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everythingwasalreadypicked · 10 months

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I got a very disturbing Pjo idea after watching TBOSAS trailer and since nudging the people in the Ta server wasn't enough for me, I'm putting it out here.

(Very excited for that movie btw)

TW: Dehumanisation, murder, child death, general things you would see in THG

Okay so you know how THG was inspired by the Thesus and the Labyrinth myth?

And you know how the Games were started to punish the Districts for rebelling?

And, and what army was technically a rebellion? That’s right. The Titan army demigods.

So, what if instead of massacring the Ta kids; the gods put them thorough similar games. I mean Hephaestus TV is a thing, they canonically watch demigods as entertainment. Wouldn't be the first time they made them fight for entertainment either. Remember Bachus?

"After all, if they're so willing to raise up arms against their fellow demigodkind killing their friends and fellow comrades shouldn't be that hard, right?" — Zeus (and Kai thanks for the dialogue)

So those who didn’t immediately joined back the camps gets rounded up and imprisoned somewhere before they got thrown into the arena to fight monsters and eachother to death.

All the while the gods are watching their new family entertainment. Hey, it's free :D

Apollo takes it upon himself to do the interviews (like Ceasar) which half of it has to get censored before it reaches Zeus.

"Hecate, your son fucking bit me!"

"Good." — she's not happy about the situation at all.

Of course, they would group the kids and do more than one run: Prolongs their fun and the traitors's suffering.

Not that all of the kids are sent to fight. The Olympians who have children there are more likely to spare their favourite ones and hold it over their heads for the rest of their life. (And leave the ones they don't like to die)

Sponsorships still happen, it's an effective way to break the comradeship. You're more likely to receive one if 1) Your godly parent is an Olympian and/or 2) You’re more willing to put up with whatever the gods throw at you without a fuss.

The current run is broadcasted to the imprisoned demis as a further way to break their spirits, and so they can see their friends kill eachother, sometimes without hesitation.

The winners gets paraded around Mt. Olympus. They're free now that won the gods's bloody bullshit, right? Wrong. Sure they're being "celebrated" for killing their friends but they're nothing more than shiny trophies. Just props for entertainment :)

Of course, with the way things are broadcasted to the other members of army make it seem like one of their own being treated like a celebrity for turning on them, which further drives wedges between the victors and them.

The winners gets to watch their own run, too. They can't turn on Olympus if they're too busy self-loathing :)

The kids are prepped up before their interviews, a courtesy of Aphrodite (so what if some of her own children are there, they should've knew better than treason), but they’re sent to the arena with basic white chitons. The Olympians get nostalgic all right, they’re old. (And it does make the Ta demis feel even more degraded and patronised.)

The Arena itself is really pretty, too pretty for what's happening inside. I'm talking about polished marble Greek columns, giant statues of the gods, intricate carvings of silver and gold.

[It is of course designed by their newest architect. Not that Annabeth knows what it's going to be used for. They petition for "a shiny arena for godly games" and she does it. Not knowing it's going to be used for demigod bloodshed. She can't be imprisoned like her half-brother Daedalus however, they can't have either of the camps know about what's going on. (Those in Ta who knew her recognises her work, however causing them to think the Camp is on it) So, Hera kindly takes it upon herself to wipe the memory. She needed practice for her future exchange program anyway.]

"Why are you protesting that "we're forcing you to kill eachother" Torrington, we aren't the ones who are holding weapons."

[I will reblog with art later]

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hpowellsmith · 11 months

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just as a little tidbit for me…does fabien have a favorite child (of estell)? is it the RA MC?

obviously prior to the events of RA bec…lol

O gosh, part of me would like to say "it's the MC", haha! but I think really they're all his favourites in different ways, he doesn't have a preference.

I think that he and Josiane clash a bit sometimes because now that she's an adult and has left home, his life advice and such feels patronising to her. But that doesn't mean he likes her any less than the others, he sees it as a normal life stage. (though he still gives the advice...) They have a relationship where they talk about Issues a lot and intellectual stuff.

He and Oliver have a bit more in common in terms of personality, I think he has a lot of fun with Oliver's playfulness and Oliver is a big extrovert like he is. They don't tend to clash as much or if they do it's because of circumstances rather than being genuinely annoyed at each other. Now that the MC has left home Fabien is conscious that Oliver could be lonely and wants to make sure he feels cared for when he's around.

The MC relationship is more malleable, both because I wanted to give the MC the chance to choose their attitudes towards Fabien, and because of what the MC can potentially do during the game. But certainly at the start, Fabien feels strong fondness and affection to the MC, wants good things for them, and wants to help make that happen (with, perhaps, his own view of what "good things" looks like).

#asks #royal affairs #fabien de cadaret

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dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram · 2 years

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your comments about Matilda got me thinking about my response to the song. I was obsessed with the film as a child but i haven't read the book. I did connect with the song on my first listen because I come from an abusive household and there were parts that resonated with me, but the line "you don’t have to be sorry for doing it on your own" really bothered me from the start. ‘Doing it on your own’ is fucking horrible, 1/?

that feeling of loneliness and vulnerability that comes from not having a protective and caring support system is devastating and saying “you don’t have to be sorry for doing it on your own” leaves out the huge difficulty of withdrawing from your family if you don’t have another support system (he does talk about a found family in the song but the way that sentence is worded makes it seem disconnected)). 2/?

In my case It was easier than other people because I have a sister and we have always protected each other and even so, it’s been (an continues being) so fucking hard. The “you can let it go” also lacks nuance, as if he was giving you permission to do it, I do now I can (there are people who don’t, though, so I’ll give him that), but it’s not as easy as that makes it seem. I do maintain a cordial relationship with my father nowadays (after years of not talking to him) 3/?

because my mother is still married to him and I care and love her and it’s just easier for me to not be constantly avoiding him and it does make things easier for my mom too. He is not abusive to us anymore but it’s a very complex situation, there are a lot of mixed feelings and my sister has had (and still has) a really hard time dealing with it. 4/?

She has leaned on a lot in self-help books, yoga, meditation and the kind of individualistic and simplistic approach to problem solving that often comes with all that and it’s really harming her (it bases a lot of it’s principles on spending time alone, isolating yourself and sometimes even putting the blame on the victim because it was something you had to pass through to “clean” generational trauma or whatever) so maybe that’s why I reacted so badly to that sentence. 5/?

I just think it’s much more nuanced and complex that the song makes it seem and the third person can seem a bit patronising when it's oversimplifying things so much. I do like the song but i think the lyrics are too simplistic and lack nuance and come from a very black and white world view. I'm in bi and in a long time relationship with a woman but that hasn't had anything to do with my father's abuse to us and my mum 6/7

it was plain misogyny and i find disconcerting that a part of the fandom thinks that growing up queer is the only possible explanation for experiencing abuse withing your family (the same as i don't get why there is so much surety about it while talking about romantic relationships) it totally misses how the world works and different power dynamics coexisting. Sorry about the huge huge message, please don't feel pressured to answer it. It's always a pleassure to read your thoughts 7/7

**********

Oh anon - thank you so much for writing to me. I'm so sorry for everything that you've gone through.

What you wrote hit me quite hard. I teared up at the end of that first anon 'Doing it on your own is fucking horrible'. Because it's absolutely true and resonates so much with things I've been trying to process recently (although they come from very different places).

For me the words that have been bothering me more and more the more I think about them are "You can let it go". I just can't help but respond: "who the fuck are you to tell people what they can do?" As you say, cutting off family can be really fucking hard or impossible for all sorts of practical and material reasons. And emotionally it's really wrenching. I also get the same vibe you do of the sort of damaging hippy element to telling people they can just let their past and trauma go and then they'll be OK.

The other lyric that feels very shallow to me is 'never showed you love'. I know that's true for some people, but for most people it's so much more complicated. Most people I know who have to navigate difficult relationships with their parents have had to deal with conditional love, or controlling love, or love that comes with violence. I think you capture some of that complexity in your thoughts.

Ultimately I think it's just a song written about childhood trauma and recovery from someone who has very little insight or understanding into either. And I think the impact of that is exacerbated by the imperative third person voice.

#This is one of those examples #where the more I think about this song #the less I like it #Oh Harry #but it is a new area for me to dislike your songs

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yoyomarules · 2 years

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Wow, Hardison just immediately likes and cares about Parker so much, doesn’t he?

Like @be-gay-do-heists’ tag on this post (Hardison making fun of the mark in The Stork Job while Parker’s trying to grift him) got me thinking. He’s putting her at ease but the numerous and specific ways he puts her at ease through this joke are just…

It reminds her she has a team that’s got her back. And while he could do that by trying to tell her she’s doing great or giving her advice, the fact of the matter is she’s not doing that great even pre-stabbing and focusing on how she’s doing is likely to at best feel patronising and at worst make her stressed. When Nate starts advising her, it doesn’t help her relax or make her much more convincing, but Hardison making it about the mark while letting her in on the joke genuinely does ease the pressure. Nate and Sophie are quick to chide him and it’s understandable because it is distracting, but it’s also the only time in the whole scene where she doesn’t look deeply uncomfortable.

It shows her this part of the job can be fun! The others all have instances where they’re clearly having a blast with grifting—Parker’s the only one who’s regularly anxious or unhappy when her role is more than incidental/not primarily a cover to steal something. But this is Hardison going see, you can have fun with this, these guys you’re conning are sometimes so corny and ridiculous and you can notice and laugh and they’ll never know.

The specific joke is “oh, do my fangs and cape frighten you?”—and Parker is frightened of this person. She isn’t confident in her ability to fool him, but also, she only knows at this point that this is a man involved in harming the child this job revolves around. It’s his callousness about harm to children and triggered memories of her own childhood that cause her to stab him and run later, but in all likelihood at this stage he’s already got every alarm bell ringing. And it would need someone a lot less perceptive and empathetic than Hardison to miss that Parker clearly has personal experience with all this (to say nothing of the fact that it’s probable that Hardison has his own pretty well-honed sense of which adults are safe and which ones aren’t)—he likely knows that Parker’s also anxious for personal reasons. So he challenges the idea that this man is frightening, not by going “come on, Parker, you’re not scared of this guy, are you?” but again by making fun of the man himself. It lets Parker go oh yeah, he is kind of ridiculous without making her feel bad for finding him intimidating in the first place.

And this whole bit could play as though Hardison’s jealous because this guy’s flirting with Parker and he likes her. But it doesn’t. He’s partly having fun himself, but he’s also inviting her to have fun with him while showing solidarity over her having to deal with this clown. And how many times has Parker been invited to be part of anything?

#parker x hardison #leverage #and then later with ‘i like how you turned out’—how many people have ever said that to her??#he likes her not for her abilities or in spite of the things some people find odd or off-putting #when he says he likes her he means the whole of the person she is—weirdness and all #has anyone EVER expressed that to her??#he’s just so kind and so caring and he’s not doing it to be nice he just genuinely likes her so much i’m!!!!#meta #child abuse cw

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highfaelucien · 3 years

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Hmmm maybe lucien and elain playing with nyx and elain marveling at how good lucien is with children...

@bow-dawn also requested "give us elain watching lucien playing with nyx and that warms her heart enough to have a talk about their mating bond 😭" Everybody wants Lucien with babies because they know he's baby catnip. And I have no idea how children work but an attempt is gonna be made!!!!

send me ship prompts! platonic or otherwise!

Elain's arms were starting to get sore. Even with her being fae now. Arms that had stabbed the King of Hybern were somehow unequal to holding one small Ilyrian baby.

He was a very important baby, to be sure. Since he was her nephew. And the son of the two most powerful people in Prythian's history. Or so everyone kept saying.

Maybe he knew that. He was certainly doing everything in his power to make sure the whole of the Night Court, maybe the whole of Prythian, was aware of him right now, with the racket he was making.

They weren't sure which powers of his parents' the babe would inherit yet, he was too young. But he had an incredibly potent pair of lungs, of that she was sure of.

She'd been holding him for what felt like decades, bouncing him in her arms and trying to soothe him. He had managed to wear through her considerable patience, and she was now bordering on the edge of desperation.

This was her first time babysitting by herself. Feyre and Rhys had trusted her with their son, and she couldn't get him to stop crying! She was a terrible aunt. What kind of mother would she be? Unable to comfort her flesh and blood.

That thought made her stomach plummet. Had she lived out that other life, the one she sometimes saw reflected mockingly back at her in mirrors and pools, and married Greysen...She'd likely already be a mother. Would probably have at least one baby of her own.

