#It must be so scary especially when you consider that he's regarded as the chill and funny guy so this is completely out of the blue

[romans-empire]

It must honestly be so confusing and traumatizing to see your friend essentially kill themselves just as you mention that there's no way progressing. Before that, he's never even shown any hint of giving up, so why now?

[aceinspace691]

Giant Dream is Scared of Humans Sapnap and George

Hey! This is a little story thing based on this post by @giant-tiny-squid! 

I thought that it was a super interesting concept and I wrote a little more than I probably should have haha! Anyway here it is!

Warnings for: fear and swearing (I think that this is it, but please let me know if I missed anything!

Word count  ~1700 words

When Sapnap and George had set out to visit the Badlands on the other side of the forest, it had been a nice and sunny day. They’d been laughing and cutting up with each other, banter passing easily as they walked along the forest. Sunlight danced through the leaves and provided a pleasant atmosphere as they travelled. But about a fourth of the way through the forest, they could see dark storm clouds gathering in the sky at an alarming pace. They decided to pick up their own pace as well, hoping they would make it through the forest or that the rain would simply pass them so they could make it through the forest safely. Like most things regarding these two, it didn’t go their way. “Holy shit!” George let out a startled exclamation as boom reverberated to the forest, loud and quick to follow the flash that preceded it. Sapnap let out a sharp laugh, nudging George’s shoulder. The armor they wore made a clinking sound as it connected. “Awwww, is Georgie scared of a little thunder?” “Shut up,” George’s cheeks turned a bit red as he shouldered Sapnap back, “let’s just keep moving and try to find some shelter.” A few moments later, it started to pour down heavy rain, and they were soaked. The both of them room out their weapons as mobs began to spawn, George with a sword and Sapnap with an axe. It wasn’t long before they spotted a cave ahead and made their way to it, trying to shake off the water that dripped from them. “That was crazy! That came out of nowhere, like, holy muffins.” “You’re starting to sound like Bad.” Sapnap chuckled, playfully rolling his eyes. “And seriously? You wanna talk about the weather of all things?” “What else would we even talk about? This dark cave?” George retorted. “Well, if you want to talk about the weather, I guess I could just make fun of you for your fear of thunder.” “What? No, it just caught me off guard.” “Sure,” Sapnap dragged it out with a smirk, not noticing how George went stiff. “I mean, seriously—“ “Sapnap, I—“ “No George, seriously, thunder? I mean I get if it was—“ “Sap—“ “Why do you keep trying to interrupt me? You know—“ “SAPNAP!” His voice echoed around the cave and Sapnap fell silent, finally following George’s gaze further into the cave. Right where they could see the silhouette of a giant. They couldn’t see much, just barely able to make out that it was likely male. Their attention was taken up by what little of him they could make out. But even then, they couldn’t see much other than a white smiling mask that covered a good bit of his face. There was a beat where no one moved, simply staring at each other, everyone in the cave tense. Anxiety pooled in the humans’ guts, intimidated by the being that could easily overpower the two hunters. And then lightning flashed, and oh. Oh. He was massive. And he was moving. As soon as there was any sign of movement from the giant, the humans let out a startled shout, Sapnap moved protectively in front of George, raising his axe defensively. But to their shock, the giant had moved further away from them. Not that there was much further he could go anyway from them; the cave itself wasn’t insanely large to begin with. The humans were stock-still, feeling confused as hell. Wasn’t the giant upset that they were in his cave, or whatever? Instead, as they examined the massive being not too far across the cave from them, George was first to notice how wide the green eye, which was just barely visible to them behind that smiling mask, was. The giant was... scared? But why, he was so much bigger and could easily defeat anything, so why...? Another flash of lightning was followed by a crash of thunder, which was then followed by a whine from the giant. George’s eyes softened. He must be scared of thunder. “Hey it’s okay, big guy.” He ignored the warning that Sapnap hissed under his breath as he stepped closer to the giant. His heart ached as the giant pressed himself further against the wall. “Thunder can be a bit scary sometimes. I know.” Sapnap, while George had though that the giant was scared of thunder, had connected the dots a bit better. He’d seen the way the giant eyed them and their weapons. And now that the giant was shying away from George of all people only further solidified that for him. Sapnap took a hesitant step forward to test his theory, the giant’s eyes snapping over to him at the movement. “Are you...” he licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry.  “Are you scared of us?” He was met with a whimper from the giant, and Sapnap shifted his grip on the axe as the giant moved slightly. “Don’t hurt me.” The giant pleaded, green eye wide and watery with fear. Fear of the humans. “Please leave.” Now, both humans were utterly confused, especially George. However, their thought processes were a bit different on the situation. George wanted to immediately reassure the giant that they weren’t going to hurt him and was hoping he could convince him to let them stay. He himself was wary of being there with the giant, but it didn’t seem like he meant them any harm. Besides, there wasn’t really anywhere they could go. With the storm and mobs outside, it wouldn’t be a smart move to leave the cave. Sapnap, on the other hand, was thinking about how they could use the giant’s fear to their advantage. They could have a guard for the night, maybe longer. And that would mean that George would be safe. Unfortunately for the giant, Sapnap spoke first. “We won’t.” He told the giant, watching closely as the being seemed to relax a bit. “If,” and just like that he was tense again “you let us stay here tonight and keep us safe. And take off the mask.” “I—uh. Yeah, for sure, uh, deal, deal.” The giant was quick to agree, licking his lips as the slipped the mask off of his face. This, he hesitated with quite a bit, but he seemed to accept defeat as he removed it, revealing a lightly freckled face with a few scars. “Sapnap,” George hiss under his breath, “what are you doing?” “Just trust me.” He returned with a small smirk, looking back up to the giant and clearing his throat. His voice was louder as he addressed the giant again. “Tell us about yourself.” “I, uh, of course!” And just like that, desperate words began to spill out of his mouth. “I’m Dream. There’s not much to say about me, really. I just live out here. Well, not here here, but, uh I got caught out in the storm. That’s about it.” Dream was met with silence and chewed on his lip anxiously. He continued to ramble on, breathing picking up a bit as one of the humans shifted closer. The one with the sword, his mind helpfully informed him. “A-and I’m alone now and I won’t bother you if you leave or just let me leave and-and I haven’t hurt anyone, I swear, and so you don’t need to kill me. Or tell anyone about me. Or-or send anyone to hunt me down, just please.” This eyes were wide, and earnest, and damn his face was just so expressive. It made guilt worm it’s way into the humans’ hearts. “Woah, hey, nobody’s hurting or killing anyone.” Dream’s eyes snapped to the one with the sword. The one with the accent. “Why would you think that? Is that why you’re...afraid of us?” George looked up at the giant with big eyes, following the giants a panicked gaze to his sword and then to Sapnap’s axe. Realization finally clicked and he tucked it away, urging Sapnap to do the same. “Wha—George!” He whined. “Sapnap,” George warned. “But, I really think that—“ “Sappitus. Nappitus.” He was met with a groan before the other finally out his axe away, raising his hands and walking a bit further away to sit on a rock, murmuring under his breath. “Don’t worry about him,” George offered a small smile up at the giant, heart warming a bit at the tentative smile he got in return. “He’s just really protective of his friends. But you’re not going to hurt us. Are you?” Dream quickly shook his head. “No, and, uh, if you let me leave—“ “No.” George backtracked at the look on the giant’s face, and he shivered as a gust of wind blew into the cave and chilled his still-soaked body. “No, no, I just mean that we should all stay. You were here first, but me and Sap wont be safe if we leave either. Maybe we can work something out? I’m George, by the way.” He ignored the way his heart hammered as Dream hesitantly leaned closer, or tried to anyway. He still took an instinctive step back, and he could see something akin to recognition flashed in those big green eyes. “You’re scared of me too.” Dream breathed, the warmth washing over George. It took everything in him not to back away from the giant more as the breath gently ruffled his hair. He gave a slow nod, waiting for the giant’s reaction.

Would he realize that he could simply get rid of them? But... no, Dream just offered a small smile to the human and a soft, considering hum. “Uh, obviously.” Sapnap had stood up from where he was sitting, watching the scene carefully. “You’re kind of huge, dude. That’s why I didn’t want to put my axe away.” The three of them dissolved into a conversation, hesitantly at first and then getting a bit more comfortable as they worked out the details of their time in the cave. They came to the decision that they’d all stay for the night and then part ways, and they’d light a fire to warm up the drenched humans. “Wait, wait,” Dream was saying, choking back laughter as he shifted a bit closer to the humans by the fire. They were comfortable enough around each other now, but he still moved slowly, cautiously. “You guys were bashing me for being afraid of humans, who could kill me if they tried, but Georgie here is scared of thunder?” “Exactly!” Sapnap’s grin was wide as he laughed. “And he wonders why I teased him for it.” “Shut up!” George groaned, rolling his eyes. “I’m not scared of thunder. And even if I was, like, it’s loud and lightning can hit you.” The three bickered for a bit before they fell asleep. And if the humans came back after the storm had cleared? Well, no one needed to know that, did they?

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And there it is! let me know what y’all thought, and feel free to send my asks if you want! my box is open :D

[bittykimmy13]

The Candescent King (GT Story)

Premise: Sequel to "The Clandestine Queen". Andres returns to the hotel and is forced to confront the reality of Lorelei's life as a trinket.

Hi, I am now fully obsessed with Andres and Lorelei and I would die for them.

Warnings: dehumanization and threat of sexual assault

The print / trinket universe belongs to me and the lovely @little-miss-maggie​ / @marydublin5​ <3 Y’all have her to thank for the ending scene! The story almost ended much differently :’)

(( Read more about the print and trinket universe here! ))

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 He had certain expectations when he returned to the Onyx Citadel Hotel for the fourth time in two years. It was nightfall when he arrived. The lobby was decorated tastefully in black-and-white to honor the winter tournament. He headed straight for his suite rather than stop and interact with the other arriving players. As expected, the staff had already dropped off his belongings in the room.

However, she was not there.

He had known this day would come eventually, so why was there an involuntary chill running down his spine when he thought of the most obvious answer for her absence?

Moving mechanically, he went for the door. He had to be certain.

The elevator ride down, his thoughts were an odd mix of racing and frozen. He wasn't upset, he assured himself. He had no reason to be. They had both known this day would come, so why did it bother him so much? He battled his confusion as he made his way through the lobby. In the center, he saw some familiar tournament players gathered around a chessboard loaded with trinkets. He averted his eyes, striding for the front desk.

"May I help you, sir?" asked the woman behind the counter.

"Where is the trinket?"

Her friendly smile wavered with confusion. "I'm sorry?"

He sighed. "I don't recognize you. My name is Andres Soto. I have competed in the last three semi-annual tournaments. The staff knows to place the trinket known as Queenie in my room along with my luggage. But she is not there."

"Oh! Aren't you the reigning champion?" When he didn't respond, she pursed her lips and frowned in thought. "Queenie... The orange-haired gal? I apologize, sir, but she isn't available."

The chill in his spine should have dissipated now that he had an answer. But it stayed locked in place. "I see."

"Shall I put in a request at the bar to have another trinket sent to your room, Mr. Soto?"

"No." Andres started to pull away, but he supposed he owed it to Lorelei to at least ask. "Tell me what happened to her. A careless guest?"

The woman blinked, then gave a startled laugh. "She's not dead, Mr. Soto! She's just occupied."

Relief and frustration mingled in his gut. "Occupied? Why wasn't she sent to my room?"

"I'm terribly sorry. There was a massive change in management and employment in the past couple of months. I suppose whoever was making your... trinket arrangements must not have passed on the instructions. I'll be sure to let the bar and restaurant know that Queenie will be prioritized to you once she's available."

"You're going to make me wait," he deadpanned rather than asked. You know I'm the champion, and you're denying my request? He clenched his jaw to keep the comment in. It would only cause problems. His tone and expression, however, worked wonders.

Her voice became even more placating as she pointed across the lobby. "If you'd like to see her, she should be right over there," she said.

Andres shoved himself away from the front desk without another word and approached the small group gathered around the center board that had been set up. Two players, three eager observers. Plenty of room for him to see. He walked up with his hands in his pockets, eyeing the board with a sneer. He had made it a point to never be in the vicinity of a game of trinket chess, and it looked precisely the way he had imagined.

It was the most trinkets he had ever seen gathered so close together. Thirty-two were on the table, each of them scantily clothed in colors that reflected their team and designated piece. Red pawns. Yellow rooks. Green knights. Blue bishops. Purple royalty.

In no time at all, his eyes zeroed in on Lorelei. She was the queen, naturally, wearing sheer black lingerie with purple accents.

And she spotted him, too. He suspected she would be smart and pretend not to recognize him, but to his surprise, she threw a minuscule hand over her head and waved it enthusiastically. Her stance was unsteady, a carefree grin plastered on her face.

Drunk.

"Hey!" she called. "Tall, dark, and scary! Hi! I had a dream about you the other night!"

Very drunk.

The players and the small audience followed her gaze with confusion. Their eyes widened when they realized who had come to observe them. He gave the faintest nod of acknowledgment, ignoring Lorelei's whoops for attention.

"Gentlemen," he murmured.

"Soto." Theo Jackson, the man playing black, did not bother hiding the irk on his face. Andres couldn't blame him; coming in 2nd place twice in a row did that to a person. "Thought you'd decide this little tournament was below your rating by now. What are you still doing, coming back here?"

Andres shrugged. "I like to win. But don't mind me. Carry on."

They settled back into the game. He tried to watch with a neutral expression, but at least any visible disgust on his face was to be expected from him. Lorelei was a mess, nearly stumbling into the neighboring square every time the board was jostled by the players' movements. The bishop beside her kept grabbing her arm to steady her.

