#Blue Dissension

[lounixxu]

Dear mother, why have you forsaken me?

[mtgfantokens]

MtG Token: White/Blue Bird

Magic: the Gathering has been around for 30 years. There are 27,000 unique cards and growing. And a lot of them create tokens. While the official tokens are great, I have a need to celebrate the artwork of our (mtg) ancestors. Let's celebrate older artwork with a new coat of paint.

Token: 1/1 white and blue Bird creature token with flying

This is for 2 cards from Dissension, Dovescape and Pride of the Clouds

We have Judge's Familiar from Return to Ravnica by Jack Wang

The literal and graphical information presented on this site about Magic: The Gathering, including card images and mana symbols, is copyright Wizards of the Coast, LLC.

[aflo]

ok, so i can say with complete confidence that the player on our side is playing Craig Jones' Zoo from Pro Tour Honolulu. Down to the 9th edition savannah lions and Dissension shocks. The active player is a little harder to pin down, but if I had to guess, I think they're playing Olivier Ruel's Hand to Hand. Y'know, the match-up from the legendary $16,000 Lightning Helix clip.

I'm not quite sure which card the active player puts down. It looks most like a Ghost Council of Orzhova, but they are a mana short to cast it. It's possible they windmill slammed and played a land after. It makes the most sense to be a Mortify, in the clip the player would be casting it targeting Kird Ape, but Dissension Mortify wasn't green back then. It could possibly be the more commonly reprinted art from Sorin vs Tibalt.

Now, it's entirely possible that the active player is playing something from another format, like a pioneer deck. I don't think it's likely, but if that mystery blue card at the top is a mana rock of some kind, they could be casting Kaya's Wrath. That would be the card most likely to elicit the Craig Jones' player's reaction.

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS24 ONe Shot: "On Wings of Storm"

This canon divergent AU was intended to be a shifter one shot, but I don't know that the character is a shifter in the strictest sense, as there is a curse and magic involved. It is set sometime post Milah's death in Season Two, and then embarks on a different path from there...

I apologize ahead of time for any errors that I might need to come back and fix; I was writing this right up to midnight and didn't have enough time to edit fully. My beta for this year's @cssns @myfearless-love did absolutely brilliant work, catching so many typos and run-ons and confusing phrases. She was invaluable and deserves so much love for all her help! Anything left over is 100% my fault for hurrying to finish.

**I am thrilled to be reposting now with the gorgeous cover artwork created for me by @motherkatereloyshipper! She captured so well the drama and intensity of the ship's danger during the storm and the petrel coming to her aid. I just love it!! Thank you, thank you, thank you SO MUCH @motherkatereloyshipper!**

Please enjoy, and I'd love to hear what you think!!

Summary: Killian Jones has lost everything and everyone he ever held dear. All that is left for him is vengeance and pain. None could have expected the strange twist of Fate that would change everything, or the surprising companion that will come to touch his heart in ways he would have no longer thought possible.

“On Wings of Storm” 

By: @snowbellewells

“Attention, you bilge rats!” His angry voice rang out unmistakably over the planks of the majestic ship - carrying clearly despite the buffeting wind and rolling sea beneath. The power in the sharply accented words cracked like a whip, causing every member of his crew to flinch nervously and stand at attention to do their captain’s bidding and avoid his ire. Those who made their home and livelihood upon the Jolly Roger - even the few remaining grizzled veterans who’d once served on her decks when she was the Jewel of the Realm - knew her captain’s temper was perpetually on a knife’s edge. The harshness and cruelty of the lives they all lived, and the loss and betrayal Captain Jones had weathered, would bow and break many. It was understood not to cross those who had survived and been hardened by it.

Yet, even with that knowledge, the cause of his current tirade was unclear. When the ship had docked at the remote port, some had stayed aboard to handle various duties and keep watch while others went ashore to roam and shop, or to visit inns or brothels, but all had been attending to their assigned duties and nothing was amiss. However, the thunderous look upon their Captain’s dark brow spoke volumes. Something was amiss, and he would see it put to rights. Pity the fool who was found at fault. The cutlass at his hip bounced gently against his leg, and the still awe-inspiring metal appendage which had replaced his left hand mere months ago glinted menacingly in the low moonlight as he paced back and forth, eyeing each man with an intensity that would make anyone tremble.

It was old Mullins who finally dared to put the question to the Captain gingerly when no further explanation or action seemed forthcoming. “What is it that’s angered ye, Cap’n?” he queried respectfully, head bowed in deference as his speech drew Killian Jones’ attention. “We’ve been here aboard the Jolly and at our post since ye left. Did something happen on shore?”

Killian’s attention zeroed intently on the graying Mullins, who quickly gave another bob of his chin in respect or acknowledgement. Not about to contradict their captain, but also not knowing what had upset him, none of them could move to make it right. Those piercing blue eyes, like ice chips in Mullins’ shuddering imagination, beneath the dark, forbidding brows he used to great effect, seemed to be searching his subordinate’s face and sifting his words for any hint of dissension or deception. Finding nothing of the kind, the volatile man’s gaze swept over the rest of the crew assembled around him nervously for some time before offering the explanation in a menacing growl.

“It has come to my attention - and make no mistake, even a scoundrel such as meself has loyal allies - that some of you are dissatisfied with your position aboard this vessel. Let me be crystal clear; a place aboard the Jolly Roger is an honor and a prize - she is a marvel unmatched in speed and quality throughout the realm. However, your presence here is entirely voluntary. I have never, and will never, tolerate the enslavement of any crew member on the Jolly. Such dishonor shall not taint her decks. So, if any of you wish to depart, then by all means, leave now. But be warned; spreading false tales of captivity or coercion, thereby sullying our flag and reputation, will not be tolerated. Such lies will be rooted out and those responsible will face severe consequences.”

He paused, clearly waiting for any who might be bold enough to disembark under his watchful eye and be noted for their decision. None upon the deck moved or spoke, and old Mullins noted sadly that the only sound or hint of motion was the heavy breathing that escaped the Captain’s mouth and the heaving of his chest, evidenced by what had clearly been an angry charge from the town’s center and his impassioned outburst.

As Jones finally seemed to regain control, sending him back to work with a brisk order, Mullins couldn’t help thinking resignedly about how much the Captain had changed, in the past few months especially, but also in the years since his brother’s death. The man Captain Jones had once been - that promising but naive young lieutenant - seemed like a distant memory. Few of the current crew members had served under Jones’ proud and honorable older brother, Liam, who had been tragically struck down in his prime by treachery. Liam’s untimely death had altered the course of all their lives in ways none could have anticipated. Mullins found it painful to remember the wide-eyed, gangly lieutenant Killian had once been. That young man had spoken passionately of glory for the crown and the name of Jones, ready to follow his Captain anywhere. He had believed in righteousness and the power of individuals to shape their own destinies. That idealistic youth had hardened into a bitter and implacable man. The once-noble Killian Jones now sought only vengeance, becoming known and feared across the seas as the dreaded villain, Captain Hook. Mullins sighed and returned to his task; there was naught to be done for it.

Meanwhile, Killian Jones stood at the helm, staring out into the dark night. He sought fruitlessly for the rhythmic comfort of the waves against the hull of his beloved vessel, the solid planks beneath his feet, and the cool night air brushing over his face to ease his inner turmoil. These familiar elements had soothed him many times before, yet his agitation remained as he waited, forcing himself to take steady, regular breaths.

As he stood there, alone amongst his crew, Killian’s gaze drifted towards the gray, evening-darkening horizon. A shape materialized from the gathering twilight, drawing nearer - an unmistakable bird on the wing, yet not the familiar silhouette of gull or pelican often seen at sea. Morbidly curious, Killian watched as the creature approached, strangely silent compared to the trilling calls of most avian species he knew. Its relatively small body rose and fell on the air currents, rather than gliding with ease, weaving unsteadily in its course.

Despite having recently displayed harsh temper and callousness, Killian found himself holding his breath with each flap of wings that sent the bird painstakingly higher in the sky again, inexplicably concerned it might plummet into the rolling waves below.

As if drawn by his thoughts, the bird’s flight began to descend lower and lower. The men diligently working around him on the deck - and avoiding eye contact to steer clear of his ire a second time - seemed completely unaware of the creature’s plight. Killian finally released a tight breath as the dark-feathered bundle nearly landed at his feet. Though it seemed more a collapse than a graceful landing, it had found a resting place. He did not wish to closely examine why it mattered to him whether it had succeeded or not.

Glancing around surreptitiously, Killian stooped to gather the bird into his hand, his hooked arm wrapping around to steady and secure it against his chest. He hoped the dark attire he wore would partially conceal the fragile creature. Rescuing helpless animals contradicted the brash and dangerous pirate persona he had donned irrevocably, which had grown even more dark and forbidding of late. Yet, he simply could not leave the small, fragile bird on the planks, its strength almost spent and plaintively vulnerable.

Seeing that all was as it should be, he slipped below deck without a word, carrying the strange passenger in his arms into his cabin. Closing the door firmly behind him, Killian hurried to place the weakened creature on the table and lit a nearby lantern hanging from the ceiling to inspect its small form for injuries. It appeared fine, simply near the end of its endurance after a clearly long journey.

Just as when the bird was approaching the ship, he could not really understand why it mattered so much to him that the creature was alright. It did though, and so he obeyed his instincts and tried to tend to it as best he knew how. His new compatriot didn’t seem at all troubled by his admittedly anxious dithering and attempts at aid. The bird neither flapped nor made any attempt to flee. After a few full-body shakes to settle its plumage, the bird remained largely still, only moving with its breaths and blinking its dark brown eyes calmly at him, seemingly taking in its new surroundings. The creature exhibited an almost human awareness that it was safe, facing no threat from him.

As Killian watched, enthralled, the bird eventually seemed to settle enough that it tucked its head beneath its wing and appeared to fall asleep. Satisfied that his charge would be fine for a few hours, and needing to rest himself while his crew and ship were in order, Killian extinguished the lantern after preparing for bed. The churning anger and restlessness which had plagued him since boarding his ship was strangely lulled, and for the moment, he was too grateful to question it. Stretching out upon the Captain’s berth, he gave himself over to sleep, for once wrapped up enough in its comfort to be dreamless.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Killian rose with the sun the next morning, habit waking him early enough to see the gray pre-dawn melt into the peach and pinkish glow of a clear new day. He stretched his lanky frame, washed and dressed before moving to the table to check on his unexpected guest. As he neared the makeshift nest he had created, he was surprised to see his small stowaway still appeared to be asleep. Startled by how calm the bird continued to be in such confined surroundings, Killian merely smiled tightly, his hand unconsciously rubbing his chest. He tried not to dwell on why the peaceful sight of a bird resting on the table in one of his old rags lifted his spirits so, as if the whole cabin felt less lonely in its presence.

