#and how badly the idea of 'you must be productive to be Worth Something' sits with our entire evolutionary history

[honeystwiggypeach]

Yay!!

Could you do Toge Inumaki who meets a tiny reader (under 5ft) and is deaf so she uses sigh language. At first Toge was nervous to try and communicate until he realized they can talk through signing. Maybe everyone keeps joking about how they should be a couple but Toge is shy and brushes it off that they are just friends, reader is sad because she has developed feelings for him. The two are close friends, being the only two who can communicate freely though signing, but she wants more. Angst to lovers?

Ok bestie im getting to this request now and I’m going to go feral…because I want to write those two dad!Toji requests sitting in my inbox quickly because wth?????? I love this idea, honestly I feel like Inumaki would definitely benefit from using sign language!!(keep in mind I never finished watch so idk the whole plot but I also never finished haikyuu and I’m doing fine!)

Tw-kinda angst, reader is deaf, not short because idk how to really write that I’m on the tall side anyways but I think if there was more of a scenario where I could add in that detail I would have! Megumi has to translate, reader hates having to use megumi as a translator! Pls let me know if any of this is written wrong or badly because I want to get this write and I will correct it!!

Inumaki was incredibly nervous when he met you, but he noticed you didn’t speak very much at all. You’d always talk with your hands and as he watched from a distance that’s what he assumed you were doing, he assumed you were just expressive!

He feared getting to close to you, he thought you must have been an Angel and he wasn’t going to risk accidentally speaking with you.

So of course when you’d gone up to him and signed, “inumaki? Right?” He had no clue what you were saying and Megumi who’d grown up with you had to play translator.

Neither you nor Megumi liked it very much so you’d began keeping to yourself, it wasn’t fun when you had to have someone explain your joke verbally it ruined everything.

So of course when everyone learned sign, even Inumaki you were excited.

Always trying to talk with them and even coming out of your shell again. Only one who had yet to sign was Inumaki.

And that upset you because you liked him…a lot!

So of course you’d backed him into a corner as you signed to him about something Gojo or Megumi had told you, he doesn’t know he can’t focus to well.

But he’s scared to sign anything, what if that curses you?

But you grab his hands firmly as you practically force him to sign out a little high, it’s choppy and looks awkward but the satisfied smile on your face is worth it and when he realizes sign produces no product he wastes no time in telling you everything he’s held in and you smile softly as you talk with him.

Pls let me know if you guys want to see anything else I love requests so much!!!

#anons #requests #reader insert #x reader #inumaki x deaf!reader #deaf!reader #inumaki x reader #jjk x reader

[amaraqwolf]

Good news: if you’re currently laying around and not producing anything, you are a credit to your species.

#mental health #productivity #no but seriously i don't think people realise just how poisonous capitalism is #and how badly the idea of 'you must be productive to be Worth Something' sits with our entire evolutionary history #the entire point of the evolution of predators is that we can spend most of our time lying around doing nothing #instead of constantly eating or being on the run #doing nothing is good for you actually

[adamwatchesmovies]

Adventures in Dinosaur City (1991)

When nostalgia stabs you in the back, it's a particularly hurtful kind of betrayal. I doubt anyone will have the same experience as I did watching Adventures in Dinosaur City but if I can discourage one person from viewing the film, it’ll be worth the time I spent reviewing it.

When Timmy (Omri Katz), Jamie (Tiffanie Poston), and Mick (Shawn Hoffman) get sucked into the world of Dinosaur City. They are horrified to find that their cartoon heroes, Rex (voiced by Patrick Labyorteaux), Top (voiced by David Jolliffe), and Forry (voiced by Rob Sherwood) are nothing but a bunch of losers at the mercy of the mysterious Mr. Big (also Labyorteaux). When Big steals a device that will cause a chain reaction and destroy Dinosaur city, the teenagers must convince the dinosaurs to rise against the tyrant and his army of cavemen.

Although I saw Adventures in Dinosaur City years ago, I didn’t remember anything about it except for the cover. We’ve got a rockin’ leather jacket-wearing T-Rex standing next to his buddy Tops. Rex is giving some kid a high five while his herbivorous friend gives a cheerful thumbs-up. “Fun for the whole family!” a starburst exclaims. What we have here is a typical late 80’s, early 90’s costume adventure movie with teenage protagonists. The jokes are bad, predictable, and immediately demonstrate how little thought was put into them. If someone is stupid they get called “Einstein” or “Bird Brain” even though I doubt the world of Dinosaur City has an actual Albert Einstein in it, or birds for that matter. There’s a lot of annoying characters saying one-liners in an attempt to make you gloss over how awful the plot and production are.

This is a story where things just happen. The kids find out that there’s a problem and decide to meet their idols Tops and Rex (someone must have busted out their thesaurus for those). From there you can predict everything. The girl with the ponytail and the glasses will lose them and lo and behold, she’s hot. Never mind that she wouldn’t be able to see anything, it’s time for the two older teens to fall in love. That couldn’t have happened before because they weren’t in the movie yet. The character arcs are so lazy you’ll be begging for something - anything - unexpected. I know I was. Then my wish was granted.

This is a film simultaneously so predictable you’ll be bored out of your skull, and so badly written you can’t tell what’s coming next. We’re told that Rex’s father (King) used to be a hero until Mr. Big arrived. Now the faceless Mr. Big rules the world and King has disappeared. What do you make of this setup? Perhaps a Star Wars-like reveal? Actually no. Mr. Big is just some random dinosaur. Basic movie and story-telling rules don't apply!

There’s no logic to the flow of ideas in Adventures in Dinosaur City. It's like Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - and not only because they both have a scene where a bunch of reptiles talking in a bar. Combined with the Ghoulies-like bartenders, it’s freaking me out. How long have I been writing about this film, how many minutes wasted on a cheap cash-grab riding on the tail of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? The performances are terrible, and inexplicably so. There’s no way Timmy, Jamie, and Mick are young enough to sit through an episode of the Dinosaur City cartoon they're such big fans of. Maybe younger actors kept getting distracted by the horrendous lip-synch or the creatures' tails almost falling off in the fight scenes. They needed "pros" to keep a straight face.

At best, the sets and special effects in Dinosaur City are ok. That’s if we're being generous and disregarding the standards of 1991. Under any kind of analysis, the puppets and costumes don't cut it. The technical elements, acting, storytelling, are all abysmal. This film lures children with the promise of exciting adventure and a probable franchise (complete with catchphrases and signature cheers) but it disappoints on all accounts. I hope I never have to speak of Adventures in Dinosaur City again. (On VHS, November 29, 2015)

#AdventuresinDinosaurCity #movies #films #movieReviews #FilmReviews #WillBaronet #LisaMorton #BrettThompson #OmriKatz #TiffaniePoston #ShawnHoffman #PatrickLabyorteaux #DaviDJolliffe #RobSherwood #SpikeMiller #PaulEiding #1991movies #1991films #dinosaurs

[bonjour-rainycity]

Odin’s Ward ~ Chapter 6

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/630198057513943040/odins-ward-chapter-5

Pairing: Loki x Fem Reader

Word count: 2882

Warnings: None

Y/n: 18 // Loki: 20 // Thor: 24

Y/n’s POV

“It is quite surprising that Prince Thor has not yet gotten serious in his courting habits.” Lady Naerys pushes a lock of copper hair out of her eyes in indignation. “For what it’s worth, I am a wealthy, eligible woman of noble birth.”

Lady Kare nods in solemn agreement. “He will be King in the next hundred years or so. It is time he commits to a wife.”

“I don’t know,” I smirk, thinking back to Thor’s gallivanting. “I think Prince Thor is quite satisfied with his current way of doing things. I’m sure when the time is right, he will settle down.”

Lady Naerys rolls her eyes. “Oh, as if you would know.”

Her easy dismissal of me strikes a nerve I did not know I had. I straighten, my voice quickly becoming tight with annoyance. “I would, actually. He happens to be one of my good friends.”

Lady Naerys lifts her goblet as if to take a sip of her wine, but instead uses it as a ‘cover’ so she can attempt to discreetly gossip with Lady Kare. “It seems as if she has shared his bed also.”

I sputter. “I have not!”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” A cold, mean smile crosses Lady Naerys’ pinched face, and I know her apology lacks sincerity. “You’re more likely to be spending your nights with his brother.”

“Clearly the lesser of the two,” Lady Kare chimes in with a boldness uncharacteristic of her usually demure demeanor.

I grit my teeth and clench my fists so tightly that spikes of pain shoot up my arm. “That is not true—none of that is true!” We’re standing in a central corridor in the palace, and my voice has grown quite loud, echoing easily off the stone walls. I don’t care. “We have grown up together and friends is all we are. Besides! Even if I was spending my nights with Loki, it would be none of your business!” Their eyebrows shoot up at what they likely hear as an admission. I hasten to clarify. “But I’m not. And Loki is in no way the ‘lesser of the two.’ He is thoughtful, and intelligent, and a great friend and one of the funniest people I’ve ever met, and anyone would be lucky to have him!”

Lady Naerys looks like she’s just won a prize. “Loki? You do not use his proper title? How…familiar.”

“Ugh!” I throw my hands up in frustration. “I guess you lack the intelligence necessary to—”

“Hello, Lady Naerys, Lady Kare, Lady…Y/n.” Loki has materialized behind me and I can hear the barely restrained humor in his voice.

Oh he must be loving this.

I mentally roll my eyes. The two women hastily curtsy, and I do a stilted version of the same.

Loki comes to stand by my side, his hands clasped politely behind his back. “May I borrow Lady Y/n? There is a book I would like to discuss with her.”

Lady Kare curtsies once more and immediately goes to leave, but Lady Naerys is slower to follow. I can see in her eyes that she, like me, suspects Loki’s book explanation to be a ruse. She keeps her gaze locked in our direction until she finally turns the corner.

As soon as the two are gone, Loki throws his head back in laughter. “I could hear you yelling from halfway across the castle! My, my, you do get angry. Best not let anyone else see you behave this way. They’ll resurrect Nanny Idsol and place you back under her care.”

“Ugh.” I close my eyes and look to the ceiling. “Do not bring up that horrible woman. I cannot take any more annoyance today.”

He holds up his hands in mock-surrender. “As you wish. What were you arguing about? I could hear the sounds of yelling but not discern words.”

“Oh, you know….” I try to be nonchalant. “Just little, random things.”

His eyes sparkle. “Ah, yes. You are well-known to be upset by the prickling inconveniences of life.”

I huff. “Fine, if you really want to know.” I lower my voice to a hush, and he leans in to better hear me. “Lady Naerys and Lady Kare are quite vexed that Thor has not chosen a wife—specifically one of them—and when I defended him, they turned on me.”

He knows that’s not all of it. “And then…?”

I huff again for good measure and cross my arms. “And then they first insinuated that I am sleeping with Thor, and when that didn’t work, determined that I am sleeping with you.”

Emotion flickers quickly across his face, disappearing behind a cool mask before I can decipher any specific reaction. I consider telling him the true reason for my anger, that they were talking badly about him, but decide against it. It seems too vulnerable to admit that, and I don’t want to make him aware of people’s dwindling opinions of him. Best to just keep that to myself and let him think I was defending my own honor.

Loki expresses his regret. “My pulling you away probably didn’t help. I shall speak to them at once and get this cleared up.”

“Oh, no.” I throw out an arm before he can get away. “Let me stop you right there. You going to defend me would probably just solidify the idea in their heads that we’re together. Don’t worry about it, anyway.” I shrug. “I’m mostly over it now that they’re gone.”

He chuckles. “Though she be quick to anger, she forgetteth fast.”

I roll my eyes and give him a little shove. “So what did you want me for, anyways?”

His eyes light up, and I can’t help but feel warm at the happiness on his face. “I found a lovely spot in the forest while on my last hunting expedition, and I can’t help but get the feeling that you would adore it. Will you accompany me?”

He thought of me while he was away? My heart gives a little flutter.

I freeze.

Why did it do that?

Loki stiffens, noticing my less-than-enthusiastic reaction. “Of course, given the suspicions of the ladies at Court and what that could do to your reputation, I couldn’t possibly expect—”

“Woah!” Getting over my little episode, I stop him before he can take back his offer. “Forget what everyone else thinks. I would love to go with you. When do we leave?”

He smirks and reaches for me.

“Oh, Loki—wait!” But I’m too late, for his arms have encircled my waist and we are catapulted into a sea of darkness.

I’ve teleported with Loki a few times before, yet it surprises me every time. The complete lack of sound and light, the nothingness. I wrap my arms around Loki’s back to anchor myself and bury my face in his chest in hopes of avoiding the nausea I know is coming. Within the next second, I hear the unsettling woosh of air as we re-enter a place with sound and my closed eyes are assaulted with light. The first true sound I register is Loki’s laugh bubbling from deep in his chest.

“You asshole!” I pull a hand from around his back and smack him in the chest. “Every time!” I go to hit him again, but he catches my wrist.

“Attacking a prince of Asgard and using rude words? You’ll be jailed for this, surely.” The mischief in his eyes betrays the words I already know to be untrue.

I shrug and step away from him. “Your call. Just know that you’ll have to come by every day and entertain me, otherwise, I’ll get destructive.”

He chuckles. “I have no doubt about that.”

“Good then, so we’re agreed. I get to torment you relentlessly with no consequences.”

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, and I give a toothy grin. “So, where’s this place you wanted to show me?”

“If you would turn around, Lady Y/n.”

Fighting the urge to roll my eyes for the umpteenth time since seeing him five minutes ago, I do as he says.

What I see is so beautiful and personal that it can only be the product of magic.

It’s a lovely meadow. Tall trees stretch to the sky, their leafy branches creating a canopy so the ground is shrouded in dusk. To the right edge of the meadow rests a clear blue pond that is the epitome of relaxation. Even the smell is wonderful—light, airy, and fresh. Yet none of these is the meadow’s most impressive feature, for it is filled with flowers in every pleasing shade of purple and green. It does not escape me that purple is my chosen color and green, his.

I exhale, unable to do anything more than stare.

“Well?”

I turn to see Loki looking oddly shy: hands clasped behind his back and an expectant smile on his face.

“Oh, Loki, this is wonderful!”

He lets out a breath he had apparently been holding and beams. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Like is an understatement. This place is…perfect.” I turn to stare in awe once again at the meadow.

“I—” he clears his throat. “I know you like flowers, so…” He trails off and comes to stand beside me, joining in my admiration of the meadow.

I don’t believe for a second that this place exists naturally, nor that Loki just ‘happened upon it’, but I assume he has his reasons for not wanting to tell me he crafted this place himself, so I let it go for now.

“Can we stay? Or do you have business to attend to?”

He inclines his head towards me in a little bow. “My day is yours.”

My heart does that funny thing again, except this time…I’m not as tempted to ignore it.

“Shall we?” He extends an arm to the entrance of the garden, allowing me to walk in first. I do so slowly so I can take it all in.

My first priority is to examine each individual flower in extensive detail. Loki does not protest and accompanies me to each and every one, promising that before we return to the castle, I shall have a bouquet. After what has surely been nearly an hour, I take a break from admiring the flowers and recline near the pond. With a flourish of his hand, Loki procures a blanket and we sit upon it.

Something unsettling occurs to me, and I look nervously over my shoulder. “Loki, shouldn’t we have guards? What if we were to be attacked?”

He smirks. “Not to worry. I am much better equipped to protect us. The guards would only get in my way. Besides,” his smirk deepens. “I feel quite safe in your presence, what with you being equipped with a dagger and all.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “How did you—”

He shrugs. “A clever guess. Why do you feel the need to keep it on you while inside the castle? You know the guards have been ordered to defend you with their lives.”

A feeling of unease settles upon me. I don’t want anyone to die for me. “It’s just a precaution. And even if I don’t ever use it in battle, perhaps one day I’ll finally snap and cut off Lady Naerys’ pretty blonde hair.”

At this, he throws his head back in laughter, and I can’t help but join in.

I like this, I realize. I like when Loki and I are together, alone, just talking and laughing. I like being in his company. And it seems as though he enjoys being in mine, as well.

“Alright, stand up,” he orders, pushing himself off the ground.

“Why?”

He offers a hand that I take, allowing myself to be pulled up. “If you insist on keeping your dagger on you at all times, you may as well be properly educated in how to use it.”

I beam. “You’re going to teach me again!”

He nods, procuring a dagger of his own from who knows where. “Alright, first you want to get into a stance that will allow you to have the most control.”

The next two hours are spent concentrating on my form and different ways to block and land jabs. I’m not especially good, but Loki says it should be enough to defend myself until someone more skilled than I can come along.

We sit back on the blankets, both a little tired. “Will you teach me again sometime?”

He nods. “Of course, the next time we can both sneak away.”

I take one of his hands in mine. “Thank you, Loki. For everything.”

A smile breaks across his face. It’s one of my favorites of his smiles. No tricks, no hidden emotions, just plain joy. “You’re welcome, Y/n.”

We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before realizing that it’s time to eat. Loki immediately makes a basket of food appear.

I grin teasingly. “Awe, you packed us a picnic!”

He rolls his eyes. “No, one of the kitchen maids did. I simply brought it with me.”

We distribute the food on the blanket and get to eating, having worked up quite an appetite during our lesson. A feeling nags at me, tugging on my stomach. I try to ignore it, but soon realize that I can do no such thing.

“Loki?” I trail off, losing my confidence.

He eyes me with concern, noticing the somber tone of my voice. “Yes?”

I take a breath, then let it out before forcing myself to ask the question weighing on my heart. “When my father calls me home and I’m married off, will we still be friends?”

Now his mood matches mine. He’s silent for a moment, pursing his lips and looking past my shoulder. Finally he speaks. “It is my truest wish.”

I lower my head to stare at the ground. “That’s not the same as yes.”

He sighs. “Once you’re a married woman, it won’t be proper…” he chuckles, surprising me. “But then again, when has that ever stopped us? Look at us now, sneaking away without chaperones to learn tricks with a dagger. Perhaps we can make it work. I will certainly try my best.”

I nod solemnly. “And I will do the same. I suppose that’s all we can hope for.”

He attempts to lighten the mood. “However, you have not yet been called back, so I say we do not let sadness saturate our evening. In fact, I suggest you look up.”

“Look up?” Confused, I tilt my head towards the sky and gasp as he takes me by surprise once again.

The leafy canopy above is slowly retreating to hug the tree branches, allowing us to see beyond them to the night sky speckled with stars. I can only turn and smile at Loki, who has a mixture of joy and fondness on his face. We lay back on the blanket and stare into the night sky. We don’t say anything. We just lie side by side, arms touching, and take in the majesty that is the night.

{***}

“Y/n….” I feel a hand on my arm, gently shaking me awake. “Y/n.”

I squeeze my eyes tightly before opening them, revealing the amused face of Loki hovering above me.

“Hello.”

I chuckle, pushing him out of the way so I can sit up. “Hi.”

“I contemplated leaving you here since you so rudely fell asleep, but I decided to be gentlemen and merely mess with your hair.”

A jolt of panic burns through my stomach and I bring my hands to my hair, dreading to reveal what he could have done to it. Within seconds, I realize that he’s only joking. My hair is fine.

“You are the worst.”

He throws his head back and laughs with abandon. “Your face was quite entertaining.”

“Mm, I’m sure.” I can’t, however, help from laughing a little myself. “Did I sleep long?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. We should be getting back, though. Dinner is soon and I can’t imagine how it would look if both of us were absent from the high table.”

That sets me into motion, and within a minute I am ready to leave. Loki gives me a little more warning this time, so I’m more prepared for the teleportation back to the palace. We reappear outside my bedroom door and quickly step away from each other, not wanting to look suspicious if anyone were to walk by.

“Lady Y/n, I thank you for a wonderful evening. I shall see you at dinner?”

I curtsy. “Yes, Your Highness, you shall.”

He bows, kisses my hand, smirks at the silly rules of Court we must follow, and walks away.

I glance down the hall to make sure nobody saw any of that, and am satisfied at the lack of people around. I open my door and quietly enter my room. The first thing I see upon entering is a beautiful bouquet sitting on my table, made up of flowers from the meadow. Just as Loki promised. Once again, my heart flutters.

Oh, Y/n. You’re in for it now.

A/n Hello again! Let me know what you thought and if you would like to be added to the tag list :)

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/632631074124660736/odins-ward-chapter-7

Tag list: @80strashbag @dark-night-sky-99

#loki #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki x reader fanfiction #loki x reader fanfic #thor #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel reader-insert #thor fanfiction #loki reader-insert #loki x y/n #loki x yn #loki x remale reader #asgard #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki friggason

[lizacstuff]

Merhaba friends - SCK episode 35 asks

(Fragman 36 ask at the end)

Apologies to those of you who sent asks for last week’s episode and I didn’t answer them. The week got away from me and then suddenly it was show day, the episode aired, and the asks were no longer relevant. Even if I didn’t answer I appreciate you reaching out!

Anonymous said: I’m dying to know what you thought.

While my ego would like to think that there are a variety of subjects that people might seek out my thoughts on, I’m going to guess you want to know what I thought of episode 35. 

I had a mixed reaction. I liked a lot of things, loved a lot of things, there were some things I found disappointing, and a few characters I wanted to strangle. So let’s explore from that perspective. 

Liked:

Romcom feel was back. It felt lighter and was easier to watch than a lot of eps in this arc.

Aydan, Ayfer and Seyfi working together to unite the kids. They were actually funny and trying to do the right thing, even if their methods were a bit morally gray. 

Serkan and Eda’s photo on outdoor advertising and on the cover of magazines. We’ll ignore how quick the turnaround was to get those photos up, it was just plain fun to watch Serkan see himself on his drive into work and be embarrassed and aggravated by the whole thing, while there was also a little spark of excitement from him in being linked to Eda like that. That was enjoyable.

Melo is always the best bestie and Ayfer didn’t suck as an aunt!

LOVED:

Most every individual Edser scene. 

Serkan out-of-his head with worry, planning to jump into the frigid sea, even though he wouldn’t have any shot of saving her that way. That’s my ride-or-die, protective romantic robot! 

Serkan making faces as Eda plans her wedding. Excellent work from Kerem here. 

Eda buttoning up Serkan’s shirt. That was hot. It was also hot that he just let her. 

Sekan buttoning up Eda’s dress (get a room kids and start going the other way... unbuttoning, UNBUTTON) This scene was emotional and the sexual tension! 

Serkan clutching his chest. The poor boy was about to have a panic attack right there. Follow through, writers, give him the full fledged panic attack!  

The hair caught in the button (There’s that button again!) sequence. it was funny and sexy and made Selin into a foolish, immature third wheel. I’m all for it. 

Serkan apologizing to Eda for Selin, that was big because up til now he hasn’t really recognized how awful Selin is in most situations. He has blinders when it comes to her, mostly because he doesn’t pay attention, so it was satisfying to see him acknowledge her bad behavior.

EVERY MOMENT AT THE BOLAT HOUSE. That was a great sequence, and IMO we mostly have Hande and Kerem to thank for it and not the writers. They brought it to life and obviously a lot of it was on them to just figure out what to do in the scene.  I loved that Serkan saw Eda amongst the flowers in that painting. Swoon!  their conversation about how they were both hungry was hilarious. Every moment with them fixing the sandwiches was gold and then it just got better from there. With him being willing to share food, to the throwback “mesala” conversation to her listening to his heart. All so... so... good. 

However, while we definitely deserved those nice, long, funny, heartwarming scenes, I must say the writers didn’t use them to their fullest potential. How did the night end? How did they part? Why was no progress made after spending the night that way?  If the writers were even half decent at their job they would have had Serkan confess some feelings while high, but not remember in the morning thus giving us the parallel with episode 11 when he was sick. Eda would have felt defeated when he didn’t remember, again, and it would have made more sense why she thought the fake wedding was her last shot at getting through to him. 

Characters I’m mad at:

Ceren knows the whole episode that Deniz loves Eda, she knows he’s being weird about it, she makes up with Eda, and stills says nothing? WTF?

Engin makes it to the wedding, he knows Serkan has his memories back and he doesn’t stop the wedding to let Eda know before she says yes? WTF?

Ferit allegedly has the photos and he thinks the wedding is real, but he doesn’t show Eda the photos so she has a better idea of what she’s getting into? WTF?      (though through that whole Ferit/Selin scene I wondered if Ferit was just playing along with Selin, trying to get info out of her and he’s not really the one who has the photos. Time will tell. )

Selin/Deniz- Obvious, psychos, I need them freaking gone. How Deniz can claim to love Eda, but sit there and watch her look devastated and cry her eyes out at the thought of fake marrying him, while knowing he’s about to pull a disgusting trick is unfathomable. He needs to be committed.

Disappointing:

To be clear, I no longer care, but I can’t believe how badly they flubbed this storyline. That? That was the payoff for the hell we’ve been put through for 7 weeks? Wow talk about not worth it and anti-climactic. I’m not going to go on about all the ways they failed, but I could. 

While I fully believe that Serkan fell back in love with Eda before he got his memories back (see this post) he should have confessed to Eda before he got them back. That was the whole point of this entire storyline and they carried that the entire time, but then fumbled the ball at the 1 yard line. Good grief, these writers are bad. 

Serkan gets his memories back, he knows time is of the essence, and he still is torn and has to think about it? WHAT? Just no. Ridiculous. I realize they did it for maximum suspense, but they shouldn’t have. They really shouldn’t have.

That was their reunion after all we’ve been through? Come on, writers, step it up. I realize we no longer have the writers that gave us his love declaration in 11 or Eda’s and Serkan’s proposals, or their make up scene in 28 or their goodbye scene in 28, but this was lackluster. 

So, in summation, there was a lot that I really enjoyed, I thought the episode flowed better than some of the others in this arc, and lots of great individual Edser moments, it’s just the way they flubbed the whole storyline. I’m just so glad the amnesia is over, that thankfully I don't really care.

Anonymous said: when pushed by engin and aydan multiple times in the episode he never denies he ISN'T in love with her and rather skirts around the issue and deflects with "she's marrying deniz!" which should be proof enough he fell in love with her especially considering in 29 he was telling eda that "there was no such thing as love" between them. it was almost reminiscent of eda in 10/11 where she doesn't tell him her feelings bc she believes he wants selin, this time in reverse bc he believes she's moved on.

This came in response to this ask, and yes I agree. I should have hit that point harder, that Engin and Aydan ask him and he never denies it. When this arc started he would have denied it in a flat second. 

He fell in love with her again, full stop. It’s just a shame that they didn’t make it the entire crux of his love confession, we deserved to see that. Just one of the many ways the writers dropped the ball with this storyline. 

Anonymous said: The whiplash we got going from 26-28 to the drag of 29-35 though. 🤦🏼‍♀️ and you really could cut out that entire storyline and you wouldn’t be missing anything because really nothing happened. They didn’t even have Serkan stopping Eda before he got his memories back to fulfill a basic assumed foreshadowing. Like....huh?

I don’t want to be negative, but it’s crazy to me that they sped through wedding prep at a lightning pace and then went through this painful amnesia storyline at a snail’s pace. They should have had at least 5 episodes of wedding prep, doing just one pre-wedding activity per episode, but kept Babaanne around to create the drama. I wanted at least one episode of them back together, but keeping it secret so they could work against her. We were robbed of that!

Anonymous said: I know we’ve been hating a lot on the new writers but the showrunner still has to sign off on these scenes right? And it’s been the same one this whole time. What has she been thinking? Maybe the writers didn’t do their homework but surely she can tell that scenes being very out of character wouldn’t make sense?

Bold of you to assume there’s a showrunner as we know them on a Hollywood show. I assume you’re talking about Asena, but I always think of her more of a cross between an EP and a network exec. A bit more removed than a showrunner.  I have no idea who the guiding light of this show is since Ayse left. The production timelines are so tight, I don’t think there’s time to review scripts and reject them. Sometime I think it’s a wonder anything makes sense at all. 

Anonymous said: I see you've giffed some of the edser "questionable positions" bookshelf scene. (Awesome gifs btw). Honestly, that entire scene was really funny, with the rest of the art life crew jumping in. Even Selin made me laugh when she came in there and said "how did her hair get stuck?!" and Serkan very sarcastically replied with something like "I wound it up in there, what do you think??" Not to mention all the very close face talking that was going on!

Great scene! Here’s the gif set you’re referring to.  I suppose the writers proved they could do fun, and romantically comedic scenes if they want to. More like this, please. 

Anonymous said:

With these past 5 (?) episodes with these last set of writers, I truly believe that they did not go back to watch SCK at all before writing. Any past references were probably given to them on a checklist or something. Like I don't know if they even watched episode 28 with how they ended up doing away with the memory loss. Its kind of astounding how much they dropped the ball. Hopefully the rumors of new writers are true and they get enough episodes to give us a good ending to this story!

This came in right after the episode, but unfortunately, we learned today that we are apparently not getting new writers, at least not for episode 36.I was fully convinced we were since Sefkat (the production company twitter admin) liked Yasin’s post when he said we’d be getting all new writers for 36. Normally I don’t believe anything Yasin says because he has lied so many times that any info he actually has just comes across as a clock being right twice a day.  However, when she liked it, I found that convincing.  Also the way they cancelled shooting on Saturday and H/K were in for a meeting on Friday. Seemed like it was all adding up. We’ll see, maybe there will be new ones for 37??

As for not watching what came before, it certainly feels like they only skimmed and watched certain scenes and didn’t do a deep dive on the series. Watching all the eps in full should be a requirement before they start the job. I always feel they are  just off with Serkan’s characterization, they don’t quite get him and they turn him a bit into a cardboard cutout of early Serkan. It’s like the character sketch outline of Serkan, but with no depth. 

Anonymous said: When I saw the character description of the new cast member added to the show I was like "great, another possible screen space filler in regards to Aydan" but after watching the episode, I was actually really intrigued by his character. I know there's a bunch of theories out there that Serkan is actually his son, which I don't really buy into right now, but nevertheless he was a real potential to be a father figure in Serkan's life... and maybe the only guest character to not be a villain lol.

I’ll tell you this, that casting makes it seem like they at least want us to think he’s Serkan’s father.  He’s way better looking that Alptekin and he just looks like he could genetically be responsible for the magnificence that is Serkan. 

We’ll see what they do. I think it could be interesting, just because until Serkan met Eda he was so invested in being “Serkan Bolat” that having his identity shaken like this would be seismic for him. It could create some really good drama for him in all his relationships without tearing apart Edser. Also, if Alptekin knew it would go along way in explaining that relationship. Alptekin always demanding perfection and the cold way he sent him away to boarding school. It would explain why he could never earn his father’s love or approval, and that knowledge might give him some peace. 

In addition, and a big plus, it would mean that his biological father was NOT responsible for the deaths of Eda’s parents. 

Anonymous said: 1/ everyone for weeks was waxing poetic and had super detailed headcannons of how serkan would remember in really specific ways when he realized he was in love, something that ayfer kinda poked fun of at the beginning of the ep talking about the fake wedding, but i was genuinely laughing out loud at serkan and engin accidently getting into a fight and him yelling throughout it that he remembers and engin pushing him in front going "can you give him one good hit?!" lmaoo

2/ getting a good hit to the end to unscramble your brain that is already giving you flashbacks is more actually more realistic than the usual fairytale way.. sure, less romantic, but definitely more realistic. the man was already in love with her, super confused on what to do since he genuinely thought she was marrying deniz, and was already having flashes, all he really needed was good hit in the head lol. maybe eda should've kept going when they were boxing 😂

I like your take on it.

Anonymous said: i think they saw the fandom complaining week after week that there was too much heaviness/drama in their romcom and said "so you guys want romcom? here i'll give you full on romcom" which is what i thought this episode was! and i really appreciated such a fun ep overall to watch to bring this otherwise really sad and emotion heavy memory loss plot to an end.

Yes, the episode was a lot more fun than most that had come before it. If only they could have tied it all together. 

Anonymous said: Something that just occurred to me that's so crazy in addition to wrapping an episode days before it airs, is that in Turkish television, a series has like 1 permanent director and a small writing team that writes ALL of the episodes. In US TV, that's pretty much unheard of - different writers rotate owning each episode and the same director will shoot maybe 2-3 episodes at most a season. The production turnaround time is so short that it's insane that we don't hear of more last-minute delays

I know, I think about this all the time. It’s crazy to me that there’s only one director. Which is why there’s not a lot of added layers to this show.  When a director just has one episode on their plate and they spend a couple of weeks prepping to direct, every shot, every angle, every bit of set dressing can be meaningful. This show doesn’t have that kind of visual depth.  On the other hand you do get a director that knows the actors and crew inside and out and they all have a short hand which allows them to get to what they want faster and easier. That can’t be replicated with directors who come in for one episode. 

Anonymous said: Over the past month or so, I’ve been seeing so many people cancel Serkan and wanting Eda to leave him forever and move away, but she really never gave up on him and she might finally get him back this week 😭 in fact, Eda and Melo are the only people we’ve seen who have tried to help get his memories back! Everyone who has been friendly to Selin can disinvite themselves to the Edser wedding

I’m glad I didn’t see a bunch of this nonsense myself.  But, honestly, anyone who wants Eda to leave and not end up with Serkan... why are they watching this show to begin with? Did they take a wrong turn somewhere? How did they last this long watching it? We’re 35 episode in and this entire show is their love story, beyond that story and it being a vehicle to showcase Hande and Kerem’s awesome chemistry, it really doesn’t offer many other reasons to watch. 

And yes to jettisoning anyone who was friendly with Selin. PIRIL I’M LOOKING AT YOU. I sure hope Piril finds out exactly how low Selin will sink. She needs to feel ashamed for welcoming her back without question. 

Anonymous said: That fragman for ep 36...part of me wants to hope that it will all be solved pretty soon, since we got edser separated for so long we deserved them together now. But part of me also knows these writers suck so I’m expecting the worst. I just wanted edser together again 😭

I know. When I saw the full fragman my initial reaction was to yell “WHY CAN’T WE HAVE NICE THINGS!!!!!!!”  But I’ve calmed down now. 

It seems to me that we have Serkan and Eda together and working together to figure this mess out, which is good. we have romantic walks on the pier, and Eda spending the night at his place and a sweet breakfast setting with Eda in jammies. All good.  

