#because now i have /two/ chessmasters on the board

[aparticularbandit]

the problem with how big oafc gets. is that i have to actually. be good at more characters.

-stares at nagito-

-groans-

[raayllum]

The Light Doesn’t Actually Matter :: An Aaravos Adjacent S4 Meta

Gonna keep this short as I’m sleepy but I still wanted to talk about the less obvious subset of the show, specifically Aaravos’, light and darkness motif that’s been running through lowkey since S1 and now overtly in S4. Which is to say, as the title indicates, Why The Light Is Futile, or Why Aaravos Will Win No Matter what.

Almost befittingly because we’re already discussing a duality of light and dark, there are two sides as to what the Light represents and why it’s futile, in this way:

The Light has negative associations too

The Light cannot wholly prevail over Aaravos because we know he has to get out

So first things first, let’s talk about the light / white’s negative associations in dark magic (quick run down with minimal screencaps because again, I’m sleepy)

Dark mage’s hair turning white from use, shown most overtly with Claudia. While her black hair and largely black outfit highlights her association with dark magic (black eyes), it also represents her remaining ‘humanity’ with the white of her hair symbolizing her continued corruption. White for dark mages is nothing good

We see this reflected with Viren’s white eye (from little bug pal) and his black Dark magic eye when he’s in corruption form in S3, his white robe he now wears, etc.

A chess board having both black and white squares, with Aaravos as the clear chessmaster (regardless of what side everyone or anyone is on)

“We’ll let the Light decide her Fate” test for Amaya and Viren in S3 as a reflection of Khessa’s cruelty and a signifier of passing being whether you are “pure of heart” or not

Aaravos’ control giving Callum black and eventually white eyes

Aaravos’ glowing chrysalis cocoon and Viren’s glowing butterflies, Sir Sparklepuff’s white hair, etc.

Callum’s cube glowing from the moon opal on the Bridge of Darkness in 4x07 being what alerts the creatures to their presence, and indeed the design of the creatures themselves with an angler fish like light lure

Flaming hearts of cinder and glowing heart of the Magma Titan that led to everything in the first place

Callum’s 4x04 intro in which he is very much Aaravos’ pawn tethering the cube to that control explicitly, most evidently in a bright burst of light

Dawn is almost never being a good thing in TDP, bringing with it: the threat of Thunder and death of Sarai / the queens of Duren in 2x06; the fading Moon runes that cause Callum, Rayla, and Zym to nearly perish in lava in 2x09; Callum being possessed at dawn in 4x04 in the first place

Aaravos’ name itself meaning between “light and dark” and him being compared to Lucifer (morning star, “shining one / light bearer”) and Prometheus (foresight and fire bringer)

If you are interested in more examples / associations I’ll refer you to this post, but hopefully I’ve gotten the gist across already. Okay, so we’ve established, hopefully, that Aaravos has a handle over both the Light and the Dark, black and white. This makes sense, as S4 is largely about rejecting an “either or” way of thinking for one that embraces “and”. It’s not pain or love in your heart, it must be both; Janai doesn’t have to choose between her life with Amaya and her life as queen, she can have “two cakes”; Rayla returning is good and bad, making Callum happy and mad. 

But the show also doesn’t throw out Positive associations with light entirely out the window, either. This is best shown perhaps in how S4 picks up the thread of Rayla primarily being positioned as light (truth or transformation) to Callum’s general / emotional positions. This is most directly shown when she enters in 4x02 seconds after Callum says, “In darkness, gaze upon a fallen star” and I think the screencap of this particular moment says it all, really.

However, the show doesn’t leave it at that. Rayla is also there, conversing with Callum in 4x07 after he requests for her to kill him, stating, “What if I’m on a path of darkness?” Rayla tells him directly, then, he still has agency to find another way: “Then take a different path, dummy.” It throws this screencap into fuller context I think, with Rayla in the light ad the mirror in the darkness very much presenting two paths.

Their reunion scene just reaffirms this as Callum walks to the mirror in order to be able to not look at her, even while Rayla trails after him. And again, her advice causes him to try to at least throw the cube away in the lava in 4x07, even if he is fully unable to let go. 

But like we said, the Light doesn’t actually matter. It cannot steer him fully home. It cannot keep Aaravos from being freed. Even choosing the light - letting Rayla walk him back from the darkness - will ultimately lead to choosing Aaravos, however unintentionally, which is also why I think the Key is in her big fancy return shot. 

If the mirror represents the outright possession, rejecting that eventually will be easy enough. However, the cube is more complicated, and so are its associations, but it’s ultimately like Aaravos says: black or white, light or dark, control or freedom, whichever path you choose, they all lead to the same place:

Because we know they have to; we know that this story has already been written:

Elarion, dying husk, did wilt and whimper in the dark, 'till the last star Reached from afar His touch: a blaze, a gift, a spark. Elarion, searing white, Embraced the great one's night-black flame. And when she bowed, Her faith avowed, He whispered, "Aaravos", his name. Elarion, black-eyed child, her twisted roots spread deep and far, The humans' might sparked by the light of Aaravos, her midnight star

[cerastes]

What do you think with the reunion squad? Do you symphatize them?

I'm assuming you mean the Reunion leadership in Arknights.

I only have one complaint with the way they are handled and that is that the game does veer into "you killed them :( feel bad about it" now and then, which, I get it, Arknights is built on a foundation of Who Is Right And Who Is Wrong, and there's a lot of persons of admirable character among Reunion, this much is true, so I don't particularly let this be more than a small complaint, and I realize that it's mostly my own views coming into play: I can mourn and honor a powerful and noble rival who stood on the opposite end of the board by carrying on and achieving the lofty goals of a better tomorrow we both believed in, rather than wallow in sadness. We both have beliefs, and this is just the outcome.

That very minor complaint aside, I think you can already tell, from this paragraph alone, and my previous posting regarding said member, ere you to peruse it if you have not already, that I do quite like them. I like the Reunion cast because they all have something to offer to the table. Each character could merit a whole post by themselves, so I'll keep it brief, for dashboard's sake, mentioning a few highlights:

Talulah, the leader, a young and brash idealist with the power and skills to make a difference, sweet Talulah, untarnished and warm and loving and caring, thrust into a raw, cruel world of warfare that twisted her beyond recognition, into a cruel manipulator, desensitized to the pain brought by the burden of leadership. Does this sound familiar? Talulah is an excellent narrative foil to the Doctor, as someone who has grown tragically unrecognizable to even their closest associates, who used to be oh so loving and compassionate, sanded by the burdens of leadership into a numb chessmaster. Yes, the Black Deathless Snake's possession is indeed a factor to consider, but keep in mind that by both the admission of both Talulah and Kaschei, he can't make her do things she wouldn't do, merely push her and influence her heavily towards things one might rationally not do but still would do.

Mudrock and Big Bob both represent the honest Infected that were wise enough to realize that Reunion had rotted from within, and yet, they couldn't, wouldn't abandon their ideal of making the world a better place for the Infected. Big Bob took his "family" and successfully funded an Originium Slug farm in Columbia, where he harvests the slugs' fluids, a commonplace item in Infected treatment to undo their pain, and gives it practically for free to the Infected (usually, these fluids are sold at an incredibly high markup), whereas Mudrock took it upon herself to fight for those that can't possibly fight for themselves, and to lead them to lands they could call a new home, where they wouldn't be second class citizens, in the borderlands of Kazdel, and was one hundred percent willing to die fighting to protect the refugees she had just saved in her Reel. The two of them represent candidly how, even though there's definitely a lot of violent and bad people in Reunion, there's also true believers not necessarily in the banner of Reunion per se, but rather, the goal of making the world better for the Infected, and that they, as powerful, skilled individuals, can make a difference.

Mephisto and Faust represent the horrors of child soldiers, those who die too young, who master combat to become rippers of flesh since childhood, who become twisted monsters to lash back against a world that has only hurt them. Mephisto is the latter, having become utterly incapable of feeling anything remotely close to kinship to anyone that isn't Faust, Talulah, FrostNova, Skullshatterer and Patriot, and thus being despised even by others in Reunion. Faust, on the other hand, is a subtle horror story. An unremarkable, weak, meek child, who got so distressed at seeing those who would protect him get hurt, who was so terrified of losing FrostNova or Talulah or any of the others any time they went out to fight, that he decided to kill his weakness and embrace the path of the warrior fully, becoming a master crossbowman and squad leader. Seldom is Faust's battlefield success seen as something positive. Yes, he was strong enough to pin down Nearl with his attacks. No, at no point is this anything more than a tragedy of how such a young child had to grow this strong just to make it to the next day. Faust's death is one of the most solemn in the game, mourned by practically everyone, akin to FrostNova's own: These were clearly caring people that had been dealt the mother of a mulligans. Can you blame them for fighting tooth and nail for what they truly believed was a better tomorrow, just the way you do?

There's a lot more than can be said for every member, what they represent, and their contribution, but overall, it's a well-balanced cast with a purpose besides just being antagonists.

[smallblueandloud]

some leverage: redemption reactions

i finished leverage redemption today! and i don't have anyone to talk to about it so, here we have my reactions for all eight episodes, both positive and negative. please feel free to reblog/comment -- discussions are what i'm here for! (under a cut because spoilers and also this ended up being 2k. whoops!)

EPISODE 1: the too many rembrandts job

the "aww, this guy is trying to pull his first heist! how cute" job

what they chose to do with nate was... interesting. it might just be that i read too many of those cracky "here's how they should explain nate's absence" posts, but i was expecting something funny. the grief permeating this episode -- it makes SENSE, but it was still weird. leverage doesn't usually have sadness like this. pain, yes, rage, certainly, but sadness? not usually

the way sophie immediately spots the signs of a con and slips into a character? phenomenal. i'm here for EXPERTS BEING EXPERTS and this show does NOT disappoint

harry wilson is a really solid character! most impressively, he's not flynn, which is impressive enough that i'm making a whole bullet point about it. i was worried that noah wyle was kinda a one-trick pony, but it appears not! good for him tbh

i'm LIVING for the ot3 moments in this episode. "what happened?" "we happened" YESSSSS!!! i wish we'd had more domesticity, but i know they did what they could

"he gets it from his father" FUCK!!!!!

the discussion about redemption in this episode is FANTASTIC but personally i am still delirious with excitement about "my nana leads a multi-denominational household" so expect those thoughts in 3-5 business days

EPISODE 2: the panamanian monkey job

the "flash electropop concert" job

BREANNA INTRODUCTION! i love her so MUCH, y'all. we only got to see her dynamic with hardison in this one episode, but man, it manages to be one of her best dynamics anyway. i just! i love her! i love the way the team works with her!

"in our field, you're one of the best. but there, you're the only one." god we have ELIOT/HARDISON rights and i am NOT OKAY. just!! them!!!!!! being supportive!!!!!! they have learned how to be sweet with each other! they work together so much better (in part because we're seeing them from harry's outsider pov instead of nate's insider pov, but STILL)

midway through this episode, i thought "huh, leverage always focuses on specific people, when really the problem is systematic, and pretending it's anything different is just an excuse to not fight for change". and then at the end harry talks about how the system itself is broken! i love knowing that john rogers and i were reading the same tweets last summer. it's a good feeling to trust the people making a piece of media

who let noah wyle speak spanish. whoever it was, they need to rescind their permission

god, the parker/hardison in this episode. THE PARKER/HARDISON IN THIS EPISODE! they KILL me friends they KILL ME!

also just like, hardison in this episode in general. he made a star trek reference! he made a doctor who reference! he decides there are other people who need him more! the way they wrote around gina bellman's maternity leave in s2 was good but this was phenomenal.

also i'm here for ot3 crumbs so "is this like the time when eliot wanted us to say no" is going on my ot3-is-canon conspiracy board

this is a tiny detail but eliot taking out the drone with a goddamn ORANGE was so good. he's so good at his job!! they're all so good at their jobs!! i know i literally just talked about this but AAA

EPISODE 3: the rollin' on the river job

the "sometimes you just want to rob a vault wearing a floofy dress, and that's valid" job

i did... not. like. how the villain in this one was an immigrant whose exploitable weakness was a "desperation" to be included in the upper crust. and the fact that they beat him with a literal southern belle who explicitly beats him BECAUSE her family has been in the area for "hundreds of years"? it just feels Iffy.

also iffy about this episode was breanna's characterization. it felt inconsistent. she feels inconsistent across the whole season, but this episode in particular... she tells harry she's only with the team because she's desperate, that she doesn't believe in hope, and then at the end of the episode she tells parker she wants to be there to change the world. and like, even in the first place, she's not here out of desperation! SHE asked to join the team! like, i can see how it all kinda fits together, but it just feels... inconsistent. idk. i think these scripts all could've benefited from an extra round or two of editing.

anyway! i loved the way they tied hardison into these episodes, even though aldis hodge couldn't be there. he has binders! breanna doesn't want to read them! parker did! he put in big letters, "when in doubt, trust the person in the van". i'm just so !!! about how much i love him and how much he loves his team and how much his team loves him. FOUND FAMILY, BABY!

all inconsistencies in breanna's characterization aside, i really liked her speech at the end. i know how she feels! it's really nice to have someone on the team who's from -- not my world, really, but a lot closer than any of the others. it's a nice feeling! i love her a lot. i hope her writing gets more consistent

lol, parker ate eliot's carrot cake. i love the parker/eliot rights we get in this show, they're so domestic and it's wonderful.

EPISODE 4: the tower job

the "hardison made his partners learn klingon" job

watching this episode was what made me go "they're not going to make us sit through a harry/sophie romance... right? right?"

i'm still not sure they're gonna let us avoid it but it COULD work so... i've decided to just not worry about it for now

i liked the number of ways the con goes wrong! it was fun to watch them work on the fly like that. i think them not having a dedicated Mastermind(tm) is a good watsonian explanation for their plans being pretty haphazard in general, but it's good, they think well on their feet

nate was a chessmaster. he had the whole situation in his mind from the beginning, accounting for every possible outcome. parker and sophie are much more adaptive, and it's cool to see. they can rely on their respective skillsets a lot more than nate could

a really solid episode! probably one of the strongest ones in the season. i liked it a lot.

(ALSO as mentioned above the klingon lines were fantastic and not just because they were a star trek reference -- every time eliot and parker both mentioned hardison, together, it added a year to my lifespan)

EPISODE 5: the paranormal hacktivity job

the "sophie was worryingly prepared to fake her death" job

i know why they characterized the client as a skeptic, i really do, and i loved the format of this episode, but also. But Also. she should've been a love interest for breanna and I'm Right.

having a girl's episode was the CORRECT choice. they do crimes in their free time! they fleece newbie, cruel criminals! it's so good!

it would've been cool to have eliot around for the assassin guy, but it was also cool to see the others take him out without having eliot to rely on. it's like getting to see how they'd take out eliot, if they were ever on opposing sides.

PARKER CANONICALLY USES SCRIPTS IT'S THE BEST THING EVER

breanna bristling about letting the criminal into the theater's electric system was so good god i love her so much. she knows hardware! i bet she likes to work with her hands. i bet she stims. i bet she has adhd

actually, sidenote, but i LOVE these headquarters. they look so nice! the stage is so nice! i loved having an episode set in and around it, it was such a good choice.

EPISODE 6: the card game job

the "FINALLY AN EXPLICITLY QUEER LEVERAGE CHARACTER" job

QUEER BREANNA QUEER BREANNA QUEER BREANNA QUEER BR

UNFOLLOW ME NOW THIS IS GONNA BE THE ONLY THING I POST ABOUT FOR THE REST OF TIME

GOD, what a good way to reveal it. it's fully about her! i love queer romances, of course i do, but i don't think i've ever seen a character come out without a romance being their reason for doing so (however indirectly). i still think she should've gotten a date with the client from 1x05, but i really liked this too.

this episode just felt like a love letter to fandom, and i love that. i love how much it shone through. i'm used to writers specifically going out of their way to make fun of fans and laugh at them, so it was just. really nice to have someone stand up and go, no, this is important for a reason! people love this for a reason! it MEANS something!

very fun to watch eliot swordfight. very fun to watch sophie recite a sonnet in her classic fashion. very fun to watch parker work at being a good mentor. breanna was so excited about the card game! they're all so good!

oh, and i guess harry's here too.

EPISODE 7: the double-edged sword job

the "harry is addicted to mobile games, which is a mood" job

hot take alert! i think this is the weakest episode of the season by a LOT. it needed so much more editing. it felt so disjointed, so all over the place. the plot was haphazard but in a muffled way, where you had no idea why they were doing what they were doing. the climax was sudden and didn't make any sense. it was just weird.

i'm not the person to comment on this but it feels kind of lazy to cast an east asian guy to play a socially-awkward tech genius. just a thought.

oh, of course jonathan frakes directed this episode. sometimes his stuff is really good but other times (ahem, ds9 3x02) it's disjointed and all over the place. i'm not even surprised it was him.

idk if i have anything else to say about this. oh! some of the team moments were great -- mostly involving eliot. i loved the moment of him recognizing the headshot, i LOVED the ten seconds of everyone teasing him. he and parker talked about the wellbeing of their friend, the woman whose ex tracked her down!

separate bulletpoint to say how much i LOVED his conversation with breanna outside the house. he's so good at reassuring! he could go deeper there, talking about being better than your worst day, but he knew when not to push! it was so good.

"first off, this guy can't TOUCH hardison" deserves its own bulletpoint because like. y'all. Y'ALL.

EPISODE 8: the mastermind job

the "eliot is more than just a pretty face" job

oh man this post is so much longer than i thought it would be. okay just one more episode and then i'm done.

the callbacks to original leverage were SO well done and made me feel emotions without feeling overbearing.

i didn't like the central premise -- that nate would share so many details with a random insurance agent -- in the first place, but i did like how it allowed them to bring back nate without actually hiring timerty mcasshole.

i liked eliot's insistence that he's more than just the muscle! he is, and it's really good to know, textually, that the writers do too!

me, watching the resolution of the episode: ah, yeah, insurance fraud. a classic!

harry bonding with his guard had "they don't even have dental!" energy and i am SUCH a fan. i know it was all for the con but also give me harry, unable to stop advising people, even when they're actively holding him hostage

parker! on the phone with hardison!!!! ADORABLE

is it just me or was someone else expecting the accountant's name to be something significant? with the way they led up to it, i was waiting for a "sterling" or something else. my sensors were pinging for another tara reveal. i'm still convinced we're gonna get this guy dramatically revealed in the season finale.

a really nice episode! i had a lot of fun with it. and now i want to rewatch the rashamon job, but tbh i ALWAYS want to rewatch the rashamon job.

and that's a wrap! overall, a fun season, i enjoyed it a lot. not as solid as original leverage, but it's the very beginning, and it was put together during a global pandemic, so i'm cutting them some slack. also levar burton is gonna show up at some point. that's a big reason of why i'm cutting them so much slack.

my personal ranking of the episodes is 1x04, 1x06, 1x08, 1x01, 1x02, 1x03, and finally last (and least), 1x07.

what did you guys think of the new season? what was your favorite episode? do you agree with any of my opinions? disagree with any? let me know, please, i'd love to discuss!

[nothingunrealistic]

from behind the billions with brian koppelman and david levien, “the chris rock test,” season 5 episode 2 with corey stoll:

KOPPELMAN: [Lee Tamahori, the episode director] also really helped us on the chess scene, in terms of expanding it. I think in our minds it was gonna be sort of a tighter sequence, and he had this notion, it was his idea that Taylor should know… It’s very rare that a director comes up with a little story button.

LEVIEN: Well, it’s rare, right, because on our show, for the most part the directors are visiting. Some of them come back time after time, but they’re not living with it. We live with it all the time. So it’s natural that the bulk of that kind of thinking is done by us. But that guy came and visited and somehow got so deeply inside it that he suggested that Taylor actually be ahead of Oscar Langstraat in the chess game, the literal chess game.

KOPPELMAN: Yeah, he said, “Wouldn’t it be fun if Taylor was clocking it and we gave Taylor a last little line” — now he didn’t try to write the line — the last little line where Taylor’s able to give a dig at Langstraat, what Langstraat should have done in the chess game. I mean, Dave, you and I are very good at parrying ideas that come from the outside that we don’t think are good. And I remember hearing his idea, and because I respect that dude so much, I so didn’t want to have to say no to a bunch of ideas. And he only had one or two that were like this kind of thing, and they were both, they were excellent. And it was like, “Oh, that’s great, Lee, thank you!” It was really lovely.

LEVIEN: Yes, and that was, as you were saying earlier, his vision for the sequence was actually more expansive than ours. We thought that we would have the chessmaster at one board and that people would be taking turns playing games, like, they would sit down, play their game, and as they lost, the next person would go. And he said, “Well, I’ve seen these rapid chess players, these blitz players, play many, many boards at the same time.” So we came up with this idea that he was going to be playing nine different opponents, quickly moving around the room, making his moves. And it just so happened to turn out that Hikaru Nakamura, our grandmaster, who came to be in this and portray himself, is a blitz master. So he was able to go table to table and think for literally one second and make a brilliant move while the other person wrestled with it.