He had a litany of his usual tasks to attend to, and he knew the rest of his crew would soon be active - if they were not already. Killian exited the cabin swiftly, hoping nothing would disturb the creature until it was restored enough to wake on its own, once the heavy sound of his boots against the wooden planks faded away.

However, he couldn’t avoid one quick stop before heading topside. Killian was pleased to see Turley, the ship’s cook, alone in the kitchen. He ducked beneath the low door frame and cleared his throat to get the grizzled man’s attention amidst the numerous pots and pans bubbling and sizzling on the stovetop.

“Mornin’ Cap’n,” Turley offered, with a gap-toothed smile. “What can I get ye?”

Killian lowered his voice, stepping closer to the aging cook as he explained that the rations he sought were not for himself, but for the seabird he had rescued the evening before. As he pondered why the bird’s fate concerned him, Killian found himself unsure why he felt compelled to hide his anxiety for the small animal. Anyone daring to question or mock him would regret it – if not immediately, soon enough. Was he questioning himself then?

He discarded the thought almost as soon as it entered his mind. Turley seemed pleased with his captain’s request, assuring him they still had some canned herring in their stores which he could fetch after the noon meal. Killian nodded approvingly and thanked Turley before turning to leave. Just as he did, Turley added, “Sounds like you found a storm petrel, Cap’n.”

“Oh, aye?” Killian asked, tilting his head with renewed interest, despite his desire not to seem overeager.

“Indeed, for how you have described it anyways, Sir. They’re quite rare in these parts, or so’s I’ve always heard. They tend to nest much further north, preferrin’ the cold.”

Killian nodded his understanding but remained silent, encouraging Turley’s talkative nature with a patient gaze. He was rewarded when Turley continued without pause.

“There’re many folks who consider ‘em an evil omen, Cap’n. Portents of storms and such like, but they’re such wee buggers, them petrels. I always wondered meself if they weren’t just allowin’ the winds to blow them to safety rather than heraldin’ the blast.”

Killian shook his head with begrudging humor. Even after nearly three years leading a crew of pirates rather than the formal naval sailors they had once been, he was continually surprised by their superstitious beliefs. They claim to be black-hearted, fearless outlaws, yet frightfully unwilling to take a woman aboard (even Milah at the beginning), sail under the red morning sun, or set out on a Friday.. All due to tall tales of downfall and destruction. It was just a bird, wind-rattled and knocked off-course, needing to regain its strength; certainly not some ill stroke of luck.

“I heartily agree with you, mate,” Killian said when Turley’s words trailed off, giving him a clap on the shoulder before leaving the galley. “I appreciate you finding the herring. I’ll be back for it once lunch has been cleared.”

Turley assented readily and turned back to his task, humming idly. The Captain seemed in a better state of mind than he’d been in since losing his hand, and witnessing his love’s death. To Turley it seemed nothing but good luck, and he was simply glad for it.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Feeding the petrel at noon was a more awkward and messier business than Killian had anticipated; first he was struggling to open the sealed tin with just one hand, then handling the pungent small fish and their juices in his attempts to coax the bird to eat. Once it snatched the first bit in its delicate, curved bill, however, no more coddling was necessary. Soon, the petrel was grasping tiny herring right from the can, swallowing chunks as fast as it could manage. It emitted a rough sort of squawk in his direction once it finished its meal. Chuckling, Killian could certainly admit it was no nightingale’s song, but he chose to see it as an enthusiastic thanks all the same.

“I’m afraid that’s all for now, you shameless beggar,” he chided gently while clearing the empty tin away and wiping the table clean. To his surprise, the bird stepped nearer, lightly pecking at his fingers, almost playfully or in gratitude, not at all sharply enough to hurt. Holding his breath, Killian turned his hand open and palm up; the petrel nuzzled against his warm skin. Improbable as it seemed, the gesture could almost be called affectionate.

“You are a funny one, aren’t you?” the pirate murmured, scratching one finger lightly over the bird’s dark gray cap. He chose to ignore how his voice sounded equally fond.

When he returned that evening, the shadows outside his cabin’s windows were already long, and the sun had long sunk in the west. After its performance at midday, Killian was sure the petrel would be hungry again and eagerly awaiting its dinner. Yet, upon entering his cabin with canned anchovies, hoping they would not prove too salty for his animal guest, he found the bird absent from the center table altogether. Instead, it flitted for one spot to another at the desk in the room’s far corner near the window. It fluttered, then paused to alight upon the various open books strewn over the surface, cooking its tiny head and peering down intently at the pages. Had Killian not known better, he would have thought it was actually reading the words in Liam’s beloved tomes.

By this point, Kilian was charmed by the petrel’s odd antics, his lips stretching into an ill-accustomed smile as he watched before he moved to lay out his offering. The dark cloud that had hung over him before the bird’s arrival had dissipated. Though he couldn’t explain why, Killian welcomed the lighter mood, hoping it signified better days to come.

The petrel let out its brash trill a few more times before fluttering over to feed quickly on the anchovy, as enthusiastically as it had eaten the herring. Upon finishing, however, it did not relax as it had done previously. Instead, it flitted across the room, hovering near the window and making its distinctive call. The bird then fluttered around Killian’s head and shoulders before returning to the window, its desire for freedom as clear as if it had spoken the words aloud.

“Of course, little one,” Killian sighed reluctantly, no longer embarrassed about speaking to it as if it were human. “Naturally you would wish to return to the air.”

As he opened the window pane, the bird uttered a softer note, unlike its previous raucous cries. Killian smiled ruefully as he watched it slip through the opening and fly away. He had never considered refusing to let it go free; still, he missed the petrel’s presence in his cabin almost immediately. It might have been only a lost bird, but for a flicker of time, he felt a connection, a kinship, that had been sorely lacking in his life.

Yet, to Killian’s pleased astonishment, it was far from the last he would see of the storm petrel. While he would have expected the bird to be gone, never to return again, as days and weeks at sea went by, the small bird reappeared often - usually at first light, near the wheel where Killian was often steering, taking the night’s last watch upon himself as captain to be certain all was well when the Jolly was perhaps most vulnerable. After his intriguing initial encounter with his new feathered friend, he had learned that petrels were largely nocturnal and - like pirates and sailors themselves - rarely came ashore unless nesting. Again, that strange sense of kindred closeness swept over him; more than he had known for entirely too long. He had also learned that pairs of storm petrels were largely monogamous, and he could not help but wonder if the small gray co-pilot had lost its mate, leading it to return to the ship and humans where it had been shown kindness, strange as the attachment might seem. At any rate, once “his” petrel had begun to make recurrent appearances, Killian deliberately took the shift which found him at the helm when dawn’s first light crept over the horizon.

Though wise enough not to voice any notice or question him, the more observant and early-rising members of Captain Jones’ crew began to notice the bird’s repeated arrivals at the wheel near their captain. It seemed the small creature came solely to visit Jones and to snag a brief ride perched on the ship’s side, the sea breeze rustling its feathers until it either fluttered below deck to follow Killian at the end of his watch or took to the sky again.. Killian naturally sought to avoid seeming overly fond or doting on the petrel. For the leader of a band of miscreants and outlaws who lived a rough life by their wits and the sweat of their brows, it was dangerous indeed to show any sort of weakness. Any appearance of “going soft” could be a death sentence if his crew began to doubt his capabilities because of it.

All the same, those who worked nearby sometimes saw glimpses of his twinkling eyes or more mischievous smiles from time to time - things that had seemed lost to the past before the bird’s arrival. The cabin boy Killian had taken aboard at a port several months before - to save him from a life of abuse and privation - sometimes thought he heard snatches of the Captain singing or humming shanties under his breath when the petrel was present at Killian’s side. The boy’s loyalty, however, was unassailable and absolute. He’d never dream of breathing a word.

This continued for some time, the petrel’s comings and goings becoming an expected part of the rhythm aboard the Jolly Roger. Its diminutive gray form and rapid flight over the nearby waves became an easily recognizable sight to all who sailed upon the ship. What was more, the bird’s presence was gratefully welcomed - Captain Jones was less volatile and less prone to strike out against those who displeased him.

If the petrel had not yet proven its worth to any sailors reluctant to accept it, then one stormy night it would have silenced any doubts once and for all…

They had not taken an enemy vessel in some time, and the cargo taken in their most recent haul had been offloaded at the last port nearly two days prior. It was a good thing, too, because as shadows began to lengthen in late afternoon, wind whipped up wildly, frothing the waves and rocking the ship violently. The extra weight of a full cargo might have caused them to take on a frightening amount of water as the hull rose and fell. 

At first, the men manned their posts with calm determination. A storm at sea was always serious, easily spelling the difference between life and death in how one met its ravages. They had faced many such squalls, and Jones guided them through with an indefinable but comforting mix of experience and assurance. This gale, however, seemed different, bent on their destruction as the walls of water rose and then dropped the Jolly as though it were a toy in a child’s bathtub. As they dipped, the rising swells threatened to pour over the sides and sink them permanently. The crew gripped their ropes or boards, holding tightly to whatever piece they manned, but more and more fervently sending prayers for mercy to Poseidon, Davy Jones, or the sirens that would greet them below the surface.

Amidst the rolling chaos, the rapid beating of wings swept low over their heads as a dark,  familiarly recognizable form sailed across the deck and landed heavily, talons clinging to the worn leather on Killian’s shoulder. Though it had clearly fought mightily against the drafts, their petrel was claiming its place heedless of the danger.

Hardly able to acknowledge the delicate weight where it roosted at his side, even nearer than usual, Killian quickly raised his hook from the spokes of the wheel, brushing its curve over the bird’s downy underbelly in a single stroke of greeting. The bird trilled and seemed almost to rub its head against his rough cheek in affection. The exchange lasted only a moment, and in their heightened anxiety, few, if any, bore witness. Then, Killian gripped the wheel tightly once more with hand and hook, roaring out orders and encouragement, exhorting the men not to give up the fight, though the storm raged on and endurance flagged.

The petrel, not content to merely watch and ride along, was hardly finished - nor did it perch silently idle. Instead, it took to the air again, if only just, fluttering rapidly about the captain’s head, repeating its sharp, strident call, almost in his ear, and making itself nigh impossible to ignore. At first, Killian instinctively waved his hand to ward off its advances, calling out in consternation at its unusual behavior. However, it quickly became clear the tiny bird’s determined efforts would not falter.

