about that. And it's depressing that I'm the only one who can hear you when we talk, which did lead to the whole Jazz wanting us in a straight-jacket thing to begin with. And sometimes I just... want you there, like physically there, when I talk with Tuck and Sam, because you're like the only one who really understand me, you know? Like, they can be really stubborn and they don't get me, but I know you would and you would be able to explain stuff in a way they'd get it too, because you're just better at those things...”

In Danny's mind, he could picture Phantom grinning at that. If Phantom would be here now, he so would be rolling his eyes and grinning, Danny just knew it. And it irritated him that he couldn't see it. But the Ghost Catcher was broken, had been broken a couple days ago. And there was no other way either of them could think of to separate them.

--

Send me a document title from my WIP folder and ask me about it! If I can, I’ll provide a snippet!  

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP Meme from "Chapter One: Caliah (Lore)" in the Bastet breedbook from "Werewolf: The Apocalypse"

Once there was a cat who dreamed he was a man.

Like the morning mist, she appeared from nowhere, or so it seemed.

The winds have spoken of your dilemma and I have come to show you the way home.

Why do you call me brother?

We are family.

We have different parents but share the same blood.

You need to meet your people

You are my sister

I have no other family. Don’t leave me!

We all have family

What are the dreams of a cat?

Let us welcome each other and speak of hidden things.

If they come in peace, we welcome them.

I’m just a mutt.

Listen up and listen close, ‘cause this isn’t stuff you’ll hear from any old place.

I’ve got friends with friends, if y’know what I mean, and this is good stuff.

They don’t get along, y’know.

A good lorespeaker tells different stories every time, and she makes ‘em as cool as possible.

Sound like anyone we know? Nah! Couldn’t be!

So how do you trade secrets, anyway? After all, isn’t a secret shared a secret lost?

If you don’t play the game, you don’t learn a thing.

Each element of the message becomes a metaphor, and the message becomes a story.

Florid? Hell yeah! But ya gotta admit it’s more graceful — and exposes a hell of a lot less — than blurting out the truth.

You might say, “I heard a story about so-and-so” but you’d never say “I did so-and-so.” If your audience has a clue, they’ll catch on.

Everything’s told in metaphors.

A good obtuse metaphor makes you look imaginative if someone gets it, really stupid otherwise.

Everything is larger than life. People don’t just cry, they “explode in showers like the sea.” Folks don’t just get mad, they “turn into coals that burn through the floor.”

If what you’re saying is important, bigger is better.

Simple? Not if you don’t get the lingo.

A wounded cat can surrender without disgrace.

Not enough to go around.

Hey, don’t let on you know what I told you, huh?

It was a time before life, a longing when the dream of birth was yet to be.

This marked the end of peace and the beginning of struggle.

Such promises are soon broken.

Why does even the skin of my daughter flee from my hands?

Why must I always be alone?

Master, what would you have of us?

Nothing exists for him but annihilation.

Go across the world

Let that which is pure stand whole, but erode that which is impure from within.

He tells many tales, but all of them are lies. He is rage made manifest, and he coils within us all.

There was no want, no war, no anguish, and all living things gave of themselves to help others exist.

Until some cataclysm happened, everything lived in peace and plenty.

Life has ever been a struggle, my brothers and sisters. Life has always meant that some may die for others’ pleasure.

That pleasure may be as necessary as hunger or as frivolous as sport, but it has always been fatal and always will be.

Only through struggle can we progress.

Only through sacrifice can we succeed.

We were born from conflict and we grow through adversity. Our ancestors are predators, great cats and human hunters who rose above their surroundings and mastered them.

We know our place in the Great Order, and it is not passive.

Like the moon, our world waxes and wanes.

Each era glows brightly, then fades into night before rising again as some new age.

As creatures of light, dark and twilight all, we are not moved much by the vagaries of fortune.

Each tribe has its creation story, and they differ in many ways.

I have my own ideas.

We are a breed eternally apart, and we are rare.

Water runs silent, yet crushes with the power of an elephant.

Its depths hold secrets that only the brave can find.

The first of our kind were nearly the last.

Those it caught were devoured.

Let this be your legacy

My tears, shed for you, will boil in your veins.

All people will fear you, and all animals, too.

Begone and tend the flocks that need killing.

I banish you from sight!

They still live on in us, and we carry their curse to this day.

As the humans prospered, they grew quickly out of hand.

It was a bloody, useless time, and we fractured as a people.

Secrets became the only thing to bind us.

It’s hard to forgive these raging bastards.

Very territorial, and I know how that feels.

There are enough horrors in the night already.

Corruption has a million voices; sometimes they drown out the song of the moon and lead us over cliffs.

That song wails from nightclubs, boom boxes and televisions every day.

Stop up your ears, my friend and listen to the wind.

Those secrets led the wolves to our door — literally.

Gods damn the dogs for that!

Their misbegotten crusade killed hundreds of our Kind and Kin.

She mated with serpents, wolves and great cats in an effort to become like them, but gave birth to monsters instead.

Some legends portray her as one of our kind, but we know this isn’t so.

If the tales I’ve heard are any measure, they have no pity for us at all.

We are where we are born.

I think our unique insights show us that humanity is a mixed blessing — especially where the earth and the wild are concerned.

Men are the cleverest monkeys, no doubt, but they don’t have much sense of self-preservation.

Our forebears fought to let humanity prosper.

We have an amazing world at our fingertips, but it’s filled with poisons and lies.

Honor seems to be a fading dream in lands where the rich starve their people and the poor kill each other.

We hold magic within ourselves, within our hearts and minds and spirits. To dishonor ourselves is to disperse that magic and scatter our souls.

It’s acceptable to lie to other creatures; they’re not of our blood and not bound by our laws.

We will flee to survive a fight, but will not run when others depend on our strength.

We must make restitution to those we deceive, in deeds, trade or money.

We may be exiled or branded.

Our weapons are many — secrets, claws, teeth and allies — and we will not hesitate to employ them for our world’s

survival.

Our people have walked too close to extinction for us to take such matters lightly.

We will not ally ourselves with shadow powers or drink corrupted wisdom.

We do not fail our Earth and mother. That path leads to death.

We are the keepers of secrets, and our fates depend on silence.

Each of us bears the hidden doom of our own people, and we know the cost of betraying that trust.

We also know that we have what others want — or what they think they want — and it amuses us to make them squirm.

Our knowledge is our concern.

We will not share it unless we wish to.

We will hide ourselves from outsiders; they will think they know us, but we will delude them.

We will wrap our lore in riddles and tales; let the clever ones puzzle out their meaning.

We will act as if we know even more than we do, for it keeps outsiders guessing.

Let them wonder at our insight; they value us more highly when they do.

We will cover our tracks with misdirection, pretend to be other than what we are, fill the air with idle rumors and hide messages in code.

There is no forgiveness for this crime.

Well, let’s just say I know what I’ve seen. And I’ve seen a lot.

His eyes were so filled with pain that I decided to help out.

I’d swear he was grinning as the semi ran him down.

That felt good.

Guess they’ve gotta live here, too.

I say they’re not as smart as they might think.

Maybe I’m the one who’s being fooled.

I could tell you stories all night, all week, all month and more.

As the temples rose and the hordes crossed through, our parents sat on the sidelines of history and observed the passing of kings.

The cultures we witnessed shaped our own ways.

Cities rose, each with secrets too tempting to ignore.

For a long time — 4,000 years — there was all the room in the world for us, and no lack of secrets to keep us entertained.

We should have seen the signs in the Classical Age, when armies swept across the land in the names of gods, kings and conquerors.

We should have met en masse when trade and crusades brought East and West together.

I will not belabor the point. We know what happened.

Explorers, slavers and great white hunters bounded into the wilderness and cast a chain around our kind.

Suddenly, we went from having all space to having little.

I can’t say I don’t share the sentiment just a bit.

We didn’t stop until a greater evil forced us to align, but that’s another story.

It’s a wonder anyone survived.

We studied their secrets, but could learn nothing from them.

We have no one to blame but ourselves.

For all our vaunted sight, we’re blind. For all our gathered lore, we’re stupid.

The world is falling apart.

I don’t know whether to believe it or not, but we are living in interesting times!

We must pool our secrets, combine our efforts, and bring the world’s secrets to light.

We must act on what we discover and disperse what we learn.

Do I lose my cool?

The modern age is the greatest puzzle we could want endless streams of secrets, enigmas, wonders and dazzles, wrapped up in an explosive package that could blow us all to hell.

Anywhere, at any time, the whole ride could fly off the rails.

Those who ignore the warning feed the vultures the next morning.

I’ll simply say the tigers are not where you’d expect.

People have begun to open their eyes, but they still need your counsel to see the cliff’s edge before falling off

Those stories are true — violently true — and they add up to an appalling picture if you string them all together.

They get an idea, work on it a bit, and try to rule the world. Typical. We’ve seen their kind before.

Look around you if you doubt it.

Surely the secrets you’ve uncovered have given you the idea that maybe, just maybe, something’s going on, something bigger than another plunder, another invasion, another city that falls to ruin in a century.

Discover what you can, but bury your tracks well.

We’re strangers to each other for most of our lives, and we like it that way — a few careful gatherings are all we

can stand.

The moon is our patron, but the shadows are our father too, and they call to us at our weaker moments.

Most of us dance on the edge, though, and that’s where we like to be!

Despite our pains, we’re spirited and wild, inquisitive yet careful, sensual yet refined.

Our beauty is our greatest pride, and our wits are second to none.

We know what we are.

To hell with them all!

Still, we cannot let pride blind us to the facts.

The morning it foretells is up to us.

We must come together, yet retain our pride.

We are the keepers of secrets.

Perhaps it’s time those secrets were revealed.

[pduwd]

Room for two.

(This is the first time I write something so maybe it’s not so good, but I hope you like it! Happy VDS week💙).

"When you love someone, you open up your heart. When you love someone, you make room"

Their relationship has been amazing. It’s always Luc and Jens, Jens and Luc and the Belgian boy couldn’t love it  more than he did. But what if he had to make room for an (un)expected guest?