She pushed that thought away before she joined Nyx in his crying.

"Cauldron boil me, Feyre!" A voice called from the stairs leading up to the roof where she'd taken Nyx hoping some fresh air might calm him. "What in the name of the Mother are you doing to that hellspawn child to make him scream that way?"

The voice was familiar, but unexpected. But she barely had a moment to process that before the door banged open and she found herself staring at Lucien.

"Oh," they said simultaneously.

Then Lucien, his cheeks changing colour to match his hair, said, looking abashed, "Lady Elain, please forgive me. I, I expected to find Feyre up here."

"I can tell," Elain said, giving him a little smile, "By the way you were shouting her name."

"Yes, well," Lucien muttered, looking rather flustered.

She found she quite liked that look on him. She always tended to see him as the polished, silver-tongued courtier, always composed and prepared to handle anything.

"I, I'm sorry, I didn't expect you to be up here. I would not have spoken to you that way if I'd known you weren't Feyre," he said, with a bow.

"Why not?" Elain said, cocking her head to one side, "I'm not some delicate flower that can't handle hearing curse words, you know," she told him, almost defiantly, "Amren has taught me many new ones. Cassian showed me how to do it in Illyrian. Rhys can be quite inventive when he's grumpy. And when all that fails, I can always just fall back on the word fuck."

He blinked at her, then grinned broadly, "Shockingly, I don't make a habit of cursing at people that I don't know all that well. Feyre and I are good friends, so she has earned my fragrant cursing at her."

"She's also High Lady of the Night Court," Elain said, raising her eyebrows, "With more power than anyone in Prythian's history has held in a long time."

Lucien waved an idle hand, "I knew her before she became all Made and Rhysandish," he told her, "Once you've seen someone puke faerie wine into a fountain of the mother at the Solstice it's hard to see them as too grand to curse at anymore."

Elain giggled at that, then winced, as that apparently seemed to upset Nyx even more.

Lucien raised an eyebrow at them, "Cursing aside," he said, leaning idly against the wall, "My question about that one still stands - what by the Cauldron have you done to him?"

"Lots of things!" Elain said, her voice snapping a little bit, "I've fed him, and I've changed him, and burped him. I've tried to put him down for a nap. I've tried to rock him, and bounce him, as swoosh him side to side. I've talked to him, and I've sung to him, and I've begged him and he still. Won't. Stop. Crying!"

Lucien smiled slightly, which made her want to smack him, because this was absolutely not funny, and she felt tears of frustration starting in her eyes.

"Feyre and Rhys trusted me to look after him on my own and I can't get him to stop crying! I don't know what I'm doing wrong," she confessed hopelessly.

"May I hold him for a moment?" Lucien asked.

Elain hesitated a moment. But Feyre had let him hold her son before. She had seen tears in his eyes when he'd done so, and it had bridged some connection between them that had never fully healed since the war. She didn't think her sister would protest, as long as she was still here.

And she was so tired. Her arms were so sore, and Nyx was becoming a very heavy and dense weight in her arms. So she nodded gratefully, eagerly pushing the little bundle into Lucien's arms.

Lucien held him with a surprising ease, as if he'd done this thousands of times before. A broad, genuine smile spread across his face as he peered down at him, bouncing him slightly in his arms.

Nyx peered up at him. Elain expected this to trigger an increase in the volume of his howling, but, incredibly, he quieted almost at once, seemingly entranced by Lucien's face, his glinting metal eye.

"There we are," Lucien said, smiling, but raised a finger as Nyx started grumbling again, "Now, now, we won't be having any of that," he told him calmly, "Ah, you have wings, don't you? Let's see then..."

Lucien carried him over to the table, unwrapped his blankets. Before Elain could protest about the cold, he rewrapped him, but gently extended his wings first, and curled them around his little body, securing them in place around him with his blankets.

"You know about babies with wings?" Elain asked, bemused.

Lucien nodded, "Certainly," he said, then seemed to consider, "Not Illyrians, and not Rhys-spawn," Elain giggled against her will, "But I'm hoping the principles are the same."

He scooped him up and bounced him. Nyx actually giggled at him, the little monster.

"How did you do that!?" she demanded, peering down at the baby, who was now lifting his chubby little hands and grabbing, as if trying to catch the glinting eye above him.

Lucien smirked, "I have a known gift," he said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. Elain would have whacked him for that, if he hadn't been holding her baby nephew.

"You, you've been around a lot of babies?" she asked.

Nothing in his history, though admittedly she knew little of it, had implied that babysitting had been a big part of it.

"Oh yes," he said, very seriously, "Fae with troublesome younglings came to me from all over Prythian, every court, lesser and high alike so that I could use my gifts and soothe them."

Elain put her hands on her hips and growled at him, "Don't you bullshit me Lucien," she said, as sternly as she could, poking a finger into his chest.

He snickered, still grinning at her, shifting Nyx slightly in his arms as he started to fuss again, "I have a very big family," he said, shrugging.

"I thought you were the youngest of your brothers," she said, frowning.

Lucien nodded, "True," he confirmed, "But I have lots of aunts and uncles and cousins, and friends," he added, with a flicker of some emotion she couldn't quite read. He took a breath and added, "Regardless, they all felt that, as the Lord's seventh son, I didn't have anything better to do with my time than babysit all of their offspring. I've had a reasonable amount of practice."

"Well you saved me today," Elain said, collapsing into the seat that Rhys always liked to sit and brood in, overlooking the Sidra, "I don't know what I did wrong," she muttered, bracing her chin in her hands and sighing dejectedly.

Lucien cautiously approached, Nyx still cradled in his arms, and sat in the seat next to her, also glancing out over the city. "If it helps," he said, "You did everything right. Sometimes babes are just tricksy little bastards," he said with a shrug,

She frowned, trying to determine if he was patronising her.

"They like to be dramatic and seek for attention," Lucien told her calmly, "Especially when they have Rhysand, Night Discomfort, Death Irritate, the most dramatic bastard to ever spread drama, as their father" he added in a lofty voice that acutally sounded uncannily like Rhys.

Elain stuffed her fist in her mouth to stop herself snorting as she laughed.

"He is very dramatic," she agreed, tickling Nyx's tummy.

Lucien smiled down fondly at the babe, and for all his comments about him being dramatic, there was a tenderness in his face she had never seen before from him.

It made him look younger. His face was still scarred and strange, with that mechanical eye, but there was a gentleness in him she hadn't seen from most fae in her time in Prythian, it made her feel safe and calm.

Nyx started fussing a little again, and Lucien hushed him, and fluttered his fingers in the air above him. Little lights appeared above him, circling like a mobile and flashing different colours.

Elain let out a little gasp of delight watching him, which was echoed by Nyx.

Lucien glanced up at her, a wry smile on his lips as he said, "My magic isn't particularly powerful or impressive, but it's very good for entertaining infants."

"I think it's beautiful," Elain said, quiet, but sincere.

Lucien smiled.

Then he turned his head back to Nyx, tickling him with his free hand while the lights continued to circle, swooping down and booping the child on the nose, causing him to giggle.

Elain felt a sudden pulse of warmth and joy blossom in her chest like a swelling rose, and she let out a little, "Oh!"

Lucien glanced up at her, startled, "Are you alright?"

She put a hand to her chest, without breaking eye contact with him, "I, I fel you," she said quietly.

"I apologise," he said, looking truly sorrowful, "I usually keep better control of myself, but being around you makes that more difficult."

The little river of his joy faded away as he closed off the bond on his end.

"No!" she cried, with a desperation she couldn't quite explain, reaching out and putting a hand on his arm, "No," she repeated, more quietly, "Please don't, don't close down on me."

He raised his eyes, and held her gaze, unwavering, unfaltering. She felt that river again, the joy at holding the babe still there, but also excitement, anxiety, and almost unbearable anticipation. Though she had the sense he was trying to keep her from the worst of it.

"It's good," she whispered, "It feels good. I've, I've had dreams of you," she told him, "So much pain. So much guilt, and sadness, and hopeless need."

He ducked his head, turning away from her, seeming ashamed, "I'm sorry that you-"

"No," she said, quiet but firm, cupping his face in her hand, tracing his scar with her thumb, "No. You don't apologise to me for the things that others have done to you. You never do that," she said, with a fierceness that surprised even her.

"I shouldn't have let that touch you," he said quietly, "I, I don't want anyone to feel that, least of all you."

Elain held his gaze and, for the first time, she tentatively tapped at that string inside her, on her bottom rib, that one that extended beyond her in a way even her newfound Sight did not.

Through it, carefully, she pushed all of the depression, all of the pain, and all of the grief, and hopelessness, and even the darkness that had almost claimed her, caused her to step into it and never return.

He started, and his eyes filled with a thin veil of tears. But not because of the emotions she shared, but the fact that they were twin to his own. The fact that, as he looked into her eyes, he knew that she had felt what he had felt.

"We are the light for so many," she said quietly, "The sun that they grow towards, the thing they reach for in their own darkness, when they need hope, and someone who will always find a smile for them."

Lucien nodded, and picked up that thread she'd left dangling for him, causing one of his orbs to circle close to Nyx. The baby tried to catch it, giggling, and Elain saw that, but also the shadow it cast on his soft skin.

"But where there is light, there is shadow," he murmured, eyes not leaving hers, "That is the quiet burden we bear to be their light."

Elain nodded, and together they looked back down at Nyx, and let the warmth and joy at him flow, tentatively, between their bond.

***

thank you!! I hope you enjoyed!!!

#elucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #Nyx archeron #acofs #acotar series #acotar fic #elucien fic #my fic #mine #answer post tag #fic prompt fill #taryn fills prompts #IM DOING IT OKAY IM DOING IT #IM MAKING MY WAY #THERE'S JUST A LOT #AND I CANT STFU #long post

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moon-mirage · 3 years

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uhhh I don't know how many prompts I get for your cresswell drabble thing, but it's exam season so how about an "I know we've literally never spoken but my roommate has their partner over and I have an exam tomorrow and i CAN'T focus when they're around so please can I hang out with you until then?" AU 👀

You can enter as many prompts as you like. :) It would be good to have just one word because then I can maybe manage to write a drabble only. But only maybe.

But since you gave me more than a word, you’ll also get more words back ... 2,7k actually. :P I hope you have some time to spare. ;)

---

It was one thing to see her crush from far away, maybe even in a group of shared friends.

It was a whole different matter if he actually walked around her little apartment as if he owned the place even though he had never been here before.

"You like Vietnamese food, right?" He asked over his shoulder as he looked though the little kitchenette for some cutlery. Scarlet had organised the place well, so he easily found it. "You know Wolf, so there shouldn't be any cilantro in any of the dishes. Not sure what his deal with cilantro is since he usually eats everything that can be chewed. Weird if you ask me," he told her with a shrug.

"I do," Cress piped up. "Like Vietnamese food, I mean," she added lamely. After he said it was weird, she didn't want to reveal that she didn't like cilantro either.

Why oh why, couldn't have Scarlet warned her?

Although what could have prepared her for the sight of Carswell Thorne in her open door with two big bags of takeout, asking her if he could come in?

A devilish smile, a wink and Cress lost her ability to speak. Or behave like a normal human being.

She wanted to hide in her bedroom, change into something pretty and practice a conversation. She would like to be smart and witty and maybe a little bit sexy so he wouldn't know what hit him. He should be impressed by her, fall in love with her but instead she hardly could say a word.

He gave her his best smile. "Great." He hummed a few notes as he arranged the dishes on her counter, and she saw him glance at the pictures at the wall.

Oh stars!

It's not that she was particularly embarrassed by the fun pictures with her friends, when they had dressed up for a Disney-themed party (although with quite some booze which was hardly Disney-approved). But she certainly was now that her crush saw her in a full-blown Rapunzel costume, including the braided wig!

She cleared her throat, relieved when he turned his attention on her instead.

Well, that relief was short-lived now that he looked at her.

With those dreamy eyes that haunted her since her first college party.

Since then, Carswell Thorne had crossed her path more than once though she had to to speak with him more than ten words.

"What are you doing here?" She blurted out.

"Um." For the first time since he entered her apartment, Thorne looked sheepish. "Right. So, Scarlet is at our place."

Cress nodded. That wasn't anything new. Since Scarlet and Wolf got together, they had been almost inseparable. Wolf had come by their apartment a few times but tall as he was, he always looked caged in their small apartment, almost afraid to move and accidentally break something. Even sitting on their couch had been a sight. Cress and Scarlet fit snuggly into it but when Wolf sat on it, he used the whole space for himself. He had tried to make himself look smaller - an unsuccessful endeavour.

