#against not just the world but the facsimile of who you used to be? someone created of the desire to cheat death?

[trainingdummyrabbit]

yes yes demon slayer is a tragic series full of creatures and monsters and demons are textually written as instinctively dangerous and self-serving with almost no exception. however. consider: demons. as friends ?

[its-your-mind]

thinkin bout how orv starts with kim dokja actively working to ensure that kim namwoon dies during the first scenario

thinkin bout how kim namwoon was a teenager at the start of the scenarios, dealing with the apocalypse using the mental paths that came easiest, jumping into the new world with both feet

thinkin bout kim dokja as a teenager. tired. hurt. alone. his internal and external struggles ignored by the adults around him. choosing to throw himself off a rooftop because there wasn’t anything in his life worth living for

thinkin bout how kim dokja woke up again, even though he had planned not to

thinkin bout a teenage boy. lost, alone, broken, scared, angry, in need of someone to come and show him how to keep moving forward

thinkin bout a protagonist in a webnovel who is an example to you of how to survive against all odds. a mantra to repeat when living life as yourself is too hard

thinkin bout a hardened and powerful hero who knows exactly how this world works, who holds out a hand offers you a place with him

thinkin bout teenage kim namwoon, looking to yoo joonghyuk as captain, teacher, and protector

thinkin bout teenage kim dokja, looking to yoo joonghyuk as role-model, hero, and refuge

thinkin bout teenage kim dokja, who saw himself more as kim namwoon than any of yoo joonghyuk’s other companions

thinkin bout adult kim dokja, reclusive and unsocial, hiding his phone from his coworker so she doesn’t see what he’s reading. convinced that yoo joonghyuk would look down on him if he learns who he “really” is. ashamed of any details kimcom learns about his past

thinkin bout what happens to a life when the person living it has never seen in it any redeeming qualities or objects of value. how someone feels about life when they tried and failed to give up that life a decade ago, and every day since has felt almost accidental

thinkin bout the lesser fire dragon. the disaster of floods. the strongest in seoul dome. the devourer of dreams. the 73rd demon king. the industrial complex. the war between good and evil. the wager with secretive plotter.

thinkin bout the most ancient dream. an empty station. a cold and hard bench. bandages and a notebook and a too-loose uniform. smaller than he should be for his age and more broken than any child should ever become. alone.

thinkin bout an unbreakable faith, shattered. a family frantically throwing themselves at their heart to save him from himself. desperate hands prying a blade out of shaking ones, moments before the jagged edge pierced deep into vulnerable flesh

thinkin bout how the younger kim dokja, recently released from the hospital, does not watch. instead, he instinctively curls up to protect the parts of himself already hurting the most. he begins to repeat his mantra

thinkin bout how kim namwoon kicked and fought and screamed and stabbed. and then, when he realized there wasn’t anything he could do, he got down on his knees and begged kim dokja for his life

thinkin bout how kim dokja just stood over him, held him in place, and looked at him in silence as the clock ran out

thinkin bout kim dokja at the beginning of his story and at the end of his story. in a subway. looking down at a teenage boy.

making a choice. the same choice, both times.

the first time: an explosion, a blood splatter on his reflection, and a confused and wary protagonist who has lost one asset and gained another

the last time: arms holding him back, a family hugging him tight, and another protagonist who steps in front of him. holds the child close. forgives him everything. offers up anything more he could need. and kim dokja watches as the person with the strongest claim to vengeance upon this younger facsimile of himself instead gently gathers up the most ancient dream, tucks him close against his chest, and walks away with him safe and sound in his arms.

[wafflesandkruge]

a/n: missing scene from sab 2x02 where nikolai finds a grieving zoya in the spinning wheel. i really hated how zoya’s first scene is her telling alina she has her back like babe,,,your family just died yet you’re so well adjusted and willing to help like where’s the trauma and anger 😭 anyway this is for all y’all delusional zoyalais out there i see you i am you

The halls of the Spinning Wheel were dark as Nikolai patrolled them, whistling to himself as he walked. Well, “patrolled” wasn’t the right word as that implied he was looking for a threat. There wasn’t much out here in the mountains that could qualify as one. So, it was more of a stroll, he supposed. A saunter. 

It was off putting being back after so long at sea. The air felt stale, the ground far too stable, and the gilded walls seemed to trap him more than any cramped cabin on the Volkvolny could. The stars painted on the hallway ceilings were only cheap facsimiles of what could be seen on the seas. 

It wasn’t that Nikolai hated his life as a Lantsov. It was what gave him the freedom to live as Sturmhond, after all. But every moment, he could feel the weight of Ravka pressed upon his shoulders, a drowning man that threatened to drag Nikolai under the waves along with himself. But if not Nikolai, who would save them all? Certainly not his father’s indifference, nor Vasily’s cruelty. 

And now, with the Sun Summoner, perhaps he stood a chance. 

If he could get Alilna to agree to his proposal, he’d have the power he needed to finally take control of the crown. Then, it’d just be a matter of finding a solution to the Darkling and the Fold. Simple. He’d had mathematics exam more challenging. 

A quiet scuffle from somewhere ahead broke him out of his schemes. He frowned. No one should have been in this wing of the observatory, and especially not this late. He stilled and strained his ears, trying to ascertain where the sound came from. 

There was another muffled whimper, definitely a woman’s voice, from a room three doors ahead. Nikolai’s brows furrowed. He hadn’t stated that refugees should stay in the other wing, but still, he didn’t want people wandering around when he had more volatile inventions and projects hiding here. He crept forward, staying close to the wall so his shadow wouldn’t give him away. 

The closer he got to the closed door, the more apparent the quiet sobs became. Something in his chest twisted. Perhaps it was just someone mourning. There was more than enough loss to go around these days. He found himself hesitating as he gripped the doorknob.

He could offer some comfort, or at least warn her to not touch the cannon he’d been tinkering with the last time he’d used the room. He pushed the door open quietly and slipped inside.

He’d barely caught a glimpse of a figure dressed in blue hunched over on a bench under the window before her head jerked up towards him, eyes wide, and she thrust her hands forward. 

Nikolai slammed into the wall, sharp bursts of pain going off like fireworks all over his body. He fell to the ground in an undignified sprawl. Everything hurt. He couldn’t get enough air into his lungs as he gasped for breath.

Had he accidentally let an assassin in among the Grisha? He struggled to push himself up, head spinning, as he went for the pistol at his waist. His fingers had only just closed around the familiar handle before a heavy boot ground itself onto his hand, the pressure making him swear loudly. He could feel the bones in his hand grinding against each other, the grain of the wooden floor digging into his flesh.

“Stay down,” the woman snarled. He blinked the spots out of his eyes as he moved his head to look up at her. The world spun and danced, but her face was in perfect focus. Saints, her face. She looked a few years younger than him, with light brown skin, windswept black curls, and dark eyes that glared fiercely at him even as they shone with tears. Her blue kefta was torn and stained as if she’d fought an entire war to get here. She looked like a vengeful Saint, equal parts grief and righteous anger. 

If she were an assassin, it wasn’t the worst way to go.

Nikolai raised his free hand in surrender. He eyed her warily, his hand aching and his body feeling like it’d been going ten rounds in a ring with Tolya. 

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, voice rough. She swiped her torn sleeve across her face to get rid of her tears. “First Army soldiers are housed on the first floor.”

She didn’t know who he was, he realized. All she saw was the uniform, not the name. It was a rather freeing thought. He attempted a smile, but from her unchanged expression, it didn’t do him any favors. 

“Same as you, I reckon. Couldn’t sleep.”

He could see the doubt in her face, but still, she removed her boot from his hand. Feeling flooded back into his fingers. He winced as he wiggled them. They’d definitely be black and blue by morning.

“Find another room to sulk in. I was here first.” She didn’t bother helping him up as she turned on him and returned to her former seat on the bench. She raised an eyebrow as if expecting him to beg for her forgiveness and scurry out with his tail between his legs. 

Well, luckily for her, he was made of sterner stuff. He retrieved his pistol and brushed off his jacket as he clambered to his feet. He rolled his shoulders, working through the aches. 

“Misery loves company, wouldn’t you say so?”

She scowled. “Good thing I’m not misery. Get out.”

He studied her once again. Her expression was guarded, any shred of vulnerability locked away behind unscalable walls. She was not a girl in need of comfort, or a soldier in need of a friend. There was a proud tilt of her chin that told him she’d rather march alone than have anyone help shoulder her burdens. 

He could respect that.

He turned to go, but couldn’t help looking back one last time. He didn’t know what compelled him to lower his head. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said as sincerely as he could manage.

She threw back her head and laughed, sharp and scathing. He stared. “Sorry? For what? There’s nothing you could have done, otkazat'sya. Save your apologies for someone who wants them.”

The moonlight from the window made her glow, ethereal and untouchable. 

He hated losing the last word, but she made a worthy opponent. Nikolai closed the door behind him and went on his way, whistling and thinking of a girl with dark eyes and a sharp tongue.

[theomenroom]

exocolonist stuff about the green forever ending and the shimmer

Lum's bioweapon works because there's a fundamental weakness in vertumnan ecology because it isn't actually a wild ecosystem. it's a Garden in facsimile of the ecosystem before the Convergent Domain rose, and the Gardeners run their overlay on everything, and the Gardeners have spent 20,000 years alone on a planet without anyone even capable of conceptualizing a deliberate attack. Sym all but tells us as much, that Vertumna's ecosystem is all one thing that reconnects every Pollen and Glow in a way that real-world ecosystems aren't.

And it is Lum's bioweapon. Instance may have developed it and used Tangent to help, who in turn used Sol, and Instance was almost certainly doing bioweapons research before the Heliopause landed (certainly, Tangent says some unhinged things about their research that foreshadow the bioweapon from an early age), but Instance had more reason than ego to be against deploying this particular bioweapon.