Jens' parents went to see their relatives for a week. They have not seen them in a long time and lived on a different city, so sometimes they stayed there, or they came to Jens’ house. Anyways, he didn’t feel like going this time. He had a lot of pressure thanks to the exams and he’s mentally and physically tired.

His mum saw all his effort so she kissed his forehead the night before the trip and told him that he could stay at home. They would go to see their family again on summer, so she preferred Jens at home resting. He knew he didn’t look like he cared too much about exams, and he didn’t. He’s one of the people that think one number can’t define how intelligent you are (and maybe he was also lazy, but that didn’t sound cool).

But this time, it was different. The reason: Mr Robbe “we need higher grades” IJzermans.

His best friend dragged him to the library almost every afternoon. In the beginning he was just making Robbe company, but he ended up studying because Robbe thought it was a good idea to start a grades competition. As much as Jens loved being lazy, he couldn’t say no to that. 

He knew Robbe would win because he’s a little genius, but Jens would never admit it out loud.

Besides winning or not the competition, Jens wanted to pass these exams to make all the precious time he wasted studying worth it.

He accepted his mum proposal, not before telling her to give his cousins hugs for him. He missed them so much, but he was tired and the idea of having his house for himself was tempting. It could only mean one thing, two if he let Aaron make the party he wanted to organize that weekend: Lucas could go to Antwerp and stay with him.

He just needed to ask their parents.

The morning they were going to leave he went to his mother. She was easier to convince, and he knew she loved Lucas. Sometimes more than she loved his own son, he thought, but that was not the point on that moment.

“Of course Lucas can stay! I would love to be here to say hello before leaving. Is he already coming?” Jens smiled thanks to his mother’s excitement. It made him think it was dumb to hide having a boyfriend for months because he was afraid. It was clear his mum loved Lucas with all her heart.

“No, he has class until Wednesday, so he’ll arrive on Wednesday morning I guess”. She made a pout and kissed his son’s forehead.

Before she left, she turned around and said “It’s sweet that you asked me, honey but it’s Lucas. He’s always welcome here” and then she added “besides, you both won’t make me a young grandmother so it’s fine”.  

“MUM, how can you say that? You know it’s not…” but his mum had already left, leaving a blushed Jens in the middle of the kitchen.

After that embarrassing moment, he started thinking about what they could do on those five days together. Five days with his boyfriend sounded like a dream. Living on different countries was annoying most of the times so having Lucas for five days was an incredible event. They could hang out with his friends.

Jens was usually the one traveling to see Lucas because his parents are more open on that aspect, so it was going to be nice having Lucas in Antwerp. There won’t be need of planning their dates six days before they happened: they would decide their plans day by day.

To any couple this could be dumb, but it made Jens chest feel warm and a huge smile appeared on his face. They could also hold each other every night until they fell asleep, he could see those beautiful oceans his Luc had for eyes as the first thing after waking up, they could watch some films together, shower together…he should probably stop thinking about how it would feel to have a shower with his boyfriend if he wanted to arrive at time to his exam.

Everything sounded like a dream, just if we ignored a little detail: Killian, or how he liked to call him, Kill since he always killed his moments with Lucas. It pissed Jens off when Lucas refused to go to Antwerp if his little cat wasn’t allowed to go with him.

It might sound a bit stupid, being jealous of a cat. But if he was honest, it wasn’t his fault that the little demon hated him and just wanted Luc for himself. Jens saved his life when they picked him on the street and hate was the payment he received.

Worst part of the story? Lucas was always on Killian’s side just because “Baby, don’t you see he suffered so much and now he needs extra love to make up for all he didn’t receive?”.

Jens just wanted to scream “what about me needing cuddles and affection?” but he was aware of how childish it would sound. Some thoughts were better inside his mind. At this point, he accepted that he needed to share Lucas’ love those five days.

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

Wednesday arrived, and with it Jens last exam and Lucas to Antwerp. For some reason, Lucas’ train arrived earlier than expected so Jens couldn’t go to the train station as he was still waiting to do his exam. Luckily for them, Sander offered to pick him up, so Jens gave him the keys of his house to let Lucas luggage there.

He should tell him some embarrassing stories of Robbe to thank him later.

As Lucas and Sander were together and Jens and Robbe too, they decided to spend the whole day together. Sander needed some help with a photography project, so they agreed on giving him a hand.

After having lunch, they went to the skate park. While they were practicing a bit, Sander took all the pictures he needed but, at some point all of them ended up exhausted and went home.

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

Jens loved his friends, but he was glad to finally have time with just his boyfriend. Lucas was unpacking when he felt a pair of arms holding him from the back. Jens kissed his cheek. “so…”

“So…” Lucas replied. “What would you like to have for dinner? We can cook something together”.

Lucas snorted and turned around, but not putting any distance between them “Baby, that would be so cute if we ignore the fact that we both suck at cooking. And I appreciate your parents a lot to make them hate me for burning or letting you burn their precious kitchen” and then he kisses Jens’ nose, a gesture that made Jens blush and go shy.

“You might be right there. So, we could call somewhere to get food?”

“That’s actually the cleverest idea you’ve ever had”. Jens frowned but then a smirk appeared on his lips “oh, yeah? I might have a better idea in mind right now”. Lucas face lighted up and Jens couldn’t hold it anymore. Before Lucas could say anything, they were kissing.

It wasn’t something intense; they just wanted to feel each other’s lips slowly and enjoy the moment. There was no need to rush anything; they had all the time of the world until Sunday. Jens’ hands started caressing the sides of Lucas’ hips with so much care while Lucas’ were on Jens cheeks, pushing him near to his body.

At that moment, he realised how much he had missed Lucas. Thanks to his exams he didn’t have enough time to do everything he wanted, so he couldn’t travel to see him. But he was already here, his beautiful Lucas was here on his arms and there was no way he could let him go anytime soon.

Everything was perfect and their kiss was starting to be more needy and disorganised. Their bubble exploded when Jens felt an intense pain on his ankle.

“Fuck”, he said as he let Lucas’ lips go. His boyfriend gave him a worried look “Is everything alright? Did I bite you again? I’m sorry if-” but he was interrupted by a soft meow.

“That little devil of yours attacked me! My ankle hurts now and it’s his fault!” Jens said as he pouted. Lucas kissed his bad try of sad face.

“Awwwwh Jens, he came to say hello to you! Don’t say he hates you. Poor little thing, he has been alone on a foreign house the whole day”. Then he had to see how Lucas took Killian on his arms and gave him little kisses on his head. Jens was speechless. The image would be so cute if you ignore that demon, he couldn’t leave them alone for a second.

“Luc, my ankle is bleeding. I don’t think pain is the right way to show love…” he tried again, but Lucas kept playing with the cat.

“The little Lian was just playing, don’t you baby?” Jens couldn’t actually believe it. Killian just didn’t have to interrupt every soft moment they had, now he owned Jens’ pet name. He was Lucas’ baby, not that ugly ball of fur.

At this point he was glad neither the broerrrs nor Lucas could hear his thoughts.

Lucas started talking again “and talking about pain and love…the last time I checked you had another opinion of that” and then he raised his eyebrows giving Jens a suggestive look that made him blush.

After having dinner and taking care of Killian’s incident, they went to bed. Lucas was tired thanks to the trip and the effort of exams hit Jens out of nowhere. They had more days to talk about everything until their tired eyes closed or to do more interesting stuff.

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

It was almost 3 a.m. when Jens woke up. They were hugging each other while Lucas’ head was on Jens’ chest.

Jens couldn’t stop the smile that was appearing on his face thanks to that image. Lucas looked so calm and relaxed, and he also had a soft smile on his lips. He must have been dreaming something nice.

Jens kissed Lucas’ curls and moved to see what woke him up. He had a light sleep since he could remember and a weight on his bed covers made him open his eyes. It was Killian.

Lucas’ cat decided he also needed cuddles and joined them on bed. Jens moved slowly to face the cat. Lucas made a sound on his sleep and Jens kissed his forehead “shh, angel. Go back to sleep. It’s okay”.

The lack of answer was all he needed: Lucas was still sleeping. The last thing he wanted was to wake him up. He knew how hard is for his boyfriend to fall asleep again.

After assuring Lucas was sleeping, he looked at Killian straight to his eyes and whispered “you can’t let us two have a moment without you, don’t you? Come on, I let Lucas bring you here on OUR week”, but Killian didn’t bother on reacting to Jens’ words.

He was about to start being mad until he realised he was talking to a cat. What was he expecting? It was obvious he won’t get an answer. He tried again “Seriously, I know you’re cute and everything, I can see it and I understand why Lucas loves you. But you’re not sleeping on my bed”.

Then, Killian put that cute little face that made Lucas take him home, but Jens was stronger than that “What? It’s the only time I’ll have with Luc with no cats around! Why am I giving you any kind of explanation? You’re a cat and this is my bed! Wrong choice when you decided to hate me”. Seeing he didn’t get the attention he was asking for, he tried it again, looking at Jens with the saddest face he could put.

At that moment, Jens knew it was over for him.

“Okay, okay. I give up. Come here, little boy. But be quiet, we don’t want our Luc to wake up, right? He needs to sleep” Surprisingly, the little ball of fur (and anger, in Jens’ opinion) listened and joined them.

He seemed insecure, and Jens didn’t understand “hey, come here. It’s okay. You’re the only one who hates me. I’ve been nice all the time...come here, Kill”.

Finally, Killian curled near to Jens’ arm. His heart warmed up a little. At the end of the night, he had one of his hands brushing Lucas’ curls and another cuddling Killian until he fell asleep and started purring.

If Jens’ kissed the cats’ little head, nobody had to know about that.

Maybe they could stop being enemies after all.

[docholligay]

Fx’s A Christmas Carol

This review/ramble was sponsored by @amberlilly, and has taken me quite awhile to do. It clocks in at being 6,400 words long, and oh my loving God. If you want to watch the Miniseries itself, you can find it on Hulu! PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU ENJOY

I love A Christmas Carol. This may seem strange to you, given that I am a Jew who pretty virulently hates Christmas, but it isn’t REALLY a Christmas story, it’s a moral fable about selfishness and greed and the inability to appreciate and see the softer and brighter things that bring no profit. It’s a fucking story that every asshole hoarding toilet paper needs to hear right now. It’s a favorite for always, I read it every year, and I have seen many, many versions of it, and I bring you all that “wisdom” in this lengthy review of FX’s effort this past Christmas. 

