#Twilight Caravan

[hannahssimblr]

Evie doesn’t appear phased about what I did in the abandoned church. When we left, scrambling back over that rocky wall, I already hated everything I said to her all evening. I can't even count all of the stupid things.

Yet she is unphased like she hasn't figured it out yet, laughing and chatting on my bicycle as the first glimmer of light from the seaside appears on the horizon. If I had pulled any of that shit with Michelle, with the torch and the spooky stories I was inexplicably compelled to tell afterwards, I would be dead already. Buried.

“Can I confess something?” Her voice is soft and close to my ear. “You don’t seem like a person who is into ghosts and stuff like that.”

“No?”

“No, you seem too cool.”

“I’m not cool.”

She pauses. “I think you are. You remind me of some of Shane’s friends from home a bit.”

“Culchies.”

“No, just very sporty, popular boys who, like, get invited to house parties.”

“You don’t get invited to house parties?”

A derisive laugh, “No, I’m not cool.”

“Well, if I threw a party, I’d invite you.” 

The road thins and slopes towards the sea as I pass the welcome sign to the village, freewheeling over palm fronds, and through the sand piles gathered by the curbs until the last, empty, open street lies ahead. I have no concept of what time it is. It is after midnight at least, but before four, because the sky is still that even, deep blue of astronomical twilight. 

It is disappointing to reach the gates of the caravan park. 

“Do you want me to bring you all the way?” I ask her.

“Yeah, okay.”

And so we gain another two minutes, which I use up telling her about the ganja guy in that caravan by the tennis court. She finds the story amusing. It seems she feels that way about a lot of things I tell her. This is not unfamiliar. At school, I grew accustomed to people who hung around me and acted like every word I uttered was hilarious, not because they honestly thought so, but because they wanted me to give something to them, attention, or popularity, validation of some sort. It just doesn’t seem that way with Evie. 

“What time is it?” she climbs off the pannier rack and rubs the side of her neck. 

I check my phone. “It’s half two.”

“Wow. I should really get to bed. I barely slept last night and I’m so exhausted.”

“You didn’t?”

She wavers. “Um, no, I was just wound up from being in Dublin and all. My mind was racing a bit, like, it tends to do that.”

We say nothing for a beat. I should probably get back on the bike and go home, but instead, I stand there scouring my brain for some way to spark another conversation and keep her where she is. 

It takes too long to think, and within a second she has turned away. “I better go inside.”

“It was nice to hang out with you,” I call after her as she climbs the weatherbeaten planks of the mobile steps. 

She smiles, fiddles with a piece of her hair, then, almost as an afterthought, she tries the door. 

But it is locked. 

Another attempt, jiggling it this time, then she pats her pockets with growing alarm. 

“Everything okay?” 

She shakes her head. “I’m locked out.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah,” with hands at her temples, she stares at the ground in disbelief, “I remember where I left them. They’re in my room.”

I’m stumped. It’s not like I can bring her home to my house. That’d be weird, and I don’t even want to think about the questions it would arouse. What if the guys were to come home to find her, God forbid, brushing her teeth in the bathroom? What would they think I did? Could I even blame them for thinking it?

“Oh! Hang on!” She says, and without explaining herself, she darts around the side of the mobile home, vanishing through clumps of overgrown grass until she’s swallowed completely by darkness. 

“What the fuck?” I follow her. 

I find her at the back, where moss has sprouted between slits in the PVC sliding. 

“My window,” she explains, “I thought I left it open.” Her thumbs find a sliver of space at the base of the frame, and with some effort she shoves it upwards, heaving out a heavy sigh of satisfaction. “There!”

She pauses. “Do you want a glass of water? You must be tired from cycling all that way.”

She means an actual glass of water. It is not an innuendo and I know it. 

“Yeah, that’d actually be really nice.”

Nobody needs to know that I agreed, that I’m doing this, that I am actually crawling in her bedroom window behind her, because God knows, I don’t know what I would tell them if they asked. This is one of those moments where my behaviour is inexplicable even to myself.

As I clamber over her bedside table, narrowly avoiding knocking her lamp to the floor, I catch her kicking a pile of clothes under one of the twin beds. I smile. She’s messy. 

“Okay, stay here,” she orders, and hurries out the door, leaving me alone in her room, surrounded by her things. 

One of the two narrow beds is unmade. I choose that one to sit on while I observe this little box room. An old, painted dresser, a 90s-era television set left unplugged, a bedside table and a lamp. Without question, the rest of the stuff is hers. There is a suitcase, still unpacked, a tennis racquet, and a few plastic bottles of water at various states of fullness. An orange bikini hangs up to dry by the window, and I don’t stare at it. The door handle squeaks and I snatch a book from the bedside table so I can pretend to be interested in it. 

“What are you doing?” Evie stands frowning with my cup of water in her hand, and I feel like she has caught me doing something illegal.

“Just looking at your books. Is that okay?”

“They’re not interesting books, just silly romance novels and stuff.”

It’s like I’ve only just landed in my body. I hadn’t even realised what I was looking at. Turning the book over to its baby blue cover, looping cursive across the front, I shrug. “If you like reading them, then who cares?”

She hands me the cup and sits next to me on the mattress. “I know I should be reading the classics, but I tried to read Catch 22 a couple of months ago and found it bad.”

“Really? I like that book.”

Her cheeks redden. “Oh, well, it’s not really bad, that’s not what I meant, it–”

“It’s okay, it’s not for you. It’s fine not to be into something.”

She frowns at her lap and brings a fingertip to her mouth before catching herself like she’s remembering she doesn’t bite her nails in front of other people. I want to talk to her more about how it’s alright if she has an opinion that is different than mine, that it doesn’t make her wrong, or anything like that, but I decide against drawing attention to her embarrassment at all. I suspect she might prefer it that way. 

Under the window, a black, linen-covered notebook sits flat, loose pages jutting out from the side. Laying the water and the romance novel down, I reach for it.

Quick as a whip, she moves to block my hand. “You can’t see this.” 

“What? Why not? What is it?”

“It’s personal.”

“What, like your secret diary?”

“No! Not like that. It’s none of your business.”

She doesn’t say a word, so I adjust my tone to be gentler. “Come on, let me see it. It’s no big deal.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s messy. My work is messy.”

“Uh, yeah, like all sketchbooks. I’m just curious about it, please.” 

She says in a tiny voice: “I don’t want you to judge me.”

“But why would I do that?”

“Because. You’re a real artist, and I’m just… a hobbyist.”

I scoff. “I’m not a real artist either,” not by any stretch of the imagination. 

“Well, those people at the Berlin art school would disagree.”

I’ll be a real artist after I go to Berlin, not before. I wish she knew that. Right now I’m just a sixth-year student who likes to draw pictures of his own feet. “You’re saying all this based on nothing. I’ll show you my sketchbook sometime and you’ll see. You don’t turn into a prodigy just because you get accepted into art college.”

“Okay, well, you’re not allowed to be mean.”

“I’d never”

“If you think it’s shit, I’ll know,” she warns as finally, she relinquishes it to me, “I’m really good at reading faces.”

“I bet.”

Finally, I open the cover. I do not underestimate the value of this worn-out sketchbook that she was so incredibly protective of, and hope my hands are not dirty, that they don’t smudge the corners of the pages. I am careful to be very thoughtful about each piece that I encounter. 

She has a tight line, surprisingly. I expected to find something more loose and free-form, floaty figures with dozens of wandering, light lines, some voile curtains in the wind, perhaps, but her hand is deliberate, cautious and exact. It says something about her that I didn't expect.

I pause on one page, one close to the end of the sketchbook, with a drawing of a man and a dog. It’s this beach. The land’s shape in the background she roughly drew looks familiar to me, but I sense her anxiety when I realise I haven’t spoken in a while. 

“These are really good,” I assure her. “The way you’ve captured the movement… You can tell that he’s resisting the wind here, there’s a great weight to it.”

She seems to melt with relief. “Thank you. I’m trying to get better at drawing things that are moving. I got too comfortable drawing still things and then got way too focused on the details. Like my cat,” leaning in close she flips back near the beginning, “See, she was sleeping, so I felt like I had time to draw every little thing. Like all the individual hairs and everything. I got way too caught up with it.”

“I like these too, though. I get what you’re saying about there being a lot of detail, but I dunno, it still works for me. I think the line work is really sensitive. I think you’re a really good artist, like, everything in here is honestly great.”

“Really? You don’t have to say it just to be nice.”

“I’m not! I really think that.”

“Okay,” she pulls the sketchbook off my lap before I can change my opinion, and stashes it safely beneath the bed, out of reach. With a quick toss of her hair over one shoulder, she looks at me with a challenge in her eyes. “You’ll have to show me your work now. This is a transaction that works both ways.” 

“Yeah, I will. The next time you’re over at the beach house, I’ll show you what I’ve been working on.”

“I bet it’s unreal.”

“Don’t hold your breath. Not as good as yours.”

She rolls her eyes. “As if. I bet I’ll look in your sketchbooks and they’ll look like DaVinci did them.”

“Well, if you think that, I promise you’ll be disappointed.”

I should thank her for showing me her work, but it feels like a kind of weird thing to do, a thing a boy who was insecure and hungry for her approval would do. Someone like Liam. 

Liam. 

Should I feel bad about Liam? Here I am, in Evie Kilbride’s bedroom, getting her to show me one of her most private and precious possessions while he, what? Sleeps under Lion King themed bedsheets at home? I wonder if he’s ever been in her room, or in any poor, suffering girls’ room. 

Why am I so obsessed with being nasty about him? What is wrong with me? Perhaps inherently I am a mean person. 

When I adjust myself on Evie’s bed, I rest my thigh against hers. Her skin is cool. She doesn’t move away. 

“When you go to Berlin,” she says, “Will you know anybody there?”

Oh yeah, Berlin. I exhale. “No, I’m going on my own, which, like, I’m kind of excited about.”

“Scared though?” She prompts, and I admit: “Yeah, a little bit, I suppose. More excited.”

“I think I’d be scared to leave and be away from everybody I know.”

“Yeah, I get that, but I wasn’t really thinking that way when I applied for university there. It was honestly more about the experience I’d have and what I’d learn from doing my degree there. Plus, when I applied, I didn’t actually think I’d be going on my own.” 

“No?”

“My girlfriend at the time and I applied together, actually, but she didn’t get in. It was brutal. We got our letters on the same day.”

“You decided to go alone, anyway?”

“Yeah it felt like the best choice for me, I just didn’t see myself being in Ireland anymore, I don’t want to waste my early twenties in this horrible recession, and I don’t want to graduate into it with no job prospects. I just need to get away from it.”

“And your girlfriend?”

I hesitate. It’s not like I don’t want to talk about Michelle, it’s just… I usually avoid any conversations that might lead to some necessary explanation of the arduousness of our relationship. “We broke up. We called it quits before our exams. I didn’t want to put her through the long-distance thing, like, honestly, I didn’t want to put myself through it, because I knew I couldn’t handle that. I really just… I don’t want any attachments when I go, like, no responsibilities towards anybody else. Having a relationship while trying to navigate the changes that are ahead of me,” I sigh. “It would be too hard.”

“Wow. How long were you together?”

“Almost a year.”

She hums sympathetically. “It must have been a hard decision.”

“It was. She’s a great person.”

“Well, you can always get back together at some point in the future, you know, like maybe someday when you graduate…” Her sentence trails off as I shake my head decisively. 

“I don’t think so. It’s just over. I can’t really see us picking up where we left off, like, nothing to do with her or the relationship, per se. It’s just that I feel like I can’t ever go backwards. Once it’s done, it’s done for me. I just don’t really hang on to other people in that way.”

Her leg shifts away from mine, and the warmth of the atoms between us dissipates. She rests against the wall, her head lolling gently to one side, makeup flaking beneath weighty lids. 

“You look a little sleepy.”

“I am.”

I smile. “Then sleep. I’ll leave.”

“Okay.”

Hugging her sort of seems like the right thing to do, but I overthink it, hesitate too long and then just get up from the bed. “Okay Evie, I’ll see you again soon.” 

It’s her who demands a hug, holding out her arms to me and making a little hmph sound, so I kneel on the bed and let her wrap her arms around me. Her face nestles in my neck. She’s all warm cheeks and the flutter of eyelashes. 

“I’ll text you when I’m free to hang out again.” 

“Mm,” she has already laid down, and I can’t resist one moment where I just look at her. She’s so cute. She has the loveliest face I may have ever seen in real life.

“Goodnight,” I whisper, but I doubt she’s even heard me, and then, as quietly as I can, I climb over the bedside table and leap down onto the dew-sprinkled grass below, leaving behind no trace but ripples in the glass of water on the bedside table, lying untouched next to her sleeping face. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter [2]

[butterflydm]

wot rewatch (book spoilers edition): 2x5

Not only is this one going to have spoilers for all the aired episodes plus any teasers (including the trailer for episode 6), it will also have book spoilers through book 14: A Memory of Light.

An interesting change from the books is Suroth calling Loial a slave -- in the books, the Ogier of the elite guard are very specifically not enslaved (I wonder if they got as badly jacked up by the Longing as the ones in the Westlands but their 'solution' ended up involving the Empress and the Crystal Throne somehow?). Since this exception is never explained in the books, I don't have any issue with it being changed.

2. I also think we are getting some really good set-up here for a potential fracture in the Seanchan once we get deeper into the series -- a fulfillment of the narrative promise that Jordan set up in books 2-9 but then backed away from once we hit Crossroads of Twilight & Knife of Dreams. I'm hopeful that we're actually going to get the Seanchan civil war that the books never gave us but that they desperately needed in order for Mat's characterization to make any damn sense in CoT & KoD.

3. The idea that Ishamael is being something akin to Suroth's Truthspeaker makes a lot of sense (I think only the Imperial family has Truthspeakers in the books? but it makes sense to expand them outward).

4. That Fain plays the game so well with Turak here can serve as a hint that he's playing the subservience game with Ishamael as well (who killed the Fade? in other words).

