#I am not speaking from a place of mockery or belittlement

[northwest-cryptid]

honestly, completely understandable. if i may give a basic concept of my vision. consider an MMO, let's say... warcraft, because I can use it as a decent example. we take the Eastern kingdoms there, and measure it, clocks in at about 24 kilometres across. that's about the distance from my home city to the nearest one, and personally? when I hear "virtual world" that shit is way too small.

when I imagine a virtual world, I imagine it almost like an smal country in it's own, let's say for a different example, the size of florida. now consider how much server space warcraft uses, even if we estimate only a 3rd of that is the Eastern kingdoms. then we scale thar 24 Km length to... about 720 Km and you'll probably see where the sheer scale of the servers are needed. and when you've got all those servers, heat will be an issue. either one could essentially run their system through instances and try distribute the load, or you gotta find a way to deal with all that heat.

the best way I can imagine, is by reducing the energy waste of the servers, in which case my first thought was the ideal in a superconductor. if resistance is 0, efficiency is near 100% and nearly no heat is produced. alas we don't live in a perfect world, and while it's fun to think on applications for stuff like that, it's also painful to know the best we've got (in this case fibre optics and silver) isn't even close.

I can tell our visions are different, and thank you for the well wishes, I hope you can make yours a reality because like this I certainly can't.

I respect that you took what I said without hostility so I don't mind continuing this conversation.

While I don't know things like Warcraft personally; I do know a good bit about how servers work and the like. I think you're really getting caught up in the weeds so to speak. By which I mean, you're concerned about problems you don't have, stopping yourself from taking the first step because you're being prevented by imaginary problems.

If you look up EVE Online's size for example you'll find a notable quote that states: "With a total area of 11,126,487.6 Astronomical Units² (AU) — or in other words, 249 sextillion km² — the playable universe of EVE Online earns its place in the halls of greatness when it comes to sheer size." Now EVE actually only runs 3 servers, but from what I understand has plenty on the back end working to keep everything running smoothly.

In other words, what you're looking for isn't nearly as big of a deal as you may think it is. You're speaking of superconductors, heat, and resistance as if any of that honestly matters, and it just doesn't.

Data centers house literally thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of servers. Most MMORPGs run parallel instances of their game worlds 10 times over per region without any issue.

Again I really don't want to come across as being rude or looking down on you or something. That couldn't be further from my intention and I do apologize if I come across that way; it's hard for me to know what kind of tone I give off but that's not an excuse for me to be an asshole.

That being said I don't think you have an understanding of this as much as you think you do. I believe you're getting caught up on a fictional problem created by a fictional situation that you're not even dealing with yet.

I can't just let someone give up on something before they even start just because they don't have a full understanding of the actual situation at hand.

Games like FFXIV, Mabinogi, or even games like Black Desert Online, and Elite Dangerous or No Man's Sky; they're all MASSIVE and yet they use tricks like instances to keep their games running smoothly while running on a singular server.

Even Warcraft, which I admittedly don't know a lot about as I don't play; can be easily looked up and you'll find that:

"Blizzard uses 20,000 systems and 1.3 petabytes of storage to power its gaming operations. WoW's infrastructure includes 13,250 server blades, 75,000 CPU cores, and 112.5 terabytes of blade RAM. The Blizzard network is managed by a staff of 68 people."

These aren't impossible numbers, but you're also not Blizzard. I'm not Blizzard. We're not dealing with numbers that large, we don't need to because we don't have the demand for it.

When developers like CCP Games (The developers behind EVE online) made the game in the first place, they had a few thousand people playing it and managing their servers became a real problem for them; but they also had the money and staff necessary since they were a company who was selling thousands of copies of their game; that they could afford to upgrade their servers.

CCP ran into more issues with modern tech keeping up with their demand but ultimately had the money to keep up with buying the latest greatest for their servers and staff to keep their game running.

They didn't stop themselves from attempting because of the need to run a game as large as EVE before they ever made it; they expanded the servers and game world over time through understanding current limitations and figuring out how to feasibly surpass them.

I don't say this all of this to put you down, rather I say these things because it really feels like you WANT there to be a problem.

It's easier to give up and not try when you feel like the only possible solution to your idea is entirely out of your hands. If it's an impossibility from the start, why bother right?

I used to be like that too, which is why I feel like it sounds familiar. Fear of trying and failing amounts to determining that it couldn't be done to begin with; because it feels like we're justified in giving up when the task is literally not possible.

When you say "I hope you can make yours a reality because like this I certainly can't." You're telling me you feel like you're not able to achieve what you want, despite the fact that it's entirely possible without all the fancy computers and stargates and sci fi shenanigans.

I'm not trying to speak for you, we don't know each other; you're an anon I'm just some random blogger on the internet. I can't claim to understand you and all that, so please take what I'm about to say with a grain of salt, it wouldn't be wrong to necessarily say I'm projecting here; because I used to very much sound just like you.

The thing is, you're right; you can't achieve what you want. Not as you are now, not when you won't try. Because until you've created anything at all, until you have a world to put out there, you can't possibly even have to face the problem of server space or thermodynamics and shit.

So worry about what's in front of you; get out there, make mistakes, learn and grow. Open Unity, or Unreal, or whatever application you prefer and just make a small map it doesn't matter if it's good just make SOMETHING.

Take the first step.

You can call me short sighted if you want but when I think about creating a virtual world my worries are not on the problems that might happen down the line; they're on whether or not I can even get there.

A poor man worrying about what to do when he wins the lottery doesn't make any sense if he can't afford to play the lottery.

A prime example of what I mean is that, for my plan to work I need some way to link worlds to each other in VRChat while keeping the linked worlds set to private so there's only one way to access them, that way being through the hub world.

The problem here is that I'm about 90% sure if a world is set to private, it cannot have a portal linking to it in a public world; it just won't work like that.

So why am I not working on a solution to that problem? That's really simple, and it's as easy to explain as; I won't even have to deal with that problem if I can't make the worlds first!

I can't let myself get tangled up in the details of things not working exactly how I imagined they would before I even have the worlds I need to link via portals in the first place.

This is a classic example of "putting the cart before the horse"

There are a thousand different ways to go about fixing a problem, but you don't need to worry about a problem you won't ever have. That's just an excuse to not try!

I'm not saying this to point a finger at you and say you're doing something wrong, I'm saying this because I want you to consider this for yourself. I want you to take a look at yourself and really think about if those server problems and the laws of thermodynamics are stopping you.

Or is it something else?

I think you'd understand this all a lot better if you actually took the steps to try.

So here, I won't hold you to it; I won't mock you if you give up or whatever. However, whether or not you take the real first step is up to you I can't force you but it sounds like you want to, so let me try to help.

Download Unity, it's free for personal use. Let's take the first step here.

Open the Unity Hub, in the upper right you'll find a button that says "New Project" click that.

Now select whether or not you want to use 2D or 3D; I'm going with 3D because I'm going to be making a world for VRChat.

You can use whichever version of Unity you prefer.

Click Create Project in the bottom right.

My screen may look a bit different than yours because I'm using the VRChat Creator Companion which has a whole suite of plugins it adds for the sake of making a VRChat world. That being said, you should be able to follow along just fine.

(If you'd like to grab the Creator Companion and make worlds for VRChat you can get it free here: https://vcc.docs.vrchat.com/)

You should have something like this, minus the Packages/Assets that VRChat's Creator Companion adds of course

We could either create Terrain through right clicking somewhere in the hierarchy and clicking the "3D Object -> Terrain" button, or we could create a world through various assets in the asset store. No worries we'll only use free stuff. For the sake of example I'm going to be using the asset store because I find it's easier for people starting out.

To access the Asset Store we're going to click the drop down for "Window" at the top, and then select Asset Store (I have mine docked but I don't believe it will be by default).

Now in the store I'm going to search for Sci-Fi Styled Modular Pack and set the price to free. You can search for anything you'd like, but this is what I will be using.

I'm just going to click the button that says Open In Unity and add it to my project by clicking the Import button in the Package Manager that should open when clicking the Open In Unity button.

Everything should be selected by default, but if it's not; go ahead and click the All button at the top left, and then the Import button in the lower right.

Now I'm going to go into the Assets -> Sci-Fi Styled Modular Pack -> Prefabs -> Corridors and just drag the Corridor_X into my Hierarchy.

Generally speaking if you don't know how, or don't wish to edit the materials, textures, or models a Prefab or Pre-Fabricated model is the way to go.

Now I'm going to repeat this for 4 Corridor_T and 4 Corridor_L.

It should look something like this:

Obviously we don't want all our corridors to be inside each other, so let's move them into position.

We could do this using the arrows, but we could also use the Transform within the Inspector on the right.

For now, I'm going to hide the other parts by selecting them all and clicking the check mark next to their name in the Inspector to the upper right. This will just make it easier to see what I'm doing.

By clicking and dragging the blue arrow after selecting Corridor_T in the Hierarchy I'm able to see that a number around Z = 12 seems to be right for the spacing, so I will go ahead and use the Transform under the Inspector to place this part at Z = 12:

Doing this for each of the Corridors I can create a complete room this way.

Except of course by just putting the T corridor on the other side won't position it correctly for our player to walk through it, so I'll need to use the Transform or Rotation tool. In this case I'm going to use the Rotation under the Transform:

By selecting the Rotation tool I can see that the Y (or Green) axis is the one I'll want to rotate on. So I'll go ahead and set the Y rotation to -180, and the Z Position value to -12.

Once we have all our T corridors in place we can use this same system to position our L corridors in place, resulting in a small room:

Of course this is far from a completed map, hell it's far from an interesting room. So let's use some of the other parts in the prefab folder such as decorative elements and lights to make the place look nice.

We have plenty of room to work with in here but I'm just throwing something together to give an example so let's just go with some random stuff...

Okay now we're getting somewhere.

Now thanks to the VRChat Creator Companion having a lot of built in features I can go ahead and just click play to give this a go and see how it all looks in play; for base Unity you'll likely need to grab a First Person camera or controller of some kind; they're all over the Unity Asset Shop just search for First Person Controller and set the price to free:

Then just import it into your project and drop it into your hierarchy somewhere.

Now you should be able to walk around the corridor you made:

It's really that easy, and this is beginner stuff; if you are interested in this sort of thing there's a ton of tutorials on Youtube that explain how to do Terrain, textures, materials, even 3D modeling so you can make your own unique stuff instead of using stuff from the asset store.

and you know the best part? I could upload this to VRChat right now, I could just put it live and make a world. All without having to figure out the servers, or battling with the laws of thermodynamics.

You're putting up walls for yourself, stopping yourself from learning the fundamentals of the craft. Don't let yourself be held back by your imaginary fears.

Once you understand how to make a corridor you can begin to expand it into a building, once you understand how to make a building you can put that building on terrain; once you understand how to make terrain you can make entire worlds.

No server farm, or heat problem or whatever can stop you from doing that. Only YOU are stopping yourself.

You're not going to start off perfect, it might not even be good at first!

Check it out; this is the first terrain map I ever made:

Using textures from Mabinogi mind you; I didn't even make my own textures lol. The water? It's just a plane with transparency, it didn't move or anything; you couldn't swim in it.

The mountain range just gets cut off there's nothing more there, the "sand" doesn't submerge into the water smoothly at all. It's all a mess it's pretty bad, but it's SOMETHING.

So I added a skybox because I didn't know how to do that yet;

I expanded the terrain and began working on the parts I didn't like, little by little. This is the seed of a whole world I will create; it all starts here, even though this has NOTHING to do with what I eventually want to create.

Will anyone even visit my world? Does anyone need to? Who knows!

I'm not going to get caught up on the details of server farms and shit when I don't even have a world built yet, I'm not going to hold myself back from TRYING.

now I have moving water, and more space than I know what to do with, so I gotta learn how to make some buildings and decorate the place; I'm working on a fishing system that I'm having to learn how to script in UDON for.

It's not easy, and it's daunting to look at my goals and realize how far away I am. However I'm not asking myself to do everything right this second, I'm asking myself; and I'm asking you to just take the first step towards understanding how to accomplish what you want to.

If you don't actually WANT to do it, then that's fine, it's your life. However if your only reason for not trying is because of server space and thermodynamics and shit that doesn't even matter yet; I'm going to sit here and tell you that it doesn't matter and you don't need to worry about it. Don't go making excuses for yourself, you don't need to create your ideal virtual world if you don't WANT to.

But if you DO want to, just please understand that you CAN.

I'm not saying it will be easy. I'm saying it'll be DOABLE, but only if you're actually willing to TRY, and ultimately NONE OF THIS MATTER IF YOU DON'T WANT TO DO IT.

I'm not going to look down on you if you simply don't actually care.

It's entirely possible that I'm reading too much into this, maybe you just have this idea as some kind of fantastical concept but you have no real desire to make it a reality. Then that's fine! There's no shame in that, there's no problem with that. If that's the case and I've blown this out of proportion I am truly sorry.

However I say all of this because I know all too well what it feels like to want to create something, and to dream way too big way too fast; to think it's not possible without something you don't actually need, and to not even know where or how to start.

I don't want to just sit here and let someone give up on accomplishing something they genuinely want to do; all because they're worried about problems that don't ACTUALLY matter for what they want.

Now sure I get it, you likely want to do your own server hosting, you likely want to run it all yourself. I get that; but the reality of the matter is you gotta start small and build up, no one just pops into existence with a giant project and gets millions of people playing their game or exploring their world or whatever. The average person can't just buy up the server space and memory necessary for it.

However the problems you're talking about and the solutions you're proposing to fix them feel like someone talking from a Sci-Fi RP account. They're not realistic at all. You simply don't need to worry about them, and if they're truly the things holding you back then you really shouldn't let them.

Start small, start somewhere; secure funding for your project when the users who do see your work decide it's worth funding. Move on from there, hire a team; work your way up to owning a proper game company, develop the tools to make it happen.

But none of that will happen if you don't start somewhere, you know?

There's no shame in starting small, there's nothing wrong with creating something just to create it; even if it's not your million dollar idea.

If you really have your doubts, check out Scott Cawthon. Yes, THAT Scott Cawthon. Sure you likely know about FNAF, but you may or may not be aware of his entire catalogue of other works.

The guy was making games and animations nearly 10 years before ever making the original FNAF. This list doesn't even include everything he made.

What I'm saying is, if he worried about making games like FNAF when he was making bible animations he likely wouldn't have ever made FNAF OR any of his animations or other games. He likely would have just given up because the idea of making something so big it would get movies and be something people refer to as "famous" likely would have been extremely daunting.

If you start working on stuff now, you really COULD create what you want to. You could improve over the years, get better at your craft; and find ways to make your vision into a reality.

You just have to understand where to take the first step and stop focusing on problems that don't exist for you.

Anyways I've rambled on enough that I'm probably repeating myself for the fifth time already so I'll shut up and leave it at that.

Once again, I do mean it when I say I wish you the best of luck bringing your vision to life.

#Authors Note: Do not read this as anger; I am passionate about this yes but I mean no ill will #I am not speaking from a place of mockery or belittlement #I mean only to explain what I'm saying so please don't take what I say harshly #I don't intend for it to be rude

[aberrantthornes]

@castella-the-tarnished​​ continued from here.

“Oh, I didn’t realize anyone else was down here…”

He looked like he really wanted to fight her, or kill her rather. She wasn’t exactly in the mood today, having fought long and hard already.

“I was just poking around where I shouldn’t be, it seems. You must be this ‘Alberich’ people keep speaking of.”

As a gesture of practiced respect, she performs a quick proper bow, both hands upon her lap. When she returns to standing, she grips her seal tightly.

“I am Castella of Marren. I seek not conflict from you, but I will not surrender to you either.”

  "Oh, have they?" Alberich leans his head to the side, as if to ponder the statment. Even in death they would never cease their mockery wouldn’t they? Belittling his beliefs, twisting the nature of his practices to suit their narrow minded assumptions. Ironic wasn’t it? The Roundtable Hold was a place for all champions of the lands to come together and yet little harmony could be found between them. But why bother? He always kept to himself, hadn’t he? Until another fool stumble their way down their. Alberich had turned slightly, now eyeing Castella from the side before he spoke again.

  "Oh, do not be bothered by my wandering,” Alberich waved of her question with an amused smile. “I merely established my quarters in the lower levels of the Hold.” The sweet silence, it soothed his weary mind. Temporarily at least. “If you have not already ... you might want to speak with Sir Ofnir ...”

#alberich;; heretical sorcerer #castella-the-tarnished

[soulseekcr]

@turnsorrow​    |    from here

SHE NEAR SCOFFS  ,  THE CONCEPT OF MOCKERY MORE THAN  she is willing to stomach on her own behalf, though she is not sure whether it be a sense of pride or self worth that makes her upset on their behalf. She’s never mixed well with these types  :  like water off a duck’s back, that mentality. Far too laid back for her liking, but she can’t be angry with them, not when the fault lies on those who belittle others. A mercy it is to yank others down, but only in so many words.

“There’s no kindness in mockery  :  excusing it as the lesser of evils only serves to encourage the mentality that you are lesser. Would it not be better to stand up for yourself?  You’ve worth that is worth protecting.”  Her leg bounces ‘neath her, head tilting in agitation.    “T’would be a kindness for one to be hit and not killed. That does not mean they should take the hit.”  She feels as if she is speaking to Alphinaud, once so very down on himself. How things had changed.

(    🌺    )             COMMENTARY SHOULD    have been left to oneself yet it was too late now to go and take their own words back.    they should have known better to speak such about themselves and how they    allowed    others to talk to them with alisaie around    -    though they were naught upset.    in a sense she always placed their head back ‘pon their shoulders when they found themselves unbothered    A LITTLE TOO MUCH.

THEIR EXPRESSION IS    as understanding as it was non budging from their view.    they had been meaning how emet    -    selch had been treating them throughout the first thus far.    even through his mockery    (    which    confused    them in how there was an air of something pained with most insults dropped    )    they did naught feel that bothered.    their worth to themself wasn’t all that significant,    regardless of being the warrior of darkness on this    SHARD OR NOT.

           ❝     PERHAPS.    BUT HE DOES    tend to speak of lending aid,    no    ?    allowing his mockery of myself is a price i am willing to pay for whatever true help gained.       ❞        worse names had been placed ‘pon them    IN THEIR TIME.

#turnsorrow #{ hyacth vc: ITS OKAY HE JUST SEEMS SAD ?? } #( SHB V ) ㅤ ㅤ ( ㅤ 🌺ㅤ ) ㅤ ㅤ — ㅤ MORE UNDERSTOOD AND PROPER MEETINGS.

[lexifer-666]

It's the new year and I've got weird family stuff happening I need to rant about. Under the cut. CW/TW for: mentions of emotional and physical neglect, manipulation, general abuse, homophobia, transphobia, ableism. Basically a huuuge traumadump post because i gotta have some place to work shit out. There's a silver lining at the end if you're willing to read.

so like. I spent years… YEARS being the family scapegoat. Everything I did was wrong. Everything about who I was… Was wrong. I spent the majority of my life building up walls and armor, carefully constructing this Person I should be. Quiet, calm, invisible. Never allowing myself to exist, never letting anyone know who I was. I hid so many aspects of myself- My gender, my religion, even the music I listened to, the books I read… The shows I watched. Because each of these things were weaknesses my family used against me. To belittle and manipulate me. There was… So much abuse and neglect. I've finally kind of accepted myself for being disabled, but I spent the better part of 3 years trying to convince my family that I wasn't faking or being dramatic, that there was actually something seriously wrong. It's been… 5 years since I moved out. I spent a lot of that time healing, letting the people around me see me for who I was. I stopped masking as much, and let my neurodivergent qualities show. I was floored when I would tell someone about something I was interested in, and instead of mockery I was met with genuine interest. I came out as trans openly, changed my name, started T. All the while… I had little to no contact with my family. I only showed up for funerals and shit like that.

