#I think they tried to keep the factions a little too palatable for this to properly be explored but man the Shadows hold potential for some

[corvus-frugilegus]

Man it really just hit me that if the Shadow Dragons existed in a modern our world city just how fast the magisterium and mass media would be out there propagandizing and pushing the narrative that the Shadows are dangerous terrorists who want to overthrow the state (and probably speculate that they intend to implement all kinds of terrible reforms that threaten only the powerful should they succeed). The plight of the resistance.

No doubt the Magisterium on the whole and the Venatori ARE pushing a narrative like that across Tevinter. Probably what your Average Antivan or Nevarran knows about the Shadows IS the propaganda. (Dangerous, Looking to impose their own views on the People of Tevinter by force).

Part of the struggle for Resistance Fighters IS how consolidated and interconnected systems of power are and what that means for how people understand them. Even the Shadows Allies like Dorian or Legatus Mercar aren't doing so openly. The Shadows are dangerous to be affiliated with. The heat Rook takes on the Nesus job probably got them branded the lore appropriate equivalent of domestic terrorist. There is undoubtedly a price on Rook's head in Minrathous. The stakes for any Shadow in getting identified are Very High.

I think if we really saw much of Minrathous outside Dock Town the reaction to the Shadow Dragons would be very different. Rook would probably be very on edge about being recognized.

Rook is infact probably very politically inconvenient for the Mercar family, even if the Mercar's agree with them entirely because of how much resisting oppression from within a system of power is a game of optics.

[gatheredfates]

Tonberry - Tell a story of a time you were blinded by rancor! Is it still ongoing, did you act upon it, does it compel your actions?

Hi, my name is Sea, and I have a lot of thoughts about how utterly fucked up Ishgard is as a nation. I'm putting it under a readmore because there's a lot of dark topics involved (and I ranted a bit).

I've explored bits of it here, here and here, mostly through Elandervier's perspective, but when you actually look at the control enacted by the Holy See, perpetrated by members of the High Houses, it's honestly horrific. Here is a nation overseen by powerful factions ruled by men, in which those beneath them are granted power and prestige based on their politics, money and gender. If you are not rich, cunning or cruel, you will be fed straight into that war machine. Before the Warrior of Light, it didn't matter how 'good' you were or how hard you tried. Aymeric was a good man and still got a knife in his belly because there were people in Ishgard desperate to hang onto a world where a few powerful men held complete control. They wanted to keep doing whatever they wanted to populace so brainwashed by propaganda they didn't have time to see that the call coming from inside the house.

People see Garlemald as being the 'evil' militant faction and, while that is true, I think it comes at the cost of overlooking just how similar Ishgard was towards the dragons. In my opinion, there is so much environmental storytelling indicating young peasants were militarised and drafted into war whether they liked it or not — especially if they were hyur — and high society was strictly regulated to keep the status quo. Garlemald may have been upfront about its fascism but Ishgard has a lot of demons they still need to exorcise.

Both Elandervier and Alaice are products of that machine, and both deal with that in different ways. El is nothing if not rancor. She is the daughter of a middle-class house desperately trying to rid themselves of their Gelmorran roots, and her entire childhood was a lesson in abuse from a mother too frightened to break the machine if feeding her daughter to it make her more comfortable. She had to smile to lordling boys cruel to her because they were lordlings — because going against them was to be branded a heretic at best and a trip to the Brume at worst. At least those outside of Ishgard did not risk the Temple Knights enacting their 'justice' late at night because they were bored or looking for a bit of sport.

Her entire early life was a palatable pantomime. Smile like this, walk like that; why are you inspiring their ire, why are you cracking the porcelain? The well isn't fetid. The tart is sweet because there is sugar, just ignore the poison.

Because El wasn't originally from Ishgard she knew she'd never fit in, and the powers that be were happy to remind her if she thought to put a toe out of line. They called her strange and heckled her; they made fun of her and went out of her way to give her attention because they knew the result would be negative, even if their initial attentiveness was 'kind'. They knew they held all the power to rip what little comforts she had because they had the prestige and she had none, and they spared no effort to put her in place.