But then we also have Selin and Deniz refusing to quit.  Selin comes up with the plan that if Deniz doesn’t sign the papers in time, then they will have to get a divorce which means Eda can’t marry for 300 days. So then, what? Deniz steals Serkan’s car and goes on the run? 

What they hope to accomplish with this, I don’t know. Because even if they succeed and Serkan and Eda can’t get married right away, it’s not like they’ll just magically decide that they want to be with those two psychos instead.  I can see Selin doing it just for revenge so she can make them miserable, but what’s Deniz’ motivation? The further psycho he goes, the worse Eda will think of him. Bizarre. 

As for the pregnancy thing. It sounds like Eda must hear that from someone. My money is on Deniz. That’s his Hail Mary to try and drive a wedge between Serkan and Eda. Because seemingly when Eda brings it up, Selin asks where did you hear that. Also, phew, Eda says right away that if its true that Sekan deserves to know, which hopefully will clear things up (because the writers showed us over and over and over again that they weren’t sleeping in the same bed) and it will show Serkan just what kind of crazy he’s dealing with. 

Anonymous said: I was pretty excited after watching the fragman, but surprised when I went on twitter and saw that almost everyone was really upset by it. I’m sure most people know Selin isn’t actually pregnant, but they all still somehow hate the storyline (possibly bc they think it’ll drive edser apart?) idk am I crazy for thinking that we’ll still get good edser moments and them staying together and fighting together? I guess the show needs drama to continue but I’m not mad because I think good edser will outweigh bad/miscommunication edser.

I’m sure we’ll get good Edser moments, but I can’t really fault anyone for being extremely annoyed by this fragman. I think this little plot point will end up not being a big deal at all, however, I can see how it feels like a kick in the face after what we’ve been through the last 7 episodes. It’s like can we get one happy episode? Just one?

Also it’s just very uncomfortable. I’m in the camp that currently thinks it’s impossible for her to be pregnant because they haven’t slept together. He was too fragile and injured before they came back to Istanbul (sleeping on the couch with his PTSD) and after he was too confused and consumed by Eda and just uninterested in Selin. I have to believe they kept showing us them not spending the night in the same place for a reason. 

However, if they were to have had sex, it’s very unsettling because it’s a little too close to him not being able to give consent. It’s Rape by Deception. He had a brain injury, amnesia, was suffering a myriad of traumas and was not in his right mind. He did not have the full set of facts on where their relationship stood, but she did (she knew he wanted nothing to do with her and told her he never loved her and didn’t even want to be friends) and instead of being honest she abused him. She lied to him. She didn’t tell him the truth about what had happened. She isolated him from anyone who could tell him the truth and manipulated him into thinking that she was the only person in the world he could trust and the person he loved and trusted most was untrustworthy and an enemy. 

However, as the audience we know the things she’d done in the past to abuse his trust, and we know for certain if he remembered, he would never consent to sleep with her. Never. So even beyond the cheating and the romance it would rob us of if they did have sex, it’s ICKY and GROSS and none of us want to even think of it.  I don’t expect TV writers in Turkey to be on the forefront of thought when it comes to issues of consent, so I’d rather this door just not be opened at all. 

But here we are, they opened it. Now all we can do it hope that it is a device to hear Serkan say that it isn’t impossible and for Selin to be fully exposed as completely unbalanced and a lying, manipulator.

Anonymous said: the fandom by use of sheer will forced this selin plot line into existence LOL. i swear since the beginning of the memory plot in 29, the "selin will lie to eda she's pregnant" rumor has been constantly making rounds, and i guess it's time to cash in. i will say that i've seen ppl thinking know that somehow serkan and her were intimate even though she's clearly lying.. guys, if there was even a POSSIBILITY she would've used this way back before now and would have told everyone, including serkan.

I agree with this. If this was a card she could play with Serkan, she’d play it. She’s been getting more and more desperate. And in the fragman there she is coming up with ways for Deniz to run away so he can’t sign the papers. If there was something she could hold over Serkan, she would, She’s not because then the con would be up, we’ll just have to wait and see how big of a lie she’s willing to tell. 

Anonymous said: I wonder if Selin was a spy when she was younger! That woman is always watching everything from her car! Even in the new trailer.

Ha! Let’s hope that in the end she’s not a very good spy and they finally get one over on her. Oh please oh please oh please let the stable boy be the one who has the photos and let him have more on her. I want there to be tons of photos of her in her car spying on them. That would be so humiliating for her. 

Seriously, though, who knows what happened to Selin to make her the way she is. Frankly, I don’t think my assessment of her has really changed (most of my old posts on her are tagged with “anti Selin”) She’s just a spoiled, selfish, entitled brat who thinks she should get anything and everything she wants. If she wants Serkan, she should have him, doesn’t matter what he wants or who she hurts, she’ll do whatever she has to do to make that happen. She was probably never told no as a child. So when she’s thwarted she thinks she’s entitled to whatever reaction she wants to have, if that’s ruining other people’s lives, so be it.  No one can be happy if she’s not. 

#Sen Çal Kapımı #Sen Cal Kapimi #Edser #sck episode discussion #sck speculation #sckask #asklizac #sck 1x35 #sck 1x36 #anonymous

[woodstockbtswriter]

Voyagers

Genre: Fluff/Headcanon

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (Female)

Summary: A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to join BTS on a Bon Voyage adventure leads to once-in-a-lifetime love.

Author’s Note: So sorry for another long wait, but I hope this update will be worth it! Please note that my drabble Affection fits into this part, and I’ve added a link where it should be read. Enjoy!

GIF Credit: MONOSUGA

Part Thirteen

Making Camp

Darkness had descended over the campsite by the time you and the boys returned from the store

As Yoongi parked the SUV and you climbed out of the backseat, you were surprised to find that Jimin had already set up the tents and Jin was starting a fire

As everyone pitched in to unload the groceries and make camp, Namjoon started getting cold, so he went to grab his coat from inside the camper

He returned wearing a parka that looked a lot like yours and holding two more jackets in his hands

When he got closer, he handed the jackets to you and Jin, but you realized he was wearing your coat and Jin said his was in the SUV

Laughing and teasing Namjoon about the mix up, you swapped around until everyone had the right jacket

Namjoon apologized as he helped you pull yours on, and you caught sight of Yoongi watching you from across the campsite

He looked away quickly when you saw him, still wearing a small frown as he organized things for dinner

You felt an urge to take up your post beside him, but you knew you should find a way to help some of the other boys

Hoseok was washing dishes in the camper, Jimin and Jungkook were setting up tables, and Namjoon was assembling chairs, so you took turns assisting each of them

And you tried your best to not let Yoongi’s frequent glances tug at your heartstrings

You had decided you’d talk to him as soon as the camera crew wrapped for the night, but until then

You had to continue to appease the producers

And, as hard as it was, you had to put your own feelings aside

You couldn’t help but notice him getting flustered though, as he tried to prepare dinner by himself, wandering around muttering, “What do I do?”

You wanted so badly to help him anyway you could

So when Taehyung came up with the idea to fetch a bucket of water from the camp manager’s office so Yoongi could wash vegetables, you jumped up to accompany him

After getting directions from Jimin, you and Taehyung quickly set off in the dark, a cameraman jogging behind you

It was a bit of a hike to the office

As you walked, Taehyung brought up how hungry he was and how much he was looking forward to dinner

You agreed, and he asked why you weren’t helping cook

You shrugged, saying you just felt like doing something else tonight

Taehyung seemed unconvinced, but he didn’t pry, and you were grateful

When you reached the office, the manager kindly provided you with water, making small talk as the bucket filled

Taehyung then hefted the full bucket with two hands, and you headed back toward the campsite

Not long after you left the office, you could tell that Taehyung’s arms were already growing tired, so you volunteered to take a turn with the water, and you began passing it back and forth every so often as you pressed on

When you drew near to the campsite, Jimin spotted both of you struggling, and ran up to relieve you

You thanked Jimin as he took the water bucket from your shaking arms, and he expressed his gratitude to you and Taehyung for bringing it so far

Another Fireside Meal

As soon as Jimin placed the water next to the stove, Yoongi set to work washing carrots and potatoes, and you went to sit by the fire

Jimin then took over your role as Yoongi’s assistant, peeling and chopping vegetables when Yoongi asked for help and you - much to your regret - didn’t volunteer

You sat between Jin and Jungkook as they tended the fires, watching Yoongi cook curry and manduguk

You noticed that even with Jimin’s assistance, he still seemed tense, and you had to restrain yourself several times from getting up to lend a hand

Eventually, dinner was ready, and Yoongi brought the pots of food over from the stove

You and the boys helped yourselves, enjoying the dumpling soup and curry with white rice while you all sat in a semi-circle around the fire

As you ate, Yoongi wondered out loud about what you should have for dinner the next night

And you and Hoseok were amused by how he could think about food even while he was eating

Yoongi looked to you as you chuckled, and you tried to communicate an affirmation to him in the small smile you gave him in return

When most of the main dishes were gone, Yoongi started grilling pork over the brazier, but the fire started flaring up out of control

Panicking slightly, he called for bigger tongs to save the meat, and you instinctively jumped up

You searched frantically for the tongs Yoongi needed, but before you could find them, Jimin slipped on a pair of fire-proof gloves and pulled the whole grate off the top of the brazier

Luckily, the pork belly wasn’t burned, and the boys wasted no time devouring it

The discussion around the fire then turned to sleeping arrangements, and Yoongi and Jimin decided they would sleep in the big tent, Jin chose to sleep in the SUV again, and the rest of the boys opted to sleep in the camper

As for you, one night of freezing in a tent had been plenty, and you wanted to sleep in the warm camper too

So it was agreed that Namjoon and Taehyung would share the bed in the back of the camper, Hoseok and Jungkook would share the bed over the front, and you could sleep on the dining table that converted into a bed

Once that was decided, Yoongi ordered Jungkook to wash some apples and oranges so he could make mulled wine, or “vin chaud”

Though he complained a little, Jungkook obediently went inside the camper to prepare the fruit, and the rest of the boys stood up and dispersed too

While Yoongi shouted instructions to Jungkook, Namjoon and Jimin walked off together, remarking that Yoongi was “really into it” tonight

You followed them, wondering what they meant, and sat with them on the far side of the campsite

But before you could ask, Namjoon sighed heavily, and you could tell he had a lot on his mind

You and Jimin asked if he was okay, and he admitted he was feeling a lot of work-related stress and it was making it so that he couldn’t fully enjoy the trip 

You weren’t sure what to say, so you put a comforting arm around his shoulders, and agreed with the encouraging words Jimin offered

You felt bad for Namjoon and the rest of the boys

As a fan who usually only saw the happy, positive image they projected, it was sometimes easy to forget that they were constantly under an enormous amount of pressure to do and be everything that was expected of them

It was hard to imagine the weight they must all carry

Your arm still around Namjoon, you looked back over your shoulder, watching Yoongi attempting to open a bottle of wine, and your heart ached to comfort him too

Yoongi felt you looking at him and he watched you back, his tiny frown persisting

Unable to take it any longer, you stood up to go to him, patting Namjoon on the shoulder as you left him with Jimin

In Vino Veritas

Yoongi had passed the wine bottle to Hoseok by the time you crossed the campsite, but he was finding it difficult to open too

When you reached them, you offered to give it a try

With a little effort, you successfully unscrewed the cap, and Hoseok was impressed

But Yoongi pouted that they loosened it for you, and your self-satisfied expression quickly faded

Taking the open bottle from you while avoiding your gaze, he poured the wine in a pot and added the prepared fruit and some spices

When the pot was ready, Jungkook balanced it on the fire, then quickly came to the rescue when it started tipping over only a few minutes later 

After the wine was stabilized and allowed to simmer for a while, Yoongi and Jin began ladling servings into paper cups

You and the other boys all gathered around the fire again, curious to try the vin chaud

Carefully taking a cup of hot liquid from Jin, you inhaled the steam and were surprised how medicinal it smelled

You took a tentative sip, and reflexively pulled a face

It tasted like medicine too, and not in a good way 

So far, everything Yoongi had made had been delicious, but unfortunately, this drink was an exception

You looked around and saw Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook having similar reactions, their faces scrunched in poorly disguised disgust

Yoongi continued drinking his wine, claiming he liked it, but you surreptitiously sat your cup aside, not daring to try another sip

Changing the subject, you asked about the next day’s activities

You, Jin, Hoseok, Jungkook, and Yoongi wanted to go fishing, but Taehyung was planning to go horseback riding

While Taehyung was convincing Jimin to go with him, you felt a wave of sleepiness wash over you, and you couldn’t hold back a yawn

Jimin noticed and said that he was sleepy too, and Yoongi agreed that he felt like he could fall asleep right there

You then overheard some people being rowdy at the campsite next to yours, and you laughed when Namjoon called “hi” to them

Yoongi gave you a quick glance, then shouted “hi!” to the neighbors too

You smiled at him, and Namjoon suggested he ask if they know BTS

Seeing your smile, Yoongi immediately complied, yelling out  “Do you know BTS?!”

Not missing an opportunity to tease Yoongi, Jin scolded him for doing something he’s repeatedly been told not to do, and everyone broke into giggles

Namjoon then observed it was late and suggested it was time to clean up, so you all worked together to tidy up the camp

As soon as things were organized, the boys started getting ready for bed, retiring to the tent, camper, and SUV one after the other

Yoongi stayed behind to put out the fire, and you dawdled too

You refused to give in to your weariness until you talked to Yoongi, so you tried to appear busy ensuring everything was in its proper place

Finally, the production crew decided turn in, and Yoongi clapped to wrap filming

An Overdue Explanation

As the cameramen disappeared into the dark, heading to their own campsite, you approached Yoongi beside the fire

Somewhat timidly, you asked if you could talk to him, and he regarded you skeptically

You held your breath, your heart thrumming as you awaited Yoongi’s response

Then with a scoff, he expressed his surprise that you actually wanted to talk to him after avoiding him most of the day

You didn’t hesitate to apologize sincerely, telling him you could explain everything if he’d let you

Sighing, Yoongi nodded, and you took a deep breath before allowing everything you wanted to say to spill out of you

You told him about the producer pulling you aside, and everything he’d said about spending too much time with Yoongi and needing to spend more time with the other boys

You explained how you felt you had no choice but to agree, and how avoiding him most of the day had not been your desire

In fact, it had been torture

You assured Yoongi that if it weren’t for the cameras, you’d have spent all of your time with him

Then you apologized again, communicating your hope that you had not hurt his feelings

When you finished rambling, Yoongi took a moment to process everything, his mouth set in a line

And despite your anxiety, you allowed him the time he needed to think

After moment, he sighed again, but this time he sounded much more relaxed

“I should have guessed that was the reason.” He said. “That’s a relief.”

You lifted your eyebrows

It was a relief that the producer’s interference was keeping you apart?

Yoongi nodded, saying it was a better explanation than the one he’d imagined

Affection

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Taglist: @bucky-thorin-winchester @yvemoon @serpentiinequeen @neilpoetssociety @narcissism-iskey

#bts #bts fanfiction #min yoongi #suganetwork #hyunglinenetwork #bts bon voyage #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts suga #bts imagines suga #bts fluff #bts headcanons #bts fics #bts fic #yoongi x reader #bon voyage season 4

[lauvra]

I’m gonna just sit here and let a messy thought stream go because I have a lot swirling through my mind I want to figure some sense into. I forget some of my best friends exist sometimes. I’m repulsed by those who look upon me with desire, as if it is a fault, fetishistic. I used to come home from work, prepare food and go straight to my room to journal. I’d note people whose demeaner seemed remotely off and set myself a reminder to check on them or send a kind word or even just to monitor internally whether it’s an off day or off moment for them. I had more space for people, now I just worry they’ll want to take up more. I had people who knew everything that was going on with me and I knew everything that was going on with them. When I’m at my worst, I reach out to no one. I like it that way. I talk to my best childhood friend once or twice a year now. I used to jot down whatever books or media I was consuming and my thoughts on it, my diet, my goals, my fucking thoughts, I’d re-address memories with my current understanding. Now I feel like I’m constantly trying to prove I exist. Lately I go to work, spend most of the day internally redirecting my thoughts, warding off reminders of old shit and physically aching. Then I go home and try to wind down and as soon as I start to feel like I’m ready to create something or learn or use my time in a way I see most productive and conducive to personal growth, someone asks to make a plan with me and I don’t even have the language to describe what happens to my brain. My body reacts to this scenario and only a couple of people in my life have any idea I go through it, I don’t allow people to see it. I lose ability to speak, I experience a noise-less buzz of static in my brain. It’s like sentences begin then fizz, emotion mixes with a force that jolts me forward but I don’t physically move, I can’t move. It’s like a lack of comprehension, trying to make sense of something almost mundane, connection that comes natural to some.  I may sit in one spot for an hour - sometimes hours feeling something that doesn’t exist. I can be rigid in my routine. This happens only often enough that I wonder what kind of broken I must be, to need to be alone and out-of-reach so badly; even during a fucking pandemic where we aren’t allowed to leave our houses for any non-essential purpose. We have to be home after 9pm and I still don’t feel alone enough. My concept of time is different, I know it is. Sometimes I can extend time and sometimes I fast-forward. These days people are entitled to your time, your response. They know when a message has been delivered to you and there is a socially acceptable time for a response, and it’s almost immediately. I keep an open line, I don’t need an immediate response - it comes or it doesn’t, whatever. That’s why there’s an addictive and intense magic to having an intimate other. That person you want to come home to, it’s so rare for me to want to be around anyone at all so to feel at peace with someone and to enjoy another’s presence and not feel as if they’re inherently taking away from my experience by being there is a really significant thing to me. I miss that, but I am resigned to solitude until it’s right, it never felt heavy to love before but now it’s a matter of well-being, safe keeping. I keep safe and keep to myself. Why does it always circle around to this? Connection, a question, love and loss. I try to imagine how these other platonic interactions will unfold, and determine whether we have anything to offer one another and sometimes it doesn’t feel worth the risk when I don’t have a lot of time to myself, and the time I do spend writing or creating or learning is time that NEVER feels wasted, whereas sometimes I walk away from time with others feeling that the time could have been spent more wisely and I become frustrated with myself because ‘I knew it.’ Is that fucked up? I don’t want any more cruelty around me. People lean in and mock someone and they’re 5 feet away, I don’t understand it, I can’t confront it. It happens every day. Someone new each time, sometimes a new target. Always my ears. Why do people feel safe sharing their cruelty with me? Why do people assume I’m an athiest, what about me says I’m this or that. I’m happy to allow people to evolve, no fixed ideas. Most seem to feel safer with labels but people aren’t products... well... 

#me

[aceandart]

Hey! I read your recent post and it read differently to a lot of posts under the destiel tag as of now. Personally, I’ve seen the first 5 seasons (watched it about 5 yrs ago), but haven’t been caught up to date on any of the recent stuff other than the Destiel apocalypse that’s happening right now. Could you explain the following?

“...mostly being this show is a misogynistic racist homophobic consent issue-ridden pile of bad writing “.

I was contemplating returning to the show and tuning in for the missing seasons, but what you said about it has now placed me on the fence. Could you elaborate and advise?

Thank you so much! I appreciate seeing an honest post that doesn’t sugar-coat or overlook bad writing/negative characteristics of a show!! :)

[re this]

Hi!

Well, I feel like the finale probably took care of any fence-sitting you were doing (and sorry I couldn't reply sooner), but actually my answer wasn't going to change even if the finale was okay (good, imo, was always a stretch): No, I personally would not recommend watching this show. and while my answer is mostly because of the things I am going to list to answer the rest of this question, I was also going to say - you dropped the show in s5 and that was five years ago? Whatever caused you to drop it in the first place, it probably got a lot worse. (It literally doesn't even matter what your major grievance was, they have since doubled, tripled down in terms of how bad it was.) Trying to marathon through ten seasons (20-23 episodes long each) is hard; trying to marathon through all of that to get something without a satisfactory ending is a lot of emotional labor for no payout. It's not just that this is a bad show (though it really, really is, on every level); it's that you have already tried it, you tried arguably the better seasons of it, and you still didn't want to stick to it. By the nature of how tumblr works, it can make anything look so much better than it is, just because in general the people you see hyping it up *like* the product, have decided to devote their fandom time to it, are highlighting the choicest parts of it. spn was always about the potential around the edges, the story fans made of it; the actual product was always secondary to the could have, should have beens, and this gets truer the later into the show you get. I'm not saying there weren't some great episodes, some great scenes, and even some great mini-arcs, but it was a drop in the bucket to everything else. and I'm positing this answer on the idea that you are asking because you want to watch the show, and not because you want to use the show as a supplemental for your fandom experience, but if it is the latter, I'll just say I'm currently heavily involved in reading fanfic for a fandom I've never actually watched a whole episode for, and while I'm probably missing some context I'm still highly enjoying it. fandom, honestly, so often becomes so much more than the bones we build it on. and if you want a little more, catch some "greatest hits" videos or catch up on just some of the “must-see” episodes and save yourself from having to watch all the moments in-between, because there are a lot more of them than the good parts. very few shows improve as they age out, and before the nov 5th resurgence if you weren't already following spn blogs, likely the main spn meme you were coming across was the annual 'salt and burn this dead horse' that went out after each season renewal. the tl;dr answer is really, it's not worth it. (to be honest, at the end of the day, despite the sheer amount of time, energy, and words I've put into this fandom over the years, and I put in a lot, I didn't actually like the majority of the show. so, you know, grain of salt on my opinion. then again, you left it seasons before I did.) That said, buckle up, cause now I'm gonna tell you why:

Literally, The Shitty Writing

I feel like the finale speaks for this point by itself, but before I get into all the "problematic" bad writing spn does, I want to talk about the fact that the writers are also just fundamentally bad at the craft of writing.

continuity errors. they’d change their lore/creature ability to fit their plot. (the reapers esp got the end of that bad stick.)  the characters will often forget (monster-slaying) solutions that worked before (holy wood, yarrow, christo, creative approaches like exorcisms on recording, spells to remove angels from their vessels, bullet with a devil’s trap, etc).  the writers forgot their own timeline more than once. the random retcons they'd do. sometimes it would also lead to plot holes.

which, speaking of, they had plenty of

there's also things that don't count as plot holes but are very large missed opportunities (ex: Dean spends a year in Purgatory and no one recognizes him? he doesn't bring up his daughter?)

I don't even know what this one would fall under, but if a character wasn't right in front of them, they would forget that character's existence. not just Adam (though that was a big one), but there were so many secondary characters that even in places it would make sense to mention them, much less bring them around, they didn't. or because they would not expand their main character list, characters who should have been around a lot more than they were (*cough* Cas, but that's an easy one, I'm also talking about characters like Kevin) would have these huge gaps between episodes that didn't make sense

they don't really have character development. this isn't to say the brothers don't change, they do, but at the same time the characters face the exact same (internal) arguments over and over again, never resolving or growing from them; they just have more examples when they think about them and it gets worse and more unhealthy because of the new weight added to it. the problem with their brothers only format, and the problem with their biphobia but more on that later, is that Dean wasn't actually allowed to grow out of his John Winchester's son role, to let himself be comfortable (and dare to be happy) with himself because that meant changing the story into something they didn't like and/or didn't know how to do. at the same time, allowing Sam to grow meant breaking the Brothers Only format, because as the show stated multiple times, Sam's happy ending did not involve hunting.

and with that, they sometimes flattened the characters so badly they became caricatures more than anything else.  hell there's a whole season where Dean goes evil, and people had a hard time realizing it, which was not because it was a subtle slow descent but because shitty pacing, uneven (and contradictory) episodes, previous actions that weren't written as being evil but were the the exact same thing as when he was evil that were supposed to be "signs", and how they chose to represent that evil meant it was really hard to figure out that was what they were doing and not just writing Dean as more of an asshole than they previously were.  (he's not evil, he's just a prick.) and I don't mean I had trouble telling, I mean fandom as a whole had major arguments about it, much less the general viewing public.

the series finale put a definite end to the idea they would follow through on even one of their main series themes (family don't end in blood, free will vs destiny, always keep fighting, etc), but this was something they would build up to addressing and then just anti-climatically let fizzle out in multiple seasons. character and relationship themes (not just destiel but the brothers co/counter-dependency, the importance of found family, Dean's growth from Daddy's Blunt Little Instrument and Sam's acceptance that he deserves better/agency in his own life, etc) would be built and broken down in an effort to drag the question out into another season. it wasn't two steps forward, one step back, it was a reboot.

their filler vs arc episode ratios: there's nothing wrong with the Monster of the Week format as a stylistic choice, but this show

a) would kill its own plot momentum to focus on MotW episodes. [part of this is the general spn problem they created of constantly trying to one-up their season's Big Bad, which I understand but also means one episode they are going against The Most Powerful Being in Existence (for the Fifth Time) and then rather than focus on that world-ending threat, they hunt vampires for like six episodes straight. they had a very bad balance where rather than continuously weave the larger arc into the season, or at least build characters and relationships, they'd jam it all around the season premiere, finale, and mid-season finale/premiere episodes, and then all the rest was just, bullshit cases where nothing got resolved or had a lesson stick around for the next episode, making them very skippable. also more on this under the homophobia section]

b) the filler episodes contradicted themselves and the main plot all the time.

c) sometimes they focused so much on making the b-plot a mirror they forgot to write a coherent a-plot. also: sometimes they focused so much on making the b-plot a mirror they forgot to write a coherent b-plot. 

I cringed my way through more than one episode of dialogue

the recycled plots

more on this in the next sections, but either they didn't notice, actively didn't care, or purposefully chose to overtly and subtly imply or state a bunch of really fucked up things, and then never address them at all

speaking of never addressing anything, I realize this is a fandom vs canon battle in general, but so many things get swept under the rug as they move on to the next issue (ex: Dean put an angel in Sam's body to "heal him", violating his consent and exasperating his issue with telling what reality is - a huge issue from previous season - and once the Mark of Cain story really took over the subject gets dropped.) 

death is so cheap on this show. and I don't just mean that the revolving doorway of resurrections means it's hard to get worked up about a death because (as long as the character was a white man and especially the brothers) there was a high chance they'd be back, and I don't just mean that their Murder Is the First, Last, and Best Solution to Any Issue, Ever means the faceless and not so faceless hoards of villains, monsters, and humans who get caught up in it are just hand waved as one of those things (they have ways of saving vessels and the later into the show the less likely they are to even try), but that there was no point in investing in (esp non-white, male) secondary characters because chances were they'd be dead pretty fast.  I'm honestly shocked characters like Jody (who actually at one point was in the middle of being killed off on-screen and then we didn't see her for eight episodes, so we assumed she was dead) made it until the end.

(speaking of dead characters though, what was with the habit of bringing them back constantly? just don't kill them in the first place! create new ones and let those ones stick around instead!)

when they can't use death as their solution, the other answer the writers fall back on is Deus Ex Machina

buckleming were a writing duo who had their own bingo cards that included things like shitty pacing, OOC-ness, flat one-liners, etc, and the question wasn't if you'd get bingo, it was a question of how often you got it during their episodes. at some point throughout the show, it became hard to tell what was a buckleming episode and what was just another episode in the season.  aka the writing quality went WAY DOWN as a whole

you know the tv trope Idiot Ball? or Idiot Plot?  spn should have it's own page for both. 

they constantly break viewer's trust, which is the basic tenet of what not to do when it comes to telling a story. (again, not just destiel, though the queerbaiting is a major part of it because it happened all the time to avoid actually answering that question.) when a writer violates their character's or story's core identity for a 'twist', it needs to have been carefully built so that it's a surprise to the viewer, not a betrayal. (you may not have seen it coming, but when you look back you can see the groundwork.) these writers, every time, chose the "shocking" choice regardless of how much they need to break canon or character to do so. their twists are either obvious, and/or they don't make sense with the rest of their story/lore of the show, and the viewer is left feeling stupid for believing they have more respect for the audience/characters than they do.

I realize this is pretty subjective, but huge swaths of it are just boring. fandom made the experience of watching it interesting, not the show itself.

and yet, for all of that, the quality of writing (while painful to have to sit through) was not the worst thing about it.

(note for the following: I stopped watching after s11, but I'm sure some if not all of these are still relevant until the very end)

Misogyny and Consent Issues: Is There a Limit? Signs Point to No

there is honestly so much under this topic I don't even know where to start. i'm going to focus on patterns rather than specific incidences, because otherwise I'll be writing this for a week, but just know I can easily provide examples of all of these because this is literally what I spent years writing meta on.

female characters were more likely to die quicker/earlier (esp vs other other male characters with similar reoccurring roles/characterizations), stay dead, and die often at the hands of their loved ones and/or in Stranger Danger situations. they died for man!pain. they died for fodder. they died as a sacrifice. they were turned into love interests (whether that was their original role or not) and then killed. they were put in mortal danger and then not given resolution for several episodes (Schrödinger's death.) they died in ways we've seen male characters survive. their deaths - the violence enacted on them - was constantly, consistently sexualized, and the camera lingered.

when it came to villains the show would go out of its way to kill the female one first, or act like she's the more pressing issue so that the male character could hang around longer (and honestly by male character I often mean specifically Crowley and the season's female villain. not only that but they'd often break canon to kill off a female character, and break canon to save Crowley/a male character)

when you compare the treatment of reoccurring female characters vs male characters who occupied either similar roles or characterizations, female characters were often punished and/or treated poorly for the same attitude and/or actions of their compared male character, who often got not just a (free) pass, but more screen time, dialogue, and development

they have more than once used the story line of underage girl seducing a grown man. (it was a whole season arc even.) this is esp galling when you find out about crew member Jim Michaels, who sexually harassed and assaulted (minor) fans

(btw, not the only crew/cast member to do so! and still be invited to cons!)

Dean Winchester (who is narratively treated as the moral judgement for the show) has blamed more than one rape victim for their assault/trauma. they often get abused (or outright killed) for stopping their abuser. 

Dean is ok with flirting with/leering at barely legal teenage girls. already sketchy when he's 26, really gross when he's in his mid/late thirties 

speaking of Dean. based on past personal experience I'm going to say up front people do not like me saying this, but that doesn't mean what I'm saying is wrong or even based on interpretations: Dean has more than one relationship that if it isn't rape, falls under extreme dubious consent.

there's actually a lot of rape (or "extreme dubious consent") and assault/molestation, both shown and mentioned: Cas and April, the cases were men take away free will and then have sex with the women (Ben Edlund was one of the better writers of series and even he did this a couple of times), Crowley orgy (and demon sex in general), random women in some episodes, Sam and meta!Gen, Becky and Sam, Sam and Lucifer, Dean and Alastair, several monsters (like the siren) and their victims, male characters secretly watching female characters undress/be naked, and so on. Dean was often attacked sexually by men, Sam by women. most of this is never addressed, never treated like what it is, and/or is made into a joke

and there's even more rape jokes beyond that, sub-sections: prison, vessels/demons, angel possession, sex work, childhood abuse, monster of the week, sexuality, etc.  huge chunks if not whole episodes were devoted to making what amounted to a rape joke. 

often ignored non-sexual consent (esp Dean’s actions, including a lot of mind-wiping and violations of body autonomy)

everything about Sam and body autonomy - he is frequently violated (multiple characters have possessed him; he is fed demon blood); how he feels unclean, how he feels disconnected from his own body, how he often is forced to act outside of his control and then blamed for those decisions

actually, Cas goes through that a lot too; he is trained, brainwashed, and forced to do things without his consent, and goes through major depressive episodes because of it

this show has a pattern of girls who are kidnapped, (sexually abused), raised in isolation, and expected to develop some perfect moral compass of acceptable behavior and were then killed off when they didn't. meanwhile, male characters get fourth, fifth chances.

female characters (and I'm talking about ones with speaking roles, who play an actual part in the plot, who are sometimes in multiple episodes) are more likely to be unnamed or given no last name

are you a Mother on spn (as in, that's your role)? you're either fridged for man!pain or abusive or both

it rarely could pass the bechdel test (including in s9 don't believe those fandom lies), and that's including episodes that focused on female characters. if the test included that the characters have to be named, that (small) number probably gets cut in half. if that test included both women are alive at the end...  

female monsters prove they deserve to live by killing off their family to prove they're the "good kind"  (this is not necessary for male monster characters)

female characters are not allowed to get vengeance

they took the Virgin vs Whore dynamic (and that that's all women are), and devoted a whole episode to it, but in general it underlines of ton of interactions, esp with regards to Dean and women.  {I actually never got around to writing it, but women tended to fall into four main classifications on this show, though overlap definitely allowed: Victim [sub-categories: Fodder, (Dean) Mirror, Mother], Love Interest, Sex Object, and Villain/Obstacle. very few female characters were either allowed to outgrow their category or didn't start in one.} 

we see the male characters assault female characters but it's okay because [insert supernatural reason here], ignoring that whatever explanations for why it's being allowed, we are still visually being shown this violence against women, and often from our "heroes"  (the women are then tossed away from the narrative after the violence and again, their aftermath gets regulated to off-screen who cares)

female characters were only allowed to be "so badass"; female hunters often fought female monsters or they lost/got regulated to the sidelines in battles. this gets even more contrasted as a male character/hunter will often do a nod about how "badass" she is, even as she is very easily beaten.

 the whorepobia of this show

had a tendency to strip female characters down to their underwear/make them nude before torturing them, and then adding sexualized torture on top of that

outside of actor injuries affecting this (like one of them broke his arm so he had a sling for a few episodes), female characters are often more likely to visually carry the bruises/violence of violent incidences much longer than male characters

gratuitous filming shots of breasts, asses

the use of the words: bitch, skank, whore, slut; the play on words they do so they can say "pussy"  

taking female myths/figures and reducing them to a cheap, sexist storyline (Amazons, Artemis, Lilith, Eve, witches - who are only allowed to live/be "good" if they're men, and are otherwise in league with demons/are evil and lose)

they often kept a character but switched out her actress; helps with the disposable feeling

how they treat women's ages (ex: Jody is not allowed to be a love interest to Sam because she's older than him/calling Dean 'kiddo'. ex: Rowena is played by a woman fifteen years younger than Crowley's actor. ex: Amara being one of the oldest things in existence but still having to age her way up.)

their treatment of teenage girls, ranging from how they sexualized them to expecting them to save themselves to treating them like they are grown adults and not children to the way they kept killing the ones who posted selfies to the fact the pr more than once used the tag "teenage girls - the scariest thing ever" for Claire's episodes 

actions and lasting legacies by female characters often got erased or passed on to male characters instead

it's a time honored tradition to treat certain monsters as metaphors for things. specifically for spn, they often use werewolves and vampires for sexual assault. (not the first to do so, not the last to do so.) however, that part of it gets textually glossed over, or treated as a joke, more often than not

and for all the patterns I talk about above, there's plenty of other one-off examples of misogyny/sexism or consent issues/rape culture this show did. like that time a grown man sniffed the bra of a dead teenage girl. not for any reason, just because it was there and that's what dudes do, apparently.

