#carinavet

[haveyouseenthisseries-poll]

um i feel like it needs to be pointed out that bl georg is submitting shows that are Thai as in from Thailand. Not Taiwanese from Taiwan.

the majority, yes! they also submitted shows from taiwan, japan and south korea :)

[baoshan-sanren]

I love how you keep tagging your Lan Wangji posts as "HE'S SO BEAUTIFUL HERE" as if there will ever be a time when he ISN'T.

I KNOW

I’M RUNNING OUT OF WAYS TO BE LIKE

LOOK AT THIS BEAUTIFUL HUMAN

altho I have to say that they whole cold pond cave wet thing is a look™

[overthinkingfeathers]

19. a bite of an apple

Brosca doesn't expect to miss Dust Town. How can you miss a place you never liked? A place where you're so hated that your face is marred upon birth, a permanent brand so you can't fool others into thinking you're a person? There's nothing worthwhile in the rubble.

But the homesickness comes anyway. Maybe it shouldn't surprise her. All of her memories take place there, after all, and they can't all be bad. Rica is there, at least. Maybe she just misses her sister. Or maybe she just hates the bright light of the sky, and Dust Town looks appealing by comparison. Brosca isn't sure of most things these days.

One thing she is pretty sure of is that the human man - Duncan, he said his name was - has been shortening his strides for her. She, in turn, has been trying to lengthen her own to keep pace. If comfort is the aim, neither of them have really succeeded. Brosca's legs are cramping, and if she judges his expressions correctly, Duncan's are too. Not that she's going to say anything - she's had worse, will undoubtedly have worse still in the future - but it's aggravating her already dark mood.

Duncan calls for a break anyway. "There are some trees ahead," he says, and Brosca gets the horrible feeling that he knows she's suspicious of all the open space above them. "We can rest there for a moment."

Brosca just nods. How are you supposed to talk to humans anyway? They never came through the casteless areas back home, and she doesn't know. Is there a tone you're supposed to use? Words they object to? No one taught her this, and three days on the road hasn't been enough time to learn. Keeping quiet is the easy option for now.

The trees, at least, don't expect anything of her. They're taller than any plant has the right to be, but their heavily leafed branches act almost like a ceiling. She throws her pack to the ground and leans against the trunk. The temptation to close her eyes in this blissful new shade is strong, but maybe then Duncan will think she's afraid of trees too. She can't afford to appear weak.

She studies the branches above her with a deliberately neutral expression instead. Most of the leaves are green, like everything else in the upper world seems to be, but there are occasional spots of red too, rounder and heavier looking than the rest. Brosca is still trying to figure them out when Duncan reaches up and snags a couple. Easily, as if their height means nothing. She holds back a snort.

Either he misses or ignores her sudden swell of contempt because he tosses her one. She catches it automatically, surprised by how smooth it feels.

"It's an apple," he explains patiently. "They're a kind of fruit."

"I know," Brosca says. The lie is unnecessary and entirely automatic. Doubling down, she brings the apple to her mouth and takes a bite. If it's supposed to be prepared somehow, she'll just insist this is how it's eaten in Dust Town. Her pride is probably worth a minor poisoning.

She's confident in her ability to keep a straight face should it taste horrible, but she's not prepared for it to be good. It's surprisingly cool and sweet. Even more surprising is that it's juicy, and Brosca almost chokes. She forces herself to think beyond how refreshing it is, makes herself slow down before taking another bite. Her measured resolve lasts three more mouthfuls before she stops caring about how she looks.

Maybe she'll learn to like the outside world one day. It suddenly seems more possible.

[bloody-bee-tea]

carinavet hat auf deinen Eintrag geantwortet “Lan Xichen shaking his head at the shouting of "Good", proving yet...”

I love Lan Xichen and his general disapproval of all the Shenanigans. But it seems like his major character flaw is inaction: he shakes his head quietly in the background but doesn't DO anything about any of it. The closest he got was when he said "I heard women's voices" as they were rounding up Wen Clan remnants, but he was quickly and easily mollified  (without further investigation) by the Jin Clan.                  

And it costs him dearly in the end, because he could have stopped a whole lot of things, if he just didn’t look away and didn’t pretend everything was fine.

[inyri]

19. …for luck.

Remember that horrible prompt idea I mentioned the other day? It’s for you, I’m afraid. i’m SORRY

SWTOR. Theron POV. Copero.

***

(but i won’t do that)

He isn’t getting anywhere with Zenta.

What intel she’s shared so far has come in scraps and fragments, all verifiable but barely enough to keep that lunatic Atrius from frothing at the mouth, and for his part he’s got precious little left to broker in return that won’t actually hurt the Alliance. He’s done enough damage as it is- Nine’s holomessage, cast wide across the ‘Net, was proof enough of that.