The difference is, El didn't want the prestige. She wanted to break the wheel. When they tried to take everything from her, she turned it on them and fled. Highborn fathers lost their pedigree sons born from pretty women offered to the machine and, though she knew others would take their place, she at least got hers.

The worst part was, even when she had established herself in Dravania, she still had people come after her. Sometimes they were mercenaries paid for by the high houses, sometimes they were the lords themselves... and sometimes they were women, children and peasants who equally left the city but had nowhere else to go. They learned of a witch in the northern bogs who practiced dark magic and figured their odds were better than the city that claimed to care and protect them. She'd have young girls fall at her door with wild eyes and swollen bellies because going back would be to face objectification and heresy for crimes committed onto them — not by them. The outrage was palatable, she wanted nothing than to rend them from the inside out, but she was one woman against an oligarchy.

It's an anger that is difficult for to put into words and cannot be levelled against a single person, even if she detests most highborn. El has the recognition that even those higher than her were at the mercy of those higher still, and she did not gain any luxuries by defecting. Yet it still influences her every action. She's compelled to violence and manipulation because they conditioned her to savour it. She makes herself malignant and unknowable because she's too traumatised to know who she really is. She might have escaped the machine but its teeth still mangled her limbs. It's hard to live with.

[secret-engima]

Can we see some criminal reactions/meeting with the ringmaster? Possibly some big territory debate thing and some new upstart starts talking shit about this stupid ringmaster and all the rules?

Uhhh okay! Please note this may not be canon for Gremlin verse since atm I don't have any solid criminals-meet-Ringmaster scenes planned out aside from like- one and it's friendly.

-They're a new gang setting up shop near the docks. Imports from Mantle who finally got tired to dodging Atlas's security drones. They're traffickers of just about anything, from expensive but usually legal goods to drugs and people.

-They've been settled for maybe two weeks, just putting out some feelers, and are surprised when the local underworld gives one of two reactions: refusing to so much as speak with them, or nervous chuckling and a warning that if they keep being so obvious about what they do, they'll get the attention of the Ringmaster.

-"The Ringmaster? Who the heck is that?" Mantle's underworld might not be the thriving hub that Mistral's is, but they're not usually out of the loop. If the Ringmaster was a name for one of the local underworld bosses or kings, they should have heard of them before now.

-New blood, they're told by the few groups who will cautiously interact with them. New blood with power and charisma and Rules™. Rules that get enforced, usually after one warning, sometimes after three for the milder breaks. For things like drugs and person trafficking however, there is only ever one warning. If they get caught doing that, even outside the Ringmaster's territory, they will be destroyed. Smuggling in other things like expensive foods, Dust, and hard to get but legal items is tolerated, even permitted within the Ringmaster's territory and weapons are tolerated on a territory basis only, but drugs and people? Hard no. There are consequences, and even those who don't answer to the Ringmaster directly are skittish of touching the stuff. Nobody wants a gang war, it's bad for business. But the locals, even the ones who are known as powerhouses in their own right, seem wary of the war less because of the potential damage and more because they seem to think they'd lose.

-The group from Mantle scoff. They've never heard of this Ringmaster, and who cares what other gangs do so long as they stay in their territory? They've dealt with Atlas security, some uppity new blood with a pesky honor code means nothing to them.

-The other gangs all collectively exchange glances and take a long step back.

-For the first month or so, there's no sign of this Ringmaster. The gang stays close to their tiny territory pocket, sets up some trade rings in their more palatable stock. Then, once the income is trickling in, they move for the big haul.

-Slums are always a good place to lure in marks, and Faunus always sell well, even if humans are more of a premium. It's easier to make Faunus disappear though. Faunus bias runs deep on both sides, both in humans who won't look as hard, and Faunus who believe that humans won't bother looking, so why bother telling? Even though there are actually plenty of officers, human and Faunus, who would risk their skin gladly to rescue anyone, extra ears or no.

