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sassycassie-s-writing · 3 years

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Winter Court Wedding

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Rhysand

Rating: PG/K+

Original Idea: This has been in my head for a few days and I had to get it out of my head so I could write other stuff XD

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) 2,356 words... yup it ran away from me again. This one pretends Tamlin isn’t a terrible person so we get Rhys instead 😉 @itscheybaby

^^^^^

“Rhysand?” I called through the town house.

“Yes?” His voice was coming from the kitchen.

I went downstairs, holding the box I’d found in our room. “What’s this for?” I asked, indicating the heavy fur-lined black cloak with silver embroidery of the moon and stars up the sides.

“Can’t I give you a gift just because I want to?” His smirk was almost too casual for me to believe him.

“You know I prefer coats in Velaris,” I replied. “So there’s something going on.”

He sighed, wings drooping. “Alright. You caught me,” he muttered. “We’re going to the Winter Court.”

“What for?”

“Kallias and Vivane’s wedding.”

“Didn’t they get married like an hour after he got back from Under the Mountain?”

Rhysand folded his arms, tucking his wings against his back a little tighter. “Yes,” he said carefully, “but they’re hosting a formal reception for their court, as well as for the other High Lords. I’m sure Kallias doesn’t actually want to invite us, or any of the other High Lords for that matter, but Mor and Vivane are really good friends and I don’t think he wants to harm that relationship.”

“So Mor’s coming with us, then?”

“Unfortunately, no. She has to put out a fire in the Court of Nightmares.”

“Literal or figurative?”

“Figurative. Keir is pitching fits again.”

“Ah. Same old, same old, then.”

“Pretty much.”

I decided to change the subject.

“So, the cloak is to keep me warm in the Winter Court climate, I’m assuming.”

“Yes. Hopefully without damaging your dress. Sometimes your coats rumple the skirts. While we’re in Velaris—and anywhere in the Night Court that’s not the Court of Nightmares, really—I don’t mind. But you know what we look like to the other courts. The image we present.”

Wealthy, dangerous, ruthless, powerful Night Court High Fae. Immaculate and pristine. Never even a hair out of place. Always in control of every situation. The High Lord who always got what he wanted, his thunderstorm of a High Lady by his side. Nary a trace of the Illyrian half-breed with self-worth issues and the Autumn Court runaway who’d never belonged anywhere.

“I know,” I said.

Rhys approached me and pulled the cloak out of its small box. “Besides,” he said, slinging it around me, “it does look rather fetching on you.” He bent his head and pressed a kiss to my neck.

“Charmer,” I teased.

He laughed. “I could say the same about you.”

I wrapped my arms around him. “I missed you, while you were… gone.”

Even though he insisted he was fine, I still did my best not to mention Under the Mountain. The secrets he’d been forced to keep, the things he’d been forced to do to keep me and the rest of the Night Court safe. We talked about it when he needed to, and I would always be there for him, but I didn’t need to force the past forty-nine years on him.

Rhys put his arms around my waist under the cloak and buried his nose in my hair. “I missed you too.”

“So when do we leave for the Winter Court?”

He knew I was changing the subject away from what I didn’t want to bring up, but he let me. “Tomorrow. We may stay overnight, we may not.”

“Shame Mor’s not coming with.”

“Agreed. She’d love to see Viviane again.”

“We’ll find some way to reunite them. How about that?”

“I think it sounds delightful. We’ll put them in a sound-proof room so we don’t have to hear them squealing into the late hours of the night.” His sarcasm was not lost on me. I chuckled. We swayed in place for a bit. “Let’s go get prepared for tomorrow, darling,” he said.

“Okay,” I agreed.

—

I already miss the Northern mountains, I thought at Rhys, wrapping the beautiful new cloak tighter around me to suppress a shiver. Even they aren’t as cold as this.

He hid his amused smile with a lazy smirk, boredly surveying the Winter Court ice waste around us as the reindeer-pulled sleigh whisked over the snow. I agree, he thought back, but it’s not for very long.

The small tiara I’d chosen to accompany my gown was like I’d wrapped an icicle around my scalp. The metal of it practically frozen to my skin.

The sleigh turned a corner.

“By the Cauldron,” I breathed.

The palace was made of ice. It towered into the sky with sharp jags and icicle towers, hexagonal walls filtering sunlight from behind. White-furred bears patrolled the battlements alongside the soldiers. All of whom sported white hair and pale blue uniforms. Snow was falling, but there was only a scattering of clouds. The High Lord’s magic, then, probably.

It might be a good idea to close your jaw, Rhys advised, no sarcasm present. We have an image to maintain while we’re here.

Right, I thought.

The sleigh driver pulled us up to a half-circle drive of packed snow. At the apex of the half-circle were two massive doors to the palace, wide open to the deep blue gloom of indoors. After slowing to a stop, we gave the driver a curt but polite thank-you and swept out of the sleigh. I caught Rhys flicking a finger before offering me his arm. What magic did you just do? I thought at him.

Tipping the driver. It’s polite but I definitely don’t want to be seen doing it. Would ruin the monster reputation I’ve spent centuries building. An image accompanied his reply—of a cheeky wink. I sent him back nothing but laughter.

An attendant—a young “lesser” faerie female with skin the color, texture, and reflectiveness of powdered snow—guided us inside. It was a lot warmer within the ice-crafted walls than I would have expected. I almost wanted to remove my cloak. The attendant looked absolutely terrified of us. Rhys and I barely acknowledged she was there, both keeping impassive expressions on our faces. I wished I could reassure her that everything was alright—that we were friendly—but I knew why I couldn’t.

She led us up what technically counted as a spiral staircase—despite it being hexagonal and not perfectly circular—to a suite of rooms. “His Lordship hopes you will be comfortable here,” the attendant said.

“Thank you.” A curt dismissal from Rhys. She scampered away.

Once she was gone and the doors closed, both of us relaxed. “I hate acting like that,” I muttered.

“Me too. But every High Lord puts on a face,” Rhys said. “You remember Helion. He seems terribly prickly and temperamental in public but is quite amusing and kind in private.” Rhys sat on a white sofa embroidered with sky blue winter flora and a few snowflakes.

“I do remember Helion. I also remember wishing you’d given me a warning about it. I was ready to punch him for being so rude to you.”

Rhys winked at me. “That wouldn’t have been nearly as fun,” he replied. I rolled my eyes. “Well, love, there’s nothing to do but wait until the reception. We did arrive a little early.”

“Four hours is ‘a little’?” I joked.

All I got was a shrug. “I like making statements,” he replied casually. “I arrive when I wish and I don’t care about their scheduling. Usually I would prefer to show up late to make it seem like I really don’t care about whatever it is they’ve had the courage to invite me to, but sometimes it’s more fun to arrive much earlier than planned and make that everyone else’s problem.”

I laughed. “You do a good job of making your act seamless.”

“Centuries of practice, darling.” He lounged on the sofa but patted the seat next to him. I sat beside him. It was almost warm enough inside to remove my cloak, but not quite. Rhys’ body heat was helping make up the difference. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

I grinned. “Thanks. You’re quite stunning yourself.” Black jacket, immaculately embroidered in silver and gold, deep midnight blue shirt underneath buttoned all the way up to hide his tattoos, black slacks with a single ring of silver thread around the ankles. It had taken me an hour to convince him to wear a blue shirt instead of black. But it really brought out his eyes. Dimmed the blazing, powerful violet just enough to reveal that his irises were actually blue.

“I’m always stunning,” he replied.

I smacked him in the chest with the back of my hand. “Arrogant,” I accused.

He kissed me. “You like it though.”

I rolled my eyes.

—

The ballroom was enormous. Pillars of glimmering ice reflected faelight bobbing around the ceiling. It was lightly snowing inside. Winter Court High Fae and faeries milled around, talking, eating, drinking. A line extended away from the bride and groom. Well-wishers offering their congratulations.

Rhysand wasn’t going to bother waiting in the line. I knew that. We’d approach from behind or from the other side, offer our regards, and then leave.

But not immediately.

The ballroom was warm enough that I passed my cloak to a waiting attendant. My gown was so dark violet it was almost black. A bell-shaped skirt dotted with beads in the shape of stars swished over the ice floor, lightly dusted with snow. The gown’s sleeves barely capped my shoulders, but the long black satin gloves that ended two inches from the bottom of the sleeves helped keep my arms warm. The bandeau tiara had three dark amethysts glinting among the white diamonds.

The finery wasn’t terribly comfortable, but I knew the effect it had on others.

Rhys and I wandered the ballroom, mingling only occasionally—and only if the other party dared approach us first.

Including High Lord Tamlin of the Spring Court and his charming bride-to-be, Feyre Cursebreaker. Both of them looking happy and healthy and more in love than ever.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Rhys,” Tamlin said begrudgingly. His eyes flicked over to me. I didn’t have to be daemati like Rhys to know what he was thinking. The whispers of the other faeries milling about followed me the moment we entered the room, and Tamlin was likely in agreement.

Freak. Unnatural. Witch. Lightning was not meant to be harnessed by magic like that. She doesn’t belong in any court.

I thought about snapping something at Tamlin, but Rhys cut in smoothly, “We could hardly miss an important function such as this, Tamlin.” He inclined his head at the female on Tamlin’s arm. “A pleasure to see you again, Feyre.”

“Wish I could say the same about you,” she replied dryly.

Rhys tsked, but didn’t say anything to her. “Enjoy the party,” he said to both of them instead before pulling me away. I waved at Feyre, letting an apology touch my expression. Her glare softened a moment and she lifted her fingers as though to wave back, but thought better of it.

I turned away. She’d saved Tamlin and freed the other High Lords and their courts from Amarantha. She gave Rhys back to me—and I couldn’t even give her the thanks she deserved. Electricity crackled in my veins. Rhys jolted slightly as I shocked him. No one else would have noticed.

Easy, he thought at me. What’s wrong?

I let him into an antechamber in my shields, to see what I thought and felt without having to explain. Thoughtful silence followed. We’ll find a way to let you thank her. For us both to thank her. She gave me back to you, too.

Thank you, I thought at him.

Of course. I felt a loving caress against my shields. I sent one in return.

Rhys took me through the crowd, occasionally offering greetings to the High Fae and faeries who didn’t cower as we passed. Rhys’s damper on his power had been loosened. Not released completely, but relaxed—allowing tendrils of darkness to drift from him like shafts of steam. It was an intimidation tactic. He did it a lot.

“Kallias. Viviane,” Rhys said as we approached the bride and groom. Both looked resplendent. Viviane in her simple but no doubt expensive gown that glittered like powdered snow under the moonlight. They turned to us. “Morrigan sends her regards and regrets that she couldn’t make it.” Those words were directed at Viviane. She smiled at the both of us. More warmly at me than at Rhys.

“Congratulations to you both,” I said with a genuine smile. “You deserve to be happy with one another.”

Kallias gave me a cold stare. Wondering where my calculating, ruthless High Lady mask was, no doubt. But I did want them to know that I was happy for them. That I was happy they’d found one another after Amarantha.

“Thank you,” Viviane said before Kallias could reply. She reached out and took my hand in both of hers. “And thank you for coming.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Rhys said smoothly, smirking slightly.

“We left our gift on the table with the others,” I said softly to Viviane.

She gave me a warm grin. “Thank you. Thank you, both.”

I returned the grin and Rhys bade a curt goodbye to Kallias before we retreated back into the crowd.

“Care to dance?” I asked.

“With you? Always.” He smiled at me. For a moment I forgot we were in another court. All I could think of was him. All I could see was those blazing eyes—that lazy smile. His warmth against me.

I didn’t realize I must have been showing that on my face because he leaned down and kissed me. “The rest of tonight is going to be so much fun,” he whispered suggestively, giving me that playful smirk he always had when he knew we were both going to get what we wanted from each other before the night was over.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the Winter Court chill travelled down my spine. Excitement. “Oh, I think it will be,” I replied.

#Winter Court Wedding #Rhysand #Rhysand Imagine #Rhysand FanFiction #ACOTAR #ACOTAR Imagine #ACOTAR FanFiction

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litwitlady · 3 years

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Date Nights (5/5)

Read on Ao3.

Alex wakes up on Christmas morning at 4 am, unable to fall back asleep due to a mixture of nerves and excitement. Sliding out of bed slowly, he tucks the duvet around Michael and pulls on sweatpants as quietly as possible before heading into the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee.

While the coffee maker works, he plugs in the Christmas tree and the garland over the mantle, admiring the twinkling lights and carefully chosen ornaments. For Christmas this year, they’d gathered with their friends and family early and exchanged ornaments. Liz’s gift had been a cowboy alien, glow in the dark and bearing no resemblance at all to Michael. Rosa’s had been a beautiful glass bulb she’d hand-painted with the cosmos. Kyle’s a simple wood-carved Merry Christmas. Rosa had gotten a hold of it and painted it with various iconography of the holidays - lights, Santa hats, and reindeer faces.

Max’s had been a collection of simple red Christmas bells, their jingle light and tinkling whenever either of them accidentally bumped into the tree. Isobel’s expensive and crystal - a star with swirls that reminded everyone of the console tech in Michael’s bunker. Maria had given them a giant, purple eggplant ornament as a joke, but they’d still hung it on the tree anyway. Smiling fondly every time their eyes landed on it. She’d followed the joke with a gorgeous, brightly-beaded patchwork that she said reminded her of how she felt when their love bled over into her sight - colorful, lacking definition, and like the calm that only comes after the storm.

Michael and Alex had chosen the rest themselves. A mixture of whimsy and classic Christmas. It was hodgepodge and lacked any real thematic structure, but it was also beautiful, filled with love, and theirs.

Back in the kitchen, Alex hops up on the corner of the counter and sips at his coffee. He had planned to let Michael sleep in for once, to cook him breakfast and spend the rest of the day either in bed or wrapped in a blanket on the couch. Keeping his gift for Michael a secret until sunset. But that’s not going to happen. He’s too keyed up. Too anxious to wait.

Pouring a second cup, he heads into the bedroom and sets the coffee on Michael’s nightstand. He finishes getting dressed so that it’s less likely Michael will be able to seduce him back into bed, and then gently shakes him awake. It’s not even 5 am yet so he’s not surprised when Michael mildly panics at being woken up while it’s still dark outside. ‘What’s wrong?’ He reaches out to palm at Alex, needing to make sure he’s okay.

‘Nothing’s wrong, but I need you to wake up.’

Michael’s eyes crack open and he blinks away the sleep before responding. ‘What? Why? We were going to sleep in.’ His voice is soft and groggy.

Alex grabs the coffee and hands it to him, hoping the warm drink will lure him into a sitting position. ‘I know, but I’m too excited to wait. I want to give you your Christmas present right now.’

It works. Michael sits up to sip his coffee and stare at Alex skeptically. ‘You’re making me nervous. You’ve got that look Isobel gets when she’s about to do something she loves but everyone else hates.’

‘Wow, Guerin. And to think I was going to scramble eggs while you showered.’

‘I’m much rather you join me. Eggs can wait.’ He slides his hand very suggestively up Alex’s thigh but gets his hand lightly slapped before he can do any real damage.

‘Nope. I’m not letting you get me naked. Not yet anyway. Now, go get ready.’

‘Okay. Now I’m definitely worried. When have you ever turned down sex? I can’t recall a single time.’ Alex swats his ass as he heads toward the bathroom.

A few minutes later, Michael pads into the kitchen where Alex hands him a bowl of scrambled eggs smothered with melted cheese and freshly chopped chives. ‘Eat fast.’ Alex’s own bowl is already half empty.

He only takes a couple of careful bites. Not because the eggs aren’t good - they’re great. It’s just that Alex is not the big gesture type, and Michael’s not great at receiving gifts of any kind, large or small.

‘Alex?’ He doesn’t know how to ask what he’s about to ask.

‘Hmm?’ He’s finished his breakfast. Sitting on the counter, phone in hand. Probably texting all their friends Merry Christmas.

Michael takes a steadying breath. ‘This isn’t...I mean, this gift isn’t...a proposal, right?’ The thing is he’s racked his brain two days trying to figure out what Alex has been so anxious about. Two days of his brain circling back to this conclusion every time. A proposal. Some giant gesture. Something so unlike Alex.

And to be honest, the idea of marrying Alex isn’t what makes him nervous. It’s the idea that Alex is only doing this because he thinks that’s what Michael wants him to do or needs him to do or some reason equally as unsatisfying. Because Alex’s meticulous, risk assessing brain cannot possibly think getting engaged so soon is a good idea.

The look on Alex’s face is hard to read. He’s tucked his phone back into his pocket and his lips have thinned like he’s trying to smile but forgot how. When he finally speaks his voice is low. Undeniably sad. ‘No, Michael. It’s not a proposal. Not really. But I guess you could say it’s not not a proposal.’

Alex slides gingerly off the counter, landing on his left foot and unable to meet Michael’s eye. That’s when he knows he’s messed up.

‘I didn’t mean anything by that. I just don’t want you to feel pressured to do something you aren’t ready for yet.’

‘You still doubt me. That’s fair.’ He rinses his bowl in the sink, keeping his back turned. ‘Well, it’s a good thing I hadn’t planned to propose then. Maybe we should just head to the Pony instead. Help Maria set up the charity lunch.’ There’s a tremble in his voice that Michael hates.