Spoiler alert: I BASICALLY PICK APART THE ENTIRE MINISERIES. 

The shortest possible version of this entire loping review: I really quite enjoyed FX’s A Christmas Carol, and that seems to be an unpopular opinion. 

In the longer form: 

“A gift is just a debt, unwritten but implied” 

I have always felt that the finest form of recorded visual media is the miniseries. We, of course, do not call them miniseries any more, but, instead, ‘limited series’ or ‘a special event’ or somet stupid thing like that, for much the same reason I imagine we are now calling a station wagon a ‘full length hatchback’ because people are idiots, and you can’t sell something to someone if they don’t it is novel.

The miniseries allows the story time to breathe, allows for lingering thoughts and ideas in the way a two hour movie does not. And it avoids the worst of the TV show problem, where a show is punished for its own success by being forced to be mined like its fucking coal shale until there is absolutely nothing left, just some ugly polluted ground where a good idea used to be. 

And so I was very delighted at the idea of a Christmas Carol miniseries. 

Tonally, in broad strokes, it is much darker than the Christmas Carol you’re used to. This is a new Christmas Carol for a new period in time, and it tries to bring a lot of the genuine problems of the Scrooges of our modern day and transport them back to Victorian England. It does not in any way try to shield you from the fact that Scrooge is a man who thinks of nothing but profit, not of any human cost, and it does not rest upon anyone’s previous affections for A Christmas Carol. In fact, it would prefer that you deposit them at the door: This is a moral ghost story, this is not some warm Christmas good time for the family. 

And I would prefer it this way! Many of my most hated versions of this story become that way by making too much light of what is meant to be a moral fable. Or centers the story too much around Christmas itself, which it is not meant to REALLY be about. Of course, the very wealthy and those who prefer to be blind to their role in the suffering of others prefer the version of the story where the main problem is “Scrooge doesn’t like Christmas” and so I can see why they would consider this version a negative. I, however, am going to immediately find a copy of this one to keep. This is the way businessmen are. This is the way the very wealthy are.

The “thesis statement” of this show, which sets it apart from many other adaptations, is something Scrooge says early on in the movie, I think it happens within the first ten or fifteen minutes (bolding, obviously, is mine): 

“Behold. One day of the year. They all grin and greet each other when every other day they walk by with their faces in their collars. 

You know, it makes me very sad to see all the lies that comes as surely as the snow this time of year. How many Merry Christmases are meant, and how many are lies? To pretend on one day of the year that the human beast is not a human beast. That it is possible we can all be transformed. 

But if it were so--if it were possible for so many mortals to look at the calendar and transform from wolf to lamb--then why not every day?

Instead of one day good, and the rest bad, why not have everyone grinning at each other all year, and have one day of the year where we are all beasts, and pass each other by? Why not turn it around?” 

I mean, I heard this and was like, “Why are you booing him, he’s right,” because he is right. I have often found that one of my frustrations with the ways people engage with a Christmas Carol is they forget the “try to keep it all the year” part of it, and it has nothing to do with fucking trees and parties, it has to do with generosity and kindness. 

And this show goes in on that! SO LITTLE of what the show engages with is about Christmas at all, it’s a narrative setup, a collective mythology used to enact a moral tale, and I absolutely love that they actually went on what I feel is the core of A Christmas Carol. 

I’ve broken this down in NOT broad strokes but categories, to try and make the most sense of my thoughts on the show and why and how I think they work. 

On the subject of the ghosts: 

I absolutely love and adore the way they handle the ghost of Christmas Past. I am never sure what I’m getting into when I’m watching a version of this story because the ghosts are handled so many different ways, and I love MANY of them, but it’s one of the most tweaked with ideas in any version. And I see why! There’s so much you can do with them. 

Christmas Past they handle by having him change depending on where Scrooge is in his life, and the implication throughout is that he changes into whatever it was that scrooge needed in that time of his life, whatever he was seeking. With Ali Baba, it was escape, with the businessman, it was business, and they did all this with great actual care, up to an including having different actors play the different versions of the ghost of Christmas past. I’ve seen something like this done a few times (and have always been very fond of it) but if I recall correctly this may be the first time I’ve actually seen them go to the length of hiring different actors.  

The sheer mockery Christmas Past makes of him is worth the adaptation in and of itself--Christmas Past feels little for him, and I’m brought to mind the scene where his father comes home drunk, and Scrooge begs, in a moment of weakness, oh please not this night, and the Ghost simply says, ‘Why not this night?” I really quite like the less nostalgic tone they took with Christmas Past versus other versions. 

Christmas Present I thought was a bit of a letdown at first, just having his dead sister be the ghost, but when I was rewatching it, I realized that I liked it quite a bit more than I had in my first watching. Present is often the “easy” ghost, generally the one that is given the most positive sort of framing, and it’s not that they remove the positive framing here with Lottie, but they do tone it down a bit, and make it quite a bit more somber to be with her because we cannot remove what Scrooge has done to these lives. There is much less of the “cheerful, noble poor” rhetoric so common in the older novels (and at the time far more revolutionary) and far more of the reckoning that Scrooge has caused so much misery, but people have found a way around it, because they understand the value of other human beings. 

I particularly love the way she takes what he’s learned from Christmas Past, the way he’s seen how he is constantly aiming to discover what the currency of everything is with his horrid and cruel behavior, what things COST people, and dismantles it, shows him wha t a fucking fool he is, and when he says she’s mocking him, she simply tells him “You mock yourself, putting a value to things that have no price” and for the fiurst time ever, it seems like he’s really getting it. 

To those who miss the over-the-top cheer of Christmas Present, I might ask: “Do you miss the fucking THRASHING he gives Scrooge in the novel when it is removed? (as it is often?) Or does that just sort of...fritter away for you?” 

Christmas Future is basically often/always the one note ghost for me and that’s to be expected given that the character has no lines and is of an amorphous shape, which writing wise is a genius move because the future itself is amorphous and can always be changed. That is, in fact, one of the lessons of a Christmas Carol, is it never too late. But of course, in media driven by the dialogue, without much chance for internal patter, it can falter a bit, and I think this is about the same here.I have no trouble with how the ghost was done, in any way, but it does not, for example, twist the spirit into something terribly interesting in the way the otherwise forgettable “A Diva's Christmas Carol” does by making it into a “behind the music” episode. 

On the subject of Ebenezer Scrooge: 

Some people seem to be really rather upset that Ebenezer isn’t played as some bumbling old curmudgeon, but is instead a callously cruel businessman who thinks of nothing but the pursuit of money. One review I read while writing this, looking for things to respond to, described him as an ‘anti-hero’ which made me extremely concerned for the human being writing the review, as I don’t think the show in any way makes Scrooge into any kind of a hero. There are certainly versions that do that by way of making him “the cleverest person in the room” (even my beloved Scrooged is guilty of this, and Mickey’s a Christmas Carol is almost inexcusably so.) but this isn’t what the show is doing here. He is a miserable man, and he delights in making others miserable, he is a man so desperate to prove that every person in this world is as miserable as he is that he orders about the world to make it so. 

If you see an anti-hero in him, I am far, far, more concerned about you than I am about anything else. 

He is more like actual billionaires than any version I’ve seen. His cost cutting, his destruction. He is perversely cruel and sees human beings as playtoys. He echoes far more than any version I have seen, the true appetites of the rich, and maybe this is why this version shines so much for me, and why so many others dislike it. It cuts to the bone, this Scrooge. 

This show goes harder than other versions in many respects, and one of those respects is in Ebenezer’s childhood. His father is cruel in the novella, but really only glancing so, we hear little of his childhood at all, other than his father sent him away, and his sister had to wait for years to ask for him back. We must remember something: Dickens was writing on a tight timeline compared to his other works. I have no idea if he would have expanded on Scrooge’s past himself or not, but I certainly know he did not have the time and space to do so in his normal fashion. 

The show does a really interesting thing with Ebenezer, in that it does not allow a monster to grow from nothing. Most monsters do not. This is by no way an excuse--I think the show makes that fairly clear--but it is an explanation. His sister gives him a mouse, a stray mouse, for Christmas, dressed up with a little bell and ribbon from one of her toys, and Ebenezer loves it, and his father, drunk and impoverished, kills it. It’s an intense and horrifying scene, and as with many of the things in this show, in accomplishes this while showing nearly nothing. The entire scene happens in shadow, but you feel the fear of Ebenezer as a child, how it affects him to this day, how he begs for it not to be this night. The show makes even more clear how central this was to his willful callousness, his desire to never be hurt, by explaining that his father did this to “Warn me against unprofitable affections” 

I am now, and have always been, a sucker for a bit of writing that can allow for a character to be a monster, and also give a seed to plant that monstrosity, without forgiving them. It can be a delicate thread to weave, even more so with the way that people take characters, that sort of knee-jerk desire for a character to be either monstrous or abused, when, it can be both. Having cruelty enacted upon you does not forgive cruelty to others. I feel like show does a fairly decent job with this, reminding Ebenezer that his hated father affected him far more than the love of his sister, Lottie, or any promise of love in the future. He has shut himself off from love, and while he cannot be blamed for the cruelties of his father or the way he essentially sold him to a pedophile for free schooling, it was Scrooge who decided that all this meant his only way forward was counting. Numbers as wealth as his only true love. 

Scrooge even tries to pull a tumblr in this way, looking at the abuse and telling the Ghost, ‘This excuses me” as if he should be let entirely off the hook, AS A GROWN ASS ADULT, for what happened to him as a child. Non non! And the Ghost sides with me in this, telling him, “You only see what was done to you, and not what was done for you” and may I please frame that? I love that they looked at this out in the script and went, “Oh, I’m gonna close that up” 

They do this a second time, but not in a tumblr way, more in a reddit way, when Scrooge protests that whatever else he did to Mary Crachit, the money he gave to mary saved Tim’s life, and so, “if you view virtue purely through the consequence of an action rather than the motivation for said action we have just witnessed my former self doing a good thing.” (Me, watching this: I’m Jewish, I don’t do that even slightly.) and as the Ghost of Christmas Past goes to leave, Scrooge asks if he is forgiven, and Christmas Past yells, “It’s not about your forgiveness!” I love that in so many ways, they tie up what a person might argue in Scrooge’s favor, but Scrooge can’t see that forgiveness is nothing and change is everything. 

