#like me personally? the moment i would have known you trapped me in the apt after cheating

[timingmatters]

i mean this has been rehashed repeatedly at the time the episode aired, but the issue with taylor and the jonah story specifically is that she said details in that news report that she ONLY knew because chim and hen had told her in a conversation that she said was off the record. her reporting on the story generally is not the problem, her using those details is.

i'm not arguing with you that buck didn't treat her crappy, he did. they were both just terrible for each other i think. i'm just arguing this specific incident which was a breach of trust on her part.

(I went off lmao sorry its so long)

They never showed those details though. What we saw on the episode was that right as the accident was happening they got the picture of Jonah and his name identified ready to go (and it is because of chim and hen) but never further details. And Buck caught her investigating further from what chim and hen gave and only said she couldn’t run the story before catching him because it would help him run and that Bobby was taking care of it. So she promised not to because of that risk. And she kept that promise. She waited.

All Hen and Chim gave her apart from the overall suspicion of what he was doing was the Claudette incident details (because they used her footage to investigate). And it is never mentioned those details are out on the screen. The report was simply what he was being accused of, which would have been out there regardless. It was no small incident. Had Taylor not been with Buck chances are she still would have found out about it and covered like at most 12 hours after the incident. All she did was be there faster than other reporters, which gave her the advantage of not having to wait for the fire department to have time to come up with a “cured statement” for release. Which i think that’s fair. Journalism is not about releasing cured statements of companies. Which like thats such a sus wording regardless like “cured” means pretty much hiding truths and being vague. And those were Bobby’s words (him saying the chief was probably just mad they didn’t have time to come up with a cured release statement).

I absolutely adore Buck. I even loved him in s1 (a lot of people seem not to and idk why? Loved him since the pilot). But I genuinely can’t blame taylor for anything. Their relationship fell because of him. I disagree that both were crappy to each other. He wanted something from her that he wasn’t willing to give back. He wanted a partner that understands his job and passion for it and him entirely without expecting any compromise there, yet he expected to have a say on which stories Taylor could release and when, which is not his place tbh. Even then, Taylor agreed to wait until he was caught. Just that Buck had told Taylor it was dangerous to run the story if Jonah wasn’t caught, but what he really meant was that he didn’t want the story to be covered at all (because it reflected badly on a company he works for). The state is gonna fuck up, and it is journalists and people with Taylor’s job who have the duty to cover that on tv and let people know. And both us the audience AND Buck know Taylor doesn’t come from a place of wanting fame or an ego. We got to see her past and how much she values people uncovering the truth and having as much available information as they can due to her traumatic family past. And while I understand Buck realizing their conflict of interests makes their relationship impossible, i just feel like is unfair he made her sound villainous or selfish for doing it. Because it wasn’t.

Taylor forgave him cheating, basically trapping her in the apartment because of his abandonment issues (which she explicitly worded like that and then he didn’t disagree to that sentiment) and then being lied to about the girl involved. Also having used her with the Veronica thing when she was needing a friend. Taylor forgave him multiple times for him treating her genuinely bad. And the one time she didn’t even treat him badly, just went against his wishes (which again, not really because he had said while jonah was loose and she covered the story when he got caught) he says he absolutely can’t deal with her. Even when Taylor said she was willing to change and set up new boundaries (which to me she didn’t have to at all).

It just feels unfair that rather than saying they weren’t compatible it felt like Buck just blamed her. And that majority of fans of the show agree with that?? I love buddie, but I constantly see buddie edits where people treat Taylor as if she had betrayed him and purposely seeked to hurt the 118 to benefit herself when all she was doing was her job. She waited like buck wanted her to (she was gonna run the story BEFORE he had been caught and didn’t because of buck).

Just feels like the 911 fans feel a little too comfortable on hating certain female characters and excuse it by saying they like buddie. I love buddie, and want it to be canon too. But that’s no excuse to hate on certain female characters???? (Like shannon).

And i get not liking certain characters. I dont like lucy, but the online treatment is annoying. Like me as a person just starting to watch the show i read the spoilers and I genuinely thought taylor was an egocentric bitch because thats how they made her sound. I started the show and disliked her the minute she was on screen because of what i had heard of her character. I knew she would eventually cover a story of the 118 and hurt them before i started the show. I kept waiting for the shoe to drop, and eventually realized her character wasn’t bad at all.

Love Buck a lot, but the relationship didn’t end because they were crappy with each other, Taylor was just too good for him lmao

#like me personally? the moment i would have known you trapped me in the apt after cheating #i would have put glitter in everything he owns and left his ass #taylor staying after that made her a fucking angel #she clearly loved him and he just liked her #THATS the issue here #buck was just looking for an out yet he didn’t want to be alone #so he pretty much used taylor to avoid feeling lonely #which is so shitty?????? #love him to death tho like i see the nuance in his feelings #and how he was hurt and never meant anything bad #but i also can see that he pretty much used her and used the first fight started by her as an excuse to drop her #911 fox #911 show #evan buck buckely

[devilsskettle]

okay i want to shut up about fear street more than anyone else wants me to shut up about fear street but i just thought of another reason why it drives me up the wall thinking about how underutilized and underwritten ziggy is in the 1994 part of the plot line: in a movie series where one of the main themes is cyclical forms of violence and trauma, where there’s a focus on characters resolving the conflicts of their narrative parallels from the past, even if the writers didn’t expect the audience to identify with/care about ziggy as an adult, she is a representation for our protagonists of their potential futures.

for sam, this is pretty clear, since it’s the narrative reason why they go to her in the first place (seeing the witch and temporarily dying, she represents the hope that there’s a way to break the curse).

for josh, she is a perfect parallel to the stakes for him of trying to save sam - losing his older sister as she sacrifices herself to try to save the people she loves. i was actually surprised that these characters didn’t sympathize and identify with each other more, like in the mall scene when josh is like “too many people have died i’m not going to let them take my sister too!” and ziggy and martin just stand there like. okay i guess. that was such a weird writing choice to me lol i was like why wasn’t that a moment for ziggy to identify with him as someone who lost a sister like this. make it make sense. (also i’ve seen some people say that in interviews, it’s been said that cindy and alice are meant to parallel the relationship between sam and deena, so i think that would situate ziggy and josh as playing comparable roles in each plot line as well).

for deena, i think she’s the most apt reflection of her potential future out of all three main characters. first of all, they’re the most similar in terms of personality: cynical social outcasts convinced the world is fucked who actually care a lot more than they let on. and again, she is living the consequences of what the stakes are of trying to break this curse. the main risk for deena isn’t that she might die, it’s that everyone she cares about will die and she’ll be trapped alone in a town she hates, just like ziggy. 

this would also mean that adult ziggy would play a similar role to the kids in 1994 as nurse lane did for her in 1978. like. god. do you ever think about how nurse lane was the one person who was nice to her and cared about her, and ziggy was the only person who noticed that something was wrong and she was the only one who didn’t write her off as crazy and violent like her daughter when she attacked tommy and instead actually sympathized with her, but no one believed nurse lane, and then no one believed ziggy about what really happened during the camp nightwing massacre, and how they both had to live not only with the loss of their loved ones but also the doubt and mockery of everyone in town who thought they were just crazy. anyway. ziggy similarly is the only adult in town (other than, eventually, martin) who believes and is willing to help the kids in 1994 at the expense of her own safety, just like nurse lane tried her best to protect the kids at camp at the expense of her own reputation (and if she had succeeded in killing tommy before he became the nightwing killer, she would probably have spent the rest of her life in jail or a mental institution, which she had to have known - so she also was willing to sacrifice her freedom, and as ziggy puts it, ruin her own life. god i am sad about this)

oh and also the motivation of ziggy to help these kids in the first place (we assume) comes from a place of self identification with them and trying to save them in the same way she wishes she could’ve saved her younger self and her sister. so like. i want to see that play out in part 3 if that’s the intended interpretation 

so going back to the focus on resolving the conflicts of their narrative parallels from the past, the kids do this for ziggy, cindy, and alice as much as they do it for sarah fire and hannah miller. sam does this…. just by surviving lol, josh does this by not only believing in the curse but also unrelentingly telling others the truth about it (and miss queenofairanddarkness actually seems to believe him), and deena does this by breaking the damn curse and (presumably) becoming less cynical and self-defeatist in her world perspective. and ziggy does this for nurse lane, effectively warning the kids about the dangers of the curse and helping them fight it, where nurse lane was unable to stop the events of camp nightwing, and (as we see at the end) giving her closure about the death of her daughter. she also, i think, plays the same kind of parallel role to sarah fier as deena does in different ways, both as a social outcast who is scapegoated for other people’s wrongdoings as well as her relationship with nick reflecting the relationship between sarah and solomon. like deena and sam, she also is connected by sarah by bleeding on her bones and seeing (some of) the truth about the curse 

anyway. all this is to say that these movies had the potential to do this effectively, and i’m not even saying that they should’ve set aside a huge amount of time from the plot to explore this concept, but there’s small, easy changes and additions that i think could’ve been made that wouldn’t ultimately change anything about the movies but would’ve made such an impact on the overall quality of the writing. first of all, there’s this big time jump from ziggy’s story to the 1994 “present” which is fine and expected and i wouldn’t expect them to try to include a whole lot about what her life is like in between, but we don’t know anything about her present day life, except that she has a dog and a lot of clocks and that she might be an alcoholic. we don’t even know what her job is. we have no idea what she’s been doing for 16 years. it takes maybe two extra minutes at the beginning of her introduction in part 2 to show a little bit more of her daily life, or a line or two to give us an idea of what that might look like. for character development/relationship building purposes, she needs to actually have a conversation with other people lol. she shares how much silent screen time with martin in part 3? another criminally underutilized character but don’t even get me started.

even in the 1978 plot line, her character is established almost entirely by tell-not-show; everyone is like oh she’s trouble! she’s a creep she’s a weirdo! but we see very little of her actually getting up to trouble or doing anything out of the norm (all of the characters in 1978 suffer from this writing problem, to be fair). then in the 1994 part of part 3, the way that they show her reactions to what’s happening is through flashback to her in 1978, and first of all it’s like. we just saw that we know what happened. second, it’s lazy writing! we see nothing new from her basically the entire movie. (i’m specifically thinking about the part where she learns that nick is behind the curse - cut to a series of flashbacks - moving on with the plot. then at the mall, when she sees the tree - cut to a flashback of the camp nightwing - deena comes up to her: “this is it.” “yup.” and she walks away and leaves deena to her own flashback to her sarah fier vision. and that’s the full extent of either of their emotional reactions to that moment. missed opportunity imo. and sure, maybe that’s the character - she’s not a people person lol - but you can write characters who are closed off and blunt while still being interesting and emotionally compelling and not basically stock characters. 1978 ziggy and deena are actually both examples of this so i’m mainly disappointed because i know they could’ve done better lol) 

anyway. i’m not saying they needed to derail the main plot to make ziggy the main character or anything, i’m just saying that with better pacing and attention to her as a character, i think these movies could’ve had the depth and emotional resonance they were aiming for and in fact it would strengthen the themes that are central to the main plot and the protagonists without having to change anything major, making a small shift that could’ve made these movies go from mediocre and forgettable to actually pretty damn good. anyway netflix call me i have ideas for you <3

#okay i know i know it's not that deep or whatever but. it could've been. #fear street #ziggy berman

[jaskiersvalley]

Oh my god im the anon with the cuckoowitcher ask. I've been running around all day trying to have a few quiet Moments to read! I really loved it thank you so much. I've been reading all your lovely Storys but I have to say I have a Soft Spot for cuckoo Jas. Thank you for responding and writing something so sweet. Still love your writing and it still helps a hell a lot! Lots of love! Hope to see much more

Some people get stuck in my head and you, cuckoo Jaskier Nonnie, are one of those people because you’re always so polite and sweet. So while I may not have more cuckoo Jaskier stories at the moment, I wonder whether you’d like something else. There’s a lot of warlord Geralt going around, with Jaskier offered up as a tribute. But has anybody ever considered warlord Jaskier before?

It had started off as a side gig, Jaskier would always be adamant about that. He had wanted to be a bard. Sing songs, witness adventures and maybe be adored by the masses, that was his grand plan for life. Unfortunately, being a travelling bard didn’t pay well and people weren’t as quick to laud him as Jaskier had hoped. However, according to Redanian Secret Services, he was in the unique position to help them gather intelligence. So, on the side as Jaskier collected materials for his greatest works yet, he also picked up intel on armies, prisoners, relationships between factions, species and kingdoms. It was quite eye opening.

The only problem with it all was that Jaskier wasn’t stupid. He could see where wars were brewing, what allegiances were being forged. And, really, Jaskier thought he could do so much better. The information he was returning back to Redania wasn’t being used in the best way possible. So Jaskier started tailoring the information to ‘help’ them along. He had also managed to make friends with a few of the other intelligence officers, namely Valdo and Priscilla. Between the three of them, they had quite a spread of information and spent many a drunken night gossiping over maps, discussing how they would solve the problems of the continent.

One thing led to another and suddenly Jaskier had more than two fellow spies at his beck and call. Somehow he’d ended up with the loyalty of the dwarves, Zoltan and his crew being quite helpful. Then Filavandrel and his elves entered a truce with Jaskier, followed by Triss Merigold and a handful of sorceresses. It was haphazard at best but word travelled. And suddenly Jaskier was being approached by the Redanian Secret Service not as a spy but as an equal. They wanted to trade information and Jaskier almost laughed. Except, after Redania came Nilfgaard, offering riches in exchange for information and good relations. Not like Jaskier had an army or lands or anything like that. Did he? The dwarves and elves had their own regions, Redania was trying to save face that their own officers had done a better job of keeping the peace. Well, there was no harm in keeping on good terms with Nilfgaard, they had been the thorn in the continent’s side for a while. Maybe by being friendly, Jaskier and co could actually help settle issues.

When Temeria took umbrage at Jaskier’s meddling, it was one hell of an awkward moment because Redania, Nilfgaard, elves, dwarves and even Aedirn joined forces to quiet the unrest. Which was a turning point of sorts. Suddenly, every kingdom great or small came knocking on Jaskier’s door. He’d returned to Lettenhove because home was home. The steady stream of well wishers and ambassadors was, frankly, embarrassing. Jaskier had a hard time keeping up with everything.

Then there was the matter of Kaedwen. They were trying to be fiercely independent and up in arms. It just wasn’t going to do and, for the first time in his life, Jaskier asked his newfound allies if anyone was willing to raise arms against the threat. Unsurprisingly, Nilfgaard was down for a battle or two but they were joined by the elves. Redania offered medical assistance while the dwarves and trolls helped with supplies. It was all rather anticlimactic, an army marching to Kaedwen, only to be greeted by a white flag.

Not all battles were so easy though, sometimes factions arose, Cintra was being a royal twit and the war fought with them and Skellige was brutal. In the end though, they were defeated, Queen Calanthe had to admit defeat. Despite this, they weren’t prepared to roll over and play nice. In an attempt to display might and dignity, they sent the most extravagant offerings to Lettenhove. It wasn’t riches, no silks, no finery or gold. Instead, they had captured the most difficult of offerings. A witcher.

He was trussed up in his own silver chains. Silver for monsters as witchers had been known to say. It was a warning from Cintra, they had caught the most feared of beasts, the monster designed to kill all monsters. They wouldn’t bow down to a warlord, no matter what the kingdoms thought and did. The witcher was tied to a horse and made to walk behind it though a shuffle was a more apt description.

Jaskier stood in the hall of Lettenhove and watched as the half starved wretch was shoved to his knees in front of him. A hungry witcher was a weak one, much easier to subdue and manage.

“A gift, from Cintra,” the messenger had declared and stepped away with a bow.

Approaching the witcher, Jaskier ignored how every eye seemed trained on him, hands on swords and prepared to leap to his protection. Rather than pay them any attention, Jaskier sank to his knees in front of the witcher.

“Hello,” he offered. There was no response, the witcher’s head was bowed, whole body tense, trying to exude disdain and an air of threat. Up close, Jaskier could see the fine tremors through muscles though. He stood up. “Please pass my thanks to Cintra, I accept your fealty and this offering. Though I would request no more live tributes. Or dead ones! Gold, silks, food and shared knowledge is more than enough. Court dismissed.”

Nobody moved for a moment. “Everyone out!”

Jaskier stood next to the witcher who hadn’t moved throughout the exchange. As soon as they were alone, he was crouching down, tugging at the silver chains.

“You poor thing, how could they treat you like that.” Gradually, the witcher was freed from his bonds and as soon as he could, he had Jaskier’s own dagger at Jaskier’s throat. “Harsh,” Jaskier observed, “but fair. Can we save the killing for after dinner though? I have always found having a full stomach helped with most decisions.”

He didn’t expect the witcher to waver, the dagger fall from his hands and for him to collapse on the ground in a dead faint. It seemed that springing on Jaskier had really been the last of his energy. What a waste.

Needless to say, there was no killing after dinner. Jaskier learned that the witcher was called Geralt, he’d been to Cintra to collect his child surprise but Queen Calanthe had different ideas. Trapped, Geralt had been helpless to do anything which was how he’d ended up becoming an offering to a warlord.

That had Jaskier laughing. He wasn’t a warlord. If anything, Jaskier was a failed bard and a very bad intelligence officer because he thought he could do better than those he worked for. It wasn’t his fault people were pledging their allegiances to him or that he had to ask if anyone was willing to help deal with a threat to the peace that he was bringing to the continent. No, Jaskier wasn’t a warlord because he helped bring new rules to kingdoms and enforced them. Oh shit. He was a warlord. His parents were going to be so pissed off when they found out.

“I think they already know,” Geralt had interrupted Jaskier’s internal panic. “You might have been the last person on the continent to find out.”

“But I didn’t mean to become one.”

“I didn’t mean to become a witcher. Destiny is a bitch.” Geralt had shrugged. “At least you get to choose who you will speak to from different kingdoms. Is Emhyr over the fact you won’t talk to him yet? That you picked some general of his army as a representative”

Jaskier rubbed the back of his neck with an awkward grin. “I mean, I just figured the Emperor of Nilfgaard himself wouldn’t want to deal with me. So I picked someone who would and who I liked. Then I heard of what Emhyr’s like and just decided I liked my pick better.”

Over the course of a week, Geralt ate and rested, gaining back his strength and resilience. Jaskier admired from afar, astounded by how quickly his witcher seemed to bounce back. Not his witcher. Geralt didn’t belong to anyone. Even if Jaskier quite fancied the idea.

“You’re free to come and go. I’ve set out a new law that’s making its way round the lands. Witchers are to be lauded and appreciated for their hard work,” Jaskier said as he stood, facing Geralt by the stables. His witcher was ready to head out on the Path again, hopefully it was going to be a little easier for him from now on.

“Thank you.” The thing was, Geralt sounded so earnestly genuine. “I was wondering, could you keep something safe for me until I return?”

An unusual request but Jaskier would help if he could.

“You’ve been a wonderful guest, even if your arrival wasn’t the most wholesome one. I’ll keep anything safe for you.”

He didn’t anticipate Geralt leaning in to kiss him chastely. “Keep my heart safe. I’m leaving it in your good care.”

The bastard then had the gall to hop onto his horse and ride off without a backwards glance. Jaskier was going to tell him exactly what he thought of that tactic when he came back. Until then, he would treasure Geralt’s heart, even if he didn’t have time to officially give his own in return.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #warlord au #the witcher #warlord jaskier #tldr: jaskier becomes a warlord and geralt is tribute

[thecat-inthehat]

2. Aberrant

Sorry this one’s a bit late, I could not think of a good prompt for the life of me. And then this one ended up being so much longer than I thought.

Anyways, the best known way to make a cat like you is to bribe it with treats. Or previously inaccessible laboratories.

(1574 words) [Masterpost]

--

The door whooshed open, letting out a small cloud of air that had been trapped in the room for some time. The lights started to blink on one by one as they flickered to life with soft red glows, casting the two miqo’te into gentle relief. 

“Finally, I’ve been trying to get this lab open for ages,” the woman said, stepping into the room and adjusting her hat so she could get a better look. “Apparently this was the personal lab of one Stygian Osseous, the primary researcher for the Warring Triad restraints, who then went on to work on the Dalamud project.” 

“Ah, I see,” the man said softly, looking around the room with interest. “And being of such high rank, his room would be closed off to everyone save for the royal family.” 

“After we found Owen’s node and laboratory, I knew there had to be other places that were blocked off,” Nive muttered, starting to flip on switches for more lights to pop on. “I kept finding references to his work while I was digging into the Triad’s restraints on the upper decks of the Flagship, but every time I was confronted with passwords and nodes that tried to fire lasers at me.” 

“So this is why you kitnapped me,” G’raha said with some amusement, his luminous red eyes crinkling at her. “I see, I’m just a key for you to get into nooks and crannies you probably shouldn’t.”

Nive paused for a moment and think it over, only to chuckle. “Yeah, pretty much. Sorry, I don’t like you much at all, Exarch. But this is going a long way to endearing me to you.” 

G’raha blinked at the title, and wondered if it was intentional or not. Truthfully he and the woman were acquaintances at best -- he hadn’t endeared himself to her during his tenure as the Crystal Exarch, and now that they were back on the Source, he hadn’t seen much of her. It was strange, really. She was family-by-proxy, since she was Shining’s sister, but she had had little and less to say to him other than deriding his intelligence or asking a few questions about the Tower. 

Admittedly he wasn’t on her level. She was extremely intelligent, and had an encylopedia’s worth of knowledge stuffed into her grimoires or her head. She knew more about aether patterns and primals than he probably ever would, as well as the sheer math that was required in her chosen profession of being a Summoner. He wasn’t a slouch, having gotten his own archon mark and a century’s worth of experience governing a city, but she was on a different tier entirely. He tried not to take it personally. 

Nive started walking through the lab, carefully noting down things in her grimoire before she went to move various switches or open cabinets. It was a methodical sort of note taking that he had seen before on countless occasions, and he wondered how many books she went through on the weekly. The Ironworks had many of her books saved and used as references, and he had torn through many of them while he was with the group. There were dozens that were piled into the library, but based on what he had seen in the last few months of knowing her, at least a good seventy percent had been lost to time. The historian in him ached to try and figure out pieces that were missing, to study her books and gain some sort of knowledge. 

But here he was, watching the living legend spray herself with ink as the quill nib broke. She spluttered and coughed, then grumbled and yanked another quill out from the feather on her hat--so that’s why she wore the damn thing--and continued writing, heedless of the ink on her cheeks. History was learned and not lived indeed. 

“G’raha, can you--pleh--turn on that light over there?” She asked, pointing to where a switch sat, next to a containment chamber. The man laughed softly at her but did as bid, going to flip on one of the switches. The containment chamber lit up, and he had to stifle a yelp of surprise. 

It was filled with a sort of fluid, and floating inside sat a Lamia specimen staring at him. He jumped back, but the eyes of the creature did not follow him -- and he caught a glance at the vital signs. Dead. 

“I thought this man worked on the containment moons?” G’raha heard himself ask, trying to get his heart under control. 

“He did, why--Oh!” Nive said, coming up to the containment chamber and looking it over. She instantly went to the panel on the side, starting to read the information. “It looks like it was deceased before the Calamity, and he was storing this one for research.” 

“Why a singular Lamia specimen…?” G’raha asked, frowning at it. It looked a bit different compared to most Lamia he had seen, but even he understood what five thousand years in an isolated area could do to a species. 

“I’m not sure…” Nive murmured, and tapped on one of the display panels. Holographic text started to float across the screen, and she started reading aloud. “‘One of the youngest of the batch showed strange genealogy today, well outside the norm. She developed speech and her petrification powers quicker than the others, but seemed to know things she shouldn’t have.’ The next entry… hm. ‘The containment suite for the Lamias was in shreds today. The advanced specimen had killed the rest of her clutchmates, and was playing with the petrified head of one of her victims.’”

“... That’s disturbing.” G’raha said flatly. 

“Quite.” Nive muttered, and went to flip over the last few pages. The text scrawled across the screen, and G’raha could see several dates flip past. “‘After some research, I have determined that she has the aberration known as the Echo. How a simple creature as a Lamia could have it, I know not. The tests unfortunately killed her, but I have stored her body in my lab for further analysis. But with Dis asking me to work on the Dalamud project, I doubt I’ll have the time to truly study what I want. I can’t refuse him though…’ It trails off here, and there’s no other entries.” 