5. The saa in Lanfear's eyes! I love that we're getting a super-charged look at the True Power this early on. I definitely approve of the change of the Forsaken getting brought back with the True Power rather than being put in new bodies -- that can work in a book, but in a show, you want to keep your actors. Especially when they're so good!

6. The Elyas scene does feel like Elyas is essentially doing triple-duty this season: he's himself (Wolfbrother lore dump); he's Hurin (sniffer who leads them after Fain); he's Noam (completely detached from his previous human life).

7. I do like how Elyas feels... somewhat amoral (not immoral!) -- he cares about his fellow wolves (including Perrin) and only his fellow wolves. Obviously, part of the reason that's there is so that viewers will wonder if Ishamael (the Father of Lies) was telling the truth about Perrin becoming closer to the Shadow the closer he gets to the wolves but that's... a good thing, I think, for Perrin's narrative arc. It gives him a grounded reason to try to avoid embracing the wolves. The show has done a really good job in giving characters believable motivations for their behavior.

Show: has Elyas diss every human that Perrin cares about because he's trying to tell Perrin that he belongs with the wolves and not the humans.

Some Book Readers: Ah-ha! Laila wasn't his pack? Darkfriend!

It was just so clear to me, in watching the episode, that Elyas mentioning Perrin's wife was the last straw that made Perrin push him away. It was not meant as a Darkfriend hint of any kind! Elyas did not know Laila as a person! He does not care about Laila as a person! It's pretty clear that he only cares about Perrin (because he's a fellow Wolfbrother). That's why he only saved Perrin from the caravan; that's why he led Perrin eastward instead of west. He has zero interest in putting himself in danger to help humans; he does not identity with humans.

8. Ooo, I wonder if we're going to see Perrin's wolf name visualized at some point by the wolves -- Young Bull with his axe that is also his horns, strong and protective. Again, the show has done such a good job in showing us the Perrin that I think Jordan wanted us to see but that he didn't quite manage -- pretty much every show-only reactor sees Perrin as genuinely considerate and empathetic and believes that he has a good heart and wouldn't leave people to suffer.

9. Brilliant choice to have Aviendha introduced here and be part of Perrin's storyline. I do really like how Elayne, Aviendha, and Min have all been part of another main character's plotline before anything implied romantic between them and Rand happens. Hopefully, the show does the same thing with Tuon in the season when she gets introduced. I'm going to guess that (rather than going along with Perrin because of Faile) Bain and Chiad are going to help Aviendha meet her toh towards Perrin once she's told that she needs to become a Wise One apprentice and Bain and Chiad will travel with him to the Two Rivers. I suspect that Gaul will be introduced next season as well.

10. I also really like the way they set up Dain and Perrin's future dynamic here as well -- Dain realizes that Perrin is from the Two Rivers, so that gives him a reason to go there after he (mistakenly?) thinks that Perrin has killed his father. I do wonder whether or not Fain will go to the Two Rivers at all. It's kinda... crowded over there, since we know that Slayer was cast (I think). There isn't, imo, any real need for Fain to corrupt the Whitecloaks in the show -- I feel like they can corrupt themselves just fine. (I kinda feel that way about Elaida too) -- and it might be good to tie Fain back into Rand and/or Mat's plotlines.

11. The Seanchan and the Whitecloaks both have a 'evil but not the evil of the Dark One' situation going on, and we kinda get that here, with the (new) innkeeper being even more unhappy with being occupied by Whitecloaks than by the Seanchan. I actually like that they have the new innkeeper here selfishly being okay with the Seanchan -- the issue that I had with various plotlines in CoT & KoD wasn't "it's unrealistic for anyone to be collaborators with the slavers", of course some/many people are selfish enough that it doesn't matter to them that some people get enslaved as long as it isn't them; it was an issue with specific characters turning collaborator without there being anywhere near enough work in the characterization or narrative to justify it. That was the issue that I had.

Especially since this same conversation does illustrate how selfish this man's PoV is, if you pay attention to the dialogue. The old innkeeper's granddaughter was kidnapped by the Seanchan -- SHE would not agree with him that they're totally chill if you only just swear the oaths.

12. Seeing Lady Suroth like this, 'dressed down', as it were, gave me quite a start. She looks almost naked without the super-long nails and the helmet and with me being able to see that she has no eyebrows. Like, it gives her a big 'pathetic and vulnerable' vibe even though she's been just as awful as she was in her introduction.

And it makes me wonder... are people who are sympathetic to Tuon in Crossroads of Twilight and Knife of Dreams also more likely to be good at visualization when they read? Because, personally, I don't see pictures in my head when I read books. I think it's part of the reason why I can so easily accept adaptations in the first place -- there's no prior image that I need to override. I had no firm mental image of how 'Rand' or 'Nynaeve' or anyone looked in the books, so the actors can easily become that person for me. It's all just... words in my head for me. The most that I ever visualize is something akin to black and white abstract sketches.

How this relates to Tuon: one of the deeply frustrating things about CoT+ Mat to me is how he behaves like Tuon is 'not like the other Seanchan' even though her behavior on the page is just as rancid and terrible as any other Blood. But, in her descriptions in CoT & KoD, she doesn't visually resemble other Seanchan anymore -- her hair is growing out, she's in Westlands clothing instead of Seanchan High Blood clothing. But as someone who doesn't visualize characters and scenes when I'm reading a book, the clothes that a character is wearing has little to no impact on my perception of them as a character.

Is it different if you do/can visualize how differently Tuon looks when she's traveling with Mat vs how she looked when she was embedded in the Seanchan power structure? Because it really does genuinely confuse me when I see people repeat what Mat says about her being different from the other Seanchan because her behavior is just... identical to all the other Seanchan Blood from what I've seen in the books -- intensely political and manipulative; firmly supports and believes in slavery; gets off on torture and abuses her slaves even while believing that she's the bestest and kindest slave owner in the world; thinks of herself as inherently better because she's Of The Blood, etc. I remember when Mat places her in the same 'better than other nobles' category as Talmanes in KoD, my brain just bluescreened because he's consistently been shown on the page that she's still just as awful as the others (the chapter where she literally collars and tortures three of his allies is certainly never anything I'm forgetting, even if Mat 'goldfish' Cauthon forgot about it five minutes after it happened). But, yeah, if you visualize characters and scenes when reading books, do those visuals have an impact on how you think of the characters?

(on a character level, I understand why Mat would lie to himself about Tuon if he genuinely believes himself to be trapped in a marriage with her -- the issue with that is two-fold though: a. with Mat's other lies to himself, we are given outside context with other PoVs and behavior from other characters to see that he's lying while in CoT and KoD, we're pretty firmly locked into Mat's warped perspective, and b. Jordan did a shit job of showing why Mat gave up so quickly and just believed that he's doomed to be married to Tuon without him making ANY attempts at fighting the prophecy)

13. Looking forward to the future... I do suspect that we'll still get Semirhage trying to shape and mold Tuon (unless we don't get enough seasons), but I think in the end (exploring @sixth-light's idea about having a split Seanchan Empire instead of having the Sharans), we may end up with Suroth in charge of one half of the Seanchan (who will fight for the Shadow) and one half led by Tuon (who will fight for the Light) and that we will, hopefully, be getting a Tuon who actually has to confront what being a sul'dam means and that the Seanchan will fracture on the issue of slavery (which would make their American accents even more apt) instead of the Westlands characters becoming friends and lovers with gleefully cruel slavers. Having Tuon's 'stubbornness' and pushback against Semirhage actually lead to her questioning the established order would be so much more powerful than her stubbornness being used as an excuse for her dodging and avoiding any character growth for the entire time that she hangs around.

14. I hope that Aviendha's amusement here over Perrin's protectiveness is perhaps going to be more of the vibe we get with Rand & the Maidens once that relationship gets going. Rand really doesn't have the same reasons (so far) to be as unreasoningly overprotective of them as he is in the books, since the Two Rivers in the show aren't Weird about women in danger the way that the books are. It's very much a Perrin hangup because of his wife and we've seen it develop over time. And if Rand feels some protectiveness, I'd like it to be tied more towards him feeling like he doesn't want to lose any of his newfound family.

15. It feels clear that Moiraine is absolutely still bound by the Three Oaths. She obviously WANTS to lie in the scene where she's introducing Rand to Anvaere and Barthanes, but she isn't able to. It's played very much the same way as when she was caught in the Oath last season (one of the funniest moments in S1 is when she wants to tell the Two Rivers' kids that she trusts them now but she absolutely doesn't trust them and can't say the words).

16. So, who in this scene is a Darkfriend. I suspect that Barthanes is and I suspect that Anvaere is not. Anvaere's information session with Moiraine last episode completely destroyed the Shadow's plans for Rand -- it could be the Shadow tripping over itself but I suspect it's just that Anvaere is what she seems to be -- a very political but non-Shadow-aligned person.

17. I wonder if the end of the next episode is going to timeskip us the few weeks to the wedding (thus making it so that Egwene spends several weeks in 'training') -- or maybe we'll timeskip between episodes 6&7. From the preview, it looks like we're going to spend some serious time showing how horrible and dehumanizing the damane 'training' is. What they might do is show us the initial beginning of it -- and then we jump forward and see how things are after several weeks? The mention of the wedding just feels... potentially significant, since it's not from the books. This would give Perrin time to travel to Falme with Aviendha; Mat and Min would have time to get to Cairhien; Elayne and Nynaeve would have time to bond; and Siuan would also have time to get to Cairhien, since we know she goes there at some point. And it might mean that, along with Egwene getting her 'training' from Renna, we might also get Rand getting some training from Logain and potentially Lan as well.

18. I love Verin kickstarting the Black Ajah Hunt so much. I already talked about this a lot in my earlier post about Darkfriends, so I won't get into it here but: fantastic choice. It does imply to me that we don't really need the Wondergirls to go back to the Tower next season to get their Black Ajah Hunting instructions, since there's already a Hunt started by full Sisters. Which I would be fine with -- they literally spend less than a week in the White Tower in book 3. They dip in for Egwene & Elayne's tests, to get more instructions from Siuan, and then dip out again. I feel like the show could easily have them decide to hunt the Black Ajah of their own accord (Nynaeve in particular has a reason to want to go after Liandrin).

19. I do not think that Sheriam knows that Verin is 'Black Ajah' or that Liandrin is (more genuinely) Black Ajah. She and Liandrin were at odds too much earlier in the season over Nynaeve imo. Joiya, otoh, I think might know that Liandrin is also Black Ajah, because she immediately backed Liandrin up in the big group discussion.

20. "We respect the One Power so much that we don't believe that anyone should wield it by accident of birth". I've seen other people (reactors on youtube) wondering if this conversation means that the Seanchan already know that sul'dam are learners, since they talk about training the sul'dam for years and them earning the right to use the One Power, but this line in particular makes me feel like they don't know. Because sul'dam are only sul'dam because of an 'accident of birth' as well. I'm sure that we'll find out, because the realization of the sul'dam secret was a pretty huge moment with Egwene in the books (even if Min & Nynaeve appeared to have completely forgotten the information when they were spending time with Rand later in the series) so it will definitely stand out if it gets played differently and Renna doesn't get that horror of realizing that she, too, is marath'damane.

21. I've also seen people wonder why the damane & sul'dam didn't catch on that Liandrin was channeling to wake the girls and free Nynaeve, but she was channeling that entire time (to hold open the Waygate) so her tiny weave would have been masked by the larger one.

22. Aviendha's attitude towards obligation and honor is going to be such an interesting contrast to how weighed down Rand is by his obligations. Looking forward to them getting some good scenes together in s3.

23. I hope Egwene gets to hit Renna over the head in this version too. And collar her to the wall. I can already tell that this is going to be painful and intense. I did notice that a lot of show-only reactors have NOT picked up on how terrifying and awful the damane slavery is yet, but I feel like the show is going to make it very clear in the next episode. (I don't know how you can look at Egwene in pain here and not already understand but... next week should make things crystal clear).

The preview did show us how... earnest (ugh) Renna is going to be in her 'training' of Egwene. The way she called the damane kennels "your new home" and the (horrifying) sincerity in her voice.

I'm actually wondering if Egwene is going to be freed in episode 7, before Rand gets to Falme, since Perrin and Aviendha are headed in the direction of Falme and it's Perrin who is attached to the Ingtar and Horn storylines and not Rand (who didn't even find out that the Horn is a thing that exists until 2x3). Because Rand isn't actually involved in her rescue in the books iirc -- that was Elayne and Egwene (with Min tagging along). He spots her and seeing her is why he refuses to leave, but since he's going there for his own purposes unrelated to the Horn in this version (I assume), then he doesn't need that extra push to stay. From the preview for episode 6, it kinda sounds like Loial & co are going to try to help her be freed but I'm not sure if it'll work that soon.

Expecting next episode to be extremely rough, emotionally.

Additional spoilers/speculation based on imdb listings (which may not be entirely accurate):

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The actress who played Maigan in S1 is listed as being in the next three episodes (6, 7, 8). She was planning to go west to investigate the rumors. She has not been seen in the White Tower this season. The actress who is playing Ryma is only listed for episodes 5 & 6. Renna is listed for all the remaining episodes; Seta is listed for the final two episodes. That just all seems like interesting information to me, though again, imdb.

Complete side note, episode 7 is the episode that Hayley Mills is listed for. I wonder if she's the Queen of Cairhien that Barthanes is marrying.

