#paragon : task
Is torture permitted against criminals in all of your factions?
OKAY, SO. /cracks knuckles
The Clan in the Mists - Nope. Lockwood hates it, because he hates seeing people in pain. And he honestly believes that doing such a thing makes you no better than the person who’s getting tortured in the first place. Although, I do imagine if the person happened to, uhhh. Get rouged up a little in the process, then that might be acceptable.
The Golden Firefly Dance Troupe - Hakon’s hella’ soft, but he knows how dire the situation with the Water Gardens is. He’s made it expressly clear to people involved (which is normally Shesha, Skanda, and Rift) that as soon as someone talks, that they’re not to be harmed any longer. It’s a sort of ‘necessary evil’ deal. He doesn’t like it, but after talking so long with Haimah (who used to be a ‘Warden’ in the Fortress), he decided that it could be used in severe cases.
The Wildwood Dryads - Yes. I see them as being kind of swift dispensers of justice, and they’ll use what they can to get what they want. They’re also, however, incredibly reserving of this judgement: it’s for the super bad apples alone. They have to get Brienne’s opinion on the matter first, above all!
The Emperor Elimination Task Force - Definitely. They’re very, very stern–and for the most part, a very traditional group. For example: no one but the top five Squads are allowed anywhere near the Rocs unless invited. Going near them is one thing–they’d get a hell of a scolding for that. But touching them? That’s punishable by death, depending on whose squad the Roc belongs to. If they get off with torture, then they should consider themselves lucky, to be honest. If anyone touches Abra for example, without Masato’s express permission? Like. That’s the end of them. People are made to understand it–from a young age. If they can’t behave, then well. Yeah.
The Archivists’ Legion - Also yes, because of their secrecy. Whether it’s traitors, or people coming after them? They’re going to make sure it doesn’t happen again, for certain. But it has to be run by Wereth first, unless Riordan gets there first. Riordan is a little…harsher. For the reeeally bad cases, they consult Azania and Zilya.
The Amber Temple - ALL CRIMINALS ARE DIRECTLY DEPOSITED INTO THE POOL OF THE NAMELESS. DO NOT PASS GO, DO NOT COLLECT $200!! Jaqen will WRECK YOUR DAY if you’re in the Amber Temple with malicious intent. You don’t want to know what goes on in those pools, man. Don’t. Do it. (They’re super heavily inspired by the Upside-Down Sinners in Warcraft. That can get a little creepy, so search with care if you wanna’!)
The Nightspear Company - Yup! It’s not used much, honestly, because Locksley and Skelbrooke know first-hand what it’s like to be tortured. Again, a ‘necessary evil’ thing. To be honest, they uh. Just let the Janustraps and giant bugs sort people out. That’ll get them talking, or just uhhh. Shut them up permanently if it comes to that. If it’s really bad, they’ll be toted out to Fetch’s grove. You done fuk’t up if you go there.
The Paragon Foundation - I’m afraid to say that’s a big-arse yes. Torture is, um. Kind of their thing in general? With the nature of their group, is all. And criminals are even worse than ‘patients,’ so…uh. Yeah. Don’t cross them, like at all. They let you choose who does it, and none of them are good choices.
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TASK #6 : A AUDIÇÃO
Quem sabe canta! Ta(s)k ta(s)k rumbaaaaaaaaaa, oh oh, oh oh! Dá vontade, Selena Gomez? Brincadeirinha.
Oi gente, tudo bom? Hoje viemos aqui explicar a sexta task e dar continuidade ao que iniciamos na anterior. Nesta sexta tarefa você continuará a retomar o passado de personagem para que assim possamos conhecê-lo melhor e saber mais sobre ele, desenvolvimento é tudo, certo?!
Conta aí pra gente através de um POV como foi quando seu personagem fez a audição para a empresa da qual faz parte. Estava nervoso? Teve alguma crise existencial? Se sentia confiante? Cantou a música de algum desenho animado? Imitou algum animal na frente dos avaliadores para chamar atenção? Ah, e outra: se o seu personagem é estrangeiro, como foi a comunicação na hora de conversar com quem o avaliava? Amarelou? Quase saiu correndo? Só desfilou? Estamos curiosas, vai contando e sinta-se livre para explorar o que quiser!
Na TASK pedimos para que os POVs sejam fixados no tweet indicado para tal, assim facilitará aos outros players para que encontrem e leiam (se quiserem) os selfpara da temática;
Ressaltamos que o envio através do Behind continua se fazendo necessário para a nossa organização;
A data de envio será até o dia 05/09 às 23:59.
Qualquer dúvida e/ou sugestão estamos sempre disponíveis, ok?
/steps up to the podium, shuffles some papers
Ahem. The most sexual people in my lair, by faction:
The Clan in the Mists: Big toss-up between Erebos, Thamuz, Nemesis, and Vasilios.
The Golden Firefly Dance Troupe: How do I pick one, oh my god. AHEM. Some top (hehehehe) contenders: Shesha, Iolaus, and Narcissus.
The Emperor Elimination Task Force: Masato. (Tho’, Renshaw and Ranell are reeeeal close, too...)
The Archivists’ Legion: Azania.
The Amber Temple: Jaqen.
The Nightspear Company: Toss up between Kinbaku and Madness, possibly Timber as well.
The Paragon Foundation: Toss up between Absolem and Helsing. Although, Mephisto kinda’ wormed his way in there, as well. He’s more toy-driven, tho’. Unless he reeeally likes someone. Then, they become the toy.
Ahem. Thank you for attending this assembly.
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Making Lore Out of the Angel Event
Im the definition of 'its not that deep but I'm going to dig a hole to make it that deep'
In this case its me making it that deep because otherwise this event is upsetting so I'm making some dark lore theories to make it make sense to me.
I'll have a lot of spoilers below. For the event and everything I know, which is up to like lesson 32 I think.
Basically, TLDR; this was an attack by Michael/their Father on Devildom. Simeon and Diavolo have successfully negated the threat by turning it into a game.
TLDR Thesis; The Celestial Realm is governed through careful mind control. The Demon Bros are not "avatars" because of being demons- they have been cursed by their Father to suffer as no other demon nor angel has to.
First we hear direct from Michael, and he's giving these bangles that appear to brainwash the main cast.
This was an attempt by their Father to bring them back under his control. By control, I mean this literally.
I've felt for a long time that the way the Celestial Realm seems to be run is... shady. It's a utopia to outside appearances only, and those who have been most deeply embroiled in the Great Celestial War know this.
The Great Celestial War was over free will, rather than the specifics of Lilith's situation. She was the catalyst for a long-time-coming revolt against the rulers of the Celestial Realm.
My logic for this:
The reason for Lilith's expulsion goes against the current action plan of the Celestial Realm. Peace between the realms? Sure, but their Father is bound to realize that you put angels, humans, and demons together you're going to end up with more angels like Lilith, who fall for other races. Why would he accept this truce if he lost his favored children over an issue that is very similar? Did he have a change of heart? Heavens no.
Luke's behaviour towards the demon's seems case-and-point. Luke is not the strange one out of the angelic transfer students- Simeon is. Not only that, Simeon is chosen not in an attempt to promote peace, but to protect Luke from being influenced. (Which is, again, the whole point\of the exchange program.)
That time we went to the Celestial Realm for real - Lucifer was worried. Scared, even. This can be explained by, you know, the War and Lilith.. but I wonder if it may be more sinister. Like perhaps being brainwashed.
Diavolo and Barbatos weren’t required to wear bangles to become less “demon-like” for the “party”. This is because the bangles were a ploy to get the brothers back.
My theory is that when an angel begins to show signs of rebellion or questioning the divine order, they are forcibly stopped. Michael is that enforcer, and these 'gifts' are a method of stopping them.
The bangles cause a person to act *perfectly angelic* against their free will. The people affected become all smiles and sunshine, so clearly nothing could be wrong with it, right? They’re happy, right?
No. Very not right, and we can see that through Satan.
Poor Satan is always the exception to the rule of the Brothers, as his circumstances are different from everyone else's.
In this case though, he's the one who provides insight on this mind control.
Let me remind you of the quotes Satan gives us during this time:
“I feel worked up.”
“I don’t feel like myself at all.”
“It feels like something foreign is forcing my heart to be calm.”
“Like my heart... becoming tranquil.”
Satan has never been an angel. He has never experienced this before. He has something the other brothers don’t: self-reflection. Satan can tell the difference between his feelings and feelings that are being imposed upon him. He tells you what he feels - “worked up” and “not like himself” and he is not smiling during this. He’s clearly unhappy, even though an angel might say he should feel unburdened by losing his anger.
He even mentions this.
“Normally, that wouldn’t seem like something bad, right?”
“Something isn’t right.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t come near me when I’m in this state.”
Satan is under the effects of the bangle, being forced to act angelic, but he can tell something “isn’t right.” He clearly shows that he thinks this is a “bad” thing, not because being calm is bad, but because it’s not “normal”. And can I remind you that he’s the Avatar of Wrath? The Sin that is most likely to be dangerous to be around - and yet it’s only when his anger is forcibly quelled that he thinks you should stay away from him. He knows that this is not something to desire. He knows that it is not happiness.
“I can’t concentrate on reading today.”
I mean, he’s obviously going through a lot, so that’s fair. But I have the theory that if he were to try and research this condition he wouldn’t be able to either. I have a theory about the Garden of Eden. My theory is about Paradise.
Remember when Eve ate the fruit? Do you know what that fruit was? Sin?
No. That fruit was knowledge.
Specifically, knowledge of good and evil. Now, why would this knowledge be something to keep from those under the control of the Celestial Realm? It sounds rather like they might be able to then make their own decisions of what is right and wrong.
Satan has known this from the beginning. Knowledge is power. The Ruler of the Celestial Realm, the other demons’ Father, knows this, too.
Why are there no other Avatars?
Sin was not something inherent to Devildom. Sin is a judgement sent from the Celestial Realm. There are no other Avatars because they are a wholly angelic creation. There are other posts that have examined the Sins as outlets, and how each of the brothers are attempting to find ways to allow themselves to express their sin so it does not overtake them.
From the get-go, we are shown that these Sins are a defining point for the brothers, but we’re also shown that they cause more trouble than anything else. Again, part-and-parcel of being a demon, right?
So why aren’t other demons like this?
Look at Diavolo and Barbatos, or even just the background demons who work across Devildom. Look at No. 2. They are all far more complex, and could even be considered normal. No. 2 is specifically meant to be based off of Mammon and his greed, but is much more rounded when we interact with it.
