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heniareth · 3 years

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I was really curious about what your opinions on the DAO companions are :) I know we have talked about some, but I'd love to hear more and about the others as well :D I hope it's ok to pose this as an ask :)

Sure! That sounds like a ton of fun. This might be a long one tho. Mind you, this is not the finished version of the answer. I'd like to link stuff and add a cut, but rn that's not possible. I'll update it when I can.

Edit: I have updated it ^^

Let's go alphabetically bc why not.

Alistair:

Sweet guy. So sweet. There was a moment when I was hard pressed chosing between him and Zevran (alas, Zevran won). Also, he's weirdly tall according to the wiki? How did I not notice that before?

Let's get a bit more serious now, Alistair is a great guy. The only reason he's not the hero of the story is because he doesn't want to. He has all the qualities of a leader: he's good at dealing with conflict (as evident with the conversation with the mage at the beginning. He gets where he wants to get without antagonizing the mage, but without allowing him to trample all over him). He's a solid tactitian and knows how to make allies (he suggests to use the Grey Warden treaties, after all). I bet if he was in the leadership position, he'd even not bicker with Morrigan. His moral code is pretty tight; some might say too tight, but I think it's less about the moral code and more about learning to judge people by their actions, not by the labels they fit into (Morrigan is a proud apostate and therefore bad. Wynne is a humble circle mage and therefore good). He also has a bit of a black-and-white way of seeing the world. I empathize a lot with Alistair, especially with his experience with the Chantry and his subsequent reluctance to deal with it. I really wish I had gotten to know more about concrete experiences he had during his training as templar, but he seems reluctant to talk about it (gee, I wonder why).

Since I've only played the game once, I haven't really picked up on Arl Eamon's abuse towards him, which apparently exists (Isolde, however... I mean, even if he were Eamon's illegitimate son, he's a kid, ma'am, he didn't exactly get to chose his parents. So that's so not okay). Alistair's way of speaking about them both, however, is either sign that he has not come within a hundred miles of acknowledging how much it hurt him, or that he's already gone through the whole process and has decided to forgive them. The latter shows a very strong character; yes, he relies on the approval and leadership of others, he has his issues, but he's already started working on them.

That being said, irl Alistair would be like a little brother to me. I'd tease him relentlessly (all in good fun and I promise to stop if it makes him uncomfortable, but he's just so teasable). I still wish the videogame gave him the chance to take important decisions for himself. But that, of course, would somewhat defeat the point of the game.

Leliana:

Another sweet, sweet person. Her singing voice is amazing. Her belief in the Maker inspires me (I'm a religious person and seeing religious characters represented in a positive light is Very Cool. It's also sometimes a source of discomfort, because the Church has done a lot of very messed up stuff and positive representation can sometimes veer into apologetics for things that should not be excused, but that's a whole other can of worms. The bottom line is that religious characters sometimes work for me and other times don't and Leliana works for me very much bc she's an outsider inside the Chantry).

Leliana is best friend material, tbh. I'd love to get to know her irl, discuss theology and philosophy and maybe even politics? She makes mistakes and has prejudices, but, tbh, so do I. And I do get the feeling that she tries her best to learn. From the times she intervenes in a conversation between the Warden and an NPC, she shows herself to be compassionate and open to the needs of others. What I get from her character is that she genuinely wants to help, which is something that I adore of her. I suspect that she sometimes has a hard time deciding wether she's a good person or not. She has killed and seduced and worked for a morally dubious person, and she doesn't show the same nonchalance about it as Zevran (though they both do discuss their line of work in very... professional terms). This is, however, more of a headcanon than actual factual canon.

I also very much enjoy her girly side, like her interest in shoes and dresses. She's one badass woman who also looses her cool about the latest fashions in Val Royeaux. I like that. Between her and Alistair, a non human noble Warden has as good a help to navigate the Fereldan court as they're going to get. Leliana is also, I can't forget that, clever and insightful. It'd be easy to write her off as the innocent chantry girl, but she's so much more than that. Her kindness is paired with foresight, I think. She knows that taking on the trouble to help now can go a long way in the future. I just have a lot of respect for her.

Loghain:

This one's gonna be short bc I didn't recruit him. He's an amazing villain and would probably be a great Warden as well. He reminds me of Denerhor from LOTR; once a hero/stewart of his people, ambition and desperation have driven them both down a terrible path. I have also only little idea about his past. People say he lost a lot, and I believe it wholeheartedly; it doesn't excuse the fact that he plunged the country into a civil war in the middle of a Blight. I don't have a lot of sympathy for short-sighted politicians. I wish he hadn't made himself regent. That's what I take away from his character.

Edit: One thing I forgot to mention that really impressed me was his death. I had Alistair duel him (that was a rough duel), and then it kinda just jumped to a cutscene of my Warden nodding and Alistair executing him. That didn't sit well with me. I didn't want to kill Loghain, and less so in front of Anora. But what impressed me was that Loghain just accepted it. That takes a whole lot of guts. Compare that to Howe's death, and how he screams out that he deserved (more, probably, or anything but death) and it's crystal clear who the more noble of the two is. Loghain strikes me as very lawful neutral, and any neutral alignment has the particularity that it can be dragged towards good or bad, sometimes without the characters noticing it (which is interesting from a DnD perspective; neutral is often concieved of as just as stable as good or evil, but that may not be true. But that's a different post). Anyway, Loghain's death was impactful.

Morrigan:

I could kick myself for not maxing out her approval in the first play-through. I got to enjoy a bit of her friendship by the end of it and boy was even that little bit worth it. Friendship with Morrigan is something that is hard-won. It's all the more precious because of that.

Morrigan is full of paradoxes, I think. She's incredibly wise in some ways, yet also very short-sighted (”just kill them, don't solve their problems”. Morrigan, dear, I'm not going to gain a lot of allies if I kill everybody who poses a problem to me). She is so intelligent, but emotionally... not so. She knows so much about some things, and very little about the next. She's incredibly wilful and knows what she wants, but follows Flemeth's orders all the time through. She hungers for power and independence, yet craves closeness, but won't allow herself to have it. She asks you to prove yourself to her and is extremely critical of your actions, I think, because she's afraid. She bites the hand that feeds her because it might hit her next.

Like with Eamon, I haven't managed to catch the undercurrent of abuse that seems to permeate Flemeth's relationship with Morrigan. Except there are signs, because there must be something Morrigan is scared of and who has instilled all that rage in her, and that's Flemeth. Also, she clearly hates/does not care about her and wants her dead (unless killing Flemeth was part of Flemeth's plan as well? Hm.)

Morrigan is that one person who you are nice to, continuously, because nobody else is. And suddenly she becomes less cold. And then friendly. And suddenly you're asking yourself why everybody hates her, because she's a really good friend! I just wish the other companions came to a similar conclusion, especially Alistair and Wynne.

Oghren:

They did this man dirty. He has such great lines and I'm convinced he was a great person before Branka disappeared. He has that dwarven warrior spirit, and while he looks like Gimli, some of his most impactful lines remind me of Dwalin or even Thorin Oakenshield himself. He could be so noble had he gotten some character development, damnit!

Oghren as he is written is somewhat disgusting. I hate the lechering comments and the drunkenness. And still, I don't hate him because of those amazing lines he has when he's actually sober. It's frustrating and I'll give him that character development myself if the game won't. I strongly associate the song Whiskey Lullaby with him, bc that's how he would have ended up if the Warden hadn't taken him along (warning: the song talks about suicide and alcoholism). Like I said, they could have done such cool things with his character. As he is written now... it's just sad. Moments of lucidity drowned in alcohol and creepy jokes. As you can see, I don't blame the character for either. The alcoholism happens all too often irl. The creepy jokes... I put that one on the writers' tab.

I actually think Oghren could have been a great mentor figure (I know, I shock myself as well sometimes). Next to the Grey Wardens, the ones who know most about fighting darkspawn are the dwarves because they have to deal with them constantly. Especially a warrior caste dwarf like Oghren could have brought a lot of that invaluable knowledge to the team, especially since there are no Grey Wardens in Ferelden but two extremely green recruits. Next, you get the chance to give Oghren the command of the teammates you leave behind in the battle of Denerim with the reason that he has lead men into battle before. Where did that suddenly come from? Oghren should have been right up there telling my Warden that they were doing this wrong, that they needed more food (and booze) and a confident leader to keep the armies they've called together going. Oghren should have been able to tell my civilian city elf who got recruited into the Grey Wardens a six months ago how one leads an army. How one presents oneself to inspire confidence, how one doesn't crack under the pressure, how one gets the leaders of said armies (some who hate each others guts i.e. Dalish elves and humans) to work together. And, last but not least, Oghren could have had a great story about grief. This is a man who has lost most of what made him (and what he hasn't lost he's spilling down the drain with every mug of ale). This is a man who, if you take him into the Deep Roads, has to see what his wife did to his family, how his wife got absolutely obsessed, and can be forced to kill said wife or watch her die. All Wardens loose their home and families at the start of the story. It would really have rounded the whole narrative out if the Warden and Oghren could have recognised their grief in each other and hashed it out somehow. Such as it is, Oghren is a depressed drunkard and there is nothing we can do about that. I find that frustrating.

Rascal (a.k.a. Dog):

Best boy. 100/10. I wish we had gotten to see the reaction of the different origins to the mabari (because elves probably have a whole different experience with them from mages or humans. And dwarves just... I think they straight up have none? XD). Other than that, no complaints. The name Rascal was the one I gave my dog because you have to be a right rascal to survive what he did and play the pranks he plays. Smartest breed in the world indeed.

Shale:

Shale is one of those characters that I recruited rather late in the game, so I haven't had the chance to explore their personality and worldview, really. I didn't even get to take them to the Deep Roads (this will be ammended in playthrough nr. 2). As such, I don't have particularly strong opinions on them (or her? The wiki refers to Shale as 'it', but that sounds weird). But, because I know so little about Shale, I have a lot of questions. First, what were they like before they were a golem? Shayle, as she was called then, was the best warrior of her time if I remember correctly. Why did she become a golem? Was it to be able to eternally protect her people? Was the sarcasm the golem Shale exhibits also part of the dwarven warrior Shayle or did that come later (if for thirty years you have nobody to talk to but yourself, you better be entertaining. And I can imagine how it could make somebody terribly jaded as well).

Next, how attached is Shale to their golem form, exactly? According to the banter, they infinitely prefer it to a squishy fleshy form. If that is the case, however, why go to Tevinter to try and become a squishy dwarf again? It's not like that process could be reversed if they wanted to become a golem again; if Shale survives to the end of the game, the Anvil of the Void is destroyed and Caridin is dead. Was the whole spiel about their indestructible form a façade? It might have been, but not because Shale actually disliked their form. I think it would have more to do with the loss of their memories and with the very invasive experiments and alterations of Shale's body made by the mage Wilhelm. The loss of memories means that Shale is unable to remember life as a fleshy creature. They might be deflecting by pretending that they didn't care for that experience anyway because of the superiority of their golem form. The modifications made to their form by Wilhelm would have alienated them from their body. In light of this, it's significant that Shale asks the Warden to decorate their form with crystals.

All of this is, of course, pure speculation. I may have easily missed or forgotten details that would disprove the above thoughts. All in all, I like Shale and I hope we meet them again in DA4 (given that it's mostly set in Tevinter). It's a liking from a respectful distance, because Shale is tall and made out of rock and also way more experienced than I will ever be (they are literally the oldest member of the Warden's little Blight fighting squad).

Sten:

Sten is another person I'd keep a respectful distance from physically. That seems to be the what he would prefer, at least. I've enjoyed his character a lot, especially because he seems pretty clear-cut at first, but slowly lets the nuance of his person show (gruff and stoic, but then he has an eye for art, a sweet tooth and he likes cute animals). It's also very interesting that there's no moment when you learn "the truth" about him the way you do with Zevran or Leliana. There's no big reveal about his life under the Qun before coming to Ferelden. He says he was sent to monitor the Blight, but honestly? If neither Ferelden nor Orlais knew there was a Blight, how could the Qunari know? I think he's lying, and he takes his secrets back with him when he leaves Ferelden. And yet I think I know him enough to say that a Warden who has become friends with him has nothing to fear from Sten.

One thing I find very interesting about Sten is how he thinks. His conversation about how women can't be soldiers has been analysed a lot on this page I think. He seems to be arguing based on a different paradigma than the one the Warden has. He also seems to have a very clear-cut view of the world. What is fascinating to me is that, when arguing with the Warden and learning about their culture, he is not necessarily becoming more lax about his worldview. I think it's more likely that he is expanding his paradigma, the structure of thought through which he understands the world. I don't think that he is now convinced that women can be warriors as well. I think he rather understands that, in Ferelden, the relationship between occupation and gender is different than under the Qun. Which of the two he thinks is more right or more agreeable, I have no idea. I'm also not very interested in that. But I find it fascinating how he always seems to be looking on quietly, gathering data, classifying it and trying to fit it into his understanding of how the world works. I wouldn't be surprised at all if his original party was a scouting party to see how vulnerable Ferelden was at that moment to outside forces. One thing I don't understand with all of this is why he urges the Warden to meet the Blight head on. No smart soldier would suggest that, except if they are foolishly proud (and Sten doesn't seem like that kind of guy tbh). I get that the Warden takes way longer to gather allies than expected because they first have to solve all of their allies' problems. But surely Sten sees the need to have allies? Is he just that impatient? Does he have a death wish (à la, I lost my sword and am without honour, better to die sooner than later and in glorious battle)? Was he his group's previous commander and is he now having trouble following somebody else's orders? Or maybe it's his way to make sure the Warden knows what they are doing? To push them into becoming the self-assured commander their allies will need once they're all gathered? I really don't know. I like the last option best, however.

For me, Sten is my fellow, more experienced soldier. Like Alistair, he can potentially be the Warden's brother in arms, but he's definitely the older brother here. He probably doesn't take kindly to tearful confessions of how hard everything is, but I feel like he's otherwise a solid rock to lean on. I feel like the Warden can trust him to do what is necessary and count on him no matter what, especially after they get his sword back. His devotion from that point on is honestly so powerful.

Wynne:

Wynne was such a support for my Warden (except with the whole conversation about love vs. duty and that she may have to choose between Zevran and ending the Blight and that she should therefore break up with him. Wynne had a point. Astala was so not willing to sacrifice her relationship with Zevran. But the whole conversation came at a point where she was already so disillusioned that she blew up in Wynne's face (”can i please just have one (1) nice thing????”)). But all in all, Wynne is great.

She has a lot of flaws. She was very marked by her life in the Cricle and, for all her age, she has little experience living outside of it. She is also a conformist despite her strong moral core. In a way, her ability to find peace with her lot in life impresses me deeply because it speaks to a lot of strength of character. Sadly, however, strength can be ill applied and used to suppress. I think she has convinced herself that the Chantry is right under (almost) all circumstances to be able to rationalize the life that mages live. She's had her son taken away from her as a baby and an apprentice killed. Her reaction seems to have been to convince herself that this was right, or for the greater good (and now I'm thinking about the Guardian's question at the temple of Andraste's Ashes; are you wise or do you just repeat what others have told you? The answer is not as clear-cut as it might be). This is why she is so irritated by Zevran and Morrigan. By aligning herself with the Chantry, she is, in her eyes, good. Zevran and Morrigan are not; they do not conform to Chantry morality and they defend themselves tooth and nails against somebody who would try and convert them. This is something Wynne never allowed herself to do; she always did the "right" thing and it has cost her so much. I'm not saying she was right (it would probably have done her some good to rebel from time to time, and to trust her own gut instinct more), but in light of this, it hardly surprises me that she's so judgamental. She has to be, or she would be forced to confront all the evil she has not fought against all those years and all the hurt that has been caused to her by the very institution she protects (and thank God she only tries to argue and can appreciate it when people have found a good life outside of her comfort zone. If she tried to convince by force or, for example, drag her former apprentice back to the Circle... boy oh boy that would get ugly). If you think about it, Wynne really is a good example for what happens if you live by a philosophy of always choosing the lesser evil.

Something that I keep forgetting over her grandmotherly and dignified character is how damn powerful she is. She has escaped the carnage at Ostagar; HOW!? She protected those mage apprentices in the Circle tower for God knows how long. In the battle of Denerim, she wades through an army and comes out alive on the other side. The wiki lists her age at 40, I think, but that doesn't make a lick of sense unless 75 years of age are the Fereldan equivalent to 100. This lady, about whom people make grandmother jokes, did all that. It's impressive.

Zevran:

You know, I would really love to know what Wynne thinks about the events at Kirkwall in DA2. It might be a disaster for her, or it might pave the way for one last bit of character development. She certainly didn't want to return to the Circle after fighting the Blight. That may be an indicator of some change in her stance on the Circle of Magi.

Edit: I forgot that she is what the Circle considers a literal abomination! Holy cow, how could I forget that?? Anyway, her conversation about what being an abomination means is so... heartbreaking, actually. It's so tentative. So careful. "Am I an abomination? Am I the same thing that has killed my students? The same thing as Uldred? Am I lost and damned? Did I invite this spirit in? Is this my fault?" Like wow, Wynne is going through something huge right there. I love it. I have to continue playing the game to see what it ends up as, but it's fascinating and such a huge thing that she allows the Warden in on that.

Ah, Zevran, my beloved (he has stolen my heart so much it's not even funny anymore). He's funny, he's charming, he's so so loyal and it breaks my heart. Zevran is the one about whom I've read most meta: these three wonderful posts for instance, as well as this one about his possible lack of scars, and this one about his lack of freedom. All of these have influenced my opinion of him and they are great reads.

I have talked about Zevran with you before, so I'll just skip to the new stuff. I have come to conclusion that Zevran is an artist at heart. This is totally not biased by the fact that I also do art, but hear me out. One of his preferred gifts are bars of silver and gold. While those have the obvious utility of basically functioning as money (they can be sold to any silversmith or goldsmith and their value is pretty stable through time and in different countries), there's also this from his codex: "Zevran shows an affinity for the finer things in life—hardly surprising for an Antivan Crow—but his appreciation can be more poetic than he lets on. A simple bar of refined silver or gold, uncomplicated by a craftsman's hammer, is elegantly valuable." Tell me that is not an artist's eye that sees that gold and sees the beauty in it. Then, there's also the meta about Zevran the Seducer which I linked above and link here again. It talks specifically about how he lets himself enjoy the target and be seen in his enjoyment. Tell me that is not an artist's eye that beholds the beauty of something he is set out to destroy. Even his talk about his assassinations show this. He talks about it as an art, the way somebody would talk about the brutal intervention in stone that produces a sculpture. Yes, it's a rationalization of the act of killing and yes killing is still wrong. But he doesn't go on about it on a moral tangent the way Alistair or Wynne would (”this person was bad, killing them was necessary”) or even through the argument of survival like Morrigan would (”it was either them or me and it sure as Hell wasn't going to be me”). He talks about the pleasure of a job well done, of the satisfaction of striking the precise point and executing a plan to the perfection so as to minimize chances of discovery and to make a clean death possible. And pleasure in seeing and in doing, this I firmly believe, is absolutely fundamental for an artist.

My favourite part about my Warden and Zevran as a pairing is that Zevran precisely brings out that ability to take your pleasures as they come and to really savour them. Fighting the Blight is tough; it's so important to find good things amidst the chaos to stay sane. If Astala saves Zevran from himself by offering him a place to stay and a purpose, Zevran saves Astala from herself by keeping her from running herself into the ground trying to save the world.

There are some things I don't like about Zev. The incessant flirting, for example, sometimes makes me uncomfortable (it becomes enjoyable for me once the Warden and him are in a relationship, but before that? Nah, no thanks). I wish he would also leave the other female characters alone (and there's so many more shameless comments of his aimed at Morrigan, Leliana or Wynne than at Alistair or maybe even Sten).

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And that's my take on the Origins companions (this was rather long. Whew ^^' I hope it was still readable and that you enjoyed it!!) Thank you so much for the ask!! It's been a joy thinking about this. I was worrying at first that the less prominent companions like Sten or Shale wouldn't get as much content but... well XD

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bellemorte180 · 4 years

Text

Wanderlust Epilogue

One Year Later

Klaus walked down the streets of London, the city still waking from a deep sleep on an early Saturday morning. He weaved in and out of the few people he passed, his umbrella in hand; knowing that the skies could open at any given moment. A small smirk played on his lips as he saw the double decker bus drive past and stopped at the cross walk. He had forgotten just how much he missed this city when he fled it nearly sixteen years earlier. He took a deep breath, feeling the slight summer chill that only an early morning in England could bring; not able to stop the smile that spread across his face.

For the past eight months, Klaus found himself living in the city and found that he held no regrets on choosing to relocate. He found a decent sized terraced house in the middle of the city and for the first time in his adult life, Klaus touched his inheritance from his mother and Mikael in order to buy it. It was close enough to his siblings that he saw them more frequently than he had before; finding that both a blessing and a curse.