Brow furrowed in thought, Killian squinted in concentration at his companion, finally sensing that it was trying to tell him something. Swiping the driving rain from his vision, Killian gave in and murmured low under his breath, “Alright, little one, I understand. What is it you wish to show me?”

Again, reacting as if it understood his every word, the petrel chirruped a sort of agreement and took flight again. It had to dip and bob against the lashing wind and rain in order to stay aloft, but it flapped madly, its wings battling back against the heaves of the storm. Valiantly, it hovered within sight, just ahead of the ship’s bow and almost seemed to look back expectantly, as if asking whether or not he meant to follow its lead.

Despite the tension in his shoulders, the worry and responsibility weighing upon him as the storm attempting to break them apart and bear the pieces to the depths, Killian couldn’t hold back a huff of laughter at the bird’s assumed insistence. “Aye, we’re with you,” he uttered aloud, turning the wheel just slightly to accommodate the direction in which the petrel led, shaking his head in disbelief even as he did so. It seemed a mite crazy, true enough, and yet birds survived the wild, its brutal conditions and weather, all the time. And what other chance of survival did they have at this point if the tempest didn’t slake soon? He could not see the way before them clearly enough to navigate by any of his normal methods. At the end of the day, they were all at the whim of Mother Nature, whatever their skill or experience, so the chance or fate that had brought this small creature to him and the feeling in his gut that urged him on seemed as good a course to follow as any.

Some few further agonizing minutes followed, as they still rose and fell in the grip of rolling waves. The entire crew seemed to hold their breath as the ship bobbed and soared, up and down, over and again, eyes riveted on the dark clouds and forks of lightning ahead of them and straining to glimpse in time the jagged rocks that lurked portending their doom.

Slowly, and yet more and more certainly as they persisted, the wild rocking, the careening to and fro, lessened, as though the churning water itself had begun to loosen its massive grip. They were moving into miraculously calmer waters, Killian noted with a breath of relief. The storm still howled around them, but in a bright flash of lightning, he saw that the ship had entered the sheltered lea of a hidden cove. The tall rock faces rising on either side as the Jolly sailed into their cover lessened the buffeting of the waves and allowed the ship to maintain its ballance once again. He would not have seen the entrance with the elements obscuring vision as they’d been - not without the petrel. It had led them to safety.

As if on cue, the bird came to rest atop the wheel, perching on the curve of wood between the two spokes where his hand and hook were placed. Blinking placidly, it seemed to look at him with a bit of pride before cooing softly and burrowing hits head and beak under its wing to snatch a moment’s well-earned rest.

Nodding and allowing himself a look around to take stock, Killian saw the reassurance on his crew’s faces as all realized they had made it through. Killian called out a few orders to check various parts of the sip for any damages and make certain the ship would stay in place until the storm blew itself out. This petrel with its almost sentient ability to sense when it was needed, come to his aid, and raise his spirits, would always have a safe place to rest with them on the Jolly Roger.

~~*~~*~~

Until the day it didn’t return.

The storm petrel had taken to arriving regularly every two or three days, wherever they might be sailing or how much distance they had covered, but then one evening it failed to appear. It didn’t come that night, or the next. Soon a week had passed, and still it didn’t come back to the Jolly, worrying Killian more than he dared let on.

He could not simply drop anchor and wait, nor could he leave his post, his men, and his ship, to search for his tiny companion - far dearer than even a pet could ever be. He had no way to call the bird; it had always come to him of its own accord and in its own time… but it had never stayed away for so long.

His men noticed as well, whispering amongst themselves when the Captain began taking his evening meals alone at night rather than joining them in the galley, when the door to his cabin slammed with such heavy finality that all knew it was a barrier not to be crossed until the Captain emerged again. They shook their heads in dismay when orders were bellowed more harshly or conversations were more clipped and terse. Killian Jones was too diligent a man to shirk his duties or lead them astray, yet all felt his unease and knew its cause. Many of them were aware enough to know the petrel had saved them from the storm, just as Killian did, and had grown to enjoy its visits and watch for it in their own ways. Its absence had stretched on long enough that it seemed clear something must have happened to the poor bird - not that any would say such to the Captain.

Turley and the cabin boy were the only ones genuinely close enough to ask Killian about it, and the youngster only dared question hesitantly one night as he brought the Captain his dinner tray if he had seen his gray bird lately. The dulled acceptance in his expected denial bowed the boy’s head and forestalled any further inquiry.

But that night, as young Billy left, Killian heard a light rapping sound at the small window above his bunk. Even knowing better, his heart leapt with a small flicker of hope. It was the portal by which his petrel had entered and left his cabin so many times. Scuffling and scratching followed, so weak and soft as to have gone unheard if he hadn’t been sitting alone and quiet at his desk. Hustling to the window, Killian unlatched it and carefully opened the glass pane.

To his astonishment and joy, quickly followed by rapid alarm, the storm petrel toppled from its weary perch on the windowsill and landed on the ledge just inside the room. Its tiny frail quivered, its little feathered breast rising and falling rapidly. It wasn’t a large bird to begin with; Turley’s familiar voice echoed in Killian’s head at the thought, needlessly rambling about petrels being some of the widest ranging seabirds known to man, despite being naught bigger than swallows. ‘Hardy little critters, they are,’ Killian could still hear the cook yammering internally until he finally shook his head clear. What he needed to do now was ascertain what the bird needed and what he could do to help.

Having been small already, the petrel looked terribly frail on the dusty, cushioned ledge amidst heavy tomes, navigation tools, and the other detritus of several years. It was obvious the poor creature had not been eating and was wasting away half-starved as a result. Along with that, it was soaked, its feathers in bedraggled disarray and missing in places. The bird lay still for so long without uttering any sound or even trying to right itself of explore the space that Killian feared for a horrible moment that it must be near death.

Peering closer with careful, gentle movements, he saw that the petrel was injured as well as weakened. Not immediately apparent because of how ruffled in was in general, Killian noted that its wing was bent at an awkward angle along its side rather than folded up properly in repose.

The bird hardly lifted its head as Killian stroked one finger down its back, hoping to soothe and offer even the tiniest bit of comfort. Striding urgently across the room, he swung the cabin door open, calling urgently down the hall for Whale, the ship’s doctor, to come on the double; he was needed in the Captain’s quarters.

Whirling to re-enter the room, Killian’s eyes quickly passed over the space, noting the crust of his bread left from supper and the seeds which had been baked atop it still littering the plate. He brought it quickly to his patient, then poured some water for the pitched by his washstand into the empty saucer which had held soup, hoping he might coax the petrel to eat even a morsel and gain some nourishment.

Next, he grasped a plush cotton dressing gown, hanging untouched on the door of his closest, purposefully out of easy sight. It had been Milah’s favorite to wrap up in after the rare luxury of a bath, and the sight of it or the feel of its material beneath his fingers had wrung his heart until now, bringing the hot, raging need for vengeance back to the fore. He was suddenly glad he had not parted with it though. He didn’t dare jostle the injured bird overmuch for fear of hurting it further. But while he couldn’t rub it down to dry it fully, he could tuck the robe’s downy layers around it and warm its shivering frame.

“There now, little one,” he crooned gently. “Take a bit of food and catch your breath. You’re safe now…” his voice caught and he swallowed before adding, “We’ll put you back to rights, don’t fret.”

Killian didn’t actually know if a ship’s surgeon could set a bird’s wing as he would a human man’s broken arm, but he could hear Whale’s footsteps pounding down the hall toward his cabin, and knew he would find out soon. Before Whale - or anyone else - could arrive to see him, Killian bent to carefully lean over the bird’s small form, not sure what possessed him, but following the instinct before he could question it. As delicately as possible for someone who’d had no cause for gentility in longer than he could remember, for just one breath, one single heartbeat, he brought his lips to the bird’s tiny head. Maybe it was brought on by some long-buried memory of his own mother, lost to his mind’s eye other than a voice whose soothing singing sometimes echoed in his sleep, but the kiss seemed an offering to ease fever pain and fear with hope and good wishes.

It was the barest brush contact - a mere moment’s touch - but the air in the room abruptly changed. Something seemed to shrink and then expand; the atmosphere held its breath. Glittering rainbow hues flashed in front of his eyes, and Killian jerked backwards in alarm. The petrel’s shape went a bit hazy as Killian strained to understand what was happening right before his eyes, and then his small friend began to grow and change, forcing him to take a few more stunned steps backward and wonder if he had somehow hit his head and addled his brain. His accustomed companion was transforming even as he watched.

He heard a shout as Whale - and probably a few curious others too - came to a halt behind him. Exclamations of awe and surprise were heard but left unacknowledged over his shoulder. Killian blinked, trying be sure he could trust his vision and to reconcile what shouldn’t be possible, but sat before him.

Where the storm petrel had lay near death just seconds ago, stood a blushing, beautiful young woman. She was equally soaked to the skin, long blonde hair plastered to her head and shoulders. Her lithe, slender frame trembled where she stood clutching the dressing gown around her tightly. Still, there was something about her eyes as she stared back at him silently; something that he knew deep within despite never having seen her before.

She cocked her head curiously, as if she too was trying to understand where she was and what had happened. With that motion, Killian knew without a shadow of a doubt. This young woman had been his petrel; his long lost avian friend was this lovely woman. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he was absolutely certain. And he was drawn to her just as he had been to her former guise. She took a cautious step toward him, and he held out a hand to draw her near and hold her close. Whatever had brought them together, whatever magic was at work, she was the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld.

~~*~~*~~

By the time rays of morning sunlight came slanting down the walls inside Killian’s cabin, he and his soulmate - he knew that now - had talked the whole night through. She was no longer a storm petrel but a princess what had been cursed to take on avian form, and his act of True Love - aware of it or not - had set her free. The jealous witch who’d cast the spell had falsely believed the princess was luring her chosen partner away rather than accept that he had a roving eye. Petrels were a migratory species, keeping her far from all she knew and loved - and of course, unable to speak or gain help for her affliction. For hours they sat side-by-side on his bunk, hands clasped tightly as this woman - Emma, her name was Emma - told him what she’d experience ever since the curse took hold, shifting her very reality to something unfathomable. Tears pooled in her eyes, glistening on her lashes, both while recounting her own trials, and then again while listening to the betrayal and loss that had shaken Killian’s world to its foundations as well.

The connection between them from Emma’s first appearance on his ship drew them ever closer as they talked, and touched, and inevitably joined in another kiss. This time it was two souls meeting on equal footing, and they drank deeply of the perfection that shook them each to the core. Perhaps it was always meant to be this way; the two of them bound to meet long before they ever knew. Neither could explain the pull, but it also couldn’t be denied.

