#Structure and she is right. I see it in my head like a constellation diagram but there's no border it's points that connect in various ways

[chicago-geniza]

All-time favorite fact about my birthday is that it's European ~Respect & Equality For Persons With Disabilities Day or something to that effect (did not read the little blurb about it in English and don't know what the EU's official language of declaration/ratification was so unsure if the person-first language was translator's intervention), but in Poland and Poland only, it is also. Respect and Equality for Intellectually & Developmentally Disabled People Day. Poland said you have to be nice and respectful to Raya on their birthday because they are autistic about Poland, specifically

[edmund-valks]

What Lies Beneath... the Barn

“Wait, if you can think of that, why do you need me?”

Ilandreline brushed dark hair back from her sweat-slicked brow, carefully pouring molten metal into gear molds.  “Because I can only do the calculations, not the actual magic.  Also I would prefer to be able to validate it before I get my friends sucked into terrifying cosmic voids.”

She was really glad for this setup, even more glad that nobody seemed to notice she’d built a basement into the barn using a disintegrating arcanodrill while they’d been off engaging in weird things like “commerce”, whatever that meant.  Not that she didn’t know what the word meant, but.  Is my internal dialogue supposed to be this bad?  No, it’s not.  Maybe you’re not as smart as you hoped.  Fair.

“Anyway,” she said aloud, setting the fresh gears to quench, “you’re the only one I know who even cares about my planar work, much less understands how to use it in this fashion.  You already made it better, remember?  That second letter of yours?”  She spared a glance for the other elf, trying to gauge her reaction.

Perched on a corner of her workbench, the diminutive ren’dorei was… blushing?  Either that or suffocating; her cheeks were flushed a soft violet rather than her whole face, so presumably it wasn’t asphyxiation.  “Well, I mean, anyone could have if they-”

“If you finish that sentence I’m going to hit you with a wrench.”

She stopped so fast her teeth clacked.

The Fence Macabre’s resident -- whether they knew it or liked it -- engineer continued.  “If anyone could do it, then I’m a fool for not having done it myself, and I’m pretty sure you didn’t just call me a fool.  And second of all, no, they couldn’t have, so stop trying to downplay your work.  You’re smart about this stuff and you’ve got a unique perspective.  You’re a valuable colleague and I’d love for you to be a co-author when I publish this theory.”

More colour rushed to her cheeks, making Sentua look something like a blueberry.  Poor thing!  Whatever the ren’dorei had done to themselves, it had really screwed them out of any fashion choices they may have liked beforehand.  Red and gold just… didn’t… with that complexion.

“I… would like to be published with you, thank you.  Are you sure- Wait, of course you are, otherwise you wouldn’t have said it, right?”  She took several deep breaths.  “Sorry.”

Ila shook her head.  “Don’t worry about it.  You about studied up, ready to try out the first one?”

“Um.  Let me take one more look at the diagram and re-check the math.  Then I’ll go over the runes again.”

“Sure thing, take your time.  I got a bunch of these brass bastards to make anyway.”  Anyone from the Fence who wasn’t her was unlikely to have any idea why she was making multiple copies of something that was already built.  That was probably for the best.  Nobody else really seemed to appreciate the old grandfather clock the way she did.

While she worked, her visitor did exactly as she’d said she would, tracing the structure they’d slowly developed using extraplanar theoretics combined with several known nexus points.  If they’d had access to a superior medium (who wasn’t also wholeheartedly opposed to their purpose), maybe they would have been able to determine if it was going to work without having to craft a prototype.  But what would be the fun in that?

Well, it would certainly involve less child endangerment.

Hey!  That’s not fair, she’s an adult!

...In human years, yes.  How old is she?  Twenty?

Twenty-three?  Give or take a year.

This is wildly irresponsible parenting!

I’m not her parent!

Good point.  It’s really irresponsible of them to let her hang out with someone like us.

No kidding!  What are they thinking!

“Okay, I’m getting started now.  Try to keep quiet and stay over there.  I’m… not sure what this is going to look like when I get it going.”

That made two of them.  Ilandreline very casually moved behind a thickly armoured panel she used in case one of her iron molds exploded.  “Righto, let ‘er rip, Senny!”

Despite her youth, she sure looked like she knew what she was doing.  Having grown up around an assortment of arcane manipulators (as well as normal manipulators), Ila could usually follow spellwork as it happened.  She was utter rubbish at it herself, but that was why she’d done theoretical work.  That way she never had to prove anything except on paper.

