#SO MANY KOVAS

[certified-hunterfucker]

somebody sedate me (https://www.barbieselfie.ai/)

[imhereformysciencefriends]

Day 1: Fairytales and Myths

Tags: @loturaweek2024 Curses, fairy tale elements, Bearskin (the myth), political marriage but also for love sort of, magic, background Alfor/Melenor, background Keith/Shiro, betrothals, attempted kidnapping, rescue, Lotor’s generals are there

Read on AO3

***

“You are fortunate,” mused the angry and spiteful druid while Lotor snarled up at him, ensnared in glowing purple chains made of magic and aether, “that the same magic you came here to steal from me does not allow me to kill you outright.”

Lotor thought, not for the first time, that it would be significantly more Galra to just put a knife in his gut than rely on their magic for literally everything. But if they were so wrapped up in their world of spells and power that they forgot their own fangs and claws that they were born with, well, Lotor wouldn’t be the one to remind them. This druid in specific seemed particularly filled with his own hubris.

A pelt, some heavy, thick-furred thing thumped down on his shoulders, and he shifted minutely from the weight.

“I curse you,” the druid said, voice going echoey with magic. “You shall not bathe for seven decaphoebes, nor cut your hair nor claws, you shall not cease to wear this pelt, nor sleep under one roof for more than a single night, and no one may travel with you for more than three quintents. Should you break any of these bindings, this curse will kill you.”

“And if I succeed, for seven decaphoebes?” Lotor asked, still snarling, still bearing his (small, Altean) fangs.

The druid was quiet.

“You must include a win-condition, witch. I know your magic’s rules.” He would not have risked infiltrating this place if he did not have a contingency plan for if he was caught, after all.

The druid made a snarling, growling, impatient noise.

“If you should last all seven decaphoebes, then the magic you seek will be yours. Now get out!”

Another rush of magic and Lotor found himself at the mouth of the small cave that hid the entrance to the druid’s lair. He grit his teeth and stood, shaking as though to dislodge the remnants of the purple magic.

Seven years.

More than he’d bargained for, but less than he was willing to pay for his goals. He already grew his hair long, and he was not one to frequently stay in one place for too long. That was doable.

The claws and bathing situation would be the most intolerable, he did not doubt.

Seven years.

He could do this.

In the first year: he could do this. He was centuries old and, if theories on how he aged were to be considered correct, he would have centuries more. Seven years would be nothing. A drop in a bucket. He used it to prepare, especially the first few months, when he smelled more or less tolerable. Any time it rained he spent as much time as he could in the water, knowing that washing in a river or stream would count. Magic was always fickle, and always skewed in favor of the worst. While he could still passably show his face in civilization, he stockpiled supplies enough to last him seven years, or near enough to it he could supplement when the time came.

In the second year: he had to leave Daibazaal. His country of origin was hardly a home, and hadn’t been since he was young and innocent and still so painfully naive. But he did know it, and he knew that all the many flora that thirsted for his blood and fauna that would chew on his bones could smell him for miles in each direction. He knew it intellectually, and he knew it viscerally, blood steaming across the pelt he wore and sliding down the blade he wrested free from the fresh carcass of a beast that wished to eat him. Oh, how he wished for a bath.

In the third year: he couldn’t do this. He could not bear this. He was not even halfway through and his own stench and fatigue were driving him insane. Being so constantly exposed to the elements was killing him, though the pelt was so thick and heavy it kept him plenty warm. And he was lonely. In the third year, Narti finally found him, Kova hissing and prowling just outside the edges of Lotor’s reach, recognizing him but also not. She wanted to help him, as best she could, but he explained the curse to her, the druid putting no binding on his tongue at least. She then offered to go kill the druid for him, and he insisted that she not, not until the witch’s power was his. She stated she would stay with him, despite her nose being even sharper than Lotor’s, and he reminded her that it could be for no more than three quintents, or the magic would kill him (and he doubted it would be instant, or painless).

She left with the promise to tell the others, and to bring back supplies for him. Just to drop off and then leave again. She promised she wouldn’t stay.

In the third year: Ezor found him, always best at finding things, and with her she brought Zethrid and Acxa. It was the best three days of these miserable three years, even with his companions wrinkling their noses at his scent the whole time.

In the fourth year: he left the billowing wilds that existed between Daibazaal, harsh and dangerous but inhabitable, and into Altea, the lush and verdant valleys beneath the billowing wilds’ mountains. Not to say that Altea did not come with its own dangers, no, just that they were more like the mountain creatures, not quite so capable of killing a lone wanderer as Daibazaal’s would have been.

In the fourth year:

Allura tied up her hair and shifted her hands, magic tickling as it turned her palms into suction cups. She descended from her room as only wayward princesses could, and hopped down onto the vibrantly green grass of the lawn with a little thrill of success.

With the tensions between Daibazaal and Altea on the rise once again, and all citizens from both countries feeling like a resumed war was all but a forgone conclusion, her parents had been increasingly strict with her. On a certain level, she understood, she was a princess after all, it was her job to understand.

On the other hand: she’d gone to the little brook with the little waterfall dozens upon dozens upon dozens of times, without any harm nor threat to her person. It was right next to the palace grounds, and she only ever managed to squeeze in an hour or two before her knights quit canoodling and came to find her anyway. She would be fine, just as she’d been fine every time before.

There was nowhere in all of Altea, in Allura’s opinion, that was a better place for magic than that little waterfall. Something about the place seemed almost to glow with magic, every drop of water and blade of grass and rustling leaf full to overflowing with rich mana. It drew her in, excited and comforted her, enthralled her and cleared her mind. Magic poured from her fingers like the water she lifted, guiding it to dance about her in a spiraling river floating suspended around her person, twirling slowly as she dragged the water about in lazy loops.

Even the sunlight here felt different, warm and yellow but not beating down on her, even in summer heat. It sparkled and twisted around her like the water did, slowly spinning and dancing across the shimmering surface, Allura’s skirts shallowly twirling around her calves, and she smiled and let her mind sink into the magic present here, imbuing everything.

It was that magic, present even in the twigs of a bush and the berries crushed underfoot, that alerted her that she was not alone.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t dare try to fight against near a dozen heavy boots. One moment she was smiling serenely, surrounded by glistening spirals of water, the next she was running so fast the water didn’t even have time to hit the ground before she burst through it. Shouts behind her, unmistakably Galra, and heavy footfall followed, but she didn’t dare look. She was fast.

But Galra were faster.

A giant, purple hand clamped over her mouth, a scream wrested from her too late and muffled by the flesh, and she hit the ground with a cry of pain, knees and palms skidding in the dirt.

“Grab her!”

She fought back, because of course she did. Princess trained in the art of diplomacy and regal bearing though she was, Allura was no weak fighter, and she was not one to cow in the face of unfair odds.

But they were unfair. She knocked two briefly unconscious, but she hadn’t brought her staff, not believing she’d need it, and these Galra were armored and armed, one opening a deep gash across the back of her leg, another finally getting his dagger pointed at her throat and compelling her to behave.

“You won’t kill me,” she spat, even as her preservation instincts forced her to obey.

“No. But you don’t need both eyes.”

She screamed a protest—she was submitting!—as he raised the dagger to plunge it into her eye, but then a dagger protruded from his own, sinking much deeper than just the eye. He toppled off her, dead, and the Galra turned on their new aggressor.

A beast, wilder than all imagining, lept from the foliage, its pelt hideous and bloodstained, matted with mud and dried viscera, its claws long as knives and yellow and flaking, silvery lengths of something dragging behind it as it fell upon its victims. The Galra shouted, united now against this beast, and Allura staggered to her feet, or tried to. The gash in her leg made fleeing nearly impossible, and she leaned against the tree as she watched the beast dispatch of the Galra, one by one by one, until there were none left alive to contest it.

Its yellow gaze fell upon her next, and she realized belatedly that she looked at no monster at all.

“You’re Altean!” she gasped, the man before her so deeply dirtied with various filth that she could not see even an inch of skin beneath the horrible mess, but his face was, poking out from the disgusting fur, unmistakably that of, well, a man. An Altean’s proud cheekbones and narrow jaw, eyes yellow as a Galra but silver hair (it was hair!) long and ripe with magic.

The man chuckled at her. “I suppose it only fair that you confused me for a beast.”

“Good sir, anyone would.” Sounds of armor—familiar, Altean—and rushed footfall came from the direction of the palace grounds. “Please, you are my savior, come into my home and be bathed and rewarded for your service.”

“I cannot bathe, princess,” he said, with every reverence of her subjects, “nor did I do this for a reward. I will leave.”

“You saved my life!” Allura insisted as Keith and Shiro burst into the clearing, swords drawn and lips flushed and kiss-bitten, confusion on their brows as they took stock of the dead Galra on the ground and the beast man their charge now argued with. “You would do me a great dishonor by not allowing me to repay you!”

The man seemed visibly to hesitate at that, and then acquiesced. “If for your honor only, princess. But I cannot remain.”

“At least stay the night,” she insisted, now half-frantic to have this strange man remain for any time at all, curiosity burning through her as fervently as the magic had only recently flowed.

“The night,” he agreed, bowing low, the mess of fur and hair and viscera and fresh blood shambling with his motion, “but no longer.”

The man spoke of precious little, despite Allura’s best attempts at interrogation. She learned not even his name. He would not allow any of her staff to bathe or groom him, though she noted that while his hair was dirty, it was remarkably untangled. He was certainly Altean, but his nails were more akin to claws. And of course, the yellow eyes.