Making Scrooge a venture capitalist was, to me, an absolute banner move. A new villain for a new age. Don’t get me wrong, moneylender is now and always will be a fantastic villain, but venture capitalists have ruined many things you’ve loved TO THIS DAY. They buy troubled businesses, that could be saved, and instead of trying to turn them around, they sell them for parts, get the last scrap of meat off them, and then crush them. I can think of three businesses this has happened to that I know of, off the top of my head, in my lifetime: Toys R Us, Cabelas, and Lucky’s. All could have been saved, some of them (Lucky’s) fairly easily. But that isn’t what people like Scrooge do. 

The way they have him taken into the mine, to see what the cost cutting does to people, or the factory, burning and killing so many people, it allows us to really dwell in the HUMAN cost in a way that many versions shy away from outside of the Crachits. I think it’s very easy to go “Cutting costs hurt workers” but we often don’t really dwell in that, especially considering SHIT LIKE THIS IS STILL HAPPENING IN THE WORLD TODAY. Go look up conditions in Bangladeshi factories, how much do we really deserve H&M, you know? 

A personal touch I very much loved: Scrooge cares about animals far more than people. I LOVE this is a fucking villainy trait. I think we all know that person! I hate that person! And I adore so much when Scrooge says, down in the mine that is about to kill workers, some of whom are children, that he tried not to think about the ponies, and the Ghost of Christmas Past basically goes: “Are you SHITTING ME? Did you never care about the MEN down here?” while also allowing for the fact that his covering up a cold horse in London is the only reason the ghosts believed there was something good in him at all. 

On the Crachits: 

Bob:

The first time I watched this, I was like, “Man, do I even like Bob in this?” because he’s so different from the usual portrayal of Bob Crachit as meek and mild. But upon my second watching I realized I was really only reacting to the difference in tone for Bob, and that I very much like that he is a simmering pot of resentment and hatred, serving under a terrible fucking boss who makes money hand over fist while he busts ass with no benefits or help for very little pay. WOW DOESN’T THAT SEEM RELEVANT TO OUR TIMES? 

So yes, I very much changed my mind (this is why rewatching things is sometimes helpful for me) on the subject of Bob, and I think in this case he makes such a better standin for the average worker, for the way the system chews us up and spits us out and oh my god I want to give every rich boss I ever had Covid right now. 

Mary: 

Mary Crachit becomes a main character in this version of the story and I am absolutely taken with it. The way she does whatever it is she has to for her family, the way she is willing to lie and degrade herself in order to do so, up to and including being willing have sex with Scrooge (it does not actually happen, but the scene plays out) in order to save and protect her family, and never tell them where she got the money to save Tim’s life. 

She lies to Bob about this! Forever! I struggled with where I wanted to put this because I talk more about it in relation to the storyline and the scene itself below, but I decided just to leave it with Mary herself, and the way that she really does make massive sacrifices in order to protect everyone in her family. She bears the shame and the indignity of what was done to her, what she chose to do to save Tim, without any regard for herself. Mary is the rock of the family so much more than Bob is in this telling. 

She’s also inadvertently the one who saves Scrooge, wishing for and calling upon the spirits to show him what a piece of shit he is. 

Tim: 

Tiny Tim is no less a narrative device here than he is in other versions--that’s simply the function of TIny Tim. He’s the “puppy” of the story and we kill him off in order to tweak heartstrings and encourage changed behavior. They do make his disability more clearly defined in this one, and so things make a little bit more sense than they tend to in the original framing. 

I also really quite loved the effect with him breaking through the ice, and how Scrooge has to see it from below, and watch it, and see TIm’s spirit and beg him himself not to die, but to stay with his parents, to no avail, I thought it was a clever take on something we’ve seen done over and over again. 

Broader story changes:

The genuine spookiness. 

This is not the only version of Christmas Carol I’ve seen that attempts to create a genuine sense of fear and creepiness out of the subject material, and it’s not even the one that I think is the scariest, but I do think it does a really excellent job of reminding you that this is a ghost story. There are good little details here and there, particularly in the lead up to Jacob’s visit, that allow for a genuine sense of fear, or at the very least the understanding of Ebenezer’s fear. 

Outside of the doorknob incident, we also have the two coins, the exact same years as the ones Scrooge put over Marley’s eyes, drop down from the fireplace. This not only a good moment of spookiness that is difficult for Scrooge to explain away later, but it also gives us an early introduction to his obsession with numbers. 

But my favorite comes after Bob leaves for the day, and on Scrooge’s ledger he sees scrawled, by no one or nothing that he knows, “PREPARE YE,” that would be enough in itself, ut then we have a lovely moment that really encapsulates the capacity for self-delusion. Scrooge looks at the clock, and asks the clock to make it four, because he refuses to leave his office early, but he desperately wants to leave. He changes the watch he carries, and then the world goes into shadow, and all of a sudden the clock chimes four. DId time move? WHo can know, but it unsettles Scrooge enough. It isn’t only creepy, either, but is a moment to show that Scrooge will not bend himself by leaving early, but instead he will remake the world as he sees it. He will change the watch and make it lie, and thus change the world. 

The human cost of industry. 

One of the greatest things I think this adaptation does, and I’m not going to go too far into here because I go into it all over the place in this look at the series, is taking into account the human cost of industry. I don’t even mean the scenes in the mines, or the scene with the factory on fire, although of course those too. I mean even scenes like where a man has just died, and they are pressing him to sell the factory at half of what it’s worth, only to immediately fire all the workers and sell off the factory for parts not but a day later. To flip it into immediate profit. 

And we’re shown that he remembers nothing but the money he made off of all of it--the Ghost of Christmas Past has little effect on him, except as stage setting--and he runs off the numbers, remembering the profit he made of every single year, forgetting the workers, forgetting the people, forgetting what that money COST him, cost everyone. 

When we see Scrooge as moneylender in a lot of other adaptations, it’s easy to forget that making a lot of money usually has a lot of human cost. People of good character often say, ‘If I were a billionaire” but if you are a person of good character, you never become a billionaire. What it takes to become a billionaire is the coldness, the selfishness, to not allow your rising tide to lift other boats, but to hoard, and to keep. There are no good billionaires. 

Women are given shit to do in this version. 

For all I love the original novella, and I do, it is a product of its time, and because it is a product of its time, the women are mostly accessories to the story. Not so with this version, which has really tried to course correct that little problem from the original. 

With Lottie, not only to they have her save her brother, but then we have her become the ghost of Christmas Present, which I thik works really well as she seems to be the one person in his life Scrooge actually cared for and valued. He, a man who believed in nothing but money, paid for her funeral, and it’s a bit implied that with her death the last light of humanity went out of him. She saves Scrooge not once, but twice, when her sole job in the novella is essentially to show up at the school. 

I talk about Mary Crachit in her own section, so I’m not going to go into it too much here, but this version made her a goddamn main character, and I love it. I think that opens up this story for so many things and ideas that I didn’t even know I wanted but clearly did, all the different expressions of love, some of which are not nice or warm. Mary is a driver of the story far more than Bob is in this version, and I absolutely love it. 

The love inherent in sacrifice, and Scrooge’s blindness to it. 

One major SWERVE this story takes is with the subject of Mary Crachit. Where, in the novella, she hates Ebenezer because he’s a fucking dick and that’s about the beginning and the end of it, in this miniseries, she hates him because he was so unbelieveably callously cruel. He used her for his own disgusting appetites, he used her to prove that all human decency has a cost. 

It, like the mouse scene, is horrifying and uncomfortable, and I am very fond of it. It could have gone full rape no stars, but it doesn’t do that. It has Scrooge humiliate her, make it known that she was ready to do this, have her removed her clothes and stand before him, clutching the stays to herself. He doesn’t have sex with her, doesn’t sexually assualt her, tells her he isn’t even interested in that. Instead he picks apart, moment by moment, that she is a good Christian woman, that she loves her husband, that she considers herself faithful, and she is willing to sell herself for the thirty pounds (That’s around 4,700 USD today). It doesn’t matter that she’s doing it because her son needs immediate medical care, and Scrooge refused her offer of a loan as a “poor investment.” It’s terrifying, it’s humiliating, and it’s sadder yet because people with money are LIKE THIS. I could see this happening now, with little trouble. And the scene makes us sit with that cruelty without making it graphic, and in some ways I think that makes it worse, as it should be. 

But, tying this to the scene where Lottie, without his knowledge, comes to get him and threatens to kill the man who is sexually abusing Ebenezer if he so much as tries to come after them, for all he sees, he does not see the love in this act. He does not see what it must have taken Lottie, after their father finally left them, to take up and come to get him, to break him out of that horrible place. He only sees that he was the victim here. In the same way, he cannot see the love inherent in Mary’s act. What it must take for her to lay down every single thing that she believes in, because above all else, she wants to save her son. 

Which goes back to what I quoted at the beginning, a line I really loved for the sheer selfish cruelty of it: “ A gift is a debt, unwritten but implied.” So much of Scrooge’s ‘redemption’ in this version comes out his ability to learn that what his father says is in no way true. Lottie gave him the gift of freedom without asking anything of him, ever, so long as he lived, never even told him what she’d done. Mary never looks upon Tim with even the slightest bit of resentment for what she had to do to save his life. 

Which sort of leads me to my next bit, which is not so much a different section as a corollary to this one: Destruction as a form of love. I could write a 2,000 word essay on this in and of itself, but this is already more than 5,000 words long, so I am not going to do that. 

Leading off from the fact that Mary breaks her marriage vows and her vows to herself in order to save Tim, she also chooses to lie about it for the rest of her given life. She has no idea that a situation is going to come down where she’s going to have to tell Bob, she simply chooses, instead to bear her shame and hurt and terror alone, on some hand I’m sure because she thinks Bob will hate her but also because she knows that it will make Bob feel all the more preyed upon, that nothing in his life can be without the evil touch of Scrooge. 