He saw Rebekah and Elijah the most. Rebekah worked in London and he discovered that being near her helped him grieve the loss of his friend. When Klaus was in New Orleans, helping a grieving Celeste mourn her grandson, Rebekah showed up on her doorstep; silently doing what she could to help. She arranged the funeral when Celeste broke down; even sitting quietly on the porch in the southern heat, listening as Celeste spoke about Marcel in excruciating detail. Klaus could hear Rebekah cry herself to sleep on those nights; doing something he had not don’t since Rebekah was a small child, Klaus went into her room and held her until she fell asleep. Neither spoke on it but the siblings held a silent agreement; Marcel was someone they both loved and lost. It was in that moment he knew that he wanted to be more involved with their family than he had been in the past.

Despite the fact that Elijah, his wife Katerina and their now eighteen-month-old daughter lived just outside the city limits, he would often make the drive to see them. His life had changed completely, and he honestly could not help but think back to where he was a year previously. He was in such a complete dark place that he thought that he would never be able to dig himself out. He would be lying if he said that he was completely healed but life was better now that he stopped diving into the mind of serial killers and stopped punishing himself for Mikael’s sins.

And then there was her.

Klaus paused on a corner that stood before a small café that specialized in early morning tea. Despite being back in England, Klaus was still a coffee drinker and it was a habit that Elijah couldn’t break in him; not that he tried that hard, enjoying teasing his younger brother on his drink of choice rather than breaking it. Klaus gazed at the café and the woman who sat there with a brown dog that was waiting patiently at her feet.

Her hair was shorter than the last time he saw her; resting just above her chin. She was skinnier than he remembered but he knew that she was still having nightmares; more frequently as the one-year anniversary of Matt’s death approached. She was in a blue sundress, a white cardigan and sandals; she had never looked more beautiful to him, although he said that every time, he laid eyes on her after being apart for some time.

“Caroline!” Klaus called, not caring about the dirty looks he got by those who passed by him. He knew she hated being approached unexpectedly, with good reason, so Klaus always made sure to announce his presence when he saw her. Caroline popped her head up, a wide smile gracing her features. The dog perked his head up and started wagging his tail widely; unable to run to Klaus due to his leash.

He crossed the street and walked up to her; Caroline all but bounced out of her seat. She threw her arms around his neck and Klaus pulled her close to him. He inhaled her scent and just basked in the feeling of having her in his arms again; it had been three months since he had seen her last, a small weekend trip to Barcelona in order to celebrate being off his probationary period at his new job.

“I wondered when you would show your face.” Caroline teased him with a wide smile. Her blue eyes sparkled with happiness and mirth; something that he loved to see. While Caroline was always beautiful to him, happiness only enhanced that loveliness. “A woman does not like to be kept waiting.”

“My apologize. I had to kick my other girlfriend out of the townhouse.” Klaus teased, knowing perfectly well how empty his house typically was. Caroline rolled her eyes and stood on her tiptoes and kissed him gently, letting her lips linger against his. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Caroline whispered softly before pulling away and sitting down on the chair. Enzo, who was still wagging is tail and waiting to be acknowledged began to whine. Klaus smiled and bent down to pet the dog, who was now trying to lick Klaus’s face. “Enzo, down. Behave.” Enzo didn’t listen and if Klaus was honest, he didn’t mind. He would never mention it aloud, but he had grown rather fond of the mutt and whenever Caroline made the trip to London, he was just as excited to see the brown dog as he was the dog’s master. Klaus gave Enzo one last pat before taking a seat across from Caroline. “I ordered you a black coffee and got a really nasty look from the server. I think she mentioned about something being a bloody American?”

“Well, Love. She wouldn’t be wrong.” He reached across the table and gripped her hand; his eyes spying the never-ending pink suitcase that had been Caroline’s constant companion for the past year. It wasn’t that Caroline fled Mystic Falls but for the past several months, but she had taken every single work trip that was tossed her way; rarely staying in one place for a long period of time. The wanderlust that she always had resurfaced with full force. Klaus knew that she was trying to prove something, not just to herself, but to Matt as well. “It’s one of the many things I love about you.”

Caroline’s face flushed red and Klaus smiled so wide that his dimples became pronounced as the server came back with their two coffees and what looked like a muffin for Caroline. Klaus remembered the exact moment he knew for sure that he loved her. He had spent four months in New Orleans, helping Celeste and just trying to figure out where he was going in life. During that time, he spoke with Caroline almost on a daily basis. Three weeks after Marcel’s funeral, she made the trip down to see him; unable to stand Mystic Falls any longer and the chaos that was left in the wake of Matt’s death.

Celeste insisted on meeting the woman she claimed captured his heart; a fact that Rebekah had teased him mercilessly on. Although Rebekah refused to admit that she adored Caroline and the friendship that bloomed between them slightly terrified Klaus. Then one night he awoke alone in the bed, terrified that Caroline had another nightmare. She had but what he found broke his heart. In the middle of Celeste’s kitchen, he found Caroline comforting the old woman as she broke down over the loss of Marcel. Celeste spent the majority of her time in tears and its part of the reason why Klaus stayed in New Orleans for so long. Caroline was suffering and barely hanging on by a thread and yet, she spent her evening comforting someone else. Seeing her hold Celeste’s hand and just listening had an impact on Klaus that he never experienced.

The love he felt for her hit him like a tidal wave.

“I love you too.” Caroline leaned across the table and gave him another kiss. The kiss lingered for a bit longer than either one intended, but it had been three months since they last saw one another, and Klaus was unsure how long Caroline would be in London; for she did not give him an exact time frame. Caroline pulled away and went back to eating her muffin. “So, how is working treating you?”

“It’s good. Really good. The beauty about white collar crime is that it is never boring, but I’m home every day no later than six.” Caroline brightened at the news. When Klaus landed the job with Scotland Yard’s white-collar division, no one was more excited than Caroline. “And having the weekends off is nice too.”

“I agree.” They shared a small smile, knowing full well that Klaus would take a weekend and go to whatever country in Europe Caroline was in at the time; given that it was a train ride away. The memories they created, far away from Mystic Falls where some that he held dear. “Look at you, working nine to five and staying in one place. I’m proud of you.”

“Well, not all of us can jet set off around the world.” Klaus teased her back and Caroline laughed, a sound that he dearly loved to listen too. Klaus made a promise to himself that he would hear her laugh at least once every day, even when they were in different countries. After everything she had been through, Klaus thought it was only just that she had as much laughter in her life as possible. “How was the train ride in from Paris? I would have picked you up at the station.”

“I know but my train left early and plus, I like meeting you at a random café. It’s our thing.” It was their thing. Wherever she was, they would meet at a small café of her choosing and they would have coffee together in the morning before spending their weekend together; or longer depending on the trip she was on. “That and I might have told you a slight fib.”

“Oh?”

“Nothing major…well okay it is major, but I wanted to surprise you.” Caroline told him in a chipper voice that had him narrowing his eyes. “So, about a month ago my boss pulled me into her office. I was already set to do the Paris trip when she gave me an offer. The company wants to expand their London branch and she wanted to know if I would be interested in overseeing it. The job would be more nine to five than what I’m doing now and would require less travel. I mean I would still travel but-”

“What are you saying?” Klaus’s heart began to beat faster and wondered if she meant what he was thinking. He had made it no secret that he wanted to take the next step with Caroline but knew that she needed time to sort out her feelings. She had a rough year and the last thing he wanted to do was push her. “Caroline?”

“I’m moving to London-“ Klaus did not let her finish, having all but leapt across the table to kiss her with far more passion than the kiss they shared earlier had been. Caroline could not help but laugh into his lips nor the bright smile that was on his as they broke apart. “Well, if I was going to get that reaction, I might have told you sooner. You’re going to have to tell your other girlfriend that its over though.”

“There is no other woman, Caroline.” It was a small joke between the two of them and Klaus knew it was born out of the trust between them. Neither Klaus nor Caroline wanted to be with anyone else, but they acknowledged that they were not ready to be completely serious right away. Their friendship and eventual relationship blossomed out of late-night calls, video chats and frequent trips to random cities over Europe. “Are you sure this is what you want? I don’t want to push you. I don’t want you to move to England just for me.”

“I’m not Klaus.” She took his hand. “You are a big incentive for me moving here. Not only that but this job is a big opportunity for me as well. I’m pretty much going to be the boss and that’s is something we both know I’ll excel at.” Klaus full on laughed at hearing her say that. If Caroline was good at anything, it was being in control. “And I don’t like being in Mystic Falls. It’s not home anymore and I just hate being there.”

“I know.” Klaus knew how hard it was for Caroline to be in the town that was home to her own personal monster. There were times when Klaus was getting ready to head to work some mornings and he would get a call from Caroline because she was suffering from a nightmare. Matt was always the center of them, either successful in killing her, her loved ones or even Klaus being the one killed instead of Marcel. The list went on and on; living in Mystic Falls only made it worse. “I just want to know you’re ready to settle. It’s only been a year, Sweetheart.”

“I’ve traveled more this past year than I ever had before. I’ve been to Bulgaria, Russia, Italy, France more times than I can count, and all over the United States. I’m tired and I am ready to stay in one place.” Caroline gave his hand a squeeze. “And I’m ready for more. I’m ready to really be with you. I love you and I’ve known that for a while. I just needed time and you gave that to me.”

“I intend to be your last love Caroline. Take all the time you need.” Klaus told her. He knew that she was it for him. While he hated the way they had met and wished he could take the scabbed over wounds away, he would not trade her for anything. He loved her. His family loved her. He wanted to do all the things a man did with a woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with; he just needed her to be ready.

“I’m ready. I promise.” They shared a smile and Enzo let out a groan; the two of them forgetting that he was there. They looked down at the impatient dog and Klaus nodded. They paid for their small breakfast and Caroline grabbed her suitcase while Klaus rounded up Enzo; the dog overly excited to be moving along somewhere else other than being tied to a chair. Caroline grabbed Klaus’s umbrella and faceted onto her suitcase while Klaus continued to try and calm Enzo down; who now realized he was going on another walk.

Caroline reached for his free hand, linking their fingers together before they headed off down the street. The city was becoming livelier than it had been previously and the pair passed a few people along the way that clearly appeared to be having a bad day; but Klaus did not care. The woman he loved was holding his hand and everything in his life seemed to shine just a tiny bit brighter.

Caroline was coming home.

They reached the house quickly, it only being a fifteen-minute walk from the café and Klaus eagerly let her inside the front door. The first thing to be seen upon walking into the house was a thin staircase that lead up to the second floor. There was an archway that lead into the living room and a long hallway that lead to the kitchen. Klaus bent down and unhooked the leash from Enzo’s collar; letting the dog run wild into the house.

Caroline made her way down to the kitchen, her laugh bouncing off the walls as she watched Enzo run around excitedly after having been on a train for a few hours. Klaus watched as she opened the back door and let the dog run wild in his fenced in back yard; something he had in mind when he bought the house because the idea of Caroline and her dog one day moving in with him was appealing, even if it was nothing more than a day dream at the time.

Klaus watched as Caroline moved around the kitchen, pulling a glass from the cabinet and filling it with the orange juice from the refrigerator. She was speaking to him. He heard her voice, but it was hard for him to focus on the words when she was in his home doing something so mundane as pouring a glass of orange juice and had every intention of staying there for the rest of her life.

“I sold my old house, well, in the middle of it. There is some negotiation on the buyers end but it’s as good as theirs. Mom and Bonnie helped me pack up everything and Mom is going to ship it here over the next few weeks. Now that she is retired, she doesn’t have much going on. Oh, she is coming for Christmas by the way.” Caroline took a drink of her orange juice and continued to prattle on. “The big-ticket items are being given away, except my couch. Yours sucks so whenever mine gets here, we are getting rid of-what are you doing?”

“I love you.” Klaus wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned down to kiss her again. He could listen to Caroline talk a mile a minute about everything under the sun but in that moment, he wanted to kiss her for the first time in their home. The kiss turned passionate and Caroline pressed her body as closely to Klaus as she possibly could. “I really love you.”

Klaus reached down and scooped her up into his arms; slowly lowering them to the ground. Caroline’s back rested against the fluffy rug, that Rebekah helped pick out, that was in front of his sink. Her arms were wrapped around his shoulders as their lips molded together again. She spread her legs in order for Klaus to rest between them; his covered erection making contact with Caroline’s core, her dress having rode up to her waist revealing a lacy white panty set that made Klaus wonder if there was a matching bra that went along with it.

“Klaus.” Caroline muttered out as his lips trailed from her lips down her jaw line. She hissed as his teeth nipped at her earlobe. “Are we really having sex on your kitchen floor? There is a bed upstairs.”

“Our kitchen.” Klaus lightly corrected. “And the beds too far. Next round.”

“Next round?”

“Oh Sweetheart, we’re not leaving this house until at least Monday morning.” With that Klaus leaned down and kissed her again; his hands pushing the white cardigan off her shoulders; Caroline slipping her arms of the of sleeves while Klaus trailed a line of kisses down her collarbone. Caroline moaned as his teeth nipped at the skin right above the bone. Klaus slowly dragged her blue sundress over her breasts revealing a matching strapless bra. He leaned in and kissed the tops of her breasts, his tongue peaking tracing the valley between her breasts. He knew it had been a few months since he last had been with her but having her beneath him again, only confirmed how much he desperately loved her.

His hand made its way up her toned legs and slipped his fingers onto the center of the panties and pulled them down, tossing them over his shoulder. He traced a finger up and down her slit, feeling how wet she was for him. He circled her entrance before slowly pushing a finger inside her. Caroline arched against the hardwood floor; moaning Klaus’s name as she did. He added another finger and then slowly began thrusting them in and out of her. His thumb pressed against the bundle of nerves; causing her to cry out.

“Klaus. Hmm. Don’t stop.” Caroline’s eyes were shut tight and Klaus watched her face with rapid attention. He took in each and every moment of her pleasure; how she bit her lip and how her one had grasped the wooden cabinet, digging her nails into it. He could see her eye fluttering behind her closed eyelids and when the moment the cord snapped inside her, her walls pulsing around his fingers, he watched as her mouth opened; forming an ‘O’ shape. As she slowly climbed down from her eye, a smile graced her lips.

Klaus pulled his fingers from her and Caroline gave a light chuckle. Caroline’s eyes locked with his and she tossed him a coy smile; Klaus only returning it with a dimpled one of his own. He quickly pulled his Henley over his head and tossed onto the ground. He reached down and unbuckled his pants enough for him to pull them just down over his thighs. Caroline opened her arms and Klaus crawled over her, allowing her to wrap her arms around his shoulders. She buried her fingers into his hair and pulled him down for a searing kiss.

Reaching between them, Klaus aligned himself with her entrance and slowly pushed in; not stopping for a condom as he knew that Caroline had an IUD inserted several months ago and neither one of them had any other sexual partners. Caroline whimpered into his ear while Klaus’s jaw slacked at the feeling of her surrounding him again. Allowing themselves a moment to adjust, Klaus pulled out before slowly thrusting back inside. His hips created a soft rhythm that teased and tantalized them both.

“I love you.” Klaus whispered in her ear; her hips meeting him thrust for thrust. “I think I fell in love with you the moment I laid eyes on you. You are so beautiful, strong, and compassionate that I couldn’t help what I feel for you. You’ve took over my senses and brought so much light into my life.” He leaned down and kissed her on the lips again. “I want everything with you. I want to wake up next to you. I want you to be the first thing I see and the last before I go to sleep. I want to hear your laugh when I come home and for you to roll your eyes at me when I do something ridicules”.

“Klaus. Please. I love you too.” Caroline whispered, a series of happy tears pooling in her eyes. She brought his head down to hers, kissing him deeply as she wrapped her legs around his waist; changing the angle of his thrusts ever so slightly. “Don’t stop loving me. Please.”

“All I want to do is love you. I want to love you every day and every night. One day I want marry you and have children with you. I want to hold your hand and grow old with you. I want to build a life with you here or in Paris or anywhere. Pick a place and I’ll be there.” Klaus stilled over her, his orgasm coming on by surprise and spilled himself inside her. “Sorry...”

“Don’t be. I’m happy.” Caroline told him with happy tears still lingering in her eyes. Klaus leaned down and kissed her again before rolling off of her. He laid against the wood floor and pulled up his pants. Caroline propped her head up against the palm of her hand while her elbow rested on the wood flooring. Her finger reached out and traced a small line down his chest and then back up; biting her lip deep in thought. “I’ve thought long and hard about this and everything you said. I want it too. I want a home and yours is here now. Mine stopped being home a long time ago. I love you and want to build that life you described with you.”

He knew that she did. All those plans they had made over the last several months were slowly coming to fruition. Klaus just needed to know that she was ready. The last thing he wanted from her was regret that they moved too soon; but he knew that he needed to trust her. All of her wounds were not magically healed in the span of a year, but Klaus knew that he would be there to hold her when she needed it. He never wanted Caroline to face what she had during Matt’s reign in Mystic Falls again. Klaus wanted to hold her up high when she succeeds and catch her when she fell; he wanted to be her partner in all things, even in her darkest of moments. Klaus reached up to touch her face, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb. All the words he wanted to say were dying on his lips, but he knew that she understood.

But before he could say anything at all, the two of them heard a series of barking outside the back door. Klaus and Caroline tilted their heads to see Enzo going crazy outside the door, his tail wagging wildly. They shared a quick glance at one another and broke out laughing.

“I suppose we should let him in.” Klaus said in a light manner and pulled himself off the floor, holding out his hand to Caroline. Without a second thought, she gripped it and he pulled her to her feet. With a final kiss on the top of her head, he moved to the back door in order to let Enzo inside. The dog burst through the door and all but ran into the living room; assuming to find the toys that Klaus still kept around the house during their visits.

He looked over his shoulder and saw Caroline standing in the hallway with a small smile on her lips. She tilted her head; gazing at him with a hint of mischief in her eyes. Slowly, she dropped the blue sundress that she was holding up around her body and let it fall to the floor. She reached behind her and tossed the bra on the ground as well. Klaus took a step forward, but Caroline held up a finger, stalling him. A saucy smile played on her lips and before Klaus could move, Caroline took off running up the stairs; her laughter ringing the entire way. Without a second thought, Klaus took off after her. When he caught up with her on the second landing, Caroline joyful squeal could be heard echoing throughout the house.

Caroline settled into London with ease and built a life for herself, but she was never fully able to let go of the wanderlust Matt so desperately wanted to stamp out of her. Yet, no matter where her travels took her, Klaus knew he would always be there to welcome her home.

Fin.

A/N: I'm half asleep posting this and I'm just in shock honestly. I cannot believe that its done and over. A couple things:

First) I want to say thank you to everyone who read Wanderlust and fell in love with it. I've gotten so many positive comments, reviews and just support from the fandom, more than I could have ever thought of. I never imagined how this story would have turned out or the massive response I got.

Second) I'm not doing a sequel. The last chapter and epilogue are pretty final. HOWEVER that does not mean I won't do an future outtake here or there if the mood strikes. I have nothing in the works BUT it could happen. If it does, I'll do what I did with the Just Good Business outtake and tack it onto the end of this story...

Finally) I'm doing a Q&A tomorrow (feel free to send asks today if you feel like it). Basically, its all Wanderlust related and nothing is off limits with this story. You have questions, I'll answer. Again, I just want to say thank you to everyone who read this story and became invested. Thank you to @klavscaroline for creating the betting pool and to all those who participated. Thank you to @klarolineagainnaturally for making the amazing banner I used when posting on Tumblr.

Just thank you.

Erica

#klaroline #Wanderlust #the final chapter

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duchessofostergotlands · 4 years

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Hi, jess! Since we’re talking about reality tv, I’d really like to know your opinion on sth that’s been the hot topic in my country these last couple of months. What do you think about people with mental disorders participating in reality shows? I’m currently watching a (now popular - because of the pandemic) reality show called “a fazenda” (the farm). It’s a bit like big brother, but with somewhat famous people (a couple of big celebrities + lots of b-c listers) having to deal with farm duties, like taking care of cows, chickens, etc. It’s wonderful, kinda trashy and I love it! The network that streams the show is very shady (it supported bolsonaro) and it clearly doesn’t know or care about how to approach delicate subjects. Here’s the thing: one of the participants has borderline - the show hasn’t disclosed this info, the audience found out by googling her after she had her first major fight on the show (she has a highlight on her ig in which she talks about being borderline). The discussion we’re having: is the network exploiting her by using her mental disorder as entertainment? Should they release an official statement about it to avoid public misconceptions about her? The participants who aren’t her friends have said incredibly prejudiced things about her, suggesting she likes being “crazy”, “retarded” and “not normal” because this supposedly “helps her get extra tv time” - this is infuriating because she’s clearly in pain when they provoke her. These horribly ignorant people even found out how to triger her and are actively using this to try to make her physically attack them, which would lead to her being expelled. From what the audience can gather from short clips now and there, she’s taking her meds as usual and is being assisted by a psychologist (at least!). Personally I don’t think there’s a problem with having a person with a mental disorder on a reality show, because she has the right to participate and shouldn’t be discriminated because of it - but as long as the show doesn’t exploit her and approach the subject responsibly. The silver lining is that I’m seeing LOTS of people supporting her on social media and completely disagreeing with the other participants’ behavior - her public approval is much bigger than theirs; the admin who’s taking care of her social media during this period has been posting about the subject and invited a psychologist to talk about it and answer a q&a sent by followers. Anyway sorry for the huge text! I really value your opinion and would love to know your insights

Hey :) Well thank you for asking for my opinion, that’s always sweet! We had The Farm here ages ago, I never watched it but I remember it making tabloid headlines because one of the celebrity contestants “stimulated” a pig.