At dinner, her parents hosted the man who’d saved their daughter’s life, because of course they did.

“Traditionally,” Queen Melenor remarked, though she was severe and stately in the way Allura knew she held herself when she discussed things she’d rather not, “the reward for saving a princess’s fool life from a band of murderous kidnappers would be that princess’s hand in marriage.”

Allura heard the man’s breath hitch, and for a brief moment, open want lined his filth-obscured features, before he shuttered again to something vaguely polite and unreadable.

“I could never ask for such a thing, being as I am.”

“Being as you are?” Allura said, sounding more accusatory than she’d meant. “A kind stranger who saved my life?”

“You have no proof of any kindness,” the man said, with a low chuckle that made her feel strange and hot.

“Only my life and well-being.”

“You speak as though you would wish to wed me.”

Allura’s mouth opened, then shut.

“Exactly.”

“Perhaps I would!” she said, drawing herself to full height while seated and glowering at the man, challenge in her tone.

“Allura,” her father scolded quietly, as he always did when her temper and stubbornness sent her headlong down paths her good sense would otherwise steer her clear from.

“...Allow me three years, then, princess,” the beast man said slowly, gaze never leaving hers. “I have matters I must attend, and am unable to remain here, nor take you with me. If, in three years, when I return, you still wish to wed me, we might discuss it then.”

Queen Melenor sighed, and Allura winced only briefly at the tone of her mother’s breath. Oh the lecture she’d receive once this man departed would be mighty. “You have more good sense than my daughter, it would seem. Please be made comfortable in our home, and if there is anything you wish for, merely ask it.”

“A grimoire, Your Majesty, if I may be bold enough to request it.”

“You’ve magic?” Allura asked, reaching out to touch the man’s face, where his Altean marks should be beneath the dirt, and rescinding her hand when he flinched from her.

“Call it a future investment.”

“Grimoires we have aplenty,” her father stated, “I’ll have one copied for you by the morrow.”

“My thanks.”

Allura, kept up late by her own desperately curious, gnawing thoughts, had to drag herself, bleary and miserable, from her bed to prevent from missing the stranger’s departure. She witnessed her father hand him a grimoire, and he bowed, first to the sovereign queen, then to the king, and then, lower, slower, with something like heat in his eyes, finally to the princess.

“Damn,” she mumbled when the stranger was gone, but comforted herself that at least, for the next three years, she’d have an easy dismissal of all talk of suitors.

In the fifth year: Lotor was nearly killed by a huntsman mistaking him for a beast.

In the sixth year: Lotor was nearly killed by a team of monster hunters, who he had to persuade with Narti’s coin to leave him be, paying higher than the village who’d hired them. He wandered elsewhere with faster purpose, after that, and committed himself to greater stealth. Narti was unbearably smug when next she delivered supplies, forcing more coin into the hands of a man who had no reliable use for it.

In the seventh year: Nearly killed again, by huntsmen and monster hunters both. But he was on his way out of Altea. On his way through the billowing wilds, climbing and descending that mountain. He’d memorized the grimoire, but kept hold of it, a baffling yet precious memory now tied to its cover and pages.

At the end of the seventh year: he returned to the small cave where he’d first found the druid. His time was up, or near enough to it, and the moment the magic was his he would take vengeance for the seven years of misery he’d suffered. There he found Narti, there he found Ezor, there he found Zethrid, there he found Acxa, still loyal to him after seven years of absence, and he counted such loyalty more precious than all the gold in all the world.

“First, we kill the druid,” he ordered, feeling the curse sizzle along his skin as it warped into a blessing. “Then I take a quiznacking bath.”

At the end of the third year of waiting:

Allura was forced by circumstance to put her curiosity for her betrothed-to-be on hold, as political upheaval shook the land.

Her father’s old ally finally declared war upon her mother’s country, and Altea raised its arms for bloodshed. But as they prepared their weapons and rallied their armies, another missive came: Emperor Zarkon was dead, long live the Emperor.

Lotor, former prince, son of Zarkon who Allura had never met, shame to his family line and whose mother was Altean, had bested his father in ritual combat, according to Galra custom and law, and had seized the throne. Altea continued to rally, not sure if the bastard son would hold the same temperament as his father, but the tension that had built between their lands hung now, most definitely confused in perplexed balance.

Then an official letter from the Emperor, validated by report after report from their scouts: Lotor was coming, not with an army, but with a diplomatic envoy, to speak to the royals of Altea face to face.

Her mother was stern and stately, poised and graceful and elegant, the sovereign of Altea, bearer of the Altean royal line, pride and jewel of their nation, its Queen.

Her father was tense and stiff, militant and grave, leader of their armies and father of the nation, sire of Altea’s heir and husband to their sovereign.

Allura wasn’t quite sure what she was. But she drew herself up, a shadow of her mother’s grace, stiffened her lip and brow, a mimic of her father’s gravity, and lifted her chin, a prideful stubbornness that was all hers.

Whatever the Emperor Lotor came here for, he would find it on Altea’s terms, or he would leave without it. Or, if it might make for a swifter path for peace, she would slaughter him in this very reception hall. She had her staff with her today.

The Galran procession arrived in waves, wargs and beastmasters first, towering Galra broad each as a mountain and bearing heavy shields second, four mismatched women each bearing the new royal crest and colors third, and in their center: Emperor Lotor.

He was the singularly most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Long, plaited, silver hair that nearly dragged the ground, Altean bones and Galran eyes, soft velvety purple fur so short it could pass for skin, pointed ears pierced with glinting gems in silver casings, and on his cheeks, two marks that glowed with powerful magic.

She shivered, feeling less certain of her ability to slaughter him where he stood, should he pose threat. His magic was enough, indeed, to rival her own, and she was famed throughout Altea for her prowess, her own marks pink and luminous.

“My thanks for hosting on such short notice,” the emperor began, seeming perfectly at ease surrounded by distinctly uneasy Altean guardsmen.

“Our thanks for your peaceful arrival. Are we too optimistic in hoping it may bode for a peaceful future between our nations?” Queen Melenor of Altea answered, staring down at him with regal coolness from the dias they three stood on.

“Not at all,” he assured with a smile. “I am as hopeful for such as you are.” A sigh escaped the whole room, tension palpably leaving. Allura was not exempt, tension loosening from her shoulders.

“Though I would start by returning what was borrowed. I know you gave it to me as a gift, but I would return it as a show of good faith.”

That piqued Allura’s curiosity. As far as she knew, her parents had never met the then-prince Lotor any more than she had. But as the emperor of Daibazaal approached, Allura’s breath caught in her throat.

He extended, to Alfor, a grimoire. The same grimoire her father had given her intended three years ago.

“You!” she gasped, rushing forward and grabbing him by the wrist, making his generals tense but ignoring them, staring instead at his yellow eyes.

“Me,” he agreed with a smile, staring at her with that same reverence he’d held three years ago. “I hope my appearance is more agreeable to you, now, than it was then, as I have little desire to return to such a state.”

“More than,” she said with a wild grin. “Please, come in and be hosted by us, I would have my betrothed explain to me how I may find him in such different states as this!”

“Well,” she heard her father murmur to her mother as she beckoned their guests inside, “I suppose a wedding is one way to end all this.”

And so it would be.

But first, they went to dinner.

[the-lightning-strikes-again]

How would you have ended Voltron ??

In particular, what would you have done with Lotor and Allura ??

Hi, anon! Oooh what an interesting question!

If I absolutely had to start with the end of s8, assuming everything before has still occurred:

The easiest option would be that Allura doesn’t die, given that her life force is tied to Voltron and the Realm of Universal Consciousness is where the living and dead exist in the same space anyway.

Instead, previous paladins of Voltron, current paladins of Voltron, Voltron itself, and others (including a willing/repentant Lotor) help Allura restore the universe so that it’s not always just mostly her doing all the heavy work, offering their spiritual energy together to accomplish this massive feat. (Because legit, we need some found family / stronger together vibes! That’s the heartbeat of Voltron!)

It’s during the restoration that the selfish and defeated Honerva gets purified / fully restored herself.

The restoration burns out the rift creatures haunting the quintessence field.

When the universe is restored, Allura realizes she can bring the previously dead with her from out of this liminal space.

All the current paladins open their Lions to take in refugees and bring them back to their restored planets.

While Allura might offer them a second chance, Honerva and Zarkon choose to stay behind, as do many of the victims of the 10,000-year war who prefer the peace they’ve found.

Cue Allura’s heartfelt convo with her parents, who like many of the elders choose to stay behind, but not before doting on their daughter and offering her something that indicates the crown of Altea has been passed down to her / replaces the circlet she lost in s7. Perhaps Allura can still call on her parents in some way if she ever needs help or guidance (as previous-franchise versions of Allura could do). (More under the cut!)

The elders (Zarkon, Alfor, Honerva, etc.) could agree to help guard the flow of quintessence in some way, so that the living have sustainable access without going insane. (Idk what the limits are of this liminal space they're in.) Or else maybe the true secret of sustainable power is revealed through them, answering the problem that started this whole war.

As the paladins are encouraging others to come back with them, Lotor hangs back in the crowd. He does not feel worthy of a second chance at life, and is possibly unsure whether he even has the energy to try. He feels shame over his past and how quintessence twisted his mind.

Out of all the paladins, Allura approaches him and holds out her hand. “We were meant for more than fear and war,” she says, voice soft. “Do not be afraid to live.”