The interweaving runic designs began flaring to life, unexpectedly nightblue with pinpricks of starlight within them.  A brief peek without her goggles in place confirmed that wasn’t a trick of the lenses, it was the Real Deal.  Since she had no idea what it meant, if anything, the sin’dorei kept waiting and watching.

A subaural thrum filled the air, slowly building intensity.  Sentua seemed unbothered, continuing to do… whatever a wizard did during a lengthy ritual.  Concentrate or something.  The vibration became more sensible until it started to feel like her teeth were going to rattle from her skull.  Then it stopped and things got weird.

When your family was exiled due to a misunderstanding involving the regular sacrifice over centuries of sentient beings to dark powers, you grew up with a different baseline for weirdness from others.  As a result, this wasn’t the weirdest thing Ila had ever seen, but it was certainly up there.  She pulled her goggles off to see with the tainted vision that same “misunderstanding” had gifted her.

Portals were opening and clothing, like mouths made of eyes, evaporating as soon as they formed.  A loop made of itself (what?) turned outside-in until they disappeared inside it.  Eyes of darkness flared against the backdrop of interminable void within one of the gaping portal-maws and she felt uncomfortably seen.  Maybe I messed up the math after all.

A crackle of power flared through the starlight rune-circles, drawing constellations like the antipodal counterpart of what she’d seen in drawings from Ulduar.  This was a place she recognized, but not in a way she’d experienced it before.  There was the old, familiar whisperings, comforting as ever, slipping over and through her being with their gentle rubberiness.  The sensation of being watched, as always, and knowing what was heard wasn’t her own thoughts; just another day looking at what the authorities of Silvermoon had called “the wrong side of things” when they’d been exiled a couple hundred years back.

The ache in her jaw was new, though.  And… getting worse.  Something was affecting the pressure in the room.  Maybe I should open the door up to the barn, help equalize it?  Ilandreline tried to move but her body wouldn’t respond right.  She tried to talk but nothing came out.  The air felt like molasses, though, and it started to… ooze… into her open mouth in one of the more unpleasant sensations she’d ever encountered.

This is definitely bad, this is going to keep increasing until we pop like overfed ticks.  It wasn’t a comforting thought.  She’d die like she’d lived, though: making bad decisions with dangerously undertested experiments.  Her jaw was being forced wider and wider, until it felt like it was going to pop out of its socket.  Then something did pop and there was a roar like an entire storm’s worth of thunder if it was packed into a giant’s sneeze.

Wetness -- blood?  Probably! -- trickled from her ears, but she could close her mouth again.  She did so, gingerly, rubbing at it.  “Faoh,” she mumbled, unable to make real words quite yet.  Her brain didn’t want to form them, her mouth couldn’t.  She blinked far too often for several minutes before recovering enough to replace the tinted lenses through which she typically viewed the world.

Sentua was still standing, looking… mostly normal.  Maybe slightly dazed; half catatonic?  No more than that, maybe only a quarter.  But she was also grinning like the cat who’d eaten a smaller, weaker cat to gain its feline prowess.

“Ah wubna!” she said in triumph.

“Fwah?” was Ila’s response as she stuck her little finger into an ear, trying to pry loose the inability to understand.  It came back covered in what was definitely blood, possibly with a little extra something she didn’t want to think about too closely.

The ren’dorei worked her jaw a bit, then tried again.  “I did it!”  The words formed right that time, managing to get through the sticky haze in Ila’s ears.  “I don’t know if it worked, but it went off just like we expected it to.”

“Hleva nuhs!”  Frowning, she slapped herself once, then a second time, harder.  Wiggling her jaw from side to side, she formed the words very deliberately.  “Ve...ry… nice.”  Moving over to where the first pocket watch -- more staggered, really, as if she was quite drunk -- Ilandreline examined it.  It looked right.

She turned it just so, opened a back panel to look into the mirrored surface there, checking behind her.  And sure enough, just as she’d hoped, there was the leering grin of a lurking specter, axe poised and with a hungry look in its eyes.  “Hey, fella!  Good to see you again.  We made you portable.”  She laughed, gave a wink that the cursed entity could never see.  “Look out, world!  The Fence Macabre has portable curse detectors now!”