[doc-ravenbe]

Duskfolk Lalafell - an update to the original post

Awhile back I had made a lengthy post regarding Doc's particular clan of Lalafell but with stuff going on and some other players of FFXIV making beautiful pages for their tribes (Astel making an awesome Encyclopedia Eorzea style entry for some he and other made). So here is the updated Ven Tribe, now formally known as Duskfolk Lalafell

Duskfolk Lalafell – also known as the tribe of Ven or Desert Witch-Kings of Sagoli

                When Belah’dia was still a young city-state crawling out from the great flood of the Sixth Umbral Calamity, rumors persisted of foreboding cousins wandering at night in the Sagoli desert. Dark wizards who practiced the forbidden arts of Black Magic. The same feared magic that ended the War of the Magi with a great flood that covered Eorzea. They had many names, the garden keepers of Mhach, Witch-Kings of the Sagoli, but eventually became known as the Duskfolk lalafell.  The clan is noted for their nomadic lifestyle up the backs of domesticated adamantoise and a particular leaning towards thaumaturgy and some suspect the arts of a Black Mage. In the modern time, more members of the tribe have come to live in Ul’dah and other city-states, despite the stigma around their tribe.

Distribution: Thanalan - Sagoli Desert region, Gyr Abania (formerly)

Physical attributes:

                Due to the heat of the desert, the Duskfolk are more active at twilight and night hours. Their eyes covered with a nictating membrane like the Dunesfolk has an additional effect of gathering more light in low light and giving a night shine glow to their eyes when light is shown upon them.  Those Duskfolk that have moved into the cities are often seen with covered faces or glasses enhanced with magic to reduce light glare when they travel during the day. Skin tone ranges from pale to sun tanned depending on their role in the tribe. Their hair comes in many colors as well though darker hair color is more common. Heterochromia of the eyes is more common in some families of Duskfolk, where the difference in color ranges from unnoticeable color differences to outright different colors. 

Culture:

Every member of this clan has Ven in their names, though unlike the sultanate of the Ul’dah or lost Sil’deh, this name does not designate royalty. Though the moniker of “Witch-King” has been used disparagingly by those more fearful of myths and rumors of the Duskfolk, the tribe is matriarchical in leadership, being sought out for advice and wisdom on matters. As nomads, they have established great trade cooperations in the Sagoli in their travel paths, Amal;’aa and the U Tribe of Miqo’te as well as other denizens of the desert.  Indeed, the sight of a Ven caravan of adamantoise approaching a settlement leads to joy and news in Sagoli. Eyes are important as well, and rumors persisted among other races of Eorzea that one eye of the Duskfolk can see the future or past. This unfortunately led to many Duskfolk fleeing Gyr Abania during the Mad King’s reign in Ala Mhigo as his soldiers committed slave raids are worse as their ruler became more paranoid of conspiracy.  With the end of the Garlemald occupations, some Duskfolk have considered returning to region though bitter memories remain.

[starlightlacrimosazpsff]

◇ 𝓐𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓛𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 ◇

TO: @hollythius-rising EVENT HOSTED BY: @solarisfortuneia

SYNOPSIS:

The most renowned love stories tend to be about either whirlwind romances or heartfelt tragedies. A love brewed by fighting against all odds provides a sense of fulfillment after all the drama, the angst, the conflicts, and the memories. It is a buildup to the climax wherein the readers live vicariously, to see the leads achieve happiness after a lifetime of misery. However, in reality, many pairs of soulmates find peace in the simplistic beauty that life can offer. They fight when absolutely necessary to maintain the harmony that safeguards the fragile glass known as happiness. Amidst the trivialities, the foundations of felicity can be forged little by little; and what once served as mere frivolity becomes the profound bond of unconditional loyalty—the foundation of all true loves.

ENTRY TYPE: Event Submission, F!Reader

WARNING(S): mentions of abuse, mentions of violence, mentions of problematic themes, implications of neurodivergence, blood, unstable mental state, juxtaposed writing style, ambiguous relationships, slight toxicity, mild angst (because I need to sprinkle some even if my focus is fluff), author is sorry for submitting late, etc...

CHARACTER(S):

Diluc Ragnvindr, Alhaitham, Childe/Tartaglia/Ajax

•

•

•

•☆••☆••☆•

DILUC RAGNVINDR is a man of intrigue filled with mysteries hidden in the darkest shadows of the night. In a way, he is someone who breathes in contradictions as much as he lives in resolute convictions. He approaches life with a headstrong mind and steadfast heart, yet his soul tends to navigate a treacherous world by means of putting on masks infused with his spirit to distribute justice. The body born with the red hair of dawn and the crimson eyes of dusk takes flight as the firebird across the twilight. He honors the name of Noctua, which had blessed him at the tender age of 10. Despite his straightforward nature, his true persona is as elusive as any respectable gentleman with skeletons locked in his closet—or buried in Dawn Winery, for this case.

However, as expected of any formidable vigilante, there is one trustworthy confidante behind them. They are the precious secret keeper, the one to uphold the contingencies that shall be in play if the vigilante falls amidst disaster. In some cases, they stand as the one person who will remember the masked heroes for all their entirety and become their proof of existence.

For Diluc, that is you.

He had just become the Cavalry Captain of Ordo Favonius when he met you. The sight of you, a girl no older than him, battered and covered in blood was bone-chilling. He swiftly commanded the Knights of Favonius to escort you safely to Mondstadt, and led the caravan while ensuring your comfort. A peaceful smile was on your delicate lips even as tears poured down your cheeks. He asked for the reason behind your contradicting expression, bewildered and alarmed as he floundered on how to help you.

"Barbatos heard my prayers." You told him, "I am free now."

Diluc figured that is when his infatuation started with you. The years that had passed as you settled down into the city, the years that had passed after his departure from Mondstadt due to the death of his father, and the years that had passed when he returned...

None of it made a difference to what he feels for you.

If anything, the flames grew stronger and more adamant to have you.

As always, Diluc's nights conclude with a visit to your abode. After his nightly patrols, you are always the solace that awaits him. Whenever he tried to stop his visits, you will go to Dawn Winery yourself to ensure he took care of himself. He never wants you to ever risk yourself by travelling in the dark just to check on him, so he found it easier to just visit you after his patrols.

Sorry to have kept you waiting. Diluc seems to say whenever he finds you asleep on your couch, waiting for him all night. He would carry you in his arms, tucking you back to your bed. As he turns to leave, your hand would tug on his sleeve. His crimson eyes would see you awake, just barely to give him a pleading gaze and a dazzling smile. A part of him wondered if you dreamed of him all those years he had been away, utterly consumed by scathing grief. It made him ponder for how much longer he will keep you waiting.

I am fine, just stay with me. You seem to reply as you watch him discard his coat to join you. The line between friends and lovers blur for those nights of synchronicity. He would hold you until dawn, wherein the morning light would take him back to Dawn Winery. You wake up to an empty bed, yet the warmth soothes you despite his absence. You never complained nor expected more than what he could provide. You never tried to put a label to what you have. The important point is that Diluc always came to you, and that was all that ever mattered.

Please never let me go. Diluc was used to fighting his battles alone, yet he could never resist the allure of returning to you the first night you patched him up after a rough confrontation against a hoard of enemies. It yielded further moments wherein you would either prepare him a warm bath, or just patch him up with a few words of admonishment to be more careful next time. Every touch made him adore you, and every word made him admire you.

I am always with you. That was all you could truly offer to ease his suffering. You knew that your dear knight of dawn is broken, and pieces of him have permanently gone missing. He cannot be fixed and you do not seek to do it. You merely hold him, as his body was covered in gauze with his head on your shoulders. You do not speak of the tears you do not see as it soaked your dress, nor do you speak of the nightmares he confided to you past gritted teeth. I love you. Who will say it first?

"Honestly," you sighed, "your injuries tonight make me think you're doing it on purpose at this point."

Diluc almost smirked, "I suppose the notion is not too far off."

You plastered the adhesive bandage a little too harshly onto his chest, making him wince. He caressed the abused skin before putting on the spare shirt you gave him while you took hold of his cloak. You retrieved your sewing kit to repair the slight tear on the fabric.

"Don't even joke about that!" You scowled sternly, "What are you, a child? If you wish to see me, you ask for an invitation. Better yet, try to start a conversation. It feels as if you can only talk to me as the Darknight Hero and never as Diluc Ragnvindr."

He frowned confusedly, "What do you mean? If anyone knows all sides of me, it's you."

You raised a brow at him in challenge, "Oh yeah? Then why do you avoid crossing my path during daytime? Why do you only dare approach me during nighttime, away from any prying eyes?"

His lips part to deny your allegations but promptly close it when you point your needle at him. There was a stern glint in your eyes, the familiar fire that rivalled his own Pyro Vision. It makes him look away guiltily, fiddling with his ponytail as he released his hair from the tie. Seeing that he was not arguing anymore, you went back to your task as you continued to speak.

"I'm not one of those girls vying for your attention or anything," you said calmly, "but I won't deny that it grates on my nerves as I see you changing directions whenever you spot me en route. Then you come to my home as if it was like any other night."

You cut the thread as you finished stitching, glancing back at Diluc.

"Are you ashamed of me or something?" You asked bluntly.

"No!" He protested vehemently, "It's the total opposite."

A slight blush engulfed his face at the unwitting confession, but he does not correct himself nor take it back. You stared with wide eyes of awe and surprise, taken aback yet mostly amused. Rather than delving into it, you decided to keep silent as your eyes evaluated Diluc under a new light. You chuckled goodheartedly as you stood up, gesturing for him to do the same. Once he did, you help him put his coat back on and may have lingered to touch his arms. You were utterly shameless, grinning as he did not even tense up. It shows his familiarity with your caresses, even as you blatantly traced his shoulders to dust off some unseen lint.

"You owe me a date tomorrow then, Master Diluc~!" You whispered onto his ear.

Your cheeky remark ends with a chaste peck on his cheek, making the man look at you with a flustered astonishment. You giggle at his adorable expression, turning away to clean up the clutter in your living room. There was a sensual sway to your hips as you walked away, a soothing hum reverberating from your lips. This sight of you, bathed under the moonlight, felt so domestic and surreal to Diluc. Once again, he finds himself pining for a dream that could be just a step away from reality. He only needs to muster the courage to take that step, and you could be his for as long as you would have him in return.

Diluc yearns for you. He yearns for a future with you.

At the same time, he wonders if he could protect you beyond the clandestine moments shared with you. As he grabs your hand and twirls you into his arms, he found his answer by brushing his lips against yours with an intense look on his eyes.

"You missed." He retorts.

That was your first kiss with Diluc Ragnvindr.

"The wind wisps guided us, but the flame sprites united us."

•☆••☆••☆•

ALHAITHAM is a man of logic and rationality defined by the reasonable standards of routine. As an advocate of truth and wisdom, he has a thirst for knowledge controlled only by the disciplinary restraint of abstinence. This balanced mindset has earned him the title of Scribe within Sumeru's Akademiya, a well-maintained equilibrium between ambition and humility. Alas, this chosen lifestyle is not without its drawbacks to accompany the merits. Though this silver-haired scholar would argue that these cons are not truly detrimental, his peers would beg to differ when they tend to suffer said disadvantages more often than not. After all, the most brilliant geniuses tend to have quirks; and for this scholar hailing from the Darshan of Haravatat, it is his grievously cold-hearted personality.

His harsh disposition, more often than not, can be attributed to his analytical behavior. While he is not unsympathetic, Alhaitham is the type to prioritize facts over sentimental attachments. Because of this, most of his peers find it hard to get along with him.

That was, of course, until he was paired with you.

You had been desperate to find a decent roommate in the dormitories of the Akademiya, while Alhaitham wants a roommate whom would just learn to respect his supposedly strict boundaries. You heard from a friend about it and sought his contacts on the message board. You passed his initial assessment of you, and everything else was history.

Alhaitham was extremely meticulous of his space because he wants to be efficient with his time. That means every single thing in his home needs to be set in its place so a routine would remain undisturbed. If something goes wrong, it irritates him and it puts his mental facilities to work for something he deems could have been avoided. Despite his effective work ethics, he can be quite lazy in that regard. He does not wish to waste time and effort for someone else's incompetence, which people tend to find off-putting. However, you see it differently. He has his preferences, and it just so happens to be more thorough than most—which you respect.

For a while, you took the time to observe Alhaitham closely. It befuddled and agitated him at first, since there are times your glare could be quite piercing. If you had a problem with him, you should just say it. There are even moments when he thought you were stalking him. Alas, it was actually because you were taking note of his boundaries and his miniscule habits to adapt to them without compromising your own comfort.

Once the first week had passed, Alhaitham noticed your efforts blossom.

To his pleasant surprise, it even benefited him.

"[Name]," he called indifferently, "have you seen—"

"—your book on ancient runes?" You finished, "You left it on the couch when you got the emergency summons from your thesis professor. It was inspection day and I didn't want it to get confiscated, so I put it on the third shelf on the right with a disguised journal cover."

His sharp eyes looked at your precise directions. Lo and behold, there was his book—untouched and even bookmarked on the last page he left. It was a rather neat bookmark too, laminated autumn leaves and ferns with the Sumerian letters that spell your name on the paper base.

"You want one?" You asked, "I could make a custom design for you. I saw your old bookmark when I was cleaning the trash, and it will help keep your pages neat by not having to fold them."

Alhaitham stares at you with a calculative detachment, yet you did not miss the flicker of warm gratitude that you knew surprised even himself. He nods wordlessly while politely handing your bookmark back.

After you both graduated, it took little time for him to achieve the job of Scribe. Meanwhile, you ended up getting a job in Zubayr Theater to pursue the arts as a playwright. Much to Alhaitham's surprise, it had been your plan all along. Your time spent learning in Haravatat was to provide a deeper nuance to your stories by making use of ancient languages and inputting traditional designs onto your craftsmanship. It was an amalgamation of wisdom that you proclaim the sages have neglected, an artform they prohibit due to ignorance. As he read one of your plays on a whim, he begins to see you in an appraising light. In fact, the appreciative delight he felt in your texts was demonstrated by how he never misses a single play written by you when it is performed on stage.

You could not pinpoint when things began to transition from platonic kinship to romantic entanglement between you two. All you can recall is that Alhaitham invited you to live with him again.

"Don't you already have a roommate? Kaveh, was it?" You asked curiously.

Alhaitham scoffs, "He tends to get on my nerves a bit. Having you there would teach him a thing or two about respecting my space, and minding his own business."