The trinkets were plucked up and moved like pieces. Each one of them looked either frightened or entirely checked-out. But when they were captured by the opposing side and taken off the board, their relief was visible. That was, except for the pieces Jackson captured. His hands had a tendency to wander to his captured pieces while he thought of his next move.

Being the queen, Lorelei was likely to be in the game for the long haul. Andres thought about walking away. The front desk woman had promised the trinket would be delivered to him later, but something kept him rooted there. It was a strange stab of betrayal, having gotten to know her and now seeing her debase herself. It wasn't her fault, but he had the urge to correct obscenity nonetheless. Especially considering how hell-bent she seemed on getting herself killed.

"Psst." She turned around and waved both hands up at Jackson. "Listen! You've got an opening right there, and you don't see it, do you? You're blowing it. Move me to A4, c'mon!"

"Shut the fuck up." Jackson forcefully turned her back around and flicked her between the shoulder blades, sending her onto her hands and knees.

The bishop gasped and leaned down to check if she was alright.

"No, don't help her," Jackson snapped. The bishop straightened immediately. "Little bitch needs to learn her place."

Lorelei's shoulders wracked and she caught her breath. Andres was a live wire of tension, trying to talk himself down from lunging in and taking her away. The tension eased as she stood up and rolled her shoulders as if nothing had happened. Meanwhile, the player on white looked remarkably nervous, staring at the board and obviously mapping out the plan Lorelei had offered.

Jackson went quiet, doing the same. Then he snorted, "Whaddaya know." He plucked up Lorelei and moved her to A6. The game was over in less than three moves after that.

Lorelei was the piece to catch the king in checkmate. She skipped over and looped her arm in his, raising her eyebrows at Jackson. "See? What did I tell you?"

"That's not right," the other player spat. "You had help!"

Jackson scoffed. "As if this was a real match. Besides, are you insinuating that a fucking trinket helped me? I was going to move her there anyway."

"Fuck you, I was about to have you cornered." The other player stood up and stormed off. He wouldn't last long in the tournament with a blatant temper like that.

"Who's next?" Jackson declared.

"I am," Andres said before anyone had time to take a breath.

He slid into the seat, glancing down as the pieces dutifully rearranged themselves where they belonged. Lorelei stumbled back to her spot and smiled right at him. At least she didn't wave or yell for him. He had seen her on a board plenty of times, facing him, but never like this. He could see the trinkets on his side casting wary glances up over their shoulders at him, trying to get a read on their current master. One split second of eye contact was all it took to make them face forward again.

Lorelei, in her idiotic state, turned to face Jackson and planted a hand on her hip. "I hope you're ready to get your ass whupped," she said.

His expression darkened, and Andres wouldn't have been surprised if she was broken in half right then and there. But Jackson slid a smirk to Andres. "Am I sensing some history here? Oh, Soto. You've always acted like some kind of moral paragon. No wonder you turn down every drink with a trinket. You've only got eyes for this little bite, huh?"

Andres regarded him coolly. "She was delivered to my room one night against my wishes and has plagued me ever since. Are we playing or not?"

"No one's stopping you from starting."

Sighing, Andres leaned forward and studied the untouched board. He knew Jackson's strategies well enough to put him away swiftly, but he would need a different approach this time. His hand automatically reached for the board, but he paused when he remembered these were not carved pieces of wood. Hiding a wince, he tapped one of the pawns on the back. The young man spun around and looked up, eyes wide under Andres' shadow.

"You, move to E4," Andres ordered.

The pawn swallowed hard. "I-I'm sorry, I-I don't know where—"

Gathering nonexistent patience, Andres tapped the board. "Move here. Two spaces forward."

The pawn hurried to obey, eyes trained down.

Despite his attempts to focus on the game itself, Andres couldn't help but wonder what each of the white pieces on his board had done to land their fate. Murderers, traitors, those who had no place in society. He glanced across the board at Lorelei, who was swaying to music that wasn't there. She perked up when they locked gazes, and he was almost saddened by the strange hope in her eyes. With her inhibitions decimated, it was all too clear how much she trusted him.

He glanced at the pieces on the board again and wondered, How many innocents?

His thoughts shattered when Jackson snatched up a pawn of his own without warning, seeming to savor the way the girl whimpered and squirmed in the tight pinch of his fingers.

"Settle down, darling," he crooned. "You're expendable. The game will be over for you soon." When he set her down on the board, she hugged her arms and trembled, tears streaking down her face.

Andres tore his eyes away from her. Nothing he could do.

He made foolish moves from then on, but they were perfectly calculated. His primary goal for once was not to win; he only wished to capture the queen. It was child's play to reach Lorelei, considering any player's strategy would focus on protecting the king. He ordered the pieces where to go, pointing and nudged if he needed to. When he captured Jackson's pieces, he made them walk to him rather than snatching them up.

Jackson smirked each time Andres refused to grab the trinkets, making a show of picking up his own pieces and taking an unreasonable amount of time to decide his move. He held them in his palm, toyed with him while deep in thought.

Finally, Andres captured Lorelei. He had to resist the urge to pluck her up. Jackson would undoubtedly notice the special treatment.

"Come over here," Andres said, beckoning her to move among the other pawns and the knight he had captured.

"Yessir." She pranced over to him, giving a clumsy twirl and making a rude gesture at Jackson so that only Andres could see it. She took a seat behind his side of the board, and he paid no mind to the triumphant smile she aimed up at him.

His next strategy was to make it a point to capture as many pieces as possible. Once he had a small crowd of black pieces on his side of the table, it was easy enough to discreetly drop a hand over Lorelei and sweep her away from the others. He moved her to his lap under the table. With people watching around him, slipping her into his pocket would be too noticeable. He let her go on his thigh, praying she wasn't foolishly drunk enough to fall off. He could feel her tiny weight, along with the slightest tremble. Not from fear, though—he had a feeling she was giggling to herself.

From then on, it was business as usual. He managed to corner Jackson and capture the king despite his seemingly sloppy plays at the beginning. With the queen gone, anyway, there was hardly a contest.

Huffing, Jackson glared at what remained of his chess pieces, as if they had anything to do with his loss. Then he turned that irked look to Andres. "You really shouldn't be here," Jackson said. "You know you're gonna clean up. Give someone else a chance, would you?"

"Maybe you should work on your strategies," Andres returned.

Before Jackson could snap back, someone from the group piped up, "Mr. Soto, can I play a round with you?"

He shook his head. "I'm going to my room to relax before the opening social." He cupped a hand around Lorelei so that she smoothly fell into his palm when he stood. He strode away, arm relaxed at his side, and his fist closely loosely.

He waited by the elevators until he could catch one alone. When the doors were sealed, he lifted his hand and unfurled his fingers enough to see her. Lorelei sat up and leaned back on her hands, a flirtatious smile on her lips that was entirely unlike her—at least when she was with him.

"Hello again," she slurred. "My hero."

"You're drunk," he said. "How disappointing. I was hoping we could play a few matches tonight." He shook his head, observing her unfocused eyes. "It would not be fair to you."

She waved a hand at him. "Ah, don't be so dramatic. I was on bar duty before the tournament players started arriving. I'm fine."

The elevator came to a stop. Lorelei scrambled to the edge of Andres' hand and vomited over the side. Some landed on his shoe. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled sheepishly at his unimpressed expression.

"My bad," she said. "I swear I wasn't aiming there."

Breathing out sharply, he exited the elevator and headed for his suite. He took her straight to the lounger by the coffee table, laying out a pillow and setting her down on it.

"Sleep it off, Señorita Lorelei. I have a social I must attend. Will you be fine in three hours?"

"Probably." She stretched her arms over her head and laid asprawl. "And for the thousandth time, call me Lore."

Despite the state she was in, he imagined she wouldn't stay drunk for long. Trinkets rose back to soberness much quicker than natural people. Andres wasn't sure if it was an automatic side effect of their size or an intentional feature of their engineering to ensure they couldn't soothe themselves with inebriation for too long.

He stepped into the bedroom to change his shoes. As he headed back for the door to leave, she waved her hand to get his attention.

"No blanket?" She pouted. "I'm cold, you monster."

He rolled his eyes. "Shall I tuck you in and sing you a lullaby, too? You are demanding tonight."

"That's what you get for treating me like a person, Señor Andres. Now I've got all these sick and dangerous thoughts in my head about wanting to be comfortable."

"Well, stop it."

"No, sir. They're my sick and dangerous thoughts, and you can't take them away. Besides, you owe me."

He dug through one of his bags beside the coffee table until he found a silk handkerchief. "I saved you," he pointed out.

"Out of the kindness of your heart? Please. You owe me because you're going to get me in trouble, making me magically vanish like that. In fact, I'm sure there is sheer chaos downstairs over a kidnapped queen. They'll think I'm a runner."

"I'll tell the front desk I collected you." He braced his hands on either side of the cushion and leaned over her. "Would you like to write a script for me? Should I say you are too enchanting to resist, and I needed you all to myself tonight?" He dropped the handkerchief over her.

She squirmed under the fabric until she found her way out—which took twice as long as it should have. "Perfect, couldn't have scripted it better myself. Try to sound like you mean it, though." He snorted and started to pull away. "Wait!" she said. "Speaking of saving me. Can I tell you about the dream I had about you? Very quick."

He sighed. "What?"

"I dreamed..." She lowered her voice to a whisper, forcing him to lean closer. "That you stole me away from here. And we played chess day and night. And you still never beat me. It was lovely."

He didn't know how to feel or what to say. She had never been like this. Never said anything like this. And the way she looked at him... Her little eyes bright and naive over the edge of his handkerchief. He did not enjoy this drunken version of Lorelei Weaver. Not in the slightest.

"Sleep it off," he murmured again. "I want you ready to play when I get back." Then he made his escape.

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The moment she started to come to, her face flushed. She couldn't remember everything with clarity, but she remembered enough to be embarrassed. Groaning low in her throat, she sat up and used the corner of the handkerchief to wipe the dry crust from the corner of her lips. Maybe if Andres wasn't too disgusted with her, she could wheedle a drop of mouthwash from him.

Footsteps thudded toward the room. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It had been roughly three hours since she passed out. Straightening her back, she smoothed her hair down and folded her hands on her lap. Although her head was clear, it ached.

"Oh, good," she said when Andres stalked into the room. "I thought I had only hallucinated seeing your grumpy face. How bad was the social? Did they make you..." She shuddered dramatically. "Mingle?"

"Well, you clearly feel better." He approached the lounger and didn't bother kneeling for her sake. He never did. More of the looming type. "What did you think you were doing, getting drunk like that?"

A faint, scalding smile perked on her lips. "I was forced to. The guest I was lucky enough to get saddled with likes his trinkets good and giddy. Is that fair enough for you?"

"Fair enough." His expression didn't change, other than something at the back of his eyes that was too far away to see. "It's good that you're fine now. They want to see you downstairs at the bar to make sure you have not escaped." His hand dove for her.

"Wait!" she cried. He paused, frowning. "I've had enough today. I'm not in the mood to be manhandled any more. Can't you... lay your hand down or something?"

"Why?"

"Easier on my ribs and my ego, believe it or not." She pressed her lips into a tight line and glowered straight up at him. "Doesn't seem like too much to ask for you to lay your damn hand down."

Looking like a kid forced to eat his vegetables, he dropped his hand beside her. She climbed on, and he swept her up not a moment after she settled. She grabbed at his fingers to keep from tumbling off. Already she missed the safety of the handkerchief, but the warmth of his skin was a fair substitute.

They didn't speak as he took her downstairs to the bar, where a few players were sipping on drinks, laughing, cutting up. She adopted her usual pose on her knees, shoulders back, eyes down. From her glances, she recognized a few of the players—both from her days as a human and from her evening of being their queen piece in the lobby.

"Here she is," Andres said to the bartender. "Satisfied?" He thrust her out in his open palm.

The bartender lurched back, looking from Lorelei to Andres, stammering. "I'll get the manager. Would you like a drink while you wait, Mr. Soto?"

"No."

As the bartender walked off, the man seated closest scoffed. "Well, that's a damn shame."

Theo Jackson. Lorelei kept her head turned away as if there was any hope that he might not recognize her.

Apparently tired of holding her, Andres lowered her to the bar counter. She nearly asked him to pluck her right back up, ribs and ego or not. She couldn't help but look at Jackson, going cold at the lust in his eyes as he tipped back his drink and reached for the other that had been laid out for him.

"What shame?" Andres asked boredly. She wanted to scream at him for indulging Jackson.

Jackson pointed at her with the hand that held his scotch. "Pretty little thing like that, and you don't even have a drink to put her in. I knew you swiped her. Figured you'd at least be putting her to good use."

"Mr. Soto." A woman interrupted, approaching from the other side of the bar and putting her hand out to shake. Andres had to step to the side to reach her. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Now, about the trinket. An employee is retrieving a case. You are welcome to enjoy your regular trinket during your stay, but it's required that she remain in the case when you're not around—"

"Yes, yes, I know the rules."

Despite that, she went on. Lorelei edged closer to where Andres had moved, feeling exposed. A second after the dreadful sensation came over her, a hand shot across the bar and snatched her up. Jackson covered her scream before she could let it loose, bringing her further down the bar, further from Andres. He hushed her gently, pinning her to the counter and keeping her muzzled. His fingers were cold from the chilled glass.

"What's the trouble, darling?" His voice was much sweeter now that he wasn't playing chess. "Soto doesn't know how to treat you right. And you've got my attention. Isn't that wasn't you wanted, pulling that cool little move during my game?" He brushed a fingertip along her side, controlling her with only one hand while the other lifted the drink to his lips for another sip. "You must get played with a lot at these tournaments to know the game so well."