[etjwrites]

OC Backstory Week 2 - Friends

Who were your OC’s friends, when they were young? Was it a group or a single individual?

 Write any short drabble about an important past friendship.

@yourocsbackstory

Aaaand we're back from commercial! Hopefully our lovely hosts have picked a safer topic for us to explore.

(No I'm not trying to be insulting, it's not my fault TCBNN didn't pre-screen their questions. Fine, I'll behave.)

Who were my friends growing up? Same as any kit's: my schoolmates – yes, we have school in the Hinnom Forest – my fellow Igis Chosen, my dad's friends' kits, but the two people I ended up sticking with the most were Kenton and Seri.

Yeah, I know in the previous story I said I hated him – I was what, six? by the way you humans reckon years, and we're obviously friends now – how we got to be so is a story for another day, but for now I'm gonna tell you about the time the three of us got in big trouble with the Innah, Auntie Praha, and the rest of the council. We were all around ten or eleven and bored to death of being cooped up inside for hours on account of it being Frix season. . .

“I'm bored!” Bo announced, throwing down the ball of spinner-floss he'd been batting about.

“Nyss said as much when he dropped you off earlier,” Seri said. She didn't look up from the game she was playing with Ken. 'Chess,' he called it, and had been trying to get Bo to play for the longest time. But the ugly carved pieces and the game's overly complicated rules were all too. . . human, for Bo's  tastes.

“I'm not bored.”

“Yeah, 'cause you keep winning,” Seri muttered as she moved another piece, scowling and lashing her tail when Ken plucked it from the square wooden board and added it to his ever growing collection.

Bo pointed an accusing finger at her. “So you admit it! You don't wanna play Ken's silly game either.”

“Well Ken doesn't like playing 'humans and klia'ans,' and there's nothing else to do.”

“Wrong.” Bo grinned at Ken and Seri. “We can hunt frix sprites!”

“Outside? In that storm?” Seri's eyes went wide and Ken shook his head. “We'll get in trouble; I don't want to spend hours doing chores 'cause we left the loft when Mother said not to.”

“We won't be out long enough for her to notice we're gone,” Bo said, and turned pleading eyes on Ken. “All the stories say if we catch one, we'll be frix proof like Hinnom Trees.”

“No one's ever seen one in real life.”

Bo shifted into s'hinoian form and growled at Ken, glossy black fur shining in the light cast by the frix dancing on the leaves outside the loft's window. “Then we'll be the first.”

Ken and Seri shot searching looks towards the spinner-floss curtain separating their room from the Innah's.

“I am curious to see what a frix sprite looks like,” Ken admitted and started gathering up his chess pieces.

“But Mother–”

“We won't go far from the tree,” Ken said, interrupting his adopted sister's protests. “If we don't see a sprite within a few minutes, we'll come right back, okay?”

Seri chewed on her bottom lip, but nodded and grabbed some frix proof jackets for herself and Ken. Bo shifted and shrugged on his own, along with the gloves Zha'ar had given him for his birthday before second frix, and quietly they snuck out of the loft and descended the Tree of Elders.  

“All I see is frix sparks,” Seri said, crossing her arms tightly. “Can we go back now?”

“You scared?” Bo teased, giggling when she bared her fangs at him, pinning her ears flat against her head.

“I just don't want to get in trouble.”

“Yeah, yeah, we heard you the first time.” Bo had to admit that Seri was right, however. The thick canopy of the Hinnom Forest caught a good amount of frix and rain before the crackling mix ever hit the forest floor, but the heat rising from the muddy ground turned into a thick steam, and Bo couldn't even see the loft of the next tree over.

“We're not gonna find frix sprites just standing around,” he said, striking off into the forest and ignoring Ken and Seri's cries of alarm. “C'mon.”

“Not far from the tree, that was the deal,” Ken said, catching Bo's arm.

“We can still see it!”

Just then, lightning cracked across the sky, and Bo couldn't help himself, he jumped, shifting in midair and landing on all fours. The log he landed on pitched beneath him, sending him tumbling down the banks of a slippery hill. Ken fell with him, having lost his balance when Bo suddenly changed forms, and Seri had been just startled as Bo, resulting in all three of them sprawled in a heap at the bottom of a steep gully.

“My jacket!” Ken cried in dismay, looking at where it had torn in three places. The flashing frix showed his normally pale face had turned an almost mushroom white. “The Innah's going to be so mad at me.”

“I don't care if there are frix sprites out here,” Seri said, starting to cry, “I want to go home and not be wet and muddy and gross.”

“Fine,” Bo said, trying to pretend he wasn't bothered by their sudden fall. “Doubt there's any down here anyway.”

Seri jumped towards the top of the gully, but it was too high and she slipped back down with a squelching thud. Bo tried next, but failed just as miserably.

“Stand on my shoulders,” Ken suggested, and stood with his back to the bank. But Bo was only able to claw his way a paw's length over the edge before sliding back, jacket smeared with leaves and slimy wet dirt and worm casts.

“I can't do it,” he said, and Seri started sobbing in earnest, great wailing gulps which had Bo flinching and Ken putting an arm around her.

“What if no one notices we're gone 'til it's too late?” she said between sobs. “We'll all die out here, 'cause you couldn't, couldn't be happy playing chess in the loft.”

Bo shrugged, huddling under his jacket when the wind shifted and blew stinging frix into his face. “Least I'll get to see P'rraa again.”

Seri cried harder at that, inconsolable no matter how much Ken – badly – purred at her and tried to convince her that someone would notice them missing and come looking.

“Sorry,” Bo muttered, trembling a little at the thought of being trapped out in the frix until it finally wore through his jacket and gloves and then through his fur and skin. He suddenly wanted to cry himself.

“Hey!” he shouted instead. “Somebody, help! Help us! Help, we're stuck, hey, hey, help!”

Ken started yelling as well, and they screamed until their voices went hoarse. But nobody came, and Seri kept crying and Ken joined in, and Bo couldn't stop the tears that trickled through his fur.

They really would die, alone in the wet and mud and frix, all because he'd been bored. Stupid frix sprites. Why couldn't they come out between frix seasons, when the air wouldn't be so steamy and prickly, nor the ground so slick? Bo imagined it, the three of them getting hungrier and hungrier until they wasted away, nothing but their bones left by the time his brothers and the Innah found them.

“I'm sorry!” he wailed, clutching at Ken and Seri. “I just wanted to see the frix sprites, I didn't mean to get us killed.”

“Over here, I hear them!” a voice called, and Bo jolted upright. That sounded like Nyss. Seri was still sniffling loudly, but he could make out the sounds of tramping boots and bodies moving through the frix. The noises grew louder, and moments later his brothers, the Innah, and Auntie Praha all appeared at the top of the too-tall embankment.

Nyss began to growl at Bo, but the Innah stopped him with an upraised hand.

“I know Bo greatly frightened you, dear child, but there will be time enough for reprimands later. Besides, I think this little misadventure has taught him and Ken and Seri quite enough about the dangers of wandering heedlessly about during second frix. Let us see the little ones home safe, and be glad there is nothing worse hurt than feelings.”

Nyss ducked his head respectfully at the Innah's words, and though Bo sensed his big brother was still awfully cross with him, he couldn't help clinging to him once he'd been lifted out of the gully, shifting and burying his whole face in Nyss' arms, kit-like. Ken and Seri likewise clung to the Innah, who ushered the entire group back to the village where all three of them were bundled into blankets and their wet things laid by the fire.

“You know,” Bo whispered to Ken after Seri had fallen asleep to the comforting murmuring of the adults in the next room, the fur under her eyes matted from all the crying she'd done, “maybe I will try chess after all.”

In hindsight, the whole thing is absolutely hilarious, as we only ever made it about fifty feet past the village outskirts.

But long story short, we had to do double chores for a full month after that, and we still got up to all kinds of mischief 'til we got old enough for Igis. Mostly prompted by me, I'll admit. But we never played outside in second frix again.

Oh, and I'm now Tribe Osinan's Chessmaster, match me if you dare.

@igotablankpage @musicofglassandwords @whatsanwritepocalae @elaynab-writing @sheabutterskyes​

00 - Intro || 01 - Family || 03 - Rivals || 04 - Skills || 05 - Loss || 06 - Home || 07 - Free/Secrets

[dialux]

made weak by time and fate, but strong in will, iv

Ah. Um. Warnings for this chapter include body horror, which is not usually one of my things but people with a vivid imagination might find it... disturbing. Other than that it’s just the usual family drama and eternal fight against evil, vagaries of war, etc etc etc.

Chapter 4: there will also be singing

Lily walks into the tea shop quietly. It’s sheeting outside- not the kind of rain that she’s used to in Hogwarts that freezes a person to the bone; the kind of spring rain that’s almost warm but inescapable. She grimaces at the water seeping through her shoes but keeps her fingers away from the wand. A warming charm isn’t worth the magic right now- the Ministry won’t care, certainly, but the witch in the corner will definitely identify it.

And Lily’s here on a favor to Sirius. Which means bearing through the discomfort. Which means being a good little spy, head down and mumbling her order to the waitress. Which means observing the witch sitting two feet away from the fire covertly, and not being observed in return.

Andromeda Black- if it is her; she’s wearing a glamour that’s taken Lily near ten minutes to even confirm, much less identify- is a slender woman with hair so dark a red it looks practically black. She looks comfortable here, which at least affirms what she’d owled back to Sirius, but Lily’d have been stupid to take her word for it.

Lily’s not stupid. Neither is Andromeda, and agreeing to meet a suspected Death Eater who’s just escaped from Azkaban without any reservations? 

That’s stupidity of the highest order.

Which means something else is afoot here.

She sips her tea slowly, savoring the rich taste, and focuses through the steam on Andromeda. Her seat is angled to see both the entrance and the majority of the room; if a fight breaks out, Andromeda won’t have to worry about being attacked from behind. Lily’s eyes narrow on the cut to Andromeda’s clothes- they’re far more conservative than most muggles would wear, but not out of place in this chilly weather. But they also mean that there isn’t room for her to hide weaponry.

A wand? Lily sets the teacup down and breathes, shallow and even. Yes, but Sirius said- she’s not good at charms. Or transfiguration. 

Both of which are necessary for healing, and Andromeda is good at healing. Sirius had just shrugged when Lily mentioned that, but a healer without good wand-work is quick to be a healer without a job. If Andromeda Tonks- disgraced daughter of House Black, who abandoned a marriage to Lucius Malfoy to wed a muggleborn, with enough enemies on both sides of this war to have probably been among the war’s first casualties- maintains her job at St. Mungo’s, then it’s not because of any patronage. It’s because of quality.

I’m an idiot, thinks Lily, fingers twitching. She drains the last of her tea and makes a production of checking the time on her watch before getting up to leave; best not to give people a reason to remember her. I’m a muggleborn who can ward better than most purebloods, despite no formal training. Of course she can be a healer without being quick. It just means-

She emerges into the rain and inspects the squat building critically. There’s no way Andromeda would have defaced the front; it’s too visible. But every city has back alleys, and if Lily’s got her measure of this one right now...

She slips through the narrow alley to the side of the building, so small that she’d have missed it if she hadn’t been looking so closely. Her shoulders brush brick on either side. Then she’s at the back of the building, and though it stinks of refuse- Lily feels momentarily dizzy with it- there’s a small staircase leading up to the roof of the tea shop. It’s half-rusted through. 

Lily grits her teeth and walks.

On the roof, she kneels on the gravel to see. Lily doesn’t know exactly what she’s looking for, and she can’t search for it- latent magic’s tricky that way- but she’ll know it when she finds it. Her fingers scrape along the brick of the side-bar until she feels a strange smoothness. Magic abruptly blooms around her, and her forearm blazes with heat. Heart racing, she ducks under the lip to check.

Four runes are glowing a dull red on a transfigured metal brick.

“Fuck,” mutters Lily, backing away. 

Wards can be constructed with wand-work, runes, or some mix of the two. Wand-work tends to be quicker; runes tend to be stronger. Lily’s never had the patience to delve deep into rune-study, but if Andromeda did- of course she won’t need flashy wand-work, then. Not if she’s brilliant at runes. 

Lily doesn’t recognize these runes either, and she’s not confident enough to trigger them any further without knowing what they stand for. When she glances around her, she sees a red dome- the same shade as the runes- covering the entire roof. 

No trying to escape. Lily lifts her wand and focuses on a happy memory before dragging the point of the wand down. A swan emerges from its tip, and she watches it wing away swiftly. So you bring the escape to you.

The entire point of Lily coming here before Sirius is to ensure there’s nothing lethal in Andromeda’s defenses. Not to activate them. But what’s done is done- best to alter the plan than beat a dead horse. 

There’s a scraping sound behind her, and Lily turns to see Andromeda standing at the entrance to the roof. She’s wearing an oily black coat that looks waterproof. Her hair’s no longer that peculiar shade between red and black; it’s just black, and her resemblance to Bellatrix can’t be missed.

“Well, then,” she says, wand aimed directly at Lily’s chest, “who are you?”

“Lily Potter,” says Lily calmly, rising to her feet and nodding back. 

Recognition sparks in Andromeda’s eyes. “You were in the Prophet a few weeks ago. You-Know-Who came to your home?”

“We escaped,” says Lily. 

“Obviously. How?”

“Magic.”

Andromeda’s lips twist. “And you’re here to warn me away from Sirius, I presume?”

“No,” says Lily, before twisting her wrist into the movements of a warming charm around them. The rain’s irritating enough without having this conversation in it. “I’m here to make sure you don’t kill him.”

“I won’t let you hurt him.”

It takes a moment for Lily to make the connection- clearly, Andromeda’s read the papers; she knows that Sirius betrayed James and Lily. She lifts an eyebrow back at Andromeda instead of bristling, as she wants to. “And I don’t want to hurt him.”

“I’m not fool enough to believe that Gryffindors don’t look for vengeance,” warns Andromeda. Abruptly, her back straightens, stiff as a board. “And I’m not fool enough to ignore a man trying to sneak up on me!”

She whirls around and throws up a shield, just in time to meet the red light of a Stunning spell before slashing her wand to the left.

Latent magic, thinks Lily, distantly impressed even as she ducks behind a convenient chimney for cover. Sirius, I hope you know what you’re doing.

Tiles, stacked neatly under a tarpaulin, emerge and fold themselves into dense arrows. Another flick of Andromeda’s wand animates them, and they follow the direction of her wand to shatter against Sirius’ shields. This is what runes can do in the hands of a master, and Andromeda has clearly spent years making this a battleground fixed in her favor.

Sirius is- in relative terms- holding his ground impressively. 

He’s drawing the rain around him in a spout that gathers all the debris from the tiles. Lily watches as he then redirects the spout to spit back at Andromeda. When she chances a look again, Andromeda’s got a shield surrounding her body that shines blue when one of Sirius’ spells splashes against it. Her head is tilted back, wand aloft, and the rain swirling around them looks less like an encumbrance to her and more like an appropriate backdrop to her beautiful face.

“Ad astra!” cries Andromeda a moment later, and magic explodes around them like white fire.

It blinds Lily. The first thing she sees when her sight returns is Sirius, caught in binds of something around his wrists and ankles. The rope looks like liquid silver; it winks and disappears and flares when he strains against it.

“Lift your wand, and I’ll bind you too,” says Andromeda coldly, turning colorless eyes on Lily.

Lily lifts her hands, open and weaponless. “We had to make sure you weren’t... colluding.”

“Colluding with whom?” Andromeda’s lip curls upward, disgust written plain across her face. “Those who’d kill me for my choices and my daughter for her blood?”

“Well-”

“Or those who remain as ineffectual and moronic as ever?” 

Lily’s mouth snap shuts. Sirius, behind Andromeda, goes still.

“I warned him,” says Andromeda, patting a strand of hair back into place. “Dumbledore, that is. This is what happens when you surround yourself with Gryffindors. Stupidity. The people you’re fighting against are chessmasters, and what are you? Untrained fools!” She shakes her head, and her voice goes flat and cool once more. “Hope can only get you so far, Evans,” she says. “Hope and luck- they will run out one day. Mark my words.”

“I know,” says Lily. “I know. Why d’you think we’re not with Dumbledore right now? We can’t. There are spies.”

“This is war,” says Andromeda, looking at Lily like she’s stupid. “Of course there are spies. Your mistake was not thinking of putting one of your own in their camp.”

Don’t lose your temper, Lily reminds herself. We’re here for a reason. Don’t you dare forget it.

“We need help,” she says bluntly. “We know that. We know that now, at least. We need people we trust. It’s why Sirius wanted to speak to you. Some... advice. Help.”

“Help, or people you trust?” Andromeda smiles, bitter. 

“Help from people we trust,” says Sirius hoarsely. 

Andromeda turns so she’s facing them both at once. “I won’t be a body in your war.”

“Our war,” says Lily softly.

Sirius shakes his head sharply at her, and speaks before Andromeda can. “Believe it or not, Andy, I’m fond of you. I’d rather you didn’t die as well. And I know how good you are at magic, so it’d be better if-”

“Give me a reason to help you.” She shrugs, loose and precise and elegant as a snake wrapped up in silk. “Give me a reason to fight, Sirius.”

“You don’t, and they’ll come after you one day,” says Lily. She lifts her chin. Looks right back at Andromeda. “I killed Bellatrix, so they might’ve forgotten about you, but don’t think that’ll last forever. You’re small fish. But they’ll come for you soon enough.”

Andromeda’s face tightens. “I’ve survived this long. I’ll survive them, too.”

“You’ve survived our family, Andy,” says Sirius quietly. “Not- them. They’re ugly. Cruel. Bellatrix wasn’t even their leader. Can you imagine? Someone smarter. Someone colder. Someone better than Bellatrix, at all the things she loved.”

Something shivers over Andromeda’s face, like a shadow passing over the sun. 

“But if you help us,” whispers Sirius, barely louder than the patter of rain around them, wrists glinting silver and light like bound starlight, “if you help us solve this one thing- I’ll help you get out. There’s a home in Spain. Small. Well-protected.” He swallows. “And I’ll name your daughter the Black heir.”

“Impossible,” breathes Andromeda. 

“No,” says Sirius, an odd smile twisting his face. “Not impossible. Just very, very difficult.”

Andromeda closes her eyes. Presses the tips of her fingers to the corners, and rocks backward. She looks like a woman reborn when she lets her hand drop: something gleams in her eyes that Lily hasn’t ever seen before. Her similarity to Bellatrix is even more pronounced, but so is the similarity to Sirius. 

“Let’s go back inside,” she says. “Show me this magic you need help with.” She levels a look at Sirius that ought to have melted him to ash. “And we’ll talk.”

...

Andromeda had never run from the Blacks. She’d run from the marriage they forced on her; she’d run from the lack of choices; she’d run from the Malfoys. But she’d also run toward something, which wasn’t anything Sirius had ever had.

She’d always wanted to return, and she’d never quite managed it.

Take what people love, thinks Sirius darkly, shadowing Andy’s steps down the stairs and to the front of the table, wrists aching. Know it. Use it. This is a war, is it not? And I am a Black. 

Be careful what you wish for.

“The Black heir?” Andromeda demands, flicking a drying charm over herself with careful precision. 

Sirius relaxes into the chair and flexes his wrists slowly. Whatever Andromeda had used to bind them had felt cold, so cold it hurt. He doesn’t look away from her- the girl Sirius had once known had been kind, but war has the tendency to scrape kindness away to a faint dream.

“As the Heredis, such is my right.”

Andromeda’s knuckles whiten on her mug of tea. “You were disowned.”

“Legally,” agrees Sirius. “Not magically.”

“A technicality?” Andromeda asks. “You think that’ll be enough for our grandfather?”

“What other choice does he have?” retorts Sirius. “Leave it to a Malfoy? To a Lestrange? Who else is there, Andy? We are the last. And I have his word- a vow. That I am the Heredis.”

For a long moment, she doesn’t say anything. Sirius chances a look over his shoulder to Lily, who’s hunched over her own hot drink and looks half-drowned. He turns back, and Andromeda’s face is set in harsh lines.

“The Sirius I knew wouldn’t come back for anything,” she says. 

It’s not a question, not precisely, but Sirius knows what she means. 

Why now? Why now strengthen House Black, when all it’s done is shove pain onto his shoulders? Why would Sirius even care?

There are many answers, each of them true in their own way: those who hurt him the deepest are gone; there’s a war on; Sirius has grown enough to accept lesser evils to achieve the greater. But the truth of it, the underlying stone on which all else is built is-

“Regulus is dead,” Sirius tells her bluntly. “Regulus is dead, and You-Know-Who killed him. He killed him, Andy.”

Killed him. Not true, not in the deepest sense of the word; but true enough. Regulus had run to Voldemort for shelter, and it was a weapon hewn by Voldemort’s own hands that killed him. Sirius looks up, at Andromeda’s colorless eyes, at Andromeda’s sharp, Black features. 

