#it feels almost impossible to extricate art from being Content

[teacupsandcyanide]

Something I miss from earlier eras of the creative side of the internet was things just being unabashedly low-budget. Just all unashamedly amateur, unprofessional, ‘I don’t own a good camera but I have a story to tell you’, ‘I can’t afford a good mic but I have a song to sing for you,’ ‘I don’t have any kind of background in editing or lighting and I only just picked up this guitar last Tuesday but here’s an entire musical me and my friends wrote about our favourite book, we filmed it on a potato and put it up on YouTube in ten minute segments because we thought it was pretty funny.’

#everything felt so much less like Content then #and as someone who wants to share creative stuff online #it’s now incredibly daunting thinking about doing that bc #especially as a disabled person who can’t work full time #it feels almost impossible to extricate art from being Content #like there’s this immense pressure to produce things that could pass as professionally produced by a team of educated people #and to make smart decisions so that somehow eventually you can profit off your art #and instead of it being a ‘hey look at my silly little song’ it becomes #competing in an over saturated market already dominated by the nepotism afforded by wealth and connections #and it feels like it would very difficult not to measure my personal satisfaction with how a certain piece of art turned out #by how much attention it got online #even though I genuinely have zero desire to be famous and it sounds like a complete nightmare #anyway I’m gonna have ice cream for dinner how about you guys #hmp42

[mankillercalledbunny]

I finally watched Paris Is Burning yesterday as part of my research for an essay and. I am so sorry to every trans woman but especially those who engaged in the drag community that RuPaul's transphobic ass has become the ostensible public face of modern drag. I honestly wonder if he's actually watched the film itself or just picked a few potent quotable lines to use rather than acknowledging the actual content. There's a lot about how the drag community is a lot more than just men wearing dresses and how much trans women are foundational to the drag scene, and RuPaul just... Ignores it.

It is impossible to extricate trans history from drag history because they came into existence together. About half of the queens prominently featured in PIB are trans and identify as women, they speak openly about getting feminisation surgeries and being much happier as women and how being part of the drag community is a way for them to express their womanhood. They are part and parcel of the drag scene, and they are accepted as such by the gay male queens. It is heartbreaking to me that so much of the public perception of drag neglects the history of trans people in drag and the nature of drag as transcendent of gender. I especially feel for the trans women of colour and drag queens of colour, who built the ball scene. Black and Latine queens are the beginning, the middle, and the end of the drag scene, and almost as many are trans as are gay men. In the film, the members of the House of Xtravaganza (which was founded as a house for Latine drag performers, features prominently, and still exists) were the mother and a daughter of the house, the latter of whom was a trans woman and a prominent performer in the ball scene! The current Xtravaganza family includes several trans women, one of whom was named after the mother of the house, Angie! Hell, Marsha P Johnson, the woman who threw the first shot glass at Stonewall, was a Black trans woman AND a drag queen!

Drag queens and trans women and trans drag queens have a long and intricately connected history and the drag community needs to address its modern transphobia, and the queer community at large needs to confront RuPaul's transphobia and the damage he specifically has done. He refuses to acknowledge the fact that trans women are an intrinsic part of the drag scene, or that he contributes to the cis-washing of its history (notably referring to Marsha as a drag queen and a gay man). He's all for "pushing the boundaries of gender" until it comes to acknowledging the very real fact that drag is an important part of many trans women's journeys. The only time trans women get acknowledgement on the show is when the network can exploit their pain or force them to divulge very personal information and subject them to transphobic treatment from other queens with no recourse, rather than taking the opportunity to explore the incredible historical contributions of trans women to the art of drag. RuPaul says "in the grand tradition of Paris Is Burning", but he doesn't actually uphold that tradition himself.

TL;DR Trans women have always been part of the drag community, and RuPaul's transphobia has done IMMENSE damage to the way both are perceived.