While she squirmed and tried to buck her way free, he leaned down closer. The stench of whiskey wafted around her.

"Why don't we go up to my room, and I show you a thing or two in return?"

He reached under her lingerie. She bit the fingertip covering her mouth. It was barely anything, but he flinched all the same and allowed her to scream.

"Stop!" she yelped.

"What are you doing?" Andres barked.

A shadow descended upon them. The drink was swiped to the ground, Andres' hand crashing into it like a freight train. Glass shattered. The pressure of Jackson's hand vanished. Lorelei scrambled backward on her hands and rear, gasping for breath as she watched Andres and Jackson come to blows.

Jackson shoved Andres into the bar, making it rattle like an earthquake. Lorelei ducked down and covered her head, peeking over her knees as Andres landed a brutal punch to Jackson's stomach.

"Stop!" the manager screamed, backing away to the other side of the bar. "Stop now! Or we'll get security! You'll be arrested!"

Andres grabbed the front of Jackson's shirt and then shoved him away, seething.

Coughing, Jackson leaned on the bar. "What are you, a fucking sympathizer?" he spat, face contorting with disgust.

"Not in the slightest," Andres growled. "But she is mine."

"Mr. Soto," the manager said in a quavering voice. "You could be disqualified—"

"No," Jackson said. "No. I'm not pressing charges or reporting this or anything. I wanna face this fucker during the finals."

A very confused-looking hotel employee walked up holding a glass trinket case. Andres pulled away from the bar and snatched the case before reaching for Lorelei. There was no waiting for her to climb on this time. He closed her in a fist and stormed off. Even over the sound of his footsteps, Lorelei heard the manager offer Jackson a complimentary trinket for his troubles.

All the way to the room, Andres did not lift his fist from his side. She couldn't help but tremble, replaying the events of the fight over and over in her mind. These weren't the carefully calculated moves of a chess game; this was chaos. Utter chaos that she had never expected to manifest in him. She had gotten so used to his collected prowess on the board that she hadn't imagined what he could do in a physical fight.

He entered his suite and put her down on the lounger. She wasn't surprised at all when he immediately began setting up his chessboard on the coffee table. She would have asked him to do it if he hadn't.

"One match before bed," he said. "I need to rest before the first round tomorrow."

Lorelei stayed quiet, hugging her knees as she watched him arrange the pieces. With each clack of wood on the board, she pictured him driving his fists into Jackson. He glanced at her every few seconds, looking like he was working himself up to say something. Then he would think better of it.

Finally, when the board was ready, he spoke.

"Did I frighten you?" he asked without the smallest measure of apology.

"Does it matter?"

"Are you too distracted to play?"

"Never."

"Then it does not matter."

He walked around the coffee table to the lounger and reached for her. He stopped short and turned his hand over beside her, offering his palm instead. She chuckled mirthlessly and scooted over to climb on. "Well, look at that. He can be taught."

She took the white team and started the game. In no time, she felt at home among the light-up squares and smooth wooden pieces. There was no rust to shake off from her strategy. No uncertainty. Since his second visit, she had been given a reason to keep her chess mind sharp.

He, however, was the one who seemed distracted as she paced around the pieces. She was well on her way to beating him in less than twenty-five moves.

"Your move," she declared when his expression stayed distant for too long.

He blinked at her, then pushed a hand up his face with a heavy sigh. "Lorelei..."

"Lore."

"Lore. When I said you were mine..." He heaved another sigh. "I want to make something perfectly clear. I hope you don't really have any fanciful ideas about me taking you away from here. I will not put myself at risk like that."

She pursed her lips and pointed at the board. "Your move."

He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, then slumped forward with his elbows on his knees. "Listen to me, Lore. This is the last time you'll see me here. You understand?"

She did understand. She understood that this was the first time he had seen her life outside the safety that his visits provided. She understood that he had seen the aftermath of a regular afternoon on bar duty for her. She understood that he had seen what people like Jackson did when they got their hands on her. She understood that none of it was enough to make him take the risk for her.

"This tournament is far below your rating," she said, folding her hands behind her back and strolling along the edge of the board away from him. She peeked back over her shoulder. "I was surprised you showed up at all."

"I have you to thank for my improved rating. But you are correct. I have no business at this tournament anymore."

She turned around, wishing so badly that this didn't hurt the way it did. "Then why are you here?"

His eye contact did not waver. He straightened up and looked down at her. "Because you are the best I've played in my life. Perhaps the best I ever will play. I am determined to beat you before the tournament is over. I have lost sleep over you, Señorita Lorelei. I would like to sleep soundly again. Please don't ruin it with your fanciful thoughts."

"They're my fanciful thoughts, Señor Andres. And you can't take them away. They're all I have." She pointed at the board once more, determined to memorize every last turn of their final games together. "Your move."

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

The morning after the tournament finals, Lorelei awoke unsure of her surroundings. She wasn't in the hotel room. Not in the cylindrical container the staff supplied Andres. She should have awoken to the sound of housekeeping knocking at the door, but instead she heard a cacophony of voices.

Motion caught her attention. Swaying. Footsteps.

Realizing she was in a pocket, she all but shot to her feet to get a look at who was holding her. Had Andres left her outside the room for some random guest to sweep up and torment? That didn't seem like him, even if he had been particularly sulky during their last night together when he still failed to beat her.

Bracing herself, she peeked up from the coat.

A familiar face. His dark eyes shot from the phone in his hand to the fact poking out of his jacket. Andres shot her a sharp look, then typed away at his phone. He lowered it enough for her to see.

"Don't get excited. This is not a rescue, I'm stealing a private tutor."

She had only half a second to read it before his hand filled her vision. He pushed her back down, one finger pressing her belly as if to tell her stay. Then his hand withdrew, and his steps resumed. Her heart hammered as the sound of an airline announcement caught her ear.

Finally, he had made a move she did not predict.

[pilyarquitect]

War for Genius - Chapter 22 - Help is on the way

Hello again! Here I bring you the new chapter! I’ve to say, for all those who are waiting what was the alarm of the previous chapter, I’m sorry, but this will continue being a mystery a little bit more of the time, but it’ll be revealed, I promise. I just wanted other things to come first before show it.

About this current chapter, all what can I say is that I hope you’ll enjoy it 😉

As always, I’d like to thank @empro-8 for helping me editing this story. Honestly, without her help this wouldn’t be as good as it is, so thank you very much @empro-8 you’re amazing!

Welp, I’ll stop talking and let you read the chapter, enjoy it! 😉

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

Fenton didn't know how to contain his excitement.  Finally! The time to discover where Beaks was holding Huey prisoner had finally come! And once they had the location, they could go there and rescue him. Soon he’ll be safe again. Soon he would be at home, with his family.

When they saw Beaks deactivate his GPS, Fenton wanted to turn it back on immediately.  But Gyro stopped him, explaining it was preferable to wait a few hours because when Beaks turned off the signal, he was still in Duckburg.  That meant the CEO was most likely barely on his way.

According to Dr. Gearloose it was preferable that they reactivate the signal when they estimated that Beaks had reached his destination. Otherwise, the parrot could realize that the GPS was active again, and then discover he’d been hacked. 

Despite not liking to wait, the Hispanic duck understood that Dr. Gearloose was right. If they weren't careful, Beaks would discover them. And that might lead to them losing the only chance of finding Huey. No, Fenton wasn’t willing to take that risk. That boy… his friend, had already suffered too much under the yoke of Beaks’ sick mind. Also, the last time Beaks had his GPS turned off, he kept it offline for five days. Hopefully this time he would do the same… probably.

The intern looked at the clock, literally every five minutes, wishing time would go faster. His obvious impatience only made his co-workers, (especially his superior) more nervous.

"Do you plan to be quiet, intern?" Gyro asked annoyedly.

The Hispanic duck was momentarily surprised at his superior’s call, and looking at him with wide eyes, he timidly replied:

"What? Oh… sorry Dr. Gearloose. It's just that… do you think we could activate the GPS yet?”

Gyro gave an exasperated snort, the... twentieth if the brown plumage duck hadn't discounted. Then, the chicken narrowed his eyes at his subordinate and tensely replied:

"Not even ten minutes ago, I answered that question. The answer remains the same. NO! It’s still too soon."

With some hesitation, the Hispanic duck began:

"But it’s already been..."

Before he could look at the clock to confirm the time, Mr. McDuck's main scientist replied:

"Just a scant hour! We’ve to wait at least two or three hours. Maybe even five, to be completely sure."

Despite knowing that information, hearing it made Fenton start to grow more impatient than before. How could he bear to wait so long? No, they should definitely be able to activate Beaks’ GPS much sooner, shouldn’t they? Trying to convince his superior to activate it at that moment, the Hispanic duck began:

"But that's too much time-"

Fenton didn’t finish what he wanted to say because suddenly and unexpectedly, Gyro turned to him and angrily bellowed:

"YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW?! I am very aware of that Crackshell! But I am not going to risk it! I don’t want mistakes! And getting ahead would be a mistake!”

The Hispanic duck involuntarily recoiled at the scientist’s outburst. Certainly... he didn’t expect that, in addition, it was very unusual for him to be called by his last name. Dr. Gearloose usually preferred to call him by his job title or with some invented nickname. The use of his last name was rare and unusual... something new. But Fenton didn't want to be intimidated by what had just happened. So, he persisted in his stubbornness saying:

"Maybe yes and maybe no. Maybe Beaks hasn't even left Duckburg, or- or- maybe he could be on the outskirts, it doesn't take that long-"

"Enough!"

Dr. Gearloose's sudden scream silenced Fenton instantly. Actually, it was true that the chicken was often upset. But rarely had the Hispanic duck seen him with that extreme furious expression. It almost seemed that he was going to attack someone. It was so scary that Fenton felt his breathing speed up, fearing he would soon be the victim of a scientist’s attack.

Fortunately, Dr. Gearloose's anger seemed to calm quickly and then, speaking again normally, although a little harsh, explained:

"Look, I understand that you’re worried about that boy. I really understand. But I’ve also said that the best thing to do is wait. And that’s what we are going to do, end of discussion. Understood?"

Lowering his head, the brown plumage duck replied meekly:

"Yes, Dr. Gearloose."

After these words, Manny approached Fenton and putting a hand... er hoof on his shoulder, said:

"Clop clop clop clopclopclop clopclop (You have to be a patient friend.)"

The Hispanic duck sighed, really appreciated the gesture, but...

"I know Manny, it's just that... I... I really want to find and rescue Huey." he said sadly. The headless horse tapped the ravaged duck lightly on the shoulder as he replied:

"Clopclop clop (I know.)"

Dr. Gearloose caught their attention at the time saying:

"Oh, there’s another thing that we must remember and keep in mind. Once we have that parrot’s location, we’ll turn off the signal again. We don’t need that... pseudoscientist to realize that we’ve hacked the system."

Fenton nodded in agreement. If Beaks realized at some point that he had the GPS on, that could be disastrous. They couldn't allow that to happen. The Hispanic duck finally managed to answer:

"Yeah… of course…" 

After this brief exchange, Mr. McDuck's scientist stared at his intern closely. It really looked like he was examining him. Being scrutinized that way made Fenton nervous. He was going to express his discomfort, but Gyro beat him to it saying:

"Hey intern, it's clear we won’t be getting results for a while. So... why don't you go for a ride to do some... Gizmo-things?"

What? Did Gyro mean to kick him out? If it was because of him that they manufactured the device that allowed them to hack the Waddle system! It was Fenton who managed to open the virtual box in which they found all the intel regarding Beaks' plans! And now that they were so close to finding Huey... now he wanted to push him away? Fine! This duck wasn’t going anywhere! This is what the intern expressed saying:

"What? But Dr. Gearloose, I want to stay here, I want-”

Gyro's face changed and the furious-terrifying expression returned as the scientist shouted:

"Why is it so hard for you to obey ?!"

This time Fenton felt a chill run down his spine. His legs seemed to falter. If it weren't for the table behind him, the duck would probably have fallen to the ground. Seriously, Dr. Gearloose was really scary right now.

The experienced scientist took several deep breaths and finally explained:

"What I want is for you to clear your mind. You are too obsessed with all this, and I need you to be thinking clearly when we take the next step. That's why I want you to go away for a while. Come on! Go away."

Oh my... that was the reason... Fenton wanted to kick himself. He’d misjudged Dr. Gearloose, who only tried to help him, wanting the Hispanic duck to be prepared for when the time for the rescue came. How could he be so blind as not to see that Mr. McDuck's scientist was trying to help him? How foolish!

"Okay, okay, I'm leaving." he said embarrassedly. After these words the brown plumage duck headed towards the elevator. When he got there, he turned around and after clearing his throat, said:

"Dr. Gearloose, sorry to have behaved like a complete imbecile. I’m sorry for everything I’ve told you. Forgive me for my daring and stupidity, please.”

Fenton watched Dr. Gearloose's eyes widen in surprise. The chicken quickly shook his head and tried to cover it though. Looking away he replied:

"There is nothing to forgive. It’s normal to act so irresponsibly when someone we care about is in danger. Believe me. I’ve seen it before."

The scientist then looked at him and added:

"Actually, I was thinking you'd better not come back. I mean, we'll take care of getting the location for you. When you've cleared your mind, go see the McDuck family, dressed in Gizmoduck suit obviously. Tell them to get ready for the rescue mission and wait there for us to send you the location, so you can leave immediately."

Fenton smiled slightly. Despite not showing it, it seemed that his boss appreciated his apology. Although he didn’t understand his words when he said that he had seen it before. When? How and with whom had he seen it exactly? Well, the scientist probably wouldn't tell him, even if Fenton asked. Specially knowing that Dr. Gearloose was very reserved about certain aspects... like that, for example.