“We know how to defeat him,” he says softly. “Regulus’ killer. And we need your help for it.”

Andromeda sets her cup down, slowly enough that it makes no sound in the saucer. She looks- tired. And frightened. And something else, too, running under it all: determined, like a hound on a scent or a hare resolute on reaching its burrow before being eaten. What would a person who ran for years on end want? What would the wife of a muggleborn and the mother of a halfblood and the sister of Bellatrix Lestrange want?

What would a Black want?

(Because beneath everything else, Andromeda is a Black. She can run from it; she can hide it; she can deny it. But it runs in her as it runs in Sirius, fierce and unapologetic.)

Not just safety. 

Slytherin desire, thinks Sirius. Vengeance. Justice.

Delight and hatred war within him. Manipulation isn’t quite so difficult as he’d thought, and it’s that which makes it more terrible. Delight at getting what he wants; hatred at doing it this way. 

He doesn’t look away from her, and Andromeda doesn’t break her gaze either.

“I’ll need proof,” she says. 

For the briefest heartbeat, the delight triumphs over the hatred. It feels like sunlight over a cloud. Like wings spreading warmth over his bones. 

Sirius indulges in that wild feeling: he kicks back his chair and stands, draping his coat around his shoulders and flicking his fingers at Lily to get up. Andromeda remains, stiff, in her seat. 

“You’re done?” asks Lily, blinking at him.

“Yup,” says Sirius, relishing the word. He reaches out to thread his fingers through hers. Andromeda narrows her eyes at him, and he steps forward and bends down to whisper in her ear. “Tomorrow, cousin. Carry that coat with you.”

And he disapparates.

...

“It’s a trap,” says Remus.

James tips his head to the side. “And if it isn’t?”

“James-”

“If it isn’t,” he murmurs, “we’re going to be really pissed that we didn’t try.”

“And if it is, we’re going to be dead.”

“Mmm. ‘m a Gryffindor.”

“One day that’s going to get you in trouble.”

James waves the parchment under Remus’ nose. “We have to go, Moony,” he says softly. “We have to.”

“Fine,” says Remus. It feels like he’s back at Hogwarts: defeated, but not quite minding the defeat. Committing to a bad idea for no reason other than knowing it’s a terrible idea, and accepting that before he even gets started. But he’s so fucking tired of keeping quiet and hiding. Let them see his fangs. Let them see what he’s capable of. “Fine. But you’re telling Lily.”

...

The next morning, Andromeda meets him on the same roof. She wears the same coat, her hair unwound and spilling like rusted steel down her spine. Sirius’ hand is tight on Kreacher’s shoulder. 

“Sirius-” she says, startled.

“Tell her what you told me,” Sirius interrupts. 

He releases Kreacher and walks away, an impatient itch rising from somewhere near his boots. He knows the story; there’s no need to listen to it again and again. He could probably recite the events in his sleep anyhow. 

Regulus is dead. 

Sirius exhales through that twisting pain. The grief of it. He wants, selfishly, terribly, to see Regulus as a ghost. He doesn’t know what he’d say- sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, it should never have happened like it did- but he wants it anyhow. He wants his little brother back.

He’ll never get it.

A hand comes down on his shoulder, and Andromeda wraps her other arm around him. Presses herself against his chest. Weeps, like something has shattered loose inside her. 

“Oh, Sirius,” she whispers, what feels like hours later. “That’s- oh, Merlin. I’m so sorry. It shouldn’t’ve-”

“He liked you a lot more than me. I should be comforting you, if any-”

“He was your brother,” says Andromeda. “You were- everything. To him. The brightest star in his sky. The person he could hate, without ever doubting your love. The- the compass by which he spun, and by which he measured the world. He loved you. Regulus never, never forgot that.”

“Andy,” whispers Sirius.

She lays her forehead to his. “Sirius.”

He swallows past the hot tears in his ribs and runs his fingers through her hair until he feels he can talk without letting them out.

“I thought- I wanted to do something for him.”

“Yes,” says Andromeda. “Anything.”

“A Black funeral. I know where his- his corpse is. Kreacher can take us there. It might not be easy, but. We should.”

“It won’t be easy.”

“I know.”

“You’ll be incapable of doing anything else for three days after.”

“Yes.”

“It might become dangerous.”

“I’m up for that,” says Sirius. “Are you?”

“We need a third person. A third Black,” says Andromeda. But then, slowly, her eyes narrow into the distance. “But I know someone who would do it.”

“Well, then.” He swallows, throat dry. “What’re we waiting for?”

Andromeda nods. She gets up, shaky and uneven. The sun doesn’t break through- it’s cloudy, but there’s the barest suggestion of light running above it. Her hands reach out, and lift him up, and she clutches his forearms with too-sharp nails.

“Three days’ time? The dark of the moon, I think, that’s the proper night to do it. We’ll meet- I’ll tell you where to meet.”

Sirius nods. Andromeda steps back, and then she turns away. She doesn’t look back.

...

“Gringotts?” asks Lily. 

Remus lifts an eyebrow. “They were the ones to send us the letter.”

“The goblins don’t like us much,” says Sirius.

“The goblins don’t like anyone much,” retorts James. “But I think they’ll like the Death Eaters even less. It won’t be long before he starts cutting heads off, and the goblins hate anyone interfering in their politics more than anything else.”

“You’ll be risking your life on an opinion.”

“Well,” says Remus dryly, “we’ve been doing that for quite some time now.”

Lily cuts a glare at him, and Remus raises his hands in surrender. 

“Lils,” says James softly, and she turns to look at him. 

He doesn’t speak; Lily reaches out and grips his hands. “We have so much here,” she whispers. “So much to lose. Jimmy- our family, our family. How much are we willing to bet on the chance of getting allies in- fucking Gringotts?”

"I’d rather die on my feet,” says James, in the rhythmic cadence of a quote, “than live on my knees. I love you, and you love me, and that’s why we’re going to fucking win, Lily. What am I willing to bet? Everything.” Lily doesn’t shudder, but Remus thinks there’s the gleam of tears in her eyes, “I believe in us, Lils. Always will. Always have.

“Doesn’t mean you have to risk your life for no reason,” drawls Sirius, biting the words off like a fox, all sharp-toothed and furious.

“Like you aren’t risking it in giving Regulus a funeral?” asks Remus.

“That’s-”

“Unnecessary,” says Remus smoothly. “But you want to do it, and that’s why I’m not stopping you. We’ll be careful, we always are- but we aren’t going to stop. Map things out. Study. Do some research. If it all checks out- if the risks seem worth it- then James and I will go in. This isn’t us asking for permission, Sirius.”

Sirius closes his eyes, a muscle in his jaw ticking. Remus wants to go over to him. Kiss him, smooth a finger over that tensed tendon. But Sirius always mistakes gentleness for an apology, and Remus isn’t sorry. Not one bit.

Lily gives a watery chuckle. Steps away from James. “Just forgiveness, then?”

No, thinks Remus, the latent heat of a not-quite-fight in his muscles still. An exchange of information.

“Before the action, too,” says James fondly. “You ought to thank me for that.”

“You?” asks Sirius disbelieving, eyes not opening. 

“Ah, alright then,” says James, and he’s smiling easily; he’s not even bothered. “It was Remus’ idea, if I’m being honest.”

“Knew it,” mutters Sirius, and he slumps further into his armchair.

Remus feels the anger crack away like a walnut shell under a nutcracker’s jaws. It’s not fondness that replaces it; just something hot, like a knife to the ribs. Like the drip of hot wax on skin. Without James they’d be stuck on the first wash of hot anger, always. Almost-fights and too bitter words. The fury of things lost. They aren’t like Lily or James, either of them. Too scarred. Too angry. Too harsh. But with them?

Somehow then, they feel like something approaching perfect.

“Shut up,” says Remus, but he doesn’t mean a single word of it.

...

Lightning crashes above her. Andromeda does not flinch, does not move. She waits, hidden in the curve of a giant tree root. 

She doesn’t wait for long.

Another woman emerges out of the undergrowth, pale haired and pale faced, dark robes wicked close to skin from the rain. Her hair is braided so tightly it pulls at the loose skin of her face and leaves her looking strained.

That just might be her face, though, thinks Andromeda ruefully.

She steps away, giving the woman a moment’s privacy and waving her wand to put up the protections around the small cave. She feels the buzz of old, strong English wards like a tremor along her teeth. Only when she’s certain there’s no breach does Andromeda turn to look at her sister.

“Narcissa,” she says. “How are you doing?”

Narcissa’s dried herself off, but a fraction too much; her hair’s no longer tamped down but a gravity-defying bush that hangs around her head like stardust. She looks altogether too irritated at it.

“Terrible,” says Narcissa lowly. “This rain hasn’t abated in too long. I think I’m going to expire from the dampness.”

“But you’ve won the war,” says Andromeda, sharply cheerful. Watches Narcissa stiffen, like the corners of paper brought too close to flame. “Tell me, Cissy, how does triumph feel?”

“We haven’t won anything yet.”

“The Ministry’s yours.”

“And Hogwarts stands, doesn’t it?” snaps Narcissa. “Don’t act like you’re an idiot. I’m surprised you’re not huddled inside of it like all the other blood-traitors, actually.”

Andromeda lifts an eyebrow. “So surprised you decided to meet with me?”

“I thought it was important.” Narcissa hunches in on herself. “You haven’t asked anything of me since you ran away. When I saw your owl I thought... well, I hoped you’d learned a lesson. Since the Ministry fell.”

Amusement flares inside of Andromeda, followed and inextricable from disgust.

“Because I was afraid?” Andromeda purses her lips when Narcissa doesn’t answer. “Gryffindors aren’t the only ones who know courage, Narcissa,” she says softly. “I would never be able to kneel to anyone. Particularly him. I would draw a knife over my daughter’s throat before I led her into that den of demons, and you know that.”

She’d been so young when she left her family behind. Seventeen summers; a vicious age. Andromeda hadn’t loved Ted back then so much as she’d loathed Malfoy, but she’d grown into both emotions over the years. She can still remember the satisfaction of walking out of her house when everyone believed her imprisoned in her bedroom, wandless and helpless.

Andromeda had shattered her mirror. She’d used the shards to slice into her palms and draw blood-runes on the carpet she’d once played on as a child. She’d walked out, and she still doesn’t regret the scars along her palms.

The wand she holds now is new.

Narcissa knows this.

(And still, she’s come. That must mean something. Andromeda can only hope-)

“You said you needed my help,” she says, eyes glinting. 

Andromeda inclines her head. “Sirius has escaped Azkaban.”

“He’s on our side.”

“Is he?” asks Andromeda. “Sirius, our Sirius, who spat on his father’s memory and laughed when he heard of his aunt’s death? Who raised a wand to Bellatrix and lived to tell the tale? You think Sirius hid his feelings for that long, do you?”

“I- no,” says Narcissa. “No. But I thought he’d- someone had-”

“You didn’t think about it, then.”

“Don’t patronize me,” she says, eyes glittering. “I knew something was wrong. But there’s been something wrong for weeks now, ever since Bella died. Ever since...” Narcissa cuts herself off, peering at Andromeda far too closely. “Sirius escaped. Andromeda. How did he escape?”

Andromeda folds her arms over her chest.

“Outside help,” breathes Narcissa. “He didn’t manage it on his own.”

“Of course he didn’t,” snaps Andromeda. “He was in Azkaban, you think he could break out of there on his own?”

“And this is dangerous.” Her eyes narrow, too-thoughtful. “Because the person helping Sirius isn’t in Hogwarts. The timeline wouldn’t work out, would it? They’re outside. There’s another rebellion, and it’s outside, and- oh, Merlin, it’s underground, isn’t it?”

Sometimes, Andromeda forgets exactly how sharp Narcissa is. The leaps she can make in seconds, which others wouldn’t catch for weeks.

“It’d hardly be surviving if it weren’t.” 

Narcissa trembles at the words and whirls to leave. To tell her husband, and then You-Know-Who. And then-

Andromeda shakes off the specters of the future. Focuses. 

“Before you leave,” she calls out to Narcissa’s back, “you’ll want to hear one more thing.”

Narcissa whirls around. “Andromeda-”

“Our grandfather has chosen a side. And it isn’t your husband’s.” Narcissa goes white. Andromeda reaches forwards and clasps her upper arm. Squeezes, gently. “It’s time for you to choose yours, Narcissa.”

She doesn’t move. “I’ve chosen it.”

“You’ve let our father chose your side,” says Andromeda fiercely. “Then your husband. You have kept silent, and let yourself be carried by their decisions, but that does not mean you must always be so. You hadn’t had any support for all these years- you survived it- but that doesn’t mean you no longer do.”

Narcissa laughs shrilly. “No longer? Who will stand up to Him now? Who will dare? Dumbledore will fall soon; Hogwarts will crumble. And then all that will be left is the Dark. Survival means-”

“-our grandfather knows about survival,” says Andromeda. “Arcturus Black. Famously neutral, despite having grandchildren on both sides of this war. He’s willing to act now, and he has Sirius on his side, and they want our help.”

“With what?” Narcissa asks tightly. “I won’t do anything against Him, even if-”

“And I’m not asking that of you,” says Andromeda. “What, do you take me for a fool? No- I’ll promise you that You-Know-Who won’t care about your actions at all. They will neither hinder nor help him. This is... purely a Black family matter.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Do I look like I’m lying?” asks Andromeda calmly. “I know you won’t help with that, so I’m not asking it of you. But you’ll want to do this.”

“Andr-”

“It’s Regulus.”

Narcissa’s mouth snaps shut.

“Yes,” says Andromeda quietly. “I rather had the same reaction when Sirius told me.”

“He’s dead.”

“Yes,” she says, throat hurting. “But Sirius found where he died. He’s honest about it; I checked it out. And now he wants to give Regulus a Black burial.”

Narcissa blinks rapidly. “But he doesn’t-”

“Regulus did. It was important to him.”

Narcissa swings away, pacing the length of the cave with rapid feet. 

“A Black burial,” says Andromeda, as gentle as she can make her voice. “Whether you choose our side or not, whether you decide to take a different path or not- I hope you’ll come tomorrow.”

“You don’t know the rituals properly.”

“I know enough.”

“Andromeda-”

“Come,” says Andromeda. “For Regulus’ sake, if not anyone else’s. For the boy we both loved, and cared for too little to save. I hope you find heart enough within you to regret that. To make amends for what you could not offer him in life.”

The last thing Andromeda sees before she apparates away is Narcissa’s face: her blue eyes, her hopeless eyes. The color of a cloudless sky. The exact opposite of the sky above them. Her little sister. 

Her little sister, who she can save. 

...

Sirius lands on the packed dirt of a sea-salted hill. The earth crunches under his feet. He hisses out and hunches his shoulders. Stalks down to the edge of the water, where the foam turns the sand dark as his hair. It’s a cold day. A cold morning. The sun hasn’t set yet; the clouds swirl over the horizon.

There’s a pop behind him.

Sirius turns, wand balanced in his palm, and spares a moment to swear even as he raises the wand.

“What the fuck, Andromeda?”

Andromeda swipes a lock of hair out of her face. She doesn’t flinch at his threat. She doesn’t move away from Narcissa.

“I told you I knew someone,” she says calmly.

“Not her!”

“Sirius,” says Andromeda, and she moves forward so swiftly he barely sees it- one moment she’s ten feet away, and the next she’s gripping his arm tight enough to cut into his skin. Her eyes look- grieved, and saddened, and harsh like the storm roiling over their heads. “Regulus is dead. D’you understand that?”

“Of course I do,” hisses Sirius. “What the fuck, you know I-”

“Regulus is dead, but Narcissa isn’t.” Andromeda looks up at him, and there is something blazingly hopeful in the Black-planes of her face. “My little sister is alive, Sirius.”

“She’s made her own goddamn choices,” says Sirius flatly. “Her- her husband, her parents- her sister- she’d stand by and watch you burn alive if-”

“My sister,” says Andromeda. “Or have you forgotten that?”

Then Narcissa steps up to her side, and she looks so different: Rosier coloring. Fair hair and pale eyes. But the gleam to her eyes and the set of her face sing out Black. 

(Everyone always forgets Narcissa’s temper.)

“I’m not here for you or her,” she says flatly. “I’m not here to be saved. But Regulus was a good man, and I loved him, and I wasn’t there for him when he died. Giving him a Black funeral’s the least I owe him. Let’s finish that.”

Sirius feels something wordless, nameless, rise in his throat. He considers, briefly, cutting it and ending this terrible farce. He’s so fucking tired.

“Fine,” he snaps instead, and turns on his heel, and calls for Kreacher.

...

Andromeda shivers as they land on the island. She feels Narcissa snake a hand through hers, soft and cold, as they step into the dark cave. She hears Sirius’ muttering, the magic flaring around them like a snake with jaws large enough to swallow them whole. Sirius’ wand flicks once, and Andromeda sees the effect of their family magic on Voldemort’s enchantments: one Inferius emerges out of the water and lands at their feet. It twitches once, full-bodied, before Sirius’ magic breaks Voldemort’s and releases that which made Regulus an Inferius. 

He lies there instead, a corpse and nothing more.

Shaking, she steps forwards to see him. The red flame of the cave gives enough light to see Regulus. Just enough that she wishes it didn’t.

There’s nothing recognizable about him apart from the long hair. The fat has been sucked away; there’s barely skin on his hollow face. It looks like a skull. Like someone’s joke of a skull.  But somehow, his eyes are intact. Grey and large and empty.

Narcissa gasps, preternaturally loud, at the sight.

Sirius isn’t moving. He stares at Regulus, and doesn’t look away. 

It’s his privilege to take the body away. He’s Regulus’ brother, and the Family Heredis, and it is his right and his duty to take Regulus’ body to a place with clear skies so the stars can look down on their son. But he doesn’t move for so long- long enough that Andromeda almost waves her wand to levitate Regulus’ corpse instead. Sirius doesn’t deserve this kind of quiet, wrenching pain.

She cannot see Sirius’ expression, and she’s thankful for it: if there’s one thing that could break Andromeda, it would be seeing Sirius, who’s never managed to hide one emotion in his entire life. 

Then he inhales, rattling, and leans down. Cradles Regulus’ sodden hair, his skin-stripped skull, and lifts him up into his arms like Regulus is- was- a child.

“Come on,” he says roughly.

...

The sky is dark now, the stars hanging over them like ground diamonds. Sirius climbs over the ragged stone until he comes to a relatively flat surface. He lays Regulus down with infinite tenderness, unsure of where it’s even coming from: he’s never been a particularly soft man, nor a kind man, and war has taken even the vestiges of those traits from him. But Regulus’ body feels like a bird’s, all bone and feather and weight from water. Like something precious. Like something lost, and found, and shattered. 

His own chest feels hollow.

He kneels over Regulus. Those awful eyes look back at him, grey and familiar like a blade. Sirius touches one, the soft skin over it. He thinks he’d give anything in the entire world if someone would just close them for him. 

Distantly, he realizes that he’s making a sound: something ululating and raw. He hates it, and himself, and Regulus, too, of course, because there have only been a handful of times in his life that Sirius hasn’t hated Regulus, and he can scarcely remember how that would feel.

Andromeda catches him. Draws him up against her, arms warm and warm and warm, endlessly. She’s shushing him, rocking him. It would feel comforting, but only to someone who’d experienced it before; all that Sirius remembers of weeping like this as a child is the white-hot firewhip of pain down his back, across his jaw, wrapped around a wrist. 

He drops his forehead to her shoulder. Digs his hand into the skin of her spine.

“He,” he says, and his voice scrapes like a scalpel across his throat. “He. He-”

“Yes,” whispers Andromeda. There are tears in her eyes as well; like the diamonds, like the stars. Grief in all its impossible permutations. “I know, Sirius, I know. I know. My brother. Regulus. Oh, darling, I know.”

He hunches downwards. “I can’t.”

Andromeda’s hand wraps around his wrist, and she runs a hand across his jaw. Down his spine. Where did you learn this kindness? thinks Sirius wildly, even as she soothes some old pain, some old fear. How did you-

Then he sees her gaze, and there is steel within it like a nut at the core of a sweet. Like iron in the heart of a star.

“Yes,” she says implacably. “You can. You must.” Sirius shudders, and she brushes his tears away with the gentlest hands in the history of sisters. “You wanted to give this to him, Sirius, to your brother. You will. You can, and you must, and you will, by all the vows you want me to swear.”

“I can’t.”

“Then you are capable of even more than you believed.”

Slowly, she steps away. Sirius closes his eyes. Searches for the strength to see Regulus again, like that: dead, cold, empty. It’s so different, knowing he’s dead and seeing it for himself. 

It’s so difficult.

But he is a Gryffindor and he is a Black and he is Sirius, at the end of it all. That means something. That means holding his promises. That means doing his duty. That means loving endlessly, impossibly. That means going to his brother’s corpse and giving it the farewell it deserves.