Alex starts to walk past him, but Michael grabs his elbow, spinning him back around. ‘Hey. Hey, hey, hey. I don’t doubt that you want this as much as I do. But I do think you’d ignore your own feelings to put mine first. I want us to be on the same page. That’s all.’

Tears burn at the corner of Alex’s eyes. Michael reaches his hand up to brush them away, but Alex takes several steps back, swiping at them with the back of his hands. ‘You’re right. I don’t make big gestures. They terrify me. This terrifies me - that I did this thing without your permission. So I’ve been a nervous wreck for weeks. Worried that you would say no or laugh or something else you would never do but that my brain wouldn’t shut up about. And now, I’m pretty sure I messed up. Let’s just forget about it and go help Maria.’

He leaves the kitchen, grabbing his coat off the dining room table. Michael doesn’t move until he hears the front door open and close. The door slams shut hard enough that the windows rattle over Alex’s keyboard, and Michael’s knuckles whiten as he grips the countertop.

This scene an all too familiar memory. Emotions high and Alex skittering away.

Taking a deep breath, he tells himself no. This is different. They are different.

Alex hasn’t run away. He’s just outside waiting, getting some fresh air and calming down. Clearing his head. Because that’s what they do now. They take breaks when needed, but there’s no running.

Michael stuffs his feet inside his boots and drops his hat on his head, coat in his hand. He finds Alex exactly where he expects to, huddled inside his Explorer and the engine already running. When he opens the passenger side door, Alex even manages a weak smile. ‘Sorry.’

‘No sorrys.’ He buckles his seatbelt and reaches across to squeeze Alex’s thigh. ‘We have plenty of time to help Maria. I want my gift.’

Alex nods but doesn’t move to leave. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, biding his time. Michael settles back in his seat to wait.

‘Promise me something.’ His fingers stop their tapping.

‘Anything.’

He shifts toward Michael as best he can with his seatbelt fastened. ‘If you don’t like the gift for any reason whatsoever, you’ll tell me.’

There’s no running and there’s no lying. ‘I promise.’

The drive out to wherever they’re going is quiet. Christmas music plays faintly through the speakers, but neither of them says anything. Michael’s not a fan of the tension between them, but the lack of anger or sharp words proves -- at least to him -- that they’ve really accomplished something by working hard to get to this softer place.

He watches Alex out of the corner of his eye. Eyes fixed on the road ahead and mind whirling. Every so often he takes a measured breath, loudly exhaling. The most obvious sign that he’s been back in therapy for a couple of months now. Michael aches to climb into his lap and soothe away all his worries, all his fears. But until he knows what this gift is, he knows he can’t.

About half a mile from Foster’s Ranch, Alex pulls the car off the road, coming to a sudden stop at the chained gates of the old Ellison property. Michael watches him climb out of the car and walk a few feet onto the ranch, ignoring the half-dozen no trespassing signs.

Worried that he’s about to have a panic attack, Michael follows him. Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder and studying his face. Nothing seems wrong, his breathing even. ‘You alright?’

‘Yeah. What do you know about Ellison’s Ranch?’ His eyes dart back to the locked gate.

It’s a strange question, but maybe he needs a distraction. Michael’s happy to comply. ‘Uh, Old Man Ellison was a bigger dick than Foster. Died earlier this year. No family so the property was supposed to go for auction. About a hundred acres, give or take.’ He shrugs.

‘Hundred and one.’

‘What?’

Alex motions to the wide open expanse ahead of them. ‘One hundred and one acres exactly. Homestead property, used by the Ellison’s for horse breeding mostly.’

‘Okay.’ Michael’s not sure where he’s headed with any of this. ‘Ellison hated trespassers.’ He points back to the signs. ‘His ghost is likely to murder us if we stand here too long.’ He laughs at his own joke knowing how much Alex hates even the mention of ghosts.

But Alex just keeps staring straight into the distance. ‘We’re not trespassing.’

‘Signs beg to differ. We should just keep going, Alex. There’s nothing out here but dirt.’ He turns to head back to the Explorer, hoping Alex will do the same.

‘I bought this place at auction last month. Signed the final papers Wednesday morning. We’re not trespassing. It’s ours. Merry Christmas, Guerin.’

Michael stops dead in his tracks, spins slowly around. Alex’s hands are now in his pockets, shoulders tense. ‘What?’ He rejoins him, wrapping his fingers around Alex’s bicep. ‘You had this kind of money?’

‘No.’ He risks a quick glance at Michael and then back out toward the mountains. ‘It’s the money from my dad’s estate.’

‘Your dad left you his estate?’ That’s the wildest thing he’s said all morning.

Alex snorts. ‘Fuck, no. He didn’t leave me anything. Left almost everything to Clay, a bit to Greg. His weapons collection to Flint. Nothing to me.’

That checks out. Entirely expected. But rage boils just beneath the surface of Michael’s skin anyway. Alex is and always has been the best of them. And even if he is biased, that’s still the truth. ‘Then how?’

‘The auction notice was in the paper one morning when I was having breakfast with Greg. We talked about it. I mentioned how perfect the acreage was -- meant more for residential living than farming or ranching. Mentioned wanting something like this for me and you.’ He smiles, a real one this time. Full-bodied and bright. ‘A week later they wired me the money. Greg wanted nothing to do with dad’s legacy, and Clay wanted nothing to do with any of us, really.’

Michael gawks at him. Mouth agape and eyes wide. ‘It was enough?’

Alex nods. ‘For the property, yeah. Razing that old farmhouse and building a home of our own? That’s going to be up to us.’

‘A home of our own?’ He knows he sounds like an idiot. Repeating Alex’s simple words back at him. But that’s the best he’s got at the moment.

‘I thought maybe we could design a space that works for both of us. A space adaptable to my mobility needs, roomy enough to have friends stay whenever they want. A home meant for a family with a couple of kids.’ He pauses, lets that sink in. ‘A dog or two. Maybe some chickens and goats out back. Horses, even. Since there are already stables.’

Michael steps behind him, pressing his chest into Alex’s back and wrapping his arms firmly around his waist. ‘Keep going.’

‘A workshop for you. One that’s not buried in the ground. Where the sun shines on your face and the stars guide you at night. A soundproof studio for me so I don’t bother anyone trying to sleep. And anything else, Michael. Anything else you want.’ His voice falters the tiniest bit, low and strained with emotion. Another measured breath. ‘It’s too much. Right?’

Yes.

But the thing is, Michael can see everything Alex described. The house, the workshop, the studio. Even the goddamn horses. And all of that is nice. Perfect. The best dream imaginable. But what sells him is the mention of kids. Their kids. Their kids growing up here. Safe and loved. Chasing after chickens and crying over skint knees. Michael holding his little girl’s hand as she wobbles down the steps desperate to run after the dog while Alex follows with their son in his arms.

Suddenly, his mother’s words come to him, unbidden from where he’d locked them away. The words he’d kept for himself. Don’t be afraid to fight for your own happiness, my love. How easily she’d seen through him and known exactly what he needed to hear.

So, he fights.

‘Yes.’ He whispers the words directly into Alex’s ear. ‘But we’ve always been too much. Me and you. Why stop now?’

Michael kisses down Alex’s neck and holds him tighter while the sun climbs higher overhead, illuminating the desert morning stretching out around them. Cars pass behind them on the highway and somewhere in the distance, a rooster crows. He replays the scene in his head again -- their little girl tumbling down the stairs, Alex snuggling their son into giggles.

Alex has made him this promise, and now it’s his turn.

‘Hey, Alex.’

‘Hmm?’ Michael knows he’s lost in his own daydream. Perhaps the exact same one.

‘Marry me.’

#malex #malex fic #christmas fic #all done #not sure if there will be more #no promises but you can beg #lol

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hela-avenger · 4 years

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poison & wine- part 32

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 1482

Summary: Prince Loki of Asgard is in need of a date to take back home. That’s where you come in with a task of your own to make the whole trip with an insufferable prince worth it. Too bad that things don’t always go as planned and you end up giving more than you can take. Fake-Dating AU.

A/N: Thanks for your comments, everyone! The last update certainly brought the drama and I know I broke some hearts but it will be resolved! I promise! Only three parts left! With some bonus scenes too!

poison & wine masterlist

Loki had told you to leave. In fact, he yelled at you to leave. As if you had been a hindrance to him and perhaps you are for having convinced him to continue with the lie to this exact point.

You’re stupid.

Incredibly stupid to have thought that this could ever work.

Loki did not love you. Maybe he cared, but he did not love you. You mistook his friendliness for love and now you were suffering the consequences.

You’re humiliated and worst of all you’re alone in a random hallway of the palace far away from the home that you know and love. A home that hadn’t made you suffer like your time spent in Asgard.

Yes, you’re a half-breed, a demi-god, a girl split between two realms.

You’re also an orphan. A traveler with no sense of direction. A flower with no roots.

Most importantly, you’re a heartbroken fool who thought that a royal prince could ever find you worthy of his love.

You didn’t know where to go. You don’t know where you were meant to go. You were too focused on trying to keep the tears at bay to formulate a plan at the moment. All you desired at the moment was to leave this realm once and for all and forget everything that’s happened here.

So why not? Why not leave the realm once and for all? It was what Loki desired just a day ago and for good reason. He had tried to spare you the heartbreak and you had still asked for it.

You pick up your silk skirt once again and start to run.

You somehow manage to find yourself back at the royal stables but any luck you had, which was not much to begin with in the first place, is all gone as the Lady Sif looks up at you in clear surprise.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. “Shouldn’t you be at the celebration like everyone else?”

“Someone has to keep guard,” she answers before glancing at your gown. “What’s your excuse? Isn’t it for your honor?”

You don’t know how to respond. You may be upset but you weren’t ready to let all your feelings out to the first person you found. Especially to someone who showed her clear distaste to the man you loved.

“I had to get out of there,” you answer. “I just… It’s not what it turned out to be.”

“So you came to the stables?” she asks, confused.

Your impromptu plan was falling apart all because of a nosy knight.

“Look, I just came for a ride so if you don’t mind…”

You try to move past her but she’s quick to catch your arm.

“You’re very upset,” she notes. “What did Loki do?”

“Why do you think he had something to do with this?”

“Because I know him.”

“Well, it’s clear that you don’t,” you argue. “He… He did nothing. This was all me.”

You let out a sigh knowing you wouldn’t get anywhere without revealing the truth.

“I fell in love with him, and he didn’t,” you confess. “My heartbreak is my own to blame.”

Surprisingly, Sif relents and lets you go.

“I understand,” she whispers. “The princes have a certain allure, don’t they?”

It takes you a second to realize who she’s referring to.

“Oh,” you answer. “You and…”

“Yes, and we don’t have to speak about it,” Sif remarks sharply before softening. “I’m sure you don’t.”

“I don’t,” you agree. “But I love him and he doesn’t which is why I can’t be here anymore. I have to get out of here.”

“So where do you wish to go?” Sif asks as she pulls her horse out of the stable. “I’ll take you.”

“The Bifrost,” you state ignoring her obvious surprise. “I wish to go home.”

The moment you left the royal hall, Loki turned to his enraged father. He did not dare to offer an explanation until you were far enough away from the scene. Loki hated himself for having to raise his voice at you but it was better than the alternative. You didn’t deserve to be caught in the aftermath of his lie. You didn’t deserve to be hated by Asgard and incur Odin’s wrath because of him.

“Tell the musicians to start,” Loki orders the nearby servant as he hands the case holding the apple for him to take. “And keep the guests away from the throne room.”

With that order done, Loki turns to his silent and angry Odin.

“My father and I wish to discuss in private.”

Odin refrains from snapping at him as Frigga comes into his vision. Just a gentle touch from his wife seems to bring him back from the brink of disaster and allows for Odin to be led into the nearby throne room without uttering a word.

“Now, son,” Frigga begins calmly. “Please explain to us why you’ve caused such disruption on a day like this?”

Loki looked between his mother and Odin unsure of how to speak the truth he had evaded and ignored for so long.

“I lied,” Loki states simply. “I’ve been lying to you this whole time. The courtship and now this engagement…”

Loki pauses and looks at Odin with a sigh.

“You were right,” he whispers. “I made a deal with her to fake a courtship with me and she accepted.”

He can’t help but laugh now, bitterly. It drove him mad trying to figure out when things had suddenly gone wrong. At what moment were fake emotions became real and true.

“And now… Now, things have become such a mess,” Loki exhales as his dark humor fades away. “Such a mess and I have no idea how to fix it because I love her. I love her with my entire being and she doesn’t even know. She doesn’t know that I would follow her till the end of the universe if it meant I could be by her side always.”

Loki turns away from them, his hands shaking, and he doesn’t know why he's confessed more than he had to.

“I love her,” Loki whispers. “And because I love her, I couldn’t force her to take a bite from the Apple of Idunn. She already detests time for having taken her away from her family, a home, and… love. How could I let her take a bite of that apple when it is the last thing she wishes for herself?”

“It was not your decision to make…”

Loki is surprised by this calm response from Odin prompting him to turn around to finally face him. His father’s wrath was gone, replaced by gentle understanding. As if the patient wisdom that Odin’s always described with finally made itself known in Loki’s presence.

“The gift I offered was for the Lady Y/N,” Odin continues. “She should have been the one to accept or reject it, not you.”

Loki opens his mouth to argue but Odin raises his hand to stop him before he could even utter a word.

“No, no, it’s time for you to listen to me now,” Odin interrupts him. “I’ve known all along the game you were playing, Loki. The timing of it all was too convenient to be true, but the lies and stories you wove to explain it all were convincing. They were convincing because in brief moments of clarity you two were speaking the utmost truth about the way you perceived and felt for each other.”

Odin glances over to Frigga who offers him a small smile.

“When I spoke to Lady Y/N after the incident of your tournament match, a tactic I hoped to unveil the trickery you were pulling, she met me strong and unafraid. She further revealed the loyalty and trust she held for you as she defended you quite strongly.”

“I already know this,” Loki tells him.

“I know you do, but what you don’t know is what she told me afterward.”

Loki waits for Odin to tell him but the Allfather remains silent.

“What? What did she tell you?”

“That, my son, is something you will have to hear from her,” Odin answers with a hidden smile. “I have spoken more than enough on her behalf. I believe it is time you have an audience with her. Tell her how you feel and allow her to do the same.”

Loki doesn’t trust Odin’s genuineness in the situation but a glance to his mother reveals that he should as Frigga nods for him to go.

“We will make excuses for you and Y/N’s absence in the hall,” Frigga tells him. “Go after her!”

Loki doesn’t need to be told twice as he quickly runs out of the throne room in search of you. There were many places you could be hiding in, but Loki doesn’t get the chance to look at any of them as a flashing of lights on the horizon catches his attention.

The Bifrost.

You were already gone.

poison & wine tag: @damalseer @just-the-hiddles @jessiejunebug @nonsensicalobsessions @smollest-soybean @assassinoftheworld @readerbandit @doyoufeelikeayounggod @strangemcuvlogs @ha-tep @i-dont-know-eiither @gene-king @day-dreaming-fox @bn-studies @is-it-madness @devilbat @victor-criss-bish @skinny-macncheese @musicconversedance @baby-bunnyxn @fandoms-allovertheplace @marvelloonie @jinxjinxednova @queenmuahaha @accio-boys @eternalqueensworld @umlvk @roger-the-reindeer @punkrockhufflefluff @your-local-abyss @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @rogerrhqpsody @imsad420 @pandacookieowo @justnerdystuffs @hanoi15 @oneprolificqueen @nikki-who-likes-coffee @fandomrelative @nikki419ninja @onedollarduck @help-i-need-a-social-life @ephemeraljade @catsladen @amwolowicz @captainmarvelnerd @thegirlbeyondtheuniverse

Loki Tag: @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @thesilentbluesparrow @oddly-drawn-muse @josiehosiedaninja @hp-hogwartsexpress @sadwaywardkid @wolf-lover74 @sizzlingbarbarianglitter @sigyn-njorddottir @aoirohi @defunctcherrybomb

All Works Tag: @jmb959 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @hellocookiecutter @steve-rogers-personal-hell @buckybarnesyard @not-zari-tak @strangersstranger @thefridgeismybestie @moonlightprime

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fatehbaz · 4 years

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Another compilation of thoughts on apocalypse; dystopia; better futures; post-crisis resurgence, contemplated during first week(s) of pandemic quarantine. [Part 1.]

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Pedro Neves Marques. “Parallel Futures: One or Many Dystopias?” e-flux. April 2019.

[I]t is important to remember that some futures never went anywhere – they were not allowed to – and yet they survive. These are futures that have been suppressed and canceled by colonial power. [...] I’m talking about parallel futures. By this I mean futures that have always been present, but that, together with the worlds they belong to, have been forced into one future only. […] There is only one planet, but there are many worlds inside it.

Writing from an Afrofuturist standpoint, artist and writer Kodwo Eshun suggests that the colonial present is managed by both a preemptive and a predictive power. “Preemptive” means that colonial power must control the past so as to deny the emergence of any future other than the one desired by the colonialist. “Predictive,” in contrast, implies that power must manage the present in such a way that the future is predetermined in advance. It is the active production of future horizons, compliant with power, that comes to shape the present. […] Borrowing a term from anthropologist Michael Fortun, one could call this preemptive prediction a “future anterior”: the forceful imagination of a technoscientific future that by its very utterance determines the shape of things to come. The future anterior orients the present toward a predetermined goal, while also rereading the past in its image. This is perhaps why Eshun writes that it is not the future that emerges from the present, as one would normally think, but rather the present (and the past) that arrives from the future. Colonial power creates a future in advance, so that no other will take its place. I want to ask how we can think through colonization and decolonization as a matter of futures. Colonization – of bodies and minds but also of nature itself – has always been as much about the negation and control of possible futures as about the erasure of the past […].