Instance is such a complicated character, really. If you try to convince her to support Marz's bid by saying that Lum's war on nature is stupid, she says she supports it, even if she thinks Lum is an idiot and "war" isn't the right way of understanding what she wants to do. She almost certainly is in favor of deploying bioweapons targeted against species they want to remove (again, I'm nearly certain she's been researching bioweapons at least as far back as when they were researching the Shimmer); she opposes this particular bioweapon because it's too indiscriminate for her tastes, perhaps, and a bit because Lum is calling the shots and she has reasons to hate him personally.

I think it's likely she was dragging her heels, too. There's an event if you assist the governor where you can (with very high Organizing) eavesdrop on her trying to control the access levels granted to nameless Helio scientists assigned to her department (there's a whole essay in how the Helios are treated by the narrative as a mostly-nameless mass right up until the narrative needs them), where Sol speculates that she's trying to keep them from uncovering the engineered plague, if they know about it, and that doesn't make sense on its face (or several other levels). Researchers who spent 20 years conducting research in a military environment would know how to act when someone in the lab next to you is working on a classified project. She's not scared they'd find out that she's working on a bioweapon for Lum, she's scared they'd find out she's not doing her best work.

(and if the Heliopause did have a bunch of "earth's top researchers" on it, why is it that under no circumstances can Lum put one of them in the second engineer job over an eighteen-year-old? she's a prodigy but earth has a huge population to draw top researchers from)

It's unlikely that the pre-Gardener vertumnan ecology had the same symbiotes as the current one does. It doesn't sound evolutionarily advantageous. It reminds me of how a cultivar of bananas have gone extinct, wiped out by disease, because that entire cultivar were clones, so they had exactly identical immune systems, so one parasite just swept through them. I am not a biologist, but parasite resistance is heavily-speculated as a driver for sexual reproduction according to wikipedia. There are pretty strong evolutionary pressures against being uniformly susceptible to the exact same parasites across a population.

So I kinda have to conclude that the Shimmer isn't a natural phenomenon. It's a fungal technology, part of the Gardeners. It's the way it is because they are the way they are.

[brineffxiv]

Tell them the truth about the Warriors of Light, they said.

It'll be best coming from you, they said.

...Is it too late to mention I get stage fright?

Ardbert, Brendan, Renda-Rae, Lamitt, and Nyelbert were true heroes possessed of uncommon compassion and virtue who didn't set out to save the world, but did anyway. They were used by sinister forces to trigger the flood and gave their lives to stop it happening, and when that didn't work they gave their souls as well. Ardbert additionally spent over a century trapped in a solitary hell for reasons he didn't understand (and believe me when I finally get a chance to speak with Hydaelyn we will be Having Words about that) before sacrificing himself to save me, personally, as well as the world in general, again. So stop treating them like villains, you hear?

Now there's an imposter running around and....

...He's here!

Faker! Imposter! Where's the blood on your axe you fraud! Too-perfect facsimile!

Poor Alphinaud and his phobia. It's a good thing he couldn't see the real Ardbert when he actually was a ghost.

Liar liar pants on fire.

Oh thank goodness I'm not falling for this shit.

Oh shit, well that cat's out of the bag.

Uh. Er. Well, he's not wrong about that?

...Honestly I cannot figure what this guy's motive is. It cannot be what it looks on his face. He's gotta be sinister in some way... but everything he's saying is... good stuff? Become the hero you want to see in the world and all.

Very good points Urianger. You are the expert on secrets, I trust your instincts.

Oh I forgot G'raha had no way of knowing what Ardbert looked like.

Okay, Ardbert is definitely still part of me. Good to know.

Right, it's like it's his corpse... walking... around...

I've seen this before. Someone showing up, acting close but not quite right, when I know they're dead.

That bastard.

That fucker.

Elidibus you get your ass OUT of Ardbert's corpse this instant!

I swear to Zodiark and Hydaelyn both, I will make you regret this.

I feel like such a dumbass, lol, I should have realized it was Elidibus. He even said he was going to have me killed off by a Warrior of Light. I just. Didn't expect him to mean it quite like this. Himself as Ardbert.

Is that what was going on there? It was the Echo that let us see him? I'd thought he could just be selectively visible if he wanted.

Hey wait, does that mean, at the end of the fight against Emet-Selch, when he asked me to remember, could none of the rest of my friends see him? Since he didn't have a body at the time?

Oh. Oh, I didn't even think of that! Interesting. You're right, I would make an ideal host for an Ascian, if they could actually use me in that way. I wonder why not?

Damn, too bad Emet's not here, I bet he'd tell us. ...I miss Emet.

Yeah, knowing who "Ardbert" really is doesn't clear up any of his plans at all. Presumably he is trying to kill me, but I don't see how recruiting new warriors of light would make that happen. None of these people want me dead, and after what I've done for them I can hardly imagine anything he could do to change that.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Okay, quick Taskmaster liveblogging this week. I’m fucking exhausted after a long and shitty week at work, I got home from work just after 7 PM, made myself some food, and I am now very pleased to get to sit down with a meal and the new Taskmaster episode. I do not have the energy to do what I sometimes do with these, which is take notes constantly through the whole episode. But I know I’ll want to say some things about it. So I will use this document as a thing to write down quick little things when they occur to me occasionally, rather than trying to cover the whole episode. It’s nice to have this back in my life for nine more weeks (well, eight more now, I guess).

Thoughts on Taskmaster s16e02, written as I watch it:

- I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: the funniest introductions are the ones where Greg pretends that Alex is right-wing for no reason.

- “Best sign” – I’m amazed that wasn’t taken already. You’d think Taskmaster would be out of the one-word ones, which is why they have to use “most < adjective > < noun >”, instead of just “most < adjective >” thing or “best < noun >”. But there’s still more stuff to do. I like that one, open-ended enough to leave room for interpretation, but still some solid boundaries they’ll have to stay within.

- It feels a bit like cheating for Sue Perkins to use her celebrity stories to garner points against people who just can’t compete with a story of the time Claudia Winkleman helped her steal a sign from the BBC. But I did enjoy that one.

- God, do I ever want to go to the British Library with Sam Campbell and steal shit. I think he wins in terms of aspirational stories, I’d rather rob the British Library with Sam Campbell than rob the BBC studios with Claudia Winkleman.

- I have seen the first three seasons of Meet the Richardsons (did not watch season 4 this year and I think I’ll probably leave it there, but I’m not sorry I watched it), and it’s definitely not the best show in the world, but one of my favourite parts was how cool that pub looked. That’s aspirational, it’s exactly the sort of thing I’d do if I had the money that they have. Make a full pub in your backyard where you can get the nice feeling of a pub but without the drawbacks, such as people you don’t know being in it and having to commute there and back (particularly bad, after drinking). Fucking lovely. The Jon Richardson I got attached to from radio 8 Out of 10 Cats/early Catsdown hasn’t existed for a long time, and that’s probably for the best and I’m glad he’s gone off to be happy even if I don’t find him as entertaining anymore, but I did enjoy seeing that pub in Meet the Richardsons like an example of success. Good for him. Nice prize, Lucy. You’re right, there is a warm feeling to it.

- Sammy C bringing his own equipment to the tasks. Following on from a couple of things he did last week, establishing a pattern of him doing things as a bit, because they are comedic, but also they happen to possibly give him an advantage in points. As someone who is backing him like he’s a sports team to win this season, I approve of this pattern.

- Listen, strange women standing around in Chiswick pulling on facsimile swords is no basis for a system of government. But I don’t know, maybe we should let Lucy Beaumont try running the UK for a year and see where they end up.

- I thought I wasn't going to do screenshots in this episodes, because these posts take so much longer when I stop to copy screenshots. But I have to say, the first proper laugh came from Sue throwing away the comment "I mean I want to go Widdicombe", then stopping, realizing what she'd just said, and you can watch the answer hit her:

Aw, I've just remembered the existence of that panel show hosted by Sue Perkins with Josh Widdicombe and Richard Osman as team captains, Insert Name Here. Slightly flimsy premise, uneven guests and execution, but three people who are so good at being on panel shows that it entertained me all the way through anyway.

I watched that show about 2 years ago when I was mainly into panel shows and thought Josh Widdicombe was a brilliant TV comedian who just happened to make not-great stand-up - now that I'm more into stand-up than panel shows, that flaw seems more significant than it used to. Also, I've given up on The Last Leg because they've gone all pro-monarchy but also if I'm honest they've been leaning toward the bland centre for a while (though I maintain that it had some years of being much better than that). But there was a time when Josh Widdicombe was one of my favourites of all these comedians, I still think he's very good on panel shows, so I'm enjoying his little cameo here (I did guess that Widdicombe was the answer as soon as Sue said "Devon", because what the hell else is from Devon?). Nice to honour both the first Taskmaster champion, and the first two-time champion.

On the subject of Sue Perkins and Josh Widdicombe existing in the same universe, aside from their endearing panel show Insert Name Here, remember that time when Sue Perkins went on The Last Leg wearing a Patti Smith shirt and one time she messed up her hair for no reason and I had to save that as a gif because I think it might be the cure for female heterosexuality?

- Watching this task for the second time, now that I know the answer. Obviously the foot that says “Greg” is a reference to Josh getting Greg’s name tattooed on his foot during season 1. “Devon” is where he’s from, as he talks about every time he’s on TV. But how does he make his hair smart? Is it just a reference to the fact that for a long time he was known for a particular haircut? Am I forgetting about something in the Josh Widdicombe canon (I say “forgetting” rather than “not knowing” because I have seen a hell of a lot of the things he’s done, including hundreds of hours of The Last Leg, arguably too many hours of The Last Leg…)? You’d think it would just be a reference to something he did on Taskmaster, like the tattoo. The main things Josh Widdicombe did on Taskmaster besides get a tattoo, I think, was count beans and fail to guess the rules of Alex Squash.

With Diamonds Come Bears was such an opaque club that they had to put it on the screen for us to understand it even once we did know the answer, but apparently the letters kind of line up. Then there’s that family tree showing how he’s descended from royalty, which he worked out from Who Do You Think You Are, and now talks about it every time he’s on TV.