As they went topside the next morning and Killian began to introduce her to an eagerly enthusiastic crew, he didn’t even try to explain, but simply savored the moment, thrilled that all the heartache and pain had finally brought him there, with Emma at his side. Her smaller frame tucked seamlessly into his side as she beamed at his new ally and charmed them one and all.

When they stood at the wheel - just the two of them again at last - Killian behind her, his arms encircling her as he steered the ship, he felt the same joy he had when she’d kept him company perched on the wheel so many times before, but magnified exponentially now that they could fully communicate and understand one another. With the salt air in their faces and the horizon in view, they set sail - a happy new beginning stretching out ahead of them.

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @anmylica @scientificapricot @xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv

@spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @lenfaz @jonesfandomfanatic

@eastwesthomeisbest @grimmswan @stahlop @belovedcreation @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic

@winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @caught-in-the-filter @resident-of-storybrooke

@the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @goforlaunchcee @mie779 @kday426 @iamstartraveller776

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

"Their task was to circumvent Sauron: to bring help to the few tribes of Men that had rebelled from Melkor-worship, to stir up rebellion. . .and after his first fall to search out his hiding (in which they failed) and to cause [?dissension and disarray] among the dark East. . .They must have had very great influence on the history of the Second Age and Third Age in weakening and disarraying the forces of East. . .who would both in the Second Age and Third Age otherwise have. . .outnumbered the West." - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Peoples of Middle-earth, "Last Writings"

@ainurweek day 5 ⇢ THE BLUE WIZARDS

[ID: an edit comprised of four posters in teal, grey-blue, and shades of brown. All have a beige background.

1: A small rectangular image of Joel Adama Gueye, a middle-eaged italian-senegalese model with light brown skin and dark, tightly curled hair pulled back and decorated with small metal pieces. He is looking up and to the left with a serious expression, and wears a large silver necklace. A blue piece of cloth unfolds behind him. The upper right corner of the image is framed with a layered teal and blue decoration, and text in the bottom left corner reads "alatar," with the first letter larger and in a teal gothic font with a brown shadow, while the rest is just teal and in a cursive script / 2: A rectangular image extending from the top right corner of the poster almost to the left. It shows blueish mountains wreathed in clouds and extending down to water. Teal text in a frame of the same color, partially layered over the image, reads "alatar" in the same format as Image 1, and below it, "also called Rómestámo, or east-helper, and Haimenar, meaning one who fares far, was a Maia of Oromë before undertaking the journey to Middle Earth as one of the five Istari. He strove valiantly to bring succor to the peoples of the East and frustrate the encroaching power of Mordor." The same decoration as in Image 1 is on the lower right corner of the frame / 3: Same format as Image 2, but reversed. This time, the image shows a street of blue buildings in a traditional north african style, and the large text reads "Pallando," and below it, "also called Morinehtar, or darkness-slayer, and Palacendo, meaning far-sighted one, was sworn to the service of Nessa. They traveled to Middle Earth at the behest of their friend and companion Alatar, and alongside the armies of the East proved themself a great warrior." / 4: Same format as Image 1, but the central picture shows Dua Saleh, a young sudanese person with dark skin and braided black hair. They are looking down and to the right, and wearing a white collared shirt and a silver piece of jewelry that extends across their face, as well as silver caps on their ears. Text reads "pallando" //End ID]

[aposthates]

TOLKIEN/ROP VERSE: THE WORLD IS A BIG PLACE, AND NOT YET HALF EXPLORED. DISTANT CONTINENTS LEFT UNKNOWN TO ENTIRE SOCIETIES AND CIVILIZATIONS, WITH TIMES AND HISTORIES OF DIFFERENT LENGTHS. feeling like there was no place for him in the world of which he was born and bred, and as though he had fulfilled his purpose there, he moved on long across seas and was called by the fate of the gods or the maker, to a place called middle earth.

(BASED ON THIS WRITING, HERE) Their task was to circumvent Sauron: to bring help to the few tribes of Men that had rebelled from Melkor-worship, to stir up rebellion ... and after his first fall to search out his hiding (in which they failed) and to cause [?dissension and disarray] among the dark East ... They must have had very great influence on the history of the Second Age and Third Age in weakening and disarraying the forces of East ... who would both in the Second Age and Third Age otherwise have ... outnumbered the West. 

AFTER SOME WANDERING, HIS CLEAR MAGIC was pointed out, and he was regarded strangely. HIS ARRIVAL PREDATED TA. 1000 , AND NEITHER GANDALF NOR THE OTHER ISTARI HAD YET ARRIVED. only the Blue Wizard Alatar, who was sent to middle earth to convince the elves and humans to stand against the rising power of sauron. LEARNING QUICKLY THAT WHILE MAGIC WAS NOT UNHEARD OF HERE, a wielder as blatant as himself was unprecedented at this time. yet he was still treated with kindness, and justice was a more agreeable companion (for a time). eventually he travelled to find Alatar, still healing and such along the way, and took up his cause . . . .

anders returned while his fellow 'istari' companion was eventually lost, killed -- not made a servant of the dark lord, the swelling rise of sauron in the second age of this world agitated justice and gave their shared existence another cause.

he worked to assist in the war of the last alliance, and by the time saruman and the other istari arrived, he joined saruman in journeying noth-west to join the council / order of wizards in middle earth. he is called nestadrendir (healing wizard) by the eldar, and otherwise he would just go by Anders (The Blue) as is customary, altho you won't catch him dead calling himself that. Some amongst men came to know him also as Rómestámo, (east helper). Saruman will call him that too, but radagast (the homie) and gandalf just call him anders. He has admitted he is not a valar created wizard, not a true istari, however he was very clearly (to middle earth standards) a wizard, and one of great ability. for sure though, a bit weaker, though he can still draw power from the fade here. demons less of a problem in middle earth (yet still obviously exist) due to less mages or wizards pulling their magic from the fade. ... or the unseen world. oooooOoOO

[arofili]

@tolkienofcolourweek day one | ainur | the blue wizards

Their task was to circumvent Sauron: to bring help to the few tribes of Men that had rebelled from Melkor-worship, to stir up rebellion and after his first fall to search out his hiding (in which they failed) and to cause dissension and disarray among the dark East... They must have had very great influence on the history of the Second Age and Third Age in weakening and disarraying the forces of East who would both in the Second Age and Third Age otherwise have outnumbered the West.

[liskadeart]

Sparring Match [Gale x Named!Tav]

This picture lives in my head rent free so I had to write a short snippet of my Dragonborn Wild Mage Tav, Vaccistar, sparring with Gale for the first time. I referenced this video for the fight. Anyways enjoy! [I've never posted fic to tumblr so idk if I'm doing this right? feel free to leave me tips] Wordcount: 3,152

There was a hollow clunk as the plain wooden quarterstaff hit the ground next to Gale. He lazily glanced over from his book and considered it before looking up to see who had tossed the weapon in his direction. 

Vaccistar stood in front of  him, her own quarterstaff swung across her neck and her large dragonborn arms hanging off of it. The late afternoon sun gave her bronze and sepia toned scales a warm glow, which were bare for the world in her camp clothes of an intricate, scaled bralette and brown leather pants. She leaned forward, her sharp bright blue eyes glowing slightly in the shade of Gale's tent.

“Fancy a spar, wizard?” a small toothy and mischievous smile growing. It had only been close to a tenday since she had pulled Gale out from his unstable portal, but from the moment they first spoke, a ‘friendly’ rivalry had blossomed between the two of them. A rivalry borne of conjecture and dissension on principles and applicability of magic. A rivalry between a wizard and a wild mage. 

Gale slowly placed the division ribbon in between the pages he was on before closing it. 

“I suppose I could indulge you. Though I warn, it has been sometime since I’ve sparred with someone. I may not be up to scratch,” he picked up the quarterstaff and used it to help him up off the ground. 

“Only if your knees will allow you,” Vaccistar teased. He narrowed his eyes at her. She had been relentless since she discovered he was ten years her elder. He supposed it was technically more, as Vaccistar was 21 summers old, but as Dragonborns aged faster than humans, she was closer to 25 physically and mentally.

“Sparring will be easier on my knees than sneaking around goblins,” he gave her a tight smile. Vaccistar shrugged with a smug look on her face. She turned playfully on her heel swinging her foot out and led them to the open spot near the center of camp. Their companions took notice immediately. 

“Are you guys going to fight!?” Karlach said excitedly. 

“We are going to spar,” Gale corrected. The others came around to form a half circle around them. 

“Good!” Lae’zel crossed her arms. “It’s about time our mages practice some practical combat,” 

Vaccistar rolled her eyes as she swung her quarterstaff from her shoulders. She spun it in her hand but nearly dropped it as Gale grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head. 

She recovered her staff awkwardly and held it with both hands in front of her as if it could hide her bashfulness. She felt a heat deep in her core sending a tingling up her spine, across her shoulders and wrapping around her cheeks as she watched Gale. 

He rolled his thick shoulders back, stretching his neck, clearly unaware, or atleast unphased by everyone gawking at his physique. His chest was robust with muscle and lightly covered with dark hair that trailed down his sculpted stomach to the waistband of his pants. The muscles of his brawny arms shifted like waves on still water under his tan skin. As he spun the quarterstaff in his hand and around his body, Vaccistar could see large veins trailing down his forearms to his large hands that expertly handled the wooden weapon with ease. 

“Why is Gale so ripped?” Astarion said in a hushed tone. Vaccistar startled slightly, his voice pulling her out of her lewd daydreams. 

“I could probably do my laundry on his abs…” Karach said matching Astarion’s volume. Shadowheart nodded silently, her brows furrowed with concern. 

“It is a pleasant surprise that the wizard seems to be far more built for combat than I had originally thought,” Lae’zel said unimpressed and not bothering with lowering her voice. Gale gave them all a slight side eye and small smile. He continued to practice his stances while pretending he couldn’t hear them.

Astartion put his hand on Vaccistar’s shoulder, a mischievous glint in his red eyes. “Listen, darling, you can’t let his sculpted body distract you. And you must, under no circumstances, look at how tight his pants are,”

As if on cue, the dragonborn’s eye’s dropped down to his pants. One probably wouldn’t have noticed it if attention wasn’t brought to it; but now that Vaccistar’s attention had been directed to it she wasn’t able to unsee the unmistakable silhouette of his length against the brown leather that lined the inside of his casual purple pants. She quickly turned her head away and scrunched up her snout at Astarion disapprovingly. Astartion merely shrugged, seeming quite pleased with himself.