#am i insufficiently kinglike? #queer stuff #gender stuff #trans stuff #RuPaul #rupaul's drag race #i can't watch that show anymore #it just infuriates me #DRAG SHOULDN'T BE ABOUT HOW MUCH MONEY YOU HAVE #DRAG QUEENS ARE NOT EXEMPT FROM RECOURSE FOR THEIR TRANSPHOBIA #after finding out about alaska's... incident (look it up if you want but big transphobia cw) it was already hard watching eps with her #but when i realised the extent of Ru's and his insidiousness and the fact that his pick me ass has whitewashed and ciswashed drag #because he refuses to acknowledge the history of the scene he grew up in #it's just vile #he wants so badly to appeal to white cis straight people and be palatable and sanitised and acceptable and make queerness jokey #cis gay men are not exempt from being transphobic just bc they're gay #and it sucks that transmisogyny has been so normalised in the modern drag scene

[welcometoels]

Session Five - Evil Residence

[DM’s note - It may appear on casual reading that the team made some odd decisions in this session.  This was due, in part, to some absolutely shocking rolls - more critical fails than would be statistically probable.  Also, they are very silly people]

Mansion de Mortesque would be an imposing structure even without the horde of undead prowling its grounds. Large, opulent and dimly lit, it has an unnerving air all of its own.  The locked door to the west with a sign (in Common and Elvish) reading “Do Not Open - Dead Inside” does not help.

Unperturbed, Oddsock approaches the organ that sits at the foot of the stairs leading to the upper floor.  With unexpected skill, he treats the party to a rendition of a bawdy but stirring ballad from his home country - the tale of a brave young canine prostitute, called “How Much Is That Doggy In The Window”.

Bravura performance that it is, it nevertheless upsets whatever is beyond the locked door.  There is much banging upon the wood from that direction, so the party decides to move the opposite way, through a pair of ornate wooden doors.

Unfortunately, two zombies in serving garb are present in the room.  Hardened by their prior encounters, the team puts both of them down, though their undead fortitude makes it a more gruelling encounter than the adventurers would have expected.

Threat disposed of, the team have a chance to take stock of the area. They are in a dining room, with a long table and silver place settings.  For a moment, Talion thinks he sees a cat, but it turns out to be the remnants of an old curry.  Oddsock has a chew upon a zombie’s calf and ruminates.

To the south is a smoking room, with plush leather couches and shelves of expensive, leather-bound tomes.  Oddsock gets comfortable on a couch while Julius and Talion raid the shelves.  They are mostly dusty old volumes about Elven history and nobility, though one about the history of the Drow catches Talion’s eye.  Sadly, for the otter there is nothing - this household does not read books on the topic of flora and fauna for recreation, it seems.

Also to the south there is a washroom, with a discreet brass plaque reading “WC”.  This is perhaps the cleanest room they have found so far, showing no sign of use for weeks.

The kitchen to the north, however, is a different matter.  As soon as they enter the room, they are assaulted by a hideous smell coming from the far end.  Further investigation shows this to be a pantry, stuffed with what was once fresh fruit and meat, but which is now spoiled beyond recovery.  Talion thinks he sees the cat again, while Oddsock almost sees his lunch again.  Both decide that retreat is the better option.

Upon a wooden surface in the kitchen is a tin bucket, with a wooden chopping board upon it.  From within the bucket, Kadis can perceive a light scratching.  Talion investigates, managing to re-cover the bucket just before a severed hand leaps out to attack him.

Upon the floor is a trap door, sealed shut with a single, thick nail.  The only other door is locked, with that same “Do Not Open” warning upon it.  Sensing further danger, the group opts to venture upstairs.

The first room that they enter is a gallery of sorts, with a black stone statue of a male Drow as the centrepiece.  He holds one hand aloft, clutching a ball.

While Oddsock and Julius try to extricate the ball from the statue’s grasp - Oddsock hurting his jaw in the process - Talion checks the rest of the gallery.  There are numerous expensive portraits, seemingly of the same family, though only one of them has a name plaque - Aberraton Mortesque, an austere Drow, and clearly the subject of the statue that Oddsock is still attempting to gnaw at.