-They've snagged about ten marks and are hoping to round that number up to thirty before selling them off to various buyers in Mistral and Mantle when the warning shows up. It's delivered right to their door, and none of them know how they didn't hear the racket of someone hammering a paper notice onto their door.

-"Return the people and cease selling drugs and people or leave entirely. This city does not welcome your kind. -Ringmaster."

-They *laugh*. Really? A note? Big Whoop. Besides, they were careful not to take anyone from inside the Ringmaster's territory, so what business it is of theirs?

-Four nights pass, they snag three more marks, one of which is a particular prize, a young human boy, dark skinned and green eyed. His price will be lowered a little from the limp he seems to have, but his scar like tattoos are intriguing and his face is pretty enough they figure they'll still get quite a bit. The boy is oddly calm as they push him into the warehouse with the others, watching them with almost eerie green-gold eyes as he says calmly that they should let everyone go. It's not right, he says softly, to sell lives. And if they don't stop, they're going to regret it.

-They laugh some more as they shove him into the worried arms of a young Faunus mother who already has a few other children she's been trying to comfort.

-Three hours.

-That's how long it takes for the world to come down around their ears.

-The warehouse is taken first, all the marks gone in what feels like one blink, then it's set on fire, fueled with Dust so there's no hope of recovering the building. Their four backup safehouses are gone by the end of the hour, members of the group either trussed up and knocked out and dumped on the doorstep of the police or killed where they stand if they tried to fight back.

-In three hours, their central base of operation is all that's left, and they learn quickly that there is nowhere left to run.

-Roman Torchwick spins his cane idly as he saunters in, backed by his silent partner. They're both known entities in the underworld and have been for years. The leader spits at Torchwick, mocking the name Ringmaster as pretentious even for a thief and crime lord like him.

-Torchwick smiles, it's not a nice expression, "Oh. I'm not the Ringmaster. That's my boss."

-A flourish and a sidestep and the gang cringes back in disbelief and shock as a massive Grimm shoulders its way through the broken doorway.

-Perched on its back, a dark king on a fallen steed, is the boy. Those eerie green-gold eyes look at them in disappointment, in knowing, and the Dust orbs in his elaborate cane gleam warningly when a few of them inch hands toward hidden knives.

-No way. This is the Ringmaster? This child?

-"You were warned," says the boy in a voice too calm and too mature for his skin, "I'll give you one more chance. Surrender and turn yourselves and all relevant evidence in to the police, and you won't die."

-The leader of the group from Mantle snarls and pulls out a hidden pistol, taking aim at the boy.

-He's dead before the safety of the gun can click off.

-The other child, silver haired and grinning like a wild thing, lowers his foot, the shot from whatever weapon he has hidden in his boots echoing through the house. The Grimm looms large, jaws parting in an echoing snarl of warning, one massive paw rising to show huge claws.

-The child -the Ringmaster- doesn't so much as flinch. He just shifts those eyes to those that remain with a silent question in his eyes.

-Many of them decide that dealing with the law is better than dying at the hands of this- this demon child.

-None of them question anymore why Vale's underworld treats the Ringmaster with respect, even if the factions that do not yet answer to him.

[conseille]

❛ If I--er, that is--If I had--ummm, you know, a star for every time you brightened my day, I’d have a galaxy in my hand--um, that is to say-- ❜ Someone PLEASE come put her out of her misery, she's dying here under the weight of this crush (which she's been TRYING to be inconspicuous about--sort of) and the poor impulse control that's lead her to clumsily blurt this cheesy line out in the first place. This is too much for her.

          the heat of their breath wisps like cursive in the cool night air before them as they walk together to the bus stop, giggling over the spoils of the day ( really, just some gudetama toys from a café’s special event ). yerin’s grateful they had been able to make it on the café’s last day, discovering the temporary collaboration only just this morning. though she’s owned a few my melody notebooks in her childhood and occasionally uses little twin stars chopsticks today, yerin had never paid too much attention to sanrio and its smaller factions. it’s only now after meeting sayuri that she’s begun to follow certain twitters and internet accounts, keeping an eye out for any mention of the egg that seems to bring her friend so much joy. 