If Diavolo is meant to be the ruler of demonkind -- the paragon of what a demon should be -- then why would he not be the epitome of all of these Sins in one? What is Diavolo, instead?
Diavolo is accepting.
Hold up a moment here. What? Sorry y’all but it sounds to me like Mr. Demon Daddy King trusts his son enough to pass the kingdom on to him... so that must mean that Diavolo is behaving as a demon should.
Barbatos doesn’t question Diavolo’s choices. Nobody does. He’s an all around popular ruler. Devildom seems to be quite.. the opposite of what we’ve been trained to expect, huh? Trained by who exactly?
What are the Demon Brothers?
Cursed. They don’t act like other demons because they’re not like other demons. When they rebelled against their Father, they were punished for this act, but I posit that the punishment and the exile were two different acts. Their Father knew that leaving the Celestial Realm was not punishment to those who desired free will. So instead, he gave them Sin. Something that Demons are not normally bound to.
But how would the brothers know this? They only know what they’ve been taught by angels about demons. Surely these new, pressing desires come from turning into demons..?
So, why was this not taken seriously?
Short answer: it was. But in the way that aligns with Diavolo’s ultimate goals.
Diavolo wants peace.
Let’s Talk About Simeon
Simeon is an enigma and a half isn’t he?
Simeon is close with Michael, closer than Luke in any case. Now, I’ll be honest, I can’t remember if it was a fanfiction I read that said this or if it was canon so uh - forgive me. But Simeon was chosen to accompany Luke as an exchange student so that Luke would get some education. Simeon says this is to help relations, as Diavolo wants, but of course that’s what you would say as a sleeper agent?
Now, don’t get sad. Because we love Simeon here and we support him.
Simeon is wise and neutral. He seems to support the brothers, and even still wishes to foster a relationship with them. This could be seen as an attempt to bring them back, or some such, but I like to think that Simeon knows what’s wrong with the Celestial Realm.
Simeon, however, doesn’t think that a revolt can solve it. Simeon is working with Diavolo to create a form of peace - and has been transparent about the fact that Michael chose him to prevent Luke from being corrupted. I like to think he’s also been transparent with Diavolo about Michael’s actual goal.
Simeon believes that the races should co-exist and love freely. How could love be evil, after all? Whether or not this is a new concept to him (because of his falling for you) or if this is just who he is, I’ll leave up to you and your preferences, but since he is now no longer undateable, it is established that he does not believe love between angels and humans to be bad - as his Father did with Lilith.
What happened, then?
My theory is that Simeon told Diavolo that Michael had given him a task - to give these bangles to the brothers to remind them of the joy they were missing by disobeying the Divine Order. Either that, or to brainwash them into coming back home.
Simeon’s position would be revealed to Michael if he didn’t give the brothers the bangles, but he does not want to instigate another war either. So he told Diavolo Michael’s plan.
Diavolo wants peace, and he knows that with time, the brothers can overcome this mind control as they had in the past - especially with his help.
So thus comes the “party”.
An excuse to make the bangles seem like a “harmless” gift, that had only gone wrong because of strange magical interference, when really they had done exactly what they were supposed to.
And a wonderful way to maintain peace while leaving the Celestial Realm to stew in their own pots.
Simeon gets to maintain his facade for everyone - and put on a show for Michael as being loyal. He also gets to show Luke that perhaps being wholly angelic isn’t the way for some people, letting him learn a little more about peaceful coexistence. Nothing happens to ruin Diavolo’s grand plan for peace, and he gets to learn more about the curse that is set upon his friends - One that he hopes to be able to break someday, so they can live their lives unfettered by their Father.
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*all photos and maps in the moodboard above are my own*
About me/my blog:
First off - this is a safe space that I am cultivating like a beautiful, inclusive garden and if I find out you are racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, ableist, etc. I will pluck you like a weed
Pronouns are they/them
I’m 28 and try not to follow minors since I know that can be weird, but if I accidentally am following you and it makes you uncomfortable, just let me know and I’ll unfollow right away
I mostly post/reblog: references, advice, and memes about writing and world building; pictures; book recommendations; and my own writing
I love tag games and my ask box is always open, but it can take me awhile to respond
My focus is mostly on writing adult fantasy, but I do have some ideas for children's books and table top games as well
I have way too many plans and not nearly enough willpower, but I’m working on it
WIP details below the cut:
These are my 3 WIPs that I'm most focused on at the moment. They are all set in the same world, in different time periods and with different characters - I listed them in chronological order:
anthology of fifteen short stories / genre: high fantasy / stage: daydreaming about it while listening to music, but hardly any set plans yet
When the sun’s rays grew too powerful, people sought the dark places of the world like the embrace of a loving mother. It has been centuries, but now the people are emerging, slowly stepping back out into the light and some are discovering powers they believed belonged to the gods. With these newfound abilities, humanity has a chance at weakening the sun and taking the light of day for themselves.
An Age of Alteration:
series of six books / genre: high fantasy romance / stage: planning and writing
The Guilds have brought peace and prosperity to the world and Delha has long dreamed of becoming a member. Ten years of hard work and training is about to pay off as ze travels to Paddock for hir final test. Whispers of rebellion have been circulating throughout the countryside and threaten to jeopardize the Guild’s plans. Hir task is to investigate and make allies, but when suspicions arise, ze must rely on hir own judgement to decide who to trust in a world that is more complicated than ze could have ever imagined.
series of three books / genre: high fantasy dystopia / stage: planning
Wren and her younger sister live in the underground utopia, the Citadel, training in hopes of being chosen as its leader. When her sister is picked over her, Wren is assigned to a new task: venturing out into the deadly sun and searching the scorched ruins of long-dead civilizations for an ancient artifact lost to time. The journey uncovers sinister truths about her world, however, and Wren must decide whether she wants to keep living a lie.
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And last but not least... my baby @a-paragon-of-their-kind fic
Ship: Female Cadash & Shale
Additional Tags: Family Bonding, Golems, Dwarves, Shale doesn't like birds, Cadash likes tormenting Solas, Family Reunions
Summary: *Shale wishes to no longer be a golem, and so visits Skyhold to meet with this Inquisitor who can seal the sky and make the humans dance to their tune. They did not, however, anticipate the birds.
Read on AO3
It is small, this Inquisitor.
Unsurprising. Shale has been told it is a dwarf and dwarves are the smallest of the squishy creatures, although much more solidly built than the humans or the elves. Shale could not wrap one fist around a dwarven waist like he could with some others, but Shale could easily crush the Inquisitor’s head like an overripe melon.
Perhaps, more surprising, Shale does not wish to.
There is no ambivalence to the Inquisitor’s life or death. In fact, Shale wishes to preserve it, although why they could not say. Perhaps there is an echo of something in the way it moves, red braid falling over its shoulder, gray eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“I’m sorry. Let me get this straight.” It crosses their arms over their chest. Shale almost mimics the movement. “You’re the golem that traveled with the Hero of Ferelden. You’re claiming to be a relative. And you want me to un-golem you?”
“I have heard the Inquisitor seals holes in the sky. But it is afraid of family and difficult tasks?” Shale asks.
The Inquisitor’s eyebrows climb. And yes. There’s something familiar in it. A memory Shale cannot quite form of another dwarf with the same hair, forever lost to time, long buried in the Deep Roads.
“You haven’t met the rest of our family,” it says ruefully. “You’re really a Cadash?”
“I am a golem. Perhaps once I was a Cadash. Perhaps I wish to try it again.”
It tips their head to the side and studies Shale carefully. Then it shrugs inartfully.
“If you’re sure. Come on.”
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Savageries of the Heart Chapter 6; Heritage
First -Previous -Next
Chapter rating: T Overall Rating: E
Noodle turned out to be quite the escape artist, if the flickering of a forked tongue against her chin was any indication. Zelda’s giggle swiftly turned into a yawn. Noodle wriggled into her hair until Zelda lifted her head so the serpent could take her usual space coiled around her neck.
“Good morning, Dove,” Link cooed softly, kissing her shoulder as she sat up.
“Good morning,” she said with a stretch. She leaned on Link’s shoulder to look down at the slate in his hands. “What are you doing?”
“I’m just looking through some of the messages that piled up over our honeymoon,” he said, tapping out a reply to his latest missive. Zelda’s brow wrinkled.
“Don’t you do that in your office?”
“I could do it in our office,” he admitted, and Zelda felt him smile against her cheek, “but that would mean leaving you here to wake up alone, and that wouldn’t be very hospitable, would it?”
She grinned and shook her head.
“What’s on the agenda for today?” she asked, booping Noodle’s nose. Link clicked out of his messages and brought up a schedule.
“I don’t have many appointments today, so I thought I’d give you a tour.”
Walking through her new home felt like walking through a dream. Her breath steamed in front of her, even though Zelda fel perfectly comfortable, if not warm. Her bare feet walked across frozen stone floors as Link led her through chambers carved into the mountain. It was a surreal feeling, walking next to walls of solid ice, light filtering through in tendrils onto the floor. On her other side was a line of doors. Curious, she opened one, and was surprised to find a bedroom.
“For guests?” she asked, though she couldn’t imagine that many would willingly stay in a frozen abode such as theirs. Link shook his head.
“Children,” he clarified, then caught himself, “Not that we need them! I mean-” he sighed, “I didn’t marry you to pump out heirs. That’s not how we do things.”
“It’s how my family does things,” Zelda said. She wouldn’t say that she was a natural born mother, but there was this vengeful feeling that had grown over the years that was determined to continue her line, even if it was just to prove she could. Zelda ran her eyes down her husband’s figure. At the very least she had a strong set of genes to work with.
“In any case, It’s the one thing I can do to honor my family, making sure the weakest link doesn’t break the chain.”
Link paused then, turning to look her in the eyes. There was a tragic look in his eyes that would make Zelda bristle were it not for the rage burning quietly behind the melancholy.
“Is that how you see yourself?”
Zelda looked down, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze.
“It’s how my people see me.”
“I wouldn’t count on that.”
She looked up at him, a question on her lips, before he cleared his throat. “I think breakfast should be ready by now. Let’s go eat.”
An moment later, Zelda was seated at the table for breakfast, which gave Link an opportunity to help her settle into her new home and give her a brief explanation of what would be expected of her as a Warden’s wife. As a Mother of the Zonai she would be expected to handle domestic affairs. This included holding audiences and coordinating joint efforts between regions among other housekeeping tasks, handling the finances and presiding over festivals and rituals and whatnot. The Dragonlands were the political center of the Zonai, and marrying its Warden meant that she had an additional responsibility of leading an organization based on the Temple Mesa.