So, Scarlet was usually at his place that he shared with Thorne.

Which still didn't answer why Thorne was here.

In her apartment! With takeout!

Rubbing his neck, he seemed surprised that his reply hadn't answered her question. "So, Scarlet and Wolf are at our place ... together." When she didn't say anything, he gave an exasperated sigh. "I mean, together-together." He gave her a pointed look before folding a few napkins. "And I could hear everything. I mean, my bedroom is next to Wolf's so they know that I can hear them. They just didn't care."

Cress blushed furiously. Scarlet had been considerate enough not to bring Wolf to her place to be, as Thorne had put it, together-together but it had never occurred to Cress that they would go to Wolf's place instead since he also didn't live alone.

"But um, don't you also bring... girlfriends over?" The words were difficult to say with ease and she hoped he didn't notice. Thorne was many things - a charmer, very smart, good-looking and fun - but also, to her detriment, quite popular among the female students for all the reasons she just listed. She knew he went out with Shan from one of her classes for a while, Scarlet's friend Émilie had also talked about dating Thorne during their first semester and she had seen him with Elia from Cress's dancing class as well. And those were just the ones she knew about.

Maybe if he flirted with her, if she at least got the chance for a date ... She never wanted to be another girl for Thorne, she wanted to be the girl for Thorne but he never extended his excessive flirting to her. More often than not, she had wondered if he even knew who she was despite sometimes hanging out together with Scarlet, Wolf, Cinder and Kai and Iko.

He gave a short laugh. "We usually have a kind of understanding ... or a schedule." A wink. "And I'm more discreet. I tell you, Scarlet brings out the wolf in Wolf," he said with a snicker. "Dinner is served!"

With flourish, he revealed the counter where he had strategically placed all the dishes, the rice, the sauces and even some candles she recognised as the ones they usually placed on the little shelf next to the door.

When she didn't say anything, he faltered for a second, his proud smile turning into a frown. "Oh wait." He looked through one of his pockets until he found a lighter and proceeded to lit the candles. "What do you say?"

Cress's heart was beating hard in her chest. "It's beautiful," the told him truthfully.

He preened at her compliment. "Well, the stuff you have is quite nice. The table pretty much set itself." Reaching for her, Cress felt his warm hands on her shoulder as he led her to the counter and helped her sit on one of the barstools.

This wasn't happening. Was she really eating dinner with Thorne?

When he looked expectantly at her, she reached for a summer roll, dipped in one of the sauces and hoped she wouldn't spill the whole content on her shirt as she bit into it. It was delicious and she hummed in pleasure.

"I take it tastes good?"

She opened her eyes, trying her best not to blush. "Amazing. Where is it from?"

"It's a few blocks from our place. Next time you come over, we can order from there again. Although there is also this great Indian restaurant you've got to try."

Cress munched on her roll, trying to figure out if he had indeed invited her to his apartment. Probably along with their other friends but still. She had only seen his place once not too long ago when he and Wolf had a little housewarming party.

A thought occurred to her. "Wait. If you, Scarlet and Wolf ordered it ... and you brought it here ... did you steal their food?"

He gave her an innocent look that could fool nobody. "I wouldn't say steal. I told you, they were otherwise occupied. Food is the last thing on their minds right now. And why let it go to waste?" He dug into one of the rice dishes, chewing thoughtfully.

They ate in silence but somehow, it wasn't awkward. At least, Cress didn't feel it was. But she was usually silent, so maybe it was awkward for Thorne?

Gathering all her courage, she asked him about his classes. An easy and safe topic for her and though he answered, he was more monosyllabic than she was used from him. He must have noticed himself because he gave her an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, Cress, it's just ... I'm doing okay but I'm no match for the golden child from campus. I doubt I could tell you anything you don't know already."

"That's not true." They shared a literature class together and he had eloquently interpreted a piece of fiction with ease. His view on the book had impressed her, despite having read on it and knowing the many ways to interpret the book. But he had made it his own and expressed his opinion, while Cress was usually too shy to raise her hand and join the discussion.

When she told him, he laughed warmly. "Ah, that pulp fiction story, I remember. Honestly, Cress, I was just bullshitting. I haven't even read the book."

"But then it's even more impressive."

There was a short silence during which she carefully evaded his gaze and focused on some fried vegetable. "That's sweet of you to say. But still, you're the genius who is acing pretty much every test without trying from what I've heard. I'm jealous," he said with a conspiratorial wink.

She blushed but didn't deny it. She wanted to let him know that it wasn't anything special, that learning was easy for her and that studying had been the only thing she had ever been good at - but no, it would come off as haughty or patronising. "I would like to be more like you," she confessed before she could stop herself.

"Sure you do. Who wouldn't?" He meant it as a joke but Cress didn't miss that there was a sombre tone to it.

She shrugged, trying to find the right words. "I'm good at tests, so I do well at college that's true but I'm not ... one day, we'll have our degree and then those grades won't matter much. I suck at personal interviews and my soft skills are really bad. I freeze up when I'm asked questions even though I know the answer. I'm not someone you remember among all those other college students aside from my grades."

"I remember you," he said without missing a beat. Cress blushed furiously at that and had no answer. Before the silence stretched on for too long, Thorne spoke again. "I'm actually relieved. I always saw you and heard the way people talked about you and thought, wow, there's someone who doesn't have to worry about life after college."

"I wish."

He nodded. "I actually excel at interviews. I can bullshit my way through them. Hey, I could teach you!" His eyes glinted with honest pride. "It's all about confidence."

"I don't have much of that," she murmured.

He waved her concerns away. "Just pretend you do then. Believe me, if you go into an interview, thinking you deserve the job and they have to convince you to take it, you'll automatically act all confident. It's easy, I'll show you how." He tipped at his temple, as if an idea had just occurred to him. "And in return you help me studying for my tests, deal?"

Thorne was all smiles and Cress couldn't help but grin back at him. He was so genuine and kind, in ways she was never able to discern from away. It just made her heart ache more. "Deal."

From that moment on, their conversation flowed more easily and Cress learned more about Thorne, his dreams and ambitions she had ever thought possible. Shy at first, she was nevertheless gaining some confidence as she talked to him and wasn't embarrassed when he pointed to the picture of her, Scarlet and Cinder in their Disney dresses.

"Please, let me borrow it. I need to make fun of Cinder, please, Cress? You can't deny me that one chance to one-up Cinder."

"She would so kill me."

"But Cress, she's wearing a dress. A poufy one, with glitter! And a tiara! An ugly one but still. Maybe I should take her shopping for a new one. See, I need that picture to help Cinder. That's me being a great friend."

"How selfless of you."

He nodded earnestly. "Selfless is my middle name. Right after suave and daring."

Cress giggled as she finished the last bit of her rice pudding dessert. With some sadness, she realised their nice evening together would be soon over. She didn't want it to be but takeout was what he came here for and now nothing was left.

Even Thorne was quiet, as he looked at all the empty boxes, cleaning a few specks on the counter with a napkin.

Cress wondered where he would go now. It was unlikely that Scarlet would return tonight or that she and Wolf would not take advantage of the empty apartment.

As if he read her mind, Thorne asked. "Would you mind if I crashed here for tonight?"

Cress stuttered. He wanted to stay the night? Here? At her place? Where she was?

"Or not!" He laughed. "Sorry, I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I just assumed Scarlet's room is empty and since it's already late... I'm sorry, Cress." Reaching for her hand, he squeezed it lightly. His usually mischievous grin was replaced by something more soft and sweet and she knew he would leave if she asked him to.

Cress had never invited a guy into her apartment. She wasn't prepared. The bathroom was a cluttered mess and she desperately tried to remember if she left her underwear somewhere he could see. Or the braces she wore during the night. Aces, he would see her in her spaceship pyjamas! Her cute flowery ones were in the laundry. She was just not prepared for Carswell Thorne staying the night.

And still... "I-it's fine. I'm sure Scarlet won't mind." From the stories she heard, they had already shared a tent when they went hiking with Cinder and Iko. Cinder had absolutely refused to share the tent with Thorne but Scarlet and Iko didn't have the same issues (though for different reasons, she remembered).

His smile was soft but there was a touch of nervousness that was so unlike the Thorne she knew that she felt flustered and busied herself with cleaning up the dishes. "Thank you, Cress. I promise to-"

She didn't let him finish. "Is that why you came here?" She had actually wondered about that. Thorne could have went anywhere after leaving his apartment. Iko and Cinder's apartment was much closer to his place than hers, and Kai's place was really fancy. It was the apartment they would hang out the most since it was the most spacious one and had lots of anemities. For a group of ever-poor students, it was a dream come true.

The silence went on a heartbeat too long. "Yes. Right. Scarlet's empty room. I mean it makes sense right?" His laugh was a touch too loud before he helped her cleaning up the counter. "I promise you won't even notice I'm here."

Somehow she doubted that.

---

"I can't believe you actually thought I randomly came by with dinner."

"How could I think you were not? You were at my door with takeout, I didn't think ..."

Thorne tugged playfully at one of her locks. "- I wouldn't come by under pretense just to spend a bit of time with the girl I had a crush on?" He finished for her. "Come on, Cress. You are supposed to be the smart one in this relationship."

"But you were so convincing!"

His finger tips ghosted over her cheek and she leaned into her touch. "Just as I told you then ... I pretended to be confident. And apparently, it worked."

The kiss that followed still made her heart race. She laced her hands behind his neck, drawing him closer, his taste now so familiar to her.

It stopped way too soon. She looked up him questioningly, her eyebrows furrowed when she saw his mischivious grin. "What?"

Leaning closer, he whispered into her ear. "You want to know another secret?" She knew he would feel her nod. "Scarlet and Wolf had left for the weekend to visit Scarlet's grandma. I didn't see - or hear - them for two whole days."

She gasped and he bit his lips playfully. "You planned this?"

"Yes." He drew her in for another kiss. "And I'm glad I did."

Her heart warmed at his confession. "Me too."

---

Don’t ask me why but I feel this oneshot pretty much wrote itself (during working hours but no one needs to know that). It’s actually my first AU oneshot and it was a fun challenge. I hope you enjoyed reading it. Thank you again for the prompt. :)

#the lunar chronicles #tlc #cress #carswell thorne #cresswell #cresswell drabble prompts #I'm a big fan of writing prompts now #now I get the deal with muses #all of you sending me prompts? You're my muses now #that's how it is ;)

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amysgiantbees · 3 years

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I need to yell about the Witcher 3 or I’ll explode and I’ve already accidently deleted this once.

The Witcher 3 is enormously sexist. I hate on principle anything that has hard and fast rules according to sex, especially in fictional settings, considering that sex is a spectrum and a social construct to an extent. But Witcher’s only being men makes even less sense since the reason given why is that women are weaker. Which again, is awful and incorrect.

Moreover, all the druids I’ve seen are men, all the Witchers are men, sorcerers can be anyone. Men literally can be anything in the Witcher. Whereas not only are women’s options severely limited but they must deal with societal sexism along with that.

Furthermore, the Witcher is SO white. Not only does it make the character design very repetitive and dull but it’s difficult to distinguish between NPCs sometimes. As well as the obvious racism of wanting to explore fictional racism with elves and dwarves but balking at being anti-racist in the game’s design.

I could also deal without the fat jokes. It really shows that if these white men creating this don’t find historical accuracy edgy or titillating – like including rape and gore – they ignore it. Because from the time periods they were borrowing from there would be less makeup especially in war times, people – including women – would be much hairier, and plus size people would be seen as conventionally attractive. Being plus size meant that you were of a higher class and had the funds to overindulge and not work, and the rich have the time to shape and indulge in the trends. So, they are envied and emulated and seen as more attractive like they are now. Also, there were more people of colour in Europe – the place inspiring this setting – than the Witcher itself has. So, it’s confusing that the modern representation of something is less diverse than the historical setting.

The writers being uninterested in anything that does not relate to them is shown in Ciri’s relationships in the game. Ciri can be practically naked surrounded by other near naked women but her only option for initiating any romance is with a man. She is bisexual but it does seem like the writers would rather ogle than give even representation. Not that her concrete stating that she prefers women isn’t representation. But is confusing when there are two siblings that you can only kiss the male one.