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Indigenous Action Network. “Rethinking the Apocalypse: An Indigenous Anti-Futurist Manifesto.” 2020.

Apocalyptic idealization is a self fulfilling prophecy. It is the linear world ending from within. Apocalyptic logic exists within a spiritual, mental, and emotional dead zone that also cannibalizes itself. It is the dead risen to consume all life. [...] Its an apocalyptic that colonizes our imaginations and destroys our past and future simultaneously. It is a struggle to dominate human meaning and all existence. [...] There is a song older than worlds here, it heals deeper then the colonizer’s blade could ever cut. [...] Why can we imagine the ending of the world, yet not the ending of colonialism? We live the future of a past that is not our own. It is a history of utopian fantasies and apocalyptic idealization. It is a pathogenic global social order of imagined futures, built upon genocide, enslavement, ecocide, and total ruination.

What conclusions are to be realized in a world constructed of bones and empty metaphors? A world of fetishized endings calculated amidst the collective fiction of virulent specters. From religious tomes to fictionalized scientific entertainment, each imagined timeline constructed so predictably; beginning, middle, and ultimately, The End. [...] This way of unbeing, which has infected all aspects of our lives, which is responsible for the annihilation of entire species, the toxification of oceans, air and earth, the clear-cutting and burning of whole forests, mass incarceration, the technological possibility of world ending warfare, and raising the temperatures on a global scale, this is the deadly politics of capitalism, it’s pandemic. [...] We are the antibodies.

The physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual invasion of our lands, bodies, and minds to settle and to exploit, is colonialism. Ships sailed on poisoned winds and bloodied tides across oceans pushed with a shallow breath and impulse to bondage, millions upon millions of lives were quietly extinguished before they could name their enemy. 1492. 1918. 2020 …

Biowarfare blankets, the slaughter of our relative the buffalo, the damming of lifegiving rivers, the scorching of untarnished earth, the forced marches, the treatied imprisonment, coercive education through abuse and violence. [...] The day to day post-war, post-genocide, trading post-colonial humiliation of our slow mass suicide on the altar of capitalism; work, income, pay rent, drink, fuck, breed, retire, die. [...]

The anti-colonial imagination isn’t a subjective reaction to colonial futurisms, it is anti-settler future. Our life cycles are not linear, our future exists without time. It is a dream, uncolonized. [...] We will not allow the specter of the colonizer, the ghosts of the past to haunt the ruins of this world. [...]

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Phil A. Neel. Hinterland: America’s New Landscape of Class and Conflict. 2018.

St. Louis is where storms collide. [...] And as the air currents grapple over the middle-American sky, the storm-swollen Mississippi grinds forward below. Once-uncommon “freak floods” are now standard, the levees overcome every few years and large chunks of St Louis and its surrounding suburbs washed away by the intractable inertia of a river bound to outlive any city. [...] In recent years, growing climate chaos has only intensified this ambient war, each “extreme weather event” more volatile and less predictable. [...] The result is another slow apocalypse.

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Hugo Reinert. “The skulls and the dancing pig: Notes on apocalyptic violence.” Terrain. 2019

In a newspaper interview a decade or so back, during an earlier peak of reindeer-crisis discourse, a [Sami] herder named Johan Mathis Oskal put this issue very succinctly: “If the authorities do cut the number of animals by half, and we then get a bad year [udr], we might be left with no reindeer at all. That would be an eternal catastrophe.” […]

“Apocalypse” […]. The word has something of the titillating about it: a streak of prurience, redolent of spectacle and sentimental violence, the interminable grind of […] death-fulfillment fantasies […]. It feels indulgent; more specifically, perhaps, it echoes the affects and fantasies that are invested in the anthropological project of salvage – as a collective enterprise of acquisition and reification rooted, all too often, in the postulate of an apocalypse of the Other. […] The image of a reindeer excess has haunted the edges of the State in Norway for almost two centuries now: a fevered, imaginal swarm always threatening to overspill the borders, invade the cities, eating the land bare. [...] The underlying impulse has persisted: a will to contain the herd, to control them, reduce – and through this, to control and reduce a segment of the Indigenous Sami population that in conspicuous ways has resisted normalization […].

The escalation of this […] narrative has coincided neatly with the escalating interest of national and international actors in “developing” the tundra […]. “Death has occupied the tundra,” one headline proclaimed. […]. The miasma of this moment is simultaneously an effect and an instrument of governance: a kind of ambient manufactured context [...]. Acting on the vision of a vast catastrophe – a charnel dream of bodies that rot in the snow, devastation, collapsing systems, the stench of blood – the providential State deploys the killing-violence apotropaically, in a preemptive move: “To prevent them from dying, they must be killed.” […] In this sense, the reindeer crisis is also legible as a performance, a spectacle of justification orchestrated by the State in its own periphery: “disaster as a form of governance” […].

“Eternal catastrophe.” To someone like Johan Mathis, excess appears as a temporary and survivable mismatch in the calibration of herd size to grazing resources. The problem resolves itself: “nature itself reduces the [reindeer] number.” […]. Contrast this to the State narrative – in which excess appears as the continuous potential for a terrifying breakdown, a rampant and unregulated proliferation in which the dead scatter like leaves, chaotic and numberless across an incompletely known terrain. Even the possibility of that crisis disrupts the sovereign claim of the State over death. The threat of force tries to reestablish that claim, at least symbolically – aligning reality with a theory of power that takes this control (over death) as simultaneously total and already-given but also always under threat, inherently insufficient. In the crisis, the State falls chronically short of its own theoretical claims; the answer to that “failure” is expansion, growth, intensification of control, the further consolidation of power.

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Nat Marcus. “At the Hellmouth Coatcheck.” Flaunt. November 2019.

Note that city limits are often transversive; radial lanes rather than walls at the perimeter. [...] Escalating seismics aside, the Hellmouth obviously wouldn’t open under Los Angeles, but rather off-center, somewhere out-of-pocket like Sunnydale. [...] Chicago acts like a trellis or lays out like a sheet of graph paper, one edge wet and thus easily torn away by Lake Michigan.

How, or assuming what posture, do we guide ourselves through the present via the future, if short-term futurity looks rich with suffering, and in the long-term, it’s merely void?

Apocalypse is a gradient, and the inferno [...] isn’t devoid of politics: while I write this ledger, the number of residents of what could be called hell on earth (shoreline eroding, uninsured pharmaceutical deadlocks, Western wars fought elsewhere, etc.) only grows. [...] By our current trajectory, those existing outside hubs of capital -- beyond the spatial and/or ideological limits of capital and major cities, the subaltern and incalculable -- will be swallowed by ocean or fire first. One doesn’t need a prophet’s eyes to see this. [...]

A bell-hooksian love ethic is one by which love is recognized as a form of action, one undertaken to stimulate the personal and spiritual growth of oneself and others. [...] Hell is either already here or just around the corner [...], at cross-hatched odds with the orderly loop of the city filled with law, may simply allow us to step into the shrinking space between those two places, and be here willfully [...].

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bigfrozenfan · 4 years

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Frozen III plot / fanfic - part 3

I finally decided to write this fanfic completely by myself and finished part three today. Thanks to all who commented to the first two parts, for the support and that you convinced me to go on, especially big thanks to @the-spastic-fantastic and @fericita-s.

Now i also have a preliminary working title for it too, which is:

“The Secret of the Northuldra”.

It has become a bit longer than the previous two parts which you can find here: part one, part two, additional thoughts.

I had a beta-reader for the translation and writing style on the FrozenFanfic subreddit on reddit. Thanks to Athenagoddessofwar7 for your support!

I hope you like this next part of my fanfic. Part four is already in progress and hopefully i can post it next week.

Elsa opened her eyes. Whether it was the light coming in from above or the voices near her dwelling that had woken her, she did not know. She lay still and tried hard to understand individual words. She could distinguish three people, but they were too far away to get any sense out of the conversation. A short time later she heard the sound of hoofbeats, which was rapidly departing. After that it was quiet, nothing moved anymore.

Elsa looked around the simple wooden hut, which tapered towards the top and ended in a small opening covered from the outside. Except for her bed, a small fire pit in the middle and some laid out fur, the room seemed to be completely empty. Some metal hooks were attached to the wall near the entrance and except for a small bag hanging from one of them they were unused. It smelled odd and seemed to come from all these furs here.

She looked to the side and discovered a small woodstool with a bundle of clothes on it. Were they hers? She reached over, but immediately regretted the attempt and groaned in pain. Her arm hurt so much that she could hardly move it. She tried to support herself with her other arm and to straighten up a little. A pulling pain shot through her arm and upper body immediately and without warning and she could not suppress a scream. She cursed softly. What had happened to her? Why was she lying here? Who had brought her here and why did everything seem so strange to her. A thousand questions flashed through her mind.

She didn’t know the answer to that and tried to remember the before, or just something. But there was nothing. Nothing at all. Her head was as if swept empty and it somehow felt as if she had woken up in a body of someone else. She did not even know her own name! She drew her breath in sharply with shock, accompanied by an intense pain in the chest area. She cursed again.

Then suddenly fragments of memories flooded through her head, words of this strange woman who called herself Anna or something similar and who was with her last night. Or was it longer ago? What had she called her? Elsa? Was that her name? She tried desperately to remember, but she had trouble remembering all of it. This woman had told her many strange stories she didn’t know what to do with. She had talked incessantly, held her hand and stroked her hair. And she cried even as she sang a song to her softly. Apparently she knew her very well but Elsa just couldn’t remember anything else but her name. She absolutely had to talk to her. Elsa flipped the fur open with great effort and was shocked as she realized that she was completely naked!

At that moment she noticed a noise and the flap at the entrance was opened. Immediately she covered herself again and watched two women ducking inside. The first of them was holding a steaming little bowl in her hand while the second was balancing bothhanded a big wooden bowl in front of her, carrying some cloths over her arm. Elsa and them looked at each other. Then they came closer and while the second woman set her apparently heavy bowl down in relief, with some liquid spilling over the rim, the other woman finally spoke to Elsa.

“You’re already awake, that’s good. I brought you some hot soup, because you need some strengthening after all you’ve been through. When you regained consciousness for the first time last night and Queen Anna visited you, we heard afterwards that you apparently do not remember anything. How are you today?”

Elsa cleared her throat, “Every muscle in my body hurts and I have so many questions. For example what happened, where I am and who you are. I don’t even know, who I am myself-” She hesitated for a moment, then narrowed her eyebrows and finally added, slightly angry, while looking down at herself, “Besides, I’m completely naked!”

“We can’t explain everything, Elsa, but I promise we’ll tell you all we know in the next few days. My name is Myrtha, I’m the healer in our village and it was me who brought you here. This is Ikka, my assistant.” Myrtha pointed with her thumb behind her, “She will wash you later.” Ikka smiled shyly. “You must know that you’ve been lying here for three days, after we found you unconscious and completely naked on the beach. You are in the village of the Northuldra, the people of the sun.”

Elsa was confused, but Myrtha had just casually confirmed her name. She now also had a first pale idea of the events and wondered in amazement why a queen was visiting her. Was she herself so significant? More questions and she feared that this would continue for a while longer. But her mind was still working and she drew first conclusions from what had just been said. “So I’m not a Northuldra myself and this-” she nodded her head towards the bundle of clothes, “isn’t either my normal clothing?”

Myrtha raised an eyebrow in surprise. “That’s right. You’re from Arendelle and our-” she hesitated. Should she tell Elsa the truth already, or would this only confuse her more? “Well, let’s say you’re a good friend of the Northuldra. We’ll talk about everything else later. The soup is getting cold and you need something to eat urgently. In case you’re wondering what’s in it… it’s a mix of vegetables and black grouse meat. It will give you new strength.”

The two women helped Elsa to sit up a bit and stuffed her neck with more furs, which they pulled out from under the bed. Myrtha carefully spooned the soup into her mouth. It smelled tempting and tasted the same. Elsa slowly felt the spirits of life returning within her.

When Myrtha finally left a little later and only Ikka was left behind, Elsa called after her before she could close the flap behind her. “What’s in that bag over there?” The healer turned once more and took the object off the hook.

“This, Elsa, is from your own property. This is all you brought back from Arendelle.” She put the bag on the bed next to Elsa and opened it. Elsa looked inside and was astonished. “As far as I know, they are letters from your sister, Anna, Queen of Arendelle.”

Elsa’s mouth remained open as she gazed into Myrtha’s eyes in disbelief. That explained a lot.

***

When Myrtha was outside she saw Honeymaren standing not far from Elsa’s Kota and she looked at her questioningly. “I know what you want to ask me, but it’s better she has some rest now. She’s got a lot to process right now.”

“You told her?”

“Not all of it, but enough to get her started. Besides, she’s not well and she’s in pain.”

Honeymaren lowered her head sadly. “I see.”

Myrtha wanted to go on, but changed her mind and put a hand on her shoulder as she stood beside her. She looked at her forcefully as Honeymaren raised her gaze. “I know how much you like Elsa and how much you would like to provide assistance. But please don’t take it wrong. It’s only in her interest if we pressure her as little as possible in the present situation. You saw what this could lead to yesterday. Be a little patient.”

Honeymaren pressed her lips together and nodded slowly. Myrtha squeezed her shoulder encouragingly and then went on to look for Anna. The queen had to be informed of Elsa’s current condition.

Honeymaren looked over to the Kota once more and then turned around as well to do her duties. Between the Kotas in the forest there was already a lot of activity and the Northuldra started their daily work.

***

Anna, Kristoff and Olaf strolled leisurely among the trees at the edge of the Northuldra village. It was early in the morning but the sun of a beautiful late summer day was already warming the clearings and a lukewarm wind was blowing through the forest.

It was beautiful up here in the north at this time of the year Anna thought and if the reason for her visit hadn’t changed so drastically she would probably now take the walk with her sister and ask her why she didn’t show up in Arendelle so often anymore. It had not always been easy for Anna in the last months, now that she was the queen. But all in all everything went well and she was very happy with herself and the progress in Arendelle.

The citizens were satisfied, the trade relations remained good and almost every day a brisk traffic could be observed at the port. Ships were coming and going and one had the impression that nothing had changed at all. Except for a few Northuldra, who now brought the products of their reindeer breeding to Arendelle and slightly changed the street scene. She wished Elsa could see this now and how the new peace between her two peoples had developed in the meantime.

“Queen Anna!”

Anna turned around and saw a middle-aged woman coming towards her. She smiled at her.

“Good morning. I am Myrtha, the healer.” She bowed slightly and nodded at Kristoff and Olaf.

Anna was immediately alarmed and her questions gushed out of her. “Is something wrong with Elsa? How is she? Has she said anything or does she remember anything?”

“Don’t worry, it’s all right. I just went to check on her and brought her some hot soup. She is weakened and has severe muscle pain, but otherwise she is fine. We talked and I told her what happened and where she is, but her memory has still not come back. I will observe her for the next few days and if her condition does not improve, I do not recommend transport to Arendelle for the time being. I’ve heard you’re planning on it.”

Anna shook her head in amazement and asked, “She has muscle aches? From what? How can that be?” Kristoff was equally astonished and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Olaf stared at the healer with his mouth open.

Myrtha looked around in astonishment. “Didn’t Yelana tell you about her suspicions?”

Everyone shook their heads in confusion, and Kristoff said, “Last night she only told us the events as they happened, but not what she thinks about all this.”

Myrtha sighed, “She assumes Elsa was on her way back from Ahtohallan when the Spirits and probably Nokk as well suddenly disappeared and she had to swim through the Dark Sea because of it. All the way here without her magic powers. If she hadn’t shown this almost inhuman will and held out until the end, Elsa would have drowned for sure.

"But then why didn’t she swim back to Ahtohallan?” Kristoff asked.

Before Myrtha could reply, Anna already knew the answer and said quietly and with her head bowed, “Because Elsa had no other choice. Without her magic, she would have frozen to death in Ahtohallan.”

***

To be continued...

Remark: I did some research on Elsa’s muscle pain, because normally swimming is a very healthy sport. But with extreme swimmers over very long distances it can happen that they get a severe muscle ache, especially when the water is very cold. This can happen just by the violent trembling of the body. Since the action takes place in summer, the sea might not have been so extremely cold, at least not in some distance to Ahtohallan. However, Elsa could have swum at night and the temperature could have dropped again strongly.

#frozen2 #f3 plot idea #frozen3 #frozen au #fanfic #part 3 #mine

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kaluawoo · 5 years

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Marauders’ Animagus Forms

Yeah yeah, I know, most people will probably say it’s obvious; James is a stag because of his pride, Sirius is a dog because he’s loyal, and Peter is a rat because he’s a traitor.

Yeah, I’m not buying those, at least not that simply. (This is gonna get long, so let me put it under a cut)

Let’s start with Sirius, because he’s gonna be easiest for me. I’m not disputing that he’s loyal, I know he is, and dogs are known to be very faithful - Other animals are, too, but dogs stand out due to their faithfulness towards humans in particular, and are more well-known for it than other domestic animals.