In the past… Year? Ish? My family have all done a complete 180. They no longer act like I'm some demonic, sinner child. They all actually took the whole trans thing pretty well.. Which was a stark contrast to the hours-long lecture I got whenever I came home from my dad's house wearing men's clothing on my 14th birthday. It… Weirds me the fuck out. They actually treat me like a part of the family, they're listening to me when I talk instead of just talking over me. (I spent the ages of 16-17 barely speaking to anyone because I had literally fucking given up.) It's… I went to christmas this year. Voluntarily. I drove there myself. No one yelled. No one beat the shit out of eachother. I didn't feel disrespected at all-- The only time it even got close was when my mom was worriedly asking me if I could carry my own plate, to which I told her "I do this every day, mom." (I was doing things one handed, forearm crutch and all.) But…. I don't know. I should be happy that they're taking an interest in who I am now. I should be ecstatic! I might actually be able to have a relationship with my family! And… I am, to an extent. I'm… Happy I actually have a relationship with them now. Rocky, fresh, like I just got adopted and I'm still testing the waters.

But… There's also resentment. I spent my whole childhood, and 5 years of college and couch hopping, not feeling like I belonged anywhere. Of hating myself. They come to me now? After I've healed from them? After I already grew and moved on, began to accept myself, made real, genuine connections with other people? They enter my life with real love and acceptance now? When I don't fucking need them? Where were they when I was homeless? Where were they when I felt like my life was worthless? When I felt like only 3 people in this entire world actually cared for me and loved me? There's also guilt. I built friendships where… I related to my friends on the basis of. Oh fuck, none of us have good relationships with our family, we're all kind of outcast and scapegoated. Now… That's changing for me. And… I feel guilty. Because my friends deserve to have a family too. I shouldn't be the only one who gets to have this. All I can do is not.. Talk about it too much. It would feel like rubbing salt in the wound, and I do not want to hurt them like that. Soooo. I'm sitting here. At 5am. It feels like I've been sucked into an alternate reality where my family is… Not a bunch of traumatized, cycle-repeating abusive religious zealots.

My mother has discord? And knows what pronouns are? She straight up said "I'm sorry, I'm not meaning to disrespect your pronouns, I'm still getting used to this." Like… Jesus christ man she's 61. 61, ex-mormon, now evangelical, lives in a small town of literally 200 people. My stepdad didn't even really talk to me, either. Normally he would have some smartass thing to say, something to get under my skin and make me snap at him. And I was prepared to, he can't hit me now that I'm an adult without going to jail…. But he didn't even try. In fact, when the tarp on my car tore, he went to the next town over and bought me two rolls of expensive ass tape to fix it. Didn't even ask me to pay him back. I… Don't really know what to make of all this. The tiny, jaded 14 year old Lex that still lives in my heart is screaming at me. He's pissed, he doesn't want me to trust them a bit. But…. I don't know. I'm tired of not having a family.

[teethrotter]

The Passion + Gospel Comparisons

The traditional Passion narrative tends to share a handful of common incidents across adaptations, one of those being the mocking of Jesus. Typically, this mockery is divided into three separate stages: Jesus is taunted by the officials holding him immediately following his trial, then by Roman soldiers after he is condemned by Pontius Pilate ( the Roman governor ), and finally by the wider public as he is crucified and slowly bleeds to death. Throughout this treatment, Jesus offers no real resistance or retaliation despite such being well within his abilities as an incarnation of God. This fact, alongside the miracles said to have occurred upon his earthly death, have caused most Christians to interpret his permittance of such suffering as redemptive for humanity as a whole – it is because of Jesus’ agony and willingness to harbor all secular sin that humans are able to be saved in the afterlife. As such, every literary aspect of the Passion is important and revealing in its own way, but one point that often seems to be glossed over is the second stage of the mockery. This particular phase is present ( to some degree ) across all of the canonical Gospels.

           The first instance of Jesus being belittled by Roman soldiers ( in canonical Gospel order ) is Matthew 27:27 – 31. It is prudent to note that, in every Gospel, this event directly follows Pontius Pilate’s damnation of Jesus, wherein he gives Jesus away to be scourged / whipped and then taken into the main hall of his residence. In the book of Matthew, Pilate only does this upon deducing that he has no other choice – he is immensely reluctant, going so far as to ( infamously ) wash his hands of the crime and claim, “I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it… His blood be on us, and on our children” ( Matthew 27:24 – 25 ). Pilate fears that he will incur a riot and be grievously harmed / murdered if he does not order Jesus to be executed, as the crowd is demanding. His ( if admittedly selfish ) demeanor is significant because it starkly offsets the consequent attitude of the men below him in rank.

While this degradation by the soldiers is detailed for a mere paragraph, it is completely rife with literary symbolism. Matthew specifies that the “whole band of soldiers” ( 27:27 ) participated, implying a great number of men and resultant beating. To begin, Jesus is stripped and fitted with a scarlet robe; this color is intended to ironically symbolize royalty and could well have been the cloak of a Roman soldier, as they were also red. In perhaps one of the most iconic symbols known to humanity, a crown of thorns is then placed on Jesus’ head, taking a universal token of kingship and twisting it into something cruel and demeaning. A reed is deposited into his right hand, harkening back to a kingly staff; in a manner analogous to the crown of thorns, an unquestionable emblem of monarchy is inverted and made crude. Nearly satisfied, the soldiers go on to bow before Jesus, taunting him with, “Hail, King of the Jews!” ( 27:29 ). Presumably, each individual soldier depicted here is very lowly in status, so their open jeering of a person who claims to be a king is beyond insulting. The Romans’ final act of savagery speaks for itself just as it is presented: “And they spit upon him, and took the reed, and smote him on the head” ( 27:30 ). Here, they are indubitably rubbing salt into the wound; especially within the timeframe that this passage originates from, this sort of disparaging would have been utterly unmentionable. Finally, Jesus is redressed in his own clothing and taken away to be crucified.

This excerpt is quite harrowing to read; as it is featured in all four Gospels, it obviously held significant importance to the respective authors. The purpose of its consistent inclusion could best be explained as a desire to portray the true depth of Christ’s suffering, as this passage is far from the only one that deliberately details all of the agony he was forced to undergo. To the authors and contemporary Christians alike, it is descriptions such as this that cement just how much Jesus sacrificed in order to save receptive mortals such as themselves.

A very similar narrative to the events given in Matthew are again featured in Mark 15:16 – 20. The diction in these passages closely mirror one another, but a handful of words are swapped, and phrasing is slightly altered from time to time. The more noteworthy adaptations in Mark are the color of the robe that Jesus is clothed with and the course of action that the soldiers take with the reed; the rest of the deeds are just the same as they are in Matthew. Here, Jesus is garbed in purple – this is a more universally recognized color denouncing royalty than scarlet is, fulfilling the same symbolic purpose of undermining Christ’s authority ( when put in combination with the other measures taken by the soldiers ). In Matthew, Jesus was handed a reed prior to the Romans cuttingly “worshipping” him, but in Mark, he is simply smacked on the head with it after they have verbally / physically assaulted him. This detracts from the allusion to a kingly scepter present in Matthew, having the reed serve as a mere instrument of pain rather than one of defamation. The literary purpose of this could be because the author of Mark deemed the brevity of description not salient enough to warrant constructing the inverted image of kingship ( assuming that Matthew chronologically came first ), or that this subverted image was only portrayed after the creation of the book ( assuming that Mark was the original ). Each book displays the events similarly enough that their connection is undeniable, especially with the knowledge that their respective framing is also identical.

The Gospel of Luke also features the soldiers mocking Jesus, specifically in Luke 23:11. Upon first glance, it is not readily apparent that the excerpt is even included in this book, but something like it is present for a single line: “And Herod with his men of war set [Jesus] at nought, and mocked him, and arrayed him in a gorgeous robe, and sent him again to Pilate” ( 23:11 ). There is no depth at all to the description – this is immensely intriguing. This also marks a turning point in what comes after the mocking done by the soldiers; in Matthew and Mark, Jesus was quickly led away to be crucified, but in Luke, he is returned temporarily to Pilate. The overarching point of Pilate personally believing that Jesus is innocent yet agreeing to allow the execution to go forward is still conveyed ( just in a more roundabout manner ), but that is not the primary topic of discussion here. The author of Luke appears to be more concerned with the politics and notable rulers of the time than either Matthew or Mark do; certainly, as a scribe of one of the Gospels, their ultimate goal is still to bring praise to God, but they directly mention historical figures that the other Gospels do not. As almost all of these individuals are painted unflatteringly by the author of Luke, their aim could have been to vilify these ( at the time ) contemporary figures, faulting them for the death of Jesus and inciting readers against them. The description of what the soldiers did to Jesus is so minuscule due to this ulterior focus, as the author likely wished to bring more negative attention to the Roman rulers over the nameless, lowly Roman soldiers. In general, Luke is much more open about listing names than the Gospels before it, so this sentiment would fit with its overall structure. The author of Luke seems more akin to a historian than a storyteller, in contrast to the remainder of the Gospel writers; it is therefore natural to assume that their motivation behind leaving these specific names / locations over focusing on the biblical narrative was born from their desire to impart a concrete testament to the framework of Jesus’ death and resurrection, the intrinsic societal processes that allowed him to be condemned and put to death. In this manner, Luke differentiates itself quite noticeably from the other Gospels; given the largely unknown historical facets of both the Gospels and the bible as a whole, it is extremely interesting / informative to see at least one book step outside of laying down a story and instead attempt to provide accurate facts about it.

The final account of Jesus being mercilessly mocked by soldiers is apparent in John 19:1 – 3. It is shorter than Matthew and Mark’s portrayal, but more substantial than Luke’s retelling. It manages to summarize a majority of the inflictions given in Matthew and Mark, with some alterations: Pilate is personally involved with the beating here, the method through which the soldiers scourge Jesus is different, and Pilate’s course of action following the abuse deviates from the rest of the narratives.

Throughout the book of John, Pilate is a much larger character than he is in the other Gospels, typically for worse. It is most likely that this Gospel was the last to be composed, at least a few decades after the rest, and as Pilate seems to have died not long after his term as governor of Rome, he would have been long dead by this time and therefore easier to craft into a villain. Overall, Pilate seems to be more involved in this narrative as a result of the author’s animosity toward him in particular ( the famous scene of him washing his hands is notably absent here and everywhere else but in Matthew ).

The second stage of the mockery begins in John with “[then] Pilate therefore took Jesus, and scourged him” ( 19:1 ). This implies that Pilate himself was responsible for the whipping, despite him not being present at all after he sentences Jesus to death in any of the other Gospels. This inclusion contributes to the author’s distinct hatred for Pilate. Jesus is again forced into a purple robe by the soldiers and given a crown of thorns, the narrative significance of which is the same as it was in Matthew and Mark. The reed is completely absent in John and the soldiers instead pummel Jesus “with their hands” ( 19:3 ). The intent behind this shift was undoubtedly to display the Romans as utter savages, brutally battering the Son of God with their bare hands. However, they do not go on to “bow” before Jesus, nor do they spit on him or even change him back into his own clothes before being crucified. These details read as an unwitting admission of Christ’s kingship by the Romans, especially as they still state “Hail, King of the Jews!” ( 19:3 ). Of course, the Romans would view themselves as subverting any implication of Christ’s status, but to the readers of John, these instances could be interpreted as unconscious acknowledgement of such.

Just as in Luke, Jesus is returned to Pilate following his beating in John. Even in John, Pilate is still portrayed as believing in Jesus’ innocence, going so far as to attempt to convince him to admit his lies and consequently be saved from execution. Pilate wishes to send him out, but just as in the previous narratives, he is convinced that not putting Jesus to death will cause severe unrest and result in harm to either himself or those like him. So, he has Jesus crucified regardless.

Addressing a plot point that occurs in each Gospel was indubitably tedious and difficult, but also enlightening. I had not realized before just how much the separate Gospels vary from one another. To me, it is most logical that every one of these four books was composed by several people rather than a single person, so some circumstances can be attributed to that, but the interconnectedness of the texts is undeniable. They share events, themes, narratives, structure, and much more, but are ultimately unified in a tangible overarching goal: to add to the collection of Jewish history and glorify God above all else.

#don't think i need to give a bibliography for this one. anyway this is an unedited college essay ripped from my laptop #academic essay #essay #the passion #bible #writing tag #original date: 03 / 22 #religion #christianity

[emilia3546]

Shadowsinger Part 7 -Gwynriel

ACOSF Spoilers! Do Not read this unless you have finished ACOSF and the Azriel bonus chapter

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Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

*****

Azriel fought the urge to fidget, waiting, hidden in the shadows at the back of the room, not all the camp lords were even here yet, but they were still complaining. A clock in the corner struck nine and, almost as one, heads turned to the doorway, to Rhys' form appearing there, right on time. Azriel dispelled the shadows, and almost grinned at the clear surprise of some camp lords, and the outright fear of others, those who'd been toeing the line of outright treason. The moment Rhys stepped into the room, the camp lords stood, some smiled at him, others remained neutral, but there were a few who were glaring at him as if he were the greatest evil they'd ever seen. Rhys waved it all off, taking his seat at the head of the table,

"Sit down, and let's get on with it." Silence still reigned over the table as Azriel stalked across the room to stand behind Rhys, a hand casually resting on Truthteller's hilt at his side. "I believe there are some issues that you wish to discuss," Rhys started, but silenced an overeager lord with a look, "And I will listen, but my decision on matters will be final, is that understood?" He was met by begrudging nods and allowed the first lord to speak, 

"Thank you, High Lord." Good, at least this one hadn't forgotten his manners. Azriel fought the instinct to glare at Ironcrest's camp lord, the arrogant shit that he was, "I do have some concerns about some of your new rules,"

"Laws." Azriel corrected him, "You don't get to belittle laws you don't like."

"My apologies, about your new laws. My daughter, she now has to train with the boys, and wear leathers, I can see them looking at her, and it disgusts me. I have to protect her, but I cannot if you insist that she is trained with the boys." Rhys nodded slowly,

"I understand your concern, but, that is exactly why she should be trained, so that you don't need to protect her all the time. Can she hold her own in a fight?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then you don't need to worry, but I will consider allowing all-female training sessions for those who prefer, and," he added seeing the uproar that was about to kick off, "I will ensure a plan is made to avoid limiting training time for males and the females who are happy to train with them." The camp lord narrowed his eyes for a moment, considering, but sat down, Azriel knew better than to believe he was actually happy, but there was no other way for him to push back. It seemed that, for now at least, he would be content. The moment he sat down another stood to take his place,

"You might be content to see your girls fighting, but I am not. I do not care that your mate fights, High Lord, it is not in females' nature to fight, they will get hurt, and will be unable to do the jobs that they are supposed to do."

"What? Get married and breed?" Rhys raised an eyebrow as he spoke, "I'd consider your answer very carefully,"

"No, but someone has to maintain the camps, do the cooking, make clothes, look after children. Males train and fight full-time, there is no time for that, females fighting is ridiculous, when that isn't what they are designed to do."

"Again, I do understand that you worry about the integrity of your camp, but, I assure you, with both males and females helping with household chores, there is ample time to train and maintain a home."

"I don't think you understand the time it takes, High Lord, it can't be done."

"It can be done, with both males and females helping. Cassian probably works and trains more than all of you, and his mate matches him minute for minute, but they still find time to cook, clean the House, and spend time with their family." The camp lord struggled for words for a moment, "I will have plans written up to help with this if needed, but give yourselves some time to adjust, and teach your sons how to help their sisters and mothers." The camp lord nodded, not quite satisfied, but contented again. Azriel almost winced, if only he knew exactly what they wanted, what exactly Rhys could do to prevent them from rebelling, neither of the two lords who had spoken were really happy, they were just going to wait until Rhys made a wrong move, and strike.

Azriel watched silently, glaring at anyone who liked like he might start violence, and stepped closer to Rhys, ready to step in front of him if needed, but the room stilled when Ironcrest's camp lord stepped up,

"High Lord," he slightly inclined his head to Rhys, in a mockery of a bow, "Hello, Shadowsinger," he chuckled, "Our ability to protect our people comes from our ability to maintain order," each word was carefully chosen but Azriel knew what he really meant, he wanted to be able to control his people, "For protecting our females, that means keeping them in the camp, where they are safe, now they will be tempted to fly somewhere they cannot be protected, where no male knows where they are. We must keep them in the camp for their own safety, and not tempt them with flight elsewhere, into danger." Azriel almost snarled,

"Safety? Is that what you call it?" Rhys chuckled, "I call it control, and it makes you no better than those fae who kept humans as slaves, but you at least convince your enslaved people into thinking that you want to protect them. You don't fool me, but, since the threat of a female not being to defend herself outside of the camps is genuine, you have brought up the exact reason for my insistence that they also train." The lord's face fell for a moment,

"If they fight, they might start to think that they can lead,"

"They can lead, unless you're worried that you might become dispensable." The lord chuckled, 

"Of course not, but I will not have my females thinking that they are more than what they are."

"And what is that?" Rhys' voice was a low warning,

"Wives and mothers, homekeepers, not warriors, that is and has always been, a male role, I will not allow you to destroy our culture." With that he stood and left, leaving silence in his wake,

"Anyone who tries to ignore any laws will be punished as such, if help is needed to adjust it can be provided, or if there are genuine concerns outside of 'females' place' do send me a letter, and I will address them as best I can." Rhys then stood, and rested a hand on Azriel's shoulder, winnowing them both back to Velaris.

Azriel almost stumbled on hitting the ground outside the River House,

"I'm sorry," he muttered, and Rhys blinked,

"What?"

"That was awful, you should have known exactly what they wanted and how to truly avoid a war, that just delayed it."

"I know enough to know that truly avoiding a war is near impossible,"

"But not impossible, not with the right intel."

"Az, you did everything right, anything more drastic would have been noticed," he placed a hand on Azriel's shoulder, "You didn't think you'd find much, don't worry," Azriel turned away,

"I didn't expect much, but I expected something, you shouldn't have had to go in there blind." 

"Az, really, it's fine, your spies not being able to find anything tells us something else, we know at least that they're all being very careful with what they say, that they don't trust their own, and can't be unified." That was true, and Azriel nodded, "C'mon, we've got to make a plan, Feyre's waiting, and Cass will be here soon."

"No Nesta?"

"No, she'd already planned to go with Gwyn to visit Emerie." What? Rhys didn't miss the flash of worry in his eyes, "It's okay, Emerie says there's no hint of rebellion there, Mor dropped them off right at her house, and saw them go inside, no-one will attack them inside." Ariel nodded again and pushed the door open,

"Hold him," Feyre immediately brushed past him, dumping Nyx into his arms as she ran for the nearest bathroom. Azriel wrinkled his nose at the unmistakable scent of vomit, he held Nyx at arms length as the baby gurgled and hiccuped, still smelling, and Rhys chuckled behind him,

"He's not going to explode you know,"

"I know, he smells,"

"He's a baby, they smell." Azriel still held Nyx slightly away from his chest, but smiled when he narrowed his eyes, going still and then trying to leap for a shadow on Azriel's shoulder. With Nyx's tiny wings flapping, Azriel only just managed to catch him before he fell. 

"Well he definitely takes after you, Mr Reckless." Rhys grinned again, and Azriel followed him through to the nursery, putting Nyx down and sending shadows racing around him, Nyx's shouts of joy as he chased them almost taking his mind off Illyria, almost, but not quite,

"Thanks, Az." Feyre grinned when she reappeared, armed with Velaris' best cleaning supplies as she made a beeline for her son, tickling him as she tried to clean him up, making faces at him to make him laugh and let her finish cleaning him. "Good boy," she muttered before releasing him to crawl after the shadows again. She flopped onto a couch next to Rhys, and he automatically threw an arm around her shoulders, "Meeting go well?"

