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cherrynojutsu · 3 years

Text

Title: Like Silver

Summary: A companion series for Like Gold.

Sakura misses him so much. She misses the faint smell of woodsmoke and sage, and mismatched eyes captivating in their intensity and unfathomable depths. The Rinnegan is beautiful, soft lavender ringed by hypnotizing layers of circle and tomoe, but flecks of silver dance in his right, tiny asterisms bewitching in nature, if one gets close enough; she’d first noticed it when they were children at the Academy. She knows they're Itachi's now, a slightly different scattering of luminaries aglow in the deep pitch of obsidian, but they're still as enthralling to her as they had been back then. She dreams of that silver sometimes, recalls it any time she sees something similar in color or reflet.

Blank period, canon-compliant, Sakura-centric, some expanded plot points from Like Gold, fluff and pining, eventually becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 1/?: An Introduction to Electrocardiography

Sakura gazes out the window of her office, a pile of paperwork set aside for a poetic sort of procrastination, trying to indulge for once in a Konoha spring, though she's finding it arduous.

As pretty as it is this time of year, all she can manage to feel is wistful.

Hanami has come and gone already for the most part, though there are a few stubborn cherry blossom trees lingering at the tail end of their blooming. She can see one here from her window, up on the hillside that slopes towards Hokage Rock, clinging to the uneven land. She’s sure its roots have to be all twisted, a labyrinth of gnarled wood clinging to any scrap of land it can wind itself around as its branches and petals try against all odds to reach upwards into the open sky that she can’t take her eyes off of.

There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, but it’s one she doesn’t care to unpack.

This year was her twentieth viewing of her namesake, though Sakura obviously doesn't remember the first few. Her parents take great pride in the retelling of tales from those first few years of her life, the ones she was too little to remember. The highlights come up annually on her birthday without fail, how she grasped at the petals like they were something precious, clutched in her sticky little hands the entire day.

A framed photograph is perched on one of the built-in shelves of her parents' living room, of her and her father on her first birthday. He was holding her up on unsteady legs, ridiculously proud and pointing towards the camera where her mother had been trying to get her to look. Her short pink hair was flying absolutely everywhere, matching the fluttering petals and in-bloom cherry blossom tree in the background, chubby hands grasping upwards. Strawberry cake and frosting were smeared all over her cheeks. They’d had a picnic for her, at the park nearest to their house.

“We came home and cleaned you up, and then your father helped you water your tree for the first time, in the little pink watering pail you unwrapped earlier. You were so cute.” That’s what her mom says every year. Sakura has the sentence memorized at this point, could recite it on cue, if she needed to.

Her parents had planted a cherry blossom sapling in their backyard a few days after they brought her home from the hospital as a newborn, so the tree is around the same age she is. She used to spend time under it often, as a kid, and some of her earliest memories involve sprawling beneath it to study the heavens while her mother gardened. She would also sneak berries from the patch when her back was turned. Sometimes her dad would join in her pilferage, and they would sit beneath the tree like a couple of bandits with stained lips, though those first few years she can remember he barely fit underneath it, as tall as he is. Many a tickle fight had been had, shaded by those branches. She would read books there on nice afternoons, when she was a little older.

The tree is fully grown now, also on the final cusp of its blooming for the year, floriferous wood expanded outwards to drape her childhood stomping grounds in a sea of soft pink. They have a picnic under it every year, in her family’s backyard, when they celebrate her birthday together. Her actual birthday has come and gone, but her birthday dinner is two days from now. Her parents swung by her apartment on Sunday afternoon for a bit with outlandishly large cupcakes, but her mom had mentioned they’d do dinner and a gift on their usual night, Thursday, since it works so well with their schedules every other week.

“We have to have your picnic, under your tree, like always. It’s a tradition! My beautiful girl. I can’t believe you’re twenty. It seems like just yesterday you were only yay high,” her dad had told her, gesturing below his knees before hugging her too tightly, ruffling the hair she'd inherited from him before they left. The cupcakes were strawberry with cream cheese frosting, one of her favorite treats. They’d left her with four extra to enjoy between then and Thursday, one for each day if she wanted it, turning her birthday into more of a week-long affair than a one-day celebration.

She and Ino had demolished two of them while watching some of the terrible movies they love to hate together, later that evening. It had been a smorgasbord of strawberries, really, because they'd washed them down with strawberry daiquiris, sugary sweetness topped with ridiculous amounts of whipped cream. They'd sat on her balcony, after, sipping a little tipsily and just looking.

"You should try to enjoy your namesake more this year, Forehead. You're so busy that I'm not sure you've realized, but you've really grown into it," Ino had said, beckoning vaguely towards a Konoha beginning to bloom, renewed with a warm breeze, spring ushered in by a fluttering of pink petals. Ino likes to give compliments in roundabout ways, she’s learned over the course of their friendship; crass as the blonde can be, she does have her moments. Her words meant a lot to Sakura, so she’s trying to take them to heart, to stop and smell the cherry blossoms, so to speak. It won’t be long before Konoha crescendos into the sweltering heat of the summer.

She loves her parents and her friends. She really does.

But birthdays are weird, Sakura thinks.

Last year, Sasuke had sent her a letter on her birthday. She’s reread it so many times that she has it more than memorized; it’s stitched into the muscle tissue of her heart at this point, or maybe scarred into the lining of her aortic valve, sempiternal markings adorning the tunnels that sustain her, causing her breath to catch every time.

Sakura,

Hanami has come to the wilderness in the Land of Honey. Bees are awakening and foraging for the first pollen of the season, with which to begin again. Cherry blossom petals are everywhere, lining the pathways and floating on the water.

Happy birthday.

-Sasuke

It had been short, simple, and even a little poetic; she had cherished it, as she does all of his other letters. She’d cherished the pressed flower with it just as much; a cherry blossom, neatly flattened with a precision that screamed Sasuke, near exactly the same shade of pink as her hair.

Sakura had started crying when she unfolded the paper to reveal it sitting atop his words. His hawk had waited patiently at her office window for a response to be written and tied to its leg, perched atop the windowsill and watching the goings-on of the village below, absolutely no concept in its predator brain of how much she delights in seeing it fly, a graceful tether to the boy - now man - she has been in love with for ages.

Cherry blossom petals are everywhere. Is there a hidden meaning there, or is she making a mountain out of a molehill?

She’s tried not to read too much into the letters. She's not sure if he sends any to Naruto or not; she's too afraid to ask, because she'll either get a heart-pounding hope if he doesn't get them, or a soul-crushing disappointment if he does. She can't imagine him sending a yellow flower to Naruto, but he may very well have sent him a different gift for his birthday.

Maybe he just thought she would like a flower, which she did - it’s pressed for safekeeping, along with all of his other correspondence to her, sporadically and chronologically throughout a book she keeps on her nightstand, An Introduction to Electrocardiography. It is her take on an album of small things she holds close to her own heart, things she wishes she could read in his. Sakura didn’t want to buy an actual album for such a thing; that felt too formal, for something as ambiguous as her ties to Sasuke, overflowing on her end as they may be. So she’d settled on a book about deciphering the heart’s tells based on science only, electrical impulses and repolarization, the sizes and positions of the chambers, how to diagnose conditions utilizing one’s findings. It’s one she doesn’t need access to anymore, extremely familiar with EKGs after years of study. She’d wanted it to be something no-nonsense, all hard facts and data on how to read activity plotted over time.

Evidence-based. Are letters evidence, though? She’s not sure that would hold up as empirical proof in any of the scholarly journals she’s studied or submitted work to since beginning her research. She thinks wryly, though, based on what she has witnessed get published, that scientific verification doesn’t always matter if you know the right people.

She’s thought many times sifting through it that perhaps it is too optimistic, too hopeful of a book subject for such a thing. Sakura has agonized over it, frankly, wondering whether it was an inappropriate choice.

...But now that they’re in there, it might ache worse to move them somewhere else.

It’s the last day of March now, and she didn’t get a letter this month, which is unusual, because she’s gotten one near each month in the time that he’s been away. She’s paged through the book a few times over the past several days, rereading and admiring the preserved sakura blossom, frozen in suspended animation indefinitely on a page about precordial leads.

Sakura hadn’t really expected anything from him for her birthday, other than a monthly letter like he usually sends... but this year she didn’t even get that. She’s trying really hard to not be disappointed. She has so much to be thankful for, in the grand scheme of things...

...But the petals of the cherry blossom from last year have faded over time, she’d evaluated yesterday, sitting in her bedroom. It might be like her, always pressed in a book, fading whilst stuck indefinitely between the boundless teeth of academia. There is always more data to record, more evidence, with which one can prove or disprove their findings.

No letter this month, though. Nothing to record, no new evidence.

It might be time to move the letters somewhere else, she thinks pensively. Maybe a place where she’s not tempted to look at them all the time; their placement in the book, small scraps of paper that stick out in only a couple of places, makes it easy to go back and reread them. She’s pretty sure she has an empty shoebox in her closet that she could move them to, in a pile rather than catalogued between pages rife with information and a fragile sort of hope. Maybe she’ll do it tonight, put it up in the far right corner of the upper shelf, shoved towards the back so she can’t reach it without the stool, so she’s not tempted whenever the next bout of heartsickness slams into her like one of Tsunade-shishou’s fists used to. She needs to go by the library after work first, to return some things, but maybe when she gets home, she’ll do it. She could eat a cupcake, too; that might make it a little easier.

She dreams of that silver sometimes, recalls it any time she sees something similar in color or reflet. There’s an extremely unique necklace in an antique shop she visits with Ino and Sai from time to time, and occasionally on her own, over on the northeast side of town. It’s a salt-and-pepper diamond, dark grey with inclusions, dainty and set in what must be a hand-fabricated setting. It hangs from a silver chain, towards the back of a display case filled with other vintage and distinctive pieces, but it’s the only one she ever finds herself drawn to. It is so similar to his right eye, dark smoke near black, speckled with beguiling silver startling in its clarity. The bevel cut reveals new flecks dependent on the angle at which you view it.

Sakura studies it closely on each visit, because it is so hauntingly breathtaking and it reminds her of him.

Ino has said it’s not her color, and that she should stick to warm tones and gold, for which she is better suited; Sakura has not confessed to her why it catches her eye so much. Sai has agreed with his girlfriend on the coloring note, sensitive as he is to such things, but the way he studies her every time she tears herself away from it makes her suspect he knows exactly why it captivates her so. It’s been sitting there for years at this point; she has to mentally talk herself out of buying it on each visit. It’s beautiful, but she would spend far too much time gawking at it, and it might hurt more with extended study than the gentle tugging at her heart she experiences when she’s in that old building throughout tiny fragments of lackadaisical afternoons.

Sasuke has been gone for a long time. She hopes he's finding the peace he's been seeking, that he's seeing the world with new eyes just as he'd imagined. She thinks of him every day, sends out little orisons like petals in the breeze in the hopes that they’ll find him, wherever he is.

I wonder where he is now.

Try as she does to enjoy the breath of spring Konoha is right now, and her namesake as Ino said, all she can seem to do is shift her vision to the sky, hoping against hope for a glimpse of a familiar bird-of-prey that will stay an ample amount of time for her to craft a response, before it abvolates away for another month.

Sakura smiles, then, close to laughing at the absurdity of it all, because she is so predictable. She loves this village despite its many flaws and challenges, despite the things about it she and Naruto and Kakashi-sensei and Ino and even Tsunade-shishou, off in the Land of Wind, are trying to change, but even after so many years, she’s still pining for something beyond it, something in the wilds of the sky just beyond her reach.

There’s always next year, she supposes, pupils drawn again towards the outstretched branches of the cherry blossom tree on the hill, before trailing her eyes along further. She can grow a little more to try to reach him. When she was little, she had wanted to grow tall so she could try to touch a star, like the branches of the tree in her backyard did when she and her father laid beneath them on balmy summer nights. He would tell her ridiculous stories about all of the constellations, things she knew had to be untrue, even at the ripe age of five. Precocious, he’d always called her, but in the loving, joking manner he had.

Her gaze follows the horizon, leisurely taking in the rest of her home. It really is a lovely day, despite her yearning. Spring is here again, and today's is a gentle sunset, one last little bit of sunlight with which to conclude March. The temperature is already spiking, unusually warm for early spring, but summers in the Land of Fire are always hot. She really should finish her paperwork, but it’s hard to find the motivation just yet.

Something possesses her, then, to turn her neck more, take in more of the skyline's continuation. She wants to see all of it.

And then Sakura’s eyes fall on an achingly familiar figure cloaked all in black, perched only a roof away and observing her, and she thinks she must have nodded off, because she has to be dreaming.

She subtly pinches herself in the millisecond of time that follows, but she is very much awake.

The words are blooming out of her throat before she can even process what’s happening, exultation sinking into her every vein. “Sasuke-kun!” She moves to crank her window open the rest of the way, and he hops from the neighboring roof down into her office, all nimble legerity that she still thinks has to be a mere mirage conjured from her memories. When he straightens to his full height, she muses that he has to have grown taller. The mere sound of his footsteps on the tile flooring, as familiar a refrain to her as if he’d just walked out of the village yesterday, are a treasure beyond price.

“Sakura.” His voice is a rich timbre that she has desperately felt the absence of; hearing him say her name almost makes her want to cry. She smiles wider instead, to the extent that it almost hurts, and her gaze latches hungrily onto the very eye she was just daydreaming about. A storm of soot and silver, beveled into countless fragments like some kind of dark, rustic diamond, and so staggeringly beautiful that she’s pretty sure she’s blushing just from beholding it. Gods, it's not fair for someone to be so handsome.

“When did you get back?” She asks, utterly overcome with joy. This is better than a letter or any birthday gift she could have received, brighter than any star she’s beheld.

“Just now.” He’s smiling, a small and subtle upturn of lips that is so characteristic of him. Then his words hit her, and her face must be getting redder.

Just now? As in…

“I’m sorry I missed your birthday,” he adds before she can simmer on that for too long, and she has to blink in bewilderment, because that is the absolute last thing she expected him to say. Sakura wonders how much heat can creep into one’s face before they spontaneously combust.

Then she realizes she should probably respond, as humans tend to do in conversations. “Oh! Um… it’s okay.” She folds her hands in front of her shyly, grinning like an idiot. “Thank you for remembering.”

There is a lengthy moment in which she just soaks him in, hoping he can read in her eyes how much she’s missed him. He is still so beautiful, prized eyes and aristocratic angles that have solidified a bit more into the face of a man in the time that’s passed. His hair is different now, covering his Rinnegan eye. His cloak is a little more threadbare, too. He’s tall.

His expression, normally unreadable, is calm. Content, even.

There’s a question nagging at her that she knows she needs to ask. She tries not to bite her lip as she asks it, braces herself for the possibility of not liking the answer.

“Are you… just back for a little while?”

Did you find what you were searching for?

He gazes at her for so long that she thinks he may be glimpsing her soul, peeking into her ventricles to see his own words immortalized there, seared into her core to be felt each time her blood pumps.

“...For more than a while.” And she smiles the biggest she ever has. Oh, this is so much better than a letter or a gift.

“Well, welcome back, Sasuke-kun. It’s… very good to see you again.” It feels as if a piece of her heart has been returned to her, something of the divine stitched back into her chest and full to bursting in omneity.

There is a pause, and then he’s reaching his hand out towards hers, initiating physical contact with a touch that is feather light, so gentle she thinks she is going to start sobbing.

She can’t help it; she pulls him into a hug, tinged with elation. She hopes he doesn’t mind too much; he stiffens for a brief moment, but then settles, wrapping his arm around her and settling his head atop of hers, and she could die happy right there, embracing him with feelings momentarily set free from where they’ve been whelved into her chest.

He smells faintly like sage and smoked cedar, just as she remembered. She can hear his heart thumping, a strong cadence, and it grounds her. Oh, she’s missed him.

“...I’m home, Sakura.” Soft words float above her head, and she can feel the vibration of them through his chest, right by her ear.

Oh, she’s crying.

Sasuke lets her embrace him for a long time, for which she is so grateful. She knows he’s not one for physical contact; it’s a privilege to be allowed into his space even for a single second, let alone for an extended period.

She draws back eventually, glancing up at him again through the tears still collecting in her eyes. Her face blazes when he reaches to wipe them away tenderly with a calloused hand, careful and with a lenity that she’s always known was there, hidden under the surface.

She could just stare at him for hours, she thinks as he lowers his hand. He’s still looking down at her with one of the softest expressions she has ever seen him wear. She really hopes she’s not dreaming.

It’s tremendously hard to get it together, but she tries, because she doesn’t want to spend the entire time crying, not when he's finally back. There are so many questions she’d like to ask him that she’s finding it a challenge to pick one with which to lead.

He surprises her by speaking first, quietly. “I… had something made for you.”

It takes a moment for the words to compute.

Made for me?

Her processing speed must be exceptionally slow, stuck in the utter mush her insides have become, because he adds, “...For your birthday.”

Sakura blinks, and furrows her brows in confusion. “Made… for me?”

He nods. “...I’m sorry it’s late.” The way he speaks it is cryptic, like the apology weighs more than one needed for a tardy gift. Doesn’t he know she doesn’t care? He could have showed up in July with something for her, and it still would have made her knees weak and her heart thump furiously in her chest.

Made for me? She’s still stuck on that sentiment as he breaks eye contact and turns to rummage through his satchel, beneath his cloak.

Sasuke pulls out a medium-sized flat box, a simple white, and she doesn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t that. Something that comes in a box is a lot more formal than a pressed cherry blossom, something more… permanent.

She reaches out to take it on autopilot, and is stupidly distracted by the way his hand brushes against hers, a small spark that makes something in her quake. She wonders if he felt it, too.

Sakura clutches the box with both hands like her life depends on it, murmuring softly, “Thank you, Sasuke-kun.” She’ll wait until later to open it, after he’s left; whatever it is, she doesn’t want to embarrass him, and she also isn’t sure she can tear her eyes away from him just yet, anyways.

Is it just the lighting in her office, or are his ears a little flushed? She didn’t notice that before; maybe he’s had a drawn-out journey back. She wonders how much ground he covered today, if he’s still winded. He might need to rest.

But then he mumbles, voice husky with what she assumes is disuse, “...You should open it.”

His words echo in her head again. I… had something made for you.

“Okay,” she answers in a hushed voice, so she doesn’t scare him away, shifting slightly to set the box on her desk carefully. Suddenly she is very nervous, anticipation settling into her gut.

When she lifts the lid, she swears her heart ceases beating.

The most exquisitely intricate uchiwa fan she has ever laid eyes upon is placed in the box before her.

It’s carved into a likeness of a cherry blossom tree, branches twisting lissomely into bamboo framework, impossibly fine. A different set of words is reverberating in her head now.

You should try to enjoy your namesake more this year, Forehead. You're so busy that I'm not sure you've realized, but you've really grown into it.

Made for me?