Well firstly I don’t think a mental illness should disqualify anyone right off the bat. Different conditions will have different challenges, different people with the same diagnosis will present differently, and different reality shows will bring out different challenges - like it would be different to be on something like Bake Off which is generally supportive and you can go home and be with your family in between challenges versus Love Island which is a show here largely based on attractive people getting off with each other so there’s a lot of tabloid attention, a lot of pressure to look a certain way and they’re all cooped up with no contact with the outside world for weeks and often plied with alcohol. There’s also a difference between having a diagnosis and actually still displaying symptoms at a clinical level. Lots of people with BPD like me show less symptoms as they get older until they’re sub clinical but they may still be branded with the diagnosis by others or feel they want to keep it themselves. And even someone like me who very much still deals with their condition on an active basis, I still have legal competence to make my own decisions and it’s infantilising to suggest a diagnosis of a mental illness automatically disqualifies you. So as much as possible it needs to be an individualised process to decide and the reality show needs to be honest about what it will entail. I don’t know about over there but we have psychiatric evaluations for our reality shows. I don’t know how good these are but if they are robust and informed by people with the specific conditions then I think these can be a good way of deciding if someone can actually handle the specific challenges of that show. One evaluation is not going to work for everyone, it needs to be someone with specific expertise in that condition.

If someone with a mental illness is accepted on the show then something that’s missed out a lot in the UK and probably elsewhere is the care during and after the show. Firstly they should have a specialist on hand who can identify when the contestant is having a more difficult time and if it’s necessary to have private, off camera check ins with them about their mental health. And for BPD and other severe conditions like schizophrenia or bipolar these people can’t just be psychologists. Being a psychologist doesn’t mean you have the knowledge to deal with the specific condition. There have been some suicides of reality show contestants over the last few years here and a lot of blame has been pointed at the producers and studios for not supporting people when they leave the show and are suddenly famous. There should be a clear care plan that is specific to their needs and the producers and studios need to commit to ensuring that the level of care provided is fit for purpose. Sending an email with the name of a psychologist with general expertise is not enough. Some people may require regular sessions with people with specific qualifications and they need to be willing to commit to that for the safety of their participants.

I also think when it comes to the point around disclosure, nothing should ever be confirmed without the person’s explicit consent and them being able to approve any wording about it. Even if they’ve talked about it openly prior to going on the show, it would be exploitative to me to release a statement about a contestant’s specific health issues without first checking with them. If they do feel that the way things are being portrayed could negatively impact her long term health then I think they have a duty to raise it with her even if the show is ongoing and decide if she would be happy for it to be shared. If it is, I think the tv channel or whoever is releasing the statement should accompany it with links to support services and helplines and should invest time in promoting resources which explain BPD - or the condition the person has - and humanises people so that the bigoted views being spouted on the show are not able to go unchallenged. I’m really glad to hear the person managing her social media is using the opportunity to share info and that people are responding well to it. If the show does ever acknowledge it then I think they would have a responsibility to participate in those efforts, it shouldn’t be down to her team alone.

#ask #15billionyears #non royal #reality tv #mental health #mental illness

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wordsasweapons112 · 3 years

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On Literary and Real World Violence: A Response to Morrison, Laymon and Faulkner

I’ve been in school for two weeks now, and literary violence is at the forefront of my mind.

Toni Morrison’s collection of criticism, Playing In The Dark: Whiteness in the Literary Imagination, has been a faithful companion since the beginning of the semester. Morrison is adamant about education. Her eloquence and grace seeps off the pages, defining African Americanism (“an investigation into the ways...a nonwhite, Africanlike (or Aficanist) presence or persona was constructed in the United States'' (6)), its place in Western literature, and the impact of harmful representation. Morrison speaks for those pushed into the role of “The Other” in America, and, consequently, in America’s great novels as well.

Kiese Laymon begins his essay, “I Am A Big Black Man Who Will Never Own A Gun Because I Know I Would Use It,” addressing this idea as well, zeroing in on the personal impact of one of the country’s most treasured writers.

Laymon describes his fascination with William Faulkner, who is often viewed as a father of the literary subgenre, southern gothic. As a teenager, Laymon read all of his novels, and felt that Faulkner was one of the more progressive writers of the early 20th century. Laymon was encouraged by his mother and teachers to strive for work adjacent to his; the writer could essentially “protect [him], ironically, from white men, white men’s power, and all men’s bullets.” However, as Laymon grew up, he saw that despite Faulkner’s intentions, he was tired of “white writers who simply could not see, hear, love, or imagine black folk as part of, or central to, their audience.”

“I Am A Big Black Man Who Will Never Own A Gun Because I Know I Would Use It” was written in between visits to Faulkner’s home in northern Mississippi. Laymon finished a draft on the front porch, taking note of how he could see the house of Callie Barr, the Faulkner family’s help, from his peripheral. Laymon studied the relationship between Faulkner and Barr from a vantage point of nearly a century, documenting his findings in his essay. Barr, who passed away in 1940, left an impression on the novelist, who delivered a heartfelt eulogy at her funeral, speaking of her fidelity to his kin as if she were one of the family. He addressed Barr’s “devotion and love for people she had not borne” straightforwardly.

When reading this, I couldn’t help but think of Dilsey, the Black help in Faulkner’s 1929 novel The Sound and the Fury. Now aware of Barr’s life, I can see the influence of the loyalty that Faulker felt she employed. Dilsey, along with her sons and grandsons, care for the fictional Compson family; particularly the youngest child, Benjy, who is mentally disabled and depends on her well into adulthood. Fidelity to the family comes up frequently, and is extremely problematic. It’s what Laymon later reflects upon, understanding that “black fidelity and devotion to white families that are not our own are a terrifying part of our story in this nation.”

Laymon’s essay is not necessarily a piece of literary criticism. It is a vitally important call to action to end the violence against Black people in our country. He writes of America as a “desperate culture,” where ego and destruction come before the safety and livelihood of our children. For Black, brown, and indigenous children, this complex is a matter of life and death (“...why a nation that parades its big guns thinks it has the moral authority to audaciously tell its children and its black folk what to do with their little guns”). For white children, it is the risk of “moral annihilation;” the fear of being caught, of having an image tainted when they end up making headlines for racist or murderous acts. I think of the Kenosha shooter now, of seeing childhood pictures of him on my Twitter feed, holding an AK-47, with dreams of joining the police force at the forefront of his mind. White children grow up with the comfort of knowing they have the police on their side. They have the ability to own firearms before they are out of grade school. They have the ability to use them to kill, and still sleep in their beds that night.

They have the privilege of returning to their lives; the privilege of another day.

In a piece written shortly after Emmett Till’s death, Faulkner wrote, “If we in America have reached that point in our desperate culture when we must murder children, no matter for what reason or what color, we don’t deserve to survive, and probably won’t.” Laymon criticizes this overly optimistic view; they are words that are still on our minds today, and that still aren’t compensated for. He writes, “Faulkner would have known that you cannot love any child in the United States of America if you refuse to accept that this nation was born of a maniacal commitment to the death, destruction, and suffering of black, brown, and indigenous children...Faulkner would have accepted that there has never been a time in this desperate nation’s history when American grown folk have refused to murder children.”

To make this country a better place for those who come after us—to make it a place that meets basic rights—we have to advocate and fight for those who have been left behind. We have to fight for everyone to have the chance to begin again; to wake up in the morning in their own beds and carry on another day. But, as Layman states, “If we really wanted to make this country less violent, we would tell the truth.” The truth is an accurate representation of marginalized bodies in the art we make. The truth is creating space for those bodies.

Though Faulkner was once a staple of Layman’s education, he is aware of the importance of nothing where gaps lay. Faulkner was still a white man who used derogatory language in his prose, and his Black characters were still representative of a harmful past. He isn’t the only one. I’m reminded of some of America’s most prized pieces of pop culture: Gone With The Wind, Flannery O’Connor’s short stories, amongst countless others. The list is grossly incomplete.

I’m aware there is actual physical violence happening in the world; it is why I am writing this essay instead of being in class. But in the context of Layman’s devotion to exploring a literary past—and as a student studying literature and how to, hopefully, write my own one day—we have to acknowledge the violence that occurs on the page as well. Morrison paints the picture clearly. It occurs within the words actually printed; in the harmful descriptions of those of us viewed as Others. It occurs when the words are forgotten; an erasure that speaks without words.

There is a truth that needs to be told. Layman emphasizes that, “if we bring [it] into every space we enter, every space we long to bring a gun...our children will not be safe, but they will eventually be safer and far less addicted to violence than we are.”

As artists, it is our job to make our work inclusive. I was once a child of words, and am coming into my own as a young adult yearning to weave her truths within them. Literature has been my safe haven since around the time Layman first discovered Faulkner. And, like him, I no longer want to fall victim to the metaphorical gun resting just outside the page.

We have a responsibility to create art that speaks to more than some. We have the ability to help reconstruct what we’ve been taught. The call for creatives in the modern age is to make work that goes against the American concept of violence, for American violence seeps into every aspect of everything we do. It is in our language, our novels, our records.

The question is not whether we can, or have the ability, to begin; it is whether we are willing to do so. Layman proposes an important question: “Do you care enough about the children of this country to begin divesting from all forms of American violence?”

Our silence can sometimes speak just as loud as those firing guns.

Originally written in September 2020.

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michael-radi-the-glamorous-life · 4 years

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Why Does He Endure?

Last Sunday evening was the 90th Birthday Celebration Concert for Stephen Sondheim - put together and produced by Raul Esparza, and starring a jaw-dropping list of Broadway celebrities and personalities.

Despite the technical glitches - which had Twitter abuzz with some excellent Sondheim-related humor - the evening was beautiful.

The performers had recorded their songs ahead of time from their quarantined homes and still, somehow, the music and performances were just as emotional, raw, delightful, and revealing as they might have been with more theatrical conditions.

Why?

The music, the lyrics, and the marriage of the two.

Stephen Sondheim has to be one of the most polarizing musical theatre writers, having been lauded as the most important to live and also berated for being too high-brow and difficult to perform or understand. And yet, he is known as “the master.” Not a master - and we do have many - but the master.

Why? What is this legacy? Why does Stephen Sondheim endure?

Content Dictates Form

Now, I could write an entire life-long dissertation on Stephen Sondheim and the brilliance of his work (and some of my friends and family would probably say I’ve been doing it verbally for years), but I want to boil this argument down to its basics.

In his lyric anthology Finishing The Hat, Sondheim writes of the three writing principle truisms:

"In no particular order, and to be written in stone: Content Dictates Form Less Is More God Is in the Details all in the service of Clarity without which nothing else matters." -- Stephen Sondheim in "Finishing The Hat"

Let’s begin with “Content Dictates Form.”

What does that mean?

One of the reasons that Sondheim’s music endures - and specifically within the context of the shows for which it was written - is because of this first principle.

You cannot easily remove one of his songs to be performed outside of its show for an audience that is unaware of its context. Sure, they may enjoy the music or find the piece entertaining, but the song would not have its full impact outside of the show. And this is something that used to be common with theatre music, but (with the exception of “Send In The Clowns”) not with Sondheim’s music.

Why is this?

The content of Sondheim’s writing - the time, the setting, the plot, the storyline placement, the characters and their individual personalities, the opinions, and the messages of the piece - define the formation of the songs. Every piece of music he writes is entirely wrapped up within the world of the play, and taking it out of its context can therefore be quite difficult.

You can absolutely, out of context, have:

A group perform “Sunday” from Sunday In The Park With George

Two people duet on “A Little Priest” from Sweeney Todd

A devastating rendition of “Send In The Clowns” from A Little Night Music

You can do these things out of context and have them be appreciated for their craft and beauty. But something will be missed.

There are layers of enrichment that come from knowing:

“Sunday” is a musical representation of the pure beauty and tranquility that George Seurat finally feels in blocking out the chaos to finish his masterpiece painting.

“A Little Priest” is the unadulterated and insane giddiness of two brilliant, yet disturbed, people figuring out how to bring their goals into alignment - aka murder barber customers for practice and bake them into pies for money.

“Send In The Clowns” is a moment of stillness and deep self-reflection for a character who has never faced what she has always known, which is after we’ve watched her flail around her desires for two hours.

Sondheim takes these moments in the stories and crafts them into music perfectly appropriate for the situations and characters:

“Sunday” is a brief group vocal number based mostly upon quiet unison, which blossoms briefly into exuberant dissonance before returning to a quieted and major harmony in the end.

“A Little Priest” is a seven minute comedy number based in grotesque wit and delightful one-up-man-ship.

“Send In The Clowns” is a conversational, lilting, and dynamic solo ballad, which purposefully does not develop in either melody or harmonic structure.

Extraordinarily different pieces. All very Sondheim, but all utterly specific to their content.

Less Is More

I already hear some of you at home saying:

“But Michael, he’s known for his complexity and wordiness! How can Sondheim believe in Less Is More?”

Well, believing in and succeeding at are two entirely different things. And Sondheim acknowledges all over the place that he strives for these principles, knowing that he often falls short (as do we all).

But if you were to look at the songs of his that most endure - the ones that really cut to our emotional and intellectual centers - these are often the ones that follow this mantra the most.

Every Sondheim show is filled to the brim (if not overflowing) with music and lyrics, and many of these are immediately forgotten upon leaving the theater or skipped when listening to the albums. But the ones that cut through universally for performers and audiences alike tend to be wrapped up in the simplest of ideas:

Finishing The Hat

No One Is Alone

A Weekend In The Country

By The Sea

Anyone Can Whistle

Being Alive

Everybody’s Got The Right

I’m Still Here

And this is but a tiny fraction.

If you know any of these songs, their titles alone will evoke a sense of time, character, emotional state, and a wonderfully tuneful hook. And everything else about each of these songs is built specifically around these simple and effective ideas.

Do the lyrics often spin off into ambitious wordplay, complexity, and depth? Yes. But all of it centered around these simplistic and easy-to-follow ideas - he never strays.

God Is in the Details

Details come in all shapes and sizes, so it would be difficult to discuss the full breadth of the kinds of details Sondheim has mastered. There are too many.

So I will leave you with a few.

1. Correct Stress

One of the reasons performers love to sing Sondheim music - and audiences are able to take in as much information from his wordiness as they can - is because Sondheim takes great care to place words on his melodies so they are stressed precisely as we would say them.

There are many songs out there in the world that people say are difficult to sing - “it’s almost like it’s impossible to sing it well!” Usually, this is because of mis-stressed words. They’re tricky to spit out.

But when they stress is correct, you can speed through an insanely wordy line and still be entirely understandable (see “Getting Married Today” from Company).

2. Musical Development

I wrote a 10 page paper in college about the first half of one song in Sweeney Todd, dissecting the musical development and how it related to the characters and tone of the piece. And I had much more to say.

Sondheim takes great care to build a musical world, build a tune off a singular idea, and then to break his own rules only when the story calls for further movement or development. And every time he does it, it’s wildly effective.

For just a minuscule example, in Into The Woods, Little Red sings a song called “I Know Things Now,” which is the story of her encounter with the Wolf. The main melody is almost garishly major, since Red is both a kid and dreadfully annoying.

But when she gets to the part of the story where she starts feeling fear, Sondheim alters two notes in her now-familiar melody to make them minor. Just two. And then we understand her state of mind clearly.

Details.

3. Wit

A lot of people are witty. But few people are as appropriately witty as Sondheim.

It’s one thing to write your face off and be clever at any and all times - this is a great showcase of the writer and their talents. But it’s an entirely different thing to be witty in a way that’s 100% appropriate to the character, their language, and their situation.

My favorite example of this is in Sweeney Todd during “A Little Priest.”

Mrs. Lovett is a cooky delight of a character who is clever, insane, and good at wordplay and word association. However, all of this gets kicked up a huge notch during “A Little Priest” when Sweeney starts playing the word games as well. Suddenly, she has to up her game.

Prior to “A Little Priest,” in which they wittily discuss how they could cook different people into pies to sell, Mrs. Lovett would likely not have gotten to the point of being able to put together:

“Or we’ve got some Shepherd’s Pie peppered with actual shepherd on top”

A brilliantly witty line, but also perfect to Lovett in this one moment in the show.

Clarity

So why does Sondheim endure?

Whether you love him or hate him, or are somewhere in between, Sondheim’s mastery of the craft of musical theatre writing is both capturing and stirring.

His craftsmanship is the rock on which his talent sits, and it has made for some of the most exciting and interesting musical storytelling for performers and audiences alike.

Sondheim is who inspired me to do what I do. His principles guide me in everything I write. And all I can hope is that, at the end of the day, I have achieved a level of excitement and clarity that Mr. Sondheim could be proud of.

Stay safe, stay healthy, stay home. Cheers everyone!

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mysticalmusicwhispers · 4 years

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APH England Headcanon: On Top of the World

Hey look another song headcanon. Idk why I get so much inspiration from songs but here it is. Long, Long, Long, Long, Long Post Warning (I went into detail here so... you’re warned)

Basically a look at this song (On Top of the World by Greek Fire, not Imagine Dragons, one of my favorites, please listen) through England’s eyes, because I think it really fits him, mostly discussing his imperial times (colonies, America, all that fun stuff):

youtube

Ok so: Imperial England, in my headcanon, is a Sly Old Bastard exactly the way China is/was at his height. And this post is going to be focusing on England’s sly, cunning nature and weaknesses (?) he might have felt at the height of the British Empire. Most of the song is reminiscing (“I remember”...), so it could also be when England’s empire has crumbled and he’s wondering how it all went down.

Anyway, first couple lyrics are just “on top of the world/on top of it all/trying to feel invincible”, the refrain that goes on throughout the song. I guess it just kinda sets the scene, I think as his empire got larger and larger, and as England got more and more colonies, he would become somewhat aware that all the things he’d been building, the states/lands he’d been conquering, would crumble one day, and then his empire would be no more (trying to feel invincible).

Slight Digression: Britain was a Roman province, however the whole of the British Isles were never quite subdued by military conquests, and I think England would have existed at the time and would be resisting the Romans with his mother Britannia (even though I think Scotland was the one left unconquered, although they were defeated in battle lots of times, England would not have willingly surrendered either). Therefore, he would also witness the fall of Rome, and carry with him the knowledge that all empires fall, no matter how great they are or how much land they have. So this would also factor into his state of mind of inevitability I guess (I was thinking of insecureness but that’s not fitting, England is too egotistical to be insecure imo) that his empire will end one day, and the least he can do is to enjoy (?) or pay attention to how it feels to rule while it lasts

Ok anyway: “I remember the nights/Caught up in dreaming my goodbyes/Watching the door for anything more than an ordinary life"

I have no explanation, maybe this was when he was first starting out as a country or when he was starting to grow his empire, when things used to be ordinary for him maybe? Idk what it means about dreaming goodbyes but rationale is: he somehow has a premonition that his empire will die someday? Actually wait, even better is that he’s saying goodbye to Britannia, who is dying, and perhaps deciding to build something great in her legacy? As a tribute (and also maybe a fuck you to Rome) to her, he wants her legacy to be “my son(s) did something great” rather than to be a forgotten woman to history. I interpret the next line as England perhaps being excited about the prospect of his growing empire, excited about leading, conquering. I think during imperial times he had the same god-complex America does; the US often markets itself as “doing good” for the world (eg. Ridding Communist Scum !!!) which, although it may actually be disastrous, is usually seen as “right” in some way (I have major issues w/ US politics as you can see but let’s not talk about that). So the wishing for a better, more exciting life might just be his wish to “make the world more civilized, more British, more gentlemanly” etc.