“I did say, ‘Don’t look,’” 

“Wyll!” Gale called out to the warlock who was quietly contemplating Gale’s body alongside everyone else. “Would you be so kind as to officiate our match?” 

“With pleasure!” Wyll responded enthusiastically and moved to take a spot where he could easily see the two of them.

“My money’s on Gale!” Shadowheart declared. “Agreed,” Lae’zel nodded and the two moved to stand towards his side.

“What?” Vaccistar turned to them in mock offense. “Are you taking his side because I turned you both down?” 

“No…?” Shadowheart averted her gaze with a slight blush on her face.

“Yes,” Lae,zel stated bluntly, a defiant look in her eyes. 

Karlach slapped her hand onto Vaccistar’s shoulder, nearly throwing her off balance. “Not to worry, soldier! Astarion and I will be rooting for ya!” 

“Don’t involve me,” Astarion narrowed his eyes at them. 

“Are we ready to begin, then? First to three points wins,” Wyll said, taking his position between the two of them. 

“I am, but I don’t know if Vaccistar is done with her chinwag just yet,” Gale said with a knowing look and a taunting eye.

Vaccistar frowned, her blush deepening the color of her scales. With a determined huff she swung her quarterstaff and took a stance. 

“I’m ready,” she said, as Gale matched her starting stance.

“Very well then,” Wyll placed a hand between them. “BEGIN!” he called out, quickly dropping his hand. 

No sooner had the words left his lips, Vaccistar twirled and swung her staff out low. With a resounding CLACK Gale blocked the blow and swept her staff up and above him, directing it to the ground on the other side of him. She rebounded and moved her staff back up which Gale blocked with quick and loud wooden CLACKS. He knocked her staff to the side and went to swing the back end at her. She lowered herself dodging the blow, as the staff wooshed above her head, nearly hitting her arcuate crown of horns. She took the opening to thrust her staff forward, which he dodged by stepping to the side. A line of sweat formed at his forehead realizing the height of her aim was just below his waist. 

Vaccistar thrusted her staff forward again, which Gale tapped off to the side and then thrust his own staff down at her legs. She moved her staff back to block him and swept his weapon up and around her moving forward to push him back. Gale stepped with the motion, his staff freeing up as she spun and swung her weapon around to hit him. He spun in the opposite direction and ducking the blow using the opportunity to swing his staff down to the back of her legs. Vaccistar froze as she felt him tap her legs gently.

“POINT TO GALE!” Wyll cried out to Shadowheart’s clapping and cheering. 

“Don’t give up, soldier!” Karlach called out to Vaccistar. She exhaled, flaring her nostrils in embarrassment. 

‘I can’t lose to a damns wizard!’ she thought to herself and she retook her position at the other end of their mini battlefield. Gale smirked, tapping his staff on the ground as he took his position. 

“Impressive, but far too offensive. Remember, our quarterstaffs are meant to defend us in a bind. Our spells are our offense,” he said. 

“Very well, you take the offensive this time,” Vaccistar scoffed. 

“Ready?” Wyll called out as they got into their starting stances. “BEGIN!”

Gale arced his staff above his head as he moved forward then down where Vaccistar’s staff met his. CLACK. With a quick movement he swung it back around to hit the otherside, where she once again blocked. CLACK. She flipped his staff up and then moved forward with a thrust which Gale dodge with a large step back. She swung it up where he met her staff again, stepping farther back and encouraging her to chase him. She pushed his staff aside and went for another thrust which Gale dodge with another side step. As she recovered he took the bottom of his staff and went to thrust forward which Vaccistar barely dodged by dipping her head down. The both of them recovered and in a movement that could have been choreographed as they both spun around and their staffs met in midair with a hollow CLACK that reverberated off the rocks around them. The crowd gave a quiet ‘Oooo.’ 

With quick succession Vaccistar swung her staff on either side of Gale, and with quicker movements he blocked her staff with his. He swept up her staff and pushed it to the side and went in with his own blows swinging at her midsection with both ends of his staff. She blocked his blow, and his second at her legs, and then a third above her head. She pushed his staff down to the ground. For a heartbeat Vaccistar’s eyes burned with the assurance of  victory as their eyes met, then a spark of mischief went off in Gale’s eyes. He went to swing under her staff which made Vaccistar step back to dodge. She watched as he retracted his staff far too soon and realized he had faked her out by the time the back end of his staff tapped her tail gently (which blocked her backside from being the victim of his swing). 

“ANOTHER POINT TO GALE,”

“My apologies, I was aiming for your lower back,” Gale said awkwardly as he stepped back, his cheeks reddening slightly. 

“No need to apologize, Gale, darling! It’s a large target,” Astarion quipped from the sidelines, Vaccistar’s annoyed glare fueling his mirth. 

Gale and Vaccistar retook their positions as Wyll lifted his hand. “BEGIN!” he shouted. Vaccistar went in as if she was going to swing up on Gale, but as he prepared to block she kept the swing low and went for his side. Gale quickly caught the pole in his arm and used his as leverage to push her staff out of her hands. Vaccistar’s eyes widened in surprise as he stepped back twirling both staffs at the same time, wearing a smug face that she desperately wanted to wipe off… or kiss. She pushed the thoughts aside.

“POI-” Wyll began but Gale held up one hand.

“Now hold on, I won’t let it count against her. If she can retrieve her staff from me,” He tossed hers behind him and took up a stance. 

“Very well, then,” Wyll said and stepped back to let them continue. 

She held up her hands ready to catch his staff as she took a few steps forward. Once she was close enough he swung low to trip her, but Vaccistar leapt up and dodged it. He quickly recovered with a twirl of his staff and went to bring it down on her. Vaccistar side stepped and twirled low around swinging her tail and catching the back of Gale's knees. He fell forward, recovering himself, and turned around to find Vaccistar’s staff coming down on him. Gale took a step back and tapped her staff back. He continued to retreat backwards as she swung her staff furiously, meeting him at every hit. He blocked one of her high hits, pushing her staff down and spinning around  to hit her in the back. She stepped back to bring her staff down and blocked his hit. She swept it up and went in with a thrust which he tapped back as he took a step back. He returned in kind, taking a step forward thrusting his staff towards her. She mimicked his dodge with effectiveness. She took a large step forward with another thrust of her staff which he sidestepped. This time however, Vaccistar was too slow to recover from her last attack, and far too close to Gale to dodge anything. With a quick movement his staff met her midsection and pushed her back, knocking the wind out of her. 

Vaccistar fell to the ground landing on her back, stunned. 

“Vaccistar!” Gale called out as she fell. He came down to her side in a hurry. “Are you okay?” his eyes were wide and wet with worry. 

“I’m fine,” She managed to respond after catching her breath.

“I misjudged how close you were going to get to me. Before I knew it, I had made contact. I am so sorry,” He helped her up as he explained. She waved her hand to dismiss it.

“It’s fine. It’s not a true sparring session unless someone gets hurt, anyways,” Vaccistar rubbed where his staff had shoved into. “Besides, what use are these scales, if they don’t protect me?” She half lied. Truthfully, as far as scute’s went, they were weak and were as flimsy as fingernails. But they certainly made it look like she was far tougher. Reality was it would probably bruise and the entire scale would turn dark. 

Gale’s eyebrows knitted in continuous worry as their companions came around them.

“What a fight!” Karlach exclaimed. “You really held your own, Vaxx!” 

“Well, it’s very clear that Gale has a great many years on me in experience,” Vaccistar said with a smile. Her joke did well to ease his worry that was creasing his forehead. 

“He certainly does know his way around a wood staff,” Astarion mused watching the two of them catch his innuendo in embarrassed glances, averting the other’s gaze. 

As the group dispersed and went back to their activities before the sparring had begun, Vaccistar picked up her quarterstaff and went straight into practicing again. Gale watched for a moment before he finally commented.

“You aren’t going to take a rest?” He crossed his arms, his biceps bulging slightly from the pose. Vaccistar looked out of the corner of her eye before doing a double take and dropping her staff. With a frustrated huff she picked it up, the tip of her tail swishing in annoyance.

“In the face of defeat, I find solace in practicing,” 

“Rest and motion, unrelieved and unchecked, are equally destructive,” Gale said as he approached her. “However, if you are so adamant, then you should at least practice the right technique. If you would allow me, I could show you a thing or two,”

Vaccistar smirked. “Do my ears deceive me? The wizard wants to teach the sorcerer something? And here I thought I was incapable of such a feat,” 

“Noone is incapable of learning. There were a number of Sorcerer’s at Blackstaff Academy. But magic inclination aside, there are a number of practical things I could show you, if you would indulge an old man  and let him impart his wisdom,” Gale had a twinkle in his eye that tugged at the sides of Vaccistar’s lips. She pursed them to keep them from betraying her. 

“I suppose I could, this once,” She teased. 

“May I ask where you learned your skills from?” Gale asked her as he came to stand just behind her and to the side. A light tingling sensation crossed her skin as she felt him close.

“My mother first, then I took lessons from the guards at the local keep. And anyone who came through carrying a staff,” She said. Gale nodded in thought.

“That certainly explains your excessive offensive stance. May I?” He asked his hand just hovering over her arm. Vaccistar nodded, a warmth crossing her cheeks. He gently took her arms and with a gentle but firm touch he directed them in where he wanted them. “I also noticed that your center of gravity was a bit off. I’d say, with your tail, you could stand with your feet apart a bit… more,” he pushed his foot against her pushing them apart a bit. “And lower your center just… a tad,” his fingers graced just above her hips and gently settled her in a slight squat. “How does that feel?” 

Vaccistar took a moment to come back to the conversation at hand, every where he had touched tingled oh so lightly, but felt empty at the same time. “Uhm, better actually,” she shifted her weight slightly and felt more balanced and sturdy than she had before. 

“Excellent!” Gale exclaimed and began to direct her arms in various stances and blocks. He talked close to her ear as he explained every move in depth; the where, the how, the why. He was an excellent teacher, but Vaccistar found a part of her drifting off. It focused on his touches, on the way his breath felt against her skin, the way he spoke. 

‘Gods, how can he be so appealing? Wizards are supposed to be power hungry arses, but why is he different? He better not awaken something in me…’ she thought as he stepped aside and encouraged her to imitate the motions he had just shown her. With a great ease she worked through the movements slowly at first, getting a feel of them. Then by the third try she was moving at full speed with great precision.

“Very good,” Gale praised her. Something about the way he said it stirred something deep in her core. 

“I think that’s enough practice for today!” She said so abruptly that it made Gale raise his eyebrows in surprise. “Thank you, for the spar and the lessons,” she gave him a stiff and shallow bow. He dipped his head and torso in a graceful bow of his own.

