#I AM A DANCER; THAT IS TO SAY A CONDUIT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

doorsclosingslowly · 3 years ago

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Hell is just a beat away (3/9)

Despite early promise, young Maul has turned out to be a disappointment, willfully delaying his training with secret attempts to make himself friends from scrap metal. He must be properly motivated, and so Darth Sidious sends him to a slave market on an impossible mission. It backfires. Star Wars: Darth Maul (2017) comic AU | 5.2k | warning for slavery, sexual assault of a teenager (non-graphic)

Ten to doomsday, moving fast

Eldra does not sleep. She refuses. If she has to bite her fingers bloody when her eyelids threaten to drop, then so be it. Master Fyaar would have chastened her for it—she always insists that Eldra be at her best regardless of circumstance, and staying awake for what must be more than one or two entire standard days now will help with neither her innate distractibility nor her willful emotions. Her secret inadequacy, unknown to all but Fyaar, who chose Eldra when she was ten and had yet to develop the mind that is, and she has rarely admitted to those fears even in the privacy of her own brain, the mind that is perhaps fundamentally unsuited to the noble path of the Jedi. Sure, she does well enough in her classes, though she drives her teachers to frustration with her incessant fiddling with any trinket at all within her reach and her doodling and her daydreams. Sure, she mostly behaves acceptably among people, though she does not pick up on the right cues to be a diplomat and she vacillates too often between excited talking and secret loneliness, when she, once again, finds her peers more interested in each other than in whatever she has wanted to share. Her one friend in the Order is Bayro who’s two years older, though now she’s not even sure if Bayro would see her as more than a friendly, clingy acquaintance, and—

Will Bayro even miss her? They’ve made plans to watch a holovid after Eldra’s back from Teth and Bayro aces the Advanced Test on Coruscant Sublevels 6665 through 7900. Vague plans, though, and since Eldra didn’t know how long she’d have to guard Mayor Woobudg… Bayro will probably notice in a few months that Eldra hasn’t returned to the Temple, and then watch the holovid with one of her many other friends. She’ll—

Watch your feelings, Eldra, she remembers. It hurts. The memory of Master Fyaar hurts worse than even the imaginary indifference of Bayro does, but it’s necessary. As ever, Master Fyaar’s warning is right, even if it’s only the ghost of Fyaar living on inside Eldra’s grief. Eldra almost lost her calm over a scenario of her own imagination, yet another reminder of her unsuitable mercurial temperament. Yet another reminder of why she needs Fyaar, needs her constant watch, if she wants to remain on the path of the Jedi.

And Master Zalandas Fyaar is dead.

Fyaar’s dead.

Eldra watched her murder, and the murder of everyone she was supposed to protect on this mission. Eldra watched her murder and did not reach for the dark side of the force to avenge her. Eldra watched and held still.

Eldra allowed herself to be abducted.

She does not sleep in her tiny cell, just as she didn’t sleep on the freight ship that carried her to an unknown planet far away from bloodied Teth. She didn’t sleep then as stubbornly as she does now, but even before her wide-open burning eyes the pictures will not stop. The blood. The touch. The grin of her vile captor when he said that she would fetch a tidy sum, despite being a blue twi’lek (“A dime a dozen, they are, and this one’s not even a trained dancer! She hasn’t even… look!” Her captor had pulled her upper lip away then, and she had snapped for his fingers. “She’s still got those awful sharp teeth! Who the hell lets a twi’lek girl walk around with sharp teeth? She could tear a guy’s throat out, with these!”) she would still be worth a quick sale to her captors but only because she is (was) a Jedi padawan, and apparently there are quite a few pieces of shit out there who’d like to hurt a Jedi. Or—she keeps her eyes open, open, open till tears threaten to drop, and yet the thought comes. Or fuck one. Same difference.

A toy that’s padawan-shaped. That’s why they let her keep her own robes. But at least they did.

Watch your feelings, but still, Eldra shakes to her very core. She’s never thought of herself as being anything but a person, slightly inadequate perhaps in all ways that matter to her but a person; a luminous being, a small conduit for the very force to act through in the material galaxy; but now she’s been caught and taught that what she is is actually just a twi’lek girl. Cheap. Interchangeable. Nothing but her species and her gender, nothing but her flesh: a pretty dancer, never mind she hates dancing and if she ever makes it out, if the Jedi find and rescue her, please, please, she will never ever dance not even a single one of those silly novelty dances ever again even if Bayro does it first. She’ll go to whatever lengths needed to never be appraised, judged, looked upon, perceived as anything but a luminous dutiful Jedi ever again.

To these people, she’s not a person. Not a Jedi, unless the fetish counts, not really, not to the slavers and—watch your feelings, but still, the seething disgust returns and she wants nothing more than her lightsaber through her captor’s hearts or their hands torn off by her teeth—perhaps, maybe, please no, not truly anymore either to herself.

⁂

Maul wakes up to insistent beeping. He’s never heard the noise before, except—somewhere behind the headache and the nausea he remembers—except roughly five minutes ago, and five minutes before that, and five minutes before… He’s read about those periodical noises. Snooze button on an alarm clock, they’re called. He’s never used them before. He’s never used—Master teaches that a slothful tool is a tool broken, useless, and he’s never before dared to oversleep, even with his throat swollen and filled with mucus he didn’t, but now—it is a mercy he does not deserve, that Master was not here to witness Maul fail so deeply on this mission and just because something beats a booming drum inside his head and stuffed his stomach full of eels twisting up languidly through his esophagus.

Not real eels, though. He checks his vomit after throwing up. No eels. No animals hatched inside him; it’s just an inconvenient illness. And he feels better already, after spewing out the clear oily water and half-digested bread and no eels whatsoever. He does feel much better. Definitely. Illness during his mission would be inconvenient.

He has ample time to travel to the palace of Xev Xrexus before the padawan is sold there. Time he is grateful for, because Master’s ship will not let him in, so he has no access to his stilts or anything else he prepared apart from his cloak and the vocoder mask he carried in his satchel to the convenience store like a talisman of ingenuity and pretense. He doesn’t have his finest Sith robes that he left safe inside, only to be worn in the moment of Darth Maul’s triumph, and most of his weapons, too, apart from one anonymous knife strapped to his shin, are still tidied away in the ship Master gave him that will now pulverize anyone who dares approach.

Luckily, Maul is both incredibly clever—he figured out the location of the padawan! Despite Master giving him a wrong date and location! Solely by his own superior Sith cunning!—and he is within another sucker’s ship now—he sliced the lock in minutes! Because he is Darth Maul!—and the ship is full of new tools for improvisation.

Such as the large pair of black sunglasses that helps guard him at least slightly against the sun’s sickening poking and poking and poking of his cerebral cortex. Such as the trio of black shirts that, belted with a strange deltoid strip of fabric, bulk up his frame considerably and also make him feel toasty warm. Nar Shaddaa is cold, but Maul isn’t. Yet another victory to add to his tally.

With the gloves and the vocoder mask and the Sith cloak added on top, every square centimeter of Maul’s flesh is covered, and as he struts in front of the berth mirror he decides: he looks both incredibly dignified and scary, not to himself obviously but to those forcenull denizens of the underworld who will yet learn to tremble before the almighty Sith. He looks almost as impressive as Master. He doesn’t have the pale chin lurking under his cowl, obviously the most Sithly of looks, but in a pinch the black leather covering his cheeks and the opaque gridded speaker over his mouth should do almost as well.

Before he leaves, he ransacks the ship. No point in abandoning tools he might yet use. Everything he can carry, he stuffs inside his satchel.

Then, he begins the long pedestrian march to the palace of Xrexus. As usual, while he walks, he seethes in the Sithly anger of how much faster he could go if only he had a decent speeder bike. Soon, he reminds himself. Soon. After the oncoming awesome success of this mission, Master will be impressed enough to bestow the title of Darth and gift him a CK-6 swoop bike tuned up to the limits of terrestrial speed. Soon. Besides, with how slow the nausea is to settle, it’s perhaps a tiny bit useful that he is forced to take this brisk long walk in the Nar Shaddaa morning air. Although his coat and shirts fluttering with the speed of his bike would look very cool… He loses himself in his daydreams, and before long, he spies a duo of falleen in white dress shirts and black pants before the palace that belongs to Xev Xrexor.

The most adventurous part of his mission has just begun.

“Greetings,” Maul growls haughtily with the handsome baritone of his vocoder. “I have chosen to purchase a Jedi slave today. I trust this is the location for these sorts of errands?”

“Are you on the guest list?” the left falleen asks.

Guest list? Yet another complication. But Maul must not fail. “I am Ma Goweelr,” he says, borrowing the name of the man whose ship he ransacked. He found an identification card with his name on it and wisely brought it with him. He pulls it out now.

“You don’t look like Goweelr, friend,” she says.

“Unfortunately, I had… an accident.” Blast. They cannot see his face, so tt’s the height issue again. If Maul had his stilts, he could have made his way through easily, but because Master saw fit to lock the ship—no, it’s not Master’s fault. Because Maul was stupid enough to leave his tools aboard the ship, he now falters. What to do. What to do. What to—

“He’s slow,” the other bouncer whispers to his partner, but loudly enough that Maul heard it without issue. He stares intently at Maul, almost if he was expecting a specific reaction.

The left falleen winks. “All right. A little grease in the palm goes a long way, friend.”

Grease? Necessary for the function of machines. Cooking, apparently, also. Often a type of fat, either animal or plant-based, though hydrocarbons mined on certain planets or synthesized in labs such as Corellia’s X-Tech Max nowadays are a far more affordable and controllable—

“He’s dumb, Brighta. We don’t care whether you’re on the guest list. We want a bribe.”

A… Maul’s certain he read about bribes somewhere, but—

“Cash. Money. Credits.”

Credits! Maul found some on the ship. Since they were light enough, he put them in his satchel. The force is with him! He pulls out the chits he found, rummaging in a perhaps less than dignified way—the falleen exchange a look over his head that he’s too busy to try to read, but it doesn’t seem hostile—and when he hands over five thousand credits their vague non-hostility turns to genuine excitement.

“House Xrexus is honored to host you for this auction, sir,” the male falleen says when he opens the door.

“As am I,” Maul replies with a bow. When he walks past, the female bouncer taps him on the shoulder and then bends down to whisper in his ear.

“The Jedi’s auction’s in two hours, but the preview starts in one and she’ll probably get snapped up then, so. Might wanna hurry.”

“Thank… you?” Maul rumbles and winces at the vocoder turning his slight surprise into a question, but the falleen does not laugh this time.

“Appreciative customers are rare. Come back anytime,” and she winks and pushes him with her—warm, strong, startling—hand the rest of the way through the door and then slams it shut.

Presale. Other customers. Complicating factors Maul would not even have known about if it wasn’t for the bouncer—and for the force, therefore, willing him to succeed—because he didn’t… He did not actually expect any competition. After all, there are no other Sith but the Master and his apprentice. Who, then, would have need of a Jedi padawan? Who has need of Xrexus’ auction at all when they are not sent by their Master? Their… Master. Master might compete with Maul at this sale, both as a test of Maul’s readiness and as a failsafe, should Maul not manage to succeed in his mission. Master is incredibly smart after all, and foresees any number of possible twists and turns of a scenario, as unlikely as they might be. Even such unlikely eventualities as Darth Maul not completing in his mission. Master considers everything. It’s why he’s the Master.

Luckily, Maul was forewarned, and so when he passes a fire exit plan of the palace that’s nailed to a wall in the empty entrance hall he looks for any possible… There. A server room. A small bureau. Two places where Maul might gain access to the databases of Xrexus and convince the filing system that he has already bought the Jedi, before the first competitor has even placed their bid. It’s the only surefire way of preempting a person as thorough and prompt as Master is, and besides… Maul understands machines. He can charm and bend them to his will. His confusion at the bouncers’ hints and the tip the falleen gave him when he would never have expected anything of the sort based on the way the previous part of the encounter had passed—never mind the blasted lack of his carefully constructed stilts—were a sore reminder that in the field of people Maul does not yet excel to the standard of a Sith. Something he must remedy, but perhaps not on a mission as important as this. (Perhaps not among people who are oily and stare too hard.)

Laughter peals in a room straight ahead, but the server room is one floor down a side staircase. It’s sectioned off by a dangly gold chain that Maul needs to barely duck to pass under, and no-one passes through either the main corridor he left or the dusty unlit staircase while Maul hops down, thinking I am Sith alternating with I am shadow on every step.

The hallway leading to the server room is just as deserted. The door is locked, but Maul has sliced the access pads of twelve ships now and has refined his technique to under three minutes of elegant fiddling. This lock takes two seconds.

A datapad is already hanging inside right next to the door, from the cable with which it’s plugged into a socket there. Maul picks it up. Its screen is thrice-cracked and fixed up with clear tape. The touchscreen is incredibly sluggish to react, but as much as he might love the challenge of repairing it he only has less than an hour to spare. If he must, he will, but—gloves. He removes the right one, and the datapad responds.

A login screen.

Thus-far, the security has been abysmal. Worse than what he improvised for the secret hiding space of the first functional droid he built, and so he enters root, root. It works.

Pathetic, Maul thinks. Disappointing. Embarrassing. Horrendous. Useless. Awful. You deserve this. You deserve worse. It almost takes off some of the giddiness at how well Maul has been performing on his mission, thus far. His opponents are veritable morons. It is no great feat, to succeed against people as unprepared for basic survival as these, and it does not take a Sith’s cunning—it’s not worthy of the great Darth Maul who learns under Darth Sidious the greatest creature in the galaxy—to fight them.

In the central database he changes the status of the Jedi padawan to Sold and the buyer to Ma Goweelrand types in 666666666 for the winning bid. It’s a large number, and Jedi means valuable. It should pass muster. Probably. Money: yet another area where Maul requires further instruction. There was another card Maul stole with information on Goweelr’s account with the InterGalactic Banking Clan, and he enters it in the respective field. As to the user listed as making these changes, he picks the fifth-most appearing in the database. If he wanted to arouse no suspicion at all, he would need to research Xrexus’ organization in total, but—he’d really rather not. Even glancing at some of the entries of the database reawakened the eels in his stomach.

He pettily changes the admin password and wipes the screen carefully before he logs out.

Mission almost complete.

Half an hour left until the beginning of the presale, a clock tells him, and that’s most likely when they will check the padawan’s entry and approach Goweelr as her legitimate buyer. Everything is going according to plan, as long as he is not caught down here.

Since Maul is Sith and shadow and incredibly silent and deadly, he isn’t.

He sneaks back up and then strides, with as much power and dignity as he can muster when he wants to skip giddily to celebrate a job well done, into the room where the laughter comes from. It’s—

It’s bright. Loud. Full. But more than any other adjective, it’s huge, a room that is a thousand times bigger than anything Maul has ever set foot in, with a domed ceiling rising so far above that he can’t make out any details there. Can’t see whether there are any cameras, or snipers—can’t see anything but the luster and wealth on display. Plants growing on floating bowls of silver, plants he has never seen anywhere but in holos (Most plants are plants he’s only ever seen in holos. Almost all of them. Master rarely makes him train off-planet, and there is nothing but fire on Mustafar.), plants and waterfalls. Delicate staircases that appear to hover in the air just like the tree-bowls are. It looks like something out of a dream, if Maul’s dreams were able to imagine impossible worlds and not just impossible people who’ll save him.

Below it all, there are throngs of people in various kinds of festive garb, chatting and sipping on dainty glasses. People of most species he’s ever read about. Even…

Even a zabrak. There’s a zabrak over in a corner, not an Iridonian zabrak like the ones Maul finds often in his research but a zabrak who looks startingly close to him, hairless and bright and black-marked, only he’s much taller than Maul—he’s tall! Maul always worried that his species was doomed to remain as small as he is right now but he’s tall! He won’t need stilts forever!—and he’s yellow.

Idly—or trying to appear idle but actually shivering with curiosity—he saunters closer. The zabrak, it’s quickly obvious, is not here as a buyer. He’s chained up, both manacles connected to the neck cuff, though the bonds look so flimsy that Maul could have snapped them. He’s almost naked except for a pair of trousers that barely reaches his thighs and, moreover, is made of a fabric far too flimsy and tight to fight in. His skin is weirdly shiny as well, as if he was sweating but that is unlikely, given Maul’s not too hot under his three shirts and a cloak (in fact, it gets colder the closer Maul comes to the strange zabrak), and the yellow zabrak’s not exercising either but standing completely still, feet slightly apart and arms raised in a poor imitation of a fighting pose. The claws on his hand and feet would be called neatly trimmed if Maul didn’t know intimately that this length means they’re cut so close to the bed that it irritates several internal nerves. The horns are filed too close as well, and they look blunt.