Lotor asks something like, deeply hesitant, “What life do I have? I isolated all allies and nearly destroyed the universe in going mad.”

Allura goes silent and then tries again, still holding out her hand, “And yet, the universe is restored, and all here know you took part in this great work. Your energy and will is a part of New Daibazaal’s atmosphere, its rivers and valleys.” She manages a weak smile. “If I remember correctly, you always did want to explore.”

“And can the past be so fully undone?” he asks. “Would I even be free to explore?”

Perhaps some moment where Zarkon and Honerva take responsibility for Lotor’s screwy life. Bonus if he gets some kind of call that the Galra still need a leader to help them in this new phase of peace, and that he hasn't reached his true potential yet.

Probably, some paladins chime in, validate that the alliance is back on, and the serious moment gets broken.

Lotor grabs onto Allura’s hand. She leads him to Blue Lion, where he joins the multitudes returning to the restored universe.

The Robot that jettisoned itself off Lotor’s spaceship from S5 is part of the crowd!! Lotor reunites on-screen with his cat, Kova!

Cue silly paladin shenanigans, a few stowaway mice finding a new resting spot on Lotor’s shoulders, and Allura’s new circlet catching the light as the paladins of Voltron launch back toward their reality, away from the Realm of Universal Consciousness.

Cue a pan-out to the restored universe, where the rift is healed, and New Altea and New Daibazaal exist side-by-side as their suns rise.

I think something open-ended, in the context of several characters—focused on a theme about not being afraid to live, about reconciling the past with the present—would hype that found family / stronger-when-we’re-together / comic energy that made Voltron unique…and leave lots of possibilities for the fandom to explore this new world!

If I could roll the clocks farther back than s8, I’d massively overhaul several things about the show. But this is just where I see a way to better land what we got toward the end.

Thanks for this ask! So fun to think about!

[m3r1m4r5u333]

Käärijä - Välikuolema

Käärijä - 'Middle death'

(Taksit on jo pihalla!)

(The taxis are already outside!)

Mä oon aivan loppu, loppu

I'm so done in, done in

Mut en haluaisi vielä nukkumaan

But I don't want to go to sleep yet

Mä oon aivan loppu, loppu

I'm so done in, done in

On se kyllä rankkaa kun *juotetaan

Tough indeed to be pushed to drink

Sekä *kisakondista koetellaan

and have your race readiness tested

Nyt mun on pakko saada välikuolema

I must now take an intermission

Hei anna mulle minsa, hei

Hey gimme a minute, hey

Mä lupaan että tää ukko on taas

I promise this gaffer will again be

Täysissä voimissaan

restored to full power

Tuli taksit pihaan, ei olla menos himaan

The taxis arrived at the yard, we aren't going home

Karin ja muiden kaa pidetään kivaa

We're having fun with Kari and the others

Meil on mukana mukava määrä glögii ja simaa

We've got a nice amount of mulled wine and mead with us

Mikä mussa on vika ku ei jaksa yhtään (?)tinaa(?)

What's wrong with me, I don't feel at all up to boozing

Kovasessa on yritys kova ja kovasta yrityksestä huolimatta

Hard efforts (?)in the taxi(?) and despite trying really hard

Mä nojaan selkänojaan

I'm leaning against the back rest

Vaik haluun joraa, mä tarviin vodaa

Even though I wanna dance, I need water

Ei jaksa dokaa

Not feeling up to boozing

Mä oon aivan loppu, loppu

I'm so done in, done in

Mut en haluaisi vielä nukkumaan

But I don't want to go to sleep yet

Mä oon aivan loppu, loppu

I'm so done in, done in

On se kyllä rankkaa kun *juotetaan

It's tough indeed when you're pushed to drink

Sekä kisakondista koetellaan

And your race readiness is tested

Nyt mun on pakko saada välikuolema

I must now take an intermission

Hei anna mulle minsa, hei

Hey gimme a minute, hey

Mä lupaan että tää ukko on taas

I promise this gaffer will again be

Täysissä voimissaan

restored to full power

....

Tai sit en herää ollenkaan

Or I may not wake up at all

Herää!

Wake up!

Anna mun pliis vielä hetki lepää

Please let me rest just a bit more

Herää!

Wake up!

Mitä jos ei nyt vaan jaksa enää

What if I'm just too tired now

Herää!

Wake up!

Onko mun siis vielä pakko vetää

So must I then keep boozing

No jumalauta passaa sitä flindaa

Well goddammit, (?)pass me(?) the bottle

Tää välikuolema on kestäny jo ihan liian monta timmaa

This intermission has already lasted for way too many hours

Mis me ollaan?

Where are we?

Tääl ei oo enää ketään vaikka meitä oli sillon lähtiessä tosi monta

Nobody's here anymore even though there were so many of us when we set off

Paljon kello, mikä homma?

What time is it, what's going on?

Se on jo yli puolenpäivän ja se vast on uskomatonta

It's past midday, isn't that unbelievable

Nyt mennään päivää, tokaa

Now it's day, second one

Ja vielä meikän päähän sattuu, kovaa

And still my head aches, hard

Ei uppoo rommi, kola

Rum, coke... not going down

Mä tarviin vodaa

I need water

ei jaksa dokaa

not feeling up to boozing

Mä oon aivan loppu, loppu

I'm so done in, done in

Mut en haluaisi vielä nukkumaan

But I don't want to go to sleep yet

Mä oon aivan loppu, loppu

I'm so done in, done in

On se kyllä rankkaa kun juotetaan

It's tough indeed when you're pushed to drink

Sekä kisakondista koetellaan

And your race readiness is tested

Nyt mun on pakko saada välikuolema

Now I must take an intermission

Hei anna mulle minsa, hei

Hey gimme a minute, hey

Mä lupaan että tää ukko on taas

I promise this gaffer will again be

Täysissä voimissaan

Restored to full power

Tai sit en herää ollenkaan

Or I may not wake up at all

....

Herää!

Wake up!

Anna mun pliis vielä hetki lepää

Please let me rest just a bit more

Herää!

Wake up!

Mitä jos ei nyt vaan jaksa enää

What if I'm just too tired now

Herää!

Wake up!

Onko mun siis vielä pakko vetää

So must I then keep boozing

No jumalauta passaa sitä flindaa

Well goddammit, (?)gimme(?) the bottle

Tää välikuolema on kestäny jo ihan liian monta timmaa

This intermission has already lasted for way too many hours

Herää!

Wake up!

Anna mun pliis vielä hetki lepää

Please let me rest just a bit more

Herää!

Wake up!

Mitä jos ei nyt vaan jaksa enää

What if I'm just too tired

Herää!

Wake up!

Onko mun siis vielä pakko vetää

So must I then keep boozing

No jumalauta passaa sitä flindaa

Well goddammit, (?)gimme(?) the bottle

Tää välikuolema on kestäny jo ihan liian monta timmaa

This intermission has already lasted for way too many hours

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

Notes.

This isn't an official translation. I'm just a random fan, and not even an professional translator.

Välikuolema explained in Wikipedia:

From väli- (“middle-, inter-”) +‎ kuolema (“death”). 1. (colloquial) A pause to rest from partying or substance abuse.

My translation of välikuolema here is 'intermission'. 'Interlude' was another word I toyed with.

--------

Rambling about finnish culture, and lines/words I struggled with. And my reasoning for what I came up with:

"Sekä kisakondista koetellaan/and have your race readiness tested"...

First all I'd like to try explain 'race readiness', so here's my LONG essay.

A literal translation of 'Kisakondis(-ta) would be something like 'fitness for the competition'. Kisa = competition/trial/game, kondis = physical (or emotional) condition/health/endurance/fitness

It was originally a sports reference. Anytime there's some sports event coming up, finnish reporters keep speculating/asking if an athlete is healthy enough/at an ideal level of mental and physical fitness for the competition.

Eventually the never-ending speculations of 'competition readiness' became an ongoing joke.

And since finnish party/alcohol culture tends to be very ...moist... ...Jokes about someone's 'kisakondis'/competition readiness' - or lack of it - often refer to alcohol tolerance/level of inebriation/party endurance.

But kisakondis is not just about alcohol tolerance and endurance to keep partying, it's also about grace, appereance and skillset.

Yk, since a 'competition ready' athlete is obviously 'the ideal human'. A competition ready athlete looks good, is mentally prepared, skilled, has great endurance, can keep going no matter what... And so on.

For example if a finn runs into someone they know and that person is super drunk, doing all sorts of embarrassing things, and looking super haggard while doing all that... The finn might be tempted to gossip that they saw "X" and "X didn't look quite ready to compete".

Sometimes people bring up 'kisakondis'/competition readiness as a roundabout way to refer to someone's physical appearance. Or at least I've seen the term used like this. Obviously athletes tend to look like gods and a 'competition ready' athlete especially so... Which is why people may compliment each other like 'wow, aren't you in a great 'kisakondis'!") etc.

So even though finns tend to translate references to 'kisakondis' to be all about alcohol tolerance, that's not the whole truth.

Someone who's totally sober and losing a darts game might joke about not being 'prepared to compete', someone who struck out when they tried to hit on someone could joke about not being in an ideal 'kisakondis'. Etc.

Anyway, sorry about the essay. The rambling is quit irrelevant because in Välikuolema I'd say that the "race readiness that is being tested" does almost certainly refer to alcohol tolerance because that's the theme of the song etc etc.