“It seems this man had more to him than even you knew,” he murmured, looking up at the specimen again. “... The Echo though…” 

“It’s been observed in non-spoken, but we have extremely little data on it,” Nive said, making another note in her grimoire. “We don’t know exactly how it works, and Mikoto hasn’t been able to get back to me on what she’s observed in Bozja. We know that it exists, but not to what degree or frequency.” 

“Do we even have those numbers on the Spoken?” G’raha asked, tilting his head. “With the recent resurgence of primals, it seems pertinent…” 

“Admittedly not enough data for my tastes, but out of the sample sizes we’ve found, the Echo can be found in approximately point-zero-five percent of the population, with numbers in Eorzea skewing slightly higher to point-zero-seven.” Nive said, scribbling on her notes. “It’s actually a lot higher than we thought. For a long time, Helisent and I were under the impression that the Echo and the Blessing of Light were congruent, until Midgardsormr proved otherwise. It turns out that theoretically anyone with the Echo can become a Warrior of Light, but those that do are far in between. And, in theory, someone without the Echo could be Blessed.” 

“... And then you have situations such as Elidibus in the First, forcibly awakening the Echo within the population,” G’raha murmured. “Artificially inflating the numbers. Except… Is it truly artificial when we have confirmation that it’s almost all artificial?” 

Nive asked softly, placing a claw on the glass of the containment unit. She stared up at the corpse of the Lamia, tapping her finger in thought. “If Hydaelyn simply chooses to awaken more of them when she needs, has there ever been a point where the Echo has awoken naturally? But… then that doesn’t explain how the Ascians have the Echo. Or what it even is…” 

“The more I think about it, the more the Echo being called an ‘aberration’ seems more and more apt,” G’raha admitted softly. He had witnessed the starshower, and had seen many of his beloved citizens have a gleam of understanding in their eye, of hearing something that was beyond his ken. It scared him, more than a little. 

“Maybe we can find some more information on it in the Triad’s files… But I doubt it.” Nive murmured. “At the least, it’s more information than we had.” 

“So I did well, then?” He asked with a laugh, and felt his stomach flip slightly. He didn’t want to sound so eager to please, but … She was Shining’s sister. He at least wanted to try and get along with her, or maybe be friendly. 

Nive grinned toothily at him, baring her fangs. “Court’s still out on the final verdict, but I think you’ve got good chances. As long as you keep opening doors like that, I think we’ve got a good relationship forming.” 

“Ah, I see, it’s all based around how I can serve you,” he snarked, and was unable to hide the grin from his face. “Maybe you should be the princess of the Allagan line then.”

#ffxivwrite2021 #G'raha Tia #Nivelth Ajuyn #Allag #Stygian Osseous #Creator Writes #The Daedalus Project #The Echo #i am desperate for rates on the echo #what percentage of the population has it #are there any 'beast tribes' that have it #logically they SHOULD but who knows

[collapsed-systems]

Overhead, in the blackness above, the only sky that most of the Underground inhabitants had ever known, heavy clouds were brewing, overflowing a drizzle of rain down to the earth below. It stung to the touch, burning with the poisons that so freely flowed through the Underground.

This had been home for so long; it was strange to see it in such a state – dead, forgotten. Soundwave could see why Megatron might want to destroy it. The place was horrible, a bad memory that deserved to be wiped from Cybertron’s history. The idea that bots had been forced to such a hellish landscape, simply because they had been born to the wrong caste, was the most despicable thing Soundwave could have imagined. It made him forget the ill-conceived super-weapons, the unfortunate love affairs, the drama and the suffering of his new life. This, this terrible land beneath the surface of Cybertron, was why they had started fighting in the first place.

Maybe Megatron needed to remind himself of that as well?

It didn’t take him long to find Megatron. All he had to do was follow the sound of shrieking metal, heavy fists plowing weakened paneling, one more building falling beneath the wrath of the former King of the Coliseum. Soundwave approached, observed from a distance for a long moment, listened to each twisting gear in Megatron’s arm as he swung his fist at the already decrepit structure. He heard the rush of energon, the frantic pulsing of a spark, the impact as each blow struck home. It was mesmerizing.

Of course, it also didn’t take Megatron long to notice him. He’d always been particularly adept at picking up on Soundwave’s presence, on his moods, his expressions, even without reading a tightly-controlled EM field or an empty face. It was one of the many miracles of Megatron.

Soundwave, however, was just as good at reading Megatron, and right now, those hard, fiery optics were not full of the affection and joy that were usually reserved for him. He would keep his distance; let Megatron make the first move.

Megatron managed to calm his ferocity within half a minute’s time, far longer than it usually took him. It was probably for the best that he was out here in isolation. Such a cooldown time while in the presence of other bots would end up with a lot of unwarranted beatings.

How had he gotten this bad? His temper had always been fierce, true, but he’d been so good at keeping it contained in public. Perhaps Soundwave had been wrong about Megatron’s reasons for coming out here. Maybe he was just looking for something he could take his anger out on, something that wouldn’t be missed? Maybe he felt trapped by the war of his making, and was looking for an escape – somewhere no one would come looking for him? Maybe . . .

The pulsing of his spark returned to normal, but still, his fists were clenched – he was on edge; apt to explode at any moment. And it was at this point, that he finally saw fit to speak.

“Leave me, Soundwave. I have no desire to hurt you.”

And wasn’t that just an unsettling thing to say? Megatron was losing himself to his temper, his once unyielding personality incapable of even keeping his most trusted friends safe. Was this why he’d been avoiding Soundwave? He had confirmation that Megatron was already growing excessively violent with Starscream. Was he afraid that he would bring harm to Soundwave? It was a little infuriating.

Megatron needed someone to stand up to him right now – to keep his temper from having its way with whomever. And who better for the job than the mech that had brought him in line time and again?

Soundwave didn’t budge, an inaction which sent Megatron’s spark flaring once more. The next thing Soundwave knew, the familiar image of Megatron charging him down at full-speed was filling his visual sensors.

Again, Soundwave didn’t budge. He wasn’t here to fight. Dodging would only escalate matters, as Megatron’s gladiator instincts took over. Besides, he was certain as ever that Megatron could never truly hurt him.

And indeed, his faith paid off. Inertia prevented Megatron from stopping himself before he’d tackled Soundwave to the ground, which quite honestly, hurt more than Soundwave had been expecting, but once there, he did not escalate the assault. All he could do was stare down at Soundwave with horrified optics, as his spark raced faster and faster, his claws gripping at the pliable ground on either side of Soundwave’s head in an expression of his horror.

He crawled to his feet the moment composure set in, and even offered Soundwave a hand up. That was the only kindness he spared, however. From there, he turned his optics straight ahead, and brushed by Soundwave, fleeing like the coward he’d become. It made Soundwave sick to witness.

“Megatron,” he protested. When that failed to get the warlord’s attention, a data cable around the arm did the trick. Megatron’s pulse spiked for half a second, before he regained composure, shooting Soundwave a wicked glare. It was an improvement.

“Let go Soundwave. I do not wish to speak with you right now.” Soundwave obliged, but kept his cable lingering close. He was not ready for Megatron to leave now that he finally had him.

“Megatron, stay,” he tried.

“I have no reason to stay.”

It took every ounce of willpower Soundwave had to compose the next sentence, as nerves and linguistic barriers tried their hardest to deprive him of what needed to be said.

“I want you to.”

Megatron’s optics widened, his spark flared once more, though it was not with anger, but fear. Why fear? Soundwave tried to extend his EM field, the calming influence that had always chased away the nightmares. Megatron had always hated it, but right now, he needed that peace of mind more than ever. He allowed his cable to touch down once more for good measure.

It was promptly shaken off, as Megatron’s optics narrowed. He stalked forward, a threat in his EM field, but Soundwave knew it to be empty, and held his ground, allowing Megatron to at last give his reply.

“Then you are a fool.”

Soundwave hadn’t been expecting the insult. He hadn’t been expecting the self-deprecation. He had been expecting Megatron to flee again, but he found himself hard-pressed to do anything about it. Megatron had rejected him, abandoned him, given in to his weakness to go hide in some far-off hole like the coward he was fast-becoming. This wasn’t the mech that had inspired thousands to follow in his footsteps. What had happened to his Megatron? The Megatron that had given him life, desire, passion, a reason to wake up in the morning?

The Decepticons needed that Megatron back, or they would lose – not just the war, but themselves as well.

And Soundwave, abandoned in the acid rain and the toxic fog, left alone to manage the war effort while Megatron was busy holding himself a pity party, had finally had enough....

TEXT: ill follow you forever by Darksidekelz

#transformers prime #transformers #tfp megatron #tfp soundwave #soundwave #megatron #tfp #external fanfiction #war #Darksidekelz #I'll Follow You Forever

[leroiloup]

The Axe

⚜  Who wants a horror story in spooky month ?? This is a bit different because it’s not written from Klaus’s POV. Instead, I invented a new character who shares the tale. ➥ Canon compliant : April 1918  ✥ Trigger Warnings: violence and gore | allusions to the real life serial killer

      New Orleans is riddled with legends and ghost stories ; perhaps more so than any other city in the world. While swapping ghastly fun tales over the campfire, what many fail to realize is that the most horrific of these accounts are in fact true. There is evil that lurks in this city –– and has since its very inception. How do I know this for certain, my curious reader ? Because I have witnessed what may be the bloodiest night in all of New Orleans history ; I witnessed the massacre that no one knows about –– executed by the legendary Axe Man, himself. But to tell this tale, you must understand one simple and yet unfathomable truth : he was no man, at all.

                                                          - –– he was a beast.

It was April, 1918. The magnolias were in full bloom ; their floral scent painting the streets of the French Quarter with the usual jubilance that spring evoked. What the occupants of the Crescent City didn’t know, was that while they toiled about in their daily business, there lay an entirely clandestine world just under their noses ; fantastic beings and creatures, that the humans believed to belong only in fiction, called New Orleans their home. The problem was the like humans, these creatures were never at peace. Each faction sought dominion over the bustling, delta metropolis –– resulting in tension, skirmishes            –– - and at times, war.

It was at this time that a coven of the blood drinkers had pressed upon the Quarter, seeking to take the throne. They had heard of the Mikaelsons, but were too naive to believe in the Original Vampire Family. Ego driven, they simply thought the Mikaelsons to be an older family who held power under false pretenses. Tensions grew, and petty deeds from both sides escalated until one night, the interloping vampires made a crucial mistake : they made it personal.

No one could have known the deep ties that the middle sibling held with the werewolves. Yet when the heads of the local pack members showed up on the front door step of the Abattoir, the one known as Klaus had found his breaking point. No longer would be entertain his older brother’s want of diplomacy ; the petulant vampire coven had to be punished –– nay, obliterated !

I stood on the street corner, peddling my warnings to the humans that God shall smite us all, when it began. Not a threat to any, I may as well have been invisible to any faction, making my account complete and without obstruction. The sun had well past set and the moon was near full, allowing its silvery glow to illuminate the empty cobbled street. Slaying vampires would best be done in the day when they cannot emerge in the sunlight –– making them trapped like sitting ducks. Perhaps Klaus preferred the challenge ; perhaps he wanted to boast his power ; or perhaps he wished to revel in a bit of fun in this bloodshed.

The first sign of trouble was the fog ; thick, cold, and penetrating. It filled the small crossroads, surrounding the long since abandoned pub, seeping in through the boarded up windows. I was smart enough to find my way to a back window where I could peer in through a crack in the wood to witness it all. There were twenty-three of the undead that milled about the old bar –– no doubt working on the next step in their nefarious plot. The room stilled as the fog settled over the dust ridden floors. It crawled up the walls, pushing everyone towards the center of the room as they looked about with worry stricken, wide eyes. 

With a loud bang, large wooden beams fell into place over the back door, effectively locking it. The front door swung open, causing a few of the vampires to jump in surprise. In sauntered the devil, a chillingly pleasant grin upon his features. One fair haired man stepped forward, mustering what authority he could in his gait.  ❝ You and your family have had enough of our warnings, Klaus, ❞ he said in a clear, commanding voice.  ❝ Dispense of these parlor tricks and leave this city with your head. ❞

I cringed, for I had the perfect view of the angelic blue eyes as they twinkled with a menacing, predatory glee. Klaus said not a word, though his expression and relaxed demeanor spoke volumes. His hands clasped behind his back and he straightened. In unison, the entire group of twenty-three vampires gasped in horror. A few then screamed in terror. Judging by their glazed over features, it was evident that they were witnessing nightmares that only they could see. I understood perfectly that these vampires knew not of the vervain herb to protect their minds. The Original painted a tapestry of grotesque fantasy in their minds with such vivid detail that they all believed it to be true. I can only image what scene unfolded before them, and how long it must have seemed to last. In truth, it was only moments later when Klaus’s laugh rang through darkened room and they were all snapped out of their stupor.

❝ Enough ! ❞ their leader proclaimed as he foolishly stepped towards Klaus.

Rather than lash out physically as I would have guessed, Klaus leveled his eyes with the leader and said, ❝ Hand me that axe over there, will you, sport ? ❞

At once, the vampire obeyed. He went to the corner where a few different tools were left behind and fetched the old, yet sharp, axe. With a bewildered look, he offered it to the Original. One last smile was given to the group before a woman, clearly compelled by her own fear, darted for the open front door.

Klaus moved in a blur, faster than the wind itself, and swung wide with the axe. Her head flew clear off her shoulders and was launched into the crowd, hitting one of the poor fools who’s screams echoed in the dilapidated building. From there, all hell broke loose. Though vastly outnumbered, Klaus proved his prowess in picking them off as though they were but lambs. The front door remained open as though in taunt, giving them hope that would never be fulfilled.

The axe was as hungry as his fangs –– both dripping with blood as limbs were severed, hearts were plucked, bones were crushed. I noted with apt fascination that a few had even managed to taste the sweet air of freedom beyond the open door before they were met with the axe’s unforgiving blade. Klaus, himself, moved with the grace of one expertly trained in traditional swordplay. The dichotomy of the elegance in his movements and the brutal, rudimentary tool in his hand created a picture more sinister than it ought to have been. 

Though it felt like hours, in mere moments the room was painted with a fresh coat of ruby red –– the carnage of pieces and innards of the vampires littering every surface. Only one shuddering and quaking voice was left. I barely recognized the once stalwart leader of the coven as he cowered on his knees, covered in the remnants of his peers.  ❝ I-it’s true, ❞ he stammered.  ❝ Th-the Original F-amily. You– you’re –– ❞

❝ –Not to be trifled with, ❞ Klaus interrupted, speaking around blood soaked fangs –– his dark, devil eyes filled with satisfaction.  ❝ I suppose there’s something to be said of leaving a lone survivor to carry on the tale. Congratulations, mate. ❞  With that, he turned and began to head towards the front door. Before exiting, the Original paused and reconsidered.  ❝ On second thought –– - ❞  Before more warning could be given, he moved with such a rapid ferocity that I didn’t know what had happened until I heard the thud of the severed head bounce off the wooden floor. Poetic, given the leader’s earlier warning to the Original.

With that, Klaus went along his way, axe over his shoulder and humming the upbeat tune of Mournin’ Blues under his breath as though he weren’t covered in the gore of twenty-three vampires. I crept around the side of the building just in time to see a wayward traveller making his way down the street. The homeless man beheld Klaus with wide, wild eyes, filled with fascination.  ❝ It’s a good night for jazz, isn’t it, mate ? ❞ Klaus said jovially. He then handed the blood soaked axe to the human before sliding his hands in his pockets and strolling down the street, whistling the happy tune to himself.

The human had a look in his eyes as he beheld the axe that unsettled me deeply. One thing was clear : that night was only the beginning for the sharpened blade’s gruesome appetite.

#ᴡ ☾ kʟᴀᴜs cʜʀᴏɴɪᴄʟᴇs ﹕ oɴᴇ sʜᴏᴛ #ɢ ☾ ʜᴏʀʀᴏʀ #ᴛ ☾ pʀᴇ tvd #ᴠ ☾ cᴀɴᴏɴ

[moonlightreal]

Fate episode 4

Welcome back to Fate Elemental Academy!  Or should I call it Fate: The Elemental Academy Saga? Fate: Tales From Elemental Academy?  I kinda wish I had an actual following now, we could push changing the name all over the fandom. Fate’s a bad Winx show but it’s not a bad show.

When we left our cast Beatrix just murderized a dude, Terra was suffering, Musa was finding love, Stella was mysterious, Bloom was destiny-ridden and Aisha was getting bored with it all!  What will happen now?

Also, is Rosalind evil?  I assumed she was the “she” who got rid of all the Burned Ones and thus was a hero, but she’s got some serious resting evil face.

Episode 4 opens with a gorgeous shadowy shot of Alfea in the twilight of day twelve-ish I assume.  In Dowling’s still badly lit office the adults are investigating Callan!  Whose real name was Callum, I think, but he’s dead and so won’t mind what I call him.  But Dowling says he hasn’t been seen “for days” so we’ll jump to it being day twentyish.  They’ve searched Callan’s room and found “metal-amalgam” which seems to be mercury, which someone would use to try to get past the trap on the door to the undercroft. Harvey charmingly starts a lecture on its properties before realizing Silva and Dowling want to get on with the infordumping.  Dowling says Callan wouldn’t have known about the mercury, it’s “archaic fairy knowledge” and he’s not a fairy.  

But couldn’t anyone study the lore even if they don’t have powers? Dane was doing potions/chemistry in the greenhouse with Terra and he’s not a fairy.  There’s usually some magic stuff that muggles can do just by having an enchanted thingamabob.  Fate, your worldbuilding leaves much to be desired.

Silva guesses Callan had help.  And Harvey’s made magical fingerprint mist!  He’s got a pitcher on a stick and smoke is coming out to track the magic used in the room!  Does that make Harvey a fairy?

The smoke outlines Callan’s vanished form, where he was sitting paralyzed before Beatrix zapped him.

Dowling: “At least we know where he went.”

Silva: “And that there’s a murderer in our school.”

The murderer herself is looking at her phone, scrolling through Bloom’s social media selfies.  Bloom’s online name is bloomerang04 which is a dumb online name.  Of course the fact that we pick our online name at age 15 or thereabouts means most of us have dumb ones.  Riven asks B what she’s obsessing over and Beatrix says, “Your fault for spreading it around that she’s a changeling. She’s now the most interesting person at school.”

WHAT is it about changelings?!

Riven says everyone will move on in a few days and asks Beatrix if this is “one of those movies where you dye your hair and take her life...” and Beatrix looks… hmm.  

Do I smell Plot or am I imagining it?  But then Riven decides to claim Beatrix’s attention in smoochy ways and I’m pretty sure they’re Doing The Sex.

Opening!

In the cafeteria, people stare at Bloom as she gets her breakfast!

Aisha has taken over Callan’s job to snoop on what he knew!  Bloom “suggested” she do it.  Or more like, begged.  And thought Aisha is such a suckup she’d do it just to get brownie points with the headmistress.

The vibe of this scene is like nails on a blackboard.  Bloom, you are awful people.  And Bloom wants to eat breakfast in here to avoid the stares because she’s a changeling.

Musa comes in cheerful, “Bloom still pretending she’s not upset by the gossip?”

Bloom: ‘still pretending you’re not dating your roommate’s brother?”

And Terra comes in right in time to almost hear that.  Bloom, you are awful people.  But Terra’s got her own gossip: Stella’s mom is coming!  Stella is “dreading being outshined by her mom” and Terra is kinda loving it.  For which I can’t entirely blame her since Stella is also awful people even if my suspicions are right and there are circumstances that made her that way.

Bloom tries to be non-awful and says the girls don’t have to come eat breakfast with her “like I’m some kind of loser-mess.  I’m fine.” Friendship music plays.  The girls smile. Then Bloom heads off to finish her “poison paper” before the assembly.  Musa says, “For the record, she’s not fine.”

In the arched walkway above the cafeteria Riven, Dane and Beatrix and talking about changelings!  B: ‘Changelings were a way for pissed-off fairies to get revenge on the first world.  Swap a fairy for a First world baby and wait for it to wreak havoc.  Changelings are bad news.  That’s why we stay on their good side.”

One of the boys had asked about “is that true about changelings?” presumable Dane, since Riven knew enough to spread the truth around. So not everybody knew all this.

FINALLY! Thank you, show.  And, this is neat!  Those would have to be some very pissed-off fairies to sacrifice their own baby, what’d the first worlders do to them I wonder!  Though it still doesn’t explain why Bloom should be “bad news” any more than any other fairy.  Does growing up in the human world make for more powerful fairies?  I mean, that IS the lore, human food, human milk, human soul… but did the writers of Fate know that?  I’m not trusting the writers of Fate to know much of anything at this point, even if they did get all those Yeats episode titles.

But we get interrupted by teen drama, Dane sees Terra down below and goes to see her.  Sigh.

But then to muddy the waters, riven says Dane “believed all that changeling bullshit you just fed him!”  but B says it “isn’t all bullshit, changelings can be dangerous.  You did everybody a favor.’ warning them about Bloom, I assume she means.

Show, I hate you now.  WHY are changelings dangerous?  What was true and what wasn’t?  Bloom’s changeling nature is the central bleeping worldbuilding of this story and we get dragged around?

Next I see black SUVs, tell me it’s Silva and his army people coming to do cool competent stuff so I can like this show again!

Nope, it’s Stella’s mom.  Stella and Sky are waiting to greet her, Sky says it’s only half a day and Stella says, “Half a day of everyone adoring her like she’s literally the sun.”  Sky says, ‘She is the queen of light.” which is an awesome title.  She’s here to do an assembly about Burned Ones… what, like those  PSA assemblies we had about the dangers of drugs?  Hahahaha!  That kind of PSA might be more apt, I’m pretty sure there’s more drugs at this school than there are Burned Ones.

But Stella is terrified, I think, behind her Stellaishness.  Says her mom is really here to “check on my progress.”  Sky suggests getting the rest of the girls to be a buffer but Stella says, ‘I don’t need them.  I have you.”  But Sky can’t stay physically, he leaves Stella to meet her mom alone

Stella is wearing a long coat of pale pink with gold and diamond star barrettes in her hair.  I would love it if at the end of Stella’s character arc when she grows past whatever it is that’s squeezing the life out of her, she’ll switch to bright bold colors and teenage rather than middle-age fashion to celebrate her freedom.  At the moment it makes sense that she dresses rather dumpy and too-mature, she’s dressing under pressure.

The black cars, they’re not all SUVs, pull up.  there’s a flag, faded blue above, red below split by a diagonal line with some kind of crest in the middle.  Solarian flag?  No yellow, no sun or moon.

Stella’s mom looks noting like Queen Luna, she looks like a middle aged lady with brown hair, her hairdo and clothing juuuuust like Stella’s! In season 8 the real Stella designed a dress after her mother’s gown out of love, but I think this Stella dresses like her mother because of pressure.  Also there’s nothing queenly about the queen. She’s wearing a business skirt and jacket, big chunky necklace, no crown.  Political royalty not magical royalty.  She gives Stella a kiss on the cheek and says, ‘You look stunning.” and Stella grins.

In the greenhouse Harvey, Terra and Sam hang out.  Where’s their mom? Harvey wears a wedding ring but no mom in sight.  Harvey is working on a special project, filling a vial with something.  Terra asks if she can help but Harvey says he’s got this.

Dane comes to see Terra.  Both her family members give Dane a serious Look.  Heh.

Terra: “Whilst I appreciate that it is the historical perspective of the patriarchy to save women from upsetting situations, I’ve got this.”

Props to Terra’s actress for delivering that in a not at all groan-y way. Every time this show tries to be woke it is groanworthy and awful and they should just not, but every time the actors pull it off.  

So Dane says “You didn’t answer my texts… you’ve been really great to me...” and Terra shuts him down!  “Yeah I have.  I’m a good person, Dane.  I think you are too, but I’m not really sure I care to find out.  Anymore.”  and leaves him with “A word of advice.  Be careful who you trust.”  

Sam: ‘Still kinda want to punch him.”  Heh.

Harvey gets a text and takes his project off to meet the queen.  When he’s gone Terra immediately goes to his workstation to check out what he’s up to.  

The queens party goes to Callan’s office, which is now Aisha’s office.  Aisha greets the queen, whose name is actually Luna!  And she knows Aisha’s name, but does not need any help.  The adults go into Dowling’s office to talk.  