“Okay,” he says, swaying, and takes the elbow Andromeda gives him for balance. “Let’s get this over with.”

...

They return, and Narcissa has done something. Her magic hangs over the sparse grass and stone like a twinkling blanket. Andromeda thinks her face looks strained; she wonders if Narcissa regrets coming. If she regrets seeing what her side is capable of. But then Sirius stumbles and nearly pulls her down, and when she looks at him to see what’s wrong, his face is white.

The scent hits her next.

Dagga, sharp and aromatic. It weaves around her like it’s one of her childhood summers. Neither Andromeda nor Sirius have ever been any good at conjuring, but Narcissa...

Andromeda blinks at her, and she shrugs stiffly. “He liked Mum’s greenhouses,” says Narcissa quietly. “Called it peaceful. When it all became- too much- for him, he’d come over. Stay in the greenhouses until he felt better.” She bites her lip, voice turning formal. “And that is my gift to him, for all the years I knew Regulus.”

Sirius inhales sharply. He steps away from Andromeda, towards Regulus, and drops to his knees. Cards a hand through the hair. 

Slowly, Andromeda takes out the locket she’d spent the previous days carving. A lion. A star. A dog. A snake. The whorl of a galaxy. The curve of a narcissus flower. Wands and magic and stone and darkness for all that Regulus was, is. For all of the people he’d loved. For all the people who loved him. Who love him.

A locket filled with a memory.

She lays it on his chest, and doesn’t look away when the bright glow of the memory emerges out of the locket.

It is not a pensieve; it will not remain in the locket once played. The locket will play the memory once, and only once, and then it will be gone. It’s nothing special, what Andromeda’s chosen- just a summer afternoon, gold as butter and just as soft. Regulus shouting and laughing. The bounce of his hair; its hint of a curl. There are other memories that she might have chosen, of his quiet courage, of his soft, stolen kindnesses, of his determination. But this is what she chose in the end. Just the joy of childhood, unencumbered by any of the loss of growing up.

Only when it’s finished does she realize that she’s gripping Narcissa’s hand again.

She looks to Sirius and sees that his face is tipped up, the golden cast of the memory shining on his face, illuminating the tears.

“That is my gift,” says Andromeda, somehow keeping her voice from cracking. “For the years I knew Regulus.”

She closes her eyes and nearly sags from the relief. 

Now it is Sirius’ turn.

...

The light sears his eyes. He wants to sob with it, but he controls the gasps even if he cannot control the tears flowing down his face. Sirius has to speak for this part. 

“I should have saved you,” he says, and the words that had sounded bitter in his bedroom that morning are as soft as Andromeda’s wrists, as Lily’s hair, as Remus’ skin. Sirius runs a hand through Regulus’ hair and shudders in revulsion, even as he cannot make himself stop. “I will never forgive myself for not being there for you when you needed me. If you’d just asked-” the anger crests, ebbs, a hot ember that is carried away by the tide of his words. “But I didn’t make you feel welcome for that.

“I have no flowers for your grave or memories of joyous times long past. I was not there for you; I cannot undo that. But.” Sirius looks up, skitters his gaze past Andromeda and Narcissa to look at the stars above them. Their forefathers, who he’s hated for so fucking long. “Vengeance, Regulus.”

He doesn’t think. It’s almost mindless, a dream coming to the inevitable conclusion. A wand pressed against his elbow, a spell murmured in the depths of his mind. The stinging heat of blood spilling out. 

“I can offer you vengeance, by my wand to the man who did this,” whispers Sirius. “I assure you: when the stars again shine like this, he will be dead. Blood for blood. Grief for grief. In a year’s time: He will die.”

He gets up, and the stars swim all around him- pinpricks of light dotting the sky, the sea, his vision.

He ignores it all.

“From the stars we came,” Sirius grits out, and raises his wand, blood still dripping down his arm. He thinks Narcissa and Andromeda are echoing him, but he doesn’t pause. This is his, his brother, his ritual, his choice. “To the stars do we go. Come to see your son now! The regal Regulus! My brother who was Heir and beloved! Hang him in the stars as a hero of old and let the world never forget what he was!”

“Come down,” cries Narcissa from behind him, Andromeda to his side. “And retrieve him, and let him rest in peace for the rest of his days!”

Silver light darts down. Wraps around Regulus. Sirius staggers but keeps to his feet, and he sees through the blinding brilliance: Regulus made whole. The pared-away flesh filled out. The eyes given brightness. The glittering drape of the stars around his shoulders, like wings. His brother shifts, and looks at Sirius, and he raises a hand.

The light moves to Sirius and tugs at his wrist. For a moment, Sirius almost moves into its embrace- would have, if not for Andromeda’s suddenly fierce grip on his shirt- and when it lets go, the wound on his arm is gone. It’s replaced by a long white scar that freezes when he touches it.

He doesn’t look away from Regulus. If this is the last time he sees his brother-

“I love you,” says Sirius, the words taken from some deep, bone-deep part of himself. “I love you. I’m so sorry. I love you.”

The light grows brighter, and Sirius cannot see into it any longer, and he is crying, crying, crying, blind as a babe and unable to stop. His little brother, gone where he cannot see. Their last words to each other-

I know, Sirius. Words like music, like moonlight, like the wash of waves on stone. I love you too.

Sirius drops to his knees, and closes his eyes, and breathes through the twisted wreckage of his chest. He doesn’t reach out. He knows what will be there if he does. Regulus is gone, now; gone for good. The words were more than anything Sirius could have ever hoped for. But if he reaches out and receives nothing, he will shatter.

The emptiness in him howls.

He hears through it, at a great distance, Andromeda: “Go home. Yes, he’ll be fine. I’ll talk to you later. Go.”

And her arms, her shoulders, propping him up, guiding him back. The nausea of apparation. The darkness of Grimmauld Place. Remus’ warmth. Lily’s spells. James, white-lipped and pacing. Then darkness. Comforting, soft darkness.

...

In another world, Sirius dreams of blood and vengeance and the squeal of a rat caught between his teeth.

In this one, he dreams of stars.

...

Lily stares at Sirius’ prone form. She turns to Andromeda and lifts an eyebrow.

“He’ll be fine,” she says. She looks far worse than just that morning; Andromeda’s hair’s unraveled out of its braid, and her eyes are red-rimmed. She’s holding her wrist at an angle that implies some kind of injury- Lily isn’t certain if it’s a bruise or a sprain. “It was the shock. The magic poured into him, from the rest of the family- and it was all on Sirius, not us.” She shakes her head. “It has an effect. He won’t be able to use his magic for three days. Anything more complex will take longer.”

“It flooded him,” says Lily quietly.

Andromeda inclines her head. “It’s more than any of us can imagine. And of course, it wasn’t just that. Seeing Regulus like that... it would have been enough to shake even the hardest-hearted witch.”

“You don’t look so good yourself.”

“It’s just shock,” she says. Passes a hand over her face and looks, hopefully at Lily. “But I don’t suppose I could bother you for a Pepper-up?”

“Not an issue. Follow me to the library?” 

Lily waves aside Andromeda’s explanations and lets her into the room. Pours out a measure of Pepper-up, and tops it up with a gin so bitter it made her eyes water when she came across it last week. It’s underhanded, but she suspects that Andromeda’s exhaustion isn’t so much of magical origins as it is shock and grief. And as selfish as it is, she cannot let her indulge in that grief. Not when in the middle of a war, particularly with time running away from them and their entire operation balanced on a knife’s edge.

“You’ve brightened it,” comments Andromeda, looking around the library with a slightly incredulous eye. She raises her hands when Lily glances back at her. “It’s a good change. Just one I never thought to see in Grimmauld Place, of all places on earth.”

Lily hands her the goblet and settles back into an armchair opposite Andromeda. “I couldn’t see anything,” she explains. “Aesthetics and all are fine, but for the amount I was reading? I’d have gone blind sooner rather than later.”

Andromeda sips the drink. She makes a face. “You were reading a lot?”

“Am reading a lot.”

“On identifying the-” Andromeda drops her voice to a whisper, “-horcruxes?”

“Yes.” Lily sighs. “It’s not easy- I can develop the rituals without any issues, there’s definitely enough resources on those- but I’m not sure about the runes; they aren’t my specialty. And when I build the models, none of them work.”

For a long moment, Andromeda doesn’t respond. Then she leans forwards and catches Lily’s eye. “What’s the biggest issue you’re facing right now?”

“Well.” Lily pauses, marshals her thoughts. “We need an anchor over the entirety of the island- I thought of using the ones that the Ministry sank almost four hundred years ago.”

Andromeda’s eyes narrow. “The ones for the Age Line?”

“And accidental magic.”

“You-Know-Who used them too.”

“I know,” says Lily grimly. “It’s where I got the idea from.”

Slowly, Andromeda nods. “So you’re going to edit it,” she says. “Carve your own runes.”

“Sink some of my own that work off of that magic,” corrects Lily. “Like a leech, almost. Directly affecting those anchors is too difficult, and too delicate. But a ward that basically uses that energy for our purposes? Easier. Far easier.”

“Let me see the papers?”

“Accio,” calls Lily, and catches the sheaf that spins out from the opposite part of the room. 

She hands it over to Andromeda, who studies it with the wide-eyed deliberation of someone who isn’t entirely functioning at a hundred percent. Lily busies herself with putting away the gin and locking the Pepper-up again. 

“Hm- what element are you associating the anchors with?”

Lily turns. “Water,” she says. “The anchors were purified with water rituals, weren’t they?”

“Not just water.”

“That’s not what the- there’s a codex here-” Lily rifles through the stack of books that makes up her references and picks up a heavy book titled Codex of Elemental Magicks, “-that says it’s just water.”

“It would,” says Andromeda, stretching back. “That’s what they all say. Ministry didn’t want people knowing the truth, did they? And treating it as one element when it isn’t usually makes things explode. Makes it easier to ferret out all of those dangerous people interfering with their constructions.”

“Andromeda-”

“They’re water and earth,” she says, turning to look Lily in the eye. “That’s the issue you’re facing. The anchors are made to have as little interference as possible- that’s why they combined water and earth. Disrupting one is difficult enough; two braided together’s all but impossible.”

“The stability,” says Lily faintly. “No wonder it’s lasted for four hundred years.”

No recharging needed. No wonder magical Britain had survived Grindelwald and the World War with such ease: their borders had better security than a twenty-foot charged electrical fence. No wonder the rest of the world little wants to get involved with Britain, when it’s so easy to portion them off and away.

Andromeda taps at the parchment where Lily’s worked out her water-nullifying ritual. “You’ll need fire and air together for your runes, if you want it to act as a rider. Nullify the portion of it that specifies no external influence.”

“It won’t be possible,” Lily whispers. “Fire and air. Two elements? Rituals involving elements are volatile enough without adding two together. I’ve never even heard of someone who can do it.”

Andromeda sets her cup aside, eyes glittering. “You need someone who can use fire and air,” she murmurs. “Who can use fire and air to make a physical model of the anchors.” Her cheeks are flushed, and she smiles at Lily, and something clicks in that moment: hot and fierce, like a rush of a river let free from a dam. “I know someone.”

...

“No.”

“It’s necessary.”

“No. I hate her.”

“Sirius.”

“Not. Her.”

“The last of the Infirres. We need her.”

“She won’t answer if she knows it’s me!”

“She’ll answer the Black Heredis.”

“No.”

“Sirius- it’s the only way. Already we’ve lost too much time. Do you want to be the limiting factor? Once this gets done, we can find them.”

“You swear it’s the only way?”

“Yes!”

“I hate it.”

“Sirius-”

“Fine. Do it. But don’t expect me to like that I-don’t-lie-at-all smug bitch. Or to be polite to her.”

“That, I’ll never ask of you.”

...

When the magical people of Britain desired to craft a Statute of Secrecy, the world hadn’t known how it would work. They came up with a solution by building a magical barrier that spanned the northern-most island, the southern-most beach, the western-most mountain and the eastern-most forest. They sank four large anchors into the sea, carved of earth magic and hewn of water magic, and directed that magic into their Ministry of Magic.

There are rituals which hijack the magic of those runes and direct it elsewhere. It takes preparation and care. One mistake can ruin it all.

But Lily doesn’t make mistakes.

...

Fotia Infirre emerges out of the fireplace with a sword in her hand and her hair like flame behind her. She’s a tall woman; her eyes are like blue fire, bright and incandescent. The clothes she’s wearing are simple, but neatly done. Lily tips her head back and watches her, carefully.

“Andromeda,” says Fotia crisply. She turns to Sirius and nods to him, too, without a trace of the resentment Sirius has spent the last two days swearing exists. “Heredis.”

“Infirre,” says Lily. “I cannot say how thankful I am that you came.”

Something hardens in her expression. “I could not refuse.”

“What she means,” says Sirius, “is that my ancestor bound her to our line. She must answer if the Heredis or the Lord calls.”

“That was not all that Lycoris did to my family,” says Fotia. 

Andromeda reaches up and presses her fingers to Sirius’ shoulder, presses him back into his chair. “No,” she says softly. “No. That was not all. We ought to have protected you better. I am sorry for that.”

“A truth curse,” says Fotia bitterly. “Everything that we’d given up for you and yours, and then you let Grindelwald kill us. From elder to mother to child. Until there was only me.”

“Why would Grindelwald curse your family?” asks Lily.

Fotia looks at her directly, and Lily shivers. “Because we were the only ones who could have broken through his wards.”

Lily closes her eyes. Thinks through the implications. 

The only family that could have broken through Grindelwald’s wards. Grindelwald, who’d spent summers in Godric’s Hollow, hearing all of Bathilda’s old stories with a fervor that had left Bathilda suspicious even as she enjoyed telling them. Grindelwald, who’d left Britain and established a base for himself in a castle in the middle of a Balkan forest. A base that had a moat.

“He used water and earth anchors,” she breathes. “Like the ones around Britain.”

Fotia inclines her head.

Lily clutches at the back of the chair. Breathes out. Says, “You can nullify anchor-based wards?”

“Only water-earth ones.”

“How?”

“Air and fire,” says Fotia. “That is what we Infirres do.”

“All magic is aligned with an element,” interrupts Andromeda. “Some are mixes of two. The oldest, greatest magical constructs had all four elements. But most have... fallen out of use recently.”

Fotia laughs, high and sharp as a bird. “Fallen out of use?” she asks. “Have the decency to call it what it is.”

Andromeda sighs. “They were killed,” she says. “Slaughtered, all of them, after the anchors were sunk.”

“Why?” asks Lily. She’s thinking very hard. She can make out the edges of it; she thinks so, at least. “It’s only applicable for making magic stable. Runes. Wards. Spells have only a nominal adherence to the elements.”

“Ah, but the Ministry doesn’t like things being stable outside of its purview,” says Sirius, kicking back in his chair. “Or have you forgotten that, Lils? They don’t like people knowing things that they think are dangerous. They don’t like people making things they can’t do. When you hear what they did to the Blowtons-” he shudders theatrically, and doesn’t finish.

“They killed them,” says Fotia flatly. “Hired them to make the anchors, then drowned them all under the guise of a rogue magical wave. It was the Department of Mysteries according to some rumors, but we won’t ever know for certain.”

“And it doesn’t matter now,” says Andromeda forcefully. 

“No,” says Sirius. “It does.” He’s looking very hard at Fotia, for all that his posture’s still insouciant. “When Lycoris bound you to my family, you accepted because you felt that you had no choice. Because we’d protect you.”

“We did protect them for more than three centuries!”

“Andy. They died.” Sirius places his hands flat on the table and leans forward, and doesn’t look away from Fotia’s glittering blade or glowing eyes. “And all we said was too fucking bad, we’ve got our own problems. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“Yes,” says Fotia softly.

“I’m the Heredis, and I’m formally relinquishing what’s binding you to me. You and whatever heirs you might ever choose.”

Fotia doesn’t move for a long moment. Andromeda’s gone white-faced and pinched-lip beside Sirius, which doesn’t bode well. Lily considers keeping silent. It feels almost sacred, the soft cast to Sirius’ face; the way Fotia’s eyes look like dark, glowing pools of fire. 

But they’re fighting a war, and patience only means time for the other side to catch them.

“You’re free now,” she says, and holds out her hand to Fotia in a painfully muggle gesture. “So. Here’s to asking. Will you help us make those air-fire runes?”

Fotia blinks at her. Looks at Sirius. At Andromeda. 

“The Blacks protected us for a long time,” she muses. “I still cannot tell a lie, Lady Lily, and that is because your friend’s family abandoned mine to the wolves. Do you know what it does to you, to see your parents die before your eyes? To see them all perish, one after the other, simply because of the kindest lies- I’ll be fine, I’ll work with this, I love you. One after the other. Again and again. I buried them, and wept, and had to keep going. All alone.” Fotia sweeps a hand over her hair, pushing a lock back. “And you will still ask me to help you? Knowing all that I would have had if the Blacks had held to their vows? Knowing I am just now freed from mine?”

Lily bears up under the flood of words as well as she can, all rolling shoulders and flexing fingers. 

“I am fighting a war,” she says carefully. “For the first time in- years- there are three sides to it. The Blacks hurt you, yes, but only through negligence. Tell me, Fotia, who put that curse on your family?”

“Grindelwald,” murmurs Fotia.

“Precisely. He hurt you. He was responsible for their deaths. And I am fighting against the man who would make Grindelwald’s dreams reality once more, only harsher. Crueler. I am fighting- we are fighting- to ensure he doesn’t continue his reign of terror. And I know you were wronged by the Blacks. But you aren’t alone in that feeling- I’m muggleborn! A mudblood! My parents died at Death Eater hands because of me. Sirius- his parents threw him out of their house at sixteen. Andromeda ran away instead of marrying their handpicked Death Eater.” 

She leans forward, heart in her throat. “Remus is a werewolf, and my husband’s other best friend.” Doesn’t look away from Fotia’s gaze, even when she feels scoured raw from it. “Our world is broken. I have never, not once, not once, denied it. But if we turn away- if we ignore it- it won’t get better. The only way to make it safer, to make it better: it’s to do it ourselves.”

“You cannot win this,” says Fotia. “His armies- have you seen them? They will crush you. Without any second thoughts.”

“I’ve faced him four times and survived each,” replies Lily softly. “I’m giving you the chance to fight back against all the things that have been taken from you. To give it to another generation. To make the world a better place than what you had.”

She holds out her hand again, painfully muggle, proudly muggle. She is not Lily Evans, but she was once that. She is muggleborn. That blood runs through her veins, rich and muddy and dangerous. She is Lily Potter, and she will not lose what she was in favor of what she becomes. Not for anything.

Fotia draws herself up, tall, inscrutable.

Then she smiles.

“Yes,” she says, and takes Lily’s hand. 

The contact zings through her palm like something electric, but hotter. Like candleflame, the blaze manageable and softening into comfort. Lily remembers James, who’s so far away, who’s in such danger; she remembers the way Harry would yawn when he first woke up from a nap; she remembers the glint of light across her father’s wristwatch.

She loves them all so much. She has lost her parents, but she thinks: if I lose this too, I have lost it all. I cannot survive it.

But Fotia has. She’s older than Lily; but not by much. Probably of an age with Andromeda. And she survived Grindelwald. She survived the death of her family. That’s something- startling. That’s something wonderful.

That’s something so hopeful it feels like the blade in Fotia’s hand has slid into Lily’s chest.

...

James glares at the stone building. His heart pounds. Remus is beside him. The sun feels cold, despite being high in the sky. James had promised Lily that he’d be careful- but he’s running on instinct, the kind that seizes him by the lapels, that leaves the rest of the world colorless. His wand’s a hot line of electricity in his palm. The dream of Thor’s axe rests on his shoulders like wings of fire.

“Ready?”

“Always,” says Remus.

...

They don’t enter by the front door. Instead, it’s a tunnel that opens into a sewer in a muggle alley. Remus slithers in before James, his lean form easier maneuvered inside, and James follows with a flickering Notice-me-not thrown over the grate.

The goblins sent them a note three days previously, telling them to come to the dragon’s lair. Sirius had told them not to use any of the normal dragon-detection tools; they did the job, but also tended to annoy the dragon. And if this was as James suspected, they’d need to keep the meeting as quiet as possible. No raging dragons. None of the classical dragon-detection techniques.

It’s lucky they have Remus.

Werewolves’ natural enemies aren’t vampires, for all the popular canon otherwise. Vampires' largest habitations are in areas that the werewolves don’t tend to inhabit, so they haven’t developed any instincts against them.

No. Werewolves and dragons- they’ve spent thousands of years battling over the same territory. Thor rode into battle on the backs of dragons, lightning flashing around him to kill the werewolves. There’s an instinctive, bone-deep hatred there.

Remus just has to go against the bristling reaction of his inner wolf to tell James the path to take.

It’s dangerous; of course it is. James keeps his hand tight on Remus’ shoulder, and doesn’t dare to breathe too deep.

...

Fotia apparates them to a meadow full of fireflowers. 