“But of course. Sharing knowledge with one another benefits us all. If you ever need any lessons, you are welcome to find me. We can make them a bit more private, if that suits you,” 

Vaccistar swore his voice  took on a darker tone as he looked at her through his brows.

Vaccistar’s soul threatened to leave her body, and she knew without a doubt, the scales around her cheeks were now a darker hue with all the warmth they radiated.

“Splendid,” her voice cracked and she turned on her heel marching straight to her tarp covered sticks she called a tent. 

She threw down the side of the tarp to cover the open end, ensuring no one could perceive her and plopped into her bed roll face down. With a flick of her wrist she cast silence and began screaming into her pillow. 

[sl33py-day]

Storyteller!Reader AU kinda

Lore wise and theory wise in genshin could make a really good fairytale story. So what about a Storyteller Reader? Who got Isakied into Genshin impact a few years before the game really starts. They know that telling people about what’s gonna happen isn’t a good idea so they stick with storytelling.

They enjoy writing story’s based off the lore of genshin, and other stuff, but it’s also for those who are smart enough to know what they’re really saying. Think of it if like Hoyo’s way of paying attention to detail. No one really knows whats going on until someone catches it.

You keep a journal of all the different stories you’ve written about. The different kinds of events that happened in the game and also the backstories of different characters. Both so you don’t forget and so you can see how the story went.

Since you’re a Storyteller, you tell stories of course. You’re known across Tevyat because of your stories. You gained the title Teyvats Storyteller due to many people liking the tales you tell. When Aether arrives in Tevyat and saves Paimon, you know what stories to tell since the plot of the game is now starting.

In the Stormterror case you’re staying in Mondstadt. The tale began as a simple story of a boy dressed in blue who was used for others personal gain.

The boy dressed in blue is obviously Dvailn and others gain is the abyss.

When Aether goes to Liyue your also there? How weird. You’re telling a different tale now, one about Rapunzel. The rite of dissension hasn’t started yet. But when it does you start saying a different one. This time it’s about a boy dressed in the finest gold clothes who wants to take a break but he can’t due to his responsibilities of being a prince. So he fakes being sick so he could take some time off.

The boy dressed in the finest gold clothes is Zhongli and faking being sick is Zhongli faking his death.

Oh I have this wonderful story, really not.

“Once upon a time, far, far away. Laid a castle high up on a mountain that was so high it reached above the clouds. The queen of the castle was a bit mean to people, making them color the flowers in red paint. It was only 7 people who she made paint the flowers as she trusted them more then the rest. One day the groundskeeper rushed into the castle in such a hurry that it surprised the queen! 

“Your Majesty, the flowers on one of the walls are not staying red!” He said “We tried everything and they're still white as snow!” The queen looked mad at what she heard demanding to be shown the flowers. The groundskeeper led the queen to the wall of flowers as many people tried to paint the white flowers red. Sighing in frustration but kept calm the queen asked the groundskeeper to grab the shears. He grabbed 5 shears, each one for the people who help paint the flowers. She ordered them to cut the flowers that rejected the red paint from the walls and so the people did.”

The fall of the godless nation but in fairytale form! These kinds of stories that no one suspects really.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Exhaustion

Author’s note: this is the second part of Sirass’ backstory! First. Next. I hope you enjoy the fic!

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @whorety-k @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

Warnings: medical horror, child endangerment, child soldiers, child death, child abuse mention of brainwashing/indoctrination, Iron Warriors Aspirant Training, please ask me to tag something if it bothers you/I missed something

Summary: A look into the day of Aspirant Sirass, immediately post surgery.

Sirass woke up, as he did most days after his capture by the Iron Warriors, in pain. He gritted his teeth and breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth as he waited for the agony from the most recent surgery he’d been forced to endure. He heard a quiet sob from one of the other aspirants in the bunk above him. Part of him desperately wanted to reach out to his brother to try and comfort him… 

But Sirass was keenly aware of the fact that their captors were watching them most if not at all times. They saw compassion as a weakness. They saw kindness as pointless unless it was in service to manipulate others. If they were being watched, saying a kind word, or poking his head over the side of the other’s bed and trying to crack a joke, or offering a light touch to the shoulder or arm would get their entire squad beaten black and blue if they were lucky.

So Sirass forced himself to ignore the quiet sniffling and hiccupping from the occupant of the bunk above him, breathing through the pains of the surgery inflicted upon him. He’d been informed that it was another organ meant to make him stronger, better, faster. To turn him into an Astartes. He knew when the pain was at a level he could start to move at, as the aching, bone-deep ravening hunger in the empty pit his stomach had become started to gurgle and grumble.

The Iron Warriors aspirant looked at the chronometer and suppressed an annoyed sigh. He had an additional hour and a half before he and his squad would be collected for the morning meal…

Though to call the thick, porridge like substance filled with chalky vitamins and gods knew what else a meal was generous at best. It tasted awful, but it filled his belly up like nothing he’d ever eaten before. Sirass closed his eyes, muttering to himself the many if arbitrary seeming rules that he’d been told that sticking too would allegedly allow him to survive the trials ahead of him into becoming an Astartes.

Sirass didn’t necessarily want to become an Astartes, but he’d also been told that if he did survive and pass all of his trials, he would eventually be able to go back home. He might be able to see his mother again, which was the main hope driving him onwards. He’d heard over and over again how it was an honor for him and the others to be chosen to become Astartes. To Serve the Imperium of Man, to serve the Tyrant of Olympia in such a direct and honorable manner. Sirass privately thought that was a lot of groxshit, but he knew better than to say that out loud. 

Rebelliousness was severely punished. Dissension meant death - and often not just of the mouthy Aspirant who said unwise things, but those closest to his physical proximity. 

~

“GET UP YOU LAZY LAYABOUTS! IT IS TIME FOR FIRST MEAL AND TRAINING!” The training sergeant yelled as he kicked down the door, startling awake the nearly dozen aspirants who’d been sleeping in their bunk beds. 

There were startled sounds coming from the others, and Sirass had jumped in his bed as well, but he waited three seconds before getting out of bed, immediately turning to make it before standing at attention at the foot of his bed, hoping that he hadn’t bled through his bandages and sleeping tunic from the abdominal surgery he and the others had received yesterday. He’d be scolded for being messy.

The others slid out of bed at varying levels of coordinated and stumbling. The aspirant two bunks above him rolled off the edge of his bed and began to fall.

Sirass reacted on instinct, taking a half step forwards and catching the other before he could fall all the way to the floor, setting him on his feet as fast as possible, silently hoping that the training sergeant either didn’t notice, or didn’t care that had happened.

The training sargent swept past the two of them  without so much as a glare in their direction - which caused Sirass to let out a tiny sigh of relief, making sure to make as little noise as possible.

The brother he caught murmured a soft “Thank you!” Before going up on his tiptoes to make his own bed before standing at attention.

Two of the aspirants at the far side of the sleeping room hadn’t left their beds. They hadn’t even moved when the Sargeant had called for everyone to leave their bunks.

Sirass could understand why they didn’t want to move - his body ached from the surgery and he was so hungry he was shivering and felt a little weak at the knees and clammy. But such open defiance meant a beating.

The training sergeant stomped over to where the two unmoving aspirants were and looked at them both. There was a small sneer on his face “Weak. These two were week. Not enough Iron Within to handle the process. Cadet Sirass!”

“Yes sir!” Sirass called out, snapping a crisp salute the other’s way, ignoring the way that it tugged at his stitches.

“Lead this group of your brothers to the cafeteria. I will hold you personally responsible if anyone gets lost or the group loses discipline on the way to the grubhall. Understand?” The sergeant ordered.

“Yes sir.” Sirass acknowledged, swallowing hard. “You heard the sergeant. Everyone line up in two lines. Cadet Malix, you’re my second.” Several of the others looked at the unmoving Aspirants, but no one wanted to be accused of Questioning Orders and hurried to obey. That and Sirass suspected that they were just as hungry as he was.

~

The trip to the cafeteria was mercifully short and silent, though He had been forced to reprimand four of the others for trying to start an Unauthorized Conversation in the hallway of the massive ship they’d been training on. He wanted to know what was going to happen to the unmoving aspirants as they did, but as he was “in charge” of them, and cross-chatter wasn’t allowed in the hallways, he had been forced to maintain discipline. 

The hot sludge they were being fed today was greyer than normal, and the liquid that was too sweet-salty to be normal water was thicker as well. Sirass couldn’t find it within himself to care or wonder about the whys behind it, eating his position of food as quickly as possible. 

“I wonder why Umil and Shay weren’t moving… They’re going to be in trouble.” Malix murmured quietly, a worried frown on his face.

“They were the last ones out of surgery, yesterday.” Sirass responded quietly “And their surgeries took twice as long as ours. I don’t… I’m not sure…” While most of the time, if an Aspirant was going to die because of a surgery, they died on the table, not returning to the squad they’d been assigned to, from what SIrass had seen. But sometimes an Aspirant or two died in his sleep after being released from the butchers… Apothecaries… Who’d cut him open and shoved an additional organ inside of them before sewing them back up again.

“Ah. I… Oh.” Malix sighed, staring forlornly at his half-full bowl of sludge. 

“You need to finish eating. You know how they get when we don’t.” Sirass encouraged. “It’s best… Not to think about it. There’s nothing we can do.”

Malix huffed silently but nodded, morosely digging his spoon into the grey sludge, swallowing down another mouthful.  The two of them diligently watched over their remaining brother-aspirants for breakfast.

~

The only positives about the handful of weeks after a Surgery Day was that the physical training was less gods-awful, if only to ensure that they didn’t rip their stitches and bleed out over the training floors and waste the time and expense poured into them by the trainers and medical staff who were shaping them into astartes. The downside was during those weeks, they pushed the propaganda and indoctrination into How Amazing The Imperium Is and Serving The Imperium hard.

Sirass dutifully repeated the mantra of the Iron Warriors over and over again, to the beat that the training sergeant set, alongside his fellow aspirants. They would be doing this for another hour, before being told more Glorious Stories about the chapter, and the brilliance of their Primarch, Lord Perturabo. 

The more he learned about the incredibly powerful being, the less he ever wanted to be anywhere near the near-godlike being. He sounded equal parts tyrannical bastard and unholy terror, both in the forge and on the battlefield. All Sirass wanted was to be able to see his mother again, to apologize for not listening to her. He could still remember what she looked like, and the sound of her voice, at least…

He did most of the time. It scared him, the days when he forgot what his home had been like. To know that he couldn’t recall the color of his mother’s eyes. On those days he’d take out the purloined needle he’d taken and practice the stitches his mother had taught him on the blanket he had, or the inside of his clothing, making sure to undo it before anyone could see what he was doing. The needle wasn’t something he was allowed to have as an aspirant, and practicing a skill that would probably be seen as frivolous… Sirass did not want to be beaten for trying to remember the one person who had truly loved and cared for him.