“Wait a moment,” Zelda held up a hand, “You mean to tell me the Hands of Hylia is a Zonai organization?”
The Hands of Hylia was a renowned charity that gathered resources from across Hyrule to redistribute them when needed. Their quick response to epidemics, famines, and other such disasters quickly earned them the reputation of the kingdom’s greatest first responders. Her uncle had poured a generous amount of money to the administration, if only to claim a portion of the glory and saving the castle embarrassment for it’s slow response time.
“I don’t understand. What’s the point in helping a nation that looks down on you so?”
Link leaned back, considering before putting his thoughts to words.
“You know the Sheikah once served the Hyrulean royal family,”
“I did,” Zelda nodded, “Because of Hylia’s blood.”
“Yes, but that’s not all. The Sheikah value knowledge, and so they served Hylia’s daughters, paragons of wisdom before they were usurped by their fathers.”
“What does this have to do with the Zonai?”
“Because the Zonai follow the Hero. At least, we follow his example.”
“I’m sorry, what ‘Hero’?”
Link gave her a quizzical look, “The Hero, the one in all of the stories.”
Zelda shook her head, drawing a blank.
“You really don’t know? No one told you? What about the history books?”
“My uncle had all the history books burned shortly after he took the throne,” Zelda said, in a trance, “Anything that referenced Hyrule’s matrilineal line was disposed of.”
Link cursed before getting up and taking her hand, pulling Zelda as he walked to the same alcove they materialized in the night before. He pressed a button, and they were gone in a flash of light,
Zelda expected her feet to form on top of the sandy beach, not the stone worn smooth by eons pressing against her skin like a well trodden path. Her gasp echoed over towering walls etched with a procession of men and women making their way towards the biggest statue of Hylia she had ever seen.
Zelda felt all at once so small yet nostalgic in a way that drove her forward, paying no thought to her bare feet and the casual slip hanging from her shoulders.
She had a place here, and she felt secure in this undeniable, instinctive sense of unity that swelled in her chest and seeped into her bones.
“What is this place?” she whispered.
“They call the Temple of Time the birthplace of Hyrule, but this,” Link gestured to the massive statue “Is where your bloodline began, when the Goddess Hylia came down to earth and brought her light to the land.”
Zelda walked with him as he led her over the uneven stone, wrapping her arms around his right. After years of precious little physical touch, going to be with her husband had been the release of a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, and found herself gravitating towards Link, who seemed more than receptive to her advances, holding her hand tightly in his while they walked upon the stone. They walked in revered silence until they finally reached the statue. Link took her hand and pressed it against the smooth folds of the Goddess’ robe.
A gasp fell from her lips, there was a hum that resonated in her chest, causing her heart to flutter. Link’s skin burned against hers, and she felt this surge of affection for him that felt much older than their marriage.
“Hylia’s line has survived for thousands, if not millions of years, surviving famine, disease, and several wars. Do you really think it can be extinguished so easily?”
Zelda shook her head.
“Then we agreed,” he said, hooking an arm around her and bringing his slate around, “Now let’s go home.
Zelda had been sitting at her new desk when her translator began to chime. She glanced at her slate to see who it was.
Owlan (Resting Father of the Dragonlands)
“Owlan?” she said when the call connected. Was there anyone in Hyrule that wasn’t a Zonai in disguise?
“Hello Mother Zelda. I thought I’d see how you were settling in, and I wanted to say that you can call me anytime if you need some pointers for your new position. I was in your shoes quite some time ago.”
“Thank you, that means a lot,” she said, before clearing her throat, “How are things in the castle?”
“As you likely expected, Prince Nohansen wasted no time in commanding your old room to be refurbished for his occupancy.”
“What was wrong with his old one?” she asked. Owlan chuckled.
“It wasn’t yours, of course,” was his snide reply, “You should know the Commissioner returned from his sabbatical, he kicked up quite a fuss when he heard of your nuptials.”
“Really?” there was no love lost between Zelda and the Commissioner. Her uncle’s right hand man was adamant that she spend her days in the castle’s shadow rather than lend her talents to worthier pursuits. “You’d think he’d be glad to get rid of me.”
Owlan hummed thoughtfully, “I’m concerned he may know more about the Zonai than he’s letting on.”
“I could say the same of you,” Zelda quipped, she got a chuckle for her efforts.
“Fair enough. How are you adjusting to your new position?”
“I’m still a bit overwhelmed, but well enough considering the Zonai’s true nature,” she admitted, dragging her finger over her desk’s surface. A list of ingredients she’d ordered scrolled at her touch. Zelda had made her order hours ago, but still fiddled with the giant screen. The novelty of it all hadn’t quite worn off yet. “I must admit, the bath was divine. I’ve never seen such a lovely room.”
“I wouldn’t know, so I’ll take your word for it.”
That gave Zelda pause.
“But weren’t you Father of the Dragonlands?”
“The requirement for being a Zonai Caretaker is a family tie with the region’s Warden, what kind doesn’t really matter. It could be a parent and child, cousins, even best friends, if they sign an oath to one another. I’ve never had much interest in romantic relationships myself, but I was more than willing to support my sister as she watched over the land. In fact, I think you’re actually the first Mother who married in for quite some time.”
“Is that right?” Zelda asked. It seemed the older her marriage grew, the stranger it became. And then, before her eyes, strings of light condensed in front of her.
“What is it?” Owlan asked when he heard her gasp. Zelda shook her head.
“Just more Zonai wonders I have to get used to.”
Owlan blew out a laugh, “I can imagine. I’ll let you get back to the intricacies of Zonai culture. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. I’m at your service, Mother of the Dragonlands.”
The call disconnected. Zelda shook her head ruefully, looking at the piles of fruit and herbs within her reach. With a swipe of her hand, the recipe for the Zonai body paint was on screen. She reached for the nearest Armoranth.
It was time she got to work.
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honestly, I don’t see how people find it difficult to be evil in videogames.
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Metonic????? This is definitely the weirdest ship I have found today no offense but is it a joke ship? I'm curious
It's not a joke ship.
The 90s Sonic OVA set the precedent for it way back when. It's evolved over time. The shared mind and feelings thing in that film really set the stage for them as a fan favorite pairing.
Once you understand that Metal's task is a fool's errand and that Sonic is just a massive paragon who hates watching people suffer, you get a nice dynamic of one helping the other learn about personhood and explore identity as it deviates from his creators intent.
Especially post Sonic Heroes where Metal really stepped out of Sonic's shadow and started to define himself as his own individual.
There's something very cathartic about someone who's nature and nurture forced them to be bad, being given the opportunity and the guidance to be better. The amount of care needed to pull that off is nothing short of romantic.
That and at least from Metals perspective, Sonic has always been the axis of his existence. His attention and self-image are tied to him. A key part of trying to be someone is at its root, admiration.
There are so many different readings you can do on these two that work if you just take the time to look.
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The Downfall I was talking about.
I don’t think I’ll go on too far about this- but I have noticed before something that I’m shocked about: Apparently its not 100% canon that Anderson walked to his death specifically because of his funky emotions about killing a kid he had a hand in raising?
Like... I thought that was 100% Canon before I joined the fandom, and I’ve been scratching my head since.
Just, just imagine. Being in a position where you are completely relied upon to be a moral Paragon for the most susceptible group of the population; being tasked to ensure that disadvantaged children grow up right and strong and cared for- and believing in the Rightness and inherent Goodness of a Moral System and a Deity; and also being in the position of being a Knight of such Ideals-
And then you fail a Child SO BADLY that you have to put the monster that kid has become down of your own accord, to protect the ideals you both are supposed to have been Championing?
But they’re Still Your Kid. You Caused that, somehow, right?
You failed them, hands-down. Because it was your job to make sure that you got the Ideals across, right?
Children are innocent, after all. Even though Maxwell was damaged, and it was probably unforeseeable that he was going to go this way to his caretakers; I could easily see someone like Anderson blaming theirself. That being said, arguably- someone should have noticed that Maxwell thought he needed to be Adored to be Loved. Someone should have given him that extra guidance he needed.
People can be really blind to such things.
That being said- He definitely failed all of these kids, and it’s... Horrible. I mean, there were literal bombers in this fight.
The road to Hell is paved in good intentions.
I’ve seen people have to choose between their Religion and their Kids. There’s no real winners in a lot of cases. It’s sick.
Holy Freaking Shit. There’s no way that this wasn’t one of the Bigger factors in this decision. He legit goes on about how he doesn’t want to Feel.
I actually think that surviving the War would have been a worse fate for Anderson, because he doesn’t seem like the kind of person to be able to let that go.
I suspect he’s been leaning on religion heavily enough to show that he has probably been clinging onto it like it is the last bastion for him. As if he’d done something really wrong in the past- or perhaps something really wrong had been done to him. He could be the product of some really extreme indoctrination from a young age as well- like other Iscariot members have been shown to be.
No wonder this was the last straw. I suspect he would have fought Alucard to the death either way, but he seemed really dejected throughout the whole fight. He went from seeming Excited about the prospect of fighting Alucard, to being all like ‘well, I’m gonna die’ really quickly without taking both Maxwell’s death and Alucard’s... Massive nightmare fuel into account.
...I’m sure that noticing exactly how powerful Alucard was and who Alucard was probably did not help either.
That part where he is lucid as he lays dying, telling Alucard that Monsters Don’t cry and that People become Monsters when they can’t cry anymore? That’s projecting. I swear.
That all being said, I really like the ‘Infinite Amount of Chances’ comment. That is some really perceptive shit right there. /also the shipper in me like GAWSH
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If you write for him, could I get some headcanons for General Zod with his s/o? thanks c:
So, I really like the idea of Jor-El as a flawed person, and Zod as more of an anti-hero than megalomaniacal villain. I think that brings some interesting nuance to Superman's character if he learns his Kryptonian father maybe isn't the paragon he assumed he was and instead he learns to take solace in the fact that he was raised by a good man and he is not his father. That he can choose to be a good person as opposed to inheriting it. (See under the cut for my ideas about Zod's story)
So, only Zod's lover is allowed to even learn his true name, Dru-Zod. (Kryptonian military are only referred to by rank and house name, to dehumanize (de-Kryptonian-ize?) them and drill into them they exist only to serve their house and society. He craves his name being spoken with love and it's a great way to see him blush.
He's fascinated by Earth's culture and technology, even as rudimentary as it seems from a Kryptonian perspective. He loves movies and games, and he seems to feel emotion more strongly, crying and laughing with more enthusiasm than someone used to these things.