A fighting slave.

No. A pretend fighting slave.

Everything about him might look fearsome to one who does not know what to watch for, but he does not stand or dress or groom himself like a fighter.

It’s—it’s difficult for Maul to sort out his reaction. This is a zabrak, the first person like him he’s ever seen, but he’s also a mockery of the warrior he trains so hard to become. Are all other zabraks like this? Does Maul look like this to other people? Flimsy and fake? It is almost enough to be ashamed of the association, and Maul is glad that with his clothes no-one else here can guess at their shared species.

“Welcome,” the unchained human next to the zabrak shouts, and Maul cranes his neck but apparently it’s addressed to him. “What are you looking for? A nightly companion? A gladiator? A—”

“This is not a gladiator,” Maul growls.

“Ah, well, he’s versatile,” the slaver says. “Do you see his muscles?” He squeezes the other zabrak’s biceps. The zabrak does not react. “He is excellent at bearing pain as well,” and alright, Maul will give him that. From this close, he can see the faint network of scars.

“He’s truly a wild beast when you want him that way,” and if to contradict him—the first time Maul feels anything approaching pride at their kinship—the zabrak refuses to bare his teeth, even when the human slaps him in the face twice and then prods him with something bearing electric sparks. Still, the zabrak will not relent. He’s breathing and moving but somewhere deep in his eyes he looks nothing short of dead.

“I have business elsewhere,” Maul stutters out and the vocoder smooths it into a low growl. The queasy pit in his stomach must be the return of the eels, or else the force aims to reveal to him that he might be being observed by fleets of holodroids, a technological wonder he should research immediately upon completion of his mission, when he will never think of the scar-covered zabrak and his empty eyes ever again. He won’t even remember his face or his color. No, Maul will attempt to engineer holodroids and present them to his Master, who will be proud.

That’s what he thinks about, while he wanders the huge room at random. Holodroids. He doesn’t think about zabraks. In fact, he’s forgotten every fact he ever heard about that species. No zabraks exist but Maul. That’s the way it goes.

He doesn’t think of zabraks at all for several more minutes, and then a tannoy system message calls out for Ma Goweelr and his time of floating is over.

⁂

Thus far, the boy’s little adventure has been a disappointment. There were moments of fear and shame and misery, but mostly, what Sidious receives from him is bright giddy elation at being entrusted with this mission. It should have figured that Maul is not intelligent enough to see through his Master’s true plans, and yet—it was folly on his part, Sidous is prepared to admit that, but he expected more of his little zabrak.

Well. More agony, mostly.

He’ll have to be a little more patient. Someday soon, Maul’s luck will have to run out.

⁂

“This is her, Sir. Opening the cell now,” a woman says in front of the suddenly-bright cell, and Eldra’s hard-won, tattered, wide-eyed serenity dissipates.

It’s Dilar. Dilar, self-loathing traitor of a twi’lek slave. Eldra’s only known her for a day and enjoyed exactly zero seconds of it. The old woman’s hatred and revulsion at what she is forced to do, preparing slaves to be sold on, crowds out the very air. For the slavers, her utter loathing might be imperceptible—Dilar is a grudging, but polite tool—but it’s everywhere in the force, and Eldra cannot breathe. It’s hard enough keeping herself calm—keeping herself Jedi—when she knows that any time now a lecher with a Jedi fetish will come to her cell.

A lecher, or her rescuer.

Watch your feelings: do not give in to despair, Eldra, as Fyaar would say if she could. Maybe a Jedi will come.

It’s a war inside her, equal parts of hope and terror, and without her Master’s guidance how will Eldra find the strength to make herself calm again? Calm, serene, like the Jedi she was supposed to be.

A Jedi is better than this.

There is no emotion. There is peace.

There is no hatred, especially. Eldra should not hate Dilar. She shouldn’t hate every single slaver in the entire world, with even deeper depths of seething odium reserved for anyone selling or buying her. She shouldn’t. She does.

She isn’t wearing a force-suppressant collar, but that doesn’t matter. There are things far more binding than chains, than collars, in this world: Eldra promised her Master that she would be strong. She promised. She promised, and she hates these slavers. If she reached for the force now, she wouldn’t be able to call herself Jedi anymore. She would fail her Master and lose herself.

She would use her hatred to kill her tormentors. She would tear their throats out.

She would Fall.

Fear, raging and cold, has been her only companion for uncounted waking days now, that and bitter loathing. Master Fyaar died in front of her. Eldra’s been stripped of everything she thought she was and turned into a commodity, and now the only bright spot in her life is the fact that Martrey Woobudg the slaver, slaver, slaver who brought them to Teth is also fucking dead. Hopefully, it hurt.

The sudden hope is new, fragile and staggering and still too volatile to make reaching for the force safe. Hope: maybe the new arrival isn’t one of them. Eldra’s Master was in constant contact with the Temple, after all, and they must know about the ambush by now. They must have sent someone to save Eldra. (She tries very very hard not to remember that they don’t, sometimes, search for missing padawans, because of deferring to a higher purpose and the will of the force and being instruments of the Galactic Senate and not privileging attachments, including to their padawans, over the greater good et cetera et cetera, which is a code of conduct that Eldra, too, had always believed in. Until she got thrown in this cell, at least.)

Please, let it be a Jedi. Even if she gets thrown out for her hatred. Please, let it be a Jedi.

“Get up, girl,” Dilar says.

Eldra struggles onto her feet. She almost loses her balance, and that would kriffing hurt, because she’s got little chance of breaking her fall. Her hands are cuffed in front of her, encased in thin manacles she could easily break out of if it wasn’t pointless. If she wasn’t watched at all times. If she could use the force without Falling. If there was any way off this planet she doesn’t even know the name of. She could break them, but she can’t. They’re tight, and her shoulders ache from the forced immobility. (Almost, she’d told the slavers that restraining someone like this for days on end was a sure way of causing muscle damage, that they were lowering her value—were hurting her, by treating her like this, but she’d reconsidered. It would probably count as ‘helping slavers’. She hopes instead that they lose all their captives to their own bad practices. Eldra will not help them, if it kills her.)

If her visitor is a slaver, they’ll probably enjoy the sight of her helplessness. If they’re a Jedi, there may be compassion, pity, judgment—they’ll feel how scared she is, and how close to breaking—and that’ll be even more embarrassing to deal with afterwards, but at least there will be an afterwards for her.

For a second, the force floods with pain. Anger. Then, the presence hides itself again. Doesn’t matter. She’s felt it.

A force user.

A… Jedi, then?

Would a Jedi… Eldra herself would be angry, if she saw anyone else treated the way she is now, no matter how hard she tries for serenity. Eldra isn’t a good Jedi though. She’s too scared for that.

She looks up. If the visitor is a Jedi, Eldra doesn’t recognize them. But that means nothing: they’re covered head-to-toe in layers of black fabric. They’re wearing some sort of mask that covers their lower face, too, and oversized mirrored-glass sunglasses, and gloves, and a cowled cloak and what looks like at least two shirts, one over the other. They look like a black ball with legs sticking out. They look like someone decided to dress up as the platonic concept of shady. They look ridiculous.

They’re very short as well. They’re about twice the height of Grandmaster Yoda, and shorter than pretty much everybody else that Eldra knows. Well… they could be Master Piell. Would Master Piell dress up like this, though? Would he come to rescue her? Would he… well, he wouldn’t feel like the visitor in the force. Even Piell is a Master of the High Council. He wouldn’t fall prey to emotions as easily as Eldra did. He would not fail the light.

The only bit of skin that Eldra can make out is the bridge of the nose, between the jaw-mask and those sunglasses. Red.

Whoever it is isn’t human.

It might give hope, but—whoever it is has already paid and they own Eldra now, they tell the slavers, in a deep and slightly mechanic voice.

Paid.

Own.

Not a rescue, then. The Jedi wouldn’t reward a slaver for abducting a padawan.

Eldra will not cry. Not because if does not befit a Jedi, because the Jedi didn’t come for her. Eldra remained faithful—barely—she didn’t give in to her hatred and fear, didn’t Fall… and no-one came to rescue her. She will never see the temple again. She’ll never watch those holovids with Bayro, and Bayro—will she even notice? Will she mourn Eldra? Or will she be relieved that the clingy kid is gone?

She won’t cry. She will not give Dilar or this new buyer the satisfaction.

The shielding of Eldra’s cell opens. Dilar attaches a chain to Eldra’s manacles and her buyer ties the other end to their belt. They barely look at her, at least—in the nightmares she refused to allow herself to grow into images they always looked at her, excited and hungry, but this buyer seems curt and weirdly business-like.

Without another word, they start walking.

Eldra has no choice but to follow. The Jedi didn’t come. She is alone. Whatever awaits her outside, though, it can hardly be worse than this cell.

#darth maul #eldra kaitis #savage opress #savage oppress #hell is just a beat away #dimtraces makes things

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inviouswriting · 4 years ago

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Darkwarden au - Redemption

Finally touching on this one again.

I think it deserves an alternative ending that’s nice. What do you think?

Revived au - For a few more installments.

Featuring @snow-covered-moon ‘s Shuri/Anubis along with all of her lovely children.

I will have another installment as I can write them. I have a nice way to end this one.

Kivera had lingered behind instead of leaving on her normal hunt, for other sin eaters and those with higher aether count to keep Anubis safe from those that wish her harm. Kivera paused in her thoughts for the name Anubis, in her world she knew the name of the Egyptian god of death. It was almost fitting, she is serving another god in that sense.

The reaper’s thoughts drift to her past, how many has she served. From those in charge of her, from Bathory, Gabriel, Hades, Thanatos, Chiron. Her life of servitude never ended. Always the dutiful angel she is. Even if she wasn’t of the heavens, her path was laid before her in that sense.

Her thoughts are drawn out when a pinged cry hits her head. She knew what it was, and turns on her heels, forgoing finding anything for a meal, instead she approaches in time before Thancred could fire his weapon.

Anubis in a vulnerable state from her hunger. She would never be able to fight back against him. She could but she didn’t “want” to fight. Thancred driven on his own conviction to put her out of her misery. To end someone who was doing no harm to those around her except exist. Power surged in the gunblade and just as it was about to fire, Kivera knocks it to the side with throwing her scythe. The blade fires missing its target, shooting pass her head and into the wall of the well itself.

“What the!” Thancred looks to the weapon that flew pass his head to knock his own. Kivera takes his distraction as opportunity and kicks her toe to the ground to send a ripple through it underneath Thancred’s feet to knock him further off balance.

Kivera flits and stands between Anubis and Thancred. She checks over Anubis quickly, only seeing mild fear in her, and acceptance of what would have been her death. Something she would talk to her later about. Kivera turns her attention onto Thancred who regains himself by now.

“You can’t leave her like this! That is not Shuri, and you know it.” Kivera ignores his words, her eyes going to where Antares landed.

“Is there anything else you can say?” Kivera turns her back to him in favor of looking over Anubis. Thancred wouldn’t attack the fallen carelessly, he has seen her in action and knows it is suicide to fight her.

“Shuri. I think it is time to leave this place. It’s no longer safe.” Kivera completely disregards Thancred being there. She extends a hand down to where Anubis sits, and a hesitant hand takes hers. Kivera helps her to her feet, being gentle when regarding the darkwarden.

“Let’s go home, shall we?” Kivera murmurs the words Shuri had been wanting to hear for a long time. Home.

“Where do you intend to take her...” Thancred is met with an ruby eyed stare from Kivera.

“Away from you, where you can’t go.” Her answer is cold, and she would never grant him the permission of going to her world, her domain, her sanctuary. Not when he intends to murder one she loves in cold blood.

Thancred starts towards them, only for the ground to disappear underneath his feet.

“Quagmire.”

Like water, the ground felt like water around him. Just as he wanted to climb out, he felt the surrounding get colder as it froze, his attention goes to the foot that was embedded in the ground. He forgot she is a master of elements. Earth is an element. Estinien himself has said the spars he had with the fallen that he could never get pass her tricks when she used earth and water together.

“Why are you trying so hard to protect her?” Thancred feels the ground around him start to give from his moving around slowly. The ice chilled his core, seeping in faster than Coerthas’ winterlands ever chilled him.

“Why are you so intent on killing her?” Kivera guides Anubis to a gate she had prepared, a wall of ice that was reflective enough as a mirror. A conduit for Kivera, any reflective surface was her door to her world.

“I know her, that she would not want to live like that.”

“So why must it be you then?” Kivera pulls a white feather out of her left wing and uses it as a quill to write something on the surface of the ice. Scrying a door into its surface.

“Because of you, you dispatched anyone I sent after her.” Kivera knocks on the mirror and opens the gate for Anubis, on the other side a familiar hand reaches through from Divinity.

Anubis had been quiet throughout the exchange, almost tranced from her near death. She recognizes the warmth from Kivera, standing closer to her white wing, the former angel curling it around her to shield her.

“It’s Divinity. She’ll take care of you while I clean up things in this world.” Kivera runs a hand through Anubis’ dark hair cupping her face to rub her face with her own. A show of affection she remembers from her youth as a Xaela. To try and jar her out of what she was feeling.

Anubis reluctantly takes the hand, and is lead through the mirror to Divinity. As soon as Anubis was through the gate, it shatters as a preventive to keep Thancred from rushing the door.

Kivera now that Shuri was safe, turns her attention onto Thancred fully.

“I will give you one chance to go home. I will not attack you, you can forget all the happened here. You can run back to the townsfolk and tell them that the threat has been eliminated for all I care. She will not harm here or The Source. Leave with Kiya, and go about the threats in the other world.” Kivera walks over to the center of the area where Storge once was. Kivera looked small compared to the expansive nest that use to be the sineaters and darkwardens domain.

“And what happens if I don’t want to leave here?” At these words, Kivera whistles; to Thancred’s left Antares springs from the ground summoned back to Kivera’s hands. She catches her scythe to spin once on her feet holding the blade outward to her side in a way to strike.

“I will end you. And you know how good I am at that.” Kivera looked more sure of herself now that Anubis was safe from certain death. Thancred takes Kivera in, really looking at her. She wore different clothing than what he remembered not the odd attires she wore around them. From the black mage persona or dancer. This was her natural state, even the miqo’te side of her wasn’t there.

“Are you not taking my offer then? You truly want to see this through to your end?” Kivera reminds him that he has an out. They don’t have to fight, Kivera is as certain of death to him as he would have been to Anubis.

“What do I tell them... that you ran off with a threat?” Thancred sees her visibly upset at his words. Her eyes narrow, Kivera sighs.

“Someone like you would never understand unless you have been relentlessly persecuted. I take you are dismissing my offer.. don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Kivera taps her feet to the ground to stretch them. Kivera rests her head on one of her hands regarding him.

“Someone has to.” Kivera sighs, as much as she would love to fight with him, there was no point for her to do so. Shuri was safe from him and everyone that could cause her harm wouldn’t not with her secure in her very home.

“I don’t have time for you. Consider yourself lucky... I am being merciful today. I have no interest in fighting you. Go back home before your spirit severs from your body.” Thancred is shocked that she would engage him after trying to actively kill Anubis.

“Why?” Thancred takes a step towards her only to fall through a hole she created, it felt like he was slipping through another dimension itself. Unceremoniously he lands in a heap outside the well. Kivera stands on an abandoned crane away from him.

Thancred looks up at her, he sees her with her scythe again, and using an ability to reduce the size down to an earring and pins it in her ear. She had no intentions of fighting him. She had already been gone too long from Shuri, and knew Divinity needs explaining as to what was going on from the reaper.

“It’s not your time yet. Your world needs you. I will take care of her from here on. If you somehow find a way into the other realm. May I be merciful on your soul.” Kivera ends her warning with leaving him on the red sand flitting away as if she was never there. The dread sensation Thancred had lifts, he wouldn’t say he cheated death, but simply death didn’t want him.

The darkness still lingered in the air, from the remnants of Anubis’ influence. Thancred wondered if there were others that he overlooked. Perhaps Shuri was not the only corrupted spirit in this world.