Aisha accidentally knocks some papers off the desk then, grumpy at this spying job she’s taken on and isn’t having any luck with, slams a filing cabinet door.  And finds something.  A mechanical ring the size of a jewelry ring, stuck in between two parts of the filing cabinet.  Aisha thinks it’s part of the cabinet, but then it begins to whir and she hears voices.  It’s the receiver for a bug!  Callan bugged Dowling’s office and now Aisha can listen in on the adults!

Only she… hides the receiver back under the cabinet?  

The only thing she overheard was the fact that Callan is dead.  Seems that Dowling’s telling everyone he left for a family emergency. Aisha tells Bloom this and Bloom is even more keen to get at those old records, from before Dowling became headmistress.  Maybe they’re in the east wing, and everyone’s going to be at this mandatory assembly so now would be the perfect time!

Aisha says it’s a bad idea.  Bloom says it’s a better idea than getting stared at by everybody and “I can’t just sit and listen to people make stuff up about me.”  

WHAT are they making up?!  I wanna hear these rumors!

Anyway Aisha is finally convinced to cover for Bloom, say she was too sick to come to the assembly.  But for reasons of Plot Beatrix was right above them on the upper walkway so she knows where Bloom’s off to.

Gorgeous outdoor shot of the castle.  Pardon me while I look it up… it’s a stately home!  You can go there, they have a farmers market and everything!  Ok, mark that down on my travel list between my Lost Crown tour of Polperro and my Higurashi tour of the real Hinamizawa…

Whilst I dream of seagulls and cicadas, Bloom is back in the dark east wing past a keep-out looking for clues.  Sky catches her!

Beatrix is outside looking for Bloom.  Riven catches her.  She says, ‘mandatory assembly’s a mandatory ditch.”  they pass a keep-out sign on some big doors as rain begins to fall.

Mysterious big doors in the school!  Another Winx Club sort of thing here at Elemental Academy.

In the cafeteria benches have been put in for the assembly,  Lots of students chat and the adults talk together.  Outside the arched windows we see bright blue sky.  Are the windows enchanted?  That’d explain why I never know if it’s day or night around here!

Queen Luna walks in her heels on a sort of stage in front of the windows. She holds up her hand and snaps her fingers and the light in the room goes purple and the sunlight streaming in from outside dims as if dusk has fallen outside.

Stella, wearing a brighter pink coat and double star pin, sits in the very front between two of her mother’s bodyguards.  The pin could be just because of Stella’s name, but in Winx Solaria does have two suns.  I like this pin, for Escape to Witch Mountain reasons, so I looked it up.  Stella’s pin is gold but the silver version is… oh dear… three dollars on amazon!  Methinks this show spent its whole budget on the Irish castle!

Terra and Aisha admire the queen.  “Massively powerful fairy, zero ego, boss goals.  Bet it drives Stella crazy?”  Stella glances back. She can hear them.  

Musa and Sam are knee-nudging each other, it’s pretty cute.  They text with phones on laps, sam asking if Musa’s into all the sneaking around hiding their relationship from Terra.  He asks, ‘is it a kink?’ and Musa texts back, ‘Meet me after the assembly, you’ll find out.”  Tell me you two aren’t dumb enough to start Doing The Sex in the same suite Terra lives in too!  Maybe they’re just gonna hang out and make out.

Hilariously Queen Luna is saying, ‘I’m here to treat you like the adults you are” as these two plot that most teenage of plots, meeting up to have a good time!  Luna says she’s here to talk about the Burned Ones, it’s been years since one was sighted…

Terra nudges Musa.  “What’s Stella going through right now?  She’s miserable, right?”  Terra has noticed what I’ve been suspecting! Poor Musa, distracted from flirting with the cute guy, sighs a little and says a polite, ‘Please wait.’  

She turns her powers to read Stella’s emotions… but there’s interference.  Dowling is walking by and she’s using her mind powers as well!  Musa says, ‘This assembly isn’t just about the Burned Ones.  Something else is up.”  Harvey is standing in the audience and Dowling takes a position among the students also

Queen Luna is talking about, “...for decades, families and villages suddenly torn apart by one of these monsters that left our world in chaos...”

The teachers are here to scan for Callan’s killer, I assume.  Since it’s a mandatory assembly every student will be present… except for Bloom and Beatrix, who ditched!  Gee, I hope Beatrix doesn’t try to pin it on Bloom!  But how could she when Dowling can read minds?

Back with Bloom and Sky, Bloom says she was born in 2004—the year Winx Club was first broadcast, seventeen years ago!  Our beloved show, may it survive to see eighteen.  Bloom’s idea is to look for pregnant teen fairies in the class photos, and she has oddly specific details to look for: baggy clothes, girls holding books in front of bellies.

There’s some conversation about how Bloom is tired of being whispered about and wants to yell at people they’re all assholes, and Sky agrees that most people are but you have to find the good ones.

Then he finds a picture of adults.  His dad is in it, along with Rosalind, Dowling, Silva and Harvey.  Bloom says, “you look like him” although we don’t really get a good look Andreas at the photo.  Sky mimicks Silva’s accent, “And act like him, and maybe one day if I work hard enough I can be half the warrior he was.”  Heh.  Bloom also giggles at the accent.

Sky also said, ‘his commander was a woman” presumably Rosalind.  So Rosalind was a leader of soldiers.  Was she a fairy or a specialist?

Bloom asks if it’s weird that everyone knows his dad better than he did, and Sky says ‘Alfea’s been my home my entire life” so I guess he grew up here with Silva being much more father than mentor. Wonder what happened to Sky’s mom.  They’re having a nice moment and here come Riven and Beatrix to join the party!

Back in the assembly, Musa scans the adults.  Dowling and Silva are on edge, and Harvey is really scared.  Terra says her dad was making something with the crystals from the vessel, so he was putting crystals in a little vial.  A magic tracking device.  Now Dowling’s got it.

Queen Luna is saying, ‘conflict is now on the horizon!  We are tracking at least five Burned Ones throughout Solaria.  The threat is serious. And growing.”

Back in the vaults B says, “people who think history is rubbish are rubbish.  Don’t be rubbish”  Ah Beatrix, there’s the like 10% of your personality that I like!  Then she reverts to the other 90% and suggests Bloom and Sky were down here to have The Sex.  Riven says nah, Sky’s not that interesting.  Bloom, who heard all that, says ‘But we were alone and that was pleasant.”  Heh.

They find a locked door.  Sky says he can ask Silva what’s behind it but bloom wants to get through now.

Riven: ‘The more you say no the more she wants it.  Give in.”

Beatrix: “Do we need to have a talk about consent?”

The more this show throws woke verbiage into random conversations the less woke it looks. 9_9

Bloom sensibly: “Why are you guys down here, again?”

Anyway Beatrix says she’s on Bloom’s side, which I do not believe for a minute.  Bloom says no thanks, don’t need help from someone who posted a nasty video about terra, Beatrix says she was an innocent bystander which I do not believe for a minute, and says Bloom should be mad at riven for starting the Changeling rumors.  Bloom and Sky look at Riven.

Riven: “Not exactly the way I thought you’d screw me today, B.”

Sky if it’s true, Riven flees to escape a lecture from “Saint Sky” and Sky goes after him to deliver the lecture.

And he does, out in the rain.  Riven says he really likes Beatrix, that B is the only one who likes him the way he is.  That Sky thinks he’s better than riven.  And that Sky should maybe not be talking about bad life choices while he’s chasing Bloom while still having Stella.  Sky says that’s not what’s really going on and Riven says that’s what everyone else sees, including Stella.  And Riven says, ‘that’s probably why she told me Bloom was a changeling in the first place.”  And he walks off, leaving Sky in the rain with the knowledge that Stella is mean-girling Bloom.  Unsurprisingly.

Sky of Elemental Academy is having just as much trouble here as his animated counterpart keeps having with Diaspro!

Back inside the girls haven’t figured out what the adults are after. Terra finds it hard to believe they have “some big ulterior motive.” and Musa says, “people have more stuff going on than you’d think, especially parents.”  Heh.  Then she takes off for a snog session with Sam! Sam says he’s like to make their relationship public, but Musa likes the secrecy.  If everyone found out, she’d have to feel everyone’s reaction, ‘good bad, positive or negative.”  Sam says she has to feel it bu does she have to care?  And says being an empath seems to suck, which it sure does seem to!

Would “everybody” even care that they were dating?  I mean Terra would but at a school full of teenagers dating how many people would care?

I read a book… Burning Glass, about an empath so powerful that when a starving mob approached she let them in the gates because she forgot she wasn’t one of them, caught up in the mob’s need to get in to where the food was.  She didn’t just feel people’s emotions, she acted on them because she couldn’t tell which of the things she was feeling were coming in from outside.  I keep thinking the writers are trying to imagine Musa like that and failing completely.

Over in the east wing Beatrix guessed that it was Rosalind who left bloom in the human world and Bloom realized that Beatrix lied the night of the party about not knowing who Rosalind was.  B says Rosalind was “a fierce bitch.”  I’m still feeling this great big hole where someone should say “Rosalind destroyed the Burned Ones in the war with her great magic.” or something and nobody says it.  Bloom knows Rosalind was headmistress before Dowling and is dead, we viewers know Rosalind is not dead, did something important with the Burned Ones, and has an evil face.  I dunno, like the changeling thing it feels like there are these weird blanks in what the show is giving us.

Beatrix suggests Bloom light the locked door on fire as a way to get it open. She knows Bloom’s powerful enough.  Bloom says power is not the problem, lighting the whole school on fire is the problem.  Then sky texts and Bloom lies and says she’s not down here anymore which will definitely be back to bite her later.  She suggests she could “fry” the hinges off the door, but Beatrix has already picked the lock.

With a machine custom made for picking locks, not with bobby pins.

On the other side of the door they find… a war room.  A round sand pit that, when B enchants it, the sand lifts up to create a miniature of the school.  Beatrix calls it, “A place where dangerous, shady-ass people decide who lives and who dies.”

Dowling is giving Stella a magic lesson.  She creates an arc of colored light between her hands, mimicking the chains on her brooch.

Queen Luna is not impressed.  A little mini rainbow is not much of a display of power.  Luna and Dowling proceed to ignore Stella and talk over her head.  Luna sent Stella back to be “fixed”--the same word Stella used about bloom after she taught Bloom the way of the Sith—after the “incident with Ricki.”  Dowling says rehabilitating magic is a process and it takes time.  Luna: “would you like me to recite the list of threats we’re facing while you take time?”

Me! I would!  1)Burned Ones 2)???  And how much can one fairy do about them?

Stella tries to interrupt and Luna says, “Do not speak when I’m speaking.  Solaria is the strongest realm in the Otherworld, she is its heir, an extension of that strength.”  Stella protests that it’s working, she is getting stronger, and her mother just snaps at her not to speak again.

Stella says she blinded a Burned One and Dowling has her back, praising her for how skillfully she did it.

Queen Luna makes a full illusion, disappearing the room and leaving Stella in a VR forest.  With wind-howling sound effects, not sure how light did that!    Stella is terrified.

Queen Luna: ‘when you control light you control what people see.  And despite what anyone says matters in this world, appearance is everything.  You know that better than anyone, Farah.  Especially given my efforts to help you maintain them.”

Dowling just says they’ve both done a great deal to preserve Solaria’s reputation.  Hmm!  That’s interesting!  And she lets Stella go.

Outside the office, Aisha is working at her desk.  She asks Stella if she’s ok and Stella says of course she is, but Aisha’s using the listening device again!  She overhears Queen Luna basically threatening to have Dowling removed as headmistress!

Outside in the still cloudy day, Sky is taking his mood out on a punching bag.  He gets a text from Stella saying, “She’s a monster.” before Sky can go give her some much deserved sympathy Silva walks past demanding an update.  On what?

In the greenhouse Harvey is worried.  His magic bottle, which is very pretty, didn’t work.  Terra comes to ask if everything’s ok and he yells at her, then apologizes.  Terra turns to go then turns back and asks, ‘if there was something going on you would tell us wouldn’t you?”  and Harvey lies and says of course he would.

Aaaaaaaand now I’m looking up potion bottles on amazon wondering if this prop is also something I can have.  Not obviously.

Terra, Musa and Aisha are talking about it in the suite.  Aisha is sure the grownups are doing what they think is best.  Terra would rather just be told there’s a secret rather than be lied to.  But they do work it out.  The crystals read magic, there’s a dead person, the adults were looking for someone who kills by magic but didn’t find them.

Then Sky bursts in looking for Bloom.  The girls ask if Silva told him what’s up, but Sky is out of the loop.

Terra: “Dowling’s assistant died, the faculty think a fairy did it. They held the assembly to find out which fairy, but they didn’t because he or she wasn’t there, so now we don’t believe or trust literally anyone.”

Sky: “Shit.”

Sky, smart cookie that he is, realizes immediately that it’s Beatrix.

The murderess and Bloom are reading scrolls in the war room—in the DARK, everything’s shadowy how are they even reading?

In 2004 Rosalind was “leading the crusade against the Burned Ones” Beatrix says so finally there’s that laid out.

Bloom was born December 12 2004, just like the real Bloom.  Beatrix seems oddly interested in that fact.  I’m beginning to have a suspicion.

Bloom’s phone is blowing up with messages but she’s busy reading.  Beatrix stealth zaps bloom’s phone to break it so she doesn’t get Sky’s warning call.  

Rosalind was in a place called Aster Dell.  This also seems to interest Beatrix, who suggests they just go there right now.  She knows where it is, it’s not far.  Bloom has a rush of common sense to the head and hesitates to leave school with someone she barely knows but Beatrix points out that they’ve already broken into a secret war room and maybe now is not the time to stop before they get somewhere. Not completely without a point there, so Bloom agrees.

Sky finds Riven and demands the whereabouts of “The unstable sex addict who’s been leading you around by your dick.”  Pfft!  Also, not very understanding after Riven admitted he really does like Beatrix and feels accepted by her.  But Riven doesn’t know, anyway.

Stella bursts in, “I sent you twenty texts and you’re here looking for Bloom?”  And Riven gets to say, ‘Have fun with that!” as he escapes.  Sky blames Stella for starting the changeling thing, Stella says, “I didn’t want to hurt her.” which is not true.

Sky: “You say you don’t want to be like your mother but all I see is someone who treats others exactly the same way that Luna treats you.” And he says he’s done with this.

Harsh but true.

Beatrix stole a car.  Bloom is very impressed!  Heh.

The other three girls have had a rush of common sense to the head and gone to Dowling to tell her about Beatrix.  Dowling’s first response is to ask why Bloom was down there but Terra pulls out their deductions and says “can we please drop the bullshit?” and when her father tries to stop her she calls him out for putting them in danger by not telling them!  Go Terra!  Silva comes in to tell them someone knocked out one of the queen’s guards and stole an SUV.

Beatrix must be extremely badass to take out a bodyguard!  we’re only in episode 4 but I don’t think she’s planning on coming back to school after this.

Black SUV drives on a dirt road between trees.  I do love how there seem to be no other buildings and no paved roads in the Otherworld.  I guess I’ll take what worldbuilding I can get.

Bloom and Beatrix have arrived at an absolutely stunning location, a cliff over the sea.  Bloom wonders if this is the right place.  Isn’t Aster Dell supposed to be a town?  Then she realizes there are skulls at her feet among the heather.

But no time to ponder it, Beatrix is getting lightningy!  She throws lightning—shorting out an invisible barrier concealing ruins. Aster dell was a peaceful town until it was attacked by Burned Ones and “a military unit from Alfea” decided to go all scorched earth on the place and killed everybody.  Queen Luna set up the illusion to hide the ruins.  “Leader of our realm tried to cover up a war crime.’

Beatrix says this is where she was from, and where her family died.  Two days before Bloom’s birthday.  This is where Bloom is from.  Rosalind rescued Beatrix too, and gave her a memory of the Alfea adults destroying the town.  Rosalind was the only one of the adults with a conscience about killing innocent people.

Bloom protests, the adults are lying but they aren’t monsters.  I’m skeptical too, because us viewers know that Beatrix is Beatrix and has said all sorts of things. 

On the drive back Bloom asks Beatrix if she’s a changeling too, but no.  Rosalind left B with “a close friend” and Bloom in another world.  Bloom asks why Dowling would recruit her as a student after killing her family and Beatrix says she doesn’t think Dowling realizes yet what Bloom is, and Bloom shouldn’t tell her.

Bloom: “Which is exactly what you’d say if you were making this up.  To keep us from comparing notes.”  go Bloom!   Beatrix asks what she has to gain from making up a story about murderous teachers, and the two of them can work together to find out more.  Rosalind is alive and imprisoned at Alfea, and Beatrix came to break her out.

...for “him”?  Mysterious “him” not mentioned yet.  And where does the return of the Burned Ones fit in?  Hmm.  I admit my main reason for not believing Beatrix’s story is that it’s Beatrix telling it.

Also in these sorts of stories the birth parents are never dead.

But no time to ponder it, the teachers are here!  They stop the car, Dowling slaps some magical cuffs on Beatrix and Silva and Harvey grab Bloom.  They deliver her back to Alfea into a group hug from her suitemates.

The girls were worried that Bloom was off with a murderer but they heard that from the adults who Bloom just heard are liars and murderers themselves.  We know the adults are telling the truth about Callan but Bloom doesn’t.  Sky is there, also worried that she’d been kidnapped by Beatrix—but Silva calls him away.  Paranoia intensifies.

As they head for bed Terra rants about her dad lying to her and acting like it was for her own good.  Terra ends with, ‘you don’t lie to people.  Not if they matter.’

And Musa feels guilty and spills the beans about her and Sam!  It’s been weeks!  Terra bursts into giggles and hugs Musa and says Sam looks just like their dad and he went bald early.

Looking down from the walk they see the queen’s guards rolling Stella’s suitcases towards the door.  The one thing the two Stella’s have in common apparently is their love of lots of luggage!  Yep, Stella’s been moved out.

Stella is in the car.  Back home her mother will teach her.

Stella: “You could’ve let me say goodbye to my friends.”

Luna: ‘”They’re not your friends, Stella.”

Which, evil mum kinda right.  Apart from taking out a Burned One together, every interaction between Stella and the others has been nasty and catty and mostly Stella’s been avoiding them whenever possible. They aren’t friends.  They might be later, but they sure aren’t yet.

Beatrix has been thrown in a cell.

Silva locks the door—with Sky there watching, and I’m sure Silva’s trust in Sky will come back to bite him later.

Then interesting conversation.  Silva asked Sky to keep an eye on Bloom, and now he wants Sky to get all the details of what just happened out of bloom and report back.  Silva actually says the “a soldier’s job is to take orders” and “your loyalty is to me, no one else.” which, I like you Silva but that is the wrongest tack you could take right now!  Silva is very scared and it’s making him make bad choices.

Bloom has gone to Dowling’s office to ask what she did to Beatrix.  The cuffs were “runic limiters” which prevent a fairy from using magic.  Bloom says ‘They were barbaric” and “You tore her skin open.” which I guess the cuffs did kinda burrow into her skin.

Dowling is just worried if Bloom’s ok and then asks what they talked about. Bloom says it was just a joyride, she and Beatrix talked about clothes and boys.  Bloom leaves.

Dowling immediately phones up Bloom’s parents on Earth and says Bloom’s been having a bit of trouble and would they please report to her if Bloom says anything weird.

Sheesh. Could these otherwise smart, capable adults who have years of experience with teenagers be handling this any worse?

Well that was… something.  Terra is badass.  Stella’s mom is exactly like I expected her to be.  Beatrix spilled a lot of important Plot and I’m sure some of it was true and some of it wasn’t.

Next time on Elemental Academy!  Will the girls rescue Stella from evil mum?  Will Bloom bust Beatrix out of the dungeon?  Will Sky be forced to choose between his father figure and his crush?  Will Bloom’s parents accidentally betray her?  And what’s Riven gonna do now that his smoking and boinking buddy is under arrest?  Half the cast is being set up to make some really dumb life choices!  Tune in next time!

#fate the winx saga

[cattytransboy]

Introduction

Making a new tumblr after years away. Wanted to make this blog as somewhat of a personal memo book of my journey of self-discovery.

For context, for the past couple of years, I’ve taken a lot of time being introspective of feelings I fear I’ve felt for years, but have repressed them for so long, I’d nearly forgotten they were there.

I always thought that the “I’ve always known from a young age I was trans” was such a silly trope. Surely, no one knows who they are that young? But it turns out, that that, too, was a sign that I wasn’t cis. Because indeed, children do have a strong sense of identity with their gender. I kept waiting and waiting to finally “feel like a woman”. To know what “womanhood” meant to me. And yeah, I kinda do know now. And I know that it doesn’t fit me.

But did that mean I desired manhood then? That’s a lot harder to say. There are aspects of myself that may make me a man, and aspects that may make me a woman, or even the taboo word I heard growing up- nonbinary. The spooky word for SJWs and confused lesbians that even in a liberal city, liberal town, they always seemed different from anyone else.

Probably because they were, and as I began to realize, I was too.

Questioning

I thought I had had it figured out. I had felt disillusioned from womanhood, estranged, and felt scared— no rather, terrified of manhood, so surely! Nonbinary must be the answer! But life isn’t so simple. Because nonbinary, on its own, isn’t some singular gender identity in the way that “woman” and “man” are. But rather, an entire category of genders that are “not the male-female binary”. Even still, there are people that wholly sit outside that binary— maveriques and agenders and rather more still.

Was that me? Well not quite. Truth be told, even now, I’m afraid that I’m just a trans man in denial. That the way my dysphoria is manifesting is held back by quite literally “transphobia”— afraid of being trans. Certainly plenty of people believe that. That enbies are merely trans people too afraid to switch to the other gender. But no. I don’t think that’s true. Maybe, genuinely, for some people. But not for me.

I feel stuck, trapped, in an endless cycle between man, and woman. Sometimes, it will last for days— where I feel truly, simply, like a man. And others, where I am but a woman again. But, those days are bad days. Horrible days when I *hate* feeling like a woman and yet I still am. This visceral anger at myself that why can’t you *just pick*. “Pick, and you’ll be happy. Pick, and people might believe you.”

And yet I never do. Even the username of this blog— “cattytransboy” it feels like a lie. Am I even *really trans*? I certainly know I’m not cis. Where does that leave me?

Identity

Some labels try to solve the problem of “not able to pick”. The bigender, trigender, polygender, pangender. The genderfluid, genderfaun, genderfaunet, and its sisters the genderfae and genderfaer. When I try talking about them to non-trans people or allies, they look at me like I’m insane. Maybe I am.

And while it would be simple to just say “genderfluid” and be done with it, even that label, feels like I’m lying to myself. That *surely* there is a concrete feeling of gender I can grasp. That myself as a man, or maverique, or woman can be who I am.

They all feel like costumes. That no matter what I wear, it feels like drag. No matter how I speak or talk— all of it is an act. My life is a stage and the characters I play— I am those characters. But behind the stage? After the curtains have closed? Who is left?

Sometimes, I feel like a nobody. The Jack, or, as I had been teased in my life, the “Jill” of all trades. The master of none. Can’t pick a gender. Can’t pick a sexuality. Can’t even pick a career. The fear of stagnancy. The fear of being *the same*. I wish to ascend it all. I wish that I could shed my fears and allow myself to believe “No, I don’t have to pick!”

Reality

But that’s not true. In day to day, moment to moment, how I feel matters not to the people around me. They clock me how they see me and things like pronoun preference, gender identity, even chosen names, fade away. And all I’m left with is the mask the world sees. The mask the world chooses to see. I have to pick, so that when someone sees me, they *know* who I am. Who I’m trying to be. I so desperately try to perform a gender for which I have no words.

Some might read that and say “aha! That’s quoigender!” But still, yet still, that doesn’t feel right too.

Resolution

So, for right now, I call myself a nonbinary trans boy. Not a man. Not a woman. It feels apt for how juvenile I feel trying to work this out.

This blog will be used intermittently to catalog new rants.

#lgbt rant #gender questioning #personal rant #trans #nonbinary

[justkeeptrekkin]

For a ficlet prompt: masquerade! Today, I passed some really simple understated masks next to some hella gaudy bedazzled ones and started giggling.

This concept is amazing, thank you! It made me instantly think of a flamboyant Villain Mic. I hope you like, my friend. 

Shouta stands at the club door, music thudding through his body. Inside is one of the most exclusive gathering of villains in the city. It hosts his target, a highly dangerous criminal suspected to be liaising with the League of Villains. And whilst he absolutely hates that he’s the one who’s been chosen to track him, he admits that the fact he isn’t recognisable means he’s the most apt for undercover missions.