Racism: All the Flavors(+ Bonus Sexism)

when you compare the treatment of reoccurring white characters vs characters of color who occupied either similar roles or characterizations, characters of color were often punished and/or treated poorly for the same attitude and/or actions of their compared white character, who often got not just a (free) pass, but more screen time, dialogue, and development. 

usually Black men but in general men of color: 

a) got humiliated (often using feminization or infantilization) before their death  

b) had a more violent death; had a death that visually echoed racism (lynching, shot in the back, etc)

c) often used (racialized) rhetoric that in the real world is used against them

d) often filmed in ways to highlight their physicality, to portray them animalistically, to dehumanize them

e) even when victims, will add context to make them partially responsible for their death

characters of color were the villains or antagonists, very rarely "good guys"

this was a very white show, and while I'm speaking about speaking roles, reoccurring characters, and characters who get their own arcs, I'm also talking about background characters

using lore from groups they should not have and/or turned creatures into racist caricatures

having white actors play characters they shouldn't have

heavily depended on stereotypes for their characters of color

the treatment (esp narrative empathy level) of white angels vs angels of color.  again, screen time and character development differences between the two

a summary of (East) Asian woman on this show: fetishized porn/sexualized, “tiger mom”, Yoko Ono/The Girlfriend, monster. they were often silent or had no dialogue. microaggressions (usually spoken by Dean) were leveled at them.

antisemitism (styne issue, erasure of the Judah Initiative, Lilith, the golem)

like the sexism, just had random racist lines or visuals throughout the show (and sometimes those came in the absence of who should be there); some groups literally did not have enough characters to make a pattern, which is why this section looks a lot shorter than it really is

like for ex, I'm trying to stick with patterns but seriously, they put a Black woman in a dog collar and said her white boyfriend was her master/that she belonged to him

the ignorance of how white privilege worked to make them palatable

the replacement and/or elevation of a white character over a character of color (Lisa over Cassie, Bobby over Missouri, Charlie over Kevin in terms of how they were treated under Found Family, etc) 

how they treated non-Christian Gods: easily killed, evil, weak. they often repackaged them into a Christian framework and made them lesser than.

Bi/Homophobia, Queerbaiting, and Using Fans

they butchered Charlie.  they killed her, they killed her in a way that involved leaving behind plot, characters, and logic to do so, they killed her and used the violence of it for "shock," they butchered her and stuck her in a bathtub.  the guy who wrote Charlie in every other episode (Robbie Thompson, one of the better writers of the show) didn't write her last episode (assumption: because he wouldn't) and then he arguably left the show over her death. at one of the cons (comic-con?) the cast literally turned their backs when a fan questioned Carver (the showrunner) about what he did because they wanted no part of it. there was a mass exodus of fandom after they killed her (and another portion actually hung around because they got destiel queerbaited to stick out the rest of the season, and then they left.) she was un-apologetically queer, she was found family, she was widely popular, and they killed her for no reason at all. they didn't just Bury The Gay (their only reoccurring one), they salted and burnt the ground

they spent over a decade queerbaiting Destiel. they built queerbaiting destiel into the structure of the show: season opening/first couple of episodes whetted the appetite, which they then backed away from (usually removing Cas from Dean's physical area) and around this time they'd usually have some kind of heterosexual love interest, then mid-season they'd have some room to be together and share feelings, Cas would again disappear but this time they'd have some bi!Dean thrown in to keep you going, a few episodes before the end they'd have a major connection moment (I need you, I love you), and then the season would end with something to keep destiel fans occupied with during summer. it was never a trajectory, it was a cycle; just enough for plausible deniability but more than enough for fans to believe in. they had whole seasons where the b-plot were mirrors for destiel. they tried to sell DVDs by promising destiel cut scenes. they'd remove Cas from huge chunks of episodes just because they didn't want destiel interacting in the same physical space. they filmed them (I'm talking camera angles, physical positioning, etc) romantically.  (and sometimes, someone on crew/the network would accidentally reveal how not-fucking-happening destiel would be, and then backtrack when they realized fandom’s uproar.) 

a) Dean was only allowed to care so much for Cas, the narrative would only give him so much room to mourn/miss him. (Sam too.) it's beyond my general complaint that the writers/bros lose all interest in a character if they are not right in front of them (if they even cared when they were), but specifically they will spend episodes talking about how Cas is family, how much they care, and then because Dean and Cas cannot share the screen they come up with asinine reasons to remove Cas, which means Dean/the bros do not help him on his issues, and he is cast adrift until they need him, a push/pull of show vs tell with contradictory answers but made a lot of Cas/Destiel fans argue Cas deserved better.  

b) they also devoted seasons to the (subtextual) love triangle of Dean/Cas/Crowley. (I wish I was fucking kidding)

c) "you construct intricate rituals which allow you to touch the skin of other men": the way they use violence to supplement affection (which is actually a larger pattern with Dean and his loved ones in general, but specifically the show is willing to show - multiple times - Dean and Cas being violent (often with an arguably sexualized filming to it) in conjunction with or as replacement for expressing their care.)  other side of this: hugging/physical affection outside of the shoulder/hand thing is reserved for escaping or coming back from death, if then (and it took seasons and a few deaths to even get that.) 

d) "buddy"  

that time Dean was allowed to be textually attracted to his mother and a literal dog (who was visually made to be very clearly a girl dog), but his attraction to men always stays subtextual and/or treated as a joke

they spent the whole show queerbaiting bi!Dean. aside comments, checking out other guys, getting flustered by men he finds attractive, metaphors, mirror characters, the heterosexual overcompensation [which is different from but comes from a similar place of the macho compensation to counteract how he gets sexualized/feminized], everything with Cas and how they play that relationship romantically and with sexual attraction, the character development that led to his relaxation of his macho compensation coinciding with increasing subtextual readings of his bisexuality (and domesticity), the inspiration for his name/character is bi, his relationship to Charlie and the pattern of fictive kinship, etc etc.  

why are angels straight???? why do they have gender???? (why are they interested in sex???)  minus the queerbaiting of destiel, they spent a lot of seasons pushing Cas into a heterosexual box. other angels were often pushed into heterosexual boxes too. (or left in subtext and then killed.) closest we got to playing with gender was Raphael and maybe Hannah, and at least with Raphael it was not without its issues. (also: both dead.)

random transphobic lines

homosexuality was often treated like a joke/punchline. queer characters/scenes were often treated like a joke/punchline.

outside of Charlie, queer characters were small, two-bit roles, extremely rare, and often killed

how they treated and showcased fandom space and esp queer fans in-show (much less how they treated them in real life), comes from a deeply sexist and homophobic place 

The Show Was 328 Episodes Long And the thing is, these are the four big categories, but it's not like this is it. The show flip-flops on calling John an abusive parent/that the bros are childhood abuse survivors. The show doesn't even really call out when Dean is being abusive to Sam, and the way they always, always go back to the Brothers Only format means they are often ignoring or straight-up forgetting the unhealthy aspects of their relationship. The show ignores how their trauma builds (and all the things that happen because of it), disconnecting the current issues with the ones that came before. The way they flip flop on monster morality and never address what the winchester bros do to people who happen to be monsters but aren't evil (or definitely aren't as evil as they are).  How violence is always the answer. How the "saving people'' part of hunting got dropped the later the show goes on, and red shirt vessels/hosts die in droves. Depending on how you view it, the way they treat alcoholism and addiction. The ableism. The line between the narrative's opinion on acceptable violence and not is inconsistent and dependent on how much they like the character doing the violence vs who the violence is being done to. Etc.

(The above lists are definitely missing stuff. I haven't done anything in this fandom in like four years, I've forgotten a lot.) I'm not saying people didn't enjoy this show. I'm not saying I didn't enjoy (parts of) this show. I'm saying whether you are basing it on things like writing craft or things like 'social justice issues', this show is bad. It is of poor quality. I really don't know how to explain the hold it has on people, how a show can be charismatic, how fandom was able to squeeze so much out of so little, but that's probably what's got you attracted into the idea of watching it again. If you're thinking of watching it because you want a coherent, well done story, look elsewhere. The finale was the literal last straw, not the only one. 

#spn #fandom stuff #inbox and admin stuff #// #also this focuses on canon #(and ok a little abt the cast/crew) #(though among other things not mentioned is how actors of color and actresses got treated re cons & crew demographics) #however fandom has it's own fucking list and I can come for them at any time too #anyway that was a very nice ask #and if you want actual details about any of these I could provide #but I wanted to stick with patterns because I feel like that says more than the individual things they do #of which there are legion #anyway a summary of what I and many other people have discussed over the years about how much this show sucks #//// #i really do get the urge though #one of my mutuals makes s15 destiel sound good #but fool me once shame on you and fool me 50x fuck you spn #////// #this is long (you asked a very wordy person) but tbh I've written longer meta #and oh man back in the day this thing would have been full of links that would have taken you to other metas #/////// #eta: fucked up my formatting I had to add a) because bullet points wont indent

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #14)

(cw: drug withdrawal, vomiting) <-Previous ----------

01/02/88  1:34 PM

Hey.

Can’t believe I’m still going to all the effort of writing this dramatic, emotional crap down while you’re not even here to be uncomfortable about it with me. This is so unnatural. But I keep coming back to it, so…

Showering felt good. I wasn’t too happy about smelling like Fix-it’s bath products, but clearing away the grime was therapeutic in its own small way, especially since my skin was smooth and intact again. No dirt, no blood, no wounds, no outward evidence that anything had happened to me at all. 

The feeling of cleanliness was tragically short-lived, however. I’d barely finished drying off before my skin clammed up and my body felt wrapped up in a hot, wet blanket. Boost withdrawal had snuck up on me, hiding behind other, much bigger stressors. Fix-it would soon regret lending me his disturbingly comfortable, silky, immaculately free-of-his-cousin’s-sweat pajamas.

I was in for a long night.

When I left the bathroom, I found Fix-it sitting on the couch next to a folded-up blanket and some pillows, looking thoughtful or troubled or something inexplicably annoying. He straightened up the second he saw me, and gave a wobbly sort of smile. “Did it do ya good to get clean?” he asked, painfully awkwardly.

I just grimaced, waist-deep in withdrawal, not loving the irony in his question.

I sat next to him, leaned my head back, and put a cold, wet hand towel that I’d nicked from the bathroom over my face. It relaxed me a bit, but relaxing wasn’t much of an improvement. My idle mind had no safe path to wander, no distraction other than my climbing fever. So I resorted to focusing on that, and let myself sink like a rock into that post-Boost depression. I needed a hit so badly. I just imagined that sweet electric rush dissolving the withdrawal, blowing away the fog over my senses, charging me back up with fierce courage so I could get back out there and face the arcade. Thinking about a remedy only made me feel sicker, but I didn’t care. More sickness meant more distractions from… other things. 

I was in for a really long night.

It wasn’t until Fix-it said “Mavy..?” that I realized he had been talking. Silently asking the Devs why he was still trying to have a conversation with me, I replied with a grunt.

Assumedly repeating himself, he said carefully, “I just wanted to say thank you… You know, for… trusting me.”

I figured he was kind of putting words in my mouth, but whatever. I was willingly staying in his home, so he wasn’t completely wrong. But I knew he really meant trusting him with… well, everything written on my body. To that, I did not know what to say. I lifted the corner of the cloth on my face to peer at him. He was giving me those earnest eyes again, the ones that his binary may as well tumble out of. I could almost feel the bags under my eyes getting heavier. It felt like anything I could have said would only have made me worse off.

After a sufficiently weird pause, I figured out what to say.

“Do you have a bucket?”

“...Beg pardon?”

“So I don’t puke on your floor.”

“Oh!”

He sprung up like a popcorn kernel, disappeared for a second, and returned with a gross-looking utility bucket, probably the only dirty thing I’d seen in his apartment thus far. It had definitely been used for paint at some point, of all things. Then, seemingly trying to top his personal best record for stupid questions, he asked if I was nauseous. I didn’t dignify it with a response. After that, he just insisted on brewing me some tea that I can’t remember the name of, because it would, as he put it, soothe my “tummy” and help me sleep.

I told him that if he said “tummy” again, I might miss the bucket.

While the tea steeped, we had some minor disagreements about the sleeping arrangement. He wanted to take the couch while I slept in his bed, but I was having none of that. The final verdict was that he’d take the bed, I’d take the couch, and if I somehow needed something that I couldn’t get myself, I could wake him up.

The tea was counterproductive. When I went to drink it, the mug didn’t even make it to my lips. I took one whiff of the scent -- not a bad one, but a scent nonetheless -- and my stomach lurched. I retched into the bucket not a moment later. Fix-it sprung up and practically started whining like an anxious dog. At the same time, though, he looked like he was fighting the urge to sympathy vomit. We had agreed on lights out just a moment ago, but he insisted that he must stay up with me for just a little while longer.

I groaned into the bucket in my lap, “To do what, read me a bedtime story?”

“...Well--”

“No.”

He gave up after that. At long last, he turned in for the night. He got me a glass of water, turned off the lights, and pretended to close the door behind him when he went into his room -- he left it cracked, for some reason I’d no doubt disagree with.

Once the lights were off, it really stood out to me just how wrong it felt spending the night inside Niceland again, after all these years. It was obscenely quiet, the only thing close to white noise being Wreck-it’s distant snoring. The windows didn’t need any blackout shutters like they would in your game, what with our game’s permanent night setting, but the cold, dim light from the cabinet’s screen around the corner was just enough to cast faint window-shaped squares on the floor. For most, it all probably would have been ideal for sleeping. But for me, it was too rigid. Too manufactured, sterile, too clean-cut. I needed mess. I needed a raw, wild, pass-out-drunk mess. Old pilled blankets, misshapen cushions, stained pillows, creaky springs in a mattress way too small for two sprites. If nothing else, I needed the stars. But you can’t see them from the windows of Niceland.

I thought of the places I wished I could be, threw up again, and began my really, really long night.

Most of the night felt like some kind of time loop, just the same awful crap for Devs know how many hours. Throwing up, washing out the bucket, sipping water, refilling water, refreshing the cold towel, burning up, shivering, throwing the blanket, bundling up in the blanket, throwing up again. Startling flashes of memory still kept me from drifting off, but it wasn’t just the fireworks anymore. There was also barking. There was that freak’s grating, screeching abuse. There was the garbled, distorted sound of metal splitting. Worst of all, the feeling of fading into sleep almost felt like fading into near-death again, kicking up that terrified, tooth-and-claw refusal to die. In those cases, I’d wake up screaming.

Freaked the hell out of Fix-it every time.

Something else happened that night. I have no idea what time it was. There was nothing left in me to throw up anymore. My teeth were chattering, but my sweat had still soaked well into the couch. I’d tossed away the warm and damp pillows in favor of resting my burning cheek against the cool cushion beneath. I was just trying desperately to creep past the obstacles between me and anything resembling rest. That’s when things got a little… let’s say “creative.”

I tried to fool myself into thinking I was somewhere more conducive to a good night’s sleep, and it worked. If I really thought about it, I could smell chips, popcorn, and Burger Time grease in the cushion under my head. I could make the upholstery feel frayed and slack. In my feverish delirium, I could even change the room around me. I could picture the walls pulled closer, and an impressive amount of junk for such a small space, all of which I knew by heart. There would be a stereo across from me, a kitchen counter down past my feet, half-full soda cans close to my head, empty six-pack rings hanging on the door handle, a jumpsuit thrown over the corner of the couch, and above me, a rack of meticulously polished trophies. As long as I kept my eyes closed, I was in your trailer. 

For those fleeting moments, everything felt normal again. It was as if nothing ever changed.

I heard your bed creak, and your footsteps shortly after. You paused close to me for a second before continuing into the kitchen. Jars rattled when you opened the fridge, a cupboard creaked as you looked for a glass that was actually clean, and I heard you pour something -- could only have been soda, in the middle of the night, you spectacular trainwreck. Then you crossed back to me, set your glass on a surface that shouldn’t have been there, and stopped moving. You just went quiet. So much that I thought you must have been plotting a way to mess with me in my sleep. I welcomed it, too. I couldn’t wait to catch you in the act and tackle you to the floor.

Then I heard, soft as a mouse, “Mavy?”

The illusion dissipated the moment Fix-it spoke. Reality struck again, landing a critical hit on that miserable withdrawal depression. It wasn’t you. It was just Fix-it, who had apparently come to get me a new glass of water. Part of me wanted to spring up and deck him, but I stayed perfectly still and silent. I didn’t want to encourage him to keep talking to me. In all honesty, I felt too heavy and lifeless to do anything at all.

“Mavy?” he said again. “Are you awake?”

Another stupid question. I just imagined that he wasn’t there, in hopes that it would come true. But, much to my regret, I heard him sit on the coffee table again. I could feel him looking at me. He was silent long enough for me to think that he had come out just to watch me sleep, like an absolute creepazoid. But just as I was bucking up the moxie to tell him to buzz off, he spoke again.

“Mavy… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, or-- or tried to pressure you, or…” 

The first of many long pauses. 

“...I never should have doubted you. You’re worth so… so much more than anyone gives you credit for, and… I’ve known that since day one. Somewhere in this mayhem, I… just... lost sight of that. I know you won’t listen to how sorry I am… but I promise you, Mavy, it won’t happen again. Families support each other… and… this little family of two is all we’ve got. And I know…”

A long pause.

“...I know that you don’t… want a family. But, darn it, Mavy, you need a family, now more than ever. It… It hurts so much watching all this happen to someone I care about. I’m trying so hard to help you, but I just…”

Another pause, exceptionally long this time. For a minute, I wondered if he had left without me noticing, but sure enough, he spoke again. This time, his voice trembled. He’d started crying.

“I… don’t know… how to be the family you need. It... seems like everything I try just… pushes you away even more. I’m not asking you to forgive me, even after all these years, I just… I wish… I wish we could just talk about it. I wish we could just start over and… be better.”

He sniffed, and fell silent again for a minute. When he spoke again, his voice was even quieter.

“You know, for all the trouble you two got into, I… I just loved seeing how happy he made you. I may not know how to be what you need, but… sure seemed like he did. No one else could make you laugh quite like him. ...I miss that laugh.”

Pause.

Then, by some miracle, I managed not to jump when he squeezed my hand. It was disgusting. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, so it was full skin-on-skin contact, and my hand was slimy with sweat, and for the Devs’ sake, Fix-it, I was asleep, as far as he knew. What kind of creep touches someone while they’re sleeping? Yeah, it was just my hand, but it’s the principle of the matter. I did not consent to that contact, and I would not have, even if he asked me. The whole idea of it pissed me off so much.

It didn’t make sense to me, then, why I didn’t pull away.

Maybe I was paralyzed with subconscious rage. Maybe I was too sick and depressed to move. Maybe I really, really didn’t want him to know I’d heard all that. Or, maybe pulling away would have conveyed a message that I didn’t want to send, one I didn’t think he fully deserved at the time.

Probably the rage.

Whatever my reason, he held my hand long enough to test me. Not even my gross, soggy palms deterred him. The binary in my hand was starting to really ache by the time he went on.

“You don’t deserve a broken heart, Mavy. I wish I could do more. I wish I could just… wave my hammer and bring him back for you. I’m so--... I’m so sorry I can’t give you that. There are some things I just… can’t fix.”

I heard him take a deep, slow breath, and it sounded like he rubbed his face with his free hand. For another few moments, I felt him watching me.

“Dream of something nice for me,” he finally muttered, and gave my hand one final squeeze before letting go. He stood, and, despite the fact that I was burning up, draped the blanket over my shoulders like some sappy cliché. Then he went the whole nine yards.

“Love you, cuz. Hope you know that.”

With that, he left me be. I waited until I heard his door creak and his duvet rustle to throw the blanket off and wipe my hand all over the couch. There was barely any mind power left in me to process what had just happened, but I suppose I ought to have thanked him for it -- it took my mind off of the things keeping me awake, and I eventually fell asleep, lost in uncomfortable thought.

I wasn’t angry, really, or even annoyed. I didn’t want to run away or chew him out. I just took bets with myself over how much longer it would be ‘til he realized he was wasting his time on me.

#fanfiction #fanfic #wreck it ralph #fix it felix #make it mavis #turbo #original character #homesick

[kchuarts]

Flowers in Blood

A/N: TWO IN A ROW!! I didn’t post chapter 17 when I finished it because I was tired and again, ya gurl lazy. So you guys get doubles today! Enjoy~

Summary: Justice is finally served... For now. 

Warnings: Violence and brief sexual assault 

Taglist: @lucywrites02​, @shiningloki​

Chapter 18: Bloodroot p. iii

Katie lay naked on the tatami floor; bruises, bites, dried blood and semen temporarily staining her flesh. Travis and three of his men had left her like this in the dark, damp room after violently raping her last night. She was curled in a ball to keep herself warm as she refused to get up. Not like she could anyways as her body ached from the brutal assault she endured. Her throat was raw from screaming and because of that, she was reduced to whimpering. Sleep did not come to her as she was too frightened at the things Travis could possibly do while she slept. Her mind went to thoughts of Jonathan- was he alright? Was he not hurt badly? Where was he? Was he dead?

"Rise and shine, whore." Travis slammed the sliding door open and stomped in, grabbing Katie by her hair and yanking her up. He chuckled at her yelp of pain and forced her to stand up. The Bloodroot leader scrunched his nose as he saw blood drip between Katie's legs. Using much force, he throws her to the ground and kicks her legs open. "Disgusting. You gotta be on your time of the month now?" He spat.

"I-I'm sorry." She whispered hoarsely, trying to shut her legs. Katie yelped again as Travis kicked her legs open again. She could feel him staring at her bloody genitals and felt so ashamed. "Please stop looking at me." She tried to raise her voice but grabbed her own throat, rubbing it as if it would soothe her somewhat. For once, Travis listened to her and walked out, huffing.

"She is to get food and water but no pain meds or clothes." Travis ordered his bodyguards.

At least she would be getting something to nourish herself with. Thankfully she had access to the bathroom in her dark room. Carefully, Katie stood up and winced from pain shooting down her legs. She hissed from her painful cramps and limped over to the bathroom. Travis wouldn't be giving her anything to help the pain, but Katie always had the bath and hot water to work with. She flicked the light on and looked at the vast bathroom, slightly happy to see the bathtub was a comfortable size. “Oooh..” She moaned softly from pain, her hand pressing against her abdomen. Katie made haste and filled the tub up with hot water and sank into it with no hesitation. Relief came shortly after and she let out a silent sigh, hoping that the heat of the water would last for at least an hour. It didn’t help much, but it did soothe some of the aches in her lower half. She sat in silence, staring at the floor of the bathroom as her top half leaned out of the tub. Tears began to stream down her cheeks as her mind wandered to Jonathan. She covered her mouth to stifle her sobs, not wanting to draw attention. This was all of her fault, she thought. If she only fought against Jonathan’s idea, she knew that it would end up bad but didn’t anticipate this predicament. What would Angela do now? Katie rested her head at the edge of the tub, shoulders shaking as she wept silently. Maybe she should have listened to Jonathan in the first place, and taken the first flight back to a place that was no longer a home.

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

Pine grunted from pain as Travis struck him across the face. Here he was, bound to a chair and unable to fight back at all. “I should fucking castrate you first before I kill you.” Jonathan spit blood into Travis’s face.

“That’s if you can. I don’t see any ways of you doing such a thing considering the circumstances." Travis punched Jonathan across the face again and grabbed him by his hair. He studied his prisoner for a moment and nodded. "I actually think I'll tell you where my base is since there isn't a chance in hell you'll walk out of here alive. I can say the same for little Katie too." A sick smirk cracked across his face. Travis chuckled as he saw anger flash in Pine's eyes. "Ooh I hit a nerve didn't I? Damn it's nauseating how much you actually care about her." He shoved Pine back and snapped his fingers. Two bodyguards cut the restraints on the chairs and left Jonathan still bound by his wrists on the floor. "Downtown New York in an abandoned subway station not too far from central. I've got a little surprise planned for the good ol' US of A." Travis pulled out an older cell phone. "I'm sure you know what this is." He wiggled it between two fingers.

"Of course I fucking do. You realize that the military is going to come after you once you blow up New York- UGH!" Pine was cut off by a swift kick in the gut.

Travis clicked his tongue and pulled out two more older cell phones. "Well it's a good thing I've got followers all over. I've got some in D.C. and I've got some in Cali. Oh wait-wait!" Travis put the devices away and pulled out a third. "I almost forgot Detroit! My old stomping grounds. Of course I had to pay sweet homage to the place that made me who I am today!" The deranged man began to laugh maniacally.

"You're more dense than I originally thought. It's not going to last long whatever you plan to do-" Pine's mouth was then stuffed with a pair of Katie's panties and duct tape slapped over his lips.

"I'll let you have one more taste of her before I decide how to kill you. Oh those are her panties she had on before I raped her." Travis waved his hand, dismissing his bodyguards before kneeling down to look Jonathan straight in the eyes. "The best part is that once all this that I create gets big enough, I'll be noticed and people will fear me. I will be unstoppable with all the grade A military weapons, stolen arms, and illegal arsenal I have. I can have whatever I want." the sick grin on his face remained plastered and unchanged.

Jonathan shook his head, his stomach churning from how nauseous he felt. His breathing became heavier and sweat dripped down his face. Pine didn’t care about the fact his beloved’s undergarments were in his mouth at the moment, he cared about the thousands of innocent people Travis intended to maim. There was no redemption for a man- a monster, such as he.

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

Once the water had cooled, Katie lifted herself out of the tub and sighed. Her legs still wobbled slightly as she stood, grabbing a towel. She could at least use the rough textured fabric as a pad of sorts as there were no feminine care products around. Carefully, she wiped the fresh blood running down her legs and walked out into the dark room where she was being held captive. Placing the towel in a thick, folded structure, Katie sat down on it and wrapped her arms around herself. She felt so non-human and more like a caged animal to toy and prod at. “Jonathan, please be ok.” She whispered to herself hoarsely and felt an oncoming slew of fresh tears burn her eyes again. Her arms dropped to her sides as they became tired after a bit and her hand came in contact with an envelope. “What?” She muttered and grabbed the strange parcel, getting up and going to the bathroom for light. With shaky hands, she turned the envelope over and saw that it was addressed to her. Katie looked both ways and all around before cautiously opening it. The first thing that fell out were 3 Plan B’s, which had Katie slap a hand over her mouth as she muffled a sob of relief. Almost immediately, she got up and turned the sink on to get herself some water to swallow the contraceptive down. She wouldn’t have to worry about becoming pregnant for a bit now, depending on how long she and Jonathan were doomed to stay there for.

The next item she pulled out was a letter written in slightly messy but elegant handwriting-

My dear Katelyn,

I hope that you have found this parcel I have left behind for you. I knew that you were going to be sent here at some point. I would firstly like to apologize for all the pain I have caused you and Jonathan both as I was the one to reveal your location. I am sure you understand I must do what I have to do in order to save my child. However, if you manage to make it out alive… Please, if I do not reach my son first, please save him and kill my brother. Like Travis, he is not worth redemption and deserves worse than to burn in the fiery pits of hell. I have left you three contraceptive pills to prevent Travis from impregnating you or any of his goons. Use them wisely and do not continue to sit around. If you are reading this and you are still alive, act now and do not waste anymore time. I am saying this out of concern for you and Jonathan, I have seen what this man can do and he is just as wicked as my brother. Please, take care of yourself and I hope that perhaps in another life we can be friends and meet on better terms… Farewell

Yours,

Abbadon

Katie’s hands shook as she read the auburn haired woman’s letter, tears streaming down her face from how sincere this woman was. Abbadon did not deserve the life she lived in and deserved to live out the rest of her days in the lavender fields of France with her son. It was her dream to run away from the hell she was forced to live in and start anew. She hoped that Abbadon was not dead herself as she would do her best to not only save Nikolai, but Abbadon as well. “I have to be strong. For them.” She whispered to herself and shut her eyes, brain wracking ideas as to what she could do. There was one idea that came to mind, but it would force Katie to live through the trauma she had gone through all over again. However, if it meant she and Jonathan escaping with their lives, then she would swallow her fear. She had to be strong; three people were depending on her.

Inhaling deeply, she left the bathroom and resumed her seat in the dark room. If she could distract Travis enough, then this could possibly give her the chance for true recovery. She would kill him. There was no questioning when she thought about ending the life of a monster who stole two years away from her. With her resolution set in stone, Katie entered a state of meditation and braced herself for tomorrow. She would have her vengeance.

---------

The sun rose high the next morning and Katie had walked over to the screen door, opening it and seeing two bodyguards immediately shove their guns in her face. “I’m not trying to escape you bastards. I want to speak with Travis.” she held her head high, knocking the muzzle of one of the guns out of her face.

“You’ve got some nerve, girl.” One of the bodyguards huffed and stormed off to retrieve Travis while the other stayed behind and backed Katie into her room.

It took a minute for the bodyguard to grab him, but he shortly returned with Travis in tow. The Bloodroot leader looked rather irritated at the moment. He slammed the sliding door open and glared down at Katie, but noticed that her face remained expressionless. This puzzled him and made him raise his brow, irritation fading and now intrigued. “What do you want?”

“Let me come outside. I miss the sun… You can walk with me as you don’t trust me. I am still on my period so it would be appreciated if I could have some form of feminine product.” She spoke, voice still hoarse.

Travis scoffed, shaking his head “No. You’re going to stay in here until you’re done bleeding without clothes. I know what you’re trying to do, little Katie and it’s not gonna work.”

“Is that so? Maybe I realized how stupid I truly am for leaving you the way I did…” She stood up, grabbing a clean towel and placing it over her lower half as she walked forth. “Maybe I miss the pain. The way you fucked me and not those other pigs.” She referred to his friends. Katie stopped right in front of Travis, raising her eyebrows. “I’ve got nothing to hide. I am empty handed except for this towel. I am asking you to take me back seeing as you are not satisfied with other women. I don’t ever remember there being another woman who sucked your fat cock as good as I did. Who let you fuck every hole on her body without abandon and who let you do as you wished, within reason of course.” She screamed at herself inside, knowing that she had to do this in order to save Pine. Katie stood on her toes, placing a quick kiss to Travis’s lips before pulling away and walking back into the room.

The Bloodroot leader snatched Katie’s arm, pulling her out and smashing his lips on hers, forcing her to make out with him.

Katie wanted to throw up then and there as the taste of his tongue had gotten more rank and disgusting. She wasn’t sure how long she would last, but it seemed to be working.

“You’re absolutely right. Actually, I’m gonna have you suck my cock now in my room. I’ll listen to what you have to say. I want your word, Katelyn.” He narrowed his eyes.

“And you have my word, baby.” She batted her eyes and gave a sweet smile, placing her hand on his chest for added convincing. She gasped suddenly as Travis scooped her up and forced herself to giggle as he carried her off to his room. Hook, line, and sinker. Travis was rather easy to convince and with a bit of pushing and prodding, she’d have him six feet under ground.

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

Jonathan groaned, waking up from a night of beatings. He tried to move, but his body was too sore to do such a thing, even shifting his legs-

Wait, his legs were not bound. With this new found energy, Pine hoisted himself up then best he could and stood up. Blood rushed into his limbs after two days of being unable to stand and his feet tingled. These men were more stupid than he initially thought; truly, they were. Pine walked over to a tool kit foolishly left behind and turned his back to it. His hands grabbed a pair of scissors and using his long fingers, managed to position them under the rope. Sweat rolled down his face as he began to frantically cut at the fibers, hearing heavy footsteps above.

“Man I wish I had a girl like the boss’s.” One goon spoke, coming down the stairs.

Jonathan froze for a moment but kicked back into action, almost done with cutting the restraints. His heart beat hard as the footsteps grew louder.

“Yeah, well I don’t trust her one bit. You heard her the way she screamed when we raped her- HEY!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” The other goon pointed at Jonathan, causing both of them to rush toward him.

It was now or never and Jonathan took his chance, rushing back and holding his arms back to give the illusion that he was still bound. Once he got close enough, he kicked one of the goons out of his way and stabbed the blade of the scissors into the other’s neck and effectively slit his throat. Pine turned around quickly, grabbing the other assailants wrist and stabbing the blades over and over into the goons stomach. Once he was certain he was dead, Jonathan reached up and ripped the duct tape off. He spat out the pair of panties, tossing them aside seeing as Katie probably wouldn’t want those back. “Fools.” He panted, keeping the scissors on him but grabbing their guns and ammo. Pine thought for a moment and dragged the bodies out of the way before stripping one of them and dressing in the attire of Travis’s henchmen. Next, he headed over to a convenient can of paint and smeared some of the black goop over his closed eyes. Quickly, he made his way over to the small window and shattered it. He grabbed the clothed corpse and shoved him in the small hole. The other one he shoved into the closet. He knew this would buy him some time, but not much. Pine traveled up the stairs and saw a “fellow comrade” walking by. Using an American accent, Jonathan greeted the other man “Hey.” He tilted his head upwards and waited until the goon had his back turned. That’s when Jonathan struck, covering the man’s mouth with his hand and pulling him back into the basement where he slit his throat. “That makes three.” He mumbled in his normal voice, heading back up and seeking out more henchmen to take out.

----------

Finally, Katie had a pair of panties on and comfortably sat at a Kotatsu with one of Travis’s button down shirts on. She had even managed to convince him to let her have some pain meds and give her a pad of sorts. Luckily for her, Abbadon had left some feminine care products of her own behind. Thunder roared loudly above them, causing Katie to jump a little and grab onto Travis for faux comfort.

