#which makes me wonder if she is what the conduit is SUPPOSED to be

[soulofamy]

every so often i look back at scrapped character designs from past soulcalibur games and i feel robbed of what we could have had

these are some of my favorites. the bottom left one is seidou nagumo and hes actually still canon in the old timeline even though his character was scrapped. i hope they bring him back in some way

i have always wanted to make art of these ones in particular, the top two especially since i can imagine it would be really fun to "complete" the designs. we will see, i might do it one day

#soulcalibur #soul calibur #the woman isnt mentioned on any wiki but she was featured in a concept art for groh #which makes me wonder if she is what the conduit is SUPPOSED to be #who knows #i have ideas for made up stories for the top two though #maybe one day i will go more in depth with them

[virgoilluminati]

Belongings

Chapter 4: Hash brown, egg yolk I will always love you.

Series Masterlist

A/N: this is low-key my favourite chapter up to date. I THINK it is so cute and I am imagining like a very cute literal village bakery where y/n works. Harry is so wholesome in this and what makes this worse is the fact that as I am writing about Will I low-key don’t hate him. Which is so annoying because he is supposed to be a baddy. ANYWAYS I hope you enjoy. This one is very fluffy.

Warnings: slight angst but mainly fluff fluff fluff

Word count: 2959

In the realm of dreams, where boundaries blur and imagination runs wild, Y/N found herself immersed in a captivating scenario. As she took to the stage, her heart brimming with anticipation, she initially believed she was standing beside her fiance, Will, ready to share a musical journey together. As the music swelled, Y/N's heart overflowed with a blend of excitement and nervous anticipation. The stage became her sanctuary, a place where her emotions found solace and her voice found wings to soar. With each note, she felt a profound connection to the music her spirit intertwining with the melodies.

Surrounded by a symphony of instruments and an enraptured audience, Y/N experienced a profound sense of fulfillment. The dream transformed into a harmonious dance of self-expression, as her voice reverberated through the vast space, touching the hearts of those who listened.

In this dream, Y/N felt a resounding joy, a validation of her passion and talent. The stage became a canvas for her emotions, a conduit through which she could communicate her deepest desires and vulnerabilities. It was a moment of liberation, where she could fully embrace her true self.

As the dream unfolded, Y/N was enveloped in a sense of serenity and purpose. The stage became a symbol of her artistic journey, where she could break free from the confines of daily life and embrace her calling as a performer.

Each lyric resonated within her, echoing the emotions she had long kept hidden.

But as the dream unfolded, a subtle shift in perception occurred. Y/N's gaze shifted, and in that moment of surreal clarity, she realized that the person by her side was not Will but her best friend, Harry. It was a revelation that startled her, causing a flutter of emotions to surge through her being.

This realization within the dream sparked a mixture of confusion, intrigue, and a tinge of fear. Y/N's mind raced, grappling with the implications of this newfound awareness.

She questioned what it meant and how to navigate the delicate dynamics of her relationships. As Y/N woke from the dream, her mind remained haunted by its vivid imagery. She knew that it held deeper significance, beckoning her to explore the intricacies of her heart and confront the complex web of emotions she had been suppressing.

Y/N slowly opened her eyes, the remnants of her dream fading away. She found herself in her bedroom, with Will, her fiancé, sitting beside her. His concerned eyes met hers, and she knew she had to come up with an explanation for her disoriented state.

"Hey, are you okay?" Will asked, his voice filled with genuine worry.

Y/N took a deep breath, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, just had a bad dream. It shook me up a bit."

Concern etched across his face, Will reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry, love. Dreams can be unsettling sometimes. But I'm here for you, always."

Her heart ached with conflicting emotions as she looked at Will's caring expression. He was kind and loving, and she couldn't deny the connection they had built. But deep down, a part of her yearned for something different, something that only Harry seemed to ignite within her.

She nodded, grateful for Will's understanding. "Thank you, Will. Your comfort means a lot to me."

As Will continued to console her, Y/N's mind drifted to Harry. They had always shared a special bond, an unspoken connection that transcended their friendship. She wondered what it would be like to wake up to his comforting presence, his arms wrapped around her, offering solace and understanding.

But reality pulled her back, reminding her of her commitment to Will and the life they had planned together. Guilt washed over her for wanting something different, for craving the forbidden.

Y/N knew she had to push those thoughts aside, at least for now. She had made a choice, and she needed to honor it. But that didn't stop her heart from yearning for more.

With a heavy sigh, she shifted her attention back to Will, appreciating the love he had shown her. She leaned into his embrace, finding comfort in his arms, even if her mind was elsewhere.

As Y/N sought solace in Will's comforting presence, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. His reassuring words did little to ease the underlying tension she sensed within him. She looked up at him, her brows furrowing in concern.

"Will, you've been so supportive, but I can tell something's bothering you. Is there something you're not telling me?" she asked, her voice filled with genuine worry.

Will's gaze dropped for a moment, his hands fidgeting with unease. He took a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak his truth. "Y/N, I haven't been entirely honest with you," he admitted, his voice laced with regret.

Her heart sank as she braced herself for what he was about to say. This wasn't what she had expected, and a wave of uncertainty washed over her. She held her breath, waiting for him to continue. “I have to leave a couple days before the wedding. It’s a work thing, and I really really can’t miss it.”

Y/N's eyes widened in disbelief, her mind racing to comprehend his confession. The implications of his departure sent a wave of panic coursing through her. "But Will, the wedding... We've planned everything around that date. What about all the arrangements? The guests, the venue..." her voice trailed off, her worries spilling out.

Will sighed, his expression filled with remorse. "I know it's not ideal, and I'm truly sorry for the inconvenience. But I’ve already talked to Harry and he’s more than happy to help you out whilst I am away. I will be back the day before and it’ll be like nothing happened.”

Her mind raced with thoughts of the countless tasks involved in wedding planning. The invitations, the venue, the caterers—they had all been arranged with the original date in mind. The prospect of rearranging everything felt daunting, and the uncertainty left her feeling overwhelmed.

“You already planned it out, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you-“

“We’re supposed to be getting married will! You have to tell me when things like this happen. Was there no one else who could cover the shift? It’s literally our wedding - surely there is some leave you could take.”

“Y/N, I can’t. This job is important to me.”

“But it shouldn’t be more important than me.” She responds. Will unable to say anything, sighs frustratedly. In retaliation y/n grabs a pillow and jumps out of the bed. Will frowns confused. “What are you doing?”

“Sleeping in the lounge. Until your ready to get your priorities in shape.” And with that she slams the door in his face.

*******************

As the familiar jingle of the bakery door echoed through the room, Y/N glanced up to see Harry walking in. A mixture of relief and comfort washed over her, knowing that his presence would bring a sense of solace amidst the chaos of the wedding planning.

"Trouble in paradise?" Harry asked, a hint of concern in his voice as he approached the counter. Y/N couldn't help but smile at his ability to read her emotions so effortlessly.

She let out a soft chuckle, a touch of resignation in her tone. "It's stupid really, Harry. Will's fixated on this job situation, and it's putting a strain on us. It feels like his priorities have shifted, and it's hard to ignore."

Harry leaned against the counter, his gaze filled with understanding. "Not really love. Honestly, Will needs to get over this whole job thing. His priorities should be you. And I'm sorry that it isn't."

Her heart skipped a beat at Harry's words, his unwavering support providing her with a glimmer of hope. Despite the complicated nature of their relationship, his presence brought a sense of comfort and clarity.

She returned to kneading the dough, the rhythmic motion grounding her as she gathered her thoughts. "Thank you, Harry. Your words mean a lot to me. It's just overwhelming, the weight of everything."

Harry nodded, his eyes filled with empathy. “I understand, Y/N. Planning a wedding can be incredibly stressful, but I'm here to help with whatever is needed. We'll get through this together."

The ache in Harry's heart lingered beneath the surface, an unspoken longing that couldn't be ignored. He yearned for a future that seemed just out of reach, but being able to contribute to Y/N's wedding brought him a sense of purpose and solace. It allowed him to be there for her, to support her in a tangible way, even if his own desires went unfulfilled.

Y/N met his gaze, a mix of gratitude and affection in her eyes. "Thank you, Harry. Knowing I can count on you means more than I can express. Let's focus on making this wedding beautiful, and maybe, just maybe, everything will fall into place."

They shared a bittersweet smile, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Despite the complexities of their relationship, their bond remained unbreakable.

************

“You remember that one time when we got drunk after your concert, and you were the bride and I would be the groom.” Y/N laughed as she began to pour out a dark chocolate mixture into a pan, the aroma of sweetness wafting through the bakery. Harry's gaze softened as he watched her, the memories of their past escapades lingering in his mind.

“Yeah, that night was unforgettable," Harry chuckled, a reminiscent smile on his face. "I never thought I could rock a ball gown like that. And you with the makeshift mustache, we must have looked ridiculous."

Y/N nodded, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "Oh, we definitely did. But it was so much fun. And my dad's reaction when he saw the permanent marker on my face? Priceless."

As they reminisced, the contrast between their playful past and the reality of the present hung in the air. Y/N was preparing for her wedding, while Harry, deep down, yearned for a different outcome. The ache in his chest resurfaced, a bittersweet reminder of the unfulfilled longing within him.

Harry's smile wavered slightly, a hint of sadness shadowing his eyes. "How time flies, indeed. Here we are now, on the brink of your wedding, and I'm... well, I'm here."

Y/N turned to face him, her expression filled with warmth and understanding. She knew the depth of his feelings, even if they couldn't be openly acknowledged. Her heart ached for him, for the love they shared but couldn't fully embrace.

"Harry," she said softly, placing a hand on his arm. "You've always been here for me, and I'm grateful beyond words. Our friendship means everything to me, even if our paths have taken different turns. Just having you by my side brings me comfort and strength."

Harry's smile returned, tinged with a touch of awkwardness. He scratched the back of his neck, his gaze briefly falling away before meeting hers once more. "I know, Y/N. And I treasure our friendship too. I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

In that moment, they understood the unspoken truth. Their connection, though unfulfilled romantically, remained a source of solace and support. They would navigate the complexities of their emotions, cherishing the bond they shared while honoring the commitments they had made.

As the scent of chocolate filled the bakery, Y/N and Harry carried on with their preparations, finding solace in the shared memories and the knowledge that, even in the face of unrequited love, their friendship would endure. And though the ache in Harry's heart remained, he couldn't help but hold onto the hope that somehow, in their own unique way, they had found a love that transcended traditional boundaries.

***********

“You’ll need a date for the wedding you know…”

Y/N's suggestion caught Harry off guard, and he couldn't help but feel a mix of surprise and confusion. The idea of going on a date hadn't crossed his mind, as he had resigned himself to the belief that his heart belonged solely to Y/N. He looked at her, his brows furrowed, trying to process her proposition.

"I don't need a date, Y/N," Harry replied, his voice carrying a tinge of uncertainty. The thought of being with someone else paled in comparison to the connection he shared with her, even if it remained unspoken.

Y/N's eyes sparkled with determination as she countered his statement. "But Harry, you don't want to be alone. And I know a couple of people who would be right up your street. Like Florence, for instance!"

"Florence?" Harry burst into laughter, the idea of him and Y/N's maid of honor being a romantic match seeming absurd to him. He stepped away from the pastries he was attempting to braid, his laughter filling the room.

"Yes, Florence!" Y/N insisted, her voice filled with excitement. "You two would get on so well, and she is so lovely..."

Harry's laughter subsided, and he looked at Y/N with a mixture of amusement and affection. "I'm sure she is, Y/N, but she's not my type."

Y/N's gaze lingered on his face, searching for any hint of his preferences, as if she could read his thoughts. Harry felt a wave of anxiety wash over him, realizing that his hidden feelings might be more apparent than he had anticipated.

"It doesn't matter," he added quickly, his voice slightly shaky. "I mean, my type... it's not important right now."

As the unspoken words lingered between them, Harry couldn't help but wonder if Y/N had glimpsed the truth behind his response. He longed for her, for the connection they shared, but he also feared the consequences of revealing his true feelings.

Y/N's eyes softened, and she reached out to gently touch his arm. "Harry, I just want you to be happy. If not Florence, then maybe someone else. You deserve love and companionship too, you know?"

Harry's heart swelled with a mixture of gratitude and longing. He yearned to confess his feelings, to reveal that his type was standing right in front of him. But the fear of jeopardizing their friendship held him back, and he settled for a small smile.

As Y/N was about to respond, her curiosity piqued by Harry's evasive answer, she suddenly found herself enveloped in a cloud of white. Flour coated her hair, clothes, and the surrounding area, leaving her momentarily stunned. Harry stood there, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, holding an empty bag that once held flour.

"Oops! My hand slipped," Harry chuckled, trying to suppress his laughter.

Y/N's surprise quickly turned into amusement, and a mischievous twinkle sparkled in her eyes. She glanced at Harry, a playful smile forming on her flour-covered face. "Oh, you're in for it now, Styles!"

Without hesitation, Y/N grabbed a handful of flour and tossed it back at Harry. The room erupted into laughter and chaos as they engaged in a spontaneous food fight. Flour flew through the air, pastries were transformed into ammunition, and their bakery became a temporary battleground of laughter and mess.

Laughter echoed through the air as they ducked and dodged, their faces adorned with flour and grins of pure joy. In that moment, the worries and complexities of their lives faded into the background, and they were simply two friends reveling in a carefree moment.

Flour coated every surface, creating a whimsical scene that seemed straight out of a movie. Their shared laughter echoed through the bakery, filling the space with an infectious energy that dispelled any lingering tension.

After what felt like an eternity of flour-filled fun, the laughter subsided, and they stood there, breathless and covered in the remnants of their impromptu food fight. Harry's eyes met Y/N's, and they burst into laughter once more, their bond growing stronger amidst the mess they had created.

In the midst of the flour-filled chaos, as Y/N and Harry's eyes met, a palpable tension crackled in the air. Their gazes lingered, locked on each other, before instinctively shifting down to each other's lips. The unspoken desire hung between them, and it seemed as if the world around them had momentarily faded away.

Without a word, they both leaned in, their intentions clear. The anticipation of their lips meeting was electrifying, the culmination of years of unspoken affection. But just as their lips were about to touch, Florence walked through the door, her voice chiming with excitement as she held up an array of colors for Y/N to consider for her wedding dress.

"Y/N, I've got some options for you to try!" Florence exclaimed, unaware of the charged moment that had just transpired between Y/N and Harry.

Startled, Y/N and Harry quickly pulled away from each other, their faces flushed with a mixture of surprise and anticipation. They exchanged a fleeting glance, their unspoken connection echoing in the silence, before seamlessly transitioning back into their baking roles as if nothing had happened.

"Thanks, Florence! Let's take a look," Y/N responded, her voice masking any hint of what had just occurred. The atmosphere in the bakery shifted back to normalcy, though their hearts still fluttered with the nearness of what could have been.

As Florence continued to talk excitedly about the various dress colors, Y/N and Harry exchanged subtle glances, their shared moment remaining a secret between them. The unspoken understanding and unrequited affection remained intact, locked away beneath the surface

#harry styles cute #harry styles #one direction #harrystyles x y/n #harrystyles x bakerreader #harrystyles x singerreader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic rec #harrystylesxreader #harry styles concept #harrystyles angst #harrystyles fluff

[blueskyscribeupdates]

Secure Own Oxygen Mask

Part 20

"Cassette bots: morning status report."