Her new partner came to look over her shoulder and practically jumped out of her skin.  Sentua glanced hurriedly back to the real world then into the gleaming silvered expanse.  “This… this is what you were trying to do?”

“Absolutely!”

“But… why?”

Ilandreline just stared for a moment.  She didn’t understand why people kept asking that.  It was clearly a great idea.  “Because why wouldn’t you want to be able to see what kind of horrific spirits are lurking in an area?  This is a much more portable form of the curse, one that can be replicated multiple times using the demiplanar transpositionalities we derived, augmented through a series of linking and magnifying matrices.  So long as I keep at least half of the original gears in the grandfather clock, I can use the rest to create portable horror viewers!”

Sentua stared at her for rather a long time.  It got awkward.  Eventually she shrugged, though, which was probably for the best.  “Well, as long as you’re happy and it works, I guess that’s good enough for me!  I think I’m gonna go home and sleep, though, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, absolutely.  Get your rest, that was probably pretty draining.”  She grinned, squeezed the young elf in a one-armed hug.  “And be proud!  You did great.”

“Thanks!  I… don’t know if replicating a curse into multiple other objects was what I thought I’d be doing, but at least it confirmed our theories.”  She grinned weakly, then stumbled off to the designated teleportation corner, keying one of her completion-tokens to zap her back home.

Ilandreline kept turning the pocket watch over, chuckling.  It didn’t tell time worth a damn, but she didn’t care about that.  It had worked.  And she was going to be published again for that work, damn it, preferably somewhere that would absolutely irritate her parents to no end.

Truly, she was living her best life, and it was all thanks to the Fence.

[vhyral]

Notes: Fahlron and Dorian talk about vallaslin, Dorian discovers something unexpected

Word count: 1938

Quality: Bleh | Readable | Nice 

"Vallasnin?”

“Vallas - lin.”

“Vallas - len?”

“Damn it, Dorian!”

Fahlron threw a frustrated hand up in the air and gave the tevinter mage a disgusted glare from his chair in front of the window.

“Oh, don’t give me that.” Dorian retorted. “Your language makes one’s tongue take so many turns, it should be considered a hazardous activity to even attempt to speak it. I swear I sprained mine the last time you tried to teach me your keeper’s name, look!”

“You asked for that!” moaned the hunter. “And you keep pestering me about it. Fahlron, how do I pronounce this? Fahlron, how do I write that? Falhron, how do I say ‘I wanna take a shit’ in elvhen?” He raised his arms, pointedly looked at himself and then up at Dorian again. “Do I look like a scribe to you?”

“You look exactly like an ill mannered fellow with excellent face bone structure.” came the cheeky answer. “One that also happens to possess knowledge I’m interested in. Wrap yourself in a ribbon and be my early birthday present, won’t you?”

Dorian let the corners of his lips curl into a smile to the elf’s groan and leaned back in his own chair, turning to the next page of the book he was cradling. It was part of the latest order, a gathering of texts exploring elven traditions and the few things known about the Dalish. He had issued orders for anything he could find on the elven right after they had set foot in Skyhold and he was sure his books would be at least protected by the blasted rain- there was not much on wandering elvhen to begin with which allowed traders to overprize the books quite a lot. Yet with a Dalish Inquisitor walking around, practically being a living, willing encyclopedia, what better time to indulge into a new obsession? Feynras had proven herself witty and humorous and was always ready to share and explain should her duties allow it.

Her brother, now. Such a different case Dorian had at first honest to the Maker doubts the two elves were related. Fahlron was snappy and had that glare glued to his face, like he distrusted you and eight generations of your family before you. He was, well, in general, much closer to the common image of the Dalish.

“Val- las- ni-in?” he tried his tongue at it again.

“Vallas - LIN!” came the angered growl from the neighboring chair, receiving a loud hush from the next library corridor for his trouble. Falhron’s ears trembled and lowered a couple of inches, giving him the look of a feral animal ready to pounce.

“Sometimes referred to as blood writing,” Dorian began reading in hopes that the elf would stay where he was and not leap after that poor, unfortunate shusher, “it is what the Dalish call the intricate facial tattoos worn by all adult clan members. The ink used to do so is considered sacred as we confirmed while attempting to trade with dalish merchants in some of the friendlier camps we came upon. The merchants refused to sell us a small portion of it or reveal the correct way to mix it.”

