#the link leads to a thread of other chants too

[feluka]

Rasha Ezb leads a pro-Palestine chant in front of the Journalists' Syndicate in Cairo, Egypt.

غزة جعانة، غزة جعانة مين حينسينا الخيانة؟ يا حكومات عربية جبانة طفلة ف غزة نايمة جعانة عيش، حرية، الأرض فلسطينية

Translation:

Gaza is hungry, Gaza is hungry Who can make us forget this betrayal? O cowardly Arab governments A Gazan child sleeps hungry Bread, freedom, and a Palestinian land

#the link leads to a thread of other chants too #another one is lead (again!) by mahienour elmasry #and a third one lead by a woman i don't recognize #free palestine

[wingedblooms]

The sense chanted

This is a Maasverse post, and as such, there are spoilers for all Maas series. Proceed with caution. 

Touch her, smell her, taste her—The instincts were a running river. He fisted his hands at his sides.

But even as shame washed through him, the words, the sense chanted, Mine. You are mine, and I am yours. Mate. (acowar)

Even the thoughts Lucien has about Elain are witchy. Though the word chant is not exclusive to Elain, Sarah uses it sparingly in the series and it caught my eye. Lucien’s mate instincts are compared to a running river and the words mine, mate, etc. are a chant in his mind. As @offtorivendell noted, Sarah’s use of the word chant might mean there is a spell tying Elain and Lucien together that acts a lot like a mating bond:

I can feel spells—like threads. Ones that can enchant feel like bindings around an individual. (acosf)

Both bonds and spells are described in terms of song and magical weaving (threads), which could lead them to be mistaken. Chant derives from the Latin word to sing, and so enchant—which means to charm, bewitch, or put under a spell—is also linked to singing. It is notable that chants are associated with sacred rituals and they often include repetition, like the refrain a thing of secret, lovely beauty. It is also possible that the bond is described as a chant because Lucien is the son of Helion Spell-Cleaver, and Elain is a witch. This chant pairs nicely with the way her scent is described: 

Her sister’s delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring, a sparkling river that she followed to the open doors of the chamber. [...] Her sister turned toward her, glowing with health. (acosf)

All of this language related to light, water, and chants reminds me of an another chant:

The song ended, and more prayers and words flowed from Merrill, Clotho silent beside her. Then another song started—this one merrier, faster than the other. As if the songs were a progression. This one was a lilting chant, the words tumbling over each other like water dancing down a mountainside, and Nesta’s foot tapped on the ground in time to the beat.

Sparkling wave of sound, prayers and words flowed, words tumbling over each other like water dancing down, bottomless pool of sound. The music in the dusk service is repeatedly compared to water and that makes sense; priestesses are believed to act as the voice of the Cauldron, which as a dark and ancient womb is associated with water. The priestesses use a progression of ancient songs and chants to help Nesta enter a trance state and locate the Harp through an illusion, which is very similar to how Norse magic functioned. But they have something particularly witchy assisting them…

Gwyn smiled. “Oh, yes. You want to join us? I promise it’s not all religious stuff. I mean, it is, but it’s beautiful. And the cave we have the service in is beautiful, too. It was carved by the underground river that flows beneath the mountain, so the walls are smooth as glass. And it’s acoustically perfect—the shape and size of the space amplifies and clarifies each voice within.” 

“It sounds heavenly,” Nesta admitted. 

“It is.” Gwyn smiled again, eyes lighting with pride. “Some of the songs you’ll hear are so ancient they predate the written word. Some of them are so old we didn’t even have them in Sangravah. Clotho found them in books shelved below Level Seven. Hana—she’ll be the one who plays the lute—figured out how to read the music.” (acosf) 

The priestesses are singing ancient, spell-like songs in a cavern that is smooth as glass. The glass cavern walls amplify each voice (or incantation) of the priestesses. And guess what? There’s a sister-glass, an almost-twin cavern that allows them to wake the Harp in the Prison.

So Nesta drifted down and down, the harp and the voices pulsing and guiding, until she stopped before a rock. She laid a hand on it to find it was only an illusion, and she passed through it, down another long hall, beneath the mountain itself, and then she stood in a cavern, almost the twin to the one the priestesses sang in, as if they were linked in song and dreaming. (acosf)

The caverns function like witch glass. WITCH GLASS! And these underground, sister caverns naturally recall to mind the larger underground waterway that creatures of the bog use. 

“Oorid was once a sacred place,” Amren said. […] They say the water there flows to Under the Mountain, and the creatures who live in the bog have long used its underground waterways to travel through the Middle, even into the mountains of the surrounding courts.” (acosf)

And who, again, did Cassian say lives in the bog? 

“What else dwells here other than kelpies?”

“Some say witches,” he murmured, “Not the human kind,” he added when she raised a brow. “The kind that used to be something else and then their thirst for magic and power turned them into wretched creatures, banished here by various High Lords.”

[…]

Cassian went on as she scanned the bog, “There are lightsingers: lovely, ethereal beings who will lure you, appearing as friendly faces when you are lost.” (acosf) 

I won’t be going in depth about this, but it is interesting that witches and lightsingers are mentioned so close together. @offtorivendell has written about her thoughts on their connections, and I suspect they are like sister-glass, near twins: misunderstood creatures with dangerous powers who have a role to play in the series. The dusk service is full of light and water imagery, and the songs the priestesses are singing are ancient and compared to a spell while the glass around them amplifies their collective power. 

“Witches amass power beyond their natural reserve,” Mor answered with sudden seriousness. “They use spells and archaic tools to harness more power to them than the Cauldron allotted—and use it for whatever they desire, good or ill.” (acowar)

They connect to the sister cavern in the Prison through song and dreaming, where the Harp—which was Made by the Cauldron and can influence space and time—is awoken. Is this ritual harnessing powers from lightsingers (singing) and witches with Sight (dreaming), and if so, what is their intent? How did Clotho find those spells? Who is this mysterious Hana—a name with several meanings, including hope, joy, flower, glow, moon—and how did she figure out how to read those ancient spells songs? We may never find out, but I suspect Elain may have had something to do with it, especially since this happened after she spoke about wanting to help and reacquainting herself with her powers. Her activities in acosf have been a source of mystery and suspicion among characters and readers alike. It would make sense for her half-shadowed rose next to the Mother to be a hint for her secret maneuvers, and if she and the twins don't call themselves the Order of the Rose, then what's the point?

There are larger forces at play and god-like creatures who influence leaders on the wind, so I am concerned about a potential infiltration in just about every court, including the Night Court. The priestesses' sanctuary has been breached before and we know that the wind finds at least one of them through the stone walls. They conduct rituals in an underground cavern in the same book that we're told creatures of the bog—perhaps even witches and lightsingers—use underground waterways to travel to the Middle and the mountains of the surrounding courts. Back in acomaf, Sarah even planted this potential plot for priestesses:

“The High Priestesses have burrowed into a few of the courts—Dawn, Day, and Winter, mostly. They’ve entrenched themselves so thoroughly that their spies are everywhere, their followers near-fanatic with devotion. And yet, during those fifty years, they escaped. They remained hidden. I would not be surprised if Ianthe sought to establish a foothold in the Spring Court.” (acomaf)

In acosf, we learn that there is some trouble in Day. Could the trouble Helion spoke of involve his own libraries and priestesses? Perhaps it was only a matter of time for this to be an issue in the Night Court. Briallyn indicated that there are spies within the Night Court who know the identity of Nesta’s friends, which brought to mind this comment in the original trilogy. It’s possible we’ll never understand why, but it does make me wonder.

The priestess who had let them in … for whatever reason, Hybern had left her alive. She allowed Rhys into her mind to see what had happened: once the king had sundered the wards with that fleeting spell, his Ravens had appeared as two old scholars to get the priestess to open the door, then forced their way into her mind so that she’d welcome them in without being vetted. The violation of that alone…Rhys had spent hours with those priestesses yesterday. Mor, too. (acowar)

It is curious that Clotho discusses the urgency of Merrill's research before the omen of Aelin’s appearance or Bryce’s sudden arrival. How did she know the multiverse theory was pressing? Do the priestesses have access to a seer?

Gwyneth mentioned she had run into you earlier. She works for Merrill, my right hand, who is a fiercely demanding scholar. If Gwyneth's requests were abrupt, it was due to the pressing nature of the work she does. (acosf)

There are multiple hints that Elain is operating in the shadows, and she's the perfect person for others to overlook, especially in an environment when identities are already obscured. While the priestesses are connected to singing, she is connected to dreaming as someone with the gift of Sight.

“No. I … I was sleeping, but I heard …” She shook her head. Blinked at our formal attire, the dark crown atop my head—and Rhysand’s. “I didn’t hear you.”

Azriel stepped forward. “But you heard something else.” 

Elain seemed about to nod, but only backed away. “I think I was dreaming,” she murmured. “I think I’m always dreaming these days.” (acowar)

So the connection between the near-twin caverns, a connection of song and dreaming, might be another case of like calling to like: Elain’s glass amulet travels on the wind to the library through Azriel, and it is a thing of secret, lovely beauty that links two characters in song (Gwyn) and dreaming (Elain).

Thanks to the induced vision, Nesta is able to retrieve the Harp from the Prison, and its conversation with her is eerily familiar. Is it just me, or does this mimic Elain's earlier comment?

Elain said, “Then I will find it. I might require some time to…reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.” (acosf)

-

It has been a long while, sister, since I played. I shall need time to remember the right combinations…(acosf) 

This echo between Elain and the Harp reminds me of Stryga's ancient song, which is described similarly to Elain’s scent and the priestesses’ songs: her honeyed voice is sweet and beautiful, like sunlight on a stream. It is a version of The Twa Sisters, which describes two (or three) sisters who watch their father's ships come in and the eldest pushes her younger sister into the water. She drowns and her body is transformed into a string instrument that reveals the truth of her actions. Quite a few have linked this song, in theory, to Gwyn and her twin sister. I believe it may actually capture Elain's transformation, which occurs later in that same book when she and Nesta are forced into the Cauldron. Not only are they the daughters of a seafaring merchant, but Elain (the younger) is also forced into the ocean-like water of the Cauldron first, and transformed into an instrument of truth as a seer. Her body is dumped onto the stone floor as though thrown by a wave, and her delicate bones are on display.

There are several versions of this folk song, and in at least a few, the younger sister is referred to as a flower and she is most often mistook for a pale creature, such as a swan or a fish. Her bones (as well as other parts of her body) are used to create a string instrument, including specifically a Harp. It's interesting how Elain's powers weave these concepts together, transcending space and time in her Sight with the ability to reveal the (sometimes ugly) truth.

In Erilea, Blueblood witches, and priestesses within specific witch clans, have rituals in caves and forests to help them worship the Three-Faced-Goddess and activate their Sight. Their rituals are deeply connected to the wind:

Of course, the Bluebloods were nowhere to be seen. The reclusive witches had arrived first and claimed the uppermost rooms in the Omega, saying they needed the mountain breeze to complete their rituals every day. Religious fanatics with their noses in the wind, was what Mother Blackbeak had always called them. But it had been their insane devotion to the Three-Faced Goddess and their vision of the Witch Kingdom under Ironteeth rule that had mustered the Clans five centuries ago—even if it had been the Blackbeak sentinels who'd won the battles for them. (hof)

The Blueblood witches prefer to be exposed to the wind, the epitome of unseen movement. Do they listen to its song, move with it at the top of the mountain? I wouldn’t be surprised if some of their rituals involved song and/or movement.

In Norse mythology, song and sight are especially intertwined. Völva (Norse wise women, seers, and later demonized as witches) sometimes used chants or substances to induce trance and prophecy if other methods (spá, which involves an inner connection to the threads of fate and Norns) did not work. Could Elain’s Sight also rely on or benefit from some kind of Singing, as @offtorivendell, @silverlinedeyes, and I have wondered? Is it the song of the wind she hears and flies on, even in her mind? And what will keep her from drifting away into the cosmos, or even time? More on that in the final post in this series, Groundings. 

Next: Groundings, or Elain's dawn ritual.

Series: seer. wise woman. witch.

#witch elain #witchy elain #witchy archeron sisters #acotar witches #tog witches #crescent city witches #maasverse witches #the sense chanted #prythian priestesses #witch mirrors #elain archeron

[sakkiichi]

MATCHUP FOR @lilikags

hello, lia ! thank you for the info you provided and for trusting me to write your matchup, i hope you like it <3

i pondered quite a lot on my choice for who to match you with, i hope the result is satisfactory to you !

your genshin impact match is someone who, similarly to you, pursues creativity. while he is more prone to working alone, your ability to fit in well in a group is something beneficial to him, helping him open up more. like you, he can be a perfectionist as well, pouring his all into the work he does, which also happens to be his passion. though detached and seemingly aloof at times, don’t let yourself be fooled, he is extremely perceptive, knowing just what someone needs at any given moment.

well, is an image already forming in your mind? venture further into the mysteries of teyvat to find…

✧ ALBEDO

So, you and Albedo. Why do I think you’re a good match? Well, in my opinion, you share similarities, while being inherently different, like two sides of the same coin, the little contrasts making you fit, akin to complementary colors over canvas.

Your leadership qualities and bringing people together are characteristics that would go in very nice divergence with the Kreideprinz’s highly independent personality. While he tends to be alone while doing his research, Albedo is warm to his friends and is happy to meet new people. Your social affinity, even though according to your mbti type you’re introverted too, would play in his favor, serving as a bridge between the seemingly distant golden prince and the friends that look forward to meeting him. Besides, he’d feel at ease too, reassured he won’t be too overwhelmed if you are around.

Another aspect of your personality that made me lean towards the Knights of Favonius’ chief alchemist is your love for creative pastimes. Albedo highly values that, as seen in his own hobbies, painting and alchemy.

One of the chalk prince’s love languages being quality time, it is not rare for him to drop his experiments instantly as soon as your smiling face comes into view…

—

Warm light floods through bare trees, reflecting in shades of candlelight off of the abundant snow. Late winter’s approaching, the gates of spring within reach, contained in the chant of fluttering birds atop the cold mountains, in the slumbering cecilias that are starting to awake, in skies dyeing pink and orange and gold, as the sun still lingers for an evening stroll.

In your smile and the bounciness of your step.

The frost-kissed northern stars of the alchemist’s gaze set upon you, its stella illuminating your footprints over the grass-splattered layer of white.

A couple of notebooks under one of your arms, and what looks like brushes and a bag that can only contain inks and paints on the other, you brave the chilly breeze, the distance between you and your lover shortening.

A soft smile draws upon the prince of chalk’s iced lips, the gesture another mirror image of the blooms to soon sprout.

“Albedo!” You sing-song, somehow managing to wave at him, despite all the items you’re carrying.

He puts down his notepad, the pencil he was using haphazardly forgotten over his table, all the threads of thought in his mind leading solely to you.

Your lips form a crescent not unlike the moon that is to rise soon amidst the firmament of a dawning spring, when your partner meets you halfway.

The warmth of his proximity is enough to tempt you to lean your head against his chest, inviting you to dream sweetly.

And you’d do just that were it not for the several objects currently balanced on your grasp, and because you had planned this outing.

“My love,” he begins, the constellations not yet out already bright in his stare. “I would have carried all of this, dear.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” You perkily retort, a smile of your own linking the starlight in his gaze. “Are you ready now, Bedo? We’ve got so much to do!”

The prince takes a moment to memorize the lines of your visage, the curve of your contagious smile, the light and color that constitutes his beloved.

He could paint you a million times, yet none would come close to portraying the true magic he witnesses every time he looks at you.

Taking the bag from you despite your protests, Albedo falls in step by your side, your hands brushing every now and then.

Even though slightly out of breath, the trip you had planned is worth it. A frozen over lake extends before you, a myriad of dancing lights over its glazed surface. Shadows of a rainbow seem to form over it, as the sky deepens in hue, the color of late afternoons drinking warm tea from matching mugs with someone you cherish.

And yet, despite the natural light dimming, neither of you seem deterred on your respective creations.

Albedo’s svelte hands delicately hover over his sketchbook, light and dark colliding in the pastel watercolors that seem to come to life when he imprints them on paper.

Your side leans against the artist’s, dark ink filling the page you currently peruse, pondering if this or that is the perfect word to make a reality of the world taking form inside your mind.

When the wind picks up, announcing nightfall, you nuzzle further into Albedo’s body.

And because your focus is on the wonders you create through linked quotes, you don’t notice a new color being added into the picture-perfect scene.

As he feels your warmth pressed against his side, the alchemist’s cheeks take on a hue worthy of the most precious crystals.

If only all sunrises could be this color, you would think, the moment your eyes met his lovely face again.

—

You mention you always try to help others, and I genuinely believe that is a trait Albedo would find very endearing. From helping Sucrose with whatever she needs regarding her research, to finding a way for Klee to get out of solitary confinement, your boyfriend can’t help but stare at you with a fond look in his eyes, akin to the glittering surface of a clear spring on a sunny day. (Just make sure Klee doesn’t cause too much trouble while she escapes her scolding).

Delving deeper into your hobbies, if we consider a modern au and Albedo’s aforementioned love language, it is not rare for him to be busy doodling on his sketchbook while you play games on your phone. Comfy clothes on, I can easily imagine him curled up on the couch, while you lay your head in his lap, thumbs tapping at your screen to achieve the highest score (though nothing beats the feeling of your lover’s fingers delicately combing through your hair).

Taking your mbti personality type into account, you and Albedo are a very good match. As an INFJ, you tend to look for deep relationships, wanting to understand every puzzle piece that connects into your s/o’s mind. As an INTP, the chief alchemist seeks intellectual understanding of his lover. In addition, both your personality types are perfectionist and self-demanding, which can help you two understand each other’s motivations when really involved into an activity that piques your interest.

✧ RUNNER UP: FISCHL

While definitely more on the independent and “loner” side (not by choice), the Prinzessin der Verurteilung has plenty in common with you, especially when it comes to mutual interests.

She is one of the most creative and imaginative people you can encounter, her inner world brimming with life, heartache, and enigmas to be unveiled. Which I think pairs quite well with your love for art and writing. In turn, she’d feel understood, having met someone who also finds comfort in fiction and the arts.

If we talk about a modern au again, Fischl is definitely the type to play games. I think she’d enjoy rpg ones, but she’s secretly a fan of otome too, especially if the setting and aesthetics lean on a more gothic vibe.

Similarly to what I’ve mentioned in Albedo’s case, you could help Fischl be included in groups, and even though she tries not to break character, she is genuinely honored to make new friends. She may not verbalize it right away, but the blush she tries to hide with her hair and the smile she plays off are indication enough.

#astronetwrk #genshin impact matchup #genshin impact matchups #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #albedo x reader #fischl x reader #albedo x you #albedo imagines #genshin impact x you

[spookylittletownhq]

OCTOBER 25, 1923 Northwest of Wolgemuth Hall, past the first slope in the northern ridge Twelve minutes before midnight

An Excerpt from the Funeral Rites of Hartmut Wolgemuth

Here, snow has started to fall several weeks before, and now blankets the ground in a thick, downy layer. Wolgemuth Hall is a grand estate, modeled in a low country gothic style. Past the first line of the evergreen trees, the golden-green light of the hall begins to fade.

The procession travels in a melodic silence -- the crunch of snow, the rustle of coats. Some flitter over the ground with greater ease, aided by unseen winds or lightness. Others walk heavily, arms linked in pairs.

It is clear that Hartmut, for his quiet, austere nature, was a man to be revered.

Blue moonlight catches through the tree limbs, though the trees overhead leave little room for the sky. Only once, perhaps twice, does the silver flint of Euphemia Wolgemuth’s hair catch the light, far ahead. It’s distinctive. All the Wolgemuths are. The oldest family in the town, their lineage is pronounced by dark hair, long fingers, and those that retain the name also retain the aloof dignity that comes with them. They are a secular sort, looking over the valley from their estate. But to Albion, and the valley, they are benevolent. Perhaps this explains the size of the crowd: Horsts, Caplans, and Miltons gather here, too. Even Thomas Andersson walks amongst their ranks. The Wolgemuths did not just found Albion, they live and breathe it.