“Kivera... is alot more kind than we give her credit for.” Thancred looks over his shoulder, Ryne.

“Ryne?” He gets up and sees her fiddle with her hands.

“She’s not evil. She’s just protecting those dear to her. Let’s... let her do her part.” Thancred knew her right, and he’d thank his lucky stars he didn’t die today. The look in Kivera’s eyes meant it if he had harmed Shuri.

“I know... but why did she work so hard when she knew it is hopeless.” Thancred sees Ryne bring a hand to her own face in thought.

“For the same reason I don’t give up on Gaia. Everyone is worth redemption.” Thancred understood after that, that Kivera knows of a way to help Shuri somehow.

“I have been foolish haven’t I?”

“Yes.”

Kivera had secured all of her lingering doors to her world. Shattering certain mirrors that were direct doors. When she arrived back into her domain, she is greeted to the sight of the eternal night sky it already is. Only she can barely see the two moons overhead. Yet here she didn’t worry over Shuri’s well being like she was forced to do in the other two worlds.

She barely recognizes how long it had been till she had been home, as she walked through to the middle, she felt the pings between Shuri and her children. Kivera smiled to herself, there was no fear among them. She had a feeling they wouldn’t fear her, they missed her.

Divinity regards her leader when she comes into view. Getting up to greet her.

“Welcome back. I thought you weren’t going to bring her here until you found a way to break her out of this.” Kivera pulls Divinity more towards the house in the middle.

“I was put in a position where I had to bring her here. Thancred was after her again, and he meant to kill her this time. Caught her at her most vulnerable, and when I was just leaving.” Kivera explains, Divinity understands it. It was a better move for Shuri, Kivera’s own home was brimming with life energy. Just breathing was enough to fill and satisfy the darkwarden’s needs.

Ysayle was confused to why her mother looked different, but did not fear her. In fact was content in her arms while her siblings clung to her after being away for so long. Divinity regards Kivera, a look between them both. The Libra spirit sees her relaxed with all of them out of danger.

“How do you intend we help her though?” Divinity asks the question that Kivera is unsure how to answer.

“Keeping her safe for starters.. The young ones are unaffected it seems, that is a good thing. She is still in there, bringing her to them was a good idea. She’s mostly composed of dark aether, the way we can counter that is of course with light.” Divinity closes her eyes, she wondered if her ability would be enough.

“I can try with mine.” Kivera’s eyes flicker blue brief then back to green. Divinity had a feeling about the abilities.

“It can’t be done carelessly, otherwise we could accidentally kill her, or alter enough to where she loses her humanity.” Divinity sighs, she knew. Kivera was best when it came to elemental differences, her entire life in training was spent learning and honing each element. Even her own weakness in holy. Enough to not be affected unless she prolonged using it.

“We’ll just let her be for now, till we figure something out then.. Does Estinien know you brought her here yet? He might want to see her. As she is now or not.” Kivera didn’t have time to send the dragoon a message.

“I’ll go see him, and bring him here then.” Kivera muses aloud, her fingers finding the end of her left wing to pull a few white feathers off. New wards for her charges.

Kivera approaches the group of children and Anubis. Anubis greets Kivera, her dark figure sees the feathers in her hand. Enough for all of the children, a single black one for Anubis.

“What are those for?”

“Protection. Just like the first feathers I gave you. They’ll let me know if something is wrong.” Kivera kneels down and meets Anubis pressing forehead with hers. She felt tears, Shuri surfaced.

“Thank you.. for not killing him.” Kivera’s eyes widen and she tilts her head enough only to feel a full kiss pressed to her cheek.

“You’re welcome..” The fallen feels a hand press on her white feathers. She doesn’t shrug Shuri’s hand off even if it felt like they were burning under her hand. Kivera gently takes her hand to lace their fingers together, prevent her from burning them further on the only holy thing about herself.

Shuri looks at her for removing her hand.

“You’ll burn yourself...”

“Does it hurt you too?” Kivera lifts her eyes, purple are her eyes. Hiding her pain behind her love.

“A little, but please, it means there is a way to counter. Give me more time. I kept my promise that you would be back with your family after all.” Kivera winds her arms around Shuri, pressing a palm to the middle of her back and rubs along her spine.

“I’m sorry.. I know you kept your promise. Thank you.. I missed them. I missed everyone.. When can I see Estinien?” There is a sense of need in her voice, and Kivera feels it. Green eyes close.

“I’ll bring him here soon. I have to locate him, but I had to check on you and home here.” Kivera cups Shuri’s face using very trace amount of light in her palms. Using her thumbs she rubs Shuri’s face to test something, seeing pink almost white flesh underneath her palms.

“Does this hurt?” Shuri thinks of the warmth on her face, a tingling where the reaper’s hands touch.

“Itches more than hurts.” Kivera stops the magic after clearing her face of the dark almost pitch black tones.

“I might have a lead then. I’ll return with Estinien soon. Be patient for us?” Kivera asks, and Shuri nods. A small kiss placed on her face, she returns it as Kivera stands up after placing a feather on each child and Shuri.

“I trust you.” Shuri says.

Kivera feels her soul alight.

“I love you too.”

#kivera x shuri #Kivera Siverstein #shuri fontaye #estinien wyrmblood #darkwarden au #I almost wrote a fight in here but... it didn't work out

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irhinoceri · 4 years ago

Text

Some meta thoughts on Stark

Stark is one of my very favorite minor-to-major reoccurring characters.

The thing I really loved about Stark when he was introduced in 1x18 Nerve and 1x19 The Hidden Memory was the sheer unexpected turn of his character. He quickly went from kooky krazy menacing cellmate to a genuinely interesting character with pathos and hidden depths. Paul Goddard’s performance as Stark pretending to be crazed versus being actually a little bit crazy in reality but having a center of calm and healing just blew me away.

I was confused and disappointed when he disappeared off Moya the next episode despite not being dead and Moya not having been able to starburst, so I didn’t understand how or why he’d left the ship. When he did return to become a series regular I was really glad, but I did notice that his writing was very uneven.

There seemed to be some confusion about whether he was to be used for comedic effect and viewed as crazy, cowardly, worthy of scorn.... or had something more to do in the story. I loved his relationship with Zhaan, and I thought that while she was still on the show there was some of the best writing for Stark as well. But what was really interesting to me was his relationship with John over the course of the show and how it fluctuated between fear, resentment, anger, bitterness, kindness, support, affection, and understanding.

In season 4 and PKW when he came back after yet another departure from the crew in 3x17 The Choice, I feel that the portrayal of Stark leaned a bit too far to the one dimensional “this guys is nutso!” portrayal. But at the end of PKW they seemed to finally remember the best part of the character, that moment of quiet and calm and caring after the storm. So his final farewell to John and the reveal of the side of his face no longer aflame with mystical energy, was easily one of the best moments of PKW for me.

Stark and John Crichton are in some way similar characters. They are certainly connected by the Aurora Chair experience and their shared time in the cell on the Gammak base. They’ve both been tortured extensively by Scorpius on top of other traumas that led them into madness. For Crichton it’s all the shenanigans that happened in season 1 before Scorpius even showed up, for Stark it’s being a conduit for the spirits of the dead to pass on and being part of a “slave race” who has been kicked around and abused his whole life.

Crichton gets an epic love story which is very clearly presented as being his saving grace, the thing that pulls him out of the madness and guides him to a happy ending, though his tumultuous love affair with Aeryn provides him plenty of torture along the way.

Stark falls in love with Zhaan only to have her die for love of John and Aeryn. She sacrifices her health to resurrect Aeryn in 3x01 Season of Death and then in in 3x04 Self Inflicted Wounds: Wait for the Wheel she gives her life to stop John and Aeryn from arguing over which one of them is going to die saving the others.

This arguably is why Stark becomes more unhinged in season 3, resenting Aeryn and John for Zhaan’s death, and being ever more the outsider because the person he had the closest connection to has died. In a way he’s become the oddball out that John was in season 1, only further along on the untethered scale, and not headed toward anything better.

On Talyn he really only has Crais and Rygel to hang out with, except for his brief and disastrous stint connected to Talyn. One of his best episodes in fact is 3x12 Meltdown, when he spends the episode talking to a ghost lady only he can see or hear. The parallels to John and Harvey are there. When he thinks he might be able to contact Zhaan he leaves the Talyn crew to go his own way, but once again he is linked to John’s story by passing on the holo recording a dying Talyn!John left for Moya!John to view.

4x07 John Quixote brought one of the most interesting and unhinged versions of Stark. At first I was very confused by this iteration of Stark as vengeful and exploitative, using Talyn!John’s memories to build a game that seemed designed to trap Moya!John in a never-ending loop of striving for an unattainable version of Aeryn, literally a vain and empty-headed Princess at the top of a tower of nightmares. But viewing it in the context of Stark struggling with the darkness inside himself and giving in to the resentment he feels about Zhaan’s death, it’s brilliant. Stark isn’t just a whimpering idiot in this treatment, he’s the unstable mastermind behind this personal hell. But is it John’s personal hell or Stark’s? And when John figures out that the Princess is not his princess, but Stark’s princess, it gives the whole game away.

Unfortunately this was the pinnacle of writing for Stark in season 4 and his other appearances kind of frustrated me. Turning that childhood memory that he was hiding from Scorpius into the location of a secret Scarran base was a good way to provide continuity but it kind of ruined one of the moments I loved from season 1... that moment when John and Stark are telling each other what secret hidden memory they’d been blocking. That was a moment of shared trauma and unhinged laughter over the fact that they’d been mentally destroyed for things so seemingly insignificant as a kiss and a fond memory of childhood. The actual Scarran base is not so whimsical as all that, and made me wonder why Stark was blocking it from Scorpius at all. John was obviously protecting Gilina’s identity as his accomplice on the Gammak base, but who or what was Stark protecting by not giving up the location?

At any rate, at least Stark’s presence on the Scarran base in season 4 reunited him with the Moya crew, so onwards to Peacekeeper Wars....

In which he spent the bulk of his screentime being kicked around, mocked, and abused by the main characters. Except for the very very end and that lovely scene, it was a bit painful to watch a favorite character get such underwhelming treatment. But I suppose I can say that for a lot of the PKW characters, like Sikozu and Jool and even D’Argo in the end, who died for really no good reason at all. I am grateful that PKW wrapped up John and Aeryn’s story, but I do think it suffered greatly from only being 3 hours which didn’t allow it to truly do justice to any of the other characters. If Farscape the show was an ensemble with a special focus on John and Aeryn, PKW was the John and Aeryn show with the rest of the cast as backup dancers.

But missteps in later seasons aside, I am still quite taken with the introduction of Stark in 1x18-19. And the scene where he cradles a tormented John and comforts and calms him with the glowing light of his previously masked face, is to me one of the really striking moments of the entire show.

#farscape #stark #paul goddard #farscape meta #1x18 nerve #1x19 the hidden memory #long post #stark and crichton #parallels

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girlwiththepapatattoo · 4 years ago

Text

Chiaroscuro: Aurora, Chapter 14

Warnings: yelling, some violence, suggestive imagery (the smut’s next chapter lol)

Tags: @whoreschach @reclusive-cat-lady @limerami @saekkos @yournewsatanistpisshunter @angelfallenspirit @kshandra @rocket-dancer @bakedbybeelzebub @blood-ghuleh @jitterbugs927 @inferuscorvus @ptite-shit @scriptor @localmusicrocks @dragonsfire8780 @thedaddytamer @maidenismyreligion

If you’d like to be tagged, let us know!

Enjoy!

Appearing...somewhere, you wrench yourself out of your mother’s grasp, spinning about and sputtering. “For fuck’s sake, Mom! Now they’ll be worried and pissed off!”

“Do I look as though I care?” Lillith crosses her arms and glares at you. “Those husbands of yours teach you to swear like rock stars?”

“They’ve taught me a lot, actually.”

She snorts. “Oh I certainly got that impression, poppet.”

Your lip curls. “Look, I don’t fucking care if you’re some sort of demi-god--”

“Goddess, thank you very much.”

“Whatever,” you nearly growl. “You badmouth my loves and I’ll kick your ass!”

“You can certainly try, little girl,” she snaps back. “I may not have done right by you, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let—”

“Oh, fuck all the way off!” you shout. “You’re gone for almost literally all of my life, and for some reason you choose now to fucking come back?! You don’t get a say in who I love or what they teach me! You don’t get a fucking say in anything!”

Her eyes flash violet fire. “Oh I don’t get a say, do I? That’s rich, seeing how everything about you is thanks to me. You wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for me, poppet, and don’t you forget it.”

You whirl about, not even paying attention to your surroundings. “Why did you even bother having me?”

“For many reasons!” Her words come out in an exasperated snarl. “And I brought you here to tell you about them. But most importantly...” Her lips thin, and she looks down, and if you didn’t know any better you’d say she was embarrassed. “I was...lonely. I thought that having a child would have been nice.” She looks back up at you. “But then it turned out that I make you chaotic. So that backfired on me.”

Your anger drains out of you. If there’s anything you can understand, it’s loneliness. Still... “I don’t...I don’t understand. What do you mean by chaotic? And why did it happen?”

“I’m sure you’ve already felt it... your mood is wild, your emotions are all over the place, and your energy probably feels excessive, like you’re going to jitter out of your skin. You might not be able to control yourself or your abilities the longer we stay near each other. As for why?” Lillith’s shrug is an elegant shift of her shoulders. “More than likely it’s your conduit nature. It doesn’t play well with my powers.”

You bite your lip, watching her warily, and feeling out your own energy as you do. She’s right, it’s...bubbling, as if in the beginning of a boil, much like how Air described it. “So...that’s why you’ve only ever called?”

She nods, looking genuinely regretful. “Energy doesn’t do anything over the phone. So we were safe that way. Granted...I should have called more often. I freely admit that I fucked that up. And I am sorry.” She steps forward, lifting her hand and cupping your cheek, slowly, as if she thinks you’ll flinch away.

You allow the touch, then pull away slightly, trying to make it seem natural. “So...so you knew I was a conduit?”

“Not right away,” she replies. “Not for some time, really. I came upon information about it by accident...just a little snippet, and I had this...urge to find out more.” She frowns. “It had sounded like you, and what your energy had been doing. And the more I looked into it, the more I began to think what was being described was...you. And I got scared.”

“Of what? Me?”

“No. Of what could happen to you. I couldn’t be around to protect you, and your powers made you vulnerable. That’s why I bound them, locked them up, and put a veil over you so nothing supernatural would realize you were anything but human. At least until you were somewhere, with someone strong enough to protect you and help you learn about yourself.”

Your lips twitch ever so slightly. “And I ended up at the church. And I’ve bloomed, thanks to my loves.” You pause, looking down. “I suppose I should thank you for sealing them. But...what would have unsealed them? Because when I first got to the church, my powers were...well, there, and they worked right away on Johannes.”

Lillith scowls. “Satan. They must have unlocked your powers as soon as you appeared in the church. That fucker.”

*Oh now, let’s not have slander,* you hear in your mind. In the next second, Satan is standing there, arms crossed, and while they are smiling, the look in their eyes is unamused. “I’m normally willing to take the blame, after all I enjoy the notoriety, but not this time. I had nothing to do with my treat and her abilities, darling Lillith.” They turn to you, their eyes softening. “Believe me, my treat, I knew you were needed, but the veil over you hid your nature even from me.”

“I find that highly unlikely,” Lillith scoffs. “You’re far too fond of meddling. And besides, no one else could have broken my magic.”

“Yes they could,” Satan replies, still watching you as you watch Lillith. “If they met the guidelines you yourself laid out.” You turn from your mother to look at Them, confused. “Think, my treat, think about what happened that night...”

“That night...you mean...” They nod. You think...the sight of wolves and demons had been so unexpected... “I fainted...Air caught me...and Papa and the ghouls took me...But I remember, it was you who guided me to that bathroom.”

Lillith makes an “ah-ha!” sound that Satan ignores as they chuckle. “I did indeed. However, I hadn’t had any contact with your mother for millennia. I had no idea that you were her daughter, or that you were a conduit. But as I looked in on my favorite Papa that night, you stood out. Your energy was...different, stronger, than those humans around you.”

You frown. “But...how could you have known that, if the veil was still there?” Lillith demands.