Next: “I remember the days/New beginnings on an open page/With something to prove/ And nothing to lose, not a soul to betray”

I think this could be about his relationship with young America as the 13 colonies, before the American Revolution. I believe (correct me if wrong) most of the Age of Imperialism, when England, France, Germany etc. started scrambling for land was in the 1800s, and so I think America was like England’s test run colony, and therefore the first person he really had to “care for” as a brother and a child. He didn’t have anything to lose with America, all he could do is build a relationship with this small country and open his heart to friendship and love from America. I don’t think England was as uptight about stuff then and America was his test run, his “new beginning” if he messed stuff up at home (idk if he really did though). He didn’t have any “history” or previous relationship with America before they became like a father/son duo, so he didn’t have to worry about damaging a previous friendship with him (”nothing to lose” by getting to know him).

Side note: I think America’s independence sort of broke England, and I definitely agree with @hongkongenthusiast ‘s hc that England distanced himself from his other colonies because he didn’t want what happened with America to happen again.

Next: “Here I am/Living a dream that I can’t hold/Here I am/On my own”

So this just kinda speaks to England’s loneliness ig. He’s literally living the dream: power, colonies, wealth, everything, but he still has the premonition/wisdom (?) to see that it won’t last (“...that I can’t hold”). He won’t be king of the world forever. He’s also up on a pedestal. I think after the Age of Imperialism England owned the most colonies (I think France is a close second), and like America with his modern-day “police of the world” status, I think lots of people knew about and admired/were jealous of England’s power (maybe they didn’t “look up” to him, but I think they certainly wanted his power for themselves), and being without an equal can make it feel pretty lonely at the top of the food chain.

Next part is the refrain, the new lyrics after that are: “I remember the lies/Caught up in building paradise/The angels were slaves and demons behaved/And everything was alright”

This could represent the propaganda England fed to his people at home to make them support colonization. I don’t think it would’ve taken much convincing, because of the “white men superiority” idea that were colonizers’ way of justifying colonialism and imperialism (actually called White Man’s Burden). However, even though that idea was prevalent, there are still historical propaganda pieces that glorify colonization; one example is called “ABC for Baby Patriots” (full text in link). It basically convinces people colonizing is good for the mother country, and I’d like to think England also told his people that to make them support it (“I remember the lies”). I don’t know how physically old England the character would be, but if he was still young and maybe not as cynical (unlikely but still possible), he could tell these “lies” to himself as well to justify his actions. I mentioned earlier about him wanting to make a better world by introducing British ways to his colonies, and maybe that was the version of “paradise” he envisioned. The last two lines strike me as a flip-flopped world where the bad are free and the good are punished, so maybe idk that was the actual situation, where England’s colonies were suffering instead of being helped, like he thought? Anyway this is getting into kinda political ugly history so...

Next! “I hear the crowds beneath me/I'm wishing they could reach me/But I'm on top of the world/Up here I'm dying alone”

Not really any analysis here, just another example of England being lonely ig as the leader of the imperial world. I feel like this part can be summed up in a more positive light by this

Next: “Inside the walls of gold/Outside of happiness/(It's all been a show, too late to confess)/No room for heart and soul/No room for innocence/Innocence”

To me, this is England reminiscing when he still had compassion and when he was young. I feel like nations, like humans, get more cynical as they age; they stop seeing good in the world and start just seeing people as things they can manipulate, pawns on a chessboard who can achieve their own interest. In the context of England’s imperialism, this is basically him thinking back and thinking what have I done. Maybe he finally acknowledged negative impacts of his colonization, and wishes he could go back to the days where he was just a small nation, minding his own people, instead of forging an empire that stretched across continents. I guess the whole imperial episode is: “I thought this was a good idea, I thought it would bring me happiness and glory, I thought I could make the world better, but instead, it only showed me the worst in people, and the worst in me”. Idk, I still don’t know if imperial England deserves compassion (Aftereffects of colonization are still being felt today, eg. when original India was split by Britain into India and Pakistan. Britain never clearly specified the India-Pakistan border, and that led to a whole lot of wars and shit and people are still fucking tense about this to this day) But I guess this song and my consequential thinking about it gives him a bit of humanity in spite of his Sly Old Man status?

Ok that’s it! You’ve made it to the end of this long-ass post! I’m so conflicted about England’s character now! I’ve literally disliked him so much ever since I joined the fandom (I also don’t really like FACE fam in general) but bruh my head just warps canon so it’s more palatable for me I guess hhhh. What do y’all think? Feedback Appreciated!

#i'm so conflicted now i thought this post was a good idea but apparently not #aph #aph england #aph america #hetalia #hws #hws england #hws america #musings #song musings #arthur kirkland #long post #long ass post #headcanon musings

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celestianstars · 5 years

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Protector

Viktor Drago x Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff

inspired by an anon that asked @dragothishole what Viktor would do if Ludmilla was talking shit about him and his s/o got tired of hearing it and slapped her like she deserves.

As soon as I read that ask I was like...yo I neeeed to write this so i hope y’all enjoy it ily!!!

——————————————————————————

Your blood was boiling and she hadn’t even been in the room for more than a few minutes.

You tried to focus on Viktor, wondering what this must be like for him.

He didn’t talk about his mother very much but since starting a relationship with you, he told you about how she left him and Ivan when he was kid and then again when he lost against Creed and sure, you’d never met her before but you already hated her.

You were more angry about it than he was which he understood, you were gonna have issues with any person that hurt him.

While he still sometimes struggled with how he felt about her and everything she had done to his family, he could really care less about her. After she left the second time around he decided he was done with her and any thoughts of having some sort of relationship with her, he wanted nothing to do with her.

It’s not that he’d let it go and was down to forgive her, he knew Ludmilla was vile and cruel but he just refused to let her have any affect on him anymore and would try to keep healing from the wounds her absence had left little by little.

You weren’t even sure why she was here, showing up completely uninvited to one of his fights. You figured she was trying to weasel her way into his life now that he was doing fights in America and was being recognized more by the boxing world but you were also aware of what she had been saying about him in the past year since the fight with Adonis and you couldn’t think about it very hard because it made you angry.

The fight had finished, giving Viktor another win and now she had made her grand entrance in one of the private rooms of the stadium, Ivan looking startled and uncomfortable and Viktor, expressionless as the wrappings on his fists were being taken off.

“Кто она такая?” (Who is she?) Ludmilla gestured to you, asking Viktor. Your Russian wasn’t the absolute best but he’d been teaching you and you were also learning on your own and could understand pretty well.

“His girlfriend.” you state immediately after she asked, your arms crossed over your chest, glaring at her.

“Oh! You speak Russian, very good! Nice to meet you.” she smiled as sweetly as possible and held out her hand but you turned your back and walked over to where Viktor was.

No way you were getting her evil energy on you.

Ivan spoke up after a second of terribly awkward silence, asking her what she was doing here.

“I wanted to congratulate Viktor on his win tonight but to remind him not to get comfortable. You still lost against Creed and he owns the heavyweight title. That’s what you want, Viktor, you shouldn’t be his friend, it’s weak of you.” she addressed him again and you swore you could feel your blood pressure go up.

Adonis and Viktor had been in contact since the fight and from what you saw it was a really good thing for both of them.

They both understood what it was like to live with their father’s legacy on their shoulders as well as being impacted directly by the night their father’s had gotten in the ring. Viktor found some comfort there, using Adonis’ support to help get him through losing that fight and to try and repair his relationship with Ivan.

Of course she’d think it was weak of him, it was clear she only saw him as a means to get more money and status and wouldn’t ever acknowledge the damage she did to him or Ivan.

“I don’t need to prove anything to you. I get bigger fights now, more recognition, I’m doing fine.” Viktor shrugged, icing his knuckles now.

You smirked at his response, proud that he was showing her that he wasn’t gonna play this game with her.

Ivan wasn’t about to say a single word, he was so far out of his comfort zone with this entire situation and while he definitely had something he could say in his son’s defense, when it came to Ludmilla, it was only harder to communicate.

“You don’t need to prove anything? Глупый! (Stupid!) You owe it to our country to be what your father failed miserably to be. They still drag your family through the dirt, it’s no wonder I had to take Drago out of my name! You will always be just a loser, a failure!” she snapped back, obviously not liking his nonchalant attitude towards her.

You on the other hand were another story.

You tried to keep yourself busy, wiping down Viktor’s chest with a towel since he was still sweaty from the fight, and making sure ice got applied to the areas on his face that were starting to swell.

You tried really hard to just let her say her bullshit and leave but each second she stood there and talked down to him and called him names you inched closer to snapping.

“How dare you call him a failure! He doesn’t owe anyone or any country a thing! It was fucked up for them to make Ivan leave Russia in the first place, it was fucked up for YOU to leave him and your OWN CHILD too but you’re actually gonna stand there and tell him that he’ll always be seen as a loser if he doesn’t do what you say? You’re wrong on so many levels!” you weren’t shouting but your voice was definitely elevated a little and your tone was full of spite.

The audacity she had to come in here and speak to your baby that way was beyond you and nobody was calling her out for literally abandoning her family so you were taking it upon yourself to do that.

“You have no business speaking to me of what’s right or wrong! Viktor, your choice of women is a disaster, why not someone famous….and with money.” she raised an eyebrow at you, looking you up and down.

“Maybe it’s because I’m not a greedy snake who’s only with him for how much money he could potentially make. I love him and would never leave him, like you left him, doesn’t matter whether he wins or loses!” you felt your fists clench at your side before his large hand covered them, trying to calm you.

“Alright, enough.You need to leave, Ludmilla. Disrespect me all you want but don’t drag her into this.” Viktor’s tone was stern, commanding even, his hand leaving yours for a second to gesture at the door.

He greatly appreciated your urge to defend him and call her out on her shit but he also didn’t want you to waste your energy on her because he certainly wasn’t.

He felt his anger rise when she had come after you because protecting you was like an instinct to him but he knew he had to tell her to leave at this point, nothing was going to be fixed this way and it was only agitating everyone.

“You’re a complete waste of a fighter! Ты позорный!” (You’re disgraceful!) she just kept talking and talking.

You weren’t sure how to even process this, she kept trash talking him and his abilities as a fighter and then connecting that to how Ivan was also weak in her eyes and you were nearly becoming homicidal from anger.

Tired of hearing her, you walked up to her and got in her face, telling her to leave like she’d already politely been told to do, not in the least bit intimidated by how tall she was at this point.

Not that it stopped her from continuing to run her mouth, she wasn’t going to take you seriously and you knew that.

“Viktor you’re the greatest disappointment to me…” she disregarded your presence and addressed him again but she didn’t have time to get another word out because the next thing you knew, your palm was connecting with her face.

You weren’t sure if it was an accumulation of all the trash talking or that specific thing that made you snap but there was no holding it in anymore.

You put all the force you could muster into that slap, satisfied with how she stumbled back and looked at you in shock.

“Do you even fucking hear yourself? He’s a disappointment? You have NO idea how much of an amazing person he is! I can’t believe you can stand here and not be begging for his forgiveness for abandoning him but instead you degrade him…” you were definitely shouting now, stalking towards her, making her move backwards as you continued to rip into her with your words.

Both Viktor and Ivan weren’t sure what had even happened for a second it all went down so quick but the sound of your hand meeting her face was sickeningly audible throughout the entire room.

Viktor had never seen you get this angry before, he’d seen you angry, but not like this, this was coming from someplace deep.

Just like it was an instinct to protect you, it was also yours to protect him and he admired your fierce defense of him, though at this particular moment, he knew he needed to take you out of the room because he wasn’t sure if Ludmilla would hit you back or do something else and he was ready for things to simmer down so he could go home with you and forget about this.

You were inches away from her now as her back hit one of the walls, happy at how shocked she still looked but not backing down from yelling at her some more.

“You don’t even deserve his time of day, he’s sweet and caring and the hardest working person I know and...Viktor stop no no! Put me down!” you felt your feet leaving the floor, a pair of familiar arms sweeping your legs out from underneath you, keeping you anchored against his chest with his other arm wrapped around your waist.

You kept screaming at her even as he carried you to the hallway outside the room, thrashing against him, trying to get out of his grip but against his size it was pointless.

“Put me the fuck down, Viktor! I wasn’t done with her, she can’t say those things to you! Viktor please!” you kept struggling against him even as he set you down, his body pressing into yours to keep you from running back into the room.

“Hey, easy, easy, calm down. I know you’re upset but listen to me, Y/N.” he tried to get you to look him in the eyes but you were pushing against his chest, trying to get him to move because fuck this entire situation, you were so angry.

“No! She doesn’t get to talk to you like that and get away with it! She doesn’t know you like I do and I can’t fucking stand her insulting you when you’ve done nothing to deserve being treated like that!” you stammered, still trying to move out from under the grip he had on you but your efforts weren’t getting you very far.

He really was a wall of solid muscle and as much as you loved that, right now all you were seeing was red.

“Shh shh I know, you’re right, you have every reason to be angry but right now I need you to calm down baby.” he cupped your chin and gently made you look up at him, your body finally giving up on fighting him.

You took a few deep breaths and nodded, knowing that you had just made a really big scene and weren’t thinking with a clear head right now.

“I don’t feel bad for hitting her but I’m sorry if that put you in a weird position, I just...I love you so much and I can’t just sit there and not defend you.” you sighed, relaxing against his hands.

He didn’t say anything for a second and when you looked up again you saw a little smile on his face.

“I don’t think you should feel bad either. It’s ok, I promise. Thank you for caring about me so much.” he pressed his forehead against yours, softly whispering that he loved you too.

A few more minutes were spent like that, Viktor wanting to be sure that you knew that while yes she deserved it, he didn’t want you to pay her any more attention because she wasn’t worth it and you eventually listened to reason, seeing his perspective.

Ludmilla finally emerged from the room, not daring to look at either of you as she stormed away, her face still visibly red which made you smirk.

You hoped she remembered that for a long time and would think twice the next time she wanted to trash talk.

Ivan followed shortly after her, feeling a mix of things from the conversation he had with her just seconds ago.

Things would probably never fully heal between them but he finally managed to say some things to her that he always wanted to say.

He wouldn’t admit this to either of you but he was glad that Viktor had someone who cared about him so deeply and you served as an example for him to be a better person to his son.

———

You watched Viktor get changed back in the locker room, laughing to yourself a little.

“What?” he questioned curiously, swinging his gym bag over his shoulder as both of you made your exit.

“Um...gosh this may be awful of me to say but...how’d my form look when I hit her? You think I could have a promising career in bitch slapping?” you burst into giggles, covering your face because of how red you were getting.

He didn’t know what he was expecting you to say but it wasn’t that and he couldn’t stop himself from laughing either, the deep rumble of his voice filling the hallways as you made your way out of the stadium.

“Oh for sure, you’re deadly. I bet you have mean right hook too.” he shook his head and the two of you kept laughing about it the entire way home.

You had your protector by your side and he had his, forever grateful that you showed him how much you loved him and believed in him on the daily and forever making it a point to reciprocate that love back to you as often as he could.

______________________________________________

Tags: @chaneajoyyy @dragothishole @themyscxiras @champagnesugamama

@dc41896 @dramaqueenamby @amirra88 @queen-of-the-jabari @fumbling-fanfics @tellybabes @endless00paradise @harduy

#ludmilla can forever catch these hannnddds #viktor drago x reader #amalia writes #viktor drago #viktor drago fanfiction

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littletayyswriting · 4 years

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Title: The Sun Still Waits Here (With the Moon and Stars Beside It) (8/?)

Author: LittleTayy

Rating: Mature

Characters: Marisa Coulter, Lord Asriel, Lyra Belacqua, Ma Costa

Summary: Marisa Coulter and Lord Asriel aren’t typical parents but they certainly try their best. Raising their child isn’t as easy as they thought it would be; professional ambitions and personal vices getting in the way.

( Snippets of an AU story, set in our modern world. )

AN: This is based off the TV Show.

Read On: AO3

Chapter Six

of broken bones and guilt

At nine years old, Lyra is enjoying her summer break. It's been four months since she's seen her father and two since she's seen her mother in person. FaceTime however is a wonderful invention and one her mother employs regularly and Lyra is at least grateful her mother remembers her. It seems as if her father has forgotten all about her while he’s been away and it shouldn't be a surprise but it does sting a little.

Lyra loves her father very much and he always brings her back interesting presents from his expeditions. Gifts she treasures and are placed around her room with pride and care. But sometimes she wishes he'd just stay or even let her go with him! Lyra’s never gotten to go travelling with her father, and she doubts her mother would let her go all the way to the Arctic either. Still, Lyra dreams of being an explorer and adventurer and maybe a scientist like her father.

His life, what she hears about it at least, sounds exciting. Much better than her mother's boring job bossing people around; even though Mother is apparently an engineer, which she always claims is like a scientist. Lyra isn't sure if she believes that but, then again, her mother always understands exactly what her father is talking about and even corrects him at times. Plus father always says she is brilliant .

Mother doesn't get to travel like father though. And that's really what Lyra aspires to do. She wants to see the whole world, she wants to have adventures and trek through snow and scale mountains and investigate jungles. She wants to explore. Not be a boring engineer or scientist like her Mother and Father.

She knows her father wouldn't care. It'd be mother she'd have to convince.

But her mother isn't here right now, to stop her from exploring the countryside. London had been easier to explore because her mother had barely paid her any attention and there'd been new and exciting things all around her. The countryside wasn't exactly new territory but with neither parent around to scold her and only Mrs. Costa, who she didn’t really have to listen to, around to warn her to be careful; Lyra had free reign over her summer.

It is because of this freedom of course, that has her running around with Tony and Billy Costa, scaling the balconies of the Manor and climbing trees. It is also this freedom and lack of supervision, unfortunately, that has her tumbling from the high branches of a tree at the front of the Belacqua Manor.

“Shit!” Tony Costa exclaims as he watches Lyra’s foot slip and her hand struggle to grip a branch above her, doing his best to try and catch the girl but failing. Her head hits a branch on the way down and there’s blood and when she lands, she stretches her arms out towards the ground to stop the impact; only for a sickening crack to be heard.

“Billy! Go get Ma!” Tony orders his younger brother, pushing him away from Lyra and the tree and back towards the Manor. His little brother takes off in a run as Lyra starts to cry, cradling her arm.

Tony isn’t sure what to do, flustered as he tries to calm Lyra down. It seems like forever before he can hear his Ma shouting to them, asking what was wrong. Her tone is worried and angry and Tony vaguely wonders what his little brother had said.

Lyra is still crying, breathing fast, eyes squeezed shut as she holds her arm tightly. Even at 11, Tony could tell that Lyra’s arm was not right and he worried for the younger girl. He also worried for the smack he was no doubt going to get when his mother got him alone.

“She was climbing the tree and then fell! I tried to catch her ma, I swear,” Tony told Mrs. Costa as she finally got close, her eyes wide as she took in the scene at the bottom of the tree.

Mrs. Costa took charge then, wiping away the blood on Lyra’s face with the tea towel she’d been carrying before pressing it to the small gash on the child’s forehead. She held it there as she talked to Lyra, trying to calm her down. Once the girl had gathered herself together a little more, Mrs. Costa slowly helped her stand up, her keen eyes gazing over Lyra to make sure she wasn’t injured anywhere else.

“Alright Lyra. We best get ya to a hospital…” Mrs. Costa told her calmly, voice comforting, a hand rubbing Lyra’s back.

“I want my mother!” Lyra exclaimed, lips trembling and eyes watering as she accidentally jostled her injured arm.

“I know girl, I know. We’ll call her and she’ll meet us at the hospital in no time,” Mrs. Costa reassured her, guiding the injured Lyra towards the car. Of course she’d said that but Mrs. Costa wasn’t even sure if Marisa was in the country and then hastily wondered if she could get in contact with Lord Asriel either. “Come on now,” Mrs. Costa cajoles, cradling Lyra as delicately as she can. There’d be time to think about informing the girl’s parents later.

The car ride to the hospital feels longer than it really is, Lyra feeling the pain more and more as each minute passes by. By the time they get to the hospital, Lyra is bawling once again and squirming around in pain, Mrs. Costa trying to comfort her as best she can but it doesn’t seem to be working.

“Where is my daughter?” Marisa Coulter exclaims, striding into the hospital, barely stopping herself from crashing into the reception desk. “Lyra Belacqua. She came through A&E,” Marisa insisted, slightly breathless and laser focused.

The nurse at the desk faltered for a moment, the intensity and desperation radiating off of Marisa intimidating the poor woman. Despite the fact, the nurse was no doubt older. “Now, please ,” she continued, trying to control herself, forcing a smile onto her face. There was no point in taking her worry and anger out on the staff. Not until she’d found Lyra, at least.

Her expression was stony, harder than it usually would have been in any other circumstance outside their home. But there was an overwhelming worry that was engulfing her, the likes she’d never felt before. Lyra was hurt, she was lying somewhere in the hospital injured and Marisa hadn’t been there. The thought sent a sharp pang of self hatred through her; she had been away too long, Lyra never would have been injured on her watch.

The nurse gave her Lyra’s room number and she stormed through the hospital, a hand clenched tight and nails digging roughly into her skin. It took her only moments to find Lyra’s private room, bursting through the door with haste. Her eyes found her daughter instantaneously.