On the other hand… the proposal he’d suggested, truly could help them earn time. So, after a brief nod, the Hispanic duck replied:

"Yes Dr. Gearloose, I’ll do so."

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

Fenton left the lab and tried to clear his head.  He’d patrolled the city, stopped the Beagle Boys from stealing a jewelry store, arrested a couple of thugs who were trying to steal from helpless old ladies... yeah, ordinary hero duties.

After finishing his patrol, the robotic superhero had immediately headed to the mansion to convey Dr. Gearloose's message. No need to say that Scrooge immediately began to order everyone to prepare. He sent Launchpad to get the plane ready. To his housekeeper he ordered to prepare the equipment that she might consider necessary for the rescue. He asked his ghost butler to watch the children.

A ghost butler!

Who’d have a ghost butler? Okay, Scrooge McDuck would. To be honest, the last time Fenton was there, he was so tired that didn’t even realized that the ghost was there. And about his nephew... Scrooge asked him to calm down, because since Fenton gave them the news, the duck dressed as a sailor hadn’t been able to remain quiet or silent. He was demanding every five seconds that they should leave immediately. He couldn’t stop asking if everything was ready to go for Huey.

Seriously, seeing Huey's uncle in that state, Fenton understood why Gyro had 'kicked him' out of the lab. Donald seemed on the verge of a serious nervous breakdown, er… maybe better say, an anxiety attack? Well, whatever it was, the unintelligible-speaking duck didn't seem to be able to calm down, and his over-movement got to the point that even Scrooge had to step in saying:

"Oh, curse me kilts Donald, calm down fer once."

"But Uncle Scrooge, if we already know where Huey is, why don't we go find him now?" replied the younger of the two ducks.

Fenton felt guilty at what that duck had just said. Perhaps he hadn’t explained himself well, and now Donald believed that the superhero duck already had Huey's location? He had to clarify the situation. He did so by answering the question:

"Because we still don't know where he is."

Donald turned to look at him with a mixture of surprise and anger on his face... more anger than surprise, actually. Speaking angrily, he asked:

"What?"

Fenton raised his hands, and then explained:

"Dr. Gearloose will send us the location as soon as he has it. But until then, we have to wait."

"Does that mean that when you have the location, we’ll go find Huey?" suddenly asked an excited voice. The adults turned to the voice’s origin and there they saw the two remaining triplets, their friend and Duckworth with a worried expression on his face. It seemed (and was only an assumption) that the children had heard something about the whole thing and had quickly come forward to take part in whatever it was.

That thought must have been shared with Mr. McDuck because he suddenly approached the children, hit the ground with his cane, and told them:

"No, Beakley, your uncle Donald, Gizmoduck and I... and Launchpad obviously since he is the pilot will go. Ye lads will stay here.”

The kids’ reactions were not long in coming:

"What?!"

"No way!"

“We’re coming too!”

From his position, Fenton saw Scrooge squint and speak loudly to the children:

"Absolutely not! Ye don't come."

"Why not?" Dewey asked, and his brother quickly added:

"Huey is our brother!"

Mr. McDuck closed his eyes and let out a sigh. He opened his eyes again, looked compassionately at his grand-nephews and the girl who was with them (Fenton still didn't know what her name was, or what relationship she had with the family) and in a soft but firm voice he said:

"Precisely because of that. We don't know in what condition Huey is, we don't want ye to see him until we’re sure that he’s fine.”

Dewey, who Fenton had already assumed was the most impulsive kid, jumped up almost instantly saying:

"That’s not fair!"

The old duck sighed again and looking sadly, said:

"Sorry lads, but it’s the best for you."

"How can you be so sure?" the green-dressed triplet suddenly asked, crossing his arms. The duck in the top hat looked at the boy and opened his beak to reply, but before he could, Donald spoke up:

"Enough boys! Uncle Scrooge is right. We’ll take care of bringing Huey back, I promise you. Now, go wait in your room."

The children looked at the sailor-dressed duck. He looked at them with a stern frown, but also with evident concern on his features. It was clear that he wasn’t happy with what he was saying, but it wasn’t as if he had any other option apparently.

Realizing it was a losing battle, the children lowered their heads and left the room. Almost instantly, the phone embedded in Gizmoduck's helmet (Huey's idea and that Fenton had already implemented in the suit) began to ring. The Hispanic duck immediately answered the call.

"Hello?... yes. Dr. Gearloose it’s me... yes. I hear you... yes... yes... copy that. Thanks, and goodbye."

As soon as the conversation ended, he turned to the other two ducks there, both looking at him expectantly, then Mr. McDuck asked:

“It was Gyro, wasn't it? Well? What did he say?"

Straightening his stance, the superhero answered the question:

"We have the location!"

The billionaire duck's face took on a deeply determined expression. He said:

"Perfect lad. Okay, let's not waste time. Let's go there immediately."

Gizmoduck smiled. Mr. McDuck was right. There was no time to waste. Leaving quickly, they all headed to the plane, where Fenton notified Launchpad of their destination. After confirming the location, the pilot started the engine and the plane began to move. It increased speed, and soon they were going to take off. Fenton looked out the window and saw something that surprised and confused him.

The family’s ghost butler was flying as fast as he could towards the plane. He looked alarmed and was signaling to them, but it was too late. The plane had just separated from the ground and was rising rapidly. It was going through the sky towards their destination. Heading to Huey.

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

Welp, I really liked Gyro here, he had his moment. Did you like it? I've to admit at the beggining I didn't like Gyro, but as time passed, I grow up with him, and he's become a great character to me. I feel he cares about others but he doesn't like to show it (and after Astroboyd we can understand why I guess). Now at the end of the chapter, I guess all of you imagine why Duckworth was flying trying to stop the plane, can't you?

Okay, after say that, I really hope you all enjoyed this chapter, I also would like to thank to all the people who’d read this story, the ones who commented, those who reblogged it and: @mysteriouswriter72 @elianemariane17 @araminakilla20 @hakuneki07 @i-cant-find-any-creative-name @gizmovi @some-dum-wizard-bitch @infamousquack  @margaretnobbs @alphatheplant @sugerheart @squackcrowquack @nsbfenro @marshmeadow12 @ohgeeeznotagain @constellations1 @isabellanajera @you-big-palooka @deathcat003 @dragonsareawesome123 @via15 @wellshit333 @ninjawarrior100 @your-salty-dorito @rowan-npg @thesuperepicawesomefireninja @duckworth-is-love @worldsbesteagle @shaz231 @cherriesandpoison @softlemonboi @rosebu-uds @mulaneysnl @ihavenonamehalp @drummergirl231 @narnour-momo-007 @via15 @trash-queen-fahey @gamerfansims389 @lesbianz4glomgoldje @jessie-00 @maclove54north @northofanvi @maditheanimaniacuwu

And if I’ve forgot someone, I’m sorry

See you in the next chapter 😉

[the-desolated-quill]

Look On My Works, Ye Mighty... - Watchmen blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. if you haven’t read this comic yet, you may want to before reading this review)

Adrian Veidt, aka Ozymandias, is the character we probably know the least about, and some could argue that leaving it until the penultimate chapter to fill in the gaps is leaving it a little late, but as was the case with Doctor Manhattan and Rorschach, it was important that we got to see the character and his impact on the world of Watchmen before we got the full story. Plus I imagine Alan Moore was very hesitant to give us too many details about Veidt in case he ran the risk of revealing his hand too early and spoiling the twist. Look On My Works, Ye Mighty offers many answers to the burning questions throughout the graphic novel whilst offering us a chilling insight into the last remaining superhero archetype that had been unexplored until now. The ‘liberal’ capitalist.

Up until now, we know precisely three things about Veidt. He’s rich, he’s clever and he’s an innovator. It was his subsidiary companies that utilised Manhattan’s superpowers as an alternate energy source, making America eco-friendly and revolutionising technology at the time. He’s also the one superhero in the novel that the general public actually seem to like. Most likely because of his willingness to reveal his secret identity before the Keene Act was passed outlawing superheroes and using his vast wealth and influence to try and help the world instead of merely donning a costume and beating people up. However he’s not popular among other superheroes, most notably Rorschach and the Comedian. With Rorschach, the reasoning is obvious. He’s right wing and homophobic, so naturally he’s at odds with Adrian from the get go. With the Comedian, it’s his cynical nihilism that prevents him from seeing Adrian as anything other than a naive fool with delusions of grandeur. And the dislike is mutual. Adrian openly dislikes Rorschach and, in this very issue, he condemns the Comedian for being Richard Nixon’s lap dog, accusing him of being behind the assassination of JFK and working to keep Nixon in power beyond his term limits (whether this is actually true or simply the conspiratorial ramblings of a bitter liberal is left intentionally unclear). So it’s very ironic indeed that it was the Comedian that gave Adrian the inspiration to fake an alien invasion in the first place.

Now I have a lot to say about the whole alien squid thing, but I’m going to save that for the last review. For now I simply want to focus on Ozymandias himself and the reasons and motivations behind his actions.

So first things first, what’s with the Egyptian imagery? Well Ozymandias is actually the given name for the historical figure known as Alexander the Great, whom Adrian feels a strong kinship towards. It also ties into Adrian’s personality and goals. Obviously there’s the obscene wealth and ridiculously self indulgent architecture, but also the ancient belief that the pharaohs of Ancient Egypt were intermediaries between the gods and mortals. This is important because it gives us an insight into how Adrian views himself and the world around him. Because of his intellect and his wealth, he views himself as being above humanity and only he knows how best to fix the world. However, in the process, he reduces ordinary people to mere statistics. Killing millions of people in one city will bring about world peace and prosperity for the other billions of people around the globe. This line of thinking is called utilitarianism, which basically means that the ends justify the means. Now of course all the characters in Watchmen display elements of utilitarian thinking, but Adrian takes it a step further, applying his own morality to a global scale. It’s scary on a number of levels, but what makes it so frightening for me is what the character of Ozymandias says about other capitalist superheroes like Batman, Green Arrow and Iron Man.

Rich white men becoming costumed vigilantes is nothing new of course. Batman was one of the first comic book superheroes ever conceived after all. But very rarely do we get to see or explore the political and social implications of a superhero being a member of the one percent. If you think about it, ultra rich men putting on costumes and beating up often working class criminals is quite disturbing. Especially when you consider the kinds of things the mega rich get away with in the real world. Money gives you influence and influence gives you power. Costumed crime fighting is in itself an exercise of power over those deemed immoral, but for the capitalist superhero it’s also power over the impoverished and dispossessed. Class privilege in action. This is something that’s hardly ever touched upon in comics. Okay Iron Man comes the closest at points as he was initially created to critique industrialists and war profiteers, and the Civil War storyline paints him in a very ugly light as the Superhuman Registration Act imposed by the government reveals a strong wealth and class divide within the superhero community, but other than that the conversation is usually swept under the rug. 

DC Comics are quick to point out how Batman and Green Arrow aren’t like those rich white men. Look, they’re donating money to orphanages and helping the homeless! They’re nice capitalists! We like those capitalists! As for Marvel, there’s a line even they won’t cross regarding the politics of Iron Man and other such superheroes in their canon. They’re more than happy to discuss how making weapons of mass destruction is bad, but you’ll never see them get too specific. You’ll never see them condemn the American military and the role they’ve played in the destabilisation of the Middle East, nor will you ever see them outright address the distinct possibility that Tony Stark is in fact Republican. This is why I often find the accusation of publishers and movie studios having a quote/unquote ‘political agenda’ so baffling because the truth is they have no agenda other than to make money. Marvel and DC are businesses. They’ll never risk taking a firm stance either way for fear that it will alienate a certain group of readers and lose them sales. But by dodging and skirting around the conversation, the two companies have created an archetype that feels incredibly disingenuous, which is what Watchmen seeks to expose with Ozymandias.

The question is can someone who is ultra rich and influential possibly be heroic? This is something that was briefly touched upon back in A Brother To Dragons with Nite Owl. Dan spent his dad’s inheritance on costumes and gadgets for his superhero alter ego when surely it would have been better to donate the money to charity or something if he truly wanted to help his community. But that’s not what Dan wants. Not really. He just wants to indulge in his own power fantasy. Adrian takes that one step further. He has more money than Dan. Exponentially more. And it can be argued he’s done good things for his community, such as creating renewable energy. However, just like with Dan, the reasoning behind his plot isn’t really down to wanting to help others, but rather as a way of having the ultimate power fantasy. To be seen to be saving the world.

Everything Adrian does is less to do with helping others and more to do with displaying his own power and influence. Don’t get me wrong. I believe that he believes he’s doing the right thing, but if you really scrutinise his actions, his motivations feel far more self serving than he would care to admit. Tricking the world into believing they’re being invaded by an outside force is one thing, but taking the trouble to kidnap multiple scientists, writers and artists in order to create a fake alien seems like overkill. It’s ego driven. If you think about it, a bomb would have done. But Adrian wanted something spectacular. Something memorable. Just look at his decor. He built an entire Egyptian temple and biodome in Antarctica. Why? There’s no reason other than for his own self aggrandisement. It’s a display of his power.

Then there’s his actions regarding the Comedian, Rorschach and Doctor Manhattan. He wanted to get rid of witnesses. Understandable. But why beat the Comedian up so savagely, chucking him from his penthouse window, when he could just as easily have dispatched him with a single gunshot like he did with Moloch? Could it be that silencing the Comedian was less about self preservation and more about Adrian demonstrating his superiority over Nixon’s lap dog? Same goes for Rorschach. Again, he could have just killed him. Would have been much simpler. Instead he frames him for Moloch’s murder. It’s not enough to get rid of Rorschach. He wants the satisfaction of outwitting this right wing sociopath. The manipulation of Doctor Manhattan is self explanatory. Tricking a god into leaving the planet must have been quite the ego boost. And then there’s the fake assassination attempt in Fearful Symmetry. Adrian wanted to deflect suspicion away from him, but like with the alien, he wanted something spectacular. Something memorable.