"All systems green, energon level fifty-five percent," Ravage says.

"Systems: green," Laserbeak squawks.  "Energon level: thirty-six."

"Mine's at forty percent. How come you have so much more, Ravage?" Frenzy puts her hands on her hips.  "If you steal someone's hoard you gotta tell us."

"I'm more fuel efficient."

"Cat: lazy," Laserbeak snickers.  "Sleeps all day."

"Stealing from other Decepticons: no allowed," you remind them.  "Soundwave: will provide.  Meanwhile: go to training room.  Practice code-breaking drills."

"Awww, man, training again?" Frenzy flops back on the cassettes' little couch and covers her face with her hands.  "Soundwaaave, I'm tired of doing drills, my joints are gonna melt!"

"Code-breaking: not physical. Mental."

"My brain's gonna melt too!"

"How long will today's training session run?" Ravage inquires.

"Fourteen hours."

"Ah." Ravage's tail flips.  "So the same as the past three days."

"Yes."

"Ah."

"Buzzsaw: gets to skip?" Laserbeak demands, aggrieved.

"No.  Query: Buzzsaw's location known?"

They shake their heads.

"I'll find her," Ravage says.

"No. Train."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Surprisingly, Buzzsaw willingly sends her location when you ping her. She's in the lower levels of the base, where she often scavenges from the medical bay and science wing for her sculptures. Incorporating limbs and faceplates from deceased mechs into art strikes you as macabre, but most Decepticons seem to enjoy the mural she installed in the cafeteria.  Even Megatron complimented it.  You are simply not sufficiently artistic, you suppose.

The thought of Megatron makes you walk faster. The pinched look on his face as he ordered you off-duty.  His warm hand on your shoulder as he eulogized Rumble as a strong Decepticon warrior, which he was not.  You failed him; you failed Rumble.  But you can improve. You will. You must.

Your systems are already on edge by the time you reach the sub-levels;  when you round a corner to see Thundercracker and Nova Storm cornering Buzzsaw, your defensive protocols whirr into overdrive.  Your approach is silent, but the conduits on your palms burn with energy.  Perhaps bouncing the Seekers down the hall will teach them to leave your charges alone.

"—so I use complimentary colors for the background and contrasting colors for the text.  Makes it pop," Buzzsaw is saying as Thundercracker nods energetically.

"That's also a common technique in cinematography!"

"Is it?  I don't watch movies much.  The others have such rotten taste."

Your pace slows.  Buzzsaw is perched on one of the exposed pipes running down the hall, unruffled and relaxed as Thundercracker earnestly extolls the wonders of human cinema.  Nova Storm is gnawing on her finger, visibly bored and darting glances down the hall like she wants to leave.  Then she spots you stalking forward; she clutches Thundercracker's arm and shakes it.

"Nova Storm, what?"  His face goes from annoyed to alarmed in an instant. "Oh slag."

"Uhhh, we gotta go now, bye byyyye Buzz-bird!"  Nova Storm runs down the hall, dragging Thundercracker after her.

You glare after them, then anxiously look over Buzzsaw for signs of injury or distress.  But she seems more amused than anything.

"Look at them go. You really put the fear of Unicron in them, sneaking up like that.  Oh, stop looking so worried, they're harmless."

"Associates of Starscream," you point out.  Anything related to the Air Commander is, by default, suspicious.  "Thundercracker: his trinemate."

"Yes, I wonder how he stands it," she muses.  "He seems nice. He brought Nova Storm over to apologize for throwing me around."

"Appropriate behavior," you admit grudgingly.

"And why are you down here, I wonder?"

"Buzzsaw knows why.  Buzzsaw: avoiding training."

"I'm not avoiding it.  I'm just not doing it." She preens her plumage.  "I'm helping the Constructicons. Scavenger brought in another load of so-called 'junk' and Scrapper wants it out of their workshop.  So of course I said I'd take it.  Just look, it's perfect for my next piece."  

She sends you an image-still of a broken television, shattered concrete girders with exposed rebar, and a tangle of plastic-coated wires.  Scrapper is correct; it is junk.  And you are growing impatient.

"Soundwave: will ensure material is disposed of. Buzzsaw: will not waste time.  Buzzsaw: will train."

"Excuse you?  What am I, your pet?  And art is not a waste of time, it's–"

"Buzzsaw," you amplify, jutting your chin forward, "will train."

Her optics narrow. Her little orange sliver of a tongue is visible as she draws in slow breaths through her open beak.  You do not know what to do if she refuses. At last her beak snaps shut.

"Fine," she says, stepping onto your shoulder.

You retrace your way through the maze of halls, out of sorts, half-wishing that Thundercracker or Nova Storm will reappear to distract you.  But they do not.

After a few minutes Buzzsaw breaks the silence.  "Mixmaster told me something interesting while I was looking at the scrap.  He said you'd been to see Hook recently. All by yourself."

Mixmaster is going to have trouble coming his way. "Med bay information: confidential."

"Yes, Hook was quick to say that.  He was very annoyed it was brought up." Buzzsaw cranes her neck over to peer directly into your visor.  "Soundwave, what's going on?  First this crazy training, now secret appointments– Ravage is worried about you.  We all are. This isn't you."

"Worry: unnecessary."  How to explain. Should you explain?  "Appointment: not secret. Private."

"What's the difference?" Her voice rises as she thrusts her head against yours.  "Talk to me and I'll go to your stupid training willingly!  Just . . . just tell me it's not some last ditch effort to protect us because you're dying or something!"

Oh.  

You rest a gentle hand on Buzzsaw's neck, pushing her back.  "Soundwave: not dying."

"I don't believe you." Her wings flap meaninglessly as her talons scratch at your chest.  "Prove it!"

After a moment of hesitation, you allow your chest compartment to swing open.

She transforms and dives in before you can even say "Buzzsaw, return."

#Transformers #Earthspark #Soundwave #Buzzsaw #Thundercracker #Nova Storm #maccadam #fic update #Secure Own Oxygen Mask #fanfiction

[shuttershocky]

sorry to bother, but I was playing through Atlantis in FGO (finally catching up) and they made mention of a 'seal designation' which... even after their explanation, still confused me and I was wondering if you could shed more light on it? Also, what ARE the chances of the FGO protag being 'seal designated'?

A Sealing Designation occurs when the Clock Tower is scared shitless about someone regards someone as either a great danger to themselves and to the secrecy of magecraft, or is otherwise a powerful, uncontrollable, and unique specimen in terms of their abilities or peculiar magic circuits.

To this end, the Clock Tower keeps Sealing Enforcers: powerful combat mages meant to subdue targets for sealing. These are then brought to the Clock Tower and imprisoned, though if I remember correctly it's a lot more close to being made a brain in a jar as they tear out your magic circuits for study while keeping you alive as circuits are bound to the soul and thus will vanish when its owner dies.

Bazett is one such example of a Sealing Enforcer. Highly adept at hand to hand combat and wielding the actual Fragarach, she was so effective at hunting down mages and sealing them that she ended up being ostracized from the rest of the Clock Tower due to their fear of her (her poor social skills notwithstanding.)

Some Type-Moon protagonists and antagonists are potential or even active targets for Sealing Enforcement. In Fate/Stay Night, Rin hides the true nature of Shirou's projection powers from the Clock Tower for fear that he would be targeted if discovered, as Projection is normally supposed to create a mere image without the powers or abilities of the projected item, making Shirou an anomaly.

On the other hand, Aoko's older sister and Ryougi Shiki's master, Aozaki Touko, is infamously an active target for Sealing Designation due to the threat she poses to the Clock Tower. Touko has the very dangerous combination of being very powerful, extremely intelligent, and highly aggressive, having murdered and kidnapped other mages for insulting her or to strip them of their magic circuits for her own use. Lord El Melloi Case Files' material books claim that Touko has caused significant losses to the Sealing Enforcer's ranks, and they once removed her Sealing Designation due to some connection she had with the head of the Enforcers at the time.

At the start of Epic of Remnant, it was revealed that the Chaldea staff had been forging Guda's documentation and lying in their reports to the U.N about the events of Part 1, making it seem like Guda was simply used as a conduit for summoning servants and for having no active role during battles. This is because many on the staff feared that Guda would immediately be regarded as a threat due to their ability to control an army of servants all at once, normally an impossible feat when most magi can barely get along with just one. Additionally, the staff have noted that Guda killing Goetia during the finale of Part 1 was so impossible that even the people who saw it happen could barely believe it, and they were afraid if they wrote down the truth then Guda would be designated for sealing immediately.

But in Part 2, Goredolf joins Chaldea as its new owner, and in the Clock Tower he works in the Policies department, essentially the lawyers. While Goredolf's not the bravest guy around he IS actually quite good at his job and also sees Chaldea's employees as being his responsibility and under his protection, as he spent all of his wealth to buy the organization and all its assets when the Clock Tower decided to carve it all up. The protagonist probably doesn't have to worry about receiving a sealing designation with Goredolf backing them.

[raayllum]

okay this is just the first couple watch throughs (and I haven’t been able to figure out any of the text but) here are my initial thoughts of what I think I can identify on the map in the new TDP S4 intro

First to get the Obvious ones out of the way

What looks like baby / a much, much younger Aaravos, close to Ezran’s age if not a little younger

Then we have Sol Regem at the top of the map, the same way we have Thunder / Avizandum at the top of the Arc 1 map

The constellation below Sol Regem on the right looks like a Bumblescorp, which Claudia famously mentions in 1x06 to Viren (a joke set up for the “If you must make a choice between Soren and the egg, choose the egg”)

The constellation to the left of Sol Regem looks like a Sunfire dragon like Phyrrah, the one the boys and Rayla rescue in 2x07 and returns in 3x09 for the battle

Then a constellation of what I thought at first were fish, but upon closer inspection they’re actually like our favourite grumpy friendly Bait - a pair of Glow Toads (reminiscent of Pisces)

To the far northeast of the map we have an elven combatant who seems to have a skull at the front - perhaps Garlaf the Annihilator? Although it’s hard to tell if he’s Moonshadow with the horns, so maybe not

We have some kind of many-legged creature (like the Startouch panda-bear from Tales of Xadia?) playing a string instrument, which could be a reference to the strings in the sneak peek S4 song “Of Love and Loss” that a character in canon apparently will play

We have birds, a book, and a tree in the far midwest. It makes me think of the tree in Katolis’ courtyard, as that seems to be linked to Aaravos and the Orphan Queen (planted 300 years ago), this map is clearly much older. Trees of knowledge are common in mythology and the two birds represent freedom, family? This also may have increased importance as its the one clearly Nature motif constellation and S4 is going to be Book 4: Earth.

We have a unicorn near the bottom, which makes sense as they were around aplenty before humans hunted them to near extinction for dark magic, and they’re canonically connected to the Star Arcanum. This is the second constellation with a possible Claudia connection (as she hunted a unicorn for the Avizandum slaying spell) next to the Bumblescorp.

A very bright star all on its own, near the south east of the future Pentarchy side of the picture. The South Star perhaps that people use to navigate?

Crown in the very middle of the map, which is clearly important (perhaps why the King of Dragon is always portrayed aligned with it) but the significance / meaning is otherwise unknown.

What looks like the Mama Banther and Baby Banther that Callum mentions in the “Written in the Stars” skit, or something comparable to wild boars (if very hairy)

This figure reminds me of Lady Justice due to not really having a face and the robes. It also seems like she’s holding one hand up that’s cupped and one hand straight. It’s similar but it’s hard to tell to a common gesture in historical Christian art that means “Speaker”

We have a second elf who seems to be Moonshadow, judging by the regalia. It doesn’t seem to be Queen Aditi - but, maybe? She / they seem to be frowning or upset about something and the headpiece is reminiscent of the Sunfire queen crown / Sol Regem’s horns

Last but not least we have whatever eldritch abomination this appears to be, right in the middle of the Xadian side of the map. It seems to have eyes and something of a face (is even a little similar-ish looking to Aaravos’ insectoid conduit) but I wonder if it’s supposed to be a whirlpool, or even reminiscent of the essence of Magic itself? It gives me eldritch but accurate Biblical angel vibes

And of course the map has the six primal sources near the bottom, with Star glowing purple at the top

Also worth noting that not all the constellations have little name tags, but the ones that do goes as follows:

Aaravos

Eldritch thing-y

Tree book constellation

Possible baby and mama banther

Lute / violin playing creature

Elf combatant

#tdp #the dragon prince #s4 spoilers #tdp spoilers #predictions #worldbuilding #aaravos #sol regem #mine #analysis series #analysis #anyway this was fun

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

I mean I like Nice Arceus but You know what Akari being sent by Arceus to destroy Giratina is really cool! Bc I can KINDA see where Acrues is coming from bc It's in charge of the world and Giratina is a threat just by existing in its eyes.

It also brought me a cool scene in my minds eye. A god felled and prone as God's Chosen Looms above it with the God Slaying Sword. (I think that Akari would be given a choice as account of Arceus sending a HUMAN to do its dirty work. We can kill it. We can do as a God commands. Yet Humans have free will. We can lay down the blade and spare a God. (I personally think that destruction Has a place in a world. With a font of magic flowing into a world there must be a drain or all will drown.) It would be a very neat point about Kindness and Mortality and Humanity)

(U think that Irida and Adaman are bound to their gods? But Reverse. Instead of being the summoner in the bound they are the summon kinda. They cant SUMMON their god but they DO have a bond with it. Which puts a certain religious importance of them and their position. And It would make it kinda funny that Dialga in all its infinite insight into the past present and future choose a non-mage for the job in the first time in recorded history and everyone is freaking out. Yes THATS the one who will serve me best as my Preist or whatever)

YEAH, like, i personally don't think that you can really classify arceus as Good or Evil. it's a force of reality, it doesn't necessarily conceptualize morality in any way that we would recognize it. if it's sending akari to do cleanup duty, it's not with any kind of malice, it doesn't even occur to it that giratina might be "hurt" by its actions. what does pain, physical or emotional, mean to an almighty god? it's just doing what's cleanest and most efficient for the function of the world. this is just What's Supposed To Happen. it's inevitability.

...but then it created akari, probably with the lake trio's help, which means oops! the conduit of your divine will has feelings. oops, you weren't thinking and you made the holy blade of justice an emotional overempathetic teenager and she doesn't actually want to do a murder. how's your divine plan for reality going, pretty good it doesn't seem

as for the other thing. HMM, i do wonder about the role of gods like dialga and palkia in this world. like, are they just the physical embodiments of the primal magical forces? do they actually come down and talk to people? the draconid empire worships rayquaza, but that doesn't necessarily mean it gives them the time of day about it. i do like the idea though that adaman and irida are like, marked as the property of dialga and palkia. maybe that comes with visions or guidance or something, and that's another part of their responsibilities, and that's also what helps clue them in to the fact that akari might have a similar thing going on with something even more primal than theirs are. OR, irida is but adaman isn't, and this is another part of the tightly-kept diamond clan secret. or adaman's bond is also incredibly faint and does essentially nothing besides exist.