You snorted amusedly but accepted his offer. You knew better than to question Alhaitham. Although you wanted to joke about whether he still has room in his house, you knew it will fly over his head. It would only be a leeway to roast you about how he would not have offered if he did not have a room unoccupied to accommodate you.

Henceforth, that is how you got your own key to Alhaitham's house.

It must have been quite a shock to witness for Kaveh, how you and Alhaitham seamlessly move around each other. You always rise an hour before Alhaitham's scheduled awakening in the morning. You bathe and keep the bathroom clean, with enough hot water for him to use. Then, you cook breakfast and brew his coffee with a specific mug he uses in the morning to keep track of his caffeine intake. Straight black and no sugar, but you will add two teaspoons of cream to ensure it does not scratch his throat. By the time he gets dressed, you have his meal set on the table right where his seat has a good view on the window. It was not the landscape itself but the sunlight that hits just right for him to read any book he currently fancies while he sat to eat.

Alhaitham will always clean his own dishes, which will leave you to double-check your things before you both leave for your respective jobs together. Kaveh gapes when he actually sees the silver-haired man help carry your things while you put on your shoes.

"Kaveh," Alhaitham said nonchalantly, "we're both going to be home late. Don't wait up."

You smiled warmly, "There's still food left for you if you get hungry. Oh, and—"

With no hint of shame, your hands patted Alhaitham down. Your calloused fingers rummage his pockets and retrieve his keys, separating the ones that belonged to Kaveh which got dragged with his own. The most astonishing is how the man remains unfazed by your casual yet intimate touches, even leaning into it.

"—here are your keys again!" You laughed as you threw them at the blond, "Honestly, I should get us some kind of key hangers to prevent this from happening."

"Do you want to go now?" Alhaitham asked smoothly, "I have some time."

"I don't have the money for it yet!"

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course, I'm paying."

Kaveh could only stare incredulously as he held his keys. He watches you both depart, voices fading behind the door and into the distance.

Meanwhile, Alhaitham all too chivalrously takes your hand in his as you both strolled down the streets. You hummed a familiar tune that you have been working to integrate on your next play. He takes note of it, subtly turning a vial in his headphones to record your voice. You did not stop him, eyes wandering to window shop.

"How was your latest research?" You asked.

"Troublesome," Alhaitham sighs lightly, "the scholars involved in it give me a headache."

You cooed, raising your free hand to sweep his bangs and massage his temple mildly. You stopped to focus back on walking but now allowed your fingers to stroke the callouses on the hand you held. Soon, he drops you off at Zubayr Theater and releases you from his grasp. You held back a smile, cheeks blushing, when he kisses the back of your hand before tracing your palm with his fingertips as he lets you go. For a moment, his intense gaze shimmered in a darker turquoise and vibrant rustic orange—reminding you of both the rainforests and deserts of Sumeru.

"I'll stop by in the library with tea and snacks for you." You mention.

Alhaitham gives you a fond smile, a privilege only ever meant for you.

"I would appreciate that." He replied.

"Be the oasis to my desert, the prized flower in my secret garden."

•☆••☆••☆•

CHILDE is a man that goes by many names, each with a role to play like a performer on a stage. Amongst all these aliases, one of them comes with a literal mask belonging to a Fatui Harbinger—Tartaglia, the Eleventh. He is the youngest to ever rise to such a status, and it was with good reason. With the exception of the higher-ranked Harbingers, his skills in the battlefield are practically unparalleled. Frankly, the only thing sharper than his twin hydro blades is his ambition for more power and worthy opponents. That is likely why he fit right into the standards of the Fatui, enough to please even the cold-hearted Tsaritsa whom is implied to have a soft spot for her Harbingers despite her loveless soul. As the person that grew up with him, you felt proud of him yet also concerned over him.

After all, regardless of everything, he remains as Ajax to you.

In a matter of three days, that Ajax lost the light in his eyes but you carried that light in your heart. It seems that was enough to you, and that was also reason enough for him to still come home to you.

"What gave you strength to return?" You asked delicately, "Three months in the Abyss only to realize Teyvat only missed you for three days, it must have been a tumultuous affair. What enabled you to gain power to rise above it?"

Childe looks at you with a wistful smile, eyes remaining dull. However, the touch of his gloved hand in yours displayed an everlasting bond while the other held the fishing pole.

"My family," he replied, "and you..."

You smiled fondly, sagging in relief. Ajax still lives even if his light has dimmed.

The times he returned from missions—covered in blood that you knew were a mix of his own, and that of another poor soul that has ceased to exist—were all vivid in your memories. The first few nights, your hands trembled; yet you showed no fear in your eyes as you gazed into those lifeless blues. He was still Ajax, whom just grew up for the thrill of battles and an ambition for chaos. When he smiles at his siblings, you feel his genuine love envelop the room and that is how you knew the existence of Tartaglia can never truly overcome Ajax. The light of a flame may extinguish, but the warmth of its existence shall leave ashes and soot—until the day it ignites again.

Wrapped in bandages, Childe pulls you into his arms and lies down on your bed. You let him do as he pleased, aware that once the high from the bloodbath is over for the Tsaritsa's Tartaglia...all that would be left is the turmoil of your Ajax.

"If you are bloodstained," you swore, "then I will wash you all clean."

His embrace tightens, cradling the back of your head to ensure you will not look at him. You close your eyes and sigh, pressing your ear against his chest. The thumping of his heart races slightly as the heat of your skin passes to his own, soothing the scars and invigorating his veins.

"That would make you an accomplice." He said huskily, "I don't want to taint you."

You laughed blithely, wriggling from his grip to lift your head and boop his nose.

"Silly, Ajax~!" You crooned adoringly, "Even the purest snow needs to get dirty to melt into spring; and even the clearest waters hold their secrets beyond what the eyes can see."

Your eyes gained a ruthless gleam that made Childe's breath hitch. Your fingertips traced his torso, dabbling on the line between his skin and the gauzes. Your hand wraps around his throat, not tight to suffocate but enough to make him feel the weight of its existence. It was not calloused from a lifetime of battles, but from years of labor within Snezhnaya's endless winter. Nevertheless, it felt soft and delicate compared to his own.

"Should the day ever come," you promised solemnly, "that Tartaglia devours Ajax within you, I would kill you myself."

Childe's eyes widened. For a second, the lost spark in his eyes flickered.

"Tainting me or not," you smirked meaningfully, "it was never a choice for you to make, Ajax."

In a matter of circumstance, you joined the Fatui with a determined glint in your eyes and a menacing sharpness in your serene smile. You were not empty or unfeeling, for you still shone with an unforgiving light that dismantled even the Harbingers to their core. You did not hold the same prowess as Childe did when he started as a recruit, but your potential was overflowing when it came to everything else. It took a matter of months before the Harbingers, excluding perhaps the Jester and Capitano whom had been silent, began fighting in a passive-aggressive manner in an attempt to have you as their subordinate. The Tsaritsa had been indifferent, though she did seem to smile when you met her eyes fearlessly after your paths briefly crossed in the Zapolyarny Palace.

The other Harbingers must have taken quite a hit to their pride when you chose to bend one knee—bowing only in front of the Eleventh, right where they can see you.

"This humble soldier swears allegiance to Tartaglia, Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers."

Childe gave a knowing smile, eyes flashing in appreciative endearment as he beholds your glorious form. He glances at his fellow Harbingers with a triumphant glare, brimming with possessive arrogance to which they all scowled. There was a palpable tension, a hint of envy to know that the lowest rank amongst them can encourage such devout loyalty. It was obvious there was something else to your relationship, but nobody could alas prove it.

"Rise, [Name]." He projects strongly, "This Harbinger acknowledges your oath."

Although you have joined his crusade in the Fatui, it did not mean you had to leave the place you have made for yourself in his family as his childhood friend. Since Childe made it clear he wishes to keep his real job a secret from the little ones, you also played your part in the secrecy. As far as his younger siblings are concerned, you are now an employee in Childe's toymaking company. In fact, you are the main designer of the toys. It is not too far from the truth since you end up being the one providing the toys to keep covering for Childe's lie. He knows engineering is one of your many talents, a reason why even Dottore and Sandrone had been very interested to have you as an assistant.

"[Name]," Teucer said when you joined their family for dinner, "when are you going to marry our brother?"

Childe ended up choking on his water, spilling it all over the table—much to his mother's chagrin. His father amusedly watches him struggle to regain his breath, patting his back in mocking consolation. You remain unfazed as you smiled at Teucer, whom sat on your other side. You chuckled as you grabbed the napkin, wiping away the crumbs and sauce on his youthful face. As Childe coughed into his elbow, he could not help but admire that maternal glow around you.

"When your brother asks, I suppose." You answered seriously.

Tonia squeals in delight while Anthon whistles, and Teucer celebrates by clapping his hands. All three glared at Childe expectantly while he stared at you, mouth agape and cheeks flushing in a rare image of flustered astonishment. His eyes seem to shake in unfathomable emotions, gulping dryly when you met his gaze with a challenging smile.

"It's getting late." His mother saves the day, "Ajax should escort [Name] back home."

His father smirked before Childe could agree, "Or [Name] could just stay the night like she always did when she and Ajax were younger. It's been a while since she has visited. It would be a shame for her to leave so soon."

Tonia nodded sagely, "I agree. Besides, maybe our dumb brother could finally pop the question if he gets used to sharing a room with his future wife again."

Just like that, the almighty Eleventh Harbinger got bullied by his own family.

In the solitude of his bedroom, you and Childe got dressed for bed with your backs turned to each other. Once done, you boldly embrace him from behind as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. You lean your head against his while he sat hunched over the bedside, elbows on his knees. He sighs with an exasperated smile, tilting his head to look back at you.

"You have got to stop teasing me like that." He said.

You grinned smugly, kissing him passionately on the lips.

Friend, comrade, lover—the label matters not.

The absolute truth is that you are bound to be together until your hearts stopped beating.

"Beyond the gods I defy, my end shall come in your hands."

•☆••☆••☆•

[sparklingmusicofstars]

Hamefura series summary :

To make it easier I made a summary with some of my posts. I hope it would be useful. If you don't mind i'll take you this idea maboroshi-no ><

Bonus stories :

LN1 : I received flowers

LN2 : Happy twilight (Acchan's POV) Be happy

LN3 : First prince and his fiancée Second prince and his fiancée What I wanted ~Geordo~ ~In a Slumber~

LN5 : Tom the gardener

LN6 : ~I had a terrifying dream~ Catarina

LN9 : POV of a shopkeeper's daughter

LN11 : Ronnie's POV and Bell's POV

LN12 : Catarina 18th birthday.

LN13 : A story at the orphanage

Movie : I want to see the caravan show again

Hamefura manga 5 : Raphael's disguises

French version :

Dans un sommeil Geordo LN3

Point de vue de la fille d'un commerçant LN9

Hamefura Theories :

Catarina's past life Theory 1

About the movie (before the release of the last trailer) Theory 2

Sora's background Theory 3

Catarina and Geordo's relationship Theory 4

Hamefura romantics progress Theory 5

Hamefura pirates : When did Rozy fall in love with Catarina ? Theory 6

What would everyone become if Catarina were to disappeared ? 7

Who's the reincarnated ? Theory 8

What will happen in LN 14 ? Theory 9

What are Catarina's dreams about FL2 ? Theory 10

Catarina's romantic tastes Theory 11

Sora's age Theory 12

FL!Sora and HF!Sora Theory 13

Hamefura polls :

An opinion about the ships

Hamefura characters' different versions :

Catarina

Sophia

Mary

Maria

Geordo

Keith

Alan

Nicol

Raphael

Sora (Rufus)

Pochi

Ian

Hamefura characters' introductions :

Catarina Sophia Mary Rozy Lind Silva

Musics of the movie : Here

Hamefura pirates drama CD recording : Here

Hamefura fanfic :

A troublesome popularity : Part 1

A twist of fate : Prologue

Chapter 1 : part 1

Hamefura illustrations : 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Everyone as butlers Everyone as butlers chibi Some characters as idols The girl as fairies Switch gender Happy new year 2024 Extra pictures of the movie Cover bluray movie

Hamefura verge of doom illustrations :

Volume 3 Maria and Catarina Geordo's introduction Kai Geran's introduction Catarina's introduction Manga's introduction Cute chibis

All the best here

[twsthc]

twst character playlists 🎧☆

⚠️ warnings: i have bad music taste. also a lot of nightcore. sorry.

last updated: october 10, 2023

🌹 🎼

Riddle: Bôa - Twilight , Laufey - Let You Break My Heart Again , Nakaniwano Shoujyotachi - SHISHAMO

i was thinking about putting in regal classical music or something, but its like, the whole point of riddle is hes a KID and that was taken from him

this is what he sounds like on the inside; a sad teenager lmao

Ace: Estelle - American Boy , Pharrell williams - Hug me , Bruno Mars & Cardi B - Finesse

teenage boy pilled

HUG ME! BRING IT IN! WOOO!!

Deuce: Beastie Boys - Fight for Your Right , Childish Gambino - Girls Look Better , ROAR - Christmas Kids , Wheatus - Teenage Dirtbag

2 people simultaneously agreed hed listen to the Beastie Boys in my discord so here we are!!

Cater: Azelia Banks - ANNA WINTOUR , Magdalena Bay - How to Get Physical , Katy Perry - California Gurls , Mitski - Washing Machine Heart

Azelia and Beyonce are in there cuz pop culture and cater and blah blah blah

i personally think hes a nightcore avril lavigne kid

Trey: BTS - 134340 , Sion - lies , Hyeln Joo - Hair Cut (미장원)

i would give you some super deep and understandable reason for these but.

idk!!! it just sounds like trey. this is what he sounds like.