-------

'Mikä mussa on vika ku ei jaksa yhtään *tinaa(?)/What's wrong with me I don't feel at all up to boozing

*NOT SURE if the lyrics go 'tinaa' or 'hinaa'. Some websites say hinaa, but I'm like 99.5% sure I'm hearing 'tinaa'. Tbh I think 'tinaa' makes more sense. Another translation also appears to think so.

Anyway, tinaa/hinaa is slang... And either way I'm thinking it translates to drinking alcohol. 'Tinaa' definitely does.

And even if the word is 'hinaa' I'd still translate it the same way. Some finns may disagree with me, but the reason I'm thinking that 'hinaa' would also refer to boozing goes like this:

Other meanings I could come up for the slang word 'hinaa' simply do not make sense for this song, line, or artist! Mainly because Käärijä seems like a cool dude, I doubt he'd suddenly switch from rapping about drinking to err.. slinging homophobic slurs..

But also, the slang word 'hinaa'/'hinata' originally means 'towing'. Towing is near synonymous to dragging/pulling... and the verb finns use for dragging or pulling is 'vetää'... And 'vetää viinaa' (viinaa = booze) is a word combination very often used for consuming (lots of) alcohol.

So I think 'tinaa'/'hinaa' means 'to drink alcohol'. I went with 'boozing' since the original line is also slang.

And anyway, I'm actually fairly sure the word I hear in the song is 'tinaa'. It's repeated twice and it sounds to me like 'tinaa' both times.

---------

Anyway, the lyrics do actually also contain the verb 'vetää'. Käärijä mentions he's not feeling up to 'vetää'.

I translated 'vetää' to 'boozing', but tbh, finns use the word 'vetää' pretty creatively. It can be used for drinking, but also for smoking, for taking pills, injecting drugs, or even eating something like candy, burgers... grandma's mashed potatoes... So what's happening really depends on which word 'vetää' is paired with.

HOWEVER, I'd say that since 'vetää' is usually, and has probably since the dawn of time been, paired with the word 'viinaa' ('booze'), I feel like booze is suggested even when the word 'vetää' is used more ambiguously, on it's own. Plus the song keeps talking about drinking, and if Käärijä meant something that's not booze, I think he'd word it another way.

----------

'Kovasessa on yritys kova'/Hard efforts in the taxi...

I struggled with this line for ages 😅 I'm still not 100% certain 'Kovasessa' means 'in the taxi".

The sentence goes something like "There is lots of hard effort... in/at/within 'kovanen"...

This 'kovanen' (origin 'kova' = tough/hard/stiff/severe/intense.. +'nen' a dimunitive) is an unfamiliar word to me. I don't even know if it's slang or something Käärijä came up with.

He also uses the word 'kovanen' in Viulunkieli. In that song he's rapping about being in a bar where the general mood is tense, and he's got the money so he 'orders a Kovanen'... Which is why I'm thinking Kovanen is either a taxi, or a stiff drink 🤷

'Kovasessa' could refer to drinking. Finns sometimes say "kovat juomat" when talking about "stiff drinks". Also, "kovassa humalassa" is a common way of saying 'to be extremely drunk'. Kovasessa/ ('in kovanen') could mean 'in a state of severe drunkenness', and 'Kovasessa on yritys kova' could translate to 'When one is very drunk, one tries very hard..'.

But let's make it extra confusing and stumble to my idea about the taxi:

Kovanen sounds like a family name! '-Nen'-ending is super common for Finnish family names.

So... "Kovasessa on yritys kova" could then translate to "(A person called) Kovanen is trying really hard"...

But!! after decades of dithering I came up with 'in the taxi' because a Google search told me that there's a finnish taxi company called Kovanen. And since the lyrics already mentioned taxis, I think he's singing about being in a taxi... A taxi, which carries the nickname 'Kovanen'.

Either way, the associations I'd expect my fellow finns to have when they hear the word 'kovasessa' make it sound like a word play. Maybe he's simultaneously saying that he's drunk AND in a taxi?)

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

"No jumalauta *passaa sitä flindaa"/Well goddammit pass me the bottle.

😅 So to be awkward, this could also mean the total opposite: "Goddammit take a break from the bottle, then"

The line confuses me because the verb 'passaa' has more than one meaning. It means 'to hand over', 'to offer', but it ALSO means 'to skip'/'sit out' - like how players sometimes skip their turn, intentionally, in some card games. And the verse sounds like dialogue which adds to the confusion 😅 Who's talking here? I don't know! Do you know?

[reticenceofladyeva]

hoax vi (my twisted knife)

Kova sits in Hakoda's lap, babbling happily as his mother rests. Katara looked like she needed it, and despite the mixed feelings churning in his gut, Hakoda had tugged the baby from her and instructed her to get some sleep, that they'd talk later, that he was so, so happy to see her.

All of that is true, but he knows she'd caught him flinching away.

Kova doesn't know any better, though, and he and his bright, sunny eyes cheerfully track the gentle swing of Hakoda's hair beads in the sea breeze. He tickles the boy's tummy, just a little, and a delighted smile breaks across his grandson's face.

Many of the boy's features are Water Tribe. His hair is thick and wavy, if a shade darker than most of his family's. The nose is shaping up to look like Sokka's as a child, and the shape of the eyes is all Katara. He's a handsome boy, if Hakoda is honest, with his dark skin and pale eyes. The smile, though, is not familiar, nor is the way his face scrunches expressively at silly faces and tickles and, oddly, the burn scar covering Bato's arm.

Bato's face when the child had reached for his arm and said, "Da-da" had been priceless.

All of that is true, but the devastation on Katara's face immediately after had pricked his heart.

The Fire Nation in the boy rankles Hakoda, as a father and as a warrior. His daughter has been hurt, his son has been captured, or worse, and Hakoda wasn't there to stop either ruin.

He'll do better for his grandson, he vows.

[angelofchaos001]

Process and Biology of a Guardian

@riverripplespeaks

@seiun256

@stupidscav

@nom-de-plume-system

@registered-anonymous

@icecreamsodaaaaa

@kova-starlight

@doodlebug091

Wings of Rain post! I just grabbed the follower list for this one.

A Guardian is nothing more than a mechanically enhanced dragon, able to withstand much more wear and tear than your normal dragon could dream of.

When a dragon is selected to become a guardian, assuming they pass the required trials, they are gifted two main changes to their body: One, they are taken to an animus-enchanted object that gifts guardians bodies to no longer fall to time. Each structure has an object with such an enchantment, usually something that represents the tribe as a whole and is safely guarded. The enchantment only allows it to work on soon-to-be guardians, anyway.

The second main change is that their scales are replaced with some high-quality metal plating that perfectly reflects what their scales were. The metal is chosen and suited on a guardian-by-guardian basis, since some need it to be waterproof, fire resistant, stronger, more malleable, etc. (For example, Lilypuck's is mostly made of Stainless Steel since it needed to not rust in water, Garnet's has tungsten for a high heat tolerance since he breathes fire, etc) The dragons are usually induced into a coma-like state with sleepflowers and smokeberries, or other plants and animals, so that the process is smooth and painless.

^ Cross-section of Lilypuck

^ Cross-section of Garnet

Guardians are also usually given gifts of treasure, money, food, and accessories by the Wing as a congratulations and a thanks for their job, but they are also given one important gift from the royal family: Their helmet.

The helmets are many things, mainly a status symbol and a device of protection for their eyes, one of the most vulnerable parts of a guardian's body. When guardians are appointed, they are allowed to paint their symbol onto their helmet, which them goes on record as their official symbol. They may also choose what they want the arching antennae to look like, if they want any at all.

The glass screens of the helmets retract on command, if for whatever reason the guardians need the screens out of the way quickly (since taking the helmet off takes some time).

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

The process of becoming a Guardian is long and can be tedious to some. Not everyone is fit for the process, and only the strong can truly stand the life of eternal violence and bloodshed.

It starts when the guardian apprentice moves up to the guardian role to fill the void the previous one left. Then, one of the normal dragon guards in charge of monitoring who comes in and out is selected for special training to become the next guardian apprentice. Before this training even starts, they are given a health inspection to make sure they can handle everything, and while they are given a choice, it's heavily frowned upon to say no to the position.

Once a new guardian apprentice is made, their training begins with the current guardian, teaching them how scavengers and slugcats think, act, fight, and live. Some adventures include trips to the land below the clouds to see them firsthand, but most days are sparring with the guardian or getting lectured by them.

Common teaching topics are: Spotting small movements from afar, Aiming at a distance, The pack habits of scavengers, and how to abuse the fragile alliance scavengers and slugcats have.

One of the highest privileges of a Guardian Apprentice, however, is that they have a similar standing socially to a Guardian without any of the responsibility, meaning they are showered with gifts, attention, praise, and hopes.

They are also some of the few dragons allowed to interact with Guardians of other Wings, discussing topics such as battle tactics, news about raids, and the health of each other. It's seen as important to let apprentices meet each other and form strong bonds, as it's a very real chance they will need to help each other as full-fledged guardians.

Sometimes, more than one apprentice is appointed, and for some tribes more than one is customary.

As the apprentices learn and grow alongside their mentors and develop friendships with the other guardians and apprentices, there eventually comes a time when the previous guardian dies or disappears in battle. When this happens, the apprentice(s) is given one last health check, to ensure that they're able to go through with the process. If there are more than one, they take the healthiest and most willing participant. If there are no suitable apprentices, they still take the best out of them and spend extra time boosting them mechanically.