“Watch,” she commands, and raises her sword, and the air splits apart with flame brighter than the sun, blinding.

...

They make the rendezvous, just. Remus jerks his hand out and forces James backwards before they step out into the actual cavern, and they stop. Catch their breaths against the stone wall. They’ve done their bit now: they’ve walked into the mouth of the lion’s den. 

They can only hope, now, that it’ll work out.

We aren’t mice, though, thinks James, and grins at Remus. 

He’s regretted three things in his life. None of it has made him happier or kinder or softer.

He grins at Remus, and feels alive, and thinks: if this is how I die, I don’t regret it.

...

Fire dances around them. Fotia dances with it- leads it- guides it. The air chases it higher, damps it down. Lily tilts her head backwards. Watches it. Her hair whips around her, shining. The fireflowers burn brighter, and the air sings out. It is all held in control by Fotia Infirre: Fotia, whose hair sweeps behind her with the grace of black flame. Fotia, whose blade is brighter than anything Lily has seen in all her life.

The wind is so strong that Lily can scarcely see it all. She instead experiences it in glimpses, hidden by her own involuntary tears, by the twist of flame, by the blinding brilliance of Fotia’s sword.

Eventually, she gives in and closes her eyes. Breathes out the smoke and inhales the flame and swallows until the prickle of pain from all the fire has disappeared into the haze of heat.

...

“Wizard.”

“Goblin,” says James, rising to his feet. 

Remus has the better eyesight, which is why he’s hanging just a little back. It’s also why he’s closer to the dragon. Quick reflexes, awful blood- if they’re going to die in this mix-up, it’s going to be a glorious death. If they aren’t going to die- and James certainly doesn’t intend to- well. With any luck the dragon’ll be their ride out.

For a moment, the goblin doesn’t speak. Then he says, softly, “Mr. Potter.”

Warning prickles over James’ skin. “Who’s asking?”

“I am,” says the goblin. “You may call me Brakshal. I- we had not expected your response to be like this.”

“Then how’d you expect it?” asks James, genuinely curious.

The goblins sent him a letter asking for his attendance at a meeting in the dragon’s lair, five days’ hence. But James has learned that often, the things that people don’t do say their position even clearer than what they purposefully show off. The letter wasn’t on Gringotts cardstock. The delivery hadn’t asked for a response- however they got it into Grimmauld Place, the method had disappeared long before James saw the letter. This goblin in front of him looks ragged at the edges, like cheese just slightly softened by a few minutes in the sun. 

“You didn’t expect a response,” he says, half-guessing. He knows it to be wrong before he even finishes the sentence. “No, you didn’t think-”

“James,” murmurs Remus, and James shuts up immediately.

Remus sounds like he’s got a mouthful of iron nails. Careful, and desperate not to cut his tongue open, and worried beneath that like a roaring river. He’s looking at something that Brakshal is wearing, some shiny thing affixed to his chest.

“If your plan was to kill us-”

“James.”

“What!”

“When did he come after you?” Remus asks Brakshal, voice abruptly gentle. “Brakshal, right? When’d he come here?”

Brakshal lifts his head, just a little. “Last week,” he says, and it sounds-

Furious.

James stills. Looks at Remus. Back at Brakshal. Fuck, he thinks. They’d known there was a reason for the goblins to want help. To even ask for assistance. But nothing like this. 

“How many?” asks Remus, and he still sounds heartrendingly gentle.

“The Third and Fourth clans are gone. The First... has enough for us to maintain some of the mining operations. The Second is almost all alive.” He swallows. “So many. Too many.” Brakshal makes a grating sound, and Remus’ hand spasms on James’ shoulder. 

“The diamonds turned to rubies,” he hisses in James’ ear. “That’s the general translation. Blood on the- oh, Merlin, James-”

“Yeah,” James mutters back. “I get it. We’re fucked.”

"No-”

He turns back to Brakshal. “Why us, then?” he asks. “Dumbledore’s in Hogwarts. He’s got the ability to actually help.”

“Do you know what they called Potters?” asks Brakshal. 

James slides a look towards Remus, who’s looking just as puzzled. “No.”

The goblin smiles, sharp-toothed. He looks bitter. “Your ancestor brought our oldest shielding spells down and arranged an army around the entrance three centuries ago. Where Sheridan Potter walked, sunlight followed. And she did not stop until she entered Gringotts.”

“Master Brakshal-”

“Lord Potter,” says the goblin, flatly. “Goblins have long memories, written out in metal. And your wife brought light to our home, for the first time in three long centuries. Even the Dark Lord did not commit such sacrilege.”

James stiffens. He thinks he can hear the dragon stirring. His hand closes over his wand, hidden in his pocket. He considers, briefly, denying it; but Remus’ hand tightens again on his shoulder. And the warning in that grip gets James back on track.

“I can... get you an apology,” says James slowly. “I am indeed sorry that she committed such sacrilege in your halls.”

Brakshal’s face tightens. “If we’d wanted an apology, we would have demanded one. Or extracted one from your vaults. No- that doesn’t matter. It takes a year of babbling to match one breath of steel, Lord Potter. It is your actions that are important now.”

“What actions?” asks James.

“Your wife brought light to our home, but the Dark Lord brought death,” says Brakshal lowly. “He called our leaders into your ministry last week and demanded we hand over sovereignty, and when we refused- he killed us, and kept killing us, until he came to a goblin gutless enough to surrender.”

His voice is dispassionate, but the expression that James can make out in the dim light- it’s infuriated. 

No, thinks James. No, this is- how I felt. When I realized our home had been taken from us. When I realized how unsafe the world can be.

“He killed them,” says Brakshal. “One after the other, until all that remains of those Clans is those too weak or too afraid to stand up to him. Do you even know how long we’ve been independent? Do you even know what we have lost in this past week?”

“I can imagine,” says James softly.

“No, you cannot." Brakshal straightens, proud and stiff. “You do not even know what the Potters are called. But it matters not. Your wife did not know what she was doing when she came here, but she was doing as Potters have done for centuries. So I am here to barter with you. Give us his head. The Dark Lord’s head. Swear to us you will kill him, and you will do it soon, and offer us his head as a trophy. Swear to us that you will fight for that.”

“And in return?” asks Remus.

Brakshal’s teeth glint in the darkness. “There is a vault which I believe you might have some interest in.”

“A... vault?”

“I am a miner. That is what I shall do until my dying day. And sometimes, mines go perilously close to vaults. Particularly the deepest ones.” James looks into Brakshal’s eyes, and feels his mouth dry at the implications. “The ones with the highest security.”

Remus still sounds calm. Too calm for James’ taste. “That won’t go against any of your oaths?”

“I’m a miner,” repeats Brakshal. “Not a banker.” He hesitates for a moment, then adds: “The first vow we swear is to our family, then to clan, then to the nation. Only later do the oaths of loyalty to our leaders come. Too many of us have forgotten that- but it matters not. It will change. Once the Dark Lord has been defeated.”

James frowns, the words niggling in his head. Too many of us. “You didn’t tell me why you chose us.”

“We learned Lord and Lady Potter still lived when our blood records didn’t display your deaths,” says Brakshal slowly. “We only started to suspect when Lord Black changed his formal will to someone who wasn’t supposed to inherit anything. But then. We saw, those of us with eyes to see and brains to match, and we knew we had to act. 

“We call you Light-Bringer, Lord Potter. Where Sheridan Potter walked, light followed. Not just light but Light- that magic which has been in Britain for so many millennia. Where all of you walk, where you go, you bring Light with you. It is sunken into your blood.” Brakshal clicks his tongue. “And we have seen what the Dark does to us.”

“Fear can only take any agreement so far,” says Remus neutrally.

Brakshal inclines his head. “We have our own scryers,” he says quietly. “They don’t see enough, but sometimes... with the right questions... A Potter Lord with a Black Heredis at his side, a muggleborn wife, a werewolf at his side- you are young, all of you, but youth has never made anyone unworthy.” There is, beneath the anger and fear, a flash of something that makes James feel very small, and very proud, and deeply, entirely, confused at it. “The breath of air you promise- the change you bring by just existing- we can see it, for those of us with eyes. And we won’t let such a chance pass us by.”

“Light-bringer?” asks James, strangled. He considers reaching for Thor’s axe, but discards it. Thinks instead, and comes to another conclusion, one that sits in his belly like a cold stone: “We’re going to have to come back.”

“Lord Potter-”

“Give me a week,” says James urgently. “Give us a week. Keep your heads down. Don’t die. I can-” 

“James,” says Remus. James turns to him, and sees the pale, set look on Remus’ face. “Swear to him. Swear to him that you’ll give him You-Know-Who’s head. We’ll do an Unbreakable Vow, if you want.”

Brakshal recoils. “That won’t be necessary.”

Goblins don’t swear by their magic. They haven’t done so since wizards took their wands away and their magic went into stone and became nearly dormant. But no matter what else happens, their blood is magical. They don’t swear by what they cannot have; they swear by-

“It won’t,” agrees James. “A Blood Vow, then?”

Brakshal stares. So does Remus. 

Blood Vows are old magic. The Unbreakable Vow kills people who break it by turning their own magic against themselves. The old stories say they were developed to make Blood Vows more civilized. 

Because Blood Vows don’t just kill oathbreakers. They turn their very blood to liquid metal. And they do it slowly.

It’s a painful death.

It’s also easier to swear. No third parties necessary; just two people and a bowl. James thinks back to old history lessons in his family home, and transfigures a copper bowl out of a piece of stone. Lays it on the earth, and kneels over it. 

“Lord Potter,” whispers Brakshal.

James presses his wand to the inside of his elbow. Two days previously, he saw the white, winding scar on Sirius’ elbow. It feels right to let it match.

“I will work to kill the Dark Lord,” he says. “I will do it until either he or I is dead. And when he dies, I will give you, Brakshal of Gringotts, his head, as bloodprice for the grief he has rent among you and yours. I swear thus, by the iron in my veins.”

He runs his wand down, and feels the burn of split skin as he does. James lets it puddle into the bowl, unflinching. Remus hisses out but doesn’t react beyond it. Brakshal waits until the bowl is half-full, then he reaches out and picks it up. Tips it back and swallows.

“May the iron swallow you if you break it,” he croaks. 

James vanishes the bowl and stands. He sways. Too much blood loss- but for a worthy cause, he thinks dryly, and settles with Remus’ hand pressed up against his spine. Brakshal looks away, then back. Slowly, he holds out a hand for James, and there is something shining in the middle of his palm, dark but glittering.

“Take it,” he says. “It is a Portkey to here. I have no wish for you to come across anyone else before we finish our bargain- this will bring you here, to this corridor.”

Remus huffs out a laugh. “I knew you’d gone rogue.”

“We all do what must be done.” Brakshal shrugs. “Goblins do not like dragons either. Only madmen would come this close to one without reason. And to defeat a Dark Lord- one who holds the government, one on the very precipice of complete victory- you need madmen.” 

“So it was a test.”

“You passed.”

“But you can promise us the vault?” asks James.

Brakshal smiles, for the first time since James has met him. 

“Yes,” he says, so unshakeable it sounds like all of Gringotts could fall apart around him and he’d still know the answer. 

There is another vow here, now; one that James could accept, one that sings out like glittering strands. He only bows his head. Steps back, and feels Remus sling a warm arm around his waist, and lets the Portkey’s magic gather them back to outside Gringotts.

“One week,” he says, firmly, before it all become a blur.

...

Fotia stops, and the world stops with her.

Lily breathes out what feels like her first full breath in too long. Andromeda looks almost unaffected, but Sirius is white-faced and his shoulders are hunched about up to his ears. The flame Fotia’d harnessed fades into the air without any of her magic supporting it, and what remains are four stones. They’re clear as crystals, save for when Lily hefts one and holds it up to the sky: they shine, glittering sparks of red and white and a thousand other shades seen in flame and air.

“It’s done, then,” she breathes. Her voice sounds strange to her own ears.

Fotia inclines her head. Her hair looks further tangled; her eyes glitter a shade too bright. 

“Use it well,” she says, and her voice is as stiff as it’s been ever since Lily first met her. She turns to Sirius. “Our business is at an end, Black. My family’s and yours. If you ever call for me again-”

“-you won’t answer,” finishes Sirius. “I understand.”

“Good,” says Fotia, and spins on her heel, cracking away.

Andromeda immediately moves to support Sirius, who sags as soon as Fotia disappears. The sickly edge to his skin makes him look small; Lily gathers the crystals carefully and waves wordlessly for Andromeda to side-apparate Sirius back to Grimmauld Place. 

Andromeda nods. She disapparates. And then there’s nothing around Lily but the silent, glittering feel of rich, old magic ringing through the air. 

She lets herself marvel at it.

She lets herself want it. Lily loves this feeling; craves this history, this weight and tradition and power. It isn’t her inheritance, but it’s what she’s built her life around. Wards. Rituals. The oldest kind, made of sheer want and desire and the curve of a blade.

She lets herself revel in it for one breath longer, and then she apparates away.

...

“Remus, could you come to the library with me?”

Remus jerks his head up, startled. So does James, eyes narrowing on Lily. She raises her eyebrows back. 

“Hiding things?” asks James.

“Your birthday present,” says Lily sweetly. James scoffs, and she rolls her eyes. “There’s a lunar aspect I read about that can stabilize the runic array. I thought I’d get Remus’ advice on it, seeing as he’s been mildly obsessed with astronomy since first year.”

“Mildly obsessed is an exaggeration,” mutters James.

“Not everything has to do with you, love,” says Lily, and leans down to press a kiss to his hair before meeting Remus’ gaze and nodding to the door.

A little more excited now, Remus follows Lily to the library. He enters it for the first time since she remodeled it- the increase in light does wonders for reducing the gothic edges the Blacks had spent years instituting, and Remus thinks briefly about how much Walburga Black would’ve hated it. 

Then there’s a sharp feeling across the back of his neck, and Remus turns, predatory instincts flaring, wand sliding into his palm.

Lily has her wand up. The ward she’s just constructed glows around them, gold and bright as honey. Remus hisses out through his teeth, and Lily lowers her wand slowly, eyes gleaming.

“This is about James,” she says.

Resignation sweeps over Remus’ head, mixed liberally with disappointment. But he looks at Lily, and he sighs, and he wishes he could be surprised about it.

...

Remus pauses. He looks so tired. Lily can understand; she feels the same way. It’s such a surprising realization: fear is exhausting, more than it is terrifying. When she and James went into hiding a year and a half ago, it’d been exciting, up until it wasn’t. When Voldemort came to their home- Lily’s never been quite so frightened. She’s never known this kind of high-level, mind-numbing terror for such a long time, and she suspects that it’s taking its toll on all of them.

After this, she promises herself, and allows herself to think about that idea- surviving to the end, surviving past the end- we’ll go somewhere else. Somewhere warm. And learn to relax.

He’s still waiting, though. Remus’ hair is all but bristling with latent, suppressed aggression. Lily forces herself to keep herself calm, to keep her spine loose and her gaze steady.

“He’s gotten reckless,” she says quietly. 

“He was always reckless.”

“Not like this,” says Lily. 

She remembers the fear she’d felt when James told her about the Blood Vow. These are not risks they can afford, and James doesn’t understand. Lily’s not a stranger to risks such as those; she’s taken her fair share, walked straight into traps and trusted in the sharp edge of her wand and the fury in her gut to carry her out. But she hasn’t trusted in strangers to keep her alive before. She hasn’t trusted goblins who are known for double-crossing and distrust of wizards. She isn’t stupid enough to try to win a war this way.

“Tell me I’m imagining it,” she says lowly, the tension hiking up in her voice. “Tell me I’m imagining this, and I’ll leave it alone. Believe me, Remus, I’ve got more than enough on my plate to deal with.”

Remus’ eyes look away, one half-flick to the side, and Lily has her answer.

She reaches out and brushes a finger gently over the inside of his wrist. Gentleness is Remus’ downfall, as it is Sirius’, though Remus isn’t far gone enough to consider any kindnesses as apologies. It hones him instead- makes him focus, reminds him of all that they’ve sacrificed, puts to mind all that they’ve yet to lose.

“You’re not,” he says hoarsely. “Not. You know. Entirely.”

“A vow,” says Lily, and can scarcely keep the shrill note of terror out of her voice. “A Blood Vow! To a goblin!”

“Well,” Remus points out. “He’s already fighting for it. Defeating You-Know-Who, I mean. Doesn’t make it worse than- Sirius swearing to his grandfather, not-”

“Except his grandfather was fucking holding Sirius over a cliff!” says Lily, drawing away and grabbing at the back of the settee near her, feeling for the sharp edges and holding on tight. She feels adrift these days, like she’s barely surviving each wave cresting over her head before the next one carries stinging salt into her eyes, into her lungs. Lily breathes in, and moderates her voice as best she can. “And the only thing James seems to know to deal with cliffs is to throw himself off of them.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It is completely fair, and you know it,” says Lily tiredly. “I don’t care. That axe- it’s making him worse. And I can’t tell him to calm down, or to not use it, or to stay away from the front lines of this fucking war. Not while we’re the de facto leaders. Not while Harry needs us.”

Remus sags, and slides into the chair opposite her. “So what do you need from me?”

“I need you to keep him alive.”

“I’m not going to let him die!”

“Good,” says Lily savagely, and relishes in the aborted flinch across Remus’ shoulders. “Stick with him. That’s what you do, better than any of us.” 

It’s true; Remus is brilliant at quickfire volleys while James has the regimented discipline of an auror. They’ve taken down more than their fair share of Death Eaters. And James suffers the same thing most of the male Order members are afflicted with: they keep Lily away from the worst of the battle without any conscious thought, while running into the thick of it themselves. She won’t be there when James gets caught in a battle, and she’s willing to bet that Sirius won’t be there either. Not when Sirius has enough charisma to lead his own front of the war.

Lily knows this. 

Remus knows this.

Plan for what you can, thinks Lily, dryly amused. Screw what you cannot.

“And when you think he’s taken on too much,” she whispers, leaning forward, “send him to safety.”

Remus stares at the stone Lily’s pressed into his hand. It’s a fascinating color- black, or at least a very dark green, with flecks of gold and glittering blue turning it iridescent. A small stone, but it thrums with power.

“What is this?”

“A portkey.” Lily hesitates. “Well. Sort of.”

Remus looks up at her, and there’s faint amusement in his eyes. “What is it?” he repeats.

“I took it from the ring James destroyed,” Lily tells him. Reaches out and flips it over, and shows him the symbol carved on the other side: a bisected triangle with an inscribed circle. “There’s something there about Hallows if you research the symbol, but I don’t think it matters. There was latent magic in the stone, and James’ lightning supercharged it. In a way. And the piece of soul left in there? Disintegrated inside the stone.”

“So you harnessed it,” murmurs Remus.

“It’ll break through any portkey ward you can imagine. Including Hogwarts. Once, and only for him, but. Once should be enough. Take him straight to a small cottage in Cornwall.”

“And you’re giving it to me?”

“James won’t use it,” says Lily. “Have you met him? He’ll stay until all of us are dead or worse, and won’t once think of himself.”

She won’t survive losing him. She can lose everything else, all else, but not this. Not James. 

It’s her line in the sand.

(When Lily first signed up to the Order, Dorcas Meadowes had taken her aside. Pressed a hand to her shoulder. Said, softly, “They’ll give you information on surviving Death Eater prisons next week.”

“I,” Lily had replied. “Um. Okay?”

“What you need to know about that,” said Dorcas, “is that it’s done with purebloods in mind. Pureblood men. It won’t help you.”

Lily had looked up at Dorcas’ haunted eyes, at Dorcas’ firmed lips, her low-lying, immoveable stance. “Oh,” she’d said. “What should it say then?”

Something had twitched in Dorcas’ face. It haunts Lily even now, that instinctive, unsuppressable reflex, like a fish flopping on the ground, airless and desperate.

She’d said, hand bruising on Lily’s shoulder: “Don’t get caught. And if you do: die, first. Because you aren’t worth anything to them at all, and they know it, and you aren’t going to trust in their mercy.” She hadn’t looked directly at Lily but through her, and her gaze had burned like ants’ venom. “They aren’t going to give you any.”

“If it’s so dangerous- if I’m so fucking small- why does it-”

“Matter?” Dorcas stepped away. “I’m here ‘cause I’m done, girl. With their idiocy. With their cruelty. We survive on the dregs of their society, where they’ve got it all fucking made, and we’re glad for it because it’s magical. Well. Fuck that. If they want to silence you, make them fight for it. If they want to kill you, make them fucking die first.”

She’d died two years later, because Voldemort burned down an orphanage near Islington and she’d chased after him instead of waiting for backup. Dorcas Meadowes died that night with her wand in hand, her eyes lifted to the sky, and, Lily was certain, of the empty belladonna vial she’d found in her robes, not at Voldemort’s hand. No matter how many people told her otherwise.

Dorcas’ line in the sand killed her.