“It was still there...but my guess is it thinned in her proximation to Papa and the ghouls, whom your magic had deemed suitable to be her guardians.”

Your eyes widen. “Aether had said that I stood out, even in the back of the crowd. Is that when it started to thin, you think?”

Satan nods. “It certainly seems that way. And once you came out of the bathroom and were in the same room as all your then-future loves, who then protected you from a shifter attack? The veil broke.” They chuckle faintly. “Fate has an odd way of overruling even the strongest magic. Fate was here long before us, Lillith, and long before God. And it’ll be here long after we’re gone, in some far-off future where we don’t exist anymore. I might not have known whose daughter she was at the time, but if Fate wanted her with Ghost and Avatar? Who are we to argue.” Lillith rolls her eyes, but there’s little she can say to argue that point.

You look between them, the Lord of Hell and the Lady of Lust, and then you turn faintly green. “Oh fuck, I slept with my mom’s first lover!”

“Second, technically.” She snorts. “Not that Adam was anything to get excited about, literally or figuratively.”

“Honestly, Mom, really? Now’s not the time--”

“Just keeping the record straight, poppet.”

Satan laughs softly, reaching over and hugging you around your shoulders. “What’s there to be grossed out about? Nothing’s happened between us for eons, and I did not sire you.”

“Okay, that’s enough of this conversation please,” you beg.

“Yes, don’t you have things to do, souls to torture, humans to tempt?” Lillith says, her voice dripping with barely concealed annoyance.

“But how would I ever be able to work knowing my reputation was being tarnished,” they reply, their tone oozing melodrama.

You scowl, and for the first time you look around to see where your mother has taken you. It’s some sort of living room, and it’s beautiful. You have to admit she has exquisite taste, opulent without being gaudy. Outside, you can hear waves lapping on the shore. “Where are we, anyway?”

She offers another of her elegant shrugs. “The edge of a tiny island in the middle of nowhere, on another plane of existence.”

“Another plane...?”

She nods. “I don’t care for your plane. It’s too full.”

You give her a flat look. “You got over that whole lonely thing, I suppose.” She winces and turns away from you, looking out a nearby window, unwilling to show the emotion on her face.

You wonder if Papa and the ghouls are panicking over no longer being able to feel your energy...but Satan pats your shoulder. “I’ve already told them that you’re fine, my treat, not to worry.”

“Well, look who’s got the lord of hell wrapped around her finger!” Lillith says softly, smirking ever so faintly at her reflection in the window. “Like mother like daughter.”

You frown. “I’m nothing like you.”

“Oh no?” She laughs softly, the sound lilting, and normally you would like it, but it grates against you now. “You are more like me than you think.”

“Well I wouldn’t know, would I?” She flinches and you relent a little. “All right, how? How am I like you?”

“You mean aside from our shared taste in supernatural beings?” You nod, and she chuckles. “Our stubbornness, for one. Our go-get-’em attitudes.” She looks you over, slowly, and she smiles. “You have my nose. And the same little wing to your hair over your left ear that isn’t over your right. Our very limited capacity for taking bullshit, though yours has been tempered.”

You feel yourself melting a little despite your anger. “And being a conduit? That’s from you too?”

She frowns. “I’d love to take credit for that, but I think that may have just been ... a fluke of fate.”

You’re quiet a moment, digesting that, and your thoughts swirl in your mind. “Who...who’s my father?”

Lillith shrugs. “I don’t know. He was a one-night stand. Sweet enough. He had a great cock.”

“Oh gods, Mom!” you cry, flailing a little.

“What? It was.” She perches on a sofa, smiling a little. “Thick, nice fat head, a slight curve--”

“Mom, unholy fuck, do you mind?” You spin and stomp to the wall of windows.

Satan is laughing softly. “Even demi-goddesses still get embarrassed over their mothers!”

Lillith rolls her eyes as the tips of your ears turn red. “Satan, will you please go? I want some quality time with my daughter before her energy gets too riled up.”

Satan turns to you, a question in their gaze, and you nod, once. *Very well, my treat, but if you need me...* You nod again, and Satan looks back at Lillith. “We should get together and talk. Soon.” They disappear, and Lillith snorts.

“Never soon enough for you?” she mutters, then sees you staring at her. “What? I have nothing to say to them.”

“Why did he call me a demi-goddess?” you ask, your voice quiet and only a little shaky.

She blinks, taking in your state. “Oh, poppet.” She stands, striding over to you. “I know all this must be so overwhelming. It’s been a very long couple days for you.” She reaches out and cups your cheek softly, and this time you don’t push away. “My precious daughter. I don’t know how much this is actually worth...but I am truly sorry. I really did want to raise you.”

You stare at each other for a long moment, then you close your eyes. “I guess I can sort of understand why you didn’t ... but I wish you would have told me about myself, instead of letting me stumble around trying to figure it all out.”

“There was never a good time, poppet.”

“And now is optimal?” You pull away, feeling your emotions tangle up again. “And you didn’t answer my question. Why did Satan call me a demi-goddess?”

Lillith sighs, crossing her arms and giving you a look. “You’re a smart girl, daughter of mine. Why do you think?” She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m a goddess, who had a child by a mortal. That makes you a demi-goddess.”

You stare at her in disbelief. “This...is...insane.”

“No less sane than a satanic church full of demons, or a country run by shapeshifters. And you seem to have handled that bit of crazy just fine.”

“That’s...not the same,” you say weakly, sitting down in a window seat. You look down at your hands as if seeing them for the first time. “Those are things that are...out of my control, they aren’t me. This is about me! I already just got used to being a conduit and now...and now...”

“Now you know that you possess an amazing birthright. You are the closest thing to a full goddess your world has ever created without God doing it.” Lillith’s voice swells with pride. “And once you take my full powers, you’ll--”

“Wait, what?” You freeze. “I’m doing what now?”

“That’s the reason I’m here, poppet. Well...it’s one of the reasons I’m here.” At your raised eyebrow, she says, “You didn’t answer your phone, you didn’t call me back. And when I finally went to your apartment, I found some stranger living there. I was worried. I’m allowed, I’m still your mother.”

You roll your eyes. “All right, sure, whatever. Back to this taking your powers thing…?”

“Ah, yes.” She smiles brightly. “Well, it’s all part of the plan, poppet. To transfer my powers to you.”

“Just like that?”

Lilith lets out a little hum of agreement. “Yes, for the most part, just like that. I’ve been alive for eons, poppet, and I’m...tired.” She looks it suddenly, sitting down next to you. “It’s time for me to just...be. And it’s time for you to...become.”

You stare at your mother, not believing your ears. “But...how can I take your powers if being near you makes mine go nuts?”

Another of those elegant shrugs. “There might be some...turbulence. But it will smooth out as you get accustomed to things, as becoming the goddess of love and lust settles in you.”

Your heart is beginning to pound. “And what if I don’t want to become the goddess of love and lust? What if I just want to be me?”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous,” Lilith says, laughing and throwing her arms out, gesturing to herself. “Who wouldn’t want to be me? Besides, it’s not something you turn down. This is your destiny. It’s why I had you. Now--”

“But I don’t want it,” you interrupt. Lillith opens her mouth but you don’t let her speak. “I’m telling you no. I don’t consent to this.”

“And I’m telling you,” Lillith responds, her voice hardening, “I’m not asking for your consent. It is time for you to become what I intend for you to be.”

“No!” You stand, backing away from her. “I don’t want it! I don’t want—no! SATAN! GET ME OUT—” And you disappear.

---

Papa is leaning in the doorway of the balcony, arms crossed and holding back his amusement as he watches Johannes and Beta. Their pacing is identical in speed, stride, and strain, neither of them realizing how similar they look. “I wish you would relax,” Papa says once more. “Our dark lord said she is fine.”

Before either twin can react, you suddenly appear in the middle of the room. “Fucking christ!” Johannes is at your side only a step before Papa or Beta. “Are you all right, sweetness?”

You bury your face into Johannes’s chest and burst into great heaving sobs. You’re so overwhelmed with everything that you just learned that all you can do is cry and cry. Everyone looks alarmed, but they know you well enough by now that they know to just let you cry it out.

Lillith blinks in, irritation written plain in her body language. “We weren’t done, poppet, we--”

You spin away from Johannes, tears and fury streaking your face. “Oh trust me, we’re done. I don’t want your powers. We’re done.”

“How dare you refuse your birthright?!”

“How dare I?” You take a step toward your mother. “How dare I? How dare you? You come here out of basically nowhere, after years of the barest contact, spring all this insanity on me, and expect me to just, what, fall in line? Fuck you! I don’t want your powers, I never asked for them, I never asked for any of this! I don’t want this destiny and I don’t want to be you!”

Lillith scowls and opens her mouth, but then almost as one, all your loves are in between you and your mother.

“You will not force her,” Air says, voice low.

“My lady, I do regret such disrespect,” Papa murmurs, “but I stand with my wife. Perhaps we could reconvene this...discussion, another time.”

Lillith growls slightly, sparks of purple energy appearing at her fingertips. “I could kill you all with a thought!”

“Certainly,” Jonas agrees, “and then you’d lose her forever.”

Lillith flings one arm up and crackling purple energy shoots toward Jonas. Without you having to think, your air energy shoots out like a fist, knocking Lillith’s arm back and forcing the purple arcs of energy to fly off, toward the ceiling. “Don’t. You. Dare.” Your voice is low and deadly; you’re not even sure it’s your own.

Darkness coalesces around Papa’s head, and Johannes and Beta both suddenly have daggers in hand. “Oh, I know you didn’t just attack my king!” Beta snarls, a manic grin stealing over his face.

“Okay, that’s quite enough of this.” Satan is suddenly between you all, scowling at Lillith. He opens his mouth, and an unholy language pours out that makes everyone but the demons clap their hands over their ears. Lillith snarls something back in the same language and raises her hand to them now. Satan’s eyes widen, and before Lillith can let fly the attack, they’re on her. Their hand is over her mouth and they’re slamming her into the floor, and she suddenly can’t move. “Bad idea, darling,” they growl. “By attacking me, I can defend myself by affecting you.” And they both disappear.

Silence reigns for a long moment. “What the actual fuck just happened?” Beta rasps, looking around at the other men.

Your energy, which had been growing more unstable as you’d argued with your mother, is at a rolling boil. “Nothing much,” you reply before everything within you spills out, and you’re unable to stop it. You hear the windows shatter as you black out.

Air instantly has a barrier of wind up, keeping the glass from slicing anyone in the room. Johannes catches you, and Aether and Earth both gasp at the state of your energy. Pure white is leaking out of your eyes, your mouth, the tips of your fingers. The wolf quickly lays you on the bed, and the ghouls immediately sit next to you and start funneling excess energy out. Bright streaks of light shoot out of the broken windows as they do their best to calm the storm inside you.

Fire blinks out only to return with Special, who takes in the chaos of the room, and your altered state, and immediately begins aiding Aether and Earth.

Satan returns and steps over to the trio, nodding in approval at how they are working. “If you need to, you may access my energy to bolster your own.”

“Thank you, Lord Satan,” all three ghouls intone, focusing on their job.

“Is...she coming back?” Tim asks, looking around as if expecting Lillith to return instantly.

“Lillith has been...calmed,” the lord of Hell sighs, sounding tired. “She’s become even more of a firecracker.” He turns to Jonas and bows his head slightly. “I am sorry that she attacked you.”

“You have no need to apologize,” Jonas says, his voice strained as he watches you closely. “Will she be all right?”

Satan nods. “Now that she’s not in close proximity to her mother, she should be fine... I still can’t believe that I never realized...Lillith being her mother makes perfect sense.”

Papa stares at his dark lord. “You mean you didn’t know?”

“Lillith cloaked her well. She wanted no supernatural to know who or what she is, and that included yours truly.” Papa sighs heavily as he looks to you, still unconscious and being tended to by Aether, Earth, and Special. “I’ll stay until her energy is back to normal and then wake her up,” Satan says, stepping over to a couch and sitting beside Henrik with a wink. The bassist blushes faintly and swallows hard. “You’re really very pretty,” Satan murmurs. “All of you are, of course, but there’s something about your hair...” They reach out as if to touch him, then say, “Ah, my manners. May I, wolf?” Henrik flushes, eyes wide, and Satan can practically feel the question of “am I allowed to say no?” floating out of his brain. They tsk softly. “Of course you can say no if you don’t want me to.” They lean their cheek on their hand as they watch the man next to him flounder. “Have you raped or tortured anyone lately?”

“W-Well, no, of course not!” Henrik gasps.

“Then you’re not someone who needs to worry about my wrath. You say no, and I will respect that.” They pause, then smile. “I would love to braid it though.”

The wolf takes a deep breath. “Sure, I guess...”

And Satan lets out a long sigh as their fingers sink into Henrik’s hair. “Luxurious. Absolutely luxurious.” Johannes snickers despite his concern for you -- he recognizes a fellow hair kink enthusiast when he meets one.

Satan throws a wink toward Johannes as well and materializes a brush, starting to slowly and meticulously get every snarl out of Henrik’s curls. Despite how weird it is to have his hair brushed by the lord of Hell, it feels so good that Henrik relaxes against the couch, closing his eyes, feeling his tension melting away.

The strain throughout the room slowly begins to ease as your loves begin to talk quietly. Air sweeps the broken glass up with a twist of his hand, his gaze returning to you constantly.

Jonas looks like he’s about to speak, then pauses. “...for the first time, I’m not quite sure how to address someone of higher rank than I. I confess, I am uncomfortable calling you ‘Your Majesty.’ Is just Satan all right?”

Satan chuckles from where they’re still working on Henrik’s braid. “That is fine, dear king.”

“Ah, thank you. Satan, Papa had mentioned earlier that Lillith is a goddess. Which would make our love a demi-goddess at the very least. Would that be the reason our immortality ritual didn’t work on her?”

“That is correct, Jonas. Her father was mortal, though Lillith does not remember who he is. My treat is not immortal, unfortunately. That’s not something she inherited from her mother. But her still being part divine means that your ritual couldn’t take hold. I’m not fully sure on the details of why, to be honest, but...there you have it.” They look almost apologetic. “If I had an answer, I would tell all of you. Even I do not know everything.”

Silence, save for a subdued “thank you” from Jonas, falls on the room. Finally, after almost two hours, your energy has stopped roiling and has calmed. Earth falls back into Beta’s arms, exhausted and covered in sweat. Aether is in a similar state, and even Special looks haggard. “Well done, everyone,” Satan says, rousing Henrik, who’d fallen asleep against the deity’s shoulder. They chuckle. “Thank you, wolf, for allowing me a little...playtime, I guess we can call it.”

Henrik flushes. “You’re welcome.”

They let their fingers drag through his hair once more as they stand and examine you. “Yes, much better,” they mutter as they wave a hand above their head. “I would love to stay,” they say to Papa as you begin to stir, “but I’ve already been away far too long.”

Papa nods and accepts a kiss from his lord. Satan disappears as your eyes flutter open, and you blink in confusion at the ceiling. “...what happened? Why do my limbs feel like lead?”

Johannes is by your side instantly, hands taking one of yours and holding it tightly. “Your energy went out of control, sweetness. Aether, Earth, and Special brought it back down, got it calm, but it took a while.”

“Fuck,” you groan as you try to sit up.

“Maybe you should wait before you try to sit up, little one,” Air says, as he sits near your feet and begins to stroke your legs.

You refuse, struggling against your loves’ attempts to keep you still. “No, let me up, let me up.” Finally, they relent, and get you sitting up, and you lean against Special. “Where’s my mother?” you ask.

Papa checks on Aether and Earth before settling next to you. “Gone.”

“Good,” you grunt. You rub your face, then gasp before looking to Jonas. “Are you okay?! She didn’t hit you, did she?”

Jonas smiles softly and comes over, kneeling before you and taking your hand, kissing it softly. “No, my precious flower, she did not. You saved me.” He chuckles. “Again.”

“I’m so sorry, so so sorry, Jonas, I had no idea...”

“Shhhh,” he peppers your hands with kisses, “you have nothing to apologize for, my love, nothing at all.” Tears roll down your cheeks, although you somehow manage not to break into uncontrollable sobbing, and your loves all gather around you, offering comfort.

Still exhausted from everything that had happened, you end up falling back to sleep, this time unaided by magic. Johannes lays you gently down, settling your head onto your pillow, smoothing your hair away from your face. He looks around at the assembled men. “It’s...it’s over now, right? Lillith is gone, the angels are dead. That’s it? She can...she can just live her fucking life now, right?”