The enhancing process begins with the soon-to-be guardian approaching the animus-enchanted object to gift them with the stronger bodies that won't tire to time, and they are given a day and night to think about what they want their helmet and symbol to look like. After that time, they describe it to a scribe, check the sketches over to make sure it's the way they want, and send it off while they themselves are sent to have their scales replaced.

The process of the scale replacing is long, delicate, and requires a dedicated team of dragons who spend their lives doing this kind of work. While animus magic shapes the metal for them, they don't always have an animus to replace the scales, which sometimes means carefully removing each scale and fitting the metal in it's place, then using enchanted bandages to make sure everything heals properly and as intended.

After a few days of rest, the Guardians are taken to the royal family who present them with their helmet, and they are instructed to put it on to conduct the official ceremony, a process where the guardian swears loyalty, defense at the cost of their life, and to train the next apprentice the same efficiency they were trained with.

The whole process takes around a moon to complete, during which time the guards of the structure are to defend from any incoming raids.

The Guardian is given a year or two to adjust to their new life before they are given new apprentices, and it all starts over again.

[lilflowerpot]

Hey do u have any more headcanons about lotors generals that your willing to share?

My original post on this topic is quite comprehensive so I'm not sure how much else of significance I have to add, but I suppose there are a few small things?

Ezor is the most tactile of the bunch (which is saying something, given that the galra are very physically affectionate as a general rule) and she often drapes herself over the others with little regard for the importance and/or delicacy of what they are doing at any given time. Narti was the most touch-averse of the group, for reasons I am yet to disclose.

Kova has obvious favourites in the group: Narti & Lotor for cuddles, and Zethrid for play fighting. Ezor takes Kova's general ambivalence to her existence terribly personally, having tried (and failed) for decaphoebs to ingratiate herself to their feline mascot, while Acxa and Kova have an unspoken understating that to encroach on the other's space is akin to a declaration of war.

Acxa has an exceptional poker face in all things EXCEPT the lowest of stakes. Gun to her head? Cool as a cucumber. Friendly game of cards? She becomes the most predictable member of the group by far.

Zethrid offered her blade to Ezor within their first phoeb of acquaintance. Ezor took and returned it somewhat flippantly, with complete disregard for the sincerity with which Zethrid would proceed to court her, only to fall head over heels for her big buff girlfriend embarrassingly quickly. They are disgustingly happy together.

Lotor, Acxa, & Ezor often play with/braid each other's hair: if you're thinking "Ezor doesn't actually have hair" you would be correct, but she used to before she shed her skin for the first time, and misses it dearly.

Zethrid has the greatest weakness for cute things—the smaller the better—and is absolutely the friend who will try to pet any and every little animal the group come across (often at the detriment to her own safety, as many alien fauna are not receptive to large unknown galra attempting to manhandle them).

[basims]

“Vhalla, I need her in so many ways, Mother help me,” Aldrik groaned. “I need her as my redemption, I need her kindness, I need her forgiveness, I need her smiles, I need her humanity, I need her ignorance, I need her innocence, and, yes … Mother Sun, yes, I need her as a man.” Aldrik Ci'Dan Solaris & Vhalla Yarl Solaris | Air Awakens Series by Elise Kova

[momo1515]

Since I'm struggling with drawings/ writing anything (currently working on a fic) I figured I'd give a little more ideas for my sidlink family.

It would not be mpreg, I've read those fics and it doesn't fit with the world of Zelda. Instead, I wanted it to be an amazing life-changing experience where they speak the goddess statues and get blessed with a child. Not right away but they would know when it was time.

I want them to have 3 or 4 kids I honestly don't know. I want them to have each other like Sidon had Mipha and Link just wants a big family.

If they have 4 kids. 2 girls and 2 boys

Names I have no idea I have Kova who is the first born, total badass but a total sweetie who would "never" hurt anyone (unless someone hurts her siblings, her parents, her grandfather,anyone in the domain, Zelda- for the others I was thinking for the other girl either Mipha, Peri or Fi 👀👀 boy names I always struggle so anyone have any ideas for good boy names.

Link at first was nervous to be a parent (due to trauma he found out about his own family) but eventually relaxes and is the chill parent ,still stern will let things slide depending on the situation

Sidon as a parent is a bit more cautious (due to Mipha's passing) and gets super overprotective of Kova (less overprotective of the other siblings but it's still there after he's chilled out) due to his worries that they'll get hurt or worse sometimes they lie about situations to keep Sidon from turning into overprotective shark dad mode lol

Not sure how age works for them I'm sure they get that slow aging like Link;;

I have so many ideas I think my brain would explode lol

But hopfuly you guys like my little ideas

[winterpinetrees]

Finale (The Gap Years part 32)

July 24th 2019

Las Vegas, NV

The end of the season, or book, or whatever this is. 4.5 k words. Marin's new allies go rescue Sierra. They still have a lot to resolve afterward.

thank you @lokiwaffles and @reggie246 for tagging along for the ride.

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

They answer his call. For eighty-six years now, Marin has been given every reason to think otherwise. Before he was their last chance, his allies weren’t even kind enough to whisper. If his green eyes (not true Sondaica emerald, just hazel) were any indication, then he had his mother’s bleeding heart and love for the human realm. Perhaps his father’s complexion and frame were more telling, and the prince was a push-over intended only to tie Zerada Adust into the family tree. Sure, he’s quick on his feet and good with a staff, but not like Rhiannon. He’s well-trained with his magic, but Elyan could give weight to the void itself. So every time he makes a phone call summoning a cousin or aunt or ally to Las Vegas, he does it expecting to hear that they’ve all actually run off behind his older cousin Lir and wouldn’t come back so close to the capital if Lazarus himself demanded it. Instead, he gathers an army. 

Rhiannon kicks her feet up on his coffee table and twirls a pen between her fingers. She’s always been prone to nervous habits. Her father is in the next room over, scowling at the sound of a human party stories below them. The rest of Rhiannon’s close family, a mother and two brothers, are missing. Her little sister is confirmed dead. So is Elyan, a grandson of the apex who reigned before his mother. Lir shares the same grandfather, but different parents, and she holds the toy tiger that Marin earned at a carnival a month before up to the light as if it’s something more than cheap fabric. Her husband is dead as well, and they have no information about her young son.

The pattern continues through the elves of gens Adust, Celeron, Marolak, and the rest of the Lazarin faction. No one looks younger than fifteen or so in human years, as they were held at a different prison, and equally few are older than middle-age. Anyone who fought in the last coup would have been executed as a matter of revenge. Between those extremes, the family tree has been haphazardly pruned. There’s no pattern to who adds their magic to the illusions keeping them all hidden and who’s been given back to the ecosystem according to each family’s traditions. Nature never picks favorites. Luckily, their mysterious contact has cut through the fog of war. They know Sierra is being held in observation room three, down the hallway where the smaller offices used to be. The guards rotate their shifts every two hours, the human test subjects are fed at six and fourteen each day, and bodies are brought in or out every three days at sunset. For two dozen of the most powerful elves in the worlds, it doesn’t even feel right to call it a heist. The only real plans they need to make are about who dies once they’re inside.

Marin insists that they follow the new Apex’s lead and keep casualties low. The statement feels hollow with so many missing faces around him.  

………………………

It’s not getting easier, Clay thinks, as he points his rifle down a hallway at a surrendering guard. Clay and Brian insisted on being part of the team to free Sierra, but they’re hardly more than mascots beside the nobility. He’s used to feeling like an outsider, but there’s something in the reflective eyes of the elves that catches him off guard every time. Zerada’s brother is one hundred and six, not twenty. Marin’s cousins all clearly remember the civil rights movement and the moon landing. Even Marin has gained new life now that he walks beside his real friends. Clay knows how to walk quietly, but these elves stalk through the halls. 

He’s in a squad of four. Kova Marolak, niece of the traitorous Devana Marolak who their emissary confirmed was on the new High Council, is reckless but tough. She walks directly to his left and taps an axe across the floor. Marin walks ahead with his cousin, Lir, beside him. According to Marin, she’s his most likely challenger to the throne. According to the family tree, they’re second cousins. The guards here are commoners who were trained to handle defiant humans, not the best of the nobility. They surrender quickly, and Marin has to tell Kova off to keep her from slitting any unjustified throats. 

Clay doesn’t have much to do, but Marin yields the floor to him after they corner a certain doctor at the end of a long hallway. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead and he stomps towards a thin figure kneeling against a heavy sealed door. It looks like a proper Tolkien elf in the wrong genre, slender and pale with straight black hair in a properly hygienic bun. It doesn’t wear a noble vambrace with its pale green scrubs, but raises its head to look at him without any particular fear. (Eburos? Lir mutters beside him). He raises the rifle. It should be easier now that he’s put a child into its sights. 

“The vaccines are stored behind you?” he snaps. The elf thinks of Sierra as a test subject, so Clay will call him an it. So what if Brian freed his cell block with the power of friendship and hugs? 

“Yes, but they’re all still in development”.

“You’re plotting global conquest for like, next year. Get up and open the door”. It does. Kova holds her axe under his neck while he and Marin file into the room. Clay barks orders back at the technician. Which of these have undergone the most testing? Which have side effects? Which strain will be used for the final attack? Clay makes it gravely clear that no matter who winds up on the throne in a few years, Marin can and will avenge him if he dies of smallpox from a sabotaged drug. He grabs vials by the handful and places them into Marin’s messenger bag. Clay’s read that there’s no real danger to getting several flu shots, so their immune systems can probably handle a few of these? Once again, side effects are better than actual smallpox.  Basically everything is, except for rabies.

