#that next year and when march comes around i will be focus on my crows

[capinejghafa]

a creation for every month of 2022

post your favorite or most popular post from each month this year (it’s okay to skip months).  

i was tagged by @yenvengerberg ty sooo much becca :D

january:

> favorite: incorrect quotes: kanej /  i.t. crowd (modified) > most popular: sab cast: the crows

february:

> favorite: diego rewatch (2.06) > most popular: #the even sibling squad

march:

> favorite: the crow multi-layer set > most popular: diego and ben’s hugging scene

april:

> favorite: incorrect quotes: kanej / simpsons > most popular: kanej & wesper + scheming faces

may:

> favorite: the crows (layout) (1.07) > most popular: diego: *talks* / lila: *eats a snack*

june:

> favorite: hargreeves siblings s1-s3 multi-layer set  > most popular: five’s speech (3.07) -- #right sentiment wrong sibling

july:

> favourite: diego + being shirtless #for science > most popular: five’s speech (3.07) with flashbacks

august:

> favorite: lila: the bracelet™ (layout) > most popular: spoiler alert (klaus) / bloody plot twist (lila)

september:

> favorite: diego & dynamics > most popular: dream and lucienne updates on rose (1.10)

october:

> favourite: kanej modern au sick set AND the crows + college majors > most popular: diego & klaus talk about their childhood 

november:

> favourite: louis’: the man picked that night to dabble in fuckery (1.02) > most popular: diego & klaus: klaus revivial scene

december:

> favourite: iwtv + main (4) vampire introduction > most popular: grace le domas (ready or not): fucking rich people

tagging (no pressure :D): @enidsinclaiir @scarychristmas @sparrowbenhargreeves @makingemi @peggybrandt @aubrcy-plaza @fangrui @padme-amidala @babinicz and anyone else!

#random #tagged by... #like a few of them at the end were honestly flops but also the vibe this year was incorrect quotes #you all don't know how much i enjoyed making these little sets #the attempt was always 100% i regret nothing #also year of diego #admittedly i would of made more iwtv set but my brain is like the last one didn't do well but i love the show so i'll probably focus on #that next year and when march comes around i will be focus on my crows #rambing in the tags

[7serendipities]

Freyja’s Falcon Flights

In my home practice, the Autumnal Equinox is a celebration of Freyr and Freyja, although that celebration often dovetails with both the Pleiades acronychal rising and Rosh Hashanah. Generally, I try to make something that has both apples and honey, drawing on the common themes. This year I made an apple spice cake in a spooky bundt pan, but with no honey due to the allergies of a household member. (Then I went back and made a honey-filled fairy cake, hold the spice, as you saw in the previous post, and there will be raw apples dipped in honey for tomorrow.) That was the main focus of my celebration: just food shared with my household, our household spirits, our ancestors, and the two deities of the occasion.

A few days previous, I did a journey to check in with Freyr and Freyja, to see what they wanted for their holiday, and that’s when I got the go-ahead to make the apple spice cake. I also asked about something that had been flitting in my head for a few weeks, which I was pretty sure had come from her. I’d had an inkling that she wanted something monthly from me, going forward — that she was finally ready to step up (or rather that I was finally ready for her to step up) and become more central to my practice. I had the term “Falcon Flights” rattling around in my head, as a sort of analogue to “Crow Calls”, but until I went to journey to her I didn’t know what that meant. I had sort of guessed that it was meant to be something oracular, in keeping with my Dark Moon rituals to Na Morrigna, and my previous Bright Moon rituals to the Eyes of Ra, but, nope. She wants me to write and share journey prompts. “Falcon Flights”, indeed.

This month is a little late, but for next year I’ll be doing these from equinox to equinox, on the waxing half moon before the solstice and the waning half moon after the solstice, so this will be the only one until next March, and they will only overlap with the Morrigna Dark Moons in August and potentially September (depending on the moon cycle). This year that waning half was the 17th, before the equinox, but I didn’t journey to see her and Freyr until after that (whoops!).

I also asked her what tarot deck she wanted to go with the runes (similar to how the Morrigna have a preferred tarot deck that I use alongside ogham), and she picked…. none of the ones I already had. We settled on the Dark Wood Tarot, by Abigail Larson and Sasha Graham, published by Llewellyn Books, and that got here yesterday, at which point I clarified a couple of things about this new endeavor via divination, and then… I got enormously sidetracked by my Way Opening celebration. After that, I just didn’t have the energy to do another journey (to test the prompt) and then write up a blog, so I apologized and begged off and here I am on Saturday night, writing it up now, instead.

Note: This journey prompt is based on cosmology used by my Seidr Guild, which was adapted from Hrafnar’s cosmology as written down in Diana Paxson’s book The Way of the Oracle. If you have your own method of getting to Freyja or Folkvangr, feel free to use that, instead! And I hope I don’t need to say it, but I’m only providing a prompt; you do this journey at your own risk. Try to do it safely, and practice good spiritual hygiene! This doesn’t have much of a lead-in or return, as it’s meant for a more advanced audience, so do whatever your usual routine is for trance and journey work: cleanse, shield, ground, center, etc. You could write out a longer script and then even record it, maybe, if you work better from an audio file than a written prompt. Make it work for you, and your practice! I’m just the messenger, not the keeper of orthopraxy.

Falcon Flight to Himingbjorg

(Prepare an offering for Freyja, and one for Heimdall, before beginning.)

Begin in stillness, and quiet, and darkness. Find your center, and align yourself with earth and sky. As you stare at the darkness behind your eyes, feel and see as mist swirls up from the ground, obscuring everything around you. After a moment, it begins to part, leaving you standing in a flowery meadow.

When you arrive in the meadow, take a moment to observe around you, turning until you see a path. At the entrance to the path are two shrubs, and as you move on that direction, you see trees as well. Shrubs give way to trees and undergrowth on either side of the path, getting taller and denser as you move onward, until they join overhead into an arch, forming a tunnel of trees that slopes downward, getting denser and darker.

Eventually, you notice that the path has become flat, and then it begins to rise. Now the trees are thinning again, branches giving way to brightness, and as the trees again give way to shrubs, you see a gate in front of a wide plain and beyond it, the great world tree. If you have any guides or guardians you wish to accompany you, ones who can join you in flight, call to them now, before you step through the gate and make your way towards the tree.

As you approach the World Tree, circle around it clockwise, until you see an opening beneath one of the great roots. Duck under this root and enter the tunnel beneath. There is hard dirt packed beneath your feet, and the entire tunnel seems to have been hewn from that same clay-rich dirt and sandstone. Not as many feet come this way — the floor is still rough in places, so watch your step as you continue forward. There are torches set into sconces in the rough hewn walls, and their light looks like fire but you feel no heat as we continue past, and you smell no smoke or pitch.

The tunnel curves gently and then begins to rise in a gradual incline, ending in a doorway, two huge stones on either side and capped with a third. Touch one gently as you step out into the fresh air — these are worn by the elements and smooth to the touch. If you look back to the entrance, you will notice that on this side, the tunnel leads into what looks like a large burial mound, standing alone in a large clearing, though the forest is slowly encroaching from all sides.

Smell the air — the pine sap scent is strong, and your nose can tell there is moving water somewhere nearby, even if your ears cannot yet hear it. Now you should continue, following a clear trail deeper into the forest. Your footfalls are muffled by pine needles, and the air seems still. The scent and after a while the sound of water is to your left as you walk, and after a short time, you arrive at a fork, with three paths to choose from.

One path curves to the left, and you can just make out a bridge over a creek in the distance. The one to the right seems to vanish into the trees. Continue down the middle path, which leads straight ahead. After a while, the trees seem to thin a bit, and the underbrush grows less tangled. There is a little smoke in the sky, above the rise of the hill, as though it comes from a hearth-fire, and you follow the path towards it.

As the path reaches the edge of the forest, and the pine needles give way to a large open field, your eyes are drawn to the great hall. It is large, and you know at once to whom it belongs. This is Freyja’s Hall, Sessrumnir, and you are in Folkvangr. Go and find the Lady of this place, and give her the offering you brought.

When she has accepted your offering, ask for the lend of her falcon cloak, that you might fly on to your next destination with her blessing. Place it on your shoulders, and hold still as she waves her staff over your head, completing your transformation.

Take off into the sky then, and fly! Fly for the sheer joy of it, swoop and roll. Higher and higher — but do not forget your ultimate destination. You seek the Bifrost, that you might follow it to Himingbjorg, Heimdall’s cloud-castle.

When you arrive at Himingbjorg, alight on the wall — Heimdall will help you regain your own shape.

Thank him, and then give him the offering you brought.

Once he has accepted it, you may ask one question and one question only, and he will show you what he can see from up here, and give you your answer.

When you are well answered, ask him to help you transform once more, and then return to Freyja, waiting for you on the ground.

After she returns you to your own form, give her back the cloak and thank her. If there is anything else you wish to say to her, do it now.

When you are ready to depart, go back the way you came: through the forest, to the mound, through the mound-tunnel and out from under the root, across the plain, and back to the gate, through the tunnel of trees, and back to the meadow. Then the mist will swirl up again, and take you back to your body.

#Falcon Flights #Freyja #holiday #journey work #Heimdall

[atmilliways]

On the 1st day of Dethmas this writer gives to thee...

Dec 13 - Your favorite holiday tradition... Dethklok style

My mom has these static cling decals in traditional greens and red, and every year I am in charge of using them to decorate the bathroom mirror. At some point ages ago I got bored with doing plain ol’ wreaths all the time. Sometimes I spell out Happy Holidays, sometimes I make green presents with red bows, sometimes it's a garland draped across the mirror, etc. I don't even live there anymore, and she still goes spare if I don't do it.

I just spent an hour trying to find an example picture and failed, so (Facebones voice) use your fuckin’ imaginatiooooooooooooooooon. ... Roll it!

(Oh yeah, and I’m doing a different pairing for each fic this challenge, no repeats. This one is Nategaar.)

~

We Two Kings

~

One trip back to Nathan’s parents’ place for Christmas. That’s all it takes to break Skwisgaar’s long tradition of not bothering to get presents for anyone he’s sleeping with. As soon as they get back, he marches into their manager’s office. 

“You gots to finds this things for me,” he says imperiously, dropping something flat and green on Offdensen’s desk. “Buts in blacks and silvers. Ands with the little red dots whats ams berries.”

Offdensen picks it up gingerly between thumb and forefinger as though he’s concerned it might be some sort of used condom. (He’s only been working for the band a few months now, but it wouldn’t be the first time.) “What, ah, is this exactly?”

“Ams ones of those things for ams puttings on a mirrors.” Skwisgaar fishes around in his back pocket and produces a somewhat bent polaroid, dropping it on the desk next to the green slip of plastic shaped like a cartoon holly leaf. In the picture, two different shades of green leaves make up a Christmas wreath on the mirror, dotted with red berries, all clearly captured by Rose Explosion using an old Sun 660 Autofocus. “Nathans makes this at his parents’ house. Different stuffs every years, never repeats hims-self.”

The photo is given due consideration as well. Offdensen glances up over the edge of his glasses. “And you want to. . . .”

“Wants to haves them for the new house we ams have built,” Skwisgaar confirms. He’s not particularly thinking about why all this feels so important or what that might mean about what was supposed to just be a casual fling. “For next years, whats he can does it at homes, too. Onlies gets more and haves a big fucks-off mirror ins the livings room for thems.”

“I’ll let the contractors know to add it to the plans.”

“Goods.” Skwisgaar starts to leave, but pauses at the door. “And don’t tells no ones. Ams a surprise.”

And the surprise goes pretty well. A few weeks before the next Christmas Skwisgaar takes the almost man-sized box, scrapes the shipping labels off, wraps it (poorly), and leaves it in front of Nathan’s bedroom door. He doesn’t leave a tag saying who it’s from and Nathan never asks, but the guy has to have an idea who it’s from. Who else would know to do this?

A few days later, the living room mirror in the newly christened Mordhaus is decorated with a giant silver skull made out of cartoon holly leaves. It’s layered over the black ones to give the illusions of lines and holes, with a glimmer of red berries sprinkled deep within the eye sockets. Up close it’s crude and a little weird, but from a distance it looks fucking cool. It gives Skwisgaar an unfamiliar warm feeling in his chest to know that he’d helped make that possible. 

The year after that, it’s a crow in flight with a silver fish in its beak, dripping with blood. The year after that, it’s a black and silver present with blood seeping through one corner and a red tag that reads “FROM SATAN.” Between that and the following year’s spider wearing a Santa hat, that’s about as Christmas-y as it ever gets. The rest of the guys think it’s cool but don’t pay enough attention to realize it’s their own bandmate who does it every year. 

Fast forward about a decade. 

It’s well after 4am, early in December. Skwisgaar is lounging on the couch nearest to the mirror, idly playing guitar while Nathan works with his static cling decals and, occasionally, a step stool. Every once in a while the hulking frontman paces around the room to examine his work from different angles and distances, scratch his head, and drink absentmindedly from his current beer bottle. It’s the same brand his dad keeps in the fridge back in Florida. (That one isn’t Skwisgaar’s doing, Nathan arranges for that all on his own every year.)

Just like the unacknowledged understanding that Skwisgaar gave him this new tradition to look forward to, there’s an unspoken rule that Skwisgaar doesn’t look until he’s done. Relationships, it turns out, are mostly a matter of paths trodden so deep into you that you follow them without having to think about it, and it feels good. Comfortable, even. 

Eventually Nathan thumps down on the couch next to him. Skwisgaar stops his absentminded fretting to put the guitar to one side and stretch, getting a few satisfying little pops out of his spine. From the looks of it out the windows, dawn isn’t all that long off. “All dones?”

“I think so,” Nathan grumbles. “I can’t get the fucking lines smooth enough, but whatever.”

“I’s shores it am fines, Misters Porflect,” he replies, and accepts the half finished beer that Nathan hands him. Their fingers brush, and Skwisgaar impulsively transfers the beer to his other hand so he can tangle them together. He’s not particularly thinking about what this impulse might mean about what was supposed to just be a casual fling over ten years ago now, but has endured into . . . something else. “Can I sees it now?”

Nathan seems surprisingly ambivalent; usually he demands that Skwisgaar look and give his opinion immediately upon completion, pressing and wringing to try and get constructive criticism even though they both know he doesn’t always take that the best. This time he just shrugs and says, “Sure, I guess you can, if you want,” with so much forced casualness it’s like he slathered it on with a trowel. Puzzled, Skwisgaar stands and tugs for the other man to come with him as he starts to turn—

His jaw drops as soon as he sees what Nathan has spent the last several hours working on with meticulous attention to detail and laser-like focus. 

“That. Ams mine face,” he says wonderingly, dropping Nathan’s hand and drifting in for a closer look. 

Despite the complaint a moment ago, there aren’t really lines. The entire piece is roughly as tall as he is and mostly silver overlaid with black, like looking at the negative of a photograph. It’s not particularly detailed, but Nathan has captured the contours of his face in black shapes. Eyes, nose, cheekbones, mouth, jaw . . .  even the hollow of his throat, all framed by dark waves of the hair that always hangs down in front of his shoulders. 

Nathan comes up behind him while he stares, taking the beer back before he has a chance to accidentally drop it, and Skwisgaar rocks back on the heels of his boots and leans against him. “I can’ts believes you dids this. . . .”

“Yeah, well.” He can feel Nathan shrug, and the rumbling in his chest when he speaks. “I didn’t want to do a stupid Christmas tree, and I couldn’t think of anything else.” More of that forced casualness. “It’s not really a big deal, I’m gonna do one of us each year for a while so those other assholes can’t bitch too much about being left out. But . . . yeah. I started with you. What do you think, any good?”

“Ja, goods,” Skwisgaar manages against the sudden big gay lump in his throat. 

He’d been facing away from Nathan the whole time he’d been working on this; it was done from memory. Nathan has memorized his face. And this is a guy who, rather than just imagining he’s singing in armor just to make an album more brutal, actually commissioned a full suit of armor to be made for himself on the grounds that just picturing stuff when you could actually have it was for pussies. 

Fuck. Holiday bullshit hadn’t ever gotten to him before, but he’d made that one, tiny no-gift exception and that had opened the floodgates, hadn’t it? This big lug with his once-a-year art projects has a piece of his heart . . . and now seems to be holding out a piece of his own. 

Skwisgaar turns. It feels like he’s moving in slow motion and his tongue is weighted and heavy with words he has no practice and probably no right to say out loud. So he doesn’t say anything, just winds his long fingers into Nathan’s hair and kisses him like there’s no fucking tomorrow. They’ve been together for so long, that’s all he really needs to do to tell the man I love you back, I love you too. 

It’s going to be a brutally amazing Christmas this year.

#metalocalypse #12 days of dethmas #nategaar #nathan explosion #skwisgaar skwigelf #apparently i have a thing for making nathan surprise-good at random non-traditional art projects #my fanfiction

[jewish-privilege]

...This was the last day of the year for the class of 2018 at Glenelg High School. There was going to be an awards ceremony, a picnic, that end-of-a-journey feeling that always made [principal David Burton] so proud of his job. But as he was on his way to work at 6:25 a.m., the assistant principal had called, agitated and yelling about graffiti...

...Beneath his dress shoes, there were more swastikas. Spray painted around them were crude drawings of penises.

Then Burton saw the letters “KKK.” He saw the word “Fuck” again and again next to the words “Jews,” “Fags,” “Nigs” and “Burton.”

He kept walking, following the graffiti around the building’s perimeter. It was on the sidewalks, the trash cans, the loading dock, the stadium around back. There were more than 100 markings in total, though he didn’t bother to count.

He turned a corner and saw something written in large capital letters on the sidewalk: “BURTON IS A NIGGER.”

...A quarter of all hate crimes reported to the FBI, more than any other category, are similar to the attack discovered at Glenelg on May 24, 2018. Vandalism and destruction of property, a physical marking of an age-old threat: You don’t belong here.

...In one of those homes, 72-year-old Susan Sands-Joseph was watching. She knew Glenelg well. She was one of the first black students to attend the school after desegregation. Suddenly, all the memories that she tried not to dwell on were dredged up again: the words she was called, the tomatoes thrown at her head, the looks her parents gave her when she came home saying scalding hot soup had been pushed into her lap again. “It’s okay,” she had promised them. “I’m fine.”

...Panicked, [Seth Taylor, one of the vandals,] started Googling:

“How long do you go to jail for vandalism?”

And then: “Can you get a hate crime for painting swastikas?”

...He had already begun to separate what he’d done from who he believed himself to be. He hadn’t intended to hurt anyone, he said. He would always maintain he wasn’t an anti-Semite, a homophobe or a racist.

...At 11:35 p.m. on May 23, the students’ IDs began auto-connecting to the WiFi. It took only a few clicks to find out exactly who was beneath those T-shirt masks.

“You have the right to remain silent,” an officer said to Seth before long. “Anything you say or do . . . ”

They told him to remove his graduation cap and gown. They cuffed his arms behind his back.

Seth realized they were about to march him outside, past the windows of the cafeteria. By now it would be filled with students eating lunch.

“Can you cover my face so that the kids don’t videotape me?” he asked.

“No,” an officer replied. “You deserve this.”

...Most are unaware of the history that came before Columbia [a planned community founded on the principles of integration and inclusion in Howard County]. ... An estimated 2,800 people were enslaved in the county at the beginning of the Civil War. A century later, when the Supreme Court ruled in Brown v. Board of Education in 1954 that schools must be desegregated, Howard County was so resistant that it took more than a decade for the black-only school, Harriet Tubman, to close its doors. The opposition to black students learning alongside white ones was so fierce, a cross was burned. It happened outside a school dance at Glenelg High School.

...Among black families like [Tyler Hebron’s], there were doubts that the white teens would face the kind of punishment black teens receive for similar crimes. Two years earlier, a group of students had painted swastikas on a historic black schoolhouse in Northern Virginia. A Loudoun County judge sentenced them not to jail time or community service, but to reading: along with visiting the Holocaust museum, each had to choose a single book about Nazi Germany or the Jim Crow era and write a report on it.

...Two of [the vandals] had tried to have the hate-crime charges dismissed. Their attorneys claimed that their First Amendment rights were being violated. They could be punished for the vandalism, the argument went, but not for what they wrote.

It didn’t work.

Now, it was [Judge William V. Tucker’s] job to answer a question the community had been debating for nearly a year: What consequences did these young men, now 19, deserve?

...Seth said he just wanted all of them to understand: He is not a racist.

Later, he would explain himself this way: “I never really understood the symbol of the swastika. I knew it was wrong to plaster it somewhere. I didn’t learn exactly what [the Nazis] were doing to the Jews until I went to the Holocaust Museum. I never learned that they were mutilated. I knew that they were, like, burned. But I never learned that they had experiments done on them, were injected with diseases. The school didn’t include that. They just included the burning and the train cars.”

His understanding of the KKK was limited, too, he said. “Some people think it’s just a word, or a symbol or three letters put together. . . . But they were lynching people, hurting people for no good reason.”

...“I spray paint one racist thing and, suddenly, I become a racist? Just because I did it doesn’t mean I hate Jews, gay people or black people.”

He was standing before the judge, pleading guilty to a hate crime, but he would not admit that he harbored any hate.

...Behind her, Principal Burton was listening. He’d heard Joshua Shaffer’s attorney give a similar speech. When Matthew Lipp was sentenced, he would hear it then too. Tyler Curtiss had written it in a Facebook apology the day after the crime...

They all believed it was possible to do what they did without really meaning it.

Burton wanted to look them in the eye and say: “You did something very racist. How you don’t think you’re a racist, I don’t know.”

...He believed what possessed them to draw those words and symbols that night wasn’t a lack of knowledge, but something deeper, something ugly, something taught to them, consciously or unconsciously, along the way. If they couldn’t admit that now, maybe they never would. But it wasn’t his responsibility to educate them any more.

When it was Burton’s turn to speak at Seth’s sentencing, he didn’t say the word “racism.” He talked about all the people the crime had affected — the teachers crying in his office, the parents who pulled their kids out of his school, his daughter in tears, and for just a few moments, himself: “I know I give up my time, my effort, I give up my life for my students,” he said. “I think the only thing I am asking in return is just a little bit of respect.”

...[Burton] had to focus [this year] on his 1,200 current students: the LGBTQ kids who still felt isolated. The Jewish girl who told the local paper she still wishes she could transfer. Whoever was still scrawling swastikas on the bathroom stalls.

In the past year, he’d created a task force of diverse students to work on the school’s climate. Soon every freshman would go through an empathy workshop. And nearly 40 of his employees had spent the year meeting to discuss the book “Waking Up White,” a memoir of a white woman who comes to understand that racism is a system that she had been shaped by and contributed to her entire life without even realizing it. Maybe, he thought, that lesson would get passed on to Glenelg’s students...

[Read Jessica Contrera’s full piece at The Washington Post]

#anti black racism #antisemitism #homophobia #uncensored slurs #n word #white supremacy

[cxhnow]

The Youthful Wisdom of Chloe x Halle

As they release their second album, Chloe and Halle Bailey are more sure of themselves — and more empowered in using their voice, at a particularly relevant time — than ever.

Your early 20s are not generally known as a time of great wisdom, understanding of your own emotional health and giving yourself grace to come of age. Yet Chloe and Halle Bailey, 21 and 20, respectively, are far more centered and in touch with their own growth than many of their peers. And they’re particularly skilled at being able to translate that into music, as seen through “Ungodly Hour,” their sophomore album, which was released last week to much fanfare and positive reviews.

It’s no wonder why Beyoncé plucked the sisters — better known as Chloe x Halle — out of obscurity after seeing their cover of her song “Pretty Hurts” on YouTube when they were barely teenagers and signed them to her Parkwood Entertainment label, drastically altering the course of their young lives and careers.

“This album, we’re baring our souls,” Chloe says. “We’re sharing our insecurities, showing our vulnerabilities, all of those things. We just want people to accept us for who we truly are. It’s like ‘love me at the ungodly hour.’ That’s why we called this project that. It’s that time when you’re not perfect. It’s that time when you’re struggling and it’s OK to struggle. There’s beauty in that.”

“And it’s definitely something that we’ve had to work at,” Halle adds. “A lot of the messages on the album, talking about and addressing insecurities and being OK with them, is really just us talking to ourselves, trying to mark these messages into our hearts and our brains. Because when we are feeling down, one of us is there for the other one to lift each other up. So, those lyrics in the songs are definitely messages to ourselves to cheer us up as well. If it can help other people and make them feel better, then that’s our goal.”

The sisters are on Zoom, each from their respective bedrooms in the house they share in Los Angeles with their parents and younger brother. Chloe’s just finished a HIIT workout while Halle cleaned her bedroom (Chloe admits some tidying is needed in hers as well). The Baileys have been in lockdown at home since March, listening to gospel (Chloe) and Marvin Gaye (Halle), watching “Love Island” and the Michelle Obama documentary, “Becoming.”

“It’s been a journey. In the beginning, it was like a fun sleepover; we can’t leave the house. And then, it kind of kicked in for us like, ‘Whoa, this is real,’” Halle says. “This is really heavy for us all. We’re all just trying to stay safe. With the recent events that have been happening over the couple of weeks and all the protests, we’ve just been so grateful to be alive, and we’ve been clinging to each other, and remembering to be grateful for every small thing, and trying to stay positive and hopeful.”

Both sisters have the immediate, natural ability to be utterly grounded in the severity of something — the Black Lives Matter protests that have followed the Minneapolis police killing of George Floyd — paired with hope. It’s hard not to feel positive, inspired and hopeful after conversing with Chloe and Halle, who are wise beyond their years and see themselves clearly.

“Ungodly Hour” was set to be released on June 5, but the sisters said in a video posted to Instagram earlier that week they decided to push the date back to June 12, in light of the protests against police brutality that began to capture national attention around that time.

“We were kind of numb in a way,” Chloe says. “We were feeling very overwhelmed and saddened by everything, but also hopeful because the youth were raising our voices. We’re really making a change. You could visually and physically see that. We felt like we should just put all of the attention on using our platform to shine the light on the injustices of our people. We didn’t want to make this moment about us that week. Music is healing and all we ever want to do is heal with our voice. But, we said, ‘Let’s just wait a week. It’s just one week. Let’s put our attention on the problems and the issues that matter the most to us right now.’”

“Whenever something as traumatizing as what went down happens, whenever somebody can see a man get murdered in the street, that’s traumatic,” Halle says. “We think about how that could have been our father, that could have been our little brother, that could have been our uncle — so it’s really hard for us to swallow that pill. With everyone raising their voices and using social media for the better and to try to get justice for George Floyd and Breonna Taylor and all of the others, it’s a beautiful thing. People can now see what has been happening for a very long time. For that, we are grateful. But at the same time, it’s very sad. It’s very traumatizing. We just try to hold our loved ones close and remain hopeful during this time, even though it’s hard. All we can do is try to use our platform to speak on the things that matter to us and try to get justice for those who need it.”

Chloe x Halle released their first album, “The Kids Are Alright,” in March 2018, when they were teenagers. The album took three years to make in part because, Halle says, “we were still trying to find our sound, and growing.” The new album, then, finds them much more confident in who they are and the sound they’re putting out.

“It felt more like we know who we are and we’re just sharing our experiences of what’s happened in our life,” Halle says. “The album takes you on a journey of all the ups and downs of womanhood and insecurities, and not knowing if you’ll be OK being by yourself, and then all of the relationship problems or relationship fun times. It’s all in there. I feel like it was much easier for us to do for this album because we had so much more to share and we knew more about who we were.”