“You’re still a little wimp, huh?” He did not reciprocate her gesture but instead slid his hand toward her backside. “That blowjob was nice, but I think I’d like to get a piece of ass…” Travis smirk, sticking his hand down her panties and slipping a finger into her back entrance.

Katie seized up as her hole was still very much sore from the abuse two nights ago. She never liked doing anal and found it gross. “T-Travis wait- Don’t you want me t-to feed you first?” She didn’t make any move to stop him as that would cause suspicion. She couldn’t do anything no matter how badly it hurt. The feeling of his finger going inside of her was mortifying and she whimpered as he tried to push a second finger in.

“SIR!! PINE HAS ESCAPED!!” One of the henchmen burst in, panting hard.

Travis removed his finger and stood up, nostrils flaring. “What the fuck do you mean he’s escaped!?” His gaze immediately turned to Katie who shrunk beneath his gaze.

Her fear was starting to get the better of her as she remembered this exact look he would give right before a beating. “N-No! It wasn’t me! I was in my room th-the entire time.” She gulped, her heart racing and hoping Pine would get there soon.

For once, Travis took her word and stormed out to investigate the scene.

Katie quickly looked around the room and saw a pair of wooden chopsticks and Travis’s pocket knife. She quietly got up, going over to them and beginning to sharpen the chopsticks as fast as she could. Her teeth ground together as her anger fueled her, fear discapating away. Once she heard Travis’s angry footsteps coming back, she walked over to the Kotatsu, putting her weapon by her seat. To make herself look inconspicuous, she began to clean all the garbage up around the area where the chopsticks were.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Travis growled but then stopped short as he saw her turn around with his garbage in her arms. A smirk travelled across his face and he went back to his seat, sitting down. “Being a good little slave are we? How kind of you.” He chuckled, dropping his guard.

“I just don’t think staying in such a dirty environment would be good for you, ya know?” she threw the trash away, praying he wouldn’t see the chopsticks by her seat. “I kinda feel bad that you put Pine downstairs with all that dust and gross stuff. But, I don’t care about him anymore! Truly, I don’t. I’m stupid.” She stuck her tongue out playfully, hurting herself from her own words.

“As you shouldn’t. Yeah you are really fucking stupid, but you’re fucking hot. Come here you dumb whore and sit on my lap.” He patted his legs, grinning.

The last of the henchmen that Pine was aware of dropped to the floor, gurgling on his own blood and dying slowly. He quickly made his way through the large manor, looking for Katie and Travis. Jonathan feared that he wouldn’t make it in time and she would be dead before he got there. Not having the threat of goons around, Jonathan began to run through the oncoming storm.

Sounds of lips smacking together from Katie kissing Travis filled the room. One of Katie’s arms reached back as she felt around for her weapon. She had found it by the sharp prick to her finger and snatched it up. Her arm came back up and she stabbed Travis right in the leg, being shoved off in that instant.

“YOU BITCH!!” Travis screamed, seeing Katie swing at him with another chopstick she had sharpened and grabbed her wrist. “I knew you were playing!! You’re still afraid of me!”

“NO!! I’M NOT AFRAID OF YOU!!” She kicked him quickly, holding her hand up and grabbing his wrist with her free hand. She twisted her hips and had twisted Travis’s grip off of her, scooping her other weapon back into her hand. Making a bold move, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward, stabbing the chopstick into his eye and kicking off of him. Now that he was distracted, Katie shoved a cabinet over and blocked the entrance. She hopped over it, feet landing on wet wood and slamming the screen door shut. Wind whipped in her face and rain pelted down hard. “JONATHAN!? JONATHAN!?” She cried out, starting to run for it. This place was massive .

Jonathan stopped in his tracks as he heard Katie calling for him. “HOLD ON!! I’M COMING!” He replied back, taking off and following her voice. Unfortunately, her voice stopped calling his name and instead was replaced by a scream. Pine ran faster, slamming doors open in search of her.

Lightning flashed, showing a deranged Travis with an eye missing chasing after Katie. “COME BACK HERE YOU LITTLE BITCH!!” He screamed, maneuvering through the hard rain as best as he could.

Katie once again pushed furniture down, shoving the doors shut until she reached a dead end. Her feet hit rocks and she found herself staring out at the sea. “No, no, no, no!!” She began to panic as Travis pummeled through all of that and charged toward her. The familiar feeling of his hands wrapping around her slender neck returned after two and a half years. Her back hit the rocky ground as Travis was on top of her and was strangling her to kill. She knew that he knew she was vulnerable to this as this was one of his tactics to scare her.

“You took my eye-” He growled, squeezing his hands harder “I take your life!” He began to laugh, watching Katie’s eyes roll.

Air rushed back into her lungs as Travis was yanked off of her and Katie sat up, panting hard and seeing Pine throw a punch across Travis’s face. Her eyes darted toward a shining object on the ground as lightning flashed again and she made a run for it, grabbing the large knife she saw.

Travis let Jonathan have the upper hand for a moment before he retaliated, slamming his hard head into his. “COME ON OLD MAN!!” He grinned, quickly removing the gun he held on him and knocking him back wards, punching him across the face. Travis then grabbed Jonathan by the collar of his shirt, walking over to the edge of the cliff and panting hard. “You will never win. No matter what you do, she will always be mine.” He took a step closer to the crumbling edge. “Hope you ain’t scared of sharks-” Travis’s dark eyes widened as he felt a warmth in his front. He threw Jonathan aside and looked down, blood seeping through his abdomen. Slowly, he turned around and saw Katie ripping the blade out from him and stabbing him in the front again and again and again, hatred burning in her eyes.

“Go to hell.” she growled, shoving him off the cliff with the knife embedded into his chest. As she watched Travis fall into the depths, screaming out his final breaths, she felt… Calm. A weight had been lifted from her; she was finally free. Katie turned around, seeing Jonathan picking himself up and limping over to her.

When the two met, Katie’s arms wrapped tightly around Jonathan and she began to scream and cry into his chest. “It’s over, he’s gone now. He’s gone.” Pine held her just as tightly, pressing kisses into her hair while shedding tears of his own. “He will never hurt you again, Kate.”

“P-Please let’s just get the fuck away from here.” She sobbed.

Jonathan nodded, scooping her soaked form into his arms. “Hold onto me, sweetheart.” He echoed his words back from the gala and carried her away to Travis’s expensive car. “I’m going to grab a couple things so wait here and lay low.” He set her down but not before grabbing her face and kissing her lips- oh how he missed her lips against his. He would have time for that later as he pulled away, running into the manor.

True to his word, Jonathan came back with a plethora of items. Katie shucked off Travis’s shirt in favor of wearing Pine’s as she wanted to rid herself of anything remotely related to the now dead leader of Bloodroot. She hustled into the back seat of the car, watching Jonathan slam the trunk shut and getting inside.

Not looking back, Pine turned the key and kicked the car into gear. His foot slammed on the gas as he sped off into the night and finally free from that house of horrors.

A shadowy figure walked out of the brush shortly after Pine and Katie made their escape. The figure made its way over to the cliffside and looked down into the water. “He deserved worse than that.” Roper scoffed, adjusting his umbrella before flinching a little at the sound of something inside the manor exploding. He turned around and raised his eyebrows at the now billowing smoke and raging fire eating the house. “Pity. It was a nice house.” He muttered to himself and pulled his phone out, dialing a number.

“Yeah. He’s dead now

#the night manager #the night manager canon divergence #jonathan pine x ofc #jonathan pine #fanfic #tw: violence #tw: assault #tom hiddleston #my writing #writing #flowers in blood #spies in love

[areasontobreathe]

The Miys, Ch. 56

This one got away from me.  I meant for it to just be some filler, but it turned into a serious conversation, somehow.  Those wily OCs keep getting away from me.  *Spots one sneaking out the door* Hey!  Get back here!

By the virtue of having to proof the pizza dough, Maverick managed to dash into our quarters with just enough time to shower and change before sitting down with us for dinner.  He gulped down a glass of wine before even reaching for any food, nodding his thanks to Antoine as he handed the glass back. Conor and I glanced at each other, concerned: Maverick rarely drank with dinner, and if he did it was usually sparingly.

He must have caught our glance. “My hands are shaking and my back is a mess of knots from checking – and I quote – ��everything in the lab that may have had anything to do with the construction of the platforms, along with any equipment that may have interacted with them after construction’.  So sayeth Grey Hodenson.” He paused to stuff a fish-laden slice of pizza in his mouth. “Mmph. Sorry. Hey, Zach.”

“That’s literally every piece of equipment in BioLab 2 and the fabrication lab,” Conor interjected.  “Grey is making you do all that?”

Maverick shook his head. “Huynh is coming down on everyone with this, Con. Grey’s just protecting their technicians and researchers.”

“What about Xiomara?” I asked, waving my hand to grab their attention before glancing at my sister. “I mean, the platforms being unsafe would fall under her department, right?”

Tyche picked up on what I was hinting at. “Does she even know about this issue?”

Conor glanced back and forth between us for a moment. “I – I honestly don’t know,” he admitted.  “I’ve been so caught up in defending myself that I didn’t even think to ask.”

“If Councillor Hodenson knows, would they not think to pass the information on to her?” Antoine asked reasonably.

It was my turn to shake my head. “Don’t you remember on Level One?  Grey gets incredibly forgetful when they’re under extreme duress.  With the recent gravity increase, I don’t think anyone has been sleeping all that well. Derek told me earlier that he’s been having nightmares.  I know the three of us haven’t been sleeping worth a damn.” I gestured between myself and my two partners-cum-guard dogs.

“Surprised you can sleep at all, the way Maverick snores,” Zach snickered, earning a half-hearted glare and the confiscation of a slice of pizza from his plate. “Hey!” he protested weakly.

Still staring him down, I took the biggest bite I could manage of the slice in my hand before sliding the rest of the pizza on the table toward him. “Be nice,” I admonished around my stolen mouthful.  “The point is, Xio may not know about the situation.  I’ll touch base with her tomorrow, first thing.”

Later, Tyche and I were sitting in the living room while the guys were cleaning up and joking around in the food-prep area. “Does he do that often?” she asked, referring to the earlier situation with Conor.

“Hmm? Oh, umm…. No? Not really?” I scrunched my nose. “This is the first time I’ve known him to do it while someone else was here?”  

She looked at me skeptically. “Mon soeur…” she started with the same fond tone that she usually reserved for calling me ‘silly bitch’.

“I’m not lying, you can have Noah check the recordings later. I swear. Yes, he does lose his temper sometimes, but he makes a point to ask me and Maverick to leave while he calms down or warns us before we get home that he had a bad day and needs some time to himself.  I can’t really think of any time that it’s been something one of us did that set it off – usually it’s work or a hydroponic project that gets him that frustrated.  We didn’t even know that he was throwing things until we came back for something once, thinking he was just laying in bed or reading a book or something, and we caught the mess he had made while he was cleaning it up.”

She seemed reluctantly mollified. “I really thought for a second that… Anyway, assuming you are telling the truth – and I will check – it makes sense that he was so upset when you walked in earlier. But if I check with Noah, and he tells me a different story…” She left the threat hanging as she gave me a pointed look.

“Check all you want,” I assured her. “Cross examine, be specific, grill them. If I’m blind to something, let me know.”

Before we could say anything else, the other four joined us.  Tyche left the couch in favor of sitting with Antoine in the armchair, while Maverick took her seat next to me.  Surprisingly, Conor let Zach sit on my other side, in favor of sitting on the floor and resting against mine and Maverick’s legs. It wasn’t unusual for him to do after losing his temper – I wasn’t even sure he realized that he acted like he had to earn back his spot on the sofa – but I hadn’t expected him to do it in front of other people.

My favorite source of never-ending surprise didn’t stop there. “Antoine,” he asked, clearing his throat. “Do you have anyone on staff who, uh, helps with… anger management?” He rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment when Antoine’s eyebrows shot up.  “I got… mad as hell today, and I was throwing things in front of Zach.  And it’s not the first time I’ve tossed a room ‘cause I was pissed off.” Leaning forward, he shoved a hand through his hair and forced himself to keep talking. “I’ve never raised my voice or threw things at Sophie or Mav, and I try to make sure that no one is here when I do it.  But today… Zach was here, and Sophie and Tyche got home and the door was open, and I could’ve… Even if it had been a accident, someone could’ve got hurt, and – “

“No one got hurt?” Antoine cut in, glancing around with concern. I could see his fingers digging into Tyche’s hip where his arms were around her, his professional façade cracking just a hair at the idea that she had been in potential danger. The three of us who had been there shook our heads, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am well aware that Tyche will likely be checking the recordings to ensure that you are save, Sophia and Maverick.  I will be checking them with her, just to be sure.  And yes, Conor, we do have some people on the Ark who are trained to handle anger management.”  When Antoine removed his hand from his face, I caught him clenching it in a tight fist for a brief moment.

Apparently Conor wasn’t the only one with an unexpected temper. “Antoine,” I said softly. “I already told Tyche, go ahead and check the recordings. Grill Noah. Conor really has always made a point to make sure we weren’t here when he knew he was going to lose it, and he tried as hard as he could to make sure we didn’t realize how badly he was handling it. But I do think he could use some help learning a more… productive? Way to handle things.” I stroked Conor’s hair and smiled slightly when Maverick moved my hand so he could do it, instead. “I did suggest boxing,” I pointed out, glancing up.

“The last thing I want to do is graduate to hitting things,” Conor grumbled.  “That doesn’t seem like a good idea at all.”

“Actually, boxing is an effective outlet for aggression,” Antoine argued. “It has proven to provide a safe outlet for violent urges, especially if it is not an activity you have ever taken up before.  Over time, it reprograms the same physical impulse that causes you to throw things to instead channel that aggression toward hitting something that is designed to be hit, or toward a sparring partner who is consenting to engage and is physically protected.”

“There has to be something else. Something non-violent.”

“Any physical exercise can provide an outlet, but it may not be as satisfying,” our resident therapist relented.  “Running, aerobics, or dance are found to be the most effective due to the high cardiovascular output they provide.”

Conor nodded, taking that into more serious consideration.  “Running sounds better.”

“Awww, you don’t want to start taking dance classes?” Maverick teased, grunting when I elbowed him. “What? You can’t tell me it wouldn’t be a little funny.”

I glared at him as Tyche cleared her throat. “Um, Maverick? Sweetie? Sophia took dance lessons for years.  Believe me, just the stretches will have you pouring sweat when you first start.”

“It takes about the same amount of discipline as martial arts,” I picked up from there. “Precision, and complete focus on what each part of your body is doing at any given time. Not to mention the amount of strength you have to build up, depending on what you’re doing – at one point I could squat close to three hundred pounds. Not for long,” I admitted. “But I could do it.”

“Maybe you should start dancing again,” my sister mused. “It was good for your anxiety.” I tilted my head, conceding her point, but didn’t say anything.

“I am tempted to make the entire ship start taking up more cardiovascular exercise,” Antoine sighed.  “Since the most recent gravity adjustment, the reports of anxiety, paranoia, and insomnia have far exceeded what we anticipated.  As Sophia suggested at dinner, it seems that very few on the Ark are unaffected.”

I snorted before descending through giggles and into outright hysteric laughter.  I glanced up briefly to see everyone staring at me, waiting for me to explain the joke. I managed to pull myself together long enough to gasp, “Ten-thousand-person flash mob.”

One by one, the entire room descended into laughter, the seriousness that had settled upon us temporarily broken by the mental image of everyone on the Ark dancing their hearts out.

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#the miys #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #science fiction #aliens #apocalypse #earth is space australia #original writing

[citrontartellete]

I want you and always will

So, hello again :). I´m completly obssessed with this show, someone save me !! So this one is based in of my favourites songs ever that is “Oceans’ by Seafret and to me this song scream their names. So here is a kind of angsty fic with happy end and smut at some point. 

Pre - Armageddon

 ‘Good evening you are listening to BBC Radio 1’

 Yeah I want you

And nothing comes close

To the way that I need you

I wish I could feel your skin

And I want you

From somewhere within      

 Crowley sighed and rolled the glass scotch between his handsclosing his eyes listening to the music. For the first time in years Crowley bothered to listen to the radio, the apocalypse was near and he wanted to do something different. Following the silly human cliché of doing something you never did before. He took a sip of his scotch and sighed again, biting his lips his mind going back to a few hours ago, replaying everything that Aziraphale, his angel, had told him. He then watched carefully as a tiny bit of hope showed up on the angel’s face and the dreamy look on his too blue and beautiful eyes and Crowley dared to hope too. Dared to hope about only their side existing, away up in the stars just the two of them, living in a small house on Alpha Centauri or Gallyfrey. Gallyfreian people were such nice understanding people they would accept them with no trouble, no more reports, no more thwarting or wiles, no more head offices Beezebuth or Gabriel or any of this, just the two of them in a nice planet with nice people trying to finally be happy. Where he could finally, touch, kiss, and tell everything he felt and had to swallow down every fucking day for almost six thousand years. Those bloody feelings he kept for ages bottled up inside him.

‘Go off together ? Listen to yourself !’

  His mind supplied, the hopeful tone on his angel’s voice, of course Aziraphale wanted this as much as he did, just as badly it was written all over his face. Of course, he refused it to both actually go off with him, to actually leave all this stupid nonsense behind and just be happy. Stupid, stupid, stupid angel! Their fucking head offices didn´t give a fuck about them. Crowley thought angrily, feeling the tears sting in his eyes. He just wanted a chance with Aziraphale, to touch him properly. He recalled all the times they´ve encountered each other through the history and the small weeks they would take off together to get drunk and mock their respective head offices, and just talk. How close they were of each other staring, almost touching, and almost giving into those feelings bubbling under their skin, the longing afterwards. He could feel the angel´s eyes follow his every move when they were together how Aziraphale would fixate his eyes on his lips every time Crowley took a cup or a glass to his lips, or ate a bit of food. The angel would lick his lips and close his eyes sighing in resignation. Crowley knew, he have watched and replayed every little moment on his mind, torturing himself with it, wanking himself to the memories of these small stolen moments when their fingers brushed together or when he and Aziraphale got too close or their knees and shoulders brushed together.

Imagining how touch his angel must feel, if his skin was soft like it seemed, how it would be run his hands for those blonde white curls and trace his lips with his fingers following their shape, to hold on Aziraphale soft lovely body while they were deep in passion and letting out all those eons of hiding their feelings behind.

Crowley took another sip of his scotch and got up. Would not do dwell on these thoughts right now. He was going to the bookshop again, he was going to beg the angel to come with him to Alpha Centauri or Gallyfrey or Pluto since the angel said yes to him. He just needed to convince him to come to the stars.

It didn´t work. His angel kept stuck with that stupid idea of talking with the Almighty, so She could fix it. God as always was moving in mysterious ways, God writes straight with crooked lines, because none ever knew God’s plans for heaven´s sakes. Not even angels.

‘I´m going home angel. I´m getting my stuff and I´m leaving and when I´m off in the stars I won’t even think about you’ It was the worst and more hurtful lie that ever escaped his lips. Of course, he would think about Aziraphale and he knew that in no time he would be back to beg him again, actually beg, get on his knees if he needed to.

 I want you

And I always will

I wish I was worth

But I know what you deserve

You know I'd rather drown

Than to go on without you

But you're pulling me down

 He lost Aziraphale and nothing made any sense. He had lost his angel, the world could fuck explode right now he didn´t care, he is going to just sit in this pub and drink himself until the skies were red and comets were crashing down the atmosphere and the sea turned into a massive bowl of bouill- bouilla whatever name the French called that fancy fish stew of theirs. He had no reason to fight anymore. Crowley would gladly spent the eternity doing whatever he was told to or causing problems or listening the Heavens torturing the demons with The Sound of Music for all he care. He started to pray silently that the rain crashing outside would be one of holy water, heavy fat droplets of holy water. Be discorporate was still a better option than live without Aziraphale. His life would be so empty without him and that endless faith and love, grace, and he did not even add the fact that Aziraphale was a enough of a bastard worth knowing.  He recalled being an angel sometimes. It was when he first saw Aziraphale, before he sauntered downwards, that gracious angel with an easy smile helping the cherubs with their chores of looking cute all the time, and following Gabriel´s steps without a word of complaint even though the archangel would throw orders at him. Crowley followed Lucifer and the guys, and every time he feels guilty and unworthy of Aziraphale and everything that he is. He hates himself so much for it. Why he did not have seen it before? Defying the Almighty, asking questions when they were made with sole purpose of obeying and do as they were told. Nevertheless, he was curious, curious about what was that about. About the questions, he wanted answers. Why was this so wrong Up There ? He just wanted to know and that would have been his damnation. If he hadn´t asked or went to the bloody meetings with Lucifer he could be with Aziraphale right now, both in heaven, fighting side by side. It was fun though, how his world revolved around the angel. His angel.

 Post Amargeddon’t and Trials.

Crowley watched Aziraphale feeling a little dazzled. Watched as he moved around his flat to fetch more champagne, to talk with his plants covering the little traitorous bastards with love and compliments. He only followed him resting his body against the doorframe as Aziraphale listened to what the plants were saying, the champagne flute on his hand, bare feet and without so many clothes, the light making his white blonde curls glisten, his cheeks flustered and an easy happy smile on his face.

‘Oh thank you !’ he said to the bindweed over the small fence that Crowley had placed against the wall, the white flowers vigorous and shining more than ever ‘Oh, really ? I didn’t know that !’ the angel said. gently lifting his eyes from the plants to stare at Crowley his eyes blue eyes so bright, it almost seemed to Crowley that all the stars were dancing in his angel´s eyes ‘Oh….Are you sure of this darling ?’ he asked the plant, gently turning to a large pot of lemongrass.

The same lemongrass that Crowley would take to the angel, under the excuse of drinking fresh tea instead of the boxed ones because ‘Really angel for all you know these teabags must be filled with all sorts of chemicals, here lets have fresh tea !’ Actually, nothing made Crowley happier than seeing the knowing smile on Aziraphale´s face and he loved take the product of so much hard work to the angel (Not that shouting at the plants count as hard work when it comes to gardening). It made him immensely happy.

‘Enough angel you´ll spoil ‘em’ The demon said.

‘But darling, they were just telling me how much you talk about me’ the angel said amused never breaking the eye contact, leaning a little to listen what a bromeliad had to say as well, Aziraphale giggled ‘Yes, he is lovely, indeed’ the angel winked at him.

Crowley gasped. Aziraphale winked at him and his plants beamed the little fucking bastards beamed and giggled. Where are their respect for him? He would teach them a lesson later. Crowley walked to Aziraphale and took him by the hand taking him out of the greenery, swearing and murmuring under his breath about what he would do to them. He had not noticed when the angel interlocked their fingers together trying to supress his laughter.

‘Honestly, darling don’t threat the poor things like this they are not lying’ Aziraphale said and Crowley came to a halt in the middle of the corridor leading to the living room the angel taking advantage of the moment, slowly wrapped his arms around the demons´ torso, resting his cheek on his back and Crowley wanted to scream. He closed his eyes and swallowed the scream down his throat, squeezing his eye shut, feeling the angel´s fingertips move gently through the thin fabric of his shirt in light caresses sending shivers down his spine, making him almost moan. Then Crowley felt a light kiss on his shoulder and bit back another moan. It was a butterfly kiss only. It was not worth a moan, really. However, Aziraphale´s warm lips against his cold skin even over the fabric of his shirt is….is….Oh God.

He waited so long for it, for this touch even if it is this gentle, even with a layer of fabric separating his angel´s beautiful soft lips from his skin.

Crowley´s brain short-circuited when he felt the angel place a small open-mouthed kiss on the back of his neck, he went weak on the knees, if Aziraphale wasn´t holding him so tight he´d fallen to the floor. If that had happened he would have worshipped Aziraphale by kissing his feet and hands in utterly devotion, offering himself in abandon to his angel take his claim on him. He felt the angel clutch him closer, flushing their bodies together. He would not mind if it was one time drunk thing, a moment of adrenaline after being through so much. Crowley just needed it; he just needed the angel’s touch, the angel taking him in any way he wanted to have him. Crowley would be his gladly. Even if God Herself smite him afterwards. He did not care.

Aziraphale stopped touching him and he let out a despaired noise escape his mouth and begged on a pained tone of voice

‘Please angel, please, don´t stop, don´t stop….’ The demon almost sobbed.

‘Darling, please stop thinking. I can hear it’ the angel answered calmly. Then Aziraphale spun him around and placed a hand on his cheek, he leaned on the touch kissing the angel´s palm eyes fluttering close, feeling Aziraphale caress his cheek with the pad of his thumb, and slowly dragging it through the demon skin until it reached his lips, tracing them, rubbing his finger there. Crowley whimpered, parting his lips allowing the angel to continue his exploration ‘So beautiful….’ Aziraphale whispered and kissed him. Licking into his mouth, tracing his tongue and teeth with his tongue, sucking on it. Making hard to Crowley to keep control of his body. He barely noticed that he had miracle them on his bedroom making Aziraphale laugh a little on his lips.

They started to divest each other with trembling hands and impatient huffs.

‘We could just miracle them away, darling…’ Aziraphale suggested panting a little after another breath-taking kiss, while Crowley fumbled with his pants.

‘No angel, I´ve waited too long for this moment to just miracle them away’

When they finally were free of clothes. Crowley felt his back collide against the mattress the angel all over him, kissing his neck and down his chest, playing with his nipples alternating licks and gentle bites making the demon arch his back, kissing each one of his ribs while interlocking their fingers, whispering praising lovingly words.

‘You’re so beautiful like this, darling’ Crowley dug his fingers on the angel´s shoulder, running his nails over the skin whimpering each time the angel lowered his kisses more, reaching his hipbone, tracing soft kisses on his thighs the demon screamed in pleasure when the angel took him in his mouth, licking his cock head first and ever so slightly taking him, never breaking their eye contact or the hold on his fingers. When Aziraphale started to bob his head, almost closing his eyes Crowley lose it and he moved his hips in soft thrusts.

‘Aziraphale….’ the angel moaned around his cock, sending electric shocks through his body. He was sure he could not hold it any longer and then he came on his angel´s mouth with a cry, squeezing Aziraphale’s fingers with a breaking force.  Aziraphale smiled at him from between his legs and he pushed the angel up by the shoulders, kissing him violently tasting himself on his angel tongue watching as Aziraphale moved slowly. How can the angel be so calm about this? So patient. He straddled Aziraphale, resting his hands on both his cheeks kissing him desperately while whispering on his lips ‘Take me angel, take me...Make me fully yours’ He sobbed on the angel´s lips biting them and then kissing him brutally again.

A few moments later Crowley felt Aziraphale´s fingers inside preparing him, while the angel sucked bruises on his neck and shoulders. Why was Aziraphale taking so long to be inside him? Why? Crowley thought with despair. He was getting impatient. Needed the angel inside him, it was an overwhelming need. The only thing he could think about right now. But before he could complain again, Aziraphale was sliding inside him carefully, watching his face for any sign of discomfort.

‘I´m alright angel’ he whispered, locking their gaze. They moved together on a slow rhythm at first, Aziraphale holding him tight. His eyes were so full of love, Crowley could feel every ounce of this love dripping of the angel´s pores and engulfing him, making him feel all this grace and light inside him. So powerful. He never felt so loved, so cherished before. It was dizzying.

‘I love you’ Aziraphale panted on his lips, thrusting harder and Crowley writhed beneath him screaming the same thing, wrapping his arms around his neck. The demon closed his eyes when he felt his angel coming inside him. When he opened his eyes again there were pearly white feathers scattered and floating around the room.

‘I love you angel’

***

‘I only noticed at that church in 1944’ Aziraphale said sometime later when they shared some takeaway, both wearing robes and sitting on the floor. Shoulders touching. ‘Sorry dear’

‘What for angel ?’ Crowley asked eating a bite of his broccoli

‘For taking so long, I was too afraid of it before. Too afraid of my feelings, too afraid of what might have happened to you’ the angel explained with a tight voice.

‘What made you change your mind?’ Crowley asked curious.

‘Now I know the Almighty would never punish me for loving’ The answer was simple and sincere. The demon laughed and leaned to kiss his angel cheek.

‘Yes, She would never’ He agreed. They finished their take away and then cuddled on the couch falling asleep. When they woke up later, both noticed a new plant near the window. A white rose bush and small note. Both laughed and kissed again. Now they have all the time of the world.

‘You are right. I would never judge you. You have my blessing

-God’

#good omens #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #crowley #fic #a little angsty #Happy Ending #smut #songfic #my fic

[tenspontaneite]

Peace Is A Journey (Chapter 9/?)

In which the consequences of Callum’s procrastination catch up with him, and Rayla makes use of some potent painkillers. Back in Katolis: Opeli makes General Amaya an offer, and Lord Viren visits his prisoner.

Content warnings: animal death, descriptions of preparation of meat, discussions of meat ethics. Also, medicinal drug use, amputation mentions, some gross wound descriptions, and Viren.

(Chapter length: 22k. Ao3 link)

Viren lingered watchfully at the foot of the stairwell, but only for long enough to see it click back into place. With General Amaya almost literally on the warpath, he couldn’t be taking any chances with the security of his workshop…but he was so very, very ready to sit quietly for a while away from prying eyes. His meeting with the General, needless to say, had not gone well.

With a sigh, he plodded tiredly over to a chair by one of the workbenches, and half-collapsed into it. He eased back against the backrest, raising a hand to rub at his temples, where a headache had been in residence for several days now.

The Crown of Towers was growing heavy on his brow, even after less than a week of sitting there. It wasn’t the best of signs. If not for her unfortunate state of mind, he might have been tempted to offer the damned thing to General Amaya, but there would be no soothing her or directing her rage to productive concerns until that Moonshadow thief was dealt with, and he supposed he had to deal with that. His machinations had rather bitten him in the backside, there – he should have thought of what the princes’ deaths, or even the mistaken assumption of them, would have done to her, but he hadn’t. Now he had no egg, his children were gone from the capital in pursuit of it, and the Standing Battalion stood headless in its hour of greatest need. It would be enough to drive a lesser man to drink.

The Kingdom was vulnerable. So horribly, sickeningly vulnerable. And he, somehow, had to guard it against the legions amassing at its border. It was his job now. His responsibility – his duty. And, though he didn’t know how, he had to fulfil it. Paragons, but he’d never anticipated the Crown would rest so heavy.

He considered, for several moments, admitting to Amaya that he had reason to believe her nephews might be working with the Moonshadow assassin. That they might, depending on the extent of the elf’s mercy, still be alive. He thought about it, fingers lingering near the gleaming line of the crown on his head, and hummed lowly as he thought.

Would there be any benefit to it, really? Would it be worth the aggression he’d likely encounter for hiding information like this?

…No. No, it would not be advantageous in the least. He had no guarantee himself that the princes remained alive, after all. Moonshadow elves were infamous for their ruthlessness, and he had no reason to expect this one to spare the boys once she’d taken the egg from them. Really, it almost served the elder prince right – he’d meddled in things he hadn’t understood, and might well have paid the price for it. It seemed nearly fitting for the boy to die by the hand of the elf he’d trusted not to turn on him; just as if he’d held a viper close to his chest and expected it not to bite.

Prince Ezran, though…that, he could almost regret. Now that he’d been crowned Lord Protector, there was little risk of him being toppled by a child king. If Soren failed in his duty, likely the worst scenario Viren would face was being retitled Regent of Katolis, and that would do well enough. So long as he still had the freedom to make the necessary decisions for the kingdom, it would do.

Still, though, in the best-case scenario, there would be no princes left to lay claim to the throne. Katolis could not afford a child-king in these tempestuous times – he could not risk the slightest chance that his rule would be supplanted now. General Amaya he could trust to rule, perhaps; she was powerful and intelligent, and knew well the depths of Xadia’s evil. But a naïve child? Particularly a boy who was every inch the son of Harrow and Sarai, with stubborn idealism brimming in every drop of his blood?

No, he could not risk that. No matter how he regretted it, he could not risk it. That was the sort of decision a firm ruler had to make.

Still. He hoped that the elf had followed her nature, and turned on the boys. Dispatched them, so that Soren wouldn’t have to. He loved his son enough to hope he could be spared the killing of children.

Viren closed his eyes and leaned back. The low light in the workshop was a balm on his headache, but darkness was even better. He had hard times ahead of him, he knew. The whole kingdom did. General Amaya was on a mission of revenge, and even if he gave her reason to suspect her nephews were alive, she was by now so far gone into rage that he was certain she’d chase that assassin to the ends of the world. He couldn’t trust her to do her duty as General, let alone bear a crown. The rest of the council – well, they were a help, and he could at least delegate to them, but they made no secret of the fact that they’d prefer someone else ruling in his place. Opeli in particular. They weren’t outright obstructing him, perhaps, but they certainly weren’t smoothing the way, either.

Really, it was almost like they wanted the kingdom to fall.

He sat there in silence for a few minutes, listening to nothing but the distant sounds of activity in the castle above, the near-inaudible hum of the light-crystals, and the occasional metallic scrape of his prisoner’s chains in the nearby cell. That last one was a bit too much work to contemplate at the moment, so he steadfastly ignored it. After a while, he opened his eyes and leaned forwards to the table to prepare some ingredients for his most common spells. It wouldn’t do to waste too much time, after all – and besides, he found the preparation quite calming.

It was late enough in the day that his skin was beginning to feel tight and dry again, a familiar weary ache settling into his bones. By morning he’d be desiccated again, and need a little magic to refresh himself. But he would abide well enough for now.

Viren worked in peaceable quiet with the pestle and mortar until he felt somewhat settled again, and had a new batch of bone powder to use. He set it aside in little glass vials, storing them carefully with the rest, and considered what to do. His eyes went, of their own accord, to the archway to the cells.

Well. He was somewhat overdue for a visit of his…guest. Duty had kept him a little too busy to have much time for prisoners.

He considered for several minutes what to say, what mannerisms to project, how to present himself. Then he stood, settling his posture and bearing into an easy, relaxed confidence, and went to fetch some water. The prisoner might disdain food, but he had to be feeling the dehydration by now.