What, then, am I questioning? Well, why is Sirius a big, black dog? A dachshund is loyal, too. Or a toy poodle, or a Chihuahua. Or a corgi they’re adorable. But no, our dear Padfoot isn’t just a pooch, he’s a big, black, shaggy pup.

Now, let’s start with the breed. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think anyone ever mentioned one, so I’ll assume he’s a mutt. He didn’t have to be; there’s plenty of big dogs with black fur. Irish Wolfhounds come to mind, black labrador, Rottweiler or Dobermann (Though those aren’t fully black), even German Shepherds. He’s from a long line of purebloods obsessed with purity, but he is not a purebred dog.

Because Sirius rejected that idiology. I think an animagus can reflect a LOT about a person’s personality - There are so many different animal species, subspecies and breeds, after all - and refusing to obsess over blood purity like his ancestors was important for him; hence, his animagus form mirrors that.

Now, mutts still come in all shapes and sizes, but Pad is still a big black dog. The size, well, he wanted to keep a darn werewolf company; he must have REALLY wanted to be a big animal. Protecting and helping his friend was so important to him; and a big animal is much more easily able to protect someone than a small one.

That leaves color. A big black dog is also an omen of death; the Grim in Harry Potter specifically, and there are many English folk tales about black dogs like the Barghest. But first, as a nice tidbit: Not all those folk tales say the black dog is evil. Most, yes, but a few have the black dog as a protector; I distinctly remember one where people claim it’s perfectly safe to let children play on the meadows near that village because the dog is watching over them. Now, that sounds like it’s suit Pads.

But it’s more; even though he rejected his Black lineage, it’s still there, looming over him. To non-purebloods, the Black family is probably not the best omen, especially with Voldy on the rise. The first time someone hears Pad’s name, they won’t know that he’s not a blood supremacist; just like someone seeing a huge black mutt won’t know whether that dog is dangerous or not. Sirius may have rejected his family, but in a way, it’s still almost haunting him.

Next up is James. I’ll admit I don’t know as much about deer as I do about dogs (I heard they don’t make too great pets), but regardless, I think just “he’s proud” isn’t enough justification.

Lots of animals are associated with pride. Most prominently lions, but also tigers, and maybe to a lesser extent even domestic cats; also horses, sometimes wolves, and even if you want to stay deer-like, I’d say a moose, elk or reindeer is a tad more impressive than a Stag (I think he’s meant to be a red deer? It’s not explicitly mentioned, but that’s how I’d imagine him). So why did he end up in the shape that he did? If I’d want to keep a werewolf in check, I’d pick a moose. I would NOT mess with them.

First, the carnivores. It’s kind of hard to find the right words, but I’d say in some way, they’re too fierce. Of course, big carnivores don’t just go and kill stuff just because, but most tend to be more aggressive than herbivores; most herbivores as prey animals run away if there’s a danger, while carnivores, being predators, fight. James wouldn’t back down from a fight - And deer can fight, with both antlers and hooves - but once he’s grown out of his teens, he’s more of a carer and nurturer than a fighter, I’d say. And it took me a long-ass time to understand that, while he was a jerk as a teen, he most likely wasn’t one as an adult.

We still have a bunch of herbivores left, though. Well, moose are easy to leave out; they’re solitary, and I, for one, can’t imagine Prongs without his friends. Well, the simplest explanation would probably be that stags are just more well known for trying to impress their does, but I’m not here for analyzing meta reasons, I want to find in-story ones. So, I’ll cheat a little bit and say that the animagus form is mostly based on a person’s core personality, but influenced by lots of things: Not just how the animal actually is, but also how it’s perceived, the wishes of the animagus-to-be, how they think about themselves, all of that. Basically, it’s like the animagus form is trying to communicate as much about the human as it can.

James is, or at least was as a kid, something I’d describe in German as a “Wildfang”; literally it means “wild catch”. I don’t like the English translations I’m finding, so I’ll just describe it as someone - often a child, but sometimes also a young adult - who likes to bend or break rules, and wants to have fun in their own way without caring about society’s expectations of what or how they should be. A little boy preferring to stay out till dark with his friends instead of studying, or a girl playing in the mud without caring about her dress getting dirty. Sound like someone we know?

Now, as a “wild” boy, our little Prongs probably wouldn’t want to be a domesticated animal, or better, wouldn’t see himself as one. Horses can often be described as proud, but the well-trained ones are usually also very obedient.

And elk or reindeer, well... They might be more physically impressive than a red deer, but if people’s expectations about an animal play at least some part, then of course he’d end up the most well-known option, making him a stag. That also opens the interesting thought that it’s more than likely different cultures would cause different animagi, thanks to different ways of looking at animals, but I digress.

Last, but not least, is Peter. Honestly, he’s the main reason for this post, because I adore rats; I never kept any as pets, but I wanted to as a kid. Newsflash: Rats are not traitors. Again for the people in the back:

Rats are not traitors. Rats are incredibly social animals.

Yes, I’ve already assumed human preconceptions have an influence on the animagus form, but I don’t think they could overwrite the animal’s true characteristics. If they could, Padfoot being basically the Grim would mean he’s evil, but he isn’t.

Now that that’s out of the way, what do I mean with “social animals”? Some wild rats teach their young how to open pinecones to get the seeds, which is cute, but there’s something even more amazing: There have been experiments with a trapped rat, and a free rat. The free rat was able to push a button, releasing the trapped one.

It doesn’t stop there; in further experiments, they made it so the rat had to swim to get to the button, which rats normally don’t like. It did so anyway, to help the trapped one. They also put some delicious food out; the free rat often ate some, but not all, before releasing the trapped one, basically sharing the food. Unrelated to that, rats are among the rodents most likely to bond with their owner. Mice, degus (even though they’re adorable), even guinea pigs; some might bond with their owner, but by far not all. And even then, it’s kind of rare they’d want to cuddle - rats do.

And that is supposed to mean “traitor”? Really? Rats get a bad rep, I know, but how can you look at that stuff and decide “Yep, that means someone who can turn into a rat HAS to be evil!”?

So how does it relate to Wormtail? Well, while it’s a movie quote (Sorry - books are longer ago, and I haven’t read them as often as I watched the movies), I distinctly remember someone saying that Peter used to cling to his friends’ coattails, and at least I don’t remember any book quote refuting that. Rats are group animals, they need other rats in order to be happy; suits being a bit clingy with friends, doesn’t it?

Now, of course, rats aren’t the only social animals around. Wolves are probably among the most well-known, but there’s plenty of herd or pack animals. Well, first, I’d throw out the big ones - Wolves, lions, horses, etc. Yes, they’re group animals and need company of their own, too. But can you imagine Wormtail as a lion?

I’m verging into headcanon territory, but I feel like Peter probably lacked self-confidence and self-esteem. James and Sirius were cocky as they could be, and Remus, even though he probably had moments when he doubted himself, still comes across as mostly self-assured. But Peter?

Most big animals aren’t only known for being group animals; they’re also known for things like pride, strength, ferocity. Peter may have wanted to be a big animal to help his friend (yes he was part of the Marauders, another thing I took a long-ass time to accept. He betrayed them later on, but during Hogwarts, they were one group), but his self-doubts might have reflected on his form. What if he messed up? What if he couldn’t keep Moony in check and someone got hurt? As a tiny rat, there would’ve been nothing he could’ve done anyway, right?

Now, even small animals often have groups. Rabbits, guinea pigs, mice, degus... So there’s still lots of options. Some other things rats are known for is curiosity, intelligence, and being survivors.

Let’s start with curiosity. Wormtail was a Marauder. Secret passage? Neat! New path in the forbidden forest? Let’s check it out next full moon with Moony! He wasn’t just an accessory, he was part of the group, so I’m willing to bet he was just as adventurous as the other boys. While my degus are excellent at breaking out of their cage, they also get startled easily, not exactly adventurer material.

Now, intelligence. Okay, I’ll admit, I don’t remember if there were any mentions of Wormtail’s grades, but I remember reading a headcanon that he was the one best at coming up with excuses, and I can believe that, even though I’d guess his grades weren’t too great. He might’ve lacked book smarts, but he probably had a good helping of street smarts; bad application of ‘em, but he managed to frame Sirius for the murder of twelve muggles and then live with a family full of wizards - pretty smart ones, at that! - for a pretty long time. Look me in the eye and tell me that doesn’t require any cunning or intelligence. (I do say my degus are smarter than I am, but nobody knows what they are, and I just can’t imagine a new animagus ending up as an animal they don’t even know)

Last is the survival instinct. Look, talking to Voldy wasn’t noble, but it probably helped Peter’s survival. And, honestly? I have no idea what I would do in that kind of situation. Yeah, it looks like it goes against the social part, but - Does it? Voldy definitely threatened Wormtail’s life, but Wormtail was not alone. They sent his finger to his mother, if I recall correctly; what if Voldy threatened her, too? What if Wormtail had to decide between the lives of James, Lily and Harry, and the lives of his mother and himself? I adore my friends, but even though I hope I’d be able to protect them, I’m not sure if I could. And if my brother’s life was in danger, too, or my parents? I genuinely hope I will never, ever have to make a choice like that, because I couldn’t. I don’t love Peter for what he’s done, but I don’t exactly blame him, either. Fear makes you do weird things.

So, to wrap it up, Peter’s not a rat because he’s a traitor. He’s a rat because he’s social and loves his friends; he’s a rat because he’s curious and loves adventure; he’s a rat because he’s smarter than he thinks, and because he’s a survivor. Good people do bad things under the right kind of pressure, and being threatened with death - your own or a loved ones - is one hell of a pressure.

#james potter #sirius black #peter pettigrew #marauders #harry potter #remus lupin #hogwarts #headcanon #yes most of this was because I felt the need to defend rats' honor #what can I say I love rats #THEY ARE NOT BLOODY EVIL

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birger-wuvs-elsa · 6 years

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47, your choice

47. “We go on three…”

Jenny X Aksel (her dragon I haven’t started yet fuck me I’m so behind on my commissions)@shardsofarendelle

P.S. ‘kan is an honorific suffix in the dragon language, my original language that all dragons can speak (in my head worlds that is). It basically is on the same level as -kun in Japanese, only in this case it means “glory” and effectively is a one word way of saying someone is glorious, or that you wish to honor them by attributing them with the word “glory”.

P.P.S. You’ll understand the purpose of this image after you read the story. =P

P.P.P.S. Procrastination and a minor headache made this take much longer, also, probably accidentally inspired by sled dogs (damn I want a husky).

Umm, Jenny? Are you sure this is safe?

Aksel peered warily down the slope, its fair steepness unnerving her. While not terrible high, and surely not a sheer drop, it was not the picture of caution either. The young drake knew little of human “math” stuffs, as she shared a similar distaste for them as Birger’kan did regarding human matters in general. But there were some things she kind of liked, stuff that made sense; like angles, for example.

This cliff wasn’t horribly steep, maybe about a…fifty? Sixty degree angle? Aksel couldn’t tell for sure, but she could tell that safety was not this cliff’s name at all.

“Oh come on, Aki, it’ll be fine!” Jenny assured, as she made sure the straps of her dragon’s saddle were nice and tight. Since Aksel was far from being at all big like Birger was, leather workers were more than able to fashion a saddle for the young beast. Schematics hidden away in that Dragon Book her mother showed her certainly helped, as it gave the flabbergasted workers a base to work off of.

“Besides, you’ve got strong armor on you, and I’m wearing plenty thick clothing! Everything will be fine, nothing will go wrong, trust me!”

Aksel frowned and pouted, her lower lip sticking up between the sharp points that extended down over her mouth. I don’t know, Jenny…the last time you said that, I ended up stuck in a tree.

“Pfft, okay, that wasn’t that bad.” The redhead scoffed as she clasped another strap.

The tree also caught fire, though. Birger’kan was upset with me for days…

Jenny rolled her eyes as she got in Aksel’s line of sight, and waited for the bright yellow eyes to meet her blues. “Aki, we’ve been over this, Birger was just being his usual overprotective self. You got scared, of course the tree caught fire.”

The redhead shrugged, “Besides, he put it out before it spread to any other trees anyway, I don’t see what the big deal was.”

You were in the tree with me. I think Elsa’kan was scared, so Birger’kan was scared, so he also got mad.

Jenny frowned and sighed as she conceded that point to the fire drake. While the entire situation had been purely accidental, it had put Jenny of all people in danger—and Aksel as well, though in a different way, as she’s immune to fire as Elsa and Birger are to cold and ice. Jenny’s uncle of a dragon surely had been furious with the young drake, and only her pleas backed up by Anna and Elsa’s own arguments kept him from overreacting.

The redhead looked up, and frowned when she noticed the distressed look on Aksel’s face. The drake never spoke of it, but she clearly looked up to and admired the elder dragon; different breed and element be damned. Jenny was much the same, but she imagined it meant all the more to young Aki. The princess knew Birger’s story, how he’d chosen to leave his family behind.

From what little Aksel had told Jenny and her family—and what little they’d deduced for themselves—choice had not had any involvement…

Jenny approached Aki’s face, and held her spiky chin gently in her hands. The drake’s head was small for a dragon, her whole form was for being so young, Aki was even hardly twice the size of a horse. The redhead rested her chin on Aksel’s armored nose and smiled at her.

“He just doesn’t know how to act around you, at least that what Aunt Anna thinks. I kinda think so too, he hasn’t been around other dragons in a long time, Aki! And he never really messed with fiery ones, either…I don’t even know if he’d ever seen one before you, to be honest.”

Aksel sighed lightly, and her warm breath rustled Jenny’s hair. I never really met any other dragons either, let alone different kinds of ones, so…I think I get it…

The fire drake then took a deep breath, and smiled at her person. Now, were we going to toss ourselves off this mountain, since safety isn’t on your mind for today, or what?

Jenny smiled kindly to her drake, and patted her strong jaw. “That’s the spirit, Aki!”

Aksel gently pulled away before she crouched down, and waited as Jenny clambered on. She used some of the drake’s spikes as handholds till she pulled herself onto the saddle itself, and began to strap herself in. Once the princess had gotten all of her personnel straps nice and secure, she pulled the mask up over her face and pulled down a pair of snow goggles she’d made just for the occasion. Jenny had discovered them in class, no less, and was thrilled to actually glean some useful information out of the time.

Jenny grabbed the handholds in front of her on the saddle, took in a deep, shoring breath, and…

“We go on three…”

Aksel rolled her shoulders as she got into position.

“One…”

The drake leaned her chest down, her rear still in the air as she readied herself to push off. The aim was to slide on her belly all the way down, like a living sled, and only use her legs to make sure they didn’t hit anything. Supposedly, Birger had done something similar in his youth to escape harm, and Jenny apparently found a more entertaining use for the maneuver.

“Two…”

Aksel’s claws clenched the snowy ground beneath her, and tensed her legs, eyes narrowed in concentration. She was going to do everything in her power to both keep them safe, but also wring as much fun out of the escapade as possible. Jenny tightened her grip on the handholds and leaned slightly forward as she took in another breath, and–

“Three!”

Aksel pushed off the ground, and sent herself skidding down the snowy slope on her belly. The young drake managed to push plenty hard, and it took no time at all before the pair all but flew down the face of the mountain. Even with the slope not being as steep as it could be, they still picked up speed easily, the fire drake’s naturally aerodynamic form helping them on their way. The wind’s roar sounded like cheering almost, and the snow burst off the ground in their wake like a comet’s tail.

Jenny laughed freely beneath the protection of her mask, grateful again for discovering the goggle design in her studies. They protected her eyes well from the wind that would’ve normally bit at her face, and force her eyes closed. While the range of vision was small, it still worked wonders and kept her eyes safe. At the sound of her laughter, Aksel smiled, but kept her mouth closed so as to not dry out her mouth.

All was well for a while, the pair daringly soaring down the slope faster than trained reindeer. Not far in the distance, they could see the forest that surrounded Arendelle; they were almost home. As they began to near the bottom, and the slope slowly began to level off, Aksel prepared to slow them to a stop when it seemed appropriate. Unfortunately, unseen to either dragon or rider, a rock was hidden beneath a layer of snow.

Aksel’s chest glanced off the rock’s surface, not hard enough to harm her (Jenny was right, her natural armor was strong), but it did send them dangerously off kilter. The drake’s form began to angle wildly, and she could feel herself begin to tip. Eyes of both dragon and rider grew wide as terror took them, the inevitability of a crash clear to them both. As Jenny clung fearfully to the saddle, Aki looked up and would’ve blanched had her anatomy been able.

The treeline was almost on top of them, and it was far too late to safely slow them now.

JENNY!!! JENNY, UNSTRAP YOURSELF NOW.

Too enthralled in her terror to argue, Jenny quickly released the straps that fastened her to the saddle. She held on all the tighter now without the straps, and regretted the action, despite trusting her dragon. Before the princess could say anything, the fire drake reached her head around and gently grabbed Jenny’s cloak in her teeth. Deft as a snake, Aksel spun onto her side and pulled Jenny to her less armored, softer chest. Jenny barely had time to register the dragon’s semi-prehensile arms as they wrapped protectively around her, Aksel lowering her head over her as well, before loud, horrendous cracking sounded around them.