“The Kids Are Alright” was created in the living room of the first house the family lived in after relocating to L.A. from Atlanta. After moving into a new home, the garage was converted into a studio. Though “Ungodly Hour” had more outside hands involved than the first record, it always came home at the end of the day for the sisters’ final touches. (They both executive produced the album and cowrote each song, with Chloe producing 10 of the 13 tracks.)

“I loved it because after we created the music with them, we were able to take the stems back home to our home studio and layer more of our harmonies into the song, and really add pieces of us that made the song feel like my sister and I,” Chloe says. “It was really collaborative. But we still executive produced it. We had our hands in everything on this album.”

Which is, of course, of note in an industry dominated by men. Halle says whenever they’d be in studio sessions with any major male producer, the fact that Chloe had made the beats always drew shock.

“They’re like, ‘What? You do that? This little girl, you did what?’” Halle says. “That’s always my favorite thing to see.”

It’s a confidence they’ve seen play out from their mentor, the one and only Beyoncé.

“Not only is she a fantastic musician and artist, but she is a wonderful businesswoman,” Chloe says of Beyoncé. “She knows what she wants and she’s not afraid to say it. She’s not afraid to be a perfectionist. That is very inspiring to me because a lot of times, women are seen in a different light when they are a boss and when they take leadership and when they raise their voices. But she has never been afraid of that. It’s so empowering for us as young women to see that and one day become that, and not be afraid to raise our voices and speak our minds, and speak up in business meetings and these conferences, and all that good stuff.”

Much about future projects remain suspended, but each sister has solo acting projects on the horizon (they star together in “Grown-ish” on Freeform). Halle made headlines when she was cast as Ariel in the upcoming live-action “The Little Mermaid,” which was shooting in London until the pandemic shutdown, and Chloe will be seen next in “The Georgetown Project” with Russell Crowe. Acting was their first love and they aim to pursue both simultaneously. But for now, in this moment, the focus is on music and how it acts as an instrument for positivity.

“One thing I know for sure, music is a universal language. No matter what anyone believes, music always, for some reason, gets through to them. So for my sister and me, it’s been very important for us to share our voices, to bring some healing, as well as to sometimes wake people up to things that need to be heard,” Halle says. “That’s all we can do with what we’re given.” [x]

#ungodly hour #ungodly hour articles #ungodly hour interviews #ungodly hour photos #articles #interviews #photos #june 2020 #2020 #chloe #chloe photos #halle #halle photos #chloexhalle #chloe x halle #chloeandhalle #chloe and halle #chloe bailey #halle bailey #the georgetown project #the little mermaid #wwd

[moltenhair]

Season 3 Minus Gothel (2)

[Part 1]

This is the second part of what I managed to write. No Cass in this one since originally going to be a complete season rewrite. Which meant rewriting other parts... But then I realized I was just doing a novelization of the show for these parts and decided to scrap it 2.5 chapters in and only focus on the Cass parts. 

Which I had all plotted out before life drained me of my ambition and energy.

without further ado.. Chapter 2 (The return to Corona re-written)

-

It was a long ride home.. But it wasn’t quiet. Rapunzel kept her energy high and a smile on her face. In the basket of their hot air balloon- brought surprisingly from Corona by Ulf- she pointed excitedly at every familiar sight. So many places they had scene on their journey. It was unbelievable to think about just how far they’d come since they embarked on this mission. The black rock trail had taken them beyond the bend of the earth and to lands they never could have imagined. But also some familiar lands that were known to a few of them. Like Vardaros. Rapunzel waved enthusiastically as she spotted Hook Hand and Hookfoot’s tour caravan in the canyons below. But they were too busy being lectured by Quaid and Vex for a parking violation to notice the balloon. 

But soon, on that glowing horizon stood those familiar spires. Standing tall above the beautiful island kingdom- The Castle of Corona. Rapunzel never realized how much she could miss the sight of those towers. She couldn’t wait to be home with her mom and dad. She was going to give them the biggest hug the moment she saw them.

Still there was this feeling of… regret. She didn’t betray those feelings to her dear friends, but Rapunzel couldn’t help but feel guilty looking at those towers. In her own mind they had always stood as a symbol of strength. Peace. Unity. Love… Home. But the night before she had learned the truth of what some in her kingdom felt when they looked up at the castle. It made Rapunzel’s insides feel tight and squirmy. That feeling, even if it wasn’t her fault, was hard to shake. She couldn’t let anyone realize, though. Things were already so bad and they were returning to Corona without a friend.. She couldn’t make this about herself...

As the balloon touched down and bounced against the cobblestone streets of Corona, a giddiness filled everyone trapped in the tight confines of its basket. Eugene barely waited for it to be anchored before throwing open the woven door to step out. Rapunzel followed after and took a deep breath. Ahh, sweet personal space!

“Alright, it’s been great. But we have all been together way too long and I need a break from your faces.” Eugene teased before looking at Rapunzel with a playful smirk and a wink. “Except for you, Sunshine.”

The princess smiled, her heart warming. She knew he was trying to crack jokes to keep everyone’s mind off of what just happened. Eugene cared so much about keeping the people around him safe and happy. And thanks to his distraction, Rapunzel was able to enjoy looking out at her home town for the first time in more than a year. 

“We’re home..” She sighed, looking out into the surprisingly empty streets. But that barely mattered as Rapunzel’s heart lit up with joy. “We’re home!”

The princess took off down the streets, taking in the buildings as she passed them. Each so familiar and just as she left them. Maybe with a little extra garbage laying in the roads, but maybe it was a bank holiday or something and the trash people had the day off. Each shop window brought back a beautiful memory. The dress shop! The women who worked there designed her coronation gown! The bakery! Feldspar’s shoes! Rapunzel had never worn them but Feldspar was an artist with boot leather. 

Even Monty’s Sweet Shoppe brought a smile to her face. In fact, she’s really been craving some of Attilla’s cupcakes since she’d left. No one could make a cupcake quite like that lovable ruffian. Rapunzel marched up to the shop door and grabbed the handle, ready to swing it open and announce her return with an order of a dozen raspberry cupcakes… But when she pulled on the door it didn’t budge. She shook the handle, a frown marring her face, but it still didn’t open. She tried pushing instead… Still nothing. Her green eyes looked skyward and found the sun still hanging high up there. Monty was usually open this time of day. Did he change his schedule?

Rapunzel cupped her hands against the glass and peered through them into the shop interior. It was unusually dark inside. The shelves were fully stocked but it didn’t seem like there was anyone inside. It didn’t seem like it had been open for several days.

“Ohh.. I see.” Rapunzel laughed, stepping back from the door. She could see what was happening here. Her head turned and she looked at the chameleon perched on her shoulder. Pascal looked concerned more than amused. “I know what’s going on! Monty saw us coming and locked up the shop to keep me from buying anything!” She raised her voice so that the old man could hear her if he was inside hiding behind the front counter. “Very funny, Monty!”

“I dunno, Princess…” Lance approached from behind, his gaze flicking from one dark window to the next. “It doesn’t seem like anyone is home.”

Rapunzel’s smile fell. He was right. Not even her yelling had attracted a civilian. Nor had their balloon landing in the square attracted a guard. It was like no one was in the town at all.. What happened to everyone?

“Maybe there’s another festival or something.” Eugene suggested, sensing the rising tension. He took point, leading Rapunzel and their friends down a street. Walking backwards so he could continue to sooth them with that winning smile of his. “Come on. I’m sure they’re all around here some-WHA-”

He fell backwards suddenly, tripping over something none of them expected to see coming around the corner. When Eugene moved, Feldspar was lying on the ground, clutching a basket full of minerals that had spilled out onto the street. He groaned and sat up, looking startled and afraid. 

“Feldspar! It’s you!” Rapunzel exhaled, feeling sweet relief at finally seeing one of her kingdom’s people. “Where is everyone? We-”

“No, no! No time!” The shoemaker scrambled to his feet, shoveling his curious haul back into his basket. The look in his eyes was nothing but panic. “I have a quota to make! I can’t be late again!”

Now THIS was strange. Usually nothing shook Feldspar this bad. Well.. Nothing other than someone wearing suede shoes in the rain. 

“Quota? What is going on?” Rapunzel asked, putting her hand on his shoulder to keep him from running off. “What’s all this for? Where are all the people?”

The man huffed, his ginger brows furrowing, “In the mines!” He scoffed, pointing back the way he’d come. “Everyone in the kingdom has been ordered to dig up as much of this weird mineral as possible for Varian’s… whatever it is he does with it! Everyone’s down there. It’s awful!”

Varian? He’s got the whole town trapped in a mine?

Rapunzel glanced sideways at Pascal and Eugene. The dread was shared between the three of them. 

“Don’t worry, Feldspar.” The princess spoke again, “I’m going to talk to my father and get to the bottom of this.”

“Good luck.” the shoemaker shrugged her hand off of his shoulder to continue to walk away to wherever he was supposed to check in. “I don’t know how much good it’ll do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eugene asked, folding his arms across his chest with an arched brow. The people of Corona not having faith in their king? That was unusual.

“I mean I don’t think the king will do anything. He was the one who gave the order.”

Rapunzel charged those castle doors without a moment of hesitation. There were no guards to slow her down, no Nigel to announce her. Her bare feet pounded down the castle halls and carried her through the throne room doors.. Where she found her parents sitting on the thrones. Seeing them for the first time in a year almost made Rapunzel forget what she’d come to confront them about. There they were! And this time they were REAL!

“Mom! Dad!” Rapunzel ran up to them, throwing an arm around each of them to pull them into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you guys so much!”

“Young lady!” The king balked, stiffening in her hold. “What is going on?”

“Frederic… Who is this?” The queen asked quietly, confusion clear in her voice.

Rapunzel released them, her eyes blinking in confusion as she looked between her mother and father. Why were they looking at her like they had no idea who she was? Why didn’t they recognize their own daughter?

“Mom, dad, it’s me.” She took a step back, gesturing to herself with a tense smile, “Your daughter?”

“Daughter?” Frederic and Arianna parotted in unison, looking at each other like they had just received alarming news. Like they had no idea they had a child at all. What was going on in Corona. First the citizens and now this?

“Dad! It’s me! What’s gotten into you?” The princess gripped her by the shoulders, “What is....that?” Her eyes fell to the medallion hanging around her father’s neck. Where there was a Corona sun there was now an ominous symbol of… A three eyed crow? Maybe? It was definitely familiar even if she couldn’t determine what it was. 

“Like it? It’s Saporian.”

As Rapunzel turned she was greeted with the sight of her friends being roughly shoved further into the throne room by a large brute she didn’t recognize. Followed by a small, slightly deranged looking woman and a face too familiar for comfort… Andrew. Smirking smugly with his hands upon his hips. Soaking in his decisive victory. At least what he seemed to think this was.

“Ah, right. Less-attractive-topknot-guy. I slightly remember you.” Eugene quipped as he straightened his jacket. 

“Andrew? You’re behind this?” Rapunzel grit her teeth and stepped down from the thrones where her parents still sat. They seemed undisturbed by the sudden appearance of a man who was sent as a spy to topple their kingdom. “What did you do to my parents?!”

“And what did you do to the Sweet Shoppe?!” Lance interjected, sounding the most offended out of anyone.

Andrew glanced at Lance only a moment before moving on as if he hadn’t heard it. “Corona is under new management, Princess. Thanks to a little help from my former cellmate…”

Cellmate? Rapunzel straightened, preparing for any manner of ruthless criminal to appear. The Stabbingtons? Had Lady Caine beaten them back to Corona? As a shadow appeared in the archway leading out of the throne room, her fingers curled into tight fists, ready to fight… But then, wearing a bandanna over his face and a heavy black jacket (that was too big for him)… emerged… VARIAN?

As he stepped into the light, dressed in dark clothes and heavy boots to match these usurpers, he pulled the bandana away from his face to reveal a cruel grin... And a crudely drawn on goatee. Which was, apparently, meant to look convincing. Rapunzel didn’t have the heart to tell him it wasn’t. Even if he had kidnapped her mom once.

“Welcome home, Rapunzel.” he taunted.

“Varian… You’re working with Andrew? You erased my parents’ memories?!” 

“Who, me? Oohoho-” He laughed haughtily, as if this were all just some joke. “No, actually. As you know, I’m all about the science.. I helped with the breakout and the takeover but my friend Clementine here-” He gestured to the petite woman at his side, “Added some… er.. Texture.”

Rapunzel looked at this ‘Clementine’ and saw a very familiar item in her hand. A Wand of Oblivium. Rapunzel knew it well. She also knew that the effects were irreversable without the antidote.

“Give my parents back their memories. NOW.” She barked.

“Sorry, no can do, Princess.” Andrew stepped in, “We’ve got plans for them.. But don’t worry. Thanks to my new pal here, you’ll barely notice anything changed.”

Rapunzel and her friends shared a look, all equally worried about what that meant.

Andrew nudged Varian forward, smirking, “Tell ‘em.”

Varian marched forward, head held high. That look in his eye from the night Rapunzel almost died trying to free his father. But something was different. “You see, Princess, I’ve studied the magic in Clementine’s wand and devised a formula that, once finished, will create a gas with the power to erase every memory in Corona.”

Rapunzel felt a chill strike her to her bones. “What?”

“I call it ‘Quirinium’.. In honor of my father.” Varian’s grin turned sour. Into a bitter scowl. “So no one will ever be able forget who they abandoned.”

A murmur from the back of the room. Lance’s voice cutting through the tension, “Aren’t they going to have a hard time remembering after you erase their memories?”

Varian seemed caught off  guard. As if he hadn’t realized that himself or it hadn’t mattered. Rapunzel had a feeling that the alchemist hadn’t gotten much of a chance to think this plan through. Maybe there was hope to talk him out of it.

“I- It.. It doesn't matter!” Varian dismissed Lance’s words with a harsh shake of his head. “This is the only way-”

“I think that’s enough talk.” Andrew interjected, placing himself back at the front of his group. He drew his sword, pointing it menacingly at the princess. “I think it’s time to say goodbye to our uninvited guests.” 

(end)

#rapunzel's tangled adventure #tangled the series #Season 3 minus gothel #my art #fic #long post

[thephantomofthelibrary]

The Events of the Merthyr Rising (1): 31 May - 2 June 1831

Gwyn A. Williams stated that with the beginning of the Merthyr Rising ‘the prehistory of the Welsh working class comes to an end. It’s history begins.’

31 May 1831

Lewis Lewis was a miner at the coal mines associated with the Penydarren ironworks. He was also know as Lewsyn yr Heliwr (Lewis the Hunter). From here on I shall refer to him as either Lewis or Lewsyn yr Heliwr. Like many other at Merthyr, Lewis has built up some debts which were to be collected by the bailiffs associated with the Court of Requests. However, Lewis and his neighbours were not willing to cooperate, refusing to allow the bailiffs to enter his home and take any of the goods he possessed. The Magistrate for Methyr, J. B. Brice was called to intervene. Eventually Lewis gave up a trunk as payment for his debts. 

1 June 1831

A crowd gathered, marching through Merthyr calling for bread and cheese to be given to them. Bread and cheese would prove to be a catchy slogan to the rioters as the situation escalated over the coming days. They continued on to the ironworks of Rowland Fotherfill at Aberdare. Aberdare is just south of Merthyr. There the crowd demanded that wages be maintained.

Meanwhile at Hirawun, to the west of Merthyr, a second disturbance was occurring. Needless to say, Lewis was not too pleased about his trunk being taken as payment and he wanted his property back. A crowd gathered and led by Lewis marched to the house of a shopkeeper and taking the trunk back. Their next destination, Merthyr. 

Above is a map of the area showing where Aderdare and Hirwaun are in relation to Merthyr Tydfil. 

The crowd led by Lewis marched on to Merthyr. Along the way they decided to follow Lewis lead, attacking the homes of those who had claimed their confiscated property. Many of these homes would have belonged to shopkeepers, the goods seized being their payments of debts. As usually happens with many riots and rebellions, the first singled out are the middle men, the people seen to be the problem in the immediate circumstance rather than the people who call the shots and make this all happen. 

They marched on to the house of Thomas Williams, a bailiff who collected debts on behalf of the shopkeepers and the Court of Requests. However, when his wife refused to give certain items to the crows, they ransacked the house entirely. 

After the looting, the crowd marched on to the Court of Requests and attacked it and the officials within. 

2 June 1831

The crowd that had marched to Merthyr had swelled with the workers from Cyfathfa and Hirwaun and set up outside Castle Inn. David J. V. Jones notes that like the food riots of the eighteenth century there were many women present and they were very vocal. In fact riots such as these are often made up of women, boys and young workers with older, more skilled workers or even middle class men acting as their leaders. Here the puddlers who had been sacked just before the rising began became their leaders. The area surronding Castle Inn was where many of the tradesmen of Merthyr lived. They were particularly centred around the house of Thomas Lewis, one of Merthyr’s hated moneylenders. He was responsible for getting many people into hard times. They forced him to sign a promise to return goods that had been seized. 

By this time the crowd has created quite a stir, news spreading fast of the reclaiming of property. The Ironmasters began to realise the intensity of the situation and set up their headquarters and Castle Inn in order to plan and coordinate their response. This forced the local magistrate, J. B. Bruce out to try to diffuse the situation. As when it had started with Lewis reclaiming his property, this was a riot against the much hated Court of Requests. He tried to restore order, defending the works of the Court of Requests. But, of course, the crowd were not buying it. The first port of action was to enrol about 70 Special Constables. These were found amongst the ranks of the tradespeople, the middle men that the crowd had already turned their anger and resentment towards. They were a kind of voluntary police presence, like the special constables today, whose services were employed to keep the peace. While the Metropolitan Police Force had been established by Robert Peel in London, there was no formal police service like it nationally until later in the century. Instead, when unrest occurred military services were utilised. So Bruce sent word to the military authorities in Brecon to prepare their troops in case the situation escalated. This lack of a police force was coupled with a seemingly easy nation in which to keep the peace. Wales was very sparsely populated, with small settlements. The job of keeping the peace was given to the Justices of the Peace (JPS). However, this, much like the political system, was broken. It was built for a rural society which was quickly beginning to be in the days of the past. Places like Merthyr where the population was far more concentrated became far more difficult to police requiring the assistance of military services when the situation got out of hand.

However, Brecon isn’t exactly that close to Merthyr if an emergence situation broke out. Even today, Wales isn’t the most easily traversed nation, especially when concerning the more rural area. At this time there were no railways and an even poorer series of roads connecting Welsh towns and villages. Brecon is situated in the Brecon Beacons a series of hills that would have to be navigated in order to reach Merthyr. Below is a map of the areas, Merthyr situated at the bottom of the expanse of green which is the Beacons and Brecon almost near the top. 

This was not the only time issue in their way. The military would be brought in my the JP contacting the Home Secretary by letter who would then, if they approved the request, would pass it on to the Secretary of State for War at the War Office. They would then issue a command to the officer in charge of the nearest garrison when the troops would then be dispatched to help dealt with a riot that had gotten out of hand.

The crowd still did not disperse. Instead the Riot Act had to be read by Anthony Hill the Ironmaster of Plymouth works, in both English and Welsh to ensure that everyone gathered knew and understood what the ramifications of their actions would be. The Riot Act was a piece of legislation that would be read out where a large crowd was “unlawfully, riotously, and tumultuously assembled together” as the words of the act itself says. Officially this was in English, but the act would be translated into Welsh when read if necessary. This was read to inform people that they had a hour to disperse. After an hour, if there were still twelve people there then they were guilty of a capital offence. Strangely enough, only three people needed to be gathered together in order for it to be classed as a riot, but did not carry a death sentence unless there were twelve that remained after the Riot Act was read.

Pictured below is a portion of the riot act, including what would have been read to disperse a gathering.

Nevertheless, the crowd did not disperse. Instead they attacked the house of Thomas Lewis, the moneylender and drove the magistrate away. 

The crowd only continued to grow and began to focus o the house of Joseph Coffin, the President of the Court of Requests. They demanded all the books of the court which they burned in the streets. This destroyed the evidence that they had debts to be paid or that their property had been taken in order to pay a debt. It was very reminiscent of the prelude to the French Revolution where the chateaux and records within them were destroyed during the Great Fear. With the fall of Charles X in France happen only the year before, tensions and anxieties were high amongst the ruling class of Britain. There was very little to say that the same could not happen here.

At the same time many workers marched around the ironworks persuading more of them to join their cause and strike. J. B. Bruce saw there was little to be done and the military could not just be on standby anymore. Rather they were necessary to restore order. 52 soldiers from the Royal Glamorgan Light Infantry were dispatched from Cardiff and a detachment of the 93rd Highlanders from Brecon were also sent. 

Tomorrow, things would escalate far beyond what the authorities feared.

#merthyr #merthyr tydfil #merthyr rising #19th century #wales #welsh history #british history #political history #social history

[syntaxeme]

Sugar is Sweet (and So Are You) ch. 2

[First Chapter] [Next Chapter] [Read on AO3] [Support me on Ko-fi] Rating: T Summary: Plagued by jealousy toward the men Angel sleeps with, Alastor comes up with a plan to keep Angel from having to work the streets. He wasn't planning on becoming an actual client, but having Angel all to himself might prove too sweet to give up--for as long as he can afford it, that is.

— — —

Alastor wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself after his conversation with Angel, but he felt he should be doing something. After some time of pacing around his own room, running his mind in circles trying to figure out what was expected of him here, he was forced to concede that he simply didn’t have the information necessary to make that determination. So he would have to seek someone who did. He went down to the lobby to sit at the bar with a visibly-hungover Husk and asked for his usual—gin and tonic, hold the gin.

“Husker,” he ventured carefully, swirling the tonic water in his glass. His friend (though he used the term loosely) grunted in response. “Would I be right to assume you’ve had some experience with. Er. Filles de joie?”

“First of all, dial down the volume,” Husk grumbled flatly, squeezing his head between his hands as if that might alleviate his headache. “And second, speak English.”

“You know. Working girls. Ladies of the night. Cocettes? Streetwalkers?” How many ways could he say it gently?

“Hookers.”

“…yes.”

“Sure,” Husk agreed with a shrug, resting heavily against the bar. “But what’s it to you? Since when d’you care about that kinda shit?”

“Oh, I don’t. In so many words. But I’ve always been a curious sort, and since I don’t have any personal experience of my own, I figure a secondhand account is better than none,” Alastor explained. The two had known each other long enough that inquiries like this weren’t entirely out of the ordinary, as there were plenty of things about society—mortal or demon—that Alastor had only seen at a distance. Husk, on the other hand, had seen and done quite a lot in his years and could be very helpful when he chose to be.

“Don’t know what you’re gonna do with it, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. Whaddaya wanna know?” He groped absently along the bar for the tumbler of gin he’d withheld from Alastor’s drink and tossed it back all at once, then immediately got dizzy and regretted the sudden motion. “Just. Keep it down.”

“It’s my understanding that escorts, like many other professionals, have regular clients,” Alastor answered, lowering his voice slightly, more because he didn’t want to be overheard having this particular discussion than for the sake of his friend’s comfort. “But I’m not sure what sort of relationship that constitutes.”

“Like you said, a professional one,” Husk told him. “It’s a job, and a client’s a client. No matter how many times ya see ‘em, that doesn’t change.”

“I see. So…that dynamic isn’t likely to develop into something else?”

He let out a dry laugh. “Somethin’ else like what? A gal doesn’t date a john if that’s what you’re askin’.” He was answering almost automatically, not bothering to question where this curiosity had come from. “I hear when a guy starts gettin’ ideas like that, most ‘workin’ girls’ are pretty quick to cut him off.”

Which was exactly what Alastor was afraid of, considering what he knew of Angel Dust. But then, maybe there was a difference if the escort in question had only one patron. Maybe whatever he was getting into with Angel didn’t have exactly the same rules. “In a slightly different vein, then, what about…” Even saying the word felt like an admission, like an embarrassment. But he truly needed some sort of reference point before he got into this, so he had no choice. “Sugaring. The sort of arrangement where—”

“Yeah, I know how it works,” Husk said, waving him off. “Not my thing, though. Too much commitment.”

Well. That was a positive thing, wasn’t it? In terms of what Alastor actually wanted from his interactions with Angel? Commitment, as far as he was concerned, meant exclusivity, which his jealous tendencies certainly appreciated. “Commitment. On the part of the client, you mean?”

“Sure. Once you tell ‘em they can rely on you, they’re gonna. And that means you hafta be able to deliver. Money. Presents. Dates. Whatever she wants, you hand it over.”

None of that sounded bad to Alastor, not if it was Angel he was spoiling; if his previously-idle money could provide enjoyment or satisfaction for the object of his affections, why not let it do so? ‘Dates’ would even mean they were enjoying time together. How could that be negative? “And in return…?”

Husk shrugged again. “She sleeps with you and pretends she likes you. Ain’t worth it if ya ask me.”

Alastor’s eager smile faded slightly. ‘Pretends’? That could be an issue. Even if he hadn’t yet expressed it, the attention and affection he wanted from Angel was the genuine sort, not something motivated purely by money. Maybe he was being greedy in hoping for something like that, when the point of this plan had simply been to stop Angel sleeping with other men. But after the spider’s welcoming attitude and that kiss earlier, he was now starting to hope (a four-letter word if ever there was one) that more might come of it.

As he was trying to decide how to word his next question, the lobby elevator dinged, and Charlie marched out of it, dragging a fully-clothed but obviously reluctant Angel Dust by his wrist. “Don’tcha have night classes or somethin’ I could take? You two givin’ out drinks at this thing?” he grumbled, trudging along behind Charlie without otherwise protesting. When he caught sight of Alastor, his expression shifted from annoyance to a sweet smile. “Hey, boys. Room for one more?”

“Come on, Angel, it’s bad enough that we’re late already,” Charlie scolded.

“What she said,” Husk muttered, his ears turning back and downward at the voices ringing through the lobby. “Get to your fuckin’ meeting already.”

As they walked past on their way to the conference room, where Vaggie and several of their other patrons were already gathered, Angel paused to steal another kiss to Alastor’s cheek, causing Charlie’s eyes to open wide even as he casually strolled past her. The Radio Demon refused to look anywhere near their proprietor, grasping his glass tighter and trying to pretend he didn’t notice her eyes boring into him. She must have taken the hint eventually, as she disappeared into the conference room and shut the doors to begin their meeting, allowing the tension in Alastor’s body to dissipate, at least somewhat.

“Y’know, no one could blame you if ya smacked him when he does that shit,” Husk pointed out, still dispassionate, illustrating with a swipe of his own dangerous claws. “After a couple times, he’ll get the picture, trust me.”

Now this was unusual. Alastor couldn’t recall ever having felt so violently vengeful on the behalf of another person before. He’d never borne Husk any ill will in the past. That said, the thought that he had at some point struck Angel instilled in Alastor a powerful urge to tear out his feathers one by one and then stab them all back in.

“I’m sure violence isn’t necessary,” he said instead, forcibly shoving those images to the back of his mind and reminding himself that Angel had proven more than once already that he could take care of himself. “Maybe he just needs a proper focus for his energy…”

“Hey, if you wanna volunteer, be my guest,” Husk snickered without smiling.