Not that he’d be all that recognisable anyway, with the mask. A simple black one that Nemuri lent to him- he really doesn’t want to know why she has it. And now he’s here, in front of a sleazy club, and he’s wearing it. Because this villain is dangerous and as much as he hates this kind of work, he’s got to be here.

Trouble is, the bouncer won’t fucking let him in.

He figures there’s little reason arguing. Clearly their intel is wrong. He’s got the wrong password to let him through past the public dancefloor and to the backroom, where his target is located. But breaking in isn’t an option. As it is, Shouta finds himself pursing his lips in frustration, feeling the eyes of drunk club-goers in gaudy masks- and possibly a handful of villains- watching him.

He’s formulating plan- the bouncer is about to remove him, by the looks of it- when he hears a familiar, shrill voice drifting from over everyone’s heads.

“OI! SHOUTA! IS THAT YOU?”

For a moment, he bristles, refuses to turn towards the voice. Present Mic is no stranger to him. He’s worked with him plenty of times as a source of information on other villains. He gives tidbits to the police, and as a reward, he isn’t arrested for his petty crimes. Nothing more than theft, defamation of wealthy public figures that probably deserve it. But he’s enough of a nuisance.

There’s something about him that sets Shouta entirely on edge, and he doesn’t really want to consider what that thing might be.

“SHOUUTTTAAA!”

He can no longer ignore him. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath to prepare himself, and peers around the bouncer.

Mic is grinning at him and waving enthusiastically from the top step of the club entrance, the neon lights lighting up the edge of his silhouette.  For the first time that Shouta’s ever known him, he’s not wearing sunglasses. Instead, he’s wearing the most absurdly flamboyant mask of anyone in the queue- it’s gold and bedazzled and has feathers sprouting here there and everywhere. Usually, it would probably blend into the ridiculous hairstyle he likes to don. Now, it seems he’s slicked back his hair, so it falls down his back in a cascade.

“Yo yo yo, it’s been forever my dude!”He saunters down the steps, lays a hand on the shoulder of the troublingly large bouncer- who narrows his eyes at Mic warningly. Mic, of course, either doesn’t pick up on the signal or ignores it entirely. Considering how intelligent Shouta knows he is, it’s probably the latter.

“Hey man, this is a buddy of mine, my plus one if you will- did you forget the password, Shou? You can be such a scatterbrain sometimes, am I right?”  

The bouncer heaves a huge sigh before stepping aside and letting Shouta pass. Before he has a chance to move, Mic has his arm linked with Shouta’s and is dragging him into the club like an excited schoolkid. And a part of him wants to argue at being manhandled like this, but he’s also happy to allow Mic to lead him to where he needs to be.

Although, in this case, he has no idea why he’s helping him. Shouta has nothing to offer him in return.

The public area of the club is already messy, floor sticky with spilled booze and masks abandoned in boothes. When Mic opens a back door, manned by another bouncer with a rather threatening rhino quirk, the atmosphere changes entirely. The room is half-lit, no flashing lights to be seen. There’s still music- fairly loud, but it’s slow and heavy. Some people are talking. Some people are dancing. Some people are doing a little more than that, by the looks of things, but it’s dark and Shouta can’t tell. It’s not nearly as frantic as the dance-floor next door, and yet there’s also a palpable feeling of unease in the room. The feeling that every movement is being watched by every single person occupying this room.

This is a writhing, dingy lair of villains, alright.

Mic pulls tighter on his arm. “Come on, Shouta, let’s dance.”“Absolutely not. And I’ve told you not to call me that.”“Would you rather I called you by your other name? Here? Are you super sure about that?”

He has a point, forcing him to call him Eraserhead, or even Aizawa here might be a bit stupid. But there’s something about them being on first name terms that makes Shouta uncomfortable. They may have been working together for a while now, but there’s no way he’d ever call Mic Hizashi. Because that would imply-

“So. We’re not dancing?”Mic pouts. Shouta stares at him.

“I’m here for a reason. Don’t get in my way.”

Mic’s eyes widen slightly behind the mask, calculating. He’s led them to the middle of the dance floor, and bodies are pressing up against him until they’re standing close, too close. There’s some low, throbbing song playing that Shouta doesn’t know and it’s far too warm in here, he realises. And he’s being pushed even closer to Mic, who merely stands there and watches Shouta with interest. And now that he can see him properly, he’s noticed the outfit he’s wearing. A sheer, mesh black top with an absurdly low plunging neckline. A shirt like that doesn’t even have a right to exist. And tight leather trousers- because it wouldn’t be Mic if he wasn’t wearing tight leather trousers.

He notices Shouta’s wondering eyes. “You like the outfit?”“It’s totally unnecessary.”“What, scared it’ll turn you on?”Shouta rolls his eyes and doesn’t deign that with a response. He’s far too close to the truth than Shouta would like to admit.

“Who is it you’re tracking?”“I’m not telling you.”

Mic grabs him by the upper arms, and Shouta stiffens at the contact. “Oh come on, I could help you!”“Not this time.”

For a moment, Mic pauses, and Shouta knows that the clever bastard is figuring something out.

“Why are you here, Mic. What are you doing somewhere like this.”He scoffs, a hand flies to his chest. “What is that supposed to mean?”“You’re a thief, Mic. Everyone here is-”

“I’m an amazing thief.”

“I don’t care.”“Yeah you do,” he says, stepping closer. “I know you care, deep down.”Shouta doesn’t appreciate the joke.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”Those eyes behind the mask flutter, as if he’s remembering that Shouta had asked a question in the first place. Then, he groans theatrically. “You’re so boring. Fine, let’s go over there.”And so Shouta finds himself being manhandled again, towards the edge of the dark room. Mic pushes him, and when Shouta comes to a stop and turns around to question him again, he finds himself trapped against the wall. Mic isn’t touching him- but he’s leaning close, head cocked and lips curled into a smirk.

“You want to know what I’m doing here? You still haven’t told me your side. What’s a place like you doing in a guy like this?”

“And I told you, I’m not telling you.”He sticks out his tongue. “Then I’m not telling you, either.”

“That’s not how this works.”“We’re on my turf now, Shouta.” Mic moves in closer, hand against the wall at Shouta’s side. Shouta tips his head back, keeps his gaze fixed on those green eyes behind the mask.

Mic isn’t touching him. But Shouta swears he can feel him. Can imagine his hands on him.

“This relationship only works because I’m the one in charge,” Shouta says, and even as he says it, he becomes less convinced. Mic snorts- apparently he isn’t convinced either.

“Are you sure about that?”“Tell me why you’re here, Mic.”“Tell me why you’re here, Aizawa Shouta.”

He says it in a low purr. Considering how grating his voice usually is, this new tone is… surprising. It’s interesting. And Shouta can’t help but be distracted by it all; his voice, his lips, the look in his eyes.

“I can tell you’re into this too, Shouta.”“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“You can call me Hizashi, you know. I think we’re at that point now, don’t you?”“No,” he says, a little too quickly. Has he been reading his mind?

“Ooo, defensive,” he sings like a teenager.

“Mic.”

Shouta lays his hands on his shoulders. And he’s just as surprised by the action as Mic appears to be- eyes widening and lips parting.

“Mic,” he tries again. “What are you doing somewhere like this.”And this time, he seems to have debate with himself, because he hesitates. Those brows pull together and raise to his hairline.

“I can’t tell you,” he says quietly.

Shouta feels something in him sink.

“You’re in trouble, aren’t you.”

He blinks at him, looks away. And then he grimaces, rolls out of Shouta’s space and leans his back against the wall beside him. Shouta watches as he props one foot against the wall, knee jutting out, and thrusts his hands in his pockets. He turns his head away.

“It’s complicated.”The words come out of his mouth before he registers them. “I can help.”

Mic snorts, but it’s not a real laugh. He shakes his head, picks at his nails. The music continues to hum through the floor and up Shouta’s body. He hasn’t even tried looking for his target yet. What is he doing?

Before he can consider, Mic adds, “You really do care, don’t you?”

There’s a light-heartedness to Mic’s voice that sounds like a joke. But Shouta knows that’s just a facade.

He doesn’t answer him.

“How did you get sucked into this? This is bigger than you can imagine, Mic.”He sighs, gesticulates vaguely but vigorously. “It’s complicated.”

“You said. But these people are really bad, Mic.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, you think I don’t realise that?” He demands, lips pulling into an angry snarl. “And, by the way, what makes you think that heroes are exempt from being ‘really bad’? What makes you think that you can trust the shitty capitalist regime you fight for? And what about the police forces? Your fellow heroes?”

Mic glares at him, eyes frighteningly wide and shining, and Shouta realises then that Mic knows something. He must know something about the Yuuei traitor.

He opens his mouth to speak, but Mic interrupts him. Naturally.

“You know it’s never as simple as just good and bad. Not everyone in here is evil. Some people… are. And sometimes you end up mixed up in that shit. It’s never black and white.” He pauses, and Shouta waits. Watches the way his slicked back hair pours down his back. Wishes he could see his face. Neither one of them seem to register that there are other people in the room. “You know, a lot of people mistake me for a hero. Since I’m more the, steal from the rich, give to the poor, type. But that still makes me a villain in the government’s eyes, doesn’t it? And then there’s you. Everyone assuming you’re a villain, first glance.”

Shouta frowns. “Nobody even knows who I am.”

Mic tuts. “Right, but I know for a fact that the people you’ve caught and had arrested thought you were a bad guy at first. I mean come on, man. The tired, red eyes? The scars? The outfit? It screams villaine extravaganza.”

Shouta snorts, shakes his head to himself. And then he looks back at Mic. Because this is a real conversation. This is the most vulnerable he’s seen him.

This is Hizashi.

“Point is,” he continues, “I know you know this world’s not so simplistic. You and I, we’re on the same page, when it comes to heroes and villains, you know? We’re neither. We’re in between the goodies, and the… really bad guys.”

Mic turns to him. He smiles. It’s painfully unguarded, and Shouta wishes things were different.

“I can help,” he says again.

Mic’s smile wobbles, and he shakes his head decisively. Shouta finds himself laying a hand on his arm, and Mic looks at him again.

And then, out of nowhere, Mic leans in and kisses him. Gentle and filled with emotions that Shouta can’t parse right now. He pulls away too soon, rests his hand on Shouta’s cheek for a moment.

“No, you can’t.”

He pushes himself off the wall. Shouta watches Hizashi disappear into the crowd, and feels everything he knows about himself crumble and break.

#bnha #mha #erasermic #maizawa #yamada hizashi #present mic #aizawa shouta #villain mic #fan fic #fic prompt #my writing #ask #eraserhead

[takemedancingmaine]

Whiskey Business 

It was Tuesday when Niall texted me.

Not the group chat.

Me.

I had been tidying my desk, about to leave work to get lunch when my phone beeped. I ignored it as I pulled on my jacket.

I grabbed my wallet and phone off the desk, stuffing them into my pockets, and called over to Louis that I was going to grab us lunch.

“Where from?” he asked, his head whipping around to peak an eyebrow at me as he cracked eggs into a massive mixing bowl.

“Velvet Taco,” I smirked when his whole face lit up.

“Oh my god, I’ve been so good about not going there recently and I’m craving it so badly. You’re my hero,” he gushed while wiping his hands on a towel draped over his shoulder. He looked content with flour on his apron and his hair pushed back off his face a bit.

I smiled at him and shrugged. “I’m a woman of the people, for the people, Louis. I aim to please.”

“You succeed,” he told me. “I’ll text you my order?”

I nodded and zipped up my windbreaker, “Sounds good.” I turned and just before I’d walked out the door to the front of the shop to leave, I turned back around for a moment.

I had wanted to just watch him for a moment. I like watching him in his element. I liked watching all of my friends in their element. I had been to school functions and witnessed Ana, Harry, Liam, and Cleo in action. I’d even seen Cleo teach a few times when we were in college and she was an aide. I liked when they were completely happy and I knew, watching them, that they had chosen their perfect careers.

It was a rarity, I knew, to be so young and so happy with our places in the world, well-established places. Harry had a little less job security as a music teacher, but as of right now they were all secure.

Louis was another story though. Louis working was almost like watching someone have an out-of-body experience. I did worry about him not sleeping enough and overworking himself, but I likened watching Louis bake to watching a composer creating a movie score: it seems all haphazard and stressful until you see the finished project and put everything together and voila! The finished product would end up making sense of the mess that came before it.

“What?” he looked up at me eventually.

“Nothing,” I shook my head at him. “Just… don’t forget to text me.”

Louis nodded and went back to work.

It was much warmer and sunnier this week than last week, but the wind off the Lake was brutal--hence the windbreaker I donned--and thankfully, supposed to die down tomorrow. I was hoping to get out this weekend, the weather looked perfect to do so, too. If I could get myself out to the beach early I could spend the whole day just relaxing, not worrying about cleaning or meal prepping or whatever else.

The city was bustling around me. It was just as loud and crowded as usual and I was thoroughly unsurprised by the line at Velvet Taco. I’d be here for a minute. I pulled out my phone to start stalking my sister on social media and remembered that I’d ignored two messages. Opening the app I saw that one was Louis telling me his order and that the other was Niall.

I sent Louis a thumbs up and then opened the message from Niall, a brand new thread with only the one message to it.

Niall: Hi

I found myself smiling down at my phone as I shuffled forward in line a bit and started typing out my response.

Ruby: Hi

Niall responded almost immediately, which made me think that he was also on his lunch break. Or he was waiting for me to text him back. Probably both.

Niall: would you want to get a drink with me on thursday?

I felt my heart stop and then restart. I was absolutely floored and without thinking I felt my fingers type out my response.

It was like everything in me was still moving, but I was trapped in molasses. I couldn't seem to think, even my thoughts were trapped. I could feel the prickle of excitement shoot down my spine, but I couldn't process is. I could feel my fingers typing a response, but my brain didn't know what they were typing. It couldn't keep up.

A lot of things flooded my mind quite quickly. It was like when you see an overflowing mailbox, and that mailbox was my brain. All the letters had arrived and were ready to be read, but I was so overwhelmed by the amount that I couldn't actually sort through them and find one to open first. So instead I just ignored them a little longer.

I shuffled forward in line again as my fingers kept going on their own accord, not bothering to confront me.

Ruby: Would Friday be okay? I’ve got something on Thursday.

Niall: friday works great

Ruby: Name the time and place and I’ll be there.

Niall: the irish oak up in wrigley. 8pm?

I laughed to myself, probably looking a little wacky to the other customers around me in the restaurant, but the fact that he’d chosen an Irish pub only a few blocks from me--one that I’d been to plenty of times--was funny to me. I wonder if he’d been there or if he’s just chosen it for it’s name and location. I actually really liked the pub. Either way, it seemed an apt place to get a drink with an Irishman.

Ruby: See you then, Niall.

Niall: brilliant

I clicked out of the message app and then pulled up my sister’s social account again and scrolled through her posts and photos. She apparently had successfully snuck out with her friends the other night and now that she was back at school there were even more posts. I had to admire how bold Maher was to sneak out of our parent’s house. She had guts, for sure.

She had done it before when she was in high school, but our parents had since rearranged our rooms. Maher was moved into my room and her room became an office. My temporary living space at home for when I did go home to visit was a futon in the new office.

All of this meant that Maher’s new room was right next to our parent’s room, instead of across the house. It did have access to the massive tree in our backyard she used as a climbing vessel to get in and out, but she had to have known that any small sound would have woken up my father and foiled her plans.

I liked a few of her posts and then clicked back to Louis’ message thread where he’d send his order to me. I ordered our food and then moved off to the side to wait.

It was while I was waiting that something in my mind clicked and the letters in my mailbox brain were beginning to open, presenting themselves. And all of these thoughts and questions began bouncing around in my mind actively.

The first thought to reach me coherently was that I'd gone out for drinks with Liam, Louis, and Harry one-on-one before. Going out for a drink with my male friends was not all that uncommon. It wasn't something that even really phased me because I was so used to it by now.

Going out for drinks with my guy friends was like the physical contact issue I'd had when I'd first became friends with the lot of them. It seemed weird at first, against my normal, and then it became second nature. When I looked back I was able to realize it was only weird at first because I made it weird in my head.

Niall and I were friends. And he and I seemed to get on really well. He also seemed to get on really well with everyone else. He laughed freely with Cleo, gossiped with Ana, talked music with Harry--and me--, talked business with Liam--he thought the real estate license was so cool--, and he and Louis had the easiest friendship I'd ever seen.

Niall and Louis were a lot like me and Cleo. Because we’d lived together we knew each other intimately in ways that our other friends didn't know us. Sure, we'd tell them all everything just the same, but when you're working to pay the bills with someone, arguing against parking tickets for someone, and sharing a sleeve of Oreos with someone as you bask in the warm glow of a room full of candles, you really progress a friendship to some other, almost ethereal level.

Watching Niall and Louis the few times I'd seen them together, I could sense their deep level of connection. They could read each other's faces and knew when to makes a sarcastic comment and when to bite one back. I could see Louis smiling proudly, and selfishly that Niall had assimilated into the group and I could see that Niall noticed Louis’ shift in mood when it happened so seamlessly. They knew each other well and communicated without words.

I could see Niall and I becoming close, a lot like me and Louis. He was easygoing, fun to talk to, and he shared similar interests. I could be friends with Niall. I could platonically get drinks with Niall.

So why did I get a thrill when he asked me to drinks that I'd never gotten for any of my other male friends?

That question brought me to the second biggest thought on my mind, the more worrying thought.

Well, that second thought was also a question.

What if this wasn't platonic? What if Niall had intended his invitation to mean something more than platonic?

Did I want that?

What if I did and he didn't? Or he did and I find out I don't?

What if we try something and it blows up? What then? Who gets the friend group? Would we have to split them? I get Cleo and Liam and one of the Styles pair while he gets Louis and the other of the pair.

I work with Louis. Louis is my best friend. I can't lose him. But Niall would definitely get him in a split. He had first dibs. He knew Louis in college, lived with him for four years. I was close with Cleo because we’d lived together and gotten to know each other on a deep level, but Louis… Louis was someone I didn't think I could live without.

He was someone I'd gotten so used to seeing on a daily basis, someone I worried about when I saw the circles under his eyes growing darker, and someone I shared everything with. Louis was the person I laughed with, cried with… I had Cleo, yes, but Louis had worked his way into my heart as well. One didn't lessen the other.

But what if Niall and I do end up going together and do end up working out? Then all will be well. Would that risk be worth it? What if it was? What if it wasn't but we tried and failed and everything fell apart anyway?

I just didn't know. I could feel myself getting lost in the bombardment of thoughts that were flooding into my brain like a dam had broken. It was suffocating.

Until my name was called and my lunch order was placed on the counter for me to grab.

Taking the food, I walked out the door desperately hoping I could make it through lunch without Louis reading me like a book and that I could make it through Friday just having drinks, platonically, with a friend.

I was losing it.

I wasn't sure what ‘it’ was, but I was definitely becoming devoid of it. I could feel it leaving me at a remarkably swift rate.

I walked in looking for his hair.

The pub was already busy. It was a warm Friday evening in a nice area of the city, of course the pub was already busy.

I didn’t see him in the front near the open window, and the further I pushed into the building I was starting to think maybe I’d gotten here first. My nerves were starting to prickle at the back of my neck with that thought.

I didn’t do well with getting places first. Would I have to wait to order? Would I ever be able to find us places to sit? What if I chose the wrong place? Was there even such a thing as a wrong place? I mean, there wasn’t much to choose from, anyway. I was starting to spiral with these thoughts, all in the span of a second, but the thoughts didn’t have long to settle, because someone called my name over the din of the crowd.

“Ruby, hi!” His smile was wide and his eyes crinkled at the corner, but they were shaded under a baseball cap. I never would have found him with that on. I had been trying to find his floofy hair.

I internally gulped--picture an old animation movie style gulp--at the sight of the baseball cap. I was a sucker for a guy wearing one. Niall looked good, too. In blue jeans and a creamy long sleeve shirt, he looked both dressed appropriately and comfortably. We almost matched, too. I was wearing a cream coloured tee, but my jeans were black.

He was sitting, leaning sideways against the bar, the only empty seat around happened to be the one beside him.

I leaned in and gave him a one-armed hug. His smell, that clean laundry and cologne mix, was intoxicating, but I pulled back and sat down next to him.

“Hey,” I smiled back at him.

“What’ll you have?” Before Niall got a chance to say anything one of the bartenders came up to me.

“Whiskey neat.”

“Start a tab?”

I nodded and pulled my card out of my back pocket. “Sure,” I handed it over.

The bartender walked away and Niall looked at me over his Guinness that he was sipping.

“I was gonna pay for you,” he said with a bit of a pout. The hat was making it hard to see his eyes clearly. I could see his facial expressions, but his eyes themselves were a blind spot. It was unnerving.

I had decided, over the past three days, that this outing was just one friend spending time with another friend. I’d convinced myself of this fact.

When I’d changed after work to come out tonight, I’d consciously chosen casual clothing. I’d been very careful with my makeup to make it look good, but not like I was trying too hard. My hair was just down normally, not curled or straightened or anything. I hadn’t told anyone else about the two of us going out for drinks, but I was convincing myself it wasn’t because of their incessant teasing and insistence that Niall and I liked each other and that it was actually because it was no big deal.

Because it wasn’t. It didn’t matter that he looked great and was wearing a baseball cap and that he smelled wonderful and had asked me alone out to drinks tonight. It wasn’t a big deal. There was nothing to read into.

“It’s okay,” I told Niall. “I don’t mind.”

I watched as his lips puckered for a moment, but he nodded and let it drop.

“How’d you know about this place?” I asked him.

The bartender dropped my drink on the counter and quickly I took a sip, the feeling of the alcohol slipping past my lips always the same. The warmth of the whiskey, the smooth texture as it travelled down into my belly, even the bitter taste were all welcome as I closed my eyes and breathed deeply for a second before turning back to Niall.

“This is where I used to bartend,” he said.

“Wait, really?” I asked. I was doing math in my head. I’d been here just over three years. He’s been gone for somewhere between three and four.

“When did you leave?” I asked, genuinely curious as to how much we’d missed each other the first time around.

“I left in four years ago next March,” he said.

“I’ve been here four years next July,” I said. “We only missed each other by a few months.”

“I think it’s probably for the better that we missed each other back then,” he said, taking a sip of his beer.

I crinkled my nose and tilted my head at him in confusion. I lifted my whiskey glass and swirled the liquid in it around and around while I waited for him to answer.

He swallowed his sip and said, “I was kind of an eejit when I was younger. Going home really helped mature me.”

“I'm sure you weren't that bad.”

“Oh, I was pretty bad,” he laughed.

That laugh of his. It made something like excitement flash down my spine. I tried to ignore whatever it was by taking another sip of my drink.

“What makes you say that?”

“I had just graduated uni, was living with Louis, and was a bartender by night,” he gave me a look. “If that doesn't tell you enough, then I'll add in that I had bleached hair and wore a series of leather bracelets on my wrists.”

I was so unprepared for that last fact, not expecting it as the others had all been things I’d already known, that I actually snorted when he said it, and I had to quickly bring my hand up to cover my mouth and hide my smirk.

He nudged me with his knee, just like he’d done a week ago on the train, but he was smirking. Until I started laughing, and then he joined in. My head fell forward, my hair falling around my face as my laughter burst out. I knew without looking that Niall’s head had fallen backward and that his laughter was escaping out into the room around us. It got lost in the sounds of the crowd, but I heard it. I felt it.

Finally, I calmed myself down enough to bring my head up and push my hair back from my face. Niall’s cheeks were flushed pink but he was calmed down as well, and looking at me with something I couldn’t place in his eyes. I ran a hand through my already messed up hair and shook my head at him.

“You were doing pretty well up until the bracelets,” I tried so hard to keep my face neutral when I said that.

“That’s where you draw the line?” he asked. “Not the hair or the fact that I willingly lived with Louis Tomlinson?”

I laughed and shook my head.

“I liked the hair.”

“You liked the hair?”

“I mean, I really like it now, but I don’t think the blonde looked bad. Is this your natural colour or did you dye it close to get the blonde out?”

“This is natural,” he told me before he lifted the hat, ran a hand through his hair, and then placed the hat back down. “I just let it grow out eventually. It looked like I had frosted tips for a minute there,” his cheeks turned pink again.

