#everybody's relationships with their family is a bit less important here than their relationships with their Friends here you know? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ranticore · 2 months

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Two shortwing rival academics and a lil bit about spire culture

The East North Spire (or honestly just 'Spire', people will know what you mean) is the most densely populated location on the planet. It consists of the remains of one of the largest old telecommunications spires on a cliff. The sea around here is shallow and dense with reedbeds which can be used to make building material. Wood (or an alien equivalent) doesn't exist on Siren so reeds make up most permanent and impermanent structures, as well as providing the pulp with which to make paper and the extremely light reedsilk clothing that harpies wear.

Being surrounded by abundant natural resources as well as being an area with relatively mixed water year-round, so good fishing opportunities, the spire was an obvious choice to build on. The structure of the spire is made of woven reed platforms and silk tents attached to the main trunk, but over the years it has grown immensely wide and complex. People might liken its appearance to a giant multicoloured tree if they knew what a tree was. The structure extends down the cliff-face all the way to the water, where it expands into a dense network of docks and pontoons which has become something of a globlal shipping hub.

The spire is mostly famous for its strict occupation-based culture and honorifics system, which I originally scribbled down on a drawing of Qedivar and Terwy in ramble form, but it's important to understand that these names are cultural and geographical so not limited to harpies.

This is the first pass of the naming system so it's likely outdated lol.

Anyway what started as a collection of craft guilds at the spire transformed over centuries into the world's only institute of higher learning. It is mostly a gigantic and deeply bureaucratic university, the headmaster of which is the highest authority in the entire city.

The culture at the spire is loud. Open debate, arguments, and outright fights are encouraged as a way to clear the air and avoid any simmering tension building up between aggrieved parties. Holding a grudge is considered physically bad for your health, worse than any consequences of a heated debate or quick scuffle (drawing blood is where this acceptance of fighting ends, however). The population density is ludicrous, especially in the shortwing bowers where you'd be lucky to have a wingspan's worth of space to yourself, so it's in their best interests to become very good at managing conflict as early as possible. There is no concept of romantic relationships as a separate phenomenon to platonic relationships here and the potential for gigantic nightmarish polycules to develop is almost guaranteed, but a comparatively small societal weight is placed on sex and intimacy, it's just a thing you do with your friends and that's about it, you won't get any institution of marriage though it is possible (rare) for a pair to be exclusive.

There are no blood ties or familial bonds among inhabitants of the spire. There are differing gestation periods & nurseries based on body type, but among the shortwings, who are the most numerous and have very short gestation periods, nursery duty is pretty much like jury duty. Everybody gets called out to the nursery every couple of years to do early infant care, once the birthing parent is no longer needed (at time of weaning usually). The infants are communally raised and when they're old enough to learn they get shuffled immediately off to school where they will remain until age 12 or so when they pick their main topic of study, or a craft apprenticeship. Then their fellow students or guild masters are considered to be their true families.

The culture is frequently xenophobic against basically everyone else; it's got Big City disease where everyone living outside may as well not exist, and other places are far less important. Particular negative consideration is given to people from the Western continent who are thought of as just inherently dumber for not having any great institutions of learning, with the notable exception of the visored harpies. There's also a strongly ableist element in the spire, those not considered smart enough or not fit enough to work a craft are practically second class citizens.

Qedivar and Amivar (-var suffix indicating a scholar working on a theory) share a bower, they're on-again-off-again frenemies due to the fact that the two of them are working on very different theories on the origin of people. Amivar has proposed a theory of evolution, which is partially wrong where the humans are concerned (as they were intentionally designed but have experienced natural selection since) and correct for all other life on Siren (which did evolve), and Qedivar believes the Precursors were similar to gods who magicked the entire planet into being and then populated it with distinct groups of people. Both theories have some merit but really all they've achieved is endless debates and fights, until a particularly harsh defeat at Qedivar's grant application causes our pal Qedivar to decide to set out to prove his theory right by any means necessary, with a budget of almost zero.

While Qedivar travels to the Western continent to learn the heretical truth (which is that he was wrong and they're all just Human aliens), Amivar stays behind. He continues his work, but when the ministry of knowledge at the spire comes knocking to demand to know Qedivar's whereabouts, he's faced with a tough choice - sell Qedivar out and reveal his location, thus potentially getting a really nice research grant in return for his evolution theory which has proven very unpopular, or cover for him and, in doing so, implicitly accept the unacceptable truth of what his colleague has uncovered. I had a lot of fun thinking over Amivar and his actions in these circumstances, in a situation where where so much hinges on pride and self-advocacy... a look at the guy who has to stay behind and deal with the consequences of someone else's grand adventure (as well as the ministry of knowledge threatening to disappear him).

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mightymizora · 3 months

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Also I planned this and shared with some folks and others might find this interesting!

In my little canon world Gortash has many lovers, and I compiled a little list of his favourites!

Everybody listed here happened multiple times over a time period, so people like Haarlep which was a very set period and one off seductions like Liria (the name I gave to the elf whose head can be found in the workshop in Moonrise) don't count here.

Neither technically does Manva Warhelm, though she sits on top for always being on his mind sue me.

Putting under the cut because Enver Gortash is a bad, bad, bad man.

Bane. I mean this goes without saying. Visits from his God are always eventful.

Musahn Mensahn (Human) a Calishite importer of people who docks every few months. One of the few people Enver is actually fond of, Musahn is a shrewd, cultured man who spins a good yarn and is an attentive, gentle presence in his life. Afternoons with him are like a little holiday.

Del Dawnstar (Dwarf) A young employee at Mistress Yare’s flophouse in The Wide, Enver has been seeing them since they were a teenager starting out. Their position fluctuates; on the one hand they will do anything he asks of them as long as their price is met and he has been able to shape them to his tastes, but on the other hand, sometimes he likes a bit more of a fight (features in Let Me Adorn You)

Hester Ashenheart (Dwarf) A servant in Gortash’s household. He knows Hester does not like him, but that is part of the appeal on both sides. She has found herself in his bed on a number of occasions, often when he has received a less than pleasing letter - and she bears the brunt of the worst of his temper (Features in The Portrait)

Franc Peartree (Human, deceased) Franc and Enver have been working together for around a decade and have been lovers for almost all of that time. Franc has been a close supporter of Enver’s rise across business, politics, and religion, and their affair has always been one of a mutual understanding of his place.

Kruugar (Half-Orc, deceased) Kru is a mercenary who has worked for Enver across jobs. This one is pretty much just physical, and Kru has a prosthetic that Gortash fitted himself as a prototype (having also cut off his arm)

Kerrie Lovelace (Half-Elf) Gortash traded Kerrie and her brother Ellyan from Calimshan, and let her be bought by Karlach Cliffgate in what he saw as a very funny and misplaced moment of chivalry. She went on to become Ulder Ravengard’s mistress, which then sparked his interest; he blackmails her for her company when he feels he wants that particular feeling of power, and she cries all the way through, which is exactly what he is looking for (features in The Portrait and Ammunition)

Ivo Thorngrove (Halfling) A very shrewd moneylender, Ivo has been working with Enver for decades. They had a much more physical relationship when both men were younger, which has petered out into something more familial for the most part, though Ivo can sometimes be persuaded…

Helsik (Dwarf) A completely transactional, only occasional relationship when he wants something. He admires her business sense.

Wisteria Jannath (Human, deceased) Another transactional relationship, Enver nonetheless enjoys her sharp wit and warmth, and her understanding of what their relationship is.

Ettvard Needle (Human) Editor of Baldur’s Mouth. Enver met Ettvard when working on improvements to the efficiency of print and they formed a close working relationship which became closer when he joined the Banite church.

Ffion Goldgrind (Dwarf, deceased) Another working relationship, he sees Ffion when he needs a heavy reset.

Fariza Linnaker (Human) Technically his wife. Fariza was kidnapped and held as collateral for ransom to attempt to get Lady Ruth to hand over some of the family’s gold. She did not play ball, a move that Gortash deeply admired, and instead suggested that he keep her if he really wants the investment of the Linnakers. She has gone from locked up in a safehouse, visited only by Manva who “trained” her in what to expect should she live, to being locked up in his estate. He loathes her weakness.

Avery Sonshal (Human) Avery is a recent addition, an ambitious young man who is a Banite “friend of Gortash.” Enver doesn’t think much of him, but he takes a cock well and is eager to please, so is also easy to subjugate.

#dunno how to tag this lmao #it's my own little universe #my writing #i guess

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another-heroine · 1 year

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The Baroness as a Companion (Pathfinder Kingmaker)

Good gods, I've waited SO LONG for this moment.

The original idea was from @dragonologist-phd about the Commander of WOTR, but I saw some people adapting to Kingmaker and so did I.

IT'S LONG AND SELF INDULGENT, but I'm suffering with a brainrot, then here we go anyway. Not less important, the sidequest idea belongs to @smuglyankabrazilyanka I just change one thing or another.

And again, the art is by @sinizade I'M IN LOVE HOW IT TURNED OUT!

Name: Andrine Vanfell

Race: Half-elf

Class: Bard (Thundercaller)

Appearance: A young almond-skinned half-elf, with a long white hair, and golden eyes. She is probably the same age as Octavia. Her bard clothes are fuchsia and bluish green, and she wears a lot of jewelry.

Favored Weapon/Equipment: Rapier and Light Crossbow

Top Skills: Mobility, Trickery, Knowledge (Arcana and World), and Persuasion

Alignment: Chaotic Good

General Personality: Impulsive, reckless, spiteful, trustworthy, reliable, and cheerful.

What traits/values do they admire? Kindness, bravery, standing for the weak and helpless.

What traits/values do they disapprove of? Bloodlust, greed, betrayal, broken promises.

Are they affiliated with any deities? No, she is kinda atheist like Valerie.

What do they think of their role in the Stolen Lands, and of sharing the Barony’s responsibilities? What are their reasons for joining the Baron/Baroness’ party? She knows that everybody has their role to transform the wilderness into a civilized place. She was born in the Stolen Lands, knows the dangers better than she wished for. So Andrine decides to join the Ruler’s party because who is better than a Stolen Land’s person to guide and advise them?

Who are their friends among other party members? She gets along with everyone, although before Jaethal and Jubilost’s personal quests she is a bit sarcastic around them. Her besties are Linzi, Octavia, and Nok-Nok.

What about rivals? Not exactly a rival, but she’s tired of Regongar’s bullshit trying to convince her to sleep with him. Boy, she doesn’t like that fruit you have to offer!

Are they on any councils? If so, what sort of advice do they give? She can be a Curator if the Baron/Baroness asks. Andrine strongly believes that everybody can do art and deserves to have accessible knowledge.

Where do they hang out in the Capital? If she’s not at the Throne Room, Andrine certainly is at Elina’s tavern.

What are their idle animations? Tossing hair, adjusting her belt, looking around like she saw a butterfly.

If they are taken to Nyrissa’s house, what is their cutscene? Nyrissa shows her family caged and at the verge of death, begging to her to make a pact with the nymph.

Do they advise the Baron/Baroness to abandon or keep their crown? Depends on their relationship: if the ruler is good-aligned, Andrine will support them until the very end, defying Irovetti and anyone who stands between them and the crown. But if the ruler is evil-aligned, she will have doubts about that, being evasive towards the question.

How/when do they join the Baron/Baroness’ party? At Aldori mansion. She came there to find a new patron. If the future ruler answers Jamandi with chaotic and good replies, Andrine will join the party. Otherwise, she will appear after the defeat of the Stag Lord, at the coronation feast.

Describe their companion quest:

An Echo from Beyond

Either she joins the party at the beginning or after Stag Lord’s defeat, Andrine will tell you about her family when the barony is finally constructed. She will request an audience at the Throne Room, but asking to talk to you privately.

“Differently from Octavia, I know who were the elf and who were the human between my parents. Mother was a Varisian, human warlock, tied to an Eldest known as The Lady of the Lake, and my father was a wizard and noble from Kyonin. Their names are Elen and Fionn. And I suspect they are still alive.”

Her mother disappeared when she was a child, and her father followed the wife into oblivion. Andrine received a letter from an anonymous ‘friend’ who asked her to come to a village in the middle of a swamp (the same place where is the witch’s hut from the question ‘Lost Child’) because they have news about her family.

Going there, you meet Falchos and Tiressia. If Andrine is in the party, the dryad stops to argue with her lover and points to her.

“It’s you! Amanita told me to deliver you this message!”

In this moment, the Baron/Baroness finds out that Andrine was raised by three First World inhabitants in her birthplace while her parents were away; the gnome Amanita, and the dryads Orsolya and Juniper, who for some reason can’t come back to the Golarion for indeterminate time.

When the group returns to the Barony, Andrine talks to the ruler privately again and shows the old letter: it’s her father calligraphy telling her the truth about his surname—what was Kaellin and not Vanfell—, and that he was seeking for his wife with the help of a relative called Gladverion. Then you have the option to help her to locate this relative or not. If you help her, although the searching will be fruitless anyway, you will gain 1 loyal point.

“How are you feeling about this?”

“Well, I always thought that I could be a princess, but not like that. Though it’s useless either way; elves see half-elves like wrongful experiments. I’m not so different from an abomination for them. Then screw it. I just wanna find my parents.”

Tea with Problems

After the Season of the Bloom, there are rumors about fey rummaging through the Capital by daylight. Following the leads, the Baron/Baroness will enter Andrine's house and find out she’s having tea with a red-haired gnome. She is Amanita.

“So, is this your patron? What funny, I thought they were… taller. Anyway, Amanita Muscaropple, at your service, Your Grace! Join us!”

Amanita confessed she burgled some houses, but because she was looking for her ‘Little Bird’, Andrine. She didn’t want to bother the Baron/Baroness with their troubles—causing more problems in the way. Somehow the gnome escaped through a portal to Golarion, just to talk to her niece as soon as possible before returning.

“As I was telling her, Juniper and Orsolya are working on finding a way to rescue her parents. Did you know that not every Eldest hates Nyrissa, Your Grace? She and the Lady of the Lake are very close friends. And they believe that you, after the Eldest who cursed Nyrissa, is the First World’s enemy number one. I mean, number two, but yet dangerous. *Finishes her tea* Oh, it was nice. Thank you for receiving me, girl. But I have to return. I came to give you a gift. Hope it will be useful…”

Then Amanita gives Andrine a silver magic mirror. It can help to see invisibility and find ways hidden before mortal eyes. After she leaves, Andrine asks the Baron/Baroness if they are angry with her about the mess caused by Amanita. If they agree and argue with her, Andrine will ask for forgiveness and promise that it won’t happen again. If they do not, she thanks them for understanding. Here is the second chance of the three to conquer her loyalty.

“Your aunt is very… eccentric.”

“C’mon, I know you want to call her weirdo *chuckles*. But yes, she is unique. I was missing her. I would like to see my other aunts too, but I guess that I have to wait a little more.”

The Witch’s Daughter

After Irovetti’s defeat, a noble from Kyonin comes to the Capital and requests for an audience with the King/Queen. He is Gladverion, Fionn's uncle. He heard about Andrine thanks to Nortellara—if you let her live; otherwise, he will hear about her because of the cultural progress of the kingdom. Their first meeting is not very warm; Andrine is suspicious about him, especially after the elf affirmed that Fionn never came to Kyonin to they went down to the business.

Then he asks for a chance to prove he is on her side, “Meet me in Candlemere. There are many spots for portals. This can be our one and only chance to do something to rescue Fionnirel and your mother.”

When arriving there, a portal opens in the banks and Amanita appears. She will suggest entering the portal with her; Andrine’s family is on the other side. Here there are two options: if you go with Amanita, you won’t have help from Gladverion, and if you go with Andrine’s great uncle, will find her aunts there and have his help in the mission.

When landed at the Lady of the Lake’s realm, there is a battle roaring between the dryads and a water jabberwock.

There people can breathe and walk straight underwater. If Jubilost is present, he and Amanita will spite each other eagerly—they are old rivals. If Kalikke is present, anytime she will get distracted and you have to look for her.

In the Throne Room, Andrine is shocked; there is a shadow of the ruler of that realm. The Lady of the Lake isn’t as stunning as everybody told her before. The giant entity is bowed in front of a dry water-mirror. The fey reveals that she was drained by her ‘friend’, and Nyrissa took Andrine’s parents as soon as she knew the bard would come to them.