Their conversation was interrupted by an unfamiliar demon nervously slinking into the lobby, looking to check himself in. Alastor quickly shifted into salesman mode to secure another patron and get him set up in his own room. After a whirlwind tour of the establishment, which put him back in his element and did wonders to take his mind off any other concerns he might have at the moment, they made their way back down to the lobby.

“And if I’m not much mistaken, Charlie and the others should be finishing up another session just now,” he crowed, still leading the new arrival with an arm around his shoulders and gesturing to the conference room doors. “She’ll want to welcome you personally, of course, and discuss your goals and expectations for your stay.”

His prediction didn’t come a moment too soon, as the double doors swung open to release the handful of lesser demons who had been gathered for Charlie’s group counseling session. Alastor led the newest member of their merry band of misfits to the princess to call her attention. “Charlie, this fine fellow is—remind us of your name, my good man.”

“Knix,” the burly gent answered, apparently having some trouble with looking anyone in the eye.

“A new arrival!” Alastor concluded, and Charlie beamed at the thought, as always.

“Welcome to the Hazbin! I’m Charlie, and that’s Vaggie”—she indicated her partner, who was straightening up the conference room on her own—“and we run the group meetings. How did you hear about us? What inspired you to come in? Tell me everything there is to know about you.” While she was haranguing the poor fellow to within an inch of his life, Alastor conceded that his work was done and took a step back to watch Charlie’s protégés disperse to their own rooms.

He recognized one self-involved feline named Davronius, a rabbitlike misanthrope simply called Io, an elegant and aloof owlish demon who went by Donatella—but no spiders. Odd, considering how often Charlie held Angel Dust up as her ‘star pupil,’ the exemplar of the hotel’s efficacy. And he typically basked in the attention it got him. Maybe he was still talking with one of his fellow recovering sinners? What a ridiculous thing for Alastor to be jealous of. And yet…

A flash of color darted between the guests and into the conference room, then back out only a moment later. Niffty stood to one side of the doors, her face screwed up into a pout, her eye darting around the room to seek out imperfections. She must have been in a mood, further evidenced by her scurrying over to the stairs to fuss at a guest who was leaning against the banister. Once he had backed off, intimidated despite her tiny stature, she whipped a handkerchief from her pocket and started to polish his fingerprints off the otherwise-pristine wood.

“You know,” Alastor said, strolling in her direction, “the banister can’t serve its purpose if you won’t let anyone touch it.”

“Well maybe if they washed their hands once in a while, it wouldn’t bother me,” she answered testily. “Besides, Vaggie already cleaned up after the meeting, so I don’t have anything else to do. I have to do something.” That was a fair point; there was too much energy in her little form to stand still for long. If she tried, she might spontaneously combust.

“And the entire hotel is already spick-and-span from top to bottom?”

She shot him what he had come to recognize as her version of a glare. “What d’you think I was doing during the meeting? We only have sixteen occupied rooms, and all the empty ones don’t get messy. You don’t even let me go in your room, so it might as well be fifteen. The new guy just got here, so it’s basically fourteen! And now Angel’s not here leaving dirty dishes in the lobby or doing target practice in the common area—”

“N҉o҉t҉ ҉h҉e҉r҉e҉?” There was a scratch of static in Alastor’s voice that he tried to will away as he asked casually, “A҉ng҉el ҉isn’t here? Where is he?” There were only so many reasons he would leave, and considering his recent track record, Alastor was quick to assume the worst.

“He left with some lady while you were upstairs with the new guy,” Niffty explained, flicking her handkerchief briefly in the direction of Knix, who was still in mostly one-sided conversation with Charlie. “His manager, I think.”

That statement was confusing for a few reasons. First, the only person Alastor knew of who could be called Angel’s ‘manager’ was a fellow Overlord named Valentino—a man. Furthermore, Angel had mentioned some time ago that he and Valentino were no longer working together, and Alastor had noted the improvement in his mood since.

But most importantly, the manager issue shouldn’t have applied at all, considering what they had agreed upon earlier in the day. His time shouldn’t need to be managed. Or if anyone is managing it, it should be me. He realized immediately how possessive and controlling that idea was and chastised himself for it. Yet it didn’t change how he felt. This day had come to involve entirely too many feelings, the way he saw it, and he was beginning to get exhausted. Since Angel wasn’t there to explain himself at the moment, Alastor was sure to drive himself up a wall fixating on the problem—unless he had something else to do.

“Do you know what always lifts my spirits when I’m distraught, dear?” he mused, glancing in Niffty’s direction again.

A delighted smile lit up her face and banished any lingering frustration. “A good meal?”

“That’s exactly right. In fact—Charlie!” he called, striding across the room to meet his co-manager with Niffty on his heels. “I hate to interrupt your onboarding discussion, but would you be so kind as to let all our guests know that I’ll be serving dinner this evening?”

“You’re cooking? That’s great! I’ll make sure everyone’s there,” she assured him. With a sly smile, she pointed out, “You sure seem like you’re in a good mood today. Any particular reason for that?”

“When am I ever not in a good mood? Especially when we have a new guest to welcome.” He gave a brief pat to her head, refusing to acknowledge what she was implying, and swept off to the kitchen with Niffty to occupy himself with something he knew how to control.

#RadioDust #can never tell when my stuff's going to turn up in the tag or not... #Angel Dust x Alastor #Alastor x Angel Dust #Sugar is Sweet #Hazbin Angel Dust #Hazbin Alastor

[dansnaturepictures]

10 of my standout species seen during the lockdown so far 

Last week I said on Twitter the Chiffchaff would be my bird of the lockdown so far, its a topic I had been thinking of writing a post on for a few weeks and today I decided to do it. So in this post are 10 of the bird, butterfly and dragonfly species that have kept my spirits up most during lockdown and been species the enjoyment of seeing either from my house or on a daily exercise walk has given me something positive to focus on and given me a lot of energy. I have seen some great mammal and other species throughout lockdown so far its just it was actually quite hard to pick 10 which shows how lucky I’ve been to still see things with some obvious names missing out so I settled on five birds, four butterflies and one dragonfly. 

I have to say nine of these photos were taken by me since 23rd March when the British lockdown was announced but the one of the Swallow isn’t its one from 2017 but its a species I felt was crucial enough to include in this post I just didn’t manage to photograph it yet this year when seeing it. So all of these photos and the wildlife in them, except for the Swallow one, were seen and taken by me either from my home or during a once permitted daily exercise walk. Those from outside the house were taken whilst maintaining a two metre gap at least from everyone else in line with government social distancing guidelines at all times. I took certain routes within walks to take me safely to areas I was more likely to see the relevant species in some cases, but in none of the scenarios where any of these nine pictures were taken did I wait large amounts of time for the species to emerge or anything. As these photos and sightings as all are right now for me are a bonus that I’ve been lucky to get alongside exercising once a day out the house so are things I simply see as I’m walking along. So below are the ten species and a bit about them, its in no particular order after the Chiffchaff. 

Chiffchaff 

Like I said my bird of the lockdown so far, thanks to hearing them almost constantly and seeing them on local daily exercise walks at Lakeside Country Park. Its been a joy to get to see and hear these wonderful warblers and its just acted as a bird I could get so excited about during walks in the week whilst working from home especially this spring. I took the first picture in this photoset of one in late March at Lakeside. 

Great Crested Grebe 

What’s stood out for birds during the lockdown especially is the obviously lesser range of my 30 favourite birds I can see with restrictions in place, so the commoner members of that group have really stepped up as such and been birds I can feel the ultimate forms of excitement about. Buzzard was so close to making the list but in the end its Great Crested Grebe that’s been the star of my favourite birds lately and always promised to be. Its been a pleasure to see them at Lakeside a stronghold for them on my walks so much and see them in immense numbers as they’ve played a key part in my breeding ground observations and continuous story in a way during my Lakeside walks which has really given me something big to focus on. I took the second picture in this photoset of one the week before last at Lakeside. 

Swallow 

As I said the photo is at Martin’s Haven in Pembrokeshire, Wales which I took in 2017 the third of the ones I took in this photoset but a handful of Swallow sightings now have really stood out lately. I have genuine fears that every month now could be my first since November 2015 which I didn’t get at least one bird year tick in, that couldn’t be less important in the grand scheme of things of course! But I had in my head Swallow and Swift (which I haven’t yet) that I can see from home and very locally were on their way here as lockdown started and sure enough on a local River Itchen walk in early April I was so thrilled to see a Swallow dart over. It definitely was a big moment to make me happy and I’ve seen them again on local walks since. 

Common Tern 

Following on nicely from the Swallow, Common Tern a bird I would easily see on the coast or Blashford Lakes this time of year normally was thrown into doubt as a species I may see this year. But I had in my head I had seen one over Lakeside once years ago. I had an amazing moment in the right place at the right time one lunch time on an exercise walk there were after tweeting about one from last year during the morning I walked along and saw the one in the fourth picture in this photoset sat there. All was not lost, I had used my local patch to get a tern into my year at least and it felt like a fantastic moment among the happiest I’ve been of late. 

Magpie 

Finally for the birds, by the very nature of what the lockdown is its annoying I couldn’t sneak a garden bird in. However this is the next best thing as one that flies in and around and lands beside and behind the garden visible from my room and I see in great numbers on Lakeside daily exercise walks. The crows as a family is one I’ve come to explore, photograph and get to love more than ever these past few weeks with the Magpie at the forefront of that. I took the fifth picture in this photoset of one from my room last week.

Orange Tip 

Onto the butterflies and one of my favourites, the Orange Tip I doubted I would see this year but I was proved wrong after seeing them on many local exercise walks and I really found the true value of my patch with how many I have seen over Lakeside as I mentioned on Friday. An exceptional species that always raises my spirits its been an honour to see so many this spring as I did last year. I took the sixth picture in this photoset of one at Lakeside on Friday. 

Green Hairstreak 

I wasn’t really thinking I’d definitely see this butterfly either but at walks at Magdalen Hill and Farley Mount I’ve had stunning views of them which has stood out. Especially my first of the year at Magdalen Hill, in April my earliest ever sighting of one in a year the one in the seventh picture in this photoset. This picture took me by storm a bit one of my favourite ever butterfly pictures to take for quality, and definitely best with my new macro lens every butterfly picture produced with it so far has been since March 23rd so its been a big story of the lockdown for me getting to use my new macro lens on the subjects it was most intended for the butterflies in lots of great sunshine and hot weather so this heads up that as such. This photo achieved a big thing for me as I finalised and revealed by 2021 wildlife photos calendar over the last week made from my photos from May 2019-until now and among some big photos that I’ve had a long time to get to like of mine it made the calendar less than a week after being taken. 

Grizzled Skipper 

A butterfly I hoped we could catch up with on a daily exercise walk still quite a rare one and we did, at Farley Mount last weekend where I took the eighth picture in this photoset one of my best moments with a butterfly so far this year on a strong day for seeing them. 

Pearl-bordered Fritillary 

The same old story as with the other butterflies, would I see it or not in 2020? I was thrilled I managed to see a few on a daily exercise walk yesterday a key butterfly for me every year that I did not miss. The ninth picture in this photoset from yesterday a great memory of it. 

Broad-bodied Chaser 

These spring days have seen me see my first damselfly and dragonfly of the year, Large Red Damselfly and this. Seeing a few of this dragonfly yesterday I took the tenth picture in this photoset of it is a standout moment so far during lockdown flashing forward to those summer days ahead where hopefully we’ll continue to all be in this together (but apart as needed) and work to move out (as possible) of this dark period in all of our lives. 

#species #broad-bodied chaser #peal-bordered fritillary #orange tip #grizzled skipper #green hairstreak #magpie #common tern #swallow #chiffchaff #great crested grebe #wildlife #photography #nature #uk #lockdown

[formerlyjannafaye]

Hide & Seek - Chapter 2

Guess who’s back with part 2 of her fic over a year after posting chapter one? Wow. This is the first bit of writing I’ve done in over 6 months. Its not my best, but I am proud of myself for finishing it. I hope you will check out ch.1&2 to get you in the mood for season 3! Time to work on a Mileven-centric ch. 3!

Part 1 | Read on AO3

"I hate this game."

Will tightened his grip on his wrist as he pulled his legs closer towards himself, hugging them to his body and resting his chin on his knees. He tried to take in a deep breath but it stuck in his throat and he hugged his legs even tighter in an attempt to push the air out, resulting in a quiet strangled cough.

Breathe, Will. It’s not real. You’re okay. Don’t be baby. Calm down.

This inner mantra never worked, but he tried it every time without fail. He pressed his back harder into the tree behind him, almost painfully, in an attempt to focus on something other than the fear.

This forest, its trees and hills, he knew too well. And hiding in this forest was something he was all too skilled at, the act of which was the current reason he was fighting off a panic attack.

Will had hidden in these woods a lot. The most recent time, it was cold and dark, and the air hurt to breathe. He felt permanently damp and chilled to the bone, unable to warm up if he tried. Today, he also felt permanently damp, but from heat instead of cold.

Oh.

It was too hot to be the Upside Down, and now that he looked around, too bright too.

Okay, this is good. Will managed to take in a breath and release it, his shoulders relaxing slightly at the motion. He tried to focus on other things that drew him to the present; the heat of the sun, a bird that flew by, the hard bark of the tree against his back. Will took in another deep breath and focused on releasing the air out his mouth, dropping his forehead to his knees as he breathed in and out, in and out.

The snap of a nearby branch made Will almost jump out of his skin.

“Sorry,” said a voice straining with effort to speak softly. “It’s just me, Will.”

Will peered up to see a curtain of red hair leaning over him. “Oh, hey Max,” he said, trying to steady his shaking voice and hands.

“Are you okay?” Max asked, still leaning over him, her normally piercing blue eyes soft with concern.

Will dusted his hands off on his shorts and rose to stand at her level. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just, you know,” he swallowed roughly, eyes roaming around them, unfocused, “these woods.”

Max’s eyebrows knit together with concern. “Bad memories?” she asked, before immediately wincing. “Oh my God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I just mean…” She gestured around them awkwardly. “I meant, um…”

Will placed his hand on her arm, stopping her. “It’s okay, Max. Yeah, bad memories.” He tried to smile at her encouragingly. “I’m glad you found me.”

She returned his smile, grateful. “Come on. If we don’t hide quick, Dustin will be finding us next.”

They started walking, silently, Max in the lead. She walked quickly and confidently, Will right behind, finally able to keep in stride with most of his friends now that he had a recent growth spurt. In fact, Will was now tall enough to see the top of her head if he lifted his chin high enough. Max was marching forward with purpose – if she was shaken at all by finding Will in the state he was, she didn’t show it, much to his relief.

If Will had learned anything about Max in the past few months it was that beyond her cool skater girl exterior, she was surprisingly kind and compassionate, but never coddling. It was a welcome break from his mom, brother, and the rest of the Party who meant well and tried their best, but at times made him feel babied nonetheless. He wasn’t sure why her compassion seemed to hit the right mark; perhaps she saw in him the same wounded strength that he recognised in her. Maybe that’s why El found it so easy to be friends with her, too.

Max’s confident strides turned hesitant for a moment and then slowed to a stop. Will nearly walked into her right arm, which she threw out from her side in silent warning. Her head jerked back towards him and she smashed the fingers from her other hand over her mouth in a silent, “shhhh.”

Will froze in place, his eyes scanning the trees around them to see if the jig was up. Max was doing the same, her arm still out and pressed against Will’s chest. Suddenly, Will sucked in his breath as he caught a glimpse of someone behind the tree directly in front of them.

Will nudged Max’s arm, gesturing at the tree, and she sucked in a gasp, too, remaining still as stone as a slender hand braced itself around the tree. They heard low murmuring and then a soft giggle that they both recognised immediately.

Will’s shoulders relaxed. “Mike and El,” he whispered.

Max dropped her arms back to her sides and rolled her eyes. "Better go the other way. Don't want to see anything we can't unsee."

With that, she turned on her heel in the opposite direction, moving away from the giggling at the same quick pace as before. Only once they were a few yards away did she slow down enough that Will could walk beside her.

"Are they always going to be like that?" Max asked, tossing a glance over her shoulder, her hair whipping over her shoulder at the motion.

Her tone surprised him. Normally Max was the one telling the guys to lay off of El and Mike for their couple-y antics, but at this moment she sounded nearly as testy as Dustin was earlier when Lucas ate the last strawberry poptart.

"Like a gooey pile of googly eyes who are all over each other? Yeah. Yeah, I think so." Will smiled slightly. "I think it's kind of cute."

"Seriously?” Max’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline. “Yuck."

Will paused, thoughtful. "It is a little much sometimes, yeah. But I'm just really glad they're happy. After last year..." Will swallowed, trailing off. "Mike was really sad before, like I've never seen him. And he just, he deserves to be happy. This happy."

Max didn’t reply, her eyes glued to the grass below them. Will glanced over at her and could tell something was upsetting her. Her shoulders had slumped slightly and she was close to tripping on her feet, the way she was dragging them. He was just opening his mouth to ask what was wrong when he heard someone call his name, freezing him to the spot. Just as a quickly there was a crash, and more yelling.

“Dustin!” Max hissed, starting to run.

Will was hot on her heels as they darted through the trees, weaving deeper and deeper into the forest. His feet seemed to direct him on autopilot, and at last he saw their destination in the distance. “This way,” he called, grabbing her by the wrist and diving headfirst into the felt blanket doors of Castle Byers.

They crashed in a heap on the ground, panting from their sprint. They listened for Dustin’s voice but the only sound other than their own breathing was the call of a crow flying overhead.

“I think…I think we’re safe,” Max said, sighing a breath of relief. She looked around, taking in her surroundings. “I don’t think we’ll be safe here for long. Too obvious.”

“I think we’ll be okay here for a while.” Will scooted over to the pile of blankets that formed a makeshift bed in the corner of the fort. Wiping at sweat on his brow, he sat down and stretched his legs out in front of him. “By the sounds of it, Dustin ate it back there. I hope he’s okay.”

Max smirked and plopped herself down beside Will on the blankets. “Yeah, knowing Dustin he’s probably milking that for all its worth. I love the guy, but he’s pretty dramatic.”

Will smiled despite himself. “Yeah, Dustin can lay it on thick. But he’s also the life of the party. Sometimes I wish I could be more like that.” He picked at a scab on his knee absentmindedly. “Dustin seems to always have a good time even if something’s bothering him. He can make things feel normal, even when they’re weird, you know?”

Max bent forward to retie her loose shoelace. “Yeah. He’s good at that. Must be nice.”

Will tried to read Max’s expression, but her hair was hiding her face. He felt jealous for a moment of her long, red hair – it made her stand out but also was like a wall of protection she hung around her when she wanted to, like she was doing now.

“Max?” Will said, nudging her shoulder with his own. “Is everything okay?”

Max shook her hair even further over her face. “I’m fine. Just…overheated.”

“Okay,” Will said, smoothing his hands on his shorts, before pushing the hair off his face. “Its okay if you’re not, too.”

There was a beat of silence where Will thought he said the wrong thing, but then Max exhaled a massive sigh. The puff of air blew her hair off her face, and she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “I’m that obvious, huh?”

“Well…you’re not Dustin,” Will shrugged in reply, not wanting to push her further. She hadn’t pushed him to spill when she found him earlier, so it didn’t feel fair for him not to show her the same courtesy. If she wanted to talk, she could, but he wouldn’t force her to – even though he was eager to listen and help.

She fiddled with the yellow scrunchie on her wrist. “Its just that, I don’t know, its stupid, but like, seeing Mike and El today just made me mad. And then you said what you said, and I felt bad.”

Will felt his stomach drop. “I didn’t mean to-”

“No, its okay, Will. I should feel bad. I do.” She looked him in the eye then, and he could see hers were wet with tears. “Its not like Mike and El have had it easy then, or even now. Its just that…I understand now how they must feel. I’m just…I’m so tired of hiding.”

“What do you mean?” Will’s brows furrowed, confused.

“Like, Mike and El had to hide for a long time, I know. But now? Now they can hold hands, and be a couple, and kiss, and he’s at her house all the time. But its not that easy for everyone. Its not that easy for me and Lucas, because…” Max’s face was flushed with anger and embarrassment. “Because Billy, and now Neil.”

“Neil. Like, your dad?”

“My stepdad.” Max ran a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face. “He’s an asshole. He thinks he knows everything and can control everyone. But he can’t.” She set her jaw determinedly, eyes blazing intensely. “I won’t let him control me. Ever.”

It was as though Max’s fierce stare scared the sunlight away. The fort was much darker than before, the air tense and heavy with humidity.

Will squirmed a bit, unsure of whether he should ask Max what she meant or if she would say more. She didn’t speak, though; but the darker atmosphere made Castle Byers feel like a more intimate space for this kind of conversation and gave Will a boost of courage he needed to speak.

“Does Neil not like Lucas?” he asked quietly.

Max rolled her eyes and huffed another sigh. “Neil doesn’t like anybody. I don’t know what my mom was thinking when she married him.” She bit her lip, considering her next words. “He doesn’t like anyone, but…he really doesn’t like Lucas. Or his family. Or any of his ‘kind of people,’” she said, making air quotes with her fingers, cheeks reddening in anger.

“Oh.” Will’s eyes widened in understanding. The Sinclair’s were a welcomed, well-respected family in Hawkins, but there were a few idiots who had no qualms about using racist terms to talk about them or other people of colour in town. The people who spoke like that weren’t held in high regard in most social circles, but still, it happened. Lucas didn’t really talk about it (just like Will didn’t talk about the specific names he got called), but he knew it bothered him.

“Yeah.” Max fiddled with a stray thread on one of the blankets. “I tried to make sure he didn’t know about me and Lucas, because I knew I’d get in deep shit if he found out. But he did. And he was so angry. And he said such horrible things…I had told Lucas not to come to the house…” she trailed off, voice wavering.

Will scratched at a mosquito bite on his neck, feeling awkward, not knowing what to say. Lucas had told him before that he’d only been to Max’s house a few times, and had never even gone inside. Will and the rest of the party had never been to her place at all. He was so used to everyone being at his place, like they had been earlier today, that he hadn’t considered how lonely it would to never have his friends in that part of his life.

Will knew what it was like to not feel safe in your own house, but when it was filled with his friends, with the people he loved, he felt safer. He felt happier, and lighter. His heart felt heavy in his chest when he thought how Max hadn’t experienced that since moving to Hawkins.

“What happened?” he asked.

Max stared at her hands, never once looking up. “Neil saw Lucas and I hugging before he left for camp. Hugging! He lost his mind. I told Lucas to get out of there, fast. When I got inside, he yelled at me. Grounded me, smashed my supercom,” she hugged her knees even tighter. “Then he told me, ‘I should do something about this, but I won’t. I don’t have to.’” She trembled a bit, her nails digging into her wrist. “He said that bad things happen to guys like Lucas when they go out with girls like me. He said that soon enough, someone would see us together and ‘put Lucas in his place.’”

Will’s heart was pounding in his chest, horrified at what she was saying. He thought Max’s family didn’t like Lucas, but he hadn’t considered that Lucas could be in danger because of them.

“He said more. I just can’t even say it.” Tears ran down her cheeks now, but she ignored them. “Since then its all I can think about when Lucas and I are out together. What if someone bad sees us? What if someone hurts him, just because he’s with me?”

Will scrambled to wrap his arm around her, pulling her towards his side, and she collapsed into him, resting her head on his shoulder. She was still crying – he could feel the tears on his t-shirt. His mind was racing. He wished he knew what to say, how to help, how to reassure her that it would be okay. But the thing was, he didn’t know that it would be okay.

“Does Lucas know about this?” It broke his heart to see Max so upset. He knew Lucas would be devastated.

Max shook her head, her sniffles quieting. “He knows Neil caught us and he knows I’m being weird. He can tell something’s wrong, I just…”she shrugged against Will’s shoulder. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

Will kept his arm around her, trying to ignore how sweaty it was to be so close together. His eyes roamed around the room, stopping on the picture of the party last Halloween. He stared at Lucas in the photo – smiling, happy, safe, like he should be. Like they all deserved to be. He blinked tears from his own eyes and bit his lip, trying to get his own emotions under control.

“I’m sorry your stepdad’s an asshole. I…I know a little bit what its like to have a shitty dad.”

Max’s sat up, looking at Will with concern and gave his knee a gentle squeeze. “It sucks,” she said simply, smearing a hand over her tearstained cheeks.

“Yeah, it sucks. I didn’t have this place then,” he said, gesturing around the fort, “but if I did, I would’ve hidden out here all the time. Just to get away from the yelling.”

“I need one of these,” Max said, stretching her legs out and leaning back on her hands. “Castle Mayfield doesn’t have the same ring to it, though.”

Will smiled. “I don’t know. I like it.” He uncurled his own legs up to sit the same way she was. “But if you like Castle Byers better, you’re always welcome here. Totally. All friends welcome.”

“Thanks, Will,” Max smiled for the first time in a long time, and Will felt like a weight slipped from his shoulders at the sight.

A clap of thunder made them both jump. Will peeked at the sky through a crack in the wooden wall in time to see a flash of light against the grey clouds. “The sky’s dark,” he said, “I think it’s gonna rain.”

Max blinked a stray raindrop out of her eyelashes. “I think its raining already, genius,” she teased.

The odd drop got to them, but the patchy roof of Castle Byers offered at least a bit of protection. It felt nice, and Max took the opportunity to lift her face to the rain, letting it cool her flushed cheeks and wash away her salty tears.

“Max?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for telling me what you told me. I’m…I’m really sorry your stepdad is making things so hard.”

“Yeah, well, just be glad you don’t have one. You’re better off,” the steely gleam had returned to Max’s eyes, her mouth set in a thin line.

Will licked a stray raindrop from the corner of his lip. “I’ve never even thought of having a stepdad before, you know? My mom, Jonathan and I – we’re a good team, the three of us.” Like a flash of lighting, Bob’s face came to his mind, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. “I guess not all stepdads are bad. They can’t all be.”

Max closed her eyes and lifted her face to the rain again. “I guess.”

Will hadn’t really let his mind entertain the idea of his mom getting remarried, especially not since last fall. He hoped if his mom ever did get married, it would be to someone kind. Someone who accepted her quirks instead of fighting against them. It wasn’t likely to ever happen – who would be willing to step into his family, as burdened as they were? Who would possibly be able to handle all the issues and possible dangers that seemed to be tethered to them, no matter how hard they tried to escape them?

An idea came to his mind that made him smile. “I hope if my mom ever gets married, she marries someone better than my dad. Someone like…someone like Hopper.”

Max’s eyes flew open, her jaw dropping nearly to her knees. “What? Your mom and Hopper?”

Will laughed. “What? What’s wrong with Hopper?”

"You don't think Hopper is kind of…scary?" Max exclaimed, thinking of the commanding way the Chief carried himself, or the gruff tone he used to accuse her and El of getting into “shenanigans” whenever they were together (El said he was only teasing, but Max wasn’t always sure).

"Scary? No way! He's kind. He’s…he’s like a big teddy bear," Will said.

"Yeah, maybe with you.” Max huffed, punching Will lightly in the shoulder. “That's because he looks at you like you're made of rainbows and good intentions."

That made Will smile. "Maybe I am."

Max shook her head, her eyes shining with amusement. They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment before Will spoke again.

"You and Lucas deserve to be happy too, you know. You could be like them - like Mike and El."

Max looked at Will sadly, but her voice was hopeful. "Really? You think so?"