with the sky growing darker and the fog drifting in from the mountains, the city lights almost appear like stars hung low, spotting clouds of dim purples and blues. but there’s a prettier scene above her head, not in the heavens but the girl who fell from them, the one she regrets always having to say goodbye to. she tries to make another plan instead, hastily mentioning a possible meteor shower scheduled in the future … though, there were speculations it might not happen this year? she falters, promising to think of something else fun – but ‘it’d be nice to see all those falling stars some day’, yerin comments. but oh well. she’s readying to say goodbye again, smiling at her, but before she can open her mouth, sayuri speaks. 

❛ If I–er, that is–If I had–ummm, you know, a star for every time you brightened my day, I’d have a galaxy in my hand–um, that is to say– ❜ 

        the galaxy in her hand …  ? just from these small gestures? yerin lights up with the encouragement, red tipping in her ears. ❝ you really had fun ? ❞ she asks, almost soft, too hopefully, almost breathlessly as she takes sayuri’s hand on instinct, pressing it gently between the two of hers. sayuri seems to do so much for her constantly, repeatedly stopping by the store and always ready to help out...this is the least she can do. ❝ i wasn’t sure if it was everything you expected . . .  ❞ honestly, the café was smaller than yerin had imagined, the dishes visually cute but none too impressive to the palate. ❝ . . . i’m so glad. ❞  she beams, hoping the flush on her face isn’t too noticeable in the low lights -- she should’ve released sayuri’s hand by now, but it feels so warm against her palm.

[wishingforatypewriter]

Passion Food

Summary: Hisako and Akira have fun with aphrodisiacs. 

 "So it's settled." Erina adjusted her reading glasses before scribbling her signature on the twenty ninth page of the document in front of her. In today's meeting they were going through the lucrative tasks titans of the gastronomical wanted to put before the Elite Ten Council—for a hefty price of course. "Aldini and Mito-san will fly to Milan this weekend to advise Chef Batali on his new restaurant's menu. All expenses will be covered by the chef, of course." 

Everyone knew that Tōtsuki consultations didn't come cheap. "Hmm," Ikumi said. "What should I pack? Aldini, is it cold in Italy this time of year?" 

 "Not too bad, I think," he said. "I'd still bring a jacket though." 

 "Yeah, makes sense."

 "I wonder if it's a charter plane or a commercial flight?"

 "Definitely charter," Ikumi decided, "It's chef Batali we're talking about. But what snacks should we bring?"

 "Next order of business," Erina all but growled. These meetings lasted twice as long as they did back when she was tenth seat because everyone on the council was so chummy now. Her grandfather said nothing like this has happened since Chef Saiba was a student at Tōtsuki. She shook her head vigorously. Now was not the time to think about Saiba-san.

 "A renowned se..se...what?" Erina looked up, her face flushed. "That can't be right, right? A s...se...seeeeeeee." 

 Curious, Alice snatched the paper away from her flustered cousin. It had to be something good to make Erina drop her professionalism.

 "A world renowned sexologist wants us to develop a gourmet dish using natural aphrodisiacs to recommend to her clients. Hmm." 

 Alice looked around the room. Tadokoro was about as red as Erina; they'd both be useless at something like this. Yukihira and Ryo, though both geniuses in their way, had neither the sensitivity, nor the background in herb cultivation to excel at such a task. Maybe the underclassman? No...Alice wouldn't be a cruel senpai. "Alright!" she sung. "I'm going to give this one to Hishoko and...Hayama-kun!" 

 "You don't have the authority," the pink haired chef began.

 "Oh, but I do," the Nakiri replied. "In the event that the second seat is unable to perform her duties as head of the task distribution committee, the fourth seat is in charge. You have the medical know how. You're most qualified for it."

 "Yukihira!" Hisako tried, appealing to the first seat's veto power. 

 Souma scratched the back of his head. Truthfully he hadn't been paying that much attention. "I mean, she has a point, Arato." 

 "Better get to work," the Nakiri sang. "You too Hayama-kun. As part of my faction, I expect you to excel." 