"As well as we could have expected, they're all content for now, still grumbling, but they haven't got a decent excuse yet," Rhys explained, "We just need to brainstorm a few ideas about next steps now, so we can be prepared."

*****

Gwyn stifled a laugh as Nesta almost snorted out her mouthful of hot cocoa at Emerie's comment about one of their most recent books,

"He's not evil," she protested, "He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, that's all."

"Wrong place at the wrong time?" Emerie snorted, "He's literally a war criminal!"

"Well, I think he's got potential, he just needs to see an alternative." Nesta insisted, and looked over to Gwyn, "C'mon, back me up,"

"I think," Gwyn narrowed her eyes, "That we don't really know him well enough to make a proper judgement, he could literally be evil, or he could be hiding his motives, perhaps it'll be clearer in the next book." Nesta cheered, and finished her mug of cocoa, staring triumphantly at Emerie,

"She didn't agree with you, either, Nes!" She shouted after her as she ran off to the kitchen to refill her mug, and grinned when she returned,

"Anyway," Gwyn started, "Enough about fictional males, how's mated life treating you? We haven't had a proper discussion yet." Nesta snorted,

"I've only been back for a few days,"

"Still," Gwyn raised an eyebrow, and Nesta laughed,

"It's like, well you know what we were like before, it's like that, but somehow more, with the bond there, really there, everything is so much more intense, y'know."

"Not really," Emerie smiled, "Care to enlighten us?"

"You know when you love someone so much that when they're not there, you constantly want to check that they're okay?" Both Emerie and Gwyn nodded, Catrin, Gwyn had loved her that much, differently to how Nesta loved Cassian, but she had loved her so much. "It's more than that, it's like looking in a mirror, like seeing my soul reflected in his eyes."

"And the sex is good, yes?" Emerie chuckled, and Nesta blushed, trying to dodge the question,

"You have no idea," she finally muttered, earning a howl of laughter from Emerie, "Right after you mate, there's like a pull, and well,"

"Don't tell me you spent your whole honeymoon having sex?" Emerie giggled gleefully, enjoying this conversation far too much,

"Not all of it!" Nesta insisted, "We went to a little house in the mountains, Cass built it himself a while ago, right after Rhysand became high lord, it was the first time he'd ever been able to buy anything himself, so he bought the materials for that house." Gwyn smiled, "It's right by a lake, and when the sky's clear, and there's no wind, it looks like a mirror, like the stars and moon are shining up rather than down."

"It sounds beautiful," Gwyn mused, 

"It is, and, I don't think he noticed, but when we went down to the lake one evening, some of the stars, they crested just over his wings, and almost looked like a set of armor, but then it disappeared, right as he pointed out some of the constellations, Enalius, he's the one I remember best, but there was a lion one, and a pegasus, and," Nesta paused, and pursed her lips, trying to remember, "And, oh a wolf. And then, he picked me up, and flew above the trees, and the stars were shining over the mountains in the distance. We picked a star. It's our star, whenever I look at it, I have to think of him, and when he looks at it he has to think of me. I know it's a bit lovey-dovey, but I like having that, even when he's not right here."

"I think it's cute," Gwyn squeezed Nesta's hand, "I'm gonna get some more marshmallows," she gestured to the dismally boring mugs of cocoa, and slipped off to the kitchen, and swore when she saw that they'd run out, "Em!" She shouted up the stairs, "You got any more marshmallows?"

"Yeah, there's some in the parlor at the side of the house, I think," Emerie shouted back, before howling with laughter, presumably at Nesta's expense, and Gwyn chuckled to herself as she stepped outside, the cold air nipping at her face as she quickly skirted round the house, keeping an eye out before rummaging through to find the marshmallows.

A hand clamped over her mouth, and muffled Gwyn's scream as she was dragged backwards, no, no, no, she couldn't, not again, tears pricked her eyes as she fought desperately to regain her balance, her panic clouding her mind. She forced herself to stop, to take a deep breath in. It was dark, no-one else was around, Nesta and Emerie were too far away to help her. She glanced around as much as she could, there, Emerie had a wood-chopping block set up, and the axe was still there. She relaxed, and stopped struggling, waiting for her attacker to grow complacent. He didn't, just tugged her tighter against him,

"You're one of the bitches who thought that females can fight," a voice hissed in her ear, "We'll see what our 'oh so powerful' High Lord thinks when he finds out we have you." Gwyn shivered in fear, slowly trying to loosen his grip on her, but the moment he slightly let go, he spun her around and threw her to the floor, she was several hundred meters from the house now, even if she screamed nobody would hear her. Right as she tried to get up, he kicked her hands out from underneath her, pinning her wrists to the floor. She couldn't breathe. This was it. She was going to die, right here, right now, she was going to die. "Pathetic," the male hissed, "Girls like you should know better than to go outside in the dark on your own, even if the camp is loyal, some of us don't agree with the new laws." Gwyn ignored him, focusing on keeping her breathing slow, but each time he adjusted his grip on her, it sped back up. She had to distract herself, something happy. Nesta smiling, Emerie laughing, male in the dark. It wasn't working, miniature pegasus, male in the dark. Baby Nyx, male in the dark. Azriel. Azriel smiling, Azriel laughing, Azriel singing, Azriel holding her, flying over Velaris, Azriel teaching her silent fighting, Azriel, Azriel, Azriel.

Gwyn surged upwards, flipping the male off, and sprinted for the axe, wrenching it out of the wood, and hurled it at her assailant, only turning back in her mad sprint for the safety of the house at his grunt of pain. He stumbled, blood seeping out through his leathers as he inspected the gash in his thigh,

"Bitch," he hissed, and Gwyn flew for the door, latching it behind her,

"Nesta! Emerie!" Gwyn screamed, backing away from the door, Nesta was the first down the stairs, "We have a problem, call Cassian now, get someone here to fetch us early, he'll break down the door soon." True to her words, a banging started on the doors, and stopped, but then intensified, oh shit, he had the axe, she'd practically given it to him, and he was going to kill them. "You have any weapons, Em?" Emerie silently shook her head, 

"Only kitchen knives,"

"That'll do," Nesta muttered, "C'mon, we should be ready for when he gets in." Gwyn followed Nesta into the kitchen, quite happy to let her plan, and position them all. The banging stopped, he was in, but then there was a thump, and the door squeaked open, so it was still on its hinges,

"Nesta? Gwyn? Emerie?" Mor. Gwyn stood out of her hiding place, and Emerie ran for Mor, her wings almost knocking them both off their feet as she crashed into Mor's arms,

"Thank the gods," she muttered, "We thought we were going to have to fight him off with cutlery." Mor snorted,

"Not on my watch, let's get out of here." Emerie wrapped her arms around Mor's waist, and Nesta and Gwyn each held an arm, only letting go once they reached the House of Wind, "There's not a spare room here, there's already one in the townhouse though, I'll stay with you if you prefer, Em." Emerie smiled and nodded,

"Yeah, okay, thanks." And held on to Mor as she winnowed them away again. Gwyn had barely registered arriving before Cassian hurtled through the door, and cupped Nesta's face in his hands,

"Are you hurt? Who tried to hurt you? I'll kill him, I'll kill him." Nesta reached up to cup his face,

"I'm fine, I'm fine Cass, no-one touched me, Mor was there quickly enough." Cassian gathered her into his chest,

"I'm never leaving your side again," he muttered, kissing the top of her head, and Gwyn almost wanted to leave, but that felt more awkward,

"That's a bit dramatic," Nesta giggled,

"I mean it, sweetheart, I'm going nowhere, from now on, I get to tag along on girls night." Nesta snorted again,

"Only if you let us braid your hair."

"Deal." Gwyn's attention was drawn away by a little noise behind her, and she turned to find Azriel waiting,

"How long have you been there?" She asked, and he shrugged,

"I didn't want to startle you," Gwyn just wrapped her arms around his neck, raising herself on her tiptoes just to reach, "Are you okay?" He muttered, noting the mud all over her clothes,

"Yeah, just a bit shaken, he didn't get a chance to actually hurt me, just scared me a bit." Azriel nodded, and squeezed around her waist a little, "I panicked,” she admitted, "All the training we've been doing, and the first time I got ambushed, I panicked."

"That's okay, it's normal, you still got away, that's still great." Gwyn sighed,

"I suppose, but what if it happens again, I mean it was a male in the dark, and I just froze," tears formed in her eyes when Azriel gently tipped her chin up to look at him, 

"That is normal, Gwyn. You did so, so well by realizing that you were panicking and working through it to escape, you did, I am so proud of you for that." Gwyn smiled, just a little, but it made Azriel grin at her, "Do that again."

"What?"

"Smile." She did,

"Thank you, Az." She mumbled, letting him lead her back to her rooms and draw up a bath. He stayed sat on the bed while she washed, talking gently, almost nonsense, but his voice, just his voice chased away the remaining fear, and Gwyn found that she was exhausted, and was almost asleep when she flopped into bed, barely registering when Azriel brushed her hair out of her face and kissed her brow gently before leaving her to sleep. Gwyn tried to call out his name, to ask him to stay, but he was gone, and sleep claimed her quickly.

Tired as she was, dreams plagued her sleep, dreams of faceless males, in the dark, dreams that she hadn't had in years, dreams of Catrin's face, smiling and laughing, then crying silently in fear, dreams of the younglings she had to protect before they shared her sister's fate. Her eyes flew open right as that Hybern commander's face appeared in her dreams. She stumbled to the bathroom, staring straight into the mirror.

I'm safe.

It's over.

I'm in Velaris.

I'm safe.

It's over.

I'm in Velaris.

It wasn't working, her usual calming ritual wasn't working, she couldn't calm herself down, she splashed her face with water, deep breaths, deep breaths. The bed was drenched in sweat when she returned, sweat that felt like blood, Catrin's blood, just like the nightgown clinging to her skin now. Gwyn stepped back into the bathroom, and cleaned herself up before changing into a new nightgown. When she returned to the bed, it was clean, new sheets in place,

"Thank you," she whispered, just about managing to fall asleep until a voice filled her dreams

That one's mine.

Gwyn hurled herself out of bed, she had to get out, she had to just get away, she threw the door open, a sob rising in her chest as he eyes fell on the door across from hers, as the scent from that room reached her. Male, but safe, male, but safe, male, but she didn't fear it, no, she didn't fear it, she loved it. She threw the door open, the sobs finally forcing their way out of her as she ran fro Azriel. She sobbed as she crawled onto the bed, into his arms, and buried her face in his chest,

"Az," she sobbed, and he mumbled gently to her, she couldn't quite make out the words, but his voice was calm, soothing, and she snuggled into him, "I had a nightmare," she muttered by way of an explanation, and Azriel gently stroked her hair, "About Sangravah, I was scared."

"You're safe here," he mumbled, "I'm right here, no-one can touch you, not while I'm here." She nodded and sniffed again, fear dissipating with every word he spoke, and giggling when a shadow wrapped around her, 

"They're protecting me," she giggled, and gradually drifted back to sleep, nightmares held at bay as she slept this time. She was safe here, with him. Gwyn slept the whole night snuggled against Azriel's chest, safe in his arms.

#fanfiction #fanfic #acotar #acosf #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #azriel #azriel x gwyn #gwyn #gwyn acosf #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara

[betweentheracks]

On a scale of 1-5000, how annoyed do you get when people have the gall to tell you, “Wow! You’re so lucky!” when they find out that you work in entertainment and with celebrities?

Also on a scale of 1-5000, how unimpressed are you with the celebrities you end up working with?

Please share some horror stories so we can commiserate over nightmare clients! 😂

Yeef and also yikes, do I actually want to dive into this particular can of worms? Lmao. 

I thoroughly see spots of red in my vision whenever people try to do the whole “Wow, that’s really cool and lucky for you! How many famous people have you met or worked with? Your life must be so glamorous and exciting!!” Like please, spare me. It isn’t glitz and glitter all the time - in fact, the fun parts are in the minority of how working in this industry goes. Beyond that, I’m not ‘lucky,’ I worked my ass off to pull this off and have never slowed my pace (until this COVID-19 chaos) to ensure my post remains relevant. In accordance to your ranking, I guess I would go with 4999 points annoyed.

Frankly, my rating and impressions of my clients are like a river that flows on and on and yet there is no apparent water to be found. I have a good rapport with most of the ones I am contracted with exclusively, but they're prone to make my feelings change from sentence to the next. Celebrities will forever remain exhaustively effervescent. 

If you really want some dish, I can offer up some from a client I once worked with in my apprenticeship and how much I hate the time I had to spend with her while also retaining a sense of gratitude for helping shape me into someone that can withstand some of the prickly goings-on of the industry. She wasn’t even my client, as I was merely apprenticing and therefore was little more than a ghost that shadowed one of the veterans of our company. I’m highlighting this now before diving into the thick of what was the worst week in my career thus far because it is extremely important to keep in mind that I was under no actual obligation to work with this woman. 

Ahem, so, story time! Let me start off with first making it clear that even now I will only work with actresses and actors when I have no viable means of refusal. This is simply a preference of mine and stems mostly from this woman’s behaviors and treatments of me and some of the crew I worked with at the time. I was quite young when I entered my apprenticeship, like barely more than 20, and I was simultaneously accustomed and starstruck by the world I was entering. Before the apprenticeship, I had already been working off and on via temporary contracts and commissions as a MUA at the time, so I knew the ends and outs of the place and the people that worked my end of it. However, I hadn’t worked with many clients one on one as either a MUA or as an aspiring wardrobe stylist. Due to this I was still very green and awkward and hadn’t yet figured out the line between casual and professional (to this day, for me, this line is nearly nonexistent) and I tended to make a mess whenever I opened my mouth so mostly I kept quiet and melded into my role as an observing trainee with occasionally useful ideas but was mostly just an extra pair of hands. The stylist I was shadowing was, in a word, cumbersome. They weren’t a very great teacher and had a tendency to drop projects into my lap without much proper instruction or insight and would leave me to attempt making sense of what was wanted by means of vision boards and client portfolios. In much a similar fashion, when a scheduling conflict came up involving the actress which will star in this tale and another more major artist; naturally, he had to see to the client he had a more tangible contract with and stuck me with wrangling our golden girl. 

Within the first 4 sentences of our first exchange as stylist and client I hated her immensely. She was the type of client I abhor to work with; overbearing and demanding, thankless and impatient. She was in the midst of her career finally catching some interest which is the most pivotal time in any celebrity’s career and I like to think she was so bitchy and just plain mean due to the stress and pressure she was under but it doesn’t make what happened any more justifiable. Her immediate and first words to me were, “You’re young and clueless enough to be my baby sister. Whatever authority you think you can have in dictating what I wear ended with the sound of the door opening when you stepped in, get that straight now.” I remember this extremely clearly because I went from gobsmacked to incensed within the time it takes to pop the top on a can of soda. But! I knew at least enough to know to keep my mouth shut and temper my immediate dislike of this person and tried to push forward and steer the conversation in the direction of what her ideal style and presentation should be. It went well enough for all of an hour tops before she domed me again by calling me “baby sis” in place of my name. As I am, in fact, the baby sis of my family I am well aware of when a power play is being maneuvered in on me and spotted this for what it was: her trying to remind me that I had no right to be speaking to her, let alone designing her. This was a culmination of her being upset and put out that she wasn’t chosen by my mentoring stylist and was stuck with someone that had basically no merits behind her. 

Calling me this wasn’t really an issue for me, but it did chafe against my skin enough to make me feel uncomfortable and anxious. Still, I let it slide and she continued to call me as such for the duration of our time together. The true horror of this story is what comes next and the escalation from minor verbal insults meant to belittle me fanned into blatant sabotage. She and I had come to a sort of estranged agreement when it came to modeling her vision board - she wanted to retain some traces of her perceived sweet and demure self from when she was cast in her first role, but play up the maturity and grace she held now and have it reinvented into timeless class while holding a touch of being chic. It was a headache to make sense of since, from a the perspective of fashion and trends at that time, this wasn’t the ideal and even seemed counterintuitive to someone in her position and of her age. I went along with it and threw myself into the quest to pull from the brands she mentioned liking most and for days I learned firsthand how exhausting and tedious it is to make acquisitions and swear responsibilities/accountabilities one after the other and put my name and my company on the line. I handpicked every item and steadily managed to pull off forming my second ever ensemble of 4 sets of styles each with 2 or 3 substitution items that could alter the look entirely while still remaining within the realm of what the client had asked for. I worked upward of 13 hours for 4 days and when I finally was able to bring the client to her showroom and present my designs, I was only able to feel relieved for mere minutes before she began to yell and make a scene. She demanded my supervisor and the head of the styling department of our company both come to tend to her and see what a mockery I had made of her ideal image. She went on to use her acting quirks to insinuate that I had gone off half-cocked and overruled her every idea and word and then dared to present her with such low quality fashions. She even managed to produce a vision board that was entirely different from the one she and I had planned together! It was obviously done by herself and lacked the detailed attention any of the stylists housed in our company would have added, but it was convincing enough to appear damning. 

At this point my head was in a weird place, trying to make sense of the perilous world I was throwing myself into and the fact that this was actually happening to me at all and wasn’t just me daydreaming while watching daytime dramas. After I worked through that initial shock, I was more than mad but less than enraged. I was confused as to why this client was being so purposefully obstinate and difficult for me, even briefly wondered what sort of grievance I could have possibly cost her when I had only just met her and had done my utmost to seem cool and pro like all the seasoned stylists I had worked with. I thought I was going to lose my job and have to go back to my family with my tail between my legs and tell them they were right and I never should have strayed from my original course and career path. I only became aware that I was crying, like big fat tears that made a mess of my face and were embarrassing to the point that I wanted to flee, because my supervisor had given me his handkerchief. It was at this point that I teetered and looked deeply at the person accusing me and wasting my time and efforts and realized that it wasn’t about me and was only ever about her. This moment of clarity, though, was like the opening of a gate I had been clinging to all week in hopes of keeping all my spurned senses quietly simmering beneath my skin rather than wreck my name and finish off my chances before they truly begun. I very rudely told my supervisor and the department head that if they needed proof of my hardwork and dedication to the vision of a thoughtless actress caught in the weeds of her own wilting fame then they were free to examine my copy of the original vision board and compare it with the one she had; that they could check through the 15 or so LORs under my name and in her stead (both names are featured for security means). Anyway, she was attempting to spill a stain across our company and specifically the stylist in charge of me for blowing her off. Her idea was that if I failed in a big way it would make him look like a horrible mentor and cost him some of his reputation. I was merely cannon fodder.

This got insanely long - let’s put it up to me also being a storyteller and writer as well as very passionate about this encounter. It sparked the timid embers of my uncertain pursuit of my career into a fire that has since gotten me through many other rounds of hard hitting clients and their excessive personalities and entitled arrogance. I love my job a lot, but man is this industry full of bullies.  

#peekbackstage #style asks #style speak #anyway now i adamantly avoid working with the acting crowd and my life is a lot more simple

[fandom-queenliness]

Day 12: Disapproval

What’d I miss? 

This is in fact dedicated in honour of the wonderful @knoxursoxoffpenwriter69! Go check them out!!! Their art and writing is literally amazing!!!!!

@felinettenovember

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Félix glared at Marinette from his seat, back straight, hands folded, face set into hard, sharp lines.

Marinette met his gaze as she slid into her seat, giving him a mocking smile to cover her nerves.

Oh she knew, she knew why he was glaring at her like that.