Their speed and momentum, coupled with Aksel’s strong, armored hide, allowed the living projectile to break through every tree in their path. The rancorous din of trees breaking and falling was no doubt heard all throughout Arendelle, even as many a bird took wing in sudden and great terror at the commotion. The thunderous pass through the trees seemed to take an eternity for the pair, especially for Jenny, who cowered within Aksel’s arms and clung fearfully to her mighty chest. Despite the pain of ramming into several strong trees, Aki focused on the treasure in her arms, and refused to break until they finally lost momentum.

They finally broke through the treeline, yes, and they lost vast amounts of speed from the trees that Aksel’s armored hide struck. But they still continued to slide towards the town, and with the weight and armor of Aki’s form, were still well on their way to accidentally ramming into a building. With unspoken agreement, Jenny held onto one of Aksel’s arms, while the drake used the other arm and every other limb (head included) to slow them down as much as possible.

Suddenly, Aksel’s back struck a strong, sturdy structure that hardly bent against her back. The abrupt loss of momentum caused Jenny to get momentarily squished against the drake’s chest before she fell onto her back in the snow. The princess got her bearings first, and leaned up on her elbows as she shook her head. Aksel merely groaned where she lay limp, not terribly injured, but her back was surely going to be sore for days.

Ugh…J-Jenny…what did–ow, what did we hit?

Jenny rubbed her forehead absently as she glanced up, grateful that whatever they hit shielded her eyes from the sun. However, as soon as the redhead realized what exactly they were in the shadow of, her eyes grew wide and fearful. They weren’t in the shadow of a building…no, while this obstruction provided no property damage, it was…arguably worse…

What in the Frozen North did you two think you were doing?!

Being a dragon, Aksel could hear it herself, and now she joined Jenny and looked up in fear. Jenny smiled sheepishly, while Aksel slowly hid her nose behind her rider. The princess raised a hand and waved nervously.

“H-hey, Birger…”

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shartistic · 3 years

Text

Why is there Sex Playboy 1984 Feb

Man and Woman, Part II: The Sexual Deal: A Story Of Civilization Homo sapiens. Types: male and female. Age: about 400,000, with known ancestors of 3,500,000. Distribution: virtually entire surface of planet Earth. Societies: agricultural and industrial, with a few primitive hunter-gatherers. Mode of reproduction: sexual. Nearest living relative: chimpanzee. Characteristics: intelligent, dominant, highly sexed. Question: Why? A visitor from another galaxy who materialized here with limitless funds would have a hard time explaining to her distant bosses why human men and women dominate the earth. Where would she begin? We're not the biggest species, after all---the blue whale is 1000 times larger. We're not the longest-living---a bristlecone pine can outlast 150 human generations. We're not anything like as numerous as birds. And we don't reproduce particularly fast---other species can do in 20 minutes what takes us nine months. Only two things, in fact, combine to make us in any way special. The ratio between our brain weight and our body mass is the highest on earth; and we are by far the sexiest creatures on the planet. Our closest cousins are chimpanzees, with whom we share 98.5 percent of our genes. And scientists agree that a cross between a chimp and a human being is entirely possible; the Chinese are said to have tried it before they were rudely interrupted by the Cultural Revolution. How they went about it, before the days of test-tube babies, no one knows. And what the sexual behavior of the result might have been fairly boggles the mind. For a chimp's sex life is a pretty sorry business compared with ours. Chimp males, it is true, may be said to have an advantage over us human males---their testicles are three times larger than ours and they produce huge amounts of sperm. But that's only because they have to compete with one another all the time. Male chimps have sex only when an individual female comes into heat---after two or three years, if she's pregnant or nursing an infant. They usually have to queue up for it. And when the time comes to do what they've been waiting for, the whole thing is over in seven seconds. By contrast, we humans have fun. And we look as if we were designed for it: All the necessary equipment is carried up front, permanently on display. We're hairless, for maximum visibility and sensitivity. We tend to copulate face to face, to have as much personal contact as possible---though there are as many variations on this theme as there is human ingenuity. And we do it more often. Human beings aren't hidebound by breeding seasons and breeding cycles, as are chimpanzees and the rest of nature. We have sex not only for reproduction but for pleasure as well. That's something our intrepid intergalactic anthropologist would notice very quickly. And she'd notice, as she scanned the species, two other things that humans characteristically do that seem to be related to all this sexual delight. First, we're basically monogamous, unlike almost all other primates except the gibbon and the siamang. And, second, we have a division of labor between the sexes; there seems to be an agreement about who does what. Of a total of 224 societies listed in George Murdock's Ethnographic Atlas, 158 list cooking as a strictly female activity and only five say it's exclusively male. Hunting is done by males in 166 societies out of 179 and never exclusively by females. And it's the same story with other jobs about the house and hut. Males are almost always responsible for lumbering, metalworking, fishing and the making of musical instruments. And females, by and large, take over weaving, clothes making and the preparation of drinks and narcotics. This sort of division of labor is unique in nature, except among birds. Having understood this much, our visitor from outer space would want to try to put two and two together for her report. Large brains, pleasure, monogamy, sexiness and division of labor: Could those explain why human beings have come to dominate the planet Earth? Could sex and sexuality, after all, be at the heart of it? And if she wanted to answer those questions, she'd have to go a long way back in history: past our first settlements a mere 15,000 years ago, past our first tools and past our beginnings---backward in evolutionary time and out into nature, to the species that have been around for millions and even billions of years, long before our arrival. And there she'd have to ask two further questions that are basic to who we are, questions that the population of her galaxy---all female---are desperate to have answered. Why does sex exist? And why do males exist? Sex may be fun, but it isn't necessary. Consider, for example, the many species of lizard biologist David Crews keeps in his laboratory at Harvard. Three of them are particularly interesting; for when a female of one of those species is about to ovulate, she is mounted by another lizard and what looks a lot like sex takes place. There is much biting, lashing of tails and juxtaposition of sexual organs. It is not, however, sex---at least not in the way we usually think of it. Because all lizards of those three species are female. Like at least 24 other species of reptiles and like the people of our imaginary visitor's galaxy, they specialize in virgin birth---parthenogenesis---and have single-parent families of female offspring exactly like themselves. The sex they have has a function. It makes them lay more eggs more often. But it has nothing to do with fertilization. They reproduce on their own, without any need for help from males. They have done away with them and will never need them again, even if Crews manages to make some males by injecting their eggs with male hormones. Pity, then, the poor male lizard. And take warning. For the same thing could conceivably happen in humans. Some biologists believe that were the gene for parthenogenesis to appear in any longlived species that inhabits a stable environment, as we do, it would take over and eventually consign both males and sex to oblivion. We would become like dandelions, bananas, pineapples, Washington navel oranges and the occasional turkey---as well as like our female observer and Crews's lizards. We would be born without benefit of sex and in our case, too, all female. Some feminists would argue that the world would be better off that way; and if you look at males in most of nature, you'll probably agree. For males in nature are by and large rather useless creatures, good only for one thing. They contribute far less to the reproduction of their species than females do. They're usually smaller than females (the largest creature on earth is, in fact, a female blue whale). They almost never help out with the kids. They die young (only human eunuchs live as long as human females) and when they're alive, they behave in extremely foolish ways. They fight among themselves---male mites battle to the death---for the privilege of a mating. They also expose themselves to predators when they strut their stuff---for example, only male fireflies take to the air for a flashing session; the female is safe in the underbrush. Males commit themselves to hopelessly elaborate evolutionary strategies, such as the swagger matches of reindeer and their massive investment in useless antlers. And very often, males have no clear idea of who or what to date. A male fly will try it with a raisin; a male butterfly, with a falling leaf. And male frogs and toads will optimistically attach themselves to a rock or a stone or a passing boot. Being a male, in other words, is in most species a difficult, dangerous, nasty and hit-or-miss business. Nature has designed males to do anything to achieve reproductive success; that's all nature is interested in. And the price for that success is sometimes very high. Male marsupial shrews, for instance, get a fatal dose of stereoid hormones when they copulate. Male Neotropical frogs virtually starve themselves to death as they wait weeks or even months on the back of a female for her eggs to mature. And male angler fish, just to perform their reproductive duty, commit an awesome form of suicide. They latch on with pincers to the body of a female, become a part of her skin surface and circulatory system, lose their eyes and fins in the process and end up becoming about a hundredth of her size. All that for one tiny moment of glory, when the female releases her eggs into the water to be fertilized. It's no wonder, then, given the rotten time most males seem to have of it, that those few males that have the option--- some coral-reef fish, for instance---actually fight with each other for the right to become female. The majority of males don't have that option. Like humans, they're locked into whatever evolution gave them---from the 18 different patterns in the courtship dance of the American grasshopper to the bull elephant's unwieldy 60-pound penis to whatever lurks in the collective psyche at a big-city singles bar. They're locked into the evolved expression of their male sexuality. All of which may come as something of a surprise to human males who think of themselves as varied and sophisticated, newly arrived and in the game only for pleasure. But we, too, evolved a long time ago. And we, too, are subject to this basic law of nature: that the only way a male can reproduce himself and pass on his genes to the next generation is to find a mate, compete for her and do whatever she thinks necessary. If males, including human males, don't do this---if they don't make it through the struggle and don't come up to snuff with the female---then they're on a one-way ticket to reproductive oblivion. And whatever genes they carried that produced their particular disability---their choice of pleasure over conception, their urge to stay home and not bother, their weakness, their muffing of the courtship dance or their lack of attractive pizzazz---will disappear from the population. Only the genes for whatever it took to survive and reproduce with a female will remain: the biggest, the bravest, the most persistent, the most punctual and the most colorfully decorated. That is the way the world turns, for males. With the female in charge of the manufacturing end of reproduction, males are only in the service business and they must jump to the female's tune. Irven DeVore, a Harvard anthropologist, is certain about this. "Males," he says unequivocally, "are a vast breeding experiment run by females." The question is, though: What on earth for? It's clear that the existence of sex is of vital importance for males in nature; without it, they wouldn't be around. But what's in it for females? Sexual reproduction, after all, takes time and energy (in flatworms, which can reproduce with or without sex, it takes 15 percent more time and 25 percent more energy). And it also presents a female with several serious problems. First, she has to find and risk having close to her a potentially dangerous partner. Second, she has to find a way of making sure she's mating with an individual of the right species. And, third, she has to take a gamble on whether or not the male's sperm will enable her to produce fit offspring. Some of the winnowing out of males has already been done, of course, by the rigors of the environment and by male-male competition. But a female's eggs are still more expensive to produce than a male's sperm---in birds, the egg can represent as much as a quarter of a female's body weight: and in humans, men can produce in half a second more sperm (the smallest cells in their bodies) than a woman can produce eggs in her whole lifetime. A female, then, is forced to be more choosy than a male. In humans, a moment's indiscretion with the wrong sperm can cost a woman an egg that would have been better invested elsewhere, not to mention nine months of pregnancy and a lot of bringing up baby. All that, you would think, would encourage the female of the species to find some other means of reproduction. And there is an even stronger and more important reason why she should. It is that, quite apart from all the inconvenience and fuss, sex---evolutionarily speaking, (continued on page 186) Man and Woman (continued from page 98) from the point of view of her genes---is a bad option for her. For if she has survived up to this point, after all, she has very good genes; they've traveled down to her, from the year dot, only through reproductively successful organisms. So why should she want to break up a winning combination? Why should she want to throw away half her genes, shuffle them up in the process and take another shuffled half from another individual, usually a perfect stranger? Why should she give up the reproductive edge her genes have already got? And why should she waste time and resources producing males? "It's no use saying, 'Well, it's for the good of the species,' " says Martin Daly. Daly is a Darwinian psychologist, now at McMaster University in Canada, who has long been interested in why he exists. "The female doesn't know anything about species and she doesn't do anything at the beck and call of evolutionary theorists," he says. "No, there has to be something in it for her. That's all she's interested in, herself and her offspring; or, put another way, that's all her genes are interested in, themselves and their continuation. Selection takes place at the level of the individual. And that's where we have to look for whatever advantage it is that sex brings. By choosing sex, you see---as George Williams of Stanford has pointed out---the female has on the face of it put her genes at a 50 percent disadvantage; only half of them are transmitted. So we have to find a corresponding 50 percent advantage that sex must offer. What can that advantage be? It has to be something enormous. She's at a 50 percent disadvantage, remember, and we know that the genes for even a one percent disadvantage will very quickly disappear from any population, other things being equal." Daly and his wife, Margo Wilson, a research associate at McMaster, recently wrote a book called Sex, Evolution and Behavior. In it. they come to no firm conclusions about the origins of sex, but they do suggest what it's good for---adaptation in the face of bad times. "Look, all we've got to go on is what's in nature," says Daly, a dry, funny man in his late 30s who delights in bringing us humans down to size by calling us "H. saps." "And, luckily, nature has given us an unbelievable-variety of life, from bacteria all the way to H. saps. Bacteria aren't much use, because they don't use sex very much, even though they're about 6000 times older than we are and the most numerous and most successful organisms on earth. And H. saps aren't much use, because they're already committed to this thing we're trying to explain. "But between them are a number of species that are sometimes sexual and sometimes asexual. And they seem to have one overriding thing in common. As long as the going is good, as long as there's not too much competition, they put all their money on the asexual option. They produce females. But if there's overcrowding or they're faced with an imminent collapse, they opt for sex. They produce males." Just like human beings in wartime, in other words, who take sex wherever they can because they may not survive, so a whole host of creatures switch to it when their way of life is threatened. For females in nature, hard times are responsible for the fact of sex, as well as for the act of sex. Males become necessary. In species where there is an option of being either male or female, males are almost always found where the environment makes survival tough going. So far, so good, O people of the galaxy. But why is there so much sex on this planet? Birds do it. Bees do it---actually, only some bees do it. Even uneducated little fleas do it. We do it. And we and they do it all the time. Somewhere along the line, a few billion years ago. there must have been a switch to sex and it must have stuck. Why? Put it this way. Males are a pretty good idea when it comes to females' competing against an uncertain future. Males are usually smaller, they mature faster and their sex cells are cheaper to produce. So, from a female's point of view, males are an efficient way of storing their genes when resources are scarce. And they're also a good way of making sure that copies of at least some of those precious genes are passed on to the next generation. Males, after all, produce enormous numbers of sex cells---with the female parent's genes inside them. And so, if they survive to maturity, there's a good chance that at least one of those little gene loads, and maybe more, will find a home in an organism that has retained the option of being female. That is a much better prospect for her genes than simply continuing to make 100 percent copies of themselves; she's not doing well in the environment she's got and they're not going to do any better. A much better plan, then, is to make males, have sex, mix up genes and start again. For the next generation will all be different from one another, and there's a chance that some of them will have what it takes to cope and carry on. But that still doesn't explain why females took up sex full time. rather than keep it for an occasional option. We, for example, don't seem to have been faced with a continuous chain of emergencies throughout our history. Nor does any other sexual species that we know of. So why don't human females simply make clones of themselves and keep men in reserve, in case of disaster? For an answer, we have to go back in time, back to how the idea occurred in the first place. The search takes us to the primordial ooze, by way of a tall question mark of an Englishman named William Hamilton. A biologist at the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor, Hamilton believes that the only way a sexual population can beat out an asexual one is for it to be permanently under threat from outside---from parasites. "Men and women," Hamilton says carefully amid the clutter of his university office, "are descended from the first multicellular organisms. And I've always been puzzled by how those organisms could survive. They're at a distinct disadvantage against their smaller enemies. They're more complicated. so they grow and reproduce much more slowly, which makes them vulnerable, evolutionarily speaking. Because when one organism is trying to figure out a way into another, and the other is trying to figure out a way to keep it out. evolution favors the one that breeds quicker. Mutations will give it better ideas faster, and it will win. Unless, and only unless, the bigger organism can figure out a new genetic trick to level the odds. "And I think that trick was sex," Hamilton continues, "the mixing of genes between two of the organisms to make new arrangements---new passwords, perhaps---to keep the parasites out. That would now give the multicellular an edge in this evolutionary game of catch-up, but only a small edge. And so, as it gets larger, all the way down to us, sex would constantly be selected for. Sex would have to go on. "All right. That's maybe why there is sex. But why are there sexes? Exchanging genes, after all, doesn't necessarily mean that there should be any difference between the two exchangers. When bacteria use sex, for example, there's no difference that can be found. "Well, here I think science does have an answer. When the evolutionary step toward sex is taken by a multicellular organism, cells specifically for sex will tend to be produced. But there's an inherent instability that acts against there always being of the same size. And the pressures of competition will begin. Those pressures will favor slightly larger sex cells than usual. And those, in turn, will make for cheats, smaller sex cells than usual, produced in greater numbers to compete for the bigger ones. From then on, the pattern becomes clearer and clearer. The small sex cells become more and more competitive---they become highly mobile, they learn to swim---while the large sex cells become immobile and fixed. The cheats become sperm and the cells for which they compete become eggs. And that's what we end up with. Sperm and eggs. Small investors and large investors. Cheats and straight shooters. Males and females." This may not seem very romantic, but from it all blessings flow. For now you has sex. Now you has males. And now you has all the incredible, teeming variety of sex in nature: male mites that fertilize their sisters while still inside their mother, and so die before they are born; the female scorpion fly that insists on a titbit from her prospective lovers, and her transvestite brother---in drag---that tries to con poor unsuspecting males out of their nuptial gifts; the ingenuity and elaborate pleasures of human beings. Not to forget what British researcher Tim Clutton-Brock has called the "sneaky fucker strategy" in red-deer stags. Among those animals, the dominant males spend a great deal of time showing off their wares to one another. Less dominant males will have none of that; instead, while the big boys are quarreling, they sneak around back and get it on with the females. In nature, it doesn't matter how you play the game, as long as you win. Reproductive success is the name of this game, and the table is almost always run by the female. With a much bigger investment now at stake, it's up to her to be choosy about what genes she accepts into her eggs. That's why the delay of courtship suits her purposes well. Males, characteristically, have a different strategy. Their sperm costs little and they can have multiple matings. So it is in their interests to spread their genes across as many females as possible---to go all the way on the first date and then move on. That would be fine, if there were always more females than males in the population. But genetic rules ordain that there will always be, roughly speaking, equal numbers. Which means that males will have to compete with one another; some can be big winners in the game and others will have to be losers. If a king can take 3333 wives, after all, as he could by law in one African nation, then there'll be roughly 3332 other men left without any. The same is true in nature. On the face of it, this system---this rat-race polygamy---may look as if it works to the disadvantage of the female. But, remember, she's interested only in the successful reproduction of her genes. So the system actually works hugely to her advantage. Because if the males spend their time competing---sorting out the toughest, most ambitious and most resilient genes from the weaker and less capable---it makes her job of selection that much easier. She wants resources, after all, sometimes just the resources of good genes, and so fair play is the last thing on her mind. In many species, in fact, perhaps including our own, females actively encourage all the Sturm und Drang. In sand bees, females remain resolutely below the surface, so that a male will have to dig down to them while fighting off other males. In coyotes, females will deliberately delay mating until a large number of males have arrived. And in the Uganda kob, the handsomest of the African antelopes, females stroll through the stamping ground, where the males are fighting and jockeying with one another; the females are inspecting the goods, as if in a sexual meat market. (Think again of the singles bar, gentlemen, and reconsider who's really in charge.) If you think this is pretty antisocial behavior on the part of all concerned, you're right. "Sex," as E. O. Wilson, one of the founders of sociobiology, wrote, "is an antisocial force in evolution." In a sense, it is also the most deadly for males. For in all of this, males, even human males, die young: not because they kill each other off, and not because they are forced to become conspicuous, though both help, but because selection is interested only in their reproductive ability and not in any genes that might help stave off their death after reproductive age. The males in most species aren't involved, as we've said, in bringing up the children. So once they've done their duty to Mother Nature, they are expendable. While they're alive, of course, they have one other task demanded of them by the female: to court her. Courtship in nature takes many forms, and sometimes it works to protect males, who can find out in the process whether or not a female has already been inseminated (a long engagement will always tell). But, for the most part, courtship is no more than a job-application system designed by the female employer. First, is the applicant of the right species? ("Are you my type?") Second, can he perform the foreplay necessary to bring the female to ovulation? ("Can you make nice?") Third, can he do anything else to demonstrate that he has good genes? ("What's so special about you?") (Nature---and human society---is full of demonstrations of resources, chases, forced journeys and other tests imposed on the male by the female.) Fourth, and most interestingly, perhaps, is the applicant aesthetically pleasing? ("What's your wardrobe like?") Males in nature are almost always more exotically colored and elaborately ornamented than females. And it's clear that those features have been selected for by females, other things being equal, for their own enjoyment. Males are a vast breeding experiment run by females. And females have not only designed them, they have also, by being in charge of reproduction, ordered the kinds of society in which they'll live. Take the king of beasts, for example. No, take the queen of beasts; lionesses run faster and do most of the hunting. A pride of lions consists of a number of lionesses, usually interrelated, and two larger males, unrelated, who are needed for protection against other lions that might invade the pride and kill the females' cubs. One lion isn't enough for this job. How, though, to avoid competition between those two males? How to make them work together? Simple. Whenever the females come into heat, they do so all at the same time. From then on, for two or three days, they all require copulation every 15 or so minutes. And by the time the mating session is over, the males are too exhausted to know which is whose, what is why or which end is up. Result? Peace at home and protection guaranteed. The females get what they want. They always do. Selfish females never allow equally selfish males a say in the way their society operates unless the environment demands it, or unless they have successfully bred males to do something more useful to themselves and their offspring than just provide sperm. Male and female strategies will always make for male-male competition, polygamy and disposable, interchangeable males, unless males can be encouraged into a line of work that has a direct effect on the females' reproductive success. What is that line of work in primates, the creatures closest to us? The protection racket. What is that line of work in man? Male parenting. The quality and intensity of paternal care that a male human gives to his offspring sets him off from all the other primates. It has also been his salvation, for male parenting rewrites the rules of the relationship between males and females. It equalizes the unequal struggle between the sexes. And it is almost certainly the one thing that will save human sex and human males from the dark waters of forgetfulness, if the genes for parthenogenesis---virgin birth---ever reappear in the population of Daly's H. saps. Since the days males first came into existence---prodded by parasites, if Hamilton is right---male parenting in return for female-male monogamy has been the best deal they've ever made. To understand why, we have to look where Daly told us we should look, for an advantage at the individual's level. What's in it for a man, or, rather, for his genes? For, obviously, they now face a giant disability: What with feeding the wife and taking care of the kids, they can't spread themselves all over the place as they once could, given a certain amount of perseverance and luck. So what's the new benefit they receive? Well, in the old days of competition, "sneaky fuckers" and multiple mating---which may well survive within us in some form---who knew whose sperm was getting through to whose egg, to deliver up the genetic goods? At least now the male, by committing himself to a female, can have some confidence that her offspring are also his, because she'll want what he provides enough not to screw around. This means that competition with other males now becomes counterproductive: A male who leaves home for a fling can't ever be sure that there isn't another male knocking at his door. It means that a male will live slightly longer, since nature now has an interest in his survival through child-care years. And it means that a male can now give the 50 percent of his genes that are in his children a far better chance of surviving to pass them on. His children can be carefully prepared for the environment in which they will find themselves. They can stay young and dependent longer. That, of course, makes male parenting the best show in town as far as the female is concerned. Consequently, it's in her interests to promote it with the full force of her genes, because now she can get back the advantage she lost when she was forced to abandon asexual reproduction and take up sex. She gives up her independence, it's true. She can't make a date on a whim with the best new genes available. And she has to put up with the burden of her male mate's needs. The advantages, however, far outweigh those costs. For, with male assistance and resources, she can perhaps double the number of her offspring and the number of genes she personally can contribute to the next generation. And, like the male, she can make sure they get off to the best possible start in life. Sexual access and some guarantee of paternity, in exchange for more resources than the female can command herself, all for the good of the children; that is the basic trade-off involved in monogamy. Ninety percent of birds have made it. Gibbons and siamangs have made it. And Owen Lovejoy, professor of anthropology at Kent State University, believes that in our species, not only was that trade-off made millions of years ago by our ancestors, it was also responsible for human civilization. "Anthropologists have always argued," Lovejoy says, "that it is the use of tools that separates man from all the other primates. Tools, big brain, language and upright posture; they all somehow come together in one evolutionary bundle. And I think that's nonsense. For me, there's only one thing that can explain all the things we want to have explained: walking on two legs, intelligence, culture, dominance. And that's the mating and parent-care pattern that evolved in our species---the division of labor for greater reproductive success. Monogamy. We'll never find it in fossil form, of course, but I believe it is absolutely fundamental to human evolution. Right at the core." Lovejoy is a bearded, tough-minded man in his 30s, another of a new generation of scientists bucking old assumptions and facing up to old unanswered questions. He holds positions in human anatomy and orthopedic surgery, as well as in anthropology. He has worked in close association with Donald Johanson, the discoverer, in Ethiopia, of Lucy, the skeleton of the earliest-known upright-walking hominid. And the day we meet him, he has been confirming for the sheriff's department the identity of yet another skeleton, a human one he calls Joey, the headless, handless victim of a recent gangland slaying in nearby Ashtabula County. We talk for several hours in an offcampus restaurant, a favorite haunt of Lovejoy's. "Look," he says almost as soon as he sits down, "I'm an early type. And we early types aren't interested in what's gone on in the past 400,000 or 500,000 years. We're interested in the long haul of human evolution. And that's what makes Lucy so fascinating. Because she presents us with a problem. First, she's three and a half million years old---older than any tools or human culture we know of. Second, she's not very smart---she has a primitive skull much like an ape's. But third---despite all that---she had a body that was fully upright and she could walk in exactly the same way you walked in here. Now, why would she need to do that? To hunt? To avoid predators? No. She'd be much better off on all fours: Upright humans can do only about 40 percent of the speed of the patas monkey; they can only just outrun a fast snake; and their walking speed's about the same as a chicken's. Hardly what you'd want in the dangerous open grasslands hominids are supposed to have evolved in after they left the forest. To feed? No. The teeth of Lucy's species show they were generalist eaters. And you don't need upright posture in the savanna on that diet. Why, then?" Lovejoy leans on the question. "The answer is simple, it seems to me. Lucy's species---Australopithecus afarensis, our earliest known ancestors---were food carriers. And long before they moved out into the open, they carried food to one another. "No big deal, you might think. Very big deal. Because, to exist, an adaptation as big as this has got to show a reproductive advantage. The enormous anatomical change necessary for this behavior must have to do with survival and reproductive success. It's not just early men suddenly deciding to be nice to one another for no reason. Where would be the incentive? Well, there obviously was an incentive. And I propose that it was the result of a new deal between males and females and a new way of bringing up offspring---the whole thing cemented by sex. "The best way to see what I mean," Lovejoy continues, "is to look at chimps, our nearest living relative. Chimps mature very slowly, just like humans. They have biggish brains, and they use rudimentary tools and weapons and they walk upright once in a while. But the one thing they don't do is forage for one another. A mother, carrying and often dropping and damaging her infant, has to fend for herself. That means that a female chimp can only manage one infant at a time. Her birth rate is very low. And the result is that chimps are barely able to maintain their population---they're becoming extinct. They've never been able to leave the forest where they evolved." Lovejoy chomps on a hamburger as the spirit of our intergalactic explorer hovers somewhere overhead. "Early man, you see, faced the same problem. And evolutionarily speaking, there's only one way round it. Put up the calorie intake of the female," he says, waving lunch, "and allow her to spend more time parenting---preferably in a protected spot---so that she can take care of more than one infant at a time. The male, in other words, has got to start providing food. How can he do that? He can't carry it in his mouth, as foxes and birds do. He has to walk upright and use his hands. Why should he do that? What does he get in return? Reliable sex and reliable care for his genetic investment." There are two essential differences between human females and the females of all other species. Humans don't advertise or announce when they are fertile---their rear ends don't go red. And they are continuously sexually receptive. A woman can and will take on a man more often than once a month. Lovejoy believes that those, too, were very early adaptations and that they must have appeared as part of one evolutionary package about the same time as male provisioning and general upright posture. And that would make good sense. For if the female could find a way of concealing when she was fertile, she could manage to do two things: She could force her male to stay with her throughout her cycle, if high on his agenda was successfully producing children. And, at the same time, she could discourage strange males from competing with him and undermining his confidence in his paternity. Being willing all the time can now be added to this strategy as a reinforcer. For if the committed male can get it regularly enough from one source, he will give up any catting around he might still be inclined to do and concentrate on bringing home the necessary bacon to where he can get it. That is the beginning of recreational sex; and it has nothing to do, evolutionarily speaking, with its later history of philandery and one-night stands. Quite the contrary. It is the gilding of the lily, the final setting of the seal, on the bed-centered nuclear family. And from it, all that we think of as human flows. "This new arrangement," continues Lovejoy, "is extremely democratic; with one on one, most males can now find mates. It enlarges the social group---which is a huge advantage. It's highly socializing, rather than antisocial, because you now have double parents, families, kinship systems: Everyone knows who belongs to whom. It allows for an extended infancy, which allows for a gradually developing brain. And it frees the hands, encourages the adoption of devices for carrying both food and babies and prepares the ground for later weapons and tools. It's also more fun. Because all those things that make for the enjoyment of sex are now selected for anything that reinforces the longterm pair bond: the prominent penis; female breasts permanently on display; face-to-face copulation; hairlessness; the pleasure of orgasm. All of those would serve to keep the male and female together and help their children become smart enough to survive." We're smart because we're sexy. We're sexy because we're smart. And we're both because, 3,500,000 years ago, we divided up our labors and started down the road of monogamy together. Virgin birth to parasites to sex to males to competition to different reproductive strategies to polygamy to division of labor to monogamy: This will have to do for our intergalactic female's first report. But it isn't quite the end of the story, as we'll be seeing later in this series. For human males and females are today less constant, and human societies are less monogamous than this scenario might suggest. There is more competition for sexual and other resources than there seems to have been at the dawn of the Pleistocene era. On the ground, in practice, we seem as various as those other monogamists, the birds: We have rapists, bigamists, adulterers, sneaky fuckers of both sexes, polygamists and even, in a few cases, the keepers of several husbands. For all this, though, we are basically monogamous---as most birds are. And it is from this that most of the sexual attitudes in humans derive. Women are concerned with the extent to which a man can provide (a recent study asked working-class women what they found sexually attractive in their husbands, and the dominant themes in their answers were money and food). And they almost always marry an older man. Men, by contrast, want youth---for reproduction's sake---and fidelity; the primary motive in the killing of women by men is---in both Africa and the United States---reported to be suspected or actual female infidelity. That may seem like an imbalance, but those qualities have been selected for by both males and females for hundreds of thousands of generations: size, strength and ambition in men, and constancy, mothering abilities and nurturance in women. It is, in fact, a very delicate balance. How delicate can be seen in two species of birds, Wilson's phalarope and the jacana. In both, the males have been bred by the females to do much more than their fair share of parental care and in the case of the jacana they are kept in male harems. The females are the winners, you might think. But they are also the losers. For they are forced into competition with one another---now there aren't enough males to go around. The females have become larger, they are now in the protection business and they've become more brightly decorated than the males---at the aesthetic whim of their mates. Later in the series, we'll be looking at how all this may affect---and effect---current relationships between the sexes. "If you want to examine a really primitive society," says Lovejoy, "look at the West." But, for the moment, we want to leave you with this: If you think human, think old. If human life is a day, then the invention of the condom, let alone the pill, was less than a second ago. And if you think human, think rather of two sorts of human, bred over a succession of generations to express different skills and different abilities. Men and women are specialists. And in their differences lie the roots of their cooperation. In their cooperation lie the roots of our civilizations. We are as necessary and complementary to one another as the first egg and the first sperm. But what are those differences? Some of them can be found in our bodies: We are specialists for different reproductive functions, specialists for one another's pleasure. But some of them can be found much deeper, at the heart of our behavior, in the organ that is fundamental to the biological inheritance that makes us who we are. In next month's issue we'll be looking at the most important sex organ of all: the brain. Are our brains as different as our bodies? if females don't need males for reproduction, then why do males exist---and, for that matter, why is there sex at all? "Billions of years ago, there must have been a switch to sex and it must have stuck. Why?" DONE READING DONE READING