The lack of they/them pronouns is awkward in the dialogue, making it very stilted and grating. As well as actively taking away suspense. I never believed for a second that Uma might be Ciri. Giralt could talk about it all he wanted to, but he kept referring to Uma as HE. So, it was obvious from the beginning that he was the elven man she’d been travelling with. Making the twist instantly ineffective.

Side note, I despise that woman all wear heals constantly. It just looks so bizarre. I can deal with some stylisation, or slightly less than practical travel wear. But stilettos in a swamp? There’s no way a sane person would. It just doesn’t work at all and actively brings me out of the narrative every time there’s a close-up of them.

Also, it is a real cop out that the writers won’t allow their “big strong manly protagonist” wear high drag, just Yen’s pants when the boys are having a night together. If he’s so masculine a dress shouldn’t change that.

The romances are embarrassing. Why does Triss shoot herself in the foot and “friend zone” herself by calling Ciri her little sister? You are interested in Geralt, so even if you don’t want a mother like relationship with Ciri a sisterly one is not particularly appropriate. Do you want Geralt to see you like a child? Considering how immature you can be – which I’ll get to – you’d think you’d try not to make him see you in a paternal, platonic, or just patronising way. It’s confusing why she pretends to be drunk at the party. For one it is very desperate and cringy. Secondly it is very inconsistent with the character that was just confidently taking charge of this mission. Thirdly, you’d think she’d want to show she’d change from lying to him previously *cough* from the inane plot contrivance so the previous game could happen *cough* by being completely honest with him now.

Yennifer on the other hand seems too often come across as more sexual fantasy than fleshed out character. Yennifer’s character is also inconstant. I’m wondering if these men have ever spoken to a woman before. She is motherly, protective, determined, no-nonsense, confident in her convictions and knows her own worth. She’s flawed too, scoffs at people’s cultural and religious practices. Which I wish she grew more from; she could have shown faith in Vesimere from the beginning when it came to his ritual with Uma to show she regrets the garden and interrupting the wake and is trying to be better. Or maybe seeing the usefulness of what Vesimere did could have led to a tender conversation with Geralt about how this has made her see that maybe she should have done some things differently, found a different place to cast the spell, spilt some blood for the goddess. A flawed character is a well-made character but here is where she seems more object than person. When she gets unnaturally angry at Geralt for not wanting sex. Like how dare you do not want to play with the toy that we created. To compare it to another RPG game Dragon Age has its faults but at least the player is always given the option, and never punished for not wanting sex in a romance. Otherwise, I quite like Triss, she kind of necessarily pulls Geralt’s head out her ass but sometimes she is a bit too mean, nut usually with context it’s understandable, I think. Also the unicorn is just gross, like not to yuck anyone’s yum, but it’s nasty.

Also like if the general insensitivity and ignorance written into the game wasn’t there and there was more than two queer characters as far as I’ve seen, I would think that Elihal‘s portrayal could be nuanced in how gender and sexuality do not dictate gender expression. But considering the game as a whole their character feels very “look at this weirdo” “no homo”. Cowards.

The ableism is also just abhorrent. They would likely argue that the ableism featured is historically accurate - which I’m not confident that’s true - but then don’t have any representation of visible disabilities or just a variety of disabilities that would be historically accurate.

Also it’s just disappointing that you don’t get hang out with Triss and Kira at Kaer Morhen during the Uma quest.

#myanalysis #witcher #thewitcher #the witcher #the witcher 3 #witcher games #antiwitcher

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someoneintheshadow456 · 3 years

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I have too many feelings about Selvaria (aka: Chamchi). The more I read/see, the more I feel bad for her. I’ll play her DLC if you can get DCT and EXP from it because I’m underlevelled and don’t want to go to Naggiar getting my ass kicked (plus the other skirmishes give peanuts).

If Maxie was so cold as to say “you said you’d do ANYTHING for me, RIGHT???” for being a suicide bomber, then it makes no mistake - he wasn’t oblivious. He was clearly using Selvaria’s love to his advantage.

This had to have meant he knew about her feelings for him for a long time, it’s implied she’s been in his service for years, and that she fell for him the moment he saved her from the lab - on first sight. But she’s not stupid by any means, and tries to mask her love in the guise of loyalty/servitude/commitment to the Empire’s cause.

Unfortunately, no matter how subtle you or cool you try to appear, you can’t hide love. It will manifest itself one way or the other. It may not be always identified, but it can be sensed. There is a Tamil proverb that loosely translates to - “Love cannot be enchained,” which sums this up perfectly and applies here.

Even when you first meet her, you can tell something is up. Maxie says “what is it, my child” in a cutscene and this visibly upsets her. She says “for Lord Maximilian”, sometimes even putting “my” before his name, before going to arms, not “for the Empire” as everyone else does. She says “to the ends of the earth” and not “at your command” like the other generals do when given an order. She also is a bit too eager to help him when things go bad, and gets a little too angry when he is threatened, for the motive to be mere loyalty.

And, as a shaken soda bottle will eventually burst, so does love when given a push or contained for too long . Those dialogues she gives him before Naggiar is where the mask slips completely. Her reaction to those tiny words of praise from him is also basically dying from happiness (you can hear it even in her tone of voice, the actress did well... it just HURTS). She goes on and on about how she would gladly stab herself for him, how she was miserable before he saved her, how her fighting is all for him... it’s a love confession in all but name.

What made that scene chilling was specifically his total lack of surprise or reaction. Like he expected her to say that, like he said that praise on purpose... like he was trying to get the mask to slip. So I can’t help but wonder... just HOW far did the manipulation go?

Selvaria could have easily just left him if she knew he had absolutely no feelings for her. He had to have made her believe that he did, or there was a chance that he would reciprocate. Otherwise she wouldn’t have stuck around for so long.

Perhaps... that was exactly what he did. Alternating between romantic gestures and patronising ones, giving her mixed signals. “My love” on Monday, “my child” on Tuesday. A kiss on the hand on Wednesday, coldly turning his back on Thursday. And so on and so forth. Timing them carefully to make her work harder. Perhaps giving her a romantic gesture just before a fight (like Naggiar), and a patronising one after a defeat.

And as for after winning, Maxie isn’t above getting his hands dirty in any capacity. I can easily picture him saying “Excellent work everyone. Here’s a medal for your efforts, dismissed. Not you Selvaria, follow me. Your “reward” will be given in PRIVATE.” And the poor sap would be too emotional to pick up on how every action and word during these encounters seems oddly calculated, that he’s a little too composed to be genuine. Perhaps she’d wonder why afterwards, he won’t allow her the luxury of afterglow and coldly shoos her out.

He might have even been taking advantage of gender stereotypes. It is commonly believed that women, after sex, implicitly trust and become emotionally bonded to men they sleep with. And when someone implicitly trusts you, they will do everything you tell them to without hesitation. And he was right. It worked.

Ugh that’s just... vile the more I think about it... despicable... even writing it makes me physically ill. But... it would explain how someone so intelligent would be convinced Maxie had some level of feelings for her.

She thought his love was conditional - something she had to earn, to win, to conquer. And the times when he is cold and/or patronising to her would be rationalised as a sign she isn’t working hard enough. This kind of sentiment never ends well and is very easy to misuse. And misuse Maxie did... from start to finish.

Is... is it too much to ask to want this vile, cold, evil, manipulative, womanising scum to die a slow and painful death? Preferably at Selvaria’s hands once she realised how DESPICABLE he really is?

#Valkyria chronicles #Selvaria bles #meta #this post made me sad angry and disgusted #Maxie you monster #it’s been a while since I hated a villain this much #but... taking advantage of romantic love and using sex as manipulation takes a SPECIAL kind of evil #there’s just something about misusing something so pure and sincere that just infuriates me #and don’t tell me I’m overthinking I KNOW he did it don’t deny it!

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screpdoodle · 3 years

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Duality - Chapter Eight (The Irony of the Situation is Palpable)

Dinner felt like it had been going on for hours, even though it had only been minutes since Kaos had sat down at the table. He poked and prodded at his food with the back of his fork, the metal slightly tarnished from use, sectioning them off from each other. Charred sheepsteak in one corner of the plate, over-boiled potatoes and soggy string beans in the other. Kaos sighed, leaning his head against the palm of his hand, his nose wrinkling at the smell wafting from his plate. Hot socks and wet starch. No matter how many times he had it, he’d never get used to the scent.

Kaos glanced up from his plate to the seat across from him. There sat the person he had dreaded seeing all night. His father. Kaos’ father had always been a cold man, but tonight he seemed positively glacial. Icy blue eyes seemed to stare straight through Kaos as his father ate wordlessly, the silence punctuated by the clinking of cutlery on porcelain. Kaos would have thought that he would have been chewed out the moment his father laid eyes on him, but the conversation had halted at “hello”. His father threw his long hair over his shoulder, which he had tied in a low ponytail. His usually clean-shaven face was dotted with stubble, though it was barely noticeable against his tanned skin.

“Your food’s going to get cold, Kaos.” His father finally spoke up. “Don’t let it go to waste.”

Kaos furrowed his brow, then looked down to his plate, sticking the end of his fork in the corner of his mouth. When he noticed his father’s gaze was still trained on him, he let out a reluctant grumble, reaching across the table to grab the gravy boat. His fingers barely brushed against the handle, even after he had stood up on his chair to try to get a little more leverage. Kaos strained to reach farther, feeling his father’s eyes boring into his skull, before he slowly pushed the gravy boat towards Kaos. Kaos snatched it up, sitting back down with a huff, before completely dousing his plate in lukewarm, watery gravy. Beside him, Dyskord snickered.

“It’s steak, Kaos, not soup.”

“Shut up.”

Resisting the urge to puke, Kaos scooped up one of the potatoes, the misshapen sphere only held together by its sandpapery skin. He looked to his father once more, scrunched his eyes closed, then took a bite. The gravy did nothing to mask the taste of starch and stale water that seemed to make his entire body seize up. This seemed to satisfy his father, though, as he had returned to his own meal without another word. Kaos stuck his tongue out, wiping the mush off to the best of his ability with his napkin, shuddering as the taste lingered. His mother definitely had a talent for cooking; the potatoes were somehow both undercooked and overcooked at the same time. Not even he could complete a feat like that. Kaos looked around the table, questioning how his siblings were managing to eat this swill with straight faces. Meyhem even seemed to be enjoying it, taking particular glee in chopping the rubbery sheepsteak into slices and hitting them against her plate before eating them. Kaos poked at his own steak, then felt his stomach churn as he swore he saw the charred lump move.

“So, children. Catch me up. What’s happened since I’ve been gone?”

Kaos nearly dropped his fork, feeling his heart stop. He looked up, glancing around the table to see who would speak up first. Was this a setup? Was this his way to catch Kaos red-handed? Make him out to be the villain? He watched as his father adjusted his ascot, then tucked it back into his shirt. He hadn’t bothered changing from his grimy, nature soiled adventuring gear - despite Mother insisting they had to dress up to welcome him back. At least he had taken off his hat for dinner.

“I mean, it’s been nearly a year, what don’t we have to say?” Dyskord fiddled with his collar.

“At least it wasn’t five, right Dad?” Meyhem giggled. “Mum told me that’s the longest you’ve been away!”

“It was only four and a half, Mey.”

“Four and a half, on and off.” Mother corrected. “Your father stopped by when he could, just not for very long.”

Kaos’ father chuckled dryly, dabbing the corners of his mouth off with his napkin. “Now now, let’s get back on topic. How about we narrow it down to today if that helps?”

Kaos couldn’t help but fixate on the patronising tone to his father’s voice, as if it was their fault he had been gone for so long. He didn’t speak up about it though, simply sinking into his chair as if trying to shrink even smaller as he chewed on the prongs of his fork, pretending to eat.

“I got a W on my sheepball practice this morning!” Meyhem piped up through a mouthful of string beans, bouncing up and down in her seat. She had stuck the fork in her hair, the handle sticking out of the mess of curls.

“A double U?” Kaos’ father raised an eyebrow, looking at Meyhem quizzically. “I didn’t know they started grading sheepball practices… The more you know I suppose.”

As Meyhem laughed to herself, Father locked eyes with Kaos, then skipped past him, addressing Dyskord instead.

“How about you, son? Anything interesting happen?”

“Nah, just more of the usual.” Dyskord rested his hands behind his head. He probably would have rested his feet on the table too if it weren’t for the side eye Mother was giving him. “Worked on the speed racer a bit, helped Kaos with his homework like a good big brother, et cetera.”