“O-oh.” Sakura is not sure what she expected, but it wasn’t this. She fights back the tears, biting her lip and wide eyes soaking it all in, enjoying her namesake in a way that is entirely unprecedented in its sheer severity. The amount of time it would have taken for someone to sculpt and bind and sew is unimaginable; every detail is finely wrought, flawless down to the silk and stitching, lacquered and carved pale wood shifting effortlessly into eighty slivers of bamboo, intricately webbing silk together with the lithe grace of gossamer. It’s a cherry blossom tree, petals and all, pearlescent thread shifting slightly, gorgeously in the light, unimaginable detail. She has stitched people back together countless times over the course of years, but even her expert dexterity would look like a child’s first embroidery stitching in comparison. The stamen within the petals are nearly more detailed and finely milled than an actual, real life cherry blossom, plexure sutured in a fashion so baronial that it’s impossible to believe human hands were even responsible for it.

The silk. Oh, the silk. The color shift bears a striking resemblance to the Uchiha insignia. This is not a gift one gives to a teammate.

Oh, she's crying.

This has to be a dream, some kind of paracosm her heart thought up to give her brain the high of a lifetime. Hope burgeons and unfolds in her chest cavity, bleeding into her extremities like the pale pink shifting into red before her eyes. She’s never, ever going to forget this, not even if she lives to be one hundred years old.

Made for me?

She picks it up with disbelieving hands, grasping it more carefully than she’s ever held anything in her entire life, as if she’s going to wake up at any moment and it will dissolve into synapse, lost in the hazy juncture of morning the way one tends to lose awareness of the contents of a dream upon coming to lucidity. To her absolute bewilderment, it stays solid in her hands, a finery made even more unbelievable by touch. The grooves of the carving are as gentle as his hand had been on hers earlier. She thinks it would have had to be commissioned at least a few months in advance, outlandishly expensive. She’s never seen silk like this. She doesn't know; she's smart, but she's no artisan. Maybe she should ask Sai. She's crying.

She adores it.

Tears won’t stop welling in her eyes; she thinks they may be escaping from a tender spot inside her chest that’s been reserved for him since she was a child, a leak in a metaphorical dam. She takes a steadying breath, blinks, almost has them conquered. Get a grip, Sakura.

Then Sasuke’s hand is on hers, gently turning the handle over.

Her name is carved into the pale wood, on the back in formal calligraphy, Sakura daintier and more perfect than she could ever write it, as if it had just been uncovered in one of the inner layers rather than whittled there manually. Sasuke presses her fingers to it before loosening his grip, and in that second it feels as though his lost hand is in the wood, caressing her from split atoms in the grooves from the other side.

The tears spill over her cheeks - she admits defeat - intricacy of the entire thing blurring out of focus but still somehow burned into her retinas for all eternity.

Made for me, made for me, made for me-

Her voice finds her after a few more tears fall. “It’s beautiful.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, overwhelmed with complete and utter awe, trying desperately to choke down a sob. “Thank you, Sasuke-kun. I… I’ll treasure it. Always.” She cradles the fan closer to her chest, her heart - maybe An Introduction to Electrocardiography wasn’t a poorly-chosen book, after all; there is much to be read from something this precious - and regards him with watery eyes. She wishes she wasn’t crying; the distortion of the tears is making it hard to see the silver she’s loved and missed so much.

His hand lifts to her face after a moment, and to her surprise, he wipes away her tears again. She barely catches the something-more in his eyes, then, through the waterworks, precious metal flashing and pouring into the words scarred into her ventricles to live there forever, fortified in silver, but he is looking at her so -

“...Always,” he agrees, voice a little breathless, sparking scintilla near hypnotizing her in their luster, and he seems so happy -

Then he leans down to press his lips gently to hers, and this is better than her heart stopping, like when she opened the box. This time, her heart soars, and she touches a star she’s been dreaming of for eons.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #like silver #fanfiction #i'm really out here with just hundreds of pages of fanfiction in my google doc drafts huh

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ladyherenya · 3 years

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This was more-books-than-sometimes month, because rather than take the time to write about the books I'd finished, I just read more books! Also, I read a lot over the Easter break, including some shorter books and a very binge-able series.

Also read: Two-Step and Someone Like Me by Stephanie Fournet, Hooked by Cathy Yardley, “Cloudy with a Chance of Dropbears” and “All the Different Shades of Blue” by W.R. Gingell, and “Home: Habitat, Range, Niche, Territory” by Martha Wells.

Reread: A Curse So Dark and Lonely by Brigid Kemmerer.

Total: nineteen novels (including two audiobooks and one reread), one novella collection, two novellas, two novelettes and one short story.

Cover thoughts: Bellewether’s blue cover is (unsurprisingly) my favourite. I also really like The Ghosts of Sherwood.

Still reading: A Portrait of Loyalty by Roseanna M. White and Playing Hearts by W.R. Gingell.

Next up: Torch by R.J. Anderson.

My full reviews are on Dreamwidth and LibraryThing.

The Rose Code by Kate Quinn (narrated by Saskia Maarleveld): Historical mystery about three young women who worked at Bletchley Park during WWII.

My favourite out of the books I’ve read so far this year. Most of the narrative is set during the war, but interspersed with sections set in 1947 -- when Beth, in a sanitarium after a breakdown, has sent her two estranged friends a coded message begging for help. I loved this, but at times found it stressful and heartbreaking! The writing is so lively and effective and emotional. 4½ ★

Castle Charming by Tansy Raynor Roberts: Fairytale retellings, collection of novellas.

A very entertaining and a somewhat different take on fairytales, focusing on the reporters, Royal Hounds and royalty at Castle Charming. Some of the character dynamics felt similar to those in Roberts’ Unreal Alchemy although I didn’t feel quite as attached to these characters. I’ll read the sequel. 3 ★

Bellewether by Susanna Kearsley: Historical and contemporary fiction, set in Long Island during the so-called Seven Years War in 1759 and the present day.

Alternates between a curator overseeing turning a house in a museum and some of the house’s previous occupants, including a French-Canadian Lieutenant awaiting hostage exchange. Despite the various tensions the characters face, there’s something slow and ultimately gentle about this story. Which is lovely -- I enjoyed the picturesque sense of place and astute observations of people -- but it is less dramatic than I was expecting. 3½ ★

Happy Trail by Daisy Prescott: Contemporary romance, set on the Appalachian Trail.

A park ranger and a hiker shelter together during a storm. I was fascinated by the insight into hiking the Appalachian Trail and enjoyed some of the characters’ interactions, although I thought the way the romance unfolded was somewhat anticlimactic. Not always what I wanted, but I don't regret reading it.

Legacy by Stephanie Fournet: Contemporary enemies-to-roommates-to-lovers.

Wes offers to move in with his late-best friend’s girlfriend to help her out financially. This sort of hurt/comfort appeals to me. I liked how seriously this story takes Corinne’s messy, consuming grief. I don’t really want to spend any more time with the characters, but I was very invested in seeing them reach a better place in their lives.

Two-Step by Stephanie Fournet: Contemporary romance between an actress and a dance instructor. I enjoyed reading this. I particularly enjoyed how Beau helps Iris with her anxiety about dancing and with her controlling mother/manager. He’s very supportive and understanding! But I finished this with a niggling feeling of dissatisfaction -- Iris needed more opportunity to support Beau in turn.

Someone Like Me by Stephanie Fournet: Contemporary romance between a yoga instructor and her new neighbour, who has just got out of prison.

This one didn’t particularly appeal to me. Although interesting to see the experiences of someone recently released from prison, the romance developed too quickly.

(No, I didn’t read all three of these back-to-back!)

Hooked by Cathy Yardley: Contemporary fandom-y romance novella, set near Seattle. Takes place during Level Up and is about two of Tessa’s colleagues.

I enjoyed the characters' interactions and would have liked this more if it hadn't felt rushed.

The Ghosts of Sherwood by Carrie Vaughn: Historical Robin Hood retelling, novella.

Exactly what I wanted! It alternates between Robin and Marian’s eldest daughter, Mary, and Marian herself. I liked seeing Robin and Marian as a long-married couple, who still love each other and still have disagreements. And the dynamic between their children gave me a zing of recognition, reminding me of my siblings. 3½ ★

The City Between by W.R. Gingell: Australian YA urban fantasy (murder) mysteries. Set in Hobart.

I ended up enjoying this series so much more than I’d expected to!

Between Jobs: After a neighbour is murdered, our seventeen-year-old orphaned narrator acquires some unexpected housemates -- two fae, one vampire. Once I got past the opening, with its tales of murder, the worldbuilding intrigued me. I still wasn’t sure what I thought about her housemates or the fact that they call her “Pet”, but was willing to reserve judgement until I’d read more. 3 ★

Between Shifts: About supermarket shifts and shapeshifters. Pet and JinYeong go undercover at the local grocery store. This is a reasonable murder mystery. I was initially disappointed with how something played out (but in retrospect can see how that was actually a positive development for Pet). It ended on a cliffhanger, so I was extra motivated to start the next book. 2½ ★

Between Floors: This is where the series took off, because things suddenly get personal! One of her fae housemates has been captured and the closest any of them get to finding Athelas is Pet contacting him in her dreams.This raises a lot of interesting questions, not just about Pet’s abilities, but about her relationship with her housemates. How much does she trust them and how much do they value Pet’s personhood? 3½ ★

Between Frames: Pet’s housemates are hired to investigate a series of fae deaths around Hobart, which involves scrutinising some baffling security footage. Another solid murder mystery. The final pages felt like one step forward, two steps back, but yet again, in retrospect, this was a positive development. I’m glad I could dive immediately into the next book. 3 ★

Between Homes: Pet has moved in with some friends. Hurray for Pet having friends! I think this was the point where I started to feel comfortable with Pet calling herself Pet -- when it's the name used by people she likes and trusts and who don’t view her as a pet at all. 3½ ★

“Cloudy with a Chance of Dropbears” (novelette): An awesome title and an entertaining opportunity to see Pet from someone else’s perspective -- moreover, someone who doesn’t know her or what she’s capable of. 3 ★

Between Walls: Pet’s friend Morgana is worried about an online friends and asks Pet and co to investigate his disappearance. Along the way, they discover that there are human groups who actually know a lot about Behindkind. I am also becoming increasingly entertained by the Korean vampire. 3 ★

“All the Different Shades of Blue” (novelette): A great cover and it explains who that guy at the cafe is, but otherwise didn’t really do anything Cloudy with a Chance of Dropbears hadn’t already done -- ie., show us Pet from someone else’s perspective. Most of the time, I have enjoyed this series all the more for binging it, but I suspect this particular story would have worked better if I had read it after a period of absence. 2½ ★

Between Cases: My favourite of these have been the ones where things get personal, and this involves a lot of revelations about who Pet is -- from a fae perspective -- and why her parents were murdered. I enjoyed this one a lot. 3½ ★

The Duke of Olympia Meets His Match by Juliana Gray: Historical espionage romance novella, set in 1893 onboard an ocean liner travelling to England. Apparently not the Duke’s first appearance in Gray’s fiction.

I liked the idea here much better than the execution. I liked Penelope, a fifty-year-old widow dependent upon her position as a governess, and I enjoyed her interactions with the older Duke of Olympia. But parts of the spy plot were rushed or confusing, and the resolution was almost-but-not-entirely satisfying. 2½ ★

A Vow So Bold and Deadly by Brigid Kemmerer: Fantasy. Follows on from the fairytale-retelling A Curse So Dark and Lonely and its sequel, A Heart So Fierce and Broken.

If this is meant as a conclusion to a trilogy, then the ending was a bit too anticlimactic, with a few too many loose ends, to be really satisfying. But I reached the end feeling positive about the story, because I really enjoyed the characters’ interactions. All of the protagonists have to deal with conflict in relationships. I loved the times when they each navigate these conflicts by acting fairly and communicating honestly, when doing so is often difficult and complicated. That’s realistic and satisfying. 3½ ★

“Home: Habitat, Range, Niche, Territory” by Martha Wells: Science-fiction short story. Part of The Murderbot Diaries series, set after Exit Strategy.

Very, very short but I really liked seeing things from Dr Ayda Mensah’s (third person) perspective. 3½ ★

Emily of Deep Valley by Maud Hart Lovelace: Historical coming-of-age fiction, set in Minnesota in 1912-3.

I am very glad to finally have read this! It’s delightful, a fascinating insight into community life in a Minnesotan town, and it effectively captures the emotional experience of navigating a period of transition. After high school, Emily’s friends leave for college, but Emily has to find her own path to purposefully fill her time, build connections and further her education. 4 ★

On Wings of Devotion by Roseanna M. White (narrated by Susan Lyons): Romantic historical mystery, set in London during 1918. Christian fiction. Features characters from The Number of Love.

Arabelle Denler is a nurse working in a London hospital; Phillip Camden is an airman now working for British Intelligence. I enjoyed their interactions, especially once they start to get to know each other. I didn’t like the antagonist’s contribution to this narrative -- between the dangers of wartime and the protagonists’ respective issues, there’s enough tension without her. But what I enjoyed about this story outweighed what I didn’t. 3½ ★

Our Darkest Night by Jennifer Robson: Historical fiction set during the Nazi occupation of Italy in WWII.

Nina, a young Jewish woman from Venice, goes into hiding by pretending she’s married to Nico, a Catholic farmer. Robson’s strength lies in pairing details of daily life with likeable characters, realistic dialogue and a sweet romance. I read this quickly and eagerly. But if the characters had been more nuanced, more complex, or if their emotions had been conveyed more vividly, I likely would have found reading this a more emotional experience. 3½ ★

#Herenya reviews books

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bestworstcase · 3 years

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farran rereads lost lagoon: chapters 16-17

back at it.

re: romance novel: “I saw a patch of red flowers, and I thought they would be striking against Cass’s dark hair. She wasn’t exactly a flower wearer, but maybe she’d let me pin one on her dress? The color would set off her fair skin so perfectly. And she could at least keep some in a vase by her bed. I refused to believe there was a person alive who didn’t feel better with freshly cut flowers in her room.” that’s gay rapunzel

i do admittedly have some ambivalent feelings about this passage. on the one hand it’s - yes, very gay. but also it feels to me like such a clear illustration of the difficulty rapunzel has with empathy and listening to other people when their experiences or expectations or needs diverge from hers; she acknowledges that cass isn’t into flowers, but follows it up with “but maybe i can get her to wear some anyway,” and of course there’s the whole refusing to believe anyone could feel differently about having flowers in their room than she does. and it also has this weird undercurrent of - god, i don’t know how to phrase it in a succinct way.

this specific passage was on my mind when i wrote this bit in moonless air chapter 4:

Still. She plucks at the stitches of her jack-of-plate, self-conscious.

It’s the nicest thing she owns. Soft green velvet sewn over sturdy layers of canvas and steel. Armor. She’d saved up for more than a year to buy it for herself on the anniversary of her adoption two years ago, and at the time it had been nothing but a frivolous luxury. Stupid, really. She’d never had real reason to wear it in Herzingen, not for anything besides teaching herself how to move with its weight and entertaining ridiculous fantasies—but last night, Moira had intimated that their destination in Vardaros is fancy as well as dangerous. So the jack seemed… appropriate.

Sharp. She twitches.

Clothing—fashion isn’t– Cassandra’s always hated dresses. It’s a trait that demands a certain amount of indifference to what other people think of her appearance.

And she can do indifference. Cassandra has indifference in spades. But nobody’s ever paid her a compliment quite like that before: baldly appreciative. Straightforward. Not like all the times Rapunzel coaxed her into tolerating crowns of late-summer flowers because the colors look so nice with your complexion! and not like the Commander’s gruff praise for how grown-up she looked in the hideous pastel gowns that had come with the lady-in-waiting gig.

because – like, cass is butch, and “not a flower wearer,” and here in lost lagoon we have this passage where rapunzel expresses this pretty straightforward attraction to cassandra but in the context of imagining cassandra presenting in a much more feminine way than she is comfortable with - in a dress with flowers in her hair etc - and it just... rubs me the wrong way a little bit. and this is not to say like cass can’t be butch and put a flower in her hair but when it’s paired with rapunzel specifically acknowledging that cass doesn’t WANT to wear flowers then it - yeah i feel weird about this passage.

and that translated into cass having a whole little crisis over being complimented for her appearance without implicit pressure to be more feminine for the first time ever

anyways

i still can’t get over the name monsieur lefleur

rapunzel summarizes hervanian culture as “brash but can be funny; distrustful but not mean-spirited” so, basically, they are americans

she is feeling very Prepared to meet with them, in contrast to every other time she’s met with foreign dignitaries or nobility before this. eugene tries to warn her that cass is PISSED with her and she just brushes him off, as one does, by saying that cass is “not all bubbles and moonbeams” but that she is “a softy” inside.

of course this leads up to cass blowing up and going off while rapunzel tries to calm her down and just - groan this line.

“People don’t change! You told a criminal a detail that puts my entire future at risk!”

how many times have i said “cass doesn’t act this way in tts” i feel like it’s a constant drumbeat. but i have to say, again, that cass doesn’t act this way in tts. i don’t think it’s unrealistic for her to think like this, given that her father is essentially corona’s chief of police and she idolizes him, but i feel the need to reiterate that there is zero sign of cass having this mindset in tts proper. and it does sort of bother me when people read this into cass’s character because it undermines and delegitimizes her dislike of eugene in early s1.

which like. tts itself sort of frames their mutual dislike as a mutual problem, but it’s... really not? and imo the best illustration of this is in this exchange from cassandra vs eugene:

CASSANDRA: Unbelievable. Did you eat all the cookies?

EUGENE: I’m not a pig, Cassandra. I ate all of your cookies; I’m saving mine for later.

CASSANDRA: Ugh– you are nothing but a self-serving, inconsiderate, arrogant freeloader!

EUGENE: [scoffing] You know, I can rattle off insulting adjectives describing your personality, too, but to do so would imply that you actually have a personality, and I just wouldn’t feel right about doing that!

this is the dynamic every time they squabble in early s1.

1 - eugene does something selfish or thoughtless - in this case taking all the cookies and milk for himself.

2 - cassandra calls him out for it, and he doubles down, often taking a potshot at her in the process.

3 - cassandra gets mad and calls his behavior what it is (self-serving, inconsiderate, arrogant)

4 - eugene gets defensive and insults her as a person, typically with variations on calling her icy / unfeeling / humorless / joyless.

which is to say, their fights are initiated by eugene’s poor behavior, and cassandra attacks his behavior but eugene attacks cassandra herself. like, eugene is the dude who insults you and then goes “pfft why can’t you take a joke” when you get upset with him. that’s what this is.

moreover, when eugene’s, for lack of a better term, residual flynn rider-ness starts to taper off, cassandra’s criticism of his behavior also tapers off, AND she gets much gentler about how she phrases this criticism once he starts to actually take it on board. but there’s no accompanying shift in the way eugene speaks to and about her - the jibes about her being humorless or cranky or soulless literally never stop and at no point does he ever seem to consider that cass might not appreciate them as much as he thinks she does.