The procession comes to a rest in a clearing, though no one dares to step into the perfect snow. At seven points along the edge, a robed figure stands, gowned in silver-gray. Their heads are lifted up, to the twinkling stars above, and their lips move soundlessly, chanting. As the last footfalls stop, the group fanning through tree trunks and thatches of pine needles, they stop.

A wreath — of holly berry, of vetiver, of blackened moss, symbolizing Hartmut is carried forth by the three heirs to the estate. They stand in the center of the clearing as the seven members of the celestial coven reach out their hands to one another. For a moment, there is perfect stillness. Even Geraldine, the youngest of the Wolgemuths, falls silent.

Then, starlight. It seems to collect from particles in the air, not emanating from one particular place. Called forth, perhaps. Manifested. Stars sink low into the clearing, catching on invisible thread. They bridge a line between each of the seven members, and then begin to draw arcs through the clearing, intersecting over the wreath. From these cross points, stars fall — little blips of light, noticeable only if one is watching — and collect amidst the branches and moss.

The air changes softly. Pipe smoke, tobacco. The scent of leather-bound books and a headmaster’s jacket. It is as though Hartmut lives in the air among them. Some draw a deep breath, shutting their eyes. A few — Euphemia among them — shed a tear. Others, still, stare out in wonder as the light persists — starlight in violet, cerulean, vivid green.

Pop.

It is soft, and gentle, and ushers back the scent of pine and winter snow. The light has gone, vanished, or filtered back to where it came. It remains only in the wreath, colors aglow. And it leads the group, three heirs first, celestial coven second, away from the clearing and again, into the snow.

#spookylittletown;plotdrop

[sergeantsporks]

I Won’t Let Go (or Run Away)

Gen, General Audiences

Nari won’t fight Skrael alone. Douxie won’t let it happen.

Based on this post by @archies-litterbox . I have never watched Pacific Rim and don’t know what drift compatibility is, but the idea of Douxie co-piloting Nari’s titan Vibes With Me.

@alovesongshewrote

Ao3

“No. You have a titan.”

Nari’s eyes started to glow, and her titan rumbled up.

She looked so… ethereal. And terrifying. And… a little bit sad. A titan fighting for them, a titan fighting against them—either way, she was alone.

So when Claire opened the shadow portal for them to get off the titan, Douxie didn’t go through it.

“Hey, c’mon! I can’t keep this open, I’ll need all of my magic for the titan’s portal.”

Douxie shook his head. “I’m not going to leave her alone again. I promised I would protect her.”

“Douxie,” Nari murmured, “You cannot share this with me. It is my burden.”

Douxie took Nari’s hand once more. “No more running, Nari. This is my fight, too. You are my fight.”

The world lit up, and he was huge, he was powerful, he could crush forests with his steps and destroy anyone who got in his way. Douxie let out an exhilarated laugh, lifting one arm and watching it crack stone with the force it came down with. He was unstoppable, he had the power of raw, untamed magic at his disposal and he was a god!

Nari’s hand in his anchored him to himself, reminded him who he was. Douxie. Punk-Rocker. Customer Service Expert. A master wizard. Certainly not a god.

Claire’s shadow portal surrounded them, transferring them to a forest. Nari leaned forward, and Douxie followed her lead. The titan ran forward at full tilt towards Skrael.

What if…

Douxie used his magic to light his regular hand on fire.

The titan fist he swung towards Skrael’s titan was wreathed in blue flame.

Skrael howled, whirling around to face them. “What—Impossible! You cannot pilot a titan!”

“Not alone!” Douxie responded.

Nari’s hand squeezed his, and she brought their other fist careening towards Skrael. The ice titan dodged, but barely.

“You cannot contain such power,” the ice demigod taunted, “It will consume you, and spit you out!”

“I won’t let it!” Nari howled. Vines shot out, reaching towards Skrael. With a thought from Douxie, they glowed blue and sent off a sleeping spell that made Skrael’s titan sway on its feet. Another punch from Douxie’s fiery fist sent the ice titan reeling.

Maybe Skrael was right about this consuming him—the scale of magic it took for the whole titan hand to light was exhausting, and Douxie could feel himself starting to fail.

A blow from Skrael sent them skidding to the side, and Douxie’s hand slipped out of Nari’s, instantly severing his connection to the titan. He fell, tumbling off of the titan towards the distant ground.

Falling.

Again.

“Douxie!”

Nari lunged out of her titan’s control sphere, holding onto a vine with one hand and grasping Douxie’s hand with the other. A vine snaked out, lashing their wrists together.

“Don’t leave me,” Nari begged.

Douxie gave her hand a squeeze. “No more running,” he murmured weakly, “I’ve got this—I can do it.”

The vine in Nari’s other hand retracted back into the titan, pulling the two of them up. They resumed control just in time to scramble out of the way as Skrael charged towards them. They whirled around, and Douxie lit his hand on fire, ignoring the wave of dizziness that swept over him. They slammed the fiery fist into Skrael again, knocking him back into the mountain. Nari’s vines stretched out again, and again Douxie set off another sleeping spell. Almost—there—

And then, all at once, there was blinding, horrible pain in his side, a freezing, stabbing sensation that seemed to freeze the blood in Douxie’s veins. He and Nari screamed in unison, their voices blending together into a harmony of agony.

Through the blizzard of pain, Douxie saw Nari raise their hand and stab Skrael back.

And then they were falling away, still connected by the vine at their wrists.

And by their hands, clutching each other.

Xxx

Claire screamed as the titan fell, running forward, stumbling over rocks and roots, but making her way to the fallen titan. Skrael was gone, reduced to dust, and she staggered over the pilot’s area of the earth titan. Douxie and Nari were still there, a barely-conscious Nari cradling a passed-out Douxie in her lap, their hands still linked and a vine wrapped around their wrists. Ice was spreading up their bodies from their sides, and their breaths were visible, little clouds in what was otherwise warm air. Claire skidded down next to them, checking Douxie for a pulse. It was there, but barely—and it was getting slower.

“Nari, you have to let go!” Claire begged, “You have to let him go—he’s dying!”

Nari shivered violently. “D-dy—”

The vine slowly retracted, and she started to pull her hand out of his.

Douxie’s hand clenched harder, and his eyes opened just a fraction. “N-no m-more r-r-running,” he chattered.

Claire felt Jim’s hand on her shoulder, but she was more focused on the wizard in front of her. “Douxie, please—”

“Sh-sharing the curse,” he murmured, his eyes unfocused, glowing slightly. Pulses of blue magic were rippling over his skin and spreading to Nari, slowing the ice down, only for a second, but each pulse prevented the ice from killing him just a moment longer. “S-stronger to-together. Camelot.”

“I can’t get you there, Douxie, I’m spent, that titan portal took too much—please, Douxie, I can’t lose you!”

He reached out with one hand and brushed Claire’s face. “Magic i-is emo-emotion. Use—use your fear. It—it doesn’t control you—you c-cont-trol it.”

Claire gripped his hand. “Come on,” she howled at the air, “I’m not going to lose him! ONE! MORE! PORTAL!”

It flickered, small, unstable. Shadows pressed at the corners of Claire’s vision, whispering and tugging at her soul, and she pushed them away.

“YOU! OBEY! ME!” she screamed, and the portal opened, swallowing them up and dropping them on the floor of Arthur’s throne room.

Xxx

Douxie staggered to his feet, pulling Nari along with him. He stumbled to the table with the gems in it, overshooting and spilling to the floor.

“Hngh—no—"

Blackness pressed at the corners of his vision—he was using so much magic, had used too much to fight Skrael and now it was all he could do to keep Nari and himself alive—but he summoned his staff, using it to haul himself up. “The gems,” he gasped, “They—” He scrabbled for one, prying at it with his fingers, but he was shivering so hard he couldn’t get a good grip. “Claire! Grab that yellow one!”

Claire pulled out a pocket knife and pulled it out. Douxie grabbed it, hobbling to Merlin’s study.

“What’s going on?!” Claire demanded.

“It’s—the gem—different gems hold—power—”

“Like the triumvirate stones?”

“Yeah—this one—fire—” Douxie grabbed a hammer, and handed a chisel to Nari. “Right—right there.” She held the chisel in place, and he slammed the hammer down on the gem.

Too hard, too hard, Merlin’s voice chided in his head, to shape a gemstone, you must be gentle, but firm.

But he didn’t have time to be gentle—he hit the gemstone again, and a surge of power flooded out, filling his veins with fire. It joined his own magic, and he and Nari floated up.

“Nari, now!”

He didn’t know how he knew she could save them—he just knew, the titan bond still joining them. He just felt it, deep in his soul, that their magics combined could stop the spread of Skrael’s curse.

Nari was chanting something in a language he didn’t know—or maybe he just couldn’t figure it out because everything was getting fuzzy, and now Nari’s magic was the only thing keeping him up. Her magic pulled on his own, and the power of the gemstone. They were surrounded by a maelstrom of flowers and vines made of dancing blue flames.

And then they were collapsing to the floor. He still felt cold, but the deadly ice no longer crept through him.

Nari pressed her forehead to his. “Share the curse, share the burden,” she murmured, “Thank you, Douxie.” She got up. “Bellroc still remains, and they will remake the world in fire. My task is not finished yet.”

Douxie grasped for her hand. “No!” he protested weakly, “We barely managed to defeat Skrael—you can’t—”

She giggled, holding out a hand. A flower made of ice formed. “I survived. I have assumed Skrael’s powers. I think—I think it will be enough. Not as good as you and I, but… enough. You cannot accompany me this time, Douxie. Stay here and rest. You are not a demigod—even together, piloting the titan cost you too much power. You cannot fight in this shape.”

Her face kept flickering in and out of focus, but Douxie clutched her hand as tightly as he could. “You can’t go—I have to go with you!”

Nari held up their linked wrists. The vine dissolved into green and blue magic, making a glowing, connecting thread that faded out of sight. “You do not have to be close to be with me, Douxie. We are linked like the moon and the tides—even separated by the expanse of space, they still know each other, are still affected by each other. You will be with me. Now rest.”

She tapped his forehead with one finger, and the world went black.

Xxx

“Shhhhhh, Steve, be quieter, you’ll wake him up!”

“He’s been asleep for ages, just wake him up already!”

“We told you, piloting the titan took a lot out of him. Regular wizards just aren’t built for it, and besides, he used a lot of magic in the fight—let him sleep.”

Douxie yawned, stretching. “Morning,” he mumbled. Everything was sore—and his whole body felt weak—but fuzzbuckets, he hadn’t gotten this much rest in, well, ever.

He tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washed over him, and he lay back down.

His friends all crowded around his bed. Jim was clutching Excalibur in his hands, and Douxie gestured to it. “Hey! You did it!”

Jim nodded, beaming. “We weren’t sure we could do it—I figured out what the ninth configuration was, but we needed you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah! And we were thinking ‘well, that’s it then, unless Claire teleports his unconscious body over here’ and then this—this glowing blue ball of light appeared, and it split into eight pieces and hit each of us, and then we… I don’t know, it just felt sort of… comforting? And hopeful? And then the eight of us were able to pull out Excalibur. I think… maybe you unconsciously sent out some magic?”

Claire gave him a warm smile. “You knew when we needed you. And you pulled through.”

A bolt of panic shot over Douxie, and he sat upright, ignoring the fatigue. “Nari! Where’s Nari?!”

“She’s fine,” Jim promised, “She was amazing—she fought Bellroc’s titan and got it down so we could face Bellroc, and then Toby used the anti-magic ray, and we… we finished the fight. Together.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. “Even with their titan out, Bellroc put up a heck of a fight—it took all of us to finally take them down.”

“And—where’s Toby?”

“He’s okay, too. A few broken bones—he got pinned under rubble from the titan. But Nari got out of her titan and to him in enough time to save him. Guess what?! She found Strickler, too! He fell from the explosion and went under the ice! It froze him and sent him into a kind of hibernation, but she pulled him out. She’s resting now. Two titan fights in a row plus healing Toby and finding Strickler really took it out of her.”

“She grew a whole garden in the courtyard,” Aja breathed, “It’s beautiful—I wonder if she could make one for me back on Akaridion 5?”

“But after she wakes up, she’s going to use her empathy magic to find coordinates for Archie,” Krel volunteered, “And then we’ll just wormhole in!”

“And… the Chronosphere?”

Blinky gave a short nod. “In Camelot’s vault. Saving it for a rainy day. We saw the ninth configuration in it, and Claire managed to see and prevent Bellroc from stabbing Jim, so I suppose it served its purpose. Meddling with the powers of time is a dangerous endeavor.

Douxie nodded. “I know that one for sure.”

The powers of time moved on their own, in one direction. Forward. They managed to open a wormhole to the Hong Kong trollmarket, so Archie and Charlemagne could come and go as they pleased. Mrs. Lake became Mrs. Strickler-Lake. Jim refused to change his name.

Douxie still felt stabbing icicles in the night sometimes, waking him up from the pain.

Winter always filled him with dread.

And he almost always felt cold.

But Nari would always come—every time he started feeling just a little too frozen, every time he jolted up in the night, she was there.

And other times, he could sense her feeling the same, and he would be there for her. They shared the same curse, the same chill in their bones.

But they also shared the same fire. The same determination.

And that was enough.

#watch me make this thing dissolve into a fix-it-fic real fast at the end there #toa #tales of arcadia #rott #nari #douxie #my writing #toa fanfiction

[miracle-sham]

Stitch Your Ragged Wings and Hope to Soar.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 1, Day 5: Fairytales} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] |

| The folk tales always speak of those destined for greatness. Heroes alongside their faithful dragons, fighting the ever turning tides against evil. But they're just that, folk tales. After all, what are the chances a border-town apprentice seamstress like Marinette, would ever be offered a different vocation by the recruitment guild. |

| Word Count: 3,428. |

| Warnings/Tags: Kingdom/Fantasy/No Miraculous/Dragon Riders Au, Minor Lila & Adrien salt, Canon Typical lies and manipulation from Lila, Explicit Language/Swearing, and Some Fluff. |

———

| A/N: First things first, the word 'Dragoon' will be used multiple times in this piece and it is spelled that way on purpose (see end notes for further explanation). Secondly, yep! It's a dragon riding/academy au. This is the first piece of the series, which I'm really excited for because I've spent ages worldbuilding for! And for anyone worried about salt mention, it is addressed in this piece but the tag is there because of canon-typical Lila manipulation and lies, plus no Miraculous means no reason for Adrien with his sheltered upbringing to realise she's lying. |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

It's been a few days of tense stagecoach travel. And to be fair to Marinette, even she hadn't expected to be declared in the middle of the town square as showing aptitude for a position within the Justice League's armée volante—specifically the dragoon squadrons—thanks to the recruitment guild no less.

Unfortunately, Adrien and Lila had also shown an aptitude. Which, seeing as they all come from the same border-town of Paris, meant they were all trapped inside the same cramped coach space for the excruciating four days journey to reach Gotham Town; the place where they are being sent to attend the dragoon academy, which is technically outside the bounds of the town proper. Seeing as the Gotham Dragoon Academy and Somerset Dragon Range are on the opposite shores of the Gotham river to the town itself.

There's only another half-day until they reach the Mooney bridge and then the Somerset

Dragon Ranges. And luckily, Adrien and Lila have taken to sitting on the same bench, the one facing forwards. Leaving the opposite bench all for Marinette.

Not that having a whole bench to myself for this time will help with whether I can continue to survive as a captive audience for Lila. Marinette thinks to herself, rather disgruntled about this whole situation she's unwillingly ended up in. She was perfectly happily remaining an apprentice seamstress, sewing commissions for Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale, and the rest of her famous or otherwise clientele, not that fate seemed to care though. Of course, a part of her stipulation she fought the recruiters for, is that along with her studies she can continue her commissions for current and prior clientele alone. Which is to say, better than being completely unable to continue her main hobby and form of stress relief.

The recruiters had also said that baking and cooking would be no problem to practice, as apparently there'll be free reign to "student kitchens" alongside cooking classes so any use of either skill will be "undoubtedly encouraged". Dangerous words, Marinette muses to herself once more, because if I get claimed by a dragon the first thing I'm doing is baking all the dragon dietary-safe treats I can!

“Marinette! What do you think?” Lila asks, voice as cloying as ever.

Marinette startles and half-heartedly smiles awkwardly across at her, “ah, I'm really sorry Lila! I got distracted wondering what kind all of our dragons might end up being and how they might look!” Not, I'm going to love mine regardless of appearance unlike you.

Smiling faux-sweetly, Lila shakes her head. “Don't worry Marinette, I was only saying how we're just like those local fairytales of your town! Three close-knit friends who become powerful and famous dragoon guardians and save the world from the evil destruction of Hawkmoth and his army of shadow dragons! Out of the three of us, I would be our leader, obviously. Since I'm the only one here descended from a dragoon guardian! My grandmother even gave me a token that once belonged to my dragoon guardian ancestor!”

“Wow, you've said it before but I still can't believe how incredible you are Lila! It's going to be amazing training besides you at the academy!” Adrien gushes, gazing at Lila with adoration.

Lila preens at his words. “Thank you, Adrien! But Marinette, since you mentioned what our dragons will be, did you know my ancestor's dragon was said to be the most beautiful of all the dragons in the Justice League squadrons! My ancestor's dragon had orange scales that glimmered red and yellow like flames, and pearlescent white scales along the underbelly. Oh, and the horns were pearlescent white too! Obviously, the dragon I'll get is sure to be a descendant of that dragon and just as beautiful.”

“Wow, no wonder your ancestor's dragon was the most beautiful, they sound absolutely gorgeous! What kind of dragon do you think I'll get, Lila?” Adrien asks, eyes shining with awe and curiosity.

She puts on a show of holding her chin and humming. “Hmm, probably a golden dragon, with shiny scales as bright as the sun!”

“I hope you're right!” Adrien chuckles, “the fairy tales really would be coming true if we both get the dragons you think we will! One with scales of fire, another with scales of gold!”

“It really would.” Marinette echoes weakly, not really believing in her own words.

Lila laughs, “awww don't sound so worried Marinette, your dragon will probably be a plain and drab dragon with some sort of shade of brown, or maybe even grey. But at least it won't be attention-grabbing. So you won't need to worry about people staring and judging or dragons-forbid trying to hurt you for having a prettier dragon than any nobles!”

Marinette smiles, though it turns out far more grimace-like than intended, whoops. “Yeah… that'd be awful. Haha, I'd be really lucky to get a dragon like you described for me, Lila.”

“Oh, I'm so glad you understand, Marinette! Then again, all three of us are besties so of course you'd understand!” Lila titters, crossing her fingers, “we're just like this!”

Screaming internally, Marinette nods and keeps smiling. Dragons-almighty, I'm at the end of my thread here. Hopefully, I'll be able to leave Lila's "friendship" behind at the academy without fear of mine and my parent's reputations being ruined by Lila's mother.

Her attention is briefly taken by the rolling view outside the stagecoach, unable to help herself she mumbles to herself, “the landscape here is so pretty.”

“It is pretty I guess, but not as pretty as my home country!” Lila pipes up, jumping on the new conversation—like a shadow dragon on a sheep.

Marinette shuts her eyes for a second and breathes deeply, chanting internally. The academy will be my fresh start.

———

The academy is not in fact Marinette's fresh start.

It is well past evenfall by the time their stagecoach passes through the gates of the imposing academy. It rounds a large fountain in the centre of the courtyard with a statue of a person encircled by a large dragon. However, due to the darkness and the movements of the stagecoach, any attempts at recognising whom the statue was dedicated after are thoroughly hampered. They roll to a stop before the great stone staircase—where a figure with a smaller giant rat-like creature beside them, is waiting at the top—which clearly leads to the grand front doors of the academy.

Even with the darkness obscuring the view, it's obvious that the academy is a repurposed castle. High stone walls with crenellations and littered towers, a main keep with a multitude of buildings surrounding the inner courtyard. And the most eye-catching of all, the shadowy draconic gargoyles that seem to cling and lurk upon every building.