He often feels lost - with his powers granting him invulnerability and super speed, he needs not fear anything and he can finish any necessary task in seconds, which makes him wonder what to do with an abundance of free time. He needs help unlearning the mentality of an expendable drone and to discover himself. Still, there's gonna be a lot of him following his love around like a lost puppy.
His newfound powers make him eager for physical touch. His love language is going to be in physical touch, in hugs, and kisses and gentle stroking of hands and hair and arms, in nuzzling and holding. He barely talks at all unless it's important or he's with his lover.
He's ginormous and often prefers loose or skimpy clothing - he has no need to dress for cold weather, and he enjoys the powerful feeling of the sun giving him life and energy. Frequently shirtless or in a drop-sleeve tank top.
So since I have no idea how Kryptonian society works, I made my own version, and you can ask me all you like about how I think that works). I decided that the Kryptonians' society is ruled by its scientific/religious body (under the genderless god Rao, whom the Kryptonians believe reveals the secrets of the universe to them through scientific experimentation), which Jor-El is a leading member of and helps to control nearly every aspect of Kryptonian life, from whom people can mate with to what life path they're on. A very totalitarian society, with a scientific priesthood that holds all the power and the others forced to bow to their laws and rulings. And Zod, rising to the head of Krypton's military, resents the control the people leading from the back line have and their disregard for their lives, since Kryptonians value intellect over physicality and thus consider the military class expendable. And then Zod gets wind of the movements of a Coluan conqueror, but when he brings this to the attention of the priesthood/ruling council, their only response is to start safeguarding themselves. (I've been tossing around the idea that Zod's son became a member of the scientific body and was murdered by Jor-El for trying to tell the public of the impending invasion).
So Zod leads a rebellion that goes very poorly indeed, despite the military initially causing heavy casualties among civilians and the scientific priesthood elite. Zod is cast into the Phantom Zone along with the other military leaders, and nobody but Jor-El (and his brother Zor-El) still believe in Zod's warnings.
Also, I see Krypton in general as being very Kryptonian-supremacist. They're a society of colonizers and conquerors under the guise of "bringing Rao's wisdom and knowledge to lesser beings." Non-Kryptonians are little more than slaves or pets to them, and they feel these lesser beings should be grateful to them for getting to benefit from Rao's teachings. MAYBE Zor-El is one of the good ones and he and Alura tried to teach Kara better, but Argo City is extremely xenophobic, not even letting in Kara and Clark because they've been "tainted" by contact with lesser beings. They view Kara as a traitor and don't even consider Clark Kryptonian.
Eventually Zod gets free of the Phantom Zone and realizes Krypton has been destroyed. His initial instinct upon seeing Clark, almost the spitting image of Jor-El, is that he's part of a Kryptonian colonization force and sets out to stop him (once he and his companions figure out their powers). But eventually Zod begins to understand that Clark is pretty much human in mindset and he definitely tries to apologize. And Clark realizes that his father's warnings about Zod were wrong. Clark is horrified to learn about what Krypton really was like - it hurts him deeply, but Zod is there to tell him of the secrets lurking beneath the shining towers and bridges where Jor-El never left. The illegal festivals on the planet's surface, the ways citizens would circumvent the enforced couplings by the eugenic determination of the scientific priesthood, the loves and friendships and the subtle camaraderie in rebellion.
So Zod ends up settling down on Earth instead, where else but in Smallville, Kansas. He works as a simple farmhand for a while on the Kent Homestead, breaking bread with Ma and Pa Kent until either Clark asks him to assist with the League or he is called to defend Earth.
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also on ao3
part 1 here
"Tell me he'll be all right, Roach," Jaskier says softly, but Roach is a clever lady with her own will who doesn't hold with such foolish thoughts, and therefore ignores him, continuing to nibble at a bush.
"I know," he sighs, and shifts to get a bit more comfortable. It's late, and he should just get to his bedroll, instead of curling against the log he'd been using as a backrest, but his crossed arms atop the log make a fair enough pillow. And it would be downright unchivalrous to abandon a lady like that. "I know it's just a ghoul, I know he can handle that, they're probably in a book somewhere with horribly colorful illustrations. A Witcher's First Monster."
Roach snorts, and he mutters, "Yes, well, you're hardly keeping up your end of the conversation, you've no right to criticize my jokes. Put in some effort, why don't you."
It's not that he truly doubts Geralt's abilities, any more than he doubts that the sun will rise in the morning. But sometimes when Geralt goes off alone and it's too quiet, no music or laughter or people to distract him, he thinks about how witchers never retire and his mind runs off into the dark thickets beyond the firelight where all but witchers fear to tread.
He'd been told as a child that his vivid imagination was a curse; it took him years to understand how that could possibly be true.
"I'm sorry, my lady, I shouldn't have said that. You are truly the loveliest of company," he says, resting his cheek against his arm. She's glossy in the fire's reflection, all combed out by Geralt before he left. He would dare anyone to think witchers have no feelings after seeing the care Geralt lavishes upon her. "How about a song, Roach? To lift our spirits?"
She whuffs at her name, and he takes that as assent. Quietly, barely vocalizing at all, he begins an old Redanian pastoral that he hasn't sung in years.
He wakes to the smell of leather and oil and sweat, and a tingling at the crown of his head, as if someone had run their fingers through his hair.
"'M awake," he mumbles blearily.
"You shouldn't be," says a low voice. Gravelly voice. Good voice, goes with the smell, and it's... not really a good smell? But it's a particular person's smell, and that person is very good, so: good smell, after all. "Were you bothering my horse?"
"I provided her with" -- he's ambushed by a yawn, cracking his jaw cruelly -- "only the finest entertainment." He rubs an eye with the back of his wrist, trying to wake himself up, but his eyelids have been heartlessly weighted down by some unknown blackguard. "She's a paragon of taste and sophistication. I can tell she appreciated it."
There's something faintly mocking about that hum, and he's considering mustering the energy for outrage. Any minute how, it'll be right along. "Wanted to wait for you," he says, and sleep's lingering grasp makes it come out more grumpy than he intended -- and more plaintive, too. Bollocks.
His cheeks are just starting to burn, and he's clinging to the possibility that Geralt will just somehow fail to notice, because sometimes one just really needs the gods to give them a break, just forgive all the blasphemy, and --
-- and there are careful fingers trailing through his hair, now, definitely, and oh, he must have been a very good bard indeed. Somehow.
The fingers comb delicately across his scalp, fingertips teasing the fringe away from his face, dipping to curve around the curl of his ear, trailing the warm humming feeling of being cared for behind them. It's the kind of gentleness Geralt never gets to show, because no one ever wants him for that.
Damp-headed fools, the lot of them.
All the tension sighs out of him, and he raises his head a bit, nudging against Geralt's hand. "Feels nice," he murmurs. His cheeks are still prickling with the embers of his embarrassment, but perhaps Geralt will let him blame the lateness of the hour for his dozy neediness.
He's honestly not expecting a reply at all, so when it does come, it burrows that much deeper into his heart. "For me, too," Geralt says, the faintest hesitant rasp, just louder than the crackle of the fire.
The thrill that gives him is the strength he needs to open his eyes.
Geralt is crouched beside him, whole and hale and well. The cheeky firelight makes his pale stubble shine in the dark as it licks at his jaw, and Jaskier is far too well acquainted with the urge to do the same.
He notices the moment Jaskier opens his eyes, because of course he does, and Jaskier only gets the teeniest sliver of an instant to appreciate the soft look in his eyes before his jaw works and he angles his face away. His fingers make one last pass through Jaskier's hair, and then cup the back of his neck. "Get to your bedroll, bard. I'd rather not hear about your back all day tomorrow."
"Fine," he grumbles, just to watch the smirk play at the corners of Geralt's mouth. Then he sets about the monumental task of figuring out where all of his limbs have wandered off to and how to convince them to work together once more.
Like most group endeavors he'd had at Oxenfurt, getting himself to his feet is a qualified success. He stumbles at the finish line, and doesn't mind the mixed metaphor so much when he's saved from falling into the fire by a solid wall of witcher.
It turns out that having his hands unexpectedly pressed against Geralt's chest is a shockingly effective wake-up call. He'd somehow managed to sleep through Geralt getting out of his armor and cleaning himself up and taking care of his swords, and he feels like he's in danger of being chided for that inattention. He can't really worry about that, though, not when he can feel the steady rise and fall of Geralt's muscley chest through a thin layer of cotton, the wolf medallion half-hidden under a fold and winking at him.
He probably spends a bit too long appreciating it, but what is he supposed to do? It's a very nice chest.
He glances up, and Geralt's watching him. Not humorlessly, not sardonically, not any of the other uncharitable adverbs that Jaskier would never put into a song but sometimes considers ever so briefly, just to make a point... but with a patience that feels almost indulgent.
To someone not nearly so fluent in Witcherese, it might not seem like much. But it's such a change from having to scrabble around for (and possibly invent) meagre scraps of affection, so much so that the guards at Jaskier's heart are momentarily laid low.
"I'm glad that you're all right, Geralt." It comes out softly, plainly, in a way he rarely lets himself be. No artifice or dramatic hyperbole, no ironic detachment or invoking an imaginary other. There's an icy coil of panic in his throat after it's out, but he swallows it down; Geralt came back to him unscathed, and he deserves to know that it means something to Jaskier.
"It was only a ghoul." He says it with the supreme unconcern of someone who's dispatched far worse creatures, which is… true. But there's a searching look in his eyes, as if he can't understand why anyone would bother to be concerned about him.
"Yes, well, you're not 'only an' anything," he says, a little hotly, and it's partly about the parade of idiots who've failed to appreciate the witcher, and partly about the idiot in front of him who thinks Jaskier would be one of the former. "You're one of a kind, White Wolf."
Geralt blinks, and then says blandly, "There are other witchers."
Jaskier takes a breath to begin to address that nonsense, and then registers that even for Geralt, that was too bland -- that even with the firelight, his golden eyes are glinting a bit too much. "You know, Geralt -- fine, you're right, you win." He drops his hands and steps back, muttering, "Yes, you're all inter-bloody-changeable, it's ridiculous that I care so much about this witcher in particular..."
He tromps over to his bedroll -- which is nicely laid out already, with a waterskin beside it that he's betting is full, and there probably aren't even any rocks or twigs under it to poke him in the night, and he turns to glare at the witcher who ever so occasionally makes it difficult to remain mad at him, and yes, he appreciates the irony, thank you --
-- only to find that Geralt is in the same spot he was, watching Jaskier, and he looks a bit… lost.