Will nodded in earnest. "Yeah, I do."

"I don’t know. You don't think people will judge us? That Lucas could...that he could get hurt?"

Will thought of his friend Lucas – stubborn, protective, incredibly brave; loyal to a fault. "I think Lucas can handle it. He's handled more than you know.” He bumped her sneaker with his own. “You can talk to him about this kind of stuff. His girlfriend told me he's really easy to talk to."

Max blushed, a small smile on her lips. “Thanks, Will.”

"And like I said, you’re always welcome to come here to talk or hang out whenever you want. By yourself, or with me, or with Lucas." Will had always been thankful for the safety of Castle Byers, and he wanted to pay it forward, especially to his friends. “It can be a safe space where you don’t have to hide.”

Max didn’t reply but threw herself at Will, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. Just as quickly, she leapt to her feet, reaching out her hand to help him up, too. “Come on. Dustin has probably given up now that its storming. We should get back to the clearing before they get worried about us.”

Will took her hand and let her pull him to his feet. As they stepped out of the fort and into the woods, he felt better than he had when the game started. The rain was cold, but he wasn’t afraid anymore.

“Hopper and your mom,” Max muttered under her breath, shaking her head. “There’s no way I’m not telling El about this.”

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #my writing #hide and seek #sfs #yes here i am a year late #max mayfield #will byers #will anyone read this? #idk and i almost dc because im so happy its DONE

[albionscastle]

First Impressions 12 - California Dreaming

I know it’s taking forever to finish these fics. This whole year has been pretty hard on us financially and with my health.....my anxiety and depression seem to be winning right now but I am fighting them, hard. 

This chapter took me a month to write and I still am not happy with it.

Fic Masterlist

In this chapter, an unexpected meeting brings a lot of feelings to the surface.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS 12 CALIFORNIA DREAMING

LIZZIE

She wanted to be happy for Charlie, she really did and deep down perhaps she was. But she couldn’t help the feeling of betrayal that had hit her the moment he had told her his news.

“I’m moving to Los Angeles, Red, I got an offer that I just couldn’t say no to.”

If she was honest, Lizzie knew just from the look on his face what job he’d taken, but she had at least let him tell her himself. To her credit, she hadn’t yelled, or cried, she wasn’t angry, not even when Charlie mentioned that Colin had been insistent that he had all the right qualifications for the post. Because he did, he had literally gone to school for event planning with a little tourism thrown in for good measure. The “job” that Colin had tried to talk her into was perfect for Charlie and no matter what she thought deep down, she couldn’t justify trying to talk him out of going.

It was 3am on New Years Day and Lizzie had never felt so much like crying. Charlie was asleep in her bed, having spent several hours laying there with her reminding her that he knew how much she hated Colin, how he also knew that he had been the second choice, only asked because Colin knew that taking Charlie away would hurt her. He told her how much he loved her, how he would stay if she asked him to because she mattered more than a job.

She believed him.

So she had swallowed down the pain and told him to go, she was not going to be the reason why he didn’t take a chance to live his dream. For the first time she regretted never having told him what had truly happened with Colin, how bad it had really been. Somehow she had never been able to and to tell him now would have just been an emotional manipulation, and that wasn’t who she was. Charlie would leave, and they had both agreed to act as though it was no big thing, just to piss off Colin.

“You could come with me you know.” this had been whispered several times.

“No, this is what you want Charlie, not me.” she had whispered back. “Besides I would only cramp your L.A style. I’ll come visit though, I promise.”

“Soon, like really soon, Liz. I won’t know what to do without you.”

“You are going to be great, just don’t let Colin bully you. We had to grow up sometime.”

She had said it with a laugh while her heart twisted painfully in her chest, her throat tightening as Charlie had burrowed closer. Growing up sucked, and the lessons never seemed to stop, more than anything she wished she could be 17 again. Back then her only worries had been the SATs and what to wear for junior prom, now it was all huge life altering decisions and feelings that seemed so overwhelming that she just wanted to shrink away and hide.

There was snow falling, heavy and wet and everything outside her window was white and still. Too early for traffic and for the pristine coating to be chewed up by footprints and mud, it was her favorite time of winter. For the first time though, as she looked out and saw the town where she’d lived almost her whole life, she hated it, hated how she felt trapped there, hated that everyone else seemed to be moving forward while she sat still and stagnated. She let the tears come then, fat and wet streaking her cheeks and dampening the front of her shirt. Feeling sorry for herself she wrapped her throw around her shoulders, leaning against the wall and let herself cry for everything, all the things she hadn’t really let herself cry for.

She cried for the girl who’d been all hope and ambition until she let a man take it all away, she cried for the girl curled into a corner trying to protect herself from the fists of that same man, for the daughter who hadn’t been able to tell her parents why and instead had taken on the disappointment of vanished hopes. She cried for all the times she’d been too afraid to change, too afraid to put herself back into the world again, for all the times she’d seen the happy couples in the park and wanted so much to be like them. She cried because she was lonely because she was hurt and tired and because she was wasting her life.

She cried until she was dry and exhausted, swollen eyes unable to remain open as she curled into a ball on the window seat her only escape from the pain being oblivion.

It was still dark when his arms wrapped around her, his body curling in behind her, his breath on her neck. Still mostly asleep she turned in his embrace, burrowing her face into the warmth of his chest, the only place she had ever felt so secure and loved.

“I don’t want you to go, please don’t leave me.” she whispered.

He held her tighter, his breath catching.

“I’ll never leave ye, Elizabeth. I promise.”

No wait, that wasn’t right. Pulling back she tried to focus, confused by the feel of fingers tracing her jaw, lifting her chin to meet his blue eyes in the snowlight.

“I would haf stayed if ye’d asked me, Elizabeth.” he said sadly, his mouth downturned. “Don’t ye know I would haf done anythin fer ye, if only ye’d asked.”

Jolting upward with a gasp Lizzie was met with only empty, cold air and an ice caked window. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to catch her breath, fingers feeling for the presence of another human only to meet nothing. It was so real, fuck, how could it have felt so real?

How could it have been him? It was Charlie who was leaving, he was the one she wanted to stay so why the fuck had her exhausted mind conjured up that vision of Jack? She was glad he was gone, had barely even thought about him in the weeks that had passed, except in anger whenever she saw how sad Maya was. How could she have such a dream about the man who she was certain had instigated her sister’s broken heart?

How could she suddenly want nothing more than to fall asleep again just so she could feel that feeling again?

In true Lizzie fashion instead of dealing with the way she was feeling, she buried her head in the sand. The next week was taken up with work and getting Charlie ready for his move to California and she devoted all her energy to making sure he would never know how much she didn’t want him to go. It was exhausting, pretending to be happy, refraining from every conversation being a warning to watch out for Colin. He deserved someone to be excited for him, and not just his Dad, though Mr Lucas was extremely vocal in his happiness for Charlie’s opportunity. Lizzie couldn’t fault him, the only thing that really mattered was Charlie.

Unless of course you spoke to her mother.

Chloe was all smiles and encouragement for Charlie ...in public, privately though Lizzie hadn’t heard the end of it since the news broke. Oh how upset she was that Lizzie had turned down both a proposal and a job offer that would have put her in the world her mother saw fit. Charlie was a good enough boy but he wasn’t her Lizzie and she couldn’t stand Mr Lucas and his constant crowing about his good luck. What was going to become of them all now with Maya dumped and Lizzie intent on ruining them all? Lizzie was just glad that Maya was far enough away not to have to listen to it all and witness her heartbreak paraded around like this.

Colin had been wisely silent on the whole matter, though Lizzie had seen him at least twice at Charlie’s as they packed. It was probably wrong of her but she made sure she ‘inferred’ that Charlie knew everything, and that one false move on his part would bring his castle crashing down. There was a perverse pleasure to be had in the way he blanched whenever he saw the two of them talking and for the first time Lizzie actually believed that there was going to be a time when the mere thought of him didn’t fill her with fear or nausea. Now that he couldn’t bully her anymore he had lost the hold she never knew he’d had, three years of her life wasted being afraid of...that.

“I’ll text you every day and send a million pics.” Charlie was saying as they walked through the airport. “And you are coming the first week of March, I’ll buy the ticket.”

“If you want me there Charlie, I’ll be there.” It was hard to keep from crying as she held his hand and even Mr Lucas looked to be on the verge of tears. “I’ll keep an eye on your Dad too.”

“I think he’ll be fine, he’s only been waiting for me to get my ass into gear and move out so Sarah Long can move in.” Charlie chuckled.

“Since when has that been a thing?”

“Oh about a year, they started taking some class at the Y and apparently sparks flew, it’s better than leaving him alone, he wouldn’t be able to cope.”

Mr Lucas had, about 15 years previously, been struggling with alcohol after his wife had up and left, taking their daughter Mariah. As it turned out she wasn’t his daughter and the betrayal had left the poor man desolate and his then 14 year old son the only functioning adult in the household. Lizzie had been on her way home from school when she had seen the neighbor boy struggling to carry his father into the house and without thinking had gone to help. That day had been the day that her and Charlie had cemented their friendship. There were no questions, no judgement just an offer of a friend and a few meals when she could sneak them past her mother. When Chloe had discovered what her 11 year old daughter was up to she had jumped in and taken control, driving Mr Lucas to a rehab facility and keeping Charlie with them until he was well enough to return. Lizzie’s parents both had made sure the truth about his condition never got out, they’d paid the mortgage and bills so he wouldn’t lose everything and then given him a stern lecture about abandoning his son in drink.

He hadn’t touched a drop since and had become the best father a young  man could ask for, but he had never been without Charlie so it was a relief to Lizzie to find out about Mrs Long, though she was going to have to have a word with her boss about keeping secrets.

It remained to be seen if she would be alright without him, Charlie was her rock and the person who could make her laugh at herself whenever she got too morose, she was going to miss that.

And the hugs, those most of all, so for the last one she held tight, not wanting to let him go. Breathing in the smell of the only person in the world outside her family that she truly loved, Lizzie almost believed that this was the end of everything.

“Remember Red, what we talked about. It’s time to let go and fly.”

Nodding forlornly she let Charlie wipe her tears away.

“I’m only a phone call away, Liz, remember that.”

“Unless you have a hot date.” she tried to joke.

“Even then, I’ll always be on the other end if you need me.”

And then he was gone, leaving her and Mr Lucas crying on the other side of the airport glass.

Leaving her empty.

JACK

He liked Italy, the food, the architecture, the history, the people. If he wasn’t so in love with Scotland he was sure he could be quite happy here, even in the summer. Not that he had much of an idea about how hot the summers might be, but they couldn’t be anything worse than he’d already experienced. Here at least there were some nice hills, a cool stone villa and a pool, for when the weather got warmer. Right now though he sat the window staring at the vista, admiring the beauty and completely ignoring the glass of wine he’d poured himself. The book he was supposed to be reading rested on his lap, opened to the first page and then forgotten as his thoughts had run wild.

It was the dream, he told himself, that stupid fucking dream.

He blamed it on his da, not that he’d ever let him know that, but he’d been a semi wreck since Christmas and all because of that one fucking photo.

And perhaps the many more that’d he’d secretly taken from Elizabeth’s Instagram account.

It wasn’t as if he looked through them every day, he tried to reason, but it was often, too often. With a sigh he noticed a few snowflakes flitting about on the wind, remembering that he’d read a weather report for Chicago saying it was going to be 50 below. He didn’t want to be concerned about Elizabeth, but he was. Would she still go to work in that cold or would she stay cosy in her flat? Would they lose power, was it even safe to go outside? If he was there he would turn off her alarm, call her off sick and make sure they were wrapped up in her duvet watching Netflix all day.

But he wasn’t there.

No-one really was, not for Elizabeth. He knew Charlie had moved to L.A a fortnight before, Maya was still in London so who was there to make sure that his red headed spitfire didn’t do something stupid like shovel snow in Antarctic weather?

It should have been him.

That was the mantra going through his head when he’d woken in the early hours of the morning, tangled in his sheets and filled with misery. It had felt so real, her arms around his shoulders as she hugged him behind. He’d felt her hands under his, felt the fall of her hair over his neck as her mouth brushed his cheek.

“You left me.” she whispered in his ear. “Why did you leave?”

He’d turned to her, to tell her that he was sorry, that he wasn’t going anywhere and all he saw was her fading into shadows.

“It’s too late now.” she whispered before vanishing.

He was afraid to go back to sleep.

It was just a fucking dream.

Elizabeth Bennett didn’t care one bit if he was here or there and that was the truth, no matter what his da said. Attraction was just that, he was sure she’d forgotten all about him as soon as he left, except for a few angry memories. It was him who was sitting here moping, beating himself up over what he could have done differently. To what end? It would have gone the same way except maybe they would have had a few pleasurable bouts in the bedroom before he left town. In the end he still would have ended up right where he was right now, so what was the point of wishing it had been different?

She was different, that was the damn point. Elizabeth had been like a breath of fresh cold air in his lungs, a wake up call to the cunt he’d become. Unlike anyone he’d met before she had been so open, even if that was a bad thing for his ego, not once had she given him an inch when he didn’t deserve it. The woman had been trying, challenging and stubborn, but she’d also been kind, thoughtful, funny and warm. It was those moments that he held close to his heart now, few and far between he now realised that they had been everything. He’d given her no reason to like him or respect him but she had shown him a person who would build him up when deserved and tear him down to earth just as quickly. She had wanted nothing that he had to give, except maybe common friendliness which he’d withheld, his profession, his money...none of it meant anything to her and that meant something to him.

He had fucked up royally.

LIZZIE

When Maya came home Lizzie was disappointed that she’d been unable to get any sort of closure. Except for when it came to Caro. On that subject her sister had a surprising amount to say.

“I feel like such an idiot Lizzie. I can’t believe I actually thought than woman was my friend.” she was stomping around Lizzie’s place, a pint of ice cream in her hand, waving the spoon about.

Lizzie ducked the flying metal, flopping down on the couch with a sigh. They’d been working on Maya’s law school options, as well as her own options when the paperwork for Oxford had come to the forefront. Lizzie had never seen Maya so angry, but she was worried that her sister was going to let her heart rule her head and needed to get her back on task.

“She did a good job of playing the part, May, you really can’t be blamed.”

“She’s a fucking actress! And you saw right through her.”

“In your defence she was a total bitch to me from day one, she was nice to you.”

“Why did she even bother?” Maya muttered miserably. “She made it perfectly clear that she couldn’t stand me when we met up in London.”

“I’m so sorry, May.”

“I mean I can see her being busy and all, but to realise that she ignored all my emails….that just hurt. If I hadn’t run into her at Harrods I never would have seen her.”

“If she wants to be a snobby bitch then let her, she’s got nothing on you.”

“I just, God Lizzie if you could have seen her face when she told me that Tom knew I was there and just didn’t care. It was like she enjoyed it.”

“She did. Look she’s wanted nothing more than to separate you and Tom from the beginning and she’s succeeded, hurting you more is just icing on the cake for her. She’s the sort that thinks she’s better than everyone else and she would stomp on her own mother to get ahead.”

“Why didn’t he want to see me? I just wish I knew what I did wrong.”

Nothing, Lizzie thought bitterly. It was all him, he was the one who’d barrelled into Maya’s life and turned it upside down before ghosting her and leaving her a mess. It was up to her now to help pick up the pieces of what he’d left behind. She would never forgive him for breaking her sister’s heart. Never.

It wasn’t until after Maya had gone to sleep that Lizzie cleared away all the paperwork they’d been working on, seeing the acceptance letter from Oxford. Maya had circled the tuition amount and added a question mark, it was the harder choice but it was the school she’d always dreamed of going to. She left it on top of the pile, it was doable but Maya had refused to even consider it since Tom left and it would be a shame if she let him stand in the way of her dream. Lizzie refused to watch her sister walk the same path she had.

With that in mind she made some tea and sat in the window to watch the snow. February was the worst month for ice and cold and it made everything so miserable. From under the cushion she pulled out the papers she had been working on when Maya had shown up in a tizzy. They were crumpled from being shoved away so quickly but not so much that she couldn’t finish filling them out. If Maya and Charlie’s situations had taught her anything it was that it was high time she looked to her own dreams. She had options, none of which would be cheap, but like she would tell Maya, it was worth it.

There were seven envelopes by the time she was done, tucked away inside a book until she was ready to tell her family what she had planned. It could be that she received seven rejections and she didn’t think she could live with the pity if that happened. Best to wait until she knew exactly what her options were before she started letting people know.

It was tempting to just lay back in the window and sleep with the illusion of snow falling around her but she had been avoiding the window seat since New Years, the dream that she’d had about Jack had unsettled her that much. Something else she was avoiding, she would die before she would admit to how much she’d wanted it to be real, for just a few moments. It hadn’t lasted, it was all too easy to remember all the reasons why the man was a complete jackass, but that dream had felt so real, and she’d felt so good in it. In her most private moments she even admitted to herself that she’d known the moment she’d smelled dream man that it was Jack and not Charlie, and still she’d begged him to stay.

It was fucked up.

What was left of February and most of March was simply spent as it always had been, the weekly dinners, work and navigating the snow and ice outside her door. She took to working concessions for her landlord, everyone in a 10 mile radius came to the movies when the weather got bad, there was nothing else to do. It helped him out and he even paid her, money that she put straight into her savings. Responses to her applications had yet to arrive and she didn’t expect them to for a couple of months, but she was going to save anyway. Shaving down her already limited spending was easy enough, she got rid of her streaming services, her two monthly boxes and sold her car, every penny going to her fund. She could watch any movie in her building for free and the library was a block away. Eating at work whenever she could she cut down on food costs...ice cream was now a luxury item, much to Maya’s disgust. Lizzie was determined though, she’d said it before and been derailed by one thing or another, it was time to face the future.

Whatever that meant.

Right now it meant that she needed to stop procrastinating and pack for the trip she was anticipating and dreading in equal measure. Good to his word, Charlie had kept in touch daily, even though the two months he’d been gone still felt like a lifetime. Which was why she hadn’t said no when he’d offered to fly her out to him the last week in March, even though she knew it would mean she had to see Colin. Charlie still had to work, but according to him he just couldn’t go another day without seeing his best mate. So she’d wrangled the time off work and decided to brush off her worries, they would all still be there waiting when she got back and she deserved a little bit of a break.

It felt strange to have her swimsuit in a bag when there was still a foot of snow on the ground and more expected while she was away. Even stranger was the fact that Lydia hadn’t made a peep about not being invited, even though normally she would have been pouting and moaning for at least a week. She hadn’t even raised a brow which Lizzie found suspicious enough that she asked Maya to keep an extra close eye on her, something was up with that girl. Another problem that would no doubt be waiting there for her when she got back.

However much she thought she had missed Charlie was nothing, the moment she saw him standing in the airport with a stupid sign she had started bawling, clutching at him as though he would disappear if she let go for even a second. There were almost as many tears from him as well and later, as they stood watching the sunset at the beach they laughed about the looks they had gotten as people walked by. Perhaps they had been a little more dramatic than the occasion deserved, but that was them and everyone else could be damned.

The real drama came the next morning, standing in the lobby of the building where Charlie now worked, making plans to meet up for lunch. She had felt the presence of Colin before she saw him and so she was able to compose herself long enough to plaster a fake smile on her face. The woman he was with was stunning, all perfectly coiffed silver hair and a black suit that probably cost more than her car had. The famous Ann DeBourgh if she had to guess. To be honest she looked like a complete snob and to her credit, Lizzie managed not to flush as pale eyes looked her up and down with a measure of contempt.

“ Charles darling, do introduce us to your ...friend.”

It was Colin who butted in, ever the suck up.

“Ann, this is Elizabeth Bennet.”

The way he said her name and the raised silver brow that followed told Lizzie all she needed to know about the impression the woman had of her.

“Ah yes, the Bennet girl. Well Colin I have to say that she never would have done, Charles is much more suited to the position.”

Colin looked smug while Lizzie inwardly seethed.

“What is it that you do again, Elizabeth?”

“I work in a bakery right now, but I’ll be in school for my PhD come fall.”

Colin’s mouth frozen open like a fish made that little white lie worth it, after all she hadn’t actually been accepted anywhere yet.

“Hmmmm, interesting.” Ann murmured. “And how old are you exactly?”

None of your fucking business you rude old bat.

“I’ll be 27 in a few weeks.” she ground out through clenched teeth, looking at Charlie for help.

“All of Lizzie’s sisters are quite successful for being so young. Her sister Maya has been accepted to Oxford.” he supplied proudly.

“Quite a feat considering their background, I’m told.”

Lizzie wondered what the fuck Colin had been saying about her family.

“You mean the fact that we are almost all adopted? We were all babies so we have no background that’s any different from Charlie, or Colin, though perhaps we haven’t had mommy and daddy’s money to help us on the way. I think that actually makes for a far better measure of character.”

Lizzie shrugged her shoulders, loving how red Colin’s face had gotten and the fact that she had apparently rendered the old bitch speechless.

I’ll see you at lunch Charlie.” she hugged him quickly and made her escape while she still had the upper hand, though she was bitter for several more hours.

By the time she was due to meet Charlie she had exhausted her patience with downtown L.A, especially since she wasn’t actually shopping. Everything was overpriced and trendy, a far cry from her interests anyway. It had been pretty cool to see the Walk of Fame and the Chinese Theatre but she planned to head back to Charlie’s apartment as soon as they were done with lunch rather than see any more of the city.

He was late, of course, no doubt due to Colin and Ann, but she was determined not to let them get to her any more than they already had. She ordered a Coke and opened her book, sure he would be along in just a few minutes.

Seeing his jeans out of the corner of her eye about 20 minutes later, she closed her book with a smile ready to playfully scold him for trying to stand her up. Turning in her seat, her laugh died as she came face to face with a pair of very familiar and equally surprised blue eyes.

“Jack!”

JACK

Elizabeth was here! Jack almost couldn’t contain his agitation as he sat in Ann’s office, their meeting going far too long for his liking. He had never liked the woman, but she was the best publicist and agent in the business so he dealt with her when he had to and no more than that. Sadly she happened to be in L.A for the same period that he was filming so he couldn’t avoid her, but he supposed it was better than having to speak to that snake Colin Ryan. Instead he pretended to pay attention as Ann rattled off a bunch of upcoming projects that she thought he might be suited for, knowing she would already have a bloody portfolio and bag of scripts prepared. His mind wandered to seeing Charlie on his way in, the surprise in the man’s eyes when he’d greeted him and the fact that he’d mentioned to one of his co workers that he was meeting his friend from home for lunch.

Which meant of course that Elizabeth was in L.A, perhaps only a few blocks away right now. It was a sign. Why else would she just happen to be visiting the one week he was filming? Perhaps this was his chance to make something happen, to tell her how he felt. All these months of torment on his part could finally be coming to a head and maybe, just maybe he could make her see him. Slowly though, he couldn’t just barrel on up to her and confess his attraction out of the blue, he would have to test the waters first.

The meeting was finally over and Jack bolted out of the office like the devil was on his tail, looking for Charlie. Who happened to be walking toward the same office looking harried and annoyed.

“Jack.” he nodded, checking his watch.

“Late fer summan?” Like lunch with my future girlfriend?

“I’m supposed to be meeting Lizzie for lunch now, but I just got called to a meeting.”

“Deliberately, no doubt.” Jack scoffed, earning a laugh from the other man. “If ye wan, I can go meet her an tell her yer runnin late. Tha way she won’t be waitin alone.”

“Really? That would actually be awesome man, thanks.”

That had been easy, Charlie had told him where she was and Jack had made the walk quickly, anxious to see her. His courage all but deserted him the moment she spied her through the window of the diner, nose in a book and hair glinting in the sunlight. Suddenly his palms were sweaty and his breath was catching in his throat. What did he say? Hello there Elizabeth, I think I’m crazy about ye? Fancy seeing ye here? Pathetic, everything he could think was either mad or sounded like a cheesy pick up line.

“Yer a grown man fer fuck’s sake.” he muttered as he pulled open the door and walked slowly over to the booth where she sat.

She didn’t notice him at first, turning the pages of her book he could see she was engrossed. He stood for a moment beside her seat just watching, trying to figure out what to say when she must have realised he was there. Her head turned, a huge, teasing smile on her face, something he was very surprised to see.

“Jack!”

She sounded a little breathless and he took that as a good thing, especially when the smile stayed in place.

“Hello, Elizabeth.”

He supposed he should explain why he was there.

“Ehm, I had a meetin wi Ann and she called Charlie in as I was leavin. He wanted me tae let ye know he would be along as soon as he can.”

“Oh, ok then. Ummm do you want to sit?”

Another hopeful sign. He sat and ordered a water and for a few minutes they sat in awkward silence. He couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“So what brings you to L.A?”

“Oh, well I’m filmin here fer a week or so.”

“Of course.” she murmured.

He wanted to just stare at her, take her in and just enjoy the fact that she was in front of him again when he’d thought he would never see her again. His fingers itched to brush the curl on her neck that had escaped her ponytail, in fact he just ached to touch her in any way possible, even for a moment.

“Charlie seems tae be doin well.”

A soft smile and a bit of sadness, she missed her friend.

“He does love it here, it suits him much better than Indiana that’s for sure.”

“I think Ann really likes him so that’s good.”

“Mmmm Hmmm.”

“How is yer family?”

“All good, Maya was just in London for Christmas, shame you didn’t get to see her.”

“It is.” Ok now he just felt uncomfortable.

“I’m surprised Caro didn’t mention it, they ran into one another at Harrods.”

She had, in fact, mentioned it quite meanly and with glee. But of course he couldn’t tell Elizabeth that.

“I donna see Caro so there’s been no opportunity I guess.”

That lie didn’t sit at all well and Jack felt his stomach lurch.

Elizabeth was about to say something else when Charlie’s arrival interrupted them. Though he was invited to stay, Jack just wanted to leave, not wanting to feel the jealousy at their open and deep affection. Plus the subject of Maya had soured his mood, and not for the first time he wondered if he had done the right thing. But it had been done and he couldn’t go back and change it, even if he wanted to, which he didn’t. He might be trapped like this but Tom didn’t have to be and he was better off for the severed connection. In fact, Jack thought, it might be best if he himself did the same thing, a clean break, never see Elizabeth again. Or internet stalk her. Or think about her.

Yeah, he laughed bitterly as he walked away, that was never going to happen.

#jack x reader #jack lowden imagine #jack lowden #jack lowden blurb #jack lowden fanfiction #jack lowden fic #jack lowden x reader #pride and prejudice au

[vixxiedust]

The Scholar’s Love Ch. 1

Genre: Romance, Drama, Alternate universe

Pairing: KenxOC

Warning: none

Summary:    

“Don`t you want to find a good husband and get married?” he raised an eyebrow, “Someone noble, handsome, valiant, brave, courageous…”

I narrowed my eyes. Was he trying to describe himself? My sister would probably gush over a man like him but I wasn`t really familiar with men. I never paid much attention to them and as expected I spent most of my life away from them because propriety demanded that.

“My parents will choose a husband when the time comes,” I answered flatly.

  One.

I straightened myself in my blue robes trying to look taller and more authoritative. I knew that it was useless since I hardly looked the part but I could see the girl in front of me trembling with fear and it wasn`t a pretty sight.  I wondered why she was so scared, none of us were going to be slaughtered, none of us was a criminal. It was Acceptance day, a day of glory for all of us. Maybe she felt small and visible because there were only twenty of us. Our line was practically non-existent compared to the men`s one. One hundred of them, advancing towards the Palace in steady strong pace expecting to have a bright future as officials, to help governing our country of Nava.