Not in this place of blood and fear and misery. Sirass was fairly certain they were trying to beat all of the kindness and humanity out of him and his fellow aspirants. This one, small act of defiance was something that he was hoping he’d be able to have.

[markrosewater]

Hello! Today is my birthday! Do you have any birthday trivia for my favorite Ravnica guild, Azorius? Thanks!

When we first put out Dissension, where the Azorius premiered, white and blue where dominating Standard, so we were asked to play down the control aspects of the guild. On the return to Ravnica, that wasn't a problem, so we could play it up.

Happy Birthday!

[lounixxu]

Noir inspired render test, bc textures are yum yums

[moonamite]

Madness Combat Wings of Fire AU

This is just saying what tribes I’d think they’d be- nothing too complex yet.

Hank- (Unknown) Nobody really knows what they are anymore, being covered in bandages and scars and black cloth. Pretty big, probably due to their age. Whatever they are, they’re still the deadliest dragon in Nevada.

Sanford- (Mudwing) A very large dark brown Mudwing hatched from a blood-red egg. His specialty is still explosives (Dragonflame cactus) and melee combat, with a little bit of knowledge on healing. He used to be the bigwings of his group, but due to unfortunate events, he’s no longer with them. However, some of his bigwing instincts can be seen when he’s with his teammates.

Deimos- (Skywing) A smallish rusty orange colored skywing. Slender but still muscular. Prefers to blast enemies with fire from a distance. He always looks a little dirty, but that’s just his scale color. Mostly.

Doc- (Icewing) A grey icewing that used to be a member of the AAHW. The scars on his cheeks are a constant reminder of his Dissension. Absolutely not a doctor, but still acts like the medic of the group. Wears a large jacket to keep his cold inside.

Jeb- (Nightwing) A purplish-black nightwing with a sleek body, formerly a head scientist for project nexus, now the self-proclaimed savior of Nevada. He’s got seer powers, though not too strong. Thanks to the animus-touched keystone fragment, he’s got all the powers of his regular grunt self.

Tricky/Hofnarr- (Seawing) The short, dark green, timid eccentric genius animus dragon who is a head scientist of project nexus- or at least, what’s left of him. Not only has he been zombified, but he’s (seemingly) been driven mad by his own powers. He roams around Nevada, without a care in the world, doing whatever he wants, with nobody to stop him.

Sheriff- (Sandwing) A cowardly pale sandwing with a black diamond pattern going down his scales. Despite his cowardly nature, he does a good job being the leader of MERC and all the dragons in it. He’s not afraid to nick you with his stinger, though.

Crackpot- (Rainwing) Although constantly shifting colors, his default colors are usually green and dark yellow/orange. He tends to have a lot of emotions at the same time very quickly, leading to some… unusual and slightly unpleasant colors to look at. He’s tall but scrawny and slightly unkempt looking. Of course, being one of the head scientists for project nexus doesn’t leave much time for sun time. Maybe that’s why he’s so unbearable all the time.

Phobos- (Nightwing) A very big and powerful jet-black nightwing, hatched beneath a blood moon. He’s adorned with jewelry and a flowing majestic cape, and is missing an eye. Cunning, charismatic and cruel, he rules over the city with an iron fist (or rather, talon). Definitely has the ego of a nightwing.

Church- (Seawing) A very big muscular dark blue Seawing, with large spines. Based off an electric eel. They still have the stitches and scars of a G0L3M, as well as having all the electrical weapons as their grunt counterpart.

Jorge- (Mudwing) A greenish-brown Mudwing that’s a little smaller than Church. He’s an unsib but seems to treat Church like a Mudwing would their sibs after getting paired up. Despite not being a bigwings, he’s still massive due to being a G0L3M.

Victor- (Skywing) A slender red Skywing with a short snout. A former chef turned mercenary living in the Nevada desert. He’s a little skittish but is a reliable fighter in claw-to-claw combat, especially aerial combat.

Chopper Dave- (Sky/Nightwing) A slightly short and chubby Skywing-Nightwing hybrid, with the big wings of a Skywing but snout of a Nightwing with reddish-brown scales with black splotches scattered across his body as well as some scars from previous accidents. Carries a lot of Nightwing mannerisms (besides the ego) but isn’t very adept at combat, but is an excellent flier. Totally won’t crash into anything.

Q-Bert- (Sandwing) A big pale gold Sandwing with dark specks covering his scales. He’s a merchant who settled into SQ for the money. He’s fairly bulky and scarred, but they’re old scars.

Skinner- (Rainwing) A large pale Rainwing G0L3M that works as a doctor for SQ. Everybody loves him.

[wrestlingisfake]

G1 Climax night 1 preview

This is the opening night of New Japan's annual heavyweight singles tournament. This year's format involves twenty men, divided into two blocks of ten. Over the next month, each participant will have one match against each of the other nine men in his block. The goal is to have the best win-loss record among your block.

The top three in each block advance to a knockout stage on July 15 and 17. This is a pretty big change that I'm excited about, because it means more wrestlers will be mathematically alive much later in the block stage. Basically it'll be #2 vs. #3, for the right to face #1, to decide the block winner. Finally, on July 18, the winner of A Block meets the winner of B Block, with the winner earning a trophy, a flag, and the right to challenge the IWGP world champion on January 4, at Wrestle Kingdom in the Tokyo Dome.

A Block: Tetsuya Naito vs. Shingo Takagi - Naito regained the IWGP world title a couple of weeks ago in New York; the title is not at stake throughout the tournament. If Naito wins the G1, he'd earn the right to choose the challenger for Wrestle Kingdom, but I don't expect that to happen. On the other hand, if anyone beats Naito during the tournament, they'll likely get a title shot within the next couple of months, and I definitely see that happening.

Naito won the tournament in 2013, 2017, and 2023. Takagi's personal best is 7-2-1, which would probably be good enough to get out of the blocks this year. This is only the second time these two have met one-on-one; Naito won their last encounter.

Star power aside, the big draw here is that Naito and Shingo are members of the same faction, Los Ingobernables de Japon. I don't expect any dissension in the ranks, but they're also not going to go easy on each other. Takagi's whole style is to clobber the fuck out of dudes, which is a problem when Naito has been visibly banged up for years. The most exciting finish would be for Shingo to score a bit of an upset over his leader, the world champion. But I can't really see them running this match back in September, so I'm picking Naito to win.

B Block: Yota Tsuji vs. Konosuke Takeshita - This is Tsuji's second trip to the G1; last year he debuted with a 3-3-1 record that I found somewhat disappointing given all the hype around him. Takeshita is new to the tournament. He's been affiliated with DDT for years, and his big claim to fame is AEW, but if he's representing any group it's probably the Don Callis Family. Not counting crossover shows like Forbidden Door and All Together, I think this is his first time stepping onto New Japan's cerulean blue canvas.

I like that Tsuji is second from the top because he's one of the guys they need to elevate, and quickly. I don't know that I'd pick him to win the tournament, but I would definitely give him a a lot of key wins, and probably finish in the top three. But he's got a tough draw tonight, because this is a must-win situation for Takeshita.

I think Takeshita will probably end up in the middle of the pack, maybe finishing around 4-5. Newcomers and outsiders tend to only do so well in the G1, and he's both at once. But in light of that, New Japan knows he needs a strong start, and Tsuji is the kind of guy they can feed to someone who needs a strong start.

A Block: EVIL vs. Gabe Kidd - Evil reached the semifinals last year, mostly to tease what a debacle it would be if he won the whole thing, without actually doing it. I can't imagine they'll take it that far again this year. Kidd, the STRONG men's champion, debuted last year with a 2-4-1 record, because he's more concerned with hurting people and freaking out than figuring out how to win. That's a good character for him to play, but this tournament is about results, not tantrums, so he's probably not going to be competitive in the G1 for a couple more years.

Back in the day, whenever two Bullet Club guys faced off in a tournament, they'd do a comedy routine about how one of them is willing to lay down for the other, but then they'd have second thoughts and end up having an actual match. Nowadays, though, they don't even bother to act like collusion is possible--the War Dogs (such as Kidd) are too belligerent, and everybody in House of Torture (like Evil) is too devious. My guess is that Kidd will come out swinging, and Evil will hit a low blow (or get someone else to do it) to level the playing field. Evil should probably win here, although I don't expect him to be a major factor late in the tournament.

B Block: David Finlay vs. Yuya Uemura - Finlay is the IWGP global champion, and he was one of the quarterfinalists in last year's G1. Uemura returned from excursion last fall, so this is his first trip to the big dance. Typically when Young Lions graduate to full-time wrestlers and qualify for the G1, they do very poorly in the first year, so it'll be a moral victory for Yuya to secure even one win. But he's definitely not going to pick up that win here. I expect Finlay to start very strong and then stumble in the home stretch. This is going to be a mugging.

A Block: SANADA vs. Jake Lee - Sanada won the 2020 tournament; last year he went 7-0 in block matches, so you'd have to figure he's a heavy favorite. Lee, coming in from Pro Wrestling NOAH, is appearing in the tournament for the first time.

The big story is that, on July 13, Lee disbanded NOAH's Good Looking Guys stable, turned on his ex-partners, aligned with New Japan's War Dogs, and declared his exit from NOAH altogether. I'm not exactly sure what that means, but this will be our first glimpse of Lee and whatever repackaging he'll undergo for this new direction.

Sanada is an easy pick to win the G1, simply because he lost the world title at the last Wrestle Kingdom, and it'd be straightforward to tell a story about him getting it back one year later. But the easiest story to tell for Sanada in this tournament is if he stumbles early and has to climb out of a hole. So Lee is my pick to win here.

B Block: Jeff Cobb vs. Hirooki Goto - Cobb, the NJPW World television champion, went 8-1 in the 2021 tournament, so he's got what it takes. Goto has won the whole thing, but that was waaaay back in 2008; even his big second-place finish in 2016 feels like a lifetime ago. Much has been made of the way this year's tournament excluded aging mainstays like Hiroshi Tanahashi, Tomohiro Ishii, and KENTA; the fact Goto made the cut suggests they have a purpose for him here. But I suspect that purpose is to finish 2-7 so he can put over a bunch of guys like Cobb.