Jaskier caves like a -- whatever it is that caves, he's tired and has other things to worry about. "Geralt?" he asks, stepping back over to him. "What is it?"
"I--" Geralt says, and then drops his chin to stare down and away. When he returns to meeting Jaskier's gaze, only his eyes move. His voice is raspy again when he says, "Thank you."
He has to wind the conversation back a bit -- and skip past the parts that only happened in his head -- but then it hits him, reminding him not a little of once taking a very jarring tiny cannonball to the forehead. "Geralt… that's not a surprise, is it?" he asks, as gently as he knows how. "That I care about you?"
Geralt doesn't answer, just gives him that not-quite-direct look, which is more than answer enough.
"I'm sorry, I -- I always thought you knew," he says, around the lump in his throat. It hurts, to think that Geralt can spot a lie at a thousand paces and hear all the signs that a man's preparing to attack him, but even when it's staring him in the face, he can't sense…
Well. It's just sort of a different language, isn't it? And if a talented and charismatic bard can teach a room full of drunks the history of their realm with a catchy little rhyme, then surely that same bard can handle a single, much more important learner.
He's caught unawares by another yawn, and he blinks back from it to find Geralt facing him again, a somber look in his eyes. "You should rest."
"I should," Jaskier agrees, and he dares to circle his fingers around Geralt's wrist, tugging lightly. "And so should the witcher who made sure there's one less ghoul in the world."
"Three less," Geralt says, and oh, that's new information, but for a wonder, Geralt lets Jaskier pull him towards the bedrolls, so he chooses not to let it upset him. (He'd noted Geralt's bedroll was next to his earlier, of course, but ignored it on the grounds of it not fitting into the narrative of pique he'd been building.)
"Braggart," Jaskier says only, and Geralt breathes out a laugh.
It's right about then that his body decides his borrowed time is up, and he all but collapses into his bedding. He drifts a bit as Geralt goes through his own routine, but stirs himself to roll and face the witcher once he's settled.
"If you wake up before me," he says to Geralt's profile -- as if it happens any other way all that often -- "feel free to play with my hair. If you want."
Geralt snorts, but his mouth curves up, just a bit. "Noted."
Then Geralt reaches over, drawing his thumb and forefinger gently down Jaskier's eyelids, and he's out like the proverbial light.
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TASK #5 : O ÍNICIO
Vamos falar sobre o passado do seu personagem? Estamos animadas para conhecer mais sobre quem ele era antes de toda essa loucura chamada mundo do entretenimento. Mas vamos começar do começo, certo? Separaremos a task em alguns momentos que incluirão, mais tarde, até mesmo como foi para ela/ele o processo de audição.
No entanto, aqui, na task de hoje, conta pra gente através de um POV como foi para a sua/seu personagem descobrir que queria ser um idol. Traremos alguns questionamentos abaixo que talvez te ajudem a estruturar o point of view.
Sempre foi fascinado por arte? Como o entretenimento coreano se tornou uma possibilidade? Inicialmente era sonho próprio ou de outra pessoa como, por exemplo, familiares? Teve apoio de pessoas próximas ou desacreditaram no potencial da sua/seu personagem? Estava escutando alguma música específica quando se tocou que o kpop chamava por seu nome?
Sinta-se livre nesse flashback, o céu é o limite!
O envio do POV deve ser feito no tweet deixado pela central logo abaixo do post com a task.
A participação renderá 15 pontos ao seu personagem.
O envio poderá ser feito até quarta-feira, 28/07.
We've Been Spinning Around Each Other Like We're Slow Dancing
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She had been the Paragon of Hope once. Even then, Kara had felt undeserving of such a title. The wellspring of hope within her had never come from herself alone, it had come from her family, her friends, the people that she protected. It was them that she had wanted to protect by exiling herself willingly to the Phantom Zone and it was them that kept the small ember of hope she still had from extinguishing completely.
She had tried to keep track of her time here, even though she knew just what an impossible task that really was. Time did not pass here, did not exist here. The tally marks that Kara had scratched clandestine into hiding places that never stayed safe for too long were no more than wild guesses of what she assumed were days. If her estimates were anywhere close to how long she had really been here it had been years… Years here, but maybe only days or weeks back on Earth. Eventually seeing the sheer amount of marks etched on the high, cold metal walls had done her more harm than good. They had stopped being a reminder that her stay here would not be forever and instead had morphed into a monument to her deepest fears that had loomed over her while she tried to get what little sleep she could.
Not that those fears had never been all that far from the surface. She could still remember waking up each morning with her stomach twisted into knots at the thought of one of her loved ones getting hurt because of her; some days barely even able to get out of bed because of it. That was one of the few comforts afforded to her, knowing that she had protected all of them by exiling herself here. Her sacrifice had ensured that Lex was truly gone for good and while the damage he had wrought was extensive, she knew that the ones she had left behind would undoubtedly pick up the pieces. That they would find a way to save her. That she would save her.
Even over the low hum and beeping of the machines in the recovery room at the DEO, Lena could hear the sound of approaching footsteps from down the hall. As they drew closer, Lena continued with her story, her brilliant green eyes searching for any sign of a change in Kara’s condition. When a hand fell on her shoulder Lena turned her head just enough to find Alex looking down at her, looking just as tired, just as lost as her. Without Alex even needing to ask, Lena answered the question that she knew was on her mind with a quick shake of her head; no, there had been no change in Kara's condition.
“Hi, Kara,” Alex said softly. She reached out a hand and brushed it gently over Kara’s forehead and Lena saw the poorly disguised desperation in her eyes that made the smile on Alex’s face look even more hollow. She pressed a kiss to Kara’s cheek and sat down in the empty seat beside Lena.
“I was telling Kara about the time she dragged me to karaoke with her,” Lena said and mustered a very faint smile when Alex’s hand found hers, squeezing it tight, tight.
“Go on,” Alex said. “Don’t let me interrupt...”
“Where was I…” Lena’s gaze drifted from Kara to one of the many machines monitoring Kara’s vitals and back again, wishing so much that Kara would open her eyes that she almost convinced herself that she had seen her eyelids flutter. “I told you before that I only ever sing in the shower and with the acoustics in there… I know I’m dreadful. But when you asked me to go with you… You're very convincing," Lena said and felt a tear roll down her cheek. "You knew I was nervous and picked a song that we could sing together… Do you remember?" Lena knew that she wouldn't get a response but waited patiently for one anyway.
The silence that followed made Lena’s heart clench painfully in her chest and in a rush to fill it, she stumbled over her words,
the memory of Kara and her singing shoulder to shoulder in a private karaoke room fading like mist in her mind’s eye and in its place the memory of Kara standing before all of them in the Fortress swam into view. The vividness of the memory no longer shocked Lena but it made every moment of it so easy to relive. Too easy.
Losing herself in the memory, Lena could see Kara standing in the Fortress with the Phantom Zone projector in her hands as they crowded around her in a circle as if they could somehow stop her from doing what she planned to do. Brainy and Nia holding one another tight and the look of anguish on Brainy’s usually placid face that looked somehow wrong. Alex gripping Kara in a hug that might have shattered bones if Kara had been human…
She had taken a step back and looked at all of them with so much love that Lena had felt that a sob might slip from her mouth if she were to open it, that would make the tears that were silently streaming down her face burn all that much more. And then Kara had taken a small step back and Lena hadn’t been able to stop herself. She had broken away from the group, felt Alex’s hand slip weakly from around her wrist.
“I’ll go with you,” Lena had said and buried her face in the crook of Kara’s neck, too afraid she might see that all too understanding smile of Kara’s. “I’m going. There’s no point in discussing it.” Lena might have crossed her arms over her chest to emphasize how she had no intention of arguing if she didn’t have her arms wrapped so tightly around Kara. “So—”
“Lena…” Kara had said, her tone patient and soft, “If you go with me, who’s going to bring me back home?”
Holding on tighter, Lena had been able to offer no rebuttal, not when she knew what Kara said to be true. The only person that Lena could trust to do whatever needed to be done to get Kara back, whatever the costs, whatever the risks. Not able to argue but also unable to let go, Lena had only held on tighter until she felt Kara’s hair brush against her cheek as Kara drew close enough for Lena to feel her breath against the shell of her ear.
“It’s not a tower,” Kara had said. “But I’ll wait for you to rescue me just the same. I’ll be the damsel just this once.” She chuckled and Lena could see the tears hiding behind her smile as she held up her index finger to drive home the point that this was very much an exception to the rule.
Lena managed a choked bit of laughter that was muffled quickly as she pressed her face more earnestly against Kara’s shoulder. She had steadfastly refused to let Kara go after Lex alone, to force her to simply wait for Kara to return like some damsel in a tower. She had been determined to see things through to the end together and despite Kara’s obvious misgivings, she had agreed. Maybe that meant this time it was her turn.
“I’ll rescue you,” Lena whispered, eyes blazing as she pulled back just enough to look Kara in the eyes, arms still coiled tightly around her. “I promise.”
“I know.” Kara had flashed a more than passable Han Solo-like grin and slowly pulled herself free from Lena’s embrace, her hand reached out and traced a path along her jawbone. She had lingered only briefly, the distance between them slowly growing until there had been one bright flash of light and Kara had gone...
Lena had gotten to work right after. But one sleepless night with nothing to show for her work but dead end after dead end had turned into two and then three… and then four… And with each day that passed, Lena felt as if their already narrow window was closing. What little sleep she got was fragmented and often for only a couple hours at a time that didn’t ever leave her feeling rested, only guilty. Always just long enough for her to keep anyone from accusing her of not getting any sleep. Some days, having to decide if it was better to continue working on the little sleep she allowed herself or to begrudgingly allow herself a couple more hours in the hopes that it would be the small push she needed for a breakthrough. But each moment she lost to sleep or the brief moments she needed to eat and to shower was time she would never get back, time not spent rescuing Kara. When the days turned to weeks, Lena had nearly broken her hand when she had brought it down hard on the lab table, smashing the prototype device that she had put her hopes on for that day, wanting to scream, wanting to cry, wanting more than anything to see Kara again.
That fourth agonizing week was when Lena’s research had finally bore fruit. The test run of the portal device had been the only run. Lena had been too impatient to wait to do the usual gamut of tests that she would have gone through when creating a portal to a stretch of space where time remained frozen. Alex would have likely had reservations about them leaping before they looked but the weeks had felt unnaturally long and if Brainy was right about the disparity in the passage of time here on Earth and in the Phantom Zone, it meant that Kara had spent years there alone while Lena worked. Weeks here, years there.