Kaos rolled his eyes. First day back and Dyskord was already sucking up to him. Typical. It was usually the other way around, Kaos would ‘help’ Dyskord by doing his homework for him back when he was in school; in exchange for favors of course. But after Kaos crashed the ‘Speed Racer 1.0’ into the kitchen, that arrangement they had created was quickly dissolved. Though Kaos would still sometimes help out of the goodness of his heart (or the need for Dyskord not to rat him out to Mother)

“Very good, very good. You’ll have to show me sometime.” Kaos’ father smiled, then he turned his focus to Kaos, his expression becoming slightly more forced. “What about you… Kaos?”

He said his name like it left a bad taste in his mouth. Kaos felt his blood run cold. He quickly glanced to his mother, who had started to open her mouth, but quickly interrupted her.

“It was fine.” He looked to the ground, crossing his arms.

“Just fine?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing of note-”

“No.”

“Don’t interrupt me, boy.”

Kaos sank further down, muttering under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Havok, dear, there’s something we need to-”

Before his mother could finish her sentence, Meyhem tuned into the conversation, looking to Kaos with a confused look on her face.

“What do you mean? Of course there was something of note, you blew up your school!” She blurted out.

The table fell silent. Kaos’ mother was the first to break the silence, exhaling slowly. Kaos shot Meyhem a glare that could cut through steel, though she just grinned back sheepishly. Kaos’ father’s gaze went from confused to frigid in a manner of seconds, looking down at Kaos like he was nothing but a roach.

“Well, I think I should get going,” Dyskord pushed his chair back, getting to his feet, “Wonderful meal, Mother, I’ll be upstairs if anyone needs-”

“Sit, Dyskord.”

“Yessir.” Dyskord sat down quickly, folding his hands in his lap.

Kaos’ father looked around the table at the others, then closed his eyes, processing the words.

“...when were you planning on telling me?” His voice was low, like the calm before the storm.

“I was going to tell you when you got home, sweetheart, but dinner got in the way, and I didn’t want to stress you with the-”

Kaos’ mother was cut off by Kaos’ father getting to his feet, pushing his chair back with a sharp squeak of the legs against the tile. He set his hands down on the table forcefully, causing it to shudder from the force. Kaos could feel beads of sweat trickling down his forehead, but he did his best to ignore them.

“Kaos. We have told you many times about correct behaviour, have we not?”

“Yes, but, it wasn’t only me! Dyskord helped-”

“Kaos. We are not talking about Dyskord. We are talking about you and your actions today. And those actions crossed the line.”

Kaos opened his mouth to interject once more, to try and contradict his father’s statements, but the words got lodged in his throat. The look of displeasure plastered across his father’s face, the cold, hard anger burning in his eyes, made Kaos chest tighten. Slowly, Kaos closed his mouth and slouched down in his chair, letting Father continue.

“I can take rule-breaking. The lying, the stealing, we’ve dealt with those before. But this- this is unacceptable! I have had enough of this deplorable behaviour from you, Kaos. You are turning nineteen this year, and these childish habits are out of the question!” With every word he spat, Kaos’ father’s voice rose. “What image do you paint of our family when you act like a child-”

“Maybe because you treat me like one!” It was Kaos’ turn to shout now. He stood up on his chair, slamming his hands down on the table like his father had; though even with all of his force behind it he could barely even cause the water in the glasses to ripple. “Maybe if you didn’t treat me like a baby, like a disgrace to the family name, I wouldn’t act this way! Ever thought of that, Father!? Hmm?! You said it yourself. I am turning FREAKING NINETEEN! I’M NOT THE FRAIL, SICKLY CHILD I WAS! AND I DON’T NEED YOU TO LOOK AFTER ME ANY MORE!”

“Kaos, I am done dealing with this kind of conduct from you!”

“Whatcha gonna do! Lock me in the dungeons? Throw away the key? Discard me like the piece of trash you treat me like?!”

“Up to your room. Now.”

“Oh, so no threatening me with a life sentence this time, eh Father?”

“NOW!”

Kaos didn’t budge. The seconds ticked past like molasses, before Kaos gave his father the one finger salute and hopped off the chair, making a break for it up to his room. His father’s enraged yelling echoed through the halls after him as Kaos bolted up the stairs, down the hallway and into his room. He made sure to slam the door closed, as loud as he could, behind him. Leaning against the door, he could still feel the shouting rattling through his skull, and the tears brimming in the corners of his vision.

Tick tick tick tick...

Kaos turned over onto his side, facing the wall. His fingers dug into the sides of his head as he scrunched his eyes closed, desperately attempting to fall asleep. So far, nothing had come of it. Kaos groaned, rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with dry, bloodshot eyes. The darkness swirled and twirled around his vision, making shapes on the ceiling. Despite it slipping late into the night, Kaos could still hear his parents down on the ground floor. Bickering. Arguing. Talking about him.

Tick, tick, tick, tick

Kaos dug his fingers in harder, scrunching his eyes shut.

Tick, tick, tick, tick

“Shut. Up.” Kaos grumbled through clenched teeth. How was he supposed to get any rest with that noise growing louder and louder by the second. He flipped onto his front, folding the sides of the pillow over his ears. Not that it would do much good.

Tick, tick, tick, tick

“Shut up!” Kaos growled, slightly louder than before, though his voice was muffled by the pillowcase he was biting on. He buried his face deeper into the pillow, feeling the mattress below with the tip of his nose. No matter how hard he tried, it wouldn’t stop.

Tick tick tick tick tick

“SHUT THE HELL UP!”

With a start, Kaos ripped the pillow out from under him and chucked it to the side with all of his might. It flew over the side of the bed and crashed against the far wall with a muffled thump, followed by the sound of clattering. With a groan, Kaos looked up from his bed and over to where the pillow had landed… on top of his desk. It had knocked over his writing utensil jar, spilling the quills and pencils onto the floor. Kaos exhaled slowly, exasperated and exhausted. He rolled onto his back, then sat up, letting his legs dangle over the edge of the bed. Taking a deep breath, Kaos scrunched his eyes closed and pushed himself off the edge of the bed, landing with a quiet thump. He braced himself for the sharp tingling that flooded up his legs on impact, opening one eye, then the other as he shook his legs out to get rid of the feeling. Kaos walked over to his desk and scooped up the fallen utensils, dumping them back into their container, before snatching up his pillow and starting the walk of shame back to his bed.

“He’s more trouble than he’s worth, sweetheart.”

Kaos froze, hearing his father's muffled voice come through the closed door. He could see the light of the fireplace curling and flickering through the crack, taunting him, drawing him to the outside like a beckoning finger. Ignoring the growing urge to sleep, Kaos walked over to the door and cracked it open, squinting as he peered out from the safety of his room.

“I know, but he is getting better-”

“You call blowing up his school 'getting better’?”

Silence followed those words. Carefully, Kaos crept from his bedroom to the railing, watching his parents’ shadows silhouetted against the carpeted floor of the foyer. They faced away from each other, wrapped up in their own tasks as the crackle of the fire punctuated the quiet.

“...What should we do?” Mother spoke first, “He needs to be educated, but we already tried homeschooling… and he needs more interaction than just his siblings. That room is not a good environment for him.”

“He spends most of his time in there, I swear he’s plotting world domination.”

Kaos scrunched his nose up, kneeling down to get a better view. He pressed his face against the railings, letting his arm hang down between them. So what if he spent almost every waking, and sleeping, moment locked up in there? It was his life, he could do what he wanted with it. And it wasn’t like Father was there often enough to actually care. Judging by the silence falling once again, his mother wasn’t too pleased with the comment either.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I know how touchy you get with those subjects.”

Kaos silently gagged as he watched his father’s shadow embrace his mother’s, forming nothing but an amorphous blob of darkness and PDA. He heard his mother sigh, his father stepping back.

“It’s alright, dear. I’m just... worried. More and more is stuff happening with work and the Portal Masters, and now Kaos...”

“Don’t fret. We’ll sort everything out. I’m sure of it.”

Again, silence. With the ticking finally slipping away, his mind was now free to think. Free to pick up on things that would have usually been blocked. It always seemed like it was put there to distract him, to pull his mind away from the little tidbits of knowledge he overheard. In this case, it was the mention of the Portal Masters…

Over the years, Kaos had heard that title pop up, whether it be through books, passing conversation, or his mother. Tales of the big bad Portal Masters that would eat your eyes if you didn’t clean your room or go to bed on time, though over the years Kaos had stopped believing those little lies, and Mother had stopped telling them; simply commanding Kaos to “mind his own business” or “not to stick his nose in other people’s business” whenever he asked about them. Though, from bits and pieces of conversations he had ‘stuck his nose into’, Kaos had been able to glean that the Portal Masters were the worst of the worst; the ones causing all of the issues throughout the Skylands. Though they didn’t actually eat naughty children’s eyeballs (as far as he knew), they definitely weren’t to be taken lightly.

“I didn’t want to bring this up until the end of the year, but... now I see no other option.”

Kaos was yanked from his thoughts, looking back down through the railings at the sound of the conversation resuming.

“What is it?”

“While exploring a while back, I found a school that may be a bit more suited for our… genius child,” Kaos couldn’t help but cringe at the way his father said ‘genius’, spitting it out like a mushy, over-boiled potato. “And now that going back to the other school isn’t an option, it may be a good choice to look further into it.”

“What’s it called, dear?”

“Glimfeather Prep. Now, before you say anything, I know it’s out of the way, but I really do think this would be good for him. It would give him a taste of reality, and would help crack down on this… behavioral issue of his. We can’t coddle him forever; today only further proves that.”

As if locking him in the dungeon was ‘coddling’ him. Kaos felt more coddled by a pack of wild Chompies trying to pull his flesh off of his bones.

His mother sighed, turning away from his father. “I don’t know, Havok. Maybe we could try homeschooling again. He wouldn't get into trouble and I’m sure I could straighten him out properly this time-”

“Kaossandra, we both know that won’t work.” His father’s voice took on a stern tone, making Kaos tense up, as if expecting the words to punch him in the face. “If homeschooling didn’t work before, there’s no chance it would now.”

“...You’re right, Havok. We can look into it in the morning.” Mother finally caved, hanging her head with a long sigh.

Kaos could almost see his father’s shadow grinning as he put an arm around Mother, the battle already won before Kaos even had a chance to fight. He felt his heart sink, dragged down to the pit of his stomach by the icy hand of defeat. He stared blankly through the bars, his mind grinding to a stop. All of that work, that preparation, that planning… for nothing? Kaos yawned, curling into himself as a weight settled on his shoulders. He could feel his eyelids drooping, but he forced them open again at the sound of heavy footsteps coming towards the stairs. In a panic, Kaos scrambled to his feet, trying not to make a ruckus as he fled back to his room; his heavy heart pounding like a drum, threatening to burst. Internal bleeding would have been the moldy cherry on the fish head sundae, so he was thankful it didn’t. Dragging his pillow along the ground behind him, Kaos completed his walk of shame back to his bed, flopping down face first in his nest of blankets and loose sheets of paper. He had failed. Situational irony at his finest, he thought. Hugging his pillow like one would a plush, Kaos finally let his eyes fall closed, the darkness enveloping his mind as he slipped into the land of dreams.