- Interrupting my list of Widdicombe clues to say, why did Sam Campbell say Katherine Ryan has nothing to do with hair but “Bob Mortimer, that’s hair!” One of those people has objectively more hair than the other, and it’s not the one he described as “that’s hair!”.

- Did no one think before setting this task to check that Julian Clary has heard of Josh Widdicombe? That was pretty funny, watching Julian Clary walk around being unable to finish a task because he doesn't know Josh Widdicombe's name. Come on, Taskmaster, the small and nasally man with the short hair got a tattoo for this show. He does not deserve to have an entire task set up to emphasize the fact that Julian Clary doesn't know his name (he does, it was quite funny).

- Alex Horne, before this season started (paraphrased because I cannot be bothered to look up the actual quote): One contestant in particular put me in my place.

Julian Clary: "What sorts of people enjoy this show? Is it students?" "You're interesting, aren't you? Would you call yourself a charismatic man?"

- Susan Wokoma declaring that sexy dog subverts stereotypes made me laugh, Julian Clary referencing his dead art teacher very much added to that. I've watched most of the second task by now without stopping to write much because it's getting late and I'm tired, but that was fun.

- Lovely titled drop from Susan Wokoma. Very well delivered "Hell is here." She was kind of the quiet one last episode, is definitely making more of a mark this time.

-

- Look, if I wanted to be pedantic, I could make the argument that Sam Campbell's picture was much better than everyone else's and showed off artistic skill that clearly the others do not have, even though Sue Perkins' drawing was quite amusing, and therefore Sam deserved the five points alone. I mean, technically it was the best cheeky picture, not the cheekiest picture, and no matter how cheeky Sue's picture was, it wasn't as good a picture as Sam's. And if Sam Campbell loses this whole season to Sue Perkins by one point, I will absolutely be repeatedly making that argument that he was robbed in this task. But okay, fine, the idea of Sue Perkins making a dick joke is amusing. And yes, I'm aware that I'm watching Taskmaster wrong.

- Secret task gets mentioned again. I think the funniest option would be if it does exist, but it's useless. Like if there's a secret task somewhere telling them to do something huge and difficult and time-consuming and they have several months to do it and they have to bring it to the studio to complete it, and someone does do that, and then it's worth like half a point. Yeah it's a joke they've done before, but not for a while. They've used the idea sparingly enough in recent seasons so I think they could bring it back.

- Lucy Beaumont doing mischief by being an unethical fake psychic pretending to communicate with the dead to swindle people is a bit of a weird light given that I now know she does genuinely, literally believe in ghosts.

- Hang on. Hang on. Are they allowed to do that? They can set tasks for each other? A genuine first in a Taskmaster history, I'm almost sure. Susan Wokoma is out here re-inventing the game. I kind of want to know if anyone else in Taskmaster history has tried to affect one of their competitors' games and been told they're not allowed to, because if so, that's not fair to them that Susan could. But if she was the first person to think of it, then fair play to her.

To stop watching Taskmaster wrong (like a sports fan) for a moment and start watching it right (like a comedy fan), God that was funny. Watching Sam Campbell stand up and sit down and be so earnest about it and genuinely engaged and find a workaround to draw extra mice for extra points, while knowing it was all for nothing, was very funny. It's Widdicombe counting beans again. It's the thing I think they should do with the secret task. It's really funny to watch someone try hard when we know something they don't.

- After pretending to smash up Alex Horne's phone, I waited for what Sam Campbell would say, as he's had great lines throughout this show so far. But actually, I think leaving the room after saying nothing was the funniest thing he could have done. Solid instincts there.

- Sam Campbell threatens to make a prank phone call. Julian Clary writes prank longhand letters. The generational divide, everyone.

- Well, normally in my posts, I start out writing relatively little about things, and write more and more as the post goes along, so the things I write about later in the post get expanded on way more than the earlier things. This one is the opposite, because as I said, it's late and I've gotten more tired as it's gone along.

So I've finished the episode. I enjoyed the live task. I do always like the "do something while keeping eye contact with Greg" tasks. The main thing I have to say about that live task is... I don't know if this is quite the hardest I've laughed at season 16 so far. But it's definitely the longest. As in, I'm exhausted right now, I worked long hours today and long hours yesterday and it a few really stressful days and a long week and it's fairly late and I feel like my brain is fried, and for reasons I definitely cannot fully explain (if pressed, I could explain maybe about 20% of why this happened, at the most), this exact frame made me laugh uncontrollably for several minutes:

I just paused the video, stared at the screen, and could not stop laughing. There's a cat my lap the looked annoyed about it. Every time I tried to play the video again and move on with my life, I'd look at some new part of it and keep laughing. I took a screenshot so I can have it forever. The 20% that I can explain about why that happened does, again, involve using the word "earnest" to describe Sam Campbell's expression.

I also enjoyed Sue and Julian drawing the same thing (people who are older than the other contestants and also more famous than the other contestants and also gay are on the same wavelength as each other, apparently). And I liked Lucy Beaumont's peas.

I also enjoyed them bringing in another NZ task as the tiebreaker. Well done to Sue. I always like watching the rote memorization tasks, mainly because that's a skill I enjoy practising myself and I like to see if I can beat the contestants at it. I used to know pi to lots of places, back in high school, but I couldn't do that now. Could I memorize more digits than Sue did in the same number of seconds? Don't know, and am not awake enough to try it right now. Some other time.

I'm now going to sleep for a number of hours with two digits in it. Maybe three.

[whisperthatruns]

An Aria

How do I get my mind back? Yes, my mind. The fascist, that murderer of half a million, never had my body. My body has been owned, but not by him. I never liked backtracking. Brush Road, Born Street. I’ve walked those roads before, barefoot. There is no going back to Born. No mind left behind to recoup. It’s like donated clothes you try to buy back from the sucker who’s already wearing them. But there is something to be claimed. Some comrade to bust out of jail who can’t see the way forward even when you crack the chains. In my pre-tit days, I’d walk to the empty outdoor theater and sit on the playground equipment beneath the screen. Everything in that place was silver. Gravel, playground horses, and rocket ships whose paint had chipped away by wind and time. I knew nothing larger than that screen. No god so sublime. Silver-white against the whiter clouds. Peppered with purple bird shit. When night falls, anything can project itself against a face like that. Cartoons, or Vixen, rated X. When the free-show man came to town, he’d hang a sheet between two trees and project cowboy movies against it. Kids sat on the grass eating popcorn from greasy paper bags, watching ads scroll down the screen. Popcorn wasn’t free. A free show is never really free. Do you think someone didn’t die on that sheet hung between two trees? I once received a letter from the current lover of the love of my life telling me he’d overdosed and died. She wrote on thin blue paper etched with flowers. An act of grace I hadn’t earned. I’d left him behind knowing it was just a matter of time. My mind has grown wooden around love, like a tree that has nearly swallowed a garden gate where lovers met at moonrise when the air was thick with Hesperis. A musty, fatal scent, like punks who refused to bathe. Lovers long dead, gate now opening only to the tree’s heartwood. My son’s first love was Anne Frank, after he read her diary. He was eight, drawing portraits of her day and night. I must have Anne, he said when I tucked him in, though he knew she was dead, whatever that means. This is the mind, sepia, color of dried blood. Maybe the first love is the best love. The first loss, the worst. If so, mine came early. The rest is repetition compulsion, iterations until the ink runs dry. Still, remembering wakes my mind a little, or some facsimile of the mind I used to be. All activities of the mind now seem quaint, like dolls with lace faces unearthed from beneath the attic stairway. My feelings, too, smothered like a kingdom of bees so the buzzing doesn’t draw attention to their honey. Now, to unmuffle myself, I read Keats’ love letters, written in a tubercular fever, then listen to Marquee Moon, album by Television, that Tom Verlaine band, so aggressive live it made me start my period, leave a lyric bloodstain on the chair. Then I play “Gimme Shelter” on repeat to be awash in the supremacy of Merry Clayton’s background vocals. Called into the studio in the middle of the night, cold, hair in curlers, pregnant, pushed out her scream- song aria three times, and miscarried a daughter the next day. She blamed it on the song but not her voice. When she woke after a car accident, years later, with amputated legs, she asked only about her voice. Mother, may I sing again? May I see again, not a symbol of a flower but Hesperis, tolls again in the wind again. Flower of an hour. A fragrant hour. Its face, skin, smile, its opening again, the curtain of petals closing over its face again. May I take the murdered world in? Sing of it again?

Diane Seuss (The Adroit Journal, 2024)

[dorminchu]

careful fear and dead devotion

"Just look at me," she says, framing his face in her hands. "Nowhere else." [eremika, ch 138]

a/n: tumblr keeps devouring the formatting. you can also find this fic on ao3 or ffnet.

The cabin, he must have built with his hands. There is a ford, and a well from which he draws water. Beyond the mountains there's just the horizon.

She follows him inside when he bids her. He keeps closer than usual to her, as he fixes dinner—rice and the mushrooms he'd picked. When she looks at his face, boyish, there's unbroken skin.

He smells of sweat and dirt and when his arms encircle her waist, pulling her to him, he presses his nose into her hair and hums. This world is theirs. Anything is possible.

It used to bother him, when they were trainees and she would shadow him during ODM gear sessions. She was simply following the instructor's techniques, she'd say. If he were serious about joining any military branch, he had to practice until he stopped making mistakes. She offered to help him, but he'd always find Armin or Annie or someone else who did not ever hold him as he woke up, trembling.

At fifteen, all he had was his boyish pride, and her and Armin. He'd never be too cruel. There were words and deeds, and those you couldn't undo with an apology or years of silence and patience. At fifteen, she had nothing to her name but the clothes on her back, and his mother's promise. If he injured himself, she'd do whatever it took to get him medicine. Her score was high enough. She'd join the Military Police and send money back to him, and even if he complained about it he'd have no choice but to understand.

Each time he bursts from the Titan's nape, covered in blood, all that matters is his safety. He turns away from her, the way he used to when Corporal Levi visited his holding cell, but he doesn't speak of nightmares as he used to. She's always been here for him, the same as Armin has.