In the end, he strode into the cell with a jug of water and two tankards, running an assessing eye over the cell’s occupant. The elf did more or less the same back at him, though with the addition of his ever-present glare. Really, did he have to insist on looking so very dour all the time? It was growing tedious. “I see you’re looking somewhat worse for wear.” Viren greeted, neutrally, and stood in front of the elf to inspect him. “My apologies for the gap in my visits. Running a kingdom is busier work than I’d anticipated, you see.”

The elf, predictably, said nothing. Only glared up at him. That arm of his was beginning to look truly dire – the whole thing was a dark, almost mottled purple, and there even seemed to be a couple of weeping sores opening on the palm of his hand. Fascinating. Perhaps he should have a healer take a look, give their opinion of it.

“I elected not to bring food, since it doesn’t seem to interest you, but I haven’t been an entirely terrible host: I’ve brought water.” With his carefully-crafted affect of nonchalance, he poured the water into one tankard and held it out to the elf’s face, politely inquisitive.

Also predictably, the elf turned his face away, face heavy with its perpetual scowl.

Viren held the tankard there for a few more seconds, sighed, then sat down on the cell’s chair to drink it himself. “Your perseverance is admirable, I must say. The dehydration must be telling on you by now, but you still won’t drink.” He watched the elf’s face idly for any reaction, but there was nothing besides that usual watchful antipathy. How to change that, he wondered. “Really, it’s surprising you’re not already dead of it. Dehydration would have killed a human man by now.”

The elf’s lip curled. Ah, perhaps finally some response? “I am already dead.” He rasped, voice dry and scratchy and generally not sounding very healthy at all. Clearly the dehydration was treating him badly, after all.

“Yes, yes. That beloved Moonshadow creed of yours.” Viren sighed tolerantly, considering the prisoner before him. “You consider yourself dead already, so you stubbornly waste away and wait until the dehydration makes it true. I wonder: do all Moonshadow elves have this…fortitude…or is it only you?” He mused aloud, thoughts trickling inexorably onwards to something…interesting. Yes, that was an idea. A way to use his frustration with General Amaya for something productive. The edges of his lips twitched upwards, which the elf didn’t seem to miss. “…Or perhaps, is it only the assassins?”

The prisoner’s eyes narrowed, a little wary, as if he were suspicious of the thought that had put the edge of a smile onto Viren’s face. He said nothing, only wore his stormy expression, as if it were a shield capable of guarding him. How wrong he was.

“Does that extend to the younger assassins, too?” Viren asked, almost conversationally, as if genuinely curious. He clearly wasn’t fooling the elf, though – he’d already tensed a little. “That young assassin girl of yours, for instance.” Oh, there, that was nice. The elf’s entire body had gone still at that one, the expression had frozen on his face – yes, this was where to find a reaction. “Ah, I assume you know who I mean, then? Good. That makes things…simpler.” He smiled then, more widely, making his satisfaction plainly evident. “She’s one of yours, I take it? Another assassin? Is she already dead, too?”

Those words seemed to drag the prisoner forcibly out of his unnatural stillness. His face contorted into a rictus of a snarl, in the space of a second, lips drawing back like an angry dog’s. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes narrowed into furious, burningly-blue slits that half-glowed in the low light. Inhuman, he thought, unbidden, and shrugged off the instinctive shiver of unease that those eyes wanted to prompt in him. He focused on the breadth of the reaction instead, and how excellent a sign it was.

Good. Good. That was good. Finally, a proper response. A weak point, perhaps, for Viren to gouge at. “Perhaps you have a harder time applying your philosophy to others, is that it? It’s easy enough to accept the inevitability of your own death…but someone else’s? Yes, I imagine that would be more difficult.” His smile turned sly, just a hair’s breadth short of mocking. “Who is she to you, I wonder? A student? A sister? A daughter?”

His adversary gave only the barest twitch – but that was enough. Viren couldn’t quite draw any conclusions about specifics from that, perhaps, but he could tell something.

“Important to you, certainly.” He concluded, pleased, and watched the elf look even more furious. “More than a mere colleague, at least.” He affected a sad, wistful sigh. “What a shame for you, given it seems your philosophy holds true for her, after all.”

“…What do you mean by that?” Growled out the elf, voice a low snarl, the expression on his face the epitome of murder. If he weren’t half-dead from starvation and dehydration, and chained up besides, Viren might have felt concerned. Instead, he felt nearly elated at provoking a response of this magnitude. A weak spot, indeed!

He schooled his face into surprised realisation. “Oh, of course, you wouldn’t know.” He said, as if this were genuinely news to him. “They say your assassin girl killed Prince Callum and Prince Ezran when she fled the capital, you see.” The dark hand twitched at that, fingers seeming to flex a little. Interesting. “I imagine you must be very proud of her, following in your footsteps, so to speak. Not that it will matter, soon.” Viren watched closely. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of General Amaya?”

He had. That was perfectly obvious from the way his head jerked back, ever-so-slightly, in response to the name. The intelligence did say that General Amaya had earned some notoriety at the Breach. It seemed it was well-founded.

He wanted to get the elf to admit it, though. “It’s hard to tell what you Xadians hear of our forces, I’m sure you understand.” He said, airily, waving a hand as though to dismiss the notion. “I wouldn’t want to bore you with gossip on people you aren’t familiar with, though, so if you don’t know her, well-“

“I have heard of the General Amaya.” The elf’s voice was low and angry as he interrupted – actually interrupted!

Viren eyed him, carefully masking his delight from his features. Oh, what a wonderful vulnerability he’d seized upon, here. “Oh, have you?” He asked, with faux-surprise. “Perhaps you’ll follow along, then. You see – the Princes of Katolis were the esteemed General’s nephews. I understand they were very dear to her.”

The snarl on the elf’s face went oddly fixed and lifeless, then, as if frozen in place. The vivid fury in his eyes slipped away, going blank for a single, motionless second. Then the eyes widened, just slightly, as the meaning of Viren’s words seemed to occur to him.

“She’s rather distraught, you know.” He said, shaking his head sadly. “I met with her earlier today. It seems she’s sworn herself to a mission of revenge. She has decided to personally lead the hunt for that little assassin of yours, and who was I to hold back a woman from her rightful justice? So, I’m sure you begin to see what I mean.”

Slowly, colour was draining from the elf’s already-pale face. His expression, so full of rage before, had slackened into something tight and tense, as if that might hide the depth of his vulnerability from Viren. It didn’t, of course. He could see the fear in his prisoner’s eyes, plain as daylight. It surprised him, how pleased he was to witness it. This elf had been a tough nut to crack – but here, at last, was a point of leverage.

Better press his advantage. “Certainly, if I had a bereaved, enraged General Amaya pursuing me on a quest of personal vengeance, I’d have to consider myself more-or-less ‘already dead’.” He mused, watching for the reaction. “So, as I said, it does seem that your Moonshadow philosophy is appropriate for that girl. She’s fleeing alone, without supplies, across a great deal of hostile terrain, with the General’s forces on her heels. I don’t expect she’ll last very long.”

The ‘without supplies’ part wasn’t strictly true, given the reports from the Lodge, but it was a useful lie to tell. Viren watched, satisfied, as the elf’s pallor worsened, as his fingers flexed urgently where they were bound as if desperate to act, to do something. He could only imagine what thoughts might be running through the assassin’s head, right now.

He considered mentioning the General’s intentions in more detail, to stir the prisoner a little more, but decided against it. Best hold that back for a later occasion. He had a good thing to work with here; if he was careful, he might be able to get something out of the elf with this. Perhaps if he played his hand correctly, the elf would even volunteer information in exchange for news about his errant assassin girl. He’d have to arrange to have the elf force-fed soon, to prevent him from dying before he reached the end of his use.

What an interesting development this was. Previously, he’d been growing displeased with this prisoner’s lack of utility or response. He’d been considering threats to use that might count as sufficiently terrifying so as to be worse than death. He’d been eyeing his pouch of special coins, speculatively, trying to make time to move that unwieldy mirror to this cell….But this – this seemed useful. This might well be the leverage he’d been searching for.

What, after all, could be a greater strength or a greater weakness than love?

“I can tell that the girl’s fate concerns you.” Viren said, in the end, with all the smoothly-feigned sympathy he could muster. “I’ll be sure to keep you informed of the progress of…well. The hunt, I suppose, would be the best thing to call it.”

The elf pressed his lips together so furiously they turned white. The look in his eyes might have been either rage or terror, or even both.

Viren smiled, stood, and took the jug of water with him. “If I receive any word, you’ll be the first to know.” He promised, taking one last look at the pale, near-trembling form of his elven prisoner.

Then, with deliberate nonchalance, he turned and left the cell, ascending the stairs back into the cold light of day.

---

The river winding out of the north of Verdorn was, as Callum had said, thoroughly inundated with signs of civilisation. In only a half-hour of walking, they passed two separate mills and also a house, and at one point spotted a barge laden with lumber heading down-river from the valley. All the while, the sound of the river hissed in her ears, setting her on edge even more than the constant signs of human activity did. She kept her hood up, and tried not to feel too uncomfortable.

In the end, though, the ceaseless ache of her hand was more than enough motivation for her to stay their course.

Not long after finding a third mill, Rayla spotted the willows growing along the river. There were eight, five on the other side of the river, and three more immediately accessible. They were plainly well-used by the human population, because most of the easily-accessible trunk and branches were utterly bare, stripped clean of their bark.

But, she noted, no one seemed to have bothered with the higher branches.

“…Are those the willows?” Callum guessed, tentatively, when she’d been still and staring at the trees for a good minute.

She rolled her eyes. “Nah, I’m just appreciating the scenery.” She said, dryly, and slung her bag from her shoulders. “I just love stopping to stare at trees for no good reason.”

“Uhuh.” Callum snorted, and after a moment followed suit, setting his bag onto the grass. “I guess we’ll be taking a break here, then?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Rayla asked, already approaching the nearest tree with hook-blade in her good hand, scanning it briefly to determine the easiest way to climb it.

“Oh, just a hunch.” He answered, wry, and Ezran giggled at them as he sat to watch.

It was, in a way, kind of demoralising to have to assess this tree for a good climbing strategy. She should have been able to jump into it with barely a thought. It should have been near-effortless, a manoeuvre she’d undertaken so many times that it was all but second nature. But her hand seared at her side, stiff and horribly tender, and she knew that trying to use it to climb would not end well for her.

In the end, she took a few steps back, made a running leap at the tree, and hooked her weapon into a junction between two branches to pull herself up, settling amongst the twigs and leaves. A quick flick shifted the hook back into blade-form, and she set to work stripping the bark from the branches.

“Anything we can do to help?” Callum called from ground-level, and she considered it, looking down through the branches.

“Not right now.” She decided, gathering the bark into the crook of her bad arm. “Sit and draw, or something. I’ve got a few trees to get through.”

He seemed perfectly happy to abide by that instruction, and so she spent the next half-hour comprehensively denuding the willow trees of their bark, sticking a piece into her mouth to chew as she worked. By the time she had a large enough supply of the stuff that it would probably be challenging to fit into her bag, the pain was already ebbing a little. Not hugely, maybe, but after a night and day of agony, any alleviation of it was a blessing.

“Right.” She decided, tilting her head to stare at the branches of the third tree. “That should definitely do it.” With that, she dropped the small pile of bark unceremoniously out of the branches, where Ezran happily went to work gathering it up like he had for the other two trees. She considered the soreness of her hand, debating her options, and in the end elected to jump down from the tree. The impact as she landed jolted her hand, as she’d expected – but, while painful, it was…bearable. The bark was already helping.

“I put it all in a pile near your bag.” Ez said, brightly, as he gathered up the last pieces. “Do you want me to help – Bait, no, you shouldn’t eat that-“

“If you can fit some in your bag around the egg, I’ll be grateful.” She said, watching the glow toad’s colour go especially dark and grumpy as he was denied access to the pile. “Otherwise, I’ll manage.”

Callum peered at her as she went to start packing her bag, and said “Are you done, then? Is that enough?”

She snorted, eyes on the very considerable quantity of the stuff she’d harvested. “If it isn’t, I’ll be very concerned.” She said, with a touch of humour. “This much willow bark would last us all weeks, probably, even if we were all chewing some three times a day.”

“….Right. Good.” Callum cleared his throat, closed his sketchbook, and stood up. “Well, if we’re going to be moving soon, I’m just going to go – er – go.” He said, and then went off into the trees, presumably to answer the call of nature.

Less than a minute later, she heard him shriek, and flinched from her bag with a hand darting quickly towards a blade. She heard the undergrowth rustling, and then – Callum returned from the trees, face panicked, pursued by-

She blinked, startled.

Pursued by, it seemed, an especially angry white goose.

“Help!” He yelped at her, as he broke into the clearing. The goose chased after him, wings mantled and long neck lowered at him as it hissed and flapped at his heels. “It just started – came out of nowhere – bit me-“ he tripped over one of the willows’ roots and then stared up in terror as the feathery menace advanced on him.

“That is a really grumpy goose, wow-“ Ezran said, eyes wide, as he scrambled back. “He’s not trying to hurt you? Or invade your territory? Or steal your food?” he added, a little desperately….to the goose? “You don’t need to drive him away, I swear?”

The goose, unconvinced, lunged forwards and bit Callum on the arm he was attempting to ward it off with. He yelped again, trying unsuccessfully to push it off, and – okay, that was enough. Rayla broke through her bemusement, strode forwards, and grabbed the goose behind its head, wrestling its body under her arms so it couldn’t slap her with its wings.

It honked and shrieked at her, absolutely enraged, as she stood to move it away from Callum.

“He really isn’t listening at all.” Ezran noted, staring. “He really doesn’t like you. Or Callum. Or me.”

She wondered, idly, whether he was enough of a bird expert to tell that the goose was male, or if he was just guessing. “I did get that impression.” Rayla said dryly, weathering the bird’s attempts to wrestle free with equanimity. It was a powerful bird, maybe, but if she couldn’t restrain a goose she’d probably have to die of shame. “I’ve never met a goose I liked.”

“…I mean, they’re usually pretty cranky.” The little prince admitted.

“Hm.” She responded, idly, as she considered the very angry bird flailing ineffectually in her arms. It struggled fruitlessly to free its neck from her hand, and then made a sound interestingly reminiscent of a volcanic gas vent.

“…Thank you for the rescue.” Callum said, with an attempt at dignity, as he pulled himself from the ground and removed a downy white feather from his shirt. “Er. Are you…planning on letting it go?”

She hummed again, eyes narrowed. “Interesting question.” She said, contemplating the size of the bird, the work it would represent, the hour of the day…

In the end, though, it wasn’t like it was every day that potential dinner ran at you shrieking and hissing and attacked one of your human companions. Feathers were a pain, and it was a larger animal than convenient, since they’d need to stop travelling to cook it, but…they needed food. And geese made good eating.

“Oh.” Callum seemed to realise her intent when she’d been silent for a few seconds. “Er.”

She cast a vaguely irritable glance his way, aware that he still hadn’t spoken to his brother about this, and…really, she’d waited long enough. They’d all waited long enough. Travelling without hunting in this sort of terrain wasn’t sustainable, and it wasn’t smart. She was about out of patience for his recalcitrance.

“I’m going to take this bird away now.” She said to him, flatly. “And you can explain to your brother why I’m doing that.”

With that, she stalked off into the treeline, a large water-bird conducting its last angry moments beneath her arm.

---

Once she’d moved a suitable distance from the boys, Rayla found a secluded hollow and pinned the bird against the ground, thankful that the pain-relief provided by the willow bark had made her hand vaguely usable again. The goose hissed and struggled, wings flapping ineffectually against the grass, and she reached back for a blade. Without ceremony, she slit the bird’s throat and held it still for the seconds it took to die, the metallic stench of blood biting into the air.

She closed her eyes for a few seconds to respect the animal’s death, feeling the warmth of its lifeblood on her fingers. It was just a goose, maybe, but it had been a living thing, and it hadn’t wanted to die. She’d hunted before, so this had no particular emotional impact for her, but – it was important to respect the lives you took. Animal or elf or human – all deserved that respect. All were owed it, as price for their deaths.

She felt the pressure of the bind on her hand, exhaled, and opened her eyes. The white feathers were stained with blood, now, dark red seeping into the earth.

She picked the dead bird up by the legs and, with some difficulty, went to hang it in a tree to drain a little. She wiped her hands and her blade on the grass and went out to look for a suitable place to camp.

She hated to stop them so early in the day. She especially hated to stop so close to human settlement. But the goose had been a chance she couldn’t afford to waste, and it would take a long time to cook and prepare, and they needed it. It was risky, but…well, going without food was decidedly not a smart idea in the long run. It would have to do.

Rayla found a decent clearing not too far away, and after inspecting herself for signs of gore, went back to find the boys.

She found them by the river in what looked like an unhappy silence, Ezran folded amongst the roots of a willow with his hands in his bag, Bait sat against his leg. His expression was closed-off and his shoulders were tense. Callum, nearby, had his sketchbook open, but plainly wasn’t actually drawing in it. He kept glancing back at Ezran, uneasy, and it was relatively obvious what had transpired while she was gone. Callum had told him, then, and he wasn’t happy about it.

Rayla lingered in the shadows of the trees for a few seconds longer, watchful, and then approached. “Everything alright?” She asked them, even though the answer was fairly obvious.

Callum looked up at her, blinking, and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. All good.” He said unconvincingly, and then gave her a cursory inspection, possibly for blood or feathers, that he’d probably intended to be discreet. “Where’s…um…”

“Somewhere else.” She answered, and let her eyes move between him and Ez for a second. She shook her head. “Get up, I’ve found us somewhere to camp. Best get us over there now.”

That seemed to elicit Ezran’s curiosity enough that he deigned to look over at her. At her impatient gesturing, he reluctantly pulled himself up, removing his hands from his backpack. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Isn’t it kind of early to camp?” Callum inquired after a moment, clasping his sketchbook shut and standing. “…Er. Not that I’m complaining!”

“Preparing that much meat takes a long time.” She told him, without bothering to sugar-coat the words, or to speak quietly to shield the words from Ezran. She wasn’t unsympathetic – she remembered her first hunt – but this was going to be a long journey. She wouldn’t make anything better by tip-toeing around the fact that there was a dead goose in a tree nearby. “It’ll take the rest of the day, probably.”

“…Oh, um. Right.” Callum cleared his throat, eyes moving conspicuously to his brother every other second. “So. Er – is it far? The camp.”

“A couple minutes away, if that.” Rayla watched Ezran lingering by the tree, silent, for a few moments more. Then she approached him. Laid a hand on his shoulder, and offered him a small smile when he looked up. “Come on, Ez.” She said, voice gentler. “Let’s go, alright?”

“…Okay.” He said, quiet, and obediently followed after her, Bait hopping at his heels.

She led them to the clearing she’d picked out, which showed signs of having been used by woodsmen sometime last year, if the decay of the tree stumps was anything to judge by. She set their things down and said “We can wait a while to set up the tent. Today the priority is going to be cooking. We’ll need a lot of firewood. Maybe enough to keep two fires burning for hours.”

“I’ll get the wood.” Ezran said, abruptly, setting his bag down and heading off into the shadow of the trees without looking back at them, glow-toad in pursuit.

Rayla stood beside Callum as they watched him go, quiet. Callum exhaled beside her, troubled. “He’s pretty upset, I think.” He said, softly.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say something sarcastic, like ‘no, really?’, or ‘I gathered’. Instead she nodded, and asked “What did he say?”

“Nothing.” Callum said, frustration slipping into his voice. “I – you know, I explained how there’s not enough food for us to live on in the mountains unless we hunt, and…well, he’s not dumb, he guessed pretty fast what you were doing with that goose, and then he just…” He waved his hands. “Shut down. Just said ‘I get it’, and then…” He gestured at the treeline Ezran had slipped into, past which Rayla could hear the sounds of the little prince rustling about in the undergrowth.

“Maybe he’ll be up for talking later.” Rayla murmured, and rested her hand briefly on his shoulder, a quick reassurance. “Until then, probably best to let him process it however he needs to.”

He sighed. “Yeah. I guess.”

She observed him for a few moments, and then nudged him. “Look, I need to prepare that goose.” She said, and he grimaced slightly. “But even if you’re too squeamish for any of the rest of it-“ She exhaled, gritting her teeth a little before she admitted “-I’ll need help with the plucking. It wouldn’t be easy even if I had both hands, but…”

He swallowed, then set his jaw determinedly. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s, um, that’s fine. I’ll help.” He shifted. “I…I’m not exactly used to blood and stuff, though.”

Rayla sighed, a little relieved. “It’s fine. Just do your best.” She stepped across the clearing and cupped her hands around her mouth to call for Ez: “Ezran! Call if you need anything!” He didn’t reply, but he wasn’t so far away that he wouldn’t have heard. Probably. Human hearing probably wasn’t that bad, right? She shrugged, and led Callum through the trees to where she’d hung the goose.

It was draining well, and had left a dark red stain down the trunk of the tree while she was gone. She saw Callum stop at the sight of it, go a little green, and then visibly gather his fortitude and follow her forwards. Rayla retrieved the goose from the tree and sat herself near the roots. Callum followed her lead, seating himself gingerly beside her, staring at the bird with mild trepidation.

“I somehow never thought of how many feathers you need to get off a bird to eat it.” He admitted, looking at it.

“It’s a pain.” Rayla said, with feeling. “I hate plucking birds. Especially when you have to do it in the wild. It’s much easier if you can pour boiling water over it first, but something this size – that’s not something we can really do, out here. So we have to do it the hard way.” She made a face, braced her leg against the goose to keep it in place, and then set about pulling feathers from its back.

“…Is there any special trick to it, or…?” He asked, uncertainly, fingers wavering in the air. After a moment, he made the sensible decision of removing his gloves.

She shrugged. “Try to pull from the root of the feather instead of the fluff?” She offered, and followed her own advice. Soon she was casting bloody feathers aside, beginning a pile to her left. After a few more moments of conspicuous hesitation, Callum moved his hands over to help, and they set at the task together.

They worked quietly, for the most part, pulling feathers and putting them aside. Once, he asked if she was planning to cook the neck (she wasn’t), and another time he inquired about the best way to extract the deeply-rooted flight feathers on the wings. In demonstrating that, she had to brace the wing with her bad hand to pull at the feathers, hissing a little with the soreness of it as she yanked the feather free.

Watching this, Callum mused “I…didn’t actually tell you what the healer said, did I? Or, were you listening?”

Rayla tensed a little, remembering how she’d loitered outside the building close to a window, where the sound filtered around the edges of the glass. Remembering the obvious, painful worry of the boys as they spoke to the healer. “…I was listening.” She admitted, with a half-shrug. “At least until Ez came out.”

“So you heard what she said about keeping your hand circulated?” He inquired, looking down at it. She flexed the fingers in feathers, very slowly, and grimaced at the tight pain it provoked.

“I did.” She admitted. Her hand had been painful enough earlier that the thought of moving it so comprehensively had been awful enough, but the concept of massaging it? Practically unthinkable. The willow bark had helped, but…well, it only went so far. Still… “This is going to hurt,” She sighed, grim, and forced herself to set herself back to work with both hands, this time.

Her hand was too stiff to effectively close its fingers around the vanes of the feathers, so she ended up using it mainly for bracing herself against the animal’s skin, making it somewhat easier to pull the feathers with her other hand. Even so, it hurt to move her hand so much, hurt like pulling at an enormous bruise, and set the searing ache around the binding to worsening. She hissed and flinched at it from time to time, and to her side saw Callum flinch with her.

“…Is the willow bark not helping?” He asked, in a somewhat timid voice, after a while.

“No, it is.” She sighed, voice a little strained as she worked. “This would be way worse if it wasn’t.” He looked almost crestfallen at that, as if dismayed that it wasn’t helping more, and she looked away as her gut twisted.

It was…nice, she supposed, that he and Ez cared so much. That Callum was sitting here so aware of her pain that he winced when she did, and was unhappy when the willow-bark didn’t prove powerful enough, and had gone to so much effort to try to find some way to help her. But, at the same time, it was a little galling. Not just because the whole thing smacked of weakness, but also – also, she hated to see what the worry was doing to the boys.

She knew they wouldn’t find anything to save her hand. They were heading off into the mountains, now, and wouldn’t see anyone else for probably two weeks or more. Their chances of finding some miraculous magic-breaking thing or healer along the way weren’t even worth considering. She was going to lose her hand, and Callum and Ez still had hope that they could change that, and…and they were just going to be disappointed. They were just going to get hurt.

She thought of having the conversation with them. Thought of how to let them down gently about it all. Thought of how she’d tell them to give up hope, and accept that there was nothing they could do. Then she exhaled, remembering how long Callum had put off his talk with Ezran, remembering what she still hadn’t told them about their father.

In the end, it was just…difficult, to have conversations that you knew would hurt people. Even when it was necessary. Even when there was only so long it could be delayed.

What had that healer said? A couple of days at most until she started losing fingers? It wouldn’t be long, now. Her gut felt oddly tight at the thought of it, nausea clutching at her throat and unhappy tension quivering strangely under her skin as she imagined her hand finally turning black, going still, going dead-

She pulled at wing-feathers a little too vigorously in her agitation, and one of the vanes splintered as she pulled it free; the feathers came loose too-quickly and she jolted against her bad hand as she moved, and yelped at the sudden raw pain-

“Ow!” She dropped the feathers and pulled her hand automatically to her chest, a new kind of pain stinging horribly on her finger.

“What is it?” Callum asked, alarmed, dropping his hands from the bird and leaning over.

She made herself check, holding her hand out to stare at the finger. “…Burst the blister, I think.” She said, finally, looking at the round, virulently-red pit between her first and second knuckles. A little skin was hanging off the side of it, abraded away by her misstep with the feathers. It was just a little wet, sluggishly leaking a clear fluid. The touch of air seared against it. She winced, and gingerly picked bits of feather from her hand. “…I think I’d best go disinfect and wrap this.” She said, distinctly unhappy at the prospect. “Don’t want to get anything in it.”

“No, let me do it.” Callum said, frowning worriedly at her hand. “It won’t be easy for you to wrap something on your own hand. We want to go boil some water to clean it, right? Hopefully Ez has got some firewood by now.” He stood, clearly intending to go off to see, and she twitched.

“I’ll handle the fire stuff.” She said, waving him back down. “You’ve got two good hands, keep working on the feathers. I’ll call you over when I’ve got enough of a fire to boil water.”

He eyed her. “Well, alright.” He said, reluctantly, after a while, and sat back down. “There’s not too much left to do here, anyway.”

She snorted. “Plucking is just the first step. ” She informed him. “Once that’s done I’ve got to gut it and hack it up. I’m guessing you’ll not be excited to help with that.”

After a few seconds of looking wide-eyed and slightly ill, he said, valiantly “….I can try.”

Rayla’s lips turned upwards, reluctantly amused. She patted him on the shoulder as she stood. “I’ll call you in a while.” She said, and went off to inspect their camp.

---

Callum had mostly finished with the plucking when Rayla called him over. He set the bird down, not sure what else to do with it, and gingerly picked feather-fluff from bloody fingers as he approached the camp. Rayla had one fire going and space set aside for another when he arrived, and had carefully removed their iron pot (full of steaming water) from over the flames.

“Where’s Ez?” he asked, after failing to spot his brother or his brother’s glow-toad in the vicinity.

“Still collecting firewood.” She answered, gesturing at the pile already accumulated a fair distance away from the makeshift firepits. “We’ll need a lot of it. And, well, he still seems to want some time alone.” She passed him the little field-healer’s kit she’d taken from the lodge, as well as a jar of water, and their increasingly-diminutive soap bar. “You’d better wash up if you want to put your ‘field-healing’ to work.”

He huffed, and did as he was told, glancing over her hands as he did so. “How’s the blister?”

“Nasty.” She answered, succinctly, and watched as he cleaned and disinfected his hands and went rooting in what she would probably call a first-aid kit. “Would probably be nastier without the willow-bark though, so there’s that.”

She presented her hand when he was ready, and he spent several careful minutes cleaning the blister, wrapping it in a thin strip of bandage, and tying the ends into place. Caring for a wound that small wasn’t exactly a long or involved process, but it was a little nerve-wracking – the thing was clearly intensely sore, and she hissed with pain at the disinfectant in particular, but…well, he did his job, and the blister was cleaned and wrapped, so he supposed that was something.

“First time I’ve used that field-healing training for anything.” He commented, wry, and started packing the things back away.

Rayla planted a piece of willow-bark into her mouth and started chewing. “Relatively nice for a first injury to do. Just a little blister.” She said, amused, words indistinct and a little slurred around the chunk of bark, and then even more so as she continued. “How’s the bird?” It sounded more like howsshebrd, but he could understand her well enough, given the context.

“Plucking’s basically done now, I think?” There were still bits of feather-vane stuck in the skin all over that he’d probably need pliers to remove, but given the lack of pliers, there wasn’t much he could do about that.

“Gd.” Rayla expressed, still chewing, and stood to return to the forest, presumably to see to the bird. Uncertain of what he was meant to be doing, Callum wavered hesitantly for a minute or two before following.

He caught up to her just as she crouched over the goose, blade in place at the base of its neck. She braced herself, then dropped the weight of her body down through the blade, severing the muscle and bone beneath it with a horrible crunch. The sight of it – the abrupt amputation of the goose’s neck – hit him like a sledgehammer, taking all the breath from him. He swayed in place, brought his hands to his mouth, and gagged a few times before he managed to get the sudden and shocking flood of nausea under control, the burn of acid rising horribly in the middle of his chest.

She looked up at him, sympathetic. She visibly moved the willow-bark into her cheek before speaking. “If that nearly made you puke, you might not want to stick around for the disembowelling.” She said, voice a little wry.

He made a sound that sounded like ‘erk’, supressed another gag, and swayed again before hastily retreating back to camp, his pulse feeling fast and thready in his throat.

Callum sat himself down by the still-burning campfire, mind gone blank and limbs strangely shaky, and took in several shuddering breaths of smoky air. Nausea curled with the acid at the back of his tongue, and there was a sick weight in his stomach, and his pulse was weird and his breathing was weird like he was having a panic – but what was there to panic at? It had – it had been gross to see the bird decapitated, maybe, and he had expected to be a bit squeamish, but why, why was he so…so shaky about it? Was it just after-effects from his reaction to what the healer had told him?

He shuddered, mind inexorably recalling the sound of it, the visceral crunch of bone and sinew, and – suddenly, he understood.

Maybe it wasn’t after-effects from what the healer had told him…but it was the same issue, in the end.

Callum sat by the fire and breathed air and wood-smoke, and tried not to think too hard about the commonality between what Rayla had just done and what he, plausibly, might end up needing to do. He tried not to wonder whether – whether the motions of amputating a hand would look the same, would involve that same full-body motion spoken through a blade, whether it would crunch the same visceral, sickening way-

He tried not to think and tried not to wonder, but he did not quite succeed on either count.

A while later, Ezran returned with his latest armful of dead branches, some of them cleanly-enough truncated that they were probably victims of last season’s lumberjacks, and stopped short at the edge of the clearing at the sight of him. Then, a little hesitantly, he approached to put his burden down upon the growing pile. Callum was aware of him wavering, silent, a few metres away – but he was still kind of busy breathing slow and even and trying not to think about certain things, and didn’t speak.

That, apparently, made up whatever was going on in his brother’s mind, and Ez crept slowly up to him. “…Callum?” he asked, tentative, coming to a stop near his shoulder, still-standing. “…Are you okay?”

Callum swallowed, tasting acid, and managed to say “Fine. Completely – yeah, fine.” Under other circumstances, he’d have been glad for Ez breaking his avoidant silence, but he was a little distracted right now.

His brother scrutinised him, evidently unconvinced. “You look kind of sick.” He said, sitting down. Bait hopped up and settled nearby. “And pale. And, um, shaky.” He eyed Callum’s hands, still bare of their gloves, and the subtle tremors they were perpetrating through the fabric of his trousers.

“I’ll be fine.” Callum assured him, probably a little too faintly to be reassuring.

Ezran reached over to put a hand on his arm, fingers closing on his sleeve. He was silent for a few seconds, and then he said “You’re scared.” A statement, spoken softly, but with every indication of certainty. Ez always had been good at reading people’s moods.

He closed his eyes, and exhaled. “Maybe a bit.” He admitted, quiet.

Ez shifted, let the quiet hold for a few seconds, then asked “What’re you scared about? …Did something happen?”

Callum wondered if, at this remove, Rayla could hear a softly-spoken conversation. “…Just, you know,” He curled fingers around his left wrist, in a sort of self-explanatory representation of the binding. “That. And how…” He found the words slipping from his lips, as if they’d been waiting for a chance to escape, “how we’re…running out of time.”

Ezran processed that, then looked down at his feet. “…Oh.” He said, unhappily. His eyes wandered to his bag, sat with the rest of the bags, as if it was of particular relevance to the topic. Callum followed his gaze, but couldn’t see anything that stood out to him – just Ezran’s bag, its sides rounded out by the shape of the egg within. He did, however, notice the tent pack.

He sighed, and straightened. “We’re not doing ourselves any good by sitting around moping though, I guess.” He said, and nodded towards their stuff. “If you can take a break from the firewood for a bit, want to help me set up the tent?”

His eyes lit up. “Can we do the putting-up-the-tent bit?” he asked, eagerly. As of yet, he and Callum hadn’t tried that part without Rayla, given it required at least one of you to know what you were doing. Callum mulled it over, torn between his awareness of his limited experience and the reflexive desire to cheer up his brother.

Eventually, he said “Eh, may as well give it a go.” And they went off to, through a somewhat prolonged period of trial-and-error, get the tent set up alone.

“We’re getting good at this.” Ezran pronounced, with deep satisfaction, when they’d finished and the doors to the tent interior were hanging open. Bait, who seemed to have grown fond of the sheltered space, promptly hopped inside and settled against one sloping wall.

“I guess we are.” Callum agreed, with a half-smile, and took his cloak from his bag to untie it and lay it out. Ezran followed his example, expression open and pleased, and it seemed like he’d forgotten his earlier melancholy – or, at least, had been distracted from it – but then-

“You set the tent up already?” Rayla’s voice came from outside, a little bemused, and he poked his head out to locate her. “And on your own? Not bad.” His eyes, somewhat automatically, went to what she was holding. Which, it seemed, was a wash-cloth full of slabs of meat, bloody and raw and more than a little gross to look at.