Lyra was pale but she was sitting up in the hospital bed, her arm already in a cast. Marisa’s brow furrowed in concern as she stepped closer, eyes flicking over her daughter quickly, looking for any other signs of injury. Her eyes stopped on the two, delicate stitches on her daughter’s forehead and curled her hands into tight fists. She took a deep breath, releasing her fingers and trying to keep herself calm.

“Oh, Lyra, darling!” She exclaimed, stepping closer to the hospital bed and reaching her hands out to cup her daughter’s face. She had barely looked at Mrs. Costa and her sons, sitting on the opposite of the hospital bed. She would deal with the other woman later.

“Mum!” Lyra whined, going to wrap her hands around Marisa but wincing as she jostled her broken arm.

Marisa’s frown deepened as she saw her daughter wince and smoothed her hands over her daughter’s dark hair soothingly. Her eyes glanced down at the cast, a hand dropping down to hold Lyra’s uninjured one tightly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here… I got back as soon as I could. What happened?” Marisa asked her, trying to assuage her own guilt at being so far away from her child.

“Was climbing a tree and slipped,” Lyra replied tiredly, taking a moment to yawn before fixing her eyes back on her mother.

Marisa inspected her carefully at the words, hand flitting up to Lyra’s forehead, a finger touching featherlight around the stitches. She resisted the urge to press down, pulling her hand away and resting it on the bed. “Oh, you must be more careful Lyra,” Marisa intoned, a frown still lingering on her lips.

She was so focused on her child that she tensed when she heard the voice of Mrs. Costa from the side of the room. The anger was back then, as she turned slowly towards the other woman, gaze heated as her eye’s met the blonde woman’s. She had trusted Costa to care for Lyra while she and Asriel were away for work, and she didn’t trust easily. She should have never allowed Lyra to be hurt, let alone injured and in hospital.

“-doctor said she could go home in the morning,” Marisa heard Mrs. Costa say.

The other woman seemed to realise quickly however, that Marisa was in no mood to hear her and quickly stopped talking. Marisa resisted the urge to curl her lips into a snarl, already deciding that she was going to fire the useless woman. If she couldn’t prevent Lyra from climbing a tree and breaking her arm, then she was of no use to her. She wasn’t going to acknowledge that her anger had turned outwards unnecessarily.

“You may go, Mrs. Costa,” Marisa replied sharply, forcing a tight smile the other woman’s way. “I’m here now and Lyra needs her rest,” she continued, making it clear that her words were not a suggestion.

“Of course,” Mrs. Costa nodded, standing and gathering her youngest son in her arms. “We’ll see you soon Lyra. Let’s go,” she directed her sons out of the room, grimacing.

Instantly, Marisa’s attention was back on Lyra, lips pursed as her daughter watched the Costa’s leave, giving them a wave with her uninjured hand. She looked sad about it and Marisa huffed. She had just arrived and Lyra was hurt; weren’t children supposed to want their mother’s when they were sick or injured? The very notion that Lyra would’ve preferred Mrs. Costa’s presence to hers created an irrational anger to burn inside her.

Her hand clasped around Lyra’s injured one, squeezing tightly. “Ow,” Lyra grumbled, flinching, brows furrowed as her eyes snapped back to her mother.

Immediately Marisa cooed at Lyra, expression turning concerned and motherly. “Does it still hurt?” She questioned, not giving Lyra the chance to speak. “Would you like me to get the nurse for you? I assume they gave you painkillers,” Marisa mused, wide eyes and sweet smile directed at her daughter.

Lyra nodded, a little pout forming on her lips at her mother’s words. “Yes, please. It’s aching a little,” Lyra told her, moving her arm up carefully against her chest. She could sense that her mother wanted to take care of her and after months of not seeing her, sh wanted her to as well.

Marisa smiled wide and genuine at Lyra’s words, nodding as she stood up from the hospital bed, fingers caressing Lyra’s chin. “Alright, my darling. I’ll be right back,” Marisa told her, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple.

She made her way out of the private room, finding a doctor quickly. She explained the situation and then asked about Lyra’s condition. The doctor told her that they’d send a nurse in to administer the pain medication and gave her a basic overview of Lyra’s injury, though they hadn’t been the doctor that fixed or cast the break. Marisa pursed her lips, unimpressed but chose instead to get back to Lyra instead of insisting she speak with the doctor that had treated her daughter.

With a huff, she stepped back into the private room to see Lyra resting back against the elevated bed. Her daughter was nine and growing quickly but laying in the stark white hospital bed, Marisa was reminded of the little girl that she had once been. She didn’t want to admit it but the rate at which Lyra grew at times made her sad and wish she was a baby once again.

“The nurse will be in, in a moment, darling,” Marisa told her daughter, making her way around to the opposite side of the hospital bed to sit in the now vacant seats. She unbuttoned her blazer, slipping it off and folding it over the back of the chair as she did so, straightening out her silk blouse as she perched on the edge of the seat.

“Thank you, mummy,” Lyra told her, fidgeting a little as her arm started to ache.

It wasn’t long then, until a nurse came in and administered pain relief to Lyra. He did so silently, under the watchful, eagle-eyed glare of Marisa. Once he was gone, Lyra shifted in the bed again, trying to get comfortable and knocking her arm painfully. She let out a little cry and Marisa was up and by the bed in an instant.

“Lyra, you must try and be more careful,” she admonished lightly, helping to settle the girl.

“I just wanted to turn over so I could sleep,” Lyra complained, frowning up at her mother and looking so much like Asriel that Marisa couldn’t help but soften. She tucked a strand of hair behind Lyra’s ear, looking down at her lovingly, wanting to help her and mother her in some way.

“It might be better if you stay on your back Lyra. I’ll put the bed down,” Marisa suggested, eyes already glancing around for the remote to lower the bed to a more even position.

Lyra simply nodded, much too tired to think of anything else or argue with her mother. It had after all been an exhausting day for the nine year old. “Thank you, mum,” Lyra murmured, as Marisa found the device and lowered the bed, watching as Lyra settled herself. “Can you turn the light out please?” Lyra asked softly, turning her head to gaze helplessly at Marisa.

A smile settled on her lips as she nodded, moving to turn the lights off in the room. Of course, Marisa could still see but the darkened lights would help Lyra sleep better and give her a sense of calm. Though, as she gazed over at her daughter, eyes already half closed, Marisa could see that maybe the girl didn’t need that much help to sleep after all.

She made her way around the bed, intending to settle on the seat when Lyra held out her good hand to her. “Can you lay with me?” Lyra asked sleepily. It was clear to Marisa, that Lyra wanted a cuddle and comfort and she felt her heart swell that her daughter needed her.

“Of course, my darling,” Marisa cooed, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. She sat down on the edge of the bed, slipping off her heeled shoes and swinging her legs up onto the bed. She shuffled into a comfortable position beside Lyra, turning on her side, careful not to bump into Lyra, a hand stroking Lyra’s hair. “Mama’s here,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her had.

Lyra smiled, snuggling into her as she closed her eyes. Marisa watched her, hand still stroking her head, until Lyra’s breathing slowed and she fell asleep. Her mouth dropped open a little as she relaxed into sleep and Marisa smiled; Asriel slept the same way. It still amazed her at times just how much Lyra was like her father. If she hadn’t birthed her, Marisa would’ve worried she wasn’t Lyra’s mother.

Marisa relaxed a little more on the bed, pulling the blanket further up over Lyra and smoothing it down. The day and the worry and guilt were finally catching up with her. Suddenly, she felt exhausted and she couldn’t imagine how Lyra had felt. With a final kiss to Lyra’s temple, she closed her eyes and snuggled into her side, letting herself drift off to sleep alongside her daughter.

#marisa coulter #lyra belacqua #hdm fanfiction #his dark materials fanfic #his dark materials #ma costa

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Insults, World-Building, and Blind Cats: An Interview with The Blacktongue Thief’s Christopher Buehlman

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It only takes a small, insignificant moment to completely change the course of a life. It’s that premise from which The Blacktongue Thief starts. Kinch Na Shannack, working thief, is spared when a banditry gig goes south. The Spanth warrior who spares him, Galva, is on a quest—and the Taker’s Guild, for which Kinch works, assigns him to accompany her, gain her trust, and wait for further instruction. As he travels with Galva, and, soon after, a witch companion Norrigal, he begins to question just where his allegiance lies, and what he owes his newfound friends—and the world.

From the first pages of The Blacktongue Thief, this Den of Geek reviewer was hooked, in no small part because the narrative voice is quite simply a delight. Kinch welcomes readers straight into a world where humanity was nearly destroyed by goblins, and where giants are encroaching on the northern border. But besides all that, a person’s got to make a living, and Kinch has a debt to the Takers Guild he’s bound to pay off. Kinch tells the story like he’s sitting next to you at a table in the pub, sharing the worst and best moments with a lingering delight at the sheer telling of the tale. He exaggerates and lies, but lets you know he’s doing so with a wink and a nudge.

This fantasy novel invites readers to share a pint of whatever’s good, learn some colorful language from a variety of nations, and maybe even join in a song or two. If the atmosphere I just described feels a bit like a renaissance festival, it should come as no surprise. Author Christopher Buehlman, previously best known for his poetry and his horror novels (and shortly to become known as a rising star in fantasy, as well), is also Christophe the Insultor, Verbal Mercenary, a regular comedic performer at renaissance festivals.

“My career as a professional insultor on the renaissance festival circuit definitely informed Kinch’s language,” Buehlman explains. “He’s always ready to trade barbs, and he isn’t afraid to work blue.” Blue language is absolutely a highlight of the book; Kinch’s swearing is utterly inventive, and because he speaks a number of languages, the different curses reveal a lot about the cultures that created them. Kinch presents the Spanths, particularly Galva, as overly honorable and a bit uptight, something that’s not only revealed in her lack of patience for Kinch conversing with a cat he rescues, but also in the way she argues the proper conjugation of a particularly colorful swear. (You can read some dictionary-style definitions of Kinch’s curse words over at the Tor/Forge blog.)

There are linguistic connections between the curse words (and other vocabulary) in the novel and the real-world counterparts that provided inspiration. “The Galts are not unlike the Celts; I thought of them not as a direct analog to the Welsh or the Scots or the Irish, but as a lost tribe,” Buehlman shares. “There is something of the gaelic in Kinch’s poetic, artistically gifted, externally governed homeland, and his language, storytelling, and, yes, insults and doggerel, come from that. As for chodadu, it is based on Spanish jodido, and operates similarly. Jilnaedu, on the other hand, is a more original Spanth term, meaning ‘vicious idiot.’ As with Galtia and Ireland, Ispanthia is not Spain, but it and its language would snuggle in nicely between Spain, Portugal, and Catalonia. I think Spaniards will recognize Galva but also find lots of new things to discover about her and her country.”

One of the most fascinating aspects of Kinch’s world is the impact the Goblin Wars have had on the human population. The goblins came and fought in three waves; the first two were fought by men, but soon there weren’t enough men left to fight. “Women had to go under arms,” Buehlman describes. “More, they had to win. And they did. For now. The Daughters’ War wasn’t about fame or glory, or even power and wealth—it was a raw, muddy, no-holds-barred struggle for survival between two competing species, one of whom regards the other as a food source.” The win came, but at a great cost. Humans have taken a huge hit, and the majority of humans are now women, putting women in positions of power throughout all of the human territories.

In fact, the book is populated with women who hold their own against Kinch’s narrative voice. While we get Kinch’s introspection and his assessment of his own character, we see him against a company of strong female characters. Galva is a warrior, honorable, devoted, the kind of knight Don Quixote dreamed of being. Norrigal isn’t an accomplished witch yet—this is her first assignment outside her apprenticeship—but her raw power is astonishing, and her willingness to do the dirty work as needed gives her a wonderfully practical edge. Sesta, one of Kinch’s contacts with the Taker’s Guild, is a ruthless Assassin-Adept, skilled at both magic and murder, so confident that she treats Kinch more like a pest than a tool, even when insisting he follow the terms of his assignment. While there’s a bit of romance, none of the women feel put into the narrative just for the sake of being Kinch’s love interest—in fact, they all feel as though they’d do just fine without him, if it came down to it, and he’s lucky they’ve let him stick around to tell the story.

The desire to depict so many women in control of the world and the narrative came from one of Buehlman’s world-building ideas: “I wanted to present a world that would show the reader how artificial the idea of patriarchy is,” he says, “and how it could be turned on its head with a big enough catalyst.”

Buehlman’s world is both beautiful and terrible—the consequences of the Goblin Wars are present in every aspect of the book, including in the appearance of actual goblins. That looming sense of dread, that humans might not win the next time if it came down to it, lend an intensity to the world, and may remind readers that Buehlman’s previous novels fell into the horror category. “Writing horror is a bit like writing form poetry,” he describes. “With a sonnet, a villanelle, or a pantoum, you have to respect a rhyme scheme, or a repetition pattern, and/or a syllable count. With horror, you have to establish a certain tone, and you have to check in with the reader’s amygdala every so often. This isn’t exact or formulaic, as it can be in poetry, but it needs to have its own internal rhythm. You can have a long build up, but you must bake in a sense of dread–the reader will feel betrayed, and rightly so, if your premise advertises one kind of story, and they get something else entirely for 70% of the read. Horror, like comedy, is binary. It succeeds or fails viscerally.”

Making the switch to fantasy meant making some changes. “Fantasy… is much more forgiving. The reader primarily expects a sense of wonder, a sense of going someplace new. It’s more like free verse. You can do anything you like, as long as you tell a good story and fascinate,” Buehlman shares. He also identifies a few common traits between the genres: “If I took anything with me from horror to fantasy–aside from, hopefully, the universally necessary elements of character, pacing, and clear language–it was that sense of dread. We see the goblin ship coming, and there’s no way off the island. We feel the footsteps of the approaching giants, and hear their horns, but this is a strange city and we don’t know where to run. Too late—the humans on chains that they use to flush us out of our warrens have already seen us.”

The horror elements are well balanced by companionship (particularly in the form of one furry feline) and song. “Kinch has an inexhaustible supply of songs to sing or quote, and singing is of course quite popular in a world without electronic media,” Buehlman muses. “Songs are how people once got their entertainment, expressed emotions, even got their news.” The prominence of music also harkens back to Buehlman’s renaissance festival roots: “Renaissance festivals put a high standard on songs, both as stage entertainment and as something patrons can participate in. And so does Kinch’s world.”

As for that furry feline: Bully Boy appears early on in the narrative and becomes increasingly important as the story goes on. (Buehlman frequently seeds world-information so nonchalantly that when they become relevant as plot elements, this reviewer was impressed at how cleverly the book was structured to hide the significance of those details until they mattered.) When Kinch first meets Bully Boy, a blind cat, the poor creature is about to be captured by some local ruffians, who will, we’re led to believe, put the cat to death. Kinch takes pity and saves the cat—getting arrested in the process—and the two soon become fast friends. But despite what readers might assume, Buehlman was not always a cat lover. The acknowledgements at the end of the book reveal that Bully Boy was inspired by a real cat.

“Bully Boy never would have been had not a blind tabby showed up on my doorstep in 2015, as I was finishing up The Suicide Motor Club,” says Buehlman. “The antagonist of that book is a sumbitch vampire named Luther, and this poor, blind, sick street cat had the biggest fangs I’d seen on a feline outside of a smilodon exhibit. So Luther he became. But you couldn’t find two more different critters than vampire Luther and cat Luther. The latter was one of the most loving, most trusting beings I ever had the pleasure to know. I was decidedly not a cat person before he came raoing at my door—I was a dog man from way back. But when a creature delivers its life into your hands and starts to follow you everywhere you go, clearly loving you and wanting nothing as much as to live purring in your lap or on your chest, it wears you down. If you’ve got feelings, I mean. And I had some. I now recognize canines and felines as equally deserving of our love and companionship, even if we don’t always deserve theirs.”

While The Blacktongue Thief completes a story, the ending leaves several loose threads that readers will be glad to know Buehlman is working on tying up in the sequel. “I’m still in planning and world-building, which is a massive part of writing a fantasy novel with sufficient layers to feel credible,” he reveals. “Let’s just say we’ve got mountains to cross, more and different giants to meet, and one very nasty book to drag secrets out of. Also, look for a more comprehensive telling of Galva’s experiences as a young soldier in the Daughters’ War.”

In the meantime, Buehlman is also digging into the rules for the card game Kinch plays (sometimes with good luck and sometimes bad): Towers. “I wanted a game that would showcase Kinch’s luck-gift, and to occupy the same place in this world as poker does in ours,” Buehlman says of its development. “There are definitely elements of poker in Towers; but you’ll also find traces of Stratego, that simple kids’ card game War, chess, and Magic. I and others have found it to be addictive, but also delightfully complex. There are lots of ways to win, and lose, and strategy is a huge component–nearly as important as luck. And yes, I believe lots of blood would be drawn over this game if it were played for money in rougher parts of town.”

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Whether sitting over a game or sitting around a table, sharing a drink and a song and exchanging insults, Kinch and Buehlman both use storytelling flare to keep readers deeply engaged in the story and the world. And the swearing, songs, and story will stick with readers long after they turn the last page.

The Blacktongue Thief hits bookshelves on May 25th, 2021. Find out more here.

The post Insults, World-Building, and Blind Cats: An Interview with The Blacktongue Thief’s Christopher Buehlman appeared first on Den of Geek.

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anothalovelyday · 3 years

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script #1 [Mother Nature]

[ Mother Nature intro]

[swallow - my bloody valentine intro]

Howdy hey! Welcome to another lovely day

Today’s recording comes to you live from your eardrums, we often give credit to our speakers.. but try explaining that to the deaf… as all things are, this was recorded live, but by the time it reaches you, It’s just a ghost rehearsing lines of a time that is no longer. You summoned me with a tap or a click, and we’re here now.

So Welcome.

I hope all is healthy and well.. as we begin this journey, I invite you to take a deeeep breath through the nose.. allowing it to reach down into your belly and expand through all four corners of your chest.

(breathe in)

hold the breath a moment, and maybe give thanks for something you appreciate, possibly just the ability to breathe.

(Breathe out)

Once more with feeling! Try noticing the wave like quality of our breath. (Take deep breath: “Ebb” on inhale “Flow” on exhale)

Ahhhhh.. The oceanic air that tides throughout us all our lives, gifting the spirit of life, at no cost!

Take a little time now to whisper to yourself, “I love you, I trust you, thank you”… if you did, congrats! It takes guts to show ourselves love.. It’s so vital to take time to love yourself, any little amount you can give to show you you’re worth something to yourself, that you’re someone whose worth caring about.

You’re invited to keep the tide rolling as we progress into our journey

What a day to be floating in space, on the blue planet, lapis lazuli. corresponding with the light of the throat chakra. Our solar system could be the insides of a cosmic beast, our insides are pitch black too you know, and theres a plethora of fungi and micro organisms that live individually yet compose a greater whole that make up yourself, much like we the earth.

It’s an interesting relationship to think about, ourselves and the planet. especially when we mirror it to our own bodies. Our insides are composed of those mighty telescopic fellers, who I’m sure would consider us god if capable of such thought. How we treat ourselves through diet and exercise influence the quality of their precious lives, our kidneys have to WORK, our hearts have to FUNCTION, the fungi, bacteria, and other micro organisms all working to sustain that function. the organs could be planets, or countries to these little fellas. they communicate through neurons, but how that translates to them could be like the air to us, as the planets influence our air via earths electromagnetic fields a la astrology. So there’s a whole world within us, and we directly influence how that world functions and connects.

It gets interesting when you consider the earth, and how the trees look eerily similar to our nervous system, how the streams operate like our veins, and how we influence each other through the air with our vibrations, vibrations being the essence of sound, and sound being the source of our word, which influences our quality of life through our daily communications with one another. Which makes us kind of like the blood cells of the earth, We would be the air cleaners, the street sweepers, the ones who purify the waters and strengthen the soil, the guardians and workers of our dear mother. we’ve strayed far from our jobs of loving our divine host, but we can get together and figure out how to turn this ship around!

You’re invited to think now of the heart and how it pumps blood throughout the whole body and how blood influences the function of our organs. consider too the mental function of our hearts, it has it’s own set of neurons (as all our organs do) and acts as our truth center. This is important to remember as we consider the state of the earth.. our culture as of this recording revolves around consumption, we work so that we may consume, there are many reasons for this though none are worth getting into. We consume at a pace that hurts the planet, we consume recklessly, our creations are destructive. Big agriculture is killing the soil, our machines are polluting the air and water, we are making the planet sick, but we’re also making ourselves sick. we’re as chained to the planet as our insides are chained to us, which makes the DNA helix much more interesting. the ol’ ladder to heaven.