Every single thing Adrian Veidt does throughout the graphic novel has some sort of egotistical agenda behind it. Even his ultimate plot to stop World War Three and unite the world isn’t about the greater good. It’s about him overcoming his own feelings of powerlessness. Because up until now the one thing he was unable to control with all his wealth and influence was the nukes. Now he’s managed even that. He has succeeded where Alexander the Great failed. He is truly the King of kings.

While not as over the top as this, we’ve seen this kind of behaviour so many times before by members of the quote/unquote liberal elite. Bill Gates, JK Rowling, Joss Whedon, Elon Musk and many more. Wealthy people of influence who are more concerned with looking progressive than actually being progressive. They perform charitable acts not out of a genuine desire to help others, but in order to be seen to be charitable. This is Ozymandias. Like I said, I believe that he believes he’s doing the right thing, but for me I think he’s more interested in being seen to have saved the world rather than actually doing something to truly help bridge the divide between nations. In some ways, he represents superheroes as a whole within Watchmen. Men and women more concerned with the attention and power being a superhero brings than actually helping their community. And just as a superhero alter ego allows the characters to see themselves as being above others, so too does wealth allow Adrian to see himself as being above the world.

This is why it was so important to see all the supporting characters. The news vendor, the kid reading the Black Freighter, Joey and her lesbian partner, Doctor Malcolm Long and his wife, and the two police detectives. To remind us that these are real people’s lives these characters are toying around with here. And it’s genuinely unnerving seeing all these people we’ve come to know over the course of the graphic novel be completely obliterated.

[askmyboys]

Dean and Jason

Names: Dean Williamson and Jason Bishop | Genders: Male | Ages: Dean is 32 and Jason is 34 | Heights: Dean is 5'0" and Jason is 7'5" | Species/Race: Humans | Eye Colors: Dean's eye color is Forest Green (both their eye colors are going to be for their meanings mostly), and Jason has heterochromia- his left eye is Steel Gray, his right eye is Shadow Black. | Hair Colors: Dean's is Ginger (his hairstyle is a messy undercut), and Jason's hair color is black (and his hairstyle is an extreme spiky quiff) | Appearances: Dean l o v e s hoodies, he has a full collection of hoodies and its about all he wears tbh, his main hoodie is one that has the words "Fuck Off" written on the front and "Fuck You" on the back of it, he wears some ripped blue jeans to go along with it- most of his pants are ripped and the non-hoodie clothing is also ripped mostly (thats not the reason he mainly wears hoodies tho, their just more comfy ya know?), he also wears combat boots as well (oh and as a bonus he also loves tank tops- he just wears hoodies more), whenever he DOES wear his tank tops however- he usually has white bandages wrapped around his wrists and down his arms a bit (you know- like how some of those wrestlers wear sometimes), he's not SUPER muscular but you can tell he works out for sure, he also has a lot of scars on him- nothing TOO prominent- it just looks like he got into a lotta fights mostly (and of course, he has a circle beard that matches his hair color) Jason usually wears tank tops mostly, his jeans either have chains hanging down them or their ripped jeans, and of course combat boots as well- sometimes if he REALLY feels like it, he'll put on a... "fancier" outfit, those outfits are usually leather jackets with spikes on them, black fingerless driving gloves (ya know those ones that expose the fingers for one obvs but also they kinda reveal the knuckles too), the pants stay the same in both his main and secondary outfits tbh, he has a full beard, and oh BOY does this man look strong- he looks like he can easily lift a thousand pounds (not that GROSS OVERLY muscle-y look either btw just wanna make that v clear but he just looks- Idk- is beefy the right term to use? Lmao- you can tell I dont know shit bout exercise or any terms), he also has a TON of scars on him even on his face, he's covered almost head to toe in scars- big boy's been through a lot. | Personalities: Dean is a rough rowdy boy who won't take shit from anyone even IF he knows they could easily kick his ass, absolutely against authority- don't tell him what to do and stay out of his way while he's doing it or else he'll mess you up! He LOVES to fight tbh in general so sometimes he'll go picking a fight for just no reason if he's bored enough that is, he l o v e s to cause trouble and honestly hearing people scream in frustration at what he did or caused is always funny, he likes to pull "pranks" on people as well to frustrate them further, honestly you might as well consider him a masochist at this point because he seems to enjoy pain well enough, absolutely without a d o u b t LOVES mindless carnage, p much a bad boy? like jfc- this dude needs to seriously chill out, he's not a fair fighter either so you better believe he'll use weapons if he gets the chance. (tl;dr: Rough rowdy boy, will not take shit from anyone even if he knows they could beat him up, "Fuck authority and fuck your rules I do what I want bitches", loves a good brawl for sure- he is DTF 24/7 (Down to Fight lmao I couldnt resist), has some v e r y prominent masochistic and hell even SADISTIC tendencies at this point, loves to prank people and watch them grow more frustrated, loves frustrating people in general tbh, needs to chill but he won't, an absolute dirty fighter and he WILL use weapons against someone if he can, mindless carnage is his J A M, he does have a soft side however, but uh, his "Soft side" is only for ONE person and one person only h e h) Jason is.... pretty opposite of Dean, he doesn't start fights for the hell of it but uh he definitely won't take shit from nobody if they even dare mess with him or especially Dean, people don't usually mess with him anyways tbh- their too terrified bc he's s o tall and beefy looking that it intimidates people- not to mention the look he usually has on his face- he scowls a lot which just adds to the intimidation factor, he's pretty quiet most of the time (wow completely opposite of Dean in that regard, Dean is a LOUD BOI), he might look all intimidating and scary but honestly, that's because.... He absolutely is, he WILL snap your neck like a twig if you mess with him or god forbid Dean, he only has a soft side for o n e man, and it should be obvious by now lmao, a loner type mostly, you can usually find him in the back because its dark and quiet, now I won't say he doesn't have sadistic urges sometimes bc he absolutely does- he just has good self restraint ...most of the time anyways... he's not really a masochist but honestly he must have a HIGH pain tolerance because he BARELY reacts when someone punches or even cuts him. (tl;dr: Opposite of Dean in MANY ways, he doesn't start fights for the hell of it, but can and will defend himself if the situation calls for it, will not take no one's shit for sure, VERY intimidating- even one look usually sends people running, scowls like- a LOT- like Dean: "Don't you like, e v e r smile?" *cut to Jason smiling but its v e r y unsettling and disturbing looking* " Holy fuck... Nevermind...", usually hangs out in the background somewhere- where its quiet n dark p much, loner type BUT the only person he really likes hanging out with is Dean despite how annoying the little punk can be sometimes, definitely has some sadistic urges but his self restraint can be a great deal of help when those urges come around, not a masochist at all he just has a HIGH pain tolerance and doesn't even flinch at anything hardly, hell most of the time the most he'd do is s t a g g e r a bit if ya hit him with a weapon that is or run into him) | Side Facts: I will say, Dean and Jason DO fight each other a lot, arguments and even physical stuff BUT- lemme make it clear, they'd never hurt each other TOO badly, they just love to rough each other up a bit sometimes, its fun to them and they never have any hard feelings against each other about it- bc they do both love to fight, I mean- that dont mean they don't get salty if one beats the other in a fight, they do know self control and restraint when fighting each other however- they'd n e v e r ACTUALLY cause serious damage, they just a couple o' rowdy boys who are super fucking gay for each other. Yep. you heard me, the truth is out- Dean has a crush on Jason, and Jason has a crush on Dean- BUT... They don't actually know it, like sure- they know one another won't seriously hurt each other which both of them respect each other for that, but Jason doesn't know Dean has a crush on him, and Dean doesn't know Jason has a crush on him especially, I mean hell- Jason looks like he barely has any emotion and the only time he does is when he CAN cause some mindless carnage or destruction- most of the time he just looks pissed off. Truth be told, this is the only time they've ever r e a l l y been afraid tho... like, Dean's scared to tell Jason his feelings bc what if Jason rejects him or for some reason gets really pissed and p much leaves him there all alone, he just has a lot of fear and anxiety over this kinda thing, and Jason... he doesn't think Dean will feel the same and just make fun of him for that like "lmao your g a y? Gross dude" (listen, let's get one thing straight, first of all- their not, second of all- Dean IS an asshole BUT he's not THAT kinda asshole lmao) so Jason's got some fears of this too their just significantly different than Dean's- so if ANYONE of them tells each other bout the feelings, it'll probs be Dean firsthand- Jason's just gonna keep quiet of that in fear Dean'll make fun of him for this kinda feeling, especially towards h i m- its essentially just two dudes who's super gay for each other but terrified to tell each other about the other's feelings n shit. In Dean's spare time he usually chills out well, anywhere he really wants too (he can honestly be super chill, like MORE SO than usual when Jason's around and he knows it), but he'll usually kick back and relax and listen to some music on his phone- his favorite genre is heavy metal, punk rock, or just anything rock in general mostly- he better be glad he has headphones bc Jason would probably become v e r y irritated hearing that loud music all the time, or if music doesn't appeal to Dean at the moment- he'll watch some videos instead- he doesn't do m u c h in his spare time aside from those and well, most of the times he'll work out with Jason- which even tho Dean can be loud most of the time, Jason seems to, well from Dean's perspective- he "tolerates" his presence p much. In Jason's spare time he usually just hangs out in "the back" he likes the darker areas and the much more quiet areas, usually whenever he's got spare time he works out a L O T- along with Dean, who again, this is from Jason's perspective now- Jason actually loves having Dean around to work out with, its nice in a way... Aside from work outs, he'll sometimes read some books, listen to some music of his own, orrr watch videos on his phone as well, there is ONE thing he does aside from that though... He loves to find and collect certain items that he k n o w s he could make weapons out of, at first, Dean didn't understand why the fuck Jason was collecting all this junk but he didn't dare question it, but after a long while... Jason had came out from his little area and he gave Dean a few weapons, ranging from a baseball bat to a knife- which, Dean- he actually genuinely smiled- not that shit eating grin that's usually plastered on his face but a genuine smile came from this boy, he... he absolutely loved those weapons- he treats them fondly too even to this day.

[delicrieux]

-- valar dohaeris

                                        + all men must serve +                                                      chapter 3

pairing: jon snow x reader x various

summary: Tormund and Podrick try to get along with (Name)

warnings: none (i think) just swearing!

words: 2.7k

author’s note: this chapter is more light-hearted (kinda sorta not really)

tagging: @emmaamalie - @storiiteller​

feedback is always appreciated xoxo

masterlist | ch.2 | v. d. masterlist | buy me coffee☕

THE RED PRIESTESS FROM ASSHAI

The Hall is hot, humid, and full to the brim with people and their eager breaths. A small feast – the revival of Jon Snow and Lady Stark’s sudden visit – takes place in order to celebrate this victory before the storm. A great battle looms over the shoulders of the Starks and their loyal followers. A moment of happiness is what all of them deserve, especially before the call to arms.

You sit beside a timid round faced Podrick and a messy haired loud mouthed Tormund right across you. It was the Wildling’s idea to have you join them, as he had, eagerly at that, dragged you from the courtyard and shoved a goblet of dry, cheap wine into your hand. Its ruby surface is diluted and rose, bleak in front of your deep red garments. You are a red spring bird amongst the crows, shining like a midnight star, and for that reason alone you find men’s gazes wandering to you as the evening progresses, each look bolder than the last. Tormund had already drunk his wine, now filling himself more from the pitcher and spilling half of it on the table. He regards his slip of hand with a hearty laugh. Podrick beside you sips politely, his eyes shooting to Brienne of Tarth, the lady knight-to-be seated close to Sansa, set on never leaving the girl for too long.

��C’mon, drink up,” Tormund encourages, clinking his glass with yours and nearly knocking it over, “if you’re quick you might miss the fact that it tastes like piss.”

Podrick snorts into his drink, red-cheeked and giddy, as Tormund, in one impressive gulp, empties the glass, and then moves for the pitcher. You watch mildly impressed. This whole interaction is completely out of your element, and the stiffness in your neck, lack of movement, lack of even a shy glance outside the figures of these two men proves your discomfort visibly. Melisandre is nowhere to be seen, possibly locked away in her chamber, possibly watching the flames and the secrets which hide within them. You should have joined her, you ponder, staring at your full cup, you should be there with her, be preparing for what is instore for the future. You are here to help, not to mindlessly blabber and mingle with strangers you shall never see again.

“You seem unease, Miss.” Podrick comments, his voice gentle, concerned, as his brows knit together in wonder. You say nothing, uncertain if there is anything to say at all. Should you correct him? Lie? There is no point to it. Your fate is not intertwined with his; it would be a waste of time to even engage him. “Is our company…unpleasant?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Pond.” Tormund says, lowering the pitcher from his mouth, “Lady Red here’s probably used to somethin’ a lil’ more fancy than this shithole. Ain’t that right?” He looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to confirm his suspicions and prove just what a pompous royal you are: he had noticed you barely talking to anyone but the Lord Commander, and you and Melisandre rarely left the confinements of your chambers, and if you did, it was to watch eerily from the shadows as the men around you worked and swore.

“No.” You reply after a moment of hesitation, “I’ve…never been to a feast.” It is not a shameful admission, though his reaction ticks you.

“You what?” Tormund barks, laugher bubbling in his chest, “You a good liar, you know that?”