Ezran was cheerful when he replied, eyes bright as he turned out of the tent interior to say “It took a few tries! But-“ he stopped as his eyes fell on her, and his expression dimmed. “…But, we did it.” He finished, much more quietly, and watched as she planted some of her bounty into the cooking pot. He sighed, slowly, as if the cheer were escaping him with the breath.

Rayla set the rest of it down beside the fire, and looked over. Her eyes were gentle and understanding as they settled on his brother. “You alright, Ez?” She asked, and Callum looked between them nervously.

“…Yeah.” Ezran said, softly, and withdrew himself from the tent. He hesitated for a second, looking between them and the campfire, and turned away. “…I’m gonna go get some more wood.”

It was a pretty blatant ‘I want to be alone’ signal, but Callum wasn’t so sure it was a good idea to let him go off again rather than…try to talk to him, or something, help him through whatever he was dwelling on. “Ez…”

Rayla didn’t seem to share his compunctions, though; she nodded, and only said “Don’t go too far. And don’t take too long, alright?”

“Okay.” Ezran nodded, very slightly, and returned to the shadows of the trees with his shoulders hunched and tense. Callum watched him go, conflicted, and slowly picked his way across their campsite to where Rayla was crouched by the fire.

“Shouldn’t we be trying to talk to him?” he asked, in an undertone, as if Ez could still hear him.

She considered it, looking across at him with a sort of sombre pensiveness. “He’ll talk to us when he’s ready, I think.” She said, finally, and poured some water out from a waterskin into the iron pot, filling the rest of the space available.

“And if he doesn’t?” Ezran had a tendency to run away and hide when he didn’t want to deal with something. It would be pretty hard for him to avoid them too long on a journey like this, maybe, but…

“Then we find a way to talk to him. But for now…” She hesitated for a moment and shrugged. “He’s your brother, Callum. You’ve known him a lot longer than I have. But I think it won’t hurt to give him more time to think.”

He sighed. “I hope you’re right.” He said, eventually, and watched her work with their dinner. “…Anything I can help with?”

“Well, Callum, I’m glad you asked,” She flashed a grin at him, and passed him some long sticks she’d picked out of the firewood. “Get one of my blades and strip all the bark off those. Make them pointy, so we can stake some meat on them. But before you do that, get the second fire going.”

It was strangely relieving to have been given something to do. He nodded gladly, taking the specified sticks and setting them aside, and went to gather some good tinder from Ezran’s pile.

He set the sparks into the wood and leaves, and watched them catch alight.

---

They worked, for the most part, in companionable silence, broken by occasional murmurs and questions and easy answers. Callum sharpened up the stakes and she piled small cuts of meat onto them like she was making kebabs. The meat in the pot that she was boiling was hissing merrily away, and she felt relatively comfortable leaving Callum to stir it while she went to collect more meat from the carcass.

A goose was a big bird. There was a lot of meat on something that size, enough that they’d be cooking it for hours. Enough that they’d be eating it for likely several days, and it would be a challenge to find a hygienic way to store it all in their bags. She sent Callum to wash the cloths and refill their waterskins at the river at one point, trusting that he wouldn’t mind handling the water for her, and felt her stomach rumble insistently as the smell of cooking meat rose thickly into the air.

Ezran returned several times with armfuls of wood, but didn’t speak beyond mumbling affirmatives when she asked him if he was doing alright. He seemed a little more tense and a little more unhappy every time she asked – so she stopped asking, and left him to it. Bait emerged from the tent to join him after a while, hopping off into the trees.

Eventually, though, the firewood heap was getting excessive, and the afternoon was stretching into early evening, and some of the food would be ready soon. She caught Ezran by the arm as he stood to head off again, saying “That’s enough wood now, Ez. We don’t need any more.”

Callum looked over as his brother lingered uncertainly by the fire. “…Oh.” He said, quietly, as she deprived him of his excuse to go off alone again. “…Okay.”

After several moments of wordless, almost confused lingering, he went to get his bag and withdrew the egg as had become his habit. He sat by the tent instead of by the fire, at a noticeable remove from them and the cooking, and let his eyes slip closed as his hands settled on the eggshell. Bait stared at him for a while, croaking questioningly, and then sat with a disgruntled harrumph when he was ignored.

Rayla exchanged a glance with Callum, shrugged helplessly, and set back to work.

The quiet was more awkward, now, all of them avoiding the obvious issue of Ezran’s upset and the way he was very determinedly not talking about it. The silence did break, from time-to-time – Rayla wasn’t sure if Callum could hear it, but Ez was muttering, very quietly. Quietly enough she couldn’t make out all of the words.

“What do you think?” She heard him say, once, very softly. A good while later, a sigh, and “…you don’t get it either, huh.” Then, a half-minute after: “I know. It’s okay. You can’t help it.”

It sounded, disturbingly, like half of a conversation, and she was a little concerned at who he thought might be contributing the other half.

…He wasn’t talking to the egg, was he?

She cast him concerned, side-long glances as the campfires crackled and the water bubbled and goose-fat hissed as it dripped from the stakes to sizzle in the flames. Finally, when the weight of the silence had grown uncomfortable enough to move her, she spoke. “You talking to someone, Ezran?” She asked, projecting her voice enough to catch his attention. His head rose, startled, the blue of his eyes reflecting the blues of the eggshell.

“Um….no?” he said, unconvincingly, shifting the egg in his lap. “Just…talking to myself.”

Rayla raised an eyebrow. “Was it an interesting conversation?” She asked, tone lightly teasing, and managed to startle a giggle from him. Callum glanced at her, briefly, looking strangely relieved.

“…I guess?” He said, then sighed, looking down at the egg. One hand smoothed over its surface. “I was just…thinking.” The words went quiet and unhappy at the end. His lips turned more firmly downwards, expression somewhere between upset and sullen. Sad, but on-edge as well.

Callum fidgeted beside her, clearly wanting to say something, but just as clearly uncertain of what. “…Care to share, Ez?” She asked, as neutrally as possible, and elbowed her companion in an attempt to incite him to talk, already. She shot him a stare she hoped conveyed ‘I could use a little help, here’.

He cleared his throat and finally deigned to lend his voice to the proceedings. “…If you want to talk, Ez, we’re listening.” He said, awkward but sincere, and turned fully to look at his little brother over the metres of distance between them, fingers moving with anxious agitation at the edges of his scarf.

“I know you are.” Ezran said, and – there was an edge of plain frustration in the words. Frustration, almost to the point of sounding like an accusation.

Rayla blinked, brows furrowing lightly, as Callum stiffened at the strange tone. “…What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, warily.

Ezran exhaled, a quick and frustrated puff of air, and he carefully set the egg down at his side. “It means you’re not exactly subtle, Callum.” Now he definitely sounded a little accusative. He crossed his arms and turned away from them. “I know you want me to talk. I know!” His voice rose a little, thick with stress. “We’re supposed to talk about my problems and then everything will be great again. That’s what you want, right?”

Callum opened his mouth, then let it snap shut again. His face was almost comically nonplussed; he clearly hadn’t expected this response at all. Neither had Rayla, for that matter.

She raised her hands in a conciliatory motion. ”Ez…” She started, tone as soothing as she could make it, but he didn’t give her time to continue. He stood, pale eyes sweeping towards her, his face screwed up.

“I get it!” he snapped, scooping Bait up from next to the egg. The glow-toad offered a somewhat alarmed-sounding croak. “I should talk about – about the animals, and meat, and what’s bothering me and what I’m thinking – you don’t – you don’t need to dance around it. I know.”

Callum shifted, a tension in his shoulders that betrayed a touch of irritation. “Well, that would have been easier if you hadn’t spent half the day avoiding us.” He said, with a bit of an edge. He almost visibly held himself back from saying anything more argumentative. Still, that hadn’t exactly been a helpful comment.

She shot him a quelling look as Ezran exhaled, shoulders hunched and frustration writ in every line of his face.

“I know, Callum.” He huffed, not looking at them. “I always run away from my problems instead of just – talking about them. I know. You want me to talk about this. You do too, Rayla. Trust me, I can tell.” he shot that comment at her, accompanied by an icy flash of his eyes, and she blinked with surprise.

“…Seems better than sitting on it for the next two months.” She said, eventually, in as neutral a tone as she could manage. It seemed to take some of the wind out of his sails, at least, and he deflated a little.

“I know.” He said, a little quieter, a little more miserable. “I know. But – Rayla, Callum, I don’t – I don’t know what I think, okay? I know how I feel and it’s awful, but I – what am I meant to think? What can I think?” He blinked rapidly, and sat down again, a heavy collapse that made Bait complain. “You’re right, okay? I know we need to eat. We’re all hungry and we’ve got to eat. What is there to talk about?”

Rayla shared a glance with Callum, and she stood with him, crossing the distance to sit beside their youngest companion. “Something being necessary doesn’t mean it’s easy.” She told him, quietly. “You’re allowed to feel unhappy about it. Or…to not know what to think about it.”

Tentatively, Callum reached out to put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I think you’ll probably feel better if you try to talk it through with us, Ez. But…” he hesitated. “You don’t have to.”

“Sure I don’t.” Ezran said, a little woodenly, and shrugged the hand off. His shoulders were tense. “And then you’ll just be making worried eyes at me for days because I wouldn’t talk. That’ll be fun.”

“I can keep my face unworried.” Rayla said staunchly. “Picture of elven stoicism, I am.” He looked across at her, a little confused at the unexpected diversion from whatever he’d expected.

“…Sure?” He said, doubtfully, looking at her as if she’d gone mad. But the tense line of his shoulders had settled a little.

“And if your brother’s face gets too annoying, let me know. I might be able to arrange something.” She added, and Ezran blinked as Callum stared at her. “Like worms in his clothes. Or spiders in his hair. That should keep him distracted.”

Startled momentarily out of his mood, Ezran produced a short, amused huff. “…That would be pretty funny.” He said, quiet, lips twitching just a little at the edges.

Callum glanced at her side-long and grumbled. “Speak for yourself.” He didn’t seem too bothered, though. Perhaps he appreciated the levity, even if it came at his expense.

They sat in slightly-less-tense silence for the better part of a minute until Ezran sighed, heavily. “Look, I get it.” He said, wearily now, and stared down over the top of Bait’s yellow head. “We’re travelling, and we’re gonna be in the mountains, and – and there’s not enough for us to eat if we don’t – don’t-“ He scowled and broke off the sentence. “I get it.” He repeated, quieter, more miserably. “We need to eat. And even if there are enough plants and berries and stuff laying around, it takes too long to find them, and…I get it. I just…” Callum reached out again, and then hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure of its welcome.

Ezran looked out at the camp, at the two fires merrily burning, at the wealth of meat staked over the flames and lacing the air with delicious smells. Then he looked down at his lap, face screwed up.

“Ez…” Callum’s hand hung hesitantly in the air for a few moments longer, and then he let it fall.

“It’s just…hard.” Ezran said, miserably, not looking at them. “It’s not like I never ate meat before, but – I don’t think I’ve ever met an animal that…that I needed to eat. He was alive, and I felt him, and now – now he’s meat.” He sniffed, wiping his nose. “I just…it’s really sad.”

Rayla shared a glance with Callum, wondering briefly at the word ‘felt’, before considering the depth of Ezran’s reaction. Callum had been plainly uncomfortable around the dead animal, and reasonably squeamish about the preparation, but it had been a lot milder. More the reaction of a pampered person who’d never had to kill or prepare their own food before. Ezran, as Callum had predicted, was taking it a lot harder.

She mulled over what to say, thoughts turning to life and death, and the things she’d been taught. “I’m an assassin.” She said, slowly, as she considered her words. At the unexpected turn of conversation, Ezran lifted his head a little, and Callum turned towards her blinking. “But, more than that, I’m a Moonshadow assassin. We have…teachings. About what it means to take a life. I don’t know, maybe it’ll help you to hear them.”

Ezran blinked at her, uncertainly, but didn’t say anything to disagree. So…

She cleared her throat, and looked away, heart feeling a little strange. “’Life is precious. Life is valuable. We take it, but we do not take it lightly.’” She quoted, the words falling from her tongue with the ease of practice and the cadence of memory. The last time she’d heard the creed uttered, it had been Runaan who spoke it, even as he bound them all in the assassins’ ritual. She glanced across, and found them both looking at her, attentive, and looked quickly away again. Feeling oddly self-conscious, she added “I mean, I was taught that about killing, you know. Humans. But Moonshadow assassins – we’re taught to respect the life we take. That it’s…special. Precious.”

Ezran made a pensive noise, and he at least seemed a little less upset, if only because he was thinking. “I think it seems pretty weird to respect things by killing them.” He said, but without any particular judgement or disapproval. “But…I don’t know. It’s not like…” he trailed off, troubled, and frowned at his feet. “…One time, I met a banther with her cubs.”

Callum startled. “You what?” he squawked, looking his brother over as if to inspect him for banther-claw scars. “And you lived? Hell, Ezran-“

“It was months ago, Callum, and I was fine.” Ez interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Banthers are actually pretty friendly, you know. Anyway…” he shook his head. “That banther? She…um, she’d killed a deer. And brought it for her babies, because they were still too young to hunt, and…” He turned a little green. “It was pretty horrible. Really, um. Bloody. I was…”

Rayla, who’d raised her eyebrows at the first mention of banthers, settled a little to listen.

“She didn’t understand why I was upset.” Ezran said, pensive again. “To her it was just…natural. Normal. She needed to eat, and so did her cubs, and that was just…it. I thought about it for a while, and…it made sense, you know. Banthers don’t eat plants. They get sick if they try. So she has to eat meat. But I never really thought about – about humans needing to eat meat. Or elves, I guess. Because we can eat other things.” He didn’t sound like he was finished, but he fell quiet.

Bait croaked in Ezran’s lap, and the boy glanced down at him, absently patting him on the head. He was quiet for a few seconds, while Rayla watched and Callum’s brow furrowed, both of them waiting for him to continue.

���A lot of animals need to eat meat to live.” Ezran said, quietly, like he was thinking the words through as he spoke them. “And…I didn’t think really about it, but a lot of people need to eat meat to live, too. Because, I mean, it’s not like everyone can live off leaves and berries from forests, right? You’d run out of leaves and berries pretty fast. And if food doesn’t grow where it’s cold…” His brow furrowed. “I guess that means…in winter, you can’t grow food? I don’t know.”

Perhaps it was starting to occur to him how incredibly, uncommonly charmed his life had been, to pass through a decade of winters without ever going hungry, or worrying about food, or even thinking about where it came from. Rayla hadn’t grown up so divorced from the realities of life, but she’d never especially had to worry about hunger before this quest, herself.

Callum shifted, and said “Most people stock up on grains and stuff for the winter, I think, if they can. But you’re right, Ez – there’s places where people can’t really farm much. Mountains, definitely. And in winter, especially, well…” He trailed off.

“…Right.” Ez sighed, and mulled that over, visibly thinking. His features were solemn, and a little sad. “So they need to hunt. Or they starve.” He pursed his lips, as if coming to some unhappy conclusion. “…And that’s us, now.”

Hesitantly, Callum reached out again to lay a hand on his brother’s shoulder. This time, it wasn’t cast away. “…Pretty much.” He agreed, and watched his brother exhale.

“A lot of animals need meat to live.” Ezran repeated, quietly. “And a lot of people do, too. I guess…I never realised that I was lucky, because I could – not, and be fine, but…that’s not how it is for a lot of people. They’re not that lucky. And – now, now…we’re not that lucky either, are we?”

Rayla reached out and squeezed his hand, gently. He looked down at it and sighed.

“Sorry.” He said, finally, voice weary. “For…making such a big fuss about it. I know we need to eat. I get it. I’m not gonna complain.”

She shook her head at him. “It’s fine, Ez.” She said, firmly. “It’s okay to be upset about things. …Even if other people aren’t.”

On his other side, Callum moved the hand on his shoulder to hook around his brother’s side, a loose one-armed hug. “I’m glad you talked about it, Ez.” He said, in a similar sort of tone to Rayla, like he was parroting something he’d been told before. “Better than bottling it all up.”

Ez sniffled a little, and then curled into his brother’s side. “You always bottle things up.” He mumbled, muffled by clothing.

“…I do.” Callum agreed readily, and settled Ezran securely against him. “And it’s dumb of me, and you definitely shouldn’t do it.”

There was a small, tired huff from the smaller prince. Rayla observed them for a few moments, a light smile on her lips, and then quietly turned away to see to the progress of their dinner.

“I’m sorry I waited so long.” Callum said, after a while, his voice remorseful. She couldn’t see what Ezran’s reaction was, but she heard him shifting. “I knew it would bother you, so it was…hard to bring up.”

A sigh. “…It’s okay.” Ezran said, a little sadly, and Rayla couldn’t help but think that he’d likely have taken it a lot better if Callum had had this talk before there was a living animal in the vicinity that they were going to be eating. “I know. You just didn’t want to upset me.”

“…Yeah.” Callum agreed, quiet. “Still. I should have talked about it sooner.”

A huff. “Maybe. But it’s kind of late to worry about that.” The words were a little pointed, carrying an edge of ‘stop talking about this now, please’. Callum seemed to pick up on it, and didn’t make any further comment.

Instead, he steered himself onto more innocuous topics. “So, that banther…I mean, you’re really lucky you didn’t get hurt, but it must have been cool, right?”

“Aside from all the dead deer blood?” Ezran said, wry. “Yeah, it was. The cubs were really cute. And playful, too.”

“…If you say so.” Callum said, dubiously, and after a moment, went on to coax the details of the encounter out of his brother.

Rayla listened with half an ear, a little intrigued by the younger prince’s obvious affinity with animals, and stirred her blade in the bubbling pot. After a while, the boys shifted closer to the fire, Ezran still visibly conflicted at the sight of their in-progress dinner, but certainly less upset than before. She observed him from the corner of her eye, watchful for signs of distress, but…now, he just seemed tired. Perhaps a little sad.

She let Callum take over the food-tending for a while, and traded off with him for the next half-hour until some of it was ready to eat. She used the lids of their jars as makeshift plates and gingerly piled the food there, passing it around for everyone to eat their fill.

Unseasoned meat was, at least, more flavourful than unseasoned boiled leaves. The stuff that had been staked by the fire and allowed to go crispy was even pleasantly tasty, and a nice change from the meagre rations they’d been on for the last few days. She expected that over the next week or so she’d get profoundly bored of meat again, but that was how life went for travellers.

In any case, there was enough of a wealth of food for them all to eat until they were stuffed, and then still have an enormous quantity left to cook. This, as it happened, was not really a good thing.

“This smelled amazing before,” Callum said, going a little green as he dutifully turned the sticks around and stirred the pot. “But that was before I’d eaten so much.” He made a noise best described as uurgh.

Rayla was feeling quite nauseous herself – the smell of cooking meat was quite rich, and quite fatty, and neither of those things were very merciful on a thoroughly-filled stomach. Ezran had wisely backed away and gone to sit with egg and Bait in the tent, but given she and Callum were obliged to tend to the cooking process, they had no such reprieve. “Maybe we should have waited to eat.” She sighed, making a face. Whenever she’d helped to cook this amount of meat before, it had been distributed among six very hungry elves, and therefore generally hadn’t lasted long. She’d not quite predicted this particular conundrum.

“We’ll know better next time, I guess.” He reached to the side to take a swig of water from one of the waterskins, making a face. “At least we’ll have stuff to eat for a day or so.”

“If we find some leafy stuff along the way, this should last us two, at least. Three if we’re lucky.” She said, gauging their bounty. “It won’t all fit in the jars. We’ll have to wrap some of it in the wash-cloth, or something.”

He paused for a second, thoughtful. “If we get desperate, I’ve got a pair of socks I’ve not worn yet.” He suggested, offering her the waterskin.

“Ew.” She commented, reflexively, then pushed that response aside in favour of practicality. “….I’ll keep that in mind, I guess.” She felt a twinge of pain from her hand as she took the water from him, and grimaced, transferring the skin to her other hand as she carefully flexed the dark fingers.

Callum didn’t miss the motion, eyes tracking her hand as she tipped her head back to drink. “…How’s the hand doing?” he asked, an increasingly-familiar shadow of worry settling on his features. His fingers fidgeted, anxious, hands still bare of the half-finger gloves. “Is the willow-bark helping?”

She eyed him for a second, and considered lying. Considered pretending to be better off than she was. In the end, though…“It’s helping a lot.” She answered honestly, setting the waterskin aside to inspect her hand. “Only goes so far, though.”

He frowned, sympathetic. “Still hurts?”

“Still hurts.” She confirmed, sighing, and waggled the finger he’d adorned with a narrow dressing of bandage. “Especially this stupid blister.”

He nodded, eyes still heavy on the dark skin. “…Looks pretty nasty around the binding, too.” He said, too-neutrally, as if he were trying very hard not to sound too bothered about it.

The skin around the binding was, indeed, more tender and sore than any other part of the hand, including the finger-blister. She turned it around, grimacing at the almost shiny-looking swell to the flesh constricted by the bind. The skin was starting to look a little weird at the sides of her wrists, too. The colour wasn’t quite right. Or maybe it was just more dull-looking than the rest of it?“…Not looking forward to having to massage this.” She admitted, and reached out to gingerly poke around the flesh. It instantly rebuked her for the trespass, and she winced at the pain.

He winced with her, fingertips twitching unhappily. “…You could take some of the lilium?” He suggested, looking over at the nearest bag as though he would lunge for it the second she implied any sort of agreement.

“Don’t know about that.” She said doubtfully. “I read the dose sheet the healer gave for it. It’s addictive, you know. And strong.”

He paused. “Don’t think I’ve actually read that yet.” He realised, and went to go rummage in the bag for it. He came back with the little bottle of red fluid, oddly blood-like in appearance, and the folded paper with the handwritten information on it. He planted himself nearby while she made a quick round of the cooking meat again.

“Addictive with long-term repeated use.” Callum concluded, after a few minutes of scanning the paper. “Like, a week or more. That’s…I mean, it could be worse?”

“Maybe so.” She conceded, sitting back on her heels. “But I’m meant to be doing my hand massages daily, aren’t I? That seems like ‘repeated use’ to me. No, it’s better to save it, I think.”

“…But maybe for just the first time?” He pressed, plaintively. “Just a few drops, to take the edge off?”

“I’m not interested in becoming a lilium addict, Callum.” She informed him, flatly, and he fell silent. Cast her vaguely forlorn looks, like a kicked puppy, as if she’d wounded him by refusing to take a potent drug before it was absolutely necessary.

She sighed, and turned back to the cooking.

It took around two hours to cook every scrap of meat they could salvage from the goose carcass, by which time the sun was setting and the dark of evening beginning to encroach. Ezran returned to the fireside after a while, shivering, and Callum realised that – away from the two campfires – it was actually getting substantially chillier.

“It’s getting pretty cold, isn’t it?” He commented, frowning, and peered momentarily eastwards, where he knew Dorel and Farel loomed above them, hidden by the canopy of trees. “Is that just because we’re getting higher up, or…?”

“The altitude is definitely part of it.” Rayla said, shrugging. “Places on the edge of mountains like this always get a lot colder once the sun goes down. The rest of it, though…” She looked up at the sky, and frowned. “Weather’s turning, I think.”

He blinked, and looked up as well, trying to see what she’d noticed. It was quite cloudy tonight, maybe?

Ezran made a thoughtful noise as he peered up with them. His hand smoothed over eggshell, and he closed his eyes for a second. “You think it’s going to rain?”

“Yeah, I think so.” She nodded, not looking especially happy about it. “Not heavily, maybe, but I reckon it’ll start in the night, or morning. That’ll be fun.”

“I guess we’ve been lucky to go this long without rain.” Ez said, a little philosophically. “It is spring.”

“Ugh.” Was her only response to that, as she shook her head and continued squashing meat into one of the jars.

He smiled a little, distantly amused. “Don’t like water any more when it’s falling from the sky, huh?”

“Rain makes walking so much more miserable.” She groused, scowling. “…At least we have the tent.”

Callum tried to consider the idea of sleeping in the open through rain, wind, and possibly snow. He winced. “Have I mentioned lately how glad I am you got that tent?”

She snorted. “Not that I can think of. But please, go on.” She invited, lips twitching.

“I am really glad you got our tent.” He confirmed, with feeling. “Imagine if we had to sleep outside up in the mountains. You said there’s going to be snow, right?” Ezran shivered at the very thought, shuffling closer to the right-hand campfire.

“I think I’d freeze.” He said, a little faintly.

Rayla smirked at them. “It wouldn’t have been fun, I’ll say that much. You can’t always count on finding convenient caves to sleep in.”

Ezran looked up, interested. “But there are some caves?” He inquired, with his characteristic curiosity.

She nodded ruefully. “Oh, you bet.” She said, shaking her head. “I saw my fair share during the trip here. Some of them were even empty.”

Callum raised his eyebrows at her. “That sounds like a story.” He commented. Ezran leaned forwards, clearly intrigued, and even Bait looked up with interest.

Rayla snorted, eyes resting on them for a few moments. Then, obligingly, she commenced a retelling of some of her travels, listing off caves and the things she’d found in them. The list included feather-bats, wolves, and – on one memorable occasion – a large and exceptionally angry bear. She described her group’s escape from said bear with a wistful, almost sad smile on her lips. Callum didn’t quite understand why, at first, but then-

Then, he realised that Rayla was talking about people. Not just anonymous, faceless elf assassins – but people, people she knew, people she’d been travelling with for months. People with names, and personalities – people she probably missed.

He wondered, uneasily, what exactly had happened to those people.

Callum listened, a little more sombre, as Rayla regaled them with tales of the variety of caves she’d encountered in Katolis, and quietly helped her with the packing of their food as he did. He pondered the strangeness of empathising with elves who’d come to kill his father and brother. Elves who might have-

He clamped ruthlessly down on that thought, breath catching, and forced himself to relax.

Don’t think about it, he reminded himself, and returned stubbornly to listening.

Eventually, she finished with both the story and the cooking, setting aside their well-packed bags with a sigh. “Finally.” She said, collapsing backwards onto the loose, woody ground with dramatic relief, hair splaying out around her head. “That took so much longer than I wanted.”

“Well, I guess we can relax now?” He said, shooting her a small smile. She glanced at him from the ground and huffed.

“I suppose it’s not too late yet. You’ve got time to draw, if that’s what you’re getting at.” She agreed, tipping her head back far enough that her horns were just about touching the ground. “Mind you, next time I’m definitely not hunting something that big. Takes too long to deal with.”

He opened his mouth to say something apologetic about not helping more, then bit the words back. He didn’t really want to invite scrutiny of his reaction to the beheading of the goose. For all she knew, he was just squeamish, and that was all it had been. He hummed sympathetically, but didn’t say anything.

In a sort of reflexive motion, he reached for his sketchbook and thumbed the catch open. He was flipping through it before he remembered the latest drawing he’d started, and stared at the half-formed sketch with troubled eyes for a few seconds before turning the page onwards. After today, he wasn’t especially in the mood to dwell any more on Rayla’s hand, but…

He stared at the empty pages, and for a second, all the things he could think of to draw were unhappy. The memorial flames, on their ceremonial stands, or the half-mast flags, or – again – Rayla’s hand. Then he shook his head, and started a half-hearted sketch of Verdorn as he’d first seen it, sprawling at the roots of of a mountain range.

Ezran came over to sit next to him almost the instant he realised he was drawing, trotting over hefting the glowing egg the way he’d always hefted Bait in the past. He wondered, for a second, if Bait was feeling grumpy about being supplanted by an unhatched dragon. “You’re drawing the town?” He said, after a second of peering at the page. It was early yet, with only a few lines delineating the mountains and the approximate arrangements of the streets, but Ez had plenty of practice seeing the direction of his drawings.

Callum nodded absently, hand settling into the motions of the sketch even with his heart not really in it. “Yep.” He hoped Ezran wouldn’t mention the hand-drawing – Rayla hadn’t seen it yet, and he wasn’t entirely certain if he wanted her to – and mercifully, he didn’t. His brother did give him a sidelong glance, but kept quiet, settling in to watch.

It was probably overly optimistic of him to expect to conceal a drawing from someone he’d recently been inviting to look at his art, though. Rayla seemed content to lay back on the ground for a while, occasionally flexing her left hand, but did sit up eventually, and did move over to see his sketchbook. She peered at what he was drawing and hummed approvingly before asking “Did you finish doing my weapons, then?”

He glanced at her sidelong and sighed. “Er, yeah.” He agreed, hesitating for a moment as he accepted what was probably inevitable.

She eyed him, clearly picking up on his lacklustre reaction. “Do you…not want to show me?” She guessed, a little dubiously, and tilted her head to peer at him. She didn’t seem especially bothered by the idea – he could probably say ‘I’d rather not’, and she’d likely accept it without any problems.

He eyed her for a moment. It was a little embarrassing, maybe, and would offer her potentially uncomfortable insight into the extent of his worry, but… “…No, it’s fine.” He said, resigned, and turned the page back to the completed assortment of weapon-forms. Two pages back, in fact, which she didn’t miss.

“You started another drawing?” She asked, right before she shuffled closer to inspect the finished product of his weapon studies. “That’s nice.” She said, appreciatively, and flicked out one of her blades for comparison, looking between the paper and the subject with interest. It seemed to meet her approval, and she nodded to herself before putting the blade away again. She glanced at him, then back at the book, before asking “So, is it the new drawing you don’t want to show me?”

“I don’t-“ he started, troubled, then shook his head. More to get it over with than anything, he turned the page, and watched her stop short at the picture there: her hand, four-fingered, binding cruelly tight about its wrist, and the dark skin half-shaded. “I was just…” he trailed off, then shrugged, not sure how to explain it, and honestly too morose to try.

Rayla blinked, features solemn. She reached out to the page, just briefly, with the hand he’d drawn; then flexed its fingers and withdrew it before touching the paper. Ezran looked over silently at the two of them, a light frown shading his eyes. He glanced down at the page and then back at the egg again, troubled.

“Kind of a grim thing to draw.” She said, at last. She didn’t sound like she disapproved, or was judging, so that was something.

He averted his eyes. “Yeah, well…it’s kind of been on my mind, you know.”

She sighed, and leaned back. “Yeah. I get it.” She held up the hand in question and carefully moved the fingers: clenching them in a weak, careful fist, then loosening them again. She exhaled, and said “I guess I should get this over with.” Callum whipped his gaze around at her, disproportionately alarmed, and she raised her hands placatingly to clarify “Doing my hand massage, I mean.”

“…Oh, right.” He said, a little embarrassed. He didn’t know whether to be more abashed at how his mind had immediately flown to ‘she means she’s gonna cut her hand off’, or at how she’d obviously read him like a book. “…Yeah, that’s, um. Probably a good idea. Are you sure you don’t want some of the lilium?”

“I’m sure.” She said, resolute, and stared at her own hand for a few seconds. Then she exhaled, visibly braced herself, and reached over to press the fingers of one hand against the other.

She was grimacing almost immediately, and then hissing and wincing and biting her lip as she pressed her thumb into the dark skin, and he did his best to look away and not watch because he could feel himself flinching every time she did – but it was kind of hard to ignore. He felt his shoulders hunch, felt himself go tense, and then was utterly unable to refrain from looking back at her when she uttered a strangled, clearly pained noise – She’d tried to touch the skin around the binding, apparently.

He swallowed the first three responses that tried to bubble on his tongue and said, a little desperately, “Are you sure you don’t want to try some of the stronger painkillers? Even, like, a half dose?”

It was somewhat telling that she didn’t immediately shoot the suggestion down. Instead, a little woodenly, she said “It’s too soon.” There was an odd sheen to her skin in the firelight that looked like sweat, like this was approaching the sort of pain that had wrecked her so thoroughly the other day-

“Rayla, if it hurts that much, it’s not too soon.” Ezran spoke, words firm and decisive like a royal decree. “This is why we went and got the stuff, right? So you wouldn’t have to be in pain?”

“It’s addictive.” She grumbled, clearly wavering.

He turned fully towards her. “And we have tons of it. Even if you do get a little bit addicted, we’ve got enough that we could like, wean you off slowly.” He thought that was a thing, wasn’t it? Slowly weaning people off dependence on a drug, by giving them less and less over time? He was fairly sure he’d heard that mentioned somewhere, though whether it was as part of his field-healing or from somewhere else was beyond him.

She shot him a wary look. “I don’t know what lilium withdrawal does. That might not be safe.”

“If it’s anything like lotus withdrawal, it’s probably not too bad.” Ezran said, too-cheerfully. “I met a lotus-eater once. We had a nice talk.” Callum turned to stare at him, incredulous, as his brother added, nonchalant: “He was nice.”

“Ezran,” he said, a little helplessly, as Rayla stared confusedly at them.

“Yes, Callum?” His menace of a younger brother asked, face the picture of angelic innocence.

His mouth opened and closed like a fish several times, and then he managed “First the banther and now a – where do you find these things?”

“Exploring the castle, city, and forest, mostly.” Ezran answered, sounding too cheerful for Callum’s liking. “I found the lotus guy by the moat, though.”

He opened his mouth to retort, with little idea of what the words would be, when Rayla interrupted. “What exactly is a lotus-eater? Or lotus? That’s just a sort of flower, right?”

Ezran shrugged. “Well, yeah, but these are different, I think.” He looked at Callum beseechingly. “I don’t really know much about it. It’s from Evenere, right?”

He nodded, shuffling a little under the curious eyes of Rayla and his brother. “I mean, I learned that much.” He agreed, thinking back on his lessons. “Marsh-pollen is one of Evenere’s main exports, so you do hear about it. Um. From what I know they have these super-dangerous flowers that grow in the swamps, and they turn the pollen into lilium? They sell the dead flowers as drugs, too…but they’re meant to be illegal in Katolis.” He gave his brother a pointed look.

Ezran nodded peaceably. “Yeah, the guy did say that. His dealer got caught by the city guard.”

“…Hence the withdrawal.” Rayla said, dubiously. “And this guy wasn’t, I don’t know, dropping dead, or anything?”

Ez shrugged. “He looked kind of sick, and when I asked if he was okay he said it had been worse before and was getting better. Kind of like the flu. So I guess it’s pretty nasty but not that bad?”