(to be clear, i don’t think they bother cass very much if at all - but they do create and reinforce a perception on eugene’s end that cass Doesn’t Have Feelings and the background radiation of that contributes to the toxicity that develops in season 2.)

like again, pulling from cassandra vs eugene here, eugene is extremely insulting towards cassandra even when he’s ostensibly coming to her defense:

RANDOM THUG: Look at that, Fancy-Boots has got something to say!

EUGENE: Name-calling? Come on, we’re better than that, aren’t we? Sure, we could sit here and make fun of each other—tease Cassandra for her chronic joylessness, or me for my uncommonly good looks, or you for your poor dental hygiene, tragic fashion sense, robust body odor, and what are clearly woefully misguided decision making skills, but do you really want to go down that road?

ALL OF WHICH IS TO SAY - besides demonstrating an obvious willingness to give eugene another chance once he starts doing the bare minimum to not be a dick to her, cassandra doesn’t like eugene because eugene is an asshole to her and takes the enormous privileges he is given completely for granted.

saying “well she doesn’t like him because he was a criminal and she doesn’t believe criminals ever change” erases that completely and reframes the conflict as cassandra treats eugene unfairly because of bigotry that she needs to unlearn. lost lagoon takes this even one step further in that lost lagoon eugene is genuinely trying to be responsible, he is taking his new lot in life seriously. he doesn’t need cass to tell him off for acting like an ass because he doesn’t act like an ass. he shows actual interest in getting to know cass and makes an effort to break through her hostility in order to get along. unlike his tts counterpart, lagoon eugene really doesn’t do anything wrong, and that makes cassandra’s intense hatred of him on the grounds that he was a thief look completely irrational and, like i said, bigoted.

it’s just very frustrating to me.

anyways

rapunzel tries very hard to persuade cass that it’s actually totally fine that she told eugene the secret because she just can’t keep secrets from eugene (except the lagoon which she has arbitrarily decided is totes fine to keep secret and i am pretty sure this contradiction never gets pointed out) - and cass is having none of it, and of course arianna interrupts before anything can get resolved.

they rush out and monsieur lefleur interrupts them, asking questions about the lost lagoon. he reveals that he heard an ~elegant cloaked person~ inquiring about it in the library. he asks for the book. they say no. the red herring smells to high heavens, and the chapter ends with rapunzel subtly telling cass to hide the book ~for the safety of the kingdom~ and oh my god i just can’t handle the low stakes.

seventeen picks up from there with cassandra’s point of view; she’s suspicious of lefleur and angsts a lot about how she has no time to train and she needs to get out of corona yada yada. her plan is literally to just walk until she finds someone to hire her on as a guard which. lol. this kid.

i feel like this is the strongest passage in the whole book:

She said there couldn’t be any secrets between Eugene and her. But why—especially when it meant sacrificing my future and everything I held dear? I’d read about romantic love in poems, and it seemed to me like a spell. Sounded great for the lovebirds, but what about the other people.

Did I just not matter in the face of this love, even though I had been the one to risk everything to show Rapunzel the world? Was I just supposed to fall on my sword because Eugene was uncomfortable that he didn’t have every last piece of information about Rapunzel?

she has a brief argument with owl, who is a pretty obvious stand-in for her own doubts / feeling that she truly belongs in corona and doesn’t actually want to leave. but she has no choice! but it’s stormy, so she can’t leave! oh no!

(i think if tts really strongly felt she had no choice but to free corona, a measly thunderstorm would not be enough to stop her.)

#lost lagoon reread #cassunzel

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redsector-a · 3 years

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AO3 Ask Game

I was tagged by @themarshalstale which, thank you so much! I feel like I always get missed on these (I know why, it’s been 84 years since I published anything but still). 1. How many works do you have on ao3?

46 it seems. Which...look I’m slow man so that’s not surprising. lol Also crippling depression does not make for much production, at least for me.

2. What’s your current AO3 wordcount?

309662 according to the stats.

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

So do I could only AO3 or in like life? lol I suppose it should only be on AO3 since this is an AO3 ask game. Hrm. Basically AO3 can be summed up as: Marvel (in several iterations - all Avengers related) Torchwood Highlander But isn’t it more fun to consider my entire fandom life, which, I’m sorry, I’m old so...yeah. Not all of this is was published and beyond that a lot is not available anymore...which is likely for the best. Highlander Star Wars Babylon 5 Ronin Warriors/Samurai Troopers Marvel (again, several iterations also of note Avengers and X-Men both count) Torchwood Star Trek LOTR Stargate (SG-1, SGA) Mortal Kombat I dabbled with the idea of Potter fic but never got past the ideas stage.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1: You rearrange me till I’m sane Clint finds himself spiraling into a deep depression after the Battle of New York...until the Winter Soldier ends up saving him and inadvertently giving him a new purpose – to save the man that the Soldier had once been – Bucky Barnes. Not one to be outdone, the Soldier decides that his new mission is to ensure that Clint remains alive himself. Protecting a blonde man with a self-destructive streak is somehow very familiar to him. Through the back and forth of who is saving whom they cross the country and learn more about themselves and each other – and perhaps find a reason for living. 2: Five Dates Bucky Didn’t Realize He Was on And the One He Planned Himself To say that Bucky was surprised when Clint kissed him was an understatement. But it was nothing compared to the shock he felt when he learned they'd been dating for months without him realizing it.Clint gets whisked away for a mission before they have time to talk and Bucky is left to figure things out on his own - hindsight being 20/20 he can't help but wonder how he missed things the first go around.

3: Puck Luck Bucky Barnes is used to the ups and downs of an NHL season. He's used to the unpredictability of the game, knows that bounces don't always go your way, but that doesn't make a broken hand in the final third of the season any easier to deal with. Especially not when he ends up with an impromptu roommate/personal assistant in the form of one Clint Barton - his agent, Natalia Romanova's (rather attractive) friend he hadn't known existed before his injury.

It's just for six to eight weeks - what could possibly happen in that span of time?

4: Loose Lips Launch Ships

Based on the following prompt: “We go to school together and I think you’re cute and apparently you’re also the pizza delivery guy and my little sibling opened the door screaming hey sibling! you know that kid you’re in love with? you really weren’t kidding when you said his jawline could cut steel holy shit-” Bucky is the pizza delivery guy. Clint's younger (foster) brother has a big mouth.

5: Indelible Bucky Barnes has a pretty decent life – a good job, good friends, a cat that adores him - but something is missing. He’s always found body art to be beautiful and inspiring, and on a whim (and with the hope that maybe he can find what he’s missing) he decides to take the plunge and get a tattoo. That's how he meets Clint Barton. Clint's talented and compassionate and there is an instant spark between the two of them. It's not long before Bucky finds himself wondering and wanting more from the relationship despite the ghosts of the past that crop back up. Because Clint makes him feel normal in a way he truly hasn't for years...

(this was pre-Alpine so I was totally chuffed when canon confirmed Bucky’s status as a crazy cat lady (affectionate).

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not.

I really really really want to do it but I often times don’t end up doing it. There are a few reasons. First, I am akwward AF and bad at interaction adn I feel like just saying thank you would be...not enough? Second - I often times tend to like...turtle (aka retreat into myself) when life gets Too Hard/Busy which happens a lot to me (sigh) and then I miss the vague window in my mind in which it would be okay to respond and then it’s even more weird. I do love and cherish all of them. Like there was one months ago that made me go “hmm...I didn’t think I was going to do a sequel to that fic (You rearrange me till I’m sane), timestamp glimpses sure but a sequel hadn’t come to mind” but then the comment made me think! So...who knows? lol Anyway, I literally have been rereading some in an effort to try and get myself going again. Know that if you have commented, I love you.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

At the moment? Probably: Look at you look at me Bucky's in love with Clint - problem is he's really not supposed to be. For Winterhawk Week 2019 - Forbidden Love (I really don’t want to give away the spin in the fic but...if you’re familiar with the Secret Avengers Vol 2 run circa 2013ish (aka when SHIELD initially ‘took control of the team’) that’s a bit of a hint as to the spin). Were it done, Torch Song would be up there. ;) Torch Song Clint is sent back in time, via an alien device, to 1938. While he tries to figure out how to get back home, he takes up singing and entertaining to make ends meet and does his best to not disrupt the timeline.Then he meets a 21 year old Bucky Barnes. --- A torch song is a sentimental love song, typically one in which the singer laments an unrequited or lost love, either where one party is oblivious to the existence of the other, where one party has moved on, or where a romantic affair has affected the relationship.

7. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve ever written?

Does *wanting* to write crossovers count? lol I want, so badly, to do more crossovers and fusions (which...are kinda deeper versions of crossovers in a way). The only one I do have posted is a crossover between Highlander and Torchwood -

The Immortal Mr. Jones A series of vignettes (some long, some short) in the life of the newly immortal Ianto Jones. My most ambitions project that I have been working on since late 2011/early 2012 is a fusion of the Avengers with Stephen King’s the Stand. I will get that done at some point *shakes fist* The Stand, for those who don’t know it, is an epic 1000+ page novel about a flu epidemic (I know) that wipes out over 99% of the population and then two figures representing Good and Evil pull the survivors in two directions for a showdown. So basically it’s a non-powered modern AU set in that universe. It’s a passion and comfort project. lol

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes. Well, minor bitching back when I was in a prior fandom because I tagged a pairing in a fic but it was pre-slash and not labeled as pre-slash. I got hate on...I think it was Torch Song? And I’ve gotten hate on tumblr re me and my fic in general as well. Fandom! *jazz hands* Oh! And I’ve also been hit by those reviewers within Winterhawk (among general Clint pairings actually) who like rate you on either number scales or the “meh” scale. Which isn’t hate exactly but...it’s passive aggressive bullshit because I can’t believe none of them realize at this point that the authors can see their bookmarks - you know?

9. Do you write smut?

Yes. Do I write it well? I have no idea. lol

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I am aware of. Well...there was, I think, one of those reposting sites that had a few fics on it but I don’t think it was being passed off as someone else’s? I can’t quite recall. It’s why I have a note on AO3 about reposting my work anyway.

11. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not entirely, but sort of. Let me explain - I am part of a PBEM game; which for those unfamiliar since it’s a term that was most heavily in use 15-20 years ago, in which you basically do a round robin type writing thing but rather than everyone writing the same characters you write your own characters and you play off what other people have done. Another way of looking at it is it’s basically DnD without dice and written down rather than done out loud. You also don’t have to all be around at the same time. It’s a lot of fun and yes I have been in it for 20 years even though there aren’t many of us left but they are some of my dearest friends and fabulous writers. Wins all around. One of the other writers and I have actually toyed with the idea of doing a co-written fic actually, mostly because we work super well together and keep getting ideas for things but can’t really do them as rpgs since the pbem style isn’t used much anymore.

12. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Winterhawk probably. Though, let’s be real - Han & Leia are epic and amazing as are John & Delenn (from Babylon 5).

13. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Does wanting to expand The Black Stallion books as a wee child count? lol Not much of that was written save for world building ideas but there was a great oral tradition of telling stories to my friends. Otherwise...maybe a tie between Star Wars and Highlander. Star Wars was a love since I was super young but the writing bug didn’t hit me until around the same time Highlander was a thing as well.

14. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? You rearrange me till I’m sane for sure. Though Torch Song, if it were finished, would be tied I imagine (I suck at picking favorites). Honorable mention to Puck Luck and Indelible. Tagging: I have seen this like a million times (okay 5) so I feel like everyone has been tagged already that I know. But...I guess... @vexbatch @crazycatt71 @heartonfirewrites and @disruptedvice sorry if anyone has been tagged before.

#icyredfics #writing #winterhawk #long post

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yukinojou · 3 years

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I already squeed quite a bit on Twitter, but turns out my Shadow and Bone thoughts demand longform. So that was a 40+ tweet thread or using my Tumblr for an original post for once.

I was wary about the Shadow and Bone adaptation the way I'm usually wary about good books being adapted onscreen. It was amplified because my actual favourites are the Six of Crows books, and because the American-based movie complex has a bad track record of doing anything based on Eastern Europe. 8 episodes in 3 days should tell you how much I loved it - the moment I finished, I wanted more.

First, the technical praise:

Damn but the plotting is tight. It took me a while to realised it's based on heist movie bones, where every little thing (The Freaking Bullet!) is important. The story fulfills its promises and manages not to bore at the same time - it delights by the way they're fulfilled. I called out a few plot developments moments before they happened, and I was happy about it. Such a joy after so many series where "not doing what viewers expect" led to plot holes and lack of sense. It might be an upside to the streaming model after all.

From a dramatic point of view I can tell all the reasons for all the changes, especially providing additional outsider points of view on Ravka (Crows) and letting viewers see Mal for themselves the way he only comes across in later books.

Speaking of which, this is a masterclass in rewriting a story draft. SaB was Bardugo's first, and having read later books you can really see where she didn't quite dare to break the YA rules yet, especially Single POV that necessitated a tight focus on Alina's often negative feelings rather than the big picture and a triangle that felt a bit forced. The world in the series is so much bigger, the way Bardugo could finally paint it when SaB success gave her more creative freedom, and some structural choices feel familiar too. It's a combination of various choices by crew and cast, but the end result meshes together so tightly and naturally.

Visuals! Especially the war parts because Every Soviet Movie Ever, but also the clothes (I would kill for Nina's blouse in the bar), the jewelry, the interiors. The stag was so very beautiful. And a deep commitment to a coherent aesthetic for each character and setting.

Look, you can do a serious fantasy series with colours! Both skin colours and bright sets and clothing! And all scenes were well lit enough to know what's going on, even in the Fold!

Representation (aka I Am Emotion)

To start with: I was born behind the Iron Curtain, in the last years of the Cold War. The Curtain was always permeable to some extent, and we have always been aware that while we have talented artists of our own, we never had the budgets and polish of the Anglosphere Entertainment Machine. So we watched a hell of a lot of American visual storytelling especially because yeah, you can tell we don't have the budgets. 90s and 2000s especially, it's getting better now.

In American stories, the BEST case scenario for Eastern European representation is the Big Dumb Pole, the ethnic stereotype Americans don't even notice they use, where the punchline is that his English is bad or that he grew up outside Anglo culture. Other than that, it's criminals, beggars, sex trafficking victims, refugees. Sure, we may look similar (except we really really don't, not if you're raised here and see the distinct lack of all those long-jawed Anglo faces), but we are not and have never been the West, never mind America. It's probably better for younger people now, but I was raised under rationing and passport bans. Star Trek and Beverly Hills 90210 were exactly as foreign to me.

The first ever character I really identified with was Susan Ivanova in Babylon 5 (written by J. Michael Straczynski, yay behind-camera representation). This was a Russian Jewish woman very much in charge, in the way of strong women I know so well, not taking any bullshit, not repressing her feminity. I recognised her bones, she could be my cousin. The sheer relief of it. There have been few such occasions since.

The reason I picked up Shadow and Bone in the first place was recommendations from other Polish people. I've had no problems finding representation in Eastern European books because wow our scene is strong in SFF especially, but it's always a treat to find a book in English that gets it. And Leigh gets it, the bones of our culture, and I could even look past the grammar issue (dear gods and Americans, Starkova for a woman, Morozov for a guy) that really irked me because of the love for the setting and the characters, the weaving in of religion/mysticism (we never laicisized the same way as the West, natch), the understanding of how deep are the scars left in a nation at war for centuries. The books are precious to me, they and Arden's Winternight and Novik's Spinning Silver.

To sum up: Shadow and Bone the Netflix series gets it. You can tell just how much they've immersed themselves in Eastern European culture and media, it comes across so well in visuals and writing and characters. Not just the obvious bits (though the WWII propaganda posters gave me a giggle), but the palaces, the additional plotlines and characters, the costumes, the attitudes. About the only thing missing in the soldier scenes was someone singing and/or quoting poetry.

I will blame the Apparat's lack of beard on filming in a non-Orthodox country. Poland's Catholic too, but I very much imagined him as an Orthodox patriarch, possibly because I read the books shortly after a visit to Pecherska Lavra in Kiev and the labyrinthine holy catacombs there. Small quibble, not my religion, not my place to speak.

(I've seen discussion on the issues with biracial representation in the show, which is visceral and apparently based on bad experiences of one of the show writers in a way that's caused pain to other Asian and biracial people. I'm not qualified to speak on those parts, other that Eastern Europe is... yeah. Racist in subtly different ways. If anything, the treatment of the Suli as explained in Six of Crows always read so very true of the way Roma are treated, and even sanitised.)

And now for the spoiler-filled bits:

Kaz and Inej. I mean... just THEM. So many props to the actors, the writers, the bloody goat.

I adore the fact the only people who get to have sex in the show are Jesper and a very lucky stablehand.

Ben Barnes needs either an award or a kick. The man's acting choices and puppy eyes are as epic as his hair.

So Much Love for Alina initiating the kiss. Her book characterisation makes sense, she's so trapped in her own head because she has no time to process everything that's happening, but grabbing life by the lapels is a much more active choice. Still not making the relationship equal, but closer to it.

Speaking of, Kaz's constant awareness of how unequal his relationship with Inej is, and attempts to give her agency. I'm really curious how his touch issues come across to someone who doesn't know the backstory there.

Feodor and his actor. He looks exactly like the pre-war heartthrob Adolf Dymsza, a specific upper-class Polish ethnic type that's much rarer now that, well, Nazis killed millions of Polish intellectuals in their attempt to reduce us to unskilled labour only. The faces he makes are the Best.

Nina!! Nina is perfect, those cheekbones, that cheek, I was giggling myself silly half the time. I cannot wait to see Danielle Galligan take on the challenge of Nina's plotline in Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom, she'll kill us dead.

I already mentioned that the writers fixed Mal's absence from the first book, but Mal in general! The haircut gives him a kind of rugby charm, and Archie Renaux is outstanding at emoting without talking. Honestly, all the casting in this series is inspired, but him in particular.

Extra bonus: Howard Charles and Luke Pasqualino playing so very much against the type of the swaggering Musketeers I saw them play last. Arken dropping the mask at the end... Howard Charles is love.

I can't believe not only was Milo's bullet a plot point, but the fact Alina was wearing a particularly sparkly hair ornament in a long series of beautiful hair ornaments was a plot point.

In conclusion: so much love, and next three season NOW please. Okay, give me a week to reread the books, and an extra day because new Murderbot drops tomorrow...

#shadow and bone #six of crows #shadow and bone meta

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xncasi · 4 years

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EDIT: jdkdjfkdkd I DIDNT WRITE A TITLE & also cuz someone requested i will deliver: a pt 2 will follow!

just a short snippet of writing i felt like doing, based off the song “Butterfly’s Repose” by Zabawa :) i edited as i went along so it might be a bit messy, i’m sorry >>>

Dr. Spencer Reid x shy!reader

length: 11.2K

warnings: a LOTTA angst, small fluff, emotional abuse, death

—————————————————

Dr. Reid is one of many things, as y/n has noticed, but she’d never say that he was overtly emotional. From the time that she started working for the BAU until now, which has been about five years, she’s come to know this enigmatic man.