🥩🎶

Leona: A Tribe Called Quest - Electric Relaxation , MF DOOM - Hoe Cakes , Sade - Smooth Operator , Kendrick Lamar - We Cry Together

i had to consult the african council (my dad) for this one

ATCQ of course, and Sade because my dad asked politely

Ruggie: GROOVY - Jersey Luv , Tay-K I <3 My Choppa , Lil Gnar - Sticky Rice , Odetari x 9lives - I LOVE YOU HOE

i dont have to explain myself to you

(hes african american boy coded)

Jack: Ice Cube - It Was A Good Day , Micheal Jackson - Rock With You , Bell Biv Devoe - Poison , De La Soul - Me Myself and I

i think he would be into oldies and ruggie would tease him for it

micheal jackson stan

🫧🎵

Azul: ABBA - Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! , Dalida - Love In Portofino , Caravan Palace - Lone Digger , Caro Emerald - Tangled Up (Lokee Remix)

old sounding music for the "nostalgia" (he wasn't even born during these eras)

the songs that play at the lounge and it kinda got stuck in his head

he fantasizes about preforming these songs in drag btw

Jade: Antonia Carlos Jobim - Girl From Ipanema , Laufey - From the Start , CAPSULE - TICTAC

songs he listens to on long hikes while thinking about violence

Floyd: 41 minutes of Roblox music , Megurine Luka - Tako Luka Maguro Fever , Euday L. Bowman - Twelfth Street Rag , ₳С₴łĐ₳ - PRIVET PRIVET 2009 ST

haha get it spongebob music because hes a fish

(gets booed off stage)

🌞🎼

Kalim: Serani Poji -Pipo Pipo , 레드벨벳 - Day 1 , takeshi abo - LEASE , MAXIMUM THE HORMONE - ChuChu Lovely...

cutie patootie happy-go-lucky songs

i feel like Takeshi Abo - LEASE is what goes through his head on loop 24/7

Jamil: Paramore - Renegade , Bôa - Duvet , beabadoobee - the perfect pair , LeTigreWorld - Deceptacon , Mitski - Washing Machine Heart

Paramore - Renegade was actually a recommendation! thank you yorick :3

otherwise i think rock/soft heartbroken songs go well with him

👑🎶

Vil: Lana Del Rey - Doin' Time , Magdalena Bay - Killshot , Kitty Kallen - It's Been a Long, Long Time , Mitski - Liquid Smooth

queen. flawless. stilettos. category: bad bitch.

too classy for this world, forever that girl

Epel: KYLE - Don't Wanna Fall In Love , Ram Jam - Black Betty , WHAM! - Everything She Wants , Hot Freaks - I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend

a mix of older and newer songs i guess

i hc he works on a family farm (for fun and allowance). hed be blasting Black Betty in his left airpod while wrestling a sheep in the mud

music taste slightly influenced by deuce and jack methinks

Rook: Vendredi sur Mer - Écoute chérie , Camille - Le Festin , ラムのラブソング , Shelly Duvall - He Needs Me

you know i had to do it to em

okay but these songs unironically fit rook to me idk

☠🎵

Idia: 【らき☆すた】スーパーアハアハデラックス , 初音PV新作くるみ☆ぽんちお.flv , Caramella Girls - Caramelldansen , 6arelyhuman - Hands up!

the first one represents how i hc he listens to those 16 year old anime tohou remixes on a daily. he injects them into his veins.

nico nico douga war veteran. u u uma uma...

Ortho: Nanoray - DesktopBuddy , METAROOM - S.N.U.F.F.Y

cute and electronic sounding songs!!

🐉🎼

Malleus: Malice Mizer - Ma Chérie , this entire playlist , Yoko Kanno - Green Bird , NASTYONA - My September ,

being honest idk much about malleus

all i know is he would listen to malice mizer and he is gay

Silver: The Smiths - Heaven Knows I'm Miserable now , Burn The Ballroom - Kiss Me You Animal , Wienners - GOD SAVE THE MUSIC

lilia influenced his music taste a lot

Sebek: deaf, doesn't listen to music

Lilia: Mothy - ヴェノマニア公の狂気 , MASA WORKS DESIGN - 狐の嫁入り , Kenshi Yonezu - KICK BACK

trying to stay true to his war general roots while also remembering hes a gamer otaku thing now...

also hes in the "light" music club so

[sunevial]

The Torn Veil, City of Twilight

The Torn Veil is a city between spaces, a place that sits between the world of the living and the world of the dead. It’s always twilight, the sky split between the fading light of day and the twinkling stars, a crescent moon always overhead.

It’s not hard to get to the city, at least not in theory. There is a port, certainly, with boats laden with goods and people. There are roads leading into the city as well, always parked with caravans and cars and always beginning at a crossroads.

No one knows where the paths lead to. Everyone says it brought them from somewhere else, and every time they take the paths out, they are right back where they started. These paths can be consistent, but they can seem to pop out of nowhere most of the time… a slip between realities at dusk, a walk in a graveyard, perhaps simply going to the crossroads and touching the sign in the middle when the stars blink right. That’s why those who want to find the city reliably choose portals, doors, or waypoints… assuming they can be found, anyways.

The city seems to have no limit, growing and expanding and shifting to accommodate its population. Buildings stretch high into the sky, connected with small bridges, ropes, and magical wires bearing arcane carriages. Rooftops hold small gardens, rookeries for strange magical birds, open-air bars to grab a drink and watch the world float and fly on by.

The roads are lined with vendors, stalls, blankets spread out with trinkets and baubles of all shapes and sizes. Every which way you look, there are humans, and there are those who aren’t human, and perhaps there are things that were once human. Selkies and dryads barter with fiendish looking individuals, kitsune sip drinks with angels, and lesser gods slip through the marketplace mostly unnoticed.

However, present in equal measure are the more unusual inhabitants of the Torn Veil. Everywhere you look, there are ghosts and undead. They run the shops, they barter for wares, picking things up and interacting with the world as if they were alive. Ghosts can hug their loved ones, the reanimated undead have a sense of clarity to their mind, and vampires can buy a drink of blood for barely more than a cup of wine.

It’s a feature of the city. While the undead may not find their way back to life in this place, the Torn Veil gives them back a sense of normalcy. Families can reunite and make their peace, or they can continue existing side by side as long as needed, perhaps forever if that’s the case.

It’s a city of riches, a city of secrets, a city for both the living and the dead and for neither the living nor the dead, for the line between both is thin here… perhaps thinner than it should be.

[dustedmagazine]

Listening Post: Mdou Moctar

Mdou Moctar is, without question, one of the pre-eminent rock guitarists of our time, as much a master of heavy, hazy grooves as of double-tapped Van Halen-esque shreddery. His music is steeped in a very specific desert blues aesthetic, the swaying, side-to-side rhythms that evoke camel caravans, the keening call and response that suggests lonely attempts at communion in remote campsites, the hard-bashed but intricate percussion, the silky multi-colored tunics that the band sports onstage. And yet, it’s universal in the same amp fried lineage as Jimi Hendrix, Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck, Eddie Hazel and, oh right, Eddie van Halen.

Dusted has been enamored of Mdou Moctar for quite some time, beginning with Patrick Masterson’s highly entertaining review of the Akounak Tedalat Taha Tazoughai OST in 2015—the music for a remake of Prince’s Purple Rain in the Tamashek language— on Sahel Sounds.Masterson observed, “The idea of a Tuareg Purple Rain would have been unthinkable in 1984, not least of all because —and I cannot stress enough how funny I find this — there is no Tamashek word for ‘purple.’ Yet, 31 years later, here we are — the magic of a smaller world has helped bring an academic outsider’s joke to life. The punchline, of course, is that it’s as good as advertised.”

We collectively fell for Ilana (The Creator) and its out-of-hand shredding in 2019.Isaac Olsen noted, “If you still have a punk-induced allergy to flashy guitar solos, be warned; there’s not a track on Ilana where Moctar doesn’t take every available opportunity to — no other word for it — shred. Fortunately, Moctar earns the right to play his ass off by recruiting a band whose hungry energy matches and spurs on his own and by, for the first time, writing a whole album of tunes worthy of his chops.” The record brought a normally fractious Dusted roster to unity and dominated the 2019 Mid-Year feature.

Two years later, Afrique Victime won praise for its less showy, more groovy vibe. Said Jennifer Kelly in her review, “While he’s been one of rock music’s best guitarists for a while, the larger platform takes him out of the niche desert blues category and into the broader multinational arena. He might be excused for capitalizing by leaning into the rock elements of his sound, but instead, he’s putting forward the droning, mystic, call-and-response twilight magic of northwest African guitar music.”

And so we come to Funeral for Justice, another scorcher. The new record is as sharp and impassioned as any Moctar and his band have done so far, and it is inflamed with political energy. It comes after a period of exile after civil war in Niger. It calls out the injustices of colonialism, economic inequality and exploitation in cuts including the title track, “Oh France” and “Modern Slaves.” It cooks on the strength of a band that has never sounded better or more locked in, and it has one or two guitar solos, too.

Intro by Jennifer Kelly

Jennifer Kelly: How are you all liking the new Mdou Moctar? I’m feeling like it’s the best thing he’s ever done, not different exactly but more intense and volcanic. Definitely turned up to 11. 

Bill Meyer: My first reaction is that while Funeral For Justice definitely foregrounds the shredding, I miss the layered sound of Afrique Victime. But I’m tickled to hear the increased prominence of electronic percussion and autotune. It’s kind of a roots move, given that the first time a lot of people heard him was on a tune originally identified only as “Autotune,” which appeared on the Sahel Sounds compilation, Music From Saharan Cellphones. 

Tim Clarke: I saw Mdou Moctar live last year at a music festival, and it was very loud and thrilling. This is the first time I've listened to a full album. It makes me realize how little I'm drawn to fast guitar playing! And the band's trademark "cantering" rhythm feels like a bit of a musical rut. But when they explore outside these parameters, things get more interesting, especially when they play around with a mix of recording fidelities at the start of second track, "Imouhar." I also like the fact the record is concise and well-paced. Definitely piqued my interest to hear more of what the band can do. 

Christian Carey: The combination of desert blues and intense rock solos is amazing - and fairly singular. The group vocals create an appealing contrast to Mdou's shredding. 

I'm not sure that he can raise the intensity level any higher than this — turned up to 12?

Jennifer Kelly: I'm so glad you guys picked up on this. Lots to think about.

First regarding Bill's comment about a "rootsier" sound, it's complicated isn't it?

We look to third world artists for authenticity, which in its most reductive form means less electrification, fewer electronics, etc. But as Bill points out, Mdou's early stuff was heavily autotuned, as for instance here:

And a lot of the Sahel Sounds’ (and thanks, Bill, for making sure we gave them credit for being first with this stuff) cellphone compilations have a very slick, disco-electronic vibe. And that's music largely produced for African audiences without much consideration of a global audience. So which is authentic?

Also, my understanding, Tim, is that the rhythm is based on the way camels walk and a nod to West Africa's nomadic culture and heritage? You hear the same beat in Tinawarin's stuff.

Tim Clarke: I can definitely hear the camel's gait in the cantering rhythm section, that slightly awkward, loping feel. It's certainly unique.

Bryon Hayes: The almost hard rock riff in the intro of the title track originally confused me (did I put the right album on?), but I found it really powerful upon further spins of the album, especially how it segues into the cantering rhythm. Also, the roar as the lower fidelity section of “Imouhar” transitions to a higher fidelity is downright mind-melting! He’s experimenting with song form, and it really works.

Michael Rosenstein: As much as I've liked Mdou Moctar's music, I have to admit that this one is starting to lose me a bit. But that has way more to do with my musical proclivities than it does to the music at hand. What originally drew me to Moctar's music was the rawness of it; that uneasy balance of "shredding" that others have mentioned with a trance-like, cyclical flow. That was really foregrounded in his early albums like Afelan or Anar both of which were released a decade ago. This new one sounds, to my ears, much more heavily produced and fussed over. I admit, though, that I'm really uneasy with my assessment in that, as much as I hope I'm not, I fear I am just bringing my old, white, privileged judgement to bear. Is this just me judging that the music is no longer "authentic" enough? Or is it just that he is embracing the rock leanings inherent to his music and that just resonates less with me?

I do find it curious that, as far as I can tell, none of Moctar's music on Sahel Sounds is available anymore (including the one track on Music from Saharan Cellphones: Volume 2 referenced by Bill.) I have no idea if that is by his choice, by contractual obligations with Matador, or by the choice of the Sahel Sounds folks.

Jennifer Kelly: I noticed that those records were missing, too, when I looked for the Sahel Sounds records to hear the autotune. I wonder what happened?

Some of the songs are still very trance-y..."Imouhar," for example, especially at the beginning (it gets loud later), "Takoba" all the way through. The production seems about the same as on Afrique Victime to me, clean but not overly so. (Though, I will admit that I probably like the rock stuff more than Michael does.)

We haven't really talked about the political backdrop to this record, have we? The fact that Civil War in Niger has left them stranded in the States since 2023. I don't speak Tamshek but it seems that a lot of the songs with English titles are about politics and colonialism, which may affect the way they play and present the material, yes? It's different from writing songs about village life or falling in love with the local beauty.

Ian Mathers: I'll admit, there's at least a part of me that wishes this whole record was just unabashedly Going For It as hard as the opening title track does. Not that I don't like the relatively more restrained material; I'm not terribly knowledgeable about African music in general but "Takoba" reminds me of one of the few records from the continent I do very much know and love, the one Ali Farka Toure did with Ry Cooder (Talking Timbuktu) that my dad played all the time when I was in high school. Toure was from Mali, which at least shares a border with Niger, so hopefully I'm not being too ignorant hearing similarities in some of the guitar playing there. The more monomaniacally the band gets cooking here, generally, the more I like it (I really like "Sousoume Tamacheq," for example). I think I probably like it a little more than (the also excellent!) Afrique Victime, although I think for similar but opposite reasons to Michael, that it's just more to my taste and not necessarily a better record.

I'd also love to see a full set of lyrics/translations, and everything I've read about the sociopolitical context of the band and this music has been fascinating, but mostly right I'm just appreciating and enjoying this record in a similar way to, say, Oneida's "Sheets of Easter" or that U SCO record I picked for our 2023 Slept On round up.