And so, she chooses this tearing, this negative thing, but she chooses it out of love, and much like when we see Lottie “like a highwayman” threaten to kill the man that hurt Scrooge, we learn that not all love is a beautiful and warm thing, and sometimes love is difficult and unlikeable and hard. Sometimes there is love to be had in the things of shadow, as well. 

And in the end, when Scrooge destroys the ice sating rink so that Tim can’t fall through, that’s the idea that he can finally encompass this, that his love is total now, and it’s not just “scrooge gave everyone money” but SCROOGE LEARNED TO DESTROY THAT WHICH WAS TERRIBLE. 

Which leads me to:

THE ENDING: 

Let’s talk about all the things they change in the ending because there are a lot of them and I fully expected to hate that but it was very much that snake comic where it goes “I don’t like that thing”...”Oh no I love it.” 

Scrooge’s ‘redemption’ doesn’t come out of him wishing that he wasn’t the one to die, or wish that everyone would not hate him so much and immediately forget him, but out of the ida that it doesn’t matter what happens to him so long as Tim is allowed to live. He finally lets go of that massive selfishness which allowed him to profit so very much, and to give himself over to whatever it is, to be tortured, to not be forgiven. 

Because he knows he doesn’t deserve forgiveness, that he does not deserve redemption. He REFUSES redemption, he says he refuses to change because he refuses redemption, he refuses to not allow himself to be punished. “If redemption were to result in some kind of forgiveness than I do not want it” He finally owns his shit, because a large part of the point this miniseries is trying to drive home is that YOU are responsible for YOU, and no amount of excuse can let stand the horrible things we might do, or the things we let pass us by. I’m very into this, in a shock to literally no one. 

The sign that he can be saved is that he does not wish to be saved at all. 

And he does more, and better, than in the original, he gives Bob 500 pounds, yes, but also encourages him to take the better job he’s been offered, because Scrooge, in a true move of understanding what his greater evil is, is closing the entire company down, He is stopping the machine of destruction entirely instead of giving money to whoever he finds deserving and letting those he does not be chomped up by the machine. It’s a far greater sacrifice, a far more meaningful turnaround, than any version I’ce seen before. 

Mary tells him it will not buy forgiveness, and he says, yes, good, I won’t trouble you. I didn’t know how badly I wanted an ending like this until I saw it before me, but it was everything I had ever wanted from this. 

And then we, the viewing audience, all get called out at the very end, and it made a chill run down my spine and tears spring to my eyes in a way that really rarely happens to me but happens to me most when I feel “got” for lack of a better term. 

Mary is looking out the window, and says “Sprits, Past, Present, and Future. There is still much to do.”

And then she looks directly at us. And the screen goes black. We are left not saying “Oh wow gee willickers, that Scrooge guy sure was nasty BUT” and instead go away with, “How have I been Scrooge in my daily life? How can I change?”and for me it was harrowing in the way I think all viewings and readings of  A Christmas Carol should be, that we should always come away with the idea that we could be doing a better job, that some cruel Ebenezer waits inside all of us and we must constantly be working to root him out. 

Very minor loves:

The idea that the greatst torture is to be locked in one’s coffin, and never allowed to die, and how one does not really require a hell in itself, as one has been conventiently provided to each man, women and child who requires it. Really clever. What is interesting in that, however, is that the show is somewhat harder on Marley. In the novella, he is driven to help Scrooge by way of their past friendship, by some humanity he’s found in death toward his old friend. In this, it’s essentially only to escape this hell. 

Changing, “If they’re going to die, they’d better do it! And decrease the surplus population” to the very simple “then let them die” is something I didn’t expect to like--on the whole I am rather attached to the original line, but I think with the way they are trying to play Scrooge as more of a straight up villain and make this whole thing less of a ‘charming Christmas tale’ it really works. 

I love the bit with Christmas past when they use the zoopraxiscope thing to project the images, and it’s his hat. There’s nothing deep about it, I just really like it as a touch. 

People can be irredeemable, in their way: Lottie and Ebenezer’s father doesn’t turn kinder, the way he does in the novella, but just leaves, and so Lottie is free to bring him home. There’s no redemption for him. (I actually think this is really weakly handled in the novella despite my loving it) 

I unfortunately have less talent for talking about visual stylings, but one thing I noticed within this movie is that it’s filmed ina lot of blues and greys, underscoring the whole darker tone of the story, and I really appreciated it.  

Thank you for this fucking line, I cherished it and it’s place in the story so very fucking much: “Given my time again, I would not reduce the expenditure on timber. *long pause* Given the time again, I would not be myself.” It’s hard to get across in writing, when one is not turning their hand to it literarily, but it’s really this beautiful admission of guilt without being entirely some sobbing ridiculousness. 

HIS THING WITH HORSES GETS EXPLAINED BY THE NARRATIVE THANK YOU OH MY GOD. I was so sure this was just going to be a sidenote thing but they remembered to follow up and I was very proud in that moment. 

“Everything in life is a lesson if you care to learn” which I should have tattooed on my body as it is my exact framework of thought. 

The observation of the Crachits and just that, “no matter what, nothing sinks them” was just something I enjoyed. (and am stealing) 

I fucking loled when Ebenezer is excitedly gesturing to the Crachits after his new life, and looks at Martha and goes “whoever you are” 

What I could have done without: 

There are always MINOR nitpicks with any version, but one thing I’ll say that I considered rather major, and did not care for in the slightest, was all the dick-fucking around in the spirit realm with Marley. We could have buttoned that up right quick, and we didn’t, and there’s a huge gap in my notes where I’m just like, “Ah okay! I guess….we’re still here?” I think some of the ideas were sound but the execution was poor. 

Sometimes I felt like the writing beat me over the head with the morality of what was going on but then I read reviews of it and was like, “Ah okay, I suppose these people are why that exists” so while for me I would like a bit more subtlety I suppose I understand why sometimes there cannot be. 

IN CONCLUSION, AFTER MORE THAN 6,000 WORDS: I really quite liked this version of A Christmas Carol. It’s not a children’s version by any stretch of the imagination, but I don’t think a Christmas Carol is meant to be. I definitely will be coming back to this one, which makes it only one of a handful. It was a good recommendation for me, when I wasn’t sure I was going to watch it in the first place--there are so many versions of CC that I am still trying to get through--and I found that I really enjoyed it. 

The focus on the morality of the situation and making great pains to decouple it from the holiday itself made this a much-needed refresher of the story for me that keeps more to what I think the original was GOING for (Source: literally all of Dickens’ writing on poverty) than the way it’s been twisted by our Capitalist Christmas Culture. I loved that the women were given more to do and an equal hand in the story, and there were a number of really lovely lines that will stick with me.

[jackoshadows]

I'm sorry, but do you hate the sansa of books too?

Sorry for the late reply, but I get asked this so many times lol. I am pretty sure I have already answered this as well and it’s somewhere on my blog.

But honest question, are there any blogs out there who actually like the Sansa of the books? I haven’t seen any. The people who claim to love book Sansa stan for a hyped up, sanitized, white washed version whose only flaw, as per their interpretation, is that she’s just a little naive. But also she’s super intelligent and smartest character in the series. And all this without any text to back up this strange dichotomy - naive and super intelligent at the same time!

Any discussion of actual book Sansa is labelled as ‘Sansa hate’ and hordes descend on such posts demanding that it be tagged ‘anti-Sansa’. So people who like Sansa think that the Sansa of the books is anti-Sansa!

Others bloggers have done a better job than me of explaining fandom’s perception of Sansa versus the actual book version. This post for example:

https://aiyassalt.tumblr.com/post/188322664000/honestly-i-greatly-dislike-sansa-both-her-book

https://aiyassalt.tumblr.com/post/188450445310/star-crossedvoyager-aiyassalt-honestly-i

One only has to look at number one Sansa stans David Benioff and Dan Weiss to understand how for most of her fans, they can only genuinely like the character and enjoy her when she is given the character traits and plots of other characters. Weiss and Benioff constantly claim Sansa is their favorite character and yet they are busy stripping Jon, Arya, Bran, Dany and other characters of their book characterization for Show Sansa.

Shit like this:

"She's like the warrior of Winterfell" - Sophie Turner on Sansa wearing armour for the first time in Game of Thrones season 8

Arya has needle? Well, Sansa will also get one!

Clapton’s view on creating Sansa’s new style is that it’s centered  around using found materials since Sansa sews her own dresses. Sansa’s  spiked necklace is a reference to Arya’s Needle- this is Sansa’s Needle,  the designer has explained.

Teaching grizzled warrior Yohn Royce about the importance of castles as a first line of defence -  She’s the warrior of Winterfell! She knows more about how much rest the soldiers required than Daenerys Targaryen who commanded armies for like 7 seasons!

And when she was walking around saying that they need food so ask everyone to bring grain to Winterfell and the two blokes walking behind her just look at each other like she said the most cleverest thing ever and omg they should have made her queen instead of Jon! Meanwhile book Jon Snow is breaking his head over how to get food for like 5 chapters and has still not solved the issue in the last book.  

And a lot of book Sansa fans don’t have an issue with all this - they think the smartest character in the whole of Westeros will just be better written in the books - meanwhile book Jon is stupid, Arya is just a revenge obsessed killer and Dany is headed for a dark ending because she’s ignorant and impulsive. Their version of book Sansa is more diplomatic and intelligent than Jon and Dany - characters who are actually written going through grueling leadership arcs.

I was indifferent to book Sansa. She bored me. She was a spoiled, selfish brat in book one and a political pawn and prisoner in later books. I did sympathize with her situation and appreciated that at least now she was slowly starting to realize that appearances are only skin deep and trying to help whenever she could.  I used to skip her chapters on re-reads because Tyrion’s POV was more informative and kept me entertained about the KL plots. But there were all these ‘Pawn to Player’ threads and Sansa BNFs on Westeros.org discussing book Sansa  becoming so smart, that I would go back and read her chapters. And nothing.