Alex, J’onn, and Brainy had been the ones to go and Lena had watched them walk into the portal together, having to once again remain behind to make sure that the portal remained open and stable, that if (God forbid) there was a malfunction Lena would be there to correct it. The thought of losing more people to that place was almost too much for Lena to bear and while they were only gone two minutes, it felt to her like an eternity.
The reunion that she had dreamed of where Kara stepped through the portal looking weary but safe had been only that. A dream… Alex, J’onn, and Brainy had stepped through the portal much as they had entered it, only this time they came back carrying Kara in their arms and Lena had felt what little strength had remained in her legs finally gave way as she collapsed to the floor.
They had found her unconscious but miraculously alive and while her vitals had been dangerously weak, Lena had remained hopeful. But even after several days recovering in a yellow sun bed, Kara remained unconscious and when J’onn had tried to probe her mind the response that he got back had been less than promising.
“She’s still there,” he had said, looking around at those gathered around Kara’s bedside, his eyes no longer glowing. “I can feel her mind but it’s closed off. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t reach her…”
“But could she still hear you?” Lena had asked, tears streaming silently down her face, cradling one of Kara’s hands in her own, not wanting to let go.
“Maybe,” he had said and Lena could hear the trepidation in J’onn’s voice and see the fear twisting his normally stoic features that made her blood run cold. “Depending on how long she was there… What she saw there... Keeping her mind closed off might have been the only thing she could do to protect herself. But if we keep talking, give her a place to come back to, maybe she’ll hear us…”
And that’s what Lena had done. It’s what all of them had done. Sitting by her bedside and talking to her. But it was Lena that kept a near-constant vigil at Kara’s side. Searching the depths of her memory for moments that she could share with Kara. Happier moments. It just so happened that so many of the memories that Lena held dear to her involved Kara but it seemed fitting that it was those that Lena shared with her.
“Lena? Why don’t you get some rest?”
Alex’s face swam into view and Lena realized that she had drifted off. Only for an instant but long enough for her to feel a stab of guilt in her chest for doing so at all. She shook her head weakly but stood up on legs that felt like they weren’t her own. “I’ll trade seats with you,” she said and reluctantly let Kara’s hand slip from her own. “I’ll get some sleep soon,” she assured Alex. “Just not yet…”
“Did Kara ever tell you about our prom?” Alex asked, looking from Kara and back to Lena.
Lena shook her head. “No, she didn’t.” She managed a small smile and wondered why she had never thought to ask her about it. There were a lot of things that she wished she had asked Kara sooner. “Does Kara dance as well as she sings?”
Alex looked at Kara and held her gaze intently, carefully studying her features before she looked over at Lena, shaking her head with a ghost of a smile on her face. “Not even close. She stepped on my feet probably half a dozen times. A very impressive thing to do for someone that can fly…” The smile faded and Alex scooted her chair an inch closer to the bed. “Neither of us had dates so we went together and Kara—”
Kara was sure she was dreaming. She couldn’t remember falling asleep but she knew that wherever this was, it wasn’t the Phantom Zone. Sometimes it was nowhere and sometimes it was something else… Her apartment, Lena’s office, Noonan’s… Whenever one of these changes happened, Kara never questioned them, she merely took the opportunity to refamiliarize herself with the places that were to her very distant memories.
Her time there was always brief but she always had enough time to remember something that she had feared had been forgotten. Small things that had begun to accrue into something more substantial, something that fed that guttering flame of hope that still burned in her chest. The first to return had been a memory of her and Alex sitting in her apartment watching as the sun came up. They had sat shoulder to shoulder on her balcony and if Kara concentrated hard enough she could almost feel the soft breeze that had blown against her cheek. The latest memory to return was of her and Lena sitting at Noonan’s. Kara could smell the pleasant aroma of coffee, feel the warmth from her mug seeping into her hand and hear the calming sound of Lena’s heartbeat. That sound had always calmed her. She had never forgotten that. Knowing that Lena was safe, knowing that she was close…
It had been sometime later when Kara began to hear voices. While she explored her surroundings, picked up odds and ends to turn them over in her hand, she sometimes caught snatches of conversation that floated to her as if from very far away, an echo of an echo. She couldn’t make out what they were saying at first but she knew that the voices belonged to people she loved. Alex, Brainy, Nia, J’onn, Kelly, Eliza and…
Yes, it was her voice that Kara heard most often, calling out to her from somewhere she couldn’t see. It helped to give shape to her surroundings and make everything just a little bit clearer. Her living room on game night, the balcony of Lena’s office underneath a blanket of stars, an all too small karaoke room with Lena standing so close to her... All of them so wonderfully real and sometimes the voices didn’t sound all that far away at all but no matter how much she chased them, they never seemed to get any closer either.
Her surroundings changed again and for a moment all Kara could do was spin in place to try and take it all in. She saw streamers and balloons and watched as a strobe light flashed different colored light onto—
I had to drag her out to the dance floor.
Alex’s voice. It was so much clearer than it had ever been before and as if a switch had been flipped more and more detail began to filter into everything around her. She remembered the balloon arch near the door and saw it with aching clarity off to her right, walking slowly towards it, she glanced up at one of the strobe lights casting a rainbow of colors down onto the floor.
This was her prom. It was easily the oldest memory that had come back to her and Kara felt a small smile tug at her lips, unaware that it had been a very long time since she had last smiled.
I was never much of a dancer either…
Lena. She had heard that clearer as well, the sound of her voice sounding so close that Kara spun on her heel and fully expected to see Lena standing behind her, the faint smile on her face fading when she saw that she was still alone.
“Lena?” she called, her voice sounding strange to her ears after not hearing it for so long. “Are you here?”
“I was never much of a dancer either…”
Lena felt more awake now. It might have been hearing Alex’s story or maybe because she had been led back down her own memory lane for a brief instant. She had Kara’s right hand clasped gently in her own. Please wake up, Kara, she thought and gave her hand a gentle squeeze as if that little push might be just enough to send that message where it needed to go.
“You just need the right dance partner,” Alex said. “You both do…”
Lena nodded and tilted her head away, feeling the sting of tears. “She needs to wake up first,” she said softly.
“She will,” Alex said and brushed the back of her hand over her eyes. “She took forever to get ready for prom too… Super speed and she still spent forever in the bathroom…” Alex sniffled. “You were still late. Somehow.” Sniffling again, Alex stood up out of her chair carefully and teetered there for a moment. “I’m going to go grab a coffee and then I’ll sit with Kara while you sleep, Lena.” Her tone was warm but Lena could hear the hint of authority behind it and knew she would need to acquiesce if only to save Alex a fight that she didn’t look like she had the strength for.
“After you’re back,” Lena clarified and settled back into her seat by Kara’s bedside.
“After I’m back,” Alex agreed and took a few steps towards the door, stopping just long enough to look back at Kara before she slipped out.
Lena heard the door close behind Alex and her grip on Kara’s hand tightened as she leaned closer to her, once again studying Kara’s tranquil expression for any sign of a change.
“I might dance even worse than I sing, Kara… If that’s even possible but I don’t think that would stop you from dancing with me…” She blinked and found herself smiling despite the tears sliding down her cheeks. Brushing them away impatiently, Lena leaned close enough to Kara’s ear to whisper into it.
If I dance with anyone… You’re the only one I’d want for a partner.
“Lena?” Kara called out again, a note of desperation creeping into her voice. She turned on her heel again, expecting once again to see no one, and let out a little gasp when she saw Lena standing there underneath the strobe of lights from above, eyes glittering as a swell of music grew and Kara took a timid step forward.
“Lena… I don’t know what’s happening,” she said, the room around her appearing a little less substantial, the details fading and coming back like a radio signal. “I don’t even know if this is real. If you’re real…” Her vision blurred and she blinked back tears. “But even if it isn’t... I want to dance with you.”
She held out a tentative hand and felt Lena pull her close. Blushing, Kara carefully slipped an arm around Lena’s back and felt Lena take the lead, guiding her. They were dancing, gliding, almost floating and Kara felt Lena leading them somewhere. Not just across the dance floor because that was fading, to somewhere else, somewhere that Kara wanted desperately to go but hadn’t known the way.
“Kara?!” Lena felt her heart leap in her chest, thudding like a drum, eyes wide. She groped for the call button beside Kara’s bed with numb fingers meaning to press it to call Alex and the others but let it clatter to the floor when Kara blinked again.
"You're awake," Lena croaked, squeezing Kara's hand tight as if afraid Kara might disappear if she let go. "You've been asleep so long..." She opened her mouth and a small sob slipped from her lips that she tried to tamp down to stop another from escaping. "I took too long," she whispered. "I made you wait..."
"I could hear you," Kara said. "I could hear everybody..." She gave Lena's hand a weak little squeeze that did nothing to assuage Lena of the guilt that had blossomed in her chest. "We were dancing together," Kara said, trying to sit up when Lena put a hand on her shoulder.
Kara nodded weakly, smiling shyly, and reached out a hand, tracing a path down Lena's jawline. "You're the only one I'd want for a partner too."
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Interlude — The Arrival of the Goddess
Times change, and with it, so do the gods.
“To try to make amends—“
It wasn’t ‘her’ that had done that. She understood that much.
But what ‘she’ did affected her as much as any other. Remembering the face of a man that wasn’t him, she overdid her job — and faced the cost for such foolishness.
There was something in the murky haze she spotted — something to support and grow.
She couldn’t walk back ‘her’ actions, but she could step forward and rebuild.
“I’m done with you! I never want to see you again!”
She found herself moving ‘home.’ Even if ‘home’ is more of a concept, to her.
She had ‘territory’ not far from here. Surely.
A ‘her’ that did something foolish. Repeatedly. Fear of family being hurt had undercut her ability to reason — had led to what appeared to now be her expulsion.
“…That’s what I’d get, being a minor goddess. Easier to kick me out.”
…Yet, that bitterness now felt hollowed. Certainly, there remained anger brewing — that she’d been tossed over the edge, despite doing it with good intentions.
“And more than that, these pantheons aren’t immune to cheating bastards. It’s more prevalent then ever.”
A man who wouldn’t stop wailing.
It was a horrible, cursed sound.
For his sins, she cursed his soul. She would not stop cursing him.
The wailing, she felt, was soulless. Irritated her. Enraged her.
She couldn’t forget that obnoxious cry.
Yet she couldn’t even blame that woman. Idealistic though Quetzacoatl was, she wasn’t the sort to be fooled so easily. More than that, she had failed many times over to understand where the pursuit should end.
…And yet, that wasn’t her.
That was ‘her.’ A copy, summoned and descended. A different ‘Tlazolteotl.’
…One tossed away all the same.