Looking into her eyes, the Eldest confesses,

“I tried to get rid of you, I won’t lie. I thought that if I took what you love most, you would die like a flower in the winter. But then… I was mistaken. I was so afraid of being ruined by a mortal and, in the end, I was stabbed by someone of my own kind.”

“But why? Why did you do this? Because I spoiled your ‘toy’? My mother was NEVER your property!”

“No, foolish girl. Beyond this. I can… I could take anyone to be my newest servant. I’m not jealous. I’ve had many of them around your world. But I saw you coming… in a dream…” Her face turns to the dry water-mirror. “You came to slay me, with your eyes on fire and face so similar to your mother. So confident and fierce. Guess we can’t fight against destiny, can we?”

Depending on the way you handled Andrine’s matters until now, she could do one of the two things: kill the Eldest by cold-blood, becoming Chaotic Neutral and teleporting herself to Nyrissa’s realm (you will find her when go there, been tested by the nymph); or she will forgive her mother’s patron, and the Lady will help the party to go exactly where her parents are, triggering a battle against some Nyrissa’s servants and rescuing Fionn and Elen.

Back to the Capital, Gladverion could be pleased or not with the expedition (depends if you took him there and Andrine didn’t vanish in thin air). Amanita will be there too and her mood also depends on her niece's presence and if Elen is safe and sound. If everybody is in the Throne Room, Gladverion will try to convince Fionnirel to come back home, but the man refuses and says, “They are my home.” Pointing to his daughter and wife. Andrine will do a counter-proposal and suggest that he stay for a while. The old elf thinks a bit and finally gives in.

“Your Highness, I would like to say ‘thank you’. I couldn’t succeed if it wasn’t for your help. Since we talked to the Lady, I was wondering about some things. She said that we can’t fight against destiny, but I have to disagree. We make our destiny. And mine was laid next to yours when you allowed me to serve you. Thank you. You are a dearest friend and I will follow you wherever you go.”

Are they romanceable? Describe their romance quest/scenes if you want!

Yes, she is, but only if the ruler is a woman. Look at here:

First opportunity: after finishing ‘An Echo from Beyond’. If you go to talk to her, there will be this line, “I don't believe your family abandoned you. You are a jewel. I could never.”

Andrine is stunned for a moment with your words and blinks surprised. Then she stands again on her feet and giggles, “Oh please, don't make me blush.” She smiles warmly, looking into your eyes. “Thanks for supporting me.”

Second and last opportunity: it could happen at a camp or at the gates of the Capital when you return from a mission. Andrine asks you if you want to go to a walk with her. If you accept, you both go to a clearing or to the viewer point.

“Did I tell you that I learn to play with one of my fey aunts? Aunt Juniper fell in love with a skald a long time ago, in the Land of the Linnorm Kings. But something happened and she had her heart broken. I don't know if he died or got wed to someone. She never talks about this. But because of him, she learned to play hurdy-gurdy and teached me too.” Andrine thinks for a moment, don't looking for anything for a while, until she gazes you and says, “Music is very important to me. It gave me peace in many times. And I like to sing about things I love or... people I respect.”

You could tell she is blushing again. Andrine tries to disguise, rubbing her nose and finally questioning, “Do you mind if I write a song about you?”

[If you show interest in any of these two scenarios, buckle your belts!]

The Confession: Right after the Season of the Bloom. Linzi comes to you and asks if you also noticed that Andrine is acting awkwardly lately. When you go to talk to her, she tries to deny and fails.

“What do you have on your mind?”

She can't look into your eyes. Andrine fiddles her fingers and bites her bottom lip nervously. Noticing that you won't leave, she sighs and murmurs, “Did you ever want something that you can't have? Because... I guess that's my problem right now.”

You wait patiently. It's ironic a bard tripping on her own words, but Andrine doesn't look shy. Actually, she is scared of something.

“You can tell me,” you insist.

She exhales like she was defeated. For the first time since you arrived, the girl look at you. “Ok, that's it. You asked for this.” Andrine inhales as to catch courage in the air and shoot, “I think I'm in love with you but it's pointless!”

“Why?”

“I don't know, you are beautiful, kind, brave, wise...”

“No, I mean why do you think it's pointless?”

Her eyes sparkles with surprise and astonishment. Andrine stutters, “Because... you have to marry someone to ensure your title, right? I'm just a bard... And can't give you heirs—”

[Here there will be the option to shut her up with a kiss lol]

The first morning after:

“Umm where am I? Did I die? Or am I drunk? You are so beautiful, this should be a dream... You know, I don't want to play with you, I hate this kind of games. When I say that I adore you it's entirely true. And if you don't believe it yet, fight me! *chuckles*”

The wedding proposal: After ‘The Witch's Daughter’ (if she didn't vanish chasing Nyrissa). Fionn wants to talk to you about your intentions with his daughter. If you show that you really want to stay with her, he gives you an engagement ring. Then you have to plan how to ask her hand. Linzi and Elina can help you. They organize a romantic dinner and set the bait the same way you all did to Ekun.

“So, Kyonin Wine, tasty delicacies... What are we celebrating?” She stops confused and whispers worried, “Did I forget your birthday?”

After you denied with a giggle, you kneel down and finally proposes. Andrine don't have idea what to do. She shakes her hands excitedly. “I... Me... You... US! Of course I do! Oh, I love you so much, but... what about the suitors? For the kingdom?”

Then you have two options of answer:

1 - We do our own destiny as our rules. And I choose you to rule with me.

2 - To the Abyss all of them!

[the third is totally a CE saying "it was a joking!"]

Before the fight against the Lantern King:

“I won't lie, I'm scared. For your. For the kingdom. Even for the world. But if you will be right there, leading the battle, I can't help but follow you. You are my muse and my northern star, and I love you so much that it hurts. Never forget it, okay?”

What would their ending slides be like?

No Bard Like You (Good Ending): After all mishaps and sorrow, Andrine finally could give a true smile. Her family was reunited after many years. Of course it was not in a blink of an eye that they engaged themself perfectly. Her mother lived a kind of grieve’s phase because she lost the opportunity to see her little girl become a woman, and her father felt like a fool for being deceived by fey. But in the end, with love, music and patience, they all lived happily ever after. And it got better years later, after Galt left our lands, because Elen announced she was carrying a child. From afar everybody can see how excited our bard is about having a little sister or brother. She is still working to improve the kingdom and sometimes someone caught her slipping into some lady’s room. Sometimes she borrows me without the King/Queen notices and takes me to the tavern. Like the good old times.

No Bard Like You 2.0 (if you complete her romance route): They say that good things come to those who endure. I guess Andrine could say it's true; her family is with her again, and she can protect them along her beloved wife. Be a princess consort isn't easy, but she doesn't mind. She and the Queen goes to many adventures together, protecting the kingdom from any kind of invasion. She even played at Varn's wedding! And when she has the opportunity, Andrine carries me with her. Soon her little brother—or sister—will born. Maybe there is a candidate to the sucession of the throne.

Come Back Home (Neutral Ending): We don’t know where Andrine has gone. Her parents are bitter with the lack of news and her aunts are looking for her tirelessly. I imagined she was really pissed off with the King/Queen, but not at all! I hope she is fine. Some people relate dreams about a fey queen underwater, singing sadly in an empty hall. If I still have a body, certainly it could give me chills!

Nobody’s Fool (Bad Ending): I can’t even imagine how it’s lost all hope. That’s what happened to Andrine. She couldn’t bear the King/Queen’s methods and flew away. Without family or any trust in the kingdom, she wanders in the frontiers, singing bitter songs. Thank gods she still has Amanita and her other aunts trying to keep her away from troubles, but I’m afraid it won’t take long until the Little Bird sings her last song. After all, what is a bard if he loses the grip on life?

Any other fun facts?

If you don’t romance her or Octavia, there is a chance of them becoming a couple, and in Octavia’s epilogue Linzi will tell that they went together to Numeria to free the slaves.

If you take her to ‘Reveal my Destiny’, before Nortellara says her farewells, she will look at her and comment that she knows who Andrine is, because she has her father’s eyes. Then she will discover Jaethal’s daughter was fiancée of Fionnirel before he fell in love with Elen and broke the engagement.

If you take her to ‘Rushlight Tournament’, she will flirt with Annamede.

If she becomes Chaotic Neutral and sees Linzi dying, she could attack the Horned Hunter immediately—and friendly-firing everybody with thunder.

Also, she never forgives Nyrissa, first for her parents, and then for Linzi.

Provide some dialogue/bark examples!

Selecting her: “Follow my lead!”, “Want help?”, “Yes? Me?”

Spotting danger: “Be careful, we are not alone”, “Wait, I heard something”, “Look! Bad guys ahead!”

Spotting traps/locks: “Hey, I saw something there!”, “Hold on, there is something ahead”, “Um, my little eyes saw something interesting”

Trickery (success): “Easy peasy!”, “Something else?” “Hah, I was smarter than you [to the lock]!”

Trickery (failed): “Dumb lock!”, “Um, maybe I need a little hand here”, “Damn it!”

Random comments: “*spotting some fluff animal* Aww, what a cutie!”, “Beware the stairs. I can see in the darkness, but not everybody here can”, “A fey enters in the tavern, the owner barks ‘We don’t serve fey here!’ and she replies, ‘Perfect, I prefer raw humans’”.

Winning: “To the victor go the spoils!”, “You should have run!”, “Shall we dance?”

Losing: “I can’t bear anymore…”, “Mother, I’m sorry…”, “No, not yet!”

Ruler Anniversary: “Well, well, guess who is getting more crunchy today? Happy birthday, [name]. I’m glad to be by your side. And you didn’t kick me out for my babbles! I will always be flattered by this.”

Been rescued in Nyrissa’s house (good ending): “For a moment I thought it was true, but then I remembered that you were there to help me and saved all my loved ones. I could go into the Abyss with you, despite my trembling legs. Lead on, Your Highness. Let’s kick some fey butts!”

Been rescued in Nyrissa’s house (bad ending): “You know what? Forget about me! You treated me like I was a buffoon. You gave zero fucks about my feelings and objectives. Why should I stay? No, I had enough. Deal with Nyrissa as you please, but I’m not taking part in this.”

Provide some examples of companion banters!

Amiri

“Hey Amiri, are you ok? You look grumpy today.”

“Why, of course I’m ok. Why should I not? >:[”

•

“So, you and Nilak…”

“I already told you, we are just friends. Save your tongue if it’s that important to you.”

Ekundayo

“I’m really sorry for your family, Ekun. I lost mine too…”

“Only those who suffered that kind of loss know how deep the hurt is. Thank you, my friend. I’m sorry for you equally.”

•

“Andrine, do you know why your artist colleagues at the tavern always smile at me when I go there?”

“*chuckles* My dearest ranger friend… What can I say? We love a good slowburn and can’t help it.”

Harrim

“Harrim, why are you so obsessed with death? You are still alive! Look how beautiful the sky is tonight! Breath, enjoy!”

“Oh, Andrine, if only you could understand how meaningless all of this… But indeed, it’s a beautiful sky.”

•

“I don’t know if I should admire or disapprove your persistence, Andrine; you lost so much and yet endured.”

“Well, I’m still alive. My parents should be anywhere as long as we know. If I stop to fight, then I’m dead and sending my greetings to Groetus.”

Jaethal

“I don’t understand; you have had the possibility to live for a long, long time, feeling all the emotions possible, but choose the undead path. Why?”

“Well, as you just said, half-blood; you would never understand.”

•

“Who could say you would become a Pharasmite?”

“And who could say the reason for my daughter’s broken engagement is the same person who is helping to save the world from a maniac fey? Everybody can be impressive in some way.”

Jubilost

“Damn, a bedbug bit me!”

“Oh no, now he will start to complain about his allies bedbugs, calling them simpleton and beginning to lecture!”

•

“Now I understand why you don’t like me, Andrine; it’s Amanita’s fault!”

“For your information, before I connected the dots, I just thought you were very annoying per se. And to be honest, I never imagined aunt Amanita could be so right about someone.”

“Kaessi”

“My, my, why are you so beautiful? You could make success in Qadira.”

“Thanks. Ask my parents about the recipe… *laughs nervously*”

•

“*Kalikke humming a folk song from Qadira*”

“Hey, can you teach me the lyrics later? I like it!”

Linzi

“So, what's it like at the Academy? I tried to join, but I was rejected.”

“Oh, you were blessed. There is a major concentration of Irovetti’s licker-boots by square meter. But I’m not gonna lie, it could be nice if you were my classmate.”

•

“*Linzi humming a merry song*”

“Hey, I know this song! How about we play a little bit before rest?”

Nok-Nok

“Theres dog inside box. Nok-Nok scared.”

“*giggles* No, Nok-Nok, there isn’t. This is the sound of hurdy-gurdy when I spin this—Wait, come back here, it’s ok!”

•

“Nok-Nok small. Not sure if can be hero anymore.”

“Height doesn’t matter, you know. Your heart is as big as your ambitions. Have faith in yourself! Because I have.”

Octavia

“You didn’t deserve what happened to you, Octavia. You are so kind. If that’s any consolation, I can lend my parents to you... when we find them *sighs*”

“Oh, don’t worry. Now I have you all. Especially you. Maybe your parents could be my future parents-in-law… *laughing* I’m joking! *stops* Unless…”

•

“Um, Andrine, by chance have you found something mine in your room?”

“Umm, maybe. How do you want me to give it back? *wink wink*”

Regongar

“What a waste…”

“If you are talking about me, Regongar, listen to my advice: go fuck yourself.”

•

“Regongar, why don't you understand? I like women! If I was attracted to boys, I would probably marry my childhood friend!”

“Err, sorry, I just spotted something on your hair. Nevermind.”

Valerie

“Valerie, tell me; aren’t you tired of following rules all the whole time?”

“A true warrior needs to have a sharp sword and a sharpest mind. Discipline must be over everything.”

•

“I left the noble life behind to live my dream. I guess that I’m not the best person to give advice about being blue-blooded.”

“I know. And that’s why I want your help: I wanna know how to tell my dearest Kyonin relatives to go fuck themselves in a politely way.”

Tristian

“I’d like to have your patience, Tristian.”

“Thanks. But sometimes I wish to go to the woods and scream like you do.”

•

“Then you are an angel… literally. How is it to have wings?”