Not only has she gotten to know him though, but she’s begun to care about him. Sure, she cares deeply about the well-being of the team; which of its members wouldn’t? But this strong surge of emotions came early on and have since remained.

She can vividly recall the first case she’d worked on with her new coworkers, back when she was fresh to the BAU. The unsub’s signature had been riddles that apparently would reveal the location or subject of his next attacks. They’d spent night after night poring over those puzzles, and she can practically taste the bitter, old coffee that the station had offered them. But more fondly she can recall Dr. Reid’s furrowed brows, the way he’d sat for hours in front of papers, trying to write down new ideas that came to mind. Y/n can remember the way his eyes lit up when he finally pieced it all together, the quickness of his words and the way she struggled to understand.

Morgan had tried to jokingly explain Dr. Reid’s genius prior to her first case, but it wasn’t until she saw it in action that she truly understood. And, to be honest, she was intimidated.

Sure, she’d done well in her classes throughout her school career, but she’d fought so hard to reach her dream job. The endless late nights of studying and bitter tasting coffee had pushed her through all the required class credits she’d needed; y/n had never stopped working, never wanting to possibly even entertain the idea that she couldn’t make it. And to finally be able to say she’d succeeded, and then to walk through the doors of the FBI and BAU after a few years of working in the field; it was a dream come true!

And yet...she couldn’t ever quite understand how the genius was just so smart without even seeming to try. He could read full books in ten minutes, recite statistics he’d only read about once, and was able to piece together puzzles that saved countless lives. She wasn’t jealous, per-say, but she yearned to know how he did it and who he was.

And so, the quiet and reserved y/f/n watched. She wasn’t a woman of many words, and yet she’d still been able to contribute to a variety of cases. Hotch knew that despite her lack of words she was still a valuable asset, and that’s really all that mattered to her.

But that’s besides the point.

Around the year mark of her joining the BAU, something happened. Dr. Reid and her had been assigned by Hotch to interview the supposed unsub’s father one last time; they’d arrived thinking it’d be another simple interview, but the father ended up pulling a gun on them both and managed to shoot him in the leg. Something about “protecting his son” she believes, but one way or another it didn’t matter.

Dr. Reid had been bleeding so heavily that y/n had thought his femoral artery had been pierced. She’d shot down the father and then fallen beside her partner, doing her best to apply pressure to the oozing wound. Those few minutes they spent together had been filled with talking, something which she hadn’t been very good at. Who is she kidding, she STILL isn’t good at it!

But anyways, getting back to the point--

To keep Dr. Reid alert, y/n had made small conversation with him. She’d asked about his favorite books, and then his favorite lines from those books. She questioned his music taste and took mental notes on all of it. So was it a surprise to him when he’d woken up to her asleep next to his hospital bed, one of his favorite books laying haphazardly in her lap?

She isn’t sure.

After that, their friendship blossomed. Dr. Reid would talk about his favorite books, music, or movies and y/n would listen. They’d often meet up for coffee and walk to work together, and they often were paired up during cases because of their efficiency together. Y/n favored the quieter, library-like settings of a cafe and Dr. Reid would follow suit; bars were never exactly his thing anyways. They shared coffee and tea recommendations, they’d converse about classical literature, and sometimes he would accidentally spoil books for her because of how fast he read.

(She’d never forgive him for spoiling the ending of “A Farewell to Arms.”)

The friendship between the two of them was strong, and it grew to a point where y/n might’ve even considered him to be her best friend.

In her third year at the BAU, though, y/n had started dating a guy outside of work. At first it started okay; they’d go on romantic dates to fancy Italian restaurants, the ones where Frank Sinatra played in the background of a dimly lit, large room. He’d brought her her favorite flowers, and he even tried to drink the tea she liked. And Dr. Reid had put up with it all, only crossly wondering to himself WHY he felt so agitated whenever y/n would bring her new beau to their bar nights. Why wouldn’t he be happy for her? Y/n was his best friend after all, and she deserved to have a man who loved her.

Around the third month of their relationship though, he began to notice how much more exhausted y/n had become. She often was late or didn’t show up to get coffee with him in the mornings, and she was unusually silent towards everyone when working cases. Whenever she had to take phone calls she’d step outside, and Dr. Reid had to simply pretend like he didn’t see her strained expressions when she entered the room again. This continued on for a good two months before he finally stepped up and asked y/n what was going on.

It was their first fight.

He’d simply asked if she’d been doing okay, and y/n snapped. The dark bags under her eyes and the frazzled appearance she had screamed that no, contrary to whatever she was saying she wasn’t alright. There wasn’t anything he could do though, not when she raised her voice at him for asking about her well-being. So he dropped it.

He hadn’t expected her to reach back out so soon again though, especially not the exact same night of their squabble. Dr. Reid had been flipping through the pages of an old book he was rereading when his phone began to ring. Surprised at the thought that anyone would want to talk to him at this hour, he’d picked up his phone only to hear her sniffling on the line. She’d quietly apologized many times over, but no matter what he said he couldn’t get her to tell him why she’d called. It wasn’t until he heard a familiar voice yelling in the background and a yelp of fear that he understood.

Promising to be over soon, Dr. Reid threw his heavy jacket over his shoulders and headed out into the cold and rainy night. The whole way there he’d been touching his phone, wondering if he should’ve call again. What if something happened while he was making his way there? Should he have called the police before leaving? At least he would’ve known then that she would’ve been okay. As he pulled up to the front of y/n’s apartment complex, he spots y/n shivering miserably on the front steps.

It’s less than twenty minutes before she’s back in his warm apartment, in a dry, borrowed pair of pajama pants and one of his old t-shirts. He hadn’t asked her specifically what had happened, not wanting to dredge up any of their earlier fight, but she’d still managed to find herself talking. Dr. Reid had only just given y/n a steaming cup of tea when she’d broken down, salty tears running down her red cheeks and staining the borrowed shirt. He’d settled beside her on his couch, highly aware of the warmth emanating from her body and the way her tearful gaze avoided his. With some gentle coaxing he managed to get an explanation out of y/n.

Her boyfriend had been cheating for upwards of two months, but she hadn’t been able to leave because of his threats. They’d always changed from one night to the next, but most of them held the same message: if you leave me, I’ll kill myself or hurt you.

Now Dr. Reid had never considered himself to be an angry person; competition was something he avoided for the most part, and he was incredibly slow to anger. This, though, this made his blood boil.

And so the young man had gathered y/n in his arms, comforting his best friend as he remained fully aware of how close they physically were. He told himself that this is what friends did, and her? Well, she was too far gone in her own mind to possibly even consider what could’ve been passing between them.

Now, though, she’s fully aware of how close he is to her. Much like on that night, when Dr. Reid, no -- Spencer -- held her, she’d felt safe. Wrapped in the doctor’s arms she’d known nothing could’ve reached her, not if he didn’t want it to.

Pressed up against his chest, y/n can feel the past two years of uncertain flirting and the dancing around each other dissipate. The months of awkward glances and longing stares has finally reached a head, finally manifested into real touches and love-filled gazes.

She only wished it had happened sooner.

She wished it had happened long before this case, long before they’d flown out here to take on the serial shooter that’d been terrorizing this city. Because now, with her blood pouring out of her chest and abdomen, she knows she has no time left. There’s no more time for first kisses or late night talks, no more shared coffee breaks or reading to each other while curled up together under a blanket.

Spencer, her best friend who’d she’d loved for so long, has no time either.

He’s holding onto his best friend’s body, pressing her to his chest with tears welling in his eyes. Sirens sound in the distance, possibly growing closer, but they’re too muted for him to be able to tell. He’d heard the shots and had come running, but it’d been too late. Y/n had been shot four times, three times in the chest and once in the abdomen. She’d toppled over, shock written all over her face as her gun had clattered to the ground beside her.

And now, she can barely remember any of it. She can still feel the ringing in her ears, but now she’s beginning to realize how hard it is to breath. She can taste the metallic tang of blood, and as she coughs and splutters she can feel it running over her lips. It’s warm, too warm.

Fear begins to overpower her, and she finds herself uncontrollably shaking. “S-Spencer, I d-don’t wanna die,” she rasps, her y/e/c, tear-filled eyes turning to look up into his chocolate brown ones.

He has to swallow back his own tears, fighting to hold on as he looks down at the person he’s cared about for so long. Stroking her cheek with his thumb, he shakes his head. “Honey, hold on for me, okay?” he asks gently, his voice cracking.

“I promise I won’t leave you,” he murmurs, tears beginning to slide down his cheeks. Y/n whimpers as she begins to feel a tingling numbness move up her legs. “Spencer, I-I...I love y-you,” she whispers, her hand shakily reaching up for his face.

Leaning down into the body in his lap, Spencer Reid presses his forehead against his best friend’s.

Softly pressing his chapped lips to her bloodstained ones, he gently pulls away and rasps, “I know.”

As y/n’s eyes begin to flutter closed, she grasps onto her best friend’s hand for dear life and lets out one last, heart-wrenching sob.

#spencer reid #dr. reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #cm #dr. reid x reader #agent spencer reid #agent reid #spencer reid x you

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bywordofaphrodite · 3 years

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Book Reviews 1 & 2: The Enchanted Wood and Adventures of the Wishing Chair by Enid Blyton

This review’s theme is magical children’s fiction ! Audience age range: early childhood !

Fun fact about me: I have fairy tales running through my head most hours of the day.

Magical lands and whimsical characters run freely through my mind any minute I have to spare, or even the ones I don’t. It has always been this way for me, whether in school, university or at work- when I am meant to be working on assignments or attending to patients in the hospital I work at- and Enid Blyton’s stories played a part in this, so it seems fitting I discuss her writing for my first post.

When faced with choosing a project for myself this semester, it was actually the memory of Enid Blyton’s novels that prompted me to decide to write book reviews of childhood favourites. I’d forgotten her name at first, and all that remained was an illustration of blue jelly and a boy with silver hair… and the name of the artist who illustrated my copies of the series: Georgina Hargreaves. One google search was all it took to remember it all! Then I ordered all three Magic Faraway Tree books and the Wishing Chair ones in the exact editions I had as a child, because I have no impulse control whatsoever.

Nostalgic review

Rating: ★★★★★

For my nostalgic review- otherwise known as my thoughts on these novels purely as I remember them from childhood- I’m giving five stars. They meant everything to me as a kid, and I reread them more than any other books I owned. I would choose a chapter before bed and travel into the magic lands at the top of the tree along with the main characters, exploring whatever good, evil or downright silliness happened to be up there at the time (and then stay there for a good few hours past my bedtime using the light under my door to squint at the pages and destroy my already dreadful vision just a little more for good measure. Sleep schedule who?)

I easily favoured the Magic Faraway Tree books over the Wishing Chair ones, though I loved them both dearly. I’m going to assume the reason behind this was because I preferred the tree to the chair, as- aside from Jo- I don’t recall ever having an affinity for any particular child amongst the main characters. I do also remember a great deal more of the goings on in the lands above the tree than I can the adventures in the chair, so it seems fair to say I read one a lot more than the other.

Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, these books cemented who I wanted to be when I grew up: a writer- a published author, to be specific- and an artist. Not just these two series, but anything Blyton wrote- her teen detective and boarding school series being notable favourites of mine. As detrimental as this dream has been to my family’s wish for me to become a lawyer, I must insist that everyone blame Enid Blyton for this and not me!

The Enchanted Wood Review

Post-read: ★★★

Synopsis: three children move from the city to a small country house with a forest out the back which they later come to know as the Enchanted Wood. There they come across a giant magical tree known as the Faraway Tree, where they befriend the many magical creatures living inside the tree, and explore the lands that settle above the tree every day.

Okay so! First up, I finished it so quickly. I’ve always been a very fast reader but even so I expected it would take several hours to read… it took roughly an hour despite minor interruptions by my siblings, so it’s very simplistic and easy to read. However… this level of simplistic is not, in this case, a good thing, at least in my opinion. I’ll elaborate on this further toward the end of this post, but the best word I can think of to describe the writing is ‘stunted’.

I read a few articles to see others’ thoughts on the novels, and one review stood out as being critical in multiple ways, some of which I agree and some I don’t really care about. I’ll link it here.

This review reflected a lot of the same points I considered upon rereading the books. Charming points: google buns and the Land of Birthdays; weak points: repetitive and a bit too holier than thou in the attempt to teach ‘lessons’. In terms of Flood’s (the review author) criticism, the renaming of the children from Jo, Bessie and Fanny to Joe, Beth and Frannie in new copies does not really bother me, although my own editions have the original names (the change of the children’s cousin from Dick to Rick was a wise choice, though Rick is an ugly name as well, but I digress). As with many modern changes to old novels, older generations criticise ‘politically correct’ motives, and Flood does exactly so here- miffed at the decision to rename one of the recurring Faraway Tree villains from ‘Dame Slap’ to ‘Dame Snap’. Flood likens the character’s previous habit of slapping naughty children to the witch in Hansel and Gretel locking children in cages, (I would think the cannibal element of this tale would reinforce the comparison more but maybe that’s just me???) asking why, if that fairy-tale hasn’t been changed, should Dame Slap have to adhere to modern discipline? Personally I’m mostly unconcerned with this either way, though Flood makes an interesting point. The woman is a villain either way, so a little clip over the ears is likely to properly drive the point home in my opinion, anyway.

And before I move on from this review, Flood’s hot take on the Saucepan Man is 100% on the ball- why was a grown, non-magical man walking around strung up with pots and pans all over himself and hanging out with a group of children? To be sure, he was not in his right mind, so I’ll shift the question to the parents here, who were fully aware that their children were spending time in the woods with this man. Very odd business indeed.

Characters who aged well: Most of the main characters remained likable to me. Jo was always my favourite as a kid, and he remains so- his impatience provides some comedic quotes and he never leaves his younger sisters behind on adventures, unlike many male characters in Blyton’s novels (I am looking DIRECTLY at you, Famous Five boys). He also doesn’t belittle his sisters at any point, even when they’re frightened, which is another thing that irked me about many of Blyton’s male characters. Using only the first book of the series for this review means that it’s possible that Bessie and Fanny are more prominent characters in the other books, but in this one it felt very much centred around Jo than I remembered- they are likable but don’t really do too much aside from Fanny’s banger of a birthday party which I’m rather jealous of. Upon rereading I like Moonface a lot more, but that’s probably because I resented my grandmother calling me ‘Moonface’ (I’m aware I have a round face, I do not need to be reminded of my eternal struggles on the daily). Silky is still a queen in my eyes- pretty, feminine, funny, kind and best of all a fairy. No flaws at all, I love her. In retrospect, Silky is equally my favourite alongside Jo.

Characters who aged badly (to me): as aforementioned… the Saucepan Man. To be fair, I never cared for him in the first place, and the same goes for his best friend Mr. Watzisname because he was downright maddening. Also, Dame Washalot can drown in her own washing. She managed to annoy me more than Dame Slap… at least Dame Slap was entertaining.

Favourite scene/quote: “‘Fishing!’ said Jo, in disgust. ‘Who wants to go fishing in the middle of a birthday party? Let’s get back at once.’”

This quote sounds so mundane but in context I just find his tone very amusing- Jo is always exasperated and impatient so his perpetual annoyance with everyone’s nonsense is relatable and funny. Furthermore, he says this during my favourite scene in the final chapter where they all travel to the Land of Birthdays for Bessie’s birthday. Bessie invites everyone living in the Faraway Tree to her party, which is essentially formed up in the land above the tree. Upon arrival, everyone can go into a small house with fancy dress costumes and choose anything they like, and then choose a table in the middle of a field. The table is set with cutlery and plates, and from there you must ‘wish your own tea’, as Silky says, which fills the table with jellies, lemonade, chocolate blancmange and other party food. Best of all is the birthday cake- also known as wishing cake- which grants a wish to anyone who eats it. Unfortunately, the Saucepan Man’s poor hearing ends up turning ‘wish’ to ‘fish’, and Fanny has to waste her own wish to get them back to the party, hence Jo’s vexation. The ending is very sweet though, with Moonface gifting his wish to Fanny and all of them happily going home. It was a lovely way to end the first book in the series.

Adventures of the Wishing Chair Review

Post-read: ★★

Synopsis: two children discover a magical chair with wings in an antique shop that leads to a host of new adventures and a new pixie friend they rescue along the way.

Like I said earlier, I preferred the Faraway Tree series to the Wishing Chair and that remains the same. The concept of lands coming to the top of a tree- and choosing whether to go up there or not- is more my style, and if the weather is bad you can just stay home, while the chair you just have to go with it. The Faraway Tree itself is also really wonderful, with all the interesting houses and shops inside it, and especially Moonface’s slippery-slip. On the contrary, the main location for the Wishing Chair series is the children’s playing room, and the chair itself is an utter menace. The villains are more irritating in this series- which is their job, I get it- but the children themselves aren’t quite as likable as Jo, Bessie and Fanny either. Mollie and Peter argue plenty and can be very selfish and silly at times, which is realistic, sure, but that doesn’t make them any less meh. The other main character is a pixie called Chinky (yes, I’ll get to this soon) who they rescue from slavery in a giant’s castle, and my opinion on him varies between chapters. There are some really cool places they go to and the illustrations make reading this more enjoyable despite the hasty writing and relatively flat characters.

Characters who aged well: ???? I mean… Mollie and Peter aren’t exactly my favourite children ever but they’re not too bad. My main criticism would have to be that there isn’t really anything defining about their personalities; to a degree I would say they are just a whinier version of Jo, Bessie and Fanny. I don’t think Enid bothered too much about changing base character traits in her stories, to be honest. There are a few characters like Witch Snippit and the Windy Wizard who help Mollie and Peter when troubles arise, but as the adventures always begin with the chair in the children’s playroom there aren’t really many magical recurring characters to properly consider.

Characters who aged badly: the children’s MOTHER. She is beyond irritating in certain chapters- like when she decides to take the wishing chair to her own lounge room simply because she likes it, even though the children themselves bought it and expressed how much they love it. Plenty of parents do this in real life and it is just as annoying in fiction. Secondly, the wishing-chair. Magical chair that grows wings and can fly to magical lands is cool, yes? Sure, except when it has mood swings and randomly decides to fly through storms or simply land in the sea for no reason I can think of. This is a very petty chair… yet I know I would keep it anyway so I can’t complain too much. I’m going to add Chinky here too, and not because he got saddled with a slur for a name- he gets fired up about minor things way too quickly and causes drama for no good reason, though perhaps I should cut him some slack after his time spent in forced servitude. Also, he makes a few sexist comments to Mollie so maybe the giant had a point after all.

Favourite scene/quote: ‘One rabbit turned upside down and danced on its ears, and that made Peter laugh so much that he had to get out his handkerchief to wipe his tears of laughter away.’