A Block: Zack Sabre Jr. vs. Great-O-Khan - Sabre was a quarterfinalist last year. Khan (the KOPW champion, for whatever that's worth) has never scored better than 4 wins and 5 losses. Throughout 2024, Sabre has been acting like he knows big things are awaiting him on the horizon, and he's repeatedly commented that he needs to win the G1 this year. He sounds like someone who's been told he's getting a big push. Now, I don't know why he would telegraph that to the audience in such a blatant fashion. So I could be totally off the mark, or he could be feeding us a red herring.

Regardless, I think Sabre will finish in the top 3 for the block. To create suspense about that, though, he should give up some wins against weaker opponents, and I think Khan fits the bill nicely.

B Block: HENARE vs. El Phantasmo - Henare only won one match in his first G1, and only two in his second, and that really pissed me off. I'm always pulling for this guy and being bitterly disappointed. Hopefully that's going to change after he recently won the NEVER championship in the biggest match of his career so far. Phantasmo's personal best isn't much better--three wins, three losses--but I'm not as worried about him finding ways to get ahead.

In 2023 Phantasmo was turfed out of Bullet Club, and he went into last year's G1 feeling incredibly isolated until the Guerillas of Destiny invited him into their stable. In 2024, all the Tongans in GOD have left to join the Bloodline in WWE, so Phantasmo is headed into this year's G1 feeling even more isolated. Will Jado still be by his side? Will he introduce a new look or something? Will he just be a sad sack devoid of motivation? This match will answer those questions. I just hope ELP protects his neck, or Henare will run him down like a truck.

A Block: Shota Umino vs. Callum Newman - You'd think Umino would be pushed as the future of the company, but his G1 debut last year with a 2-3-2 record suggests otherwise. He needs to post a higher score, and it'd be pretty hard not to. Newman is a newcomer, and I wouldn't have expected him to make the cut in 2024 except that he won a six-man tournament to qualify, scoring upset wins over the likes of Kenta and YOSHI-HASHI.

Umino ran into some trouble a month ago when he suffered hip and back injuries in a routine AEW match. I was real curious if he'd even make it to the G1, and he didn't confirm so until this past Monday. I doubt they would rebook the tournament to give him more losses on account of that. But if he's still hurting, this could be a particularly grueling tournament for him. I don't expect Shota to get out of the block, but he could surprise me. As for Newman, he's at the "just happy to be here" level where a 0-9 record is very possible; he's the heavy underdog in all of his matches, including this one.

B Block: Ren Narita vs. Oleg Boltin - Narita debuted in the G1 last year with an anemic 3-4 record. Boltin is entering for the first time, following a six-man qualifying tournament where he knocked Toru Yano, Hiroshi Tanahashi, and Taichi out of the field.

Boltin was a Young Lion when he, Tanahashi, and Toru Yano captured the NEVER trios title a few months ago. I expected that to effectively "graudate" him out of the Young Lions system, and he'd get to pick out custom gear and have his own entrance music. But so far, he's had none of that--even when he qualified for this spot, he was wearing the plain black trunks and they played the generic curtain jerker theme. So maybe this match will be his big coming out moment. Or maybe he just doesn't give a crap, I don't know.

If any other Young Lion made it into the G1 like this, I'd expect him to lose every match. But Oleg is 265 pounds of solid muscle, and they've given him Brock Lesnar's finisher. They have big plans for this guy. Big enough to get past the chicanery Ren Narita brings to the table? Well, we'll see. I think this one could go either way.

[fucktheglorydays]

OUR FAVOURITE RELEASES - NOVEMBER

Zopelar – Astral Dynamics (Clone Royal Oak)

DJ-Kicks - Steven Julien (!K7 Records)

Renara – Come Sbagliare Di Meno (Marsiglia Records)

Caixa Cubo – Modo Aviao (Far Out Recordings)

Disquieted By – Pet of the Week (To Lose La Track)

Thus Love – All Pleasure (Captured Tracks)

Trees Speak - Timefold (Soul Jazz)

Lucola – Waikanae (Sound Essence Records)

Fitness Forever – Amore e Salute (Elefant Records)

Leon Dinero - One Way Love (Daptone Records)

Baldruin – Mosaike der Imagination (Quindi Records)

Eskondo & Le Seize - A-109 EP (Agusta)

Benjamin Samuels - Dissensation (Bridge The Gap)

Aura Safari & Jimi Tenor – Your Magic Touch (Hell Yeah Recordings)

SAAM - Per Ogni Caduta Una Terra Amata (Non Ti Seguo Records)

Yesness – See You at the Solipsist Convention (Joyful Noise Recordings)

V.A. - Ayo Ke Disco: Boogie, Pop & Funk from the South China Sea (1974-88) (Soundway)

MILO – s/t (General Soreness Records)

Anaiis - Anaiis & Grupo Cosmo EP (5dB)

Cavalier & Child Actor – CINE (Backwoodz Studioz)

Odeeno - Luxurymind (Spalato Wyale)

Jeff Parker ETA IVtet - The Way Out of Easy (International Anthem)

Silvan Strauss – Flukin (Kabul Fire)

Jack J - Blue Desert (Mood Hut)

Mount Eerie - Night Palace (P.W. Elverum & Sun)

[precuredaily]

Precure Day 237

Episode: Yes! Precure 5 Go Go! 38 - “The Power of Two! Dream and Rose!!" Date watched: 21 December 2023 Original air date: 9 November 2008 Screenshots Precure Metamorphose Gallery | Sky Rose Translate Gallery Project info and master list of posts

PRECURE ROSE SCREW!

Happy new year, everyone! I had meant to push this out by the 31st but I was busy with stuff, so now it's the first post of 2024 instead of the last post of 2023.

After our brief detour into the land of sweets, we return to the plot. Kurumi is hell bent on finding the last monarch, and Syrup begins to remember his past. Let's dig in!

The Plot

Rin mentions to Kurumi that blue roses aren’t found in nature, and in flower language they mean “miracles.” This causes Syrup to suddenly remember a moment  in the Cure Rose Garden, where he remembers seeing a blue rose. The girls summon King Donuts and he confirms that the Garden is the only place where blue roses are known to exist. After Milk explains how she got her powers from a seed that blossomed into a blue rose, he declares that she must have a special mission.

Flora is seen in the Cure Rose Garden, weakened, as the flowers wilt around her. At Eternal, Anacondy argues with the Director over this, with Anacondy saying that if Flora dies they'll be able to get to the Rose Garden more easily, but of course the Director wants her alive and empowered. Anacondy gives up and dispatches Isogin and Yadokan to capture the Rose Pact.

Kurumi skips school the next day to find the fourth monarch so she can go to the Cure Rose Garden and learn about her special mission, but Nuts eventually tracks her down and reminds her that they all need to work together, and she doesn't even have a way to capture a Palmin if she finds one.

Suddenly, Isogin and Yadokan attack. Kurumi transforms and insists she can take them on by herself, but they are too strong for her. Syrup swoops in with Coco and the other cures in tow to rescue Rose, but are quickly captured themselves.

Syrup manages to free Cure Dream, who gives Milky Rose a passionate speech to encourage her, so Dream and Rose team up to protect Syrup and the Rose Pact from I&Y. Their combined strength manages to turn the tide, and Nuts recalls the legend of the Red and Blue Roses: when they combine their powers, they’re more powerful. Coco and Nuts summon the Shining Fleuret and Milky Mirror for the duo, and they clasp hands to perform a powerful attack of spiraling energy that overwhelms and completely destroys I&Y. It harkens back to Cure Black and White’s Marble Screw attack.

Exhausted, Milk receives encouragement from the rest of the girls that they will work together to find the last monarch, get to the Cure Rose Garden, and meet Flora to find out what the mission of the Blue Rose is, and Milk does a little dance.

The Analysis

What I Liked

Syrup finally starting to become aware of his past, and learn how he connects with the girls’ mission is nice.

Dream and Rose working together evokes old school Black and White vibes. They don’t often truly combine their powers like this, and now we see what happens when they do. The finishing attack is so much like the Marble Screw, AND it was original animation for this episode, not stock footage. Of course, that means it probably won’t be used again, but it was nice in this instance.

We actually get an update on Flora’s status. She’s not doing so well, but we see it. On the other side of the conflict, we continue the dissension between Anacondy and the Director of Eternal and how they disagree over their goals. I’m looking forward to seeing how this ends.

What I didn’t like

The art and animation are done by Kawano Hiroyuki, resulting in a lot of long or off-model faces. I’ve spoken about him before, since he was in charge of episodes 31, 22, 15, and 7 of this series, as well as many episodes of each season prior to this. Read my rants about him there.

Considering this is Isogin and Yadokan’s final stand, they really did not leave any impression at all. Bunbee is Bunbee, the comic relief. Scorp was an extremely memorable villain and you could almost sympathize with him at times. Nebatakos was slimy and not likable but you enjoyed rooting against him. Shibiretta doesn’t have a whole lot going for her, but she at least allows for the episodes she’s in to take place in fun and unique settings. Mucardia is cunning and manipulative and I genuinely look forward to his episodes. But Isogin and Yadokan came out of nowhere, barely say anything, and always manage to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. I’m not sorry to see them go.

Miscellaneous

Rin’s remark that blue roses don’t occur in nature is actually true! I hadn’t realized it before now. The development of blue roses, either through dyeing or genetic manipulation, is relatively recent. She may be stretching their meaning, though. From what I found they're associated with mystery, secrecy, aspiration, uniqueness, and admiration. Nothing quite approaches the meaning of "miracles".

The beginning of the episode has some exposition about the game show and the trophy that the girls won in the prior episode, in a nice bit of continuity and world building.

The last monarch, King Montblanc, is referred to by name for the first time I think.

Conclusion

Some of my feelings here have more to do with spending 9 months working over the review of the movie than with the actual episode and its role in the series, but it is nice to get back to the main plot. The last several episodes didn’t do much to advance the overall narrative (although they were lovely character pieces), so to come back after so long and pretty much hit the ground running is nice. The episode opens with Syrup remembering his past in the Cure Rose Garden, we are given new drive and purpose and Kurumi is actively seeking out the next monarch. The prophecy of the Red and Blue Roses is brought to life for potentially the first time, and we get rid of the least memorable villain team in the show. Good stuff. My main complaint is in the art department, I’ve never been fond of this art director’s work. I will say that the fight scenes are well choreographed, with lots of jumping around, and I truly enjoy the dynamic reveal when Dream blocks the attack meant for Rose. It’s filled with inspiring messages and is all around a positive episode.

Next time, on Precure Daily, Karen has to put her doctoring skills to the test on King Montblanc. Look forward to it!

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