“If only I could describe… Maybe ‘freedom’ is the right word, but being a celestial being is beyond mortal comprehension. Unfortunately. *sighs sadly*”

#andrine vanfell #pathfinder kingmaker #pathfinder #pathfinder art #pwotr pals

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clotpolesonly · 1 year

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The Many Lauras

@one-fandom-became-all-fandoms

in your @teenwolfholidayfest wishlist, you asked for a compare & contrast of different versions of Laura Hale, and that is RIGHT up my alley 😂 i will never turn down an excuse to talk about my girl, so here ya go: (ps sorry for the phantom ping a few weeks ago, i forgot that posting for the event wasn’t supposed to start until today and had to immediately delete it, aldkhj)

pre-canon perfectionist Laura

this is the Laura that heard “you’re going to be the alpha someday, it’s a very important job” and took it to heart WAY more than Talia intended. she’s student body president and captain of the debate team and on the yearbook committee and does 30 hours of community service a week, all on top of an internship in the DA’s office and taking alpha lessons with the mother she idolizes. she’s terrified that she’ll never be able to fill her mother’s shoes and will only ever be a letdown when it’s her turn to lead. she’s excruciatingly aware that things can go wrong at any moment and that, if she fucks it up, her loved ones will die because they’re all going to be relying on her to protect them.

she has her panic attacks quietly in her room at night and will deny them until her dying day. no, she’s not stressed, she’s fine! see this perfect report card? could a depressed person do THAT??

she loves her siblings to death but also they stress her out. if they could just behave and be predictable, then she wouldn’t have to worry about them so much and they wouldn’t be mad at her so often for being a buzzkill.

pros

detail-oriented

prepared for every eventuality

will save your ass, guaranteed

has snacks in her purse

will die for the pack

cons

overbearing

little bit judgmental

always this close to a nervous breakdown

will die for the pack

pre-canon rebellious Laura

this is the Laura that heard “you’re going to be the alpha someday, it’s a very important job” and decided to live it up while she had the chance. if she’s gonna have to be the responsible and respectable one later, then now’s the time to be irresponsible and a disgrace to the family, right?? she probably has a motorcycle. she definitely has piercings and blue hair. she blows off training sessions, she skips class, she talks back to anyone and everyone.

deep down, she’s afraid. she’s afraid of trying and failing, so she skips the trying part entirely, because it hurts less to say she didn’t want it in the first place than it does to really try and then find out she’s not good enough. she covers her insecurities with bravado and makes up for disappointing her parents by being ride-or-die for her siblings instead. she may be a mess, but she’s a super cool mess that always has good advice for them that she never takes herself.

pros

knows how to get the good booze

will lie to your parents for you

not afraid to fight dirty

the Cool™ big sister everybody covets

cons

temperamental and impulsive

not always there when you need her

dreads the day she won't be able to avoid responsibility anymore

not easy to get close to

strained relationship with her mother

post-canon(/AU) BAMF Laura

this is the Laura that we see most often, i think, and is typically used as a foil for a quieter, more traumatized Derek. she’s the one who has her shit together when Derek is falling apart. if applicable, she’s the one who successfully moved on from their trauma while Derek needs more therapy. she’s the one who’s confident when Derek is anxious or insecure. she’s the one to takes risks and makes moves while Derek is stuck in a rut. she’s the one who texts Stiles from Derek’s phone even when Derek tells her not to because it’s for his own good and big sister knows best, and it all works out in the end.

pros

kicks ass and takes names

always perfectly made up and manicured

will fix your relationships for you

both confident and compassionate

little discernible trauma or emotional baggage

cons

tramples all over personal boundaries

arrogant and thinks she always knows best

can be short-sighted to consequences

bull in a china shop

little discernible trauma or emotional baggage

post-canon angry Laura

this is the Laura that gets to be as fucked up as early-season Derek. she’s bitter and jaded and full of impotent rage with nowhere for it to go. she’s angry at the universe for shitting on her life, she’s angry at her family for leaving her behind, she’s angry at Derek for needing her so much that she’s not allowed to fall apart like she wants to, she’s angry at herself for not being in the house with everyone else so she could at least die with them if she couldn’t save them.

she’s as careful as she has to be to keep Derek alive, but it’s a constant battle against the parts of her that want to yell and scream and burn everything down. she finds little ways to let off steam, but nothing really satisfies her. she doesn’t want to admit that the only thing that would is having her family back, because that way lies the complete emotional breakdown that she’s been staving off for years. she lives from one minute to the next, directionless, with only the anger she clings to so tightly to to keep her going. eventually, it’s going to run out.

Derek may or may not know about this - the simmering anger, the risks she takes when he isn’t looking, that she’s barely had a real conversation with another person in years. it’s certainly not something she wants him to see because, despite everything, he’s still her brother and she loves him, but he’s also not an idiot. there’s a significant amount of distance and dysfunction in their relationship, neither of them willing to confide in the other, but equally unwilling to let go.

pros

not afraid to fuck you up

ruthless about protecting what's hers

won't fall for anything or be tricked

cons

reckless and self-destructive

doesn't know when to stop

resents having to be the strong and careful one

always this close to going apeshit

too distrustful to form new relationships

post-canon sad Laura

this is the Laura that is too tired to be angry. she doesn’t see the point in being angry, or she recognizes it as the toxic, dangerous emotion that it is. it might be different if she had someone to blame, but all she has is the knowledge that her family is gone and she misses them. she clings to Derek because he’s all she has left and she throws herself into protecting and caring for him, often to the point of repressing her own emotional responses in favor of catering to his. it’s easier to not think about how much everything hurts when she has something/someone else to focus on. she always needs a project or a problem to solve.

she cares too much, and she knows it’s too much, but she can’t stop even when she knows it might lead to being hurt again. she’s acutely attuned to pain in others and wants so badly to alleviate it in them. though she never adds to the pack in an official capacity, she has a tendency to take in strays - the quintessential big sister to everyone she meets. her catch phrase is “i’m fine, but how are you?”

pros

isn't afraid of vulnerability or admitting weakness

has actually begun to process her trauma

is overwhelmingly compassionate and protective

adopts strays, both animals and teenagers

provides emotional support for everyone around her

cons

forgets to ask for support herself

too lenient and forgiving when Derek lashes out

can be clingy, overprotective, or controlling

depressed

as for the “fight to the death” part of your wishlist request, it depends on the type of fight. if they’re fighting in the literal sense, post-canon/AU BAMF Laura would probably win, if only because she typically wins every fight she’s in as part of her Strong Female Character characterization. but if they’re fighting for my LOVE, then it’s a toss up between post-canon angry Laura and pre-canon perfectionist Laura, because those are my absolute favorites iterations of her. there’s just so much delicious angst to them. they’re both dysfunctional messes with so much baggage and there’s nothing i love more than that.

i hope you’ve enjoyed this very helpful 1.4k list, i spent 2 hours of my workday making it XD

#teenwolfholidayfest #Laura Hale #Teen Wolf #tags by me #one-fandom-became-all-fandoms

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awanderingdeal · 2 years

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O'Knutzy Week - Day 5

Prompt: Harvard || NOLA

Rating: M (for general themes - no sexual content)

CW: Homophobic slurs, past emotionally abusive relationship.

Credits: O'Knutzy belong to @lumosinlove and thank you to @oknutzyweek for organising all this.

“Uncle Leo!”

“Hey pumpkin,” Leo said, bending down so Nova could clamber into his arms. Her father, Mikey, was Leo’s childhood best friend, having lived two doors down until he’d moved out his parent’s house.

She wriggled around, making herself comfortable as Leo rose back to full height. Her grin revealed that she’d lost another tooth since Leo had last seen her. “Daddy said I’m too big to be up now.”

“Never!” Stop growing so fast, kid.

"I came to tell you Finn is going to take me to the science museum tomorrow ‘cus Daddy has to work -' Nova took a hulking breath. “- And I would have to stay with Mawmaw and I don’t want to because it’s boring, Leo.”

“Oh, Finn said that, did he?” So much for a lazy morning. Leo looked over Nova’s head, finding his boyfriend sitting around the large iron table in the 'finished' area of the yard with Mikey. Finn looked up, meeting his gaze and gave a sheepish smile. “Well, it wouldn’t do to have you bored, would it?”

Leo couldn’t be angry at Finn for wanting to make Nova happy. With the spring sun warming him to the bone and the chaos of his big family surrounding him, nothing could ruin his mood. He searched for Logan too; the last he'd seen of him he'd been charming Leo's grandparents, which was when he saw.

"Nova, pumpkin, go and tell your Dad that Finn is too soft, and you may as well stay here tonight. I'm sure I have a old shirt you can sleep in."

Nova pumped her fist in victory and scurried off to deliver the message. Leo waited just long enough to make sure she was on her way before he stormed towards the lone man.

“Heck, you scared me." His ex stumbled back from the vegetable patched he'd peering in, eyes widening as he took Leo in. "Leo," he said. "What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” Leo scoffed. ”It’s my mom’s birthday. What are you doing here?”

Kyle took a step back. Leo had always tried to seem less intimidating than his 6 foot 3 frame naturally made him. He worked hard to earn the moniker of a gentle giant, but right now he was glad of the presence.

“I…I was invited to come with…” Kyle stumbled over his words. “I thought you’d be y’know…out of town.”

“Hmm, it’s almost like I prioritize the things that are important to me,” Leo huffed a laugh. Then it dawned on him. “Are you dating Rylee?”

“Not Rylee."

Leo thought he saw a grimace flicker on Kyle's face. If not Rylee, then who? He started to run through the list of guests, not getting very far before Kyle's stare gave him the answer. "Elliot?"

Kyle gave the tiniest of nods.

Leo pulled at his collar, sure that the t-shirt hadn't been this tight this morning, and Logan was right, it was too hot.

"Leo, look, I'm sorry…" Kyle said.

There was more. Leo could see Kyle's mouth, but all he heard was a low mumble, his own thoughts drowning out the words.

It was worse that it was a boy. God, that was horrible, wasn't it? It's not like you didn't know he was attracted to them. Kyle had just been so repulsed by the idea of people knowing about them. He'd threatened to tell everybody Leo was obsessed with him. That Leo had got him drunk and then kissed him. Maybe it had Leo he'd been disgusted by.

"You called me a fag," Leo spat. "You let me fall in love with you, had sex with me and then you called me a fucking fag."

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry,” Kyle winced. It almost made Leo feel a tiny bit of sympathy for him. “I was just a kid, I was scared.”

There went that sympathy. “You were a coward.” Leo cocked his head, assessing Kyle. His sandy blonde hair was cut short now, rather than the longer slicked back look he used to sport. He was softer now. Even now, Leo hoped that meant he’d gotten a handle on what, in hindsight, had been an unhealthy relationship with food and exercise. Perhaps he had changed, perhaps he was better to Elliot. “Does he even know? Elliot? Do you even sign?”

Kyle blinked at him “Yeah. I’m pretty good now. Not perfect at all. I’ve been learning for a little over two years.” He scratched the back of his neck, chewing on his lip. “No..No, he doesn’t know. I didn’t want to -”

Leo snorted a laugh. “You’re still a coward.” He jumped at the weight of a hand on his shoulder, relaxing as he recognised the familiar knead of Logan’s fingers.

“Le? Ça va?”

Leo tried to smile as he looked at Logan. “This is Kyle,” he said.

“More cousins?” Logan laughed. “ I thought -” The pieces of understanding snapping together like a jigsaw was almost visibible. “What is he doing here?” He said it with such ferocity, Leo knew the only reason Logan hadn't punched Kyle was because he respected Leo's ability to fight for himself.

"He was invited," Leo sneered. He was being an asshole. He didn't care. "Dating Elliot now."

"Oh." Logan said.

"It's alright though, because Kyle here is going to go tell Elliot everything and then he's going to leave."

"No, Leo, come on," Kyle argued. "E's been looking forward to this."

E. God, Leo really didn't need to hear their nicknames for one another. He sought out Logan's hand and squeezed it. "I said you were going to leave. Elliot can do whatever he wants."

Kyle opened his mouth, as if to speak, and then closed it again. His pinched the bridge of his nose, grinning his back teeth. "Fine. I'll go."

"Tell him Kyle, or I will," Leo said. "If you want to run away from your past then don't date my family." What Elliot did with the information was his business, but he deserved to know.

"Hey, loves of my life. What's happening," Finn sang as he barrelled over. The tip of his nose and his cheeks were a little pink. "So, next time we're down here Mikey is going to -" His gaze moved rapidly between Leo and Logan. "Pea?"

"You can tell him," Leo muttered, letting himself be pulled into Finn arms. Logan, still holding firmly onto his hand, followed until Leo found himself enveloped between the two.

It felt like both two seconds and two hours later when Finn was stepping back. He cupped Leo's face. "Are you okay?" He whispered.

Leo nodded once, then again, because he realised he was. "Am I horrible if I don't forgive him?"

"Non."

"Absolutely not," Finn added.

"He was young though. Maybe he's changed?"

"And if he has changed then he'll carry on being changed whether you forgive him or not. You don't owe him anything."

Finn quirked a smile and Leo found himself matching it. He'd once given Finn same advice, almost verbatim about his own ex.

"Somebody wise must have told you that," Leo said.

"Very wise indeed," Finn laughed, pressing his lips to Leo's gently.

Logan hummed. "More people are coming. Do you want to go upstairs? Until you feel better."

"No," Leo shook his head. He was okay. He'd been okay for a long time. No matter what Kyle had told him or what that college recruitment office had said, he could have it all. He had it all. A family that loved him. Not one, but two boyfriends who were more than proud to be seen with him. A team that had his back. He wished he could go back and tell his 16 year old self it'd be alright.

"Leo, honey, here you are." His mom sounded frazzled. He'd tried to take over managing the food, but nothing stood between Eloise Knut and the potluck table. "Sorry to pull you away but I need you to tend to the grill. Your father is burning the shrimp."

"On my way, Mama."

"Wait right there, young man."

Leo groaned. "Mom?"

His mom looked him dead in the eye, smiled and patted his cheek. "You can tell me all about it later, honey. We'll have a kitchen chat."

There was no point telling her she was fine. Besides, it had been forever since they'd sat in the kitchen, nursing cups of sweet tea, just talking.

"Okay, Mama."

Yeah, Leo was going to be okay.

#lumosinlove #sweater weather #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #leo knut #cw:homophic slur #cw: past emotionally absuive relationship #rating: m #o'knutzy week 2022

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plasmktan · 8 months

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Positive Masculinity is just a nicer version of Patriarchy

I've seen a lot of focus on the idea of positive masculinity a lot in leftist circles and I've always found this focus on masculinity a bit weird but I think I've finally found what I disliked about it. Now, not to say that masculinity is bad that's not my opinion so I will make it clear when I talk about masculinity here I mean the social norms of masculine gender roles in men and male-aligned people in society today which is what I see commonly supported to have a more positive version in a lot of leftist circles. So, the thing is that these typical masculine/male gender roles that these supporters of Positive Masculinity want to make more positive are roles and systems that are intended to oppress and control women and other gender minorities by using these roles and norms of what roles men are supposed to take, which also hurts and limits men, but more significantly the way these roles function hurt women the most of all, particularly in heterosexual relationships where gender roles are created in particular for men to have power over women. This is patriarchy through the nuclear family.

Large supporters of this positive masculinity like Vaush and FD Signifer ultimately are supporting just a new version of patriarchy where they are unwilling to lose the advantage that their male roles have given them. Ultimately, these two are really not advocating properly for Femenism because of their unwillingness to not properly deconstruct and dismantle male social roles by just saying an image of "Positive Masculinity" will fix it. The issue here is to properly achieve gender liberation for all is that it is necessary to separate the ideas of femininity from female genders and masculinity from male genders, this is not a matter of trying to make either men or women less masculine or feminine but rather to make these connections less inherent to deconstruct patriarchy and reach the largest amount of freedom in gender expression and expression in general for everybody regardless of their gender. Positive Masculinity stands in the way of this.

The inherent problem with this is how it seems to me many on the Left seem concerned sometimes with men feeling good enough about their masculinity to feel confident rather than actually fighting for social change through minorities that actually need it. Plenty of content creators as well as the previously mentioned do this, to name a few, Jessie Gender, Swolesome, and Salari, and yes this is a call out of these creators and their general shitty behavior. Vaush, FD Signifer in particular but also Jessie Gender for calling Shark30zero a housen**** on Twitter. For god's sake sometimes I'm like yeah I know that men are important to care about too but to be honest at this point in the world their position is only to improve and there are more important things to care about particularly in the USA with the current Trans Genocide and the gradual erasion of abortion rights along with the repeal of Roe vs. Wade. The Left needs to stop caring about men's feelings more than they care about actual social change period. Men tend to learn to be good people primarily and then they can learn to be good men!

#politics #leftist #leftism #feminism #positive masculinity #vaush #anti vaush #fd signifier #jessie gender #men #controversial #opinion #patriarchy #gender role #gender roles #femenist #hot take

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singofsolace · 1 year

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Hey, I don't know you but I was a bit disappointed by CZJ's look in Wednesday. Between the make up looking like she had ten layers of plaster on her face and the styling of her hair, it didn't make her look as good as she is. I know in theory it's to make her look more like Morticia, but I feel like they didn't go the right way for that? If they had left her skin as is instead of super white, and her hair slightly wavier, she would still have looked like Morticia, while looking amazing, because Catherine Zeta Jones is gorgeous. Whatcha think?

I want to tread carefully here because I am excruciatingly aware that women, and middle-aged actresses in particular, are unfairly criticized every single day of their lives for their appearance, and I don’t think it’s necessary or useful to add to any conversation that might contribute to that.

Catherine Zeta-Jones is gorgeous, as you point out. There is no universe where she will not be one of the most beautiful women on the planet, regardless of how a make up and hair team decides to style her.

I know that no matter what, people were/are going to compare Catherine Zeta-Jones’ Morticia to Anjelica Houston’s and Carolyn Jones’; that was inevitable. From performance to appearance, she most likely went into this role knowing that she was going to be under a microscope, and every decision, down to the length and straightness of the hair, was a decision that was most likely made for her. She may have had input on some of it, but ultimately, it’s a collaborative process, and you have to compromise with the people whose job it is to style you. I am also a strong believer in letting actresses do their own spin on an iconic role, rather than forcing them to mimic what came before.

