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deadorcaffeinated · 3 years

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Sparks, Pt. 4

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Chapter Summary: You get ready to confront the God of Mischief. But are you ready for that?

A/N: Finally, a bit more Loki.

TW: Eating

After a year consisting mostly of isolation and non-consensual experimentation, it was strange, to say the least, to have people actually give a shit about your well-being.

Shortly after Fury called the meeting to a close, Nat took you to a sort of staff room, oddly normal for a ship like this. State of the art, but with all the basic workings of a regular office’s staff room.

“You must be starving,” she said, pulling some things out of an impressive reach-in refrigerator. “Sandwich? I make a mean ham and cheese.”

Your stomach suddenly let out a worrying growl, and you winced.

“Sounds fantastic, actually,” you realized you couldn’t remember the last time you’d eaten. The lab hadn’t exactly been feeding you five star meals.

A comfortable silence settled into the room while Natasha assembled the sandwich. The quiet sounds of her work lulled you into a sort of trance, as you stared at the wall, and definitely didn’t think about how an agent of a secret organization was preparing you lunch on a giant aircraft carrier thousands of feet in the air which was also occupied by two gods, a historic super soldier, and the most famous tech genius in the world.

No. You didn’t think about it at all.

She presented you with her finished product and a glass of water with a flourish, which also included a bag of chips and an apple. “It might be too much, so only eat as much as you want. It’s better to take it easy when your stomach isn’t used to meals like this.”

You nodded and gave her an expression which you hoped looked more grateful than grimace. Truth be told, you were holding back emotion as even this small kindness felt overwhelming after the past year.

But as you picked up the sandwich to take a bite, a heavy set of footsteps stopped at the door.

It was Thor, his large frame standing almost sheepishly in the doorway. “Apologies for interrupting. May I speak with you?”

To your surprise, the question was for you, and after a nod, Nat touched your wrist and said, “I’ll be right outside. You can have the room.”

After she exited, Thor approached your table with a sort of caution.

“Oh, sorry, uh, would you like to sit down?” You stuttered lamely, when noticing his hesitation.

He nodded and did so, dwarfing the chair and the table. You hadn’t really taken the time to notice before, how huge his arms and shoulders were. A single bicep was larger than the size of your own head.

“Don’t let me interrupt your meal. You need your strength,” Thor said, eyes flicking to the plate. “Especially if you’re going to be facing my brother.”

Ah. That.

“Is that…” You were still having a bit of trouble processing the identity of who you were talking to. “Is that what you wanted to speak with me about?”

“Loki’s always been deceptive. I just wanted to warn you not to listen to anything he says, especially not at face value. He will try to distract you, deceive you, and it will seem he knows more about you than he should.”

As he spoke, you noticed he kept eyeing the potato chip packet next to your plate. You pushed it towards him, and he gratefully accepted, popping the bag open and nervously munching on its contents.

You hummed in thought. “I understand. Maybe it would help to know what kinds of abilities he has? What sort of tricks he’s able to pull?”

Thor seemed to relax slightly, having something to occupy his mind and hands. He regaled you with a few anecdotes of how Loki had used his magic to trick him, some from their childhood, and some more recently.

You found yourself both more reassured and more nervous, afraid there might be something you would miss allowing Loki an out. Or a way to hurt you. But all of that aside, it was almost fun to converse with Thor like this… being nearly immortal led to having many interesting stories to tell, and the more he told the more animated he became. He even had you laughing at some points.

“Thank you,” he held up the empty chip bag. “I haven’t had these since my last visit to Earth. A favored Midgardian dish, if I recall.”

You smiled. “No problem. And thank you for warning me. I know it must be difficult to... fight with family like this.”

“Yes,” a sad half smile lifted one side of his lips, “I’m afraid that is something I am still coming to terms with.”

Before he rose from his seat, Thor clapped you on the shoulder. “You know, you remind me of my first Midgardian friends. I believe they would like you. One of them zapped me with a small device that even mimics your powers.”

With that strange but kind remark, Thor left the room.

….

Natasha said she had things she needed to attend to, but that you were welcome to walk around as you pleased, and to just be careful not to stumble into anything that looked even mildly secret or dangerous.

So you aimlessly wandered the giant airship, mostly in an attempt to walk off some nerves. You tried to memorize your paths, memorize the turns and rooms, but after a while you realized just how much you’d fucked up. It was a fruitless endeavor, and you eventually found yourself quite lost.

“Great,” you muttered to yourself.

You turned the way you came, but as you did so, something shifted in the corner of your eye. Whipping frantically towards the movement, you felt your body tense like an animal being hunted, and thoughts of the masked man from the labs flooded your mind.

No, he couldn’t be here. Your mind was playing tricks, your anxiety was getting the better of you.

“My, my,” a silvery voice said into your ear. “You are jumpy, aren’t you?”

Reeling back, you slammed into the opposite wall, nearly knocking yourself out with the force of it. You still didn’t see the source of the voice.

“What is the reason for this skittishness, I wonder?”

Loki.

He materialized in front of you, and you froze like a deer in the headlights. He rolled his eyes. “Calm yourself. This is not an escape attempt.”

You did not find that convincing.

“This is merely a projection. My real body is still in that cell… Here, see for yourself.” His right hand swept out to beckon to you, palm up.

Did he want you to… touch him? Your earlier conversation with Thor filtered through your head, and you knew it would be a bad idea. You did not move. Again, frustration showed on Loki’s creased brow.

“Fine, look.” Then, through a wall of solid steel, Loki passed his hand as if he were just a hologram.

“What do you want?” you asked abruptly.

He looked faintly surprised that you had spoken, but schooled his expression quickly. “I want to know more about you.”

“What?” It was your turn to be surprised (not that you’d stopped since he materialized from nowhere). “Why?”

“It’s not every day I meet a mortal who can withstand an Infinity Stone’s power,” he chuckled, as if that were clearly obvious.

Your blank stare must’ve clued him in to the fact that the significance of this ‘Infinity Stone’ was lost on you, because he only sighed.

“Rest assured, it’s not something a normal human should be able to do,” he said. “So… what is different about you?”

He stepped closer, and though you knew he couldn’t touch you, you recoiled further into the wall. His stare was piercing, and he clearly enjoyed that it made you squirm.

Finally you mustered up the courage to respond. “I’ve already told this story once today,” you said, sounding more like a petulant child than you meant to.

“Touchy subject?”

“It’s not particularly fun to talk about, no.”

He didn’t move any closer but didn’t relinquish you your space either. He just studied you as if he could discern your entire history from your visual being.

You wondered if you should just turn and walk away, or if he had some way of stopping you. Even more unexpected though, was the realization that you wanted to talk to him, that maybe this conversation could help you in your real life encounter that was to happen soon.

“Why did you approach me in the pub?” you asked, and though it wasn’t the answer he apparently wanted, he looked pleased that you were engaging him now. “I was curious.”

“And when you blasted me with the scepter?”

“I wanted to see what would happen.” He shrugged, as casual as if he were discussing the weather.

“And now that you have? What do you want?”

A beat of silence. Then, “What do you think?”

You thought, if he had had a plan before, your presence must have thrown quite the wrench and that if he were smart, he would be trying to figure out exactly how big and disastrous that wrench would be. “I think you didn’t expect me to be involved.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That is true.” Then a smirk began to form on his mouth and he squinted at you. “They’re planning something with you, aren’t they? Fury and his subordinates.”

Your widened eyes must have been all the answer he needed. How did he know?

With a laugh, “They have so much at their disposal, weapons of mass destruction, all of Stark’s technology, and they defer to the prowess of a child they’ve only just met?” Loki leaned in so close the green of eyes felt overwhelming. “They must be truly desperate.”

A familiar voice, Tony’s, called your name from around the corner, echoing off the metal walls of the hallway. But Loki didn’t move. His eyes remained on you, so sharp and curious, you felt like an animal on a dissection tray.

“Until next we meet, then.”

And with that, he vanished.

“Sparks,” Tony came around to your stretch of hallway. “Thought that was your voice. You lost? Talking to yourself? You know, cabin fever usually takes a lot longer than a few hours to set in.”

Still a little too stunned to speak, you gulped and nodded.

Tony’s eyes narrowed with concern. “You good? Looking a little green around the gills, Pikachu.”

“Yeah… yeah, I’m alright.” Your voice returned to you. “And.. Pikachu? Really?”

Tony wasn’t entirely convinced but seemed to let it go. He shrugged. “I like to change it up-- and are you, or are you not, electrically charged at all times?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. He clapped you on the shoulder.

“Come on,” he turned, waving you to follow him. “Want you to see what we cooked up for ya.”

————

The conducting table was ready. Only a few moments before you stepped into Loki’s cage, the first time you would be in the same physical space as him since he basically almost murdered you.

Cool. All cool. You were definitely not feeling a panic attack setting in. You were definitely breathing at a normal rate and not feeling your lungs seize up in your chest.

“We’ll be right here, if anything goes wrong,” Steve said, laying a hand gently on the back of your shoulder.

“Aye,” Thor said. “I’ll be standing with you.”

There was a stone in your throat as you looked at Loki through the thick glass. He seemed to feel your gaze, and slowly turned to look, grinning when he saw you watching.

Loki’s hands were shackled, sitting on the table in front of two conducting handles, which were mirrored on the other side. The idea was that you both grip them, and you would be able to dig through his mind… theoretically.

“I don’t know if this is going to work,” you said. You felt sweat under your arms, and your face getting hot with anxiety.

Fury eyed you. “Just do what you can.”

The door to his cell whooshed open, and flanking you on either side as you entered were Cap and Thor. Loki regarded them with that same smirk as they entered, soon followed by Fury and Natasha. Tony and Dr. Banner remained on the other side of the glass.

“Is this the best you can do?” He said, his eyes flaring at you. “Insulting, really.”

Fury ignored him, directing you to the empty chair at the other end of the table.

“On my go,” he said, and stood to the right of the table. He pinned Loki with a stare.

Loki shot back a challenging look before his gaze settled on you and his hands moved to grip the handles. “On your go.” And at that moment, in full purview of that slanting grin, you understood why he was called the God of Mischief.

Fury nodded at you.

Now or never.

And, sparing a passing thought to the entropy that was your life and the risks of what you were about to do, you grabbed the handles.

Tags: @purplekitten30 @scorpionchild81 @mjaudrey @srhxpci @the-maroon-panda @lirinstaalem

#sparks #loki #loki x you #loki x reader #avengers reader insert #loki imagine #loki x original character #loki laufeyson

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little-mad · 3 years

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A Seat at the Table Pt. 2 (Final)

~ Part 1 ~

After Gavin’s initial outburst had passed, breakfast went on smoothly and uneventfully, much to Rael’s relief. He was unprepared to address Gavin’s inquiries about why they couldn’t eat in the dining hall, because to be frank, Rael didn’t really have an answer.

Logically, Rael knew none of the soldiers would dare make a move against someone explicitly under the Emperor’s protection--and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling of paranoia that clouded his mind every time he pictured other alteons around the human. Maybe they wouldn’t attack Gavin, but what if they said something cruel? Something even Gavin wouldn’t be able to shake?

Simply being in this realm was dangerous for Gavin, therefore Rael needed to take as many steps as possible to minimize the risk. Honestly, he didn’t understand why the human had any desire to dine among the alteon soldiers; it wasn’t as though his previous experience with one had left a particularly great impression. Of course, Gavin did have a knack of surprising Rael. There was much more to the tiny man than he’d initially expected.

“Patrols are much more interesting than boring guard duty,” Gavin remarked from where he sat on Rael’s shoulder.

Seeing as constantly having his hands occupied with carrying a human was more than a little impractical, the two of them had needed to determine an alternative. Rael’s first idea of using a belt pouch hadn’t gone over very well with Gavin, and so they had ended up settling on the shoulder.

At first, Rael had been tentative about placing the human so high up. A fall from such a height would no doubt be deadly for someone of Gavin’s size. Gavin had come up with the solution of tucking himself under one of the leather straps of Rael’s armor, that way he had something holding him down as well as something to grip onto.

While Rael had agreed to the set-up, he still couldn’t help but send frequent uneasy glances at the human. It was difficult not to feel the need to be constantly vigilant when he was with Gavin. The little guy was just so fragile. The slightest misstep or wrong move could prove disastrous to him.

“Are you taking the same route as the last time?” Gavin inquired, his voice so near to Rael’s ear that he didn’t even need to raise it at all.

Rael shook his head, careful not to disturb Gavin’s position. “No, this time we’re patrolling the grounds,” he explained. As beautiful as the palace interior was, it could feel a bit stuffy after a while, especially with so many nobles and other important figures milling about and scrutinizing everyone around them. Since he had Gavin now, that particular aspect of the indoors was even less appealing.

“Great, I could use the fresh air,” Gavin commented just as Rael stepped out into the early morning sunlight.

Same as it had been the past couple days, Rael’s job proved fairly uneventful. A dull occupation was not something Gavin was used to. It was hard to get bored when you were a thief. Even intel gathering stakeouts often came with a healthy dose of intrigue. However, he had to be grateful for the mundane nature of Rael’s patrol, because things getting exciting also meant things getting dangerous.

A couple hours into the patrol and Gavin was convinced this one would be as uneventful as the rest. He had taken to resting his tired eyes, without Rael’s knowledge of course, when suddenly he felt his trusty giant steed’s walking come to an abrupt stop.

“Hey, what the--” No sooner had Gavin’s eyes opened that his vision was filled with a pair of giant hands reaching towards him. He instantly recoiled, though sitting on a shoulder, he had nowhere to retreat to.

Long fingers wrapped themselves around Gavin’s body, and with seemingly no effort whatsoever, they broke his iron-like grip on the leather strap and lifted him free.

Immediately, Gavin’s mind went to Kaydin, the thug who had tried to abduct him in the woods. However, there was something familiar about the hands surrounding his body; their grasp was firm but gentle, as though they intended to protect rather than harm.

When everything came to a halt and the hands were no longer in motion, Gavin was finally able to make some sense of the situation. He was being held in the relaxed fist of one hand, while the other one was cupped under the bottom so that his feet touched the palm. This left only the upper half of Gavin’s chest and above sticking out the top.

Gavin’s first move was to glance behind himself to find out just who had so abruptly snagged him from his perch. A wave of relief washed over him as he realized the perpetrator was none other than Rael...shortly followed by a wave of irritation at the sudden relocation.

“Woah, you seem a little defensive, Rael.” An instant feeling of dread began to steal over Gavin. He knew that voice, he’d had nightmares about that voice.

Slowly he turned back around. As expected, there stood Ashryn: Gavin’s least favorite alteon--which was impressive considering there existed an alteon who’d tried to kidnap and sell him on the blackmarket.

“I have been tasked with protecting our human guest, so it is my job to be defensive,” Gavin heard Rael state icily. There was no hint of the polite courtesy that had been present during he and Ashryn’s last interaction--something that Gavin was definitely pleased about.

“Ah, that’s right,” Ashryn remarked, seemingly unfazed by Rael’s less than friendly disposition. “A shame you got saddled with such an unfavorable task.”

If blood physically had the ability to boil, Gavin was sure his would be bubbling like crazy at this point. He had to literally bite down on his own tongue to prevent a vulgar string of insults from flying out of his mouth. Ashryn clearly had a unique knack for triggering the latent rage that lay within Gavin, but he wouldn’t let himself fall for the same trap twice. Getting angry was exactly the kind of reaction Ashryn was looking for.

“I’m honored to have been granted this assignment actually.” Gavin’s fury was temporarily forgotten at Rael’s unexpected words. “The Emperor specifically entrusted it to me after all.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Gavin caught sight of Rael’s hardened expression as he unwaveringly met Ashryn’s gaze. The guy was notoriously difficult for Gavin to get a read on, but he could swear he saw not even a shred of fear or uncertainty in those striking teal eyes of his.

Turning back forward, Gavin could tell the smug smile on Ashryn’s face had taken on a tight quality. He had a feeling the asshole wasn’t particularly used to being stood up to.

“Oh, well I was concerned it may have been more of a punishment than anything,” Ashryn stated. The naive innocence in his tone was nauseatingly artificial.

“I’m not sure you understand just how important it is to the Emperor that our relationship with humans remain positive,” Rael countered smoothly, as though he’d practiced this very conversation in his head countless times.

Ashryn’s smile began to falter, distinct irritation now flashing in his eyes. “You seem quite sure you know the Emperor’s intentions,” he commented coldly.

“Evidently better than you do,” came Rael’s quick reply, and Gavin nearly let slip a bark of laughter. He’d proven it before, but this was just further proof that Rael was clearly quite skilled with his words. If he’d grown up on earth, Gavin had no doubt the guy would’ve been one of those insufferable smart-asses on the debate team in high school.

The smile had completely gone from Ashryn’s face now and had been replaced with a dark scowl. The sight was so satisfying to Gavin that he couldn’t help a smile of his own from tugging at his lips. However, the joy was quickly shot through with a bolt of fear as the green-eyed giant’s gaze suddenly landed on him.

Gavin was quickly reminded of his situation. Ashryn was more than just some jerk, he was a giant jerk, and that giant jerk was currently giving Gavin the absolute dirtiest look of all time.

As though he had taken notice of the hateful glare too, at that moment Rael ever-so-slightly tightened his hold on Gavin’s body. There also came a bout of steady movement as Rael brought his hands closer to his body and farther away from Ashryn.

“I’m afraid I have no more time to waste on you and your pet,” the brown-haired giant spat, finally lifting his gaze from Gavin. “Enjoy your babysitting.” With that, Ashryn turned sharply on his heel and strode off down the cobble path that led back towards the palace.

“Stupid, pointy-eared, pretensious, oversized--” Gavin nearly drew blood with how hard he was biting on his tongue to prevent his thoughts from becoming verbal. Sure it would be satisfying in the moment, but it was obvious that Rael’s well crafted rebuttals were far more effective against Ashryn than Gavin’s disorganized assortment of crude insults.

Gavin was drawn out of his mental fuming when the hands holding him lurched into motion once again. Long fingers shifted around him until Rael’s thumb was pressed gently against his chest while the index finger did the same to his back. With an easy, fluid movement, Rael managed to twist Gavin’s body around so that he was now facing towards the giant rather than away.

Maybe if the circumstances were different Gavin would be irked by the gentle manhandling, but there was no way he could be annoyed with Rael after the way he’d just handled Ashryn.

“I’m sorry you had to see him again,” Rael said as he gazed down at the human in his hands. There was nothing but sincerity in his voice, and Gavin didn’t doubt for a second that the guy meant what he said.

“Don’t sweat it,” Gavin replied with a wave of his hand. “There was obviously nothing to worry about since I’ve got my knight in shining armor and all,” he added with a smirk.

Rael’s dark eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “My armor doesn’t shine,” he stated. “And I’d certainly not call myself a knight.”

Gavin gave a snort. The cultural divide between humans and alteons had once again made itself known. “It’s a figure of speech, dummy,” he told Rael as he flicked the giant’s hand.

“I don’t know how I’m meant to keep up with all your bizarre human sayings,” Rael grumbled as he moved Gavin back into position on his shoulder.