(Theron doesn’t dare keep a copy on his ship’s mainframe where the GEMINI unit might find it. Instead he uploaded it into his implant where he can let it play as often as he wants, an overlay to his own senses, a memory and a penance all in one. It hurts, still, to hear her voice.

It should. If someday it doesn’t-)

He should have known better than to think this would be easy. If it had been House Mitth still in charge on Copero he could have sweetened the deal with credits but the Inrokini had beaten them to it; with the Eighth Family in her pocket, even if no one admits it publicly, he’s not sure that Zenta needs anything at all. In the weeks since he arrived he’s ransacked the entire Inrokini database, including the encrypted parts- their security was good but not that good- but the map isn’t there.

He needs her datapad.

He needs a better plan.

*

She’s running late from her previous meeting but waves him into her office as the guards step aside to let him through. (He’s already ruled out breaking into her office. Decryption was one thing, but he isn’t blasterproof.)

“Theron Shan.” He still can’t read her smile properly. “Excellent timing. My brother was just speaking of you.”

“My visions don’t lie, Inrokini’zenta’alani. You know that.” Valss paces back and forth across the woven rug in front of the carved wooden desk. “If we don’t help him you’re going to-”

Her jaw tenses. “We’ll continue this discussion later. Leave us.”

Valss turns abruptly on his heel and strides out of the office, looking back over his shoulder at him as he goes. The door shuts behind him; Zenta unclenches her fists, her knuckles cracking audibly.

“I’m very fond of him,” she murmurs, “and he is correct that his visions have never been wrong. But sometimes I wish his mother had smothered him in the cradle. It would save me a great deal of aggravation.”

He doesn’t reply. He isn’t meant to; he’s learned that much, at least.

“Now-” Zenta gestures to the vacant chairs in the far corner- “shall we pick up where we left off yesterday?”

*

The knock on the door of the guest suite is so soft he almost misses it beneath the sound of her voice.

This is the Commander of the Eternal Alliance. This message is for my husband-

The second knock, louder, breaks him out of his reverie, and he pauses the recording as he checks his blasters and then moves to check the viewscreen. He isn’t expecting visitors. Outright murder isn’t precisely Ascendancy style but-

“Theron Shan?” A male voice. When he activates the screen Valss- oh, Void, it’s- he’s hopeless at Chiss names, he’d have thought it’d be Inrokini’valss’something but that wasn’t it, he doesn’t think- “It’s important that we speak. May I come in?”

His lightsaber’s clipped to his belt, his hands empty. If it’s a ruse, it’s a good one. Theron takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Sure.”

He opens the door. “I’m sorry,” he says, to start with- might as well be honest- “it’s Valss, I know, but your formal name is-”

“Don’t worry about that. I don’t mind the informality.” Valss moves a few steps into the room. “Though I’d ask you not to mention that to my sister.”

“My lips are sealed.”

His smile, unlike Zenta’s, touches his eyes. At this distance he’s younger than Theron had thought; if the syndic was Theron’s age he might be ten years their junior, with high cheekbones and skin unmarked by worry lines. (Or that might be the Force at play, of course. He’s known a great many Jedi who could pass for decades younger than their birth records would suggest, his mother included.) “Oh, good.”

Words trailing off into silence, the pause lingers awkward between them until Theron clears his throat. “You said you needed to speak with me.”

“Yes,” Valss says. “Apologies. I was considering how to begin. I don’t-” he pauses, makes a face- “I’m permitted to speak to very few people. Even fewer when it pertains to my visions.”

“I’m not Force-sensitive.” Will that ever not hurt to say? “But I’m familiar with the concept.”

“I’ll be plain, then. I dreamed about you last night.”

*

“She’s afraid,” Valss says over the rim of his glass. “She doesn’t trust you.”

Theron shrugs. The whiskey here’s surprisingly good, smooth going down with just a gentle burn on the back of his tongue, and he rolls it slowly around his mouth before he swallows. “Can’t fault her for that. I probably wouldn’t trust me, either.”

“She has to. She’ll die if she doesn’t, and your success is certain.”

“You say that like it’s carved in stone.”

The gesture he gets in reply isn’t familiar. “I’ve never been wrong, though there have been many times when I’d rather have been. All I know is that the people hunting you will come here, too late to prevent you from finding what it is you seek. But in my dream my sister would not help you. She fought a woman in red who moved like a ghost and the ghost struck her down.”

He closes his eyes, trying to picture Nine, and all he can see is the the holo: her hair charred and chopped short, angry bruises on her face and her eyes swollen with unshed tears. That’s my girl, he thinks, still fighting.

“I don’t always agree with Zenta.” When Theron looks at him again Valss is frowning and for a second he wonders if he can read his thoughts, but no, he’s lost in his own head, staring past Theron out the window toward the sea. “But I do not want her to die.”