Kadis takes a moment to listen at the doors at either end of the room.  Hearing a presence of some kind in the west, he suggests moving east, and the party takes his advice on board.

Entering a corridor, they proceed directly to a heavy wooden door at the far end, beyond which is a library.  Immediately ransacking the shelves, Julius finds a beautifully illustrated Elvish guide to plants, while Oddsock uncovers a few Necromantic tomes, each with skulls on the front and a label inside depicting a skeletal hand reaching out for a magic orb.

Unsubtle as they are, they attract the attentions of an individual behind a locked door further into the room.  Much like at the entrance gate, a deep voice boom “LEAVE THIS PLACE”.

Talion, in a attempt to charm his way through the door, offers to assist with this “Drow situation”.  This does nothing to appease the voice, which takes great exception to what may be implied, and makes it very clear that they will not be run out of their home.

Pushing subtlety aside, Oddsock, Talion and Julius assault the door with their magic, weakening it to such an extent that they manage to pop it open.

Inside is a well-appointed study, with shelves of leather-bound books lining the walls, and candles of various hues casting a dim light.  A heavy wooden desk stands in front of a huge window, and behind the desk is a young Drow, pointing a dark metal tube in their direction.

This time, the team is more successful at appealing to the person behind the door.  They introduce themselves, and ask what is going on.  Oddsock places his head upon the Drow’s lap, and finds a bucket under the desk, the contents of which are clearly the reason why so many scented candles had been lit.

The Drow in question is named Aberron Clutchstraw.  He is an engineer at heart, taking after his Half-Drow father Graham, much to the delight and relief of his mother Aberratia.  However, he was pressganged by his great uncle Aberraton Mortesque into taking up the family trade of Necromancy after the death of his parents.

He took up residence at the Mansion to assist his great uncle, though he had no particular skill or interest in the dark arts.  If anything, he was sickened by the practise, and by the undead Aberraton kept in his service.

Recently, Aberraton took delivery of the body of a terrible creature.  Being old and frail now, he intended to use his most powerful magical artefacts to transfer his consciousness into the beast.

However, something had clearly gone wrong, as the undead servants became unruly and impossible for Aberron to control with his weak grasp of Necromancy.  Futhermore, the dead began to rise from the family plot behind the mansion.

Fearing for his life, Aberron trapped as many of the staff in their quarters as he could, gathered supplies and locked himself in his great uncle’s study, where the party found him a couple of weeks later.  There has been no sign of Aberraton since he secluded himself in the attic to conduct his ritual.

At this point, Aberron remembers that he never sealed the hatch to the attic.  No sooner does he realise this than the trapdoor bursts open, and a gruesome horror descends.

Resembling a floating ball of rotten flesh, the creature as a single blind eye in its centre, though more eyes grow from tentacles sprouting from its mass.  It immediately turns upon the group.

Setting down the metal tube - which grows thin legs and skitters across the desk - Aberron calls his brass owl Dominique to his side as the party readies itself for combat.

Kadis lays down powerful strikes from his staff and fists, though is rooted to the spot by a flash from one of the creature’s tentacle eyes.  Talion offers healing support despite another magical flash driving fear into his heart.

Oddsock and Julius bring their magic to bear on the creature, with Julius exercising his newly-acquired - and vey effective - Moonbeam.  In the fray, a single bolt of fire runs astray, igniting a bookshelf, but thankfully avoiding the party.

Spurred by their bravery, Aberron joins in, assisted by Dominique and the strange walking cannon.

Recovering from his terror, Talion mounts the desk and looses his electric breath across the creature.  This finally proves too much for it, and it drops to the ground, dead once again.

Julius, conscientious as ever, creates a cloud above the burning shelf to pour down rain and douse the fire.  He has a little excited dance as the rain falls, before hunkering down next to the fallen creature to make extensive notes.