And now, years later, almost too late, Lily’s found hers.)

“He won’t forgive you,” says Remus softly. “He won’t forgive us.”

James had fucked her that night, and he’d thought the bruises left on her shoulder were of his making. Lily hadn’t told him they came from Dorcas. Lily’d accepted his kisses, his apologies, and she’d shut her eyes tight against the memory of a muggleborn witch desperate to keep another from believing in a better world than was out there.

“I don’t care,” replies Lily. “I’d rather he hate me than die because of me. And I know you feel the same.”

The ugly part of herself and Remus, where they’d both rather die for their love than live against it. They’re selfish at their cores, harsh in the places where brightness sits in James and Sirius. They’re the same, the two of them, the werewolf and the muggleborn. The prefect and the Head Girl. The people who did not choose this war, but chose to fight in it.

They know, intrinsically, what’s at stake here.

“Our secret,” sighs Remus.

Lily reaches out and closes her palm over his. Holds him tight. 

“Keep him safe,” she says, and orders, and weaves hope into reality.

...

“You’re certain?”

“Everything’s ready,” agrees Lily. 

Sirius nods. James rolls his shoulders. Remus smiles, sharp and thin as a rapier. 

Lily inclines her head. “Keep the timers at the ready. Everything has to be perfectly coordinated. And if it doesn’t work... apparate away. Fast.”

“Before it all explodes,” says Sirius.

James lets out a sharp bark of laughter, and nods. Lily grins. Remus reaches out, and they hold each other, all four of them. Alone and together, as it’s been since Voldemort broke their home. Leaning on each other to survive to morning. They’ve got a chance to deal a blow to Voldemort, and by all the gods James is going to take it.

“Good luck,” says James, and they back away from each other, and apparate out to their respective places.

...

Sirius’ element is water, on account of his familial inheritance. The location for his ritual is a tiny rock in the middle of the Channel Islands, just barely large enough that he doesn’t need to worry about slipping off of it. The waves keep washing over his boots; he hisses out when the salt tries to cake on the dragonskin etchings. 

Slowly, he loops out the weighty crystal Fotia crafted. There’s five of them now: one to each of them, and one to ground the entire ritual. There’s careful runes carved on these crystals made by Lily’s hands. They depress against his skin. 

“Here goes nothing,” Sirius mutters, and lets his magic flow out into the waves washing around him.

...

Remus’ element is earth, also on account of his family inheritance. He’s in a hollow made by a tree’s roots, the earth damp and breathing as it surrounds him. 

“Fucking Suffolk,” he grits out, wiping the streak of mud off his forehead.

The crystal is warm and vibrating very gently in his palm. Remus focuses hard on it, pushes his magic, and the earth rises to his call like a blanket pulled by his fingers.

...

James’ element is the air, because he loves flying more than any of them. 

He’s shivering, frosted over and wind howling, on the top of a mountain somewhere in the Hebrides. Then he reaches for the crystal and grips it tight, and lets his magic out in an uncontrolled wash instead of the sharp edges of wand-magic, and feels the wind sing above his head.

...

Lily’s in Scotland.

Her element is flame, because she is a Gryffindor, because she is of flame, because she has a fire blazing somewhere deep in her ribs of fear and fury and love hot enough to burn the world down. The crystal is shining in her hands like a star. Her hair dances in the wind, and she releases the dam on her magic, and flame winks into being around her like a thousand birds with wings afire.

...

It’s twilight. Remus hears the timer go, and he pushes his magic, the earth’s magic, into the crystal. 

As full as full can be, he thinks, and hears, and says, and wishes. As full as full, and no further. The earth is mine and I am hers, and this is what I wish.

...

It’s twilight. 

James’ wind comes at the crook of his fingers. Wraps around the crystal. Sinks in. 

Until you’re about to burst, he thinks, and hears, and says, and wishes. Until then, and not one more breath. You come when I call, and this is what I demand.

...

It’s twilight. Lily’s flame is hot around her like a volcano on the cusp of exploding. Magma to lava. In to out. The crystal shines, brighter and brighter still.

Long enough to burn the impurity away, she thinks, and hears, and says, and wishes. Long enough, and no longer. Do as I say, and this is what I want.

...

It’s twilight, and Sirius is surrounded by water.

Brimming with it, he thinks, and hears, and says, and wishes. So that you’re brimming with this power, but not one drop more. Let it be so, for this is what I need.

...

It’s just past twilight, and they see the crystals start to shake. They can see the vibrations. They can something growing in the middle, a vision so lovely it brands itself into their minds. It cannot be unseen.

(Magic always wishes to grow, and they’ve given it the best possible place to grow. But they need the magic to obey, for any other kind of magic is dangerous. Is cruel, and cold, and will grow deadly if left unchecked.)

They wait.

This must be done together. All at once, or not at all. They must trust, and have faith. 

And when the time comes, they must break the most beautiful thing their minds can imagine.

To complete the ritual, they must destroy it.

...

The sky is dark, and Remus’ fingers are twitching. He cannot look away, and he cannot bear to let the magic drop away either. He sees something lovely, warm, softer than any dream and gentle as a misting rain. What he can never have.

Sunlight. Laughter. Warmth.

Sirius’ head thrown back. The lines of his neck. The dip of his collarbone, down and then up, like the faintest half of an infinity symbol. His skin. 

His rage.

The vision turns to fire, and Remus’ fingers curl into fists, and the earth swallows the crystal whole.

...

The moon shines down on Lily, and her gaze is fractured by the vision of something lovely, the tears in her eyes standing out. She sees herself, standing above all others, bright and beautiful and adored.

So loved.

So lonely.

So lost.

The vision washes away, and she breathes out fire that chars the crystal to ash.

...

Sirius’ ancestors smile at him from the distant stars. He thinks he can hear Regulus. It’s all he sees in the crystal: family, all the families he’s had, all the families he’s wanted, all the families he’s never thought to hope for and has received.

James, and Lily, and Remus-

Remus-

Their hands on his back, their fists on his lapels, their love, their grief, their kindness, their fear, their strength, strength, strength-

The image blows into dust. Sirius cries out, and the ocean crashes down on him, on the crystal, drowns them both.

...

James is close enough to touch the stars, and all he can see is what he’s lost in the world. Harry, leaping in a field, unafraid. Lily, laughing without worrylines carved into her face. Sirius and Remus and the Order and the Wizarding World and the whole damn universe-

Unafraid. Bright. 

His father’s voice: start small, Jimmy, and build your way up. 

A hand sweeping up, and showing him Potter Manor. All the four hundred floors, all the clouds wrapping around the highest levels. This is what you are and this is what you have and this is what you can become. Responsibility and awe, intertwined. Fear and determination. 

The clasp of Lily’s hand on his. The warmth of Harry’s sleeping blankets. Sirius’ bright eyes. Remus’ tea.

Start small, and shift the world in ways nobody realizes until long past you’ve finished. 

Start small and build your way up.

The image disappears. James grins up at the sky, tears streaming down his face, and yells as loud as he can.

The wind howls in response. It grabs his crystal straight out of his palms and hurls it against the mountainside, and he watches it shatter into a thousand pieces of glittering glass.

He feels the magic of the ritual snap into place like a taut rope just beyond his reach, and slips to his knees with mountan-air jagged and freezing in his lungs.

...

They’re draped over pieces of furniture, too tired to move. Andromeda’s said she’ll come in the morning to feed them some potions and get them up and running again, but for now it’s just the four of them, tired and soft and together in a dark room in Grimmauld Place.

Finally, Sirius drags himself upright and moves to the map of Britain, which contains the results of whatever they’ve done with the ritual. The fifth crystal is the focal point of the entire thing, and it’s projecting its magic onto the map Lily’d put up. He squints at the sheet, and then he swallows, hard, stumbling back.

“You recognize it?” asks Lily.

“One’s in Gringotts,” he says. “Another’s in Hogwarts.”

They’d planned for that.  Those two places make sense. But they don’t have time to research Voldemort’s history, to make a list of where he might have put all of his other horcruxes. They don’t even know how many horcruxes there are.

Sirius feels Remus’ hand on his wrist, his breath on his shoulder as he steps up beside him to peer at the map.

“That’s- Wiltshire,” says Remus.

“Wiltshire?” asks Lily, bewildered. “What’s in fucking Wiltshire?”

Sirius drops his face to his hands. Exhales. Rises. “Malfoy Manor,” he says. Turns, and meets James’ bruised eyes, Lily’s exhausted face. Remus’ steadfast gaze. Doesn’t look away. “Malfoy Manor is there. Not another Wizarding community in sight. I’ll bet you anything- it’s in that house.”

“Andromeda’s not going to like that,” says Remus.

Sirius huffs a laugh.

Andy wants to save her sister? Her sister’s been harboring a part of Voldemort’s soul in her home for Merlin knows how long. It’s the Black tragedy, isn’t it, to have everything they’ve ever wanted and losing it all to circumstances just an inch out of reach. The farce of it. The terrible, mocking tragedy.

Fuck this, thinks Sirius, and is a very mature adult as he walks away without cursing anything at all.

[pynkhues]

Do you think Rio's laughter was a sign that he would accept Turner's deal? Cause I feel like the laughter was him being like no freakin way

I’ve been thinking about this a lot, anon, because I’m actually not sure! I’m kind of in two minds about how Rio’s going to proceed given the circumstances. I think that there’s a chance he could fake Turner out, and then take him out fairly quickly to clear the board and pivot his attention to Beth.

I also think that he could play a longer game to ultimately set Turner on Beth - Rio is certainly petty enough to have an “Oh, sorry, baby, didn’t you say I was your problem?” moment when the time is right, haha. 

Either way though, I don’t think there’s any doubt that Rio’s going to use Turner in some way to his own personal advantage. He’s too strategic and too much of a chessmaster for anything else. I also don’t think anything could make Rio snitch? At least not unless he saw some personal gain in it. I mean, hell, he obviously didn’t after Beth and the girls got him arrested, which would’ve been a pretty easy way of handling them. 

I think what we’ve seen across S1 and S2 now - and something that’s been fairly consistent of him character-wise - is that Rio really seems to operate with his own personal sense of justice. He really seems to be the judge, jury and executioner of his own empire, and he seems to like to (or at least feel the need to) deliver that personally - we’ve seen that multiple times across both seasons with how he handled the girls robbing him, when he thought they’d short him, we saw it with what happened to Eddie, how he handled Beth getting him arrested, how he handled Beth taking the pills. It’s that that kind of makes me lean towards the former theory. I think he’s going to want to deal with Beth himself, which ultimately makes me think he’s going to get what he wants / what he can out of Turner, then turf him, before turning his undivided attention on Beth. 

[jcmorrigan]

I don’t like the Even/Vexen redemption arc. Not one bit. I recognize it is legitimate in context and has its place, though I’d really like to see more of his epiphany moment to be fully convinced. But I like him better as a villain. He’s more FUN as a villain. He’s a sassy brat who hates everything and that’s just fun to me. That’s where I’m going to start here. Feel free to disagree.

I came across this post last night, and it was really helpful for putting together the KH Radiant Garden lore. I appreciate phylum and regiss for compiling the history. Now, I do not personally know either of them nor their opinion on Even/Vexen’s redemption status, and I want to say I’m not claiming either of them supports either way based on this post alone. I’m saying that this post inspired me to come to a rather interesting analysis when I looked at Radiant Garden’s history lined up.

This is all headcanon and conjecture. I have no hard evidence to back this up. Feel free to disagree. However...I think there’s a rather interesting sequence of events going on here that may suggest Even didn’t just fall off the slippery slope once Xehanort showed up. I personally think he’s been a bad apple for longer than expected. 

Let’s take a look at when he first sights Ventus. 

We’ve always known Even was top-tier at observation. He’s a scientist, and 358/2 Days has him specialize in recon missions (if his training Roxas is any indication). 

However, with the entire history of Radiant Garden at our hands, this takes on a bit of a new light. The castle’s inner workings, unbeknownst to Ansem, would eventually start taking human subjects from town for experimentation on hearts. Knowing that...it suddenly looks a lot more like Even noticed Ven’s anomaly and marked him as a potential test subject. Given his involvement with Subject X down the road, he either condoned or participated in abduction, and it’s starting to look like he was planning it.

The scary thing here is that the true experiments only began when Xehanort and Braig started mucking around because it was part of their grand plans (two completely separate grand plans). This takes place at least a day before Xehanort shows up. Braig was there, all right, but there’s no indication he made any move.

Before Xehanort instigated the experiments on the nature of the heart, Even was already planning to do something similar, using the same sort of test subject. 

And let’s think about how Xehanort and Braig’s machinations benefitted him. Obviously, he jumped right on board when they initiated the experiments - though, given this, one now wonders how much of the minutiae of the experiments came from the Xehanort-Braig chessmaster squad and how much actually came as suggestions from Even once he heard there was a project in the works. Do I think Even knew the truth about the Xehanort plan or the Keyblade War? No. Do I think it’s plausible that when he saw the two of them start moving things in a direction that would allow him to push ethical boundaries to achieve his passion project, he played right along to reap the rewards? Absolutely. Ienzo even said that the apprentices gave up their hearts willingly, and since Braig was actually taken by surprise in that regard, that implies that the others, Even included, were willing to cast off their hearts to the darkness. Ienzo also said that he’d been told Ansem had gone mad when he disappeared - and didn’t mention anyone refuting it. There’s no way Braig and Xehanort could’ve told Ienzo that without Even knowing. Even was a primary caretaker of Ienzo. And he sat back and let Braig and Xehanort say what they wanted, because if Ansem is a “madman” who isn’t allowed back in the house, he isn’t going to tell Even “no,” now, is he?

Let’s go back to that Ventus scene. It’s notable that Even is acting very much like the Vexen persona we know from Days and CoM. Sharp-toned and enigmatic, commanding the others around. However, when he meets up with Ventus in person later, he acts a lot more like the redeemed Even portrayed in III. Softer, more polite. This stark contrast is rather jarring, and paints an odd picture when it’s all put together. But the line that strikes me the hardest is this:

We all probably assumed, having played the other games that took place in the future up to this point, that he was having some kind of odd premonition about Sora and Roxas. 

If we assume he was scoping out Ventus for a test subject, however, and thought Ven was a civilian who’d be around for a while, this sentence reads a lot differently.

It reads like a threat. Because Even is basically promising to take Ven into his custody and figure out, with scalpel and electrode, why, exactly, his heart is missing the darkness every other heart has.

It’s all conjecture. Now that Even’s on the road to redemption, I doubt any of this is ever going to be addressed. He’s a “good guy” to us now and forever in canon, and that’s how the crew wants us to see him. 

But I think in the past, the villain I love was definitely alive and kicking, and he was absolutely primed for Xehanort and Braig to give him the excuse.

[joannalannister]

Petyr Baelish once spoke to Sansa about "the players, and the pieces," He thinks of Cersei as one of the latter, and himself, of course, as one of the former. Who else do you believe he thinks of as a player? Vars, I'm sure. But Tywin? Stannis? Robb Stark?

I don’t think Petyr considers anyone else to be a player tho? 

He calls Ned a player (albeit a “hopeless” one) but Ned certainly wasn’t a player to Petyr. Recall the context in which Petyr is speaking; he’s talking to Sansa. And not just talking, but commiserating with her. "You must miss your father terribly, I know. Lord Eddard was a brave man, honest and loyal . . . but quite a hopeless player." He’s trying to get Sansa to trust him, get her to come over to his side. Sansa doesn’t know Petyr’s role in her father’s death. 

Trust nothing Petyr says.

For Petyr to assign someone the distinction of “player” would be to put them on the same level as himself, and imo Petyr doesn’t think anyone is on his level. Petyr is The Player. He’s the conductor of a great Westerosi symphony in his own mind. A puppeteer, if you will, with all of Westeros as his puppets. 

Fandom calls Petyr a chessmaster, using the term as shorthand for his political acumen and his patience and his cunning and his intelligence and everything else, but I’m not sure "chessmaster” is the most apt image to conjure up for Petyr, an image of Petyr sitting across the board from a living, breathing opponent over a game of chess. Chess is a game of elegance, of nobility. (Maybe you’re thinking about ”nobility” as in “lords and ladies” but if you’re thinking about “nobility” as in “integrity” that suits my purposes just as well.) Not the right image to conjure for Petyr Baelish, imo. Not right at all.

Picture, instead, an Atlantic boardwalk in 1980, in a city that saw its heyday forty years before. The paint is chipped and fading, the happy families fled long ago, and the neon lights flicker on the marquees where they haven’t gone out entirely. On that boardwalk you’ll find an arcade. The gaudy, overbright exterior is a sharp contrast to the darkness within. The poor lighting hides the junkies shooting up and the filth on the floor. Don’t ask what happens in the back room, because it is unspeakable. Petyr knows; he has even profited from it. 

In that arcade, there is a game. It is a for people who are hungry. Petyr is insatiable; he plays it every day. It is a game of labyrinths and enemies around every other corner, but mostly it is a game of leveling up. 

An “Out of Order” sign must be taped to the blackened, cracked screen for weeks if he loses. But he rarely loses. When he wins, his score is displayed in brightly flashing lights for all to see, even after he takes his leave. 

No. Not chess at all for Petyr Baelish. I mostly see Petyr playing against a computer, if we’re making game metaphors. 

Think about what Petyr is saying: “The players and the pieces.” What is a piece? It’s an object. It’s a thing. If I may borrow from Terry Pratchett for a moment, “Evil begins when you treat people as things.”

“And sin, young man, is when you treat people like things. [...] That's what sin is.""It's a lot more complicated than that--""No. It ain't. [...] People as things, that's where it starts.""Oh, I'm sure there are worse crimes--""But they starts with thinking about people as things..."

Petyr dehumanizes everyone around him. He treats them all as things, to be moved and eventually discarded. They’re like the little dots in Pac-Man, only there to be devoured so that Petyr can move up to a new level in the Game.

Like, lemme talk about ASOIAF villains and villainy for a sec...

A major theme in ASOIAF is humanization / dehumanization. I think what you have to pay attention to if you’re trying to identify the heroes and the villains in ASOIAF is who is working to humanize people and who is working to dehumanize people. 

(This is GRRM, so these aren’t always neatly ordered, distinct categories (there will always be some who are “a bit of both” like Tyrion), but I think, generally. this is the classification to go by. However, please keep in mind, even someone like Jon does things like steal a woman’s baby and use the baby in his own plans ... so ... not neat categories.)

So. Humanization / dehumanization. 

For example, Tywin refuses to recognize the humanity of pretty much everyone not named Lannister (and once upon a time, Targaryen, probably). 

Randyll Tarly dehumanizes everyone he perceives to be weaker than himself. (That’s why Tywin is morbidly fascinating to me and Randyll is just plain disgusting to me.) 

The Others want to dehumanize everybody, no exceptions. 

And Petyr, imo, dehumanizes everyone except himself. 

Like, if I was making a pyramid diagram of ASOIAF characters, I would put the Others at the top of my pyramid, for wanting to enslave everybody. (Meaning they would want to save ZERO people, putting them at the pinnacle of my pyramid for Number of People Saved/Humanized.) 

Petyr Baelish would be just one tiny step down from the Others, because he would save himself, so that’s like, dehumanizing everybody minus ONE. 

Then I would put Tywin as the next step down on my pyramid, because he wants to protect Lannisters so that’s, like, idk, ~200 people out of the entire population of Terros. 

Then I would put Randyll below Tywin, because he would be fine with, like, all of the hyper-masculine males of Westeros surviving the apocalypse, but all the “weak” people ~~~deserve~~~ what happens to them in the Others’ invasion.

And so on.

So anyways... Petyr ... I think he’s one of the major antagonists of the series because I don’t think he considers anyone else to be, well, human. And if they’re not, well, human, I don’t think they can be a player in the game he’s playing. I think literally everyone else is a piece to him. Everyone else is just another part of the game he’s playing. 

"In King's Landing, there are two sorts of people. The players and the pieces." 

Petyr is telling Sansa a truth, but it’s not a truth she recognizes. There are two sorts of people in King’s Landing, in Petyr’s mind: there is Petyr Baelish, and then there is everyone else. 

Some people, like Varys, are complex yet powerful “pieces” he simply hasn’t “unlocked” yet. Petyr just hasn’t gotten to that level of the Game yet. 

(I strongly believe that Varys will die before Petyr. You don’t kill off your “one step down from the Others” villain until near the end.) 

And the narratively interesting thing, imo, is that Petyr thinks of Sansa as a valuable “piece,” just a pawn that will help him rise drastically, when I think Sansa is going to be instrumental in Petyr’s downfall in ADOS. 

It’s the way GRRM’s villains dehumanize people which is their downfall. 

For example, Tywin repeatedly refused to recognize Tyrion’s humanity. In the end of ASOS, Tywin thought of Tyrion as half a man (half a Lannister? the last and least of the Lannisters), a little child, and as a result, he thought Tyrion would put the crossbow down and do as he bid, and look what happened. 