#the nemesis speaks #the nemesis answers #anonymous #ley lines au

[waitingforwinterwinds]

A Clash of Kings - 49 TYRION XI (pages 640-649)

Tyrion starts finalizing the preparations for Stannis' upcoming attack on King's Landing, making the hard call for some unfortunate (and not so unfortunate) orders before catching up on some gossip with the boys.

-

"-" Tyrion threatened, as the first load of Stone Crow pushed off from the quay.

Look, I know it's pronounced like "key," I know Galdin Quay is pronounced like "golden key," but that doesn't stop my brain from saying "kway" every. damned. time. >.<

... I just read an entire page and absorbed exactly zero words, my eyes were tracking but my brain was experiencing an AU. *sighs*

(Diaspro as one of Tyrion's hired swords, traveling around enjoying exile with Aryo, because she deserves her goddamned horse (and by horse I mean broken-horned alicorn with trust issues that tried to kill Diaspro's ex-fiance))

Children with swollen bellies were already fighting over the pieces of stinking fish.

oh dear. I know swollen bellies sounds like glutted-on-food or pregnant, but in this context it's more likely to be the swollen belly symptom that comes from starvation and rotten food-sources causing infections and disorders of the gut.

He remembered their godswood; (...) That wood was Winterfell. It was the north. I never felt so out of place as I did when I walked there, so much an unwelcome intruder. He wondered if the Greyjoys would feel it too. The castle might be theirs, but never that godswood. Not in a year, or ten, or fifty.

oh that's interesting, not just "ancient gods don't like you" vibes, but it also contextualizes some of Cat's thoughts from way back in GoT, feeling like an outsider still after all these years, iirc, that thought was directly linked to her being in the godswood.

"Yes, you have secret spells, how splendid, what of them?" "They, hmmm, seem to be workingbetter than they were." Hallyne smiled weakly. "You don't suppose there are any dragons about, do you?" "Not unless you found one under the Dragonpit. Why?" "Oh, pardon, I was just remembering something Old Wisdom Pollitor told me once, when I was an acolyte. I'd asked him why so many of our spells seemed, well, not as effectual as the scrolls would have us believe, and he said it was because magic had begun to go out of the world the day the last dragon died."

Okay, so iirc, that's now the Undying, Quaithe (and by extension her order I'm guessing), and the Alchemists Guild (also I think Mirri might have inferred something of the same but I'd have to go back and check) all saying dragons cause magic.

So we have a definitive belief that the two are related, but I'd be curious of the how. How are dragons related to magic, do they cause it to germinate? Or are they more like conduits and their living presence allows magic from some other plane into this one? Are they actually the cause of magic or just an inevitable symptom of the return of magic?

Hey, hey GRRM, come here a sec, I got questions for ya!

"My men have there instructions." "Which are?" "You commanded me to tell no one, my lord."

Ha! I like you Jacelyn. For now.

#a clash of kings #a song of ice and fire #tyrion lannister #a chapter a day reading #acok #asoiaf

[furiosophie]

maybe a little more oh the things we left behind epilogue fluff??? ;u; i know the entire epilogue was fluff but i am insatiable

yes very good thinking anon and sorry for the long wait my brain is just a heap of goo right now but here we go - some ottwlb fluff set between the Mandalorian war and the very last scene of the fic, a small compilation of how Din found the rest of their family:

oh the things we found

small TW for mentions of blood and trauma

Din doesn't in any way plan on becoming a magnet for Force-sensitive children, he really doesn't, but it happens regardless, something about his unique combination of Force-null beskar, Force-conduit darksaber, and Force-bond husband drawing them in like moths to a flame.

He finds Rey first, on a recon mission out to Jakku, casing a distress signal from a lost covert. She can't be any older than Ben, who is seven now and an absolute terror, but in comparison to him, she doesn't listen to Din one bit, her whole life just a series of defying the authority figures around her. She dangles from a rope above him, in the hollowed-out remains of an Imperial Star Destroyer, sticking out her tongue at him. "I'm not coming with you!" she declares while Din tries to position himself in a way that will allow him to catch her if she slips. "I'm waiting for my family. They're coming to get me!"

He doesn't have the heart to tell her no one in their right mind would ever willingly come back to a place like Jakku. He places all his rations, most of his credits, and, just for good measure, some bacta spray on the ground below her like he's making some offering to an ancient feral god and leaves with an ache in his chest.

"She won't come with me," he complains to Luke later, pacing up and down in the living area of the Mudhorn while Luke brews tea. They don't technically live in the Mudhorn anymore, have their own quarters in the ruins of Yavin's temple, but they always end up here regardless, whenever one of them comes back from a mission, whenever they need it to be just the two of them, away from everyone's worries.

Luke hands him a steaming cup and places a soft kiss on his temple. "Don't worry," he says, in that cryptic tone of his, the one he uses to tease Din when he's being daft about something that's impossible for him to know. "She will." And that's that.

Din goes back. Once, twice, three times, until the sparse crowd of locals looks at him with pity in their eyes. She does come with him eventually, after his eighths visit, when he draws the darksaber on a dune beast and turns around to find her looking at him with the type of recognition in her eyes that he's only ever seen in the way Luke looks at Ben and Grogu.

"She's like you," he accuses when Luke greets them at the bottom of the Mudhorn's ramp, Rey perched high on his shoulders, her arms wrapped around his helmet so tight it's hard for him to see. Luke just smiles and reaches out so Rey can tentatively take his hand. The change is instant - as soon as their palms touch her whole body relaxes as if something in her is finally at peace and Din has to reach up to keep her from sliding off his shoulders. And well. That's that.

Finn is next, standing tall in front of a group of terrified kids, in a backroom of the imperial laboratory they just raided, his eyes ablaze and lips turned up into a snarl. "I'll fight you," he snaps even as Din can see his hands shaking around the mop he fished out of the supply closet as a makeshift weapon. "I'm not scared, I'll fight you!" And really all Din can do in response is pull his helmet off and fall to his knees with his hands raised above his head.

It seems to work because he gets all of them into the Mudhorn eventually, Finn curled up on the copilot's seat, staring out in wonder at the endless expanse of space while the rest of the kids are rolled up into every available blanket in the captain's quarter. It's a bit of a rough start - where Rey felt turmoil because of the things swirling inside her without guidance, all Finn has ever known is supervision and people telling him to be something he's not, his connection to the Force tempered down in all the wrong places, too silent and too loud all at the same time, and in the first weeks, Din spends a lot of time hugging him close to the beskar plating of his chest, taking strolls under the quietness of Yavin's trees like he used to do with Ben. Finn quiets eventually, just as Rey did, the two of them getting on like a house on fire.

Shara is the one who brings Paige and Rose Tico, two sisters left stranded and alone by the still raging unrest of the remnants of war, and there is barely a discussion before she decides to take them in herself, the two of them glued to Poe the second they step off Shara's ship.

He finds Armitage last, standing over the dead body of an Imperial officer, blood on his hands and all across his face, just a sliver of yellow in the green of his eyes. Din has bruises on his arms for a week from how hard the kid strains against him as he tries to drag him out of the Star Destroyer before it self-destructs, but he figures, all things considered, they'll be able to handle that too.

He turns out to be a menace, of course, too smart for his own good, and way too stubborn to let Ben get away with his teasing, which always seems to end up Luke and Din having to physically drag them away from each other. Din tries to do for him what he did for everyone else, to hold him close and comfort him, but he only ever succeeds in the quiet of the night when he finds him at the very top of the temple wrapped up tightly in Luke's arms, both of them holding onto each other for dear life, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks tear-stained, darkness hanging around them like rain clouds.

Armitage takes a shine to Bo-Katan though, amidst all of his defiance, a fact that seems to confuse her as much as it does Din, and he knows that that will probably spell disaster in the future given how fast and feral Armitage takes to swinging a lightsaber, but to his relieve the Armorer steps up to pull him to her workshop by the back of his neck and balances the murder in his eyes with ever-evolving engineering challenges.

And so it takes a bit, quite a while in fact, but they find their balance eventually, their weird ever-growing family, all of them slotting into each other in a way that sometimes makes Din wonder if this was their doing too, Luke's and his, if in bending the universe around them, and in becoming one in the Force they somehow became a beacon for all those who are lost.

He wonders about it on the nights when, even after Han settles down on Yavin more or less permanently to be closer to Ben, and even after Paz bashfully asks to officially adopt Rey who's been glued to his shoulders for months, and even after Armitage makes it very clear that he doesn't plan to ever be adopted by anyone, Luke comes back from an excursion to find Din pilled into their bed with a bunch of wayward Foundlings.

"Sorry," Din mumbles sleepily as Luke steps over a snoring Paz who's taken up guard in the hallway, "It just happened."

"Is there room for one more?"

"Unlikely," Din sighs as he always does, but Luke finds a spot anyways, shuffling the kids around until they are just awake enough to demand a story from him.

"It's late," Luke smiles as Din pulls him closer to lean their foreheads together in greeting, Grogu climbing up from where he was tucked beneath Ben's chin to settle in between his dads. "I'll tell you all about it tomorrow."

"Just one!" Rey pleads from her spot at Din's side, Finn's head popping up behind her in a show of support and Luke raises a warning eyebrow as Poe and Rose scoot closer from where they were sprawled over Din's legs. "You always say we need to be curious about the world around us!"

"It will help us sleep," Armitage argues from his spot at the end of the bed, the one he takes to pretend he doesn't care about any of this, and starts scooting close too, shoving at Ben to make space.

"They make a good point," Din interjects gently and pulls Armitage out of the way and between them before Ben can get up enough to headbutt him with Din's helmet, which is a constant on his head on those nights where they all feel pulled towards each other.

"Traitor," Luke laughs, letting Armitage nestle in closer to him, but he'll tell them about his travels anyways until they are all knocked out and snoring peacefully and Din can press a quick kiss to Luke's lips without having to listen to a cascade of "ew" and "gross".

And so, in the end, he always drifts asleep knowing he doesn't fully understand it, not really, how they all manage to fit so perfectly into each other's lives, how he managed to find this, this place that is domestic in a way nothing in his life has ever been, but he figures he doesn't have to understand it, not when he also knows with absolute certainty that they are all exactly where they are supposed to be.

#dinluke #oh the things we left behind #thank you for that lovely question anon #I had this in my head for a long time I'm glad it's out there now #they all deserve some cuddles and happiness #also yes I made most of them the same age to fit my timeline poe and hux are the only ones who are slightly older #imagine all of them as children in the same place pure chaos #I have some more of their shenanigans somewhere down in my notes #maybe I'll get around to writing them out one day #but now I take a nap #soph andswers asks #soph writes

[cross-d-a]

Morai appeared in the Clone Wars season finale and I’ve realized that she symbolizes Anakin’s connection to Ahsoka

As we’re all reeling from the Clone Wars finale, I’m struck by the lingering image of a convor circling above Vader as he holds Ahsoka’s lightsaber. Since the convor is so strongly linked with Ahsoka I can only guess that it’s actually Morai and that this is where she begins to guide Ahsoka personally.

I’m sure we’ve all read meta about Morai’s symbolism as the Light Side of the Force, more specifically the Daughter from the Mortis Arc (especially since they share the same colour scheme). After Anakin helps the Daughter transfer her lifeforce to Ahsoka, the convorees begin to appear whenever Ahsoka is being tested. Filoni has even said:

"In some ways, I could say that it's a messenger, it's an observer. It is definitely something. And... I would rather have fans debate—but I would suggest... that whatever that thing is an avatar of has actually appeared in the animated Star Wars universe before. So decrypt from there."

This symbolism continues throughout Rebels where Ahsoka calls Morai by name, actually acquainted with the bird. Morai even leads Kanan to the Bendu when he was in need of guidance.

Ahsoka is intrinsically tied to the convor and through it, the Light Side of the Force. This lingering scene at the end of Victory and Death is absolutely so important, helping tie in the episode, and Vader as we see him, to the rest of the Star Wars universe.

Vader finds the 501st ship at last. We don’t know how long it’s been, how can we? All we know is that snow has covered the ruins and the carefully dug graves. We don’t even know if the troopers with him are clones or normal men. Silent and alone, Vader steps into the ruins. Eventually he stops and observes the wreckage, only to notice a glint in the snow. He bends his knee and reaches down. Almost gently, he brushes the snow away and discovers:

Ahsoka’s lightsaber.

He cradles it in his hand, brushing the snow away again with the other. Then, inexplicably, he flicks it on and we see Vader wielding a blue lightsaber for the very last time onscreen. Who knows why he turned it on. Maybe he couldn’t quite believe it was Ahsoka’s and that she’d lost it once more. Maybe he was testing to see if it still worked or if the colour was still that brilliant blue he tweaked it into.

Maybe it was one last goodbye.

But his gaze follows the point of her ‘sabre and when he reaches the end he sees Morai, soaring high above. He watches her for a long moment and this is when we see his eyes. Darth Vader’s eyes.

Anakin’s.

It doesn’t matter whether they’re blue or a sick-sulfur gold. All that matters is that we see them. We’ve never seen Vader’s eyes through his mask. In this one little moment, in Ahsoka’s lingering presence, we see Anakin Skywalker again.

It’s a clear parallel to Twilight of the Apprentice when Ahsoka destroys the side of his mask with her ‘sabre and Anakin leaks through.

Vader leaves and takes the ‘sabre with him.

It’s so, so obviously clear that he still loves Ahsoka in this moment. That Ahsoka still brings out the good in him. That this is, awfully, their final goodbye as they knew each other.

We always read about how Ahsoka and the convor are linked and how it’s really Ahsoka and the Light Side of the Force that’s linked. But I don’t think we’ve ever really seen anything about how Anakin is linked to the convor and Ahsoka.

The thing is, I think the convor also represents the link between Anakin and Ahsoka.

During the Mortis Arc, Ahsoka essentially dies. The Son kills her, inadvertently mortally wounding his own sister in the process. As the Father grieves, Anakin rushes over to Ahsoka and pleads with the Father.

“You must help her!” Anakin says.

But the Father only replies: “I cannot undo what is done. There is no hope.”

Despite dealing with his own trauma and insecurity and then, of course, eventually Falling to the Dark Side, Anakin has always been a hopeful person. We see this from the very first time we see him: a bright and cheerful slave who only wants to help others.

So of course Anakin pleads again: “Yes, there is. There’s always hope!”

Through his hope and conviction, Anakin convinces the Father to help, and so Anakin becomes the conduit through which the Daughter’s lifeforce is transferred to Ahsoka. As this happens, the main Star Wars theme rises.

This is so incredibly essential to the Star Wars universe, which has always, always been about hope.

Obi-Wan and Bail sequestered the twins away because of hope. The Rebellion rose and thrived and eventually won because of hope.

Luke saved his father because of hope.

Every single goddamn movie is about hope and the perseverance it takes to continue on, one step at a time, no matter how hard it gets.

The Star Wars movies have also always been about Anakin Skywalker. He’s the overarching shadow and the brilliant light in every single one, whether he’s actually in it or not. It’s called the Skywalker Saga for a reason. The only reason Star Wars exists is because of him. He is both villain and hero. He leaves behind a legacy that we can’t shake.

Luke saved his father, but only because Anakin had that little bit of light left in him. That little bit of lingering hope.