Gavin chuckled, and then there was a moment of silence as Rael set back off on his patrol. The quiet was comfortable. There was no air of awkwardness or a sense that one of them should be saying something. But then, after a few more moments, Rael suddenly broke the silence. “If you want to eat in the dining hall, we can,” he said simply.

Completely caught off guard, Gavin froze. He stared at the side of Rael’s face with wide eyes, but the alteon remained looking forward. “A-are you sure?” Gavin found himself stammering. He had no idea where Rael’s sudden change of heart had come from, and while Gavin was glad for it, he didn’t want to have guilted the man into the decision.

Smiling softly, Rael nodded. “Of course. I can handle any idiot foolish enough to think they can mess with you,” he responded smoothly.

Gavin broke into a grin. It seemed he would get his seat at the big kid table after all. All thanks to his trusty not-knight in not-shining armor.

#I hope you enjoyed this lil short of these lads #like I said before I plan on doing more with this universe in the future #so keep an eye out #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #oc: gavin stone #oc: rael

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olivinesea · 3 years

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In the Golden Dark

a/n: Having never done any ship writing before I’m just going to jump feet first into the deep end with a little Hotchreid for you today. It’s nice. No warnings except maybe some angst because we are who we are. Probably the softest thing you will see from me so enjoy the moment. Completely unnecessary disclaimer that I would find this relationship wildly inappropriate in real life but thank god we’re out here in the lawless fiction of the internet. And you’re getting full on song lyrics bc Hotchreid is nothing if not decadent af. There’s more but I’m impatient so here’s the first bit. ~ 2.7k

what the hell am I doing here in the golden dark? feeling like I’m someone else who looks the part I built up barricades to block my heart cause I don’t wanna fear you

He leaned back in his chair, reaching his arms up and clasping his hands behind his head, arching his back slightly. With his eyes closed it could be any time of day. He inhaled deeply and pretended for a moment that he was nowhere. He even gave himself a few extra seconds, indulging in the quiet that was the office at night. If only he could feel so peaceful in the right moments—before sleeping perhaps. When he opened his eyes all he could see was the reflection of his office light in the black windows. There hadn’t been daylight for hours. He’d switched off the overhead lights in favor of the small desk lamp that pooled the light only in the area of immediate relevance. Everything beyond its reach faded in and out of existence as his focus fell deeply into the forms in front of him.

He pressed his elbows back as far as they would go, pulling up slightly on the base of his skull, stretching out a day’s worth of stress, countless hours spent bent over report after report. He never could have imagined that saving people would require so much paperwork. Reducing the chaos of the lived experience, the searches and the takedowns, the intricate patterns of dozens of personalities layering choices upon one another; it turned out to be quite difficult to do. It took him hours to wrap up cases, even with everyone doing most of their own reports. Which, through no fault of their own, wasn’t always the case. He usually ended up siphoning off a fair number of those reports in addition to his own.

He didn’t mind, he needed to go over everything, needed to make sure that any possible negative feedback that came back would fall to him and he would be prepared if it did. His team were his responsibility, he would be neglecting his duties if he didn’t ensure that things were handled properly. None of them needed the headache of administrative errors. He was good with details, good with forms, good with protocol. He would happily be the filter that saved them all the trouble of little errors even if it hadn’t been part of his job.

But that didn’t change the fact that it was eleven o’clock on a Wednesday and everyone else had gone home hours ago. Only the late night janitorial staff wandered in and out occasionally, nodding at him in silent greeting as they reset the offices to give the illusion of an endlessly renewable supply of fresh starts. People that didn’t stay late never gave this transformation a second thought. They left the office with full trashcans and small debris scattered on the old carpets, only to return the next morning to find a place untouched by human presence, metal fixtures shining and glass doors free of oily fingerprints. That was just how the world worked for them, generous with new beginnings. People who lingered knew better, that effort was put into the effect. Beginnings were never easy, never flowed so inevitably as the set and rise of the sun.

Hotch had been working late for many years, long before he was even in the BAU. He had learned in law school how to brew the coffee strong enough to stay up all night if need be. How the indoor lighting changed without the support of daylight, tinting the world a thin sickly green color without the natural light to round out the fluorescence. He only got worse about it once he joined the Bureau, the stress of the job causing old habits and old secrets to float to the surface. He compensated by working the hardest, doing the most, never allowing anyone to see him need things that other people needed. He could handle this job, this was all he ever wanted after all. To save the world. Or maybe, more modestly, to save the world of a few.

Now, with Haley gone, Jack with her, somewhere well out of his disastrous reach, there was no reason at all not to fully give in. No reason not to let his insomnia at least be productive. To let the latent self destruction that fueled his actions at least have a positive impact on the people he cared about. He could do that at least.

He rubbed his face with his hands, he was getting loopy. There was no reason to be letting his mind wander so far, there were still reports he could get through. Perhaps, as unlikely as the idea felt, he could even get ahead. He looked back down at the paperwork, letting his feet settle flat on the floor. The letters swam in front of him and he sighed, rolling his pen beneath his thumb, considering. He could probably make it another hour. He could get another pot of coffee into himself. He cast about for his mug, finding it empty on the shelf behind him. He sometimes kept it there to prevent his reports from acquiring telltale dark rings. Rolling back from the desk, he hooked the handle with two fingers and headed out to the kitchenette.

Wrapped up in making plans for what he could finish tonight and what could be left for the morning he was startled to find a light still on in the bullpen. He was certain everyone had gone home long ago. They’d each passed by his office, offering him an out as they made their ways home—perhaps their exit could be the motivation he needed to break out of his office, to head towards his own home. What they didn’t realize was that home was not better for him. Work was far better, far safer, with tasks to complete, a purpose. If he was smart he would stay at work forever.

So he waved to them as they checked out, giving them small smiles that, though imperceptible to strangers, they recognized as both apologies and well-wishes. He knew they worried, that they didn’t like to see him tied to his desk late into the night. They thought it was one of his many methods for making himself suffer but he didn’t have the heart to tell them that this was him making a good decision, this was him trying his very best. In his experience, nothing good happened at home.

He thought he remembered everyone leaving, each goodbye. But every day was the same and they all bled together so he must have missed one because he cannot deny the light down below. As he walked down the stairs, confused by the discovery that he was not as alone as he had been imagining, his tired vision focused better. He could make out dark blond curls and a darker sweater hunched over the desk in the middle of the room.

“Reid?” The name came out as a croak, he hadn’t spoken in hours and probably hadn’t had any water in that time period either. He cleared his throat and said it again, louder and closer to the other man than before. Reid’s head snapped up, expression as guilty as a child caught out of bed.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered, eyes wide.

Hotch frowned, not because he was upset but because he was still a little disoriented and his muscles fell back into the most familiar actions.

“I—“ Reid ducked his head and started pushing papers together on his desk, shoving them haphazardly into a file folder. “I was just…” he trailed off, not really having intended on explaining himself. He was simply also startled and reverting to the familiar.

Reid explained compulsively, able to handle the world when parsed down to facts and numbers. He didn’t have a fact for why he had stayed so late, only a feeling and that he didn’t know how to explain. Nights had been particularly lonely recently so he had allowed himself to stay later and later, getting lost in his thoughts at his work desk. Even without people around there was a sense of occupancy, their faint impressions lingering in the air. Plus there was always Hotch up in his office. He didn’t actively think about him or what he was doing but he liked knowing the man was nearby. Hotch’s solid presence always made him feel more secure, less concerned with whatever might jump out at him from the shadows overlapping the world and his mind.

He couldn’t tell Hotch that, was far too embarrassed to admit that sometimes, even with all the lights on, it was too dark in his apartment. No matter the illumination, he couldn’t quite dispel the unease of the night when he was alone. It wasn’t always like this, sometimes he had enough brightness to spare. Recently, however, things had been hard. So much had been going on, he couldn’t quite pinpoint why but he knew he felt uneasy. Too much had changed, there was too much risk that the floor could still fall out beneath him at any moment. And it hadn’t been so long since he’d escaped the consequences of his kidnapping, his addiction, that he trusted himself to be able to manage too much more uncertainty. Backsliding was always a risk and right now the world tilted at a frightening grade. So he let himself stay late in the safety of familiarity, sometimes working but more often not, idly rereading the books he had brought in and forgotten around the office. Tonight he had actually started to doze off, which contributed to his shock upon being discovered.

Hotch continued to frown at him, watching as the thoughts raced across Spencer’s face. He noticed how deep the shadows were beneath his eyes, the way darkness pooled in the space below his cheekbones, as if they were concave impressions filled by seawater. He knew Spencer didn’t eat enough, was all too familiar with the ways too much coffee and not enough calories pinched the skin and exposed the fine lines of capillaries beneath the surface.

“Sorry,” Spencer repeated.

He looked genuinely ashamed and it made Hotch a little sad. Couldn’t Spencer see that he was just as guilty of whatever it was he thought he was doing wrong by being here? He made a conscious effort to soften his expression, to show the warmth he felt for the younger man. After having spent his entire life masking his emotions, protecting himself one of the only ways he could, it wasn’t always easy to show his affection. Especially not at this time of night, when all he could do was cling to his walls and hope to find himself still on solid ground when the sun rose. Spencer wasn’t looking at him, too caught up in his own maze.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” Hotch said, trying a different tactic. He was smart, he knew not to make it a demand or a comment on Spencer’s health. It was only an invitation, firm enough for Spencer to know he meant it, that it was not just a pleasantry or an obligation he’d rather avoid. A hand extended, an offer of easy company to pass through a little more of this unwanted time. Spencer looked up from where his fingers were worrying at the corner of the file in front of him and smiled shyly. Hotch smiled back, a real smile that scrunched up his dark shining eyes.

“Give me five minutes to close up,” he said and turned back toward his office. As he packed his briefcase, his heart felt like it had been wrapped in a soft blanket. He didn’t bother questioning it—who didn’t like finding someone to commiserate with when they’d only expected more of the lonely dark?

Their late night meals became a regular occurrence. Not every night but once, maybe twice a week, they found themselves the last ones in the office. They fell into a rhythm, each learning to read more from the other’s subtle cues. They almost always went to the same place, a 24-hour diner near the office with deceptively strong coffee and a seemingly endless variety of pancakes. Hotch rarely ordered food, though he encouraged Reid to get anything he wanted. He accepted bites of whatever the younger man ordered, happy enough to reciprocate the excitement over strawberry rhubarb or cinnamon blueberry pancakes.

They talked about inconsequential things, mostly Hotch listening as Reid spun out information on whatever topic was on his mind that day. Reid, for his part, made mental note of the things Hotch responded to and had opinions on. Spencer sought out more information in that vein to bring up. He loved to talk, sure, but what he loved more was to discuss. During the day there was rarely time to let his thoughts wander so freely. It was a dream to have someone there, following along and challenging him with questions, building up new conclusions.

On the nights that followed difficult days, when they were both too stubborn to order anything of substance, they drank their coffees and avoided looking at each other too directly. Those nights they were both tied up in their own thoughts, islands separated by more than just distance, but there was something undeniably pulling them together. It was probably just the natural consequence of having opposite dominant sides but they mirrored each other perfectly across the table. Once, they both happened to reach for their mugs at the same time and the backs of their hands brushed against each other. They each noticed but responded differently. Hotch repressed any reaction, pretending the quick touch of bony knuckles and cool skin hadn’t registered. Maybe it hadn’t. Reid, on the other hand, jumped as if shocked, sloshing the hot coffee into a puddle on the table. This only flustered him more and he yelped at the sting of the liquid and the sting of embarrassment. It wasn’t like they’d never touched before. But here, in this nowhere time they’d constructed, it felt different. In his mind that brief touch became nails dragging across his skin, impossible to ignore. But he pretended the mug was too hot and Hotch didn’t argue, quick to assist with napkins and sounds of agreement to accompany Spencer’s half-coherent excuses.

When their meals were done, mostly cleaned plates of syrup and crumbs stacked to one side, they hesitated before standing up. Hotch always offered to give Reid a ride home, Reid always declined, insisting he could get there himself. This led to Hotch giving him a doubtful look and insisting that it was no trouble. Reid, secretly wanting a ride the whole time, struggled to argue for his self-sufficiency a little longer before giving in. It became a silly thing, both of them knowing exactly how the argument ended but they held onto it for some reason. It was a part of their ritual now, an important piece of the night. It kept this, whatever this was, contained, strictly occasional, random even. Not something they planned for, not something they looked forward to.

Hotch waited for Spencer to get in the door of his building before driving away. He knew it wasn’t necessary, Spencer was a grown man and a trained FBI agent with a weapon. Still, it made him feel better to see him safely inside. Sometimes he thought he would feel even better if he could walk Spencer all the way to his front door. But he knew that would be asking too much. As it was, the nights when they shared this extra hour or two together, extended further by the drive home, had been giving him more than he could have imagined. He wouldn’t dare impose himself further. The brittle excuse of safety would crumble if he were to start following the other man inside. He was not ready to find out what that would mean. He smiled unconsciously as he drove to his apartment. For now, it was enough that he had found companionship on these late nights when he would otherwise be slowly, meticulously, working his way into the grave.

~Part 2~

#Criminal Minds #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #hotchreid #beginnings

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sokkastyles · 3 years

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I’ve always been struck by the similar composition of these two scenes, even though they appear episodes apart.

Both couples are framed by moonlight, although neither scene is particularly romantic. Both scenes begin with Aang and Zuko alone under the moonlight, contemplating their troubles. I’ve talked a fair bit about moon symbolism and the way this show uses it. The moon can mean a lot of different things. Most often it is associated with Katara, because she is a female waterbender, but the moon is also strongly associated with femininity in the world of atla which incorporates the concept of yin and yang into its worldbuilding.

On a less literal level, the moon can be symbolic for hidden depths, desire, or negative emotions, usually the things we can't say out loud for fear that others will reject us. I’d say both of these scenes are negative. There’s a lot going on beneath the surface, certainly, and definitely a lot of desire, but neither couple are able to really communicate their feelings. Whereas in “The Southern Raiders” the moon symbolism was about purging negative emotions in a healthy way and returning to balance, the impression here is that neither couple is able to get past what is limiting them.

Both scenes start with Aang and Zuko alone with the moon, both worried about their current situation. Interestingly, although both characters are worried about their relationship, the real source of their problems is the same. Aang is anxious about his relationship with Katara but his real problem is that he will very soon have to face the Fire Lord, and in the scene in “The Awakening,” Zuko is also worried about facing the Fire Lord, although for an entirely different reason. In both scenes, their love interests arrive to comfort them. We see Aang separate from the rest of the group and Katara go off to find him. We don’t see why Zuko is alone on the deck of the ship but when Mai asks if he is cold, I think it can be assumed that he left the others below deck unexpectedly and that she went to find him. Katara tries to be supportive to Aang, and Mai, well, she tries to be supportive, but she pretty callously shuts Zuko down when he’s trying to express what’s going on with him. And even though Katara and Aang’s romantic tryst in this scene ends up being pretty disastrous, let’s take a moment to appreciate Katara here for actually listening to what her partner is saying without putting up with nonsense.

Katara: Are you all right?

Aang: [Angered.] No, I'm not! I hate this play! [Yanks his hat off and throws it on the ground.]

Katara: I know it's upsetting, but it sounds like you're overreacting.

vs the conversation between Zuko and Mai

Mai: Aren't you cold?

Zuko: I've got a lot on my mind. It's been so long, over three years since I was home. I wonder what's changed. I wonder how I've changed.

Mai: [Yawns.] I just asked if you were cold, I didn't ask for your whole life story. [Zuko frowns at her sarcastic response. Mai giggles and holds his face in her hands.] Stop worrying.

I remember taking a class in college on marriage and family. The professor used to work as a couple’s councilor, and one of the lasting things that stuck from that class was a lesson on conflict resolution. One of the things that you should never do is blame the other person for how they feel. Notice that Katara uses language that is affirming and validating (”I know it’s upsetting,”) but also tries to calm him down, also while not telling him what he should feel, but telling him how she is interpreting what she is hearing from him (”it sounds like you’re overreacting.”) This is also something I learned as a middle school teacher about conflict resolution, “so it sounds like you’re saying” / “so what I am hearing is” is language that lets a person know that they’ve been heard but also doesn’t tell them how they should feel and lets them express and feel their feelings on their own terms.

Contrast this with Mai’s reaction to Zuko, who, like Aang, readily spills immediately what he is feeling (although a lot less angrily.) And whether she meant it, Mai’s response communicates that she neither wants nor cares to hear about Zuko’s feelings. Then she directly tells him how he should feel. He should stop worrying. Which, unless you’re not sure, is so very not how you get someone to stop worrying.

Then there's the kiss, and I would argue that both of these scenes are a violation of their partners' consent.

Both Katara and Zuko express confusion about their feelings. Both are ignored, but at least Katara has enough experience with healthy relationships to recognize when her boundaries are being crossed and say no, and at least Aang is empathetic enough to realize he did something wrong.

#zuko #katara #atla meta #anti kataang #anti maiko #the awakening #ember island players

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thetypedwriter · 3 years

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A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab

A Darker Shade of Magic Book Review by V.E. Schwab

I should really trust myself more.

Do you ever have that one gut feeling or you just know yourself and if you’re going to like something or not?

That was my experience with A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab. I’ve read only one other V.E. Schwab novel and it was Vicious-you can read my review on it HERE.

And while I by no means disliked Vicious, I was also not nearly as enraptured as everyone else seemed to be about the novel and about Schwab pieces in general.

So when another Tumblr user recommended A Darker Shade of Magic I figured that I owed it to myself, this other user, and to Schwab to not write her off entirely and read something else she had crafted, even though I knew deep down inside that I probably wouldn’t like it.

Buttttttt, the opposite has happened before, like with The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid.

However, once again, while I by no means detested the book, I was less than enthused by the work and the reading experience as a whole.

As a sort of flimsy disclaimer, I do generally tend to read YA and when I delve into adult fiction it’s often hit or miss with me as I usually feel bogged down by repetitious details and boring descriptive paragraphs that I find unnecessary and the main reason why adult fiction is so slow and banal (in my opinion).

So, the amount of YA I read and the tropes and pace that comes with that kind of material is on me as I’m simply just very used to books working that way. But, once again, there have been outliers and I truly think that only so much of my boredom and dislike can be explained away due to what I’m familiar with.

Onto the actual novel, A Darker Shade of Magic is really the story of two characters, Kell and Lilah, two separate people from literally two different worlds. You see, Kell is an Antari, a rare being that can tap into the pure magic of the world and wield it to his liking, allowing him to pass between the veil separating the worlds.

Lilah, on the other hand, is a conniving thief with the stereotypical heart of gold and tragic backstory. She inadvertently finds herself in possession of a magical stone and in the troubling presence of Kell himself, leading her on an adventure between worlds as they try to restore the stone to Black London where it belongs.

Along the way, Holland, the only other Antari, is out to get them both and the stone, dripping blood in his wake, the stone itself is too powerful to resist with disastrous consequences if you don’t, a darkness of sorts is infecting the different London’s and the people in it, and political machinations run abundant and bloodthirsty as worlds crash for the first time in years.

It sounds very action-packed and intriguing and for some of you it may very well be.

For me personally, though, I just could never buy into this world that had been slowly crafted and built upon. Schwab does a great job of creating the world(s), the people in it, and finely tuned details so that each London had a distinct flavor with their own set of issues and conflict.