“It is true.” You persevere, voice unwavering, still cool, still unimpressed, “I am a priestess. There are no celebrations in the temple.”

“You mean to tell me that you’ve never had a drink before?” He raises a suspicious brow, “You buyin’ this, Poddick?”

“It’s Podrick.” The man nervously replies. Tormund merely dismisses him with a wave of his hand.

“Not wine, per se.” You say, raising your glass, curiously watching it, “I have had a drink of R’hllor’s Blood.” You catch his gaze, the pretty greens of his eyes twinkling in the firelight, “One sip and the whole world disappears into a cloud of smoke. And for the rest of the night you feel as if you are floating. There is no fear. Nor happiness. Simply a forever of tranquility.” You take a wary sip and regret it immediately. It is disgusting, “And then you awake, with no memory of what had happened. Some find it comforting. Others… unsettling. I say it’s better than drinking this.”

“I need me some of that.” Tormund hums, “You have it with you? Now?”

“Only for ritual purposes, I’m afraid.” You say, “And no. Did not think I would need it.”

“You’re a witch, aren’t you?” Podrick asks cautiously. You simply nod, “As in…A real one?”

“Does she look like a fuckin’ ghost to you?” Tormund questions, his voice rough and mirthful.

A small smile slips on your lips, “Not a ghost, I assure you. Though there are plenty of those that roam the Asshai rivers, hide in corners of old temples.”

“Sounds like a scary place.” Podrick comments.

It had never occurred to you, really, the prospect of fright associated with a city drowned in mist. It is always dark there, always gloomy, and even on the brightest days the sun is hazy purple and the clouds are a furious grey. The homes, castles, temples are built from glossy black stone which absorbs any shred of light that might touch it, creating a vacuum. The rivers are clear and ghastly, the waves of the sea crash in sounds of wails of drowned women, and the roads are always empty. From your room, if you were to gaze outside, you could see perhaps a few figures rushing from one place to another, hidden in cloaks and wearing masks. Then again, those might simply be illusions created by the fire.

“…People usually fear what they don’t understand.” You mutter, “Perhaps to foreigners it does sound a bit…odd. Then again, those who do not wish to study magic have no place there.”

“I don’t need fuckin’ magic when I got a sword.” Tormund starts, elated, as if telling a great tale, “One hand an axe, the other a blade. Cut your head off and stab you for good measure.” He winks, “Oh, you should see what’s beyond the wall. Freedom, is what it is. Freedom. Mountains of snow, the world seems fuckin’ endless. We move from place to place, wherefuckin’ever we like, and we don’t have to answer to any lord or lady. Do what we want, when we want. Beyond the wall is a beautiful fuckin’ place.”

“We?” You ask.

“Me and the Wildings. We travel together. We hunt together. You’d end up dead in a day out there alone.” He explains, near boastful, “And what about you? Form any prayer circles with the other ladies?”

“What Tormund is trying to say,” Podrick quickly intervenes, “is if you and the other priestess’s are close. You and the Red Woman seem amiable.” He finishes with a friendly smile, “Pardon us.” He shoots a glance at Tormund, he already opening his mouth, “We’re just curious. Ashai—Am I saying that correctly? - is so far away and…No one knows much of it.”

Close? You suppose that some might think so, but that would be untrue. You know of Cordelia from the Yi Ti(1), a woman with burgundy hair and chilling ice blue eyes. You have spoken to her once during a ritual, and her voice was permanently struck by sorrow, but melodious and pretty. Then there was Sheena from Nefer(2), a tall, inked woman, whose voice was rasp and low, reminding you of gravel crunching under your feet. But you would never consider them as friends, nor foes, simply other women serving the same God but with different purposes.

Then, of course, there is Melisandre, though friendship between you two is also not something that can be placed. She is more of a mentor, an authoritative figure that watches over you, but her loyalties lie and always will lie with the God of Light and Fire. The nature of your profession does not allow for relationships; there must be no ties to the real world. It is only temporary, after all.

“No,” You admit, suddenly struck with deep sadness as your eyes wander around the room, ears ring painfully with laughter. You feel incredibly small, and your shoulders cave with an exhale, “No, we are not…close.”

Tormund’s brows shoot upwards, “So, you mean to tell me, Lady Red, is that you have no fuckin’ friends?”

You look around again, as if only now noticing how tightly knit this group is, how everyone is conversing eagerly, filling themselves silly with drink, shrilling first notes of a song heard long ago.

“I suppose I don’t.” You confess, “No, I do not have any friends, as you call it. The Asshai’i are…not warm people. And we don’t talk a lot. We are but a small population wandering the maze of the city. We rarely meet. Some of us sail and never return. There is no time for…friendships to form.”

“Sounds lonely.” Podrick mutters after a pause, even Tormund not daring to break it. They note your worry struck face, as if they, too, are living this revelation along with you. It is lonely, indeed, but never have you noticed just how much. You should not care for such things. You did not even think of them before this dreaded conversation.

You have never been abroad, Asshai being your only point of reference. You know little of Westerosi customs and Melisandre had offhandedly once said that one learns these things with time, though a certain detachment must always be in place. The Red Priests must be ready to do anything and everything upon their God’s command. Relationships would only get in the way of that philosophy.

Tormund smacks your shoulder crudely, making you flinch and halt your train of dreaded thought. You glance up at him, finding him grinning from ear to ear, “It’s a good thing we found you then, ey? Cause you’d wish you never had friends if you were to talk to those.” He motions with his head vaguely to the Watchmen, his eyes twinkling with mirth. You crack a smile, secretly thankful for his weirdly convivial words.

JON SNOW

The first embers of happiness light up her face, and he eases in his chair, watching wistfully from afar. Jon had wanted to come to her aid once he saw Tormund drag her helplessly, and Podrick fretfully try to make her feel welcomed, even if evidently she did not want to be a part of their small group. He watched as they drank and she listened to their spouting, later engaging in conversation with Tormund which was never a good idea. He is brash, and zestful, and at times humorous, yet she seemed awfully cautious of her words and bearing no real connection to others, and Jon feared she might not understand, or take offense to something the Wildling had said.

His fear had melted when he noticed that she started to smile as she visibly relaxed in their presence. She raises her cup to her lips for the second time and takes a bolder sip. Tormund cheers happily. Jon grins to himself.

“Go talk to her.” Sansa says, startling him. A smile plays in her voice, “I saw you stealing glances at her all evening.”

He clears his throat, “Yeah, I saw you staring, too.”

Sansa shrugs, “She does stand out amongst the crowd. That and she looked properly uncomfortable.”

“That’s just part of Tormund’s charm, I suppose.” He adds, unsure of what to say. She regards him with a bored look. “What?” He asks.

With her head, Sansa motions to Ladybug, “Go.”

“You go.” He says defensive, “You’re…a girl. You probably have more in common with her anyway.”

Sansa almost rolls her eyes, “I doubt it. The only reason she gave me the Wolf was because you told her I liked needlework. I don’t think she did it because she actually enjoys it.” Her pretty eyes wander to the Red Woman, “She did not strike me as a type to enjoy anything, really.” Ladybug’s laugher rings in the hall like a bell, some men turning to her in wonder. “I suppose she is more approachable than the other one.”

“She’s kind,” Jon says, “if not a bit…”

“Tactless?” Sansa finishes for him. He nods sullenly. Her lips quirk upwards into a teasing smile, “See? You two have a lot in common already.”

“I am not tactless.” He retorts.

“Then prove me wrong and go.” She nudges him, “Come on, before your Wildling friend pours her another glass of this awful wine.”

THE RED PRIESTESS FROM ASSHAI

The moon smiles down at you, half in bloom, its radiant light making the Wall glow. Wind howls in your ears, yet the cold air is refreshing after an evening of confinement within a room full of drinking people. The sweet scent of wine fades as the heavy door closes behind you, along with it snippets of laughs and chatter. The whole world grows pleasantly silent; the night is dark and starless.

Again you sense a restless evil which’s fingers reach from over the Wall, its watchful eye observing your small frame from the sky. You feel it – the shrill of the north, the frost collecting on bones, the sinister unease struck by peering into the void – and you pull your robes closer to your body, trying to keep warm, to feel comfort. Despite the eerie mirage in your mind, you feel a sense of familiarity. Darkness. Wisps of cool wind that sounds like whispers. If the structures were made from stone which can hold no reflection, then you would almost be certain you are back home.

Home. You have no home. Your home is wherever the Lord of Light deems it being. But overhearing Lady Stark tell Lord Snow of Winterfell with such conviction and such tenderness, it made you reconsider the meaning of the world entirely.

The door behind you opens and shuts once more, light spilling on the snow under your feet. You sense him before you see him, his aura now too familiar to be mistaken for anyone else. Jon Snow comes to join you by the railing, silent, brooding, following your gaze to the Wall, perhaps wandering what creatures hide behind it. He clears his throat in an attempt to catch your attention, and you tilt your head gently in his direction, “Saw you talking with Tormund.” He starts trying to sound impartial, “He means no harm, I assure you.” His concern comes out a bit awkward, and he avoids your gaze religiously because of it.

You nod timidly, your mind drifting back to the conversation, “I know.” You say softly, your voice carried by the wind, “It was…enlightening.” For a moment he figures you are joking, and snorts, but then he realises you are serious and hurriedly fixes a thoughtful expression, “You are lucky to have him as a friend. He will aid you in future battles.”

“Saw that in the fire?”

“No. It’s just…what friends do.”

A few snowflakes spiral from the sky; they land on your rosy cheek and kiss the skin with their cool touch. A few more spray the ground, your shoulders, tangle in his curly hair. The two of you move closer to one another, or perhaps he moves closer to you or vice versa, but the furs on his shoulder gently brushes yours and you smile lightly. He assumes you are pleased with the pretty sight of a starting storm. He is only partly wrong.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.” You admit.

“It… doesn’t snow in Asshai?” He asks lamely.

You want to tell him that no, it does not, that it only rains ashes and that they are hot and foul smelling, and that they burn your skin. Alas, you settle with, “For R’hllor’s sake, read a book, Jon Snow.”

He coughs a laugh. You smile to yourself. He ushers you inside when the storm picks up.

(1) Yi Ti is said to be the richest kingdom in Essos (2) Nefer is a underground city of necromancers

thank you for reading xoxo

[filipinosmakinghistory]

Meet Josh Abalos a Super Senior at UMass Boston! He is a Filipino/Filipino-American who grew up in a setting that emphasized the Filipino culture. Today is his birthday! What do you think is the most common misconception about being Filipino? That we're Mexican or that we speak Spanish? That the United States DIDN'T straight up colonize us after ownership of the archipelago was transferred from the Spanish to the US after the Spanish-American war? That we're dirtier or less civilized than northern/paler Asians? How did you become aware of your cultural identity? I grew up for my first 10 years around New York and New Jersey where there were huge Filipino communities. My parents raised me with the customs that they carried over when they moved to America. They just acted like themselves around me and I absorbed that. So I knew from an early age that I was Filipino but when I moved to Massachusetts at age 10 where there were markedly less Filipinos, and I became mostly surrounded by white people, I started noticing how the color of my skin, and the culture and behavior that I brought with me, stood out from everyone else.  The lack of diversity in the new town didn't help either. How much do you identify with the history of the Philippines? Lapu Lapu from the Visayas was pretty badass. He killed Magellan, that cocky Portuguese bastard, and defended the Philippines before the archipelago even had a name. There's also the legend of Urduja (pronounced: urd-oo-ya) from the region of Pangasinan, where my dad's side comes from, though scholars are divided on whether or not she was ever real (I'd bet she was real after some internet research). Anyway she was a fabled warrior princess in the pre-colonial archipelago, who led a band of female warriors and defended her kingdom from foreign invaders as well. Legend has it that she would not marry any man who could not best her in combat. Thus she died a virgin. Wowza. What a woman. Check out the veracity of her story for yourself. http://www.urduja.com/princess.html. Then there's Jose Rizal, who is widely regarded as a polymath, is very respectable in my books for that very trait (also v v v respectable for igniting the revolution just through his writings). He was also a nerd who got around with the ladies (20 different girlfriends), so while I don't necessarily promote promiscuity and especially not infidelity, let it be said you can totally be an over-the-top nerd and still get laid (and inspire a country). Wish I knew that in middle school lol. Otherwise, in regards to my family's history: my lolo (grandfather) on my dad's side fought in World War II. He was at Bataan. He hated the Japanese, and with good reason. They made him and the other 80,000 POWs march some 60 odd miles malnourished and abused. They would torture, physically, and mentally attack them while marching. He watched his buddies die right next to him from exhaustion, starvation, and bullets to the back of their heads. Whenever a POW couldn't keep up, they were either shot or just left in a ditch to wither. He almost didn't make it, and I might never have been born. Bittersweetly, he survived only to die of cancer right around the time I was born. I wish I had at least met him. My dad recalls these memories of his to me. He tells me that lolo always used to hate when dad did Japanese stuff. Lolo never wanted his son to drive Japanese cars, eat sushi, or to learn karate (all of which he did anyway; the damned rascal was a 2nd degree blackbelt in wado karate). Given all that, sometimes I wonder what my lolo would think of me if he were here today. I watch a lot of anime, I pretend to (ironically) act japanese sometimes, but you could say I look like a total weeb. It's weird to think about. I don't hate Japanese people, although I think some of the them are weird (have you heard of waifu body pillows? jeez). Would my grandfather disown me? Would he understand what it is to be a kid in this day and age? Is religion important in your household? Describe a situation illustrating why or why not. It's pretty important. My parents have poon amongst which is the Santo Niño. We have a prayer group which rotates amongst different families' houses where we pray the rosary together and praise Jesus and stuff but I'm not so much into it anymore considering I don't align myself with the Catholic Church anymore. Have you ever struggled with your racial/ethnic/cultural identity? Describe this struggle and how you overcame it.  Yea people called me a twinkie or a banana all the time because I acted so white. Yellow on the outside, white on the inside. I wanted to believe I was just like all the other kids in middle and high school but nothing could be farther from the truth. Oh sure, I learned how to fit in reaaal good but that doesn't mean I still wouldn't get sly remarks like "oh I didn't know you would be into punk rock" or the not so subtle "I thought you were Mexican!" and "Oh you're from there? You must eat dog then". Everywhere I go, I'm reminded that I don't exactly belong. You don't see a lot of Asians at punk shows, especially around here. Kids at concerts assume I don't know the scene, I don't know the bands, that I'm just a casual show goer, or worse a "poseur". At the kind of shows I go to, three is a crowd in terms of Asians being there. 