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dramallamadingdang · 7 years

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Lotsa replies

Figured I’d better do ‘em before I get absorbed in writing up this tutorial thing...

These go back a ways because I’ve been, as usual, lazy/preoccupied. :) They’re for @esotheria-sims, @maybesomethingdunno, @nerianasims, @penig, @holleyberry, @plumbobsquareface (who has an awesome username), @immerso-sims, @eulaliasims, @lisac-h, @mustluvcatz-reloaded, @sim-boo, @acquiresimoleons, @pensblr, @didilysims, annnnnnnnd @mrningbrd...

Geez, I need to not put off doing these like this... And I should probably split this up, but...meh.

esotheria-sims replied to your post “So, um....”

Well, with an introduction like this, even if I *weren't* interested in the stuff you have to offer (spoiler alert: I am), I'd still be curious to see what it is at the very least. :) Some of those old Pandorasims sets (if those are what you were referring to here) could definitely use better textures.

Yup, some of the stuff is from Pandorasims, indeed. And from xxxsims. Slig did some nice recolors of some of the latter’s stuff, at least, but I want to high-res ‘em a bit and do some different colors for my own uses. The Pandora stuff, though? Needs serious help. I mean, I get that the textures for these items were probably not the main attraction and all, but...well, such things are important to me. :) I want my game to look nice even if no one sees this particular aspect of it but me. And I imagine storytellers would want better-looking textures, too, for pics/videos.

maybesomethingdunno replied to your post “So, um....”

Generally speaking, I feel like if you want to create something (whether it's Sims content, a story, or a goofy sketch), then create it. When it comes to Sims content, there's always someone who'll download and appreciate the content. Simmers are a diverse breed with a wild assortment of stories, hoods, and gameplay needs/desires. So on the heels of "If you want to make it, make it" is "If you want to share what you've made, share it." Kinky Sims for all! :D

*high five* Yeah, I know what you mean and that’s generally my attitude, too. This stuff, however, was going to be just for me, but then I got to thinking about how there’s a dearth of nice-looking stuff of this type and...Well, I can do something about that. I think, anyway. We’ll see, with some of the stuff. But, due to the more sensitive nature of this kind of stuff...Well, I second-guess. :)

nerianasims replied to your post “So, um....”

I'm interested and have no need to be anon about it. (Also grr 50 Shades times a million, such a horrible example and SO badly written to boot.)