Petyr thinks everyone is a piece in his game and ... well, future books will tell how that plays out.

Sidenote #1 - I think the chessmaster title is quite good for Varys. I think Varys is actually (usually) (mostly) (sort of) (it’s ASOIAF, everyone is grey) good-intentioned. There is at least some nobility (integrity) in Varys. 

Sidenote #2 - this is just a note for myself, but at a later date I would really like to write down and organize my thoughts on Tywin’s dehumanization of Tyrion and how that makes Tyrion something like ~~half a Lannister~~ in his eyes, and how this connects to Tyrion’s heterochromia/dualism, and connections to A+J=/=T and the “I cannot prove you are not mine.” Not right now tho. Right now is for sleeping. 

[junkobears]

Here Lies Dreaded V3 Discourse

So I have seemed to cause a huge kerfuffle in the hardcore Ouma conspiracy theorists standom, and a banal (if condescending, but seeing the response to it honestly justifies it more than anything now. “Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it”, you better believe I can take it and will now PROPERLY dish it out right back at you) comment about one of Tsumugi’s anime references has led to someone launching a hilariously personal attack at me for Daring To Disagree With A Theory That Was Posted On A Public Website. Someone who I wasn’t even initially responding too, at that. And has now blocked me before even allowing me to respond and clarify my original comments. Don’t want to deal with the consequences of being a repugnant, rude person I guess? Shock and surprise for Tumblr.

The link to the post is here, but I’ve taken the liberty to screenshot it just in case it gets deleted later, in hope that maybe there’ll be some reflection on this person’s part that this really is not an acceptable way to respond to people who have a dissenting opinion? Anyways, I will be responding to the personal attack post and that will be the last time I interact with this group, because clearly it’s not worth it to actually have a discussion about our respective ending theories. I ain’t got time beyond this for tedious insecure fucks these days.

Anyways, my response is under the cut to save my poor followers’ dashes. Sorry to drag drama onto my blog but I can’t really let this slide. I’m also tagging @jacks-plays-drv3 just because I assume the twin comes with the other with these two, and I want my response to have been seen.

Screenshot In This Link - This post is long enough without the image taking up more space, haha.

Let’s start with this mess, shall we? And I will go into painstaking detail.

Paragraph 1: So this already starts off with a whole lot of needless aggression and projection. So I’m not even going to attempt to be nice back. But: maybe I haven’t proven anything because I literally had not typed up a response to clarify my original comments @ Jacks yet before the rabid attack dog was unleashed? Like, there was literally no attempt from you to have a discussion that was a genuine offer from me, I was not out to get you actually. I also honestly just laughed at being called shallow, JUST LIKE THAT HORRIBLE CHARACTER TSUMUGI SHIROGANE right off the bat as well. That’s a compliment really, honey. Weirdly I don’t share the same opinions as you do. Tsumugi is my fave and unlike you I actually think about and HAVE analyzed/discussed her character in detail previously, which I would’ve been happy to share had you not immediately went into Blind Raging Idiot Mode. Guess we can’t have it all, huh?

As for needing proof that she makes the Flashback Lights... nevermind the CG that literally shows her making them during Chapter 6, but do you have proof that Monokuma is the person who makes the Lights instead of just placing them for the students? I doubt it, somehow. Cuz a lot of your theories don’t actually have any concrete proof. Quelle surprise. Probably why anyone not immediately on board with your headcanon gets you so goddamn angry, huh? Cuz it’s completely baseless and you know it at heart.

As for the Ouma comments, actually I have read the assorted creator comments regarding his character even if you like to believe I’m a slobbering moron who turned my brain off as soon as I finished V3, so yes I already know that his name was chosen to sound mastermind-like. Maybe this was to emphasize and make his fake mastermind reveal appear more legit on first read? JUST A THOUGHT, SWEETIE. You know the entire fucking point of Chapter 5? You’re so slavishly devoted to your theory that you actually are incapable of reading the basic fucking text from the actual game, but again. Not a surprise. Considering what I’ve read from your blog (really, who are you again? I only knew Jacks’ blog from before all this, so you taking such a personal offense at my comments is honestly hilarious but baffling at the same time. It ain’t all about you, babe.)

As for the lab door, here’s an simpler explanation (Occam’s Razor, look it up): The star sign constellation pattern was there as a hint for the player to connect Ouma’s messages from his dorm room to the vault in Amami’s lab once its opened and you can see the star signs in there. Or perhaps it was designed like that by TDR to make the students make that connection as well in the original script and think that Ouma was the mastermind cuz of the connection to Amami’s lab? Literally, there are a lot of possibilities, cuz it’s a NOTHING DETAIL THAT DOESN’T ACTUALLY MATTER IN THE BIG PICTURE. Considering Kodaka’s track record with writing these games I don’t actually believe it’s anything major, personally. He doesn’t really strike me as the type to hide this completely separate story underneath the actual story we got, and with such vague nothing “”””””””””””clues””””””””””””. You and Jacks do yourselves (well you already do cuz you love to jack yourselves off with how CLEVER AND BETTER you are than the rest of us plebs), sure, in believing otherwise (You have way too much faith in him as a writer. Or you’re desperately trying to pretend V3 wasn’t poorly written cuz you don’t like the Ch. 6 twist) but also realize that its nothing more than extrapolation on your part that it actually means anything beyond the.... SHALLOW (horror scream) connection given in-game.

And really, who the fuck cares if it doesn’t match the title of ‘Supreme Leader’? It’s already a ridiculous talent as it stands already. The entire point of his character is that everything about him, his motives and his talent is contradictory and weird. That’s why I like him, actually. He isn’t an abused martyr who never lies like you goons believe and he also isn’t the evil monstrous chessmaster some of the fandom thinks. It’s Complex Motives™ .

Anyways moving on. Pointing out an anime reference =/= DISREGARDING PEOPLE’S ANALYSIS. Pointing out that most of the plot leads up to and supports the fiction twist =/= uncritically agreeing with everything Tsumugi says. Actually, after examining the game’s story for myself I came to the conclusion that all the clues in it really only support her version of the story, really. There are a few things I think she lied about, but it is not CONCLUSIVELY proven she lied in my opinion and so I don’t really give a fucking toss until new canon comes out and reveals more of the V3 story. Oumatwin don’t real, gurl. If there was actually anything in-game beyond one obvious joke line in the NON-CANON!!!!!!! bonus mode supporting that he existed, maybe I’d respect your theory more. Even though you don’t deserve respect after your little tantrum. 

Paragraph 2: Jesus I already am investing way too much time into this response at people who don’t actually deserve it, oh well. But laughing hard at the attempt to try and act as if you weren’t being a snobby asshole with your comments. Again, HUGE AMOUNTS OF PROJECTION at me about things I literally have never done and said. I have never interacted with you or Jacks prior to my initial comment. No fucking clue why you brought up the SaiOuma shit, cuz I don’t even LIKE Saihara as a character and don’t like that fujobait ship in the slightest? But I guess it’s easier to assume that all your critics are the exact same fucking person with the same opinions, so you can feel more persecuted, huh? You literally did not even wait for me to respond or check my blog that would’ve easily disproven these dumb-as-fuck assumptions. And get off the fucking high horse (pun completely intended), you lot are not the only people in this fandom who are capable of critical thought. How completely self-obsessed can you be? 

For someone who claims to have a lot of critical thinking skills compared to this nasty fandom, you really are terrible at parsing other people’s words. You fucking know when I said “group of anime fans” that I was referring to Team Danganronpa, the organization literally mentioned in game as running the game. The group Tsumugi is part of. She literally has a company badge FFS. THEY ARE ANIME FANS. THEY ALL STARTED KILLING GAMES CUZ THEY ALL LOVE THIS SHITTY SERIES. I can’t believe this had to be explained. And the rest of this paragraph word salad is the most pedantic argument. It’s really not hard to believe an organization in this series would have access to all this tech. And yes, it’s a popular TV show in-universe, of course it’ll have funding. And the whole damn point of the ending is that the V3 world is consuming fiction the wrong way by having real-life killing games, missing the entire point of the DR series and fiction in general? What’s your actual point?

Paragraph 3: Again more assumptions, I wasn’t ‘crying’ about being called gullible. I was just pointing it out as part of your extremely unnecessary smug dismissal of my post. That you really haven’t disproved at all, btw. Honestly the childish response you both had to me just makes me laugh out of pity more than anything. And if I was really upset I wouldn’t have offered to have a discussion with you or even continued to reply after Jacks initial (vague) post about what I said. So don’t put words in my mouth. And yes my analysis was not completed in my initial comments. It’s Tumblr fucking replies, I can’t fit the entire fucking dissertation of Tsumugi opinions in there for you to jeer at in there. Again, I offered to share my opinions and got this as a response, so lol. You are your own worst enemy when it comes to trying to get people to take you and your theories seriously. 

Paragraph 4: Especially since you immediately jump to PULLING THINGS OUT OF YOUR ASS (seriously, fucking snorted at this part. I want this whole diatribe on my fucking gravestone. It’s by far the most hilariously petty thing ever said about me on this site.) instead of letting me explain my position. If you just want to be in the creepy cult Oumatwin echo chamber you should’ve just said and blocked me ASAP instead of word salading vague bullshit justifications for why actually people who disagree with you are just stupid crybabies who can never hope to understand your genius. Again, my initial comments didn’t whine about not being taken seriously at all, I was pointing out the hypocrisy/rudeness is all. And again, get off the high horse about critical thinking. I have thought about Tsumugi’s character and how she relates to the over-arching plot and how truthful it is, and the overall ‘mystery’ of V3 (spoiler: there is none. it was all solved by chapter 6). I have thought about this game. In fact I dedicate too much time to critical analysis of this series that doesn’t actually deserve it cuz lately I find Kodaka to be a hack writer. Your assumptions are flat-out wrong, dear. And AGAIN. I WOULD’VE. SHARED AND DISCUSSED IN MORE DETAIL HAD I BEEN GIVEN THE OPPORTUNITY. But rude fucks gonna vomit shit out of their mouth cuz they have literally no self-control and have meltdowns at the slightest difference of opinion, I guess. 

Your extreme hatred for Tsumugi as a character truly shines through. Clearly no thought has been put into her from your end, even though you and Jacks rage about people not taking Ouma seriously as a character. Double standards as always with fujos. Nothing I’m not used too, she is incredibly unpopular in this fandom. And everyone is entitled to their own opinions. So I’m not even mad at that. I have never said otherwise. Even you and Jacks are valid in having your own theories and thoughts. The ending of V3 is designed entirely so everyone can analyze the game for themselves and draw their own conclusions about the story and themes. That’s the whole point. Even though I personally dislike that as a writing decision on Kodaka’s part because I would prefer the story to be conclusively ended and the epilogue is a giant turd that misses the entire point of Chapter 6 and enables shit (anal pun intended, dumbass) like this to start spreading as “Analysis”. But hey, to each their own.

However I will not be interacting with either of you again after this post though, even though I was willing to discuss beforehand, because you both have shown yourselves to be incredibly vile with the way you approach other people in this fandom, and especially those who don’t share your conspiracy theory. Despite the absolutely ironic comments I’ve seen from Oumanous in their later, also terrible posts about how you need to understand your opponent before engaging, which they literally failed entirely to do before engaging the firing squad at me and other commentators who responded. So much for the sanctity of discussion, huh? Enjoy your circlejerk. Everyone else who follows me in this fandom though? Please consider blocking these two if you are also a sane human being who is capable of polite discussion/disagreements. They are not worth your time otherwise. They were really not worth my time writing this post, but I felt I had to say something.

In conclusion: Out with the both of you.

[holloweycs]

hi, hello, huzzah ! it’s nora, back on my bullshit, installment 3. i promise this is the last of my children by now, and we’ve saved ourselves an eerie conclusion. proceed with caution, this is JACK WILLIAM FRANCIS, and he’s fucked up enough to be straight out of the addams family. this boy loves classical literature and the freudian death drive. here’s a humble pinterest board attempting to explain him.

J A C K   W I L L I A M    F R A N C I S.

( bill skarsgard | he / him | cismale ) hey, you hear iron by woodkid playing over on the 3rd floor? that’s where jack william francis lives! i heard they moved in from oxford, england exactly four months ago. they’re very charming but also pretty cataclysmic. maybe that’s why davie keeps calling them the chessmaster. starlit is full of people, but this 24 year old is really going to liven things up around here! 

WALKING GOD COMPLEX WITH HOLLOW EYES AND CHEEKBONES SHARP ENOUGH TO CUT GLASS.

a god among men. dead-eyed sociopathic devil incarnate dream boy. 

the rage of a thousand suns carefully hidden behind a facade calmer than a silent sea. he’s volcanic. when dormant, he’s no trouble at all -- perhaps a little cutting or rude, but unthreatening. when his emotions get the better of him, however, he becames a raging beast of anger. he’ll chew you up and spit you out.  like hades in hercules.

his zodiac sign is scorpio. his tarrot cards are the magician and the hanged man.

jack is a slave to instinct, almost animal, but charming when he wants to be. 

in love with the moon and the call of the void, the woods became his saviour.

incredibly well-read. spends a good deal of his free time digesting paperbacks. his room is mostly bookshelves and anthologies. a lover of shelley, keats, byron, shakespeare’s sonnets and a library of nabokov. he’s always composed, cocksure, as if his opinion is the only valid one. in his head, it is.

tw drugs high-key a coke-head. he got into coke because he has a high-paid job, and little to do with his money, considering his parents funded his college education and provided him with a trust fund. he starts to get drug withdrawal if he goes more than a few days without having a bump. he’s also partial to ecstasy.

before jack came to vegas, he was a dentist. he secretly loves the biters. when he takes people’s teeth out he often keeps them. especially the ones with fillings or impurities.

tw death / this is where it gets fucked up :)

before coming to vegas, jack fell in love with a woman because she had the most incredible teeth he’d ever seen. these teeth were so beautiful that he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that he had to have them. one night he broke into her home, sedated the sleeping woman, and began to extract of her teeth so he could keep them. her elderly mother, a night owl, heard movement in her daughters room, and finding a young man removing her daughter’s teeth, screamed the house down. in an effort to keep her quiet jack tried to sedate her, however the mother grasped his forceps as a weapon, the two began a scuffle, and during the process the woman hit her head on the dresser and began to bleed profusely. in blind panic, he grabbed the teeth and made a run for it, leaving both the sedated woman and her bleeding mother. the woman woke up to find she was toothless, and her mother was dead on the floor.

he’s been on the run for several months now, travelling place to place with his life (and teeth) in a suitcase. as a reason for his travels, he always states that he’s a writer, and he’s travelling for the purposes of research for his novel. 

background ;

jack grew up in oxford, in a middle-class family, surrounded by the classical architecture of the university buildings. this first provoked in jack a love of ancient civilisation, art and sculpture. he sees himself as someone very well-bred.

second-born son. hector was the perfect son, charming, athletic, intelligent, attractive, head boy and twice winner of the foyle young poets award, and jack was merely the other one. growing up, he felt he was constantly living in hector’s shadow, and grew to be a bitter and resentful boy. one day, during a particularly heated row, jack threw drain cleaner in his brother’s face, leaving him with acid burn and scarring, which led to him being disowned by his family, but jack hardly cared -- he was just smitten with the fact that he was now the most attractive sibling. a few years later, they forgave him, and paid his way through college.

he first developed an affliction for fire when he started smoking. for his eleventh birthday his dad gave him a lighter with the ace of spades on and a packet of cigs. since getting that lighter, he’s been something of a pyromaniac. he liked -- more than smoking itself -- to fiddle with his lighter, swipe his fingers through the flame, tempt god. he’s something of a pyromaniac, and was convicted of several arson offences in his teenage years.

he had a criminal record before he was 15 and spent some time in juvie, so he’s already got a mugshot for when they inevitably bang him in the slammer again. hated school and formalised education but ? loved learning? despite the fact that he was an absolute entitled bastard at school, he was actually intelligent and always completed his work, and so his teachers couldn’t find a reason to suspend him. he read so much socrates and freud and he’s literally obsessed with dickens and shakespeare. will quote monologues at you with no shame. 

growing up, he was always very image-conscious, always concerned with fashion and his appearance. this is one of the factors that led him into dentistry. he wanted to study medicine at oxford university and train as a surgeon, but lacked the grades, and so went to exeter and studied dentistry.

there’s definitely a discrepancy in the way he behaved as a child and the way he holds himself now. growing up, he didn’t know how to channel his feelings, and now he can basically shut them off. whereas growing up he was often ruled by his anger, now he comes across as incredibly stoic and collected, while he bubbles away beneath. when this becomes too much to hold in, jack becomes explosive. he’s a very hot-and-cold person, he’s either callous and indifferent or fiercely defensive and ruled by his emotions.

some trivia ;

positive traits: self assured, ambitious, well-bred, charming, devoted, silver-tongued.

negative traits: manipulative, selfish, plays the martyr, primadona, egotistical, callous.

big fan of documentaries and 1920s film. 

an excellent painter and exceptional cellist. 

a lover of art, money, and beautiful, fragile things. 

turned on by danger with an appetite for destruction. 

would sell you to satan for one corn chip

wanted plots

enemies. 

people who straight up think he’s a weird guy and won’t deal with him. 

someone who he can really manipulate? because he’d use that to his advantage. 

former flings ; he doesn’t really do relationships, but is very impulsive, so ends up having multiple one night stands and flings. this could either evolve into friendship, ignoring each other, or straight up hatred depending on how ur character would react to jack’s unwillingness to become attached to anything. 

patients?? honestly that would be funny. just people who’s teeth he checks like hi ronald how are your molars doing. 

friends but theyd have to be pretty weird to want jack as a friend or maybe he even has a lad! group who knows.

[highwayphantoms]

Fictober, Day 3 (.... a day late.)

Missed the first two days because moving, and fell asleep yesterday before I actually finished, but I did a thing ahaha. this one’s short, but I’m sure I’ll have much wordier days.

It was just a model ship. Just something to keep her hands busy, fill the few spare minutes she could scrounge up. It wasn't supposed to be hard.

Once already Quinn had knocked the ship’s parts completely out of order, startled by an unexpected knock on her cabin door. Only Liara, with an update of the urgent-but-very-secret variety, but it was still a solid hour before she had an opportunity to reorganize the parts scattered over her desk and across the floor. One by one, each piece in its place.

“Now, behave,” she muttered. Assembling a model ship was not something she found difficult. It was, in fact, one of the few things she genuinely found relaxing. In the midst of a war that could spell the end for life as they knew it, they all needed a hobby.

Hers was a meticulous soul. No matter how long it took, every piece was organized, every player standing where she needed them. A chessmaster, to some. A manipulative ass, to others. She didn’t care, really. At times like this, the galaxy needed someone who could see the board and where its pieces had to be. With Liara’s network of information at her fingertips, her chessboard was the whole galaxy.

What was left of it, at any rate.

The estimates of just how many people were dead varied depending on who you asked. But every estimate had one thing in common: they just kept going up.

She lined up another piece, and was just about to glue it in place when EDI’s voice interrupted, “Shepard, Admiral Hackett is waiting on vidcomm.”

She sighed, setting the partially-assembled model down on her desk. “I’ll be down in a minute.” What would it be this time? Another errand, or another frustrating update on how little progress they’d made?

Sometimes it was hard to believe that it had been only two and a half months since that first devastating attack on Earth. It felt so much longer.

[blueoatmeal]

TFA Longarm Prime & Shockwave playlist analysis/breakdown

8/3/2017

TFA spoilers!

[Longarm Prime mix] [Shockwave mix]

Alrighty folks, my good buddy @incomingtransmissionfromearth has asked me if I might make a breakdown of my thought process when making these mixes (as I did for my tfa Blurr mix), and I am elated to fulfill that request!

These mixes are linked pretty thoroughly, so I’ll be covering both on this post. It’s,, ahahaha, going to get pretty long, so I’ll remember to use a readmore this time!

Both/The Basics

I wanted the playlists to not only accurately portray Shockwave’s two different characters, Longarm Prime and his true self Shockwave, through lyrics and individual songs that fit, but to tonally differentiate between the two, so that the playlists would actually evoke different feelings from the listener.

I wanted Longarm’s mix to be generally more upbeat or mellow and light, while also being a touch melancholy, with hints of the darkness lurking underneath. I wanted it to seem more sympathetic towards the character of Longarm Prime. “Isn’t it hard to be a spy, to work in intelligence? So many secrets, and trust is such an expensive commodity. But you can trust me; I’m on your (the Autobot’s) side, and friendly, and if the government’s a bit whack, don’t worry, conform and it’ll work out fine!”