Tim Clarke: Further to what you're saying about enjoying the "everything on 11" aspect of Moctar's sound, I can't help wondering what the band would sound like recorded by Steve Albini. That I'd like to hear!

Ian Mathers: Oh, good point; maybe because we talked about African Head Charge a while back I'm now also wondering what Adrian Sherwood would make of them.

Bill Meyer: I don’t think you’re too far off the mark in seeing a similarity between Moctar’s and Ali Farka Toure’s music, Ian. Toure worked with the languages and styles of several ethnic groups from the Malian interior, soI’m sure he would have been acquainted with the precedents for what Moctar does. Moctar is from subsequent generation, so his music is more in touch with what has been popular in the Sahel in this century. But another thing they both have in common is that they’ve been worked a lot on non-African stages, gotten hold of gear that isn’t particularly available back home, and undergone a personal course of development on a world stage. 

Their politics are different, though. I think Toure was the mayor (or something similar) of his town. He was pretty invested in fostering the stability of the existing Malian state, thus all the songs in different languages that encouraged people to get along. He was the big man in town who responsibly leveraged his popularity as a musician to obtain resources for his community. Your CD purchases generated income for Niafunke’s farming community. Moctar, on the other hand, was just another guy on the street, albeit an artistically ambitious one, until musical opportunities permitted him to tour and make records outside of Niger. His stance, as far as I can grasp it, is critical of African leaders who don’t look out for their people, and even more critical of the foreign powers that have run roughshod over his country (mostly France and the US). 

Matador came through with the lyrics.

[Here are some excerpts.]

“ FUNERAL FOR JUSTICE”

Dear African leaders, hear my burning question

Why does your ear only heed France and America? 

They misled you into giving up your lands

They delightfully watch you in your fraternal feud

They possess the power to help out but chose not to

Why is that? When your rights are trodden upon

 Why is that? When your rights are trodden upon

“ MODERN SLAVES”

Oh world, why be so selective about human beings? 

Oh world, why be so selective about human beings? 

My people are crying while you laugh

My people are crying while you laugh

All you do is watch

All you do is watch

Oh world, why be so selective about counrties?

Oh world, why be so selective about counrties? 

Yours are well built while ours are being destroyed

Yours are well built while ours are being destroyed.

Jennifer Kelly: Wow, that is fiery stuff. 

Ian Mathers: I can also see in the translated lyrics even more of a connection between the two countries, with Tamasheq described as "A helpless orphan abandoned by 3 countries / Mali-Niger, Niger-Mali and Algeria as the third." Interesting to note the gap between Toure and Moctar's respective places in society (at least right now, for Moctar). I didn't specifically think of reggae when I was reading the lyrics, Bill, but once you point it out there does seem to be a number of shared themes, maybe even some metaphors and imagery, there.

[wingedblooms]

The Ancients

This is a Maasverse post, and as such, there are spoilers for all Maas series. Proceed with caution.

“I’m afraid I can’t be of service,” Mort sniffed. “If you want an instant answer, you should find yourself a seer or an oracle.” 

Celaena slowed her pacing. “You think if I read this to someone with the gift of clairvoyance, they might be able to … see some different meaning that I’m missing?”

“Perhaps. Though as far as I know, when magic vanished, those with the gift of Sight lost it, too.” 

“Yes, but you’re still here.” 

“So?” Celaena looked at the stone ceiling as if she could see through it, all the way to the ground above. 

“So perhaps other ancient beings might retain some of their gifts, too.” (com)

In acowar, we learn that Elain is a seer and in the Maasverse, seer seems to be a broad term associated with the gift of Sight. Sarah sometimes uses seer interchangeably with oracle, as we see below. 

It was a useless gift, she’d decided as a child. It couldn’t do much at all beyond blinding people, as she’d done to her father’s men when they came after her and her mother and Randall, as had happened to the Oracle when the seer peered into her future and beheld only her blazing light, as she’d done to those asp-hole smugglers. (hoeab)

An oracle appears to be a type of seer; at the very least, they have similar gifts of clairvoyance. Oracles were believed to be messengers, or conduits, for gods. We see indications of this in the scene where Hunt visits the oracle sphinx in hoeab. While we don’t know the full extent of Elain’s gifts, her abilities are referred to as oracular, and she shares parallels with both oracles and mystics in the Maasverse. 

In fact, her gifts seem like they could rival the ancient beings Aelin referenced in the first quote. She tracks down Baba Yellowlegs—an Ancient—to help her unravel a mystery, and introduces us to another important method of Sight they cherish: witch mirrors.

Witch mirrors

If Yellowlegs truly was a witch, then perhaps she had the gift of Sight.

“Come to look into the mirrors?” she said, smoke spilling from her withered lips. “Done running from fate at last?” (com)

In the gloom, the caravan stretched on much wider and longer than should have been possible. A winding path had been made between the mirrors, leading into the dark—a path that Yellowlegs was now treading, as if there were anywhere to go inside this strange place.

[…]

As she strode through the forest of mirrors, her reflection shifted everywhere. In one she appeared short and fat, in another tall and impossibly thin. In another she stood upside down, and in yet another she walked sideways. It was enough to give her a headache. (com)

First, I would be remiss if I didn't point out the fact that Aelin links witches to the gift of Sight, just like in Midgard. Second, Yellowlegs’ caravan is unusual because its materials (the stones in the oven and wood in the walls) come from the ruins of the Crochan city. Combined with witch mirrors, it creates an otherworldly illusion that disorients Aelin and makes it difficult to escape Yellowlegs’ clutches. 

Later, we learn from Manon that witch mirrors can be used to see, communicate, or amplify power:  

“You can see the future, past, present. You can speak between mirrors, if someone possesses the sister-glass. And then there are the rare silvers—whose forging demands something vital from the maker.” Manon’s voice dropped low. Dorian wondered if even among the Blackbeaks, these tales had only been whispered at their campfires. “Other mirrors amplify and hold blasts of raw power, to be unleashed if the mirror is aimed at something.” (eos)

She and Aelin even enter a witch mirror to view a memory, and like I’ve discussed before, this experience might mimic Elain’s murky realm. 

Aelin had a body that was not a body. She knew only because in this void, this foggy twilight, Manon had a body. A nearly transparent, wraithlike body, but…a form nonetheless.

Manon’s teeth and nails glinted in the dim light as she surveyed the swirling gray mists. “What is this place?” The mirror had transported them to…wherever this was. 

“Your guess is as good as mine, witch.” Had time stopped beyond the mists?

[…]

The eddying fog darkened, and Manon and Aelin stepped close together, back to back. Pure night swept around them—blinding them.

Then—a murky, dim light ahead. No, not ahead. Approaching them. Manon’s bony shoulder dug into her own as they pressed tighter together, an impenetrable wall. 

But the light rippled and expanded, figures within it appearing. Solidifying. 

Aelin knew three things as the light and color enveloped them and became tangible: They were not seen, or heard, or scented by those before them. 

And this was the past. A thousand years ago, to be exact. (eos) 

@offtorivendell and I suspect there may also be witch mirrors in Prythian: 

“My sister had a collection of mirrors in her black castle,” the Carver said. We halted once more. “She admired herself day and night in those mirrors, gloating over her youth and beauty. There was one mirror—the Ouroboros, she called it. It was old even when we were young. A window to the world. All could be seen, all could be told through its dark surface. Keir possesses it—an heirloom of his household. Bring it to me. That is my price. The Ouroboros, and I am yours to wield. If you can find a way to free me.” A hateful smile. (acowar)

Stryga, which is awfully close to the word for witch (striga, strega, shtriga, etc.), used her mirrors to spy on the world. It’s possible that her black castle was Hewn City, a place of rotting darkness that is home to wicked heirlooms much like her extensive collection in the cottage. Are Stryga and her magical mirrors also somehow connected to Maeve and the Valg? And if her heirlooms are also Mor’s family heirlooms, does that mean they are distantly related to Stryga and the Valg, and therefore connected to witches? Wounds associated with the Valg are described as rotted darkness (tod), making me truly wonder about the Court of Nightmares and those who inhabit and rule it now. 

In tog, Maeve—a dark queen and world-walker like Stryga—confirms that mirrors can be used to spy, travel, and kill. She says she taught the witches how to use their enchanted mirrors. If Stryga is connected to the Valg, did she see her outward beauty in the mirror, or the displeasing form beneath (to use Maeve’s own words), no matter how many beautiful maidens she hunted and devoured? Could that unpleasant form look like the Valg princess we see in tog? 

Its true form…It was as horrific as she’d imagined. 

Smoke swirled and coiled about it, revealing glimpses of gangly limbs and talons, mostly hairless gray, slick skin, and unnaturally large dark eyes that raged as she looked upon it. [...] It hissed, revealing pointed, fish-sharp teeth. Your world shall fall. As the others have done. As all others will. (tod)

That would certainly drive someone like Stryga, who is obsessed with youth and beauty, insane. And it would make so much more sense that her true form–the rotted core of the Valg–would be capable of corrupting an enchanted mirror as scholars claim.  

Save for the Weaver in the Wood—who certainly seemed insane enough, perhaps thanks to the mirror she’d so dearly loved. Or perhaps whatever evil lurked in her had tainted the mirror, too. Some of the philosophers had suggested as much, though they hadn’t known her name—only that a dark queen had once possessed it, cherished it. Spied on the world with it—and used it to hunt down beautiful young maidens to keep her eternally young. (acowar)

Much like Baba Yellowlegs, Stryga had a habit of devouring beautiful maidens and, once confined to the Middle, lured unsuspecting beings to her cottage. @offtorivendell has wondered if the Ouroboros will make a reappearance and if so, it might make the most sense in Elain’s story. It is interesting that Clotho helped Feyre find books on the Ouroboros and is the last known person in possession of Elain’s glass amulet. I do think this amulet could be connected to witch mirrors, even if only as a symbolic hint of things to come. The phrase secret, lovely beauty is repeated, suggesting a link—or sister-glass, if you will—between two females with hidden depths (more on this in The sense chanted and Groundings). 

The Ancients 

In addition to sharing information about witch mirrors, Manon confirms that some witches—like Baba Yellowlegs—have the gift of Sight. 

Aelin murmured, “Nameless is my price.” Aedion opened his mouth, no doubt to ask what had snagged her interest, but Aelin frowned at Manon. “Can your kind see the future? See it as an oracle can?”

“Some,” Manon admitted. “The Bluebloods claim to.”

“Can other Clans?”

“They say that for the Ancients, past and present and future bleed together.” (eos)

The Blackbeak and Blueblood Matrons are also referred to as Ancients. Together, the Matrons represent the Three-Faced Goddess: Crone (Yellowlegs), Mother (Blackbeak), and Maiden (Blueblood). This goddess supposedly gave the witches their iron teeth and nails to keep them anchored to this world when magic threatened to pull them away.

Legend had it that all witches had been gifted by the Three-Faced Goddess with iron teeth and nails to keep them anchored to this world when magic threatened to pull them away. The iron crown, supposedly, was proof that the magic in the Blueblood line ran so strong that their leader needed more—needed iron and pain—to keep her tethered in this realm. 

Nonsense. Especially when magic had been gone these past ten years. But Manon had heard rumors of the rituals the Bluebloods did in their forests and caves, rituals in which pain was the gateway to magic, to opening their senses. Oracles, mystics, zealots. (hof)

Nesta and Elain—who were Made in the Cauldron (which may be connected to the Three-Faced Goddess, as one of them is called Mother)—have iron mental gates. They also both wore iron bracelets and Elain has an iron engagement ring somewhere in her trove of jewelry. Elain, the obvious choice for the Maiden aspect, also wore a blue cloak during the witch accusation in Windhaven and seems to possess the most powerful Sight. Is it possible that time bleeds together in her murky realm like it does for the Ancients, and she might need even more iron, or something else, to remain tethered to Prythian? 

“An Ancient,” Dorian mused, then murmured to Manon, “Baba Yellowlegs.” 

They all turned to him. But Manon’s fingers brushed against her collarbone—where the necklace of Aelin’s scars from Yellowlegs still ringed her neck in stark white. 

“This winter, she was at your castle,” Manon said to him. “Working as a fortune-teller.”

Manon stared the general down. “Yellowlegs was a fortune-teller—a powerful oracle. I bet she knew who the queen was the moment she saw her. And saw things she planned to sell to the highest bidder.” Dorian tried not to flinch at the memory. Aelin had butchered Yellowlegs when she’d threatened to sell his secrets. Aelin had never implied a threat against her own. Manon continued, “Yellowlegs wouldn’t have told the queen anything outright, only in veiled terms. So it’d drive the girl mad when she figured it out.” (eos) 

Does Elain also know a person’s secrets on sight like Baba Yellowlegs? Is that why she was the only one who suspected Feyre’s pregnancy, and why she hasn’t yet met a character with a secret beneath her pretty face? 

A Cauldron-blessed seer, could she even be the Eye of the Goddess incarnate, a divine guardian, as I suggested in Herbs she planted? 

A large circle—and two overlapping circles, one atop the other, within its circumference. “That is the Three-Faced Goddess,” Manon said, her voice low. “We call this …” She drew a rough line in the centermost circle, in the eye-shaped space where they overlapped. “The Eye of the Goddess. Not Elena.” She circled the exterior again. “Crone,” she said of the outermost circumference. She circled the interior top circle: “Mother.” She circled the bottom: “Maiden.” She stabbed the eye inside: “And the heart of the Darkness within her.” It was Aelin’s turn to shake her head. The others didn’t so much as blink.

“That is an Ironteeth symbol. Blueblood prophets have it tattooed over their hearts. And those who won valor in battle, when we lived in the Wastes … they were once given those. To mark our glory—our being Goddess-blessed." (eos)

What if, like a Blueblood prophet, Elain is given a bargain tattoo of the Eye of the Goddess on her heart? (Please, Sarah.) Or perhaps its floral equivalent in Prythian: a layered rose that blooms with three colors when exposed to light, revealing the heart of Darkness within? A mark of the Goddess…

The Cauldron shattered into three pieces, peeling apart like a blossoming flower—and then she came. […] I dared a step toward it. And what I beheld in those ruins of the Cauldron … It was a void. But also not a void—a growth. (acowar)

to complement the eye of the beast in her love interest’s siphon? 