Which is all to say that I think Catherine Zeta-Jones’ appearance is far less important than her performance, and I believe her performance was brilliant, and clearly influenced by what Tim Burton wanted out of this newer, darker version of The Addams Family. The original show was a sitcom and the movies were also dark comedies, so it makes sense that this Morticia feels strikingly different than previous incarnations of her. If CZJ got up and mimicked Anjelica and Carolyn’s light-hearted portrayals, it would’ve felt like she was blatantly in the wrong show, I think. So, even though I would personally have preferred the new show to have gone a different direction in terms of Morticia’s personality and the mother-daughter relationship between her and Wednesday (as I find it particularly odd that Wednesday is so insistent that her mother is forcing her to be a mini-me when there is literally no textual evidence of that), I acknowledge that that was the direction the writers chose, and think CZJ did well under that direction.

With all that being said, I personally would’ve preferred the make up team to allow Zeta-Jones’ natural skin color to be used, like you say, as opposed to caking on layers to make her paler. As for the hair, I don’t mind it being straight, but that’s all down to personal preference. I think her costume could’ve been more interesting as well, but again, that was a choice that was made, to sort of mute and ground the character of Morticia out of her flamboyance and into someone with more gravitasse.

Everything is down to personal preference, and no styling choice would’ve pleased everybody. What matters to me is that I love Catherine Zeta-Jones in this role, regardless of the styling choices.

#CZJ #netflix wednesday

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prismatic-bell · 3 years

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So the other day I said a thing about how I felt like a line could be drawn between antis, and the rise of 24-hour news networks. I’ve given that thought some time to bubble to see what, exactly, my brain meant by that statement, and here’s what I’ve got:

When I was a kid (back in Ye Olde 1990s), we had three major news stations in my town: Channel 12, Channel 24, and Channel 35. These corresponded to NBC, ABC, and CBS, but I don’t remember which one was which so don’t ask me. Anyway--you had a half hour of news at 8 or 9 am (depending on which station you watched), an hourlong program at noon in which half the program was stuff like “here are today’s beach closures and some recipes and also if you’re looking for stuff to do with the kids this weekend here are local promotions,” and half an hour at either 5, 5:30, or 6 (again, depending on which channel you watched). One of the three stations also did a half-hour capper at 10pm. So unless you were watching all three stations, and picking the news every single time, the max amount of news you were going to get was like an hour and a half. If you wanted more news than that, you read the newspaper. When my mom was a kid (back in Ye Olde 1960s), this would have seemed like an inordinate amount of news--for her, it was half an hour at 6pm and ten minutes at 10pm and then the station (there was only one station that did the news) played the National Anthem and went off the air until 6am, at which time you might get like . . . the weather and a traffic report.

For anything else, you read the newspaper.

Now with only half an hour to present a whole lot of news, what are you going to do? You are going to stick to the facts. You don’t have a choice. You have a very short time to fit a whole lot of information. “Notre Dame cathedral caught on fire today. French firefighters are working to get the flames under control, and authorities in charge of the cathedral are doing their best to remove relics, paintings, and other holy objects while it’s still possible. French President Mr. Somebody addressed the nation and stated every attempt to save the building, and to rebuild the damage, will be made. In local news . . . “ And that’s it! If you want more information, you’ve got to wait for the newspaper in the morning, and you’re going to have to get a copy of the New York Times or USA Today, because the local paper will only have a blurb, and that blurb will mostly cover what you just heard!

But then the news changed.

By the time I was a teenager, the non-cable news looked like this: All three channels had a morning show that started at 5 or 6 am (depending on your station) and ran until 8 or 9 (depending on your station). The station that ended at 8am then had a half-hour morning news show. The mid-day news at 11 or 12 was still an hour. Channel 35 did a half-hour news segment at 5 and another at 5:30, back to back. The other two stations simply did an hourlong segment. And then one station did half an hour at 10:30, and the other two did hourlong segments at 10pm.

What do you do with that much time? Well, you expand. Yes, you can fit more news, but you can also fit more about the news. “Notre Dame cathedral in Paris went up in flames today. The fire began in the famous historic bell tower, and spread to the roof. At this time, portions of the roof appear to have caved in, and there are concerns about the integrity of the medieval stonework in the cathedral walls. French firefighters have been working since 8am Paris time to get the flames under control, and authorities in charge of the cathedral are doing their best to remove relics, paintings, and other holy objects while it’s still possible. Some firefighters are also helping with this project, as portions of the building have become too unsafe to enter. French President Mr. Somebody addressed the nation late this evening and stated every attempt to save the building, and to rebuild the damage, will be made. Of the cathedral itself, Somebody said, ‘Our Lady has weathered worse troubles than this. Paris as a city, and France as a nation, will overcome.’ In local news . . . ”

Still facts, but a few more facts. At this point the internet as a public thing is just past its infancy, and in theory you could go look up some stuff on, like, AOL, maybe, about what was happening.

(Nina, you were talking about antis . . . ?)

(Yes, I was. Bear with me.)

But at this point you also saw the rise of Fox News and CNN.

Now up to this point, I could trust the news. That is important to know. “Nina, American news is full of propaganda--” Listen, you’re not wrong, but the point is, if Scott Brennan told me Notre Dame cathedral was on fire and priests were trying to remove the holy relics, I could safely assume Notre Dame cathedral was on fire and priests were trying to remove the holy relics. If Channel 24 told me “the blizzard of the century” had occurred the night before, I could look out the window of my snowed-in house and go “yeah, that seems legit.”

I grew up, in other words, in a world in which facts were facts. We didn’t waffle or wring our hands over whether or not Notre Dame was on fire. And this allowed me to take a similar approach to fiction: it is a fact that murder is wrong, and knowing this, I can read a book in which someone commits murder for very good reasons, but still know they did something wrong.

But now you have 24 hours of news to fill.

No matter how you pad it, no matter how many voice clips you play or retrospectives you do, you cannot find enough news in the world to fill 24 hours, seven days a week, 365 days a year. You just can’t.

So they started adding “opinion pieces.”

Notre Dame is on fire--is it worth saving? Notre Dame is on fire--but is it as big a catastrophe as it’s made out to be? Notre Dame is on fire--but France has been steadily calling themselves a secular nation, so is this the punishment of G-d? Notre Dame is on fire--

--wait, what was that?

Yep. You saw it, I saw it, we all saw it. But as the “opinion pieces” slowly took over the regular news and stopped being called “opinion pieces” and started being called “programs,” it became less and less clear what was and wasn’t fact.

Now obviously Notre Dame is on fire. But now we have to ask ourselves: is it worth it to save it or not? Is the financial cost outweighed by the history? Will those answers change depending on how bad the damage becomes? And you, lonely elderly person in your chair whose predominant socialization these days is at church, how does this make you feel about French people? These are questions that once would have been asked of the church caretakers and the French government. Now every single person is being asked to think about them, without being provided all of the context that is available to the church caretakers and the French government. And along the way, you get these nice, nasty little bits of prejudice and slanted thinking and bias sneaked in.

I told you I’d come back to antis. And here we are.

The vast majority of antis are very young. They grew up in a world where those “programs” were the norm. They were not provided with a cultural basis of “these are the facts.” They were provided a basis of “here is what I think about the facts.” They were provided a basis of, as Mr. Banks said in Mary Poppins, “kindly do not cloud the matter with facts.”

There are no facts! Who fucking cares! An anti who’s 15 years old today was eleven years old when we were introduced to “alternative facts”! Is it wrong for a 27-year-old man to pursue a relationship with a 13-year-old girl? Depends on which news channel, and which presenter, you ask!

They literally grew up in a world in which critical thinking was discouraged. Once upon a time, you would have seen on TV that Notre Dame was on fire, and at dinner--or whatever your family did for together time--you might say things like “going to be expensive to fix that, I wonder what they’ll do,” but you wouldn’t have been hit with six presenters telling you exactly why Notre Dame should/shouldn’t be rebuilt. And don’t forget--even if you, personally, do not watch the news (or read it on the internet, which is just as bad, because everybody’s after those elusive advertising clicks, everybody needs the “scoop” two seconds before it happens), you know people who do. You hear their opinions and their hot takes and their retellings all around you. And those opinions and hot takes and retellings will be colored by which “program” that person saw first.

Watch the first thirty seconds of this:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dn2RjahTi3M

Walter Cronkite, a legendary news anchor, giving his opinion on Vietnam. You will notice that he states, very clearly: “it seems very clear to this reporter.” This is Cronkite’s opinion, nothing more, and he makes it clear that he is speaking only for himself.

Now skip to approximately 1:05, and watch him report the Kennedy assassination. You can see he’s emotional, but also keeping it under wraps as best he can because he has An Important Job To Do, and that job is twofold: to deliver the news accurately and concisely, and to keep the American public calm (you can see this when he hurriedly says Johnson is probably taking the oath to become President; a missing VP would be a crisis at this moment). This is a man who’s just found out the most beloved president in modern times is dead. And not just dead--murdered. It’s not like Kennedy had a heart attack, his damn head was blown off. This news is still coming in so quickly that you can see him glancing off the screen to get fresh reports. He’s one of the first to receive this absolute blow--and he’s still holding it together, barely wavering. (When I was a kid, this role would go to Dan Rather. He was no Cronkite, but he tried.)

Where is that kind of rock for today’s teens? Imagine--heaven forbid, in the state our country’s in right now--that tomorrow we get the news Biden was shot.

How would we get that message?

Would it be delivered by an even-keeled, just-the-facts reporter like Cronkite? Or would we get it from a bunch of half-hysterical articles and crisismongering “programs”? And would it be delivered to us straight, like Cronkite did, or would it be buried in three days’ worth of opinions on his “legacy” and policies and What This Means For America?

Now: how are you supposed to build any kind of strong convictions and moral compass on a world like that? Where anything can be true if enough people have an “opinion” on it? Where the facts get immediately buried in a wave of bullshit?

Antis are reacting to a world of “opinions” and “programs” being thrown at them 24/7 by trying to create a world they can control, where there are in fact things that are true, in a world that has actively refused them the opportunity to learn how to parse and process facts. And so what they’ve come up with is this grossly distorted version of facts, because gross distortions of facts are all they know. It’s all they’ve ever seen. They’re perpetuating a system they don’t even realize they’re part of, because they never experienced life before it existed.

They’re not lying when they say they were heavily influenced by fiction because the bounds between fact and fiction have been actively erased. On purpose. And it’s difficult to grok that, if you grew up in a world where you didn’t have to go seek out photographic evidence to be absolutely certain that Notre Dame was, indeed, on fire.

So what we need to be doing, first and foremost, is rebuilding that wall of facts, that line of truth. Otherwise, what we’re going to see is more of this, but getting worse daily.

We set them up for this, and now we’re paying the price for it.

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venusgirltarot · 3 years

Text

Pile 2 — [♡] ;

This is a general PAC reading. If you’ve stumbled across this post and don’t feel this particular group is for you, you can pick a different group, here

Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only. Tarot readings are about possibilities based on your current energy. Energy is forever changing and nothing is set in stone. Always remember, you have your own free will to make whatever decision you feel is best.

☆ミ ☆彡

Pile 2, before we get into what others find attractive about you, I believe there is something else that we need to talk about. You’ve just walked away from something or someone (it seems as though this is a person/connection) I believe for most of you this was a romantic connection that may have not lasted long or didn’t fully get off the ground. I’m getting something about how the connection didn’t get a chance to “stabilize” and I’m hearing “we never stood a chance” for a select few of you this seems to be a long term friendship with someone you viewed as less of a friend and more as family. I’m hearing “when the words of a sister come back in whispers” from “it’s time to go” by Taylor Swift. It seems this person hurt you. It could have been cheating, lying, going behind your back. I’m hearing “unforgivable” They made you feel like you weren’t a very important part of their life. You felt like you were on the outside looking in and you didn’t truly matter to them. Your guides want you to know that you made the right decision. You’ve released yourself and your energy from a toxic person and a toxic situation. They’re proud of you for listening to your intuition and doing what is best for you and I’m hearing “your soul” and well. They want you to know that it’s okay to take time and heal. You can realize that you’ve turned the page while also allowing yourself to feel the hurt from the last chapter. They want you to know that you are supported and everything will be okay.

Pile 2, I believe there’s A LOT that people find attractive about you. People really like your eyes/eyelashes. You may have big almost doughy? Like eyes. I’m hearing “bright eyed and bushy tailed” I’m also getting something about nice lips and bangs. And freckles but freckles that are drawn on like fake freckles. You all have a lot of admirers and although it may be secret for some of you, I feel most of you are aware of this. People feel like they have to compete for your attention. People may see you in the street and have to do a double take. You all have such a powerful and alluring energy. I’m also getting that people may stalk you on social media. Possible through second hand accounts. I’m hearing “what would it take for you to be mine” and also ‘gold rush’ by Taylor Swift. Everybody wants you. You all may also be cheeky and a bit flirty. You seem to be aware of the power and beauty that you hold. I’m hearing “there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you” like I said before, a lot of people may see it as a competition to be with you and they’re constantly thinking of what they could do to get your attention. Some of you may have a large following/platform. A lot of people look up to you or want to be you/be like you. Overall, you all seem like very attractive and powerful people with a lot of people that would like to at least get closer to you but more than that, be in a relationship and I’m even seeing marriage for some.

Box messages: Q, Z, L, July, November, Aquarius, 7th House, Aquarius Mercury, Scorpio Mars, Scorpio Rising, Virgo Mars, Scorpio Venus, I miss you more than I’d like to admit, what reminds you of me, I don’t know what you want, you know what you want, you’ve changed since I left, (10) completion-world, this is meant for you, you can do it, don’t hold yourself back, I miss the 22nd, It’s always been you, When the time is right it will come.

Song: You Need To Calm Down - Taylor Swift

#free readings #free tarot readings #tarot reader #tarot requests #tarot cards #pac reading #tarot related #tarotblr #collective reading #spirituality #pick a card reading #pick a card #pick a pile #pick a picture

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng start hooking up post-canon and Wei Wuxian assumes it's part of a scheme on Nie Huaisang's part. Possibly it was actually a scheme but Nie Huaisang got into it anyway. Or if sadness is more your thing, he didn't, and Wei Wuxian is left being like "see Jiang Cheng? I knew he couldn't have been hanging around with you for fun!"

ao3 (short)

“You need to stop,” Wei Wuxian said, his eyes narrow and expression fierce.

It was a lot less effective on Mo Xuanyu’s face than it had been on his original features. No one had yet told him, presumably out of a desire to avoid being murdered by Lan Wangji for making his lover sad.

Nie Huaisang frowned at him. “Stop…what?”

“Whatever it is you’re up to!”

Oh, were they doing this again?

Nie Huaisang opened up a fan and hid his face behind it in a single movement – he’d gotten really good at it over the years – and started idly fanning himself. “Wei-xiong, really, you’ll need to be more specific. I’m up to so many things, don’t you know…?”

Normally Nie Huaisang wouldn’t bother playing along, but he could see Jiang Cheng coming down the hallway at an angle that put him directly in Wei Wuxian’s blind spot – if there was one thing Jinlin Tower was good for, it was not seeing people – and he could already see Jiang Cheng starting to smile at his nonsense, which was obviously far more important than whatever it was that Wei Wuxian thought he’d figured out.

Hmm. Maybe Nie Huaisang was being too hasty in judging Lan Wangji’s rudeness – love really did make you do the stupidest things…

“I meant in relation to Jiang Cheng.”

Nie Huaisang stopped fanning and stared blankly at him. A few steps away from the turn, he saw Jiang Cheng come to a halt as well, already scowling.

“Jiang – Cheng?” he said hesitantly. “What exactly does Wei-xiong think I’m doing with Jiang-xiong?”

Wei Wuxian crossed his arms. “I’m not sure,” he said. “What are you doing?”

Nie Huaisang blinked at him. “But if I knew that, Wei-xiong, I wouldn’t have asked you, would I?”

The main problem Wei Wuxian had with confronting Nie Huaisang about anything, really, was that he genuinely found Nie Huaisang terribly funny. The twitching lips made the glaring more difficult.

(Behind him, Jiang Cheng was rolling his eyes, a full-body production that involved a great deal of heaving of shoulders and clutching at his head at the rampant stupidity on display. Nie Huaisang appreciated his lover's dedication to the art.)

Still – and this part was worrisome – Wei Wuxian’s smile faded away soon enough, replaced by a solemn expression.

“We may not be on the best of terms right now,” he said. “But he’s still very dear to me. I won’t put up with you using him as part of one of your schemes.”