OMG, don’t even get me started. I mean, OK, yeah, the whole thing sort of normalized mine and my husband’s lifestyle a little bit which on the one hand might be a good thing....but on the other hand, it didn’t do it right. Even if it was well-written (which it totally isn’t; it was a bad Twilight fanfic that was obviously written by someone who’d never had even remotely kinky sex, much less any contact with real people who practice BDSM), it portrayed an abusive relationship, not the sort of thing real people who are into this sort of thing practice. Just...ugh. Awful, awful thing. >:(

penig replied to your photo “Owen has…interesting…jammies. And, like Aaron when he was a kid, Owen...”

What pervert even made those in a kid's size?

Skell, I think. I think it’s part of her repository project. I don’t think it’s necessarily perverted, though, especially not in game context. I mean, if you go by the speech bubbles, kids regularly talk about sex with their parents/siblings at the dinner table in the game. :) But even if that wasn’t the case...Well, kids will wear or have or do inappropriate things that they don’t know are inappropriate. They just think it’s pretty or something. Like, in this case, I imagine Owen likes those jammie pants just because they have purple hearts on them. He’s purple, so he likes purple things. :) He has no idea what they mean, and his parents probably think it’s funny. Because they’re that way.

holleyberry replied to your photo “Do you think she adores him? I think she adores him. He, of course, is...”

What's a Gilsbruty to do?

Not much, apparently. *grumble* CERTAINLY NOT PROCREATE! *glares at Simon and wills him to pass on his genes, dammit!*

plumbobsquareface replied to your post “Were-Klingons! Actually, wouldn't that be a nice idea for a default...”

i'm so glad to see other simers that are also into star trek :')

Ohhhhh, I’m a big huge honking dorky Trek nerd. Even published a fanzine, back in the day, was heavily involved in Usenet newsgroups in the early days of the internet and was staff on one of the big-at-the-time forums when such things came to be. I’m not in the fandom per se anymore at all for various reasons, but I’ll always watch the shows and read fanfic and that sort of thing. (DS9 is my fave. TOS will always have a special place in my heart, of course, but most of my Trekker heart belongs to DS9. :) )

immerso-sims replied to your photo “Aaron GilsCarbo, dancing like the nerd he is.”

Dem pink sandals tho ;)

Aren’t they precious? He actually aged into the outfit all by his little self and the pink sandals just sort of define him. That and the surfer hair. :)

maybesomethingdunno replied to your photo “This is Josephine. Young, pregnant with an unknown number of babies,...”

Next she will become addicted to Sim cat nip :P

...And then she’ll be in and out of rehab for the rest of her life. Such a sad, sad tale of woe. :)

lisac-h replied to your photo “Aaron rolled up a want for that “I was abducted by aliens”...”

Mark Twain saw Worf and said, "Werewolf!"

He did, didn’t he? HAH! :D God, it’s been forever since I’ve watched TNG. It’s not my favorite of the shows, but I should give it a rewatch one of these days...

eulaliasims replied to your post “Oh, God, it’s the 10 questions meme again!”

I would add an evil laughter gif here, but Tumblr won't let me, so you'll have to imagine it. :P Yeah, it can be surprisingly hard to find historical fiction that isn't focused on romance sometimes. I don't mind some, but when it seems to take over the rest of the story... meh. That's what I read fanfic for. And now I have the Ride of the Valkyries in my head too, but at least it's not Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer again.

It’s not that I can’t deal with ANY romance in historical fiction. I can if it makes sense within the story and the real history because, hey, these were real people and they fell in love and had relationships and all that. One of my favorite books (The Sunne in Splendour, by Sharon Kay Penman) is about Richard III, and a chunk of the 1000-page plot is about the relationship between him and his eventual wife and what impact that had on him as a person which in turn affected what kind of king he was, and that’s all good. But then there are those that are set in, say, Henry VIII’s court and it’s all thinly-veiled trashy romance novel tripe. (Yes, Philippa Gregory, I’m looking at you.) If I want that, I’ll sit and watch The Tudors, for God’s sake because ooh! Really hot men, gayness, AND boobies, yay! :) I’d rather read about about how that court really was. I mean, it was intriguing enough without having to pruriently sex it up. :p

Geez, this is my “ragging on popular books” post, apparently. :) And you’re welcome for Ride of the Valkyries. *evil* It is now, thankfully out of my head.

mustluvcatz-reloaded replied to your post “Oh, God, it’s the 10 questions meme again!”

I'm half tempted to answer your questions just because they're so NOT about the sims, but I may be too lazy to right now, lol.

You should do it! I want to know what brand of TP you use! :)

acquiresimoleons replied to your photo “Aaron got his wish to grow up, ‘cuz, y’know, it’s not like it’s...”

I never could work out how to make a restaurant run properly either.

The “secret” is to run them with as few employees as possible. Especially at first. Because they will suck out all the money you make and more. So, you either have to have the owner do all the functions (Host(ess), cook, waitstaff) -- which you can do at first because you won’t have a lot of customers until the place levels up to at least Level 3 -- OR you have to use slave labor family members to fill the roles.

Also, having a limited menu of items that don’t require a lot of cooking skill is necessary, unless/until your cook levels up. Otherwise customers will end up with a lot of burnt meals, which lowers loyalty and makes it harder to get stars and level-ups and all that.

acquiresimoleons replied to your photo “And Owen, Arcadia’s other alien sprog, grew up, too. He looks like a...”

His face kinda scares me ��

It’s the eyes. They’re creepy. But it’s what the PT who spawned him has, so...

sim-boo replied to your photo “Simon being macho… …and, afterwards, not so macho. :) And that’s it...”

R u saying bubble baths arent macho?

Well, anything that a macho man does becomes macho, right? :) But, traditionally? Not so much, no. :)

didilysims replied to your photoset “Simon taught Suzy to roll over….and then cleaned up an ocean of dog...”

Wow, that's more pee than I'd think would fit inside that little dog!

*laugh* Well, it is two dogs’ worth of pee. :) And one of them is a big dog. They just both chose the same pee spot. Right by the front door, of course. *eye roll*

pensblr replied to your photo “Nekkid treadmilling. Saves on laundry.”

*laughs* Just imagine how unfortunate it would be if sims experienced the real life pain of falling on a treadmill...while naked.

I know! I have visions of dangly bits caught in the mechanism, and OW! :) That’s totally a bad kind of ow, too.

mrningbrd replied to your photo “Oh, Benny. Benny, Benny, Benny… Of course, it happened right after...”

tell simon i can relate. this happened the other night at 4 am. my condolences

Oh, God, you poor thing. My dogs at home in Colorado are constantly having skunk encounters lately, apparently. (I’m not there, at the moment, but the ranch hands report in regularly. :) ) It didn’t used to be so bad, but apparently there’s a skunk population explosion in the nearby area...

#esotheria-sims #maybesomethingdunno #nerianasims #penig #holleyberry #plumbobsquareface #immerso-sims #lisac-h #eulaliasims #mustluvcatz-reloaded #acquiresimoleons #sim-boo #didilysims #pensblr #mrningbrd #replies

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evielynsdisneyfemslashfanfiction · 4 years

Text

Here is Part 5 of You Must Return Home;

- Something or someone who has caught your attention, daughter? - The king asked knowing his intentions.

- Yes, but let's say she already has her attention on someone else - the girl shrugged. - Anyway, let's go! That we have to do treaties with Arendelle!

The trip back to the kingdom was quite peaceful, on Elsa's face you could see a triumphant smile, with the support of Vesterland, now he could ask for help from larger kingdoms and with greater power without so much chance of being rejected. In that insists, he recalled with some appreciation the first time a king had agreed to have a business relationship with her when he was just eighteen, it was a small first big victory that, unfortunately, he could not share with anyone beyond his guard who, Being honest, he only kept her company in all the old ones. He looked at Honeymaren with that expression and could see how the brunette answered that gesture, that was enough for Elsa's happiness to increase, she wanted to hug her so much, to tell her that she had achieved it,

Honeymaren seemed to notice that, so, leaving one of the ropes with which he directed Sven and Heart and, at the beginning, he wanted to go straight to take his hand, but he stopped for a few moments, was it corrective to take it like this? Not that he feared how Elsa would react, but he also didn't want his emotions to overshadow hers, for the rider, that the guardian enjoyed her own feelings, her own victories, was more than primordial and she wanted to show that I was happy for her, who shared that emotion with the blonde. So he changed his hand direction to put it on the regent's shoulder, drawing his attention completely now. The smile on Elsa's face was radiant, extraordinary and Honeymaren swore she was seeing the most beautiful thing that ever stepped on the earth, maybe she was exaggerating, but in those moments,

"You did an excellent job," Honeymaren said proudly. - You did.

- I know, and you know what it means? - Elsa looked more relaxed, calmer. - With the support of King Jonas, I will be able to put Arendelle back in the field, people will be able to trade again, make a living and have better things and, when Anna returns, she will have fewer things to worry about.

- I imagine, from what I have seen at this time, being queen is not an easy task - the Northuldra left the blonde's shoulder and, carefully and seeing her reaction, began to approach her face by pressing it with delicacy. - I never get tired of saying it, you're someone great, Elsa.

The blue-eyed girl felt her heart beating rapidly and in that instant she remembered all the beautiful things that the brunette had said about her in the palace with Mari. Carefully, he placed his own hand over the rider's, holding her where he was.

- What you said in Vesterland Castle, did you say it is serious? - Asked the guardian sincerely.

- Every word -, a smile was painted in Elsa's respect, leaving Honeymaren's hand free, which was brought to be able to lead Sven and Heart well. - Is it so hard to believe?

- No, it is not that ... All my life, I have never thought that anyone can see me like that and, well, then I met you, and Ryder, and Yelena, and the others, and they started treating me as if I was a person and ... It's just that it's hard for me to believe it's real -, the regent confessed, looking straight ahead.

- Well, it is, Elsa, we all see how wonderful you are, I see how wonderful you are and if someone does not see it, then you must be blind to not notice the beautiful person in front of you - before that, the blonde smiled and Honeymaren did not let go of the opportunity to give one last comment with a half smile. - Besides, you're beautiful, who wouldn't look at you?

- Ah, enough - asked Elsa falsely offended.

"I'm just telling the truth," Honeymaren shrugged. - I don't know why you are still single, beautiful, excellent person, independent, self-confident, something inexperienced in social interactions, I don't know about you, but I would already be at your feet.

- Look who's talking, why aren't you single if you're amazing? You are beautiful, strong, always willing to help and protect those who are precious, you never doubt your actions, climb trees, you can ride reindeer like a professional, you have great fighting skills and you can set fire without help from Bruni - he flattered Elsa - I don't know about you, but I would be doing that strange ceremony with reindeer or courting you.

Honeymaren shrugged, no matter how much she wished that all of that was that everything Elsa said said it with other intentions, she knew it wasn't like that, she wanted to say, come on, how could she have a chance with such a woman? And, although she was very sure of what she liked, Elsa, on the other hand, had no experience and did not want to overwhelm her with more things than she already had in mind. "It's just a passing crush, Honeymaren, it'll happen to you, you've only been with her for a long time," the rider told herself.

- Mysteries of life, perhaps and it is because I have not yet found the right person - concluded the Northuldra.

- I don't know if I'll ever find the right person, who would want to date someone who can freeze you? - The blonde sighed.

- I would do it -, ventured the young woman with cinnamon complexion surprising Elsa.

- Would you do it?

- Yes, why not? You know what Yelena says, love comes in many different forms and your soul is destined to accompany another regardless of whether they are abroad. So if my soul mate had an exterior that could freeze me, I wouldn't mind.

That response made Elsa's heart feel warm, very warm, more than she usually felt with Anna, Kristoff or with someone in general, why did Honeymaren unleash such feelings in her? Was it a power or was it simply that woman? I didn't know, all he could do was smile and lean on the brunette's shoulder.

- Thank you.

- You know you shouldn't give them to me, I'm here for you.

- Still, thanks ... for being here.

- And here I will always be

Chapter 3:

The return trip passed without many altercations, Honeymaren and Elsa spent talking about the things they would surely be doing at home, Ryder was surely taking care of the reindeer while talking with them, Yelena taking her place as a matriarch, the little ones running around for the place of insurance missing them both. That talk made the young guardian think a bit, she misses the Enchanted forest a lot, that was her home, the place where she could finally feel at home, but she knew that for now, she should be away, repair all stars and that Anna He returned to his own home so that he could do it to his own and, thus, return to have some peace and tranquility again. Maybe, when all this was over, could I go with Honeymaren for a walk in the Nokk? "Yes, Anna is coming back," a voice whispered in her mind. "Cast,

The rider noticed Elsa's change in attitude quickly, from laughing and talking, she became quiet looking at nothing and that meant only one thing and it was nothing good. Without hesitation for a second, he pointed to the finger that Elsa still had bandaging and asked how it was resulting in the blonde being able to stop having all those negative thoughts and focus on the now. Honeymaren knew about the problems the guardian had, especially when she tried to do her best for everyone, so when she realized that she was going through a bad time, she didn't hesitate even a few seconds to give her help and support, because of the little she knew Elsa knew that she liked to do things alone, however, sometimes, it was necessary that even she needed a hand to lean on and she was willing to be that hand always, wanted to take care of her,

Both arrived at their destination at sunset and were immediately received by the residents of Arendelle immediately. Elsa informed them that everything would be fine and that, incidentally, he had brought presents for everyone, which filled the kingdom with life. All citizens began to make a great line while Elsa, along with Honeymaren, repatriated pieces of cake that were given away by Mari. The happiest were the children, obviously, who thanked the guardian and the rider with great affection with hugs and tender words; the adults were more demure, they offered friendly smiles to both women before taking their respective slices. What began as a small distribution of sweet snacks, ended up becoming a small gathering in which the whole kingdom participated, ate cake, talked with the regent and,

- Honeymaren, Honeymaren! - I called him an excited child. - Is it true that you are an expert climbing trees?

- And what do you breed reindeer? - He was joined by another.

- Yes and yes - the brunette smiled at the enthusiasm of the children. - In fact, I had Heart since I was a little renito, I watched her grow and she chose me as her rider, which I also do quite well.

- Wow! - Both children said in unison.

- Come on, little ones, leave Miss Honeymaren alone and go play for a while - said a bigger man, which both boys did. - Sorry for the inconvenience, miss.

- Do not worry, children are like this everywhere - the brunette shrugged.

- Yes, that's right, - replied the older man. - Tell me, miss, how are things in the Enchanted forest? The last time I heard about him was with his people's last visit here.

- It's pretty good, Elsa has been in charge of keeping the peace between the spirits and us.

- Ah, yes, your majesty now lives with you, doesn't it? I'm glad, I'm glad - the old man smiled. - I must say that it is a pity that he had to leave his home because of this tragedy we are living, it is not easy to have someone who you love disappeared.

- That's right, but we are trying our best to find Anna and bring her back with you - said the rider. - If anyone can do that, it's definitely Elsa.

- I hope so, miss.

The man looked with some regret at the young regent who was at a safe distance from them attending to some citizens.

- His majesty has already gone through many losses, first his freedom, then his parents and, now, that it seemed that everything was fine, his sister, his brother-in-law and that little snowman ... I don't think his heart endures so much.

"That is not going to happen, sir, Elsa is strong and determined, she will bring Anna back, you'll see," Honeymaren said. - And if the worst happens, I will be with her at all times.

- You care a lot about her majesty and you have a lot of faith in her, don't you like her? - The older man observed.

- Elsa is a very special person for me, I don't want her to suffer and if I can help her with something, I will do it without a joke - those words made the man laugh.

- You really are someone particular, Miss Honeymaren, I'm glad to see your majesty have someone so good at your side - that comment made the heart of the Northuldra beat a little faster.

- You could say -, just said the brunette.

- Well, I have to withdraw a moment to see that those children have not gotten into trouble - said the Lord. - See you.

- Sure, take care.

At that moment, the man began to walk in the direction of where the children had been allowing, finally, that Elsa approached her partner, Honeymaren did not know, but the blonde had been observing her behavior at all times for if someone told him something wrong, since the incident at the castle, he had made sure that everyone treated the rider with the respect he deserved.

- Did you have a friendly conversation? - The Regent was interested to see the smile on the brunette's face.

- I impressed some children and a man is happy that you have someone good by your side, nothing more -, he said that if Northuldra was not the big deal making the blonde laugh.

- But that entertaining talk, I'm glad you're getting along with the inhabitants here.

- It's easy to talk to them when they're not looking at you ugly - Honeymaren joked without noticing that Elsa hadn't seen him like that.

- Did anyone look at you ugly? Who? Yes he did, I want to have a conversation immediately with that person and ... -, the rider's laugh made the white-skinned girl stop talking. - It was a joke, wasn't it?

- Yes, sorry for making you worry.

- Maren, you know that I care about you and that I don't like being treated less, both you and I have the same roots, we have the same home and I don't want anyone to make you feel less about it.

The young rider looked away a little while smiling sideways, how was that girl so kind and tender at the same time? He had never encountered such a generous person before.

- Thanks, Elsa -, was the only thing Honeymaren could say. - You know? If someone tells you something or makes you feel bad, just tell me, I will have a very close talk with that person.

- I promise - laughed the blonde. - But I think it's time to go, don't you think?

- Of course, after you, your majesty -, joked the Northuldra while both began to rise to the race.