<- previous chapter | next chapter ->

#skylanders forever #skylanders #bring back the skylands #skylands historia #duality #second leaf #writing #my writing #fan fiction #fan retelling #fan continuation #skylanders kaos

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him-e · 3 years

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Could you give some recommendations of TV shows that are, in your opinion, good/interesting/fun to watch/etc.? They can be recent or older ones, and pretty much of any genre (also, the more recommendations, the better).

disclaimer: I haven’t been in the *right* mood to really get into anything for a LONG WHILE, so my feelings about tv and movies at the moment exist in a spectrum that goes from “ok I guess” to “this somehow sucks even more than my life does and I want to crawl into a hole and rot in it”. So don’t expect lots of flailing and squeeing, lol. THAT SAID, I’m going to focus on the stuff I’ve seen recently:

bridgerton. mildly fun. very cw-ish but with occasional sexplosions. a mix between reign and gossip girl set in regency era. no mr darcy equivalent, unfortunately (the duke of hastings is 100% a chad). also don’t expect historical accuracy or anything like actual jane austen vibes. the main couple is quite shippable and has some decent banter and slow burn until it suddenly escalates into marriage and the sexplosion I mentioned above. the best part, though, is that i’m apparently shipping in*cest again

the undoing. nicole kidman is married to hugh grant, who is, shockingly, an asshole. but before you think “typecasting”, more on the creepy than pathetic side. the mystery is kinda underwhelming imo bc it leads you to think there’s much to the story than what you originally thought, but no, it really is that simple.

the crown. what can i say? very well written and acted. It’s also super slow and analytical, and can be occasionally boring, if you’re not in the mood. I’m being super slow at catching up because I’m watching it with my mother, and I’m still at season 3 and feeling inappropriately (but also predictably) sympathetic towards Charles (but I’m looking forward to the Diana episodes). This is also a good show if you wanna play “drink every time you recognize a Game of Thrones/Being Human/*insert iconic franchise starring predominantly british folks* actor”. Speaking of royals...

the queen’s gambit. 10/10. Singlehandedly cured my depression for a week. absolutely perfect in every aspect (almost---the lack of a main romance with HEA was a bit of a bummer, but there’s shipping material nonetheless): only one season, “strong” heroine in the sense that she’s a character with an actual PERSONALITY who falls and has genuine flaws and---despite being “inexplicably” a genius (the show gives the context of how she learns to play chess but doesn’t go out of its way to *justify* her talent or how she managed to pulverize guys older and better trained than her)---falls, and loses, sometimes badly, actually at one point slips into a pit of depression and self destruction but only to eventually rise again. I also somehow didn’t come out of this show hating the entire male gender any more than I already do, even though it’s a story about a woman in a male-dominated field who often has to face sexism and patronising attitudes from her peers. but almost everyone she meets is, actually, a quite decent guy? even those who initially challenge her or treat her condescendingly. It’s also a lesson about writing stories with very definite ANTAGONISTS who, however, are NOT villains (but obviously this wouldn’t work for every genre, this one is a fairytale-ish coming of age, a female power fantasy set in the real world, it actually reminded me of 80′s spokon/shoujo anime like Attacker You)

a discovery of witches. I’ve seen only season one so far, and let me say I didn’t expect a main romance between a VAMPIRE and a WITCH to be such a SNOOZEFEST. dear god. I swear they’re giving me Bill/Sookie vibes (and I like Matthew Goode). but aside from this, it’s sorta watchable, and there’s an *evil* finnish witch who’s in a sorta kinda enemies-to-friends dynamic with the protagonist

his dark materials. Still have to catch up on season 2 because I feel rather lukewarm about it. I haven’t read the books so I can’t tell if it’s a good adaptation or not. From what I can see, everything is in the right place to make it a good story, but somehow, I’m not vibing with it? Maybe I’m just too old to care about stories with child protagonists lol.

cursed. watch it for the weeping monk. YES he’s Medieval Kylo Ren.

the boys. pretty much the most FUN (and plot-heavy) shit I’ve seen recently, but also the only good take about marvel-style superheroes and their whole fake-deep, dishonest, intensely capitalistic rhetorics i can stomach anymore (beyond the on the nose parody and obvious--a bit insufferable actually--genre-subverting intent, try looking at Homelander & co. through the lens of this post). oh yeah I also ship Frenchie and Kimiko btw, which just proves how a mediocre show can become good, and a good show can turn into AMAZING if there’s something I can ship in it.

now quite out of character for me but here’s a couple Netflix rom com movie recs:

holidate. yeah I know christmas time is over but this somehow became my new comfort movie. Fake dating at its finest. Hot, fun, not insufferably cheesy, definitely not a Hallmark Xmas movie (you know those movies where as a set up the female protagonist breaks up with her long term fiance and she’s like, “oh.”, and proceeds to be sad for 0,5 seconds? This is not one of those), it’s an actual slow burn, and there’s a part where the heroine has a diarrhea emergency which a) is not played as a gross joke and b) somehow leads to hot, romantic sex??

leap year. a 2010 movie with Matthew Goode (who is sexier here than in vampire form) and Amy Adams, it’s a road trip in Ireland (!!!!) with a shitton of belligerent romantic tension and fanfic tropes, 10/10

#anon #asks #*#recs*#show recs #movie recs

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cynicalrainbows · 4 years

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Poetry & Prose

In which Cathy suffers with Guilt and Jane discovers poetry.

The poems mentioned in this fic are (in order of mention Her Kind by Anne Sexton, an extract from Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur, On A Train by Wendy Cope, The Dormouse and The Doctor by A A Milne and The Past by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.) Wendy Cope is absolutely recommended if you’re not a fan of poetry in general- her poems are very simple, and all the more effective for that simplicity. The dormouse poem I recommend if you wish to have your heart torn into shreds- yes, it’s technically a children’s poem but even thinking about the absolutely tragic plight of the sad dormouse still makes me tear up to this day. Literally no other piece of poetry has ever affected me so deeply so I’ve just projected that onto Cathy.

In regards to the brief mention of Thomas and Elizabeth….I do sometimes think the case gets examined in a slightly….I don’t want to say unfair way but a way that applies modern understandings of things and modern expectations to a time that was wildly different. Specifically, during a time when it was entirely legal to beat your wife and divorce for women was not an option, what else would you do in a similar situation, other than sending the victim away?

Anyhow, I hope you all enjoy this fic!

‘I have gone out, a poss- poss-’

‘Possessed.’

‘Possessed witch, h- haunting the black air, braver at night, dreaming evil, I have done my hitch-’

She pauses.

‘What does it mean?’

‘Hm?

‘What does done my hitch mean?’

She thinks of horses- All hitched up; I’ll just hitch up the cart, words she’d only overheard in her first life since the tending of horses with none of her concern back then, and words she’d heard not at all in her second, since no one seemed to ride much nowadays. And getting hitched, hitched up- Anne had told her that it meant ‘marriage’ nowadays.

Neither meaning seems to fit here though.

Cathy takes the book and scans the line herself, her brow creasing, which makes her feel vindicated. Cathy is never, ever patronising on purpose, and she can tell that she takes especial care never to reply to a question as if the answer is obvious (even when it is) but even so, it pleases her when Cathy has to actually consider her answer before she gives it.

‘Mmmm… A spell, I think. Or a period of time.’

She sounds disinterested, lacklustre, even though this is usually the sort of question Cathy enjoys: usually, they’d debate it back and forth until they’d come up with an answer between them.

Now though, Cathy answers like she just wants to get on.

‘I have done my hitch over the plain houses, light by light-’

She’s reading slowly to make sure she doesn’t stumble but it’s alright- it’s one of the reasons that she enjoys reading poetry, because it’s one of the rare, precious times when reading quickly doesn’t matter. In fact speed (as Cathy has told her over and over) is actually a bad thing, especially if you’re reading a poem that’s unfamiliar.

‘It just means that you have to read it again because you’ve missed the meaning. Much better to read slowly so you can absorb it.’

And they do absorb it- it’s become their thing. Cathy’s the only queen with an unending appetite for poetry; she’s the only queen who reads slowly as a matter of course (she likes to focus on that rather than on the fact that she’s the only queen who needs to practise reading aloud) and so in this, they’re well matched.

Reading the poetry slowly doesn’t make her feel humiliated in the way that reading prose slowly does, and being able to argue over the meaning of whatever they’re reading- over the word choice and the subject and the feel of it- after she’s finished is her reward. It stops her feeling like a child because although Cathy is undoubtedly the better reader, they’re equals when it comes to interpretation, and that’s another reason she enjoys it.

Not that she’d taken Cathy seriously when she’d first suggested it.

(‘Practise makes all the difference, you know.’

She was sitting in the windowseat of the bedroom she shared with Catalina, back in the first house, hot-eyed and burning with embarrassment and steadfastly trying to ignore Cathy’s presence next to her.

‘It needn’t even be for long.’

She’d had to fight to keep her voice even.

‘There’s no point. I’m no good at it, I’m no good at any of it.’

‘True.’ Cathy’s bluntness sometimes makes her laugh- then it had made her want to cry. ‘But you don’t have to be. You can get better at it, but only if you actually work at it.’

‘I am working at it.’

‘I know- and it’s good you’re going to classes, I’m glad Anna suggested them but….you need to practise at home too.’

‘I do.’

‘With someone else it’ll be more effective. I can help with the hard bits.’

‘Cathy. I know you mean well. But I don’t want you to feel like you need to- to teach me like I’m a child.’

Cathy had shrugged. ‘That’s ok, I understand. Would it help if we didn’t think of it as teaching though? Because honestly I don’t want to think of it as teaching either. Too much pressure and I’d worry I wasn’t doing it right and-’

‘What would you call it then?’

‘How about….two friends who just happen to get together sometimes to read together?’

Jane had shaken her head. ‘You wouldn’t enjoy the sort of books I’m reading.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of books.’ Cathy held up the slim volume in her hand. ‘I was thinking of this. Poetry is MEANT to be read aloud but it’s too weird just doing it on my own.’

‘I’m not really into poetry.’

‘Why not?’

The idea had stumped her a bit, she’d never had to defend herself like this before. ‘I’m just not. I can’t understand it.’

‘No one’s meant to understand it, not the first time anyway. That’s part of the fun of it.’

‘And I read too slowly anyway, you’d be just as bored.’

‘Poetry is meant to be read slowly.’

‘Mmm. Yes. Sure.’

‘No, really! Listen-’

Cathy flipped the book open. ‘I’m looking for something short….ok, this’ll do-’ She’d sat up a little straighter and began to read quickly, flatly, as if she was reading from the newspaper, an account of something: ‘You tell me to lie down, cause my opinions make me less beautiful-’

The first line interested her but she had been distracted too because even she could tell that there’s something wrong about how Cathy was doing it- she’d felt rushed.

‘Do it again.’

‘Why?’

‘You were too quick-’

‘No.’

‘Oh.’ She’d felt deflated- had Cathy just been trying to prove her point because now she’d felt tricked and cheated- but then Cathy had put the book into her own hands, open on the page.

‘You read it.’

She’d tried to push it away.

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Don’t you want to hear it again?’

‘Yes-’ And she did. Something about it had struck her in a deep inside place: My opinions make me less beautiful. A memory teased her until she grabbed at it: Henry’s cold, closed up face when she’d screwed up her courage and begged for mercy for Robert Aske and the Pilgrimage of Grace. She’d been less beautiful to him that day, she was sure.

‘So read it. I’ll help if you get stuck on a word. And there’s only us here, no one else is listening.’

Still, she hesitated.

‘It’ll sound better when you read it, I promise you. Just give it a try. Please.’

It’s the please that did it, because she’s never able to say no to people when they use it. Even when she should. (Henry had said please when he’d asked for her hand- the first and last time he’d ever used it with her. She should have said no.)

‘Ok.’

‘You tell me to quiet down-’

It turned out actually to not be too hard to read, she’d only hesitated briefly over ‘tongue’. And oddly enough, she’d found that Cathy was right. It did sound better, somehow- perhaps because she was reading so slowly that she had time to take in each word, like bricks being added to a wall, one by one, each making the whole a little more complete.

‘-difficult to forget but not easy for the mind to follow.’

She’d closed the book on the last word and seen Cathy beaming at her. ‘You see? You see?’

Reluctantly, she’d nodded- but she hadn’t been able help a smile twitching the corners of her own lips too. ‘I see.’)

She hadn’t taken Cathy seriously when Cathy had told her that maybe she could like poetry, because she’d believed she couldn’t- she associated with confusion, with trouble. (They had said that Anne had had poems dedicated to her at Court, so many that it had caused a stir and then more than a stir. She hadn’t been able to trust poetry after she’d heard that.)

The poems Cathy has her read aren’t like that though- they have easy, simple words and some of them aren’t about anything much but they manage to make her feel things in a way that she’d never imagined printed words would be able to do.

There’s one that Cathy shows her, about riding in a train, that makes her want to cry for the soft simplicity of it, of how it reminds her of the peaceful feeling of watching the scenery as Kitty sleeping against her shoulder when they have to travel for an interview. It surprises her- she didn’t think that poetry could be that easy.

But now Cathy doesn’t look as if she finds it easy. She just looks tired.

‘-my ribs crack where your wheels wind-’ She reads on. It occurs to her that on a normal day, she’d be more focused on the words, about how they remind her of how she’d writhed and strained so hard giving birth that it had felt as if her own ribs were splintering in her chest- but now she’s more preoccupied with Cathy’s wan, drawn face.

‘A woman like that is not ashamed to die. I have been her kind.’

It’s only as she finishes that she realises Cathy’s eyes are glistening with tears- and although it’s not as if she’s never seen Cathy cry over a poem before, this doesn’t feel like last time.