…Certainly, where she stood — at some ‘brink,’ a temple in a ‘somewhere’ no longer on Earth — she found herself remorseful.
Angry; enraged, even; but more than that, sorrowful.
…That was ‘her’ fault, ultimately. And that wouldn’t change.
“…And she’s too stubborn to go back on her word so easy.”
‘…As she should be.’
…Even with what had just happened, she had to commend Quetzalcoatl. The stubbornness she possessed made adultery impossible for her — nor forgiving those who tried.
…The sunset stop the ‘temple’ was beautiful. She took a seat, and gazed upon it, as steam began to rise.
Quetzalcoatl wasn’t unreasonable, but that was still ‘her.’ And Quetz was rarely one to exaggerate in her wording, even if angry.
She knew Quetzalcoatl well enough to know that. She was her sister.
…The rock that composed the temple… Despite all this time, it still scratched at her feet when she moved about. Her gaze moved from the sun to the ground she stood on — steam now surrounded it, but the basics now stayed the same.
…The people who made this temple, back then — piece, upon piece, to connect with the gods, to find forgiveness and partake in rituals to appease them.
‘Arrogant, the lot of them’ — those gods, who took the mantle of humanity’s saviours and protectors. Her sister felt as though she were the only one who hadn’t grown too used to their power — watching that god commit the very same sins she so furiously raged against only convinced her further, even as she levied curse after curse upon the wailing man.
“Please..! I didn’t..! I didn’t think, and..!”
…What was it with these Mayan gods and crying like fools?
That man — Chocl — was a fool.
He comes to her hoping for forgiveness for the most grave act of all.
A human was one thing. They were flawed; made mistakes; could recover.
But a god was above that. They had to be above that — they were the paragons Tlazolteotl was trying to help the people look up to.
To help the people become like them.
And the insult of approaching her now, failing the one task they were given, desperately wishing for her to bail him out for something he had no excuse for—
And the insult of approaching her now, a goddess of a pantheon that ran side-by-side with his, to beg for forgiveness that he had by no means earned. For the insult of a Mayan god approaching an Aztec goddess, for forgiveness she only offered humans.
“…You’re a damnable fool.”
The man looked upon her, his eyes widened with the sort of fear she almost loved to see. The fear of an adulterer facing their crimes — an adulterer she grew to respect, a higher-up, that she was now in charge of punishing.
He was better than this.
And he began to cry, yet again, in regret.
A disgusting man allowed himself into the pantheon, and made a fool of them all.
She raised her hand, forced it towards the weeping man — riddling his form, cursing him to weep, silently, as long as it would take to make up for such a foolish sin. As long as it would take to mend the heart of the brother whose wife he slept with, and loved.
…She would never allow the crying of a foolish adulterer to disgrace the pantheon ever again. Surely — she swore.
She would never place trust in these gods. Never again.
…And yet, here she was.
Viewing the people around her family so lowly, recalling that incident where even a god fell to those vices, she went overboard.
“…Damn you, me.”
…Another look down to the temple.
…People would repent here for their actions. She could even recall raising her curses on some she disavowed in similar locations.
The higher gods oversaw her actions, judged her every move, yet she still arrived to deliver that safety from the curse.
“…You appear to be in a pinch, Tlazolteotl.”
A familiar voice, behind her. The goddess of filth turned herself around slowly, facing another goddess.
A familiar, older woman. A blue band of woven fabric covered her chest, paired with a carefully-made silver and blue skirt, landing at her knees. Golden necklaces adorned her neck — golden cuffs on her lower arms.
“My, you haven’t made an enemy again, have you?”
Coatlicue placed a hand to her cheek, her spare hand still at her side. Her icy blue eyes stared daggers into the opposing goddess; without hostility, only a kind curiosity.
“…It was a ‘me.’ After the previous incidents, I had been too cautious. Had gone overboard — harmed Quetzalcoatl, and her husband.”
“…Hmmm… A conundrum indeed, isn’t it?”
The woman sighed, and took a seat on the temple roof’s floor — steadying herself with a hand, resting the other on the ground.
“…Putting it lightly, yes. Damnit… I highly doubt I could even show my face around here for a while.”
“…Well… Moping about won’t help you.”
“I just got off the news. Forgive me for being a bit lost.”
…Tlazolteotl took a seat before Coatlicue, and breathed out a long sigh.
“…What do I do? That thickheaded sister of mine… I doubt she was exaggerating. Gods, she should at least know where I’m coming from, but…”
“Your intentions mean nothing when the result is hurting me!”
“…Damnit, couldn’t she have..?! Why did I..?!”
…The goddess of filth, perhaps from all the moisture in the air, didn’t notice she was crying — the goddess across from her only waited for a few seconds longer.
“…She prefers kindness, does she not? Kindness and heroics.”
…But Coatlicue’s words caused the woman’s eyes to shoot up.
“…You know as well as I do I can’t do that.”
“…I think you can, Tlazolteotl. There is more than just ‘her’ story — surely, you can find a different Master to help.”
The woman smiled, leaned back, as Tlazolteotl furrowed her brow.
“That’s impossible! Summoning a god is already next to impossible, and—“
“—It happened with Quetzalcoatl, one of the strongest of us. You are nowhere near her strength, no offence to you.”
…A period of silence befell the two, as the sun descended further. The darkness of night slowly overtook the atmosphere — the light atop the temple fading away.
“…How do I know I will find a Master the way she had? A Master as good as hers?”
…At this, the goddess only smiled.
“In time, you will find it. Time is far more subjective to us, my dear. I’m sure that you can redeem yourself before your sister’s return.”
“…Have some faith in humanity. Chocl may have broken the pedestal you placed those of us on — but not all have done as he has. I trust you have learned that the hard way.”
The goddess faded, leaving Tlazolteotl alone.
…The woman furrowed her brow; and covered her ears.
It was raining again; wasn’t it?
“…Damn you, Chocl. In my foolishness to prevent another you… ‘I’ have landed myself here. Damn you.”
…And yet — a Master.
Someone she could try to help. Someone she could try to cooperate with to mend what she had broken.
“…What sort of Master would I want..?”
…The woman got to thinking. Surely, someone she could get to listen to her — but someone who wouldn’t indulge in vices. Someone who wouldn’t toss her in the field and kill her, and someone she did not have to curse.
…In the Chaldea summoning room, a ruckus had commenced.
“—Y’know, that hurt like hell! Thank god I’m all gooey and all.”
At one end of the room, the haughty goddess of justice, Astraea — gazing at the other end of the room, containing a widely-grinning Ritsuka who had reformed into their orange-haired visage after being squished against a wall.
“You ought’a be careful with your tosses, Astraea! You might activate the summoning stuff.”
“Can it, Ritsuka. After thieving that cake from the Chaldea fridge, I won’t leave without justice being served!”
“—Really?! That’s what you took issue with?!”
The two went back and forth, as I slipped in — checking the camera feeds, I knocked on the Chaldea door before just walking in, just in time to see Astraea politely wave to me before running towards the other Master.
“I see it’s business as usual over here.”
“Yep—! Just your average throwing sessiOOHHOHOHO”—
—I had to quickly run backwards before Ritsuka crashed into me, as he instead crashed into something far worse in hindsight.
The summoning controls.
“Why did they make the ‘summon button’ this easy to accidentally press?”
“Yeah, blame them. Not, uh, me.”
—And in a moment—
…Suddenly, the goddess felt a tug.
The tug originated from ‘somewhere.’ A ‘somewhere’ beyond her reach.
This was not what she knew — this was not what the Caster of her knew.
This was something else.
And yet, the odd still held curiosity to her — as the stone temple she stood on, illuminated by the morning sun, now suddenly became an all-encompassing vortex.
…Something this strange — surely, the way to regaining favour, restoring her sister’s faith in her, restoring her faith in others lay here.
If restoring the faith of her family required helping another — she would have to try.
She would most certainly be dead if she did not.
In a moment, the summoning room was filled with steam.
Astraea, myself, and Ritsuka had to spend the first few second hacking our lungs out — coughing from the sudden increase of moisture, as the technology threatened to fizzle out under the less-than-amicable environment.
But among the haze, the figure of a beautiful woman, with piercing green eyes and a gaze that may even put Kiara to shame.
“…It appears I have been summoned, at last. I suppose this is my chance at setting things right.”
…The haze cleared, slightly. A woman clad in black and red, who approached Ritsuka — looked them up and down, and then moved to me.
Her eyes looked through me, as though dissecting me with her mind — taking in every feature, before leaning in with a mischievous grin.
“…Hm… Perhaps I may like this more than I thought. I am Tlazolteotl, the goddess of steam baths, among other things. I’ll be in your care, Master~ ♡”
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*all photos in the moodboard above are my own*
About me/my blog:
First off - this is a safe space that I am cultivating like a beautiful, inclusive garden and if I find out you are racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, etc, I will pluck you like a weed and discard you
I’m 28 and try not to follow minors since I know that can be weird, but if I accidentally am following you and it makes you uncomfortable, just let me know and I’ll unfollow right away
I mostly post/reblog advice and memes about writing, pictures, book recommendations, and my own writing
My ask box is always open, but I don’t usually respond immediately
I love tag games (message me to be added or removed from tag lists at any time)
I also post a writing prompt or exercise each week called “Ditch a Glitch Friday”
I have way too many ideas for books and not nearly enough willpower, but I’m working on it
WIP details below the cut:
My WIPs are all set in the same world, just years apart and with different characters - I listed them in chronological order:
anthology of thirteen short stories / genre: high fantasy / stage: planning
When the sun’s rays grew too powerful, people sought the dark places of the world like the embrace of a loving mother. It has been centuries, but now the people are emerging, slowly stepping back out into the light and some are discovering powers they believed belonged to the gods. With these newfound abilities, humanity has a chance at weakening the sun and taking the light of day for themselves.
stand-alone novel / genre: high fantasy romance / stage: planning
Sefan is the second prince of Skalis, raised to war against Contium for greedily hoarding their resources and knowledge of Alteration. During his first command, however, his raiding party is ambushed, and he is taken prisoner by Darius, the crown prince of Contium. When Skalis learns of this affront, the bloodlust only intensifies. Once bitter enemies, Sefan and Darius must learn to find common ground and shed the hate of their forefathers before more innocent lives are lost.