Peter being this happy just made me happy. This quote is from my favourite scene, when the children fly with some elves to attend a magician’s party. There is no villain to be seen, and the room is filled with classic Blyton details of top tier food like cream buns and blancmange, and beautiful birds that sing sweetly before flying freely. The magician has dancing cats appear, and ‘six plump rabbits’ that dance while the cats play violin. Finally, the magician gifts everybody a tiny egg he tells them will hatch later. When they arrive home, Peter’s hatches to reveal a tiny silver watch and Mollie gets a necklace of beads that look ‘exactly like bubbles’. This always sounded so pretty to me, and I had a necklace from my mum that looked exactly as Mollie’s was described, so I’ve always remembered this scene very well.

Overall verdict:

I’m torn. I love parts of these books so much, I love the nostalgia surrounding them, and yet I must admit that without a childhood connection it would difficult for a new reader to enjoy, and probably not the first choice in a bed time story to read to children nowadays. I think for me, I like having these books back on my shelf again, and I like knowing I can go back to read my favourite chapters whenever I want, despite the criticisms I have. In a way, I like knowing I am capable of recognising the books’ faults while still appreciating the good parts of them. I do not regret buying these books again- in fact looking at the artwork and reading the words has inspired me to get to work on my own plan to write a book of fairy tales (with the representation I would’ve loved to see alongside the magic as a child, and minus the problematic details).

With this in mind:

- Blyton’s writing skills… are sorely lacking. Her sentences are stunted and sometimes she changes locations so hastily within one small paragraph that if you so much as skim over one sentence you’ll find yourself in another land entirely (haha). I am wholly aware these books are intended for children but I have read other novels for that age group that have been well-written, so my criticism stands.

- I should just rewrite the books myself. I don’t care if this sounds arrogant, I know I could make the stories more compelling with a few tweaks to, say, writing skills, story structure, making better use of the amazing concepts, fleshing out the characters more, etc. (again I’m aware they’re children’s books)

- Enid Blyton herself was not a very nice person, and her own daughter criticised her writing for being emotionally immature and seeing things as ‘black and white’. Anyone who has read her other novels knows that she was very racist- ‘gypsies’ managing to be the villain in most of her teen detective stories, amongst other issues, so Chinky the pixie is not exactly a surprise appearance. It was Chinky, in fact, who first alerted me to racial slurs. As someone with partially Asian heritage at an almost completely white school, it took me asking my (rightfully) concerned father what ‘chink’ meant when some kids started calling me by the word in school… I then connected this to Blyton’s pixie and to this day am morbidly entertained by this unfortunate memory. I’ll link the article here, in case of any further curiosity about Blyton.

In the Faraway Tree series review I linked earlier, the writer said of the books, ‘it’s an odd feeling, finding the classics of your childhood don’t really stack up’. In many ways, I feel the same. Is it all nostalgia, after all? Yes and no. Having such a balanced opinion on an old favourite is likely healthier than clinging to past memories, anyway. With all of these thoughts jumbling through my mind, it’s possible that my rating of these novels changes depending on my mood- and more importantly, which chapters I read. Perhaps the fact that my favourite chapters are all devoid of confrontation is something a therapist would suggest looking into, but you know what? It’s fiction. If I have to get my happy endings in books alone then so be it!

#book review #book rating #enid blyton #the faraway tree #the wishing chair #british books #children’s book #fiction #magic books #university project #nostalgia

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petriichvrs · 3 years

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ONE YEAR OF NOXTMS / five dyanmics with two bonus !

more thoughts / information under the cut !

001. 𝐃𝐔𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 & 𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘. ( @ddudleys )

every single day, i think about this pair & just how unexpectedly ... brilliant they are. i hope by now my love of dudley is just very apparent, but if it ISN’T - i love his character so, so much, and i think you’re an incredibly talented person for being able to give him this whole personality and existence beyond the end of the books that fits with his canon so well and still gives him his chance to be a good person. dudley & ginny bonding following the war, attending support group together ... ginny telling him wildly incorrect things about the world for a laugh, the fact they have TOTALLY bonded even more over both being sports people, the moment where they held hands at grimmauld place, everything after ... jesus christ ! i can never ever be eloquent enough to express the way they make me feel, and the way that any new little insight into their dynamic be it by meme or by thread just makes them that bit more real to me, but i’m so grateful for this funky pair, and you better know it !

002. 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐔𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐎𝐘 & 𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐎𝐘. ( @dolors )

tell me a year ago that someday i’d actually care about the malfoy family and i’d have FOUGHT you over it - at no point did i ever expect to pick up narcissa, and after i did, i never expected to get such a complex and amazingly thought out lucius to write opposite of. i still remember the moment where blo and i realised you were going to bring him, and the EXCITEMENT we felt at the fact that this individual i already knew semi okay who was writing such an excellent interpretation on hermione was going to bring us a character who can be so polarising, in a lot of ways. the hope ? the willingness to die for you immediately, simply because you were going to DO it ? cherry i cannot believe there was ever a time where we were not friends in the way we are now, and i REALLY can’t remember an instance where i didn’t have malfam + lucissa to get me through my day. they’re my emotional support morally grey family who think of themselves first & foremost and everyone else after, okay ? lucius is a lot of things, and you do such a good job at writing ( and acknowleding ) them, but inside the walls of malfoy manor he’s narcissa’s honey bunch with an unhealthy emotional attachment for his peacocks & brilliant taste in erotica novels for their next book club session.

003. 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐙𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐈 & 𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘. ( @ofzvbini )

mozzie, let’s not cut straws on this one : holy fuck. holy JESUS. holy moley. all the holys. here is the thing - my love for blaise zabini as a character / concept and my appreciation for the blaise/ginny dynamic that could exist had NEVER gotten to be mutually exclusive until you came along. never ! it wasn’t something to feel hard done by, or anything, but... i kinda do, now, but for a different reason, which is that you’ve set the bar for characters SO HIGH in general and i’m never ever going to be able to find another interpretation of blaise that even remotely lives up to yours, nor do i think that anyone will ever be on the such a similar wavelength to me, when it comes this connection. the energy all around is just utterly UNMATCHED, and the fact that... even just rereading our replies from the last event to get this excerpt, i realised i wanted so badly to reply again right now immediately, because the sparring of their words and lets be honest, the PALPABLE sexual tension going on in that thread was so genuinely fun and entertaining. i just think you knock it out of the park so consistently with your characters and the connections you write with them. i could have said any of our dynamics - luna + ginny, luna + nazli, luna + narcissa, eulalia + niko, blaise + merry, blaise + narcissa, blaise + niko - YOU GET THE PIC ! i love u moz. please marry me under the moonlight i think it would be very romantic-

004. 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 & 𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐅. ( @pclearwaters )

i want in on record that penny clearwater is the love of my life, actually. i want it on fuckin RECORD, because the love i have for this character who gets paid nothing but DIRT in the series all because you took her up & gave her this whole life and character and storyline that made her into... like, a real person ? who makes me feel sometimes ... just very sad, but who also brings me such joy. penny & niko are another example of that fun little thing we do where we throw these totally different characters together and then see what happens ( usually the most perfect of unexpected friendships ). i loved the last thread we did between them most, because it was one of the first chances i had ever gotten to showcase that a side of niko not really seen so often, and his confusion at penny’s genuine beautific happiness was just ... really fun to write and get into. i truly think you do such a good job with penny, and i love the dedication you have to the clearwaters, full stop. here’s to many more of their weird lil interactions !

005. 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐎𝐘 & 𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘. ( @blondsnake )

six months ago, they were one of the dynamics i chose to talk about in the original meme. when i did it that time, the excerpt i chose was : “i’m sorry,” he tells her, voice cracking, and he doesn’t know what he’s sorry for anymore. for the sins of his father? for ginny’s ruined childhood? for the fact that he is draco malfoy, and not someone else? & the REASON i chose them was at the time we wrote that thread, it felt very... real and raw and human, to me. it felt like we were exposing a nerve. the malfoy / weasley dynamic is expanded on so much when it comes to every other weasley, and ginny’s interaction with the family she has so much of a history with, with the son of the person who really took a key role in what she went through as an eleven year old, was just... so non-existent that getting to touch on it in the way we did felt... incredbly important, and i remember the thread best for setting the continued tone.

i’m choosing them now because i never, at any point, thought that we would end up where we are right now. i spend a lot of time, now, thinking about them - i can’t believe i never realised just how similar they were as people, and just how much possibility existed between them, because so much does, and every time we talk more about them, i come away with the feeling that this is a connection that’s like once in a lifetime esque, and i’m SO lucky that i’m writing it with you. you know ? you’re an incredibly talented writer who has four incredibly well thought out characters, and i love that i get to write with them all, because ALL of them are a treat to write with. i always wanna hear your thoughts, i always wanna hear your ideas and concepts, i always love the posts you send me and the things we joke about - almost as much as i love the things we don’t. that first night we realised what we had here came from utter meme and became something very very important to me. i’m always thinking about ‘he gives her a long look’. if you know you know, you know ? !

006. 𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐀 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐇𝐎𝐕 & 𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐅. ( @rcveuse )

saz, i know we’ve only gotten the one thread started so far, and they’re newer... but can i just say, i’m really really glad that you decided to come back to nox, and i’m even more glad that when you did you picked up those specific connections of mine, because they were some of my FAVORITE ones on the page & had never really gotten their dues ? the niko one in particular, that amelia is filling - i remember writing it because i wanted him to have moments of his life that were happy, and the best way i could think to showcase his emotional side was via someone he loved for real. i always said niko loved fiercely and was just as fiercely loyal, but i hadn’t gotten the chance to write it, because he’s a character so difficult to put into positions where he would. he takes a long time to fully bond to people. even after he does... he’s just. odd. it was a v important connection to me, and i love amelia so much, already, and can see exactly what existed in her that he fell for when he did. i’m so excited to write them more, and i can’t wait to see where the dynamic that exists now goes !

006. 𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐀 𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐅 & 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄. ( @taciiturns )

i love kaela. i know we know this. i know i’ve said it so many times, and i know i’m going to say it again, a million times more - but i really do love mikaela karkaroff, and i already had the niko connection, so i really shouldn’t have been greedy, but.... i didn’t imagine what’s come to exist between kaela & merry at ALL. it’s a very interesting dynamic built from very simple beginnings, and it’s become one of my most enduring merry connections - i think it made her more of a person, and i totally have you to thank for it. they’re such different people from such similar worlds, with such an interest in one another that i have such a difficult time explaining - IT WORKS, it so works, but it works in a way where i kinda have to admit i never even expected it, and i feel like i’m learning more and more about it with merry. that’s a very fun sort of connection to write when it’s with someone who loves their character as much as you do kaela, and i’m endlessly interested in where it’ll go !

#nox.task #mine*#nox.graphics

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purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1264

Who are you subscribed to on YouTube? Oh man, I’m probably subscribed to over a hundred, if not 200. I’ve subscribed to channels relevant to interests I’ve had over the years, and since it’s not my habit to do spring cleaning on my feeds, the subscriptions have just keep piling up even if I no longer keep up with literally like 98% of them.

Do you like to go to the farmer's market? I don’t think I’ve ever been in one yet. They aren’t very common here and the ones we do have are pricey and mostly inaccessible to the everyday consumer, I’m sure.

What will (or was) the color of your wedding dress be? I wouldn’t want any other color than white.

What's your favorite melon? I don’t like fruits.

What was the name of the last pet of yours that died? Arlee. Technically my family mostly considered her as just Nina’s pet, but the sting was felt all the same when we learned she died.

When was the last time you wished the day would just get over with? Yesterday, because it was Friday. Pretty self-explanatory, I wanted to get to the weekend so I can finally let go of work for a couple of days.

Name one person you've never had a fight with: Andi. I think we’re both afraid of pissing the other off, which works out for us lol.

What are you currently listening to? I can just hear the really loud whirring of my electric fan because it’s a grossly humid day today.

What would you rather have: cat or dog? Dogs.

Who is your least favorite person in real life? I have a lot of uncles I just don’t like.

Do you ever watch anybody's live stream of... anything, really? Technically, yeah. I will sometimes tune in to livestreams of lofi music on YouTube, but I do it to listen, not to watch.

Does your house have security cameras? No.

If you go grey as you age, would you dye your hair or let it be? I think I might dye it for a certain period of time, but I also think I would eventually reach the point where I’ll just accept it and slowly let go of the dye.

What was the last establishment you stopped going to due to bad service? What happened? I haven’t run into much bad service, but I’ll never forget how long my order and bill took for Mad Mark’s. I never really vowed per se to never go back there again and I definitely didn’t confront the staff, but I haven’t eaten there since that incident.

What soundtrack do you listen to the most? Not a big soundtrack listener.

Was there a family secret you weren’t told about until you were an adult? Nah, they’re kept from us until now. The biggest one I’ve heard about was having a kleptomaniac in the family but we were never told who it is.

Do you have an opinion most people you meet seem to disagree with you? Yeah, my dislike for fruits.

What’s something you like to have many options to choose from? Clothes, I guess, like bucket hats. I don’t shop a lot and clothes aren’t a priority in my budget, so when I do pick out clothes, it has to be exactly what I want so that I don’t feel it was a waste of money.

What’s the strangest decorative object you own? We have several quirky, disconnected decor in the living room from gifts we’ve acquired over the years. One object I can tell you about is the polar bear glass figurine we have on the coffee table.

What’s a thing you couldn’t imagine doing with your life right now? Dating around.

What’s been your proudest moment? Managing to stay alive this year and turn my life around for the better when I thought there was no hope.

What’s the filthiest non-pornographic movie you’ve seen? Eyes Wide Shut, probably.

Do you know anyone who doesn't seem to be fond of animals? I don’t think so. Like any animal...? I would find that quite odd, honestly. And I wouldn’t want to be friends with them if we weren’t already close .

Are you planning any outings or trips anytime soon? Whereabouts? No, nothing set in stone. I do want to fly out to South Korea soon, though.

Do you know anyone who has a phobia of a certain animal? I know a few people who are afraid of dogs.

Is there a particular brand of technology/electronics that you prefer? Yeah, Apple.

Is there a singer whose voice gives you goosebumps/chills? Hayley Williams and Jin, especially when he’s belting; and I don’t listen to her much, but I find that Billie Eilish has a unique voice that sounds really nice.

And is there a singer whose voice you simply can't stand? Selena Gomez for some of her songs, Meghan Trainor for most of her songs.

Are there any authors that are particularly dominant on your bookshelf? No.

Have you seen any photographs or videos that made you smile today? Sure.

Which item in your fridge are you most looking forward to consuming? My aunt sent over this gigantic-ass slab of salmon that I can’t wait to eat as sashimi. I already had a few pieces last night and it was hea ven ly.

Has anyone you know got into a new relationship lately? Hmm, I don’t think so. I know my coworker Dev got into a relationship a few weeks ago but it fizzled out as soon as it started because the guy was shitty.

If you menstruate, do you experience much PMS prior to it? Only on the emotional side; I rarely get physical symptoms. I usually feel down or emotionally heavy a few days before my period.

Have you ever had a tattoo covered up or added to? No, I don’t have any tattoos. Can you remember the last time you had a sudden change of mind? Hmm, like last night. I wanted to stay up to maximize the weekend, buuuut I decided against it and slept instead since I had been up since 2 in the morning.

When was the last time you did something on a whim? Two weeks ago when I impulsively dropped a thousand bucks to have cheese tarts delivered to Angela and Reena, hahaha.

Were you raised by both of your parents? If not, then who raised you? My mom, grandma, and one of my aunts were the main people who raised me. Dad works overseas, so he was never at home much.

Have you ever began a relationship with someone you knew for less than a week? No, I wouldn’t do that.

Has one of your friends ever tried to ‘hook you up?’ Mik tried to pair me with one of his friends just days before I finally implied on social media that I was no longer in a relationship. It was a cool ego boost but I declined, since my emotions were still super turbulent then. Andi tried to initiate sex with me once too, but I also declined.

What is your card game of choice? I hate card games; I can never seem to understand them lmao, though that’s really more of a me problem than anything else.

What is your favourite books series? Growing up, I really loved the Septimus Heap series. But the thing about it was that I got into it while the series was still ongoing; and with how bad my attention span is, I always forgot the events/plot whenever the newest book came out.

So whenever that happened I had to read the entire series from Book 1; eventually the number of books I had to reread/revisit became too many (it was a seven-part series) and I simply just lost the time to read and I never got to know about the conclusion.

Do you prefer landmarks or street names when being given directions? Street names – more precise. Landmarks to me can be pretty subjective – a green building might look blue to me, and I could just end up being lost.

Do you read the prologues in the beginnings of books? Sure.

What was your favourite gym class moment? If I genuinely like or already play the sport that was being taught. That’s why PE table tennis was a lot of fun for me.

Do you think that ocean boardwalks are fun? I’ve never been on one but I imagine they are fun, yeah.

Do you dread when people ask you to sign their yearbooks? That’s not a tradition here.

Do you have a favourite Scooby-Doo movie? No. I was too young for Scooby-Doo in a sense that I do remember watching the movies as a 3/4 year old as they were kept on in the background at home, but I didn’t get any of the plots/didn’t really appreciate the films.

Do you think it’s cute when toddlers try to run away and fall down? Sometimes, yeah. If the fall looked nasty I would obviously be concerned.

Do you enjoy listening to your grandparents tell stories of their past? Honestly, only one of my grandparents would be the type to do this but he’s been dead for six years now. It’s a big shame he passed before I could bond with him the way I had always wanted to. My three other grandparents are either too closed off or too quiet to share stories from their youth.

Do you have a crush on someone? Nah, nothing more than a celebrity crush.

If so... what does his/her name begin with?

What attracts you to them?

Do they know that you like them?

If they don't know, why didn't you tell them?

Name two people that you miss: Angela and Laurice.

Have you ever seen Titanic? More times than I can count. I’m sure I memorize like 80% of the script, too.

Have you ever swam with dolphins? No. I’m not so sure if I’ve seen dolphins, either. Maybe I have? Or maybe I’m confusing it with whales...idrk.

When was the last time you had a stomachache? Wednesday.

What's going to bed early for you? 11 PM or midnight.

Do you want to have a big family in the future? I used to, but I don’t think that’s the future I want anymore. One or two kids should be okay.

What was the last thing you did that gave you a rush? Technically speaking, an orgasm, I guess?? Lmao idk

Favorite Nicholas Cage movie? I don’t think I have one.

Have you had your Covid vaccine yet? Which one, if you have? Yeah, I’m fully dosed. Sinovac.

If you've had your vaccine, did you experience any side effects? I was suuuuuuper tired right after my first dose and I wanted to be knocked the fuck out, but I went right back to work after the shot because I am allergic to filing leaves hahaha. Second dose went smoothly.

What's the next item of clothing that you intend to buy for yourself? A bucket hat or maybe one of the Fila x BTS shirts because the collection is actually quite cute!