It's impressive to say the least, certainly the most well-fortified building Marinette has ever stepped foot in her life. Impressive enough that it has her practically clawing to pull out a sketching journal and start creating. However, she's not stupid enough to do that within Lila's presence. No, that'd undoubtedly lead to honey-coated lies and being forced to listen to her prattle on about her wondrous skills and connections to the most prestigious fashion guild in the country.

Marinette startles as the stagecoach door is opened by a footman. She doesn't fuss as Lila exits first, followed by Adrien. As she steps outside last, she nods and smiles at the footman. Whispering as audibly as she can without the other two hearing, she adds, “thank you, sir.”

The footman simply glances at her attire and nods back stiffly.

In the time it's taken to all leave the stagecoach, the figure from the stairs has walked over—a woman with long blonde hair dressed in a casual black leather riding coat, and a not-dog following behind loyally. “Good evening, you must be the potential students from the town of Paris?”

Marinette hesitates for a second before nodding along with Adrien and Lila.

Lila takes a step forwards, towards the woman. “Yes, we are! I'm Lila Rossi.”

The woman nods slowly, “and the other two must be Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng, correct?”

“That's correct!” Adrien responds with a bright smile.

Marinette nods and makes an affirmative squeak instead.

“Great.” The woman says, clapping her hands. “I'm Dinah Lance and I'll be one of your instructors during your attendance here. And this,” She pauses to point to the weird giant not-rat with its yellow flecked greyish-brown fur, “is Drake, he's my Ichneumon. You'll learn all about Ichneumon and why they're used within the dragoon squadron during your time here, so don't worry if you've never heard or seen of them before.”

Drake makes a high pitched trill and takes a few steps forward, sniffing the air in front of the three of them. Before scampering in a circle around Dinah Lance.

She smiles fondly at Drake before continuing. “Unfortunately it's a little late to give you the tour of the grounds now, so we'll cover that tomorrow. Tonight we'll guide you to the dining hall for a late night's meal since it's been a long journey for you three or so I've heard, and you must be starving. Then we'll discuss the main details of your attendance, and afterwards, we will show you to the temporary rooms you will be staying in, to begin with. Any questions?”

Lila rocks on the heels of her boots before shaking her head, “no, we've got no questions!”

Adrien copies with a shake of his head too.

Marinette opens her mouth to protest, were you waiting out in the cold for us long? Will the tour teach us about the different places within the academy? Will it take long? What do you mean by the main details? Why are we staying in temporary rooms to begin with? When do our lessons start? Do we need to purchase any uniforms or schooling supplies? When will we meet our dragons? Questions bubbling in her mind like a kettle over the fire, but closes her mouth just as quickly, as she catches a glare from Lila out of the corner of her eye. With that, she also briefly and nervously shakes her head. “N–no, no questions here either, Mlle Lance.”

Internally, Marinette hopes that display is enough to tide over Lila's irritation for now.

Mlle Lance glances over the three of them, seeming to stare at Marinette a little longer than the other two. “Well then, since there are no questions, let us head to the dining hall. And don't worry about your belongings, the footman will bring them to your lodgings.”

“Oh, Mlle Lance, I'd–uh… I'd rather not hassle the staff here, I can manage bringing my belongings up on my own.” Marinette admits, wringing her hands slightly.

Mlle Lance shakes her head, “that's very polite of you but I'm afraid, as you'll be having dinner and we'll be discussing details, it'll be a little while before you head to your temporary rooms. So it'll be far easier on both you and the staff here, if you allow them to do their job.”

“Okay…” Marinette relents easily, trying to ignore Lila rolling her eyes at her.

“If there are no more further questions, then follow after me please, the academy can be rather labyrinthine for those unfamiliar with its halls.” Mlle Lance instructs, already turning around and walking back towards the great stone staircase, Drake on her heels.

———

The journey through the hallways and various anterooms of the academy takes far longer than Marinette could have anticipated. On more than one occasion, she ends up falling behind due to getting distracted by the sheer amount of luxury, art, and finery everywhere. Forcing her to frantically scurry after Mlle Lance, Lila, and Adrien—all three who seem completely at home and unperturbed or uninterested by the décor, unlike her.

By the time they reach the large and ornately carved wooden doors leading to the dining hall, Marinette is flushed bright red from the embarrassment of having fallen behind so many times.

The heavy doors creak loudly as they slowly swing open at Mlle Lance's push, revealing a large dining hall—far larger than any Marinette has seen—with seemingly hundreds of wooden tables and benches. Startlingly enough, there's a boy already seated at one of the nearer benches—eating away at a trencher of hunter's stew.

No Ichneumon in sight, Marinette notes, a fellow student perhaps?

“Good evening, Jason, I wasn't expecting anyone else to be in here at the moment.” Mlle Lance greeted, nodding her head to him.

Jason squints at Mlle Lance and hunches his shoulders defensively. “B said I could grab food from here whenever I wanted.”

Mlle Lance smiles, “and that's perfectly fine. These are new arrivals, so I was just hoping to let them have some dinner without the usual chaos before going over the main details they'll need to know about attending here.” She paused for a moment. “You don't have to stay and listen if you don't want to, since you've heard this spiel many times now. But equally, feel free to stay, I'm sure it'd be nice for you and the new arrivals to get to know each other before meeting the rest of the class tomorrow.”

Jason slowly eyes Lila, Adrien, and Marinette. He places an arm in front of his trencher. “Might as well stay then I guess.”

Mlle Lance nods at him again before guiding the three of them over to the back of the dining hall where the kitchen was connected to. A few cooks were tending to various meals and pots of hunter's stew, as well as prepping trenchers or cleaning wooden bowls, and wood or horn spoons.

Marinette is still half processing everything so receiving a trencher full of hunter's stew from the cooks barely registers in her mind. And next thing she knows, she is seated next to Lila on the end of the bench and table next to Jason, with Mlle Lance sitting opposite her, Lila, and Adrien. The other two have already started tucking into the food, so cautiously Marinette takes a few sips of the stew broth with a horn spoon.

Mlle Lance clasps her hands together and rests them on the table. “Let's start with what you three already know regarding the dragoon squadrons and this academy.”

Pausing in his eating, Adrien grins. “This is the longest standing dragoon academy, and we'll be taught everything from dragon history, to the language of the dragons, to what is known of Hawkmoth and his shadow dragon army!”

“And,” Lila pipes up, “we'll pick our dragons that we'll train alongside and eventually become fully-fledged Dragoon Guardians with.”

Jason snorts, “sorry to break it you two but this isn't some fucking fairytale.”

Before Lila or Adrien could respond, Mlle Lance cleared her throat. “Right well firstly, Dragoon Guardians is somewhat of an archaic term I'm afraid. But you're not too far off with what you know.”

Rolling his eyes, Jason pretends to be suddenly interested in his trencher of stew.

Though, Marinette does catch him briefly glancing up at her with a curious but also disbelieving look in his eyes. She can't help but instinctively curl her shoulders in and make herself as small as possible.

“And Marinette, what do you know about the academy?” Mlle Lance adds.

Marinette hesitates, trembling slightly and licks her lips. “Uh, well I know roughly the same as Lila and Adrien, so nothing that hasn't been said already…”

She catches Jason squinting at her, and she curls up even more.

Mlle Lance nods thoughtfully, “to start with, Adrien, you are correct in that this is the longest standing dragoon academy. You're also correct that we teach our students dragon history—including the history of the dragoons—as well as teaching the language of the dragon. We also do teach regarding Hawkmoth and his shadow dragon army. However, that will be taught across multiple different subjects as it isn't quite as simple as it may currently seem to you.”

Adrien beams at having been mostly correct. “My father hoped I would be chosen to attend a dragoon academy so he made sure I was taught a general overview.”

“And that's more than most know to begin with, so well done.” Mlle Lance praises, before continuing. “However, Lila, here students do not pick their dragons. The process of meeting the dragon who will be raised and trained beside you, is not what most people think of when they first hear about dragoon human and dragon pairs meeting.”

Lila's lips twitch downwards in dissatisfaction and narrows her eyes slightly at Mlle Lance.

Before anything else can be said, Mlle Lance furrows her brows, “one moment students, a matter has just arisen that I need to quickly take care of.”

With that, she rises from the bench and strides out of the dining hall, shutting the door behind her as she exits.

As soon as the door shuts, Jason, with a concerned look on his face, gets up as well and walks the few steps over to Marinette's bench. Quietly, he asks, “Hey, you okay?”

Marinette swallows a breath of air thickly, and still visibly trembling, laughs nervously. “W-well I'm a little over-overwhelmed, I suppose… What with every—”

Only to slam her mouth shut as Lila wraps her arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close to her side.

“She's fine thank you,” Lila coos, “just not used to all the displays of wealth in the castle, here, isn't that right, Marinette.”

Marinette pales, eyes widening with panic and frantically nods her head. “Y-yep!”

Jason raises an eyebrow at Lila, unable to keep the slight sneer off his face as he turns ever so slightly to stare at her, “and you are?”

Lila perks up at his attention, flipping her hair back over her shoulder with one hand. “Didn't you hear Mlle Lance there, I'm Lila.” She smiles cloyingly at him and flutters her eyelashes. “I'm the daughter of a very important diplomat and one of my ancestors was an incredibly powerful Dragoon Guardian.”

Jason snorts, and rolls his eyes once more. “Right. Whatever.” He turns his attention back to Marinette and gives her a sharp nod. “What shit has the rich brat got hanging over your head?”

It clearly takes all of Lila's self-control to not immediately switch from her faux sweetness to fury. Her smile turns wooden and her gaze sharpens at Jason. “Excuse me?”

“You're excused,” Jason responds smugly.

“W-what do you mean?” Marinette asks, struggling to process the conversation after the slight cannonball that Jason just casually asked her.

He tilts his head at her, not unlike a bird. “She looks, sounds, and acts exactly like the kinda rich bastards that hold shit above kids who aren't rich, and you're clearly fucking petrified of her. So is she blackmailing you or something?”

Marinette mouths yes at him whilst shaking her head.

Jason raises an eyebrow at her for a second before shrugging with one shoulder, “alright.” He turns on his heel and heads back to his table and bench where his trencher of stew is waiting.

Lila gapes at him.

Adrien rises from his seat and stares at Jason, flabbergasted. “Aren't you going to apologise to Lila, now? You were wrong.”

Lifting his chin, Jason gives Adrien an unimpressed look then flips the bird at him. A few seconds pass before he shrugs and makes a non-committal noise of disinterest, then he starts spooning stew into his mouth.

Lila huffs and scowls at Jason. She turns to glare at Marinette, faux concern practically dripping from her words despite the evident fury on her face. “You should avoid him from now on, wouldn't want the teachers to think you're a delinquent and get kicked out before you even get to meet your dragon.”

Marinette nods slowly and keeps her attention very carefully on her food.

Her patience is rewarded as a few dozen seconds later, Lila loses interest in her and starts eating her trencher of stew whilst starting a new conversation with just Adrien.

Taking her chances, Marinette sneaks a glance up at Jason with a small smile on her lips.

To her surprise, he also happens to be looking over at her. He flashes her a cheeky grin, winks, before going back to eating.

Maybe, she muses to herself as her grin turns giddy, I was wrong about the academy not being my fresh start. Because this definitely feels like a fresh start now, it almost feels like I'm in a fairytale.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| The dragon riders are called Dragoons in reference to the mounted cavalry called Dragoons who used guns/firearms known as Dragons hence the name. And so I decided it only makes sense for these dragon riders to also be called Dragoons. Armée volante means flying army and was what the historical dragoons were sometimes known as, because of how mobile they were. |

| Ichneumon, also known as Echinemon in Medieval Zoology are enemies of dragons (and snakes and crocodiles in some accounts) and defeated them by covering themselves in armour made from mud before attacking. They are also one the only creatures (the other being weasels) that are immune to the Cockatrices' petrifying sight. |

| Fun fact: Trenchers are flat round (often stale) bread "plates" used during the medieval era. They are cut in half and sometimes the fluffy bread innards are scooped out (like pumpkins) so that the loaf's crust forms a bowl instead. Usually the bowls are used to hold stews or soups, though they were also used for non-liquid based food (which is why they later evolved into our modern day plates and cheese boards). |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

#Maribat #MLB x DC #DC x MLB #Jasonette #Jasonette July #Jasonette July 2021 #JasonetteJuly2021 #JasMari #MariJay #Marinette x Jason #Jason x Marinette #Jasonette July Week 1 #Jasonette July Day 5 #Jasonette July Fairytales #Stitch Your Ragged Wings and Hope to Soar #SYRWaHtS #Sham's Posts #Sham's Writing #Sham's Fics

[words-in-the-wind]

Chapter 2 - The One in which Techno and Phil bond over murder

Word Count: 2,735

Previous: Chapter 1

The forest was peaceful, for the moment at least. No harmful beasts had crossed Phil’s path in at least a week, and he was growing steadily more suspicious. Typically he’d find a gathering of gnolls, a group of goblins, a cult of kobolds, something. And yet, his journey through this particular forest was completely calm. Kristen floated next to him, seemingly relaxed, but her eyes were ever watchful. The spirits of Phil’s lantern were bolstered by the quiet, darting in and out to play amongst the leaves and bushes. Suddenly. Sharply. A high pitched scream rent through the air, the sound of sheer terror startling the birds into the air. Phil’s eyes went wide and he darted through the underbrush, strangely graceful despite his large stature and wingspan. Crashing through the last bit of bush, he swings the lantern staff just in time to block the downward slash of a badly damaged sword, swung by a hooded figure, in a dark purple robe that just barely brushed the dirt. The person on the ground, a older human, in his late 70s, Phil would guess, backed away slowly, and Phil stepped forwards to face the cultist properly. So, this was probably why the forest was peaceful of beasts. Some cult had yoinked it for their own needs. Phil planted the lantern bearing staff upright in the ground, shifted his weight lower, and drew a long hunting knife from his belt, readying for combat. The figure attempted a slice with the sword, but Phil slid to the side easily before lunging forward and catching the figure by the throat. The sword dropped from their hand in shock and he pressed the advantage to take the figure to the ground. “Where’s the rest of your little cult, hmm?” He was practically on top of the cultist now, knife to their throat. “Just-just a little ways in. Please don’t kill me!”

“If you’re helpful, I’ll consider letting you go.” “I’m! I’m just one of the townsfolk! They kidnapped me, forced me to help them with their rituals and stuff!” The figure on the ground begins to tremble and he reluctantly lets them up. The cultist brushes off the robes and lowers the hood, revealing a young man, only 20 years old or so. “Jamie?” The old man on the ground croaks out, a hand reaching up. “Huh? Oh! I’m so sorry Mr. O’Clancy, they told me to find you specifically.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised, they’re a bunch of knowledge-hoarders, if I’m not mistaken.” The man gestures at the robes that Jamie is wearing?”
“Really now? Would you happen to know a bit about this cult?”
“I’ve read about it. Its the Cult of Hemora, a demon lord of knowledge. The lord craves it, and grants boons to those who gift him with books or other forms of it. That’s his symbol, there.” The man points to three eyes embroidered on the robe, each making up one side of a triangle. “Thank you, I’ll be going to clear them out. You’ll be fine then, you two?”
“Yes, yes. And thank you for going to take care of them. People’ve been going missing for a few weeks now.” Jamie leads the old man off, towards what Phil presumes to be the town. “I sure hope you don’t plan on going in there alone.” Kristen appears again once they’re safely out of earshot, settling back down next to Phil. “Who’m I supposed to call then?” Kristen gave him a side eyed deadpan, she was good at those. “Techno?” Phil groaned, realizing that yes, as usual, his wife was right. “Fine.” He drew out the last bit of the word in frustration, looking around in his pockets for a bit of paper and pen. He finds one. And the ink is a gem like emerald, like the real one Techno had given him before they’d parted again. One of his children -his spirits- darted up eagerly. He chuckled, “You were always fond of Techno, weren’t you.” And gives the paper, now folded into the shape of a swan, to the spirit. It settles in nicely, like they do most of the time, and the swan comes to life, floating away over the treetops. Phil decides to camp nearby, to keep an eye on the cave system the cultists had repurposed and to wait for the response.

-x-

TechnoBlade is, as usual, coated in the blood of his enemies at the moment when the bird-spirit arrives. He waves it off at first, believing it to be just a regular bird or something that had gotten brave. Phil Phil needs help Go to Phil The chorus in his head take a break from the constant chanting of blood, to bring his attention back to the bird. Techno grumbles, but retreats off the battlefield to let the small bit of paper perch on his hand, unfolding it smoothly. The blood covering him slowly disappears, apparently into thin air, as the constant crowd of previous contractors to his patron suck it away, taking power from the life-force within. “So Phil needs help, huh? Guess I know where I’m going now.” Without hesitation, he allows the spirit that had brought the message to perch in his crown, giving it a message to send back, through that weird link they all had with Phil’s spirit wife. “I’ll be there in a few days. Probably.” He goes off to find the general of whatever army he’s been commissioned to fight in this time, handing over a portion of the gold he’d been paid, and leaves. It doesn’t take him long to travel to the location Phil had specified in his letter, being a living map after all. He doesn’t listen to the voices that gently mock the thought Four days after the spirit arrived to Techno, he finds Phil, with his little shelter in the woods. “Techno! It’s good to see you again mate.” Phil’s voice shows the other man is clearly overjoyed to see him, an unfamiliar feeling for Techno. “Phil. Hallo.” “C’mon in. Its not much, but its shelter, I guess.” Phil gestures to the small lean-to that Techno’s just now noticing. 
He grunts, ducking into the space. The natural curve of the rock it’s against allows a nice smoke-hole, keeping the air inside the shelter clean. “So, what’s the plan?”
“Well, apparently what’s down there is some cult to a knowledge hoarding demon lord called Hemora. So we go down there, fuck shit up, and come out victorious.”
Techno cracked a grin, “Just like old times?”
“Exactly. We’ll go down in the morning.”
“Sounds good to me.” Techno nodded, he’d worked with less before.