“We need to find that asshole,” Beta rumbles as he rocks and cuddles Earth. At Johannes’s look, the clown says, “The one who hurt her...the ex. He got away from me...I should have killed him, I don’t know how I didn’t, but he got away.” He looks up at Jonas, stricken. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let him go.”

Jonas leans over and kisses Beta’s forehead. “You did nothing wrong. He was working with the angels, so more than likely, he was under their protection. You did all you could.”

“Wasn’t good enough,” he mumbles, and he picks Earth up and carries him into the bathroom.

“Of course you were good enough,” Earth says, his arms wrapping around his clown. “You always are. You saved her.”

“You’re biased,” Beta grumps, and several of your loves laugh as the clown shuts the bathroom door.

Papa lies down next to you, stroking your hair and face with gentle, tender fingers. Jonas and Johannes watch, and even though it’s such a simple gesture, Papa’s gracefulness strikes them, as it always does. They surround you both, Jonas pressing up to Dante’s back as Johannes curls his lanky self around you.

Dante presses against Jonas, letting his warmth soak in, as Johannes buries his face in your hair, nuzzling in. “We should go,” Aether whispers to the others, but Papa frowns.

“No, I think...I think this is one of those times that she would want everyone to stay.”

Jonas and Johannes both nod, and everyone shrugs and starts settling onto beds and couches, wherever there’s room. Beta and Earth come out of the bathroom, the small ghoul asleep in his clown’s arms. Beta sets his husband down as if he were made of ceramic, then gets in next to him, curling up as best he can around him.

In your sleep, you start linking everyone up, using your energy to connect your loves to each other and to you. One by one they react as they feel the connection hook in.

Papa all but beams around to his husbands, and Johannes squeezes you and Papa and Jonas tight. The king presses tighter against Papa’s back, and they sigh as one, liking this connection very much.

“How is she doing this?” Air asks, looking across at Aether, who shrugs.

“Her subconscious must be working overtime...she’s had a lot to deal with just today.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Water murmurs, yawning. “Just...odd. And kind of cute.”

“Just a little weird to be so...intimately connected to you all,” Tim says.

Fire grins. “Love you too, Tim.” The shifter throws a pillow at the ghoul. “Come on now, you can admit you’ve always wanted to be connected to us,” Fire says as he whips the pillow back over toward Tim.

“Yeah, speak for yourself,” Tim growls as he and John both grab pillows and whale them at Fire.

“PILLOW FIGHT!” Water cries, grabbing a pillow and proceeding to attack Henrik. Mayhem breaks out, leaving the three spouses on the bed laughing and grinning at the antics. Normally, they’d stop it, insisting you need quiet, but they...they need the stress relief too.

Every so often a pillow flies your way and one of your husbands bats it away or sends it flying back into the main battle. Beta watches, slightly confused, not sure when pillows became weapons.

Earth wakes up in the kerfuffle, blinking in confusion then laughing softly. “Why do you...well. You wouldn’t have ever been in a pillow fight before, huh?”

“It’s not much of a fight,” Beta grumbles. “Pillows are all squishy, they aren’t good weapons.”

Earth giggles. “It’s...ha. It’s meant to be fun.”

A pillow whips through the air and whacks Beta on the back of his head. “I can MAKE those pillows into good weapons,” he snarls.

Earth giggles even more. “It’s not the point to hurt people, my husband.” Beta has to take a second; hearing Earth call him that always feels like rainbows and sunlight have punched him in the face.

“Oh yeah? What’s the point then?” he says, trying to stay all snarly but failing in the face of his ghoul giggling and happy.

“To have fun,” Earth answers before snatching up a pillow and lightly bopping Beta on the head.

Beta looks so confused, and now his hair is all mussed up. Earth laughs even harder, clutching his stomach and falling over. Beta picks up a pillow, blinking between it and Earth, before bopping Earth in return.

The chaos ramps up bit by bit, especially once Beta gives in and starts whipping pillows about. The laughter and genial (mostly) cursing reaches you finally. You open your eyes and lift your head a bit. “Have you all lost your minds?” you mumble.

No one seems to hear you except for Papa and Johannes, and the pope chuckles. “Let them have their fun, my love. They’ve been stressing about the battle and then you for weeks. This is a good release.”

You watch as Air casually flicks his wrist and sends three pillows across the room, walloping Beta, Aether, and John simultaneously, and you’re laughing, a throaty chuckle that makes things tighten all along Johannes’s body.

“This is the best show I’ve seen since the concert,” you say with a grin as Johannes burrows further into your hair. His arm tightens around your waist, pulling you firmly against him, and he tries to ignore his cock, telling himself that you need rest now.

You snuggle against him, and he moans helplessly against your neck, close to your ear. “Sweetness, you gotta stop that.”

It takes you a second or two to realize his issue. “Mmm, but why? I thought you liked my snuggles.”

Another groan. “I love ‘em. But you need to rest.”

“I need you more.”

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, but your scent just makes him hard. “Fuck. Okay, fine, but it’s going to be gentle and soft.”

“Fine with me,” you say, desperately pulling at your clothes.

“Gentle and soft, sweetness,” he says, his voice rumbling through you. He stills your hands with his, presses his lips to the delicate skin of your neck, tasting you. “Gentle and soft.” His hands move to your shirt, slipping underneath, finding more soft skin to slide against.

You shiver hard, wanting him to go faster, but this is too heady, too delicious...you moan his name softly as Papa and Jonas notice what is going on. “Are you both sure this is—”

“S-Soft and gentle, Papa,” you gasp, arching into Johannes’s hand.

He watches with a heated gaze as you arch and release, arch and release, and Johannes’s hands slowly push your shirt up, exposing you gradually. “Wanna help, Dante? Show her how to go slow?”

“Oh, I would love to,” Papa purrs, shifting out from between you and the king. “It is one of my favorite lessons to teach, after all.” He leans down, pressing a soft, searing kiss just above the hem of your jeans, keeping devastating eye contact with you.

He slowly drags his tongue across your skin and your breath catches, unable to pull your gaze away from his. “Papa,” you whisper.

“Yes, my love.”

“Please?”

Papa hums, and you feel the reverberation in your belly. “Not yet, my wife. Gentle and soft, remember?”

You pout, and he just laughs, swirling his tongue around your navel teasingly. You shiver hard and whisper, “I may have made a mistake.”

#chiaroscuro: aurora #the band ghost #the band avatar #papa emeritus iii #johannes eckerström #nameless ghouls #jonas kungen jarlsby #tim ohrstrom #john alfredsson #henrik sandelin #the character beta #the character lillith #the character satan

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jollyjolea · 5 years ago

Photo

I am a dancer, that is to say a conduit. I don't define movement, movement defines me. Every dance tells a story. A human mind.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=kbZPe9lawCs ----

Hadn't gone back down there too far, but I keep tripping and falling on my face, I'm not the best dancer.

For more of this hot garbage, visit my Tapas page https://tapas.io/series/Noodle-Doodles

#noodle_doodles #webcomic #comic #jollyjolea #drawing #digital_art #artist

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itsomgitsgreenblogging · 5 years ago

Text

Pour Over Me: A Critical Role fanfic, chapter 3

Well folks, we’re at the end. Yes I am aware of the latest episode...so....uh....I guess this fic isn’t canon compliant but you know what that’s alright. I don’t mind.

Thanks everyone for all the love and support! I really enjoyed writing this fic, and look forward to my next Shadowgast endeavor.

Enjoy!

Read on AO3

Read chapter 1 and chapter 2 on Tumblr

Warning: Explicit sexual content (starts with “Essek fell back into the bed with a huff of air that escaped his lungs” and ends with “ Caleb smiled against his lips, and made it all worth it.” )

Preview:

“This is the world I live in. It’s quite beautiful...but it’s hollow. I’m sure you understand why I prefer to be alone.”

“No one prefers to be alone,” Caleb told him. “No one. That’s just a lie we tell ourselves.”

“Oh? Are there any other nuggets of wisdom you would like to impart upon me?” Essek asked sarcastically.

“I did cut in because you looked uncomfortable...but I was uncomfortable too,” Caleb said, looking off to the side where Danton had disappeared into the crowd. The sharp line of his jaw was clenched. “I did not like the way he was touching you.”

The ballroom itself was a sparkling diamond with many facets alight with great lanterns and the setting sun. Those nobility who had been lucky enough to receive an invitation were dressed in all the finery that could be found in the kingdom. Some in traditional Xhorhassian cuts, others in the foreign vivid fabrics of Nicodranas, some splashed with silks from Pride’s Call, while some wore jewelry work from Uthodurn. Essek did his duty, greeting the most powerful denmothers who lined the way to the Bright Queen’s throne who had taken their places as they had been introduced. The throne itself was empty, the Bright Queen would join them all last. She always did love the dramatic, Essek thought ruefully. It was normal enough that it made his smile feel more genuine upon his face. Thankfully he could hide his trembling hands in his long sleeves.

“Shadowhand,” Skysybil greeted, lantern-eyes gleaming. She was seated, dressed in fine black and white robes as her long intricate braids hung by her sunken wrinkled cheeks.

“Honored Skysybil,” Essek said with a deep bow before he moved on. Usually he would take his place by her, but since he had been tasked with keeping his eye on the Mighty Nein, he went ahead to find them. It didn’t take long to cross their paths as they all stood as a garden of colors amongst the extravagant guests. Before Essek could even get a word in edgewise, Jester bounded up to him with her abundance of energy and nearly bowled him over in her enthusiasm.

“Oh. My. Gods!” Jester squealed, rushing up and grasping his hands. “You look so beautiful, Essek. Were you hiding that outfit under your mantle the whole time? And are those heels?”

“They would be,” Essek said, turning his heeled boots to the side. Along the side of his shoes groups of crystals clustered together like natural geometric formations. He had been quite fond of them and their design, especially considering that when he wasn’t floating he tended to be even more lithe and small than the average drow. Any advantage of height he got was a good one, it helped him keep the illusion of power at least.

“You look…” Caleb’s voice cracked and splintered. Essek looked up, to see Caleb staring at him. The depth of emotion on his face was hard for him to parse out, but all Essek knew was that the look sent shivers down his spine. Essek was about to say something, but the sound of strings caught his attention.

“Ah, the Opening Dance is about to start,” Essek said, strangely grateful for the distraction.

Around the dancefloor, all of the guests gathered to watch the beginning. The Bright Queen descended down the stairs with the Dusk Captain, her wife. She was the moonlight catching the waves, as her dress sparkled and shimmered with every step as if it were alive. The Bright Queen took her place in the center of the floor as the Dusk Captain taking her hands reverently. The audience bowed and curtsied to them first, showing reverence to their majesties. The Dusk Captain then kneeled, took the Bright Queen’s hand, and kissed it. This elicited a delighted gasp from a few of the Mighty Nein. Essek though was trained on the Bright Queen’s expression...soft and longing as she drew near to her wife.

Their bodies pressed together as closely aligned like the two halves of the moon. And then with the swelling strings they began to dance. Heels flicked, the Bright Queen's dress flashed in the lantern light. They moved like one being, like they shared breath and heartbeat and life. Every move one took was balanced perfectly by the other as they swept across the dancefloor like the oncoming tide rushing in to the beach.

"They are so beautiful," Yasha whispered, her colorful gaze full of longing.

"They are two souls as one," Essek said back, looking forward so that his gaze wouldn't betray anything...the yearning that carved itself into his bones as he watched the Dusk Captain lift his Queen, and she melted into her arms. "Bound together by fate for all eternity, they dance. They are souls completely intertwined, with their bodies acting as a sacred conduit instead of a barrier. That is the meaning of this dance, and for us, romance. They are our highest ideal."

Essek didn't say that the first time he had seen them dance he had cried in an empty room. Their love had made him desolate...it had ravaged his heart completely. For in the face of such splendor, how could he ever find anything to compare? He didn’t say that he had long since taken to watching them, never joining in on the dance. There was so little that was beautiful about this world and this country...he had often felt that he had to savor whatever little things he could.

The tempo began to change, and the dancers began to sweep to the sides, ready to enter the space that the Bright Queen had made holy.

“It is time,” Essek told the Mighty Nein. “Pair up.”

Just as practiced, they paired off. Essek went to step back, to attempt to disappear within the crowd where it was safe, but immediately he was caught. Caleb’s hand was outstretched to him, and Essek raised his face to meet his gaze.

“Would you dance with me?” Caleb asked, his voice like a small fledgling riding upon wings of hope...so easily dashed by harsh winds. And so much of him wished to say no, to duck back into formality and courtly manners because they would all see him. It would be just like Adore said, his heart would bleed out upon that sacred space that the Bright Queen and the Dusk Captain had anointed with their love and everyone in the dynasty would know that Caleb had his heart. They would know what Essek had hardly admitted to himself...but now could no longer hide. They would all know that Essek was in love with Caleb.

But if this is your only chance to hold him...could you bear to pass it up? Would you ever forgive yourself if you didn’t let yourself live in this bright shining moment? Essek thought to himself, steeling his spine and fishing into the depths of his courage. Be rebellious. Be courageous.

“Yes,” Essek said, barely recognizing his own voice. He pushed through it regardless. He took Caleb’s hand, and he was swept out to the floor with the rest of the dancers.

His hand pressed into the small of Essek’s back, branding his touch over shoulder blades. Despite all the layers, Essek could feel him and he didn’t fight it. He pressed his chest close, his cheek almost brushing the hollow of his neck. The music moved them across the floor with all the other dancers...allies...enemies...all of them spiders on a web that tangled them all up together inextricably. But they didn’t matter as Essek’s fingers trailed from Caleb’s arm to his back, and as Caleb spun them with tight almost militaristic precision. Patterns. Dancing was patterns, magic was made of patterns. To someone else, it may have seen impersonal but when Essek caught his gaze his eyes were glimmering with desire.

The music echoed distantly in Essek’s ears, all that mattered was Caleb’s warm breath...the scent of woodsmoke and something sweet and something distinctly male. Essek’s palm found the ridges of his ribs as Caleb’s fingers for a moment ghosted from Essek’s neck, down his arm, to grasp his hand and lead them into another turn and spin. Essek’s body...the cup in which his soul was residing, was overflowing with this touch.

There was magic in this, Essek thought as he leaned back into a dip. He was resonating with it. This he would remember, he would be sure of it. Even as everything else slipped from his grasp one day, he would remember the moment where he was sure that he too had been transformed by his own love. He had found something divine and sacred in a world where the sacred was as rare as touching a star. Essek had never enjoyed the light, it had been too hard for him to bear. But now, he was drawn to the beat of Caleb’s heart like a moth drawn to flame and without it he was sure to be left cold.

“Essek,” Caleb said, voice caught in the exertion of the dance, and the sound was so pleasing that it pulled on something deep and primal inside of him.

“Caleb?” Essek asked as they turned into the last movements of the dance. They danced, Essek’s leg hooked to Caleb’s. He cradled Essek’s back as he raised his hand in the finishing posture as the song ended. There was the loud sound of clapping from all the onlookers that rained over them, for a moment blocking out everything but the puff of Caleb’s breath and his cheeks stained red.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Caleb whispered.

Essek’s voice was caught in his throat, and all he could do was smile in return. He took Caleb’s hand, and kissed it.

----

Essek was in the depths of his first glass of wine, watching as the ball continued. The dancers continued their twirling to a litany of Xhorhassian classics as the bards continued their well practiced tunes. He had stationed himself at the edge of the ballroom in a private corner away from the gossiping ladies who flitted about like a colorful array of tropical birds in the dangerous jungle of society, but of course there was always one such bird who attempted to rope him in to some asinine nonsense.

“Come along, Essek,” Adore said, hooking his arm with hers. She was dressed in a beautiful sunset-orange gown with a daring low back, and her smile flashed at her husband who waved at her from his own conversation. Her horns glittered with golden jewelry, and her face nearly sparkled in the low light. “You must say hello to the ladies.”

“You must be awfully bored if you are attempting to add me to the conversation,” Essek noted, before putting on his professional face. Immediately though, he saw the game Adore was attempting to play as Lady Kilsek looked up from her glass. He was half tempted to just stop walking in the middle of the room, but thought better of it. No need for any more unnecessary drama this evening. After all, he was sure there would be plenty to have.