And we see it in the finale, in those few moments where Anakin holds Ahsoka’s lightsaber and she points him towards the Light, towards Morai. And we see him for who he is, who he was, and who he will become.

Anakin Skywalker has always been about hope, and because of that Ahsoka survives Mortis. Because of him, she survives everything that killed all the prequel Jedi. She survives the entire original trilogy.

Right after the Mortis Arc, Ahsoka gets kidnapped. It’s the first time she’s ever really been alone and forced to fight to survive. But she manages it, despite the other Padawans on the island giving up or succumbing to their fate. Again, out of everyone, Ahsoka survives. This is also the first time we see the convorees.

During this arc, Anakin is left alone, as well. Fearful and lost, he worries for Ahsoka, but Plo, the Master who found Ahsoka in the first place, guides him.

“What is Ahsoka’s strength?” Plo asks him.

“She is fearless,” Anakin replies.

“That can also be a weakness. Is she a worthy apprentice?”

“No one has her kind of determination.”

“Except you.”

“I’ll find her.”

“This may not be within your power.”

“Whatever you’re trying to say Master Plo, just say it!”

“I am suggesting that perhaps if you have trained her well, she’ll take care of herself and find a way back to you.”

This, again, is so, so important. “Except you,” Plo says. No one has Ahsoka’s determination except for Anakin. No one has her hope except for him. Ahsoka was already a wonderful, resilient person, but Anakin brought it out in her. He taught her, guided her, and now those lessons must guide her as she faces the world alone. This is only reiterated when Anakin and Ahsoka reunite.

“Ahsoka, I am so sorry,” Anakin tells her, clearly very upset.

“For what?”

“For letting you go, for letting you get taken. It was my fault.”

“No, Master, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve tried harder. I…”

“You already did everything you could, everything you had to do. When I was out there, alone, all I had was your training and the lessons you taught me. And because of you, I did survive. And not only that, I was able to lead others to survive as well.”

This is, of course, a recurring theme throughout the Clone Wars and Rebels. Ahsoka perseveres and survives. She saves and guides people in kind. Ahsoka will always be Anakin’s Padawan, his legacy. She embodies all his best qualities, including, of course, his ever-lingering hope.

And that is one of the reasons why Ahsoka is so important: Anakin’s goodness lives on within her. Of course she is her own person, I wouldn’t love her as much as I do if she wasn’t, but being Anakin Skywalker’s Padawan shaped her into the woman we know today.

“You never would have made it as Obi-Wan’s Padawan,” Anakin told her in that very first movie so many years ago. “But you might make it as mine.”

That has never been more true.

If Ahsoka had been Obi-Wan’s Padawan, she’d be dead along with the rest of the Order. If she’d been Obi-Wan’s Padawan, yes she’d be skilled, and yes she would have learned to persevere throughout hardship— But there’s a certain passion for life and hope in Anakin that Obi-Wan simply doesn’t possess.

Ahsoka inherited that from him.

So now we circle back to the convor.

In various cultures owls represent death and wisdom. Filoni has even confirmed that in the Star Wars universe, it is the same. This isn't surprising when Anakin and Ahsoka are constantly facing off death and rising above it, becoming wiser because of it. And, horribly, I'm reminded that this finale is the death of them. They cannot be who they once were, and they cannot be to each other who they once were.

But owls can also represent luck and good fortune.

“Master Kenobi always said there’s no such thing as luck.”

“Good thing I taught you otherwise.”

All throughout her life, Anakin’s lessons and influence guide her, and after the Mortis Arc in moments of great struggle: a convor appears.

What I’m trying to say, I suppose, is that the convor not only symbolizes the Light Side of the Force. It also symbolizes Anakin Skywalker.

And maybe that’s because Anakin Skywalker does embody the Light Side of the Force. Despite everything he goes through and everything he does, Anakin Skywalker clutches onto that bit of hope and comes back to the Light. He brings Balance to the Force.

The convor lingers above Anakin at the end of the Clone Wars after Ahsoka has survived despite the odds. It appears again after their duel in Twilight of the Apprentice. Morai watches Anakin limp out of the Temple, and then returns to Ahsoka after guiding her back from the World Between Worlds.

After guiding her back to Anakin.

“I am suggesting that perhaps if you have trained her well, she’ll take care of herself and find a way back to you,” Plo told Anakin that first time Ahsoka was lost. And he’s right. Ahsoka does find her way back. Again and again and again.

She loves him. He’s her brother and he taught her everything he knew, and she survives because of it. Ahsoka won’t ever let that bit of Anakin go. She won’t ever lose sight of the good in him, or in anyone else.

“I won’t leave you,” she promises him. “Not this time.”

It’s more a promise of hope than anything else. A declaration of loyalty and determination and love. She still believes in him, and she wants, no needs him to know that.

So yes, we talk a lot about how the Daughter and Ahsoka are connected through the convor, but we never talk about how Anakin was that conduit in the first place. The Light and life flowed through him into Ahsoka and so she survived.

As she continues to.

And maybe the ending of the Clone Wars was unbearably heartbreaking. And maybe it’s still making me cry as I write this, but we know how this story ends, and we’re reminded when Anakin, not Vader, looks up into the sky, Ahsoka’s lightsaber in hand and watches Morai circle above.

Star Wars is about hope. It always has been. Despite everything they’ve gone through, there is hope for Anakin Skywalker. And there is hope for Ahsoka Tano, too.

#victory and death #tcw spoilers #tcw finale spoilers #the clone wars #swtcw #swtcws7 #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #sw meta #meta #my meta #my post #rebels #sw:r #parallels #morai #the force #clone wars season 7 #the Daughter #siege of mandalore #star wars #long post

[rosheendubh]

WIP...art-manipulation as visual inspiration for The Elegy of Dead Kingdoms...(crossover of StarWars/revamped Thrawn trilogy, FireFly/Serenity, and the Keltiad...also, spoof SpaceOpera-RockOpera featuring anyone from David Bowie, to LED Zepplin, NewOrder, U2, Ah-Ha...etc)...

~Background

~ At the impetus of River Tam, and the Operative, the Serenity’s renegade crew defies transit laws prohibiting unauthorized access to the wormhole connecting Terran space with the quadrant of the Republic Alliance and the Galactic Empire. Having only a fragmented record mentioning a lone survivor from a planetary massacre, the crew track rumors of a psionically gifted orphan said to have come from the Terran Fringe system of New Celtica, possessing the ability of manipulating the molecular structure of organic matter. An exile once in the service of Palpatine, whose skill of biokinesis Thrawn covets to stabilize the unpredictable violence of his cloned hybrids. A woman with adversaries on both sides of the wormhole, winning a Jedi to her cause, and determined to discover the key to a secret kept hidden for a thousand years. A buried legend of Old Terra, Earth That Was, that may be the last defense between the ancient darkness wakened by Thrawn‘s pursuit of absolute dominion, and the destruction of all life throughout the galaxy...(queue *cinematic drama music*)...

Somewhere between the battle of the Dark Force fleet, and Wayland, MonMontha offers a last ditch effort at negotiation with Thrawn. Imperial forces victorious in recent campaigns, have pushed back the RepublicAlliance to their InnerPlanetary systems. Rogue genetic scientists from the Terran quadrant, refusing to abandon their research after the PAX Hydrochlorate failure on Miranda, found a ready market amid trans-conduit Imperial war-profiteers, for their newest discovery. An archaic protogenome derived from dark-matter structures, endowing hybridized Reaver clones with real-time tissue regenerative capacity. These clones now render Thrawn’s army nearly indestructible. The scene above is merely my toying with a concept of the ethereal, and formidable River Tam crossing paths with the illustrious brilliance embodied in the GrandAdmiral Thrawn...

~scene~

On Coruscant, during Monmontha’s attempt at negotiating a peace, Rhyanon ferch Garowen (alluded to above) blatantly rejects Thrawn‘s coercive effort at bringing her to his side during a dinner banquet. B/c of this act of arrogance, Thrawn vows no mercy in the progression of his campaign, conquering and converting sector upon sector into a dark matter/anti-matter morass which becomes dubbed The Dimensional Rift, despite the valiant efforts of the Republic Alliance squadrons, directed by LukeSkywalker, and allies, to fend off the onslaught of Thrawn’s Dreadnaught fleet.

Before all that though, with the evening following the dinner still at hand, Thrawn abides by the Old Republic etiquette of host and guest, honoring civil diplomacy amongst enemies. A requisite social diversion-music or a dance-ensuing in the Palace reception hall holds no interest to him in Rhyanon’s absence. Preferring solitude, he meanders out to a balcony overlooking Coruscant’s expanse of lights, twinkling ladders of motion, reaching up to the lower atmosphere. And here, she follows after him minutes later, floating between shadows, a specter of innocence and dangerous beauty.

She pauses beneath a statue of some nameless goddess, a figure of Victory or Life, a pretension of lesser cultures. Weaker nations seeking hope in empty icons. The girl, young woman really, by the standards of human chronology, offers an entirely different contemplation.

From the sofa where he’s seated, viewing her from across the fountain, Thrawn appreciates the lithe symmetry of her form, a subtle disguise of strength and grace. Dangerous beauty. “You’re very like her, River Tam. A work of art, a living masterpiece,” he comments.

For as young as she is, not more than 20 years surely, she carries herself with a remarkable serenity. Stepping lightly around the other sofa, she leans her hip against the cushioned neck rest. Barely flickering an eyelid, she focuses luminous dark eyes on him, shining through the mottled patterns of light scattered between them.

Her voice resembles her figure, light and flowing. “A failed experiment, you mean, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.” Flawlessly, she speaks his name, though he knows they weren’t introduced at any point previous to this moment. ”I was supposed to be like them—the researchers were trying to make me like them. One of your chimeric hybrids.”

“Ah, the one who got away,“ he muses. Something at that stirs a flicker in her dark gaze. “Yes, little Albatross, I read the classified reports of your Core Parliament. About your brother, the escape. An elegant devising. And a lesson as to the deficiencies of private-contract security.“

Tension firms a line between her brows, hardens her expression as she glances away from him for a moment. “It wouldn’t have mattered.“

His derision comes out as a short, barking laugh. “Why? Because your escape resulted more from the incompetence of poorly trained guards than the alleged skill of your brigand crew mates?

Her attention swings back to him, conviction firm in her words. “No. Because my brother watches out for me. He protects me. And he loves me.”

Thrawn says nothing, stoic against her emotion, such a human flaw. Rubbing his thumb and middle finger together, of the hand draped eloquently off the arm-wrest, he continues sizing up this most intriguing amalgam of softness and mettle.

”Love is a weakness,” satisfaction grim in his tone, picking at a piece of this puzzle embodied by River Tam. Toying with it, testing how she’ll react. “It causes distraction from the warrior’s path. Makes them vulnerable to fear. And you, little Albatross, were foremost, molded as a weapon. A living masterpiece of perfection.”

Her lids slant, head tipped to the side slightly. “I dream about them still. The other test subjects. The Reavers. The dreams used to frighten me. They were worse when the scientists would be administering some new cocktail. They’re not as bad as they used to be, since Miranda. But their voices—I...hear them-“a frown ghosting over her features”-though I’ve learned to hush them.”

”I think you hear a lot more than that, River Tam.”

Challenge broods in a strange magnetism between them. ”So do you,” she says mildly, sending a wary shiver over his skin. How she knows about inoculating himself with the protogenome he can’t begin—

-of course he can. She’s a mind-reader, a telepath. What can’t she pick out of the whirl of thought composing humanoid psyches if she’s so determined?

His awareness smolders like embers in a breeze, open to the Shadow’s primordial sequences merged into his own cells. Enhancing perception, layers of reality peeled back when he channels this infernal heat coursing through his blood. Vision, smell, sound, his mind branching like light off a faceted diamond, reflecting images in a 1000 different plains. And Thrawn, glorying in the draught of fractured darkness.

River’s eyes glint in guarded scrutiny, attuned, perhaps to the whisper of power subsumed by Thrawn’s cultivated urbanity. Wandering over to where he’s seated, she lowers herself next to him on the couch. Her mind brushes against his like leaves floating upon a watery surface, remaining on the periphery without venturing into the depths.

“Chiis physiology-Stamina, strength, resilience against extremes of physical exposure. Superior reflexes and intellect inherent to your species, allowing adaptive advantages over the millennia. A robust psychology keeping you from succumbing to the deterioration of sensory assimilation, the way your clones eventually will. A perfect medium for channeling the Shadow.”

Thrawn wonders where she’s going with her exposition. She bears the full weight of his scorching gaze with nary a flinch. The fey-like curiosity alive across her youthful grace causes a rare unease, unused to be so unabashedly studied. He holds himself still, tensing at the light pressure of her hand taking his out of his lap, wrapping delicate fingers over a wrist corded by muscle.

”Everyone has a weakness,” she says. “Even you.”

Anger snarls beneath the surface of his poise, a broiling red froth that must have blazed up in his gaze. ”Whatever you think you see child, you take liberties of interpretation,” speaking in cold, controlled wrath before which she pales, breathing deep to collect herself. The pressure of her touch on his wrist, though, remains steady.

Her hand, slender fingers resting atop his own, no suggestion of anything other than gentleness. His own hand, larger, stronger, a grip that could crack her bones with minimal exertion. Strangle the air from her lungs, twist her fragile neck like silken twine. Tangling the rich brown waves of her hair in his grasp, forcing her head back till her spine might snap, plundering her mouth as he would plunder her body. Raze her mind till she was left a weeping pile of bruised limbs and torn clothes, cowering on the chill marble floor, her thighs bleeding like the rags of her mind.

Unperturbed, she shares every image coalesced in his thoughts. Each portrait of violence fading into the recess of darkness where the Shadow brews and twists like smoke above the infernal hells. As well, he’s viewed the record of her encounter with the Reavers after Miranda. Like Rhyanon, she would fight him with a skill capable of delaying the ultimate conquest. This wisp of a child, scarcely into womanhood, moving like sand and water, a song of death captured in every leap and twist. Every dive and slash as she wound a choreography of slaughter against an entire pack of beastial invaders. The outcome inevitably in his favor, if for no other reason than the greater strength of his sheer physicality would overwhelm, exhaust her eventually, compared to human anatomic inadequacy.

“A matter of minutes, to take you. An act of utility, really--to break you. Make you beg for a mercy that would never come.“

Her eyebrow crooks up, scolding or skepticism. “But you wouldn’t do that, any of those things.”

Her patient humoring isn’t what he anticipated. ”What makes you think so?” he asks out of mere speculation, momentarily forgetting the antagonizing subtlety guiding their conversation.

”Because you‘ve seen what I am. The weapon, not the woman. And,“ she says, sighing with an almost child-like assurance, looking out to the far horizon, “because seduction isn’t your weakness. She is.”

Damn the girl, for gut-punching through his composure with such guileless effort. His gaze follows hers, tracking the aerial traffic dotting Coruscant’s night skies in a flickering menagerie. He concentrates on keeping his breathing even, stilling his mind, as he considers his reply. The silhouettes of soaring towers outlined by shimmering lights blot out the sky, the glow which would normally be visible on a less metropolitan planet, of satellites in orbit, and stars far beyond.