-x-

The next morning, some god had decided to pour the entire ocean onto their heads, or so it appeared. Phil grumbled as he peered outside the shelter, the rain pelting down outside. “Fuckin’ hell it’s really coming down out there.” He eyed the raindrops, knowing that it was going to soak him to the bone. Techno grunted from where he was sat, sharpening the edge of a backup knife. “Yea, it doesn’t look fun out there.” “We gotta go though, shouldn’t leave the cultists there for long, who knows what shit they could get up to.” “Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’.” Techno levers himself up, one hand gripping his trident. The entrance of the mineshaft was a few hundred meters away, which felt like far longer in the pouring rain. The moment Techno and Phil ducked under the shelter of the mine, Phil flicked his wrist, casting prestidigitation to dry them off. “Thanks.” Techno still shook himself slightly, out of habit more than anything else. “No problem.” The mine was quite dark, but it took only a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. Techno took point, making sure to check for and disarm any traps along the way. There was one, a basic rope across the floor, which would send a log tumbling down at their heads. The rope was stepped over, undisturbed. Voices came from up ahead, distinctly human in nature, although the words were too quiet to make out. Techno lowers himself into a crouch, creeping along the walls until he was just next to the chamber. Phil followed him, wings tucked tight to his back. Techno held up four fingers and signaling that there were four people in the room, guarding another entrance. Phil plants his lantern at the entrance, not wanting the smaller spirits to get hurt in the fray. He nods and as one, the two enter the room, weapons at the ready. Techno is a whirl of motion as his trident slams into one of the left side guards, piercing through the thin leather armor under the cultist robes easily. The man dies with a gurgle, throat pierced by one of the prongs. The other three attempt to shout, but Phil is there with a Zone of Silence, prepared beforehand. The men can scream however loudly they like, but no sound exits the glimmering dome. Phil draws his sword, leaping forward to cut at the cultists on the right. The moment that the blood-red gem on Techno’s starts to glow, it shimmers and shifts into a short sword, much more suited to closer combat. In this time, the second of Phil’s cultists attempt to cast a spell, but is silenced by his sword before it can leave his hand. It’s over within moments, the advantage of surprise their ally. The two look at each other wordlessly, before going through the pockets of their foes. Coin and other trinkets are found, and tucked away into pouches to look at later. They dump the bodies in a corner, covering them with a tarp quickly. It wouldn’t keep someone from finding them for long, but it does hide them from a quick inspection of the room. Phil retrieves his lantern and they continue through the tunnels, which slope downward gently, until they come across a much larger cavern, hollowed out through clear use of magic. The walls are too smooth to be done by human hands, and the place is a perfect dome, the top obscured in shadow. Torches line the walls, casting the entire dome in flickering firelight, and in the center stands someone who appears to be the leader of the cult, dressed in black robes lined in golden thread, the hood pulled up over his head. “Tonight, dearest chosen, we summon the God himself!” Techno’s eyes widened, they had to interfere, and fast. Hemora wasn’t a generous god, not without plentiful sacrifice. The voices in his head rise to a crescendo, wanting a show grand enough to honor the Blood God. And a show the voices would get. He glances at Phil and sees the same steely determination in his eyes. This wouldn’t be an easy fight, not for a long shot, but his weapon’s almost good for another shift and the voices were on his side. Phil steps out first, sniping the leader down with an arrow to the shoulder, before stabbing the lantern deep into the earth and casting Pyrotechnics on the lantern nearest to the cultists. It explodes in a blast of flame, searing bright for a moment in time. The cultists scream, startled at the sudden flash of bright light, and at the sight of their leader fallen onto the altar. Techno sprung forward, stabbing one of the cultists before his blade flashes and changes, lengthening into a bastard sword quickly. His other hand lashes out, catching another with a blast of eldritch energy, sending the figure to the ground in a heap, he doesn’t get up. Phil draws his bow again, an arrow appearing on the string as soon as its drawn back. He stays to the back of the cavern, picking off cultists with quick shots instead of engaging in closer combat. When the cultists finally regather themselves, they attempt to launch a counter attack, focusing on the intimidating red-skinned figure in their midst. Spells shoot toward Techno, but a golden shield springs into a place, and Techno offers up a quick thanks to the voices for the help. They chime back cheerfully, and the fight continues. He loses track of time, the only thing he’s keeping track of is the blood spilled on dirt floor, turning it into mud, and the blood that coats his body, sucked up by the spirits almost as fast as he can spill it. In his haze, he doesn’t even realize the last of the cult has fallen until he’s stood in the middle of a field of bodies, breathing heavily. The leader is still alive, leaning against the altar for support. “Fool!” The man’s reedy voice pierces through the chamber and Techno’s head whips up, red eyes gleaming. “You Fool! The blood you’ve spilled here today gives rise to the all-knowing. Hemora, I beseech you!” The dagger in the leader’s hand comes down, piercing into an eye like gem sitting on the alter like butter. The gem splits straight down the middle with a loud crack and A wave of what can only be described as sheer power rolled over them. Techno grit his teeth, plunging the sword into the dirt in an attempt to stay grounded. The voices quieted, and roared right back when the wave passed, louder than they’d ever been. Suddenly, they went completely silent, as a sickly greenish light shone from the altar. “Who summoned me?” An oily voice emitted from the light, and a figure emerged. Although it was humanoid, it looked fuzzy around the edges, like it didn’t quite fit in the skin. All the hair on the back of Techno’s neck rose, and he was far more alert than before. Techno wasn’t sure what to make of this god or demon or whatever it was, but he’d never heard the voices go silent of their own volition, and that was worrying. “Fuck.” He heard Phil mutter from where the Aarakocra was pressed against the wall, as if the ranger could disappear through sheer will. Fully black eyes fixed themselves on the half-orc’s form, as the most prominent figure in the room. “What have we here, hmm?” The god, Hemora, clearly, saunters forward, and Techno freezes as two fingers are placed under his chin. He’s not too magically inclined, knowing only what his patron imparts, but even he could sense the sheer magic running through the god. The god’s physical form is shorter than Techno’s, but that didn’t make him any less intimidating. “How intriguing. I can tell, you are just full of esoteric knowledge, aren’t you.” The god drawls, tracing a thumb down Techno’s jaw. He bit down on a sarcastic reply, instead starting to think very very hard. Heeeh Anyone listening? Help? He prays, still frozen in place. “Cat got your tongue?” The god hums, a low threatening note that promises nothing good. A low rumble sounds through the chamber and a familiar heat rises behind Techno. He watches as Hemora’s eyes widen, feels the god let go of his chin. Techno shakes himself, just a little, and backs off to watch the confrontation play out. He doesn’t have a death wish, and standing between two gods is not great for his health. He pulls at Phil, gesturing for them both to leave before the two get into an actual fight. The escape couldn’t really be described as stealthy, but given how the air in the cavern was somehow getting hot and cold at the same time, how everything felt strangely heavy, and how a pool of dread was slowly growing behind Techno’s ribs, they were completely undetected. The moment they cleared the mine entrance, a loud crack sounded from inside, and the entrance to the place collapsed. “Well I’m glad we weren’t in there when that came down.” Phil glanced back at the pile of dirt, rock and lumber, before setting off in a direction, “C’mon Techno, we’ve got a town to inform that the cultists are gone.” Techno allowed himself a moment to try and communicate with the voices again, prodding at where that bond normally was active. At his disturbance, the voices roared back in full force, expressing concern and shock at the events.  He held back a chuckle, and patted them metaphorically on the head, everything was fine.

Next: Chapter 3

#dream smp #technoblade #philza #dnd au chapter 2 #fanfiction #mcyt #dsmp

[emsartwork]

Oh, could you tell us about specific festivities or holidays each planet has? Like, are they significant to events or locations, are they based on legends or mythos, that kinda stuff!

They’re based on all kinds of things! 

below the cut this is hella long

Starting with the basics, Day of the Rose is a reference to a famous lady magic user(Lesya) who focused on caring for outcasts in society, she used a mix of Fairy transformations and Witch style magic but her title is Mage of Roses. When she died, thousands of people placed roses over her grave, and started giving roses to women who were similar to Lesya and the flower itself became a symbol of honor and respect for compassionate and inspiring women.  It originated on Magix but is celebrated Dimension wide. Mothers are the most common recipients of roses, but anybody can give a rose to any woman they want to show appreciation for.  Magix city has a large parade with floats and dancers and street food and carnival games, other parades vary.

Hala, or, The Storm Celebrations. Andros has a a lot of rain in general, but early spring is monsoon season, boats don’t go out and people stay inside unless absolutely necessary. Hala is both a celebration of the rainy season which brings life afterwards, and a ceremony that is supposed to ease the potential damage from the storms. Always held on a full moon, Hala is celebrated with feasts, traditional/ceremonial dances, and large bonfires in the evening(with more dancing and food). Hala also includes a commemoration of Queen Nephele, who protected the capital city from a record breaking storm for more than a week(she survived but had lasting health complications due to over use of magic). Aisha is pictured here in Hala ceremonial dance wear, featuring a headdress, braided cords, shells, and fan leaves. 

The most practical of Holidays, Zenith “celebrates” the end of winter with a few days off and a relieving breath of fresh air. Zenith technology keeps the most bitter cold out of communities, but the difference in air temperature can lead to the snow melting and re-freezing at the boundary. Eventually this leads to a build up of packed ice creating a “zenith snow globe” as its jokingly called. Once the temperatures rise enough that the dome won’t reform, the dome is shattered and the ice packed up and shipped out for various purposes. The shattering of the ice dome is considered especially beautiful to off-planeters, but zenithians consider it a matter of necessity.   

Solaria has the Summer Center Festival, held twice a “year” when the planet is in the center of it’s orbit. It a huge, three day party, Solarians feast, dance, drink, and decorate themselves, their hair, and literally everything else with ribbons gemstones and glitter. Each day is supposed to represent one of Solaria’s suns, the Dawn Star, the Dusk Star, and the Second Sun of Solaria(not a real sun, a magical power source), but much of the distinctions between each day have been lost as the festival has gotten older. Another holiday on Solaria is a much less popular one called Iahlayculi (ee-ah-lah-koo-lee, don’t ask its a mash up of like three words and languages) or the Night of Many Eyes. Its celebrated once a year, whenever the most moons will be around the planet (calculated with astronomy and physics and shit). It’s much more somber than The Summer Center Festival, and is considered a time of great self reflection and magical potential. Practitioners wear a loose draped dress, a wreath around their head, and craft a lunar lantern(usually magic but sometimes by hand). The wreathes are burned, and the lanterns released to the sky as offerings to the moons of Solaria. This celebration is a favorite of witches(especially Mediums and Psychics) but the general population views it as a little too occult. 

Firefest is held at the height of summer. There isn’t really a central location for the celebration, though the capital city is known for it’s fireworks display. Each community puts together it’s own local festivals featuring a large bonfire, large and small fireworks, and food/game booths. The Firefest honors the first king and queen of domino, Volenae(queen) and Zaphiric(king). They were also the first holders of the Dragon Flame and Phoenix Flame.  They aren’t a married couple but siblings, sharing a joint reign over Domino and eventually creating two bloodlines for the dragon and the phoenix to flow along. Volenae’s symbol is antler like horns, and Zaphiric’s symbol is a black feather, both of these feature prominently in folk art and Firefest masks.

Celebrated in late summer, The day of the Singing Whales is the one time a year the whales surface for a breath of air. It is unknown if the Whales are Natural Animals, Fairy Animals, or Ethereally Blessed beings. While the Whales only surface in one specific bay, music festivals are often held inland, and everybody participates in fireworks and festival type games after sunset.

The day of Returning is an odd holiday for non-Lynpheans. While Lynpheans are known for their nature preservation and association with living plants, the Day of Returning celebrated the ever present death in nature. Lynpheans are very familiar with death, and don’t view it as a “bad thing” most of the time. Untimely death or unwarented violence is frowned upon but Lynpheans understand that death follows life and life follows death. In fact in some Lynphean dialects, “death” is refered to as “returning” (ex: Old Uncle Bush returned peacefully in his sleep last may.)  Mushrooms are the central icon of “returning” being organisms that live off of death in a very tangible way. The Common Lynphean Green Cap is the most popular to use. The cap of Green Cap contains psychedelic substances that can very often result in death. However, the stalk of the Green Cap contains the anti toxins. When taken alone the cap results in severe hallucinations and eventual death. When the stalk is taken alone it clears the body of toxins and has pain relieving effect. When taken together the cap and the stalk produce a mild euphoria, sometimes with (usually auditory) hallucinations(basically its kinda like acid). On the Day of returning Local Temples/Sanctuaries open up the use of the mushrooms as a way to come in to hear the voice of nature and connect the spirit with the physical manifestation of death. These Mushrooms are easy to get addicted to, and are a controlled substance limited to ceremonial or pharmaceutical use, but possession isn’t criminalized and the Lynphean community is very involved with addiction recovery programs.

A Lady I’ve mentioned in passing a few times, Reagis the Cruel, Fairy of Lace. When the Anscestrals first started looking for the Dragon Flame, they placed a Fairy on the throne of Eraklyon as pawn, “blessing” her with their power and tying her core magic to the planet itself. Reagis is Eraklyan, and reigned with an iron fist. She had no empathy for basically anyone, but hated men especially(bad childhood and lots of trauma combined with a superiority complex and power equals big yikes), placing them lowest on the social status and promoting women like her above them. Compassion was a social sin, an act of kindness towards another could lead to public censure and imprisonment, and the people of Eraklyon started to abandon each other emotionally. Sky’s Grandfather and Grandmother, Oris and Edra(along with a young Erendor), resisted and became anonymous figures who helped people in trouble. Eventually they had enough of a following to hold a proper rebellion. Oris and Edra lead the charge and Edra(a warrior) fought with Reagis while Oris(a magic user) worked on disconnecting Regis from her power sources which revived her every time Edra did manage to land a blow. When Reagis was finally un-linked her magic core freaked tf out and Edra landed one final blow with her spear to make Reagis’s magic go completely berserk and burn her up. Edra unfortunately took too much damage and passed after that. Oris was crowned king, established New Earklyon Day, and ruled for a few years before also passing away (due to complication in his core magic because of the way he un-linked Reagis’s from the ancestrals and the planet), and Erendor took the throne. New Eraklyon Day is celebrated with a parade in the capital city and is a national holiday(ie, day off work). Street fairs along the parade route are also common. Reagis’s reign is partially why women aren’t trusted in positions of power or the emotional realm of decision making, and are instead usually pushed towards physical fighting and enforcement.

Vaonaa celebrates the Festival of Threads! The festival is to honor the Ethereal Fairy known as The Threaded One. The Threaded One is unusual for Ethereal Fairies, in that they have regular, benign, interactions with a specific people at a specific time in a specific place (ethereals are usually much more unpredictable). But for whatever reason, The Threaded One seems to enjoy the Festival of Threads. The Festival is centrally located at the Woven Temple, but smaller scale local festivals are also common. The event happens over four days, with a different activity and group each day. The first day the grass fibers are gathered by the youths in the community, this is preformed as a game with kids leading lines with a flag and running/ducking in a pattern across fields to grab the grasses. The second day the adults preform the spinning dance, rotating and using drop spindles to spin the grass fibers into threads. The third day is when the elders groups together and weave the story of the year into the textile in a mix of group chants and oral poetry. The fourth day is for everybody, and the fabric created for the ceremony is burned in a hug bonfire as a sacrifice to The Threaded One. The bonfire is usually when The Threaded One publicly appears but some years they appear periodically through the other four days.

(psa: Vaonaa is very heavily based on Navajo native american culture, I very loosely based this festival on some of the four/nine day healing ceremonies, but ultimately I didn’t want it to just be a weirder version of a religious and culturally significant ceremony so I changed and added a lot. As always, please let me know if you have issues with this im always willing to listen and learn.)

Another practical society, Zhen’s featured festival is the Spring Shear. Just as winter is ending, local communities on Zhen start a flurry of activity. The domestic herds of Argali are sheared, and the wild herds are searched out and counted, hunted, selected for domestication, or moved to a different location. While Argalis do produce a wool like substance, they do not absolutely need to be sheared the way our sheep do. Their wool is shed or scrapped off by the sheep naturally, and it comes off in fluffy chunks, but the Zhen people find it useful and easier to shear their herds for a clean fleece. The fleeces are carded, spun, and wound onto spools in huge huge amounts, a lot of weaving is done at this time as well but its not the main focus. After the majority of the work is done, Zhenese relax and eat/drink/play in a fair like environment, usually held in market squares of estate courtyards. 

On Koyu, the Koyuvian Silk Moths are an iconic animal. Uniquely adapted to it’s environment, the Koyuvian Silk Moths are one of the only creature to live in the outer reaches of the Tangles, feeding off the radiation and burrowing into the living fungal limbs. However, the pupal stage is too fragile to survive the outer Tangles, so the moths travel inward to lay their eggs. The caterpillars eat a the leaves of a luminescent plant called Naemtaj, and eventually produce a silk strand cocoon and transform into the moth. After the moth wiggles out of the cocoon, they’re wings begin to glow and they begin to flock together to travel to the outer Tangles. This is the signal for the Koyvians to begin hunting for the cocoons when begin to give off a faint glow as they deteriorate with out the moth’s body chemicals to keep it intact. The Koyuvians must move fast and usually have several locations in an area with a boiling pot to stabilize the strands as they hunt for the cocoons. Eventually the searching dies down and the silk strands are brushed and wound onto spools for future use. The anticipation before the moths are born is buzzing with energy and bets are placed on who can find the most cocoons. After the work, the Koyuvians relax with food and drink. 

#winx #winx club #winxems #winx bloom #winx stella #winx aisha #winx layla #winx musa #winx tecna #winx sky #domino #solaria #sparx #melody #andros #linphea #lynphea #magix #zenith #eraklyon #vaonaa #koyu #zhen #holidays #askems #drops-of-moonlights #world building #enchantix #reagis #oris

[sp00kworm]

April Rain (Chapter 3)

Ch 1       Ch 2        Ch 4

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN LINK

Pairing: Yagi Toshinori (All Might) x Female Reader

----

It was the next day when you remembered that you never told Yagi the name of the place you were meeting him at. The it took you another hour to realise that he’d tried to hide your meeting from his assistant, and that if you rang the normal line would reveal the little plan. With a great deal of anxiety, you looked to your phone for the fourth time that morning, washing tucked against your chest as you looked between it and the television. There was some odd hero reality show on. It was a generic plot line with all the random dramas of being a superstar included. You had it on for background noise. The screen of the smart phone stayed black as you looked at it. A shiver of shock rippled through you as the screen lit up with the jangly tune of your annoying ringtone. It was an unknown caller. You peered at it before leaping for the phone, snatching it from the pillow before taking a steadying breath and flicking the answer button across the screen.

“Hello? This is…” You were cut off by the sound of a loud bang and hurried breathing, the sounds of a crowd screaming ‘All Might’ over and over. They were chanting.

“Ah!” Yagi’s voice rang down the phone as he caught his breath, “Sorry for ringing you!” His voice stuttered over your name as the cheering grew quieter. His hand moved near the microphone.

 “Its alright, Yagi…Wait. How did you get my number?” You asked as the sound of his fans grew quieter and quieter in the background.

A tie slid from around his neck as he sat down in a chair, the material creaking under his great weight, “Well… I am friends with the chief of police…” He pressed the phone to his shoulder and clapped his hands together, “I’m sorry, but I remembered that I forgot to ask just…where the tea shop is?” He was embarrassed. You could hear the tone in his voice as he picked something up to play with in one hand. The end of the pen clicked under his thumb, “I only got your number just to ask you. I swear it!”

“It’s fine Yagi. A little but unorthodox, but ah, I was just about to try and get hold of your office…I forgot to tell you about the address and I just remembered as well, so, no harm done.”

The hero chuckled down the line, “Well, I guess we are both as forgetful as each other, no?”

“I suppose you could say that, yes.” You smiled before continuing, “Its in the Meguro district closer to the residential area.” You gave him the address and you heard him scribble it down on a piece of paper, “Do you want me to send it to this number too? Just in case?”

“Yes, please.” He tucked the paper into his suit jacket, the paper scrapping against the silk before he sighed.

“Busy day?” You asked with a soft laugh, tucking the phone against your shoulder as you collected your clothes again and moved to go and put them away.

All Might hummed, “I did not expect a television company to let hoards of fans near the interview set.” He confessed, “Don’t get me wrong! I love my fans but…”

“But sometimes you like a bit of privacy?” You added as you opened your drawer with your cast arm’s fingers. The healing was coming along nicely.

“Exactly that.” He confessed before stretching, “I’ll let you go…But ah, feel free to save this number. It’s my private number…so you won’t have to fear Joan on the other end.” He joked, chuckling down the receiver.

You felt your cheeks go warm, “You can save mine too, methods of how it was obtained aside.” You teased as you closed your drawers.

“I promise it was simply to…”

“Calm down, Toshi, I was just teasing. I’ll let you get back to work, Mister All Might.” The phone was hot in your hand as you took it from your shoulder, “I’ll see you Saturday, Yagi.”

“See you then.” Yagi replied softly before the line went dead.

 The silence was heavy against your ear. You took the phone away from your ear and looked at the blank screen for a moment before smiling and going back to your chores. He was adorable, and now you had his private number. You opened your phone and saved the number as Yagi with a small sunflower. It suited him, you thought as you moved back into the kitchen to think about fixing yourself some lunch.

 The scheduled day came a lot quicker than you thought it would. It seemed to pass quickly between your hand exercises and binge watching of the very bad hero reality show. That morning you were say lamenting the wardrobe options you had down the phone to a long time friend. They only laughed at you and your frustration.

“Its not like it’s a date!” They exclaimed.

You deflated against the sheets, playing with a pulled thread of cotton, “Well...I guess not. But I still want to impress!”

“Who is this guy anyway? He’s sure got you worked up!”

Your mouth went dry before you managed to lace together a response, “Just a guy I met in the park one time. He asked me about the fountain...” It was almost painfully obvious.