Now, buried in the throat of this Titan, he leads this death march to the ends of the earth, and it is still Eren, no longer the boy she loved. From his corpse, facsimiles of old comrades and enemies are begotten and destroyed. An endless well of creation, blurring the lines between order and fantasy.

Nothing will stay her hand.

They eat in silence, and when he stands, his eyes glint in the twilight. There is a weight in his eyes, and ever since the Queen's coronation he has become unreachable, a stranger with Eren's eyes and smell and voice. Eradicating the titans, to their enemy on the other side of the ocean.

He's trembling, on the cusp of whatever has been eroding him during those ten months abroad. He stands, walks over as if to take her plate, hesitates. "I'm sorry, Mikasa. I wanted to keep you safe but I couldn't."

She reaches out and touches his wrist, warm and solid. He does not snap, or push her away. His eyes narrow, looking at a point beyond her shoulder, and there's a set to his jaw that he's kept since ten years old. Tears spring to her eyes but do not fall.

"Whatever it is you have to do," he says quietly, brushing her hand away, taking her plate, "I don't hate you for it."

He maintains distance, moving to the kitchen counter. He stops in-place.

"I've been such a piece of shit to you." A catch enters his voice, corrodes his composure. "I should've been taking care of you, and—"

"—Eren."

The chair squeaks against hardwood. On her feet, she closes the distance between them in uncertain strides, until she's able to reach out and touch his naked forearm. He flinches, spins around. His face crumples, as if he's about to cry. She looks into his eyes, past the agony within to the same boy, covered in blood, grasping the hilt of the knife.

Her wrist prickles.

"You don't have to fight anymore." She wraps her arm around his broad back. "I'm here."

In Marley, he smelt like beer and his lips parted on a slow intake of breath as she pressed her mouth over his. He'd groped for her wrists, didn't push her away but didn't kiss back, just breathing slowly against her lips. Her heart in her throat, she broke away first. Shut her eyes against the hot sting of tears, because what had she expected? He'd never called her sister, or asked why she referred to his mother as Aunt Karla. He would protect her with his life, but not beg for her exoneration, the way he did Annie's.

This tenuous thread of trust between them, she'd had to rebuild since reaching the basement of his childhood home, since losing Hannes, Reiner and Bertholdt, each loss in his stead widened the rift between them. Her stomach twisted at the thought of the day where no affection could reach him, when he'd shut out the world and engulf himself within that unknowable burden of his father's inheritance.

She wasn't Annie, or Historia or his half-brother. She could kill a hundred Titans but she couldn't defend him from despair.

Maybe he wasn't the only one who was tired. It would be nice sometimes, if he stopped to notice her and Armin and be a little considerate. She could wait, for him she would always wait, but not forever.

He stared, hazy and indolent. "You don't have to be strong all the time," he said, a slow-dawning smile. "Not for me. I would never ask you to be."

No matter what his Titan is capable of, there are limitations to a mortal body. Despite his heart's inclinations, despite her Ackerman genes, neither can move mountains for the other. It's just a figure of speech, a child's wishful hyperbole. 

They lie together on the small bed, and it's enough just to look at him as he is, not entombed within hemic tissue, burning alive. He cups her face. His thumb brushes the scar along her cheek, and he's present, unwavering, in a way he has not been since Shiganshina.

He doesn't tense up when she presses her hand to his nape. The shape of his mouth thins, fighting against whatever self-imposed transgression kept him company. His eyes glimmer in the crimson light beyond the window.

Mikasa does not look. She has seen sunset many times before. She will only see him once.

The Titan's mouth hangs open, inert.

His hair falls limply into his face, caked with dry blood. His body has melted away from the neck down, leaving only the spinal cord. The Founder's bloody tissue wraps around what remains like a cord of rope, lacerations hewn into his jaw and temples. His nostrils flare at her approach. His eyelids flicker, as though sleeping.

She raises the blade.

"Just look at me," she says, framing his face in her hands. "Nowhere else."

[violetren]

Just watched Superheroes and Huntsmen Part One and as a RWBY fan and someone who likes DC heroes in general, I had a great time.

I really loved how they used the fact that everyone knew it was a crossover to their advantage to create a kinda slow boil effect around RWBY details not being quite right. Like a lot of it isn't even subtle (Yang having her prosthetic but being in Volume 1 gear, Grimm glitching immediately, the absence of Blake and Weiss in a pre-fall setting and so on) and yet you're so caught up in the action and in Clark's frantic confusion and the fact that it's a weird ass multiversal cross over that you just sorta rationalise it.

"Of course things are unnatural and weird Clark literally just said that he wasn't supposed to be here and his presence probably fucked up reality somehow. I wonder what time and space shenanigans the JL were involved in to digitise Grimm."

But the weird keeps piling on and by the time you're watching Jaques Schnee be little more than aggrieved and dismissive of Weiss yelling at him at a party, or "volume 1" Weiss having the confidence to do so without fear of retribution you're like "Oh shit is fucked up fucked up, we aren't in Atlas as sure as Clark ain't in Kansas."

From there it's what I can only really call lowstakes Remnant/classic superhero fair. Lots of cool combat, fun, quippy super dialogue, just a touch of personal pain and struggle but hardly enough to register for someone who just finished RWBY volume 9. It was fun.

There were some tiny characterisation things with the RWBY cast that all fell easily within the scope of the fact that they were actively force-fed a false reality and so didn't really strain at suspension of disbelief.

And then there was the DC cast.

I went in expecting to leave wondering why they didn't just use one of their several canon groups of teen heroes, which seems to be a common complaint. After watching it I'm not wondering and I don't think they made some egregious error in judgement using the Justice League.

I might revise my opinion by a great deal if in the next movie the Justice League are still teenagers but honestly I'm curious as hell to see the Huntsmen interact with grown versions of the heroes who haven't had all their insecurities pulled to the forefront, and seeing the Justice League react to the fact that the Huntsmen, while clearly more experienced and steady in their proper ages, are still barely more than children.

I know Doyalist logic for choosing the Justice League probably heavily relates to cold hard cash and someone upstairs incorrectly assuming that it wouldn't be as much of a draw without the Trinity and their current league headliners, and while it's sorta disappointing it's not surprising in the least. I'm choosing to be glad the writers landed on such a cool way to work with the restrictions on rights uses that they were given.

From a Watsonian perspective the idea of forcing them all back to a time where they weren't as good as emotional regulation but keeping them stacked with their big adult emotions to be dealt with in that compromised state while in a facsimile of a world where too much negative emotion makes you bait for murderous monsters is about as solid as most super-villain plans get. It's a plan that would have been even more fucked up and fatal in enacted against teens and turning them to kidlets which circles back into a Doyalist POV in that Of Fucking Course they couldn't have team RWBY fighting alongside prepubescent superheroes. Kids looking after tots is a story for in universe, in fandom, or at least for much more strongly connected multiverses. Sure they could have picked a different plot, but at that point they knew they weren't gonna be able to use teen titans and why not use a cool idea if you have it?

In comparison to my love of RWBY I'm a much more casual comics fan and so while I recognised all the characters in play for half of them I only had broad strokes type knowledge of them learned from fandom and advertising of some of their more popular runs.

To that end the characters I got felt like they hit the broad strokes a casual fan might know and then put them through the same funhouse mirror that teams RWBY and JNR went through being forced into a fake world where nothing was familiar and yet seemed unavoidably real AND needing to readjust to being teens and all the fucked up brain chemistry that comes with that All Over Again. For RWBY and JNR the effect was a little less pronounced due to teenagedom really not being that long ago (and still a reality for Ruby), but of course it showed more obviously in the Justice League members making choices and saying shit their adult counterparts straight up just wouldn't say or do. That was flat out stated in text as the whole point of making them teens again!

I do sorta get why die hard fans of specific characters might feel that those characters weren't done justice but like, that's comics babes. Why would you expect them to do better in an outside of continuity crossover with an anime? Like it's hard enough in any medium to get good properly explored characterisation after a cast has more than like 2 people in their own world nevermind in a massive ensemble multiversal crossover.

As I said before I reserve judgement on hating teeny bopper justice league until I see what state they're in for Part 2. As a stand alone though I think they did fine but that is heavily influenced by the fact that at the end of the day I care more about RWBY than any of the dc characters they included and I was probably quite lucky in that respect.

If I were to register a complaint it would probably be the Weiss and Bruce of it all but it was actually really really easy to just step back and ignore any weak romantic subplot vibes when ultimately it was obvious they were never going to build to anything and when you paused to look at it through the lens of Two Smart Lonely Uber-Rich Kids Who Forged Themselves Into Weapons To Fight For Justice Having Empathy For One Another.

Also it gave us "scientifically minded and highly computer literate Weiss" in what was at least an official story even if it wasn't mainline canon continuity and I love that for her.

[denimbex1986]

'The lack of advance detail about this episode had led to wild speculation about it possibly featuring returning actors, characters and monsters, while Doctor Who magazine even had a redacted cast list last month. Some pondered whether Ncuti Gatwa might put in an early cameo as the Fifteenth Doctor opposite David Tennant. In the end, it was a multi-Doctor adventure of sorts, just perhaps not in the way some people had been hoping.

Effectively a two-hander for Tennant and Catherine Tate’s Donna, it explored a theme we’ve seen before in Who during stories such as Listen or Flatline – that there is something nameless and shapeless lurking at the edge of our understanding of the universe, and it is coming to get us. This time, though, it came disturbingly in the misshapen form of Tennant and Tate themselves.

The show’s bigger budget was evident on screen, as that was surely the longest corridor the Doctor has ever run down, and the hover-car put the Segways the Doctor and Donna rode in her 2006 debut, the Runaway Bride, to shame. The robot looked like it would have been fun if it had been given anything much to do, but that it was doing not very much, and doing it very slowly, turned out to be the point.

This story hinged on the performance of the two stars and the work of the design and VFX teams. Tennant and Tate were impeccable. The look, feel and realism of the shape-shifting menace varied. As specials go, it didn’t feel as special as the Star Beast had the week before, but it finished with a lovely dose of the much-missed Bernard Cribbins, and the set-up for what looks to be next week’s explosive finale of the Fourteenth Doctor’s brief but welcome era.