 "When did I become part of something like that?"

 "First year. When you assisted with my booth on Main Street." 

 "For the last time, it was the Shiomi Seminar's booth!"’

  "No back talk!" Alice slammed her hand against the table. "Now, shoo, the both of you."

 Once they were gone, she turned towards her fellow council members. "So who wants to make a bet?"

 "I'm listening," Ikumi said. 

 "¥70,000 says they make out by Monday." 

 "You're being cautious," Ikumi observed. Her wagers usually went into the hundred thousands. "But I'll match it," she then glanced towards the second seat, who still seemed to be in shock, and lowered her voice. "Arato-san is just like Erina-sama when it comes to that stuff." 

 Alice shook her head. "That's an act for Erina's sake." 

 "We'll see." 

 Just then, the Nakiri in question seemed to come back to life. "Anyway, where were we?" 

 Alice smirked. "Just sign your name here, Erina."

On Saturday morning, a black car arrived in front of the Shiomi seminar. "I can't believe I'm already sending you off," Jun wailed as he put the spices he would need into small plastic containers. "I mean, she seems to be a nice girl but-" 

 "It's only Elite Ten business. I'm not even particularly fond of her. Don't be so dramatic, Jun," he chided.

 "It's professor Shiomi!" she insisted. 

 "Just remember to water the plants while I'm gone. Don't forget what happened last time."

 She sighed. "Yes, Hayama-kun. Good luck!"

 "Thanks." Then, not wanting to keep the driver waiting any longer, he got into car and was chauffeured to the Arato mansion, which was about a half hour's drive from Tōtsuki's campus center.

 It was a traditional estate with a small pond and multiple gardens behind the main house. The property was larger by far than the on-campus Nakiri mansion. Two maids awaited Hayama in front of the main house. 

 "You must be Hayama-san," one, a dark haired woman, said. "I'll bring your belongings to one of the guest rooms."

 "It's alright, you don't have to-" 

 "Please," she insisted. "There are many rooms in the Arato estate, and you might not find your way back." 

 "Okay..." Somewhat reluctantly, he handed his duffel bag over and the woman disappeared into the manor. 

 "Hisako-sama is out in the herb garden," the second one explained. "I can lead you there now, unless you'd like some tea first." 

 "No, that's fine," he replied, feeling a lot like he'd just entered a world class hotel. "We should probably get straight to work."

 After a ten minute walk through the compound, they reached the herb garden. Hayama was greeted with the sight of Erina's secretary strolling barefoot with feather light steps through the different plots. With a woven straw basket in hand, she'd bend down every minute or so and add something to her collection.

 "Oh, Hayama-kun." She finally spotted him and gave a little wave. "I'm almost done here. Just give me a minute." She pulled a root of some sort out of the ground and then made her way over to her classmate. 

 "Hisako-sama." The maid gave a little bow. "Is there anything more that you require?" 

 "Has someone delivered Erina-sama's weekend schedule to the Nakiri mansion?" 

 "First thing this morning, Hisako-sama." 

 "Perfect. Thank you, Hana. That's all I required. Please spend the rest of the day as you wish." 

 After the young maid took her leave, Hisako realized that her classmate was staring at her incredulously. "What?" she asked.

 "You're a princess," he deadpanned. Almost everyone at Tōtsuki has some wealth but this...to think that someone who grew up with all this could trail behind Nakiri the way she did. 

 "Don't say that," she laughed and started walking to the kitchen. "They just act like that because I'm not home often." 

 When they reached the kitchen, Hisako placed her basket on the counter alongside other ingredients she'd set out. "Cinnamon, nutmeg, guarana, and is that...maca root?" He quickly figured out her herb and spice blend, but feigned some uncertainty for her sake. 

 "Your powers are truly frightening, Hayama-kun," she joked. 

 "So you're making a dessert then," he predicted. 

 "I thought that would be the best choice for the task at hand," she explained as she began to chop up a large block of semi-sweet dark chocolate.

 "It's going to be a molten chocolate cake topped with raspberries and powdered sugar. You have a different idea in mind, though?"