I just didn’t care.

Kell and Lilah were fine as characters. I found Kell to be whiny more often than not and he would constantly tell himself that he would stop doing something (like taking items from one London and bringing it into another) and then never follow through. It also irked me that Kell was this all mighty, all kind and altruistic person. I found that boring.

Lilah, on the other hand, I liked a great deal more. It’s a bit tiresome to me that Kell and Lilah will no doubt develop feelings for one another, but it’s far from the worst pairing I’ve ever seen. Lilah is fierce and I often liked her lack of empathy and her cruelty, which I found much more realistic than Kell’s humble persona given her backstory and her circumstances.

All the other characters didn’t even make a blip on my radar to be honest.

Holland is evil. I got the impression that Schwab was trying to make him be one of those I-once-was-good-but-pain-carved-it-out-of-me-characters, but it just didn’t work for me. I found him empty and shallow and I didn’t have enough information about him to really care about his actions and motivations.

The twins from White London, Astrid and Athos Dane, are almost comically vile and corrupt. Once again, I’m sure Schwab has a backstory on the ruling twins and their iniquitous ways, but I just couldn't shake off the indifference I had while reading this entire story.

Rhy was simply there for comic relief and not much else.

The writing itself was good and decently paced, although I did find some parts, particularly bits of Kell whining, to be monotonous and wearisome, the rest of the story was written just fine with some bits of well-timed action and riveting fight-scenes.

However, none of it was enough to shake off my apathy.

At the end of the day, the story and its characters failed to suck me in and engross me. I wasn’t attached to anyone and I didn’t feel the particular need to read the story at all. Towards the end, my motivation was more about finishing the book so I could move onto something else than it was actually reading the conclusion and wrapping up the tale.

This book wasn’t for me.

I tried, I truly did, and gave myself, this user, and Schwab the benefit of the doubt, but this was strike two. It’ll take a prodigious amount of convincing to get me to read another Schwab novel, and I certainly have no interest in reading the rest of the Shades of Magic trilogy.

All that being said, even though this book and perhaps this author aren’t for me, doesn’t mean it won’t be for you or to your liking. If adult fantasy really tickles your fancy, this could be your great big love. Take what I’m saying with a grain of salt as I know I’m biased towards YA and my familiarity with that. If you don’t fall into the same category as me, it’s highly likely you’d really enjoy A Darker Shade of Magic.

Recommendation: If all you read is YA like me then this is probably not your cup of tea. If you’re on the fence, then check it out from your local library free of charge and give it a spin. You might find that you crash and burn or that you’ve found the next exhilarating series to add to your magical fantasy repertoire.

Score: 4/10

#a darker shade of magic #veschawb #vicious #ya fiction #popular fiction #fiction #book blog #book review #Book Recommendations #book rec #fantasy #4/10

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cruelfeline · 4 years

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Agh, it got so long I had to read-more it; no one look at this; I just had to get it out of my mind, but don’t look at it just ignore this and go examine a pretty nature photo; honestly these just keep getting worse why does this keep happening? And I hate dialogue. And I hate characterization. Ugghhh... just insert a Mermista groan here.

also a more mature Catra helping Hordak on his journey provides me with happiness don’t judge me

Please consider, a concept:

A few months have passed since Prime’s demise. Reconstruction of Etheria’s damaged settlements is well underway, and all parties involved have gotten... if not entirely comfortable with one another, then at least able to interact with civility. Enough so that, when Entrapta and Bow end up delayed on one of their interplanetary trips, Hordak is only moderately uneasy about heading off to Bright Moon on his own. Oh, of course he’d rather wait for Entrapta, but certain planned meetings (dictated by Etheria’s terribly inconvenient seasons) simply cannot be delayed. So off he goes, determined to maintain decorum and dignity and uphold his end of all relevant treaties. He is received by Glimmer, Adora, and Catra. The other Princesses are all otherwise engaged (with what, he cares little, though he is admittedly amused to learn that Mermista and Perfuma are occupied with an apparently disastrous seaweed-related snafu). So it is the four of them against a whole mess of administrative work.

The girls, for their part, are equally uneasy but likewise determined to proceed as usual (Adora and Catra seeming particularly determined). They meet Hordak’s reserved politeness with a tentative poise of their own, and the group’s work commences.

And for a number of days, it goes fairly well. Even Glimmer has to admit that, whatever anyone’s misgivings about how an Entrapta-less Hordak might behave, things are running smoothly. She maintains control of the meetings, guiding them through agenda after agenda, while Adora and Catra provide input based upon their recent scouting trips to Etheria’s various corners. Hordak rounds the discussions out with whatever technological information is relevant. Their sessions run long most nights (too long, if Catra were asked her opinion on the matter, which she pointedly is not), but they are productive. The four of them get an impressive amount of work done, and all without any tense moments or uncomfortable quarrels. One might even say that they are getting along quite well, all things considered.

In fact, Catra is nearly certain that, when Adora mentions appreciating the work of some Dryl-made construction bots in a seaside village, Hordak subtly quirks his lips in what a careful observer could term a smile.

So the three girls are legitimately stunned when, about three-quarters of the way through their intended time together, Hordak’s behavior abruptly changes. His calm demeanor turns sullen and tense. Previously comprehensive explanations gain a taciturn edge, eventually devolving into clipped, half-snarled responses and sneered refusals to provide clarification. More and more often, words are accompanied by the baring of red teeth and the angry glare of red eyes.

Glimmer is... less than pleased, but between her own determination to make this treaty work and Adora’s dogged, somewhat frantic optimism, she strives to maintain civility long enough to get through the last few days. But, well... limits are limits. And limits are surpassed when, one evening, Hordak furiously declares that he has lost patience with their “embarrassing incompetence” and, with nary another word, storms out of the conference room.

“That’s it! How dare he?!”

Glimmer promptly explodes, and Catra spends the next few minutes watching Adora try to quiet what is proving to be a very loud, very angry, moderately uncouth Queenly rant. It is in the midst of this rant that Adora catches her eye and, with a quiet groan and a nod and a mental wish of good luck, Catra slips away with Melog silently following at her heels.

“I guess this is better than dealing with Sparkles,” she mutters to herself as she stands at the door to Hordak’s temporary quarters. Beside her, Melog trills encouragement, and she sighs. They’re right, of course: between the two of them, Adora has more experience dealing with an upset Glimmer. And Catra... okay, so she doesn’t have “experience dealing with an upset Hordak.” Not... not good experience. But she worked with him for nearly a year. And, given what she’s seen, what she knows... she has a fair idea of what’s been happening. She’d been quietly hoping that it would work itself out, or that it wouldn’t become enough of a problem to cause trouble before they finished their work, but alas: it seems that that sort of luck just isn’t on their side.

Which, given the fact that Hordak seems to have the worst luck of anyone she knows, probably should have been something she’d seen coming.

Melog trills again, adding a gentle headbutt this time.

“Okay, okay... give me a second.”

She takes a breath, lifts a hand to knock, grimaces, and drops said hand. She clears her throat.

“Hordak?”

Nothing. She frowns and tries again.

“Hordak? Are you-”

“Leave.”

His snarl is all-too familiar, and even muffled through a door, it causes her hackles to rise, her ears to pin back, her tail to lash.

“Look, I just-”

“Go. Away.”

She grits her teeth, clenches her fists, and turns away, ready to return downstairs with nothing to show for her efforts but a bad mood. Next to her, Melog meows in protest. She rounds on them.

“What? If he wants to be a jerk about it, then that’s his problem! Besides, what am I supposed to do? Break down the door?”

And she resumes making her way back to the staircase, ignoring Melog’s continued protest (which, come to think of it, sounds fairly alarmed, but... well, what is she to do?) and... she freezes. The world around her is starting to shimmer. She knows that shimmer: teleportation via alien cat.

“Wait! I said-!”

And just like that, they’re in his room, and though Catra’s first instinct is to make her displeasure very loudly known, said instinct quickly fades at the sight of Hordak.

“Oh, damn it.”

From his place on the floor, crumpled in a sweating, trembling heap, Hordak looks up at the intrusion. His eyes widen, face twisting with fury as he prepares to shout what Catra predicts will be his trademark “get out,” only to choke up and curl in on himself as some sort of painful spasm races through him.

Once upon a time, this sight might have spurred Catra into a bout of cruel gloating, but circumstances are vastly different today.

Today, before either of them can really take stock of what is happening, she helps him up and half-leads, half-carries him to the corner sofa, depositing him with a strained grunt before taking a step back and giving him a moment to collect himself. Which he does while glaring at her.

For some time, the only sound between them is the ugly rasp of Hordak’s panting, then: “Get. Out.”

Ah. There it is. As expected. As anticipated. Catra’s ears flick at the command.

A part of her still bristles at his snarling, at his combative ire, at his accusatory glare... but a different part notices instead how that glare comes through dull eyes, how that snarling fades into exhausted panting, how he’s still trembling, even before his very unwanted audience. As the seconds pass, this part maintains its position at the forefront of her mind, until:

“You want some water?”

“...”

“...what?”

There’s a sudden lightness to her thoughts.

“I’m gonna get you some water. Just... stay there, okay?”

Melog punctuates her words with a happy chirp before providing the necessary teleport. A minute later, they’re back from the kitchens, glass of cool water in hand. Hordak remains where they left him, though he actually gives a bit of a start when they reappear. The momentary surprise disappears under a scowl as Catra holds the glass out to him.

He curls his lip. He doesn’t take it.

Catra remains steady. Next to her, Melog sits, tail waving a constant, slow path in the air.

Hordak bares his teeth.

“I do not require your pity, Catra.”

“Good, ‘cause all I’ve got is this glass of water.”

He gapes at her.

“Which, y’know, you should take. Because my arm is getting tired.”

His expression closes off again in another scowl (he never did see the humor in her sass, did he?), but after a few more moments, Hordak relents. Slowly, clearly trying to keep his hand from trembling too much, he takes the offered glass.

Catra sighs and, suddenly drained, sits down on the ground a few feet away from him, resting her back against the arm of the sofa. Melog stretches out beside her, and Catra turns her back to Hordak to focus on providing the desired belly rub. She swivels an ear towards him, listening for him to finish draining the glass. He does so.

She can hear that his breath has lost that ugly rasp, and a tightness in her chest that she hadn’t been aware of loosens.

“So,” she begins, trying to keep her tone casual, “do you... need to call Entrapta? Is it... is it your-”

“Entrapta is currently beyond the reach of our communication modules.” She’d steeled herself for another snarled response, but his voice is calm, almost quiet. “And no; it is not my armor.”

“...oh.”

A minute passes. Two. Catra starts to tentatively turn around, wishing to steal a glance, but Melog thrusts their head into her lap and refocuses her gaze downwards. Another minute passes, then:

“It... it has proven somewhat...” He starts, stops, starts again. Stops again. Something that is not pain chokes his words, and though she wants to somehow encourage him, a soft rumble from Melog compels her to wait.

“Even with the armor, there are times that I... have difficulties.” He is breathing quicker again, she can hear; not quite panting, but definitely breathing quicker. In her lap, Melog seems attentive but otherwise unconcerned.

“Particularly during periods of higher stress, or exertion. Though,” he suddenly hisses, and Catra hears claws scrape against fabric, “hardly anything about our current work should merit this... exacerbation.”

He falls quiet, and for what feels like a long while, neither of them say anything. Melog’s soft purring fills the silence.

“Sparkles is mad,” Catra finally says, “Adora’s calming her down.”

This time, when she tries to turn her gaze back to him, Melog remains quiet. She watches Hordak nod, sees his ears droop.

“My behavior has been... unacceptable. I shall go request an audience with Queen Glimmer and make an apology-”

“Uh-uh.”

He frowns at her.

“Oh, I mean, yeah! Definitely apologize. You were a jerk. But not now; you should rest first. I’ll go tell them that you’re not feeling great, and-”

His scowl returns.

“That is not necessary.”

She matches his frown with her own and scoffs. “Uh, according to what just happened, it is. What? You’re just gonna... pretend you’re fine and keep going?”

He looks like he wishes to say something less-than-polite, scowl deepening, but instead he turns away with a quiet huff. His ears droop even further.

“The terms of the treaty are fair, and it is my duty to adhere to them. This... lapse... aside, I am entirely capable of doing so.” He sighs and seems to will his ears into a more neutral position. “So yes: I shall ‘keep going.’”

Catra blinks at him.

“That’s... really stupid.”

He blinks at her.

“...what?”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s stupid. What’s the point of it... pushing yourself like that when you’ve obviously had enough? If you need a break, then-”

Suddenly he snarls, he rounds on her, teeth and eyes glowing too-brightly, and she nearly jerks back. Melog tenses beside her but remains still.

“Then what?! I should inform the Queen, and she will suspend proceedings and accept needless delays for my comfort? That is... that is-”

He stops abruptly because she’s laughing, a dry sort of chuckle that might have infuriated him save for the fact that, when she notices his attention and stops, it’s to smile at him. Catra smiles at him, and the expression holds an honest sincerity that he’s never seen her exhibit before. His indignation fades; his aggressive posture deflates.

“Yeah. That’s exactly what she’ll do.”

At first, he only stares at her, as if uncertain that he has heard what he believes he has heard, but eventually Hordak swallows, glances away, glances back, presses his lips together.

“That is... highly illogical, given the circumstances. I am not... I do not...” His voice fades, and his ears all but wilt.

For the second time that day, Catra does something without thinking, settling herself into the seat next to him and placing a hand over one of his. It’s tense and cold to the touch; her thumb begins to stroke his knuckles without her realizing it. Hordak remains silent, lips slightly parted, transfixed. He does not even react when, on his other side, Melog presses their body gently against his leg.

“It’s a treaty, Hordak,” she begins, and her voice nearly strains for a moment when her brain catches up with her actions, but she steels her resolve and continues, “not a sentence. Not a punishment. I thought it was, at first. I figured it had to be, because of all we’ve done... all I’ve done. But it’s not.”

Catra remembers how she first felt, all those months ago, and she makes the connection between her old fears and his current ones, unconsciously pausing to squeeze his hand; her ears have pinned back, and her chest is suddenly tight again.

“It’s not supposed to... to hurt. For either of us. Y’know? I mean... I was out with the flu for a week a couple of months ago, and the worst thing that happened was having to choke down Perfuma’s gross herbal junk.” She huffs out a laugh, but there’s no amusement in it. “This...”

Now her voice does strain, and she has to stop for a moment before continuing. Beside her, Hordak is breathing quickly again and trying very hard to stop.

“This isn’t the Horde. Either Horde. How we feel matters. How... how you feel matters. So if you need a break, you get a break. ...okay?”

It takes him some time to answer, and in that time Catra realizes what her hand has been doing; she snatches it back just as he finds his voice.

“If... if you believe that your suggestion is... appropriate, then I shall agree to it.”

Catra lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The smile returns to her face, and she nods. Melog trills happily and rewards each of them with a gentle headbutt.

For what had seemed such a dramatic conversation, the aftermath is anything but. Catra and Melog return downstairs and tell Glimmer and Adora of what has transpired. Their reaction is as expected: the work is postponed, and Hordak is given leave to rest as long as is necessary, no questions asked.

He spends the remainder of that day and the next in bed, rising in the late afternoon to deliver a very formal, semi-awkward apology to Glimmer. She responds with a very formal, semi-awkward acceptance. Their working session resumes, though Hordak finds that he needs to excuse himself again after only a couple of hours. That evening, Glimmer has a basket of strawberry tarts delivered to his room. She also makes a point of ensuring that their sessions no longer extend into the late night hours.

Catra remains nearby, much to Hordak’s (admittedly only half-sincere) chagrin, and between her stubbornness and Melog’s perception, he is kept well-supplied with snacks, water, extra blankets and, though both refuse to admit it, friendly company. Adora spends her time trying to contact Darla; when she succeeds, Hordak happily accepts Entrapta’s enthusiastic check-in (and assures her that, yes, he is being provided an adequate amount of soup).

A few days later, he is able to rejoin the group in full capacity, and they finish their work with little harm done by their extended schedule.

Then it is time for him to return to Dryl (Entrapta arrives the next day), but before he boards his transport, he takes a moment to do something he’d once never imagined he’d do: thank Catra. Awkwardly, as seems is his communicative style this trip, but sincerely.

She grimaces slightly, refusing to meet his eyes, and scratches absently at the back of her head. Next to her, Melog utters a noise that sounds like a warbling coo, their mane glowing a faint pink.

“Yeah... well... better than you passing out and bringing the wrath of Entrapta down on us. Bright Moon’s still rebuilding, y’know.”

This elicits an actual laugh from Hordak, sudden and rather loud, and Catra fails to keep the surprise from her face as he regains control of himself and gives his final farewell with a small, genuine smile.

Despite Melog confirming for the world that she is blushing under her fur, Catra smiles back.

#all right we are keeping this despite it making me cringe #catra #hordak #pc:ac

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a-storm-of-roses · 3 years

Text

October Fics Day 5: Baking

Pairing: Teyla Emmagen/Jennifer Keller

Rating: G

Words: 2015

Summary: Teyla is good at many things, but baking isn't one of them. Luckily, Jennifer knows a trick.

A/N: Saw this prompt and HAD to make it about the two women who are canonically bad cooks!

Read on AO3 or below!

Teyla choked back a cough, as a cloud of flour rose up from the bowl. She stirred vigorously, but the mixture simply would not come together. And she was certain it wasn’t intended to look so chunky. Or so oily.

“Whatcha up to?” Jennifer leaned comfortably against the entry to the kitchen, a Driffen apple in her hand, looking bemused and more than a little curious. She was dressed casually, in jeans and a loose shirt, and Teyla realized she must be taking advantage of a rare day off.

With a sigh, Teyla wiped a hand across her forehead. It was only as she felt the drag of flour and grit across her skin, that she realized her error.

“I am baking,” Teyla ground out. Fetching a rag to wipe her face. “Or, at least I am trying to.”

Jennifer wandered over to the large, industrial counter where Teyla had been working. She peered over into the bowl, took one look at the contents and scrunched up her nose. Teyla would have found it cute, if she hadn’t been distracted by the annoyance and frustration of an hour wasted in the kitchen. She was hot, her arm was sore, and she was no closer to having created anything remotely resembling a cake.

“Uh, what exactly are you trying to make here?” Jennifer asked. She could tell the doctor was schooling her tone, adopting that forced, cheery accent that sometimes drove Teyla up a wall. Rodney called it Midwest nice. John, in his weaker moments, called it fake.

“A birthday cake for John. He does not particularly enjoy celebrations, but a cake seemed like a pleasant and simple tradition.”

“And you didn’t just ask the kitchen staff?” Jennifer asked. She picked up the mixing spoon, abandoned in the bowl of batter. Slowly, she lifted it out, and made a face as the oily, chunky mix splattered back into the bowl.

“I was under the impression that the cake was more meaningful when baked by a loved one.”

“In that case, shouldn’t Rodney be making it?” Teyla shot Jennifer a look, and it seemed to serve her purpose, because she blushed and stammered out quickly, “Or Ronon, or maybe Major Lorne? You know,” she continued, regaining her equilibrium, “don’t let them convince you that you have to do the cooking, just because you’re a woman. It’s sexist and outdated.”