“I don’t actually have any schemes,” Nie Huaisang said, mostly because Jiang Cheng was frowning now and Nie Huaisang did not want Wei Wuxian to mess up his budding relationship. “Really, Wei-xiong! I had one scheme, and it took me over a decade – I’m hardly the shadowy puppet-master mastermind you seem to sometimes seem to take me as. Why would you think that I’m using Jiang-xiong?”

“You’re deceitful,” Wei Wuxian said. “You made Jin Guangyao think that you were weak and dependent on him for years even as you plotted to bring him down. And now you’re pulling the same thing on Jiang Cheng – what am I supposed to think?”

Wei Wuxian must have seen them in the market, Nie Huaisang thought. He’d been carping around, playing up his good-for-nothing self – Jiang Cheng liked it when he did that. Mostly because Nie Huaisang really was a bit of a good-for-nothing, his one scheme claim to fame being firmly in the past; his cultivation was weak, his achievements few, his personality…questionable…

(Jin Ling had, upon discovering them spending time together, told Nie Huaisang that he fit everyone one of the criteria that Jiang Cheng had set out for a wife, right down to the weaker level of cultivation and the proper family background. Nie Huaisang had bought him some candy on the basis that ‘be nice to Jin Ling’ was on the list, and told him to think about the type of mileage he could get out of something like that. Jin Ling had looked appropriately thoughtful, after.

Nie Huaisang was a very good influence – or possibly a bad one, he wasn’t sure.)

At any rate, Jiang Cheng liked indulging him, liked and was reassured by the contrast between them. No one looking at them would ever put Jiang Cheng second – Nie Huaisang wasn’t even prettier! – except maybe in terms of insults, and even Jiang Cheng had to admit that he didn’t really want the privilege of being called the worst Great Sect leader, even if it was a superlative.

Wei Wuxian must have seen.

Wei Wuxian must have totally misunderstood.

“Jiang-xiong was at the Guanyin temple as well,” Nie Huaisang pointed out. “It’s not like er-ge at all.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “Do you really have the right to call Lan-da-ge that?”

“My brother’s no less my brother because he’s dead, and he kept his oath to the end,” Nie Huaisang pointed out. “Why should the other two be released from the obligations of their oath just because they chose to foreswear their side of it?”

“Stop getting away from the point,” Wei Wuxian said, probably because Nie Huaisang was right. Bitter and mean and resentful, but right. “Whatever you’re scheming that involves Jiang Cheng, stop it.”

“No.”

Wei Wuxian blinked.

“I’m not scheming, but even if I was, the target would be Jiang Cheng,” Nie Huaisang explained. “You don’t understand, Wei-xiong. You see, I like Jiang Cheng.”

“I’m sure you do,” Wei Wuxian said. “But I also think you liked Jin Guangyao, a bit.”

Maybe he had. A bit.

But it wasn’t the same at all!

“I especially won’t tolerate you using him for sex while also –”

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng bellowed, and Wei Wuxian jumped a chi into the air.

Nie Huaisang fanned himself. “Oh good,” he said. “I was about to be worried that you’d misunderstand, Jiang-xiong, but luckily Wei-xiong decided to take all the awkwardness onto himself.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jiang Cheng snarled at Wei Wuxian, who blanched but scowled back.

“I was just trying to help –”

“By embarrassing me?”

“How is it embarrassing to you?!”

“You think I’d be – what – led around by my dick like some new model Jin Guangshan –”

“Oh, that’s a good insult,” Nie Huaisnag said approvingly. “I’m going to need to use that in the future. What do you think the odds are for Lan Wangji biting me if I said it to him?”

That got both of them to stop fighting and turn to look at him.

“What? Does he only bite people he likes now? He used to bite everybody.”

Blank staring.

“That was back when he was five,” Nie Huaisang allowed. “It’s been a while.”

“You have stories about baby Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian said at once, as one might’ve expected. “I want them. All of them. Now.”

“Weren’t you threatening him a moment ago?!”

“That’s different! That was for you!”

“Right, because you don’t think anyone would actually like me,” Jiang Cheng said.

He sounded hurt.

Unacceptable.

“I’m sure Wei-xiong just meant that you were so unbearably attractive that people would compete for the opportunity to manipulate them into your bed,” Nie Huaisang assured him while Wei Wuxian was still trying to find words. “And since Wei-xiong thinks I’m the best schemer, obviously I won hands down, and secretly eliminated all my love rivals to boot. It's all my fault. Alas! I've been caught red-handed!”

“Are you actually capable of saying a single word that isn’t complete nonsense?” Jiang Cheng asked him, his tone having returned to exasperated and fond, which was worlds better than hurt.

Nie Huaisang considered the question seriously and then shook his head.

“You…! Good-for-nothing!”

Nie Huaisang nodded happily. “Your good-for-nothing,” he said cheerfully. “I’m going to make you do everything for me from now on.”

He was, too.

Wei Wuxian looked between them. “Wait,” he said. “Is this – a thing?”

“If you mean Jiang-xiong and I, yes,” Nie Huaisang said. “He’s been courting me for years, and I refused.”

“Only on the basis of a secret murder plot which you didn’t want to get me involved in.”

“How was I to know that everything would turn out well in the end? I thought there was every chance san-ge would find a way to drag me down with him. I couldn’t let that happen to you, of course.”

“Of course,” Jiang Cheng jeered, but he looked pleased and smug the way he always did when Nie Huaisang admitted to having been won over by the very first day of his courtship, years ago. He liked being successful at things.

“No,” Wei Wuxian said. “Not that. The – good-for-nothing thing. It’s a thing. For you two.”

“Fighting words,” Nie Huaisang remarked, even as Jiang Cheng flushed red. “Coming from the dreadful Yiling Patriarch that needs to be defeated by the mighty and righteous Hanguang-jun and then taken away for a good ravishing –”

“Wei Wuxian!”

“Uh - listen – I can explain – actually, no, I can’t. Nie-xiong, you have my blessing, just don’t break his heart, bye.”

“Come back here you -!”

Yes, Nie Huaisang decided, watching Jiang Cheng chase Wei Wuxian. This was the best possible result.

#mdzs #nie huaisang #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #my fic #my fics #yes it's a thing

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deardragonbook · 3 years

Text

The reason to kill off a character

So, before going to the actual advice I just want to say, thank you so much for all the attention that my post on making a character death heartbreaking got! That post actually got reposted on Instagram by an account much bigger than me (they credited me so that’s actually really cool!) not sure if that’s where you all came from or just a coincidence, but I’m happy you’re here.

Now, that repost on Instagram got a lot of attention and among all the comments something I did see a bit off, was people asking why authors do this, so I thought for today it’d be cool to actually go over some of those reasons.

1.- The first and most obvious is tension management. In a story tension depends on the existence of the possibility of failure, in a lot of genres this could mean a couple not getting together, the protagonist not getting the job they want or a villain winning. In fantasy, we often find ourselves in life or death situations, and if character’s never die, life or death situations completely lose that tension. This is especially true with longer series with several books.

So sometimes, as saddening as it may be, you have to make the choice to sacrifice a character for tension sake. But why put in an effort o make it as sad as possible? Well, by making the death an impactful one, you can get away with killing less characters.

A good example of this is actually Harry Potter, everyone says loads of character’s die in Harry Potter, but that’s not entirely true, loads of characters die in the final book, so for the sake of this example, pretend the final book doesn’t exist please, thank you. Up until the the Half Blood Prince, there are only THREE important character deaths! Cedric, Sirius and Dumbledore (I obviously am not counting minor characters, mentions of muggles dying, ghosts, Harry’s parents, although I was tempted to throw Aragog into here). That’s not many deaths for six books. But they were all hard hitting impactful deaths, that carried the tension with only one character sacrificed for the sake of many.

So as a writer, remember it’s quality and not quantity.

2.- Character arcs and development. There’s two sides to this:

2.a.- Vengeance and mourning can be very powerful character motivations, they can make someone switch very quick. You got a character that always plays by the rules, always cautious and careful, kill of their friend, their family and watch how emotion can blind their judgement. They can switch sides, they can switch methods, they can change goals and form an entire new side! Everybody reacts different to grief, and you do need to be very cautious with this, lots of people have done this wrong, but so many have done this right!

Everyone talks about redemption arcs, love to see it, but a hero gone villain can be just as good when done correctly!

2.b.- Smaller changes. Some people don’t react suddenly, some people handle death surprisingly well, but someone close to you dying is something that will always be with you, and affect you. I think a good example of smaller changes, is when you have a say a team, and one of the members die and the remaining members have to take on the responsibilities that this person had.

If the person who died was, say, the one giving motivational speeches before each battle, when the next battle comes and there is silence, it’s very likely a different character will take up that responsibility, showing a side of them we hadn’t seen before.

3.- Plot reason. When I think of character’s dying over the plot, I usually think dead parents who died before the book even begins. You know, every Disney parent ever. But other examples could be villains who die or a king who dies leaving his son/daughter/next in line to rule. I don’t think it’s as important that these be sad, it depends very much on the character and on the author’s intent.

This is probably the area where personally I use the connection card, especially if the death happens before the book begins, it’s not sad per say, but you might feel empathy towards the character’s left behind and their soft words of remembrance.

4.- Just, emotions. The whole point of writing is to tell a story, the whole point of stories is to make us feel things. And a happy ending is only amplified by the struggles that got us there. A character dying for something they believe it can be heartbreaking in the moment sad, but when that thing they believed in comes to fruition, the fact so many gave so much to get it, makes it feel so much more important!

Anyway, so those are my big four reasons to kill characters off. There are probably loads more reason out there, maybe you’re just writing angst, maybe you’re writing Game of Thrones, maybe you just created far too many character’s and it’s time to clean up! No judgement here, but I hope this helps newer authors who don’t entirely understand the reasons behind these decisions.

I recently created a link tree so check that out for all my socials and my book!

Some upcoming posts I have in the drafts are:

Things that make character deaths heartbreaking (part 2)

Relationship drama without the constant arguing

How I do Timelines

How I do Fantasy Maps

So if any of that sounds interesting feel free to follow! I also have asks open if you want help with any specific aspects! I’m always happy to help!

#writers on tumblr #writing #writer #writing advice #how I write #writing tips #writeblr #writing tricks #authors #author #how to write #advice #fantasy #writing help #character #character death #resource

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xo-cuteplosion-xo · 3 years

Note

I’m going through a rough time atm and I was wondering if you’re okay if I request some characters with a s/o who is just tired a lot, can’t concentrate and don’t really have energy to do stuff.

I wish I knew what characters were your comfort characters, so I could make this even better for you! I hope you feel better and the little quick drabbles help you a bit. I went with my 3 most requested, as they tend to be more often than not comfort characters. I hope that’s alright with you! Feel free to drop another request for a character that I didn’t include here.

For hard times |Dazai, Chuuya, Atsushi x Reader|

Warnings: implied depression, symptoms of depression.

Genre: comfort-

Total words- 1504

Dazai:

417 words

From the start of this, he had suspicions you were feeling a little down. Watching you sit alone and look less cheery with the passing hours, days, maybe it had been a few weeks. He wanted to make you feel better, but he didn’t know how to. He was after all in your position most of the time. Unmotivated and too tired to do anything, let alone want to move about. He wanted to know what was pushing your mood down. This need grew stronger the longer he watched your tired expression. There was nothing this man wanted more than to make you feel better. Even if he didn’t understand what it was, that was pulling you under.

With careful steps, he walked over to you with a soft blanket, woven with soft strands of silky yarn. He set it over your shoulders, wrapping it around you. Watching your half-lidded eyes look over to him from the unexpected gesture he simply shook his head. Pressing his hand to your cheek, he softly smiled. The slight lift to his lips was only ever revealed to you. This kind, gentle, serious expression was his vulnerability. He hoped you would open up your woes to him. Let you rant and pour whatever feelings were bottling up and slowly dragging you down. He didn’t care what it was, a co-worker, a friend, a relationship of some kind, an ex, your family life, he just needed to help you. So as he watched you with honest worry, he pulled you close, so your head rested on his chest. “When you're ready, I’ll be here for you to drop your pain.” His voice was softer, lacking his signature playful teasing. There was nothing but an oddly comforting smoothness to his voice. Low and slightly choked as he held you. He was unsure if this little reassurance; this little contact comforted you.

He’d hold you until you could no longer cry, or until you were peacefully asleep. Even then, he’d keep your body close to his. If he were to fall asleep, he would not let you go. He would never let you go, not until you felt safe and slightly better. Even if it was only half a percent of a change, he would be happy to have helped your mood lift. He’s never going to push you to tell him what’s bothering you. He won’t ask you to do anything you don’t want to. Well, except eat, he can’t have you starving.

Chuuya:

474 words

He’d be too caught up with work to notice it immediately, the changes in your mood and behavior. That doesn't mean he never does though. Out of everybody in the mafia, you were the most important to him. He was willing to take any risk to keep you safe. If he finds out because you don’t show up and refuse to drag yourself from bed, he shakes his head, refuse wouldn’t be the right word here. It’s more like he understands you can’t. Something is crushing you like a weight, and he becomes determined to fix that issue. He hardly ever talks softly, but around your tired, nearly life-less form he’s soft. His steps aren't loud stomps, but instead a soft pattern of clicks. The heels of his shoes provide you a perfect rhythm. He’ll buy you chocolate because of the serotonin that they’re proven to induce. He never asks for details, he knows you would tell him if you needed to. However, just in case you are staying silent about the weight that’s causing this pain, due to the fear he’ll think you are weak. He hints that he would never see you in such a dull fashion. “Hey, you know you can always tell me if something is wrong, right? You know I keep my word, I won't judge or tell anybody else.” There was more he wanted to say. Part of that was an expression of how much he cared about you. He stayed silent in fear he would be selfish in doing so. If those words are the trigger for you to slip from holding it all in, he wraps you in his arms and lets you do what you need to.

He doesn't care if you shout, pound your fists against his chest, cry, or do a mix of all of that. He wants you to get it all out until that weight can start to loosen, and you can start to feel free from the troubles holding down your smile. He’ll hold you after your meltdown. He will not let anybody else see you. They will not get a chance to lay a finger on you. If a specific person was the cause, like an ex, a bully, a sibling, he’ll wait till you're peacefully asleep, then have a… talk with them. He warns them that if you’re ever hurt again, they won’t get off with simply being terrified for their life. He’s insanely protective of the people close to him. You get the front of that protective nature, you’re the one he cares for the most. Whether you return such feelings or not, it won’t change anything. He hates seeing your tears, so he’ll always be there for you to cling to in such times. You are never alone, he will always be there to support you.

Atsushi:

613 words

When he first noticed you were down, he was working; doing the work Dazai had shoved at him. He liked to think you were a hard worker, so seeing you so… tired was a slight abnormality to him. He noticed how you were struggling to stay concentrated. Every so often he’d look over and find you blankly staring off, eyes glossed over. When everybody else was gone, he walked to your desk whilst fidgeting with the hem of his gloves. Taking deep breaths, he was upfront about what he’d noticed. “Are you feeling alright?” "I-I could uh take you somewhere if you want.” If you tell him you're fine, he’ll hang his head before gathering the courage to confront the lie. Even your tone was different; it sounded almost as if you had given up on everything. He knew that low, depressed tone. He used to have such a pitch to his own voice before he found his place here. He remembered how much pain he had gone through. The mental baggage of the past, the fear of what he found out was his own ability. He didn’t want that to be the pain rising in your mind. He’d pull over a chair and swipe away the pile of unfinished requests. “You’re not though. I-I don’t want to intrude, but maybe… maybe you should take some time? You seem tired, I could get you some sweets and other things if you want.” He would mutter the words under his breath until you shrugged.

When he returned, he found you on the agency sofa doing nothing but holding yourself; too exhausted to attempt to do anything. You couldn’t, not with how you felt. The thoughts racing in your head were too much to hold on to on your own. You wondered how people got this far with such a mindset. So trapped in your thoughts, you never noticed Atsushi take a seat at the other end. Sliding down bags of candy and flavored sweet drinks. He knew sugar induced serotonin, but wasn’t sure if that worked with everybody. The next thing he decided to do was look to the side and speak to you again. “If you’re going through something, I'm… we’re all here for you. The entire agency, you know, we're kind of like our own family? If you're hurting or holding something all on your own, you can tell us.” Turning back to you, he inched closer and reached for your hand. With a slow movement, he rubbed the back of your hand. “I… really am here. I’ve felt like this before… I know how hard it can be to tell others what’s bothering you, but please… can you promise me you’ll fight?” When he noticed your confused face, he decided to say it. “You’re important to every single one of us. So please, if it gets too much and you want to take it to an extreme, please… please come to one of us.” His eyes sparkled with a plea. He wouldn’t know what to do if you did something to yourself out of this pain.