And her fans overhyping the character and inserting her into other plots is what is making me dislike even her book version now. Jon’s story is wholly unconnected to her in the books, and yet the Jon Snow tag is full of Sansa. That incorrect-Stark or whatever blog is going to be my supervillain origin story.

One of the reasons for why I am desperate for the next book, is so that we can go back to discussing Jon Snow on the Jon Snow tag instead of it getting clogged by Sansa stans with pro-Sansa and anti-Dany stuff. The Jon Snow tag is not for ship wars and for Sansa stans to hate on Dany.  Please George write the damn book.  🙏. We are desperate here.  

I don’t want to talk or write about Sansa. It’s the last thing I want to do. But the show inserting Sansa into Jon’s plot because Benioff and Weiss was bored of book Sansa’s actual plot and wanted their favorite character to be more important and become a warrior and defense expert and Queen and all that means that Jon Snow fans are now stuck with the character’s toxic stans.

I can empathize with Arya fans now. For a long time they had to deal with Sansa stans because in the books, its Arya and Sansa who have a contentious relationship and Sansa stans were always taking away from Arya and blaming Arya and Sansa BNFs were writing negatively about Arya.

But the show has changed that and the only reason I even started writing about Sansa was because of season 6 when Jonsa stans invaded the Jon Snow tag like cockroaches that can never be got rid off.

So yeah, that’s my rant over. I just want The Winds of Winter. I want to read about what happens to Jon at the wall, the Night’s watch and the Wildlings, Theon and Jeyne Poole, Stannis and the battle of Ice, The Boltons, a bad-ass direwolves vs Ramsay’s hounds battle, Rickon and Davos, Northern houses plotting and conspiracy and playing the game, is Mance alive? what’s the deal with the Pink letter,  Melisandre and Ghost and Jon and Arya somehow reuniting. I want to stop freaking talking about Sansa - a character I really don’t give a damn about.

When TWoW comes out, hopefully Sansa fans go back to discussing lemon cakes and feasts and tourneys and the most realistic (though strangely flawless) and best character in asoiaf.  I, on the other hand, am just a simple fantasy fan here for the swords and magic, direwolves and dragons, ice zombies and 3ERs - and hopefully TWoW will be written one day and will be chock full of material to keep me happy!

Hope that answers your question? 😁

[narniagiftexchange]

                                      THE WINTER NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

                                   for @kadmeread  by  @tarragonthedragon .

LACKING.

Edmund had always considered himself more similar to Susan than to Peter or Lucy. This had been the cause of some contention between the two of them– from Susan, who even at seven had liked to think herself much more grown up and sensible than her baby sister or her two brothers, and from Edmund, who hadn’t realised until he was at least twelve that Susan thought herself to be the only one with any brains at all almost as often as he did. It was, perhaps unfairly on either, a relief to both of them when the siblings, in Narnia or in England, found themselves split into older-and-younger, or brothers-and-sisters, since it meant that even if they didn’t happen to be correct on this particular occasion, then at least the other wasn’t there to be correct instead. Peter had been a wise king, and even when they were young again usually explained why he didn’t agree with them. And he was both of their older brother, which always made it sting a little less when he made the decisions. And Lucy, while rather more prone to gleeful I-told-you-so’s than any of her siblings, was eminently tolerable once they had been old enough once over to realise that she wouldn’t have been half as delighted to be right if she didn’t consider them both rather intelligent to begin with. Susan and Edmund left alone together, even well into middle age, were almost guaranteed to solve any problem that relied on wits or cleverness, but only once one or both of them had been in tears. Lucy and Peter, by contrast, had been the best of friends since she was just a baby, climbing his trousers and running to him in tears whenever Edmund, competitive even at five, had knocked his fellow toddler over.

Standing on the prow of the Dawn Treader, looking out at the empty water, Edmund wished Peter were here to talk to Lucy, to say just the right things and make it look like it was easy. Or Susan, who would probably just know somehow what had been bothering her since the Duffers’ island, and he could be angry at her for acting like it was obvious, instead of furious with himself for not knowing. But Lucy wouldn’t be standing here staring at the skyline if it was him who was hurt. Lucy, who always seemed certain of what she was going to do next, even if it wasn’t the cleverest or kindest thing, because it was almost always the best she could do. Lucy was the one who pushed, and let the others hold her back or be dragged along as they wished, because they hadn’t let her push on ahead since they had first come through the wardrobe together.

But it was just Edmund. Or, well, Edmund and Eustace, who was a loss less of an ass but still as much of a know-it-all as ever, and who was perched on a beam with Reepicheep again anyway. It would be like talking to Susan, except if Susan really was as stupid as he sometimes acted like she was in uncharitable moments.

This was probably an uncharitable moment. It would be even more uncharitable to assume that Peter and Susan and Lucy didn’t have those. Even if it did always seem unfairly easy for them to be kind, and nice, and good. Edmund only ever seemed to have a decent handle on good.

“You’re moping,” Eustace said, from right next to him. Edmund did not jump.

“I’m watching the horizon,” he replied, which had the benefit of being factually true if not much else.

“Is it because of whatever’s bothering Lucy?” Eustace asked. Clearly he had learnt a little more about being a decent chap, though Edmund rather sourly considered that if he had learnt any more he might not have come over to bother him.

Uncharitable again. This, frankly, was why Lucy didn’t usually let him alone for more than a day or so. If he forgot how annoying his siblings were, he started to remember how much more annoying he found everyone else.

“That’s a yes, then,” Eustace carried on. The area around them was suspiciously free of sailors, because Reepicheep was a little traitor. “Well, it’s not like I know anything about younger sisters–”

“No, you don’t.”

“But when I was brooding, you sent Reepicheep to hit me with a sword, and if you don’t talk to her I’m going to just assume the same tactic will work again.”

“You can’t–” Edmund broke off, scowling at Eustace’s gleefully smug face. “The difference is, I actually like Lucy when she’s herself.”

“I probably deserve that,” Eustace admitted. “But I promised Caspian I wouldn’t be an ass if he let me do this talk, so really I should be commended for the work I’m putting in.”

If Peter had said that, Edmund would have been certain it was a joke. With this new, rather less annoying and slightly less incompetent version of his cousin, it was very much a guess either way. He was spared having to respond by a shout of land, and rushed to his station.

Of course, because this was a magical voyage in Narnia, the shout of land led them to a lost lord and an island of thick mist and even before they saw anything Edmund could hear her, hear it, hear his nightmares looming down on them.

He was not much good at comforting his siblings. He was becoming worryingly good at resisting the call of the White Witch.

Lucy, because of course, was already making quick work of the horrors coming down upon them whilst he was transfixed. Lucy, who got angry instead of scared, leaped down to the deck in front of her brother with a kind of barely-human snarl the second Jadis was vanished, arrows flying and dagger flashing, not missing a step when he reclaimed himself enough to join the battle. And of course the sea serpent didn’t scare her, or if it did it didn’t stop her firing an arrow clean into the creature’s head.

He had never had a head for archery. Fighting was a lot easier, in Edmund’s book, when you had a sword and ‘at something’ was a good enough direction to swing it in a pinch. Clearly Eustace agreed with him, since he had managed to break one on scales like stone. Maybe it was a particular madness of the Pevensie sisters, because Susan didn’t get scared either, always channelling it into doing something useful.

Lucy sat down next to him behind a lashed-together row of barrels. “You’re thinking too much.”

“You don’t think enough,” he said, on fourteen-to-fifty years of fraternal instinct more than conscious thought.

“Well one of us has to be impulsive. You’d never get anything done if we sat around waiting for you three to decide what to do next.”

“Usually, we’re sitting around arguing about whose turn it is to hold onto you by the collar, actually.”

She huffed indignantly through her nose. “It’s not like I’m ever leading you wrong. I remember quite a lot of I-told-you-sos, when we were here the first time. And the second time, for that matter.”

“Not this time?”

“This time, we’ve got Eustace instead of Peter and Susan. There’s no fun in it with you two, you just mope and he ignores me.”

“I don’t mope,” he protested, biting back the urge to cry hypocrisy. “I ponder.”

“Maybe when you were a grown-up you’re pondered. You’re a teenager again, and you’ve been moping an awful lot.”

Edmund laughed. “He’s getting a lot better,” he said, making the most of the lack of uncharitable urges while it lasted. This turned out to be only a few seconds. “Aunt Alberta will be furious.”

Lucy hummed in agreement, and then paused, flopping over onto him. “I still wish we had them instead. I was just thinking, before– before the island. I was thinking that Peter would know exactly how to handle Eustace. And how to talk to him now that he’s not such a terror. And Eustace would probably listen to him.”

“People do,” he agreed. For a moment they made equally crinkled-nose expressions of frustration in silence, both thinking of being a king and queen grown. “I was thinking that if Susan were here, she’d have an answer for everything.”

Lucy went quiet. “I’ve been having rather uncharitable thoughts about Susan lately,” she admitted after some time.

Edmund bit back his initial response, which would not have been helpful. Lucy didn’t sound like she expected him to have much of a good response, but it wasn’t like anyone else on the ship would have a better one. “Would it shock you at all to know that I have uncharitable thoughts about Susan almost every time I talk to her? Sometimes even just hearing Caspian mention her is enough to set me off.”

“Edmund!”

“Just yesterday we went past a rock that looked a bit like her and I thought, she’d be awfully smug if I told her I thought that.”

“I saw that rock!” Lucy exclaimed before she could catch herself, and then bit down on her grin. “And anyway, I don’t mean..”

When it seemed like she wasn’t going to find the right words, Edmund sighed. “I always rather imagine that Susan has as many uncharitable thoughts about me as I do about her. It’s the ones about Peter I feel guilty about.”

“He can be quite annoying when he thinks he’s right.”

“He always thinks he’s right. And in charge. Somehow it’s less irritating when you do it.”

“I do not!” She pushed herself off his shoulder, glaring. “You always think you’re right, too!”

“So does Susan,” he commented. “And Eustace. Clearly there’s an awful lot of pride in the blood on that side.”

“Maybe that’s what’s needed in Narnia. Noone here seems to think like that.”

“It can’t be too bad, then, can it?”