Also, in the back of my head I had the notion that Longarm was a kind of victim in his situation with Shockwave--not literally though: There have been many AU ideas where Longarm was originally an Autobot, who was being basically possessed by Shockwave, or where Shockwave’s mind had fractured into two entirely separate personas, or where Soundwave killed the real Longarm and took his place. Some of those AUs hold appeal for me, and while I wanted my mixes to adhere to canon, I wanted to keep a little bit of that feeling from the AUs, where Longarm is really more of an unwitting (or only partially self-aware) pawn, and not only the chessmaster in disguise. I justified this with the idea that Shockwave would probably try to portray Longarm similarly if he was caught, if only so that he wouldn’t be killed outright for truly being a full Decepticon. Pull out the “pity me” card. It felt like the sort of lie he’d try to pull off if he was put into a situation that necessitated it. He did try, in one episode, to deter Bulkhead and Bumblebee from shooting him by transforming from Shockwave to Longarm and trying to say that he was their old friend. The weren’t having that, of course, and shot him anyway. I did have more AU-ish leaning songs in the mix, but I cut them.

With Shockwave’s mix, I wanted a vastly different feeling, so that the two mixes really contrasted. I wanted it to be much darker, much more sinister, finally revealing the truths that Longarm’s mix hinted at. I wanted it to be scary and serious; less lighthearted and more cold and ominous. The mask has been taken off and the thing underneath is a devious monster.

Now of course Shockwave has his silly moments too, so both mixes together accurately portray both Longarm and Shockwave as a whole. But I wanted to distill the ideas OF those characters, in their separateness, and put them in these contrasting mixes.

It’s almost like the two mixes represent not only the characters themselves, but the perceptions of them from the viewpoint of other characters. Longarm is a kind but odd dork who’s competent at his job, which is Head of Intelligence, while Shockwave is the guiding force behind the curtain who manipulates events, secretly murders bots that are in his way, and looms like a shadow in the minds of those who may only know him by his impressive reputation as Megatron’s most trusted spy.

I spent a LOT of time on these mixes and developed both simultaneously. I had once considered making one long playlist, but with the disparity in tone, I thought two would be better. You want upbeat, listen to Longarm; you want dark, listen to Shockwave. Besides, it puts more of a separation between the two identities.

From the beginning, I wanted both mixes to tie into each other, and to a lesser extent, to tie into my previously published tfa Blurr mix. I mentioned this intent in a post a while back, actually. I wanted the small Blurr tie-in because of, naturally, the fact that they worked together (Longarm) in the CIA, and then Shockwave committed what was probably the darkest on-screen act in the entirety of tfa when he “killed” Blurr. It was a significant event for both characters in the course of the show, and it made such an impression on me that I just had to include a nod to it.

Recommended listening: Longarm mix first, then Shockwave’s.

Don’t Let It Show (Longarm Prime mix)

Alternate titles: “Watch What You Say,” or “Words You’re Gonna Regret”

Very 80s

Alludes to darker or malicious acts without dipping into a truly dark tone or feel.

As the playlist goes on, it transitions from comfortably undercover to under suspicion.

Suspicion: the first song I had for this mix. Lyrics fit so well~! “In the park, yesterday, I saw a face that spelled danger, A friendly smile, a worried look, I mistook for a stranger” Introduces the “face/faces” motif.

Don’t Let It Show provided the title of the mix. This track is meant to make Longarm more sympathetic by highlighting how hard it is to hide his true self and work among bots that he cannot trust and who may put their trust in him, when he knows he is going to break that trust someday. “Even if it's taking the easy way out, Keep it inside of you. Don't give in. Don't tell them anything. Don't let it, Don't let it show.”

Everybody Wants to Rule the World has the government surveillance feel. “Even while we sleep, We will find you, Acting on your best behaviour, Turn your back on mother nature, Everybody wants to rule the world” It also feels like some of the lyrics could be taken as the Decepticons wanting to take back Cybertron.

Every Breath You Take has a strong surveillance/spy/CIA vibe to it. Also the lyrics are super creepy but the song shrugs it off like nah dude it’s fine it’s not creepy to literally watch everything that somebody does. “Every breath you take and every move you make, Every bond you break, every step you take, I'll be watching you, Every single day and every word you say, Every game you play, every night you stay, I'll be watching you”

You Don't Believe: now this one is a remnant of that AU stuff I mentioned, where Longarm and Shockwave are more separate, and Shockwave controls Longarm. Aside from that though, it explores duality and has these lovely lines: “And the face I see before me, Is both sides of a mirror, You really know you've got a hold on me, And the face you're looking into, Is both sides of a window, And any way you look you see through me” “my eyes, with your vision” This track has both the “faces” and “eyes” motif. The “eyes” motif is used more thoroughly in the Shockwave mix.

The Logical Song has the theme of conformity. Shockwave has to pretend to be an upstanding Autobot citizen by day, just to be accepted (and to carry out his insidious mission), while at night he can realize his true self. Also the word “logical” is a nice nod to G1 Shockwave. “Now watch what you say or they'll be calling you a radical, liberal, fanatical, criminal. Won't you sign up your name, we'd like to feel you're acceptable, respectable, presentable, a vegetable!” Also a nod to the fact that the Autobot government is messed up.

Talking In Your Sleep is another track about hearing secrets that aren’t meant for the listener to hear. Upbeat and light. “And I know that I'm right, Cuz I hear it in the night, I hear the secrets that you keep, When you're talking in your sleep”

Private Eyes is absolutely perfect. Eyes motif. “You can’t escape my private eyes”  “Why you try to put up a front for me/ I'm a spy but on your side you see/ Slip on, into any disguise/ I'll still know you/ Look into my private eyes” IT’S SO PERFECT.

Chateau is a tie-in to Blurr’s mix. Blurr has Classical Gas, a faster song, and this is from the same artist, on the same album. I read into the tone of this song really heavily. It’s light and carefree, then darker and more dissonant, then light again, and I really just picked this song on gut feeling rather than solid reasoning.

The Grand Illusion has the theme of illusion and falsehoods, indicating that the media can be used to make you feel or think things that aren’t true. “But don't be fooled by the radio, The TV or the magazines, They show you photographs of how your life should be, But they're just someone else's fantasy”

You’ve Got a Friend in Me is in this mix purely because of the “friendly neighborhood Longarm Prime” act that he puts on. He acts so friendly and nice and it's ALL LIES!

Party In The CIA is pretty straightforward; this covers Longarm’s duties as part of the Cybertron Intelligence Agency--the CIA. “So I get my handcuffs, my cyanide pills, my classified dossier/ tapping the phones like yeah/ shredding the files like yeah/ I memorized all the enemy spies I gotta neutralize today/ yeah it's a party in the CIA” “I've done a couple of crazy things that have almost gotten me dismissed/ like terminate some head of state who wasn't even on my list/ burn that microfilm, buddy, will you?/ I'd tell you why but then I'd have to kill you/ you need a quickie confession?/ We'll start a water boarding session”

Somethin’ to Hide: really just a reference to the fact that Longarm is hiding his true identity. Touches briefly on the “face” motif. “You've got somethin' to hide, That you're not telling me, You got somethin' to hide, And I know, Well there's something about you and I know, That you're not telling me”

Mirror Man: Change is a big theme in this one, which is fitting considering how Shockwave changes to Longarm and back with his size-changing ability. “And if it seems I'm not the one you used to know, Our little friendship left behind not long ago, Don't feel too hurt as distance heals the strongest pain, Things are much better now and just a nagging doubt remains”

I Know There's Something Going On: more on the theme of change. “I can see that it won't be long, You grow cold when you keep holding on, You know you've changed and your words they lie, That's something you can't deny, I know there's something going on”

Jekyll And Hyde One of the best examples one could use for dualities and hidden identities. Face motif. “Duplicated man, inside, double tied/ Prisoner, he's back to back, face to face/ Mirrored shadows always changing place/ Separated man himself he divides/ Opposite needs he can't see where to hide/ A single double side - Jekyll and Hyde/ This man was good, he was calm/ He'd never do any harm/ Gentle soul as you may see/ As caring as he could be/ Deep down inside he hides/ A twist that we maybe missed/ Confusion and nasty trick of fate/ Might be the break/ Don't find yourself too late/ Now who's outside, inside, Jekyll and Hyde” Jekyll being Longarm, of course, and Hyde, Shockwave.

Tangled up: this song does play briefly with identities, but mostly I added this song because of this post of Longarm getting his arms tangled up. Somebody replied to the post with this song, and that was the first time I’d heard it. Later I revisited the song and decided I liked it and that it fit well enough to use. “I can’t separate your sins, To me you’re acting like you’re twins. This is a mess, Is this a test? How many guesses do I get? Till only one of you is left, You're quite the same”

Ain't Nobody But Me mentions Jekyll and Hyde, and some dualities. “Well, you can run, you, know he'll find you, It don't matter now, just look behind you, You had your warn, and you knew the score, You got it wrong, and that means war” And in the main chorus” “ain’t nobody but me/ gonna lie for you/ gonna die for you” could be interpreted as Shockwave’s loyalty to Megatron.

Shadow Play: ANOTHER reference to Jekyll and Hyde! “In the flinty light, it's midnight/ And stars collide/ Shadows run, in full flight/ To run, seek and hide/I'm still not sure what part I play/ In this shadow play, this shadow play.” The idea of a shadow play infers hidden intentions and hidden people controlling things from behind the scenes, like he is. Also convenient nod to IDW Shockwave, who was subject to a procedure called shadowplay.

Goodbye Mr A: to be honest, this is more a nod to other Shockwaves, who tend to be unemotional and obsessed with logic. “There's a hole in your logic, You who know all the answers, oh-oh-oh, You claim science ain't magic, And expect me to buy it” It could also be interpreted as to play with the idea that Longarm’s persona was imperfect, hollow. “You promised you would love us but you knew too much” “You had all the answers but no human touch/ If life is subtraction, your number is up/ Your love is a fraction, it's not adding up” “So busy showing me where I'm wrong/ You forgot to switch your feelings on”

This World of Fools (Shockwave mix)

Alternate title: “Dealing with Fools”

“This World of Fools” is a line from “Dr. Heckyll & Mr. Jive,” a song that’s more science-y and therefore didn’t fit here as well with the other songs. It’s in my tfa Perceptor mix though.

More alternative and dubstep

This playlist in particular went through a lot of changes, a lot of cuts, before I decided I liked it enough to publish

When researching for songs, I read the wiki page of Corey Burton, voice actor for Longarm Prime/Shockwave, and G1 Shockwave. I found that he had lent his voice to music producer ShockOne (ShockOne, eh?) for an album. I checked it out and took the first song, Singularity (The Monochord of Creation from it. Burton does talk in the second song, Chaos Theory (actually the two songs flow into each other as one larger song here), but he uses a swear that I’m not comfortable using in my mixes, so I just stuck to the first song. So like, that’s awesome. Got his VA in the mix! Dark song, ominous.

The Game Has Changed: IT SURE HAS. If the first song didn’t already indicate it, this TRON Legacy song should let the listener know that Things Are Different Now--alluding to the switch from Longarm to Shockwave, and his change in method once he’s outed. Less subtlety, more death and destruction coming up. This song is one that ties into the Blurr mix’s Outlands, another song from the same soundtrack. A vague and mostly insubstantial tie-in, sure, but that’s how I wanted it. The majority of the song is alternately softer and louder, orchestral and synthesized, until it crescendos in the last thirty seconds.

Sirius & Eye in the Sky: A nod back to Longarm, with the sort of mellow tone that is found more in his mix, but with lyrics that fit Shockwave pretty well: “I am the eye in the sky/ Looking at you/ I can read your mind/ I am the maker of rules/ Dealing with fools/ I can cheat you blind.” Besides, come on, Eye In the Sky is better for the guy with one eye. (Eye motif!) (Also 8tracks only lets me use two Alan Parsons Project songs per playlist, and I already had two in Longarm’s mix, so this had to go SOMEWHERE! It was too perfect to cut.)

Dangerous: @incomingtransmissionfromearth had introduced me to the Oliver remix of this song, which fits nicely, but I personally enjoyed the sound of the original more, so I used that. The lyrics fit SO WELL. It felt like Shockwave’s thoughts as he was still undercover, and then when he’d just been found out. “How could you know, how could you know'/ That those were my eyes/ Peepin through the floor, it's like they know/ It's like they know I'm looking from the outside/ And creeping to the door, it's like they know” “And I've gotta get out of here/ Sink down, into the dark” More eyes motif!

Escape From Midwich Valley has staticky samples that sound like bad comm connections or tapped comm lines. This glitch track adds to the apprehensive mood of the mix.

The Friendly Faithplate is from Portal 2, which stars another one-eyed, manipulative, facetious robot antagonist. Very glitch-heavy track.

@glitterhobo introduced me to Change the Formality a while ago, and I like it very much. It has an odd mix of sounds, and generally makes me feel very serious. It’s an intense song, in an odd way. “I try to change the formality and everything about it/ People killing people for a reason/ You make mistakes/ You don't regret/ So make a conclusion”

In Your Eyes is repetitive and kind of vaguely spooky, like something that’s subtly wrong. Also another example of the “eye/eyes” imagery/motif that persists in both mixes, especially Shockwave’s.

The Devil Within is like Shockwave’s message to the Autobots he’s infiltrated: You’ll never see me coming, I put up with hell to stay here, but I’ll destroy you from the inside out and disappear without a trace. “You'll never know what hit you/ Won't see me closing in/ I'm gonna make you suffer/ This hell you put me in/ I'm underneath your skin/ The devil within/ You'll never know what hit you”

THIS TRACK, WHOOO BOY, I LOVE IT Private Eyes, cover by Lenachka of course ties in with the same song, the original Private Eyes, in Longarm’s mix. It’s the same lyrics, but far more ominous and dark. The lyrics fit so well!!!! Also keeps up the eyes motif! “ You can't escape my/ Private Eyes/ They're watching you/ They see your every move“ Also the “you can’t escape” bit reminds me of that scene with Blurr.

Every Breath You Take, cover by Chase Holfelder, another cover, the original of which is in Longarm’s mix. More menacing inflection to the lyrics, which fit so nicely~! “Every move you make/ Every vow you break/ Every smile you fake/ Every claim you stake/ I'll be watching you”

Hal 9000 has that dubstep feel, with samples of Hal 9000′s dialogue from 2001: A Space Odyssey. Hal, another frightening one-red-eyed character with some VERY calm yet threatening lines, and a creepy death scene. ”I know that you and Frank were planning to disconnect me. And I'm afraid that's something I cannot allow to happen.”

C.L.U., another song from TRON Legacy (and therefore another tie-in to Blurr’s mix) comes at the scene where the main antagonist chases the protagonists and fights them to the (supposed) death, while another character does in fact lose his life. It’s intense, it’s very apprehensive, building up a feeling of action, and the imagery it brings, especially if you’ve seen the movie, is very dark and technologic.

"The Outer Limits" Theme Song is ominous, loud, and creepy. The voice tells you that they are in complete control. Just as Shockwave held control over Cybertron Intelligence.

Messing with the Program is a tie-in to Blurr’s mix, which has Sugar Rush Showdown, the track in which the antagonist’s true identity is revealed during a race. In this track, the antagonist illegally screws with the coding that dictates how their world works, altering it to his own advantage. Sounds like how Shockwave was pulling all the strings while undercover in the CIA.

The Truth is another Blurr mix tie-in! Blurr’s mix has Escape, the motorcycle chase scene from the beginning of the LEGO Movie, and The Truth is a track from the same soundtrack, in which the antagonist reveals his true plan to control the world, and sends the protag plummeting to certain death.

Another Way Out is honestly just good for anyone who’s ever tried to escape Shockwave, including Blurr. Upbeat and menacing. The lyrics are all soooo good. “I don't think no one's home/ And we're just here alone/ I better find you first/ before you find the phone/ You better run, better run, better run, yeah I’m coming after you/ When you’re sleeping at night, yeah there’s nothing you can do/ There’s no place you can hide 'cause I’m coming after you/ I wish there was another way ou-ou-ou-ou-out for you”

Ambiance 03 is just straight-up soundtrack from a horror game, so... yeah. Creepy distorted screaming. Extremely ominous ambiance. Repetitive. The last track I added to the mix.

The Part Where He Kills You: from Portal 2, of course. One-eyed antagonist betrays protag and tries very hard to kill them. Loud, exciting, alarms blaring, impending doom implied.

No.6 Suicide Room (６号室の自殺 ) AHAAHA OKAY SO I first encountered this song in a horror game and IT’S CREEPY AS HECK, creaky floors, ticking clock, phone ringing, and thEN AT THE END IT GETS QUIET AND YOU HEAR A DRAWN-OUT, PAINFUL-SOUNDING SCREAM and listen I’m not going to beat around the bush here; in this mix, THAT IS MEANT TO BE BLURR SCREAMING. You can interpret it as really anyone Shockwave’s killed, but I’m not gonna lie to you; I heard this song and thought YIKES DUDE,,, THAT’S BLURR. Also the perfect track to end the playlist on.

[cosmosogler]

hi guys, sorry i didn’t post yesterday. my meds ran out on tuesday and i have been feeling like hot garbage. i did pick them up today though so hopefully i’ll start feeling ok again tomorrow. i also seem to be struggling with the beginning of yet another cold.

i wanted to go to bed 20 minutes ago, but i got distracted by some tv show review videos on youtube. i also can’t seem to put my game down again.

i need to... do... something. anything. i did take wiley out for a walk today, for an hour, because we got hit with a cold front last night and it was pretty nice out. other than being kinda humid, which didn’t feel too great on my stuffy nose with the pollen and everything. 

ehhhh. not a lot going on upstairs the last few days. i was going to take eve out for a walk around the block but after i got wiley inside i was exhausted and still feelin awful. dad said her surgery isn’t actually scheduled, since my uncle seems to have forgotten to call dad back to actually set a date. i should take her out more before she can’t go, but it doesn’t feel right to take her without diogi. i need to make a decision there.

i really, really hope that i’ll start feeling better within a day or two now that i’ve got my meds refilled. i do not like being a useless lump. i so badly didn’t want to deal with people today that i went around the back of the neighborhood mostly, behind the houses rather than in front. 

it’s hard to describe how exactly i’m feeling. it’s definitely a physical thing, but also, i feel dumber than usual. i’ve got a headache and a stuffy nose, but also very little motivation to do things. like eat or sleep or communicate. sleeping is the worst. my mind can’t seem to be bothered to come up with anything to look at dream wise. like man, even my overactive imagination don’t got nothing to say. i guess i can’t always be a horrifying fountain of words. 

i asked dad if he wanted to start watching jojo again tonight after work and he said probably not. he didn’t even come over to say hi to me when he got home. maybe he didn’t enjoy the show as much as i thought he did? maybe he feels like neglecting my interests since i didn’t have the energy to play board games with him the last few weeks? maybe i was just telling myself i didn’t have the energy and should have just tried harder.

that specific phrase keeps popping up again and again, doesn’t it? when it comes up i not only feel intensely inadequate, but i also kind of observe it with a cold detachment. yeah, of course that’s something mom’s always said to me. i wish i could put it out of my mind. you can tell yourself that someone else’s opinion doesn’t matter til the cows come home, but at the end of the day it’s still going to be there. especially when they say it like every day for 24 years. internalization is a strange thing.

i wish i could do the cold detachment thing more, but at the same time, i kind of hate that about myself? i mean, it’s a good way to keep people and feelings at arm’s length, and it’s a nice tool to use to make quick decisions. but at the same time, i feel like it lends itself really well to experiencing people as, i guess, also tools, or complicated machines, instead of the unfathomable, unpredictable beings that they are? or maybe getting the feeling that any person could turn on me at any moment for any reason is a confidence issue? but it happens, like, all the time. people slam dunk me into the garbage like moldy bread for all kinds of reasons, most of which i don’t even have any control over. like my sex drive...

the main thing that makes that, sort of, ruthlessness ugly when i used to be kind of proud of it is that craig used it too. i don’t want to manipulate people... i tell myself it’s different, because i want to help people, but it’s still, the same tactic. you know? but it’s the only thing that let me survive growing up around mom, is learning how to push people around. not physically, but by, like, telling them something and making it sound like their idea. even giving people pep talks or trying to give advice feels uncomfortably like i fancy myself some kind of chessmaster. and... i don’t want to. but do i do it anyway? 

it’s nuts. i can see my self doubt unraveling and dripping all over the words but i can’t do anything about it. i don’t know me. i don’t know what i got. how am i supposed to go anywhere when every step feels like the rug could be pulled out from under me at any time by my own brain? let alone by other people that i have no control over? i know the answer isn’t to have more control, but to let go. but even when i want to let go, and i try to, that doesn’t mean it happens, and i don’t know whether i actually have or not, and that uncertainty in myself kind of... sucks. it really sucks. 

what also sucks is that i probably wouldn’t feel like this if mom wasn’t a total dick. and if craig wasn’t cancerous. and if i wasn’t bullied every day for four years in christian school. i’d probably be a lot happier if that stuff hadn’t happened to me. 

and then i have another fun round of “what is my fault and what isn’t? how far can i get if all i do is push my faults and shortcomings off on other people? i should be stronger than this. if i just tried harder...”

yeah, me too, me. if only.