Aberron fetches a ladder from a corner to investigate the attic, confident that it is now safe, and is followed by Talion and Oddsock.

Immediately upon entering the attic, they find the dead body of an aged Drow, surrounded by spent items of Necromantic nature.  The only one of these items not devoid of magic is a black metal lantern, which glows with a faint green light.

Talion grabs the lantern while Oddsock snuffles around, eventually finding a black rubber ball imprinted will a skull and a star.  Finally having obtained a ball after much failure, the Golden Retriever descends the ladder in a manner unseen.

Aberron regards the body of his dead great uncle, and, with much resignation, makes clear his intent to leave this place forever.  Fetching a bag and stuffing a few valuables into it, he returns to the study to tell the party that they are welcome to take anything that he decides to leave behind.

This is more than a few things, it transpires.  There is wealth to be found in this place, and Aberron has little interest in carrying it all himself.  Aside from his blueprints, his owl and his favourite clothes, he takes little else.

The party helps themselves to some fine dark clothing, suited to winter months.  Though it is still spring weather on Els, who knows what the future may bring.  Talion also grabs an unused rapier from Aberron’s room, which the Drow is glad to see the back of.

During these investigations, Julius checks on the lantern to see if he feels the same connection he experienced from the blue gem of the south.  Feeling nothing but a magical presence, he passes it to Kadis, who

Feels the tilled soil beneath his feet and the wind on his skin

Smells the crops and the animals in the field

Hears the farmers toiling, and the sound of all of that going away

Keeping his emotions under control, he confirms that he experienced something from this lantern where Julius did not.

Meanwhile, Talion and Oddsock find a couple of chests.  Julius assists the dog in opening one up, and he narrowly dodges a jet of magic as it emerges.  Oddsock, however, is not as swift, and is now coloured bright pink as a message hangs in the air reading “VEM!!! You have been caught by a classic Clutchstraw prank!”

Talion tries to be more careful with the other chest, but finds himself shot in the face with more magic from the keyhole as he investigates, colouring him neon green from head to toe.

Aberron witnesses this, and through chuckles explains that he had forgotten about those chests, which he had rigged years ago.  The colours will disappear after a night’s sleep, and the two were welcome to take the gems from inside the chests as a thankyou for giving him the first laugh he’d had in months.

Oddsock, unable to perceive colour, wonders what all the fuss is about, and climbs into one of the chests, only extricating himself when Aberron throws his new ball.

Before leaving this floor, Aberron peeks into another bedroom to see two bodies on a double bed - a Drow woman and a Half-Drow man.  “At least they can rest now,” he says before leaving.

Opening the front door reveals the first rays of dawn, and the thunderclouds of last night peeling away.  The grounds are strewn with dead bodies, unmoving in the morning light.

A final end for them, but a new beginning for Aberron.

#dnd #dnd homebrew #5e

[marvelousbirthdays]

Happy Birthday, stillwatersnarwhal

June 30- a WinterShock fluff and/or crack fic, maybe with multiple personalities for Bucky , for @stillwatersnarwhal

Written by @ibelieveinturtles

The multiple personalities are only hinted at here. I didn’t quite get to showing them in more detail. Enjoy!

Bucky is used to not being able to find an empty bed in the safe house they're shacked up in. It's not a huge problem - because often as not, they don't all sleep at the same time anyway - but on the rare occasion they do, it's more a case of finding a bed that still has room.

He has his preferred bed buddies - they all do - but really, no one can afford to be fussy unless they want to sleep on the floor.

He's shared sleeping space with Steve more times than he can count. Steve's good to share a bed with because he rolls onto his side and then doesn't move again until he wakes up.

Sam sprawls. To share with Sam, one must first rearrange every limb he has, then dive in quickly before he rebounds like a jack-in-the-box. Sometimes it's easier to wait.

Clint and Wanda are both used to sharing their sleeping space with other people, which helps even though Wanda has nightmares almost nightly. She sleeps stiffly, lightly, sparingly - afraid of what slumber brings, succumbing only when exhaustion conquers her.