This being said, regardless of all the causes for the state of the world, if we change ourselves we begin to turn the tide. little acts of self love like the one we took earlier are great ways to help influence a better world! To vote with your dollar! To say “hey! It may cost a little more, but natural food is better for myself and the planet!” Consider that we were meant to share fruit, the earths fruit being what we know and our fruit being what we expel after consuming the fruit, which the earth consumes, to make more fruit for our fruit! The fruit exchange now explained, consider a moment how unhealthy food impacts not only your body but also that fruit, which then malnourishes the ground. We don’t even excrete outside anymore, or compost our natural fertilizer, it totally sounds strange, but consider the symbiotic nature of this planet, it gives us seeds so that we can grow food in the soil. our exhale is the earths inhale, and vice versa. When we die our bodies become the soil we eat from. Our pee becomes our rain, our rain becomes our pee. everything we have comes from the earth, through God. everything we give should go to the earth and ourselves which are one in the same

To practice self love, and love of our neighbor, to break away from the consumerist mentality would be to start a revolution unseen since digital outran analog. Painless and loving a revolution birthed of personal evolution, to help each other become more efficient, to find a better way to do the things we do now, to get to know our neighbors, to set aside knowledge for the gift of understanding. This way of the world is already partly shown in the way of it’s who you know not what you know, so we have some of the foundation already in place, we need only to expand the principle to our economics and ways of production. Friends helping friends help the planet, we can learn a little from the ants and bees in this way too. As above, so below, as below, so above.

What a life we could live, serving each other, ourselves, God and Mother Nature instead of corporations, governments and selfishness. it takes kinetic energy, energy we can create by loving ourselves and the ones around us each and everyday in whatever little ways we can. Life is like a jukebox, each day we rise and sing a song with the choir, our song being what reverberates from our hearts and into our waking lives, each interaction with another person has the potential to change the tune that person sings, be it temporary or lasting. If we rise each morning with the intent to sing a littler prettier, then the echos reach others and they hear the truth of your song, they’ll naturally start to sing it themselves, maybe changing a few chords, but keeping the natural beauty of the rhythm. This isn’t to say we need to be cheery, we need only to start becoming! Becoming our best version of ourselves, to find what comes naturally and own it, to aim for efficiency via personal power! Personal power is the most important power because it is the only true power. All other power is imagined, fragile, and fleeting. Within ourselves we have the most extreme power, the power of PERCEPTION how we see things, how we interpret the world around us, what greater power is there than that? Heaven and hell exist within our own minds, we can be fearful, we can be brave, its all determined by our attention.

It can be intimidating to know you’re in control of yourself, because a lot of the Time we see ourselves and see a big ol mess, but that’s natural, we’re taught to be a mess, to go against our nature and to not question why we feel so messy to begin with. Remember, we’re as chained to this planet as our insides are chained to us! When we hurt ourselves, we feel bad about ourselves. Even if we don’t recognize the behavior as harmful, our innocence doesn’t sway the side effects…

Let’s steer this ship back to harbor with a few final words. No matter what comes next, no matter what came before, you are essential to the function of this planet. You are powerful, how you act influences how others act, the world is a mirror, your energy is felt by people on a subconscious level, subtle science is the science of function, and it all comes through our perception, which we control. The little things add up! It starts with a ripple, then turns into a wave, next thing you know, there’s a tsunami of change! And it all begins with you, and me, and understanding we. Let’s start this avalanche with another deep breath in [breathe in] and out [breath out] small as it was, that there was a step in the right direction I reckon! The highest in me acknowledges the highest in you. Thank you for your time, Have a lovely day! [Swallow outro]

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kindsummer · 3 years

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AMBER LIQUID AND FOOL’S COURAGE

Arrianna Moretti was not a fan of the cold. She loved the aesthetic of the colder seasons, of course; who doesn’t like comfy oversized sweaters and pumpkin flavored drinks? The cold, itself, however, was something that seeped through your body, and seemingly your soul, no matter how much you were bundled up. So, obviously, moving to Forks, Washington, a location of perpetual rain and mid 40s temperature was not ideal in the slightest. Coming from Massachusetts, it wasn’t so much of a difference, only more elevated and constant, which is what caused the corner of her lips to curl into a very displeased frown when he father had told her the news. It was just as Arry had predicted.

Ever since Arry was a little girl, she had precognitive abilities. Normally, she saw just little snippets of the future; things that didn’t impact anyone’s life very much. It was genuinely sort of annoying. Other times, however, she’d predicted the death of someone, the abuse of a child, or a person falling into a state of impenetrable depression. Sometimes, her predictions weren’t exactly correct (which she was hoping for in the case of moving) but more often than not they were at least on the right track. That being said, Arry kept her predictions to herself. She had no idea what people would do to her if they knew about her power, so, she kept herself safe and her lips stayed sealed for seventeen years.

Seventeen years that were now possibly over because the Moretti family was packing up and moving all the way across the country to a town so small you couldn’t throw a stick without hitting a red neck hick. On the lengthy car ride over, Arry couldn’t help but be wistful as the landscapes lost more and more buildings and gained forests full of trees. Endless trees. She missed her shitty food service job and airy New England home. She missed her friends. She missed not feeling so…isolated.

Boxes unpacked and parents out on the town, Arry had nothing better to do than sit outside on the porch and text her favorite person in the world, Teresa, and ramble in meme speak about how shitty Forks was. Shivering from the nightly chill, she pulled her blanket further up her body, over her shoulders. Out of the corner of her eye, Arry thought she had seen something glimmer through the trees. Shifting in the wicker chair, she squinted in the direction of the forest. Seeing nothing this time, the girl returned to a comfortable position in her seat and relaxed. Sadly, the relaxing was for but a moment before her body was stock still and a vision flowed in front of her eyes.

A pale boy with honey blond hair sat next to her in what appeared to be a history classroom. Posters of former Presidents were plastered against the walls; bookcases filled to the brim lined the back wall. The boy beside her was impossibly beautiful, amber eyes glowing as he cast his gaze over her. Scars were embedded into his forearms, but Arry could only see them the moment the light hit them right. He seemed to be amused, lip curled almost unperceptively at the edge. There was something about this boy that haunted her, made her heart race in both fear and excitement. The boy was otherworldly.

Breathing sharp and hard as she returned from her vision, Arry was dizzy with the possibilities. Who was this boy? Why did she already feel such a connection to him without even having met him? Settling back in the chair, Arry contemplated the future. It wasn’t guaranteed that this would happen tomorrow, but what if it did? What if Arry was going to meet this serious, captivating boy and it would alter her life forever? She repressed the urge the inform Teresa of her impending future, instead continuing their conversation on a new eye shadow pallet that had come out the other day. Soon, the girl was fast asleep, curled up in a little ball on the wicker chair.

The following morning, Arry was abruptly woken up by a frosty breeze gracing her cheek. Shivering, she furled in on herself for a moment and stretched out her limbs, the feverish cold inkling into her every being. Arry hadn’t even noticed that she had fallen asleep on the porch. Checking her phone, her eyes bulged out of her head. “Shit, I’m late!” It was already seven thirty and it took thirty minutes to get to the center of town. Realistically, Arry would be late even just throwing on the bare minimum clothing and necessary school items. Swearing excessively, the girl shoveled school supplies into her backpack, pulled together the warmest outfit and piled herself into her car, peeling out of her driveway at top speed.

It was at school that Arry noticed that she had left her earbuds at home, and, although she loved to socialize and meet new people, she wasn’t exactly ready for it on the first day after having an impromptu camp out. Making her way to the office, Arry patiently waited for the disgruntled looking secretary to give her her schedule, rolling her eyes when they commented on how in the future, she shouldn’t be late. As if it was her full intention to be late all the time. Nearly running down the hallway to what appeared to be a history class with one Mr. Flemming, she arrived just as the bell rang. Plastering on her most sheepish smile, she cast her gaze around the oddly familiar room—then, she saw him.

The boy from her vision. His eyes were just as mesmerizing in person, and, almost as if he could feel her shock, the boy arched his brow. The class was deadly silent, Mr. Flemming himself looking upon her questioningly. “Why are you late?”

Unable to help herself, Arry spouted, “Because of the sign.”

“What sign?”

“The one that says, “School Ahead, Go Slow.”

Mr. Flemming rolled his eyes at the honestly, God awful dad joke. The rest of the class was a smattering of giggles, while the mysterious boy himself actually seemed to be smiling. Arry couldn’t help but smirk, gazing at her teacher with an air of challenge. “Please find a seat, Ms. Moretti. Be mindful in the future that we start at 8:30 sharp.” Again, these people acted as if she was intentionally late! Jeez, Forks must have something in the drinking water. Casting her eyes around the room, Arry’s heart stuttered when she realized that the only open seat was beside the boy from her dreams. Adjusting the strap of her backpack, she made her way to the back of the classroom. As she neared, his eyes seemed to grow darker, and it didn’t look as if he was breathing. Thinking it was just her natural sexual charm, Arry tossed her hair over her shoulders as she slid into the seat beside him.

The moment her ass had landed in the seat, the boy was up and out of his, running out of the classroom at an almost inhuman speed. “Mr. Hale!” Mr. Flemming protested, to no avail, as the boy was already out of earshot. Arry inconspicuously sniffed her shirt, hoping that it wasn’t her own bad scent that had sent him reeling. At least she could put a name to the delicate face—Hale. Now, instead of giggles, the class was murmuring. Hearing the sound of chair scraping against tile, Arry turned to see a different boy in the seat beside her. He had thick, unruly hair that was the colors of a sunset and his warm eyes were framed by thick, hipster glasses. Arry gave him a look, “Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Pete. Sorry about Blondie—he and his family are kinda weird.” The kid—Pete, apparently, held out his hand for a shake. Arry dutifully shook it, still giving him a dubious eye. “I’m Arry. Why, uh, why did you sit here?”

“Being a new kid sucks. Thought I could give you some company. Also, I saw the Kingdom Hearts pin on your bag and I knew we were destined to be friends; no one else around here has even heard of it!” Pete was a little bit over giddy, but there was something calming about it.

“Well, I could use someone to show me around. These buildings are way too confusing and big for a small town, and this shitty map for sure doesn’t help anything.” Arry lifted up the obviously photo-copied map of the campus on far too large green construction paper. Pete pulled the corner of the map, turning it to the other side. It had been upside down. Arry wanted to die. “Okay, in my defense, I am also too short to see through the crowds of giants.”

“Fair,” Pete nodded in acknowledgement, “I, myself, am not much taller than you, but I can put on this totally aggressive expression that makes people part like the red sea. There’s just something about me that screams murderer, I think.” It sounded like he was proud of it. “Anyway, I can show you around. And you can sit with my crew for lunch. Finally, we can fill the table so we don’t have some rando stealing the last seat so they can stare at us for the duration of lunch.”

“Sounds good,” Arry agreed, not fully understanding what she was getting herself into. Luckily for her, Pete had the next two classes (Biology and Statistics) with her, so the transition between each class and into lunch was an easy one. Pete was a little off, but he was nice, and seemed like a good enough guy to befriend in a shitty hick town, where she was sure there were worse people. The lunch room was packed with kids and loud chatter, and the food was mediocre. Which is why, Pete explained, that he brought his own lunch every day. Plus the fact that there was no vegan options, except for salad, which ‘sucked’, apparently.

Arry loaded up her own plate with mashed potatoes and some shifty looking chicken nuggets, subconsciously eyeing the rest of the room for her mystery guy. He was nowhere to be seen, so far, so resigned, she joined Pete’s table and tried to pay attention to the introductions being thrown at her in a spitfire fashion. “This is Amber. She’s the cool one,” Pete gestured to the girl beside him, who had the most colorful hair she had ever seen, and who was deeply entrenched in snapchat filters. He pointed to the somewhat plain, but fun looking person beside her. “That’s Casey. She wants to be a surgical assistant when she graduates.” Casey waved in greeting. Pete gestured to the girl at the far end of the table, who was watching a very loud music video that seemed to be in Korean. “And that’s Iva. Iva lives and dies for K-pop.” Pulling out a container from his backpack, Pete popped the sides open to reveal cucumber sushi. Of course Pete made sushi.

The lunchroom simmered into a quiet hush, causing Arry to look up from the dissection of her chicken nuggets. All eyes were on the doorway where five kids were entering in an overly dramatic fashion. “Who are they?” Arry nudged Pete, who was wolfing down two pieces of sushi at a time. “Those are the Cullens and Hales, respectively. They live together and bang, which is super weird, but to each their own.” He named each one as they came out; they were easy to distinguish despite the fact that they were all oddly pale and held otherworldly beauty. The first was a couple, one an excessively tall lumberjack type who had a shit eating grin on his face and the classically gorgeous number on his arm. “That’s Rosalie and Emmett. They’re the classic perfect, popular couple.”

Next was another couple, the first a boy with rusty colored hair and creepily intense eyes. He seemed to be amused by something that no one else could hear. The girl he was with, herself, didn’t match the rest, although she was pale, but she was sheepish, and curled in on the boy as if he was her lifeline. “That’s Edward and Bella Swan. They’re a newer couple, and obviously, Bella isn’t related. They’re oddly intense for someone who just met last year.” Arry could agree that yes, they seemed fairly intense. The last through the door was no surprise, but it still made her heart race. God, he was so beautiful Arry could barely take her next breath. “And you know him, obviously. That’s Jasper. The only single one of the bunch. I tried to ask him out one time but then I started laughing because of his Southern accent, and he hates me forever now.”

“Jasper,” The name tasted like fate on Arry’s tongue.

Her attention distracted by the most beautiful boy in the entire world for longer than at least a minute, it took a couple good smacks on her shoulder from Pete to get her to pay attention. “Arry! Geez, you seemed to be in space for a moment there. There’s going to be a party at La Push tonight. You in?” The boy arched a brow and adjusted his glasses.

“La Push?” Arry’s brows furrowed in confusion. That sounded either like an eighteen plus gay club, or some terrible ointment crème for vaginal itch.

“It’s the beach down in Quileute lands. They’re the native tribe that resides in this part of Washington. It’s a pretty popular spot for the kids here, and usually everyone goes to parties there—everyone except them,” He gestured to the paler-than-natural kids secluded at their own two tables. “So…are you in?” Arry was thoughtful for a moment, teeth tearing at the corner of her lip.

“Yeah, sure.”

Arry had gotten herself into more than what she had bargained for. Not only were there about ninety nine point nine percent of her class there (almost all of which she did not know), there was also the kids from the school nearby. They were all drinking, more so the kids from Forks High, but, enough to make Arry slightly uncomfortable. Masses of drunken teens roaming were never her thing, especially when she didn’t know them. But, she told Pete she’d be here, so here she was, not that she saw him.

Oh, no. There he was. Seated around the fireside were Pete and the rest of her new ‘gang’, along with a smattering of darker skinned boys who, she guessed, were contractually obligated to be shirtless. Arry hated fireside hangouts, usually because they got too deep and personal too quick and honestly? They were a little overrated. Making her way over through the crowds of drunken kids, finally, since Pete was now waving frantically (and rather drunkenly) to get her attention, Arry reached the group and took her seat beside Pete. He was wrapped around a taller and far tanner boy who had to be part of the tribe. The boy himself looked rather uncomfortable, and not nearly enough drunk for the conversation Pete was having with him.

“Ya—ya see, I imprinted on you, Seth.” Pete burst into giggles, resting his face on the boy’s shoulder. “I can’t help but be around you. I’ll die if I don’t.”

Seth eyed Pete; he seemed reluctant and rather ruffled, but it didn’t seem like he didn’t want the advance—he actually seemed like he enjoyed it. “That’s not how it works. You’re not a wolf.”

Arry arched a brow, “Excuse me—what?” This was probably the weirdest conversation for her to walk into ever. She definitely wasn’t drunk enough for this.

Snagging a bottle from the cooler beside her log, she turned her attention to the boy who started to answer her question only after taking quite a long gulp of alcohol. “There’s a Quileute legend. That our—ancestors had the ability to transform into wolves when threatened.” He hiccupped, eyes wide with humor. “Quil!” A boy barked at the opposite end of the fire, clearly not wanting him to go on. This might actually be serious. Arry gestured for the hiccupping Quil to continue. “Threatened by what?”

“The Cold Ones.” Quil said with as eerie a tone as a drunken person could. “They’re—they’re vampires. Leeches; pale skin, impossibly cold. They suck innocent people dry just to—just to sustain themselves. There’s a rumor,” He gestured around the circle with his bottle, “That the Cullens are vampires. That older members of the tribe are turning into Spirit Warriors like our ancestors—“

“Quil!” The same boy commanded again, eyes narrowed and dark. “You need to shut your mouth before you say something Sam doesn’t like.”

“Who car-cares about Sam? He’s not my master, Jacob.” The kid practically snarled, bottle falling from his grip and smashing apart once meeting the wood of the log. Arry slid as far away from the two as she could, eyes wide with horror. What kind of party was this?

Jacob was shaking, eyes so dark that Arry could barely differentiate them from the sky above them. “Jacob!” Now a taller, definitely older man was among their midst. He seemed to command the very sand he walked on, tone serious and shoulders steady. Jacob snapped his head towards him, nostrils flaring. The man grabbed his arm and dragged him away; soon, in the distance, Arry could hear a pained howl. Across the fire, Quil jammed his palms into his eyes, seemingly in an immense amount of pain.

Within a flash second, Quil was stumbling in the direction that the other two boys had went. Seth himself seemed to be leaning into Pete’s hold, not that he had much of a choice as the kid had practically been duct taped to the other. Arry took another long swig from her bottle, meeting eyes with Iva over the glass. “Is it true?” She asked, once her mouth was no longer occupied.

Iva finished a text before she looked up again. “I—I don’t know. All I know is that the Cullens and Hales are really, really cold—and I’ve never seen them eat. Their eyes are weird colors and change every day. They’re not normal, at least.” With that, her eyes were glued to her screen once more, Arry being left to let her gaze wander to the trees. Something flittered through them; bright, moving just as she let her eyes settle. As if it didn’t want to be seen.

Excusing herself from the campsite, Arry held her bottle close as she walked to the edge of the beach, a whistling wind picking up as she brushed past the first few branches. “Hello?” She asked, feeling rather stupid talking to nothing. “Is anyone there?” Arry shivered, pulling her hoodie closer to her shoulders. The sound of wind whistled past, much closer to her ears; the crunch of leaves had her turn her head to look behind her.

“A pretty lady like you shouldn’t be out here all by her lonesome.”

Snapping her head back, her next inhale faulted in her chest as she saw what was before her.

Jasper.

There was something different about Jasper since Arry had last seen him. His eyes were darker, hungrier, and seemed to swallow any light that passed through them. She could barely breathe—the chill of the air plus the growing darkness in Jasper’s eyes sent chills up and down her spine.

“A pretty lady can go anywhere she wishes all on her lonesome because this isn’t the 1800s where I need permission from my father to go into town,” Arry grew more bold and true to her core with the aid of liquor. “I could say the same to you. Why are you out here by yourself and why are your eyes black when last I saw they were golden?”

“I don’t need protectin’.” Jasper’s brows furrowed, and he turned to the sound of a twig snapping nearby. “I should not be here.” He murmured more to himself, nose scrunched as if he had caught the scent of something foul. More twigs snapped underfoot, and deep growling erupted from the left of Arry. Not a moment later did a fucking gigantic wolf step into the moonlit clearing, teeth bared, and eyes trained on Jasper.

Upon seeing the wolf, flanked by a few others, Arry fell into a trance and her bottle fell victim, as Quil’s had only minutes ago, smashing as it hit the forest floor. Pieces of shattered glass embedded themselves into nearby skin and Arry fell backwards into a pile of leaves, eyes rolled back.

“The Olympic Coven has decided to keep two pet humans? How foolish of them when they already are gaining so much attention.” A woman with deathly pale skin and vibrant red hair snarled, eying Edward, who stood in front of a shaking Bella. “The Vultori will applaud my efforts. Two risks taken out at once, vampires saved from the brutalist ways humanity will react to the knowledge of them.” She stepped towards Edward for a moment, then turned to Arry herself. “Where is your protection, little dove? Who will save you?” Arry felt a cold, strong arm wrap around her neck and squeeze, cutting off the air supply to her lungs. “Silly, fragile mortal.”

Coming to, Arry wheezed, unable to fill her lungs with any amount of necessary oxygen. The burning pain of the glass pressing into her skin was a sharp contrast to the pain numbing her head, skull having hit a rock as she fell to the ground. Attempting to sit up, all was silent except the ringing in her ears. Stars danced in front of Arry’s vision, eyes taking a moment to adjust. Once she could see again, she stumbled backwards, palms slick with blood. The three wolves stood against Jasper, Edward and some guy who was definitely one of them, but not someone she had met. The ringing in her ears faded to a dull roar and she could hear the conversation between the men.