”One word,” he says finally. “She could have changed the tide of this war for the Republic with one word.“

She turns, a searching intensity in her deep gaze. Seeing too much within him. “So could you, change the tide of this war for Republic,” she says softly, giving a gentle squeeze of his wrist.

Impatient and irritated with the poignancy in her tone, Thrawn shakes her hand off. “She has no idea, the fate to which she’s condemned the galaxy,” he tells her with a hard look, rising off the sofa. He looms over her, eyes burning across her face, so that for the first time, she shudders away from the brewing wrath. He marvels again, the steel disguised beneath the seeming delicacy of her body. Her sandeled feet tucked beneath her on the sofa, the fabric of her dress, simple design of polyfiber cotton, drapes fine curves of breast, hip, and thigh.

Despite her attention fastened upon the night horizon, nothing of intimidation colors her posture, but sadness tinges the turned-down line of her lips. He bows his head to her before heading back to the reception hall lying through a corridor adjoined to the balcony. A salute, a parting to conceal his remorse of the lost fate she chooses with her friends and allies.

“And you, little Albatross,“ he rasps in dire promise, the epithet snaring her surprised glance up at him. “You have no idea what’s coming. None of you do.”

A wasted masterpiece of living art, dangerous beauty.

—

Watching him stride away into the dim hall, the Grand Admiral’s disappointment aches like an overstrained joint. Bothersome, but eventually fading unless exacerbated. In his absence, the darkness hovers about her, the balcony esconsed, now, in transient quiet. Illusory peace.

Alive, so alive, the hum of myriad thoughts, voices, hopes, griefs—the gambit composing sentient life throughout the city. The planet. Her mind-reading truly can’t extend with any precision beyond the palace, but a general hum always persists in the background of her consciousness. The sound of living beings. A vibration silenced forever upon Miranda.

That silence had almost broken her sanity more than any experimentation. As scientists sought to harness innate hyper-sensory perception with neurochemical alterations, subjecting her to an intensive programming, molding her mind-body duplex into prime mental and physical conditioning. In the process, she was often torn, battered, abused, and tortured, her mind confused, shifting between lucidity and dissociation and nightmare. But never breaking.

The sound of death, of nothing. Emptiness like a vacuum, no thought, or feeling. Miranda had almost broken her. Miranda, it turned out, opened the road to a recovery of herself. What she is, what she’s meant to be? No one seems to know. At least not since Simon rescued her from the illicit lab which had been her prison. Hyper-awareness, sensory adepts, psychic traits expressed amongst humans were hardly uncommon through the Terran quadrant, both Core and Fringe systems. Posited by some scientists as a natural development of sentient consciousness, induced by interstellar travel over the centuries.

Among these foreign systems across the wormhole, peoples attributed such gifts to some metaphysical energy field. The Force. Light and Dark. The association, to River’s thinking, paradoxical for a property endemic to all beings, carrying no inherent morality until determined by the intent of the wielder. Perhaps she just didn’t quite grasp its intricacies as yet, conceding that nuances of intuition, emotion, passive reception, meditation still often eluded her. The Force embedded such concepts, rather than the more actualized focus of psychic traits held by the majority of systems native to the Terran quadrant.

What she is. What she‘s meant to be—*a weapon, a work of art*. *No*, she answers her own query, the feeling of defiance liberating. *A failed experiment. The one who got away.*

”And you forget,“ she whispers to the attentive night. “I can still hear them in my head. All the time. Just like you do, Mitt’raw’nuruodo.”

Miranda is not what Thrawn has in mind, that sort of emptiness. He wants something more. Under Imperium’s auspices, subjugating and assimilating one star system after another, spreading this corruption of time and reality, bleeding the Dark Entity’s ravenous, primordial substance like an oil-slick settling into the sinkholes of what had been viable Star-systems. Seeding these tortured hybrids cloned of Reavers, and whatever other mutated derangements of horror will fuse and divide in an incubator. With his enhanced soldiers, their minds a racket of incessant savagery, submission to Thrawn throughout the galaxy seems inevitable. Especially now that Intel, and Republic specialists working with Rhyanon, recently confirmed the adaptive capacity of certain hybrids to infect other living creatures with their intracellular genetic material.

They’ll never be completely hushed, even in the deepest caverns of her own mind. Reavers. The chimeric hybrids. They howl, writhe, snarl, and scream in agony beyond their comprehension. But the havoc of their consciouses, keeping the hybrids contained as a utilizable resource requires increasing concentrations of sedatives, hyponotics, and psychogenic pharmaceuticals.

She can feel their echo within Thrawn, too. Not of the violence, but his craving the Shadow’s power. It’s why he covets Rhyanon-her abilities of biologic manipulation, transforming the very backbone molecules of life. Healing, rejuvenating, reconstructing, restoring from disease, infection, deterioration and decay. Thirsting for the surcease she could provide, balancing the Dark Entity’s immersion of his own constitution. A living masterpiece, the kind of gifted elegance Thrawn desired, Rhyanon, like River, was another one who’d gotten away. Another failed experiment. Another dangerous beauty.

Rhyanon loathes him. Holding her captive on his flagship under the influence of cortical inhibitors, and hallucinogens. Trying to force her into stabilizing the synaptic connections of higher brain function in his hybrids. Dampening their insanity as the cloned offspring reached maturity. Coercing her in other ways as well, while she resisted the influence of intoxicants deluging her system. That was why she rejected his play at truce earlier during the dinner, an offer to join him voluntarily. That. And the fact she and the Jedi were patently lovers. A circumstance exacerbating the already furious enmity between the Grand Admiral and Luke.

Rhyanon would use those same graces of biokinesis to tear him apart one atom at a time, despite the danger of inducing her own body’s destruction. The price of biopsionic talents, a check limiting the potential for abuse of that power over life and death. Unfortunate, in that Rhyanon’s ability, synergized with the particular strengths shared between their small group of Force-wielders and sensory adepts, offers the only potential counter against Thrawn’s growing influence.

Finding some way of battling this Dark Matter entity. This Abaddon, commanding elemental forces dating from the universe’s origins. A being capable of destroying multiple star-systems if they resist its Seeding. They’d all seen what happened on Namsonis 4 in the aftermath of losing the majority of Dreadnaughts. A desperate evacuation. A world wrenched apart like a ball of mud crushed in a fist. A solar system facing a monstrous dehiscence of time and space, heart of chaos, blowing a hole through the core of a sun, and incinerating the other 6 planets spared Namsonis’s fate. Hours later, a festering wound across the void of black, rocky debris and ionized gas discharges the last traces of a star system no longer existing between tomorrows.

Contrary to the stillness in which she sits, River’s thoughts spin countless strands in the spreading web of her mind, her fingers running absently along the ridge of her collarbone. Picturing simultaneous star-maps, envisioning parallel scenarios of navigation vectors, battle engagements, the stratified calculations worked in trans-dimensional matrices. Always hearing the Reavers seething in the recess of her soul.

Finally, arriving at some conclusion, she reveals to the passing night, ”I do know exactly what’s to come.” And maybe, maybe there’s a chance. One distant, improbable-verging on impossible-chance they have of subverting this menace before it reaches the Terran quadrant.

#Star Wars #firefly serenity #grand admiral thrawn #River Tam #Rhyanon ferch Garowen #Luke Skywalker #Lattice of Infinity

[jasontoddiefor]

HMM WATCHA SAAAAY Chapter 5

Kix was incredibly thankful that Master Che – Call me Vokara, Kix – had given him unrestrained access to the Halls of Healing. While it had been necessary for his research, learning more about physical therapy as a whole, it also came with the great bonus of access to the pills that made your mind clear up a little after crashing. It was supposed to be taken after long shifts, but Kix had gathered that it was usually given to anybody in a less fortunate state of mind that needed to get a clear head, such as Senior Padawans who had been out all night in the Lower levels and had a mission on the next day.

The last week had been hellish between accumulating whatever insights they could get from General Skywalker on his and trying to put together a physical therapy program for somebody who should be as healthy as a bantha. The fact that the Council had called upon them for the final report and Kix as the head researcher was supposed to lay out their findings was also not the highlight of this week.

“Medic Kix,” one of the Council members greeted him. “Master Che, Master Erin, Medic Coric, thank you for taking the time to present us your findings.”

Most Council members were off-world again already so the circle in front of him wasn’t particularly large. Kix wished that General Kenobi would be here at least, but he and the 212th had to be called back to battle. The 501st was to follow soon, but whether their General could come with them relied on Kix’s report. He had sworn not embellish anything, to pretend his General was better off than he appeared to be, but he was tempted to do so. He couldn’t help it, he didn’t want to go anywhere without knowing that his General had his back. He didn’t mind working with another Jedi, they were all equally kind and good, but they weren’t Anakin Skywalker.

And Kix would rather have Anakin, exhausted and terrified out of his mind, with him, than a stranger, no matter how kind.

“It is of no trouble, Master Jedi,” Kix replied.

This was another thing Kix had noticed during his stay at the temple. The Jedi refused to use military titles for themselves inside of it. They were Masters, Healers, Knights Padawans – but they were not Generals or Commanders. Kix and his brothers, of course, got addressed by their proper titles, spoken with honor and an edge of regret, but that was it.

“You have been taking care of Anakin from the beginning?” General Koon asked.

Kix liked Plo Koon. The Kel Door took good care of the men under his command and he was always ready to make sure Kix’s little Commander was in good fighting shape when she was in his care.

“Yes,” Kix replied. “Coric and I were the ones who oversaw the General’s transport back to the ship and then consequently watched over him for the week he was comatose.”

“Were the injuries he gained in the battle so severe?”

Kix shook his head. “No, not at all. It was an easy campaign all in all.”

“From my understanding of the events, as Kix elaborated them, Knight Skywalker experienced an immense shock when he was hit by the vision,” Vokara explained. “Consequently, he was disorientated and must have experienced sensory overload. His collapse was his body’s attempt at shutting him down to give himself time to deal with the onslaught of memories and unfamiliarity of his body.”

When they had attempted to figure out why muscle memory alone wasn’t keeping Anakin upright, Vokara had brought up pieces of Jedi philosophy so far unknown to Kix. Jedi viewed bodies as conduits of the Force. Only in a healthy body could rest a healthy mind and only a healthy mind could access the Force. It was the reason that Anakin’s one prosthetic was already viewed with so much heartbreak. Kix supposed it made everything that came after only worse.

“Can Skywalker be sent back with the 501st?” Master Koon continued, directly cutting to the most difficult part.

“Under normal circumstances, I’d say no. I don’t think he should ever actually handle combat at all again. While physically he will be back on top of his game within a few weeks, if not surpass it still, I cannot condone such an action when taking his mental health into account.”

While the Jedi all tried to keep a neutral expression, Kix had been trained to deal with the most stubborn no-I’m-not-injured-I-promise brothers and I-can-hold-off-an-army-on-my-own Jedi and he could easily spot when somebody was starting to slip. The Jedi were surprised, not at the latter aspect, it was clear as day that the General was far from possessing a healthy mind, they wondered about his strength.

“Councilors, if I may suggest, I believe it would be best if we started with our report now,” Kix inserted. “It will answer a lot of questions as to Master Skywalker’s precise condition.”

He wondered if he was already crossing lines, trying to make it all out to be better than it was just by taking their attention away from how the General was right now instead of how he could be, had been.

“Proceed you may,” Master Yoda said grimly.

Hearing how much stronger their enemy was, how he was luring them all towards their death, must have greatly disturbed the old Master. Kix thought of the old clones back on Kamino, those who hadn’t made it to the front lines and watched the Shinies instead. And he thought of the war veterans, those who had been on Geonosis. They all had the same look in their eyes when they assigned the should-be-still-cadets to the frontlines. The sadness for being responsible for the deaths of so many young lives, it was not easy to bear.

“Three months ago, in the aftermath of a campaign, Knight Anakin Skywalker collapsed,” Kix began to say, his eyes not even flickering to the text on the datapad he was holding. “He froze, then Force-pushed the nearest troopers away from him and lost consciousness. He had no visible injuries and was brought to the medbay for further examination. After twenty-four hours, he woke for the first time. He reacted with similar panic and it took multiple sedations as well as Master Obi-Wan Kenobi using a Force-suggestion to put him to sleep again. This manner continued for another five days.”

Those five days had been some of the worst Kix had to experience during the entire war so far. Coric and he had run themselves ragged to keep an eye on their General, never mind how exhausted Master Kenobi had been after staying awake for so long.

“He was catatonic when he woke up after this time period. Even while awake, he didn’t react to anything. He needed a breathing machine and we fed him intravenously. He snapped out of it after another three days…”

Kix trailed off. When they had discussed how they would present their findings, they had decided that Kix would speak of all events he had been there to witness with Vokara contributing the Jedi perspective. Bant and Coric didn’t actually need to be present for this, but they had all worked through this report together, they should do this together as well.

“As, at the time, no professional mind healer could make it to the 501st-“ Vokara’s voice was professionally cold, but after all these evenings spend in her office or apartment, Kix could hear the bitterness that was seeping into it. “Master Kenobi decided to take it upon himself to help Skywalker’s splintered mind. He was successful, though I believe that is largely due to the bond the two share and want it noted on Master Kenobi’s file that he is herby prohibited from attempting to do the same with any other Jedi. It could have backfired incredibly easily and then we would have lost two Jedi instead of one.”

The Council nodded in agreement and Vokara quickly swiped away their open report to replace it with her file on General Kenobi. She added a small note there, then changed the documents once more.

“When Master Skywalker finally properly woke up then, he was still confused and disorientated. It took a full day before he could breathe and speak on his own, both aftereffects of what he experienced in his vision,” Kix continued.

The General’s hoarse words had been difficult to understand. For one because it had felt like he hadn’t known how to string them together properly, on the other because of the low volume. The General was always loud which made it easy to spot him in a crowd. To hear him speak so silently was the first sign that something had been wrong.

“I have so far classified his experience as a new type of vision,” Vokara explained. “Our research on temporal physics is limited, I do not know if his claims of time travel are accurate, but it was certainly no normal vision. Not even Master Sifo-Dyas had experienced a vision as such. Skywalker has experienced twenty years’ worth of memories, hence his body being uncomfortable to him.”

“Forgive me my question,” Shaak Ti said. “But from the brief account Master Kenobi gave us, I had gathered that Skywalker was experiencing something more akin to body dysphoria than merely feeling uncomfortable.”

“That would be correct,” Vokara retorted and then sighed in defeat. “Or as correct as it can be. I will be honest, we are missing terminology to properly definite Skywalker’s condition. To put it simply, Skywalker is hardly used to having a body. From his account, and what we have gathered based on physical reactions, Skywalker spent twenty years with about 65% of his body having been replaced. In other words, only 35% of himself was still organic.”

“What!?” The hiss of one of the Councilors rang like an accusation through the room.

Horror, shock and nausea washed through the air so strongly that even Kix could feel it, be it though that he wasn’t even the slightest bit Force-sensitive. He understood their recoiling even without the pain that their understanding of life and the Force brought them. He half-expected the windows to crack under the might of their outrage, used to such displays from his General.