“That’s cute! Hey if it goes well you should invite him out drinking with us...”

“I don’t think that’s his sort of thing. He’s really busy too.” You chuckled before turning the conversation, “Anyway, I have to get ready! Talk to you later. Yep. Bye!”

 You hid your face in your hands, looking at the casual shirt and jeans. It would do and a small part of you hoped that All Might would like it too. Hopefully he wouldn’t turn up in anything too fancy.

 The train ride over to the Meguro district wasn’t too long, nor was the small walk from the station around into the older areas, set a little way back from the river. The area was set with rows of houses and a couple of stores. The tea shop was set back between them, the shop a converted small home from some years ago. The sign was hand painted over the door and you smiled as it came into view. The lady must have had her son repaint it recently. The white paint was fresh and not curling on the edges, like it was when you last came. It appeared better off now. You smiled and tugged st the bottom of your jacket as you came to the front of the picket fence around the front garden. The water fountain trickled softly as you peered around, looking for All Might's unmistakable, hulking frame. He wasn’t anywhere in sight. You checked your phone. No texts or calls. Still, you were five minutes early. You leaned against the fence and chewed your lip, wondering if it would be rude to call him and check you were still on.

 You finger itched over the symbol. Pushing it you held the phone to your ear. A sharp, annoying ring tone sounded with the first ring. You jumped and whipped around to peer down the small alley next to the tea shop. The very dumb ring tone screeched from inside the alley followed by a soft curse before a large hand held a phone just around the brick wall before disappearing into a blue hood.

“Hello?”

“Yagi are you hidden behind a wall right now?” You asked with a smirk, watching the man jump in the alley as Yagi peered around the brick, blue eyes narrowed, and eyebrows furrowed.

“I might be.” He confessed, his face devolving into a look of embarrassment.

“Look by the fence, you dork.” You laughed and hung up as his eyes caught sight of you. He pushed his phone into his pocket before walking out from the alleyway, huge form disguised in civilian clothing.

 The bright blue sweater was printed with a white lettering, the love heart large and read, and you snickered at the lovely New York souvenir as he tucked his huge hands inside the pocket and pushed his flying bangs of hair back into the hood. He was dressed in a crisp pair of jeans and sneakers. It was an off look for the hero you were so used to seeing flying around with a cape and skintight looking spandex. He smiled as you laughed at him.

“I know, but I couldn’t show up in my costume, could I?!” Yagi sighed as his hair pinged out of the top of the hood again, his hand coming back up to smooth it away.

“I’m not poking fun, I promise.” You laughed again as you moved away from him to open the gate that lead to the tiny tea shop, “I never thought if you’d be able to fit through the door!” You teased again, watching Yagi turn a soft shade of pink.

“I’m sure I can manage...so long as they have some large seats.”

 The tiny bell over the door rang as you both entered the shop. All Might stop to enter, his frame filling the doorway as he walked in behind you, hair popping out of the top of his hood once more. He reached to flatten them as the lady who ran the tea shop turned from her little TV screen to look at who had entered. She moved her glasses on her face and hummed, bowing her head before standing up to greet you.

“Welcome. Please, sit...Ah. Perhaps the large quirk table?” She uttered before beckoning the both of you to follow. Yagi raised an eyebrow, smiling as he tucked his hair away again. You followed her to the back area, set in a high ceiling conservatory, filled with furniture more suited to individuals with large and burdening quirks.

The hero peered around before frowning, “I did not expect chairs...”

The owner was old, but her hearing was good, “I prefer not to clean the floor constantly from spilt tea. I have a number of clients as large as you who would leave my floors a mess if I used Chabudai, young man.” She laughed before patting the large chair, pulling it out for him as you seated yourself with a teasing smile, “Now. What would you both like?” The woman tucked her hands into her apron pocket to collect a little order notebook.

 “What do you suggest for relaxing?” You asked, sitting back as you took off your small jacket, “I think we both need something to help us unwind a little. Its been a stressful week or so.” You flexed your arm and wiggled the fingers of your recently freed arm.

She looked to Toshinori, “I agree with her. What do you suggest, Miss.”

Thoughtfully she tapped her pencil on the page before nodding to herself, “Lavender and Chamomile. A green tea could be good just for a sense of normality, but I would suggest Chamomile if you need the relaxant?”

“That sounds lovely, thank you.” Yagi nodded and watched the woman scuttle away with a confused face.

 “Does she not recognise me?” He looked stressed by the fact, hiding his hair in his hood as he watched the woman disappear to the stove and backroom.

You shrugged, “Maybe she’s just being polite? I’m pretty sure you’re unmistakable, which is why I’m glad no one is here to…uh…disturb us?” Finger quote motions made Yagi chuckle. Reluctantly, he reached up to pull down his hood, his blond, gravity defying bangs popping free like springs to wave over the top of his head.

“Disturb us?” He joked before settling into his own chair, “I hope she doesn’t ring someone.” He chewed his cheek before sighing, “Let’s not think about that!” A bright smile curled on his lips, remind you of the sunshine and bright sunflowers you thought of last time, “I see that your arm isn’t in a cast anymore.”

You nodded, rubbing at the arm gently with the thought, “The healing quirk really sped things up. There’s a lot of repair still. I have some exercises to do to strengthen the muscles again, but all being well I can get back to work soon enough!”

All Might laughed, a bright noise, genuine and loud, “I’m glad! Hopefully you can get back to normal, even after everything that has happened?”

 It was a little bit of a sore subject and you felt your face tighten, “Hopefully. It…was a lot to process I think.” You tried to smile back at him. A warm hand reached over the table, All Might’s giant form stooping as he held out a palm for you.

“You can talk to me about it, if it helps?” He offered gently.

You gave him a smile, “Thank you, honestly, but I’ll be okay. I still have the number for the therapist.” He relented with the promise, and left you alone for now, taking his hand back slowly. You took it and squeezed the rough palm, “But thank you for worrying. It means a lot, especially coming from you.”

Yagi felt his face go a little hot, “I told you, I’m just doing my job.”

“Sure.” You drew out the syllables, “Just doing your job, huh? By having tea with me secretly?”

The hero spluttered over the other end of the table which only made you laugh at his expense.

“It’s a friendly outing!” He insisted, tugging at the ties of his hood.

“Whatever lets you sleep at night, All Might.” The teasing was about to be rebuked until the owner pottered back into the conservatory, tray in hand with scalding tea on top of it.

 Yagi coughed behind his fist his ears burning red with an embarrassed blush as the old lady placed the large tea pot onto the table. The cups were painted with cherry blossoms. You watched as she moved to pour the tea into the two cups, hands sturdy despite her frail age. After pouring them, she bowed her head and left, winking conspiratorially as she left the two of you to your own devices in the back. Her television sounded again in the front as she settled back in to wait for other customers. All Might shifted in his seat, the chair groaning underneath his muscled weight as he reached for his tea and took a sip of the burning hot liquid. His face scrunched up with the hot liquid in his mouth, his lips bright red as he realised his mistake.

“It’s still too hot, Yagi.” You teased.

The hero put his hands over his mouth, “I realise.” He mumbled through his fingers, “Now that I have scalded my tongue.”

“Aw does it hurt.” You cooed over the tea, standing up to walk around the table and look at Yagi’s burned lips. The skin on his bottom lip was raw and red, “It looks pretty bad.” You muttered, dragging your seat over to his side.

“It is fine, honestly, I have dealt with far, far worse.” Yagi flinched away from your fingers.

 “Yagi.” You pinched his chin, holding him still, stopping his protesting. The man’s cheeks turned as red as his ears, “Hold still, okay?”

“This is entirely unnecessary.” Yagi mumbled as you held up your hand. His blue eyes went wide as you turned your fingers into water. They wiggled in front of his eyes, the water dripping and reforming in the shape of fingers before you placed them against his scalded skin. The cold water made him jump, his lips parting only to realise he would end up with a mouthful of your fingers. The pro-hero held still, watching you ease the pain in his lips with a gentle press.

“It won’t heal it, but it’ll take the pain away.” You promised softly as you held Yagi’s chin in your other hand. His cheeks twitched, his hand coming up to touch your arm. You took away your fingers and smiled.

“Thank you. It’s fine now, I promise.” He grinned with white teeth, taking your hands in his own, looking at your watery fingers, “Your quirk is amazing. I hope you know that.” The man took hold of his tea once more, “But be careful about using it…The laws are not so kind in this country.”

 It was a warning, yet you smiled, “I’m sure I wont get into trouble for cooling down our new favourite hero’s lips.”

“But in an emergency…” He babbled before sighing, “You should drink your tea.” He muttered, face still painted pink with embarrassment, “It’s delicious.”

You scooted your chair close enough to the table to reach your drink, taking a careful sip from the cooling tea before humming, “It is delicious.” You confirmed before smiling and laughing. Yagi sighed before joining in with his own great cascade of laughter.

“One day I will learn to think before I do things. Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it, Toshi.”

 Yagi felt his heart do flip flops for most of the time you both spent together. Sipping tea and just chatting normally with someone was so far from what he knew anymore. A person who invited him for lunch usually wanted to get in his pants or have him sign some form of advertisement contract. It was tiring yet he found himself refreshed talking to someone normal. You laughed at his terrible jokes and you talked about animals and pets. It was perfectly normal. Serene. The hero felt his stomach clench as his heart throbbed.

“I will pay.” Yagi pushed your hand with your wallet away, “It was only tea.” He smiled, blond hair waving over the top of his head as he pushed the money towards the old woman, “Keep the change. Thank you for the lovely tea.” He bowed at the waist as she took the payment.

“Thank you, young man.” She hummed as she placed the money away in her register, “Might I say you look an awful lot like that new hero. I bet it gets you all the ladies.” She cackled as Yagi’s jaw dropped.

“Ah, yes, of course. He is inspirational. I…uh…”

“A stunner, yes. Quite the looker I’ve caught myself.” You teased as Yagi spluttered over the counter.

 You parted ways with blushes that day. It wasn’t until you got home that your phone buzzed with a message, the small sunflower emoji making you smile as you opened his text message.

‘I think we should meet again next Saturday? If you would like to?’

You smiled as you sent him a reply.

‘I would love to.’

#all might x reader #yagi toshinori x reader #all might x female reader #yagi toshinori x female reader #all might #yagi toshinori #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #fanfiction #april rain #fanfic #toshinori yagi x reader #toshinori yagi x female reader #reader insert #my writing #female reader

[charliejrogers]

Blow the Man Down

Though I don’t do them often, I’m a big fan of movie double-headers. None more satisfying than a summer afternoon in 2018 when I walked out a theater’s showing of BlackKklansmen and then directly into the adjacent theater for Blindspotting (I paid for both tickets, I swear!). And it’s even better when the two films have some sort of thematic link like BlackKklansmen and Blindspotting… 2018’s Green Book and Overlord made for a much less satisfying pairing. This is al la lead-in to say that Blow the Man Down was actually part one of a female-dominated double-header alongside Yes, God, Yes which I previously reviewed. Both the products of women writer/directors (here the dual-team of Bridget Savage Cole & Danielle Krudy) with women being the primary characters… but that’s about where the similarities end.

The best way I can describe Blow the Man Down is that it has a bit of Fargo’s small-town crime vibe to it, but without as much dark humor. Set in fictional coastal seaport of Easter Cove, Maine in what looks like early winter/late fall, the film has a bleak, cloudy look to it, in a way really only New England can, not unlike 2017’s Manchester by the Sea. From the start, things are ominous. The film opens with what is essentially a Greek chorus of fisherman singing/chanting old Irish dirges, specifically the dirge “Blow the Man Down.” While I’ll be honest and say I didn’t listen carefully to the words of the song, it didn’t really feel like the slow chanting in low voices of gruff men would be telling the most upbeat of stories.

We then cut to a funeral reception for a woman who in dying is leaving behind her now-orphaned two daughters. The elder and more responsible of the two, Priscilla Connolly (Sophie Lowe), spends her time working the small seafood store her mother used to own. Though not explored deeply, we get a sense of opportunity lost in Priscilla. She never got to leave town fully, needing instead to take care of her ailing mother and keep up business at the shop. In some senses she knows she is trapped in this small town with no other options or money to make a new path. She’s not even sure there’s enough money left to hold onto their mother’s home.

On the other hand is Mary Beth Connolly (Morgan Saylor), who is more reckless than Priscilla, or more accurately she is less mature. After her mother’s funeral Mary Beth jumps into a car and heads to a local bar where, despite the fact that she may or may not be of the legal drinking age, is clearly welcomed as a regular. Mary Beth dreams of getting out of the small coastal town, and has her eyes set on college as soon as she can get out.

The funeral reception is largely uneventful, but throughout much of it, the soundtrack plays loud dissonant music not so much fitting for a funeral reception but for horror film. We the audience are left confused. Combined with the opening dirge, the soundtrack seems to be preparing us for the type of movie that, as of yet, we are not seeing.

That changes when Mary Beth meets a slimy stranger at the bar, an short-lived tryst that ends with the stranger chopped up, put in a cooler, and set to sea. Much to our surprise, the blood lies not just on Mary Beth’s hands, but on Priscilla’s as well. There’s a great “quote” of Lady Macbeth as Priscilla tries furiously to scrub every last spot of blood out of her hands.

It’s only when the sun rises the morning after the Connollys late-night escapades that the film really seems to begin. Where I was expecting this to be a movie about the Connolly’s dealing with their guilt, by and large we don’t get a sense that they feel all too guilty – more shocked. So while there is a subplot about a young, handsome policeman who is ironically on the lookout for the exact person he seems to have the hots for, I at least didn’t sense any tension in this regard. The real conflict involves looking at the other residents of the not-so-sleepy Easter Cove, or more specifically at the women of Easter Cove.

Gradually throughout the film we get the sense that there’s this group of older women (including one played by June Squibb!!) who acts as pseudo-protectors of the town. They, like all proverbial old fish-wives, know just about everything that goes on in town. So when the police begin their investigations into the death of a local prostitute, these women guardians know who’s to blame far before the police. The one to blame is Enid, a one-time friend of the old-lady club and now sole-operator of the only brothel in town, who seems to have been most close with the Connolly’s mother. Now with Mrs. Connolly gone, the old lady club engages in an all-out war with Enid. As the prostitute’s killing is intimately related to the man whom the Connolly’s have disposed, the old lady club is another group hot on the sisters’ heels in discovering the truth.

As I said, the story of the Connolly’s sort of takes a backseat as the film progresses and begins to focus more on the Old Lady Club and Enid, and I wish the movie hadn’t taken this turn. I would have loved to sit more with the Connollys and their guilt, with that all-too-human instinct to pile lies upon lies that make a genuine misunderstanding into a clusterfuck. Basically I wanted to see a re-do of season 2 of Fargo. Instead, we see the sisters, in very crude terms, have to choose to either join the dark side or join the light side… in the end they join the gray side which I suppose is more artistic, realistic, and satisfying.

Still despite the dark plot, the inter-weaving story threads, the wonderful cinematography, recurring chorus of fishermen singers etc., I couldn’t help but feel like I wasn’t really invested in the story. I don’t know, other than the initial encounter between Mary Beth and the slimy man, I never felt like the characters were really ever in danger. There was very little tension throughout the movie. It doesn’t help that I didn’t think that neither Sophie Lowe as Priscilla nor Morgan Saylor as Mary Beth give a particularly strong performances, though Saylor does a better job, but that may be she just has more to do. So it’s a solid plot with an interesting ending twist, it still feels like this could have been a better movie than it ended up being. If I’m sounding harsher than I should it’s because I wanted this to be a fantastic movie, but I will still happily settle for the good movie I got.

*** (Three out of four stars)

#blow the man down #morgan saylor #sophie lowe #june squibb

[rougepetale]

I’m glad you came (Prologue) (SITS)

Fandom: Scandal in the Spotlight (Voltage love 365) Pairing: None.... yet (but multiple)  Warning: None.... yet Note: this is for @iluvsexyvoltageguys​ This is just the prologue so nice and SFW right now This will be a mini series of smut

The link had only be live for a minute when it had been bought up. The VIP+ experience.

You couldn’t believe that you were able to buy it. When it had the Terms and Conditions popped up it had become real. You had just spent an entire two months’ paycheck on this. Yet here you were, scrolling through the ten page document.

Nobody actually read those things anyway. You had signed your name on the dotted line and clicked ‘Accept’.

The concert was only a week away, you had to find the perfect clothing to wear to the concert. You were going to meet the entire band! You couldn’t wear your regular old clothes. And as much as you wanted to wear your fan shirt, your favorite fan shirt you didn’t want to come across as uncool to them. You had picked out a short dress that hugged your curves.

You had already scheduled your bikini wax and eye brows threaded. You wanted no hair out of place, and everything perfect. You didn’t know what this VIP event would lead to, best to be ready for anything.

The night of the concert you were so incredibly giddy! You were led to your seat by body guards. There were no other seats beside you, it almost felt like you were a princess. You could hear the chatter around you of excited fans of all ages and genders. You could even hear some whispers about you, who were you? Why were you by yourself? Were you a celebrity?

The lights dimmed and a hush fell over the crowd. The silence didn’t last long until the crowd began to chant “Rev-ance! Rev-ance!” You got caught up in the chanting and found your voice adding to the growing fervor.

The sun goes down

The stars come out

And all that counts

Is here and now

My universe will never be the same

I'm glad you came

 The lyrics rang out and the stage lights immediately lit up. The crowd went wild as they saw the men on stage.

They were wearing their trademark white uniforms as they started the song.

 You cast a spell on me, spell on me

You hit me like the sky fell on me, fell on me

And I decided you look well on me, well on me

So let's go somewhere no-one else can see, you and me

 You had jumped onto your feet and sang your heart away with them. It was by far one of your favorite songs. Your hands pumped along with the upbeat song and your body bounced with the beat. You were enjoying yourself that you failed to notice five pairs of eyes had watched you. They wanted to know who the lucky person was.

  Turn the lights out now

Now I'll take you by the hand

Hand you another drink

Drink it if you can

Can you spend a little time

Time is slipping away away from us so stay

Stay with me I can make

Make you glad you came

 The lights had turned down and lasers danced over the theater and you suddenly felt your hand being enveloped. You went to scream when you heard the sultry voice in your ear, “Easy there. Come with me” it was the familiar voice of Kyohei in your ear.

Your voice was caught in your throat as your legs followed obediently. You could feel yourself ascending stairs to what you assumed was the stage.  You followed Kyohei to the middle of the stage as you were immediately sat upon a chair.

The sun goes down

The stars come out

And all that counts

Is here and now

My universe will never be the same

I'm glad you came

I'm glad you came

  The light immediately came back on and you had to blink back against the brightness. On stage the five men were around you. They were but a few feet away as they sang and dance. You could see their smile, and their faces so clearly. All you had to do is reach out and touch them. Your hand obeyed your thoughts as they followed out to reach towards Kyohei. He had turned towards you and grabbed your out stretched hand. Pulling you from your sitting position to be pressed against his chest.

Your mind went blank. His voice was in your ear. His fingers caressed your chin before you were pulled from Kyohei. This time to Iori.

 You cast a spell on me, spell on me

You hit me like the sky fell on me, fell on me

And I decided you look well on me, well on me

So let's go somewhere no-one else can see, you and me

  His hand came to your waist then briefly came to your chest where his fingers ghosted over your breasts. You shivered and your knees nearly buckled. Was this part of the VIP+ experience? Your mind briefly wished it remembered anything about the contract. But the contact on your skin had your mind wandering elsewhere.

You made eye contact with Iori, his grey eyes looked so beautiful. No wonder he was named Prince Iori. His smile had butterflies in your stomach, he grabbed your hand with his own gloved ones and placed your hand over his chest where you could feel his heart beating wildly.

  Turn the lights out now

Now I'll take you by the hand

Hand you another drink

Drink it if you can

Can you spend a little time

Time is slipping away away from us so stay

Stay with me I can make

Make you glad you came

  Before you could fall too deeply for Iori you were pulled away from him to Nagito. His energy as you smiling from ear to ear. His own hands rubbed over your shoulder and stroked quickly over your ass. Sending tingles through your body.