“Why are you here, Jasper, we needed you. Victoria got away!” Edward seemed as mean and upset and Arry could foresee him being, teeth bared to the wolves. “Sam wants to kill us and forgo the treaty!”

“I am truly sorry but seein’ as I was distracted by a smell, I couldn’t do much other than followin’ my instincts.”

“So, you followed the girl?”

“As if you can speak on the matter when you have continuously risked all our lives for your precious Bella!”

“Boys!” The stranger snapped, “We have bigger matters at hand. We must go before Sam acts on his wishes.”

Jasper took one last look at Arry, nearly desperate with a hungry edge, before the three disappeared into blurs. Arry’s head fell back and connected with the rock once more and everything faded from view.

When Arry woke again, she was lying in a bed that was not familiar. There was a smell of crackling wood in a fireplace and a distinct feeling of home, something her own usually lacked. Shifting so she was sitting in the bed, Arry looked to her left and saw a plate with eggs and bacon as well as a steaming mug of what she assumed to be coffee. Patting her pockets, Arry noticed that they were not her pockets and none of her belongings were inside, including her phone.

About to whip the blanket back and stand, someone entered the room. The woman had darker skin and a very pleasant smile, eyes warm enough to settle Arry back into her seat. “I know you must be confused as to where you are. My name is Sue Clearwater and you were brought here after you were found in the forest. You took a pretty nasty fall, there, and the boys brought you here, so I could bandage you up.”

“The boys?”

“You were at the party, right? Quil, Sam and Jacob found you. You must’ve taken quite the fall. That’s what alcohol does to you.” The events of last night started to flood Arry’s mind; the party, the talk of spirit warriors and cold ones, the clearing, Jasper, the wolves, glass pressing into her skin. Sue abruptly stood, opening the door and calling for a Seth.

Seth. The guy Pete was fondling at the party. The boy trotted into the room, all bright smiles, his eyes just as friendly as his mother’s. He pulled up a chair beside the bed and handed Arry the mug of coffee. “Here., You might want this.”

“You’re the kid Pete was crawling all over yesterday.”

Seth blushed, looking away for a moment as if he was hiding something. Arry didn’t know what or why. “Yeah. I’m Seth. You must be Arry.”

“I am.” Arry sipped at the coffee, grateful for the warmth filling her empty stomach.

“You must be overwhelmed. You saw a lot yesterday, didn’t you?”

“You mean the wolves or the stories I heard?”

“And you definitely have questions, which is what I’m here to answer. The pack thought I was the best person to talk to as apparently I’m the friendliest.” Seth seemed proud.

“I don’t care about what’s going on. I want to go home.” She had just moved to town after all, and this was a bit too much. She missed New England, she missed normalcy. Little did she know the drama was just beginning.

“You can’t go home.”

“At least,” Seth chuckled, making this much less menacing, “Not until we know you won’t spill our secrets.” Why send an adorable kid to divulge the news when you can’t even take him seriously?

“What do you want me to do, pinky swear?” Arry stared at Seth, arched brows, as she sipped at her mug of coffee. “Sign in blood that I won’t talk about giant wolves and cold dead teens? I just moved here, I don’t even have any friends yet, who am I going to tell?” She was going to redact her statement and say maybe she’d started to get to know some people, but no one enough to tell secrets to but was interrupted by the devil himself.

Not literally the devil. Just the face of a very specific boy peering around the doorway with a pout on his lips “What about me? Are we not friends now, Arry?”

“It’s been one day. Not even—”

“Pete, we’re kind of having a serious conversation here.” Seth spoke with a certain amount of authority in his tone, but the blush totally deducted any seriousness in his aura.

“A serious conversation without me? I’m offended. I am the king of serious conversations and dramatic stares.” Pete plopped down beside Arry’s feet on the bed, resting his own on Seth’s thigh.

“What is Pete doing here? Is he also a victim of a very serious, very drunken fall?” Arry passed her gaze between the two, sensing that something had happened.

“Oh, he didn’t want me to drive last night because I was wayyyyyy too drunk, so he brought me here and we snuggled all night.” Pete chirped, taking a drink from a smoothie Arry definitely didn’t notice before.

“Okay, anyway,” Seth continued, a dark red blush painting the back of his neck, “You can’t tell anyone about what you saw or heard. The wolves, the vampires, nothing. It’s our job to keep the humans safe, and we can’t keep them safe if they’re worried about us hurting them.”

“Well, then why are certain humans allowed to know?” Arry questioned, noting the fact that Bella Swan apparently knew, Pete knew, and now Arry knew and they wouldn’t do anything about it except tell them to not blab about it.

“A select few being in knowledge wouldn’t do anything. Just like wolves imprinting on humans, it doesn’t mean anything unless rumors spread and it gets more intense, more widely known. What do you think the masses of kids at Forks High would do if they found out that the Cullen’s were vampires?”

He had a good point.” So, okay, fine, I won’t say anything. Is that what you wanted to hear? What about this Victoria chick that I heard Jasper and Edward name dropping?”

Seth swallowed hard and dropped his gaze for a moment. “She-she’s this vampire on a mass killing spree. She’s kidnapped dozens of people from the Washington area, kids even. The Cullen’s think she’s building an army to attack us. To attack them.”

Arry sat up further, sufficiently knocking Pete off balance and spilling a little smoothie down his shirt. “There’s some sort of evil vampire doing evil deeds out there and y’all are just sitting here doing nothing about it?”

Seth furrowed his brows, “We’re not doing nothing about it. We were in shifts chasing her down, but as of last night she left state lines into Canada and she hasn’t come back. We think that it’s because she’s preparing for a final attack.”

“And-and what’s the plan, Seth? Are you all going to fight an army of evil deranged vampires?” Arry gestured with her hands, a massive amount of coffee oozing into the light pink comforter wrapped around her. Pete hissed as a few drops landed near him, irritated by this, but not enough to actually pay attention. The kid was on his phone apparently snapchatting Amber with very bizarre face filters.

“Edward came up with it last night after the party. Jasper is going to train us, he has history with newborns and we’re going to meet up every afternoon to train until we know Victoria is on the move, ready to strike.”

At the mention of Jasper, Arry’s heart stuttered in her chest. What was it about that boy, apparently vampire, that made her feel so off? “Well, since I know about you all…can I come along to these meetings?”

Seth made a face, “I-I don’t know…I’m not in charge. But—I can bring it up with Sam.” He fidgeted nervously with his hands.

“What?” Pete asked, mouth full of bread that he somehow had snuck in here alongside the smoothie. “Can I come then, too? I wanna see giant wolves fight vampires!”

Seth rolled his eyes, “That’s definitely not happening, how am I supposed to keep you safe and fight the newborns—Wait, I-I-I mean,” The kid lit up in a blush. “I’ll ask Sam, okay? Just, Jesus, okay.”

“That settles it,” Arry looked over at Pete with an odd sort of smirk on her face, “We’re gunna see supernatural a piss match.”

After scarfing down the offered breakfast and profusely thanking Sue for her lodge and care, Arry headed out with Pete and Seth back to the beach. Seemingly, Seth couldn’t drive, so the trio was walking through the rainy, eerie forest, which I mean, totally fun, right? Stomping through the woods in clothes that weren’t hers or comfortable was absolutely the best way to spend her day. Her Saturday, the first Saturday in this hellhole known as Forks.

“Those are my sister’s clothes if you were wondering.” Seth offered, ever present friendly smile bright. She wasn’t. “At least clothes from when she was younger—she was actually a shorter kid until she had a growth spurt. Runs in the family.” Arry wasn’t exactly a fan of small talk but it would do instead of the awkward silence.

“And what about mine?” Pete questioned, linking his arms with Seth, because it totally wasn’t overdone and obviously that the two liked one another.

“They’re-they’re mine.” Seth blushed, ducking his head so his eyes were on the ground. There was that awkward silence Arry was so worried about. At least the crunching of the leaves underneath their feet made it slightly less quiet.

Once the trio had reached the beach they were previously at, Arry stared at the door of her car until she realized she didn’t have her keys. Seth poked her shoulder to get her attention and smiled sheepishly when Arry finally looked at him. Seth had her keys. Of course. Handing Arry her wallet and her keys, he held out her phone as well a second later. “I put my number in there, just so you wouldn’t ignore my text on whether or not you can come. And other information.”

“Like if a psychopathic vampire bent on murder is in town again?” Arry arched her brow, sliding her phone into her pocket. She noticed notifications but wasn’t particularly in the mood to answer them.

“Exactly.” Seth chirped. Waving to her, he made his way over to Pete’s car and Jesus, Arry could see the blush from here. Would those two just get together already? It hadn’t even been a full day of knowing them and yet their gross love story was vehemently obvious.

The drive back to her new home was filled with silence and Arry’s thoughts. It was a little hard to comprehend the existence of both the undead and werewolves all at once; how they were much different from her preconceived notions of what those monsters were, how they could hide so well in the human population for years without those around them realizing what they really were. It perplexed Arry, truly. What perplexed her more was her immediate attraction to one; she had been attracted to him in a vision, for God’s sake, what was it about him that drew her towards him even now? She supposed it must be the evolutionary way that vampires got their victims: attraction.

Pulling up to her house, Arry noted that neither of her parent’s vehicles were in the driveway; not that that was so unusual for them, she almost always was left alone to her own devices. She checked her phone: about a million texts from Teresa, one from Pete, and a call from her mother. Along with it was a nondescript voicemail stating that her parents would be out for a weekend long business convention up in Seattle and that Arry would be left by herself for the duration of that time. Sending a quick ‘sorry, I was asleep’ to Teresa’s fifth time of ‘are u even ALIVE GIRL’, Arry sighed and unlocked the front door to an eerie quiet house. It was odd that the cats weren’t making noises, but not particularly unusual.

Throwing her wallet and keys on the counter, she got a glass, so she could pour herself some orange juice. Pausing while opening the fridge door, Arry let it close with a click behind her and she turned toward the living room. Someone was sitting on the couch, watching the television with the volume muted. Heart hammering in her chest, Arry approached the couch with careful steps, as if that would help anything. They stood as she met the doorway, one foot in the room, the other still outside, and she stared with wide eyes. Of course, it was Jasper, who else would it have been? (Other than a murdering vampire out to ruin the reputation of the coven of vampires that lived in her area.)

“What are you doing here?” Arry asked, voice quivering. She couldn’t move; all she could do was stare into those once again golden irises, mesmerized.

“It would have been impolite of me if I had not elected to check on you after I was the cause of your fall the other evenin’.” Jasper spoke, voice smooth and soft as honey. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Arry’s brows furrowed, “But you could’ve asked me that when I was at the Clearwater House, not alone in my own home. Why didn’t you then?”

“The Quileute’s and our Coven have had a treaty for centuries that we will not step on their land to hunt or for any other reason.” That explained what Edward and Jasper were talking about regarding a treaty, and Sam wanting to break it, last night. “So, I had to wait until you were off their lands to check on you. I could not exactly appear in your car while you were driving, least you crash.” He smirked, a mischievous look in his eyes.

“What this doesn’t explain,” Arry put her glass down on the coffee table, now so close to Jasper that she could smell him. Okay, what a creepy thought. “Is why you keep following me. Or why you ran away the first time we met. What is it that you want from me?” The question made her heart ache for a reason she couldn’t identify.

“Well that answer is simple: I want you, darlin’.”

“Well, we all want things, Jasper, but that doesn’t mean we always get them. Also, that’s vague and creepy as hell.” was what Arry should have said, but instead, she replied with, “Wh-what do you mean?”

Jasper took a few steps towards Arry, arms crossed, smirk seeming to be plastered onto his face. “Well, according to Carlisle, you are my ‘La tua cantante’ and therefore, it is quite hard to resist bein’ around you.”

“I’m your singing tuna?” Alright, to be fair, Arry had had a long night, and she took ASL at her old school, not Italian. Also, who the fuck was Carlisle?

Even Jasper’s laugh was melodic and smooth, making something in the deepest corner of her chest ache. “It means blood singer. That your blood sings for me like no other and it is a need runnin’ through my veins to bleed you dry.”

Okay, well, that was fucking disturbing, but also kind of hot? Arry was conflicted on the matter, but as someone who casually idolized suicide, it was sort of an ideal situation to die by getting bitten by a hot dude who was blood horny for you.

The blond appeared to sense the tension, approaching closer with tentative, silent steps. A cold, unyielding thumb brushed against Arry’s cheek, an expression of worshipping reverie held in shimmering, golden eyes. A shiver ran up her spine, but she could not look away from his gaze. “But I don’t find myself wantin’ to eat you so much as to be close to you. You are…an intriguing young lady.”

“I’ve been told that quite a few times,” Arry spoke, breathless, losing herself in those eyes. A part of her, the more logical part knew that she probably shouldn’t feel so safe with someone who had admitted to wanting to literally suck her dry, but also, he was cute and nearly a foot taller than her? Decisions, decisions.

There were definitely sparks between them, Arry’s heartbeat began to hammer in her chest, and she was sure that he could hear it with the way his eyes darkened and the smirk growing on his lips. He bent to her level, now infinitely closer, her breath ghosting on his lips, his chest ever nonmoving. Inches from each other, Arry leaned in to press their lips together in a kiss when her phone went off in her pocket, causing her to jump and smash the top of her head into his.

Groaning and rubbing at her probably bruised scalp, Arry gave Jasper an apologetic look as she pulled out her phone, brushing through the messages. It was another concerned text from Teresa, one from Pete, and a text from Seth who, for some reason, entered his full name as a contact, confirming that Sam gave her permission to join them at the training that was happening tonight.

“So,” Arry posed, eyes meeting Jasper’s again, “Are you going to the training thing tonight, too?” Which, admittedly, she knew after the fact would be a stupid question, because, duh, who else would be going? Some imaginary other vampire family she had made up as a delusion? Likely, as she did hit her head.

Either way, Jasper seemed amused, eyes glowing as he looked down at her. “I will be attending’, of course, as I will be the teacher of sorts in the fine art of destroyin’ newborn vampires.” Okay, woah. Where did Jasper get that kind of history? Almost as if he had read her mind, he continued to speak. “I have a lot of red in my ledger, and this will be an attempt to remove some of it.” He stopped there, however, Arry was more curious and arched a brow as if to ask him to delve deeper.

“When I was first turned, a woman played with my heart strings as a corrupt puppeteer and in creatin’ her army, I was also given the task to get rid of those who did not last. My experience is unrivaled to anyone else’s, as I killed numerous newborns. I remember each and every one.” Something in his features grew hard, and Jasper looked more stoic than she’d ever seen him before.

An awkward silence was blooming, and Arry couldn’t help but feel as though it was her fault. Gaze now on the floor instead of Jasper’s hypnotic golden eyes, Arry lost some of her courage, but was still as steadfast as ever. “Since you’re going, and the Pack has already said that they are okay with me coming, would you mind if I went with you?” It was new and fresh, but she couldn’t help but feel as though whatever was going on between them was something serious.

Jasper’s hardened face brightened, and he was almost smiling, “It would be my genuine pleasure.” He offered Arry a hand, and awkwardly, she shook it, not sure as to why this was happening. There was that laugh again. “No, no, it’s just more efficient if I carry you.”

“Uh, what?”

“Vampires have superspeed. Did no one tell you?” No, no one told Arry anything about anything, in general, but what the fuck ever because now he was lifting her onto his shoulders, and they were broad, and he was cold, but also soft, and honestly, Arry didn’t much enjoy being manhandled, but this was nice.

Okay, she enjoyed being manhandled. “Not that I mind the whole no physical distance thing, but where exactly are we going via your very fast, very dead legs?”

“The meetin’. Jasper explained, hooking Arry’s limbs tighter around him. “It’s happenin’ any moment now, and I can’t miss it.” Without another word, they were flying out the door and Arry was left wondering if they should have locked it before they left, or if it really mattered when the worst out here were murderous vampires hell bent on revenge that could definitely break in, clearly, whether there was a lock or not.

It was a debate for another time.

There was something oddly comforting about riding a vampire, and before your mind immediately lands in the gutter, it was meant in the least sexual way possible. It was also partially terrifying, but feeling the cool breeze against your skin, the immoveable flesh beneath you, it was almost like you were invincible. Arry didn’t mind this one bit, and perhaps, she would jot this down as her preferred mode of transportation. Alas, all things had to come to an end, and after about ten minutes of running, Jasper began to slow down and eventually, stopped in a clearing. Arry could hear voices in a brief distance, so she was mildly confused as to why they stopped where they did, but, she kept her silence as she dropped from the blonde’s back and stretched her limbs, which now that she thought about it, felt a bit numb.

Jasper turned toward her, eyes alit with an emotion she could not read, and interlocked their fingers together. Arry wasn’t used to the feeling of his skin quite yet, couldn’t comprehend how it felt so smooth and hard at the same time, like a diamond, but understood when they stepped through a patch of sun—the undead man lit up and sparkled as though he was coated in glitter, and Arry knew then that she would be helpless to resist him. I mean, c’mon, who could resist someone who looked like a jewel!

“I just wanted to warn you, before the training. It might be a bit tense—the wolves and us aren’t really on good terms at the moment, both because of the Bella Jacob Edward love triangle and because of last night. It would probably be best if we weren’t seen being affectionate.” It was…definitely weird to hear that coming from someone Arry literally met a day and a half ago, as she wasn’t particularly affectionate with people she wasn’t close to, but even she could admit that she was already attached to the vampire. Which was probably dangerous and not at all a good idea, but yolo, right?

“I’ll try to my best to keep my hands off of you,” Arry replied, lips turning up in a smirk. Hey, she was a natural flirt, alright? It was part of her innate charm. Responding with a smirk of his own, Jasper released their hands, offering a press of lips to her knuckles; the contrast of their skin tones were alarming, but not enough to make Arry step away. “If you’d be so kind,” Jasper gestured for her to step out into the clearing first, not wanting for it to seem like they arrived together. How she would’ve arrived otherwise, Arry had no idea, but the looks on the other’s faces told her that they knew who she was with, and what had just transpired. One could guess that supernatural beings had super hearing, but did a non-supernatural being ever think about it? Probably not.

Sitting down beside Pete, who’s hand was fist deep in a wolf’s fur (she assumed Seth’s), Arry stuck her hands in her pockets, eyes travelling around the circle audience. There were about a dozen wolves, most of which she wouldn’t even try to guess who they were, on one side and the Cullen’s on the other side of the clearing. Neither group seemed particularly comfortable, and the wolves definitely stiffened when Jasper joined the rest of them, sending a knowing glance to Arry. Alright, perhaps she loved and stanned. “Have I missed anything?” She stage whispered to Pete, who seemed oddly out of it and less chirpy than she was used to. Pete shook his head, “They’ve mostly just been staring and growling slash hissing at one another. This is not as fun as I thought it’d be.” It was tense, so Arry would be quick to agree.

Arry watched as Edward and who she presumed to be Carlisle speak quietly to one another before the older man spoke out loud to the group. “Jasper has experience with newborns. He’ll teach us how to defeat them.” It was silent for a moment, then, Edward’s voice echoed through the trees.

“They want to know how newborns differ from us.”

“They’re a great deal stronger than us, because their own human blood lingers in their tissues. Our kind is never more physically powerful… … than in our first several months of this life.” Carlisle elaborated, then gestured at Jasper to continue.

“Carlisle’s right. That’s why they are created. A newborn army doesn’t need thousands like a human army. And no human army could stand against them. The two most important things to remember are, first… Never let them get their arms around you. They’ll crush you instantly. The second… Never go for the obvious kill. They’ll be expecting that. And you will lose.” Jasper had been pacing to and fro in front of the audience while he spoke, only pausing now as he gave instructions. “Now, pair up, one wolf to one vampire. I will inspect each bought in turn and give tips where necessary.”

Arry wasn’t one much for violence, and even if she was, she wouldn’t be able to truly see what was going on—the skirmishes were thoroughly too fast for her to be able to watch. Thus, she turned to Pete and conversed. This was the structure to two days after this—waking up, stuffing a backpack full of food for her and Pete, Jasper picking her up and small bit of romance between moments of training. She honestly didn’t understand how the wolves and vamps weren’t exhausted (perhaps they were, and she just couldn’t tell?), but with the tension growing more and more each day, Arry knew that they didn’t have the time to be exhausted.

The fifth day of living in Forks, Arry kind of actually had to go school, since the weekend was over. Shoving her backpack full of school supplies instead of snacks, Arry paused with her grasp around the strap, eyes rolling back into her head as she was sent into a trance.

The crunch of boots against leaves. A flash of pale, sparkling skin. Hair that seemed as though it was in flames. A figure outside Bella’s room, staring at her from the shadows. Blood splattering, a faint scream in the distance.

Breathing heavily as she came back to, Arry rubbed at her eyes before fishing her phone at out of her pocket, fingers shaking as she dialed the number. “Jasper, she’s coming. Soon. Today.”

So much for going back to school, right?