“Lord Shadowhand,” Lady Kilsek said with a gracious bow of her head. Lady Kilsek, the matriarch of Den Kilsek, was an ancient drow woman in her third life...though soon it would be her fourth. The other ladies at the table all made moves to get up and curtsy, but Essek waved them off with a practiced smile that felt slick upon his face.

“My lady,” Essek said, plucking her outstretched hand and bowing. “How are you and your kin?”

“Blessed by the light upon this day,” Lady Kilsek said. “And by good company, of course. And entertainment.”

Essek followed her gaze to where Nott was currently engaged with her fourth glass of wine, and Beauregard and Fjord were laughing at the faces Jester was making as she told some story. Caduceus, Yasha, and Caleb were off somewhere in the crowd, beyond where Essek could see. They were rowdier than polite company would allow, clearly designated by the way the other nobility had placed at least one table between themselves and the Mighty Nein, but they were having fun.

“They are quite the handful,” Essek said simply.

“They did well in the Opening Dance,” Lady Omryn said as she fanned herself with a delicately painted fan. “I hear that was yours and Adore’s doing, hm?”

“As our Queen required,” Essek said with a simple nod as he took the free seat.

“I was especially surprised by their grace,” Lady Destor giggled, plucking a flute of liquor from a servant. “Who knew those boorish Empire types could pick up our dance with such ease! It gives me hope for their types, you know, when the war is over.”

When we have absorbed their country, destroyed their culture, and have enslaved their citizens to our wills more like, Essek thought, resisting the urge to snort. What a joke.

“They are an eclectic group of individuals from different countries across Wildemount,” Essek said as he folded his hands upon his lap. Lady Destor looked like she was about to say something else, when the moment that Essek had been dreading arrived. Sir Danton appeared naturally as if this had not been planned. Essek revealed nothing, his face surely still a pool of calm.

“Grandmother,” Sir Danton said, bowing and kissing his grandmother’s hand. There was a look that passed between them, and then Danton looked towards Essek. “Lord Shadowhand.”

“Blessed be,” Essek said with the slightest inclination of his head.

“Lord Shadowhand, if you would do me the honor of the next dance?” Sir Danton asked, offering his arm. Essek stood up in a fluid motion as he knew he was unable to refuse, feeling Adore’s eyes and he knew his mother’s somewhere. He took Sir Danton’s arm and allowed him to lead him out onto the dancefloor as the next song began. Essek looked at Danton with a clinical gaze, categorizing his features like he was studying his runes. He did cut a handsome figure, with broad strong shoulders for their rather small race. When his hand moved a bit too languidly against his back Essek leveled a look.

“As a warrior, I would have thought you would have more control over your movements,” Essek commented coolly. The hand moved back to somewhere much more appropriate as they spun, corrected as if it were nothing but a slip during the dance.

“Forgive me, Lord Shadowhand,” Danton chuckled, cavalier in the face of Essek’s quiet anger. “I just thought this is what you enjoyed, considering what I saw in the Opening Dance.”

“You certainly got an eyeful of something,” Essek noted as he seethed. “Though your capacity for imagination is impolite at best, coarse at worst.”

“Now, we both know better than that,” Danton said, moving them closer in time with the music. Essek felt cold and somehow even more detached, moving impersonally with the steps. “I am not a jealous man. In fact, I quite enjoy a show of passion...regardless of the recipient.”

“A voyeur then,” Essek said with a roll of his eyes. “How lovely.”

“There it is...that disdainful expression, I do like that about you.”

"All you like about me is my face," Essek scoffed.

"Of course I like your face," Danton chuckled, fingers stroking along the back of his hand. "You are quite arresting, and you know that. I like your vanity as well."

"Clearly," Essek said, hoping beyond all hope the dance would end soon. “Forgive me that I could not give you a smile as delicate as the sliver of the waning moon.”

"Ah, how utterly cruel of you. I do like your cruelty," Danton purred, face close. "Does your pet enjoy that about you as well? Do you take him into the dungeon to show him what you are truly like? Or are you afraid he would flinch from you?"

"You know nothing about me," Essek commented, unable to help the way his voice went hard and cold as ice. He itched to cast a spell that would truly let Danton know what he was really like, but managed to control himself.

"You are right, you make yourself uniquely unknowable. But I would have all the time in the world to know you, if you would let me."

"You are a small man with smaller thoughts," Essek snapped. "You already bore me, I doubt I could stand you for longer than just this dance."

"You will regret loving him. It is only a matter of time, Essek."

“I don’t believe I gave you permission to call me by my name,” Essek reminded him.

“You are right, but of course, your mother did give me permission...when she granted me her blessing as your denmother.”

"If there is one thing you should know about me, it is that my Denmother's opinion matters little to me. In fact, if she has given her approval to you, you are the last man in the entire world who I would ever consider marrying--"

Essek was about to say something else that was probably far more rude when Danton spun him, and then Essek was pulled out of Danton’s grip.

"If you’ll allow me to cut in," Caleb said, giving Danton a glare. Essek started, and Danton bowed in defeat.

“Of course,” Danton said, before he could say no more because Caleb half whisked him away. Essek followed the steps for a few moments before being unable to resist sighing.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Essek chastised him, but regardless he melted back into Caleb’s arms. It should have been horrifying...embarrassing...just how easy it felt to slip back into his embrace and into the rhythm of their dance. But instead, it was the most comfortable he had been all night, the smile that had so grated against his face felt natural once more.

“Why? He was obviously making you uncomfortable,” Caleb said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I am not good at social cues, but even I could tell that much.”

“Oh it is all just a stupid game,” Essek huffed.

“Game?”

“Have you had the distinct honor of meeting my mother yet?” Essek asked Caleb, whose brows furrowed as they moved into a longer promenade.

“Lady Theylss...yes, I did.”

“I’m sure she was lovely and considerate and said wonderful things about me,” Essek said tiredly. “And that is the man she has given permission to court me, without my input, because it suits her best to have me under her thumb at all times.”

“Why would she do that to you?” Caleb asked, sounding more concerned than Essek had ever deserved. It would have been heartwarming, if it hadn’t been so foolish. He didn’t need Caleb to be worrying about him. It just made it harder to separate his fantasies from the reality he lived in.

“I’m sure in her head it all makes perfect sense, and I ought to follow conventions and do my humble duty with a smile on my face. I…I just can’t seem to squash my own feelings. Really, having emotions is quite cumbersome,” Essek explained, resting his cheek against Caleb’s shoulders. “It just tires me, is all.”

“Would she force your hand?”

“No, she would try to convince me or blackmail me, but I’m too wily to fall for such a thing, and too willful. My mother knows I would rather burn down everything than succumb to her tricks, and she would rather corner me,” Essek said, pulling his head back slightly to look Caleb in the eye. “This is the world I live in. It’s quite beautiful...but it’s hollow. I’m sure you understand why I prefer to be alone.”

“No one prefers to be alone,” Caleb told him. “No one. That’s just a lie we tell ourselves.”

“Oh? Are there any other nuggets of wisdom you would like to impart upon me?” Essek asked sarcastically.

“Don’t,” Essek warned him, though it sounded too close for begging for his own ears. “Don’t.”

“Essek?” Caleb asked, the concern in his voice striking him like an arrow to the chest.

This was no good, Essek thought desperately. It was one thing to be in love with Caleb, to know that and accept it. To hold him in his arms...but to not cross the line that was so obviously drawn in the sand. But this was something else entirely… it was treading into dangerous waters. Essek could never have the things he wanted. It was one of the unwritten rules of his universe...that the world would conspire against him in some way any time he even thought he might receive even the smallest of concessions in return.

“You aren’t being fair,” Essek told him. “You can’t just…”

“Essek...I…” Caleb spoke, but it sounded like he was struggling against the waves as well. It almost made Essek laugh...and it almost made him cry.

As soon as the dance ended, Essek tried to extricate himself from Caleb’s grasp. He really did try. But he couldn’t seem to find it in himself to let go of Caleb’s hand. He wished he could just rip his traitorous heart straight from his chest, to let it crumble to ash and be swept away on the currents of the wind. But Caleb instead continued to hold his hand, to lead Essek somewhere...though he could barely focus until Caleb stopped and released his hand.

“You’ve shared so much with me,” Caleb said quietly, turning to face him as he closed the door behind him with a click. “Would you allow me to share something with you?”

Essek finally came out of his head, back to his body, and saw that they were out onto a balcony, blissfully alone. The sound of the dance and the laughter echoed from inside as light poured from the other balconies. For a moment he gripped the railing of the balcony, looking out at the city that settled like a glistening tidepool on a distant shore. Even now there were the sounds of celebration as the Parade of Lanterns continued through the streets. It may as well have been a different planet with the distant ruddy moon peeking out from behind the veil of night and the larger one glowing in the sky so brightly that it almost hurt.

Essek nodded and when Caleb held out his hand, he took it. Caleb began dancing with Essek, leading him through a simple four step dance. And yet, despite the simpleness of the step, the dance itself was elegant and smooth. It reminded Essek of watching children skate over ice in the center of Rosohna. He had never been allowed to do such childish things...but often he had watched them...he had yearned for something similar. After he began to float he learned the cost of such childish wishes. Somehow he was always punished for the things he wanted...even if they were the smallest of things.

It was strange though because he was so used to their dances. But this dance was a different type of intimacy. Instead of the representation of passion, it was something else. It was like something delicate and fragile was budding between them, the way that the druids called flowers to grow from barren ground. The sound of the music grew more distant, their movements grew slower...and quieter, until Caleb was simply holding him. Essek caught his gaze, and something electric passed between them. His mouth went dry.

“You mean a great deal to me, though I can’t say that I believe that I deserve it,” Caleb said softly.

“What are you trying to say?” Essek asked him, and just that comment was enough to tear him from his revelery. He didn’t realize he was floating until he bobbed as Caleb’s hand continued to grip his forearm. “You don’t deserve it? Don’t deserve what?”

“I don’t deserve your...your consideration,” Caleb said, squeezing Essek's hands in his own desperately trying to keep them occupied. “And I certainly don’t deserve your kindness. And I know...I know that sounds terrible. I wasn’t attempting to use you in a political game. I overstepped, I allowed my feelings to overshadow my logic. I know you don’t feel the same, but--”

“Stop it,” Essek demanded,pulling a hand away and holding it up. “Stop it, you are being mean. Stop it!”

Caleb froze, a small animal caught in a trap. Essek attempted to breathe past the frustration that was welling up inside of him, he took a single step back. All he wanted was to remain in Caleb’s arms, soaking up his warmth, but he couldn’t bear it.

“Mean…?” Caleb echoed.

“Kindness?” Essek parroted back to him incredulously. “Consideration? Why are you ascribing me the barest modicum of...of decency and yet you think so lowly of yourself?”

“That isn’t--”

“What do you think you do not deserve? You don’t deserve my kindness? My consideration? My decency?” Essek demanded, eyes stinging with his own tears. “I barely have any of those things to spare myself or anyone else, and yet I have given it all to you...and found more of that within me while loving you! You already have all those things and my heart. Are my feelings that mysterious to you...you...you utterly obtuse moron?!”

“Essek,” Caleb said as he moved closer.

“I won’t do it,” Essek snapped, fists clenched. “I won’t do it! Not when I’ve already made such a fool out of myself, loving you. I have more respect for myself than that--I have to have more respect for myself than that. I am the only one who does--!”

“Essek,” he whispered, drawing even closer but Essek couldn’t breath, he couldn’t stop the fact his heart was pouring out over Caleb.

“--and everyone else I’ve ever met has only ever viewed me as an object. All I’ve ever done is provide what others need, and I’ve received paltry scraps in return and I was happy with that and being alone, until you and your friends came along and ruined me--!” Essek gripped Caleb’s wrist as he cupped his face and turned it up tenderly, like he was the most precious thing he had ever held. “--take responsibility for this, you bastard!”

“Essek, I’m sorry,” Caleb whispered, completely shattering Essek. He breathed it against his lips, so close to him that they could almost... “I’m sorry that I...I never wished to make you cry.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry, I don’t want that,” Essek told him, finally working up the courage to look at Caleb directly. His expression was searching...longing...soft with grief and something deeper and more ardent. He couldn’t stand it, so he turned away. He looked at the balcony. They were only a few feet off the grounds that led into the royal garden. Twisting his wrist, he hopped over the balcony and settled on the ground.

“Essek--”

“You’re wrong about me,” Essek said, schooling his voice into something professional. “I cannot allow myself or you to be destroyed by what we have between us, so, if that is the case we best end whatever this is here and now.”

“Is that what you are so afraid of?” Caleb demanded hotly. He swung a leg over the railing of the balcony.

“Wait, Caleb, no--”

Caleb swore as he jumped to the ground, almost teetering over but managing to catch himself at the last minute. Essek looked at him and saw his jaw set in a stubborn line.

“Why are you following me?” Essek snapped, walking further into the royal gardens.

“You are afraid of them? Of what they will think of us? I have lived my whole life absolutely terrified, and I am not going to be afraid to love you,” Caleb’s words punched Essek right in the gut as he pointed back to the balcony they had both jumped off of. He tried to suck in air, to breathe, past the desperate hammering of his heart but it had jumped up in his throat.

“No,” Essek nearly hissed, swatting at his hand. He was thankful he knew the gardens well, or else he would have ended up tripping over a lightly glowing flower.

“You can’t tell me no! I love you. I can control my feelings for you as much as I can control the fucking sun rising and setting!”

“You barely know anything about me,” Essek told him, stamping his foot on the cobblestone path. “And they will hurt you, and I will hurt you...you don’t understand what they are like! You don’t understand what I am like!”

“I think out of everyone in the world, you would know I can understand,” Caleb said as Essek finally stopped by the fountain. The weight of what Caleb was saying was settling on his shoulders and making it almost impossible to move away, the horrible, seductive, wonderful words that he couldn’t allow to piece his carefully constructed armor. “Why is it that you are allowed to love me but I am not allowed to love you, that you think your demons are somehow stronger than mine and the burdens you bear are heavier? I would do everything with you, if only you asked. I thought that was obvious, but clearly it wasn’t.”

“I will lose you,” Essek said with a laugh that had a sour bitter twist to it. “I lose everything I love. No, it’s not just that...I am always abandoned or failed. It all just slips away from me...it becomes impure and tainted somehow. I don’t have anything real. I don’t have a real family...I’ve never had real friends or even love. I am not even sure which one of me is the real me, is it me here or is it the one who was out in the ballroom or is it the one who I am when I am alone. I don’t even know myself anymore, and it doesn’t matter.”

“I will not lie to you and say that one day you won’t lose me...you will. I am human, not a fool--”

“Is this supposed to convince me somehow?” Essek interrupted incredulously. “You are doing an absolutely outstanding job. Would you like a handshake?”

“So what’s the alternative, I live my life without loving you and being loved by you in return?” Caleb asked shaking his head and shuddering like that really was some kind of horrendous fate. Essek searched his expression for some show of facetiousness, but saw nothing but honesty. That alone was enough to hollow his belly further. “No, no. I won’t do that.”

“You don’t get to make that decision,” Essek said, jabbing a finger in his direction. “I will do whatever it is I want to.”

“So you’ll stop loving me then?”

“I will! Just watch me!” Essek shouted, throwing his hands up indignantly.

“Sheisse, are you always this stubborn for the sake of all the gods!”

“I am, and if you don’t like it then just admit you don’t actually love me.”

“Nein, I still love you.”

“Stop saying that!” Essek hissed.

“And I know you love me, you wouldn’t be trying this hard to push me away if you didn’t. Trust me, I know a thing or two about that sort of behavior.”

“You are making it very difficult to love you, considering how much I hate you right now,” Essek said as he glared up at the star-filled sky. “Luxon protect me.”

“What I was going to say before you interrupted me, was that one day I will lose you or you will lose me. I’ve lost enough in my life...I know how terrifying and horrendous it can be. It eats you up...like...ah, I don’t know the word in Common. The...the worms that grow in meat--”

“Maggots? Grubs?” Essek offered, though Common wasn’t his first language either.

“Yes,” Caleb said fist in his hand. “That. But, that fear...somehow you can grow from it. I did that with my friends once...I would do it with you too. It doesn’t matter to me if we never kiss, or touch. Or if we never get married, or if that dance we had is the last time I ever held you in my arms. Just being by your side for the rest of my comparatively short life, knowing that we love each other would be enough.”