All of us wore navy blue robes with a tiny white dragon embroidered on our chest. Those who`d be elevated in rank later would switch to a bigger silver dragon but the gold embroidery was reserved only for the royal family. The robes made for the future female officials were slightly wider, made to resemble a dress but other than that the uniform wasn`t so different. The difference lied in the fact that most of us would probably never make it beyond librarians or historians. But had I been born fifty years ago I`d have only dreamed about being accepted here. I`d have remained the daughter of a third rank scholar doomed only to marry and produce kids.

I threw a glance at the male line. Some of the young men there were ogling at  us. Probably not me since I rarely looked agreeable and consciously kept my face as stern as possible but there were some very beautiful daughters of scholars around me. The girl in front of me was blushing furiously from what I could see.

“Raise your head,” I whispered to her and tried to steady her when she swayed startled by my voice, “They won`t dare to say anything to you if you don`t look scared.”

She drew a weak shaky breath and tried to look at me while walking. Unlike me she was wearing makeup. She was beautiful; her hair lighter than mine and braided in the obligatory way for female officials.

“But it`s scary.”

“It`s not,” I said reassuringly, “We are going to serve His Majesty and our country. You can`t be a mess. You represent yourself, your family and the monarchy.”

She nodded hastily, and then she straightened her body a little.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

I patted the side of her arm and continued our solemn march towards the gates. Then we stopped at the parade ground in front of the House of Justice and Valor. There was the male part of the Royal family. I couldn`t see them well because I was too far behind but I could make out  the ceremonial robes of our King, the Crown prince and his two brothers. On both sides there were the Ministers in robes of brilliant azure blue.

I heard the ceremonial drums and fell to my knees along with everyone around me. Suddenly I felt so small, like a tiny ant in the sea of more ants, pressing my forehead to the cold ground. I wondered how my sister was doing.

She was probably very excited for her own Acceptance day. I tried to think of her to seek some comfort and feel less alone. She wasn`t far away from here and she was probably now bowing to the Queen and the Princess in front of the House of Elegance and Virtue. I knew that she used to dream of this day for years. She always wanted to be a lady-in-waiting, and then part of the harem, a glorious concubine dressed in silk and precious stones.  She wouldn`t stop dancing when our robes arrived three days ago. This is when we knew that we were approved. For me it was countless of nights of studying and writing and for her ruthlessly cultivating her beauty and talents. And in the end it all paid off. Now we needed to make our family proud, each of us in her own way.

“Future officials,”  the booming voice of the King reached my ears and I quickly directed my thoughts towards the current task, “Today you begin a journey towards self-cultivating to serve your country and its citizen. From now on you shall dedicate your lives to this purpose and the this purpose alone because the nation needs you. We have the army to protect it but we also have you to help me govern it well.”

King Jiyeong, I thought, the second King of the Dragon Dynasty. My father used to describe him as a trustworthy ruler, one who never let things out of control, who looked into the details. And probably rightfully so. His dynasty was young to our ancient kingdom, his ancestors fought with King Yalta from the Crow Dynasty to get to where they were today. They had to set new customs, new rituals, new fashion, everything to erase the previous rulers and their ways.

The Kingdom of Nava was founded by too many tribes and each of them had different beliefs. It wasn`t easy to unify all of them even after centuries of settling on the same piece of land.

I sighed and returned my attention to the Kings`s speech.

“Follow the laws and keep the order. Strive for perfection and bring glory to Nava.”

There was a moment of silence so that we make sure that the King had nothing more to say. Then all of us bellowed:

“Glory to the one true king!”

I finally rose from the ground. I did what I could to rub my sore knees and looking at the other officials around me I wasn`t the only one.

We didn`t have much time to tend to our poor joints though because we were herded by people in brown robes towards three massive stone tables. I saw the long lists spreading like bed sheets. Somewhere there was my name and its assigned position. We weren`t supposed to start with any important position but it also depended on the ranks of our families. Having a third rank was neither good, nor bad, just in the middle. What was worse was the fact that I was a woman.

I was grouped together with girl in front of me. She looked a lot calmer now, as if the worst part was over when in fact it had only just began. It was up to us now  to show what we were really capable of.

We waited patiently and it didn`t take much time before it was her turn.

“Name,” the man at the table demanded without even raising his eyes.

“Adra An,” she mumbled, her voice trembling once again.

“Library,” the man said, “Next.”

“Nala Ae.”

He threw a quick glance at me. Maybe he had heard of my father.

“Library. Next.”

I knew I couldn`t expect much but I still felt disappointed. Adra was there waiting for me. She looked relieved.

“We`re together,” she chimed happily clinging to my sleeve.

I wish I could return the smile. The Grand Library was the standard starting point for most female officials. Men usually got assigned to different departments at  the ministries. I sighed deeply at the thought of spending my time with dusty books rather than people.

“Well, let`s go,” I did my best to look enthusiastic and headed towards the group of officials who were supposed to work there as well.

“It`s not that bad,” Adra tried to comfort me, “Many others never had the chance to come to the Palace in the first place.”

I nodded. After all she was right.

---

I slowly went down the polished wooden ladder after returning a couple of atlases to their rightful places. Then I scanned my desk where a dozen more lied stacked neatly.

Three days had passed since Acceptance day and things were going as expected. Boring. It was boring. Mornings were nice since we had lectures with renowned scholars but afternoons dragged on and on at least here in the library. It was something I had to endure for now. Later when gaining more experience I could submit a memorial to the King and eventually attract his attention. I had a long way ahead of me though. No one came with brilliant ideas three days into their new duties, so in order to outshine hundreds of intelligent men in His Majesty`s court I had to study diligently for years.

I had this dream of attending court like a proper high rank official but in the history of this dynasty there had been only one woman who was able to achieve that and she lived during the reign of the previous king. I knew my chances were low.

I grabbed a few maps and checked if they were rolled properly. And since they were I headed to the shelf dedicated to topographic maps.

It wasn`t that bad, I tried to soothe myself, I liked the smell of books. The other officials here were nice and helpful. We slept in good rooms and all of us, the new ones, had our own small court. It was quiet most of the time so I could focus on my studies and work. I couldn`t complain really.

I carefully placed the maps on the shelf and headed back to my desk. To my surprise there was someone standing there. I could only see his back but he was tall and lean and was tracing an open map with his finger.

I slowly approached the stranger and sensing a movement behind him he spun his body to face me. I stopped dead in my tracks. He was a young man with soft pillowy lips, full eyebrows and dark eyes. His robes were the color of honey and despite being sewn to be only informal attire, they were adorned with elaborate embellishments such as branches and leaves. He was what most people would categorize as charming I suppose.  And noble. He was definitely noble. Probably part of the extended royal family.

I curtsied awkwardly partly because I never cared to learn these things properly. My mother used to scold me a lot for that.

“May I help you?” I asked.

He didn`t bow in return which confirmed that he was indeed way higher in the hierarchy than me. Instead he looked at me from head to toe and his eyes lit playfully. I wasn`t ugly but I also wasn`t the prettiest girl out there, so it baffled me.

“You`re new,” he stated and to  my horror he casually sat on top of my desk.

I felt the urge to pull the open map away from him before it crinkles but I had to contain it somehow because I couldn`t afford to face the consequences of pushing a nobleman from his seat of choice. So I just swallowed hard and nodded.

“Which house?” he puffed his full lips.

“Ae,” I almost hissed at him. I needed him to remove his bottom from the map as quickly as possible but he didn`t seem in the mood to budge, “Do you need me to help you with something?”

“Ah, I was just looking for a map but that`s not important now,” he waved dismissively and continued mumbling to himself, ”Ae… Ae… Ah, could it be that your father is Ying  Ae.”

My father has been active in court lately, so no wonder that his name was familiar to the young man.

“The very same, my lord,” I answered and grabbed the map from the desk.

He almost tumbled down trying to dodge it but I wasn`t going to care at this point. But he didn`t seem to mind it at all actually because he let out a giggle.

I rolled the map carefully and walked to its respective shelf. I heard his steps behind me. He wasn`t going to let meoff so easily.

“It must be pretty boring to work here.”

“It`s only temporarily, my lord, everyone should start their career from somewhere,” I placed the map.

“Oh, an ambitious lady!” he exclaimed. I couldn`t shake off the feeling that he was toying with me.

           He leaned on the shelf casually towering over me. His body omitted a sweet musky smell.

“Don`t you want to find a good husband and get married?” he raised an eyebrow, “Someone noble, handsome, valiant, brave, courageous…”

I narrowed my eyes. Was he trying to describe himself? My sister would probably gush over a man like him but I wasn`t really familiar with men. I never paid much attention to them and as expected I spent most of my life away from them because propriety demanded that.

“My parents will choose a husband when the time comes,” I answered flatly.

Many female officials never married. At least those without a proper backing. They basically led a life of a nun till the day they died. I tried to push this thought out of my mind.

“So you don`t want to choose for yourself?”

He bent a little so that his face was inches away from mine. The fragrance which came from him intensified.

I wasn`t someone who blushed easily but his closeness made me uncomfortable. Partly because I was taught my entire life that men and women go separately except if they are married. His frivolous behavior was too much for me. Yet I spent a minute studying his eyes. They were deep dark brown like bottomless pits which devoured light.

“Everyone with an able body and bearable personality would do,” I answered at last and took a step back to break the spell between us, “As long as my marriage does not interfere with my job as an official, I am fine with anything.”

He bit his lower lip to suppress his laughter.

“Every girl dreams of her future husband,” he said confidently, “Even  those who take the official exams.”

I shook my head.

“I never did.”

He stared in me and I could see that he was very skeptical about it.

“Maybe you haven`t met the right man… until now.”

I blinked a couple of times. Was I mistaken or his voice sounded almost seductively?  

For the first time in my life I met someone who`d openly say indecent things. I have heard that some of the members in the royal family were spoiled rotten and good for nothing but I imagined they would indulge in such behavior in the privacy of their own manors. Or brothels.

“I can assure you, my lord, that I have YET to meet such man.”

He clasped the fabric of his robes right above his heart dramatically.

“Ah, that hurts so much,” he whined, ”But the future lies ahead and I have just planted the seed of love in your heart.”

The seed of love? I wanted to say something clever to him, something to insult him in a subtle but my mind was blank. All I felt was indignation which threatened to make me faint. Luckily I wasn`t that frail.

Who was that man after all? He never introduced himself in the first place.

“We shall meet again, my lady,” he said finally making his exit, “I`ll come to keep you company some other time.”

I was ready to gladly send him off when something flashed in front of my eyes.

“My lord!” I called after him.

He stopped and looked at me. But my eyes were fixed on his chest. It has been there the entire time, hidden between the embroidered leaves in plain sight.

“I could do without your company, my lord,” I said with all the courage I managed to muster. Because, gods, I needed it considering who stood before me.

He smiled and disappeared down the staircase.

A tiny golden dragon in between the leaves. A tiny golden dragon on his chest. He wasn`t just part of the extended royal family. He was from the royal family.

The entire time  I had been talking to a prince.

#vixx fanfic #ken fanfiction #jaehwan fanfic #jaehwan fanfiction #imma back in the game with my rusty writing skills cause quarantine #gotta battle depression and anxiety somehow #it`s not my best work but also i haven`t written anything ages soooo #vixx #jaehwan

[calligraphist-artemisia]

Lets Make a Date

Summary: Pidge invites Lance to join her and some family friends for dinner, but neglects to tell him that one of those friends is the renowned pilot of the Kerberos Mission, Takashi Shirogane. (An AU where the Kerberos Mission succeeded and the Galra never captured the crew.)

Pairing: Shance, mildly Kidge

Also posted on AO3 and fanfiction.net (under the username “kishirokitsune”)

I got a request for a fic where Lance has a huge crush on Shiro (in addition to his hero-worship) and couldn’t resist. This was just too much fun to write!

Lets Make a Date

-

“You should have dinner with me tomorrow,” Pidge told him. “Matt and I are going out with some family friends and I could use someone on my side who won't bring up embarrassing childhood stories.”

And Lance, like a fool, had agreed to it without question, figuring it was just dinner with Matt and Pidge. Nothing could go wrong with that. Pidge would definitely warn him if she was inviting him to dinner with, say, famed astro-pilot Takashi Shirogane.

Oh wait.

That was exactly something she would do, because she was simultaneously the best and worst friend ever. (She was, of course, tied for that position with Hunk, who was his BFF and always would be.)

It was too late for him to panic. Too late to work out an excuse as to why he couldn't make it. By the time he realized who he was having dinner with, he was already standing across from Takashi Shirogane.

“Call me Shiro, please,” he said, politely reaching out for a handshake.

Lance wondered if anyone else could tell that he was trembling slightly as he took Shiro's hand. “I'm gay. I mean Lance! I'm Lance!”

Oh no.

Oh no.

A burst of heat rose to his cheeks, growing worse when Pidge nudged him with a knowing grin. The man next to Shiro covered his mouth and coughed discretely in an attempt to hide his amusement.  (Holy crow, it was Keith. Of course it was Keith there to witness him making a complete and utter fool of himself. He'd never live it down.)

Shiro's smile was kind. “It's nice to meet you, Lance.”

After that mortifying introduction, Lance gratefully sat down between Pidge and Matt, glad to keep some distance between himself and Keith, who sat on the other side of Pidge. Unfortunately, that still left Lance directly across from Shiro.

Glaring at Pidge proved ineffective, as she merely winked at him and then turned to strike up a conversation with Keith.

The traitor.

“You know, Shiro, Lance is a pilot as well,” Matt said.

Nope.

Lance was done.

He was one-hundred percent done with anyone with the last name “Holt”. They were all determined to get him to make a fool of himself. Well, he wasn't going to allow it. He wasn't going to play their games. He wasn't-

“Really?” Shiro asked, leaning forward in interest.

Lance wanted to sink into the floor. “I'm just a cargo pilot. It's not a big deal,” he mumbled, shrugging it off.

But Shiro continued to look at him as though he was someone fascinating and worth talking to more; as though a simple cargo pilot was someone important. Lance flushed under the attention.

“I wouldn't say that. Cargo pilots are the backbone of the Galaxy Garrison. Without you, no one would be able to do their job,” Shiro said. “You never know what you'll be asked to transport – it could be delicate technology or food supplies. Important equipment that needs to arrive swiftly and safely. There's a lot you have to take into consideration, and that's no small task.”

Lance could feel his blush spreading across his cheeks, burning its way to his ears. That was honestly the nicest thing he'd ever heard someone say about his job, and he could tell that Shiro genuinely meant every word.

“I guess so... It's just, I always wanted to be able to see parts of space that no one else has. To be someone people look up to,” Lance admitted. “Being a cargo pilot is okay, but it's not my dream.”

Shiro smiled. “Well, I can't promise it's all as exciting as you hope. It's a long road to get assigned the types of missions you want, but I think you have the drive to do it. Don't give up. Not if it's something you really want.”

The waitress interrupted before Lance could come up with a good response, and soon after the focus became what to order.

“Pasta or steak?” Pidge quietly mused next to him.

“Shiro and I are paying, so get whatever you'd like. We are here to celebrate, after all,” Matt told them.

Lance looked up from his menu. “Wait, what are we celebrating?”

“Katie has been picked as Keith's flight partner,” Shiro said, sounding proud as he looked at the two of them.

“Picked. Marched to Iverson's office to demand she be paired with Keith. Same difference,” Matt said with a cheeky grin.

Pidge's blush as she pretended not to hear Matt was definitely something worth investigating. But later. Maybe he'd wait a few days and then bring it up just to watch her sputter. It sounded like appropriate revenge for: (a) neglecting to inform him that Shiro was eating with them, and (b) not telling him the dinner was to celebrate.

(And also, he needed a little more time to process what was happening to his left, because seriously? She had a crush on Keith of all people? Keith, with that stupid haircut and horrendous fashion sense? Pidge had the worst taste.)

“Well, I guess that explains why Admiral Sanda looked like she was about to start spitting fire. She was pushing hard for you to be matched with Griffin,” Shiro remarked.

Pidge crinkled her nose. “I think I'd rather drop out.”

Keith looked at her as though she was the most incredible thing he'd ever seen, and Lance had never been happier to see a waitress return with their tray of drinks, because if he had to watch that for much longer he knew he'd say something regrettable.

Lance gave his order first, and while the others were giving theirs, he pulled out his phone to secretly text Hunk.

To: Hunk | So did u no about Pidge and mullet being flight partners?

Hunk responded almost immediately. 'Yeah, Pidge told me this morning. How's dinner? I wish I could be there.'

To: Hunk | Weird. P sure they're flirting now. Am I in the twilight zone? Am I dreaming??

To: Lance | Nah, if it were one of your dreams Shiro would be shirtless. He's not, is he? Because that would be weird. And inappropriate.

Lance's fingers spazzed over the touchscreen, punching a bunch of letters. 'asdfghjlkajs'

To: Hunk | No

To: Hunk | how do u no that?

To: Hunk | u knew???

To: Hunk | u knew and u didn't tell me????

To: Hunk | friendship over.

Hunk waited until Lance was finished with his panic texting and then responded with one final message: 'Lol, we knew it was the only way you'd show up. You're welcome.'

Lance scowled at his phone.

“Is everything alright, Lance?” Shiro asked.

“Fine!” Lance's voice went a little higher pitched than he liked. “I'm fine. I just, uh – Hunk, our friend, is texting me. That's all.”

“He's in the engineering department, right? You know, if you want to go into space, you'll need a good engineer. Someone you can work well with. Being a pilot isn't a solo gig,” Shiro advised.

Lance shook his head. “Nah, Hunk hates flying. Though...”

Actually, it wasn't a bad idea. Hunk would need to figure out how to handle his motion sickness at some point and there was no one he'd rather team up with than his best buddy. He should probably consider a back-up plan, but the thought of working together with Hunk was so appealing.

He glanced up at Shiro, who was still smiling at him. “I'll think about it. Thanks, Shiro.”

“It's no problem. And if you need any help, just let me know. I wouldn't mind lending you my old notes or any tips I've learned over the years,” Shiro said.

Holy crow. He had to be dreaming.

Lance wasn't sure if he even managed another intelligent response for the rest of dinner. There was so much to think about. So many possibilities. His heart raced at the thought of it all.

For so long he'd held Shiro up as a beacon of what he wanted to be. It'd been full hero-worship when he first started at the Garrison, and after seeing the man around campus a number of times, had budded into a tiny crush. But sitting there and listening to him joke around with Matt and Pidge and watching the brotherly affection he shared with Keith, he became something much more real to Lance.

And as dinner came to a close and they all began to go their separate ways, Lance found that he didn't feel as nervous anymore. Before he left, he even managed a proper: “It was nice to meet you, Shiro.”

Five minutes into his walk home, his phone buzzed with a message from Pidge.

To: Lance | Shiro thinks you're cute and I gave him your number. ;)

Lance grinned the rest of the way home.

#voltron #fanfiction #shance #slight kidge

[queenofglassbeliever]

The other day, @swanqueenisendgameyo made a post about an interesting tidbit about the timeline she found. It was the date on the forms that Roni almost signed when she was going to sell her bar to Victoria. 

It’s kind of hard to see, but if you zoom in you can make out what looks to be June 6, 2018 written at the top of the form. I’ve also made my own discovery that it was a little less than a year between when Ella and Henry met and when Lucy was born, I made a post about it which I’ll link here:

 These two discovers got me thinking about the timeline and I decided to take my own little crack at it. 

As we already know, Henry was born on August 15, 2001. We also know that while the events of HH were happening, Past! Henry was in senior year of high school. So on June 6, 2018. Past! Henry would be starting the school year soon. The curse broke when Past! Henry was graduating. Which would be around May 2019. 

Henry starts his senior year in August of 2018 and graduates in May of 2019. He’s 17 when he graduates high school. He leaves Storybrooke shortly after his 18th birthday and travels to the Magical Forest. The first friend he makes is Jack. They fight giants and travel together for a little while. August 15, 2020 was Henry’s 19th birthday. Jack buys Henry his first drink at the Crimson Crow. They go their separate ways shortly afterwards. In March of 2021, Henry meets Ella. Regina comes to the MF. Emma tells Henry she’s pregnant. Hope Swan is born 8 months later on November 11, 2021. 

Ella was born on March 7, 2001 in Vallestrella. Her mother Cecelia was a fairy and her birth father, Antonio Agama, was a human. Ella has never met her birth father, but she knows of him. When Ella was four years old, she and her mother were banished from Vallestrella. They traveled to Avalor and lived there until Ella was eight years old. Then, they moved to the Magical Forest where Cecelia met and married Marcus Tremaine. Marcus had two daughters from a previous marriage and he adopted Ella as his own. He would become the only true father Ella’s ever known. At the time, Ella was ten years old. When Ella was 14 years old, Rapunzel, Marcus’s first wife, showed up at Tremaine Manor. In May of 2015, the Tremaine’s celebrated Drizella’s 12th birthday. Cecelia was poisoned by Rapunzel and forced to leave her family. Marcus searched for her for a year. 

In December of 2016, Ella and Anastasia fell through the ice of a frozen lake. Marcus was only able to save Ella. Anastasia died at 14. Ella and Drizella were 15 and 13 respectively. Shortly after Ana’s death, Rapunzel arranges for the Prince to kills Marcus. She wants Ella to suffer and knows how much the girl loves her father. Sometime in February of 2017, Marcus and Ella travel to the castle. Marcus has been summoned to tailor new clothes for the Prince and Ella goes along as his assistant. They don’t know that it’s really a trap set up by Rapunzel. The Prince stabs Marcus when he believed them to be alone. He didn’t know that Ella witnessed the entire thing. After Marcus’s funeral, Rapunzel made Ella into a household slave. She’s cruel to her step-daughter and Drizella follows her mother’s example. For the next four years, Ella is abused by her step-family. Drizella receives an invitation to a ball at the castle. Ella sees it as an opportunity to get revenge on the Prince and her own suffering. She knew that killing the Prince would result in her own death by execution. 

Ella’s 20th birthday had just past when she met Henry in March of 2021. He convinces her to not kill the Prince and that there was a happy ending out there for her. The two of them join Princess Tiana’s Resistance. During the next couple of months Henry and Ella fall in love. They have a small wedding ceremony in September of 2021 and Ella becomes pregnant right away. On June 21, 2022 their daughter, Lucy Mills, is born. For the next eight years, the Mills trio live happily ever after. On Lucy’s eighth birthday, June 21, 2030, Drizella casts a dark curse. Not only does the curse take them to the LWM, it also brings them back in time to 2016. For the next two years, everyone lives under the curse. Then, on June 6, 2018, Lucy brings Henry to Hyperion Heights where he meets her single mother, Jacinda, Ella’s cursed self. In May of 2019, Henry breaks the curse when he gives Regina true love’s kiss. The lasted for nearly three years. Regina casts a curse that unites the realms of story. Rather than staying in 2019, Regina brings them to what would've been there present had they’d not been sent back in time. Regina brings them to May, 2033. Lucy’s 11th birthday is celebrated on June 21, 2033. In November of 2033, Regina is crowned the Good Queen of the United Realms. 

As you could probably tell, I mostly stayed focus on Ella and Henry. But if you want to ask me about others, like Robin and Alice or Tiana, feel free too. :) @heatherfield You've always liked my timeline related posts, so I thought you might like this one, too. :D

#ouat #glass believer #henry mills #ella mills #ella temaine #lucy mills #ouat timeline

[citizenscreen]

This is a special guest post by Scott Holleran:

◊

My first experience of this movie was probably on television, probably in fragments. It made an impression but the movie ranged into my memory as a series of scenes disembodied from the whole work. For example, I remember watching the burning of Atlanta and certain, distinctive scenes and not much else. So, my first impressions were perfect for today’s conceptual-deprivation culture. That’s the poverty of being among the TV generation.

It took a long time to appreciate this film as a work of art, which now I know it is. At some point, as I began to take a serious interest in movies, I rediscovered it on home video. Then, again, on disc and possibly again in a revival house on one of those scratchy prints with popping sounds. That a civilization could be gone with the wind came through and I was an admirer. Later, I read about the novel upon which the movie’s based, which, with a romance novel-type jacket design for the mass market paperback edition, was off-putting.

At some point, it dawned on me that Gone With the Wind is an important epic motion picture so I sought its source and read the novel. I was astonished at the brilliant writing. I instantly observed a similarity to my favorite novel, also an epic of American literature and also written by an author who happens to be a woman. Gone With the Wind (1936) by Margaret Mitchell conveys the romanticism, scope and grandeur of Atlas Shrugged (1957) by Ayn Rand and it’s worth noting that Rand’s first novel, too, involved a love triangle woven into the end of an era in her own 1936 novel, We the Living.

After reading Mitchell’s novel, I saw the movie again — and again. Each time, I was more impressed. And, each time, I was more impressed that I was able to be additionally impressed. This is because, as you probably know, the more you know and study a motion picture, the more easily the film can lose its newness, its ability to hold and sustain interest or focus, suspense, tension or sense of plot progression and, as a result, the less likely it can be to stir one’s original passion.

Then, a few weeks ago, I saw Gone With the Wind, which, this year, marks its 80th anniversary in a culture in which it is extremely likely to be impugned or maligned. I saw it for the first time at one of the grandest movie theaters on earth: Sid Grauman’s Chinese theater on Hollywood Boulevard.

And, this time, for the first time, I was moved … to tears.

The nearly four-hour motion picture begins with three characters in Georgia talking about war. This is an essential starting point. The novel more or less begins with this starting point, too. Gone With the Wind frames its story within an argument over the fact of an oncoming war. It’s not that they’re debating the merits of war. They’re discussing the prospect of war as such; they’re considering the impact of war on their lives. So, this, the fundamental choice to face the facts of reality, is the starting point. Not the war itself. Not slavery, the issue in dispute.

Gone With the Wind is not a war movie. Gone With the Wind is not a slavery movie. Any discourse of it as either entirely misses the movie. It is also, strictly speaking, not a romance, though war, slavery and romance factor into its drama to various degrees. Gone With the Wind dramatizes an entire civilization through the life of a single individual.

Her name is Scarlett O’Hara (Vivien Leigh at her best).

Shallow, scheming and self-centered, she’s enraged when she learns during this discussion, in which she’s attempting to ignore the reality of impending civil war, that the object of her desire, Ashley Wilkes (Leslie Howard), plans to marry his cousin, Melanie Hamilton (Olivia de Havilland). In subsequent scenes, the men who will become pivotal to the young, impetuous Scarlett’s life, including her father, Gerald O’Hara, but also Frank Kennedy, Ashley Wilkes, Charles Hamilton and a cad named Rhett Butler, argue war on the merits, whistle “Dixie” and, with the recklessness which exemplifies the pre-Civil War American South, crow about going to war.

In this sense, there is real substance to this movie in terms of its grasp of facts and history. Every Southern deficiency is depicted here. The staggeringly affected manners, the pompous preposterousness, the asinine traditions but also the proportionately and wildly irrational inflation of people’s sense of themselves with regard to their actual merit and worth, let alone the source of their wealth, not the main focus and therefore largely unseen. The fact of slave labor is, however, shown, even if it’s not dramatized, though it is more explicit than most films of the era. House, field and overseer are each crucial elements of Twelve Oaks and Tara, the plantations where Gone With the Wind takes place.