- Please, don't call me that.

- Okay, royalty.

- Maren ...

- I only play with you, Elsa!

- That's better.

The girls climbed into the cart and headed to the castle where Elsa informed Kai of the incredible news and that, starting tomorrow, she began to prepare everything for the right trade between both kingdoms, the man looked at the ruler excited and He hastened to do what was said, carrying with him an aura of happiness that infected everyone. Honeymaren looked at that in amazement, until that day, he didn't know much about how to run a kingdom, the closest he had seen to that was when Yelena distributed the tasks among the tribe, they were few and, even so, it seemed that the matriarch had problems To be able to feed and ensure everyone's well-being, I didn't want to know the tremendous weight that should be held responsible for an entire kingdom, so being able to trade with another insurance was something quite big and, right now, I could only appreciate how big it was and why Elsa was so stressed with the subject, seriously, the blonde was amazing, every day that passed, Honeymaren felt even more moved and delighted by that young woman with blue eyes and a heart of gold, Could he do something for her to show how proud she was of her? That was! I would do something to congratulate her! With a smile, the Northuldra apologized and left the place to the castle gardens.

Elsa watched as the Northuldra retired, something surprised she saw her leave, it was not common for Honeymaren to leave her alone, she usually always accompanied him for dinner, they spent a little time together and then both retired to their respective rooms. He looked at Kai silently asking if he knew anything, but the man only shrugged as a sign that he was just as or more lost than the blonde. Elsa, then, just returned to her office to prepare the papers that she should fill out tomorrow, although she had achieved a relatively formal agreement on her visit to Vesterland, there were still protocols to follow, treaties to write and, of course, letters to send to the other kingdoms on her list to start moving the trade again, Anna had left Arendelle in good condition, but that didn't mean that that good condition remained alone until the queen returned, so for now, she She should be in charge of keeping things in place. As she put what was required on her desk, she noticed her mother's diary on her table still and, carefully, she ran her fingers over the aged leather, missed them so much, mutely, asked with all her heart that Anna was fine, that wherever they were, they would protect their sister long enough so that she could find her whereabouts.

While the blonde did her royal duties, Honeymaren was outside the castle getting firewood, some blankets, some fish, wood and some sane along with Heart. As soon as they had things, they returned to the castle again, more specifically to the immense gardens of it, there, the Northuldra put all the collected material and gave a look of complicity to Heart that, immediately, understood that it was what he wanted to do and, immediately, went to look for Sven and Bruni to help him, after all, it was a surprise for Elsa in return for the success of the day. Honeymaren rolled up his hands and started working, hopefully, he would have everything ready before dinner. She took care of making a small lavvu with wood and leather, He put some blankets inside and left the store open so that the fire could enter and illuminate its interior, Sven and Heart took care of making a small fire that Bruni lit with pleasure. Once that was ready, the rider went on to prepare the fish, at the time Elsa had been with them, he had developed a certain taste for a preparation they made based on fried fish and some herbs, so that was what he would do Honeymaren to surprise her.

The hours passed and Elsa's stomach began to protest the absence of food, so she calmly stopped from her desk and left her office in the direction of the kitchen waiting for Honeymaren to be there to snack with her, while walking through the corridors, could not help remembering that, usually, Anna was the one who should get her out of that place and force her to eat because she always wanted to be, the castle felt so empty without her, she sighed tired, it was not so painful that her younger sister wasn't there, but still, she felt the absence. His steps took her to her destination and she was surprised to see that, instead of a dinner served, there was a small handwritten message and that, from what she could denote by the letter, it had been written by one of the cooks, maybe Marian or Stephanie,

“See me in the gardens, today is your day!

Sincerely, Honeymaren.”

Elsa, now more energetic, walked the halls of the palace without losing that cheerful gesture of her cheeks, what would Honeymaren have planned? I didn't know, but I was dying to find out. His heart was beating rapidly, his stomach from asking for food, he went on to house hundreds of butterflies that fluttered all around him. When he left the main courtyard, what he saw left her speechless. There were Sven, Corazon, Bruni and, obviously, Honeymaren with arms crossed with that half smile that characterized her so much, all standing watching her directly, behind them, she managed to spot a fire that had a cauldron with a smell that she recognized perfectly and , even further behind it, a lavvu made with leather and wood. He put his hands in his mouth hidden the great surprise that was beginning to expand all over his face, Had they really done that for her? Just because of a negotiation that went well? I wanted to say, that was so normal for her, yes, it was an important negotiation, but neither was something of masterful importance, if things went wrong, she just had to look for someone else, but still, there was Honeymaren acted as if she had just saved to a small nation or something similar. At that moment, Honeymaren approached her when she saw that the blonde did not seem to be able to move from her place and stood beside her tenderly placing her hand on her shoulder completely surrounding her. there was Honeymaren acted as if he had just saved a small nation or something similar. At that moment, Honeymaren approached her when she saw that the blonde did not seem to be able to move from her place and stood beside her tenderly placing her hand on her shoulder completely surrounding her. there was Honeymaren acted as if he had just saved a small nation or something similar. At that moment, Honeymaren approached her when she saw that the blonde did not seem to be able to move from her place and stood beside her tenderly placing her hand on her shoulder completely surrounding her.

- You like? - Asked the rider while looking at the blue-eyed girl.

- When…? How? -, Honeymaren could only smile.

- I thought about doing something nice after what you did today - explained the Northuldra bringing Elsa to the lavvu. - Show you how happy and proud I am for you.

- Maren, it was just a successful negotiation - the guardian smiled as she sat on the lavvu.

- If I remember correctly, when we left there, you were excited because the support of that kingdom would allow you to trade with others easily, right? For me it is cause for celebration!

The young blonde watched as her partner took out some wooden bowls and served in them what was inside that pan, the aroma that reached the nostrils of Elsa caused the tingling in her stomach to slow down slightly and be replaced by hunger, but only partially.

- Take, I know how much you like this and I decided to prepare a little - Elsa took the plate with a smile.

- You know you could have used the kitchen, right? - The blonde said starting to eat her portion of food. - Why do all this?

- I wanted it to be special for you and, come on, both you and I miss being out here, outside, with nature -, sat next to her the brunette eating the same way.

- Yes, you are right - said the guardian breathing in the fresh air.

Both girls stayed there for a while, delighting in their food and spending time with their four-legged friends, Sven had improved a lot, he still got depressed every time he saw something related to Kristoff, but it was manageable already, Bruni was happy with the little mountain of Snow that Elsa had prepared for her and Corazon, well, she was happy by the fire. After eating, Elsa and Honeymaren decided to spend a little more time in the lavvu watching the starry sky.

- My mother really liked to look at the sky - commented Elsa out of nowhere. - When I asked him why he did it, he replied that it was because the sky woke up.

- It is true, Yelena told Ryder and me as children, - Honeymaren said. - The stars tell us so many things, every time the sky wakes up it is because he wants to remember all those stories of our ancestors.

- Seriously?

- Yes, do you remember the story I told you when we were coming? - The blonde nodded. - That is one of the many legends that are hidden in the sky, and who knows? Maybe, one day, heaven will count yours, Elsa, can you imagine what I would say?

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itateverybody-blog · 6 years

Text

He’s Making a List

In the lead up to Christmas Eve, many of us elves had started to become very concerned with Santa’s behavior. It had grown unpredictable. Erratic. Even, disturbing. It was not the St. Nicholas we had grown to know and love over our many years of spreading Christmas cheer. There was something happening in his mind, something dangerous. Something violent. And the violence brewing in Santa’s mind had started to transform his body as well.

Normally, Santa spent this most wonderful time of the year focusing on the global surveillance system he managed from the North Pole. How else was he supposed to compile his infamous list? He had to keep rigorous tabs on every living person across the planet in order to judge whether they were naughty or nice. That responsibility required him to oversee a massive intelligence-gathering operation, far more invasive and far-reaching than the CIA, NSA, KGB, or any other spying agency in the history of nation-states. The North Pole was merely the headquarters of a planetary network of covert elves accumulating information for the big man back home. What do you think the elves did during the majority of the year? Make the toys? Feed the reindeer? They are wiring your telephone line and hacking your webcam. They’re tracking your daily movements from an unmarked van parked down the street. They’re placing microphones in your house when you’re not home. Gathering intelligence. Watching. Listening. Seeing you when you’re sleeping. Knowing when you’re awake.

In fact, only a small number of elves actually lived at the North Pole and made toys. Most of Santa’s gifts were actually produced by outside companies. In the past several decades, Santa had moved away from toy production, deciding instead to focus on distribution and branding deals with outside marketers. There just wasn’t that much consumer demand anymore for generic label train sets and jacob’s ladders. In other words, I was a dying breed; a true christmas elf that met the piddling production quotas of Santa’s dwindling workshop.

And because of my position as a workshop elf, I am much closer to Santa than most of the elves employed in his operation. I see him everyday. I am a direct aide de camp of the great Kris Kringle. I feel as if I’ve really gotten to know him. Even trust him. And I think he trusted me. I can anticipate his moods. I relied on his surefire commitment to spreading Christmas cheer. His unblemished faithfulness to the spirit of Christmas made me faithful in his strength as a leader.

But, as I said, recently Santa had started to change. He started to grow more detached. He became less and less directly involved with the international covert operations he had always relied on to make his special list. He had stopped attending daily intelligence briefings. He had left memos and status reports unread on his desk. He spoke less and less with his various project leaders; stepping away from the day to day management of his spying empire. He had become withdrawn. Difficult to approach. Guarded.

But even worse than his personality changes, he was physically transforming in a way no one had ever thought possible. Santa was losing weight. Santa was losing weight fast.

We all first started to notice it around midsummer. I don’t think anyone actually said anything, though, till September hit. That’s when I first remember discussing it with some of my colleagues. Right around the time Santa was suppose to start beefing up and reinforcing his girth, the opposite was happening. He was slimming down. He was growing thinner.

This was a troubling prospect for all of us. Whoever heard of a thin Santa Claus? What a serious blow to our brand identity. What a serious blow to our major distribution operations. Santa can only get away with breaking and entering into so many private residences because he looks like Santa Clause. No one was going to believe some thin guy was busting into their house just to give them presents. We wouldn’t make it past the first chimney before he would be arrested and thrown in jail; some frail and confused old man who had somehow gotten lost inside a stranger’s home.

We tried the obvious approaches. We baked him cookies. We offered him milk. We worked tirelessly in the kitchen to cook his favorite Christmas dishes in mass quantities. Figgy pudding. Roast goose. But he only picked at the sumptuous feasts we prepared. Santa had never been a picky eater before, but now he was looking sideways at every morsel of food we placed in front of him.

We tried to talk to him. We tried to express our concerns. We tried to convince him to eat more, to prepare for the coming holiday. He needed to gain weight, we all needed him to gain weight. He wouldn’t listen. He had other things on his mind.

He had adopted strange new habits beyond his poor diet and rapid weight loss. He started watching a lot more television than he ever had before. American television. Mainly Fox News. Yeah that’s right. Santa would spend hours watching and listening to the main propaganda arm of the contemporary right wing. He started his days with Fox and Friends, spent some time with Laura Ingraham during the day, and always caught Sean Hannity live.

If he wasn’t watching Fox News, he would spend hours on his computer, pouring over online forums and absorbing the toxic culture of internet trolls. Studying the manic conspiracy theories of the alt-right. He antagonized liberals on social media websites. He shared memes of Pepe the frog. He started listening to Alex Jones.

Santa had never really been one for partisan politics. Sure, he may have been slightly conservative in regards to social issues, I mean after all, he is a beloved institution of a mainstream, technically Christian holiday: what do you expect? But he had always been a pretty neutral figure when it came to divisive issues. He had long recognized the importance of embracing the social norms expected of Santa Claus, to be open and welcoming to everyone and to respect the dignity of his office.

Over the past year, however, Santa had drifted towards a harsher view of the world. A more hostile attitude towards politics. A more conspiratorial paranoia made its way into his thinking. Suspicion lingered within his thoughts and drove him to believe wild fantasies. He insisted that millions of votes in the American presidential election were cast illegally. He tried to convince me once, that Democrats were managing a pedophile ring somewhere in downtown D.C. There was one occasion where I even heard him use the term, “Libtard.”

It was uncanny how Santa’s weight loss paralleled his growing obsession with right wing media. The more the pounds melted away, the more invested he became in the visions of agitated pundits, as if his body mass was being replaced by their political agenda. Somehow the politics he was consuming was enough to sustain him, keeping him alive somehow.

For the hundreds of years Santa had been delivering presents to boys and girls, no one up at the North Pole had seen anything wrong with the complex spying operations required to separate the nice from the naughty. Santa was such a trustworthy figure, so adored and admired, it didn’t matter how invasive or technologically advanced the surveillance became, it would be okay because Santa was in control of all it. He would make sure that it would not get out of hand. He would make sure that his power would not be abused.

Now that Santa was beginning to see the world through a right wing lens, the feeling of protection most of us had held in the past started to vanish quickly. The loss of a rational, benevolent Santa made us realize how thoroughly dependent we were on the central authority of Good St. Nick. Now that Santa was quickly being lost down a hyper-partisan rabbit hole, the institutions he controlled revealed a certain ugliness, a nasty potential that had always been there to begin with. Now that Santa was becoming a devotee of the hard right, none of the elves could guarantee that he would not use his Christmas magic to advance his political views. Santa had been given so much power over the years, and it had all been built on this unfounded assumption that Santa would always be stable. How wrong we were.

As October became November, Santa only got worse. He was struggling to wear any of his traditional Christmas clothing. His big red pants could barely hold on to his slender waist. His big black gloves slipped off his claw-like fingers. His trademark hat slumped over his eyes, unable to rest firmly on his head.

His sleeping schedule changed. Or rather, he radically cut back on his sleeping entirely, staying up until all hours of the night, his face buried in a screen. The elves out in the field gathering intelligence for Santa’s lists tried to keep their heads down and do their jobs as effectively as they could, but their leader’s deterioration had become difficult to ignore. Despite all the material they compiled, despite all the memos they produced and reports they wrote, the elves were increasingly unsure as to the actual content of the naughty and nice list.

Normally the compilation of the list was a collaborative project, that involved the input of several agency heads and trusted elf advisors based on troves of data and evidence. This Christmas, the elves had been shut out of the list-making process entirely. They supplied Santa with the intelligence but they had no idea how he had used it. The elves began to speculate that Santa’s determinations of who was naughty and nice was quickly conforming to his radical political views. The lists would no longer reflect the moral integrity expected of the North Pole. Instead, it would be used as a weapon - a method of attacking the latte-sipping coastal elites. The list had been politicized.

December rolled around and still Santa continued to get thinner. He didn’t even look like St. Nick anymore. His jolliness had gone. His cheeks were no longer rosy. His long beard had become unkempt and ratty. His eyes had changed from wide beaming harbingers of joy, to a coldly paranoid gaze that viewed everyone around him with suspicion. He had become a miser obsessed with the threat of conspiracy, seeing dangerous plots to takeover his power surfacing from every direction. He saw his elves, his most loyal helpers, as a threat to his power. He no longer trusted us, and we no longer trusted him.

As the big day grew nearer and nearer, I started to notice strange things gathering in Santa’s private workshop. Chemicals with long names that were difficult to pronounce. Sealed containers with bright red labels in various languages warning of terrifyingly lethal capabilities. Strange synthetic smells. The sound of hissing and sizzling. What was Santa building in his workshop? What were those clanging sounds? What was being mixed in those gigantic steel vats? Why did Santa need to wear a face mask and gloves?

What was Santa planning for the people on his naughty list?

And still he lost more weight. More and more of him gone with each passing day. No matter how much we tried to get him to eat, he refused. He insisted he was just fine with his Anthroplex supplements that he ordered online from the Infowars web store. He just kept losing it, like snow melting in spring.

When Christmas Eve finally came, a group of us workshop elves went to go see Santa off. We assembled the reindeer, securing the harness and the reins. We were all very worried, but none of us had the strength to say anything. The mood amongst us was more reminiscent of a funeral party than a holiday celebration. Santa struggled into his sleigh, weak from hunger. His long fingers with overgrown nails gripped the handrails as he stumbled his way into the front seat. I glanced in the back of the sleigh, at the compartment where he was supposed to keep the toys. Instead of plush dolls and erector sets there were unmarked metal canisters. I stepped away from the sleigh and felt a sinking feeling in my stomach.

As I watched Santa lift off into the sky, off towards human civilization, I was struck with the thought that we were somehow all complicit with what was about to happen. And what’s worse, I knew that Santa had always been capable of something like this, a realization that reinforced our complicity. It wasn’t just a madness that developed over a short period of time. It wasn’t an anomaly or a fluke. The frightening potential for unrestrained political terror had always been part of Santa’s identity, living in him like a virus lying dormant for years until he displayed symptoms. He was a strange old man who broke into people’s houses in the night. He spied on children and gave them presents if they pleased him. He ate their cookies and drank their milk. He judged their actions and organized them according to a rigid moral binary. The list-making hadn’t been politicized, it had always-already been a political act. Making a list, checking it twice. Just another power-relation.

We watched him disappear into the sky. The workshop elves stood silently in the cold North Pole night. We all looked at each other in a moment of utter despair. Not knowing what else to do, we went inside to watch the aftermath of whatever Santa had planned live on CNN. It was all we could do.

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