(She’d thought Cathy had been joking.

‘How can this be the saddest poem in the world?’

Cathy had blinked at her, brushing at her eyes. ‘Because it IS. Doesn’t it make YOU feeling like crying?’

‘Not...really.’ She had wondered if there was some hidden meaning to it that had affected Cathy so, but she wasn’t sure how there COULD be. ‘It’s a children’s poem.’

‘That doesn’t mean it isn’t TRAGIC!’ Cathy looked genuinely sad. ‘Jane, the dormouse has to live FOREVER in the wrong sort of flowerbed, just because the doctor wouldn’t listen to what he actually wanted!’

Jane had shrugged. ‘Yes but- Cathy, love, it’s a children’s poem. It’s not meant to make you get this upset.’

‘Ugh, you sound just like Catalina.’ Cathy had picked up her copy of When We Were Very Young and left the room in a huff.)

This isn’t the same though- because rather than trying to explain herself, Cathy just looks wearily resigned.

‘Are you alright love?’

‘Fine.’ Cathy blinks a couple of times but the tears spill over, rather than disappearing like she’d obviously hoped they would.

‘No you’re not.’

Cathy sniffs and doesn’t respond; Jane edges closer and wraps an arm around her shoulders, hoping that she won’t pull away.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘It’s nothing, it’s silly.’

‘More silly than crying because a dormouse had to sleep in a bed of daffodils?’

Despite the tears still sliding down her cheeks, Cathy gives a short laugh. ‘They were chrysanthemums, actually. And yes.’

‘Well then’ She tightens her hold and Cathy rests her head against her shoulder. ‘Now you really do need to tell me love, because I’m fascinated.’

‘That's the thing. It really is nothing. I just feel really-’ Cathy searches for the word.’ You know like the opposite of rose tinted glasses?’

‘Yes.’

‘Like that. Just- tired and flat and pointless. And I don’t know why. The poem was just the last straw- it reminded me of, of how much I ruined by dying when I did….how many things could have been fixed if I hadn’t-’ Cathy’s face crumples and Jane feels it like an ache. ‘I’m sorry, I said it was stupid.’

‘Cathy love, no, no, no. Oh you poor thing-’ Cathy leans into her, sniffing and Jane rocks her gently back and forth. ‘It isn’t stupid in the slightest but that doesn’t mean it’s true-’ She isn’t quite sure where she should start. ‘You can’t blame yourself for dying, that isn’t fair.’

‘But if I hadn’t-’

‘But you couldn’t help it- and goodness, even if you had-’ Jane pulls back enough to cup Cathy’s damp cheek. ‘If you had been able to control it...I hate to say it, but there’s so, so many other things that could have gone wrong, even if you had been alive to see them.’

Cathy shakes her head. ‘I left Mary all alone- you know, some historians think she could even have died of neglect because they can’t be sure she ended up somewhere safe? And Jane- she had to go back to that awful house, those terrible people, because she couldn’t be part of my household without a proper chaperone, she might not have died if I’d been there to oversee things….I never had a chance to explain to Elizabeth, I always meant for her to know that I only sent her away to keep her safe and I meant to be explain one day when we were together but I never saw her again, there wasn’t TIME….and Edward and Mary might have reconciled, perhaps they wouldn’t have been so opposed, I made them all a family when I was alive and then when I was gone, it just fell apart….’ Cathy breaks off, sobbing too hard to speak and Jane shakes her head.

‘Oh Cathy. Oh love. It’s alright, let it out.’ She waits until the tears have slowed a bit before passing over a handful of tissues.

‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome. Now. Can I say what I think?’

Cathy nods, dabbing her swollen eyes.

‘Cathy. You are a wonderful, intelligent, kind, caring young woman and we are all love you and count ourselves very, very lucky to know you and have you with us, ok?’

Another tentative nod.

‘But love, you are not God. You’re not magic. You cannot possibly think that you would be able to have solved all of those problems, all of those issues, if you’d been alive. Honestly, even if you had a hundred years to try, I don’t think you’d have managed.’

Cathy looks wrong-footed. ‘But all of it- when I was alive, things were alright, they weren’t-’

‘Were they? Were they really alright? Or was it just that the problems didn’t exist yet?’

‘Well-’

‘Love, you did a wonderful job bringing the family together. But that’s so much easier when the children are- well, children. Do you see how much harder it would have been when they were adults? Edward was….seven, when you met him?’

‘Six.’ Cathy blows her nose.

‘See? He was a child. And Mary was a young woman but- well, with her father alive, even with a definite King in place….well, it would have been madness for her to double down with her beliefs the way she did. It was different when you were gone.’

‘Yes. When I was gone-’

‘No.’ She shakes her head decisively. ‘When you were gone, I said. Not because you were gone.’

Cathy contemplates for a moment and Jane pulls her closer, so that Cathy can lean against her comfortably. ‘Think love, for a minute. Did everything go to plan when you were alive? Did everything go just how you tried to make it turn out?’

Reluctantly Cathy shakes her head. ‘No. Hardly ever.’

‘So.’ Jane presses a kiss to the top of her head. ‘What makes you think it would have been any different if you’d lived longer?’ She pauses. ‘You need to let go of the blame. You need to stop torturing yourself with thinking how things could have been different- trust me, it’ll be easier when you do.’

She can see by Cathy’s expression that she understands what she means.

‘You make it sound so easy.’

‘Oh it won’t be. It isn’t. It’s always hard.’ She can say it lightly but honestly, it’s something that she doesn’t even think she’ll stop struggling with. ‘But you’ve taken the first couple of steps today….so that’s a start at least.’

‘I suppose.’ She’d be more bothered by the non-committal response if it wasn’t for the fact that she can tell by Cathy’s expression that she is actually thinking about it- only passingly now, perhaps, but later, when her tears have dried, tomorrow or the day after, she will think on it again, think about it seriously and examine the idea, and turn it over and over in her mind until she’s made peace with it.

She knows how Cathy does things after all, which is why she doesn’t push it too hard. She might not be able to read well but she knows about people.

Nestled up against her, Cathy looks even wearier and more wrung out than before but it doesn’t worry her so much as it did when she first noticed it. She smooths Cathy’s hair away from her damp face and smiles when she hums in response.

They sit in silence for a minute or two, and Jane imagines dust settling around them after a storm, normalcy returning slowly. She isn’t planning on going back to the poetry- she imaginges Cathy has probably had enough of it for one day, and then she remembers something and jerks up, dislodging Cathy from her arms and making her squeak in surprise.

‘Jane?’

‘Sorry, sorry- I just- I remembered something, something I meant to show you and I thought...it might help. You, I mean.’

Cathy looks slightly skeptical, and then she shrugs. ‘Ok. What is it?’

‘I’ll fetch it. Get comfortable while I look though because it might take a minute.’

She waits until Cathy has re-arranged the pillows and lain down properly on the the bedspread, half smiling despite herself.

‘I’m curious now-’

‘I knew you would be. Just- Oh!’ She unearths the book from under her bed, where she remembers putting it for ‘safe-keeping’ and climbs back onto the bed with it.

And begins to read.

‘I fling the past behind me, like a robe, worn threadbare at the seams, and out of date…’

Cathy curls back up into her side again and she smiles. ‘I have outgrown it. Where- where-’

‘Wherefore.’ Cathy’s voice is quiet; she goes on.

‘Wherefore should I weep and dwell upon its beauty-’

As she reads, she feels the tension leaving the girl next to her as she sinks into the cadence of the words.

‘-starred with gems made out of ch-ch-’

‘Chrystalled-’ Cathy’s voice is nearly a whisper now, but she can still hear it.

‘Chrystalled tears. My new robe shall be richer than the old.’ She finishes, flushed with the glow of hearing how much more confident her voice is than when they’d begun these sessions, all those months ago.

‘That’s you, Cathy. And all of us.’ She leans closer to the curly hair- Cathy’s face is buried in Jane’s cardigan but she knows she is still listening. ‘All of us, stronger than we were. You can put the past down, you don’t have to carry it with you, if it’s hurting.’

Cathy gives a tremulous nod, her face still buried and Jane kisses the top of her head..

She isn’t concerned, they can talk about it more later.

For now, she’s happy to wait until then.

#six #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #sixfic #six fanfiction

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things-we-used-tc-share · 4 years

Text

What Kind of Magic Is This?

Warnings: Drug mention (not use, just a brief discussion of hallucinogenics), Faeries.

Ship: Platonic Logicality.

Word Count: 1623.

Plot: Patton likes to collect Dandelions for a variety of different things, he gets a visitor on his lunch break in the middle of the forest. (Faery!Logan)

The crisp spring air brings a warm breeze against Patton’s cheeks. The sound of leaves crunching under his feet amongst daisies and dandelions has him humming to himself, music playing from the headphones around his neck. He rests the basket full of uprooted dandelions on the ground and takes a moment just to breathe the air into his lungs, eyelids fluttering closed as he tilts his face up towards the sky. The tips of the tree branches allow sunlight and blue sky to be seen through their canopies, and do not resist the way the wind blows a gentle wave to their arms. Patton opens his eyes and imagines they are waving to him.

He hums along to the music as he sits down under the tree and slides his backpack off, opening it up to find his lunch. Dandelion hunting is not exactly a strenuous sport, but there’s nothing like a jam sandwich in the spring air. He rests the container on his lap and prises off the lid to take a bite out of his sandwich.

For a moment there is only the stillness of nature, the only movements are the wind and Patton’s own, and then he hears the sound of footsteps; quiet, for a moment he’s sure he’s imagining them. And then he turns his head in the direction of the noise to see a man staring at him curiously. His heart skips a beat a little at first, surprised to see anyone this deep in the woods at any given time, and offers a small smile once he relaxes. “Hello!” He offers cheerfully, still a little bit nervous.

The stranger doesn’t reply at first, as if processing the word, before he offers a smile in return “Hello,” He stands still, as though waiting for the other to continue the conversation, or maybe invite him to sit down.

Patton looks down at his sandwiches “Are you hungry?” He asks, holding up the container “It’s homemade jam, I make it myself, but it is quite sugary,” The stranger steps forward a few paces and it’s then that Patton was able to really read his expression. The poor man looks skittish and nervous, a little like a frightened deer, but offers a shy smile and moves forward to sit down cross-legged on the ground. He’s wearing a long, thin skirt that appeared to be hand-dyed, although Patton recognises the material to be cotton, he’s not so good with knowing dyes. “What’s your name?”

The stranger hesitates, bright azure eyes taking a second to study Patton “Logan,”

“That’s such a nice name I’m-”

“Don’t,” The man cuts him short, shaking his head, a look of panic in his eyes “Don’t say your name,” He repeats, a little calmer, “The trees have ears,” Patton looks at the grass beside him with a curious expression, and then back to the stranger, wordlessly offering him a sandwich. “All it takes is one slip up and suddenly you’re waking up with no recollection of your life fifty years later, having not aged a day,” Patton laughs softly at that.

“I didn’t know these were Faery woods, I’ve been coming here for so long,” He gestures to the dandelions in the basket “Easy pickings without disturbing an eco-system with over harvesting,”

“That’s…a surprisingly intelligent conclusion to reach, for a Human,” Patton swallows the bite in his mouth much too soon and chokes a little. “I suppose I should have delivered that punch line a little more efficiently,” Patton raises his eyebrows in a way that says, ‘You think?’ but in a slightly unnerved fashion. “I will not harm you, and it would be rude to do so as you offered me your hospitality so very kindly,” Patton gets the distinct feeling he shouldn’t trust that sentiment, but it’s not as though he can just run away from the…person.

“How come you look like a human?” He asks, studying the other, he looks…normal, tan skin which isn’t uncommon for this area, bright blue eyes and red lips, he doesn’t look like the stories of the Fae he’d been told as a child. He doesn’t seem all that tricky either, speaking like he’d eaten a dictionary for lunch.

“Your eyes see what they want to see, much less what we are,” The man takes a bite out of the jam sandwich “This jam is truly quite delicious,” He doesn’t swallow at first, moving his mouth as if pressing the bite he’d taken against his tongue, savouring the texture. “Most people go their entire lives without ever seeing us as anything less than mildly odd humans, others see us the first time, and others take many years of exposure before they view our vessels for what they are,”

“How come some people see you first time?”