“What did you infect Sierra with? Where’s that antidote?”

The elf looks down. “She was given a strain derived from variola minor. It has a low fatality rate. We haven’t developed an antidote".

“You have got to be kidding me”. Kova grabs the elf’s soldier with her claw-like nails and lifts the blade higher. “Is it airborne?”. 

The lab tech shakes his head. “Only through close contact”.

Marin sighs. “Kova, please don’t make the casualty list any longer. And Clay, calm. We have healers now”. 

Right. Humans may have eradicated smallpox, but that achievement is probably nothing beside what elves have done. 

Kova lowers the axe an inch and gives Marin a disappointed look. She has a strong elvish accent and layered brown hair down to her waist. “Just say the word”.

Clay lowers his rifle in turn. “Don’t. Let’s get out of here”. 

She shoves the technician to the ground a little too harshly and hefts the axe back over her shoulders. Then they stalk back out. There are dozens of prisoners in this laboratory. A few lift themselves up to the windows of their cells and look out at him as they pass, but Clay keeps his head forward, even when the shadows seem familiar. Everyone here is already contagious. They’re also presumed dead, if anyone even noticed that they went missing. His father always said the same things about the people on the streets. Clay hesitates by a second hallway. The whole world is at stake and Sierra is locked in a cell. He can’t waste time. His family’s money won’t fix this. 

Clay catches someone’s eyes anyway, a woman about his age. They had said they wanted a way out, any way out. They were cursed and Betrayed and couldn’t control it, and the Mercurali’s new rulings only brought them more pain. The jailbreak had to happen. It was a simple decision. Clay knows that the fate of a human who survives a place like this can’t be anything good. He grabs the handle of a door to a cell that used to be an office and pulls. It’s locked, of course. He looks away and laughs to himself. Marin asks what he’s doing, and Clay shrugs. He was lost in his thoughts. The rifle shakes in his hands. 

………………

“Sierra!”

This… this is some sort of trick. Elves are illusionists. She knows this. Brian can’t actually-

Someone bangs on the other side of the two-way mirror. She can see a faint outline of his hands. “Sierra! We’re here to break you out!”

She sits up on the cot and listens carefully. The voice is quiet, but she guesses her cell wasn’t as soundproof as she thought. The door slides open, and she sees Brian standing in the hallway wearing an elven chestplate and sneakers. The vein-like lines that usually glow are dark, and he’s holding a baseball bat. The choice of weaponry is confusing until she sees Zerada and two unfamiliar elves behind him, all armed to the teeth. Brian’s just here for show. 

“Say something that the elves wouldn’t know,” she replies. 

“Eighth grade, when we had that freaky English teacher who made us read the book about seagulls? Like, quantum physics, hippie philosophy, seagulls? And the seagulls all had the last name ‘Seagull’?”

He’s actually here. She’s being rescued. She jumps to her feet and cheers (the world spins a bit. She tries not to think about Kebero’s threat of symptoms). “She wasn’t that bad”

“She was awful”. Brian looks back at her fearfully and stays in the hallway. “Wait, tell me something the elves wouldn’t know”.

She sighs. “In seventh grade, I tried to convince you to skip field day so we could all go hide in the supply closet and play Minecraft, but you didn’t want to let your team down and ratted us out to the teachers”.

Brian winces. “It’s been five years. I thought we were over that”. 

“They made me play dodgeball, Brian. Me. Age thirteen. Dodgeball”. 

She runs to hug Brian, but Zerada grabs her by the arm. “Cute story, but we need to leave. Clay’s team is working on grabbing your things, but no promises”. 

She breaks free from her grip and mutters that he had better get her stuff. “How did you even find me? I mean, thank you, obviously”. Brian still keeps his distance. Is something wrong?

“We got a phone call from an informant in the elven palace. She’s human, and told us to call her an emissary. Essie for short, I guess. All of her information has been accurate so far”. 

“Seriously? I’ve wanted to talk to a human for a while. Kebero let me speak to her seneschal, a personal secretary I think, during my interrogation but I barely got to say anything”. 

One of the new elves, a twenty-year-old looking man with ombré red hair and Zerada’s pale freckles gives her a lopsided smile. “You speak to humans all the time”.

“You know what I mean!” 

They start jogging. The new elves introduce themselves. The red-haired boy is Jezero, Zerada’s sibling. The other looks more alien, and is Sothea Celeron. The elf explains that Genus Celeron was more liberal with genetic engineering than most as a way to explain her webbed fingers.

The prison continues to look familiar. The lights seem cleaner and bluer than human ones, just like the ceiling lights at Project Excalibur did. 

“Where even am I?” she asks, not expecting her guess to be right.

“The ruins of Project Excalibur,” Brian replies too quickly. “Have you been experiencing any symptoms? Clay says that smallpox takes over a week to show symptoms, but…”

Sierra looks sheepishly at Zerada. She had the right idea to hold her back. “I’ve felt a bit off lately, but I assumed it was just from being in a cell. Kebero did threaten me a few days ago… They said, uh, ‘it might be hard to take you away from Eburos once the symptoms start’”.

The elves mutter to each other. This Eburos seems to be a hated figure. Sothea pauses the group and pulls Sierra into a side hallway. She places a hand on her forehead and her eyes begin to glow the blue-green of an anglerfish’s light. 

“She has a mild fever. I can’t tell anything else yet”. 

Sierra focuses on the cracks in the ceiling. She’s out. They have allies. No matter how many lies Marin has told, he isn’t going to let her die. 

…………….......

She holds a dagger up in front of her eyes. Perfectly straight with no chips or cracks, but it’s always a good idea to check after any sort of engagement. Engagement. She means a battle, but it’s probably a good idea to check one’s weaponry after setting a betrothal as well. Her betrothed is not as reliable as the metal of her daggers. He whispers with his cousin in old Lazarin, and Zerada makes sure to keep her ears back and give no sign that she’s listening. 

“Lir, you led your army at the Conservatory. I know you want power, but we’re going to have to be united to take back the crown”. He waits for her to reply, but Lir just leans back in her chair. She looks more like a proper Sondaica than him, with looser curls and true emerald eyes. 

“Certainly. Lazarus himself was known for his allies. Did your mother ever tell you about him?”

Now this is a rumor she’s heard, but never quite believed. Zerada makes herself busy with another task. 

“Did she tell me about…Lazarus? He was the first apex and the founder of our line? He has the massive statue overlooking the harbor? I could probably list every battle he led, you know how much time we’ve spent studying. Unless…”.

Lir nods.  “My father ruled in your mother’s stead for a decade or so, just before you were born. It wasn’t official, but he wore the helm and wielded the scepter”.

He did, and it was scandalous. For Emer to take a vacation from the throne… she’s always been impressed that the apex retained power once she came back. However, it did have a precedent. 

“Once she returned, my father all but threw the regalia back into your mother’s hands. Everything about the old apexes drifting off into the void rather than abdicating… that’s not a euphemism”. Lir pauses. The nobility do not believe in life after death. 

“When Lazarus emerged from the void with the power of a god, he left a piece of himself there. It’s an entire afterlife, and the scepter and helm are anchors to it. For those ten years my father was consulting with His Ascendance himself, and our ancestors did not approve of him”.

The void is pure magic and thought outside of time and space. With enough willpower, anything is possible. It’s still a shock. Life and death are the only sacred things the nobility have. If anyone was going to break those rules, yes, it would have been Lazarus Sondaica . He was a troublemaker, a psychopath, and completely unbound by any rules. The only person he ever truly cared for was a human soldier, and when he died of a bioweapon, Lazarus was never the same. Human stories tell of him abandoning his kingdom to search for eternal life. Elven history explains that he threw himself into the void after that, then not only survived but emerged to conquer the world. The idea that he succeeded in finding immortality… is nowhere near as unbelievable as it sounds. Jealousy hits her like Marin’s quarterstaff, which she knows has precisely the same weight as the scepter. He’ll see his mother again. 

Marin is asking why he’s hearing this information. They’ve managed to manipulate the humans, but that seems to be the limit of his charisma.

“My father said it was awful if they didn’t want you there. It’s the highest council there’s ever been”. 

They both pause. 

“So who’s the heir then? I mean, some previous Lords have kept the regalia in exile, but I sure don’t have it on me”. 

“Like you said, we’re going to have to be united to take back the throne. Your mother proved herself during the last coup. We’ll do the same. Survival of the fittest”. 

Zerada’s bet is on Lir. Her betrothed is capable, but the truly impressive acts and plans have come from the humans. Before the void-blank judgment of Lazarus, there’s no way he’ll come out on top. The thing is, she’s never found gambling to be much fun on its own. It’s really about the players and what they lose. Too bad she’ll only get a seat beside Marin. 

…………...........

“Crazy to think that I’m the champion wrestler, but you’re the one who’s good at hurting people”. Brian says it as a joke, but Clay freezes for a second while putting bandaids on his arm. They’re red, white, and blue, which he might deserve after all the politics he’s talked about these past few weeks. 

“You cracked someone’s ribcage like a pumpkin. These are not equal acts". 

Sierra has a mask (from their stash of makeshift radiation gear) on and her arms crossed. They never did get her favorite sweatshirt back from the elves. She has three dinosaur bandaids on her left shoulder, which has apparently gotten all of its movement back. “Seriously, where did you learn this?”

Clay only shrugs. He’s wearing a leather jacket and those reinforced jeans despite the heat. It’s been a pattern since the jailbreak. “How’d you learn to build a car?”