What Facebook groups have you found the most helpful? I join Facebook groups to be entertained, not because I actively look for advice.

Do you like your butt? Why or why not? Yeah. It...has a good form hahahahahaha.

Have you ever personally been a victim of homophobia? Yes, a few years ago I went to a food park with my ex-girlfriend. I was already not feeling my best that day to begin with, so having to see an old woman stare daggers at us for what felt like years really stung. I felt small under her look and almost cried, but in the end I felt angry that I momentarily felt shame about my relationship. I decided to just piss the woman off on purpose and do PDA right in front of her.

Do you think you’d be happier if you had a pet? I have two dogs at present and I know they make me extremely happy.

Who was the last person you went on a date with? Gabie.

Were you ever hospitalized as a little kid? No. The first and only time I was hospitalized (other than being birthed), I was about 12, I think.

What’s your favorite way to curl your hair? I don’t do that. I rarely style my hair.

At what age did you start swearing? I was 11.

What is something you physically can’t do? Ride a bike.

What do like better, apples or oranges? I don’t like any fruits; but in terms of flavored stuff, I like orange-flavored food, especially chewy candy, slightly more.

Around the holidays, do you hope for snow? Well, no.

What are your top two favorite bands? Paramore and Against Me!

How many people do you 100% trust? There are a handful. I generally trust easily just because I like to believe all people are kind and loyal – but I can also take it away in the snap of a finger.

Do you care what others think about you? Not so much.

Has anyone ever called you a bitch? Sure.

Did you watch Teletubbies when you were younger? Yeah but just super super faint memories. It wasn’t one of my main shows.

Do you have any licenses other than your driver's license? I don’t.

Could you live the rest of your life without eating meat? I doubt it. I could try, but I think I’d get cranky and start looking for meat way earlier than I would like to admit.

Have you ever had a rolling backpack? Yup, if you mean a stroller. I think I’ve answered this on a previous survey.

Did you make any money today? No, because it’s a weekend. What was the highest place you've ever jumped from? Nothing dramatically high. I’ve had acrophobia-themed nightmares in the past, so even though I don’t actually have a fear of heights, the idea of jumping from a high place still makes me antsy.

Have you ever gone swimming in a river? Not that I can recall.

What was the last souvenir someone got you? I dunno if it counts but Andi bought merch from the AEW shop but made sure to also get a CM Punk sticker set for me :(

Do you have a favorite remix of a song? Remixes have never been my thing. What do you think is the most saddest sounding instrument? Piano.

Do you really pay attention to the ratings on movies? Yeah they can definitely affect the level of appreciation I hold towards a film. For instance, if I genuinely enjoyed a movie only to find out it has average to bad reviews, it invites me to think more critically about the movie.

Do you have a favorite species of wild cat (tiger/lion/cougar/etc.)? No.

If you had $500,000, what would you do with it? Give half to my parents and let them do whatever they wish it. With the remaining P12,500,000, I’d probably get myself my own condo and have it fully furnished, then get braces, then get a new phone and laptop. I’ll have a bunch of money still left, I’m pretty sure – the rest of it I’ll save.

Did the last person you touched lips with have a kid? No. I mean, I have honestly no clue what’s going on in her life now, but I know she doesn’t want kids so this is very unlikely.

"First loves are never really over." Is this true for you? It’s true in a sense that she left me a lot of trauma and self-esteem issues that will irrevocably always be a part of me now even though I’ve worked hard to resolved most of them by myself.

Did you like Michael Jackson before he died? Yes, because he has always been my favorite singer’s role model.

What are some things that would make you break up with someone? I don’t know how to answer this question, honestly. All the red flags were thrown and tossed and slapped into my face and down my throat for six years yet I never left. I don’t actually know what my limits are, and I believe it’s because my coping mechanism has to just accept things and suck them up no matter how bad they get. That’s what I’m trying to change for myself now.

What was the worst breakup you've ever had? I’ve had two breakups with the same person, and the second one was worse.

#survey #surveys

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lilyharvord · 4 years

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The Chain (Part 6)

Main Concept: Two love struck idiots get sent back to a pretty UGH time period in their lives (that required me to reread all the books again) and have to hide the fact that they know everything.

Find Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

tag list: @delilahlbard @king-maven-calore @thatoddgirl777 @elliekratzzz @evangelineartemiasamos @evangeline-of-montfort @scxrletguardsdawn @freaky-freiday @redqueenetwork @petergrantkavinsky @kuwei @whatsup-gorls (let me know if you want a tag (((((: )

(<Cal>)

Waiting is the hard part. I’ve always considered myself patient, even if I’m not at times. But this, this is a new level. It takes everything just to keep from pacing the room.

I thought I was going to throw up when Elara’s dress had disappeared down the stairs after the Sentinels carrying Mare. She was so certain that she could handle this, but what if Elara found something? I couldn’t care less if it was about me or what I will do in the futuer. I could take Elara his time. But if she hurts Mare, or forces her to regress to a state where I can’t pull her back from the brink like I did before, I don’t know if I would be able to live with letting Elara take her willingly.

It feels like it’s been hours. Did it take this long the first time? I don’t remember. I should though. Even the first time I have been sweating and panicking, albeit for a much different reason. Elara had figured the truth about out meeting out anyway.

The door opens with whisper, and I freeze near the window of my father’s study. My pulse pounds in my ears, and I force even inhales and exhales as Elara stalks into the room, her heels clicking against the wood until she steps on the carpet.

“She’s Red through and through.” She simply states. I almost can’t hear it over the roar of blood in my ears.

“And the terrorists?”

“She isn’t associated with them.” Elara murmurs and the whispers of silk brushing on wood announces her moving again. I let out the breath I’d been holding, trying to be discrete. When I glance over my shoulder though, it’s to see them so engrossed in dealing with the problem that I am only a decoration at this point. Good, so far everything was progressing the way I remembered. Elara could be keeping things to herself though. She’d kept plenty to herself in the months leading up to what happened in Archeon. If she had seen something about Montfort or the Guard in Mare’s memories she would keep it to herself, and start putting plans together behind the curtains. I had half a mind to warn Dane, not that he would need help scheming against Elara.

I need a test, something to see if she does know more than she is letting on. Stepping away from the window I ask, “How did she get here?” I never asked that question. I know that. I had sat quietly by the window while Elara told my father everything she had discovered. This would throw her. If she did see everything, then she would search my mind for the truth, and possibly reveal that it was my fault Mare was here. If she did either, I would know.

Elara’s icy gaze snaps to me, but I square my shoulders. I imagine my head as a hall of mirrors, reflecting my thoughts back at her. Behind those mirrors is everything I know, and my true thoughts. If she looks into my mind, she’ll only see what I want her to see, and I can lead her down any path I want because of that. She’ll think she’s the one doing the searching the entire time though, and I’ll feel her there. It’s an old trick that Carmadon did his best to teach. Mare wanted to learn it first. I could understand why too. After Samson and Elara both ripped her mind to pieces, it only made sense that she would never want it to happen again. I learned too, more for curiosity’s sake. I couldn’t be more grateful for that decision now.

There isn’t even a shadow of her in my head when she says, “One of the servants retrieved her, but it’s unclear who ordered her here.”

It’s the best answer I can get. I release the tension in my shoulders as she turns back to father at his desk, her face a mask of stone. “She is the last thing we need.”

He’s quiet for a long time, simply watching Elara’s face. I’d been so oblivious to the battle of wills between them my entire life. Knowing what hides behind Elara’s mask though lets me see the battle lines clearly. Elara has pushed a lot the past few years, and she’s winning. He must know that too. He’d be blind and stupid if he didn’t know that.

“She’s one girl, we could just remove her.” He eventually says, before leaning back and lacing his fingers together. Elara huffs at that, only to growl, “and the High Houses? What of them? Will we tell them she mysteriously vanished?” “Perhaps we should.”

“They’ll smell blood.” Elara sneers. For all her malicious plans, she does know the court. The Houses will need something to chew on to keep them quiet. The Mareena story works, it has just enough holes that they’ll be so busy poking they won’t look in the right places. The perfect ruse.

“Then what will you have me do Elara? Parade her in front of the kingdom?” He grunts out a laugh, but Elara’s lips curl up in the tinniest of smiles. She was already putting her plan into motion in this office. I wonder if she’s whispering it to Maven who is sitting just a few feet away, his eyes on the light stretching across the carpet from the open window. I glance at him hesitantly, looking for any sort of reaction. He looks bored though, his chin resting on his fist. That doesn’t mean anything though. He could be listening to every word she says.

“We will hide her in plain sight.” Elara instructs quickly. Her eyes darting to me only momentarily. I drop my eyes to the carpet, trying to count the different colors there as she continues to speak in a hushed whisper to my father. His face hardens with each passing second until he looks to me and says, “Out, take Maven with you.”

I remember this part well. They debate the intricacies without Maven and I present. Intricacies that will put Elara plan into motion permanently.

Pacing across the room, I set my hand on Maven’s shoulder. He tenses under my grip momentarily before rising from the chair and following me out of the double doors. They close with a click behind us.

We wait in the hallway, shoulder to shoulder. I need to speak with Mare, make sure she’s okay and that nothing slipped by. We also need to set up the next stage of our plan. We need to cover what happened after this, and I need her to tell me when exactly she met Farley so I can be on the lookout for Maven and Elara knowing more than they should. Or for anything suspicious. That is the only real test for them getting knowledge about the past from Mare.

Next to me, Maven adjusts the cuff of his suit and says, “Well, she certainly made today entertaining.”

I can’t smile or laugh, even though I should. I always laughed at his little asides. I’m so wrapped up in trying to out think Elara, that I can barely register his presence.

He steps in front of me at my prolonged silence, his eyes searching my face. I used to think it was because he was patiently waiting for me to speak, now I know he was a hunter, analyzing his prey. I crack a smile to hide my discomfort, watching his eyes as I say, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Evangeline come so close to crying.”

He laughs, and the sound makes my chest ache. It sounds so real. Is it? How much was really him? I wish I knew for sure.

The door behind us opens before I can get in a deeper hole and Elara steps out followed by father who carries Mare’s folder in his hand. While I know the truth of their relationship, they are still a striking couple. Her every feature is the opposite of his. I wonder if Maven always wished he looked more like his mother and less like our father.

“Send Lucas Samos for the girl. Bring her to the throne room.” My father orders the Sentinel waiting by the doors with a wave of his hand. Without waiting to see if the order is being followed, he starts down the hallway to the throne room. We must be there early enough to ensure proper placement. Our placement before Mare will be important. She’ll need to see the strength and power of the royal family, and my father will place us so that she sees exactly that.

We don’t wait for an order either, and follow him. The silence is so heavy I can hear Elara’s skirts hissing as she walks. There is not backing out of this now. I wish I had just grabbed Mare and run with her last night. I would have found us an airship, or anything to get us to Montfort. We would have been there by now and all of this might have been dealt with. I should have told her to hell with Jon’s advice. I know better. I’ve known better for years than to believe anything that man says.

The throne room is empty, and the throne has been moved back a few feet by some telkies and probably a magnetron. They want Mare to make the long walk down the hall and see all of it. My father wants her to be afraid. He won’t get that effect this time around though. Mare hates this place, and she’ll let that show on every inch of her face.

Maven takes his place first, giving me enough space on his right side for me to slide between him and our father’s throne. I step up on the dais and into my place. He glances at me for a moment and then asks, “If they order her to be executed, do you think Evangeline will demand the honor?”

My throat closes up at the memory of Evangeline and Ptolemus stalking us in the Bowl of Bones. I throw a glare at Maven that could melt steel, even though panic laces through my bones. Does he know that because Elara told him it will come to pass?

His face pales with blush though, and I immediately regret my reaction. I clasp my hands together behind my back and look toward the doors that Mare will be brought through. “She doesn’t deserve to die. She’s just a girl.” I hope he thinks my fury is there because I’m too soft.

Mare’s much more than just a girl. She’ll become more than that to him quickly too. I close my hands into fists at the thought. I promised Mare that I would never let him hurt her again. I swore that at the Notch and last night. Mare is more than capable of handling herself, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to protect her. Especially from him and the memories he will bring back.

The doors into the room open and Lucas brings her in with guards surrounding her. Behind me, the warmth of the sun slides away as a Haven darkness the room. It’s dramatic and entirely unnecessary. No one can see into this room. But appearances are everything, and I’m slowly being reminded of that. I’d give anything for my slacks and shirts that I kept in my Montfort apartment. I can’t believe that years ago I missed these uniforms. They’re miserable. “You will kneel,” Elara orders, her voice soft as velvet.

Mare stands silently, staring her down before turning her eyes to my father. They flash with remorse for only a moment. “I will not.” She straightens her shoulders, every inch the warrior I remember her being with a different edge. This is Mare Barrow, not Mareena, not the Little Lightning Girl. This is the girl who came to exist between the peaks of Montfort, the one that threw a splatter of dough at me because I said something about her legs in a pair of pants, but turned around the next morning and beat me to a tie in a training ring. The girl whose brothers would wrestle me to the ground and threaten to dump me in the lake on a daily basis. My heart aches for that. As much as a part of me rejoices in seeing my father and brother again, I miss the Barrows.

“Do you enjoy your cell, girl?” My father asks his voice louder than it needs to be. Mare may be hard headed but she’s not deaf. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

Still Mare purses her lips, refusing to bow. “It’s a little small.” She says as her eyes dance around the room taking everything in. In a few months we’ll be in a room very similar but she and Maven will be on their knees. Her eyes hold on Elara before she raises her chin and asks, “What do you want with me?” She’s surprisingly calm and the question is brutal in its bluntness. I wish I was a whisper so that I can tell her to at least pretend to be afraid.

Elara leans down, her hand closing around my father’s shoulder as she whispers in his ear, “I told you, she’s Red through and through—”

He waves her off with disinterest. Her hand grips his arm for another moment before she released it and draws back. It’s like watching a bird of prey release its catch to give it a bit of hope before it swoops in again. My stomach curls at the image.

“What I want concerning you is impossible.” My father snaps, and he might as well set Mare on fire with those words.

Mare huffs and twitches her head to the side to move her hair off her shoulder. She hasn’t looked this way once. She won’t either. Not as long as Maven stands next to me.

“Well, I’m not sorry you can’t kill me.” She grumbles as she looks to the side, picking a stop on the wall to glare at. She’ll have to look at him eventually. I wish I could be there to support her when she does. Instead I’m standing up here, being about as useful as a rock in a sinking ship.

My father tosses her file onto the floor. Her papers spill out, and Mare’s identification photo stares back at me. The fire I love sparks in her eyes as she looks at that photo. Her lips twist at the sight of the little smear of her blood there. I know what she’s thinking about. She’s thinking about a book of names. I’ve already started the hunt though, cataloguing Ada’s exact location, along with Nix, and Luther. Anyone else I could remember from the Notch I tried to find. I’d been mostly successful. I’d even found Dane’s name buried in the system. Of course, he’d been reported dead years ago.

“Mare Molly Barrow, born November seventeenth, 302 of the New Era, to Daniel and Ruth Barrow,” my father drawls as if he’s reading the paper and not the life story of a woman who will one day bring an end to our family dynasty. “You have no occupation and are scheduled for conscription on your next birthday. You attend school sparingly, your academic test scores are low, and you have a list of offenses that would land you in prison in most cities. Thievery, smuggling, resisting arrest, to name but a few. All together you are poor, rude, immoral, unintelligent, impoverished, bitter, stubborn, and a blight upon your village and my kingdom.”

I could laugh. If only my father knew what she would become. He would have to swallow his tongue. He might even respect her.

“And yet,” he continues as if what he’s said wasn’t enough, “You are also something else. Something I cannot fathom. You are Red and Silver both, a peculiarity with deadly consequences you cannot understand. So what am I do to with you?”

Mare only shrugs, as she looks down at her boots. “I suppose you could let me go?”

Elara’s laugh sends a shiver down my spine again. She steps forward just slightly and spits, “And what about the High Houses? Will they keep silent as well? Will they forget the little lightning girl in a red uniform?”

They never will.

“You know my advice Tiberias,” Elara adds, her eyes holding on my father. I wonder if she is whispering into his mind right now, twisting his mind to do her bidding. “And it will solve both our problems.”

I clench my fist, knowing what’s coming next. Mare seems to know too, because her jaw tightens. I wish I could stand beside her for this part. As if something as stupid as that could make a difference in this moment.

“We are going to hide you in plain sight where we can watch you, protect you, and attempt to understand you.” With a bored shrug, father turns his eyes to Elara, who nods. Swallowing tightly, I step forward and urge, “Father—“

Maven’s hand closes around my elbow, making sure I can’t move. Elara’s eyes dance to me for a moment, until Maven pulls me back into line. Father turns away though, already busy telling Mare the story she will play by.

Mare’s eyes finally glance my way as she says, “I don’t want to be a princess.” “It doesn’t matter what you want. You will marry my son Maven, and you’ll do it without putting a toe out of line.” He dismisses her abysmal refute with strong words. Mare’s jaw tightens, and she finally brings her eyes to Maven. I can hear her inhale, sharp as a knife. Next to me, Maven sputters and steps forward. “I don’t understand,” he blurts.

I grab his arm, holding him back as he tries to take quick steps forward. “She’s—why?”

“Quiet,” Elara snaps, making even me tense. “You will obey.”

Maven turns burning eyes on her, reminding me so much of the boy he is to become. Elara hardens though, refusing to back down until Maven slowly bows back. A battle of wills I’d missed before. No doubt she’s whispering her plan into his mind, curling her fist around his intentions.

Below us, Mare watches the entire thing, analyzing just as much as I am. She squeezes her hand into a fist and says, “This won’t help anyone.”

“Oh, but it will. For the first time in your rudimentary little life, you have a purpose.” The jab stings even me, and Mare flinches at it. “Here we are, in the early stages of a badly timed rebellion, with terrorist groups or freedom fighters, or whatever the hell these idiotic Red fools call themselves, blowing things up in the name of equality.”

Mare raises a brow, feigning interest. “The Scarlet Guard.” She corrects, her voice hard.

“You might be able to help us stop there from being any more.” Father completely ignores her, steamrolling over Mare’s words like they are nothing. I wish he’d listen though. If he did, he would have been surprised that Mare even knew the name of the Scarlet Guard. No one really did, and if they did, they were the people we had been looking for.

“And you think me marrying him will fix that?” She asks, her eyes darting to Maven and then away really quickly. She can barely hold his eye. This may have been bigger mistake than we originally thought. If Mare can’t even look at Maven, how is she supposed to pretend to trust him? Keep it together, I want to tell her, you’re almost there.

“My name is Maven,” he says, quietly. “And I still don’t understand.” His cheeks are flushed with what I know is fury. Before, I would have mistaken it for embarrassment at Mare’s lack of decorum, now I know better.