What’s good in the South, too, is depicted. The stunning visuals, the land, manners, socializing and courtship and the gentle way of life. Pretty and feisty Scarlett, who’s earned a reputation for being bolder than her peers, holds court and gets talked about by other females and looked upon by men. The outbreak of civil war occurs within her context.

The plot revolves around Scarlett O’Hara; there is a sense in which her pettiness will be tested by war — and what’s impure about Scarlett is fundamentally what will be Gone With the Wind.

The early evidence is Scarlett standing at the window, looking down upon newlyweds Melanie and Ashley. Here’s the heroine on the inside looking out. Yet think about the meaning of her dilemma; she’s really trapped within the Old South, as the opening titles refer to this archaic slave society. In this sense, Scarlett dramatizes how the South’s ways impair the powerful, too. Her only real saviors, friends and comrades, as far as Scarlett knows, are slaves and an angry Irishman. Everyone else is happily, some even stupidly, off to war. In a flash, again like the title, they are gone. Scarlett is left behind — abandoned, lonely and alone.

What comes next builds character, with an outbreak of measles, a move to Atlanta and the entre of the ridiculous Aunt Pittypat, as cartoonish a figure as in the novel. Scarlett’s Mammy (Hattie McDaniel in one of the screen’s greatest performances), knowing all along what exploits the ambitious young missy has in mind, represents the best of Scarlett’s youthful vigor; Mammy fosters, shapes and marks her charge’s growth. Amid a dance, a bid and donation of a ring, Scarlett learns from her new companion, Melanie, wife of the man she thinks she loves.

Here are women in service at war. This, too, is to the film’s credit. Gone With the Wind remains one of the most intelligent, insightful portrayals of women at war ever made, better and more knowing than the hordes of depictions of today’s mindless women on screen who rarely if ever think about anything having to do with serious issues, let alone war or the men sent to fight them.

With intermittent titles, David O. Selznick’s Gone With the Wind, famously directed by Victor Fleming (The Wizard of Oz), with others also filling in, shifts from breeze to gust with news from Gettysburg. Then, come the war-torn faces of those in Atlanta cast down in bonnets amid news of mass death. Fleming lingers on a list of those killed in action. It is words, not pictures that tell the horrid tale. The camera scrolls down, down, down and down on the same three words.

Cue the theme song “Dixie” as a reprise to the earlier tune’s sense of false jubilation and enter a man of reason, Doctor Meade (Harry Davenport), whose role in the picture is a crucial representation of what will become Scarlett’s education. In a shift to black-and-white color schemes from the rest of the film’s vibrant colors, Gone With the Wind goes from sad and mournful “Dixie” to a musically infused projection of a funeral procession in which Johnny comes marching home.

As Pittypat, Meade, Mammy, Melanie and a young slave named Prissy (Butterfly McQueen) besides Scarlett get dragged, plunged and thrust into the South’s mass death and destruction, in comes Rhett Butler (Clark Gable, brilliantly cast and stellar in the role) with vitality, passion and rage — at the Old South for being the Old South. Butler represents the New South, post-slavery, post-Civil War, though it’s never fashioned or made explicit. What a waste of human life — this is the meaning of his every form of his disgust and he makes no attempt to conceal his emotions or suppress himself in expressing what he feels. Like Scarlett, he is a liberated soul stifled and trapped by the way things are.

There’s music, humor and, during a dance which captures and underscores the surrealism of life during wartime, a total breach from traditionalism. Life remains drab as Scarlett and Atlanta face severe deprivation. Butler has a prostitute, Belle Watling (Ona Munson), to help him ease the chronic anxiety, guilt and agony of war and she’s more than a cliché. The pictures show rain, shadows and the hotly feared Union General William Sherman’s shelling of Atlanta, with churches coming on like a holy calling from God to cease and desist with the Old South rebellion. Pictures of Jesus Christ accompany the sound of moans, the sights of a church and, in one of the movies’ most iconic scenes, the camera pulls back for a scene of mass death and dying.

“Peace be within thy walls“ incongruously graces the screen after Scarlett O’Hara encounters a patient with gangrene. Perhaps you don’t know or remember the grit of Gone With the Wind but it’s there. Between marriages, the making of Scarlett from romantic Southern belle to seasoned war bride happens during Atlanta’s silence and siege. And it isn’t even Intermission.

Before that comes, as Rhett Butler finally kisses Scarlett and enlists in the war for a kind of misintegrated sense of honor, slave Prissy hinges the plot. Prissy’s trauma triggers a key reaction that results in the story’s classic and quite penetrating tale within a tale of three women and a baby. Though this famous scene is generally regarded as humorous, I think after seeing Gone With the Wind in the Chinese theater that simple-minded Prissy’s meltdown underscores the folly of slavery even as it echoes as a call and response to Scarlett’s own earlier cluelessness.

A foreshadowing scene on a bridge marks the end of slavery preceding a scene in which women take refuge in reading (in the novel, it’s a story by Victor Hugo; here, it’s fiction by Charles Dickens). The self-made theme continues with a rainbow followed by blackness, fog and a strange yet familiar place.

The shock and violence of post-war Tara soon becomes clear. Scarlett strikes her sister, Prissy and pretty much everyone else except her mother figure, Mammy, and she forges a secret bond with Melanie over the death of a soldier. By the time war widow Scarlett, who’s remade herself as a businesswoman in post-war Southern society, meets again with her true love Ashley Wilkes, who tells her that he admires her for “facing reality“, the heroine grips the earth and grasps her property rights, legacy and life lessons and vows … to herself and her own ego.

Gone With the Wind essentially carries Scarlett in conversation with herself throughout the epic movie. From that first conversation at Tara with her suitors, the Tarleton twins, to becoming a Confederate captain’s wife in New Orleans and hiring as her subordinate the man to whom she’d once pledged to worship and motherhood, Scarlett O’Hara is both intransigent and indomitable. She will not be struck down.

Like Mammy, the former slave woman whose respect everyone respectable seeks to earn and keep, Scarlett keeps company with herself as a worldly woman alone. She makes mistakes — she makes a terrible parent — and she makes money and love. Scarlett liberates herself from tradition for capitalism, egoism and her own way of life. Gone With the Wind traces her journey in this sense from selflessness to selfishness, in time for the man whose love she finally earns to come full circle with his own mistakes, i.e., drinking alone and taking pity on himself, to reject her with the movie’s most famous line.

“Frankly, my dear…” and the precision with which Mr. Gable delivers the line redeems the film’s previous strife and tension into a single moment. It is tempting to root for what at first might seem like his own redemption. But Gone With the Wind is not the leading man’s story and, on the movie’s terns, it’s a mistake to jeer or cheer the line.

‘Frankly’ spends itself on a serious dramatic moment; it signifies Rhett Butler’s ultimate betrayal of himself — in particular, his idealism — and everything he loves. And it signals one of the screen’s greatest victories.

While the ‘Frankly’ line endures in audience memories, it is tellingly uttered only after man and woman stand as equals on the landing of the staircase from which Scarlett has literally taken a tumble in a penultimate descent — only to rise again — and, also tellingly, it comes before the movie’s last and final line.

“I’ll figure out a way to get him back … tomorrow is another day.”

This is the triumph, the meaning and the glory of Gone With the Wind. It is not a film about the slavery. It is not a movie about civil war. It is not a picture of what war does to a slave, a woman and a man — or a family, a home and way of life, though it rarely gets credit for its insights into each of those dramatizations. There is depth to this movie about Prissy, the overseer, Pittypat, India, Charles, Sue Ellen and more, not just Ashley, Melanie, Mammy, Dr. Meade or Scarlett and Rhett Butler.

Like We the Living, Atlas Shrugged and other epic novels by Hugo, Rand and other great works of literature and movies, it is an expression of the ability of the individual to resist the times, the trials and ruins of the day, rise and never let one’s ego be destroyed. It is the story of a man, or, in this case, a woman — or, in any case, a girl who becomes one — and it is certainly not a romance for romance’s sake. Gone With the Wind depicts the promise not to yield, suffer and be beaten down. It is in this sense, to paraphrase one its admirers, Ayn Rand, a paean to forging the “I” one must learn how to say before one can learn to say “I love you”.

This is why it ends where it vows to once again begin.

—

Gone With the Wind screened during the 10th anniversary Turner Classic Movies festival on April 14, 2019 for its historic 80th anniversary at the Chinese movie theater designed and built by Sid Grauman. This was the 25th anniversary date of the film’s initial airing — the first motion picture showcased without interruption or editing — on Ted Turner’s Turner Classic Movies (TCM) cable channel’s first day of launch. The movie was introduced by TCM’s festival director, Genevieve McGuillicuddy, before the original Robert Osborne introduction from April 14, 1994 was shown before the movie.

  ◊

Scott Holleran began his professional writing career as a newspaper correspondent in 1991. He’s worked in a variety of media, including magazines, broadcasting and Internet ventures. His news, cultural commentary, sports and other topical articles has been published in the Los Angeles Times, Wall Street Journal and Philadelphia Inquirer. You can find Scott on Facebook, Twitter or on his website. I’m thrilled Scott reached out to feature this entry on Once Upon a Screen. I hope there will be others.

  Analysis: GONE WITH THE WIND (1939) This is a special guest post by Scott Holleran: ◊ My first experience of this movie was probably on television, probably in fragments.

#Butterfly McQueen #Clark Gable #David O. Selznick #Gone with the Wind #Harry Davenport #Hattie McDaniel #Leslie Howard #Margaret Mitchell #Olivia de Havilland #Ona Munson #TCM #Victor Fleming #Vivien Leigh

[goonlalagoon]

A Girl with a Badge || Leagues and Legends

I told myself I’d get this done and posted for Saint George’s day, and here we are! A second series rewrite AU for @ink-splotch​‘s fantastic Leagues and Legends books.

Spoilers for the whole trilogy below.

(Read on Ao3)

The second name on the door read ‘L. Jones, Mage’, and George raised a cautioiusly curious eyebrow. She knew an L. Jones who had sparks spilling from his fingers and his lips, but he was weeks of travel away and had a certain scoffing disrespect for the Academy. to be fair, so did she, but here she was. She knocked politely, and gently pushed the door open when there was no response.The room was empty - evidently her new roommate was out - but it was clear which half of the room was occupied. George didn't have much with her, so wound up lying on her well worn bedroll staring at the ceiling. She sort of felt like she should go to the Library, bury herself in books, but there was a kind of tightness in her chest she had to remind herself how to breathe through first.

She was still remembering to breathe when the door clicked open. George sat up and twisted, and her breath caught in her throat all over again.

"Hi. I'm Laney Jones," the tall, dark skinned girl smiled politely, precisely, "and you must be Georgiana - I met Rupert in the quad."

"Just Ana, please."

"Ana? Okay. Well, pleased to meet you, Ana Jones."

(Observation #1: her smile is something practised)

It was less than a week before George was absolutely sure that L. Jones, Mage, was the young Lanetia she had heard about from L. Jones, Vigilante. It was over a month before she told Laney she knew her brother, because that was how long it took for the letter to reach the mountains and a fat packet of replies to come back via Sez.

George liked Sez, despite (or perhaps because of) the scornful glances the woman threw at her Academy jacket the one time George wore it down into Rivertown (her mountain jacket had been in the wash, and she had made herself wear the Academy one because she was an Academy student, and if she was going to be ashamed of it she shouldn't have joined). She knew enough women who had their own kingdoms spilling around their feet and hands to recognise the way Sez was dancing at the metaphorical heart of Rivertown.

Four letters came back from the bakery. Three of them were for George - Liam's response and well wishes, Bea's careful updates and loving concern, Bidi's scrawled portraits. The last was for Laney, so George took her out to somewhere there were no prying Bureau ears to tell her about the Pied Piper.

She didn't tell her about the Dragon Slayer. Liam was the Pied Piper, and Laney was his sister; it was his call to decide what she should be told, what parts of him she could be trusted with. George wanted just to be A. Jones, Sage, for a while, until she remembered how to stand without her red haired shadow, until she went back to finish the business she hadn't begun. The Academy was her respite, her compromise, torn between the things in her life she hadn't finished and the things she had never gotten to start. Laney didn't have the right to that, not yet.

Sez came in through the fish shop door while Laney was re-reading her brother's letter, and spared an acknowledging nod for George. George nodded back and picked at the plate of chips before her, seemingly engrossed in her meal and waiting for her roommate to be done reading. But George had fixed walls while Suzie and Rosie made plans, had leaned against trees while every eye turned to Marian for guidance, had spent years sitting at the table in the bakery where Bea ran her resistance. George didn't have to look like she was paying attention to know this little shop was the heart of something, and that it was growing. She didn't have to look like she was paying attention to know it was going to be something good.

Because George had taken to spending her spare weekend hours curled up in a booth at Sally-Anne's, she noticed Rupert slipping in like clockwork. She didn't wave him over, or go over to say hi, for all of that first year and a bit, but she watched the easy familiarity with which he talked to Sally, some Rivertown fellow in a bowler hat who tended to drop by regularly as well, and Sez whenever she was around. Sometimes she caught herself watching and dragged her eyes back to her notes. She didn't have to keep a wary eye on everyone here. She was a student, a sage - she was supposed to have eyes only for her books.

But when she heard from an exhausted, adrenaline fuelled Laney early in their second year that there had been a hold-up during their study meeting, George heard her out and noted her page. She knocked gently on Rupert's door, hesitant, and wished she knew how to be kind about things. "Hi?" "Hi. Laney said the fish shop got attacked. Sally and Sez okay?" His eyebrows rose, then he nodded. George relaxed a little. "If they need help patching up, I've done my fair share of helping mend walls." He blinked, then sighed and said he'd ask for her. She nodded, and went back to her book.

George's study group had camped out in the hall, at one of the long benches they ate at every meal. There had been an argument between their mage and their hero over deadlines and organisation, and nothing else of note.

She found Leaf early in his first year, because she was trying so hard not to be a fighter but had a knife that came to hand quicker than thought when a boot scuffed the ground behind her. George had been defending herself and others so long that walking away wasn't an option. When she hauled Leaf out of the first confrontation she found him in, she nodded blithely through Heads' lecture and then dragged the kid off to the stables. He greeted the horses by name as she shoved hay into rough pallets to give him something soft to land in. George would always hate the way her first ingrained instinct was to violence, but she would always hate seeing children (innocents, the defenceless) hurt more. Leaf had a bright, burning determination that hit something deep in her chest, a Forest accent that was almost what she expected to hear from someone who believed that deeply in heroes, who trusted that freely.

Francis Uyeda tracked her down not long after, eyes steady and sharp, noting the way that his year mate was gaining regular bruises that didn't have bullies and scoldings attached. George eyed the combat spec warily, but he wasn't condescending and he wasn't threatening, so she let him stay. Leaf bounced up the stair and paused when he saw their new arrival. "Uh, hi there, Red. Come for some extracurricular training too?" Francis smiled, just a different kind of solemn scowl if you didn’t know how to look, and shrugged at George. She blinked back at him, assessing. "That works, I suppose."

It started with just the three of them, until George mentioned it to the guide in her study group - Heather had seemed taciturn right up until George had mentioned the cultural importance of potatoes, at which point she became a font of information and academic tangents. Heather showed up with the bubbly blonde sage George tended to sit next to in most classes (several of their instructors found alphabetical order easiest, possibly so they didn’t have to bother learning their names and so could focus on other, more interesting things). Gloria marched directly over to George and poked her fiercely in the shoulder, demanding mock indignantly to know why Ana tells Heather about her super special fight club after a few study sessions, but does she tell me? I see where your loyalties lie.

George rocked back on her heels, then settled her stance, hands loose in her pockets. “Well, Heather did spend all of yesterday afternoon telling me about spores. What can I say, Gloria, there’s just no competition.” Gloria paused, finger waving indignantly at nothing while she considered. “What kind of spores?”

When the squeaky Sage from Laney's study group went missing, George was one of the first to notice. She had exchanged few words with Grey after the first morning she had carried her books and papers over to the desk in the library he had already colonised and asked if she could claim the second half, but George was a creature of habits and patterns.

Grey went to a bookstore, she reminded herself as ice slipped down her spine, the pipsqueak will be happily distracted for hours.

But it got darker and darker, and Grey hadn't dropped by the library to crow over purchases or pick up the books he had left under George's watchful eye, so she set her pen aside and went to check if he was back. She met Laney outside his closed door, and cold settled in her stomach.

They hadn't had much to do with one another, but George was a woman of patterns. She had noted the way Grey's fingers twitched, the waving of his hands, the way he fell into speaking (or muttering corrections to himself) whenever magework and the Elsewhere came up in class. She had noticed with quiet suspicion the way that days when the mages had all been laid out in the throes of an Elsewhere storm, Grey would either skip the library or be quieter than usual, giving simple, snappish answers to questions instead of going off on long tangential rambles meant to distract and deflect.

"We should ask Sez," George muttered, already walking. "If she doesn't know where he is she'll know someone who will." Laney hurried to catch up, questions locked behind her teeth as she eyed her roommate. Laney had been slipping out of their room at odd times and back in with suspicious cuts and bruises and a light in her eyes that George recognised for weeks, now, but George hadn’t asked to join. She’d invited Laney along to their self-defence classes, but Laney had thought her roommate was interested only in helping kids not get bullied, so she hadn’t pushed. Laney didn’t like asking for things she wanted if she wasn’t absolutely sure she would get them, and that included friendship.

Rupert had gone to check the bookstores, so it was just George and Laney who slipped into a building they thought would be empty. George had her suspicions rolling in her gut, so when she blinked herself back into awareness and catalogued her surroundings, she wasn't surprised that Grey was pale and cold, a crack in the universe tucked into the vulnerable hollow of his neck.

She watched Laney carefully and made a casual, wry comment about how Laney's brave face clearly wasn't something to be trifled with, and watched as one of the most composed people she knew tried - ineffectively - to pretend she was feeling sick to her stomach. George picked the lock, wishing for her spear (something with reach) slightly less than for her shield, a dull roaring in her ears where Jack's flippant commentary would have been a comforting buzz.

The slavers went down quickly, now that George was certain and not pulling her punches or trying to convince herself she was just paranoid and twitchy. Grey grumbled and glared at Laney's confusion as the story came spilling out - well. As a story fell grudgingly from his hunched shoulders. George eyed the gaps in it with the scepticism of someone who knew just how difficult it was to spirit a mage away from the mountains, particularly one who suffered quite that much when the Elsewhere roared and tugged at their bones.

"Your sister must be quite something, to pull that off," she said aloud.

"She is," said Grey, and George watched the way his eyes lit up while his shoulders curled further around his ears.

The next time Sez asked for their help in Rivertown, Laney asked Ana to join them. George paused, page unturned, and considered it. She wanted out - she knew that, she’d wanted out of that life since she started, but she never seemed able to walk away from it. She had been so tired, in the mountains, of the weight of a dragon on her shoulders and the endless work to be done. But she missed it, a little, too. Not the weight or the harsh necessity, but the way people looked at her like she was useful. She missed the surety, but she hadn’t been sure of anything since Jack fell.

Rupert didn’t bat an eyelid when she arrived, but looked mournfully at Laney, vaguely reproachful. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else this time, and I don’t have anything I think Ana will like.” George shrugged, the thin sliver of a knife through her belt still glimmering faintly gold to eyes that could see, and took the weighted cosh he handed her. She swung it absently to get a feel for the weight of it, and pulled a face. “It’ll do.”

(Observation #1. Rupert isn’t used to having two allies. It’s not just that he doesn’t trust me to watch this flank, yet, he’s forgetting I’m here altogether. Reasonable, but will need to change; #2. I will need a shield next time)

They filled her in on some of the hunts that she’d missed, and she frowned when they told her about the curse diagram. Grey shrunk and shrugged and stayed studiously quiet, but she collared him later. He grumbled and groused about it, like she’d think less of him for caring, and eventually muttered that he’d already gone to warn them to be more careful. He mentioned the kid’s name, in passing - Grey had never been very good at thinking about what knowledge could be dangerous once he pressed it into someone’s hands.

George blinked slowly, and told him with a deliberate level of offhanded calm that he’d just given her enough information to track the family down with relative ease. Grey squawked and gaped, then hid frantically deeper into the book in his hands.

She didn’t track them down, though. Jack had never been able to remember the names of their rescues; he’d recall the pattern on one’s dress, the weak joke that a kid had laughed at, the story Liam had managed to wheedle out of another about a barn and a cow and a badly timed hiccough. But George had a list in the back of her head, with the names of everyone she’d saved on it. She could look at every pin on Bea’s map since she and Jack had walked through the bakery doors and match them to a name and number.

George remembered a little seer named Elaine, eyes wide, face drawn, the slight weight heavy in her arms and on her chest. She couldn’t recall any stories about her, though, because Liam remembered only the loss, after. Jack hadn’t gotten the chance to remember anything about her at all.

When the curse came, poisoning her luck and sending her crashing to the floor, they half carried her to Sez’s mother. The hag took one look at her, at her hands clean except for the smudge of ink on her fingers, and hissed, long and low. George didn’t flinch, because it was almost a relief to meet someone else who saw that stain as a crime. Rue didn’t bother throwing accusations at her, hauling out a selection of her otherwise unseen scars, just turned on her daughter to demand to know what horror had been brought into her house.

“Ana only killed the ones I sent her after.” Sez was firm, standing tall, defiant - and wrong. George’s tongue was heavy in her mouth, and she couldn’t bring herself to explain that she didn’t deserve this defence, just looked at Rue, steady, and tried to remember to breathe. When she spoke, she cut through a sentence from Rupert she hadn’t heard. Another unasked for defendant, who even without knowing what stains were on her fingertips was insistent that she had done good.

“I never went after anyone - anything - that wasn’t hurting people. I’ve never killed anything that didn’t try to kill m- to kill someone first.” She watched Rue’s face twist, then freeze, as the hag parsed through her mountain-born accent, her age, and what could lead someone to kill a dragon and then claim it was needed. The hag ran clawed fingertips over the palms of her hands, and shook her head.

“Your luck’s been poisoned.” George went still, remembering a boy who’d practically danced between bullets, wondering who this had been designed for in the first place. “Not that you had much of that to begin with, by the looks of things”

George closed her eyes, bone tired with more than just the curse. She remembered blood spilling over her hands, burning (branding), the way purple flowers made her flinch, the way rain slicked mountain walls haunted her nightmares. She remembered forgiveness, unasked for, still unearned, given to her like a blessing. She remembered, cold and distant, what people did with things that were handed to them freely. She remembered blood on her hands, but she remembered blisters and ash ground into every crease of them, too.

"You save people," Jack had said once, and meant you save me.

But I didn't, thought George.

The rifle retort had echoed off of stone walls. If it had been aimed at his shock of red hair the bullet would have missed, but Jack had lunged for Georgie's back, thoughtless, the way he had been guarding her already well-guarded flank for years.

The universe loved Jack, but Jack had loved George.

George had been an old soul on a battlefield a harsh month longer than him. She didn't need to fumble for a pulse, fingers slipping in blood from the gaping exit wound, and so she didn't. She just grabbed the shell shocked child up from Jack's now slack arms and ran, gasping for breath on air that tasted of ash.

She had almost forgotten what that was like - she had begun to grow used to the way air seemed almost clean when it filled her lungs.

When fire and chaos broke out in Rivertown, George was standing at the gates, looking out at the mountains. Laney rested a casual elbow on her shoulder, guns strapped to her sides from her interrupted practice, patient and calm. George had been twitchy for the weeks since Rue’s healing, her mind full of luck and sickness, desperate for news. But she wasn’t leaving - George had walked away from few things in her life, and this badge wasn’t one of them.

She still hated the Bureau but she loved the parts of it that loved her; the soft sunlight on the back of her chair in the library, the stern arches of the dining hall, the twist of Grey’s nose and the soft affection in Rupert’s sighs, the way Laney’s smile was nothing like her brother’s but just as fierce. George would earn her badge, and she would move on.

But it was hard to sleep, leftover adrenaline in her veins, fear on her heels, so she had taken to nighttime rambles along the safer streets. Laney had been out at the shooting range, and fallen into step when she saw her roommate heading out. Even on the safer streets it was wise to have company. They were turning to return to their room when the explosion came, and they shared a single resigned glance before going to investigate. They woke in the dim light of a basement, and exchanged a look filled with a much more furious brand of resignation.

George was too short to hide anything Laney was doing unless they were at opposite ends of a field. She didn’t know what Laney’s plan was, but she trusted her when asked for a distraction, so she tackled their careless watcher, shoulder low into his gut, hands empty and hating it. There had been a knife at her belt for all of the past two years of quiet libraries and laughing dining halls. Her hand had dropped to it without thought every time someone scraped a boot on the ground, and she had hated that too.

Laney broke the world open and stepped through, and George flinched more from that spill of gold than she did from the impact of knuckles against her chin.

George had had few friends, in her still short life. Her childhood playmates had burnt up, unseen and half-forgotten, left, and she had stayed few places long enough to make new ones. Jack had trailed her until she knew all of his sharp edges and bright perspectives, until she trusted him with all of her deepest fractures and fragile hopes, and then she had lost him.

Laney slipped into golden fire, and George wanted to scream - but there was someone with rough fists and angry eyes in front of her, and George was familiar with few things the way she was accustomed to fighting for the right to live. When Laney burnt the door open, George was leaning against the wall, panting, knuckles bruised and bleeding. She ran absent fingers over those red-brown tracks as they ran for the Academy, mourning the way they had been clean of anything but ink just an hour before.

The most beautiful thing George had ever known was her dragon. The fire demon was almost as glorious, and it burned with the same fierce gold. She had mourned the great creature for years, now, had been given her absolution - the demon bore down on her with shrieks of fury and mockery, and for a moment George wondered if this was her judgement, finally come to pass.

But Laney had gone to close the rift. Rupert was crumpled on the floor, and Grey - Grey was a child, helpless in his warded circle, a waiting sacrifice to a thing he had no defence against. George shifted her grip on the sword Rupert had picked out for her, months before, and wished for her spear as she watched her enemy approach. She didn’t tell it she had known things greater and more terrible. George had been given a title, but it wasn’t one she wanted to claim even in defiance, so she made no declarations. She just killed it, and wondered if they’d burden her with a legend for this, too.

There was no golden cloak to give up in exchange for a scrawny sage with an ink-stained nose and flailing hands, but George threw herself into the rift after him anyway. She hadn’t helped him escape the mountains - but he was a mountain child, and she knew about mountain children who burned up in golden fires. She fell into nothing and everything, and reached for something she couldn’t name until she could haul them both home again.

Thorne had eyed Ana with interest when he first met her, then dismissed her from consideration. He was on the lookout for misfits who could be formed into something, people who needed him and people who would therefore appreciate his interest and advice (Laney was a very good actress). George wasn’t exactly typical League material, and he liked the way she was quiet and vicious in every schoolyard fight he’d heard of, but she’d scowled and said she wanted to go to the university and study things. She’d told him a lot about potatoes when he asked what she was studying, and he’d promptly lost interest. It would be months before he realised that this quiet, stubbornly bookish girl who looked at people like she was cataloguing them was the Dragon Slayer.