And it had everything to do with yesterday afternoon.

She landed in her room, falling onto her bed as Tikki’s magic disappeared, grinning and flushed after an akuma. The battle had been a whirlwind, and she’d needed to be quick, quick and fast and focused, but they’d done it in no time. Now she could prepare for her study session with—

“Marinette?”

She bolted upright, staring down at Félix in horror.

He had seen Ladybug enter, and Marinette appear.

He knew.

Félix stared back at her, his long legs folded beneath him, books spread out on the floor, prepared for studying. He was early.

“Félix,” she said, feeling numb and flustered at once. “Please, you can’t tell anyone—”

“You’re Ladybug,” he whispered. The words echoed through her room.

She flinched away from them, from the danger he was now in. “Yes, and it needs to be a secret.” She slipped down from her loft, Tikki floating behind her cautiously. He scrambled to stand up, his gaze never leaving her. Marinette felt her heart squeeze.

She trusted Félix, with her entire being, she trusted him, but all she could think of was his body, broken before Hawkmoth. His beautiful silver eyes empty. Him, hurt, because of her.

He knew, he knew, he knew.

“You’re Ladybug,” Félix repeated, the shock fading from his voice. “You’re the one saving this city. Fighting for us.”

Marinette stopped her approach, stunned from the venom and disgust in his voice. She had never thought he would be so… angry it was her.

Surprised, shocked, stunned.

Never angry.

“Yes, I’m Ladybug.” She lifted her chin higher, trying to summon her courage, the confidence she felt in her bones as she flew across the city.

“The hero.” He said softly, too softly. “The first and last line of defence. You.”

Rage, born from fear and panic of his anger, flamed her blood. She had fought for years for this city, for him. His petty disapproval meant nothing to her.

“Yes, me,” She spat. “I was chosen. To be Ladybug, to protect this city. I am the hero of Paris. Surprised?” Her hands were shaking, out of fury or fear. Was she losing him?

Félix laughed, and it sounded deranged. He looked furious, disbelieving, disapproving. “I can’t believe—you were—chosen, you were chosen for this. What cruel person would do this—”

“Marinette is a perfect Ladybug!” Tikki spoke up, her voice carrying all the ancient rage Marinette had never heard. “She was chosen because she is worthy and capable. How dare you—”

“I can’t—I don’t—chosen—you.” Félix shook his head. “You. Marinette, Ladybug. Fighting. Saving people. In the thick of danger. Our hero.”

There was disdain in his voice. She was thrown back, to every time she was belittled by Chloe, by bullies. For being too shy, too clumsy, too small, too distracted and quiet and loud and emotional.

Marinette’s eyes stung.

She had never thought he would be so disgusted with her as Ladybug. He had never held her faults against her. But the way he was looking at her—all she saw was everyone who had ever put her down.

“Marinette.”

Félix reached out, to touch her shoulder, to do something, but all she saw was red.

He didn’t believe in her. He didn’t trust her to be a hero.

He knew and found her lacking.

“Disappointed?” She hissed, stepping away from his hand. He snatched it back like she burned him. “Poor Félix, so shocked and mislead.

“What?” he barked. Anger burned in his face. “Don’t play games, you know what I’m—”

A buzzing filled her ears. She smiled at him, shoving back the tears, the hurt. Letting her betrayed “Are you upset that it’s me? Just plain, clumsy Marinette!”

She threw her hands up. “Are you surprised that I’m the one left bleeding and bruised after every fight saving this city? That I am the one who has sacrificed everything, again and again, to do my duty?”

Félix growled, and she took a taunting step closer, blinking up at him mockingly.

“Are you angry I’m the one chosen? Angry that I was picked for this? Do you think I’m going to slip up?”  

She shoved him, spiralling down into—hate, anger, panic. She didn’t know. She couldn’t feel anything but the intensity of these feelings. Félix stepped back, glaring down at her.

“Are you angry it’s me?” She asked, sticking her finger in his face. “Are you furious? Are you disgusted?”

Marinette wanted to scream at him, to deal him a blow like the one he had given her. “Do you hate it?”

She grinned, baring her teeth. “Do you disapprove?”

“Yes.” He snapped back. “I disapprove that you are on the front lines. I disapprove. I don’t like it. I don’t like this.” He gestured at her, at Tikki. “I hate it. I hate that you are Ladybug. I hate that it is you. You of all people. Out of everyone, in this whole city, you had to be chosen—”

“Get out,” she breathed. Her body shuddered—from pain, from hurt. “GET OUT.”

Félix said nothing as he gathered up his books, shoving them into his bag. She watched him, keeping her fists clenched. He stormed past her to the trapdoor.

He hesitated, hovering uncertain, half in, half out. “Marinette—”

“Goodbye.”

He closed the door.

“Is everything alright with you and mister grumpy?” Alya leaned over when class was finished, concerned. Marinette couldn’t look at her. Would she react the same?

“An argument. I don’t want to talk about it,” Marinette replied. But it hurt, like an ache in every cell of her body. It felt wrong to not be okay with him, to not feel that warmth. It felt like her lungs were ripped apart, her heart a beat off, her blood a fraction too cold.

Alya leaned back, considering her words. “It seems like he does.” She jerked her chin to Félix. Marinette didn’t turn. “Maybe you two should discuss it when you aren’t both so mad.”

‘I hate that you are Ladybug.’

Marinette crumpled her hand into a fist. “There’s nothing left to say.”

She had been ignoring Félix too well it seems. She hadn’t even noticed when he came up beside her as she walked home and grabbed her elbow.

For a moment, first instinct was to turn and swing at whoever had grabbed her.

Then she recognised the weight of the hand, the smell of clean paper and ink.

It set a fire in her heart before she stamped it out.

“What do you want?” she demanded, pulling her arm away. Gods, it hurt to see him, see the lines and planes of his arm as it fell from her.

Félix’s face was a mask, the only emotion she could see was determination. “To talk.”

“We already talked. You made your opinion clear. Now leave.”

His lips pursed a fraction. A crack in the mask. “Please, Marinette—”

“No. You told me what you thought. You told me many times. I—” Warmth grew behind her eyes. Tears. “—I don’t need to hear it again.”

He took a step forward. “I don’t think you understand what I was saying.”

Bastard, bastard for making this hurt. Bastard for doing this again. “Insulting my intelligence?  Why am I surprised. Was yesterday not enough?” She turned away, even though she knew they weren’t done, even though she knew he would—

Félix grabbed her hand, squeezing it lightly. Just as she knew he would, as she played the part to make him touch her again.

“I want to explain,” he pleaded. The emotion behind his voice made her pause.

He’s your friend, you love him, a part of her whispered. Her heart.

“Fine.”

Marinette led him home, let him follow her to her room. Better to do it on her own terms, in a place where she had some control.

She stood in the centre of the room, glaring at Félix. “Talk.”

He watched her warily. “Where’s the… thing. That floated.”

“My kwami. Tikki’s in my bag. She’s asleep.”

Félix nodded; lips turned down in the corner. He didn’t look inclined to start speaking.

But Marinette was tired, and every moment in the same room with him made her hurt just a little bit more. “You have three minutes.”

“Yesterday… yesterday I was shocked,” Félix told her. He wouldn’t look in her direction. “You just—hurtled in, as Ladybug. And then you were Marinette. And then I knew you were Marinette.”

“I was there too. No need for a recap,” she snapped.

Félix sighed, starting to pace. “For one moment, I was shocked. Trying to reconcile you and her. The hero and my friend. It took less than a second.” He gave a mockery of a laugh. “How could it not? Both brave, both so clever, both so similar. It was easy to accept.”

He stopped and looked at her. “Then I was mad.”

Her heart strained. “Félix.”

“I was mad. I was furious. Nothing had ever made me lose my head so much. I couldn’t think of anything else. I’m still mad.”

Please, don’t say anymore, she silently begged him, don’t tell me why you hate it’s me.

Félix’s eyes were big—so big and honest. She couldn’t look away.

“But I’m angry, Nette, not because—” he growled, clenching his hands tight. “Not because—"

“Please,” she whispered, cutting him off. Never had she felt so small. “Don’t.”

Félix ran a hand through his hair. “No, Nette. I’m not angry because I think you’re aren’t good as Ladybug. I’m angry—I’m angry because it’s you.”

Marinette shook her head. I don’t understand. It just hurts. It hurts so much.

Félix took a step towards her, cautiously, nervously. She stayed still. “When I realised it was you, I remembered all the times Ladybug has been hurt. All the danger she is in, every day, every fight. I remembered all the times she was thrown into a wall or hurt or beaten down. And then—then it wasn’t just a hero, it was you.

“My dearest friend. Who brought light and joy to my life. You were getting thrown into the line of fire every single time. And it—it killed me Nette.”

Oh.

Félix took another step forward. “It killed me to know that it was you. To know that you were getting hurt. You were in the thick of danger. You are always at risk!” His face was heartbreaking. She was breaking with it.

“I was just—I couldn’t think.” He was close enough to touch now. Close enough to see the desperation in his face. “I couldn’t think with all his rage. Your words—they didn’t land. To know you were getting hurt, to know that it was you, it drove me insane. I said horrible things, and I didn’t even realise that you would think I meant something else until today.”

She wanted to hold him. She wanted to reassure him, but he kept talking, words fast and pleading.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, to make you think that I—that I didn’t believe in you.” He shook his head, a little smile on his lips. “Gods, I couldn’t think of anyone better for being a hero. You’re incredible. You’re a hero.”

Joy, joy filled Marinette. He doesn’t hate it. He’s glad it’s me. The ache was fading, and all she wanted to do was laugh for joy that he wasn’t leaving.

“But I was angry you were chosen for this.” Félix gripped his hair, tugging on it. Her hands reached out to pull them away—to make him stop punishing himself—but they dropped before she could.

“I was mad someone picked you, specifically to face these villains with no end in sight. That someone I love so much was in so much danger that I—”

Love, love, love, love. The word pounded through her blood.

Félix struggled to find words, to choke them out. “I’m—I—”

He lowered his head, eyes closed.

“I’m sorry,” Félix murmured brokenly. “I’m sorry that I was so cruel. I’m sorry I made you think I disapproved you being Ladybug. I’m sorry I was an idiot who couldn’t use his words properly.”

Tears slipped down his cheeks, and they made her hands wet as she lifted his face to hers. Grey met blue as their breath mingled.

“I forgive you,” she whispered, pulling him into a hug. “And I love you too. I really hope you don’t mean platonically.”

He laughed, broken and wet against her neck. “I love you. Romantically. Please never get hurt again.”

Gods, he knew how to make her heart ache.

She pulled back and leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes against the pain, the agony in his voice.

“I can’t promise that,” she told him softly. “But I can promise to do my best. That’s all I can do, Félix.”

He sighed, and it tickled her lips.

“That’s enough,” he said, their noses brushing. “From you Marinette, anything is enough.”

There was nothing left to say, so she said nothing. Just held him close, her promise between them. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#felinette #fanon!felix #ml felix #felinette november #felinette month

[theteej]

Lee-Jackson Day, yet again.

The feeling creeps in, like a slow fog in the morning.  A sense of helplessness, of grief, of powerless confusion.  It's a freezing feeling, and I feel everything grind a little slower inside me, like the gears of some fading automaton.  This feeling has snuck on me like clockwork these past three years, unwavering in its unpleasant reaction.

I feel it long before I realize why it's happening.  Here in California people make idle references to "the three day weekend."  But for four years, it was something a hell of a lot worse for me: Lee-Jackson weekend, and its accompanying violent fuckery. 

Nearly two decades after Confederate commander Robert E. Lee died the Commonwealth of Virginia commemorated his birthday (January 19) as a state holiday in 1889, adding the birthday of fellow Confederate soldier Stonewall Jackson in 1904 (January 21).  Lee-Jackson Day became a state holiday in third week of January, a tribute to the rehabilitation of Confederate rebellion and a chilling moment of celebrating in the face of terrorized black people the lamentable loss of the slave state.  Absurdly, the state simply slapped Martin Luther King onto the whole equation when MLK became a federal holiday; from 1983-2000, there was Lee-Jackson-King Day, truly a nonsensical mishmash that made a false equivalence between honouring white supremacist slaveholding and a civil rights leader.  From 2000 to 2020, the two were separate, creating a strange standoff on either side of the weekend, Lee-Jackson on the Friday, MLK on the Monday.

I of course knew none of this prior to 2014, when I flew out to Washington and Lee University on a job visit on Martin Luther King Day.  Faculty gave nervous glances at the queer, black candidate who'd arrived just after the weekend, but I still didn't understand until the next year, when they rolled into town.   The Confederates came by the dozens, setting up gigantic Confederate flags directly in front of my workplace, slapped up huge signs screaming that Lee was being disgraced by the "new" changes at the University (which had finally acquiesced in taking down Confederate flags in the central chapel on campus that they still made students of colour attend, under the watchful statue of a dead Lee, to partake in school activities), and they would yell at us, challenging us to see them in their unmelanated victimhood.

It fucking hurt every year.  It hurt every year to see the town I lived and worked in invaded by these entitled white men, women, and children, who spewed invective, who openly missed enslavement of people like me, and who loudly made their sense of disenchantment and complaint very known.

You know what hurt more? The fact that that it was absolutely a right response to the moral bankruptcy of Washington and Lee University, and the white administrators and my fellow colleagues rarely openly responded to it as such.  The entirety of Washington and Lee's largesse, its attractiveness, is its storied 'heritage.'  But that heritage is one of enslavement, of white supremacy, of violence.  And it has never, ever been repudiated.  Instead, it's a shitty compromise, where we hold all the slave-built buildings, the memorial chapel that worships Lee, and we think if we wish hard enough, it wouldn't be violently anti-black, and it wouldn't be a complete mockery to hold the institution as thus.

I needed a job after my PhD, and it was a good one, this job in Virginia.  I had enough funding to do research in South Africa, I had curious and thoughtful students, and for the most part I had thoughtful colleagues.  But the place is an open sewer with decorative bricks.  It is a pit of violence and hatred that is as papered over as the thin-lipped smiles I encountered from my white colleagues and the sorrowful shrugs they offered me without doing anything.  It was the dean who shook her head in commiseration but told me to head to another town (ironically, Charlottesville) the entire weekend rather than see the Confederates occupy my town, the stretch of street in front of my apartment, for four days. It still hurts.  It still bothers me.

Two years in, after KKK recruitment flyers were spread around the town, we formed an anti-racist group.  It was largely well intentioned white liberals, headed in particular by problematic professors who wanted to speak over people, but it was something.  And we decided to finally have an MLK parade.  And in a turn of pettiness, we petitioned to have the parade on Saturday, the day the Confederates usually marched.  And we beat them to the permit.  And all hell broke loose.

I and other people got doxxed online.  i got death threats in my email and my picture was circulated as one of the problems threatening Southern heritage.  My mother cried over the phone and worried if I'd die.

We marched on that parade day and it felt significant.  But I also had to deal with deeply disingenuous white townsfolk who made false equivalences. Stephanie Wilkinson, who would make headlines a year and a half later for finally drawing a line and refusing Sarah Huckabee Sanders service at her expensive restaurant, publicly equated Martin Luther King marchers and the Confederates as 'outside problems' and asked for a neutral free speech zone to accommodate both. I saw the hypocrisy of whiteness and accommodation long before the siege of the Capitol.

Working in Virginia from 2014-18 was a rewarding experience for my career, and yet it came at a cost.  It fucked me up badly.  I had to endure, politely, the daily mendacity of polite white society--of people who wanted to imagine that this was "a good town."  And when I wasn't being threatened personally by Confederates I was being gaslit by professors like Robin LeBlanc or Jim Casey who insisted that they were the good ones beyond reproach and that they were the arbiters of what racism was or wasn't.

I am grateful and acknowledge that I have a career because of Washington and Lee, but if I could do it over again, I don't think I would.

Sometimes I still wake up afraid.  My anxiety became a regular companion in those four lonely years.  I felt belittled and gaslit and frankly humiliated, no times more frequently than that interminable fucking weekend in January where in the freezing weather, I was forced to say out loud that it was absurd that I was being asked to accommodate--with kindness no less--the vicious false victimhood of shitty Confederate whites and worse still the well intentioned crocodile tears of my white liberal colleagues.

When the University of San Diego offered me a job I left what was fundamentally an abusive relationship.  But it never leaves you.

And every fucking year since I've been back, even in the counterintuitive summer warmth of these January weekends (it was 83F/28C today), the chill creeps in.  Part of me wants to unclench in the false calm of the California sun.  That we aren't in the middle of another moment of cruel perfidy, where the people with actual structural power perform their victimhood and demand once again that people like me die, or at the very least, be broken in the dust for the soothing of their petty, pointless pride.

And that's why, after the Jan 6 Capitol assault, another Lee-Jackson Day fucks me up.  Because despite the fact that the Commonwealth of Virginia finally, FUCKING FINALLY discontinued the holiday in the summer of 2020, they're back in Lexington today.  Celebrating once again, with huge flags. Taking up space.  And the university does nothing, just victimizes new black faculty trying to quietly write their way out of hell, and reminding the black people still living there that they are always to be seen as obstacles to be crushed. I can't.  It breaks me, still.  Perhaps because I've cruelly come to realize that this isn't over. I moved three thousand miles away and yet those vicious complainants who see people like me as a threat to their minor existence aren't just invading Lexington.

They're assaulting the Capitol. With precious few consequences. And I've few places to run.

[obserfdom]

False God, Kaylor's New Anthem

False God - the sexiest part of the album, Lover, (similar to the flirtatious Dress in Reputation) to me personally, has a intriguing meaning. I have searched the web to see what analyses so far regarding the lyrics. Nothing much, mostly saying that it is about Joe Alwyn. Okay, let's debunk this one. 'Cause I also know that Kaylors have an interpretation from the gay's angle.

I think, I can speak on both perspectives, since I've been in both. I once married, however my biggest love life relationship was with woman. So, I am really curious to know, in what angle did Taylor actually write this song.

***

We were crazy to think. Crazy to think that "this" could work -> okay, since almost everyone out there agree that FG about love/relationship, so "this" referring to Taylor relationship (lover).

Now, don't you think it kinda strange that Taylor having a doubt about her relationship with Joe? I mean, she was 27th when she first met Joe & with enough experiences in relationship already, not to mention Joe is also coming from almost the same background, apart from different country and Joe gained celebrity status from the cinematic industry, but still I mean, what is so crazy about starting a "heteronormative" relationship like that?

Unless... she was talking about a "different kind" of relationship - something, which in general, still being perceived as 'abnormal'...

Hmmm, interesting.

But wait, there's another way to translate it, that somehow during that moment she was having an existential crisis. She questioned a lot of thing: the meaning of being celebrity i.e. she worked so hard to pursue her dream whilst at the same time she was devastated by the facts that people whom she thought once friends, stabbed her from the back - or that strangers would start to belittle & mocking her for everything - she had trust issue, she started losing confidence, she hold grudge, she was in emotional turbulance (these loosely translation based on her interviews).

Hence: she thought to drag someone to her "crazy" world would be tenacious.

Remember how I said I'd die for you? --> seems like she was really madly in love here

We were stupid to jump --> yet they've decided to taste the water anyhow

In the ocean separating us. Remember how I'd fly to you?

--> ok, again, this does fit Joe. Cause taking it in literal sense, then it probably about her had to fly back n forth US-UK.

However, Karlie still fits the role as well, I think, since they both doing a busy life, mostly continental apart.

Whoever it was for, metaphorically speaking it is about how she was making a sacrifice for the relationship to work.