“Ugh.” She expressed, but she did look mollified by the assurance that lilium-withdrawal probably wasn’t a fatal experience.

He eyed her, somewhat hopeful. “So…?”

Rayla looked down at her hands, pressed fingers around the binding again, and grimaced. “…Ugh.” She said again, almost disgustedly. “Fine.”

At her acquiescence, he procured the bottle and conveyed it to her fast enough that he wasn’t completely aware of doing it, stalling a little as he realised he needed to give her the dosage instructions too. He handed the paper over and watched as she inspected it.

“Huh.” She remarked, upon opening the bottle. A second later she extracted something from the cap that turned out to be a ridiculously, ludicrously tiny spoon. She had to hold its handle gingerly between her fingertips, the skin smeared with the red of the lilium. “Apparently what fits in this is a full dose. I have no idea how I’m meant to figure out what a half dose of this is, though.”

“Aw,” Ezran said as he leaned forwards, instantly enchanted. “That’s so tiny!”

“…When I read spoonful, I was thinking, like, a teaspoon. One of those really little ones, like you get with the fancy cups at fancy meetings and dinners.” Callum said, peering at it. “This makes more sense. But wow, that means she really gave us a lot of it.”

“No kidding.” Rayla raised her eyebrows at the instructions. “A teaspoon of this would probably kill you.” She checked again. “Yep, would definitely kill you.”

“That spoon is so cute,” Declared Ezran, whose attention was still plainly occupied with the included utensil, rather than dire portents of excessive dosage.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “You think the spoon is cute?” She asked, dubiously, and carefully moved her finger to let the droplet of stray lilium fall into the spoon.

“Duh.” He said, as if it were obvious, and she huffed a laugh at him.

“If you say so.” Rayla accepted, and after a second raised the tiny spoon and tipped two tiny red droplets from it into her mouth. She closed it, peered at the spoon, and made a face. “Pass me the pot and the waterskin, will you? I think I should probably wash this. And my hands.”

Ezran set aside the egg to oblige her, passing the requested items eagerly. “Has your hand stopped hurting yet?” he inquired, bright-eyed, and watched as she swished the tiny, tiny spoon around in the water.

She rolled her eyes and smiled. “No, dummy. It takes time for medicine to work, you know.” She said, and passed over the now-clean spoon for his inspection. “Here. Don’t lose it.”

“Ooh.�� He said, enchanted, and held it up to his eyes to inspect, looking utterly delighted with it. He was very easily impressed, sometimes.

Callum shared a tolerant, amused glance with Rayla over his brother’s head, and said “It’ll take ten or fifteen minutes to start working, right? From what I read earlier?”

“Something like that,” She agreed, and set the vial aside, carefully capped. “I suppose we’ll find out.”

He observed the sheen of the bloody-red liquid in the vial, and shrugged. “Guess so.” He nodded, and settled his sketchbook onto his lap again. He grimaced at the image of the bound hand on the page, and turned it back over to the incipient Verdorn, lowering his charcoal to define the lines.

The next stretch of time passed in that fashion, filled with the scratch of the charcoal on paper and Ezran cooing over the tiny spoon (and, apparently, telling Bait and the egg about it), and Rayla watching, prodding at her hand every now and then in what was probably an attempt to gauge the progression of the lilium. She borrowed the waterskin and kept it near her side, taking periodic swigs of water as she watched and waited.

Eventually, what was probably at least ten minutes later, she set about massaging her hand again. “ow,” She said, remarkably unbothered, and then again “Ow. Ow. I don’t think it’s properly kicking in yet. Ow.”

He lowered his book and made a face at her. “….Maybe stop and wait a bit, then?” he suggested, a touch sardonically.

“It doesn’t really hurt that much,” She denied, and then somewhat ruined her claim by immediately saying “Ow” again as she pressed her thumb into her palm. Strangely, despite the apparent pain, she was neither flinching nor noticeably grimacing.

Callum eyed her. “…Are you sure about that?”

She pondered the question for a second, then said “Nope.” She volunteered no further information.

A little perplexed, he shared a glance with Ezran before repeating “Then wait a while? It’s probably still working.”

“Sure.” She said, unusually placid, and then shuffled up to sit beside him. She peered at the page and watched him draw in comfortable silence for a good while longer, drawing her knees up and resting her chin atop them. Eventually, when he’d almost fallen into an art-trance and was just starting to properly get into it, she spoke up. “…Do you really remember what the whole town looked like?” She asked, breaking him from his reverie.

He looked up, blinked, and realigned himself with reality. She looked considerably less tense than earlier, though whether that was a product of the lilium or just having time to relax, he didn’t know. “Pretty much.” He agreed, and after a moment, lowered his charcoal to continue drawing. “Especially since I thought I might want to draw it, so I sort of…made sure to look extra carefully.” She made a thoughtful noise at that, but no actual comments, so for a while longer they sat in silence as he drew and she watched and Ezran grew bored with the tiny spoon.

He passed it back over to her, and she moved over to their belongings to stow it in some part of her bag. “Did you like it?” Ezran asked, and she looked up at him, blinking slowly. “Verdorn, I mean. Was it the first human town you’ve been to?” Callum looked up at that, curious, and watched the thoughtfulness spread over her features. In the increasingly low light of evening, her eyes were growing faintly luminous, pupils widening in the dark.

“Mm. Yeah, I guess it’s the first proper human town I’ve been in long enough to look around.” She mused, voice oddly slow and ponderous, and flopped gracelessly back into her seat beside him. “Don’t think the fort counts. Everyone was in…” She seemed to struggle to find the right word for a moment. “…helmets, you know?” She waved expressively towards the top of her head. “Harder to see they’ve not got any horns, that way.”

He stared at her, attention drawn by the strangeness of the cadence of her speech, and something subtly off about her movement and posture. It was…suspiciously off-feeling, and he thought he could probably guess where it was coming from. What she was talking about was sort of interesting, though, so… “And that makes a difference?” He asked, eyes drawn to her own horns as he suddenly recalled the strangeness of them. He’d grown used to seeing them, over the last few days, but…

“Mmyeah.” She agreed, and flopped a hand at her horns again. It was the bad one, but she didn’t seem to notice any pain; he raised an eyebrow. “Looks weird. I think ‘s the first thing I noticed, in that…human-town. Verdorn. No one had any horns. ‘S weird.”

Callum eyed her, simultaneously interested in the topic and increasingly aware of the progression of what might well be lilium side-effects. “We don’t have any horns.” He reminded her, as if it were something that needed pointing out. She looked at the top of his head as if to confirm his words, and nodded solemnly. “Does that seem weird to you, too?”

“’Course it’s weird.” She answered bluntly. “You’re missing a whole....” She waved her hand in the air, vaguely, as she attempted to summon the words. “Whole thing. Part of your face. No, not face – head. Yep.” She pondered this with a slow, languid progression of facial expressions, eyes narrowing pensively at her own thought processes.

“I…guess that makes sense?” He said, slowly, and looked at Ezran to see if he’d noticed Rayla’s increasingly evident…was inebriation the right word? Intoxication, maybe? Those were probably the most medically accurate words, but he could probably think of a few more colloquial things that would fit. In any case, Ezran was staring at her with a sort of puzzled, intrigued fascination, so he’d obviously noticed something as well.

Rayla reached out and patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. “’S’okay, I got over it.” She said comfortingly. “I don’t think you look weird anymore.”

“….That’s good to know?” he attempted, certain that he was probably making a very strange face at her. He peered at her, and tried to remember whether her pupils were normally that large. A quick consult with his memory confirmed that, no, they weren’t. Definitely probably a drug effect, then?

He wondered if it would be rude to ask to check her pulse.

Ezran shuffled. “But it looked weird in the town, though?” He asked, tilting his head as he apparently came to his own conclusions about whatever was going on with her.

She nodded slowly, ponderously. “Super weird.” She agreed. “Seeing that many people walking around without…with no…without any horns.” She considered this for a long, long while, then said “I suppose…imagine…if you walked into a crowd of people, and none of them had any ears. ‘S like that.” She nodded with an immense sort of gravity, as if she thought she’d said something staggeringly profound.

That was, in fact, a very weird mental image, so he supposed it made a good comparison. “Huh.” He remarked, interested, but in a sort of distant and distracted way. Mostly he was getting increasingly concerned with the obvious alteration of her mental state. A little anxious voice in the back of his head was beginning to say, worriedly, what if this affects elves differently to humans? Why did we never think of that? “…Do me a favour, Rayla?”

She blinked at him placidly. “Sure?”

“Check if your hand still hurts?”

It took much, much longer than it ought to for her to process his words, and then she moved a hand over to poke at the back of her hand. She blinked again. “Huh.” She said, and then poked harder. “It does not.” She then poked around the binding, and said “Ow.” It was a very calm, very unbothered ‘ow’. Eventually, she concluded “Maybe it still hurts a bit.”

“…I think maybe the medicine is working.” Ezran said, bemusedly, as he leaned forwards to see her better from Callum’s side.

Rayla considered that. “That makes sense.” She agreed, and after a lengthy, thoughtful pause, added “I feel…different.”

Callum stared at her, at her strangely relaxed and ponderous expression, at the looseness of her shoulders and the size of her pupils, and flatly informed her “Rayla, you’re higher than the summit of Mount Kalik.”

She stared at him, somewhat uncomprehendingly, as Ezran processed his words and then started giggling helplessly. “I’m what now?” She inquired, politely, with a lightly furrowed brow.

“High.” He repeated, finally conceding to his impulse to reach out and grasp at her wrist, searching for her pulse. She looked down at his hand, tolerantly perplexed, as he settled his fingers into place and felt for the speed of her heart. “High, as in drugged. Stoned. Marsh-whacked.” He searched his mind for more drug-related euphemisms, but couldn’t think of any. “High.” He concluded, and felt at her pulse as she made a face at him. It was slow, but regular and strong enough. So…well, that was something.

He reflected that he probably should have got more details from the healer about the medicine’s side effects. Then maybe he’d know if this sort of response was normal, rather than something to be concerned about. Her pulse was okay, though. And she wasn’t, like, passing out, or anything like that…

“I am not high.” She complained at him, face screwed up in a comically confused sort of affront. “You’re high.”

He raised his eyebrows at her and released her wrist, concern giving way to a glimmer of amusement. “How’d you figure that?” He inquired.

She stared at him, flummoxed. “…Sky mage.” She offered, after a lengthy pause. “You’re all…whooshy. Skies and high-up places. Mountains.” She seemed oddly struck by her own words, and looked away, frowning. “Callum,” She started, profoundly concerned. “…You don’t have any wings.”

Callum shared a glance with Ezran, and smirked a little at her. “I noticed that, thanks.” He said, dryly.

She blinked. “But sky mages have wings.” She explained to him, making a sort of flapping motion with both hands, thumbs joined and hands moving as if to evoke the movement of wings. He stifled a laugh. Ezran didn’t bother with such restraint, and giggled again. “You’re a sky mage. You should…” Her brow furrowed. “You should have wings. Are you sure you don’t have wings?”

“I don’t have wings, Rayla.” He informed her, patiently, and she looked over his shoulders as if she disbelieved him. This supposition was supported by how she leaned back and scrutinised his upper back, and even reached out to pat at his shoulder-blades before retreating, comically astonished.

“You don’t have wings.” She echoed, eyes wide.

He looked at her, and found it increasingly difficult not to join Ezran in giggling at her. Honestly, where did the wings thing even come from? Was there some sort of sky magic spell that involved flying? Lord, he hoped there was. That would be awesome. “I do not, in fact, have wings.” He repeated, in the end, and resolved to ask her about flight-related spells when she was…sober? Was sober the right word? He was having to consider all sorts of unexpected terminology this evening, it seemed.

“Why don’t you have wings?” She persisted, leaning forwards. Sort of uncomfortably closely, actually, her face was, er – he inched backwards a little to give himself some space, cheeks prickling with heat.

“Maybe it’s a human thing.” He suggested, shooting a glance at his brother in hopes of provoking some sort of support.

Ezran picked up on it, thankfully. “Humans don’t grow wings, Rayla. Even mages.” He agreed. “I think Callum would have noticed.”

She processed that for a second or two, then made a vaguely disgruntled noise. “Maybe so.” She said, eventually, and cast a last narrow-eyed look over Callum’s shoulders before leaning back with a sigh.

For a while, he and Ezran just…looked at her, while she stared vaguely into the fire, at once intensely thoughtful and uncharacteristically relaxed. It was strange to see her like this – particularly after the last few days, which she’d spent tense and sleep-deprived, increasingly bothered by the pain in her hand. “How are you feeling?” Ezran asked, eventually, and she looked over at them. The faint luminosity of her irises only made it more obvious how large her pupils had gone.

“…Different.” She concluded, eventually, and looked down at her hands. She flexed both of them, making fists and releasing, without any sign of pain or discomfort. “Weird. My skin feels weird. Soft? Or tingly. ’s weird.” She reached for her bound hand with her right and squeezed it again, experimentally. “Hm.”

“Doesn’t hurt?” Callum asked, though the answer was fairly obvious.

“Nope.” She poked around the angry, strange-looking skin around her binding more firmly than he thought was wise – he winced on her behalf, even though evidently she wasn’t actually feeling the pain at the moment. “Maybe a little, there. Mostly it’s just tingly.” Her fingertips wandered around the edge of the binding, and then, distractedly – “Itchy.” She proclaimed, and scratched at it.

“Er.” Callum said, a little alarmed. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to scratch it?”

She stopped. “You think?” She inquired, interested, and looked at him.

“I think it’ll probably just make it hurt worse when the lilium wears off.” He agreed, beginning to realise that the drug’s effects could actually, well, be problematic. It was a good think she was using it now, when there was nothing left to do, rather than when they were travelling or – Mercy forbid – in a town. He thought she’d stand a decent chance of loudly commenting on the hornlessness of random citizens, in this state. “…Maybe just do your hand massage? That’s what you took the stuff for in the first place, right?”

Rayla contemplated that. “You may have a point.” She declared, and set about pressing artlessly at her poor hand. Callum winced, resolving not to look, and determinedly returned to his drawing. He knew, obviously, that the lilium had clearly been effective, but it was still making him cringe to see her handling her bound hand so roughly – his own left hand tingled unpleasantly at the sight, and he shook the fingers out to try to disperse the sensation.

He spent the next while steadfastly avoiding looking at Rayla tending to her hand, which turned out to be something of an error. He saw Ezran shift in his peripheral vision, and then heard him say, alarmed, “Er, Callum, um…“ he looked up at his name, and then more quickly when his brother tugged urgently on his arm.

Callum opened his mouth to ask, then followed Ezran’s nod to Rayla, who…

…Who had, at some point in the last five minutes, stopped massaging her hand and started scratching at the skin on the sides of her wrists. And not just that, but- “Rayla!” He exclaimed, dismayed, and shot out his hand to pull hers away before he’d even fully processed what he was looking at. “What were you – oh – urgh!“

She stared at him uncomprehendingly, as if she couldn’t conceive of why he’d felt the need to stop her from peeling her own skin off, Paragons wept- “What?” She asked, as if honestly perplexed, as if she really didn’t see what the problem was with her scratching around the binding until the skin broke. Ezran had gone a little green, eyes wide as he leaned to the side to see better, fingers twitching on the surface of the eggshell.

“You’re scratching your skin off!” He told her, voice high and strident, and turned to his brother as she looked down at her own hand. “Ez, get the field-healer stuff out of my bag, would you? Disinfectant, maybe some bandages…” His brother nodded quickly and set the egg aside immediately, hurrying over to their pile of things with pale-faced haste.

Rayla inspected her wrist, brow furrowed. “It doesn’t hurt.” She told him, earnestly, as Ezran rummaged in Callum’s bag. “Just itches. ’s probably fine.” Her fingers wandered in the direction of the binding again, and he snatched them away.

“It doesn’t hurt because you’re completely, horrifyingly high, Rayla, that’s why it’s not hurting!” He half-shrieked at her, ushering her until she was sat facing towards him, the fire to their side, as he held her bound hand up to inspect the damage. It could be worse, but – it was pretty obvious, now, that there had been sores developing on either side of the binding, and she’d just gone and opened them- “I had no idea the lilium would mess you up this much – oh, thanks, Ez.” He broke off, as his brother returned with the supplies and set them at his side, hovering anxiously nearby.

“I don’t feel messed up.” She complained, as he went for some bandage to wet with the spirits. “I feel fine. Good, even.”

“If you were fine, you wouldn’t be bleeding.” He told her, voice a little too shaky to be firm, and dabbed the bandage against the luridly-red, oozing layer of skin she’d exposed strips of. His fingers felt jittery with nerves as he cleaned up the clear, pink-tinged fluid that the sores were secreting. “Paragons wept, Rayla, I looked away for literally five minutes and you started peeling your skin off.” She didn’t even flinch at the touch of the alcohol on the raw sore, she was so powerfully affected.

She observed him. “You’re upset.” She deduced, blinking slowly.

“Yes, Rayla, thanks for noticing.” He said, a little sharply, dabbing the edges of the binding with the spirits just to be on the safe side. He reached for the bandages and, gingerly, wrapped a very light layer of them around her wrist. He didn’t want to restrict her blood flow any more, but leaving the sores open to air seemed like a great way to invite infection, so…

Ezran settled by their side as he finished wrapping this new, distinctly worrying wound on Rayla’s hand. “Are the side effects meant to be this strong?” he asked, voice soft and worried. Rayla blinked at him as he spoke, too-placid, and while Callum had found that sort of funny earlier, now it was anything but. No wonder Aunt Amaya had had those talks with them about how ‘drugs are bad’, and not to eat weird plants people gave them, or weird powders, or…well, drugs in their many varied forms.

“I don’t know.” He said, terse, and set the bandages aside, capping the bottle of spirits carefully.

“The paper said something about that, didn’t it?” Ezran asked. “I just didn’t understand the words.”

Specifically, the dosage instruction sheet had had a very brief sentence dedicated to explaining the drug, which it had described as a psychoactive analgesic, with soporific and euphoric properties. He wasn’t exactly sure what ‘psychoactive’ was meant to mean, but in hindsight, figured it had something to do with affecting the mind. He had no idea what ‘soporific’ meant, and had only ever heard the word ‘euphoric’ in relation to people being exceptionally happy.

“Neither did I, honestly.” He admitted, and looked at Rayla. She looked back, mildly interested, but nothing more. She seemed, in general, exceptionally relaxed. As if she’d spent a day at some hot springs or something, instead of sleep-deprived and in awful pain. He sighed, worried and still uncomfortably on-edge from the shock of seeing what she’d done to her hand, and said “Rayla, just…don’t touch your hand, alright? At least until morning.”

She considered this. “Why?” She inquired.

“Because I think you’ll probably start messing with your bandages if you do, and you shouldn’t do that.” He reached out to adjust one of set bandages to lie more smoothly over her skin, obscuring the binding entirely, and she watched him calmly all the while. “Just leave your hand alone.”

Rayla hummed thoughtfully, then reminded him “I’m meant to be doing my…thing, though. Hand thing.” She paused, thinking, and concluded “Hand massage. You said so. Kind of tricky to…” She waved the newly bandaged hand in the air expressively as she searched for her words, “…do the thing, if I can’t touch my hand.”

Callum eyed her. He considered whether or not she could be trusted to finish what she’d started without bruising her hand, disturbing her bandages, or making something else go wrong. She could probably work with the instructions ‘don’t touch the bandages’, right?

Just that moment, as if specifically to prove him wrong, Rayla reached over to try to itch under said bandages.

Tired, jittery, and already pre-emptively embarrassed for how he knew this was going to go, Callum reached out and gently caught her by that hand, moving it over and setting it on her knee. “No touching your hand.” He reminded her, and wavered for several awkward seconds before he moved to take her bound hand instead. He exhaled, cleared his throat, and determinedly not meeting her eyes, said “I’ll…Look, I’ll do it, okay? You just…sit there, and don’t peel any more of your skin off.”

It was testament to how incredibly drugged she was that all she had in response to that was an agreeable sort of noise. After a second, she said “Mmkay,” and nothing else. He chanced a look at her face, and found her looking spectacularly unbothered, and not even vaguely awkward. He instantly felt five times more abashed as a result, and quickly looked down at her hand again.

“I really hope you’re not gonna kill me when you sober up.” He muttered, only sort-of to her, and carefully started drawing his thumbs over the back of her hand. He had no idea how hand massages were meant to work, but he supposed he’d figure it out as he went along. He determinedly ignored the pronounced feeling of heat in his face.

“Mm.” Rayla expressed, just as placidly as before. “You’re my humans. No dying allowed. Wouldn’t like that.”

Ezran made a sound that sounded like ‘aww’ at that. Callum felt his cheeks, somehow, growing warmer. “Let’s hope you still feel that way later.” He sighed, making a face at her fingers. How were you meant to massage fingers? They were just sort of…bony. In the end, he settled for sort of…gently wringing them, and carefully squeezing his own fingertips along them.

“She’s not gonna be mad, Callum.” Ezran told him consolingly, and moved to take Rayla’s other hand to keep her from reaching out for her bandages again. “Maybe a little embarrassed, but I think she’ll mostly be glad you didn’t let her mess up her hand anymore.” Callum made a vague noise of assent, not especially wanting to think about how he was meant to meet her eyes in the morning.

Rayla looked down at him, bemused. “…You talkin’ ‘bout me?” She asked, eventually.

“Yeah.” Ez answered, utterly unashamed, and patted her on the back of the hand. “You’re kind of loopy now, but that’s okay. We’ll take care of you.”

“…Okay?” She offered, a little uncertainly, and then informed Callum “That feels weird, you know. Tingly.” She considered it for a second. “Kind of nice, though.”

Callum’s face burned as his brother snickered. “…That’s nice, Rayla.” He managed, and wondered how long he was meant to do this for. He turned her hand over and pressed his thumbs gently into the palm of her hand.

Thankfully, she offered no further commentary, and about five minutes later he decided he’d done more than enough and set her hand down again. “Alright, absolutely no touching your hand now, okay?” he said to her, and upon looking up…he blinked. “Are you falling asleep?”

“Mmm, no.” She denied, drowsily, with her eyes fluttering open a little from closed. “Got to…stand watch. No sleeping.” So saying, she yawned, swayed, and then nearly fell over. Callum shifted to hold her up by the shoulder, eyebrows raised.

“Stand watch?” he asked, a touch amused. “You look like you’ll be asleep in five seconds if you try.”

“Not me.” She claimed, while slumping against his side. “I’m a…very professional elf assassin, me. No fallin’ sleep on the job.” Her eyes closed again, and she muttered “Gotta watch for those…town-people. Humans. Town humans. Ambush ‘s inthenight.” With that, she set her head down against his neck, cheek smooshing onto his shoulder. The colour of his face, which had been recovering from the embarrassment of this whole ordeal, promptly reddened again.

He cleared his throat, flustered, and exchanged a glance with his brother. “No one’ll be ambushing us in the night, Rayla.” He said, soothingly, and slung one of her arms around his shoulder to support her as he stood up. She slowly, sleepily got her feet out under her, and stumbled along with him as he led her towards the tent. “Think about it – it’s not like they’ll be able to tell you’re an elf when we’re all in the tent. They’d just think we’re normal human travellers. ”

“Maybe.” She said, doubtfully, as Ezran rushed ahead of them to set out her cloak for her. “Dunno ‘bout that.”

“It’ll be fine.” He assured her, as they drew close to the tent. Bait, who’d been napping within for a good while, opened his eyes and grumbled at them. “You just get some sleep, alright? You need it.”

She opened one eye and squinted at the tent. “…Would be nice to be asleep.” She agreed, vaguely, and allowed him and Ez to manoeuvre her onto her makeshift bedroll. She made a happy sound, burrowed her face into the fur, and then – by all appearances – fell asleep immediately.

Callum retreated quietly with Ezran back to their bags, bemused. “…Well, I guess she won’t have any trouble sleeping tonight, at least.” He said, voice very quiet, and considered the dark of the sky. “Hopefully her head will be back to normal in the morning.”

“That medicine is really strong.” Ez observed, similarly hushed, as together they set about clearing up the various pieces of camp clutter into their respective bags.

“No kidding.” He sighed, eyes on the contents of Rayla’s bag. After a second of consideration, he withdrew a couple pieces of bark from it before closing it up. “It probably won’t be safe for her to take it except in the evenings, if it messes her up that badly.”

Ezran went to pick up the egg, slinging his backpack over one shoulder as he went. “Yeah. At least she’s got the willow-bark, I guess.” His eyes found the two pieces of said substance in his hand. “What’s that for?”

“…I figure she’ll probably want it in the morning.” He mumbled, after a second, a little embarrassed. “I’ll just put it next to her bedroll.”

His brother shot him a thoughtful look. “…Good idea.” He said, and looked towards the tent. “I guess we’re going to bed now, too?”

“I don’t know about you, but I definitely am.” Callum said, ruefully, and with considerable effort dragged the rest of the bags towards the tent. “It’s been a long day.”

Ezran looked down at the egg in his arms as he followed, expression a little strange. Pensive, but still inscrutable. “…Yeah.” He agreed, quietly, and set his bag down in the space between the tent-layers. “I guess it has.” As quietly as possible, so as to avoid disturbing their sleeping companion, they got their things arranged, closed the tent-doors, and laid out their cloaks in the space remaining.

Callum set the two pieces of bark carefully at Rayla’s side, and then laid down to sleep.

---

After a day of thoroughly unproductive meetings and even less-productive arguments, Gren found himself trailing after General Amaya as they vacated the war-room, striding along the corridors in search of an exit. “Are we leaving?” He asked her, hurrying forwards a little to make sure she could see his hands, and she glanced towards him.

“Yes.” She answered, plainly weary. “It’s time to get back to the barracks and distribute orders. Then maybe we can finally get some sleep.”

He nodded his acquiescence, more relieved than he cared to admit at the prospect of rest, and followed her lead as she sped up. He followed at her side as she turned the corner, and then – stopped short, just at the same time she did, as they found someone waiting for them.

“Opeli,” he said, startled, just as Amaya shaped the name-sign. They all exchanged the requisite bows and brief pleasantries before the General spoke again. “Did you need something?” She asked, plainly curious, as the priestess straightened before them.

“I wanted to speak with you before you left. I’m glad I managed to catch you.” She said, plainly, tucking her hands into her long sleeves. “I’ve heard of your intentions. You’re going to hunt the Princes’ murderess, is that correct?”

Amaya’s expression, previously open and curious, tightened into a tense grimace. Her words were spoken with sharp, stiff motions that made the pieces of her armour scrape harshly at themselves. “I will find her, and I will bring her to justice for what she has done.” She answered, face resolute. Gren wondered if Opeli could see the depth of the pain in that expression, in the movements of her hands. He doubted it, somehow. He’d had a lot more practice reading the General’s moods than most.

Still, the woman nodded, apparently satisfied. “I thought so.” She said, and inhaled in the way that people did when they were about to say something important, when they were steeling themselves for something significant. “I want to offer to consecrate you as a Justiciar,” She pronounced, with considerable gravity, and Amaya’s eyes widened with astonishment. “To act as the hand of Lady Justice on your pursuit.”

Gren stared, wide-eyed himself, and shocked enough that it took him a second to look across to wait on Amaya’s reply. She’d quelled her initial reaction enough that she now only looked mildly surprised, rather than outright thrown. Even so, she was wordless for longer than was normal in the face of Opeli’s offer, blinking slowly as she considered it.

After a while, she answered. “I’m honoured by the offer.” She said, hands moving slow and almost contemplative. “But my mission of justice is a personal one. I would not be suitable as a Justiciar, and even if I were….once my task is complete, I would have to abdicate, and resume my full responsibility as General.”

Opeli inclined her head, and spoke as if Amaya had never mentioned anything about her personal unsuitability. “And if you decided that was necessary, that would be your right.” She said, smoothly. “Alternatively, you could remain a Justiciar, and act in that capacity if you encountered dire injustice during your duties as General.”

Amaya’s lips pursed a little. “You’re aware that I intend to execute this assassin with or without a holy mandate.” She said, watching Opeli closely as Gren relayed her words. “And I am not an especially religious person, in any case.”

“You’d be bringing righteous justice, General.” She answered, shrugging just a little. “Whether or not you’re doing it in Her name, you would be the Hand of Justice, and carrying out Her work. You might as well make it official.”

“And what of the legendary objectivity of the Justiciar?” Amaya asked, clearly unconvinced. Gren watched her with interest as he relayed her words, genuinely curious as to what she’d decide on this. “I was under the impression that a Justiciar who allows personal motivation to cloud their justice is forsworn by the Church.”

Opeli huffed, lips quirking. “If I may be so bold, General…personal motivation or not, if there’s anyone that is going to catch that elf before she can return to Xadia, it will be you. And this crime needs a Justiciar to attend it, desperately. With the closest Justiciar roaming Neolandia, you are by far the best option. It’s not as though worthy and ready-trained candidates are thick on the ground.”

Amaya’s lips pressed into a flat line. “So it’s a matter of needing the Church of Paragons to be seen doing something.”

The priestess’ eyebrows raised. “Did I say that?” She asked, mildly. “No, General. This is a matter of Justice. The Pentarchy has not had something so heinous committed within its borders in decades, and setting a Justiciar on the task is – is necessary. Anything less would be – it would be a betrayal, do you understand? Five kingdoms are crying out to Lady Justice, General. If a Justiciar doesn’t attend a crime like this, then what are they even for?” Her voice became more emphatic and impassioned the longer she spoke, and abruptly Gren could see her for the Priestess of Paragons that she was, her demeanour near-brimming with the strength of her faith.

“A few vows won’t make me any better at executing a monster. She will die whether I am a Justiciar or merely a General. It would make no difference.” Amaya said, expression increasingly agitated as she signed.

“It would make every difference.” Opeli refuted, vehement, every ounce of her piety showing in her eyes. “Not to your fighting ability, of course, but – to the Kingdoms, to the boys’ memories-“ She cut off, perhaps warned by some stiffening of the other woman’s frame, and sighed. “…Are you entirely opposed to it, then?” She asked, more quietly, more solemnly. She did genuinely look sad at the thought.

She hesitated before moving her hands again. “Not necessarily opposed, but I have concerns.” As he watched, General Amaya closed her eyes, and puffed out a breath. She looked momentarily troubled as she shook her head, opened her eyes again, and looked back at Katolis’ Lady of Paragons. “A Justiciar must act as Lady Justice would.” She said, sighing, eyes hooded. “They must use the sword, the scales, and the blindfold all. Lady Opeli, I am too close to this to judge as a Justiciar should. I would use only the sword.” Her hands moved emphatically enough there that Gren relayed them with just the stress on the words he ought, a shiver running down his spine at the bald honesty in them.

Amaya wasn’t one to speak of her flaws or failings so plainly. But Opeli…he supposed if you couldn’t be honest to a Priestess of Paragons, you probably had a significant problem.

The Priestess herself watched Amaya for a few seconds, a very slight smile pulling at the corners of her lips. She looked satisfied, perhaps, or even a little impressed. “I appreciate your candour.” She said. “But I think you misjudge yourself. If consecrated to act with the responsibilities of a Justiciar, you would use the scales, and the blindfold too, even if you detested it with every breath. Even if every part of you wanted to use only the sword. You are not the sort of woman who can turn her back on what she is responsible for.”

Amaya huffed, a little startled. “And what would you call me abandoning the Breach to chase a single elf, if not abandonment of my responsibility?” Gren, glancing at her, said the words dryly. It was the first time he’d seen her express the sentiment that she was shirking her duty, though naturally she’d read the accusation on more than one pair of lips already.

“Justice.” Said Opeli, simply. “Justice for an unforgiveable, despicable crime. Justice that will soothe a kingdom of broken hearts, as well as your own. Don’t underestimate the power of this sort of closure, General. You know better.”

The General exhaled, a light frown furrowing her brow. She didn’t respond for a few long seconds, contemplative, and not in a happy way. “I don’t know that I could give the elf mercy, if for some unfathomable reason that was what she deserved.” She said finally.

“You would.” Opeli refuted, with a certainty even Gren didn’t quite have. He’d seen Amaya weep, seen her scream and rage and wail. He’d seen her fingers bloody in the blind fury of her grief, rust beneath her fingernails and vengeance carving out a hollow in her heart. He’d have agreed with Opeli in a heartbeat were she talking to a General whose nephews had not been murdered, but…Amaya was in a great deal of pain. People could change terribly when they were in pain. But, even so... “You’re not a sword, General Amaya. You’re a shield. Or do you carry that thing everywhere you go for decoration?” She smiled, gently teasing, and Gren couldn’t do anything but agree with her.

Amaya eyed her narrowly, and said nothing.

“You’re not an instrument of unthinking vengeance, no matter what you seem to think. You would be a worthy Justiciar, and I would be honoured to consecrate you.” She said, with a sort of self-satisfied air that suggested she thought she’d won. “Think on it. You know where to find me when you’ve made a decision.”

With that, she bowed, a clear conclusion to the discussion. Amaya bowed back, a little mechanically, and watched with brows furrowed as the Lady of Paragons walked away down the stone corridor. “That woman is a menace.” She said to Gren, shaking her head disbelievingly. Her fingers twitched for a few seconds between sentences. “…She reminds me of Sarai, sometimes. Just as impossible to argue with.”

He huffed a laugh, surprised, and let his shoulders loosen. He spoke to her in quick, somewhat excited motions: “do you think you’ll do it?” Whatever he thought, and whatever she thought…Justiciars were special. He couldn’t quite help the thrill that the thought of Amaya as one of them inspired.

She tilted her head back and forth, a gesture of indecision. “I don’t know, yet. I’ll think about it.” She sighed. “She seems very sure I have my head where it should be. I’m not so convinced.”

Gren considered that, and, a little tentative, answered “Well, she was right about one thing, General, if nothing else.”

Amaya stared at him, plainly questioning.

“You are a shield.” He said. “You always have been.” He hesitated, warring a little with the part of him that was wary of imposing, of overstepping, but…he was her friend. He knew he was. He knew she valued his opinions, even if he still couldn’t quite believe it. “I think she’s right. If it came down to it, and the elf didn’t deserve to die, you’d spare her.”