I watched the light shift inside the sapphire Siphon instead, as if it were the great eye of some half-slumbering beast from a frozen wasteland. (acomaf)

or her mate’s magical eye?  

“This eye …” Lucien gestured to the metal contraption. “It can see things that others…can’t. Spells, glamours … Perhaps it can help me find her. And break her curse.” (acowar)

Only Time, or the wind, will tell what form the future might take. 

Next: Song of the wind, or how Elain might travel like a witch. 

Series: seer. wise woman. witch.

[dukeofdogs]

Eldain

Chest 1: It's commonly known that Eldain had a soft spot for music. In fact, prior to joining the Scoia'tael, he frequented human festivals as a lutist. On one occasion, Eldain's forces captured a minstrel who requested to sing rather than utter his final words, in the hopes that Eldain would be swayed to mercy. Indeed, with a grin across his face, Eldain enjoyed and applauded the bard's performance. He then ordered the man flayed alive.

Chest 2: Eldain selected the Moulderwood as the base of his commando's operation, for it was a primordial forest so dense that even under the glare of the noon sun it bore the semblance of twilight. Only two types of human caravans ever traversed it: those surrounded by at least twenty armed guards, and those that never emerged.

Chest 3: When Eldain's commando seized control of the Moulderwood, many Aen Seidhe insisted he rebuild the numerous elven ruins scattered throughout, yet Eldain always refused. Some suspected the ruins benefited the Scoia'tael by reminding the elves of human cruelty. The truth was much more mundane. Columns serve as better cover when toppled.

Scroll 1: Eldain tried, with all the strength his will could muster, to live in peace among humans. He bowed to his neighbors in respect, brushed off insults and the occasional shove. Yet when the surrounding orchards suffered from blight, a scapegoat was needed. Someone, anyone to blame for their misfortune. Eldain was an elf – and that was enough.

Scroll 2: Eldain joined the Scoia'tael fully aware that their war was doomed to fail, and at the end of that road only death awaited him. He decided, therefore, that his mission in life would be to live on in memories of humans – as a nightmare.

Scroll 3: Eldain knows how to stir and play on people's fears. He tortures his victims in roadside thickets, where their screams are within earshot of every passing traveler. The mutilated corpses he then leaves exposed to rot near human settlements.

Scroll 4: It comes as no surprise that quickly Eldain became the most hated of all Scoia'tael in Aedirn. Yet despite the immense bounty placed on his head by the king, few dared seek him out...

[inthebamboogrove]

Conversation by the fire

A guest from another world…

A cold wind, smelling of dust, howled softly in the twilight. The rocky plain, gradually sloping down, slowly disappeared behind this curtain. The world, which until recently had been filled with the warmth of the sun's rays, was becoming completely different. Only rare wolf voices from time to time joined the long and quiet howl of the wind. There was no one here except the lonely shadow of the horseman, who continued on his way despite the quickly approaching night. Hearing animal voices in the distance again, the horse snored. The huge stallion, black as a raven's wing, went through a single battle, carrying his master on his back, and the wolf's howl caused him more irritation than horror.

The rider only patted his powerful neck.

-Calm down, my friend. We'll stop soon.

Well, we were delayed…

A trade caravan that Daryun came across on the way was attacked today by a detachment of robbers. With war cries, the bandits jumped out from around the bend of the shallow gorge, anticipating rich booty.

Cases when opponents rushed to attack without knowing who the Black Knight was were not uncommon and the bandits usually retreated, having previously lost several fighters. The sooner the attackers realized what was happening, the more of them remained alive. Seeing a rider in a flowing cloak on a huge black horse with a drawn sword, they were confused. It wasn't one of the guards they had just dealt with. Those who were especially brave rushed into the attack, only to soon slip off their horses in lifeless sacks, warming the ground with their blood. The rest, realizing that life was more valuable than prey, rushed away, disappearing into a dusty curtain. The caravan reached the nearest city, to which it was heading. Despite the persuasion of the merchants who tirelessly thanked him, Daryun continued on his way. It’s been too long since he saw the azure domes of Ecbatana… Very soon it became clear that this was not the end. The next morning, as soon as it was dawn, Daryun heard a shrill horse squeal. From the slope of the gentle hill it became clear what was happening. The distant figures of the horsemen seemed no more than insects. Daryun recognized them immediately. They decided to make up for yesterday's failure. Like wild animals surrounding their prey, they slowly approached the cloaked traveler. Even if he was on a horse, he wouldn’t get far. What was this poor man thinking as he tried to cross the wasteland alone? The leader slowly pulled out a saber that flashed in the sun, the same one with which he dealt with the guards of yesterday's caravan and which he did not dare to cross with the blade of the Black Knight. The hand holding Shabrang's reins clenched into a fist. My heart began to beat faster. Such jackals, who had the courage to attack only those who were weaker, often came across Dariun’s path. He was disgusted by them, but now he felt real anger. Anger that they would get what they wanted before Dariun taught them a deadly lesson. The bandit rushed forward. The victim suddenly jumped from the horse's back onto his opponent. Under the heavy cloak was a strong body, like that of a warrior. With one precise movement, he finished off the bandit. A bloody trail shot up into the air, and an almost severed head fell to the bottom, dangling from uncut muscles. The body, not yet realizing death, jerked stupidly on the horse’s back, not letting go of the reins. The horse, which clearly had blood in its eyes, immediately ran away, following the rest of the gang, disappearing behind a curtain of dust that hid everything that was happening. When she settled down, neither the mysterious warrior nor the bandits were any longer there. What happened in the morning gradually began to be forgotten, but it never completely left Daryun’s thoughts. The warrior's experienced gaze could not help but appreciate the skill of the stranger's blow. What people did he belong to? Dariun could not remember that somewhere he had seen such a fighting style and a short blade that looked more like a dagger - akinak*. It was getting colder. Transparent, like light dark silk, the twilight gradually thickened, changing the world beyond recognition. The animal voices fell silent in the distance. Not a single sound was heard in this impenetrable darkness, which had neither end nor edge. Now Daryun realized more clearly than ever that he had to stay in the city with the merchants until the morning. What will this rush lead to? What's the use of it? My uncle said what happens to those who always think they are right…

Dry, chapped lips stretched into a sad smile at himself.

Fool.

Sensing the mood of the owner, the faithful Shabrang snorted, covering his ears. Small stones rustled under the mighty hooves. The gentle hills that were so clearly visible in the distance have now disappeared. There was nothing around but darkness.

For the first time in a long time, Daryun felt almost lost. Even the dusty wind stopped hitting him back. Open eyes saw nothing, and my heart began to clench in unpleasant foreboding. Yet, no matter how invincible a warrior the Black Knight was, he was only a man, and a man always feels vulnerable in the midst of the dark unknown, far from everything that is familiar to him. Something sparkled in the distance, but did not disappear. A tiny dot twinkling like a star. Daryun pulled the reins, stopping Shabrang. The feeling of being lost loosened its grip a little, giving way to something light and giving strength. More than anything, it felt like hope. It turns out that he was not the only traveler here who was taken by surprise at night. A solution arose quickly and Daryun directed Shabrang towards the small flickering light. At the very edge of the warm light, which prevents the impenetrable darkness from approaching, sat a figure wrapped in a cloak. In fact, Daryun had a guess who it was.

-Was it you who dispersed the bandits?

-Yes I. – An unknown voice answered.

The hand reached to the edge of the hood, revealing a tanned face, framed by blonde hair, like a lion's mane, falling over broad shoulders. The stranger was the same age as Daryun, maybe a little older. Golden highlights of the flame slid into the attentive blue eyes looking at the Black Knight. Without attention and tension, but studying. This is how warriors look at each other before battle.

On such a night the traveler could not be left alone. They both knew this, and now two people were sitting by the fire, which protected them and their horses from the impenetrable darkness, which now seemed to be the whole world.

The stranger seemed to have forgotten about Daryun's presence, continuing to gaze thoughtfully at the crackling flames. The first wrinkles appeared in the corners of the eyes, when a barely noticeable bitter grin touched the plump lips.

The traveler was clearly not from these places and not from those countries that Daryun managed to visit. That attack immediately appeared in my memory, instantly sending the leader of the robbers to his forefathers. The stranger was a warrior, experienced, strong and dangerous. Just like Daryun himself.

-Is this Hades?

-This is Pars. – Daryun answered simply. The warm light of the fire narrowed his pupils, turning his golden eyes into those of a tiger.

-I saw how you fought with those bandits who attacked the caravan. – The unknown person spoke again. -Are you the strongest warrior in your country?

It turns out that neither Daryun was the first to notice him. To the trained eye of a warrior, one attack can say a lot about his opponent. A premonition of something unknown began to squeeze his heart. No, it wasn't fear. Besides, who, if not a person possessing such skill, could be an opponent to the Warrior-of-Warriors?

-Yes.

After answering, Daryun always proved it with a sword. The body itself prepared itself for a lunge or defense, the legs were ready to make a jump, and the heart beat faster. But not even an eyebrow twitched on his face. Golden eyes did not lower under the blue gaze. There was no tension, no anger, no thirst for murder in either one or the other.

-Why are you're fighting ? – The stranger asked unexpectedly. He, like Daryun, knew who was in front of him and that he would be understood. After all, only a warrior can understand a warrior. But who can understand a warrior who is destined to be the greatest? They were silent for some time. Daryun never thought about it. He didn't even remember when he first picked up a sword and began learning to fight. He was raised by his uncle, the one to whom the Shah of Andragoras trusted his cavalry. Daryun only did what he had to do, what was destined for him and it soon became clear that he was the best. There was not a single opponent who would not lay down his head in battle with him. This became his pride. Pars has a warrior like him and that he turned out to be such a warrior. His name was known even outside the country. Emperor Seliki offered him horses, concubines and titles, but… he is loyal only to his country. The image of Arslan, the young son of Andragoras, appeared in my memory. The prince did not show much zeal for military science, but he knew how to treat his subjects well and understand them. Quality worthy of a lord. His uncle said that he was destined to be the master of Daryun . Someday His Highness will have to take up the sword and the Warrior-of-Warriors will do everything so that he knows what he is fighting for, while maintaining his kind and fair heart.

-I serve my master.

The stranger's lips twitched into a grin again. He doesn't seem to serve anyone. He vividly reminded Kubard, for whom only the ability to fight retained the status of marzban.

-Is he worthy of this?

-I make him the greatest ruler of Pars. – Daryun did not take his gaze off the stranger. This is how animals look, creeping in circles opposite each other, before rushing into battle.

He felt the same.

-Why are you fighting? - Daryun unexpectedly returned his question. “I’m fighting for something that will survive thousands of years.” Each of them would achieve what they wanted and that would be the last thing they did. Daryun did not know where his opponent was coming from or his goal. He only felt that his powers were comparable only to his own. However, what directed these forces, made them raise the sword and strike the enemy, was completely different. Only glory can survive millennia. This stranger forged it for years and shed blood for it, and now in front of him was someone who would demand a battle at full strength, no more and no less. But Daryun had his own reasons for fighting and he did not care what the stranger thought about it. The power of Daryun protected and guided the one who was responsible for the whole people. He was ready to fight for someone who himself faithfully served his subjects. Shah Andragoras inspired fear in those who raised the sword against Pars, but His Highness Arslan will become a ruler whom this region has never known…

The tiger's eyes narrowed. Living, translucent tongues of flame half hid his dark face, slightly distorted by the warm air haze. He now also had an evil grin on him.

If you draw your sword, this battle will be your last.

The dead night became cold and even the crackling of the flame seemed to cease.

Yes, the stranger understood that he would have to pay a lot for a fight with such an opponent. However, who will know about this accomplishment here, where his own name is unknown, and all around is a wasteland infested with robbers?

Everyone would get what they wanted. And that would be the last thing they did. Warmth began to return to this world again, filling it with sounds and the crackling of flames.

Both warriors remained sitting in their places, separated from each other by a fluttering bright curtain.

-Do you want to tell him everything you know? - The warrior broke the silence. Daryun knew who he meant. -Yes.

-And I want the one to whom I pass on everything I know to never become like me…

The enemy's eyes dropped and again began to peer thoughtfully into the crackling flames. It turns out that fame is not all that occupies his thoughts.

For the first time, Daryun felt something akin to doubt in the stranger. That man was born a warrior, but did he find a reason to fight?

They didn't speak anymore.

The morning greeted Daryun with silence and coolness. The pre-dawn fog hid the distant hills in a transparent twilight. Not far away, the faithful Shabrang was waiting for him, twitching his smooth black skin, already covered with droplets of morning dew.

The fact that yesterday's meeting was not a dream was only reminded by the blackened extinguished fire. There was no sign that Daryun was not alone.

What was it? Dream?

The image of yesterday’s warrior immediately appeared in my memory. So similar and not like himself.

I hope you find a reason to fight.

The events of the dead moonless night quickly faded and melted away, like dawn fog under the rays of the sun. Daryun , the youngest among the marzbans of Pars, the Warrior-of-Warriors, returned home. He was met by his uncle, who was training the young prince.

Both were incredibly happy to see him.

It’s okay, Your Highness, you will still learn to fight, Daryun thought with a smile, looking into the shining blue eyes of the boy who was to be his master.

There, very far away, in a windswept mountain hut, the warrior came to his senses. Despite the wine he had drunk, his mind was clear. The obsession had seen at night was still fresh in him memory.

This time, they were not the ones he had sent to the underworld in his countless battles. Not ethereal shadows crowding on the banks of an underground river, waiting for the crossing and saying that they are waiting for him.

Who was that warrior? Black-haired, dark-skinned, with strange yellow eyes. And his horse, a black giant, was clearly a fighting horse. He himself would not have refused this… What land did he belong to? One thing was clear: that man knew himself and knew what he was fighting for. And it would be a fight to the death.