And I can't talk to you when you're like this

--> later we would comprehend that Taylor was talking about a moment when her and lover had some feud. When she restrospected how during the couple-fight, her beau would:

Staring out the window

(I imagine her beau stood still, in silence, gazed through the window) avoiding to look her in the face, thus she thought:

like I'm not your favorite town

!!! What is her beau fave town?

I'm New York City

(yeah, baby!) And whose fav city is New York? Karlie Kloss!

"Well, Joe can also regard NYC as his fave city..." True - but, Taylor wouldn't be writing something that has no common reference to it. I've googled Joe's city preference and came out with null results. While as for Karlie Kloss, almost everywhere - you can find her boasting around about how much she loves NYC. As a matter of fact - she was the one who convinced Taylor to move to NYC in 2014 (and Taylor has been in love to the city, since).

Furthermore the next lyrics kinda congruent to the above speculation:

I still do it for you, babe

--> "I moved to NYC still staying here to date because of you." See, it still a close referrence to Karlie.

Can you come out with different translation that lead to Joe, instead? If you do, please let me know in the comment.

They all warned us about times like this. They say the road gets hard and you get lost

--> this one is really interesting. We all know Joe and Taylor still together and that Taylor somehow bragging about how happy in relationship she is now. But here as if like her saying that 'something happened to the couple' in FG story. Something big and terrible - something that might cause them to split/break apart.

And she kinda blame, the reason why it happened cause:

When you're led by blind faith. Blind faith

--> what is the meaning of "blind faith" in term of falling in love? Yes, when you are so in love that you are willing to do anything to retain or to be in it. You disregard everything, cause you are so drunk inside the pool of love, lust, altogether. You become 'blind'.

Ok, let's speak in het point a view, first - do you think, you see a magical spark when seeing Joe with Taylor out and about? Hard to tell? Okay, fair enough.

But here, an excerpt from Rolling Stone interview:

Her paused after accentuated the word "if"... to me is her showing hesitation even doubt to the idea of having a family.

Kinda weird coming from her current public image in Lover Era where she continue asserting how happy she is and how seems like, she has found the love of her life.

Further in FG she asserted that she is madly in love with someone whom she willing to die for - to fly across ocean for - so much intoxicated by love as if like having a blind faith!

Unless... the love of her life which she depicted in FG is...

in which because of that, for her to think of the ideas of: 'to be together, be a family'; would be a crazy notion and hard to imagine.

***

Yet, she also made it clear in FG, despite the odd, she was not ready to release the idea of 'stick together for good', because she thought there is still possibility that:

(But) we might just get away with it

***

The following lyrics to me, kinda raw and blatant:

Religion's in your lips. Even if it's a false god. We'd still worship.

(We might just get away with it)

The altar is my hips.

Lips & hips -> you imagine anything? (Lol).

Why False God? Clearly, she still talking about love:

Even if it's a false god. We'd still worship this love.

So in another word, Taylor using False God as a metaphor for passionate love she was experiencing with someone.

But why False God?

My take using gay perspective: is because we know how most religions condemn homosexuality. So with probably her involved in the same sex relationship, which would be considered sin or false by many, this probably her way of saying: "I don't care. I have all the rights to love whomever I want to love, regardless what society in heterenormative world would think!"

Next:

I know heaven's a thing. I go there when you touch me, honey. Hell is when I fight with you. But we can patch it up good. Make confessions and we're begging for forgiveness. Got the wine for you.

In general sense, the narrative here is about normal things happen in relationship. It's about having differences inside romance - a fight, a quarrel- then "kiss and make up".

But again, it is interesting how she chose the religious term like 'hell' and 'heaven' to equate her romantic endeavours.

This can't stop me from thinking that she actually is talking about sacred-secret love which against religious belief.

(Again, her way in saying: "I don't care your heaven or hell! I have my own, in this love-life story of mine!").

I would also like to re-iterate: "Got the wine for you" - seemingly her 'make up' sentence for her beau. But it is interesting to think about her chosen word "wine" there. It could mean literally that they both do love wine or...

"intimate love" - ok very much correlated. Yet further from the same source (wiki), wine (alcohol in general) often perceived as "evil".

So in which way, Taylor denoted "wine"? If its in devilish way, yes, then it is another mockery from her to religious dogma as if like saying: "I don't mind being perceived as evil. Me and lover will continue doing what we are doing!"

And you can't talk to me when I'm like this. Daring you to leave me just so I can try and scare you.

Hehe, so woman, don't you think? ;)

You're the West Village. You still do it for me, babe.

A shout out to Kaylors on this. Cause west village in literal meaning is a place where Karlie once lived.

Is there any other meaning for West Village? Yes, a big maybe. But unfortunately, I couldn't find any. Perhaps, you can dig on that and tell me later?

Finally, when come back to:

They all warned us about times like this. They say the road gets hard and you get lost

--> if we persevere with Karlie's scenario - then one could imagine this depiction is perfectly suitable to the Kaylors conspiracy theory.

How we speculated that their relationship in trouble - they chose to beard for their career sake - beside continue "behind the scene" with their LOVE that worthy eternal worshipping.

Sounds too delusional?

Perhaps. But since it is still a blank space, one owns a prerogative to write things accordingly. And False God is a love letter from Taylor Swift to Karlie Kloss? I'd say ameen to that!

xxx

Update: Joe Alwyn Fave City (thank you @dodsdmr for this info)

#kaylors #kaylor #debunking kaylor #joe alwyn #karlie kloss #album lover #lover era #taylor swift #false god #taylor lyrics #false god meaning #false god lyrics analysis #taylor swift's song analysis #swifties

[pastelgrungewrecker]

Hollywood Hoax

Ever thought of callin’ when you’ve had a few? Cause I always do.

After Brainstorm left this new world, left his mark the only way he could- Perceptor expected silence for a while when he entered the room.

He had grown accustomed to noise, so it was jarring at first- But not as much as the first time a drink was thrown in his face.

His optic flickered in a shocked blink, hearing the accusations thrown at him as Swerve bellowed for the accuser to leave. Accusations calling him homewrecker, thief, buymech- And then they were gone, ushered out.

His shock was plain to see as Swerve offered him a clean bartowel to dry his faceplates, and whispered for him to head home while he figured this out.

The answer was worse than he could have imagined.

Self-styled historians, pawing through old records; journals left behind when a CMO passed into a light he never thought he’d deserve. Memories, taken so far out of context they were barely recognizable. He watched on the small screen in a dim common area- a living room decorated in memories of the dead and well-loved.

They had called it a biography. They called it a retelling, and a re-imagining. And he watched as a speedster decorated in a mockery of his own appearance portrayed him as nothing more than a side-piece; depicted him as a seducer, as an invader.

As they took his name and dragged it through the acidic silt of rust-rivers.

It was Rodimus who first spoke out; who condemned this joke of a faux-history; and Perceptor’s heart broke when it was Xaaron who refuted Rodimus’s words; claiming that Perceptor’s motives were never easily known, that he had been a master of hiding everything from feelings to grudges.

Perceptor closed his optic, and wished Brainstorm was still here.

It was Minimus who came to his door; the observatory-turned-homestead where he and Brainstorm had settled; the loadbearer in high and vicious spirits and armed with every inch of the law he planned to weaponize.

‘I remember what you gave up for our cause.’, he had said, his hand resting on Perceptor’s forearm, ‘And I will not stand by as you are desecrated for the sake of profit.’

The trial was televised. Xaaron defended the studio that treated memory like a moneylender; he looked down his nose as Perceptor sat in silence after being assured he would not be needed to testify as the people watched.

That raw, painful memories would not be shown to the world in some kind of display.

And then Drift was called in by Xaaron- questioned as he looked down. As he gave his ever-vague answers to guiding questions and jurors watched with bated breath.

::It looks dire.::, Minimus commed Perceptor in silence as Drift finished speaking on the sordid history between the swordsmech and the sniper, ::This will be hard to challenge-::

::Get me a hardline, and a projector.::

::...Perceptor, you don’t-::

::Bring those things to me. Now. And I will show them all my place in this little tale.::

Xaaron blanked as Minimus made his request. Perceptor rose from his seat, and heard the gasp in the watcher’s ranks as he walked forward.

“This is ridiculous, Perceptor.”, said Xaaron grandly, “Memories, as anyone knows, are biased, and-”

“And you should know, as a leader on Kimia, that due to my station; not only is my testimony treated as fact in most court proceedings... But my optic feed is recorded, and saved in a locked drive partition on my processor in the event of a fatal incident.”, was the cold answer, “I never deactivated such a thing- Convinced I would die long before anyone cared to remember my name. Not only is that unable to be tampered with, but it is accessible by an Enforcer of the Accord.”

Minimus looked down as Perceptor took a seat in the witness stand, and pushed the portcover open. As the jack slid into place, his optic went dim, and Minimus called up a holoscreen as Drift looked away with optics screwed shut.

Passcodes entered, accesses granted. Minimus put his hands behind his back as images flickered by too fast to count before stopping- and allowing stored footage to play. Of Ratchet’s flirtations once upon a time. Of Ratchet’s purred promises and sly innuendo.

Of his notes left behind in the morning-after’s. Of his purposeful avoidance in days following night’s spent in the microscope’s company.

Of Brainstorm’s soft comforts, with the glint of bottles in the background.

The images passed by again, and Drift rose from his seat to leave only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder- green as greed and strong as sin, it forced him to sit back down while baby-blue optics bore holes in his helm as audio began to play.

‘Love you Perce.’

Drift winced.

‘I love you more, Drift- darling.’

‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

They both looked back to the console; producers trying to scramble out of the courtroom to be blocked as jurors watched in horror as a sleep-blurred feed caught glimpses of a white mech gathering various objects, little necessities...

Before slipping out the door in the dim darkness.

Optics in the jury-stand glittered in tears of empathy, and the judge looked down at his lap and shook his head.

“The court has seen enough.”

“Not. Yet.”, said Perceptor from his half-aware state.

Images flickering by as Drift felt hot glares on his plating, as Xaaron hissed for an explanation from his clients.

The Lost Light, again- the home away from home a ragtag crew had made. Whispers of the conversations overheard- whispers that included the voice of a CMO-turned-Saint and a Nightmare-turned-Warrior. Teasing that was not quite teasing, jokes just this side of off color.

And then the feed was paused, and closed, and Perceptor’s optic onlined as he pulled the jack free of its contact-point.

“As shown in the footage; not only was I slandered- not only was I LIED ABOUT, and depicted as some... villain, for profit...”, he said quietly before he glared coldly at Xaaron and Drift and the gathered watchers, “But I was belittled and drug through the mud mere weeks after my own conjunx endura left this world. May I be dismissed from the witness stand, please.”

“You may.”, murmured the judge.

The trial ended shortly after Perceptor’s expose; he stared at nothing until the verdict was read, he stared through time until Minimus put a hand on his shoulder and whispered that it was time to leave.

Perceptor exited to silence. The gathered crowd refused to look at him as he walked through the tall doorway, shame hanging in the air like a miasma as he returned to transport and murmured the location of Swerve’s bar when the door shut.

He closed his optic, letting coolant leak from the corner of it as the accusations that were thrown at him played on repeat in his processor; interspersed with the lies wrapped up in old I Love You’s.

The door to Swerve’s was propped open when he arrived; the minibot sitting at the bar with Rodimus as they watched him enter. Rodimus rose first- walking forward and pulling Perceptor into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry.”, whispered the still-young Captain, “You shouldn’t have had to... Drift had no right to-”

“I am... used to being so easily discarded, Captain.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

Swerve slid a glass to Perceptor, something bright and fizzing within it.

“Altihexian Sunset- on the house. No tab needed for you, Perce. You drink on my dollar.”, he said.

“...Dare I ask why?”

Rodimus sighed, “....A lot of the crew were interviewed for that... THING they called a Historic Retelling or whatever. And... Well. Their assumptions played a big part in things too.”

“Ah yes- the crew that made every effort to pretend I wasn’t there; at least, until Overlord was. Or the engines made a spooky noise.”

Rodimus nodded; before looking sharply up.

“Percy?!”

The sniper turned, to see Drift in the doorway. Just the sight of the white mech made his spark hurt, and he looked to the side before going to speak- only to be beaten to the moment by Rodimus himself.

“What is your PROBLEM,  DRIFT?!”

The swordsmech raised his hands placatingly, “L-Look, I was in mourning, I wasn’t thinking right, I-”

“PERCY’S MOURNING TOO; HELL, HE PROBABLY HAS BEEN LONGER THAN YOU’VE KNOWN HE EXISTED!”

Drift’s finials tilted back and down, “Roddy, c’mon, bro, calm down-”

The crack of a fist meeting a face was loud in the bar, and Drift nearly bounced off the doorframe before Rodimus put a heavy pede to a white chestplate and shoved.

“GET OUT, AND STAY OUT- I DON’T TOLERATE LIARS.”

Swerve shook his helm, putting a hand on Perceptor’s in a gentle pat, “Tailgate commed me- Chromedome and Rewind met up with him and there’s a welcoming party at home for you- a nice quiet one; except for Whirl.”

“...And why is Whirl in my home?”

“He’s acting security. You’re a little famous now; and not just because you’re THE Wrecker-Sniper.”

Perceptor nodded, laughing bitterly and quiet as Rodimus berated his one-time TIC in the background.

“I’ll call you a ride home, enjoy your drink and I’ll see you next week, okay?”

“...Thank you, Swerve.”

“Anytime, Percy. Anytime.”

#tf #pastelwrites #perceptor #swerve #kind of an au almost #vaguely canon compliant?

[mrschangrettawrites]

No One Else

Summary: Kandomere’s family is having their yearly reunion.

Word count: 3229

Notes: JESUS CHRIST I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO COME OUT FJDGNDFJNGDJF BUT IT’S HERE AND I REALLY HOPE U LIKE IT LMAO RIP!! TW for mentions of murder and mutilation, and sexual assault. NSFW (featuring my first ever smut scene lmao rip).

I highly highly highly recommend installing the InteractiveFics extension from the Chrome store if you can. To add your name and last name simply install the extension, then click ‘Need to replace something other than Y/N?’ and in the value bar put Name and put your name in the Replace With bar, then click change! And be sure to tick Store this replacement so that you don’t have to do it every time.

Tagging: @butterface-inmy-pancakes

“Kandomere, darling, you must calm down.”

You ran your hands smoothly along Kandomere’s shoulders as he fixed his tie, noting how heavily he was frowning. “This is your family, I’m the one who should be nervous.”

“It isn’t that simple.” He said sternly. “They…” He sighed deeply, hands falling limply to his sides. “Look, my family is...I love them. But some of them are...difficult.” His hands rose before gently cupping your face, pressing his forehead against yours. “I don’t want them to scare you off.”

Surprised at his worries, but also rather touched, you smiled and held onto his wrists. “Nothing could scare me away.” You whispered assuringly. You leaned in and gently kissed Kandomere, letting out a soft squeak of surprise when he wrapped his arms around you and began to kiss you more deeply.

“I love you.” He said huskily when he pulled away.

“I love you too.” You replied, smiling. “Now come on, we can’t be late.”

The family reunion was taking place in the most elite and swanky part of the elf district, which was already pretty damn swanky. According to Kandomere, relatives from all over the country and elsewhere were flying in for the three day event.

“My family refuses to do things with half measures.” Had been his explanation, accompanied by a wry smile.

Since elves had such extended life spans, this meant several generations would all be interacting, some for the first time ever, all in the home Kandomere had bought for his mother. And you were to be the only human, the only non-elf in fact.

You were, of course, no stranger to prejudice from elves. Despite the fact that you had been at the top of your class and had been a forensic analyst for years before arriving in L.A., there were elves within law enforcement who had treated you with belittling indifference at best, and cruel mockery at worst. Kandomere had been the one exception.

It wasn’t that he was noticeably kinder or meaner than his colleagues. In fact he largely left you to your own devices, and whenever you interacted he had always extended you professional courtesy. You supposed having a human as his partner had something to do with it, but you never really bothered to think about that. You never even really thought about him, until the day he brought in the mutilated corpse of a seventeen year old orc girl.

Despite being above orcs socially speaking, the sight had horrified you. While your elven superiors picked over the body and remained clinically impassive, you had to excuse yourself. In all your years you had never once done that, for fear of being ridiculed. But in that moment, seeing the young girl’s mangled remains on the cold metal slab while people who wouldn’t have bothered to hide their disgust of her spoke about her as if she were an abstract concept, it was all too much.

You found an empty supply closet and wept.

To this day you’re not sure how long you had been in there, but at some point Kandomere had gone out to find you, and decided to investigate the muffled sobbing noises. He found you sitting on the ground, eyes red, cheeks streaked with tears, and trying to catch your breath.

Usually, Kandomere would’ve just closed the door, and silently left, never speaking of what he had seen. But for whatever reason, he crouched in front of you, placed a hand on your shoulder, and said “I know”, with the most grim tone and expression you had ever seen.

Throughout that particularly horrific investigation, you and Kandomere grew close, to the point where he would bring you coffee and speak to you before your elven colleagues. Even after the case had been concluded and the girls buried, this closeness continued, and grew, much to everyone’s surprise.

Some theorized you were trying to use Kandomere to get a promotion, while others suspected Kandomere was merely ‘slumming it’, and there were those who refused to get involved in any way, shape, or form.

Regardless, the two of you fell deeply in love, and all the cruel taunts became little more than white noise.

It was now a little over a year later and the two of you were living together, and still maddeningly in love.

“It verges on gross sometimes.” A friend had said once. “I feel like I need to go to the dentist after spending ten minutes with you guys.”

Despite that, you hadn’t yet met any of Kandomere’s family. In truth you were somewhat relieved; handling prejudice in your professional life was hard enough (not even being the live in girlfriend of a respected elven officer let you off the hook with that), avoiding it in anyway in your personal life was something you strived to do (which was why you did the majority of your errands outside of the elf district).

But when you came across the reminder (not an invitation, you had noted with some amusement) of the family reunion from Kandomere’s mother, something inside you stirred. You wanted to meet these people, get to know everyone who had a hand, for better or worse, in making Kandomere who he was today. The man you loved.

He had been hesitant at first, but after some persuasion (and some persuasion), you had managed to convince him to take you along as his plus one.

Operation Meet Kandomere’s Family was now in full effect.

Throughout the car ride you had to reassure Kandomere multiple times that yes, you did still want to go and yes you were absolutely sure.

“If at any point you want to leave for whatever reason, let me know.” He said tensely.

“Kandomere I’m an adult, not a child.” You rested a hand on his knee and smiled serenely. “Everything will be fine.”

Kandomere set his mouth into a thin, skeptical looking line, but said nothing.

Shortly after that, Kandomere pulled into the driveway of a home that could only be described as palatial.

Starkly white against the late afternoon sun, the sprawling mansion boasted a yard that could easily fit several average suburban homes and their yards, a driveway that was basically the size of a freeway, and several floors. While it certainly appeared to be large enough to host the entire family, you were still trying to wrap your head around the sheer size of it.

“Holy shit.” You whispered, before turning to Kandomere. “Your mom lives here on her own?”

“Yes.” Kandomere said, looking oddly tense. He eyed all the other expensive cars, which even with the way they were all parked together, still weren’t able to completely take up all of the outside space.

You opened your mouth to ask just how she managed to get this house, and why, when you noticed the set in Kandomere’s jaw, the stiffness in his posture. You knew that this meant nothing good and you immediately went straight to his side, sliding your hand into his. “Hey.” You said softly. “Are you ok?” You looked over his face, trying to decipher what he was feeling. “Do you...do you need to leave?”

This seemed to bring him back as he looked down at you, trying his best to smile. “No, I’m fine.” He held your hand and brought it to his lips, gently kissing the knuckles. “Thank you.”