They didn’t give Ana Jones a legend to her name, but they started saying Laney was the Lady of the Lake reborn. Laney wrote to her brother about it, amused, flattered, and embarrassed. Liam wrote something back about talking when she had books written about her. George scrawled a postscript onto Laney’s reply saying that she was going to write one - “I’ll team up with Laney’s sage and write it - The Better Jones Sibling, maybe, or Jones 2.0 - we’ll send you a signed copy when it’s done”

The next letter home she would write alone. It would be a blunt missive, because George didn’t know how to put her kindness into words, in voice or in writing. She would tell Liam that the slavers had Laney. She didn’t tell him how, but she said Laney had an escape route for herself planned - but to watch out, just in case. She gave it to Sez and slumped in a corner of Sally-Anne’s. She had woken that morning to an empty room and bound wrists, groggy headed and furious, and been halfway through sawing through the knots when a concerned Rupert broke through the door to see why they weren’t responding to his polite knocks.

The journey back to the mountains was a homecoming of sorts, if George had allowed herself to believe in homes. She recognised paths and vistas, inns whose stables she knew better than their kitchens, the scowling of Bureau law enforcement officers who glanced straight over her. Sure, she was golden haired and battle scarred - but she was small, female, and had her nose stuck in a book whenever they glanced her way, a shiny grey badge neatly on her pocket.

They were a particularly unusual League - one Hero and two Sages - but the Rangers had been unusually insistent. “Lots of paperwork to be doing up there, and we’ve been meaning to update our maps, so this is a good team for it”, Sarge had said, scowling, and Heads had peered at him with some puzzlement but a long-earned trust.

Between them, George and Rupert were making headway on the paperwork. George updated the maps too, though with a certain level of intentional vagueness about the parts she’d rather the Bureau didn’t poke around in too much (Thorne would patiently update his versions with the detail accumulated from intel from Spider and his own occasional undercover trips up to Challenge. He would smile a little smugly over the hazy, unexplored areas that Ana Jones left blank. Thorne liked to think he knew more than everyone around him)

Grey peered over his fellow sage’s shoulder and made muttered comments, and George patiently noted them down. In the back of her mind, the list of observations about S. Grey grew a little longer, evidence for a case she was only waiting to be confirmed. His cartographic observations grew more frequent, more detailed, more aware of information you simply couldn’t know from looking around from the main path, and George was certain she could pinpoint the epicentre of Grey’s geography. She said nothing, just idly tried to track which route this mountain child had used when he fled by tracing the edges of his knowledge.

A lot had happened in the mountains over the two years George had been away. She didn’t know all of it, but she had traded letters with Bea and Liam throughout their time apart. If she had been Jack, Liam would have skimmed over the lives he was saving. Bea would have omitted more details than just those not safe to put on paper from her reports. George would have lived through another siege at Challenge and never mentioned it. Jack would have been out of the loop, because he needed to be out from under the weight of it to breathe, because they knew he would take every hint that they were still fighting as a guilt, a failing, a flaw. George needed to remember she could breathe through it, that she could walk away and find other, brighter parts of herself; she couldn’t not know every detail it was safe to tell her. She had lost too much because she let danger outside of her immediate vicinity drift to the back of her mind.

When Laney settled down by their fire, telling them she thought she wouldn’t be going back this time, George poked Grey awake and told him to see if he could get the tracking spell pulled off of Laney. He grumpily told her it was only a ‘look here’ locater, but she insisted on relocating them anyway, sleep patterns be damned. Rupert looked pained, but it was Grey who groused the whole time. Laney settled herself on her saddle and rode next to George, steadily working her way through the dried fruit and rations bars that Rupert had pressed urgently into her hands.

“So, where to now?” George gave her a sidelong glance. There was a hope glimmering in Laney’s eyes that George knew she was privileged to be allowed to see. “Figure it’s time you met your sister-in-law, Jones.” Laney didn’t try to hide her grin, and this was a gift too, earned over long study sessions and tracking Things, steady hands on bandages and stitches, shared jokes and co-written letters, nights of listening to each other’s breathing from the other bunk.

George led them to a small village nestled in a valley. There was smoke curling comfortably from the bakery’s chimney, and Bidi ran to meet them with a delighted screech that made Grey wince and cover his ears. Laney paused, uncertain, watching the familiar way George’s arms curled around that small frame, the press of a pale forehead to one only a shade lighter than Laney’s own, hair twisted back in a style Laney’s fingers could weave in her sleep. Bea followed her daughter out more sedately to smile softly at George, and to open her arms wide to a hesitant Laney. Rupert and Grey hung back, bewildered but trusting, to be invited into the Baker’s domain.

Liam wasn’t home; his return was heralded by a lilting whistle that hit something in Laney’s chest with a joy so fierce it burned. George pressed her hands more firmly around her mug, chest alight with the same joy and mind clouding with the same fears. It had been so long. Liam stumbled to a halt in the doorway, staring at the unfamiliar faces around his table.

George was the most familiar of them, but there were shadows missing from beneath her eyes, and a set to her shoulders that wasn’t as tense as it had been when last they met. His delighted eyes slid from her to Laney when his sister stood, and they stood frozen. When he had last seen Laney, she had still been small enough for him to lift with relative ease. Rupert gave Laney a tiny, discreet nudge, and she threw herself forwards into her brother’s arms. “You left.” “I was always going to come home, Lane. I just got…” Married?” “Well, yeah, that too.”

George snorted with laughter, echoed by Bea as she returned to the kitchen after putting Bidi to bed. Rupert politely concentrated on eating his snow cookie without getting sugar all over the place (a failed mission). Grey stared around in confusion. Laney had taken the secrecy of her brother’s life seriously, and they had not met the Seeress to have her throw knowledge in their faces, trying to split friendships along the lines of their secrets.

Samuel Graves looked at the way Laney was clutching a man with her skin, her nose, the way he had said home. Laney had told them stories about her brother, the way he whistled up magic, and the pieces clicked into place. Grey didn’t go quiet when he was scared, unless there were guns and knives involved, unless he needed to hide something other than his self. When he was scared, Grey went sharp, spiked, and oblivious - but this was Laney. This was a girl who had masks to match his, throwing them aside as she laughed at her brother’s presence. Grey muttered something about unnecessary levels of sap, and curled up with a book from his pack, hiding from the thoughts in his own head. Rupert pushed a glass of water closer to him, and politely helped George and Bea clear the table.

Ana had told none of them who she was, not even Laney. When Liam turned to her and called her George, it was the first time any of her Academy friends had heard the name. She did not feel guilty. Her name had echoes, legends, a far reaching shadow, and she had been in hostile territory. She would not feel guilty for not telling them about the Dragon Slayer; she had told them about the parts of her that mattered.

Laney was brimming with delight. Grey was terrified and hiding in plain view. Rupert went out to chop wood for Bea, guilt twisting his stomach in knots. He had known George was hiding things. He had thought he had let her be.

They had all been hiding things - Rupert had seen Grey's shoulders not struggling under a pack eye shouldn't have been able to lift, the slight smudge of gun-smoke and oil on Laney's fingertips - and he had said nothing, left spaces and spoken softly around their edges. He had noted that George knew a battlefield in ways an Academy sage shouldn't, the years of experience in every block, strike and twisting escape she walked the stable loft through, and he had let her be - except. He had written essays on the Dragon Slayer, tactics and reports, strategies and legends. So had George. They had discussed their key points, listened to the same lectures, anecdotes, and debates. He wasn't sure, now, that he hadn't been hurting her, with every hero worshipful point he'd made, every delightedly recounted story from the Rangers' tactical reports. If she had been trying to walk away, and he kept reminding her - he had thought he was letting her be.

Inside, Bea was going over her map with George. There were clusters of pins that George didn't know the names or numbers behind, and she eyed them curiously, tallying them up. There was a list in the back of her mind, with the names of everyone she had saved on it. They didn't get added to the end of it, as Bea dropped short summaries and recaps out into the warm air for her, because they were not lives she had saved. But they were lives. They were people who were still living. They were people who were worth fighting for, the blood on her knuckles and soul. 

There was a flag raised higher up the valley, to show that someone wanted to speak to them without coming down to the village. In the morning, George rose early to help Bea with the day's bread, comfortable silence strung out between them. Grey stumbled in hours later, and barely hid a flinch as he remembered who exactly he was grumbling a greeting at. In the back of George's mind, another observation was carefully noted down as she murmured a greeting. Liam slipped in soon after, whistling, to fill the room with stories George had missed living.

The cave up the hill was empty when they arrived, but George didn't flinch when a throat was cleared politely behind them. She would have waited, hidden, until they had arrived as well, if their roles were reversed. Liam turned with a smile. Laney blinked, slow and surprised, as she turned to Thorne. 

George watched, leaning against the cold rock wall, and thought we're not the only ones surprised. Thorne was peering at them, hidden behind a bushy beard and pedlar's clothes, and he hadn't expected them to be there. Liam started to speak, and spluttered himself to silence when Laney beat him to it. Thorne beamed at Laney, paternal, praising, and dismissive of everyone except for her and her brother. He was glancing between them, delighted at his little discovery. 

He asked Liam, casual, before leaving, if there was any word from the Dragon Slayer yet. George leaned against the wall and didn't let anyone see the shiver straining to roll down her spine at the possessive way her title fell from those lips.

"Not a whisper," Liam said regretfully, not a hint of a lie on his face. "We'll see you at Challenge."

The road to the woods was treacherous. When bandits struck, George didn't call for Jack - she was too familiar, still, with the soft pad of his bare feet on red dirt to misplace Laney's quiet boot-falls onto his ghost. But Laney still lowered her gun with hands that wanted to tremble, and flinched from her brother's old jokes. Laney had not spent years fighting bandits and slavers with Liam - the gallows humour tripping off his tongue was as foreign to her as the good mountain stew the night before had been. She had never known her brother in anything but peace.

Bureau goons weren't welcome in the Merry Men's domain, aside from a few old friends in the Rangers. George they shook their heads over and squinted at, wary but loyal, grudgingly accepting. Laney was met with raised eyebrows and three separate suggestions that she was actually Bidi. She rolled her eyes and peeled off to shoot targets, waving a stiff, shy Rupert away for being a picture perfect Bureau hero. George sat with her back against a tree and breathed deep as Liam traded stories with Little, reciting old ones for a wide eyed Grey. When he started on their trip to find dragons, she snickered and pushed a few pages of notebook paper and a pencil within reach of her fellow sage's twitching fingers. 

The mossy ground beneath her bedroll was familiar, the curving branches overhead a pattern against the stars she knew from older nights. The rumble of Little's voice in the morning was familiar too, and she stayed still for a minute, eyes closed. There were other voices she expected to hear, nowadays, and she let herself rest for a moment in the quiet murmur of Laney and Rupert, the higher pitched grumble of Grey denying the existence of mornings the way he had at every camp on route from Rivertown. She smiled, and got to her feet. "C'mon, pip, the sun's not going to stop rising because you complain at it."

Challenge wasn't home; George had stopped believing in those years before. But she had helped build these walls, planned the layout of streets, and fought four sieges in its defence. The gates closed behind them and she felt safer than she had since they set out from Bea's cosy hearth side. She signed herself up for watch duty, running absent fingertips over familiar names carved in rough wood as she stared out. Liam spent much of his time either pouring fire into protections or in the infirmary, pouring it into people.

Rupert helped in the infirmary too. Rosie was just about prepared to let a ramshackle League in, with George and Liam both vouching for them, but she wasn't about to let an Academy hero into her planning sessions quite yet. Doc Frederickson was always happy to have another set of hands to roll bandages and check the stores, even if he grumbled and rolled his eyes at them. Rupert knew little beyond basic field first aid and odd bits he'd picked up from Rue over the years, but he could tally jars and calculate required stocks just fine. He could carry water and broth - he could hold shaking hands and speak quietly, offer comfort without thought. 

It took them two days to realise what he was doing. The mages were stable but broken, in infirmary beds if unlucky, covering their dripping hands with gloves if fortunate enough to have been rescued earlier. They lived in stasis, though they didn’t know who to thank. Rupert held leaking fingers and wanted them to be better, and they were. George's breath caught in her throat when Laney ran up to the wall to tell her. Liam had gone frozen in the infirmary even as he croaked out that George should be told, eyes stuck on a miracle he'd given up dreaming of.

Grey went quiet, cold. He thought of his sister, who he hadn't managed to slip out to see yet, and of what this would mean to the family business. Sarge walked into him in the street and went furious, familiar with the face peering at him through overgrown hair, and was slammed into a wall with a sloppy glob of gold. 

After the mine went up, Sarge tried to tell George, and she blinked at him, slow. "I know who he is - I've known for ages. He's just a kid who stayed alive." He spluttered into indignant silence, and she looked at him, steady. “Sarge, he was a child. Just because some of us started that young doesn’t mean   everyone else should have, too.”

She considered doing a pointless search for Grey, on the off chance she was wrong and he hadn't run, but then the rest of the wounded came in without Rupert. Laney was pale, sitting with her back against a wall and heedless of the rubble in her hair. Liam tried to comfort her and flinched when she coolly dismissed him. George bumped his shoulder.  "Let her be. She needs to think, and she needs to be alone. C'mon, Doc knows where you're needed."

George had eyed Thorne cautiously when he found them in Challenge, a battle plan wrapped up and just needing their obedience. She hadn't offered hers up, not to him. Rupert had taken intel willingly, but had held his back straight under Thorne's disbelieving stare (and Liam's delighted grin) and calmly reminded him who was in charge of this League - but Rupert was gone. The stakes had changed.

Spider hadn't been foolish enough to try to become one of Liam's informants. The Dragon Slayer was pragmatic, and not a mage. George he might have tried to bargain with, for the sake of as many lives as he could safely let slip away. Liam Jones was known for mercy, forgiveness - but everyone has their limits, and Thorne had agreed that an operative within the keep was too valuable to gamble on the slim chance that the Piper would be prepared to forgive being dragged into a cell to die. 

When Thorne produced an inside agent like a gift, it was a different Jones who slammed him into the wall and put a gun to his jaw. George Jones put a knife to Thorne's throat - she and Laney had been in enough tight spots together that Laney didn't twitch towards the sound. Liam blinked, then spun magic from the air to flick from hand to hand, a beautiful, deadly threat. 

It was Grey who vouched for Spider to convince them. George glanced over at him, and nodded, slow. She wasn't sure that helping Grey escape was, in itself, enough cause for tenuous trust - but Grey was still there, despite the packed bag he had not very successfully hidden beneath a bedroll after the mine disaster. She waited until Laney had stepped back before letting Thorne go. Spider nodded at George cordially.  "Long time no see, Slayer. I was starting to think you'd retired."

Thorne paused in the middle of an interrogation as to Spider's exact relationship with Grey's sister, and stared. George looked coolly back. Grey snickered, because it would keep Thorne's attention on the vigilante who'd been under his nose for a year and away from the topic of Grey's family.

The keep was familiar territory to everyone except Laney, even if Grey had never seen the lower levels and neither vigilante had seen the upper reaches. Liam ran an absent hand over the cell door he'd spent a cold night picking the lock on, and met George's steady, knowing gaze. She was still so young - he looked at them and felt his heart break again, because they were all just kids. He felt old, at nearing thirty, his baby sister tearing doors open in a methodical search that shrieked frantic desperation if you knew her well enough.

The cells were empty, but Grey muttered about the private labs upstairs. Liam hesitated when they decided to split up, and George nudged him over to join Laney. 

"The two of you destroy all this. We can't risk the Seeress getting hold of you, Liam, you're too much of a prize for the machines." Laney flicked an eyebrow, and George shrugged at her. Liam didn't know that Grey was a mage, because that hadn't been their secret to share. George didn't want to spill his other secret, and tell them that she was pretty sure if Grey was captured they would find it easy to slip in after to rescue him, or that he would mysteriously find a way out himself.

When the ceiling fell, so did Laney. Her leg was broken, and they were running out of time. Liam had two sisters in the keep, and his heart was breaking, because they were both too young for this. They were all to young for this, even him. Laney pushed herself up to sit against the wall, and readied her guns.  "Go. Don't worry about me - I've got a way out if I need one. Trust me, Liam, I can look after myself."

They didn't find Rupert.

Laney joined the quiet branch. Grey settled into the Library like it was a second skin. George went to university, ignoring all of Thorne's flattery and invitations. If Laney had asked, she might have signed up as well - but Laney would rather never feel golden fire on her fingertips again than be the one to drag George into a life she didn't want. They shared a flat in St John's Port, the three of them, and Laney dropped her pack at the foot of the bunk bed when they got the keys, grinning. "You want the top bunk this time? I got first dibs before, only fair you get to choose."

(In a hidden lab, streets away, a boy was writing battlefront dispatches to himself, disguised in the minutiae of Academy bureaucracy)

George fell into a routine at the University, under the familiar mask of Ana Jones, and joined forces with Grey to take over a table, the way they had in the Academy library, their books and papers scattered widely. Even after two years at the Academy, she had still found her hand on the hilt of her knife when someone let a door slam. She had repressed it as a disguise, but as much as she hated the instinct had known she would need it still, had welcomed the reassurance that she was not going soft. She had known she would be going back to the mountains until her war was done. These were instincts she would need.

But now she was done, she was out, a student not a soldier, and her knife was still in her hand quicker than thought. She carved idle patterns on the table to give herself an excuse, and tried to learn how not to grade every sound she heard by what level of threat it was. She found a soup kitchen between her lecture hall and the library to volunteer at, a few weeks in, something to do with her hands and weigh her down. When Wen asked her to run lessons in basic self-defence, she didn't have to think about it. George had spent a year teaching the stable loft crew, and she remembered the way it felt like work well done. So much of her life had been learning how to fight, but this - teaching people to protect themselves had felt like something other than blood on her hands.

Heather drifted back into her orbit, trading notes and freelance sage guidance for the rough leagues back at the Academy. They curled up in the same cheap cafe around the corner from the lecture hall for lunch, hands waving and conversations jumping from tangent to delighted tangent. Leaf had been booted off of the official teaching roster for ignoring orders to disband, so it was Red's wry tones she traded news with when trading tips on how to run a successful self-defence class.

Laney was off to the mountains for weeks at a time, tracking down the remnants of the mage trade and meeting her sister in law in out of the way villages. When she was back, she would swing by the library while George was at the soup kitchen to remind Grey to leave on time and eat something. George thought over this for a few weeks, counting the number of times Grey had forgotten to set out at the usual time when she wasn't there. One evening when she was done at the soup kitchen earlier than usual, she slipped back into the library instead of going straight home. Their shared desk was empty, but Grey's jumper was still there. She started a slow, methodical search.

The blueprints scattered over the table were horrifyingly familiar. Grey twisted his hands and stormed away, slinking back later with peace offerings and a grudging explanation. George took a shaking breath. She had wanted to be free of this - but Laney had told them about houses without firewood, rooftops that wouldn't keep the cold out. George had wanted to be free of this, but she had also been waiting for the shoe to drop - she knew, even if she hated it, that you were never free of the legends you made. She pulled up a chair.

On one of George's soup kitchen days, Wen beckoned her aside and asked her to take a delivery for him. She eyed him a little suspiciously, and he shuffled his feet. "Alright, alright...look, I'm not the only soup kitchen round here. There's a...network, like, and the lady at the centre of it's been hearing about you. She wants to see you. Don't worry, she's fierce, but Marian won't bite unless you're a danger to her people." George blinked, and took the package with careful hands.

When George knocked on the door to Marian's house, Muchly gathered her up in a bone cracking hug and a cry of delight. The other old members of the Merry Men gathered round to clap her shoulder, and the new faces of Marian's crew watched curiously. The room fell silent when Marian stepped in, and her face went as soft as it had in years. There were those there who had seen it softer, brighter; there were others who had never seen her eyes so warm. "Well, now, I have to say I'd been wondering about this lass with yellow hair who knew her way around a brawl." "Aw, Mari, you missed me." George was smiling, but the room was crowded, too many faces, so they slipped away to the attic rooms to talk, Much trailing them with tea and soft biscuits warm from the oven.

(Observation #1. He’s smiling like an open book, but those knuckles have callouses you don’t get from kneading bread, solid stance, if it comes to it that’s one for Liam, I’d struggle to do anything non-lethal; #17. He’s been carrying those biscuits since the Woods, even though he was complaining about hunger just yesterday, so that when Robin needed one it would be there; # 89. You’ve had some easy years at last, old friend, a warm seat and a steady center; #89b. These biscuits are still as good as ever)

Laney was cheerfully dismissive of the idea that she was supposed to keep her work quiet and secret even from her housemates, so when Shay assigned her to surveillance on a possibly less than legal gang, she told George what she knew. George flicked her eyebrows up at the address and nodded.  "You know something."

"I have friends there. You probably ought to do some actual surveillance so your dear boss doesn't get suspicious, but they're not a threat to anyone who isn't a threat to them first." Laney nodded me and started figuring out how to out that into convincing words for Shay's report. She took the draft with her when she went to spy, and casually told Marian she was welcome to read it when she woke tied to a chair.

George swung by and frowned when Much told her Mari was in the middle of an investigation - but a man stumbled through the door before she could go and help Laney explain matters. Much got to his feet, shadowed by a quiet woman with familiar mountain-born features. Laney was free of her bonds before she should have been anyway, and George just nodded at her as she trailed Marian to Shutley's side. Laney crouched to look closer, and frowned. "There's magic tied up in this. George, Grey knows more about curses -"

Wen's was full of familiar faces, people she had served up food alongside and people she'd taught to duck a punch. Some of them were helping hedge witches, faced pale but determined. Some of them were lying on makeshift pallets, faces pale and beaded with sweat. There were unfamiliar faces too, amongst the victims and the helpers. George carried water and followed a hedge witch's instructions to make up a tea with a familiar bitter scent, for soothing throats that had been hacking up cursed bile. Her hands were steady on the knives and bundled leaves; her heart was racing in her chest, fury a painful pulse in her temples.

This curse, or a variant of it, had hooked itself into her soul, once. Once, the boy stubbornly draining himself of power to feed it into Laney's deft fingers had written this, a gift, an absent experiment to see what he could do with his hidden fire. And here it was - miles from the mountains or the Academy, slipping into the water and poisoning her people (the defenceless, the innocents). She knew Grey hadn't handed this over to anyone, or Liam - even Liam had learnt not to trust that much, in the years since leaving his golden childhood -  so she could guess how this had found its way to St John's Port. She wondered when, exactly, Spider had sent this home to Thorne, or if Thorne had simply gone prying himself, once the dust has settled.

"We know," said George, in a back alley with her knife unnoticed in her hand, and her eyes were on Miz Eliza, not Grey. George was not kind. Maybe Grey had wanted to rest, deserved to rest - but you didn't get to choose when your war was done.

Laney was snapping, frustrated fury at every moment they couldn't know Rupert was okay. It had taken some determined negotiating to get Laney to stop bursting through a door none of them could remember opening, measuring attempts in lost hours and the woozy after effects of frenzy wood darts. Her fingers had itched for weeks, while they paced and thought, while George picked through the gaps in her observations (she was missing numbers, sometimes, observations she had made but couldn't remember. She hoped that one of them, at least, was he's alive)

But Miz Eliza just seemed vaguely amused, so George let Laney vent her frustrations while she watched. You could learn a lot, from how someone reacted to pressure and accusations. Mostly, George noted the pleased gleam and twitch of Miz Eliza's lips when Laney mentioned that Thorne was going to burn for this.

 (Observation # 4; the knitted scarf wrapped around Miz Eliza’s throat in defence against the cold sea fog had a familiar pattern and weave. Observation #5; it had been torn, sometime in the past, and mended with stitches not precise enough to be Rupert’s own but in the same colour wool, instead of replaced)

 Miz Eliza slipped in and out of their flat at will, meeting old friends and making careful plans. George dropped by Marian’s house to catch up with old friends and explain about a missing hero. Mari tapped her chin thoughtfully, and slid her eyes sideways towards the staircase. “A…forgetting field, you say?” George nodded. “Best we can figure - of course, it’s difficult to track an absence, but we’ve tried to come at it from every angle.”

Marian nodded, and went to fetch her latest stray. They peered at each other and shrugged; if they knew each other, neither remembered it. “I can get you certain…supplies, that will help with breaking into the Bureau. But in exchange? Take her with you - not that I don’t like her help around here, but there’s nothing we can get a handle on with this except that it must be magical in nature. Sounds like your hunt for your missing friend may be the best chance of breaking it.” George’s lips twisted in a grin, but she didn’t say aw, Mari, your soft side is showing again, because she knew Marian wouldn’t appreciate it, in front of someone she still barely knew.

 Some days, George felt like life in St. John’s Port was just the Academy all over again - Grey’s piles of books and papers merging with hers on a Library table, Heather diverting into fascinating tangents while her hands stayed steady on pipettes, Laney’s soft breathing steady from the second bunk when George laid awake. Gloria called every few days, sometimes to ask for consultation advice for their unofficial little Leagues in Rivertown, but mostly to hear Heather’s voice and nag her about her sleep schedule. She was leaning into it, peace laying uneasy on her battle scarred shoulders, trying so hard to let it blunt the jagged edges of her.

Some days, George felt like this was the Academy all over again - a rest, a retreat, a respite, not a release. Her war was done, except for it’s echoes in the twitch of mountain folk’s shoulders at a flare of gold outside of closed doors, the empty places at hearths and the empty graves to those they couldn’t rescue, the houses Laney spent her spare time in the mountains trying to shore up for winter. There were blueprints scattered over a library table. There was a hero they couldn’t find, a lab (a prison) they had seen but forgotten, lost hours and missing steps, empty space where there should have been a friend.

Rupert broke himself out. His friends weren’t quite mounting an explosive rescue attempt, yet, but they were doing another casual reconnaissance trip - between Miz Eliza, Grey, and George, they were all quite interested in understanding what was going on with the forgettable lab. Laney was more impatient, but she was also outnumbered and reasonably convinced by the idea of having a good plan and solid intel before making a move. Rupert was planning to get out before they did anything, because he didn’t want them to get into any trouble on his behalf - but the best laid plans are easily disrupted when neither side can talk to the other, so they ran into each other in a corridor that didn’t stay empty of foes for long.

(They had been scouting the corridors around the lab, and found a gaping hole where Rupert had shattered stone; they had stepped through, and observations clicked back into the waiting spaces in George’s mind - #11. Guards on the inside of the door, not outside - they’re worried about people getting out, not in; #12. There is a very poor prototype of a mage draining machine on that table, so I guess Laney wasn’t the only one to save a few blueprints; #13. Rupert. #13b. He doesn’t look pleased to see me, just resigned; #39. Well. That explains why the guards are inside - and faded back away when she stepped back through the broken brickwork, leaving gaps that itched at the back of her mind)

When they limped through the doors to Sally-Anne's, George's arm over Laney's shoulder and Grey’s hand on her leg forming a frantic magical tourniquet and curse blocker, Sez slammed past them and practically bowled Rupert over into the street. George had sent a message down from the mountains before they left, in a chain of discreet hands, to tell Sez what they knew. It had not been a soft message. George didn't coddle - she told them Rupert was gone, but they thought taken, not dead, and that they were doing everything they could to find him. A few weeks before Miz Eliza turned up in St John’s Port, she had sent a terse warning that they were pretty certain they knew where he was, and that if they were right, the Bureau was shortly going to become like a hornets’ nest that had been kicked.