So he learned through some combination of sneaking into classes, his parents, bribing grad students, and the internet. Fair enough. 

Somehow, they are all back in Las Vegas in one piece. No one has any injuries more severe than bruises and they’ve added dozens of nobles to their growing army. Their emissary seems confident that the Mercurali, and the rest of the Eight Points faction, still won’t make any overt moves against them in such a populated area. If they move a bit and stay sharp, they can stay here until the elven world reveals itself. Of course, that reveal will be an apocalyptic one. Brian has always loved that bit of etymology, but it’s less fun with actual doom on the horizon. 

Sierra relayed her full interrogation to the two of them, including the brainwashed gaps. They’re staring down the barrel of a fifty percent casualty rate. Brian had taken a moment to clarify that it seemed like those deaths weren’t just from plague. The wording included anyone alive now who would die due to the elves, which meant deaths from plague, but also war, starvation, normal disease, or elven abuse. He’d felt a bit detached while he said it, like he wasn’t sitting on the tile floor of a Vegas suite, but actually drifting a few feet behind. He then clarified that this was not better. Either way, the plague is clearly meant to bring humanity to its knees. That means a high death toll, and as soon as it starts they lose their safe zone. 

So, in reality, they can’t stay here at all. The three of them may be immune to the plague (or will be soon) but no one else is. They have a year, maybe even less, before humanity screws up a pandemic response so badly that they’ll never be able to convince anyone that human independence is a decent plan. 

And he’s still drifting. Brian can catch a baseball moving at nearly a hundred miles per hour but his hands move like claws as he picks up a full vial. 

“What if I drink this?” Every year, they announce the team roster with a sheet of paper by the lunch room. Last name, weight class, class year. Team members hear directly from the coach, but it’s always his time learning his new brothers in arms. Brian sees the gym empty and the mats rolled up against the walls. He sees smallpox scars and draft notices and crushed bones from concussion rifles. He looks out at San Fransisco from a stage before Ishtar Mercuralis puts him down like an old dog. He hopes Zerada would bail him out before it got that far. 

“It would taste like salt water and do nothing,” Clay replies. Sierra mutters that he should totally try it.

“We should probably go home for a bit. Do something productive as an alibi,” she continues. 

“That would put us within a literal stone’s throw of the elven palace. We can’t risk it,” Clay replies, then he blinks as if realizing something. “And there’s no way we can convince your family to get injected with a mysterious elf drug. This thing could genuinely kill us”. He doesn’t seem convinced by his own argument.

Brian is more offended by the idea. “Remember the ambush? Without elves, we’re completely vulnerable. They can find us anywhere”. 

Six weeks ago they’d walked with Marin. The fog grew thicker and suddenly they had blood on their hands and a quest to complete. They need to stay together. 

“We could hide Marin in that spare room Clay always used?“ she suggests. Brian laughs it off, but Clay seems to consider it. 

“I’ll ask. I’m sure some noble would be willing to watch us for a week or two,”

“So what, we’re calling a timeout on our mission to save the world?” Brian replies. 

Sierra leans back. “I thought I was going to die in elf prison until like twelve hours ago. We deserve a break”.

“And we all might be smallpox carriers now. We should quarantine here for a week at least. Might as well go home after. I want to give my friends some sort of warning, too. They can keep secrets”.

That gets a laugh out of the two of them. Brian rests his chin on one hand “Dirtboy, you are not getting back in touch with your ex to give him a suspicious elf drug”. 

He blushes under his glasses. “...that wasn’t what I meant. I was talking more about social stuff. I swear I recognized one of the test subjects back at Excalibur. But now that you mention it, maybe we could convince Paige?”.

Brian’s thought about doing the same and warning his friends, but what can he say? This is all so unimaginable, and there’s not much they can do. Clay’s friends are more likely to die of this than his private-school teammates though. Brian also feels no instinct to protect his older brothers, but good on Clay for caring about his sister.

Sierra nods. “I wanted to run some more advanced tests on some of these elf gadgets too. Seems like there’s stuff elves don’t do with tech because magic can do it better. I’ve been thinking of a personal shield, like how Kebero deflected that shot during the car chase”. She turns to Clay. “Can you get someone to analyze the vaccine?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Smallpox would set off global alarms, and that would probably move the timeline of this invasion to, uh, right now”. 

Which would end their grace period and get all of them captured. Going back home feels stifling. He’s spent the past month on the run, spending time with the most amazing people and living by his own merits. He doesn’t want the world to burn, but a smaller transformation instead? He could get behind a rebirth from the ashes if it’s just for him. 

………………..

Even the meekest seneschals are spectacular liars, but Esther has more to hide than most. She is careful to act shocked, even horrified, when the Apex breaks the news that Marin’s new army broke the human girl out of captivity with ease, then adjusts that horror to a more personal type of fear when elves begin pointing fingers. Councilor Mercuralis, the Voyager turned backstabbing nobleman, declares that she was only rescued because Councillor Eburos was stupid enough to imprison the girl in a place the heirs had already infiltrated. Eburos snarls that there was no feasible way for the heirs to know she was hidden there, and questions if Councilor Marolak is having second thoughts about her change of allegiances. She accurately retorts that she had suggested holding Sierra on the other side of the planet, in one of the heavily guarded facilities where new human shock troops are raised. The details of that proposal never made it to the shining steel council table. The paper was misplaced in the shuffle, and when Daphne finds it a few days from now, she’ll surely hide the thing to save herself the blame. 

She doesn’t have anything against the other woman. They’re cousins through biological fathers they barely know, and Marolak is a crueler master than Amedi, but if she doesn’t act, they’ll write the last lines of human history in this very room. Daphne will be fine. The only thing Marolak hates more than having a human handling her most secure documents is the time every few decades when she has to choose a new one. 

She blinks up into the skylight. The room is cluttered and monitors cover the walls, but the glass ceiling lets in the sun. When she was younger, it felt almost holy. Now that she’s used to the nobility, it feels like a memorial. In the same way that water becomes a six-pointed snowflake, this is the shape that history takes when it crystalizes. No one has gotten enough sleep lately, least of all her. She doesn’t speak with the humans every night, but it’s enough that she’s not functioning as well as she should. Esther shouldn’t refer to them like that. They aren’t just any humans. They might even be friends, some day. Maybe that’s how this will end. Amedi will realize just how much she’s “taken a liking” to Marin's allies and charm her into revealing every secret she has. 

The councilors take a vote. Ever since Lazarus Sondaica declared to the first Ishtar Mercuralis that he would not rest until her throne was his, the nobility have liked to call their mortal enemies, “adversaries”. The apex rules, and whoever has the strength to talk back receives the other title. Ishtar was the adversary once, and now she makes the proposal. Does Marin Sondaica deserve it? Have his actions, surviving their attacks, freeing his kin, rescuing that girl, warranted elevating him to this new height? Ryn almost laughs. Marolak recites a line from The Artificer, then says that maybe the humans can share it. The vote is unanimous. Marin is nothing more than a runaway.

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

this thing is now on indefinite hiatus. it's been very fun! I’ll probably be back someday but who knows. In total, this “season” or “book” or section of the story is about 75 thousand words. That is the length of a novel. I wrote the awful first draft of an actual novel chapter by chapter and I am quite proud!

The book Brian mentions is Jonathan Livingston Seagull. I also had to read it in middle school. It truly is that weird.

[blueberryshelves]

__________________________________________

Book Review

Title:  A Duet with the Siren Duke Author: Elise Kova

Series: Married to Magic, book #4 - standalone

No. of Pages: 554

ISBN: 9781949694413 

Synopsis:

She sold her soul to a siren and now he’s come to collect.

Victoria risks everything to leave a dangerous marriage and gain a second chance at life. But when her escape goes awry, she finds herself caught in the strong embrace of a mysterious siren, forced to choose: temporary salvation or immediate death.

And so, a cursed deal is struck.

Five years later, Victoria is alive—and the world’s finest ship captain. But her debt to the siren looms while her conniving ex has demanded a king’s ransom as the final price of her freedom. Victoria refuses to cause her family to suffer any more on her behalf, and is determined to make things right before her time is up. But that time is cut short.

The siren comes for her. Six months early.

Taken to the magical and deadly Eversea, home of the sirens, Victoria discovers she’s the sacrifice upon which all sirens pin their hopes. If they want to appease an angry god and save a world on the brink of destruction, then they need her. Which gives her the perfect leverage.

Victoria strikes a new bargain: the Siren Duke will help save her family, and she’ll fulfill his demands. It’s a good bargain until a flicker of passion ignites in the scarred remnants of Victoria's heart, threatening all she's worked for. As the sacrifice for the God of Death, she’s meant to give up everything that draws her to the world of the living. But that’s impossible when all she can think about is how this handsome siren’s song, and his hands, make her feel very much alive.

In a realm of ancient magic, submerged secrets, and forgotten gods, can love find a place among shattered hearts as they race against time and the blossoming of forbidden desires? Or will the delicate songs of their hearts be silenced once and for all?

A Duet with the Siren Duke is a complete, *stand alone novel*. It’s for readers looking for a fantasy romance with deep lore, second-chance love, sacrifice, forbidden and slow-burn romance that sizzles on the page, and a happily ever after where love triumphs over all.

While it is set in the Married to Magic universe, readers can start with this book as all Married to Magic novels are stand alones.

__________________________________________

What did I think of the book?