Sum it up in one sentence?

The Doctor and Donna get the runaround on a giant slowly self-destructing spaceship … and find they are chasing themselves.

Life aboard the Tardis It didn’t take place in the Tardis, and it wasn’t with the real Donna, but as promised by Russell T Davies in advance, this episode firmly asserted that the destruction of half the universe during Flux, and that the Doctor was not born on Gallifrey, are facts in the Whoniverse. This will disappoint a vocal section of fandom that were rather hoping the new showrunner was going to airbrush out or undo the Timeless Child concept introduced during Jodie Whittaker’s tenure by Chris Chibnall.

Fear factor Remembering that there are children in the audience, this special managed to balance the chilling idea that someone – or something – is gradually becoming the perfect facsimile of you, with the frankly laugh-out-loud unexpected giant stunt arms.

Mysteries and questions This didn’t feel like it had any elements in it setting up story or character arcs, with the main mystery being why the Doctor usually uses the sonic screwdriver to read every alien spaceship control panel they come across if they can just do it themselves by translating some numbers. And is it really “mavity” now?

Deeper into the vortex *The Hostile Action Displacement System of the Tardis was first introduced in 1968 Second Doctor story the Krotons, and barely mentioned again until it was the reason for the Eleventh Doctor and Clara to get stranded on a sinking submarine in 2013’s Cold War. * The Fourth Doctor once told Romana in the Douglas Adams-penned the Pirate Planet that he had to give Isaac Newton “a bit of a prod” to discover mavity – by climbing up a tree, dropping an apple on his head, then explaining it to him “afterwards at dinner”. * The actor playing the Doctor has faced off against themselves playing the villain before, notably with Patrick Troughton playing both the Time Lord and the evil dictator Ramón Salamander in 1967’s Enemy of the World, and Tom Baker getting made up to look like a cactus as the anti-hero in 1980’s Meglos.

Next time Neil Patrick Harris! The Celestial Toymaker! A doll sending the whole world mad with its giggle! And presumably, as it has been in the trailers, we get to see Jemma Redgrave back as Unit’s Kate Stewart in their swish new Avengers Tower knock-off in London, and hopefully a little more Bernard Cribbins.'

[campbluelake]

Her Judgment

It is something Abigail Bradley should be used to at this point in her existence. This sort of experience should be nothing more than an old friend she’s grown close to over time. This experience is, naturally, seeing those that she loved and was loved by (thought she was loved by, at least) be torn to pieces in front of her, their gore painting the insides of her eyelids for the rest of eternity. Max eats her only family’s heart, silencing him forever to protect the world from his foul actions, and Abbie…

Abbie feels.

There is no burst of warmth, though. There is no anger or pounding misery. There is only that familiar, lonely static. 

As she watches her family die in front of her for the second time, becoming an orphan once again, Abbie submits to the clawing apathy that threatened to overtake her 309 years before. Perhaps this time, the world will allow her to see her life flash before her eyes before death takes her–in that moment, she’ll be able to see the faces of all those she’s ever cared about. It would be nice to see them one last time, to be able to remember their faces as she wishes more than anything for them to know how desperately she yearns for a world where they truly had been protected, had been saved by someone.

Laying there on the ground and feeling the grass against her cheek, she breathes in deeply, prepared for these moments to be her last. The imitation of the scent of summer, the distant noises of the counselors she cares for (the very ones she just now tried to kill), and the gentle coolness of the early evening air…

[♫♫♫]

There is a breeze.

It sways gently the facsimile of leaves on the town square’s tree, still standing tall despite the carnage endured here. It carries a warmth that starkly reminds you that the wind Abbie has conjured for you these many months was nothing more than an imperfect approximation. This, you realize, is real.

As suddenly as the breeze began, it dies away.

A woman stands among you. You do not know who she is nor when she arrived; only that she is here now.

Her otherwise unassuming presence realized, the woman strides forward on bare ivory feet toward where Abigail lays. In her wake, the scent of rain and damp soil remains. Something inside of you – something primal, instinctive – keeps you rooted to your spot as you watch the distance between her and the abandoned thrall grow shallow.

You blink once. She is a dire wolf, dwarfing Abigail in size. Her maw opens; a thousand cicadas speak.

“Forsaken child of man; unwitting deceiver who weaves vulgar mockeries of my gifts. To find reprieve in this apathy is a privilege of which you are undeserving. By my judgment, it is revoked.”

The dire wolf’s maw drips with the heat of summer lightning. Pungent ozone spreads thick through the air, and it is by the primal instinct keeping you silent that you identify what now speaks to Abbie. There is no primitive fear more powerful than that of Nature’s ambivalent fury.

A heavy paw is placed on Abbie’s back; around her neck, the jaws of an atlas bear hang slack. Through raging torrent and pounding thunder, Her judgment is further delivered.

“Henceforth, each snuffed flame of a stolen life will burn deep in your breast. The pain of their loss at your hands; the pain of those left behind in their absence; the centuries of torment you have created; you will know this pain intimately. Every moment of your days, you will be ravaged by the knowledge that there is no mending the broken lives left in your wake. So shall the weight of your misdeeds weigh as heavy as they should.”

An ebony hand ghosts across the back of Abbie’s neck, fingers finding her hair. Humanity is a beast of nature, and She wears no single face. This new one parts its lips; from them, the melody of a bubbling brook.

“But I see you now, child. I have known that which brought you to these ends. An aberrant fate has befallen you by unnatural means, and it is in part by my own erring. There is mercy in my judgment. Through it, I offer you penance; a chance to do the good that you meant to do.”

[mickules]

I feel so bad for Michi. Not only does he lose another brother, but he has to be told about why Mondo was executed and the lie he told the gang. Would he ever forgive him?

ANGST TIME! USE YOUR DISCRETION! dark themes ahead - canonical character death, injury and pink blood

Takemichi is smart, and more than that he knows the brothers. I've no doubt that he never took the accident at face value, never quite believed the narrative that Daiya got greedy and stupid and lost his life over it, but I don't think the would have realised the extent of Mondo's secrecy. Discovering the truth, and what Mondo was willing to do to run from it would be a cold, devastating shock to the system. But worse than that, Takemichi knows that had Mondo ever revealed the lie to him or the gang before the tragedy, He might not have been able to forgive him. Might not have been able to be there for Mondo the way he needed him, and Takemichi hates himself for it. Because now, he'd do anything, forgive anything if it meant he could have Mondo and the Diamonds back.

[from one of my angst comics] When Takaaki and Takemichi first cross paths in the demon hunting game, Takaaki was less than lucid - injured, paranoid, angry and a hair's breadth from giving into despair, latching onto Takemichi as a facsimile of his son was something of a defense mechanism. He moved beyond that quite quickly, bolstered by just how different Michi was compared to Taka, but still would suffer lapses of judgment after the more gruelling days. Once the game is over, and Takaaki has regained what little stability he could, he no longer gets the boys confused, but it takes longer for him to realise quite how much of his behaviour Michi had internalised.

@mypeacockfeathers (!!Takaaki connoisseur is HIGH PRAISE!! :D) Taichi surviving the game would definitely throw Takaaki for a loop. He knows the too kind, too trusting, too soft Taichi might be better off if he passed away, his injuries life altering and the world a nightmare; but Takaaki desperately wants him to live. He'd hate to admit it but he wants Taichi to survive for the small comfort to know there's someone, just one who might share Takaaki's pain, the loss of their child. Almost as a penance for the self-centred desire to be understood Takaaki takes it upon himself to tell Taichi of Chihiro's fate once he has healed enough to bear it, and he keeps a vigil so that he does not have to wake up alone.

---

Takaaki would hold no grudge against Fujiko, but he would also make no effort to reach out preferring to keep to himself and the very few that he instils any trust into (really only Takemichi, Taichi and Hiro. Hiroko is another matter since she has trouble forgiving any loss of life, and struggles to come to terms with the deaths that occured at Takaaki's hands whilst surviving the game) Fujiko in turn would find Takaaki absolutely terrifying and would avoid him at all costs. If they could bridge that gap, they might get along, but it also might take more effort than it's worth.

(GODDAMN @hawklanthebard , you are genuinely responsible for a decent chunk of my angst content XD) (EDIT: [EXCELLENT FIC OF THIS CONCEPT])

Oh boy, Takaaki would never forgive him. He might even do something he'd regret. . . ON A LIGHTER NOTE; I don't believe Mondo would ever have the forethought to check for a pulse, especially when he's panicking - maybe Taka is totally fine! . . . maybe. . .

in reference to the asks under the read more of [this post]

we really just gonna put Takaaki through the wringer ain't we

Haiji as a counterpart to Takaaki works far better than I'd like: Takaaki: a good man who has had to do bad things, and Haiji: a bad man who just so happens to have done good things (of course Dangan, you coulda done ANYTHING ELSE to have made it clear Haiji was a wrong'un but you had to go and make him a NONCE)

As such, unfortunately, when it comes to imprisonment with no evidence of the crime, it comes down to their own consciences to condemn them. Although Takaaki would stand by his actions and, if he had to do everything over again might even have repeated them; he would not refute his crimes. Even though he believes them absolutely necessary, if demanded of him, he would serve his punishment since he would be weighed down in a way that Haiji never would be.

In a world of despair, it's not those who actually deserve to be punished that get their just rewards (and lord knows Haiji bloody deserves it)

---

You're absolutely right; Takaaki's life has been a constant battle against a rising tide and when that dam bursts, the one thing that's been holding him together- anything getting in the way of the torrent that's unleashed, would be cataclysmic. It's just as well none of the Warriors of Hope actually had the misfortune to find him.

---

You have my apologies my good anon! But it hurts so good: Like a nut-shot to the HEART

(previous set of angst asks [under this illustration])

[nobodyfamousposts]

My-Crack-Ulous: FOP Crossover

*Coughs* Ahem.