Lucy bit her lip again, looking all of nine. “Or we’re supposed to learn better.”

“We did learn better,” he pointed out. “At least, I did. Eustace has. And you grew up an awful lot, the first time.”

“We all did. But then…”

There was nothing to be said for being young again, but at least she looked pensive rather than upset.

“Come on,” Edmund said, pulling himself up. “I’m going to borrow you a sword. Eustace doesn’t look nearly as scared of you as he should be, after that shot. We’ll have a spar on the starboard deck.”

Lucy grinned, thwacking his arm as he pulled her after him, but didn’t argue.

[systemrebell]

you asked for request so here’s one! could you do a sherlock x reader that’s super fluffy and they’re up super late working on a case and the reader gets super duper loopy and giggly when she’s sleepy? thanks, love!

This isn’t exactly what you asked for, it’s more fluffy than giggly I guess but I hope you enjoy!

Title: I need you here

Warnings: none

Word count: 1500 words

[Y/N]= Your name

[Y/E/C]= Your eye color

[Y/H/C]= Your hair color

I excuse myself in advance for any grammar mistakes. English is not my first language! :)

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It was nearly 2 in the morning in London. The streets were mostly quiet, just a few cars passing by. It was a cold October Night, most people were cuddled up in their warm bed, sleeping.

But not in the Baker Street.

The lights from the flat in the first floor of 221B shined bright onto the street.

It wasn’t something rare, it happened any other night that the lights there would still shine. Especially if you knew who lived there.

The Consulting Detective sat on his black chair as always. His hands were folded under his chin, his expression concentrated. He stared into the air until he sighed loudly and fell back into his chair.

"Can’t solve it?“

[Y/N] stood up from the couch and put down the book s/he was reading. S/he walked over to Sherlock and sat down in the chair across him.

"This case is really taking a lot of time. I should‘ve solved it by now. I‘m getting slower." The dark-haired sighed again and finally looked up to [Y/N].

"Don’t worry, I‘m sure you‘ll have it solved tomorrow." S/he smiled softly and then stood up again. "I should probably go to sleep now. I‘m very tired and I can’t be late to work."

As the [Y/H/C] wanted to leave, Sherlock took him/her by the waist and pulled her/him back.

"No wait, I can’t solve the case when you‘re not here with me."

[Y/N] turned around and giggled.

"What do you mean? I‘m not gone, I‘m just in another room."

"It’s not the same! I need you to be in the same room as me. I don’t even care what you‘re doing then but I just need to feel your presence."

"Oh, Sherlock.“ [Y/N] looked at him in awe and sat down in his lap, putting her/his arms around Sherlock’s neck and played with his curls. He smiled lightly and also put an arm around [Y/N] for support.

"It really helps me when you're there and it’s killing me when you‘re not. I don’t get anything done and the cases take longer to be solved than usual. Remember the case of the apparent suicide? I solved that in 2 hours because you sat on the couch and read. But when you’re gone, even easy cases get hard to solve. I can’t really concentrate on the facts that I have, because you.. you keep crossing my mind, kind of. I know it’s a weakness I should get rid of."

"It’s not a weakness Sherlock. Actually, it’s really nice to know that the world‘s most cleverest man can’t really concentrate because he‘s thinking about me."

Sherlock looked into her/his [Y/E/C] eyes and nod.

[Y/N] giggled a bit and placed a small kiss on his cheek. The consulting detective smiled but also looked a bit confused. "Why are you so giggly?“ He asked, laughing a little bit himself.

"I don’t know, maybe it’s the tiredness. Or just the lack of sleep."

"That’s the same thing, [Y/N]." Sherlock looked at her/him and smiled again.

"I should make some tea so you stay awake. The case isn’t solved yet and I need you here." He wanted to get up, put [Y/N] in the other chair but s/he didn’t move. "No Sherl, just cuddle me! I promise I will stay awake. I don’t need tea."

Sherlock nod again and sat back down, now putting both arms around her/him.

"A man, was found dead in the shed in his garden. He was stabbed but it’s not really clear to say what weapon was used. It was definitely pointed and sharp. He got 28 stab wounds in his chest. The suspects are his ex-wife, his wife and his housekeeper. But none of them were there at the time he died. They all have a waterproof alibi. His wife said he didn’t have any enemies, and if I also already visited them. They‘re all not guilty. But I‘m sure it must've been one of them."

"What makes you so sure? And who found him?"

"His wife found him right after she got home from grocery shopping. And it’s the way he was stabbed. If someone he didn’t knew killed him, they would’ve stabbed 3-5 times, that’s enough to kill someone. But 28 times, all wounds in the chest? That’s personal. Someone wanted to make sure he really dies."

[Y/N] shook her/his head and laughed.

"What?" Sherlock asked, confused by the laughs filling the quiet room.

"Everyone wants to make sure their victim is really dead."

"Certainly my dear.“

"I bet it was his wife."

"What makes you think that way?"

"Well, how did she instantly knew he was in the shed? How could you check she really was grocery shopping? And maybe they had a fight. Maybe he‘s working late, spending more time with beautiful secretaries than with his wife. Maybe she turned crazy. Maybe she laughed like a maniac when she killed him and giggled."

"Giggling like you do right now? Please never stab me." Sherlock laughed and [Y/N] laughed as well. S/he then laid her/his head onto Sherlock‘s shoulder and yawned.

"So you think I should check the wife again?"

[Y/N] nod, eyes already closed.

"Hey, don’t you sleep. It’s still not solved. Maybe you should really drink a tea."

"Tea won’t help anymore." S/he put her/his arms closer around Sherlock and smiled.

The curly haired man leaned back and thought about all the possibilities that could still be. And if you eliminated all impossible possibilities, the last remaining one must be true.

"Maybe the wife is a twin." said [Y/N] sleepily, grinning a bit because s/he already knew what Sherlock would answer but [Y/N] just wanted to mess with him.

"It’s never twins!" He sighed, looking down on the person cuddling him and smiled softly.

"Maybe you should really go to bed."

"Only if you come with me. I‘m not done cuddling... and you could also still think in bed."

Sherlock thought that this was a great idea. He picked [Y/N] up and carried her/him to the bedroom, put her/him on the bed and changed himself into his pyjamas. He turned out the lights and got into bed as well, putting an arm around [Y/N] and draped the blanket over them.

"What if I won’t solve the case until you‘re gone again?"

"You will. I‘m pretty sure. You're Sherlock Holmes, if anyone can get it solved it's you."

Sherlock smiled and pulled [Y/N] closet to him.

"Do you really need to go to work?"

"I guess I need to. And I also shouldn’t be too tired. So, good night Sherlock. Love you." [Y/N] said and was already half asleep.

"Why don’t you quit your job and help me with the cases? We could share the money."

"I love my job, I wouldn’t like quitting, even if I love helping you with your cases. And also, it wouldn’t be enough money to pay the rent for my flat."

"You‘re barely at your place."

"What do you want to say, Sherlock?"

[Y/N] opened her/his eyes again and turned around, facing Sherlock.

"I mean... wouldn’t it be easier if you... you know..."

"No, I don’t know, tell me."

Sherlock sighed and forced a smile, he was getting a bit nervous.

"You know I‘m not good at these things..."

"What do you mean?" [Y/N] was very confused at that point.

"Expressing feelings, doing things to make our relationship evolve. The only thing I‘m not good at."

"Just tell me, Sherlock."

"Why don’t you move in with me?" He looked at her/him scared and hoped that it wasn’t to early to ask since they haven’t been a couple for a long time. As [Y/N] wasn’t saying anything ([Y/N] was obviously very flattered by the offer) Sherlock kept on talking.

"Since John moved with Mary you‘re kind of always here. It’s rare when you‘re at your flat and not... with me. I don’t want you to quit your job or anything, that was a stupid idea. I just want you to be here with me and..."

Before he could keep on talking, [Y/N] interrupted him. "I would love to move in with you." S/he had a big smile on her/his face and Sherlock also smiled then.

"Really?"

"Of course! I love you Sherlock." S/he gave him a soft kiss and smiled even wider.

"I love you too." Sherlock pulled her/him closer to him again and hugged her/him tightly. "I can’t wait to see your beautiful face everyday."

"And you wanna tell me you‘re not good at romantic stuff?"

[Y/N] giggled and smiled. Sherlock gave her/him a small kiss. After that, they both fell asleep with small smiles on their faces.

[helga-leakadia]

All We Know

Sirius and James may be the cleverest wizards of their Year, but they can be rather dense. Especially when it comes to their feelings for each other.

My story for my own writing challenge for the month of May, telling how James and Sirius fell in love, slowly, but all at once. To follow, look for my tags “Stuck at Home Scribbles” or “All We Know”

Chapter 1: Laughter

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

James and Sirius get into a fight after Sirius pulls a deadly prank on Snape

The maniacal laughter wouldn’t stop. Sirius felt it, way back in his mind, that he shouldn’t be acting like this. That something was wrong, and he shouldn’t be doing this. Why even was he doing this? He didn’t know. All he knew was he couldn’t stop.

He didn’t know how long he had been like this. Peter had been gone for most of the time, hadn’t shown his face since he ratted on Sirius to James. Remus would certainly be fully transformed at this point, the wolf completely in control. Would Remus be in there somewhere, fighting for control, wondering where his friends are?

The thought sobers Sirius slightly. He did this. He made Remus lose all control for the first time in months. It was going to hurt; Remus would be in pain for weeks probably. And it was all because of Sirius. And that prick, Snape.

Fucking Snivellus and everything he stood for. He was nothing more than an arsehole wannabe who’d throw his friends to a dragon if it meant he could impress the big boys. Or Evans. He thought people didn’t know, but everyone saw it. It was pathetic, really, following her around like a lost puppy; but behind her back he would insult her and demean her constantly and that was really the main reason Sirius couldn’t stand the two-faced bastard.