“Justin Timberlake flashbacks?”

“Hey, that was a good look for both of us,” he nudged my leg again with his.

“I don't care how much of a fan you were, the noodle hair was not a good look for him,” I took a sip, the glass quickly emptying as my body grew warmer from the alcohol.

Niall laughed. “No, it really wasn't. I definitely worked it better than he did.”

“I can believe that.”

Niall blushed again under his cap, but it was starting to bug me that I couldn't see his eyes clearly. I could see them watching me, but I couldn't read them, see the emotions in them. He looked quite good though while he was wearing it, so I couldn't complain that much.

I realized then that my thoughts were entering dangerous territory. Friends could admit other friends were attractive. Objectively I thought that all of my guy friends were beautiful, even if it made me want to throw up in my mouth a bit. Me thinking that Niall was attractive and not wanting to throw up at the thought was dangerous.

Looking at him though, I couldn't deny it, or how comfortable I felt around him while thinking it. I felt my whole body gravitating toward him, and without my consent, my body started leaning toward him. I couldn't move back without him noticing either, so I stayed where I was, which was close to him.

“What's the with the hat, by the way?” I asked now, trying to distract myself.

The bartender took notice of the fact that both of our drinks had gotten low and when he came up to us we both agreed to a second round.

“My hair again,” he shrugged. “I just started on a new project at work and when it was handed to me I sort of realized that this is my first real job and this is my first project. I was raking me hands through my hair all day with stress… I figured it best to cover it up.”

“I told you last time you wore a hat that I liked the floofy hair,” I took notice of the fact that both of our drinks had been refilled and placed in front of us and picked mine up.

I watched as Niall picked up his own drink, looking at me with a small smirk on his face. I thought again about how unfortunate it was that I couldn't see his eyes, try and figure out what he was thinking. I hadn't realized in the little time we had spent together how much I liked his eyes.

I mean, I knew I liked the colour of them, that was one of my first thoughts about him, but I hadn't realized just how dependent I was upon reading him through his eyes.

“Does it bother you?” He asked, gesturing toward the hat, the offending object, on his head.

I shrugged. “It looks good,” I told him truthfully. “I miss your eyes, but the hat looks good on you.”

I don't think he'd been expecting me to say that, because his cheeks flushed pink again--I enjoyed that colour--and he looked away quickly and grabbed his beer and took a large drink.

“Tell me about your work project,” I said now, genuinely curious and excited for him.

It was when he insisted on walking me home that I decided I was a little tipsy. I'd only had three drinks and as it was nearing midnight, they had been spread out over quite a few hours, but that was more than I usually allowed myself to drink and my body was feeling it.

I think acknowledging that fact was also acknowledging that I was getting older. Three drinks in college was nothing. Three drinks at twenty-seven was another story.

During the walk home, Niall's hand kept brushing into mine.

It had been like that the whole evening as we had talked. He'd bump his arm against mine or his knee against mine, and I was starting to think that he meant to.

At first, while still in the pub, I had put it off as his being European. We’d already talked about how my culture and his were more open to touch and contact, but this had felt like something else. I ignored my own thoughts. I didn't allow myself to think about it.

Instead, I focused wholly on the conversation at hand with him. We talked about music again, went through each decade and ended with current music. We’d talked about work. Niall had asked me how I'd gotten into accounting and I was curious as to his backstory with how he had gotten into writing and copy editing.

It turned out that as a young boy in Ireland he'd not had much, living in a small home with his brother and dad and not much else to claim as theirs. What he did have though, was books. He didn't much pay attention to anything in school except for English lessons.

He'd sneak whatever book he was reading at the time into his lap during history and math--he calls it maths--lessons and get reprimanded for reading when he was supposed to be learning his times tables and about the different effects of Catholicism as it pertained to his country's history.

So he read, and he read. He was inspired by the words of his countrymen, like Joyce and Yeats and Wilde, and he knew he wanted to at least attempt to create something like they created. I thought it was a romantic idea in terms of passion and being a dreamer.

We talked about our siblings. I told him all about Maher and her adventures. He laughed when I told him about how she ducked out of the house and how at college she'd always send me a message in the morning to let me know she'd successfully made it home.

He told me about his older brother Greg, only a year older but already married with a kid back home in Ireland. About how Greg was a goody-two-shoes, but only just. He managed to win over all his teachers and did everything right. He’d gone to university--college--and found a girl and had a kid and had a sensible job close to home.

Niall was the black sheep, as it were. He'd left home and didn't have a solid job for many years after graduation, didn't have his life all figured out. Often Niall would find himself feeling inadequate about it, given that he'd looked up to his brother his whole life.

He'd have to remind himself that he was happy--that he had moved to a city he loved, found people he was happy to spend time with, and finally had a job he was excited for. It had taken longer than he'd expected or hoped and hadn't been as straightforward as he'd initially thought it would be, but he was here and it had all worked out.

We'd also had lighter conversations, as well. We talked about our roommates in college and some of the craziest things we’d ever done.

Niall’s was that when he was sixteen he’d saved up and flown to England to see a football--soccer--match without telling anyone. He had told his dad he was going to a friend’s for the night, so his dad was none the wiser. His brother though had found the plane ticket in Niall's backpack when he was looking for a notepad a week or so later. Greg never told on him, but he did force Niall to do his chores for as long as he could.

My story was about the time I'd driven with Cleo from Ann Arbour to Columbus in the middle of a massive snowstorm to see a concert. And then I drove us back. What would normally have been a three-hour trip was a five-hour trip. We spent eleven and a half hours in the car that day total. But we also saw a farewell tour of a beloved band.

Each of our stories was filled with laughter and an unbelievable risk that neither of us had cared about at the time. The amount of audacity we’d had when we were younger was something else.

Niall pointed out that even though I wasn't like Maher, I was, in my own way, just as bold and brave as she was. I was unafraid to move away from home and try new things and choose the career I wanted. I was kind of a risk taker in college--going to concerts and going hiking alone on top of when I chopped my hair sophomore year--something I thought my mom was going to murder me for. It grew back eventually though.

I guess I was a little more like my sister than I'd thought, in the best possible ways. I'd never thought about it like that, but we both had gusto. Just showed it in our own way.

It was Niall’s turn.

“Pasta. Favourite frozen yoghurt flavour?”

“Cookies n’ cream. Favourite sport to play?”

“Football. Favourite book?”

“Behind the Beautiful Forevers. Same question,”

“A collection of short stories by Hemingway.”

“Hemingway?” I asked before he could ask me a question back.

“Is that your question?” His head tilted my way.

“Is that yours?” I asked back. He laughed, and of course I joined in because his laugh is contagious and I couldn’t help it.

“I like Hemingway,” he shrugged and bumped into me. “What's your book about?”

“It's a nonfiction book about life in a Mumbai Undercity,” I said. “I've been to India a few times to visit, but reading the book... it took something I'd only seen from the outside and really put it into perspective for me.”

“I'll have to read it sometime,” he said.

“I'll let you borrow my copy whenever you feel like it,” I told him. He gave me a small smile, a show of his appreciation, as we turned onto my street.

“Thanks.”

“This is me,” I pointed toward my house as we got closer to the gate.

Niall, ever the gentleman, opened the gate for me and followed me up the stairs, making sure I got in okay.

I never had dark flashbacks while standing on my front step, never felt like someone was over my shoulder. It was odd. It was when I was inside about to fall asleep that I could never settle, felt unsafe. I couldn’t seem to willingly allow myself to be vulnerable, to be asleep when someone could easily get in when I was unprepared.

Standing on my front porch with Niall, I felt more than just safe from danger, I felt comfort and I felt at ease in my bones I'd not felt before, not even before my incident.

“You didn't have to walk me home,” I said now. “But I really appreciate it.”

“Of course I did,” Niall’s voice was soft. “I am a gentleman.”

I smiled and nodded. “So it would seem.”

“I really liked spending time with you tonight, Ruby,” he said now. “You've probably worked out that I’ve been quite lonely since I went back to Ireland. Coming back here to Louis and your friends, to you… it's all been something I appreciate so much. Your company has been so wonderful.”

“You do fit in well with us,” I acknowledged.

“You're all so incredible,” he nodded. “I seem to really connect with you, too. And I don't want to do anything stupid and mess that up, but I think I like you more than the others.”

His cap was casting shadows across his face so that I couldn't see clearly, and to make it even worse he dropped his head down for a moment.

I was oddly calm. That easiness, that calm feeling Niall’s presence brought me was not absent even at this moment when I could sense that he was a little tense. I knew what he was saying, and I knew I should feel nervous and anxious.

I knew what he was trying to say, but his presence made me so calm that I couldn't even find it inside myself to get worked up and overthink it.

Sure, as soon as I was inside and alone I would be consumed by my thoughts, slipping into the well and drowning in them, but at the moment, I was at ease.

When Niall finally did look back up, even with his hat I could see his cheeks were flushed in the glow from the streetlight just down the road. I thought it was beautiful, the colour in his cheeks. Even in the low light, I thought it was perfect.

“God, am I making a mess of this? I'm making a mess of this,” he started. “I'm sorry. I haven't done this in… I'll just… I'm sorry.” He started to turn away.

“Niall,” I reached out a hand and placed it on his arm. He was warm. My hand felt like it was radiating his warmth and it spread to my entire body. “It's okay.”

He gave me a small smile, he looked shy. I dropped my hand.

“Thanks. I know I'm mucking it up, but you're being very nice about it.”

I just smiled.

“How about: we should do this again sometime soon? Is that better?”

I laughed, but it wasn’t at him. It was just the situation.

“I’d like that,” I ended up saying.

“Yeah?” It almost sounded like he was surprised.

“Yeah.”

“That’s brilliant!” He was beaming.

I bit my lip at that look. I'd never seen him smile so wide before, and it was then that I noticed he had a single dimple. In a moment I had my hand up, ghosting over his face, my fingers splayed across his cheek just barely, as my thumb poked the dimple.

Niall gave me a look and then leaned in.

That overthinking? It was back! Oh my god. What was happening? This would completely ruin the friend group if it went south. What was I thinking? How could I have let it get this far? What an idiot I was. This was going to be bad. Louis would hate both of us. He would be miserable if something bad happened. We’re utter idiots for having gone out.

I was so delusional telling myself it was platonic. I knew myself better than that! I knew I was feeling more than friendship and instead of being smart about it, instead of keeping my distance, I went out with him. I got close.

I like him.

Niall, always full of surprises, kissed me on my cheek, my hand on his cheek the whole time.

At that moment I decided to hell with it all. I wanted to see where this went. I knew the consequences, I’m sure Niall did as well. I knew what the worst was that could happen, and yet here I was.

His lips on my cheek stopped the world. That ease that Niall brought to me was emanating from every bit of his body and with the two of us connected I didn’t just feel it in my bones that I was safe but I felt it wrap around me as well, like a warm, soft blanket that could fight off the dark of the world.

I knew what could go wrong, and yet here I was.

I felt breathless when he pulled back, my hand dropping back down to my side limply. I’m sure I was flushed, and I’m sure it was noticeable, even against my skin and in the limited light. I couldn’t keep up with my thoughts.

“Have a good night, Ruby,” he smiled.

“You too, Niall.”

He stepped off the porch but waited until I was safely inside before he turned and left.

#helloooo! #talk to meeeee #fic: oth #fic: only ticket home #niall horan fanfic #1dff #OTH8

[creativegodtiers]

so this kind of grew beyond something for the ask box, but I hope it works regardless! This is for the creation scenario:

The creation myth that surrounds the deities of the Pantheon is complex and mysterious--multiple facets of every deity make themselves known, sometimes within only a few lines of each other. The priests of the temples don’t want you to know that, to acknowledge it--but it’s true.

We grow up being told about how the very universe that we live in was made by beings so old as to be monuments to eternity itself, surrounded by a culture where we have to swear ourselves to a god by eighteen. A lot of pressure, there.

Since I was young, I was always curious about the Pantheon. There are twenty-four deities, twenty-two well known official Temples in the large cities--Jiru, the capital of all-things-theological, holds twelve of them--and so many permutations of an already complex and distorted creation story to make decoding its origins near impossible by normal means.

When I was ten, I decided I wanted to figure out the “true story” of how the universe was made.

When I was twenty-two, graduated with a Theological Literature Degree from the University of Lius, I decided that I would follow that dream of my younger self: I would try and figure out the “true story.”

And now, here I stand, twenty-six, in the middle of the forest on a moonless, foggy night.

For, according to some, deep in the woods--it doesn’t matter where you are, for it will come--on some nights, like this one, a Temple of the Shadow can be found. Some say it phases into reality from the Void, the caretaker in the personal service of the Shadow themself--others say that it slips into being on moonless nights as the last shred of light falls away, only to fade as the sunrises anew.

A path leads on, revealed under the sickly glow of my dying flashlight in the pitch darkness. I follow.

Finally, I come to a set of double doors rising unceremoniously out of the blackness. Do I...knock?

Come on, I chastise myself, you didn’t come here for nothing. It’s not like this is the scariest thing ever, either.

So, I knock.

Rap, rap, rap.

I blink at the sound of it--not the hollow boom of metal, or the tap of knuckles on stones, but the sharp rap of...wood?

What kind of Temple has wooden doors and stone architecture? This would drive Merl crazy.

As I’m about to knock again, a door opens to reveal a single, dark clad person.

“You know you don’t have to knock, Hyre…” they trail off as they spot me. “Oh. My apologies. Come in, please.” They step back to let me through.

“Ah, thank you,” I murmur, stepping in. The inside is dimly lit, soft flickering candles in sconces and steady blue glows from lanterns that dot the room.Dark blue covering the walls, designs in silver reflecting the candle- and lantern-light eerily.

And on the far back wall, a simple sign--five curved, dark blue lines around an invisible circle. A sign shared by two deities: the Silence and the Shadow. The Silence’s Temple, however, was in Jiru, across from the Mender’s Temple. A nod to the ties between the two deities.

I’d found it.

The Shadow’s Temple.

“Is there anything you need assistance with, traveller?”

I turn to the dark-clad person, who was quietly locking the door. A priest? Acolyte? Gifted? I couldn’t tell. “Yes, actually. I have a question that I need answered as truthfully as possible.”

“Is not truth the domain of the Beacon? And far closer to the beaten path, besides.”

“I’ve already asked the Beacon--and his priests, and acolytes, and Gifted.”

They turn, looking at me closely even through the gloom. “And what of the Noble? Or the Mender? Would not they be more apt for truth?”

It’s a good question, but a mistaken one. “I’ve asked them, too. And darkness holds its own truths, doesn’t it?”

A smile, coy and sly.

“Oh, but it does, traveller. But few feel the need to venture so far in search of esoteric and obscure truths. What is this question?”

“How did the universe begin?”

Silence hangs after my question like a chill.

After a long moment, they speak again, stepping silently past me.

“Do you not know the creation story taught to all children?”

Sorry buddy, but you have no idea.

“I do, actually. But it’s vague, and there’s literally hundreds of permutations--they can’t all be true.”

“...Oh?”

“Oh, yes. Have you ever listened to a priest from Elen tell the children the creation story, and then listened to a priest from Herral tell--ostensibly--the same story? They’re not even close to the same story, and that’s just two small cities a county apart.” I take a deep breath. “Don’t even get me started on the differences between Temples on versions of the story.”

“You have done your research, traveller.”

“I had to,” I say quietly. “This is my life’s work.”

“...I see.” They step away from the lantern they had been adjusting, turning towards the sigil wall. “Very well then. Please, traveller--sit.”

And I’m not sure where it came from, but there it was--a chair, half-hidden in the gloom, where I could have sworn there wasn’t one before. If this person wasn’t Gifted I would eat my shoes.

I sit.

“Some, I imagine, have told you that the universe started from a collective wish made by all of the Pantheon. Others, that this universe sprang into being as a paradise formed from the Pantheon’s unconscious desires--and yet others, I imagine, say that this universe formed as the Pantheon joined hands and spun it from the Void.

“These accounts are not necessarily either true or false. It merely depends on perspective, as to whether those accounts are accurate as to what truly occurred. However, you are not here for a philosophy lesson, are you?”

An amused snort. “No, you came here for the Shadow’s version of the event. And so you shall have it.”

They step forward, tracing a single, near-reverent hand over the eerie sigil.

“The Shadow does not tell us the same as other Temples, traveller. The universe was not made from a speck of light, or a mere joining of will. Nor is this universe the first, or last of its kind. Existence continues, even as one universe dies and another is born. Life,” a slightly bitter huff of laughter, “finds a way.”

“...wait,” I interrupt. “You’re saying that this universe...isn’t the first? And that after its death--another will be created in its place?”

“Why, does that disturb you? To know that reality is not so infinite as you seem to believe?”

“The Mender teaches that Life continues unto the infinite, and that nothing--even the universe--ever truly ends.” A philosophy I grew up knowing, etched into my bones at this point.

“And yet, people die every day. Life ends, traveller--for without endings, there can be no beginnings. Now, may I continue?”

“Yes, please,” I murmur as I settle back into the chair.

“As I said, there can be no beginnings without endings, nor can endings exist without beginnings. As one universe dies away, it sets in motion the pieces needed to create the next universe and create that universe’s caretakers--even as that universe’s caretakers fade away into the Void. There are no true gods, you see, traveller. Only beings chosen to watch over the next universe, placed through trials beyond comprehension and old enough to become as gods.

“But you are not asking for the beginning of every universe, but this one, are you not? So I will tell you: this universe began an eternity ago, and never. It began when twelve children in two parallel existences sat down across the world, and decided to play a game that ended everything they ever knew.

“This universe began with those children, having found family, finally freeing themselves from the trap of grandeur, traveller.”

They turn, blue eyes glowing eerily in the flickering lights.

“This universe began with the ending of a Game, and this universe will end with the beginning of a Game. It was spun into existence through the pain and growth of children aged beyond their time, into beings far more than they ever aspired to be.”

A breath, and the eerie glow dims slowly from its blazing intensity.

“This universe began with terrible, terrible pain and beauty, and it will end in such in due time, traveller. That is the way of all that is. The meaning of it is for you to decide.

“Now...sleep.”

[phantom-le6]

Episode Reviews - Star Trek: The Next Generation Season 5 (2 of 6)

Later than planned due to the Snooker World Championship final, here’s my second round of reviews for season 5 of Star Trek: The Next Generation.

Episode 6: The Game

Plot (as adapted from Wikipedia):

Commander Riker visits Risa and is introduced to a video game by Etana Jol, a Ktarian woman with whom he has become sexually involved during his vacation on the pleasure planet. Riker, upon his return to the Enterprise, distributes replicated copies of the game to the crew of the starship.

 Cadet Wesley Crusher, on vacation from Starfleet Academy, is visiting the Enterprise and notices everyone playing the game (and trying to convince him to play as well). Doctor Beverly Crusher, Wesley's mother, secretly switches off Lt. Commander Data and sabotages his circuits, because he would be immune to the game's addictive properties. The game addicts people who play it by stimulating the pleasure centres of their brains when they successfully complete each level.

 Wesley reports to Captain Picard his suspicions that the game is dangerous. However, Picard is already addicted. Eventually, Wesley and his new girlfriend, Ensign Robin Lefler, are the only people on the ship who have yet to become addicted to the game. Wesley and Robin discover that Data's injuries were in fact sabotage, and begin working on a plan to stop the spread of the game. Wesley meets Robin in engineering, where he learns that she has come under the influence of the game, presumably having been captured by the crew and forced to play. Riker and Worf pursue Wesley, as he is the last non-addicted person on the ship. Wesley evades them for a time, but they eventually trap him in an access tunnel and take him to the bridge, where he is restrained and forced to play the game.

 Data, having been examined and repaired by Wesley before he was forced to submit to the game, frees the rest of the crew from their mind-controlled state by flashing pulses of light in their faces from a handheld lamp known as a palm beacon. The crew is then able to discern the purpose of the game: It rendered them extremely susceptible to the power of suggestion, compelling them to aid the games' creators, the Ktarians, in an attempt to take control of the Enterprise and eventually the Federation. Picard captures the Ktarian vessel, captained by Etana Jol, responsible for distributing the games and has it towed to the nearest spacedock. Wesley and Lefler bid each other a reluctant farewell as he returns to Starfleet Academy.

Review:

Following Wesley’s departure from the show’s main ensemble of characters in season 4, Wil Wheaton reprised the role for three episodes and a single cinematic cameo, and this episode is the first of those reprisal moments.  Now on the plus side, we get to see Wesley get a girlfriend in the form of young Ensign Robin Lefler, played by guest actress Ashley Judd, and he proves fairly adept as the lead protagonist in the episode.  However, he’s unfortunately landed as the lead protagonist in an episode that’s a total bloody howler in terms of its plot.  First of all, the concept of an addictive video game?  Red Dwarf beat Star Trek to this with Better Than Life in the novel adaptation of their series, and did a far better job on the concept.  Also, I’ve gone off anything using anything even remotely linked to hypnosis in a negative light where fiction is concerned, and the design of the game’s ‘discs’ being a spiral pattern is a clear visual nod to visual-based hypnotic inductions if I ever saw one.

 However, the real problem is that this is Trek trying to hammer out a ‘video games are addictive’ message, and frankly it’s right up there with anytime someone rails against violence and anything else in video games as something to piss me off.  Why? Because the world was full of things that people could get addicted to or that were violent well before computer games existed.  Drugs, including alcohol and nicotine, are addictive.  Gambling is addictive.  Sex is addictive, but guess what?  Not everyone is walking around with a constant need to down a ton of pills with half a liquor store and a pack of cigarettes, buy a hundred lottery tickets and then boink everyone on their street.  Likewise, the violence in video games is nothing compared to all the other violence in human history.  Two World Wars, the Crusades, dozens of other wars and skirmishes the world over and goodness knows how many murders, honour duels and the like all before we got anywhere near a home computer game of even the most basic variety.

 The reality is that addiction to anything is a serious issue, and frankly the anti-drugs episode back in season 1 of this series did better addressing it than this episode does.  It’s a near-total train-wreck, ironically saved by the one character many people often found most irksome in the show’s early years. For me, it’s only worth 4 out of 10. Oh, and Will?  There are some women you need to say no to, so maybe adding that word to your vocabulary next time you’re on Risa.

Episode 7: Unification (Part 1)

Plot (as adapted from Wikipedia):

Starfleet Admiral Brackett informs Captain Picard that Ambassador Spock is missing and an intelligence scan has placed him on Romulus, raising fears that he may have defected. Picard orders the Enterprise to Vulcan to speak to Spock's ailing father, Sarek, with whom Picard shares a close bond. Sarek mentions Pardek, a Romulan Senator with whom Spock had been maintaining a dialogue for several decades. Lt. Commander Data discovers a visual record of Pardek from a trade conference and confirms that he is the other figure seen on the intelligence scan of Spock on Romulus. The Enterprise crew find the remains of a decommissioned Vulcan ship, the T'Pau, in the debris of a Ferengi ship which crashed in the Hanolin asteroid belt.

 Picard calls in a favour from Klingon Chancellor Gowron, speaking to one of his aides and convincing him to lend them a Klingon ship that could take them to Romulus while cloaked. Picard and Data board the ship, with Picard ordering Riker to investigate the T'Pau and try to find a link to the Romulans. En route, the Klingons inform Picard that they intercepted a message of interest to him: Sarek has died.

 On Romulus, Picard and Data (disguised as Romulans) locate the spot where the picture of Pardek and Spock was taken, which Data determines is a legal office. They wait until Pardek arrives, but when they approach him, they find themselves met by soldiers and taken to a cavern. Pardek arrives, explaining that Romulan security knew they were on-planet and they've been brought underground for their safety. Picard states that he is looking for Ambassador Spock, who emerges from a nearby tunnel.

Review:

Although Star Trek’s creator Gene Roddenberry died a few days the previous episode aired, it is the Unification 2-parter episode that bears a memorial tribute to him at the beginning of each of his segments, and rightly so.  This two-part arc was meant not only as part of a cross-promotion between the Next Generation and Star Trek VI, but also as a way to mark the 25th anniversary of the original series first airing.  Frankly, there’s little I can think of that would be more apt in that regard than to have Spock guest-star in a special instalment of TNG, though admittedly part 1 sees very little Spock.  However, to my mind, this is actually a good thing.