Sez had grinned, sharp, over the maps and plans George had never seen or been told about but knew were there. Sez had made sure they were prepared for the Bureau. Sally had made sure the spare beds were made up, and the comfiest blanket was ready and waiting for Rupert.

Grey was clinging to her leg, but George’s world was still fading black around her, and she barely noticed being carried awkwardly down the stairs. She woke to the familiarity of a sickroom; she’d helped out, at Challenge, through four sieges and the aftermath of a sixth, at a soup kitchen turned to plague infirmary, in a multitude of back rooms, barns and caves as they patched each other up after skirmishes. She wasn’t surprised to find Laney flicking through reports by her side, but she was surprised to see Grey there too, pale and curled in on himself as they waited to see if she would survive. Grey usually showed concern in piles of books left close at hand and careless chatter, the vulnerability of affection safely hidden beneath waving hands and sarcasm, flicking pages like a shield.

Her leg was gone from the knee down. It was an odd thought, and she probed at it like a loose tooth when she had quiet moments, but she thought she had lived through the loss of worse in the aftermath of a rescue attempt, in the wake of saving a life. She was hobbling by the time Thorne caught up to them, and she limped along behind Sez and Sally as they went to make their claim. Laney hovered by her shoulder, calm and collected, hands held perfectly still because Thorne wasn’t allowed to see her vulnerabilities. George leaned on her crutches and watched a kingdom be claimed in the defiant lift of Sez’s chin and the way Sally-Anne’s feet were planted in the Rivertown mud, solid and certain.

Sez brought the quiet work of hedgewitches to life, and it rose in curtains of gold around them. George did not flinch from that light - Thorne wasn’t allowed to see her old wounds, either. It was beautiful, the steady, slow work of many hands, a thing built with drops of magic whenever they could be spared. But she was glad that the shutters in Sally-Anne’s apartment were thick. George wasn’t sure whether she would be able to sleep without nightmares, with that golden fire behind her eyelids.

George signed herself up to help Red with his adopted trainees in the old warehouse they’d commandeered, once Rue declared her fit for a prosthetic. She wasn’t up to much practical demonstration, but she leaned comfortably against the wall, stump propped up on a crate, and called drills and kept an eye out for people to shove in Leaf’s direction for advice. She signed up for watch duty as well, because she knew how sieges worked, and her eyes were as sharp as ever. In idle moments, when her knife found its way into her hand after an unexpected shout from the street below, she carved words into the low wooden wall around the platform - we were here.

Rupert was hard at work on his rememberer, once he’d translated his own code, and George helped with that, too - she’d been told, often, that she didn’t do well with idle hands, and it was true. At a crammed table in Sally-Anne’s, Laney and Grey sniping happily at each other and Rupert sighing pointedly, she felt her shoulders settle. Her handwriting crammed into corners around theirs on scrawled papers was a familiar thing - they had set work on the generator aside, for the time being, in the interests of focusing their resources on the more urgent task.

Miz Eliza looked over their shoulders, but her knowledge of machines lay more in the practical auto-repair field than the design side of things. She settled into a nearby booth to write up her notes from her aborted field work, and to keep an eye on her son that looked vague to the point of non-existence until you noted how often she smiled at nothing, and how often Rupert gave a put-upon, pointed sigh.

Marian’s stray didn’t help much, either. She peered at the diagrams, curious, and discussed how the curse felt from her side of things, but she didn’t seem to have an engineering mind. Wren adopted her instead, when she wasn’t taking shifts on one of the watch towers, to help write lists and schedules, and to keep an eye on Elaine as she ran in three directions at once.

George watched her write up plans, eyes sober as she made murmured suggestions about safeguards and redundancies, and thought I don’t know who you are, but these aren’t your first days of war.

There were so many things that none of them knew, then. Things they had been made to forget - holes in their memories, words they could remember but voices that they couldn’t - but it doesn’t always take a curse. George had forgotten, or she had not wanted to think - just because she and Liam had been Jack’s family, didn’t mean they had been all of it. He had left more breaking hearts behind than just theirs.

Leaf worried about all of the Academy kids trapped on the other side of the walls, the stable loft crew. He and Red been mentioning a Terence, offhanded, for months of phone calls, now - but they had never said the second half of that name was Farris.

Tessa was small, female, and determined to be brave. She hid so many parts of herself, for the chance of a blue armband and the strength to look after those who needed protecting. Her cousin Jack hadn’t come home to visit in years, but Academy graduates cycled through the Forest Wayhouse regularly. For a while there had been a woman with a silver badge, who lent a delighted Hansel books, and told a rapt Tessa about the Academy. When Beryl-Sue started to talk about what it took to be a hero, slightly patronisingly, Tessa had sniffed. “I know about heroes. My cousin Lily -”

Her forms came back green; her acceptance was returned blue, along with an apology for a previous clerical error. Hansel’s were edged silver, and they set out together along the same path their cousin had walked, so long ago. Jack had never come home. He hadn’t written, either, and Tessa had seen what that did to the family, so she wrote every few weeks even if she didn’t think she was saying much. She hunted down the stable loft crew, Hansel rolling his eyes and leaving her to it, and felt the breath stolen from her by a girl stepping into the ring like it was a second skin, students parting for her without thought. When Gloria ran her through drills and talked about centres of gravity at their unofficial classes, she occasionally got sidetracked into talking about Ana, and all the fun tricks her friend had known about how to tackle an opponent bigger than you.

Tessa came from a family of heroes; she knew their names, their stories. She knew the name Jack Farris, and the name Beanstalk. This far into a year at the Academy, she knew the name Giantkiller as well.

George didn’t know the name Terence - but she didn’t know the name Tessa either.

Jack had never been good with names; he would tell you every mishap, misdeed, and hilarious mess a cousin had gotten into in their lives, but he rarely remembered to call them anything other than ‘my cousin’, so George had always been vaguely uncertain just how many relatives her best friend actually had. She’d figured out a rough estimate based on how much trouble Jack got into and dividing the stories by that. She sincerely hoped this was an underestimate, because if not she wasn’t entirely certain how there was a Forest left.

When Leaf said the name Farris with a delighted grin, flicking through a smuggled out Academy report, Red huffed and muttered an aside of little reckless hellion, like Leaf only smaller and even scrappier, and a hero to boot, and George felt herself go still. Laney frowned.

“Didn’t Sarge mention a Farris, in Challenge when we were talking to -” George wasn’t sure what her face was doing, to make Laney trail off when there were people watching to see her be uncertain. She slipped out through the kitchen, ignoring the worried looks as best she could, and pressed her back to the rough brick wall outside. She pressed her forehead to her knees and tried to remember how to breathe in anything other than shaking gasps until the world wasn’t pressing too close on her from every side.

George was up one of the watchtowers when disguised mages struck the wall hard enough to shake her platform, sending her stumbling to the wooden floor, testing their defences. The world was roaring gold fire, and she gasped for breath, crawling for the arrow slot and reaching for her gun. Her breath was still shuddering, caught somewhere deep in her ribs, but she gave a shaky exhale and squeezed the trigger the way Laney had taught them all, out on the Academy grounds one peaceful night. A returning streak of fire melted it out of her hands, and Grey flung his arms wide, stealing waves of incoming fire. His eyes were wide, frightened, furious, where moments before they’d been bright with indignation at a world where a child wasn’t allowed to read.

She pushed herself up and went for her pistol, gasping out a warning as the wall creaked inward like the sky was falling on them. The world was golden fire pouring down on her, even as the sky swam back into view, and her hands were shaking. The long-healed burn on her side itched, and she pushed it to the back of her mind as she rose up to her knees to take aim.

George fell again, and her cheek was pressed to greenish tile - the air was thick with disinfectant and coffee - there was worn wood beneath her cheek and her folded arms - the air was thick with coffee and baking bread - there was a woman with dark hair and mountain born features whose name she knew, cheek pressed to tile, cheek pressed to wood, dark eyes and dark hair and soft, strong hands.

Beatrice the elder sat across from Rupert, gasping from a blow that had not been violent, that had shaken through her like waking to a cold house and an empty bed, clutching at his trembling hands. George knew her name, now, shared half of it, but neither of them were thinking of that.

George shared half of her name, but far away in the mountains was a child who had all of it.

"Bidi", whispered George, "Grey, tell Lane to get Bea home, now, she shouldn't wait for this to be done, they have to go -"

Jillit Chu would not know until that evening, when she left with all of the Bureau's secrets still lying ready on her tongue, but in the mountains Liam dropped his steaming mug to shatter at his feet and Bidi went frozen for three heartbeats before bursting into tears. They wouldn't have dried on her face before Bea stumbled through a rift to dry them with her sleeve.

The room next to Rupert's cupboard cell had been a store room the entire time he had been there. In this world, Laney Jones hadn't brought the Seeress in, quietly, slinking through those plush halls of Grey's childhood, soon after joining the Bureau.

Weeks before, Laney had not been laid out on the floor, burnt wrists trembling, pointing a gun into a bright light and squeezing the trigger to stop the mayor from methodically removing George's limbs to break his returned son to obedience. Laney had been laid out, trembling, in the bowels of the keep, leg crushed and hands shaking with pain as she waited for friend or foe to round the corner.

George had been picking the cuffs, nimbly, still too slowly, hearing Liam whispering in the back of her mind and trying not to think about people handing you ways to free yourself, trying not to think about golden fire. Grey had been gasping, trembling, begging his father to stop, please, limp on the polished floor. Spider was tense at the Seeress' rigid side.

Sandry had promised to always be the scariest thing in the room for Sam. She had promised her brother he never needed to be afraid - and here she was, watching as his fear was flung wide for everyone to see, no power swirling at his fingertips to help him.

Once, Cassandra Graves had had an aunt and an uncle. When Mayor Graves was eighteen, his sister had lain discarded at their brother's feet, flames spilling from his fingers. His elder brother had not lived ten minutes more.

Grey had screamed, helpless, the Elsewhere still beyond his reach - but George had gotten the second cuff free, the knife from her boot, as gold faded from their vision, and Spider had lunged for the man he had pretended to follow, no longer hiding.

When Samuel Graves was fourteen, his elder sister lay discarded at their father's feet, gold dripping sluggishly from the weapon clutched in his hands.

Mayor Graves had not lived five minutes in a world that no longer held his daughter.

The siege went on. A few weeks after they all remembered her name, Jill turned up on their collective doorstep with a sharp smile and shoulders squared. They had met before they stood in the rubble of the escaped lab, on one or two occasions. The second time George broke into the hidden lab, Jill had ducked her head immediately back to her work. The fourth (she had gone at irregular intervals, even when she had guessed it would no longer work - to check that the field was still there, to make sure Rupert knew they were still out there, to convince Thorne that they still hadn’t figured out what the gaps in their memories meant), Jill had said nothing when George slipped a stray blueprint down the side of her boot, and let one eyelid drop in a flicker of a wink. The sixth, Jill had put an arm around Rupert’s shoulders and tugged him gently away, eyes soft - an apology, a promise to look after him, that George had forgotten as soon as the guards were done dragging her out of the door.

They’d worked together at Wen’s, too, when the soup kitchen turned plague house - but there had been no time for names, then, so they hadn’t been introduced until George was looking around the dust strewn lab. When they sat Jill down in Sally-Anne’s, George dropped down opposite her and held out a hand. Jill considered her as she shook it, a grip George remembered from their brief meeting in the lab.

“I worked in the mountains, for - a long time. I saw a lot of mages die, but I’ve seen more than a few stable, thanks to you. So. Thank you.” Jill shook her head, but she was curious rather than offended. “I didn’t do it for gratitude, you know. And I wasn’t exactly doing it for you.” George shrugged.

“I know. But you did a hard thing. And I know no one asked you to, but it was a hard thing, and a thankless thing. Except now I am thanking you, because it was the right thing, or a right thing, what you did.” She tucked her hands back into her pockets and sat back. “And I’m sorry, for whatever you cut away to do it.”

They compared lists over fried fish, Laney producing paperwork like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat when they told her what they needed. Some of Jill’s rescues had been George’s, first, so she packed her bag. She had been telling herself she was out, but she had known she wasn’t, really, with Rupert still missing, with cold homes that weren’t ready for winter, and empty spaces where there should have been people. But Rupert was sitting next to her, solemn and steady, their bloodless generator had come to humming life in the attic across from Sally-Anne’s - and this felt like it could be the end, finally.

Laney ported them out to skies that were as familiar as breathing, and to ones that none of them recognised. George scrawled constellations on the pages of Jill’s notebook, and opened her eyes wide at every new horizon they met. They left people staring at their fingertips, no longer leaking gold, or left flowers at the graves of those for whom they had done everything they could, once. Sometimes, while Rupert held hands and spoke softly, George slipped back out of doorways to breathe.

She had to do this; she had to be there, to walk these paths. But she didn’t have to watch Rupert save lives with the memory of all the lives that hadn’t made it ringing in her mind, if it was hurting her. She didn’t have to stay, and she breathed deep gulps of air that tasted like salt, or gritty with sand, or crisp the way the skies of her childhood had been, and reminded herself of that - this was a choice, not an obligation.

George had never known Winston. If he had been on Bea’s radar, a missing soul stolen by something none of them had yet put a name to, George didn’t know of him. But the quiet branch had, so Laney took them to tell his family, years after the fact, that their boy was never coming home. Jill had a letter, crumpled and worn, a time capsule from a younger woman facing a hard, cold future, and there were tears on her cheeks that had been waiting years to fall. George wrapped her fingers around the thick tea that had been pressed into her hands, while Jill listened to old, treasured stories as though her life depended on it, and thought about another boy who was buried somewhere his family would never see.

When they returned to Rivertown, George let Jill drag her out to market stalls and then introduced her cheerfully to Rue. She sat half the night with a sheet of paper and a pen, before curling up in her old, worn bedroll to try and sleep. There were words buried somewhere in her chest, but she couldn’t seem to dig them out and pin them down in neat lines, apologies and explanations.

The bakery had been off limits, throughout their quiet war; the Seeress had known not to make things too personal, so Bea and Bidi had been in no more danger than any other mother with a child who had fire in her veins (the Seeress had known many things, but not who gave the Giantkiller and his allies their marching orders). But Thorne thought himself invincible, untouchable; so Liam had lain gasping on the floor, everything in him spiralling and twisting, while Thorne held a knife to Bea’s throat.

Help had come, followed by Laney and George. The bakery was ash and burnt timber, and George had dug her nails into her palms. There was no mountain lupin in Bea’s garden, but the scent of it was thick at the back of the Slayer’s throat all the same.

“There’s a Farris, at the Academy in Rivertown.” Bea’s hands stilled on the pan she was cleaning in her aunt’s kitchen. George kept polishing the glass in her hands, eyes down. Liam was curled up with Laney and Bidi by the hearth, teaching his daughter one of the songs the Jones’ siblings had grown up with. His voice cut off sharply (for months, Bidi would break the song in two where there shouldn’t be a pause), and George reached for another glass instead of looking to see what was in his face. “I - I don’t think they know. About Jack.”

She laid her hands on the table in front of her; she thought if she tried to reach for a third glass to dry she would shatter it. The silence stretched on, waiting for her to find her words, to chase them out into the open air. This was the youngest she had felt in years, and she pressed her palms into the wood. “I think I have to tell them. I owe him that.”

“Jack would be the first to say you don’t owe him anything, Georgie.” Bea voice was quiet and steady, but soft in the way she only went when she was a breath away from tears. George looked up, and nodded, thinking but Jack also said he would make it home. Bea stepped forwards, arms open, eyes knowing, and George folded into them with a gasp. Liam curled his arms around them both, one hand buried in the short cropped curls he’d watched Jack cut for years, the way he had in the graveyard down the road at the funeral of a good man.

But there was a wall between Rivertown and the Academy. There was a war building between them, and they weren’t the ones who got to say when it would start. The second battle for Driftwood Island started, and George went to call their allies to arms. Little John called his volunteers to their feet, and George pressed her back to the rough bark of trees she had slept under for weeks on end, once. Laney handed over her pistols, hands trembling ever so slightly. George took them silently. It had been weeks after the mountains that Laney had confided about her hands, the way they shook when she looked down the barrel of a gun even at a painted target, her handwriting sloppier than it had been since childhood, the knots she had to tie bigger so that her fingers could stumble through patterns they had once danced through. George wasn’t good at comfort, but she had let Laney cry on her shoulder in the quiet dark of their shared room.

Her station was her usual watchtower with Grey, and she pressed her hands to the carved words - we were here. She breathed deep, and readied her gun, Laney’s pistols a not unwelcome backup at her sides. There were battles every side of her, but she stayed steady. She had lived through sieges before; she knew where she was supposed to be. Grey ran in chase of a handful of enemies who slipped through a crack in the walls, while George patched it up and hauled herself back up to her station.

The comms spells were a background hubub, until someone said her name, and she listened with half an ear, attention on the stretch of road and walls ahead of her, the part of the Academy courtyard she could mutter reports about for Leaf to direct his teams. Laney took a steady breath, and George held her hands still on her gun, remembering a peaceful Academy evening, a half-circle of faces listening to a sharpshooter teaching them how to aim.

“Do you know how Spider died?”

The Seeress had never made it down to St John’s Port, to a prison she would share with Rupert, to spill Thorne’s secrets into the quiet darkness that to her eyes alone was lit with swirls of endless gold. But Bea had asked, offhanded and careful, and so they knew - there had been no mob. There had been a quiet trail of people slipping into the keep to see the bodies, laid out side by side - the Mayor, the Seeress, and the long-limbed Spider. But no-one had dared cross the threshold until the Bureau told them the news was true, and welcomed them in to reassure themselves that their worst nightmares were gone.

(They knew now - Thorne had wrapped Bea up in his forgetting curse for several reasons, and one of them had been the suspected secrets of his that lived in her head.

Jill had known, because Thorne had grumpily informed Jeremiah that they were supposed to have had Dadlus but an operative had gone rouge and shot him, so they would have to recreate his work from the scattered notes they’d been able to retrieve. She had thought, briefly, about trying to track down which operative it was by looking through the list of field agents recently lost, but she had secrets of her own more important than someone else’s justice)

George was no stranger to the aftermath of battle, the stink of blood and the way a healer’s face would go still when it was bad. She carried water and bandages, peg clicking evenly on the floor, and she pressed sweetened tea into Weeds’ hands while Rue curled over Red.

“If he can be saved, they will,” she said, instead of he’ll be okay, because she had been on battlefields for years before this, and she had never liked people lying to her to make her feel better. Grey poured fire into Rue’s worst cases, and blinked at his stained hands with a glassy-eyed shock that George had seen on so many faces before. Jill pressed a damp cloth into his hands, her own gaze steady. George wanted to sleep for a year, but she leaned forwards and nudged Grey.

“I had a friend who was a healer, up in the mountains. One of the ones who went with me to find dragons.” Grey blinked, tearing his eyes away from the red streaks he was leaving on the towel. “Dragons don’t really do names, the way humans do - they do descriptions. They called him red handed man, because he was bandaging up Liam’s arm - because he was a healer.” Grey tilted his head, a scholarly light in his eyes that made something in George’s shoulders relax even as she braced herself for questions.

The next time she went to help in the sickbay, Professor Merris was stomping around, scowling eyebrows and a blank stare when George introduced herself as Ana. He did a sympathetic double take at her wooden leg, and George shrugged. “I’ve done enough adventuring. It’ll get me wherever I need to go.” She let him think she was just careless and putting a brave face on it, and went to carry water between beds and bully some food into Leaf while they waited for Red to wake up properly.

That night, Leaf curled up on Red’s infirmary cot, and Gloria wept on George’s shoulder about Clem, who George had known more from Heather and Gloria’s stories than her own conversations with the boy. Rupert settled down next to her at breakfast the next morning, to ask her to help him inventory damage at the Academy.

George suspected she was supposed to want to flinch at the damage, at another place she had lived destroyed, but this had never been home. She ran a fingertip over the words dragon bait on the doors, and smiled to herself. Wherever you go, people carve themselves out onto the nearest surface, their thoughts and names and jokes and declarations - whatever happens next, we were here.

An excitable combat spec skidded to a halt by them, a shadow with a silver badge at her back, and George’s feet stilled. Rupert glanced at her, wary. She had asked Leaf, before everything kicked off, if he could arrange a meet for her with the Farris cousins, when things settled. She had seen them in the makeshift infirmary after the walls were taken down, helping Nurse cart supplies down from the Academy and checking in on their friends. She had heard their names, but there had been lives to save, first.

Tessa looked at them, eyes wide. She had heard their names, too.

“You’re George the Dragon Slayer. I’ve read - we studied mountain vigilantes last semester, and I’ve hear all about you, you’re a hero and you’re a - you’re the best and Leaf said - Leaf said you wanted to meet us?” She was beaming, bright and bursting, and George recognised some of it as desperation for something good to hold onto, in the aftermath of battle, of loses even in victory. “I wrote a paper on you - Hansel helped - well, you and the Giantkiller.” Tessa’s eyes flicked to George’s right side, as though she expected to see another figure there too, and George didn’t flinch. Hansel nudged his cousin, and she flushed. “Um. Sorry. Leaf said you wanted to speak to us?”

“I - yes. It’s about - it’s about Jack. He - was one of my best friends.” George swallowed, watching their breath catch at the past tense. “He was my right hand man, too. We fought together for years, him, me and the Piper - Jack the Giantkiller. And I’m sorry, but he isn’t coming home. He saved so many lives, but he died doing it. He was - he was a hero, a real one”

Tessa reached blindly for Hansel’s hand, eyes wide. Rupert hovered, helpless, and George fought not to let her shoulders hunch. Tessa was so very determined to be brave, and here it was, even if she didn’t know it - tears rolling down her cheeks, trusting her cousin-in-arms to catch her if she broke, the way this was too heavy for her shoulders to bear but would be carried anyway. Hansel reached out and clutched her fingers, eyes bright and his chin raised.

“Of course he was. He was a Farris.”

Not long after, George woke when the warehouse door eased open and watched Bidi approach through her almost closed lashes. She rolled to her feet at the last moment to swing her up into her arms, grinning. Liam followed his daughter in, laughing, and spread his arms wide. “Surprise! We’re going on a road trip.”

Miz Eliza split the driving with Rupert and Bea, and they rotated between vehicles to trade stories - archaeological digs, mountain customs, the different skies they had all walked on, the way the quiet had a texture in the Forest. Tessa and Hansel were a paired set for the entire leg of the journey that took them to the Forest, to tell the rest of the Farris clan that their quiet, fading hopes were futile. One of Laney’s more trusted deputies was going to port out to the Forest in a week’s time, to pick the Farris cousins back up after they’d had some time with their family.

(Tessa wouldn’t be hiding any part of herself, when she came back, except for the way her heart felt shattered, and the voice in her head that wondered if she could have saved anyone, if she’d been just a little bit better. She would try to hide this last from even Hansel, but her cousin would press close to her side while they sat in their shared room, palms wrapped around scalding mugs, every time dark thoughts kept her awake late into the night, and refuse to let her blame herself)

Their convoy went on to the Deserts, to part ways with Miz Eliza and introduce Bidi to the rest of her family. George had submitted her paperwork for the next semester at the University, but she sat curled in an alcove under the stained glass windows, and thought she could love this place - maybe even in it’s entirety. It was tempting - a fresh start, a new sky - but she liked finishing things once she’d started them, and she hadn’t been lying when she’d sternly told Miz Eliza she already had her eye on a supervisor.

Though she did ask Rupert to introduce her, briefly, to a couple of the names his mother had been dropping in a bid to tempt her to stay. After all, she wasn’t opposed to the idea of going on to do a doctorate, and after a few years in St. John’s Port a change of scenery would probably be quite welcome. Rupert grinned, and handed her another parcel of bribes to help distribute. “It’s always good to make a strong first impression, Miss Jones. And Dr. Jacques is a great fan of a raspberry tea blend you really don’t get in the markets here.”

They received letters sporadically, as they travelled through the deserts and met up with the Jones family. George traced her fingers over the constellations on the backs and corners of the letters Jill sent her, and stayed up late one night scrawling down maps of the stars. Liam leaned back in the sand next to her and pointed them out, because even if they were the same stars she could see a few days away in Rivertown that didn’t mean they saw the same stories there, and she wrote her replies on the reverse.

On the outskirts of Rivertown, they waved goodbye to all of the Joneses except two. Laney swung Bidi solemnly through the air one last time as George pressed her forehead into the crease of Liam’s shoulder. Bea was smiling, soft, and reached for her hands once again when Liam stepped back. “You come visit us, and you write - call when you can, but I know what you’re like once your nose gets into a book.” George wrinkled her nose in a laugh. “If you change your mind and decide you need an extra pair of hands with a hammer up there…” “We’ll be sure to ask Laney to port that young Leaf up to burn off some energy.” Bea grinned, and Laney snickered. George shook her head, and squeezed Bea’s hands gently before stepping back.

Red and Leaf offered up spare spaces in their little home to returning friends, Grey already curled into a nest in the spare room. George slept under a hedgewitch-made blanket, her bedroll still neatly stowed by her packed bag, for a few days, until she was sure the dust had settled enough for the time being.

The closing of Sally-Anne’s was an end of an era, in many ways. George didn’t dance, but she perched in a corner with Red to laugh at friends, the way they had on so many cheerful evenings, then hopped up to grab a tray and try to convince Sally to sit down for a change. She was surprised but not shocked at the crowd that trailed them out to the porting warehouse, when it was time to go.

Jill had set out on her own travels already, but before she had she’d pressed a folded sheet of notepaper into George’s hand, with an address in St John’s Port, and the location of a market stall who’s owner would know where to find her if Jill’s flat had been reclaimed, or staked out by the Bureau. Rupert passed her a bundle containing his personal collection of volumes on the First League into her hands with a smile, and she hugged it close to her chest. She had scoffed over the First League early in their acquaintance, a long discussion that had been, for the two of them, close to a heated argument. She wasn’t surprised that he had remembered, even if nowadays she already understood what the Leagues had grown from, that she had wanted to read their thoughts for herself.

Laney pressed her hand up against the skin of the world and broke it, the way she had at thirteen, aching for something she could never have. Gold washed over them, and George didn’t flinch from it, even when it curled in lazy drifts around her ankles. Grey was pale even outside the wards, clutching onto Rupert’s steady arm, but he had insisted that he wanted to be there to see her off. Leaf was waving, eyes bright and delighted (Red was smiling at him, fond, if you knew how to look). Gloria was hopping from foot to foot excitedly, a care package clutched in her plump hands.

George settled her pack, and stepped into the Elsewhere, dissolving into fire. Gloria was a bright bubble of intention and a razor sharp attention one one side of her. Laney was all worry and protection, determination strong enough to shatter on the other. Every creature that had died at George’s spear circled her, but there was more to her than their blood on her hands.

You save people, Jack had said once, earnest and young, a boy who hadn’t yet learnt to fall.

I saved myself, she thought, stepping out into the fog of St. John’s Port, and breathed deep.

#Leagues and Legends #Beanstalk #Echoes of a Giantkiller #Remember the Dust #my writing #L&L fic #Saint George the Dragon Slayer #Liam lives but uh... #It's George so of course it's tragic #But it's also got moving forwards and friendship so??? #Liam lives AU #George goes to the Academy AU #George Jones/Jillit Chu #Once again deciding what to include and what to cut out was so hard #I know there's things I didn't spend as much time on as they probably deserved #and things I completely didn't include #But that's half the fun of it I guess