Although you weren’t entirely convinced, you walked with him to the front door and into the home, where you were immediately hit by a tidal wave of noise. From the delighted squeals of children, to loud discussions between adults, and blaring music, your ears were ringing within seconds, as you tried to decipher everything. And then came the smells.

At home the two of you shared the duties of cooking and while Kandomere’s food did smell good, it was nothing compared to this.

The aroma of spices both familiar and strange filled your nose and caressed you the way Kandomere would, leading you further into the house as if you were in a cartoon, taking Kandomere along with you.

In your food driven daze you weren’t paying close enough attention to where you were going, leading you suddenly collide with someone, finally bringing you back to Earth.

“Oh God!” You said, suddenly very self-conscious and wishing that the ground would open up and swallow you up. “I am so sorry! Are you ok?”

Now that you were fully aware of your surroundings, you took in the person you had bumped into.

What startled you most was how closely he resembled Kandomere, but...more. He was taller, broader, with a more defined bone structure. He looked down at you, his silvery blue eyes piercing as he appraised you. A dark brow rose, seemingly appraising you, before his gaze was drawn to something beside you.

“Kandomere.” He said, voice deeper than you had expected. “It’s good to see you.” He smiled widely, his sharp teeth glinting off the crystal chandeliers. “Who’s your friend?”

Kandomere’s mouth was set back into a thin line, and he slipped his hand out of yours before wrapping his entire warm around your waist, pulling you close. “This is Name, my girlfriend.” He said stiffly. “Name, this is my older brother. Lazar.”

While you were trying to wrap your head around the fact that Kandomere had never told you he had any siblings, Lazar stepped closer, almost leaning over you, as his eyes travelled slowly along your body.

You shifted a little, feeling somewhat uncomfortable under his gaze, but did your best not to show it.

Apparently finding you meeting his standards, Lazar grinned widely. “It’s been awhile since Kandomere brought a partner to one of these.” He wrapped his arms around you, successfully pulling you towards him in a surprise hug. “Welcome to the family.”

Caught completely off guard and feeling awkward, but deciding to just go with it, you tentatively hugged Lazar back. “Thank you.” You said politely. When you pulled back, you found that Lazar’s hands were resting on your hips, with more pressure than you were comfortable with. “It’s...nice to meet you.”

‘This is going to be a long night isn’t it?’

Meeting the rest of Kandomere’s family was...mixed. His mother already knew about you so she wasn’t caught off guard, and in fact she seemed to approve of you, which surprised you greatly. Most of his relatives were polite, if somewhat standoffish. They seemed to be more interested in keeping the peace than giving you a hard time, which you were grateful for.

The children were less concerned with social niceties, as children often are, but were respectful nonetheless. Most of them were more concerned playing but some clung to you, following you like ducklings and asking questions.

None of this bothered you the way Lazar did. He always seemed to be lurking in your periphery, ready to step out at the drop of a hat.

Throughout all of this, you kept a close eye on Kandomere. For the most part he seemed to be fine, and enjoyed seeing relatives that he hadn’t seen in a while. The only times he seemed ill at ease was when Lazar stepped in.

Kandomere’s whole mood would change; he would go quiet and tense, and would be incredibly reluctant to talk to his brother. And for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why.

After dinner, you volunteered to help clean the dishes along with other relatives, urging Kandomere to relax and spend more time with family.

As you were putting away a plate, Kandomere’s mother appeared at your side.

While you knew elves could be more attractive than most, Kandomere’s mother was still an astounding beauty. Her hair had gone silvery white in her age, but it was lustrous and full and cascaded down in glamorous waves, resting on her shoulders. Her eyes were as sharp as Kandomere’s, and didn’t hint at any loss of vitality.

You suddenly became nervous, not sure why she was there.

“I must admit, I had my doubts when my son told me about you.” She said, putting a plate back without having to look. “He has never gone out with a human. None of us have. This is unfamiliar ground for all of us.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but she held her hand up and you immediately closed it again.

“But whenever he talks about you, there’s a change to him. A lightness.” She smiled. “He’s happy. I can tell. And he loves you.” She placed a hand on your forearm. “And that’s enough for me.”

A few tears came to your eyes and you blinked them away as you smiled. “Thank you.”

An hour later you were putting away the last glass of champagne when you turned and came face to face with Lazar, towering over you.

“Oh! Lazar!” You jumped, thankful that you weren’t holding anything. “Can I help you with something?”

Immediately, Lazar put his hands on your hips, pressing you against the wall beside the cabinet that held all the drinking glasses. “Yeah, I think you can.” And before you could react, Lazar forced his mouth onto yours and shoved his hand up your dress.

You tried to fight back, but Lazar had the advantage in every way, so your flailing did nothing except make him chuckle, and you felt your skin crawl at the thought of him being amused by your distress.

Almost as quickly as it began, it was over as Lazar was tackled to the ground and thrown off of you so violently you stumbled and fell. When you regained your senses and looked up, you saw Kandomere on top of Lazar, punching him as his family looked on in horror.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He screamed in Elvish.

Several relatives, including his mother, had to pry Kandomere off of Lazar, and you saw that his knuckles were bloody. “If you ever touch her again I’ll fucking kill you!” He snarled.

“Kandomere!” You went to him, holding his face in your hands and forcing him to look at you. “Kandomere, look at me!” Your voice was shaky and your hands trembled, but you tried your best to remain calm. “Let’s-let’s just go.”

He looked back at you, his gaze now soft and tender. He swallowed thickly and his breathing became more laboured. He nodded. “Yeah, yeah.” He fumbled in his pocket for a few moments before giving you the keys to his car. “Wait in the car.”

You nodded, leaving without a second look back.

It was halfway during the ride back home that Kandomere finally spoke.

“Lazar’s a fucking asshole.” His knuckles went white, as his grip on the steering wheel became tighter. “Ever since I first started dating he’s taken my partners. Boys, girls, didn’t matter. If they were with me, he wanted them. But this?” He snarled and shook his head. “He crossed a fucking line here.”

“Pull over.”

Kandomere looked over at you with surprise before looking back at the road. “What?”

“Pull over.” You repeated, calmly. “You shouldn’t drive while angry.”

He hesitated for a moment, but Kandomere soon pulled over, parking on the side of the road. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. “I’m sorry.” He said softly. “I should’ve warned you. I-”

You interrupted him by pressing your lips against his.

While he was momentarily surprised, Kandomere quickly got over it and kissed you back, wrapping his arms around you.

You undid your seatbelt and, with some degree of difficulty, climbed onto Kandomere’s lap, straddling him.

Kandomere pulled away and gazed up at you. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” You said softly, running your fingers through his hair. “You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

“Yeah but-”

You interrupted him by kissing him again.

As the two of you kissed, you began to undo Kandomere’s tie and rocked your hips against his, making him hum and growl.

“I don’t think we should do this here.” He said, somewhat breathlessly, although he didn’t stop you from untucking and unbuttoning his shirt.

“I need you.” You whispered huskily. “Now.”

You ran your nails along his chest as you kissed along his jaw, pushing the shirt off of him.

Kandomere groaned, shedding his shirt and tossing it into the back seat. “I love you so much.” He said, running his hands up and down your sides and sending shivers down your spine. “You’re perfect.”

You hummed, and ran your teeth along the outside of his angular ears, biting the tip lightly.

“You little minx!” Kandomere growled, pushing the skirt of your dress up to your hips. His hand slid in between your thighs, and you gladly spread them open wider. As he ran the tip of a finger along the crotch of your panties you whimpered, and bucked into his hand.

“Kandomere!” You whined, drawing out the last syllable.

He tsked, pressing the finger that had been running along the damp modal against your lips and smirked. “Not yet sweetheart.” He said teasingly. “Be patient.” He pulled his hand away and kissed you, deeply, before pressing his entire hand against your panties.

You whimpered and whined as he rubbed your pussy through the fabric, reveling in how wet you were, and he smirked as he could tell how badly you wanted to grind against his fingers, to get a greater sensation from him.

His mouth moved from yours down to your neck, licking and nipping the skin as he slid a finger into your panties.

“Oh fuck yes!” You cried, relieved at finally feeling Kandomere’s hand against your pussy, panting as you began to rock your hips.

“You dirty girl.” He growled. “So desperate, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed, squealing when he slipped a finger inside. “Please Kandomere! Please! I need more!”

He smirked, slipping in a second finger and beginning to pump them in and out, slowly, to tease you. You whined and sobbed, begging for more, but Kandomere maintained his cruel pace, even slowing down. You’re about to beg again when he plunges a third finger inside you, making you scream.

You try to undo his pants, but the fast pace at which he’s finger fucking you makes it hard to even breathe. Once the button had been undone and the zipper pulled down, Kandomere paused his torture to help you pull his pants and boxers down, allowing his cock to jump up, fully hard, the tip leaking pre-cum.

“Get on it.” He snapped, and you obeyed, sliding your wet cunt down his thick shaft, letting out a long, drawn out moan at the wonderful intrusion. “Yes, that’s it, good girl.” He bucked his hips, shoving his cock inside you deeper and making you cry out.

“Yes! Oh fuck yes!” You dug your nails into his scalp, rocking your hips and whimpering as he pressed his thumb against your clit.

“That’s it, cum for me.” He rasped hoarsely. “Cum, cum for me!”

“K-Kandomere!” You screamed, and bucked your hips one last time as you felt your orgasm overcome you, washing over you, as Kandomere’s cum filled you.

The two of you panted heavily as you both came down from your highs.

Kandomere held your face, and smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You whispered.

#kandomere x reader #bright fanfiction #bright imagine

[rosesisupposes]

alright. so. soft, fluffy moxiety is my favourite thing in the world... but i have yet to see any (and i mean ANY) angsty moxiety content. i think you can see where i'm going with this. //eyes the Prompts To Make Your Readers Cry post// number 9?

mwahahahaha specs i blame you for encouraging me

Prompts to Make Your Readers Cry:

9. “I don’t know who you are anymore.”

word count: 1,668

pairing: moxiety

warnings: angst without a happy ending

>>read on ao3

Virgil gets off the bus from work in a terrible mood. They ignored him at work today. Again.

His one job is to pay attention to the safety code and point out risks, but does anyone take him seriously? Of course the fuck not. He’s too young or too anxious or making a big deal out of nothing. So they ignore him, or belittle him, or talk down to him, and he’s fucking tired of it.

He stomps up the stairs of his shit apartment building to his shit apartment that he can barely afford with his shit salary from his shit job.

He gets to floor and hears Patton’s familiar humming behind his door. He flinches involuntarily at the sound. He has to take a deep breath and brace himself to go in. Why is he doing that? Patton is his neighbor, not to mention his boyfriend of two years. He’s the embodiment of sunshine. Why would he possibly be sad to see him?

He shakes his head, trying to clear it, and walks into his apartment. Pat is in his kitchen, laying out dinner

“Hey there, cutie! I made us food. It’s your favorite!”

And it is: macaroni and cheese with just the right blend of cheddar and mozzarella. It smells like cozy childhood evenings.

And that’s just the fucking problem, isn’t it. Patton is such a devoted partner but could he stop treating him like one of his kindergarten students for a day?

“Why are you in my kitchen?” he asks, more harshly than perhaps necessary

“I know work has been tough, kiddo, especially with these late shifts, so I popped over to make sure you ate something?”

“I can manage on my own, Patton, I know how to feed myself” he says with more disdain than is warranted

“I… never doubted you could, kiddo, I’m just trying to help out!”

“It would really help if I could get some time by myself once in a while and not finding you in my place constantly!” with a stronger tone of accusation than is deserved.

“Virge? Are you okay?”

“Did I not just say I’d like to be alone?” with a higher level of venom than has been prompted.

“Oh… okay. I, uh. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Virgil expects to feel bad as the door swings shut behind his boyfriend and the smell of mac and cheese disappears, but his frustration just rises. It’s not like he likes having to tell him to leave - why can’t Patton just give him some space occasionally? And that look? That pitying look as he closed the door behind him? So fucking unnecessary. Virgil is a grown man, he’s allowed to be upset and need his own goddamn space. And he’s going to goddamn take that space if he needs it.

He stomps through the kitchen, grabbing cereal and milk with perhaps too much force to put together the dinner of an adult. Or at least, the dinner of a semi-adult who isn’t paid enough.

That night, he sleeps terribly, but from anger, not from the emptiness of his bed.

He leaves early the next day, earlier even than any nearby teachers.

He stays out late, later than any healthy, happy people should stay up.

He does not see Patton at all, not even for a moment.

Patton sees him, though. Or rather, the tail end of his hoodie as the bus doors close behind him.

Patton is left watching the bus speed away and round the corner out of sight, carrying away his boyfriend. The distance stretches with every turn of the wheels.

Two days pass before Patton can’t bear it and tentatively knocks on Virgil’s door. He knots his hands in the sleeves of his cat hoodie as he waits. The hood is down today, the paws flopping instead of on his hands. The minutes tick past as he waits for any sound in the apartment.

Finally, thuds of heavy footsteps. The door opens inward, revealing messy bangs and dark-rimmed eyes hiding in the depths of a dark hood. Virgil stares in silence.

“Can I come in?”

A shrug and a vague gesture, a sad mockery of a welcoming wave. But it’s more than Patton’s seen in two days.

He perches rather than sits on the couch, not able to sit comfortably. The silence stretches as he struggles to begin.

“Virge, I want to apologize for the other day.”

“What for?”

“I… I upset you. And you’d already had such a hard day.”

Virgil sits on a chair across from the couch. They face each other. The last rays of the early-setting sun hit Patton’s face, glinting off his glasses.

“I was upset already,” Virgil responds at last. “You didn’t cause that.”

“But I know I didn’t help, and I think I made it worse, and I’m sorry, sweet one. I didn’t mean to increase your burden.”

Patton hopes he imagined the slight flinch at “sweet one.”

He didn’t.

“Patton, do you know what it was you did that upset me?”

Patton pauses. “I think it was… that I was in your apartment without asking?”

Virgil scowls, and his eyes are colder than Patton has ever seen directed his way. He’s seen this look directed at strangers, at homophobic family members, at exes. Never at him.

“You don’t know what it was. You’re just guessing. Why?”

“I want to make this right, Virge. I love you and can’t bear knowing you’re mad at me.”

“Why can’t it have been my own fault, Pat? What if I was just being an asshole and took it out on you? What if I’m just a thoughtless jerk?”

Patton can feels a grip of sadness wrapping its way around his throat, making it harder to breathe. Tiny pricks of tears are forming at the corner of his eyes. “You’re not, Virgil. I know you’re not. You’re my darling, beloved boyfriend and I know you would never mean to do that.”

“Just wanting something to be true doesn’t make it so,” Virgil spits out. “Your belief alone can’t make me a better person than I am. The other day was my fault, okay? I’d had a bad day and hated everything and everyone and I took it out on you.”

“Oh,” Patton says quietly.

“Why did you assume it was something you did? Why did you immediately dismiss the idea that I was the one who fucked up?”

Patton speaks through the growing lump in his throat, but his voice is raspy from the effort of staving off tears. “I don’t know, Virge.”

“Guess what. I do.”

Patton makes full eye contact, confused. Virgil pushes back his hood and leans forward. He’s closer, but the shrinking distance is no comfort.

“You don’t know why you immediately took the blame because you didn’t. You didn’t think it was your fault- you knew it was mine. You’re just trying to fix it for me. Taking the blame you don’t think you deserve so that I can ‘forgive’ you and we can forget this ever happened.”

“Virgie, no, that’s not true…”

“Then why don’t you know what you did wrong, Pat? I was just angry. No matter what you did I was going to react that way. And I think you know that.”

The tears are leaking out now, coursing down his cheek as he fights sobs. “Maybe, but it wasn’t on purpose…”

“See, I was right, you do know it. Just fucking blame me for it, Pat. I deserve it. You don’t need to protect me from the consequences of my shitty actions.”

The tiny, shuddering sobs almost make Patton’s next comment incomprehensible.

“But I want to.”

Virgil takes a deep breath. He’s almost shuddering too, but not from sadness. No, it’s an edge of anger on the blade of confrontation. All his nervous energy of biting his tongue is being released and the effort wracks his body and loosens his tongue.

“Patton, I don’t want you to. Ever. Why would you want to?”

“…wanna protect you.”

“Why do I need protection?”

“You’re my precious kiddo.”

Virgil stops short, and Patton freezes. Even his tears stop, for now.

Very softly, icily, Virgil asks, “How long have you felt this way?”

“I…”

“For the last month? Year? Two years? Or does this go back all the way to when we met, in college. When we were both shit kids but I was just a bit shittier. It’s been six years since then, Patton. We graduated. We got jobs. We became neighbors by accident in apartments we pay for, individually. Do you really…” he pauses as tears, unnoticed until now, fall down his cheek. “Do you really think I haven’t changed since then?”

Patton’s eyes are locked on the floor, tracing the terrible abstract pattern of the rub. His hands are clasped, shaking with effort. “No… I know you’ve grown, Virgil. I’ve been proud to watch you grow.”

“Not what I want to hear right now, Pat. I’m not one of your students. I’m supposed to be your partner.”

“I’m sorry, I just…”

“Just what?”

Tears flow down Patton’s cheeks again. “I guess I… I don’t really know who you are anymore.”

The response is cold. “No, I guess you don’t.”

“I’m sorry-“

“Don’t- I can’t hear you right now, Patton. I’m gonna need a minute alone to deal with the fact that all this time, I thought we were an adult partnership. I thought you were the one person I could trust to take me seriously. Turns out we’re still just an RA and a snot-nosed freshman who can’t even do laundry without a panic attack.”

“Virge, please-“

“Did I not just say I’d like to be alone?”

The words echo for the second time in three days. This time, venom is tempered. It’s focused, tailored perfectly to the situation and to its target.

Footsteps. A door opens. A door closes. Through the muffled wood, another door, close by and yet farther away than ever.

The distance stretches.

taglist:

@residentanchor @royally-anxious @bewarethegrammarpolice  @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby  @sparkly-rainbow-salt @astral-eclipse @thelowlysatsuma @adorably-angsty @spectralheartt

#Roses Writes Fanfic #moxiety #angst with no happy ending #prompt writing #spectralheartt #this is my answer to soft owo virgil i guess? #Not Your Kiddo #my smol dark son #my smol soft son #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fic #ts virgil #ts patton

[holmesoverture]

The Christmas Party - Chapter 4

lol see this is why I never post fic, because I’m lousy at updating

First chapter be here Previous chapter be here More info on my fics in general

Warnings: Holmes is kinda stupid in this chapter and I’m too lazy to go back and fix it

Time for exposition woooo

*

“Eight months ago, I was hired to locate some Egyptian artifacts that had gone missing from the home of Sir Gideon Hibbert.  I am sure you all are familiar with the details, so I won’t waste your time by reciting them now.  So far as the Yard was concerned, the case concluded with Sir Gideon declining to bring any charge against young Harvey, but I was greatly dissatisfied with the product of my labour.  I knew that Harvey must have had an accomplice, as he was thoroughly ignorant of archaeology and yet he had managed to steal only the most valuable items in his father’s collection.  Due to the nature of Sir Gideon’s work, Harvey knew a great many people who possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of the subject, but none of them had particularly compelling motives beyond a potential desire for wealth, a desire so generic as to be useless to an investigator.  And so, in the absence of other clues, I had little choice but to put the case aside until such time as a fresh lead presented itself.

“That lead arrived to me this afternoon in the form of a letter from Lilly Archer, a parlour-maid in the employ of the Hibbert family.  In her epistle she expressed concern for her mistress’s plans for the Christmas party. But here, it will be much simpler for you to hear it in her own words.  Dr Watson will be delighted to read them out loud to you.”

He abstracted an envelope from his sleeve and pressed it to my chest with rather more force than I thought necessary.  I nevertheless accepted the missive, which ran as follows.