“He had lost both his legs as well as his remaining arm. It is the reason Master Skywalker spend the first days after his awakening in a wheelchair, though he refused to use it for long. He had to relearn how to walk. His fine-motor control is also still lacking slightly, his current prosthetic arm being the one he has the best handling of. His digestive system was also severely damaged and barely anything remained from his lungs. He was dependent on intravenous feeding and a breathing machine that he could manually override, but only at great cost to himself. Additionally, to his lungs, his vocal tract was also damaged to the degree that he needed a vocoder to speak.”

“And how did he sustain those injuries in his vision?” Master Koon asked. He had his hands laying folded on his lap. No movement betrayed him, but Kix distinctly got the impression that he was attempting to hold himself back from doing something rash.

“We aren’t entirely sure. Master Skywalker has been reluctant to share how exactly he came to be injured in such a way,” Kix stated. Reluctant was the most diplomatic way of describing how haunted General Skywalker had looked when Kix had just alluded to the topic. He hadn’t shut down, but the expression on his face, utter terror bathed in fear, had been enough. “The event must have been highly traumatic and evidence points towards him being burned alive, likely while he was completely conscious for it. He mentioned needed skin grafts on multiple occasions and is extremely uncomfortable around fire.”

Kix felt a little like he was betraying his General by sharing such information behind his back. Of course, Skywalker had been made aware that there would be an extensive report on his condition, but he likely thought it was just about his capability to return to the battlefield. The General didn’t seem to really consider that his mental health mattered as well. Kix was not one of the medics particularly schooled in psychiatry, Coric had started looking more into it and so he and Master Erin had been the one to draft a psychological profile on Skywalker, based on what they knew about his future-past.

They hadn’t gathered much yet, but that part of their report was about as pretty as the rest.

“And he lived with all those injuries for twenty years?” The hopeful disbelief, the want for it all to be a lie, was apparent.

Jedi were not in the habit of being in denial, speaking the harsh truths the senators seldom wanted to hear, but that didn’t mean that they wanted to accept it all.

“A little more, actually,” Kix was forced to admit. “I believe it was around twenty-five. He had made references to such years existing. The cause of his own death is unknown as well, though it was possibly the result of his failing health.”

“And, additionally, we have been led to believe that he spent most of those years being extensively tortured by the Sith Lord keeping him.”

“Master Kenobi had already mentioned so,” Plo Koon said.

Kix nodded slowly. He wished General Kenobi would be here now, listening to them give the report instead of reading it on his own onboard the Negotiator. The paper they had written was clinical, factual, but Kix had long since realized that there was a time and place for hard facts and gentle truths.

“I am aware, but Master Kenobi is not aware of the extent we believe this torture to have reached. Skywalker has mentioned Sith Lightning and apparently knows how to disperse it within the body instead of just bearing it and survive. This implies that he was exposed to it multiple times, likely not with the intention of killing him, and learned from those sessions.”

“How have you concluded all that?”

Kix and Vokara shared a look. Their report had already been all over the place, more a discussion than a systematic rundown of what looked like hell come alive.

“Perhaps, best we start at the beginning?” General Yoda spoke up.

The Master, though powerful he was, appeared so old now, almost frail like every gust of wind could swipe him away. And yet there was this determination in his eyes, the willingness and need to know what harm would come to them.

“That would be the easiest,” Vokara replied and began anew.

Kix had written this report, read it about a thousand times and repeated it to others as well. Its content was familiar to him, the words he knew by heart, and still, at times, he found himself caught off-guard. Worst was when Vokara, though she kept a distance to the topic at hand, would sometimes need to read a sentence twice. The two of them had seen gruesome injuries, Jedi and Brothers alike die of less than what General Skywalker had lived through.

Which was the precise reason why they needed to put him back on the battlefield.

“I am prejudiced in this,” Kix admitted freely, finally finishing. The sky had turned dark by now and he desperately needed to drink something. “I want my General at my back. However, there is also the matter that he survived all of this. I do not actually believe that we stop him from going out on his own should we attempt to keep him away from the fighting. He might even decide to face Sidious head-on, and we can’t allow that to happen.”

The Jedi looked troubled by his assessment and so Kix was not too surprised when they sent him and the other three out of the room to make their decision. Kix had done all he could at this point to protect his General.

He had done his job and fulfilled his duty.

Now he could only hope that it had been enough.

#star wars #clone trooper kix #vokara che #plo koon #jedi council #anakin skywalker #fanfic #medical trauma time travel AU #ask #anon #lmao you THINK im gonna make obi-wan go through the report when he's surrounded by people

[grim-on-the-darkside]

George Lucas Sequel Trilogy [Some new info and some old]

 George Lucas's Sequel Trilogy

~ George Lucas Interview, Star Wars Archives: Eps I-III: 1999-2005: by author Paul Duncan.

"Darth Maul trained a girl. Darth Talon, who was in the comic books, as his apprentice. She was the new Darth Vader, and most of the action was with her. So these were the 2 main villains of the trilogy. Maul eventually becomes the Godfather of crime in the universe because as the Empire falls, he takes over.

The movies are about how Leia - I mean, who else is going to be the leader? - is trying to build the Republic. They still have the apparatus of the Republic but they have to get it under control from the gangsters. That was the main story.

It starts out a few years after Return of the Jedi and we establish pretty quickly that there's this underworld, there are these offshoot stormtroopers who started their own planets, and that Luke is trying to restart the Jedi. He puts the word out, so out of 100,000 Jedi, maybe 50 to 100 are left. The Jedi have to grow again from scratch, so Luke has to find two- and three-year-olds, and train them. It'll be 20 years before you have a new generation of Jedi.

By the end of the trilogy Luke would have rebuilt much of the Jedi, and we would have the renewal of the New Republic, with Leia, Senator Organa, becoming the Supreme Chancellor in charge of everything. So she ended up being the Chosen One."

............................

[Luke dies in Episode 9]

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Commenter - 'How many students were at Luke's Jedi 'academy"? Was it even an academy?'

Pablo - "We'd likely never use that term. That's very EU, not very George. It'd be a temple. As for numbers, can't say now."

~ Pablo Hidalgo, 2015

https://ibb.co/k38HzwX

..............................

"In late August 2012 Star Wars fans from all around the world gathered in Orlando, Florida for the sixth official Star Wars convention, Celebration VI. The lineup was strong despite the live action movies, always the brightest and biggest stars in the franchise’s galaxy, coming to an end seven years earlier. Though he was not scheduled to attend, series creator George Lucas was there. Publicly, he was just there to make a surprise appearance during the panel for the animated The Clone Wars TV show. But privately he was there to talk to original trilogy stars Mark Hamill and Carrie Fisher. They were brought to a conference room away from the convention floor where George broke the news: he was working a new Star Wars trilogy and wanted them to reprise their iconic roles." [Disney didn't buy Lucasfilm/Star Wars until October 30th of 2012. This meeting occured two months before the sale, and at that point, the sale couldn't be assured.]

(1/3/2018)

Just days after posting this, Lucasfilm Story Group member Pablo Hidalgo tweeted out some information about the early versions of Episode VII (Skyler is another name for the Sam/Finn character).

Skyler and Kira (and Kira wasn’t the first proposed name either; she had at least two others) became, after a fashion, Finn and Rey. The Jedi Killer morphed from Talon corrupting the son to becoming the son. Uber became Snoke. The starting point shifted. Yadda yada yada.

The son falling to the dark side was always in the mix. The movies just ended up having it already an established fact.

Skyler was the son in some versions. And as for how all that was gonna go down, that ain’t my story to tell.

And in 2016, he confirmed that Thea (Kira/Rey), Skyler, Darth Talon, and the planet of Felucia were in George’s plans.

Question - ‘But Talon was in the treatment, right?’

Pablo - “Yes.”  “

‘Hmm… assuming this is still 30 years after RoTJ, wouldn’t that kinda mess with the Chosen One thing?’

Pablo - “Depends on whether or not she was a Sith, I suppose. George wasn’t all that interested in her EU backstory.”

~ Pablo Hidalgo Tweet [Archived] (June 19, 2016)

https://ibb.co/NYVW7w3

......

(1/6/2018)

Added quote from Harrison Ford about George Lucas telling him during their first Episode VII related call that Han would die. Also added more information about the timeline.

(6/14/2018)

Added information and quotes from George about the inclusion of the Whills in his sequel trilogy.

(6/26/2018)

Added information from Mark Hamill about Luke training Leia in Episode IX before dying.

(11/28/2018)

Added concept painting from artist Christian Alzmann that received a “Fabulouso” stamp from George Lucas.

https://medium.com/@Oozer3993/george-lucas-episode-vii-c272563cc3ba

“The ones that I sold to Disney, they came up to the decision that they didn’t really want to do those. So they made up their own. So it’s not the ones that I originally wrote.” ~ Lucas on his Sequel Trilogy

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

More generally, Hamill compared the approaches between Lucas and Disney's Star Wars films:

Mark Hamill quotes about Lucas Sequel Trilogy -

"George had an overall arc – if he didn't have all the details, he had sort of an overall feel for where the [sequel trilogy was] going – but this one's more like a relay race. You run and hand the torch off to the next guy, he picks it up and goes.

"I happen to know that George didn't kill Luke until the end of [Episode] 9, after he trained Leia. Which is another thread that was never played upon [in The Last Jedi]."

Where Lucas would have taken the second set of prequels. Though Leia and Luke communicate telepathically, fans have never really seen her use the Force. Mark Hamill had this to say about Leia using the Force in George Lucas' original writings.

   "This is always something that interest me because we can communicate telepathically and I tell her in one of the movies, I guess the third one, you have that power too. So I always wondered, and I don't read the fanfiction, [Expanded Universe] why she wouldn't fully develop her Force sensibilities and I think that's something George Lucas addressed in his original outline for 7, 8, 9. I was talking to him last week, but they're not following George's ideas so we'll have to wait and see on that one. But it seems like a waste of an innate talent that she should utilize in some way."

https://movieweb.com/star-wars-leia-originally-used-force-george-lucas/

[The next three Star Wars films] were going to get into a microbiotic world. But there’s this world of creatures that operate differently than we do. I call them the Whills. And the Whills are the ones who actually control the universe. They feed off the Force.

  Back in the day, I used to say ultimately what this means is we’re just cars, vehicles, for the Whills to travel around in…. We’re vessels for them. And the conduit is the midi-chlorians. The midi-chlorians are the ones that communicate with the Whills. The Whills, in a general sense, they are the Force.

   All the way back to — with the Jedi and the Force and everything — the whole concept of how things happen was laid out completely from [the beginning] to the end. But I never got to finish. I never got to tell people about it.

   If I’d held onto the company I could have done it, and then it would have been done. Of course, a lot of the fans would have hated it, just like they did Phantom Menace and everything, but at least the whole story from beginning to end would be told.”

~ George Lucas, James Cameron interview

https://io9.gizmodo.com/george-lucas-ideas-for-his-own-star-wars-sequel-trilogy-1826798496

Dear Maker, You are missed. You are the canon.

#The Maker #Star Wars #Lucas Canon #Lucas Sequel Trilogy

[sergeantsporks]

Douxie Appreciation Week Day 2: Found Family

“How about New Jersey?”

Nari jumped. “No. Not New Jersey.”

Douxie frowned at the map. The time ship was parked, hopefully not where anyone would notice, and they’d stopped to, well, to figure out where they were going. He’d just sort of gotten on the ship with Nari, Archie, and no plan to speak of. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. But they’d need to touch down eventually, to get supplies. Maybe find a place to stay for a while, so they weren’t on the time ship all of the time. “Why not? There’s a troll colony there—they’d probably at least give us a place to start.”

Sparks of magic flew off of Nari. “There is… a coven of witches.”

Douxie frowned. “A—a coven? Like, just a group of wizards?”

“Careful, Douxie,” Archie remarked, “Your Camelot upbringing is showing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Nari jumped into the air, floating cross-legged. “Many use the names for magic users interchangeably. Arthur and his knights were especially guilty of this, and Merlin was not much better. But there are fundamental differences between them— especially  between witches and the rest.”

“Spellcasters use, well, spells,” Archie jumped in, “It’s the most basic level of magic—you say a spell to channel the energy, and magic happens. Almost any person can cast a spell, if they have even the barest spark of magic in them. Some are much better, and have a natural aptitude for magic. Those are spellcasters.”

“Wizards have an item that amplifies or helps their spellcasting,” Nari interjected, “Like your staff, or your bracelet. They still use spells, but the magic effect is greater.”

“You were born a spellcaster,” Archie continued, “Once you got your bracelet, you became a wizard. Your staff made you a master wizard. Sorcerers cast spells without a magic item, and without a verbal spell.”

“Like Claire,” Douxie offered, “Or a lot of Morgana’s magic.”

“Precisely. Witches… well, someone who is fully a witch cannot cast a spell on their own. They can capture the arcane energies, but cannot express them. So they use potions to create an expression of the energy, or a talisman. They capture the energy and store it in an item that can use it. No one really practices one form of magic over the other—Morgana practiced sorcery, but also used a staff. Merlin was most certainly a wizard, but to make a staff, or the amulet, a degree of witchcraft was involved—the different forms of magic are closely linked. A few, though, they can be separated. There are spellcasters who are only spellcasters. Like I said, it’s a beginning step. And…”

“Witches,” Nari said quietly, “Practicing some witchcraft, as Merlin did, doesn’t make you a full witch. But only being able to practice witchcraft does. Sometimes, a group of witches will bond, form a community where they all share their particular specialty of magic-item-making with others. Their weaknesses are covered by another member, and their strengths cover the others’ weaknesses. That is a coven.”

Douxie leaned against the side of the ship. “So, why are we talking about witches like there’s something wrong with them?”

“There’s not,” Archie remarked, jumping up on the railing, “Being a witch is perfectly respectable.”

“So… New Jersey?”

Nari shook her head. “No. The coven there… like Archie said, being a witch is perfectly respectable. They are an important part of magic. But like any other type of magician, there are… bad oranges?”

“Bad apples,” Douxie informed her.

“It is all fruit. The coven in New Jersey… they have not always been in New Jersey. Like much of the magic in America, they traveled over from Europe with the colonizers. And while they were in Europe, I… had a rather bad interaction with them.” She sank a few feet lower in the air. “It… took time to recover from.”

A spark of anger crackled in Douxie’s chest. “What happened?”

“They caught me,” Nari said, and it was obvious, so painfully obvious that she was trying to be flippant about it. “Witchcraft is about storing the arcane energies of the universe, like other forms of magic are about harnessing that power in the moment. The universes’ supply replenishes itself, usually so quickly there is no discernable difference. However, the most powerful of magics can drain the energy to the point where there is no arcane energy in the area for a time.”

“In anyone but a witch, this usually manifests in fatigue on the magician,” Archie commented, “It’s the universe’s way of making the spellcaster stop so it can rejuvenate. Harnessing that much energy tires the conduit, your body, out, so you stop casting, giving the universe time to replenish the energy. It’s not always the reason for magic fatigue—that also depends on the amount of energy you can handle, which is what separates magicians from regular people casting spells and beginner magicians from long-term magicians. But witches… they don’t use their own body as a conduit. They use an item. So they can pull and pull without any consequences.”

“Except the consequences that using that much energy will have on the world around them,” Nari snapped.

Douxie blinked. “Nari?”