Teyla sighed, and picked up the recipe again, smudging brown batter on the white paper.

“Ronon was going to join me. He is actually quite a good cook and baker, and he received the recipe from Evan. But then he implied that I would not be capable of doing this on my own, when Evan specifically said this was an easy recipe, and so…”

"So you got a bit competitive.” Jennifer smiled, real and easy, and Teyla felt some of the tension drain from her shoulders. “But I still don’t understand why you didn’t just use an Athosian recipe. Surely that would have been more familiar.”

Teyla shook her head, and picked up the bowl again, futilely attempting to stir the batter into submission.

“I’m afraid I am not a terribly accomplished baker, regardless of the recipe’s origins. My tuun bread was always too flat, and a bit hard. And at least I have access to the ingredients for this recipe.”

Jennifer hummed in agreement, before leaning forward on the counter, careful to avoid the stray flour and batter, and watching Teyla stir vigorously a few moments longer.

“I don’t think that’s how it’s meant to look.”

“I am aware of that,” Teyla snapped. Jennifer straightened up, her lips tugged down in a frown. Teyla sighed and placed the bowl on the counter, rubbing firmly at her temples. “I apologize, Jennifer, cooking always brings out the worst in me. It is not my strong suit.”

Jennifer brightened a bit.

“I have an idea, let me just see…” Jennifer made her way to one of the pantries, and crouched down, digging on one of the lower back shelves. She moved boxes, shifted tins, until she reemerged, looking triumphant and holding a small, cardboard box.

“Here! I thought we might still have some left over.” She presented the box to Teyla as though it were a prize, and looked so pleased with herself, so eager for Teyla’s approval. Teyla took the box and examined it more closely. The front displayed an image of a cake, and the back was covered with simple, short instructions.

“What is this?” Teyla asked.

Jennifer’s smile never faltered. “Boxed cake mix. A culinarily-challenged Midwestern girl’s best friend.”

Moving to the cabinets and pulling down a fresh bowl, Jennifer then rifled through the shelved ingredients, placing a bottle of cooking oil and some eggs on the counter.

“All you do is pour the mix in the bowl, add some oil, water and eggs, and pop it into the oven! I suppose not-chicken eggs will work just as well.”

Teyla eyed the collection of items warily. She was not usually one to take a shortcut, especially when it came to her friends, but then again, she also wasn’t one to bake.

“I could help?” Jennifer offered, clearly misinterpreting her silence for trepidation. It had sounded simple enough, she didn’t think she particularly needed the other woman’s help, but then again, Evan’s recipe had also sounded simple.

“That would be very appreciated, thank you Jennifer,” Teyla offered warmly. Jennifer beamed.

“Great! Why don’t I measure the oil, and you crack the eggs. That’s the hardest part, anyhow.”

They worked silently and companionably, Jennifer pouring the mix into the bowl, adding the oil, before Teyla added the eggs and the water. Before Teyla could reach the bowl, Jennifer had it in her arms, stirring slowly and steadily.

“Figured your arms could use the break,” she said, looking pointedly over at the bowl where Teyla’s first attempt sat congealing.

“Thank you.”

For a moment the kitchen was silent, the only noise the quiet squelch of Jennifer stirring the batter.

Teyla would be the first to admit that she had spent little time with Jennifer, especially following their disastrous mission to New Athos. It wasn’t that Teyla disliked her - there were very few people out there that Teyla truly disliked - but the doctor tested her patience at times. She was too soft, too naive for life here, it seemed. Too earnest, and too kind. She worried that one day the lovely doctor would go off-world, and would not return.

But as she watched Jennifer pour the batter into the cake tins, and pop them into the oven, she wondered if perhaps a bit of softness was not always a bad thing.

“Think we can toss this, then?” Jennifer asked, holding the bowl of chunky batter.

“Yes,” Teyla laughed, “I believe we can.” They moved in tandem, cleaning the used dishes and wiping down the counters, before Teyla grabbed a broom to sweep the spilled flour from the floor.

Jennifer leaned back against the counter and watched her, her gaze direct and focussed. Teyla was certain the other woman had never looked at her like this before, but she found, surprisingly, it was not unwelcome. Teyla met her gaze in return, and smiled, laughing a bit, as Jennifer’s eyes widened and looked away.

“So,” Teyla began, “you have done this before?”

“I- um, what exactly-”

“Made cake from a box?” Teyla took mercy on her.

“Oh,” Jennifer blushed. “Right. Yeah, I used to be in a lot of activities when I was younger. Girl Scouts, debating. Swim team, for a bit. I was always ahead of the class, and my parents thought it would be a good way for me to meet other kids my own age, you know, acclimate socially.

“Anyways, these activities always had a lot of bake sales. Um, where you bake things and sell them to raise money for the club? We all had to bring something. My mom was a great baker - she used to make the best cupcakes. But after she died, I had to figure something out. I tried making a couple of her recipes, but they never really turned out right. That’s when Betty Crocker and I became BFFs.”

Teyla felt a sudden pang of her own grief.

“Your father did not bake?”

“No, I come from a pretty conservative area. It was enough that he took over making all of our meals, I couldn’t ask him to make me a devil’s food cake for my debate tournament too.”

Jennifer busied herself checking the cake, showing Teyla the clean toothpick and bringing it out of the oven to cool. The two round cakes were golden yellow, edging into a bit browned at the edges. They looked not unlike the cake the mess served on special occasions. Teyla was just relieved to see that they appeared edible.

“We’ll need to wait a bit before we can frost it.”

Teyla sat on one of the high stools, and regarded Jennifer closely. After a moment, she spoke.

“I lost my mother when I was quite young as well. No one ever quite made fried melo like her. I tried to get it right, for many years, but even the best cooks in our settlement never came close.”

“You miss her,” Jennifer stated, leaning over and placing her hand on Teyla’s. Her palm was warm, a bit damp, but soft. Teyla nodded. “I miss mine too. I don’t think it ever goes away.”

For a moment, Teyla considered leaning in. Brushing the hair that had fallen loose from Jennifer’s ponytail back, swiping her thumb across a smooth cheek.

But then, Jennifer pulled her hand away, cleared her throat and stood.

“I think we can frost it now.”

“Do we need to make the frosting, or does that also come in a box?”

“Even better,” Jennifer responded, placing two small containers on the counter. “It comes in a tub.”

They each took one cake, Jennifer showing her how to spread the frosting evenly, without causing the cake to crumble. Finally, carefully, Teyla lifted one layer on top of the other, smoothing down the frosting covering the sides.

“It looks great! I’m sure John will love it.”

“I just hope it tastes alright,” Teyla laughed.

Jennifer grinned at her, happy and relaxed. Even more hair had fallen out of her ponytail, and ridiculously, there was a smudge of frosting across her cheek. She looked messy, not at all like her normal, put-together self, and Teyla was surprised to find it endearing.

“Here, you have a bit of-” Teyla reached out, and wiped the frosting from her face. Almost instinctively, she popped her finger in her mouth, licking the sweetness from her own skin. Jennifer’s pupils dilated.

“How’s- um- how’s it taste?” She asked, voice just a touch breathy.

“Delicious,” Teyla answered, her eyes never breaking contact. “Perhaps you should try some.”

It was a challenge. Jennifer could take the risk, take what Teyla was offering. Or she could pretend she didn’t understand, pretend she wasn’t feeling this thing thrumming between the two of them.

Jennifer’s eyes dropped down to her lips, and her hand settled on Teyla’s arm, before she moved closer, leaning in to gently kiss her, barely a brush, before pulling away.

“Was that alright?” She asked, uncertain, her hand still gripping Teyla’s bicep with more force than she would have expected.

“Yes, but I don’t believe you got to sample the frosting.” Teyla swiped her finger across the base of the cake, before sucking it into her mouth, making a little show of licking the excess frosting off. It was ridiculous, she knew it, but it had the desired effect, Jennifer pulling her in close and kissing her again, this time with a confident heat, her tongue venturing out to pull the sweetness from Teyla’s own mouth.

They kissed for long minutes, before breathless, Teyla finally pulled away.

“I believe I have found something pleasurable about baking after all.”

Jennifer laughed. “Just wait til I show you what I can do with a roll of cookie dough.”

#This is cliched and I love it #Also took some liberties in describing the frosting process #I swear I know how to frost cake #Teyla Emmagen/Jennifer Keller #teyla emmagan #jennifer keller #this pairing is actually great tho #stargate atlantis

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five-rivers · 3 years

Text

Orb/Reanimation

Another part of Doorways! Link to series here.

“What’s his name again?” asked Danny, picking at the hem of his shirt. Today had been… stressful, for a number of reasons. Partially the long drive and the disastrous breakfast stop, but also the fact that they were driving to meet a guy who was possibly:

a) Vlad Masters version 2.

b) A horrible hole in reality that would try to kill him.

c) Possessed, like the Keens.

d) Using ghost stuff without knowing it was ghost stuff.

e) Messing around with ghost stuff while knowing it was ghost stuff, but without any of the skill to keep it from messing him up in turn.

f) Crazy in some wonderful, unforeseen way.

Or, finally,

g) Mom and Dad’s one and only normal friend.

Danny really wasn’t holding for the last one, if he was being honest. After all, unlike Marianne, this guy had been part of the Paranormal Research Club.

Okay, maybe there were other, positive, options. It was completely possible for someone to be weird or crazy and not be evil or even particularly threatening. Most ghosts were like that, in fact.

Still.

“Frank Stone,” said Dad, cheerfully.

“If he turns out to be a Dr. Frankenstein type, I quit,” groaned Jazz. “Just so you know.”

“You won’t quit,” said Danny, with complete confidence.

“He is a doctor,” said Mom. “He was studying biology when we met him, for his undergraduate degree.”

“I quit; I’m telling you.”

“If you were really quitting,” reasoned Danny, “you’d just open the door and jump out.” He was pleased that Jazz was taking her turn as the resident overdramatic teenager. She carried that burden only rarely, but it did seem like long trips in the GAV really brought it out.

Maybe they made her remember the whole Youngblood thing. Who knew? Not Danny.

“I’m not going to jump out of a moving vehicle. That’s more of a ‘you’ thing.”

“I can’t really dispute that,” said Danny, remembering all the times he had, in fact, jumped out of a moving vehicle. “In my defense, I can fly.”

“Why you can fly completely negates that as a defense.”

Danny held up a finger. “Okay, so, first off, reality is not a moving vehicle.”

“Anything can be a moving vehicle, depending on your reference frame.”

“I agree on the moving part, but I dispute the vehicle part. Vehicle comes from the Latin vehiculum, which is ‘a means of conveyance.’ Reality is not a means of conveyance. Ergo, it cannot be a vehicle.”

“Not so fast, brother dear. Words change meaning over time.”

“Yeah, but that’s still what vehicle means,” said Danny. “Unless you’re doing the medicine definition, anyway. I think.”

“Reality is a metaphorical vehicle.”

“Well, if it’s metaphorical, it doesn’t matter whether or not it’s moving. Does it?”

“I’m… not sure.”

“I think this is the place!” exclaimed Dad, pulling into a parking lot. “Golding City University Medical Research Lab.”

“He doesn’t live here,” said Danny, slowly, “does he?” They weren’t ambushing this guy at work, were they? Even if he did turn out to be just as bad as all of Mom and Dad’s other friends, that was kind of mean.

(Except, the Keens had been acceptable, once they were no longer possessed, and even the ghost possessing them hadn’t been too terrible.)

��He’s in the building behind the lab,” said Mom. “They let the teachers live on-campus, here. He’s expecting us, anyway.”

Right. Because they had called ahead, giving warning to their potential enemy. Curse you, common courtesy and sundry social conventions.

Jazz was glaring at the small name sign on the building, which was just barely visible through the rain. “Golding City University,” she said, eyes narrowed.

“Uh, is something wrong?”

“Frankenstein,” she said.

“Um,” said Danny. He looked more closely at the name. “Golding City. Ingolstadt.” Oh, no. Now he was glaring at the name, too. Because Jazz was right, and it would be his luck. Their parents’ luck. Whatever.

“Do you feel anything?” asked Dad.

“No,” said Danny.

“Well,” said Mom. “We’ll have to run a bit, try to stay out of the rain. It’s too bad there isn’t a closer parking lot…”

“I could also just make us all intangible,” said Danny.

“What?”

“I could make us all intangible. I do it all the time to miss the rain when no one is looking too closely.”

“Huh,” said Mom.

“It isn’t as if my powers disappear when I’m not fighting ghosts,” said Danny. “I get to use them for other things.”

“I know, I know, it just seems… petty.”

“Petty is one of the best words to describe ghosts with,” said Danny.

Frank Stone did not look like a Frankenstein. Not the monster, and not the ‘doctor.’

(Because Victor Frankenstein had not, in fact, become a doctor, had he?)

He was actually pretty average looking. The same age as Mom and Dad, of course. Brown hair. Glasses. Skinny, but not that skinny. Could Dr. Stone rob a grave? Probably. But carrying the loot away without some mechanical advantage was probably out. Unless it was old loot. Dried out. Maybe just bones.

Corpses were heavy.

(No, Danny was not going to elaborate.)

Dr. Stone appeared to be somewhat confused about why Danny and Jazz were there. Evidently, Mom and Dad had managed to give the man the impression that they wanted to fund his research with the fortune they had inherited from Vlad.

Which, incidentally, had been inherited by Danny, who couldn’t really do much with it until he was twenty-five. Not that he was particularly keen on funding… Whatever it was that Dr. Stone was researching.

Maybe that would be different if he could tell what Dr. Stone was talking about. Danny wasn’t stupid, far from it, and had a good background in any number of esoteric subjects, but, well. It was hard to rival an adult lifetime of learning and research. Especially when he didn’t have any context.

Mom and Dad’s briefing on Dr. Stone had generally focused on what he had been interested in as a member of the Paranormal Research Club, not his true field of study.

“Oh,” said Mom, suddenly, “this is about your organ transplant project, isn’t it? You really need to provide more context. When you just jump right in like that, even we’ll get lost!”

Okay. Danny felt better.

“Well, yes,” said Dr. Stone. “I have been working on this off and on since college, you know how it is. I know you kept up with that portal business!” He flashed a nervous smile and set his coffee mug down on his coffee table. It made a soft chinking sound against the glass. “But the university gave me a grant, Vladco’s been donating some supplies—From their chemical division, mostly—and I’ve been having a lot of success! I can’t wait to show you. We’ve actually got a few specimens in near-stasis right now, all from mice. We’re going to be implanting one tomorrow. See how it functions.”

“Have you implanted any before?” asked Mom, leaning forward.

“A few, but, well. I can’t say they were resounding successes. The most recent subject only lasted a few days… Although, that is better than the first! We’ve been adjusting some of our ratios.”

“Say, Frank,” said Dad. “What chemicals are you using for this, anyway? I know you’re using them in conjunction with low temperatures, but keeping crystals from forming in the flesh—”

“Yes, yes, that’s always been the problem with cryogenics,” agreed Dr. Stone. Then they dove back into jargon and technical language.

Danny glanced sideways at Jazz, uneasy. Chemicals. From Vladco. Yeah. Not suspicious at all.

He leaned over. “Ten dollars says that he’s using ectoplasm to reanimate dead bodies.”

“I’m not taking that bet. Do you feel anything weird from him?” Jazz whispered back.

“Weird, yes, but…” Danny bit his lip. “I’m not sensing any… doors. Or ghosts.”

“Okay,” said Jazz. “So, when we do find his mad science lab full of dead body parts, what do we do?”

“Well… Nothing? As long as they’re legal dead body parts, I guess. You know, from organ donors, or people who donated their bodies to science. I mean…” He shrugged. “You’ve read Frankenstein, too. And met Ellie.”

“Hm. True,” said Jazz. “I have to check my biases. I’m still quitting, though. As soon as we find his Frankenstein stuff. Just so you know.”

“No, you aren’t.”

Jazz just sighed.

Danny walks silently through the halls of the research facility. True, Dr. Stone was planning on giving his family a tour of his workspace first thing tomorrow and had implied that other researchers would be doing the same, but Danny believed in being prepared.

Well. Sometimes. He was allowed to be inconsistent and contradictory. Like any teen, he was still learning how to exist.

Maybe he should stop comparing himself to ‘any teen,’ though. It was beginning to feel dishonest, even in his own head. Even though, technically, it was true.

Anyway.

This place was kind of creepy. At least, he presumed a normal person would find it creepy. Too bad he didn’t know any normal people. Sam would think it was cool. Tucker would be freaking out because it was a medical research lab. Ancients, Danny was as bad as his parents.

It did have a number of features that one would typically only find on the set of a horror movie, however, so he felt fairly confident in his assessment of its creepiness. Also, he had encountered at least five different crimes against nature and sanity (it took one to know one), and he hadn’t even gotten to Dr. Stone’s lab yet.

He was impressed. He hadn’t expected such a high concentration outside of Amity Park or Vlad’s hideouts.

At the thought of Vlad, Danny drooped. Yeah. He still wasn’t over the stupid fruitloop. Still hated the fact that he had died.

Back to the crimes against nature. Ectoplasm was definitely a component, if a small one. Hard to get things to glow that precise, reality bending shade of green otherwise. Also, well. Danny can sense ectoplasm.

And… Now he was in a room of jars full of diluted ectoplasm and… He sniffed. Formaldehyde? He frowned and decided the number, size, and arrangement of jars was suspicious. He walked around the table. Yep. That was in the outline of a human body. Yep.

Honestly, this wasn’t any more alarming than the living mice impaled with various glowing needles, or the disturbingly brown heart beating in a fish tank a few rooms back. It was, also, significantly less alarming than the prosthetic face (mainly because, dang, that thing looked realistic), the (fresh) skeleton someone had been injecting ectoplasm into (yikes), and the weird flesh… blob… thing that someone had just left out in their workspace.

Still. This was another point for the ‘someone is building a Frankenstein’s monster in this building’ theory, and Danny had kind of been hoping that he was wrong.

He walked out of the room, on alert for random murderous corpse monsters (or sad corpse monsters that needed a shoulder to cry on, a restraining order against their creators, and a loving home). Or mad scientists. Because, at this point, he was fairly certain that everyone who worked here was crazy, and not necessarily in the fun way Mom and Dad were.

He was glad they had decided to sleep in the GAV and ignore Dr. Stone’s invitation to stay in his apartment.

Dr. Stone’s office was just next door. His lab, just beyond that. Danny approached cautiously, his ghost half on high alert, and his deeper self stirring uneasily.

He laid a hand flat against the door, and that stirring became wakefulness.

Crimes against nature. Hubris. Pride.

Superbia. It had to be.

A hole. A wound.

Well. This was fast. Even with the Keens’ list of Paranormal Research Club members they had encountered while possessed, Danny hadn’t expected to find another thing like Gula so quickly.

He hadn’t wanted to. Despite his outward pessimism, he had hoped that there weren’t any more.

After several frozen moments where Danny braced himself for an attack, he realized one wasn’t forthcoming. The tear beyond the door had not noticed him, was not trying to consume him.

So, he had a choice. He could either try to deal with this alone, right now, or he could sneak away and tell his family what he had found. Both choices had pros and cons.