To Mr Sherlock Holmes,

I hope this letter reaches you in time to be of some service.  I should have sent it sooner but I allowed fear to stay my hand.  Now, at last, a sense of integrity has overcome my qualms about telling you the cause of my uneasiness.

I am a parlour-maid in the service of the Hibbert family of Belgravia.  You made the acquaintance of my employers during one of your previous cases, so I’ll not bore you with lengthy accounts of their characters and habits.  In the three years I have been in this position, I have been satisfied and content in every respect, excepting of course for the incident to which I previously alluded. The entire household was dismayed by Harvey Hibbert’s betrayal of his father’s love and trust, but we have learned to find a new, happy equilibrium following this loss.  Life seemed quite normal again until this past Saturday when Philomena Hibbert told me of her plans for her Christmas party, the same affair to which your friend Dr John Watson has been invited.  It all seemed perfectly routine until she said my services would not be required the night of the party, as she intended to hire outside help especially for the occasion.  I cannot tell you how disconcerted I was by this statement. During my time with the Hibberts I have served at many a party, even at very large ones, so despite Miss Hibbert’s assurances that her decision was in no way a reflection upon my capabilities, I could not but take the news personally.

This alone would not have been enough to arouse in me more than hurt feelings, but on the next night, I bore witness to Miss Hibbert engaging in a most curious ritual. It was very late, and I had bid Sir Gideon a good-night.  As I walked the hall toward the stair, the door to Sir Gideon’s study suddenly opened and Miss Hibbert stepped out.

“Oh good evening,” she greeted me very calmly, though I thought I noticed her jump when first she saw me.  “Going up to bed, I assume?”

“That’s right.  Do you need anything before I retire?”

“Not a thing.  I was just finishing some letters before the party tomorrow.  Sleep well, Lilly.”

“You as well, Miss Hibbert.”

Her presence in her father’s study was not itself suspicious, as she frequently makes use of it when Sir Gideon is not there.  Yet I could not forget her insistence upon hiring new maids for the Christmas party, nor her surprise upon seeing me in the hall.  Her excuse about why she had been in Sir Gideon’s study also lacked the ring of truth.  I had never known her to write letters so late in the day, and even if she had altered her routine, she could not have altered her skill with a pen.  Upon writing a letter, she always emerged with fresh ink stains upon her hands or her cuffs, but when I saw her last night skin and cloth alike were perfectly spotless.

When I reached my room I spent a great deal of time considering these very trivial matters and decided that they were, perhaps, not so trivial after all.  I began to suspect Miss Hibbert did not want new parlour-maids for the sake of the party as she claimed, but rather because she feared I might see something untoward if I were present.  I cannot begin to guess at what that something could be, and so I place the matter in your hands with the sincere hope that the only response I receive will be a firm chastisement for libelling such kind employers with my overzealous imaginings.

Very truly yours,

Lilly Archer

“A very observant girl, your Miss Lilly Archer,” Holmes said as he took back the letter.  “By the time I received her letter I had mere hours to prepare myself for the party, so I dressed in the only raiment which I knew was guaranteed to grant me access to the Hibberts’ home and left my rooms at once.”

I had closely watched Holmes’ door before I departed and seen nothing.  I could only conclude that he had left by his bedroom window, gown and all.

“It is very brave of you, exposing your source’s name,” said Professor Angues.

“Surely you are not implying that she is in any danger from you or Miss Hibbert, you who were too indolent to do anything more than nudge her brother in the direction of your dirty work?  I think Miss Archer is quite safe from you, though given Sir Gideon’s propensity for laying the blame for his misfortunes at the feet of the innocent, she may find herself at the employment agency come morning. Given the events of the past year that may be a relief to her.”

Sir Gideon said nothing, but I was heartened by Miss Linwood’s look of resolute concern.  I could only hope she would intervene on behalf of the upright Miss Lilly Archer, should such action become necessary.  In the days that followed Holmes and I had several long discussions on the importance of protecting the anonymity of his clients regardless of how little harm he believed such an action would cause, or how much better his explanations would be received with the inclusion of such information.  I cannot speak to whether or not he truly understood my arguments, but at the very least he has not revealed another client in such a fashion since that day.

“Miss Hibbert, you’ve been very quiet,” said Holmes. “Perhaps you would care to share with us the history of your association with the distinguished Professor Angues, and he can check you if he remembers differently.”

Miss Hibbert raised an eyebrow and I thought for a moment that she would refuse to speak.  She must have realised, however, the futility of her situation and that nothing she said could make it any worse for her.

“I have known Rodrick since I was a small child. He and my father often spent their days working away in Dad’s study, and Rodrick spent more dinners here than anywhere else.  For years he seemed to me a jovial man, forever sending my siblings and myself on small errands and paying us in sweets.  But as the years passed, maturity opened my eyes and I saw that his good humour concealed a most resentful soul, jealous of the heights to which my father’s career had risen over his own.”

“You do me an injustice,” Professor Angues interjected. “I was not always the bitter creature you describe.  When I thought of Sir Gideon and myself as equals I was both content in my work and proud to be his associate.  But after he accepted his knighthood I reflected upon my own professional achievements and accolades and found them miserably deficient when compared with those of my colleague.  For forty years I devoted myself to my career, foregoing the comforts of marriage and family in order to better serve my chosen field, and to what end?  To see my accomplishments overshadowed by a man who had not sacrificed so much as a quarter of what I had?  It was too much, too much for me.”

“It would be most uncharitable of me to begrudge him such sentiments,” said Miss Hibbert.  “Dad encouraged my interest in Egyptology and sent me to the finest women’s colleges, for all the good it’s done me.  The only expeditions I went on were those in which my father invited me to participate and I derived no pleasure from them, harassed and belittled as I was by the very men whom I had hoped would welcome me as their peer.  I should have been very happy indeed to be an equal to them, but their mockery ignited within me the desire to prove myself their better.”

She paused for a sip of wine.  I thought, with no small regret, how tragic it was that so many brilliant sparks should be snuffed out by the world’s unfair and uneducated expectations.

“Without ever giving voice to our grievances we bonded over them.  With every tribute that came Dad’s way, our admiration for him and our acrimony towards everyone else grew in tandem.  Finally, one clear April night, we aired our mutual complaints to each other and made a fateful decision: if our knowledge and our experience could not earn us true greatness, we would settle for notoriety.  My brother Harvey was always something of a misfit, flitting from occupation to occupation with an incurable restlessness.  He was unemployed at the time and we thought he might be receptive to the idea of any method by which he might gain wealth and excitement.  Upon securing his cooperation, we agreed to move forward with our plans.

“The night before we acted, I was seized by piercing doubt.  After all, every reputable Egypt enthusiast had snubbed me, so why would the disreputable ones behave differently?  I said as much to Harvey, who quickly put me to rights.

“‘I very much doubt anyone willing to illegally buy Egyptian artifacts is going to quibble over the sex or the rank of his suppliers, so long as the merchandise is of a good quality,’ said he.  I took his words to heart and have never doubted myself since.”

“How lovely it must be to have such a supportive brother,” said I, and Miss Hibbert ignored me.

“Our first attempt was unsuccessful, as you well know. Poor Harvey bore the brunt of our failure but loyalty sealed his lips and shielded us from your efforts to identify us.  Rodrick escaped to the States without the treasures he had hoped to sell there, Harvey was evicted, and I was left alone to brood for six long, lonely, infuriating months.  Even if I had conceived of a new plan during this period I would not have had the courage to implement it so soon after such a devastating blow.  Was this my destiny, to never accomplish a thing no matter how diligently I devoted myself?

“On the day Rodrick Angues returned from his lecture tour, I paid him a visit at his home in Surrey and found him in a joyous mood.

“‘I have always believed that even the gravest misfortunes serve a higher purpose,’ he said. ‘But it is only now that I realise what the reason for our failure was.  During my time in America, I was approached by many a gentleman who expressed the heartiest enthusiasm at the idea of owning a piece of Egyptian history. They were so enthusiastic, in fact, that most dropped subtle hints to indicate the method by which certain objects were obtained for them was of no consequence.  I have here a list of the items they specified.’  He handed me a slip of paper containing a lengthy list of artifacts.  ‘Now that we know precisely which artifacts are in demand and how much my contacts are willing to pay to obtain them, we can take from your father those for which we can guarantee a buyer rather than assuming that the most valuable are the most desired.’

“As I perused Rodrick’s list, I became more and more certain that his plan was a solid one and that he and Harvey and I should have little trouble in making a success of it.  Although my father wanted no association with my prodigal brother, I have remained as close to him as before, and Dad never begrudged a sister’s love for her brother.  I was certain that Harvey, cut off as he was, would be keener than ever to lay his hand upon our father’s treasures.  When I later consulted with him I would be proven correct, but in that moment, I felt compelled to warn Rodrick of a probable obstacle to our success.

“‘This thing won’t be as simple as it was last time,’ said I.  ‘Dad has grown paranoid since the incident with Harvey and locked his Egyptian valuables away where no-one can see or get at them.  The only time he displays them anymore is when he is expecting company.’

“‘Has he not told you where they are and how to access them?’

“‘Of course, but that is a problem.  It is only me he has told.  If anything of his were to suddenly go missing, he would know I have betrayed him.’

“‘Then we must plan accordingly,’ said Rodrick. ‘If he only exhibits his collection at social gatherings, then we will raid it during a social gathering.’

“I reminded him of the Christmas party Dad liked to have every year, and thus the date of our undertaking was decided.

“I had intended to hire an additional parlour-maid for the night of the dinner-party to help Lilly in her duties.  Now, however, I made up my mind to give Lilly the night off, and to tell Dad that I would hire two parlour-maids who had special experience in serving at such events to see if it was worth the extra cost or if our regular parlour-maid was good enough.  He agreed at once, never suspecting that one of the supposed servants was his own son, and the other an associate of his whose true identity I would not divulge even if I had such information.”

“I won’t say anything either!” cried Harvey Hibbert, in what turned out to be his first and last contribution to our conversation.

“But Mr Holmes was the other maid,” said Miss Linwood.

“I could hardly be expected to know that,” Miss Hibbert replied, lips thinning with irritation.  “I had never met the woman Harvey employed to help him in this endeavour, so I had no reason to suspect that ‘Chastity Page’ was anyone other than who she said she was.  Harvey did appear to me somewhat anxious when he arrived but I blamed this on simple nerves, and as we never had a moment alone together, there was no opportunity for him to warn me of the unlucky turn of events.”

“I believe I might shed some light upon this matter,” said Holmes, cheerfully.  “It was mid-afternoon when I arrived at Lowndes Square, and I waited at the corner until I saw two women approach this house.  I intercepted the pair and begged them to allow me to replace one of them at the party.  They were at first resistant, so I told a most extravagant lie about my violent drunkard husband and starving babe.  Oh, it was an exquisite performance!  I wish you all could have seen it.  I carried on until one of the women acquiesced and hurried away without so much as a ‘good-day.’  It would seem that even thieves are not without some heart.  The woman who remained, whom we now know to be Harvey Hibbert, seemed very uneasy about the whole business but said nothing as we ascended the stair together.

“Harvey, who had identified himself as Miss Mildred Myers, and I spent most of the afternoon preparing for the party, and I am sure you will agree that we executed our duties most efficaciously, with two notable exceptions.  The first, as you saw, was when I fainted in the middle of the second course.  I was a bit overzealous with the corset, I suppose. The second was instigated by Harvey himself.  As soon as we served dessert he excused himself from the kitchen, giving a pretext that I could not quite hear.  By this time I had already deduced that Miss Myers was not who she appeared to be, so I followed him through the conservatory and into the parlour.  There I found him checking the bottom of each artifact and, if they met some standard that was quite unknown to me, he loaded them into a satchel he had procured from somewhere.  I confronted him and we came to blows.  But I’m afraid I am monopolising the conversation.  Do continue, Miss Hibbert.”

“There is not much to tell that has not already been told.  The reason for Harvey’s disguise was simple.  Everyone knows he is no longer welcome in this house, so were any witnesses to see him coming or going, suspicion would be cast in his direction. But if the parlour-maids perpetrated the crime, then not only would the police have no reason to suspect Harvey, they would spend all their energies trying to locate the sticky-fingered women while Harvey rested easily and Rodrick arranged for the shipment of the stolen goods to America.  We all would be completely safe and free of suspicion.

“As for the supposed letters I was writing last night, Lilly was quite right to distrust my excuse.  I was using pen and ink to place a small mark upon the underside of each artifact Harvey was to remove from our father’s possession. Harvey had complained of having to memorise which items to take and which to leave during our first attempt, so I thought this would make his task all the simpler.  I could not but feel tense and anxious as I hurried to finish my assignment before Dad caught me, hence my surprise upon seeing Lilly just outside the door to the study.”

“But why did you do it, Philomena?” cried Sir Gideon.  “Have I been such a horrible father that I deserve such mistreatment from not one but two of my children?  And you, Rodrick!  How many hours did we spend studying together at university?  How many adventures have we had?  We have known each other these thirty-seven years!  Did all of that time and work and amity mean nothing to you? To either of you?”

“Not everything is about you,” Miss Hibbert crisply replied.  For the world I could not remember what about her had so captured my fancy mere hours before.  “Our feelings towards you are unchanged.  It is only that our feelings towards personal glory have grown enough to overtake all other sentiments.  Now that those feelings are laid bare and our plans brought to ruin a second time, I will pack my belongings and leave this house to seek my fortunes elsewhere.”

Sir Gideon made no move to stop Miss Hibbert as she swept from the dining-room, straight-backed and stone-faced.  She was followed moments later by Rodrick Angues and Harvey Hibbert, who withdrew with neither a look nor a word to the man whose heart they had so casually shattered, and that was the last Holmes and I ever saw of Sir Gideon’s cold-blooded friend and his even more cold-blooded children.

The party could not survive such a loss, and Sir Gideon bid us an awkward, tremulous good-night shortly thereafter.  The other guests, including myself, did not loiter, dispersing into the raw frigid night in a decidedly less than merry humour.  Holmes and I hailed a cab that offered only nominal shelter from winter’s biting chill.

“I fear that whatever gratitude I earned from saving the life of Sir Gideon’s son has been outbalanced,” said I, “and that his disinclination towards you has redoubled.”

Holmes lit a cigarette and made no reply.  I really had hoped the challenge and the exhilaration of the case would have superseded that afternoon’s dispute in his mind. Perhaps such had been true during the investigation, but now that it was all ended, enough space in his brain-attic was freed for him to remember that he was justly angry with me.  I took a breath and allowed myself one minute, no more, of private hysteria over the impending conversation.

“I believe I owe you an apology,” I said.

“Then we are in agreement.”

“I was wrong to dismiss you as I did.  Although we were introduced only months ago I like to think that we have come to know and to trust one another, and you had every right to expect better of me.  You are as always correct: one’s appetites are no reflection of intelligence, as my own actions this morning ably demonstrate.  I pray you will afford me the opportunity to mend whatever damage my thoughtlessness has inflicted upon our friendship.”

His face was turned toward the window and away from me, making it impossible for me to gauge his reaction.  The molokheyyah threatened to make an unpleasant and unwelcome reappearance, but then Holmes looked at me.  The shadows from the cab and the light from the streetlamps combined in his thin face to great and enigmatic effect, but the smile, though small, was unambiguous.  I smiled as well, and without a word all the tension that filled the cab dissolved.

“Where did you learn to be a parlour-maid?” I asked after a brief but comfortable silence.

“How does one learn to be or to do anything?  I practised,” Holmes replied.  It was unsatisfactory, so far as answers go, but I thought it best to not press the issue.  “Now it is my turn to pose a question.  It is one to which I have not been able to deduce a definitive answer, and I thought perhaps you would be willing to provide some insight into the matter?”

“I should be glad to assist you in any way I can, though I don’t see how I could solve any aspect of this case that has puzzled you.”

“Oh, it’s nothing to do with the case.  I have already put the matter from my mind.  This difficulty relates to the quarrel which we have since happily resolved.  Why did it affect you so?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Your reaction to the knowledge that I hold that sort of intimacy in such low regard and am unlikely to ever change my opinion seemed rather more intense than the occasion warranted.  I simply wish to know why.”

For the second time that day he had rendered me speechless.  Everything seemed so clear that afternoon, but now it was as though a thick London fog had obscured my innermost thoughts.

“I cannot say,” I confessed at last.  “I suppose it was the novelty of the idea.  I have never before met a man who was so vehemently opposed to such activities, at least not one who felt comfortable enough to share his inclinations with me.”

Holmes regarded me with keen, steady eyes.

“I suppose I must believe you for now,” he said as he flicked his cigarette out of the window.

#my writing #sherlock holmes #this is old lol

[thequeenoffish]

The Ball

This for soft Thor day! Which @allthingsthorki and @thors-soft-cheeks created!