If those words cause you to rush in for a hug, he’ll return the embrace. Running his hand over your back in an attempt to comfort you. He’s not the best at comfort, but he does whatever he can to help. Whether you want to hear more reassurance or just have somebody to cling to while you're unmotivated.

These things will eventually get better, with the right people, the right comfort, the right hobbies. These moments pass and light will shine. He hopes you’ll be able to see the light peek from the clouds soon.

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writingtoforgetreality · 3 years

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Forever & Always An Outsider (Cordell Walker x Daughter!Reader)

[Walker-Masterlist]

Summary: Your dad came back. Finally. But what would he do if he found out how you had been treated? That his family failed to accept your rightful place with them. Your life needed change before you were too far gone.

Words: 2,495

Warnings: language, angst, feels, suffering in silence, losing yourself, most of the Walkers are assholes (I love the actors & their characters, this is just fiction!), I’m incredibly proud of this one (pls tell me what y’all think - requests for Walker & more are open!), (Y/A) = your age, (Y/E/C) = your eye color

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

You were (Y/N) Walker. Through & through. Worthy of that last name. Emily not being your biological mother should not matter, right? It was her who raised you with Cordell. It was her who tucked you in at night. It was her who was there when you woke up in the middle of the night, screaming, because nightmares invaded your peaceful slumber. It was her who you called mom. So why the hell were you different? Why were you not treated the same way Stella & Augie were?

It was not your decision to be the child of one of Cordell’s one night stands. Neither was it your decision to be abandoned by the same woman who had carried you inside of her body for nine months. And it sure as hell was not your decision to be laid at the front porch of the Walker property. A note the only explanation who you were & why you were brought here in the middle of the night. A paternity test later & it was confirmed. You were Cordell’s daughter. Not even once did Emily think any less of you. The same thing for Cordell. Because you were their daughter. Fully. You were their child, as much as Stella & August were. You cried when you received the news of your mother’s passing. Just as much as the rest of the family. Cordell’s decision to leave was just as hard for you as it was for everyone else.

Daily calls had been left unanswered. Who could you possibly talk to if not your dad? Who would listen to your complaints, your pain, your grief, if not him? The years growing up had never been easy for you, there was no denying that. Yet, the second you were left alone with Cordell’s parents & your siblings, your life turned into living hell for you. It had never been kept secret that you were not Emily’s biological child. From early on, the both of them tried to explain your situation to you so you did not feel like they were keeping important information from you. Acceptance was what you needed. But it also was what you did not get. As a kid, of course you would never mention being treated differently. After all, it was your normal. It was something you got used to. Your parents seemed oblivious to the dirty glances that your grandparents threw your way. They did not notice that they spent more time with your siblings. Growing up in such a household, where support was only partly given, changed you as you got older. You were (Y/A) years old now. Old enough that the realization had kicked in. The reason why they treated you like an outsider was simple. Because you were one. An outsider.

You could not hide the disappointment you felt towards your dad when he returned. He left you. During a time where it felt like your head was underwater. Where you felt like you were drowning. And everybody watching you did not lift a finger to help you out of the dark & endless water surrounding your weak & broken body. No. They were busy dealing with everything on their own. Leaving you out entirely. Your dad was back. Finally. And as much as you hated him for leaving, your relief was bigger than the negativity that had been eating inside of you. Again, a person you connected to on a deeper level was with you. The only soul who accepted you. As you were. No friendships ever ended working out. The relationship with the rest of your family did not need any more discussing.

All those months of you keeping to yourself did not change a single thing. Your voice had only been used when someone had explicitly directed their words at you. Why bother talking to them? The only thing you had ever received was weird look after weird look. Hell, you had months alone to grieve. The hours you had spent crying in your room, all alone in the middle of the night, had not helped dealing with your loss. It was true, you were not the only one in this family who had lost someone. The difference was that you were the only one who had been left alone. Because the moment Cordell left, your support system went with him. The one thing you had never learned was being alone & staying alive.

An unnatural feeling was inside your home the day your dad arrived here. If you took a sharp knife, you could cut the tension precisely. But Cordell tried. His efforts did not go unnoticed by you. A small smile, a simple touch. Your way of acknowledging his attempts. The change in your family was noticeable. Connecting with his parents, with Stella & Augie, was not easy. Not at all. You, on the other hand, you were a changed person entirely. Not the funny, joyful girl you had once been. More like a closed book, encrypted with a lock. The key long gone, getting rusty at the bottom of a deep, lurid river.

Conversations over dinner were held briefly. Your dad being the only one to start them by things he remembered you guys liked. The burning need inside of you to talk to him was pushed down further. The looks you would receive were not really what you anticipated. But nobody knew. The silent battle you had been fighting for the last months had been ignored. Had your dad been here, he would have noticed something was off. Right away. A look in your (Y/E/C) eyes was all it took. But that was the past. This person had died a long time ago. Worrying was all that could be done for the time being. If you were to talk, you would come to him yourself. No need for him to force you into a situation you were highly uncomfortable in.

The bags under your eyes were present. The light in your eyes completely gone. Like the last ounce of strength had been sucked out of your body. Your clothes did not fit the way they used to. Loose hoodies, even looser pants. Your form slowly disappearing. Not only feeling like you were unseen, but actually becoming invisible. There was not a single moment of the day where you were fully awake. You had not been sleeping much. Something your dad could relate to. Most nights, he spent in company with a bottle of whiskey. The only friend to numb the pain for a little while. Alcohol was not your solution. Did not mean that yours was any healthier.

It had become a routine for you. Waiting until the house was sound asleep. Your mind the only one being awake. Your thoughts the only ones running miles & miles per hour. Eventually, you always found yourself seated outside, on top of the roof. Being a bit closer to the stars aligning the night sky. Being a bit closer to her. Others might find it silly. You talking into the night, waiting for some echo of the past. Waiting for a sign that she heard you. Your complaints. Your pain. Your grief. Your love. Spending hours crying. Begging for her to make it stop. Begging for them to love you the way she used to.

The cold breeze hit your exposed skin. A sign that your body still reacted to certain things. Texas nights were chilly. A nice contrary to the heat that dragged itself through most days. A hoodie would do. Some sweatpants. But you needed the goosebumps. Needed them to remind you that you were still here. Still breathing. You owed it to your mom. To keep fighting. Because she did not have the chance to anymore. Tears were threatening to escape your glossy eyes. You would not let them fall. Deep down, you knew she would want you to be strong. Not to cry over her. Because of her. But it was so hard. Each day, the weight got heavier. Each day, you lost yourself a bit more. There was only so much a single person could take. To you, it felt like the limit was almost reached. Soon, you would overflow. Who knew what would happen if you let it get that far?

“Your mom used to love that place.” a soft but deep voice interrupted the peaceful silence that encircled your body. Looking over your shoulder to find your dad standing only mere feet away from you.

“Really?” the pain could be heard through your small voice. Broad shoulders touched yours.

“She was up here when she needed time to think.” elbows propped up on his knees. You could brush him off. Pretending to be fine. Explaining that fresh air was all you needed. That you would head inside in a minute. Truthfully, you did not want to do any of this. The fight had been going on for too long. You were close to losing it. This was a sign that, maybe, you were not yet at the end. That, maybe, there was still enough time to get up & start anew. Talking alone felt like too much effort. It required too much strength. Strength that you did not have. Not anymore.

“Something happened to you while I was gone.” the statement left a tension between you. “I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.” his eyes took in your side profile. You did not dare to look at him. It meant risking to break into tears. The tears you had been holding in for so long.

“I don’t even know myself anymore.” as a father, hearing your child say such words, it broke his heart. Into a million pieces. The universe did not give him a break. First Emily. Now you. Yes, you were alive. But watching you disappear right in front of his eyes hurt just as much.

“Talk to me.” his words were not an order. If you wanted to, you could up & leave. Right this instant. Something told you to stay. He was here, after all. Your dad. And he cared enough to look out for you. More than the others had done these past few months.

“I always wondered if mom & you noticed.” your eyes were focused on a branch that wavered in the far distance. The leaves pushed from one side to the other, controlled by the wind. There was no interruption. If you needed to get something off your chest, then the most Cordell could do was listen. Making you feel as if you were not alone. As if he was not leaving you. Not again. Because he was not.

“Grandma & grandpa have never looked at me the way they look at Stella. At Augie. To them, I was never their grandchild. I was just there. I was never an equal. And I was fine with it, you know? Because I had mom. I had you. And that was all the support I needed. Then mom died. And you left. And suddenly, it felt like there was nobody I could talk to. Nobody who could hug me to make me feel at least a tiny bit better. They were this tight-knit group. And I was alone.” the steadiness, the monotony in your voice was scary. To you, it had been your normal for the longest time. Cordell knew that it was partly his fault. Leaving you during one of the hardest times in your life was plainly wrong. No apology could ever bring back the time you had lost.

“I’m sorry.” it was not much. Definitely not enough. Definitely not what you deserved. Yet, it was all that could be given to you in this moment. A strong, muscular arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his warm body. The heat of his form immediately transferring to your skin. His embrace was a safe haven. His cologne so familiar. You had missed him. So much. Only when he touched you were you overwhelmed by every single emotion you had ignored for the last couple of months. Silent tears made their way down your cheeks, leaving a salty taste at the corners of your mouth.

“It’s fine.” one thing had not changed. Always making sure that others would not worry about you. People knew you for your fierce & strong personality. It was not too late to get the old you back. With much work, much love & support, you could change for the better again.

“It’s not.” Cordell knew you were one to carry everything on your own. That trait was given to you from him. He recalled how Emily had mentioned it when you were a small child. The one thing you always did was putting others first, forgetting about yourself in the process. That was something the both of you had to work on. Something the both of you needed to improve. The start would make him talking to the rest of the family. Now that he knew about your daily struggles, he made it his job to do everything to change it. For your sake. Because that was what Emily would have wanted. It was what he wanted for you. All of your years, you had been nothing but kind & loving towards his parents, Stella & August. The kindness you shared with them was not necessary. You had been treated wrongly for years & Cordell blamed himself for being too blind to see clearly.

Again, silence enveloped you & neither of you talked. It was comforting. Him being back. Him wanting to help. He hugged you close to him. Squeezing your shoulders every now & then. A simple sign of letting you know that he was still here. With you.

“I’ll talk to them.” if it were not for the night to be so calm, you would have missed his words entirely. “I’ll make this right.” this was a silent promise. A promise that he would stay. A promise that you no longer had to keep your grief locked inside. A promise that your family would be just that. A family. A family who treated each other equally. Loved each other endlessly. Supported each other whenever it was possible. Maybe it was the scene you found yourself in. The almost black night sky, illuminated by the moon, by thousands of little stars. Showing you that there were a million small reasons for a light in a mass of darkness. Bits & pieces of hope. Maybe this was your sign. The sign you had waited for every night. The sign from your mom. Telling you that it was worth fighting for. Worth fighting for the little things. Because each of those were beautiful in their own way. Each of those deserved appreciation. Each of those could brighten up the dark life you found yourself in. And light was all you needed right now.

Published (03/26/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @fofisstilinski, @geekgirl007, @spnwoman, @acklessnackles, @the-soul-witch, @multifandomlover121, @missmaam123, @delicatecelebritiesarthairdo (thanks for your support <3/sorry if I mistakenly tagged you, please let me know if I did)

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fangirling-is-my-passion · 3 years

Text

*Salted Caramel*(Steve Rogers x Platonic!Reader)

Warnings: mentions of anxiety and a very, very complicated parents-child relationship (I don’t know how to write warnings, I’m so sorry).

Summary: You have an anxiety attack one day and the First Avenger comes to the rescue. In a fatherly way, just to clarify, hehe.

A/N: Eeehh, I have no clue if any of this makes any sense, haha, but I’m not gonna lie, I wrote the fic I desperately needed, so anyways I hope you enjoy it, my lovelies. Also, know that if you ever need anyone to talk to, my dms are always open. :)

You were the newest member of the Avengers and, although you’d only been part of the team for a couple of months, everybody had welcomed you with open arms. Nonetheless, you didn’t have as much opportunity to interact with them as you would’ve wished to, since you, not only being the newest member but also the youngest, still lived with your parents. Everybody had agreed that that was fine as long as you attended training sessions at the compound three times a week, which your parents agreed to. And now, even though you’d celebrated your 18th birthday a week ago, your living situation hadn’t changed much. At least not so far.

In spite of it all, the team had quickly embraced your presence in their lives and you felt more comfortable and at home with them than you’d ever felt with any of your relatives, including your parents. As a matter of fact, you didn’t really feel at home with your parents at all. Due to some issues from the past that had had its peak only a few months ago, the effect in the present was that your trust in them had broken completely and, even though you’d tried to fix the relationship several times along the years, the truth was that your parents kept letting you down constantly, making the damage irreparable by now.

This had taken a toll on your mental health and your anxiety had worsened a lot lately, nevertheless, telling your parents about it was obviously out of the question, and you didn’t want to bother the group of superheroes with such insignificant problems like yours. The world was in their hands, and in yours now too, you couldn’t make so much fuss about something like that.

Until the day you reached your breaking point.

Which sounds very dramatic, yet if you thought about it too much, you’d been through a lot worse before.

The circumstances and its specific details are irrelevant, the point is that, while you and your mother were having lunch, you had quite an intense anxiety attack. The kind you hadn’t had in a considerable amount of time.

Your hands started sweating, your heart began pounding inside your chest, making you feel like it could burst out of your ribcage at any given moment. Your breathing became shallow and quick, your lungs always asking for more air to breathe in, and a weird sensation that felt very much like losing ground and any sort of control over your life and yourself invaded you. At one point you even thought you’d pass out, but fortunately you didn’t.

You had to get out of there, fast.

So you told your mother that oh, crap, you’d just now remembered that you had a training session with the Avengers that afternoon, so you really had to get going. And without another word, not even waiting for a response from her, you took your phone and nothing more, and exited the house.

Once outside you walked aimlessly, trying to get as much air into your lungs as you could in an attempt to calm down. A million thoughts were rushing through your head, making you feel slightly dizzy, but you tried with all your might to concentrate on your inhalations and exhalations. After several minutes, you started feeling the tension in your whole body loosen up a bit, your breathing becoming steadier and your train of thoughts no longer on the verge of crashing. However, you still felt the urgent need to talk to somebody. Yes, the last thing you wanted to do was bother any of the earth's mightiest heroes with your problems, but this really seemed to be the last straw for you.

Therefore, you unlocked your phone and called the first person you could think of.

“(Y/N)?” Steve Rogers’ voice called from the other side of the line.

“Uh… Hi.” you said hesitantly, with a remaining shakiness in your voice that certainly didn’t go unnoticed by Steve.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” he asked preoccupied, and you could almost picture the expression on his face: the furrowed brows, the worry reflecting in his blue eyes.

“I, um, I’m… I’m fine, I just… I just needed to talk to someone. I’m sorry, I shouldn't be bothering you with this.”

“No, no, you’re not bothering at all. What happened? Where are you, at your house?”

“Umm, no, not exactly, I’m… I’m a couple of blocks away, but…”

“Oh, okay. Do you want me to go there, or maybe meet somewhere, so we can talk?”

“I-,” tears started gathering in your eyes, making everything around you blurry, but you weren’t exactly crying out of sadness, “I don’t want to be a burden, really, I’m so sorry, I just wanted to hear your voice…” you mumbled, your voice cracking.

“(Y/N), you’re not a burden. Whatever happened, if it’s important to you then it’s important to me, okay? We can talk. Just tell me where and I’ll be on my way.”

“Why are you being so nice to me? You barely know me…,” you sniffled, tears rolling down your cheeks now, a sign of how moved you were by Steve’s kindness. He didn’t have to do all that, leave the compound to go meet with you somewhere, to listen to a problem that had nothing to do with him, but he was willing to do it nonetheless.

“Because I care for you. Even if you haven’t been part of the team for as long as the rest of us, you are family now. And families are always there for each other,” he stated softly but with determination.