For him, the main thing was immortality in the hearts of people. Vegetating here, far from the rest of the world, you cannot achieve it. Still, how different they are, warriors…

Isn't it time to go back?

The cold mountains gave way to a bright sea, along the small waves of which the glare of the dazzling sun glided merrily. The bow of his big-eyed ship buried itself in the sand. During the long time that he was absent, the younger brother himself began to resemble a young warrior. A moment later, his clear gray eyes shone with joy.

I'm back home, my little brother…

[pokemonknight]

Apologies for going silent as I had. I was having mild issues getting the Purah Pad to work the way I wanted it to, because Tatl had an issue happen. With some help, I've learned how to make a "Read More", and I will be placing it down here now, as... well. A good amount of things transpired.

For some reason, the moment I approached the Lighthouse with Miraidon nearby, the pad shorted out temporarily, but it rather harshly harmed Tatl. I'm not sure why, but it also seemed to affect the young man's own... what did he call it? Rotomphone? I believe that was what he said it was. His name is Arven, by the by. He blamed Miraidon for it at first, but upon learning the metal dragon had done for me, he ended up retracting the statement. Thankfully, to make things much easier to handle, I was able to still use the translation function Tatl had installed. It was nigh on necessary.

He seemed to know more than he was letting on, though, and it coincided with him throwing a few... choice words at the dragon. I wasn't all that pleased with it. And it led to a third party appearing. Her name was Nemona... and she suggested a battle to settle a few things. Probably because I might've looked a bit annoyed at Arven's statements.

It went well. Twilight faced off against the squirrel Pokemon he had, and it was an admittedly one-sided affair. The poor boy looked offended, but... relented and handed off the Poke Ball that Miraidon was registered to. Nemona, on the other hand... well. She went to take a picture and request a battle from me as well, only to find, again, her Rotomphone was malfunctioning. But soon after, yet another person made their appearance, calling her down from her excitement.

An older man in an orange top by the name of Clavell. He called himself a 'Director' of a nearby academy, the same one Tatl had pointed out: Uva-Naranja. It was a non-stop caravan of new faces. Arven begrudgingly left despite seemingly wanting to say more, leaving Nemona, myself and Clavell to talk.

I... struggled to get my words out. It was not my proudest moment. I clammed up, and I believe the only way I was able to navigate that situation was with Nemona's help. Eventually I managed to use what little of the trade language I had to say "new" and "need help".

I am now at the Academy. Temporarily, I have been given a dorm room since the planned student to take this location had to drop out at the final moment. Seemingly, they had to stay in their hometown, leaving the room vacant.

Tatl is in recovery. The Purah Pad feels... strange now. It had only been a few days, but without her inside of it, I feel... naked. It's very hard to communicate with others, and she was my teacher for the language. I've been recommended to speak with a Salvatore, but... Well. He wouldn't know Hylian like Tatl does.

I've been told she's alright by the nurse of this academy, Miriam. She simply needs to rest. Oddly, the Rotoms within Arven's and Nemona's phones weren't as badly affected. Perhaps it was the Purah Pad that had done it... so... I might've used some of my extra funds to get myself one of those Rotomphones, but I requested it stay empty. Tatl should be given the reigns. She's who I want back.

[sledge-1959]

On Repeat Tag Game

Rules: Shuffle your repeat playlist 10 times and tag 10 people.

I got tagged by @this-is-not-a-slow-burn!! Thanks for thinking of me

Tagging @dadtron-3000 @relicmaster445 @gaystreetsmarts @batteredbatsy :3

[furryfaceoff]

AND OUR FINAL CONTESTANTS ARE...

Puss in Boots (Shrek/Puss in Boots)

Tigress (Kung Fu Panda)

Nick Wilde (Zootopia)

Robin Hood (Disney's Robin Hood)

Death (Puss in Boots: The Last Wish)

Lola Bunny (Looney Tunes)

Judy Hopps (Zootopia)

Mr. Wolf (The Bad Guys)

Scar (The Lion King)

Kovu (The Lion King II)

Diego (Ice Age)

Simba (The Lion King)

Balto (Balto)

E. Aster Bunnymund (Rise of the Guardians)

Rouge the Bat (Sonic)

Thomas O'Malley (Aristocats)

Tony the Tiger (Frosted Flakes mascot)

Shadow the Hedgehog (Sonic)

Po (Kung Fu Panda)

The Beast (Beauty and the Beast)

Lucario (Pokemon)

Duchess (Aristocats)

Maid Marian (Disney's Robin Hood)

Mr. Fox (Fantastic Mr. Fox)

Captain Amelia (Treasure Planet)

Legoshi (Beastars)

Bugs Bunny (Looney Tunes)

Diane Foxington (The Bad Guys)

Spirit (Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron)

Lady (Lady and the Tramp)

Dragon (Shrek)

Louis (Beastars)

Isabelle (Animal Crossing)

Tramp (Lady and the Tramp)

Bowser (Mario)

Flick (Animal Crossing)

Tod (The Fox and the Hound)

Baron (Whisper of the Heart / The Cat Returns)

Pongo and Perdita (101 Dalmatians)

Capper (My Little Pony: FiM the Movie)

Loona (Helluva Boss)

Lopunny (Pokemon)

Retsuko (Aggretsuko)

Bolt (Bolt)

Miss Piggy (Muppets)

Frog and Toad (Frog and Toad)

Mousegirl bartender (Tumblr post)

Fox McCloud (Star Fox)

King Julien (Madagascar)

Bambi (Bambi)

Mae Borowski (Night in the Woods)

Jenna (Balto)

Firestar (Warriors)

Bagheera (Jungle Book)

Remy (Ratatouille)

Cat gang (Lone Digger music video by Caravan Palace)

Mushu (Mulan)

Miss Bianca (The Rescuers)

Renamon (Digimon)

Miss Kitty (Great Mouse Detective)

Roxanne Wolf (FNAF: Security Breach)

Kenai (Brother Bear)

Perry the Platypus (Phineas and Ferb)

Kuzco (The Emperor's New Groove)

Asgore Dreemurr (Deltarune)

Wolf Link (LoZ: Twilight Princess)

Garfield (Garfield)

Shirou Ogami (Brand New Animal)

[alliwanttodoiscollectpoetry]

1.

We like to think of it as parallel to what we know,

Only bigger. One man against the authorities.

Or one man against a city of zombies. One man

Who is not, in fact, a man, sent to understand

The caravan of men now chasing him like red ants

Let loose down the pants of America. Man on the run.

Man with a ship to catch, a payload to drop,

This message going out to all of space. . . . Though

Maybe it’s more like life below the sea: silent,

Buoyant, bizarrely benign. Relics

Of an outmoded design. Some like to imagine

A cosmic mother watching through a spray of stars,

Mouthing yes, yes as we toddle toward the light,

Biting her lip if we teeter at some ledge. Longing

To sweep us to her breast, she hopes for the best

While the father storms through adjacent rooms

Ranting with the force of Kingdom Come,

Not caring anymore what might snap us in its jaw.

Sometimes, what I see is a library in a rural community.

All the tall shelves in the big open room. And the pencils

In a cup at Circulation, gnawed on by the entire population.

The books have lived here all along, belonging

For weeks at a time to one or another in the brief sequence

Of family names, speaking (at night mostly) to a face,

A pair of eyes. The most remarkable lies.

2.

Charlton Heston is waiting to be let in. He asked once politely.

A second time with force from the diaphragm. The third time,

He did it like Moses: arms raised high, face an apocryphal white.

Shirt crisp, suit trim, he stoops a little coming in,

Then grows tall. He scans the room. He stands until I gesture,

Then he sits. Birds commence their evening chatter. Someone fires

Charcoals out below. He’ll take a whiskey if I have it. Water if I don’t.

I ask him to start from the beginning, but he goes only halfway back.

That was the future once, he says. Before the world went upside down.

Hero, survivor, God’s right hand man, I know he sees the blank

Surface of the moon where I see a language built from brick and bone.

He sits straight in his seat, takes a long, slow high-thespian breath,

Then lets it go. For all I know, I was the last true man on this earth. And:

May I smoke? The voices outside soften. Planes jet past heading off or back.

Someone cries that she does not want to go to bed. Footsteps overhead.

A fountain in the neighbor’s yard babbles to itself, and the night air

Lifts the sound indoors. It was another time, he says, picking up again.

We were pioneers. Will you fight to stay alive here, riding the earth

Toward God-knows-where? I think of Atlantis buried under ice, gone

One day from sight, the shore from which it rose now glacial and stark.

Our eyes adjust to the dark.

3.

Perhaps the great error is believing we’re alone,

That the others have come and gone—a momentary blip—

When all along, space might be choc-full of traffic,

Bursting at the seams with energy we neither feel

Nor see, flush against us, living, dying, deciding,

Setting solid feet down on planets everywhere,

Bowing to the great stars that command, pitching stones

At whatever are their moons. They live wondering

If they are the only ones, knowing only the wish to know,

And the great black distance they—we—flicker in.

Maybe the dead know, their eyes widening at last,

Seeing the high beams of a million galaxies flick on

At twilight. Hearing the engines flare, the horns

Not letting up, the frenzy of being. I want to be

One notch below bedlam, like a radio without a dial.

Wide open, so everything floods in at once.

And sealed tight, so nothing escapes. Not even time,

Which should curl in on itself and loop around like smoke.

So that I might be sitting now beside my father

As he raises a lit match to the bowl of his pipe

For the first time in the winter of 1959.




 4.


In those last scenes of Kubrick’s 2001

When Dave is whisked into the center of space,

Which unfurls in an aurora of orgasmic light

Before opening wide, like a jungle orchid

For a love-struck bee, then goes liquid,

Paint-in-water, and then gauze wafting out and off,

Before, finally, the night tide, luminescent

And vague, swirls in, and on and on. . . .

In those last scenes, as he floats

Above Jupiter’s vast canyons and seas,

Over the lava strewn plains and mountains

Packed in ice, that whole time, he doesn’t blink.

In his little ship, blind to what he rides, whisked

Across the wide-screen of unparcelled time,

Who knows what blazes through his mind?

Is it still his life he moves through, or does

That end at the end of what he can name?

On set, it’s shot after shot till Kubrick is happy,

Then the costumes go back on their racks

And the great gleaming set goes black.

5.

When my father worked on the Hubble Telescope, he said

They operated like surgeons: scrubbed and sheathed

In papery green, the room a clean cold, a bright white.

He’d read Larry Niven at home, and drink scotch on the rocks,

His eyes exhausted and pink. These were the Reagan years,

When we lived with our finger on The Button and struggled

To view our enemies as children. My father spent whole seasons

Bowing before the oracle-eye, hungry for what it would find.

His face lit-up whenever anyone asked, and his arms would rise

As if he were weightless, perfectly at ease in the never-ending

Night of space. On the ground, we tied postcards to balloons

For peace. Prince Charles married Lady Di. Rock Hudson died.

We learned new words for things. The decade changed.

The first few pictures came back blurred, and I felt ashamed

For all the cheerful engineers, my father and his tribe. The second time,

The optics jibed. We saw to the edge of all there is—

So brutal and alive it seemed to comprehend us back.

My God, its full of stars by Tracy K Smith

[yayforocs]

OLD ART PART 2!!!

picking back up in october 2013!!!

random headphone girl? random headphone girl

ok i can't find this one (or its later successor) anywhere so i'm. assuming i never posted it? even tho i could've sworn i did.

it's the noxcrew gameshow hosts, johnny smooth and scotty love :VVV

kinda wanna redraw them again tbh tbh

a link :V

WOW OK i was going to send martyn inthelittlewood a fan letter ages ago when he was doing the uhh!! the um!!! the videos where he opened stuff from fans!!! he had a po box u could send stuff to and i drew some fanart of him and characters he liked and wrote out a letter!! but i! never sent it OTL i think i just was never satisfied with what i wrote bc i remember trying to write it multiple times dslkfj

also i found teen ib au doodles! :V i did draw something after all

doodle of homestuck troll oc, terian oneira :V (the name did actually like. mean something. but i don't remember what)

a redraw of like the second aqua pic i drew ever bc Actual Player AquaUmbreon had changed his minecraft skin :V (so i'm not gonna tag this as the character sdlkj)

speakin of the CM server crew, tis me and razor :V

there's also a vaughn from harvest moon island of happiness!! this was also a july doodle, hm.

there's also some crystal chronicles crew doodles :VVV from when mogi and i were planning out the caravan!!

november 2013 :VV

oh man oh man oh man ok i never posted this one bc i started coloring it w colored pencils n then i never finished so it was just unfinished to me bUT i played fire emblem awakening and was wrecked by a nuzlocke playthrough where i got gaius and maribelle s supported and then maribelle. died. so i drew a lyric comic thing (but i was going to add in the lyrics digitally, so. rip.) set to.... a song that i cannot find???? i have the recording on my ipod of it but it's a rip from youtube that. i guess isn't there anymore. here's the poem based on it though: (and straight googling the entirety of the poem led me nowhere also so i'm just. where is this from who originally wrote it what.)

Sun sets low beneath the sky Leaves all in golden state Stars glow at edge of twilight And here I stay, your words await Goodnight, Goodnight

Sky a shade of midnight blue Moon in its glowing fate The world at peace is a calming view And here I stay, your words await Goodnight, Goodnight

Distance leaves us far apart So at midnight if I may Wish upon the brightest star And hear your voice so softly say Goodnight, Goodnight

also ib oc, adam! :V he's from a fic i wrote abt garry getting stuck in the gallery and inadvertently getting out with the help of another kid pulled in years later

skip to april 2014!

it's a redraw of my first post on yayforstuffs, the CM crew! :V man look at how tiny i drew sdlkfj

moving to february 2015 :V

i have the ENTIRETY of the original original ib sprites i made!!!!!

this is so many why did i do All Of Those sdklfjs

-ah heck ran out of images again, holdon