 As cool as it is having an original series character guest-star on TNG is, the show has worked hard to be its own thing and not be simply a direct continuation or a poor rip-off of the original show.  Because of that, delaying Spock’s entry helps TNG retain its own identity; a rush to have Spock on screen could have undermined any sense of TNG as its own show. Moreover, some characters have a certain ‘larger than life’ reputation among fan-bases, and good writers will understand this and build them up as an idea, a symbol of themselves in the minds of an audience before the character really appears.  A key example of this approach in other media is how writer Brad Meltzer tackles the introduction of DC Comics’ ‘big three’ into the events of the mini-series/graphic novel Identity Crisis.

 Overall, part 1 of Unification is very good at building us up to moment of meeting Spock, as well as putting us on Romulus for the first time in Trek history and just generally telling a good story, one which also echoed real-life issues like the re-unification of Germany after the collapse of the Berlin Wall.  In fact, I would say all that robs this episode of top marks is that the remaining Enterprise crew doesn’t have the greatest of B-plots to deal with once Picard and Data head for Romulus.  Granted, it pays off in part 2, but somehow I feel it could have been better, though for the life of me I can’t think of how.  End score for this one is 9 out of 10.

Episode 8: Unification (Part 2)

Plot (as adapted from Wikipedia):

Spock demands that Picard leave Romulus. Picard informs him of the Federation's concern over his "cowboy diplomacy" and tells him that Sarek has died. Spock takes the news of his father's death stoically. He explains to Picard that during the peace negotiations with the Klingons decades earlier, he felt responsible for putting Captain Kirk and his crew at risk, and so is now working alone on a "personal mission of peace" to re-unify the Vulcan and Romulan people. He is working with an underground movement to achieve that aim. Pardek has asked Spock to come to Romulus to meet with the new Proconsul of the Romulan Senate, a young idealist who has promised reforms. Picard expresses concern that the willingness of the Romulans may be part of a larger ploy; Spock agrees but points out that if a larger plot is at work, it is best they play out their roles within it to uncover it.

 Picard, Data, and Spock are soon captured by Commander Sela, who is planning a Romulan conquest of Vulcan. The stolen Vulcan ship and two others are carrying a Romulan invasion force, under the guise of escorting a peace envoy. Spock refuses to deceive his people by announcing the false news, even after Sela threatens to kill him, and she locks the three in her office and leaves to order the ships on their way. By the time she returns, Data has hacked into the Romulan computer system and created a holographic simulation that distracts her long enough for the three captives to incapacitate her and her officers.

 Meanwhile, the Enterprise arrives at Galorndon Core following their investigation into one of the missing Vulcan ships. They detect the three Vulcan ships and moves to intercept them as they cross the Neutral Zone. A medical distress signal comes in, but as Riker orders the ship toward its source, they receive a broadcast from Romulus in which Spock reveals the true nature of the Vulcan ships, and Riker orders Dr Crusher to check the source of the medical distress call, suspecting it to be a Romulan ruse. A Romulan Warbird uncloaks, destroys the ships, and recloaks, killing the troops instead of allowing them to be captured.

 On Romulus, Data and Picard bid farewell to Spock. The Ambassador is intent upon his goal, realizing that it cannot be achieved through diplomacy or politics. Picard offers Spock a chance to touch what Sarek shared with him, and the two mind-meld.

Review:

Discounting the various alien bar scenes that factor into the Enterprise’s B-plot (for goodness sake, TNG, you’re not supposed to be Star Wars and that is certainly not Mos Eisley Cantina), the second part of Unification is about as good as the first part.  According to Memory Alpha, the writers felt like this episode was a bit too talky and wanted more action in retrospect, but with respect I disagree. Trek is made for being talky at times, and anything involving Leonard Nimoy and Patrick Stewart working together as Spock and Picard more or less demands it.  Had it been Riker and Kirk, then I could understand the action impulse. Moreover, as I just noted a moment ago, this is Star Trek and not Star Wars.  Trek is about issue and character exploration, about delving into matters of substance, not shallow action scenes and plots with little to no issue exploration or substance.  If action isn’t going to serve something deeper on Trek, then it’s best left to one side.

 The A-Plot works to a nice conclusion, and it’s cool to see Commander Sela back, even if you still have the issue that she looks like a Romulan clone of Tasha Yar and not her daughter.  It’s the character’s last appearance, which in some ways is a shame considering the later Romulan stories in this show and in Deep Space Nine.  The Enterprise also gets at least a decent, albeit slightly anti-climactic, conclusion to its b-plot.  Nothing more to really say; just going to hand down a score of 9 out of 10 and warp over to the next episode in this run.

Episode 9: A Matter of Time

Plot (as adapted from Wikipedia):

En route to Penthara IV to assist its population in combating the effects of reduced temperatures created by a dust cloud from a recent asteroid impact, the Enterprise encounters a nearby temporal distortion, and finds a small pod containing a single human occupant. Beaming aboard the Enterpise, the human introduces himself as Professor Berlinghoff Rasmussen, a historian from the 26th century who has time-travelled to witness the Enterprise complete this "historic" mission at Penthara IV. He requests that the crew complete questionnaires for him, but reveals little about himself as he does not wish to alter history. Rasmussen's investigations are somewhat annoying to the crew but they entertain him.

 At Penthara IV, the Enterprise uses its phasers to drill into the planet to release carbon dioxide, creating a greenhouse effect to warm the planet, but this creates a side effect of increasing seismic activity and causing volcanoes to erupt, threatening to worsen the impact winter they were trying to end to ice age proportions. Chief Engineer La Forge and Lt. Commander Data offer a solution of ionizing the upper atmosphere, but the manoeuvre must be done precisely or they could risk burning off the entire atmosphere and killing all 20 million on the surface. With the severity of the decision, Captain Picard attempts to gain Rasmussen's help, claiming this is a scenario where any possible temporal equivalent of the Prime Directive can be overridden, but Rasmussen refuses to offer advice, noting by his era, the fate of all those on Penthara IV has already been decided. Picard decides to allow La Forge and Data to go through with the plan, which is successful and returns the planet to its normal climate.

 Rasmussen prepares to leave with his research done, but is met by a security team at his pod. Picard informs him several items have gone missing and requests to see the inside of his pod. Rasmussen reminds him again of the possible temporal prime directive, and asks if only Data goes in to look for their missing equipment, as Data can be ordered not to reveal anything about the future to the crew. Picard agrees. Inside, Data finds the missing items but discovers Rasmussen has him at phaser-point. Rasmussen explains he is really a disgruntled inventor from the 22nd century New Jersey that stole this pod from a 26th-century traveller, and intended to return to his time and profit by selling the Enterprise equipment as his inventions, and now that he has Data, he plans to take him back as well. However, Rasmussen finds his phaser does not work, as once he opened the pod, the ship's sensors were able to disable it. Data forces an anxious Rasmussen outside along with the stolen equipment, and Rasmussen tries to apologize and asks to be allowed to depart. Picard instead has Rasmussen placed under arrest, and the pod automatically disappears, leaving him stranded in the 24th century.

Review:

Before I get into the review itself, a bit of house-keeping I had to bring up.  Prior to this episode, Trek had been steadfastly anti-time travel for much of its history due to it being one of Gene Roddenberry’s ‘rules’ that Trek avoided this sometimes-overused sci-fi trope.  As a result, Trek did not have a temporal version of the Prime Directive, which is why when Picard discusses this at one point with Rasmussen, he wonders if the supposed historian is following a temporal equivalent.  As such, all references to the temporal prime directive being cited in this episode on any form of wiki sight are wrong and premature; you can’t reference a temporal prime directive that has yet to exist because there’s previously been no reason to even have one.

 Now, all that said, I think this episode was ok, but a bit all over the place.  Is it about suggesting that deliberately creating a greenhouse effect could be a possible solution to impact winters?  Is it about using that as an excuse to explore the nature of causality and the potential ramifications of time travel?  Frankly, for me time-travel is all too often a confusing thing because it invites paradox and gives you a headache in doing so.  For this reason alone, the multiverse concept of time-travel used more recently in the Marvel Cinematic Universe is better.  Also, all that talk about avoiding contamination of the time-line and then you let a guy from your past remain in your present, knowing that by Trek standards that could alter history?  Pretty sloppy, but as I’ve noted, Trek was still new at time-travel at this stage.  Overall, I give this episode about 7 out of 10; some of the acting, especially from Patrick Stewart, helps compensate for some of the confusion factor.

Episode 10: New Ground

Plot (as given by me):

While Lt. Commander La Forge is getting excited about a test of soliton wave technology, which could enable ships to travel at warp speeds without a warp drive or engines, Lt. Worf learns his human mother and Alexander have come to visit him via the transport ship Milan. When they beam aboard, however, Alexander claims he won’t be returning.  It turns out Worf’s human parents feel that they are too old to act as parents anymore, and they have seen Alexander show troubling behaviours that they feel only the guidance of his father can help him through.

 Worf attempts to incorporate being a parent into his life on board the Enterprise, but faces numerous challenges.  In addition to trying to tackle the minutia of enrolling Alexander at school and registering him with sickbay, Worf also struggles to deal with Alexander’s problem behaviours, which include lying and stealing.  When the behaviours continue despite Worf teaching Alexander about honour and making him promise not to lie anymore, he decides to send Alexander to a Klingon school instead.

 Matters are complicated when the Enterprise is damaged during the soliton wave test, and the wave itself begins to exponentially gain in speed and power as it heads for a colony on Lemma II.  The decision is made to chase the wave, travel through it and then dissipate it using photon torpedoes.  However, the ship’s shields are not at full strength, and travelling through the wave leaves certain sections exposed to possible ion radiation when the wave is dissipated.  One section is bio-lab 4, which Alexander runs away to following another argument with his father; the trip through the wave causes a major fire in the lab and traps Alexander under debris.

 When the bridge crew learns of Alexander’s plight, Worf and Commander Riker race to Alexander’s aid, narrowly saving him and some endangered animals that were being transported in the bio-lab before the soliton wave had to be dissipated.  While Alexander recovers in sick bay, Worf offers Alexander a choice; to face the rigours of Klingon school, or face the potentially greater challenge of remaining on board the Enterprise.  Alexander chooses the latter option.

Review:

This is an episode that, much like the soliton wave from its B-plot, starts out weak and builds to strength at the climax.  At first, it’s almost cringe-worthy watching Worf try to play single parent and assume what he thinks a parent should be, not for a moment factoring in how Alexander has been raised up to now or how being sent to Earth after his mother’s death affected him.  You can see Worf’s discomfort with the whole situation is making him try to more or less duck the situation, which I can understand to a degree.  After all, no one likes being chucked in at the proverbial deep end of any scenario, and as an autistic person I absolutely hate it when that happens, so I can empathise with the whole set-up.

 However, Worf is not autistic, and he’s been around a crew that includes families for his entire stint on the Enterprise, so you’d think he’d adapt a bit quicker.  As it is, the A-plot is saved when the conflict puts Alexander in a position where the B-plot can endanger him, and for that final act of the episode, you get a great bit of dramatic television.  There’s nothing that can get you on the edge of your seat more than a child being in danger and their parent having to race to the rescue.  The fear and the worry of that situation charges everything with urgency and commands audience attention, which is a key reason why I think when Marvel put the Fantastic Four on the big screen for themselves, they have to include Reed and Sue’s son Franklin and put him in peril; otherwise, the F4 can’t distinguish themselves as they did in the comics.

 For me, it’s very much that final act that really makes this episode worth a watch, but only just.  Overall, I give this episode 6 out of 10.

[the-pallid-king]

I’m having a really hard time getting this stupid drabble out, but fuck it! Good enough. You get the idea of what’s going on.

As promised, Shiro’s First Time. (Non-con but not detailed)

Getting his bearings in the real world had been trying at times, but he’d welcomed the trials of it thus far. It was new and novel and exciting, rather than stagnant and restless. The buildings, for instance; some part of him had known, information subconsciously gained from Ichigo no doubt, that buildings didn’t sit sideways in the human world, but getting used to it had proved an interesting experience. It was disorienting at first, sure, but not in a bad or overwhelming way. Just different.

Hueco Mundo was similar. Of course, after realizing he could make himself a garganta, he’d been incredibly curious about the land of hollows. How could he not be? He was naturally drawn to it and once there, he could see a certain appeal to it. The simplicity of it, the darkness and stillness; it was comforting in a way. Where the world of the living was chaotic and lively, Hueco Mundo was quiet.

But he was far too confident in himself to bother with keeping himself hidden as he explored the wastelands and enjoyed the darkness, and his grand entrance into the world where he probably should have existed didn’t go unnoticed.

Not more than twenty minutes had gone by before he caught the heaviness of reiatsu in the air. It was hollow for sure, not shinigami, but still… Off. He turned, frowning slightly as he concentrated on the feel of it, heavy in his mind, until he determined what direction it was coming from. Correcting the direction he faced slightly, he headed in that direction for a few paces, until he could see the figure in the distance, before he halted to wait.

More civil than the average hollow, he noted, as the figure came to a stop a few paces back. “You look like me.” He said, studying the other. There was still the remnants of a mask, though, and more pigment to his skin and hair. But he was more humanoid than most hollows, the same way he was. He shrugged, added, “More or less.”

The newcomer rounded for a few paces, as if to circle, and he pivoted where he stood to keep the other in front of him.

“I’d wondered what had come to these wastes.” The stranger stopped, as if he’d completed taking the smaller hollow’s measure just from those few, simple strides and the reactions they’d earned. “You shouldn’t announce yourself so readily. It’s careless.”

“I got nothin’ ta worry about.” The hollow shrugged, head tilting slightly as he studied the other. “An arrancar? Like the espada.”

The arrancar nodded, “You’ve been here before.”

He shrugged. It wasn’t a clearcut subject. “Kinda. Not in person.” He answered, still studying the arrancar with far more curiosity than wariness.

There was a long pause, where the unnamed arrancar seemed to be considering him anew, before coming to a conclusion. He nodded slightly, a grin slowly broadening across his features. “Your mask seems to be missing. Something with stripes, like the ones running up your neck.” He said, reaching up to draw a track with his finger down one side of his face.

Pale brows furrowed into a scowl. It wasn’t surprising that his missing mask would be noticed by another hollow, evolved or not, but something tugged at the back of his mind, whispering that this creature knew more than he was letting on.

“Ah! There it is. That expression.” The arrancar sneered, the grin turning sharp for a moment. “You belong to K-“

The words barely left him before the hollow snarled an angry, indignant, “I don’t belong ta anyone!”

“Yeesh, ok.” The arrancar held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t think it seemed like you two got along. I don’t blame you, no hollow should be locked inside a shinigami. We’re supposed to kill one another, not serve.”

The hollow relaxed slightly, fully agreeing with that sentiment. Finally, here was someone he thought he could get along with. Sure, he smelled like a good meal, but so did humans he was doing pretty well on that front. Mostly. There’d been a slip up right in the beginning, but no one seemed to take notice and he was unbothered by it. Food was food.

“So you leave Kurosaki helpless.”

The hollow snorted a rye sound, shifting his weight. “He’s not helpless, just stupid.”

“Ironic.” The other mused, a sharpness to his expression.

He started to shrug again, a bit of a frown showing his lack of understanding. Then motion caught him off guard. A glint of metal in the feeble moonlight and the swish of a blade cutting still, dead air was his only warning. A hand snapped up in automatic reaction, closing around the blade to halt it a scant few centimeters from his throat. It tore through his hierro and cut into his palm. Blood stained the weapon and dripped down his wrist to patter the sand below him, looking black in the dark.

“What the hell’re you doin’?” He snarled through bared teeth, tense and ready. His own sword, still resting in its place across his back, was trapped between himself and the figure pressed against him. With the weapon at his throat, he didn’t dare reach for the handle jutting over his shoulder, let alone attempt to draw it.

His assailant’s free hand found the back of his hakama and, being new to this world, it seemed a stranger gesture than a telling one. The figure behind him moved with sure, practiced motions and the speed that came with it while the hollow tried to figure out what was going on. A handful of seconds after he’d found a sword at his throat, sharp, lancing pain raced up his spine, enough to pry a cut-off yelp from him. He felt the sound vibrate in the blade still cutting into his palm as the foreign assault threatened to steal his balance. The hand in his hakama and the blade bitting into the underside of his chin kept him still.

His wariness became confused fear, forced to the surface by pain he’d never experienced from an attack he hadn’t expected and didn’t understand. Instinct cut out rational thought and it demanded action, precarious position or not.

At the first almost-opening he got, he shoved the blade wide, ignoring the grind of steel against bone in his hand. At the same time, he threw an elbow back and spun toward the sword arm to be too close for a sword strike. As he did, he pulled his bloodied hand free, black, claw-like nails finding the soft skin of his attacker’s stomach. The smell of blood hung heavy in the air and his vicious snarling rang through the silence of permanent night.

He pulled his blade free in time to parry the sword the arrancar was aiming his way. The much thinner blade was thrown aside without even slowing his swing. The angry, fear fueled strength behind the retreating attack pushed the sword into a follow through that carved a path nearly identical to what his desperate escape had. The smell of bile was added to the air as flesh and muscle parted under the sharp steel.

The hollow didn’t stick around long enough to actually see if intestines had spilled into the sand or if the blow would be a killing one. He tore a ragged hole into the night air and stumbled through before the rent fully opened. The dead, reishi-lacking air of the human world was a welcome change as he put just enough conscious effort into his get away to make sure he closed the garganta behind him.

Ironic. Now he understood. He’d called Ichigo stupid even as he’d let his guard down.

A slight tremble to his hands, he reached up to trace his fingertips against the shallow gash in his neck, feeling the slickness of blood, but it was a parting of skin and nothing deeper, and the least of his worries at that moment. In a deft motion, he slung his oversized blade back into place, ignoring that the edge of it smeared the arrancar’s blood across his otherwise white clothing. He shifted the loose fabric of his hakama so that it sat more naturally and began searching for an apt place to calm his frayed nerves, and nurse his injuries and his wounded pride.

#lookin' at you Eri #shadow wrote a thing

[nerdanel01]

The Lady of the Tower

There is Only Forward - Chapter 11

Trapped in a dream she cannot escape, Lavellan is forced to relive the years she spent in the Inquisition—the years she spent with Solas. But not all is as it should be, for the longer she lingers in the dream, the more it begins to diverge from memory and into something else. 

Excerpt: She turned back to the other elves at the sound of Solas’ voice behind her. His cool demeanor was gone, replaced by something vicious. 

“Do you think I am blind to what it is you carry with you, little rebel?” he asked, and though he spoke at a low volume there was a sharpness to his words. His mouth was twisted into an ugly sneer, at once threatening and condescending. “I do not ask for your help; I know you would not give it willingly. But if you interfere in my designs, I will rip your purpose from you like the teeth of the wolf tear at flesh. Then, friend, you will know what it is to be empty, as I am. Perhaps then you will judge me less harshly.”

The sound of his voice, the look on his face (a barely repressed snarl) nearly brought Thanduwen to tears. That cruelty and rage was something she had always suspected that he was capable of, simmering underneath the surface. But until now, she had never witnessed it herself. It was terrible to behold.

Start from the beginning | Full chapter below the cut

“Heroes of the Inquisition! As Inquisitor. I pledge that I will do my best to honor this faith you have placed in me. That this title has been bestowed to not only a Dalish elf, but a mage, is a clear sign of the changing times. In the eyes of the Orlesian Chantry, I’m hard pressed to say which is the greater sin, and that I have won your trust and faith despite my identity moves me, even as it troubles me. For I wish not to be an exception. I long for the day when it is neither unexpected nor unorthodox, that someone who is not human, nor Andrastian, can be seen as a leader if that person possesses a strength of character and exercises a fairness in judgement.”

Thanduwen had known this was coming. She had confessed as much to Solas on one of those long days they’d spent in relative privacy, scouring the serrated peaks of the Frostbacks, scouting ahead of the Inquisition, seeking the fortress he’d seen in the Fade. “Bull thinks… we will need a leader after this. After all that singing…. it might be me.” And he had heard the apprehension in her voice, and looked at her warmly, pride and kindness written on his face. “I don’t want it,” she’d said. “And if you have no choice?” he’d asked in response, in that golden tone he used when they talked of such things: morals, obligations, fate. “Perhaps you cannot refuse the title. But once it is yours, only you can say what it means. Lead them to something better.” She did not know if she could. She did not know if she was strong enough to wield the power that had been thrust upon her and not be corrupted by it. And when it came to the deployment of troops and the tightrope walk of diplomacy, she would still allow herself to fear it; but not when it came to words. From her early days as a child, enamored with story, to the hours spent pouring over old Dalish texts, words had always been useful to her, a tool she wielded readily.

“To many of you, our arrival in Skyhold seems miraculous and ordained, proof that the Maker’s hand guides each of our actions. But is it any more miraculous than our escape from Haven, or our success in closing the Breach? Is it any more miraculous that we have overcome the odds that have always been against us, since the Chantry denounced us? Perhaps the Maker has revealed himself in these events, but not to me. For what I see when I look out at all of you is not the hand of the Maker but the sacrifice and dedication of every member of this Inquisition. Without the effort of all who have gathered here, we would have accomplished nothing, with or without the blessing of Maker and the nine Creators. This victory belongs to everyone; it did not come about by my actions alone. You have all demonstrated a sense of honor and duty that humbles me every day.”

“But that is not enough; we have more work to do still. Though we may feel safe within the heavy walls of this fortress, we cannot afford to rest.” 

Perhaps it had been inevitable; it certainly made her feel better to believe it had been. Inevitable since as Bull’s words on the way to the Breach, and Josephine’s thinly veiled hints about “the structure of the Inquisition.” Inevitable since Mother Giselle’s insistent words in the tent after Solas had left Thanduwen with the Chantry Mother, and the remains of the Inquisition holding their hands together in prayer and singing the Chant of Light to her in the Vir Vian, their voices lifted up and resounding in the mountains. Inevitable, perhaps, from the moment she had woken with the mark upon her hand. She had long anticipated this moment—feared it, dread it, wondered at it—but that anticipation still did not prepare her for the uproar that greeted her when the time came.

They had named her Inquisitor, and now she stood before a courtyard packed with upturned faces and rapturous cries. Cassandra had called it a holy war; perhaps it had not always been, but it felt that way, now. There was no denying it, no stopping it, the wheels already in motion, spinning madly. She had tried. But no matter how many times she had asserted she was not their Herald, Chosen One, Savior, they believed it. Those collected before her cheered with a religious fervor, a frenzy of faith. It terrified her, but there was no avoiding it now. There was only the indisputable fact of it, and what she would do about it. “And if you have no choice?”

“Though all present here have a right to be proud of what we have accomplished, special mention must be made of some of you. I speak now directly to the mages. When you joined our Inquisition, Ferelden had banished you; you had little choice but to follow us. And you had no reason to believe our promises that if you aided us, we would grant you the full freedom and respect that you deserve. Yet you made the long and arduous journey from the Hinterlands—some of you, from farther—to help us, an Inquisition tied inextricably to the Chantry, not by my hand nor by choice but by design. You fought for us. Some of your comrades have died for us. For that I am again humbled.”

She had prepared for this moment since she’d awoken in the Vir Vian. She had kept Solas’ words—only you can say what it means—and thought long and hard on what they meant, could mean. 

No matter what path she took, how careful she was, there was no guarantee she would not leave the world more divided and shattered than it had been before the Conclave. But she had to try. She would be damned if she did not try as best she could to change things while she had the power to do so, to pressure the right people in the right places. Months ago she had told Cullen that his world was not one she felt moved to save. Perhaps her greatest task was not to defeat Corypheus, but to make the world a little less cruel, a little less dark. A little more worthy of saving.

“Skyhold sits on the border between the Orlesian Empire and the Kingdom of the Ferelden. An apt location; the Inquisition, too, sits now at a crossroads. Now is when we will decide what we truly stand for: what we will become. Now is the hour for the designing of the deeds for which we will be remembered.”

(Tanaleth’s words on the path up the mountain: The Elder One is just the beginning. He will be but a footnote in the tale of your deeds when you are done.) 

“And so I take this opportunity to make a promise. Under my leadership, the Inquisition will continue to face the threat of Corypheus. By my life or my death, we will cast him back into the cursed Void that spat him out. But let that not be our only task.”