 "A curry." 

 "Why am I not surprised?" she laughed. "But will that really...um...you know?" Hisako bit her lip, looking down.

 "Will it make them want to have sex?" The spice expert smirked at her. To think she'd doubt him. "I'll let you be the judge then, Arato." 

 Under his amused stare, her face and neck flushed. Still, she forced herself to look him in the eye. "In that case, Hayama-kun, you should taste mine as well."

 "The limit is two hours." Hisako resumed her cooking. She mixed the batter and poured it into molds, and dissolved the ground maca root and guarana in spiced rum to make a decoction. Then, as she started to temper the chocolate filling—a skill she picked up during the second year of high school—it hit her. The overpowering, irresistible fragrance that always accompanied Hayama's cooking gripped at Hisako like a physical thing, heating her from the inside out. 

The seventh seat shook her head and took off her cardigan, leaving her in only a floral sun dress. She had to stay focused! Still, that spicy, umami packed aroma whispered to her, tortured her. In a moment of weakness, after she'd slid her cake into the preheated oven, Hisako turned to look at Hayama on his side of the kitchen. Surely her own dish must be having a similar effect on her opponent. But alas, the spice king appeared completely focused on his own cooking. 

Hisako rolled her eyes, less than pleased. But the day was still young, and she would make him yield to her world of cooking once and for all. Over an hour later, when she'd taken the cake out to let it cool, Hayama approached her with his dish. 

"Tell me how it measures up." 

 With one look at those smug green eyes, Hisako knew she was in trouble. But with her head held high, she ate a spoonful of the curry. Almost immediately she broke into a sweat. The heat was tantalizing, heightening her senses. The rich umami of the goat meat burst forth in her mouth. The potatoes, with their hint of sweetness caressed her palate in just the right way. It entire dish was like an attentive lover whose every move was for the sake of her pleasure. 

Despite he best effort, she released a deep moan. Her knees nearly buckled.

 "I didn't know Nakiri's secretary could make sounds like that." 

 "Y-you shut up!" She squeaked, all the while waiting for her heart rate to slow. After regaining her composure, as much as she could anyway, she topped her own creating with powdered sugar and two raspberries. "Here." 

 He tasted it and seemed to have no reaction for a while. Hisako braced herself, expecting to hear that she was useless or limited. But instead he leaned down, looked at her and said, "I was wrong. Arato Hisako, your world of cooking is boundless." 

 Those words that she'd been hungry for since the day he defeated her in the autumn elections flipped a switch in Hisako, and it might have been the curry, or the look in his gorgeous eyes, but before she knew left from right she was kissing him—long, and hard, and breathless. Then Hayama's lips were on her neck, and she threw her head back, releasing another moan. 

 Suddenly, a wild shriek sounded from one of the gardens where an onlooker gazed at the pair through binoculars. Then the two came to their senses. 

"What was that?" the spice prodigy asked. 

 "My stalker, probably," she sighed. Hisako smoothed her hands over her rumpled dress. "Okay. We are both way too good at this. It’s dangerous."

 "True," he admitted. And then a pause charged with uncertainty passed over them. "So do you want to try again?" 

 "Sure, sure. Maybe this time we can improve the fragrance if we-" but then his lips were on hers again. "The smell would be stronger...if we switch...the rum you used with...bourbon whiskey," he told her between kisses. 

 "Yes," Hisako gave a contented sigh. "Why didn't I...think of that before?" Why hadn't she thought of any of this before? Why hadn't she been kissing and caressing him since the day they met? 

 When the effects of the food wore off, they perfected their recipes and presented them to the client, who said it reminded her of her first love affair. 

 On Monday morning after Sadatsuka Nao had filled the Elite Ten's suggestion box with hate letters addressed to Hayama, Alice waved her outstretched hand at Ikumi. "I told you I had a sure way of knowing. Now pay up, Mito-san."

 Author's Notes: So, I posted this on fanfiction.net a year ago, but I thought it was applicable. Happy Hisako day, everyone!