“Hallucinogenics,” the words is so blunt that Patton snorts a little, “Mind altering states of consciousness rewire how your brain sees things, what you want to see is the truth, and the truth is what you get, to some extent, the buildings are not moving and people’s faces aren’t warping, but Faeries are Faeries,” Patton nods in understanding, and continues eating his sandwich, it somewhat makes sense, but he’s not well known for his ability to compute things on a scientific or logical level, so he takes it at that and leaves it.

“Do you meet a lot of drug addled humans high on psychoactive substances then?” He starts to relax a little, a joking edge to his tone. Logan seems to recognise this and visibly relaxes, his back slumping a little, and a small smile on his lips.

“These woods are hotspots for such people, it’s an escape or get away from the pressures of modern society, truth be told they tend to be not all that startled upon meeting Faeries, practically assuming us to be hallucinations, but they do have some interesting conversations and that I admire above all else,” Logan’s lips tilt in a grin as he nods as though recalling one such conversation “I learn more about humanity from passers-by than I think I could from wandering into a city, something I have no desire to do, because when given the chance and time, Humans are naturally very open and love to discuss the traumas of their lives, and of course happy moments too,” He shrugs, a small movement and very quick “I think the best conversation I ever had was with a young witch, she was to be married in a couple of days and was not at all happy about it, she’d been worried about having to hide her powers from her betrothed husband and although he was a gentle man, she did not love him,” Patton listens intently “It was strange for me to listen, marriage is supposed to be a happy affair, a union of two, although I’ve never understood the obsession with couples, yet she was miserable, I was astounded that humans force two people to be together in a ceremony that is dedicated to love,”

“What did you do?”

“I killed her father,” Patton chokes on the air and the bluntness of the words and the calm expression on Logan’s face “Well, sort of, she wished he died, and he did, because that was what she wanted, with no-one in place to control her or her family, the marriage did not go ahead and she got to play it off as too being stricken with grief,” Logan sighs, “I don’t like killing people, it’s messing with fates that are beyond even us, of course not all Faeries feel the same, but if someone asks a wish of me it has to be granted,”

“But she was a witch, could she not have…done it herself?”

“Witches have a variety of different powers, some deadly, but unlike Faeries witches are mostly human, which means they are more so subject to karma than we are, and if what goes around comes around…”

“It could have killed her too,”

“Exactly, Faeries don’t really get handed karma, because we made the world what it is, we wrote the DNA of the Earth, we basically made karma, but I still don’t make a habit of playing games with it, destiny has a funny way of putting a knife in your back,” A silence follows, and Patton takes a deep breath in; he almost feels his ribcage rattle. “Darker Faeries, Night Faeries if you will, tend to live short lives and live off of carnage, we’re all creatures of day and night and one cannot survive without the other, but sometimes I do wonder how different life would be without hunters and many-eyed fiends,” Patton wonders as such quite often too, just this morning the news had reported hundreds of deaths, and he has a habit of questioning whether life could be better if the balance was tipped instead of restored. “But it’s best not to dwell on such things, this cannot be changed and it’s...illogical to hope for the impossible, it will only hurt you,” Logan takes the last bite of his sandwich and looked towards the sun “I’m going to be late, you should head on home now, thank you for the conversation, little human,”

Patton does not find the term patronising, and finds instead his heart flutters in his chest “If I want to find you again, how do I do so?”

“Just stray from the path and stand in a clearing, I will find you,” Logan stands and plucks a flower from the inside of his sleeve, he hands it to Patton “And bring this with you,” He smiles, and Patton takes the flower. “It will not die, as long as I’m alive,”

“Thank you,”

He stands too, and gathers his belongings, looking back over his shoulder towards the Faery as he leaves, humming a soft tune that he does not know as he goes.

Ko-Fi // Patreon

Taglist:

@analogical-mess // @unikornavenger // @mycatshuman // @creativity-killed-thekitten// @theresneverenoughfandoms // @charmingprincey // @heck-im-lost// @k9cat // @stilljittery // @romansleftshoulderpad // @sanderssideslibrary // @max-is-tired // @demigodnamedathena // @sevencrashing // @jemthebookworm // @sandersandthesides // @penguinkool // @georganabanana // @ao-koshka // @dangerous-doodle // @hell-or-high-waters // @no-sleep-gang-posts // @marshmallow-the-panda // @flix-net // @omni-hamiltrash // @an-absolute-failure // @mason-does-a-thing // @iceoblivious // @fandermom //

#sanders sides #ts sides #logicality #Logan sanders #patton sanders

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pluviophile-bookworm · 4 years

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AWAE 2x1 rewatch: thoughts and reactions

At long last, it’s time to rewatch the first episode of season 2. With a suspenseful open ending, season 1 left us waiting for the continuation of Anne’s story, and here it is now. It’s been literal years since I first saw this episode, so of course I’m going in with very little memory of what happens in it. I can’t wait any more, so let’s dive in.

The episode, and with it the season, opens with a beautiful shot of Anne reaching of her window, and then there are more lovely shots of her in nature. i just love the visuals of this show so much. And Anne talking to trees is just on another level. I actually see things from her perspective for a moment and it’s like nature is talking back, and it’s all so magical. This is one of many reasons why I’m so in love with this show. This is one of those “gold opens”, as I call them. But why do I feel like it won’t be the same after the cold open?

Ok, thankfully it’s not as dark as I’d thought - at least for now. But I’m still on my toes. For the moment, however, Anne’s biggest concern is how little scope for the imagination needlepoint provides. Here’s to hoping it remains so for as long as possible.

A delinquent saying grace, how ironic. And he indulges Anne by saying “Gracious Heavenly Father” at her request. He’s playing his role well, that you’ve got to hand to him.

Ah, and here’s Bash’s first appearance. A tough and grim job, being addressed by his nationality, and just overall hardship is what he’s putting up with for the moment - probably has for most of his life. Thankfully, Gilbert stands for none of that stuff. #blacklivesmatter

Good as Nate may be at keeping up his facade, Anne’s curiosity is not making that any easier for him. I love her curiosity and her desire to learn as much as possible about everything (wait, isn’t that the same as curiosity?) and her fascination with science. This is a woman of the future, that’s for sure. She did nothing to deserve getting her story cut short without a warning. #renewannewithane

Poor Anne, still haunted by her trauma... I guess this kind of stuff never really goes away.

What is Nate trying to pull with Marilla? That guy creeps me out so much.

Of course, Anne is enchanted by Nate and his science and his books, but Jerry’s got him all figured out. It seems he doesn’t really remember how they first met, otherwise I’m certain he’d tell Anne if not anyone else, but even without the clear memory of what Nate and Dunlop are really like, he just knows it. Memory fails sometimes, but instinct almost never does. Poor Jerry has his own trauma now. My boy does not deserve this.

Ok, I love Anne so much, but she can be awfully insensitive sometimes. I mean, I understand that she’s very young, but still. She seems to often forget that not everyone has the same experience as her. Now she’s forgotten that Jerry can’t even read. Of course, she immediately offers to fix this. It’s heartwarming that she’s teaching him to read, but she managed to sound both too patronising and too complicated, all in one sentence. But hey, she’s not a certified teacher, she’s a kid. I’ll cut her some slack here because her intentions are nothing but good.

Oh there it is, Nate has released the gold bug, and now he’s getting Mr. Barry wrapped around his little finger. I just can’t watch this...

I love the Shirbert parallel of working to the same tune. Even miles away, they’re connected in a way.

I’m sensing another parallel here - Bash is to Gilbert what Jerry is to Anne: the poorer, less educated honorary brother who is also a member of a minority against which many are bigoted. And just like Jerry does to Anne, Bash reminds Gilbert in no uncertain terms of his white man’s privilege. And both Anne and Gilbert learn along the way to be less insensitive to those less privileged than them, and to fight for this privilege to be evened out. This is beautiful and important, and I love this show for presenting it so eloquently.

Another beautiful visual of Anne in nature, this is a very popular one - at least I’ve seen it going around quite a lot. It’s this one: [image credit: kissthemgoodbye.net]

I too, like Anne, love living in a world where there are Octobers - especially because that is the month I get to go back to uni, and I happen to love it there. What would the world be like without Octobers?

As someone whose hometown is extremely close to the beach, I sort of understand Matthew and Marilla’s lack of thrill at the thought of going there, but also Anne’s fascination and excitement as someone who hasn’t had the chance to go. A friend from the capital (which is almost as far from the sea as my country goes) once told me when she came to visit that she found it weird how people actually live in a city that she and her other friends view as just a holiday destination. I, on the other hand, hadn’t lived anywhere else at that point and was way beyond any fascination with the beach. It’s good to see a different point of view. Someone like Anne can make you rediscover the beauty of every little mundane thing.

Wait, this is Anne’s spot, isn’t it? The spot by the sea where she’d later go when she’s upset, and where Gilbert would pass by on his journey of Anne-memories in season 3? It is, I’m fairly certain of it.

And once again, as Anne looks out into the sea, so does Gilbert. Those two share a brain, don’t they?

I don’t really know what Nate’s deal is. Sure, I know he’s a scoundrel at best, but... can one fake this fascination with gold? Of course, this bit might just be true - he could really be fascinated with gold - with getting it for himself at other people’s expense. That would be in character for the person who gave poor Jerry one extra kick in the face after he was already on the ground. And when Anne asks about it, little detective that she is, his true self shows for an instant. And then the mask is back on and he’s all like “do the right thing” and “moral quandary”... as if he has any morals. This guy disgusts me.

Sweet summer child Ruby is so see-through... Albert, Herbert, Rupert - she reminds me of my younger self. I love her so much.

Oh, great. Just great. Nate’s got into Anne’s head. She has this unfortunate tendency to trust people whether they deserve it or not. And now she’s fallen into a trap.

Oh Jerry, trust me, you do need to know how to read. You do. Although I wonder if his desire to talk and to discuss books wasn’t at the core of his eventual falling out with Diana in season 3 - I mean, the incompatibility between that and her own wishes about their relationship. Either way, reading can’t be a bad thing, can it?

What does Dunlop mean by “She’s just a girl”. What? Does he see her as somehow inferior because she’s a girl? As if I needed more persuading that these two are, to put it very mildly, no good.

Anne is too good for this world, empathising with Dunlop’s sob story (how true is it? I might be falling too) and even offering to be his little sister in her own desperate longing to be someone’s sister. No, Anne, your only brother should be the one Nate is taunting in the barn at this very moment.

Oh gosh, Anne is there, and another memory of her traumatic past is triggered by Nate’s taunting. I can’t watch, I just can’t watch a book being torn up so devilishly, and it seems that this is just the tip of the iceberg.

Does Jerry remember? I think he might be starting to remember. He’d better speak up soon if he does.

“I’d offer a penny for your thoughts but I haven’t any money.” Wait, does Eliza Barry not own any money at all? Is she that much of a submissive wife? I see now why she raises her daughters the way she does. I feel bad for her, truly. But I wonder what’s eating her husband. Is he thinking of what Nate told him?

Speaking of Nate - how vile of him to make fun of Jerry, calling him a little frog and all that, and taking advantage of the fact that he doesn’t remember who he and Dunlop are. You know, I’m thinking of a song - Little People from Les Mis, and specifically this line: So never kick a dog because it’s just a pup - you better run for cover when the pup grows up. In other words right now, Nate had better hope Jerry doesn’t remember, because I bet he’s not just going to sit around once he does. Nate’s got everyone fooled - everyone but him. And I don’t want to say Jerry was lucky, but in a way he was - to have met those two before everyone else.

That’s it - once Anne tells the town gossip, it’s all in the bag. She’ll tell everyone and get their attention for Nate. Sweet summer child Anne has done the con man’s job for him. Now he’s getting up everybody’s hopes just to get their money. I can’t even.

Sure, Anne, write to Gilbert, get him into this disaster waiting to happen, too. As if he hasn’t got enough on his plate right now. At least, being away, he might have missed out on that drama that will lead to no good, but nay, we just have to worry him, don’t we? And thus the bumpy road of Shirbert’s correspondence continues.

To sum up this episode: beautiful, magical scenery; Nate’s smooth acting has got everyone fooled - especially Anne; gold in Avonlea?; the similarities between Bash and Jerry; Shirbert share a brain; Anne teaches Jerry to read and write; Anne’s spot by the sea; Jerry doesn’t remember Nate and Dunlop - yet; the gold rush begins.

#awae #anne with an e #renew anne with an e #black lives matter #anne shirley cuthbert #gilbert blythe #diana barry #jerry baynard #ruby gillis #bash lacroix #rachel lynde #marilla cuthbert #matthew cuthbert

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