Fairly Odd Parents.

Oh, but not what you think! We’re not getting Cosmo and Wanda for a sad Marinette or Adrien. Oh, no...that would be easy.

No, no. Instead, we’re getting Norm the Genie.

Norm the Genie who wants to be free of his lamp but needs a magical stooge to trap in his place and, hey! Kwamis are magic, aren’t they? Not that he knows much about them since they predate the known universe and even Norm isn’t that old, but still!

So somehow Norm’s lamp ends up in Paris. And just happens to end up in Lila’s hands.

Lila, of course, tries to use it to her advantage.

It goes about as well as you should expect...

____________________

It took a few years before Norm’s lamp found itself back in the human world. And of course, it was only a matter of time before it ended up in someone’s hands.

Granted, he hadn’t expected to end up in Paris, France.

Or for his new beneficiary to wear an incredibly unfashionable jacket and have sausages in her hair.

Oh wait, that was her hair. As sausages. Gross.

“So you’re a genie?” She asked.

Norm had to avoid rolling his eyes.

Teenagers. They thought they were so special, so smart. That if something were to happen to them, that it was only for good and because they deserved it somehow. And for how smart they liked to think they were, none of them ever really questioned what the catch was. Or if their wishes were something they should make at all.

This one was no different.

“And you can grant me any wish?”

“Yep.”

“ANY wish?”

“I just said for the seventh time, yes. Any wish. Three of them. Rule-free.”

Not that she knew what Da Rules were, but meh. Details.

“Then I get sucked back into the lamp.”

Of course, he didn’t mention his propensity to twist the wishes for fun. Seriously, if these people were stupid enough to just take advantage of his powers without considering consequences. Or the complete lunacy of just expecting a magical creature to grant them whatever they wanted for no reason just because they ask for it.

Seriously, these chumps never learn.

Now all that remained was for this latest chump to start and he can begin his fun of finding the best ways to twist her wishes for entertainment…

Lila smirked.

“Well then…I wish for Ladybug to be beaten and forced to bow before me!”

Pause.

Norm raised an eyebrow.

“Wait—seriously?”

He shrugged.

“Okay.”

Suddenly, there was a POOF!

And when Lila blinked, there before her was the image of red with black spots.

Ladybug.

By which is meant the lowercase insect “ladybug” kind instead of the uppercase superhero “Ladybug” kind, much to Lila’s disappointment.

As if to further insult her, the bug proceeded to point in her direction, in a facsimile of a bow.

Lila stared.

Norm sighed.

“Ya know, kid, normally people don’t make it this easy. I barely even had to do anything. I feel kind of cheated.”

“WHAT IS THIS?!” Lila demanded, gesturing to the insect.

“It’s your wish. Duh. I mean, I knew people made stupid first wishes but...wow. This is actually worse than the sandwich.”

She wasn't even going to ask.

“My wish was about Ladybug! Not just a normal ladybug! I’m talking about the superhero, Ladybug!”

Norm shrugged. “Well you should have been more specific.”

She practically growled. “Who else would I be talking about?!”

Norm, for his part, was less than impressed.

“I’ve been in a lamp. How should I know?”

Lila huffed before storming over to her computer and turning it to face Norm, showing a picture of a heroine in a red leotard with black spots in mid-swing between buildings.

“THIS is Ladybug. A magical do-gooder who protects the city from Hawk Moth. I want to see her destroyed. Brought low in every way that matters and forced to beg me for mercy.”

“I see.” Norm said, not really getting it at all.

Kids these days, was he right?

“So grant my wish.” She demanded. “I wish for Ladybug, the superhero, to be beaten and kneeling before me.”

Upping it, wasn’t she?

He shrugged. “Fine.”

POOF!

Some distance away, in the middle of an akuma fight, an injured Ladybug was sent flying back into a delivery van full of discarded papers to be shredded for recycling, scattering the papers around her. Winded, she fell into a kneeling position. It just so happened that one of the many papers that on the ground right in front of her was a poster of Lila from one of her photo shoots with Adrien.

Ladybug took no notice of this, being much more concerned with the akuma attack. She quickly pushed herself up and leapt back into the fray.

Lila and Norm watched this on a television from the safety of her apartment some distance away.

“What the hell was that?!” Lila demanded, spinning on Norm.

“Your wish.” He answered bluntly. “She’s beaten. She kneeled.”

“But not to me!”

“Technically, she did.” He corrected her, gesturing to the TV where the now rumpled and sad-looking poster of her image rested where Ladybug had once been. It seemed the hero had even stepped on it once as she took off. Norm bit down the smirk at the unintended irony.

Lila glared at him.

Then she seemed to realize something as she suddenly gained a thoughtful look.

“Can I wish for more wishes?”

Oh, NOW she starts asking smart questions.

Norm stared at her, considering.

He should lie.

He really should lie and say she couldn’t.

From what he’s seen of her so far, this girl seemed a few wires short of a Crock-pot, and speaking of, he was starting to get some flashbacks. His previous time working with Crocker reminded him full well why it was a bad idea to let the humans know they could wish for additional wishes. Plus this girl was already giving him the feeling that the sooner he was away from her, the better.

…but he had spent years as a urinal cake and given what Lila had told him about magical-based superheroes, well, how could he turn away from an opportunity?

“Sure.” He finally answered, much to Lila’s glee.

“Then I wish for three more wishes!” She exclaimed. “And for my first wish, I wish that Ladybug—the superhero Ladybug whom you just saw would be forced to kneel before myself—the me that is right here before you.”

Lila smirked, figuring that it was specific enough that there was no way this could be turned against her.

How little she knew.

The POOF of Norm’s magic was immediately drowned out by complete chaos as something came crashing through the wall and into Lila’s bedroom.

Lila screamed as she was blown back, and covered her face in a limited ability to protect herself from further onslaught.

Coughing could be heard, but it wasn’t just Lila. She dared to peek through her hands and…

Of all people, it was Ladybug crouched on the floor of her room, coughing and waving away the dust and debris.

And sure enough, her position of trying to regain her bearings had her turned in Lila’s directions, head bowed and on her knees. Just as Lila had asked for.

But not in the way she had wanted.

Norm had conveniently vanished from sight, so there was no one else for Ladybug to see besides Lila. Realizing where she was and who she was in front of, Ladybug couldn’t hide her initial scowl before she was able to mask the expression and focus in on the task at hand.

“My apologies, civilian.” She bit out. “Akuma attack. Just stay here and stay safe for now. This won’t take much longer.”

And without another word, she shakily got to her feet and turned back to the attack.

Given Ladybug’s state, Lila could have been in a perfect position to try to interfere. Grab her. Maybe even get her earrings.

But the crash had sent Lila herself falling back, and she was even more unsteady than Ladybug.

She tried to push herself up, but realized that in the chaos, some debris had landed on her leg, preventing her from moving.

Of all the rotten luck!

Ladybug left without further ado and Lila was stuck in her room with a hole in her wall and no way to move from her spot on the floor.

Conveniently, Norm reappeared once she was alone.

“Soooo…just a suggestion, kid, but maybe you should try wishing for something else. Something that doesn’t involve superhero ladybugs.”

“Shut up.” She groused as she struggled to push the broken bits of her desk off her leg and grunting in pain.

Norm, of course, did not shut up.

“I take it you want to use your second wish to restore your room? And your third to wish for more wishes?” He asked, but it was clear he wasn’t actually asking.

“Yes!”

The sooner the better.

With another POOF, her room was restored and her leg, while still injured, was no longer pinned. Cautiously, she rose to her feet, hanging onto her bed for stability.

As if to further mock her, it seemed that Ladybug had successfully defeated the akuma as the Miraculous Cure swept through the area, restoring everything else.

Norm blinked in surprise.

“Huh. Didn’t know that could happen. Well, that was a waste of a wish, huh?”

Lila twitched.

__________________

“Okay. Okay.”

She had thought about this long and hard.

Much to her frustration, it seemed wishing anything against Ladybug directly was doomed to failure. Lila attributed it to Ladybug’s magic and natural luck. There could be no other reason for it. Lila’s phrasing and intentions had been fool-proof.

Norm’s smirks and passive aggressive comments didn’t mean a thing.

As such, Lila reluctantly turned her focus away from her arch nemesis to the more civilian side of things and decided to target someone who had no such protection.

The only one to figure out she was a liar: Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

She didn’t know how the other girl knew so quickly. Or what led her to the truth.

And Lila didn’t particularly care.

Marinette was just another thorn in her side. Not nearly as irritating as Ladybug, but still enough to want her gone. And since Lila had a genie and three more wishes to use to her advantage, it seemed Marinette would serve as the perfect way to test it.

And so, Lila made the first of her next three wishes.

“I wish that Marinette Dupain-Cheng was forced to leave Francois Dupont.”

A bit on the extreme side, admittedly. If she was being honest, Lila would have preferred to keep Marinette around and wish her to be miserable in some other way instead. But she had the power of a genie at her command and given Marinette’s annoyingly clever and intrusive nature, it would likely only be a matter of time before she caught on to Lila’s new advantage and tried something to relieve her of it.

So the brat had to go.

And oh, what a wonderful scene it was when two serious and official looking men stepped into the classroom to ask for Marinette to go with them to the Principal’s office. The goody-goody left the room looking scared. Everyone whispered and looked to each other in confusion, questioning why and what happened. Who were those men and what could they want with Marinette?

Lila practically felt downright giddy at the sight! She couldn’t wait to see the other girl in tears!

It was almost two hours later when Marinette was brought back to the room by Principal Damocles. Both looked pale and fatigued. But Marinette in particular looked almost tearful.

“Pardon us, Ms. Bustier, but Marinette is just here to gather her things.”

Lila had to hold herself back from grinning and instead put on a fake look of concern.

“Oh no! Marinette, are you all right?”

"Girl, what happened?" Alya asked, worriedly.

“What did those guys want?” Adrien questioned in concern.

Marinette shook her head. "I'm being transferred.”

Here, Lila did smirk even as everyone else around her gasped in dismay.