“It wouldn’t be enough,” Essek said, more sure of that than anything else in this life.

“Essek?”

“Just being with you wouldn’t be enough. I’d at least want to hold your hand every day,” Essek admitted, sneaking his hands into his own sleeves. Though he told himself it was to hide their shaking once more, it was mostly because he wished to so badly reach for Caleb in that moment.

“Oh?” Caleb asked, sounding surprised at the confession. Essek was too, honestly.

“And...I’d want to sit beside you,” Essek said, looking at Caleb. “Every night...I have a fireplace in my second tower I haven’t used in thirty years. I would make you light it, because I love watching you do magic.”

“If we are on the topic of necessities, I wasn’t being completely honest, I have to tell you now. I would need at least three cats. Frumpkin will always be my number one but, two others,” Caleb said very gravely.

“I do like Frumpkin,” Essek said fretfully, pacing...though he was gliding, because he didn’t know what else to do with his body, “I’m just a little concerned about them getting somewhere they shouldn’t. Maybe just in the residence tower?”

“That is a solid proposal.”

“I’m an absolutely horrendous cook too,” Essek admitted breathlessly. “I usually have a servant or two but...if it’s more than just me I may need to invest in a cook. Would you require them to cook Empire food or would--”

“I’m not picky at all, really if you didn’t it would be fine. Essek--”

“No, no you don’t understand I can’t be responsible for you dying. Even if you will die...one day, oh you know what I’m trying to say don’t you?” Essek demanded.

“I do. Essek...since we are on the topic tangentially...how do you feel about kissing?” Caleb asked, drawing close.

“Kissing?” Essek repeated, feeling as if someone had lobbed a feeblemind in his direction. Essek moved back and Caleb didn’t push into his space, instead he let Essek go. “How do you know the word tangentially but not the word maggot?”

“I don’t think you are focusing on the right part of the question, though, I can’t answer that question besides just admitting my mind works in strange ways?”

Essek paused and reoriented himself so that he was looking at Caleb more directly.

“Do you mean kissing in general or just you?”

“I...well both I suppose, though I hope you would mostly be kissing me, though, I have no qualms if you also would kiss others as long as we perhaps discussed it first. That’s not...I am not a jealous man.”

“You were jealous earlier!”

“I was angry, because he was treating you in a way that was making you clearly uncomfortable--”

“And you were jealous.”

“Ach...perhaps a little...he was very handsome, and you...also…” Caleb trailed off, ears reddened.

“To answer your question, I feel...fine about kissing. I would want two kisses a week.”

“Two?” Caleb asked, sounding utterly aghast. “Only two?”

“You said I would be enough, it’s time to live up to your word,” Essek pointed out.

“Could I bargain for five a week if we have one less cat?”

“You are lying, and I know that because you would never trade a cat for anything.”

“You know me well.”

“I think...I...I would feel differently about kissing, if I am kissing you,” Essek said softly. “All of the other kisses I’ve had before...they were from people who didn’t love me. It was the same with sex. It was a lot of sticky and messy and panting and then quiet and I just didn’t…”

“Essek, I was being serious when I said--”

“I didn’t love them, Caleb,” Essek told him firmly. “And I...I said two because I don’t want you to think I'm greedy. I’ve wanted to kiss you almost every time I’ve seen you, nothing you do will change that.”

“If I may admit it, that makes me feel relieved,” Caleb laughed. “Since I’ve felt the same way for a long while now.”

“Oh,” Essek said, without having anything better to say to fill the air.

“Are you still hoping to convince me to stop loving you, because I don’t think you are being successful.”

“This was all hypothetical,” Essek said simply. “Loving me is still a foolishness you should not allow yourself to dabble in.”

“That’s not the way love works, you and I both know it.”

“All we’ll do is talk in circles...I’ll just keep orbiting around you,” Essek bemoaned. “Don’t you see? This is what you get for loving me. I won’t be able to change that, nor how I feel about this. Maybe you are right, I'll admit it. I am a vain man, not an idiot. I am in love with you and want a life with you, but I can’t have those things with you.”

“What stops us?” Caleb asked. “You are one of the most powerful people in the Dynasty, and I am not too bad in a scrap myself.”

"But they--"

“Fuck them!”

“You know there is more to it then that,” Essek said with a sidelong look. "Don't act a fool, I know you are not one. It is what makes you attractive to me to begin with."

“I know there is but I don’t care. If this is what we both want, then...then we should just do it,” Caleb told him. “A life together is what I am offering, Essek. In whatever form you would prefer, for the rest of my days.”

"That is a paltry sum to be negotiating for," Essek noted. "You should have asked for all the secrets of dunamancy, or something--"

"I don't think so. You are the greatest treasure I believe I could ever hope for. Even with your irrational practicality included. Though, I can't help but hope I also learn some more secrets. You are a wonderful teacher."

"But what of your friends?"

"What about them? They all adore you."

"You will want to be with them, and a life adventuring and a life with me are in direct conflict. I am not the adventuring type."

"I don't see how, I won't adventure forever. I'm 33 and my knees are already in rough shape."

"Now you are messing with me. And on top of that...your goals," Essek said. "I know for a fact you have important goals. Things that you have kept a secret from me.”

“I will not lie to you, and say I do not have other goals besides peace and...bringing down the Cerberus Assembly. What I have done in my life...perhaps I would never be able to right those wrongs if I had a thousand lifetimes. But maybe…”

“I could be sustained for a thousand lifetimes on the small kindnesses you have already shown me,” Essek admitted, “but I’m not sure I can weather the heartache.”

“My life has been a thousand heartaches, but just recently I’ve come to see that to cherish is to overcome that.”

“And you would cherish me?”

“I already do,” Caleb said with a frown. “Was that not obvious?”

“I…” Essek searched for the words but failed.

“I will love you and cherish you for the rest of my life,” Caleb promised him, taking his hand, lifting it, and kissing it. Essek stopped floating, and let his feet touch the ground. “I won’t ask you to do the same, but even if it’s just for the sliver of time in which we share a life...would you love and cherish me?”

“I already do,” Essek admitted. “And I want to promise myself to you...more than anything.”

“Then why won’t you?”

“I won’t be able to stop loving you,” Essek said, trying to keep his voice from cracking under the weight of all of this--of this moment in time that he never wanted to abandon. “I wasn’t able to stop myself from falling in love with you, how can I stop myself from loving you?”

“Kiss me,” Caleb asked, cupping Essek’s face in his hands. “Essek...kiss me.”

Essek pressed up on his toes, and kissed Caleb.

The kiss itself was short and soft, their mouths closed and Essek’s fingers clenched on Caleb’s shoulders. But kissing Caleb was like clinging to a flame. There was a flash of heat so intense that Essek was afraid he would burn with it, and yet, the moment he pulled away his mouth felt strangely cold. Caleb’s eyes met his, and he released a shaky breath. His face was flushed, his eyes dilated and glistening in the lowlight. Caleb’s tongue darted out to lick his lips, as if tasting the flavor of their kiss on his lips.

“Caleb,” Essek said, his voice breathless and strange to his own ears. He could barely hear it over the frantic butterfly beating of his own heart. “Again...please--”

Essek couldn’t even finish the request, Caleb was already ducking down once more to claim his mouth. He melted into Caleb’s arms even further. Another kiss turned to two, three, then four, and then somewhere along the line Essek lost track. Caleb gasped as his tongue brushed Essek’s sensitive incisor, and Essek shivered at the taste of Caleb’s mouth and the feeling of his hair twisted in his fingers.

Finally, they had to part to breathe. Essek's mouth tingled and he could almost taste Caleb upon his lips still. Caleb's lips parted with his own breath as he reached his arms out hesitantly. Giving in to what he had wanted for so long, Essek curled his arms around Caleb's back in an embrace.

"I would love you for a thousand lifetimes," Caleb whispered, just for his ears, tucking him against his chin.

"Oh Caleb," Essek sighed, burying his face in Caleb's neck. "I know."

---

Essek fell back into the bed with a huff of air that escaped his lungs. Unhurriedly, Caleb pulled Essek’s boots off, and helped to slide off Essek’s trousers with the same reverence as someone opening a treasured spellbook. Caleb hummed, taking one of Essek’s legs into his hands. He couldn’t help the way he shivered at the sensation of calloused fingers squeezing and rubbing at the muscle there.

“You are so beautiful,” Caleb moaned, kissing his shin...the inside of Essek’s thigh in languid unhurried kisses. His fingers traced the divot of his hips...as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Essek’s belly. “Every part of you.”

"You’re teasing,” Essek said, leveling his best annoyed look but it felt disingenuous even to him. He felt so warm, loose-limbed and love-sick. Essek’s whole body arched as Caleb tugged at his nipple. “Ngh!”

“Never,” Caleb told him, though his eyes sparkled with mirth. “I just wish to remember every part of you.”

Essek nearly growled, and yanked Caleb up to kiss him. They stayed that way for a long while, kissing and pressed skin to skin except for the last thinnest of barriers. Essek ran his foot against Caleb’s leg and was rewarded with a shiver and an obscene gasp that Essek wanted to repeat in his mind a million times over. Caleb’s hips canted forward, Essek dug his fingers into Caleb’s hips, and he could feel Caleb hot and hard against him. Suddenly, Essek could understand why someone would want to do this.

“Caleb,” Essek gasped, tearing his mouth from Caleb’s lips. The pleasure was almost too much suddenly.

"I want to feel you inside of me," Caleb said, pulling away. His eyes were a study in black-and-blue, his mouth was red, his skin was an utterly pleasing shade of cream and pink. Essek could follow the bursts of color...of freckles and silver scars across his skin and red hair across his body...and he was so beautiful for it all.

Essek’s mind reeled at the request. He had to admit to himself that he had probably read too many cheap romance novels, and what he knew about romance between humans was most likely extremely biased based on old anti-Empire sentiments. Rough, uncouth human men were always portrayed in a certain way. He had always been passive in his previous couplings… and Essek hadn’t minded the idea of being...well...dominated by Caleb to a certain extent. But this idea had Essek’s brain completely misfiring.

But practicality did have to come first.

“I’d come too quickly,” Essek admitted. “And I haven’t done this in a long while...we may need to work up to something like that. I may get...overwhelmed.”

“Ah...you probably have a point,” Caleb said, not looking offended or off-put. And Essek nearly fell in love with him all over again.

“Perhaps another time,” Essek offered, sitting up to curl his fingers in Caleb’s hair and pull him into another kiss. Just the action gave him an idea. “But considering how much you seem to like my legs, I think I have an idea.”

“I do love your ideas,” Caleb said, pressing a tender kiss to Essek’s temple that left him almost as breathless as rutting against Caleb had made him. He slid off his underclothes. Essek grasped the vial of oil from the side table, and upended it, pouring an obscene amount on his thighs. He could feel Caleb watching, gaze heated and mouth parted in longing, and he made a show of spreading his legs for Caleb once he felt that he was sufficiently prepared. He gave himself a cursory pump or two. His own arousal had been slowly simmering in the back of his mind, and he had forgotten how hard he was.

“Come here to me,” Essek beckoned, curling his finger towards Caleb. Caleb wasted no time, kneeling between Essek’s leg, grasping Essek by his thighs and closing his legs around his cock as he hooked them over one of Caleb’s shoulders.

“Oh, oh,” Caleb moaned unabashedly, he pressed down hard and thrusting into Essek’s thighs with little abandon. Watching Caleb’s expression dissolve into teeth-gritting, desperate pleasure had Essek taking his own cock into his hand. The mental thrill of this, of watching the man who loved him so desperately receiving so much pleasure from his body as he brushed over all of the sensitive parts of him, was just so good. It was addictive, if he was being completely honest.

“Caleb,” Essek moaned, twisting his hand in rhythm. “You’re making me filthy.”

“Wanna make you feel good,” Caleb nearly slurred, tip leaking and Essek could feel Caleb getting him wetter, and the glide of it getting smoother. “You feel so good, Essek.”

“Yes,” Essek gasped, shivering at the sound of his name being said like that. Like Caleb was desperate, like he was in love with him, like Caleb would tear the sky apart for him, like Caleb’s love could encompass him and destroy everything that he had worked for to build up his walls and he wouldn’t care. As long as Essek could have this, could have Caleb loving him and begging for him, he would do nearly anything.

“Essek, Essek!” Caleb gasped, slamming into Essek’s legs, rubbing against him in a way that had Essek throwing his head back. His efforts became more frantic around himself, curving his fist to get the right friction. With the way Caleb’s hips were twitching it wouldn’t be long, and he wanted to come with Caleb so badly it was tearing at his belly like some kind of feral beast but he knew he wasn’t close enough. It didn’t matter. His own pleasure seemed secondary to this.

“I love the way you touch me,” Essek admitted, his voice caught and breathless and pouring out of him unrequested. “Oh Caleb, please come. I want you to come so much, I want to see you. I’ve dreamed of this, wanted this for so long.”

“Essek,” Caleb groaned before spilling himself on Essek’s legs...on his cock and belly. The heat was striking and sudden. Essek managed to pull his legs off of Caleb’s shoulders, settling them bent on either side of Caleb. Breathless and dazed, Caleb looked at Essek with an expression so hungry that it left Essek bereft of a response. To Essek's surprise, his fingers traced the mess on Essek’s legs and belly. He paused and met Essek’s gaze. “You didn’t come.”

“No,” Essek confirmed, though, he was slightly confused at the direction of the conversation. “I can take care of it.”

“I want to make you feel good now,” Caleb said, leaning down, kissing his knee as he did so. “Won’t you let me?”

“I…” Essek blinked, surprised. “Yes, if you don’t mind?”

“Could I use my mouth?” Caleb asked, and Essek immediately felt himself blush so hard his ears ached. Caleb’s mouth twisted into a smile, and Essek was rendered so speechless that all he could do was nod. Caleb wasted no time, sinking down and enveloping Essek in a hot wet heat that had him twitching with pleasure. Caleb moved like he was starving for the taste of Essek’s cock and was eternally grateful to have it. He lapped at Essek’s cock as he caught his breath. “You seemed so surprised that I should want this, Essek...mmm, tell me, after everything you do, how could anyone not give you any pleasure you wished for?”

“Caleb, oh by the Luxon,” Essek cried as Caleb flicked his tongue over his cock, before taking him again. He was so close to the edge that he was trembling with it, it was building so fast that Essek almost couldn’t believe it. There were kisses and little scrapes as Caleb clearly experimented with what would bring Essek the most pleasure, leaving Essek totally helpless against it all.

“Anything you want,” Caleb promised. “Let me care for you, as you care for me.”

“Caleb, my light, please--!”

Caleb took him in deep one final time, and Essek came apart at the seams. Caleb sucked him through the most bone-shattering orgasm that Essek had ever achieved in his whole life, lazily releasing Essek with a pop when it was over. Essek was left drenched in sweat, completely limp and barely able to summon enough strength to pull Caleb into a long, amorous kiss. Though the taste of himself wasn’t the most pleasant, and his skin was still drenched in a mess of oil and fluid, it was perhaps one of the most fulfilling kisses of his whole life.

Caleb rolled over to settle next to him, hair a mused mess, lips swollen, eyes dreamy, looking well and truly fucked out. They stayed like that for a while, Essek letting his heart rate settle down to an acceptable pace, and Caleb catching his breath. Finally, some thoughts managed to settle back into Essek’s brain through the fog of their coupling and his love-drunkenness as he gazed at the series of bruises along Caleb’s neck, fang marks and hickeys that bloomed his skin into lovely colors that had to be relatively painful.

“I’m sorry for that,” Essek said, tracing the marks so delicately that he could barely feel Caleb’s skin...only the emenanting heat.

“Oh,” Caleb said, palming his neck and wincing slightly. “It’s alright, my clothing and scarf should cover it...and I could ask Caduceus to heal it later.”

“Not asking Jester is most likely a good idea,” Essek noted, managing to sit up. Caleb curled an arm around him, and he was thankful for the warmth. He cast a critical eye to his clothing, all crumpled up in a pile by his bedroom door and sighed. He would need to steam those at some point.

“Do you have a bath?” Caleb asked, kissing Essek’s ear. Naturally it twitched at the sensation of the stubble and the touch, and Essek could feel Caleb smile against it. “We should take one.”