A Duet with the Siren Duke by Elise Kova My rating: ⭐ 1.5 of 5 stars Disclaimer: SPOILERS It's not often I dnf a book, and I definitely wasn't expecting to do so with this one. First couple chapters start off pretty strong, promising a tension-packed story while following the growth of a young woman becoming her own self after escaping from abuse. For a while I actually enjoyed it, and I even liked a couple of the characters, especially Ilryth's child-like fascination with the human world and treasure collection (very much like Ariel from The Little Mermaid). But after the big spicy scene, I put the book down at chapter 36, and didn't touch it again for months. There was just no way I was getting through all 53 chapters of this story. It drags, and drags, and drags to the point where I wanted to strangle the book when I realized I still had 17 more chapters of this to go. The writing is unnecessarily melodramatic, and the story is choked with too many boring details and cringy dialogue. Most of the characters lack substance, and a lot of the tension and so-called "romance" feels forced and unnatural. The actual plot of the book doesn't get much better either after the first few chapters, it was like the story had a clear direction at first and then nose-dived into chaos and confusion with too many ideas fighting for dominance. Maybe it got better in the ending but from what others have commented, I don't have high hopes.

I personally think the plot in the beginning is solid and would have been a pretty great story if the book had stayed true to it, but there's just too much going on for the rest of the story after the siren takes Victoria (the FMC) away. The whole thing about "save the siren world by sacrificing the human girl" could have honestly been done away with entirely, because it's nothing more than a total distraction from the emotions surrounding family in the beginning of the book. If the plot had stayed focused on Victoria's fight to save her family from her scummy ex and the systems of her world, it could have been a really self-empowering story, and her romance with Ilryth would still have been possible, (and imo more enjoyable to read about as he helps her). But we just don't get to explore any of that in a meaningful way at all, and instead Victoria becomes a hollowed version of herself that is just so depressing to read about. That being said, I did enjoy getting into a new siren/merfolk story, because while so much was not great about this one, I loved the sirens and culture based around them in the book, and their underwater kingdom. It helped to rekindle my love of mermaids and the ocean, which is great because I really need to get back into swimming again. Favorite character/s: Ilryth, and partially Victoria - for the fact that I can relate in personal ways to both of their struggles (at least for some small parts of the book). What drew me to this book? I was in the mood for a water/merfolk themed book, and the gorgeous cover snatched my attention immediately. I'd give the book a place on my shelf just for the cover alone if the story wasn't so hard to get through. Stars: 1.5/5 stars. Certainly not the worst I've read. But while I enjoyed some things, there just wasn't anything gripping or exciting enough as the story went on that made it worth finishing. View all my reviews

[dailycharacteroption]

Imperial Agent (Vigilante Archetype)

(art by Larian718 on DeviantArt)

We’ve covered plenty of vigilante archetypes here on the blog before, but as we’ve pointed out, despite the narrative origins, not every vigilante is a hero or even a good person. Sometimes people hide their identity to do very bad things.

One such example are the imperial agents of the former empire of Lung-Wa, who work behind the scenes, sometimes alone, sometimes in groups, to try and destabilize the various successor states in hopes of them unifying them into a true heir to the old empire. So basically Romance of the Three Kingdoms by way of spycraft.

Such sneaks and spies not only work under a cover identity, but also establish disguises that paint them as agents of foreign powers to try and insight war and distrust.

Given the politics of many of the major powers of the world and their clandestine acts in other nations, I think we can agree that even stripped of the context of the Pathfinder core setting, this archetype is not very heroic. At best, you could use it for an infiltrator trying to destroy a villainous nation, perhaps the alliance of multiple such antagonists, from within, but the vibes point to this usually being an NPC antagonist archetype, or at least a morally grey one.

Even still, we’ll look and see what it has to offer.

The primary skill of these instigators is their mastery of spreading rumors and slander about an individual or group, souring the locals against them. Of course, if they fail, they might face investigation or reprisal if they are found out.

Master manipulators, they also are good at intimidating or lying to others.

Finally, they learn how to create an extra identity in the form of a member of an organization, making it easy to fool a layperson that their activities are performed by a member of said organization, placing the blame on them. However, they have to be careful, as actual members of that organization are very likely to see through their disguise.

This archetype is rather unobtrusive, so you can still build them how you see fit. Their real strength is working in intrigue-heavy games where they can manipulate public opinion and place blame upon their enemies. That being said, unless it suits the game for the GM to roll for it, most of these abilities won’t get used when in the hands of an NPC, making it somewhat superfluous in its most common role.

Agents like this in the real world are loyal, very loyal to a cause. One might argue that they are selected based on their lack of introspection about the cost and impact of their efforts, but there is always room for someone to have a change of heart. Whether the character remains true to their beliefs of changes is up to the user, of course.

The river wardens proudly wear the symbol of the wakandagi, a powerful river spirit, on their armor to show their devotion to keeping the waterways clean and safe. It is utterly shocking, then, to hear rumors of groups of them suddenly demanding tolls and protection money from merchants and civilians that use the river and channels in their daily lives.

Crotchety and bitter, Kovas the bleachling gnome has taken his jaded and cold demeanor to a new low… by becoming a company plant in the builder’s union. By day he is a grumpy but hardworking worker, but by night he uses a copious amount of dye and makeup to appear as an unbleached member of his kin, sowing mischief while wearing the union’s insignia, and when that doesn’t work, he dons a full disguise for enacting more blatant forms of sabotage.

General Kir runs a tight ship, brooking no insubordination. When rumors reach his ears that some of his troops are abusing the citizens of the outlying providences, he immediately launches an investigation with the party at it’s head. It becomes increasingly clear that all troops were accounted for a the time, so it becomes a quest to find these bad actors before the dissatisfaction with the locals reaches a head.

[thievescanted]

the fact that kova spent so many of their formative years at sea is soo funny to me because they're such a meticulously clean person and its simply not easy to keep clean when you spend most of your time on a boat i would imagine

[rageinfinitely]

•things i learned in September :::::

-trusting oneself and loving oneself are slightly different.

(i’m practicing on the trust part)

-my astrological aspects point to my emotions (that I have so many mixed feelings about) actually being the force that will lead me to my “destiny” …if you will.

-being in a state of personal performance through pure expression is the same act a painter embodies. (Also take note to the fact you have access to different paintbrushes)

-It feels good seeing how far courage will take you

-You don’t have to stay in a state of suffering in order to succeed in fact you mustn’t act from an older more scared state that you once embodied due to living in a state of survival

-confidence is amplified through action

-resistance is a secret law to universe and understanding it is power (I will not expand on this rn but it makes so much sense in my head)

-We are not stuck unless we want to be, We must claim our freedom

-Hoda Kova is genius ::: such a great spring collection

-Earl Sweatshirt’s “Some Rap Songs” album is a masterpiece

[xinuba]

i should probably post something huh

hey hi im pom (i also go by voodoo and kova) ive literally never used tumblr before so im. a little late to the party 😢

i mostly draw ocs but im in a lot of fandoms and may doodle my fav characters from time to time (danganronpa, project sekai, honkai star rail, needy streamer overload, angels of death, ib, undertale, and many more!!!! ^_^)

im still learning how this app works so please bear with me 😞

[shsenhaji]

📚 August Reading Round-Up 📚

I'm very happy that I was able to read (and finish) quite a few books this month! My reading selection was also perhaps a bit more varied, with a non-fiction book thrown in. I began reading the Tea Princess Chronicles by Casey Blair (very good, so lovely), continued with the next volume of Spy x Family, and read books newly published as well as older.

- The Mimicking of Known Successes by Malka Ann Older (very good, loved the worldbuilding, interesting plot)

- Kushiel's Dart by Jacqueline Carey (really enjoyed it, definitely cried a bit toward the end, a lot of interesting tropes and themes, good worldbuilding, liked how many of the themes were handled)

- Batman: Wayne Family Adventures Volume One by Payne and Starbite (lovely, so happy I get to have a physical copy, can't wait for volume two)

- A Dance with the Fae Prince by Elise Kova (liked it a lot, loved the themes and the romance, good character growth)

- Killers of the Flower Moon by David Grann (re-read, well-written, interesting and illuminating, difficult subject matter, felt the narration treated the subject material well for the most part, interested in seeing the movie adaptation)

- A Coup of Tea by Casey Blair (amazing, lovely, binged it in almost one sitting, loved the themes and characters and how it was all put together, as well as the focus on tea, diverse in a good and welcoming way)

- The Physicians of Vilnoc by Lois McMaster Bujold (loved it, tough subject matter however, Penric and Desdemona as lovely as always, enjoyed the philosophical themes and questions)

- Ancillary Sword by Ann Leckie (great, loved it, missed Seivarden a bit though, great themes and characters, made me want to re-read the first book)

- Spy x Family Volume 6 by Tatsuya Endo (Cute, funny, engrossing, more of a tight one-arc story which I liked, has the famous lullaby Yor and Loid scene, Nightfall was hilarious, a key moment finally occurred!)

- Tea Set and Match by Casey Blair (loved it, a lot of communication, loved the themes and how it was handled, cathartic, interesting understanding of the MC's privilege (and how she can use it)

- The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison (re-read, interesting, the narration was amazing and really sold the story, liked the back half of the book more, some very dry and funny and witty parts, wanted more things to be fixed/dealt with, Maia's internalized racism is never really questioned by him)

- Outlaw Mage by KS Villoso (had backed the Kickstarter, very good, read it in a few sittings, enjoyed the characters and themes, tried to figure out how the book connected to the other series in that world, enjoyable and thought-provoking, not too subtle, want to know what happens next)