“Do you know what the timeline is?” He takes another sip of whiskey. “Until I’m found?”

“No. It’s not an exact science.”

Another sip.

“I’ll speak to her again in the morning.” Rising, Valss sets his glass on the table between them; a bead of condensation rolls slowly down its side to settle on the mosaic tiles beneath. “She’ll see reason. She has to.”

*

-we can end the cycle of war, Theron. You have a hundred ships waiting for your command, to use as you see fit. But I need you to-

(Her voice broke, then.

His heart breaks with it, every time.)

*

The old Alliance arms cache on Hoth is almost abandoned now, with the Star Fortress long destroyed and their foothold there no longer needed.

He hopes so, at least. He gives up the location to Zenta the next day when she asks about heavy weaponry; it buys him another week.

*

“It would help me reason with her-” Valss says a few days later; these meetings have become routine now, as much so as his daily conferences with the syndic- “if you’d tell me why you need the map.”

Theron sighs, slouching lower in his chair. “I’m sure it would.” Telling him about the map, even in the vaguest possible sense, was probably stupid. All his instincts keep telling him Valss’ motives are genuine- even if it’s only to keep Zenta alive he seems to truly want to help and he’s got to use that however he can- but the last thing he wants is word of the Order’s goal getting back to the Chiss. Some of them might think it was a good idea and he’s not giving that beast any more fodder beyond himself. Time to change the subject. “Why is she hesitating? She clearly values your gift, but-”

Valss blinks. “Wait. Say that again.”

“Which part? Why is she-”

“No.” His smile is radiant. “Gift. You called it a gift.”

Theron nods slowly. Master Zho had always used the word- gifted in the Force, he’d said, as though one day he’d wake and it’d be there, wrapped up beneath the Life Day tree. “You can see the future. I think most people’d call it that.”

“Not my people. For us the Force is…” Valss leans forward toward him. “By the standards of the Ruling Families I am considered defective. Unworthy. They exile us, drug us. The mountains of Csilla are full of the bones of children like me.”

“But you survived.”

“By chance. I had my first vision just after Zenta’s father died. My own family wanted me medicated and shut away, but Zenta needed every advantage she could get to hold onto power- against all advice she adopted me into her House. By calling me brother, she put me near enough to her that my safety was assured.” A shadow falls across his face as the light fades from the window, Copero’s sun falling below the horizon. “Insofar as that’s possible, and only as long as she survives. But if she’s seen to rely on me too much, that also makes her vulnerable. Do you see?”

Oh.

He considers his next words carefully.

“When I was a child,” he says, “I was raised to believe that if I worked hard enough, if I meditated often enough, that the Force was my birthright. When that turned out to be a lie, I didn’t have a place in that world. So I’m sorry if I offended you. I only-”

“You didn’t offend me.” Valss hesitates a moment before reaching out, resting one of his hands carefully on top of Theron’s. “You understand.”

He’s reading too much into it. He’s reading too much into it. It’s just a gesture (don’t be stupid it isn’t just a gesture the Chiss don’t touch anyone but what- oh, Void-)

Theron turns his arm, slow and deliberate, until Valss’ hand sits in the curve of his palm; he waits.

“And I understand-” skin on skin, fingers curling- “why I was meant to help you.”

*

(He asked her about it once, after enough time had passed that the hurt of it had faded into memory and the question became academic rather than personal.

It takes her almost five minutes to answer.

How do you do it? She sits up on the bed, arms wrapped around her knees. Like anything else, I suppose. I was taught. How did they teach you to kill?

He starts to respond and she shakes her head gently.

That was rhetorical. It’s… Theron, why are you asking me this?

I love you. He shifts until he’s curled around her, head beside her hip, looking up at her. And I want to understand.

She nods. I love you, too. I- think of it like this. Did you ever walk into your office and realize you have no memory of how you got there- that you left your apartment and made all the correct turns, traveled the correct streets, but you were so busy thinking about something else that your body went through the motions while your mind was a thousand parsecs away?

All the time.

You just- she lets one hand fall, combing idly through his hair. It’s the same. It’s just sex. Your body knows what to do so you think about the mission, about a film you enjoy, about an old lover- anything but what you’re doing. And you tell yourself that it’s necessary.

But-

It sounds awful. I know that. But it’s what they made me.

He arches up to kiss the bare skin along her ribs. I know. I know. I just don’t think I could ever have done it.

I said that once, too. But you never know how far down you’re willing to go until you’re already falling, I think.

Very poetic of you. He kisses her again, lower, on the arch of her hip, and she sighs through the words and leans into his mouth. I’m sorry. Come here.)

*

(She was right.

Of course she was.

He’s a traitor, after all, and he’s already fallen so very, very far that it only makes sense that his body is, too.)