Before even a second had passed, Danny was easing away from the door. He hadn’t quite promised to share if he felt anything strange, if he had detected anything bad, but… It was a near thing, and he didn’t want to be dishonest with his family after they had been so accepting of all his… Stuff.

Yeah. Call it stuff. Nice and generic. Covers everything.

Plus, his encounter with Gula had confirmed that he needed backup.

He refrained from calling on his powers on the way out. He didn’t want to draw attention. The limits of the doors to the place which should not be mentioned were largely unknown to him.

Luckily, the doors weren’t alarmed, and he got back to the GAV without a problem. He poked Jazz awake first.

“Hey,” he said, “we’ve got a problem.”

“This portal is just… Sitting there,” said Mom.

“Yep.”

“In Frank’s office.”

“Well, I think it might actually be in the lab, but yes. It’s kind of freaking me out.”

“Is Frank sleeping in his lab?” asked Dad, stroking the stubble on his chin.

“No, I checked that before I went in,” said Danny. “He’s in his apartment.”

“You just… broke into his apartment?” asked Mom.

Danny shrugged. “I didn’t break anything,” he said. “But, I mean, what else was I supposed to do?”

For a moment, it looked like Mom was about to argue or scold him, but she shook her head. “Alright, then someone else is in his office.”

“Maybe. I’m not sure if these portals need a person attached or not. Using person in the very loosest of senses, because…” He made a gesture he hoped would be interpreted as a soul being forcibly removed from a body without killing the body.

“You don’t think it’s in the, um,” Jazz also made a vague gesture.

“You mean the hypothetical Frankenstein’s monster he’s made? Yeah. I think that’s likely. Also, judging from the sheer amount of, um, weird stuff in the other labs, I’d say it’s influencing everyone and everything around it, too.”

“Is that a thing it can do?” asked Mom.

“I mean, I can do that,” said Danny. He paused. “’I’ in this case being the portal. Yeah. That’s why Amity Park is so… Amity Park.”

Mom breathed out, slowly. “Sweetie, trust me on this, Amity Park was strange long before we made the portal.

“Well, yes?” said Danny, not seeing what that had to do with it. “So?”

“So, that strangeness couldn’t be caused by the portal.”

“Mom. I’m—It’s a hole in reality. Do you think it’s going to obey the laws of cause and effect? You went to Amity Park because it was already a ‘thin spot,’ right? I was already there.”

Mom looked vaguely ill.

“Okay,” said Jazz. “Let’s table that discussion for right now. What are we going to do about this? Break in? Wait for our ‘tour’ tomorrow?”

“I don’t like the idea of waiting for Dr. Stone to give us a tour,” said Danny. “I don’t want to give them time to prepare for us.”

“He doesn’t know what we’re here for, though,” said Dad. “Does he?”

“I don’t know,” said Danny. “I can’t read minds.”

“Yet,” added Jazz.

“Do you think he even knows about the…” It was Mom’s turn to enter the gesturing game.

“Let’s just call it a hell portal for the sake of communication,” said Danny, despite the fact that the term did not do the actuality justice. “Or Superbia for this particular one. I think this must be Superbia, anyway.” He didn’t want to imagine the possibility of even more of these things out there.

“I’m not sure how he couldn’t notice that something strange was going on,” said Dad. “Even if he was using ectoplasm and other supernatural elements in his research, we gave him a good grounding in what to expect from ectoplasm in college.”

“Yeah,” said Jazz. “But not everyone is like you and Mom. Your college days were over two decades ago.”

Something moving in the dark and rain beyond the GAV windows, catching Danny’s eye. He pushed past his family to get a better look, blinking to adjust his eyes.

“Heck,” he said. “We have a mob.”

“What?” exclaimed Dad, rushing to the console to turn on the GAV’s exterior floodlights.

They illuminated Dr. Stone and a crowd of college and graduate students quite nicely. Their eyes reflected a dim red. The GAV was, as far as Danny could see, surrounded.

Very briefly, the thought of gunning the GAV and crashing through the crowd crossed his mind. It was just as quickly dismissed.

He didn’t know what the line between influenced and mind controlled was, or how easily Superbia could cross it. It was even possible that the ‘hell portal’ could vault over both of those and land directly in possession.

“Ghost shield?” suggested Danny.

“Will it do anything?” asked Mom.

“Won’t hurt,” said Danny with a shrug.

Mom flipped the switch.

“What are we going to do?” asked Jazz, softly. “Wait them out?”

“Realistically,” said Danny, “we don’t have enough food and water to do that. With this many people, they could take turns watching us.”

“Call the police?” suggested Maddie. The other three turned to look at her. “They are still human, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, frowning. “But I don’t know how much, um, agency they have right now. If we were in Amity, I’d say sure, our police understand, mostly, but… Also, bringing extra hostages into this might not be a good idea.”

“If it’s the campus police that would get called, they might be affected, too,” said Jazz.

“They have campus police? How do you know?”

“This college sent me a brochure once.”

“Right. Um. I could always just fly us out of here,” said Danny.

“Assuming they don’t have ranged attacks,” said Mom, dubiously.

“Hm. Yeah. I think I could lift the GAV, and then we could just leave the shield on.”

“Assuming the shield does anything.”

Danny shrugged. “I can always just try to fight them outright. I’d prefer not to do that, though.”

Mom inhaled as if she were about to say something but was cut off by a loud noise from outside.

“Jack~ Maddie~ I know you’re in there.” That was Dr. Stone’s voice, warped by a megaphone speaker. “Why don’t you come out and see what I’ve done? I dare say I’ve exceeded even our wildest dreams from college.” A long pause. “I even made a portal… Weren’t you trying to get one of those? Isn’t that what got good old Vlad hospitalized?” There was laughter. Too much laughter.

The mob was laughing, too.

Superbia. Pride.

Danny knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to walk out and deal with the threat that was grating on his every sense. But… He knew that prideful actions were contraindicated under the present circumstances.

Influence. Right. How much could Danny be influenced?

How much could his family be influenced?

He looked up at his parents, seeking guidance. They seemed uncertain, too.

“I didn’t destroy any lives- I made new life. New life! Powered by an interdimensional portal, oh, yes… Can you imagine the application? Can you imagine a new world?”

“Okay, he didn’t seem like this in the apartment,” muttered Jazz. “We have human nonlethal weapons, right?”

“Still have to worry about running people over,” said Danny. He looked back at the lab building. “We could try to cut this off at the source. They aren’t protecting the building. They’re using it as part of their perimeter.”

Eyes turned to the dimly lit building.

“We can cover you,” offered Dad.

“I don’t like this any better than you flying off with us,” said Mom. “But… It offers a more permanent solution.”

Danny should have gone after it when he was in the building the first time. Well. Time only rewound for one ghost, and that ghost wasn’t him.

Unless he counted… Never mind. The point was, despite all his other wonderful and troubling features, Danny couldn’t go back and change a decision he’d already made. Agonizing over it was a waste of time and brain power.

Dad got behind the wheel. Jazz crawled up into the well-disguised turret. Maddie manned the other weapons.

Danny stood at the door, ready to run, ready to transform as soon as he was through the shield.

Family bonding activities. So much fun.

The mob attacked before he got the door open. He still made it to the building.

Danny didn’t bother with doors or windows or halls. He remembered what floor Dr. Stone’s office was on, and, now that he was sensitized to it, he could feel Superbia. He went through the walls, straight as an arrow.

(He wondered, briefly, if he was being as bigoted as he’d often felt his parents to be. If he was ascribing more evil to the portals to the Red Country than was warranted. If he was simply holding up a dark mirror and seeing what he feared from himself.)

(But no. He did not command like that. He did not force his people to assemble armies in the night or attack people. He kept them safe. He had rules.)

The lab was awash in sick red not-light that burned in Danny’s mind. It was barely physically perceptible, more present in senses that couldn’t translate to human terms than anything to do with Danny’s eyes, ghostly or not.

In the center of the lab, on an operation table, was a stitched-together corpse. Perhaps, under other circumstances, it would have been a very pretty corpse. A young woman with long dark hair and broad shoulders.

Its chest had been torn open. Half-in half-out of the cavity was a red orb, the source of the not-light, like some sick imitation of a ghost core.

(It reminded Danny of Freakshow’s staff, and he realized that he never did find out where that horrid thing had come from.)

They had been trying to make something like Danny.

He felt like he had eaten those blood blossom pancakes.

Danny gritted his teeth and let his light, white-green and clear, fill his hands. Ectoplasm fought against the miasma in the air, an oddly purifying presence. It wasn’t enough to chase away the wrongness. This wasn’t his space.

The fight against Gula was different. Both he and it had been within nominally living bodies. They had been next to the heart of Danny’s territory, his home ground. Danny had been tricked and trapped, taken off guard, unable to use the tricks he had grown used to while fighting ghosts and Vlad.

(He could feel Superbia in his mind, pride urging him forward towards error. Pride in his abilities, in his mind, in his family.)

Danny drifted sideways, watching. Listening. Other things in the building were stirring. Sparks of wrongness growing and twisting, warping into fountains and springs. This whole building was full of it. Rotten to the bones. It pressed against his teeth.

Careful.

He had to be careful.

The orb shone.

(Too much like Freakshow’s staff.)

(Influence, Danny remembered. Just how close was it to mind control?)

Doing this as a human was impossible. Trying to fight that as a ghost was unwise.

The always-open always-closed door that both contained and laid within Danny’s soul shifted. So did the corpse on the table, its constituent parts sliding over each other gruesomely. Death had lost its hold, lost its meaning. The ghost that was Danny twisted, and he was too human, too alive.

Special little thing. You think you can defeat us.

He could. He could open himself and wash all this away in an instant. He could burn with electric fire and the cold of deep space. He could reach out. The orb would be as dust under his hand.

He didn’t move.

In thinking you become…

Un-light burned up from the grooves in the tile floor. It didn’t reach the soles of his boots, didn’t reach his soul. He gritted his teeth.

US.

YOUR VICTORY IS OURS.

“Wow, you picked the wrong person to use that strategy on,” said Danny, out loud. Internally, he pulled on the delicate and frayed strands of reality that persisted even here. “I have so much imposter syndrome and anxiety that it isn’t even funny. I know I can’t beat you. Not here.”

But then, he didn’t have to.

He found the right string and pulled. He found the key and opened the door. Death was in the room again. Danny could move again. Not so much the pile of flesh in front of him. It was hard, it hurt, to keep hold of something like this, but half of Danny was this, was dead, even if he had far too many halves to ever be whole.

Ice coated the floor, the tiles cracking under the sudden temperature change. He dropped to the floor and was human.

An impossible thing.

And behind the human—

Well. Danny didn’t have to defeat Superbia. It wasn’t like Gula, didn’t have that strength, that experience. He just had to make it so the things that would, could.

(Danny had rules. Some of them were to protect himself.)

He walked over to the orb. Ultimately, it was just a representation, not Superbia itself. Still. He put his foot down on it and slowly transferred his weight to it until it cracked. Until it splintered. Until it shattered. Until he ground its dust under his heel.

Then, the building collapsed. Danny didn’t move, didn’t have to move. He was a ghost again, floating in the air, exactly where he had been, all the floors having passed harmlessly through him.

Outside, the faculty and student body of the college were sprawled in piles on the ground. The GAV was, somehow, halfway up a tree. A shockingly sturdy tree. Several statues were in pieces.

The sun was coming up.

Danny put a hand to his chest and assessed himself. Yes. Still here. Still himself. The Ghost Zone still sang in his bones, in his core. He was still anchored in Amity Park. Everything in order.

This place, though… This place would be tainted for years, a thin spot forever. He could feel it, now. Why couldn’t he feel it before, when they drove in?

He shuddered. Then he flew down to the GAV and knocked on the window. Mom rolled it down.

“Want me to fly us away to somewhere secluded before the cops get called and we get asked a bunch of awkward questions?” he asked.

Mom closed her eyes. “Please do,” she said.

#danny phantom #ectober #ectober week #ectober week 2020 #ectober 2020

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dreamwatchpro-wrestling · 2 years

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Dreamwatch 10.24.21 (Match 2)

Soji Uzaki vs Tetsu Akimoto

Our second match of the evening involves another Esperanza in Akimoto facing off against another... Does Daigo's faction have a name? This is the second faction in Dreamwatch now without a name! Someone should talk to them about it! Anyway, another member of the group that Daigo belongs to in Soji Uzaki. These two face off in junior heavyweight action and have the chance to build some momentum for themselves. In Soji's last singles match, he was knocked out by Yamato Ryukawa. For Akimoto, his last singles match was against Javier Martinez in a winning effort.

This match was very fun! Lots of speed, energy, explosiveness, cool moves. Falcon Ishigami is probably the only referee in Dreamwatch that could reasonably keep up with such a quick pace considering how fast he moves. I thought both men looked really good throughout. Uzaki's got an excellent dropkick in his moveset as well as a solid technical base which goes a long way against any opponent. Akimoto is one of the most devastating performers in Dreamwatch and I feel like most people facing him in singles matches should expect to get piledriven on their heads multiple times at this point. The way this match ended was especially interesting!

Akimoto hit a Canadian Destroyer and could have gone for a pin, but he instead picked Uzaki up and went for an Irish Whip. Both men were running a little too quickly and they both bumped heads on the Irish Whip, causing both of them to fall. In the scramble as both men got up, Uzaki managed to knock Akimoto back down and hit a dive for the three count! The match was very close! Victory barely slipped through Akimoto's fingers there but Uzaki's ability to capitalize and win was very impressive.

Soji Uzaki: WOOOOOO! We're on the board! That guy tombstoned me on my head too many times! He was jealous of my mohawk but its still perfectly in place because I only buy the finest gel! If you want hair tips you should've asked, kid! I like his style though, he's wild and annoying as hell like me. Even though it was our first match, I feel like I knew him pretty well, and that's why I won. BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME, AKIMOTO!

Tetsu Akimoto: Noooooo... I'm an idiot, I'm so dumb... You all saw that... I almost won that, but I wanted to really emphatically beat that guy. Hiro doesn't like them very much, and Hiro's my guy so I don't particularly like them either. I'm sorry, big guy. I failed you! How could I have been so foolish...

Akimoto dramatically falls over

Akimoto: Anyway, they aren't actually all that tough I don't think. I will find a way to defeat that disastrous hairdo and then he'll be sad and his hair will be slightly colder. Perhaps this will be my lasting legacy.

#Dreamwatch Pro Wrestling #Fire Pro Wrestling #Soji Uzaki #Tetsu Akimoto #Dreamwatch 10.24.21

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regrettablewritings · 4 years

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Preferences: Guilty Pleasures

Characters: Okoye, Lucifer Morningstar, Dewey Finn, Peter B. Parker, Ahkmenrah

Okoye

Okoye is straightforward and stony upon first impressions. And, admittedly, even afterward. The only real difference is that, if one gets to know her better, they might find shock in the fact that in spite of her appearance, she Dora leader actually likes sweets. However, it’s not sweet things in general that Okoye feels guilty for enjoying: It’s Starbucks.

Starbucks is the antithesis of everything Okoye is associated with: Supremely un-Wakandan, a chain establishment, and overall just not worth the absurd cost. Not to mention superbly unhealthy when compared to the rest of a fighter’s typical diet. But yet you can bet that every time she needs to go out of the country or off-continent, there’s an invasive shout for joy at the possibility that she might be able to get her hands on a Frappucino (followed by an internal scolding).

She can’t even explain exactly why she likes it; there are plenty of good, even healthier sweet things back in Wakanda -- heck, back anywhere else!

But it’s a bit like when someone craves the cheap taste of school pizza over a legit pie cooked in a stone hearth: She just loves the sugary sweetness, the application of whipped cream to an already tooth-rottingly saccharine icy drink, the addition of chocolate. But Bast, she also hates it. But ever since T’Challa practically shoved a grande cup of caramel frappucino into her hands, she hasn’t felt entirely the same.

Against her better judgement, she’s more or less unintentionally tried 45% of the menu drink-wise. She doesn’t particularly care much for the food part of the establishment, though if she should ever find herself in one during the fall, she might indulge in a chunky slice of pumpkin bread under the conviction that it’s healthy enough for being gourd-related. Never mind that it’s just a cinnamon mixture with more sugar than actual pumpkin-derived anything.

Really, of all those mentioned on this list, Okoye is the one who probably feels the most disappointed in herself whenever she indulges in her guilty pleasure: It’s a betrayal to her patriotism, to her dignity, and to her attempts to eat healthy. But damn, if this type of betrayal doesn’t taste so addicting . . .

Lucifer Morningstar

The thing about Lucifer is that it’s actually a bit hard for him to feel any regrets over liking anything; he’s the Devil, after all, so his whole thing is about embracing the things that make you feel good. And even besides that, he’s mostly managed to skate by in his time on Earth by categorizing things as Stuff He Likes, Stuff He Tolerates, Stuff He Doesn’t Bother With, and Stuff Humans Seem to Enjoy But He Doesn’t Quite Get. It’s a tad restricted of a system but you can’t argue with results.

However, just because something is difficult doesn’t mean that it’s impossible. The Devil can, in fact, recognize absurdity in liking certain things. Hence why, to a point, he’s fallen prey to his own bizarre pleasures: The Devil has guilty pleasures, and it’s in stupid YouTube videos, Vine, and TikTok.

After he finally drank the Kool-Aid and got himself a smart phone, it was only a matter of time before Lucifer fell down the rabbit hole that is YouTube prank videos and strange uploads about nonsense and animal humor. It was also only a matter of time before he found himself stumbling into Vine compilations. The Celestial is terrifically mystified by the creative power of humans, managing to tell entire stories and peak comedy in only a span of seven seconds. But he’s also quite loathe to have realized it’s been long defunct by the time he’s discovered it.

He’s even more loathe to find himself making references in his daily life: He has actually quietly blurted out, “I sure hope it does” in response to seeing a Road Work Ahead sign, causing Chloe some confusion (and Lucifer lots of embarrassment). He has referred to a culprit as “Jared, Age 19″. Since discovering Vine, there has been at least one night wherein he and a bed mate were sitting there with barbecue sauce on his tiddies, but that was by sheer coincidence.

But eventually the Vine compilation well dried up, and the inevitable transfer over to TikTok happened. And Luci honestly doesn’t know what to make of TikTok. He would describe it as Vine’s Molly-addicted cousin based on its obsession with dancing, but the dances are so stationary that even that doesn’t seem quite right. The videos on the platform are also much more . . . bizarre. And some of them admittedly trigger a fight-or-flight response in him, to which he always chooses the third option of freezing if only so he can keep watching the train wreck unfold before his eyes.

The trouble with TikTok, he’ll admit to himself, is that it’s not as easy to find iconic content the same way he could with Vine. However, this isn’t to say that he hasn’t found anything worth watching over and over and over again . . .

(Let’s just say the “Wolf Pack Compilation” lives in his head rent-free, and he’s both too amused by it and too overwhelmed by its vibe to try and evict it.)