He grabbed your hand and spun you away from him and back into his chest. He directed your body to dance like they were. Your body just a puppet being manipulated by the puppeteer.

  The sun goes down

The stars come out

And all that counts

Is here and now

My universe will never be the same

I'm glad you came

I'm glad you came

  You were passed off to Kota. His shy smile made you want to hug him on stage. His graceful movements made your own movements feel clunky and slow. He pulled you flush against his body and nuzzled into your neck for a second.

He had nipped softly at your neck and immediately you felt body jerking at the sensation, his tongue snaked out to sooth the skin. Having be pulled around by the guys was intoxicating. You could hardly think!

  I'm glad you came

So glad you came

I'm glad you came

I'm glad you came

  Before you could be nibbled more you were pulled to the leader of the band, Takashi. His seriousness rolled off of him even though he was singing such an upbeat song. His caramel eyes were full of emotion, conveying everything to you. He knelt before you for a split second. Taking your hand in his as he kissed your knuckles. Your skin felt as if it was burning where his lips made contact.

Your entire existence was focused on him, the scream of fans were so far off as if it was just you and Takashi. His words felt just for you. Like he was so happy that it was you that was on this stage. He reached up and removed his cap from his head and placed it on your own head. You could smell his cologne radiating from the cap. It was unique and intoxicating.

  The sun goes down

The stars come out

And all that counts

Is here and now

My universe will never be the same

I'm glad you came

I'm glad you came

  The lights went out and your hand was immediately taken and you were being pulled offstage, once again you followed obediently. “Good job up there! You didn’t trip at all!” You knew that voice, it was Nagito!

“I uh—“ your voice had failed you, you wanted to ask so many questions but you couldn’t even comprehend what was happening.

“We can’t wait to meet you after the concert!” his hands found your shoulders as he sat you down, “Enjoy the rest of the concert.”

Nagito was back on stage before the lights went back on, and you suddenly found your voice again as if it had been locked away while on stage. Everything was deafening, the shout of the crowds, the lights, everything. You sat in your chair in a daze as you watched them continue on with the songs as if nothing had happened. Yet your skin burned where they had touched you, as if you had been marked by them.

You suddenly couldn’t wait for the end of the concert to come quickly enough.

#Voltage #voltage boys #voltage inc #voltage otome #Scandal in the Spotlight #prologue #kyohei rikudoh #iori enjo #Nagito Aoshima #kota igarashi #takashi ninagawa

[dylanobemineforever]

The Devil Loves Me - Stiles Stilinski

Author’s Note: This story is very very loosely build around the storyline of Season 3B, so the dialogues aren’t correct and all that, so no need to tell me that. Also this is more of an “introduction” of the story and knowing myself the next chapters will probably be a lot longer, but I wanted to see how you like the idea first, before I continue to put my energy into something that only around three people actually enjoy... If that makes sense? So please, I beg you, talk to me and tell me what you think and you can be honest with me too. If you don’t like it, tell me! At least that way I know where I’m standing. Okay, with that said... hopefully enjoy! 

Words: 1,5k 

Stiles felt uneasy, jumpy. He looked over his shoulder every five seconds just to make sure that he wasn’t being followed by that… thing.  

“That’s Aaron.” Oliver pulled Stiles back to reality as they both walked down the hallway together. He motioned to some kid, leaning against a pillar. “He thinks he’s Jesus.”  

Stiles tried to look like he cared as to not hurt Oliver’s feelings. Granted, the kid was beyond weird, but he was trying to be helpful which Stiles appreciated.  

“Over there is Mary.” Oliver pointed to a girl sitting on a bench and slowly rocking back and forth while chanting something to herself.  

“Let me guess, the Virgin Mary?” Stiles asked jokingly, but Oliver just contorted his face in confusion, obviously not catching the joke.  

“No.” He dragged the word as if Stiles was the slow one. “She also thinks she’s Jesus.” He explained in the most none nonsense tone, Stiles has ever heard.  

“Of course she does.” Stiles rolled his eyes. Why did he ever think this was the best and safest place for him? They were all nuts here! What has he been thinking?  

“And that right over there is –“  

“Jesus?” Stiles interrupted Oliver and caught the stinky eye for it.  

“Lucifer.” He corrected and exhaled dramatically as if Stiles was his personal burden.  

“Right. Of course she is… What was I thinking?”  

“She’s a bit… you know?” Oliver twirled his index finger around his temple. “Crazy.”  

“Ah, you don’t say?” Stiles was obviously being sarcastic, but Oliver didn’t notice it and instead began to elaborate.  

“Yeah, she claims that she’s the Devil and that she’s searching for an evil fox spirit that’s supposedly wandering the earth.”  

Stiles fake laughed, barely registering the words as his eyes zeroed in on the telephones at the end of the corridor.  

“I know!” Oliver giggled. “Pretty nuts, right?”  

Only then did Oliver’s words sink in. Immediately, Stiles’ blood started to freeze in his veins, then it boiled up again. Hands getting clammy and the back of his neck started itching like crazy. He had to turn around again, feeling watched by something that felt more real in his head than it was in the real world.  

“What – what did you say?” Stiles stammered, mouth unusually dry. His tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth.  

“That she’s nuts?” Oliver looked even more confused than usual at Stiles’ sudden mood swing.  

“No, not that. What is she searching for?”  

“I don’t know what you mean!” Oliver brought his hands up to cover his face as Stiles realized that his fist was brought up high, ready to strike a punch. He was going crazy! This thing inside him was slowly but surely overtaking his body and mind and he felt like with every passing second he lost another piece of himself. He needed to get out of this place. He wasn’t safe here… He wasn’t safe anywhere.  

“You were asking about me?”  

Stiles jumped up in surprise as he saw the girl standing right behind him, looking as innocent as ever. She could’ve never possibly heard them talk about her from all over the other side of the room, right?  

“Stiles, right?” She looked up at him innocently while holding her hand out, so he could shake it. He didn’t though, risking to offend her, but he only found amusement resonating in her piercing blue eyes.  

“How do you know my name?” Something didn’t feel right with her. It was hard to explain, but it felt like the evil inside him was drawn to her. It fwlt like something within him was attracted to her like a magnet.  

“I know a lot about a lot of people… You just happen to be one of them.” She shrugged as if the answer was obvious, but all it did was confused him more.  

Stiles opened his mouth to finally ask her what she knew about the Nogitsune, but she beat him to it. “You want to know what I know about the fox spirit, am I right?”  

Stiles’ eyes widened. Could she read his mind? Was that a thing now? Weren’t werewolves, hunters, weird looking half amphibian reptiles and fox spirits enough?  

“Don’t worry! I can’t read your mind, Stiles!” How did she…? “I’m just good at reading people.”  

“Right.” Stiles tried to sound unimpressed. “So, tell me then? What do you know and how?”  

“Well, didn’t he tell you?” She pointed behind him at Oliver who Stiles had already completely forgotten about. “I’m the Devil and the Nogitsune is one of the few pure evils that exists. For some reason it managed to escape through the gates of hell and I’m here to bring it back!”  

Stiles started laughing, hysterically. He felt like he was losing it completely now, only holding on by a thread to keep him from going totally insane. Was this a joke?  

With his eyes he scanned the room for hidden cameras, but came up empty. He looked at the girl again, whose face was as neutral as ever and another burst of unholy laughter overcame him, shook him to the core. Hell? Real? Right. And the Devil, the incarnation of all evil, was an eighteen year old girl with a cocky smile and a charming British accent?  Yeah, right. I mean, after all they were in a mental asylum, so what did he expect? The only weird thing was that this girl knew about the existance of the Nogitsune, although she obviously had more than a few loose screws in her skull.  

After a few minutes, Stiles calmed down again. The girl looked at him, looking slightly amused, but she didn’t say anything. She knew something, she made that much very clear, he just needed to somehow decipher the crazy talk from the real facts. Maybe she could actually help him and his friends get this thing. Maybe he had somehow sensed her here and therefore had felt the odd urge to check himself in. Maybe it was all connected.  

He decided to play along for now. “Okay, let’s pretend that you are the Devil-“  

“I am.” She said, sure of herself.  

“Right… Why can’t you just grab the Nogitsune and drag him back?” To hell? Oh god… what was he doing? He couldn’t possibly believe that this could lead him anywhere, right?  

“It’s never that easy. See, thanks to ‘dear old dad’,” She glanced up at the ceiling and it took Stiles a second to catch on… She was referring to God. Okay wow, she was further gone than he first assumed. “I’ve been damned to rule hell for all eternity which means I’ve been doing it for eons now and never, not once, has someone managed to escape through the gates of hell. The thing is, the Nogitsune has managed to link itself to this world by an outer source of power and with each passing minute he gets stronger and will eventually be powerful enough to manifest itself here which basically renders him invincible! The thing is that I need to find that source of power and destroy it, so he can’t feed off of it anymore. And because he’s not manifested yet, he’s just a spirit… which means he basically has no shape except if he posses someone…and I can’t grab it if it has no physical form… Are you following?” 

 Stiles eyes widened with every new sentence she spoke, his mind reeling. How could she know all that? Was she psychic? She told him that she couldn’t read minds, but maybe she was like Lydia and had visions or feelings about these sorts of things. Anything was more plausible to him than her being the actual Devil.  

“I think he’s broken.” Oliver waved his hand before Stiles’ eyes and snapped his fingers, pulling him out of his thoughts. Why was he still there?  

“Im fine.” Stiles snapped and swatted Oliver’s hands out of his personal space. His tone was harsh and again, he had a hard time keeping from doing something reckless. They needed to find a solution to all of this. The stuff Deaton injected was slowly but surely wearing off and he didn’t want to find out what would happen if it did.  

The girl, whose name he still didn’t know, narrowed her eyes at him skeptically until it seemed like a light bulb appeared over her head. “It’s you, isn’t it?”  

“I’m what?”  

“You’re the one he chose to posses.” She stated matter of factly and as if that triggered something, the itching on the back of his neck got worse and worse. It felt like a million flies were crawling underneath his skin and he couldn’t do anything about it. It was torture, but nevertheless he refused to scrape at his skin. For some reason it felt like the Nogitsune wanted him to do exactly that and therefore he couldn’t give in.  

“What if I was?” Stiles asked her. To his surprise her lopsided smile instantly vanished and something started to flicker in her eyes. It looked like a flame, but he could’ve just imagined that… at least he hoped he did.   

“Well, that would be unfortunate.”  

“Why’s that?”  

“Because that would mean that I’d have to kill you.” She almost sang it, her voice so melodic, but  at the same time cold as ice that it made his hair stand up in fear. “Just when I started to like you.”  

Tell me what you think HERE!  

#dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylanobrien #dylan #dylan o'brien fanfiction #dylan o'brien imagine #dyl #dob #obrien #stiles #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski fanfiction #stilesstilinski #void stiles #void #nogitsune #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf #tw #mitch rapp #mitch rapp imagine #american assassin #the maze runner #tmr #tdc #the death cure #thomas

[sebbytrash]

Through His Eyes - Part Four

Summary - Bucky arrives at the compound to start afresh but you and him have a somewhat colorful past, colorful being that you met him once before as The Winter Soldier and it did not go well. New beginnings, yeah? If you can learn to forgive.

Pairing - Eventual Bucky x Reader

Warnings - Steve is sad. 

A/N -  There’s some pieces put together in this one. Feedback loved and appreciated

Through His Eyes Masterlist

After the coffee miracle, as you have taken to calling it, they are there most mornings. Sometimes you pour, sometimes it’s Steve, sometimes you retreat quietly into your corner to read a book or count your heartbeats, sometimes Steve joins you. Like joint custody.

It’s never Bucky who pours the coffee. Nope, he stands back a ways, watching but not pressing, but you see him notice the way your hands still shake for the first few minutes he’s there or how you can’t help but glance up from that book just to see where he is in the room. There’s no hiding it and honestly, there’s still bits of you that want him to see it. Baby steps.

Today is a Steve day, and as a double bonus it’s also turned into a Steve cuddle day. Bucky left after his morning coffee, quiet whispers between him and Steve before he glances over at you on his way out. Steve and you are on opposite ends of the couch but heads meeting in the middle, sharing the same pillow space. It’s almost like before, almost.

You can’t see him, he can’t see you and you think perhaps that’s planned when he pierces the quiet, “Y/N?”

“Yeah, Stevie?” The air has changed and you know he’s going to go there.

“I uh, how are you doing? Really.” Oh Steve. Forever the worrier, and forever the good guy. You hear it all at once in his voice, imagine how stretched he’s been feeling trying to split himself between you and Bucky. Wanting to help his friend and also wanting to help you.

“Steve…” You begin, but then don’t really know how to finish. It’s a simple question and yet so utterly unsimple you lose your way in your own thoughts. “Honestly? I don’t know. I’m getting there, I think? I’m trying.”

“Yeah, I see that. We all do. Even Bucky.” He throws on that last part like it means something. It does, you're just not sure what.

“I want to be ok, ya know? I will be.” Probably.

“You know I’m here for you, right? If it’s ever too much, you just gotta say…” He speaks quietly, but it's all there in his tone. He means it. Your heart grows three extra sizes for him, for what he’s always willing to do for you.

“I know, Steve.” You slip your hand up to find his, threading your fingers and giving a squeeze. Easy silence slips back, 5 minutes, maybe 10.

“Do you wanna do anything today?” Steve asks, lifting himself up onto his forearm to get a look at your over Mount Pillow.

“Uh, not sure. You got something in mind?”

“I have an idea. Do you trust me?”

It’s colder than you prepared for today, the wind slaps at your face as you stand outside the building, Steve by your side. You pull your jacket tighter, trying to contain any heat you can and notice that, maybe, it’s not only the cold that's making you shake.

“We don’t have to. If it’s too much.” Steve offers, his face the mask of concern so often worn around you these days. It’s too much, he’s too much. You want to do this for him but also for you.

“No, this is fine. I want to go in.” You insist, linking an arm with his and start towards the entrance. Jelly legs getting a little firmer with each step. You are fucking stronger than this, god dammit. A survivor of worse.  

The museum is busier than you expect, families and the likes milling around unaware the subject of the exhibit is here in the flesh, hiding under his baseball cap like it has magical powers. And it does, you suppose, since there’s been no stares or questions, no hugs or selfies from well meaning intruders. You observe quietly as Steve observes you, watches you read up on the history of the Howling Commandos, read about his life before the serum. He’s told you about it, of course, but this makes it more than a throwaway thought in your head. Much, much more.

Steve lead you to a room where a short movie is played on a loop, the one he receives commendations from the president but that’s not what your looking at. You see the shared looks between Steve and this Bucky, smaller but somehow stands taller. Less weighed down by the weight of his guilt, you suppose. He cheers for Steve, leads the crowd on a chant of his name, face so utterly different to that of your nightmares.

“You know, I was pretty sick as a kid. It was different back then, getting sick didn’t always mean the same. I would never have made it without him.” Steve says, quietly, the room having emptied and refilled several times over. “He’d bring me soup from his Ma everyday, sit with me for hours whilst I rode out whatever fever hit me. Sometimes they lasted days, sometimes weeks. Lost his fair share of girls that way.”

It's a struggle to reconcile this Bucky here on the screen, the Bucky who takes care of his sick friend and fights for his country against the man from your dreams. The man whose scars you carry on you right this second, hidden under clothes but always there.

“He’s not that guy, the one you met before. That was never him.” Steve continues, knowing your listening, “He’s the guy who takes on three guys for his pal who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, even if it earns him a broken nose. He’s the best guy I know.”

“I wish I’d met him,” You say honestly, watching him smile on screen like his life wasn’t about to be ruined. Like he wasn’t about to ruin so many others.

“You still can.” He looks over at you, the light from the screen dancing across his face under his cap, “He’s still in there.”

The final display was the hardest. Bucky’s memorial. It has been hastily updated since his dramatic rise from the dead. Hastily in that it was still set up like a memorial, but some of the wording had changed. You stood there and read it, reread it and let it soak in a little. This Bucky was kind, loyal and had so much more life in him. His eyes shone even in the grainy, less than quality pictures they had. He had so much pride.

You read it over and over, forever getting on one sentence in particular. Something that had never occurred to you, yet here it is, written in plain black and white. Fact.

“...and James Barnes is to this date, the longest standing Prisoner of War after enduring almost 70 years being held by HYDRA.”

Prisoner of war.

Shit.

Of course he was. You’d considered a lot these past few weeks but this was most definitely not one of them. 70 years being held against your will. How had this evaded you? Well, you were probably a lot more focused on torturing he did to you, you suppose.

Still, it’s there now, burrowing its way into your mind, latching on and pushing towards a change. Perhaps you're both survivors.

Steve joins you again, lets you slip your hand into his as you leave. The quiet is different on the way home.

“You good?” He asks, because he’s Steve and he has to ask.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am actually.”

“I just wanted you to have more than The Soldier. Another option”

The next morning, when he walks into the kitchen and halts a little at you sitting there, you don’t turn away, don’t run to your safety corner and count your breaths. He’s unsure how to deal with this, you here without Steve, you here like your waiting for him...and you are waiting. You're not surprised Steve isn’t with him, knowing he’d got called away on a mission shortly after you had arrived home last night. He eyes you warily and leans back a little like he might leave, bouncing a little on his foot at the indecision.

You sip from your mug, letting it comfort you or hide you and you push forward the second mug with your knuckles, watching his eyes slide down to it, see it filled with coffee already like you expected him or someone else. He steps again, and looks at you, checking and waiting. You nod, and tap the mug with you knuckle, a little one two that echos in the silence between you. Finally, finally, he takes it, pulls up a chair and sits at the table.

Your hand only shakes for a minute this time. Progress.

Forever Tags  @manawhaat @theashhole @watchmemarvel @a-little-hell-to-raise @betheboo55 @palaiasaurus64  @captain-rogers-beard @chrisevansnco @howlingbarnes @poealsobucky @raxacoricofallapatoriuspotter @johnmurphys-sass @katbird787 @because-imma-lady-assface @stephie-senpai @movingonto-betterthings @sexyvixen7 @hollycornish @feelmyroarrrr @jobean12-blog @sanjariti @waywarddaughter1317 @justreadingfics @abovethesmokestacks @justareader @smoothdogsgirl @theliarone @aikibriarrose @peculiar-persephone @timeladylaurel @badassbaker @earinafae @crushed-pink-petals @purgatoan @tardis-is-mine @httpmcrvel @bucky2-0 @mocking-rain @imhereforbvcky @sociallyimpairedme @jezzula @bless-my-demons @winterboobaer @ign-is @vintagevalentinexx @indominusregina @-supernatural-coffee-llama @alwayshave-faith @itsonlysarah @thelastxgoodthing @superwholocknda @shifutheshihtzu @mizzzpink @yknott81 @haven-in-writing @avengerofyourheart @danijimenezv @xtina2191 @movingonto-betterthings @reniescarlett @carriefish-er @stormy-thomas @simplyme8308 @notsoprettykitty @tinaferraldo @stevergxrs @wickedwerewolf @ayeputita @tori-medusa-belongs-to-bucky @winchesterswantmypie @buchonians @tatalopes23 @mirkwood---princess @pcterpvrker @wanderlustxdiaries @viollettes

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Tags are open (for the moment) but please send an Ask and consider feedback (likes/reblogs/replies/asks) because it takes a buttload of time to do the tags :)

#kale writes #through his eyes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #slow burn #marvel fanfic

[yujachachacha]

HiHi! same anon who asked you about Yakkai hehe (how did you know my true intentions? jk!) Just to cut you some slack I did try googling it myself before asking again but all I got were results for knb character songs(?) and a bollywood film(???) Frankly, I really do want to know because I've heard the term used in passing. Particularly from reports about the 2nd live Kobe leg. I heard about people doing it in KoiAqua?? To the point where someone got strangled in the Korean LV?? Is it that bad??