Scott is a cuddler. He clings like an octopus and Bucky doesn't mind - it's quite nice to have someone who's not afraid to snuggle up to him.

Bucky has his own sleeping habits. The nightmares aren't as frequent any more but they've been joined by another issue - sometimes, Bucky doesn't wake up as Bucky.

The Soldier only comes out after a particularly bad nightmare or mission. Princess Shuri removed all his triggers and programming but the remnants appear whenever he needs to take an emotional step back. Thankfully, the ghostly remains of the Soldier are usually content to just wander off to be alone somewhere until whatever caused his appearance has passed, and no one ever gets hurt.

One day Natasha shows up with a pair of exhausted looking women that only Clint seems to have met before - although Steve and Sam claim recognition once introductions are done.

Dr. Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis became fugitives after government officials descended upon them, insisting they sign the Accords because Dr. Foster's work has been deemed a threat to world security. Lewis proudly tells how she quietly sabotaged all their equipment while Dr. Foster distracted the goons; using a special virus she created herself to scramble the computers once all their data was secure. After successfully avoiding an official signing for several hours they fled at the first opportunity. There's a lot of swearing and gesturing during the telling of the tale and Bucky is quietly captivated.

It does mean that the beds are even more crowded now. Natasha leaves again almost immediately, saying she has things to take care of, but they've still only got three double beds and now there's eight people to put in them. It's a struggle, but they manage.

The two women slot smoothly into the group. Foster frets about her research and all the events and appearances she’ll be missing but Lewis treats the whole experience like a vacation, making friends with everyone. She’s like a breath of fresh air.

A couple of weeks later, Steve and Bucky pull into the drive. It's 2am and they've been awake for 47 and 43 hours respectively. They've been out on a supply run, driving to a town well away from where they're hiding. Bucky is more ready for sleep than he's been for a long time but as he wanders from room to room, he realises that all beds are currently occupied.

Wanda is cuddled up with Foster, and Bucky can see straight away that she's more relaxed than he's seen her for quite a while. Clint and Scott are sleeping back to back, and Lewis is sharing with Sam. Now there's a surprise, as she's an even bigger bedhog than he is. When Lewis sleeps, it's in diagonal starfish mode and for such a small woman she can easily occupy an entire double bed on her own. Lewis and Sam have somehow managed to weave themselves together and sleep at the same time. It's a bit like looking at a first grade art project made out of string and pasta. After staring for several startled seconds, Bucky turns to leave but pauses when there's a whisper from the bed.

“You look like shit. Get in here."

Turning back, he sees Sam looking at him.

"You'll have to slide in when I slide out, otherwise she'll be impossible to move."

Bucky frowns, then shrugs. He doesn't have the energy to argue. Sam extricates himself from Lewis and Bucky takes his place. He's asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow but he still registers the still-sleeping Lewis slide an arm around his waist. It feels good. It's also the best sleep he's had for weeks. When he wakes up alone twelve hours later he misses her weight along his back.

It’s only a matter of days before they end up sharing a bed again. He goes to sleep alone and wakes up with Lewis clinging to him like a limpet. She has a surprisingly strong cling for such a small woman. He tries not to but he still manages to wake her while trying to wriggle free.

“Where you going?” she mumbles, curling her fingers into his shirt. “Stay.”

“I can’t.”

“Can.”

“Can’t. Lewis, lemme go.”

“Noooo.” Her grip tightens and even though he’d like to stay, Bucky has to pull out the best excuse.

“Lewis, I’m bustin’. I have to get up.”

Lewis groans but let’s go. Bucky rolls out of the bed, careful to tuck the blankets back in before he leaves. Just as he opens the door, he hears another murmur.

“Darcy.”

“What?”

“Call me Darcy. Not Lewis.”

Bucky smiles. “Okay, Darcy.”

She finds a lot of excuses to spend more time with him after that, and he’s not complaining.