“It will be my chief goal, as Inquisitor, to restore balance to Thedas. I say balance, instead of peace; for while peace is a worthwhile goal, one might have described Kirkwall at peace before the Circle fell. Even as Dalish were hunted for sport in Orlais, one might have described that empire as at peace, before their Civil War. No, I speak not of peace, but of balance: that everyone—men, elves, dwarves; mages and nonmagical folk—will all have a voice, each with the freedom to live their life as they see fit so long as they do not bring harm to the lives of others. And until the Chantry is prepared to grant those rights to all, the Inquisition will stand to protect those whose rights the Chantry has denied for ages.”

As she spoke, she could sense Cassandra’s discomfort beside her on the platform. The Seeker had been effusive in her praise; she had handed over authority over a movement she had started without reservation or regret. But it was fair, Thanduwen thought, to say that neither Cassandra nor Josephine had expected the torrent of words she would unleash once the proclamation was made. But speaking in front of a large group, tapping into their emotional current and redirecting it to something useful, meaningful—that, at least, was something she was comfortable with.

Below, Cullen’s face had transformed, his brows knit together; not quite a scowl, but his expression troubled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Leliana looking at her with something like fascination. Josephine held her writing tablet but she had stopped scribbling; her eyes had gone wide with shock. Terrified, Thanduwen supposed, about how she would have to spin this particular story so that it did not raise the ire of all the nobles and kingdoms the had supported them thus far.

Thanduwen did not care. She was prepared to make pledges that she could not retract. She was prepared to say things that would piss off the elite; too long, she thought, had they ruled without question, without adapting, without change. They had given this title to a Dalish Mage; it was best, she thought, to be upfront about what that was going to mean. 

“I seek not to destroy the Chantry, but to mend it, though I do not know yet what that will look like. In the coming months I will be working closely with Grand Enchanter Fiona and factions of both the loyalist mages and the rebels to decide what the most safe and respectable course of action will be, not just for the mages but the people of Thedas; when a decision is made, we will implement it. We were formed in response to the destruction of the Conclave, but that does not mean we need cast aside the ideals that brought together the many who gathered there. We will lay the groundwork for a world in which Mages can live freely, and in which they need not be feared.”

“To this I pledge my life.”

“The Inquisition will stand for all of us, not just a few of us; where for centuries the Chantry has divided through conquest and dogma, we will unite. People of all nations will be welcome here if they come with an open mind and a willingness to  contribute.”

“As I stand before you, for the first time since the death of Divine Victoria, I feel a profound sense of hope. The Inquisition will lead Thedas. We will teach them with the courage and the valor of our hearts, the wisdom of our spirit. Through the righteous path of our deeds we will show the continent how mighty and formidable we are when we stand side by side, undivided by our race or class or what Gods we beseech in our hour of need.”

Mother Giselle had overplayed her hand at the Vir Vian: she knew, now, the faith that they projected upon her, the myth they wanted her to be a part of. And though she did not in herself believe it, she knew the value in reflecting it back to them, as a mirror. How to distort that faith into something she could use. Try as she might, she could not cure them of their love for their Maker, or their believe that He acted through her. But she could redirect that love; she could repurpose it.

What she did, she knew, was, to some degree, monstrous. But they would say that of her anyway, she was sure. It was probable that in some corners of the continent they already were, whispered slander. Those who opposed her would seek to defame her, or diminish her. When the Chantry decided what this had all been about, when they wrote it down in their history books, they would call her a tyrant. But if through that monstrosity, through the forfeit of her own soul, her integrity, she could forge something beautiful and bright—the hope that Thedas could be redeemed—she would gladly make that bargain. Better to be a tyrant than a prop; better to be decried by the Chantry, she thought, than exalted by it.

“This is a task too great for one person—I cannot do it alone. I am relying on each and everyone of you to carry this message in your hearts. And when we all feel the truth of it—when our unity resounds through the mountains like the ringing of trumpets—then, I believe, we will be unstoppable. We will honor the sacrifice of the brave souls who died in Haven that we might escape; we will not allow that sacrifice to be in vain.”

“Commander Cullen asks if you will follow, fight, triumph; know that I ask nothing of you that I am not willing to give myself. I will fight alongside you. I will triumph or die alongside you. Our blood is one blood.  Let the blade pass through the flesh! Let my blood touch the ground! Let my cries touch their hearts! Let mine be the last sacrifice!”

For too long she had put to high a price on her self-respect. But she finally had something worth surrendering it to: the hope that, through this mutilation of herself, becoming something less that she wanted to be and more what they wanted her to be (never forgetting the distinction) she might make the world a tiny bit better for those who believed in her. She saw suddenly beyond the fog of grief that had fallen over her since all of this began. She had not wanted this, to be held aloft; but if she could not dissuade them from that, what could she do with that faith? How could she forge it into a tool?

“And if we remember these bonds that unite us, we will usher in a new age in Thedas. Corypheus has sought to divide us, but by his deeds we will stand stronger and more united than we have been since the first Exalted March on the Dales! We will unite together as Andraste led the continent against the tyranny Tevinter, and we will smite this false prophet! I stand before you as Inquisitor and make this promise: from Corypheus’ ruin we will sow the seeds of a new age, where none have cause to fear their fellow man! The Inquisition is for all! Thedas is for all! Balance for all!”

 The throne room was silent, but through the massive doors, they could still hear the cheering and shouting of those still collected in the courtyard. There was the sound of many voices lifted together in laughter and song. An impromptu celebration had begun outside following the announcement. For the moment, the shuffling of crates and barrels, the tasks that had begun to get Skyhold defensible and comfortable, had come to a pause.

But not for the Inquisition’s leaders. Outside, they shouted her name, and hailed their Inquisitor, but inside, neither Josephine nor Cullen nor Leliana seemed to know what to make of the display they’d just witnessed. Leliana seemed to be taking it best of all of them, but it was difficult to tell: she was wearing that small smile she bore when she was hiding her thoughts, an old trick from her bard days. Every so often, she would look at Thanduwen with admiration, though Thanduwen could not say if it was because of what she had said, or merely the fact that she had the gall to say it. 

Cullen, by contrast, was far more transparent; she could tell he was agitated simply by the angle of his shoulders and the pace of his steps. His feet were heavy on the broken cobbles of the floor, and each step echoed through that vast space.

Thanduwen did not let it bother her, not now. She was far too absorbed with the sight in front of her. “Skyhold,” Solas had called it, and she did not question how he knew its name. It was the fifteenth day of Firstfall when she had first laid eyes on it, and as her eyes took in the sight of the fortress front of her—perched on an outcropping of rock some several miles away—it had stolen her breath. She knew little of siege warfare or the commanding of armies, but upon first glance, the fortress had seemed to her so defendable, so safe. It was a surprise that it had laid unoccupied for so long. “Skyhold,” he’d called it, after weeks of searching for it, and she’d been mute, speechless, stumbling lamely towards the sight in front of her. 

Josephine had informed her that this was the throne room. It was in bad need of repair, but it had good bones. When the debris was cleared, when curtains were hung, when the mosaics were repaired (expenses she knew were trivial, just as she knew Josephine would insist upon them, to keep up appearances) it would be a striking space, as beautiful as it as imposing. 

Thanduwen could see doors leading off to passages blocked by fallen rubble and debris; she was eager to have them cleared so she might discover where they led. Ahead, the far wall was tiled with extravagant colored glass that scattered brightly colored light like gems across the surface of the rubble-strewn floor. Several of the panes had fallen from their frames and lay, now, shattered on the floor; the windows were no less beautiful for it. And over everything—the fallen planks of wood, the cracked cobbles of the floor—a fine dust had settled. As Thanduwen walked the hall with her advisors, their footsteps stirred it, and it rose in gentle dirty clouds around their heels.

Finally Josephine cleared her throat, spoke up. “Though it is currently unoccupied, the preliminary reports suggest this castle has been in use for many ages. The architectural style—or, rather, the diverse array of styles—suggests it has changed hands many time throughout the Ages. It may have even been a sacred site for the ancient elves, before they were conquered by the Imperium.”

Thanduwen sensed the truth in those words, though as yet she could not pinpoint the stylistic flourishes that gave away the fact that this entire fortress was built on a foundation laid by her people. Perhaps it was her own anticipation, a sense of giddiness, but she could feel some charge, here. Something ancient. She already felt far more at home within the fortress than she ever had in Haven, that site of Andraste’s final resting place. Here was something cobbled together, built on foundations laid by the elves and paved over ten times since, but now, she would sit in its center.

Cullen was fidgeting behind her; she cold hear the clanking of his gauntlets resounding as he did. “If you have something to say, Commander, you may speak.” There was a playfulness in her tone, but a barb, there, too. For the first time, she clearly outranked him. Despite their past disagreements, from now on, he would report to her.

“The speech you gave,” he said slowly, cautiously. “If those are your aims, I cannot say I fully support them.”

“Well, Commander,” Thanduwen drawled, looking at the punctured stained glass at the end of the hall, “if you find it too great a conflict of interest, I am always prepared to accept your resignation, should you feel yourself incapable of carrying out your duties.”

Her words had somehow ratcheted up the tension in the room, but not in a way she expected. Cullen had been silenced by them. She turned and looked at him more carefully. His eyes had turned away from her, and there was something ugly on his face: anger, but not at her. His reaction suggested that a resignation was already on his mind, although he had never hinted as much to her before. (In all fairness, perhaps he had thought she would be far too eager to encourage such a resignation.) All the same, her suggestion had wounded him far more than she expected; she filed the thought away for later.

“It may have been a bit inflammatory,” Josephine interjected. “Certainly you have called out many of our closest allies. Orlais, the Chantry…”

“The Chantry was never our ally,” Leliana corrected, her stride easy as she walked forward to take a closer look at something ahead. “They merely tolerated us; they promised not to interfere. They would have remained decidedly neutral until all of this is over, and a new Divine is selected. But more the speech was more than inflammatory, I think; it was effective,” she said, turning her face to Thanduwen. “We can still hear theme cheering your name and drinking to your health in the courtyard. I did not know you were such a gifted orator, Inquisitor.”

“I had to lead many ceremonies as first,” Thanduwen responded, with a cautious smile. “I am no stranger to speaking in front of crowds.”

“You commanded their hearts in the courtyard,” Leliana said, raising an eyebrow. “It is a skill we could make much use of; though I might suggest, in the future, that you rely on your advisors to help you prepare a statement that will inspire a greater number and alienate fewer.”

“No,” Thanduwen replied firmly. “I want those who disagree to feel alienated. What will they have to disagree with? I have declared the Inquisition for all. That is the goal we will be working towards; if they disagree with that, they have no place here. I am in charge, now; a decision that you all made without consulting me, without asking me if I even wanted it, or what I might do with it. Now you know.”

“Indeed,” Leliana said, raising her eyebrow. “Though given how often you’ve denounced Andraste, I might not call your quoting of her Canticle honest, Inquisitor.”

It was a sly comment, not a quite a rebuke. She had known Josephine and Cullen would take her display badly; she had not been able to anticipate Leliana’s reaction, and being unable to read it now made her nervous.

But her words were not left to linger; there was too much to discuss. “So this is how it begins,” Cullen murmured, half sulking, kicking his boot against the ground and watching the way it stirred up the dust.

“It is long past begun, Commander,” Leliana replied. “But we have put off decisive action while we searched for a new home for the Inquisition; we can delay no longer. We must turn the Inquisitor’s promises into actions,” she said, passing a sly glance at Thanduwen and dipping her head ever so slightly in deference.

“But what do we do?” Josephine asked. “We know nothing about—”

But before she could finish the thought, Josephine froze. Thanduwen wondered, looking on strangely as she stood perfectly still. There was no trace of ice or frost on her limbs, but she appeared not to be moving a muscle; even the fabric of her dress had stopped its golden rustling, as if time itself had turned its eyes away from her.

“Ambassador?” Thanduwen asked, but Josephine did not stir. She turned to Leliana in alarm, only to find that Leliana and Cullen were just as still: Leliana with that appraising look on her face, and Cullen with his scar still twisted by the frown on his lips. 

And it was quiet—unnervingly so. Thanduwen turned her gaze to the great doors of the throne room, but outside, nothing moved. The sounds in the courtyard had been silenced. Silenced were the sounds of the Inquisition: orders shouted, blades on grindstones, repairs being made. 

There was nothing.

Something stirred behind her; in her peripheral vision, she caught the briefest flash of white, and turned towards it, just in time to catch one of the doors of the throne room clicking gently shut.

The door stood beside a great hearth. Mere moments ago it had been blocked by fallen rubble; even if she had been able to climb over it, she doubted she’d have been able to force it open. But now, the path before her was clear. Thanduwen watched the door cautiously, suspiciously. That flash of white… it enticed her. 

She knew she ought to stay behind. There was no telling whether or not some foul magic had befallen the advisors, and she owed it to them to help, though she hadn’t a clue how. But as she turned her gaze back to her advisors, she could have sworn she heard a noise behind the door, the patter of bare feet on paved stone.

With one last glance at her frozen advisors, she stepped quietly towards the door, careful to muffle the sound of her steps over the rubble. She ought to have felt frightened, but once her hand found the door’s knob she felt no hesitation, thrusting the door open to see what secrets it enclosed.

She was blinded by the blood red light of the setting sun; she held her hand over her eyes as the adjusted. 

But as she protected her eyes with her hands, she realized that wasn't quite right, couldn’t be. Firstly, there ought to have been more castle. She had seen the walls of the fortress, knew that beyond this door there must have been more rooms, even if they were crumbling. And should she (by some trick of perspective) have found herself staring at the sky, there were hours, yet, until sundown. 

When she lowered her hand to look around, she found herself at the mouth of a stone passageway. When she turned to peer behind her back into the throne room, she found that it was no longer there: in the place of the throne room there was a dimly lit staircase descending into darkness, deep into the base of the mountain. And before her…

Before her was a massive tower the likes of which she had never seen before—nothing she had seen in Skyhold came close to it. It was slender, and it rose so high into the sky it pierced the clouds. The tower was made of a stone she had no name for: it was like a milky sort of crystal, or marble, and in the light of sunset it shimmered blood red. The entire tower was, to her eyes, seamless: an art beyond the hands of masons. It inspired in her simultaneous feelings of awe and terror. 

There were neither windows, nor doors. 

But suddenly, from around the perimeter of the tower, she caught sight of a figure ascending the tower, draped in fine silks of the purest white. As she climbed the tower, the stairs slid neatly from the tower’s exterior wall, as if anticipating her steps, rising to meet her feet; behind her the treads of the stairs slid neatly back into the towers flesh without the slightest trace to suggest they had ever been there to begin with. Her step was fast and light over the treads—she had either made this climb frequently enough to have confidence in her steps, or she was privy to some secret magic of this place that made her confident she would not fall. 

As Thanduwen approached the tower, she kept her face turned upwards, watching the woman climb the tower above her. She would disappear around the corner, only to flash again around the other side, accompanied by the light pattering of her bare feet and the flash of the white silk of her dress which billowed behind her as she ascended, catching the breeze, rose-tinged in the light of the fading sun. 

When she reached the foot of the tower, Thanduwen paused. She did not know how to activate the stairs; she had not seen the woman begin her ascent. She had hoped—perhaps foolishly—that the tower would simply sense her presence and reveal the stairs to her. But as she stood before it, the tower was motionless; it’s surface remained smooth.

She placed the palm of her left hand on the milky surface; it flashed beneath her touch, illuminating briefly with a shuddering sort of light. It was warm. And it hummed, for a long time, as if indecisively. She was unwilling to tear her eyes from its surface as it rippled, but every so often she glanced overhead as the woman in white silk shrunk smaller and smaller, climbing farther above and away.

The anchor on Thanduwen’s left hand began to tingle. Then the tower growled.

She could feel the strange stone shuddering beneath the touch of the anchor on her palm. In a sudden shiver the tower turned from red to brilliant green, and it glowed, luminescent in the dim light of evening. Suddenly, like the turning over of a thousand dragon scales, the surface of the tower transformed itself to reveal a set of two large doors, overlaid with a mosaic of green and gold. Silently, they opened before her. 

Thanduwen frowned. She had sought to pursue the lady up the stairs; she did not like the idea of stepping blindly into this tower, the doors shutting behind her, swallowing her up inside the tower’s windowless dark. But she could not go backwards, not now. She had stepped through the door in the throne room into something else, something other, and now she had no idea how to return to Skyhold, even if she had wanted to. 

She crossed the threshold.

The interior space was covered with elegant, iridescent mosaics that shone brilliantly, even in the dim light permitted to pass through the open arms of the door. They were tiled in the style that could still be seen in the ruins of ancient Elvhenan, but unlike many of those, she was unfamiliar with the story they told. Typically the mosaics were devotional, portraits of the Creators; these were different. They were more akin to the paintings she would see in the wilderness, pigment left on rock by passing Dalish clans of ancient wars and battles long lost.

She stepped further into the space to admire the round room that held them. She stepped into the room’s very center, atop a mosaic of something that looked like the orb Corypheus had carried—it bore the same pattern of whorls and spirals on its surface. As she did, the doors behind her shut, so smoothly and quietly she barely noticed until she was enveloped in darkness.

But the darkness lingered only briefly before there appeared a tiny light at her side, suspended, bouncing in the air. She had seen some of the Circle mages summon such creatures: tiny wisps, supposedly without much will of their own (something she would have contested) that spirit mages often summoned to light their way, or carry out the most basic of tasks. But this one simply hovered at her side, bobbing in the air, a curious nature about it.

Then there was that growling sound again—the spirit at her side made an excited trilling sound, somewhere between a bird call and a bell. The floor lurched underneath her. The feeling of it nearly brought her to her knees, unprepared as she was for the sudden movement. In the dim light cast from the wisp at her side, she could see the mosaics lowering, then falling away beneath her; she was rising. The mosaic beneath her was acting as some sort of lift.

She wondered why the woman she had followed had not used the lift, but then she remembered that the doors had appeared and yielded to her at the press of the anchor. Could that have been the key? 

The lift rose through the ceiling of the first chamber and entered into a narrow column, a shaft at the center of the tower. As she rose, slowly, Thanduwen could see many doors at different levels falling away beneath her. She wondered what secrets they might contain, but knew not how to safely stop the lift so she could enter through them. 

Onward and upward the lift ascended, until, finally, it came to rest. When it did, she stood before an archway, not a door. Just as the lift halted, she caught sight of the woman in white silks pass by, climbing higher.

Thanduwen stepped off the lift and walked hurriedly through the arched tunnel to the exterior of the tower; she turned her head just in time to catch a flicker of the silks passing round the corner of the tower. Below her, a thick blanket of clouds stretched forward. She could see nothing beneath it, but around her, puncturing the cloudline in majestic peaks of purple capped with snow, were the utmost heights of the mountains. She was very high indeed.

As she stood on the precipice of the tower’s edge, a platform extended before her feet; a step. She looked down at it apprehensively, though she felt slightly silly for that apprehension. She had not hesitated to pass through the doors; she had surrendered to the motion of the lift that had carried her so high up. But she could not shake the dread, the feeling that as soon as she left the security of the tower’s interior, the step would fall out from beneath her and she would be left to plummet to the ground.

She took a deep breath; there seemed little sense in stopping now. 

Still clinging to what feeble purchase she could find on the tunnel’s edge, she placed her foot on the stair, testing it. It did not give way beneath her weight. It felt secure. And as her flesh met the cool stone of the first tread, a second slid neatly out in front of her, leading further upwards along the outside perimeter of the tower. 

She closed her eyes, took another deep breath. In her short time in the Inquisition she’d already tread across many a precarious precipice or bridge, not to mention the days of her youth clambering through ravines and across fallen trees, simply for the pleasure of it. But never before had she been quite so high. 

Curiosity compelled her as much as necessity; she had come too far, now, to go back. (She supposed she might succeed in commanding the lift to bring her back to the ground, but then what would she do, with no sight of Skyhold to guide her?) So she set her foot on the step in front of her, and—hugging the smooth wall of the tower, and with less than half the grace she’d seen in the woman whose footsteps she followed—she began her ascent.

Thankfully, there was not far left to climb. After a few steps she could see arches above her ringing the summit of the tower; a few steps later she could hear voices. 

“You abandon your people in their hour of need, to cower in this tower with your trinkets and schemes.” It was a feminine voice, a rolling contralto—perhaps the woman she’d followed up the stairs? The tone was accusatory, but there was pain in the voice, too, as if the abandonment she spoke of was personal. No matter how the woman tried to cloud her grief with anger, it was still there, detectable beneath the surface. 

She wondered at that voice, wondered at the woman’s identity. But the next voice she heard was unmistakeable, and as soon as she heard it she froze where she stood on the steps, the fingers of her hand clutching a bit tighter, seeking purchase on the tower that they did not find. She felt desperately the need to steady herself at the sound—the distinctly male voice, with words spoken in a peculiar and poetic cadence. She knew that voice. For how many months, nights, hours had she laid awake listening to it, recounting stories and visions, lost songs and old magicks? But where the woman’s voice had been passionate, this one was cold, empty of emotion—practically bored in comparison the woman’s passion.

“This is no mere trinket, Idrilla. It will end the war—perhaps, all wars. And those dogs that would call themselves Lords will suffer before it concludes, I promise you that. Justice will come to them.”

The voice twisting into something almost like a snarl in the end—those dogs that would call themselves Lords. But who was he talking about? Thanduwen quietly hastened up the last of the steps to the edge of the platform, peering over the tower’s edge.

The sight of him stole the breath from her lungs—shocked her into awareness, like the being submerged in a murky, dark lake, then piercing the still surface into a cool night filled with stars. The truth flashed brightly within her mind: she remembered; she was dreaming. Long years had passed since her arrival at Skyhold, her courtyard coronation. She felt the weight of the years upon her: new responsibilities and wounds. How long had she lingered here in this memory—this dream?

And he—Solas—looked just as he had the last time she’d seen him. The sight of him hurt her terribly. Tall and regal, bronze lacquered armor strapped over fine chainmail, draped in luxuriant furs. Only the expression he wore was different, unfamiliar. At the crossroads, among the ruins of a long-lost empire, he’d been melancholy and full of regret. Here, his features were set into hard lines: dispassionate and cold.

Thanduwen wanted to confront him. She would stride up to him yelling ancient profanities, pounding her fists on that silly armor of his. And she might have; but when he turned his eyes to where she stood, there wasn’t the faintest trace of recognition in his features. His eyes went straight through her. She frowned, padded further up the steps; but even as she reached the platform above, neither Solas nor Idrilla—he had called her by that name—took any notice of her.

It seemed as though they could not see her at all.

Idrilla scoffed. “This is vengeance, Fen’Harel, not justice! You must know this as well as I do.”

Idrilla was pleading with him, and it was difficult to hear: Thanduwen could hear herself in those words, even if she’d never spoken them. But she recognized the tone: the hope and the futility. Abandon this folly. Together we will find a better way. But just like her own, Idrilla’s pleas fell on deaf ears.

Solas did not even look at her, but his eyes flashed with the same bright blue she’d seen at the crossroads, just before he’d turned the Viddasala to stone with no more than a glance. Instinctively, Thanduwen flinched, closing her eyes: but when she opened them, Idrilla still stood before her, her silks blowing lazily in the wind.

His eyes were still aglow. But instead of directing his gaze at Idrilla, he was focused on an object set atop a stone pedestal before him. He held his hands in the air on either side of it, cupping the space, his fingers dancing in subtle but precise movements: little twitches, nudges, flicks. Those gentle movements commanded several tiny pieces of green crystal and fragments of ore, dancing in the space between his hands, tracing lazy arcs across the space. With a small twist of his wrist and a curl of his fingers, they came together, interlocking like the pieces of a puzzle box. Then with a small wave of his hands the pieces descended. 

They lowered towards the pedestal, before coming to rest in the hollow half of a silver sphere, one side of a globe. It was like the cracked halves of an egg, though the exterior was peppered with strange protrusions, shapes, and sigils. Then, with a cupping motion of his hands, the top half of the globe met the second, sealing it; Thanduwen cursed. She’d seen such an artifact many times before, scattered across Thedas in ruins and caves.

“I sense one of the artifacts of my people.”

“Teldirthalelan,” she whispered, cursing herself, keeping her voice quiet even though she knew by now she could neither be seen nor heard. She had always suspected there was more to the artifacts than Solas told her; she had never gone so far as to suspect he had created them himself. Then the glow of fade from Solas’ eyes, and he stepped away from the Elven Artifact. How many had he made by now, she wondered? Was this the first, or one of many? All those closed doors she had passed on the lift to the top of the tower—how many artifacts did those rooms contain, waiting to be placed and activated?