A scene taken from my Jotun Thor WIP, which I briefly explain here, (Except Thor is more like 8ft tall). It is from halfway through where Thor is falling for Loki set during a ball in honour of the negotiations that Loki must open. I hope there is enough soft Thor here to count! :)

Loki spots Thor at once when he enters the hall, he stands with his brother and father. He is wearing a more formal loin clothe, it has embroidery, but it is in no way as elaborate as his brother’s or father’s, all three are wearing armour that covers their sword arm and shoulder, but again Thor’s is not half as expensive. Loki ignores how this irritates him, how Thor stands behind his brother's instead of next to him also irritates him. But he soothes it, he needs to be calm and charming otherwise this will not go the way he wants. Loki crosses the room, talking to men and women alike, who all hope that he will choose them to open the dance with, but something he knows that no one will have thought of is that as he cannot open the dance with the Crown Prince, the next person it should be is Thor, and he can dance with Thor. He reaches the other royal family, as Odin and Frigga do, so he has the advantage of his own family with him. He catches Thor’s eyes and smiles, Thor at once looks away. Loki looks away and bows to King Laufey, “With your permission King Laufey I would open the dance with your son,” he says. There is dead silence in the group, “I should be offended by your mockery Odinson,” Laufey says voice cold, Loki straightens up, giving Laufey the most innocent expression, “Quite the contrary King Laufey, I would not wish to offend you by passing over Prince Thor,” he says trying to sound as genuine as possible. Laufey’s eyes narrow, “How courteous Prince Loki,” he says voice tight. He clearly hates the idea of his son having any type of spotlight, but the King realises what a great offence it would be to refuse, especially with Frigga and Odin right there. “Of course you may, Thor,” he says turning his head to Thor, he doesn’t bother hiding his irritation. Thor steps forward.Loki looks at Thor and Thor looks horrified at this turn of events, Loki strides over and takes Thor’s hand, kissing it as he bows, his father and brother make choked noises as Loki performs the Jotun courting gesture. Loki looks up from under his eyelashes and sees the purple flush on Thor’s full cheeks, “May I have this dance Prince Thor?” he asks softly. Thor swallows, “Yes Prince Loki,” he responds. Loki can see the conflict in Jotun’s eyes, stuck between his growing affection towards Loki, and the fact that for Loki’s every sweet gesture his family become angrier. Loki stands, keeping his hold on Thor’s hand and leading him onto the dance floor, people part as they realise what is happening, all over the hall people whisper. They reach the centre of the floor and turn to face each other. Loki smiles up at Thor and he places his hand on the curve of Thor’s waist, sliding it around so his palm is against Thor’s back and his thumb rest of that wonderful curve, he pulls them closer, and can almost feel as Thor’s breath catches.“How will you even lead?” Thor whispers, Loki smiles up at him. “Don’t worry Thor, I will not embarrass us,” he promises. The use of just his first name makes the flush deepen. Loki nods towards the orchestra, and the music starts. The dance starts simply, steps back and forth together, eyes locked. As he is on the battlefield Thor, is graceful, and Loki has no doubt, that despite the size difference, they will leave everyone in awe. They turn in a similar manner, perfectly in sync. Their arms become involved, Loki’s under Thor’s guiding it up and down as he regretfully has to let go of Thor’s waist with his other hand. They dance continues and Loki relishes the almost unbroke eye contact, as they approach the first under arm spin Loki feels Thor tense, but he effortlessly skywalks up two steps in time with dance, so Thor easily spins under his arm, their eyes meeting for a second, Thor looking shocked at the casual way he performs the advanced magic in order just to dance with him. Loki smiles back fondly as he steps back onto the floor as the dance continues. “We should swap out the lifts,” Thor says softly as the come up to the first one, Loki smiles, there are indeed other moves to swap out the lifts with, but he will not. “No I shall skywalk up and little, and you, you shall trust me to lift you, Thor,” he says softly, thumb caressing the curve of Thor’s waist. The flush that had faded returns in full force, but he doesn’t disagree. The lift arrives as Loki indeed skywalks up and performs the lift, lifting Thor fully off the ground and spinning him half around before gently setting him down, the crowd gasp and clap. Thor and Loki flow so well together for this first dance. There are no missteps, no fumbled lifts, it is perfect, perfect when they stand at the end, staring into each other's eyes, only a little out of breath. Loki wants Thor as he has never wanted anyone else, Thor moves to step back, “Stay and dance,” Loki requests, Thor’s soft round cheeks turn purple again, “But my father,” he whispers, “You’re father know not what he speaks about when it concerns you, I could have passed over you, I chose not to, because I see your value Thor,” Loki says as the music fades out. Thor looks conflicted, as others start to join the dance floor, many wanting to try and dance with one of them. So Loki shifts his grip on Thor, it to the submissive position for the next dance, “You lead,” he says as there are a few disappointed sighs. Around them, everyone couples up, and Thor stays. The music starts, and now that they are not the center of attention they can talk, “Has anyone told you how captivating you are Thor?” Loki asks softly. Thor’s cheeks flush more, how Loki loves the purple tint, how he wishes to see it elsewhere.“I am not-” Thor starts, but Loki cuts him off, “I did not ask for your own opinion, I asked if anyone has told you how captivating your curves are?” he asks. Thor is rendered speechless, “Because they are Thor, every single one of them, the curves of your waist and hips, the curve of your stomach that I miss so much when you wear your loin clothe at the waist as you do now, the curves of your thighs, with a soft layer of fat that hides so much power, the curve of your pecks, so utterly tempting to reach out and touch,” he praises, “But we aren’t meant to look like that unless we are with child,” Thor protests, clearly embarrassed, “Are you not god of fertility? As you told me yesterday, you should treasure every curve as a sign of your power,” he murmurs. Thor looks away, “What power? It is useless,” Thor states. Loki raises an eyebrow, “You realise normal rain does not bring a place like Jotunheim back to life so well? It is the magic of fertility in you that makes everything more fertile, easier to grow,” he praises. Thor looks shocked, “No Father said-” he tries.“Your Father belittles you and undermines you constantly, why he tell you that you have such power?” Loki points out. Thor swallows, “What do you have to gain from it?” he asks voice low and suspicious, Loki smiles up.“I wish for the person who I marry to be as powerful as I,” he states, Thor’s eyes widen, “I know what kissing you hand means Thor, I know what bringing you furs mean, this is no mistake,” he promises. “But why, I am a runt and I am not the heir,” he protests voice quiet but sharp. Loki grins, “You are utterly stunning, and if have anything to say about it, your birthright will be restored, you deserve it, you are owed it by Jotun law, even if you were the second son for repeatedly beating your brother in open combat,” he states. 

Thor shakes his head, “No,” he whispers, “Why can you not see you I am worthless?” he asks. Loki sighs softly, “Because unlike your family I have prejudice, I see simply a kind, honest, brave, and utterly handsome Jotun, I would have you tonight, and all nights till the end of time if I could,” he states. Thor looks stunned. Loki brushes a kiss against Thor’s head when he is lifted,“Would you let me Thor?” he asks, “If I knocked at your window would you let me in?” his voice is low and hungry, “Would you let me pull off your clothes, see all of you, and make you feel incredible?”Thor is tongue-tied, he can’t speak for several seconds, and look at Loki with wide eyes, “No one has ever…” he trails off. “That simply makes my task all the more enjoyable Thor,” he murmurs. Thor’s pupils are wide as he looks down at Loki, “Will you let me in when I knock?” Loki asks. There is a moment where Thor seems lost before, “Yes,” he whispers, “I will,”***

#soft thor day #international soft thor day #thorki #thor #loki #thor is a soft boy #both in body and mind in this au #be nice to him #he deserves it #also loki can't wait to plow him into the bed #i hope you like it!]

[starscreamloki]

The Smell of Rotten Parchment

Chapter one

Read on AO3

Summary: (Loki x Reader, Third POV, Loki centered). Punished for his crimes against Midgard, Loki is given into Thor’s custody who brings him to the Avengers because he has a mission on his own. Loki’s lips are sewn shut and he doesn’t want to have the threads removed, harboring a secret only Thor knows. The Avengers on their turn have a new team member. Beautiful, mysterious and very deadly, and she doesn’t take any shit from the God of Mischief, but slowly Loki starts to realize he is not the only one with a secret, and Helheim be damned if he doesn’t figure out what her secret is so he can use it, or her, to his own advance.

Warnings: Loki’s lips are sewn shut, Loki is a little shit, he will get what he want and he is a mess. Violence, (mentions of) torture and (hardly worth mentioning) implications of smut. Thor doesn’t understand him and is a brute. And this all is topped of with a shitload of Angst!

Words: 2859

A/N: What started as an idea for a little one-shot ended up in a 12 chapter fic in just a matter of days, and I regret nothing! I so much enjoyed writing this that I’m already planning a part two (and three and four) and (I think) that by the time the last chapter of this fic is posted, the new one will be ready. Of course I have a certain trademark and this fic is not short of a ton of angst, action and some horror-elements. The idea was to make it a 3th POV Loki x Reader but it ended up way more Loki-centred and from his POV along the way, and yet again, I regret nothing. Enjoy reading (and crying) this and please leave behind some comments on what you think of this because I’m very curious!

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Thor took off Loki’s muzzle and a gasp went through the room, faces awestruck. Bruce was the first one to make a move, stepping towards the God of Lies.

Loki took a step back while putting his index finger in the air, rattling the chains around his wrists with the movement, and his eyes shooting daggers at Bruce.

“Loki…” the scientist started, “let me get that out for you.”

Loki intensified his glare and made a low growl in the back of his throat, his eyes set wild but with the unmistakable intend of murder in them.

Bruce shuddered under his threatening glare and looked helplessly at Thor, not understanding.

Loki gave Thor an impatient glare and held out his chained wrists.

Thor sighed, his demeanor filled with annoyance. “You promise me that if I take off those chains you will not harm them,” Thor said threateningly, grabbing the chains.

Loki shrugged and put up a feint, innocent smile, at least he tried too as the threads sealing his lips together wouldn’t fully allow that and he grimaced.

“Brother…” Thor gave the chains a tug, the metal biting in Loki’s wrists.

Loki rolled his eyes but one look at Thor told him his Thor wouldn’t take of the chains off if he didn’t consent to his demand. Reluctantly he nodded while snorting a sigh through his nose. Thor gave him one last warning glare before he took off the chains.

Immediately Loki felt his magic return to him and within mere seconds he had fabricated an illusion of himself covering his true appearance. He didn’t mind looking battered and bruised but at least he could make his illusion speak. “Took you long enough,” he berated Thor.

“Do not make me regret taking them off, Loki,” Thor said venomously and shook the chains he was still holding.

“Okay, stop it right there! Can somebody please tell me what is going on!” Tony interjected before the brothers would start fighting. “I mean, you show up on my doorstep with your brother in chains who looks like hell - no offense Reindeer Games - and without any explanation you take off those chains while the last time we saw him he tried to take over the earth and murder us - again no offence. Please do explain!”

Loki sighed and rolled his eyes again and moved for the bar, muttering some words under his breath.

“Where do you think you are going?” Tony demanded more than asked.

Loki just kept walking to the bar and raised an eyebrow at Stark. “You still owe me that drink,” he said casually and pulled a bottle from the shelf, opened it and sniffed its contents and decided it would suffice. As Loki brought the bottle to his lips his brows furrowed. Although his illusion could talk, and therefore open its mouth to drink something, his true form could not. Angry he put the bottle down, almost shattering the glass.

“Yes, please do explain,” Clint said with one eye on Thor and the other warily eyeing the God of Mischief who gave him a predatory grin, sending shivers up Clint’s spine.

“The Allfather has given me a mission to accomplish. Yet, the target of that mission is somewhere on Midgard, although I do not know exactly where, and thus I returned.”

“That does not explain why he is here,” Clint spat pointing at Loki.

“Loki has been sentenced for his crimes on Midgard. He has been placed under my custody and I could not leave him behind on Asgard while I’m meant to keep an eye on him,” Thor sighed which drew another murderous glare from Loki who was still fidgeting with the bottle of alcohol, it’s contents still locked away from his grasp.

Bruce walked to the bar and rummaged through the cabinets while eyeing Loki warily, whose feeling were completely mutual and acted the same towards the scientist. Bruce pulled out a glass and a straw and placed it on the bar and carefully backed away, leaving the God to figure this concept out for himself. Loki wasn’t stupid and sighed in exasperation.

Natasha, who had been silently listening during the whole ordeal finally spoke up, “and why are his lips sewn shut?”

“Because it hurts less than your muzzle,” Loki interjected sarcastically while giving the Widow an exhausted glare.

“That can’t be more comfortable than that,” Bruce offered eyeing Loki with some confusion.

Loki raised an eyebrow and seriously questioning the intelligence of the mortal. “I really can not phantom why you need to know the details, for it is not of importance. Thor is going to find his target and we can get out of here as soon as it is allowed.” Loki advanced towards his brother, the scorn clear in his voice but Thor knew better and briefly caught the threatening look he got from Loki to not tell them the true reason his mouth was sewn shut.

It was silent for a moment before Bruce spoke up, “can I at least remove the wires? It does not look healthy and it might infe-”

“NO!” Loki shouted, his illusion briefly wavering at his outburst and Bruce took an involuntary step back.

Thor put a hand on Loki’s shoulder. “Brother please, control your anger. You do not want to antagonize Bruce or-”

“Yes, yes, or the green monster comes out,” he interrupted Thor with apparent irritation but briefly flinched at his own words. He briskly shoved Thor’s hand off his shoulder and walked back to the bar, smirking at Bruce while he passed the man.

“Is he going to help in this mision of yours?” Tony asked Thor while nudging his head towards Loki.

“I am actually more concerned for my safety, or better said, that of the earth,” Clint spat. “How are you so sure he won’t harm us?”

Thor held up the chains. “If Loki is intended on harming anyone, I’ll put these back on for they seal of his magic,” and he gave Loki another warning glare.

Loki made an angry noise at the back of his throat at the sight of the shackles dangling from Thor’s fist. He poured the liquid in the glass and used his illusion to mask the fact that he needed a straw to drink, making it look as if he was casually sipping the liquid from the glass.

“So, if I understand correctly,” Natasha spoke, “the chains seal of his magic, and if he doesn’t have his magic he can’t create an illusion on himself - or whatever it is he currently is doing - and thus can’t speak either because his lips are… sewn shut and so he can’t lie either?”

“You are quick to catch on,” Loki taunted but was ignored.

Thor nodded. “Yes, and the used wire is also infused with magic and-” Thor had to dodge as Loki hurled the glass towards his brother, shattering it against a glass window.

“Wow, wow!” Tony said shocked, trying to calm the situation as he saw the murderous look in Loki’s eyes and the anger flaring in Thor’s. “He clearly doesn’t wanna talk about that, so leave it. It doesn’t matter, just stop before the two of you tear down the place!”

Loki smoothed his face and buried the anger he was feeling. It wasn’t so much that Loki was angry with Thor, for he hadn’t done this to him and was actually indirectly also punished for Loki’s crimes because he had the custody over Loki. The bitterness Loki was feeling was because everything that happened during his trail and before they had arrived on Midgard again. It was only because Thor’s target had let them here that he was now stuck with some over-curious so-called heroes who tried to find answers to questions they shouldn’t ask.

The door opened. “She is installed and-” Steve broke mid-sentence as he saw the two Gods upon entering the room. “What is he doing here?” Steve said warily as he saw Loki who scoffed at his question.

“Where are you going?” Tony asked with a little bit of panic in his voice as he saw Loki move for the door.

“Out to explore this… home?” Loki said while eyeing the area with disdain.

“Uhm, no. You are staying here where I can see you,” Tony said belittling.

“Try and stop me,” Loki said casually and walked into the hallway.

“Jarvis, keep me informed on his movements, and seal of the lab and… Well, seal of every area where he could do harm.”

“Yes sir,” Jarvis spoke.

“And keep an eye on her as well, Jarvis,” Steve said to the AI.

***

As she fired the arrow she heard someone speak behind her, his voice dark and filled with mockery, “you are not very good at this, are you?”

She sighed. It had been quite a while since she had last shot an arrow, her life never giving her the time to practice more. Of course she had first spend hours to craft the arrows to her liking, but she was satisfied and now was finally able to practice for the first time since a year.

Because it had been a while almost all her arrows had missed the target and had ended up in the wall or in white of the paper.

She sighed and actually she did not want to answer the person who had asked the question. She set another arrow and let it fly loose, the arrow shivering in midair and missing the paper.

She heard the new arrival scoff behind her.

The third arrow she fired barely graced the paper and the man belittled her once more for her poor performance.

She slung her bow over her shoulder and walked to the wall to retrieve her arrows. She eyed the God as she walked back to her firing position.

His hair was raven black, his pale skin fair and his green eyes tried to pierce her soul under his scrutinizing glare.

She gave him a mocking smile and he raised his eyebrows at her insolence. “Do you even know who I am, cheeky girl,” he asked in that same belittling tone.

As she let another arrow fly - which missed its mark - she answered him, “yes, Loki, I know who you are.” She fully knew who he was and she also knew he could be quite mocking, arrogant and belittling, which she was currently experiencing first hand.

Another arrow missed.

“My, my. I sincerely hope this isn’t your profession in this team of so-called heroes because I wouldn't trust you to have my back,” his arrogance resonating in his voice.

The arrow flew wide at his words and landed on the floor.

She didn't answer him. She didn't want too and she needed to concentrate as she let another arrow fly, this one ending up in the black ring, the first one of many actually closing in on the bullseye.

“You missed,” Loki said stating the obvious, his voice casually but a hint of disgust intertwined in it.

Arrogant and mocking, Loki was really getting on her nerves. She had just wanted to practice after settling in the tower with the Avengers. It had taken her hours to craft the arrows, their black shafts carefully crafted with intercrate patterns, their tips shining white matching the white feathers. Just her and the bow, trying to become one with it again, yet here was the God of Lies annoying her with only his mere presence. She hadn't even introduced herself to him and he was already making her blood boil.

After two more arrows she went to retrieve them again, both shots missing and both of them getting a snippy remark from Loki.

As she was back at the line again she could feel his eyes scrutinizing her once more, his eyes probably roaming her body, in his mind ravishing it and she felt very uncomfortable. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” she asked him with a sigh.

“No,” he casually said and crossed his arms while leaning against the wall, still eyeing her.

Another arrow missed.

“I seriously hope your aim is better during other activities,” Loki said amused but she picked up on the suggestive tone easily. For a second her composure stiffened and she heard him snicker.

That was it! She set another arrow to her bow and she started to whisper.

“If you mutter your answer I can’t hear you,” Loki taunted.

Right before she fired her shot she turned, still whispering, and aimed for the God of Lies. She loosened and the arrow narrowingly missed his ear, cutting of a little strand of his hair that stuck on the arrow in the wall. A faint smell of rot and parchment hung in the air.

Loki’s face dropped and was soon replaced by a scowl. “You little Mortal!” he said angrily, “don’t ever do that again!”

She shrugged. “Then stop annoying me,” she casually said flashing him a smile and Loki grunted.

She shot another arrow and missed the paper again. “You know,” Loki started, “it is a good thing you are so bad at this, that arrow narrowly missed me and could have landed between my eyes.”

“If you don’t shut up the next one will land between your eyes!” she shouted angrily at him.

Loki laughed. He really was trying to get on her nerves, seeing how far he could go before she would give up her futile attempts at hitting her mark. “I do not think you are capable of that and if you’d succeed, it would be a lucky shot,” he said with a smile on his face.

She set another arrow. “No, it wouldn’t,” she fired the arrow, again in the black ring.

Loki laughed. “You are lying to yourself, little one, next time I’m going to invade this Realm, I’ll start with killing you. One less Avenger in front of my feet, easy kill. That, or I might do something else to you…” his words trailed and a wolvish grin spread across his face.

She grimaced as she remembered that faithfull day that had wrecked her life. It frightened her how casually he spoke about what he had done and seemed to have no problem at all with all the blood he had shed. Innocent blood. Blood of children, parents… Friends.

A pang of emotional hurt wrecked her and a sad look crossed her face which was soon replaced by one of anger. As she set another arrow she started to whisper again, the ancient words of a language long forgotten by mankind rolling of her tongue. She could feel the words hooking on the arrow and a scent of rotting parchment filled the air. This time she was done with Loki’s blatant words and his insinutive tone. His actions had cost her dearly and she wanted to put the God in his place once and for all, showing she was not to be messed with.

“The whispering again,” Loki laughed. “Is this something you also do wh-”

Loki never got to finish his sentence because she turned once more in his direction and set the arrow loose going straight for his head. Just before it would lodge between the God’s eyes the arrow stopped, hovering in mid air and Loki had to squint to see the arrows tip barely touching the skin right between his eyes.

Shock washed over his face and she could hear him swallow.

“You are not the only one with magic in this building, Trickster,” she sneered challenging and with a short word the tip of the arrow touched the skin on his forehead. “And I’m not sure whether or not you know who I am, or my profession, but you might want to treat me a little bit more careful,” with another word the arrow slowly inched forward, making Loki’s illusion waver and she briefly got a glimpse of the way he truly looked.

The glimpse was brief, but it was enough for her to catch on the reasons Loki was antagonizing her and she made the arrow stop. “But I very much like you to apologize for your terrible behaviour.”

Her words were bold and once Loki had recovered from his initial surprise, he laughed. It wasn’t a mocking laugh this time, but one of genuine mirth and even a little admiration. “Asked by the vixen who is currently driving an arrow between my eyes.” He grabbed the arrow and his illusion wavered again. Quickly Loki decided not to touch the thing for he truly did not want to let his illusion fall in the presence of this meager mortal who tried to threaten him.

As if she could read his mind she spoke again, her words spitting, “and by the way, I am not Mortal!”

She muttered some words in the ancient language and the arrow floated through the air, returning to her hand as she set it on her bow to shoot again. This time she hit the bullseye and she heard Loki snicker behind her and a little smile formed on her lips at his words.

“I like her.”

Next Chapter

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Taglist: @luracantspell​

General taglist:  @lusty-loki, @destiel1597,  @laralaufey, @welcome-to-fangirl-hell, @fairlightswiftly, @lokikingofasgardslover713, @daddymarvel, @vesperazylra, @annievvv7, @myclock, @hiddlestoner3095

(let me know if you want to be added to a taglist)

#loki #loki fanfic #loki x reader #dark!loki #loki avengers fic #tom hiddleston #tony stark #steve rodgers #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #thor #clint barton