The next time Bucky's in dire need of sleep it's the middle of the day. Everyone was up and down all night due to some rather aggressive weather but each bed is only half occupied. Sam is doing his starfish impression, Foster is in the next room (although all the men tend to stay away from her, because she has a tendency to bring a knee up, sharp and sudden, for no discernible reason at all). And then there's Darcy.

Bucky stares at her current sleeping position. For once she's only taking up half the bed. Except it's the top half of the bed. She's sprawled face down across the pillows, one leg dangling over the front edge, one arm over the other edge. Bucky could fit next to her but he'd have both legs off the edge of the bed from the knees down. He's hesitant to try and move her though because when Steve tried it a few days ago, he'd ended up on the floor, hands cupped around his balls, and blood flowing from his nose. (No one's sure how that happened - super soldier reflexes are usually much, much better than that.)

Bucky sighs and chickens out. It would be easier to wrestle for space with Sam again, except by the time he gets back, Scott has already insinuated himself beside Sam, and Bucky knows without looking that either Steve or Wanda have probably curled up with Foster by now. (He checks anyway. It's Wanda.)

Bucky turns around to see Steve and Clint standing in the doorway of Darcy’s’ room.

“I'll take my chances on the floor,” Clint mutters, walking away as Steve stares blankly into the room. Bucky wanders back to the doorway, slinging an arm around his buddy’s shoulder as they observe the sleeping woman.

“If you don’t mind your feet hanging over the edge you could probably get in there without disturbing her,” Bucky says quietly. He casts a sideways glance at Steve and allows a tiny smirk to dance around his mouth. Steve returns the glance, but not the smirk.

“I think I’d feel safer in a lion’s den,” Steve replies as he rubs his face tiredly. “I’m sure I can wait a few more hours. Besides,” and now Steve does grin at him, “you’ve been awake longer than I have. You need the rest more than I do, Buck.” Steve pats him on the back before turning and leaving. “Sweet dreams, Bucky!”

Bucky turns back into the room, taking the few steps needed to reach the bed. Darcy hasn’t moved a single muscle since he first peered into the room and while he’s tired enough to sleep anywhere, in any position, he’s still not sure if he wants to risk trying to move her.

“Why the hell can’t you just sleep like a normal person?” he mutters to himself. "Alright, Darcy. Move for me, please."

To his surprise she rolls over and blinks at him. "Wassgoinon?"

"You're using the bed wrong," he replies.

She glances around, then slowly wiggles herself around until she's the right way round. "C'mon then,” she says, patting the pillow next to hers. “All fixed. Get in here so I can go back to sleep.”

He quickly strips down to his singlet and shorts before crawling in next to her. She immediately plasters herself against him and it feels fantastic.

“You’re my favourite bed buddy, you know,” she whispers after a while.

“Yeah?” Something blooms in his chest and he realises it’s happiness.

“Yeah.”

#wintershock #Bucky Barnes #Darcy Lewis #crack fic

[the-wardens-torch]

Final Fantasy XIV Writers - 30 Day Writing Challenge 2017

Prompt #8: Shadows Word Count: 888 (!!!)

Dr. Estrangedwyrm, Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Deathflare.

I started this on the original “Shadows” prompt day, but just couldn’t make it work.  And now that its down to the wire, I’m forcing it to work (?) because I don’t have anything better.  Behold, my headcanon for why summoners can control bahamut’s aether without raising him from the dead or becoming enthralled by him… Sort of. I like to think Bahamut doesn’t want to return to Hydaelyn, and has taken steps to prevent his own revival. Also Fal wasn’t in Eorzea when the Calamity happened but bgwrgeffblahhagbadabada *trails off muttering something about the lore book*  I want to make this better and clearer but I am SO TIRED.

The Shadow Over Carteneau

Falerin Arcita closed his eyes, his feet planted firmly on the fields of Carteneau.

There had been times when he had lost his nerve on the battlefield.  He remembered feeling as though every muscle and organ had melted away and drained into the ground.  A sudden feeling of being dragged down, of drowning inside his own body.