“Thank you…,” you whispered, feeling like not all the thank you’s in the world could express how grateful you were to the man. “Um, well, there’s… There’s a small coffee shop relatively near here, I guess we could… we could meet there… if it isn’t much trouble,” you added.

“Sounds good. Can you send me the address?”

“Sure.”

“And text me when you get there, all right?”

“Yeah, I… I will. Thank you, Steve. Really.”

“Don’t worry about it, kiddo.” You smiled to yourself, feeling another wave of tears coming up. “And, hey,” he added, “it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

_________________________

Minutes later, you were at the coffee shop, sitting at a small table for two by the window. It was a lovely place you’d discovered at the beginning of the year, one day you were wandering aimlessly around your neighbourhood. The food was quite tasty in general, and both the place and the people who worked there gave off a very warm and cosy vibe, the type you only feel during Christmas, sitting in front of the fireplace with a cup of hot cocoa in your hands.

You’d already texted Steve to let him know you’d arrived, and now all you had to do was wait for him to get there. According to him, he was just about to.

And it was true, because a moment later you saw the tall, blond-haired man enter the establishment and search for you with his eyes. He finally spotted you, and you were able to notice, even from a distance, how his expression softened, while he made his way towards you.

“Hey,” you muttered standing up, still ashamed that you’d made the superhero travel all the way there for such a mundane reason.

“Hey,” he greeted you back with a soft smile, before sitting down on his chair, prompting you to do the same, “so… What happened, kiddo?”

You sighed. “Well, I just… I, um… may or may not have had… um, an anxiety attack…,” you could feel your face heating up due to the embarrassment you felt by admitting it to somebody else. An anxiety attack. Pfff. It felt so absurd now, making such a big deal out of it when there were clearly more important things…

“An anxiety attack?” Steve asked, tilting his head to one side in that particular way of his. His ocean eyes were overflowing with kindness, and that single-handedly was more than enough to make you want to cry again. Your heart was definitely not used to such a level of sympathy.

“Yeah…,” you breathed, your eyes starting to water up once more.

“Does it happen to you very often?”

“Umm, not exactly, I don’t know… It’s… It’s been happening with more frequency lately, but… I-I don’t know, it’s… it’s complicated. I mean,” you sighed again, “I’ve… I’ve lived my whole life... with anxiety and, well, I know there isn’t an actual cure for it, but I’ve… I’ve learnt to handle it, more or less, it’s just…”

At that moment, a waiter walked up to your table and asked if you wanted to order anything. You wiped the few tears that had escaped your eyes as discreetly as you could, hoping the waiter wouldn’t notice anything. As a matter of fact, you were embarrassed by letting yourself cry in front of Steve too, but at this point you couldn’t really help it. The superhero looked at you inquiringly.

“Have you eaten already? Do you want anything?”

“Um, yeah... yeah, I have… Uh… no, I don’t know... if you want anything… I can tell you that the salted caramel frappe is really good,” you offered him a small smile.

“Is that so?” He smiled too. “Well… I’ll have one if you have one. If that’s okay.”

You chuckled lightly. “Okay. It’s a deal.”

“All right then, two... salted caramel frappes? Please.”

“Sure,” the waiter wrote it down on his notepad and gave you both a warm smile, “I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you,” you and Steve said in unison.

“So,” he began, “you said your anxiety attacks have been happening more frequently lately. What do you mean lately? Is there a specific reason? Is it because of the Avengers?”

“What? No, no, not at all, you’re actually kind of my escape from everything… Umm, it’s complicated…,” you let out another sigh and proceeded to explain the situation to Steve, at first hesitantly, but after a while you were capable of talking a bit more freely.

You told him about your parents, about how you no longer felt at home in your own house and how the trust you ever had on your mother and father had been broken. How the comfort they were supposed to provide you was long gone and, in spite of your past efforts, it always ended unfavourably. It wasn’t easy, not in the slightest, nevertheless, as you kept talking, you could feel a heaviness being lifted from your shoulders, one that you didn’t even know was there in the first place. And, yes, the possibility of things ending badly even now was still there, but Steve’s expression, his whole energy made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t felt for way too long. So you might as well give it a try and get this off your chest once and for all.

Not long after you started talking did your beverages arrive and you both thanked the waiter before you continued.

He listened to you attentively. Never interrupted you, waited patiently for you to go on every single time you paused to take a breath or sigh or calm yourself down, never pushing you to keep talking. His furrowed brow reflected his worry for you, but it was in an understanding and serene way. He was glad you were finally telling all this to somebody and felt honoured that from all people you’d trusted him. He was perfectly aware that you were opening up to him and the last thing he wanted to do was make you feel like your emotions were invalid or unimportant. So he kept listening until you finished, and then waited a few seconds more, letting you sip on your frappe, before he spoke.

“I gotta ask, is that the reason why you go to the compound more than the necessary three times a week?”

Touché. You’d been constantly lying to your parents, telling them you had training sessions almost daily, or making random yet believable excuses so you could get out of your house and spend more time with the people who actually made you feel good.

You simply nodded to confirm Steve’s suspicions.

“It’s okay, (Y/N), I understand, I really do. Families can be tough sometimes, and people may disagree with what I’m about to say, but you don’t really owe your parents anything, especially after the way they’ve made you feel. It might sound like a bold stance, particularly for someone as old-fashioned as me, but as the saying goes “the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb”. You’re not obliged to like your parents, let alone if they have had abusive conducts towards you. Now, in addition to that, it doesn’t have to be a greek tragedy for it to be valid. If something makes you feel bad or uncomfortable in any way, if it hurts you, then it does and that’s it. Other’s don’t get to say whether they hurt you or not, only you do,” he made a pause, pondering what to say next, ”Maybe someday your relationship with your parents can be rescued, or maybe not. Both things are fine, as long as it’s what makes you feel better. For now, however, I think we should find a quick and satisfactory solution to the problem, so why don’t you come live in the compound with all of us? You’re an adult now, you don’t need your parents’ permission,” the blue-eyed man offered you a sweet lopsided smile full of warmth, a tiny hint of fear that went unnoticed by you sparkling in his eyes, since he wasn’t sure of what impact his words had had on you. He was hoping he’d said the right thing, but he was terrified of the possibility that he’d screwed up.

Nevertheless, his fear couldn’t be further from the truth. Steve’s speech had reassured you profoundly, reinforcing that sense of safety of yours that had already started to develop around him and the rest of the Avengers. You lacked words to express how grateful you were towards him, but this man would always have your eternal gratitude. Needless to say, tears were streaming down your cheeks as quietly as you could keep them, your heart overwhelmed by the tenderness and the understanding he was offering you.

“I-,” you began, but your sobs became too much for you to contain and you broke down crying. Still, you tried to articulate your thoughts as best you could,” I’m sorry, it’s just… nobody had ever been so understanding with me and… and had ever comforted me so much in my life… you’re being so kind to me I… I honestly can’t thank you enough… I don’t even know what to say, I’m so sorry, I’m so lame...”

“You’re not,” Steve assured you softly, placing his hand over the one you had on the table. How were you supposed to stop crying if everything he did filled you with a sensation of comfort you’d lost a long time ago?

“Thank you,” you sniffled, wiping your tears clumsily with your free hand, “Thank you. And… yeah, I’d… I’d absolutely love to live with all of you at the compound. But will it be okay for everybody?”

“Of course! I told you, you’re part of the family now. We would all love to have you there with us, kiddo. We simply have to tell Tony, he’s the one in charge of that sort of stuff. And, of course, let your parents know. If you want, we can go to the compound right now and tell him. I’ll be there with you if you need me to. Both with Tony and with your parents.” Steve gave you a loving smile. His heart felt so relieved now knowing that his words hadn’t been a mistake.

“Okay, yeah… That… That would be nice. I told my mother I had a training session, so she won’t expect me to be back until later.”

“All right then, perfect,” he said, before taking another sip of his frappe, which had been reduced by half by now. Yours was almost untouched, but only because you’d been too busy speaking. Or crying. Or both. “By the way,” he added, “you were right, this thing is really good.”

You giggled. “I’m glad you liked it.”

Steve motioned the waiter to ask for the bill and once it was paid (he of course didn’t let you pay for your drink no matter how much you insisted), you both stood up from your seats, grabbing the remains of your frappes.

“Steve,” you called, making him turn back to look at you attentively once again, “thank you. So, so much. For everything,” you expressed with as much sentiment and gratitude as you were capable of. He was definitely the best man you’d ever met in your life. And that was saying something, having in mind that you’d met all the Avengers.

“Come here,” Steve said with a smile, his arms open, asking for a hug. You did as you were told, a wide smile now plastered on your lovely face. Yeah, it was a bit swollen from the crying, but it was still lovely.

To be honest, all you wanted to do at that moment was to keep hugging him and never ever let go; nonetheless, you knew that wasn't possible and eventually you'd have to break the hug. So for now, you breathed deeply, inhaling Steve’s scent (he smelled like bar soap and clean laundry, with a small touch of cinnamon), and you let yourself enjoy every second of that warm and strong embrace, and its newly found feeling of home.

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apparitionism · 3 years

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Propagator 7

It’s been quite some time since I updated this story, and if it’s mostly forgotten, so be it. But I finish everything, even if it takes years—and the enthusiasm of kind tumblr users @akittennameddaisy and @crow25 pushed me to get this update out before even more years went by. This is the ninth story in my version of Ballet AU, much history of which is detailed in this post from the instigator, @amatterofcomplication; also see @notallwonder ‘s beautiful program depicting it all. In my universe, prima ballerina Helena is spending her life with materials engineer Myka, who designs wearable items such as costumes and athletic gear. Their relationship, and various associated ones, evolved through those prior eight stories (collected as Dynamics on AO3), and Propagator (part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, and part 6) is where they are now. Forgive me the self-indulgence, but: I love this family, particularly since I had no idea at first that they would become one. Not like this. Anyway, this installment, in terms of subject matter and, particularly, initial p.o.v., is likely to make very little sense absent all the previouslies.

Propagator 7

The next day you go with Sam and Aunt Tracy to a dance studio you’ve never been to before, to meet somebody who is Sam’s friend. They don’t tell you why when you ask, but Aunt Tracy says, “I think it might be an adventure.”

You are just about as tall as Sam’s friend is—really just about, not just wishing you could be, like with almost everybody else (except you are getting closer to Sam). His name is J.J., so you ask him what the J’s stand for. “If you don’t mind saying,” you make sure to add, because Mom and Mama have both told you that sometimes you ask questions that are too personal, and that isn’t polite.

He smiles, and you get the feeling he likes that you were careful. “I don’t mind. Stands for Janjak. It’s Haitian. My mom came here from Haiti, and she named me for my grandpa.”

“I like that name. I have a friend in school and she’s J.J. too, and her name starts with Jane, which is kind of like Jan, and then Josette. Does that mean it’s Haitian?”

He says, “Well... I don’t know all the names in Haiti. Do you know all the names in England?”

It’s a funny question. “No,” you say. “Why?”

“I heard that’s where one of your moms is from.”

Oh... “Could I know all the names in England?” There are probably a lot, but that sounds like something you might—

“No,” Aunt Tracy says, like she knows exactly what you’re thinking. She’s just like Mama that way sometimes, even though they’re not related. “And please don’t try.”

Sam makes a little pfft noise. “Amateurs. I know every name in the Islamic Republic of Iran.”

You are skeptical. (Skeptical is a really important word that you learned from Mom’s assistant Claudia one time when you told her that Mom would probably think it was fine if you used the lab’s new stress-strain analyzer to test your favorite leotard and your least favorite one so you could get some empirical proof that your favorite one, the Bering one, was better, and Claudia had said it would certainly be proof of something, but she was skeptical about whether she would keep her job if she let you obtain this empirical proof, so you also learned the word obtain but it just means get so it’s less important.) “Every single one?” you ask Sam.

“Sameen,” Tracy says, like a warning, but also a little bit silly, like how she sometimes says “Junior” when you are being more of a kid than she thinks you should but she’s going to let you go ahead and be a kid.

“Yeah, that’s one of ’em,” Sam says. “If you guess the other six, you win a prize.”

You decide right then that you will google about the Islamic Republic of Iran and try to figure out the other names, because Sam is probably kidding and there’s no prize, but Sam might not be kidding and there might be a prize. Because you never know with Sam.

It turns out to be really true that you never know with Sam: because the reason you’re visiting and talking to J.J. is that Sam thinks J.J. could make it so Mama could dance. Not ballet though.

“What would she think about that?” J.J. asks you, about it not being ballet.

You know the answer to this. You look at Aunt Tracy to see what to do, because you are pretty sure she knows the answer too... she nods, so you say, “Mama would think it isn’t really dancing. But she might not say it. To be polite.”

Sam says, “Polite. Right. As if that’s ever been Senior’s—”

J.J. tells Sam to shush, and Sam makes a face but actually does shush. You look at Aunt Tracy again. Now her face is all big, like she’s as amazed as you are.

“Sounds like she wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings,” J.J. says. “That’s a good place to start. If we’re talking about dancing, though, it might have to happen anyway. Both ways.”

You don’t know about J.J., but Mama’s feelings are already so hurt. “Why would it have to?” you ask.

You hope maybe he’ll just say he’s wrong and it won’t have to after all. But instead he says, “I heard you’re in ballet. Does anybody ever hurt your feelings in class?”

In ballet, there is just one right way to do everything. Sometimes you can’t get to the right way because your legs won’t do what you want or you lose track of your hands or you get tangled in your brain. Miss Leena is always nice and says it’s okay, and you know she means it—but it doesn’t feel okay. And you look at the other kids who are doing it right and it feels even less okay. “Yes,” you tell J.J. “But mostly I hurt my own feelings.”

“Tell me why that happens.”

“Because sometimes I can’t do things right.”

He’s quiet for a minute, like he’s really thinking about your words. Eventually, he says, “Or is it that you’re doing things different? Can you show me fifth, then a demi-plié?”

You can. So you do. Like Miss Leena taught you—and it feels like a long time ago now—arms up, round; feet solid, down; feet stay down, arms stay round as you bend your knees and bring your arms low.

Now J.J. says, “What if you do it again, but this time wiggle your shoulders around, back and forth, side to side, while you sweep your arms down?”

Wiggle your shoulders in a plié? “But that’s wrong.”

“Not wrong here. Just different.”

It seems like something you shouldn’t do though. You tell that to J.J.

He nods and says, “Okay. Maybe you shouldn’t. But if your mama wants to dance now, she might have to do things she thinks she shouldn’t. Does she want to dance?”

You tell him what you told Sam. “She can’t.”

“Hm,” J.J. says. Then he asks another one of his funny questions: “Has she always danced the same way?”

“Yes?” you try, because that’s what you guess he wants the answer to be.

You guessed wrong: J.J. shakes his head. “I bet when she was your age, she danced more like you do.”

“You mean she learned. And got better.”

“Got different, anyway. Her dancing changed, with time. And so maybe now, with more time, it could change again. Because her body’s different now, right?” he asks, and you do have to agree with that, because having a hip made out of titanium is absolutely different than having a hip that’s regular bone. He says, “And bodies let us know what they can and can’t do. For example I’m strong, but my body tells me, real clear, real loud, I shouldn’t lift people bigger than me.”

“Could you lift me?” you ask, because what counts as bigger? Is it tallness? You’re just about as tall...

He looks at you, the whole of you. He says, “I’m not sure.”

You like the way J.J. says things, like he is really not kidding. It’s like Sam when she forgets to be careful. “Do you want to try?” you ask.

He smiles big, and it’s like a light turns on—on his face, in the studio, maybe everywhere. “I want to try if you want to. But only if you do.”

You nod at him.

He puts his hands at your waist. “Stay strong in your middle,” he tells you. “Arms out, legs too; don’t wobble.” He lifts you up, and there’s a first part where neither of you is balancing totally right, but then his arms straighten, and you are in the air above him, looking down, arms out, legs too, not wobbling (much), and he is looking up and asking you, “Where do we go from here?”

You expected him to tell you what should happen next, so you start to say “I don’t know”—but then you think of the videos of Uncle Liam and Mama doing the angel lift in the pas de deux in Giselle (whenever you ask anything about that ballet, everybody, even Grandpa, makes jokes about how very meaningful it was, and all they ever say to explain the jokes is that it was how Mom and Mama met each other, but that doesn’t seem like something to joke about, so you are always confused and also a little angry, and then you get angry on top of that, because Giselle is beautiful and you don’t want to have to be confused or angry about it) but anyway every time you see that lift, you sort of wish Uncle Liam would do more than just pick Mama up and set her down again, even though that’s one of the most beautiful parts but not quite as beautiful as the arabesques, so you say, “Can you turn me around in a circle?”