“Did they make it out of that camp alive? Friendly clan.”

“When a Dalish elf comes of age,” Dorian continued, “they prepare to gain the vallaslin by meditating on the gods and the ways of the Dalish, and by purifying the body and the skin. When the time comes, the Keeper of the clan applies the blood writing. This is done in complete silence.  Blood writing is at least in part a religious practice, and there are different designs representing deities in the Elven Pantheon.”

He eyed Fahlron. The elf had turned his attention to the book in his slender hands, a brownish, overused tome about astronomy Dorian knew like the back of his hand. He could make out some of the dark patterns on the hunter’s sharp cheekbones even as he watched him from the side. They curled and turned like vines, overlapping and creating a complex, beautiful net on the man’s forehead and higher cheeks, some lines extending as far as the lobes of his long ears. Hours, Dorian thought, it must have taken hours to complete.

“So. Which deity?”

Fahlron didn’t bat an eyelash away from his book. “Rude.”

“Rude?” repeated Dorian. “If asking was offending, the book would surely mention something. I did pay its weight in gold after all, I do expect it to be quite precise.”

To his surprise- and amusement- the Dalish swirled on his chair, now turning to stare at him face on. Their eyes met and they held each other’s gaze in a mutual fit of stubborness. Then Fahlron gave him a sly grin, lips stretching, and motioned to the leather bound tome with his chin.

“Doesn’t your precise book have diagrams of our blood writing, dear friend? Here.” He motioned to his forehead, brushing a few stray black hair back. “You can see it clearly.”

Dorian flipped a few pages, glancing at the elf’s face in between, pretending to ignore the arrogant curl of his mouth or the spark in those grassy eyes. Not stealing glances of his ears as they twitched slightly or the slope of his nose. Not noticing the curious way the hunter’s upper lip was plusher than the bottom one or how his aroma reminded Dorian of pines and soil and- the altus coughed.

Vallaslin. Yes, of course. There were drawings, masterfully sketched, but none quite fit.

“Now, they don’t seem to have come across your very specific clan.” he pursed his lips. “It is not in here.”

“Good luck getting a refund for that gold of yours.” Falhron tossed his ponytail over a shoulder before turning back to his astronomy journal.

Dorian flipped through the next few pages. He didn’t scowl - no, that would only lead to future wrinkles.

“You’re being an ass today, Fahlron.” he nagged instead. “Careful or our lady Vivienne will come at you wishing to claim back her rightful place in our merry little group.”

“Pfft!” A snort was all he got for an answer but he could see the elf’s cheeks puff out as he lost an inner battle against a smile.

The library was quiet with the gentle sound of scholars copying parchments and writing reports - the midday sun was shining brightly through the thin windows. Comfy on his chair, Dorian leisurely turned to the pages featuring the various entities of the elven pantheon - he had read about them before but hadn’t memorized their names or symbolisms. Dirthamen, Falon‘Din, Mythal. The names shined on the yellow page, written in expert cursive with rich black ink.

“Andruil?” he attempted. “You’re a hunter. The goddess of hunting sounds appropriate if not a tad typical.”

Fahlron gave him a thoughtful nasal sound, neither yes or no.

“Always glad to entertain.” groaned Dorian. “Ok… then. Elgar’nan.”

“The God of Vegeance?”

“Considering you look like you’re about to punch someone in the face twenty four hours a day, it sounds like quite the plausible choice to me.”

“Well, hunting and vegeance. I do not dislike the image you have of me, Dorian.”

“It’s Sylaise.” interrupted a voice near the mage’s chair. making them both jump a little where they sat.

“Feynras!” hissed Fahlron, glaring daggers at the blond elf now leaning over the altus, staring down at the book in his hands with interest. With her came a thin smell of something nauseously sweet, like decaying flesh.

“What?” she retaliated. “‘Tis only the truth. Can I borrow this book later, Dorian?”

“I can’t believe you-”

“Sylaise?” Dorian found himself staring down at the description of the deity with wide open eyes and a huge grin making his lips twitch. “You serve the goddess of the domestic arts?”

There was a flush on Fahlron’s cheeks now, painting his skin with a deep red. His eyes were shining dangerously as he glared at the pair of them- Dorian couldn’t tell if it was him that was at the end of that murderous stare or the Inquisitor or if the hunter was about to launch himself at both of them at once.