Hey there! Not gonna lie, I’m still lowkey pouting in the corner because you did that, but I’m glad to see that you’re genuinely curious. Thanks for trying your best! (☞ >ω･)☞

I have no idea what schools are teaching y’all these days, but research doesn’t mean typing a single word into Google! Also, if you’re gonna look up a Japanese term, you’re not gonna get the right results if you type the word in English without any additional parameters. Here are three methods you should try using when Googling a Japanese term you don’t know:

1. Write it in Japanese, i.e. “やっかい”. The first Google result is in Japanese, but let’s assume that we’re not so good at reading Japanese (since if we were, we’d probably be able to figure out the meaning of “yakkai” pretty quickly), and skip over this one. The second result gives you a Wiktionary link, which is in English and perfect for our purposes. It defines the word 厄介 (yakkai) as “troublesome” or a “burden”. This is literally what “yakkai” means, but for the purposes of idol fan culture, we’ll be adding a bit more meaning to this.

2. If you’re doing your search in English, add the word “Japanese” to your search term. After all, if we’re not so good at reading Japanese, who’s to say that we’ll be able to type something in Japanese? Try Googling the phrase “yakkai japanese”. This guarantees that what you’re typing won’t be mistaken for a word from another language (which is why you got results for a Bollywood film). The Google results are almost the same as in method #1, except that there are a lot more links in English rather than Japanese. So in short, this is basically an alternative to the first method for those of you who can’t read Japanese so well.

3. Include context for your term, i.e. add things like “Love Live” and “idol”. We can now try to figure out what the word means in the context of the LL fandom by googling “yakkai love live”. A bunch of the image results are Bollywood-related (because of yakkai + love, lol), but the top two links give us threads from the /r/LoveLive subreddit. The very first link in particular, “Aqours 2nd Love Live Discussion [Kobe]”, actually contains exactly what we’re looking for.

If you use the “find” function (“ctrl + f”, or “cmd + f” if you’re on a Mac like me) and search for “yakkai”, you’ll eventually see that someone on this thread asked what people meant by yakkai calls in the discussion about the live. /u/MasterMirage himself (a mod of the LL subreddit and a member of Team ONIBE) gives a great explanation:

Um, so if you’re aware of the standard “Fu fu”, “fuwa fuwa” and “hai” chants, these are the standard go to chants to do at lives.

The Koi Aqua Yakkai (troublesome/burden) calls are out of place calls that you normally don’t do at lives since they interrupt the flow of the concert and are considered disruptive by many people.

I guess this video explains it pretty well since the calls here are what you should not do at a live:

https://twitter.com/dan_chii/status/882024909995556864

A common call “IE TAIGA” is something that people are getting annoyed at because people think it’s funny.

Sat from Fripside even called out on these alternative/disruptive calls:

https://twitter.com/Jsan_san/status/896918057397829634

I highly recommend you check out those Twitter links to give you a better understanding of what yakkai calls are (video in the first link) and why you shouldn’t be doing them (translated quote in the second link). For the first link, the yakkai isn’t too bad, at least until you get to the rap portion of the master mix at about 55 seconds in. But just imagine how annoying it would be if the fans were screaming that during a live rather than at a casual wota session at a convention. :’)

Also, I’m gonna go ahead and write down a part of the material in the second link here, because it’s really important:

“That part was made with the idea that the silence could be felt before the hook, you know? It has a purpose. I didn’t want [it] to be destroyed!”

Keep in mind that this was said by Satoshi of fripSide about his own song, while on stage during a concert tour. That’s how annoying these calls are. Instead of respecting the mood that the artists worked so hard to create for the song, yakkai concertgoers try to be as disruptive as possible for their own amusement.

So yeah, “ie taiga” (for those of you who aren’t familiar with this term, here’s my explanation from a previous ask) and similar calls/wota are the essence of yakkai. If you’re wondering why it enrages people so much, consider the following:

After spending a lot of money and praying to the gods for luck, a fan manages to score a seat at an Aqours live. At the concert, the fan is enjoying the fact that they’re listening to the Aqours seiyuu singing and dancing in front of them, live. Holy crap! :D But then comes along some asshole who thinks it’s funny to ruin the mood by screaming in the middle of a song. Opportunities to attend an Aqours live aren’t common, so it’s understandable that someone would end up getting very upset.

The same goes for a live viewing. A live viewing is an opportunity to see the seiyuu perform in real-time, and it’s a precious one at that. Footage shown at screenings differs slightly from the more polished versions we get in Blu-rays, so you get to see the raw performance at a viewing. Plus, you’re cheering and jumping and screaming along with the audience like you would at the actual live. “Ie taiga” distracts you from recreating the atmosphere of the performance, and is a huge sign of disrespect towards the other attendees.

Korean LL fans in particular have a deep-seated hatred for “ie taiga” (I’m not quite sure why it’s so intense - perhaps it has to do with the nature of the LLer culture over there?). For example, popular YouChika artist GamGam (@gamjolno on Twitter) has complained heavily about it happening during lives, and even resorted to plugging their ears at the pivotal moment in KoiAqua just to avoid hearing the phrase. As many Korean LLers were at a live viewing for the 2nd Live tour, the combined murderous rage they held for yakkai LLers exploded when they heard it actually happen during the screening.

Of course, I don’t approve of them trying to strangle (or physically harm in general) a yakkai LLer. What I will say, however, is that I can at least see why someone reacted that way.

If you need another example to understand why they went that far: I assume you’re familiar with “Snow halation”, and the famous part of the song where the µ’s members stand still before the audience cracks their UOs. There’s a brief moment, before Honoka’s emotional solo and the explosion of bright orange filling up the concert venue, where everything is silent save for the jingling of bells leading up to the climax (3:08~3:09). It’s a beautiful, almost holy silence, revered by many for this sacred and beloved performance.

Now, imagine if someone suddenly screamed “YEAH TIGERRRR!!!” right at that moment.

(ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻

Understand now? It’s not funny. It’s not impressive. It’s downright infuriating.

First, yakkai LLers took away the enjoyment of the “I miss you~” You solo line in KoiAqua and the build-up to the chorus (see ~1:22 in this video for an audio demonstration). Then, someone decided to ruin the dramatic silence before the final chorus of “Aozora Jumping Heart” (~3:30 in the song). And now, there’s been reports of someone at the Saitama live screaming “IE TAIGAAA” right as the song slows down before the “la la la~” ending portion (~3:33 in the song).

I would hesitantly say that the “ie taiga” for KoiAqua is on the borderline of being tolerable. The song is full of chants anyway, and that part after You’s line does sound like it could accommodate some kind of call - but still, you should save it for a fan mix rather than a live. It’s the kind of thing that’ll make some people giggle at the weirdness, while others roll their eyes and mutter about the newest generation of LLers being yakkai af.

But for AoJump and MiraTicke, the yakkai incidents have been happening at solemn, quieter portions of the song rather than the cheerful and noisy sections. I have seen various posts by LLers claiming that they’re proud to “ie taiga” at a live as the ultimate expression of their wota skills, plus they’re doing it just for teh lulz. Again - it’s highly inappropriate, and disrespectful to both the audience members who are trying to enjoy the performance and the performers who are trying to make the performance enjoyable. If you want to prove that you’re a devoted LLer, your actions shouldn’t be damaging to the community.

To wrap things up: if you happen to search for “yakkai idol” instead, the first result that Google gives you is a blog post that talks about the concept of yakkai at idol events. The author includes some sound wisdom at the end:

What people really mean when they say “don’t be yakkai” is just that don’t go crazy and enjoy being annoying, and taking your entertainment at the cost of the enjoyment of others. Like, it’s fun to troll people, but that’s not good if the other party doesn’t enjoy it. It might be fun to go nuts, but don’t do it when it’s inappropriate.

Basically, it’s okay to go crazy during karaoke sessions or casual wota sessions with friends. Take that tweet in the first link from MasterMirage’s comment. I happen to know one of the people in that video, and he’s an awesome guy who knows a lot about concert calls. These wota bros were being “yakkai” for sure, but they were doing it at the Lumica booth at Anime Expo rather than a live. It was actually pretty amusing, and was almost like a free ad for the booth: “See these LLers partying with their lightsticks? You too can join in on the fun by purchasing a Lumica blade and/or UOs at this booth!” But for the sake of other fans, make sure you keep it clean during actual lives and public screenings.

tl;dr: “Yakkai” literally means “burdensome/troublesome”, and refers to antics of this nature by fans during performances. Notable examples include particularly annoying fans who scream “IE TAIGA” not only during KoiAqua, but also in highly inappropriate moments from other songs. Don’t be like this during a live unless you want to be heavily criticized for disrespecting the performers and lacking common decency for the people around you.

#love live! sunshine!! #love live sunshine #aqours #aqours 2nd live #happy party train tour #yakkai #info #my ramblings #anonymous #yujachask #queuetie panther #today on yujacha's blog: i give lessons on how to do research #smh do schools not teach kids how to do proper research these days #AND NOW Y'ALL KNOW WHY I ITALICIZED 'BOTHER' IN THE PREVIOUS ASK #AREN'T I CLEVER? :D #...okay i'll leave now #again apologies for leaving this to my queue #my family just celebrated korean thanksgiving lol

[dryad-of-the-dogwood]

Hi, guys! Chapter 28 of A Thread of Fate is now live on AO3, and it’s full of everybody dealing with things they’re not totally mentally prepared for because I’m mean to my characters but I swear I love them.

Chapter 28: Finding Footholds

Maybe it’s the exhaustion of the unexpected three-day mission, or how little sleep I’d gotten without Nalissa at my side, but I wake actually feeling rested for the first time in days. She fell asleep with her head on my chest like a pillow, and though I seem to have turned toward her in my sleep, she’s still curled against my chest with her face buried in my nightshirt. One of her arms is wrapped around me, and as I brush the hair back from her face, I can’t help but smile.

She’s lovely, and incredible, and she loves me. I’ve never heard those words before, not directed at me, until last night. Remembering them in her voice, with my name attached at the end so there can be no mistake, makes me happier than I knew I could be. She makes me happier than I knew I could be.

Nalissa murmurs something in her sleep, too faint and too muffled to make out the words, but they’re not frightened ones. I hope she didn’t have nightmares while I was gone. With no Ilana to talk her down, I can’t imagine how the Wardens would have reacted.

The Wardens, I remember with a start. The sun hasn’t yet risen but the sky through the window is beginning to lighten, and I can’t imagine Caron is a patient man. If she’s expected again today, he’s probably already pacing.

I work her fingers free of my shirt, ignore her mumbled protest, and kiss the back of her hand gently. “Lissa. Lissa, wake up.”

Whatever she says in response is still distorted by sleep and her face against my ribcage, but I’m pretty sure I hear something about the color of Andraste’s chosen undergarments and a bleeding pyre in there, and I have to stifle a chuckle. Quite the blasphemous vocabulary she has when she isn’t trying to be proper and polite.

“Lissa,” I try again. “My dear, are you supposed to be training with the Wardens again today?”

“’m not a deer, you’re a deer,” she grumbles quite clearly this time, and the accusation is so obviously meant to be an insult that I burst into laughter. That rouses her quickly enough.

“Mm? What happened?” Nalissa asks, blinking up at me groggily, and I can only offer a grin as an explanation. Then she looks around, realizes it’s nearly sunrise, and I can watch the panic creep into her widening eyes. She rolls away and out of the bed so quickly I think her feet hit the floor before I’ve even realized she was moving, swearing softly under her breath the whole way.

“I take it you are supposed to be training with the Wardens today,” I observe as I rise. I turn toward the wardrobe, in the general direction of which I had tossed my breastplate after it tried to murder me yesterday, and freeze.

Nalissa has just yanked the overlarge tunic off her head, tossing it aside to destination unknown, and is wearing only smalls beneath. I watch, entranced, as her fingers deftly tie a knot in the back of her breastband, before I turn away with my face burning to collect my armor from the pile I tossed it into yesterday instead. She has her back turned, likely not thinking of my presence at all, or I doubt she would have allowed me to see the scars she tries to hide.

A stray thought flits through my head of what she might have looked like facing me, before the undergarment was properly in place. I shake my head and try to clear it before Sister Agatha’s voice in the back of my mind can start screeching that I’m a lecher.

Is it still lecherous if the woman that keeps wandering into my mind in various states of undress is engaged to marry me? If I love her, and she loves me too? My heart still does a flip at the idea, but yes, I decide, Sister Agatha would definitely still say so. Regardless, such distractions do not help with trying to put on armor, I remind myself firmly. Quite the opposite.

I make very sure every buckle and link of chain is in place before I turn around again, to make sure she’s had time to dress properly. To my surprise, she’s wearing armor of her own, and as I recognize it, I think my heart stops. Warden armor. She’s wearing Warden armor.

“Nalissa,” I say sharply, crossing the room in haste. “What is this? What did they do?”

My hands tug at the shoulders of the studded leather gambeson, the blue and silver motif of the order that I was once so proud to wear suddenly terrifying me to see on her. Three days I was gone—Caron could easily have organized a Joining in less time than that. If she took it so recently, I wouldn’t sense her yet. I wouldn’t know unless they told me.

“Wh-what?” Nalissa stammers, and her eyes dart between mine in confusion.

“This armor,” I demand, gripping it more tightly, until the edges of the studs start to cut into my fingers. “Why do you have it? What did they make you do?”

“Make me do? I’ve been running drills for them in the morning. That’s all they’ve asked, like we agreed.”

“Did he Join you?”

She shakes her head and frowns, looking uncertain. “Caron? We sparred the first day, but—”

“No, a Joining ritual. A chalice—did he have you drink from a chalice? A great silver one with dark liquid inside?”

“What—no,” she objects, and finally I close my eyes and breathe a sigh of relief. Nalissa’s shoulders though remain as tense as a drawn bowstring. “Alistair, what just happened?”

“Nothing,” I answer quietly, leaning my forehead against hers. She hesitates, then reaches up to drape her arms around my neck, and I relent with a sigh. “The Joining is… it’s how Wardens are made. I saw you in that armor, and I thought… I was afraid he had tricked you somehow.”

She kisses me gently, if very shortly, and smiles. “Well, if it helps you feel better, I’m typically not one to accept strange drinks from men I already don’t trust as far as I could throw them.”

“Good, because let me warn you, it tastes terrible.”

Nalissa laughs and leads me downstairs by the hand. She only lets go at the door just before we exit to the training field, and pauses to prepare herself. I watch her roll her shoulders and check that her hair is secure in its high ponytail, then take a deep breath like she’s about to dive underwater. It’s a strange experience, watching as she dons the mental armor I spent weeks convincing her she could let go of around me.

When she steps outside, it’s with that proud tilt to her chin and a commanding stride that somehow makes me feel invisible, following in her wake. Caron is nowhere to be seen, I notice. Didn’t she say she sparred with him the first day? I wonder just how that went, for him to agree not to be here. I bet she stomped him, I think with a grin. I really was lucky to get to lose that first match while no one was looking.

And Andraste’s ashes, if Nalissa isn’t good at this. She has the Wardens pair off for practice, then marches up and down between them, rearranging the pairs. It only takes a minute to realize what she’s up to. She’s matching greatswords with dagger users, axe wielders with shieldbearers—pitting speed against reach and defense against power. Everyone has a match-up where they’ll struggle, she says, but struggle is a chance to improve. And I wonder how many of these weapons she’s actually used herself, because she seems to have advice for everyone. When she comes to Oghren and me, we’re no exception.

“Your axe is dual-bladed, Warden Oghren,” she points out with an arched brow.

Oghren grunts and rolls his head to one side, as if trying to crack his neck. “Aye.”

“Yet you only seem to use one blade against a single opponent. If you miss a strike, you dodge and reposition. Habit, I assume. But if you have a opening to bring the other blade to bear, it’s a simple matter to hook it on the edge of an unsuspecting shield. Trust me, shield users do not adapt quickly to having it yanked off their bracers.”

Oghren twitches his moustache in thought, then agrees it’s a sensible suggestion. Nalissa nods and adds, “Do try not to actually break any arms in here though. Save that for the darkspawn.”

“I’ve managed not to break him so far,” Oghren grumbles, and when Nalissa turns to me, she’s wearing her serious face still but there’s a twinkle in her eyes.

“You heard the man, Warden Alistair. He’s coming for your shield. Don’t let him.”

“Fine advice; should’ve thought of that one myself,” I joke, and one side of her mouth curls into a smirk. I find that it makes me want to kiss her in the middle of the practice field.

“I’ve seen you spar,” she points out, neglecting to mention that it’s typically been against her. “Somehow, I really don’t think you need step-by-step instructions.”

Nalissa gives me a wink that makes Oghren snicker, and then her head snaps to something behind me. “Oy, Warden Tarvell! Keep swinging that wide and you’ll disarm everyone except your opponent…”

Oghren eyes her as she leaves and then raises his brows at me. “I always knew you liked being bossed about, but that one could order a dragon to flee and the beast’d probably consider it.”

He gets a chuckle out of me, but not enough of a distraction to catch his axe on my shield, which I’m pretty sure is what he was aiming for. “She can be very persuasive. But she could also probably slay the dragon, if she really put her mind to it.”

“Maybe. After how she handled the boss, most of these blighters would probably follow her to fight one.”

Of course she did, I think a little proudly. She’s incredible. I check over my shoulder that she’s still out of earshot, then whisper, “How did that go? She didn’t quite say, except that he never came back after.”

“Little lady’s a sodding acrobat is how it went,” Oghren says, then gives what I can only shudderingly describe as a really low-pitched giggle and adds, “Lucky you. I bet she can do some fun things with those legs.”

“I realize it’s like asking a Revered Mother not to Chant, but could you not be crude? For once? Tell me what she did.”

“What do I look like, a match caller at the Proving Grounds? She danced around all light-footed like she belonged in the circus, knocked him on his ass, and put a dagger to his ribs. Anything fancier than that, you’d have to get someone else to tell you.” I’m just about to sigh and give up when he adds thoughtfully, “But to be honest, I think it was the scars that won her respect more than the dueling.”

“Scars?” I ask curiously.

The obvious answer doesn’t occur to me, because she’s so careful to keep them hidden, so ashamed when they’re spotted. I don’t even imagine he means her scars from Fort Drakon until he mumbles, “You know,” and makes a nervous gesture toward his back like he’s afraid she’ll catch him looking if he’s not quick about it.

That actually does stun me long enough for him to hook his axe under my shield, but I recover quickly enough to cross my sword under the axe head and pin it in place long enough to free my shield. I backstep quickly out of range and give him a serious look. He frowns but gives up the attack.

“What do you mean, her scars won her respect? Who saw them? How?”

“Damn near everyone with eyes, I imagine,” he says with a shrug that tells me he has no idea how serious that is. Something of what I’m thinking must show on my face, because he holds up a hand warily. “Now, it was just the back of her shirt that tore. Nobody saw any fun bits. I certainly wouldn’t be standing here telling you if they had, I’d be standing back and waiting for the explosion—”

“Comforting, Oghren,” I say, a little more sharply than necessary, and I receive a scowl for it but I don’t care. “What did she do? She doesn’t let anyone see that, she must have been mortified.”

“For a minute, she tried to cover ’em up again,” the dwarf admits. “Can’t see why. Warriors should be proud of their scars. But then she changed her mind and showed the boss what for, and marched out of the arena like she owns the place.”

I glance over my shoulder at Nalissa again, this time with more appreciation than anything else. I’m not surprised, exactly; that would be the wrong word. My Nalissa is stronger than even she knows she is. But Oghren’s story is a far cry from the girl I met a few months ago, who froze up and nearly broke down at her scars being revealed to just me and Venya, and that has me nearly bursting with pride for her.

The deeper wounds from her imprisonment, I think, may finally be starting to heal too.

I’ve just dismissed the Wardens and started toward Alistair when I spot him as the crowd clears. My heart kicks into panic mode before I can stop it, but this time I’m prepared enough to force a deep breath and focus. It isn’t Rendon Howe. Rendon Howe is dead, and he never wore his hair that long, and his chin was weaker and his nose more hooked.