“They… used a stasis trap,” Nari said quietly, “They used a stasis trap to catch me, and then they used me as a power source. Bellroc and Skrael found me eventually, and the coven scattered before they could attack.” Nari rubbed her arms. “It took nearly a century for me to heal, and I lost my staff to them.”

The spark of anger fanned up. Usually, Douxie was pretty good at staying positive. But that—that was  disgusting . “Okay,” he said finally, in a voice that was just a bit too cheerful, “How about New York, then?”

Nari gave him a bright smile. She was trying too hard, too. “Sounds wonderful.”

Xxx

“Douxie?”

Douxie felt a small spark of panic. Nari sounded worried—and there wasn’t too much that could get her worried. “Yeah?”

“I think I saw someone I know today.”

“Bellroc? Skrael?”

“No.” Nari glanced back at the door, like whoever it was might have followed her. “One of the coven witches. I—I think she came up from New Jersey.”

Something cold and steely seemed to solidify inside of Douxie. “Okay,” he said carefully, “Okay, don’t worry. I’ll strengthen the apartment defenses. Stay inside until I get back, alright?”

Nari nodded, and Douxie slipped out the door, locking it behind him. Right. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, feeling for any signs of magic. There. A knot of it… very close. The witch had followed Nari.

Douxie stalked outside, following the feeling to see a young woman—or, at least, she looked young. But if Nari remembered her from before… She was walking the direction of the apartment. Right. That wasn’t going to happen.

Douxie strode towards her, tapping her on the shoulder. “Hey.”

She whirled around. “Who are you?”

Douxie held his hands up defensively. “Relax. I’m… like you.” He let a small spark of magic turn his eyes blue. The witch relaxed.

“Yeah? What do you want, I’m busy.”

Douxie held up the wrist with his bracelet. “I’m having a bit of a… malfunction, and I’m new in the area. You know where I could find a witch who can fix this?”

The witch held her hand out, and Douxie hesitantly unbuckled the cuff, dropping it in her hand. She turned it over. “Hm. Wizard item, huh? Can’t help you myself, but someone in the coven might know what to do.”

Douxie snatched the cuff back. “Great, can you take me to them?”

The witch sighed. “Yah, look, I’m busy tracking this insane magic energy, could keep the coven in business for CENTURIES—”

An asset. A tool. That was all Nari was to them—that was all she was to the Order, all she was even to Merlin. Did anyone care about  just Nari ?!

“It’ll still be here, and uh…” Douxie gave his wrist cuff a little smack. “I’m kind of worried this thing is going to blow up the next time I use it.”

The witch threw her hands up in the air. “Gah! Okay, okay, I’ll take you. Geeze. C’mere.” She linked arms with Douxie and twisted a ring on her finger. There was an odd twisting feeling in Douxie’s gut, and then they were standing in a living room lit by candles. The witch dropped his arm like a hot potato. “Hey, anyone home?”

A few other witches filed in, glaring distrustfully at Douxie. “You brought a wizard in?!”

“Not a wizard,” Douxie’s witch corrected, “A  customer .”

One of them eyed Douxie. “Oh? What for?”

Douxie summoned his staff, thumping it on the ground. “Have you heard of the wizard Merlin Ambrosius?”

The witch snorted. “Who hasn’t?” he asked.

“I was his apprentice. I am his successor. He appointed me master wizard.”

Douxie’s witch rolled a hand. “Get to the point!”

“Right. Now, tell me if you’ve heard of this person; Nari of the Eternal Forest.”

“That’s… what I… was tracking…” Douxie’s witch replied, her face paling.

Douxie thumped his staff again, sending out a pulse of blue magic that knocked most of the witches off of their feet. “She is under  my  protection.” Another thump. “You will not chase her.” Thump. “You will not attempt to capture her.” Thump. “And if I see you near her ever again…” one more thump. “I know where your coven base is. I will protect her at all costs, do you understand?”

Douxie’s witch staggered to her feet. “You-!” she grabbed a nearby crystal and sucked the fire from the candles, throwing it at him. Douxie twisted the magic, grabbing the fire. It smoldered in a ball above his hand, and tendrils reached out, burning a hole through the witch’s skirt, close enough to heat-sear her, but not enough to actually burn her.

“You will leave Nari alone,” he said in a low voice, “She is my responsibility. And more importantly, she’s her own person and shouldn’t be treated like nothing but a tool!”

The witch gave him a glare. “Really? You really think you aren’t using her as a tool?”

A surge of magic pulsed through Douxie, like the arcane energies had decided that they’d like to be a mood ring today. “I,” he growled, “am apparently the only friend she’s got.” He stalked towards the witch. “And if you  ever  try to lay another one of your fingers on her  I will  personally  make sure you regret it.”

The witch looked up at him, and something that might have been fear flashed in her eyes. “What are you doing?!” she hissed, “the talismans, why…”

“If you choose to use your magic to hurt others, then you don’t deserve it,” Douxie growled, “And if you ever try to harm Nari again, I will take away your magic  permanently.”  he had no idea how to do that, but they didn’t need to know that.

“O-okay! We’ll leave her alone! Just... put the magic back.”

“Swear it.”

“I- I swear. We won’t. Don’t take away the magic, please.”

“Good. It’ll come back. This time.” Douxie slammed the door behind him, making it down the street before his legs wobbled and gave out and spots danced in front of his eyes. What was it Archie had said about conducting too much magic?

“That was impressive,” his familiar’s voice said in his ear.

Douxie chuckled breathlessly. “Thanks, I think I’m about to pass out.”

A fly flew off of his necklace and shape-shifted back into his cat. “I didn’t think you were just going to strengthen the defenses. I figured I’d follow in case you’d like any help. But I think you handled that quite well on your own. The looks on their faces were  priceless .”

“Thanks. Glad you’re here, Arch, because I don’t think I can make it back home on my own. I feel like pudding.”

“Sure, you sucked up all the energy in the area and just held it. The universe is probably wondering what in the seven rings you’re doing.”

“’m protecting Nari.”

“Oh? Looked like a bit more than just ‘protection.’”

Douxie chuckled again. “Okay. Maybe it was a little itty-bit revenge for her, too. Shame I didn’t see her staff.” A wave of dizziness swept over him. “Oooookay. We need to get home before I pass out.”

Archie shifted into a horse, and Douxie hauled himself up, clinging tightly to his familiar as they raced up from the small New Jersey town back towards New York City. They stopped outside the city, Archie shapeshifting back into a cat and the two of them getting on the subway. They made their way back to the apartment, where Nari was waiting, pacing. “What  took  so long? I feared...”

“Good news!” Douxie said cheerfully, “You don’t have to worry about the coven anymore! They will stay well away from you.”

Nari’s eyes widened. “What did you do?!”

“Paid them a little house call.”

Nari let out a startled laugh. “Why would you do that?”

“Because,” Douxie said seriously, “It’s about time that someone started caring about you for you.”

@moppetwithamanbun@einahpetsyarcip@ohfuzzbuckets

#toa #tales of arcadia #Douxie #douxieappreciationweek

[neoyi]

I don’t think I’ll ever get to humorously commentate on KH2 piece-by-piece as I tried to do for the first two games (and god knows if I’ll wrap up Re:chain of Memories with the writing method I was doing, but I digress.) I like talking about this endearingly dumb series and replaying this game is a nice opportunity to revisit how I feel now versus how I felt back when I was a fresh-out-of-high-school Neo playing this game for the first time back in 2005.

So I’m going to surmise my current play session (this collects my thoughts up to the Hercules world) with easily containable bullet points.

*I kind of want to make a separate post about the infamous prologue and discuss how people felt Back in the Days (an understatement, let me tell ya), and ultimately what I feel it does for the game and whether I personally liked it, so I'm going to leave that in the back burner for the time.

I will say Twilight Town sounds like a nice, quiet place to live. I love the concept of a city that's always perpetually sunset. It's a beautiful place and like Traverse Town, sports an amazingly cozy soundtrack.

*I'm sure there's some bullshit reason why, but I don't get why Sora's one year absence meant some of the people he's met just....forgot him. Like why? What purpose does this serve? This especially affected Kairi, but it’s ultimately negligible because she regains her memories of him during the beginning portions of the game.

Was this Namine's doing? Was it to protect Sora from the bad guys or something? Why hasn't Riku forgotten him? Was Namine just selective on who she erased Sora's existence from? Did Kairi forget just because she’s connected to Namine? Or Sora? What purpose does this narrative serve? What was the point?

*Speaking of, I forgot, did they ever explain why Riku disguised himself as Ansem? I don’t remember if they ever explained it when I played through this game, but also I haven’t touched KHII in six thousand years, so I don’t remember a lot of the more convoluted parts of the plot.

*It is comical to see Setzer of Final Fantasy VI fame turn from a risky, gambling sky pirate who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about the empire, only cares for the freedom of the skies, and enduring survival’s guilt over a tragic loss of someone dear to him into a...

Whiffle Bat Champion.

*My sheer excitement and obsession when they first announced Vivi as one of the FF cameo was astronomical. I remember keeping a DeviantArt journal detailing any news and screencaps of the little guy pre-release. Still my favorite character from the whole franchise.

Even if he suffers the same fate as Donald and has a zipper on his mage hat for absolutely no reason other than this game existing during Nomura’s Belt-and-Zippers phase.

*Someone’s going to get sued one day because these damn kids keeps sitting atop the clock tower that has yet to be grafted with bars to prevent their inevitable deaths when one of them slips and falls.

*I swear I could play a six degrees of Kingdom Hearts with all the voice actors in this game. Or at least a "Whozit" and "Whatzit" they've done in other media (like Yuffie who is voiced by Mae "Katara" Whitman here. Pre-Avatar, even.)

Also I’m sorry, Will Friedle, you’re a fine voice actor, but you’re...Terry McGinnis. Batman told me he “totally owned all you lamers.”

*I love the Nobody enemy designs. The sheer creepiness and uncanny valley of them all lends credit to their existence as, well, non-existences. The Dusk enemy design alone is inspired with its unsettling belts wrapped around its fingers, or terrifyingly sharp teeth subtly hidden inside of its mouth. I can imagine the creature unzipping its mouth to reveal a set of flesh-eating teeth and the fear is real.

I love the way it flies and circles around its victim, almost like it’s trying to wrap itself around you, but I’m especially fond of that one attack where it essentially kicks you as while it sashays over to you upside down.

The Samurai Dusk also has my favorite reaction command. It’s just unspeakably badass.

*I never liked Squall in FF8 back then (don't know how I'd feel now if I ever replay FF8) and he was just okay in the first Kingdom Hearts, but I remember I really endeared myself to his reappearance in KHII. Squall in this game is what happens when he grew up, found good friends and family, and got some therapy for his issues. He’s stoic, but always a team player, and supportive of Sora and the people around him. KHII Squall is what FF8 Squall has the potential to be once he reaches adulthood and it’s nice to see that here.

*I really love the little changes the developers inputted for Sora, Kairi, and Riku's models to accommodate for their physical growth. Riku's is the most obvious (boy clearly ate his vegetables), but I like that you can tell Sora grew not just through story observations (Yen Sid points out how he outgrew his old garbs) but by comparing his height in relation to Goofy. Sora was shorter than him in the first game, but has since outgrown him in KH2.

Along with his better skill set during combat, this is a really nice way to visually shown how far Sora has come and how much time has passed.

This also goes in the opposite direction with Namine whom I think had to redo her mod when they remastered Chain of Memories for 3D. I notice she looks younger in that game than in KHII which would make sense at the time since it takes place a full year ago.

...Well, maybe. Can Nobodies age???

*Damn it, game, don’t give me a pouch containing 5,000 munny and treat it as an in-game key item that I can’t use even though munny is literally the currency I use to buy things.

*The retooling and emphasis on battle mechanics means the platforming element of the first really suffers and that’s a damn shame. I wasn’t particularly in love with exploring the Disney Worlds in the first KH, but I appreciate the effort put into so Sora could not easily get from Point A to Point B.

Even finding treasure chests is comical and if not for sake of posterity for anyone going for 100%, I wonder why Jiminy bothers to keep track of how many you find. There were literally like three out in plain view the minute I entered the Mulan world.

*Speaking of level designs, yeesh, the layout is not optimal for the skateboarding minigame.

*Trying to design a gummi ship in this game requires a masters degree in gummiology and metaphysical engineering, as well as the ability to tap into the 4th dimensional. The 45,000 page instructional manual they give you, the odd grid map used to piece together your ship (fair, the latter was also in the first game), and finicky button controller layout means it took me a while to fully grasp what I was suppose to do and I’m still not sure I got a full handle of it just yet.

*I don’t understand why Sora had to use a physical object as a conduit in each world to open up a metaphysical gate to the next world. He never had to use an in-between to close it. What’s the exception outside of unnecessary symbolic tie-in to the individual worlds he’s in?

*Props to the developers for recreating the ballroom. It’s actually kind of majestic to look at the beautiful ceiling and chandelier design from Sora’s perspective.

*There are a couple of random gameplay elements I forgot completely existed and seemingly there for arbitrary purposes. I just find it unusual that Mulan’s world forces you to collect literal manifestation of morale. It’s like the developers decided they wanted to reuse the Struggle minigames’ balls into a repurposed Morale Ball because well shit, someone programmed these things they’re damn well going to put it to good use.

I guess if Sora and pals don’t literally collect morale, all the soldiers will be, I don’t know, sad and die in battle or something.

*I’m aware Disney villains using the Heartless as their personal army is the norm, but it’s tonally weird when it’s Shan-Yu of all characters doing it. The infamous Charge-In-The-Snowy-Mountain scene doesn’t quite have the leg up in terms of threat when his army consist of adorable Heartless bumblebees.

*You know what pointless shit I am obsessed with? The stupid puzzle pieces scattered throughout the game. This is the first time I’m playing the Final Mix game and I’m just seething at the lack of abilities I currently do not have that prevents me from reaching certain pieces.

*Auron was instantaneously my favorite character when I first played FFX twenty years ago, and his return in KH2 sent me in fangirlish squeals. How could I not? Look at this handsome bastard. He’s calm, collected, badass with a cool sword, has rugged good looks (he doesn’t have it here, but he rocks some killer shades), and a good dad. That’s prime DILF quality right there. Of course I can’t get enough of him.

Square Enix knows we can’t get enough of him; dude be all “fuck off hades” and gives the god the middle fingers and fucks off elsewhere. Auron is King Shit.

*Oh man, do I still have my old Sora figurine? I think I got him in Katsucon way back in 2009.

*So who’s done a drinking game every time the game introduces Sora, Donald, and Goofy individually to every character they meet?

*Hey, so I noticed Square Enix is finally moving their asses and bringing the Ultimania books to the US. I doubt they’re going to bring the older KH Ultimanias overseas (my kingdom for an officially translated FFIX one), but ya know. I kinda think that yeah, I might want the KHIII Ultimania.

...Just saying.

*GET UP ON THE HYDRA’S BACK! GET UP ON THE HYDRA’S BACK! GET UP ON THE HYDRA’S BACK! GET UP ON THE HYDRA’S BACK!

GET UP ON THE HYDRA’S BACK!

#kingdom hearts #neoyi talks #kingdom hearts II

[a-square-minus-one]

Honey 5

Sexual suggestiveness ahead. Please be aware that this story is Rated M and meant only for those 18 years and older.