“If the Reds see her, a Silver by blood but Red by nature, raised up with us, they can be placated. It’s like a fairytale.” Mare’s eyes burn and I raise my chin to finish. “She’ll be their champion. And a distraction.” I add the last part hesitantly; the words sour in my mouth.

When I don’t say anything else, Mare’s eyes drop. Father straightens up in his throne filling the silence immediately. “This isn’t a request, Lady Titanos.”

Mare’s eyes snap up to him, her expression pulling tight.

“You will go through with this, and you will do it properly.”

Elara launches into her part, almost eagerly. As soon as she finishes Mare whispers, “My family—“

“What about them? Girl, you have fallen head over heels into a miracle.” Elara crows, furious that Mare would question any of this.

“Mare has a family, and she has a right to be worried about them.” I snap, drawing both Elara and Maven’s eyes. I tense at the slip, and Mare’s eyes widen a fraction of an inch. Swallowing, I bring my chin up and direct my next words to my father, “You would want the same for me or Maven if that were the case.” He huffs, and with shrug says, “Of course.” Drumming his fingers on the arm of the throne, he tilts his head to the side and says, “I suppose we’ll give them an allowance, keep them quiet.”

“I want my brothers brought back from the front.” Mare begins, pouncing on my father’s words, and stepping forward as she says them. Elara tenses but Mare only has eyes for my father as she continues with her demands. “And my friend, Kilorn Warren. Don’t let the legions take him.”

With a wave of his hand, Father agrees. “Done.”

Mare sags in relief, and it’s the first time I’ve seen her relaxed since we got into this mess. The doors open again, and Lucas returns with the guards. They grab Mare’s arms before turning her around and taking her from the room. I know exactly where they are going, but I wait until Father has risen from the throne, chuckling to himself. I watch him until he recognizes my stare. He gives me a smile, pleased that things are at least somewhat going his way. “Write those letters will you?”

“As long as they are sent out tonight before the feast.” I say, even though I know Shade is already gone. It was one of the first things I looked up when I woke up days ago. He’d already been accused of desertion. He was with the Guard and Farley long before I even guessed.

I step off the back of the dais with those words and head straight for the door that will take me to the back hallways that lead to the royal apartments. I try not to run, but i’m terrified that if I don’t pull Bree and Tramy off the lines soon enough that they won’t make it off. I won’t let them die so that I have to tell Mare that I lost two more of her brothers.

I know Maven’s following me long before I get to my rooms. I leave the door open for him to follow me in. He closes it behind him as I rush to my desk, pushing books aside while I search for official paper and a pen. Normally letters like that will be typed, but the faster it goes out, the better. I fly through Kilorn’s letter, barely registering what I’m writing.

Maven watches me in silence as I hunch over the desk. He waits for a second more before saying, “You know her.”

I don’t look up as I sign Kilorn’s letter. His needs to go to the recruitment office immediately. He should have already been drafted. The legionaries in the Stilts had always been slow though. Maven’s shoes click on the wood floor as he approaches my desk. He stops near my elbow and says, “You know her, Cal. How?”

“I met her outside a tavern.” I keep my reply short as I fold the letter and start on Bree’s. He watches my pen move, probably reading the words as I go. He leans his hip against the edge of the desk, and crosses his arms while I write in silence. He wants more. He won’t get any from me though.

I fold Bree’s and start Tramy’s in the silence. He shifts to get my attention but when I don’t reply, he says, “You got her this job.”

I nod, and then read over Tramy’s letter before folding it and searching for another piece of paper for Shade’s. “She was desperate. She needed it.”

“I didn’t realize you ran a charity case.” He mumbles before leaving me at my desk to throw himself on to my bed. I glance at him over my shoulder as he does that. He sinks into the blankets before looking around my room asking, “Are you ready for tonight?”

Shaking my head, I pull a piece of paper from the desk and hastily start Shade’s letter. The bedding shifts as Maven does. He’s purposefully trying to get my attention now. A few years ago, before I knew what was in his head, I would have laughed at his attempts. Now though, I’m on guard, watching every move. I pause from writing Shade’s letter to glance at Maven. He props himself up on his elbows and smiles at me. It’s so disarming, I can’t help but give him a little smile back. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

He nods in understanding before shifting and saying, “I’m not going to lie. I thought… that I would at least get a choice.”

I glance back at Shade’s letter to finish it. Was that a true statement? Probably. Elara forced him into this. Maybe it was his way of letting some of his true self slip out. My hand shakes as I sign the letter though. I tell myself it’s because I’m thinking about how it will do nothing, but I know that a part of me is thinking about Maven’s words and their implication. Had that been a cry for help that I missed? It certainly sounded like one.

“I’m sorry.” I say to Maven, and those two words mean so much more than what I intend. He raises a brow, as if sensing the depth of my words. With a tilt of his head, he says, “You don’t have to be. It’s my duty to do as I’m told.”

I fold Shade’s letter slowly and gather the other three. Turning to him, I approach the bed slowly. His eyes track my movement until I’m standing over him, and I don’t miss his cheek twitch as I set my hand on his leg. I swallow once more and whisper, “I’m truly sorry, Maven.”

The heat underneath my hand rises with the swell of emotions he tries to keep under the surface. Drawing my hand back I look away. “I’m going to turn these in, I’ll see you at the feast.”

I can feel his eyes on my back as I approach the door. Just as I’m turning the knob to leave, he speaks again, making me freeze.

“I know, Cal.” His voice is soft, and for a moment, I get a flash of a simple stone on a sandy bluff overlooking the ocean. He would have loved that. I had been right to bury him someplace quiet. I squeeze my hand into a fist, remembering how that shovel felt in my hands, and how the blisters had burned, torn, and bled while I dug six feet into the ground. Nanabel had been horrified when I’d gotten back with blood all over my pants from wiping my hands on them. She thought I had at least taken someone with me to do the digging. I had refused anyone’s help though. I’d been a coward to let Mare do what I should have done. I wouldn’t be that coward again. And he was my brother. I was going to bury him myself, whether or not anyone thought that was right.

Still, I give him a nod, showing him that I heard. He’s already on his path, and there is little that I think I can do for him. I can just be there for him, get him through this, and then bury him again. I don’t know if I’ll have the strength to do that again though.

(/////) Mare’s rooms are at least on the way back from the offices of reports. It makes my trip back easier. I arrive just as they are putting the final touches on her. She pulls away when they reach for the earrings, and she almost grabs the girl’s wrist as she does so. “Leave those, please.”

I can’t help but smile as I clear my throat. The maids all look my way and drop into quick, identical curtsies. I bob my head to them and whisper, “Excuse us.”

They hurry out, and Mare slowly turns in the dress watching them leave. I approach slowly when the door closes, asking, “Cameras?”

“Off.” She says quickly. I tilt my head before reaching out to run my thumb along her cheek. The paint smears slightly and I whisper, “I forgot how odd you looked with this stuff.”

“How kind,” she teases me with a smile as she pushes my hand away and descends from the little platform she had been standing on. She doesn’t wobble in the shoes like I remember. Continuing to ignoring me, she sinks into the chair in front of the vanity, and picks up the brush to adjust the smudge I made in her makeup. I watch her back, and for a moment, it’s like we never left Montfort. I could picture her sitting at her vanity in our apartment fixing her hair before we go to a state dinner, or before she goes to work.

“You still look beautiful.” I whisper to her. She glances up at me in the mirror, and her lips quirk up just slightly.

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.” I say as I approach her. I reach out to pick up a piece of hair that fell out near the back of her neck. I tuck it in, before holding my hand out for a pin. She gives it to me willingly before saying, “Anything suspicious?”

“Nothing.” I say as I slide the pin in place. I don’t mention Maven’s little comment. It didn’t hurt anything. Those words had been meant for me. She nods to me in the mirror, before rising and brushing out the wrinkles in her dress. Facing me, she makes a face at my uniform and reaches up to adjust my collar. Smoothing out the shoulders of my suit jacket she says softly, “She didn’t get anything I didn’t want her to get.”

“The letters went out.” I change the subject quickly. Still, I watch her hands as she brushes something off the jacket of my suit. This feels like the beginning again. All the sneaking around that came with our dance lessons. I feel like I’m trading code with her, and we’re dancing perfectly around the truth.

Nodding softly at my words, she releases a long exhale before dropping her hands. Her brows knit together before she sinks back onto the vanity school. Reaching up to massage her temple she whispers, “I don’t know if I can—I have to sit next to him tonight.”

Reaching out, I let my fingertips brush her exposed collarbone. She feels warm, and real, even if she’s painted to look like a lie. The tension rolls out of her shoulder as I squeeze it. I wish I could just take the pain away from her, and leave her numb for the hours that are to come. “You know what he is,” I whisper to her. My words draw her eyes which are darker than I ever remember them being. Even after Corros.

“I’ll only be a few seats away.” I brush a stubborn, loose curl away from her face. The imperfection reminds me that I used to push her mangled hair out of her face when she woke up in the morning. Trying to ignore the unease turning my stomach to a rolling mess, I take her hands and pull her to her feet. Even though I say those words with every intention of following through on their implication, when it comes down to it, I know I won’t be able to do anything. If she does need me, what can I do, squeeze her hand and smile? I’d done that the first time we went through this and it did shit all.

Shaking her head at my words, she squeezes my fingers in reply until I squeeze back. Leaning down, I rest my forehead against hers and close my eyes. She smells like jasmine, and cherry. Even here, in this nest of snakes, she still manages to strike me.

“We could still try to run to Montfort. There’s time.”

She chuckles at my idea, but it lacks the usual bright undertone I know. When I open my eyes, she’s watching me intently, a soldier now, more than ever. “We can’t leave everyone. They may not know it, but they’re counting on us not messing up like you did this afternoon.”

I grimace and my ears burn immediately at the chastising comment. Calling her Mare might have alerted Elara to something. It certainly alerted Maven. “Like I said before, it’s a good thing it’s a suitable nickname for Mareena.”

She smacks my cheek playfully, and pulling out of my grip she gives me a smirk before passing me. Looking over her shoulder, her smirk falls as she asks, “Has it been hard… seeing your father?”

To be honest, I hadn’t thought about it until she asked. The ache I’d felt in my chest, I’d just assumed came from my thoughts constantly being occupied by my brother. From the moment I’d seen him for the first time, I’d felt like my lungs were going to collapse and my chest was going to cave in. Being around him was like drowning. I couldn’t breathe, could barely think clearly. Throughout the war against him, all I could think about was what I would give to have these moments back. I’d realized last night that I didn’t want the moments themselves though, I wanted the ignorance that came with them. I wanted to see my brother again, the happy, laughing boy I thought I remembered. Whenever I look at him though, I only see the shell he is to become. I couldn’t save him before, and now, that knowledge only hurts more.

“I haven’t really seen him.” I rub at the back of my neck, uncomfortable with that knowledge. Her face falls even further. There is nothing she can say though. Reaching out, she brushes her fingertips along the back of my hand. “Cameras are back on.”

I let my pinkie brush hers, and listen to her footsteps as she leaves the room.

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thedarkplume · 3 years

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Throwback Thursday

Dust off those browsers, friends. We’re gonna travel back in time to the stories that brought us into the fandom or the ones that have stuck with you through the years.

Share your super old faves and reblog them, showing the authors their classics are not forgotten. Leave them a love note showing them how much it means to you.

Then reblog the first story you wrote for your current fandom or even the first one you wrote for each fandom you belong to. The world is our oyster. Let’s rediscover some pearls.

I'm not going to lie. This Ask made me a little bit sad. There have been some really great writers on this site that have left us for unspecified reasons, and some for the childish bullying that seems to be a daily thing.

One of my favorite blogs was @chocolatecherubs. They were a blog that was written specifically for black female characters in the Marvel Universe, with Steve and Bucky as the central love interests, particularly during the 1940s.

However, all is not lost! There are still plenty of blogs that I follow and love and can always count on to provide the most entertainment you can achieve without picking up an actual book. One of the blogs who always delivers on this front regardless of the subject matter is the beautiful and talented @avintagekiss24 . I've been following her for a year and it has been a nonstop rollercoaster of fun, excitement, surprise, and even a little bit of heartbreak.

@avintagekiss24 has so many stories that I reread over and over again, it's nearly impossible to pick just one. But...if I did have to choose a classic in a split-second decision it would be Night Shift. This was my first time ever reading a story about Andy Barber and since then I have not stopped!

As for my own forays into fanfiction, I've written for Twilight, Harry Potter, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Cruel Intentions, a few WIPs for We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Knives Out, and the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and that's not counting all of the stories knocking around in my head vying for attention!

Here is a VERY old Buffy the Vampire Slayer story I wrote.

Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Pairing: Buffy/Angelus

Setting: 1700s, New Colonies

A/N: This story is a little different from the others I’ve written. This story is set in the days of Angelus’ life when Drusilla had just turned Spike. Bear with me if everything is not exactly up to par historically – I am not a history buff! NSFW 18+ Warnings for offensive language, subject matter, violence, blood, gore, and sexual abuse.

His features could not be termed uninteresting—there lay in them something bold and daring—but the expression on the whole anything but benevolent. There were contempt and sarcasm in the cold dark eyes, whose glance, however, was at times so piercing that no one could endure it long.

from The Mysterious Stranger (1860) – Anonymous

What is obsession? Is it the madness that consumes a man when he’s confronted with the one thing he knows he is not supposed to have? Is it the burning desire to possess the aforementioned object, ensuring that she will only think of him as he only thinks of her? Angelus paced back and forth in his chosen room of the mansion. Darla was still off reconnecting with Dracula and giving Angelus some much-needed breathing room. While she was off having her own adventures, he moved his childe and grandchilde to the American Colonies. They were in the colony named New York. Angelus loved the New Colonies. The women were not as sexually repressed, and the humans as a whole were more trusting. Since their arrival, government officials, writers, artists, scholars – everyone who held wealth and power had invited Angelus, his “sister” Drusilla and her husband William, to parties. There was nothing Angelus enjoyed more than drunk socialites.

And it was at one of these parties that he saw her. The object of his obsession. Elizabeth Anne Summers. Buffy, to those who knew her intimately. She had long, golden blonde hair, not unlike Darla’s, but hers had more of a silky texture. Her eyes were large and hazel, brimming with innocence. She had sun-kissed skin that seemed to glow underneath the moonlight.

Angelus wanted her. He wanted to bury his fangs and his cock inside her. Her scent proved that she was untried, but that would only last so long. Angelus found out everything he could about her. She was promised to the governor’s son. She lived with her parents Hank and Joyce Summers. She had a baby sister – Dawn – who caught pneumonia and died at the age of six. Her father worked as a developer for the colony and his wife owned a prominent boutique. She had two best friends, Willow Osbourne née Rosenberg and Alexander Harris, husband to the beautiful and licentious Cordelia Harris née Chase.

The first time Angelus spoke to her was at a party that was thrown by an oil barren. Angelus, as usual, found himself surrounded by three potential meals. Drusilla stood by William’s side, smiling proudly as he recited poetry. It was terrible, but the women thought it was the most beautiful thing they had ever heard.

“Do you hunt, Mr. McConroy?” one of the women – Mrs. O’Hara or something or another – said, pulling him from his thoughts.

Angelus flashed an enticing smile. “Why yes, Mrs. O’Hara. ‘Tis one of my many pleasures.”

She wet her lips and fluttered her eyes in what he was sure was meant to be attractive. “Well, in that case, you should come to my husband’s estate in the country. You two can hunt and later you could tell me more about your pleasures.”

“How can a man of sound mind resist such an enticing offer?” he said, kissing the back of her hand.

The woman continued to place unnecessary hints concerning secret rendezvous and Angelus almost lost control and snapped her neck on the spot until one of the younger women spoke up.

“There’s that Elizabeth Summers.”

Angelus’ attention immediately shifted, seeking out his dark obsession. She came in with her parents. Her large hazel eyes seemed sad, and Angelus suddenly wanted to seek out that which had caused her misery and destroy it. He wanted to be the sole source of any pain she felt. But he could not gaze upon his obsession in peace as one of the three women continued her verbal assault.

“How a strange girl like that was lucky enough to have a contract with Governor Finn’s son is baffling.”

“She is a strange one, Harmony,” Cordelia Harris vehemently agreed. “My husband says that she spends all of her time reading. Reading! Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“Well, I hear that she wishes to become a writer! As if any respectable man would want anything written by a woman! A proper lady should spend her time learning to attend a household and concern herself with pleasing her husband.”

“Yes, well, we all know that Buffy,” she sneered the name. “Is as far from a lady as one can be. It baffles me why Alexander enjoys her company so. It’s embarrassing!” she glared as said husband made his way over to Buffy.

“I see nothing wrong with a properly educated woman, Mrs. Harris,” Angelus said, drawing their attention away from Buffy. “It would be refreshing to hear a woman contribute something to the conversation beyond how pretty the dresses are overseas.”

Cordelia Harris’ expression darkened so that if Angelus had been human, he might have been afraid. “Well,” she sniffed, highly offended. “It is upon the hour, and I believe I shall take my leave.” She stood and scowled at Angelus when he broke societal conventions and refused to stand when she did. “I bid you goodnight, Mrs. O’Hara, Harmony, Mr. McConroy.”

“Mrs. Harris,” his flourishing bow was meant and taken in all its mockery. He smirked as she huffed and stomped away. He watched her approach Buffy and Alexander, and used his enhanced hearing to listen in.

“…husband and I must be going,” she said in a clipped tone.

Buffy knew that her friend’s wife didn’t like her, but for Xander’s sake, she at least made an effort. “I am sorry that you must be leaving so soon. I hope you will feel well, Cordy.”

“Oh, Elizabeth, how many times must I remind you to call me Mrs. Harris?” she said tightly.

“Of course. I apologize.”

“Alexander.”

The dark-haired young man looked between his wife and his friend, wishing he could stay, but knowing he would never hear the last of it if he did. “Of course, dear. See you soon, Buffy.”

Her other friend, Willow, who had watched the scene from across the room, performed her usual damage control ritual. “You know I think one of these days he shall divorce her.”

“Willow!” she whispered, linking their arms. “You should not say such things.”

“Well, he should! I’m fairly certain the only reason he puts up with her is for the sex and we both know the pregnancy scare was the incentive for the marriage to start with…”

Angelus watched the two young women disappear out onto the gardens. “Ladies, if you will excuse me.” He left the woman at the table and sought out William. He didn’t have the same mental link with him as he did with Drusilla, but William could feel when his grandsire called him.

“You called?” he said, appearing moments later.

“Yes, I’m stepping out for a moment. Make sure no one sees Dru nibbling on the livestock.”

“Are you ever going to tell me what’s so special about this bird? I mean, she’s a cutie and all, but is she really worth our queen mother handing you your own arse?”

“What Darla doesn’t know won’t kill me.” Angelus knew William had a point. Darla was extremely jealous and possessive of him, but he was still sore around the edges where she was concerned, considering that she left him to die in a burning barn. Darla was his sire and that was a bond not easily broken, but nothing could reestablish the trust he lost for her. He glanced at Drusilla to see if she was keeping out of trouble and caught her thralling Harmony. “If you want the blonde as a party favor you should take her out of here. She’s as dumb as a post but has a pleasant peach scent to her.”