An Age of Alteration:
series of seven books / genre: high fantasy / stage: writing
Acacius was born and raised to be the king of Contium. When he was ten, though, Acacius lost everything to a volcanic eruption. His parents, his brother, his home, and his birthright were all gone in moments. He and his surviving people escaped by boat but struggled for years to find a permanent place to settle anew. Finally, Arch Ferric welcomed the refugees to his lands and even accepted Acacius into his own home, but tension between the two cultures hasn’t faded. Now, Acacius and his friends from both sides must work together to bring hope back to the people of Contium. How far will Acacius go to better the lives of his people? And what will it cost him?
series of three books / genre: high fantasy dystopia / stage: planning & slowly writing
Wren and her younger sister, Cora, have lived in the utopian Pike Citadel for the past fourteen years, training in Alteration in the hopes of being chosen as the next Citadel leader. When Cora is picked over her, Wren is assigned to a new task: venturing out into the deadly sun and searching the scorched ruins of long-dead civilizations for an ancient artifact lost to time. The journey uncovers sinister truths about her world, however, and Wren must choose whether she wants to live a lie any longer.
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Updated on AO3!!!
Seeds of Redemption by CRMediaGal
Synopsis: The First Order may have fallen, but the Proclamation has risen in its stead. As the galaxy is threatened by the coming of a Second Darkness, Ben Solo must painstakingly navigate both sides, the Dark Side and the Light. Only he is no longer alone in this fight, with far more at stake to lose than he ever would have dreamed.
Rated M, AU. TFA, TLJ, TROS, and Post-TROS. Originally written and published between December 2015 - April 2018.
Chapter 25 [ NEW! ]
There was one instinct Rey was certain of: Ben Solo desired her…and the feeling was mutual.
The sweltering invitation in his eyes solidified her certainty, so Rey willingly brought her lips to his, supple and receptive, a dashing, significant move initiated before either of them had the chance to muck things up by speaking. Her greedy fingers drove behind Ben’s head, weaving their way through his silken, soft locks. His large, exploratory hands, too, mapped a course down Rey’s back to caress her backside, an area that seemed to perfectly meld to the size and shape of his palms.
It was a mere blink of an eye and Ben was suddenly sitting upright, with Rey’s strong legs straddling his waistline. Their insatiable lip locking had heightened in intensity, feverish kiss after kiss matching the accompanying thirst their hands made to touch and squeeze and hold every part of one another.
Garments deterred from sought after skin-on-skin investigation and, soon, slithering digits had coasted across Rey’s front, slinking to the top of her stomach and beneath her tunic to cup her right breast. Rey broke off mid-savory kiss to squeak, each breath erratic but excited, “Someone might see!” She wrestled to bat Ben’s hand away.
His next words, a clashing growl, reduced Rey to a shudder. “Let them see,” he dared, resuming his shameless, wondrous groping at once.
Rey was lost for retorts or excuses, for, as Ben’s mouth recaptured hers, drowning her thoughts in another ardent kiss, the possibility of getting caught fondling and snogging each other senseless was quickly lost. Expanding unexplored cravings was reaching an uncontrollable pitch on both sides.
Ben’s enthusiastic hand massaged Rey’s bosom for a time, at first too roughly but with a few choice words from her, his inexperienced pawing relaxed into a gradual, gentler motion that she appreciated. As his thumb circled her nipple and felt it harden under his petting, the small gasps of pleasure this move emitted gave an infatuated Ben the confidence to defy his own naiveté. Watching the sensual rapture of Rey’s hips dipping and curving against him, too, egged Ben towards reaching the remainder of her tempting flesh, presently hidden. His mouth parted from Rey’s, despite her whimper of protest, to glide down her chin, along the contours of her neck, and, lastly, to her heaving chest, the trail of hot kisses he left behind earning enticed chills and moans.
Ben’s animated breaths hovered around her collarbone. Rey squirmed but only with impatience, for she was no longer meagre or daunted at falling under his spell. She struggled to straighten her spine and fledged her cross-shaped tunic over her head, exposing her naked flesh at last. She disposed of her clothing and caught Ben’s blatant, adorably boy-like stare. It was innocent and enchanting, bashful at the natural sight of her, and yet, incontestably aroused. Evidently, the pair of small, perky breasts teasing his sights was something that turned Ben Solo on.
Rey perceived Ben fumbling for some measure of control through their shared Force connection and was alleviated to unearth that he, too, was supposedly inexperienced. It put what little nerves that had been fluttering about in Rey’s stomach finally to rest. Sexual sensitivity was new and thrilling but to the unseasoned Padawan, it was, also, intimidating. She could hardly confound what to do with these overwhelming sensations that burned inside of her like a raging fire; that bellowed of desire; of becoming uninhibited and carefree….with Ben.
Ben’s round saucers for eyes gradually found their way to Rey’s face again, their deep pools illuminated despite the low lights. Neither one spoke, though each could read the other’s raw thoughts that transmitted a shared, passionate consensus for what their bodies craved.
Then Rey leaned in for the next kiss, its execution this time unhurried, even fragile by comparison to others. Ben reacted not as she anticipated: he moaned long and quietly into her mouth…and she, in turn, shook and spasmed. His hands no longer clasped or pinched but stroked the length of her arms with care, with a certain attentiveness she had never felt before.
Was this what it meant to be…loved? Abandoned, lonesome Rey hardly knew, but she certainly liked how this felt. She returned his sweet exchange, trailing her hands lightly across his broad neck to his collar before plucking at his black, pleated tunic, wordlessly requesting its obliteration from their touch exchange.
Ben obliged without speaking, permitting an eagre Rey to aid him in wrenching his tunic from his belt. She took the liberty of loosening that as well. Ben lifted his robust arms into the air to help complete the task and, with his tunic properly disposed of, he provided Rey access to the pale, untouched flesh beneath.
She stole a half contrite, half mischievous glance at Ben’s bare chest, admiring its sculpted paragon, with a dusting of dark hairs at the centre of his sternum that her hand lovingly groomed over. Yet, there were unnatural, grisly markings as well. Some slashes coursed deeper than others, rooted crevasses and seemingly painful blemishes that assaulted otherwise perfectly fine porcelain-like flesh.
Rey’s agile fingers traced Ben’s sternum, considerate of her musings as she grazed over his left peck. There, her curious hand laid itself flat above his accelerated heartbeat. Each tapping reverberated against her palm, an echo of life in its purest form.
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What is Paragon?
Paragon is a modern fantasy story based in a version of the world where there are two races: paragon and humans. Paragon look essentially the same as humans, the difference comes in their power. When a paragon turns eighteen, they gain the ability to control one of seven elements- those being fire, water, earth, air, electricity, darkness, and psychic. They also receive a coin that, when flipped into the air, transforms into a unique weapon.
Set in America in the year 2011, our story follows seven specific paragon at the heart of a conflict between two groups: the Paladins and the Knaves. These are more labels than anything, although they are very coordinated and organized so I may refer to each as an “organization” on occasion, for lack of a better term.
However, the main difference between these two lies in ideology. They both fight for paragon rights, but Paladins encourage a “work together for equality” approach while the Knaves have been pushed too far, embracing a “attack them ‘til they fear us and give us the respect we deserve” mentality.
Our seven heroes catch wind that the Knaves are planning to make a game changing move in this underground war they fight and, as one of the strongest teams the Paladins have trained, they are tasked with finding out the details of this master plan and putting a stop to it.
So that's the story I am working on right now! I have a lot of worldbuilding and character explanations and a bunch of other stuff I'm super excited to share! Thank you for your interest and support for this silly little story that only lives in my head for now 🤗
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fic writer interview ✨
tagged by the incomparable, incredible @mostlymaudlin 😘
name: korinne or teal, depending on which bit of the internet you met me on
fandoms: Carry On! I did write a little fic for AFTG but I’m not actually in other fandoms atm whomp whomp. CO is actually the first fandom i’ve actively participated in instead of just lurking.
most popular multi-chapter fic: it’s gotta be Every Flammable Thing, my snowbaz Firewatch au! Which makes my heart warm that so many folks liked it, since I had a very good time writing it. Although, despite being much shorter and much more recent, my football rivals fic Always, Almost is pretty close in terms of kudos/comments.
actual worst part of writing: the moment when I’ve sat down to write and the ideas are flowing in my brain and the carefully curated fic playlist is playing….and I just can’t figure out the right words. Or get distracted. Or otherwise do not do the writing, despite the desire, motivation, and vibes all being present and accounted for.
how do you do titles: it’s either a song lyric or a pretentious way to convey the fic’s theme. but usually a song lyric. have I mentioned that I make playlists for my fic, usually before I even write them? yeah.
do you outline: depends on the fic. I like the have a rough idea of where I’m going with my writing, so I’ll usually write out a kind of outline for longer stuff. For shorter stuff, I usually just say “wow, an idea!” and just kinda see where it goes lol.
fic ideas you probably won’t get to but wouldn’t it be nice: there are so many other ideas jousting for dominance in my brain at any given moment. currently, the top contenders are 1) swing dancing au where Simon is Texan for Reasons, 2) dark simon au where Simon never was the greatest mage, just the humdrum, and Baz is tasked with defeating him, 3) the fic equivalent of a jukebox musical where Simon has a terminal illness and decides to post a bunch of piano covers on youtube. Some of these are more likely to actually happen than others.
call outs @ me: I always talk myself out of getting a beta on my fics, for whatever reason. like, do I know people in this fandom whose input I’d genuinely appreciate, who I know well enough to ask and they’re nice enough to give it? yes. Do I still tell myself “nah this fic is too [silly/cringy/whatever], I’ll get someone to look at the next one” ad infinitum? also yes. cmon, self.
best writing traits: I have been told by several sources on both fic and original stuff that i’m pretty good at writing mysteries/suspense? which is rad, cause those are my favorite. also, every once in a while, I churn out just like a great and quotable line.
spicy opinions: lol my opinions are always the least spicy. I’m pretty boring. I guess my spicy take is that a piece of media doesn’t have to be this perfect paragon of virtue to be worth enjoying? like maybe I’m just on twitter too much but people are so quick to be like “oh this sentence CLEARLY means that the author is [x]phobic and thus this is TRASH and YOU’RE TRASH FOR ENJOYING IT.” like, chill. the world is on fire. critique is a good thing, but at the end of the day, like the thing or don’t and let other people do the same.
tagging: why is it as soon as I go to tag people my brain is like, “you have never known another person ever?” idk. If you’re seeing this know that I love you from afar and please do this if you want!
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The five Eldritch Statues Manucubus tasks you to destroy are as follows:
Abrigga the Felicidal
Jerrick, Lord of Paper Cuts and Lemon Juice
Pelliya Reek, Diva of Halitosis and Gingivitis
Crivan the Lecher
Dessica, Paragon of Cruelty and Popularity
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