“Your brother?” Nightwing asks, leaning back in his seat. Raven watches as his eyes glaze over. He’s running through plans in his head before she even gives him a full account of their opponent. Raven nods, although Nightwing isn’t fully paying attention at this point. She looks at all her teammates who are much more attentive.

“I will assume that you do not hold brotherly affection for this man?” Starfire asks. Raven nods again. 

“Trigon has fathered hundreds of sons after me, but the six following me are the most powerful. Each of their powers coincide with the seven deadly sins.”

“But there are only six of them?” Garfield asks, his folded hands are supporting his chin as he leans in close. 

“I’m the seventh,” Raven says. That stops the questions for a few moments.

“But you powers aren’t-” Cyborg pauses, rubbing his bald head. “Sinly?”

Raven quirks her eyebrows. “Shooting black energy from my fingertips not dark enough for you?”

“You know what I mean,” Cyborg grumbles. Raven nods.

“The pride within you is tangible to me; I can manipulate it,” Raven says, crossing her legs. The team looks at her with parted lips. It was like their questions hung like weights on their lower jaw. She sighs. “I can play with the levels of pride in you so that it obscures all other systems. Biological. Mental. Emotional.”

“Wait, so you can sense how proud we are?” Garfield asks. Raven nods. “You must have a joy ride with boy wonder over there.” 

Nightwing scoffs. Garfield lifts his hands up, not even trying to erase his crooked smile.  

“Why have you never used this power before?” Nightwing asks, finally escaping the wheel that’s turning in his head.

“Why haven’t I turned someone into something they’re not?” Raven asks, hoping that in asking the question, Nightwing already found his answer. Nightwing seems to understand her as he leans back in his seat. Raven still feels the need to answer as the rest of her team stares at her expectantly.

“The villains we face rarely have a deficiency in pride. Besides, pride is a tricky thing. Given too much you will become foolish and illogical, convinced you have the right answer to everything. But given just enough,” Raven lets her eyes linger over Nightwing. “You become a detail oriented, confident leader.” Nightwing bows his head gracefully.

“The thing is, there is no set amount of pride that divides the foolish people from the well adjusted. Most of us have momentary spikes in our pride. There is no telling whether these spikes are good or bad. It’s dependent on how people use it. I don’t have the foresight to tell you how someone will react if they’re made more proud.”

“‘Cept for Adonis,” Garfield says, then blushes when all eyes turn to him. “What? That guy is always one spike of pride away from falling on his own sword.” Raven ponders that and shrugs.

“I’m not in the occupation of guessing someone’s limits. Besides it’s different when he’s in animal form.”

“How?” Garfield asks, leaning into the conversation. Raven pauses.

“My ability to sense emotions works best on humans.”

“You are able to sense mine,” Starfire chimes in. Raven nods at her.

“Things like happiness and sadness essentially feel the same in all beings. Between full human beings, the difference in how they feel emotions is almost imperceptible. But your body is wired differently. You’re Tamaranean and I have not enough access to Tamaraneans to get any baseline data on what your emotions read like. For example, your powers are connected with your ability to feel happiness. You practice happiness constantly, therefore your happiness is more potent. Because your happiness is so loud, it can be difficult for me to register the extent of your sadness.”

“It must be difficult to sense what I’m feeling,” Garfield says in a thoughtful whisper. Raven looks at him. “Every animal I turn into has different motivations. Some of them can be very strong.”

“Your animal forms are never permanent. While you can rearrange your DNA, it’s never fully stable. Your body will always want to revert to your human form,” Raven says. When she thinks about it though, Raven knows there is another form always pulling at Garfield’s control. She purses her lips, pausing to figure out where she’s going with this.  “No matter which form you take, there is always something essentially you that I can sense clearly because I know...well I know you.”  Garfield looks at her. Raven clears her throat. 

“And I know Star,” Raven says, moving her gaze from Garfield to Starfire. “I can sense what both of you are feeling but sometimes it can be a little harder for me to give it a name.”

“So the brother on the footage? Which is he?”

“Jesse. Envy.” 

The team is silent for a while. 

“Alone they’d be dangerous. Together, coupled with someone who understands centuries of mystical arts…” Raven trails off. Nightwing nods two times, evenly, militaristically.  Every once and a while Raven has to marvel at how certain Nightwing can be about things completely out of his element.

“Why are your brothers attacking now?” Nightwing asks in a way that makes it clear to Raven that not knowing is not an option. She pauses.

“My brothers’ motivations are tied directly to my father’s.”

“Cool so we’re up against old ass magic dragon, sin and evil incarnate,” Garfield runs a hand through his hair, tugging at his roots a little. 

“We need to cut this plan off at the roots,” Nightwing says, ignoring Garfield’s comment. “We start with Trigon.” Raven’s is rarely overcome with emotion but she has to fight to trap the sardonic chuckle bubbling from her chest behind her closed lips.

“Trigon is trapped in another dimension,” Raven says with a finality that would make anyone else drop the subject.

“So was Malchior,” Nightwing says quickly. His four teammates snap their heads to him. “Sorry,” he mumbles, looking to the floor.

“You’re not wrong,” Raven says after a moment, then shrugs one shoulder. “But Malchior’s escape is much easier than Trigon’s. Very few beings are able to traverse multiple planes of existence and even fewer are able to go where I put Trigon. Setting him free would be a marvelous feat indeed.”

“Never underestimate your enemies,” Nightwing says, pressing a fist into his palm.

“I don’t. I don’t deny that my brothers are more than likely searching for a way to free my father but he is not yet a part of the equation. We start with my brothers.”

“And if they manage to free your father?” 

“Then at least we won’t have to deal with evil incarnate and sin and an old ass magical dragon,” Raven says. Garfield raises his hand for a high five. Raven looks at it before tapping away at the touchscreen in front of the team. Garfield grumbles.

“We need to get supplies to protect ourselves and the tower from sinful influe-”

“Hate to interrupt sister but you were all moving at such a snail’s pace.”

Raven pulls up a protective barrier around her friends before they can even register that someone else is in the room. The man in front of her doesn’t even blink as he plops down on the sofa. Nightwing moves forward purposefully but Raven pushes him back with her powers.

“Leave the barrier and he will play with you like a toy.”

“Now, now, pretty vessel you know we can only enhance people’s natural inclinations,” Jacob says, propping one leg on the back rest of their sofa while the other hangs limply off the edge of the seat. He is sprawled out like a Greek god. His head rolls back. “May I say, this is quite the incestuous little family you have. The lust was rampant when I walked in the room. Although I shouldn’t be surprised Malchior has spoken of your...appetite.”

“Why are you here?”

“Oh why don’t you just drop the barrier? It’s not like you can hold it for much longer anyways. Besides, playing with your friends is not why I am here.”

“You expect me to trust you?” Raven’s voice wavers under the strain of protecting her friends. Even now she can feel Jacob probing the weakest parts of her barrier. 

“No I suppose not,” Jacob says, sending the group a crooked smile. He runs his hand slowly up his leg, over his muscular thigh, and drops it dangerously close to the bulge in his unitard. Then he chuckles.

“Our brothers have sent me to ask you to join our endeavours in freeing our father.” “I’d rather die.”

“Ah I said much the same to them. You are much too proud,” Jacob chuckles. It sounds like a bell. 

“Original.”

“Ooh your sentences are getting much shorter. I bet I could push through this barrier of yours now,” Jacob says, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically and sitting up properly in one quick, smooth movement. He eyes Nightwing from head to feat. “I’ve pushed through my fair share of barriers in this lifetime.” 

Jacob winks. Raven clenches her teeth.

“Alas, I don’t feel much like straining myself today although I can assure you my brothers do not know the same restraint. They wanted me to force you to join our side. But I think your high and noble friends wouldn’t let you turn yourself over to us even if I did say...peel their skin off in front of you,” Jacob says. He reaches for a lollipop in the candy basket they keep in the common room and peels off the wrapper. He swirls his tongue slowly over the confection. “Well, I will not waste my energy.” 

Jacob eyes run over the Titans one by one, watching as their muscles twitch with the desire to hurt him. He feels like laughing.

“Protect your tower, conduit. Protect your friends. But as I tell all my lovers, be prepared for the full weight of us.”

Jacob moves to walk out their front door and Raven feels her barrier weaken significantly. Before he leaves Jacob looks over his shoulder with a lascivious smirk.

“And do try to lay with the green one at least once. Your thirst for each other is simply pathetic.”

Jacob leaves.

#bbrae

[rye-views]

A Promised Land by Barack Obama. 8/10

I would recommend this book to my friends. I would reread this book.

There are certain things that Barack articulates that I’m thankful for. His over-optimism and feelings of eccentricity. I completely related to its isolating feelings even though it wasn’t the same situation and experience as mine. It’s nice to see something similar from someone different. I also liked his description of feeling everything in its entirety and how it was like a movie splice. I have felt this many times and it’s a beautiful way to describe it. I like how so much of what Barack says, thinks, and feels are so genuine and relatable. It's nice to see someone articulate and empathize this well, esp. from a man and a man in power.

I love learning that Michelle was disappointed by the situation caused by his choices at times. Other things were more important at the time and nice to see it be relevant.

It’s interesting to see the difference between this book and “Becoming.” They have different aims, but it still shows me a difference between a man and woman. I also notice that when men are described, it’s always physical. When it’s women, it’s more character and personality.

Crazy how intelligent and emotionally aware Barack is. When he stated how he couldn't just pick and choose the good things of Reverend Wright's church, I was like true and wow.

The things that Toot taught Barack is what someone should've taught me as I grew up.

Barack comparing the rides to Noah's Ark is amusing.

When he mentions translations of what the Big 4 are saying, I think about how we can't be straightforward in politics. Why not?

It took me forever to read this because I really wanted to absorb the knowledge. There's a lot of events that are covered and things I had no idea about. I love how this catalogues so much of history that were relevant to my lifetime.

Memorable Quotes: “gives even my roughest drafts too smooth a gloss and lends half-baked thoughts the mask of tidiness” “I needed to focus on only those things to come.” “Much of what I read I only dimly understood” “a bond between those who had once seemed far apart.” “Whatever it was, I knew I wasn’t ready.” “An America that could explain me.” “I suffered rejections and insults often enough to stop fearing them.” “Enthusiasm makes up for a host of deficiencies.” “Failure and want were all around you.” “It should have been enough.” “but my mother was never one to see hard work as anything but good.” “On top of my sorrow, I felt a great shame.” “There’s a physical feeling, a current of emotion that passes back and forth between you and the crowd, as if your lives and theirs are suddenly spliced together, like a movie reel, projecting backward and forward in time, and your voice creeps right up to the edge of cracking, because for an instant, you feel them deeply; you can see them whole. You’ve tapped into some collective spirit, a thing we all know and wish for – a sense of connection that overrides our differences and replaces them with a giant swell of possibility – and like all things that matter most, you know the moment is fleeting and that soon the spell will be broken.” “To be a workhorse not a show horse – that was my goal.” “I had become a mere conduit through which people might recognize the value of their own stories, their own worth, and share them with one another.” "Yes we can." “the personal really was political” “I had to listen to, and not just theorize about, what mattered to people.” “it wasn’t so much what he did as how he made you feel. Like anything was possible. Like the world was yours to remake.” “It’s hard, in retrospect, to understand why you did something stupid.” “In fact, you shouldn’t even count on my vote.” “What do you consider your place in history?” “I could take a punch. And I didn’t give up.” “I knew I could afford to be patient.” “but the only way for Daddy to disguise himself is if he has an operation to pin back his ears.” “Forgotten people and forgotten voices remained everywhere.” “the more troops would become targets of an enemy they often could not see and did not understand.” “The power to inspire is rare. Moments like this are rare. You think you may not be ready, that you’ll do it at more convenient time. But you don’t choose the time. The time chooses you.” “people were moved by emotion, not facts.” “Beneath the low-key person and deep convictions, he just plain liked the combat.” "defined not by what they are but what they can never be." "To the relief of his keepers, the bear became accustomed to captivity." "he understood better than most the complications of race, religion, and family, and how good and bad, love and hate, might be hopelessly tangled in the same heart" "She was one of those quiet heroes that we have all across America." "But I worry that my memories of that night, like so much else that's happened these past twelve years, are shaded by the images that I've seen, the footage of our family walking across the stage, the photographs of the crowds and lights and magnificent backdrops." "a keeper of values we'd once thought ordinary but had learned were more rare than we had ever imagined." ""It's going to be hard to get the public excited about food stamps and repaving roads," Axe said. "Not real sexy."" "This time I said nothing, admiring his occasional, almost endearing ability to state the obvious." "You must be under the mistaken impression that I care." "all of them unified only in their common desire to be somewhere else." "ready to die for eternal joy--or maybe just a taste of something better." "But make no mistake, it was weird." "the unspoken regrets." "my supporters lacked all conviction, while my opponents were full of passionate intensity." "Michelle was someone who started from the heart and not the head, from experience rather than abstractions." "I wanted to believe that the ability to connect was still there. My wife wasn't so sure." “The

audacity of hope.” "Sometimes your most important work involved the stuff nobody noticed." "forgotten under the accumulation of the new joys and paints that make up a life." "you learn to improvise to meet your objectives--or at least to cut your losses." "They would take for granted that their aunt was on the U.S. Supreme Court, shaping the life of a nation--as would kids across the country. Which was fine. That's what progress was like." "Did they miss the rhythms of ordinary life? Were they lonely? Did they sometimes feel a jolt in their heart and wonder how it was that they had ended up where they were?" "I reminded myself that every president felt saddled with the previous administration's choices and mistakes, that 90 percent of the job was navigating inherited problems and unanticipated crises. Only if you did that well enough, with discipline and purpose, did you get a real shot at shaping the future." "Was it possible that abstract principles and high-minded ideals were and always would be nothing more than a pretense, a palliative, a way to beat back despair, but no match for the more primal urges that really moved us, so that no matter what we said or did, history was sure to run along its predetermined course, an endless cycle of fear, hunger and conflict, dominance and weakness?" "meant to be a reminder--in a place premised on hate and intolerance--of the common humanity we share." "A man making up for things." "For war was contradiction, as was the history of America." "To be known. To be heard. To have one's unique identity recognized and seen as worthy. It was a universal human desire" "pleasures that cost nothing, belonged to no one, and were accessible to all." "I suppose, when the world slows down, your strivings get pushed to the back of your mind." "whether in my seeming calm as crises piled up, my insistence that everything would work out in the end, I was really just protecting my self--and contributing to her loneliness." "It was a lonely thought at a lonely time." "You never looked as smart as the ex-president did on the sidelines." "Get exposed to other people's truths, I thought, and attitudes change." "It wasn't often, I thought, that a true act of conscience is recognized that way." "their struggles and resentments troubling but remote." "are mere conduits for the deep, relentless currents of the times or whether we're at least partly the authors of what's to come." "contemplating the knife's edge between perceived success and potential catastrophe" "daily, unheralded acts of people who weren't seeking attention but simply knew what they were doing and did it with pride." "She makes me better as a person and better on the page."

#a promised land #promised land #barack obama #book #review #commentary #rye-views #8