Sure Asians are supposedly the "model minority" but I'm brown. I'm a "dirty Asian". On top of which, I have a full bushy beard and moustache these days. I don't look so innocent anymore (I try to avoid cops and follow the law). Filipinos don't even recognize me as Filipino at first glance anymore. I was in a crowd of Filipinos from my parents' generation and they all spoke English around me, but as soon as I stepped away, they felt comfortable enough to speak Tagalog. I had to tell them I was fully Filipino and that my parents grew up in the home country. What's worse is I don't speak any Filipino language so even when they know I'm full-blooded Filipino, the older generation sees me as less because I can't speak Tagalog. I was at a Filipino birthday party over the summer, where this tita (auntie) overheard that the birthday girl's new boyfriend barely understands a single lick of Tagalog. Soon as she heard that flew off the handle shouting at no one in particular "ANONG PROBLEMA NG MGA KABATAAN NGAYON. THESE KIDS SHOULD UNDERSTAND TAGALOG. THEY SHOULD BE ASHAMED. THEIR PARENTS SHOULD BE ASHAMED. SUSMARYOSEP" and I'm just here like lmao chill out tita, sorry we grew up in America. 

But yea there is that slight pang of regret that I can't connect with my people on that level. Nowadays I'm President of my Filipino club, Hoy! Pinoy!, at UMass Boston. Second Term whoop whoop. I try to re-acculturate myself with the Philippines and try to provide the opportunity for members of my club to do the same. I helped found the club specifically to find my roots again, and be around people who were like-minded. 

And I recommend to anyone and everyone who is disconnected from their family's original home land, to join a cultural group, such as a college Filipino club in my case, so you can be surrounded by people who work together to find yourselves and your identity in something other than just the fads, memes, and trivialities of American life. So you can understand the struggle your ancestors, your family, have gone through to get you where you are now. So you can understand why you face the hardship you're facing now from society around you. If your family isn't perfect, it's probably in large part from the /STRESS/ of they and their ancestor's way of life being uprooted and changed so many times and so often, that life has been just chaos, whether if it's the Spanish colonizing us, the Japanese abusing us, the white Americans imperializing us, or just the immigrant experience as a whole. And if your group isn't asking the hard questions, like where y'all came from, how will you know where to go next? You cannot grow as a person or even take a step forward if you don't have a place from where you began. You can't build a house without a foundation. As humans, we build narratives, personal stories, which we use to identify ourselves, and figure out who we are and what we want. Take psych 101 and you'll hear this. Take Asian American Psychology and you might find a group of students who would help you understand who you are as both a Filipino and an American. Who cares if it's not a course that teaches you how to make money or where you learn a marketable skill? You'll be unhappy in life if you're rich and successful but don't know who you are and what you truly want. Ask me how many people I grew up with that are like that now. 

If you really, truly know who you are as a person, that can never be taken away from you, no matter how many times you're told who you are by dominant ethnic group who have never experienced what it's like to not be white, what to want by advertisements and product reviews that just want your money, or what to change so you can try to be just like them and not so foreign and scary. You're an individual which is both scary and exciting. But you're also human, and you need to be loved, regardless. 

As Uncle Iroh once said: "It's time for you to look *inward* and begin asking yourself the big questions. Who are you and what do *you* want?"

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aYkuuu9u3EI What are you most proud of as a Filipino/Filipino-American? FOOD. UGH BUT WHY DOES IT TAKE SO LONG TO COOK?? . . . . . . . . ANS: BC IT'S MADE WITH LOVE. What challenges did you face, growing up as a Filipino/Filipino-American?For those not from the Philippines, have you ever been to there? Tell a story or favorite memory from you visit! I was probably 7 years old when I visited my extended family in the province of Pangasinan, in Lingayen. Pros: Watched Darna on repeat Cons: Almost drowned in the monsoon. Great times. Told my parents "When are we getting off this wretched Island already!!! 😭"  Describe a significant event in your life that shaped who you are today Seeing other Filipinos (-Canadian) my age underage drink and "sin" (lol) when I was still a goody two-shoes in high school. Didn't help that I had a crush on this one girl who I looked up to. I started drinking in college. What do you feel most grateful for your life? Being born into a family that is economically advantaged. I mean, look, we live in Massachusetts, I go to one of the best public university systems in the nation, and I'm not going to be up to my neck in loans when I graduate. That's more than most can say. Tell us about someone who has had a big influence in your life? Ghandi. Civil Disobedience. Pacifism. Anti-colonialism. What a guy. What traditions have been passed down your family? Eat with your hands. Don't leave the bathroom door open. Describe your immediate/household family. Mom, Dad, and brother who is a sophomore in high school. Is having a knowledge of family history important? Why or why not? Yes. Maybe you should know if you have a family history of trauma or diabetes so you can get diagnosed earlier in life to see if you need to change your lifestyle to prevent life-threatening situations or lasting damage to your mind and body. Maybe. What does it mean to be successful in your family? Be a lawyer or a doctor. Be rich. Have kids. Whoopee

[movieswithkevin27]

The Uninvited

Reliant upon atmosphere, suspense, and mystery, instead of gore and violence, this supernatural horror film is just so much fun to watch. Often times, this makes for the best kind of horror film, as evidenced in horror classics such as The Innocents and The Haunting, which films that thrill, put you on the edge of your seat, terrify you, and leave you liable to jump from just about anything due to their chilling atmospheres. The Uninvited from director Lewis Allen is the perfect embodiment of this with a truly scary supernatural element found in a home purchased by siblings Roderick (Ray Milland) and Pamela Fitzgerald (Ruth Hussey). Buying it from Commander Beech (Donald Crisp) - who sells it against the wishes of granddaughter Stella Meredith (Gail Russell) - the Fitzgerald's soon learn that the home is haunted, though they dismiss this as nothing but rumors. However, it takes no time at all for this duo to realize that perhaps something does live in this house from the spirit world. Making matters worse, whatever does possess that home desperately wants Stella to join it in the afterlife.

Though taking a little too long to get into everything, The Uninvited is certainly slow out of the gate. However, once it does get going, it is a film that sinks its hooks into the audience and never lets go. Introducing the horror element on the first night that Roderick spends in the home with Pamela, a crying woman can be heard downstairs. Stating that she had heard it before and tried to find the source of the noise, Pamela tells Roderick that this woman is crying throughout the home with no definite source. Trying to come up with a rational explanation and writing that sound off as whistling on the nearby rocks and similarly trying to find rational explanations for why the painting studio on the second floor is always so chilly, the Fitzgerald's are not willing to admit their new home is haunted. However, director Lewis Allen goes through every trick in the book to convince them and the audience. With candles turning off, weird noises in the night, ghostly laughter, the aforementioned crying, and an encounter where Stella tries to run off a cliff after visiting the couple, The Uninvited is a film that sends chills down the spine of any unwitting viewer.

Cultivating this atmosphere of absolute terror via these ghostly noises, unexplained occurrences, the deeply demonic and ominous seance attempt, and the often unsettling score, The Uninvited is a film that is wholly capable of scaring an audience via what it does not see instead of relying upon what we can see. Knowing that this home is haunted by, likely, two beings with one of them desperately wanting Stella to die, the film keeps tension high with an atmosphere so thick and ominous that the film frequently sends chills down your spine in anticipation of what is to come and in terror of what did occur. As with many of the best horrors, The Uninvited provides scares and tension solely through this atmosphere which gives the film great staying power that will keep you looking over your shoulder well after the end of the film. If nothing else, it may just make you go digging through some boxes for that old nightlight you had as a kid due to how tense of a watch the film can become.

One of the greatest tricks The Uninvited has up its sleeve is the mystery/whodunit element that seeks to uncover who the ghosts are and what they want. Exploring the scandalous relationship between Stella's parents and their housekeeper, this mystery is one laced with great tension. Hinting at the nefarious intentions of one of the ghosts and the efforts of the other to save Stella, The Uninvited is a film that is scary due to its bumps in the night, but is one that can effectively scare the audience even when outside of the home. As the characters explore the history of the Meredith family and their home, discovering horrifying events along the way, The Uninvited ramps up the tension as the characters must race back to the home to protect Stella and/oror must continue to delve into this seaside house of horrors to figure out what may be occurring or what the ghosts want them to find out. However, perhaps nothing is more ominous than when the film ditches the atmosphere and gets to the more visceral horror: the appearance of the ghost haunting the home.

While Allen thrills and scares with nothing more than suggestion or historical fact, neither of these compare to when the characters eventually see the white mist that turns into a ghost. Giving characters panic attacks upon encountering them or simply making your hair stand on edge, seeing the ghosts may seem likely to remove much of the mystery behind the film, but it does the exact opposite here. In fact, it scares effectively, efficiently, and is the perfect culmination of the film's atmospheric build-up. Never feeling cheap or dated when showing the ghosts of the home, The Uninvited is a film that keeps viewers lingering on the edge of their seat for the whole film and finally pushes them off. Omnipresent and entirely ominous, these ghosts are ones that seem to linger throughout the home with smells, lights, or temperature tipping off their presence. By the time they are shown, Allen has so effectively set the scene for them to appear that their appearance is one that only serves to ramp up the tension even further.

Heavily relying upon shadows in the cinematography, there are two scenes that stick out in this regard in the film and neither are all that ominous. Rather, it is just the shadow of Roderick. The first comes as he walks down the stairs with his shadow seeming to follow behind him on the ceiling. The second comes as Pamela sits down and all that is shown of Roderick is his shadow next to her. Though Roderick is obviously not the ghost, Allen's usage of his shadow in this fashion makes it feel as though the two of them are not alone. In particular, the former feels rather ominous as it comes early on in the film, soon after the pair bought the home. Giving off this feeling that he is being followed down the staircase, the moment is one that oddly plays into the atmosphere created by Allen and has a very uneasy vibe to it. At all times, however, the cinematography in the film is of the highest order. Creating a home that is petrifying to walk through at night, the shadowy look of this film is one that gives off the feeling that ghosts could be hiding in any corner or just waiting in the dark for the right moment to strike.

Greatly influential in the horror genre, The Uninvited is credited as being the first film to use the supernatural as the central "villain" in a horror film instead of just a source of laughs in a comedy. Including genre mainstays such as cold rooms with a supernatural presence, a tragic history for the ghosts that has cursed them to walk the Earth until they get what they have been looking for, pets that refuse to go near the ghosts, doors randomly closing, lights go on and off, books flipping to seemingly random pages, investigations into the history of the haunted house undertaken by the occupants and an outsider, and a representation of the ghosts as shadowy figures in the night, it is hard to find an element of The Uninvited that is not considered old hat now. Yet, as with all of the best classic films, The Uninvited does not show any signs of this imitation. Rather, it scares just as readily as it once did due to the fantastic atmosphere put together by Allen that smartly on more than trying to scare the audience. With a whodunnit mystery playing a major factor in the film, Allen is able to thrill his audience and keep them engaged as they try to guess what had happened in this home so long ago. Managing to thrill and often spook in its own right, this mystery element is one that gives great depth to The Uninvited that allows it to entertain and thrill even in quiet moments when Allen takes a brief break from trying to scare viewers.

A terrifying and deeply haunting horror mystery, The Uninvited benefits from strong performances from leads Ray Milland and Ruth Hussey and excellent direction from Lewis Allen. With Milland and Hussey contributing a great sense of humor to lighten the mood - especially Hussey who showcased her comedic talents in The Philadelphia Story and demonstrates the same sharp wit and delivery in this film - The Uninvited is a film that never slacks and turns into a full-bodied work of fiction. Influential in serving up frights and spooks with a chilling atmosphere, The Uninvited is a film that will make you jump up at 5 A.M. waiting to hear what may go bump in the night.