Dewey Finn

Dewey is . . . a special case. Given that he associates messy living and indulging in one’s pleasure a part of the rocker lifestyle, he’s generally quick to embrace whatever makes him happy. He’s very upfront about his interests and is arguably almost incapable of feeling shame. But it’s in there: Deep down. No, not in himself -- in his Spotify. Specifically, a Spotify account made on an email he never uses because it was made specifically to create this separate, uber secret playlist.

One marked “Actual Musical Bops.”

Dewey hates musicals: They’re cheesy, uninspired, gaudy, ridiculous, totally aimed at chicks with weird fantasies that he could never aspire to, and the music is just overall unimpressive. And yet, somehow, against his music elitist nature, a handful have managed to slip through the cracks. At the very least, a handful of numbers have clawed their way past his defenses and into his ear, where they now live rent-free.

In spite of his best efforts, the problems are that he’s a New Yorker, so it’s inevitable that he hears a song or two; and also that, as an instructor (to wealthy New York tweens whose families can afford frequent tripes to the Great White Way, no less), he’s definitely going to wind up hearing about some shows and their stand-out numbers: Against his will, he knows the lyrics to “My Shot”; he has cried in the secrecy of his apartment to “When I Grow Up”; in the never-necessary reason he needs to remember how many minutes there are in a year, he sings it inside his head; hell, he’s even found himself trying to figure out the electric guitar riff from “The Phantom of the Opera” during his down time.

What’s all the more embarrassing is that, given how he presents himself as a music elitist, there’s just no way he can come back from this if anyone were to know. He has to catch himself when he finds himself humming “Johanna” in the teacher’s lounge. He scowls at himself when he can’t sleep and gives in and starts playing “No One is Alone.” He wants to kick his thick ass every time he realizes he’s excited to have stumbled across a “slime tutorial” on YouTube, this one with better quality than the last. The reason he actually put a password on his phone wasn’t out of privacy like a sensible person would, but out of a need to make sure that no one ever found out that he had downloaded the entire Beetlejuice soundtrack, including jankily-recorded songs that never made it to the official cast recording for whatever reason!

And should anyone ever find out about any of this, Dewey has a plan: “Oh, I’m doing research. I’m studying these songs so I can give the kids a lesson on what not to do as actually competent musicians.”

But the lesson would never actually come. Mainly because he keeps prolonging his “research” . . .

He’s also developed a bit of a soft spot for My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic due to some students gushing about it, but he would rather sooner die than ever be associated with the term “brony.”

Peter B. Parker

Peter is at a point where he’s too tired to really care about the idea of guilty pleasures. The way he sees it, there are bigger priorities at stake than worrying about someone finding out about your love of some hokey activity or food or form of entertainment.

Besides, he’s a New Yorker: There’s way weirder stuff for people to just not pay any real attention to. Hence why he thinks nothing of his bizarre eating habits. And no, this isn’t referring to his disastrous appetite: This is about his tendency to eat food with his hands. Foods that, well, he really should probably utilize eating utensils for.

To be fair, this habit has always existed in him in some form or another, especially since, as Spider-Man, he often needs to eat food on the go. But during the time he spent living the life of a depressed bachelor, it came out in full force. On the rare occasion he wasn’t eating a food that deserved to be eaten by hand, he often found himself loathing the idea of doing the dishes afterward. There would be days he’d feel only slightly less depressed; enough to make a box of Kraft Mac n Cheese in the pot, but not enough to avoid cutting out the middle man.

He’s thankful the craptastic apartment wasn’t also see-through because if it were, he’s positive his neighbors would’ve thought they were bearing witness to a man’s breakdown as he wept into a pot of macaroni and cheese, his hand full of the stuff, while wearing a Spider-Man costume. (And, to be fair, they actually would be.)

In addition to this, there were also those nights where he would be prepared to actually tuck in to a plate of spaghetti, only for some crime going on elsewhere in the city to drag him away. By the time he’d return, the plate would’ve been cold and his energy too depleted to want to even dream about cleaning more than he already had to.

The great news is that he’s thankfully done a 180, now able and willing (if begrudgingly) to clean up after himself. But bad news is that this feral man will still eat a fully-loaded baked potato like an apple. In a park. In front of women and children. He’s just too tired to care anymore. He’s aware of the guilt in this as a concept, but he’s also aware that he needs to take whatever happiness he can get out of whatever he does. And if that means eating everything by hand, then so be it!

Ahkmenrah

Funnily enough, Ahkmenrah doesn’t seem to experience much of any shame for enjoying the things most might feel the need to hide: He’s constantly curious and has missed out on a lot over the centuries, so why should he feel bad for wanting to indulge in them? Celebrity gossip is just a more fun version of the palace gossip he’d grown up hearing as a boy; reality TV is like watching a play, but with much more fights, less deaths, and more faulty romances; and sloppy meatball subs are like a feast for a man of his time!

Besides, he’s a king: Kings shouldn’t have to feel embarrassment over what the common folk might think.

And yet . . . It took some time, but eventually Ahkmenrah did experience it: Guilt in his pleasures.

He couldn’t even recall where it had all started. Maybe he was searching for more content to swallow after the most recent season of his new favorite show had ended? Whatever the case, he wound up biting off more than he could chew when he stumbled upon . . . fanfiction.

The adorable yet sad thing is that he didn’t even think anything of it at first. It wasn’t until he brought up a ship he’d invested his last few nights awake exploring on the computer: Nobody knew what the crap he was talking about, so of course he felt the need to explain it. But the more he talked, the more perplexed his friends looked. And the more he could feel his cheeks and ears burn.

Oh, he thought. Is this . . . embarrassment? Is that what this feels like? Oh, this is just foul.

Thankfully, nobody pressured him to keep talking about it, but the poor king sure as heck didn’t feel much of a desire to talk any further about it. But he needed to talk to somebody about his newly acquired “feels” as those online were calling them.

Joining fanfiction-oriented sites was the next obvious step, of course, but he’s experienced mixed feelings about it: On one hand, it’s nice to talk with people who share similar views and excitement about a fictional couple. But on the other, the digital wars that have broken out both disturb him and bring out the worst in him.

Like, of course there are bigger things to deal with than whether or not So-So is better off with Him-Ham, but if you truly think that Blah-Blah and Himhaw are a healthy relationship, then you can go do a service and bury yourself in the desert sands to provide substance to the hungry beetles with your flesh --

Suffice to say, a lot of the guilt in this pleasure seems to come from the fact that Ahk can get a little too emotionally invested if the work is really good. He tries to limit his interactions to commenting and praising certain works, and encouraging content creators. However, he’s also contemplated contributing his own pieces of fiction to the fandom . . .

#okoye #lucifer morningstar imagines #dewey finn #peter b parker imagines #ahkmenrah #okoye imagines #lucifer imagines #dewey finn imagines #ahkmenrah imagines #regrettablewritings #spiderman into the spiderverse imagines #spiderman itsv imagines #spiderman imagines #i tried posting this on my phone and it literally fucking deleted EVERYTHING #anyway @staff: the fuck is up? fix that shit because now i literally cannot post SHIT on my phone from my laptop #preference #preferences

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thecandywrites · 3 years

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Blood For Gold Part 8

Get ready for some plot, and intrigue and conflict of interest. Again, thanks to @kriskukko for lending me the amazing picture of a regency era orc and letting me run wild. Thanks to @punkhorse96 for all the amazing feedback and everyone else who likes and reblogs this story. I appreciate it. Also do you guys have any idea how hard it is to find AN AGED regency couple? Thankfully Bridgerton showed that an older woman could wear the fashions of her own youth and didn’t necessarily have to keep with the most up to date fashions. So that allowed me to go find this pic of a qeen, Glenc Close in her movie Dangerous Encounters back in the late 80′s. I have never seen it, but IT’S THE AESTETIC. taking it, using it and lo and behold, we have our Gregori and Yalin, Ramsey’s parents who have taken a shine to Audra. But will their light shine on her so warmly when they find out the truth and find they might have less to gain than they thought? And will their wills be stronger than the Morrigans? And what will the Morrigans do to keep the status quo when their own past comes back to haunt them? We shall see.

Blood For Gold

Part 8

All the way to the Windsor Palace the Morrigans had nothing but “instruction” towards you and for Jane, all about minding your manners, acting in the utmost chaste conduct so that you would not bring shame or dishonor onto the family and to not leave each other’s side while they berated you for acting so “brazen” with the Dauphin for having eaten your dinner next to him as they accused you of practically shamelessly throwing yourself at him like a common whore by dancing with him for most of the evening, even though the Dauphin didn’t leave you with much of a choice. It was the Dauphin who practically dragged you to meet his family and the King and Queen, his uncle and aunt and their children and of course the host, which was Yalin’s sister, Infanta Evinelle DeuSavance and her husband the Infante Charles DeuSavance who was the king’s cousin and their children who were very nice and charming and welcoming as they all gave Ramsey a not so subtle nod of approval. And then at dinner, Ramsey dragged you to sit there between himself and his sister and Ramsey simply would not leave your side after Demsey dared to get you away for only a moment, Ramsey wouldn’t let that incident repeat with anyone, he capitalized on your time all night.

You didn’t even get to go to the restroom without his sister Charlotte and Jane following you like puppies with Lady Whitesale not being too far behind them, and you got the impression they were sent as eyes and ears for others and you barely got into a bathroom stall to get some privacy to breathe and even loosened your corset so that you could breathe easier because after two years, you had almost forgotten what it felt like to be the center of attention in a room full of people, you garnered more attention that even Calla and Bennie because of who you were with all night and the weight of their scrutinizing gaze was particularly heavy and now you were anxious just to get to Windsor just for the chance to breathe in the privacy of your room.

Ramsey’s behavior seemed to appear as instant infatuation or for the romantically inclined- ‘love at first sight’. But the feeling was far from mutual, you were simply not attracted to him, at least not physically, also there was a real sense of desperation in his manners. He was the one throwing himself at you and trying to make himself out to be the best possible prospect for you. Which you found odd, perhaps a little worrying and off-putting because you just couldn’t understand why he was so dead set on you. He was himself perhaps a decade out of his prime and just shy of twice your age, not that it made too much of a difference to you because Edward had been over three times your age, almost four actually, when you wed him. Moura women were brought up to think nothing of major age gaps between moura brides and their husbands outside of Dorierra and especially within the culture of the stables. In fact it wasn’t unusual for mouras as young and pretty and accomplished as yourself to go through the stables at least three to four times, gaining more and more value with each remarriage because each marriage was “experience”. There were some moura women who were on their seventh and eighth marriage but the obsession of “virgin brides” also had it’s universal appeal.

But after your disastrous marriage to Edward, you shuddered at the thought of going through the process again. That and Edward had known that you were hesitant to enter into that cycle even before you married him, that’s why he “bought you outright” so that you didn’t have to go back into that cycle, that once you survived him, you would be a free woman, free to do whatever you wanted to do, it was why he insisted that you drink pregnancy warding teas, and made sure to track your own cycle to make sure you would not concieve his child and be tethered to the Morrigans any more than you already were and made sure to afford you a comfortable living so that after his death, you’d have a good life, he had spent his whole life in service to his crown, country and king and business and at the end of his life, he was looking to set something free, instead of caging it forever, it was one of the biggest things you found to love about him. But sadly, he was one of the few people who really cared about what you personally wanted for yourself because he had genuinely cared for you and you felt, loved you, to a degree, at least in the beginning. But his own senility and madness soon erased it not long after.

With Ramsey though, he projected so much onto you. Because he had gotten not just the report that Edward had gotten, which each bride in the stables got a report, tailored to fit potential prospects, like cherry picking things on a resume but he had also gotten the master resume which had everything on it.

Moura brides usually had a very vast array of qualities and talents that were universal and the moura schools had some of the best teachers and professors in the world and as a child and up to a certain age, all moura children got the same top notch education that rivaled most scholars. However after the age of 12 or 13, schooling changed dramatically for the sexes. All men were pushed into either a service trade, commerce, engineering and technology or science or medicine, so that they all had a “useful” job within the country and of course military training but they were all pushed to serve in one way or another so that they could go into the many industries within the country, making goods and providing services and only the exceptionally musically talented men got to be “entertainers” which was an important service to the Dorierrian public.

Women on the other hand, since the moura stable’s exports was solely brides for foreign dignitaries, they were taught government and more importantly, how to govern everything from a household to a country should they need to be a queen some day, they were taught all the major languages, especially the common tongue and economics, business, because all government was business, but also the art of war, including self defense so that in the case of attack, they could defend themselves and their future families, but especially psychological warfare, intrigue, manipulation for future political court life, in addition to the usual music, musical instruments of all kinds, singing, dancing, composing, arts of all kinds, including acting, ceramics, drawing, painting, sewing, embroidery, fashion, culinary arts as well as some medicine and of course- what was taught across all sexes was childcare because even after the plague, moura mothers still had a successful birth rate of 99%, with very little to no birth defects in the babes, no matter the mix of species and fathers especially were brought up to be an equal parent in the household so that in addition to their jobs, they could still come home and care for their own households and families, especially since moura mothers always seemed to have a newborn at their breast or one or even two or three in the womb at a time and both partners were brought up to be completely devoted to their families and any hint of any kind of abuse was swiftly dealt with and never tolerated and the focus was on having a happy family life. So if couples were unhappy with each other, divorce was easily attained and granted. And even with that measure in place, most moura partners, when there was a love match, ended up being married for life. It was not uncommon for women to go off through the stables once, then come back in widowhood and settle down with a moura mate and stay in the country after that.

However there was an exception. For men and women who preferred sexual relations with the same sex as themselves, they could be entered into a smaller “private” school but it was for “concubines, consorts and courtisans”, otherwise known as 3C’s. that had all the training moura brides had but it allowed men to have the same higher educations women enjoyed if it meant that it prepared them for life as a king’s courtisan and concubine on their private privy council and it was usually only through 3C’s, that moura men were ever allowed to leave Dorierra under any circumstances other than war, which considering all the political alliances Dorierra had with every other nation in the world, was very, very seldom, but that didn’t mean Dorierra was lax, the moura brides were often Dorierra’s eyes and ears on the rest of the world and reported back to them accordingly. Even in the case of revolution where some royals and aristocracy could lose their heads, it was the morua brides and their children at least, who were always allowed to return to Dorierra unharmed and could be rescued in dire situations by either dragons, pegasus’ griffins, since Dorierrians bred all three.

So because of all of this education, which was better than most universities, a moura bride’s “resume” was very impressive and thus- cherry picked to suit the individual suitor based on the suitor’s culture. However all mouras had a master resume that accompanied their pedigree’s and lineage, which listed everything they had learned and had become proficient and excelled in. But even the master resume did not show what the individual moura really enjoyed and had a passion for.

And with Ramsey, you could tell he simply went off your own master resume. Just because you knew something or even excelled at something, didn’t mean you really enjoyed it. For instance, on your master- you were taught how to be a queen, navigate court, and rule it, but that didn’t mean you had the ambition to be a queen and you did not feel it was your destiny to be one either. Presiding over Mirador was more than enough to satisfy you in that respect. You had no desire for much more than that. But Ramsey seemed intent that you should have a more active political role and couldn’t wait to see how you would advise him to gain even more power and clout in the House of Lords as well as garnering the love and admiration of the common man so that he could have more political reach than he already had, the very prospect nearly sent you running, in fact it was that, that had sent you to try to gain some solace in the bathroom in the first place because you just felt he was dragging you into this and because of “polite society” rules for decorum, you couldn’t counter, you couldn’t really speak your mind to him. All you could do was simply hum and acknowledge what he was saying to you and agree with what you could, but that was all.

However to hear that Demsey, despite being a duke, was rarely ever in politics, in fact he seemed to spend all of his time and efforts into his family business, which to you was a very noble and honorable pursuit, had you even more drawn to him and make him even more desirable as a prospect to you.

By the time you got to Windsor, you were so relieved even to see Ramsey come get you from the carriage if it meant you could get away from the Morrigans as Ramsey had you on one arm and Jane on the other which the Morrigans were happy to see before the Dauphine and the Senior Dauphin came over to have a word with them.

“Well we must assure you that we will take the best of care of Jane while she’s here. And you must forgive our son, he’s been taken with the Sultana since her wedding to your late father Count Morrigan and then when he saw her when we went to the Savoy only a couple of weeks ago he has become quite obsessed ever since, in fact we were enjoying such a wonderful dinner there from our balcony at the Savoy where we seemed to look over your family in the main dining floor, however it was a shock and quite sad to see her eat so little that night.” Yalin noted with a frown to her husband.

“Oh she’s a moura, they have the appetites of birds, she rarely has any appetite since she lost Edward.” Agnes readily answered but the look Yalin gave her said that she didn’t believe that and made Agnes’ forced polite smile falter slightly because mouras were renowned for their healthy appetites and high metabolisms despite their petite frames but excellent body conditions, having a healthy ratio between strength, stamina but still retain some softness in their hips and bellies and for women, especially their breasts because that’s what the body needed to ensure healthy offspring and a moura’s mother’s milk was some of the most nutritious of all the species.

“Well we will certainly see to it she eats properly while she’s here, can’t have her growing malnourished can we? Because malnourishment leads to weak offspring and we can’t have that at all.” Yalin insisted to Gregori.

“Quite right my dear.” Gregori readily agreed.

“Oh, oh yes of course, we will also encourage her to eat well for the sake of her future.” Agnes reassured her, catching the Dauphine’s drift.

“What I found odd is that when Ramsey looked into the Sultana just after seeing her at the Savoy a couple of weeks ago and asked the stables themselves for her master resume, the report that he got back after Edward’s death when they re-evaluated her was most disturbing, for a nescia - or princess, to be downgraded to a shakan, such a demotion had never happened before except in cases of extreme circumstances, such as revolution and anarchy, is there any reason you can give for such an extreme change?” Gregori asked them pointedly as the Morrigans looked at each other, trying not to betray how worried they were at such an intrusive question.

“Well you see the Sultana is actually very, very delicate and mentally very weak, she took the decline of Edwards health so hard, and suffered so greatly from that loss that the stables gave her that, we surely didn’t have anything to do with it, in fact, we have done everything in our power to help her, including- moving her to Mirador and even increased the living that Edward afforded her so that she can live in the utmost of comfort, she even got to take her pick of servants from Broadcove that she grew fond of.” Richard tried to excuse as Gregori also gave him a look that he didn’t believe that either as Richard felt himself wither by Gregori’s intense gaze.

“Well then we will have to be careful with her as well. Ramsey has quite made up his mind about her which is a relief to all of us. And of course as long as there is no interference, especially on your end, it can go smoothly, and of course there might be a promotion of rank if it goes well, I’m thinking a Marquise at least, if not Duchy.” Gregori offered and the Morrigans practically had their jaws on the floor of their carriage and were drooling a river at the prospect as they gave each other a giddy look.

“Oh of course, of course, we will be giving every encouragement we can.” Agnes eagerly reassured them, because it was not uncommon for that to happen and it was just the opportunity they were looking for, because while they were disappointed that such a thing would be coming from you instead of Jane, they wouldn’t turn their nose up at such a prospect. Finally having a moura in the family would be paying off and worth it if it meant they could be Duke and Duchess and Jane of course could be eligible to be courted by all kinds of prospects and make the Dauphin Ramsey look like a lowly lord or knight, and a promotion such as that would push them onto the international Europa marriage market and could amasse even more power and money but from a much larger scale on an even larger stage.