Angelus left his grandchilde to attend to Dru and followed Buffy’s scent through the large garden maze. She and her friend, Willow sat on a bench in front of a pond talking quietly.

“…says?”

“You mean when she’s not nursing a bottle? She blames me. She says even whores aren’t low enough to chase their own fathers,” she sniffled.

“Oh, Buffy, have you thought about telling Riley?”

“No, I can’t tell him, Will. If he thought for a moment that it’s gone further than a drunken fumbling, he’ll never speak to me again.”

“And right now, he’s your only way out,” Willow sighed in sympathy to her friend’s plight. “You know Oz and I will let you move in with us.”

“People will talk.”

“They’re already talking. One of New York’s most beloved sons married to a kike?”

“Willow!” Buffy admonished. “Don’t ever call yourself that.”

The redhead shrugged carelessly. “I have been called much worse. I am just telling you that Oz and I do not care what anyone else says about us.”

“I appreciate it. And if the wedding was happening later than next month I would say yes.”

“But what if he goes too far before Riley can save you?”

The unanswered question hung heavy in the air. Angelus seethed. He barely restrained himself from going back inside, grabbing Hank Summers and tearing off his worthless cock with his bare hands. It didn’t anger Angelus that the man was taking liberties with his daughter. It bothered him that his touch would not be the first she had known from a man.

“I should get back inside before Oz starts looking for me. Come with?”

“In a little while. I just want a little more time away from the noise.”

“Don’t take too long. Your parents,” she mumbled.

Angelus watched the Osbourne woman return to the party from his place in the shadows. He turned his attention back to Buffy realizing that they were finally alone. She leaned back, her hands flat on the bench and her face turned up towards the starlit sky. Her eyes were closed, and the subtle breeze disturbed the tendrils of silky tresses framing her face. Angelus had the perfect view of the golden skin of her smooth throat. His face shifted as he imagined sinking his fangs into her throat as her naked body writhed helplessly underneath his.

Buffy’s eyes suddenly snapped open. She stood and she looked around her as if sensing she was not alone. “Is someone there?” she called.

Angelus contained his excitement and returned to his human visage. “Just me,” he said, pretending as though he was simply out for a stroll through the garden’s maze. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Buffy stared at the man before her. She was certain that she had never seen him around before. He was tall, very tall. He had long dark hair that was bound behind his head. He had a wide mustache and she wondered if it was as soft as his hair looked. He had dark eyes. Eyes that were mischievous and secretive. She started to believe she was dreaming. She always thought Riley was cute in a boyish way, but this man before her with the long brown hair, his piercing dark eyes and his enticing smirk was…beautiful. His smirk seemed to widen, and Buffy realized with startling clarity that she was rather rudely staring at him.

“No, you did not frighten me, sir,” she recovered.

“You are Elizabeth Summers, correct?”

“Yes, but everyone calls me Buffy.”

He took her hand – it seemed tiny and engulfed by his – and pressed a small kiss to it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Buffy. I am Angelus McConroy.”

Recognition flashed in her large hazel eyes. “Of course, Mr. McConroy! You live in the Crawford’s old mansion. Your brother-in-law, William, is it? He ordered a gown from my mother’s boutique for your sister.”

Angelus suppressed another smirk. He had sent William on that particular mission to scout out the boutique and Buffy’s work hours, and to spread the word to the local undead community that she, her family and friends, were off limits.

“Yes, my family and I moved there a few months ago.”

Buffy fidgeted with her dress before resuming her place on the bench. “Would you…would you care to sit?” she offered timidly.

He flashed a dazzling smile and took his place beside her. “Now what is a lovely girl such as yourself doing out here all alone? It’s really not safe,” said the wolf to the rabbit.

Buffy glanced up at him and flushed as he stared down at her unblinkingly. “Oh, well, I just stepped out for a moment. Just for some air,” she shrugged.

“You don’t truly enjoy parties, do you?”

“They are…acceptable.”

“Ah, but a lass such as yourself would much rather be at home in front of the fire with a book. You prefer the silence and solitude to the noise and excitement.”

She flushed an attractive pink and looked up at him from under her lashes. “I realize that those are not exactly the qualities one looks for in a woman, but…”

“But you are far from a woman, lass. You’re still a wee child.” He watched appreciatively as her skin flushed a darker red.

“Sir, I will have you know that I am of sixteen years and will soon be a wife,” she said, not really succeeding in sounding offended.

“Yes, to Governor Finn’s lad no less. I find it difficult to see what it is the boy could have done to deserve the hand of such a fair lass.”

Her hazel eyes met his and she wore a smile befitting that of the most experienced of coquettes. “Do you tell all your ladies that, Mr. McConroy?”

“Only the pretty ones,” he smirked and wiggled his eyebrows.

She started laughing and Angelus thought it was the most enticing sound he had ever heard. “You are indeed a charmer, Mr. McConroy. If I may be so bold…?”

“You may.”

“Why is there not a Mrs. McConroy? A gentleman such as yourself should have amassed quite the number of prospects from the fairer sex.”

Angelus, seeing his opportunity, angled his body towards hers. “Perhaps it is because a man can only have ale for so long before he starts to long for a fine wine.”

He could hear her heart pounding in fear and excitement as their seemingly innocent conversation began to take a different turn. “But what if you’re not supposed to have the wine?” she breathed.

“That’s when it’s the sweetest.” His hand cupped her cheek and her eyes fluttered from the contact. “Look at me, Buff,” he commanded. “Look into my eyes.” Angelus knew he could have waited rather than jumping at the first opportunity to thrall her, but he was anxious to have her in his bed.

“You have pretty eyes.”

Angelus felt his eyebrows rise. You have pretty eyes? Angelus concentrated harder and Buffy flinched as he suddenly seemed to be scowling at her.

“What? Men can have pretty eyes,” she pouted slightly, thinking he was offended.

Angelus blinked. He surveyed her carefully, playing close attention not to let himself linger on her pouting pink lips. He didn’t understand how it was possible for her to resist his thrall. No one had ever resisted! The girl was obviously human. She smelled human. She had a heartbeat. What had gone wrong? His eyebrows knitted together as he ran through any and all explanations as to why his gift had failed him. He felt her warm hand press against his own.

“Angelus? Is something wrong?”

He recovered, wearing his signature smirk. “You think my eyes are pretty, do ye?”

Buffy fiddled with the sleeves of her dress looking anywhere but at him. “Yes, they resemble little pools of chocolate.” She felt his fingers lace through hers and looked down. She liked the way their hands fit.

“Now which one of us is the charmer here, Buff?” he watched her shiver as his fingers idly stroked hers.

“There you are!”

Buffy stood, withdrawing her hand from Angelus, completely missing his darkened expression. “Riley,” she said, her heart pounding heavily as though she’d been caught doing something terribly wicked.

“I have been searching all over for you, Bethie.”

He took her hand in his own, missing her subtle wince at the nickname she loathed. “Forgive me if I have caused distress. I only stepped out for a moment.”

“Your mother and father are looking for you. They –.” Riley stopped short when he saw movement behind Buffy. “Hello,” he said to the man who sat on the bench watching them unabashedly. “I do not believe we have met. I am Riley Finn, Elizabeth’s husband-to-be.”

“Oh, yes, the governor’s boy,” Angelus said, taking in the blue-eyed baby-faced boy with mocking eyes.

Although the sarcasm went completely over the boy’s head as he puffed out his chest and stood a little taller, Angelus smirk only grew when Buffy gave him a warning glare.

“Yes, yes, I am,” he said proudly.

“Riley, this is Mr. McConroy.”

Riley tensed slightly, something neither Angelus nor Buffy missed. “McConroy. You purchased the old Crawford Mansion.”

“Yes,” he confirmed, his eyes glinting slightly.

“Well, it was nice making your acquaintance, Mr. McConroy, but Elizabeth and I must be going.”

“Of course. Nice meeting you, Finn.” He turned his penetrating eyes to Buffy. He picked up her hand and gave her a lingering kiss that left her near breathless. “T’was a pleasure makin’ your acquaintance, Buffy.”

“Mr. McConroy,” she blushed.

Riley’s jaw clenched as he led Buffy away. But his annoyance over what he saw as a threat to his future wife was nothing compared to Angelus’ fury over Finn impeding the progress he had made.

“I do not trust that McConroy fellow,” he confided when they were of a safe distance away from him. Or so he thought. “He worries me.”

“Riley,” Buffy sighed. “Mr. McConroy is a nice man.”

“You know him well, then?”

“No. We only made acquaintance tonight.”

“Yet he already calls you Buffy.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Riley Finn, I do believe you are jealous.”

“Perhaps I am,” he admitted. “Do you find him attractive?”

Buffy blushed and lowered her eyes. “He is…agreeable. But it is you who will become my husband. Your name I will carry and your children I shall bear. Tell me once more why you are jealous?”

With a few well-executed words, Angelus could see Finn’s worries and inferiorities fade away. He leaned down and kissed her lips as carefully as if she were made of glass.

“Bethie?” he whispered, still holding her close.

“Yes?”

“If I asked you to do something, as your future husband, would you do it?”

Buffy tensed. Her small hands fisted the sides of his shirt as her mind twisted and turned over in itself. As her future husband, he could ask almost anything of her, and she was duty bound to obey. She trembled against him and swallowed the bile suddenly flooding her mouth. “Yes.”

“I wish for you to have no further contact with Mr. McConroy or any of his family.”

Buffy stepped back from him so that she could see into his eyes. “Riley, I have already told you that Mr. McConroy bears no threat to us.”

“But he does,” he argued. “Have you noticed the strange occurrences in our town?”

“Are you referring to Madeleine Archer?” Maddie Archer was two years younger than Buffy and had gone missing from her bed in the dead of night.

“Yes, as well as Rebekah Harte, Joshua Black, Edward Morton, Christine Adams, and countless others.”

“Riley, how do these unfortunate people pertain to you desiring distance between Mr. McConroy and myself?”

“They all vanished or perished inexplicably after McConroy, and his family took residence in the Crawford Mansion.”

“You are not suggesting…?” she gasped.

“There is something amiss about them. His sister is said to be touched in the mind, but there is more. She speaks in prophecies. Her husband, William, the poet, who may I say is not very good, he was seen with Rebekah Harte before she went missing. Then there is your new acquaintance. He never leaves the mansion during the day. He does not work and yet he attends every party and somehow amasses enough wealth to support his family. They have no servants or cooks. Their skin is unnaturally porcelain – must I go on?”

“Are you suggesting to me that Mr. McConroy, his sister and her husband may be…nefarious individuals?”

Riley smiled humorlessly. “Why does it frighten you to speak the word, Bethie? You once told me that what most would believe to be a monster, you see as a beast maintaining his nature.”

“I was referring to the work of Bram Stoker, Riley. Beasts exist, yes, but not of that sort, and certainly not amongst Mr. McConroy and his family.”

“You have always had faith in the most undeserving of creatures, Bethie.” He reached inside his trouser pocket and withdrew a silver cross on a chain.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I wish you to wear it whenever you leave the mansion.”

“Even in the sunlight?” she quipped.

“Even in the sunlight,” he answered, unaffected by her glibness. “All of the victims’ blood was drained through small punctures to the throat.”

Buffy paled as she gasped. “What? But you never said anything!”

“My father thought it was best that the families were not informed of this. It would lead to panic and at this time, the authorities have declared it a beast. Wear it. For me.”

“Okay,” she whispered, still struggling with the concept of the creatures she learned of as a child could truly exist beyond the pages of a novel.

Riley secured the cross around Buffy’s neck and exhaled in relief. “Now I believe we should find your parents. They can hardly fault a man for enjoying the company of his love.”

The couple left the garden arm in arm, completely oblivious to the heavy stare on their backs.

Angelus was beside himself with fury when the Finn’s and the Summers left the Hardy Mansion. He had covered his tracks and the tracks of his childe and grandchilde carefully. Yet, the Finn boy seemed to have linked all of their victims back to them. Although he tried his best to come across as noble and caring in Buffy’s eyes, the boy was far more concerned with her affections rather than her safety. The thought in itself caused a malicious smirk to befall his angelic features. They would have to be careful. Meticulous. One mistake and all would be lost. Nevertheless, Angelus would have Buffy Summers…even if he had to eviscerate every townsman to get her.

Angelus itched to relieve his fury and he knew just how to do it.

“Margaret, is it?” she was nothing. An aide in the Hardy household with the burden of a fatherless son. She was not remotely attractive, and her blood was not in the slightest appealing. But her polite smile and cautious eyes appeased him.

“Yes, sir.”

“I regret to bother you as I can see you are terribly busy, but I am afraid I require your assistance.”

“In what way, sir?” still so trusting.

“Come with me, please.”

Ah. There is the hesitation. “Very well, sir.”

He led her to a dark corner underneath the stairs hidden from the rest of the intoxicated socialites. “Ah, that’s better, isn’t it? Not complete privacy, but it should do for what I have in mind,” he said, letting his eyes drift over her, hoping to discomfort her. She predictably squirmed under his gaze, unaware that her used and aged body held no appeal for him.

“Sir, I…I should get back,” she stuttered, her heart pounding beautifully, forcing her blood to flow quicker through her arteries.

“Why not stay a while? After all, you did say you would help a fellow with his problem,” he purred, moving even closer to the frightful maid.

*“Sir, please, I should return to the party.”

*“Margaret, Margaret, there’s no hurry.”

She tried to pull away from him, hoping that someone might see. *“Mistress will be wondering…”

*“Sshh,” he cooed. “Mistress will be wondering how to get the good Reverend Chalmers into bed and will not notice the absence of canapé.” He stroked her chin for good measure, and she shuddered in spite of her fear. “Stay with me,” he urged.

Angelus could tell by her eyes that she was considering it. How could she not? A lowly maid, past her prime, receiving the attentions of the young and wealthy Mr. McConroy, a man that all women, be they married, betrothed, or divine worshippers, have attempted to lure into their beds.

*“Sir, people might talk,” she weakly protested. “I’ll be put out on the streets. My little boy would…I can’t lose this job,” she said, forgoing any thoughts she might have had about taking a chance with the beautiful Angelus McConroy.

Angelus, sensing her resolve, lost his temper. He grabbed her arms. *“Then you must keep quiet.”

*“You’re hurting me!” she said, speaking a little louder than she intended.

*“Ah! Cry out. Call for help. I’m sure Mistress will believe your behavior beyond reproach,” he sneered.

*“Please!” she gasped, wriggling in his embrace.

Angelus shook her roughly. *“Come, make a scene, huh?” he taunted. “Shall I?”

Margaret hesitated. *“No,” she whispered.

*“No, no. We’ll be as quiet as mice.”

Margaret lowered her head. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. If she closed her eyes and didn’t put up a fight, maybe it would be over soon. No one would believe her if she said their familiarity was forced.

Angelus could almost taste her defeat. His face shifted and when she looked back up at him, her fear and terror flooded his senses. *“No matter what.”

*“Sir!” she trembled, tears welling in her eyes. “My son!”

Good, he had almost forgotten. *“Oh, he’ll make a fine dessert, huh?”

He grabbed her, sinking his fangs into her throat before she could scream. He drained her quickly. She was unsatisfying and not at all fulfilling. He released her, letting her body fall carelessly to the floor. He tucked her away in the corner, knowing one of the other servants or perhaps her Mistress herself would find her. Angelus maneuvered around the intoxicated guests, following Margaret’s scent to the servant’s quarters. He found Margaret’s whelp sleeping in his bed. He was a boy of no more than seven years. His hair was curly like his mother's and a brighter shade of blonde. Margaret’s pallet lay positioned beside the boy’s bed. The boy clutched a worn brown bear that was missing its left eye. He was a beautiful child, clearly taking after his father. The boy opened his eyes and startling emerald green eyes met his own.

“Are you an angel?” he whispered.

His lips twitched as he fought the smirk that threatened to reveal itself. “An angel?”

“Mum says when it’s time an angel will come and take me to see my Da. Will you take me?”

He arranged the boy’s body in his bed and retrieved his mother, placing her on top of her pallet. From a distance, it would look as If they were merely sleeping. He returned to his mansion an hour before sunrise.

“Daddy, we saved her for you!” Drusilla called over the screams.

He strolled down to the “playroom” in the cellar. The room smelled of sex, blood, and fear. The young woman from the party, Harmony, was naked and railroad spikes had been driven through her hands and ankles, courtesy of William. Her legs and stomach were flayed, and Drusilla greedily lapped up her flowing blood.

William leaned against the wall, a pipe in his hand. “How did it go with the bird?”

Before he could answer, Harmony turned towards Angelus. Her face had been clawed, most likely by Drusilla, and her right eye hung out of its socket and lay limply against her cheek. “Mr. McConroy, help! Please help me!” she whimpered.

A cold smirk drifted on his lips as he played with her blood-soaked hair. “I could help you, Harmony, but you would have to do something for me first,” he taunted.

“Anything, anything.”

“Open your mouth.” A single tear fell from her good eye. She opened her mouth without hesitation. Angelus released his semi-hard cock and shoved it into her mouth. She choked and gagged as his hand knotted in her hair. “She resisted my thrall.”

William pushed off from his relaxed stance against the wall. “Resisted? How the bloody hell did she do that?”

“Gee, William, I have no idea. I’ll be sure to ask her next time,” he growled, shoving his entire length down Harmony’s throat.

“She’s not like the others,” Drusilla whispered. Her eyes were wide and unfocused. She was having a vision.

“What do you see, pet?”

Just as Harmony’s heart stopped beating, Angelus felt his seed spurt into her mouth. He pulled out, using her hair to clean himself off, smiling lightly as his seed and her blood dripped from her mouth.

“She was almost Called.”

“Called?”

“As in…?” Angelus had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“But the Powers…she was unworthy…innocent blood on her hands…now she is just a human.”

Angelus ran a hand through his hair, attempting to process what they had just learned. Buffy was meant to take the Calling. She was to be a Slayer, but she killed someone. The Powers deemed her unworthy and now she will never be a Slayer. But even though she didn’t have the Call, she was still equipped with the typical Slayer attributes. A mental block to resist the thrall. Possibly strength to fight against any demonic creature.

“Darla is going to kill you,” William snickered.

“Darla is too busy fucking Dracula to care what I do!”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

Drusilla hunched over, moaning and hugging her stomach. William’s good mood faded quickly as he and Angelus flocked to her side protectively. “What do you see, Dru?”

“Bad man…bad man…bad man…”

“What bad man? What is he doing?” Angelus questioned her as she leaned against William.

“Touching…bad touch…bad touch…wants to keep her…wants to hurt her…!” she moaned.

Angelus growled deeply, startling his childe and grandchilde. “Hank Summers is a dead man. William, at first dark, I need you to do something for me.”

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