*

A listening post sacrificed. Another week bought.  He sleeps alone, still, when night comes. That’s a line he will not cross. But-

I love you, Theron, she says inside his head. Come home.

He’s no longer certain whether he deserves to.

*

“You don’t have to agree.” Theron shoves the last of his few belongings into his rucksack, slinging it over this shoulder. “I know it’s asking far too much.”

With a shake of his head Valss turns, considering the still-closed door and the commotion beyond. “If I don’t go now we won’t have another chance. They’re coming, Theron, and if I can’t save Zenta at least I can save you.”

He closes his eyes. This wasn’t how it was meant to go.

“Ten minutes and I’ll be back with the datapad. I know where Zenta keeps it, and by the time she knows it’s gone we’ll be halfway to your map.”

“All right.” He exhales and then breathes in sharply at the pressure of Valss’ kiss. “What-”

“You don’t need luck,” Valss says as he opens his eyes again. “But I do.”

[samwise-though]

“You shouldn’t have said that.”

“You shouldn’t have said that.”

His breath brushed against the back of her neck, and despiteher best efforts to remain unaffected by his tactics, she felt her backstraighten.

He chuckled, low the vibrations of the sound reverberatingbetween his chest and her back. Her arms broke into goose-bumps.

“Said what?”

She heard him back away, but before she could breath a sighof relief, he had stepped around her, filling her vision entirely.

Taking her face in one hand, so she could not look away, hesmiled dangerously at her. “Now, now, Illena. Don’t play coy with me,” he cutout, studying her reactions carefully.

She remained silent, meeting his gaze unblinkingly, issuinga silent challenge. But he was content to wait for her to be the one to breakthe silence. He was, after all, the one in control.

After a few moments he brushed his thumb up, across her lips,and he felt her jaw flex against his hand.

Her eyes moved away from his, fixing on a spot on theceiling. Her resolve was starting to break, and she cursed herself inwardly.

Illena felt him take another step towards her. Her eyes snappedback to his. His smile grew wider.

“You have no effect on me.”

He chuckled again, taking another step closer, so that shecould feel his breath on her lips. His other hand came up, and he brushed hisknuckles across her cheekbone.  

“As noted before, you really shouldn’t have said that. Youcannot lie, to the God of Lies and Mischief.”

She felt her breath catch and cursed herself again, tryingto move away from him, to hide the colour spreading across her cheeks.

But he was faster, realizing what she was doing, and removedthe first hand from her face, to snake it around her waist, pulling her to him.

“O-oh.” She blinked up at him, her hands coming to rest onhis chest. She knew she should push him away, prove that her words were true.

But they weren’t. And they both knew it.

His face softened a little, and he tilted his head to oneside, suddenly her lips had become very fascinating. He leaned in closer to her,and she felt herself move toward him.

They both jumped at the loud banging on the door.

“Loki! There is something you must see!” The elder prince’svoice boomed through the closed door. “I know you are in there, come out!”

She watched a flash of irritation cross Loki’s face.

Before even she realizedwhat she was doing, Illena pushed herself up onto her toes, reaching up, herfingers tangling in his hair, and pressed her lips to his.

She felt him freeze for a breath, before melting into her.

Then she pulled away, removing herself from his grasp completely.

There was a pause, punctuated only by the sound of Thor bangingon the door again. Loki stared at her, surprise painted on his handsomefeatures.

She felt her lips curve up into a smirk, before turning andwalking away from him. She paused after a few steps and looked back to findLoki still watching her, a more guarded expression on his face.

She spoke quietly, “I suppose you’re not the only one whohas an effect on people.”

This time, she returned his dangerous smile.

(Thanks for the prompt, I’m sorry it took a few days! I hope you like it! Also this is my first ever time receiving a prompt, so there’s that! :D

Oh, and it sort of just turned into Loki and a OC. Blame the ridiculous amount of Hiddleston and Loki that I’ve been reblogging. Sorry not sorry?)

[haveyouseenthisseries-poll]

Since I've started following, ALL of the polls for the shows I've seen have only come up as your "Tumblr has seen this series!" reblogs, when it's too late to vote! It's such a tease! I wanna click "yes" dammit!!!

ahaha so sorry, my fault for forgetting to reblog them earlier, now you're doomed to see months old polls at random :')

[baoshan-sanren]

I'm no expert, but from the tiny bit of riding I've done: If the horse is trotting, you actually support your weight on your feet, not your butt, and alternate going up and down with each pace (using your thigh muscles; it's REALLY freaking hard). But that horse is not trotting, and Wei Wuxian is not in time with its paces. He's just having a good ol' time bouncing in his seat. (The horse is, likely, not having a good ol' time.)

I thought so!! But is he having a good time? Is he really? Because like

he looks like he’s landing pretty hard every time and