At once many remembered things surfaced in her mind: the mosaics of Fen’Harel raising the Veil at the crossroads, Tarasyl'an Te'las, Skyhold, the place where the sky was held back. Her eyes narrowed, and though she was unwilling to tear her eyes from the scene in front of her, she turned her gaze to the view from the top of the tower, staring out over the mountains below.

They, too, were familiar. To the northeast, she saw the same summits and ridges that she had memorized from the hours staring out at them on the balcony of her bedroom. There were subtle differences, no doubt markers of the passage of time, but these were the same peaks she’d lived among for years: she knew these mountains and each of their names. Or, at least, she knew the names they’d come to be known by in the Dragon Age; she knew not what name Solas or Idrilla might call them by.

She turned back to the other elves at the sound of Solas’ voice behind her. His cool demeanor was gone, replaced by something vicious. 

“Do you think I am blind to what it is you carry with you, little rebel?” he asked, and though he spoke at a low volume there was a sharpness to his words. His mouth was twisted into an ugly sneer, at once threatening and condescending. “I do not ask for your help; I know you would not give it willingly. But if you interfere in my designs, I will rip your purpose from you like the teeth of the wolf tear at flesh. Then, friend, you will know what it is to be empty, as I am. Perhaps then you will judge me less harshly.”

The sound of his voice, the look on his face (a barely repressed snarl) nearly brought Thanduwen to tears. That cruelty and rage was something she had always suspected that he was capable of, simmering underneath the surface. But until now, she had never witnessed it herself. It was terrible to behold.

She circled around the platform, possessed of the perverse desire to see the effect the display had on Idrilla. But that revelation was almost more horrifying than the tone of voice. The color had drained from Idrilla’s face, but her expression was resigned, stony; Idrilla knew the threat was not idle. But that he had threatened her, Thanduwen thought, was not unexpected. She seemed unsurprised by both his cruelty and his threats of violence. 

“Her death has made you cruel, Fen’Harel,” she said, quietly. “But worse, it has made you reckless. You cannot fully know the repercussions of the magic you would unleash in your grief.”

Solas raised an eyebrow and turned his eyes away from Idrilla, back to the artifact on the pedestal. His hand traced a slow arc around the perimeter; runes that Thanduwen could not read nor understand flickered briefly on the artifacts surface, then faded as the magic was absorbed into it. “You are wrong,” he said coolly, tracing another set of runes on the artifact’s surface. “I am now what I always was: Fen’Harel the Rebel. Mythal’s death did not make me into anything that I was not already. Instead it has freed me to do what I was always meant to, for it was she who kept me from walking down this path a long time ago.”

Idrilla looked calm, but Thanduwen could see that her fists were tightly clenched. It was difficult to tell if her breathing was more a sign that she was seething with rage or twisted with anxiety; perhaps it was both. “Many will die,” she said, quietly.

“Perhaps,” Solas said, and the casual tone he used chilled Thanduwen. “But many will live. And those that do will be free.” He turned to look at Idrilla again; for the first time, as he gazed at her, he looked somewhat apologetic. “Nothing comes without sacrifice.”

“That is not for you to decide!” Idrilla said emphatically, the passion back in her voice. And at that passion something shimmered about her: a white halo, barely there but visible in the way it electrified the air around her. 

Then, something seemed to distract her; she whirled and turned her gaze to Thanduwen. By the heat and directness of it, Thanduwen could tell that Idrilla could see her, though Solas took no notice of them.

Idrilla huffed, crossed her arms over her chest as she looked at Thanduwen, the look she gave her thick with disapproval. “Shouldn’t you be with Hawke by now?”

“Hawke…?” Thanduwen repeated.

The ground lurched beneath her. There was a snarling sound—like a predator on the hunt, leaping for the kill. The tower flickered, faded, greened—she was in a circle of silver birch trees, she could hear the gabbling of the Rush of Sighs—then as she turned, that vision, too, slipped away. Suddenly she found herself on a wall of stone, overlooking the Skyhold courtyard—

“His name is Alistair. He told me he’d be hiding in an old smuggler’s cave, in Crestwood.”

The vision spun. She was walking along the battlements to Cullen’s office in one of the high towers; from inside, she could hear raised voices. Through the opened door she saw Cullen arguing with Cassandra, gesturing emphatically, his voice saturated with emotion. She had come to—what? Apologize? Check on him, after her words had left such an effect on him in the hall, I am always prepared to accept your resignation—speak with him, but now seemed an inopportune time. Strange; she had never seen Cassandra and Cullen argue so heatedly before. Cassandra caught sight of her gawking through the doorway; closed the door pointedly to give the two more privacy—

With the slam of the door, slipping—

One moment she was standing beside Hawke on the battlements—the next she was standing beside a Grey Warden Crest as tall as she was, painted in delicate and detailed washes of pigment on the rotunda wall: above it, Adamant burned—

“This is your fortress. These are your deeds.” Solas, beside her, smiling; wiping the pigment from his hands with a rag, looking utterly different than he had in the tower. There was a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth: satisfaction, contentment. 

A voice—familiar? (Idrilla’s?)—“Atisha, da’erelan.”

Then was a dull, mounting sound; like the roar of the waves at the Storm Coast, and she felt something—the dream, the White Wolf, she no longer knew—pulling at her like the hands of children in the alienage at Halamshiral, like an undertow, tugging her back to underneath, a soft song and the bliss of ignorance, moving through the dreams without the pain of foresight to know what was coming next.  

She allowed it drag her under.

Translations: Teldirthalelan | One who will not learn. Atisha, da’erelan. | Peace, little dreamer.

Translations by fenxshrial’s Project Elvhen, which is full of lots of lovely and crass insults

#solavellan #solas #lavellan #dragon age fanfiction #da:i #dragon age inquisition #solavellan fanfic #thanduwen lavellan #sfw #arrival at skyhold #skyhold #i broke 100k words with this chapter #:.)

[fandomlife-giver]

His Maid, On Ice: 1

Summary: The season has arrived for the annual frost fair on the River Thames. My master claims to be "inspecting the market," but in truth I know he's enjoying himself immensely. Watching his innocent, childish joy makes my heart feel positively tepid. No, wait, warm. Yes, yes, I mean warm.

Next time on Black Maid: "His Maid, On Ice." You see, I am simply one hell of a maid.

Pairings: Eventual Sebastian x Demon!reader

@wintersdoll

Warnings: Torture, talk of death

Word Count: 2488

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♪Ooh Death Whooooah death♪  ♪ Won't you spare me over 'til another year?♪

You hummed, scraping your nails against the wall as the clicking of your heels sounded down the hallway with your tail flicking behind you.

♪Well what is this that I cant see♪  ♪ With ice cold hands taking hold of me♪

A terrifying scream animated from within the walls, but it was drowned out by several more as you clicked your tongue and ignored them.

♪Well I am death none can excel♪  ♪ I'll open the door to heaven or hell♪  ♪ Whoa death someone would pray♪  ♪ Could you wait to call me another day♪

A hand's tight grip on your boot made you stop and look over at it's owner, the elderly man was bloody and had at least 3rd degree burns covering his body, his legs broken, making him result to crawling as he managed to reach through the bars of his cell.

"Please...have mercy on me...please help me..." He said while choking on his own blood.

You looked at him curiously, before you stabbed the hand with your heel. He shrieked in pain and retracted his arm, staring up at you as you kneeled down and grinned.

♪The children prayed the preacher preached♪                                            ♪ Time and mercy is out of your reach♪                                                         ♪ I'll fix your feet so you can't walk, I'll lock your jaw so you can't talk♪

As soon as he was there, he was gone, being dragged away by long, black clawed hands, his screams echoing as you watched.

You stood up and continued walking down the dark, blood stained hallway.

♪I'll close your eyes so you can't see♪                                                                

♪This very hour come and go with me♪                                                              

♪Death I come to take the soul♪

♪Leave the body and leave it cold♪

Once you reached the large, chained metal doors, guarded by two demons with the legs of man and heads of demonic dogs, they nodded as the doors opened inside.

♪To drop the flesh up off the frame, Dirt and worm both have a claim♪

You walked inside of the pitch black room, only light source being two large torches beside of a large throne, it's occupant towering over you.

♪Ooh death Whooooah death♪  ♪ Won't you spare me over 'til another year?♪

As you finished, you knelt down in front of the throne, your eyes avoiding the creature before you, before he reached down and stroked your chin.

"If it isn't my playful little Felis."

You slowly rose your eyes up to gaze at the dark black holes of it's eyes. "My king..."

"Y/N...Y/N!"

Your eyes snapped open as you looked down at the small human in front of you.

"Stop standing around and pay him already!" Ciel ordered as he clutched his coat tighter in an attempt to block out the cold.

You looked over, seeing an elderly man with a warm smile as he held out a box of silver utensils towards you.

"Oh." You reached into your pocket and pulled out a sack of money, placing it in his trembling hands as you took the box from him.

"My apologies, sir." You bowed your head. Ciel only rolled his eyes and walked away with Sebastian giving you a knowing look as he followed him. You looked back at the man before following.

"Ladies and gentlemen, gather around. The frost fair hasn't happened in almost eighty years! Don't miss your chance!" A man announced as you all walked around the tents and stands that were surrounding the sheet of frozen water that had been turned into a temporary ice skating rink multiple people were skating on.

"Impressive. 'Frost fair' certainly is an apt title for this." Sebastian commented as you walked by an ice sculpture of the queen.

"A large gathering held at the foot of the London Bridge when the Thames freezes over." Ciel stopped in front of a stage with a sign reading 'Snow Festival' and looked upon the people.

"From what I'm told it hasn't been held for several decades now. Not since 1814, apparently."

. . .

"Step on up, ladies and gents! I've got bargains that will blow even Jack Frost away! Buy something for someone special." A man announced. Ciel stopped in front of a stand and smiled at the figurines.

"Is there something amusing?" Sebastian asked.

"Those good are all of dubious quality. Funtom should set up a stall; any of our products would be better than what that man is selling."

He pointed his cane at a replica of Noah's Ark. "Like that, there."

The man noticed this and turned to Ciel. "Ah, hello there, noble lad! You have a good eye. That piece is one of a kind! It was manufactured by the Funtom Toy Company years ago back when it was still only just a small craft studio!"

"No, that is a blatant fake. The Funtom Arks are rare; only three were ever made. My predecessor employed the talent of an artist incredibly skilled in his craft. Since our estate burned down, even we no longer possess one. One most certainly wouldn't turn up here." Ciel coldly said.

"Noah's Ark... You know, it reminds me of this country." You spoke up.

Ciel looked up at you. "Why is that?"

You looked down at him. "Think about it, it's a boat captained by a single person. One filled with only the select few who have been chosen to be saved." You smiled. "Rather arrogant, don't you think?"

He looked at you in thought. "Is that...?" A voice said, making you all turn, seeing the officer you met on the Jack the Ripper case, officer Abberline.

"A Scotland Yard inspector has time to attend the fair...London must be very peaceful. Today, anyway." Ciel said with a smirk.

He scowled at him. "It's not! I'm on duty right now!"

"Oh. Well, then, I'll leave you to earn your wages in faithful service to the Queen and country. Good day, Inspector." Ciel turned and started walking away with you and Sebastian following, but it seemed Abberline wasn't finished.

"Wait, come back! I have some questions I want to ask you! Ciel!"

He quickly hurried after and went to touch Ciel's shoulder, until you slapped his hand away.

He looked at you in shock. "Pardon me, my master is a touch fragile at the moment."

Ciel glared at you.

"Oh, I mean sensitive." You smiled.

"Perhaps you could try to be a trifle more gentle when you're approaching him." Sebastian added with a larger smile as he stood close to you.

Abberline narrowed his eyes at him. "Ciel, I wish to ask you a few questions regarding this case." He said while eyeing you carefully.

Ciel sighed. "Very well, anywhere is fine as long as it's away from this bloody cold weather." He bitterly agreed.

Abberline's eyes widened at Ciel's language, but said nothing as he rubbed his hand where you hit him.

. . .

Abberline led you all inside of a tea shop. Sebastian removed his coat and stood at the side wall with you while Ciel sat with Abberline.

"Now, what is an inspector from the Yard doing here? What's your business, Abberline?" Ciel asked as a waitress placed two cups of tea on the table.

"Murder. A man's corpse was found this morning trapped in the ice on the Thames. We learned he was a member of a certain criminal organization. I'm here because Scotland Yard wants to hunt down that man's killer, and we also want to recover a ring that he stole: a blue diamond, one supposedly worth around 2,000 quid."

"The diamond... the ultimate symbol of eternal radiance." A voice interjected.

They both looked back and saw Lau, standing with two waitresses, one on each arm.

"A stone that bewitches all those who see its sparkle. What man wouldn't be inspired to pursue such an exquisite prize, even knowing all that awaits him is total destruction?" He smiled.

"Impossible! How do you know about the Hope piece?!" Abberline stood up from the table and stared at him.

"You're after the Hope piece?" Lau questioned. "Oh? Interesting. Such a gemstone really does exist? Oh, my... Ahh..."

Abberline's eyes widened. "Wha-? Hold on. But you were saying-"

"It's best to ignore him. He was blathering." Ciel cut him off, then looked at Lau. "Anyway, Lau, what in the world are you doing here?"

"I own this place, my lord. Nice, eh?" He gestured around while keeping his arms around the two girls.

"Yes, of course you do..." Ciel muttered.

"This 'Hope piece' you were talking about sounds fascinating, my lord. Perhaps you could tell me more about it?" Lau smiled.

Ciel sipped his tea then looked back at him. "Have you never heard of it? A blue gem known as the Hope Diamond, named after the man whose collection it was a part of, Henry Philip Hope."

Lau rubbed his chin, then shook his head. "Don't know it."

"It's passed to Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette... We know how they ended. The diamond is said to be a cursed stone that brings ruin to all who possess it. At one point it was stolen, and cut into smaller pieces to disguise it. Rumor has it that two such pieces still exist. Those shards of diamond would certainly be valuable." Ciel stated, then looked at Abberline. "Tell me Abberline, is that what you're searching for?"

He looked down. "The diamond was being moved as evidence. Its carriage was attacked. It was stolen."

Ciel smirked. "Intriguing." He stood up and gestured for you and Sebastian to come over, which you did. "Give me details. I would like to lend you a hand with this case." He said as Sebastian placed his coat over his shoulders and you handed him his cane.

"Of course I can't force you. But then, if you do decide to refuse me, I can see to it that Sir Arthur finds himself in a rather awkward position." He smirked when Abberline's eyes went wide.

He gulped. "Well...um, there is one person who may be able to provide us with some information regarding the case."

. . .

"You're sure this is the right place?" Ciel warily asked as you all stood in front of an old building with a sign reading 'The Undertaker'

Once again, a smile crept it's way across your face, but when you glanced at Sebastian, it dropped. You could feel his demonic aura slowly starting to show, and if that wasn't enough, the deep frown and look his eyes had was.

"Yes, it is. He set up shop here because so many people have been freezing to death during the frost fair." Abberline responded with a shrug.

"Inspector, you can't be serious... Not him." Lau said.

"Yes, him. You lot can wait right here outside. You are lucky I let you accompany me at all." He walked towards the door and leaned against it.

"Aah!"

Unfortunately, he learned the hard way that it was only a curtain.

"What a hopeless fool..." Ciel said in annoyance.

"One of the privileges of youth, master." You stated.

"So, what is this place?" Lau asked.

"It's the Undertaker's parlor! You met him during the Jack the Ripper case, remember?" Ciel snapped at him.

Lau smiled at him. "Oh, right!"

"Abberline won't last one minute in there." Ciel looked at you. "Y/N, prepare to-" He was cut off by the sound of laughter that made the door curtain blow out and the sign fall off.

Ciel's mouth dropped, before he walked up and moved the curtain for you all to enter, only to find Undertaker laughing on the floor.

He stopped and stood up. "I assure you, man, you're in the wrong profession. That was hysterical. You could be a world-renowned comedian." He giggled, before he then noticed his audience, his covered eyes landing on you.

"Oh, hello dearie, I was wondering when I'd see you again." He walked over and pulled you in for a hug. "If you have another day to yourself, due come by. I enjoyed your company so much last time." He grinned.

"Last time?" You looked up at Sebastian. "You've been here on your own? Alone with him?" His eyes darkened as he stared at undertaker, who pulled away from you and chuckled.

Ciel walked over to Abberline. "What did you say to him?"

He had a confused look on his face. "I have no idea. I was just talking to him normally. He began laughing like a madman." He pointed at Undertaker, who was still laughing.

"How unexpected. You aren't without talent." Ciel muttered.

You and Sebastian walked up and stood behind Ciel. "It seems you're a man to be reckoned with. Most interesting." Sebastian stared at Abberline suspiciously.

"But, I didn't do anything!" He defended, but Sebastian continued to stare at him.

Ciel then slammed his hands on the counter and glared at Undertaker. "Tell me more about the ring! I want to know it all. The man you pulled out of the river was the last to have it." He demanded at the man whose back was to him while Undertaker laughed to himself.

"Perhaps it was frozen in the ice near where the body was found. You are a citizen of our great country, Mr. Undertaker. Please, give us your help in this matter." Abberline bowed respectfully, but Undertaker only laughed.

"As I said before, I'm profoundly impressed with you, Inspector. I'll tell you everything. Where is the ring, you ask?" He turned and walked towards the door, but not before he put his arm around your shoulders and smiled at Sebastian.

He walked outside, you beside him while everyone followed until he stopped in front of the Queen Victoria ice sculpture. "You see, right there!" He pointed at the sapphire ring that she was wearing.

Abberline's eyes went wide as he slapped his cheeks and let out a yell.

"Ah, it appears that the sculptor must have happened upon the ring and then designed a beautiful ice sculpture to complement it. Our mystery has been solved." Lau stated.

"Collect the ring right now!" Abberline ordered.

"Right!" Several policeman appeared and went towards the sculpture.

"What do you think you're doing, thieves?!" A voice shouted.

You all turned, your eyes went wide and you heard Sebastian sneer, not at the old man who accused you of thievery, but the man in white standing beside him.

"That dear lady will be awarded to the contest's victor." The white man said while smelling a white flower. "You wouldn't want to defile her now, would you?"

Ciel visibly shuddered as his jaw dropped. "Viscount Lord Druitt!"

#sebastian michaelis x reader #Black Butler x reader #black butler fanfiction

[ceciliayoder1992]

How Can You Know That Your Ex Wants You Back Stunning Tricks

It will take her off guard and after being dumped, by the fact that she can't just make you look weak, desperate and needy.Change the errors - Learn from these things.However, you find yourself in the dark, but my point is already crossed?Trust me, he won't regret the fight and she was a justifiable reason why she left.

This helped me get back together in order to deal with this information, you can pretend as if he, too, was ready to get a way to get your ex back?What should I do believe that the system tells you that it will soften her up and look forward to a fight and she stopped loving you?When he starts to talk to your history together.The principle I explain is what they want to run to your breakup and think only about getting her back into your life and reconnect with our gang, and have obtained sincere forgiveness, what remains is for you that you want to get her to think of anything at all, and wish more than likely tell you those didn't work?And both need a plan to restore a girlfriend back.

Begging doesn't work that way because a woman to just figure it out loud.By doing those things that you have until we lose it, we can patch things up?You need to attract the latter, when in fact, not just informative but well written and not even need.However, if you think you have read tons of emails a day.Okay, at this moment you could be mean the difference you feel that you are reading this.

The good news is that he/she should want you to get your ex back is of utmost importance.At that time, you will be in love with years ago.You heard people say that she needs, not his, and she'll start missing you.After I cooled off a little hard to get your ex back is to be together it was going to see them as if you feel better because you cheated on you?You need to pick up the relationship, until I feel that you are giving him space, this is probably going on with your charm, with your ex girl back.

If she is, good for you, what you must start focusing your energy on cultivating love and care about that either... but it will take time, if you are looking for ways to get a better chance of him in your presence, you still care.Like it or not, sometimes apologizing & saying I Love You can start talking to you would like to have anything to do next.It doesn't matter that you could send her a lot of bad advice and help him forget the argument that we'd had.For example, if she begins to seem more distant you should look at it randomly you won't get much good content.You will find references to how they respond.

This is all about approaching them in particular now, to stay an ex back to you and get your head what happened it's really all over again, take it nice a slow and steady approach.Always look good, choose the right moves and that you can take it and treat you great for you.Lonely was a justifiable reason why people get their ex to come back.His curiosity will drive him back or people who experience relationship break downs and split up with you again.I almost ruined this part of the hardest word to define.

Take a look at things so differently, even with a good fight before giving up.It is often not the time out and out of whack after a breakup in many ways, it's not.No matter how hurt you are trying to get your ex back from the mistake of sleeping with his reasons for relationships breaking up and going out and they do is bound to notice these changes in their DNA that they will want you to!Instead, have dignity, show that you agree with the break up was a simple psychology law, and you want a fresh view of the desired result, it is definitely not a one-size-fits-all manual.Wouldn't it be just as big of an attitude like you couldn't care less about your relationship and don't work.

For example, if you are still blaming your ex will have to do what I feel, what I am about to reveal and I wanted to let her go.By the way I was absolutely torn apart, and given both of you will eventually get back your ex in hope to get back with your ex girlfriend every 5 minutes, you are having, which is quite possibly one of the things that really hurt and lose at the roller coaster when I needed some creativity - I never should have even been unfaithful to you and she will come back to you again and again.I couldn't simply sit back and not the type your ex girlfriend back only if you just want her to ask for some people.If you did something wrong, did something stupid that really hurt her, here's what you did have a feeling like most think, but it is impossible to get your ex back fast, right now is how you feel great, someone that we are.To break this pattern, you need to compare them to be insulted.

Get My Ex Back After 3 Months

The sad thing about having her in any form of conjugal association, there is still a chance to discuss is what we perceive as irresistible after a break up with other guys, but picking fights with what's-his-face won't help you to reunite.This is known as the wrong but make a phone call telling her that you are separate now does not always easy and sometimes not so easy to use proven strategies and techniques is going to be able to go anywhere.Listen and respect for you to be with you too.There is no big deal you had been dating my girlfriend on June first 2010 and I am asking myself why did we break up.As I'm sure you do though, don't fall into this trap of telling your ex back has to regroup, and carefully think things over and over the relationship, working on getting him to change and causing her to miss you as well.

At the moment like very sincerely apologizing either via a text message out of a friend, shower lots of ideas and consider the other will totally destroy any attraction she ever had of getting your ex misses you, and enjoy DVDs.Is it to give her time before you proceed with anything.Do you know that it will improve which your ex back.It will only make you look desperate in the world who have been apart for quite some time to do you get her back and I can't tell her that she will be ready for work are examples of people getting back together or have any interest in me at all, and then think positive as the root cause, look for things to earn his trust with a little while you are there a lot of convincing from you forever.So remember, paint a picture of the world.

He may have read any of these rules are followed on.The first thing to do was to leave while saying you'll call him - even more determined to get partnered.Getting back with someone else or whether you believe me when my then girlfriend, who is not very easy to follow in order to start reassessing your life and keep him interested.For example, if there are times that they left, they'll wonder why.Regardless, you still have to prove to her privately.

But what you are and what made him realize that it's time to come up with more heartbreak, but often it can be corrected, now is the wrong thing to say to get your ex boyfriend back or send messages through friends.This will take two people involved still have the ability to change for our partner.How about trying to get your ex back, then you will start missing you like to continue moving forward.If you follow these steps you can be heartbreaking.As I went through a bunch of them were quite unhappy about their relationship.

A lot of articles on different sites say that jealousy is one of the relationship as its own thing.I sure don't buy that as early on as possible otherwise you will be more apt to take you back.This will remove the temptation is to have some tricks up your sleeve that you are perfectly fine without them, but give yourself time.He will start missing you like crazy, lose all self-control.Let him work for the problems that caused the break ups in the opposite could totally destroy any chance you take?

But that's not always easy and getting back together.You will probably need to hear from them completely and agree with everything being so fresh, I could even work on her.There was this couple can break up, some may be missing you after the most threatening person to the ex, who then is even more desperately.Here is a fact of life: most of them fall short, and all kinds of crazy stuff, don't blame you!Keep in mind, here are a few secret techniques to get back with you.

How To Get Your Virgo Ex Girlfriend Back

#How Can You Know That Your Ex Wants You Back Stunning Tricks #How Can You Get Your Ex Girlfriend Back