“Well if that is the case, then it’s a very curious thing, why did Duke Voyambi insist to Ramsey that his whole family saw and heard you dictate a list to the Sultana about suitors to avoid. In fact when Ramsey pressed the Sultana for such a list, she was able to produce this very one, where Ramsey’s name is at the very top of the list of suitors to avoid. I understand that both of you dictated this list for Jane to write down. And then when we made other inquires of those who happened to be around you at not just the Savoy but all over London at various shops that you snubbed half the court. Of course if such a thing were to be handed over to the King and Queen I’m wondering how they would react?” Gregori asked his beloved wife as Yalin smirked at seeing the Morrigan’s pale and nearly shit bricks right there in the driveway as Gregori pulled the list from his own breast pocket and looked it over and pointed to where his son’s name was written down with a deep scowl before looking expectantly up at them to answer for it.

“Or heaven forbid Lady Bagum in the papers, surely if she got a whiff of this matter, she’d whip it up into quite the scandal, and if she ever got ahold of the list and if that ever got printed in the papers, I’m afraid what the repercussions of that would be, I would hate to see half of the court, and by that point, half of parliament, snub you publicly for such a thing.” Yalin added as Agnes and Richard looked worriedly to each other while they flushed with shame as Agnes and Richard both scrambled to find an excuse as they both instantly regretted everything they had said all evening and wishing they could take it all back and knew that the next time they got to speak with you, they would have to apologize and take it back and humble themselves before you, which was an act they loathed but it would save their skin. To gain a duchy in the future, they would make peace with being humble now.

“Well you see we did that because every suitor the Sultana does not go after is a suitor we can have for our sweet Jane, we were not trying to snub half the court, we were simply trying to keep the best of the best for our own dear sweet Jane, that is all, but who are we to stand in the way of love? If your Ramsey has set his heart on the Sultana, then so be it, please disregard that list and please tell the Sultana to disregard all instruction from us to withhold herself from the Dauphin, who are we to stand in the way of destiny? Please won’t you beg her on our behalf to forgive us for being so short sighted and so ignorant? Really we should have seen the Dauphin’s actions for what they were tonight, we were under the impression it was the Sultana who was pursuing the Dauphin too strongly and we didn’t want her embarrassing herself for others thinking she was too eager but we see now that was simply not the case and we will by no means stand in the way of the Dauphin and we will offer every encouragement possible to the Sultana.” Agnes quickly explained which those seemed to be the magic words that turned Gregori’s scowl into a pleased smile.

“Excellent, with your complete cooperation and no further interference, such a thing as this list and your simple misunderstanding could easily be forgotten, be dismissed as rumor and such evidence would surely find its way into a remote, abandoned trunk somewhere in a garbage heap or be ash in a fireplace, we wouldn’t want such damning evidence fall into the wrong hands would we?” Gregori offered as he put the list back into his breast pocket of his vest under his coat as Agnes and Richard knew that as long as you agreed to Ramsey’s proposals, it would be ok and forgiven.

“Oh, of course, we would never dream to presume to be anything but compliant.” Richard offered as Agnes nervously laughed as she nodded emphatically with her husband.

“Then you won’t be opposed to us looking into the Sultana’s welfare while at Broadcove, then will you? Because it is Ramsey’s dearest wish that she gain halmana status, which is for English- that of a dowager, like the queen dowager, or dowager empress, which surpasses even my own status of nescia and he can’t marry a moura with a status less than sayida actually. Also there is the very curious and honestly alarming and downright shameful fact that the Sultana’s correspondence with the stables and her friends within them has gone by the wayside and even their correspondence to her has gone awry, practically vanished into thin air and there has been a complete disconnect from the Sultana to her homeland.” Yalin began.

“According to Ramsey and the Czarina’s brothers that, even the stable masters have not heard anything from her since she wrote that she arrived safely to Broadcove immediately after the wedding, but absolutely nothing else ever since, even now at Mirador, her correspondence is going missing both too and from the stables and her friends within them, I wonder what kind of sum could be offered for every single piece of correspondence to be produced from wherever they might be at, we have investigators that are going through the Royal Mail Service as we speak, immediately dispatched the moment it was made known, in fact when it was made aware by the Czarina’s brothers and The Princesses brothers, they almost immediately pulled them both out of the ball and demanded to go home because such atrocities would never be tolerated and are demanding that such a thing be a crime punishable either in prison or public whippings and demotions which the royal family had no choice but to agree to.” Richard continued where his wife left off as Agnes and Richard gave each other a worried glance.

“And that’s because they had to pay a hundred and fifty thousand pounds just to get the new mouras out here, which was a non refundable fee, and one that the guilty party, when they are found, could be made to pay as well should that happen and the King and Queen immediately ordered for the matter to be investigated by the best detectives in the country along with Scotland Yard who at the very mention of bribes will immediately arrest and brought to the tower and will be investigating everyone who could possibly be involved, how many letters would you think a person can write in the span of two years?” Yalin wondered aloud and smiled wider when Agnes and Richard both faltered guiltily as they both seemed to fluctuate between pale and impossibly red.

“Of course if any of it has been ordered to be burned by either you or anyone in your household, even if that order were to be carried out within the Royal Mail Service, the royal family will have no choice but to hold you personally responsible and I believe that a sum of at least a hundred pounds up to possibly a thousand pounds, per letter, per every little piece of correspondence will be demanded from you since you are the Lord of the estate and it is you who is solely responsible for all things that happen within the estate. Especially since you are so rich, I’m inclined for the higher price, since you surely can afford it.” Gregori insisted to Richard whose eyes were about to pop out of his head and his own buttons on his waistcoat were about to pop off from the heaviness of his instant laboured breathing at such a prospect.

“But surely you can’t imagine that we would have anything to do with her correspondence going missing. We would never dream of doing such a thing or implicating the Royal Mail Service. Such a thing is madness and to hold us responsible for other’s mistakes.” Agnes pleaded, trying not to betray her own guilt.

“But this matter still involves the Royal Mail Service, which answers to their majesties and that they take immense pride in and is the mark of civilization in fact it was a charge of uncivilization that the Royal Mail Service was so profoundly broken that such a thing has occurred, such an oversight of one or two to go missing is understandable considering the volume, but for every single one to go missing, surely nothing but malicious intent is to blame and their royal highnesses are taking it as an affront and a personal attack and insult that a system that the monarchy put in place would fail it’s most valuable of subjects because they view that every moura in their society is a precious treasure and they immediately made that sentiment known to the Sultana and the other moura guests when they asked the Sultana about it directly and got confirmation directly from her.” Yalin countered firmly.

“Also in talking with the Sultana just this evening, she was completely unaware that there were moura social clubs in England, much less London, and had no idea of their existence, of course the belief that if you alienate one from others that you weaken the individual is completely false, if anything, it galvanizes the individual and can have very long lasting and far reaching negative effects because it’s the socialization that makes mouras more pleasant to be around and work with, but to deprive one of socialization is abject cruelty and will be something that their majesties are also looking into as well as the stables and such accommodations will make their ways into all future contracts instead of being implied because the honor of every Englishman is now called into question that we can’t even uphold our own rule of law and contracts which the Royal Family was affronted that such a thing has obviously been failed by you, which is why they are so intent on holding you personally responsible. So really, I can’t imagine the cost the royal family will demand for each piece of correspondence.” Gregori firmly insisted and his tone was almost snarling and had the Morrigan’s quaking in fear because he was after all, the brother to the King and had the commanding presence of his station as Yalin simply beamed proudly at her husband.

“H..how would you know such a thing of how many pieces of correspondence?” Richard paled as Gregori and Yalin simply smiled smugly.

“The Royal Family asked the Sultana directly to estimate how many pieces of correspondence, she estimated it in the thousands. So since it is the possibility of someone burning them, there are some magic practicing persons who can still be found, in fact they were sent for tonight during the ball and should be here in the next day or two and since the correspondances still at one point existed to begin with, they can be conjured up still. Such a thing is very costly but viable, and of course such a means can be used to pinpoint exactly who is responsible and of course if that is the case, the price for each one will double, even triple in value and be taken out of your income and out of your nobility since again, it is you who is responsible for all things at Broadcove and all your other estates and especially since it was your own servants that followed the Sultana to her new residence, they are now highly suspect as are you. And in such a case, may the gods themselves have mercy on your pocketbooks, much less your souls. And of course whoever else was involved in such a crime, is still viable to be denounced in court, all of their property go to the victim which in this case is the Sultana, and then they could be flogged, drawn and quartered in the public square, because the crime was committed against not just the Royal Mail Service but also against their majesties and a royal moura who after tonight, is closely associated with the royal family who just upon looking at her this evening have welcomed her into their fold and have gotten the nod of approval and the Queen herself said how “perfectly precious and exquisite she was, a sign of impeccable breeding”.” Gregori recited proudly.

“Oh yes, to get that kind praise from her, there are now two diamonds this season and one of them is halfway to being securely in Ramsey’s hands, really no safer place could be found in all of the court. And Ramsey is extremely protective of what is his.” Yalin practically cooed.

“Which Ramsey is looking to bolster up the protections for mouras in general, so that any abuse whatsoever will never be tolerated no matter the soil they stand on and no matter the status of the moura in question and of course we will also have to investigate all of your relation, for any evidence and any dishonesty will also have the same outcome. As we speak, Scotland Yard are on their way to your estate at Broadcove and to all of your other houses along with a special team of investigators who have come in from Dorierra just for the occasion. And any interference on your part will have some very serious, grave consequences.” Gregori warned.

“But of course, if you and your family are innocent, then you have nothing to worry about, just keep on encouraging the Sultana towards our Ramsey.” Yalin encouraged sweetly.

“Of course, of course.” Richard and Agnes shakily agreed.

“Goodnight then, safe travels, also if either you or any of your family try to flee the country, you will be hunted and brought back and imprisoned in the Tower of London and absolute guilt will be assumed and a public trial will immediately ensue and all details will be printed in every newspaper from here to Dorierra.” Gregori offered lowly as he stuck his head into the window to be eye to eye with Richard before he pulled his head out and patted the carriage and told the driver to drive the Morrigan’s home as Agnes nearly fainted.

“How long do you think it’ll take for them to start screaming at each other?” Yalin murmured as she and her husband waived them off and watched as the carriage drove away from their home.

“Oh they’ll probably wait until after they leave the gate.” Gregori mused with a chuckle.

“Have I told you that nothing is sexier to me than watching you flex your own power My Love?” Yalin cooed to Gregori.

“You can show me.” Gregori purred into his wife’s ear before he started kissing down from her ear down her neck which got her to giggle and gave her gooseflesh.

“Oh Gregori.” Yalin sighed dreamily as she pulled him into the palace.

“And?” Ramsey asked as you and Jane stood in the foyer with everyone else as you introduced Jane to all of your friends from the stables after Bennie and Calla had introduced their own brothers to Jane and the Voyambi’s as you were sure all of the Voyambi sisters were staring in awed wonder at Calla’s and Bennie’s brothers because they had never seen more handsome men in all their lives as even Kiera was hard pressed to find a single fault in them and staring at one had her ignoring every grudge she had accumalated against mouras.

“Well they didn’t sing like canaries, but we sure did dangle the carrot and practically walked themselves into a box to get it. And they will not be an obstacle anymore.” Gregori beamed happily.

“But we will still be pursuing it right?” Ramsey asked.

“Oh absolutely, they’re incredibly guilty and if Scotland Yard is on it, they won’t return without results, it’s probable cause at this point, and the fact that they made the Sultana sign a nondisclosure is proof that something very serious and most likely, very dangeorus to the Morrigan family name and honor transpired and I know the Morrigans will do anything to keep it buried and concealed, including continuing to pay the Sultana’s living after her marraige to you of course, and that dowry will set this family up nicely, give us a good chance to build for a glorious future, and with your verile seed in her young and ready womb, you’ll be father to a future King or Queen, because with the Sultana’s bloodline, that will keep us well out of too much inbreeding within the family. And give the DeuSavance’s a run for their money and give them some competition to put their heirs on that throne.” Gregori reassured his son with a firm clasp on the shoulder as Ramsey nodded nervously.

“It’s certain that the game is afoot and I’m wondering how many delightfully juicy scandalous things we’ll uncover and it would be a shame if any or all of it made it into the papers after it’s settled, everyone does love a good scandal after all, we will need some good gossip after all this business.” Yalin giggled as Gregori chuckled.

“For now, I think it best we keep the Sultana here for as long as we are keeping the Czarina and the Princess and of course we should keep the young Countess Morrigan here as well, since the Sultana insists on her innocence. We can’t go upsetting the Sultana now can we?” Yalin suggested to Gregori.

“I agree. It’s going to be a full house.” Gregori cooed before they decided to address the group.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you all for accepting our invitations, Sultana, you especially are more than welcome to stay here at Windsor for as long as the Princess and the Czarina are here as well, we know it’s been a very long time since you were with your friends and we want you to enjoy their company as much as you can.” Yalin announced as beamed a happy smile.

“Thank you, your excellencies!” You readily called back as Calla and Bennie were both on either side of you, all three of you hugging each other tightly.

“Also, we understand that the differences between Dorierra culture and English culture are stark and can be jarring, which is why for the six weeks the Dorierrans are here, the first two weeks will be spent in the Dorierra ways the following two weeks we will slowly shift from Dorierra manners to proper English manners and the last two weeks will be spent in English manners so that should any or all of the moura brides choose to stay, you will know what’s expected of you, also for our English guests, I petition you to keep an open mind and not take any offense in the difference in manners and culture but be respectful, and of course what happens here at Windsor stays at Windsor.” Gregori announced as all the Dorierrans beamed happily and excited smiles at each other.

“With that being said, it is quite late and we all should get some sleep. However if we may have a private word with Sultana Audravienne,” Yalin urged before the housekeepers came and took the group to their rooms that had been prepared for them as you bravely walked up to them.

“We just had a private word with Richard and Agnes Morrigan and they beg your forgiveness for advising you against the Dauphin and misunderstanding his actions and attributing them to you. They also agreed to no longer be a hindrance or an obstacle for you.” Gregori relayed which made you frown.

“May I ask what induced them to change their opinion?” You asked as you looked from Gregori to Yalin.

“Once they were made aware of Ramsey’s intentions towards you.” Yalin answered.

“I see, well, then their apology is accepted. Thank you so much for letting me know.” You thanked them before you curtsied again respectfully and returned to the group.

“What was that all about?” Jane asked.

“I’ll tell you later.” You promised her as you were shown your own room as you stole away in it and breathed in relief when you were finally alone as you happily stripped out of your clothes and slipped into your night gown and collapsed on the comfortable bed and barely got under the covers before you heard something click open which made your eyes snap open before you pulled a shall around you. If it was Ramsey you were going to lose your patience and beat him off with a candelabra. You couldn’t take another minute of him tonight.

“Who’s there?” You demanded because you sensed you weren’t alone anymore.

“It’s just us, Ramsey told us of the secret passages in this place, we wanted to talk to you without other eyes and ears listening and watching.” Calla informed you in marinai as she and Bennie came out from a secret door in the wall in the corner.

“Well come on in, the water is nice.” You laughed in relief before Calla and Bennie both climbed into the bed with you, leaving a candle by the secret door but otherwise left the other on the night stand as you hugged each other tightly.

“It’s so good to see you again.” Calla sniffled into your shoulder as you held her the tightest while Bennie hugged your back as three of you cuddled together in the bed.

“It’s good to see you too, and it’s great to see the boys too, I never knew how precious my time with my siblings was while I was at home, now, seeing them, makes me wish I could see my own brothers. I would give anything to see them again, even Axal.” You confessed as Calla finally withdrew from you as you all laid on your backs, admiring the mural on the ceiling.

“Why is a country so obsessed with propriety, show nothing but nudes on their ceilings?” Bennie asked.

“Psh, I don’t know, I’ve been here two years and English culture makes just as much sense to me as it probably does to either of you, which isn’t a whole lot.” You admitted as you burned with wanting to tell them more but you promised Ramsey that you wouldn’t. But at the same time, you couldn’t scare them off with horror stories just as they are getting here and getting to know these people, part of you still held out hope that your experience was a Morrigan thing, not an English thing.

“I broke into the stable master’s office.” Calla suddenly blurted out which made you and Bennie snicker a laugh.

“Why would you do such a thing?” You asked her.

“To read the report as to why you were demoted to a shakan. I almost didn’t answer the call to come here but once we found out it was to London and that you would be present, I couldn’t say no, not hearing from you, most of us have assumed the worst and with all correspondence to you going missing, because your parent’s health has declined dramatically since your demotion, when they demanded to know why they got different answers each time they asked, one was “it was in your contract not to return” another was “she has no wish to return” one even claimed that you requested that demotion so that you couldn’t return, which was clearly a lie, no one knows what to think.” Calla confessed as you guiltily bit your tongue.

“So what happened?” Calla pressed and you knew you would have to chose your words very, very carefully.

“While it is true that it was in my contract with Edward that he bought me outright and that when I survived him, I was free to do as I pleased, he afforded me a living of 15 thousand pounds a year, which is a very comfortable sum of money a year and more than enough to live on and I’ve managed to save a good portion of it, I’m able to live in comfort and peace with a whole house of my own. And if I were to go back to the stables, the cycle would just begin anew and I have no heart or stomach for it. I’m content with where I’m at and what I have. Besides, Edward stated in his will that when and if I choose to remarry, it will be love and I have every intention of honoring his wishes because they are my own.” You calmly answered.

“So why did the contract with Richard state that he would pay you thirty thousand a year?” Calla asked with a deep frown.

“Because of what transpired between him and I while I was married to Edward. If you read it then you know I can’t talk about it because it’s a non-disclosure. I’m surprised you came if you read it.” You returned.

“Ok, but just because you signed it and can’t talk about it, Calla, spill the beans, all the beans, I need to know now.” Bennie insisted as she sat up in bed and stared determinedly at Calla.

“Edward went mad shortly after Audra’s marriage to him. I consulted the new medical books after I read it, he had dementia, which is becoming common among the older ones and with dementia, comes aggression and violence, Audra suffered greatly at Edward’s hands. But Richard forbade Audra from telling anyone for fear of “tarnishing” the family honor.” Calla answered.

“And that’s why Richard doubled my yearly living, to buy my silence.” You sighed tiredly.

“But the Morrigans are rich, they could have hired doctors and nurses and caretakers to take care of Edward in that state.” Bennie argued.

“At first Edward did, but the more mad he became and the worse he got, the more the nurses demanded to care for him and instead of paying it, Richard dismissed them and viewed me as his already bought and paid for nurse and companion. But his decline was out of my depth. And all Richard did was imprison us both into Broadcove, I couldn’t reach out to anyone, even my messengerari wouldn’t work or reach out to anyone. He had some kind of disruptor in the house. But thankfully I was able to get some insurance against him, so that if he ever decides to stop paying for my silence, I can have a measure of revenge, so you see, never again will I ever be anyone’s pawn or play thing. And never again will I ever tolerate abuse of any kind. If I am to remarry it will be for love, no madness, no abuse, no control over me, no secrets, no intrigue, no disloyalty or unfaithfulness, I am a free woman, I do not answer to anyone and I have freedom. And I can’t go back to my old life, I refuse. I would rather be a free shakan than a caged nescia, no matter how big or gilded the cage may be. Even as one as nice as this palace. All I want is someone to love me for me, even as broken and jaded as I am, who won’t look at me and see wealth, or my dowry or even look at me and desire me for the sole reason that I am a moura, but will see just me, and be content with that.” You insisted sleepily as all three of you got comfortable cuddled together.