Damocles patted Marinette’s shoulder, his fatigue giving way to cheer. “Those gentlemen were representatives of one of the most highly acclaimed private art schools in Paris, and they came to interview Marinette for a place in their program!”

"WHAT?!"

Any smirk Lila did show immediately dropped.

“They saw my hat at the fashion show and other designs from my website, and once they heard that I was complimented by Audrey Bourgeois, they decided to offer me a scholarship to come to their school." Marinette explained, looking a mix of excited and anxious.

“That’s wonderful!”

“You deserve it, Marinette!”

“That’s right! It’s a great honor!” Damocles continued. “Of course, they were rather insistent about arranging the transfer, but it’s early enough in the school year and—”

Lila didn’t pay any attention to anything further of Damocles’s prattling and barely even noticed the way everyone else in the classroom cheered and showered Marinette in congratulations and praise.

Nobody paid much attention to Lila for the rest of the school day. Which was just as well, as it allowed her to skip out and storm back home.

Where she found Norm. Sunbathing on her balcony. And messing with her laptop.

He only noticed she was there when she slammed the door open.

“What?” He snarked. “Not what you wanted?”

“Undo it. NOW.”

“You sure?” He asked. “I mean, she’ll still be gone. There’ll be no one to call out your depressingly obvious lies. And with her not being around as much, your little followers are bound to lose touch with her over time and be all yours to screw with.”

“The point is for her to be miserable! UNDO IT!”

The next day, it was with some disappointment as Marinette informed her classmates that while the school had wanted her, the school only had limited slots and apparently the men who came to interview her hadn't been aware the vacancy had already been filled.

"It was still a bit too early for me to start there anyway." Marinette added. "I double checked, and they're a fully fledged lycee. They were apparently figuring I could skip ahead a grade and start there sooner."

"Weird."

"But impressive!"

"Yeah, you totally deserve it, dudette!"

"You'll just have to try for next year." Alya said, moving to wrap an arm around Marinette’s shoulder. “But I’m glad you’ll be with us for a while longer.”

Marinette smiled back, happy and relieved. “Yeah!”

Lila glared at the happy group from around a corner.

So this fell through. But next time would work.

She was smarter than some shut-in genie. She was bound to find a way to make a wish that would give her exactly what she wanted.

And when she did…

Lila smirked.

Ladybug would be as good as gone.

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #3: Temper

Characters: Idristan, Caedh @thedarknesssings​, with mention of Talia @reddevil-xiv​

Fury boiled inside him like a raging inferno. Talia's words had hit the Ishgardian hard, and though he was doing his best to not show it, there were limits to his control–and he was running into them hard. His mind was a whirl, a jumble of thoughts that made him want to scream. In answer to his anger magic started to pool around him, rapidly turning the floor into a sheet of ice. 

Above the maelstrom, one thought rose above the others: he had to get out of there. 

He made it as far as the beach. 

Idristan stands at the edge of the surf, his hands balling into fists as he lets out a furious snarl. Ice erupts around him in jagged spikes as his eyes blaze with pure silver light, as his skin sparks with the same.

Someone had dared to hurt his Night. Someone would have to pay.

And he knew who.

Another howl leaves his lips as his magic flares once more. He can hear his blood racing in his ears, but also something else as well. Voices, starting as whispers but quickly rising like a crescendo. Voices calling to him, prayers offered to the man in the moon, cries for romance, for the luck of the hunt, for their wish to be answered. 

Reaching out for them is even more natural than breathing. For their prayers, their belief, was what ultimately kept his facsimile of a heart beating, a heart he was sure was ablaze in his chest as that wave of power crested and crashed over him. It begged to be used. It demanded it. And part of him answers in turn. And something in the world around him shifts in answer. 

The next wave that approaches him is anything but metaphysical. No, it is a solid wall of water that seems to tower above him, hovering there in the air for several seemingly endless seconds, before it comes crashing down. Idristan has just enough time to throw up a shield with what lingered from that rush of magic, and yet even he is knocked off his feet by the rush of water.

When the chaos dies he finds himself kneeling in a shell of silver–which is likely the only thing that's spared him from the surrounding chaos kicked up by the rogue wave. Beach chairs, umbrellas, holiday decorations… all lay scattered. 

For his part, Idristan started to rise–only to sink back down to his knees once more, a hand rising to press against his chest as he tries to regain his breath.  For as it turned out, using his position to influence the tides wasn't an easy feat. Who would have guessed, really.

But there was still one thing he could do.

"Caedh," he calls out; not aloud, but echoing along the bond between their souls, uncaring about distance or realm. "How do you kill a fae prince?"

The answer he got back was not one to his liking: “Be prepared for what you leave void.”

The words caused him to bare his fangs in another snarl, even as salt water stung at his eyes. “And what if we just trap him in some deep, dark pit? He seems very fond of those.”

“That’s not going to be a long term fix, mo ghealach gaolach.”

Idristan shakes his head furiously. That wasn’t good enough. That couldn’t be good enough. “But he hurt you. That cannot stand!” Those words were said aloud, as if they were a challenge to the universe itself. And maybe it was, in a way.

It certainly was enough to drive him back up to his feet; for a few moments, at least. But then he crashes back down to the damp sand. Whatever revenge he was planning, it was clear that it wasn’t happening tonight.

The best he can do is vanish in a haze of stars and moondust, leaving naught but a ruined beach in his wake.

[barnesandco]

Little Hands (II)

Series Masterlist

You, Bucky, and Anastasia pay Bruce Banner a visit. 

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo 2021. Word count: 1836. Square filled: “You don’t wanna know.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: More Sad Child. Needles, fear of. So much overthinking.

A/N: Gosh, I’m so glad I got this chapter edited in time. I hope you like it and I’m sorry for skipping out on y’all last week! To make up for it, there’ll be two updates this weekend, so look out for the next chapter tomorrow! Lmk what you thinkkkk

The Avengers Compound is every bit as spectacular as you could have possibly hoped, and yet you’re unable to fully appreciate it because of the sheer absurdity of the situation. Your hand is in the vice-tight grip of the supposed daughter of your neighbor, who happens to be an Avenger.

Said neighbor is pacing back and forth in front of you as you sit in Bruce Banner’s laboratory, with Anastasia beside you while you wait for Bruce to arrive. Ana is remarkably calm, her young features – the round cheeks, still-wet eyes – made mature by her abnormal silence. Something about her makes you think she’s used to this kind of tension. Something about her screams war-child. Perhaps this grip she has on you is the first demand she has made in a long time, the only tantrum she has ever been allowed to throw.

While you aren’t particularly experienced with children, you think you want her to feel safe with you, because it seems she hasn’t been elsewhere. Ana’s eyes flit around the room in the only behavioral indication of her youth – a childlike curiosity, shining in the face of this fancy, new place that gleams like a toy store. Every now and then, her gaze jumps back from the alien appearance of the lab to her father (?) who seems intent on wearing a hole in the tiles with his pacing.

It is beginning to wear on you: both Bucky’s pacing and Ana’s steadily increasing anxiety. He hasn’t said a word to her since he opened the envelope, only asked that you accompany him to the Compound seeing as Ana won’t go alone with him (You would have gone with him even if that hadn’t been so. Though the nature of your relationship is ambiguous at times, the strength of your friendship is not. You’ll figure this out. You won’t leave him alone). Clearly, there is some unspoken memory that has him convinced the claim in the letter is plausible. Neither of you would be here if it wasn’t.

Bucky doesn’t talk too much about his past. He has offered a few of the shattered shards of his past reflection to you in the few night-caped moments you have hammered on his door upon hearing shouts across the hall. Between that, and what you know thanks to Black Widow’s file dump, the big Avengers’ in-fight in Europe last summer, the consequent resolution to the Accords, and Bucky’s publicized pardon, you can guess at the traumas that lurk in the depths of him.

They’re traumas that are closer to the surface of his eyes now, pulled forth by this new life, this little soul that has no business with such dark things, and the implication that this holds. Ana, innocent as she may be, is an insinuation of what else might have been unwillingly torn from Bucky.

You don’t want to think about it, because it hurts to do so, because you care for him, in many, many ways. It seems that Anastasia is also starting to tire of it. With every step Bucky takes, her hand tightens on yours. Fortunately, soon, the door to your left opens, and Bruce Banner enters his lab.

He's appropriately disheveled for this hour in the morning. Under his pristine lab coat, one of his shirt buttons is done into the wrong buttonhole, but his eyes are alert, frantic even, though you get the feeling that this is a man always on the edge of escape.

Bucky lets out a breath he seems to have been holding at the same time as his shoulders tense. “Thanks for coming so early, Doctor Banner. I wouldn’t have called if—”

“You never call, so I know it must have been important. But it looks like I’ve kept you waiting anyways,” Banner says, his eyes widening as they move from Bucky, to you, to the little girl at your side. “What’s the matter? You know I’m not a medical doctor, right?” He asks, putting a work bench between himself and his visitors.

Bucky clears his throat, and doesn’t quite know how to say what he needs to. After a few more seconds of hesitation, in which Banner waits patiently, Bucky extracts the envelope containing the fateful letter from his pocket, and hands it over.

The furrows in Doctor Banner’s brow multiply spontaneously, and when he looks up, Bucky gestures with a subtle nod of his head to Ana. He has yet to explain your presence, but you think Doctor Banner is a smart man. It won’t take more than Anastasia’s tight hold on you for him to put two and two together. Sometimes, a scared child is just that, no matter how unusual.

Most of their ensuing conversation is held at a lowered volume, set by Bucky, probably out of courtesy for Ana. You can hear snatches and phrases, most of them confirmations of things you had expected and some, not so much. Lobby security cam footage… fingerprints… paternity test… serum… blood sample…

By the end of it, some facsimile of a plan seems to have evolved between the two men, because Doctor Banner turns away with a smile and you, taking it as a welcome, stand and approach him. He rounds his desk and shakes your hand, exchange introductions though he hardly needs one, and then, he crouches, the way Bucky had, and offers Ana his hand.