“That sounds like a good idea to me,” Essek said, kissing Caleb once more...because he could. Caleb smiled against his lips, and made it all worth it.

---

“What the fuck did you do to Caleb?” Beau asked him roughly. Essek looked over the rim of his teacup at her. He was sitting at the edge of the hot tub, as Beau soaked her defined shoulders flexing with her question as she asked it. Essek had dipped his feet in, glad enough for the heat, and feeling totally at ease. It was a strange thing, but welcome.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Essek said, taking a sip. He sighed with pleasure as he did so. “Caduceus, this blend really is lovely. Did you grow everything here?”

“Aw, thanks so much,” Caduceus said with his usual kindly meandering demeanor as he sat down on the opposite side of the hot tub. He sipped at his own cup before reaching to give Fjord his own. “Some of it is from home, the rest is from here. Here you go Fjord.”

“Thanks Cad,” Fjord said, accepting the cup. He looked at it a bit skeptical before taking a sip.

“Stop getting off topic, he’s been all...weird since the night at the ball when you guys totally bailed,” Beau said, jabbing a finger in Essek’s direction.

“That was probably for the best though, your sister and your mom were pretty pissed,” Fjord pointed out. “Like, I’ve never had such an awkward conversation before in my whole life.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Essek noted, raising an eyebrow to Beau. “You won’t like the answer anyways, so it’s better not to know.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Beau demanded.

“It means that Essek and Caleb totally kissed,” Jester said in a sing-songy voice as she skipped in, with Nott and Yasha at her heels. All of them were in robes.

“Whatever you would like to think,” Caleb said, entering and settling next to Essek purposefully. Essek leaned against Caleb oh so slightly, curling the hand that was behind him in Caleb’s. His fingers interlocked with his easily, as if they had always been meant to be there. It was just like the tree or the dancing jars of sunlight in the Rosohna night...it shouldn’t have gone together and yet it did perfectly.

“They definitely fucked,” Yasha noted softly as she shed her robe and got into the hot tub with little decorum, and Essek inhaled his drink so quickly that it scalded him on the way down.

“Oh sheisse, Essek, are you alright?” Caleb asked, as Essek attempted to gain control of his voice.

“OH MY JESUS YOU DID?!” Nott shrieked, seemingly prepared to run across the water to do something. Jester stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Who the fuck is Jesus?” Jester demanded.

“I dunno, I think I heard that name somewhere,” Nott noted.

“He isn’t as cool as the Traveler!” Jester said forlornly. “You should be saying, oh my Traveler!”

“Jessie, I think you are focusing on the wrong thing,” Fjord said sheepishly. Yasha and Cad shared a look. Beau buried her head in her hands, and looked ready to drown herself.

“You were right, I didn’t want to know,” she said mournfully.

“Well, it was pretty good,” Caleb said with a confident snarky grin, totally meant to upset Beau who lobbed a splash of water at them both. Essek was hit, but somehow he couldn’t find it in his mind.

“Ew! Caleb! Don’t tell me about your sex life!”

Essek shook his head with a smile, and took another sip of tea.

#shadowgast #critical role #essek theylss #caleb widogast

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petalierre · 5 years ago

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i am a dancer, that is to say, a conduit.

#wut #meme #naruto #sasuke uchiha #sketch

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serenagaywaterford · 5 years ago

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Cate fan here. Cate and Elise explained the focus on Sofie in The Guardian, and in the ABC article that asks "why is the cast so white" where they call Sofie as their "trojan horse". We fully trust Cate in handling this passion project, especially as she and Andrew, her husband, have experience with working on issues concerning refugees. This series also has the support of Rau's sister and the UNHCR. I believe they picked the best of all approaches given this project's long development period.

Good for you. “We fully trust”??? Wtf dude. Who’s “we”? Some Blanchett hivemind?Glad you PERSONALLY fully trust some actor you don’t even know (who names her son after a convicted paedophile, or just jokes about it. *shrug*). I don’t. Nor should I have to.

Why do I get messages like this every fucking time I post my own stupid opinions on this show?

Look, I am not a Cate Blanchett stan. And I especially don’t think everything any actor does is immediately blessed by God and can never, ever be criticized or have weaknesses. I literally said I am going to be patient and see how this show turns out. And me saying Sofie’s story is the least interesting is ONCE AGAIN not stating it is shit and should be erased! You people take everything so black and white.

Here is a lesson for fans: not everything is an “all or nothing” situation. When I say Yvonne isn’t a great dancer, I am not saying she is fucking terrible and should never dance–which seems to be exactly what the lot of you heard last week based on the responses I got. I just said she isn’t the best ever at something that isn’t even her fucking job! FFS. I love Yvonne as an actress and think she’s absolutely fantastic, in Stateless and other shows. But that doesn’t mean I have to say she’s fucking fantastic at absolutely everything ever or else I lose my “cool fan” points. I don’t give a flying fuck what other people think about how much of a “true fan” I am.This week I say Sofie’s story is the least engaging and I get this random shit about how great Cate Blanchett is(?) and how Sofie is some “Trojan horse”. That doesn’t even make sense!!! Have any of you (them) actually read the Iliad? Being a Trojan horse isn’t a GOOD thing. Unless I guess you’re Achilles, lol. Generally speaking, it’s this: “Something that initially seems innocuous but is ultimately bad or malicious.” Maybe be more careful with words, lmao. I think maybe they meant “conduit”, or something similar. Unless they are actually insinuating that Sofie makes everything way worse for the detainees and is part of the problem. No, they mean she’s a trigger for recognition that something is very wrong in these places and she “brings down” the system–which is all idealistic, revisionist bullshit. Cos while Rau’s story made some big waves, it didn’t stop anything. Sure, SHE got out and so did the Palmer report, which changed some aspects of detention, esp for Australian citizens... And it unearthed like 200 other cases similarly brutal, like Vivian Solon.

“In politics, the precise relationship between cause and effect is usually unclear. Some of the things that happened in the six months following the release of Cornelia Rau would certainly have happened anyway. Some, most likely, would not. What is clear, however, is that the case of Cornelia Rau shaped public opinion about the treatment of asylum seekers in a way no previous episode had. The Cornelia Rau affair taught the public that the lazy trust it had placed in government – not to inflict on innocents serious harm – was unwarranted. It was able to do this, as almost everyone immediately understood, because the person who had suffered false imprisonment and neglect was not a swarthy, dark-skinned, Islamic outsider. She was “one of us”. If, in February 2005, it had been discovered that a mentally ill Australian woman of Iranian descent had been wrongfully imprisoned, the transformative effect on public opinion would almost certainly have been immeasurably less.”

But activists and doctors are STILL fighting the Australian government over conditions and the mental health concerns of current detainees. Which is what I assume Blanchett and co. are trying to inspire reaction to? Which is a good thing and absolutely nobody is saying it’s not. I am not saying: “Sofie fucking sucks! This whole show is garbage and doesn’t have any compassion for the refugee crisis! Kill her off and just focus on everyone else!” I am saying, of all the stories, hers is the least interesting and the least relevant to the issue of detention camps at this moment (in the show, in history). Obviously. I don’t even understand why this opinion bothers people??? Like, it’s just objectively true that it’s the least relevant to the real crisis and plight of actual refugees jailed in these prisons for years on end. The Rau case happened 15 YEARS AGO. The problem right now is not what happened to her, it’s what’s continuing to happen in other centers--currently.And if you want to talk seriously about mental health issues of detainees in a fictional sense, using a character who IS ALREADY MENTALLY ILL to highlight how these refugees end up suffering serious, chronic, and sometimes fatal mental illnesses is not the best way to do it. Like, jfc, it’s just… okay, I will need 50 pages to explain why this is not the best approach if you really want to talk about mental health in detention centres. You can’t use a rich white girl who had a devastating pre-existing illness that caused her to BE THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE as your mascot for “Look, how terrible this place is! Everyone goes crazy!” She was already fucked up, she was already so, so, so vulnerable, and this made it a million times worse. The stories that are important are the healthy, perfectly capable refugees from war-torn countries that end up there for NO reason and gradually through constant imprisonment, abuse, neglect, isolation, lack of privacy, and stress DEVELOP illness, and it goes unnoticed and untreated until you have a prison full of broken people, especially children who are trying to kill themselves. And a lot of this is due to the guards and government employees who are actively awful, or merely wilfully blind.

So, excuse me, for stating that SOFIE isn’t the most important character to focus on, or the most interesting. All Sofie’s story does is highlight how oblivious the guards/officials/etc is to the mental welfare of their prisoners, and the inherent problems with the system. Which, yes, is important to a degree but if you can’t get people to care about refugees without insisting the story revolve around a white person… I just… I dunno what to tell you.

Oh, wait, am I stepping on the precious toes of Cate and Yvonne stans? Whatever. Boo hoo. I don’t care. If you’re gonna make a show about such serious issues (including the portrayal of mental illness based on someone’s ACTUAL LIFE!!!), be prepared for people to get critical about the lack of nuance and sensitivity, and the use of TV tropes. And how fucking WHITE-FOCUSED it is. Because, guess what–if it wasn’t and if Cate/Yvonne/Jai/Asher wasn’t in it–you all wouldn’t even be watching this. How about we all just admit that? It has so much attention not because of the story or the issues (that I assume Blanchett wanted to address), but because of the cast and the focus on the white people.

I do not care how much a massively privileged, white, Hollywood star has worked with refugees. That doesn’t absolve them from having bias, making poor decisions, or falling prey to tropes in their film-making. They are HUMAN BEINGS, an especially human beings that live in a very strange otherword of celebrity, constant validation, narcissism, and money. So much money. They can seem like the most grounded people ever but they are not. Anybody who’s spent even 10 minutes in Hollywood knows this. It’s a thick BUBBLE completely detached from the real world we all live in. So, quit acting like these ACTORS are suddenly experts on foreign policy, immigration, governmental processes, politics, law, sociology, economics, mental health, and whatever else. Especially not bigger experts than critics who have spent their whole lives involved in these issues. (I’m not talking about me. I’m a biologist lol.) She is producing a FICTIONAL TV SHOW to raise… awareness? I guess? To me, as of right now, it’s just using “Sofie’s” real story and vaguely touching on some of the issues. And without all that much depth either. Yet.And pardon me if I don’t really care for Rau’s SISTER’S support of the show. It’s not her sister’s story to tell. Sorry. This is about Cornelia herself. (Yes, I have read Rau’s article.) And OF COURSE the UNHCR is supportive. They are supportive of anything that helps raise awareness in a positive way. And, PLEASE NOTE: I once again never said this was a shit show that needs to be cancelled cos it sucks so bad. It does serve a purpose but I have issues with the NARRATIVE STYLE AND DECISIONS they’re making in order to do that. It has nothing to do with the actual issues.Yet. Like, I’ve said a million times and nobody seems to hear, YET. It’s only 2 episodes in and it has plenty of time to get really into the deep issues. They’ve only just brushed over them right now, so I’m happily waiting for the big pay off.

But let’s not all act like this is the first ever attempt to bring awareness of this humanitarian crisis to mainstream Australians and Blanchett is some sort of national refugee activist hero. Like I’ve said before Safe Harbour (in terms of (sometimes soapy) fiction) and Chasing Asylum (in terms of documentary) and even Go Back To Where You Came From (lol reality tv) have all attempted this, and with some stellar results. Go watch any of those and tell me what Stateless is doing that is so amazingly unique and affective. Stateless is just bringing big Hollywood names to the issue, and trying to bring awareness. AND, amazingly, guess what! It doesn’t even have to be a GOOD show to do that. It can be mediocre and still reach the people Blanchett & Co. clearly want to reach and get people thinking. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing. And me criticising little bits of the programme (like Yvonne’s dancing/accent/choice to have her speaking English all the time, or the lack of focus on actual refugee stories, ffs) is not me saying the whole thing is boring, useless garbage and a waste of time. So, y’all need to hop off my dick for two seconds and not just assume that me talking about my opinion of its small weaknesses is saying I hope your faves choke. Gimme a break. And just in case you all are still pissed off about my complaints that Sofie’s story isn’t the most important focus ever, I’ll just dump a few links here:

‘Begging to die’: succession of critically ill children moved off Nauru

Australia: Reverse Cruel Refugee Policy

'Australia is a bigger cage’: the ongoing trauma of Nauru’s child refugees

How Australia turned its back on the world’s refugee crisis

Mental health crisis in Australia’s refugee camps

The mental health of asylum seekers in Australia and the role of psychiatrists

Christmas Island detention centre’s conditions stoke tension, detainee says

Australia blocks asylum seekers held offshore from seeking medical care in the country

Nauru: MSF report shows disastrous mental health impact of Australian refugee policy

‘Someone needs to say, enough’: Mental health on Manus Island

Nauru asylum seekers’ mental health as bad as torture victims, doctors say

Nauru detention centre: Abuse and trauma reports leaked

Australia’s man-made crisis on Nauru: Breaking Women

The Nauru files: cache of 2,000 leaked reports reveal scale of abuse of children in Australian offshore detention

Australia: Appalling Abuse, Neglect of Refugees on Nauru

Australia to reopen Christmas Island detention center after defeat on refugee policy

UN body says Australia breached human rights laws and needs to review Migration Act

And yes, most of these are offshore centres (some of which have effectively closed now), but it’s not even counting the ones actually in Australia itself, many of which are still operational: List of Australian immigration detention facilities

And yeah… The unknown story of Cornelia Rau. Just as a reality check of what Sofie’s story is meant to be. It’s absolutely horrifying, devastating and incredibly sad, and not something to be glamourised or sensationalised for woke points.

So, sorry (NOT SORRY) for saying Rau/Sofie’s story isn’t the most important part of this whole MASSIVELY COMPLEX thing, nor is it even close to the most interesting aspect of the crisis. I do get why they chose her story as a vehicle to unlock the issue for all the other white, middleclass Aussies (and others) watching but I still don’t think it’s the most interesting aspect of the SHOW. That’s all. I’m not saying it’s pointless to tell “Sofie’s” story, or that I don’t like it, or it’s entirely irrelevant. Just it’s not the most important thing to me.

I can’t believe I have to say this again but just so we are all on the same page:

I HAVE NO BIG PROBLEM WITH “STATELESS”. I DON’T HATE IT. IT IS A GOOD, WELL-ACTED, WELL-PRODUCED, ENGAGING, DECENT SHOW THAT IS ATTEMPTING TO TAKE ON A HUGE, COMPLEX ISSUE IN A VERY SHORT PERIOD OF TIME. I THINK IT’S ADMIRABLE THAT EVEN MORE ATTENTION IS TRYING TO BE BROUGHT TO THE ISSUE AND GOOD FOR BLANCHETT FOR PUSHING FOR IT. I JUST WANT MORE FOCUS ON THE RELEVANT ISSUES TO THIS TIME PERIOD.

What’s the point in raising awareness and putting heavy focus on something awful that happened 15 years ago and has been resolved (more or less, cos nothing is ever totally resolved in politics)? Let’s focus on the terrible shit that hasn’t been resolved yet. Acting like Sofie’s story would happen today is just so far from reality when you are aware of all the changes made and results of the Rau situation. Any criticisms I have of the show or its actors do not mean I hate the show and think it’s stupid and pointless. Just, if it was my show, I’d do it slightly differently. THAT’S ALL. But it’s not my show and I could never produce TV so don’t get all your knickers’ in a twist over my personal opinions about trivial shit. No need to come into my inbox on a weekly basis and try to school me about Yvonne, Cate, etc. I can have opinions on actors/TV shows, even if you think they’re stupid. If you think my opinions are wildly misinformed on politics/storytelling/etc, that's fair. Maybe they are. Tumblr is certainly not the best platform for me to lay out all my thoughts in a coherent way. But so far I don’t have anybody coming at me about the actual issues, just getting butthurt that I’m not kissing your fave’s ass. (Keep in mind, Yvonne is one of my fav actresses too. I’m just not insanely obsessed with her.)

God. I am turning off anon cos every week now I say anything even remotely, mildly critical of some minor aspect of Stateless I get bombarded with this kind of condescending shit from rabid stans of the actors. If you can’t put your name to it, I’m not interested in your thoughts anymore. Sorry. I’m tired. And my inbox is tired lol.

#you all act like i've kicked your puppy #and people wonder why so many people leave fandoms #this is exhausting #I LIKE STATELESS OK??? leave me alone.

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