Listing the differences helps, a little, but still it takes every ounce of my self-control to keep a straight face. He wasn’t here for drills, and I suppose that makes sense considering he has a bow and quiver over his back instead of a close-range weapon. But that means he’s come at the end of training on purpose, and considering he’s looking straight at me, I don’t really have to guess what that is.

Alistair, sweet as he is, appears at my side while I’m distracted and speaks to me gently. “Lissa? Are you okay?” He keeps his voice low enough that no one else can hear, takes care not to touch me, and I know he’s worried. There are still enough stragglers putting away training weapons and packing up shields that if I lose myself again, it could be very problematic. I nod sharply, the motion maybe a little more jerky than usual, but I keep my spine straight and my eyes level. It is long past time, I think, that I took control of my fear back from Rendon Howe.

“Lissa,” says Nathaniel Howe, and even though the voice is different too, a cold chill runs down my back that I do my best to ignore. “Good morning.”

“Nate,” I answer, crossing my arms to feel more held together. “It’s… been a long time.”

Nathaniel tries for a smile. “Yes. Last we met, you were still a tiny, freckly kid hiding from your tutor and sparring with squires, and now you’re training Grey Wardens. I’m sure the old man’s glad his lessons didn’t fall on completely deaf ears.”

A sudden image of how Aldous’ beard used to twitch as he tried not to smile at my shenanigans strikes an unexpected chord of homesickness in my chest. The old scholar said something very much like that the last time I spoke with him. “I’m sure he would be,” I say, and my words come out a little more clipped than before. “If he hadn’t been murdered in the library with the guests.”

Nathaniel fidgets with one hand on the strap of his quiver, looking exactly as uncomfortable as one would expect from the turn in conversation. “I, ah, meant to speak with you about that. If you have a moment?”

Alistair touches my elbow, his hand warm even through the studded leather. When I glance at him, his eyebrows are pulled low over eyes still watching me with concern. I don’t think he doubts me, he was always far too upset with Fergus for doing that, but he’s probably worried at the prospect of leaving me to a private chat with someone I’ve so recently tried to murder.

I give him a faint smile and a nod, then gently but firmly remove his hand and squeeze it for reassurance. “I’ve got this,” I tell him quietly, purposefully choosing any phrase but I’m fine because I’m fairly certain he doesn’t believe that one anymore. “I’ll meet you at breakfast.”

He hesitates only for a moment, then presses a kiss to my forehead and reminds me in a somewhat louder voice that he’ll be within shouting distance if I need him. He spares only one glance toward Nathaniel as he turns to leave, but it looks very much like a warning. Alistair’s faith in me makes me feel bolstered, and even though I don’t think I need it, that he’s still so ready to defend me makes me feel safer, even as he walks away.

“He really loves you,” Nathaniel says aloud, something like disbelief in his voice as he stares and shakes his head. So I’ve just realized, my mind snarks, but I don’t say it and so he continues on. “I’d assumed it was arranged, him being the king. That he only defended you as the future queen. But you’re actually in love.”

Something about his tone says without words, “That explains a lot,” and I wonder again about the mission Alistair still hasn’t found time to tell me about. But I can’t see any reason to lie, so I admit, “It was arranged. I almost decided to overthrow Fergus and refuse. I’m glad I didn’t.”

The last part comes out sounding surprisingly soft, and I force a cough to cover it, like I might have been losing my voice. It’s the closest I’ve ever come to admitting… anything about how I feel for Alistair, to anyone except him, and even that is so new it makes my heart race just to remember. I’m failing miserably at remaining stoic, I realize. I’m probably blushing, and definitely not completely hiding my smile, and I can’t allow that to be a weakness for someone to exploit.

“Well, I’m… glad for you,” Nathaniel says slowly, but though he seems sincere despite his struggle with the words, he is a Howe, and I’m not sure that I’ll ever trust anyone with that surname again.

Etiquette dictates I should thank him for the sentiment, I know that, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Perhaps that particular lesson Aldous and Mother tried to teach me didn’t stick so well as they would have hoped. So I shift my weight from one foot to the other and ask abruptly, “What is it you want of me, Nate?”

He pauses before answering, looking just as uncomfortable with this entire conversation as I am. Odd, considering he’s the one that sought it. Finally he sighs and gestures hopefully toward one side of the training field, past the few Wardens still inspecting bruises and stowing equipment, and I follow him cautiously away from the wall of the keep.

Nathaniel leans against the wooden fence separating the training grounds from the courtyard proper and stares toward the sunrise instead of looking at me. “I’ve, ah… heard rumors since my return to Ferelden.”

“No surprise there. I’m sure Arl Bryland is already telling people Alistair and I have eloped and are honeymooning in Orlais, dueling grand dukes and winning honor for Ferelden.”

He snorts, then shakes his head. “That does sound like something he would say, but not the rumors I meant.” He looks over his shoulder at me, and despite all the differences I keep trying to focus on, his eyes are the same steel gray as his father’s, and I pull my elbows more tightly to my sides. It’s a poor defense, but it makes me feel a little better. “I’ve heard… disturbing things, about my father. And about you.”

I find that my mouth is turning dry, and I have to swallow hard before I can speak again. “That he tried to murder my entire family and everyone loyal to us? Not rumors.”

“That much Delilah has told me,” Nathaniel admits, and a sense of dread settles in my chest like a terrible premonition. “Whatever… became of him while I was gone, I’ve come to accept that there was more to it than just making the wrong decisions in a war.”

“Good,” I snap, a little more viciously than I meant to, but he doesn’t falter and that gaze is starting to make my hands itch to hold a blade.

“Is it true, that he didn’t kill you intentionally? That he kept you prisoner during the Blight?”

I look away from those chilling eyes, needing to focus on keeping my breathing even. My nails feel like they’re cracking against the metal studs on my upper arms, but I can’t seem to loosen my grip. “I’d really prefer not to talk about that,” I manage to say, but my voice comes out too high and too thin to sound firm.

“Fucking Maker,” Nathaniel swears. I hear the creaking of wood and react on instinct, one hand flitting to the knife pouch at my hip, but his bow isn’t even in his hands. Instead he seems to be trying to wrest one of the fence slats from the post, and judging by the sound, the fence objects. His back is to me again, for which I’m grateful, but still he hisses, “He really did it, didn’t he? It wasn’t just… death as acceptable losses. It was murder. Torture. Senseless violence. That’s what he became.”

“He wasn’t called the Butcher of Denerim for nothing,” I whisper hoarsely, and this time when he looks at me, his eyes aren’t so much like his father’s anymore. They’re downcast and regretful, an emotion I never saw Rendon Howe wear.

“Why? What did he possibly hope to achieve?”

He sounds desperate to understand, and as much as it makes me feel sick to think about, I consider the answer. Highever itself wasn’t it; I don’t think it ever really was. I was only ever a means to an end, and chances are Howe only enjoyed hurting me so much because I reminded him of someone else. It isn’t something I should have to try to explain to anyone, but Nathaniel does deserve the truth. And in the end, it’s just another thing his father has forced upon me to deal with.

“I… I think it boiled down to resentment,” I try to reason. It’s difficult to try to apply logic, especially when each revolting memory threatens to pull me in, but I try. “He was angry—furious—with Father. Decades later, and he still blamed him for ‘stealing glory’ at White River. For winning the favor of the king and the freeholders. For becoming a teyrn when H—he only ever became an arl. He thought he deserved everything that was my father’s, so he took it away. At first, I think… I think he only meant to make me beg to die. But then something changed. Loghain started losing supporters and ground, I suppose, but I had no idea. He just swore I would never know peace again until I married his son and handed Highever officially back to Amaranthine.”

Nathaniel gives me a look so near to disgust that I could almost be offended if I wasn’t preoccupied being terrified of my own thoughts. “He wanted to force you to marry me?”

“No,” I correct him, shaking my head. “Thomas. It was always Thomas, until he and Lady Eliane died. Then… then it was him, until he died too.”

“Are you… you’re saying my father tried to torture you into marrying him.”

I realize abruptly that my face is stinging in the chill morning air and turn away to dry it discreetly. “He was mad, by that time. More so than before. Grasping at straws, with all his plans coming undone around him. Everyone thought Fergus dead, and me the only heir, and with Loghain’s support failing…”

Nathaniel takes a deep breath and a long exhale before he speaks again. “I didn’t want to believe how far he’d fallen, but the… things I’ve heard, and what they’re all saying about scars, I had to ask. Maker, I’m sorry.”

My fists clench at the mention of those marks, and I give him a piercing look. “Don’t you dare. Your father did quite enough to me, Nate. I don’t need your pity, and I don’t need anyone contributing to the rumors I’m—I’m weak or an invalid or—”

“What?” he interrupts, and actually scoffs at me like I’m being ludicrous. “Lissa, not a damn person in this keep thinks you’re weak. They’re talking about how you must be stronger than any of them. That you’re a better duelist than Emile—and for the love of the Maker, do not tell him I said that or he will send me on pointless scouting missions twice a week for the rest of my life.”

“I… what?” I stare at him, unable to connect the words with what I’m sure I’ve seen in the eyes of some of these men, but he just shakes his head at me.

“They think whatever happened to you is deplorable, but that’s all. I don’t know what you see when you look in the mirror, but there’s not a Warden who saw that fight that wouldn’t throw down a gauntlet at the first man to call you weak. Emile included. He might be too proud to admit it, but I know him. He was impressed.”

I can’t decide if everything he’s saying is the truth or not, but I appreciate that he says it anyway. So I swallow my own pride and offer the apology I really should have given him when he first approached. “I’m sorry for how I reacted, in the dining hall. I wasn’t in a—I didn’t recognize you—”

Nathaniel holds up a hand to silence me and offers a wan smile. “It’s fine. Your fiancé explained. A little angrily, not that I didn’t deserve it, but it’s what convinced me you probably wouldn’t stab me if I approached slowly enough.”

“Probably not,” I allow, trying for a smile too. I’m probably about as successful as he is. “I’m… also sorry your father wasn’t who you thought he was.”

“No,” he answers quietly. “He hated my mother, and sent me away to the Free Marches in a glorified exile because he preferred my brother. I should have put it together a long time ago.”

I don’t know what to say, but he doesn’t seem to want a response. One polite nod later, he turns to leave, and I take his place leaning against the fence and trying to catch my breath.

I don’t quite manage it until a short while later, when a voice whispers my name and then a familiar pair of arms circle my waist from behind. Alistair’s chin rests on top of my head and I lean back against him with a sigh. I’ll work out what to tell him about all of this later; for now, I just hold onto his forearms like they’re the only thing tethering me to the world.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #alistair #alistair theirin #cousland #nalissa cousland #alistair x cousland #nathaniel howe #fanfic #my fanfic #writing #my writing #a thread of fate #ao3

[lesbiandanieljacobi]

Greatness (And It’s Strange)

This is a redux of Not Given Lightly, a FlashWave Week fic of mine. Title from You’re Welcome, because as many problems as I have with how they wrote Maui in that movie, I couldn’t resist the reference. ( @katyakora I did it! The Mick Is Maui fic!)

AO3 Link

The being they now call Mick Rory is old, his bones worn down with years and ages and tasks and prayers and stories. He has lived lifetimes, borne hopes on his broad shoulders, dragged safety from the depths.

He is also tired. 

So tired, in fact, that he leaves his home, the land he created, and wakes in the body of a young man sitting in the ashes of his home. The being they now call Mick Rory might also be deliberately ignoring his True Name, and all the baggage that goes with it. He goes to Juvie, he finds the threads that maps where the arc of his life will lead,  and then trips over Tyche in the body of a little, pretty, thief. Who is, naturally, getting the shit kicked out of him.

“Lucky you found me.” says Tyche, who’s going by Lenny Snart, and Mick seriously considers using the shiv he just stole off one of Lenny’s attackers to stab him himself because that was a terrible pun. He doesn’t, in the end. It’s the best decision Mick’s ever made.

They spend thirty odd years together, him and Mick, and Mick loves every second of it, every heist, every robbery, every crackling fire. He loves every moment of the two of them side by side, taking on the world. He loves every kiss, every chance to hold Lenny close.

Then the particle accelerator explodes, right over the Gateway, and the Old comes rushing back into the world.

“Fuck.” says Mick, but Lenny’s grinning, alive with opportunity.

For nine months, it looks like Mick is getting away scot-free. For nine months, nothing untoward happens. For nine months, Mick is fine.

Then the streets fill with lightning, and Mick knows his time in the shadows is coming to an end.

Len, damn him, thinks Tamanuitera makes a worthy adversary in the game he’s been playing for millennia, and Mick throws himself into denial twice over – once, because he will not take back is old identity and once more because his old adversary looks damn good in the vessel he’s chosen and the skintight leather suit favors. Mick does his best to keep his old self under wraps – he covered his ta moko in burn scars years ago, and he covers his divinity with lack of use, he covers his old attachments under layers of dust. He lies low, and he waits. Lenny brings in his sister, Golden Lisa, so that she can lure and trap Tamanuitera’s allies, find out more about his nemesis. The game draws on. Tamanuitera convinces Luck himself that he could play the fall of the dice to a different outcome in a warm and cozy living room two days before a holiday none of them really celebrate. 

Then Rip Hunter offers them a place on his ship, a chance to be legends. Mick bites back his laugh, refrains from saying that he’s always been a legend, and takes the out for what it is, a chance to get away from Him, from the responsibilities always biting at his heels. Mick loses his Luck at the end of time to an explosion he was going to sacrifice himself in. There’s a ring in his pocket and a wink in his memory and even the fact that Luck follows you isn’t enough to help at all. He drinks to forget Len’s blue eyes. It doesn’t help. He tries to die to forget Len’s warmth at his back, in his bed. It doesn’t work, and that helps even less. His Luck is gone, and he is purposeless.

They land in 2017 to fight aliens, and He is all those aliens are looking for. Mick watches Him start to walk away, ready to turn himself in, watches a worn-down man with a worn-down soul who would one day be numbered next to greatness call out in desperation and ask Him to stop. Mick watches Tamanuitera walk away, and thinks that at last, even without his Luck, he might be at peace. 

Mick watches Tamanuitera walk away, and feels something stirring in his chest that hasn’t moved in a long time.  The threads move and pull in front of his eyes, showing him what will happen if he lets Tamanuitera walk away, if he lets Barry walk away.

They like to say that those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. Here is the deepest secret nobody knows: all moments are repeating stories with different casts, all things have happened before and will happen again. Mick knows this. Lenny, his Luck, knew this. When the Sun departs too quickly, tasks that must be completed are never finished. If the Flash leaves now, the Justice League will never assemble, and the world will end before its time.

The Sun needs slowing. And there is one person who has done that successfully.

Second verse, same as the first, right?

“You and what army, Oliver?” asks Barry. Mick knows the answer to that. When Oliver opens his mouth to reply, Mick speaks over him.

“He doesn’t need an army. He has me.”

Barry turns in surprise, eyebrows shooting to his hairline.

“You do remember I’ve beaten you more that once, right, Heatwave?” Barry says the name like it’s a taunt, like it’s something Mick should be ashamed of. Heatwave is something his Luck gave him. Mick will never be ashamed of it. Mick grins and shakes off the taunt.

“We’re not playing the same game as we were, Flash.” Mick shoots back. “You’re not leaving.”

“I leave, and the Dominators leave us alone.” Barry says. Mick rolls his eyes. Barry Allen is idealistic and shiny and truthful and pure and good. Mick needs to get past Barry Allen to make his point. Barry turns his back and starts to walk away once more.

“Tamanuitera!” Mick roars. His voice echoes around the warehouse.

“What the fuck.” says Ramon, and Barry turns, surprised.

“What did you call me?” he asks.

“Tamanuitera.” repeats Mick, only marginally softer. Barry stiffens.

“That’s what –“ he starts.

“Who the hell do you think he is!” yelps Ramon.

“He’s talking to the Speedforce.” says Barry. “How do you know how to talk to the Speedforce?”

Mick grins.

“We’ve met.” Mick tells him. “Once before, in ages past. You are not leaving, Tamanuitera. This is your place, and your time. I will not let you dictate the length of our time in the Sun.”

Barry’s face twists. Mick reaches into the space between this world and the next and pulls. The ropes come with ease, the jawbone all-bar flies into his hand.

Mick might have been neglecting his duties for too long, but that will end now. The world pulls and shifts, and Mick can feel his ta moko twining over his skin, over the scars that made him who he was in this world. Judging by the gasp from behind him, his shirt’s gone and everyone assembled can see. The rope curls out from his hand, wraps around Barry’s waist, tight and strong. Barry wriggles and fights and pulls.

“Taura nui, taura roa, taura kaha, taura toa, taura here i a Tamanuiterā, whakamaua kia mau kia ita!” murmurs Mick, voice level and strong.

Last time he did this, he had help, had brothers. Without them, Mick’s feet skid across the floor when Barry tries to run.

“Taura nui, taura roa, taura kaha, taura toa, taura here i a Tamanuiterā, whakamaua kia mau kia ita!”

Barry writhes and pulls and flashes with lightning. Mick holds tight, holds fast. He remembers this story. He knows how it must end

“Taura nui, taura roa, taura kaha, taura toa, taura here i a Tamanuiterā, whakamaua kia mau kia ita!” 

Someone steps up to Mick’s left. It’s Cisco, his eyes haunted with the remnants of the lifetimes Mick has lived, with the lifetime Cisco knows he himself will lead. Mick looks down at the rope in his hands, watches as Cisco reaches down and wraps his hands around it, adds his unshaking optimism, his hope, his passion, his pain to the power flowing through Mick and the rope thanks to the karakia.

“Taura nui, taura roa, taura kaha, taura toa, taura here i a Tamanuiterā, whakamaua kia mau kia ita!” they chant, voices doubled and stronger, holding Barry in place. Mick’s feet skate across the floor more slowly.

“Taura nui, taura roa, taura kaha, taura toa, taura here i a Tamanuiterā, whakamaua kia mau kia ita!”

Oliver is at Mick’s right, calloused hands comfortable on the woven ropes in the way only one who has woven their like can be, pushing his pain, his uncertainty, his fear and strength and loss under Mick’s skin. Then Joe’s work-worn hands, sure and steady from years of keeping his temper under the weight of the expectations of others, Iris, vibrant and glowing with the will of the young, Wally, strong with the determination of a student clinging to a favored teacher. Here is Jax, lit from within with belief and trust, Thea and her fear and her darkness and her power, Ray and his earnestness, Kara and her unwavering love. Barry pulls and thrashes and gasps and they do not move, none of them.

“Taura nui, taura roa, taura kaha, taura toa, taura here i a Tamanuiterā, whakamaua kia mau kia ita!”

Maui releases the rope, leaves it to those who love Barry, and draws the jawbone from its place at his waist, and brings it down hard against Tamanuitera’s shoulder.

“Why are you doing this to me?” asks Tamanuitera.

Second verse, same as the first.

“From now on, you will travel slowly across the sky, and never again will the length of our day be dictated by you.” Maui replies.

All moments are just stories repeating, recast.

The world twists, pulls, moves. In the corner of Maui’s eye, Tyche, blue glowing and beautiful with eyes of ice, smiles a true smile.

Barry staggers, and falls slack in the noose of the rope, and Mick’s hand falls slack at his side, jawbone still clutched in his grip. They regard each other for a moment, Maui and Tamanuitera, Mick and Barry, Heatwave and the Flash, two men with one lifetime behind and another ahead, two men who were hiding from seeking sorrow. 

“You will have your Golden Age, then.” says Tamanuitera. “You will have your Sun.”

Maui smiles with the pain of loss.

“I would rather have my Luck. Both My Sun and I did always prefer him, and I am not fond of being the consolation prize.”

“That’s a lie.” says Barry Allen, says Tamanuitera, eyes wide like saucers. “You are far from a consolation prize.”

Mick Rory stares back, shocked. Barry shrugs off the ropes, wraps his hands around Mick’s face, pulls him down until their lips meet. 

“My Sun.” says Mick, says Maui, when they part. “Mine, tamed and caught.”

Barry smiles, and the sun breaks through the clouds.

#prouves writes #Mick Rory #Barry Allen #Flashwave