“I can.” He turns in the softest circle, like his feet, his bare feet, are just brushing the floor, and you move through the air just as soft, like you are lying on it to rest or even sleep. Then he turns again, this time stamping his feet, chanting a little “ha” with each stamp, and now you feel the rhythm all the way through your arms and legs, all the way out, your whole body drumming along. “Good circles?” he asks when he stops.

“Best circles! What now?”

J.J. laughs. “My arms are getting tired. Can you somersault down behind me if I lower you head first?”

“I can,” you say, trying to be as sure as J.J. was about turning you in a circle. He lets you down—and you do the somersault! By the time you stand up and turn around, he’s turned around too, and he’s nodding and clapping his hands, that same rhythm of his stamping feet, and you say what’s in your head: “I want to shout!”

“So shout!” he shouts at you.

You do: you shout back, a big “Ah!” because you and J.J. just did something new, together, without knowing what it was going to be or supposed to be, and you don’t feel totally sure that it’s dancing, but you are also feeling a little sure that maybe it is.

He asks, “So how was that?”

What’s in your head now? “It was a surprise,” you say, and that’s a surprise too, that that’s what you wanted to say.

“Could I surprise your mama?” J.J. asks. “Should I? Not with a lift—I’m sure I can’t lift her—but is surprise a good idea?”

Surprising Mama gets her attention. Almost always, and it’s almost always her good attention. Sometimes you try to surprise her just so you can get her good attention. If J.J. can surprise her into dancing... “Yes,” you say, “but only if you don’t make her do anything that hurts her except for her feelings that she might hurt for herself anyway. You wouldn’t do that, would you?” Because Mama’s pain is usually a two or a three or even sometimes a one now. Not eights. And it feels silly to think what you think next, because you probably can’t do it, but what you think is that you want to save her from eights.

J.J. says, “The safety of every person’s body matters to me. I promise.”

Those words make you feel so good. You want to ask why that matters to him, because the way he says it, it sounds like he has a real why. But the promise maybe means you don’t need to ask.

You look at Aunt Tracy and Sam. They’ve stayed quiet while you and J.J. were talking—and even while you and J.J. were maybe (probably) dancing. Sam staying quiet isn’t normal, so it means something. Aunt Tracy being quiet is very normal, but it usually means something too.

You hope it means they’re thinking what you’re thinking: that J.J. might really make it so Mama could dance.

****

The day after their beach day, Myka and Helena receive a Skype call from Tracy. She deposits Junior in front of the screen, saying, “You wanted to talk to them, so talk.”

They hadn’t made plans for a call with Junior before they left. Helena had raised the possibility of setting a time, but in a way that suggested she thought exactly what Myka did about bringing such a plan to fruition: if they had scheduled it, they both would have been waiting for it, enduring the time until it arrived. This way, it’s an unexpected treasure. Or even a reward? Or it might have ended up, depressingly, as a consolation, and Myka is relieved that that isn’t so, but on the whole she supposes her delight (and Helena’s) at the sight of Junior confirms Helena’s point: they are stereotypes, as preoccupied by their child—and as willing to let that preoccupation loom larger than other work—as any other parents.

Myka’s initial question to Junior about what’s been fun elicits a familiar cascade of barely followable information, culminating in “—and Aunt Amanda coached me at swimming and Pete said I can be disease twins with him.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Helena says, saving Myka the need to say it.

“Lice and rabies,” Junior informs her, with seriousness.

What Myka does say, to Helena, is, “What does Amanda see in him?”

“He is very kind to our daughter.”

“I didn’t ask what you see in him.”

“Do you feel some renewed need to familiarize yourelf with the attributes your swimmer finds attractive in anyone?” Helena demands.

The hauteur makes Myka want to disconnect the call and demonstrate what she does want to familiarize herself with. Instead she says, as mildly as she can, “I’d think you’d enjoy explaining in detail how far down she traded.”

Meanwhile, Junior is enthusing, “And I want to grow my hair really really long so I look like Jason Momoa so I can be Aquawoman!”

“Not the worst goal,” Myka tells her. Jason Momoa. She’s never been able to get a clear read on whether she finds Junior so irresistibly charming because she’s her child, or because Junior actually is charming. Of course any real charm, particularly as it works on Myka, is probably down to Helena’s influence anyway. “Speaking of your hair, lean down; we’re not seeing your whole face. Did you grow six inches?”

Junior looks down her body, then back up at the screen. “Not six. Maybe two. And a half.”

“Not six?” Helena asks, her tone indulgent. “Is Tracy failing to feed you?”

“We had chicken curry last night but Sam also had half a can of Pringles and the other half for breakfast today. Can I have Pringles?”

“Absolutely not,” Helena says.

“But Mama, they come in a can.”

“So does motor oil.”

Myka says, “I don’t think that’s true anymore. Not a good counterargument.”

“Well then, so does... wait, what does come in cans?”

“Tuna,” Myka offers. “Kidney beans. Tomato paste.”

“That does not help make my case against Pringles.”

“Maybe tomato paste does. Watch.” Myka raises her voice. “Hey Tracy, how do you feel about tomato paste in a can?”

“I feel like you’re trying to get me to say you might as well let her eat Pringles,” her sister shouts back, “because decent tomato paste only comes in a tube!”

“Not in our house when we were kids, you gourmet snob, and not in my house now!” To Helena, she says, “So it all depends on which kind of snob you want to be. Lots of options. Gourmet, nutrition—”

Junior interrupts, “Guess where we went today!” This is a tone Myka recognizes—also down to Helena—as “I am being paid insufficient attention.”

“What day is it?” Helena asks.

This dazzles Myka. She really doesn’t know. Together, we did that. Lost track of how the rest of the world names successive sunrises. She kisses Helena’s cheek, then turns back to Junior and asks, “Was it a class day? Was it ballet?”

“No, but we met—”

Sam literally elbows Junior out of the way, blocking her from the screen, saying, “So anyway, how’s the pineapples?”

Pineapples...? Myka is stranded. “How’s... what?”

Junior elbows her way back in. “Sam said you went there to have wild pineapples, because Mama couldn’t have them while she was doing rehab.”

A pause ensues. “Wild pineapples,” Helena then says, with an attempt at severity that Myka recognizes as barely contained hilarity.

“You know what I mean,” Sam says. “Tigers.”

She could at least have done them the courtesy of winking.

“Tigers like pineapples?” Junior asks.

Sam nods with purpose. “You bet they do. So much, they invent new ways to have pineapples. Don’t they, Senior.”

As Helena opens her mouth to answer in god only knows what way, Myka hastily says, “Junior, put your Aunt Tracy on right now.”

“She’s indisposed,” Sam says.

“Is she.”

“Busting a gut.”

“I’m fine I’m fine!” Tracy yells from wherever she is, but she’s laughing hard; Myka hears the snort. Since Tracy learned how to laugh, as an infant, she’s snorted, and Myka envies people who are singular, in whatever ways they are. Laughing: pig-snort Tracy wins, and so does donkey-honk Liam.

Helena has surrendered to laughter now too, in her non-singular way, and Myka asks, “Am I the only one who doesn’t find this funny?”

“I don’t get it either,” Junior tells her.

Myka wants to say, “Oh, I get it, Junior,” but she settles for, “You and I can find something else to get, that they won’t. Hey, what about the picture of me and my fabulous sand sculpture? Did you recognize it?”

“It looked kind of like a really thin tall castle.”

“It was a Type A indenter for a Shore durometer!” Myka is appalled at herself for being appalled that an eight-year-old doesn’t know this.

“But it was big. Indenters are tiny,” her daughter objects, and Myka is now appalled at how relieved she is by this objection, which means that Junior does know. “Anyway it was weird,” Junior finishes, petulantly. Helena-ly.

“I didn’t say it was to scale. Or maybe it was; it was looming pretty large in my mind. Once I start working on these wetsuits that I’ll tell you about when we get home, you’ll understand why. Won’t seem so weird.”

“It isn’t weird that it was an indenter! That’s normal! But you were smiling! On the beach! That’s even weirder than tigers liking pineapples! Why is everything so weird right now?”

Her vexed little face, as she tries to parse it all out... Myka would take pity on her, but honestly having any kind of “talk” over Skype, as it relates to pineapples, tigers, and Myka’s own renewed so-in-love-with-my-wife giddiness (Junior’s right: who is this person who smiles on a beach?), is more than a little beyond her. Despite the fact that she is clearly the only adult in either of these Skype-linked spaces. She settles for saying, “Nothing’s as weird as pineapples. Trust me.”

Once the call ends—thank goodness, and Myka could never have imagined the circumstances under which it would seem such a comedic mercy not to talk to their child, but this has been an unusual succession of sunrises—she says to Helena, “Wild pineapples. That we’re having.”

“In Ms. Shaw’s defense, though it pains me to contribute to any such thing, she wasn’t wrong.” Helena smirks. “Tiger.”

“Do you primas ever think about anything else?”

“What is your preferred answer, tiger?”

“How is it that you can get more impossible? And don’t try to get around me by calling me ‘tiger’ again.”

“Why not?” She’s about to say it; Myka can hear it tensing in her mouth, waiting to pounce.

“Because it’ll work,” Myka concedes.

Helena doesn’t say it. But her eyes dance with it as she advances on Myka... and that works just as well.

****

Sam understands that she can’t strangle this kid—if she did, several situations would all at once get very fucked up. However. “What did I tell you right before?” she demands. “What did I tell you?”

“To keep it a secret,” Junior says.

“And what did you chassé your way real close to not doing?”

“Keeping it a secret.” The kid at least winces as she says it.

“See? You do get it. Don’t play dumb with me, kid.”

“I’m not playing dumb! I just almost made a mistake, and you make those too. For example when you almost let Pas De out the door and into the hallway yesterday!”

Sam tries to shrug that off (though the kid has an annoying ability to make a point) with, “The cat wants its freedom. Maybe. Probably. I like dogs. Why don’t you have a dog?”

“Because I wanted a cat. Also Mama said no pygmy goats.”

“Ah,” Sam says, but... goats? “Sure. Logical next step.”

“If you like dogs so much, maybe you should get a dog.”

“Maybe she shouldn’t,” Tracy says from the kitchen, and Sam knows a warning when she hears one.

“Aunt Tracy, you should,” Junior says. “Then Sam would want to be here all the time, and that’s what you want too.”

“But I’d have a dog,” Tracy says, and Sam knows a shudder of dismay when she hears that, too.

Junior shrieks, “But also Sam!”

“No guarantees, Berings,” Sam tries to tell them.

“I’m a Bering-Wells,” says Junior. With that tone.

“And I don’t want a dog,” says Tracy, in exactly the same tone.

Sam gives up. She doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s there in her head: she gives up. What exactly the contours might be of what she’s giving up—that, she’s not so sure of.

****

Some time after the call from home, Myka and Helena go to the beach again—an excursion not lengthy, but sufficient. Helena relaxes under the delicate, attenuated evening light, so different from both the propulsive sunrise and the fierce, insistently cheerful afternoon shine.

“Do you need to sculpt again?” she asks Myka.

Myka leans to the sand, takes up a handful, tests it in her fingers. She then discards it, as if its grains have failed to measure up to the prior material. “I’d just make another indenter. Probably bigger, to make Junior think even harder about the scale.”

“You can’t wait to get to work on those wetsuits,” Helena says, because she knows her wife.

“I kind of can’t. Because I think the polyethylene—”

Helena, so lately thankful to know that she knows her wife, kisses Myka just as the overexplanation hits its on-ramp.

Instead they walk. Helena walks well. Sand is a challenge, but this evening she walks on it well.

When they return to the room, Helena runs a hand up Myka’s arm and asks, “Do you want to?” She’s tired but not too tired. Asking seems right.

Myka seems to appreciate the ask, saying “We don’t have to,” and adding, with a soft kiss as they reach the bed, toward which they have seemingly naturally moved, “we don’t even have to try.”

And they both, Helena knows, feel that as a relief. Decisions like this, now, aren’t decisions.

As they simply lie quiet together, relaxing in the post-decision dusk, Myka says, “You know, I’ve never minded managing you. It’s been my job to manage you. And maybe I’ll miss that if it goes away. Maybe I was already missing that.”

“You can manage me as much as you like,” Helena assures her. Reassures her.

“But what if there’s nothing to manage.”

“I think we both know that’s unlikely to ever be the case,” Helena says, another conscious attempt to reassure. “But... perhaps the stakes can be lower.”

Myka gives her a heartbeat of a pause. Then: “That doesn’t sound so bad,” she reassures back.

“Were we estranged?” Helena ventures, thought she knows the answer. She knows the answer, but she wants to know that Myka knows it—wants her to say it out loud. To get the taste out.

“Yes,” Myka says, with a accompanying nod. Helena is glad to feel it. Myka then says, “In a very literal sense.”

“A very bad literal sense,” Helena says.

Now she feels a chuckle. “You sounded just like Junior.”

“Isn’t it that she sounds like me? I’ve heard she’s my daughter.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Myka says. It’s not a clearing of that slate. This child, this reason. Helena knows she will most likely be unable to keep herself from stabbing with it again, for fights stay the same... but their impact can be, she knows, more or less palpable.

Myka obviously feels the tension, the knowledge, as it inhabits and does not leave Helena’s body. “We will make this work,” she says, with force.

And while Helena is persuaded of that, she needs yet more honesty. “How angry with me have you been? And how angry are you still? Please tell me the truth.”

Myka makes her wait. Helena of course has no morally justified ground from which to hurry her answer. Myka at last says, “I was always more scared than angry.”

“Your sister was right. Change, and how we’ve dealt with it. Or haven’t.”

“And it’s your body. And I can’t even understand it.”

Helena burrows against Myka’s arm. The slightly sunburnt skin of her deltoid is a radiant comfort. “I want to go home,” she sighs out. It is not what she expected to say.

“You are home,” Myka says, tightening her arms around Helena.

“You make a very fine metaphorical point. But I still want to go home.” As she says it again, it’s even more true.

“And leave this tropical paradise?”

“Which you hate,” Helena points out.

“Seriously, were you testing me?”

“I don’t know the real answer to that.”

Another chuckle, one that gladdens Helena. “Fair enough. Look, I’ll change the tickets if you want me to, but I might make you sign an affidavit to the effect that I did not agitate for this.” She pauses. “But you’re right. I think. We’ve done what we came here to do... and I miss her too.”

“You are beautiful and a mind reader.”

“So anyway, we’d better try to have that sex after all, even if it’s rote. Be noisy, make the most of this last Hawaiian night. And then I’ll deal with your strange ticket-changing request that isn’t at all what I also want.”

“It certainly doesn’t matter anymore that it’s Hawaiian, if it ever did. We truly could be anywhere.”

“Anywhere with a sunrise. And a Japanese breakfast,” Myka says.

“Yes. Tamagoyaki making my moral failings far more clear than, say... is there something typical of breakfast in Kansas City?”

“I bet it involves bacon.”

“My moral failings are many, but can you illustrate them with bacon?”

“Don’t they do everything with bacon now? Coat it with chocolate, make it into jam, cookies, pasta... illustrating moral failings doesn’t seem like a stretch. So maybe we just needed a breakfast. Oh, and a bed. You’ve got moral failings; I’ve got decrepitude. I’ve obviously also got moral failings, but I refuse to do anything on the floor anymore.”

“That’s just a challenge. Or it would be, if I could do anything at all on the floor other than fall onto it.”

“Don’t do that. Let’s acknowledge that our floor days are behind us. They were nice days, some of them, but—”

“Some of them?”

Myka’s loop of a smile against Helena’s cheek is perfect, as are her words: “I love that you’re predictable about that, prima.”

That they can make the most of it. They don’t, not quite. But that they want to and can try to and can laugh about not quite doing so... this is what they came here to remember: that even “not quite” is making the most of something.

TBC

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Propagator #part 7 #Ballet AU #I said I love this version of them #because I do #I have sat with them for over seven years now #and I have written some very true things #that I didn't know would be predictive #but bodies are fragile #and I assure you #you will do everything in your power #to help repair the ones that matter to you

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