Not a moment later was Jasper running into the kitchen, arms wrapping around and securing Arry to his side, so the trance wouldn’t send her tumbling. “What did you see, darlin’?” She had honestly never heard him so concerned, and that sent a certain warmth blooming in her chest. “It was Victoria. She was watching Bella, she—she’s coming, Jas, she’s almost here. I heard—I heard Bella die,” Well, that was quite the uplifting start to one’s morning. Without a word, Jasper plucked Arry up into his arms and resumed the past few days’ ritual—arriving in the clearing, the vampire knelt down and deposited Arry beside Seth, who’s hands were stuffed in his pocket, concern very evident on his features. “Watch her. We must formulate a plan.” Seth nodded wordlessly, and Jasper sped off. Brushing her hair out of her face, Arry looked up at the kid, some sort of sass unable to roll off her tongue like it normally could. Her mouth felt dry, and she kind of wanted to throw up. Whatever, it was going to be okay, right? What could a murderous vampire do if it hadn’t done much of anything already?

“Did you really see Bella die?” When Seth spoke, it was clear that he felt just as scared as Arry did in that moment.

“I can’t be positive, but she was watching her. I heard a scream and I saw blood. Visions aren’t always helpful, I mostly see what I would see from my own perspective. I’m sorry—I don’t know.” Arry curled up into herself, tucking her knees underneath her and kept her eyes on the horizon. Seth stayed silent after that.

Minutes later, but what felt like grueling hours, Jasper returned, brows furrowed and stance one of irritation. “Arry, we’re going to have Seth carry you up the mountain to mask your scent. Hopefully this keeps you safe from Victoria, as we are attempting with Bella. I cannot leave you by yourself, though, certainly not with her on the loose. Who knows what she and her army are capable of?”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Arry sighed and stood on shaky legs, allowing Seth to lift her into his arms, which was actually a little impressive, because he wasn’t a particularly buff looking fellow, but, again, there must be something in the water here in Forks. Resting her cheek against Seth’s shoulder, Arry watched his profile. “Don’t you think Pete will get jealous?” Well, at least she could still tease. That part of her was safe.

Seth’s cheeks heated with heady blush, and it was clear that Arry had ruffled him. “Probably, but he’s still asleep. You wouldn’t tell him, right?” Ha, and not see her new friends get in a bit of drama? As if! This was a tea friendly household, after all.

“Why is he still asleep? School started an hour ago, right?”

“We kind of went camping to find a spot for Bella and Edward to hide when Victoria’s army comes. He’s still crashed out.” Arry wanted to voice the implications of that statement but couldn’t bring herself to continue teasing the young wolf. Whatever Pete and Seth did in their free time while remaining vigilant about evil vampires was their business—and, Pete would probably tell her later.

Once they reached their destination, Arry was again placed on the ground. Edward stood in front of Bella, though he relaxed in posture when he saw that it was just her and Seth. Arry stood off to the side, trying to shake away her fear. There was just a sort of feeling in the air, as though something was going to happen that none of them were expecting. As though she was forgetting something important. Edward and Seth stiffened all of a sudden, and Arry was sure that they could hear something she couldn’t. Bella watched Edward’s features with a gaze full of fear, and he spoke to her in low tones. Seth moved to Arry’s side. “Victoria’s here. I’m going to shift so that I can fight if anyone comes up here.” Seth squeezed Arry’s arm and disappeared behind the trees, returning moments later in wolf form.

It couldn’t be thirty minutes later that Arry started to shiver, both the cold and the ominous feeling getting to her more than she’d like. Seth gave her a sympathetic look before his head snapped towards the entrance to their little alcove, teeth bared and growling. Following his gaze, Arry stepped backwards and nearly tumbled, eyes wide with fear. It wasn’t her, wasn’t Victoria, no, but it was a man who was clearly a vampire and his red eyes did not bode well for them, as she knew that the gold meant something entirely different.

“She knew you’d be with me,” Edward seems shaken, hearing things that the others could not. “Riley… Listen to me. Victoria’s just using you, to distract me. But she knows I’ll kill you. In fact, she’ll be glad she doesn’t have to deal with you anymore.” The red eyed immortal appeared to hesitate, words resonating somewhere within him. Victoria emerged from the woods, beside Arry and Seth.

“Don’t listen, Riley. I told you about their mind tricks.” Victoria’s voice is more frightening than Arry previously guessed, and it had her heart racing to be so close to the bad intentioned vampire.

“I can read her mind, so I know what she thinks of you.”

“He’s lying.”

“She only created you and this army to avenge her true mate, James. It’s the only thing she cares about. Not you.”

“There’s only you. You know that.” Riley’s eyes lock with Victoria’s, and while for a moment, there seemed to be doubt in his gaze, it’s gone within a second. Victoria turns from him to the two beside her, small smirk growing as she saw that Arry was there, and in fact, a disposable blood bank. At least, that’s what Arry assumed. “Riley, distract Edward, please.” It happened within a flash—Victoria flung Seth against the rock face to the left and the boy howled in pain and went limp, while Riley held Edward in a headlock, the man struggled to fight against his hold, practically roaring as he glared at Victoria, who is only getting closer to Arry and Bella.

“The Olympic Coven has decided to keep two pet humans? How foolish of them when they already are gaining so much attention.” Victoria addressed them, gaze flashing with malice. “The Vultori will applaud my efforts. Two risks taken out at once, vampires saved from the brutalist ways of humanity.” She took a step towards Bella for a moment, then turned to Arry herself. “Where is your protection, little dove? Who will save you?” Arry felt a cold, strong hand wrap around her neck and squeeze, cutting off the air supply to her lungs. “Silly, fragile mortal.” Victoria tightened her grip, tongue lapping at dry, cracking lips. She was meant to be her dinner, wasn’t she? Arry slammed her eyes shut, fearful but welcoming her evident demise when, out of nowhere, the hand released her, and she crumpled in a heap on the ground.

Gasping and blinking away tears, Arry struggled for breath. It was a blur, tears still soaking her vision, but she saw a golden-haired angel slam Victoria into the ground, groaning with effort as they attempted to shove her further into the patchy snow-covered earth. Victoria rotated and kicked out, the angel flying backwards and crashing through a few trees. The red head returned to her and Arry felt a sharp pain against her shoulder, suddenly weak, and cried out as poison pumped through her veins. The pin prick feeling against her skin was gone, but the pain remained, and Arry felt as though she was on fire. She couldn’t help but scream, back arching as she fell, spasming on the ground.

There were sounds of battle around her, the crack of what sounded like two rocks colliding, and then the angel was in front of her, cold hands against her overheated skin. “Get Carlisle! She’s turning—Edward, please!” Edward and Bella disappeared and were replaced with what she thought was Seth and Pete, Pete groggily wiping at his eyes. “What’d I miss—holy shit, Arry!” He knelt beside her and grasped uselessly at her wound, eyes wide with fear. “It-it’s going to be okay,” She murmured in an attempt to wipe fear from his face, but it only made him panic. The pain reached a whole new level, and Arry let out a blood curdling scream before everything went black.

When Arry came to, everything felt…different. Before, she needed glasses or contacts to correct her vision, and had trouble hearing if she wasn’t paying close enough attention. Opening her eyes now, knowing she had neither glasses nor contacts on, Arry saw more than she ever had before. She could see particles of dust floating in front of her, the slight flickering of a lightbulb all the way across the room. She could hear conversation downstairs, birds chirping deeper in the forest. Arry felt new, and studier, and moreover, more than anything else, Arry felt starved. Her stomach ached, and it felt like the back of her throat was burning. She heard a steady thrum and the fire ignited, having her running before she even knew it, dashing out the window and across a lawn she had never seen before, and into the tree line. Arry’s body drove her forward instinctually and stopped only when it found what it was looking for. A man, hiking in the woods, nose huge and face looking similar to that of a pug’s. Dashing up to him, Arry’s teeth tore into his throat and he let out a screech, hands pushing against her. Minutes passed as the new vampire drained him dry, gulping the life force from him. The man collapsed like a sack of potatoes against the forest floor, and Arry spared a moment’s glance to his name tag—which read JASON in all caps—before there were others upon her. Specifically, Jasper and Carlisle, one of whom looked utterly horrified, and the other actually smirking a little, as though he was proud of her. “Well, looks like she won’t need adjustin’, Carlisle.”

The trio returned to the house after they had covered the corpse with copious amounts of branches and the like, hoping that the man was unknown enough to not matter or for it to be a while before he was found. The course of the next week was spent teaching Arry the ropes—what she could do, what she was, and what she should eat; the evenings were spent in more fun ways, but the narrator is not one to divulge upon his friend’s sex life—let’s just say that the Major quickly laid claim to the girl upon her being turned, despite the negative circumstances.

Arry returned to her own home the following Sunday, knowing that her parents wouldn’t have even noticed that she gone, or even had come home themselves. There was a new note on the fridge replacing the one she had seen over a week ago, stating that her parents were gone for the month now, and honestly, Arry was not surprised. She literally died and came back to life and they hadn’t noticed. Unable to sleep, for obvious vampiric reasons, Arry spent the evening going about the house and cleaning and organizing, actually unpacking the remaining boxes left behind. She also made sure to properly feed before school, taking down a rather aggressive mountain lion and relishing in the feeling of the hunt. Perhaps she was a little to quick to the vampire lifestyle, but let’s all be honest here, it was definitely easier and more fun than being a human.

The following day started off almost as though she was still human—Arry drove to school and was actually early to class, delighted upon seeing Pete already sitting down. He hadn’t seen her since Victoria’s attack, and she could tell that he had missed her if the tight hug was any indication. “Thank God you’re okay, they said you would just turn, but I was so worried,” Pete sighed, releasing the other, “At least you’re calm enough that you aren’t trying to eat me.”

“Blood lust is somehow easier than everyone makes it seem. I only kind of want to rip out your throat,” Arry supplied, joking, though Pete did arch his brow in question. “What’d I miss? Did you and Seth finally get together?”

Pete literally lit up like a candle, and Arry knew that they had, “After the Cullens took you, it kind of all snowballed from there. Sam was pissed off but when he realized, by listening to Seth’s recollection of what happened, that you hadn’t been turned intentionally, they couldn’t do much. Seth and I snuck away, and we cuddled all night. And then, like, two days ago, we fucked, but I digress. We’re dating, and I missed you so fuckin’ much.” Arry was pulled into another hug and honestly, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Between classes, Pete took a bathroom break and Arry murdered an annoying ass student who wouldn’t stop talking about his new hair behind the gym, but ya know, we all have our own breaks, and sometimes you just had to murder people named DeShawn who wouldn’t shut the fuck up. By the time Lunch rolled around, Arry was feeling more at ease and definitely satiated since her meal, sitting comfortably at her table of friends. Casey was oddly not there, and instead someone named Jordan was sitting in her place which Pete explained by saying that ‘they were contractually obligated to replace Casey because she was a boring character’. Arry also had a pleasant call with Teresa, who was beyond delighted to see that Arry was not dead after not having answered her calls for the past week, and who announced that she would be coming to visit in the next two weeks. Life was looking up, and already, Arry could tell that she would enjoy life more now that there was a bit of spice in it. Being undead kind of did that.

The cafeteria fell into a hush and if Arry’s heart could still beat, she knew that it would be racing—the girl knew what was coming next. The Cullen family entered the room in their usual dramatic procession, followed on the rear by none other than Jasper, who immediately met eyes with Arry across the room. Racing toward him, failing to control her new speed, Arry launched herself at him and he plucked her up, lifting her above him and spinning her around, laughing. “Well, good morning to you too, darlin’.”

Arry realized that this was how she wanted to spend the rest of her life. Luckily, she had just that. The future was looking bright.

THE END

#☽ we’re all stories in the end: fics #fics

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christianmenatwork · 4 years

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What's Your Idol-Selah30-CMAW104

Today I'm going to challenge you to identify something that is demanding a lot of energy, time and emotion from you which is, at the same time, something you have within your power to reduce or eliminate from your life. I'm going to ask you to be honest with yourself about exactly how much this thing is demanding of you, why you're letting it take up some much of your life, what harm it's causing, whether it qualifies as an idol, and to think about what you could replace it with if it were removed from your life and the potential consequences of doing so. And along the way I'll refer to what God's word says. This is one of those topics that definitely has applications to our workplace but goes beyond the workplace.

Since I can't sit down and talk one-on-one with you to hear your story, I'm going to tell you mine and go through this process of identifying and analyzing a potential idol and developing a plan to change. While I have more than one idol, the one I'm going to focus on is politics. If you listened to this podcast for a while, you've heard me bring this up before. My concern about focusing too much on politics has been on my heart for some time. Recently, several things occurred to jar me, to shake me, to the point where I'm taking a hard look at this issue. I'm hoping and praying that this episode will be something that will shake you up and lead you to take a hard look at what may be an idol for you.

The first thing that shook me up was the interview I released last week with Jeff Jerina, where we talked about how to share your faith without fear. What shook me up is how little I'm sharing my faith, other than through this podcast, which is mostly likely being heard by fellow believers. That's painful to admit, because it makes me feel like a hypocrite, but it's true. Most of my closest relationships and social interactions are with believers who are very like minded. While I won't know until heaven how I may have influenced people and we can certainly plant seeds that are watered by others, I have to be honest and admit I'm not intentionally sharing the Gospel nearly as much as I should be. The next thing that shook me up was a conversation I had with my middle daughter. She watched the VP debate with my wife and I, where I was very much "animated" or to put it better "upset". Later she and I talked about several political issues along with the bigger issue of how politics should be a part of our lives as Christians. Then later in the week I talked with my Mom about the issue. Despite the difference in age and life experience, my daughter and Mom have several things in common. First, neither my daughter nor my Mom know even a fraction of what I know about the current political issues or the key players in politics, but they both have an awareness of the harm that can come from devoting too much attention to politics. They also both attract others to them and are friends with others who share different views than they do (much more than I do), and as such they both have the ability to influence those people. Finally, they are both focused pretty heavily on showing love to others.

Now let's get back to the questions I mentioned earlier that I want to answer for myself. As I do this, if politics is a big part of your life, you may be able to relate specifically to what I'm going to share. If not, I invite you to follow this process and answer these questions for the thing that's taking a lot from you and your life.

First, how much is this thing demanding of me. For me, politics is demanding a lot. While I have taken saabaticals from time to time, my norm is to listen to Rush Limbaugh at lunch time and to listen to political podcasts especially when I'm driving in the car and since we live in the country that means a lot of drive time. My podcasts most often listened to are Al Mohler's The Briefing and The Ben Shapiro show, both very political. I frequently check Donald Trump's Twitter Feed, and though much less than I used to I check in on the The Drudge Report, which is basically a bunch of links to other political stories. For over a year I was actively involved in the Convention of States effort which took a lot of time. In my email inbox, I get notices from the AFA, American Family Association, The Babylon Bee and others, all focused on politics. Because my wife and I are both interested in politics and like minded, we spend a decent amount of our conversational time talking about politics. I could go on, but you get the idea.

The next question is why am I letting it take so much from me and my life. I think there are several reasons men have idols. One is that they are not taking seriously enough the reality that God exists and that his Word is true. The world and the natural things around them are more real to them than God and the things that are unseen. Another reason is because they place importance on that particular issue. They think it's important and worthy of spending time on. A final major reason is because the thing provides them pleasure and they are drawn to the pleasure the thing provides them.

For me, I think all 3 reasons are factors for me and politics. I'm not trusting sufficiently that God is in control and what He is doing in the world and in my life. Second, I mistakenly place too much importance on politics. I think about the impact on our society of who is President, who is on the Supreme Court, and who is running the Congress and how the political events and decisions will impact all of society. This second reason is probably the biggest obstacle for me. I really do think politics is important and I believe that a functioning republic such as the U.S. demands an active and informed people so that they can self govern as the founders of our country envisioned. I also believe the United States is overall a force for good. The third major reason men have idols is because of the pleasure it provides them. There's no doubt, I truly enjoy listening to, reading about, and talking about politics, so much so it can be addictive at times.

Now before I go on to the next question, I wanted to bring up a few scripture verses that may be relevant to our discussion so far. The first reason was about not believing in and trusting God with what is going on in our lives and on earth. Prov 3:5-6 NKJV says "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, And lean not on your own understanding; In all your ways acknowledge Him, And He shall [a]direct your paths." Psalm 50:10 NKJV says "For every beast of the forest is Mine, And the cattle on a thousand hills." Proverbs 21:1 NKJV says "The king’s heart is in the hand of the Lord, Like the rivers of water; He turns it wherever He wishes." What these and other verses say to me is that God is in control and we should trust Him with our lives and with the affairs of men. If we are struggling with unbelief and doubt remember the prayer from the man in Mark 9:24, spoken in tears, " “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!”

The second reason for idol worship is placing too much importance on a thing, in my case politics, which includes keeping up with the news and current events. Jesus came to earth, took the form of a human body, and lived among us, experiencing our world as we do. He was aware of current events, as shown in Luke 13:4, where he made a point to his disciples referring to a tower in Siloam that had fallen and killed 18 people. In Matthew, Mark and Luke it records that Jesus was asked by the Pharisees whether it was lawful to pay taxes to Caesar. When asked whether we should pay taxes, Jesus said "“Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s.”" What I take from these passages is that we should be engaged with our government and aware of current events at some level, but our primary focus should be on God and His Kingdom. Colossians 3:2 NKJV says " Set your mind on things above, not on things on the earth."

The third reason for idol worship is for pleasure. Many people are turned off by the church because they think God just wants to take away their fun. The truth is that true pleasure and joy comes only from God. Proverbs 16:11 says "You will show me the path of life; In Your presence is fullness of joy; At Your right hand are pleasures forevermore." But God warns us to be balanced in our pursuit of pleasure and more importantly not to seek after pleasure outside of His will. Proverbs 21:7 NKJV says "He who loves pleasure will be a poor man; He who loves wine and oil will not be rich." In Luke 8:14 in the parable of the sower of the seeds, Jesus in Luke 8 says that the seeds that fell among thorns are like those who, when they have heard, go out and are choked with cares, riches, and pleasures of life, and bring no fruit to maturity. In 2 Timothy 3, Paul warns that during the last days which I believe we are in right now, men will be lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God.

So the next question we're going to answer is what harm, exactly, is this thing doing in our lives. For me, it's easy. By focusing too much on politics, I get angry, irritated and anxious more often and to a greater degree. It takes joy away from me and it negatively affects my relationships. It also makes me more judgmental of others, namely those in politics I disagree with, but I've found that I inevitably think about all the people in our country who disagree with me on political issues and then I get mad at them as well. Matthew 9:36, referring to Jesus, says "But when He saw the multitudes, He was moved with compassion for them, because they were weary and scattered, like sheep having no shepherd." That is the attitude I want to have towards others. Dan Mohler says that rather than being mad at people we should be mad for them. While dying on the cross, Jesus said "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do". The Jewish people have throughout the centuries recited daily a prayer called the Shema. It is taken from Deut 6, Deut 11, and Numbers 15. The first part in Hebrew is She-ma yisrael, adonai eloheinu, adonai echad Baruch shem kavod malchuto l’olam va-ed. This means Hear O’ Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One. Blessed is the name of His glorious kingdom for ever and ever. The prayer goes on to say "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. Take to heart these instructions with which I charge you this day. Impress them upon your children. Recite them when you stay at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you get up. Bind them as a sign on your hand and let them serve as a symbol on your forehead, inscribe them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates."

The prayer goes on further to describe the consequences of obeying or not obeying the Lord, and commands the wearing of a tzitzit or fringe on the garment corners to remind them of God's commandments.

The Shema reminds me of how important it is to recognize God as the one and only God and to honor Him by obeying His commandments every day, all day. Jesus said in John 14:15 "If you love me, keep my commandments"

The next question we're going to answer is whether the thing we're considering is in fact an idol. We read about the Israelites worshiping the golden calf and other idols and think how silly that is and how we're not doing such things. When we do that, we miss that an idol is anything that competes for our attention and love toward God. Remember the command from God as recited in the Shema.

So the final question I want to answer is what could we replace this thing with if we were to remove or reduce its influence on our lives.

I was amazed when I went through this exercise. I thought specifically about the positive things that could come from taking politics out of my life. I thought about more important activities I could be doing. I thought about an improved, more joyful attitude. I thought about better conversations I would have with others, including sharing the Gospel using the steps described in the interview last week with Jeff Jerina. I won't go through all those details with you but will ask you to do this exercise for yourself for the thing that may be an idol in your life.

Check out Youtube Channel Assembly of Called Out Believers if want to learn more about what it means to be a Torah follower. Will include a link in show notes for a particular video called "The Final Timeline" which talks about why are in the end times and are between the 1st and 2nd seal. It's the best teaching I've seen yet about the the end times.

-1 Peter 2:17 NKJV "Honor all people. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honor the king."

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