What he felt now was nigh opposite.  Something was rising from the ground and into his body, something that grew more solid with each fiber of muscle or drop of blood it came in content with.  And as it reached his head, he could hear it singing to him. An indescribable, alien melody echoed through his blood like the notes of a hymn through the eaves of a church.

“You fear me, don’t you?”

The sounds that Falerin had just heard did not match the words that had been spoken.  When he opened his eyes again, he was staring at an entity that appeared to be made of blue light.  Its shape was so evocative that he knew what it was without ever having seen it before.  The twin shadows of those leathery wings were burned into the collective unconscious of everyone who had been alive during the Calamity.

Bahamut.

Had he been anywhere else, had this been a living person, Falerin might have made some kind of sarcastic quip or witty observation, but he found himself struck suddenly dumb. Perhaps he could speak, but there was something about the Dreadwyrm’s presence that made him fear opening his mouth.  As if his own words would come out as consuming flame. Or perhaps it would cause the Dreadwyrm to reply, with a voice that would shatter a mortal man into pieces.

He realized that he himself was enveloped in the same blue light that radiated from bahamut.  Tendrils and flecks of red flowed within it as well, and he recognized these as his own aether mingling with the Dreadwyrm’s. Even Ruby seemed indistinct as she clung to his shoulder, like a blot of smudged ink. He suddenly wanted to run, to scream, to curse himself for ever trying to learn an art that for all intents and purposes, should have remained buried with the Allagans that spawned it.

“Son of man…”

The aether continued to gather around him like a hurricane in slow motion until it filled his vision entirely.  He was shaking almost uncontrollably, but still rooted to a single spot, his eyes fixated helplessly on the apparition before him.  He was held in thrall… Was this what it was like to be tempered?  Would he ever awaken from this trance?  Had it already been minutes, months, years?

“You misjudge me.”

The blue and red began to fade, and he saw nothing but a single, colossal wing covering the sky.  Curved and clawed, it obeyed no mortal laws of nature. It was impossible that such a thing could be so large, yet fit completely within his sight as if he were close enough to touch it.  

As he watched, the wing rose high before him, revealing the a bright and benevolent sun. The wing’s edges caught the golden rays of the sun and coaxed them across an ever-brightening sky.  Motes of light floated effortlessly in the wing‘s slipstream, as tiny fish around a whale.  

But just as soon as it had risen, the wing began to lower again, covering the sun once more.  As its downward stroke continued, the sky darkened, and where the sun had been, there was a festering red sphere.  The sweeping edge of the immense wing shattered the sphere as it passed, turning it into sharp spears to destroy the land below.

“I have been both Light and Darkness… The Dawn Wyrm and the Dreadwyrm. And I am tired.  Those of the Light borrow my power, as do those of the Darkness… As long as my aether flows as smoke across this land, they will be able to harness it, but no single one will be able to control the whole.”

The wing began to melt before his eyes, swirling back into a mass of blue light, in that same shape, but somehow not as terrifying. He could look upon it now as if it were ordinary fire… Whether fire that brought comforting warmth, or fire that brought terrifying destruction.  The tendrils of blue aether began to recede and unwind from around his body, carefully extricating themselves from the veins of red that made up his own aether.  

“I will leave you in peace, son of man. Your soul is strong and bright, and you are more than capable of calling upon a sliver of my brilliance.  Do not fear it, as the choice of how you use it is yours and yours alone.”

Suddenly Falerin found himself on his hands and knees, gasping as if he’d held his breath for hours.  The tiny, pulverized shards of crystal that composed the soil beneath him were glowing for fulms around him, brightest of all where his body touched the ground.  Slowly and silently, he rose to his feet.  He found himself at a loss for words for perhaps the first time in his life, but still managed to utter two as he gazed out across the fields of Carteneau that lay open like an endless road.

“I understand.”

#FFxivWrite2017 #Falerin Arcita #Bahamut #Summoner