“Hi, I’m Bruce.”

“Ana.”

Bucky steps forward. “Anastasia—” the name is clumsy on his tongue, because he’s scared. You can see it, and you hope he knows you are, too, but you’ll stand with him regardless, “—Bruce is going to check that you aren’t sick.”

“I’m okay.”

“We need to be sure.”

“Okay.”

Banner pulls out a chair, and you’re about to sit Ana down on it, when she pushes you gently into it, and sits on your lap. You can do nothing but wrap your arms gently around her, so she doesn’t fall. The apology in Bucky’s eyes is melted with a sympathetic smile. It’s alright. A child developing an inexplicable affection for you is not the worst thing to ever happen to you.

Ana is warm and a comfortable weight on you, and you hold her as loosely as you can, feel the movement of her chest against your arms with each breath. Her hair is a mix of wool-thick and silk-soft against your chin, smelling faintly of the sugar-sweet strawberry scent found in children’s shampoos. Someone took care of her.

Someone she isn’t asking for. What kind of child doesn’t ask for their mother, past the initial, momentary heartbreak? How has she come to terms with the apparent change in custody, when the new custodian hasn’t?

Whether Bucky is to be the new guardian has yet to be determined. You can see Bruce pulling out a syringe and preparing a vial. You wonder if she’s scared of needles. Bucky flinches at the sight of them, even now. He’s said that his disdain for the cold clinicism of medicine dates back to long before Hydra. Medical equipment reminds him of worrying that his best friend was going to die. It’s the fear he has harbored longest, longer than his fear of war, of gunshots in the dark, of blood on his hands.

Ana shares it. When she sees the needle, she screams, and Bucky lunges forward to help you hold her in place. She’s so, so much stronger than you thought and while you can hold her limbs, her head thrashes about, and so does her torso, making it impossible for Bruce to get to the inside of her elbow.

In the chaos, your eye lands on a trinket on a nearby desk, sitting there like a peace offering, literally beckoning to you. “Hey, Ana,” you whisper-yell, trying not to get hit in the jaw by her head. “Do you like animals? Cats? I have a friend who has lots and lots of cats, and I could take you to see them.” It’s working. You’re out of breath, but she’s quieting. Most little kids love cats. You love cats. “I think Bruce has a toy cat. See, over there?” You dare to lift an arm to point at the maneki-neko on the table. Ana stills. Her eyes follow the hypnotic movement, and the syringe at Ana’s elbow does its job.

When the bandage is put on, you and Bucky let go with twin nervous chuckles of relief and disbelief, and Bruce puts the vial in a machine. Ana hops off to approach the desk, and bats at the paw waving at her like a mirror of it.

“We should have the results soon. I think the others are starting to wake up, if you want to say hi,” Bruce says, taking off his glasses and wiping them on the corner of his lab coat.

“Maybe later,” you say, seeing that Bucky is hardly in any position to converse casually with his teammates right now. Not to mention, it’d be a lot of work to explain Ana, especially before having any sort of confirmation of who she is.

Bucky pulls out a chair next to you while Bruce opens a laptop a few counters away, and an x-ray machine lifts its head behind Ana, who has moved on from the lucky cat, and is stroking the leaves of a flowering plant.

“Peace lily,” Bucky says, startling you. You look at him, the bags under his eyes, the way he almost looks his age right now, and fight the urge to hold his hand. “It’s the first flower I bought for my apartment. I put it in a community garden after a nightmare about the war. Didn’t feel right for me to have it.”

He's talking about the Second World War. The war always refers to his first war. You think he’s talking about peace, and not the lily, after what he’s done. After what he was forced to do.

“It’s not your fault,” is an automatic response, and never enough, especially for the war, because at least he was in his own senses, even if he was drafted. It always elicits a self-deprecating laugh, but right now, he’s too tired for even that.

Right now, he can only watch as the x-ray camera follows Ana around the room, from the peace lilies, to an Amazon elephant’s ear, to a strange sculpture made from Coca-Cola cans glued together by what looks like spider-webs.

Too soon, Bruce calls you over to his work station. You follow Bucky, one eye on Ana.

“She’s yours,” Bruce says, and Bucky inhales sharply. Now, you do take his hand, stroke the metal ridges with your calloused thumb. “But she has disproportionately more of your DNA than her mother’s.”

“What does that mean?”

Bruce wrings his hands. “She’s not a complete clone, but nearly a genetic copy. 80% of a clone, if you will.”

Bucky is growing increasingly uncomfortable, shifting next to you. “How’s that possible?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

[barbex]

9. 10. 11. Justice, Lyrium, The Fade

Slides in on the last day with three prompts in one for @18daysoffenders​. A little pre-fenders fic for the prompts Justice, Lyrium, The Fade.

---

Hawke has the worst ideas. On Fenris' mental lists of bad ideas, there isn't even room for entering the Fade via some obscure dalish ritual to rescue an untrained mage. Things like that are just not done! Fenris shudders to think what someone like Hadriana or Danarius would do with such a ritual. 

Not to be overmodest, Hawke also decided that the best companions for this event are the abomination and the dalish witch. Fenris doesn't have enough room in his head for all the worries this idea gives him. 

"It'll be fine," Hawke says. Of course she does. For Hawke, magic is just a tool she uses while she swings her sword around. She grew up in a mage household and with only weak magic abilities, never sees magic as a problem. 

The first surprise, once they've entered the distorted dream scape of the fade, is that it's not Anders, but Justice with them. Even if he looks like Anders, he moves differently. Stiff, his back too straight, his hands unmoving at his sides. Anders' fingers are always busy, twitching. Justice holds himself too still.

"I had not thought to return in such a way." His voice reverberates strangely, but somehow fitting for the unnatural world around them. "It is good to feel the breath of the Fade again, not the messy air of your world."

Hawke turns and steps in Justice's way. "Is Anders alright?" 

"Yes, he is here. But I can help you better. Let us hurry, I can hear the boy."

The Fade forms buildings around them, it could be the Gallows but the layout changes all the time. Justice looks at him with blue glowing eyes. "This is home. It feels good to be here again. Does it feel good to you too?" 

Fenris misses the warm amber glow of Anders' eyes with a sudden stab of pain. "Why should it feel like home for me?" he presses out against the something constricting his chest.

"The lyrium. It should feel free in the Fade,"

Fenris has to admit, reluctantly, that the pressure under his skin is lessened, it even feels comfortable. He stretches his shoulders, letting tension fall from them he doesn't even remember when it became a permanent guest there. 

"It's not my home." 

"I would have liked for you to feel as I do."

Fenris stares at the body he knows as Anders. "I wasn't aware you worry about things like that."

Justice turns his blue glowing eyes at Fenris again. "Anders does."

Fenris has no time to dwell on the strange onslaught of feelings at that, because it only gets worse from here. They find Feynriel in debate with the facsimiles of Keeper Marethari and the Grand Enchanter Orsino. They promise him that he will restore the greatness of the elves and to Fenris' surprise, the boy resists. But Merrill doesn't, falling for the idea of being respected by her clan. 

Justice reminds them not to fall for demons with a gravely voice but it's too late. Merrill disappears from the Fade dream after they have to fight her.

Another room, another promise of influence by a demon and Hawke laughs in his face. Fenris stretches his neck, feeling safer. Hawke has the worst ideas but his trust in her has never been misplaced. 

Maybe this is why is guard is lowered when the Pride Demon speaks to him. 

"Those who are free to choose, always want power. You think your friends are different?"

There is a kernel of truth in this, he can't help but notice. Power does things to people.

"You think this slave would choose you over his freedom?" the demon says to Hawke.

Hawke scowls at Fenris. "Don't you dare."

Wild anger rises in him so fast it leaves him breathless. "And how quickly you resort to threats." How dare she?

"Fenris." The reverberating voice of Justice rings through the air. "It's a demon, it lies."

"Unlike you, demon?" Fenris snarls back at the thing wearing Anders' body. "I don't need your help, I can decide for myself."

"Indeed you can," the Pride demon entices. "Imagine what you could do with that kind of power."

Something snaps. The images are strong, tangible, as if he could touch them. Being powerful, more powerful than Danarius. Forcing the magister to kneel by his own powers. The revenge he deserves, easily, with a smile like the magister smiled at him. 

He doesn't fully realise that he gave in to the temptation until Hawke's sword crashes against his. Magic hits him, biting, freezing his muscles. He knows it's Anders' magic but it doesn't feel like his. Not like the warm, gentle flow of healing magic or the tingling barrier he casts over him in a fight. This is vicious battle magic, burning his skin.

Fenris turns facing Anders' body. His eyes glow bright blue when he casts a spell that burrows a flame into his heart. Fire eats him from the inside out and he can't even scream.

"Fenris." 

Merrill's voice. The real world. He sits up, his hand involuntarily going to his heart, feeling for burns that are not there. He wants to run, fast, away. Anywhere but here.

But he waits. He watches Anders and Hawke wake up and only then he allows himself to leave. He hides in in the rotting mansion that doesn't even belong to him. 

Of course, Anders finds him there. He leans against the doorframe. "Well, you failed your Harrowing."

"Are you here to gloat?"

Anders pushes away from the door and steps into the room. "Aww, come on, let me have a little gloating." 

"Fine. I failed the test and I guess you didn't."

"Well, I'm here, aren't I." Anders slides down the wall to sit next to Fenris on the floor. He takes Fenris hand in his and squeezes it too hard. "Luckily you're not a mage and this wasn't a real Harrowing."

"Luckily?" 

"Mages who fail their harrowing get killed."

Fenris stares at his hand in Anders'. It's the first time that anybody held his hand in years. "That is harsh." He sighs. "I should have been stronger."

"You didn't know what to expect. The Fade is dangerous for non-mages." Anders releases his tight grip around Fenris' hand but Fenris holds on to his fingers. Anders looks at their hands. "This is new."

Fenris glances at Anders' face. "Yes. Is it alright?"

Anders looks up and smiles at him. "Yes, it's very alright." 

Maybe Hawke's ideas aren't the worst after all.