The laughter came back fully when Sirius thought about it a bit more. He could’ve been like Snape, but granted, with far better hair. But instead he chose to let the world know how he thought and who he chose to be his friends. He would never turn his back on his friends just because of the families they came from. Because he wasn’t a damn coward! Like that fucking prat. That slimy, stinky, no good—

Sirius was slammed back into a wall, all the air knocking out of his lungs, cutting him off mid laugh. He couldn’t focus; colors were swimming around him everywhere, he couldn’t figure out where he was supposed to be looking. Something black was right in front of him but he couldn’t make out the shape with any certainty.

Maybe it was Snivelly, coming to fight him over his thoughts.

The idea of Snape actually coming to the Gryffindor Common Room to fight Sirius caused another wave of laughter to wash over him. It sounded mechanical and almost wild to his ears, lacking any mirth at all. Weren’t you supposed to be happy when you laughed? Why was he laughing if he had nothing to be happy about? And why couldn’t he move away from the wall?

Between laughs he heard…something. It was like trying to listen to music underwater, though. Just noises. They didn’t matter anyways. He’d lost his friends, they all hated him now, so why did anything matter? He’d just smile through the pain like he always did. Why should he be serious when he was already Sirius?

The thought sent him through another burst of laughter. But right when he let out a loud, but still hollow, bark, he was thrown bodily into the ground, slamming into the hard floor and his head knocking painfully into the thick, wooden side table.

“Rictunum.”

He was still laughing, but it wasn’t as loud and the colors swirling in his head were starting to take shape. Why was he laughing anyways? He felt something heavy settle itself on his lower stomach, making his laughter even harder to bellow out. He tried to move it off him, but something caught his hands.

A slap to the face knocked him out of his state completely. James’s face, harder and angrier than Sirius had ever seen it, made shape in front of him. He was straddling Sirius, his strong thighs keeping Sirius from moving even an inch.

“You weren’t hexed,” James said, his voice a deadly hiss. If he hadn’t been so close, Sirius would have never guessed it was a sound his best friend could make. He leaned in even closer to say, just as angrily, “What d’you have to be laughing at?”

“Fucked up. ‘S’all just so fucked up.” There was still a twinge of laughter in his voice when he said it, which was apparently not okay for James, who ground himself lower into Sirius’s lap and one arm moving from his wrist to his neck.

James wasn’t choking him, would never go so far as to hurt Sirius, but his heavy forearm being so dangerously close to Sirius’s windpipe was a new experience for the boy. He’d never seen his usually smiling and laughing friend look so much like Walburga and Orion. And it was that picture that caused Sirius to go completely limp. Everything he had done over the last few hours came crashing into him.

James ignoring him. James choosing his girlfriend of him. Peter trying to talk to him about who-even-cares. Snape eavesdropping. Telling Snape about the knot in the Willow. Peter running off. James running off. Shit how long ago was that?

“Of all the stupid ass stunts! You. Told. Snape.” James got off him, looking like even the thought of being in the same room as Sirius was disgusting him. It probably was. Sirius stood up, slowly and carefully. He really had nothing he could say. Nothing he cared to admit. It didn’t matter anyways. He had no excuse for what he did.

“He shouldn’t be sticking his nose in our business anyways.”

“You made it his business now,” James struck back, his voice so sharp and laced with venom Sirius physically recoiled. He felt like he was being attacked by a snake. This wasn’t James, it couldn’t be the James he knew and loved. But then again, James probably didn’t know Sirius anymore.

“Serves him right. Maybe now he’ll—”

Whatever Snape may or may not be doing now never came out. Sirius wasn’t even sure what he would say anyway. But it was lost when James struck again, grabbing at Sirius’s lapels and driving him backwards into the wall again. He used his entire body to pin Sirius, showing that just because he was lanky didn’t mean James didn’t forget that he was taller than Sirius and knew how to work that fact. Sirius could barely take in a breath.

“You used Remus. You did this. What the fuck were you thinking?”

He wasn’t thinking then, and he couldn’t think now. James smelled like broom polish and peppermint and it was sucking Sirius in until he felt stupid with desire. He just wanted his best friend around whenever he needed him. Like he used to be.

“Just wanted him to go away.” Sirius’s voice was so small. Even he didn’t believe in what he was saying.

“I COULD’VE DIED!” James roared, pushing himself impossibly closer to Sirius, his fist slamming through the wall right next to Sirius’s head. This was all wrong. Sirius was the one with the temper, not James. James was calm and cool under pressure. This was wrong. All wrong. James backed away, looking disgusted and torn once again. “I could’ve died!” He yelled again, sorrow and anguish mixing with the fury now. “And all you can say…” he trailed off. The calm was coming back. He shook his head, trying to take back control of himself. He looked down at his fist, bloody and mangled and obviously broken. Just like Sirius felt. James’s eyes left it as if he couldn’t care less about it. He spoke with a cold fury now. “Dumbledore wants us in his office immediately.”

He moved towards the door, his one good hand on the handle before he spoke one last time, never looking at Sirius. “I don’t want to see you after that. These are your true colors and I’m not here for them. I’m done.”

The door slammed and all Sirius could do was slump to the floor. He tried to get his breathing under control, tried to get the conflicting images from swirling through his head. He couldn’t, shouldn’t, be feeling this many emotions. He needed a cold shower, something to get him away from the heat pooling in his stomach. He couldn’t be feeling like this.

James wanted nothing to do with him anymore…and all he could think about was everything he wanted with James still.

[space-malex]

For the character asks: Alex Manes and Maria Deluca please. :)

NIIICE okay let us start with Alex then.

How I feel about this character: There’s a reason my tag for him is “my actual son”. Alex is my baby who I love more than anyone else. It’s funny bc malex as a ship is closer than most in terms of character favorites. I usually have a HEAVY favorite, and with them, it’s less so. But let’s be real here. Alex is my ride or die always and forever, with or without Michael (preferably with tho I mean lbr). Alex has been through so much and he is still such a good person. Being raised by an abusive bigot of a father, abandoned by a mother, and surrounded by asshole brothers...I really can’t imagine that life. But he’s lit from the inside and no amount of outside influence will snuff him out. He’s smart, brave, a sassy little monster and so, so, inherently good. It makes my chest physically tight to think about. He deserves the entire world, and I believe he could get it for himself.

Also he’s totally a Slytherin don’t @ me.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Malex. Just malex. I’m on the ride that is this show and I know we are getting other relationships for both of our boys, but they’re the epitome of true love. If they don’t make it work, it’s yet another example of gay tragedy. And I say that even if they ended up “happy” with other people. Because 99% of malex’s issues and struggle is rooted in the homophobic abuse they’ve both endured and the fear, trauma, and miscommunication that has resulted from that. To say they’d somehow be “better off” with someone else really writes off the struggles that so many queer folks go through and says that we can’t really have happy endings with our true loves bc it’s “too hard”. Fuck that. Oh I went off a little, sorry.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Kylex, obviously. If it wasn’t for malex I would ship that romantically bc I love friends to lovers but as it is, they’re my brotp for life. Also Alex and Maria. I love the mostly quiet support they have for each other and even though right now Maria isn’t making the best choices as a friend, I do think she will come around and we will get our baby besties back! Also in my wildest dreams: Alex and Isobel. I have a mighty need.

My unpopular opinion about this character: I think he shoulders more responsibility for the bad stuff that has happened to the pod squad (and Michael specifically) than he should. That’s that on that.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: He and Michael work their shit out obviously. Beyond that- I want more outsmarting his stupid ass family and being the cleverest most cunning best boy ever. Oh also- A FRIENDSHIP WITH ISOBEL. I adored Alex/Is in the OG, and obviously a romance isn’t in the cards for them due to Alex’s sexuality, but I still want that supportive friendship so damn much. Also the endless BDE and sassing, can you imagine!!

Now on to Maria!

How I feel about this character: I think Maria is a really good person who loves fiercely and is very loyal to the people in her life. She’s cool, funny, and supportive. Maria, much like Alex to me, are the HEART of any group they’re in. I do feel like she got the short stick in terms of writing in season one, and I hope for better in s2.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Isobel, Rosa, and possibly Kyle. But here’s the thing- I LOVE her dynamic with Liz and I would fucking ride or die that shit if there was a chance it would ever actually happen. But let’s be real-it never will. So I don’t really waste my time actively shipping something that I know could never happen when there’s good competing ships for it. That’s kind of the same thing for Max and Maria. I actually really thought they were cute and enjoyed their interactions, but there’s nobody for Max but Liz so I could never be invested with him and Maria. I find the idea of Maria and Isobel to be pretty fucking hot, enemies to friends to lovers plus it’s sort of flips the switch on the original ships and since we have Michael and Alex instead of Michael and Maria or Alex and Is, we can get the equivalent WLW ship in Maria and Isobel. Their chemistry is so good, too. I just need more interaction. Kyle is more like someone that could have potential but I’d need more interaction. And with Rosa... I admit the age difference could pose an issue, but I have thought forever that Maria was in love with Rosa when they were in high school. I still think this.  for me they would be like a heart ship that would end up very similar to echo and malex. 

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Miluca. I’m still so goddam bitter that they threw away this potentially amazing brotp to add unnecessary (and forced feeling) sex/romance to yet another m/f dynamic. M&M could’ve been the besties of our dreams and now I worry we will never get it bc it’s gotten all complicated. I still hope that once the relationship has inevitably ended, we can get platonic candy back. Also I mentioned it with Alex, but Maria and Alex. I really love them and want more of them. And also marliz obviously.

My unpopular opinion about this character: Mentioned this earlier too but Maria was 100% in love with Rosa when they were teens. Evidence: 1) deeper relationship than anyone knew, including her bestie Liz since Liz did not know about Maria and Rosa sneaking on the crashdown roof regularly. 2) hated Isobel for a decade bc Rosa was avoiding her one single time. “Because Rosa hated her” I guess but no real evidence of that for Maria personally other than one memory. Long time to hold a grudge. 3) the alien evidence in 11- one big point of evidence is how the fourth alien felt about Rosa, and that’s never argued against by Liz or anyone else as a reason that it couldn’t be Maria. It’s like yeah okay the alien was in love with Rosa but it can’t be Maria bc it’s MARIA and she’s trustworthy!

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: had happened- no stupid love triangle/m&m thing. Would happen- maribel or marosa but barring that I just want a cool story and for Maria to be her own character instead of just support to others.