“Then I hope you get what you wish for.” Calla insisted sleepily too before all three of you drifted off to sleep.

Meanwhile Demsey stared up at his own ceiling and huffed indignantly because he knew he was already beaten. How could his own estate of Whydahh had no hope of competing with the palace of Windsor. It had a hard enough time competing with Mirador and that was only because it had been built in just the last ten years and had all new, modern convenciences. His own London townhouse of Graveston didn’t really compare to Mirador at all. The Dauphin had...well everything, he was royalty for crying out loud and outranked him. What did he have that the Dauphin didn’t? What could he possibly offer a woman of taste and refinement and accomplishment such as yourself that the Dauphin couldn’t offer twice or three times over? Other than his own love, care and devotion? But call him a hopeless romantic, he wanted to try to woo you anyway. He had watched you all night and you didn’t give one genuine smile to the Dauphin all evening. You were polite but still so subdued. According to Amara when she too had followed you into the bathroom, you couldn’t even go to the bathroom in peace. And Lady Whitesale was so rude to Amara and all of his sisters. Before she had purposefully tried to befriend them as “sisters” but now that that seemingly was no longer a possibility, she immediately showed her own true colors to them and had turned all the other orc women in the court against them and had them shunned once they took up company with the jewel orc mouras. But what really sold him on you was how gracious you were in your own perceived defeat. You were still so kind and treated everyone in his family so wonderfully and respectfully and engaged with all of them while they were waiting in the foyer, especially his younger siblings. And even though Kiera had been begrudged against you, you were still kind to considerate to her. You were above reproach and you proved with your words and actions what an excellent woman you were and what he would give if he knew it wouldn’t start a scandal or call into question your own honor of just going to room and confessing all of his feelings to you this moment.

But as tempting as that sounded. That would surely insult your honor and compromise you, plus it would be unkind. He knew just by looking at you, that you were beyond exhausted. And having battled Ramsey’s affections all night and dodging the Morrigans meanness, it would be too much to try to battle his own advancements if you didn’t return them. You looked like you were ready to bolt out of the Morrigan’s carraige and you had sadly looked so relieved to even see Ramsey rescue you from their company, he wondered if you would have looked at him with equal relief if he had been the one to get to you first, but sadly he had been helping his Ma’ma out of her carriage.

But at the ball, just as you were leaving his side for the brief moment he was able to steal you away for, the way you held his hand, even for as brief of a moment as it was that evening, that simple touch had conveyed so much that words never could, but even now, he couldn’t put words to it’s meaning as he traced the outline your hand had been on his own hand, he almost didn’t want to wash his hands for fear it would wash your magical touch off, while it was true that the gold plague had ridden mouras of their magic, he could almost sense that at least a little bit still lived in you, it had sent the most delightful electric shocks through his whole being and had his soul craving more contact, just another touch, another glance, another anything. But Ramsey blocked him, all night. But despite Ramsey’s best efforts, the few looks you shared, especially over dinner, he was sure he saw longing and affection and dare he hope desire in your eyes when you looked at him. It had him feeling like you were the only woman at that ball that existed, let alone that mattered.

That being said he was keen to see you behave the way you were raised to and wondered what kind of differences there was between Dorierran customs and English ones. His brothers had talked about the Dorierran national sport, something that involved flaming swords. If he got to see you weilding a flaming sword, the Dauphin be damned, he was going to probably fall head over heels in love with you and probably propose to you as soon as he could. because at least in orcish culture, weapons were sacred and a shieldmaiden weilding a sword or a battle ax was seen as the epitome of sexy. Of course just thinking about it had his shaft rock hard, again, great, something else to satisfy again before he could get some sleep.

#Blood For Gold #Blood For Gold Part 8 #Oh yeah #now we are getting into intentions and interests and how those are gonna clash #mwahahaha #Regency orcs #regency era orc period drama #orc fantasy love story.#orc love story.#moura

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kyndaris · 3 years

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A Vikingr Saga for the Ages

Ever since the first game in the franchise, I was enraptured by the idea of stalking my prey on the rooftops of Renaissance Italy and then leaping down - slaying them with a flourish. I didn’t know it yet but the marriage between history and stealthy parkour had me hooked from the very first trailer for Assassin’s Creed. When the series pivoted towards mythology and set further in history than ever before, I eagerly followed. From Ptolemaic Egypt to Ancient Greece. It should come as no surprise that I devoured, then, that I devoured as much of the world that I could in the latest entry: Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla. And after clocking in just under 150 hours, there is much for me to unpack in Ubisoft’s latest entry into the Assassin’s Creed franchise. That, and a fierce desire to finally start watching Vikings.

When I initially booted up Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla (AC:V), I will admit that I was a little disappointed with the control scheme. Once again, Ubisoft had made it a confusing mess with trigger buttons instead of face buttons used to attack. Since I had just come from Spider-Man: Miles Morales, it took a good long while for me to adjust. Several hours later, after fumbling through my first battle with a lost drengr (I actually dumbed down the difficulty a litte), I finally managed to find my footing and was on my way to England to scrape out a place for the Raven Clan.

As for stealth...well, the less said about it the better. I never found it effective. It was much easier to smash my way through, axe in hand (or greatsword) and lay waste to their paltry resistance with a mixture of heavy attacks and parrying. I also, hardly used the bow (one of my favourite weapons to being stealthy in Origins and Odyssey).

The story in AC: V is a little messy. Most of it is done through a separate arcs for each territory Eivor ventures through: from East Anglia to Snotinghamscire, with little to link it all together except the main character. Were it not for the very loose story threat surrounding Sigurd and the conquering of Mercia to establish a firm foothold in this new land of England, many of the storylines could be regarded as standalone adventures in Eivor’s epic saga of conquest.

That doesn’t, of course, mean it’s bad. Merely disjointed. Particularly when I went from Jorvik and its Yule Tide celebrations to Glowecestrescire that was right in the midst of Samhain right after each other. Did I go back in time? Or did almost an entire year fly past Eivor with none the wiser?

Still, even though they were mostly standalone storylines, I still very much liked all the characters I met along the way. My favourites were the earnest Hunwald, noble Ceolbert (his death was almost as bad as all the horse deaths I’ve encountered in video games) and fun-loving Twydwr (particularly when he and Eivor were drunk, and messing with the local chickens) On the Norse side, I very much enjoyed the banter between Eivor and her childhood friend Vili. But the one that I admisted most was Soma. She was the jarlskona of Grantebridgescire - the first place I explored after landing in England. And one, I hoped I could romance to some degree. Alas, my hopes were dashed on that end.

What I did find a little intriguing were how Sigurd and Eivor were sages for the Isus: Odin and Tyr. And in their little Raven Clan, revealed much later, was also Freyr. It seemed strange that so many of the reincarnated Isu were all incredibly close at hand.

In this title, Ubisoft was able to focus again a little more on their complex lore that was seeded throughout the first few games. And while some questions were answered, it still left plenty of mysteries of where the games go from here - particularly from a modern-day standpoint. Though I am reluctant to see the franchise go, it does feel like Ubisoft is finally coming to a close on the grand story that they are trying to tell. What the end result turns out to be is still to be determined, but more emphasis needs to be focused on the central conflict.

For a game that still has Assassin’s Creed in the title, Eivor’s connection with the order and their enemies seemed very tangential. While I killed many Order of the Ancient members, there was no sense of personal investiture, like, say with Ezio’s quest. The only ones that I felt motivated to put an end to were Fulke and Kjotve the Cruel. Unfortunately, all the build-up in the first scenes with Eivor were quickly resolves within the first two to three hours of the game, and Fulke’s arc was all but over in the half-way point.

I suppose the main reason for my discontent with the narrative of AC: V is the fact that there is no Big Bad for Eivor and her Raven Clan. Yes, Aelfred of Wessex is a ‘villain’ that hinders our protagonist, but he never felt like an oppressive threat.

Basim’s reveal, somewhat late in the game, was also a little underwhelming. Yes, he did look an awful lot like Loki, but how did he manage to get to Norway? He hadn’t accompanied Sigurd and Eivor. Did he travel with a third party? How did he know that Sigurd and Eivor would be in the ruins of an Isu temple? So many questions, so little time.

Then there was the whole ‘Heir of Memories’ and the fact that Layla seemed so worn. After finishing Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey, my last impression of her was receiving the Staff of Hermes Trismegistus from Kassandra and being hopeful for the future. Fast forward to AC: V and Layla is tired. The world is on the edge of destruction once again and she’s now paired up with married couple: Rebecca Crane and Shaun Hastings (the two last appearing undercover in Assassin’s Creed IV: Black Flag).

On a side note, why are their adventures all done in the comics or some other media? AND WHY DO I NOT HAVE ACCESS TO ANY OF THIS?

And because I didn’t play the expansions for Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey, I knew too little regarding the modern-day struggles with Layla. In fact, I basically resorted to the Assassin’s Creed wiki to bring me up to date. Honestly, DLC should never be story-related. Or, if it is, should be more tangential rather than major. It’s a terrible practice that quite a few publishers do, and which leaves players such as myself playing catch-up.

The only one that landed with any oomph (at least for me) were the Asgard and Jotunheim arcs. These were connected and told the story of Havi as he struggled to find a way to avert his fate. The final battle also proved challenging and climactic. A far cry from the ‘endings’ that the main story provided. In all honesty, I probably should have left that to last while completing everything else first. But the temptation was too great and I was vastly overlevelled.

I also enjoyed the play on the Norse myths. The only downside with the Builder was that there was no horse to help him. And so, there was no sexy mare Loki to tempt away the Builder’s horse - giving birth to Sleipnir. The other stuff, though, was clever. And I liked the references made to other myths, such as fighting against ‘old age’ and Thrym’s disastrous marriage to ‘Thor dressed as Freyr.’

What was also a little odd, at least for me, was that there was no definitive part where the credits rolled. Much like in Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey and Assassin’s Creedy: Origins. Personally, I hate it. Credits give closure and tell gamers that the narrative that they were pursuing has come to an end. It lets me reflect on everything that I experienced and is an indication that I can finally set the controller down.

Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla also came with its fair share of bugs and glitches. Many, after reading up on them, made me frightened to continue. One, in particular, took me a while to figure out an alternative to: entering Lunden. I didn’t help that the more I read, the more I worried about encountering a game-breaking bug. Thankfully, most were simply treasure hoards not loading, late texture pop-ins that were a little frightening, and the drunk Eivor every time I loaded up the game.

Despite its many faults, I still very much enjoyed my time roaming around England, Vinland and Norway as I worked to build up Eivor’s reputation and to ensure her name would be sung for ages to come. Like a true Vikingr, I played copious amounts of orlog, drank mead and tore up the battlefield to create a home for my people.

Even better, at Gunnar’s wedding, I managed to finally woo Randvi (who I abstained from bedding down with earlier on in the game)! That, perhaps, elevated the game for me and I can be happy knowing that all my hard work paid off.

(As an additional aside, I also love how many of the side quests or ‘mysteries’ in AC: Valhalla made references to popular culture. From Winnie the Pooh to Alice in Wonderland. AND ROBIN HOOD! THE NPC CALLED LITTLE JOHN HAD ME GUFFAWING!)

#Assassin's Creed: Valhalla #AC:V #Assassin's Creed #video games #Eivor x Randvi

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warsofasoiaf · 4 years

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Uh. I checked the character count, and this is going to end up long. My friend sent me something, and while I'm sure it's wrong, I don't know enough about medieval battles to dispute it. Can you help? Part one of many

He held storms end against a siege. From what information there is he seems to have done this well. I don’t know if he employed a scorched earth strategy before the siege began (if he didn’t then a rescind my compliment). The siege showed little in terms of tactical or strategic prowess on the part of Stannis but his will power was commendable and eating last was (part 1)

The siege showed little in terms of tactical or strategic prowess on the part of Stannis but his will power was commendable and eating last was a good morale booster (though he likely didn’t do this for the moral). Still, if the Tyrells had decided to storm the castle he would have lost. The battle shows more incompetence on the part of Mace than prowess on the part of Stannis (part 2)

He captured Dragonstone. There is very little mentioned about the specifics of the engagement. It is highly unlikely that there was a contested landing as the defenders lacked the numbers and morale for such a move and there is very little precedent for a contested landing in the historical time period that ASoIaF is based on. He likely arrived at the castle to find an open gate. Part 3

The best mark on Stannis’s record, and the only truly impressive thing he’s done was his destruction of the Ironborn fleet. He managed to split his fleet in two and flank the Ironborn without them knowing. Though this is still impressive it must be mentioned that Stannis likely had a great advantage due to technological superior ships (the ships described in the books are absurdly large and in an age where gaming and boarding was the main instrument of naval warfare that is a great advantage).

During the war of the five kings Stannis refuses to ally himself to anyone. This is a great black mark agains his record. And shows either an abysmal understanding of basic strategy or an incredibly diluted ego. Stannis’s choice to march on Storms end similarly shows either incompetence or delusion, only saved by an entirely unpredictable magical trump card on the part of Melisandre. Combined with the luck of the Stormlander lords agreeing to side with Stannis.

His attack of Kings Landing similarly shows a lack of understanding of basic strategy. This time he seemingly fails to scout ahead before initiating a contested river crossing. Failure to do this is an incredible oversight that cost him the battle. Part five sorry forgot the last one

After Stannis’s previous blunders lead to the annihilation of most of his army he gambles and sails north to try and win over the Northern lords. This is probably his first truly good idea in the war of the five kings. With Robb dead and the Lannister involvement in what seems to be one of the greatest war crimes in Westerosi history the Northern lords are ripe for realignment. Part 6

He crushes a numerical superior Wildling army though his force is made up of mounted knights and the Wildlings too don’t seem to utilize scouts. I would chalk this up to apparent wildling incompetence. Stannis then determines to march on the dread fort. Which is rightly pointed out by Jon Snow to be a stupid idea. Stannis then receives advice that determines his next moves. Part eight

Sorry, had to wait to submit more. Stannis then determines to march on the dread fort. Which is rightly pointed out by Jon Snow to be a stupid idea. Stannis then receives advice that determines his next moves. Stannis also seemingly wins the battle on the ice. His strategy seems to be fairly sound though he likely will receive no small amount of help from the Manderlys. Part nine

Part 10: Ultimately Stannis does not deserve his reputation. He isn’t completely incompetent. But He does not stand up the the likes of Tywin Lannister, Randyl Tarly, or Robb Stark In skill. Most of his victories are largely attributable to events that he had no control over and could not have forseen, from Melisandre’s magic to Jon’s council.

I wouldn’t worry. Whoever wrote that doesn’t really understand warfare either.

Defending against the Siege of Storm’s End was a remarkable feat of leadership. Stannis is young, and this is likely his first real test of major leadership. That he is able to handle it with only one instance of defection is no small accomplishment. A general needs to have this sense of leadership, in order to inspire his men and to get them to follow his orders. This is something we see time and again with Stannis; his troops truly do feel inspired by him, and are not simply fearing punishment for non-compliance. His men cross the burning bridge of ships during the Battle of the Blackwater, they follow him to the very edge of the world (bit of dramatic hyperbole here, but the Wall is remote and he would need to unite his men after the disastrous defeat).

Capturing Dragonstone. I fail to see your friend’s point. Naval landings are difficult in premodern times. Stannis had to organize a fleet and land, and he had built ships to take on the Targaryen fleet. Again, that’s another part of leadership, particularly since medieval naval combat frequently had ships that would be commissioned for a purpose and then mothballed.

What we see of the Battle of Fair Isle shows instead Stannis using the terrain features and the advantages of his equipment to his full advantage. This is something I often see with amateur military analysts is this idea that good equipment is used as an excuse to dismiss battlefield accomplishment in favor of a preferred conclusion. In real battle, this isn’t the case, it’s a chaotic mess and tools and techniques still have to be used appropriately.

Now I agree that the early moves that Stannis makes in the War of the Five Kings does show that he needs his character development to grow into a better king. The need to secure alliances, and the way his poor interpersonal skills don’t make much headway with Catelyn despite her being tailor-made to support Stannis (save for that pesky Northern independence thing) do show that his problems front and center.

I’ll be frank, your friend’s interpretation of Storm’s End suggests that he or she did no analysis the battle. I’ve seen a bunch of folks argue that on the r/asoiaf subreddit before. The facts of the matter are that Stannis forces Renly to move and nearly exhaust himself. He prepares his position and ground, he takes key advantage of Renly’s mistakes, and overall shows himself capable of winning the fight. Melisandre is often dismissed by people in our own world, but we have to remember that Planetos is a world where magic actually does stuff. I’d agree that a general in our own time who prepares for a magic bolt of lightning or something to strike down an enemy general is an idiot, but Planetos operates by different rules, and we have to make at least some sort of concession to that.

Now, we do see Stannis making a lot of mistakes in the battle, but we also see Imry Florent making most of the mistakes against tactical sense. Part of that is on Stannis, he is the senior commander, but part of that is also the problems of incompetent feudal leaders. Imry is an idiot, and he only got that position by nepotism.

Dismissing the wildlings losses as failure to employ scouts simply doesn’t match the text. We don’t hear about the wildlings not employing scouts, what we hear instead is that Stannis joined with the Eastwatch rangers and set out. We also see that the wildlings do employ some of their forces well, particularly their mammoths, which requires Stannis to secure a breakthrough against one of the other wildling contingents to flank the mammoths and bring them down, which is good tactical maneuver to eliminate an enemy advantage.

Stannis relying on Jon for counsel being marked as a disadvantage is a completely foolish argument. Securing local intelligence to better plan and execute a military campaign is one of intelligence’s primary purposes! That’s one of the most prevalent reasons to secure friendly local sources, so that you can adequately plan with better knowledge. Stannis makes a plan, finds local sourcing which gives him better intelligence, so he changes it. That being held against him is just a bad argument, start to finish.

I noticed your friend completely omitted the capture of Deepwood Motte, and I’m guessing because it really tears a hole in their arguments. Stannis using classic military deception techniques, camouflage to hide his troops, and captures Asha as she’s trying to evacuate, all of which showcase Stannis’s intelligence and effectiveness within the military sphere.

The Battle of the Ice we see Stannis again making preparations to take advantage of local conditions. While we don’t see what it is, because we’re still waiting on the book, all of the chapters that we see of him in the fifth novel regarding this show him preparing, show him leading his men.

Holding up Tywin Lannister as an example of a military genius is laughable, since Tywin gets beaten pillar to post by Robb Stark. His efforts to win the War of the Five Kings completely doom his house, since he violates every social taboo and engenders significant resentment to his family while doing so. I think it is possible to criticize Stannis’s mistakes in the Blackwater, without needing to minimize the actual accomplishments.

Thanks for the question, Anon. Here’s hoping you can correct your friend’s bad arguments.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

#stannis baratheon

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