“It was the Keeper’s suggestion.” he hissed venomously through clenched teeth, averting his eyes and glaring at the brownish journal instead. “And mamae- ugh! Mother- I could not go against the traditions!”

“I think his vallaslin fits him perfectly.” The Inquisitor raised her shoulders and tapped a light finger over the passage referring to the goddess before taking a step back and stretching her back.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have quite a heavy bag of freshly picked, still-trying-to-claw-me demon remains for our mages.” She gave her backback a tag. “I’ll be back for the book around nightfall?”

“As long as you don’t let it anywhere near demonic intestines.” Dorian scrunched his nose. “Off you go now - these clothes are brand new and unless you can promise me a new outfit by tomorrow morning, demon stench is renowned for seeping into fabric as fast and persistently as the Fereldan King in a cheese storage. So, shoo.”

Feynras flicked him her tongue. “I’ll bring wine.” she promised before skipping towards the research table.

“Ah, finally.” Dorian laughed. “A lass after my own heart.”

--

Ferv… Fervev- Fervevial! Fahlron tried to concentrate on the unfamiliar letters on the paper. Commonly referred to... as "the Oak," the con… constellation Fervanis-

“So.” he heard the mage’s voice. It foretold of the expression he must have been wearing but Fahlron kept his head down. Creators, if he as much as caught a glimpse of that stupid grin, he would rip that precious moustache of his right off.

Many scholars believe this is a representation of nature... that hark… harkens back to the lore of the early Neromenians-

“Where was I? Ah, but of course. Sylaise.”

Dorian cleared his throat. “As told by Gisharel, Keeper of the Ralaferin clan of the Dalish elves.” he read, his voice over coloured and pompous. “It is Sylaise who gave us fire and taught us how to use it. It is Sylaise who showed us how to heal with herbs and with magic, and how to ease the passage of infants into this world. And again, it is Sylaise who showed us how to spin the fibers of plants into thread and rope. In her youth, it is said that Sylaise stayed at the home-tree to sing and create art while Andruil hunted and played. Her path -”

“Her path is called the Vir Atish'an.” Fahlron cut him. “Her name is invoked before a fire is kindled and after it is quenched. Sylaise is seen as a protector of all who dwell close to a hearth, especially children and is also invoked during marital vows.” The words were not only of Clan Ralaferin - they were of all the Keepers throughout Thedas, on the lips of every Dalish elfling in a camp. He had heard them thousands of time, he had recited them himself another thousand, kneeling before the Goddess with offerings in his hands and the fire burning in front of her, with green grass at his feet or red crumbly leaves or thick, quiet snow.

He should have left. Dread Wolf’s balls, he should have gotten out of there the minute the Tevinter had as much as uttered his mangled version of the word vallaslin. It always came to this, to someone laughing under their breath and giving him the look and he would have to prove himself all over again.

It all was so fucking tiring and he was so very done with it.

[adri-m79]

... How it began

* This is the beginning of a little story that I wanted to write for a few of my lovely tumblr people. @tamsininmypants @aeon-wolf @queenofallbubblez @princessxhelena … because sometimes crackships are the best ships. Welcome to ValkCorp. 😉

(I’ve NEVER done this… and tbh I have no f'ing clue about what the heck I’m doing either. I can come up with crazy shit…but putting it into words is a different story) —–——————-————————-•

It was a mid Spring night in National City. The sky was so clear that some constellations were seen through the city lights. There was an unusual stillness that night. A stillness that made Lena a little uneasy.

Lena stood outside on the balcony of her office. Her gaze trained on the sky. It had been a little while since she had seen Supergirl, and Kara barely came around because half of her free time was spent with her boyfriend Mon-El.

The cool breeze was refreshing. Being in her office all those hours made her feel like the walls were closing in on her. She turned around at the sound of one of the monitors turning back on from being on sleep mode. Tilting her head slightly at the screen when she saw the display.

Lena stepped back into her office, and walked up to the monitor on the wall. A smile tugged at her lips looking at the diagrams on the screen. It was an old project she had been meaning to revisit. The transmitters and port pad were done, it just needed some parameter adjustments. She stared at it a little longer, then looked down at her watch. It was only 9pm she had plenty of time.

After logging out of that screen and turning the monitors off, she headed down to a vault downstairs. She didn’t really need to look for the two briefcases for too long, after all her sense of organization was impecable. She has one of the security guards load it into her car and off she went.