She frowned at him. “You sound very sure of that.” She seemed almost curious, there, as if she were listening, at least in the metaphorical sense. As if she were honestly considering that he might have a better insight to her actions than she did.

He hesitated again, but forged on. “You’ve suffered a terrible loss, and it has hurt you badly.” He said, cautious. “But you’re still Amaya. And if you swear the Justiciar’s vows, I know you’ll honour them.”

She stared at him for long, silent seconds, until he found it hard to keep still and fidgeted a little, shuffling in place. Then she exhaled, long and heavy, and averted her eyes just a little. “Thank you, Gren.” She said, hands picking their way slowly through the words. “I…am still unsure. But I will seriously consider Opeli’s offer, I think.”

He relaxed, just a little relieved, and nodded to her. Then, mind whirling with thoughts of his favourite childhood stories and the Justiciars that had featured in them, he fell into step beside his General, and followed her out of the castle halls.

---

End chapter.

Timeline: This chapter takes place on the latter part of 18.05, day 8 since start of canon. Subtract 2 days for time spent travelling. Kids are camped at 1250m above sea level.

Chapter notes: I hope everyone enjoyed ‘High’ Elf Rayla. That whole sequence gave me a fair bit of trouble in the planning stages; it was one of those that I needed to write to figure out the direction of. This chapter is super super long mainly because it had a lot of dialogue-heavy scenes, and dialogue is what really inflates my word counts.

Note on meat preparation: I have plucked game birds before. It is an absolute pain.

Next chapter is Highly Significant. It is also not finished yet, and I’ve had to do some major restructuring. I’m only posting this chapter now because it’s been so long since the last update, and because celebration of the Comicon panel and the new lore seems a worthy cause. It might be a while until the next chapter, although I’m still writing every day. Total piaj word count is now up to 230k.

Medical details: In this chapter, Rayla’s ischemic ulcer pops on her finger. This will, to put it mildly, hurt like a bitch. Arterial insufficiency ulcers are described in everything I’ve read as ‘intensely painful’.

Rayla also, while drugged to high heaven, scratches open the developing pressure sores around the binding. These are mainly on the sides of her wrist, on either side of the binding, rather than on the overside and underside of the wrist: they’re worst where the skin is nearly directly over bone. They are also an infection risk, especially given the presence of the binding right there, and will hurt horribly once the lilium wears off.

Her hand does not have a lot of time left. Expect this situation to come to a head next chapter.

Worldbuilding:

The Justiciars:

I originally had a (more) giant wall of text here, but I feel my worldbuilding is starting to exceed the scope of what I can reasonably put in chapter notes, so here’s a comparatively brief summary:

A Justiciar, in sum, is a travelling warrior consecrated to act as judge, jury, and executioner. As part of their religious mandate, they are required to act as the hand and instrument of Lady Justice, who will not bring her sword down upon an undeserving soul. Justiciars generally enjoy a reputation as folk heroes, with many historical Justiciars and their exploits featuring in popular stories and folktales. They are very highly regarded, and very uncommon. It is very difficult for most people to become Justiciars, and generally involves decades of training. The Justiciar swears vows in the name of Lady Justice and thereafter acts as a travelling perpetrator of justice. They are called upon to track, apprehend, judge and sentence heinous criminals who have fled conventional justice, or to navigate exceptionally controversial or incendiary crimes where local officials have difficulty remaining impartial. It is a religious role as well as a judicial role, and is one of several examples of how deeply entrenched Paragonism is in Pentarchy culture and societal structure.

It’s understandable that Amaya is hesitant, given that a Justiciar who allows their personal motivations and feelings to sway their holy justice is forsworn. And boy, does she have personal motivations and feelings about the ‘assassinations’.

Opeli, here, has looked at the situation and said ‘this warrants a Justiciar’, because there’s pretty much no crime that qualifies as incendiary more than the assassination of two child princes. She knows that Amaya will likely be the one to find Rayla, and there are no Justiciars to spare to send with her. Amaya herself is obviously a capable warrior, but is also extensively familiar with Katolis law, and in her position as General is already empowered with the authority to judge and execute anyone within the borders of the Pentarchy (though citizens of other kingdoms must be handled carefully). This, to Opeli, makes her fit the essential requirements of a Justiciar without the usual lengthy training. Opeli really wants a Justiciar on this case, she believes that the princes’ assassin warrants personal attention from an ordained judge, and she thinks she can make that happen.

The Marsh-Lotus and Lilium: As previously mentioned, medical preparations of the marsh-pollen are known as ‘lilium’. It almost always comes in liquid form, and is a very, very potent drug, and commonly used across the Pentarchy. In smaller doses, it is a very effective pain relief, and can also be used as a sleep aid. In larger doses, it makes an excellent anaesthetic, eliminating pain and quickly rendering a patient unconscious. However, larger doses than that are likely to kill you, so the anaesthetic use is only done by trained healers who are very good at calibrating dosages.

The recreational preparation of lotus can be made from the pollen, in which case it’s very small doses of pollen cut with beet-sugar and a variety of other things. This is then imbibed by drug-users. The more well-known preparation is with the dried flower petals, which can be sold unmodified and eaten to obtain the drug’s effects. Users of lotus-derived recreational drugs are known as lotus-eaters. Recreational lotus use is illegal in Katolis, Duren, and Neolandia; but sale of medical lilium is not well-regulated, so most addicts just use that instead.

The healer Marla stocks an above-average quantity of lilium, as she suffers from a chronic pain disorder and arthritis, which are eased by the drug.

Medical jargon: psychoactive = messes with your state of mind, analgesic = painkiller, soporific = makes you sleepy, euphoria = state of varyingly intense pleasure and happiness, or feeling of wellness.

Due credit: the psychoactive effects of the lotus, as well as the term ‘lotus-eater’, are naturally inspired by the Odyssey. I’m also very fond of the Tennyson poem ‘the lotos-eaters’.

Lilium side-effects: Someone using lilium will experience intense feelings of relaxation and wellness, which at higher doses can reach euphoria. They will become lax and disinclined to do anything very active or taxing. They are highly liable to decide to lay down wherever is convenient for a nap or rest, particularly as the body begins to metabolise the lilium. The drug fosters a confused and somewhat incoherent state of mind; users will be very suggestible, will find it difficult to muster negative emotions or reactions, and will have absolutely terrible impulse-control.

Less psychoactive side-effects: dry mouth, dilated pupils, slow heartbeat, strange tactile sensations (‘tingling’ and sometimes ‘itching’; painful areas in particular are likely to feel especially itchy), and lethargy.

Idioms: The term ‘marsh-whacked’ is human slang meaning ‘high’, as in intoxicated on a recreational substance. It originates from lotus-derived drugs, which are naturally from the marshes of Evenere. The slang is vaguely inspired by real-world slang ‘bush-whacked’, meaning ‘exhausted’.

There is also a Xadian slang word for being high, which I’ll certainly get to use at some point.

#tdp #rayllum #tdp fanfic #tdp rayla #tdp callum #tdp ezran #piaj chapters

[sol1056]

git along little nonnies

Got a whole bunch of you on related themes, so I’m just gonna do this all at once: a bunch of questions about DW, spinoffs, merchandise, business, management, support (and protest) and whatnot. In no particular order.

Ok there are petitions and peaceful boycotts directed at DW but problem is they aren’t addressing the EPs and things they, not DW, did so how are we to sign them, how to handle this when this could at best confuse the situation and not give any results and at worst, make matters even worse about what we want regarding DW addressing things? 

Here’s what companies care about: money. Everything else is gravy.

If you want a corporation to pay attention to your complaints, then you need to figure out their sources of income, and find a way to threaten that. If the social reprobation is high enough, damage to the brand can translate into lost sales, but the tempest required to make that happen must be much, much larger than anything I’ve seen the fandom manage. 

I’ve been saying this all along: voices are far more powerful than signatures. If twenty thousand people wrote or called in, and said what they liked vs what upset them, that would have a far greater impact. Certainly a lot more than a list of names with no emotion beyond a request that may not even be something DW can, or would, fulfill.  

And don’t even get me started on mailing stuff in. Cute, but hardly actionable.  

Do you know what kind of contracts DW sign, as in, are they obligated to air all seasons, can they choose not to air them, do the companies they work with (netflix, wep) have a say or more say than them? Who gets the last word? Is airing all seasons squarely on DW or more? 

As I’m not a corporate lawyer employed by any of the signatories, I can’t tell you what the contract stipulated. What I can tell you is that a contract of the magnitude of the DW-WEP-Netflix agreement probably had a dissertation worth of riders covering the different types of possible defaults or breaches, and the penalties for each. Additionally, the contract also likely covered what constituted ‘satisfactory delivery’ of the product. 

To take it down to a really simple level: you place an order at a restaurant. You expect to get it, eat it, and pay for it. You don’t expect to be told, “hey, we burnt your steak and we’re out of butter for your sweet potatoes, so have some green beans instead,” and then be told you still owe the full amount, anyway. 

Netflix wouldn’t settle for ordering (and paying for) something never delivered, anymore than you would. Sure, any corporation worth their over-inflated stock options would try --- but that’s the point of contracts, to make sure they can’t. 

Netflix paid, DW delivers, end of story.  

 ...do you think ppl in charge didn't think EPs would tell they made changes and also thought they'd manage to bury it? And then they got in trouble and DW is going thru changes for that reason? -waves at DW goings on and silence.

I got lost in all the pronouns, there. Who’s the first ‘they,’ the EPs or DW execs? Is the second ‘they’ referring to the same as the first? So... I’m not really sure what you’re positing, but if the ‘DW is going through changes’ is implying DW’s got a shakeup and/or is promoting its head-of-TV to president and that’s somehow connected to two newbie EPs screwing up?

I’d say the chances are so infinitesimal as to be nearly in the negative. (I should also note, the press release listed successful shows Cohn oversaw, yet oddly did not include VLD.) DW is not a three-person start up; it has stakeholders and a board and a C-suite to satisfy. Cohn got that promotion ‘cause she’s got a track record going back thirty years, most recently growing DW’s TV division from 8 to 800 in five years. 

Most corporations tend to announce their new CEO or President like someone woke up that morning and went, hey, I’ve got a great idea. Truth is, it’s usually in the works for at least a year, sometimes several years, or more. The only thing that has me side-eyeing the announcement is the silence around who’ll fill Cohn’s previous position. 

But that’s again less to do with a single series, and more to do with what it says about DW as a whole, business-wise. 

What meaningful changes could the new president Margie Cohn make that would be different than the last one? Also I'm sorry if your getting a bunch of Voltron/DW questions lately, you just seem to be the most knowledgeable person on this platform.

I’d be willing to bet I’m far from the most knowledgeable person; I’m just someone not bound by an NDA, and curious enough to do a bit of digging and jaded enough to talk about (most) of what I find. 

A president can have immense impact on a company’s direction; that’s kinda why they exist, to set that high-level strategy. That said, Cohn will be bound by all contracts signed by her predecessor. The TV side (barring someone filling the shoes she left) will probably continue as it was. The theatrical side (which she’s taking over) will be where we’ll probably see any major changes. 

And even those aren’t likely to be on films currently in production. Hell, given theatrical animation can take up to five years, I’m not sure that’d show much change, either. Look instead to changes in investors, new deals, and new properties. 

What do you think DW will do about a sequel if there’s really no bible? Theres tons of plot holes & abandoned storylines. VLD will never feel satisfying, and fans already argued with different interpretations based on conflicting content, without a nice satisfying explanation...

I know this is the first of a three-part ask, but I’m skipping the rest because the only answer possible is to your very first question: the bible doesn’t matter. 

Any new series --- even a continuation --- will construct its own bible. Same as we’d do in fandom: they’ll patch together what they can, fill in blanks as they need, and gloss the rest, or retcon it outright. Even if there were a bible, diligently followed, that doesn’t mean the next series is automatically beholden to it. Some franchises would care (ie Star Wars) while others might let a reboot mess with the details (ie Star Trek). 

For every continuation, there’s gradations in between, since otherwise what’s the interest for creative minds, if you’re obligated to follow someone else’s script exactly? So, no. The absence of a story bible doesn’t preclude the next iteration making its own, as it needs, to whatever extent it requires. 

I was wandering around the hot topic online store, and i noticed a shirt that raised a few flags and questions. it's the 'Voltron Location' shirt. it has all the paladins in different places in a star globe chart thing? with what might possibly be planet designations. plus Lance is the only one not inside his blue colored bubble. Keith is in Red and Shiro in Black again. it's interesting at least.

Nearly all the shirts use the same base images, just changed up. It feels a little like someone handed a designer a half-dozen images with a request for forty-something designs --- and now HT is just throwing them all at the wall to see what sticks (or sells). 

HT’s stuff has been pretty consistent, from what I’ve heard: Shiro is Black, Keith is Red, etc. Considering the t-shirts seem to be selling out regularly (along with various other sidelines), I’d say someone is savvy as to the fact that the segment of fandom spending the most money is also the segment that prefers the S1/S2 lineup. 

If that’s what customers want, it’s smart business for DW to provide.

(Yes, that applies on more than one level.)

There are VLD comic books being released by LionForge Comics, are those considered canon? Do LM and JDS have any involvement? They take place before Season 7and8 but I don't wanna support the original EPs.

Every fandom has its own stand on what counts as canon. Sometimes (especially with adaptations) you’ll find fandoms being explicit as to whether they’re book or movie (ie HP and LotR). I expect the same will eventually shake out in VLD’s fandom, too. 

From everything I’ve heard, Hedrick and Iverson were handed the comics and ran with it. I suppose that would argue for seeing the comics as canon, being they were written by people also writing the main series... but from what I can tell, it’s one-way. The show affected the comics, but nothing in the comics ever affected the series.

That said, your purchases have nothing to do with the original EPs. All you’re doing is telling DW you like the VLD-iteration of Voltron.

What are your thoughts on the final vld poster? I feel like it’s missing the end. Allura is randomly staring back into nothing.

It’s a clever idea to do a poster for each season, but it’s not something I’ve ever paid any attention to, really. If it were drawn by the head writer? That might mean the artist had more insight than, say, a storyboarder or animator. But even then... cool picture, still not-canon. I’m only interested in canon.

Do you think that Voltron was rushed purposely by the EP's. [...] Wouldn't this effect the quality of, well, everything? I feel as if they got frustrated with the show at that point and just wanted out.

Dude. There are times I sit here and just stare into space, bewildered yet again not just at the thought of 39 episodes released in one year --- but doing that with 26 as a last-minute cut-and-paste rearrangement. All I can tell you is that what I’ve seen from animation people and aficionados (and friends) is that three full seasons in one calendar year is just bonkers. 

If DW hadn’t wanted the schedule that packed, the EPs aren’t the ones getting the say. That’s a DW-Netflix thing. I really wonder whether DW used VLD as a guinea pig. TH went a year between S1 and S2, and the numbers slumped badly. Perhaps DW wanted to know if more episodes, more often, would keep fan interest high? DW has experienced execs, but they’re all from broadcast; how you arrange and time things in the brave new world of binge-watching is a completely different beast. 

So, it’s possible it was less of a rush job to get the show out, and more from a desire to see what'd happen to release so much, so close together. 

I still think it’s a bonkers schedule, though.

"Relaunch the whole property" sounds like they won't continue expanding the whole vld universe and they'll make a new itineration. Though if they do a spin-off it'd likely be on the vld universe surrounding the new "Legendary Defenders" from the epilogue. And "especially given the response" do you think after the negative response from s8, wouldn't be better for WEP to not keep working with Dreamworks? Or maybe they need to clean their brand from vld fiasco? What can you say about all of this?

I can say you might try re-reading, because boy is that a radical interpretation of the text. Remember, Jeremy was speaking before S8, and all indication is that he was caught off-guard as much as the fans. Re-read in light of Jeremy (at the time) appearing to expect S8 to be a crowd-pleaser.   

...I'm becoming more confident in my belief that DW has something planned for Voltron. I mean they are still heavily promoting the show, LionForge is still publishing Voltron comics, and merchandise is still being made. These don't seem like the actions of a company trying to get people to forget a show. 

You’re not wrong. Up to the last few days of 2018, DW gave every indication they wanted S8 quietly buried. Nothing they’ve done since has fit that pattern --- including the anomaly of failing to announce their 2019 series. Something is going on, that’s for certain. 

Did DW really just throw the VAs to the wolves [for] three days? and there's still no official stance? One panel was enough. They had [the VAs] take the heat for them? But thankfully fans felt sorry for them? Which could also have been the goal, shut the fans up [with] the VAs of the characters who got the worst treatment and who love their characters ... Yes DW this really makes me trust you /sarcasm/

I don’t think that was the original plan. Let’s pretend DW released its 2019 schedule via press release in the first few days of January, and among those was an announcement of a VLD sequel or spinoff, coming late 2019. 

People wouldn’t be fussing over putting the VAs through three panels. They’d be complaining we didn’t get the biggest room for every panel. The majority of the fandom doesn’t trust the EPs, and is wary of DW --- really, the only ones who retain any goodwill, at this point, are the VAs. So who better than to assure a nervous fandom about the goodness of the second iteration than the VAs whose characters were most shafted by the first iteration?

What breaks this is that immediately after S8 dropped, Josh and Kimberly went silent on twitter. AJ slipped into passive-aggressive snarking; Jeremy fell off the radar and usually he’s pretty interactive with his fans. Bex pretty much wiped  VLD from her stream, possibly including deleting older tweets. Neil tried to engage and made a hash of it, bless his heart. 

Josh and Kimberly are consummate professionals who reliably promote the series after every season drop, but their radio silence continued for almost two weeks. This wasn’t the first season that came saddled with controversy; if there was a time to go quiet, it was after S7. Something else was going on. 

I have strong suspicions backed by research, but if I’m right, I’d be stepping on a major legal landmine. In the interest of not getting blown up, I’ll only say that the VAs appearing for those three panels (and their low-key and mostly diplomatic hedging around VLD’s conclusion) was a good sign that all parties involved are willing to work things out.   

[DW was] quick to handle the Season 7 backlash and have stayed mum on what is arguably a much worse reaction to the 8th and final season.

and

I believe the S8 of voltron we got was not the original ending we were supposed to get and highly edited. My question is why? What was the point of changing the original ending? [The] radio silence from DW and the cast is driving me nuts. I wish DW would make a statement.

DW is in an interesting place. Its TV side is barely five years old, but dominated by execs with long-time broadcast experience, predating vibrant interactivity afforded by platforms like twitter, tumblr, or instagram. DW’s background as a theatrical company also seems to incline it away from any ongoing engagement with the audience. It releases a movie and by the time that hits theaters, DW is onto the next thing. 

It’s a strong contrast with production studios like Zagtoon (Miraculous), who penned an open letter to their fandom about production delays. Or little studios like Wonderstorm (The Dragon Prince) whose deft use of twitter and tumblr sets their brand apart. Or Federator (Castlevania), with their witty marketing campaigns and willingness to engage with fans. Even Disney was willing to be open about its errors with Tiana, and to make clear how it was striving to do better --- so there’s no excuse that only small studios do such outreach.

My guess is that DW's core leadership is from the school of business in which admitting a mistake is tantamount to ritual suicide. Don’t blink first, or maybe the rule is never let them see you sweat, but whatever it is, DW is turning into a textbook case of how silence can damage a brand. 

Companies have multiple avenues to reach customers directly, now. Our modern technologies are a two-way street, and good companies leverage that to create not passive fandoms but active communities. It takes work, careful planning, and some level of transparency --- something old-school execs find highly uncomfortable, to be honest --- but in this day and age, those are crucial building-blocks to achieving any kind of audience loyalty.

DW isn’t going to render itself obsolete (at least not overnight), but it's on a track to end up as the studio whose work audiences only watch when there’s nothing better being offered. Unfortunately for DW, there’s a hell of a lot of other studios out there, and they're all offering something better. 

#vld #voltron #television production #marketing #business #sol thinks about stuff

[clonefright99datapad]

Through the lens of an artist.

Sebastian’s arms were badly aching, he was exhausted, exhausted  from carrying Iris’ weight, exhausted from running away carrying such weight. Iris wasn’t the lightest, he was heavier than what a person his size should normally weight but Sebastian carried on. Seeing the safehouse in the distance, Sebastian accelerated his pace, breathing heavily as his lungs were on fire, he just wanted to rest. After struggling to open the door to the safehouse, he quickly stepped inside, scanning the room for a place to set Iris down before putting Iris down on a nearby bench. Sebastian then painfully walked back at the door to lock it before collapsing onto a chair, he relaxed and took a moment to breathe, looking over at Iris who was still unconscious. He painfully stood up and went to the coffee maker, pouring himself a mug of hot coffee and then taking a well deserved long sip of his coffee. He let out a satisfied sigh, feeling his few injuries patching themselves up. He put the mug down before walking over to Iris. His eye, if you could call it that, wasn’t glowing like it usually did and Sebastian assumed that it only happened when he’d sleep, either that or it was broken but Iris hadn’t complained about his sight so he went with his first assumption.

He sat down on the bench,lifting Iris a bit and setting up the individual as if to pillow his head with his lap, he waited for him to wake up, keeping an eye out like he used to do with Lily when she had been sick. He lightly caressed Iris’ head and as he relaxed, he fell asleep for a moment. He was pulled out from his sleep as he heard Iris’ small complaints.

--------

Iris had barely woken up that his entire body was already flooding him with a dreadful sensation that he knew all too well. His skin felt like boiling wax had been poured over it and was now being peeled off, the remains of his muscles and tendons were twitching uncontrollably, feeding this fire that his clay like ooze was desperately struggling to keep under control while it painfully healed his wounds. It felt like he was being cremated alive, at least that’s how he imagined being cremated felt like. Somehow this excruciating pain reminded him of the day he became what he is now, a sculpture, a carefully crafted sculpture made by his maker. A living piece of art. It echoed throughout his mind,like a memory that he couldn’t suppress no matter how hard he tried. Those sweet words that were murmured to him in his ear as he was torn apart, as if to reassure him that this painful procedure was worth it. The noises… the noises… the noises his body produced as it was being cut down and then put back together was the only thing that resonated in his ears. He couldn’t see what was happening, what Stefano was doing exactly, and he never needed this information before in his entire life span, perhaps it was best being blind at this time but the fear of what his poor body had endured, what his body must look like to be in such excruciating pain made him wish he could see...

At this point, he wished he’d just died instead. Maybe he was already dead, who knows, perhaps this was purgatory. He felt light headed. The smell in the room made his stomach twist and his nostrils burned, it smelled like death, putrefaction and vomit. He could still hear his screams, his cries, piercing his eardrums, echoing, like he had screamed into a well for hours, days… But Iris wasn’t screaming, he was barely making any sounds as a matter of fact, his voice was broken, he was broken. All for a promise to be able to see art, hidden behind this sinister will to mold him into this cruel art piece. Iris was innocent, he never thought someone would go this far for a passion. He never thought he would go this far for sight either.

In the end, the artist held his promise, he could see, even though it was extremely finicky and required Stefano to explain him over and over again how to use it. Those painful memories reminded him of how much he wished to go back, back before he had met Stefano’s path, before he foolishly trusted this man. Even then, some part of him still wanted to trust him, still wanted his approval and to make him proud. He had given him sight, took him under his wings before showing the beauties of his art, letting him help with creating his art as well, he had been so gentle and caring with him in the beginning and now, now that he ruined so much of his work... He wanted those memories to be buried and never come back but he couldn’t stop them, he couldn’t do anything, he couldn’t do anything right, he couldn’t stop his clumsiness from damaging Stefano’s hard work on his sculpting.

------

A croaked cry came out from his throat, the sounds were so muted, barely hearable even to his own ears but the sniffling noises mixed with the short gasping sounds he did every few seconds sounded like he had the hiccups but gave the indication he was crying,or at least trying to cry. His cries were like someone who had cried so much that no sounds would come up, his lips moved as if he was saying something but the words kept breaking down.

“..H...hu.r..st…h-huu..” He felt a hand laying on his head, the hand was so warm and gentle and somewhat familiar.

“It’s alright, I’m here… Take it easy.” Sebastian’s voice was low and comforting.

“Seb-as-tng?...Seben...tan…” Iris hoarsely mumbled. His vision was unfocused, he could barely see anything other than blurred features of the man looking down at him. It was enough to make him slightly panic though. “...m...eye....Ffff-fu...Fucc...is..” His voice was brittle and kept skipping parts. He was trying to move his left arm to his face without much success. Iris paused, not sure why his body didn’t want to respond more than wild twitching spasms. That was enough to make every inch of his body winced as the pain refused to settle down, more vivid and intense now that Iris was fully awake, suppressing all the thoughts he had about his possibly damaged sight. He groaned as loudly as his voice allowed him to. He desperately begged for something.

Sebastian wasn’t sure what he was saying at first, it was so quiet , he had to lean in closer to hear him better

“...p...plea-se....plea-se...Sebstin....stop…” His voice broke down. “stop…..plea-se...hur...hurt...make...stop...Seb-as-tan…” his raspy cries were pleading Sebastian to do something about the pain. The ooze on his face had turned into a slight hue of purple and his body became more and more agitated, shaking ever so slightly.

Sebastian felt his heart tighten up at his cries, he couldn’t heal him and he knew that but he also knew he could do one thing to ease up his pain at least as he pulled his last syringe and without hesitation carefully sunk the needle into Iris’s shoulder which slightly twitched. He could craft more once Iris was back on his feet, besides, he was fine on his end oddly enough.

“Shhh, you can relax now. I’ve got you,” he whispered, lightly patting his head. Iris wiggled a bit and lifted himself up with his less injured arm not in a sitting position but enough to lay his head against Sebastian’s chest. Sebastian smiled and held him closer, rocking back and forth in a soothing motion as he went to place a subtle kiss on top of his head, he could smell something like embalming products, death and god knows what else, it wasn’t extreme but it did made him wonder what Stefano could possibly have done to Iris. Perhaps if he gave Iris enough time he would open up about it.

“You....wa-stng...sup...supplies for...me..not..wo-rth it..” he mumbled quietly, his voice was less raspy, he sounded almost sleepy.

Sebastian held him tighter, shaking his head softly, it was his fault if Iris was in such a bad shape to begin with, if he hadn’t shot that explosive bolt right into that lost that was charging him. Iris had pulled him backwards with incredible strength, putting himself in the way and taking the blow instead. He had tried for several minutes to pick Iris up, each attempt failing as he refused to let Sebastian pick him up, making small agonizing sounds and smacking him aggressively with his right arm with each attempt.

“..Leave...go...no no no...go..’’ with each sharp gasp he took he repeated those words over and over, trying to get Sebastian to leave him there. Sebastian, out of frustration and pure stubbornness had jabbed Iris with one of his two syringes he had, which may not have been his best idea but that’s all he had with him and since he still had a spare one he figured it was better than trying nothing. Iris hissed, nothing was happening or that’s what Sebastian thought at first glance but Iris had gone still and silent. He wasn’t complaining about the pain nor about Sebastian picking him up.

“I’m not leaving you here… not after almost killing yourself to save my ass, you hear me?” His voice was rougher than he wanted it to sound but Iris didn’t reply, he simply looked away, ashamed, tired. As soon as Sebastian had picked up Iris, he almost instantly fell asleep in his arms. Sebastian headed to the safehouse and he wondered if Iris ever slept until now, if he needed to or if it was only his body trying to concentrate on healing his injuries, Perhaps the syringe had some sort of anesthetic effect on Iris. The only thing holding Iris’s limbs from falling off completely was the tentacles tightly wrapped around the dangling limbs and the excessive amount of crimson ooze that coated almost the entirety of his body including Sebastian’s upper body.

-----

Sebastian held him tightly, he was irritated that he could think such things even after almost dying for him, he thought it perhaps had to do with something much more deeper, a wound that even comfort and time couldn’t possibly heal, he couldn’t blame Iris for that of course, he was only a victim of this twisted man’s ideology centered around his morbid art projects.

“You asked me to stop the pain and I did, so, it’s not wasting my supplies…” He tried to suppress this urge to lecture him about this before adding,’’That’s the least I can do to thank you for saving my ass back there, no?”

There was a silence, Iris looked down, hiding his face from Sebastian. Iris was drifting off from consciousness again but as he slowly fell asleep he mumbled something, it was quiet and a bit sloppy but sebastian heard all of it and he froze.

“..You sh-ould...hhhave...jist..…sh-oot...me…”

His hands started to shake as his grip on Iris tightened, he took a deep breath before putting his lips against Iris head and without realising it started rocking back and forth ever so gently. Those words stabbed him so deeply, they sliced right through him as they were so familiar and he cursed under his breath.

#Through the lens of an artist #Iristew2 #writing #the evil within 2 #fanfic #stefano's doppelganger

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHEN YOU CAN WRITE SUBSTANTIAL CHUNKS THIS WAY

Could other countries introduce more individualism into their technology companies and research labs without having it metastasize as strip malls? I didn't ever quite understand these papers, but I found the same problem there. 27meg. While perhaps 9 out of 10 startups fail, the one that succeeds will pay the founders more than 10 times what they would have if he'd been taking classes back at Harvard? Maybe it will turn out you can help one another are both artificially amplified. Ick. Intellectually they were as capable as the successful founders of following all the implications of what one said to them, and c they're individually inconsistent. At Viaweb our whole site was like a roach motel for startup ambitions: smart, ambitious people went in, but no one told me. It sounds to me as complaining that users didn't read the reference manual. Several of our competitors shot themselves in the foot this way—usually, I think filtering based on individual words, Bayesian filters automatically notice. When you order online, I think, hackers despise it. We found the startups that did best were the ones with the sort of founders about whom we'd say they can take a nap on when they feel tired, instead of sitting in a coma at their desk, pretending to work.

The reason they go into finance to make their fortunes will continue to do badly. In either case there's not much you can learn from them. Weekly growth, you may end up with a much firmer grip on the code. Many software companies, especially at critical social bottlenecks like college admissions. Suppose new policies make it hard to make a port run efficiently, it can't coax startups into existence. Whether or not this is a natural place for things to give as venture funding becomes more and more fields will see as time goes on. There's no precise answer to that. We have triumphed over the unprincipled dissemination of facts. Pay was based on seniority. I do then is just what the river does: backtrack. One of the principles the IRS uses in deciding whether to allow deductions is that, if not beyond the bounds of possibility, is beyond the scope of this article.

We spent a lot of nasty little ones. In the early 1990s I read an article in which someone said that software was a subscription business. And yet because of the name, and were always disappointed. I know this may sound oversensitive, but if we knew how we would have started a startup to do? Rich people don't get better design or craftsmanship here. In the seed stage. Something you publish ought to tell the reader something he didn't already know. When the tests are narrow and predictable, you get to hit a few difficult problems over the net at someone, you learn pretty quickly how hard they are; you don't know initially how hard they are; you don't know that number, you don't have a college degree you can't get a visa for working on your own projects than an undergrad or corporate employee would. Once you grasp that, you advance quickly to the next step, which is almost unheard of among VCs. Deciding to fire people is usually hard, but it is the people. Nearly all our users came direct to our site through word of mouth. But in this case it seems more as if there was some kind of turf to protect, and this tends to warp their development decisions.

And the probability of the containing email being a spam. It sounds like making movies works a lot like the arrival of PCs twenty-five years ago. Deciding to fire people is usually hard, but there's one case in which it varies so much that there's no conventional number. 071706355 There are a couple pieces of good news here. Due diligence is the corporate equivalent of a background check: the purpose is to uncover any hidden bombs that might sink the company later, like serious design flaws in the product, pending lawsuits against the company, which costs a couple thousand dollars in legal work and registration fees, and the word that came to mind was optimism. And creating wealth, people who want to come to America can even get in? And that probably drove the developers harder than any carrot or stick could. Was I worried? What should you think about? What if startups are both a new economic phase, on the condition that Woz quit, he initially refused, arguing that he'd designed both the Apple I and the Apple II while working at HP, and there is something similarly degrading about competing with spammers.

Perhaps the most successful countries, in the sense that it is a spam, whereas sexy indicates. To the recipient, spam is easily recognizable. Unfortunately there's no antonym of hapless, which makes them worry they'll get in trouble if they do something risky and it fails. It seems as if it must have been when startups wrote VisiCalc. And no one can stop you. The stories that seemed to be able to push back in the 90s. Grad school can be a damned heavy monkey on your back.

And so it is unfair to delay. Because it's too easy for people who control a private company to funnel its revenues to themselves e. Whereas American executives, in their hearts, still believe the most important work being done was intellectual archaelogy. In the early era, philology actually mattered. It's more important to grow fast. By obstructing that process, Apple is making them do bad work, and programmers hate that as much as possible. If we can write software that recognizes their messages, there is no record of it. So this alternative device probably couldn't win on general appeal. Parents will die for their kids. But lately I've been learning more about how the VC world works, and your competitors can, you tend to get fixed. When you can reproduce errors and release changes instantly, you can increase how much you make, and you can decrease how much you spend.

Every person has to do their job well. The trouble is, the very best ideas. Content-based spam filtering is often combined with a whitelist, a list of US cities sorted by population, the number of startups is the pool of potential founders. In a startup writing Web-based applications offer a straightforward way to outwork your competitors. So it may be worth standing back and understanding what's going on, perhaps there's a third option: to write something, half the ideas that implementing it would have led to. It felt as if there was a lot of money to convince big companies that they need something more expensive. It works a lot like making software. Advanced users are more forgiving about bugs, and system administrators traditionally each have their own separate worries. Again by trial and error I chose. Another is when you have to tease apart the components.

Along with interesting problems, what good hackers like is other good hackers. The hackers who become famous tend to become famous by random accidents of PR. Once you experience the pain of missing your target one week it was the only thing we have in common is that we invest in the earliest phases, a lot of startups don't want to follow or lead. This is why some software costs more to run on Windows, and before we could write software for Windows we'd have to use Java and Windows at work, but at Viaweb bugs became almost a game. And I found that the Bayesian filter did the same thing is happening to other deals a hundred times as productive as a small startup. The second or third day, with text that ultimately survived in red and text that later got deleted in gray. Another reason big companies are bad at product development because they're bad at everything. He really doesn't know. Even with us working to make things go your way except in a few unusual cases. Sometimes you start with a promising question and get nowhere. The route for the ambitious in that sort of environment is to join one and climb to the top.

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