[bastardsunlight]

Written by the ancient Sheikah, the archives of creation have been lost to history, until now:

Transliterated from the ancient tongue, which is somewhat subjective in nature

[ ] indicates translator’s best effort at deciphering

( ) indicates translator’s addition for clarity

// // indicates translator’s personal thoughts on the subject

To know the history of the Hero and of [Demise] is to know the history of the world, of light and of shadow. Evil has no place in this most innocent [dichotomy]. Without shadow, there can be no light. Without light, there is no shadow. The “land of the gods” has been called such for [eons], but there are gods in all lands, light and dark. When life comes, death follows. There is no existence without [void]—no presence without absence. Long and long have the people of the land of light, (Hyrule and the surrounding baronies), worshipped the golden goddesses of the [Triforce]. These three in one become Hylia, for whom the holy land is named. But there is another. There has always been another. //remarkable, this lends itself to my theories regarding the ancient Sheikah tribe and the possible schism that caused the royal family to turn on them in the early days of the kingdom, before the “split”—more on that later//

No presence without absence. //such profundity in old writing is the very reason I got into this profession in the first place. My family hardly approves, but I’ve got so much to learn, it’s easy to forget their scorn!//

In the first days, when Din’s strong arms churned the soil, Farore’s living breath stirred the wind and life-giving rain, and Nayru’s heartbeat brought the [sun] up over the eastern horizon, the seeds of life came from these three golden goddesses and their companion, he of death and the void. It is said that his seed produced all [sentient] life. And so life and death danced, hand-in-hand, as must they always. //could this be the missing piece of our beloved Triforce?//

To accompany the fertile soil, the [Fierce Deity] made the deserts and stony mountains, where little grows. As a companion of Farore’s blessed breezes and rain, he brought about winter gales and times of drought. For Nayru’s gentle sun, he formed the [septic] moon, whose cold light gives rot where the sun [preserves]. When the gods created the beasts and people who even now walk the plains and mountains, who soar the skies and swim deep in the seas, they gave both life and death in one union. //”Fierce Deity” added, as I could think of no other name to call the fourth godhead in our false trinity. Thank the gods the old zealous ways have died out or I’d be lynched for this! Anyway, I spoke with a salesman recently, a purveyor of masks, of all things. He told me the tale of a particularly dangerous mask, one that was obtained by the Hero himself in a strange nothing-land (his words, not mine), in order to defeat a great evil. He referred to this mask as the Fierce Deity. Gives me goosebumps just considering it.//

And so the land of light was born.

The goddesses grew restless, disenchanted with the death brought by their necessary partner. They [conspired] to rid themselves of his presence, hoping this would allow that which they created to flourish, unhindered. One dark night, while the cold moon hung over everything, and the [Fierce Deity] slept, the three golden ones chained him and cast him out of the land of light. Because they were vain, the goddesses desired a way to see him and so the [Mirror of Twilight] was created, Din using her blazing arms to melt sand, Nayru, her view of the moon to set a frame for the structure, and Farore, the chilly breath of winter’s wind to cool the great glass. And so through this, the golden ones observed their cast off [mate]. //how cruel. A panopticon of godly proportions.//

Again, the three grew restless. They were bored without their [mate], and frustrated that the pieces //literal translation here, could mean chess pieces, or how the goddesses might have viewed the people of old Hyrule… scary// of their world, [sentient and otherwise], continued to die. What the gods put in motion, not even the gods can stop, especially the particular forces of life and death, the strongest [polarities]. Stubborn as they were, the golden ones refused to start over and give up, deciding amonst themselves to instead create a new companion. To make a [mate] for themselves, the three goddesses took from what which the [Fierce Deity] had contributed to their world, pulling sand and clay from the deserts for a strong body, moonlight to chill hot blood, and that pulled from the undrinkable oceans, made salty by the tears of betrayal. The golden ones thought to remake their [mate] with as much of him as was left in this world. //even knowing what I know, this doesn’t seem like the wisest choice at all!//

The being which rose from this had no name, and did not require one. He was a toy for the goddesses, to serve at their whim and pleasure. Time was created and [eons] passed with little disturbance. But the creation of the goddesses began to learn, grow, become strong, and with that, came curiosity and a genuine need to know why he had come to be. With knowledge came bitterness, fear, and rage. The one with no name sought to build (in secret, presumably) an army and a great power, to conquer the goddesses and usher the [Fierce Deity] back into the world of light.

Amused with their worshippers and the world below as they were, the nameless one’s plan almost succeeded. //Demise’s first incursion//

He marched his armies right up to the very gateway that led to the [Sacred Realm]. Unguarded as it was, due to the hubris of gods, this was not difficult. When the three golden ones emerged, however, the slaughter began and, for the first time in their eternal lives, they understood what it was to bring death. It gave them no pleasure and they sought to slay their creation. The nameless one escaped, barely, disappearing to a far off desert, unknowing what fate had been set before him. The golden ones understood, however, that they had created an immortal. Without the [Fierce Deity], there was no death. Their new plaything could not be killed! //I hate to say I told you so, but…//

Rather than admit their mistake and invite him (the Fierce Deity) back to the land of light, the goddesses once more conspired to create another immortal, with more care and consideration to the consequences. So many of their faithful had been killed in the incursion upon the [Sacred Realm], the golden ones were desperate to make certain such a thing never happened again. From the light of the sun, the warmth of summer breezes and life-giving rains, from the fertile soil and all the life it promised, the goddesses created the Hero, giving him the form of a gentle-eyed youth. Where their nameless [replacement] mate had been large and angular, and hard, the youth was small and soft. Within a gentle shroud, the heart of a warrior beat, however, hard and strong, pumping warm, living blood and filling eyes, blue as the sky, with the spark of wild, eternal life. //the author must have seen him, the Hero. I can’t imagine what that must have been like//

The nameless one gave himself a name which is unspeakable, but means the end. To write his true name is to defy him, to speak it is to summon, so it is written. [Demise] rose from the shadow of the goddesses, angry and unrepentant, jilted and [abused]. His evil grew and reached to all corners of the land of light. This was the first evil in the world, a need for destruction born of vengeance and hatred, undiscriminating and uncaring. Maddened by his wounds and enraged at his lost, [Demise] reached out to the land that would be Hyrule.

It was then that the goddesses became one, Hylia, and raised her favored people into the sky to save them. At the same time, they sent their Hero to fight the beast, [Demise] and seal him with the blade of evil’s bane (the fabled Master Sword). When the Hero returned to [the sky land] (the ancient kingdom of Skyloft), he was battered, close to death, but victorious. The people asked their beloved goddess, who now walked among them, if they could return to their land so far below. Hylia told them that the land was still tainted with evil and that her champion, the Hero, was as yet unprepared to finish [Demise].

What Hylia left the people with was hope and the seed of her power. The child would be named Zelda and so too every girlchild thereafter who also bore the [ichor] (blood of the gods) which flowed within the golden ones. With Zelda came a teaching, an instruction to be vigilant for the return of [Demise] and of the Hero. Time passed, as time does, and the goddesses wrought the chains of the Hero’s entanglement. Along with Zelda, each race was given a [totem of power], which would be passed to the one amongst them regarded as the [sage]. //the word directly translates as “vessel of the gods’ will”, so I’ve taken some liberties here// Together with Zelda, the [sages], with their scrying pools and far-reaching wisdom //a spy network, maybe? Could the Sheikah have been involved here? I have so many questions// kept close watch over the land below, knowing that the rise of evil would herald the coming of the Hero.

[bastardsunlight]

Written by the ancient Sheikah, the archives of creation have been lost to history, until now:

Transliterated from the ancient tongue, which is somewhat subjective in nature

[ ] indicates translator’s best effort at deciphering

( ) indicates translator’s addition for clarity

// // indicates translator’s personal thoughts on the subject

To know the history of the Hero and of [Demise] is to know the history of the world, of light and of shadow. Evil has no place in this most innocent [dichotomy]. Without shadow, there can be no light. Without light, there is no shadow. The “land of the gods” has been called such for [eons], but there are gods in all lands, light and dark. When life comes, death follows. There is no existence without [void]—no presence without absence. Long and long have the people of the land of light, (Hyrule and the surrounding baronies), worshipped the golden goddesses of the [Triforce]. These three in one become Hylia, for whom the holy land is named. But there is another. There has always been another. //remarkable, this lends itself to my theories regarding the ancient Sheikah tribe and the possible schism that caused the royal family to turn on them in the early days of the kingdom, before the “split”—more on that later//

No presence without absence. //such profundity in old writing is the very reason I got into this profession in the first place. My family hardly approves, but I’ve got so much to learn, it’s easy to forget their scorn!//

In the first days, when Din’s strong arms churned the soil, Farore’s living breath stirred the wind and life-giving rain, and Nayru’s heartbeat brought the [sun] up over the eastern horizon, the seeds of life came from these three golden goddesses and their companion, he of death and the void. It is said that his seed produced all [sentient] life. And so life and death danced, hand-in-hand, as must they always. //could this be the missing piece of our beloved Triforce?//

To accompany the fertile soil, the [Fierce Deity] made the deserts and stony mountains, where little grows. As a companion of Farore’s blessed breezes and rain, he brought about winter gales and times of drought. For Nayru’s gentle sun, he formed the [septic] moon, whose cold light gives rot where the sun [preserves]. When the gods created the beasts and people who even now walk the plains and mountains, who soar the skies and swim deep in the seas, they gave both life and death in one union. //”Fierce Deity” added, as I could think of no other name to call the fourth godhead in our false trinity. Thank the gods the old zealous ways have died out or I’d be lynched for this! Anyway, I spoke with a salesman recently, a purveyor of masks, of all things. He told me the tale of a particularly dangerous mask, one that was obtained by the Hero himself in a strange nothing-land (his words, not mine), in order to defeat a great evil. He referred to this mask as the Fierce Deity. Gives me goosebumps just considering it.//

And so the land of light was born.

The goddesses grew restless, disenchanted with the death brought by their necessary partner. They [conspired] to rid themselves of his presence, hoping this would allow that which they created to flourish, unhindered. One dark night, while the cold moon hung over everything, and the [Fierce Deity] slept, the three golden ones chained him and cast him out of the land of light. Because they were vain, the goddesses desired a way to see him and so the [Mirror of Twilight] was created, Din using her blazing arms to melt sand, Nayru, her view of the moon to set a frame for the structure, and Farore, the chilly breath of winter’s wind to cool the great glass. And so through this, the golden ones observed their cast off [mate]. //how cruel. A panopticon of godly proportions.//

Again, the three grew restless. They were bored without their [mate], and frustrated that the pieces //literal translation here, could mean chess pieces, or how the goddesses might have viewed the people of old Hyrule… scary// of their world, [sentient and otherwise], continued to die. What the gods put in motion, not even the gods can stop, especially the particular forces of life and death, the strongest [polarities]. Stubborn as they were, the golden ones refused to start over and give up, deciding amonst themselves to instead create a new companion. To make a [mate] for themselves, the three goddesses took from what which the [Fierce Deity] had contributed to their world, pulling sand and clay from the deserts for a strong body, moonlight to chill hot blood, and that pulled from the undrinkable oceans, made salty by the tears of betrayal. The golden ones thought to remake their [mate] with as much of him as was left in this world. //even knowing what I know, this doesn’t seem like the wisest choice at all!//

The being which rose from this had no name, and did not require one. He was a toy for the goddesses, to serve at their whim and pleasure. Time was created and [eons] passed with little disturbance. But the creation of the goddesses began to learn, grow, become strong, and with that, came curiosity and a genuine need to know why he had come to be. With knowledge came bitterness, fear, and rage. The one with no name sought to build (in secret, presumably) an army and a great power, to conquer the goddesses and usher the [Fierce Deity] back into the world of light.

Amused with their worshippers and the world below as they were, the nameless one’s plan almost succeeded. //Demise’s first incursion//

He marched his armies right up to the very gateway that led to the [Sacred Realm]. Unguarded as it was, due to the hubris of gods, this was not difficult. When the three golden ones emerged, however, the slaughter began and, for the first time in their eternal lives, they understood what it was to bring death. It gave them no pleasure and they sought to slay their creation. The nameless one escaped, barely, disappearing to a far off desert, unknowing what fate had been set before him. The golden ones understood, however, that they had created an immortal. Without the [Fierce Deity], there was no death. Their new plaything could not be killed! //I hate to say I told you so, but…//

Rather than admit their mistake and invite him (the Fierce Deity) back to the land of light, the goddesses once more conspired to create another immortal, with more care and consideration to the consequences. So many of their faithful had been killed in the incursion upon the [Sacred Realm], the golden ones were desperate to make certain such a thing never happened again. From the light of the sun, the warmth of summer breezes and life-giving rains, from the fertile soil and all the life it promised, the goddesses created the Hero, giving him the form of a gentle-eyed youth. Where their nameless [replacement] mate had been large and angular, and hard, the youth was small and soft. Within a gentle shroud, the heart of a warrior beat, however, hard and strong, pumping warm, living blood and filling eyes, blue as the sky, with the spark of wild, eternal life. //the author must have seen him, the Hero. I can’t imagine what that must have been like//

The nameless one gave himself a name which is unspeakable, but means the end. To write his true name is to defy him, to speak it is to summon, so it is written. [Demise] rose from the shadow of the goddesses, angry and unrepentant, jilted and [abused]. His evil grew and reached to all corners of the land of light. This was the first evil in the world, a need for destruction born of vengeance and hatred, undiscriminating and uncaring. Maddened by his wounds and enraged at his lost, [Demise] reached out to the land that would be Hyrule.

It was then that the goddesses became one, Hylia, and raised her favored people into the sky to save them. At the same time, they sent their Hero to fight the beast, [Demise] and seal him with the blade of evil’s bane (the fabled Master Sword). When the Hero returned to [the sky land] (the ancient kingdom of Skyloft), he was battered, close to death, but victorious. The people asked their beloved goddess, who now walked among them, if they could return to their land so far below. Hylia told them that the land was still tainted with evil and that her champion, the Hero, was as yet unprepared to finish [Demise].

What Hylia left the people with was hope and the seed of her power. The child would be named Zelda and so too every girlchild thereafter who also bore the [ichor] (blood of the gods) which flowed within the golden ones. With Zelda came a teaching, an instruction to be vigilant for the return of [Demise] and of the Hero. Time passed, as time does, and the goddesses wrought the chains of the Hero’s entanglement. Along with Zelda, each race was given a [totem of power], which would be passed to the one amongst them regarded as the [sage]. //the word directly translates as “vessel of the gods’ will”, so I’ve taken some liberties here// Together with Zelda, the [sages], with their scrying pools and far-reaching wisdom //a spy network, maybe? Could the Sheikah have been involved here? I have so many questions// kept close watch over the land below, knowing that the rise of evil would herald the coming of the Hero.