Lena imputed some coords into her navigation system after about five minutes on the road, listening intently to the man on the talk radio channel talking about solar flares, frequency disruptions and the northern lights. Some things made her scoff at what the man said. No self respecting scientist would say such things. Though his theories hadn’t exactly been disproven either.

She had been on the road now for about 45 minutes when she arrived. The field where LCorp would occasionally test their prototypes and other experiments. It was perfect. She opened the back of her SUV and unloaded her suitcases. She stood about 9 yards away from her car. The first suitcase contained a collapsible structure. It was a flat pad made of the same material as solar power pads. She laid that out and proceeded to take the other components out of the other briefcase. These three disks looked a lot like satellite tv dishes. Each one was set up at equal distance from each other. A perfect triangle on top of the square. She stood there for a bit evaluating the set up before going back to the back of her car.

Lena sat in there with her laptop and entered a few codes. The center of the square now had an illuminated circle on it. She looked up at the sky, noticing that there was now what looked like a very faint aurora borealis. She didn’t think much of it and went ahead and entered a few coordinates. The three disks each moved slowly rotating and at different intervals. Lena would periodically check the radar app making sure that the DEO wouldn’t intercept the signals, even though she had programmed a scrambler into the software.

She stared off into the sky, wondering what signals she’d pick up. Part of her knew that this was probably something that would be frowned upon by the DEO, but she really didn’t care. She was bored, and wanted to see what she could do with this. Maybe move objects through time and space? I mean the coords she had entered were consistent with the product of an equation she worked on years ago. Something that through very specific means of altering neutrino and electron blasts could possibly prove or disprove Einsteins time and space theory.

Lena hadn’t noticed how much time had gone by. Her eyelids grew heavy, and the soft bleeps from the disks were putting her to sleep…and sleep she did.

— 4 hours later… 3am —

Lena was startled awake by the higher pitched bleeps coming from the laptop. The computer’s display was erratic, and it would flicker from one screen to another. She tried a hard reset, but it wasn’t doing much. After a few minutes of trying, the disks all became fixed on one point. The illuminated circle in the center of the square began spinning so fast that with the beams of light coming from the disks it began to form a shape. A cone first, then it looked like it was inverting. Lena looked at the display on the laptop, very confused at this point because somehow the code in the program had not only reversed the parameters, but the coordinates were way off.

She tried typing a different code, only this time the image on the computer flickered on and off until it finally switched to a screen Lena hadn’t seen before. The font had changed to something she couldn’t read, but recognized as runic symbols. – “what the fuck”– was all she managed to say before the pad generated so much energy it literally exploded, sending a huge beam of light into the night sky that illuminated her surroundings for a few seconds. She shielded her eyes, until the only lights she saw were the significantly less intense ones coming from the fence surrounding the field.

Lena looked through the smoke, and walked to see if there was anything left of her transmitters or even the pad. She looked and didn’t see them, though the pad was still there. As she got closer she thought she could see what looked like a silhouette. She got closer yet and sure enough. There was a body. Her heart raced thinking that she might have shot Supergirl right out of the sky with that blast, but then she noticed that this person looked like she was wearing some sort of light armor. She tilted her head sideways, as she walked backward to the back of her car. She grabbed the taser out of her bag and went right up to where this body was.

She used the flashlight function on her phone and began examining it. She walked around and knelt down by it. There was steam emanating from the body, but it was like ice to the touch. She illuminated up this body’s torso, and noticed it was a woman. –“ oh great. I just shot an alien woman right out of the sky. Good going Lena. That’s exactly the publicity LCorp needs”– She said to herself, getting up and going back to her car for an actual flashlight. She came back and was able to get a better look at this woman.

Lena swept the blonde hair away from the woman’s face gently. Noticing that she was one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. She also noticed she was quite tall, which made her wonder what alien species she was. She noticed that fortunately, though she was unconscious she was still breathing.

Lena put her hand on this woman’s shoulder when all of a sudden, her eyes snapped open.

—-——–————–——————–•

* I have to make chapter 2 describing briefly what Tamsin was doing before that. She was literally pulled out of Valhalla. Fun times.

**Seriously guys I have no idea what I’m doing, but it’s kinda fun. The ideas are all there, but this writing stuff doesn’t flow like I need it to. Maybe I’m just tired.

... and thank you @unaligned-valkyrie . 💋